#I'll draw more of her and danny

[lena-artz]

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I PRESENT TO YOU....

Marcy Miller.

Daniel's secretary(and bestie)

I'm in love with her help.

(REQUESTS CLOSED! COMISSIONS OPEN!)

[deep-spacediver577]

[rin-may-1103]

Perks of Being Half Dead

(supernatural x DP) I- uh, needed a break from the DC crossovers. (There is no canon, only fanon.) Master Post | Next

Cursing, Danny dove to the side just in time to dodge an ecto blast, his father's angry shout ringing loudly out into the dark night.

"get back here you damned spook!"

"Give back our son!" Mom shouted, a smattering of blasts cracking down around his temporary hiding spot.

This wasn't working, nothing was working. Cursing himself again, Danny rolled and pushed off the ground, darting down the alleyway as fast as he could. He ignored the sharp pain from his chest, ignored the green and red starting to soak through his shirt.

"Get back here!" his parents shouted, green blasts flashing past Danny's head, too close for comfort.

Blindly pulling out his phone, Danny dialed the only number he knew by heart, "pick up, pick up, pick up!"

a click, then an inhale of breath, "dan-"

"Open the door!" Danny pleaded, cutting off Jazz. "Please, I need a clear path back down into the basement! I can't leave town!"

"fuck," jazz cursed, "i'm tossing in your go bag."

"Good," Danny huffed, pushing off the brick wall and to the side just in time to avoid a nasty explosion. He was silent for a moment, letting the sound of his sister's movement distract him as he ran.

"I don't think I can come back after this," Danny admitted.

Jazz's breath hitched, her movement only pausing for a moment.

"They're never going to accept me, Jazz."

"I-" Jazz hesitated

"They cut me open, jazzy. They broke my ribs and cut me open," Danny cried, ducking when he noticed shots heading right for him in a car's reflective window. He didn't even register the pain at this point, too full of adrenaline and spite.

"I can't come back," he whispered, holding his breath to stop himself from sobbing. He turned down another road, his parents still too close for comfort, but getting farther behind.

"ok," Jazz whispered, sniffing, before continuing with her voice steeled, "ok. front doors open, I'll get the portal open next. After I pack your bags."

"Don't look," Danny pleaded, ducking into another alleyway, his parents' voices growing distant. "Don't look in the back."

Jazz was silent for a moment, the only sound being zippers and the crinkling of plastic. "I won't," she promised, "I-I'll shut it down. Pull the plug. I won't let them go after you, Danny."

"Thank you," Danny cried, gasping on a sob he couldn't hold back.

Jazz hung up, leaving Danny to shove his phone back into his pocket and focus on running for his life.

It took fifteen minutes until he could see his house.

Pushing his body even more, Danny bolted up the stairs and through the kitchen. Slamming into the wall next to the door, Danny gasped for breath. The pain was starting to become too much, the black closing in around the edges of his eyes.

"Danny!" Jazz called from downstairs, her voice full of panic. mumbling curses, Danny tilted forward and tried to step onto the stairs. Instead, his body lost its balance and he was sent tumbling down, landing in a heap of limbs on the floor.

"shit," jazz cursed, landing on the ground next to danny and pushing him so he was lying on his back.

"Hey, hey, look at me, look at me," she cried, drawing his fading attention up and over to her. Her red hair was messy, her teal headband nowhere in sight.

"Your bags are already through, so are most of their blueprints and extra weapons. I'm pulling the plug as soon as you're through, ok, you just need to get up," her hands hovered over his chest, eyes filling with tears when she couldn't find a safe spot to touch him.

Taking a deep breath, Danny pushed himself up and reached for her. Immediately, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. "I'm here," she whispered, "I'm here, Danny. I've got you, ok? I've got you."

"Jazzy," Danny cried, bonelessly collapsing onto her. "I can't-" he sobbed, he couldn't feel his legs, and his head hurt, and he just couldn't do it anymore. She didn't falter under his (concerningly light) weight; she just scooped him up and started making her way to the portal.

"It's ok," she cried back, burying her face into his hair, "it's ok."

A loud screech echoed from above them, the familiar slam of car doors telling them their time was up.

"I love you, Danny," Jazz promised, "I'll always love you, ok?"

"I love you too, Jazzy," Danny murmured, pushing his head a little more firmly against her chest.

Jazz gave him one last kiss before leaning forward and pushing him through the portal. The moment he was weightlessly floating without her help, she backed up and closed the portal doors.

Danny watched her turn away from him, her back straight in anger as she marched over to the wall.

Danny closed his eyes, too tired to fight against unconsciousness any longer. She promised she'd take care of it, and she always kept her promises.

~

Clockwork watched from his tower as the Fenton portal wavered and then shattered, disappearing from existence like it'd never been there in the first place.

Phantom's body floated aimlessly through the ectoplasmic sky, his ring and crown slowly fading into visibility.

Humming, clockwork turned and studied the mirror next to him, two men argued back and forth, while a third sat patiently in the back, watching with curiosity as the first man pointed at something on his map.

Turning back, Clockwork studied the young king.

He didn't have long to ponder if he should do this or not; the observants could only be distracted for so long, but he weighed his options anyway.

Yes, he mused, this would be for the best.

Turning from his window, Clockwork set to work.

He had a few favors he could use.

Next

[thevoidstaredback]

Part 1

Jazz was right. Jazz was always right, but he went against here at every turn because he didn't want her to be right. But she was, and he could do nothing to change that.

One month, he'd asked for, and one month he'd been given. In that time, he'd done his best to warn the other ghosts at every turn; yelling the news at them while they fought, opening conversations with it, even going so far as to leave messages at all of their lairs. Most of them didn't listen to him. But then the attacks started.

A week after the initial law had past had gone by as they all had, albeit a bit more tense on Danny's side. Ghosts came through the portal, did some damage, fought Phantom, were captured and taken back to the Ghost Zone, only to come back the next day.

The G.I.W and the Dr.s Fenton had taken no longer than a week to plan their attacks. Now that they could take specimens kicking and screaming to their labs, they spared no resources to do just that.

Danny watched, over the course of the month, helpless as the ghosts were captured and dragged to a place he couldn't help them.

Wouldn't help them. He is, above all else, a coward.

As ironic as it was, and he knew full well the irony, their screams and expressions as they reached- screamed for his help haunted him at night, kept him awake at night.

At the end of the month, Jazz found him under his bed.She was quiet, simply there to listen should he want to talk. And, god, he wanted, needed, to scream at the top of his lungs for the whole world to hear. It's unfair what's happening to his people, friends or not. It's unfair that he has to leave lest the same fate befall himself.

"I'm such a coward," he whispered to his wall.

"Self preservation isn't the same as cowardice."

"Then why didn't I help the others? My whole thing is helping people and I-" a sob floated up and out of his throat, cutting him off, "They screamed for me and I let them be taken away."

"And they're gonna hate you for that-" Danny flinched. "-but they would have done the exact same thing should the roles have been reversed. And you did warn them. It's their own fault for not listening."

He didn't have anything to say. Jazz would argue into submission of her point whether he liked it or not, and he didn't want that. Maybe one day, but he wanted to wallow for a bit, to acknowledge his failings.

"You were right," he whispered eventually. She hummed. "I have to go.

"I know."

"I don't want to."

"I know."

"It hurts."

"And it will for a really long time, Danny, and all the words in the world can't make that go away, despite what either of us want."

"Where would I go?"

"You could always join Dani?"

"And risk world domination?"

Jazz chuckled, drawing a huff of a laugh from Danny. "Yeah, maybe it's best you two don't stay together for a long time."

A minute passed.

"I don't want to leave you guys."

"You can always message us whenever you want. Leaving doesn't mean cutting contact."

"What'll we tell mom and dad?"

"Who says we have to tell them anything?"

"They'll notice eventually."

"Then I'll tell them some approximation of the truth."

"Like what? That I'm half dead and fled the continent to get away from them?"

"That you're traveling with a friend you meet through Vlad. That you were feeling copped up in this small town and you wanted to explore."

"How're you gonna get Vlad to agree to this?"

"He will."

He wasn't going to ask. Some things were better left alone. "What'll I tell Tucker and Sam? I can't leave them in the dark!"

"We'll tell them as much of the truth as you want them to know."

"They're my best friends-"

"That doesn't entitle them to knowing things you don't want them to."

Slowly, Danny crawled from under his bed and sat next to Jazz. "I guess you're right."

"We can get you out of town tonight, but that's as far as I'll be able to follow."

"...I know."

"I love you. You know that, right?"

"Yeah." A beat. "I love you, too."

She hugged him tightly, tears that he didn't mention wetting his hair.

Part 3

[jjanuaryrain]

Another DPxDC drabble, this time Sam going to Bruce Wayne for help

Who knows, maybe I'll add this to the dead on main fic I'm working on. We'll see. Anyway, more under the cut.

Words: 3237

The air was cold and clammy, laden with heavy gray clouds and drizzling sheets of rain when Sam Manson stepped out onto the driveway. The rain pattered a steady rhythm on her black umbrella and she folded her long batwing sleeve over her arm to shut the car door behind her. The sleek black airport taxi idled quietly behind her as she turned to take in the familiar mansion looming before her.

The wrought iron gate arcing above her head was slick with rain, but a singular call button and speaker sat sheltered out of the rain. Sam approached and reached to press the button with a single black-tipped finger. The speaker hummed to life a moment later.

“Wayne Manor, Alfred Pennyworth speaking. How may I help you?” The voice was smooth and poshly British, and Sam took a breath of the cool October air.

“Samantha Manson to see Bruce Wayne,” she murmured into the cold metal. It felt wrong to speak at any higher of a level.

There was a moment’s pause and Sam smoothed her hand over the black lace of her dress. She could do this.

“Were we expecting you this evening, Ms. Manson?” The voice replied after a moment.

Sam pursed her lips together and raised her chin. She put on her best impression of her mother. “No, you were not. However, I believe this to be a matter urgent enough to warrant such a visit.”

“I see,” Pennyworth said. And then, “Why don’t you come in out of the rain? I will contact Master Bruce once you’re safely indoors.”

Sam let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth.”

“Please, call me Alfred.”

Then the speaker clicked off and Sam took a step back so the gates could slowly swing open on their motorized hinges. She waved off her driver and watched them reverse down the long driveway, then turned back to the building that loomed above her. She took a breath.

She could do this.

⋆₊✧₊⋆

The foyer of Wayne Manor looked much the same as Sam remembered from the few galas she’d attended within its walls – vaulted ceilings, sweeping staircases, and two wings diverging off to the left and right. To Sam’s knowledge, neither she nor any of the other gala guests had ever ventured beyond the ground floor before. She wondered if that would change tonight.

Alfred Pennyworth took her umbrella at the door and she made sure to lightly wipe her boots on the mat inside the door. She felt the inherent urge to remove them before stepping further into the house, but none of the Waynes seemed to be from a similar culture, so she dismissed the feeling.

Alfred showed Sam the way to the drawing room to the right and gestured at one of the many cushy couches. “Have a seat if you wish, Ms. Manson,” he said politely. “Master Bruce is finishing up a call in his study and will be out to greet you shortly. In the meantime, may I offer you some tea?”

