#so it wouldn’t sound too meta

[teecupangel]

Everything Everywhere all at Once has a ‘love and acceptance heals’ point and I love it. I was wondering how it would go with the assassins with the reality jumping. Would Desmond be Waymond? Would he be alpha Waymond or the one who got away or normal, kind and financially struggling Waymond?

Here’s a meh-ly edited EEAO poster with all the Desmond in it I made before. I remember there already being an EEAO-esque ask before but I cannot find it in this Tumblr as usual XD (weirdly enough, I cannot remember the ask itself so, if anyone remembers it and it sounds so eerily like this then I’m sorry)

So for this one, we’re setting Desmond up as the love interest of the main character. You decide who the MC Assassin is and the main point of this entire thing is that the Assassin keeps reality jumping and, in every reality, the Assassin meets Desmond.

The other realities give the Assassin version of him that are alive either by it being set in the past or 'present'.

This would be easier if the Assassin also came from modern day, either using a canon modern day Assassin or a modern day AU but even if the Assassin came from the past, a big ‘mystery’ of this entire thing could be that Desmond is part of that Assassin’s past. Desmond appeared one day and they became close, finally becoming a couple after a bit of pining from both sides. The one the Assassin is chasing is actually a version of their child, Elijah. The Assassin didn’t know it when they started chasing Elijah because the dark hooded reality jumper attacked Desmond and killed him.

It’s only after it’s revealed to be a different reality of Elijah that the Assassin realized that the reason why this Elijah had been able to kill Desmond was because Desmond couldn’t attack back, having realized who was attacking him.

The Assassin is shrouded by anger and the desire to avenge the death of Desmond and follows that Elijah into different realities.

Elijah kept trying to kill the Desmonds in different realities, the Assassin always comes to stop him before it’s too late. Even when given the chance, the Assassin couldn't kill Elijah because they remember their own child and the vicious cycle continues.

In every reality, the Assassin sees Desmond living his life, sometimes with a version of the Assassin or with someone else (these various "someone else" are the other Assassins). Sometimes, he lives alone but is happy nonetheless, paving his own path. In every reality, the Assassin falls in love with that Desmond but doesn’t do anything other than save him, hoping that that reality’s Desmond would continue to be happy.

And then the Assassin is sent to a reality where the world was burned by the Solar Flare and what remains of the humans have banded together to survive. In this world, the Assassin finds the oldest Desmond they’ve had ever met.

And this Desmond tells him the truth.

The realities were slowly falling apart because there is one singular point that kept being destroyed. A singularity point is a point in time that must happen. It is a cornerstone of the timelines. An event that must never be changed.

And that singular point?

Desmond Miles’ death.

In every reality, Desmond Miles is meant to die but these Desmond Miles found a ‘loophole’. Die for a second or so and use the singularity point’s energy to transfer themselves somewhere in the timeline to live.

The Desmond in the Assassin’s original reality did the same thing. Every other Desmond the Assassin met, living in the past, have done the same thing.

And the Desmond the Assassin met in the ‘modern day’? They did a similar thing only picking ‘the present’ as their transfer point.

Because of this, every reality was starting to crumble.

And the old Desmond that the Assassin met was a singularity point that found a different loophole. Because every Desmond was meant to die to save the world.

But the Desmond of this barren world let the world burn to live.

His loophole is the only ‘valid’ one because he actually created a separate timeline from the others.

But once their reality collapses, he would die as well.

And this is the reality of the Elijah that the Assassin is hunting down. Because that Elijah was raised by his father with love and care. That Elijah found a way to jump through realities to kill the other Desmonds in hopes of saving his reality.

Of saving his father.

“So if you wish to stop Elijah, there is a far easier way than chasing after him.” The old Desmond said as he took the Assassin’s left wrist. He placed the Assassin’s hand around his throat and tapped the Assassin’s hidden blade gauntlet with his point finger as he said, “All you have to do is kill me. That child will be notified of my death and will stop.”

“And my death… will save this reality from the collapse as well. Because there would no longer be any Desmond Miles in it.” Desmond lifted his sleeve, showing the telltale sign of the Apple’s light engraved in his skin, “No one in this world can kill me. No matter how old I become or how grave my wounds are or how near death my body comes to, the power of the Pieces of Eden I absorbed would return me to the body I had when I absorbed them. I am, at this state, immortal. But you…”

“You don’t belong in this reality. The rules of realities not your own do not affect you. You can kill me.”

“Kill me and take the power of the Pieces of Eden inside me.” Desmond ordered with a soft smile, “A body that does not come from the same reality as the Pieces of Eden will be able to connect with the very fabric that connects all the realities and fix the broken ones.”

Desmond placed a hand on the Assassin’s cheek as he warned, “It will take you years, thousands of years, maybe even an eternity… but you will become an entity greater than any of us. Not a god… but a prisoner, forever fixing the broken pieces created by the selfishness of countless Desmond Miles.”

“But you will do it, won’t you?” Desmond’s words sounded like a question but it held a finality in them.

Like he already knew the answer to his question.

“Because you love Desmond Miles enough to sacrifice yourself for his happiness.” Desmond whispered, as if telling a secret that must not be said out loud.

“You followed my son to avenge the Desmond you lost but you continued to jump through all the other realities to save them instead. To save countless Desmonds who didn’t even have the same memories as the Desmond you lost. You saved them because you fall in love with them anyway and…” Desmond’s smile became broken and tears gathered in his eyes, “…. you will continue to save them. As the overseer of the realities.”

“Kill me… and save the realities. No…”

“Save the other Desmonds.”

[dclovesdanny]

Dc x Dp prompt

Dead serious prompt 1/4

Damian and Danny are pen pals.

For a school assignment, they had to exchange a minimum of 25 letters with a person from another school. Damian originally thought it was foolish but Pennyworth insisted, and his brothers’ teased him he couldn’t make any friends aside from Jon and Colin (stop the Colin erasure!!!) so now it was a matter of pride.

Danny didn’t like the pen pal plan, but he couldn’t afford to get a bad grade in Lancers class right now. Plus, Jazz was nagging him to make more friends, so kill two birds with one stone.

The two of them made friends fast(Damian was intrigued by talk of inter dimensional beings he could find no other proof of officially aside from some shabbily hidden acts that violated the meta rights act, and he wouldn’t have believed him if it wasn’t for the visit from Fenton’s dog (He wished he could keep him in the manor, but for now he would settle with pampering the dog whenever he visited.) He could admit that Fenton was … intriguing.)

(Danny liked Damian. He was funny, with a sharp sense of sarcasm and a strong love of animals. Cujo adored him. Damien also didn’t ask questions about things he didn’t want to talk about, and he reminded Danny of some ghosts with his talk of violence.)

However, their letters tended to be quite … unorthodox, with Cujo acting acting as a delivery dog. They had avoided sending letters during times when they would be around others, which is why Damian knew it was serious when Cujo came to him at breakfast, carrying a note in his mouth and radiating agitation, three days after their usual letters were exchanged.

Damian ignored the sounds from his family and unfolded the letter. After reading it, he ignored the shouts of his family and climbed onto Cujo’s back. ‘Take me to him.’ He ordered, and Cujo sped off, jumping as a portal opened and they entered. His siblings rushed after him but the portal closed before they could follow.

The letter was lying on the ground with shaky splotchy letters.

GIW went too far. Just got out. Help.

[deadsetobsessions]

Woo! I’ve finally got time to write! Had to go to a wedding, suffered through eight whole hours of pure disorganized mess, and got mad about it. Emphasis on the disorganized part. So, I bring you: party planner!Danny Phantom.

——

If anyone was to see him now, they’d definitely think that it was odd that Danny was the one in the party planning field. They wouldn’t be surprised if it was Jazz, but Danny ‘wing it’ Fenton planning things? Never.

But here he was, clipboard in hand and checking off hors d’œuvres from the list.

“Anton, could you do a check of the sound system? Make sure everything’s working?”

“Got it.”

Danny lifted the buffet table, laden with heavy food, and used a bit of his ghostly strength to move it over.

“Perfect.”

He double checked the seating chart, and readjusted the miniature ice sculpture centerpieces he made for the party.

Wayne Manor was all lit up and perfectly dusted. Danny ran through his mental checklist. Tabled? Check. Dance floor clean and scuff free? Check. DJ booth and open bar running without issues? Check. Live band setting up with back up instruments and strings? Check. Decorations on point? Oh, he’ll have to get the team to readjust those.

Time to check-

“Danny! How’s it going?” Bruce Wayne beamed and slung an arm around his shoulder.

Danny smiled politely. “Mr. Wayne. Everything is going smoothly. Would you like to check the food the chefs have made?”

“Sure, sure! I definitely need to eat before I drink, haha!”

“That’s a good idea! Good thing you’re about to try a bunch of food.” Danny matched the billionaire’s energy. He’s going to get paid so good.

“So, Danny, are you going to college?”

Danny passed him a small sampler. “Ah, I can’t. Some stuff happened in high school and I don’t really have the grades or the money to.”

Plus, his credentials were in another plane of existence and he hadn’t figured out how to transfer those records yet.

“You could still attend college, I’m sure! Your parents might be able to help pay?” Bruce nommed on the food. He gave a thumbs up.

Danny sighed. “It’s not always an option. Plus, my parents are dead.”

In this universe. His own? Alive and kicking GIW ass.

“Oh, I see-”

“Father.”

“Woah!” Danny blinked, looking down at the baby Wayne the popped up next to his father’s elbow.

“Damian! What’s wrong, kiddo?”

Damian shot his father a flat glare and dragged the laughing billionaire away.

Danny snorted and returned to his tasks. He has to check the speeches and the lighting. Hm… he doesn’t have time to adjust everything how he wants it.

Good thing he knew a guy that could stop time.

“Hey, Clockwork?”

——

“Father, I understand your inclination towards adopting poor black haired and blue eyed orphans, but I would like to remind you that I have far too many siblings to be adding yet another bumbling buffoon.”

“I was not considering that, Damian.”

Damian let go of his wrist with a grimace. “Denial is not becoming of a Wayne, Father.”

“Yeah, B. I could see you grab the adoption papers from all the way over here.” Tim adjusted his tie. “Anyways, Dick is on his way. He’s running a little late because of some stuff in Blüdhaven.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

——

“Batman.”

“Oracle.”

“Look at the footage of Wayne manor.” Oracle pulled up the video surveillance scattered through out the manor. Specifically, the ones of the west ballroom. Daniel Fenton stood in his spot, looking down at his clipboard but a second later, he's moved three inches to the left and the decorations had subtly been moved more aesthetic spots. "I think Danny might be a meta. We'll have to look into him."

Batman stood up, allowing the fondness he had for Danny as Bruce Wayne drain away. This is a potential threat, and Batman will treat him like one. (Danny will remember this.)

"Contact Flash. I need him to scan for any temporal disturbance."

"Understood."

——

"Brucie!" A socialite squealed as she came to bestow hugs upon a long suffering Bruce. "My god, this place is gorgeous! You must give me your planner's number. I could absolutely use some fresh eyes for the Annual Spring Party."

"Awe, Janine! I gotta keep some of the good things to myself!" Bruce whined, inwardly smirking as he saw his kids mock-gagging behind the lady's back. "What if your party's cooler than mine? What should I do then? You're already so gorgeous! Why, is that a Birkin?"

Janine lit up and all but forgot about getting Danny's contact information. Bruce patted his own back for a job well done, even if he had to listen to Janine's itemized list of random luxury goods she had to buy before being offered a bag.

He's a Wayne. The Gotham Hermes wished they could partner with the Waynes. Plus, he's pretty sure he's got at least three of those bags somewhere in the manor to bait out Selina.

Catching Danny sliding in between the servers and going towards the kitchen, Bruce quickly excused himself with a disarming himbo grin.

Time to subtly grill the kid.

——

"Hey, Timmy?"

"Hello, Dick," Tim smiled elegantly at the couple who's companies he was about to bring six feet underground and excused himself. "What's up?"

"Have you noticed that the ice sculptures haven't melted at all?"

Tim blinked, eyes sliding over to a harried Danny being followed by Bruce on a mission. Oof.

"Freeze?" He asked mildly, face innocent of any nefarious thoughts.

"That's what I'm thinking." Dick smiled sunnily, throwing an arm around Tim's shoulders.

"Heard the guy's living out near Crime Alley. We should get Jay to check it out." Tim pretended to laugh, grinning as his brains made plans for a stakeout.

"Heard, my ass. You totally stalked him, didn't you?"

"Got proof?"

Dick snorted, removing his arm. "Nope. I'll let Jay know. You should probably help Danny out, though, he looks like he's about to lose his temper."

"Bruce is at it again." Tim sighed. "Yeah, okay."

[justhereforthemeta]

Romantic expectations and the story we didn't see: A magic trick hiding in plain sight

Here's a hopeful meta for all my fellow celestial brainrot sufferers out there. Cheers! :)

This idea started as a dead end, trying to track the movements of Crowley’s sideburns/tattoo because I thought time travel shenanigans were afoot. I had to abandon that theory when it was pointed out that David was simultaneously filming as the sideburns-having Fourteenth Doctor, and in-universe Crowley can do whatever he wants with his facial hair whenever he feels like it. But hey - null findings are still findings!

On the bright side, pausing the show to make notations in a spreadsheet forced me to slow down and notice other changes I'd overlooked the first time around: acting choices, costuming choices, references to book lore. And possibly a few surreptitious flicks of the wrist, in places where we’re meant to be focused on the magician’s other hand.

@amuseoffyre and @ineffablefood had a great exchange recently about romance and “the significance of misdirection and three-in-one (magic) tricks” throughout the show. I suspect Neil has done something brilliant with the audience’s long-standing expectations (since the 1990s, really) for the love story between Crowley and Aziraphale to develop. And while it is a wonderful story indeed, playing to this expectation lets Neil distract his audience from the blink-and-you'll-miss-them seeds he's planting for the final chapter.

Continued below the cut...

Let’s start at the beginning of Episode 2. First, context: In the previous installment, Crowley stormed out of the bookshop, was whisked away to Hell by Beelzebub where he learns about the Book of Life threat to Aziraphale’s existence, then returned to the bookshop to dance a little apology dance and hide Gabriel with an unintentionally massive joint miracle. In S2E2, we and Shax catch up with Crowley as he's snoozing in the Bentley.

Shax: “You’re in trouble”

A. J. Crowley, cool as a cucumber: “Obviously. Former demon, hated by Heaven, loathed by Hell. How will our hero cope?”

Interesting! Sarcastic? Yes, absolutely; but that’s also a good 4500 years and an averted apocalypse away from “I’m a demon. I lie,” wouldn’t you say? Someone is sounding a whole lot less depressed and aimless and navel-gazey (do snakes have navels?), and a whole lot more like he’s got a project to focus on, since his "what's the point?" ruminations on the park bench in E1.

And of course we all noticed the costume change right away. Hello, black turtleneck. Feeling cute today, thought I’d cover up my graceful long neck? That sounds unlikely. Let’s put a pin in this one.

There’s also an interesting acting choice going on here. Crowley speaks to Shax in a funny, drawling, too-cool-for-you voice that we haven’t heard in a while. Specifically, not since 1967. If you go back and give the S1E3 scene in the Dirty Donkey a listen, you’ll hear it (and if you know of another instance of it that I've missed, please let me know!). In S2E2, he keeps up this odd voice (if anybody knows what kind of affect this is supposed to be, please do tell!) throughout this dialogue with Shax, except for the brief moment when she first surprises him about the joint miracle having been detected.

1967 was a fun year. Crowley masterminded a heist! And seemed like he was having a ball doing it, right up until his little caper was called off after Aziraphale brought him the thermos of holy water. Crowley spoke to his co-conspirators in that same funny, very 60’s-caper-film voice. He wore a hip 60’s turtleneck. He bought petrol for the only time ever, so he could get those sweet James Bond bullet hole decals for his car (per the book, seen on the Bentley in the show).

Those James Bond bullet hole decals would of course have been part of a promotion for this 1967 release, which you just know our film-enjoying demon went to see in the theater:

Starring this suave, be-turtlenecked guy:

And now - begging your forgiveness - a brief rant.

