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cypherscript · 23 days

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Writing Prompt #12

Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.

Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

"Sorry Alfred!"

#dp x dc #dp x dc au #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc crossover

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cypherscript · 24 days

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I see your vision and i love it. while you've got the dpxdc brainrot, I've got the eleceed brainrot. Danny is Jiwoo, unassuming cute and harmless, feeding stray cats just surrounded by all these powerful beings and everyone just doesn't GET IT.

I've seen a lot of people writing Danny as a space ancient and Dan and Dani as ghosts with moon and sun cores, being sort of parts, versions of Danny and therefore weaker. Now, consider: Dan and Dani are both powerful ghosts with really cool cores and stuff but Danny is just some guy™

Dan, who came from an alternate timeline and is kind of from the future but also not, is Clockwork's apprentice and will eventually become an ancient of time. He probably only agreed to have some lessons with Clockwork to understand better what happened to him, but he enjoys his apprenticeship now.

Dani, with her love of travelling, loves seeing all the different places the world offers to her, and that includes space and different planets and maybe even parallel universes, and she accidentally ends up being an apprentice of the space ancient. For now she's probably a baby ancient of freedom or something like that, but she might become an ancient of space in the future.

We can also have something like Dan having a core of destruction or Dani being the Speed Force if you want it to be dcxdp, or any headcanon of yours about their cool powers.

And then there's Danny. And yeah, everyone knows that he's super powerful, but also he's just some guy.

It can go different routes. Does everyone know that Danny is just Danny? Or do they think that with siblings (well, technically a clone and an alternate version, but whatever) so powerful, he must be even stronger? Is Danny actually something terrifyingly eldritch and ancient and strong, almost a god, but he just doesn't know himself? Or is he just really some guy?

Now, because it's obvious that I have a dcxdp brainrot, have a regular "JL summons/meets a powerful ghost" but its Dan and Dani, and they keep mentioning their original/brother who won a fight against them at some point. The JL is very concerned about Dan and Dani's godlike powers, and they can't imagine what Danny is like. And then they meet him (in his human form), and it's just a young adult in casual clothes, very friendly and helpful, with no evident powers. Imagine the confusion. Imagine Dan and Dani, radiating power, in their eldritch ghost forms, admitting that fighting Danny for real is the dumbest thing to do and not even they would succeed... And then there's Danny is jeans and silly t-shirt, waving shyly.

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cypherscript · 24 days

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ah yes, the waffle house doing the god king's work out here.

The Justice League finds out about the Anti-Ecto Acts because of the Waffle House.

Waffle House already had a hurricane index, but the introduction of a non-ironic ghost index raised some questions.

Waffle House also patented the "Ghost and Liminal Friendly Space! We Didn't See Shit!" stickers, which overnight were put up on their doors.

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cypherscript · 1 month

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why you gotta snipe me like this.

#Shot throught the heart #And you're to blame

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cypherscript · 1 month

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Camp Infinite Big Sibling Initiative

"Izuku sweetie, there's a letter for you!" Inko calls from the front door, Izuku Midoriya immediately comes out and takes the letter from his mom. "Who is it from sweetie?"

"I'm not sure, it's in English but I think I know someone who can help. I'm going to head out mom, I'll be home for dinner. Love you."

"Love you sweetie!"

Izuku slides his classic red sneakers on and heads out, pulling out his phone and calling the one person who's fluent in English, "Allmight sensei, do you have a moment?"

"HAHAHA! Of course, young Midoriya. How can I help you?"

"I received a letter just now but it's completely in English. I was hoping you could help me read it? I can only recognize a couple of words. "

"Is that so? Alright, I'll meet you at Dagobah beach in ten minutes. I just need to hand some paperwork off to nedzu."

"Of course, see you soon, Allmight." Izuku hangs up his phone and sprints to Dagobah Beach where he spends the next five minutes happily watching the beachgoers walking down the now clean beach.

"Ah, young Midoriya. I hope I didn't keep you waiting," Yoshinori in his permanent small form asks as he lowers himself down next to Izuku on the wall.

"No sir, just enjoying the feeling of watching people enjoy the beach." Izuku pulls the envelope from his pocket, opens it and hands it to Toshinori, "Thats the letter i got, i can recognize one fo the words as doctor and camp but not much else."

