#Bruce: (sweating bullets)
Note
Could you do more cave boy Danny please? I really wanna see what you have in mind for the direction you want the prompt to take 👻
The first thing that registers for Danny is the flouting feeling that he often relates to flying. To him, it always felt like being in the water, perfectly balanced with his arms and legs spread out, letting himself be weightless and left up instead of fighting gravity.
He allows himself to be taken by the sensation. It's not often he can fly just for enjoyment, especially in recent months. The Waynes were far too observant.
It is only when he tries to move into a more comfortable position that he notices the restraint.
Unlike in the water, he does not move slightly up and down with waves so he knows he's not flying in his ghost form. There is nothing that ever hinders him, even if slightly.
This is a different sense of flying.
It's caused by medication.
Danny's eyes snap open, fearing men in white suits, and instead gets a teenager in black and red-leaning his head into his hands. There are no restraints or a containment pod, instead, there are soft warm blankets and a large bed.
There are beeps from machines and a tube inside his arm, tapped to the top of his elbow. He's not sure what is in it but he hopes it to help with his pain and not to....see what his DNA is made of or something.
Thoughts are....hard right now. Like trying to grasp sand but it only slips through his fingers. He is aware but not. Did someone steal his brain? He is usually a much better thinker.
"Brucie!" The red and black teenager grasps, throwing his head up. Danny squints at him, wondering if his black wings are alright. They didn't explain or even react to his movement.
Danny should contact Frostbite. His Yeti can fix up those right up.
"It's a cape" The other laughs but his voice is soft with sadness. Danny squints at him trying to pinpoint why he would be so sad. It might be because he hasn't shifted into a butterfly yet.
"I'm not a butterfly." The other laughs a little more amused.
Danny's eyes widened. Was the teenager a mind reader? That's a scary thought. What if he learned all of Danny's secrets?
"Brucie....who's Danny?"
Nah, Danny wasn't risking it. He was going back to sleep. He had to escape into his dreams that way they would be just as confused by them as he was. He chuckles to himself, knowing that they won't know what to do against the giant green dog that guarded his dreams.
"Goodnight Brucie. Enjoy your green dog"
________________________________________________
Hours later Danny wakes up again but this time he is much more lucid. He glances around the room, eyes flickering over the machine and wires attached to him with little care.
He can recognize the room the Waynes gave him with ease. Everything from the posters he had put up in an attempt to look like an average teenager- even if he did only put up posters of Batman and his crew- to the random nick-nacks he left behind in his escape.
It was a bit bare from when he took everything but it's still the room he called home for a while.
How in the world did he get back to Wayne Manor?
Danny needs to get out now.
Standing up on uneasy legs, he rips out the wires as fast as he can, uncaring of the loud alarms that ring the moment he does. He rushes for the door, vision blurry, having to force all of his will into getting one step and then another.
Danny is forced to take small pauses every now and then because his body simply can't handle moving too fast. His legs shake from the effort it takes to keep him up right but he pushes through anyway.
It's only when he manages to get to the door that he remembers his powers. Danny flexes his abs into a clench that he had come to associate with activating his powers. For a brief second, twin rings of light appear, but they only move z few centimeters before flickering out of sight.
It feels like all his energy fades with with.
Panting, he slides to the floor, his limbs feeling like lead and his head swimming with fog. His head falls to the side slightly, but he can see that the door is right in front of him.
Danny tries to reach for it but all that does is cause him to tumble over. There is a dull ache on his chin and chest, as he lays there on the ground breathing heavily, and small black dots start to appear in his vision.
He is likely going to pass out soon from his core's backlash. Danny can't afford that. Not until he's safely away from the Manor and back in his cave.
How in the world did he even get out of his cave? How did he end up here?
All questions he'll have to answer later.
Planting his forearms before himself and pushing one leg slightly to the side, Danny lifts himself up. He lets his legs relax, making sure they don't drag behind him, as he shifts one arm forward and then another, crawling towards the door in the army crawl his mom should him.
He makes it to the door in what feels like hours but is probably seconds. His hands reach upward to launch onto the door handle with all his strength. to heave it open.
There is a moment of pure unadulterated joy that he was able to get this far when Danny encounters a slight problem. There is a force field right inside the doorway.
He figures this out when he slams into an invisible wall. A startled yelp is ripped from his throat as he stumbles back, blinking owlishly at the flickering force field light that gleams and ripples mockingly at him.
For half a second, he thinks that one of his siblings had pranked him by putting up plastic wrap to have him walk into it.
Except for the man in a brown trench coat who is staring down at him with an open mouth.
"Brucie!" Bruce shouts pushing the stranger out of the way to kneel down. "What happened?"
"He activated my wares to keep out spirits....or in this case keep them in?" Trench coat is staring at Danny with a strange expression. It seems like a cross between intrigued and weary. "What are you?"
"I already told you, this is my counterpart from a different universe," Bruce says helping Danny into a sitting position. "We confirmed it the first night he was here. Both DNA and our multi-universal tests came back positive."
"Batty, I highly doubt you have the technology to test for dimension travelers-"
"I do. I used it on every Flash I have ever come across, every time I see them."
"......I know I call you batty but honestly Batty that's alarming."
Danny's eyes flicker between them before he activates his intangibility. It's an ability that doesn't require his full form, however just as he's starting to slip through Bruce's fingers his legs slam against a similar field just a few inches from the floor.
His knees pop loudly and Danny screeches.
"Brucie!"
"Yeah, I wouldn't do that. My wards are all around us. I put them up after finding your cave drenched in otherworld energy. Figured I was protecting you not capturing you."
Danny's yanks his legs up, trying to crawl away from the man. Bruce throws an arm in front of him and Danny foolishly presses himself into the older man's back, trying to shield away from the very alarmingly competent Ghost Hunter.
"You leave him alone. He is not a threat. He is just a civilian boy who happens to be a meta" Bruce's voice is low and dangerous. Danny has never heard him speak like that, even while dressed as Batman.
"Batty, whatever that is, it is certainly not a civilian let alone a boy. The amount of will it took just to keep my wards up by him hitting against them by accident is nothing to sneeze at." Trench Coat insists, pulling out a stone with a strange marking on it. Danny squints at the symbols and then gasps when he recognizes them.
ᛙᛁ⸜⸍ˎ⸜ᛍ╵╮ˎ◟ᛍ╵
It's Fenton Works spelled out in runes, medieval runes to be exact. Danny knows because Jazz and he had a bonding phase where they translated the family name and business. They would carve the symbols into hundreds of wood plates, to bond with their aunt.
