#John Constantine is wrong though

[nelkcats]

The King's last gift

Danny was tired, tired of being responsible for protecting the world. At first it was just Amity but the ghosts began to explore more and the halfa was exhausted. He was the only hero available and it was taking its toll.

He knew he couldn't go on like this, let alone with his coronation around the corner but he didn't know what else to do. He knew he couldn't interfere with the world after the crown was on his head. The world would fear him (maybe even more than now) and protecting them with so much power in hand could do more harm than good, but if he didn't protect them, who would?

His core ached at the thought of all those people begging for a hero who wouldn't come, so Danny took desperate measures, and cheated a little.

He visited Desiree; she watched him with a raised eyebrow, curious. And Danny did what he forbade long ago, he wished. He wished for the future and for humanity itself, he uttered the words he had wanted to say ever since he knew he would not be able to visit earth for a long time.

"I wish for the world to be safe even when I no longer live in it, I wish for there to be someone who can protect it, even if it's just a human."

Desiree blinked in surprise not expecting the King who had "forbidden" her to do such a thing. She smiled and nodded. Her power grew exponentially but neither she nor Danny said anything about it. The halfa would not undo that wish after all.

In New Jersey, Thomas and Martha Wayne were celebrating the birth of their son. Neither of them noticed the spark of magic entering the baby, nor the boy's unusually blue eyes. Bruce Wayne, the Ghost King's latest gift to mankind, had been born.

And years later, when the Justice League was formed and everyone was talking to each other, John Constantine looked at the dark knight curiously, wondering if he was aware that he was death's favorite.

[commissionspartybus]

I (politely) demand more batman stuff, this idea sounds great

S2 ending, they grab a briefcase and set it correctly to go back home. Hand in hand, ready to fix their lives once again and finally avoid the apocalypse.

Out of hundreds of briefcases, they grab the one missing a wire.

Using it should have killed them but stabilization came from Viktor, and not ending up stranded in space time is thanks to Five. Instead they hit the right year, right time, completely wrong universe.

They scare the shit out of the family living in the house they landed in, but otherwise are fine. Grabbing a newspaper - which was frankly ridiculously harder than expected - and realizing that they are in the world of a comic series? Less of a shock, more of a yelling match of whose fault this is.

Three factions emerge: those who want to go to the JL for help, those who rather fix this by themselves, and those who Do Not Fucking Care As Long As Something Is Done.

Diego and Luther belong to the first camp, Five and Viktor in the second. Allison and Klaus firmly in the third. So they do what they do best and split up, because this family cannot agree on a Single Goddamn Thing.

Ben, meanwhile, remembered a little girl on a tricycle who made fun of him and said without a box set he was boring. Ben then woke up again in a body in some mad scientists basement who apparently is trying to make people out of clay and science because some woman apparently was made that way. Ben is having a Shit Fucking Time.

Luther and Diego go off together to do their plan, but argue about who to approach. Viktor, who came with them purely because he happened to be in the same room during this, is displeased. Diego throws a fit and goes to Gotham while Luther, who also throws a fit, goes to Metropolis. Viktor also goes to metropolis because there really is an excellent program there for newfound metas run by some guy named Lex Luthor and he might as well get a head start on the whole powers thing.

Lex actually stops by once or twice and is really nice to Viktor, offers him additional resources and even employment. Hopefully not something he'll have to worry about but it's nice to see actual rich people be kind.

Luther drops Viktor off to these meetings though and remembers lex luthor. Luther goes to the library to double check this lex luthor is The Lex Luthor and discovers The Internent. Luther cannot believe what people are saying about his childhood hero online. Who has the gall to disrespect Superman? This cannot stand. This will not stand. Luther will make people realize how great superman is.

Diego on the other hand has a plan. He was thrown in a asylum before and has no interest in doing that again, which he's sure will happen if he just says the truth. No, he has to impress Batman. Only then will he be considered Sane and Truthful. This has nothing to do with wanting Actual Batman to think he's cool, no way. He needs to become a vigilante in Gotham and Become A Bat.

Five and Allison stick together- well, more like Allison sticks to Five because she'll be damned If it takes another fifty years to get back home. No, anytime he's out of her sight he does dumb shit that always has an apocalypse attached to it. Her morals are also starting to slip and she wants both an enabler and support beam in Five. Road trip to all the notable places in America harboring Magical and Scientific Shit to speed up the process.

Klaus originally joined roadtrip duo but upon a stop he noticed the most gorgeous man who was also the ugliest fucking thing he'd seen all weak. Like two malformed cats having an orgy. It was instantaneous, he Needs to either fuck that guy or find out what his deal is. This is his destiny. This Is Who He Is Meant To Find.

The justice league, meanwhile, have not gone blind to the families antics. Their main concern is the two metas going around and swiping objects of high value and power- the woman with her power to make anyone do as she says and the boys spatial jumps are unnerving. With no idea on their reasoning and the potential of the boy being an unwillingly accomplice (they are, after all, very clearly not related and with the woman's power she could just be using the boy to achieve her own ends through his) it is in their highest priority to finish this through.

Except it Is hard to focus due to extenuating circumstances.

Clark Kent thinks he's dealing with a stalker and is completely unprepared on how to actually. Deal With That. Luthor keeps taunting about how humans will reign superior and shit about legacy - will he have to keep a closer eye on Conner? Will his clone/son/brother/science gone wrong even accept it? Who Fucking Knows.

Bruce's kids keep sending him tiktoks about the newest wannabe vigilante getting his shit rocked near constantly, which isn't distracting enough to quiet the thoughts in his head that the mystery boy stealing artifacts has enough features reminiscent of his grandfather (Thomas Wayne's father) to be suspicious. And that Azrael has gone missing, again.

John Constantine is on the run from the amalgamation of gods regrets personified, and he interested in finding out what it wants with him, personally. Having some murderous church kid tag along with him because "through you (John) will lead me to what God has tasked me to find" doesn't make this shit worse at all, nope.

[running-on-coffee-and-anxiety]

Mild Comic Ramble

They really weren't joking about Hellblazer being a horror. Like, sure, it's 1988 comics and it's still more gross than scary right now but holy crap. Adding a read more for spoilers but also, like- If you're weak to bugs, horror topics, human sacrifice and the death of a kid, don't read.

First issue is 1988 Vol. 1: Original sin and it's just- holy crap dude. Before you're even halfway through, you have bugs living inside a man and him starving to death in seconds despite eating giant portions, John's friend(?) trapping a demon in a bottle and breaking the bottle after sacrificing some poor kid, it's just-

I knew this was a more mature comic series, but sometimes I just have to sit back and stare at my screen and wonder 'Is knowing about John Constantine really worth it?'

Then I keep reading because I'm invested in the story and single character, though I do need to pause sometimes cause eaugh.

[constantineshots]

he complains about not being able to drive and yet, when he ages to at the least sixty throughout hellblazer, not once does he learn to drive. or get his license.

i believe he’s about thirty five here, and some other panels i showed of him not being able to drive, he’s. definitely not thirty.

silly john. someone teach him to teleport and solve all of his problems so he isn’t sleeping on public transportation.

[zhelin-thames]

Tiny baby ghost

idea from Prompt for @silverblueglitter

part 2 and 3 are out Masterpost

The summoning circle glowed an eerie green, casting sharp shadows around the Justice League's meeting chamber. John Constantine, sleeves rolled up and cigarette dangling from his lips, muttered the last words of the incantation. The room held a tense silence, broken only by the faint hum of the magical energy.

When the green smoke cleared, instead of the imposing figure of the Ghost King they’d expected, a scrawny teenager in a black jumpsuit with white gloves and boots appeared, looking distinctly unimpressed.

“Seriously?!” Danny Phantom groaned, throwing up his hands. “It’s a school night!”

The room collectively blinked. Superman and Wonder Woman exchanged confused glances. Batman’s eyes narrowed behind his cowl, while the Batkids—perched around the room like chaotic gargoyles—leaned forward, intrigued.

“This… is the Ghost King?” Nightwing asked, his voice skeptical but amused.

“Ghost King?” Danny repeated, holding up a hand. “Nope. Wrong guy. Try again.”

“Clearly, this is a child,” Robin said flatly, stepping forward with his arms crossed. “Either the summoning ritual failed, or we’ve been deceived.”

“Who are you calling a child, mini-Nightmare?” Danny shot back, floating an inch off the ground to look taller. “I’m fifteen. How old are you, eight?”

“I am fourteen, you insufferable spirit,” Robin snapped, glaring daggers at him. “And you are woefully unqualified to speak to me in such a tone.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, Robin Junior. Let me know when you grow a sense of humor.”

Red Hood, perched casually on a table nearby, barked out a laugh. “I like this kid already.”

Robin scowled. “You would.”

Red Hood swung his legs off the table, standing to his full height. “Alright, Casper, if you’re not the Ghost King, why’d this ritual grab you instead?”

“That’s a great question! Wish I knew!” Danny said, throwing up his hands.

Constantine frowned, stepping closer. “You’re definitely ghostly, mate, and half-alive by the looks of you.” His sharp gaze softened just slightly. “You’re a bloody halfa.”

Danny froze, eyes darting to the swirling green barrier still holding him in the circle (not really). “I’m a ghost. And yeah, I’m alive. What’s it to you?”

Batman loomed closer, his deep voice cutting through the room. “If you’re not the Ghost King, why does this summoning work?”

“Great question! Wish I knew!” Danny threw up his arms again, his ectoplasm glowing faintly in frustration. “I don’t even know who you are, and you’ve already ruined my night! or Maybe the universe hates me. That’d explain a lot!”

“Who even made this circle?” Red Hood asked, pointing at Constantine. “Did you check it? It’s glowing green. That’s ghost vibes, man.”

“Thanks for the observation, Red Hood,” Constantine said dryly. “What gave it away, the ectoplasm or the ghost?”

“You are in no position to demand answers,” Batman growled.

“Oh my god, you’re worse than my parents,” Danny muttered.

Before Batman could respond, the air grew colder. A heavy, oppressive presence filled the room as green flames erupted in the middle of the chamber. From the flames stepped Pariah Dark, fully armored and radiating raw power, his glowing eyes zeroing in on Danny.

The League tensed, weapons at the ready, but Pariah didn’t even look at them. Instead, his expression softened in a way that could only be described as paternal as he reached out and plucked Danny out of the circle like a child grabbing a stuffed animal.

“Who dares summon my child?” Pariah rumbled, his deep voice shaking the room. He cradled Danny in one massive hand as though he were the most precious treasure in existence. Danny, for his part, just sighed and leaned against one of Pariah’s fingers.

