#i wrote this for three days

[cowardlykrow]

Don't even look at each other before marriage

[stil-lindigo]

shallow grave.

a comic about accepting when your relationship is dead.

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creative notes:

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all my other comics

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[waldau-archived]

Saw your are open for requests, since you write wonwoo soooo soooo well, maybe a little drabble or headcanon about reader and wonwoo first time sleeping (not having sex, just purely fluff cuddle and sleep) together would be good in this rainy season here in my tropical country.

Btw SEATED for the longer fics😁

cuddles — jeon wonwoo | 1,450 words | fluff

TROPICAL COUNTRY ANON MY SINCEREST APOLOGIES I STILL HOPE IT'S RAINING WHERE YOU ARE. i love the rains and i'm sorry i didn't get inspired in time to write something that i like, but i really hope you see this!

gender neutral reader. warnings: reader is a bit unsettled by the sound of thunder (not actually self-projection for once).

“do you have to go?” wonwoo asks as you search for the remote to pause the movie, credits rolling on the screen.

you stare at him, trying to come up with a response. more specifically, you’re wondering if he’s implying what you think he’s implying. “i mean…isn’t it late? and don’t i always leave around this time?”

“you do,” he says, leaning over you to take out the remote that’s wedged between two cushions, and you swear your heart skips a beat. “but you could change that.”

“are you…asking…”

“it’s raining, too,” he says, a hopeful smile on his face. “if you really want to leave, i can drop you home, but i think i’d really like it if you…stayed.”

and that’s how you find yourself by wonwoo’s side in his bathroom, holding a spare toothbrush he handed you as he brushes his teeth. you’re vaguely aware that toothpaste is dripping down your brush and onto your hand as you watch him through the mirror, while also considering the fact that is way too domestic to be doing with someone you’ve been dating for two months.

but you can’t stop thinking about how…soft he looks. his hair is wept back from his forehead, no longer neatly styled like it had been earlier in the day, but still making him look very handsome. he’s wearing an oversized hoodie with sweatpants. you can’t help but wonder what you’ll look like, wearing it.

the thought immediately flusters you so much that you look anywhere but at him, and yet you can see him glance at you through the mirror now.

“want to tell me what you were thinking about?”

you refuse to grace his question with an answer and hurry up with your routine, skin feeling a bit cooler when you’re done washing your face. you pat it dry with the towel wonwoo’s given you, and when you turn around, there’s a shirt and a pair of sweatpants sitting on the counter.

even though it’s just basic decency, making sure you don’t go to sleep in your jeans tonight, it’s still thrilling to see his clothes being perfectly oversized on you. you step out of the bathroom a bit nervously, not having heard any sound from him in the past minute. but wonwoo’s lying on the bed, looking at his phone. when he sees you, there’s a smile on his face. he rolls to his side and watches you shut the door and come over to where he’s resting.

“what is it?” you ask, a little self-conscious. you’re not yet used to the — for lack of a better word — adoring gazes he gives you whenever he sees you. he’s verbal with his affection, too, always letting you know how good he thinks you look, or how happy he is that you’re spending your time with him, but he’s even better with his actions. which is what makes you think this is one of those moments.

“nothing,” he says, putting his phone on the stand.

“then why were you looking at me like that?” you ask, sitting down on the bed and swinging your legs over so that you’re comfortably settled.

“you just…you look really good in my clothes.”

it takes everything in you not to turn and hide your face in the pillow at that. you’re still not used to how blunt he is, and how he means every word he says to you. you’d known this about him before you started dating him, but now that you’re actually dating him, you’re getting to see a side of him you didn’t know existed.

“yeah? maybe i should wear your hoodie, then,” you tease instead.

“i hope you do,” he says, putting his glasses away and getting under the covers, motioning for you to do the same. you swear your brain has short-circuited as you get underneath the covers as well. his covers are as warm as the ones you have at home, and you remember he mentioned he runs cold. same as you, then.

you lie there for a minute or two, getting used to each other’s proximity, before wonwoo speaks up.

“tell me if this is okay,” he says, before inching closer and resting a large hand on your stomach. you can feel your breath catch as his hand inches its way around your waist and pulls you a bit closer. “sweetheart?”

“mhm? i’m fine.” you are fine, but your poor heart isn’t.

“good. i don’t want to do anything you don’t want me to.”

as much as you appreciate how respectful he’s being, part of you wishes he was a bit less cautious. you’re okay with him. you trust him, and he knows it.

“i’m not made of glass, wonwoo,” you say, looking up at him from where you’re resting.

wonwoo takes in a breath and then pulls you into himself, letting your head rest on his chest. it’s only then that you realize his heart is beating fast, probably as fast as yours.

“wonwoo?”

“mm?”

“are you nervous right now?”

“how couldn’t i be? i have such a pretty person in my arms.”

you actually gasp and smack his chest at that. he only laughs — that deep, rumble-like laugh that made you like him so much. “aren’t we supposed to be sleeping? trying to, at least?”

“i’m finding it hard to sleep with you here.”

“…oh,” you say, happiness deflating a bit. “see, i told you—”

“no!” he exclaims, scrambling away enough to look you in the eyes. “i meant— i want to keep talking to you, but i also want to sleep, and it’s unlucky that we can’t do both at the same time.”

your heart flutters at that. “that’s…i wish we could do that, too.”

“good,” he says, settling back down. “then that’s what we’re going to do.” he adjusts the covers so that you’re resting comfortably. you do want to keep the conversation going, but wonwoo is perfectly warm, and the rain outside sounds like pleasant white noise that is lulling you deeper into tiredness.

“do you like the rain?” you ask, hand resting on his chest, gently tracing abstract patterns. like the ones you doodle when you’re on phone calls with him.

when he doesn’t reply for a while, you think you’ve spoken too softly, but then you feel the rumble in his chest as he speaks. “i do. i love how green it gets outside. and i love how it smells, too.”

you want to say the same, but a sudden boom of thunder makes you freeze and grip his hoodie rather tightly.

“sweetheart?” wonwoo asks instantly, concern palpable in his voice. “are you okay?”

“it’s nothing,” you say, but even you know it’s a lie when you don’t let go of the death grip you have on his hoodie.

it’s not even lightning. it’s somewhat of a stupid thing to be afraid of, yet you can’t help but feel helpless when the thunder booms again, louder than it did the first time.

“is it…the thunder? the sound of it? i promise i won’t judge you, sweetheart.”

you sigh. “it’s just…i’m not very fond of thunder. i don’t like how loud it gets. i’m not scared, really, i just don’t like the way it…”

“startles you?”

you nod, not wanting to look at him. you wonder what he’s thinking.

“that’s perfectly fine,” wonwoo says, voice soft as he pulls you closer into himself till his arms engulf your upper body and you’re surrounded only by him and his calm breathing, his warmth that’s currently your anchor. “i used to be scared of dogs because i got bitten once. but i’ve got seol now. you’ve seen her, haven’t you?”

you have. wonwoo’s shown you pictures of his dog back home, and she’s the most adorable thing you’ve seen.

“you’re not any weaker for not liking thunderstorms, you know. everyone has their thing. don’t worry about it when you’re with me. i can’t make it go away, but i can make sure you’re not too scared, okay?”

“are you always this romantic?”

you can feel more than hear wonwoo’s chuckle as it rumbles through his chest. you’ve never felt as safe as you do now, in a thunderstorm. you burrow yourself more into his hold, loving how his arm comes to wrap around your waist.

“sleep well,” he says.

“i—” love you, you want to say, but the words catch in your throat. you mean them with your entirety, even if they might be a bit premature. “you too. i’m so glad i’m here,” you say instead, leaning up to peck his cheek.

wonwoo kisses your head, arm tightening around you. “i’m so glad you’re here, too.”

taglist: @bookyeom @wootify @strnsvt @cloudycaramel @thepoopdokyeomtouched

@minnieminshi @nonononranghaee @hrts4hanniehae @viewvuu @bewoyewo

[wlwloverwrites]

Sub!Nat smut now:))

a/n: I should be working and studying for my finals, but this seemed more important. Something short for all my lovers.

Warnings: failed attempted at 69ing which slowly just turns into (reversed?) face sitting, light praise kink, oral sex, mentions of biting, smut 18+

Main Masterlist

Lover Hour Masterlist

You hiss against her thighs when you feel Natasha’s teeth sink into a small part of your inner thigh. You are close to nudging her off your thigh, but she is quick to lick the sting away, a silent and wet sorry. She peppers light kisses on your thighs, switching between the left and right one. You can’t help but sigh against the heaven pressed so close to your face. Her calves sandwich your head between her thighs and you swear you hear a quiet moan when your tongue licks a stripe from her puffy clit to her leaking hole.

“Feels good,” Natasha sighs, completely forgetting about your prior agreement. It was a joke at first, something along the lines of ‘I’ll eat you if you eat me.’ You knew this would happen, but she forbids you from calling her out. Natasha Romanoff is somewhat a pillow princess. It’s a secret she forced you to swear you’d take to your grave.

“Yeah, baby?” You tease, digging your fingers in her the flesh of her ass and spread her apart.

Her breathless ‘yes’ is cut off by a whiney moan when you blow air against her glistening pussy. Before she can complain, because you know she is about to complain, you use your grip on her ass to pull her onto your mouth. You waste no time, you lick everything she has to offer. Burying yourself between her thighs until there is no room to breathe. The pleasure is consuming for both you and Natasha.

You could not ask to be in a better position.

Is it a little hard to breathe? Yes.

Is your neck going to be a bit sore tomorrow? Yes.

Is the love of your life who is currently sitting on your face worth the soreness and lightheadedness? Thousand percent yes.

“Oh fuck.”

You can barely hear her whimpers and moans but you know they are getting more frequent with the way she is spilling onto your tongue, feeding the greed your tastebuds have.

You can’t help but smile against her clit when you feel Natasha practically go limp on top of you. She truly is made to look pretty on a bunch of pillows. Problem is this makes it a bit hard for you to do your work.

Light, repetitive taps on Natasha’s outer thighs bring her out of her empty head. You hum against her skin, letting your fingertips weightlessly drag over her skin.

“Natty, baby?”

“What’s wrong?” She has now transferred all her weight from your face to your torso. Her head is perfectly cushioned using your thighs as pillows.

“Need you to do something for me.”

“Oh, I’ll do it n-”

“No, I could care less about that,” You swear you hear her sigh in relief before you continue. What a pillow princess. “Need you sit up right and ride my face.”

Natasha holds her breath for a few seconds. She knows you know that she doesn’t like putting in the work, but she also knows whenever she does you treat her good.

Your tongue finds itself licking her clean again when you don’t get an answer. “Can you do that for me, Natty?”

In a span of a few seconds and some convincing licks, Natasha’s head is no longer resting your thighs, instead her head is tilted back. Surprisingly, she is sitting upright; she careful to not put all her weight on your face. Her hands, which are on each of your thighs, brace herself and she pays no attention to the pain her nails instill in the meat of your thighs. Surely there will be marks tomorrow, but you know she’s sorry.

“Good job, baby.”

You silently tell her to start moving her hips with your grip on thighs. Reluctantly, she starts to grind her hips against your mouth. You lay there with your mouth open wide and tongue sticking out. Natasha whines particularly loud when you move your tongue towards her hole. Her hips want to freeze, tired and lazy but your words of encouragement keep her from doing so.

“Come on, Natty. Don’t you want me to fuck you with my tongue?”

Your words work almost as well as shot of espresso. Her hips are quick to work her body up and down, chasing her climax, but they are still lazy. Her hands go up to her breasts. Her hands grip each one to stop them from bouncing. Before she knows it she is playing with both nipples, whimpering even louder. You can picture her, filthy and whiny.

“I- Fuck.”

Awkwardly, your hand finds its way between her thighs. You make sure to not move too much given the woman on top of you is very close to begging to come. You want to laugh at the gasp of air she sucks in when your thumb finds her clit.

You already know.

Natasha’s brain is fuzzy. There isn’t a single thought —besides maybe being mad at you for making her ride your face— in her head. She is preoccupied with the pleasure she feels. Her eyes are rolled back, her nipples are sore from her own torture, and her pussy is clenching on your tongue.

“Can I come?”

Your thumb moves a little faster.

“Oh shit. Can I? Please.”

You let out a loud hum, making her hip jerk and then making her squeeze out a breathless ‘thank you’ and moan. She gushes all over your tongue. The taste of her fills your mouth, easing the greed your buds had. This pleasure is even more consuming causing her body falls onto of yours, bringing her clit even closer to your lips. Ignoring her obvious need to catch her breath and take a break, you lick her throbbing clit. She whines when you don’t stop. She falls apart on your tongue a second time. You don’t stop licking until she finally pulls away from your loose grip on her thighs.

She turns her body to lay next to you. Boneless and breathless, her hands go up to cover her eyes, overwhelmed. You swear you hear her let out a curse when she finally catches her breath. Natasha giggles when she hears you sit up.

“Did you like it?” You whisper against her skin. You climb on top of her, dragging your lips from her pelvis to her chest. You pepper light kisses on her each of her breasts befroe heading to her neck.

“Mhmm. Loved it,” Natasha hums happily, tilting her head to the side go give you better access to the sensitive spot on the underside of her jaw.

“See what happens when you put in a little more work?”

“Actually I hated that part.”

“Such a princess.”

“Hey!”

[soap-ify]

nsfw below , minors dni.

okay but what if price and reader dress up as mr. and mrs.claus for christmas?

cw : brief mention of size difference (price is taller), smut, p in v, you sit on price's lap because he is dressed as santa!