Sam took a seat and nodded, folding her hands in her lap. “Earl Grey if you have it, please.” Alfred nodded and stepped through a side door that Sam hadn’t even noticed. And then she was alone.

She took a deep breath and clasped her hands tightly together. She was here now, and there was no going back. If she intended to go through with her plan, she couldn’t back down now. The entire endeavor was a long shot, but it was the only option she had left.

The only option Danny had left.

Alfred returned after a few minutes with a tray laden with fine china and two steaming cups of tea. There were also tea sandwiches and scones, and Sam took one comprised of cucumber and cream cheese along with her tea. She thanked the butler again, and he backed out of the room with a bow. She almost felt like she was back in Japan.

A clock on the far side of the room ticked away the time. One minute, then two, then three. After seven movements of the minute hand, footsteps sounded from the foyer. Sam placed her teacup down and folded her hands once again in her lap as Bruce Wayne approached.

“Samantha,” he said warmly as he swept into the room. He was dressed in a crisp navy suit with the top few buttons undone. His shoes were a clean but well worn pair of loafers. “Or Sam, rather. Is that right?” Sam nodded. Mr. Wayne crossed to and settled into a chair opposite Sam, seizing the second cup of tea from the tray on the low table between them. He grinned at her over the lip of it. “To what do I owe this pleasure? It’s not often that people make the journey to Gotham, and certainly not all by their lonesome.”

Sam gave the man a small smile. She wanted to slap the joviality off his face.

“I’m afraid I’m here for business,” she said instead. “Not pleasure.”

Mr. Wayne’s eyebrows raised and he set his teacup down.

“Is that so?” He asked. He leaned back in his seat and regarded her with keen eyes, sweeping them clinically over her person before returning his gaze to her face. “What business do you wish to discuss, then? I don’t recall having any dealings with your parents in recent memory.”

“That’s correct,” Sam said as evenly as she could. She got the distinct impression Mr. Wayne was humoring her. She squared her shoulders. “I should clarify that I’m not here on my parents’ behalf. I’m here for my own interests.” He raised his eyebrows higher. “Or, I should say, the interests of the world.”

There was a pause. Wayne sat up a little straighter.

“The interests of… the world?” He repeated.

Sam nodded. “It is my understanding that you are one of the main financial backers for the Justice League. Is that correct, Mr. Wayne?”

“It is,” Mr. Wayne confirmed, eyebrows drawing together.

“And the Batman?” Sam pushed.

“Well…” Wayne laughed slightly at that and waved a vague hand in the air. “If he were to exist, then sure. But he’s scarcely more than a ghost.”

“He was on national television with Wonder Woman last week, sir,” Sam deadpanned.

Mr. Wayne chuckled and spread his hands like what can you do? Sam did not return his smile. She was quickly becoming sick of seeing his stupidly bright teeth and she hadn’t been in his presence for 10 minutes. She ground her teeth.

When Sam didn’t respond, Mr. Wayne dropped his hands and studied her face. Then he sat up straighter in his chair and met Sam’s gaze seriously.

“What’s this about then, Sam?” He asked. Sam tried not to prickle too obviously at the use of her name. “What business on behalf of the world have you traveled all this way to present to me?”

Sam took a slow breath through her nose. She unclasped her hands, blood rushing back into them at the release of pressure. She’d brought the folder, but the idea of actually handing it over had her stomach clenching. Amity Park and its inhabitants were her best kept secret, the one she and her friends didn’t dare to speak of outside of its borders. And more than that…

“Have you ever heard of the Ghost Investigation Ward, Mr. Wayne?”

The words just sort of fell out of her mouth, but it worked well enough as a start. It was clearly not what Wayne had expected her to say, at least. The man across from her blinked a few times before his face settled into a confused frown.

“I can’t say that I have. And, please, call me Bruce.” Sam nodded once. She’d expected that Bruce wouldn’t know of the GIW, of course, had even hoped so. But it still stung to be reminded how alone she and her friends had been in dealing with this for all these years.

Sam took a steeling breath. She could do this.

Sam reached into the depths of her sleeve and withdrew the folder. She set it carefully on the table between the two of them, to the right of the tea tray. Bruce tracked the motion before returning his quizzical gaze to her. Sam’s heart rabbitted in her chest, but she forced herself into calm. She breathed in and out once, then spoke.

“This file contains all of the information I have on an agency funded solely by the US government that has been carrying out unlawful experimentation on nonhuman entities for nearly half a decade.”

Silence. Wayne stared. Sam pushed on.

“Their work is in direct contradiction with the Meta Protection Acts, yet they have full authorization from and the full support of the federal government. They–”

“That is quite the accusation,” Bruce interrupted with a frown. Sam couldn’t help the glare she shot his way.

“It’s not an accusation,” she said forcefully. Perhaps a bit too forcefully, because Wayne leaned back slightly in his chair. She took a long breath and searched for that internal place of calm. This was for Danny. She didn’t have the freedom or luxury of letting her emotions control her right now.

She tried again.

“It’s not an accusation, Bruce,” she repeated more calmly. “It’s the truth. This file,” she tapped the closed brown cover and Mr. Wayne’s eyes followed the movement, “should have everything required to substantiate my claims and more. It contains copies of the contracts signed between the ward and the Homeland Security, as well as receipts for funds provided by the government in order to create their so-called ‘experimental facilities.’”

She couldn’t help the way her lips curled into a sneer as she spoke, but Wayne wasn’t looking at her. His eyes had locked onto the Homeland Security crest stamped across the file in front of him. Good.

“The file also contains records of the ward’s stated goals, recent movements, and the results of all of their experiments, up until about a month and a half ago. Once reviewed, I’m sure you’ll find that everything about this agency, from its methods to the very purpose of its creation, is at odds with everything the Justice League stands for.”

And you, I hope, she added silently. Please don’t stand for it, either.

Wayne was flitting between looking at the file and Sam, questions swimming in his eyes. Before he could interrupt again, Sam flipped open the folder to its first page. Bruce sucked in a sharp breath when he saw the file and leaned forward to inspect it. 

Sam watched his eyes rove over the photos Tucker had managed to pull from the GIW’s database before they’d moved it offline: the torn and broken bodies of countless ghosts, the remains of beings that had been ripped apart for no reason beyond human hate and curiosity. Wayne’s eyes were wide as he took it all in, and his skin had paled to an ashy grey. Good.

“This is the business I traveled all this way to discuss with you,” Sam told him grimly. His eyes flicked to hers momentarily before they were drawn inexorably back to the carnage laid out before him. He pulled the file closer, mouth pressed into a thin line. “This is why I ventured to Gotham all by my lonesome and showed up on your step with no warning. These are the interests of the world I come to represent.”

Sam let him take in the horror before him, to soak in the ghastly knowledge that Sam had been living with for over a year now, for a long minute. When he took a breath and began to pull back, she snapped the folder closed and returned it to her sleeve. Bruce looked up when she did so, and she could’ve laughed at the look on his face if the situation weren’t what it was. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Sam,” Bruce said gravely, sinking back into his chair with a shake of his head. “This is–” he started, but Sam held her hand up. She wasn’t finished yet.

Bruce complied, leaning back in his chair and covering his mouth with a hand. Sam folded hers back into her lap.

“I am under no illusions that you extended me the favor of this unplanned meeting for any reason other than my family’s name,” Sam told him. Bruce didn’t even try to object. “So I am going to ask that you keep your opinion of me and my name in mind when I ask you for this next favor.”

Sam met his gaze, willing him to understand how much she needed this. How much Danny needed this. This was their last resort.

After a long, tense moment, Wayne nodded. “I’ll listen,” he said softly. “Whatever you need, I’ll hear you out.”

Sam’s throat tightened at the words, and she nodded stiffly. She was almost done. She could get through this.

“If you mean that,” she started, but her voice broke. She swallowed it away. “If you mean that, then what I need from you, Mr. Wayne, is a meeting with the Batman.”

The silence after the words left her mouth felt suffocating. Bruce just looked at her. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she held his gaze defiantly, chin raised. She wouldn’t let him say no. He couldn’t say no.

“The Batman?” Wayne asked after a moment. She nodded again, through the lump in her throat. Bruce frowned, steepling his fingers in front of his face. Then, “Why the Batman?”

Sam blinked. “Sorry?” She asked.

“Well, why not any of the other members of the Justice League? Surely this is something that could be investigated by any one of them.”

“I…” Sam didn’t have a response prepared for that. She squeezed her hands together. “I guess… he’s the one I trust the most to get justice.”

Wayne nodded slowly, considering her through calm eyes. “Is that what you want?” He asked. “Justice?”

Sam hesitated. There were a lot of things she wanted. Justice was one. Revenge, another. Danny to be safe more than anything, really.

But when she thought of herself, of Tucker and the people of Amity Park, of the ghosts who had simply left the Zone at the wrong time…

“Yes,” Sam whispered. Her throat burned. “I want justice.” It felt like a ridiculous thing to say, to hope for. There were so many ridiculous things she hoped for these days.

“I want to see the GIW demolished,” she continued despite herself. She clasped her hands hard, feeling the muscles shift and the bones grind. A tear threatened to slip down her cheek. “I want to see the agents pay for what they’ve d-done. I want to look every single o-one of them in the fa-face and know that they understand what they’ve d-done. The lives they’ve ruined.”

A sob bubbled up and Sam tried to push it away but it was no use. Now that she’d started, there was no stopping it, no stemming the waves of emotion.

“I want them to understand it and to be f-forced to live with it,” she said through gritted teeth. Tears slipped freely down her cheeks. “I want what they did to destr- destroy them like it’s destroyed u-us. And I want- I want anyone, anyone at all, to acknowledge that they- they left us there! They- they left us there! In that fucking town to rot! To deal with it by ourselves and we can’t- I can’t- I can’t-” Sam covered her mouth with one half numb hand, but the sobbed words came anyway. “I can’t save him!”

Just saying the words out loud had Sam doubling over on the couch, sobs wracking through her body. It felt so good to finally say it, to finally admit it to herself, that she couldn’t reel herself in.

“Oh god,” she cried into her knees. “I can’t- can’t- I couldn’t save him! He’s- and I can’t do anything!” She pressed her skull into the bone of her knees, panting into her skirt as sobs wracked uncontrollably through her body.

A weight dipped onto the couch beside her, and suddenly Sam was tilting over slightly into a strong, warm body. Mr. Wayne didn’t say anything as he held her. He didn’t offer the empty assurances she had come to expect from adults, didn’t try to convince her it was okay, or that she didn’t need to be so upset. He just pulled Sam gently onto his lap and let her cry and cry and cry.

Sam didn’t know how long she laid there, hiccupping and sniffling into Mr. Wayne’s cotton suit. It was just until the burning, aching guilt began to abate, and she was finally able to quell the tears.

Once she’d stopped crying, the two of them sat in silence for a few minutes. Mr. Wayne’s arm was a reassuring weight across her shoulder and back. Sam listened to the clock tick away across the room and tried to breathe in time with the second hand. Seven seconds in, eleven seconds out – just like Jazz had taught them.