“Dad, chill. They’re not trying to hurt me—” Danny shot a glare at Batman, “—yet.”

“‘Dad’?” Robin echoed, utterly baffled.

“They stressed him out,” Pariah continued as if Danny hadn’t spoken. “This is the third time in two weeks. Do you know how much sleep he’s lost? He has school!”

Pariah’s gaze darkened. “The third summoning this week,” he growled. “And for what? To disrupt his rest? His studies?”

“Studies?” Robin repeated incredulously. “This alleged ‘Ghost Prince’ is concerned with—”

“School,” Red Hood supplied helpfully, smirking. “That tracks. He’s just a kid.”

“I’M NOT JUST A KID!” Danny protested, his voice cracking slightly. Jason snorted.

Before anyone else could respond, Fright Knight materialized beside Pariah, his armor gleaming and his sword crackling with ghostly energy. He took one look at the summoning circle and grimaced.

“Shall I eliminate the offenders, my liege?” he asked Pariah, his grip tightening on his sword.

“No!” Danny yelped, waving his hands frantically. “No eliminating, no smiting! We talked about this, remember?”

Pariah sighed, his massive shoulders slumping. “They stressed you out,” he rumbled. “They should pay.”

“They’ll be fine,” Danny muttered. “Just… let me handle it, okay?”

“‘Fine,’ he says,” Red Hood muttered. “We’re seconds away from getting blasted into the afterlife.”

Robin's hand drifted toward his sword, his eyes darting between Pariah and Fright Knight. “This is absurd. We are the Justice League. Surely, we are not so easily—”

“Shut it, kid,” Consttantine interrupted. “Unless you want to test if we’re actually ‘fine.’”

Danny groaned. “Can we not do this right now?”

Wonder Woman stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “We summoned you because we need the Ghost King’s aid to stop a catastrophic magical event threatening the world.”

“Then why not summon him?” Danny snapped. “I’m not the king!”

“Yet the ritual brought you,” Batman said, his voice a mix of curiosity and accusation.

Pariah’s gaze darkened. “The crown does not transfer unless challenged. And none shall dare challenge my son.”

Danny squirmed in his ghost-dad’s grip. “Okay, Dad, they get it. Can you not threaten to destroy the world for five minutes?”

Pariah huffed but gently set Danny down, though he remained close, a looming shadow of protective menace.

Constantine rubbed his temples, muttering something about “bloody teenagers” and “overprotective ghost tyrants.” Meanwhile, the Batkids exchanged glances, clearly plotting something.

Danny sighed. “Look, I’ll help you guys with your big, scary magical problem, but can we make it quick? I have a chem test tomorrow.”

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤWHORE’S FANTASYㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : John Constantine x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would He Be When He's Obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : There are some +18 parts. Minors DNI. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

You don't notice him at first.

Not really.

You're too busy tugging the hem of your cheap purple dress down over your thighs, smeared lipstick staining the corners of your mouth.

Mascara streams down your face, thick and ugly, like bleeding spiderlegs across dead eyes.

You’re half-high, half-drunk, standing barefoot behind the shitty little bar where the real dirtbags like to crawl, and you’re lighting another cigarette with shaking fingers. The end of it flares like a dying star, and you pull the smoke into your lungs like you’re hoping it'll fill the hollow parts of you.

You stink of alcohol.

You smell like roses.

You taste like regret and somebody else’s hands.

He sees you.

God help him, he sees you.

John Constantine, bastard mage, conman, addict, cynic — he’s not a savior. He’s not a white knight.

He's just another piece of shit who recognizes his own.

He flicks the end of his cigarette into the gutter and watches you struggle with the strap of your dress, tits half-hanging out in the yellow light of the alleyway.

You should look pathetic.

You should look cheap.

You do.

But somehow, you look... more, too.

There’s something about you, something cracked and shining and wrong.

Like a broken mirror catching all the wrong reflections.

Something that crawls under John's skin, burrows between his ribs and digs in sharp little claws.

He tells himself it's nothing.

Just another lost girl.

Just another night.

But he’s lying.

Already, he’s lying to himself.

He lights another cigarette and steps out of the dark.

“You alright there, love?” he rasps, voice like a bad memory, smoke curling from his lips.

You look at him with those dead doll-eyes. No fear. No real interest, either. Just this slow, heavy indifference like you're already halfway in the grave.

You shrug.

You hitch your dress up higher.

You don’t bother pretending to be shy. You gave up pretending a long time ago.

“What do you want?” you ask, voice raw from cheap whiskey and cheaper choices.

John should walk away.

He knows this kind of girl, the ones with nothing left to lose. They eat you alive without even meaning to. They rot you from the inside out.

He should turn around.

He should let you slip back into the filth where you came from.

Instead, he laughs.

Soft, almost pitying.

“Just a light, sweetheart,” he lies, flicking open his battered silver lighter even though his own cigarette is already burning between his fingers.

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious, but too tired to care.

You let him light your cigarette anyway, leaning in, close enough that he can smell the roses in your hair, the smoke on your skin, the slow stink of desperation leaking off you like cheap perfume.

You don't know it yet, but you've already cursed him.

That first night, he doesn't touch you.

He just watches you, out the corner of his eye, as you stumble back inside the bar, laughing that dry, broken laugh at something nobody else can hear.

He tells himself he won't come back.

He tells himself it's none of his business.

He tells himself he’s already got enough bloody ghosts to haunt him without adding another.

But he does come back.

Again.

And again.

You don't really notice him after that first night.

Not the way he notices you.

To you, he's just another face in the blurry noise of your nights — another man with a lighter, another set of boots tracking dirt across the floor.

You don't know he comes back.

Every night now.

You don't know he sits in the corner, half-drunk, chain-smoking, pretending to mind his own business while you keep carving pieces off yourself and handing them to anyone who asks.

You're too far gone to care.

Always high, always halfway between laughing and crying.

Your eyes — God, those fucking eyes —

half-lidded, lazy, dead as winter, but still so pretty it makes something sour twist in John's gut.

It happens on a Tuesday.

You’re outside again, the bar's back alley, slumped against the crumbling brick wall like a broken doll.

Dress bunched up around your hips, one shoe missing, a cigarette burning forgotten between your fingers.

You’re shaking. Coming down hard.

You’re muttering to yourself under your breath, something sharp and ugly.

John watches you for a long time before he moves.

He hates himself for it.

Hates that he cares.

But he moves anyway.

Without thinking, he fishes a crumpled wad of cash out of his coat pocket and crouches in front of you, holding it out like a white flag.

"Here," he says gruffly, avoiding your eyes. "Get y'self something to eat. A bed, maybe. Somethin' better than... this."

You blink at the money.

Then at him.

And then — slow, crooked grin splitting your face — you laugh.

That dry, brittle laugh, like something breaking.

You grab the cash with one hand — and with the other, you reach for his belt.

John freezes.

You’re clumsy, sluggish, but determined, tugging at his pants like it’s just the most natural thing in the world. Like this is just how the world works:

money = you.

"Y'wanna fuck me, right?" you slur, eyes glassy but sharp underneath. "Go on then, mister. Paid up, didn't you?"

He grabs your wrists, not rough but firm.

Pushes your hands away.

"Christ," he mutters, like a prayer, like a curse. "That’s not why—"

You tilt your head at him, mascara streaked down your cheeks, lips dry and cracked.

You look at him like he's the crazy one.

"Then why else you givin’ me money?" you ask, so blunt it cuts.

"No one gives girls like me free rides, mister."

You grin again, crooked and sad, and your dress slides even further up your thighs.

You don't even notice. Or maybe you do. Maybe you just don't care.

John exhales smoke through his nose, staring down at you, feeling something black and oily coil inside his chest.

"Pity," he says finally, bitter. "Maybe I’m a stupid sod with a savior complex. Maybe I’m just drunk."

You squint up at him through the smoke and the haze, studying him like he's some strange animal you've never seen before.

Then you shrug.

Simple. Easy.

Like you’ve already decided it doesn’t matter either way.

"Y'can fuck me if you want," you say, almost sweetly. "You're not ugly."

John laughs. A short, sharp, broken thing.

He almost wants to take you up on it, just to feel something real for a change.

Almost.

Instead, he shakes his head, rubs a hand down his face.

"Go sleep it off, love," he says, voice rough. "Get a hot meal. For once."

You clutch the money to your chest like it’s something hole.

Like it’s the first good thing anyone’s given you in a long time.

And you just smile at him —

this soft, stupid little smile that shouldn't hurt to look at, but somehow does.

John tells himself it's still just pity.

Just a bit of guilt, a bit of bleeding heart nonsense.

But when you stumble away into the night, barefoot and laughing under your breath, he stays there, standing in the alleyway like a man who's just been punched in the gut.

And he watches you go, smoke curling around him, cigarette burning down to the filter between his shaking fingers.

He doesn't leave.

Not for a long, long time.

He sees you again three days later.

He’s not looking for you —

at least that’s what he tells himself.

Just grabbing a pint.

Just passing through.

You find him first.

"Hey, mister."

Your voice cuts through the noise.

Soft. Small. Almost shy.

He turns, half expecting the same disaster he left behind in that alley —

the smeared makeup, the too-short dress, the wild deadness in your eyes.

But you’re different this time.

You're...

sober.

No makeup.

No booze in your veins.

No cigarette dangling from your fingers.

Just you —

barefaced, raw, skin looking almost too thin for your bones, but real.

Alive.

You stand there awkwardly, hands buried deep in the pockets of a too-big hoodie, cheap sneakers scuffing the pavement.

You don’t look like the kind of girl who sells herself to survive.

You just look like a girl.

"I’m not a beggar," you say suddenly, fidgeting. "But... thanks. For the money."

John blinks, caught off guard.

You flash a little smile — nervous, genuine, heartbreaking.

"Mister's a good man," you say.

It punches something deep in his gut.

He’s not.

You’re wrong.

He’s done worse than you could imagine.

But you say it like you believe it. Like it’s fact. Like it's written somewhere in a book bigger than either of you.

He swallows around the sudden tightness in his throat.

"You hungry?" he hears himself asking.

You light up. Not much, but enough.

A flicker. A spark.

"Yeah," you say simply.

You spend the day together.

It’s stupid.

It’s perfect.

You get street food — cheap, greasy chips wrapped in newspaper.

You drag him through the streets like a manic little hurricane, pointing out dogs that look like goblins, shouting compliments at old ladies, daring him to race you down alleyways.

At one point, you find a children's park — some half-dead little patch of grass and rusting swings.