"Yeah, even the Witch Boy flinched at this seal." The man smirks, holding out the plat as if he were warding off a spirit. Danny cowers more behind Bruce."You have no idea what I had to trade to get this"
"What the hell are you doing?" Tim's voice cuts through the tension. He is standing in the doorway, arms crossed and face dark. Behind him are the rest of the Waynes. None of them are looking friendly.
"Constantine." Bruce growls. "You are on thin ice. Backdown. Now".
"Not to be disrespectful Batty, but that thing is-"
"His name is Bruce Wayne, You will do well to remember it. " Damian cuts in. The blond man holding- his own carving?- tilts his head.
"But that's not your name is it?" He asks Danny, who swallows. He presses closer to Bruce and watches the Waynes slowly circle Constantine. It's obvious they are about to jump him and Danny-
Danny realized that he may have tried to run but that obviously wasn't going to work. He couldn't hide either, because they found him.
He needed to come clean.
"Wait." He says, his voice stilling the room in a way that only those with complete control. He scoots to the right leaving Bruce's protection. "Wait. He's right. I'm not Bruce Wayne. My name is Danny Fenton. I've been lying to you all. I'm sorry."
"Fenton?" Constantine repeats confused but he doesn't get to continue because Bruce pulls him back behind him.
"You aren't lying. We knew you had a different name, you're still my counterpart."
What.
"Yeah Danny, we kind of knew from day one that you were a version of Bruce even if it was under a different name" Dick laughs. "You told Tim your real name a few days ago as well as your universe coordinates. We already confirmed its location and Tim is working on a ship for you."
What
"We knew. You Bruce." Cass says looking right at Danny. "We since the day we found you."
That's....not right at all.
"No. I'm Danny Fenton. I'm not a version of Bruce. I can prove it!" He shouts, throwing his hand on Bruce's back. He makes his core glow, knowing no two people could ever have the same one unless they are variants of timelines.
That's why Dani's core won't glow with him but Dan will.
Constantine nods his head "A core glow test. That will prove that you aren't Bruce and are something that's pretending to be him. Claiming to be part of the King's family is also a bold claim."
"Look ma I never claim to be part of some King's family I only-"
Twin blue and green glows burst from Danny's and Bruce's chest and Danny's words die on his tongue. Constantine drops his hand in shock.
"See? You are Brucie!" Dick laughs as if he hadn't just shattered Danny's entire world viewpoint. He could only gape at the group of people before Bruce placed a hand on his head.
"I'm sorry. If I had known you knew where your world was located we would have gotten you home to your parents weeks ago. You must have been so scared. Don't worry. We'll have you home soon."
Again and with great feeling, he will say what!?
#dcxdpdabbles#dc x dp crossover#cave boy#part 9#Danny was actaully Bruce all along#Constantine sweating bullets that he threaten the King's family with the King#They found him and he was unconsious for days#Tim is building him a ship as a appology
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This is a complete crack idea. However: dp/dc au where Danny is Alfred. He found out that he is 1) Immortal and 2) can shapeshift and he's just been randomising his customisation settings ever since. When he goes into butler work for the Waynes he decides to be as stereotypical as possible figuring it'll be really funny for the few years he works for them, and the bit is indeed Very Good- right up until their son gets orphaned. It's been 30 years and now the bit is just his life.
#No one remembers it but for the first few years Alfred worked for the Waynes sometimes the food came to life#Bruce looking through an old photo album: Alfred what's the weird blur in this picture?#Dany sweating bullets: Sir that was the revolution of '83 and we Do Not Talk About It#Danny watching Bruce sketch out designs for a batsuit and being fully convinced it's karma for stressing Jazz out in his teens#He'd tell B to go to therapy but he'd be a hypocrite. Danny went One Time and his therapist tried to eat him#Everyone in this family is allergic to seeking psychological help#dpxdc#Bongo's Aus!!!
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*Danny and a Batfam member having a friendly chat at a cafe. They've known each other for a few months now*
Batfam member: "You know, you actually kinda look like B with a few minor differences. Prime adoption bait. Hope you're not another secret love child of his." *laughs*
Danny: *Starts sweating bullets because he is in fact, Bruce's kid but from a different dimension where instead of being a himbo billionaire, he's a himbo ghost hunter named Jack who almost killed him before he got here .* "Haha, you don't say?"
Batfam member: *Clocks in on sudden shift in mood* "Please tell me you're not."
Danny: "So do you want the short and funny story, or the long and sad one? Yes, there's a right answer."
Batfam member: *crying because they can never have a normal sibling*
Danny: Also, do you believe in ghosts?
Batfam member: *cries even more*
#dp x dc#dpxdc#dcxdp#dc x dp#dp x dc prompt#dp x dc crossover#dp dc crossover#dc x dp prompt#Bruce is not ready for this#neither is Jason#none of them are tbh#Danny is in the DC universe looking for a place for the liminals of Amity Park to live#not because he has to but because he believes it's his fault and he's trying to make up for it#NOT ghost king danny#because apparently#people don't like that
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Bruce, darkly: There's a reason why Robin's cape, through every iteration of the design and every successor of the name, has always been yellow.
Hal, sweating nervously: haha. spooky what the fuck
One day on the Watchtower
Bruce: did you know that Robin’s favorite color is yellow?
Hal: haha, no way! cool color.
Bruce: actually all of my children enjoy the color yellow
Hal, slightly strained: nice! what a coincidence!
Bruce:
Hal:
Bruce:
Hal:
Bruce:
Hal, sweating bullets: cool cool cool. cool talk, man. let’s do it again sometime
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Bruce: I can’t believe you got pulled over! Get you’re license out quick-
Dick: *sweating bullets* I don’t have one!
Bruce: Why would you ask to drive home then!
Dick: I’m nine-
#incorrect batfam#incorrect batfamily quotes#batfam#batfamily#dick grayson#nightwing#bruce wayne#batman
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One of Bruce's go-to moves is bluffing and it drives him crazy that Clark knows how to read him well enough to always call them. So even though the Justice League is sweating bullets after Batman's latest pronouncement, Clark crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow and Bruce is furious he's got to fold. Same goes for when Bruce lies about his capabilities after an injury, or makes a threat.
#superbat#enemies to lovers#should be something I see more of goddamn it#clark kent#bruce wayne#batman#superman#Also I have a HC that Hal tries doing the same thing Clark does once and regrets it so much that he never tries it again
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I feel like Bruce is the type of guy to give you a toy to have in you at dinner (he gave you a nice outfit too dw) and he’d turn it on at random moments
Don’t mind me, just gonna vibe over here with my silly little ideas
Oh look it’s one of my favorite tropes (kinks? whatever)
Seated next to Bruce at the annual gala for one of the many, many charities the two of you are involved in, you’re sweating bullets. He’s scheduled to be giving a speech after the next course, and you’re painfully nervous.
