#ghost Ra’s: my grandson. it’s been too long. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

little-pondhead · 3 months

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[this is kind of a messy ramble, sorry about that]

Demon Twins AU, except Danny is loyal to the League.

The League of Assassins is a “cult” for a reason. They know what they’re doing. Ra’s has been around for a very long time; he’s seen every trick in the book and then some.

So when his daughter Talia gave him two, near-identical twin grandsons, he had already planned out their lives by the time the sun had set on their first day living. He knew the plans weren’t perfect. Nothing ever went exactly how he wanted it to. But that was the joy of being absolutely fucking ancient. Ra’s adapted better than anyone. If something went wrong, Ra’s will simply work around the issue and live to see another day.

So the boys were raised as he wished. Ruthless, with sharp blades and even sharper wit. They matched each other in every way, blow for blow. Neither won more than the other, and Ra’s encouraged the competition between the twins. Eventually, the battle for title of Heir came, and Damian won that particular match.

Danny was fine with this. Thrilled, even, for his brother to earn the title of Heir. The boys were very close, and worked well to take down targets twice their size. Ra’s approved this, and granted Danny title of Shadow. He was to be Damian’s eternal shadow, a guard. Both Talia and the boys were pleased with this.

But then came the time for the boys to learn how to live without each other. They’d gotten too used to someone guarding their back. Too complacent and too confident in their roles. Ra’s knew it would happen, and so sent Danny off at a very young age to live with some sleeper agents in America.

The Fentons.

Damian would stay here, with Talia, to learn how to be the perfect Heir. He needed to learn how to fight without the assistance of his brother.

Danny would go to Amity Park, and be fostered by the Fentons. He needed to put his skills to practical use and learn how to live without constant orders.

This was their Test.

Damian did quite well, for a while. Until Talia sent him off to his birth father, The Bat. Reports on his behavior declined in quality after that, and Ra’s couldn’t help but feel dissatisfaction with how the Heir had been corrupted.

Danny’s reports were always immaculate, however. His mask never slipped, and he’d worked himself into the hearts of the townspeople. The sleeper agents, Jack and Maddie, had a daughter who was quite enthusiastic about the properties of the mind, and accept Ra’s instructions to teach Danny with ease. It was the ideal situation.

In Ra’s eyes, Danny was thriving. Damian was not.

And then Ra’s died. The League was in shambles. Damian was at peace with his family, away from the cult he grew up in. He assumed Danny had defected years ago, since their mother stopped giving him reports about his twin.

Then Danny showed up at the Wayne’s doorstep, decked out in full League attire, angry and hostile.

“Tell me, dear brother,” he spat. “Why did you not inform me that Grandfather had died? I had to find out through his spirit when it came to visit from the afterlife!”

Damian didn’t know what to say.

#DPxDC #pondhead blurbs #just #Danny and Damian grew up in a CULT #cults have a reputation for a reason #Danny had no reason to even think about defecting throughout his entire childhood #if being loyal to his grandfather was an issue clockwork would have told him #Dan would have told him #the Fentons are part of a league faction operating out of the US #even Jazz is loyal to them and started viewing Ra’s as a grandfather figure the few times he came to visit #Danny LOVES his assassin grandpa and nobody in amity blinks an eye at him #Ra’s does know about the Fenton portal and phantom #because why wouldn’t Danny tell him?#Ra’s dies and his spirit immediately heads over to where he knows the portal is so he can get some help #ghost Ra’s: my grandson. it’s been too long.#Danny with the worst voice crack: why are you DEAD #Talia is still in hiding #or doing whatever she’s supposed to be doing idk #Danny shows up to ream Damian out and yell at him for his disloyalty #everyone is extremely worried about what Danny will do because he is very obviously still in deep with the league #he doesn’t like the talk about being ‘free’ because he was always free. tf you talking about Grayson.#also Damian doesn’t know about the full properties of the Lazarus pits or ectoplasm. he’s the Heir not the Head. that’s private stuff #Ra’s is a smug bastard using his grandson as a way to get revenge on the living #Danny is HIS shadow now.#I must stress Danny is pretty much the same as canon but literally just loyal to his grandpa Ra’s #maybe Ra’s meets clockwork? Ra’s x Clockwork?#their ship name is Sun Dial now I’ve decreed it

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avaritia-apotheosis · 3 years

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Phantom Children [DP x Batman Crossover] Ch. 2

In which: Danny thinks, Talia is concerned, and we finally see Ra's al Ghul's pride an joy: the Lazarus pit

AO3 | Prologue | 1 | [ 2 ] | 3 |

---

DANNY COUNTS THE DAYS by the hours he is in the monitor room. One hour is all that he is allowed. One hour after a day of learning and fighting, of ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘no sir’ and ‘stand up straighter, boy’ and ‘remember that you have feet.’ Of being handed a sword only to have it knocked out of his hand (pickitup-pickitup-pick-it-up). Of ‘here’s eight plants, only one of them is the antidote to the poison you just ingested, and you better hope you remember the difference because this is the life you live now, Danny.’ This is what you agreed to for some time in front of a few television screen.

One hour. Sixty minutes. Three thousand and six hundred measly fucking seconds was all he got to see his family before he’s ushered back to his room. Dark. Barren. Windowless.

God, when was the last time he saw the stars?

He spent his multitude of ‘one hours’ simply watching. That was all he could do, really. Watch and collect snatches of Amity—of Before. Like torn pieces of an antique photograph, unable to be restored but too precious to throw away.

Talia would call him too sentimental. Danny would love to remind Talia that if it wasn’t for her and her freaky older-than-dirt dad, Danny wouldn’t even need to be fucking sentimental.

Breathe in for four. Hold for seven. Breathe out for eight.

Repeat.

Repeat again.

One more time.

There’s a voice in Danny’s head that sounded too much like Jazz telling him that this kind of behavior was unhealthy. The Jazz in Danny’s head didn’t exactly know why, though they’re both pretty sure that constantly watching your family and friends move on after your death probably isn’t good for one’s sanity. Especially since Danny isn’t really dead.

Well.

Dead-er.

He isn’t—

(family-love-mememe-why aren’t they looking harder-don’t they care-they care-for their own good-what about-happy-no-me-them-me-them).

Truth be told, Danny isn’t angry that everyone in Amity seemed to be getting on with their lives. God, he’s seen how his suppsed-death affected them. He can’t—he won’t be responsible for holding them back from living when he can’t even be sure if he’ll ever be able to return to Amity again.

(He’s seen what happens when someone refuses to move on. Hell, the Zone is full of it. It’s either you obsess with grief…or you try to rip it out of yourself entirely.)

Danny wanted them to live on. Be happy. (With him.)The FentonWorks portal remained under constant vigilance, and since Pariah Dark, most ghosts recognized Amity as his haunt and tended to stay away. With any major threats he could only hope that Clockwork would step in somehow and at least keep it contained. Tucker and Sam were more than capable enough to handle most of his regular rogues gallery, especially if Red Huntress was backing them up too.

Amity…didn’t really need Danny anymore to protect it.

(Family-happy-protectprotectprotect-what?-safe-not safe-not needed).

For all that they tried to find out, Danny, Sam, and Tucker never did manage to figure out what his ghostly obsession was. Sam went out on a limb and said Heroism which…wasn’t quite right but fit the bill well enough.

And what was the point of heroes?

To build a world where they aren’t needed.

------

There was a noticeable shift in her son’s demeanor after he learned of the true nature of his parentage. Though it should be noted that while Talia showed a photograph of her beloved to Daniel, she did not disclose his true identity as to Ra’s al Ghul’s orders. Her father reasoned that it was more advantageous for Daniel to develop a closer connection with the maternal side of his family as opposed to the Waynes—a name that would be more familiar and thus better viewed than the strange people who kidnapped him.