You bolt for it like a kid.

"C'mon, mister!" you holler, kicking your shoes off and running barefoot through the patchy grass. "Play with me!"

John stands there like an idiot for a second, cigarette halfway to his mouth.

Then he sighs. Drops the smoke. Crushes it under his boot.

And jogs after you.

You end up pushing each other on the swings, spinning until you're both dizzy, laughing like two drunk ghosts.

You even convince him to climb the jungle gym — which ends with him cursing and almost falling on his ass.

You laugh until you wheeze.

He grins despite himself.

You’re smiling.

Really smiling.

Not that broken, brittle thing he’s seen before.

This one’s messy and real and full of life, like you don’t know you’re supposed to be miserable.

For a few hours, you’re not a ghost.

You’re just a girl.

Later, you sit side by side on the grass, lighting cigarettes with shaking hands.

The sun's sinking, staining the sky blood-red.

John takes a drag, exhales smoke in a long, slow stream.

"You..." he starts, hesitates. Scratches the back of his neck, suddenly awkward.

"You gonna... y'know. Work. Tonight?"

You turn your head slowly toward him.

Wide eyes.

Clear and open and a little confused, like you genuinely don't understand the question at first.

And then—

You laugh.

Sharp, bright, cutting.

"Why?" you grin wickedly, teeth flashing. "Mister wanna make his money’s worth?"

John winces.

You elbow him lightly, still laughing under your breath, cigarette bobbing between your fingers.

"Nah," you say finally, settling back on your elbows, face tipped toward the sky.

"I’m good. Probably won’t need to for a week, thanks to you."

You tap ash into the grass.

"Guess you bought me a vacation, mister."

There’s a strange peace in your voice.

No bitterness. No shame.

Just simple, stupid gratitude.

John wants to say something —

something clever, something to fill the aching silence between you —

but the words stick in his throat.

You crush the cigarette out on the sole of your sneaker, rising to your feet in one fluid, tired motion.

"See ya, Mister," you say, tossing a lazy wave over your shoulder as you drift away into the gathering dark.

John stays where he is, sitting on the grass, smoke curling around him like a noose.

He watches you go.

Again.

And he tells himself it’s just pity.

Still just pity.

It’s a week later.

Exactly a week.

John remembers, because you said it.

Because your voice — lazy and teasing and sweetly poisonous — stuck in his bloody head like a song he can’t turn off.

"Probably for a week," you’d laughed.

And now it's been seven days.

He tells himself he’s just passing through.

That he’s not looking for you.

He’s lying to himself. He knows it.

The night air smells like piss and diesel.

The streets are sticky with old rain and regret.

The city yawns open, ugly and hungry, swallowing girls like you whole.

He’s late.

He knows it the second he spots you.

You’re stumbling down a filthy back alley, shoes dangling from one hand, the other hand dragging along the brick wall for balance.

You’re half-folded over, bent at the waist like you’re trying to walk on a sinking ship.

Your pretty dress is twisted.

Your hair’s a mess.

Your mascara — the little you bothered with tonight — is bleeding down your cheeks.

You giggle.

It’s a wet, broken sound.

You take two more steps, your legs buckling.

John’s moving before he can even think.

You're about to hit the concrete when John lunges forward and catches you.

"Whoa there, love," he mutters, arms wrapping around your shaking frame.

You giggle again, breathless against his chest.

"Heyyy, Misterrrr," you slur, blinking up at him with those wide, beautiful, dead eyes. "You gonna fuck me nowww?"

John frowns, adjusting his grip on you.

Your body is practically boneless in his arms, and you reek of cheap booze and something sweeter underneath —

roses wilting in dirty water.

"You alright, pet?" he tries, voice low.

You don’t answer.

Just hum some tuneless nonsense under your breath.

Your fingers tug weakly at the sleeve of his coat like a child needing comfort.

"Christ," he mutters, pulling you closer.

"You’re a bloody mess."

You nod cheerfully like you heard him, but you're not really there, not really.

Your head lolls back and you grin up at him — wide, dumb, beautiful — before you suddenly double over and—

you vomit all over him.

All over his coat, his shirt, his bloody boots.

John grimaces, steadying you as your whole body shudders.

"That's alright, love," he says quietly, patting your back while you cough and gasp and sag against him.

Still — something twists deep in his gut.

Doesn’t even think about it.

Instead, he just tightens his grip and scoops you up —

like you’re something precious, something fragile, something he’s terrified might break if he’s not careful.

He takes you to his flat.

It’s not much —

just a shitty little place that smells like old books, cigarettes, and alcohol.

But it’s clean.

It’s safe.

He strips off his ruined coat, tosses it into the sink, and carries you to the couch.

You’re half-passed out by the time he gets you there.

You’re murmuring under your breath, little nonsense things, like a kid muttering in their sleep.

John finds a blanket.

Tugs it up around your chin.

Your face is flushed.

Your lips are parted.

You look so fucking young like this. So stupidly young and vulnerable.

He pulls a chair close to the couch and sinks into it heavily, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands.

He watches you.

He watches you all night.

He doesn't move.

Doesn’t sleep.

Not really.

When he finally dozes off — just for a moment — the dream hits him hard.

It’s you.

Of course it’s you.

Your body under his.

Your mouth gasping his name.

Your nails digging into his skin.

Hot and dirty and desperate.

His.

He jerks awake with a sick, guilty twist in his gut, heart hammering against his ribs.

You’re still sleeping, innocent and oblivious, curled up like a child under the blanket he gave you.

John scrubs a hand down his face.

"Fucking hell," he mutters.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

You don’t remember a damn thing when you finally stir hours later.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the couch, wrapped up in the blanket like a cocoon, staring down at your hands.

When you see him, you blink.

Confused.

Flickering through memories that aren’t quite there.

"I... um," you start, frowning. "Did I...?"

"You threw up on me," John says dryly, tossing a clean t-shirt over the back of the chair.

"And passed out. Real classy."

You flush — a soft, miserable red creeping up your neck.

"Sorry, mister," you mumble, cheeks burning. "Didn’t mean to be a bother."

John ruffles your hair, chuckling dryly.

"S’nothin’, love. You’re alright."

You sip the coffee that he gave you, curling your bare legs under you, shrinking into yourself like a kicked dog.

John doesn’t like that look on you.

Not one bit.

He makes you breakfast —

burnt toast and greasy eggs and orange juice that tastes like tar.

You eat like you haven’t had a real meal in days.

He watches you across the table, smoking and pretending he’s not watching.

When you’re finished, you wipe your mouth on your sleeve and stand up awkwardly.

"I should... go," you say, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

"I'll drop you," John says quickly — too quickly.

You blink at him, surprised.

"Really, mister. It's fine—"

"I insist," he says, already grabbing his keys.

He tells himself it’s just to make sure you get home safe.

He tells himself it’s not because he needs to know where you live.

He’s lying again.

The walk to your place is quiet.

You lead him through crumbling back alleys and graffiti-smeared stairwells until you reach a battered old building that looks half-abandoned.

You pause at the front door, shifting from foot to foot.

"This is me," you say softly.

You smile — small and sad and shy.

"Thanks, mister," you add. "For... y'know. Not letting me die in a gutter."

John shrugs like it’s nothing.

Like it didn’t cost him anything.

Like he didn’t dream about you all fucking night.

You wave again —

that same lazy little wave —

and disappear inside.

John stands there for a long time after you’re gone.

Smoking.

Thinking.

Feeling things he doesn’t want to name.

He can’t stop thinking about you after that.

He tells himself he’s just worried.

Just making sure you’re alright.

But it’s not just that.

It’s the way you looked curled up in his blanket.

It’s the way you smiled at him like he was the only good thing in a world full of monsters.

It’s the sound of your voice — broken, brutal, beautiful.

He starts going back to the places he might find you.

Starts listening for your laugh.

Starts noticing every girl with a cigarette and mascara-smudged eyes and thinking, There she is. That’s her.

But it’s never you.

And the empty ache in his chest just grows bigger and bigger.

It becomes a ritual after that.

Every night now, John comes to take you home.

Doesn’t matter where you are, what you're doing.

He finds you.

In some shit-stained alley.

In the back of some filthy dive bar.

In the arms of strangers.

Sometimes he catches you mid-fuck —

bent over some broken table, some guy's hands bruising your hips, your eyes half-closed, mouth open but silent.

Sometimes you’re wiping your face with the back of your hand when he gets there.

Cum glistening on your cheeks, your lashes, your lips.

John doesn't say anything.

Doesn't yell.

Doesn't judge.

He just shrugs out of his coat, drapes it over your shoulders, and leads you away like he’s guiding a sleepwalker.

But it eats him alive.

Every time he sees another man's hands on you, another man's cum dripping down your chin —

something black and ugly and furious wakes up inside him.

He hates it.

He hates it more than he’s ever hated anything in his cursed, miserable life.

So he starts giving you money.

Not much, at first.

Crumpled bills tucked into your pocket with a gruff, embarrassed cough.

"Buy yourself a proper meal, yeah?" he mutters, looking anywhere but at you.

You smile — that soft, broken little smile — and take it without question.

You don’t ask why.

You don’t ask for more.

But John sees the change almost immediately.

You stop letting strange men touch you.

Stop letting them buy your drinks, pull you into dark corners.

You cling to John instead.

Follow him home like a stray cat.

Sleep curled up on his couch, wearing his t-shirts, stealing his cigarettes.

And he lets you.

He fucking lets you because somewhere along the way, he stopped being your savior.

And started being your jailer.

You just don’t realize it yet.

You trust him.

God help you, you trust him because he’s the only man who hasn’t tried to fuck you.

The only man who doesn’t look at you like you're a thing to be used and thrown away.

John keeps telling himself that's all it is.

That he just wants to protect you.

That it’s not about the way your t-shirts ride up over your thighs when you stretch.

Not about the way your bra strap slips off your shoulder when you laugh.

Not about the way your lips wrap around the neck of a beer bottle absent-mindedly when you're not even thinking about it.

It’s not about any of that.

It’s not.

Until the night it is.

You're sitting on the couch, barefoot and cross-legged, wearing one of his shirts that’s far too big on you.

Talking.

You were rambling about your past again—

About shitty foster homes and shittier men.

About how you learned real young what men really wanted.

About how you stopped believing in fairytales because your prince charming turned out to be another monster with rough hands and a mean mouth.

You were laughing when you said it.

That pretty, broken laugh of yours.

Like it didn’t hurt anymore.

Like you didn’t care.

John should be listening.

He really should.

But he’s not.

He’s staring.

At your lips, moving so soft and easy.

