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evandarya · 1 month
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There are two things that Damian knows that he knows Father doesn’t.
He has an older brother
He was dead
(And a secret third thing: Damian was glad he was dead. They did not get along.)
Well. No, correction, they were two things that Damian knew that Father didn't. Past tense. Strange magic swirled through the air and created a mirage before his eyes, and immediately a scowl forms across his face.
The mirage shifts and shimmers like the light hitting a slowly turning prism, and then it settles into a memory. One that Damian does not recall. Like looking into a tv screen, it shows, faintly, a room, with most of the magic going into the image of a crib.
His mother was standing on one side, and next to her, standing on his tiptoes was a small five year old boy looking up at her. With dark hair and skin that was only few shades lighter brown than Damian's, the little boy's resemblance to Damian was undeniable.
However, his eyes were blue. Not green. Damian's scowl deepens, and he sinks back. "Danyal." He mutters, and feels eyes turn on to him.
Danyal Al Ghul. Damian's older brother. A prodigal swordsman like Damian, and five years his senior. He'd be fifteen if he was still alive. His memory of the last time he saw his brother was still clear in his mind.
(A sword to Danyal's neck. Stars were glittering through his window. Damian was five, Danyal ten. He is not sure why Danyal had snuck into his room, all he remembers is hearing a sound and on instinct reaching for his sword.)
(His brother had intercepted easily. But had not shoved the sword away. Moonlight hit his blue eyes, and Damian remembers seeing the pupils shrink to let the light in. His eyes looked almost silver.)
(His brother bares his teeth at him. Damian wants to slice his neck more than anything, and he bares his teeth back. "Good." Danyal says, his voice low in a hiss, "Your reflexes are good, little brother.")
("Of course they are," Damian remembers snarling, and presses the sword closer. But it does not budge. "I am an Al Ghul.")
(Something unrecognizable passes through his brother's eyes, and his mouth twists into something like a smile. "I know." He says, and tilts his head downwards at him. "And you will be great.")
(His brother shoves the sword back, causing Damian to stumble. And like the wind, he is gone.)
(The next morning, he goes on a mission with mother and a few others. Mother is the only one to return with Danyal's sword, and a red-eyed look in her eyes. Damian does not mourn. Now there's only one of them.)
"Momma." The little Danyal-mirage speaks, a furrow between his childlike brows as mother lowers a bundle into the crib. His blue eyes watch her, and lifts onto his toes to peer into the crib as she sets the baby down. "Who is this?"
Their mother's hand comes to rest along his back. "This is Damian, my son." She murmurs, voice low. "He is your little brother. Protect him well."
Damian scoffs internally -- not likely. He remembers every spar he ever had with Danyal, every harsh word and insult. His pushing, pushing, pushing for Damian to get up. To try again. Do it again. The only kindness he ever showed him was when his fingers bled. And even that was harsh, firm. Rolling gauze around his wrist and scolding him, telling him how to wield his weapon better.
(It was the same as everyone else, but somehow it hurt worse coming from his own brother.)
But he watches his older brother's youngest self tilt his head to the side, and then reach his chubby hand through the crib's bars. He runs small, blunt fingers over the baby's arm, and the baby jerks. Through the crib's bars, Damian sees himself grab Danyal's fingers.
And he scowls even deeper.
And Danyal's eyes... widen. He lets out a little gasp, and a small smile Damian's never seen him wear tilts at the corner of his mouth as he looks up at their mother. "Mother," he whispers, "he grabbed me!"
Damian... his scowl falters, for a moment.
He doesn't wait for a response, he looks back to the baby with sparking eyes. His expression melts like sugar as he bounces the finger being gripped tight by the small hand. "Hello, little brother." His brother says, voice its of usual firmness, but there's more fondness underlying it than Damian's ever heard. "My name is Danyal."
The mirage shifts before Damian can comprehend his older brother's voice. It shows the crib again, appearing as if a few days had passed. There is night lilting through the nearby window, and a creek of the door. The baby doesn't stir.
Danyal sneaks in, still wearing his training clothes and a sword strapped to his side. Damian's scowl returns, watching him creep over to the crib. Of course -- the last night he saw his brother wasn't the only time he'd snuck into his room.
Would he go so low as to attack an infant? Damian wonders, watching his brother cross the room to his crib. But while his fingers rest against the hilt, they never curl to unsheathe.
His brother peers into the crib again, and there it is again, that smile wider in the corner of his mouth. It's not a full one, but its as uninhibited as it gets. Dripping honey-sweet with awe. "You are so tiny." Danyal whispers, and pokes a finger back through the crib. It wriggles, then pokes Damian's cheek gently. "Was I as small as you when mother gave birth to me?"
There is no response from the baby. Not a coherent one anyways, the little thing snuffles and turns his head, mouth open to latch. Danyal stills, his eyes grow ever wider again.
Danyal says nothing else, just rests his cheek against the crib and watches the baby sleep in silence. The affection never leaves his young face.
Damian feels unsettled. Off-foot. This Danyal is foreign to him... He wonders what happened to have changed his brother's mind on him.