“is this really necessary?”

john called out from the living room, adjusting the santa costume you made him wear, the thick fabric making him feel a bit hot though it was probably due to the heater as well.

since you didn’t reply to him, he assumed that you were still dressing up. it was your idea that you both should dress up as mr. and mrs.claus for the christmas party the taskforce was hosting this year, and he had reluctantly agreed to it despite knowing that the other men were never going to let him live this down — though he had to admit that the santa costume did somewhat suit him. embarrassingly enough.

you soon came out of the bedroom, a shy yet gleeful smile adorning your lips as you walked over to the taller man, standing in front of him so he could see you cladded in the red and white mrs. claus dress. it was quite fitting, highlighting every dip and curve of your body, falling a few inches above your knees. if it was any more shorter, price would have actually fainted — in a good way.

“h-holy shit, love.” he stammered out, voice suddenly all hoarse due to his throat going dry while his blue eyes took in your attire, noticing the adorable santa hat you had on your head.

mrs.claus. he had the biggest urge to just propose to you right here and now, to actually make you his wife. though he had planned that for some other day.

patience, john.

“do i look good?” you asked softly, eyes twinkling happily due to him having agreed to your silly idea. he silently nodded, one hand reaching out to gently cup the side of your face, adoring the way you instantly leaned into him.

“you look good too, john.” you giggled, and john failed to hold in a playful scoff, rolling his eyes.

“you’re really making me look too old, love. thank god i’m not wearing a fake white beard.” he grumbled and scooped you into his strong arms, earning a squeak from you.

“you don’t look old!” you protested, unable to hold in the giggles that continued to escape you, making his heart swell up with all the love he held for you.

john huffed softly and leaned down a bit to press soft kisses on your cheek, his beard tickling your skin. his callused hands begin to gently caress your waist up and down before resting on your ass, his fingers reaching down a bit to sneakily pull up the hem of the dress, revealing more and more of your plushy thighs until your panties were in view.

“such a skimpy dress. is this all f’me, honey?” he whispered into your ear, causing your insides to heat up with arousal, nodding gently while your hands held tightly onto his shoulders, your legs already feeling wobbly due to his touches.

“how are we supposed to go to the party if you plan on tempting me like this?” his lips begin leaving a trail of kisses down to your neck, hands gently pushing you onto the couch so you would lay down on it, getting all comfortable.

blood rushed to your cheeks as he got above you, his hands lifting up the little bottom of your dress fully up till your tummy, admiring the way your panties were snug on you, a soft chuckle leaving his lips as he took in the cute reindeer patterns on your panties.

“john… we’ll be late.” you mumbled weakly, your legs already spreading a bit wider for him. you didn’t really care for the party at this moment too, focused solely on the way your boyfriend was pressing soft kisses down to your collarbone, his hands kneading the flesh of your thighs while his face buried itself into your clothed chest, pressing kisses on the curve of your breasts, feeling the soft fabric of the dress under his lips.

“we’ll make it quick. and then after the party, i promise to fuck you properly.”

your eyes caught the sight of his boner straining against his red santa trousers, liquid warm pooling in your panties as you nibbled your bottom lip, hips bucking up in the air — a silent plea for him.

your little move was the final straw for him, his hands eagerly pulling your panties down that had a visible wet patch in them. great, now your only pair of christmas themed panties were ruined. you whined and thought.

“i’ll buy you lots of new ones, love.” he said mirthfully, as if having read your thoughts.

your hands eagerly helped by tugging down his santa pants and boxers, the sight of his bare girthy cock and the bushy dark happy trail making you drool.

in one swift move, he sat up straight and pulled you on top of his lap, a cheeky grin adorning his laps.

“c’mere and sit on santa’s lap.” he chuckled, earning some gentle swats on his chest by you, your poor naked cunt rubbing desperately against his throbbing cock.

“stop t-teasing me!” you whimpered under your breath, your soft hands cupping his face before you pressed your lips against his, kissing him needily, feeling him groan into your mouth as his hands gripped your waist tight and gently guided the head of his cock at the entrance of your leaking cunt, giving it some little rubs before gently pushing his cock in.

your walls instantly clenched around him, sucking him in while your hips twitched, the familiar stretch making your brain blank out for a second.

his hands held onto your soft hips tight, helping you slide up and down his cock, pulling back from the kiss so he could look at your face, drinking in every little twitch.

one hand reached down to gently rub your puffy clit, your slick making it easy for him to slide his thumb back and forth on the bundle of nerves.

you both reached the party quite late after that.

[beanghostprincess]

zoro kisses luffy always three times.

when they wake up, always intertwined in whatever place they fell asleep that night, zoro kisses luffy's forehead, cheek, and then lips. in that order, holding his face with both hands every time. it makes luffy wake up with a smile.

when he's training and luffy decides it's amusing to watch his boyfriend, zoro stops always three times to kiss luffy. three breaks with each set of exercises. forehead. head, if luffy isn't wearing the hat (if he is, then the cheek). and lips when he's done exercising.

when they're eating, zoro kisses luffy's free hand. then he kisses him on the shoulder. and lastly, on his head. his lips are busy eating, after all, but luffy smiles nevertheless and leans on his touch even if he's focused on the food.

when they win a fight, zoro kisses him three times exactly on the lips. softly. a bit harder. and then more passionately the third time. luffy always returns the kisses with more intensity, between laughs and giggles.

when luffy is the one sleeping after the fight, resting. he's exhausted, but he can somehow feel in his dreams how zoro moves his hair to the side to kiss his forehead. his hand. his wrist.

when they're making love, zoro always kisses the inside of luffy's right leg three times, making his way to his thighs. then does the same with the left one, and proceeds to kiss his scar. his neck. his shoulders. always three times.

luffy notices after some time together, but says nothing. instead, he tries to do the same. he kisses zoro's ear three times (one kiss per earring). he kisses his right hand, the left one, and then his lips (one kiss per sword). he kisses zoro's scar on his eye, the one on his chest, and the one on his shoulder (one kiss per every moment luffy wasn't there to fight with him).

"why are you doing this?" zoro asks one day out of the blue, after luffy finishes with his set of kisses.

the captain tilts his head to the side, frowning. "doing what?"

and the swordsman, for once, doesn't know what to say, so he stays quiet for a few seconds. "the- the thing. with the kisses. three kisses. why? that's a me thing. i do it because-"

"it calms you down!" luffy figures, and due to zoro's eyes, he assumes his hypothesis is right. the captain grins, squeezing his hand three times. "since you like doing it so much, i thought it would make you feel better if i did it too. does it work?"

zoro stares at him with a fond smile, one that he only is able to show when they're on their own. he squeezes luffy's hand back three times. "yes, captain."

...

it happens quick.

they don't see it coming. luffy should have been able to protect them.

and it's stupid, he thinks. it shouldn't hurt this way. he should be focusing on going back to his crew instead of this, but he feels uneasy. uncomfortable in his own skin.

he had only kissed zoro twice that day back at sabaody.

he has to go back to him, so he can kiss him four times. one to make up for the day they were separated, and three more, only because. only because he will be able to do it after two years. it will take two years to see each other again. two. he's starting to hate that number.

but then he thinks about zoro. zo-ro. two syllables. two o's. his second in command. his first mate. one, two, three.

he didn't exactly get why zoro likes counting so much. numbers are something luffy isn't fond of following much. but he thinks he gets it now.

one year. two years.

on the third one, he'll be able to see him. and luffy will kiss zoro one time, to make up for sabaody. and it will be the first kiss of endless sets of kisses coming in three.

and, weirdly enough, it calms him down too.

[luxaofhesperides]

those who serve.

CHAPTER SEVEN: a wound.

previous chapter. full fic on ao3.

14k.... finish what ure doing first before u read this. this is ur only warning.

cw for this chapter: violence, injuries, nongraphic medical procedures

. . .

Danny gets one week to adjust to the reveal of the Wayne family’s night activities, on top of getting learning more and more each day to help Alfred. Then everything upends itself in the face of a gala taking place in the manor in ten days.

Most of the preparations have been taken care of by Alfred months in advance; renting out extra tables, chairs, and tablecloths, hiring catering, getting together press passes for attending reporters, and so much more. He kindly goes over each thing for Danny, reviewing the specifics of each group so Danny can have an idea of what to look for in the future. The amount of information he gets makes his head spin, and the prices of everything make him break out into a cold sweat.

Technically, Danny is joining the ranks of the rich with his new paycheck, but no amount of time will make him comfortable with such large numbers being attached to his bank account.

Ten days to the gala, Alfred shows Danny how to get blood out of white and light colored clothes. Tim, apparently, pulled some stitches after getting stabbed the night before, and bled through his shirt. 

Hydrogen peroxide is a life saver. It definitely would have been useful to have while he still lived in Amity Park.

He also discovers a love of ironing; watching the wrinkles in the fabric disappear is deeply satisfying in ways he can’t put to words. 

“I’d certainly be happy to pass on all ironing duties to you,” Alfred says, when Danny mentions this. “Just be careful not to burn yourself.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not that clumsy!” he replies, moving the iron across another shirt. Looking at Alfred, Danny miscalculates how far he’s moved the iron, and the edge of the hot metal touches his palm, pressing the shirt flat against the ironing board. He yelps, yanking his hand back, then gives Alfred a sheepish smile. “That doesn’t count.”

Alfred shakes his head with a fond smile, holding out a hand. “Let me see.”

Danny holds up his hand for Alfred to inspect. There’s no burn, barely any redness in the skin, but Danny draws some ice across the area anyways to keep Alfred from worrying.

“You could always iron using oven mitts,” Alfred suggests. “I believe we have some spare Batman themed ones in the kitchen.” His tone is so dry and even that it takes Danny a second to realize he’s joking.

“I would have accepted that if it wasn’t Batman themed,” he jokes back. “Anyone but him.”

“He’ll be heartbroken to hear that, I’m sure.”

Danny snickers and goes back to ironing, carefully keeping it away from his hand this time.

He’s not laughing when Alfred teaches him about formal suits that night, showing him each piece to the suit and how to properly wash, fold, and iron them, as well as how to put them on. And then he drops the bombshell of, “You’ll be getting your suit fitted tomorrow as well,” in the most casual tone possible for him.

Danny chokes on nothing and has to spend a minute clearing his throat before he can say, “Sorry, what did you just say?”

“You need to get fitted for a suit. Tomorrow. I have already made the appointment with a tailor I’ve worked with for many decades.”

“Cool, that’s what I thought you said. Is this required?”

“Yes, as you’ll be attending the gala as well. We are the two permanent members of the Wayne Manor staff. There will be eyes on us as we keep the event running smoothly, so it’s important to be well dressed.”

It makes sense when Alfred puts it like that, but Danny still has to smother his instinctive refusal. He’s only rented suits before for school dances, and those were never super comfortable. He avoids events that require suits, like formal conferences his parents are invited to, with an extended invite for family. Suits and wealth will always make him think first of Vlad. 

Maybe in time, he’ll associate those things more with the Waynes, but for now, Vlad is the face that comes to mind and Danny has to shove away the urge to run and hide.

“Not to worry,” Alfred adds, as Danny struggles to smooth out his expression from the pained grimace it twisted into, “You will not be going to this appointment alone.”

That’s not the part that Danny’s concerned about, but he still appreciates it. He’s definitely not ready to be alone in the city again, considering how his first time out with the Waynes ended with a hostage situation and a mall full of violent gangsters.

There’s not much anyone here can do for his own hangups, especially when they originate in another dimension. 

So Danny pastes on an unconvincing smile and gets back to work.

Nine days before the gala, Danny finds himself in a car with Bruce and Cass. Alfred had offered to drive them, but Bruce grabbed the keys before anyone else could and cheerily waved Alfred away. He was then told to not get another speeding ticket and to try to be a good role model for Danny.

Danny, whose only good role model is Jazz, looked away nonchalantly and acted like he didn’t hear that. 

It’s not like he needs good role models anyways. He’s doing just fine on his own!

Alfred doesn’t count because Alfred isn’t a role model as much as he’s an ideal Danny is striving for. Alfred is who Danny wants to be when he grows up. Now that he has a chance to grow up (relatively) safe, that is.

Cass had snickered at the three of them, then bodily shoved Danny into the backseat before climbing in after him.

Now, they’re going down the streets of Gotham, driving over a bridge, through neighborhoods, through run down districts that slowly get bigger and cleaner and visibly more suited for people with money. Bruce doesn’t drive recklessly, thankfully, despite Alfred’s warnings. 

Even so, Danny still clings to the car door, ready to throw himself out at a moment’s notice. He’s learned to bail quickly with his parents’ dangerous driving. 

“You alright back there?” Bruce asks, meeting Danny’s eyes briefly in the rearview mirror.

“Yep!” Danny chokes out. “Doing great!”

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to regulate his breathing, counting slowly in an attempt to settle the wild beating of his heart. 

He wasn’t this bad in cars before. Even with his parents. He’s not sure what changed, but being in Gotham, after everything that’s happened, makes the small space of a car feel suffocating. The rocking of the car as it goes down bumpy roads would have once lulled him to sleep, but now makes his stomach roll and his chest go tight with panic. None of this is made better by having two observant and dangerous people watching his every reaction, no matter how small.

The radio is playing softly, simple background noise as Bruce drives them through Gotham. Danny tries to pay attention to it, to listen to the songs that come on, but his focus is completely shot. The noise keeps fading in and out of his ears.

“It’s okay,” Cass says softly. Her fingers skate over the back of his hand, making him jump. He blinks his eyes open to look at her. 

At some point, she’s taken off her seatbelt. Which isn’t safe! She needs to put it back on! 