Toshinori takes it from him and reads it aloud to izuku;

Dear Izuku Midoriya,

We hope this letter finds you in good health, my name is Dr. Jazzmine Fenton and i work alongside an organization dedicated to providing support and aid to individuals who have issues either emotionally, mentally or physically. I suppose i should probably explain what the organization I work for is called; its known as Camp Infinite. We hope to provide temprorary or permanent residence to problem cases, your file was passed through to us and the camp director thinks you would be perfect for our new initiative; the big siblijg program. We hope you would be able to spend some time at our camp and provide one or more campers with a big brother to help them with anything they need: power control, advice, homework and such.

We simply would like to employ you for the summer, full ride of course, and help expand our groups ability. Your intelligence, adaptability and analyse abilities would be perfect for this job. Please feel free to call us at this number, 888-CAMP-IFN8 to talk over anything you would like to know, All Might is more than welcome to join the calls if he doesnt trust us, we have nothing to hide.

Signed,

Dr. Jazzmine Fenton. PhD.

Camp Infinite's Therapy and Staff Resources.

______________________________________________

"It's... it's a summer job offer?"

"It appears so my boy, congratulations i suppose. I think you'd best talk to your mother about this before you decide on anything. I can check with Nezu and Tsukauchi on the authenticity of this group"

"Right," izuku says stunned as he looks down at the letter, the letterheads symbol glittering in the light. "Why offer me a job? They don't even know me, what if I'm not a good fit for what theyre looking for?! There's so many better options out there, Im not worth the- ow!" Izuku's spiral is cut short by a light chop to the head from Toshinori.

"My boy you are worth it, dont doubt the skills you have gained since I started training you. For now lets just inform your mother and take it from there. If you decide to accept the offer we can call them from Nezu's office."

"Right... thank you sensei. I better go let mom know. Would you like to join us for dinner?"

"I'd love to, my boy."

______________________________________________

***Two weeks later***

izuku stands in Nezus office with him, toshinori and Detective Tsukauchi, phone in hand that is plugged into a machine, the line hangs for a second as the static grows loud and what one could interpret as screams coming from the static before it clears and is answered by a male voice speaks japanese in an odd accent.

"Camp Infinite, Director Danny Fenton speaking."

Nezu waves for Izuku to speak as hes stunlocked into stammering, "H-hi, good morning sir. My name is Izuku Midoriya and I was calling because I had recieved a letter offering me a summer job?"

"Ah right, the young man Jazz was trying to hire for the big sibling program." Theres is shuffling of papers on the directors end before he speaks, "would you happen to be calling from Principal Nezu's office?"

"Ah uh," izuku looks to nezu who simply nods, "yes sir."

"Will you please put me on speakphone so we can speak more candidly?" Izuku gulps and does so, "Good afternoon, Principal Nezu. It's a pleasure to finally speak to you voice to voice."

"Indeed Mr. Fenton. You're certainly a hard individual to get information on."

"Is that so? Hmm, our information supposed to be available to the public for anyone to contact us if theyre in need. I will need to fix that later. I suppose you have questions? Either you or mister midoriya?"

Izuku speaks first, "just a couple; I mostly want to know why me and what you mean by full ride? I don't understand the context of the phrase."

"Ah sorry sorry, that is an american school term, full ride basically boils down to everything is provided for you; travel, housing, food and training on top of actually paying your for your time. As for why you? Why not? We have had a few visitors here who speak very highly of your abilities and would gladly accept you among our staff."

"People in America know about me?!"

"Well, not specifically america but yes. Please don't let that affect your choice, they all said very good things about you." There is the taping of computer keys on the Director's end, "now as for specifics on the job offer, Jazz has you marked down for a potential power mindset adjustment and training coordinator. That simply means you would help with some of our campers who have power regulation or control issues in helping them understand their abilities. Like i said previously the transport, housing and food will be provided as well as a spending stipend for anything you could need outside of camp and at the end of the summer we're happy to pay you..." he continues to tap away at the computer, "eighty thousand dollars. I believe that would be around twelve million yen."

Toshinori chokes on blood as Nezu almost spits his tea. "T-thats way to much money! I'm not worth that."

"Midoriya-"

"Young Midoriya!"

Danny cuts them off with a laugh, "i think you're underselling yourself. You managed to take a quirk that breaks your body, apply to your country's most prestigious school and mold it into something manageable in under a year, finding out the quirk is multifaceted and rolling with the punches? Take it from someone who knows a thing or two about difficult powers, that is VERY impressive."