There are a number of posts out there that refer to Crowley’s S2E2 turtleneck as a flirtatious sartorial choice - actually, ‘slutty’ seems to be the favored accusation. There are even a few posts floating around commenting on how sweet it is that Crowley swaps out his slutty, kinky, throw-me-over-your-desk-and-take-me turtleneck for a more dressy and appropriate collared shirt specifically to attend Aziraphale’s Jane Austen ball. 

Now this is all in good fun, and Crowley does indeed look fantastic here, and I do love a good fangirling sesh as much as the next person. However, fandom’s collective tendency to interpret what we are seeing on the screen through the lens of romantic expectation can, at times, give rise to a kind of blinkered enthusiasm that obscures the original text in a haze that is part Mandela Effect, part unrestrained horniness, and part in-group code talking and identity reinforcement.

Respectfully, Crowley’s black turtleneck does not appear at all in S2E5: The Ball. In fact, it never appears again after the end of S2E2.

For Someone’s sake, let’s collectively pull our heads out of the romantic fog/gutter for a moment and focus on what we are actually seeing in the book and on the screen. For Crowley, this is an uncharacteristic within-period costume change. There is a surreptitious flick of the wrist happening here, out in broad daylight, and we are all missing it.

So here’s a thing. Aziraphale appears to have settled comfortably into life on Earth, his neighborhood, his books, using Crowley as an outlet for sharing his good deeds that he would once have reported to Heaven. Meanwhile, at first glance, Crowley appears stuck in a rut. There he slouches on a park bench with Shax in S2E1: a guy who lives in his car, stagnantly clinging to old familiar habits, mulling over the pointlessness of it all.

Setting aside the bit about living in the Bentley (I’m going to attribute this to well-documented issues between him and Aziraphale, discussed in many other excellent metas, and move on), Crowley has at least two very good, proactive reasons for maintaining his contact with Hell through Shax. First and foremost, it’s a source of information he can use to keep ahead of potential threats to Aziraphale and himself.

But also, I would posit…he kinda likes it.

Recall that book GO was first conceived as a parody, with Aziraphale and Crowley as spy-against-spy (but not really) field operatives in an ages-old cold war between Heaven and Hell. Their entire book dynamic is rooted in the trope of two opposing agents who have been in the field for so long that they now have more in common with each other than with their respective head offices. Their St. James’s Park meetings among other spies and ministers trading secrets are a sendup of what was once a well-known Cold War-era cliché. 

Our contemporary Crowley still likes slick outfits and hellaciously expensive watches and high-performing vintage cars and pens that write underwater while looking like they could break the speed limit. He coaches Shax on how to blend in as a demon on Earth, and he helpfully redirects the wayward contact looking for the Azerbaijani sector chief. He loves improvising and getting away with shenanigans under the institutional radar. And boy golly was he impressed with Jane Austen: master spy, brandy smuggler, and mastermind of the 1810 Clerkenwell Diamond Robbery. 

And if you look at it a certain way, for as long as Crowley has considered himself to be on “[his] own side” - going at least as far back as Job - he could almost think of himself as a sort of double agent. It’s actually a very romantic sort of notion, befitting our hopeless romantic of a (professedly former) demon; but it’s romantic in a very different way than we, the audience, have been primed to watch for.

In other words, in a very “on my own side” kind of way, Crowley really gets a kick out of being a spy. Or at least, dressing up and accessorizing as one, and moonlighting as a good-doing double agent when he can get away with it. And also being a plotting criminal mastermind. Two sides of a coin, really. Just look at Jane Austen.

My point is: No, Crowley did not wait around for Shax to come find him in a turtleneck so that he could go flirt with Aziraphale later. He’ll flirt with Aziraphale no matter what. No, this:

is actually this:

Much like the one he wears to the Dirty Donkey in 1967: 

whilst holy water heist-plotting. Here's a clearer shot with gratuitous Bentley, because I love them:

…and which he'll wear again, with appropriate camouflage, while infiltrating Heaven in S2E6:

That is the 1967 planning a HEIST turtleneck for committing ESPIONAGE and STEALING THINGS in. Because turtlenecks are what modern human master spies wear to get their hands dirty - after all, he saw it in a movie once. 

Crowley dons his tactical turtleneck sometime during the first major break in the action (which doesn't happen until after the joint miracle to hide Gabriel) after he learns about the threat the Book of Life poses to Aziraphale. Loverboy started mentally preparing himself to go after that book immediately upon learning that it was in play as a genuine threat. 

Now let’s pick up at the S2E2 Dirty Donkey scene, reading the story from this angle. Of course, Crowley enables Aziraphale’s delusions about Heaven by hiding information from him, and does not disclose the Book of Life threat when they meet again. They go into the pub, Aziraphale shamelessly paws Crowley’s chest like the seductive Bond Girl he is, and Crowley gets to act all smooth and suave and intimidating as he chases off the interloping Mr. Brown (or Mr. Collins for the Pride & Prejudice fans, take your pick).

Ergo, theory: beginning in S2E2, Crowley is already thinking of himself as a Jane Austen/James Bond action hero (“How will our hero cope?”), psyching himself up to rescue Aziraphale by getting his spy game on and stealing the Book of Life.

Now, watch closely...This is where Aziraphale and Crowley brainstorm their plans to solve the problem they both know about: getting Maggie and Nina to fall in love and thereby get Heaven off their backs. Crowley’s vavoom plan is drawn from yet another movie (“Get humans wet and staring into each other’s eyes - vavoom, sorted. I saw it in a Richard Curtis film.”). But Crowley also implicitly shares his solution to the problem he hasn’t told Aziraphale about. And true to form, Crowley’s Jane Austen solution isn’t the same as Aziraphale’s Jane Austen solution. 

Two solutions that fail by the end of Season 2, and a secret third one that might still work...and there's our magic trick of three.

‘“I’m lost. Am I doing a rainstorm?” Yes, babe. And a heist, too - just not until season three. Can I get a wahoo!? 

I won’t spend time on A Companion to Owls during this meta, except to note that in all three minisodes, we get to watch stories that involve Crowley acting as a double agent on “his/their own side” - successfully making Hell and Heaven think he’s fulfilling their will while saving Job’s goats and children; failing to fool Hell when he does a good deed in Edinburgh; and of course, collaborating with Aziraphale whilst evading detection as an infernal turncoat during the Blitz.

(Because this is getting long, I'll also skip over Crowley's interrogation of Jim in this episode - I'll probably come back to that in another meta. But interrogating is a rather spy-ish thing to do.)

When we catch up with Crowley again later, he’s already slipped out of the bookshop, having left Aziraphale to his biblical reverie about Job. He saunters snakily down Whickber Street as usual, but with a very pointed and swift glance over his shoulder (see pic above). This demon is up to something - possibly something we didn’t get to see, something that may have happened offscreen while he stepped out. In any case, knowing there’ve been unfriendly angels in the neighborhood that morning, he’s rightly concerned about being spied on.

From this point until the beginning of episode six, there isn’t a whole lot of opportunity for Crowley to make any next moves. He babysits the bookshop, during which time he manages to wring some crucial information out of Jim; he follows his Crowley’s Angel around like a puppy, and downs a bottle of red like a good old fashioned lovesick boy once that’s been pointed out to him. If any plotting or scheming is underway, this occult being is keeping stumm for now.

This has been a long one, so I’ll wrap up with Crowley’s infiltration of Heaven with Muriel. The turtleneck disguise works (Archer fans, be vindicated!) long enough to gather some information that will be crucial not just to the denouement of S2, but also to Crowley’s journey in S3 (previous post on Crowley's Fall, Saraqael, and memory wiping). And Aziraphale gets to enjoy that view exactly zero times. The point isn’t oh, a turtleneck! How flirty! So cunty! So cute! Y’all. Everything matters. The costume change was a deliberate choice. In-universe, Crowley’s decision to wear his special spy turtleneck for spying in is a signal that he is out doing spy things, even as we watch.

In sum: Beginning in S2E2 and continuing through the end of the season, Aziraphale and Crowley are actively living out the scripts of two parallel, concurrent, and completely different Jane Austen stories. But you and I, dear fellow audience member, we came here for a comedy with a hefty jigger of romance, and that’s what Neil gave us to focus on. And right up until the Final 15, that was the only story we saw.

Meanwhile, Special Agent A. J. Crowley doesn’t have time to mope around at the end of S2E6. He’s kicked down, but he’s not out. He's got a Book of Life to steal, a very serious bone to pick with a certain memory-wiping angel, and his Angel and the world to save. 

“‘Heigh ho,’ said [romantic, optimist, former demon, hero, master spy] Anthony Crowley, and just drove anyway.”

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 6

Part 5

Most of the time, being the son of Batman was a point of pride for Damian. Today, it was an exercise in frustration. Not only had Father deemed him too emotionally compromised to participate in the investigation of his so-called brother. Not only was he benched from patrol until Batman returned from abroad. He also had to continue attending school as if nothing had happened! He could probably teach most of the classes better than the adults! Oh, but ‘socializing with his peers’ was deemed too important to miss out on.

No wonder Damian was in a foul mood when he returned home. It had been the last school day before fall break, and a week ago he had been looking forward to the opportunity to patrol without having to worry about getting up early in the morning. Then that damned apparition had dropped the bombshell that had upended all of Damian’s carefully laid plans. Now half of the family was off chasing leads and he was stuck at home cooling his heels. It wasn’t fair!

After doing his customary check on his pets, he had changed into training gear as soon as possible and was now in the process of running through the latest combat program Father had designed. The flow of dodge-weave-counter-strike was helping him vent his frustration and clear his head. And if the training bots ended up more damaged than usual, well that just served Father right. He wasn’t some hapless child to be grounded!

Spin. Strike. Jump. Slash. He was moving on instinct, letting his training take over. A symphony of violence the background track to his churning thoughts, the questions that had been plaguing him all week.

Brother of blood. What did that mean? A full brother? A half brother? The result of some ill-advised dalliance of his Father? Unlikely. The letter had been addressed to Damian Al Ghul, not Damian Wayne. A deliberate choice of words, most likely. A child of his Mother then. He couldn’t imagine Mother would sully herself with another man’s touch. Even after everything, she still loved Father in her own twisted way. Unless Grandfather had ordered her… Stop it!

Stab. Crouch. Roll. Slice.

Never buried but already mourned. Not a lab grown creation then, to be discarded casually. Mourning meant caring. Love. Did Father know something? The haunted look that had appeared in his eyes spoke of old grief. The same grief that still plagued him when memories of Todd or Damian’s death were close to the surface. But he had never spoken of another child. Would he even bother to tell them?

Strike. Throw. Close distance. Disarm.

Lightning and ice. Defibrillation? Some horror movie style reanimation? Cryofreeze? The entity had meta abilities, could it harness lightning and ice as well? A better son, a more powerful Demon’s Heir… No!

Side-step. Kick. Twist. Leg-sweep.

Strike down the Demon’s Head. Did that mean Grandfather? Or Damian himself if the old man died first? It would be just like Grandfather to arrange for Damian to be killed and replaced by a brother. To get revenge for Damian choosing Batman’s legacy over the League’s while hurting their family in the most intimate way possible. Killed by a brother he should have loved, who should have loved him… Fool!

Damian stopped as the gong sounded to mark the end of the program. Around him, the training bots returned to their starting positions, now significantly worse for wear. A few of them were disabled to the point of uselessness.

Damian sheathed his weapons and forced his breathing to slow as he started his cool down stretches. It wouldn’t do to be careless because of some emotional episode. He was more disciplined than that.

What could Death earn anyway? Death brought nothing but nightmares and pain and torment.

Damian shivered. He didn’t like thinking about his Death.

Shoving the memories firmly aside, he returned his training weapons to their respective places before heading over to the Batcomputer. He needed a distraction. Maybe he should call up Jon and see if he had any plans for fall break. Since Damian was benched he would need something constructive to do with his time. Surely with the two of them working together they would find some kind of criminal enterprise to topple in a Kansas cornfield.

Damian compiled the search strings for any unusual activity in the area and set it to run. Now it was a waiting game to see if anything of note turned up. Leaning back, he idly kicked the console, sending his chair into a lazy spin. If nothing turned up in Kansas, maybe he would widen his search to the surrounding states. If they flew Air Superboy, distance would hardly be an issue. Hell, if Jon was busy maybe he could go visit Richard. Bludhaven was never lacking in crime, and Father wouldn’t be able to complain about a lack of appropriate supervision during patrol. With Drake and Todd having left on a ‘roadtrip’ for at least a day…

Damian stopped his spinning and frowned. Now that he thought about it, it was highly unusual for his two older brothers to have left Gotham together and in their civilian identities. Especially with the Bats already shorthanded due to Father’s absence and Robin’s benching. He had been too distracted by the upcoming school day to make the connection when his brothers had mentioned their plans at breakfast that morning. And Drake had been investigating League activity… Damian’s fingers flew across the keyboard, bypassing Drake’s security protocols with ease. If his brother had uncovered a League connection he had a right to know!

What he found among Drake’s recent search history was not what he expected. Some crackpot scientists from Illinois? That’s what had drawn his attention? Certainly, the older Robin had flagged some suspicious transactions and marked the Fentons as potential threats based on their inventions, but there were heroes closer to Amity Park that they could have foisted the investigation off on.

Damian drummed his fingers against his armrest. Something wasn’t adding up here. Pulling up everything he could find about the Fenton parents, he started looking through medical records, school records, articles… Suddenly, Damian’s heart slammed against his ribs. There, on the cover of a two year old magazine, was the face that had haunted him all week. With trembling fingers, he zoomed in on the image. It only took a few minutes to alter the hair and eye colour. It was unmistakably him. The boy who bore an uncanny resemblance to Damian himself, if slightly older and paler.

Swallowing hard, Damian scrolled through the magazine’s online archive to find the article mentioned on the title page. An almost extinct gorilla species. A chance discovery by then fourteen year old Daniel Fenton.

“Daniel,” Damian rolled the name around his mouth. A fairly common Western name. “Daniel. Danyal?” If he was Talia’s son, surely she would have used the Arabic version… no! He was jumping to conclusions!

Now having a name to go on, Damian dug deeper than Drake had bothered to. The birth certificate named a small town in Utah, but there were no records of a hospital admission. A home birth? There were no records of the Fentons having a residence in that state. No medical records of prenatal care either, though there were for the birth of the older sibling. Had the pregnancy gone unnoticed? Possible, if unlikely. There had been a vehicle registration for a motorhome during that time period though. Had the Fentons been living on the road when their son was born? Or had they acquired the child some other way? If he was an Al Ghul who would have spirited him away to the USA?

The Fentons had settled down in Amity Park about six months after Daniel’s birth, purchasing the residence they apparently used to this day. From there, his records were fairly standard and unremarkable, though there were a higher than average number of doctor’s visits for minor household accidents. Not enough to get flagged by CPS, but certainly worrying if potential mad science was involved. Daniel’s school records showed average grades, with higher scores in Maths and Science. At age fourteen however, his academic performance took a sharp dip, with an uneven performance on tests and numerous unexcused absences. His teachers noted frequent inattentiveness in class or Daniel outright falling asleep. Someone had submitted reports of bullying and suspicious bruises, but the case was dropped and never followed up on. His grades had evened out since then, but the unexcused absences persisted.

Damian knew enough about the trials and tribulations of teenage superheroics to recognize a pattern. And it certainly looked like Daniel fit the bill. If he had acquired meta abilities two years ago it probably took some time to get a handle on them and find a balance between his legal and illegal activities.

Damian steepled his fingers together. There was only so much his digital investigation could reveal. It was time for some fieldwork.

Part 7

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #108 Part 2

The thought sounded ridiculous and yet Damian found himself unable to completely scoff at the idea. He himself had seen some strange things in his lifetime and it wouldn’t be fair to completely dismiss the idea outright. 

“I’m unsure what your point is but I guess I suppose they exist.” Damian eventually said.

Danny chuckled at this, “I guess you're not from Amity Park huh?” he joked.