There's a scuffle, quiet, but there. Danyal picks up on it just as Damian does, and his head pricks up like a deer, head already turning away from the crib. The affection leaves his face, falling away like water into something serious. His blade is already slightly unsheathed.
Two assassins, belonging to grandfather, burst out of the shadows. Their swords swinging into the air and ready to strike.
Danyal kills them both, his back to the crib. It's not without struggle, and when the two assassins lay dead on the floor, the baby is wailing at the top of his lungs. Danyal has a laceration cleaving down diagonal of his cheek. It's close to his eye, just barely missed blinding him.
Damian never knew how he got that scar. He does now. (He doesn't know how to feel about it.)
His brother clutches his bleeding face, sheathing his sword as tears well up onto his face. But he turns towards the crib, and hurries over. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay." He hushes rapidly, the League-drilled seriousness fallen away to reveal a panic-stricken five year old. He sticks one hand into the crib, the one not clutching anything, and grabs little Damian's hand.
Their mother comes bursting in that moment, and Danyal turns his head towards her. "Mother." He says, his voice cracks un-wantingly. Their mother steps over the bodies of the assassins easily. "They tried to kill Damian."
"But they did not." Talias says, kneeling down next to the crib to inspect Danyal's face and Damian's well-being. When she finds nothing of concern beyond the injury, she continues. "You killed them before they could, Danyal. Well done."
The mirage of his brother nods, his eyes teary and red.
Damian... is discomfited. he never thought Danyal would kill assassins for him. He would have thought his brother would sooner look the other way. The mirage shifts again, and it quickly shows time passing.
Danyal sits in Damian's nursery every night, after that. He lays at the foot of the crib with his sword, a pillow and a blanket with him. Some nights there is nothing but peace -- or as close to peace as a baby could achieve -- and some days assassins break in.
Danyal kills each one.
The mirage shifts again, and it shows more memories of Danyal interacting with Damian during his youth too young for him to remember. His first steps, his first words.
"Danya." The small toddler of Damian says, arms reaching for Danyal.
A frown curls across Danyal's face, and pulls Damian into his lap. "No, no, little brother." He scolds, voice firm but.. softer. "It is Danyal, Damian. Danyal."
"Danya!"
Damian's brother sighs, but there is that same-small tilt at the corner of his mouth. A glimmer in his eyes. A glimmer... that Damian is finding he recognizes.
(He always thought his brother got that look in his eyes when he was mocking him. Was he wrong?)
The mirage shifts again, and this time it shows only mother and Danyal, alone. Danyal is older, taller. Seven, if Damian had to guess. Mother has a stern look on her face, her hands tight on his shoulders. "Damian will be starting training soon, my son."
Ah, then close to eight then. Training starts, always, at three years old. He watches Danyal nod, his expression mimicking their mother's. His arms are folded, always folded, behind his back, always neat.
"You can no longer have the relationship with your brother as you did before." Mother says.
Danyal's expression... falters. It shifts, it fluctuates. He looks surprised, thrown off. Like he isn't quite sure he heard what mother just said. His brows furrow. "What... do you mean, mother?"
"I mean what I said, Danyal." Mother says, stern, "Ra's will be keeping a closer eye on Damian now that he is of age to begin his training. He will not like if he sees you both getting along."
"I am sorry, my child. But your relationship with Damian ends here. You are rivals now, not brothers." In a cruel form a gentleness, mother raises her hand and tucks a stray curl out of Danyal's face.
Of course. Damian never had a relationship with his brother because of Grandfather. Of course. No, he's not feeling a little bitter. No. There's not an inner child that still, like a candleflame, wishes that he'd had a bond with his only flesh and blood.
Danyal is dead now. So it's not like it matters. He's happy about this.
Danyal frowns, and he steps back. He looks lost in thought. "We are still brothers, mother," he says, argues, and looks up to meet mother's eyes. "Let me train him, I will make sure he gets the skill he needs. If we must be rivals, then I will teach him how to defeat me. If he can defeat me, he can defeat anybody."
Their mother, and Damian, both blink in unison. Then mother smiles something sharp, calculated. She folds her hands behind her back. "Then do it. But you will make him hate you."
"...So be it."
Damian.... Damian is silent. His world axis has been tilted on its head. He is sliding, and sliding, and sliding down. Spinning. Many things click into place at once.
More memories from the mirage show. It shows Danyal training Damian. It shows their arguing, their bickering. It shows Danyal going to their mother to praise Damian and his skills, how fast he is picking up on the sword. How one day he will surpass even him.
It shows Danyal sitting outside Damian's bedroom door every night, listening in for anyone who dares to break in. His knees drawn to his chest, his sword at his side. Sometimes he sneaks in, sword drawn, when he hears a sound.
Some nights, Damian wakes up. He remembers those nights. Danyal standing over his bed with his sword unsheathed and tight at his side. He remembers the instant terror as he immediately reached for his own weapon.
His brother always scolded him for his lack of vigilance. That had he been anyone else, Damian would have had his neck cut. He would've been dead already. It only made Damian's hatred of him grow.
But he understands now. Because there were assassins in the room that Damian, four years old, three, did not notice. Not until later. He always assumed the attacks on him after Danyal's death had been because now there was a new heir to target.