Tears returned to her eyes at the memory, but she just let them fall where they may. She didn’t have enough energy to do much else.

“Why don’t you stay the night in one of our guest rooms, Sam,” Mr. Wayne suggested quietly. He rubbed a gentle hand up and down her arm. “Most of my children are away from home at the moment, so you’ll have the floor to yourself. It’ll just be my youngest, Damian, on the floor below you. Alfred can make it up for you now, if you’d like?”

Sam sniffed and pushed herself into a sitting position. Her face felt tight and dry despite the waterworks, and she resisted the urge to wipe at it. She relished the idea of being able to wash away her ruined makeup and sleep the day off in a real bed, rather than at the hotel as she’d planned.

“Yes,” she agreed quietly. “That sounds very nice, thank you.” She saw Mr. Wayne smile at her from the corner of her eye before he stood and called for Alfred. The two of them had a quiet conversation that she ignored in favor of gathering herself further, and then the butler vanished once again. Sam looked up at Bruce.

“You… You believe me, right?” She asked tentatively. She felt childish saying it, but she had to know this hadn’t been a waste. She had to know there was still hope. “You’ll think about what I said?”

Bruce Wayne gave her a soft smile, much realer than the ones she’d received when she’d first arrived. He returned to his spot on the couch and took her hand, looking her in the eye.

“If there is any truth to what you’ve told me,” he started and Sam couldn’t help the face she made. “Of which I have no doubt,” Bruce added quickly, with another slightly ironic smile. Then his face grew more serious, and he gently squeezed her hand between both of his. “Then I will do everything in my power to see the GIW stopped and shut down, permanently. You will get your justice, Sam. I guarantee it.”

And, just for that moment, Sam actually believed him.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Thomas: Martha, darling, we need to talk. Could you stop telling Bruce bedtime stories about ghosts? They're giving him nightmares.

Martha: They are not bedtime stories. They're recounts of my family's bitter history fighting against ghosts. I told you my mother's family has been ghost hunters for generations.

Thomas: Darling, I love you, but ghosts aren't real.

Martha: Yes, they are! People refuse to acknowledge them and are erasing history to fit their narrative, but I won't let them! That's why I'm pushing the Gotham Museum to do an exhibit on John Fentonightingale. He was one of the first witch hunters and ghost hunters who attempted to break Gotham's curse, you know? The family is very proud of-

Thomas: Yes, I heard all about John Fentonnightingale from your little cousin Jack at the wedding.

Martha: He's a sweetheart, isn't he? Already planning to continue the family tradition at fourteen. You know, despite the fact we're ten years apart, we're so close that I consider him my baby brother. I just wish he had a more humane view of ghosts. I agree we need to remove them for human safety, but we don't have to be cruel to things. They are basically animals, and only a psychopath is mean to animals.

Thomas: Yes, you mentioned that before, and I agree that Jack is rather adorable when he's not hyper. But Martha, please lay off the talk about ghosts. Bruce is only six.

Martha: No! He needs to understand the danger he's in.

Thomas sighs: Alfred, please give me strength.

Alfred in the corner of the ceiling: I can pour you a shot of gin, sir.

Thomas: ....Why are you in the ceiling?!

Alfred: Dusting.

Martha: Never mind that! Alfred watches us all the time; it's normal.

Thomas: Wait, what do you-

Martha: I know how to prove ghosts are real to you. I may be a Fenton on my mother's side, but I'm also a Kane. And any Kane worth her salt is a witch in the making. I'll summon the most vigorous protective spirit in the Infinite Realms for you to see. *Drops to draw a circle in chalk*

Alfred: Ma'am, are you sure that's wise? In my experience, anything from the Infinite Realms is dangerous. Also, Master Thomas, could you move a little closer? I can't see your expressions and like visuals with my audio.

Martha: Don't worry Alfrie, that's why I'm calling a protective spirit. They're different from the ghosts, and they will not harm us.

Thomas: Martha, please. You're just staining the wood flooring. NO, Alfred. I CAN NOT MOVE CLOSER. GO AWAY.

Alfred: Well, how rude.

Thomas: Martha-

Martha: Done! Now I call upon thee, oh mighty Great One, Danny Phantom!

Thomas: Honey, Darling, Apple of my eye that's not even a good chant-

Danny being dragged from his cozy bed years in the future by a glowing circle that shifted him into Phantom: WHAT'S HAPPENING!?

Martha: Look, Darling, there he is. A real-life ghost. How do you like those apples?

Thomas/Danny:

Alfred: I think you broke them, Ma'am

[popp1n]

GHOSTING THE GOVERNMENT

|masterpost| ao3

Chap 1: A Not-so-Ghostly Getaway

Pt 2

It took about an hour of slow, methodical driving with the headlights off before they neared city limits. To little to no surprise, there was a GIW outpost masquerading as a toll station a couple hundred meters from the town's welcoming sign. Tucker initiated the cloaking device and turned off the camera interference for the time being. Danny and Sam tried their best to appear asleep as agreed upon a week earlier.

Jazz turned the headlights on before entering the outpost's line of sight. She cruised to a stop as she was flagged down by an attendant, and rolled down her window.

"Evening, ma'am," the attendant said, a forced smile stretched across his face. His eyes, however, were cold and sharp, darting into the darkened interior of the van. He wore a conspicuous version of the more standard GIW uniform, crisp and bright white, with a ecto-ray fastened to his wrist and a communicator clipped at his hip. "Just a routine check. Anything to declare?"

Jazz, ever the picture of innocent charm, offered a polite smile. "Just heading through to college out of state. No, nothing to declare, officer." She made sure her voice was light, casual, betraying no hint of the simmering tension within the vehicle.

The attendant leaned in slightly, his gaze lingering on the forms slumped in the back. "Long drive, huh? Your friends look dead to the world."

"They had an emotional rollercoaster of a day," Jazz improvised, trying to sound a little exasperated, a little amused. "Preemptive homesickness on top of graduating, you know how it is."

He straightened, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before the forced smile returned. "Alright then. Drive safe, ma'am." He waved her through.

Jazz gave a small nod and slowly pulled away, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. As soon as they were out of the outpost's immediate vicinity, Tucker disengaged the cloaking device and reinstated the camera interference, the hum of the systems a quiet comfort.

"Think they bought it?" Tucker whispered from the backseat, cracking his computer back open. "They let us through," Danny muttered, opening his eyes. "That's something."

Sam sat back up and looked at each of them before settling her sight on the nearest window, the city lights beginning to twinkle in the distance. "Too easy," she said, her brow furrowed. "He looked at us too long. And he didn't even ask for ID."

"That's not their usual MO," Tucker agreed, his fingers already flying over his keyboard. "They usually go for the full pat-down, search the vehicle, the whole nine yards." He paused, a muscle in his jaw ticking. "Wait a sec."

A series of rapid beeps and blips emanated from the device. "Sonar scan. There's an active low-frequency signal. Consistent, steady pulse."

Jazz tilted her head backwards, her eyes still on the road. "What does that mean?"

Danny's eyes narrowed. "It means they put a tracker on us. Probably when he was leaning in. Probably a magnetic one, stuck right to the undercarriage." He looked up, meeting Jazz's gaze. "They didn't just let us go. They let us go so they could follow us."

A collective groan filled the van. The easy escape had been an illusion.

Sam sighed, "We can't remove it immediately because that would draw attention." The rest hummed their agreement.

"Alright." Jazz said, taking upon that particular authoritative tone reserved for older siblings, "Here is what we are going to do. We are going to leave it be until we stop for gas. At that time, we will locate and detach the tracker."

"However," she continues, "We won't disable or destroy it until we find a scenario of probable cause. Wait until we reach a storm of some sort. If need be, I'll stop at a car wash before Jersey state lines."

"Sounds good," Danny huffed, mirroring the affirmative hums and sighs by his friends.

This quiet escape was quickly turning into a ghost of a chance at slipping away unnoticed, if they hadn't already.

<prev | next>

[chardama]

More brainrot.

Deoxys basically imprinted on Danny. So he's now a permanent visitor. Nasa gave the triangle clearance (yippee!).

The first DC character Danny meets is Kori. I wanted to draw my design for her, but I was too focused on playing around with deoxys. So I'll talk more about her next post.

[siri-ike]

Gut feeling: Bad Ending

Bruce stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. He could have sworn he didn't need a stepstool before. He ran his hands over his naked scalp, his fingers along the two, long, surgical scars. Starting just behind each ear and curving all the way up to his temples. The stitches were coarse and sharp, but it didn't hurt.

A soft tumbling sound caught his attention. Frostbite fell into the bathtub. "You're brand new. You don't need a bath." He giggled, scooping his friend up and pretending to towel him off.

His ears perked up at the sound of the door to his room opening and footsteps entering the room. "Come on, dad promised to bring snacks."

His room was so boring and white, and not getting to leave it is a stupid rule. Just 'cause he could "get sick and die" or "horribly injure himself" due to his "impaired motor skills" and "partially exposed cranium." Bunch'a babies.

"You're not my dad." He accused.

"And you're not supposed to be out of bed." An old woman entered his room. "My name is Doctor Leslie Tompkins. Would you mind answering a few questions for me?"

The name sounded familiar, but he'd much rather his dad say if she's safe or not. "What kind of questions?" He tightened his grip on Frostbite.

"I would also like to run a few tests." She said as she pulled cards out of her bag. "I'll grade you if you like."

Ha! He's not gonna fall for that.

She gave him a look, "First I want you to write your name-"

"I know how to write my own name!" He defended. One day, he won't fall for that. Annoyed, he climbed into the bed and pulled out the tray table. Without an ounce of effort, he wrote his signature on one of the blank cards.

Danny F.

...

Danny F?

Who the hell is Danny?

He turned the card around and tried again.

Danny F.

Both look exactly the same. Like it was a practiced signature. But he'd never seen it before.

His name isn't Danny, it's... it's uh, drrr? Brrr. Baron? Boris? Bruce! His name's Bruce! Ofcorse it is.

He pulled another index card from the stack. This time slowly writing out the name Bruce Wayne. But, it's wrong. That's not his signature. It's sloppy and looks like any other word. The other one had personality. This one just looks like any other word. He tried a few more times until Leslie interrupted with a different test.

Drawing a clock, arranging pictures into a story, and pointing out objects in a picture was easy. But then she asked questions about his past. Names of places and people. He's lived in Gotham his whole life. There's no Casper high here! There's no Sam and Tucker! And there certainly isn't a portal to hell in his basement!

He's thinking clearer than ever, so why is he still full of shit?!

Dan- Bruce kicked at the table, and it swung back to the wall.

"I trust you'll want to handle this." Leslie exited the room and Nightwing entered.

His eyes lit up, "dad -" the exitement drained away, and he slumped back down with realization. "Are... you?"

Nightwing took a deep breath. "No... I'm sorry."

Who was this guy? Just some imposter who somehow looked exactly like his dad? Or was it the same person? Has he just been pretending the whole time? No, no, that can't be. This has to be some trick. Of course, his dad's real! He's just pretending! Bruce glanced over to his signatures all over the floor. He's just pretending.