Danny’s gone through the lessons and powerpoints back in Amity Park, when teachers tried to make sure he and his sister would be better drivers than their parents. Seatbelts help prevent severe injuries in car crashes, and there’s a reason they’re required by law.

Weakly, he shoves her back against the seat. Then he leans forward to reach past her, taking hold of the discarded seatbelt, and fastening it around her again.

“Keep that on,” he says around a gasp, his breath catching in his chest. His voice sounds weak and thready even to his ears, which means its bound to be even more concerning to her and Bruce.

“Do you need me to pull over?” Bruce asks, glancing back at him. “If you’re feeling sick, I can stop until you feel better.”

“No, just keep driving. The sooner we get to wherever it is we’re going, the better.”

Cass is frowning at him when he looks at her, ensuring the seatbelt is still on. “Why?” she asks, pointing at him.

That’s such a vague question! What is he supposed to answer! 

‘Why is he like this?’ ‘Why is he worked up about a seatbelt?’ ‘Why is he a mess?’

The answer to all those questions are the same: he doesn’t know!

The most he can do is offer Cass a weak shrug, so that’s what he does. Cass squints her eyes at him, then grabs his hands and lifts them up to start a clumsy game of patty cake. It quickly becomes apparent that she doesn’t actually know how to play patty cake and is instead clapping their hands together randomly with a look of confusion on her face, so Danny takes over, humming the song under his breath.

It helps distract him from the unreasonable panic of being trapped inside a car. That was probably her intention, but Cass is so focused on keeping up with their steadily quickening game of patty cake that it doesn’t feel like he’s being coddled. It just feels like this is normal, like they’re two kids passing time on a car ride.

Like they could be anyone else. People who are safe. People who haven’t been so hurt.

It’s almost a surprise when the car comes to a stop, Bruce smoothly pulling into a parking space with a reserved sign in front of it.

Danny opens his mouth to ask if it’s really alright that they park there, but can’t say a word before Cass smacks his hands down. When he looks at her, she rubs her fingers together in the universal sign for money and gives him an impish grin.

That’s right, Bruce is rich enough that he can get away with anything. Who cares who that reserved sign is for? Bruce can just buy them a new parking lot. 

That won’t stop the whole thing from leaving a bad taste in his mouth, but at least it’ll be easier to ignore.

Cass hops out the car and skips around the open the door on his side, holding out a hand to help him out. 

He takes it and lets her yank him out of the car. She doesn’t bother waiting for Bruce before dragging Danny into a fancy looking store, the outside all black brick and large, reflective windows. He doesn’t get a chance to see the name of the store, pulled in too fast by Cass’s enthusiasm.

She all but throws open the door, the bell above them ringing merrily, and leads him inside. The dark wood floor and fancy lights immediately make Danny feel out of place. The racks of fancy clothing on display and the mannequins all dressed up in suits of various dark colors only make him feel more like he doesn’t belong in there. 

“Hello, hello, welcome!” calls out an employee. She wears a dark green apron with a notepad tucked into the front pocket and a pin cushion on her wrist. “Are you just browsing today, or do you have an appointment?”

“We have an appointment for Danny,” Bruce answers, somehow appearing behind them. Danny squeezes Cass’s hand to hold back his flinch; he’d really love if the man would make some noise when he moves. 

Did the bell over the door even ring when Bruce came in?

“Great! Follow me, I’ll get you into a fitting room and then let Mr. Brownstein know you’re here.” She leads them through a door near the back of the store, leading to a short hallway with three numbered doors in them. 

They’re given room one, which looks more like a lounge than a fitting room. Beyond the couch and armchairs is a round platform with floor length mirrors surrounding it on three sides. Past that is an area that looks like a large dressing room with only a curtain to separate it from the rest of the room. 

Bruce wastes no time in sitting down on the couch with a low grunt. Apparently not even vigilantism and constant training can save him from old man joints. 

Cass lets go of Danny’s hand to flit around the room, then grabs a few magazines and sits next to Bruce, flipping through them quickly. 

Left on his own, Danny stands near the door awkwardly before he forces himself to join them, sitting on one of the armchairs to keep some space between them. 

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asks as soon as Danny’s gotten comfortable.

Danny shrugs. “Fine. Just… not used to this.” He gestures vaguely to everything around them and Bruce nods as if this makes sense.

“I understand that this can be a lot,” he says, “But we’ll do all we can to make things go smoothly for you.”

“Will be normal… time?” Cass adds, looking to Bruce for help.

She signs something and Bruce helpfully supplies, “Eventually.”

“Yes! Even-tu-ally.”

“I don’t know if anyone ever gets used to this. The being rich thing and your hobbies.”

“Plenty of us in the know have had to adjust to this life, you’re not alone in that.”

Danny squints at Bruce. “I highly doubt any of you were normal before doing what you do.”

Bruce opens his mouth to refute that, thinks about it, then closes his mouth and slowly nods. “That is a fair point. What’s normal for Gotham is hardly normal for anyone else.”

“No, no, this is not a Gotham specific thing. This is a Wayne and associates specific thing.”

“You are in that,” Cass says. “Not normal.”

“I think I’ve made it very clear that I am not normal. But I wasn’t insanely rich! That changes things!”

“No,” Cass says firmly, agreeing. “Not normal. Better that way.”

A knock on the door sounds through the room before they can get into it anymore. The door opens just a second later and an old man with heavyset wrinkles, white hair, and a fancy looking black cane with the handle done in gold, enters with a smile.

“Ah, Mr. Wayne, how lovely to see you again.” He’s got the same accent as Alfred, the same even, unflappable tone.

“Davey!” Bruce stands with a grin, his voice turning loud and energetic. It’s such a change from how Danny’s used to seeing him that he can’t do anything but stare at the man in shock. Bruce shakes Davey’s hand in big up and down sweeps, full of cheer.

Gone is the calm, steady, intimidating presence Danny is used to. In its place is some guy with a good attitude and not much else in his head.

“So good to see you again,” Bruce continues, dropping the handshake in favor of patting him on the back. 

“I do hope you haven’t wrecked any of your suits recently. I was hoping to go more than a few months between tailoring new suits for you.”

“Then I’m sure you’ll be happy to know all my suits are in perfect condition! We’re here for someone new, anyways.” 

Taking his cue, Danny stands up and gives a small wave. “Hi,” he says rather weakly.

Davey lights up, striding across the room to take Danny’s hand in his, giving it a vigorous shake. “You must be the boy Alfred’s taken in! Such a pleasure to meet you lad, I’ve heard only good things about you.”

“You know Alfred?”

“Know him? I grew up in the same neighborhood as him in England, and he’s the one who helped me set up shop here in Gotham back in the 80s. I’ve gotten ahead of myself.” He shakes his head and steps back, giving Danny some breathing room. “David Brownstein, at your service.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Brownstein. I’m Danny.”

“Call me David. Any friend of Alfred is a friend of mine. Now, I hear you’re in need of a suit?”

“Yeah, there’s a gala soon and I don’t have anything formal or like… professional to wear to it.”

“Make him pretty!” Cass demands, clapping her hands together in delight. 

David nods to her. “I intend to, Miss Cassandra. Let’s begin, shall we?”

In no time at all, Danny is standing on the round platform in a black suit, trying his best to be as still as possible. He’s stopped breathing completely so he doesn’t accidentally disturb David where he’s pinning his left pant leg to better fit him. The fabric is soft and smooth, higher quality than literally anything else he’s ever worn in his life. 

When he glances into one of the many mirrors around him, he has to admit that he looks good.

To be fair, though, everyone looks good in a suit. 

It’s just so far beyond his normal that it feels like he’s looking at someone else in the mirror. To think that just a few weeks ago, he as a homeless teenager living on the streets with only the clothes on his back. Now he’s getting fitted for a designer suit that probably costs more than his entire college fund.

Bruce left the room at some point and Danny has no idea where he could be. Cass is still around, though she disappears every so often, then pops back in wearing a beautiful dress that she presents to him for his opinion.

Danny gives her a thumbs up every time while also trying to keep his arms still. 

Near the end of his appointment, she walks into the room with a bunch of silk ties in different colors and patterns draped over one arm. She holds up each one in front of her face, looks between the ties and Danny, then either tosses them onto the couch or puts them back on her arm. The ones she keeps on her arms, she yanks at each one, then wraps them around her neck and tries to choke herself with them.

This, apparently, is part of the selection process, and she tosses a few more to the couch. 

He’s… not sure he wants to know why she’s considering which tie would be best to strangle someone with. That’s not a problem Danny has to deal with. It’s not in his job description.

Bruce conveniently reappears once Danny carefully changes back out of the suit. The thought of trying not to disturb the pins or chalk lines is so stressful that Danny just phased out of them once the curtain was drawn, so they’re all as untouched as they can be. 

He passes the suit to David, who leaves quickly with a goodbye tossed over his shoulder to the three of them. Cass hands three ties to Bruce, who stops by the register to get them paid for and packed up before they leave the store. 

They head back to the manor soon after. Danny’s grateful to be done, even as he spends the entire drive with his head between his knees, trying to pretend he’s anywhere else.

“How was it?” Alfred asks once Danny’s joined him in the kitchen to help with dinner. 

“Fine. David was nice. Also, I’m not sure if Cass wants to strangle me or not.”

“She’s like that sometimes,” Alfred says, then smoothly pivots the conversation into a new direction and they both silently decide to move on and pretend everything’s fine.

Eight days before the gala, Damian pops up while Danny’s removing dead leaves from the indoor plants. He hovers over Danny’s shoulder completely silent while Danny works, unaware, until Damian says, “Stop what you’re doing.”

“Shit!” Danny jumps, throwing dead leaves into the air, and goes intangible. His feet sink into the floor before he catches himself and flies up, floating in the air with a hand on his chest to keep his half-dead heart from escaping.

Damian stares at him, unimpressed. He looks at the dead leaves on the ground, then at Danny, and sighs.

“What?” Danny says, flustered. “You scared me! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“It’s hardly my fault you lack awareness of your surroundings.”

“Yeah, whatever. Did you need something?” Danny floats back down to the floor, tangible once again, and kneels down to clean up his mess.

After a moment of brief hesitation, Damian joins him, carefully gathering up the dead leaves closest to him.

Any annoyance Danny has at being scared like that fizzles away instantly with that little gesture. 

Damian is blunt and full of jagged edges, but he’s not unkind. 

“Has anyone shown you the emergency supply caches or escapes routes?”

Danny vaguely recalls Damian mentioning the caches but nothing else. And Danny hasn’t exactly been going out of his way to spend time with anyone but Alfred, who is busy enough teaching him how to handle all his new butler duties. 

He shakes his head, gathering up the very last leaves, the smallest of the bunch, then stands up. Damian follows suit with a disapproving click of his tongue. “I suppose I will have to do it then. Come, let us begin.”

“Woah, wait, we gotta throw these away first!” Danny tries to take the bundle of dead leaves in Damian’s hands from him, but he turns, keeping his hands out of reach with a scowl.

“Fine. You don’t need to do it for me. I’m not incapable of basic tasks.”

That was not at all what he meant by that, but okay! Danny decides to move on from that and dumps the dead leaves into the small trash bag he’s been carrying around for this task. Then he holds it out for Damian to do the same. 

Having taken care of that, Danny has no more excuses and is quickly taken on a trip around the Manor with Damian, who points out all the hidden emergency caches. 

There are so many. If Danny didn’t know about they’re vigilante activities, he would have been convinced that the Waynes were secretly doomsday preppers. 

Some are hidden in panels in the walls. Others beneath floorboards. Some behind large paintings. 

“You must carefully memorize which paintings are emergency caches. There are some paintings within the Manor that lead to secret passageways or panic rooms,” Damian says. 

“How the hell did this place get built that you guys have so many secret, hidden things in it?”

“Very carefully.”

Damian puts a hand on a panel in the wall in the next hallway and pushes against it. The wood falls back and opens silently, revealing a small space with a first aid kit, six gas masks of various sizes, and three tasers. Danny carefully takes note of the location and tries to memorize a few details around the cache so he can find it again later. 

They go through the entire manor, even unused rooms and halls, the attic, and areas that the Wayne family allows outsiders to access when they open their doors. 

Escape routes follow next, but take much less time when Danny reminds Damian that he can just fly out of the Manor whenever he wants. Danny himself is an escape route. Still, he memorizes some that go from the ballroom to the back of the manor in case he needs to evacuate people. 

“Now,” Damian says as they come to a stop in front of the grand staircase in the foyer, “Walk to every emergency cache you can remember.”

“Oh, come on,” Danny groans. “There’s no way I’m going to remember any correctly.”

“Which is why we’re doing this. If we put it off, then you won’t learn until it’s far too late.”

That doesn’t sound too bad, since Danny’s been learning on the fly since the Accident. Half the reason he managed to do what he did as Phantom was because he had no choice but to learn as he went, thrown into fights he wasn’t prepared for. It’s never gone too badly before, and he’s always been able to get out of things relatively fine. 

Then again, Gotham is much more dangerous than Amity Park. It’s not ghosts that are causing the problems here, but living people who have no qualms about killing. Danny rarely ever had to hold back his strength with ghosts; they were already dead, they could take a hit.

But here?

If Danny isn’t careful, he could kill people here. Even if he doesn’t mean too. 

He remembers how strong he felt when stopping that mugger from hurting Alfred. How fragile and small the gangster who attacked him and Dick in the mall felt trapped beneath his foot. 

In Amity Park, Danny was just another ghost.

Here in Gotham, Danny is a monster. 

Damian’s right. It’s better he be prepared so he can act more carefully, have more options at his disposal instead of just working off panicked instinct.