It had been the only lesson he'd been even somewhat grateful for.
Then finally the mirage shimmers, and it shows Danyal, ten years old, in one of the training rooms, mid-spar with Mother. It's fast, sharp, impressive and like a blur. Damian is unsure if at ten which one of them was the better swordsman. Some of the assassins who have never met Danyal said Damian was, but the ones who had said it was Danyal. He'll never know.
In a lull in the fight, when their swords are crossed, mother speaks. "Ra's wants you and Damian to fight." She says, teeth grit into a deep scowl. The cross breaks and Danyal jumps back, he frowns.
"We have fought, mother." He says, and dives in first, swinging for mother's feet. Mother dodges, and slices at his arm. He swerves out of the way, twisting on his feet like a dance. "We are always fighting, doesn't he see our spars?"
"Not a spar like that, my son." Mother says, a snarl in her voice. She lunges, and Danyal blocks her blade. "A fight to the death. Father has grown tired of having two heirs."
That gets Danyal's attention -- or, more accurately, it distracts it. His eyes widen, and his sword lowers for a single moment. A mistake. "What?" Is all he gets out before mother has him on his back, her blade pressed to his throat.
He freezes. As does Damian. Danyal's brows furrow, then unfurrow, only to knot up again. "Mother, what do you mean a fight to the death?" He flips to his feet when mother removes the sword. She walks over to grab her water.
"Must I repeat myself, Danyal?" Mother snaps, rubbing her forehead before swigging from her canteen. "Father wants to find out which one of you is the stronger heir, and so you will fight to the death after your training in a few days."
Danyal's tan face loses a shade of color, he looks ashy. "There must be some mistake!" He exclaims, his arms gesturing out as he peers around mother. "There is a five year disparity between us, Damian has only just started training two years ago. It would be an unfair fight!"
"Do you think me unaware?" Mother whirls on him, and there is a grief-stricken look on her face. Like she is already mourning Damian's death. Damian feels ill. "Your skill is far beyond what Damian can accomplish right now, and there is nothing that I say that can convince Father otherwise."
Danyal wears an expression like he is scrambling for answers. A white knuckle grip on his weapon. There is a long silence, and his lower lip curls up. His throat bobs, he swallows. "Is there really nothing we can do?"
Mother makes a frustrated sound, pushing her loose hairs out of her face. "Not unless Father changes his mind, or I send one of you away. But Father would surely send someone to look for you or Damian."
"What if one of us faked our death?"
Mother stills. As does Damian. No, he thinks, stiff as a rod, no way. These mirages were lying, nothing but figments of an imagination. Of some quiet what-if that Damian had not yet stomped out.
Mother's expression shifts, and then turns contemplative. Danyal notices, and keeps pushing, he looks as hopeful as he could get beyond his usual unwavering, stone-like expression. "One of us could go to father--"
"No." Mother cuts off, voice sharp. Danyal wilts, confusion flittering across his face. Damian, from the corner of his eye, sees Father tense as stone. His white-slit eyes have not left the mirage. Nobody's has.
"Father will undoubtedly check there first, it would not be a good idea. You or Damian will have to go somewhere where he would not think to look. Someone unaffiliated with the League."
Danyal's face falls, shutters, and then closes up again into stone. Mother begins to pace, and Danyal's blue eyes follow her. "So a stranger?" He asks, and there is disgust lilting into his voice.
Mother nods, and she looks just as offput as Danyal.
The mirage of Damian's brother rolls his shoulders back. "Then I will do it, mother." He says, voice unwavering. There is a stubborn note behind it all, one that Damian recognizes. "I will fake my death, and Damian will stay here."
Mother's eyes turn sharp on him, and she stops in her spot. She pivots. "Are you sure?" She asks, eyebrow raising, "There is a chance you will never meet your Father if you leave. Nor will you see I or Damian again, if you do this."
Something like fear flickers across Danyal's face, eyes widening momentarily -- as if that very thought had not crossed his mind. But then it smooths over to sharp determination. He nods. "It would be the same for Damian if it was him instead. I will do it, Mother."
Damian feels ill again. Father has a strong set in his jaw, his teeth grinding.
Mother stares at Danyal, and then her expression softens. And like before, it is grieving. "In a few days time, I and another member of the League will be going on a mission to the American States. I will tell Father that you will accompany me, once there we will dispose of the other member and then orchestrate your death."
The American States. Danyal was here, in the country. He was out there somewhere -- but no this was fake. It had to be. Danyal was dead. A fool who got himself killed on a mission with mother and left the title of Heir to Damian.
Or maybe it had been his plan all along. His and mother's both.
...Was mother ever going to tell him?
The mirage of Danyal nods, sharp. Understanding. There is a gleam in his eyes that is not pride, it is tears. And when Mother leaves the room and leaves him alone, the stone-like expression on his face crumbles and falls.
His brother, ten years old, curls up his lip in an ugly way. It wobbles as the tears in his eyes do, and he brings up his hand to slam it over his mouth. And sinks to his knees, a yell-like sob muffled behind the skin.
His brother, ten years old, looks smaller than Damian remembers him being, and cries.
Damian has never seen Danyal cry. Not once in the mirage of memories, nor in his own.
