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#might post it to ao3
rhyslahey · 9 months
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For the kiss writing meme - George/Rhys on a scar (no 20).
How could I not!
[for this ask game]
"Don't say a thing," Rhys, bloodied and bandaged, warned him with a stern face.
"I was not going to say a thing, was I?" George said as he leant against the door frame.
"You were."
George took a picture of his boyfriend, sent it to Tips and Biggar, and pocketed his phone.
"Was not," he lied, lightly chuckling and walking into the first aid tent.
"You are a bold-faced liar."
"And you are an idiot who decided to run in front of the bulls."
Rhys had booked them to go to northern Spain for the summer. The reasons Rhys had given George were that it would be nice, but cooler, that the food and the wine are amazing, and that it was full of small but charming medieval towns. George had argued that neither of them spoke any Spanish. Rhys had told him that they spoke Basque where they were going.
Of course, George had been completely oblivious about the fact that Pamplona in July was where they very famously ran in front of bulls. Rhys had even decided to run in his Wales kit, since red and white were the traditional colours to wear in front of the bulls.
"I've been telling you this was a stupid idea for how long?" he said as he sat on the bed.
"That's not the point."
"I think it is the point. You were nearly clipped by that bull," he reproached him.
George had seen it all from atop the barrier, and it had been one of the scariest moments of his life. Rhys had been trotting ahead, with the crowd; then the bulls got closer and louder. The floor trembled as they stampeded down the cobbled road. Rhys had no trouble keeping up the pace and he had no problems when people tried to run in front of him or push him to the side (that was a feat difficult enough on a rugby pitch).
And then it happened.
The bulls were closing up. People were screeching in delight and fear. Rhys found where George was waiting and, as solemnly promised before hand, he climbed up the barrier to stay close to George and above the passing bulls. Rhys had time to give George a little wink. And as the bulls passed by, Rhys let go and jumped back to the floor, when a last, slow bull came over. In trying to climb up again, Rhys managed to hit himself in the head against the planking.
"But I wasn't," Rhys reminded him.
"No. You hit your head against a plank, like a pillock."
Rhys frowned. George took his hand and brought it up to his lips, so he could kiss it.
"What's that scar for?" George asked, noticing the thin line on the back of his boyfriend's hand.
"That's a souvenir from an Aussie stud."
"Well, it'll match the one you'll get on your forehead."
Rhys chuckled and squeezed George's hand.
"I think I'll let you choose our next holiday."
"You choosing next ever again was never on the table..."
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munsonkitten · 2 months
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Eddie doesn’t know how this became a thing between them. He’s wrapped up around Steve’s back, arms and legs snaking around Steve’s body. He has one thigh between Steve’s, hooked over his hip and snug against his crotch. He can feel the soft bulge of Steve’s cock beneath his leg, and tries not to think too hard about it. 
One of Steve’s arms is tucked under Eddie in a way that makes it possible for him to scratch at Eddie’s hair through his hood. His fingers move rhythmically, sliding over the fabric covering Eddie's head. 
It’s cozy like this, tangled in a way where Eddie can't tell where he ends and Steve begins. It's not something friends do, especially not two guys, but neither one of them mention that.
Sometimes they just lay and talk, and sometimes, like today, they have a book in front of them, positioned in the hand Eddie has snaked beneath Steve’s neck. 
Eddie’s reading, soft and quiet into Steve’s ear, when it happens. Steve turns his head back and presses a kiss to Eddie’s chin. A quick little peck beneath his mouth. 
The words die in Eddie’s throat, choked off by a squeaky noise of surprise. He drops the book onto the bed, letting it fall shut because saving the page he’s on is the last thing on his mind right now. Steve just kissed him. A little kiss, not even on his lips, but still a kiss. From Steve. 
They’re both frozen there, so still Eddie doesn’t think either of them are even breathing, and then Steve’s disentangling himself, pulling away. The exact opposite of what Eddie wants to happen. 
He finds the front of Steve’s shirt clutched in his fist, holding him where he is. 
“I shouldn’t have done that,” Steve says, still attempting to pull away. “We’re friends — I don’t know what got into me, man. I didn’t mean to do that.”
One hand curls around his wrist, the other going to his fingers to try peeling them away from Steve’s shirt. Eddie closes his fist tighter, shaking his head. 
“Yes, you should have,” Eddie whispers, voice caught in his throat. “Done that, I mean.”
Eddie’s been kissed before. At bars and parties, by guys and girls alike, liquor on their lips or laughter on their tongues. The girls at parties in town were always dared — kiss the freak, see if he puts out (Eddie never did) — and the guys in bars were always drunk and too impersonal. It never went further than that, never felt quite right, especially not with the girls, but he’s been kissed before. 
None of that could have prepared him for the way Steve Harrington kisses him now.
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greatunironic · 6 days
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eddie wakes up in a strange room. this was not particularly unusual for him, historically: he’d spent most of his twenties waking up in new and interesting places (including a handful of jail cells). but after eddie, the label, and the los angeles superior court system decided it would be best if he stopped drinking and doing blow, it stopped being such a regular occurrence.
so it’s almost alarming to him, now, to be blinking up at an unfamiliar cement ceiling with the raging bitch of all headaches and generally feeling like he got hit by a truck, got whiplash in a crash with the way his neck aches. he’d think he was hungover like all those times before except for how sharp the pain is, bright.
he worries, briefly, he’s relapsed, or someone’s slipped him something. but he remembers what him and the boys had been up to, before this, and he thinks it’d’ve been a strange night indeed if someone roofied a c-list (b-list if he’s feeling charitable) musician at a fucking frozen four game.
because yeah, eddie remembers: they’d been third row, watching the wisconsin ladies clean up and cheering for jeff’s kid sister like she was about to get olympic gold. (she probably would, someday. her and that mayfield girl who played defense were looking down the barrel at a 2026 run apparently.
eddie’s been to a handful of games over the years, when touring and recording allows them to go. he’s resolutely never been a sports guy but he’ll admit, when pressed, that live hockey is pretty dope. to say nothing, of course, of how jeff would probably murder them all in their sleep if they didn’t rep the red and white for lottie.
(and also — and this is between eddie and his god alright — but lottie’s coach? standing back there in his suit, hair styled and dialed, snapping his gum, yelling at the refs? kind of doing it for him, okay. worth the price of admission, even if the tickets weren’t free.)
when he thinks harder — which hurts too — the last thing he clearly remembers was someone from the beavers scoring, bringing their lead to 5-1, and a slapshot from the other team getting out over the boards and nearly taking out some lady’s popcorn. someone behind them in the seats said, “jesus they’re getting desperate, eh?”
then shit goes dark on him, not even a fade to black, but a full on smash cut, roll credits black, and the post-credits scene is where ever the fuck eddie is at the moment. it smells like human and cold and icy hot, so obviously, he thinks, he died and went to hell like all the church ladies said he would back in hawkins, or probably just a locker room. what the fuck?
he blinks at the ceiling, at an interesting water stain on the cement texturing. he’s in the middle of wondering where the rest of his band has gone if he’s here alone, fucking abandoners, when a sweaty redhead with the bitchiest expression he’s maybe ever seen enters his field of vision.
“you’re alive,” she says.
eddie blinks again. “why do you sound so disappointed?”
“yo coach!” she shouts, already on the move away from him. “he’s alive!”
he tries to sit up, but that makes the pain in his head worse, and also draws attention to the fact that his back also hurts. he squeezes his eyes shut and makes a truly embarrassing noise of pain — if pressed, he’d call it a whimper — and a pair of big hands land on his shoulders.
“out, out ladies i got this! hey!, hey, man, don’t move just yet,” says big hands.
“yeah, no problem, i don’t want to anymore,” eddie says. he stirs up the will to open his eyes again and very nearly slams them back shut. because of course the person staring down at him is fucking coach hottie snackycakes himself. he’s even better looking in person, too, big droopy eyes, lips as pink as his bubblegum, and shiny, jesus christ. he’s still got eddie by the shoulders, hands warm through the thin cotton of his flannel and tee — because eddie’s always been more fashion than sense, wayne always said, and it’s even worse now that the paps are on him—
“oh, fuck this is gonna be all over tiktok later, isn’t it?” he moans.
“maybe not.”
“don’t lie.”
“listen, eddie — it is eddie, right?” asks coach hottie. “i’m steve. coach harrington. faughnsie — lottie, i mean — she said you’re eddie. her brother’s guitarist? what do you remember?”
“more like he’s my singer,” he says, “but sure. and not much.”
“well, you’re gonna be okay,” says coach hottie — steve. “it really wasn’t that bad, and it was probably too fast for anyone to get it, unless they already had a camera on you. you took a puck to the head when one popped up. i’d apologize but it wasn’t one of my girls who did it, so. anyway — you weren’t out for long, which robbie says is good — she’ll get a look at you in a second — but you got your bell rung pretty good. and you’re gonna have quite the shiner, trust me.”
“speaking from experience?”
“oh, yeah. closer and faster too.” he gently raps his head with his knuckles. “too many concussions too early ended my nhl days, in fact.”
“oh. oh shit, sorry, i—“
“don’t worry about it, man, it happens,” he says. “and if it hadn’t, i wouldn’t be here.”
“at the frozen four.”
“yeah, sure, that too.”
“what?”
“what?” steve waves him off. “anyway, i’m just glad to see you up, ish, and talking. looked pretty scary, from the bench.”
“i really don’t remember,” says eddie. “but i’m sure i’ll see it on tiktok later, like i said — at least, my unconscious, bleeding form.”
“i got up there pretty fast, so i doubt it,” says steve.
eddie blinks, twice. “you—?”
“you were behind my bench, and you. well,” he says with a shrug, but he’s clearly a little embarrassed, finally putting those hands away — weapons of eddie destruction, he thinks — and shoving them into his pockets of his tight slacks. “i should be getting back out there.”
“do you? you’re murdering them pretty good, unless i black out and missed them getting four more goals,” eddie says.
the corners of steve’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. eddie thinks he might just pass out again. “no, we’re still gonna cinch it, i think. looks bad, though — first time coach missing the final period so’s he can hit on the cute musician who got his clock cleaned by the biscuit.”
“oh,” he says. swallows. “uh.”
steve’s crinkly, smiley eyes go wide. “unless—“
“no less!” eddie shouts and then immediately winces. at a better, less damaging to his more than slightly concussed noggin, volume, he says, “more, actually. because pretty sure i shouldn’t be left unsupervised, and i’ve clearly been abandoned by the band, so—“
“so,” says steve.
“coach, two minutes!” someone calls.
“so, i was hoping maybe i could keep hitting on the hot hockey coach back at his?”
“i’m at the ramada inn,” he says, “and i got tape to watch for the finals.”
“i live for room service,” eddie tells him seriously. “and i’m suddenly very into wisconsin sports teams.”
“coach! go time!”
“yeah?” he asks.
“yeah.”
“COACH!”
he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “i gotta — but, uh, later?”
“pick me up in twenty?”
“probably more like half an hour, with stoppage,” he says.
someone bangs on the door. “COACH!! let’s boogie!!”
with one last look, wide eyed and smiling, steve leaves. eddie watches him go. he’d heard hockey players were caked up but lord — eddie is about to convert to a new religion, or maybe found one, over the stretch of those slacks.
“damn,” he says quietly.
“gross,” a woman says. eddie startles and looks to the side, where a lanky brunette with a bob and an undercut is staring at him, unimpressed. she’s in some get up that screams athletic trainer, and there’s a white board in her hand.
“how long have you been there?” he asks.
she raises an eyebrow. “long enough, and honestly, i don’t know if that counts as a you rule for him, or a you suck for you,” she says and does not elaborate when he asks. “also don’t look at him like that. it’s steve. he’s basically my sister.”
“yeah? any tips then?” asks eddie. “i promise i’ll only use them for good. well. mostly.”
“god,” she says with an expansive eye roll. “you’re gonna be a nightmare, aren’t you?”
a cheer goes up outside the room as the teams, presumably, take the ice again. eddie, head throbbing, concussed, embarrassed, grins. “sure hope so,” he says.
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livwritesstuff · 4 days
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thinking about this again so here's a part 2
Eddie wakes up to rain. Heavy rain, the kind that keeps the morning sky dark and bounces loud off the roof and the walls and the windows.
The rain didn't wake Eddie up. What did it was a pair of big, warm arms wrapping around him and pulling him in close.
Steve’s arms.
Objectively, this should be a good thing, and past versions of Eddie (even twenty-four-hours-ago-Eddie) would be goddamn irate with him for feeling anything other than vehemently positive about it.
He’s feeling bothered. He’d gone to sleep last night feeling bothered because Steve had sacked out approximately three seconds after they’d hooked up for the first time, and now he’s being woken up by Steve’s big arms pulling him in close and that has Eddie feeling bothered all over again because this isn’t how he thought this would go at all.
“G’mornin’ Eds,” Steve mumbles, the remnants of sleep in his voice.