At your chest, rising and falling with every careless breath.

At the hint of skin peeking out when you shift, the worn fabric of his shirt clinging to the curve of your tits.

He feels his cock twitch in his jeans.

Hardening.

Throbbing.

And suddenly he’s not hearing a word you're saying anymore.

Just staring.

Just wanting.

You don’t notice at first.

You're still talking —

some story about some bastard who left you bruised and bleeding and crying at a bus stop.

But then you glance at him.

Catch the way his eyes are dark and heavy and fixed on your mouth.

Catch the obvious, aching bulge in his jeans.

Your smile falters —

just for a second.

Just a flicker of something sad and brittle flashing across your face.

And then you smile again.

A dull, tired smile.

Like you're used to this.

Like you expected it all along.

Like it doesn’t even hurt anymore.

You crawl across the couch to him.

Settle between his knees.

Fingers working open his belt like it's just another job, just another disappointment.

John grabs your wrists.

"Wait," he rasps, voice cracked and desperate.

You look up at him.

Not angry.

Not pleading.

Just resigned.

"’S'alright, mister," you murmur, that flat smile never leaving your lips. "You’re different, yeah? It’s fine."

He wants to tell you no.

Wants to shove you away and run and never see you again.

But he doesn’t.

He lets you.

Lets you free him from his jeans, your small hands working his cock free, hard and throbbing and leaking pre-cum.

Lets you take him into your mouth —

warm and wet and willing.

Lets you suck him off slowly, lazily, like you're doing him a favor you don't even care about.

And it feels good.

God, it feels so fucking good.

Better than anything he’s had in years.

Better than magic.

Better than whiskey.

Better than the cigarettes burning a hole in his lungs.

He groans low and broken, one hand finding its way into your hair, guiding you with trembling fingers.

You don't protest.

You don't flinch.

You just take it.

Take him.

Until he’s spilling into your mouth with a raw, guttural gasp, the world going white around the edges.

Afterwards, you sit back on your heels, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Still smiling that awful, empty smile.

John pulls his jeans back up with shaking hands.

Silence stretches thick and suffocating between you.

Finally he croaks out, "Do you... do you hate me now?"

You tilt your head at him, considering.

Shrug.

"Hate’s a strong word," you say lightly. "I'm just disappointed."

The words slice into him sharper than any blade.

But you don’t seem to notice.

Or maybe you just don’t care.

You stand up, stretch your arms over your head, and yawn like a cat.

"It’s fine," you add, already wandering toward the kitchen.

"Not that it matters. You're the one paying me now, right? ‘S'all good."

And somehow, that hurt worse than anything.

Worse than if you had screamed at him.

Worse than if you had slapped him across the face.

He just sat there, jeans still undone, staring at you.

At the hollow place where your soul used to be.

At the pretty, broken thing he was slowly making his own.

After that night, something inside you changes.

You’re not sweet anymore.

You’re not soft.

You still smile —

God, you always smile —

but it’s dull now.

Lifeless.

Like a neon sign buzzing in a dead city.

You're full.

Full of disappointment, full of resignation, full of the ugly truth.

John's just another piece of trash.

No different from the rest.

Just another man who wanted something from you, no matter how pretty he dressed it up.

John tries to pretend it’s love.

Tries to kiss you like you're a fucking miracle. Tries to touch you like you're made of something holy.

But you're not.

You’re empty.

You're a vessel. A cracked and leaking thing.

And he’s just another man filling you up with his filth.

Another Mister who wants something and takes it.

You don't hate him.

You don't love him either.

You just accept it.

Same as you always do.

Then it happens again.

And again.

You don’t protest.

You don’t pull away.

You let him touch you.

Let him rut against you.

Let him use you.

But you don't feel it.

Not really.

You don't kiss him with your mouth.

You kiss him with your absence.

You moan because you know he likes it.

You arch your back because that's what they want.

You scratch your nails down his spine because someone taught you that men like to feel owned, just a little.

But your eyes are always distant.

Wandering.

Dead.

John notices.

He notices everything.

How you never meet his eyes anymore.

How your smile never reaches your cheeks.

How you don't fall asleep curled against him like you used to.

You just lie there —

cold, silent, naked —

like a broken doll someone forgot to put away.

Sometimes, when he’s fucking you, he talks to you.

Whispers your name into your neck.

Tells you how good you feel, how beautiful you are, how much he needs you.

You don’t answer.

You just whimper prettily when you think you’re supposed to.

It drives him insane.

Because you’re there —

but you’re not.

He can touch you, own you, fill you —

but he can’t reach you.

You’re a locked room he lost the key to.

You’re a dead girl smiling.

One night, he’s rougher than usual.

Not violent.

Just desperate.

Hands grabbing too tight.

Mouth bruising your skin.

Fucking you deep and hard, like he's trying to break through whatever walls you’ve built between you.

You let him.

You always let him.

Afterward, he collapses beside you, panting, sticky with sweat and shame.

You roll away from him, staring at the cracked ceiling.

Silent.

Smiling.

He touches your hair, brushes it back from your face.

"You’re not... you're not mad, are you, love?" he asks, voice raw.

You blink slowly, still smiling that awful, empty smile.

"Nah," you murmur. "You’re just Mister, right?"

You say it so sweetly.

So gently.

And it cuts deeper than any knife ever could.

John doesn’t know what to say.

Doesn’t know how to fix this.

Doesn’t know if he can.

So he just lies there, listening to you breathe, feeling the space between you turn colder and colder.

Like a grave filling up with dirt.

After that, it gets worse.

The sex is mechanical now.

A transaction.

A ritual.

He gives you money.

You give him your body.

He holds you like a lover.

You let him.

He kisses you like you're precious.

You let him.

He tells you he needs you.

You let him.

But in your eyes —

God, in your eyes —

he sees it.

The truth.

He’s no different.

He’s nothing special.

He’s just another man who fucked you when you were too broken to fight back.

Just another name on the list you’ll forget one day when you're drunk enough, dead enough, free enough.

And the worst part?

You don’t even blame him.

You just accept it.

Because that’s all you’ve ever known.

And John...

he hates himself more every day.

But he still keeps coming back.

Keeps reaching for you like a man dying of thirst reaching for a poisoned cup.

Keeps hoping for a miracle that never comes.

Because you’re already dead inside.

And he’s the fool who helped bury you.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[thevoidstaredback]

Enough Caffeine to Kill an Elephant

Listen. It was an accident. He didn't mean to! It just kinda happened.

So maybe he brought a drink with enough caffeine in it to kill an elephant within a few minutes, and maybe he forgot to put the sleeve on his cup so he could tell it apart from the others, but it's not his fault! He didn't think anyone else was going to have the exact same Yeti cup as him! It's not like he'd seen any of the others carry one before. Besides, he worked with superheros. They should be smart enough to check before drinking someone else's drink.

Danny had been summoned by the Justice League Dark a few years back in order to help with a world ending crisis and he just didn't leave. It's not like he could go anywhere anyway. His ghost half hadn't grown past fourteen and his human half had stopped visibly aging at eighteen. He'd had to leave town as Danny Fenton, but he'd stayed in Amity Park as Danny Phantom. When his parents died of old age, thank god, he'd closed down the portal, stuck around for a few more years, before traveling the world as Danny Fenton.

Anyway, he'd taken up residence in the House of Mysteries after the JLD had summoned him. Constantine, at first, had been wary, but he and the rest of the JLD had grown to accept him. He was an honorary member of the team.

At some point, just after Robin had become Red Robin, Danny had been introduced to the Justice League. He liked those guys, too, and worked with them sometimes. Though, he usually only went to bug them.

Red Robin had been very interested in the fact that his was fourteen and working with grown heros, like he was one to talk, but Danny hadn't explained anything other than saying that he had died and come back. The following conversation was an interesting one that lead to Danny knowing that Nightwing was the Batman he'd met and that Batman was lost somewhere. He'd confirmed that the man was not dead, but he hadn't offered to help look for him. He probably should have, in retrospect.

Back on topic! Everyone in the JLD knew not to touch Danny's drink. They'd all seen him make it before and had been horrified on varying degrees. It's not like it could kill him. He's already half dead! So long as he only drank this specific brew as Phantom, he'd be fine.

The Justice League, apparently, didn't get the memo. He blames Constantine because Zatanna and Raven can do no wrong. No, John, he's not biased.

The point is, Red Robin just had a sip of Danny's drink. The horror he now felt was akin to the fear he held when he'd told his parents he was Phantom. (An interaction that had gone very well, thank you very much.)

Danny knew the exact moment that the vigilante realized he grabbed the wrong drink. His eyes widened to an astonishing degree, and, if he'd been able to seen his eyes behind the mask, Danny knew that the man's pupils would've completely overtaken the irises. His hands started shaking, too. Oh, no. The man's already addicted to hellish amounts of coffee. This is only going to make it worse!

Quickly, and without drawing any attention, thank the Ancients, Danny rushed over. "You, um, you okay, man?" Obviously not, but he tends to talk when he's anxious and he was certainly anxious right now. He could've possibly just killed a man via poison!

"What the fuck is in this coffee?" Red Robin asked, going to take another sip.

Danny pulled the Yeti from his hand and gave him the proper one. "Enough caffeine to kill an elephant."

"Obviously not, seeing as I'm still alive."

"Yeah, I can't tell if that's a good thing or not."

"Excuse me?"

"I-I mean-! I didn't-! You know what I mean." Caffeine is poisonous in excess, and his drink was way beyond excess, but it's the only thing that works for him as a ghost! Superpowered metabolism and all that.

"Do I?" The laugh in his voice answered for him. He took a sip from his drink and frowned at it. "I don't think any coffee will ever be enough again."

"And that's my cue to get my drink very far away from you." Danny turned, fully intent on moving to the other side of the room. Besides, the meeting was going to start as soon as the Flash and Kid Flash arrived, which would be soon. Something about one of their Rouges getting out?

"What?" Red Robin asked, "Why?" If he was a little desperate to get another sip of that coffee, he'd rather not acknowledge it.

"Because you don't need anymore lethal coffee," he muttered, "The sip you took will already keep you awake for three days at least, and it probably jump started an addiction. Best to stop it now. Besides, I need to go have my crisis on how the hell you're still alive after even a sip of this stuff."

"Again, rude." The bird themed vigilante crossed his arms as best he could while holding his cup. "If it's so dangerous, why do you drink it?"

Danny took a deliberate sip as he locked eyes with the technically younger man. "I'm dead. I don't need to worry about my heart stopping or having a seizure."

"Excuses."