"How so sir?"

"Well i dont like to advertise it but in my youth I was what one would refer to as a Grab Bag hero. Powers developed as i needed them, which is fine when your life is in danger but its less fine when its in your civilian life. My starting year of highschool i was banned from handling anything glass and constantly in trouble for losing my pants at the worst time."

"You were a hero sir?"

"Something like that, it has been a few years since that kind of thing was needed around here. Now enough about me, what do you say to my offer? Three months as a big brother/councilor with a full ride and eighty thousand dollars?"

"Y-yes sir I would like that very much!"

"Excellent, our camp summer portion starts in four weeks so that should give you time to get everything ready. I will send someone to pick you up at UA in four weeks. Hmm... probably not wulf, his japanese leaves much to be desired... Well anyways someone will be there to pick you up. I'll text their name when they're decided. Welcome to the team mister midoriya. Have a wonderful evening."

"You too sir." Midoriya looks stunned as Danny hangs up the line, Toshinori pats him on the back snapping him out of it.

"Congratulations on the job young Midoriya. Quite the pretty penny they offered you."

"Yeah..." he says right before fainting and being caught by Toshinori.

#dp x mha #dp crossover #Mass crossover #izuku midoriya #Camp Infinite au

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cypherscript · 1 month

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*Sobs In I Lost My Duolingo Streak*

#duolingo #soon

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cypherscript · 1 month

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First post or maybe second. I think there's a picture of stuffed animals from like a decade ago. But let's see how this goes.

Jason is having his death day, Danny wants to help. (Xey and xeir are used as pronouns for an alien species for whom English can't really cut it)

The day sucked. It fucking sucked every single year. Every inch of his body ached and screamed in pain with each step, turn, and movement. He could hear the incessant, unending beeping wherever he went. Of course… it wasn't unending. It had very abruptly and very importantly ended, once upon a time. Which led him to the next reason this day, every single year, was so unbearably shitty: the sweats. It felt like he was boiling alive on the surface of the sun and no matter what he did, no matter how he distracted himself, he always remembered why. Why he had to feel this way every year and how each torment served as a memento of that day.

Jason continued walking down the street in the vain hope to clear his head when he heard a voice.

"Yeeeeesh!" A boy said, "I think I can taste that."

As Jason turned, he noticed the boy, thin, no older than 16, with stark white hair, was staring directly at him. Staring at him and slowly walking closer.

"Hey there man," he started, "believe me when I say: I know today sucks. I don't know how badly or what exactly you're dealing with, but I know it's bad."

The teen was now standing right in front of him and yet Jason felt glued to the spot, like something was keeping him there and that the very idea of brushing off this boy and continuing on his horrid stroll would be an act of blasphemy. The boy reached out a hand and placed it gently on Jason's shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. And to his utter shock, Jason didn't shrug it off. In fact, he liked it? For the briefest of moments the aches subsided, the heat receded long enough to feel the cool spring breeze, and the beeping faded into nothing. He could swear even the pits were calm. No wait, they weren't just calm; they were cooing? Pushing him to lean into the young man's touch.

"Mind if I join you?" The boy asked.

"Please…" Jason spoke, somewhere between a whisper and a prayer.

And they started back along the walkway. Jason couldn't help but feel like the world had stopped as they made their way through Crime Alley.

"You know," the stranger began, "there's nothing wrong with asking, 'GOD, why the fuck is this happening to me?'"

"Sure, you know WHY it's happening. But it seems pretty unfair, no? I mean, we go through this absolutely awful thing once, and then we have to deal with the shadows of it once every three-sixty-five for the rest of eternity? That's just brutal."

Jason knew he had trusted every word spoken to him so far, though he couldn't be sure why. But the small, rational voice in his head now confirmed exactly what the subject of their conversation was.

"Well the truth is," he continued "it's not some command by on high. No one made these rules. It's just how the universe operates. I've actually met quite a few others like us, but they didn't live on a rock rotating around a yellow star. One of them lived their whole life on a space station flying through eternity. And yet even they feel this once every so often."