“Alright,” he sighs. “Just don’t be too upset when I can’t find more than one.”

Damian stares him down with hard, serious eyes, but something about the downturn of his lips makes him look more awkward than intimidating. “You are a civilian who has only just begun to learn everything about the Manor. I’m not expecting much from you.”

The words, by themselves, are harsh, but Danny can hear what he really means: You don’t have to get it perfect, you just need to know enough to be safe.

“Okay. Should we start from here?”

Damian nods, and so the roles reverse and Danny leads them around the Manor, trying to remember as many emergency cache locations as possible. He gets more than he expected, around seven correctly and six more with some hesitation and poking around in areas he knows something is hidden, but he’s not 100% sure where.

He expects that to be the end of it, but Damian just nods thoughtfully and takes the lead again, showing Danny all the caches he missed. It takes up the rest of the day, but Alfred didn’t mind when he rushed to the kitchen afterwards to help finish dinner.

The next five days are spent deep cleaning the Manor, mostly in areas where there will be high traffic, and making sure anything Bat related or generally suspicious is hidden away. He doesn’t see the Waynes much at all outside of meals, and even then it’s only Bruce, Damian, and Cass that show up regularly. Everyone else appears at random, no rhyme or reason as to when they decide to sit down to eat with the rest of the family. 

He overhears stern reminders to be careful on patrols, for the Waynes joining Bruce to make sure their clothes are ready and any needed cover stories are made and memorized. The others tease the poor souls forced to host the gala with Bruce, flaunting the fact that they get to go out and patrol like normal instead of pandering to the crowd of deeply annoying elite folk. 

None of what they say make Danny feel any better about having to work the gala.

He tries to channel his nerves into work, always finding something to do in order to keep his mind from wondering about all the things that could go wrong at the gala and spiraling. The giant crystal chandelier in the ballroom is sparkling from how thoroughly Danny’s cleaned it. 

Alfred handles all the logistical tasks, smoothing out last minute hiccups and answering questions from caterers and hired security. The ease with which he works through things has Danny in awe, hoping to one day be as capable as he is. 

Two days before the gala, his suit is delivered to the Manor. Cass somehow gets a hold of it first and ambushes Danny as he walks into the kitchen, holding a basket full of bell peppers and tomatoes. 

“Your suit!” she announces, suddenly in his face as he turns around from closing the door. One of her hands darts out and holds the basket up from the bottom, keeping any of his garden harvest from falling onto the floor as Danny freezes and tries not to jump back and bang his head into the door.

Once she’s sure he’s got his balance back, Cass steps back, presents his suit on a hanger to him, and says again, “Your suit.”

“Thanks, Cass. This couldn’t wait until I wasn’t holding stuff?”

“Nope. Go put it on!”

She smoothly takes the basket from his hands and replaces it with the suit. Then she uses her shoulder to push Danny away from the door and out of the kitchen, ending with a light, playful kick to his back.

Well. He’s no longer making spaghetti, apparently. 

With nothing else to do and no reason to deny Cass, Danny heads off to his room to get changed. He doesn’t quite remember all of Alfred’s instructions on how to put on a suit properly, so he has to look it up on his phone. It’s a long process to lay out the suit in all its pieces and then put them on in order, looking between his phone and the mirror to make sure he’s doing it right.

The only thing he doesn’t have is some sort of necktie. He’s pretty sure butlers wear little black bowties, but that could just be a movie thing. He’s pretty sure it’s what James Bond wears, anyways, which isn’t quite the look he’s going for. 

Once he’s got the suit on as well as he can manage, Danny takes a look at himself in the mirror.

He’s still pretty thin despite his appetite growing and his stomach being able to handle larger, richer meals. There’s a paleness to his skin that will probably always be there, making him look washed out and slightly drowned. His hair is a mess, as it always is, but in the suit, it looks more like a style choice than a consequence of his refusal to touch a hair brush in the mornings when he makes breakfast for himself and Alfred. 

He doesn’t look half bad. 

And the suit is fitted to him perfectly. Nothing is too tight or too loose. Everything falls where it should comfortably. 

Satisfied with his efforts to dress himself properly, Danny gets back to the kitchen to let Cass see him. It’s easier to fly through the walls than make his way down the winding hallways, so that’s what he does, passing by a startled Tim who must have just come up from the Batcave. 

Cass is sitting on the counter when he returns, kicking out her legs idly. She lights up when she spots him and claps her hands together in delight. “Nice!” she says, giving him a thumbs up.

“Thanks. I don’t have a tie or anything, so it’s not really a complete look.”

“We got ties,” she says.

“Uh, when?”

She waves a hand vaguely. “At the store. With your suit.”

Well. Bruce did buy some ties, but Danny hasn’t seen them since so he assumed they weren’t for him. For all he knows, they’re for Cass. She was the one checking them to see how well they could strangle people. He’s not really sure he wants those ties, if they’re going to be used as improvised weapons.

“I didn’t know any of those were mine. I definitely haven’t seen them since we got back.”

“Oh. I forgot.” Cass hops off the counter and says, “Stay here!” Then she’s gone, disappearing back into the depths of the manor.

“Sure, I guess,” Danny replies to no one. He stares forlornly at the basket of bell peppers and tomatoes on the counter. He would get started on the sauce if he could, but he doesn’t trust himself to keep his new and expensive suit clean while he cooks, so all he can do is look longingly at the work he should be doing.

He doesn’t wait as long as he expected to. Cass must have made use of those hidden passageways scattered all along the Manor to get back to him so quickly, three ties in hand. Or she’s just fast. One or the other.

“Here!” she says, presenting them to him. 

Danny looks them over, reaching out to feel them. They must be made of silk for how soft and smooth they are. 

One of the ties is a deep blue color with gold thread providing some embellishments. Another is a simple red, one solid color. 

It’s the last tie that holds Danny’s attention. Black with silver thread stars and planets and celestial bodies, carefully placed on the length of the tie. He’s never thought much about ties, much less about their designs, but he’s obsessed with this one. It’s perfect for him.

Cass must clock his interest in the last tie. She tosses the other two over her shoulder, then reaches out to flip his collar up. The tie goes around his neck and she ties it loosely, clearly unsure of how to properly tie it, but doing her best anyways.

Once done, she looks it over before she nods, satisfied. “Good.”

Danny looks down to lift up one lopsided end of the knot she’s made with the tie. “Thanks, Cass. This one’s great. Can I ask why you tested these three for strangling capabilities?”

She shakes her head. “Not for harming,” she explains. 

“Uh… strangling is very harmful. And that’s definitely what it looked like to me.”

She shakes her head again, stronger. With one hand, she takes one of the ties on her shoulder and loops it around her neck. “Picked the ones that won’t be bad. Hard to hurt with these. Try.” And Cass offers one end of her makeshift tie noose to Danny.

He stares. “No, thanks.”

“I’ll do it then.”

“Don’t!”

Cass grins at him, all teeth and challenge. “Stop me.”

And she yanks with all her strength, harder than she did at the tailor’s, genuinely trying to strangle herself with this silk tie. Danny chokes on his breath and scrambles to stop her, grabbing her wrist and struggling to pry the tie out of her fist. She doesn’t let him stop her, pulling harder, her grip iron and unmovable.

Danny, in a moment of panic, shoves his fingers between the tie and her throat, creating space, then makes the tie go intangible, finally freeing it from her grasp. 

“Please,” he begs, “Do not try to kill yourself in front of me.”

“Woah, what?” Tim asks, having chosen the absolute worst time to walk into the kitchen.

Cass waves at him. “Testing,” she says, pointing at the tie, the wraps her hands around her neck and mimes being strangled to death.

“Oh. I see.” Based on the way Tim is blinking at them, befuddled, he definitely doesn’t see. “Why silk ties? Those are the worst for strangulation. They slip too much.”

Danny stares down at the tie he liberated from Cass’s grasp. Slowly, he wraps on end around his wrist, ties it off, then pulls with what’s left of the tail. 

Sure enough, the tie slips along his wrist and against itself. It still pulls tight, but not as strongly as he thought it would.

So this is what Cass meant when she said these were safe. The ties she chose must be what she decided were least capable of strangling him.

It’s actually kind of sweet that she went out of her way to find something specifically so it wouldn’t be used to hurt him too much. As strange as the whole process was, he can’t deny that he’s touched by the effort she put into this.

“Unless that’s the point,” Tim continues, looking between the two of them. “Nice suit, Danny, you look great. Have you figured out where to hide weapons in it yet?”

“What? Why would I do that?”

“In case you get attacked. Always a risk at galas.”

“Are the rich people going to attack me or something?”

“No, no! Probably. But that many rich people in once place, especially in Wayne Manor, makes the gala a huge target for anyone wanting to rob us or take someone for ransom. But maybe be wary of the rich people too, there’s some really creepy old guys that are somehow still kicking.”

“Great,” Danny says weakly, “That’s exactly what I want to hear.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be able to keep you safe. So, weapons?”

“I don’t think I need any. I have powers, remember?”

“And you can fight with them?” Tim presses.

“Fighting’s all I’ve ever really done with them, so yes.”

“I’ll take your word for it then. But remember, plenty of us will be there in case anything goes wrong, and we’ll have plenty of security around. I’m sure the gala will go fine.”

Cass points an accusing finger at Tim. “Jinx!”

He winces. “Ah. Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have said that. My bad.”

“Well, as long as I don’t have to fight rich people,” Danny tries to joke, only to blanch when Tim moves his hand in a ‘maybe-so’ back and forth motion. “I don’t have to fight rich people, right? I thought we already agreed on that!”

“You probably don’t have to fight rich people,” Tim corrects, “But there was a cult situation years ago. Like, when I was in elementary school, but B took care of it so it’s not a problem anymore. Not that it would stop them from making more cults, but we haven’t seen any recently. So.”

Danny stares at him, a little horrified. “Man, what the hell is Gotham?”

Tim and Cass snicker, as if this isn’t the reality they grew up in. “Don’t worry,” Tim says, “You’ll get used to it soon enough.”

“Ancients help me when that day comes,” Danny mutters.

He leaves them to steal snacks from the kitchen as he changes back out of the suit and is graced with their company as he makes two pots worth of spaghetti, smacking their hands with a wooden spoon when they try to sneak a taste of the sauce. 

And then, suddenly, the day of the gala of here. Danny can only hope it doesn’t end too terribly.

. . .

“The first guests will likely arrive around seven in the evening,” Alfred says as they make their final rounds to ensure the ballrooms and sitting rooms are all ready for the elite of Gotham. “Preparations will begin at noon. Security will arrive first. They have all received instructions onto where they should be. Be on the look out for anyone going to places closed to the private; we have had many people in the past be bribed to steal from us while had them employed for an event.”

“What should I do if I do find someone out of place?”

“First, try to escort them back to where they should be. If they resist, then do whatever you deem necessary.”

“And when you say ‘anything necessary,’ does that include…”

Alfred stops to look Danny directly in the eyes as he firmly says, “Anything.” And then continues walking as if that didn’t just happen. Danny hurries to follow, putting into practice his newest, most important skill of moving right on past that shit.

“Tables and chairs for the ballroom will arrive at one. I’ve printed out the layout they need to be placed in. The rental company has a copy of these instructions, so all you need to do is oversee the set up. Catering will arrive at five to set up, cook, and have food out and ready for guests.”

“Do I have to greet any of the guests?”

“Not at all. Master Bruce has that responsibility. I will be taking care of coats and bags for guests. I will need you to direct cars to the drop off point in front of the ballroom entrance.”

“Everyone’s being dropped off?”

“That is correct. You don’t need to worry about arranging rides for anyone, as that is something they have to do themselves.”

Okay. Cool. It’s still stressful, still a lot that Danny has to be in charge of, but it’s not as overwhelming as he thought it would be. Alfred hasn’t given him too much to do, and all of it is easy enough for him to take care of with his current skill levels. As long as no guests come up to him demanding he do stuff for them, he should be fine.

They split up after they leave the ballroom to put up the velvet ropes that will hopefully keep people from wandering into places they aren’t allowed to be. From what he’s heard, it shouldn’t be a problem except with particularly drunk guests. The Wayne family is big and important in Gotham, enough so that any and all guests will be careful to be respectful while attending the gala. 

Danny double checks the list he was given of where to place the rope barriers, double checking that he got all of them. 

After that, it’s a flurry of tasks to be completed, last minute details to fix, and preparing lunch for everyone so no one goes hungry until the gala begins.

In no time at all, security arrives and Danny is tasked with directing them to their positions, helping them review their routes to keep the venue safe. It’s off putting to be the one listened to when he’s so much younger than everyone, but none of the hired security guards act like anything’s out of the ordinary while with him. It’s probably just in his own head, but it still feels wrong.

Tables and chairs arrive after that, and Danny helps them get to where they need to be placed. He helps with moving some of the tables as well, putting his enhanced strength to good use so the other workers don’t have to struggle so much. Tablecloths are set out, carefully smoothed of wrinkles. Floral centerpieces follow.

There’s only one near miss with two workers crashing into each other and the centerpiece—with its glass vase—goes flying amid the horrified gasps of the others. Danny had just managed to catch it in time, moving on instinct honed from years of ghost fights.

The relief on everyone’s faces helped him feel more at ease working with them.

By the time they’re done and everything is where it should be, properly put together, the catering arrives, bringing with them another flurry of movement and energy.

Danny lets himself get swept up in it, helping where he can. He almost doesn’t notice how late it’s gotten until Alfred appears at the entrance to the ballroom and looks at him expectantly. 

Everything is as set up as it could be. The rest of the staff are now to act as waiters, basically, carting around drinks and finger foods for the elite. Danny will just get underfoot if he stays.