Damian scoffed, “I’ve never even heard of that place but I gather that’s where I am at the moment?” He mentally filed the name to search later. 

“Yeah, born and raised. Anyways, we’re the most haunted city in America. Ghost’s are real, you’ll probably meet one at some point. They’re uh… kind of attracted to me? Kind of like… “ He trailed off for a moment, likely lost in thought trying to come up with an example. Damian was going to call him out for spacing, they were probably running out of time before one of his siblings or Pennyworth came to check on him. Luckily Danny continued, “Hey, what city am I in right now, maybe there’s a comparison I can use?” Danny asked.

“Tt, did you not even think to use GPS to find your location before calling me?” Damian scoffed, his supposed ‘soulmate’ was incompetent, “You're in Gotham.”

“Gotham? Well I guess you could compare them to Batman’s rogues then, however they tend to play a little rough. It’s kind of how ghost’s bond.” Danny’s explanation made it sound like he was the one roughhousing with these ghosts. He wasn’t quite sure where this was going but he let him continue, “so well… this next part’s kind of hard to explain especially without proof but well… I’m what the other ghost’s call a halfa. I’m half ghost half human.”

Damian opened his mouth to retort, the notion that you could be half dead was ridiculous really. But as soon as he opened his mouth a cold blue wisp wafted out of his mouth shocking him. An unfamiliar feeling washes over him and he looked down in terror as he started sinking into the bed.

“Explain your power’s now, I appear to be sinking into your bed.” Damian demanded. The feeling was odd, it was almost as if the bed didn’t exist. 

“Uh, right, Okay… so, it’s kind of emotion based? Take a few deep breaths and you’ll be able to ease yourself back out.” 

Damian did just as Danny instructed and took a few deep breaths. Soon he was able to solidify and sit back up on the bed. Suddenly, a knocking sound was heard through the phone. 

Shit, just like he thought, they took too long and one of his siblings came to check on him. He thought it was sweet that they cared, but he’d never voice this thought out loud to anyone. 

“Danny, I need you to listen very carefully. I need you to open the door and hand the phone over to them. Don’t say anything, understand?” 

“Uh Okay?” Damian could tell Danny was raising an eyebrow at this but he did as Damian told him anyway.

“Uh, Hello?” The voice on the phone said, Damian recognized it as Tim Drake-Waynes. 

“Drake, Please step into the room and listen to my instructions,” Damian waited a moment as he heard the door shut. “Alright, meet my soulmate Danny, apparently his parents study soulmates and they did something and now we’re in each other’s bodies.”

He heard Danny sigh, “It was only supposed to strengthen the soulmate pull. It’s not my fault they don’t know about my weird biology.” 

“Weird Biology?” Drake parroted, “do they not know you're a meta?”

There was a pause before Danny spoke, “No, I’m not a meta… but for the simplicity of things, and this conversation, sure, you can call me a meta.” There was a tiredness to his voice, as if he had this conversation with someone else before.

“The name’s Tim,” he told Danny, then Drake suddenly said in an excited voice, “hey, let’s let him in on the family secret and prank Bruce. Let’s tell everyone else about it and see how long it takes him to figure out it isn’t you… we’ll have to train Danny of course. If he really is your soulmate he’s going to find out eventually and it might be good to prepare him ahead of time” The idea sounded ridiculous to Damian but at the same time, he was recently having some doubts about his Father’s attention on him. Drake had a point, if Danny really was his soulmate, he’d find out eventually. 

__________________________

Danny wasn’t sure what was going on, after he handed the phone off to Tim, they talked about some family secret. Soon Tim hung up the phone and turned to Danny, “Damian say’s Sam and Tucker are there and they’ll call back when he’s back up to speed which means that we need to get up to speed ourselves,” he glared at Danny. Danny, who was still wearing Pajamas stood there as Tim approached him. Once they were a yard apart Tim spoke again, “Listen, the secret I’m about to tell you must not be told to anyone outside of this house, got it?” He fixed a hard glare at Danny.

Danny shrunk back for a moment before a thought occurred to him, “why don’t I tell you my secret as well? Damian is already learning by now and since you're his brother you’ll probably be able to help out.” Secrets for secrets, that way they would both be afforded some leverage in the situation. 

Tim seemed to think for a moment with a hand on his chin, he nodded for a moment before looking up at Danny, “Alright, but tell me yours first.” 

[mokulule]

While I fail to focus after my night shift have a peek at another of my brain worms

Untitled, I am still waiting for that moment of divine inspiration. Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason)  Fandom: DP x DC 

The only sounds in the Batcave were the bats chittering amongst themselves high above. Bruce rubbed his chin absently as he took in the information displayed on the large screens with narrowed eyes. Something wasn’t adding up. Somebody was lying.

No matter how many times he looked over the information, that was his conclusion. It nagged at him that he didn’t know what, if any, information he could use. He hated being so in the dark. 

A silent notification in the corner of his screen alerted him to a call from the Watchtower. He took it and Superman’s face appeared in a smaller rectangle on the center of the screen. Bruce kept outwardly placid but from behind the cowl nobody would see the way his gaze instantly zeroed in on the massive black eye Superman had acquired, and the general strain around his unhurt eye and mouth. He was worn out. 

“Phantom has been apprehended,” Superman said with a long sigh. It had clearly not been an easy fight. 

“I’ll be there,” Batman said and ended the call. Maybe they’d finally get some real answers. 

He stood and walked towards the zeta tube. Another call came in, this time on the comm in his cowl. 

“Hood,” he greeted.

“Hey, old man. I’m at the location. You were right it’s absolutely crawling with the white suits and their weaponry is not like anything I’ve seen before.”

Bruce felt like a hand squeezed his heart. Hood out of anyone knew his weapons, if he didn’t know them they weren’t on the market. He absolutely hated asking any of his kids to walk into an unknown situation. Unfortunately he didn’t have any other options. 

“Be careful, Hood.”

“Aww, is that worry I detect?”

“Just don’t take unnecessary risks,” Bruce cautioned.

“You wouldn’t have asked me if you didn’t think it was necessary, old man. Don’t worry, I’ll get you your intel.”

Bruce grunted. Jason was right. He wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t think it was important. Didn’t mean he had to like it, nor the fact that Red Hood’s criminal reputation made him perfect for breaking into a government building; even if Hood was seen the Justice League kept plausible deniability. 

Everyone knew Red Hood was a wild card. 

“Check in regularly with Oracle.”

He could practically feel the way Jason rolled his eyes at him.

“Not my first rodeo, B.”

With that the connection cut off. Bruce couldn’t help the bad feeling he had about everything. 

He really hated this stage of an investigation. 

Two months ago the US government contacted the Justice League about a problem. Several bases of a government agency named the GIW had been hit by a malicious creature they called Phantom. The attacks had been gaining in severity and frequency and their measures had so far failed to stop it. 

Since then, a member of the Justice League had arrived too late to five such attacks. They’d stood no chance against Phantom, who’d then disappeared, living up to the name.

To their eyes Phantom was outwardly a humanoid, possibly a meta or alien. The GIW called him a ghost from a different dimension.

They had been at a loss of how exactly to contain such a powerful foe, who not only could go toe to toe with their heavy hitters like Superman, but also disappear by means unknown. This time they’d been prepared. They’d had various team configurations ready to go depending on who was available. 

Something that seemed to have paid off, but Bruce did not like that Clark was injured. Because if Clark was injured…

A zeta tube ride later and he met Superman on the Watchtower. Something that hadn’t been apparent on the call was the sling Superman’s left arm was in. Another visible injury added to the swollen eye. 

“Is everyone alright?” He had to ask.

“Nobody’s permanently hurt.” Clark hurried to assure as they started walking towards the interrogation room, but there was a but. Bruce kept his stare steady until Clark tiredly elaborated: “But nobody got out the fight unscathed. John won’t be walking for a while. J’onn is suffering from psychic backlash. Diana has some broken ribs and scrapes and you can see my own wounds. Everyone is tired, it was a long fight.”

Batman’s lips thinned. At least there had been no casualties. 

Almost as if reading his mind. Superman added quietly. 

“We got there while the base was still standing. Phantom made eye contact with me for a moment, before he unleashed this… sonic attack…” His face turned pained, as he looked for words that came halting. “It was a scream, I can’t describe it, it felt- it felt like I was dying. None of us could get close.”

Superman looked away.

“When it was over the base was gone, eradicated, like the others. There was just a large crater. Who knows how many people were still in there.”

Bruce set a hand on his friend’s shoulder. It was never easy to deal with casualties. 

“The one good thing about it was that the scream seemed to drain quite a bit of energy from him.” Clark barked a laugh, short and hysterical. Bruce knew Clark would have rather faced Phantom at full power if it meant more people had lived. 

“And still it was all we could do to subdue him. We barely won.”

They barely won. Superman, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern and Martian Manhunter, and they barely won. The knowledge sat like a heavy ball in Bruce’s chest. 

Now, maybe they could get intel that wasn’t most reluctantly handed over by a government agency, that didn’t even want to reveal what their alphabet soup name was an abbreviation of. “We had to turn off the ‘Ghost Shield’ to get Phantom inside the base, so we at least know it works, even if for some reason it doesn’t protect the GIW bases,” Superman remarked.  

Bruce hnn’ed to show he’d heard. It was one more discrepancy among many.

Batman entered the observation room with Superman at his back. Wonder Woman was there and he quickly took in her unusually disheveled appearance, she looked tired and uncomfortable, shaken (but whole, safe). He nodded in greeting and she gave him a tight smile in return. He turned to the observation window and felt his breath stick in his throat.

Phantom was- 

The glitchy footage they’d managed to get on earlier encounters couldn’t have prepared him. Bruce felt his jaw clench. Phantom looked young. There was still a hint of baby fat stubbornly clinging to his cheeks. He was short and wiry like Tim but maybe a bit younger than Jason, technically an adult, but to Bruce he still looked painfully young. The overall glowing and the slowly seeping green wound at his hairline didn’t take away just how human he looked. 

Bruce looked at Phantom and saw a kid. Worse, supposedly a dead kid, a ghost, if the most basic of their intel was to be believed, which even that he wasn’t entirely sure of.

A weight was heavy on his shoulders. He had to remind himself that he had found evidence of Phantom throughout history and if a ghost was truly what he was, he was most likely a very old, very powerful spirit, for whom age didn’t matter. It would be a mistake to trust the youthful appearance. 

He was chained to the chair both by wide cuffs at his wrists and ankles so he could only move very little. The cuffs were the best they had when it came to meta power suppression cuffs with some added ghost specific sigils courtesy of Zatanna’s research. She would have liked Constantine to look them over too as that sort of thing was more his area of expertise, but he’d been off on one of his extra-dimensional missions since long before this started and they hadn’t been able to contact him. 

The cuffs kept Phantom here in any case and he didn’t look happy about it. His lips were a flat line and the thick black brows were drawn together over narrowed green eyes. His head was held high (stubbornness? Pride?), chin tilted in a way that showed off a bright green-purple line around his throat, which had it been red and on a human would have looked like rope burn-

Bruce looked to Diana and he suddenly understood part of her discomfort.

“He was about to use another sonic attack, I didn’t see any other way.” Her words were quiet, regretful, but she faced his gaze head on. Bruce nodded. She never would have used the lasso like that under normal circumstances. It was incredibly worrying how much it had taken to subdue him. 

For a moment the three of them just stood there in silence, watching Phantom watch the door.

It was finally time for answers. 

Bruce didn’t make any outward sign that he was about to move, but of course Clark caught on even before he’d moved, stepping aside letting Bruce take point. They went into the interrogation room, Diana staying back to observe and be ready with security measures, they didn’t know for sure would even work.

They entered the room and immediately sharp green eyes locked onto him. There was a quick glance towards Superman, but the eyes quickly focused back on Batman. There was a calculating sort of intelligence behind those eyes. 

That was one question immediately answered, but it was one he could have inferred. It was very hard to believe the claim that this “ghost” was non-sentient, when he specifically targeted the bases of a specific government agency and nothing else. Though of course they could have had something that attracted the ghost, but nobody could look at Phantom and think non sentient. 

Now the question was, why?

Bruce sat down in one of the chairs on the other side of the table from Phantom. Clark had a moment’s pause before he joined them. Bruce pulled out a tablet from underneath his cape and laid it carefully out on the table, turning it on. At this point most people in the room with the Batman would have started getting nervous, but evidently not Phantom. He was still just passively defiant, not to mention he hadn’t yet said a word.

“Phantom, is that your preferred manner of address?” Bruce decided to start out neutral. 

There was a glitter of amusement in green eyes and the barest uptick of his lips, but he remained silent. Bruce could do silence. 

The silence stretched between them until Clark broke it.

“Why do you destroy those bases?”

Phantom glanced to Clark and his earnest question, then back to Bruce, barely raising an eyebrow, like as if to say “really, this the best you can do?” Bruce resisted the urge to sigh. Clark was usually a better foil for him at interrogations, but then most people didn’t choose total silence.

Bruce decided to be frank with him.

“We are trying to understand your motivation. That’s all.” He studied Phantom’s face which had settled into a stony glare. “But first I’d just like to know if it’s alright to call you Phantom and what your pronouns are? We have been using he/him based on your appearance but you might have another preference?”

The glare softened a bit and for a moment Bruce actually thought he’d lured a response out of him, but Phantom just looked away. Incidentally drawing attention to the line at his throat. A sudden thought occurred to him.

“Are you so hurt, that you’re unable to speak?”

Phantom slowly looked back at him. He seemed to actually be contemplating giving some sort of answer.

That’s when his comm clicked on barely audible.

“The GIW has been in contact,” Diana informed him quietly over the comms. Phantom stiffened across from him, his gaze narrowing like a cat - so they could add enhanced hearing to his powers. “They are requesting we hand over Phantom.”

Bruce looked straight at Phantom as he spoke, “They have no jurisdiction in space. I presume you declined?”

“Of course.”

Phantom’s face turned unreadable for a moment. His gaze went from him, to Superman and the opaque glass that hid the observation room. Finally he huffed. 

“Phantom, he/him is fine.” His voice had an echoey quality to it. 

It seemed they were finally going somewhere. 

-

They were not going somewhere. 

Even hours later Phantom kept up his silence. They’d held several breaks. Phantom had been offered food and water but had declined nonverbally. 

They were going in circles, trying the same questions again and again. Prolonged silence didn’t help any either. 

If only J’onn was an option, but he was already suffering from psychic backlash from trying to go into Phantom’s mind during the fight. 

So far the only things Bruce could add to the certain facts were that Phantom was sentient, intelligent and didn’t like the GIW to the point that he would commit mass murder to take them down. 

And Bruce would just really like to know why? Because with the kinds of powers he’d shown off he could have easily killed the members of the Justice League sent to apprehend him. He seemed to have no qualms about killing, yet he’d stayed his hands?

Bruce had hoped that meant Phantom considered them at least somewhat neutral in this conflict. But apparently not neutral enough to talk to. 

Clark had tried and Diana had tried. Nothing helped. 

Bruce was considering his options, when the door opened. 

“B, I need to speak with you.” That was Tim, he looked pale. Something had happened. Bruce got up, Clark following. Bruce decidedly ignored the sudden curiosity from Phantom. They closed the door and walked down the hall. When Bruce felt they were far enough from Phantom he stopped.

“Red Robin, report.”

“We’ve lost contact with Hood.”

Bruce’s heart dropped cold into his stomach. No. It couldn’t be. 

“When?”

“Two hours ago is when he last checked in. He’s since missed several check-ins.” Tim’s hands tightened into fists at his sides. “Could be he’s just not in a position to respond, or they have scramblers in the base.”

It was likely, in fact very likely that was the case with how secretive the GIW were being, but two hours were a long time to miss check-ins. Clark’s hand landed on his shoulder which he only now realized how tense was, but no, now was not the time to relax or calm down. He shrugged Clark’s hand off and stalked back down the hall.

The GIW were mum about any details. There was only one person who could tell them what Jason was facing in that building.

He burst into the interrogation room and slammed his hands on the table. That got Phantom’s attention his eyes widening before narrowing and his lips splitting in a snarl that showed off fangs, but Bruce sneered right back.