And then he has the audacity to press a soft kiss onto Eddie’s bare shoulder.
"Y'know," Steve says, "I was gonna ask if you wanted to go to the diner this morning, but…sounds like it’s kinda fuckin’ gross out there. I can make us something if you want.”
Eddie sits up, suddenly feeling like he’s been left outta the loop on some part of this because Steve doesn’t even seem surprised to wake up and find Eddie still in his bed.
If there’s anything Eddie hates more than feeling bothered, it’s feeling like he’s left outta the loop, like there’s a piece of all this that he’s missing.
"Uh, what are we doing here, Steve?" Eddie asks, and he regrets it the second he sees Steve's face turn all hurt and confused.
"I don't —" Steve starts, pushing himself up on his elbow into a half-seated position, "What...what are you talking about?"
And isn't that choice of words just completely ironic?
"Oh, now you're interested in talking? Or are you gonna fall back asleep the second I start to-"
"Wait –" Steve interrupts, his eyebrows furrowed, "Are you all pissed off because I fell asleep?"
"I'm not pissed off," Eddie mutters, fiddling with a loose string on the edge of the sheets.
"What the fuck did you want me to do?" Steve argues, "Break out a deck of cards and suggest a round of poker? It was late! I was tired! I don't know how else to say it, man. You, like — you did a good job. Really had me beat, or whatever."
And, sure, Eddie allows himself to sit with that notion for a second before he shakes his head.
"I needed you to talk to me!” he exclaims, "We fucked, and then you fell asleep, Steve! Like it was just a fuckin' hook-up to you or something."
That confused look is back on Steve's face, but instead of being laced with hurt, this time it's just plain bewildered.
"What — Eddie," he says, "We talked."
Huh?
“Huh?”
“We talked,” Steve repeats, “Before we…you know, and I said that I like you and I said that I’m not really into the casual thing anymore, and you seemed pretty on board with all that, man, I dunno.”
And yeah, sure, Eddie sort of remembers that.
He definitely remembers when Steve pressed him against his closed bedroom door, and maybe he’d also been speaking at the time, but they’d been so close together and Steve had kept doing these little glances down at Eddie’s lips and there’d been this intensity in his eyes and Eddie had been pressed against Steve Harrington’s closed bedroom door.
There hadn’t been a single coherent thought in his brain, obviously, and yes, that included comprehending any of those words Steve might have been speaking so everything that had come out of Eddie’s mouth in response had been yes, yep, uh-huh, you betcha.
Eddie feels heat rising in his cheeks and by the looks of the amused smile making a home on Steve’s face, he’s not blind to what Eddie is currently realizing either.
“Fuck,” Eddie mutters, “I’m a fucking idiot.”
"Maybe," Steve allows even as he starts to pull Eddie back into his arms, "Breakfast?"
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ao3-crack · 9 months
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romeavebrainrot · 2 months
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FIRST POST FOR APHBLR !!
hiii here are some of my redesigns for my MCD rewrite!!! The designs are very rough and are NOT final btw i just felt like posting these sketches
+ one fun fact abt each design :
▪︎ Aph's markings can damage any cloth it touches; the only exception is her cloak. Materials such as leather and metal gain less damage, however she prefers to wear clothes that are lightweight as they complement her style of combat (lots of running, surprise attacks)
▪︎ Garroth's cape was a gift from Dale when he first became a guard of Phoenix Drop. That's why its a lot newer than the rest of his armor
▪︎ Laurance's home, Meteli, trades a lot with pirates, so their clothing and jewelry also follow a similar style. He also wears a lot of accessories such as beads and earrings but i forgot to draw them lmao
▪︎ Nana, like all other meif'wa, has eyes with cat-like properties; yellow sclera, clear night vision, colorblindness, the like
▪︎ Dante used to live in the Eastern Wolf Tribe before meeting Aph, so he wears white padded clothing for camouflage + warmth. Although i might change the design cuz i dont rlly like it
▪︎ Katelyn keeps her hair long despite it being a nuisance in battle because her siblings love to braid them when she's off-duty (also i forgot to draw her scars dammit)
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desertduality · 2 months
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gigs phasmo but the ghost is just confused mumbo jumbo
physically unable to write a snippet so here's a whole oneshot AKJSDKJ I hope you like it!! Personally I had a ton of fun lmao
-------
The house was nice, as far as haunted locations went. The flowers out front were dead, sure, but that was probably on account of their caretaker being dead as well.
The neighbors had been the ones to call this address in, claiming that although the owner of the property had died quite some months ago, lights frequently turned on and off in the house. The police had been by several times to check for intruders, and had come up empty every time. Finally, some desperate neighbor had given in and called paranormal investigators.
So there they were, Impulse pulling up on the curb just as the sun dipped below the horizon. Prime ghost hunting time, for some reason; Scar hadn’t really paid attention to the science and research when he’d signed up for the job. Besides, the other three had all that handled quite nicely. Scar was just along for the ride. 
“Scar, you know what you’re doing?” Impulse asked, grabbing a flashlight off the wall and clipping his walkie onto his belt. 
“Sir, yes sir!” Scar quipped, scanning the gear for his usual fare. “One paraba-dolical microphone coming up.”
“Grab a thermometer, too,” Impulse suggested, clapping him on the shoulder on his way out of the van. “Let’s try to keep this one clean! The company is running low on cursed items with resurrection abilities.”
“I know for a fact we’ve made the biggest dent in that,” Skizz’s voice crackled out of the walkie, changing to a slight echo as he presumably walked in the house.
“Why do you sound proud of that?” Grian asked, speaking into the radio as he grabbed a salt canister. Scar snickered, reaching over him to grab the thermometer. 
“We’ve got a record going, man! No one can stop us!”
“You have to admire his positivity,” Scar said brightly, clicking his flashlight to make sure it worked. 
“Yeah, I guess he’s got that going for him,” Grian replied, giving a short wave as he left the van. “See you on the inside, Scar.”
Scar gave a jaunty wave, doing one last check on his equipment before starting after him. A voice cut him off before he could leave. 
“Did anyone check the name?” Impulse asked, and Scar turned around to squint at the corkboard, eyes catching on the top. 
Huh. Interesting. 
Scar clicked the talk button on his walkie. “Looks like… Mumbo Jumbo?”
There was a long pause, and Scar almost thought they had missed it somehow. Then the response came.
“Scar,” Grian said, sounding tiredly amused. “If you can’t pronounce it, don’t just make something up.”
“No, It— It literally says Mumbo Jumbo,” Scar replied, glancing up to double check. “Don’t make me waste a photo to prove it. I will, you know I will.”
“Don’t, Scar,” Impulse jumped in, so quickly that the start of his sentence cut out. “We believe you.”
“Get in here before I come and drag you, Face,” Skizz chimed in, and Scar rolled his eyes with a chuckle, stepping out of the van. 
The house was warmer than the air outside, so Scar took that as a sign that someone had gotten to the fuse box. He wandered around with the paradabolic microphone for a few minutes, watching closely for big leaps in the readings. Eventually, Impulse called out from upstairs, claiming that he’d found the room. Scar hurried towards him, making it there just in time to watch him set up the video camera, fiddling with the tripod and muttering complaints about its stability. 
The room was a bedroom, a large bed against one wall and a shelf full of dead plants on the other. Everything was covered with a thin layer of dust, but that was pretty usual. Obviously no one had been keeping up with the cleaning.   
“Anyone done spirit box?” Grian asked, and Scar jumped and whirled around, finding him in the doorway. Grian giggled, and Scar huffed. 
“Not yet,” Impulse said, finally getting the tripod to settle. He looked over at them. “Want us to leave?”
“Not really,” Grian grumbled, starting to power up the spirit box. “But yes.”
Scar walked out of the door and Impulse followed him, closing it and leaving Grian in the room alone. Immediately, they heard the telltale singing introduction of Grian beginning to ask questions. The rest of the house was quiet. So far, everything had been entirely unremarkable.
“I’m going to go grab D.O.T.S and a book,” Impulse spoke suddenly, starting to walk away. “Maybe you could start grabbing some stuff for a polty pile?”
“Sure, will do,” Scar said, and started picking up objects from the table in the hallway. A lot of picture frames and spare wires, for whatever reason.
Grian opened the door to the room just as Scar arrived with his arms full, and Scar tilted his head at the odd look on the other’s face. His eyebrows were furrowed and he was wearing a faint frown. 
“What’s wrong?” Scar asked, curious. Normally, Grian came out of a spirit box session with wide eyes and immediately ran to the van. This was out of character.
“I think…” Grian started, contemplative frown getting more pronounced. “I think the ghost apologized to me.”
“...huh?”
“I asked where it was,” Grian said, spirit box slack in his hand. “And then it said something, and then I screamed, and then it— I could have sworn it said sorry. Like, for scaring me.”
“Oh,” Scar said, tilting his head. “Has that happened before?”
Grian shook his head slowly, staring at the spirit box for a minute before exhaling forcefully. “Let’s just keep going,” he said, shoving the device in his pocket. “We still have a job to do.” Then, into his walkie: “We’ve got spirit box, guys. One thing down.”
They kept doing their jobs like they normally would, but none of them could quite shake the sense of something being different.
Usually, the haunted locations they visited had a foreboding sort of feeling to them. They get in and out of those places as soon as possible, the feeling of imminent danger settling on their shoulders like a heavy jacket. There was none of that, here. It was obviously haunted, but it still just felt like... a house. It didn’t feel malicious at all. 
Impulse put a book down, and writing appeared a few minutes later. Just a single sentence, asking if they would water the plants on their way out.
They laid down D.O.T.S and stayed out in the van for a while, eventually seeing a tall, hazy figure pass quickly through. 
They caught ghost orbs on the video surveillance.
Impulse took the Ultraviolet flashlight and found fingerprints on the side of the video camera, like the ghost had been curious about it. 
The salt Grian had placed on the ground was smeared and scattered, almost as if the ghost had slipped on it instead of stepped in it. 
“If we discovered some new type of ghost,” Grian said eventually, muffled through his own hands covering his face, after hours of pouring over the conflicting evidence. “I am going to be upset.”
“None of this makes sense!” Impulse complained, flipping through the research journal that Scar had never touched. He was scowling at the pages like they’d personally offended him. “It won’t even hunt!”
“He seems kinda friendly,” Scar said, staring at the steady line of the EMF reader on the screen. “The poor guy just wants his plants watered. I don’t even have the heart to tell him that it probably wouldn’t help. Those things are dead dead.”
Impulse’s head thunked down on the table in front of him. “We’re so fired.”
In the silence following that statement, Skizz burst into the van, holding an object aloft in celebration.
“I found it!” Skizz yelled triumphantly, the wrinkly figure of the monkey paw clutched in his hand. “It fell behind some boxes. I told you it was here.”
“Oooh,” Scar said, rushing over in excitement. “What should we wish for?”
“A quick death?” Grian said flatly.
Scar waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve had too many of those. It gets kind of boring, believe it or not.”
“Let’s just wish to see it,” Impulse said, heaving himself up from his hunched position by the monitor. “We’ve done everything else we could do, let’s just do it.”
“Sure, why not,” Grian said, shrugging. “Let’s go out in a blaze of glory, then.”
“That’s the spirit!” Skizz laughed, and together the four of them marched back into the house.
The room was exactly as they’d left it, and Impulse took a moment to turn off the D.O.T.S. Then they stood in a loose circle, tense and determined. Whatever was happening here, it would be over soon. One way or the other. Maybe the company wouldn’t even bother to bring them back, this time. 
Skizz held the monkey paw aloft, dim light casting dramatic shadows on his face. “I wish to see the ghost!”
A finger on the monkey paw cracked and groaned as it bent down, and a chill swept across the room, quick and encompassing. Their flashlights flickered, and then died, leaving them in complete darkness. For a long moment, the only sound was their chorus of quick and shaky breathing.
When the lights turned back on, Scar was face to face with a ghost. A ghost that looked equally as startled as he was. 
Scar yelped and stumbled backwards, tripping over the open book on the ground and hurtling towards the bed. The ghost — a tall man with dark hair and an absolutely wonderful mustache — lunged forward and reached out as if to catch him, eyes wide and panicked. To be fair to the dead man, it absolutely would have worked if his hands were still a tangible thing; As it were, his attempt at grabbing Scar to keep him upright was rather rudely foiled by his outstretched hand passing right through Scar’s flailing arm.
Scar hit the bed with a grunt as various cries of alarm sounded out around him, light bouncing around the room haphazardly as the sound of clattering reached his ears; someone had dropped their flashlight, apparently. Scar laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling, dazed. 
“Oh gosh! I’m so— I didn’t mean to pop in like that, I—”
Scar looked up just in time to watch a crucifix fly through the air and pass harmlessly through the ghost’s head, hitting the wall with a thud and falling gracelessly to the floor. The ghost yelped and ducked — much too late, not that it mattered, anyway — and Scar’s gaze next landed on Grian, still standing there with his arm extended in a throwing motion, hand empty and eyes wide.