He leaves with a quick goodbye and is waved off by more people than he expected. 

Alfred falls into step with him as they make their way to the servant’s quarters to get changed into the gala suits. Before they part ways to go into their own rooms, Alfred gently claps a hand against Danny’s back.

“Well done,” he says warmly when Danny looks at him. He looks proud of Danny, so proud that it makes Danny’s eyes well up with tears he hurries to dash away. 

“Thanks!” he returns with a bright smile, and ducks into his room to try to get his emotions under control before he has to meet a bunch of rich people with red eyes and tear tracks on his face.

To think he can be undone so easily with just two words.

Jazz would probably have a whole lot to say about that. He misses her psychoanalyzing annoying big sister attitude so badly it hurts, a wound that will never heal. He hopes she’s doing alright wherever she is now. He’s ruined enough of her life, he’d like it if his disappearance doesn’t hurt her too much.

Taking in a deep breath, Danny shoves away all thoughts of home and family. He needs to focus. He’s here to do a job. He needs to make sure the gala goes smoothly.

Step one of that plan is to put on his suit and fix his hair so he looks more put together and less on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

He completes step one more or less successful. The only thing he can’t do is knot his tie nicely, and no video tutorials he watches really helps. With the time limit he’s on, Danny just gives up and decides to ask Alfred for help.

Alfred is already in the hallway waiting for him when Danny opens his door. He holds up his tie with a sheepish smile. “So, I don’t actually know what to do with this…?”

Alfred’s eyes soften and he waves Danny over. “Allow me.” 

He takes the tie from Danny’s hands and flips up his collar. With clean, precise movements, he has the tie around Danny’s neck and neatly knotted into what is probably a fancy shape that Danny will never be able to recreate. Then his collar is smoothed down again by Alfred’s hands, which quickly move to straighten out the lapels of his suit. 

“There we are,” he says. “And look at you now: a proper butler of the Wayne family.”

A warmth settles deep in his chest. There’s joy, rising on strong wings, that sweeps through him. 

He’s still an apprentice.  He still has so much to learn. But tonight, he will go out as the future butler of the Wayne family. That is how this world will know him. Alfred has carved out a place in this foreign dimension just for him, and finally Danny feels like he can take it, settle in, finally belong here beyond just a charity case taken in from the streets.

“Are you ready to work your first official event?”

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Danny replies, standing taller. 

“I’m glad to hear it. And Danny, if you ever need a break, you can hide away in the kitchen for as long as you need. I’ll be sure to join you in there eventually.”

“Got it!” And then, softer, “Thanks, Alfred.”

“But of course, Danny. Tonight will be busy. It may even be overwhelming. But I will be there for you should you ever need me.”

Danny nods, biting his lip and squeezing his eyes shut so he doesn’t start crying. He had been doing so good too! But Alfred’s honest words always throw him off balance. 

He has no defense against Alfred’s kindness. That’s how he ended up here in the first place. Pulling himself together with nothing but stubbornness and sheer will power, Danny lets out a steady breath, then starts walking. Alfred joins him as they return to the ballroom and gives him one more pat on the back before splitting off to tend to his own gala duties.

Left alone in the ballroom, surrounded by the bustle of staff finishing up their last minute tasks, Danny takes in the glittering opulence of the place; this isn’t the warm, lived in Wayne Manor full of history and family and comfort. This is cold and sharp, all gold and bright lights, a stage for false personalities and masks to take the spotlight for the night.

A group of musicians in the back of the ballroom fill the air with the sound of strings and flutes as they tune their instruments and prepare to play for hours on end. 

Food is set up and serving stations all have someone behind them, standing with their hands behind their back as they wait for the first guests to trickle in.

It’s nearly seven. Danny hurries outside, ready to wave drivers towards him, directing them down the gravel path that branches off from the main driveway that goes to the front door of Wayne Manor. It takes barely a few minutes before he sees the first headlights make their way down the makeshift road. 

Danny waves a hand in the air and the driver stops right in front of him. An old couple dressed lavishly get out of the car and stand together, arm in arm.

“Oh, who’s this?” the old woman coos, looking at him. 

Danny gives her a tight smile. “Hello, and welcome! I’m Danny, the apprentice butler to the Wayne family.”

“How darling,” she says, pressing a hand against her chest. “It’s been too long since I’ve met a young man like you learning the art of butling. Why, my own family had an apprentice back when I was in college, and he went off to serve a family in Spain that was closely related to the Spanish royal family.”

“That’s cool,” Danny replies, trying to hide how awkward he feels. “I think I’m going to stay with the Wayne family, though. I’m not that ambitious.”

“Waynes are close to royals in Gotham. They’re the most important family in the city. Why, I remember when Martha and Thomas were killed in Park Row. It was a dark day for us all…”

Woah, what? That’s the first time he’s heard of any murders happening in the Wayne family.

Some of his shock must shown on his face, as the old couple suddenly look more engage, more eager to talk to him.

“Why don’t you escort us in, son,” the old man says, “And we’ll tell you about it was we walk.” 

The couple begin to slowly walk to the Manor, slow with age though they still hold themselves tall. Danny falls in step with them and the man begins to weave a tale about a much younger Bruce Wayne and the parents who loved him so dearly, and how the sudden, tragic loss of them rocked the world.

Danny doubts he ever would have found out about this on his own. And he certainly won’t have known the impact the Waynes have had on Gotham. The fact that their lives and deaths mold the city is a heavy realization.

The couple keep him at the door to the ballroom for a few minutes to wrap up their story. Danny glances out over the grounds every so often to make sure there aren’t any headlights in the distance coming his way until they thank him for the escort and go inside, leaving him to wait for more guests.

He never really thought about why the Waynes go out each night as vigilantes. It’s dangerous, thankless work and no one would do it without a reason.

He can see, suddenly, a young Bruce, just a child, suddenly lost and adrift in a world that murdered his parents. He can see that child decide to fight back in any way he can. He can see Batman rise from the heart of that child and swear to prevent anyone else from experiencing the pain he had to survive. 

And he can see Alfred standing behind that boy, carrying his own grief as he takes care of a child who grows up ready to throw his life away for a cause far greater than himself. 

How they can bear it?

Danny is both the one who left and the one left behind, running from his parents just as they turned their backs on him, and it destroyed him. He’s only just now building himself back up again, feeling more stable and steady despite the hole in his heart that will never close. At least he got the privilege of starting fresh in this dimension. Bruce and Alfred had to grow around the loss that is embedded into the city.

He really doesn’t know much about them, he realizes. This is the first time he’s really considered their histories. 

Maybe Alfred will be willing to talk to him about it later. 

With those thoughts heavy on his mind, it’s hard from him to be fully focused as he directs cars to stop before him one by one. More guests in fancy suits and elegant dresses step out and walk into the ballroom, only a few bothering to greet him as they go. His mind keeps drifting as he pastes on a smile and waves to drivers as they leave.

He stays outside for another hour before the last of the cars leave. The gala is in full swing when he ducks inside, sticking to the walls as Gotham’s richest mingle together in the ballroom. The low murmur of voices fill the air alongside the music, high strings playing a soft melody to fill the background as people wander around with glasses of champagne in hand, nibbling on finger foods.

Bruce is the center of attention, smiling jovially in a dark blue suit, the first two buttons of his silk shirt undone. 

It’s hard to see him as a once grieving child, full of rage and determination, ready to take on the world. Bruce as he is now looks like a perfect socialite, surrounded by a small crowd of people all vying for his attention as he talks loudly, gesturing with broad movements, keeping their attention. 

Tim is hanging off to the side near the musician, talking to a small group of people his age. They all look more relaxed and down to earth than any of the older people, so perhaps there’s hope for the next generation of Gotham’s high society.

Danny wanders a bit to make sure everything’s going well, checking in with the other staff members to see if there’s anything he can help with. But they have everything under control, so he can do nothing but try not to mess with the sleeves of his suit as he keeps circling the ballroom.

On his third circuit, Tim breaks away from his group and weaves around other guests to smoothly reach him.

“Is Damian here?” he asks, eyes darting around the ballroom.

Danny frowns. “I haven’t seen him. Did he come in with you?”

“He did, and then he left us as soon as we had greeted most of the guests. He’s supposed to stay out here for a few more hours, and I told him to just stick with me.”

“Where do you think he’s gone?”

Tim sighs, lowering his voice a bit. “He could be anywhere, honestly. He hates galas, which I get, but we needed him here because he’s Bruce’s bio kid. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if Damian went downstairs to get away.”

If Damian ditched the gala to go punch criminals, that would be bad, to say the least.

“I’ll go look for him,” Danny says. “Don’t worry, I’m sure I can get him back up here.”

“Thanks, Danny. I gotta get back to it. Also,” Tim adds in a whisper, “Don’t worry if Bruce seems like a different person or super drunk. He’s really good at acting.”

“Okay…?” 

Danny’s not really sure what that has to do with him, but he appreciates the heads up anyways. He’s been excusing all of Bruce’s weirdness as either ‘Batman-related’ or ‘none of his business’, so he’s fine ignoring whatever Bruce gets up to tonight as well.

Now that he has a task to complete, Danny gladly leaves the ballroom to find Damian. 

He starts off checking the sitting rooms, which already have a few of the guests lounging in, drinking wine and gossiping. The other areas that guests can access are all Damian-free, which is about what he expected. 

Danny moves on past the rope barriers, nodding to some of the security guards walk by on their patrol, ensuring no guests, invited or otherwise, go deeper into the Manor. 

The kitchen is empty. As are the living rooms on the ground floor. 

Maybe Damian’s in his bedroom? Or his art studio. Those are the only two other places Danny would think to find Damian that’s not the Batcave. 

He just really doesn’t want to go down there again. Especially not on his own.

Just as he reaches the top of the stairs to the second floor, Danny sees someone walking down the hall. It’s not Damian, far too tall to be a teenage boy, and they’re moving slowly, looking around as if searching for something.

“Hey!” Danny calls out to them, striding towards them quickly. “You’re not supposed to be up here.”

They turn, and Danny recognizes the uniform for the security guards that are meant to be at their positions around the ballroom. This man has taken off his jacket, leaving him in a simple button down shirt and dark pants, a gun tucked into a hostler by his hip. 

“Oh, sorry, I thought I heard something up here and went to check it out.”

“This is pretty far from the ballroom. It would be hard to hear anything here from where you were supposed to be. Wanna try that one again?”

The easygoing smile on the guard’s face disappears, replaced by a dark scowl and a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Listen kid, this will be easier for all of us if you just walk away now. Don’t make me do anything you’ll regret.” He puts his hand on the holster. The threat is clear.

But Danny’s had guns pointed at him from years. He’s dodged shots from his own parents. One guy isn’t going to scare him.

“It would be easier if you just went back to you post and did the job you were paid to do.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m doing exactly what I was paid to do.” He grins, sharp and mean, and pulls out his gun.

Okay! Great!

Danny’s not nice anymore. And Alfred already gave him permission to do anything he deems necessary.

In a blink, Danny’s closed the distance between them and tosses the man over his shoulder. He kicks the gun out of his hand and is about to try to flip him over so he can put the guard in a shoulder pin, but a knee slams into his stomach, knocking the breath out of him.

Danny wheezes and is kicked back, stumbling to keep his balance. The guard rises to his feet and lunges forward, throwing a straight punch. It’s easy enough to dodge it, ducking to the side and stepping closer to try to knock the guard down again, but he pulls his arm back a bit, bends it, and slams his elbow into Danny’s face.

Pain races through his skull as he falls back, hands flying up to his nose. It’s probably broken, already gushing blood, and it stains his teeth as he bares them in a snarl and grabs hold of his ghost powers.

Teeth sharpen into fangs. His eyesight gets sharper, the iron taste of blood stronger in his mouth, and icy fog wafts out of his mouth. 

“The fuck—” is all the guard is able to say before Danny tackles him. The force of it knocks them both to the ground, the guard’s head hitting the floor hard. He tries to force Danny off of him again, but Danny holds tight, blood still dripping off his face. “No one said the Waynes has a fucking meta with them!”

“Bad luck,” Danny says, a growl turning his voice into a low rumble, staticky even to his own ears, and the guard pales. 

All it takes is one hand to lift him but his shirt, the fabric of it held tight in his hands. And then Danny slams him back against the ground, making his head bounce, and the guard is out cold. 

He means to drag the guard someplace where he can be locked away until someone can deal with him, but screams rise up from the ballroom, stealing away his attention.

Shit, something must have happened!

As much as he wants to go racing back to help, his priority is Damian. 

The other guests will be protected by the guards (hopefully) and Bruce and Tim. But Damian is unaccounted for, and the longer Danny can’t find him, the more danger he’ll be in.

There’s no point in being discrete or quiet now. Danny runs down the hallway, shouting Damian’s name. 

He doesn’t get any response.

His nose throbs with dull pain each step he takes. His suit is a lost cause, covered in his blood and rumpled from the fight. None of that matters at all as he races down the halls, trying to find Damian.

Distantly, he hears gunshots and more screaming from the ballroom. 

Danny grits his teeth and gives up on running entirely to fly recklessly through walls, dreading every second that passes. 

The second floor is empty, save for the prone figure of the guard lying in the hallway near the stairs. He doesn’t have time to search any higher floors, so Danny goes back down to the ground floor, hoping that the noise from the ballroom would have drawn Damian out. He’s bound to have heard it, wherever he is in the Manor.

He drops back down to this feet and pushes his ghostliness away as he draws closer to the ballroom, wary of running into someone. It doesn’t seem like any of the guests had been able to get out of the ballroom. 

