oddsandendsandthings

[oddsandendsandthings]

You have no idea how important the Dairy King was to Danny. Here he was thinking that all ghost are evil because Vlad is holding a grudge and all the ghost he ever faced was after their own selfish deeds. It would have spiraled to Danny thinking that he will become evil in the future just because all the ghost he met were evil. When he saw the Dairy King for the first time, Danny assumed that he was going to do something evil but, nope, Dairy King set him free because “not all ghost are evil, right?”

GIVE THE DAIRY KING HIS DUE HE SAVED DANNY FROM QUESTIONING HIS GHOSTHOOD.

LOOK AT HIS FACE AFTER THE DIARY KING LEFT

HE DID GOOD.

[oddsandendsandthings]

[oddsandendsandthings]

Jon's sass is something I'd die for

[oddsandendsandthings]

oh my goodness gracious golly gee i love him so

[oddsandendsandthings]

Four reasons you should play ‘the werecleaner’:

He’s just a widdle wolfo, the best janitor trying to pay his rent for the month.

[oddsandendsandthings]

the werecleanerrrr

[oddsandendsandthings]

This one metal ring bothers me, what is it for? There's only one, none on the other side...

[oddsandendsandthings]

Bruce is in...an unfortunate circumstance. So is everyone else. He can honestly say he has no idea what is going on, and judging from the barely suppressed rage, confusion, and hostility, neither does anyone else at the table.

He's sitting at the head of a table in Wayne Manor, which definitely does not exist anymore and is glowing a strange green. At the table are Damian, Jason, Dick, Tim, Duke, Cass, and a random teenager he does not know.

Alfred, who has been dead for years, is serving them food that is...glowing slightly green. Just like the house.

Everyone is being courteous, and it...it seems like someone is controlling their words? Their actions as well. They can only speak in rhyme, and they are being forced to play as one big happy family.

He can see, in everyone's eyes, that no one remembers how they got here.

Even Alfred, glowing blue skin and luminescent green eyes, seems to not be in control of his actions.

The strange teen at the other end of the table is getting more and more panicked with every glowing green delicacy placed before them, muscles tensing and straining as he visibly tries to break free with brute force alone.

Bruce knows, as does everyone else at the table, that to eat those foods is...bad. He doesn't know how, exactly, but it appears that no one should eat them.

A flicker of someone, no, three someones dart past the door. One of those people wears an armored outfit, and pauses long enough to appear to do a quick assessment of the unknown teenager at the table; so another hero, or at least someone invested in keeping the boy alive. If they have enough time, they might be able to undo this.

He needs to delay.

He cannot let any one at this table, including that random boy, eat any of this food.

Whoever is doing this wants them to play as a typical family unit. He is only allowed to say or do things that would typically fall into that category.

Alfred sets down the last plate, movement stiff and jerky as he tries to do it as slowly as possible, and Bruce feels his hands stray towards the utensils on the table.

He redirects them to brace against it and stand himself up.

"A toast is required, to welcome new kin, for we never grow tired of taking them in," Bruce says, lifting a glass of...something. Green and glowing, as is everything else.

Toxic.

Thankfully, the makeshift toast seems to work; no one moves to eat the contaminated feast.

But he feels himself start to sit down again.

Jason's hands are shaking, tiny wheezes slipping past his lips as he fights against them moving back towards the fork and knife. Tim, concerningly in contrast, appears fully prepared to eat whatever this is. Even...eager?

Bruce really hopes he's reading that one wrong.

When they escape, and they will because he will not accept anything less, he really needs to have a conversation with him.

"In truth there are no secrets here, and I must divulge some I fear," Bruce almost shouts, knees popping back into a standing position so fast it triggers a spasm of pain in his back. That wasn't what he meant to say.

He can feel himself being compelled to speak the worst truth he could possible give, and instinctively fights against it.

In response to the struggling, Damian's hand reaches out, tendons flexing in full view as he fights against it, and a finger dips into what is supposed to be some sort of gravy.

He cannot be doing this.

Dick's hand gracefully snags a glowing green dinner roll, his eyes steely as it's brought towards his mouth.

He cannot.

Duke sounds like he's about to hyperventilate, fingers trembling and dropping the glowing pig-in-a-blanket, forced to pick it up every time it drops.

At the opposite end of the table, the unknown boy actually manages to let out a soft, muffled shout, jerking forward before the magic that bewitches them all forces him back into compliance.

...He must. He must, lest he not only watch his children die in front of him, again, but watch them all do it at the same time.

Bruce closes his eyes.

A hand rests on his shoulder, giving him a comforting squeeze.

The only comfort this strange residue of Alfred can give him.

"We are no mere family; we are the knights that hide in the dark, verily I do speak more gravely while chasing crime like a shark."

There are sounds of combat, things breaking and people shouting, laser pistols, or a variant thereof, firing.

The compulsion is stronger, and he knows that if he tries to resist it even a little bit, Duke, Damian, and Dick are all dead.

Damn it.

"For I am Batman, of Gotham proud, alone I began, but now have a crowd."

He is forced to sit down again, and the sounds of fighting ease off.

Damn it. Damn it! They failed!

But the boy at the head of the table stands, sweaty and desperate.

"For telling me this, I feel I must up the ante; I cannot dismiss that I'm also a vigilante. My name is Phantom, and I really love oranges....."

The boy stops talking, mouth open as whoever controls them tries to find a followup.

But.

Nothing, traditionally, rhymes with orange in such a way that it shares the last part of that word.

The air seems to stretch.

The table holds their breath.

...The air snaps.

"Not again!" Someone shouts from where the fighting was, "Stop doing that!"

Or; Ghostwriter wanted to fuck with Danny, by forcing him to play house with one of the wealthy elite and torment him with stupid rich people bullshit. He even used the lair of the ghost of their old Butler, Alfred, since it was an exact replica of Wayne Manor. Sure, if humans eat food that's made of pure ectoplasm straight from the Zone they can't ever leave it, but like, they can just stay with their butler. Ghostwriter just needs to make sure that Danny can't talk, because if the little shit talks, he'll use the orange trick again. He did not anticipate that; Bruce Wayne is Batman, Red Huntress would try to beat the snot out of him with the help of a goth and a technonerd, or that Bruce Wayne would manage to give Danny the perfect opportunity to open his big fat mouth and ruin Ghostwriter's fun.

[oddsandendsandthings]

“Oh my god I ALSO HATE ME!! We should like… go on a date and kiss since we have so much in common”

After my 2 week hiatus I come back and I humbly bring you this

[oddsandendsandthings]

[oddsandendsandthings]

Boo | Castlevania season 4, episode 7 "The Great Work"

[oddsandendsandthings]

ghost hunters but there’s twice as many and they’re equally as stupid

[oddsandendsandthings]

she's teaching him how to glare

[oddsandendsandthings]

teen titans go animators you are NOT invited to my red hood themed costume party >:(

but they do give him justice here

[oddsandendsandthings]

Feelings tonight

[oddsandendsandthings]

© dat_sazu / asheissketchy