“What was that gonna do, G?!” Skizz asked hysterically, fumbling for his camera, accidentally snapping a picture of his own face and swearing when the light blinded him. 
Impulse had knocked over the tripod in all of the chaos, and was now frantically attempting to set it back upright. The ghost — Mumbo Jumbo — turned his anxious eyes on Scar, who for once was struck speechless, jaw slack. 
“Are you alright, mate?” Mumbo Jumbo asked, hands fidgeting together. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but— Well, you summoned me. There’s only so much to be done for that.”
With everyone else still scrambling about the room, Scar allowed himself a few seconds to process things. Most ghosts they’d come across — all of them, actually — had been nothing less than murderous and bloodthirsty. The cordial ghost of a perfectly normal man was not something they had been trained for, but that didn’t exactly mean that it was impossible. Sure, maybe it had come way, way out of left field, but Scar prided himself on rolling with the punches. He pushed himself up from the bed with a sheepish, charming smile. 
“It’s all good,” Scar said, bright and friendly. “For sure our fault, we summoned you and got surprised when you showed up. Kind of rude of us, I think. Your mattress is super comfortable, by the way.”
Mumbo Jumbo blinked, as if surprised by the onslaught of words, a confused little furrow appearing between his brows. “Thank you?” he said, glancing behind him at the bed. “It was…expensive.”
“I mean, hey! We spend a lot of our lifetime in a bed, right? Might as well shell out some cash for quality.”
“What are we doing?” Grian asked quickly, almost like he was talking to himself, hands pressed to his head in utter bafflement. “This is insane, what is happening.”
“Grian! Don’t be rude,” Scar admonished playfully, then turned back to grin at the ghost. “Mumbo Jumbo, right?”
The man nodded faintly. “Just…Mumbo is fine.”
“Sweet! I’m Scar,” Scar said, and then started pointing to his friends, all standing stock still in various stages of shock and confusion. “The rude one who throws stuff is Grian, that’s Impulse by the window, and over there is Skizz!”
“Nice to meet you?” Mumbo said, glancing around nervously. “I would offer to shake your hand, but…”
“God, this is weird,” Skizz blurted, eyes still wide but starting to relax his stance. “You do know you’re dead, right? We never actually get to ask any of the ghosts we meet.”
“Oh, I— Yeah, I’m well aware,” Mumbo said, laughing a little. “You’ve met other ghosts, then?”
“We’re ghost hunters,” Impulse said, and now that the shock was fading, Scar could see a spark of excitement in his eyes. “But I mean— We’ve never met any like you.”
“Mostly they want to kill us,” Grian said, stepping up next to Scar. “Are you sure you don’t want to kill us?”
“I don’t think I know how, much less want to,” Mumbo said, glancing out the window. “Did someone call you to find me? I’ve been trying not to scare anyone, but I suppose the lights might’ve done me in.”
“Yeah, that was pretty much what tipped them off,” Scar said apologetically. “A few too many weird things happen and boom, here we are.”
“What happens now?” Mumbo asked, chuckling nervously. “I mean, you found me. Job done, yeah?”
“Usually we figure out what type of ghost it is and the company sends out a specialized team to evict it,” Impulse answered, brow pinched in thought. “But normally that’s for safety reasons. You don’t seem like a threat. No offense.”
“Oh, none taken.”
“Can I ask how you died?” Skizz asked, eyes alight with curiosity. 
“Skizz,” Grian hissed. “You can’t just ask people how they died!”
“I was just wondering!”
“No, it’s— it’s fine,” Mumbo stuttered, and Scar had a feeling that if ghosts could blush, he would be doing it. “I… fell down the stairs.”
Scar nodded solemnly. “Could have happened to anyone.”
“So what are we actually going to do about this?” Grian asked, vaguely gesturing at the room. “It feels like it would be wrong to kick this guy out of his own house. He’s not really causing trouble.”
“Yeah, I— I do like my house,” Mumbo interjected, awkward smile on his face. “I’d rather stay, if that’s alright.”
“Someone’s bound to move in eventually, you know,” Skizz said, pitying frown on his face. “There’s already a for sale sign in the yard. The new owners might not be super ghost-friendly.”
Mumbo’s shoulders slumped, a dejected look on his face as he frowned at the floor. Scar felt a pang of sympathy grow in his chest, and he glanced out the window at the rows of houses down the street. 
It really was quite a nice neighborhood. 
“...You know,” Scar started, gaze drifting over to Grian, a slow smile forming on his face. “Our lease is almost up.”
Grian looked over at him, eyes already resigned, and sighed. 
Scar laughed, grinning, and Mumbo slowly smiled back.
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jatersade · 11 months
Text
taking a break from the 3.06 euphoria to be fucking devastated about jamie tartt?? not remembering losing his virginity because it was such a traumatizing experience??? People keep saying they want jamie’s dad to show up again so we can get some closure on that front but honestly I hope he never comes back and I hope it’s because sometime between seasons 2 and 3 james tartt sr. was taken out back and shot
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redwinterroses · 2 months
Text
There’s a cherry tree in the middle of the redwood forest.
False isn’t sure what to make of that. She shifts her grip on the staff in her hand, its pale glow reflecting faintly off the fresh snow. She’s come out here for resources—the vault altar is demanding logs, and these giant trees are an easy source—but the incongruous sight of an enormous, blossoming cherry tree sending pink petals wafting on the frozen wind…
She wonders if this is what fish feel like, when they see a lure.
“Hello?” she calls, her voice echoing off the trees. The world stands in permanent semi-twilight here, and the deeper shadows hide the mobs that will venture out come nightfall. A sneak of creepers is bedded down in a sweetberry bramble just on the other side of the clearing, and False tenses when the lead boar lifts his head, but he apparently doesn’t deem her worth stalking so early in the day. 
There is no other reaction to her call.
False is of half a mind just to head back home and farm her own dang trees. It’s not like the vaultar is picky about the kinds of logs—she could just as easily grow up a bunch of birch and throw those in there. But that will take so much longer… not to mention she’s not sure if there are even enough saplings in her storage.
She unhooks her enchantment-glittered axe from her belt and pauses to mentally poke at her mana reserves. Plenty high. Whatever’s lingering near this tree, it can hardly be worse than what she deals with on the daily in the vaults. Overworld dangers are barely a challenge anymore.
The logic of that doesn’t change the uneasy feeling that buzzes over her skin though. 
Venturing further into the clearing. False’s gaze traces up the trunk of the cherry tree, following its branches to where they terminate in lush bursts of pink and white blooms. A sweet smell drifts on the wind. She wrinkles her nose, reminded of compost piles and fermented spiders’ eyes. 
The tree’s branches stretch long and low—a canopy of their own, heavy with flowers and dark, glossy leaves. The space underneath is filled with falling flowers and a fog of pollen, the air moisture-thick like a lush cave.
Lifting one hand, False catches a falling petal on her fingertip.
It sizzles as it touches her skin, stinging and buzzing like live redstone.
She hisses through her teeth, shaking her hand and letting the petal fall to the forest floor. “What the heck?”
Another petal tumbles past her face, and she watches it with narrowed eyes—right until it fizzles out of existence a few pixels above the forest floor.
“Glitch,” she mutters. “That’s… not good.”
Iskall needs to know about this—it could be a bug from one of the new updates, or it could be something deeper in the code, but either way: this glitched tree is a problem. She’s probably lucky it just stung her.
She reaches for her communicator, raising it to take a pic of the cherry tree.
“Oh, hi there, False!”
False yelps, spinning around with her axe ready to swing.
Gem is standing behind her, a wreath of cherry blossoms tangled in her hair and antlers, leaning casually on a tall staff of blooming cherry wood. Her smile is wide, and sap flows over her fingers, pale golden, dripping down her arms to leave dark spots on the faded denim of her overalls.
“Gem!” False lowers her axe. “Oh my gosh, you scared me. I didn’t know you were doing Vault Hunters.”
“Hm?” Gem raises one eyebrow, and for a moment her eyes flicker to red and then purple before settling back on green. “Oh—I’m not doing Vault Hunters, False.” Her voice is amused, almost chiding.
“Oh.” False feels unexpectedly small—which is impressive, considering she’s nearly half a block taller than Gem. 
More of the glitched petals fall, resting on Gem’s hair and slowly melting into it like snowflakes. The brief moment of relief when False had seen Gem’s familiar grin is fading into something like the sensation of freefall. 
“What’cha up to?” Gem asks, and her face blinks from one expression to the next like a bad video message. Her clothes are blue—no, green—no, bloodstained and grey—no, blue. They’ve always been blue.
False takes a step back.
“Uh, not much…” she glances up at the redwoods. “Just doing some… resource gathering. You know.”
“Cool!” Gem giggles, and stands up straight. False tenses, but Gem only spins around her staff and waves a hand at the glitched tree. “I didn’t realize this was an occupied server—are there many people here?”
There’s a buzzing in False’s skull, and she blinks rapidly. A muscle twitches under her eye. 
“Um…”
“I guess it doesn’t really matter.” Gem lifts one hand and grabs one of the lowest branches of the cherry tree. She really should not have been able to reach that.
Swinging herself up with the lithe, effortless strength of a cat, she perches on the limb and stares down at False. The grin is gone from her face now, and she looks down at False with bright eyes.
“Etho’s not here, is he?”
False opens her mouth to answer, the words yes, of course he is, I can take you to him heavy on her lips… And with effort, she swallows them back. 
They taste of sweet rot.
“Why... why doesn’t what matter?” she asks instead.
Gem stares at her for a long moment, expressionless. The flowers woven through her antlers are growing of their own accord, twining up to caress their brethren in the branches overhead. 
Then she smiles broadly, flashing teeth that nearly glow white in the dappled shadows. “Oh!” she exclaims. “No reason! I’m only passing through, is all.”
“You’re not… you’re not sticking around?” False tries—and mostly fails—to sound disappointed.
“Naaaaah…” Gem stands and walks along the branch, as secure and balanced as if it were a stone floor. The flowers in her hair flow along behind her, sliding from the branches and falling like a cape down her back. “Worldhopping is easy. Staying in one spot is way harder.” 
False watches the flowers move and swirl, their smooth, strange motion ensnaring her attention. The buzzing is back, too. Like bees, drunk on honey and sleepy in their hive.
“World hopping…?” she manages. “With admin commands?”
Gem’s laugh is as brilliant as a knife and as sharp as a spark. “False!” she crows. “You say the funniest things.”
False laughs. It seems appropriate. She isn’t sure why.
“Anyway,” Gem continues, fading into one patch of blossoms and reappearing on the other side of it. Her eyes are sprays of cherry flowers now. Her antlers are branches. “Anyway, cherry trees are all the same. They make it easy to get around.”
“That…” doesn’t make sense, False wants to say. But her lips are heavy, and coated in sticky sap. Maybe it doesn’t really matter.
“Oops! Behind you, False!” 
Gem’s chirped warning is flaked in glee, and False turns around, as slow as if her feet are buried in soul sand.
The creepers she had seen—the entire sneak—are standing behind her, pink flowers blooming from their eyes. 
“Oh no.”
The boar’s blinded head snaps toward her voice, hissing. He starts to aggro, bioluminescent streaks flashing from his snout to flanks in increasingly-swift pulses of light.
“See ya in season ten, False!” Gem cries out cheerfully.
The axe drops from False’s nerveless fingers, trailing strings of sap. She smells the inescapable stench of burning gunpowder, overlaid with rot.
“...Dangit.”
[FalseSymmetry was blown up by a creeper]
~*~
Jerking upright in her own bed, False swipes wildly at her face, trying to smear away tree sap that isn’t there. 
“What the heck, Gem?” she exclaims at her empty base. Her voice falls flat, swallowed up by the sky that surrounds her builds. The clock above her head ticks impatiently, and she huffs in frustration, pushing up out of her bed. All her tools, gone—her levels, gone... and after all that she still needs those logs for the vault. 
Grumbling, she starts pulling backup gear from various chests, trying to cobble together something that can get her back to the redwood grove before her items despawn—assuming they hadn’t all been obliterated by a second or third creeper explosion. She glances at the vaulter, and freezes.
It’s been completed. The crystal floats gently atop the stone pedestal, gleaming with an inner light. 
And, tumbled at the base of the vaulter—abandoned, more than was needed to fill the crystal’s requirements:
Half a stack of cherry logs.
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too-much-tma-stuff · 10 months
Text
Mutually Assured Disaster
How I imagine the first meeting from @the-b1ah  AU here. I plan to write Danny’s first patrol with Jason and maybe the training as well.
This isn’t edited so if you see any errors please let me know.
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Danny skidded around a corner, his shoulder slamming into the brick wall but there was no time to worry about that bruise and it did stop him faster. He took off again down this ally, a energy blast slammed into the wall just behind him and he gritted his teeth, flinching but not making any noise or slowing down, he needed all the air he had to run. He was already so weak from what the GIW had already done to him but this was his only chance, the transfer to their facility in Gotham. He could sense that the city was a never-born in its own way and it was closing ranks to protect him, walls shifting in perceptible ways to open up passages for him, guiding him towards something and slowing the agents down.