“We lost contact with an agent sent to infiltrate a GIW-base, you will tell me what you know about them, or so help me I will make you wish you stayed in that dimension you came from.”

“Batman, please, maybe you should step out-“ Clark began good hand hovering shy of Bruce, but he was interrupted by the bark of laughter coming from Phantom.

And then he laughed and laughed and laughed. 

Bruce punched him. Clark pulled him back. 

Phantom slowly turned his head back to look at them, working his jaw. 

“There we have it after all. Your true colors: attacking a chained up captive.” He wiggled his fingers drawing attention to the wide thick cuffs dwarfing his wrists. His eyes held only cold judgment. “But don’t worry, Batman, your agent has nothing to fear from the GIW unless they are dead.”

Bruce couldn’t help the flinch and he felt Clark do the same. Something in the very air stilled then, making it hard to breathe. 

“You,” Phantom began standing up, right out of the restraints as if they weren’t there, “are going to explain to me what that reaction means…“ He carefully put his hands down on the table and leaned forward in a way that made it very apparent he was holding himself back. He glared holes into Bruce’s skull with blazing green eyes. “Unless you want your agent back in pieces.”

-

Psssst. this is actually the beginning of the fic where this is from (CW: relatively graphic aftermath of vivisection)

So basically Phantom is public enemy number one, or at least top of the US government and GIW's shit list XD Huh, "Wanted: Dead or Alive", might actually be a pretty fun title, what do you guys think?

[elizabethemerald]

Son of the Red Hood: Reunions and First Meetings

Master Post

Jason was once again at the end of his rope. He had this wonderful, amazing kid in his life who could fly and float through walls, and influence his Pit Rage, and smiled like the sun, and all in all was still a kid. And sometimes kids threw fits. 

He had taken Danny to an abandoned and fenced off lot so the kid could get some practice with his powers where no one would see them. He hadn’t wanted Danny’s toys to be forgotten or dirtied in the lot, so he had made sure to leave behind his stuffed animals. Something Danny had taken incredible offense to. 

Of course the tyke hadn’t realized until they were in the abandoned lot, blocks away from Jason’s apartment that his toys had been left behind. And he was now bawling his eyes out, screaming at the top of his lungs for his toys. He was once again starkly reminded that Danny was a meta and many of his powers were tied to his emotions. Jason could only feel sympathy for what the Kents had to deal with when they were raising Clark. They even had to deal with a super powered toddler’s terrible twos. 

“I want my Jazztronaut! I want my Wonder Bear!” Danny screamed. 

Each scream rattled the walls around them and set off distant car alarms. Jason had brought his Red Hood gear so that if anyone saw them they wouldn’t recognize them and he was thankful he had as the sonic protections in the helmet activated and muffled his hearing. Though the fact that he could still hear his kid over the protections showed just how loud Danny could be. 

“I promise kiddo, we can go back and grab your bears! I’ll grab them as soon as I can, but you have to calm down.” Jason tried to reason, but one thing he knew from helping with the street kids in Crime Alley, sometimes a child just doesn’t want to be reasoned with. 

“I want Wonder Woman! I want Wonder Woman!” Danny shrieked even louder. 

Jason clamped his hands uselessly over the ear holes of his helmet as he staggered back. Holy shit this kid had a pair of pipes on him. If he didn’t have his helmet on he might be deaf now. 

“Danny, I’m sorry I forgot your bear.” Jason tried again, and Danny fell silent in surprise. He sniffed and his lip wobbled. What the hell was this kid’s life that someone apologizing to him got this kind of reaction? 

 “I’m sorry I yelled.” Danny whispered back, tears running down his face, though he was tense like he expected to be yelled at or worse. 

“Hey, it’s ok buddy.” Jason pulled his helmet off and he pulled the kid into his lap. “Sometimes your emotions can get too big for your body, I understand that. I really am sorry that I didn’t bring your bears. I’ll go get them soon, ok? But I can’t leave you alone to grab them.” 

“Perhaps I can be of some help?” 

Jason tensed as a woman’s voice sounded in the lot. He shifted Danny so he was protecting him with his body as a tall woman with black hair approached. She had greasy and sweat stained work out clothes, just like every other thug in the city, but she towered over him where he was sitting on the ground. He reached as subtly as he could for his gun, then paused as she stepped into the light. 

“Wait, Aunt Diana?” Jason asked, perplexed. 

“Hello, little Warrior.” Diana said with a small smile. Then she knelt down next to Danny. “And hello you too, little King.” 

Danny, his little devilish meta child, actually blushed at her attention. 

“I’m not a king yet.” He said softly. 

“I know. And yet I have followed your call for me and found you.” Diana said with all the gravitas she reserved for meeting foreign diplomats. 

“I thought I knew what was happening, but now I’m not so sure.” Jason said softly before he rose to his feet, lifting Danny onto his hip. 

“I’m not certain I can explain everything, but I can shed some light.” Diana said, standing as well, before addressing Danny. “Are you aware of someone by the name of Clockwork?” 

Danny’s eyes lit up and started glowing as he smiled. 

“Grandpa Clocky! He’s always tellin’ me boring things that I need to do and learn. But he keeps me safe and cares about me.” 

“Yes, well your grandfather has a few other grandchildren, one of which is me.” Diana held her hand out and shook Danny’s little, tiny hand. “Diana Prince. Some call me Wonder Woman.” 

Danny’s eyes glowed even brighter and he floated out of Jason’s arms. 

“So we’re like cousins! Or something!”

“Yes. Or something. And Clockwork sent me to find you, so you can be trained properly for when the crown is yours.” 

Jason genuinely couldn’t tell if Diana was being serious or if she was playing along, but either way he was grateful that she had appeared when she did and even more grateful that she seemed to be willing to help train Danny. 

“Thank you so much Aunt Diana.” Jason said with a smile. “Maybe you and I can talk about a training schedule together. In the meantime would you mind watching him while I go and grab the teddy bears that caused all this?”

“Of course. My cousin and I will get to know each other.” Diana said and gave Danny a warm smile. 

Jason pulled his grapple and left to return to his apartment, happy with the knowledge that Danny was safe with Diana. Though he had a lot of questions about why she had called him a king, and who the hell Clockwork was. 

.

Jazz had been on the move almost non stop ever since she had woken up yesterday. Her parents were dead. The portal in Amity was destroyed. Angela had said that Danny was killed by the blast too. But he wasn’t. She knew he wasn’t. She didn’t need the boo-merang to tell her that Danny was still out there somewhere. He was alive, and she would find him.

She had only stopped moving long enough to pass out in her car for a few hours during the drive to Gotham City. She was following a faint trail, a mere pressure in her mind that was leading her closer and closer to where her brother was. Whatever ecto contamination her parents had done to her over the years had given her a connection to her brother and she would follow that connection to the very jaws of hell itself if she had to.

She was running on fumes now. So was her car. She had made it into Gotham and the pull brought her to one of the poorer neighborhoods. In fact it looked like it was the poorest and most crime ridden part of the city. Graffiti covered every wall, and multiple burnt out wrecks of cars littered the sides of the streets.

Jazz slammed on the brakes and opened her car door. She was next to an abandoned and fenced off lot and her brother was here. She could feel him. She dashed tears and sweat from her eyes, slung her weapons over her shoulder and tied her hair back. When she left her car she left it with the door open and the key in the ignition. She doubted it would start again and she didn’t care enough, all she cared about was her brother.

She crouched next to the fence and leaped, putting her ectoplasmic strength into the jump as she easily cleared the twelve foot tall fence. She landed on the other side in another crouch, her eyes zeroing in on the woman standing in the middle of the lot.

The woman was easily as tall as Jazz and she was 6'8" thanks to the ectoplasm in her veins. The woman had long black hair and was built like an absolute tank. She was wearing work out clothes that showed off all of her muscles. If Jazz were in a better mental state she would be jealous.

But all she could focus on was the toddler just past the woman. The small, black haired, blue eyed boy that was her entire world. Danny. He was younger and smaller than he should be, but she would recognize him anywhere, and she had enough experience with ghostly shenanigans to recognize a simple deaging. She could deal with that later, now she just needed to recover her brother.

“Give him to me!” Jazz demanded as she stormed closer.

The beefy woman was between her and Danny, she couldn’t risk angering her, but all the words were trapped in her mind. All the deescalation techniques she learned, all the psychology she dedicated herself to, was all trapped and stuck. The woman turned to face her and Jazz pulled out her creep stick, her hands shaking.

“Give him to me.” She said again, the words feeling like nails dragging past her throat yet it was all she could say.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” The woman said. She kept her hands open and spread apart. Some small part of Jazz’s mind said that she was trying to keep her body language open and friendly. But that part was overshadowed by her fear and her exhaustion.

“Give him to me!” She shrieked, wondering if she should be coughing up blood with how difficult the words were to drag out. She dashed forward and swung her creepstick. The woman blocked the blow with her forearm, but Jazz swung again and again. Each blow the woman either blocked or dodged without any visible effort.

“You have skills sister.” The woman said and she went on the attack.

Now Jazz was getting driven back across the lot. She was clearly out matched in every possible way, but she couldn’t back down. That was her brother. That was her brother. That was her brother. Danny. Danny. Danny.

The woman twisted her body and with a powerful kick the creepstick was sent flying across the yard. Jazz didn’t give her a moment to gloat at disarming her and instead pushed forward with her bare fists and legs, using all her skill with martial arts, managing to push the other woman back one step at a time. Still she looked calm and confident as if she did this every single day.

Jazz ducked under one of the woman’s blows and managed to pull her knife. She thrust the blade forward with all her might, putting her full ectoplasm enhanced strength behind the blow. And watched in horror as the blade shattered against the woman’s shoulder.

“Well struck!” The woman seemed genuinely impressed. Then she twisted and almost without effort threw Jazz to the ground.

Jazz gasped in air as she stared up at her, then passed her to where her brother hovered in the air, watching like this was all an exciting movie.

“Please.” She forced the word out, like broken glass down her throat. “Give him to me.”

She begged. Desperately. The woman startled and pulled a long rope from under her sweats. With a flick of her wrist the cord wrapped around Jazz’s body.

“We’ll soon find the truth of this. Why do you want the boy?”

The cord glowed around her and even past her pain and her fear and her exhaustion the words came.

“He’s my brother.”

She gasped the words out.

“He’s my brother.”

Her throat was closing and her breath was coming faster and faster. Her own fist collided with her forehead.

“He’s my brother.”

She sobbed the words out, her vision fading as she hit herself again. A high pitched keening noise pulled itself out of her, no more words were coming, just her raw expression of grief and longing and she hit herself again. She smacked her fist into her forehead and when she went to do it again, she felt a tiny hand wrap around her wrist.

“No Jazz! No hurting. No hurting.”

Danny’s little voice. Just like when he was first a child and would help her when she melted down. When her parents ignored her desire not to be touched, when they made her speak even when the words hurt like gargling acid, when the noise of the lab wouldn’t stop and pounded into her head like a jack hammer. He was always there for her, ever since he had understood what she was doing and why. 

She didn’t try to pull her arm out of his hand but she hit herself again with her other hand. She could hear Danny begging her to stop, but she couldn’t, she couldn’t, she couldn’t. She went to hit herself again and a strong, calloused hand grabbed her wrist, then just as gently as if she were something precious and valuable held her other hand to keep her from hurting herself.

“Now, young one, there is no call for that.”

“Jazz it’s ok.” Danny whispered, because he knew the loud voices bothered her. Then he started humming, so softly she could barely feel it, yet his humming vibrated with ectoplasm and carried down all the way to her infant ghost core.

He was hugging her and holding her and humming to her and slowly, muscle by muscle her tension unwound. She could think again, she didn’t think she would be able to speak yet, but at the very least she could pull her wrists from the gentle hold of the other woman and wrap her arms around her little brother.

She held her brother, her Danny and sobbed and sobbed. She had gone through too much. She had been told she had lost her parents and that everyone she loved, including her beloved brother were dead, her home destroyed. Then she had driven half way across the country following a desperate thread to try and find him only to be beaten by the first stranger she encountered. But at the very least, she had her brother back in her arms again. Just like she was supposed to.

.

Diana watched the young woman cry, raw grief tearing its way through her. Jason had asked her to watch over the little King, and she would do so. She couldn’t hand the child over to the obviously distressed woman who had demanded him. She had defended herself, just like she would do during any of the spars with her sisters on Themyscira. 

However, she had misjudged her opponent. This woman was not fighting with the relaxed energy of a friendly spar. She was desperately fighting, just as she had desperately begged for the boy. Lord Clockwork had not mentioned that the little King would have any siblings, but perhaps it merely showed that the Lord of Time still needed to learn the importance of  mortal lives. 

Even without the magic of the Lasso of Truth, Diana could see the love Danny had for his sister. She could see the way he knew exactly how to stop her from harming herself. How the young woman, the King had called her Jazz, didn’t risk harming the child when he held her wrist, instead using her other hand. 

Now she could see the love, almost like a physical aura off the two young ones. She had found her charge, the young King she was to train, she had found him with an able caretaker, and she had found him in time to see the reunion between the King and his sister. Maybe she would have another to train and to teach, and the young King would have a valiant protector. 

She turned at the sound of a grapple and Jason landed next to her, two teddy bears in his hand. One was dressed as an astronaut and the other was wearing a cloth version of Diana’s own armor. He was staring at the woman who was sobbing and holding Danny as if he were the most precious thing in the world. 

“What the hell did I miss?” 

[wandixx]

Ghost of fries and Hero of cookies part 4

All work words count: 14 643

Words in this part: 2999

Summary of whole work: Duke wasn't expecting to wake up from his quick rooftop nap to some meta kid with fries. He also wasn't expecting kid to stay

Or

Danny asked Dani to stay safe while she was in Gotham. Where would she be safer than under the wing of local hero? And he looked like he needed bad day combo anyway

This part summary: Dani haven't considered how hard it can be to save people from house fire

Beta read by @audhumla-sailor though English is second language for both of us, so proceed with this in mind. I also know all of the charaters through fics alone, so probably ooc. Stay catious if it's something you don't like

First part, Previous part

Trigger warnings: house fire, panic attacks, temporary character death (am I over dramatic to say this if background child character's heart stops for a long moment and Dani hears it?) slight dissociation (tell me if I missed something, I'll fix it)

Dani proved to be useful addition to Duke’s patrol routine even though she couldn’t always join him, had very little actual training and was a certified mess most of the time. It was nice to banter with her in the free time, she did help when needed and her enhanced hearing was great in finding trouble he would otherwise overlook. She also often brought snacks (he did too, because girl had no idea what was healthy and in the love of god, if he didn’t try to get her in better habits). 

“Fire on seven. Some people are stuck inside,” Dani blurted out and flew faster than baseline person should be able to withstand. Duke run and grappled after orange blur she became. It was less than perfect that she couldn’t tell more specifically where things were going down, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t train. 

They rarely intervened with fires, unlike Gotham’s police and CPS, firefighters here worked pretty great. Dani knew this, so her going there in the first place meant something was up.

On a fly he grabbed his gas mask. It was made to withstand Scarecrow and Joker when they released their toxins and not smoke so it should do its job. He hoped that Dani would stop before entering so he could give her spare mask and well, coordinate. But she didn’t, of course. What did he expect from kid who body tackled Joker’s goon without second thought about idk, four other goons with guns being in the same room! He only saw end of her cape in between flames when he swung to the right street. Duke made sure his mask was secure when he stopped on a nearest save rooftop to assess the situation. Fire was too big to be put out with personal means like fire extinguishers so all they could do was to evacuate. 

“Hoopoe, you reckless idiot, don’t die in here,” he muttered, sure she would hear him before grappling inside too.

***

About five seconds after entering building, Dani decided that she didn’t like fires. It probably came from her time in Amity but she was far more comfortable when she could beat the root of the problem into submission. Also, it was surprisingly loud, like need-to-cover-her-ears-for-a-hot-moment type of loud. Not louder than a rogue attack, it would be really hard to beat that level of noise but fire was worse in some way. It was somewhat similar to nails on a blackboard. Not in a sound per se but in a vibe she got from it. How she couldn’t tune it out like she usually did.