Someone says your name beside you, and when you take a fluttering breath instead of responding, they call your name again. “Are you alright? You look flushed.”
Suddenly, the vibration between your thighs dies down, and so too does the heat that comes with it. You flash your best smile and, since you can’t make yourself look normal given the circumstances, decide to lean in.
“Maybe a little under the weather,” you lie, knowing that Bruce—sitting on your other side with his hand in his lap, phone unlocked and fingers moving as if he’s texting because he’s so important and so busy, no one would ever suspect—
The vibration kicks up again, just a little reminder of the bullet wedged between your folds and the man who put it there. You reach for your napkin just in time to cover your mouth, pretending to clear your throat when you really want to moan.
Bruce’s fingers, cold as ice, touch your neck and very nearly make you jump. “She does feel warm,” he agrees, feigning concern because he knows you can’t pout and glare at him when you’re in public. “Do you want to head home?”
His words in the car on the way over echo in your head: you don’t want all our friends to think you’re a slut, do you?
You reach out and touch his hand, the one over his phone—and blissfully, the vibration slows. A mercy. “I’m okay,” you promise, smiling sweetly because you’re not losing this little game. “I want to stay for your speech, at least.”
Bruce raises a brow, catching on in an instant. His blue eyes sparkle with electric heat, and you swear he almost leans in to claim your mouth right there.
“If you’re sure,” he concedes, then presses a kiss to your forehead. Outwardly, he looks like the perfect partner, but only you can hear him whisper, “Can’t have my phone out when I’m on stage, baby. What if I leave it on, and make sure I talk nice and slow?”
#bruce wayne x reader#batman x reader#bruce wayne smut#batman smut#🌸— mine.#🌸— bruce wayne.#💌— letters for the gardener.#💋— anon.
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I’ll Survive
Natasha Romanoff x reader
Summary: happy then sad then happy, requested, supersoldier!r but it’s not relevant to plot
Word Count: 2.7K
Warnings: death, grief
A/N: thanks for the request!
You and Natasha are in the gym when FRIDAY calls a meeting.
“Come on, is that all you got?” she grins, leaning into the punching bag with all her weight.
You fire a few more jabs, and her feet slip back a little. Sweat rolls down your forehead.
“Attention, all,” FRIDAY’s voice rings out. “Mission briefing in the conference room. 10 minutes.”
You don’t stop your barrage of punches, your eyes locked onto the Avengers logo in the center of the bag.
“You sure you’re ready to get back into it?” Natasha asks.
You’ve been coming off of an injury for a few months now. Bad intel, a trap, a bullet straight through your femur — being on bedrest was your seventh circle of hell.
Instead of answering, you wind your fist back and hit the bag hard enough to send it flying across the room, taking Natasha with it. She slams against the wall and laughs.
You wipe your face with a towel before walking over and kicking the bag away from her. “Sorry.”
“Super soldiers,” she mutters, shaking her head.
You offer her a hand. She takes it, rising to her feet, and leans into your chest. Butterflies shoot through your stomach.
“You sure you’re ready?” she asks softly.
“Yeah.”
Her eyes flick down to your lips, and you pull her into a slow kiss. Her hands find the back of your neck, lace through your hair. It only lasts a few seconds before she swipes her foot behind your leg and shoves your shoulders hard.
You land flat on your back with a groan.
“10 minutes, killer,” she smirks. “And don’t ever do that again.”
You’re the last one in the conference room, and there are no seats left around the table. Cap shoots you a disapproving glance as you close the door behind you.
“Hope no one made any weekend plans,” Cap clears his throat. “Because we’re heading to Russia.”
Tony groans obnoxiously. “Come on, really?”
The holographic screen suspended above the table turns on, showing the floor plans of the Kremlin. Everyone falls silent.
“This isn’t a villain of the week, guys,” Steve sighs. “Hell, it’s not even HYDRA.”
You whistle, and Rhodey glares at you.
“As far as we can tell, the Russian government is doing this entirely of their own accord. The only one pulling the strings is Putin.”
“What are they doing?” Clint asks, leaning back in his chair.
“They want to put nukes in space.” Steve presses his clicker and the screen shows the earth and a dozen orbits around it. “That’s a one-way ticket to world war three.”
“And you want us to, what, eat the nukes?” Tony asks.
Cap clenches his jaw. “The Department of Defense wants us to make sure they don’t launch. My plan makes sure Putin won’t ever get the chance to.”
“You want to assassinate him?” Natasha asks quickly.
Steve faces her. “I want you to.”
Your eyes meet Natasha’s through the projection, and you swallow.
“He’s gotta be the most well-protected guy on the planet,” Bruce says.
“That’s a suicide mission!” Clint cries.
“Which is why we’re all going,” Steve says, in that authoritative old man tone that shuts everyone up. “Banner’s right. It’s going to take all of us just to get a chance.”
“Pretty sure assassinating the Russian president is an act of war,” you say. “Number two in command is just gonna send those nukes up and point them straight at the Pentagon.”
Everyone is quiet for a moment. Then they turn towards Steve.
“Which is why I have a plan,” he says firmly.
You don’t like it one bit. Not one bit. Natasha, undercover for two weeks without comms. Clint posing as a diplomat. The rest of you hunkered underground, waiting for the right moment to invade the Kremlin. It’s almost recklessly risky. And yet, Steve has his full faith in it, which means the rest of you do too.
That night, Natasha holds onto you tightly. She’s terrified to go back there, regardless of what she says. It’s worse than going after one cell, or even the Red Room itself. It’s the man behind the curtain who’s been controlling it all.
“It’s going to go fine,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you further into her.
“It is,” you say. You take her hands and press them into your sternum. You’d only succeeded in being the big spoon a couple times — never when she was stressed. So you stare at the wall. “I mean it.”
“Me too,” her breath fans against the back of your neck. “We’ve done harder things before, haven’t we?”
“Oh, absolutely,” you exhale. “I mean, aliens? AI? Bruce when he’s hungry?”
She laughs, and that eases some of the pressure on your heart. “Worst case, I’ll survive.”
“You always do.”
“I always do,” she smiles. “And best case, I take care of him, you get rid of the cabinet, and Steve slides in his new leader. And we get out of there and go to… I don’t know. The Dominican Republic.”
“The Dominican Republic?”
“Why not?” she kisses your shoulder. “A vacation. Moscow’ll be a pretty intense way to get back into the action. You’ll deserve a break.”