No; ‘Recovered’ would be the most appropriate term. Daniel was her child. Would always be her child, no matter who raised him.

Daniel was…quieter. Somber. His eyes glazed yet sharp—blue eyes bloodshot despite maintaining a regular sleep schedule. Like pit madness with neither the madness nor the pit; simply the look of rage that bubbles beneath the skin, close to boiling over yet never there.

He continued to watch his false family obsessively. Yet…he had taken to watching Talia as well. Quietly. Unobtrusively. Small glances at the corner of his eye. Contemplative looks with furrowed brows whenever he presumed she did not notice. He had even taken to meticulously check his reflection in the mirror; pinching cheeks and turning his face this way and that, cataloguing his features as if to find what parts of him was from her—or perhaps if there was any part of him that ever resembled the paranormal scientists he once called parents.

Even if the physical similarities were not there, the DNA testing—regardless of the anomalies found in Daniel’s genes—was proof enough that he was her son.

“You have been keeping with your diet regimen, yes?” Asked one of the League’s physicians. He pressed his gloved fingers against Daniel’s skin, brushing the ridges of his ribcage. Marring her son’s skin was a large, faint scars. Fractals branching across his torso like the branches of a gruesome tree. “You are still too thin.”

“Fast metabolism,” Daniel mumbled. He is sat on an examination table in their medical wing, black shirt neatly folded beside him. His figure, though not skeletal, per se, was gaunt. His ribs poking from his pallor skin, stomach still concave for a boy who ate double the portions than any other member of the League of Assassins. “I’ve had it since the accident, but it’s never gotten this bad.”

The physician hummed, jotting his notes down along side the results of Danny’s vitals. The exact numbers were unknown to Talia, standing as she was by the door, though she could infer the results from previous physical examinations. (Low blood pressure and core body temperature. Faint pulse, slight tachycardia,) “Do you have any ideas why?”

Daniel’s lips thinned, eyes darting to the side as he always did whenever Phantom was related in anyway. His face was too open; Talia needed to train him out of that. “My…” He took a deep breath. “Ghosts aren’t supposed to stay very long in the Material world. It lacks the ectoplasmic energies that helps them ‘stay alive,’ so to speak. Usually they can supplement some of this by filtering some of the ambient energy in the atmosphere to strengthen themselves—it’s why Amity was such a hotspot for ghosts because of the large concentration of ectoplasm in the atmosphere—but it still isn’t a good long term solution.”

He scratched the back of his head. “Since I’m still somewhat human, I’m able to spend way more time in the Material world and can substitute spending days in the Zone by instead filtering ambient energy and eating.”

The physician made another noise, the tip of his pen tapping against the side of the clipboard. “So I take it then that, as your other half doesn’t have access to this ‘ambient energy’ as you call it, it is forced to take what energy it needs from the calories you’ve consumed, yes?”

“Basically.”

“What will happen if you do not have enough calories to supplement this energy?”

Danny shrugged, a rueful smile on his face. “Dunno. Maybe this time, death will stick.”

Talia narrowed her eyes.

Such a thing will not happen. She had been forced to give up on Daniel once, and then later on she lost her youngest to her beloved. Never again.

This child was hers.

------

“Father, did you not say that the anomalies found in Daniel’s DNA were similar in composition to the Lazarus pit?”

Ra’s al Ghul did not pause in pause in his reading to look up at Talia. The bird shaped magnifying glass held steady above the ancient manuscripts spread across his desk, eyes focused on the words and figures carefully inked onto the page. “Yes.” He set aside the magnifying glass and gently flipped the page. “It is what strengthened my belief of the connection between the Lazarus pit and these spirits.”

Talia straightened. “With your permission I would like to place Daniel into the pit.”

Her fathered looked up, curious. “You forget what the pit does to those who are in good health.”

She placed the results of Daniel’s most recent physical exam on to of his desk. Ra’s sat back in his chair and idly flipped through the folder, reading the contents as if no different to reading the newspaper instead of how his grandson is slowly being starved by his own biology. “Well, well. This would be a problem.”

He closed the folder, a wry grin curling at his lips. “Have him ready for tomorrow. I am curious as to how the pit would affect one already half-dead.”

------

Danny is awoken by Talia sometime the next day. “Come,” she said. “You do not need to change, so come quickly.”

He got off the bed with a silent groan, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Where are we going?”

“Not far. Somewhere that will help you.”

He snorted. “Letting me go home would help me.”

Talia doesn’t answer, simply waiting for him at the door. Danny groaned, combing away as much of his bedhead with his fingers as he followed her.

For the first time since being dragged to Nanda Parbat, Danny is allowed to venture beyond his small section of the compound.

He didn’t really know what to expect.

Still didn’t stop everything from being so…anticlimactic.

Beyond the steel door, normally kept locked and guarded by two of his shadow guards, was a hallway. Endlessly long with a wide pathway, lit enough by the fluorescent lights overhead but not enough to banish the shadows that clung to the stone walls. The hallway looked empty. ‘Looked’ being the key word, here. Even if he couldn’t see them, Danny would bet on his half-life that the shadows were teeming with life.

Talia led the way through the maze of twists and turns (were they underground?), a couple of shadow guards quietly following behind them.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

Talia looked at him from over her shoulder for a moment, then turned away. “Have you heard of the Lazarus pits?”

“Lazarus? Like the guy who came back to life?” Neither of his parents were really religious. His dad only really Baptist in name because he was born into a Baptist family that, too, wasn’t overly strict in their religion. The only reason why Danny knew of this Lazarus guy was because of Mr. Lancer’s unit on Greco-Roman and Christian allusions.

Talia nodded, turning a corner. “The Lazarus pits are natural pools with restorative properties, capable of rejuvenating the body, healing grievous injuries, and even bringing the dead back to life.”

Danny nearly tripped over his own feet. “What? That’s—” Impossible. He ran up to Talia, wildly gesticulating with his hands. “What’s dead is dead. Resurrecting the dead goes against the natural law of the universe!”

“Well, you seem to be doing fine.”

He frowned, crossing his arms. “That’s different. I’m still dead, even if my entire existence seems like the but end of a Schrodinger’s joke.”

“Be that as it may, what I speak is truth.” She stopped in front of a door and opened it. Then, stepping aside to usher Danny in first. “See of yourself.”

Danny stepped inside, Talia following behind him, and—

Oh.

Before he even saw the pit, he could feel it. A low and steady hum reminiscent of the ghost portal. But…different. Not necessarily fainter but garbled, like hearing someone speak underwater.

The room was a large, open space, with stone walls framed by red wooden pillars. It was dim, lit only by the green glow of the pit that consumed the majority of the space. A square pool of too-clear waters and toxic-looking steam rising from the surface.

The waters felt of the Zone but…not.

“Ah, Daniel.” He nearly jumped out of his own skin. Ra’s al Ghul stepped out of the shadows behind him, hands folded behind his back. The green glow highlighted the sharp contours of his face; the shadows that clung to him only making his visage harsher. “It is good to see you.”

Danny greeted the Demon’s Head with a League salute. “Grandfather.”

The word felt foreign on his tongue despite being in English. To formal for a boy who never really had the chance to interact with his own grandparents. But Danny was told to refer to Ra’s like this, and so he did. (He was only grateful Talia didn’t insist on calling her ‘mother.’)

Ra’s al Ghul was an enigma. Centuries old yet he looked only about a decade older than his mom and dad. (Jack and Maddie Fenton will always be his mom and dad. They raised him. Loved him, in their own eccentric, science-y way. No blood test or adoption or ninja-assassins could change that). Like Danny’s still-unnamed biological father, Ra’s carried himself with theatrical purpose. Comically villainous in his attire and grand gestures, though unlike Vlad, Ra’s had this overwhelmingly intimidating presence that engulfed whatever room he stepped in.