He was so weak and the cuffs still on his wrists stopped him from phasing through anything, all he could do was run, feeling the blood and ecto pumping through his veins quicker with each step. It stained the white pants and scrub shirt they had given him, he was getting dizzy, his quick breathing rasping over a dry throat and his legs burning but he couldn’t stop. Not when he had just now started to sense what Gotham was sending him towards.
It was a signature like his own! Another undead, someone who could help him and hopefully would. Gotham felt to warm to be sending him to someone who would hurt him or be taken too, he trusted her as one of the never-born ancients, she wanted what was best for the city that was hers. He tried to turn another corner, fell, rolled and managed to stagger back to his feet though it sapped his momentum and tore open a few more old wounds. His eyes landed on a tall, broad man wearing a red helmet that completely covered his face. That was him!
“Help me,” Danny gasped desperately, “Please.” He hadn’t even noticed there was a gun trained on him until it snapped to the opening of the ally. Danny scrambled behind the strange man, making himself small as the guys and white came sprinting around the corner as well, blasters pointed at them.
“Return the fugitive!” They demanded as Danny’s abused legs finally gave out and he sunk to his knees with a soft whine, praying that this man would be enough to keep them both safe.
“Fugitive? That’s a whole ass child, why are you chasing a child with guns?” Red Hood demanded furiously, his own guns trained on the two agents.
“They might look like a child but their an extremely dangerous meta. We know Batman doesn’t like metas in Gotham, so we’ll just take him and go.” The agent said starting to approach only for hood to fire a warning shot at his feet making the man step back.
“Fuck what batman wants, this is my territory and I don’t let anyone hurt kids. Meta or not,” He snarled.
Danny heard the sound of one of the blasters charging up and gasped, looking up frantically. “Look out,” He yelled, lunging forward just in time to accidentally take the blast to the side instead, well he had meant to push hood out of the way but this worked too he supposed. He didn’t even have enough air to scream, whining through gritted teeth as he collapsed to the ground, curling in on himself and shielding his head as the air around him was filled with the sound of gun shots. It felt like forever that he lay there curled in on himself defensively as his head swam and blood and ectoplasm seeped out the new hole in his side, joining the dozens of other injuries he had.
Then it was quiet, and after another second there was a hand on his shoulder, Danny flinched violently away from the touch. “Hey kid, it’s just me,” the robotic voice assured and in that moment Danny had never found anything more comforting. He looked up and around, seeing that he and the man in the red hood were the only things left alive in that alley.
Danny gasped and nearly threw himself into the older man’s arms, he gave a startled sound but caught Danny as he trembled and clung, tears running down his cheeks as he struggled to catch his breath. “It’s alright kid, I’ve got you,” Red assured, shifting his hold on Danny so he could pick up the teenager when he stood. “Let’s get you to a hospital huh?” He asked, only for Danny to choke and frantically shake his head. “Alright, no hospital, will you let me patch you up then?” He asked, nodding firmly when Danny sniffled and nodded as well.
“Alright, I have a safe house near here,” He said, turning away from the small pile of bodies he’d left in the alley and carrying Danny towards, hopefully somewhere safe. The way that Gotham curled protectively around them seemed to say it would be. “I’m Red Hood, what’re you called kid?”
“Danny Phantom,” The kid whispered against Jason’s chest.
“That’s an odd name,” Hood said blandly and Danny might have laughed if he had the breath, if it wouldn’t have hurt to much to do so.
“So is Red Hood. I had another name, but I can’t use it anymore,” he murmured brokenly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jason asked, and only received a little shrug in return. “Alright fair enough,” Jason said with a shrug, shifting to hold Danny with one arm so he could jump up and drag down the fire escape, climbing up so he could duck through the window of one of his many apartments scattered through his territory.
He carried Danny through into the bathroom, putting him down on the edge of the tub carefully before flipping on the light. “You up to having a shower before I look after your wounds, just to rinse off the blood? I’ll grab you some clean clothes, my little brother left some stuff here that should fit you.”
“Sure,” Danny agreed softly. “It’s not as bad as it looks, I’m pretty damn tough. But, before that could you.. try and take these off please?” He asked, holding out his arms to show Hood the cuffs still around his wrists, the suppressors. There had been a chain between them but it was broken, he’d managed to snap it during the chase.
“You’re not going to cause any problems for me or my city are you? I know suppressors when I see them,” Jason asked, low and dangerous. Danny’s eyes widened and he shook his head vigorously, slowly pulling his arms back and hugging himself.
“No, I know what they said, but I’m not actually dangerous I promise. I mean I probably could be dangerous if I wanted to be, but I don’t, I’ve only ever wanted to protect people but they-, they just didn’t see that.”
Shit the kid was crying again, Jason hadn’t meant to do that, but he had needed to know and Danny’s answer was obviously true, kid wore his heart on his sleeve. Jason sighed and dug in his pocket for his lockpicks before holding out his hand for Danny’s. “Alright, I believe you, let me get those off for you,” He agreed.
Danny reluctantly let Jason take one of his wrists, watching as Jason struggled a little with the cuff, muttering a little about paranoid people. The second one was faster, Danny rubbed his wrist and murmured thanks. “No worries,” Jason said as he stood. “Now you shower, I’m going to grab you some clean clothes.
Danny watched Hood leave, taking the cuffs with him before quickly stripping off the bloody clothes and getting into the shower. He flushed out the worst wounds before icing them over and scrubbing the blood and filth off of him from weeks of imprisonment. Jason knocked to make sure he was alright a couple of times before Danny finished and got out, wrapping a towel around his waist and sitting back down on the edge of the tub. “Alright, you can come in. You don’t have to worry about the cuts really though, I’ll heal.”
Jason let himself in, pausing for a moment when he saw the ice, or maybe the extent of Danny’s wounds which were… well they were pretty damn bad. At least they hadn’t gotten around to fully vivisecting him yet. “Whether you’ll heal or not you’ll heal faster and with less scarring with some proper stitches. Can you melt the ice as well?” Hood asked and Danny nodded. “Good, you can melt it as we deal with them then. Do you want a painkiller first?”
“No point, they don’t work properly on me,” Danny said with a shrug making Jason wince.
“That must suck,” He sympathized as he got out the first aid kit and set up what he’d need to clean and suture the wounds. Danny shrugged again, he didn’t seem talkative but he was very cooperative as Jason asked him to melt the ice on various wounds to let him check them.
“So did those guys do all this to you?” Jason asked and Danny blinked at him.
“You don’t know about them?” He asked, already knowing the answer when Red hood gave him a pointed look Danny could sense even through that helmet.
“Nooo,” he drawled, “Should I?”
“They’re a government agency called the Ghost Investigation Ward,” Danny told him softly. Jason snorted only to realize Danny was completely serious. “They’ve been hunting anything with a high enough ecto-signiture for years, so you need to be careful Red. Gotham is hiding you, but especially after they see how they helped me they’ll be after you too.”
“Ecto-signiture?” Jason asked blankly, what the Fuck was that?
“Anything like us. People who died, and didn’t come back, or came back wrong,” Danny explained and Jason let out a soft startled sound.
“How the fuck did you know that?!” he asked, defensive on instinct, only calming down a little when Danny lifted his hands in a pacifying gesture.
“Like often recognizes like,” Danny said with a little shrug again.
“Fine,” Jason grumbled, letting it go for now rather then thinking anymore about his own death, or Danny’s for that matter, the kid didn’t look any older then Jason had been when he had died, younger maybe. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving,” Danny said, sounding relieved. Grabbing the clothes that Jason had brought for him since they were done looking after his wounds now. “Those idiots wouldn’t believe I actually needed to eat no matter how many times I told them I did. They just punished me for pretending to be human,” Danny said making Jason freeze as rage flared inside him, breathing through the green flickering on the edges of his vision as he thought about how Danny had been treated. “Hood,” Danny said softly, and Jason felt a hand on the vigilantes arm.
Danny started to hum, an odd purring sound that didn’t sound particularly human, and to Jason’s surprise after a moment something within Jason started to resonate to the sound. Jason calmed quickly as the place reverberating inside him sent waves of calm the way the pit usually radiated rage. “Okay now?” Danny asked with a smile and Jason nodded, blinking out of the slight daze before he cleared his throat and turned away abruptly, heading to the kitchen to start cooking, Danny following him like a silent shadow, his feet not making any sound on the floor.
“You just lay down on the couch and rest, any allergies?” Jason glanced over and Danny shook his head, Jason nodded, made a choice and took off his helmet, glad he’d warn a mask under it tonight. He wouldn’t exactly be able to taste the food or eat with the mask on after all, and he had a feeling that he was going to be spending more time with Danny, at least until he was healed.
“Do you have anywhere else to go?” He asked, just to confirm his thoughts. He decided to make omelettes since they were quick and it was fun to have breakfast for dinner sometimes.
“No, my sister doesn’t have a place of her own, and my parents would either sell me back to the GIW or dissect me themselves. I can look after myself though, now that you’ve got the cuffs off and the GIW off my tail I can avoid them from here. Something to eat and a little sleep and  I can be gone by morning,” he said with a determined set to his jaw.
“Absolutely not!” Jason said, pointing the spatula at Danny and lowering it quickly when the boy flinched. “I’m not leaving a kid alone on the streets, let along one who’s not from Gotham! You’ll stay with me till we find you somewhere else safe to go,” Jason said firmly and Danny hesitated for a moment before nodding.
“Okay, but once I’m healed I can help! You’re one of Gotham’s vigilantes right? I’ll fight with you.”
“Also no, I’m a vigilante but I’m no Batman, I don’t do kid-heroes, you’re to young for this life,” Hood insisted, flipping the eggs.
“You’re about two years to late for that,” Danny snorted and Jason nearly dropped the food, cursing softly when he messed up the omelette. Oh well it would still taste good it just looked a bit more ugly.
“Excuse me? How old are you?”
“I’ll be 16 in a bit more then a month,” Danny said sounding sulky. “And I’m not going to stop helping people no matter what you think. I have these powers, I want to use it for something good.”
“You’ve been acting as a hero on your own since 14!?” Jason demanded, and the look of shame on Danny’s face was all the answer Jason needed. “Fine, you can come with me. But you have to hang back, stay safe, and fucking listen to me. Got it? I’m not having your death on my conscious!” Jason insisted and tried not to be pleased by how Danny immediately brightened and grinned at him.
“Thank you! It’s going to be so nice not to have to do all this alone! To have a proper mentor, maybe?” He asked, getting softer and more uncertain at the end.
“Sure, sure. The bats are gonna have a heart attack when they find out. They’re probably going to try to steal you,” Jason joked and Danny snorted.
“I don’t want that, they’re too goody goody for me thanks. Besides, you’re like me and I was able to calm you down wasn’t I? I can help you more,” Danny said, and Jason decided not to suggest Danny might be better off with the bats. Maybe it was selfish, but he did want the help Danny offered, and he was already attached to the kid.
“Fine, but you’re not going anywhere until you’re completely healed, and you’ve showed me what you can do. We’ll practice together and once I think we’re a good enough team then you can come out with me. And I want to know everything you know about the GIW and whatever laws enable them to get away with this bullshit, because we’re going to have to do something about that too.”
“Of course!” Danny agreed and Jason could see him practically vibrating with excitement, he had to suppress a smile so Danny wouldn’t catch on to how cute Jason found that. He really shouldn’t, but it was to late now.
“Good. Now come eat,” Jason grumbled, transferring the first omelet onto a plate and handing it to Danny.
Part 2: here
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myriadblvck · 3 months
Text
(Happier than ever AU)
Ghost, as a sign of trust, will often sit with Soap while he showers (or takes the rare bath). He isn’t ready for Soap to he his… anything, really. When Soap had gently touched over his forearm under his long sleeve shirt he had panicked and sent a fist his way— clipping Soap on the chin— and then hid on the roof for six hours.
Ghost usually sits on the bathroom counter or on the toilet and listens to Soap talk about his day, takes over Soap’s Spotify to play a song or two that he really likes. He doesn’t mind the warmth of the steam from Soaps shower all too much. It’s… nice.
When Soap takes a bath, he usually sits on the floormat or on a quilt and watches to make sure Soap doesn’t fall asleep in the bath and die.
(more under the cut)
(TW for Ghost talking about self harm and self-harm scars.)
Simon fiddles with the string on his joggers and watches Johnny rinse out his hair. He’s grateful for the frosted glass his— their flat has in the shower all of a sudden. He thinks Johnny looks beautiful with the way his shoulders relax under the hot water. Simon kind of wishes he wasn’t so… whatever the hell he is so that way he could wash the soap out of Johnny’s hair. He frowns at the image, and uncomfortable sensation going up the back of his spine. Simon shrugs his shoulders and rolls them to get rid of the feeling.