She straightened herself and dove ahead to the nearest person she heard. Smoke rendered her eyes nearly absolutely useless. Though she saw, heard and felt enough to find safe routes. Of course she could go intangible and in theory wouldn’t be affected by anything from physical realm but even when intangible fire kept burning for some reason and she would prefer to stay raw to being crispy. Rescued people should stay unfried too.

She didn’t quite remember first few rescues, just that it went smoothly, she took a leaf from Danny’s book, throwing some puns and references she didn’t quite knew but from context thought they would fit. Then once outside, she kept telling them to wait for paramedics and went back inside. She was more and more on edge for some reason.

She was really glad she didn’t need to breathe as much.

Middle-aged man grabbed her arm and shook her violently, asking to save his children.

“Fourth floor, fifth window to the left. Please save them!” man cried. Dani felt kinda like snapping but took deep breath to stop herself from it. Signal would be disappointed if she yelled at panicking civilian. She could kinda relate to the man anyway. She was probably also panicking.

“I’ll save them, I promise,” she said instead, phasing out of his grip.

She heard them, little boy weakly whispering to his sister that everything would be alright as soon as the heroes would get to them. His voice was hoarse, choked, interrupted by shallow breaths while the girl sobbed. Dani darted their way. Fire unit and medics were finally getting closer.

Girl yelled when caped hero appeared in room full of smoke. They both were sitting, older boy slightly swaying.

“It’s okay, I’m here to get you out to your dad,” she soothed, grabbing them both into a hug like carry. She barely jumped away from under the crushed lamp that fell where they were half a second before. Girl yelped.

“It’s okay, I got you, it’s okay,” she muttered, hoisting kids into more comfortable position. She flew nearest way out of the rom, looking for a clear spot on an outer wall. Her stomach dropped and core spasmed when she realized that boy stopped breathing, going limp in her arms. She was panicking throughout whole of this fire rescuing mess but only then she became frantic.

Maybe it was because of the smoke that kept cluging in her throat. She didn’t need to breathe as often but now she felt like she was suffocating and was suddenly all too aware of each bit of air she managed to swallow in her lungs.

She almost dropped when they finally got out. It took less than a second for her to fly to the kids’ father. She put girl down a little to hastily before gently laying boy n the pavement. Adult was beginning to hyperventilate and honestly Dani wasn’t too far behind him. She wished Signal was there. He would know what to do. Dani only had been on one first-aid course and she spent the better part of it on reviewing memes.

She had to remember something!

Breaths! She had to make absolutely sure if he was breathing!

She remembered practicing this one, so she did as instructed, counting to fifteen instedad of ten for a good measure. Then to twenty just to be safe. She knew she was counting too fast anyway.

Boy wasn’t breathing.

He wasn’t breathing!

She wished her ears were deceiving her but there was no heartbeat too!

What was she supposed to do now?!

Oh, right, she remembered chest compression thing from movies. She could do it.

Someone yanked her back, so hard she almost hit her head.

“You’re doing it wrong. I’m nurse, I’ll do it,” young woman declared, already kneeling were Dani was mere seconds ago, unzipped boy’s hoodie and got to work. Only then halfa realized that they got circled by small crowd of people rescued from building. Two of them were calming boy’s family down. She would use some comforting too.

She scrambled to her feet, racing out the crowd. Nobody even glanced her way.

She turned around and flew back inside the burning building.

Why did it feel like running away?

*

First ambulance arrived three rescues after the boy. Dani was so relieved she had to stop for a moment because her knees buckled and flight betrayed her for a hot second. She heard only four other people inside and Signal. They would finish soon enough.

Good.

Her head was spinning slightly.

“Congratulations, you are being rescued, please do not resist” she announced with forced confidence, appearing next to the man who probably was in a gang. Thankfully he didn’t fight her. When she was back in Central City one of the Flashes told her to make sure that people know she was trying to help them especially if they seemed like the type to choose fight over other crisis responses. This man certainly did. He almost punched her anyway.

Next was boy who was far too little to be left alone. She gave him her cape. She assumed he could use the comfort it gave her. There was a reason she choose comfiest blanket to this role.

She heard Signal making his way to the last victim but for some reason it was slow going. She flew up there after the last reassuring words to the boy.

She learned why Signal got stuck about three seconds after appearing on the right floor. It was a literal epicenter or whatever it was called. The root of the problem. The literal Hell on earth. Dani stopped for a moment, downed by the coughing fit and tears making her sight absolutely useless.

Signal was talking to someone. Asking them to calm down. She wasn’t sure. Dani forced herself to stand up and go see what was happening. She was probably swaying a little.

There was young woman in the middle of the fire. There was no scent of burning skin or hair so Dani assumed there were some powers involved. Thankfully most likely she wasn't a ghost. Dani wasn’t in the right headspace to fight a ghost and as cool and competent as Signal was, he couldn’t fight ghosts either.

Woman was visibly terrified. She kept screaming, begging Signal to go away because she was too dangerous to be so close. Hero tried to talk her down. She yelled that it was all her fault and she shouldn’t be saved.

Oh.

Woman had to just learn about her ability and lost control over it. Go big or go home, right? She didn’t exactly have home anymore so…

Dani barely kept herself from hysterical laughter.

Ghost fights were so, so much easier, she just had to beat the cause of the problem into submission and trap it in the thermos. No persuade it into stopping.

It was all too hot, too loud, too suffocating.

Dani could barely think.

Creaking of the ceiling boomed through her brain, somehow getting over the overwhelming cackle of fire that made her just want to hide in the corner and cry, even ignoring absolute onslaught to her other senses.

Ceiling was going to fall down and crush all of them.

Dani could barely think, so she didn’t.

She forgot to turn intangible when she crushed through window, meta woman held tightly in her arms. Thank Ancients she was durable enough to not break her head for that. Signal could handle himself. Hopefully.

Dani gasped on fresh air. She felt lightheaded, barely cognizant from instinctual relief to be out. She was free falling, her body limp, eyes half-closed, wind rushing in her ears and on her face. It was paralyzing but not in a bad way.

It felt good.

It felt like freedom.

It felt like something she could do for the rest of eternity.

It felt-

“HOOPOE!” panicked yell cut through her haze.

Right.

She was plummeting to the ground. She held someone. They would die when they crushed.

She should stop falling.

Could she do it? 

She had to.

She dropped off the blue haired woman with the nearest medic squad and ran. Or flew. She wasn’t quite sure. Her brain still didn’t feel right. But she knew she had to leave.

Next thing she knew was the pain from practically collapsing on a wall and dumpster she hid behind. From what, she had no idea. She had no idea about anything.

So she did only thing she still could.

Dani cried.

***

Duke was getting frantic in his search for Dani after that room collapsed. He knew she made it out, he saw her falling head first to the ground. He was trying to catch her but he knew he couldn’t do it on time. And then she caught herself, left Abigail with medics and flew away in a blur. And Duke couldn’t go right after her because some cop had questions. Duke did his best to wrap it up quickly but still by the time he could look Hoopoe was nowhere to be seen. He was straining his eyes trying to see any sign of her but other than the boy with her cape as a blanket there was nothing. He was tempted to ask Babs for help.

Scratch that, he didn’t have time to do this on his own. Pride and this stupid bet be damned. He turned on his comm, not bothering to go off the main channel.

“Oracle, I need you to search for white-haired preteen girl dressed in white and black. Somewhere near Rossaire street. Probably there will be no clear footage”

“Need help in search?” Steph chimed in gently “Spoiler can be there five minutes flat”

Duke considered it for a moment. Steph knew how Dani looked (as much as anyone who saw her only in photos could know how she looked) and wanted to meet girl anyway. She could be useful help. On the other hand, she mentioned before she had some important stuff. And he wasn’t sure how Dani would react to someone unknown finding her in this state. Last thing he wanted was scaring girl even more. He searched road for Dani’s past light, again.

“No, don’t worry. She just got a little overwhelmed”

“Alright, good luck with finding your kid then”

“She is not my kid!”

“Signal who-” Bruce grunted but got interrupted by Babs.

“Turn right, she entered blind zone but I can lead you there”

“Thanks O”

“No invisibility?” Steph mused.

“Thank God for that,” Duke answered, while grappling to the left. He shoot forward as fast as he could ”Or maybe not. She has to be quite out of it”

“Left again”

“Signal, who are you looking for?” Bruce asked again.

“Next alley to the right. It’s the last place I can see her”

“Thanks O.”

“Signal-”

“Later B.”

Duke landed in the alley, turning his comm off. He knew that sooner rather than later he would have to explain himself and would probably get endless teasing but it wasn’t important at the time. He searched again for past light. He run after glimpses. He stopped when he heard sniffle from behind a dumpster. He slowed down, approaching loudly. It wouldn’t do any good to scare her.

“Hoopoe?”

Her breath hitched. Duke sat down next to her far enough to not invide her personal space but close enough to make her feel not alone.

Her face was black from ashes and smoke other than where her mask was and cleaner tracks her tears were making.

Her mask was laying on a ground (clearly forcefully thorn off which ouch), cape obviously nowhere in sight. When she calmed down, he would ask what happened with it. It would probably be a good distraction. But not now.

“Hey kid. Can you try breathing a little slower for me?”

She mumbled something, inaudible between loud wheezing.

“I know it’s hard but I’m sure you can do it. Who if not you?”

Girl visibly tried, shifting around as if she tried to find some much needed comfort. Clearly, the lack of pressure her cape was giving her wasn’t helping.

“How about you try putting hand on my chest and matching my breathing? It often helps”

She moved her hand and he led it to his chest. Dani shuddered.

Slowly, telegraphing his movements Duke extended his arm and put it across Dani’s shoulders. Girl leaned into it with choked sobs.

“I know it was scary,” he muttered as she shook silently “You did so well, Dani”

Girl let out quiet, high-pitched whine that didn’t sound quite human, trapping him in the hug much stronger than child her age should manage. He rubbed her back gently.

They sat in silence, as girl relaxed a bit.

“I officially despise fires. Just not my vibes, y'know,” was the first thing she managed to say. Duke smiled, still trying to comfort her. He knew far too well what she was trying to do. He let her. Every hero needed to retreat to humor every once in a while. Majority of his family and associated vigilantes did it constantly.

“Right here with you”

She looked at him, searching for something on what little she could see on his face.

“You see more, don’t you?” she asked but didn’t wait for an answer “It was too much even with normal eyes. How can you be so calm?”

“I have normal ears and after fifth or tenth time it loses its charm”

“Yeah, okay,” she wheezed out “I didn’t expect the fire to be so loud. And smoke was a bit much in terms of texture and smell and everything”

“I would give you a mask if you waited, you know?”

He felt more than saw how she shrugged. It seemed like she wasn’t exactly listening to him anymore.

“But since you didn’t, we should get you looked up by some professional. You breathed in some nasty stuff”

Dani didn’t respond. Then she sprung up with gasp, a little out of his grasp, not standing but sitting straighter. She grinned, wide, eased thing gracing her lips as fresh tears began to create new paths on her dirty cheeks. She let out a choked laugh, more sign of relief or release of tension than actual happiness. It sounded rougher than usual, probably because of smoke and ashes aggravating her throat.

He wanted to ask what was up but it felt like the wrong time for it.

“He is breathing again” Dani cheered gently, as if unsure before repeating loudly, letting herself believe “THE BOY IS BREATHING AGAIN!”

Girl was shaking again, no bothering with drying tears this time.

Duke could guess what happened. He didn’t want to think about it too hard.

“It’s great to hear”

“Yup!” she grinned between fat tears.

They sat in silence as Dani gradually calmed down again. He knew she didn’t feel all that well yet, she couldn’t but she was probably calm enough to not break down in the middle of the BatBurger.

“I think this day counts as quite bad one,” girl said, wheezing a bit. Duke smiled, knowing where this was going. He ruffled her hair.

“Yeah, I think so too”

None of them said anything for a long moment.

“You’re up for a ‘bad day combo’ Gotham style, Hoopoe?”

“Yup” she smiled.

********

Apartment building: *is on fire*

Dani: It can't be that bad

Narrator voice: It was in fact, much worse

Kid, whose heart stopped thankfully didn't have too many issues tied to it and nothing life treatening long term. Every person who was in the building during fire left relatively unscathed. This fic is supposed to be mostly fluff I'm not killing anyone

Kid who got Dani's cape-blanket refused to phisically let go of it for solid two weeks. Later it still had to be in his sight. Understandable since his life went of the rails and did it hard. Kids ripe age of seven shouldn't be home alone. Especially not for whole day...

Dani: *still clearly shaken* Does your bad day combo include fries?

Duke, on his way to The "I had mental breakdown and need calories" Waffle Foodtrack: No, but we can change it!

Underpayed BatBurger employee: ...

Duke&Dani looking like they've just returned from war:...

Underpayed BatBurger employee: ...

Duke&Dani:...

Underpayed BatBurger employee: *deciding they don't have enough mental energy to care* Welcome to the BatBurger, can I take your bat-order?

Duke: One kids meal, please

Employee at The "I just had mental breakdown and need calories" Waffle Foodtrack, used to seeing Bats crying: *sees Hoopoe munching on her fries but in a sad way* Ah, babiest one got christened by fire already?

Employee: *takes out notebook to note down crazy combo this kid will come up with**they have every Gotham vigilante in here*

Dani: I haven't had a waffle ever before so maybe nuttella and whipped cream? I don't know, sweet?

Employee, offended: Let me surprise you.

It was great waffle, sweet enough to give sugar rush quite big group of preschoolers. It had marshmallows, sprinkles, whipped cream, jellybeans, whatever else this person on the mission found and could mix. Dani absolutely loved and devoured it.

I finally didn't forget to add read more!!!

I really want to draw Dani and Duke togheter but I can't find any pose references that satisfied me. Do you have any good ones? Can be chibi though preferably not

Next part

[matenr0u]

Riku: “Taisetsu na hito - Cherished person”

Throughout the series we’ve seen an escalation of Riku’s enduring journey to find the “strength to protect what matters”. It appears to peak in KHIII with “strength to protect someone precious”, but I’m gonna propose that they could some day take it a step further than that. 

I am once again slamming my tiny fistful of evidence and wish fulfilment on the KH meta table.

So as we know this line first appears in BBS when Baby Riku meets Terra and says he wants to protect his “daiji na mono”:

強くなりたいんだ

I want to become strong.

(…)

どうして強くなりたい?

Why do you want to be strong?

大事なものを守れるでしょ

So that I can protect important stuff

友達や みんなを

Like my friend, everyone…

He repeats this in DDD as he fights to save Sora, recalling twice the secret promise he made that day:

大事なものを守れる力

Power to protect important stuff

Finally this culminates in Riku’s KHIII sacrifice, following up from Mickey suggesting that he’s found the strength to protect someone he cherishes.

大切な��を守る強さか—

Strength to protect someone precious—

Which is cool. But there’s room for more, if Squisney decide it won’t hurt their profits to go down that path. Or even if they just feel like addressing at any point the absolute non reaction everyone had to being obliterated on the spot and then Riku dying for Sora. With that in mind, I began to wonder if we’ll see just one more callback later down the line. 

I think there are two possible options. First:

一番大切な人

Ichiban taisetsu na hito / Most precious person

In CoM for example Namine urged Sora to remember his “ichiban taisetsu na hito” — number one most precious person. This one has more of an obvious romantic air I feel. I choose to think Namine was talking about Kairi when she said that but I respect that other SR fans think it’s Riku so I’m including it. If we’re going to hear this one again and in reference to Sora & Riku, we’ll surely get it around the time the necklace theory is inevitably revealed. Either way, it’s already been used in the series, so it’s not a crazy implausible love declaration or anything. It can happen.

I mean, in DDD Riku all but says it when Ven asks:

“Kimi ni totte ichiban taisetsu na mono tte nani?”

“What’s the number one most important thing to you?”

And of course Riku replies:

“Taisetsu na shinyuu”

“My precious best friend”

As far as I’ve noticed, Riku only calls Sora his shinyuu. It’s cute.