Ra’s was a man that commanded attention as opposed to demanding it. And now, at the focus of the man’s calculating gaze, Danny could not help but stand stiff at attention.

“You’re mother was right,” Ra’s said. Danny barely restrained himself from perking up at that word. “You are wasting away, Daniel.”

Tell me something I don’t know.

“Well, at least you still have that fire in you.”

Danny startled, slapping his hand over his mouth. Shit, he didn’t know he said that out loud. Out of the corner of his eye, Talia suppressed a small smile.

“You have that in common with the Detective,” Ra’s continue, circling Danny like a carrion that spotted its next meal. “That and the rather foolish notion on not properly reporting the extent of your injuries.”

“With all due respect, grandfather, I wasn’t expecting on staying here for this long.”

Ra’s gave him a knowing look. “But something is keeping you here, isn’t it?”

“Keeping my family and friends hostage is a pretty good motivator, apparently.” An insidious thought bubbled in Danny’s mind. But that isn’t all, is it?”

“I have consulted your mother and your physician as to the nature of your condition, and I have decided that the Lazarus pit would be a sufficient way to restore your health.” He gestured to the pool. “It appears that your DNA shares several similarities to the composition to the Lazarus pit.”

Danny crouched at the edge of the pit, hovering his hand above the water’s surface. “It’s because it contains ectoplasm. An impure kind, I think.”

“Will the impurities be harmful to you?”

He pursed his lips. “I don’t think so? My body can filter out the impurities just fine, it’s just that I’ve never encountered thistype of ectoplasm before. It’s so clear and—aqueous, I think is the word.”

There’s a strange glint in Ra’s eyes. Dare Danny say it, it even looked mischievous. It made him uneasy, and just as Danny made a move to step back, Ra’s al Ghul picked him up by the collar of his night shirt—

And threw Danny into the Lazarus Pit.

#danny phantom #batman #danny phantom x batman crossover #phantom children.txt

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whereflowersbloom · 4 years

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Little boost

It had been a hectic day, working on some detailed written reports Batman asked him to investigate and patrolling with Nightwing, Damian was exhausted, more than usual, he could use a strong drink. There were certain things he had to think about, things he had pushed To the back of his mind while working, but there was a constant mental reminder that they were still there, which is exactly why Damian found himself sitting next to a slightly squiffy Dick Grayson, at the rooftop, looking at the stars and passing back a small bottle full of liquid that burned in the right way from his hair to his toenails. The relief his body demanded after a long stressful day. He thought about the bothersome hangover and the way his head would throb the next day as he took his second sip but he shrugged it off. It was nothing he couldn’t handle. Brother bonding, they had been intensely busy to have a casual brother-to-brother chat, out of all his siblings he felt the most comfortable with Grayson. He was lost in deep thoughts when his brother caught him off guard with a question.

“Have you discussed your feelings and intentions with Raven?” There it was the question he was dreading to answer. He had asked himself when he would finally muster the courage to speak with her about these new emotions surging inside him.

Damian’s heart jumped just enough at the mention of her name, nonetheless his familiar unreadable expression didn’t change. After another sip of the drink he felt loose enough that he didn’t hold back the low heartfelt groan, even as his sensibilities reminded him that he didn’t have anything to groan about. He hadn’t made his intentions clear after all this time. A part of him wondered how Dick might know he had feelings for Rave at all, as if the amber and intoxicating liquor was some kind of truth serum that made everything plain as day. Perhaps he had underestimated Grayson’s observation skills, his father trained him after all. He wasn’t Batman’s first son and right hand for nothing.

“She’s an essential component of our team.” Damian muttered lowering his voice as if to make himself sound as sober as possible and convincing. “The Titans wouldn’t be the Titans without her.”

“That’s certainly true, but also...” the older man nodded in agreement and took a mouthful of the amber drink. “I have noticed you two complement each other well, both in battle and out…” Richard gave Damian a playful feline smirk. He didn’t want to pry, he was only concerned for his brother’s unresolved romantic involvement, he can practically feel Damian’s hostile glare on him, studying his intentions silently. Anyone would understand what he was referring to. So he noticed Damian concluded. Richard didn’t ask to gossip with his other siblings about his personal affairs, he knew it. Maybe it was time to trust Grayson. He certainly had earned it after all those years working side by side.

“It’s not what you think, rather complicated.” Damian said quietly into his drink, and though his eyes are elsewhere, he knew Dick was listening to him as a friend and brother. It was something he’d been trying to avoid thinking about, with no help from the dark-haired man sitting to his right. They had something, Dick was absolutely right. And even when Damian had tried to keep his distance at first, the pull to Raven magnetic and frustrating as hell. Unstoppable. He had no control over it. But what was holding him back? The uncertainty? “We’re simply friends, I think.” It wasn’t a lie. Friends who wanted to engaged in rather intimates activities and explore boundaries.

“Teammates.” Grayson whispered remarking the word. Knowing well Damian’s aversion towards it.

“Exactly. Not any different than how I stand with you or any of the other team members.” Damian said with a tint of bitterness gracing his voice. He didn’t have to explain himself to anyone. Not Grayson or his father. His relationship with other teammates could be described as civilized. He cared for them. They were his family too.

“And yet you are intimate with Raven in ways that you aren’t with your other teammates.” A teasing expression crosses his face. Now Grayson had the guts to mess with him. His eyebrows furrowed at the comment, naturally making thin lines appear on his forehead.

“It’s intellectual compatibility, Grayson. We are teammates who have similar interest in common.” Damian remarked with hot anger. He considered taking his frustrations out on his brother. He wanted to punch someone, maybe Dick or Jason. He visualized the face of Conner Kent though, who had touched Raven unnecessarily too many times today with his filthy hands. His green eyes narrowed.

“If you hold no claim over Raven, surely you are both able to enjoy the company of others. So to say if Conner wanted to spend some time with her, it wouldn’t bother you. Right?” Richard commented taking another sip of the raw drink. His humorous blue eyes watching Damian’s reaction attentively, the man next to him was his family, his brother, he only wanted the best for him. For fuck’s sake, it was pretty obvious they had a thing going on. Deliberately Provoking him would have the reaction he expected. He just had to mention Conner or Garfield and voila his stubborn little brother would get himself a girlfriend. His job as older brother was to meddle in his ‘personal affairs’. O,us, Damian could use a little push to take the next step.

He thought about it for a whole minute, considered the suggestion Richard made that Raven was available to have a romantic or physical relationship with anyone. Looking into Dick’s ocean eyes, he knew that Dick was so clearly baiting him. Because, of course, Richard was absolutely right. The idea of Raven with anyone else made his blood boil but if they were just friends who were close, friends who were evidently physically attracted to each other but didn’t speak about their attraction or romantic interest, he had no right to demand exclusivity. Deny her the possibility to see someone else. It irritated him. He was her ‘friend’ but who was to say that she couldn’t be close with anyone else, for instance Conner. Tsk. Over his dead body. Not Kent or anyone else. He was irrevocably doomed. What the hell was happening to him? He didn’t want to push Raven asking for more, fearing her answer would dig up the ghosts of his past pains that he’s worked so hard to bury. His mother’s betrayal and he was Ra’s Al Ghul grandson. Did he even have the right?