Simon had originally gotten the flat with a tiny kitchen and bedroom because of the bathroom. He often slept in the bathtub, before Johnny, when the night was too loud. It’s a nice bathtub. It could fit him and Johnny. And the shower is separate so he doesn’t need to worry about feeling choked out by the curtain (that he doesn’t have) and he can… do whatever it is he feels like doing.
Johnny had then taken over the shower (that he rarely used because the bath was… safer) when he moved in and Simon had no issue with it. He only used the shower for seven minutes before curling in the warm water of the bathtub and hiding away.
The shower quiets as Johnny steps under it again after lathering conditioner in his hair. “Do…” Simon clears his throat, “Does it bother you that I don’t— that I never—“ He rubs his hands on his joggers, allowing his shoulders to come up to his ears, “Does it bother you that you’ve never seen me naked?”
He sees the incredibly blurry image of Johnny turning around to look at him. “Like in a sex way?” Simon continues rubbing his palms back and forth across his joggers. “Or in a casual way?” Simon honestly hadn’t even thought of sex, really.
“Both.” Simon’s shoulders touch his ears. Johnny leans his head back under the shower.
“No.” Johnny does that thing where he covers his ears when he talks. “I don’t think that’s too important. I know it’s comfy and safe for you to be covered all the time. I know it makes you happy. I think that sex and all that is a different kind of intimacy, sort of like chocolate, and not every needs the same sort of intimacy.”
Simon twirls the string of his joggers around his fingers. “Chocolate?”
“I eat white and milk chocolate. You hate milk chocolate and prefer dark chocolate. I don’t enjoy dark chocolate. You get the really dark 85% dark, which I think is really gross. Gaz doesn’t like chocolate at all. My sister’s indifferent to most chocolate sweets.” The shower turns off and Simon looks at the air vent when Johnny steps out of the shower before looking back at his face. “It depends on the person. We have enough chocolate in the metaphor for intimacy.” Simon watches Johnny towel off his hair and smiles softly at the soft look on his face. “I love you. You love me. That’s enough for me.”
Simon hadn’t ever thought about it in that way. He always assumed there would be the ‘eventually’. An inevitable that he would be pushed to, because for some reason everybody talks about sex and how it kills relationships or whatever, and he wouldn’t have a choice in another thing. “Oh,” Simon whispers.
Johnny stands at the sink, one towel around his waist and a one around his neck to catch any water that falls from his hair. Simon watches him line up his products. Johnny smiles a little wider, “Yeah, oh,” Johnny says gently, “We could spend a thousand years together, and you could hide your face from me again. It wouldn’t change the way I feel. I like your insides.”
Simon can’t help the cheeky, “Tryn’ ta sell my liver, Johnny?”
Johnny shoots him a look. “I like your personality, you prick.” Johnny rubs something on his face. “Same thing for sex. We could never have sex, and I wouldn’t care.”
Simon watches Johnny do his skincare routine. Johnny gets to step two when Simon blurts, “I cut myself.” And then holds both his hands out when Johnny looks at him with concern. “Not— wait—“ Simon looks at his forearms covered by his long sleeve shirt. “I used to— I thought— It was—“ He grips his pants. “I wanted to control how I was hurting.” That summarizes it, ten points for him. “Um, I wanted to… I wanted to hurt differently, too. I wanted to control it. I don’t know.” It sounds stupider out loud. “I think I just wanted to control something.”
Johnny hums. “That’s why you wear the long sleeve? Nothin’ to be embarrassed about.”
Simon frowns. “It’s not embarrassment. Or shame. It’s… I don’t like how they look. My left arm is covered up, mostly, but I still… People stare. People look at you different, when they know.” He rarely speaks his mind. He’s never talked about this to anybody, but he thinks it’s easy with Johnny. “I have other ones from… Mexico. From before,” he whispers.
Especially when Johnny just continues rubbing whatever creams he has into his face. “If it makes a difference,” Johnny taps Simon on the chin with his knuckle, tilting his head up and putting what Simon thinks is moisturizer on his fingers, “Close your eyes,” he mumbles. Johnny always focuses on the skin around his scars because he knows they pull. “If it makes a difference,” He repeats, “I would never notice it. I see my own scars too often to notice the scars on others. Didn’t realize Kyle had a scar on his face until a few years into knowing him. And that was because he told the story of how he got it.” Johnny chuckles a little. Simon wishes his eyes were open so he could see the soft smile on his face when he does. “But it’s all the same to me. Still love you either way.”
Simon leans into the warmth of Johnny’s hands, something that only happens in the morning or after a shower or during a cuddle since Johnny has the hands of a goddamn popsicle, and accepts the little face massage. “So, no,” Johnny continues gently, “it doesn’t bother me.”
Simon waits until Johnny’s massaging his temples to mumble, “I love you.” Johnny’s hands pause for only half a second, sliding down to cup his chin. Simon doesn’t feel the need to open his eyes when Johnny bumps their noses together before kissing him gently. Simon kisses him back the same, wondering if the gentleness will explain everything he doesn’t exactly know how to put into words.
I love you. I don’t know why Im this way, but please love me anyway. Please love me the way I love you. I didn’t ask to be this way.
“I love you,” Johnny mumbles against his mouth, “so much that I would eat your eyeballs. Do ye ken how nasty eyeballs are?”
Simon has to laugh, throws his head back with it and everything. He knows Johnny isn’t lying— about any of it.
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kakyogay · 7 months
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just remembered I drew this so uh yeah
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aftermath of this
to not fucking die, he's connected to an outside power source. His rarefraction cell needs some repairs and the walls that surrounded it need to be purged of rot and fixed.
internal rot is removed and cut off away from vitals.
For external rot, there are patches with a stronger treatment thing. I'm thinking something spore puff related but that's cause backwards through the snow put thoughts in my brain. It's really just a stronger version of the ointment previously used for treatment. it's either this or straight up replacing it.
To conserve power, no pupils and limited movement. Water is also sent through the tube in the back to keep his systems from overheating.
the logic is lowkey bullshit but it's whatever. Making the iterators modern is much less logical than off the string aus.
also an extra couple of doodles because yes
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obviously it's much more serious than this but idk writing hard
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cha1cedony · 9 months
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Oh Grant is going to be a WRECK next episode. Not only did he kill one of his best friends, but he’s going to try to kill his son too. He’s always been so scared of himself and hurting the people he loves, and this is just going to further cement the idea in his mind that he’s incurably bad and evil and dangerous and unloveable :( And he’s so skilled with a gun, and he knows it, and he has this awful internal divide between wanting to hurt and wanting to protect… and I’m so so so scared that it’s going to end with him hurting himself instead! Aaaaaa very upsetting ANYWAY!
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spooksier · 4 months
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also btw that passage about media consumption as activism and the idea of "gayboring" (this post) are twin sisters to me because when you see media consumption as activism and therefore as a reflection of real life, any gritty or unsavory or "weird" aspects of any marginalized culture/community gets completely sanitized in favor of portraying an "ideal" form of that community in the eyes of consumerism (i.e.: boring and safe and non-confrontational)
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mortiferumsomnum · 2 years
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Burgers are How You Summon the Almighty Ghost King
EDIT: MASTERLIST
***
Look. Bernard didn’t think it would actually work. 
But, there he was. The Ghost King! In all his.... teenager glory...
“You are the Ghost King... right?” Bernard asked, handing the teen a ham sandwich he just put together. 
“Oh, thanks,” said the teen, accepting the sandwich. “And, yeah. But I haven’t had my coronation yet, so a friend of mine is overlooking some things until I’m ready.”
“Cool,” said Bernard. Then, he gave the teen an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry for summoning you, dude. When I read in the pamphlet that you needed ketchup and mustard drawn in the constellation of Corona Borealis, I really didn’t think it would work because it involved condiments and not... you know... blood sacrifices?”
The teen nodded. And after swallowing, he said, “It’s cool. I’m just surprised that the summoning requirements changed that fast across realms after a few jokes I made. It seems some ghosts just don’t leave things be. They probably worked this fast to tick me off...” The teen snorted at what he said, before continuing with a casual wave of his sandwich, “I should change the requirements again, into something more complicated maybe.”
“I could give you some ideas!” Bernard said. Then he gasped. “My boyfriend is REALLY good at contingencies and plans! He could give you some ideas, too!”
The teen frowned worriedly. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked. 
Bernard nodded, a bit enthusiastically because his bangs were hitting his eyes. “He’s amazing like that! And this isn’t just bias talking! He’s really good at almost everything, it’s insane! He’s a dork, but-”
“Okay! Okay,” the teen laughed. “I get it, he’s amazing.”
“Hell yeah, he is!!” Bernard said, hoping his smile isn’t too dopey.
O_O_O_O
Tim blinked. He blinked at the evidence of the summoning. He grimaced at the black ants that’s marching towards the mess. 
Then he blinked at the white-haired teen in some kind of hazmat suit that blinked at him with eyes that reminded him too much of Jason. But Danny’s face looks kinda... familiar...?? Nah, no it doesn’t. But the green eyes does make Tim internally theorize that neon green is associated with death. 
Then, he blinked at Bernard’s excited smile.
“Okay, first off, this summoning ritual is insulting,” Tim said, gesturing to it. “There’s barely any drama.”
The white haired teen ducked his head in embarrassment. “I was joking with some of the ghosts in charge of changing the summoning rituals... I don’t exactly understand why it’s important to have something that can summon me when the Ghost Realm and the Living Realm should be kept separate but... well... they insisted. And I was annoyed. And hungry. So, I said the next best thing that came to mind.”
Tim nodded. If he were less tired, he would be snorting in amusement and making some kind of joke Kon would be proud of. But right now? Tim had been awake for the last 71 hours and 45 minutes, a quarter of an hour before the hallucinations sets in, and the only thing keeping him going is coffee and Bernard’s promise for a sandwich. And Bernard, bless his boyfriend, is REALLY GOOD at making sandwiches.
“Okay,” he said, sitting down at the table and taking a bite out of his sandwich. “What if the ritual involved making sandwiches?”
Bernard frowned at his boyfriend. He rubbed Tim’s back, which was heavenly because Bernard’s hands were pleasantly warm. “Are you okay, Babe?”
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “But like you said, we’re just putting together ideas, so I’m also just spouting everything that comes out of my head.”
The teen nodded in understanding. “Right? Food’s just that powerful!” Then, his face turned serious. “I want it to involve making a burger. Not bought, but made from scratch from the summoner.”
Tim nodded, bringing out a notepad and wrote down what the teen said in the most illegible scribble Bernard’s ever seen. Hmmm, maybe Tim needs some rest.
“What should be the ingredients?” Tim asked, not looking up from his notepad while twirling his pen.
“We need to find the best burger there is in this world,” the teen said. “And then, we write down the ingredients for it, the step-by-step process of how it should be prepared, and what kind of soda it should be paired with.”
Tim nodded, jotting down what Danny said.
Bernard was honestly amused and worried. “Are you sure this is the kind of summoning that you want?”
The teen nodded. “It shouldn’t just be a burger bought from some fast-food burger joint. It has to be a Burger that I would be HAPPY to eat when I get summoned and have to listen to some creepy person’s plan for world domination!”
“Not everyone who will summon you will want to dominate the world,” Tim said.
The teen crossed his arms. “Then they should have no problem inviting me to a meal over a talk about how to save the world or whatnot.”
Tim circled some... scribbles and then closed his notepad with a snap, clicking his pen with finality and nodding towards the teen.
“By the way, what should we call you?” he asked the teen, who blinked at him. “I get the ‘names hold power’ thing, but I thought that only applies to the fae?” Tim asked, looking to Bernard for confirmation. And when Tim has to look to Bernard for confirmation, you KNOW that the young man is that badly sleep-deprived. 
The teen laughed. “Don’t worry! You guys can know my name,” he said. Then, with a grin, a silver light circled around him and transformed him into a regular looking teen with black hair and blue eyes while wearing a Nasa shirt and a pair of jeans. He then held a hand out, and introduced himself, “I’m Danny.”
Tim blinked. Danny looked... a lot like Damian. Which should be concerning because his skin was just as dark as Damian’s a while ago... maybe Tim was too focused on the glowing green eyes? Damian also has green eyes... Huh. Does being a ghost make other people unable to recognize you when you’re being one? 
Tim looked to his watch. It’s also 4 am. Oh...
Then, Tim looked to Bernard. “The hallucinations has set in.”
“Dammit, Babe!” Bernard screeched before catching his idiot boyfriend.
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*loud cackling* I’ve been drowning in Danny Phantom and Batman crossovers for days!!!! It was only time until I contributed something to the fandom! XD
Unfortunately, I’m not that good with multi-chapter fics, so I’m going to share the ideas I have for this AU!!
So:
- It’s a Danny and Damian are twins AU! Danny was an unnamed baby. He was weak and he was close to dying. Ra’s wanted him dead. Talia faked the baby’s death and tasked a loyal subordinate on his way to another mission in another state to drop the baby off somewhere safe. If the child were going to die, he should die in a place where he’ll feel love and care as a final gift from his mother.