"But," Nightwing drew his attention. "I could be. If you want me to." He put his hand on his back. "But I might not be your best option." He joked, unsuccessfully.

"What's, what's your name?" He no longer spoke in Bruce's cadence.

Nightwing sat down on the bed next to "??" the boy. "My name is Dick." He whispered, careful not to let the doctor on the other side of the glass hear. Leslie and Duke (Currently dressed as "vague medical staff") were watching, but so was some random resident. "But in this outfit, I'm Nightwing." Normal volume this time

Without missing a beat. "Is that like, your Glam Rock alter ego?" That had to be Danny because it couldn't be Bruce.

Dick couldn't help but giggle. Not even laugh, giggle, like a child. "It's something like that."

He looked so satisfied with the reaction he'd garnered. "Why'd you let me think you were my dad?"

"You had enough to deal with. We considered plenty of potential outcomes, and in most of them, we found that letting you believe what you wanted was for the best." Nightwing slid his hand from the child's (he looked like he could be around 10 now) back down his arm and held his hand. He looked to the floor, covered in index cards, and gestured to the other to do the same.

"Bruce" hesitated to acknowledge the papers.

"It's ok. You can ask when you're ready." It's the right thing to say. Dick knows it. He checked. He prepared. But making the best choices in a bad situation doesn't guarantee a good outcome. And those sad little eyes looked so much like all his brothers when they were little. So small. In need. "But we'll need to call you something." He tried. "Maybe you could pick a, "Glam Rock" name, too."

He smiled brightly at the prompt. The game. Getting to pretend. He could be like his dad. It should be something similar. Little wing? Night- uh- feather?. He proudly announced, "Phantom." No, that's not-

"Ooh, spooky." Praised Nightwing.

Yeah, it's perfect.

[kaidatheghostdragon]

You know what mixture of AUs i havent seen here yet? Danny x Bruce with de-aged clones!

Bruce and danny are near the same age and meet pretty early in batman's career, maybe even before dick was adopted. Danny is a single dad of infant/toddler twins ellie and dante. (To make them young and at the same age, i imagine they were rescued after both taking serious damage and retreated to their cores, and remerged as newborns about the same time, but i also want to leave this open for others to flesh out.) Timeline-wise, that would probably make them somewhere around jason or tim's age.

So now we have an au where the bat kids are collected into a stable home where bruce and danny are also raising ellie and dante. Bruce is much closer to WFA characterization right from the get-go because danny would whip him into shape.

Tim probably gets adopted because one of the phantoms sniff him out, either living alone in the neighboring mansion, or following the bats and ghosts on patrol.

Talia either stole bruce's (and/or danny's) dna or drugged bruce (it didnt work on danny) to create damian. If bruce was drugged, danny is on a warpath and might even find and rescue damian at a much younger age.

Jason's timeline is the most difficult to predict, and i will forever simp halfa jason, so he's gotta die no matter what changes. I dont think that's terribly difficult because the joker specifically targeted him to lure him out (assuming i understand canon correctly - also this is definitely true in the UtRH animated movie canon). If jason isnt interested in finding his biomom in this au, joker will just find a different bait. Would be cool if danny is able to track down jason's ghost during the six-month down time and brings him home, and a potential point of angst if he revives without his memories as a ghost (and is lost for a while before danny tracks him down again.)

(Danny probably doesn't have the no-killing rule like bruce, so he'd have no qualms killing the joker and detaining/destroying his ghost. If not danny, then jazz would. Bruce conveniently looks the other way.)

Batman mythology in this universe is inexorably linked to phantom mythology. They both help each other out with vigilante stuff. Danny's team (sam/tucker/val/jazz) visit often and are considered aunts/uncle to the batkids. Batfam is highly liminal because they are part of danny's fraid. They might even develop liminal powers, if that's your kind of headcanon.

Danny may or may not be ghost king, but i like the idea that he's the crown prince and wont be coronated for several more decades. He's got time and all the resources that position affords him. Danny still gets hounded by the observants, but the batkids have made a game of pranking the annoying eyeballs.

Danny is a founding member of the justice league and of jld (the rest of his team might be as well). Batman is much more knowledgeable of the supernatural because of danny. I like the idea of constantine being more terrified of phantom than batman. He still gets called on for advice because he's the demonology and magic expert, while danny specializes more in ghosts and Realms technology.

Ellie and dante are not allowed to join the vigilante scene until they turn 12 (they managed to argue it down from 14), but because of their powers (and potentially retaining memories and experience) there are numerous occasions before then that they functioned as a sort of vigilante retrevial unit - zooming out and retrieving anyone who was injured or otherwise hit their emergency beacon and bringing them straight back to the cave. They might have even done this once or twice during justice league emergencies.

I'll leave their vigilante identities open to discussion, but im partial toward a really old drawing i remember seeing here on tumblr, someone designed a pink batsuit for ellie with exaggerated bat ears, and a sort of glider cloak that attached to her belt or her wrists to disguise her flight as gliding. (If someone knows the post im talking about, please leave a link so the artist can be credited!)

As for danny's old team...

Jazz works at arkham, helping to reform the place and causing many of batman's rogues to reform a bit earlier. She is the expert called in by the justice league to formulate ways to both detain and to help various rogues globally. She especially likes the flash because of the friendly attitude he has towards his own rogues.

Sam is a humanitarian. If she has plant powers, she's using them to establish food stability in poorer nations, helping the people there become more self-sustaining, as well as providing relief for disaster-stricken areas whose farms need to be completely rebuilt and regrown. Jazz introduces her to poison ivy, and the two end up joined at the hip, helping to reform ivy much earlier. (Would it be weird to make this au have sam x ivy and jazz x harley?)

Valerie probably stays in Amity Park to be its designated hero since danny moved out. If the fentons are good, she works alongside them as the fentons also develop tech for the justice league. If they arent, im gonna assume theyre the reason dante and ellie got de-aged, danny absconded with their cores to keep them safe, and the rest of team phantom descended on the fenton parents like hungry wolves. When the dust settled, valerie and her dad were left in charge of protecting amity and with ownership of fentonworks.

Tucker is a freelance hacker slash tech expert, and will kit out any vigilante's tech and security free of charge. His unique blend of magitech is very difficult to counter, making it all-the-more sought after. He probably helped set oracle up and maybe even trained/mentored barb to some extent.

There are lots of other potential changes, but ill stop here.

[copinghex]

Blood hands | T.S

Summary: After killing someone for the first time, Tommy's wife has to deal with the emotional consequences of it. Luckily, he's there to look after her.

She was terrible in biology, never got more than a B, it didn't matter how hard she studied. Every exam period she went to the tiny, dusty Birmingham's library and took notes from the anatomy books. Nothing ever changed.

Analyzing the drawings, she tried to make sense out of them, the muscles, joints and bones, wrapped together in the masterwork of the human body. It just didn't make sense to her, the subject simply wouldn't get into her brain and honestly, it disgusted her too. She had no wish to see beneath someone's skin, aware the reality was much more bloodier and morbid than the books.

Less than ten years later, she did, but unlike she imagined, the bile didn't rise to her throat expressing the deep disgust. Her eyes opened widely, unable to move from the mess of what once must've been a beautiful body.

The curly golden locks hid the agent's frightened looks, gladly, because the murderer in the train station wouldn't bear to face the lack of life in her blue eyes. 

Blood ran down her nose, her hands shook and her left eye stung. The woman who a few ago held her in disadvantage, sticking a sharp nail into her orb, was reduced to nothing by the train's velocity. A push was all it took.

Then, her trance was interrupted by the sound of steps, she ran away like a child avoiding punishment, not many people dared to fuck with a gangster's fiancée, but the ones who did certainly would make her look much worse in the train tracks.

As she headed home, carrying her heels in hand so she could walk faster, another haunting thought crept into her mind, Tommy, the reason why she had blood in her hands. She was sure he'd be dead when she got home, with a bullet Billy Kimber would've put in his brain.

For a moment she considered not going anywhere, simply sitting down on someone's pavement so she wouldn't have to deal with anything. 

If she only could, she'd ask God to allow her man to be alive when she got home, she couldn't, asking Him to save a man like Tommy felt like blasphemy or a joke of poor taste. There was no salvation for the Small Heath's devil, at least not from divine sources.

Swallowing the bitter taste of uncertainty, she walked home with a heavy heart. However, much for her surprise, Tommy stood at the front door, his eyes slightly widened at her awful state. Her throat burnt with the urge to cry as she dropped her heels and wrapped her arms around him, he winced in pain from the bullet hole in his chest, nevertheless, allowed her to hold him.

His name poured from her lips in quiet, relieved whispers. His attentive eyes were quick to capture every irregularity in her figure, bruised knuckles, teary eyes and bare foot. He had never seen her so broken.

"I was coming to pick you up," he explained, "what happened? Where were you?" 

Lifting her head from his shoulder, her still shaky hands hesitated in cupping his cheeks, resting on his shoulders instead. She negatively nodded and peeked at the wound under his coat.

"You're alive, that's all that matters," 

"What happened to you?" he insisted.

"Tommy, please," she breathed out, caressing the length of his arms, "not now, not fucking now," 

His jaw tightened as he fought the urge of arguing, he hated to have things hidden from him, but knowing he'd eventually find out anyway, he obliged to her wish.

Gently, his thumb met the eyelid of her wounded eye, "That's fucking bad," 

"I'll go to the pharmacy tomorrow, they'll give me something to get it better," she drawled, "now, tell me what happened," 

"...Danny whizz-bang is dead," was all Tommy deemed as relevant, guilt weighted heavily on the sergeant's voice, he was responsible for his soldiers' safety and he had failed Danny badly.

"Oh, darling," she muttered, "I'm so sorry," 

Looking away from her merciful eyes, he slightly nodded. Reaching for a cigarette from his silvery pack before saying, "We're at the Garrison now," 

"I'm not up for it, you can go back if you want," with a quick brush on his cheek, she entered home and in a quick decision, Tommy followed after, "I'll take a bath, then take a look at your bandages, who took the bullet out?" 

"Jeremiah," he drawled.

She nodded, glad someone gentle as the preacher looked after her husband when she wasn't able to. Heading to the bathroom, she only hoped the hot water would wash away the weight on her shoulders.

-

Rubbing her hands together, she watched the quiet street through the window, every now and then a lonely citizen walked past and this was all keeping her from dissociating.

The bath wasn't of great help, the relaxation it brought also lowered the adrenaline, making her muscles and wounds ache. A knot tightened on her throat as she tried to convince herself everything was fine. Everything was fine, Tommy was alive, no one was after them anymore, nothing else mattered, nothing.

The door suddenly opened, making her jump. Tommy entered the bedroom with a towel on his shoulder, his bare torso was still wet from his bath and he moved slowly, careful to not get his injury bleeding.

Attentively, she noticed his mind was far away from there, a pout decorated his lips and his brow was tense. Eager to sooth his worries, she whistled the stereotypical catcalling sound. 

"Hello, handsome," she weakly smiled.