“Just friends.” Damian repeated with displeasure at the term that defined his relationship with the young woman he loved? Did he love Raven? What did he know about love? It wasn’t a exact science, he could read thousands of books and they wouldn’t give him the answer he was searching for. Just had to look at his own Father, involved with a criminal, on and off. Didn’t have to bring up his mother. The answer lies in your heart, it was as If the cold east wind whistled those words. He didn’t want to see Raven with anyone other man, it made his insides turn and his jaw clench involuntary. He wanted her for himself only. And waves of clarity seem to crash down on him, slowly dissipating the feelings of confusion and helplessness that he’s been plagued with ever since he discovered he had strong feelings for Raven. People used to say that love is like wildflowers, it grows everywhere even through the debris, truthfully he didn’t understand it at first, at the image of Raven’s face clear as a painting in his mind, as the countless hours he has spent drawing her alluring features, he finally understood what they meant by that. That smile, her smile. She had bewitched him.

“Does repeating it enough times make it so?” Dick asked arching a brow at him with a sly smile curving his lips.

“Fuck you, Grayson.” Damian uttered annoyed at his older brother, for being foolish and falling right in his trap. Probably it was the alcohol talking but Dick could take it, Dick’s response was a open throaty chuckle. He wouldn’t admit he was thankful out loud though. Damian smiled instinctively. “Thank you for the overly emotional conversation about my romantic affair.” He mentioned to his brother, looking at him straight in the eye. His eyes silently whispering a ‘thank you, brother.’ He had enough alcohol doe the night and with the first ray of sunlight he was waking up for training. He couldn’t help but imagine it, waking him next to her, soft sheets and even softer skin, inhaling that characteristic lavender smell first with the sunrise. And here he was wasting precious time, getting drunk with Grayson. He shook his head before getting up slowly and marching towards the door of the Titans building.

“Where are you going?” Dick asked curiously, suddenly intrigued what his little brother would do about this situation. At this point he knew how to handle Damian and make him see what he refused to acknowledge. Damian was incredibly smart for his age but at times too obstinate. This required of his assistance. He was growing up fast, too fast for his liking. The snarky, short-tempered kid Bruce brought years ago, was long gone. Richard Grayson thinks it is indeed a privilege to be Damian’s brother and mentor. He was tremendously proud of his younger brother. His job was done and he smiled broadly.

“Hopefully it’s not too late to discuss my emotions and intentions towards a certain lady.” Damian flashed him a confident smirk, only barely aware that he might have slurred the last words, effects of the alcohol no doubt. It wasn’t too late for him, walked a bit unsteadily towards the door, his destination the room of his soon to be girlfriend he hoped. He had to speak with her. This was his last chance. He waved goodnight to Dick before disappearing in the darkness of the night, leaving a pleased Richard drinking on the rooftop alone.

Undoubtedly they would have fun explaining to Batman how his biological son was romantically involved with a half-demon. Dick decided that conversation could wait a few weeks...perhaps months.

Have there a brother bonding moment 💜💜💜💜

@audieoddity @niahti @chromium7sky @deep-in-mind67

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mizmahlia · 5 years

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Speak not a whispered word of them

Summary: The Court of Owls has decided the Gray Son isn't strong enough to lead them after finding out Damian Wayne is actually Damian Wayne al Ghul. And no one will come between them and their prize, not even the Demon's Head himself.

With Damian, Dick, Bruce, Jason and Tim.

AO3

Warning: Talons are scary and it takes some violent behavior to stop them.

For weeks, Bruce watched over Gotham with a sense of unease he hadn’t felt in ages.

Crime rates were low, which could be expected in Gotham when December rolled around. It was simply too cold for crime, save for people like Mister Freeze. But even he remained where he was- in a cell in Arkham. The rest of the occupants of Arkham were also content to stay in their cells, as were those at Blackgate. And the troublemakers who weren’t currently incarcerated were behaving themselves, for the most part.

No, crime rates weren’t just low.

They were nonexistent.

It was unlike anything he’d seen before and Bruce hated it.

While working their shift on Watchtower duty, Oliver told him to not to look a gift horse in the mouth and to savor the downtime. After all- in Gotham, shit hit the fan on a regular basis. Going a week or two without having to put yourself in harm’s way is usually something people enjoy, not obsess over. Clark and Diana both said something similar, and Clark reassured him he was on standby in case something happened.

Though Bruce would never, ever admit it, he was relieved to hear Clark say it.

For once, he was at a total loss to try and justify why he felt the way he did. There was nothing he could find to support the idea that somewhere, just out of his periphery, something was lurking and so far, there was nothing he could do to prepare for it.

It terrified him.

It was the week before Christmas when his paranoia was rewarded.

He was in a board meeting at Wayne Enterprises when his secretary Sarah gently tapped him on the shoulder and handed him a note.

You have a visitor. He said it’s about your son.

Bruce leaned to his right, whispering to Lucius he had to step out for a moment. Lucius didn’t question it, instead nodding in acknowledgement and turning back to the presentation. He followed his secretary out into the hallway toward the lobby.

“I’m so sorry, mister Wayne. But he insisted I come find you, and to be honest, he’s really intimidating. Half the staff took an early lunch because he made them so uneasy.”

Bruce frowned as they got to the end of the hallway.

“Did he give you his name?”

Sarah shook her head and stepped to the side to let him pass.

“No, but I asked. He said you would understand when you saw him.”

He paused before he turned the corner and took a moment to really look at Sarah. She shivered like she was cold, and her arms were crossed over her chest. And her normally calm, kind demeanor had shifted to nervousness and fear.

“Why don’t you go get some coffee, then? I’ll take care of this. Thank you.”

He gave her his most reassuring smile and waited until she was in the break room before he rounded the corner.

Despite the fact he was dressed in an expensive wool suit with a matching overcoat, and not his usual green robes, he would recognize Ra’s al Ghul anywhere. The moment Bruce stepped into the lobby Ra’s turned.

He didn’t bother hiding his anger at Ra’s’ presence in Gotham or his shock at his appearance. The expensive tailoring hid his emaciated frame from those who didn’t know him, but the sharpness in his cheekbones couldn’t be disguised. But before Bruce could say a word, Ra’s focused the full intensity of his gaze on Bruce, green eyes full of urgency.

“Detective,” Ra’s said softly, even though there was no one in the lobby. “We need to talk.”

Bruce stood firm, feet shoulder-width apart and his hands in his pants pockets.

“Not until I get some answers. What’s this about?”

Ra’s arched an eyebrow at the defiance and stiffened.

“My grandson.”

“Wait. So we’re supposed to go off intel from Ra’s al Ghul, someone who’s repeatedly tried to kill Damian, and work with him? What the hell, Bruce?”

Dick paced back and forth behind him, anger coming off him in waves. For a moment, Bruce regretted telling him anything. These last few weeks had worn his nerves down to nothing and it didn’t take much to leave him feeling frazzled, so Dick’s outburst wasn’t helping. But he was just as protective over Damian as Bruce was, so it made sense Dick would be pissed off.

Bruce usually preached keeping emotions out of a fight, but in this case, it would help keep Dick focused on the situation at hand.

“I’m not happy with it, either, Dick. But it’s been over two years since Ra’s has made an attempt to hurt any of us, and more than that since he’s tried anything with Damian.”

Dick stopped pacing and stared at him before narrowing his eyes.

“This has something to do with why you’ve been acting so weird lately.”

Bruce paused only a moment and continued to work, but Dick noticed the hesitation.

“Look, I get it,” he said, lowering his voice. He leaned against the console next to Bruce as he typed. “And I agree with you- something feels off about Gotham these last few weeks. But the Court of Owls? They haven’t been a problem, not since we dismantled the Parliament- “

Bruce stopped typing and leaned back in his chair.

“We can’t take the chance, Dick. I know it’s Ra’s, but the man has always been direct in his intentions, especially with Damian. We have to look into this.”

Dick’s shoulders slumped and he sighed. He knew Bruce was right, but damn if he didn’t hate their source of intel.

“Alright. So what’s the plan?”