“I’ve been on a break for three months,” you snort.
“Oh come on, you don’t want a piña colada? Palm trees? White sand beaches?”
“Well when you put it like that,” you say, turning around to face her. “I guess we could go to the Dominican Republic.”
She smiles, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “Promise?”
You could stare into the green of her eyes forever. “Promise.”
Not three weeks later, you sit staring at a computer screen in a bunker a hundred feet below Red Square. Tony sits to your left. There’s no point in watching the feed, since all of the cameras are outside of the Kremlin and Natasha walked in an hour ago, but you can’t help it. You feel powerless.
For ten days, Natasha has been Alina Konstantinovna Petrova, a middle-aged politician who just got back from a stint in Belarus. When she emerged wearing the nanotech mask for the first time, you genuinely didn’t recognize her. Her voice, her gait, her mannerisms — all changed. Sometimes you forget she’s the world’s greatest spy.
But with no comms and no tracker, all you have is your faith in that fact. Just your trust in her.
If she’s on schedule, she should be having tea with the Prime Minister, but really she could be anywhere, doing anything. There’s absolutely no way for you to know.
“You know,” Wanda sighs, tipping back in her office chair and tossing a tennis ball into the air. “I don’t think all of us had to be here.”
“Agreed,” Tony grumbles. “I was supposed to be at a gala right now.”
“Do you think-”
“Quiet!” Steve orders, narrowing his eyes at the screen. “Do you see that? Is that smoke?”
You lean closer. It is smoke, pouring out of a second-floor window, and it makes your stomach drop.
Steve taps into the emergency comms in Clint’s ear. “Is there a fire? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” Clint’s voice replies, hushed. “I don’t know, they put us into a ballroom. I don’t know where she is.”
“Shit,” Steve mutters.
“What do we do?” you ask, rising to your feet.
Steve grimaces. “If… if we make contact now, she won’t have a shot. It’ll all be for nothing.”
“The Kremlin isn’t usually on fire,” you snap.
“I’m sure she can handle it,” he glares back. His voice is dangerously quiet when he speaks again. “She knows what’s on the line here.”
But five minutes later, the smoke hasn’t stopped. It’s spread. Clint and the other diplomats are being evacuated.
You keep your eyes glued to the feed, scanning for Alina Petrova’s face among the crowd. She never emerges, but neither do the Prime Minister or cabinet. Maybe there’s a hidden exit.
Just when it seems like the fire is coming under control and the chaos is cooling, the cameras cut out.
You rush for the exit immediately, Tony and Steve right on your heels. Your entire body goes numb as you climb the ladder.
It’s probably fine, you think, hands squeezing the rungs too tight. The fire burned a power line, or the government stopped the footage to protect their image. She’s fine. She’s fine.
You heave the manhole cover out of place with your shoulder, hoisting yourself onto the street and ignoring the pedestrians who stare at you.
It’s absolute pandemonium. There’s a crater where half of the Kremlin used to be, and the other half is engulfed in flames. You sprint towards it.
Steve immediately shouts after you, but all you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears.
Maybe there’s a hidden exit. She had to have noticed the fire, she would’ve escaped, she would’ve made it out. She would’ve.
The police that are always stationed around the Kremlin make a border around it, though no one except you is trying to go towards the burning building.
“Ostanavis’!” they yell, but you hurdle their makeshift barricade.
If she was on schedule, she would’ve been on the east side, top floor. The heat doesn’t even register in your mind.
You root through rubble as fast as you can, barely noticing when Wanda and Steve join you in your search. Smoke stings your eyes and fills your lungs until you can barely choke out a breath.
There are heaps of ash that might’ve once been people, might’ve once been Natasha.
You climb trembling supports to get to the second floor: there are bones there, even fragments of medals and jewelry. The farther you get from the crater the less charred the bodies become. But you can only get so close to the live blaze, and none of the bodies are hers. The skin on your hands begins to blister from red-hot ash and metal.
At some point Steve pulls you away, ignores the way you claw at him and scream that you won’t leave her. The three of you (Tony, Bruce, and Rhodey had been wise enough to run away from flaming wreckage) end up in a Russian prison, charged as enemies of the state responsible for the fire and ensuing blast.
By the time the Department of Defense negotiates you out, you’ve convinced yourself that Natasha must’ve escaped. There’s no other option. She couldn’t die. If you didn’t find her, she couldn’t have been there. She must’ve gotten out.
But when you walk into SHIELD’s Moscow base, she isn’t there. It’s only Fury and Clint.
“Where is she?” you ask, rushing towards them. Everyone else seems to slip out of the room.
Fury’s eyes stay trained on you, swimming with something you don’t want to decipher. Your heart pounds against your chest
“Where is she?”
“She’s dead,” Clint says, his voice raw.
“No,” you respond immediately. “No, she isn’t.”
He closes his eyes.
No. You see a flash of her smile, of the jacket she loved. You feel the ghost of her touch on your face.
“I thought she faked it,” Fury says after a moment. “But… we made a deal a few years ago. If one of us faked it again we’d leave something behind so the other would know. A ring.”
You’ve never heard his voice so weak before. Somehow it’s scarier than anything else.
“But there was no ring,” he clears his throat. “Just this.”
He holds out his hand, opens it. The necklace you gave Natasha last year is bunched up on his palm, dark with soot. Your knees almost give out. She never takes it off, not to sleep or train or go undercover. She would never leave it behind.
Reality dawns on you like an awful black wave. Natasha is dead.
“I’m sorry,” Fury says, resting a hand on your shoulder. You can’t feel it. Every breath, every blink is manual now, every movement an act of will.
Worst case, I’ll survive.
You just want to hug her again. Just see her face one more time, knowing it’ll be the last. Suddenly a deep red rage fills your vision, and your muscles twitch to strangle whoever set the fire, whoever planted the bomb.
“There was no body?” you ask hoarsely. You can’t tear your eyes from the necklace.
Fury shakes his head. “Ash.”
A lump forms in your throat that won’t leave for weeks. You feel like you’re looking at everything through frosted glass, frozen in the moments that you just held. It’s like you’ve been caught in a spiderweb.
You don’t cry until you set foot inside her room at the compound. Everything is just how she left it, like she just stepped out. Like she’ll come back any second now.
The covers on her bed are rumpled.
You can’t wrap your kind around the fact that she could be gone, vanished into thin air, reduced to dust. That she’ll never touch anything again. You sit down on the floor and hug your knees.
For a few days you don’t eat; you don’t speak for longer. The gaping hole in your chest churns and twists in an agonizing way. Every night you dream of refusing Steve’s plan, or going up as soon as you saw the smoke, or doing anything except sitting idly while she burned alive.