Another possible route they could take is:

愛するもの

Aisuru mono / Beloved person

Which sounds far fetched at a glance, but it is what Terra says to Riku during the bequeathing, in response to Riku’s “daiji na mono”.

いずれ選ばれし者として この小さな世界を出て——

Some day, you will leave this tiny world as the chosen one—

俺のもとへたどり着くだろう

You will find me.

その時こそ――

That’s the time—

本当の広い世界——

The real wide world—

愛する者を守る力を教えよう

Will teach you the power to protect the people you love.

“Love” being such a diluted word in EN means it doesn’t convey the gravity of it well at all, but “aisuru mono” is one of the strongest ways you can say you love someone in JP. It can be singular or plural, platonic or romantic, and I’ve seen KH’s fandom war cousins cloti/clerith argue over the use of this term— so it highkey wouldn’t surprise me to see this one used by Riku or someone else in reference to his feelings for Sora. Like, in a ‘vague enough to not offend the unwashed dudebros but can also be read as incredibly romantic’ kind of way.

(By the way, I’ve seen “aisuru mono” or “aisuru hito” translated as “dearly beloved” in some places before, too. So naturally I’m gunning hard for this one. Shoot that probably unintentional symbolic double meaning shit straight into my veins.)

For the reasons above, I personally can envision a realistic pipeline of:

Daiji na mono / Important stuff ->

Taisetsu na mono / Precious thing ->

Taisetsu na shinyuu / Precious best friend ->

Taisetsu na hito / Precious person ->

Aisuru mono, Aisuru hito / Beloved person

or

Ichiban taisetsu na hito / Most precious person

Not to say it will happen in any capacity, but there’s space for it. A ton of weird stuff happened around That Moment, and even if that’s just down to KHIII bunk….. the whole ass Fairy Godmother herself has come to set Riku on a solo mission to make his dreams come true.

The setup is right there if they ever want to take that opportunity to clarify the depth and nature of Riku’s feelings for Sora specifically. 

Riku already promised Terra he’d find the strength to protect someone he loves, which he has now found, and in the case of ‘Aisuru’, I think it would round off that callback to the bequeathing perfectly.

[ladykailitha]

Royal Pain Part 25

I make two promises about the end of this chapter. It's not what it looks likes, and that it WILL be fixed in the next chapter.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt 11 Pt 12 Pt 13 Pt 14 Pt 15 Pt 16 Pt 17 Pt 18 Pt 19 Pt 20 Pt 21 Meta Pt 22 Pt 23 Pt 24

****

Steve was keeping busy. He was! Running a shop full time and his apprentices were only half way through their training, he didn’t have time to moon over Eddie.

But as much as he wanted to lie to himself he knew that there were too many times that he spent checking his phone for text messages, voicemails, and IG DMs. It was lame. And worse?

He had to watch this.

Vickie walked up to Robin. “Hey, babe. Can you show me how to do the multiple scheduling again? The time I tried, I accidentally scheduled all the way out to the year 3025. Which really, really shouldn’t be possible.”

Robin giggled. “I think they had to put in an end date and went as obscene as possible thinking that they wouldn’t have to update it in their life time.”

Vickie blushed and ran her hand up and down Robin’s arm. “Thanks for showing me again.”

Robin nearly fell out of the chair. Vickie quickly grabbed her and barely managed to prevent her from taking a nosedive.

“Right,” Robin said, ducking her head to hide her flush of embarrassment, she showed Vickie how to do the scheduling again.

He turned to Chrissy. “Please save me from this disaster, Duchess. It’s killing me.”

“You wish is my command, my liege,” she purred and stalked toward the reception desk.

Her outfit was barely this side of professional, but considering what other artist wore in their shops, he couldn’t call her out on it. It was pretty much the preppy pastel version of those other shops. Tight, light blue, skinny jeans with a baby blue tank top and white suede jacket, draped artfully on her elbows to show off her tattoos.

She leaned over the desk giving Robin and Vickie an eyeful of her perky breasts. She reached over and curled one of Robin’s loose strands of hair around her finger. Robin turned absolutely red.

‘You coming to Club Rainbow tonight?” Chrissy simpered, using the easier to say nickname for the Rainbow High Club.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she said, glancing over at Steve and then back to her. “With E–with it being so quiet lately, I figured we weren’t going.”

Chrissy smiled. “I’m always down for bright lights, pumping music, free flowing booze, and...” she leaned closer, “pretty girls.”

If Robin had been red before she positively scarlet now.

Chrissy twisted so she was leaning back on the desk. She flicked a long nailed finger under Vickie’s chin. “How about you, green-eyed girl? You coming, too?”

Everyone’s jaws dropped.

But it worked.

Suddenly Robin was tripping over her feet to say that of course she was going clubbing tonight, that of course she was. And that she was clearly out of her head to even think to stay home.

“Good,” she said, tilting her head back to look at Robin upside down. “Now convince your boy over there to join us.”

Steve gasped. “Traitor!”

Chrissy laughed. “Come on, Steve, you need to get out and feel the earth move under your feet for a night!”

His phone rang and suddenly his was on his feet in an instant.

“Hey, Eds...”

“Baby,” Eddie breathed into the phone. “You sound tired, you okay?”

“No, I’m good.”

“That’s good to hear, sweetheart,” Eddie said softly. “You doing anything fun this weekend?”

“We were thinking of going to the club tonight,” he murmured. “It won’t be the same without you.”

“Go, have fun, babe,” Eddie said. “You deserve it.”

“I guess.”

“Hey, while I’m thinking about it,” Eddie said nervously. “Did you find someone to fill my tattoo slot?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t,” Steve replied, pained. “I wouldn’t just have someone come in and fill your spot, Eds. That’s your three hour block of time, because you’re coming back, right?”

“Of course, I am, Stevie,” Eddie said gently. “I just worry about you losing money you could be making.”

“I know it’s twelve hours I could be making more money, I know that. It’s just–”

“Hey, babe,” Eddie said. “I’m being rushed out the door. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“No, of course. Miss you lots.”

“Miss you more.”

He hung up feeling worse than before he got the call. It had only been three days, but he felt his heart had been ripped out of his chest.

He walked back to the reception area, rubbing the end of his nose. He cleared his throat. “You guys go on ahead without me tonight. I don’t feel so good.”

The three girls shared glances but nodded.

Argyle took a deep breath. “Why don’t Jonathan and I come over with pizza while the girls go to the club?”

Erica came out her room with a grin. “Did someone say club?”

Chrissy cheered. “Hell yeah, girlie. We are going to have so much fun.”

Steve thought about the offer while the girls made plans, then nodded. It was better than being alone and he was really starting to like Jonathan now that he had broken it off with Nancy.

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

The entire shop breathed a sigh of relief.

The club would have been better with its loud music, lots of people, and free flowing beer, but pizza night with the guys was good, too.

“Wait!” Steve said, his brain catching up through his fog of misery. “Erica is only eighteen!”

“Buzzkill.”

*

Sunday was awful. Dustin and Suzy kept gushing about how cool it was that they knew someone who was playing with Metallica.

He was thankful when his phone rang. He walked out to the front porch to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, kid,” came the warm voice on the other end of the line.

“Wayne?” Steve looked at the time on his phone. It was a little after seven.

“I figured since we were both missing our boy, I’d give you a call.”

“I didn’t really think about it,” Steve murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose, “but yeah I guess he can’t call you if he’s on stage.”

“This is alright, yeah?”

“No, course it’s okay, I appreciate you thinking about me.”

“How have you been holding up?”

“It’s only been four fucking days and it’s liking I’m missing a limb. I can’t imagine what you felt when he moved to Indy.”

“That’s different,” Wayne murmured, “I knew it was coming. This was sprung on ya, it was bound to feel like shit. What’s eating ya?”

“God, I don’t even know. It’s just when we were finding our feet, the rug got pulled out from under us and I feel like I’m the only one that fell on my ass. And I know that’s not fair to Eddie. I get to live my dream, but he’s not allowed to live his? What kind of shit boyfriend would I be?”

“A hurt one,” Wayne muttered. “I always tell Ed when he gets like this he has two choices with me. You do all the talking and I listen. Or I do all the talking and you let my voice wash over you like a warm, comforting blanket.”

Tears slipped down his cheeks and he hurried to scrub them away.

“You talk, I just need a kind voice on the end of the line.”

Steve listened to him talk about the book club and a used car he bought recently when his truck finally gave up the ghost. He let the warm slow Southern drawl just wash over him and soothe his soul.

Finally Wayne ran out of things to talk about, but by then Steve was feeling better and they said their goodbyes.

And somewhere in Hawkins Wayne stood his kitchen with tears of his own streaming down his face, missing both of his boys.

*

Steve’s heart leapt every time he got a call, a text, a voicemail. He tried not to sound disappointed when it wasn’t Eddie. He made doubly sure he didn’t sound like that when Wayne called. They were both missing Eddie and he wasn’t about to take it out on him.

Robin was getting more and more concerned. She knew that he wasn’t sleeping, that he was barely eating enough to function and was pretty much living off Monsters and coffees too large to be sane.

She really got concerned when he ordered a six shot espresso and downed it in one gulp.

“Steve...” she said warningly.

“I took it slow like everyone wanted,” he spat out bitterly. “I respected his space and his pace. I rescued him from his evil ex. I dotted all the Is and crossed all the Ts and I’m stuck here wondering if he’s going to find someone better than me. Someone who likes metal, not just go to his concert because he’s the playing. That he’ll find another tattoo artist. A better one. One that will really let him fly. That he’ll pack up and move to LA and I’ll be here with a broken heart and shop I will learn to resent.”

“Oh.” Because what else could she even say to that. Because sure, he could do what Max did and just follow Eddie to LA, but he couldn’t do it immediately. He still had at least four months mentoring Chrissy and Argyle. Eight months on the outside. And by then what would be the point of moving out there.

If Steve was like this after a week, six months would kill him.

“You don’t know what’s going to happen,” Robin said. “You just have to trust him to talk to you and do what’s best for both you. How has he sounded when he calls?”

Steve frowned for a moment. “I guess like me, happy to hear my voice, sad that we’re apart. But there is this tiredness underneath and a hint of anger.”

“At you?” she asked, putting her arm around him.

He shrugged. “I don’t think so, but he won’t talk to me about it.”

“He probably doesn’t know how to say it,” she said wisely. “Just give him time.”

Steve nodded.

*

Steve made the first impulsive decision he’d made since deciding to be Hop’s apprentice.

He was going to get a tattoo. He made the appointment with Hop and calmly explained what he wanted and where.

Hop leveled him with a glare. “You sure you want this? You’re an artist yourself, Steve. You know how hard it is cover up a mistake. If I do this there is no going back.”

Steve nodded. “I want it because even if it doesn’t work out, even if we go our separate ways, I want something to remember him by.”

Hop took a deep breath and started his work. It didn’t take long. It was a small tattoo, simple enough in its design. He would have done it himself if Robin hadn’t stopped him.

Soon it was done and Hop scooted back on his chair. He cleaned Steve up, bandaged it, and wrapped it in plastic wrap.

“There you go, kid,” Hop said. “I hope it’s what you wanted.”

Steve nodded. “It is. I promise I won’t regret getting it.”

Hop sighed and got to his feet. “You’re smart man, Steve. A good tattoo artist, too. You’ve been through so much in such a short time. I think you need to take a break and just think. About the shop, your apprentices, your employees, friends, Eddie. Decide what you want and then go for it okay?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. It’s just I’m the only full artist at my shop, I can’t take time off without closing it.”

Hop nodded back. “I’ve been there. I just worry about you.”

Steve sighed. “I worry about me too.”

*

Steve was vibrating out of his skin. The band was coming home today. He was going to see Eddie today.

But when the bus pulled up to the depot and they all filed out, there were only three of them.

Miranda and Jeff were hugging and kissing, Brian and Cecil were hugging. Even Gareth was getting swamped with hugs from his twin and mom.

But–

“Where’s Eddie?” Robin asked first. And Steve was grateful that she was there.

The other three members of the band looked at the ground, around them, anywhere but at Steve.

“He made us stop in Hawkins,” Jeff murmured and even Miranda was starting to look concerned.

“He wanted to spend a couple days with his Uncle Wayne,” Gareth said.

Steve heart plummeted to his stomach. “He’s not coming home?”

“It’s just for a couple of days,” Brian hurried to explain. “The tour just gave him a lot of things to think about.”

“Oh.”

Steve turned on his heel and ran out of the depot, shouts of his name following him out.

****

Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Epilogue

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@bookworm0690 @chaosgremlinmunson @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03 @aizawa-emma @yikes-a-bee @redfreckledwolf @thesuninyaface @bookbinderbitch @archermightbegay @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @hallucinatedjosten @ellietheasexylibrarian @anne-bennett-cosplayer @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @bestwifehaver @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @oldwitcheshat @nightmareglitter @tinyplanet95 @novelnovella @jonesn4coffee @slowandsteddie @awkwardgravity1 @steaddie-on

[lpwrites]

On Wasted Potential

(The return of the early morning meta post before work.)

It’s been hard to put into words what is so odd about fandom’s reaction to Stiles and Scott and the concept of being a werewolf in Teen Wolf, but a recent comment I saw mentioned something that maybe puts things into better perspective.

The comment boiled down to the idea that being a werewolf and having powers was wasted on Scott. I don’t recall having seen comments like that before, but it makes sense if people are looking at it in that way. He’s wasting his powers, he’s not using them to their full potential and therefore he’s not a good werewolf.

The thing that clicked for me with that comment is that people are treating Scott’s werewolf powers the same way Stiles did in early Season 1: with excitement, like it’s something cool that should be used always to solve every problem, including using it to murder people (but only the Right people, of course).

That in itself isn’t too weird to me: we see the same kind of suspension of disbelief in all sorts of media, especially those involving kids or teenagers. If you give a kid a sword in order to go on a question (Percy Jackson, for example), it’s not a bad thing, it’s part of the story. You obviously wouldn’t give an actual 11-year old a weapon, because they could hurt themselves or someone else, but for the sake of the story? Hell yeah, go around waving that thing, no problem.

Teenager has superpowers that could very easily be used to do bad things if so inclined? Yeah, that sounds about right, as long as an adult figure reminds them that they need to be responsible with their newfound abilities. (Uncle Ben’s only line in any Spiderman project comes to mind, obviously.) There is a lack of weight behind the statement, though, until something bad happens and our teenage hero realizes they have a real responsibility to be good or save lives or whatever, but the real consequences of those powers are never really touched on unless it’s a specific plot beat.

Teen Wolf doesn’t do that. 

From the very beginning, the bite is framed like a horror movie. A kid is attacked in the woods in the middle of the night by a monster and he’s left to walk home alone in the dark. He tells his best friend about it the next day and the very real, very terrifying attack is treated like a joke. (And in his defense, Stiles didn’t know, so I don’t actually hold it against him too much at this point.)

He starts experiencing weird changes in his body, hearing and seeing things he’s not used to, and while some are benefits -- no asthma is a plus -- he’s clearly shown to be unnerved by it. He snaps at Jackson and spills almost everything because he’s scared, and that’s completely reasonable. Scott doesn’t get a cool little montage set to catchy music where he gets to practice his Cool New Abilities in his room while his mom calls out from another room asking if he’s okay. He’s immediately thrust into a situation where he is being manipulated by the Alpha, thrust into a world he doesn’t fully understand, and is intimidated and threatened by the only other werewolf around.

Derek calls the bite a gift, and I partially blame that scene for fandom’s idea of it, but you wouldn’t have to change much to make Scott’s werewolf origins into a full-blown horror series. He’s been given a weapon he can’t control, that he knows he needs to control, while there’s an active threat of death and violence hanging over his head. The Sheriff gets injured peripherally to what’s happening to him, and Stiles loses it and hurts him because in his teenage brain that’s all he can do, and fandom thinks Scott’s in the wrong? He’s living a nightmare and all people can focus on is the fact that he’s not following the trope, so obviously having these powers is wasted on him.