From the top of the stairs, Damian listened intently. He hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, but when he heard father say his grandfather was in town, he knew he had to find out what was going on.

He was Robin, after all. And Robin helps keep Gotham safe, no matter what.

The next evening, the Batwing dropped them over Coventry, and they met Ra’s on the ground. Snow continued to fall, adding to the six inches already on the ground. It swirled when the wind picked up and reduced visibility to almost zero. Most of Gotham was off the streets and the near-silence was unsettling.

A city of millions had become a ghost town.

Despite Dick’s protest an hour before, both he and Bruce wore their winterized suits, which offered more protection against the cold and allowed them heavier armor. With the Court of Owls, no chances could be taken.

As planned, he was waiting in an alley around the corner from the drop site. Dressed in full League regalia, he still posed an intimidating figure, even if he wasn’t in the best of health. Ra’s turned and nodded at Dick before shifting his attention to Bruce.

“Detective.”

“Ra’s. Where is your guard?”

He glanced behind him before he answered.

“I sent them to Talia to make sure she and Damian get out of Gotham safely.”

Bruce studied him but remained silent. Dick looked at Bruce, then at Ra’s.

“Are you sure you can handle this? You don’t exactly look like yourself.”

Ra’s didn’t stoop to using conventional body language, so he didn’t roll his eyes. But even in the dark, his gaze was piercing, and any normal person would have cowered beneath it. He looked at Bruce first, waiting for him to speak up and when he didn’t, he shook his head in disappointment.

“Such a lack of respect from your partner, Detective. I’ve had men executed for less than that.”

Before Dick could reply, Bruce held up a hand.

“If your intel is accurate, then their plan should be underway. It shouldn’t take long for them to notice us.”

“Indeed,” Ra’s replied and drew his sword. “They already have.”

He nodded toward the other end of the alley behind Bruce. A long figure stood motionless between them and the street, armor and steel glinting beneath the streetlight. It didn’t move, even when it spoke.

“We’re here for the boy,” it said. It raised a single hand and beckoned with it. “So give him to me, and you’ll survive the night.”

Dick stepped to Bruce’s right, with Ra’s standing on his left, flanking him.

“The last time I fought a Talon, things didn’t end well for him,” Bruce said. “You don’t want to find out what that felt like.”

It tilted its head to one side and if it were capable of smiling, it probably was. There wasn’t much that made the hair on Bruce’s neck stand on end, but that idea certainly did.

“You aren’t fighting one Talon tonight, Batman. You’re fighting them all.”

Dick looked up to see Talons lining the rooftops on either side of the alley, with more blocking their exit behind them. He drew his escrima sticks at the same time Ra’s raised his sword.

“And so are you,” Bruce growled.

Red Robin dropped to the street behind the first Talon, and the Red Hood casually strode up behind those who blocked their retreat.

“These the assholes who want to take our brother?” Jason asked, drawing both pistols from his thigh holsters.

“I think they are,” Tim replied. His bo staff was at the ready.

“Then let’s do something about it,” Dick called out.

Simultaneously, four smoke cannisters were tossed, filling the area with thick smoke as the fighting began. The clash spilled out into the street, giving both sides more room to maneuver. But no matter how much room they had, Talons still swarmed like piranhas and were quick to head off any attempts at a group attack. They kept Jason and Tim from teaming up, and separated Bruce and Dick. Without the ability to pair up and watch each other’s backs, injuries began to mount.

“B,” Dick panted, deflecting a hand with sharp claws away from his neck, “please tell me he’s out of the city by now.”

Bruce lashed out to his right, his elbow crushing the face of a Talon as it leapt over a fallen comrade. It hit the ground and laid there for a moment before rearranging its face and climbing to its feet.

“Not yet, no.”

They heard a pained grunt and looked down the street to see three of them try to overtake Jason. One sank its claws into the gap in Jason’s armor between his neck and shoulder, while another ripped the guns from his hands. He dropped to his knees before ripping a knife from his calf and slicing the hands off two of the three Talons.

“Not to be a downer, but I’m out of ammo. It barely slowed them down.”

Bruce heard a wheeze in Jason’s voice that he was certain meant some kind of chest injury. Before he could answer, they all heard Talia’s frantic voice in their earpieces. He watched one to Tim’s left drive its claws into his thigh before Tim could shake it off.

“Bruce, he’s not here. Damian’s gone. I repeat- Damian is gone.”

From behind them, Ra’s roared and with what little superhuman speed he had left, began aiming for the heads of any Talon near him. He made his way toward Bruce, kicking heads out of his way as he walked.

“Detective, you need to go find him. We’ll try and hold them off, but- “

Dick’s scream pierced the near-silence and they turned, watching in vain as Talons broke his arm and drove blades into his upper back. He fought them off with his good arm, but as soon as he did, another pounced and brought him down.

Bruce kicked and punched his way through the swarm, pure rage and adrenaline providing the strength. He ripped both of them off Dick and helped Dick to his feet. He set him down next to Jason, who was tending to Tim’s leg.

“Batman, we can’t hold them off much longer,” Jason said quietly. “You need to go find Damian.”

Bruce looked down at three of his boys, each bleeding and broken, ready to continue fighting if it meant Damian made it out alive. He was ready to agree when Tim’s eyes widened and he pointed upward. Bruce turned to see the first Talon leap from the rooftop, sword in his hand. But before he could make contact, a red, yellow and green blur swung in from the side and knocked him to the street, landing on his chest and holding a sword to this throat.

“Hands off my family, Talon. I won’t ask again.”

Ra’s fought his way over and between the three of them, they beat back the wave of Talons who were still able to fight. But despite their efforts, Talons were still cropping up from the shadows.

Damian leaped, twisted, sliced and hacked his way through a group of them when they made their way toward Dick, Jason and Tim. To their credit, they were still able to fight, but not without sustaining further injury. Damian barely made it in time to stop one from shoving its claws through Tim’s chest.

“Robin! Behind you!” Tim cried, tossing him one half of his broken bo staff. Damian caught it and spun, gasping as it drove its knife straight for his chest. Ra’s intervened before it had the chance and the blade pierced his armor just above his heart. He hit the ground and Damian swung his sword, making sure it stayed there.

Ra’s had landed on his back and gripped Damian’s ankle tightly, forcing him to look down.

“Damian, you need to get out of here before they send more. They won’t stop until they take you.”

He glanced across the street to see Bruce take down the last of them before wading through the snow and Talon corpses. Even in the snow, Damian could see the relief on his face and let himself smile.

“Father, I- “

They all watched Bruce lurch forward and fall to his knees in the middle of the street. There were three blades in his back and another in the back of his right leg. A lone Talon appeared from the alley where the fight began and stalked toward him, ready to finish him off.

“NO!” Damian cried.

He wrenched his leg free from Ra’s’ grasp and sprinted toward Bruce. He inserted himself between Bruce and the Talon, holding his sword up.

“If you touch him again, it will be the last thing you do.”

The Talon immediately stopped and slid the knife back in a sheath against its leg. It tilted its head and studied Damian as if it were waiting for further instruction.

“Come on, you coward! What are you waiting f- “

There was a quiet hiss from his right and Damian turned toward it. A snare wrapped itself around his legs and it retracted hard, yanking his feet out from under him. He hit the street and the air was knocked from his lungs, but he began thrashing as the Talon grabbed his upper arms in a vice-like grip. He kicked as hard as he could and he broke several of the Talon’s ribs in the process, but it held tight.

A moment later he sucked in a deep breath, wincing at the pain in his back from the fall.

“Father! Don’t let them take me. Please, don’t let them- “

A gag was shoved in his mouth and the Talon finished tying his hands down and behind his back. He continued to kick and yell anyway, trying desperately to free himself.

