#(and a bit of revenant)

[new-revenant]

Twenty something year old Danny becomes a preschool teacher to a class of young meta and liminal kids, he helps to keep the kids calm when they discover their abilities and is genuinely one of the better teachers at the school. He's also a part time member of the Justice League. He's in the middle of a meeting when he gets a call from a freaked out substitute teacher saying one of the kids is stuck halfway through the wall and doesn't know what to do. Danny excuses himself and explains that one of his kids is having a small problem and he'll be right back and then leaves not realizing the chaos he left behind in his wake as the Justice League believe that Phantom has multiple kids and is a single father

I love teacher!Danny AUs, they are always so wacky and fun. And this seems so sweet! I love misunderstanding plots where the misunderstanding is something super simple. And plots where characters think someone is talking about their children children, when they’re actually talking about their students or something. Basically I love this prompt <3

So the JL know Danny is Phantom and stuff, probably are also away that’s he’s a ghost. Danny says that one of his kids is stuck in a wall at school and the substitute teacher is freaking out, so he’s gotta go real quick. Once he leaves one of the members(I’m thinking Flash because…I like him)is like, “Soo…wanna bet on how many kids he has? I’m guessing three-no-four.” The meeting quickly devolves into this conversation, until Batman or someone else steers it back.

After the meeting, rumors spread through the JL about Danny’s kids, and many bets are made. It takes them a while for everyone to figure out that Danny is just a teacher and not a father. Some figure it out faster than others though, but they think it would be funnier if they go along with the father Danny idea. Batman definitely knows what’s going on, he should know what Danny’s job is at the very least. He does consider the fact that maybe he might be a father, but that thought is short lived.

[starcrashedsatellite]

Nightreign Revenant last remembrance spoilers ahead

-

[quadrantadvisor]

DP x DC, revenant!Jason Todd

Shortly after meeting, Danny and Jason have a late night conversation about what it means to come back. 1281 words

On AO3

-

Danny woke groggily, in a dark place that he didn't recognize, and took a moment to get his bearings.

He felt the warning ache in his neck that came from being propped up against an arm rest. There were two sources of dim light in the room—the glow of city street lights, muffled behind a curtain, and the green eyes of the man whose lap Danny's feet were propped on.

Right. Danny hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the revenant’s—on Jason’s—couch, but they’d been talking for so long, he must’ve dozed off.

Jason had had so many questions, about ectoplasm, about the zone, about Danny’s own experiences. Danny had done his best to clear up everything he could. A revenant may not be quite the same as he was, but still, it made Danny happy to be able to pass on his hard won knowledge and maybe save someone else a bit of the hurt and confusion that he’d gone through. It was what he’d always wished someone would do for him.

Jason was slumped into the couch, but he didn’t look relaxed. Danny examined his still profile, cast in strange shadows by its own green glow, and wondered how long it had been since he’d moved.

Danny shifted slightly, purposefully producing the fabric sounds of a body against upholstery, to make sure Jason knew he was awake. No reaction. Danny gave him one more moment, then asked, “You okay?”

Jason didn’t look at him when he answered, “You told me I’m basically possessing my own corpse, and I’m supposed to not be upset about that?”

Really, Danny should’ve predicted something like that. How long had he spent, trying to pretend that death hadn’t really touched him? It wasn’t an easy thing to accept.

“What’s the difference between a body and a corpse?” Danny asked.

Jason’s eyes snapped to Danny, their glow intensifying. “I am not dealing with riddle bullshit right now, I swear to-”

“No, I’m being serious,” Danny interrupted, pulling his feet from Jason’s lap and sitting himself up. “There’s one difference between a corpse and a living body, and that’s that someone is living in it. Jason—” he reached out, gripping one of Jason’s hands in his “—you’re alive. That’s what matters. The rest is details.”

Jason’s shoulders bent inwards, his other hand raising to rub at his chest. “You don’t get it,” he said, quiet. “People don’t just come back from what they did to me. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“However you died, it’s not-”

Jason huffed an ugly sound, a short and bitter laugh that Danny hurt to hear. “Is it crazy that that isn’t even what I was talking about? I meant after.” The motion on his chest was repetitive, like he was tracing something underneath his shirt, and Danny got the sinking feeling that he knew just what sort of scar it might be. “I was gone, okay? I was gone, and this body was still here. And they took it, and they cut it open and rummaged around inside to figure out what happened. Which is—” he cut off, sniffed, and Danny gripped his hand tighter “—which is stupid, right? It’s not like it wasn’t obvious.” His fingers twitched, and he continued, haltingly, “I mean, I’ve read the report. Pulled it off his stupid files. The smoke inhalation did me in. After everything that happened, it was the smoke.”