The memory holds for a minute, and then disappears. And no new one shows up. The magic is gone, and it leaves a silence in its wake. Heavy, staticky, and full of revelations.
So there are two things that Damian knows that his Father now knows too.
He has an older brother
His older brother is alive.
(And a new secret third thing: Damian wasn't sure how to feel about it.)
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evandarya · 2 months
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As someone who lived in the middle of nowhere, Amity, the ocean both terrified and enthralled Danny Fenton.
The first time his parents took him to the beach, it was the middle of the day and he’d been stuck in the prototype GAV for hours upon hours on their “quick, ghost rumor hunting field trip.”
It wasn’t quick, and they caught exactly zero ghosts. When Danny saw the expanse of sand underneath the summer sun, he and Jazz both bounded out of the van like feral little monkeys. Danny and Jazz sprinted down the sand, their parents ambling behind them with their arms loaded up with towels, a first aid kit, and an ungodly amount of mildly ecto contaminated food that they already fought before getting onto the beach.
Danny had splashed into the water, yelped at the freezing temperature, and then promptly found a shell to keep. His mom taught him how to swim with the waves, having come from Surf City herself, and his dad taught Jazz how to dive.
It was a day full of fond memories, especially the memory of the Great War of Sand-Castle Crushing he and Jazz waged against each other.
They stuck around for the sunset, the ripples of colors and peacefulness that swept across the vast waters caught Danny in its hold.
He hadn’t forgotten that moment. Not even when he died.
After a particularly hard day as Phantom, Danny would fly to the coast and loose hours just sitting on the sand and watching the waves lap against the shore. And when those nights were clear? It felt like a slice of his own personal heaven, with the stars shining on his shoulders and the encompassing crash of the waves sheltering his heart.
And on some days, when being Danny left him frustrated, Danny would fly out to the coast and use his intangibility to walk beneath the waves. Near the coast, it’s cloudy with swirls of moving sand and disturbed waters. He walked, and walked, and floated and floated beneath the waters, taking contentment from the way the moonlight of his stars filtered through the water. He admired the way light would glint on the scales of fish and crustaceans alike as he floated beneath the surface. On those days, Danny would pick up trash and polluted things and bring them to shore, to place in the trash cans and all of the recycling cans. He picked up shells and decorated the beaches he frequented, because if it were decorated, perhaps people would refrain from chucking their waste into the sea.
Well, usually, it’d be trash.
Danny watched speechlessly, jaw cracked open just a smidge, as an explosion happened right over his head. The distortion of the water did not hide the fact that there were large chunks of plane pelting down at him, a different figure flying away from the explosion. Danny went invisible and intangible as large metal pieces plunged into his current water space.
“Gosh, people these days,” he huffed. “This is gonna take forever to…”
Danny trailed off, seeing a humanoid shape crash into the water, clearly unconscious. Danny didn’t hesitate before shooting towards the drowning person, glowing green and fully visible again. The stranger’s eyes- holy shit, that’s Batman- turned towards him before closing behind cracked open lenses. Batman slumped falling unconscious. That’s not good.
Danny rocketed out of the water with the vigilante in his arms. If it weren’t for his supernatural strength, there’s no way lanky teenage Danny would have been able to carry Batman’s grown ass built like a tank self to the shore. Likewise, if it weren’t for his strength, Danny wouldn’t have been able to start chest compressions through the layers of armor.
Danny leaned back with a sigh as Batman coughed out only a bit of water, because Danny hadn’t taken all that long to get to him, and held up his hands in a “I don’t have weapons” way as Batman whirled to him.
“Hi. Are you alright?” Danny asked, ectoplasm and instinctive ghost speak fuzzing his words a bit. Damn, Batman must have nearly died a lot. He’ll freak out about meeting Batman later.
“You saved me,” an awkward pause. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. The other guy went that way.”
Danny waved vaguely.
“…What are you?”
“Oh my god, Batman, you can’t just ask someone what they are!” He immediately replied, inwardly smacking himself for the joke. He watched Batman’s face, watching for any sign of discrimination against ghosts, or any sign the man had a sense of humor.
“…”
Neither, apparently, was the answer.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m just here to clean up the beaches. You humans really like to pollute the beaches. It’s quite rude, you know. That plane of yours, well, it’s not your fault,” he amended. “But it’s gonna damage sea life. And I don’t know if you’re in the habit, but please don’t litter on the beach or in the water, especially with your unconscious body. It’s tedious to clean.”
“…I see.”
“Stay. I’ll take out your plane. Make sure it doesn’t stay on the sand, alright?”
With that, Danny stood. Unaware of the way the moonlight lit up his hair like white flames and accentuated the sharp points of his ears, Danny turned away and flew back to the plane site, dragging the pieces up with ease.
Batman sat on the sand, likely exhausted from his fight, and watched him carry the pieces of the aircraft up.
“Here. All done. I gotta get going,” because Danny has school and this just lost him two hours. “Will you be alright?”
Batman nodded once, sharply.
“Good.” Danny went invisible, watching Batman sat up straighter, glancing around in a suddenly visible awareness. Oh, well. Tucker’s gonna freak out.