The last thing he saw as they rounded a corner was his father trying to crawl after him, screaming his name, while his brothers lay bleeding on the sidewalk.

#Whumptober 2019 #whumptober prompts #Whumptober Day 6 #Damian Wayne #Dick Grayson #Bruce Wayne #Ra's al Ghul #Court of Owls #Batman #Nightwing #Robin #MizMahlia's Fanfiction

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roxannepolice · 6 years

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Help me, Carl-Gus Jungobi, you’re my only hope

[prolonged deliberation on Goethe’s Faust effing up his task of achieving symbolic individuation equated with redemption by inserting himself for Paris with Helen I would love to know what CG would have to say about self insert fanfiction]

This is probably the deeper reason why Faust’s final rejuvenation takes place only in the post-mortal state, i.e., is projected into the future. [Psychology and Alchemy]

Taste that. Rejuvenation in the post-mortal state

Projected into the future

Hi, this here is Anakin’s son, daughter and future father of his grandson in one shot while Anakin appears as a force ghost.

Anakin’s redemption did not take place, it is taking place through his offspring – his future – and I’m afraid Ben is very much a part of it.

I’d argue that the main reason why the frequent belief that Anakin’s redemption needs a counterbalance in form of Ben’s ultimate fall is based on the fact that the redemption story most influential in western culture – that of humanity through death and resurrection of Jesus Christ – does have an unredeemed counterbalance – Judas (and a disclaimer: I do not refer to The Second Testament for any sort of religious agenda, I treat it as an influential cultural text it is – and a manifestation of collective unconscious, that’s why I can compare it to ancient mythologies). But that assumption is based on a false belief that Anakin’s redemption was complete rather than projected into the future. Redemption of humanity through Christ is complete as Christ’s resurrection is in soul and body.

Let’s take a look at two other mythical resurrections/redemptions – though I’ll allow myself to omit most of the context (I’m still sticking to the western world, because I believe it’s the most influential for most of SW audience but also because, confessedly, I cannot claim proficiency in other myths, if someone can share some themes, please do). An example of future resurrection balanced by damnation is Baldur vs. this handsome fella

For causing Baldur’s death Loki is condemned to lie under venomous snake’s fangs until Ragnarok and it’s only thanks to Sigyn, definitely the most underappreciated character of any mythology, that we don’t have permanent earthquakes. Now, this isn’t a damnation of the same kind as Judas’s, since Loki’s actual fate is the same as all other gods’ – to be destroyed during the Ragnarok you have to give it to the Nordic people, coming up with a mythology and ending it with everyone killing each other. BUT Baldur’s resurrection also isn’t as complete as Christ’s as it will only happen in the renewed world after Ragnarok, right now he’s sitting underground with Cate Blanchett. So, maybe Osiris vs. Seth? I would argue that’s the best parallel to Star Wars – Osiris is resurrected but stays forever in the underworld, but Seth also doesn’t suffer any eternal damnation. He’s an ambiguous deity in the fact that despite being an “antagonist” to Horus, after their fight is over he supports pharaohs’ rule and helps Ra keep away the monster of chaos (a hundred StarKillers anyone?). Granted, he becomes infertile in the process (attractiveness of force deprivation theme?) but that’s for trying to kill Osiris’ son, would make little sense if he was Osiris’ only offspring (btw, I’d argue that’s exactly why old EU gave Han and Leia two children, a good one and a bad one).

One could argue of course that Anakin’s redemption through the future can be done on the ideal level only – he saved Luke and Luke has now passed on the jedi tradition onto Rey. Yeah, that sounds attractive. But it wasn’t a jedi knight Anakin saved, wasn’t it? When fried by Palps Luke didn’t call upon Anakin’s jedi code only yelled Father, please. What’s more Anakin had two children. Luke has a sister Anakin asked him to tell he was right about him. And I believe Luke told this to Leia. But did she accept that? Confessedly, she had every reason not to. Oh, she could detach Anakin Skywalker from the sith lord who mind probed her and held her in place to watch the destruction of her home planet, but to accept Luke was right about Darth Vader?

In a way, Leia did the most epic Nooooo in Skywalker story.

Meme should continue through a meme and only can through a gene, but gene needs to continue through a gene, something the Skywalker twins did not accept and thus ended up with galaxy and their family again in turmoil. Luke – for it was Luke who’s the original Vader fanboy of this saga albeit unknowingly, not Kylo – badly wanted to continue the jedi meme (in its simulacric form, btw) through his nephew, the mighty Skywalker blood, which could be, can still be, but never had to be. Leia, on the other hand, thought she can have a child of Anakin’s meme and not Vader’s gene, which simply can’t be as it’s based on a lie.

So what, Anakin can get a redemption and other characters not because, what, he had children? Well, yeah. That’s a redemption through love at its symbolic best.

To cut a long story short, Ben Solo doesn’t have a husk of legacy to upkeep (that’s what he thinks, you know!), he has grandfather’s redemption to make real.

Master Skywalker or how I learned to nourish meme and love a gene

Battle of Crait is one of the most epic moments in Star Wars and I’ll fight anyone who’ll tell me otherwise. It is the most Luke Skywalker thing that could have happened, as it is Luke doing for himself what he has previously done for his father, if only temporarily – reattaching the meaning to the simulacrum, thus resurrecting the symbol. And symbols have great power, as they give us inspiration, hope and strength when we fall down. Luminous creatures we are, not that crude matter and to erase the symbols or identify them with simulacra is to make everything material only.

But there’s an extremely important thing – Luke could only rescue the Resistance and symbolically inspire new fighters, bring back the inspiring legend, because he reattached this legend to the man who failed his nephew – and that by admitting this failure, not denying it, as he tried to just a day earlier. To all out there who believe Luke was right to consider killing Ben, that the darkness he saw in him was a decided plan – why would he lie about it, to himself much more so than Rey? If he knew that what he considered was right and faltered by the softness of his heart, why not just come clean about it? But he knows that what he did was wrong and therefore, just for a moment, believes the only way for him to go back to rescuing the galaxy is to base it on a lie and hope for the best. Only Rey has already learned that what he told her wasn’t the truth and confronts him about it – notice that Luke is aggressively sending her away even though he wanted to go with her a moment earlier, precisely because he realises he’ll have to come clean. Now, Rey has no problem reconciling what he’s done with what she believes him to be, unlike both Luke and Ben – because they believed in a simulacrum and she believes in a symbol. Failures happen. But when she stretches Luke’s ls to him again – and remember right now she’s decided to go to Kylo, so I’d say what she’s actually doing isn’t asking him will you rejoin the fight? only will you go and confront him about what happened? it’s his legacy she’s stretching out to him in that moment! – he still can’t do this. In his eyes, he now gave up on the legend completely, it’s time to let the old things die, so he’ll go and burn the jedi tree along with the texts. But because his anger directed at the jedi simulacra is simply overclinging to them gone sour he can’t bring himself to even burn the tree. And it’s a nice tree isn’t it? So Yoda has to effing call a thunder from the afterlife to do that for him – but don’t forget, the books aren’t there already! It’s highly symbolic that Luke never bothered to read the texts, as exhibited by the most realistic padawan moment in the saga as he channels a student who was too lazy to do his homework for six years of having nothing else to do, he was sorta expecting them to have magic powers of their own?

But, in the end, he understands that his legend isn’t something inherently wrong but also that it doesn’t have to be infallible. His failure towards Ben and the way he apologised for that failure are his legend and legacy – just as the legend of Anakin’s fall and redemption he let start all those years ago. But again, Anakin’s redemption isn’t complete – and neither will be Luke’s (he dies in that moment after all) if his apology will have no influence on Ben.

