Just A Small Morsel, Please Sir AU AKA Constantine Would Like to Disappear Please
Batman is about to go toe to toe with another god, and he needs armor that will prevent another "lost in the time stream" incident.
So he consults JLD.
The decide that if he has a piece of a really, really powerful entity, then that entity's powers should think that they're protecting the entity and in turn, protect Bruce.
So Constantine draws a summoning circle, and is bullied into making an actual good offering to the being the circle is supposed to summon. They include a note; it's written in an old, ancient language, but with JLD working together they figure out roughly what it says; something about requesting a piece of the most powerful being's belongings to grant them protection.
Thus, the ritual begins! The lights dim; cold green fog emanates from the summoning circle, the feeling of dread almost overwhelms the lessor experienced.
And then in the middle of John's chant, the ritual is forcibly stopped from the other side.
The offerings remain.
A single note floats down on top of the pile.
'I'm uh...flattered? But like, it's kinda weird to ask for someone's hair. Gonna have to turn this one down, sorry. No kinkshaming, though! I also won't tell anyone else what that kink is, Constantine, don't worry; I got ur back.
Anyways stop the creepy hitting on me.
Danny'
Apparently, JLD had not correctly translated the language.
It's direct Translation, once they had that key provided to them by Danny, which once they got that they were able to figure out that one key letter was not what they thought, was more along the lines of;
'Oh Great High King, We Request A Small Parcel, A Small Snippet, Of Your Luxurious Hair. Just For A Little Bit. We Need To Use It For Personal Reasons. Just A Small Morsel. Thank You For Being Pretty. And Amazing. We Just Want A Small Piece. That Is All We Need. It Does Not Take Much. We Are Very Eager. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.'
Needless to say, multiple heroes have to stop Constantine from trying to throw himself out of an airlock.
@simplestoryteller
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“Hold the elevator!”
The elevator doors are mere inches from closing, but Steve dutifully shoots a hand out to stop them. They slide back open, revealing a flustered-looking man about Steve’s age on the other side.
He’s dressed head to toe in black, decked out in a simple black pullover with a modest V-neck, snug black jeans, and all-black leather Chucks with a messenger bag slung across his chest. The messenger bag is, unsurprisingly, also black, but covered in a collection of tough-looking patches and pins in varying shades of—well, it’s mostly red, dark red, white, and some yellows, but the pops of color still stand out against his otherwise monochrome ensemble.
His dark, curly hair reaches a little past his shoulders and he’s got this frankly outdated fringe that, despite its very 80’s vibe, frames his face perfectly. His eyes are large and expressive, and he’s got this frantic energy about him that reminds Steve of a live wire. He’s nothing like the buttoned-up suits Steve usually shares his elevator rides with each morning, and it’s a refreshing change of pace.
The man gives Steve a thankful look before stepping into the elevator and leaning against the side wall. “Thanks,” he says, a little distractedly. He’s got a pair big of headphones on and Steve realizes he’s in the middle of a phone call when he adds, “No, not you, Gare, I was thanking the guy who held the elevator for me. Yeah, this building’s crazy. There’s a whole-ass sixtieth floor—guess I’m kind of a big deal now.” He lets out a small, self-deprecating chuckle, reaching for the panel beside him.
As the doors close and the elevator starts to slowly ascend, Steve notices the man pressed the button for the floor above his. Both the fifty-second and fifty-third floor buttons are lit in a halo of green.
“You know I didn’t want to leave you guys,” the man continues, a bit more quietly now that he and Steve are sharing the same small space, “but shit, I couldn’t turn down the pay.” He scoffs. “Ugh, listen to me, just another cog in the capitalist machine. Man, if high school me could see me now. High school Eddie used to talk big about forced conformity and rising up against the man, and now here I am—”
Steve tries not to listen to the one-sided conversation going on beside him, but it’s difficult when a moment later, he hears his own name.
“—clocking in for my first day at fuckin’ Harrington Hargrove Hagan. The pretentious bastards can’t even shorten it to an acronym or something. God forbid they have to miss out on the sound of their own names.”
Steve manages to hold in the obnoxious snort that threatens to escape him. He’s starting to think he might like this guy—Eddie, his mind supplies helpfully—but Eddie’s next words have him freezing in place.
“And it’s nepo baby central. Yeah, pretty sure all the H kiddies are hotshot brokers with the company. All the biggest accounts—gee, I wonder why.”
Steve can feel the back of his neck burning hot with a mixture of annoyance and shame as Eddie cracks a caustic joke about silver spoons and trust funds.
“You’re kidding, one of them works at this branch? Damn, I guess I’ll just keep an eye out for the guy who most looks like he’s got a giant stick up his ass.”
This is quickly becoming the longest elevator ride of Steve’s life. He grits his teeth and stares fixedly at the floor display panel above the elevator doors, watching the numbers climb higher and higher. Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight.
“Listen, I should go, but let’s grab a drink at the Hideout later. Cool, see you then. Bye.”
Forty-one. Forty-two.
Eddie removes his headphones and shoves them into his bag, angling slightly toward Steve. “Sorry about that, man.”
“You’re good,” Steve says shortly, not looking away from the changing numbers. They reach the forty-seventh floor, and all the while, he feels Eddie’s gaze on him.