——
Three years later, Danny’s moved to Gotham for university.
And after midterm season, Danny went for a ghostly walk, but this time, in the waters surrounding Gotham.
When he surfaced, Batman was crouching on a lamp post, waiting for him.
“Oh, it’s you,” Danny said. “Hello. Did you know that people are polluting these waters with bodies too?”
“Yes,” Batman said, graveled voice resounding on the shipping containers around them.
“You should do something about that. Do you like places that are polluted?”
Batman sighed. “What are you?”
Danny hears a small, tinny voice by Batman’s ear, coming from a comm.
“Oh my god, B, you can’t just ask someone what they are!”
Mind flashing back to the night Danny drug a waterlogged Batman out of the ocean, Danny cracked a smile.
“Phantom,” he said, decisively. And, because this isn’t Amity anymore, “the Beach Clean Up crew from the flip side.”
——
Bruce, waking up on the sand: wtf
Bruce, seeing a child next to him who probably saved him: wtf (in “adoption”)
Bruce, seeing Danny’s skin glitter like stars, hair aflame, and pointy ears: wtf (in “I can adopt fae folk, right?”)
Bruce, seeing that Danny doesn’t leave any footprints: wtffff (detective mind goes brrrr)
——
Bruce, after Danny leaves: *donates 20 mil towards beach clean up efforts and anti-pollution causes*
——
Bruce’s Goggle Search History, documented by Oracle:
Sea spirits
Sea vampires
How to parent supernatural kids
How to thank your sea child
Are shells a good gift?
Ocean conservation efforts
Sea spirits that glitters under moonlight
Sea spirits that cleans up beaches
Wayne corporation waste disposal
Companies that dump trash into the sea
*outgoing call to Lucius Fox*
What is “mean girls”
——
Bruce, learning “current pop culture” from his kids:
Bruce, remembering the kid who saved him and realizing he’s probably as old as his own kids are: *adoption tendencies intensifies*
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evandarya · 2 months
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Looks like I have work to do.
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This is self-made. Date of creation: 22.01.2024
I assume no guarantee or liability for the completeness, correctness and accuracy of this chart despite my best efforts.
Includes fanfictions in all languages available, NOT English only. Includes all fandoms on Ao3 connected to Tim Drake.
Percentages were rounded up or rounded down to natural numbers for easier comprehension.
Poly ships were not included.
More charts will follow. :)
Want to have a chart for different pairings, headcanons etc. in your favourite fandom? Send me an ask!
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evandarya · 2 months
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I have my ears pierced, where can I get one?
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Recently I started reading Like Betta Fish Do by @clockwayswrites and felt the need to draw Danny's fancy betta fish earring from how I imagined it!
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evandarya · 2 months
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Danny Fenton was tired. He was also annoyed, just a little bit angry and disappointed, but mainly he was tired.
Tired of the excuses, of the missed dates, of the nights he waited for Dick to come home only for him to show up in the morning with a sheepish smile and an excuse.
He tried to be understanding, he tried to ignore the instincts that screamed that Dick was leaving him, that he was finally getting tired of him and had found someone else.
The problem was that ghosts were beings of emotion. They loved with all their core, they also hated with the same passion, but Danny ignored that. If their partner was not as dedicated, the ghost suffered, their core tried to reach out, form and maintain the bond all alone. Some ghosts even ended up with cracked or shattered cores because they fell for the wrong person.
Danny foolishly thought he would be spared this, he was still half human after all. He was forced to let go of that illusion today. This evening was his and Dick's anniversary dinner. They had planned this months in advance and Dick never even showed up.
Danny felt his core crack on the way home. Not a big break, just a little barely noticeable nick, but given time it could grow deeper and shatter him. So Danny made the decision and packed his things, left a note letting Dick know and left.
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evandarya · 3 months
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back on my halfa!Damian bullshit.
today’s 2am thought: what if Damian unknowingly ecto-marks people and places he considers “his”?
like if a ghost ran into Bruce, they’d know that he already has a ghost kid because a child ghost has left their ectoplasmic signature on him that more or less says “this is MY parent.”
Which in ghost culture isn’t necessarily a sign of someone being off-limits because of how lax they are with family structures, and might actually make him more attractive to ghosts and heavily liminal people who want a partner. Mostly because it’s like Bruce walking around with a neon sign saying “I’M GOOD WITH KIDS!” even if we know this man has the emotional communication and processing skill of a slab of basalt when it comes to personal relationships.
Tangent about Damian potentially unintentionally plastering a “date me” sign on his dad aside, the idea of ghosts coming to Gotham and being confused about how this one child ghost has little spots of “this is mine” ecto really scattered around, and all over this one rich family, a few other humans, and several animals for some reason, is funny to me.
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evandarya · 3 months
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When the Hunter gets Hunted.
Nobody messes with his sisters. NOBODY!!!
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evandarya · 5 months
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To divert my sadness i drew jason..again.. [drops mic in anguish]
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evandarya · 5 months
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Honestly I think it’s so funny that in the Marvel universe, when someone’s really smart, they have like eight to twelve doctorates and they finished high school at age twelve.
