The Justice League have a problem, one that needs some level of knowledge and expertise of a being from the Infinite Realms to give them a better chance of actually solving this problem.
However.
Every ghost they have summoned, without fail, took one look at Constantine. Squinted (yes, squinted). Then decided to go back to where they came without a word.
This. Would have been useful, nice even. If it was a situation where they needed the summoned being of a cult to head back to where they came without a fight.
But alas, that is not what is happening.
The Justice League, obviously, ask him why the ghosts keep fleeing back to their Realm at the sight of him, but Constantine can't answer because he genuinely has no idea why they keep leaving when getting a proper look at him.
So they keep trying and they do find some success in it. They summoned a boy, most likely older than he physically looks yet it still puts some of them off because of, well.
You know.
A boy with white hair and toxic green eyes. The boy stops short, as if not expecting to be randomly transported to somewhere else, takes a look around the room, then the Justice League. His eyes settle on one person.
Constantine, in particular.
He squints (Why do all of them squint? Nobody knows) and then a sudden looking of realization passes on his face. Different from the looks of vague fear and genuinely want to not involve themselves any further, his face held slight disgust and a heavy amount of disappointment.
Thankfully, he didn't leave immediately after that.
Constantine asks what's with the look on the ghost boy's face, the ghost boy in question squints even further. Stares at Constantine for a moment or two, buries his face in his hands and brings his knees to his hand and groans out.
"He could've done so much better."
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[ID: Digital art of Chester and Norris from The Magnus Protocol. They are both portrayed as object-heads with dated IBM monitors attached to their shoulders. Chester is taller and thin with a medium brown skin tone, with one leg of his trousers conspicuously missing. Norris is shorter and fat with pale skin. They are standing with their hands in their pockets, facing slightly away from one another. Chester’s screen says “Canaries should stay above ground.” and Norris’s says “I’m so sorry. I should have listened.” The image is overlaid with heavy chromatic aberration, distortion, and glitch effects. End ID.]
how we doing gamers. is everyone feeling so normal.
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a lolcow is obviously a bad and harmful thing but studying weird people online is a wonderful and soul enriching experience. but if u treat the fun of it as a product and engage with them to get more of this product, if youre "milking" the "lolcow", youre fucked. youre going down the path of darkness. it needs to be aetherial and loose. the better alternative is looking at lolbirds instead which is quite beautiful cuz, like birdwatching, its a process where u do not enact power and force over ur subject to make it show u what u want, you just let them naturally come by and show off their plumage (10000 near identically composed deviantart illustrations of different kids show character crying while getting knead into dough and baked[this happened in a single episode of a show the artist saw when they were 4]) and then u maybe show some of ur favorite feathers of theirs to your close group of friends and then let them pass on with the wind and u keep them as a sweet memory ❤
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Damian: [brushing his teeth]
The shadow hanging over his shoulder: [Gets its teeth dangerously close to Damian's shoulder]
Damian: [Shoves a toothbrush into said shadow move and starts brush]
The shadow: [Pauses before starting to let out a contented purr]
Damian then spits out the foam and washes out his mouth, then makes the shadow do the same and then picks out pjs.
Damian: [Currently decided if he should go with the cat, dog, or knife imprinted one]
The shadow: [Starts getting dangerously close to Damian with, toxic green spirals it calls eyes]
Damian: [Throws the dog imprinted one behind him at the shadow and takes the cat imprinted one for himself and tells the shadow to put it on]
The shadow: [Stares at the clothes before hesitantly putting them on before letting out a noise of distress]
Damian: [Turning around to find the shadow somehow stuck in the pjs, lets out a sigh, then starts to help them fit]
Damian then moves over to the bed, he points to one side and tells the shadow to go there. The shadow listens, laying down as Damian also lays down, grabbing the sheets and covering them both.
It barely took a few seconds for the shadow to fall asleep, and Damian stared at it. Damian wasn't quite sure why the shadow of his dead twin was following him, nor why it was even able to and seemed to hide itself from anyone who isn't Damian.
Nobody besides him knew about it, and Damian decided that he liked it. This could have been his younger brother, if the other had survived, and they would have probably been told to fight to the death to decide an heir.
At the very least, that won't ever happen.
Even if his brother was slightly unusual.
===
Danny did not remember much of the before, he remembered people with blurred faces and features, blurred colors. He remembered a lot of colors, then red, then white, then pain.
He doesn't like pain, he believes.
Then he remembered going to sleep, and then he woke up. It was dark and slimy and cramped when he woke up, especially when he realized someone else was in their with him.
Then he fell asleep again, then woke up to that same dark and slimy place, then fell asleep again, all in some weird cycle. Then, moving, and pain.
It hurt, and he was sluggish when it eventually stopped. Then came pain again, and he was asleep.
Then he woke up, again.
He didn't know what was happening, wasn't really aware of too. But he woke up next to the other who was in that dark and slimy with him, and decided he wanted to stay with them.
He wasn't aware enough for most of the things that happened when Damian grew up, but he still stayed regardless, and hide from everyone else.
Danny loves his brother, and he thinks his brother loves him too. Even if he was slightly unusual.
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you wanted to be a good friend, because you loved your friends, but the truth was that everyone else somehow had a pamphlet on being normal that you never received. most of the time you learn by trial-and-error. you are terrified of the next big mistake you make, because it seems like the rules are completely arbitrary.
you've learned to keep the prickly parts of your personality in a stormcloud under your bed - as if they're a second version of you; one that will make your friends hate you. it feels feral, burning, ugly.
instead, you have assembled habits based on the statistical likelihood of pleasing others. you're a good listener, which is to say - if you do speak up, you might end up saying the wrong thing and scaring off someone, but people tend to like someone-who-listens. or you've got no true desires or goals, because people like it when you're passive, mutable. you're "not easy to fluster" which is to say - your emotions are fundamentally uninteresting to others around you; so you've learned to control them to a degree that you can no longer really feel them happening.
you have long suspected something is wrong with you, but most of the time, googling doesn't help. you are so-used to helping-yourself, alone and with no handbook. the reek of your real self feels more like a horrible joke - you wake up, and, despite all your preparations, suddenly the whole house is full of smoke. the real you is someone waiting to ruin your other-life, the one where you're normal and happy. the real-self is unpredictable, angry.
your real self snarls when people infantilize the whole situation. because if you were really suffering, everyone seems to think you'd be completely unable to cope. but you already learned the rules, so you do know how to cope, and you have fucking been coping. it's not black-and-white. it's not that you are healed during the other times - it's just that you're able to fucking try. and honestly, whenever you show symptoms, it's a really fucking bad sign.
because the symptoms you have are ugly and unmanageable for others. your symptoms aren't waifish white girl things. they're annoying and complicated. they will be the subject of so many pretentious instagram reels. if they cared about you, they'd just show up on time. you care, a lot, so deeply it burns you. you like to picture a world where the comments read if they loved you, they'd never need glasses to see. but since that's a rule you've seen repeated - "one must never be late or you are a bad friend" - you constantly worry about being late and leave agonizingly early. there are no words for how you feel when you're still late; no matter how hard you were trying.
so you have to make up for it. you have to make up for that little horrible real you that you keep locked in a cabinet. you are bad at answering emails so every project you make has to be perfect. you are weird and sensitive so you have to learn to be funny and interesting. you are an inconvenience to others, so you become as smooth as possible, buffing out all the rough parts.
all this. all this. so people can pass their hands over you and just tell you just the once -how good you are. you're a good friend. you're loveable.
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