Allow me to draw a timeline of Star Wars message:

after ot they become an inspiring story of hope and redemption

after prequels they become an overly selfconscious myth of redemption as the fall has been tailored exactly for the payment

right now they are a simulacrum of redemption as it became clear Anakin’s redemption was half-assed

It can be argued that the message can be carried on despite being false at a core. And does that sound like Rey growing to be a healthy good person basing on her denial of the truth about her parents? Yes, I think it should. There are characters like Galen, Bodhi or, again, according to some idiots, Finn – but they’re all incomplete too. Finn... really, his story isn’t a redemption, he’s not an evil man in need of paying for his sins, he’s a goddamn hero whose moral sense wasn’t killed by years of indoctrination and I want to punch anyone who thinks this beautiful jewel needs to get redeemed for anything. But Galen’s and Bodhi’s “redemptions” aren’t complete either – they both die, in Galen’s case so does his daughter, their redemptions are purely ideal in helping destroy the Empire. And complete redemption is in life, in soul and body. To say those other diamonds of souls needed redemption is a result of lie around Anakin, thinking his redemption was complete.

And that’s why I think there’s epic – though far from permanent – fall in store for Rey. But also that the sand castle of lies Snoke built around Ben can’t last.

The message of hope and redemption Star Wars are associated with doesn’t have to be carried by a Skywalker. But only a Skywalker can give them the message of hope and redemption, make it true. Meaning needs to be reattached to the simulacrum, gene to a meme, light to dark, ideal to matter and I could b*tch for hours about how they’ve been associated to male and female for thousands of years and their unison by marriage.

A rose is a Rose is a Tico – some reflections on symbolism in postmodern era

Sequels are also a great occasion to reflect on use of symbolism in modern epic (pop)art. Symbols have become so widespread, so conventionalised, that – again – it seems the right thing to do is throw away symbolic language as a dead husk or leave them be only as empty conventions. Now, there are some things which are conventional enough to be purely conventional and throwing them away gives them more value than they’re worth – think French revolutionists trying to do away with a seven day week or ask yourselves how many people you know still worship thunder on Thursdays watching Thor doesn’t count. But those are pure conventions of everyday life and epic storytelling should appeal to deeper levels of our psyche. There’s a danger in overreliance on symbols – for example, violence in the originals was symbolical to the point of seeming banal – but they’re still a useful way of expressing that which in conceptual terms would be too difficult or plain impossible. Nowadays there are loads of symbol dictionaries so it’s easy to think of them as something to be decoded – but symbols aren’t to be decoded only to be interpreted, depending on their context. “A bird” can’t mean a lion but it can mean swallow, sparrow, pigeon, eagle, vulture, etc. alike. TBH, that’s why I’d say reylos seem like we’re “reaching” – we’re interpreting, debating with the text, asking it questions rather than decoding separate elements I don’t want to be indiscriminate of course there are non-reylos who do interpret and many reylos just see two hotties to be together, but the latter aren’t accused of reaching. Intrepreting means asking a question of the meaning, not thinking the meaning is obvious. I don’t want to make another huge elaboration, so I’ll just take some examples of use of symbolism in Star Wars and how they should and shouldn’t be treated, as well as two simulacric husks which still need to be dug beyond.

Names and pseudonyms – a name is always symbolic of identity, though it should be remembered that they aren’t given like eye colour, they belong to the order of meme that becomes one with our identity as we grow. I think it’s pretty clear that Han has been literally baptised by the Empire and more importantly, never had a problem with that. He accepted this surname as it was an abstraction of what he was – alone, he didn’t have to throw it away because of being given by the bad guys I also think it’s not insignificant the imperial official is actually a pretty human character but that’s another matter. What I want to focus upon though, are the characters with two names, one for their selves and one for their shadows: Sheev Palpatine – Sidious, Dooku – Tyrranus, Anakin Skywalker – Vader, Ben Solo – Kylo Ren. I don’t want to delve into their ethymologies, but rather into their use. The difference between the two latter and two former lies in difficulty of switching between the two personas. Vader gets angered when Luke calls him Anakin, Kylo does react when he’s called Ben but doesn’t refer to himself this way – according to the novelization, in the throne room, while offering Rey the galaxy, he reasserts that it’s no longer his name. Now, one’s willing to view this as a manipulative play on his side, they think I should keep those names apart but I’m actually one and okay with it, but, just like with everything else in the throne room, he’s lying to himself not less than Rey, like a good setient simulacrum should. His manipulation is essentially innocent because he believes what he’s saying – compare it to Snoke who knew perfectly well Ben’s family loved him – and when he offers himself to Rey he offers her Kylo Ren, the simulacrum believing itself to be reality, just as he doesn’t say he’ll rescue the Resistance if she stays with him. What would be terrifying is if he wanted to be referred to as Ben, because that would mean his identity is as malleable as he’d like it to be. Such is the case with Dooku, who barely refers to himself as Tyrranus and why the hell should he, he’s a politician first sith lord second and more importantly, Sheev. Palpatine has no problems jumping between Palpatine, Sidious, Emperor and of course he’s all time favourite, The Senate.

Masks – I already explained how I think the bridge scene should actually be interpreted, but I bring it back as an excellent case of decoding vs. interpretation. Removal of the mask is decoded as revelation of the true persona and this is exactly what Kylo Ben thinks he’s doing. And yes, he reveals his true persona – only this persona is one feeling remorse for what he’s done.

Another good decoding vs. interpretation scene is Crait showdown – Kylo Ben is fighting a ghost, a shadow. Decoding is that it’s an expression of how ungrounded his anger is. But neither he nor anyone other than Leia and Rey (and possibly Chewie and porgs?) know Luke to be a shadow and that shadow has very real effect, this time positive in saving the Resistance. I would say Luke letting Leia know that he’s a projection is a symbolic explanation to his sister of what happened to her son. Of course, Leia still doesn’t know that Luke considered killing Ben, but now she knows he wouldn’t have actually done it – and I would argue before the scene is over, Ben himself gets a glimpse of this fact.

There’s also Anakin’s parthenogenesis to be reconsidered. To see that as a simulacrum of divine bloodline is the simplest thing to do – as well as one raising the most resentment, especially among those who think parthenogenesis is culturally exclusive to Jesus. But that’s avoiding the question of what actually took place. An embodied hierophany isn’t an origin of a special hero only an act of divinity’s direct intervention in linear historical time – thus, Anakin stops being the chosen one, one to bring balance to the force, but neither is it a concept to be rejected as some esoteric bs, but rather his birth sets in motion a series of events leading to that balance.

And lastly, decoding Snoke as an abuser isn’t equivalent with interpreting a twenty year long abuse, something which cannot be shaken off by killing the abuser. In this way I could argue Kylo Ben at the end of TLJ could turn out to be symbolic for oversimplified attitude towards stormtrooper rebellion – free them before they’ll want freedom and you’ll end up with them rebuilding the cage they’re used to.

A general rule I would apply is that non humanoids (moons, suns, planets, porgs) are rather reliable symbols. Characters may be trying to deceive each other and themselves but I don’t think creators are trying to deceive the audience. So if a kyber crystal cracks, either because of how difficult it was to make it bleed or because two characters who should be in tune are far from it – there’s a good chance things are not the way they should be. Again, symbolic language isn’t bad in itself.

Evil eyes – one of the arguments most frequently raised for bendemption is that Kylo has never had evil sith eyes. Now, you could say, neither had Dooku and he died but that’s another thing showing Kylo’s death would be a rehash, not his redemption. Another argument could be that Disney simply felt that effect was cheesy and decided to never use it again. But what should be done is to ask ourselves what do those evil yellow eyes actually mean. The way eyes look is symbolic of the way eyes see. Siths have venomous yellow eyes because they see the world through their hatred and lust for power, not because EVIL. Snoke has empty black eyes in TFA because he can see no depth in the world, sees only emptiness, and cold blue in TLJ as everything is coldly subjugatable to him. It has also been pointed out that the closest we got to sith yellow in the sequels is Hux during the destruction of Hosian system.