You’re at Steve’s throat often enough that Tony kicks you both out of the compound. It’s not like either of you are of use, anyways. The others manage to channel their sorrow into work. You don’t.
Clint takes time off, too. Laura manages to convince you it’ll be good.
But with nothing to distract you, you feel the pain of every passing moment. Every minute that you get older and she doesn’t. You don’t want to have to think of a life without her in it.
Weeks or months into your dull gray blur of a life, someone knocks on your door. You hope it’s not Steve. You don’t know if it’s the season, but you could spring for a box of Thin Mints.
It’s not a girl scout. It’s Natasha.
Your eyes go wide; your face pales. Nanotech mask? Clone? “A-Are you real?”
She wheezes out your name, keeps her hands clutched to her side.
“Is it really you?” you ask, your eyes welling with tears and your hands trembling as you reach out to touch her.
“I missed you,” she breathes, her eyes roaming your face.
She has a black eye and a split lip. It’s her. You drink in the green of her eyes and the red of her hair and the softness of her face and you can’t keep the sobs from escaping. She crashes into your arms, ignoring the throbbing pain in her ribs. She smells like sweat and home.
Natasha is crying too, shaking, her face hidden in your chest. You close your eyes and tilt your head down to rest your lips on her head.
“You’re hurt,” you say when you remember how to speak.
She pulls away and kisses you deeply. It feels like God blessing you, even if it tastes like blood. She’s real. You don’t let go of her until she gently pushes you away.
“We should go inside,” she whispers.
You’re in a daze for half an hour, while you wrap her ribs and bandage the gash on her arm. She doesn’t leave your gaze for one second. When you’re finally satisfied that she won’t drop dead, you collapse onto the couch next to her.
She climbs on top of you, pulls you close.
“They were onto me,” she murmurs into your hair. “I had to escape, I couldn’t let them think I was alive.”
Anger roars in your chest. “I’m not losing you again.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I’m going to kill them,” you growl, wrapping your arms around her securely.
“I’ll help,” she says, and you can hear the smile in her voice. “They’re probably coming here.”
“You were followed?”
“I wanted to see you,” she sighs. “I didn’t take all the precautions.”
You laugh and bury your face into the crook of her neck. “You think we can go to the Dominican Republic after?”
“I’ll break up with you if we don’t.”
#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff#angst#black widow#black widow x reader#marvel#mcu#natasha x reader#fluff
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legends of the dark knight (2021) #6
[ID: Bruce Wayne entering Wayne Manor by his cave entrance. He's in his Batman costume and, frankly, looks like shit. He has a fresh, gaping bullet wound in his shoulder, he has blood around his mouth and is dripping from rain (and possibly sweat). His costume is battered and torn, exposing his cut and bloodied legs. He's bracing himself against the doorframe as Alfred cries out, “My word, Master Bruce! What have you done to yourself?!”
He rushes to support Bruce's weight, his arm wrapped around his back as he leads him down the corridor and away from the platter and cup of tea he was going to bring him—which is shattered on the ground because he dropped it in shock. Alfred repeats, “What have you done?” Bruce weakly and insufferably responds, “You... should see... the other guy...” Alfred responds, “Sir, the essence of comedy, is timing.” END ID]
#THEM....#disabled bruce#<- IT COUNTS!!!! HE NEEDS HIS CAREGIVER HE NEEDS SOMEONE TO HELP TAKE CARE OF HIM!!!#like its always framed as something laughable or shameful but no!!! hes a disabled hero!!!#he pushes himself again and again and needs that person to help ground him and to remind him of his bodily needs and care!!!!#but also god he's soooo annoying and unfortunately funny. dont tell him. itll go straight to his cowl ears.#c: legends of the dark knight (2021) i: 6#crypt's panels#batman#bruce wayne#alfred pennyworth#alfred & bruce
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What’s Bruce’s reaction to Tim saying he’s in a poly relationship with Superboy and Red Robin in ur secret Robin au?
His siblings would crack lots of jokes abt self love lol
Tim: we're... actually... in a *gulp* poly...cule
Bruce: oh. um. that's, nice.
Bruce (awkward pat)
Tim: (sweating bullets)
Dick and Jason will never let him live it down. it's in their speeches at his wedding. they recite it at family gatherings. not a Christmas goes by where one of the batkids doesn't roast tim over his two person polycule
it's still not the stupidest excuse one of the Robins has made
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Obsessed with Superbat AUs where neither Bruce or Clark know each other's secret identities, so Bruce will just randomly spot a built af reporter in dweeby glasses and a terribly fitted suit in the middle of a crowded room and just go:
"Hmm, yeah, that one. That's the one I want."
Meanwhile, Clark's just a deer in the headlights, sweating absolute bullets and wondering the whole time why Bruce fucking Wayne is suddenly so interested in a dopey looking reporter from Hickville, USA.
You really can't beat this shit.
#superbat#superman#clark kent#bruce wayne#batman#dc comics#this trope will never not make me laugh#shit's golden
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Phantom's Number 1 Fan Part 3
John Constantine calls a joint Justice League and Justice League Dark meeting.
It's not something he wants to do. He barely works with the LJD, but at least that lot understands his work and knows what to do and where to go.
The JL members always ask questions and forget proper manners when working with the paranormal- John isn't the most well-mannered bloke around, but even he knows to permanently say goodbye to ghosts so that they don't follow him home- and it's like trying to teach an intern while dodging bullets.
He prefers to avoid the whole origination, especially since Bruce's death; everyone has been walking on eggshells, and there is a sense of disorganization drenched in grief that John breaks into hives just thinking about, but this is big.
Bigger than he can handle it on his own or with just the JLD. Even if the whole group gives the bats not-so-stable glances as they filter in.
John notices that one of Batman's brats is missing- the smart one- but he has heard that the kid suffered some kind of psychotic break from his father's death. It's sad, really, mainly because John used to believe that the third Robin was the one with the good head on his shoulders.
What's worse is that the Third Robin up and ran off, having gone off the grid when he refused to accept Batman's death. The boy hadn't said anything besides, "The portraits told me!" after having a miniature breakdown in his home.
It didn't help that around this time, the boy teammates had all dropped like flies except for one. So yes, John knows it wasn't a big surprise that he lost it, but it was still sad to see. Kid is only seventeen.
He hopes they find him soon to give him the help he needs. John would offer a spell to try and find him, but he needs to learn about the kid better, which means his spell can only point in a general direction.
Nightwing looked downright ragged, but losing a father on the battlefield and a younger brother to his grief did a number on anyone.
