I Love This

Not trying to spoil what you have planned but I am really excited to see the gems reactions to amethyst. You story is great!

(3/3)

Big Sister Loves You

Inspired by: @charlietheepicwriter7 post >Here<

Warning! Description of violent murder, the Ring/Grudge style ghost Jazz, and kidnapping of minors. This is just a short blurb I thought of and had to write given it is Halloween. XD

That beast, he thought that if he chopped her into pieces he could save himself. That she would be unable to form. He actually thought that he could prevent her wrath by phasing the pieces of her corpse into the vast reaches of the globe. While it did slow her down a bit, there was nothing in this or any universe that would stop Jazz Fenton from helping her baby brother. Jazz was not like Vlad Masters, she was not half so pathetic as he was. Jazz was calculating, she was determined, and she was made of love.

It took her ages, so much time was lost just pulling herself together. But that was alright, she had Time, she always had Time on her side. She had time enough to gather herself, time enough to gain power, time enough to train her new form and powers, time enough to find the beast that murdered her parents and stole her brother and niblings. Time enough to chase him down to the wretched little corner of the multiverse he thought he could hide away in. It was different, unfortunately she had to relearn herself once again after going through a portal into that world. But it didn’t matter, she was determined. She could sense her dearest family somewhere in that city. Blocked by a ghost shield no doubt.

That didn’t matter, she was patient, she could find a way in with enough time. Danny and her niblings would be safe while she worked on it. Because she had found him~

Dear Vlad wasn’t expecting her, he hadn’t been ready to be met with her ghost. Not the dark twisted version of what she had made him. She should have been bright, joyful, but instead her long hair fell in sleek watery black waves, stretching long behind her into the abyss. Her limbs only barely attached to her torso and head. Her eyes a dark, fathomless abyss. Blood trailed after her in puddles and floods. He did try to fight back, the coward. But Jazz had long reached the point of Calamity, she was not just a ghost anymore but a vengeful reckoning.

Vlad had taken everything from her. He had killed her parents, killed her friends, kidnapped her brother and niblings, killed her. He must have feared that this would happen, after all he had tried so hard to keep her buried. But she was a Fenton and Fenton’s were not silent. Though he managed to get a few hits on her, he was really no match for her fluid movements, for the boiling rage she carried in her core, for the love that drove her to continue on, for the way she plucked his core from his chest and crushed it between her fingers. With his ghost half gone he was only a pathetic rapidly fading old man, scrambling to get away from her. But she was not merciful as he had not been to her.

What was left of Vlad was found the next morning by his secretary plastered in blood and viscera across his office walls, floor, and ceiling. His perfectly preserved head placed neatly upon his desk with an expression of unspeakable horror on his face.

Amnesia Au

Part 8

do you have a pet

Blue Connie AU Ep3 Part 1

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Reblogs are extremely appreciated!

Sorry this is a tiny bit late.

Next part should come out next Wednesday.

Amnesia AU

Part 4

Danny: Ugh, they're back again

Jazz: Don't make that face at paying customers. Do you want to make a portal back home?

Danny rolling his eyes: Yes

Jazz: Then we need to get enough money to buy the parts. If that means waiting tables at a barely legal dinner, where idiots hit on us, then we wait those stupid tables. Now go over there and get the Waynes to leave us a 200 tip.

Danny: Fine, but only if you do too!

Jazz: *Tighten her apron straps into an hourglass figure* Way ahead of you.

Danny: *Rolling eyes but does the same*

Meanwhile with the Waynes

Bruce: It's so nice to go out to eat with you all

Alfred: Indeed. It's a nice change, don't you agree, children?

Wayne kids: *hyperventilating*

Bruce Not looking up from his phone: The Fenton siblings?

Alfred: Indeed, sir. It seems like Master Dick, Master Jason, and Miss Cass are going to attempt to speak to Ms. Fenton today. Master Tim, Master Damian, Master Duke, and Miss Steph don't seem mentally ready to look Mister Fenton in the eye. Bets?

Bruce: Dick chokes on his fork again. Tim face plants on the table, and Steph once again speaks in gibberish after forgetting the entire English language.

Alfred: Very good, sir.

They. Had. To. Show. Adult. Ladynoir. And. Their. Redesigns.

Ghost of a Chance

Gotham was not a city known for its kindness. Rain slicked the alleyways like a second skin, and shadows crept where sunlight dared not linger. Alfred Pennyworth had seen a great many things in this city. Muggers, monsters, and masked madmen were just part of the nightly routine. What he hadn't expected, however, was to be saved by a ghost.