"No, it's not 'excuses'. I'm saving your life."

"You're a kid. If I can't have that coffee, then you shouldn't be having it."

"First, I'm older than you. Second, I already told you: I'm dead. This isn't going to hurt me. Third, you can't tell me what to do."

"There's no way you're older than me. You're like, ten."

"I'm thirty-eight!" He balked, "I only look fourteen because I died when I was fourteen. We've been over this."

Neither noticed the entire Justice League looking at them. The two they were waiting on had arrived a few minutes ago and everyone was ready to start the meeting, but they'd been distracted by the two's conversation. Was that true? Had Phantom really died so young? They'd all been made aware he was not living, but they didn't think he'd died so young! Though, that was probably the denial speaking.

The Justice League Dark had been fully aware of this and didn't really bat an eye. Though, someone should probably get this meeting started. A potentially world ending threat was the topic, and that was a pretty important thing to discuss.

Captain Marvel was the first to pull himself together, though that was only after Atlas and Zeus had mentally slapped him out of his stupur. "As, ah, riveting as this conversation is," he stepped between the two boys- er, boy and man? "we really need to start this meeting."

Batman did not clear his throat because he'd not lost his voice in the first place. "He's right. Everyone take your seats."

Storyboard Part 2

[auroreliis]

Honestly if I was batsis I'd pretend to have a crush on the batboys close friends(excluding Damian because he and Jon are still babies) just to annoy them. Jason bring Roy over? Suddenly I'm very interested in his tattoo's and I want to know all about archery. I catch kon in the kitchen in Tim? Suddenly i'm very into the conversation they're having and am making eye contact a lot with Kon. I feel liked they'd do something like this; Batsis: You know I really like your tattoos. Roy: Oh thanks. Jason: ... You gotta go, like, now. Roy: What-

Brilliant, anon!! What a great idea!! This was very fun to write :)

(don't mind the spelling mistakes please lol. i am tired out of my mind)

For starters, when Bruce first introduced the members of the Justice League to you (it took a lot of convincing), you just couldn’t help but flirt with them.

I mean, just LOOK at Aquaman. The moment you laid your eyes on him, you felt a spark. He hadn’t noticed you staring, but surely he had felt it too. Bruce, however, had noticed you staring. He didn’t seem particularly amused, almost as though he saw you daydreaming about your wedding with Aquaman. Just when you were making your way over to them, Bruce scowled and swiftly led Aquaman away. After that, you never saw him ever again…

Or that one time when Green Lantern came over. Wow. What a man. You didn’t waste a second walking up to him and introducing yourself. The giggles you were suppressing nearly slipped out after you saw Bruce’s eye twitch. Green Lantern entertained your advances, though you knew he wasn’t interested in you. Whenever Bruce started with his, “Hal. We should leave”, you would always interrupt him with more questions directed at Hal.

“So…do you like pasta? I’m actually really good at making it. You should come over, you know? I could treat you!” You all but winked at him.

Hal found it very interesting, don’t get him wrong, he thought you were very funny, but when Bruce is standing right there beside him, he felt…intimidated. So intimidated, in fact, that he can barely reply to your questions.

“Oh…um…” he nervously glanced at Bruce. “Green. You know what, kid? Your father and I have some business to attend to…so…see you next time. Good luck with the um…yeah, never mind.”

Hal sped off, leaving you and Bruce alone. You had been in the mood to laugh until your father turned to you with a serious expression. Suddenly you weren’t in the mood to laugh anymore. To put it simply, it was a clear warning: Don’t do it again, his look communicated.

Now, Constantine, he was fun to hang around with, likely because he isn’t as scared of Batman as the rest is. And also, he’s hot. “You are so cool, honestly. It’s really impressive how often you’ve escaped death”, you leaned against the wall. To be honest, you weren’t even listening to what he was saying, all you needed to hear was his strong English accent and little sprinkles of humor.

After some bribery, you had gotten Tim to tell you that Bruce was most concerned about you meeting Constantine. For some reason, you figured…

“So…I like older men, what about you?”, you batted your eyelashes at him. You didn’t have Bruce in your periphery, as you were focusing on John, but you could imagine him shaking in fury.

“Yeah, I like older men too”, he replied nonchalantly. Dammit, he got you. Well, he was a funny guy.

Bruce seemingly relaxed at that, but that’s not to say that he was satisfied with the interaction taking place. “You’re funny, are you single-”, you could barely finish your sentence before Dick dragged you away to spend time with you. Though, you believe that Bruce asked Dick to get you away just so you couldn’t talk to Constantine like that.

Bruce had way too many attractive friends. Well, almost all his friends were attractive: Wonder Woman, Superman, Flash…hell, even Martian Manhunter. I mean, he can read minds! Just imagine the potential…

“So, I heard you can read minds. Read mine right now”, your grin was…suspicious. Bruce couldn’t read minds like J’onn could, but he could imagine what you were thinking about. No, actually, he didn’t want to imagine it.

“J’onn.”, Bruce, ever so stern, called out and gestured towards the door. The J’onn in question had merely walked off in that direction silently, as though having understood Bruce’s point from one word. Martian Manhunter hadn’t read your mind that day, to your dismay. However, you had managed to make Bruce uncomfortable, so that was considered a win.

Dick himself had very attractive friends. Wally West, quite the flirt, was among them. Though, oddly enough, you had imagined him to be more flirty. It couldn’t be that Dick took a page out of Bruce’s book and told him to watch it, right?

“So, you’re fast, huh?”, you looked Wally up and down. “I happen to be”, Wally glanced at Dick.

“Okaayyyyy, Wally, you should leave”, Dick spoke with a strained smile.

“Yeah. Oh, by the way, what about the-”

“Now.”

Wally looked around awkwardly, “…right.”

And Raven—what a woman. Plus, Cyborg and Starfire filled your thoughts. Though Wally was the first and last friend of Dick’s you ever saw. A pity. He seemed to have learnt his lesson…

Now Roy Harper, Jason’s friend, was quite something. Tattoos? Archery? Hell yeah.

“Wow, so you like engineering books? Well, the manor has a huge variety. You should come by more often”, you smiled innocently.

“Um, actually, he will NOT be coming over ever again”, Jason frowned at your words.

“Why not?”, both you and Roy turned to Jason.

“BECAUSE I said so”, you and Roy made eye contact awkwardly.

“You”, Jason points at Roy, “Get out.”

“What? But you said you needed my he-”

“NOWWWW. Do NOT make me repeat myself.”

Yeah, Roy leaving was more awkward than anything else that had happened so far.

Jason didn’t have that many friends, as far as you knew at least. In other words: You would never see Roy ever again…

Now Tim, being charming himself, had many attractive friends.

For starters: Conner Kent.

You hadn’t had much contact with the Kents, however Conner had come over a few times. And wow. Despite being overly confident (and often obnoxious), he was very, very attractive. However, you have never talked to him. The reason? Tim makes sure he keeps you at arm’s length. In fact, you’re not sure you could ever find a way to interract with Tim’s friends…unless…

“Hey, Tim!”, Jason called out, “Bruce says you need to go to the cave right now.”

“What? But I have guests over…”, Tim eyes Jason suspiciously.

“I mean, if you wanna get in trouble with him, be my guest”, Jay raised his hands defensively.

“I-…fine. Conner, just a second, I will be right back. DO NOT move”, Tim sighs.

After Tim left, you shot Jason a thumbs-up and went to mingle with Superboy.

“Good evening. You must be Conner. I’ve heard a lot about you from Tim”, you say, taking it slow.

“Good evening! Hopefully you only heard good things!”, he grins.

“Oh, plenty of good things. Say, if you really can fly, then why don’t you take me for a ride? I haven’t ever seen the sky from…well, up in the sky”, you copied his grin.

“Ah, well, I would, really, but I’m not sure how Tim would feel, you know? I mean, he’s a bit of a-”, Conner started.

“A bit of a what.”, a new voice shocked the both of you.

Tim. Where the hell did he come from?

“I though I told you to leave if they started talking to you?”, Tim ignored you, only focusing on scolding Conner.

“Well, that would’ve been incredibly rude…”, Conner struggled to defend himself.

“You.”, Tim turns to you.

“Me?”, you said, though you weren’t scared of him anymore.

“Yes, you. What’s the big idea? Why did you pull that just to talk to Conner? I don’t know what you have planned, but forget it immediately. If you don’t leave right now, I’ll tell Bruce to reinstate the therapy sessions. Then you can explain to him why you enjoy sabotaging others so much.”

That was, quite frankly, terrifying. You hadn’t been this scared of Tim in a while.

Well, safe to say you won’t be doing this again…

[caffeinatedvigilantewriter]

So even with the Meta human acts, there are still people hunting and kidnapping metas to kill trafficker, or other horrible things.

Unfortunately for Dani, her main cover while traveling (if someone sees her use her powers) is that she’s a metahuman.

Well, she told the wrong person.

Dani has been in the meta fight rink for 3 months now, and lost a huge chunk of he hearing in her left ear, her entire body was covered in lightning scars and her right leg has horrible burns scars from some of her fights. She looked worse for wear.

In the middle of her latest fight when she got a glimpse of someone in the shadows watching her round with interest.

They locked eyes and Dani could see them share a glance with a member in the crowd.

Unfortunately, he opponent realizes she was distracted and pummels her into the ground, knocking her out cold

The teen titans caught wind of a metal human fight rink happen in the city next over, and decided to put a stop to it.

Damian was in the rafters and he locked eyes with the current fighter

A teenager girl, around Damian’s age (Dani and Dami can be anywhere from 13-17) covered in horrific scars.

Damian glanced at Dick, who was in the crowd, but when he looked back, the girl was out cold, and her opponent was about to deliver a killing blow.

Damian swung down, and fought the guy himself.

By the time the fight was over, police there and talking to the victims.

dani was regaining consciousness, but the moment she was awake, she told the nearest hero “no hospitals”

Damian, who just assumed the girl didn’t like hospitals or was at an hospital when she was taken/sold, honored her request and took her to the Titans Tower

When Dani awoke, they found out she didn’t have anywhere else to go, and decided to recruit her to the Teen Titans (keep in mind Dani is her in human form)

Meanwhile before Dani got rescued, Danny reached out to John Constantine, asking her to find his sister, worried after she hasn’t checked in

Cue John going on a manhunt around the world even though Dani’s literally been in Jump City for weeks

[ew-selfish-art]

DP x DC AU: Bruce is the one to invite Constantine over, and no, it's not to improve his tenuous working relationship with the asshole. It's the opposite of that.