Every so often, there’s a single gun shot. The sound chills him to the bone.

Just as he’s getting closer to the open areas of the Manor, within the rope boundaries he set up with Alfred earlier, he hears a noise in a sitting room that makes him slow to a stop, listening intently. It’s a soft noise, at first. Just a few clinks of objects being moved. Then there are heavy footsteps moving slowly. 

Whoever it is can’t be Damian. He would never be so loud when he walks. 

The door is partially open, so Danny peeks in to see who it is.

It’s not a guard. It’s not any member of the staff that arrive to work the gala. 

In front of a broken window is a large man with a dark orange bandana tied around his nose and mouth, obscuring the bottom half of his face. He’s twitchy, pacing back and forth unsteadily, mumbling to himself. When he turns, the light catches on a glint in his eyes, the same drugged sheen that’s been present with other people who have attacked members of the Wayne household. 

Danny plans to creep in and knock him out so there’s one less person to worry about when a large hand grabs the back of his suit and lifts him up like he weighs nothing. A startled noise slips out of his mouth, making the man in the room whirl around, glaring at him.

“Caught a peeper!” announces the man holding up Danny. He’s large, bigger than a bodybuilding, like the one Danny fought in the mall. “Think Boss will give us more Venom if we drag this thing in?”

The other guy looks over Danny consideringly. “Nah. Bring him here. We can deal with him on our own.”

The not-body building walks into the room, unbothered by how Danny struggles in his hold, kicking out at the air. 

Danny’s thrown unceremoniously onto the floor, where he turns into a roll and gets back up to his feet, carefully keeping both of them in his line sight.

“Oooh, he thinks he’s a fighter,” not-body builder cackles. 

Danny glances at the door. 

“Don’t even think about running,” the first man says. “You work here, don’t you? Why don’t you tell us all about the goodies we can steal from this place. Make us rich and I’ll let you walk away alive.”

All this just for a robbery?

The guns, the break in, the violence, just for a robbery?

That’s fucking insulting. 

Danny checks the open door one more time to make sure no one’s coming their way, then launches himself at not-body builder. His ghost strength comes rushing back into him just as he hits, sending the not-body builder stumbling back with a surprised shout. He wobbles, trying to keep his balance, then falls.

He doesn’t waste a second before kicking his head and knocking him out. 

That’s one down.

Danny takes a deep breath, trying to wrestle down his strength so he doesn’t accidentally do serious damage to the other man, who is much smaller, only to gasp, breath punched out of him. A sharp pain tears through his back, which was left open to the other intruder.

Stupid, stupid! he berates himself, trying to get away. 

But the man holds him still with a hand on his shoulder, and Danny, in his panic, goes intangible.

The knife and the man’s arm go right through his torso.

Danny looks down at the knife. Looks at the arm. Both of them are frozen from this sudden turn of events.

His mind goes blank and he desperately tries to think of what to do when an idea parades itself to the front of him mind, to say: IMPROV.

“What the hell did you do to me?!” Danny cries out, putting as much terror into his voice as possible. 

“What did I  do?” the intruder sputters, pulling back. “I didn’t do anything!”

“Yes you did!” Danny argues. “I’m fucking air! You made me not-solid!”

“That wasn’t me!”

Taking a chance, Danny recalls what the guard upstairs said, and says, “You’re a meta?!”

“I’m not!” the intruder denies, “I didn’t do this to you!”

Danny spins around to face him, trying not to wince when the movement pulls at his back. “Fix this!”

“I can’t! I told you, I didn’t do it! This must be your doing!”

“I think I would know if I could turn into air,” Danny refutes, channelling Paulina to give him a withering look that will, hopefully, make him feel small and stupid. She always was great at digging her heels in and driving people mad with her stubbornness while tearing down their self esteem. He tosses his head back to glare at the intruder, meeting his eyes. “This is clearly your fault so fix it!”

They’re just going back and forth, thrown off their rhythm and scrambling to work though the situation Danny created for them. He doesn’t know how to put a stop to it. He really doesn’t want to be stabbed again.

“I really didn’t do it!” the intruder insists. He looks down at his own hands, faltering. “Right? There’s no way that could have been me…”

He doesn’t get any more time to contemplate whether or not he has powers because his body abruptly tenses, twitches sporadically, and then his eyes roll up and he passes out.

Behind him, holding a taser and wearing a deep scowl, is Damian.

Danny is so relieved to see him that he feels weak in the knees. The blood loss is not helping with that matter. “Damian!” he says, “Where were you? I’ve been looking for you!”

“I felt that something was off so I went to investigate. I found some of the guards marking areas around the ballroom as entries for the gang that’s taken over the ballroom. I was trying to take them out before this happened, but I wasn’t fast enough.”

“What is going on right now?”

“From what I heard when I traversed the vents above the ballroom, the leader of a recently established gang has taken over to take the valuables of all the guests. He is recreating Venom and trying to replace Bane.” Damian shakes his head. “That fool is just going to get himself killed. Bane will stop at nothing to have his head now.”

“I take it this Bane person is a big deal?”

Danny purses his lips, then looks away. “We’ll catch you up on the villains around here later. Come with me, there are others still around.”

“Are we going to the ballroom?”

“No. Black Bat and Nightwing are already here to take care of it. They’re just waiting for an opening. We will be taking out the intruders outside the ballroom, then going to the Batcave to join Pennyworth.”

Damian tries to take hold of Danny’s wrist, but his hand goes right through. He stares down at it in shock, as though he was betrayed.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Danny drops his intangibility and pats Damian’s hand to let him know he’s solid again.

Damian looks up at him and squints. “Are you alright? You’re bleeding.”

Danny brings a hand up to his face. It’s clean of blood. He must have let it all fall off of him when he went intangible, but his nose is still bleeding and it’s quickly rolling down his face again. He can feel his back get more wet, too, the stab wound steadily pulsing with pain, blood spreading through his suit.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Danny says. He’s survived way worse than a broken nose and a small stab wound. There are people in danger and people trying to hurt them. That takes priority over him, any day.

“Your nose?”

Danny shrugs. “Probably not broken?”

Damian reaches out and prods at his nose, checking it. It brings up flares of dull pain, but it’s not enough that Danny can’t stay still during this. In a matter of seconds, Damian nods and pulls his hands away, so the damage to his face probably isn’t anything to worry about. Danny’s going to trust Damian on this one.

“Very well. Let’s go then. And take this.” Damian holds out his taser to Danny.

“Um. Don’t you need it?”

“I am more than capable of taking people down without weapons. You need this more than I do.”

That’s fair. Danny gingerly takes the taser, keeping his thumb above the switch that will flip it on and have it buzzing with electricity. He follows Damian’s lead as they creep down the hall, staying low and quiet on their feet. Damian keeps in the lead, checking that it’s safe to move before signaling for Danny to follow. 

They take out three more intruders before the lights in the Manor flicker and then go out. Noise swells up in the ballroom before another gunshot silences it.

Danny tenses, fearing the worst, but Damian reaches back to squeeze his hand and whisper, “It’s alright. That was the moment Black Bat and Nightwing were waiting for. They’ll take care of it.”

When he strains his hearing, he can just pick out the shattering of glass and muffled cries of pain. He doesn’t hear anyone’s voices, but as long as no one is screaming, it’s fine. Probably. He hopes, anyways.

They circle around the ballroom, checking room and hallways, but it seems that most of the intruders didn’t bother hanging around out here when all their targets were conveniently in one large room. Having cleared out all the intruders they could, Damian leads them to Bruce’s office.

“What are we doing here?” Danny asks, keeping his voice low as he keeps one eye on the door to ensure no one comes in.

“We’re going to the Batcave,” Damian answers absentmindedly as he fiddles with a grandfather clock behind a desk.

Danny blinks. “Wait, we go in from here?”

“Look.” Danny looks to where Damian has opened up the grandfather clock to reveal a dark staircase that leads down, deep beneath the Manor.

“Huh,” is all Danny can say to that. It’s definitely safer than just falling through the floor like Danny did, but somehow it feels a little anticlimactic. It’s just stairs. It’s very hard to make stairs cool.

They could have at least put in a fire pole. 

A giant underground vigilante cave and not a single fire pole to slide down on? What’s the point then?

Danny holds back a sigh, then grimaces at the heavy taste of blood in his mouth. His nose isn’t hurting as much anymore, just a dull throb, and it’s easily ignored when his back flares with pain with each minute movement. He looks down at the stairs as Damian begins his descent, already wincing at how much it’s going to stuck going down them with a stab wound. 

He could really use that fire pole right now.

Or, actually, why bother taking the stairs? Danny’s half-ghost. It needs to be good for something.

Danny promptly goes ghost, flies down into the cave completely invisible and intangible, then drops back to the ground in a quick flash of light, human again. He intends to stand up and wait where there’s more light, but his head suddenly spins as his vision goes dark. There’s a buzzing in his ears and he gets a strange, floating feeling, as if he’s no longer in his body, just drifting out into open air. 

The floor is cold against his cheek. The floor is…

The floor?

Danny blinks his eyes open, wondering when he closed them. It takes a moment to realize that he’s lying down, somehow, on his back in some dark corner of the cave. There’s a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently.

He tries to say something but his voice dies halfway out of his throat. A few more blinks has his eyes clearing enough that he can see Damian crouched in front of him, looking over his head, mouth moving as he speaks, though Danny can’t hear anything. His ears are still ringing. 

The world sways around him.

He closes his eyes trying to count his breaths so the world will feel more solid around him. Wayne Manor just got attacked. Now is not the time to be lying around.

But he can’t force himself to get up. His body refuses to respond to him. All he can do is lie on the floor of the cave, trying to get his head to stop spinning, feeling the heat of the wound in his back as it presses against cold stone. 

Arms wind around him, lifting him up, and Danny whines as it jostles him. More blood spills out of his stab wound, soaking his suit even more. Distantly, he hears someone curse as he’s moved into a more brightly lit area. It’s too bright, even with his eyes closed, and Danny turns his face, trying to hide from it. 

A hand runs through his hair, soothing him. He’s carefully set down on something—a bed?

So they can have soft, high quality beds in their vigilante cave, but no fire poles. The Waynes need to get their priorities straight.

He tries to say something about that, but just mumbles out some slurred, nonsense sounds.

Someone hushes him kindly. The hand keeps brushing his hair back soothingly.

And then—

His shirt.

They’re opening his shirt.

They’re taking off his jacket.

Danny is laid out, helpless, held down, and they’re stripping him of his clothes. Terror slams into him like a train, ice in his veins chilling him from the inside out. His eyes snap open and his  blurry vision catches sight of two heads bend down over him, features dark and unrecognizable, backlit by the light shining too brightly right above his face.

His breath stutters in his chest as he stares at them, horrified and betrayed.

What are they doing to him?!

Panicked, Danny beings to thrash, adrenaline surging through it. It dulls his pain, lifts the lead from his limbs, makes him gather enough strength to try to push them away. More hands appear, trying to hold him down and a hoarse scream tears out of his throat. It doesn’t have any power, can’t throw them away from him, and stutters to a stop a few seconds later. 

“No!” he cries, tears leaking out of his eyes. “No, stop! Don’t, please don’t do this to me…”

A sob catches in his chest so hard is hurts. 

The people above him speak over each other, their words melding together. He doesn’t know what they’re saying, just that they’re speaking, but it does nothing to calm him down.

How can he be calm?

They’re trying to cut him open.

He tries to go ghost and his entire body lights up in pain, back arching off the bed as he screams again. 

The lights go out. The hands disappear. 

The world goes still.

Danny heaves for breath, shivering. 

It takes a long time before he feels solid again. Less likely to shake out of his own body. He doesn’t know what just happened. He should be able to go full ghost, but he entire body refused. It hurt and hurt and hurt and he doesn’t understand why.

It’s not just a failure of his powers, but a betrayal.

Slowly, he begins to breathe evenly. His entire body still hurts, but it’s the pain of a bruise, not an electric current running through the whole of him. The world steadies itself and his vision clears up properly.

Something cold touches his hand.

Danny flinches back, then looks up to see Alfred. 

Alfred, who’s aged face is lined with deep concern. Who stands just close enough to hold out the water bottle to Danny. Who doesn’t crowd him or demand answers. 

Alfred, who is safe.

Without thinking about it, Danny sags towards him. Alfred has to step closer, steady him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Danny, my boy,” he says, “Can you hear me now?”

Now? Was Alfred speaking earlier? 

Danny nods, blinking up at him.

“Wonderful. Do you think you could drink some water?”

Another nod. He looks down at the water bottle and its unsealed cap, then his own trembling hands. He doesn’t think he can open it.

Before he can ask Alfred for help, another hand appears in his line of sight, from the other side of the bed. Damian grabs the water bottle and twists it open, then shoves it into Danny’s hands with a click of his tongue.

He doesn’t let go until he’s sure Danny has a solid grip on it.

Danny tries to thank him, but his throat clicks from how sore and dry it is. He drinks half the bottle in one go, clears his throat, and is able to say, “Sorry about that.”

“There’s no need to be sorry,” Alfred says, just as Damian says, “If you’re sorry, then take off your shirt so we can tend to you. You’re injured.”

Alfred turns to Damian with a severe look on his face and Danny hurries to intervene before things can get messy. Or, messier. 

“Right. Sorry. Again. It’s not a big deal, it’s just a small stab wound.”

“A stab wound?” Alfred repeats. “Danny, please let me tend to it. It may need stitches.”

“It doesn’t—”

“You don’t know that,” Damian hisses. “Let Pennyworth help you, or I’ll do it myself. And you won’t like it if I do it myself.”

Danny is ready to refuse again, but the clear concern in Alfred’s eyes stops him. 