- That love and care comes in the form of a two year old red head named Jazz who was out on a stroll with her giant father. It was sisterly-love at first sight on the baby left on the doorsteps of some old man that hated kids. Jazz wanted to keep the baby. And Jack, unable to say no to his princess, picks up the baby with such care, it was fatherly-love at first sight for Jack as well. Once the baby was brought home, cleaned and put into the yellow onesies Jazz once owned, Maddie had arrived home from shopping for some parts. One look at the baby, and it was motherly-love at first sight, too. When things start going wrong at their home, and the children are left to their own devices, Jazz would always care for her brother first.
- (I really didn’t think much about how they separate because I didn’t focus on that)
- Now, other than the explanation Danny gave, the importance of having a summoning ritual for the ghost king in this AU is in case the world truly is in danger and requires the ghost king’s help. Of course, while Pariah Dark was king, the summoning rituals were made difficult for the very reason that Pariah was an evil tyrant and shouldn’t be summoned because he will destroy the world rather than save it. 
- Now that Danny is King, the ghosts know that the kid won’t be abusing his powers, not even in the human world. So, even if it were a joke, it was really alright for his summoning ritual to be easy. Plus, they really did want to tick him off and make him learn the hard way that he should take what they’re trying to advise him seriously. Clockwork even told them it was okay!
- Thankfully, it wasn’t the Guys in White or, Ancients forbid, his parents that summon him! It was someone who’s like Wes, but chiller. Danny Really Does need to make it more complicated.
- But having his summoning ritual involve Making Burgers?? That’s the only easy part. Danny wants to also put in them being able to imitate the Mona Lisa Portrait, the Chicken Dance - SCRATCH THAT! MAKE THEM DO THE COFFIN DANCE!, and---
- Tim is looking at him with JUDGMENT. And Danny is offended because it was Tim that suggested Sandwich-making in the first place! And then, Tim AGREED to the burger making!! 
- Tucker thought it was a great idea when he returned to attend school! Sam doesn’t really care as long as the Burger doesn’t involve killing a cow by their hands and instead involves ground beef processed in the market.
- Tim tells him that they can make it complicated, but they are REMOVING THE MONA LISA AND COFFIN DANCE IDEA, and, like, Fine! Maybe having art and dance skills shouldn’t be a requirement!
- Tim then suggests that maybe the summoner should know the true value of ghosts, or, have knowledge that ghosts are sentient beings.
- Because Danny gives them a whole run-down on the laws involving ghosts that’s kept hush-hush by the government but is really there and hasn’t been changed. Tim wonders if Jason is really a zombie like he claims to be, or is actually half-ghost like Danny. But pushes it aside, because right now, researching on the internet on different burger recipes is confusing the fuck out of Bruce and Tim is thriving on it.
- But, to test Tim’s theory, Tim invites Jason to help them cook the different burger recipes. He advises Danny to be invisible while Jason does it, and he agrees. So, he transforms and turns invisible. But the moment Jason is there, Danny drops his invisibility, walks up to Jason, who’s in a daze, and cries while hugging the man. 
- The Ghost King has many powers. And seeing how a ghost had died is one of them. (A headcanon for this au, because why not? I think it’s pretty angsty and cool! But also, it’s like after defeating the previous Ghost King, the powers associated with being Ghost King is also passed on? For now, Danny is still training on how to get a hold of these powers. But in the future, he’ll be able to control his powers, so he won’t be seeing the past of every ghost he meets without their consent. Consent is sexy, guys.)
- While Danny is hugging Jason, the corrupted ectoplasmic energy was getting purified. But Danny can only do the purification in small doses. And, well, he doesn’t need to hug Jason to purify him, but Danny doesn’t want to tell Jason that because the big guy looks deprived of hugs. So a daily dose of purification hugs is recommended for our resident undead.
- Jason grumbles, but assents to it because he hasn’t felt this light in years. He also helps them make the burgers.
- “We should just say ‘Get Jason Todd to cook your burgers, buy some root beer, and draw the constellation with melted chocolate’” Danny says, enjoying the burgers.
- Bernard nods, licking a finger clean of ketchup and mustard. “You gotta teach me how to make burgers like this, man,” he says to Jason. “The only burger patties I cook are the ones already packaged.”
- Jason smirked. “I’m still a student,” he said. Bernard and Danny were in disbelief. But Tim only nodded. “Alfred is the real master. He’s British, but the only food he messes up are the waffles and mashed potatoes. Everything else, he’s excels.”
- “But... anyone can make mashed potatoes???????”
- “We have a bet going on that he messes them up on purpose because Bruce likes them that way.”
- It’s when Danny de-transforms that Jason blinks and goes, “Whoa, you look like the Demon Brat!”
- Which then just proves Tim’s theory that maybe being a ghost has something to do with people recognizing them as humans. Maybe there’s an instant glamour when you’re a ghost for strangers to be unable to recognize you? Maybe when the ghost allows it, you’d be able to recognize them even as they appear or transform in front of you? Do all ghosts have the ability to appear human? Or is it just Danny? Can Jason transform?? But is Jason even half-ghost??? 
- (In this au, I’m having the glamour only working on halfas., but only because they assume two identities. When you’re a full ghost, you don’t have a different identity just your ghost one. Jason is not a ghost, he’s mostly human, not fully, because even as a human there is ectoplasmic energy running in his veins. Jason’s eyes will be glowing when he’s experiencing strong negative emotions, but these negative emotions are now more manageable. So, Jason is a human with ectoplasmic energy running in his veins. He doesn’t have two identities to switch with. No glamour for him, but being purified does make him a little bit stronger. Not superman strong, but the kind when you’re on an adrenaline high.)
- But also, yep, Tim wasn’t imagining it. Danny did look like Damian.
- It was then Bernard takes out his board full of red string and shares his theory on why Danny could be Damian’s long lost twin brother. Tim was probably asleep when he put this board together.
- “Assassins? Really?” Danny asked, amused. “I mean, I know I’m adopted, but why would I be associated with assassins? Wouldn’t the assassins be watching over me and keeping a closer eye on me in case my twin can’t take over as heir and they’d need a placeholder??”
- And so Bernard goes on, on how Danny was the weaker one of the twins. And maybe the boss wanted only the strong one, and maybe his mother had some ounce of motherly sympathy for him to be brought into a loving family before he eventually died. And there wasn’t any assassin assigned to him because they were so sure he’d die. Danny did explain to them that he got sick easily when he was younger. But after the accident that killed him, he didn’t get sick anymore. (Danny didn’t tell them that he’s still alive, though. He just told them he died, while he’s in the ghost world, he defeated the previous ghost king, and now he’s the ghost king). 
- Cue Tim and Jason sweating in the background. Bernard could be right, because he mostly was right about Damian being associated with Assassins. But Danny doesn’t look convinced, just indulging, so thank goodness for that!
- So, it goes to a question on whether he wanted to meet Damian. But Danny tells them that he’ll think about it.
- So, they get on with choosing which burger “felt right”, but Danny decides to bring a burger he loves. From Nasty Burger. And asks Jason to try and make a better version.
- “Timmy, look for the recipe, will ya?”
- Danny is amused at the illegal hacking that was going on, but even if the recipe for Nasty Burgers might be a well-kept secret of the burger joint, he has no doubt these nerds will be able to find it.
- Tim downloads the recipe, Danny brings over the Nasty Burgers, they taste it and comments that it goes on par with Bat Burgers, to which Bernard arrives with his own batch for Danny to try. 
- And, they were right. They are on par with each other. They both have their own distinct flavors for their patties, it’s unreal!
- Danny then decides to let both be a requirement for the ritual. A better version for both Bat Burger and Nasty Burger as improved by Jason Todd. 
- After a full week of trying to make the perfect nasty burger and bat burger, Danny has to include all the other requirements for the ritual (like the root beer and how the constellation will be drawn, and that one requirement Tim suggested of the human having to have understanding of ghosts being more than just ghosts... Does Jason make a poem for Danny about it? Yes, he does. But nobody but Danny knows about this.)
-Finalized, The summoner has to read the poem out loud, draw the constellation with barbeque sauce, and place the ready-made burger by the summoner in the middle.
- Once Danny has put everything together, and tells the ghosts to update the summoning ritual, he asks Bernard to test it out (Jason ended up taking Bernard as a student in cooking).
- Danny appears in all his Ghost King glory, complete with a Nasty Burger Crown and Blanket Cape, with some cool neon green light show and some cool fog.
- It was a success! And they eat pizza as a celebration because they were sick of burgers already.
- They say good-bye to Danny. Danny tells them that he’ll still be visiting for Jason’s daily purification hugs, and they make plans for meeting up together.
....
- One day, Damian as Robin catches Jason in his safe-house watching a movie with Timothy, Bernard, and... a clone of himself? But that’s a story for another day.
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starry-bi-sky · 6 months
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Childhood Friends Au: Danny's in Gotham Again
when the wool is off your eyes you'll stop counting sheep at night cause you'll eat your fill of them during the daytime
A few weeks after Danny’s visit to Gotham, he buys an apartment in the city. It’s this little thing, a studio apartment on the same street he grew up in. In Crime Alley. When he tells his parents, they protest heavily. They don’t think it's safe. They think he should reconsider. There were plenty of apartments and places to live somewhere else. And what about college? 
Danny doesn’t think he’ll go to college. He isn’t sure what he wants to do, now that being an astronaut is off the table. It’d be a waste of money to go without a goal in mind, he thinks. He says he’ll take a gap year and apply at one of the community colleges funded by the Wayne Corporation, possibly. It just wasn’t in the cards right now. 
“If things get tough,” He says at dinner that night, “then I can talk to the Waynes. I’m friends with the family, remember?” He ended up getting Bruce’s number in his phone again before he left, and in the process got Tim’s as well. They don’t talk much, Danny isn’t sure what to say. But he sends Tim memes whenever he comes across one and thinks he’ll like. Tim sends memes back in return.   
His parents do remember. They remember. They also remember the horrified shriek that echoed through the house when Danny learned of Jason’s passing. They remember running up the stairs and bursting into their son’s room and finding him sobbing into his bed, curled up like a little kid, like he was in pain. He lost his voice that day, stuck between screaming out his grief and sobbing it. 
They’re still not sure if they should let him go. 
In the end, Danny wins them out, and he lets them help him search for an apartment. They take a break from their lab work to help search for cheap furniture to buy. They may have more money than when they were in Gotham, but that frugal part of you never fully goes away. They all agree that they don’t want Danny to be seen carrying in nice-looking furniture when he moves in. 
He ends up with a basic furniture set, all mismatched, and in the warm summer of June, his parents rent out a u-haul and drive him down to Gotham to move in. They meet the landlord when they arrive, a skinny and frail old man with wispy white hair and a wrinkled face. He gives Danny the keys and tells him what apartment number he is, and then he leaves. 
His parents help him move in. They help him carry his heavy furniture up to the second floor, where his apartment is. Danny isn’t sure if he wants them to help. His mom and dad are strong, but they are getting old, closer to their fifties now that their children are grown. His dad’s hair is slowly beginning to thin, and rather than the white eating at the sides of his head, it now streaks through his hair like salt-and-pepper. His mom’s hair is graying out too, and there are more lines in their faces than he remembers there being. 
When he voices his concerns, his mom laughs spiritedly and says that they may be getting old, but they are still as spry as when they were in their twenties. Danny isn’t sure if he believes them or not. He can see his dad struggle a bit when they return to get his bed frame, and they have to take a break before they go back down for the rest of their things. 
Five years ago, his dad could do this without breaking a sweat. It forces a heavy thing in the back of Danny’s throat. (He is less afraid of his own death than he is of his loved ones, and while he has always felt rocky with his parents, he still loves them more than anything else.) 
Danny’s apartment is exactly as he would have expected it to be: shabby and worn through. The entire room smells like stale cigarette smoke and weed, nicotine stains the wall with poorly covered bullet holes, and stains in the carpet that are a color he can’t discern. The fridge has a broken light and when he tries to turn on the gas stove, it click-click-clicks before lighting, fire fwooshing out while the smell of gas fills the air. There’s rat droppings in the cupboards and the closet-like bathroom is just as bad. 
The ghostly part of him can sense the heavy stench of death in the room; people have died in this room. People have died in every room of this building, he thinks. They have died on the streets outside and in the alleys squeezed between them. He can feel it like a heavy fog in the air. 
It is painfully nostalgic, a bittersweet feeling in his chest that he grimaces to. 
When the last box is placed in his apartment, his parents offer to help unpack. They are hesitant to leave and Danny knows it, although he doesn’t know if it’s from empty nest syndrome or because it's Gotham. He thinks it might be both. He is their youngest child finally leaving home to a city known for its danger. 
“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay behind, sweetie?” His mother asks, a frown she tries to hide settled in the creases of her face. She fiddles with her hands, a nervous habit Danny has since noticed when she feels truly unsure and doesn’t need to hide it. Hesitancy looms over her like a heavy cloud. 