And then over in the DC universe it’s like. This is Tim Drake. He’s a genius. He keeps cloning his loved ones. He dropped out of highschool. Over there is Barry Allen. He can reverse engineer a spaceship in less than a minute. He is such a good chemist he’s still going to be known as the best chemist in 4,000 years. He has a bachelor’s degree.
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evandarya · 5 months
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practicing that pretty fallen angel…
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evandarya · 5 months
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Very heavy. Have slept through an earthquake.
POLL TIME BABY
Tell me in the tags if you'd like!
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evandarya · 5 months
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Hello hello I am very new in the Danny Phantom fandom (phantom?) And I keep seeing posts about "little baby man" and you being tagged in it
I haven't finished the series yet, just started season three, so I have to ask - where did little baby man come from? Is that a fandom created thing or a show thing? Much confusion
Hi there!! Welcome to the Phandom, I hope you're having a fun time with all of the shenanigans! :3 <3
So the Little Baby Man thing is just a fun fan thing. It comes from a little joke DPxDC doodle I did awhile back, this one--
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It just sort of gained traction from there after some friends and I started drawing him like that some more while in a voice call xD
The idea stems from a DPxDC joke, but it's def not limited to the crossover. I encourage shrinking the blorbo in all situations lmao
People also don't have tag or credit me when drawing LBM, but I do love to see when people draw him! :D
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evandarya · 5 months
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Fictober23 Prompt: 24 - "Is it over? Is it really over?"
Fandom: DPxDC
Rating: T
Warnings: Implied menstions of experimentation, and torture
A/N: My brain came up with two options… I went with the sorta angsty one…
They had raided the facility. It had been a plan they had carefully prepared for months now. Batman had gone over all possible scenarios. But it was a needed preparation. They had discovered it too late. Being prepared for ever eventuality was the least they could have done.
The entire Justice League had been horrified when they had discovered this governmental organisation what was committing sanctioned mass genocide of an entire interdimensional race. An Organisation called the GIW, Ghost Investigation Ward or more commonly called Guy's in White. If Doctor Fate, Zatanna and Constantine hadn't found out about them they probably would have never discovered the atrocities their government was committing.
But this had led to a large-scale operation. They started locating any and all locations the GIW possessed and was working on. Tracking any and all Agents that were working for or with them. Every company that was supplying them was looked into deeper until they had every little bit of information they could find.
With all the locations found they then split into teams. Planning a simultaneous strike to all facilities so that one could not warn the other. They would not let a single Agent of this organization escape. They all would be brought to justice.
Batman had not been surprised that the moment his children were clued into the operation, that some of them were ready to go off on their own to do something. Luckily they all were aware enough of the high risks and how many lives would be at risked if even only one of them messed up.
Four months. It had taken four months of thorough planning, of meticulously strategising, and careful preparation. But now everything was ready. Finally after so long the night to strike came. Originally the other heroes wanted to strike at daylight, a tactic to make it as public as possible to also gain the public opinion in their favor.
Batman had disagreed. It was better to strike at dusk or night. When their guard was down to easily overwhelm them. They could make a clear and evidence based statement to the public the next morning throughout all news channels and news times. Superman, as Clark, had already published several papers throughout the months of preparation that would play into their favor.
They had prepared for everything, arresting every Agent, every Scientist, every Guard. Everyone they encountered was knocked out, bound and prepared for transport into arrestment. He did not scowl any of his children when they used more force than necessary, quite frankly if Batman didn't have his own moral code and self control he might not have held back after what he was seeing.
Thad did not mean that he might have hit one or two of these so-called Scientists harder than necessary if they resisted. There were so many cages, so many 'ecto-entities' bound, branded and caged. Batman felt visibly sick when he came across labs with tables stained in green, knowing exactly what that meant after having listened to Doctor Fate's explanations.
They had gone through nearly the entire facility they were in charge of when Superman reported back first. "There was a boy in the deepest part of the facility, bound and hocked up to what appeared to be the facility's energy source. See if you find anyone with similar treatment in your locations. The Boy is rescued, he appears delirious and is pretty much snarling and growling at me but he is in safe hands now."
"Can confirm! A girl was found in my location in the deepest part underground. Same situation as you described. She didn't appear to be conscious, we took her off their system and transferred her to immediate treatment." Wonder Woman chimed in a moment later and Batman lips formed a straight line.
"Same here. It's an older man, face is familiar. He was shortly lucid enough to talk but all he asked about was where the children were. He might be connected to the kids you two found." Flash also reported after a while. Now Batman was more than sure, there were only four big locations aside from several small ones. His was the last one and his stomach sunk even more at the possibility of what he would find in the deepest part of this place.
His prediction was confirmed when he kicked open the door of the last room they hadn't checked yet. Nightwing was by his side, while Red Robin, Red Hood, Black Bat and Robin had hung back to take care of the evacuation of victims as well as arrest of the last GIW workers.
Nightwing let out a string of actual curses.
There in this room was a white haired teen in a ripped NASA shirt and green stained jeans, hooked up to several tubes, bound with silver shining and heavy looking chains to a wall. There was a green strain on the flooring directly below the boy and the green pipes appeared to be pumping more of it from as well as into the teen.