John hates himself just a little for dragging the grieving family here. He does, but again, this is bigger than all of them. This is a matter of life and death- literally.
"Listen up. We have a bloody level ten on its way to Earth if it's not already here." His words cut through the muttering crowd, shutting everyone up. A level ten makes even the big, lousy Superman sweat. He snaps his fingers, allowing his magic to shift into the image of a King Phantom sitting on his throne- painted in the early 1200s and the picture that can be used to identify him.
The art style would have been almost modern if it wasn't for the unease that the painting could cause due to the glowing green from his majesty's portrait. They say the green was ectoplasm from the king himself- and that alone should warn others to not mess with him.
Everyone Justice League Dark member hissed through their teeth, sitting up straighter and a few even pale. John is once again grateful that they understand just how deep in shit they genuinely are.
"This is the Ghost King. He is not to be confused with a god or king of gods. He's something else entirely because he makes gods nervous. He is on his way here to kill whoever is dumb enough to threaten his pregnant fiancee, and I fear the rest of Earth will be collateral if we don't prepare-"
"That's Danny Phantom," A young voice cuts John off. He is surprised someone would talk over him in a level ten briefing. All eyes turn to Robin- er, the new Robin.
The kid is frowning at the image, his signature scowl already deeper than usual. He's also heard the new Robin was a spoiled boy who was not a team player.
"You know King Phantom?" John asks.
Robin nods. "Placeholder is obsessed with him. Half his room is covered with King Phantom's heroics."
"Do not call him that.," Nightwing hisses a second later. He frowned when Robin ignored him but returned to the room without further comment on the boy's cheek. "Danny Phantom is a low-level search and rescue hero. He pops up around the world but only sometimes interacts with people. Robin- Young Justice Robin- was obsessed with him."
The room gains an awkward weight as no one is willing to bring up the mentally unsound MIA teenager.
It's too bad for them. John has never cared about making anyone comfortable. "You said his room is covered in images of King Phantom?"
From the corner of his eyes, John catches sight of Zatanna's face. She's pale white, with a horrified expression as if though she was standing before the grim itself. Every other member of the Justice League Dark is in a similar state.
"Yes, he has a whole wall of posters and stuff." Nightwing conforms, and shit John knows who Phantom's after now.
The thing is, one just doesn't have pictures of King Phantom. No one knows why, but the Ghost King can not be documented. Not without having some kind of connection to the King.
Throughout history, the only ones who have ever had even one solid picture of the king- John's magic doesn't count cause he can't well hold the thing up forever- usually meant that the King would appear before them at one point.
There is also a myth if one could beat a member of the royal ghost family, then one wish is granted to them. If one can kill a royal ghost member, death can be overturned.
It's not true, obviously, for death is not easily beaten like that, but John knows that as an expert, would a mentally unwell teenager know the same?
It was also known that if the King appeared before you, something terrible would happen. The sighting of King Phantom often came as an omen and usually right before a terrible disaster.
In the last disaster, they lost Batman, and if King Phantom had shown up, where the Third Robin have spotted him? Where the Third Robin have thought the King could return the dead?
Not to mention the rumors!
King Phantom was hunting down a group of humans known as "The Bats." John hadn't put that much stock in that rumor simply because it could have been anyone- hell, when he looked up the bats seven different groups appeared, varying from boy bands to zoologists.
But if he placed the name "The Bats" next to the Third Robin's psychotic break, his obsession with King Phantom, and his intertwined fates...well, shit.
There is a slight chance that the Third Robin's fate could be intertwined with the Ghost King in a positive light, but John has learned to not be optimistic in his line of work.
"I think the Third Robin is gunning after the Ghost King's fiancee and unborn child in a misguided attempt to bring Batman back to life. He may have kicked started a war that humanity can not win," He announces. He hates to say. hates to even suggest it, but the needs of the many outweigh those of the few. "We have to find the Third Robin and attempt to stop him. If we can't reason with him, we must put him down."
Wonder Girl gasps a sob, pressing her hand against her mouth.
John hates himself a little more as she sobs; a few rushes to confront her, but no one is unaffected by the news.
"I'm ordering a hunt for the Third Robin," Wonderwoman speaks up to her steady leadership, returning everyone from their despair. "Every available hero will help. Do not use lethal force unless there is no other choice. We may be able to find him before King Phantom's armies arrive."
John just hopes they are not too late.
Meanwhile, across the plane of existence, unaware of the manhunt for his head, Tim Drake is trying to stare down a Yeti, attempting to put him in silk clothes that are just fabrics held together by strings.
"No."
"But-But- but you have such a flattering figure! You must flaunt it! The Great One will barely be able to contain himself if he sees you in this!"
"No. It looks like something you wear on a honeymoon to seduce your spouse. I'm not walking around in that."
"Well, you don't need to bewitch his majesty. You already have a child on the way." The Yeit mutters, considering the fabric in his claws with a frown. He is Frostbite's royal tailor and has been attempting to dress Tim for over an hour. Everything he's suggested so far looks like it came from those romantic fantasy games.
It's like they want to make him a sexy consort or something.
Tim's teeth grind against each other. He hates how often his role is reminded, how casually the yetis mention that Ra's expects a child from Tim.
He doesn't even know how that child will come to be, and it makes him sick. He's been bidding his time, waiting for his wounds to heal and to find a weakness in the frozen fortress, but so far, he is unsure how he will escape.
And Bruce is still out there, waiting for Tim to get him. He can't waste any more time here.
"How about this cloak?" The Yeti offers, holding up a dark metallic fabric that reminds TIm of his Robin cape. "If we are going for a more conservative look, something that screams power is just the way to make the masses wild!"
Ugh, he really needs to think of a plan soon.
#dcxdpdabbles#dc x dp crossover#Phantom's number 1 fan#Part 3#The Justice League made the wrong conclusion#Or John made the wrong conculsion#Tim is still being pampered but now they want to show him off like a trophy husband they think he is#Danny is vibing while new Ghost King Lore is dropping
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Of Friends and Horror
Stu Macher x Fem!Reader x Billy Loomis
WARNINGS: Graphic content, Smut (MINORS DNI), Language, Talks of SA, Cheating, Obsessiveness, Gore, 18+ Content, Stalking, Possessiveness, Dirty talk, Religion talk, Suppressed Mental Health problems (I.e., reader has some issues that she isn't aware of)
Word Count: 1.2k
Taglist: @ev3ningrain @nerdytif @fanfic-enjoyer123 @darkenwolfie @juda-the-simp @colsons-baker @junnniiieee07 @ok-boke @ren-ni @katie-tibo @bruce-yamada @kenma-izhu @cookielovesbook-akie @elevenpurple
A/n: I hope this chapter was just as good as the others, I feel like it was somewhat sloppily done, but I'm not too sure, I'm just so freaking hot in my room, I am sweating bullets and can't think, lmao.