Lifting his eyes, a nearly nonexistent smile crept into his face, "Quit that," 

She walked to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, "Do you come here often?" 

"In my bedroom?" he chuckled, "Yeah, quite often," 

She took advantage of his momentarily good humor to take a look at his wound. Before she could avoid it her eyes got filled with tears, she had nearly lost him today, not all the killing she was able to commit would've brought him back if she'd done so, he'd be gone, simple as that.

"D'you want to tell me what happened now?" Tommy cupped her face, trying to distract her.

"...I love you, Tom," was all she was able to mutter.

"I know, and I love you," 

Slightly nodding, she sighed, "What now?" 

"Well, I-" he hesitated, "I thought of opening a club in London," 

"About Danny," she sat at the end of the bed, "what about his family?" 

"We'll help them, financially," Tommy explained.

"Get his children a job?" 

"No, no more business for the Owens," he sighed, "they'll be normal, his children will never know why he died," 

Hearing his words, her throat tightened, a heavy feeling settled in her chest. Did the woman she killed had children? When she first got into the Garrison Tommy found out she did, but that was before they ever suspected she was a copper, how much of everything she said was lies? How would her child react to knowing its mother was dead on train tracks? 

Tommy watched his fiancée's state with pity in his eyes, he hated her stubbornness at the same time he was well aware of how much they were alike. Both closed off before trouble, hating to burden the other with issues they deemed personal. 

"You know, eventually you'll have to tell me what happened,"

Her watery eyes met his and she pulled him to stand between her legs, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head on the soft skin of his stomach.

Gently, he petted her hair away from her face and his rough fingers on her face brought some relief, still, she felt like a wounded beast. A wounded beast is still a beast and she'd forever be a murderer regardless of Tommy's acceptance.

"Tell me, eh?" he whispered.

"Tommy, I-" before she could answer, three knocks on the door interrupted.

Arthur entered the bedroom with a worried expression, "Tommy, hm, I just wanted to tell you we found the body of that barmaid in the train tracks, Johnny Dogs wants to know if he should get rid of it," 

She froze, eyes widened at the news, she was so deep into her own guilt she didn't even think about the further consequences.

Tommy switched a look between her and his brother, with a slight nod, he ordered, "Get rid of it," 

Small Heath had another murderer to call resident, there was no way of hiding it now.

[zablife]

Focus (Part 2)

Johnny Davis x female reader

Summary: After Johnny urges you to leave the dangerous life of the Vandals, you return home to concentrate on your studies. However, a call from Kathy draws your attention back to the man you swore to forget.

A/N: This was requested by the lovely @solomons-finest-rum who also provided Kathy's dialogue. It was the perfect inspo for part 2 of my Johnny fic Focus!

Warnings: mention of fighting

Read Part 1 here.

You hardly noticed the trills echoing down the hall, engrossed in your textbook. You’d fallen behind in your classes since the trip with Danny and now you were working hard to catch up. It wasn’t until your roommate called, “Y/n, phone’s for you!” that you registered the noise. 

With chattering girls lining the hallway of your dorm, you held the receiver to your ear in an attempt to hear the caller. Your grip tightened for a moment as you spoke, wondering if Johnny might be checking up on you. However, your hopes were dashed the moment you heard Kathy’s honeyed voice with that unmistakable accent.

“Hey hun, how are ya?” she asked, a note of hesitancy in her greeting.

“I’m okay, I guess. How bout you?” you countered, waiting for the formality of it all to end and have her tell you what was really going on. When Kathy remained silent, you prodded, “What’s this all about, Kathy? I haven’t heard from you in months.”

“I know and I’m sorry about that, I really am,” she rushed out in uneven breath, conveying there was something more important on her mind. “Just thought you would want to know.”

“Know what?” you asked, a feeling of dread pooling in your stomach.

“It’s Johnny,” she admitted and you could hear the anxiety peaking in her voice as though you were the last hope.

You swallowed harshly as you reminded yourself to do as he said and stay out of his life. “I don’t have anything to say to him," you stated effecting a cool indifference.

“Please, you gotta talk to him. Nothin’ is the same since you left. The man is a mess for God’s sake!” she pleaded.

“He was always a mess, Kathy,” you reminded her softly, fingers tangling in the phone cord as you turned away from prying eyes.

“Listen, he stabbed a guy last night for giving him a look. A look!” she emphasized.

Without thinking of your promise to remain indifferent, you sputtered, “Is h-he…alright?” 

"Yeah, he ain't hurt, but he needs you," Kathy insisted.

"I don't know about that," you whispered, thinking of his swift departure from your hospital bed the moment he decided he was finished with you.

"That's where you're wrong," she countered, adding quickly, "I'm coming thru town tomorrow at noon and if you want to come with me, I'd be glad to take you to see him."

Your heart raced at the prospect, hand flying to your hair as you wondered when you'd last had it set. Biting your lip in anxious indecision, you finally nodded into the receiver slowly.

"Well, honey?" Kathy finally asked, unable to read your pensive silence.

"I-I'll come," you decided, affecting a firm tone that belied the sense of fear blooming in the pit of your stomach.

"I'm real glad to hear you say that," Kathy admitted, her relieved sigh crossing the line in a hiss of static.

"See you tomorrow," you ended the call with a small grin.

"Tomorrow," she agreed. "You're doin' the right thing," she rushed out before you hung up.

————————-

You'd been in town for two hours and your heart still hadn't stopped racing at the prospect of running into Johnny. He was probably working, you reasoned. No sense upsetting yourself when he wasn't even around. However, Kathy's retelling of recent events had set you on edge, unsure what to expect from the man you'd once trusted implicitly. It sounded as though he was losing his mind.

"Is it true he pulled a knife on somebody?" you asked Brucie when you ran into him at the garage.

Brucie averted his eyes, before hanging his head. You could tell from his posture he didn't want to give Johnny away and yet, you also sensed a desperation in him.

"He hasn't been the same since you left, Y/n," Brucie eventually confided. "I wanted to tell ya...honesty, I did, but he kept sayin' everything was fine."

You nodded sympathetically. "Is it a mistake to show up at the bar tonight?" you asked with trepidation.

Brucie let out a long sigh before admitting, "I think that's what he's been waitin' for."

-----------------

You changed your clothes a few times before settling on a denim mini skirt and patterned top. It was sweet and demure, leaving just enough to the imagination. When Kathy came into your room, she agreed you looked stunning.

"Oh, honey, he's gonna love that!" she exclaimed with her signature optimism.

"I'm not trying to get him back," you clarified in a stern voice.

Kathy nodded back at you, knowing it was best to bite her tongue.

She took your hand in hers, giving your sweaty palm a squeeze before leading you toward her waiting car.

"Don't be nervous," she advised.

"M not nervous," you insisted, gulping as you fixed her with a long stare.

"Okay," she agreed, opening the door for you.

----------------

The bar was crowded, more than you remembered for a Friday night and Kathy informed you a few new motorcycle gangs were in town. You quickly noted that Johnny was holding court in the back with an impressive amount of men surrounding him. It made you nervous to approach while he was doing business so you hung back, fingers wandering over the jukebox buttons as you tried to remain inconspicuous.

As the strains of "Lonely Room" played you couldn't help but gaze across the room at Johnny.

He recognized the song instantly, his chin jerking up in response to the first strains of music. When he caught your eye, he excused himself from the cloud of smoke and conversation to make his way toward you.

"Y/n," he exclaimed drinking you in with a hungry gaze and you found yourself hoping he hadn't had the same appetite since you'd been away.

"Hi Johnny," you replied on a low breath, somehow unable to manage anything more when faced with his imposing form.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asked, a note of hope in his voice as he waited to see if you wanted anything more to do with him.

"I'd like that," you agreed with a nervous smile as you claimed a chair far from the pool tables and the raucous noise.

Johnny soon returned from the bar with two cold bottles of beer, sliding one across the table to you.

"What brings you back to town?" he asked, cocking his head to the side as he studied your nervous expression.

"Kathy asked me," you answered vaguely.

"So you're in town to see...Kathy?" he asked, eyes boring a hole into you as he waited for some sign of the affectionate girl he once knew.

You nodded quickly in reply, placing the bottle to your lips in an attempt to appear casual.

Johnny leaned forward, the pad of his thumb resting over his chin as he asked, "You sure it ain't cause you're still in love with me?"

You nearly choked on the mouthful of now warm beer pooling in your mouth, unsure how to reply. Swallowing it down, you placed the bottle down with a thud, gaze fixed on Johnny. “Love's never meant much to me,” you confessed breathlessly, fingers tracing the beads of condensation sliding down your beer bottle.

“You ain’t a very good liar, sweetheart,” Johnny chuckled, watching your hand clench suddenly as irrefutable proof. 

Your eyes locked with his for a moment, ready to protest before pushing away from the table. Deciding not to give in, you simply shrugged as you rose from the table. “I made it this far without it.”

Johnny jumped from his spot across from you, capturing your elbow in a tight hold. You could practically feel his body vibrating with energy as he stood face to face with you in some sort of challenge.

“What do you want from me, Johnny?” you demanded, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Nothin," he replied too quickly for your liking, dropping your arm as a shadow of despair crossed his brow.

"That's not true is it?" you asked, watching his features contort in pain.

Johnny's blue green eyes fixed on your grief stricken face, holding you hostage as he took one long, deep breath.

"I ain't learned to live without you," he admitted sorrowfully.

Taking a step closer to him, you ran your hands against his stubbled cheeks, staring into his eyes with purpose. "You asked me to go, Johnny, remember?"

"I know I did," he nodded gently, relishing the feeling of your hands against his skin. "And I'm so sorry. It was a mistake. I was only tryin' to keep you safe cause I never loved anyone like I love you."

You inhaled sharply at his admission, lower lip trembling and fat tears escaping down your cheeks as you he spoke the words you'd longed to hear.

"Don't cry, darlin'," he begged, swiping the pad of his thumb over your cheek. "I want to make it up to you, I swear."

You stood frozen to the spot, emotions overwhelming you. Kathy stared intently from across the room, waiting to see if you needed her, but you gave her a soft shake of your head to indicate you were alright. Everything seemed right with the world now that you had Johnny.

Looking up at him, you beamed with happiness. "I'm ready to start fresh," you told him confidently.

With a whoop of excitement, he picked you up and spun you around, eager to embark on this second chance with you.

"You wanna go for a ride?" he asked, eyes shimmering in the dim light.

"Thought you'd never ask," you grinned with a giggle. And he pulled you from the bar toward his waiting bike, a new adventure on the horizon.

-------------

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@kind-wolf

@sharp-cheekbones-locked

@lyralu91

@darklydeliciousdesires

@leenieweenie12

[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

Batman has an insane patrol schedule. Danny knew this, somewhere in the back of his mind, but it was only just settling in for him.

"You're gonna be dead tired tomorrow," he warns Dick, "You were tired for only being out for two hours longer than your new normal, going from sunset to sunrise is gonna knock you out. I can't drive, Dick, so we'll be stuck in Gotham for another day if you pass out."

Dick patted his head with a smile. "I'll be fine. I'll vene bring ya back some Bat Burger, okay?"