Even in later seasons, fandom holds Scott’s reluctance to embrace his powers to the fullest against him. He doesn’t want to be a killing machine, he never wanted the powers in the first place, and even if he had been asked I don’t think Scott would have agreed. He was fine being normal, and all he’s gotten since the bite is death and violence and threats against the people he loves. Peter gave a teenager a gun and set people after him, and fandom is angry that the teenager isn’t going full John Wick on his enemies so it’s a waste.

Teen Wolf’s writing isn’t always the best, but it does a good job of flipping tropes around and exploring interesting concepts. Scott’s story isn’t a hero origin story: it’s a horror story where the victim becomes a hero in the end without losing his humanity. And fandom hates the idea of it, because fandom has been conditioned to believe a hero is only ever good if they embrace violence to the fullest.

[fuckyeahaudiodrama]

✨APRIL/MAY LISTENS✨

hi i’m back, i’ve just finished my degree and do not have enough of a brain to write an in-depth of anything. but! here’s some of what i’ve been shoving in my earholes for the past month, in no particular order.

The Magnus Protocol — (season 1 ongoing) continues to blow my fucking mind. the sound design/music combo for this series is of particular note, it really just… mwah. elevates the text so much for me. i also continue to be impressed by how well this works as both a standalone series and as a delicious trail of candy for those of us who loved Archives. we’re halfway through s1 now and all i can think about is alice dyer.

Beef and Dairy Network — (ongoing @ 109 eps) a partially improvised absurdist comedy pod set in a world that is bizarrely obsessed with beef. my qpp listened to one episode and called it “distilled british humor” which feels… correct. i’ll be real, i’m actually mad at myself for not getting into this one sooner, but on the other hand having a long binge of it has been divine. i would kill to go to one of their live shows.

The White Vault — (5 seasons, 10 eps apiece) not including goshawk because i’ve barely started on that. but the main series… woah! god, i totally didn’t think this was going to be my thing but i could not put it down? the first season is definitely slower than i usually prefer but the characters kept me hooked and by season 3 the narrative completely took over my brain. i also love how well they sold the found audio format, it WORKS. gold fucking star, highly recommend.

Jackie the Ripper — (3 seasons, 5 eps apiece) put this one aside for a rainy day and binged it all at once. deeply wish there was more of it. it’s a raunchy crime drama with a downtrodden detective at the helm who i SWORE i wouldn’t root for but ended up doing so anyway. do recommend! if it sweetens the pot, the protag has the same VA as watson in the currently popular Sherlock & Co.

The Mistholme Museum — (6 seasons, soon to be complete) people have been recommending this to me for years and i just never got around to it, but on the bright side — it was an incredible binge. anthologies aren’t my strong suit but i found the framing device really strong and, crucially, it develops a meta plot that balances really well. biggest strength for me was the narrator, but i can’t explain why without spoiling some key plot developments. just trust me.

Wake of Corrosion — (4 seasons, final ongoing) very cool apocalyptic suspense/horror. i initially loved this show for the dynamic between the two leads, who are brothers trying to reconnect on a solitary camping trip when the world decides to go wonky. i ended up loving the worldbuilding as well. final episode drops very soon.

Neon Inkwell: The Pit Below Paradise — (miniseries, ongoing) this one has a bit of a western vibe and heavy religious/culty overtones, which isn’t my favorite genre. but i think each of the main characters has been developed really well thus far. + many fun cameos from members of the production team, those are really fun to try and spot :)

Twits: A Steampunk Distraction — (2 seasons, 5 eps apiece) very silly comedy of errors from the pov of a bumbling aristocrat. can’t say too much without giving the end of s1 twist away. i highly recommend it if you’re looking for some lighthearted listening. the ending credits are also very cute.

Planet Arcana — (ongoing @ 71 eps) i’m so bad at TTRPGs but this one has such a unique setting, i’m just captivated. tarot-flavored sci-fi adventure for anyone interested. i’ve made it through the first arc and the party has already experienced a crazy amount of development; stoked to see what happens next.

Selene — (ongoing) anthology about a spooky little town with a vintage vibe. single narrator, quite talented. i’m not always easily invested in anthologies but the narrator here really sells it for me, and (!) i think he writes children — both their thought processes and dialogue — very realistically. which is my grandest compliment.

Camp Here & There — (s1 complete @ 33 eps, hiatus?) i put off listening to this for a rainy day because i’d heard nothing but rave reviews and they weren’t lying. this is quite literally the ONLY pod i’ve come across that completely captures the same magic that WTNV did for me on first listen. the creator is kinda going thru it so idk if s2 is going to happen but i really hope so. even if not, s1 is very worth listening to. it’s wacky and sinister and i just love the narrator, it’s hard not to.

We’re Alive: Scout’s Honor — (8 ep miniseries, complete) imagine WA from the perspective of some awkward tweenagers. what’s not to love? the gore is really heightened by each characters’ stage of emotional development. i especially loved the conclusion but i won’t spoil it here ;)

Among the Stars and Bones — (2nd season ongoing) sci-fi drama with a solid first season, really nice narrative tie-up, but the second season was SUCH a glow-up nonetheless! + the most memorable karim kronfli performance of all time IMHO.

[tismrot]

AZI’S ROLE IN CROWLEY’S FALL, more meta (guilt, angelic hierarchy, etc)

I saw a long meta post about Azi feeling responsible for Crowley falling (but Tumblr bugged and I can’t find it again) and I’m here to expand on that.

Yes - Azi feels guilty because he’s done so many worse, more indulgent things than Crowley ever did in Heaven. It’s likely that Crowley doesn’t even know exactly what he did - he hung out with the wrong people and asked questions, he says, but that sounds more speculative hindsight to me. He’s vague because he actually doesn’t know. I think it was simply his attitude; his refusal to mask his disappointments and opinions. While one question might have runneth his chalice over for the Metatron and God, he was always on his way to damnation.

Aziraphale knew this, since we know they knew of and cared for each other before Crowley’s Fall. The extent of their relationship is unknown, because Crowley seems to have some soap opera amnesia, just like Jim - to be fair, trauma can do this to you. Make you not remember your ‘childhood’.

The thing is, Aziraphale can get away with everything Crowley couldn’t because FIRST of all, Crowley was the archangel Raphael. He was up there with Gabriel and Michael. One sassy question from him and all of Heaven might crumble. Aziraphale, on the other hand, is just a principality, an angel tasked with suggesting humans - predominantly prophets - do good/God’s will (literally, look it up). The lowest order. In office terms, Crowley is the bosses’ favorite creative director, while Aziraphale is a street salesman trying to make you subscribe to some shitty phone plan. It doesn’t really matter if Aziraphale asks questions because nobody cares what he thinks anyways. He is only allowed miracles that help him sell phone plans, metaphorically. Raphael’s miracles create galaxies, literally.

SECOND of all, neither the Metatron nor God are omnipresent or omniscient. Not even in Heaven, but certainly not on Earth. We saw the spy photos of Azi and Crowley throughout time. They don’t have any clue about Earth and rely on the same type of intel the spies on the benches in London send their respective governments. Most, if not all of Aziraphale’s transgressions happen on Earth. Heaven doesn’t really know Aziraphale does anything worse than eating sushi and occasionally bumping into a dude who they later, after the not-apocalypse, learn is Crowley. Remember how Gabriel didn’t recognize Bildad? Yeah. The spy photos of Azi and Crowley throughout time was, to Heaven, pictures of Azi and *some guy*.

Why does Aziraphale, with his low rank and limited miracle abilities, feel guilty? For the same reason you felt guilty when the bullies bullied your friend and you just stood there. You couldn’t have stopped the bullying, you might have just gotten hurt yourself - but due to your own immaturity and fear, you did nothing. Aziraphale is always afraid of Falling, not just because of Hell or sulphur or damnation, but because Falling reminds him of his cowardice, and that if he had done the right and good thing and stood up to the bullies, him and Crowley could have been traumatized, but honest lovers for 6000 years. He HAS to fear Falling, because deep within him somewhere, if he doesn’t fear the Fall, he might WANT it too much, because it would allow him to be with Crowley.

EDIT: Crowley might enjoy watching Aziraphale indulge in earthly pleasures not just because of the whole “evil” temptation demon-thing OR because he’s desperately in love… He might also enjoy watching Aziraphale eat and drink because he knows Aziraphale can get away with it, and wants him to have good things? Maybe.

WHO WOULDN’T FALL FOR BILDAD?

[foap-enjoyer]

Sensory deprivation | Overstimulated | Isolation

Sensory deprivation.

'A white room is a famous torture device used to psychologically torture its victims by depriving them of everything but the colour white.'

Trigger warnings: Self harm, minor character death. Ships: Implied GhostSoap, but very minor.

AI-Less whumptober baby! Avaliable on my A03, link at the bottom of this page, and on my pinned post.

~

White room, white clothes, white food.

White room, white clothes, white food.

White room, white clothes, white food.

White room, white clothes, white food.

White room, white clothes, white fucking food.

God.

Sergeant John ‘Soap’ Mactavish could handle torture. 

He was a member of 141, after all, a squad famous for their hardy nature. He could handle waterboarding. Handle stabbings, being shot, being electrocuted, beaten, mutilated, scarred. Hell, being starved, dehydrated, it all came easy to him.

He was a stubborn roach, capable of living through anything, and he would not break.

But this?

Two months.

Two months of nothing but the colour white. White room, white clothes, white food. Iran knew their shit when it came to torture. Soap knew that, he’d known that since the first day he had heard of Iran’s favoritsm to psychological torture. Since he’d heard of the white room.

It was a good pick. You could ignore the beatings, ignore the pain your body was in. Push it to the back of your mind. But attacking the mind itself? 

Well. 

When you attack the mind, you make wounds deeper than any knife could slash. Then any bullet could pierce. When the brain hurts, and yet the skin remains untouched, you know you’ve hit the right spot. Iran knew this, as did Venezuela and North Korea. Countries that weren’t afraid to play dirty loved to toy with the brain, and god could they toy with it alright.

White room, white clothes, white food.

A white room is exactly how it sounds. White. Room. A room that is nothing but white. White walls, white lights, white floor, white ceiling. Some white rooms have beds, little white stone mattresses. Some have toilets, and sinks, even, with running water, but a white room that was truly, truly effective? Well, it had nothing.

His, had nothing.

It was just him, in white prisoner clothes that matched the same disgusting shade of white on the walls. Just him.

Just him and this white fucking room. 

White food, too. Of course, they didn’t want him starving, not when they needed information out of him. Rice. Plain, white rice, soggy with overhydration in order to give him needed water in the same go. Dumped on the white floor in front of his white door for him to lick up like a dog. 

He never saw the guards who brought it. A little post-box-esque chamber would open at the bottom of the cell-door, and there the rice would be, splattering wetly onto the floor like cat food to a bowl. He would catch a glimpse of gloves, sometimes. Pale blue medical gloves. Sometimes, even a flash of tan skin. A colour. Colours, for once. He enjoyed those days.

Which he soon realised meant he was losing it.

The thing about a white room, too, is that they’re completely soundproof. Inside and out. 

Not that that really meant anything to him. He knew, from his little time before being thrown in this cell, that the world just outside of these walls was far, far away from civilization. Far enough that even if he did scream, and it somehow managed to get past the white walls that held him in, that the only living creature to hear his pleas would be the wild gazelles who grazed nearby. He also knew that they wouldn’t care for his cries. He wasn’t one of them, so why would they? They simply ignored him just like the soldiers in this compound ignored him.

Of course, the soldiers, unlike the gazelles, hadn’t always ignored him. They’d tried, for the first few weeks, to get information out of him. They’d held him in a regular cell; there had actually been others, like him, there. Soldiers from all over the globe trapped between concrete and metal just like him. He’d even made friends with some. A Russian friend, Yurii, and Bjorn, a Norwegian man. They spoke broken English, but it was better than none. He was just glad he wasn’t alone.

So of course, his captors noticed. Noticed how he relied on human companionship. On small touches of comfort through the bars, or small jokes here and there, or pieces of bread shared among those who were unlucky enough to be fed after a rough interrogation. They noticed how, with friends, he could ‘open up’. 

So, of course, they ripped that away. Violently. Apparently Yurii hadn’t meant that much to them. So he was killed. Thrown and left to rot in the corridor between cells, his eyes fluttering frantically as his throat bled into the cracks in the concrete floor, unable to move as guards held him down with a boot to the head. 

Soap had watched the life fade from the man’s brown eyes, tried to provide comfort as he left them behind in those cells. Another cellmate, Yesna, had been able to reach him physically, holding his hand as he passed, her arm stretched uncomfortably through the bars, disregarding the danger the guard still stood atop Yurii presented, tears in her eyes and the words I love you on her tongue. It had been a sad day that day.

Then, of course, they brought him here, to further his own misery. To his own personal hell. To the white room.

He missed Yurii. Missed Bjorn and Yesna, missed the other silent and weeping prisoners of cell-block seven.

He missed home. Scotland. He missed his Ma, and her stupid jokes, and his sister and his niece. Missed his dad’s cooking, his bedroom. Missed the feeling of anything other than smooth concrete, than wet soggy rice. 

He missed 141. He missed his Captain, his second father away from home. He missed Gaz, the Sergeant who was like a twin brother to him. He missed Ghost, who was like… 

Well, he didn’t have a name for whatever Ghost was to him. But he missed the man. 

He wondered, deep down, day after day in this bright, white cell, with his white clothes, and his white food, and white walls, if they’d forgotten about him. If they gave up looking for him. Was he like Yurii? Was he disposable too? Would he be shot and killed, left to rot in a ditch somewhere where only the coyotes and hyenas would find him?

He hoped not. God, he hoped not.

He wondered what Bjorn was up to. He wondered if they had killed him too.

One day, he found another way to see colour.

Colour had long since stopped being in his dreams, as did the tiny flash of gloves from the hole that fed him every few days. No, they hadn’t come back in a very long time. He thinks, deep down, they’ve forgotten about him too.

But he can make colour. It’s not a pale blue, or a tan beige, but a deep red. His own red. 

If he rolled up his white sleeves, and pressed his sharp, long nails to the white skin that ran on the inner portion of his forearm, he could draw blood. His blood, yes, but blood- a colour. A colour other than white. A texture other than soggy rice and concrete. A feeling other than mind-numbing loneliness. 

Now, he could feel something- see something, touch something. He’d never felt more alive.

When was the last time he’d eaten? He couldn’t remember.

Then again, when was the last time he spoke? He couldn’t remember that, either.

White walls, red clothes, white food.

White walls, red clothes, white food.

No food. But white walls, and red clothes.

He liked the colour red. At least red never forgot to show when he dragged his nails across scabbed marks on his arms, beckoning for it to crawl forwards. At least red kept him company.

Red didn’t abandon him like 141 abandoned him.

No.

No, 141 didn’t abandon him. They were coming, they were coming. He would go home, and see his Ma, and his dog, and his sister and his niece and his dad. See Price, and Gaz, and Laswell. Alejandro, and Rodolfo, and Ghost. They were coming.

They were coming.

Were they coming?

They had to be coming.

He tried screaming. Wondered if the wild gazelles he had dreamed of in their blood red hue could hear him. He wondered if they would lead his team to him.

He wondered if Yurii could hear him too.

No. No, Yurii was dead.

He wondered if Bjorn could hear him too. Yes, that was right. Bjorn.

He missed his Ma.

He tried drawing on the walls today. Blood, as it turns out, works well as a paint.

It was a shame he didn’t have the energy to get up from the floor to make something artistic. It was a shame that the only canvas he had was the floor beneath him. Blood didn't look so pretty just pooled on the concrete at it was

He missed drawing.

Food came today. 

He didn’t eat it.

Why should he?

He was going to die here, wasn’t he?

He missed his Ma.

.

.

.

The door opened today. Fully opened.

At least, he thinks it did. 

He didn’t have the energy to lift his head anymore. Why would he? He’d stopped eating for… He didn’t know, actually. How long had it been?

A hand grabbed his shoulder. At least, he thinks it did. 

His name was yelled. At least, he thinks it was.

He was so tired. When was the last time he slept? He can’t remember. He should probably sleep.

Yeah. 

Yeah, that wasn’t a bad idea, actually.