All chapter links!!! 👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻
OF&H Masterlist
Chapter 13
You were sprawled about on Tatum’s spare bed she had in her room, whereas Sidney was tummy-first on her inflatable, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.
“God, I loved it.” Tatum giggled, pulling her blonde hair into a tight ponytail, whilst looking at you, her eyes filled with admiration. “I’ll send you a copy… BAM!” She punched a stuffed bunny that was next to her before picking it up, flinging it all over the place in excitement, “Bitch went down.” She laughed, “The insults had to be my favourite part, though.” She gleamed, tossing the stuffy elsewhere.
You rolled your eyes at her exaggeration, “Tatum, it wasn’t a movie, there shouldn’t be any favourite parts. I punched a person, let alone insulted her outside a police station…”. You sat up from the bed, sitting criss-crossed, propping your arm up on your thigh and resting your chin in the palm of your hand. “I could have been arrested!” You chortled, snorting in the process.
Tatum completely ignored that possibility, her exhilaration being her only muse.
“I’ll send you a copy—BAM! (Y/n), superbitch.” Tatum repeated and in her best you voice she said, “Now, if I were you, I would put that book on hold and shut the fuck up for once.” She placed her hand on her hip, contorting her face into that of someone who was extremely confident.
Your lips formed a thin line, shocked at how she managed to recall the event word-for-word. “I’m actually surprised you were able to remember all that, was it really that impressive?” You quirked a brow, tilting your head, ignoring the sudden pain in your hand.
“Uh, yeah.” She tsk-ed, “I’m certain you’ll be the talk of the school tomorrow.” She giggled. “You’re so cool.” She beamed, batting her lashes.
“I thought you might want some ice for that right hook.” Dewey suddenly appeared in the doorway, tossing you an ice pack.
You caught it with your sore hand, wincing slightly, regretting your instinct to catch it with your dominant one.
“Thanks, Dewey..” You warmly smiled up at him, placing the pack on your knuckles and instant relief was felt.
You laid back down, your head hitting the pillow.
“I’ll be right next door. Try to get some sleep, girls.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Tatum groaned, waving her hand at her older brother, motioning him to leave.
You turned on your side, looking at Sidney and a ping of guilt washed over you, yet again that night.
She was distraught, and she looked uncomfortable, most likely because of the argument you both shared with each other earlier at school, and how you gave her the cold shoulder at the Police Station, silently scolding her for the ridiculousness of believing that her own boyfriend would try to kill her.
You frowned, a wave of gloominess lingering in the air as you let the ice pack fall to the ground.
“Sidney?” You whisper, trying to get her attention.
She shuffles, not wanting to talk, but she soon groans, turning to face you.
“Yeah?” She questions.
“I’m sorry.” You pout, rubbing at your orbs. “I shouldn’t have said those things at school, and I shouldn’t have scolded you at the police station.” You mumbled, “You’re a person; you have feelings and those feelings are valid and they always will be.” You finished.
Sidney’s eyes grew, not sure how to process everything, but she soon smiled, and for once, she didn’t feel like you were the bad guy and that everything will be okay.
“It’s fine, (Y/n). Apology accepted…” She trailed, “Though, you were right, I had no business to go through your journal and call you names when my mother was something else…” She gulped, “I don’t know what got over me… and I am truly sorry.” She twiddles with her thumbs, looking at you with hopeful hues, as if she was begging for your forgiveness, and in ways, she was. Afterall, you did punch a woman for both her sake and yours.
Tatum cheered, glad that her two best friends made up. “Jeez, I’m thankful you both apologized to one another because I was starting to get bummed out in my own home.” She laughs. “On a more serious note…” Tatum changes the subject, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Do you really think Billy did it?”
Sidney’s smile soon faded, “He was there, Tatum..” Her voice trembled.
Tatum rolled her eyes, “He was destined to have a flaw, I knew he was too perfect.” She whined.
Knock… Knock…Knock…
Rapid knocking at Tatum’s bedroom door was heard and this caught everyone's attention.
Tatum looked at the door, seeing it open, revealing her mother, Mrs. Riley, “Telephone, honey.”
“Who is it?” The blonde asks.
“It’s for Sid…”
“Is it my dad?” Sidney popped up from off the floor, looking over yours and Tatum’s bed.
“I don’t think so.”
“Take a message?” You chirped in.
“No, um, I’ll get it.” Sidney looks at you and Tatum, indicating for the both of you to follow her.
“Gotcha..” You mouthed at her, grabbing ahold of Tatum’s hand, forcing her to get up and follow you towards Sidney and the three of you went out the door.
--
Sidney placed the phone up against her ear, her nerves screaming to be let out, “H-Hello?” She stutters.
“Hello, Sidney.” The killer spoke.
“NO, NO!” She yells, gripping the sides of her head.
You and Tatum rushed to her side, holding her, keeping her from freaking out anymore.
“Poor Billy-boyfriend.”
Sidney quickly placed the phone down, clicking the speaker button, so everyone could hear.
“An innocent guy doesn’t stand a chance with you.”
“Leave me alone!” She yells, starting to hyperventilate.
“DEWEY!” Mrs. Riley rushes off to get her son.
“Looks like you fingered the wrong guy…Again.”
“Who are you?”
“Hang up, Sid.” Tatum ushers her friend as you rubbed her arm, trying to support her.
“Don’t worry, Sidney. You’ll find out soon enough. I promise.” The killer gloats, taking a heavy-breath. “Oh, and (Y/n), Sweetheart, I hope you found the gift a real heart stopper~”
<- Previous Next ->
#fanfiction#scream 1996#billy loomis#billy loomis x reader#scream franchise#billy x you x stu#stu macher#billy loomis x female reader#billy x stu#ghostface x you#ghostface x female reader
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Dating Clark Kent would include:
Fem!Reader or GN!Reader TW: None
A/N: Felt like writing for clark lately, I'm down horrifically for this man. This can be for any incarnation of Superman but I based it off the comics and my adventures with superman
It all started with a random encounter at the library while he was researching an old historical site in Metropolis(aka busy work for the new guy). He saw you with a couple of books in your hand, eyes browsing the shelves.
He worked up the nerve to start a conversation with you and actually managed to get your number. He left the library with butterflies in his stomach and an angry call from Perry asking his whereabouts.