Danny blinked. "Bat Burger?"

"You've- You've never had Bat Burger?" Louder, he called to Barbra and Tim who'd just come back from wherever the Cave entrance is with a comm for Danny, "Danny's never had Bat Burger!"

Barbra gasped dramatically. Tim clutched ay imaginary pearls. "You've never had Bat Burger?!"

"That sounds like an exclusively Gotham thing, and I am decidedly not from Gotham."

It was quiet for another moment as the three stared at him. Finally, Dick blinked. "Have you always been Midwestern?"

"As far as I know, why?"

His head tilted slightly to the left. "Your accent just seems..."

"Much more prevalent." Tim finished.

"Yeah, that."

“I don’t know what you guys are talking about. I’ve always talked like this.” A lie. He was hiding his accent from everyone so that tracking him down would be ever so slightly harder. Danny shrugged, “Right, Barbra?”

She shook her head. "No, you leave me outta this. As far as I know, you've sounded like this the whole time and these two are only just picking up on the accent."

Good job, Danny. Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss your way into their hearts.

"Anyway," Barbra continued, holding her hand to Danny, "This is a comm. It'll keep you patched in until we come back up to the manor after patrol. If you get tired of us or when you sleep, just take it out and put it on your nightstand; we'll take it back down in the morning for you."

"Are you sure you don't wanna come to the Cave?" Tim asked.

Danny shook his head, the comm now sitting in his left ear. "Mister Wayne already hates me, I'm not gonna go into his space. Besides, I'm already intruding as it is."

"I just don't want you to be bored."

"It's alright, I'm sure I'll find something to occupy myself with while you guys are out. And, isn't the whole point of me being on comms so that you guys can talk to me?"

"You're right," Dick agreed, "We'll see ya when we get back."

"Alright."

Occupy himself with? Yeah, he's going back to Bludhaven. Another problem he just realized, though: How is Bat Tech going to react to/around Phantom? Danny figures he has about two minutes to figure it out or he's gonna have to bench himself for the night.

There was no one around, so he ducked into the nearest room to transform. It was a quick lightshow, as always, but not enough to draw attention of anyone passing by.

Except Alfred. Alfred probably knows.

Alfred won't tell Bruce, right?

Right?

Probably not.

Hopefully.

Focusing on the comm revealed no static, though there was no sound either. Was someone trying to talk to him already? Hopefully not. That'd be upsetting.

There was a soft crackle before: "Danny, can you hear us?"

Phantom allowed a small smile of victory. "Yeah, loud and clear, Barbra."

"Call me Batgirl right now, okay? Tim's Robin, and, as you know, Dick's Nightwing. And, if you really need him, Bruce is Batman."

"Got it."

"We don't use real names on comms," Robin said, "Do you have something we could call you?"

That's probably a fish for what his hero name used to be. All three of them - Tim, at the very least - were hung up on the 'not anymore' of his denial and it really showed. He could make it easy and tell them to call him Phantom, but he really does not want them finding out his childhood right now. So, "Tutelary."

"'Tutelary'?" Nightwing asked.

"It's Greek," Batgirl said, "Tutelaries are deities or patrons of protection."

"Aw, that's cute," Robin cooed teasingly, "But you aren't doing much protecting from the Manor."

Phantom - is he really ready to give up that name? - blushed green, "Shut up. Protection Spirits are a big deal where I'm from!" Yeah, meaning most people don't actually think they're protecting them, but who really cares about technicalities?

"And that would be..?" Batman spoke up, his voice coming out much more 'gargle glass' over the comms than was probably intended.

Phantom smirked. "The Midwest." Limits options, but not specifically but he figured he could throw them a bone. Though, that's the only one he's giving Mister Wayne.

Speaking of, "I'll try not to be a distraction, Mister Batman sir, but I won't make any promises."

Nightwing, Batgirl and Robin were all sniggering. Batman was quiet for no more than a few seconds. "Stop getting distracted; We're leaving."

"Yes, sir!"

Phantom listened closely, focusing on the Cave below the Manor. Batman and Robin had gotten into some kind of assault vehicle-race car mix and were driving out into Gotham Proper quickly. Nightwing and Batgirl were both on motorcycles, leaving out a different way but just as quickly.

"Have fun out there, you guys."

Nightwing laughed, "We'll bring ya back some Bat Burger."

Part 15 Part 17

Real quick, before you move on, a quick Thank You to @bianca-hooks123 for the idea for Danny's name Tutelary. I hadn't even thought of using that until it was suggested, so thanks <3

[moon-ayyye]

I saw a few asks that revolved around all caste Jason or just the all blades and I just wanted to share a very self indulgent hcs and would like to hear your thoughts on them:

1.) Jason having the white hair streak but there is no definite origin for them but rather a clusterfuck of reasons. A form of Marie-Antoinette syndrome perhaps, perhaps perhaps the all caste and such. Nobody really knows. I mention this because I thing is would be very cool if like. When Jason takes out the all blades in fire situations, his mostly black hair suddenly becomes a shock of all white hair (I’m debating if he should have a streak of black hair, like a reversal of his color palette perhaps). It’s kind of like an Acheron from Honkai Star Rail situation. Jason assumes it has something to do with the all caste but it doesn’t explain him having it before he joined them. It’s a mystery to them

2.) I actually saw this from somewhere and I really enjoyed it so I incorporated elements of it into my own world building but the all blades affect how he perceives the wold and he has tricky feelings in regards to it. Something something about the all blades being able to detect too things: the weight of someone’s evil + their ability to repent. Jason only sees the full picture when he’s got the blades out, which is rarely. However he can sense things about someone and figures it worth investigating depending on how intense the pull is for justice. The flipside is that the all blades doesn’t care about human sentiments and will see the evil in anything. Even in children and animals and it does not fully coincide with Jason’s own morals. It simply connects to his righteous justice and his capability to bring about that change—not his empathy. It makes his feelings about it all fucky whucky

3.) Jason’s body is already fucky whucky after coming back to life because of resurrection, non all caste related. Some of these examples in my mind is: *much* slower heart rate, inhuman levels of strength (not enough to be a super meta, but something about being undead removing him from a few restraints that exist when you’re alive. But also the cosmic nature of him coming back means he’s not getting all the undead enchancements. For example he can use strength that surpasses any human capability by a certain range depending on how desperate he is, but it’s tied to adrenaline. He also can destroy all his limbs if he uses too much force cause he’s still Ina. Human body. So he uses it very sparingly). Anyways long story short. When he has the all blades out, because the blades are his soul and his soul is no longer in his body, he is capable of being much more stronger, faster, and sharper because his body and soul are not limited to anything. His consciousness is his soul and his body is the vehicle of justice. That being said this can only happen for very short amounts of time because the longer his soul is out of his body the harder it is to stay tethered and he will probably die. Or be stuck in limbo and that is not fun

Sorry for word vomiting all over your inbox I hope that this finds you well

No need to apologise. These are really good!. I'll address my takes on each one:

1) I headcanon that the white streak is actually the mark of the All Caste, and it disappears when he draws them out. The opposite of what you said. If I'm reading a crossover fic with danny Phantom, then yeah, having full white hair with a black streak is an amazing design in my eyes. If you want, it could also be like a kiss of death; lady death feels strongly connected to Jason and so marked him as one of hers. That way, it also works as being independent from the All Caste while explaining away how he keeps coming back. To me, Superboy Prime's punch didn't directly bring him back, but it created enough leway for Death to be able to revive him.

2) I actually really like this headcanon. Being completely free of evil is impossible due to human nature, so it's always more of a spectrum than a binary system. It would be triggered heavily around people like the flashes due to the deaths they caused by fucking with the timestream (ie flashpoint), or members of the JLD, specifically Jason Blood, Constantine, and Raven. You could have him battle that instead of pit madness. Also a bonus, if you like JJ!Tim and the fanonised version of the attack on TT, you can have it so Jason attacks Tim because he's the next potential candidate for the joker, so that's what triggers Jason into beating him. Him being JJ in other universes sort of stains his aura so to speak.

3) Jason has canonically punched a hole in the hull of a submarine that's under water. This definitely has merit. In my mind, since Jason pulls out his soul, Cass and Shiva can't read him because his body isn't thinking. It's acting. It's kind of like Richard Dragon's ability. It being a short burst makes sense, but I also like it when Jason just becomes less and less human over time. He starts looking like Essence; pure white pale skin, black eyes, and whispy white hair. It starts as a short burst, but over time, he can maintain that form for longer until, eventually, decades later, he's just always like that. Also the slower heart rate is such an interesting idea. Sometimes he forgets to breathe, or goes weeks without eating, and he doesn't realise it because his body is, as you aptly described it, fucky whucky.

If you have any more headcanons please send them my way, these were really fucking good.

[dcxdpdabbles]

#holiday request Hi, I love your writing! Could you please update either "Danny's grill", "Congratulations! It's Triplets!" or "Phantom's number 1 fan"? Please and thank you

Jason is once again reviewing the map of potential areas Alvin could have been operating in when his burner phone rings. He snatches it up before it can pass the fourth ring, pressing it gently against his ear.

He offers no greeting. It's a tactic he uses to ensure that whoever is calling him has permission to do so. If someone attempts to conform his informants' and allies connection with him, Jason is not about to give them away by speaking first.

"Hey Boss," Honeycomb's voice filters through, edged by that familiar overdramatic southern draw she did when working. Apparently, the clients like listening to her use her accent. "I got eyes on that doll you've been searching for."

Jason sits up straighter. "Where and when?"

Honeycomb is one of the working girls who's been with him since his return to Gotham. She was the first to sign up for his protection, long before he did the whole heads in a duffle bag thing, and was one of his best eyes and ears on the street in exchange.

He didn't know her real name or age- but he was sure she wasn't underage. He made it clear he wouldn't allow it. All Jason knew about Honeycomb was that she had run away from her home in the southern states with nothing but her pretty face, blond curls, hazel eyes, and the clothes on her back.

She was feisty and could charm her way out of most problems with her silver tongue. Her manipulation of her clients was almost an art form, and she could get any information out of anyone with a well-placed hand on the air and a sweet little "darling" on her grubby lips. He often thought she would have been a lawyer if life had been fair to her.

"Just now, on Ruby Street. He was with a man in his late teenage to early twenties. About six feet five inches, black hair, blue eyes, and Caucasian. Alvin was wearing black tights and a red hoodie. The man is in jeans and a white zip-up." Honeycomb rattles in one smooth report, the huskiness of her accent making her articulation more pleasant to the ear. "Seems they were doing a photo shoot."

Jason is already moving towards his bike, switching her call to his helmet. His stomach turns slightly as he grunts, "What kind of photoshoot?"

"Not that kind, Darling. Seemed more like a scavenger hunt, according to Alvin. They are finding specific landscapes and making posses that are answers to some riddles." Honeycomb responds. Distantly, her heels clicking against the concrete echo a little louder, letting Jason know she has wandered into an alley. "I approached Alvin when the man with him went up a fire escape to take a picture with a gargoyle. I offered him my service to him as a cover. Once he confirmed his name was Alvin and he was already with a client, I left before he could get the idea I was attempting to steal his work."