"See, the thing is, humans operate on an annual time scale. We don't feel greatly connected to something that happened exactly 7 or 28 or 30 days ago. But three hundred and sixty five days… and six-ish hours puts us in basically the exact same spot in the universe. You can feel it, the same air blowing in your face, the same setting sun, even the same clothes you were wear-"

Jason collapsed. He felt the air ripped out of his lungs as he coughed and choked and desperately tried to restart his breathing. Everything hurt, everything was hot, and the GODDAMN BEEPING-

And then it was gone. The only thing he felt was a gentle hand rubbing circles into his back. He turned to look up at the… Spirit? God? "Boy" felt wrong now.

"Ope," he said with a look of concern, "so the clothes were a really important part. Starting to get a picture of what's going on here."

Jason gratefully received a second hand positioned on his chest as he was lifted back into a standing position. Then he turned back to his companion and urged him to continue with his eyes.

"Well," he started again, "basically, we live on a yearly timescale. We don't count months or decades nearly the same way. But that's just us, if we were turtles and the only big happening we saw was that every 23 years a squall split the bay we lived in, you and I would have much longer between our episodes. One of the ones I talked to said xey only experienced it once every 91 years when a certain comet makes its pass through the night sky on xeir planet."

"Anyway," he continued, "what I'm trying to say is that the universe is a fucked up place. But it has rules. Action-reaction and all that. So if you want, I can try and help you get through this as someone more familiar with those rules than you are."

"Please," Jason pleaded, "anything that'll help. I just, I just want it to be easier, I don't need it to be gone; I just want it to be bearable."

"Cool," he responded "glad we're operating on more reasonable expectations. But first things first, I'm gonna need to take a closer look at your core and it's not going to be a particularly comfortable experience. Is that okay?"

Jason nodded, though he wasn't quite sure what this being had meant by "core." He just couldn't help but trust it.

That trust felt slightly misplaced when a hand passed directly into his chest and the arm it was attached to shifted to several angles as if searching for something.

"Aha!" Came the exclamation as the hand retracted, now carrying a small red… was that a page? Like from a book?

"Well this looks cool," the being said, "jeez a bad boy with the heart of a poet. Jazz would have a field day. But let me see here… oh! A protection obsession, just like me. Put 'er there bud."

Jason felt a deep reverberation in his chest as he shook hands with the entity. But everything felt wrong, like his very being had been separated from him so quickly and quietly that he hadn't even noticed. It felt as though he might've gone on blissfully unaware if he hadn't seen the page come out of his chest. And then the world returned. The sounds of the city came to life and when Jason looked down, the page was gone and the hand that held it was pressed gently and flatly back against his chest. The spirit reached down to grab Jason's hand before turning to continue down the street.

After a few minutes, they came to a stop at a park.

"Why are we here?" Asked Jason.

"Dunno," came the reply, "but look closely and I'm sure you'll find the reason."

Jason scanned the park. The homeless resting in the bushes, the trees full of green leaves, several families playing, an old man feeding pigeons, and another walking his dog. His eyes suddenly snapped back to the families. One family. The mother. A young woman with a long, thin scar along her cheek.

He remembered those eyes, that hair. The scar was a fresh gushing wound when he had least seen it, but he remembered that too.

"Her," Jason said, knowing the one beside him understood, "I saved her. Or helped. Back when I was- back before I was- Fuck. Was that a decade ago? Jesus she has a ki-oh man kids. Wait, is she my age? Shit, she seemed so little then."

"Someone you protected," came the voice, "someone for whom you risked your life. Someone who looks at those kids and thanks the universe for putting you on her path every single day."

Jason felt a lump forming in his throat.

"See," the boy started, "I think that's what people forget. Not just other people but us too. It's not about carrying someone through the pouring rain to a hospital. It's definitely not about the praise or detractors or even seeing someone pull through in the end. It's about this. It's about-"

"Seeing them get the chance to flourish," Jason finishes, "watching the world step on them over and over and being there to help them back on their feet the one time it would've been too much on their own. And then knowing they thrived in the end."

"It's hard," the spirit said, "to remember where we really sit in the grand scheme. It can feel like we haven't done anything or that no matter what we do, we'll never be more than one single moment. The reason today sucks every year is important. But it doesn't define who you are or what you'll do. Go visit Mr. Friedrichson at 2:03 today. One of his old tenants is gonna visit and I think you'll enjoy the reminder of why your home is a place worth fighting for, even in spite of the name. Talk to Jenny and Liu. They'll be on 5th Street tonight and they'll talk your ear off about all the good you've done and what it really means to bleed Crime Alley. And can I make one actual request, even if you don't do the other stuff?"