---

Danny had become a frequent visitor of Wayne Manor in the last few months, and Bruce had to admit that while the kid was certainly a bit ominous for his liking for a partner to Tim, he was a generally kind and happy soul. They'd been dating for a lot longer than the Bats knew of- Kon had been the one to let it slip to Jon who told Damian and so on- and since the relationship was no longer secret, Tim brings him to family functions.

The thing about Danny is... He's dead. More than half of the time. Which again, is not Ideal for Bruce's wishes for Tim's future husband, but it also means that he reviles in being alive. Danny is downright joyous about using his time left on earth properly. He makes Tim eat real food, enjoy real sleep and generally live a more fulfilled life than he had been. The whole family noticed the changes in Tim, and it made them like Danny even more.

So after a particularly grueling day of dealing with Trigon and therefore the JLD's lack of coordination and sensible planning- Bruce gets the idea. John couldn't fucking contain himself admonishing Bruce, and perhaps it was vindictive, but Bruce figures that John should meet Danny. Sans context of course.

...

John is really over dealing with Batman's prissy, over complicated and perfectionist attitude. Come to the Cave he'd demanded, as though John didn't have a favorite bar to get back to, deal with a ghost he ordered like John didn't have other priorities than some random shade.

When walking into the space however, the second his teleportation portal closed, John knew something was deeply, deeply fucked. The shadows were growing longer, the second hand on his watch ticked slower, the air smelled of sulfur and... Red Robin was sitting working at the computer like nothing was wrong. But what was wrong, was the kid was marked by The End. Marked by The Infinite. FUCK.

John knew Death, the Endless, and knew she could pick favorites just like her siblings (Dream's immortal drinking buddy comes to mind). But this wasn't her work, this was something other.

"Mate- the Bat said there was a ghost?" John feels like he might throw up, the eerie atmosphere complicating what should have been a simple request.

"Uh, obviously." The kid didn't even look over from his screen or pause his typing.

John slowly approached, looking over each shoulder a few times, turning in a few circles as the shadows appeared to dance and echo within the cave. He could see his breath, the air became so cold so suddenly. And then, with the gentleness of a pin drop, a new agonizing sound appeared with a Kid walking down the cave stairs. The aura of the room turned dark, every cell in John's body screaming to run, that this was basically the little girl from the ring crawling through the TV as the young man walked down the steps.

"Babe, your grampa says that dinners going to be ready in a second. Oh, uh, hey dude." The creature speaks, turning his eyes to John for only a moment to study him. It feels equivalent to a butterfly being pinned by its wings.

"Y-y-you, you're, you're one of the Endless?" John stutters, his body reacting in fear despite the nonchalant posture of the Beast. The young man rolls his eyes.

"Nah, one of the Ancients but like uh, I'm new in town. And hon seriously don't be late, A made tiramisu for dessert and you're not allowed to have any if you're late and I don't want to deal with you pouting."

"You had me at Tiramisu!" Red stands up from his computer and then turns, "John, what are you doing here again?" Red Robin finally looks over at him, completely confused.

"Just leaving." John mutters, his eyes still trained on the ANCIENT.

---

Bruce could barely hide his laugh when Tim reported the Magician meeting Danny in the cave.

That'll show the asshole to question Batman's knowledge of the occult.

[woodland-gremlin]

Summoning Your Secret Boyfriend Pt. 7

This part was brought to you by the amazing @megasweetbones . They wrote this part, I simply edited it. Go check them and their work! Show them some love!

First Previously AU Summary

“Were you the ones that summoned me, freeing from the bane that is paperwork?” the being asked.

Constantine was momentarily thrown for a loop, but the Brit was able to right himself more quickly than any of the other heroes.

"We summoned you to make a deal. I'm offering my soul-"

"Let me stop you there." The King's smile was mocking. And probably terrifying to everyone else, given his fangs. His lichtenberg lightning marks spasming in a way that could be mistaken as agitation. "I know who you are, John Constantine. Many hold claim to fragments of your soul. But, even if that was not the case, I am the one who holds claim to all souls. As all souls have , and will, pass through the Infinite. Your soul holds no weight here. Neither does your mind or body. Do not bargain with them. And do not bargain with me. Simply tell me why it is you summoned me, as I already know what I want from you."

Constantine looked like he didn't know whether to be offended or not. But it seems fear won out, as well as desperation.

"Forgive me, please, your majesty. Trigon has threatened to destroy our universe, starting with Earth. We have summoned you here to ask that Trigon be forced to return to the Infinite Realms. Or, to at least be stopped from devouring our universe."

It was as if everything paused. The billow of the wind, crackling ice, the flicker of the candles, the shifting of the lightning scars and cape of stars.

"He has threatened... what?" Quiet, almost shocked, the words passed from the Ghost King's lips.

Lips which twisted into a snarl. Fangs elongated. Flickering candles became green blazes. Wind roared back into whipping gales. The King's body distorted with his rage. Unfathomable and nightmarish.

"He dares to Challenge me?!? My Rule? My Authority? He knows of how this world has those under my protection and, yet, still believes he can touch what is MINE?"

If Red Robin and Supernova hadn't already been exposed to this Eldritch madness and the Realms, frequently, they'd probably be near catatonic. Like the other heroes. Most were on the ground or leaning against something. Aquaman looked sea sick. Flash was shockingly still for once. Even Batman couldn’t handle the madness the King oozed.

Supernova can smell that at least two people have pissed themselves. Euwh. What an awful day to have a nose. Especially with his heightened sense of smell. Phantom could probably smell it too, though was uncaring in his rage.

At least Constantine was able to speak in the face of an angry Ancient who Rules the Infinite. His experience with powerful otherworldly beings that could end him at any moment coming in play.

"Please, let us know what deal it is you wish to make in order to have Trigon stopped. He will be here very soon."

"I want you to abolish the Anti-Ecto Acts and free the souls of my citizens, who were captured and experimented on under such heinous laws." Phantom turned to look at Red Robin and Supernova, who should have pretended to be affected like the others. As it stands though, they were standing there. Unshaken and unaffected. "There are those among you who have already worked to undo the damage. But they should not be forced to work alone. I want all of you to support them and my people you have wronged. I want my people returned, safe and sound."

Phantom was finally able to calm down as he spoke. Wind slowed down and candles went back to but a flicker. He turned back to look Constantine dead in the eyes.

"Make no mistake, I would have fought for the Earth, and this universe, the moment I was made aware of Trigon. I have my own reasons for protecting this world and its people. But I expect the same in return. In that you are protecting the health, well-being, and safety of your people? I must do the same. Free my people and erase the laws that allow your kind to hunt us for sport and science. This is not a deal, as it's my job to prevent my people from destroying the Balance. No, this is a warning. My people may question why I'd save yours, given these laws. My people want war. While I deal with Trigon, you will undo the mistakes of your government. Or else, banishing Trigon would be for nothing."

With that, the King left. Ice and the haunting aura leaving with him.

Constantine looked over at the two young men who stood, casual and unmoving. He, as well as every other person in the room, was still shaking. The whole situation called for a drink, or a dozen. But he knew that he needed to get everyone in order to fulfill their end of the deal. The Bat would just knock down any liquor once he was aware and the Anti-Ecto Acts were too important to deal with while drunk. Bullocks.

To be continued?

Note: Hoped you guys enjoyed that! @megasweetbone really out did themselves. Now the question is this a good place to finish? There isn't much more I would add but some aftermath so I want you guys to tell me if I should just leave it as is or not. Once it is finished I am going to ask the others who helped with the story ( @fanfics-or-dragons and @megasweetbones ) if I can post it on Ao3! After all I want to properly credit them so knowing if they have an account so I can add them as a guest writer or credit them another way. Tell me your thoughts in the comments!

-Gremlin

Edit: I have decide to post it on Ao3. If I decide to add anymore it will be in an epilogue or another story. Thanks for your support!

[demon-at-peace]

DP + DC

hi kinda forgot about Tumblr, anyhow I've got a idea, also swear I'll work on my Danny/Dick thing soon, sorry ya'll,

--

The magic users were scared. A being had taken the throne of the infinite realms, they said he called himself Phantom. So they searched for him, old documents, books, even the internet. they found him, Amity parks hero.

Then vigilante had vanished, as had one Daniel Fenton at the exact same time. The bats were paranoid, everyone knew that. They didn't believe in coincidences. This wasn't a coincidence. So since they had nothing on Phantom they looked into Daniel.

He was missing even had a untouched file at the police station, had been reported absent at sixteen by his sister. She'd just come home from college. And he wasn't there, her bother wasn't there. the parents hadn't noticed, but Jazz had said they would have noticed if he'd been gone for a month.

The file didn't really have a lot on the teen. They knew his general height and weight, 5'5 and around 105 pounds. That was from a doctor visit when he was fourteen so likely inaccurate. They also knew his hobbies, he liked chemistry and hung around the school computer lab. That was all they knew, his parents weren't helpful and his friends didn't trust them.

Sam Mason and Tucker Foley glared at them. They stared him in the eyes and told him he's safe. They knew where he was, they had contact. But not through any device in amity park. So obviously it had been some time since they'd made contact.

Jazz Fenton had stared at them, told them they hadn't cared when it mattered, told them Amity had killed him. Told them he was safe. Told them he finally had people on his side and they should leave it alone. Then she slammed the door.

She too hadn't contacted him on any device or through mail. No none of them had made contact with Daniel. There were no taxi rides, flights, meet up texts, no letters, no anything. How they had contacted him was a mystery.

So all that was left was to contact Phantom. The High King. The Realms Savoir. The Defeater of Pariah Dark. The Protector of the Dead. The being that could destroy them with a snap of his fingers.

The summoning spell was extensive, dozens of runes, circles and magic that had to be channeled into it. Constantine finished the chant and the circle lit up. Bright Lazarus green, it spun, the circles shift and it glows brighter, suddenly there was something there.

It wasn't human, not quite it looked wrong, eyes that were green pools, their skin pale, almost blue like a corpses. Their hair a snowy white, almost floating as though there was no gravity. His crown looked like the aurora borealis, he wore a cloak, a solid black flowing around him, he looked like death. Like the depictions of the grim reapers in fairy tales.

"Well hello there," the beings voice is smooth ringing, not scratchy at all, smooth perfect English, but it feels otherworldly. It feels wrong, the beings very presence feels wrong, like they are defying the universe.

"Greetings to high king Phantom of the infinite realms," Diana takes lead, she bows, and the others fall suit. And he laughs, the sound is wrong, beautiful, hypnotizing and wrong. Horribly wrong, it sounds like the laugh of a dead man, echoing and forever haunting.