Or something very much like one.

It was supposed to be a quick errand—a quiet evening walk to clear his head. But halfway down Burnside, three desperate men with more bravado than brains cornered him. Alfred had been ready to disarm the first and disable the second, but he never got the chance. A blur of white and black swooped in, accompanied by the distant, bone-deep hum of unnatural power. The muggers were down in seconds—one frozen to the wall, another knocked out cold, and the third suspended midair by a glowing hand that flickered green.

The boy was there and gone just as fast. Alfred barely had time to register the tattered hoodie, the hollow cheeks, the white hair and green eyes that didn’t seem quite human.

"Wait—!" Alfred had called, but the boy was already gone, melting into the shadows like smoke.

The encounter would’ve ended there—just another strange chapter in Gotham’s nightbook—if it hadn’t kept happening.

Twice more, the mysterious young man appeared. Once to stop a purse snatcher near the theater. Another time to drag a lost child out of a crumbling building during a fire. Always fast, always silent. Always gone before Alfred could properly speak to him.

And always too thin.

It was the kind of thin that spoke of long nights without food. Hollow cheeks, knobby elbows, a belt cinched too tight around jeans that barely stayed up. It reminded Alfred of the early days—of Dick, of Jason, of Tim, of Damian. Of boys who had learned to survive instead of live.

Alfred Pennyworth had a rule: no one went hungry on his watch.

And so began his campaign.

At first, it was subtle. A wrapped sandwich left behind after one of the ghost-boy’s heroic appearances. A thermos of hot tea left conveniently near a rooftop perch. A backpack, clean and durable, filled with protein bars and fresh socks. Most of it vanished, though Alfred never saw it happen.

Then came the note, scrawled in messy, tired handwriting:

“Thanks. You didn’t have to. I’m not sticking around though. It’s safer for you if I don’t.”

The next day, Alfred left a response tucked in the same spot:

“You are not a danger, young man. I’ve seen far worse, and fed far worse. If you insist on continuing your streak of rooftop chivalry, I insist you do so on a full stomach.”

He added a slice of quiche. It was gone by morning.

Bruce raised an eyebrow the first time he caught Alfred baking two loaves of banana bread instead of one. Tim said nothing when the supply order mysteriously included a half dozen extra protein shakes and thermal gloves in medium size. Damian made a snide comment—something about stray ghosts haunting the pantry—but Alfred didn’t dignify it with a reply.

Then came the night it changed.

A patrol gone wrong. Batman caught in a collapsing parking garage. The comms went dead. Nightwing was too far. Red Hood was tracking Penguin. The only one nearby—untraceable, unregistered, and undeniably powerful—was the boy Alfred had been feeding for weeks.

He left the beacon on the rooftop.

“Help him. Please. –A.P.”

Within minutes, Bruce stumbled through the Batcave entrance, soot-smudged and breathing, but alive. Behind him, almost hidden in the shadows, was the boy. White hair. Green eyes. Shivering slightly, but still on his feet.

“I didn’t do it for favors,” the boy said. His voice was hoarse, too young for his haunted face. “I just... couldn’t let him die.”

“I know,” Alfred said gently. “Which is precisely why the offer of dinner still stands.”

“…I shouldn’t.” But his eyes drifted toward the warm lights of the manor beyond the cave, toward the smell of fresh bread and something sweet baking in the oven.

“No one escapes me forever, dear boy,” Alfred said with a small smile. “Not even slippery ghosts.”

The boy stared at him for a long moment. Then finally, like a candle burning out, he sagged.

“…Okay. Just for tonight.”

“Of course,” Alfred said, already turning toward the kitchen. “We’ll start with soup.”

Behind him, the boy whispered a name like an afterthought—like something long buried finally being said aloud.

“Danny. My name’s Danny.”

“Well then, Master Danny,” Alfred said, with the same fondness he reserved for all his wayward sons, “welcome home.”

The street kids of Gotham were acting off. Which wasn't saying much considering they were always acting suspicious but for the last few weeks the kids had been acting different somehow. They were a little too organized. Jason finally decided to look into it and found that the street kids really had organized under one leader. Which was concerning to say the least. Jason figured their leader was some asshole who was about to forfeit his rights to knee caps but instead he found it was some spooky teen from out of town. It was still suspicious but he figured as long as the kid wasn't causing any trouble he'd leave things be. For now.