"Of course," Jason replied, "anything."

"Enjoy yourself," the voice spoke, fading as if it was getting farther away. "He's gonna come by as per usual, bearing gifts. But I'm begging you, forgive yourself, even if just for today, and try to enjoy some time with your brother."

"Hey Jason!" Came a call from his other side, "I've been looking all over for you. I got your favorite."

Dick lifted a large brown bag, undoubtedly from the greatest Chinese restaurant in the world… if you asked Jason that is. Jason couldn't help but let a soft smile creep across his face, before quickly hiding behind a groan and a hand pressed into his forehead.

"I can't get one day's peace from you can I?" Jason said as he closed the distance and took the bag.

"Uhh," Dick said, stunned by the more playful remark. "I… I thought you might want some company and I had a free-"

"Thank you Dick," Jason cut in, "I know you take this day off every year and I know you spend it mostly with me screaming and throwing things at you."

"It's not-" he began.

"But this year," Jason continued, "let's do something better."

He lifted the bag to his face and deeply inhaled the fragrant smell of nostalgia and stir fried vegetables.

"You even remembered my special instructions," Jason said, "come on. I know a few places we can go to enjoy this."

Oh boy that was long. Uhh, I hope Tumblr does the whole button to expand this automatically. I kinda only got halfway through what I was gonna say and then burnt out so we skipped Mr. Friedrichson's moment. Anyway have a good one y'all. Oh right, Danny says "bud" and "ope" because he's Midwestern just like me. I don't take criticism (on the Midwestern thing).

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cypherscript · 1 month

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100% Ghoast

Why does this fucking look like a Phandom post??? Deadass I thought we were doing some ghost bread shit now. Ghread. Ghoast. But no it's just some ad.

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cypherscript · 2 months

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*Sits at desk, chin in steepled hands.* And we've been making him summon the ghost king cause we thought it was apt... holy fucking shit.

DP x DC: Why summoning the Ghost King and Danny when he expects Pariah Dark might literally give John a panic attack

So, this would not be the first time John has summoned something and didn’t get what he expected. To explain that, I’ll have to explain the Newcastle incident, and I will but going to give a brief overview of what the consequences are before dipping into that… because it’s a bit intense

So during a summoning one of the things you need to do is name the being you’re summoning. The ritual and sigils are what brings the being forth. Naming the summoned entity is part of the binding. The binding is what gives you an amount of control over the being summoned and offers protection to the summoner

So having the wrong name means they have no control over what they summoned. Naming the spirit puts it on a leash and muzzles it, having the wrong name is just letting it in without the leash or muzzle

Let’s just say at this point, Constantine’s past experience with summoning would make him super against summoning “the Ghost King” and one of the other magic users like Zatana would have to do it

John would be freaking out the moment the wrong guy showed up, he has some trauma around that. Even if it’s just Danny, this is going to dredge up some stuff and he’s going to have a hard drink afterwards

I will now be going into one of the most traumatizing moments of John Constantine’s life. As such, it’s going to get pretty intense and I’m toning it down a bit

Explanation of the Newcastle Incident Content warning sexual assault and abuse

In 1978 Constantine and his “magic gang” go to the Casanova Club to deal with a bit of a situation there. They arrive and there’s a lot of dead bodies in the basement and a very traumatized girl

Astra Logue’s father was basically a cult leader and an orgy enthusiast. He and his followers did some not so great things to Astra. Astra was psychic, so in her distress she summoned a hellhound named Norfolthing (actually a primordial elemental but that takes explaining) to protect her from the sexual abuse of her father and his followers. Norfulthing proceeded to commit sexual assault against the cult before killing them

John and the Magic Gang showed up to deal with the aftermath. In order to get Astra out of there and get rid of Norfulthing, they decided the best way to deal with this was to “fight fire with fire”

They then proceed to summon the demon/former god Nergal but the ritual didn’t have his name. Right ritual, wrong name. Nergal then proceeded to drag Astra’s soul to hell, Norfulthing raped one of the magic gang

John then spent the next two years at Ravenscar Mental Asylum and only managed to rescue Astra’s soul from hell about a decade later. She was still dead obviously but at least she wasn’t suffering in hell

So yeah

John has some baggage when it comes to summoning things with the wrong name

#whelp #not doing that again

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