He does need help. He doesn’t want to cause trouble for Alfred.

“Fine,” he bites out. “But don’t—don’t touch me if you can avoid it and don’t ask any question.” He doesn’t give himself a chance to second guess, just pulls at his shirt and suit coat, going intangible to get it off him without lifting his arms. Strangely, that doesn’t hurt the way trying to go full ghost did. 

Something to consider later.

The silence that follows is heavy. Danny can’t stand it; he wants to hide away, to rewind the last hour so he can undo what he’s just done, pretend he’s still fine. All his scars are on display. The arcs of electricity from the Accident that have embedded themselves into his skin, close calls from ghost fights that were bad enough to leave a mark in his human form, the burns from his parents inventions locking onto him before he was able to deactivate them.

Alfred lets out a slow breath. Then he says, “Master Damian, if you could get—”

“Of course.” And Damian is up and moving, the light above him turning on. It’s much dimmer than it was before.

“If you could please turn around, Danny. I need to see what I’m working with.”

Danny forces himself to turn, showing his back to Alfred. He’s tense, every inch of him ready to run. 

It’s Alfred, he tells himself sternly. Alfred won’t hurt him. He’s safe.

Damian returns, handing something off to Alfred. He can hear them move, hear things being prepped behind him, metal against metal, and another sliver of terror runs down his spine.

“Stop,” he says without meaning to. 

The cave goes quiet again, both Damian and Alfred freezing. Danny swallows roughly, then turns back to face them. “I can’t,” he chokes out. “I can’t—I need—I need to be able to see you.”

“Then I’ll do your stitches,” Damian announces. He rounds the bed, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. “I am more than capable. Even before I came to Gotham I had learned how to provide medical aid both in practice and on the field.”

“I’ll be right here,” Alfred reassures him. “Master Damian is very capable. He will do a good job at this.”

Danny nods, taking in a shaky breath. “Okay. Okay. Then, please, Damian.” 

“I’ll apply the local anesthesia now. This will keep you from feeling the stitches go in.” Danny tenses, and then the area around his stab wound goes numb, the pain dulling.

Alfred takes hold of his hands. “Breathe with me,” he instructs. Danny does his best, keeping his eyes on Alfred, matching him with each deep, even breath. 

He tries not to be too tense, to think about when Damian will begin, if he’s already started, all the questions they will ask him about his many scars…

“Done,” Damian announces.

…What?

“What? Already?”

“Yes,” Damian says, a pleased note in his voice. “I told you I knew what I was doing. I’m going to put the bandage on it now. Do not get it wet.”

His back and shoulder are still numb enough that he doesn’t feel the bandage get put on, so he just takes Damian’s word for it. That wasn’t as bad as he expected it to be. In fact, that went really well? Fast, too. Danny would have never been able to stitch himself in that time.

Alfred squeezes his hands, leads him through a few more breaths, then pulls away. He helps Danny lie on his side and pulls the blanket up over him. 

“Get some rest now, Danny. I’ll be here while you sleep.”

“Wait, the gala. Is everyone…?”

“Everyone is alright. The police had been contacted and will be here soon. Nightwing and Black Bat have the situation under control. There is nothing more you need to do.” A hand drops over Danny’s eyes, blocking out the light. “You can rest now, Danny.”

He’s sure that he won’t be able to sleep at all, let alone soundly, after all that. But his body has other ideas and in no time he’s pulled under into that deep darkness that shuts away the rest of the world and lets him drift away. . . .

(The scar map of Danny is being uploaded into the Batcomputer’s archives when Nightwing arrives, carrying a plate full of finger foods pilfered from the gala.

“Where’s Danny?!” he demands, sweeping his gaze across the entirety of the Batcave. He sees Danny curled up in a medical cot before Alfred can answer. “What happened?”

“He was stabbed,” Damian answers nonchalantly from where he’s going through sword katas to work out some of his more volatile emotions.

“Stabbed?!”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

Cass appears behind Nightwing, already shedding parts of her uniform. She steals something from the plate in Nightwing’s hand and is about to eat it when he hisses, “That’s for Danny!” 

She slowly puts it back on the plate. 

Alfred watches her stare at Danny in the medical cot, then turn on her heel to go to the lockers to change out of the rest of her suit. 

“Miss Cassandra, if you could please pick up all your clothes off the floor,” he says as she walks. Cass darts back to pick up everything she dropped behind Nightwing, then disappears into the locker room.

Nightwing finally shakes himself out of his stupor and makes his way over to Alfred, setting the plate down next to him. “Seriously, is Danny alright?”

Alfred places his hands on the desk, palms flat against it, and very calmly says, “Hunting down every person who has ever hurt him will be the last mission I ever go out on.”

“Shit.”

In any other case, he would have reprimanded Nightwing’s language. In this case, it’s the only appropriate response.

“Once the police are gone and the guests seen off, we need to have another family discussion. Danny is a very brave and very strong lad, but he’s gone through far too much. We must do better.”

“I’ll call the war council then.”

“See that you do, Nightwing.”

Alfred nods to him, then pulls the chair away from the Batcomputer to Danny’s medical cot, and sits with him. Looking down at his thin, worn face, Alfred is reminded of Bruce, in the aftermath of his parents’ murder, of Dick’s first nights in the Manor, of Jason and his nightmares, Tim and his loneliness. Now, Danny and his fear will join the expressions he never wants to see on his family again.

He is so young, so fragile, so bright and wonderful despite it all.

Yes, war council is the only appropriate way to move forward. It is the least he can do for Danny, so do it he will.)

[fungus-no69]

Pc/you and gn school LIs + Great Hawk doing a three legged race

Whitney is tripping you the fuck up I'm so sorry. They are going to make fun of you regardless of if you were outspeeding them or not.

Kylar is tripping you guys because they got too excited that you're that close and their legs were too weak. Carry them. Please. (--- Status btw)

Depending on your physique and athleticism, you are either keeping pace with Sydney or they run too fast and you fall or something. It's funny and they fuss over you after the fact because you could have gotten hurt. The more corrupt they are, the more likely they are to laugh at you before helping.

Robin will try to keep pace with you no matter how fast or slow you are. Please don't outrun them they will make the saddest most sopping wet cat face at you.

Great Hawk is confused, they simply Pick You Up. Goodbye <33

[vampimull3t]

some little mcr drawings i did at school in the past week with varying levels of reference

[ahfrickenfrick]

tim is a boygenius queer

cass is a mitski queer

steph is a penelope scott queer

i will not be taking questions at this time, thank you <3

[virescent-v]

I’ve always wanted to see a fic surrounding this: the aftermath of Emily’s rescue from Mr Scratch. Maybe a fluffy bath moment at home or sweet smut vibes?

Aftermath

A/N: Bestie! I loved this idea. Tbh, I had to watch that ep first because I had no idea who Mr Scratch was. I'm only on s5 of my watch through hahaha. But I watched it, and wrote this! I hope it does it some justice. I think this is really my first take at a hurt/comfort fic.

Word Count: 1.6k (I broke my less than 1k word challenge, oops) Warnings: honeslty, not too much. There is some slight smut tho.

You were told to wait at home. But the wait was excruciating. 

You hadn’t gotten many details from Penelope other than Emily had been kidnapped, drugged, and had gotten rescued. She was otherwise unharmed. You only knew that she was chasing a high profile psychopath; someone that had even Hotchner running into WITSEC. 

So, you were waiting. Impatiently. For your girlfriend to come home. So you could check her over yourself, especially since you knew she wasn’t going to be responsible and go to the hospital. 

You were broken out of your inner anxious ramblings by Emily stumbling through the front door, all but dropping her bags at her feet and practically running right to you. 

“Em,” you whispered, gathering her in your arms. You could feel her slightly shaking, the adrenaline of everything finally crashing on her. “You’re home, baby, and safe. You’re safe now,” you said, continuing to whisper sweet words to her, rubbing your hands on her back, helping to wear off some of the epinephrine coursing through her. 

You tried to pull away, so you could look at her, really look at her, but her arms shot out and grabbed you around your waist, pulling you even closer to her. Like she was trying to burrow into you. 

“Not yet,” she whispered, her nose dragging up the side of your neck, breathing in your perfume. 

“Okay, okay.” 

It takes a couple of minutes; you can feel Emily mouthing something against your skin, as if she’s trying to ground herself, reminding herself that she’s not with him anymore. Eventually, though, she loosens her grip on you, allowing you to look at her face for the first real time since she got home. 

When your eyes connect, you can see the tears shining in hers. You can feel the weight of her stare, silently communicating between the two of you. 

I almost died. 

But you didn’t, love. You’re home. 

You trail your hand up her arm, across her shoulder, and over her heart. 

You’re alive. You’re safe. 

As you tap your pointer finger on her chest in time with her heartbeat, she takes a shuddering breath, a few tears finally making their way down her cheek. She blinks a few times, not trying to hide the emotion escaping her, before taking a deep breath that seems to use all of her remaining energy. 

“Can- can we take a bath?” She asks, timidly. As if you would ever deny her anything. 

You don’t say anything. You just grasp her hand in yours and lead her to your bathroom. You sit her on the toilet, tucking some of her stray hair behind her ears. You reach over to your oversized tub, turning the water to just on the side of scalding. The temperature Emily prefers. 

As the tub fills, you watch Emily, rubbing your hands on her knees. She’s still occasionally shaking, but not as badly as when she came in. Her gaze isn’t focused on anything, worrying you that she might start receding back to memories from earlier. You know she’ll be hit with nightmares later, something you’ve dealt with before and know how to handle. You just want to prevent that for right now. 

Once the tub is full, you add some bath water oils, a eucalyptus smell. You’ve found that it’s better for keeping Emily calm over lavender or vanilla smells. 

You start to strip, placing your clothes in the hamper. Emily still isn’t focusing on anything, her eyes settled on her hands on her lap. She isn’t even registering that the bath is ready, so you approach her quietly. 

“Em, baby, the bath is ready. You need to get undressed.” 

Her eyes tracked up your body, but there wasn’t her normal heat in her gaze. Only as if she was making sure that it was really you. 

When your eyes connected, you had to stop yourself from gasping. Her eyes were turning red from trying not to cry, almost overflowing with unshed tears. 

You crouched down in front of her, your nude form not even a worry. You rubbed your thumbs across her cheeks, trying to get her to release her emotions. You’d take them from her if you could. 

Emily feels your thumbs rubbing back and forth, letting your love for her ground her to this moment. Eventually, she closes her eyes tight, all of the tears breaking free, and she starts to sob. She collapses into you, burrowing into your neck again. This time, you can hear her mumbling, wheels up, I’m home, wheels up, I’m home over and over again. A mantra. 

You give her a few minutes, letting her get out most of the current wave of emotion. You know it’ll hit her again later, likely many times, and you know you’ll take them all in stride. Anything for her. 

Another deep breath, another slow release from you. You reach over and grab some toilet paper, wiping at her teary, snotty face. You can tell she almost cracks a smile at the noise her nose makes when she blows it into the tissue; she’s slowly coming back to herself. 

After you toss the tissue in the trash, you grab the hem of her shirt. Tugging on it, Emily raises her arms, allowing you to undress her. There’s no sexual charge to your movements; this is purely emotional, intimate connection between you and your girl. 

You get in the tub first, spreading your legs so Emily can settle between them. Usually, she’s behind you, always pampering you. It’s only on rare occasions do you get to be the one caring for her, so you take pride in your movements, your ability to calm her when she most needs it. 

As she settles in front of you, you feel the last of her energy leave her. The hot water around you soothing sore muscles, easing her overworked nervous system. Her heart rate starts to slow, her breaths becoming deeper, slower, longer. 

While you know that her body is physically relaxing, you know that her mind is not. 

You never get the details of the case. She never wants to burden you with the gruesomeness of her job, doesn’t want you to worry more than you already do. Emily’s a profiler, can read anyone in the room and pinpoint their motives. But you’ve become an expert in Emily. 

You help her through the aftermath as best as you can, providing her with the space to unwind in whatever what she deems necessary - or whatever way her body deems necessary. Sometimes it’s a hot bath and a good meal, sometimes it’s body-wracking sobs on the couch, and sometimes it’s taking her to the local gym to spar with someone and let her anger out. 

You see sides of your girlfriend that you know no one else has or ever will. She’s a strong, independent person with walls taller than Everest. Somehow, you’ve managed to climb them, repel down them, and settle in. Emily let you settle in, let you unwind the barb wire around her heart. You’d protect it with your life. 

You start rubbing a soft cloth with your body wash across Emily’s body; she’s always taken comfort in your smell after a bad case. You make sure to go slow, not knowing what happened to her, not wanting to trigger anything unknowingly. 

As you reach her bent knees, you feel her flinch a little. You stop immediately, trying to check in with her again. She’s mouthing the same mantra: Wheels up, I’m home, wheels up…

“Em? Do your legs hurt?” 

A slight shake of her head. No pain, which likely means it’s something mentally. 

You continue slowly, letting her feel the cloth on her legs. “Open your eyes, Em. Your legs are okay.” 

You watch the side of her face, watch as her eyes blink open, watch as her eyes track your hands up and down her leg. 

Another deep, shuddering breath as you feel her relax back into you. She continues to watch your movements, her eyes growing more focused as they move back up her torso. 

“I need,” a whisper, caught in the dryness of her throat; she clears it before trying again. “I need you to touch me.” 

You release the cloth, notice it float away to the end of the tub. Your hands wrap around her, settling lower on her belly, resting there. You watch the side of her face again. “You sure?” 