His dad jumps in hastily, splaying his hands and smiling painfully wide to hide the glistening in his eyes. “You’re mother’s right! We can help you get everything set up, champ. I could probably do something with that stove of yours to make it faster!” He says, his voice still booming like it always does even if there’s a stumble in his words. 
It makes his heart squeeze, knowing just how much they care. It was hard last summer, telling him that he was the Phantom. Terrifying, actually. They couldn’t comprehend it. He hadn’t felt his heart beat that fast in years when he stood in front of them at the kitchen table and told them he was a halfa, begging them to believe that ghosts weren’t inherently evil. 
His parents were people of science, however, and after much, much shock, they slowly came to terms with it. How could they not? The evidence was right in front of them. Their son was dead-alive, alive-dead. Somewhere stuck in the between. The tears they shed that night could fill a river, moving from the kitchen to the living room as Danny explains how he died. 
(When Danny tells them that he died after a week Jason did, his mom and dad look horrified. His mom covers her mouth when he adds that it was his idea to go inside it, his dad looks ashy pale, gripping his pant legs so tight that his knuckles turn white. There is a conclusion coming to their minds that he can tell they don’t like.) 
(“You’ve always hated our inventions, Danny.” Mom says in a hushed voice, and Danny winces at the wording, sinking into the back of the cushions in shame. He never thought that his parents noticed. Mom quickly grabs his arm, “No, no, there’s nothing to be ashamed of Danny. We were… perhaps too careless with our inventions, too enthusiastic. You had every right to hate the things we made when they had a tendency to… to malfunction.”) 
(Malfunction is a delicate way of putting it, when Danny remembers every time they had to evacuate their old apartment complex because whatever half-baked creation his parents made inevitably blew up into ash and smoke. There were soot marks permanently stained into the ceiling.) 
(Her hand slides down and grabs his, and she cups it in both of her hands, squeezing tightly. He forces himself to look up, and there is a look like her heart breaking when he looks into his mother’s eyes. “You’ve always avoided the lab after we moved, Danny. And you had every right to, so why on Earth did you ever think about going into the portal?”)
(Danny struggles to come up with an adequate answer, a way to verbalize what came over him that day five years ago. The answer is there, hanging in the air like a knot in a noose. He opens his mouth, and then closes it.)
(Finally, with a tongue made of lead, he shrugs lamely and looks away. “I didn’t know there was an on button inside it.” He mumbles, and despite being the truth it feels like a lie. But that is the truth. He didn’t know there was an on button inside it. So he didn’t care what happened.)
(Something dulls in mom’s eyes, like she thought of something else that Danny hadn’t said. Her eyes shimmer, and she squeezes them shut, breathing in so deep that it shakes. And then she pulls him into a hug, a hand burying into his hair and pressing him close. “It must have hurt so much, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”)
(It is something that Danny doesn’t expect her to say, like missing the last step of the stairs. It startles him so much he laughs this short, bark of a thing. He feels his dad press against his back and wrap his big arms around them, his nose pushed into his hair.) 
(Because yeah. Yeah, it did hurt. It hurt more than anything else he’s ever felt before. It had torn him apart and sewn him back together again, only to rinse and repeat. The pain was nothing he ever spoke to Sam or Tucker about, and it was something they never brought up. No, that’s not true. If they ever brought it up, Tucker would call it a zap. As if Danny only experienced a mild static shock. Like it was painless. It’s a pretty lie that Danny lets him and Sam believe.)
(His eyes sting and water immediately wobbles into his vision, coming up with such a force that he doesn’t even need to blink before it spills over. “Yeah.” He forces out, voice unexpectedly rough and cracking. “Yeah, it- it hurt. A lot.”)
He tells them about fighting the Lunch Lady a month later. He tells them about finding Jason. It comes spilling out like a waterfall. “I found him, mom.” He says, holding onto her tight while she keeps him tucked under his chin like a little kid. The secret of Jason being Robin stays hidden under his tongue, it is not his secret to tell. Not his identity to expose. He grips her tighter. “I found him, mom. Right there in the Ghost Zone, and he was my Jason. He wasn’t an echo or a— an imprint of him.”
Mom is silent; quiet and attentive, and so is dad, who rubs his large hands up and down Danny’s spine in an attempt to soothe him. It only works a little. Danny breathes in like a gasp as the urge to cry overcomes him again. He always avoids talking about Jason, his grief is like a never-healing scab that can be picked off at any time. It is ingrained into his core. 
“And then I lost him.” He forces out, a sob layering under his words that he chokes on and swallows. The hand on his back stills, and he can feel mom and dad breathe in like a question. He turns his head and pushes it into mom’s shoulder. “He disappeared, mom. Just— just gone.”
“And he didn’t move on.” He says, voice snarling like teeth biting before his mom can ask, because he knows that’s what she was going to ask. It’s what Sam and Tucker asked when he came to them in tears hours after he found Jason gone. It’s what Jazz said when he finally told her about it. It’s what every one of his ghosts asked when he told them about it and begged for their help. 
Danny grits his teeth and tries not to dig his nails into mom’s clothes as a fresh wave of tears run down his face. “His haunt is still there. If Jason really moved on it would have disappeared with him. That’s how it works. But it’s still in the zone, so Jason’s out there I just don’t know where.” 
(Sam once asks him why Danny didn’t just move on from it a year after Jason’s disappearance. She asked him why he didn’t give it up. Danny nearly saw red, and nearly bit her head off for it. It was incomprehensible to him to just stop looking for Jason, to give up. Not when he was out in the zone somewhere. Because he had to be in the zone.)
(Danny once tried to take Jason through the portal with him, and much like what happened to Kitty, it didn’t work. Jason was too tied to the ghost zone to leave.) 
(Some bonds are just unbreakable, he thinks. Bonds forged through blood and time and trust, and when you’re on the streets of Gotham, you hoard what little trust you have in someone like a dragon with its gold. It is scarcely given and fiercely kept.) 
“I’ve been looking for him.” Danny whispers when talking becomes too hard for him, when it runs the risk of him crying. “When- when I’m not fighting ghosts or, or in school or with my friends, I’ve been looking for him.” He has explored the Ghost Zone in every reach he can. He has met so many people. He’s met the ghosts of aliens from planets in every corner of the galaxy. He has met gods or god-like beings and their disciples. 
He’s met famous scholars and writers (he’s gotten the autographs of all of Jason’s favorite writers). He has found entire cities that have so much life in it that it's been permanently etched into the ghost zone, like a mirror version of itself. 
He’s visited the ghostly vision of Gotham so many times, and he avoids the imprint of Wayne Manor like the plague. There are ghostly newspapers that he reads. There are the ghosts of Martha and Thomas Wayne in many of them. 
Jason’s haunt connects to Wayne Manor, but it is also the street they grew up in. It is a small brick building with a door that leads to Jason’s room. A ghost knows when someone enters their haunt, it alerts them like a doorbell in the back of their mind. A foreign ecto-signature in a place drenched in your own. 
Danny visits it every time he goes into the Ghost Zone. It’s always his first stop. 
He tells his parents all of it. He tells them of the ghosts he’s met, of the places he’s seen. And when he feels brave, he tells them about Rath and the terror that his future self brings him. He keeps some details hidden, the ones that he can afford to keep without muddling up the story. 
(Rath is a tall, spindly thing, like a funhouse mirror version of Danny himself. He has arms that are much too long and legs that are much too tall, with skinny fingers that extend into claws.He wears his suit the same as Danny does, with it partially undone and the sleeves wrapped around his waist.)
(There is a black hole in his chest that is much bigger than Danny’s own. It takes up his chest cavity and drips the same, viscous black liquid as the tears falling from his eyes. Danny never forgets his voice; a scraping, quiet thing like he’s screamed himself hoarse. Rath has a voice like goosebumps, and it haunts Danny like a bump in the night.) 
Danny speaks and speaks and speaks until he can’t think of anything else to speak of. He is tired and sad, and it feels like his heart has been ripped out and rubbed raw again. And yet, he also feels so much better. Like a long heavy weight has been taken off his chest. 
Yeah, last summer was hard. His parents walked on eggshells around him, and they forced themselves to unlearn their bias of ghosts. It was more than Danny could have ever dreamed of, and when they felt ready for it, they asked him more about the ghost zone.
He smiles sadly at his dad, “I think fixing the stove can be a priority another time, dad.” He says, watching him wilt and his smile fall. Jack Fenton was always so good at making himself look like a kicked puppy. “I can handle unpacking by myself, I promise.” 
His parents still look so unsure, like they want to argue. Danny watches his mom purse her lips tightly, confliction running across her face like a datastream. She takes dad’s hand, squeezing their fingers together despite the droop in her shoulders. 
“Oh, alright then, I suppose.” She relents, her hand placing on Jack’s arm. “I guess we could go, we’re just going to miss you so much, Danny.” 
Tears seem to have won over his dad, and Jack Fenton sniffs back before he can cry properly. “Our little boy, all grown up.” He says, voice wobbling. It makes Danny laugh, and it makes his heart pang. His smile grows impossibly wider and so much fonder. “You’ve become such a kind, wonderful young man, Danno. We’re so proud of you.” 
Danny laughs again, and it cracks. “You’re gonna make me cry, dad.” (He feels a welling of guilt in his gut that he ignores — he doesn’t feel like a kind man. He doesn’t feel like a good one either. Not with what he plans to do.) 
His father holds out his arms in hopefulness, “One last hug for your old man before we head out?” He asks, mustering up a smile on his face. 
Danny barrels into him, nearly knocking his dad over with an oomph. He’s as tall as him now, but he still feels little in his bear hugs. With arms wrapping around his middle, Danny hugs his father tight and breathes him in one last time. 
“Careful there, Danno.” He laughs, patting Danny’s back roughly. “You’ll break my ribs with that ghostly strength of yours!” But he holds on just as tight.
Out of spite, Danny bends back and lifts him off his feet, laughing when Jack tenses up and nearly scrambles out of surprise. His mom laughs with him, stepping back to give them room for the few seconds that dad is in the air. 
When it’s his mom’s turn, Danny has to hunch to hug her. Something bittersweet to him as she plants a kiss on his forehead and says that he’ll always be her baby. “Even if you do have that horrid smoking habit.” She adds on with a disapproving eyebrow raise. 
Danny turns red in embarrassment, and walks them back to the GAV. Gothamites of all kinds slow to stop and boggle at the monstrous, road-illegal thing that is parallel-parked next to the curbside. In the past, Danny would have died with mortification to be seen with it. Now it just makes him laugh. Before he goes back into the apartment building, he buys a newspaper from a nearby convenience store.  
The first thing he does when he gets back up to his room is one: make a mental note to buy a bicycle chain lock for the door. The locks jiggle and there are splinters along the side that show signs of it being broken into in the past. The second thing he does is pull his cigarettes out of his pocket and light one. 
Danny starts to unpack with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, placing the newspaper he bought onto the counter. He has a cheap loveseat that he pushes off to the side, and he moves the boxes into the kitchen. It’s a matter of organization that Danny has to think about before he does anything. 
It’s as he’s pushing the sofa up against the wall facing the windows that his phone rings a familiar tune: Sam. The phone is fished out before he can think about it and when he stares down at the screen, he realizes it's a facetime call. 
He presses answer and walks over to prop his phone up onto the counter. The smiling faces of Sam and Tucker greet him, rather than just Sam. Immediately, Danny grins. “Hey Danny.” Sam greets, smiling a dark-painted lazy thing. From the background it looks like they’re in Tucker’s room. Sam is in Tucker’s desk chair, and Tucker is behind her, leaning against it. “Have you moved in yet?” 
Danny pulls the cigarette from his mouth and huffs, a cloud of smoke following his breath. “Yeah! It’s a shithole.” He grins lopsidedly, and his feet carry him off to the side to allow Sam and Tucker view of his apartment. He lets thirty seconds pass, allowing the both of them to really see the rest of the room. And then he steps back into frame. 
Sam and Tucker both look like they’re trying not to look judgemental, like they’re trying to hide a grimace that Danny sees anyway with the small turns at the corner of their mouths. He grins wider, mirth filling his lungs. “I know, it looks awful doesn’t it?”
“It’s— it’s not so bad.” Sam says with a strain in her voice, a forced smile on her face that tries to be reassuring. Tucker nods along readily, and he looks just as unsure as Sam does. Danny stifles laughter behind his teeth. 
“No, no, it looks bad,” He takes a drag of his cigarette, shaking his head. “You can say it, I won’t get offended. It’s a fucking apartment in crime alley. Of course it looks bad.” 
Sam remains silent, a rearing of her stubbornness showing itself. Tucker takes a different approach, and heaves a dramatic sigh of relief, slumping like a weight. “Okay, you’re right. It looks bad.” He frowns, “Sorry, man.” 