A good starter date for him was obviously coffee. He spends hours deciding where to meet up with you, trying to find reasonably priced coffee with a good atmosphere. He tries to come up with a bunch of different outfit combinations, making the attempt to look nice but not too dressed up. This proved difficult since his wardrobe is 90% dress shirts and slacks, he’s still gotta look casual. Clark is such an overthinker, he just wants things to go well ; v;
Of course the date goes well cause he’s so perfectly himself and he charms you so naturally. He’s surprised when you ask to see him again, the whole time he was sweating bullets praying you didn’t notice. After that the second, third, and fourth date all are perfect. Well not perfect but the time spent together makes up for the hiccups.
Now let’s get into the nitty-gritty: early days of dating Clark still tries to be perfect, he hasn’t become totally comfortable with you, yet ;) I think for him he wants to wow his partner in the early stages, he feels like trying to get a city slicker like you he has to bring his A-game.
When he sees you he tries to bring you little trinkets and flowers, he likes to spoil you every now and again.
Touching! He likes to be touching you when you’re near, a hand on your waist, brushing his pinky against your hand, pressing his knee next to yours when you’re sitting together. His love language is acts of service, words of affirmation and physical touch. He loves doing things for the people close to him. This includes: Taking out your trash, watering your plants, making your bed, putting a pot of coffee on in the morning, and fixing any holes in your clothes.
Now when you're really in it with him he tells you about the Superman stuff, he feels like he can trust you but there’s still the risk of you knowing that’ll get you hurt. He doesn’t underestimate your autonomy but there are very powerful forces out there that want him gone, and you are very precious to him.
Once you can convince him that you are willing to accept the risks and tell him how much you care about him, the last of the walls come down. You’re stuck with him forever now and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
When it’s a quiet summer afternoon he’ll take you flying just before sunset, he’ll go right above the clouds so you can see what he gets to see. However if you’re afraid of heights he won’t force you lol. He’ll make sure you’re properly dressed when he takes you to visit the fortress of solitude(He tries is the key phrase). You always underestimate how cold it’ll be and he has to go all the way back to metropolis to get your favorite jacket while you sit by a heater.
Looking after him when he gets kryptonite poisoning from fighting bitch ass Lex Luthor, seeing him sweat for the first time with dark circles under his eyes. It’s more painful than what he’s feeling at that moment, and he still tries to tell you it’s not that bad. Once he’s feeling better he has to talk you down from murdering Luthor.
“Honey don’t-” “Nuh-uh call Bruce, I want a bazooka.” “You don’t need a bazooka sweetheart, I'm fine.” “No way I’m coming for his bald ass.” “Baby I’m fine, please calm down.”
Of course you’re not serious but you still want to protect him. Nobody messes with Clark and gets away with it. You and his friends will see to that, yes sir!
Thanks for reading! Lemme know what you think. Please like or reblog if you like my stuff.
#clark kent x reader#kal el#superman x reader#maws x reader#dcau x reader#dc x reader#reader insert#~⋆｡°tales from the dreaming#my adventures with superman x reader
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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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To add on to Jason reacting to his militia hitting on/having the hots for his beloved, I just imagined a scenario where his beloved is in a temporary holding cell after being taken, and the soldier guarding her gets a little too close to comfort (flirting with her, touching her hair, being intimidating) and Jason overhears everything on the comms channel and just… sees red
Ok this hit me so hard that I made a fake audiotape manuscript like the collectible tapes you find in-game
Darling: Look, I don't know what your boss told you, but I'm not important enough to make a good hostage. Batman's got a lot of shit going on, and I'm not high on his priority list.
Militia: Don't sell yourself short, vigilante guys like him always come if you dangle a cute civilian in front of 'em. I know I would if I were him.
Darling: Are you seriously flirting with me right now? Or is this just a terrible way of doing good cop, bad cop?
Militia: What can I say, when you've been sweating in a South American training camp for months, and suddenly you're in charge of babysitting a girl like you, I can't help but try and shoot my shot.
Darling: I'd rather you literally shoot me.
Militia: Tell me, if this was good cop/bad cop, would you want me to be good? Or bad?
Darling: I'd want you to fuck off and die. Go ahead. Make my dreams come true.
Militia: You've got a mouth on you, y'know that? I bet I could make your dreams come true--all of 'em, over n' over, any n' every position...
Darling: Get away from me!
Militia: Nah. I feel like being bad cop right now. I'm gonna pat you down for weapons one more time, just in case you're hiding something special.
*sound of door slamming open*
Arkham Knight: Get the fuck away from her!
*sound of someone's head being slammed against a wall, and the cocking of a gun*
Militia: I--Sir, I was just--
Arkham Knight: I trained you to follow orders and to think with your head, not your dick. If you don't want me to waste a bullet on your empty skull, you'll apologize and then report to the barracks for me to make an example of you to the others.
Militia: I...I'm sorry, sir--
Arkham Knight: To her!
Militia: I'm sorry, I-I'm so sorry! Sir, I wasn't really gonna do anything--
Arkham Knight: Don't you dare try to lie to me. Now GO.
*sound of boots scraping and door slamming shut*
Arkham Knight: He won't go near you again, I'll make sure of that. Did he hurt you?
Darling, voice shaky: This good cop, bad cop shit is so transparent. Just...let me go, I don't have anything you want, I want to go home...I want to go home...
Arkham Knight: It's okay. I took you to keep you safe, not to make you a hostage.
Darling: Keep me safe? From what, whatever terrorist attack or mass murder or whatever-the-fuck you're about to carry out?
Arkham Knight: Yes. Once it's carried out, we'll go to another hideout I have and lay low for a while. Until then I'll have to keep you with me. I'll make sure the men in charge of watching over you understand not to touch you or talk to you without permission while I'm gone. This is NEVER gonna happen again.
*Sound of armor shifting and moving, and rustling clothing*
I swear I'm going to keep you safe and make sure nobody ever keeps us apart again. Heh. You know, I can finally keep that promise I made to you before. Remember?
Darling: ...What are you--
Arkham Knight: I was going after Joker and I told you that I was gonna do what Bruce never could, that I'd kill him. And we got into this huge fight over my earpiece, you were begging me to think things through, that he wouldn't go down easy, that Bruce would find a way to stop me...and then you said, "I won't try to argue anymore. Just promise me that you'll come back--I'll yell at you and call you a reckless hotheaded asshole with a death wish and help you think of what to say to Bruce."
Darling:You're--
Jason: A reckless hotheaded asshole with a death wish? You were right, ____. You were so right...
#.dc#.arkhamverse#.arkham knight#.jason todd#yandere dc#yandere arkhamverse#yandere arkham knight#yandere jason todd#.myshit
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