And I agree, it was a conscious move. As was this.

But lightsaber refelected in Kylo’s eyes is red, associated with anger – and anger is but a path to the dark side, not dark side itself. So, do I expect Armitage to get actual sith yellow eyes? No, not really, because it was a bit cheesy what matters is the visual effect, so it could be another light reflection. It could also be argued that force sensitives do perceive the world in a slightly different manner than others, there is a difference in their very souls which finds manifestations in their bodies. What could happen and make me totally flip if the trailers greeted us with evil yellow eyes... by Rey.

One of the husks I think Star Wars still has to shed and why I can see dark!Rey happening is that femininity has become overidentified with good. The only more or less fleshed out female villain in the main story so far is Phasma and she sure has room for improvement. Alternative, and that’s another thing which would make me flip, is epix giving us Rae Sloane, an evil matriarch, an anti-Leia, if you like. Preferably, both. And I want to underline I write that as a feminist, I’m just tired of watching infallible or driven to villainy by men female characters, I’m a woman and I effed up in life, Padme’s patience gave me more complexes than Barbie’s waist ever could.

And another husk to be shed is... democracy. That sounds bad, I know, so let me elaborate. Democracy has become an empty word, on Earth and in GFFA alike. It became an equivalent of good rule, interpretable to preference. You know what is a “Democratic People’s Republic”? North Korea. And if you tell me there has never been a good emperor, I call bs on your knowledge of history whereas if you stammer sth about SW being a metaphor to be abstracted from history then at best I ask you sweetly then what’s wrong with a good Renperor and at worst sue for calling me a nazi apologist over that abstract metaphor. Now, I’m not saying a point should be made that authoritarian rule is anything good – rather, seeing Renperor’s labour’s lost should make us reflect why democracy is the best regime anyone ever came up with though still the worst there is. Rise of sympathies towards authoritarianism (usually going by the name of “enlightened despotism”) is another phenomenon visible around the globe and not always among uneducated people in want of agency only those who see how mishandled democracy can go astray. Again, there have been good emperors, so alternative sounds better than trying to fix the fallible regime. To show such people how their symbols get vanquished by good democrats will only fuel their resentment as they will feel misunderstood (that’s not what they meant by their enlightened despotism) – remember, they’re the romantic rebels fighting globalist empire. To show them how such regime fails at establishing a lasting welfare could actually make them think.

Well, that sure was an experience. I have many thanks to those who have actually gone through all of my ramblings, congratulations on your patience. Hopefully, they provided you with some insight into postmodern popculture and how it doesn’t have to be husk running away from itself only can be actually a living organism

#star wars #luke skywalker #anakin skywalker #redemption #bendemption #postmodernity #symbolism #episode ix speculation #rey #kylo ren #ben solo #reylo

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rasekstories · 6 years

Text

Rasek’s Dad Dies

The sky over Revantusk was clear. It was unusually still in the morning; the sea at the edge of the village was like a looking glass, though the sun at dusk the night before had been blood red, bathing the trolls beneath the Overlook cliffs in its foreboding light.

Rasek sat at the edge of the dock with a cigarette between his fingers, staring out at the horizon, at nothing, at the pattern of gulls that dipped in and out of the surf, completely unaware of him. He looked older than he ever had. Crow’s feet pulled at the corners of his eyes with bags beneath them; disheveled grey hair and a scruffy beard to match. He was not yet even thirty.

He’d been expecting it for some time. Years ago, when that self-proclaimed king from some long forgotten human house drove his men to the village like a wave against a wall. Revenge for something the warband had done. Rasek forgot. His father had taken a spear to the leg.

His limp after that kept him walking with a cane, and as the years dragged on he moved slower, left the hut less, relied on his wife more and more. He hadn’t said two words to his son in weeks, months, years, and when the former general visited home he noticed his father ate and drank only broth and hooch.

When Riska was born he was excited. Prouder than his grandson than he’d ever been of his son, and quick to say so. A boy with dark hair and red eyes bouncing on his knee. His good knee. Leave him here with your mother and me for a little while, Rasek. You have so much to do. You and your shitty little warband.

But no troll lives forever, and Rasek’s father was no exception. His mother firmly denied it, but he knew. The last few weeks were the nicest he’d ever been. He couldn’t remember where he was or who any of them were, but he was happy to see them, and sat with Riska in his lap and looked out at the ocean, a pipe between his lips.

Gentle. Kind. Almost like a different person.

Rasek flicked the remains of his cigarette into the water. What was he going to do now? His mother hadn’t lived alone his entire life. The village would take care of her, sure, like they were doing now. Comforting her as they wrapped his father’s body, his organs carefully jarred beside him, ready to be moved to the catacombs.

She had Juzmik’s mother with her as well; the two old women fast friends in their later years. No doubt the tattered remains of the warband were just waiting to offer their condolences to him and the family. To Riska even, though he was just turning five and wouldn’t really understand.

Sorry to hear, man. Death is hard, you know? I remember when my dad died. Need anything, you let us know. Drinks on me, man. Need any help with the kid, we’re here for you. Man. He was a great guy.

Same shit everybody says at funerals.

Footsteps on the dock brought him back to reality, and he turned his head just enough to nod in greeting. Juzmik, his hair tied back in a dark braid, his oiled leathers traded for an old lace down shirt and a pair of travelling pants.

“Thought I’d find you out here.” His accent was thick and more northerly than was typical for Revantusk, betraying his origins every time he opened his mouth. “Bout time to get movin, Ras. Mom’s lookin for ya.”

Rasek nodded again, absent-mindedly patting his breast pocket in search of another cigarette. Empty.

“I was thinking, if you want, we could try to get the old chief down here to come. Help him walk down, or whatever.” Juzmik continued. “He probably ain’t been outside for a good couple of months, yeah? Wouldn’t hurt to get him some sun, and I think some of the guys would like to see him.”

His friend snorted. Old men, crippled by war, their minds gone with the tide, being dragged out to a funeral for someone they probably couldn’t remember. That was sure to cheer everyone up.

“Whatever man. If you want.” Rasek looked back out toward the horizon.

He barely heard Juzmik’s response; the soft clarity of his voice, encouraging him not to make his mother wait much longer. She probably needed her son now, today more than any other. And her grandson, Riska, a chubby hand curled around her finger.

It would be easy not to go. It would be easy to slip around the gate by the beach, outside the walls of Revantusk and around the gathering pines that protected them from the northern winds. The path up the cliffs was scarcely guarded these days. If anyone were there at all it would be one of his own, some relic of the past that refused to believe it was over.

He could run to the steps of Jintha’alor like he did when he was a boy, and lose himself in the twists and turns of the old city until the day was done, his father buried and forgotten.

He could run to the foot of Aerie Peak, daggers drawn and sharpened and fall upon the first dwarf he saw. Patrols. Hunting. Out for a piss. A scalp was a scalp.

He could run to the elven ruins to the north, across the rickety wooden bridge that sagged beneath the weight of moss and time and rot, and wait for nightfall to beckon old ghosts from empty temples.

He could do any of that, and no one could stop him even if they wanted to. It would be easy, and painless, and maybe even a little fun.

But, what the hell. Rasek stood, rolling his shoulders and running a hand through his unkempt hair. If the old man was finally gone, some last respects for the sake of his mother wouldn’t hurt. Not too much, anyway.

He turned towards the town and began to walk, breath carefully measured, the sound of gulls overhead like the ocean’s own farewell.

#gorwatha #wow stories #legion stories #rasek #wyrmrestaccord

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