You would never take advantage of her, not while she’s vulnerable. You’ve had this conversation before, about how sometimes after certain cases she just needs to feel connected to you, feel intertwined with something that is real.  

She turns to look at you, her nose brushing against yours as she whispers a strong, steady, “love me,” against your lips.  

She trails her hand to yours, interlocks your fingers, before bringing both of them down to her core. Interconnected, simultaneously, you start rubbing slow, steady circles on her clit, working her up easily, lovingly. 

Each brush of your fingers against her has her twitching, rolling her hips into your hands. Her head thrown back against your shoulder, you can see her feeling you, feeling your love for her. The only thing on her mind now is her, you, and the way that you make her feel. Each stroke of your fingers is a promise, a vow to protect her, keep her safe, love her. It’s a love letter of all of the things you wish you could voice, of all of the ways you care for her. 

As she nears her peak, your lips find her ear as you whisper over and over I love you, you’re home, I love you… 

Her back arches against you, her hips pressing more fully into your hand. You help her ride through the waves, gathering her in your arms as she settles back down. Your lips brush light kisses around her temple and cheek as she catches her breath. 

“I love you,” she says. “I’m home.”

[aroanthy]

kiryuu sibling stasis post-32 is so interesting to me. nanami tries to leave and is (temporarily but also, crucially, violently) prevented from doing so by touga and akio. after this experience she puts distance between herself and them: she leaves touga’s phone in the car, she resigns from the student council (though she dons her old uniform still), she repeatedly dismisses and undermines the authority of the rose code, of end of the world, of akio, of touga. but she’s still in ohtori, isn’t she? uncomfortable with the idea of leaving, uncertain if it’s really possible. she tried before, and it hurt her. deeply. it’s so interesting to me, nanami’s agency and how she limits her exertion of it after 32, when she realises it for what it is. contrast that with touga, who accepts this weird stalemate between them, who is, really, uninterested in having any relationship of any kind with nanami if he can’t gain something from her. he’s very passive with her after 32, compared to the passivity he’d always feigned towards her before in order to stoke reactions from her and then exploit them. i was thinking about how touga has always been able to sever his relationship with nanami, but chosen not to; first out of a sense of obligation (‘we should live to help each other’) then a realisation of how that could be exploited. i was thinking about how nanami has never realised her ability to leave, in part because it is limited by touga and the harm he does her. i was thinking about the desperation and confusion akio calls out to anthy with as she leaves. i was thinking about how different that is to the kiryuus’ strange semi-breakdown; touga doesn’t want or need nanami, and nanami might love her brother but she cannot trust him or feel safe around him, doesn’t want to see him anymore; she’s itching to leave, and just a little scared (you know, because last time she tried that her brother assaulted her), and he’s not doing anything because ignoring her means he doesn’t have to deal with the emotions of her leaving or staying. something something gendered power dynamics something something tragic siblings

[glitterincandles]

smiling friends as discord mods ; ☆

crazy ass idea

— glep (8/10 discord mod)

actions ☆

i think of him as the social media manager of the company and if mr. boss trusts him that much to maintain a positive image of the company online then being a discord mod would be a breeze

can control some semi-complicated stuff in the server like role-setting with reactions and unlocking different channels by reacting to a message, definitely improves this function if he thinks its faulty

^^^ any technical difficulties within the server are

takes being a discord mod pretty seriously yet he has the ability to be lighthearted about it sometimes

often mass bans people over spamming or any other offense without alerting everyone else, so like no context banning

^^^ ppl initially had a problem with it but then they lightened up a little when they noticed that those mass bans actually improved the server

^^^^ he still scares the shit out of everyone though

always online and monitoring the server

profile ☆

has definitely splurged money on discord nitro and those discord profile decor and effects

his profile would be decked tf out and follow a purple/green aesthetic

^^^ he has the clyde invaders icon skin and his account profile is purple

^^^^ idk if he has an anime girl pfp or not bc on one hand he would definitely have one but on the other hand he'd have a profile pic of a character he likes from a game.

one thing's for sure tho is that he never felt the need to change his discord profile picture unless he was in a server made for his job then he'd just change that server's profile pic to put his face and that's it lol

discord username is probably like theamazingGlep69 or something

his discord bio is definitely a random video game quote and that's it

his spotify, xbox, and steam account are the only things connected to his discord

extras ☆

always energized by those gamer-advertised energy drinks

^^^ no specific preference for like g-fuel or gamer supps or something he just grabs whatever he can get his grimy little hands on

selectively sends friend requests to people and never accepts friend requests from randos

^^^ in fact he INSISTS on being the one sending the friend requests to people instead of it being the other way around

^^^^ as a result he has less than 15 people on his friends list and he's happy with it

he definitely unadds ppl he hasn't spoken to in a while though to keep it ~fresh~ or something

— mr. boss (6/10 discord mod)

actions ☆

ok so like

he isn't TERRIBLE at modding he knows the basics

he's just very... lax. he's the type to not see anything wrong with spamming or other similar offenses just because he genuinely doesn't think it's a big deal

^^^ he'd be like oh what theyre just expressing themself idk

^^^^ or like when it comes to random ppl dming mods he'd be like idk what if they just wanted to ask a question but were too shy to do it in the main server YKWIM?????

he already lets his employees do what they want during their shifts so it wouldn't be very different in a discord server

because it's online, he already doesn't take it very seriously lol he'd just find any chaos amusing

it's like a giant group chat!!!!

BUT DESPITE ALL THAT, he's really good at organizing server events like giveaways and movie/game nights

he'd always make sure to make the events fun and accessible for everyone

as a result most of the server usually participates in the events

he's just not good at... moderation in general

he also doesn't enjoy the banning/warning ppl aspect bc it makes him feel really bad

profile ☆

he has an anime girl pfp and/or has matching pfps with ppl for a certain amount of time ONLY if they match his profile theme

his profile is a cutesy kawaii light pink anime girl aesthetic

^^^ he'd have the cat ears icon skin and his profile would be pink

^^^^ an evil part of me wants to say he has a sailor moon pfp

yes he also has discord nitro

what else will he do with the money he earns

he has cutesy kaomojis in his bio too and probably has the initial of someone in a text heart like < b 3 (b for brittney LOL)

only his spotify is connected to his profile

extras ☆

also brittney was his discord kitten

^^^ they had matching anime couple pfps

^^^^ they'd always vc

^^^^^ have fallen asleep on vc once

he uses cringe text faces like uwu or owo just bc he knows everyone hates it

^^^ he thrives off of the negativity idk

everyone in a server he moderates would probably feel the safest dming him out of every other mod

^^^ his dms r always open

ok so i know that he has normal ass headphones but hear me out. give him pink cat ear headphones. it's perfect

he has more than the usual amt of discord friends

he always has aesthetic ass discord statuses

has his online status set as idle bc its cuter

— allan red (7/10 discord mod)

actions ☆

he's the mod that everyone complains abt

definitely rewrites the rules and makes sure they're enforced at all times

he's the typa person to call someone out if they break the rules in any capacity

"@/feetlicker Please change your name, that is not appropriate"

"@/charlienipples No memes in general chat, go to #meme-channel."

unlike glep though, he gives a lot of context as to why he'd ban someone

^^^ maybe 2 much context

^^^^ in fact he very rarely bans ppl, the most he sends out is a very detailed warning in dms

always types in full sentences

most server members are afraid of dming him actually he's sorta intimidating

he definitely keeps the server in order but his reputation is just not the best

but he is very confrontational so if someone is causing a problem he isn't afraid of getting it dealt with

he's usually tagged during disputes bc he's level-headed enough to deal with them and offers good points

^^^ that doesn't stop others from thinking he's annoying though :((

very misunderstood but has good intentions

he has a set schedule on when he logs in and moderates, then gives himself free time

so basically he isn’t online all day

profile ☆

he’d have one of those blank discord profiles

like he’d make it normal-ish but he wouldn’t care too much abt sparkly text themes or connecting any of his other socials to it

uses a picture of himself as his icon and has a matching red background that is randomly generated by discord

^^^ (he didn’t pay for discord nitro)

^^^^ (everyone point and laugh)

^^^^^ (he just doesn’t find it necessary since he isn’t online THAT often)

his username is either his full name or a very absurd npc name (like scaryantelopes2536) theres no in-between

he never has a status set

clean profile but its boring to look at basically

extras ☆

takes online status very literally— if he doesn’t want to be disturbed, he puts dnd, if he’s online, he sets it as online, etc etc (so surprisingly very honest)

his profile pic looks professionally done in a studio then unfortunately it got very pixelated as a result of discord itself so its kinda funny looking

his friends list is only the 4 other ppl from smiling friends

doesn’t know or like brainrot or modern internet slang so when ppl say skibidi toilet or sigma rizz he genuinely has to get up and walk around outside to stay sane

is usually the one being trolled/pranked

IS the one that cringes at mr. boss using uwu or owo

— charlie dompler (5/10 discord mod)

actions ☆

HE'S THE TYPE TO be really good at it first then he'd lose interest

he'd get a high from it bruh

just the idea of having power would be enough to get him rolling

for the first couple months he'd be all up in the server channels being hella active

he'd stay up all night just moderating bc its exciting to give someone a warning if they act up or whatever

^^^ if he gets sleepy he drinks an energy drink

*someone fucks up in a server* "Ooh, oooh-- this is my favorite part, man. Watch, watch." *sends a 2 word dm to the person that just says 'warning One'* "Oh, haha! that--that was so fun."

yea he'd be riding on dopamine hits of doing good for the server

since he'd be sleep deprived he'd misspell a lot and send short answers so if someone asks why they were banned he'd give very short answers

"hey why was i banned lol" "bad" "what" "yeah"

i don't think he'd do much in the server other than moderate and make new channels

then he gets bored.

uh oh

all of a sudden he's very relaxed about everything so he would probably stop moderating so much

he would probably be doing the bare minimum now lol

5/10 bc he goes in and out of caring and not caring so i guess sometimes he's pretty good

discord is probably one of the only socials he is really active on

he would give himself dumbass roles just bc

profile ☆

some sort of meme/cursed profile icon with flaming sword icon skin

would definitely have an orange-themed profile in general bc he thinks its a color with an unfair reputation

every social he has will be linked to his damn profile

has a dumbass username

^^^ probably one of the only one of the 5 who doesn't use his real name on discord

^^^^ he would change his dn every once in a while JUST BC to be funny or something

its so stupid he would call himself the Poo Meister after letting a smooth one out

he's always on DND

uses his discord status to ask someone to play a game w him

extras ☆

he joins random meme servers just for the emotes

he's already a discord mod for like 3 servers rn and he's given up

he has a lot of online friends which is why he doesn't use his real name

he's always in a vc with someone

he's very very social online (i bet he has a popular twitter gimmick account too)

he made his current discord account when he was really young and he just stuck with the same one

he adds all the bots to servers he moderates bc he thinks he has amazing taste

— pim pimling (7/10 discord mod)

actions ☆

he would be the one doing all of the accouncements and questions of the day

he takes those jobs so serious

he types with caps on and uses encouraging gifs and emoticons (yes emojis too)

he never really moderates, he's the one just announcing things tbh he has a lot to say

even when he conveys bad news he'd do a little :P at the end just to soften the blow

(he's also the one who usually kindly lets people know why a certain mod banned them just in case said mod doesn't wanna elaborate)

his positivity pisses ppl off sometimes

don't shoot the messenger

he just logs in every morning, and writes a whole paragraph in announcements to wish everyone a happy day! then he types up the question of the day and logs off until the night

pim pimling is a very busy man

checks his notifs throughout the day tho (just in casies)

he just spreads positivity

one of the most important people in the server he's in at all times

he does intimidate ppl sometimes just bc of his role but he does try to be as not-intimidating as possible

if he's confronted on anything he does wrong he is quick to take responsibility for his actions

^^^ doesn't depend on the person's role, like if he bans someone's friend and the person pleads their case, he's very quick to apologize

^^^^ might cause him to be perceived as someone with no backbone but he's just very empathetic and understanding

profile ☆

his icon is definitely a picture of his face, probably some sort of cute selfie

similar to allan, he uses his full name in his discord dn and user

he does have nitro but he only uses it to change his discord background to a picture of nature

his bio would be long as shit. "Hi! (grin) I'm Pim Pimling and I'm 34 years old!" etc etc etc

^^^ definitely overshares in his bio too

has no socials attached to his profile at all

very straightforward profile

he uses his status a LOT to say the most random things?!>>W "Currently eating a bowl of cereal!"

extras ☆

he has a lot of people on his friends list bc despite everything ppl do have a soft spot for him

he had discord for a while like charlie did but he only ever used it to text friends and thats it

really interactive and responds quickly to dms

his dms r very open

he loves emoji reactions so much

he helps mr. boss with server events a lot

^^^ he also participates in every one

he likes using video calls in a vc

hallo ^w^ i just want to end this off by saying i now have an ask box to submit any headcanon requests if needed!! yayy

[imma-bunni]

It Lies Beneath These Hallowed Woods ao3 by meekome @meekkome ("in which lan zhan sees wei ying possessed by eldritch horror and says if i can't fix him i can join him")

The shadows are alive. Writhing and twisting around him, creeping over him, between his fingers, around his throat, curious and hungry. The dirt beneath is black like dried blood, which makes the shards and fragments of bones half-buried around him easy to see, white and glimmering unnaturally bright in the gloom.

Then something looks at him, from behind the shadows, and Wei Wuxian flinches at the weight of its attention.

some tags: sentient burial mounds, eldritch wei ying, whump, body horror, fix-it, eventual happy ending

[purble-gaymer]

HELP they invaded my brain like dark souls dark spirit

[b4kuch1n]

making of a feathered thing