"You needn't do that," he smiles with teeth that are far too sharp, "But if we must," he bows his head, "Greetings to Diana of Themyscira, Batman Gotham's favorite Knight, Kal-El one of Krypton's last, and John Constantine the Hellblazer. What can I do for you?"

The heroes swallow nervously, starring at him, "Our magic users tell us that there has been a massive shift in power and that is why cults are forming quickly, and attempting to summon something," Batman starts starring at the being not daring to look away.

'Have they?" It tilts it's head, and laughs softly, "I should deal with that I suppose, Cults are quite annoying, they always bring so much death," they muse, they say the last word differently though. In a way as though it is a mere annoyance. "What else?" it looks at them and they shudder.

"How did you come to power, why now?" Batman asks. it looks at him, he feels himself shudder.

"The king who ruled wrong chose the wrong person to mess with, I was young barely dead really," they grin cheerfully, "I ripped his soul to shreds, I fought with bared teeth." They laugh, "But I wasn't old enough to take the crown, even if it was already mine. That time came to pass, so I took the crown, and the Realms finally acknowledged my rule."

Constantine stares at him, he hadn't just fought Pariah Dark, he'd done it barely dead, probably before he'd been dead for two hundred years. He was dangerous. More so than they could have imagined.

"Thank you for answering, could I ask one more thing?" Batman asks tentatavaly.

"Sure," The being stares at him.

"What happened in Amity Park?" His voice is steady by some miracle.

The being gnashes it's teeth, it laughs hollowly, "I died, what did you think happened?" they snarl at him, "Why did you think I stayed there so long, they never cared for me, really a terrible choice of haunt," they laugh again. "But it was mine."

Mine, past tense, something happened, something terrible from his tone of voice. Daniel Fenton missing, Phantom leaving, his friends claiming He's safe, that he has someone, that Amity killed him. Oh. Oh. Daniel Fenton had died, and his lover had left, to be with him, and he hadn't returned. Because the people he protected had killed his lover.

"I'm sorry," he bows his head, hoping the being won't kill him for asking. He feels sorry, he wishes he notices sooner. It was like someone asking about Jason's death.

'It's fine, is that all?" the being asks sharply. They nod and he is gone the circle glowing as the circles shift back to their original arrangement.

----

basically the batman/Bruce thing but with Danny/phantom. Also yes I forgot the others were present oops. Also sorry for forgetting about tumblr. My brain kinda got depressed, I tried to pierce my ears (failed), and kinda thought i'd be dead by now so am just floundering.

Anyhow thanks to everyone on here, you are all so nice, at least the people who I've interacted with so far! So thanks!

Bye :)

[letoasai]

dp x dc Chronos part 5

Part 1 - Previous - Master list

Diana was furious. 

She’d known her young uncle for only a handful of hours but here she was, ready to go to war for him. Perhaps that was what her grandfather had meant earlier, his words still ringing in her ears. 

I have a task for you, Diana. One i do not think you will turn now but i’ll give you the illusion of choice.

Perhaps it was less an illusion and more her grandfather merely knowing ahead of time how she would react. If Danny was to be believed – and he did seem such a trustworthy boy – his Clockwork knew every path one could take. 

She knew there were still questions to be asked, but Danny had been able to tell her a great deal before his eyes began to droop and she insisted he try to sleep. The curtains to the room had been left open and she watched as his eyes happily glazed over at the sight of open space before him. It had only taken minutes for him to fall asleep. 

Now she had a lot of work to do and she planned to get as much done while Danny slept as she could. 

She entered the conference room with a quick stride, many members already present for the meeting she had ordered via text. They’d learned that some equipment didn’t work well around Danny. Visuals were blurry at best and audio crackled into something indistinguishable. Diana had instead been texting information to Bruce and Kal to look into while she focused on the boy. 

“Were you able to find anything?” She asked immediately, not elaborating on which fact she was talking about. She’d sent them so many little snippets that she didn’t really care where they started. 

Batman just grunted, and despite wearing his cowl, she could see just how unhappy he was. 

“You’re not going to like it, but you expected that.” Superman said, papers laid out in front of him. He wasn’t the only one doing his research. 

Green Lantern and Flash were still there, the latter looking like he was having an existential crisis over the topic of ghosts. 

Martian Manhunter had also arrived, his frown informing her that the others had caught him up on what had been happening. 

“Can we confirm the truth as Danny has laid it out for us?” She asked, taking a seat. 

“Oh, yeah.” Hal muttered, rubbing a hand down his face. “Constantine will arrive later, but he could confirm the new High King of the Infinite Realm went by Phantom. Never heard him sound so horrified as him learning that someone had punched a hole into another realm in their house though. Inter-dimensional war crimes on our end are stacking up.” 

“Our end?” She asked. 

“The GIW…” Bruce began, sounding a mixture of exhausted and livid. “Are completely out of their depth and did not have the authority to just name a species unidentified to the rest of us as non-sentient. If the Infinite Realm retaliates, and John thinks it’s a possibility, it won’t just be aimed at the GIW alone but the entire dimension. That makes this more of a mess for us to clean up than it already was.” 

They’d already decided to help, that was what they did. But there was a difference in lending a hand and righting a wrong and taking responsibility for someone else’s fuck ups because they had to. 

“Can we prove it?” Diana asked. 

“Absolutely.” Kal nodded. “Honestly, for a government agency, their security is a joke. There was a backdoor already in place. We can ask Danny about that later.”

Diana nodded, certain the information would be good in his hands. She turned her attention back to Bruce. “The Fentons?” 

There was a certain level of disgust that tried to choke her out in that situation. Danny had been so hesitant, the betrayal fresh and painful. She had lived in the World of Men for a long time now and it had as many delights as it did drawbacks, but to learn what Danny’s parents had attempted to do to him left her burning to seek them out herself. 

His mother had lost her privilege to refer to herself as such.

She didn’t care what the circumstances were. Capture and torture with the intentions of vivisection was inexcusable. The target being a child made it all the more heinous. Diana knew Batman would understand without her saying a word. 

“Run of the mill mad scientists. They might have been onto something once when it came to energy but their bias took over. Even if they had been correct about ecto-entities, their language is incredibly inappropriate. No licenced and competent science journal would be associated with that.” He stared at her unhappily. “They’re lunatics. The fact that their children grew up in their home is outrageous.” He hit a button on the remote and a location appeared on the computer screens. 

A bricked house on a street corner, enormous Fenton Works sign taking up most of the front. It was an eyesore, but not as much as the sci-fi looking shuttle sticking out of the roof. The OHSA violations alone should have had the building condemned and there was no way permits had been granted for any of that construction. 

It was a supervillain's dream and not the least bit subtle. It should have been a crime in itself for the town to allow it to remain in a residential area and was shocking that no calls to Child Protective Services had been made. 

Yes, Danny was an exceptional being, but Diana understood now all the likely scenarios where he could have died in that house. Danny had called his death an accident, but she wasn’t so certain about that. “They were the ones to hurt him.” Diana said, hating how her throat was tight. She was already emotionally compromised. 

“Yes, i know.” 

Diana’s attention snapped back to him. “How?” 

“Simple reasoning. They are unstable ghost hunters with questionable science. Danny was removed from his home for his safety. Chronos said he needed a guardian. That doesn’t paint a pretty picture.” Bruce muttered. “Either his guardians couldn’t care for him, or shouldn’t care for him.” 

She felt her shoulders relax somewhat, knowing that such a logical conclusion should have occurred to her too. She really was worried about Danny’s recovery. “We can add it to the file i know you’ve created, but i’d prefer if no one asked him about that at this time. This last attack only happened several days ago and it is still fresh on his mind.” 

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, always a hound when it came to sniffing out abused kids. “This last attack?” 

“They’ve been after him for a while.” Diana hummed, though she’d only had a vague example or two since Danny hadn’t wanted to get into it. She couldn’t imagine how he’d just returned home every day to parents who tried to capture his other persona. 

“We must factor in his identity.” Martian Manhunter approached them, having been listening. J’onn had been doing his own research the last several hours. He laid down a startlingly clear picture of Danny in his white haired ghost form. A print out of an Amity Park newspaper article. 

“What is that?” Bruce frowned, sliding it closer to read. 

“The hero of Amity Park. Phantom. The articles are biased and unfavorable, but that is not the current accepted public opinion. Phantom protects the living from ghosts. He also protects the ghosts from the ghost hunters.” J’onn explained, voice carefully neutral. “Phantom appearing other places, perhaps shouldn’t coincide with where Daniel Fenton ends up.” 

“A name change could be warranted. If that’s what he wants.” Bruce adds. 

J’onn gave a single nod. “It’s a great deal of pressure on one teenager's shoulders. Being a king of a realm on top of that…” 

It was silently agreed upon that Danny deserved this break and Diana was going to get it for him.

“It was only a matter of time before something had to give.” Diana said, turning enough to speak to everyone in the room. “Well he won’t be dealing with all of that alone now. We start with dismantling the GIW, appealing the Anti-Ecto Acts, and smoothing over our relations with the Infinite Realm.” 

“Only that much, huh?” Flash muttered, trying to wrap his head around the science of ghost hunting. 

“Why not get some of the kids involved. Young Justice, maybe?” Hal was rubbing his eyes, not looking forward to the consequences of this mess. “Once he heals it might do him some good to be around others closer to his own age. People he wouldn’t need to hide half of himself from.”

When put like that, Diana could only agree. 

“I’ll mention it to him.” “I’ll get the information i have to Lois.” Clark said, sliding his papers into a binder. “If public opinion of Phantom is already decent in Amity Park, then we’ll up the exposure to put pressure on our oblivious government.” 

“I’ll take a few of the GIW facilities.” Bruce muttered, but he had that familiar tone that said he was about to let his children go buck wild. “A little recon…” he added vaguely. 

Before anyone else could put in their own two cents, the sensors went off, exactly how they had before Chronos had arrived. A paranormal knock of sorts before the very air seemed to split in two, a glowing green portal building around it. 

“Here we go again.” Barry muttered, each of them surrounding the portal as they’d done early for safety’s sake but they were less inclined to fight immediately. 

As J’onn was seeing it for the first time, he remained near Diana, keenly watching the portal manifest. It wasn’t Chronos who stepped out though, it wasn’t human at all. 

From the portal stepped a creature that Diana didn’t have the name for. Bipedal, humanoid, but beast like in appearance. Horns on his head and spikes from his tail made of ice were noticed secondary to his arm of ice that still encased his bones inside. His fur was white, his claws could easily kill and he was covered by a kilt and cape. 