"Get him off the wall!" He instructed hurriedly, checking for the best way to safely unhook the teen. They appeared to be unconscious but with the report from his hero colleagues he wouldn't bet on that too much. The teen might just be too exhausted to actually react to what was happening around him.
"He can't be any older than Red…" He heard his son mutter as he broke the silver metal bindings and Batman couldn't help but agree. He didn't want to even know how long the teen had been here like this. They had been too late, they should have known about this entire things sooner. But at least they weren't too late to save them in particular.
Suddenly the teen stirred, head snapping up. Blazing Lazarus green eyes stared at them and Batman froze, feeling reminded of his second son. The boy didn't say anything, he was just staring at them before, eyes going from his broken bindings to Nightwing, to the unhooked tube in Batman's hand. He saw how the teens eyebrows furrowed slightly.
"You are not with them…" The teens voice cracked from obvious disuse or maybe overuse? He couldn't know for sure. Still he made a sound of agreement before continuing to unhook the last of the tubes.
"We already freed the others, you're the last one." Nightwing was forcing his voice to sound light and friendly. Batman knew this, he could sense the internal rage his son was suppressing. In a way he was glad it was Nightwing with him, his other sons might not have had the same control over themselves in this situation.
"What about Ellie, Dan and the fruitloop?" It took him only a short moment to connect this question to the possible three reported by the other.
"Rescued and in treatment." He answered curtly, removing the last tube while his son broke the last chain and binding. The teen fell forward like a ragdoll, Nightwing instinctively catching him.
"I can't believe it… this isn't a dream…" The white haired kid muttered, eyes going unfocused and Batman worried that the teens system was going into shook. Did he unhook the boy from the tubes too fast?
"Is it over? Is it really over?" The teens started to sound delirious and Batman shared a look with Nightwing. His son nodded as he moved to get a better hold of the teen.
"It is." His son told him voice was going soft. "Rest for now, the next time you wake up you will be free and with Ellie and Dan."
"Don't forget Vlad, he is still a fruitloop but a good one…" the Teen mumbled before finally passing out. Batman gave Nightwing a nod before the other hurried out of this place with the now passed out teen while he reported his similar finding to Superman, Wonder Woman and Flash.
He stood in the now empty room letting his eyes wander over it one last time, checking for any evidence he should keep before deciding to leave too. There was a lot to prepare for, the news, the public statement, the aftercare and treatment of the victims. Batman ignored the fleeting thought of who was going to take in their four main victims, especially the children and teen. Surely his kids wouldn't mind if he provided them a temporary home, right?
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evandarya · 5 months
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Here is my Bingo card!
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Celebrate the "Haunting Heroes" Discord server launch with a fun game: DPxDC Bingo
With our new server launch, we wanted to make some fun games for people to participate! Below are the links to some bingo cards created by the amazing @die-erlkonigin6083!
Feel free to fill them out and share your results here!
Reader Bingo: https://bingobaker.com#65334ee12ade64c2
Author Bingo: https://bingobaker.com#6533576a2576466c
Artist Bingo: https://bingobaker.com#65335f341a5422ac
Here's an example of what you can get:
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We have more activities planned for the server's launch.
If you're 18yo or older and you want an invite, feel free to send us an ask and one of us will reply as soon as we can!
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evandarya · 5 months
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DPXDC WEEK 2023 PROMPT POLLS ARE OPEN!
The poll will close on OCTOBER 28TH at midnight CT (UTC-5)
In this pool you can vote for:
3 DC CHARACTERS
3 DP CHARACTERS
7 AUS, TROPES, OR SETTINGS
7 WORD PROMTPS
We had a lot of suggestions this year, so everyone please take the time to read through all of the prompt options and vote for your favorites!
Disclaimer: While I tried to include everyone's suggestions in the poll, some suggestions were excluded or tweaked because of their specificity, length, ship-focus, or difficulty in understanding the meaning/intent. I wanted the prompts to be open to multiple interpretations and accessible and easily understood by all DPxDC fans regardless of their familiarity with canon/fanon of either fandoms.
Stay tuned folks! The official prompts will be revealed on November 1st!
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evandarya · 5 months
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The Vampire and the Bat
The Vampire!Jason AU that has been living in my head rent free for the past six months.
___
The thing is, Jason wasn't stupid. He was always top of his class. Well, within the top five, at least. Or, he was back when he still went to school. Even now, he's been on the streets for two, almost three years and he's been smart enough not to join any of the gangs who would use him for his strength and leave him to take the fall, or be picked up by the Clans who would make him into a Thrall, a mindless ghoul to do their bidding, and he's avoided CPS. He was smart enough to not get hooked on drops, pops, angel blood, or any of the other street drugs that steal away your life.
The point is, Jason is smart. But he's also hungry, and a hungry vampire is a desperate vampire. Desperate people tend to do some pretty stupid things.
Which would explain his current predicament: staring up at Batman, the most prolific vampire hunter on the East Coast, tire iron clutched in one hand and three out of four Batmobile tires stashed two alleys over and the fourth most of the way off.