"Good job." Jason boots up his bike, flying out of his hideout without hesitation. He was still twenty minutes away from Ruby Street, but if the pair was going to be a moment, he could close the distance between them and find a trail to follow once on scene.

He questions as he flies through two lanes, ignoring the honking of angry divers. "How did Alvin look? He's supposed to be with one of my contacts, so if he's with someone, it might be a John roughing him up."

I'll deal with Victorian later. He mentally swears How dare he not tell me, Alvin went back to the field after hiding out for so long without a ounce of protection.

"The sweetheart doesn't seem hurt, but I can tell his client is one of those problematic kinds." Honeycombs sighs, the edges of unease slipping into her voice. "He looks at Alvin like he's in love."

Shit. It's never suitable for working folks to meet someone who "loves" them. Nine out of ten times, it was just a wacko who became violent the moment the prostitute so much as hinted that this was only a job to them. Jason had pulled out three women's bodies from the Brown River the last time one of those clients fell in love.

Jason pressed harder on the accelerator. "Are they still there?"

Honeycomb hums "The John is on the roof now, but Alvin is waiting for him under the street pole-Oh shit!"

Jason nearly slams into a nearby car at her sudden yell. "What happened?"

She doesn't answer, but he can pick up the sound of her running and her fast breathing. He knows she is getting out of danger because if there is one thing Honeycomb is as a person, she's a survivor. He wants answers but would rather she focus on getting herself safe first.

He meanwhile, concentrates on the phone calls and the vehicles he's flying between.

It's a few minutes before she gasps. "Sorry, Darling, I had to run. Batman was on the roof with the John."

What.

"Batman just appeared out of nowhere and threw a bucket of mud at the john. Alvin didn't seem to notice, but I did. Batman made eye contact with me, so I ran." She concludes, pushing through her uneven breathing. "I have to go, Darling. Hideout before the Bats lock me up."

"That's alright. Stay safe." Jason tells her, taking a turn sharply as she hangs up the call without another word. The second she does, he double-taps his helmet to connect to the Bat communications.

"Barbie. I need to know what B is up to now."

_________________________________________________________

Bruce watches the Fae shake the mud out of his face after he has scrambled down the fire escape. Tim was at his side in a second, using a handkerchief to gently clean up the Fae's face.

There were a lot of whispered words, but based on what Bruce could pick up from lip reading, Tim had no idea he was up here. He just assumed the Fae got caught up in a juvenile prank.

Oddly enough, that was primarily due to the Fae covering for Bruce.

It was rather disappointing the repealing spell hadn't worked, but the Justice League Dark the mixture of John's Wort, primroses, and marsh marigolds mushed together with water socked in iron during the full moon should have made it possible to force the contact with Tim to break down.

Of course, this had been a desperate attempt, seeing as all the JL Dark had been unsure which method was best when he asked how to get a Fae to leave a human alone.

A lot of debate went into finding a solution, but in the end, Bruce had chosen a mixture repellent. He had even decided to use some holy water and trough in blessed soil and blessed iron just to make it extra powerful.

The magic users had all assured him it would work as long as it touched the Fae skin while Bruce chanted Tim's full legal name. It had felt rather ridiculous dragging a bucket half the size of himself through the city, trying to spot where Tim and his companion were, and even more so when he had sprinted across the rooftop screaming.

"Timothy Jackson Drake! Timothy Jackson Drake! Timothy Jackson Drake!"

The Fae had been in the middle of taking a photo. He set up his camera on a little tripod and, after pressing the time, had run to face the city- back facing Bruce- raising his arms to form a triangle above his head. Based on fact the camera was slightly lower then the Fae's torso, Bruce could deduct her was attempting to capture himself making the triangle top of one of the most iconic buildings in Gotham.

Spear tower.

He waited only long enough for the flash to go off, so by the time the Fae turned around, he had a face full of mud.

It splat all over his front, covering every inch of what should have set Tim free. The silence followed was louder than anything Bruce had ever heard, even as the Fae calmly picked up his camera and scurried to the ground.

Bruce let him go, wondering why he had failed. Thankfully, it seemed Tim and the Fae were getting back in their car- not the food truck for some reason- and were driving away.

Tonight, Bruce would find its lair and get his son home because letting him take a relaxing vacation was alarming to the rest of his children.

He rushed to the Batmobile, climbing into the driver seat and taking off after the pair. As he was driving, he could have sworn Jason just passed by him, moving like the devil was after him.

Bruce wondered briefly if he should check in on his third oldest but thought better of it when he noticed Cass, Dick, and Duke driving right behind Jason on their own bikes. His children had each other backs.

A few hours later, Bruce stood before a large empty field. He had watched the Fae drive into it and vanish from sight. None of his machines could pick up any hint on where they might have gone, but he was reasonably sure there wasn't any teleportation involved.

Sometimes teleportation left some traces in the airwaves. It's how Bruce could track people using the boom tub or find the Flash whenever Barry went on a craze.

Bruce was thinking that this was the Fae's court and his magical home was being protected by supernatural means. He just had to figure out how to get in and Tim out.

As he was considering the field, a soft, distant roar made him reach for his weapons. He turns one hand poise for a throw, his trusted batarangs in between his fingers, only to become surprised when he recognizes the vehicles driving towards him.

It was his spare Batmobile and four bird-themed motorbikes. His children.

"B?" Dick questions after spinning to a stop and sliding right in front of Bruce. He lowers his window, looking at him with apparent confusion despite the Nightwing mask blocking his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Following a lead on the Fae. What are you doing here?" Bruce asks, lowering his arm but keeping his weapon. He could never be too sure this isn't a trick.

"Following a lead on Tim." Dick responds, stepping out of his car. Two other doors open, and out steps Steph and Damian, both looking posed for a fight. Of all his children, those two tend to be the most territorial and have not taken to Tim being a semi-held hostage well. "Oracle was able to track him through the city cameras after he popped up taking photos."

"hmm"

Jason jogged over to them with Cass not far behind. "Wait,, you got a lead on your cases too? We would check in on Victorian and see if he knew anything about Alvin."

He gestures to those behind him, indicating Cass and Duke, but the daytime hero is not paying attention. Duke was staring at the field, mouth slightly open as if in awe. Bruce straightens once he realizes Duke can probably see or at least detect the magical castle.

"Victorian?" Damian asks, crossing his arms. "Who is that?"

"The owner of the giant mansion we're standing in front of. He's one of my contacts."

"Ugh, not to make you feel crazy, Hoodie," Steph speaks up, placing a hand on the crook of her hip and waving her hand to the field. "But there is literally nothing there

"What are you talking about. This place is bigger than Wayne Manor."

Bruce heard about this. Guests who have been here before or have permission to enter can see glimpses of the Otherworld that Fae deals in. However, it is surprising to know Jason has already been in contact with the Fae before and has not been kept.

Did that throw a wrench in his theory of Tim and Alvin being the same person? Why would the Fae ask Jason to find Tim if he was in the creature's home?

Before anyone could say anything else, a giant gate entrance suddenly manifested mere feet from where Bruce stood. A soft creek was heard as it was thrown open, and a glowing woman in an old mail outfit floated just a foot off the ground on the other side. She eyed them all in an eerie, emotionless face before bending her own into a low bow. "Welcome. My King wishes to invite you in."

Well, that's not ominous at all.

His children shared a look between them, silently letting each other know to be cautious as they followed the floating woman. She led them down an impressive driveway that slowly gave way to a massive mansion.

Bruce fought to keep the surprise off his face. Jason was right. This place was more prominent and grander than his manor. It didn't just scream wealth. It screamed nobility; it screamed royalty.

The group walked into the main hall, some muttering thanks to the bowing woman who opened the doors. "Of course. The King stated that his home would always be open to Master Alvin's kin."

She vanished from sight like mist fading away as soon as they crossed the doorway.

Bruce's eyes instantly landed on the figure standing atop the grand stairs. Tim was gawking at them, wearing nothing but a long, seductive black robe with fluffy collars and wrists. The front of the rob was open, displaying a large amount of chest and thigh, but keeping the significant bits out of sight.

Thankfully.

His skin was glowing, his hair tussled stylishly, and a dozen red roses were in his hands. Tim looked like he was planning a romantic evening in his get-up.

"Oh," He said dumbly. "You're not Danny."

"What the fuck is going on" Jason demanded after a long period of silence.

"Um...I was planning on seducing my friend. What are you all doing?"

"Regretting waking up this morning," Damian demands, pressing a hand over his eyes. "Please get decent. My nightmares are horrid enough."

Bruce nods. "You were Alvin Draper and are romantically involved with the Fae. He seems to be treating you well. That's good."

All of his children stared at him for a long moment before the hall erupted with displeased noises. Bruce was taken aback.

Did none of them know any of this? It seemed obvious to him.

[acapelladitty]

make ourselves like clay (from someone else's dream)

Pairing: Cooper Howard/Lucy Maclean

Summary: Lucy discovers an old movie poster in a decrepit bar and happens to notice something 'interesting' about the main actor (AKA Lucy discovers Cooper's past as a film star). (2.9k words)

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

As far as negotiations went, Cooper had been more than reasonable, given the circumstances, as he attempted to exchange some caps for the chem he needed. Hell, he was even offering a fair enough price as his stash ran low and the constant irritation of having to source new shit pressed at his attentions like a tick burrowing under his skin.

"It's a good deal, boys, and I ain't some fucking housewife who's gonna forget the value of a thing just because some handsome fellas like yourselves are talking to her."

"Listen, mutant-"

"Oh, I listen much better when we're all being respectful now." Cooper interrupted, his voice airy in a very dangerous way. "My associate and I are being nothing but gracious in these here talks."

Having quickly learned it was better to shut up when Cooper was leading a deal, Lucy instead focused on the second dealer as he pulled his attention from the ghoul to focus on her instead.

Since entering, his attention hadn't ever strayed too far from her; flitting beyween her face and her chest as he stared her out. It was repulsive and, given her recent troubles, the focus made her skin itch with discomfort as ghostly memories of harsh hands washed over her.

"Hey!" The dealer spoke to her, voice low and conversational but still loud enough for the other parties to hear him clearly enough. Reaching across the table, he flashed a smile in Lucy's direction as he reached for her arm with a grime-ridden hand. "Just so you know, whatever the mutant here is paying you for a fuck, I'll pay double, and you can enjoy the feeling of a real man agai-"

A sharp scream cut the dealers words off in his throat as a flash of movement saw Cooper introducing the heft of his knife into the back of his approaching hand, pinning the offending limb to the rickety wooden table as only an inch of the blade stood free of his patchy skin.

Chaos reigned for only a few precious seconds as the lead dealer pulled his own weapon free of his pocket - the small, rusted pistol not a patch on the enhanced gun which Cooper was pointing back at his head, accuracy unmistakable as his fingers held still and didn't falter in the slightest.

His hand mauled and bleeding profusely as scarlet dripped freely to the floor, the offending dealer appeared to almost be in shock as his screams died to quick-fire profanities and sharp gasps.