What gave Diana pause as the bag slung over one shoulder, the tell tale signs of a medical cross across the front. 

“Who are you?” Superman asked, more polite than their earlier run in with her grandfather. 

The creature, a ghost presumably, held himself rigid. He was doing a great deal to make himself appear smaller then he was but his gaze was assessing. He was ready to fight if necessary. 

“I am here for His Majesty, the Great One.” Was his response. 

Diana stepped forward, deciding this was exactly what she suspected. “I am Diana. Granddaughter of Chronos who Danny fondly calls Clockwork. You are Frostbite, come to check on Danny, yes?” 

All of his attention was on her now, but he seemed to see what he wanted in her after locking eyes. “I am. Frostbite, Ruler of the Infinite Realm’s Far Frozen. I have come to see Our Savior the King, as his primary physician.”

“He’s a doctor.” Flash whispered. 

“Fascinating.” J’onn muttered, sounding a little winded by whatever he was sensing. “He is who he claims.” 

“I’m relieved.” Diana muttered, approaching him with a smile this time. “Please come with me and i will take you to Danny. I’m afraid we did what we could but his unique biology left us questioning our choices. He is resting in a private room.” 

“Did something happen to setback his recovery?” Frostbite asked, serious over the care of his charge as he followed Wonder Woman out of the conference room without so much as a glance back at the other heros. 

“Excitement, i believe.” Diana offered. “He may have been a little too excited to show off his alternate, living form and seemed to forget his condition.” 

Frostbite actually snorted. “Sounds like him.”

“I did not realize how badly wounded he was. We had been talking about our arrangements and he was answering my questions about ghosts. He appeared sore, but fairly pleased to speak with me. Given what he had just been through…” 

Frostbite grunted his agreement. “His heart is soft, but his will is unlike anything i have ever known. Many of us saw this tragedy coming, but he insisted on seeing it out for himself, hoping for a favorable ending.” 

Diana cracked her knuckles out of habit, that anger still simmering. “He will be safe in my care, i assure you.”

“The Great One is the rightful King to our realm, but many forget he is still just a child.” Frostbite said, eyeing her even as she led him through the Watchtower. 

“It is not something i am likely to forget.” Not after she’d seen how small he was in their medbay bed. “He’s resting but weak, you can help?” 

“As long as he has not taken more damage, i’m sure i can.” Frostbite said, a gentleness to his voice as they stopped at Danny’s room. Diana went in first to prove the area was a safe one but that may not have mattered given how quickly Frostbite followed her. 

He was at Danny’s bedside in an instant, having somehow moved passed her without knocking into her. He could have gone through her for all she knew. For all he seemed to be a hulking beast, Frostbite was nothing but gentle as he examined Danny. He looked over any and all work that had been done to Danny since his arrival, and checked the bandages across his torso. He went as far as to grab the clipboard on the foot of Danny’s bed to read, having no trouble understanding the medical jargon. 

From his medical bag, he pulled out several small bottles, all of them growing a toxic green. Injections were given to the teenager, and it didn’t seem to matter that he was in his living, dark haired form. 

“Has he explained to you what it means to be a halfa?” Frostbite finally asked, breaking the silence. 

“Only in vague, teenager terms.” Diana said. She’d been quite sure that Danny’s flippant attitude was more a coping mechanism than anything.

Frostbite just hummed. “Then i will have to fill you in.”

[clockwayswrites]

Constantine & Danny, Cyan & Magenta, Walking through a puddle & Rumble of thunder. @jacksnervesofsteel, @ayzenigma

Gotham was miserable tonight.

This wasn’t a surprise to John. Gotham was always miserable. It was damp and muggy, smelling faintly of the sea no matter where you were and of death if you were in the wrong area.

John was often in the wrong area. It came with his business. He was sure that by the end of the night every pore would be rank with the smell of death. There were lemons already waiting in his shoddy motel room for him.

(John had learned through experience it was easier to by the lemons before he smelled like death.)

It wasn’t that John liked smelling like death, but like he had said, it came with his business. From everything that he had been able to gather, his business tonight was a cult and a nasty one at that. To make everything worse, it had it had set up in Gotham. Location didn’t always mater, but Gotham was one of those special places like the Bermuda Triangle or the Paris Catacombs; it was bathed in history and mystery and blood. He tried not to think about Gotham unless he had to.

Tonight he just hoped he’d get out of there without calling the attention of the Bats.

John found an awning to duck under to get out of the rain for a bit as another low rumble tore through the sky. The metal grate across the door rattled, as if echoing the thunder, as John leaned into it. The whole street was shutdown already even though it was hardly past ten. That suited John. Easier to not have witnesses. Much easier to not have easy sacrifices.

The cigarette was reassuring as it settled between his lips. Course his damn lighter wouldn’t light. He flicked futilely at the wheel.

Someone was getting close.

John could hear them.

There was that telltale squash of rubber soles through water, the sound different enough to stand out past the drizzle of rain. John readied a spell on his fingertips, cupped behind his palm keeping the damp off his cigarette. If he was lucky whoever it was wouldn’t even see him and just move on by.

“Looks like you need a light.”

But when was he ever lucky.

“Yeah, lighter is being a right bastard,” John answered casually. He glanced up over his hand and into blue eyes so deep they felt endless.

“Here, take mine.”

“Naw, mate—”

“Take it, I’ve gotten my use out of it.”

Refusing gifts was often unwise. “…sure, thanks.”

Constantine glanced down at the silver lighter sitting in the guy’s hand and then past it and down into the puddle under the stranger’s feet. From the reflection of the water, a skull grinned back at him. There were no more deep, blue eyes, just green glowing out from the skull. Sometimes it was eyes. Sometimes there was skin and muscle and eyes. Crackling electricity scattered over the bone, rending the flesh from it as quick as it grew back.

John jolted as a too flesh hand pressed the lighter into his.

“Take it, Laughing Magician,” the skull said. John’s gaze jerked up to the stranger who just grinned at him. “You’ll need it tonight.”

“What—”

The strange man backed up a step. The skeletal reflection backed up with him and was out of sight.

“Try not to die, John. That would be messy.”

“Ta, mate,” John said half on auto pilot.

He watched the man until he was out of sight.

Gotham was miserable tonight.

[stars-obsession-pit]

(Another) Ghost in the Machine

DP x Hellblazer (the original John Constantine comic)

Ritchie Simpson continued to search frantically for the connection out of the computer and back to his body as he begged John to explain what he meant by saying “Goodbye.”

Had John disconnected him? He knew John’s sense of humor wasn’t the lightest, especially after Newcastle drove them all a bit insane, but that felt too far even for him. Nah, he’d probably just gotten himself a bit lost in the wave of energy he’d experienced in the Tongues of Fire network and was accidentally looking for his body in the wrong spot.

He pulled himself back and let his mental connection to the digital world expand outward, probing the rest of the machine for the connection. He knew he was in the right system, so as long as he looked thoroughly he’d definitely fi—

Everything flashed a surge of blinding white and then was replaced by pure darkness. He thought he screamed, but he couldn’t hear his own voice. Couldn’t even feel his own thoughts. Trapped in one single instant that stretched for indeterminable eons. Then, eventually (or was it immediately?), awareness began to trickle back.

He was still in the computer, though it felt… different, somehow. His thoughts still weren’t entirely in order. The first possible hints towards his location he found were the sound voices trickling through from the outside world. Voices he didn’t recognize. Young voices.

“I’m happy to help, Tuck, but I’m not really sure what you expect me to do here. You’re way better than me at this computer stuff than me.”

“By all means, feel free to keep complimenting me, but this has been frying my brain, man. I got this thing secondhand, and the system should be quite powerful, but there’s something using up a ton of its processing and I can’t figure out what. I was hoping you could do your ‘enter into the computer’ thing and see if you see anything.”

[thevoidstaredback]

Honestly, Danny doesn't know how he gets into these situations. It's probably the fault of a deity or an Ancient or someone. It's most definitely Clockwork's fault.

Going on that mission with Constantine sounded like a good idea at the time, and Raven was going to be there! She's the best impulse control on the team. He realizes he should've clarified why Raven was going with them. Evidently, it was not to help or be impulse control for the Ghost King and the Alcoholic Soul Whore. (Don't tell Constantine that's his nickname) Raven was going along because she had business at Titan Tower. It should've been obvious, but Danny is not the most observant.

Either way, he was wrong. He thought going on this mission with John - there was a demon running around an apartment building and people were, apparently, quite upset about that - would deter the Justice League from hounding him like roaches. He was right about that, but also very wrong because the proteges took the opportunity to sniff him out like the bloodhounds they are. Unsurprisingly, Red Robin was at the head of the charge.

Raven, the traitor, sat back and laughed at him. She wasn't laughing, but it was obvious that she found his misery amusing.

Anyway, this lead to a citywide hunt for Danny. Anytime he spotted even a hint of any of the Titans chasing him, he was gone. He couldn't stray too far from Constantine, though, and Beast Boy had a nose like a damn elephant.

The chase lasted a solid three hours before he had to let them catch him, if only so that he could tell them to leave him alone because he's there on official JLD business. Not like that would actually work, but he had hope. Unfortunately, he forgot that Red Robin is Bat Trained.

Danny took a second for himself before the Titans caught up with him. Was this really better than Deadman harassing him about his first time in Gotham? No, it wasn't. It wasn't any worse, either, and he didn't know how to feel about that.

"Are you finally done running?" Red Robin asked, landing in a crouch in front of him.

Danny folded his legs to sit criss-cross in the air as the rest of the kids that had been chasing him joined RR. "You make it sound like I'm a criminal."

"You ran like one," Beast Boy pointed out. Fair, but rude. "And, dude, I don't know if you know this, but you smell horrible."

Danny placed a hand on his chest with a dramatic gasp. "How dare you! I took a shower just last week!"

Raven was now unamused.

Superboy gagged a bit. "He's right," A small shudder. "I couldn't smell it before, but I can now that you're so close to me."

He sighed with equal dramatics as his gasp. "I guess I can never get rid of the smell, even after all this time."

Wonder Girl tilted her head to the side slightly. "Oh? And what smell would that be?"

"The smell of death," John Constantine, ever a man of impeccable timing, turned onto the side street to join them. He largely ignored the kids in favor of the ghost child who isn't actually a child but no one listens to him when he explains that so he's probably going to stop trying. "It lingers. C'mon, kid, we've got a demon to exorcise."

Danny huffed like a petulant child, "Still not a kid!"

Constantine continued walking away. "Still don't care."

Part 4 Part 6

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