.

.

.

You can also read it here, on my AO3:

Ouch. - Chapter 2 - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Call of Duty (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]

[mutable-manifestation]

The Heart of the Matter Ch. 6

Chapter 1 (Parts 1-3), Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

So this took forever. The whole ‘hey dude ur dead btw’ convo fought me something fierce. I deleted like three versions. RIP

***

As soon as they clear the ground into open air, Danny flies them - invisible and intangible - straight to the heart of Gotham.

He could more than likely make it to the Fenton portal fast enough to avoid being traced beyond ‘somewhere in Illinois,’ but the point of running isn’t to escape.

He wants the Green Lantern to follow.

He isn’t sure about Batman and his allies, isn’t sure where he stands on the Anti-Ecto Acts or if he even knows they exist, given the GIW’s relentless efforts to keep what happened - what still sometimes happens - in Amity Park buried.

He’s less sure after seeing the surety with which they almost sent Jason away to….

He shakes his head.

If they could be convinced to help, all the better. If they truly cared for Jason they’d do a good enough job beating themselves up over it later.

Not that he wouldn’t still be sending them Jazz’s way to have a talk about respecting boundaries in non-emergency situations rather than steamrolling them just because an ally or friend sounds like they know what they’re doing.

But before all of that, he wants a chance to get Jason up to speed first.

And to get some ecto in the guy, but given the way his core feels, the betrayal-fest he just phased in on, and his somehow near-complete lack of knowledge about what he is, he doubts he’s going to just accept eating mysterious, neon, glowing sludge without an explanation.

He zips through a Malmart and snags a large hoodie and sweats - he’ll pay them back later - and ends the flight by landing them in the bathroom of a crowded coffee shop.

No one should notice the two of them appearing out of nowhere when there are so many other people to draw attention, and hopefully the crowd will deter the Lantern - and the Bats - from causing a scene.

Or at least, a scene beyond the one that would already be caused by their mere presence in the place.

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

Jason only takes his eyes off of Jordan when he’s jostled from a sudden drop. He looks up just in time to see batarangs sink into the wall just above space-ice-crown-guy’s head.

He follows their trajectory back to see Damian unsheathing his blades.

Nightwing and Black Bat are already airborne, and lunging towards them.

A strange sensation washes over him. Crown-guy doesn’t move this time, unbothered by the swinging limbs and grasping hands headed their way.

The pair pass right through them as if they aren’t even there.

Jason feels betrayed and furious and wrung out all at once; he just wants to leave.

And then they do, horrifying green baseball bat close behind as crown guy throws them straight at the ceiling.

They sink into-and-through the earth, and they’re in the sky far above the manor before Jason even has a chance to do more than take a shaky breath.

Then they’re heading for Gotham.

Wayne Manor is twelve miles from the city’s border.

They’re in the heart of Old Gotham inside two minutes - after stopping by an Upper West Side Malmart to…steal clothing?

He’d be concerned about Red Hood being seen flying around with some random meta - about being too much of an easy target in the open air, flying in a mostly straight line - but the two of them are barely visibly, mere outlines of twisted space, like the distorted air above the heat of a flame.

He can barely make himself out, and the people they paused right next to in the store had appeared to notice even less.

When they do stop, it’s in the bathroom of a crowded coffee shop that is - frankly miraculously - blessedly empty.

Crown guy gently but swiftly sets him on his feet - hand on his shoulder just until he’s steady - and shoves the stolen clothing into his chest with a simple ‘here’ before Jason has a chance to say anything.

Then a ring of light appears around his waist, splitting to slide both up and down like some kind of scanner.

Where it goes, crown guy changes.

His build, his facial structure, the cut of his hair - all the broad strokes stay the same. What changes are the details.

Lazarus green eyes are replaced by a vibrant blue that better matches the now-absent crown - it still feels a bit cool, standing near him, but he’s not sure he’d have noticed if he wasn’t looking for it.

Impossibly white hair becomes a deep black - now matching the unchanged eyebrows - and the ears curve where they’d once been pointed.

His skin is paler like this - like he’d spent most of his life indoors, hiding away from the sun - the freckles now a light tan. As though the colors had traded places.

He lands lightly on his feet as the transformation ends, standing just slightly shorter than Jason now that they’re on even ground, and his physique is lithe but muscular; a swimmer’s build.

His clothes are the starkest difference, in Jason’s opinion: otherworldly fabrics and colors swapped out for simple blue jeans and a contrastingly dark red shirt and shoes.

No sign of the cape.

No hint of that otherworldly glow.

Unless you count the sparkle in his eyes as he raises a pointed brow and coughs.

Jason mentally berates himself for staring so obviously. He knew how to be more subtle than that.

Outwardly, he points to his mask.

“Great plan with the clothes, no-more-crown-guy, but they won’t exactly cover this.”

The guy just smiles and shakes his head.

“It’s Danny,” he snorts. “And you can just shove the mask in a pocket or something. I already know who you are, Jason Todd.”

The guy - Danny - snaps his hands up in surrender the moment Jason reaches for one of his guns.

“Easy,” he says, voice still relaxed. Soothing. The aura of strength-safety-protection-calm unchanged. “You being Red Hood is none of my business. I’m not here for Red Hood, I’m here for Jason.”

“What, need an inside scoop for the next article on ‘Watching the Waynes?’ Or is this a ransom thing?” he sneers, hand firmly on his gun as he closes the distance to loom threateningly.

For all that he’s glad to be out of the batcave, that doesn’t mean this guy is an ally; he won’t be swayed by some meta emotional manipulation. Bringing them to such a crowded location could be as much a threat as it could a reassurance, given the knowledge of his vigilante nature - a building full of eyes to make Jason feel better?

Or a building full of hostages?

“No,” Danny denies calmly, matter-of-factly, expression unworried despite the sudden decrease in personal space. “Someone told me you were in danger, and I could help you, so I did. I can also help you with the fact that you’re starving-”

“I’m not-”

“-and I can tell you why you’re so scared of Green Lantern.”

Jason is very willing to hear him out at that. Maybe he shouldn't be. He wants to stay suspicious; he will stay cautious.

But....

He has to know.

He has to know what's going on before it drives him crazy.

Crazier, if you ask his 'family.'

And doesn't that just burn? How quick they'd been to ignore his feelings when he didn't have any concrete information to back them up. How it hadn't taken more than a promise of maybe help for them to trust Green Latern.

Help with something he'd already gotten mostly under control.

He knows it scared them; how much he'd changed when he came back. How long he'd spent letting his anger take the driver's seat.

But he died. And then he came back to find his killer was walking around fresh as a fucking daisy. Jason was entitled to a little anger, in his own humble opinion.

Maybe he'd gone a bit far, but things had finally started going back to normal. He'd almost started to forgive them for not avenging him. For replacing him. They'd even started working together again, more and more often with every passing day. Jason had worked on reigning in his anger instead of letting it take the reigns, controlling the Pit Rage instead of sinking into it.

It was a hard transition to make; hate cradles you, as they say. But he tried.

Maybe he had some relapses occasionally, some outbursts here and there, but he was making progress.

But they had been willing to throw him at the mercy of someone that terrified him for reasons he didn't understand the second they offered maybe a 'solution' to his 'green little problem.'

As if it wasn't mostly 'solved' already.

As if they hadn't been working on it for years now.

As if he wasn't capable of making his own damn decisions.

Mind made up, he takes breath, takes a step back, glances at the door - which he very quickly locks when he realizes how much they’ve been playing with fire - and drops the hand from his gun.

“Why bring us somewhere so crowded?”

“Your pals are less likely to attack us if we’re surrounded by civilians and not doing anything wrong. Plus, background noise. As long as we’re relatively quiet we’re unlikely to be overheard or bothered,” he answers, then points at the abandoned stolen clothing on the floor, a brow raised. “But if it’s all the same, I’d prefer to explain more when we’re not in a bathroom.”

Jason stares at him for another long moment.

Someone jiggles the handle and knocks.

“Fuck it.”

He throws on the baggy outfit, grateful for the drawstring - which is the only thing keeping the pants up - at least the excess fabric covers his shoes enough to be less obviously Not Normal (™).

He whips off the mask and shoves it in the pocket of the hoodie - which hits him upper-mid thigh.

Seriously.

‘This guy is pants at guessing sizes.’

It takes a lot of inner strength to avoid facepalming when he realizes his unintentional pun.

Once dressed, Danny wastes no time opening up the door to leave, and he follows him out and into the coffee line, ignoring the wide-eyed look on the face of the guy who’d knocked.

They grab coffee and snag an outside table - even more background noise with all the traffic, Danny explains as they sit.

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

“So, Danny. Who, exactly, sent you to ‘help’ me?” Jason asks, leaning back in his seat.

Danny snorts at the theatrics, taking a sip of his own drink before he answers.

“He didn’t send me, he just told me you were in danger. I’m here because I want to be. But his name is Clockwork, the ghost that watches over the timestream.”

Danny sighs.

“We probably don't have a lot of time before Greenie and the Furries catch up, and they’ll need to hear a lot of what I have to tell you,” he says. “But, the basic - and more personal - details which only you really need to know-” he holds up a finger “-my parents have always been obsessed with ghosts and made it their life’s mission to open a portal to the afterlife - which they call the ‘Ghost Zone.’”

A second finger joins the first.

“They succeeded when I was 14, except they didn’t manage to make it turn on because they miswired an emergency off-switch on the inside to have an accompanying ‘on’ button that needed to be activated before it would work.”

A third.

“A friend dared me to go in and I, being a dumb kid, did. Then promptly tripped and hit the on-button and got electrocuted half to death. I say ‘half’ because in the midst of me dying the portal turned on, and the ectoplasm bonded to my living DNA and reached a sort of balance. This turned me into a halfa - a being that is half-human and half-ghost. Half alive and half dead. A human form and a ghost form.”

A fourth, Danny studiously ignoring Jason’s bewildered blinking.

“Halfa’s, due to the nature of our existences, are exceedingly rare. The first that I know of was created in an accident 20 years ago. I was the second. The third was already a halfa when she was created, being a clone of me - long story. The fourth, that I know of,” Danny leans forward, fingers curling back over to leave the hand pointing at Jason. “Is you.”

Danny can see the roiling mix of confusion-comprehension-horror-denial-fear-anger building up in him - anger the one that appeared to be winning - so he rushes to explain, holding his hands up placatingly - deja-vu.

“Clockwork only told me about you, like, an hour ago. He told me about how you didn’t know you were a halfa, how there’s barely enough ambient ectoplasm in this city to sustain you, that what is here is kind of garbage, that you don’t know how to get more - or that you need more. Or what ecto is - it’s like carbon for ghosts, I guess? Like living people are made of carbon but food is too?”

He squints. Shrugs.

“Ghosts are made of ecto and need it to be healthy. As halfas, we need both. There’s a lot more to ‘how to be a halfa’ but that’s the most important thing right now given I can literally sense how ecto-deprived you are. Your ecto-signature is literally so weak I could almost mistake you for a blob ghost, which is incredibly not-healthy. I nabbed a thermos from my fridge on the way here, so like. I know it probably sounds sus and your experience with green liquids-” he notes Jason tense back toward anger from where he’d been moving into confusion territory “-is probably historically bad, but I promise it’s safe. I’ll even drink some myself to prove it if that helps.”

A beat.

“Green liquids.”

It’s not a question, but Danny answers anyway, reaching into his chest to pull out the thermos, ignoring the strangled noise Jason makes and the aborted movement from where he’d begun to stand before crashing back down and staring as he uncaps the cylinder and pours a little of the ectoplasm into the cap before sliding the rest towards him.

“Ectoplasm!” Danny chirps, downing his like a shot only to find Jason staring, mouth slightly open in horror.

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

Jason has known Danny for less than five minutes, and the guy has already said and done the most unhinged things Jason has ever seen anyone do.

In five. Minutes.

Here’s the thing; Jason hates everything he’s saying.

That Jason is still dead.

That he needs to start drinking lazarus water.

That there was some time guy out there stalking him (as if he needed another nosy bastard hanging over his shoulder. He was just starting to barely-kind of-sorta tolerate the ones he knew about).

That Danny died in his parents’ basement because they were experimenting with lazarus water.

Jason had barely begun to process the insane shit he said when the guy shoves his hand through his fucking chest.

For a moment, he was fully convinced he was going to rip out his heart or something.

Instead, he’d apparently just been using his chest cavity as a storage location for a thermos of lazarus water.

Ya know, as you fucking do.

In keeping with his general vibe of ‘one-insane-thing-after-another-without-pause’ he immediately pours himself a glass and downs it like a fucking shot.

It hasn’t even been 24 hours since this nightmare started and Jason thinks he might be going prematurely gray by now (no the white part does not count, he died when he was 15, Tim).

Finally, mercifully, the guy stops talking and/or doing things.

He closes his hanging jaw, noting the unchanged blue of the guys’ eyes.

Danny is still calm. In control. Unaffected by a bit of eau de lazarus.

Jason takes a steadying breath, bracing himself for the smell of decay and mildew and blood that the waters always carry with them…and gets something completely different.

His eyes snap down to the still-open thermos laid before him.

Looking closer, he notes the lack of bubbles. The color is the same, but the glow itself is somehow brighter. Softer.

It doesn’t smell like lazarus water.

It smells like chamomile tea. Like the lavender cookies Alfred used to make post-patrol sometimes, trying to incite them to go to bed sooner rather than staying up at all hours.

It smells delicious.

He can feel his mouth water, and his stomach growls loudly, suddenly.

He’d had that oatmeal less than two hours ago, but he suddenly feels like he hadn’t eaten at all.

He sips his coffee instead, staring down the container of pure temptation, straining against the urge to pick it up and chug.

Danny watches on, silent, patient. He looks hopeful, Jason thinks, but not expectant.

Not that he couldn’t just be a really good actor. And just because the lazarus water smells good doesn’t mean it’s safe. Doesn’t mean he should just go for it.

Even if it does smell like chamomile tea and lavender cookies.

Alfred’s lavender cookies.

Which he’d never been able to resist.

‘He drank some,’ Jason thinks as he picks up the thermos. ‘He’s still fine,’ he tells himself. ‘If he wanted to he could’ve just dropped me directly into one of the pits. If he wanted to hurt me he could’ve phased poison directly into my bloodstream, probably.’

The not-quite-lazarus water tastes just like it smells.

Jason wants to chug the whole canister, but he has enough self-control to take sips instead, letting the flavors play out on his tongue.

No hint of almonds.

No odd textures.

Just chamomile and lavender and bliss.

Three sips and a solid ten seconds in and he still feels fine - no feeling faint or frothing at the mouth. Instead, he feels lighter.

Warmer.

Calmer.

Ravenous.

He chugs the rest, tension leaving his body, nerves settling, the hunger he hadn’t known was there until the scent first hit him abating enough to be ignored.

He takes a moment to look at the empty cylinder and reflect on the fact that he just voluntarily drank lazarus water.

Except not really. Lazarus water is vile; even Danny had said the ‘ecto’ he’d encountered was 'garbage.'

'What, did Ra's forget to install a damn pool-filter or something???

He shakes the thought from his head and looks back at his…rescuer? Danny only looks relieved; noticeably more relaxed than the apparently false-calm he’d been projecting before.

Jason chews his lip in thought. Frowns.

“Okay. I have many questions, comments, and concerns about…everything that just happened, to be honest. But before anything else, I want answers about Green Lantern.”

Danny nods, expression grave.

“Let me tell you a story….”

***

Fun Fact: Ectoplasm smelling like wild stuff is fun, but also it’s everywhere in the zone. Ghosts have to live in it & smell it/smell like it all the time. Sooooo….

In this AU I’m going with: ecto smells like ranch 2 (lime & batteries) to humans bc they can’t process it properly.

To ghosts, ectoplasm smells like the thing they want the most at that moment. Right now, Jason wants home - as it was when it was safe - so the ecto smells like something that reminds him of that.

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

Next time: Back at the batcave! If that scene doesn’t stretch too long, also reunion! Or at least Jason pov of being pissed when they have the audacity to want to talk!

Tags!

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