It’s not like he’s openly staring, but there’s a certain weight to his furtive glances that completely counteracts his attempts at subtlety. It’s the type of gaze Steve’s familiar with, one that he’s been on the receiving end of since his sophomore year of high school when he hit a growth spurt and actually learned how to style his hair. Assessing. Appreciative. Interested.
And in any other situation, Steve would gladly engage. He’d turn on the charm, quirk the corner of his lip up in that way Robin always rolls her eyes at but reluctantly acknowledges as ‘passably effective’, and maybe even make up an excuse to sidle a bit closer.
But he’s not giving this guy his A-game.
Instead, Steve waits in stifling silence until the fifty-second floor is announced and the doors slide open. He steps forward to exit, but at the very last moment stops in the doorway.
He initially wasn’t going to say anything—though, a past version of himself would have definitely spat something biting and bitchy to Eddie about his snark, would have snootily told him to take his little assumptions and shove them where the sun don’t shine—but sooner or later Eddie’s going to realize he and Steve are colleagues, and he’s going to remember shit-talking him in an elevator on his first day of work, and it’s going to be awkward and uncomfortable.
Steve’s just speeding up the timeline, pushing for the sooner rather than the later, when he decides to spin around and fully face Eddie.
“I think you pressed the wrong button,” he says, all sweet and helpful like he’s talking to Dustin’s mom over a sink full of soapy dishes. “Couldn’t help but overhear that you work at Harrington Hargrove Hagan. It’s on the fifty-second floor, not the fifty-third.” Then he takes a small step backward, moving out into the carpeted hallway.
“Oh.” Eddie scrambles for his phone, unlocking it and scrolling quickly until he finds something that has him straightening up and smiling gratefully at Steve. “I guess I remembered it wrong. Thank you.” He pushes away from the wall, takes a step forward to follow Steve out, but then stops dead in his tracks.
Steve gleefully notes the line of Eddie’s gaze, how it lingers at the breast pocket of his shirt, where, clipped to a retractable badge reel, his building keycard hangs. Eddie evidently hadn’t noticed it during the elevator ride up, but he’s certainly fixated on it now.
Perhaps on the abstract yet easily recognizable Harrington Hargrove Hagan logo in the top right corner.
But more likely, based on the positively mortified look growing on Eddie’s face, on the name clearly printed underneath Steve’s photo in bold, black lettering: STEVE HARRINGTON.
Slowly, Eddie drags his eyes back up to Steve’s face. He stares in silence, eyes bugging nearly out of his head, face turning a concerning shade of pink, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, and his reaction is extreme enough that a small part of Steve is almost inclined to take pity on the guy and laugh it all off.
Unfortunately for Eddie, a bigger part of Steve thinks Eddie looks kind of cute all red-faced and embarrassed like this. So he glances down at himself thoughtfully before turning his attention back on Eddie. “Wow,” he says with exaggerated astonishment, “now that you mention it, I guess I do look like I’ve got a giant stick up my ass.”
As if on cue, the elevator chimes in warning. The doors begin to close, but Eddie just remains rooted in place with that same wide-eyed, horrified expression.
When it becomes clear he has no intentions of actually exiting the elevator, Steve chuckles and wiggles his fingers in a cheeky little wave. “Welcome to the team,” he says airily, before Eddie’s still-blushing face disappears behind the elevator doors.
/ Now with a Part 2!
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dp x dc prompt again bc i am plagued with blorbo thoughts. should i make this a series?? anyway
so we all know that Jason 'Pride and Prejudice' Todd-Wayne is a nerd, right? no amount of muscle can hide that this fridge of a man was once the dorky little kid that was so excited to go to school he skipped out on Robin patrols to do homework.
I propose that Danny 'I Wanna Be an Astronaut' Fenton Phantom is also a fucking nerd. he gets good grades, when he's not having to juggle school, sleep, and secret ghost fighting, and he takes to engineering like a ghost to ectoplasm. he's also the exact kind of space-obsessed geeky kid that would absolutely devour every sci-fi show and book he could get, and I say that as someone who was that space-obsessed geeky kid.
so, as young teens, both boys spent a lot of time in online fandom spaces, and eventually become internet friends. Jason's into classic lit and Lord of the Rings while Danny's into comic books and Star Trek, but they get on surprisingly well. They're chatting on forums and beta-ing each other's fanfiction, that sort of thing... and then Jason vanishes.
he just stops responding to messages, he stops posting, all his accounts are abandoned. Danny is very concerned, of course, but this happens right around the time of his accident, so he has more city-destroying things to worry about than an online friend going MIA. and eventually, as he gets older, he sort of forgets about Jason, only occasionally thinking back to the kid he used to talk to, wondering whatever happened to him.
so time passes, and Danny, now a young adult, ends up meeting the Batfam for whatever reason. is he part of the Justice League? in Gotham for a Wayne Enterprises internship? superhero shenanigans? Ghost King Summoning? secret twin/son/clone bullshit? up to you!
any way, he's hitting it off with the Batkids, and at some point Jason subconsciously quotes something from one of his old, unpublished fanfics from his Tumblr days.
and Danny's jaw drops. the Batkids stare at him; you can see the gears turning in his head before he blurts out;
"You're WingingIt02???"
and something deep in Jason's brain, buried under layers of death-trauma and Pit Rage clicks.
"Holy shit, AstroloGhost??"
[once again, not planning to make this a fic, but feel free to run wild with the prompt! just give credit if you do, please! :3]
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