"You fuck! Danny, he fucking stabbed me! Look- look at this shit! My fucking hand, man. Ain't no stimpacks here to fix this, Dan!"

Hand never leaving the hilt of his knife, Cooper tutted out his disapproval as he twisted the blade slightly to draw a fresh cry from his pinned prey.

"The way I see it," Cooper spoke calmly over the screams as his attention never strayed from the leader he were standing off with, "you can tell your man to apologise to the lady or I'll twist this knife until his hand is so mangled even the mutts won't want it. Then I'll cut what's left of his fingers off and shove them down his fucking throat."

Dan, the leader, took the open threat in stride as he held up his palms in a vaguely placating way, a smile not covering the panic in his eyes.

"Okay folks, let's not let things get out of hand. If you let him go, I'll agree to the terms and give you what you want."

Satisfied with that, Cooper pulled the knife free with a raised browbone as he passed it off to Lucy - allowing her to hold the bloodstained blade while his other hand extended out to receive his much needed chem.

"See that, vaultie." Clicking his tongue against his teeth as the vials were gently placed into his palm, Cooper tilted his head enough to the side to catch Lucy's eye. "That's how we deal with dumb fucking manners up here."

More desensitised to the violence than she would like to admit, Lucy rolled her eyes at him as a secret pleasure blossomed in her gut that he had been so quick to defend her. Since their run-in with the human traffickers, his attitude hadn't shifted much - staying as dry and unforgiving as ever - but she had noticed a slight improvement in his rougher edges when it came to any physical touch between them as his hands were noticably more gentle.

And by more gentle, she meant that if he needed her to move he would pull her sharply rather than his previous choice which felt more akin to trying to rip her arm out of its socket. But, improvement was improvement and she respected that by playing her part in moments like this.

He never spoke about the incident, never asked any follow up questions, but the violence he had enacted towards the other half of the traffickers as they descended on their small camp had frightened her as much as it pleased that hateful voice inside her that wanted them to suffer.

She got her wish, that much was clear, and whatever guilt she would have felt was swept away as they later stumbled on the corpses of the 'product' they weren't able to shift. Rotting corpses, some with their hair still intact, all piled nude in a makeshift grave a short walk away from their camp.

Cooper hadn't commented, aside from a slight downturn of his lips, and Lucy was too busy retching off to the side to notice anything else.

That's how we deal with dumb fucking manners up here.

Because of course it was.

x-x-x-x-x

Deal concluded, exploring what remained of the little abandoned town was the last port of call before Cooper demanded that they both moved forward with their goals. The dealers, having slunk off on their merry way, didn't seem to pay them any more mind and Lucy was thankful for it as she entered the swing doors of a building, immediately seeing a bar-like setup.

"Hello?"

Allowing the word to float across the room and recieve no answer, Lucy quickly stepped inside and started looking around. Dust covered almost everything, spreading a thick mat of filth across the various bits of broken furniture, and her mouth settled into a line as she headed straight for the bar. Looking below the shelves, broken bottles littered the wood, the alcohol and liquids within having long since gone rotted or evaporated away so she ignored them for now.

Glancing at the floor, a shattered poster lay, half-tucked beneath a snapped floorboard and her fingers snatched it up out of sheer curiosity. Blowing a plume of dust free, she cleaned what remained with the sharp point of her elbow.

It was a movie poster, framed and practically preserved. The top half almost spotless - the lower half was torn away, the shattered glass having allowed it to weather with time and take any information about the image with it. Looking at the upper part in more detail, it showed a man sitting atop a bale of hay and Lucy peered closely at it.

A tan cowboy hat sat across his head, tilting up towards the sun in the background as a pistol hung lazily between the actors fingers. The words "High Noon Rodeo" were the only pieces of writing visible and they blazed across the top of the poster in a curled red font. A cowboy film. One that she hadn't heard of or seen before, not that the limited showings of old movies that her vault showed as entertainment gave her any kind of general understanding, but she knew well enough to know it was a cowboy film.

Eyes falling to the main actor again, Lucy hummed quietly as she brought the poster closer to her face. He was handsome, that was for sure. Dark hair spilled from a proud forehead, and while his expression was very serious and foreboding, there was an intenseness to his gaze that enthralled her. The clothing was fitted and muted, the colours matching the dusky background well, but her attention kept slipping back to the man's face - a tickle of something familiar knocking at her thoughts.

"Whatcha got there, vaultie?"

Startling with a yelp, Lucy whirled in place to find that Cooper had snuck up on her; his impressive size apparently not that difficult to conceal as he slithered around like a cobra, ready to strike.

"Movie poster." She answered with a smile, excited to share her findings. "Look." She held the poster up between them, careful to splay her fingers to avoid the worst of the shattered glass.

Cooper may have been good as hiding his feelings, but he wasn't completely immune to the odd slip, and surprise widened his eyes and slackened his mouth before his brain caught up with him and he settled his features into a familiar scowl.

"And?" He asked, tone short and irritated. "What good is that shit to us? Came to find you in a bar and I was hoping you were gonna show me a bottle of something I could throw down my throat. Fucking useless bit of tat you have there."

Crestfallen at the sudden aggression in his attitude, Lucy thrust the picture closer towards him as she silently entreated him to look again.

"He's handsome."

A hot discomfort trailed across Cooper's skin as Lucy unwittingly appraised him, a familiar feeling of the world being a giant practical joke on him settling across his shoulders while he rocked on his heels.

"Like I give a fuck about that, but sure, in a way. They don't make 'em like that anymore."

"Have you seen this before? I know you've been around since the bombs went off and you know more about this stuff than I do." Excited, Lucy couldn't hold back her enthusiasm as her wide eyes and batting eyelashes did everything they could to entice him into spilling some knowledge of which she was utterly ignorant. "C'mon, please?"

With an annoyed growl, Cooper met her gaze with his own, holding her eye to show her just how serious he was as he exhaled slowly, as though speaking to someone with mush for brains.

"Put that shit down."

Stupidly brave as ever, Lucy held his eye but Cooper was quick to realise his mistake in allowing her to do so as her brow furrowed for a moment before dropping to the poster and then back to him.

A horrible feeling of realisation trickling down his spine, Cooper visibly flinched as a pitched cry slipped free of Lucy's lips and her hands raised the framed poster so it sat by his face.

"Oh my goodness!" Blinking rapidly as her body seemed to vibrate with her discovery, Lucy grinned. "Holy moly! It's you! This is you! Cooper! The eyes are the same."

An intrusive thought pushed its way into Cooper's considerations as his minds eye conjured up images of just knocking her flat out with the butt of his pistol and leaving her to awaken. When out, he could hide the poster and do his best to convince her that the radiation was finally getting to her head. But, knowing Lucy Maclean, that dipshit brain of hers wouldn't let it go, even under trauma.

"Quite the insightful little vaultie." He countered with an unpleasant smile. "Where's all these brains been hiding at?"

"What was it like?" Still positively thrumming with joy, Lucy couldn't sense the danger in the air as she continued on. "I've seen pictures of the old days, before the war, and it all looked so pretty and bright. You were a movie star! Wow! And so handsome."

Babbling, Cooper waited for her to finish before catching her chin between his thumb and forefinger. The touch steadied her, stalling her words as those big eyes rounded on him.

"It was a miserable fucking experience." He offered, voice so low and intimate that Lucy visibly held her breath to make sure she didn't miss a word. "Nothing but shit and lies. Traitors ready to stab you in the back at the first chance, their knives always out and ready to take another shot as you got back up to your knees. Nothing but a flock of circle jerkers ready to fuck you over at the first get."

The delight in her expression dimming with every passing word, Lucy's eyes grew - if possible - even rounder as she held her ground and let him speak.

"You think this life is bad, sweetheart? You still got so much to learn and I aint a teacher."

His mind lost to the echoes of a previous life, one filled with pain and betrayal - the moments of joy soured by what was to come as he lost everything from his career to his family - it wasn't until Lucy whimpered that he realised just how tightly he was gripping her chin.

Releasing her without apology, Cooper took the poster from her hands and dropped it to the floor; taking great satisfaction in the sound of smashing glass as the last few shards splintered off and skittered across the floor like insects. He turned from her then, a heat in his chest making him angry with himself as he feared he had said too much, and he started to storm off, ready to leave this shithole of a town behind.

"I'm sorry." Her apology were soft, the words carrying despite how small her voice sounded, and he turned to face her once more.

Standing amongst the debris, Cooper felt his irritation spike once more as he took in the sight of her. Even just holding her ground there, her clothing stained and as grimy as his own, she shone like a beacon - her goddamn naive innocence making her stand out from the shit and decay that had rotted and engulfed everything else it touched.

He had been cruel to her. That innocence, amusing at it was upon first meeting, made her a prime candidate for being torn to shreds by the new world she had entered. So necessity had dictated that he be cruel, using her for his own gain as he antagonised her with a sick curiosity; a wicked desire to see just how far the vaultie could be pushed before she either broke under the pressure or adapted to survive.

She was a lost cause until she snapped his finger off with her teeth. There he saw it. That little spark of steel that would see her do what she needed to survive. If she hadn't inadvertently fucked his entire supply of drugs, then he might even have been tempted to keep her for longer until something more pressing came along.

But no, he had sold her and he didn't regret it.

Not even when he lay in his stupor and watched as she dropped the vials of chem by his side, keeping as true to her golden rule as he did to his own.

Lucy Maclean.

A vaultie who wasn't afraid to rip a man's tongue out with her teeth or split his throat when necessity asked for it.

And here she was, apologising for asking him a few questions, the guilt on her face making the small voice within him that still criticised his more monstrous actions feel like shit for grabbing her so roughly.

The Ghoul would treat a woman like that, Cooper Howard, not so much.

"Sorry for what? Asking some questions?" He tilted his head at her, regarding her once more before continuing to leave. "Save apologies for the things that matter, sweetie." He shouted over his shoulder.

Allowing him a slight headstart as her mind whirled with what the hell had just happened, Lucy pushed down the guilt she felt at how badly he had reacted to being reminded of his former life. She hadn't thought about it. About how painful it must be to have something nice and then end up...well, end up like him.

Dropping to one knee, she carefully pulled the poster free of the now-fully shattered frame. Her finger were dexterous as they ripped the paper, a ragged line tearing across the poster until all that remained was the image of the cowboy.

Cooper.

Lucy folded the paper carefully and slipped it within her pocket, a wicked sense of naughtiness making her smile as she kept her little secret away from her grumpy companion.

Maybe one day she'd ask him more about it.

Especially since, despite the mutations and the attitude that was utterly grim, she could still see the lingering handsomeness in his face. The missing nose was easily looked past and his face, as pitted and marked as the rugged landscape which held true on every nearby horizon, still held much of the same shape.

And the eyes.

She'd asked him for sex once, hasn't asked since, and one of the leading factors in that choice had been his eyes - the intensity of them having left her a shuddering mess on more than once occasion as she found herself pinned by his glance alone.

Staring at the exit which Cooper had recently vacated through, Lucy attempted to shove the thoughts from her mind as she made a quick start to scarper after him - not trusting the ghoul to wait for her for too long.

Links to the rest of the series:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7