For a long moment nothing happened. Jason stared up at the blank white lenses. Neither of them blinked. Jason wasn't sure either of them were breathing. Batman was between him and the mouth of the alley, but there was a fire escape at the other end. If he was quick enough…
Batman moved, a gloved hand reached out to grab him. Jason swung the tire iron with all his strength. It made contact with the man's armor, sending jarring vibrations up his arms. Batman grunted and Jason dropped the tire iron and took off, jumping off the wall in order to make it to the ladder. His fingers had just brushed a rung when something snagged his foot and pulled him down. Thick arms wrapped around his torso and held him against a broad chest.
That's when he smelled it.
Blood.
Human and fresh, barely a half hour old.
The world became sharper, brighter. His focus narrowed in on the source of blood. It was so close.
Batman had blood on his gloves, bright red against the silver clawed tips.
Jason screamed and started kicking and pushing at Batman's arms. He had to get away. In a lucky move, Jason's head caught Batman in the lip and the man dropped him in surprise. He scrambled away and pressed his back into the wall, his hands covering his mouth and nose.
"You're hungry." Batman said it like it was a matter of fact. Jason shook his head. He was. He was starving! But he wouldn't lose control. He had seen what happened to vampires who lost control. They were put down like rabid dogs. That wouldn't be him. But Batman was tugging off his gloves, removing his gauntlets. Exposing the tender vulnerable flesh to the open air. The veins shone blue under the thin skin. The wrist was one of the few places a fledgeling could feed from before their adult fangs came in. Saliva flooded his mouth, its numbing effect making his tongue tingle. His baby fangs descended, sharp enough to break skin but not long enough or strong enough to hold prey.
Batman was holding out his hand, wrist up. It was a trap. No one offered up their blood to a clanless Dhampir. Not for free. The man was saying something, Jason could see his mouth moving, but he couldn't hear him over the too-old blood roaring through his ears. He shook his head and Batman pulled back. Jason was smart enough not to hope the man would just leave.
Sure enough, Batman only sat back on his heels. With a flick of a wrist a dark bat-shaped blade appeared in the man's still gloved hand. A Batarang. He had found dozens of them over the city, and they fetched a decent price at the pawn shops. What was he going to do with it? Jason had read books where thieves had fingers cut off, or were scarred for each infraction. If Batman wanted to hurt him he was too young and weak to do much more than kick and scream.
But Batman didn't lunge for him, or grab his arm at all. Instead he held the Batarang to his bare wrist and —
The scent of fresh blood assaulted his senses immediately. It permeated the air, so thick he could almost see it. He could hear Batman's heart beating, steady like an execution drum. The man held his hand out again, precious drops of ruby red rolling down to his fingers, dripping onto the concrete.
Jason snarled, growling and hissing at the temptation in front of him. He would not drink it. He may be a tire thief but he wasn't a blood thief! With a burst of energy Jason leapt out of his crouch and used Batman's outstretched arm as a springboard. He launched himself halfway up the rusty fire escape. He had to get to the roof, get somewhere safe. Away from people. Away from Batman.
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evandarya · 6 months
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okay so ! prompt time
dp x dc girlies (gender neutral) where y'all at
feel free to use this >:D
red hood met someone in his neighborhood this past week. a new... ally, not a friend, a bit older than tim. dante is... chaotic, always falls into his shenanigans, immediately found out about his identity and is keeping some secrets. and clearly this guy has nowhere to go, just look at him, so hood lets him crash in one of his safehouses. that's all. he definitely doesn't feel somewhat protective over him. no way.
nightwing has been taking care of this one kid on the down low. he doesn't want to admit it yet to the rest of the family, cause he just doesn't know enough about this kid. but ellie is just so lovely! she's a sweetheart and her puns are hilarious. she's obviously some sorta meta, and she's definitely homeless, so he needs time to figure things about before the batfam meets her. it's only been a few days. he'll tell them eventually. maybe tomorow.
tim drake's new friend CANNOT stop himself from getting in trouble. that danny boy finds himself in every unlucky situation possible - both at gotham u and in the pits of gotham's criminal activity. they've met like, a week ago, and danny's already been in every possible messy situation. he's from... amity plane? or something? he couldn't really find anything on the town, but he was gonna have to look. tim just hoped this new friend of his had any relatives, or else burce would want to... oh no.
barbara gordon's new coworker is interesting. just like her, the new redhead works at the library part-time. apparently jazz is staying here while she waits for her acceptance as arkham's new resident psychologist. why would anyone want that job? at least damien seems to like her - he came to visit her once, and jazz immediately knew how to deal with the feisty little guy. maybe the rest of the fam could meet her some day.
bruce wayne's really old friend has surely made a life for himself. They met when they were both young - some small gala, he barely remembers it. but vlad masters' ambitions led the two of them to meet a lot more often. they're friends, beyond the whole cheerful rich guy persona. bruce genuinely is very interested in the guy - both for their genuinely lovely conversations, and for all the secrets bruce is sure vlad hides.
so when vlad is visiting one day, bruce suggests a family dinner. alfred is very excited to call all the batkids that day. surprisingly, all of them individually decided to bring guests! who would've thought. alfred just hopes he can keep everything in line.
maybe the dinner guests are normal, for once. please let the guests be normal.
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