While Danny snorts, Sam sighs. “Yeah, it looks bad. What even are those stains?” She asks, and both she and Tucker lean closer in tandem to the screen, eyes squinting at the floor behind him. Danny glances at the floor, and shrugs. 
“Blood, probably.” He says, and while years in Amity Park have accustomed him to a clean environment, the desensitization of Gotham still remains. Tucker and Sam both make faces and lean away, as if the stain itself was capable of passing through to them. “Yeah, there are bullet holes in the walls.” 
“Are you sure it’s safe to be there?” Tucker asks, a furrow appearing between his brows. He adjusts his glasses and leans against the chair. Sam is frowning heavily, and Danny can already see her thinking up of a new way to fix the problem. 
“Oh, I never said this place was safe.” Danny tells him cheerily, taking a last hit of his cigarette before placing the dead stick onto the counter. He itches for another one. Instead he walks over to the shelf his parents brought in and starts moving it. “It’s Crime Alley, Tuck. Safe isn’t even in its vocabulary.” 
Tucker and Sam look like they’ve both swallowed a lemon.
“But it’s where I want to be right now.” He says, grunting quietly when the shelf is against the wall he wants it to be, near the short hallway leading to the front door. He can push it in front of it if someone tries to break in. “And Crime Alley’s apartments are the only ones I can really afford right now without mooching off my parents, and I’d rather not depend on them.” 
He can hear the disapproving hesitance from where he stands. And he ignores it. 
Danny walks back into frame, lifting up a box onto the counter. He hums lightly, fingers run over the tape keeping it shut. “Why do you even want to be in Gotham, Danny?” Sam asks, and she sounds genuinely perplexed. Danny stills. “I thought this place only had bad memories for you.” 
His blood turns cold, and like a dime being flipped his slow heartbeat fills his ears. “It does.” He replies automatically, before he can think. Shit, shit. He knows that Sam or Tucker would ask that question, and yet he still feels unprepared for it. His heart pulses quickly against his ribcage, knocking, asking him what he’s going to tell them that isn’t the truth. 
Danny stammers, “I mean— I just— I guess I felt nostalgic.” He says, and it sounds like a weak defense. He looks away, finding himself instinctively scratching his jaw. A new tick of his when he’s nervous. From the corner of his eye, he sees Sam and Tucker both narrow their eyes at him. 
He cannot tell them the real reason why he’s moved back to Gotham. He can’t tell them of the little secret and vow he told himself five years ago, the one that’s been left to fester and burn like an open wound close to his core. The one that, if he thinks too much about it, sends a searing hot electricity through him, filling him from crown to toe top-full of direst wrath.  
(Danny was always the angrier one in the duo of Jason and Danny. He was always the one with glass in his mouth, cutting his teeth and tongue so that he could spit blood at the world around them. His knuckles had more blood and bruises on it than skin, once upon a time. All because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He has grown from it, that fury has turned to a small simmering candle.) (But sometimes, sometimes it rears its head, and electricity will buzz under Danny’s skin. There is lightning before the thunder, the second before a fist pulled to punch lands, the spark before it becomes a blaze.) 
He stumbles over his words, and then sighs long and low, drooping his head. “I… was thinking that I can’t avoid this place forever.” He says, and the best lies always have the truth in it. Because it’s not a lie, not completely. But it’s not close enough to the truth either. “And that maybe if I came back, I’d be able to do something about those bad memories. Make them better or make it hurt less.” 
Like wool over their eyes, it fools Sam and Tucker. Their narrowed eyes soften, and Danny feels like a snake is in his lungs as they both adopt their own versions of gentleness on their faces. “Oh, Danny.” Sam breathes out, and the snake squeezes, “Of course, we understand.”
Tucker nods, smiling at him. “Yeah, bro, that’s really brave of you. I know it can’t be easy coming back.” He says, “Maybe you can reconnect with the Waynes again, you always thought well of Mister Wayne whenever you came back from visiting.”
Danny smiles weakly, the gesture cutting into his cheeks like a knife. Perhaps he could. He was still upset with Bruce for hiding Jason’s killer from him. But he doesn’t hate him. Maybe five years ago, he did, when the death of Jason was still fresh in his mind and freshly bleeding in his heart. Now he just doesn’t know what to think of him. He was Batman. Jason was Robin, and the Joker killed Robin. 
It would need to be something he’d have to speak to Bruce about in person, he thinks, in order to resolve it. To hear his judgment on it and make an opinion from there. Danny has learned in the last five years, much to Jazz’s smug delight, that talking to people about something he was upset about did make him feel better. 
The conversation slips on from there into something more light, more breathable. And while they talk, Danny unpacks. He sets up his bed in the corner of the room, adjacent to the windows, and unpacks his cheap TV and table stand. It’s directly across from the couch, in front of the windows. He puts up knicks and knacks he’s collected over the years on the shelves.
When he puts up the curtains, he notices that more than one frame jiggles loosely. Sam makes a comment on the musty stains permanently dyed into the glass, and Danny talks about getting something to fix the cracks. Gotham winters can get brutal, and even if he can withstand the cold, doesn’t mean everything else in his apartment can. 
“Oh, watch this.” He says halfway through unpacking, and pulls out a stick of thick white chalk from a box. “This is something I learned from Clockwork a while back; I think he knew I was going to move to Gotham.” He grins sillily, popping into the camera frame to show them. “I wonder how?” 
Sam rolls her eyes, smiling while Tucker huffs. “It’s not like he’s the Master of Time and can see all past, present, and future.” Tucker snarks. 
Danny hums lightly, curt like he isn’t sure he believes Tucker, and walks to a piece of bare wall not yet blocked by furniture. He starts to draw on it. The chalk shimmers with faint ectoplasm on the wall. 
“Uhh…” Tucker’s voice cuts through, “Are you sure you should be doing that? Won’t you get in trouble for that?”
“There are bullet holes in the plaster, Tucker.” Danny retorts dryly, arching his hand to make a big circle. “I don’t think the landlord is gonna care if I get washable chalk on his walls.” Inside the circle, he inscribes the symbols of the Infinite Realms. “I don’t think he’d be able to see it anyways, he was really old.” 
When he is done, Danny steps back to admire his work. It’s not bad, he thinks, for a lack of practice. He tosses the chalk off to the side, it lands on the couch and rolls back into the cushions. Ectoplasm heats under his hand, slowly glowing from his fingertips before stretching down the rest of his palm. 
Danny’s fingers press against the wall, into the center of the circle. The result is immediate, ectoplasm is siphoned off his hand and into the circle. It glows, and then swirls. He steps off to the side for Sam and Tucker to watch its transformation. The circle fills with a swirling pool of ectoplasm, like a smaller version of the basement portal, and then it warps and stretches. 
It fills out a rectangular shape, shifting like taffy being pulled this way and that, before settling into a solid shape. It solidifies, and instead of a wall there is a glowing purple door, warped in nature and seemingly shifting like a trick of the eyes. He can hear the gentle hum of the zone standing next to it, and can see the carving of the circle in the wood. 
He gestures dramatically, grinning from ear to ear. “Ta-da~” He sings, “A door to my haunt! For whenever I feel like visiting it.” He pats the wood, making a strange thunk-thunk sound. “And then watch this.” 
Danny touches the circle again, and the door twists and recedes like water going down a drain. The circle flashes bright green, and then fades into nothing on the wall, invisible to the naked eye. “I can hide it whenever I want! So if I ever invite someone over—” which he doubts, “—I won’t have to worry about them asking, ‘Hey Danny? Why is there a creepy fucking door in your studio apartment?’”
He gets a pair of laughs for his efforts, and Danny grins wider. 
Sam and Tucker have to end the call when Danny is nearly done unpacking, leaving him alone with only his thoughts and the Gotham ambience outside. There were only a few boxes left, and they promise to call him tomorrow. He tells them that they better keep that promise. 
The silence that follows after they leave feels somberly, as if the reality of moving in has finally set in and filled the air with its loneliness. With its change. Finally, Danny lets the strangeness of moving back to Gotham hit him when he reaches the last box, and he stops to take another smoke break to let it settle. 
It feels so strange to be back in Gotham, he thinks. He’s all grown up, or almost grown up. He can vote and pay taxes, but he doesn’t feel much older than he was at fourteen. There’s a disconnect that makes him feel sad. 
There are cars running outside, driving by. He can only catch glimpses of them, his apartment faces an alleyway. There are dogs barking in the distance, strays he bets. It’s already dark out, and he wonders if he looks out the window he would see the bat-signal shining through the night and staining the permanent cloud that hangs over Gotham. 
Bruce would be so disappointed if he learned the reason for Danny’s return to Gotham. But Danny’s not here for him. He’s here for someone far more important. And like that, the simmering anger that has tucked itself into the furthest corners of his heart starts slipping through. His heart has teeth, ready to strike and snarl and bite. 
He crushes the cigarette in his hand and throws it away. When he opens the last box, it is with hands that tremble and with a face of stone. With a delicateness he does not feel, he reaches in and pulls a corkboard from the box. On the corner frame is a small, near inconspicuous carving of another ghost rune. 
Danny hangs it up on an empty space on the wall, out of sight from the window. It’s plain, and he has nothing to pin to it. He presses the small rune on the corner, pushing ectoplasm into it. Unlike the door, it does not twist and warp and shape itself into something new. Instead it bursts into green flame, eating away at the board and revealing the same thing underneath it, just in dark blue-black-purple. 
Now this board, this board Danny has something to pin to it. The newspaper he bought earlier sits abandoned on the counter, and Danny unrolls it with something like viciousness in his chest. On the front page is an image of a damaged street, and above it is titled: “JOKER STRIKES AGAIN, 3 DEAD AND 27 INJURED”
Danny rips out the first page, he rips out every mention of him. His hands shake and threaten to crumple the paper as he turns back to the board, there is hot blood pounding in his ears. There is an impending sense of finally in his chest, like a setting sun giving the stage to a starless night. There is a stern set in his jaw, five years of festering rage rushing forth like a tidal wave, threatening to make his vision swim. 
It would be so easy, he thinks, to go out as Phantom right now and hunt the clown down. It would only take a night. All it would take is a night, and then he could sink his hands into the Joker’s chest and rip out his heart where he stood. It would be so easy. 
The thought alone forces Danny to stop as he is hit with another rush of fury, really making his head and vision swim. Thorny vines wrap around his throat, making it hard to breathe. He stares at a spot on the wall until the shaking passes. 
If he wants to be discreet about this, then he can’t do it now. Even if he wants to. He doesn’t want witnesses. He doesn’t want an audience. He made a mistake, telling Red Hood about his plan. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Perhaps he wasn’t thinking at all. But he can only hope that the Hood hasn’t mentioned it to Bruce. He knows it hasn’t been long since they started working together. He hopes that the Hood has already forgotten about it. 
He pins the newspaper clippings onto the black-blue-board, and stands back. It’s bare now, but it won’t be forever. 
He presses the circle again, and the pinboard reverts back to its original blank state. 
-----
Was I expecting to make a third part?? No. No I was not. I was also not expecting to make an entire google doc filled with summaries for short story ideas about this au that all tie into each other so that way if i DO continue this i have a skeleton pathway to follow rather than making everything up from scratch and potentially cornering myself
you can find this on ao3 or on tumblr 1 2 :)
#dp x dc#dpxdc#dp x dc crossover#danny fenton is not the ghost king#dpxdc crossover#childhood friends au#cw swearing#cw smoking#im calling them short stories bc if i call them chapters i might intimidate myself#fun fact every single chapter will have a crane wives lyric on it i am DETERMINED#i hope yall are subscribed to this on ao3 bc i almost didnt post this on tumblr#the fentons being good parents were a surprise to me too but also i never really planned on them being BAD parents#okay so they appear as negligent in the first post but we'll just call that a plothole#i had the idea that danny was the angrier one out of the duo earlier today and it felt like an epiphany#there's no guarantee of a next part but yk immm kinda hoping there is#on the docs the ending bullet point for this chapter was#'make it feel like a tv show where the seemingly inconspicuous and friendly character has something sinister up their sleeve'#WE know that danny's not inconspicuous in the least he's been thinking of this murder for the last five years. but nobody but red hood know#i had to come up with a in-story reason why danny doesnt kill the joker NOW but my out-of-story excuse is: there'd be no tension otherwise#its about the BUILD UP. Its about the RISING TENSION. Its about KNOWING that danny is planning to kill the Joker but you dont know WHEN#its about knowing that something is going to explode but never knowing when#i made the doc yesterday and spent my entire pluralism for educators class going thru the crane wives albums and looking up the lyrics and#matching them to the *checks doc* 18 short story prompts i have prepared#i am still missing one :((#its the tim and danny story and i have NOTHING PLANNED FOR THEM. i cant think of a thing for them to bond over :(( so i cant match a CW son#even DICK has a story and that was also a surprise#my favorite lines: He was always the one with glass in his mouth cutting his teeth and tongue so that he could spit blood at the world#aND danny slapping his door like a used car salesman and going 'now people wont ask why i have a creepy fucking door in my studio aptm :)'
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