Jasons’ hand pulled out of Danny’s, and they both rose to cover his face, cutting off the glow while he curled in on himself even tighter. His voice was slightly muffled when he said, “And then they had to ship me home, right? So they bled me dry and pumped me full of formaldehyde, and they prettied me up so they could pretend I wasn’t just some empty thing, and Bruce held the tiniest most depressing little funeral known to man and put my ass in the ground, and I had to wake up down there.” His words and his breaths were coming too quick, and Danny didn’t know how to help. He didn’t want Jason to stop, not when it seemed like he needed to say all of this, but he could see just how badly the revenant was hurting.

“But you did wake up,” he whispered.

“Woke up in my own mutilated corpse!” Jason snarled. “Everything I’ve forgotten, and that memory is still crystal fucking clear! It stank in there, like death and vinegar and mud, and it was so small, and I couldn’t even try to scream for help because they sewed my fucking mouth shut—!” He broke off into a sob, and Danny couldn’t stand it anymore, had to lean into Jason’s side and wrap an arm around him as he shook with all the emotion he couldn’t reign in.

“Okay,” Danny said. Not you’re okay, just okay. “Okay, so that’s the most horrible thing I’ve ever heard, and I regularly hang out with a guy who wants to skin me.”

Jason sniffed. “What?”

“Nevermind. It’s just-”

“No, I think we should go back to the skinning thing-”

“I just don’t want you to let it define you,” Danny interrupted. “I did that. I got into my head about it, the whole ‘being dead’ thing, feeling like I was…” Danny gave himself a second, swallowed, “like some sort of freak. A thing that didn’t belong anywhere. But I’m still alive, and you’re alive, and even if we weren’t, it wouldn’t matter, because we’re still here, and as long as you’re here you can find something that’s worth staying for.” Danny rubbed what he hoped was a soothing pattern into Jason’s admittedly impressive bicep.

Jason let out a sigh. “I must really be pathetic if you’ve gotta pep talk me like that, huh?” he said, and Danny pretended not to see him wiping at his eyes. “Sorry,” he added, “about all this. I’ve got some shit I haven’t dealt with, and this ‘revenant’ stuff brought it up pretty bad.”

“I get it,” Danny said, and hoped Jason could tell how much he meant it.

Jason sighed again, heavy, like he was trying to release something else with his breath, and said, “It still doesn’t make any sense. Logically, I can’t be alive. Where did my blood come from?”

Danny shrugged. “Do you have blood?”

“I definitely have blood. I’ve seen a lot of it.”

That gave Danny pause. “Just like, around?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Jason said, deadpan. “I’ve got a surplus, so I like to leave some here and there, make sure everyone gets a chance to appreciate it.”

“I have no idea how much you’re joking and it frightens me,” Danny told him.

“Weak,” Jason replied.

“Anyways, you gotta not think about it too much. The interdimensional goop is already logic-defying, and you’re mixing magic with it with your special soul willpower or something. Your brain will explode if you try to make it make sense.”

Jason huffed a little laugh, bouncing Danny on his shoulder, and this time it made him feel lighter. “Can I just say that I hate that I’m full of interdimensional goop?”

“Valid,” Danny said.

Even without looking at Jason, Danny could tell that he just rolled his eyes by the way the soft green light moved.

Danny had his ear pressed to Jason’s shoulder, feeling his warmth, and if he focused, he could just make out the revenant’s pulse. Personally, Danny thought it was pretty cool to be full of magic and goop and blood. Much cooler than Danny, who was way more science goop than magic goop. They’d have to compare notes on that sometime.

Maybe Jason would come around to it.

[belfrysol]

ancient dragon lightning strike (and pest threads) is still Like That™️for those of you who were wondering.

poor centipede demon

[melanodis]

its 3 pm post natah being comfy

[reds-skull]

Bringer of Demise - Chapter 4

[PREV PART] [AO3]

This chapter went places I didn't plan for, so it has a surprising amount of comfort. Anyway, it's called "Molten Core".

Price informs them he called Commander Karim on the way here, asking her to send a team to aid them when Soap and Gaz’s situation became known. Soap was secretly grateful, if not for himself, for Gaz, that they won’t take the helo the rest of the way.

He doesn’t want to imagine how scared that would’ve made Kyle.

The rescue team looked for the pilot as they helped the taskforce, Soap despondently looking away when they find the front half of the helo. Charred black and mangled beyond recognition, there wouldn’t have been anything left resembling a human after going through that.

Add that to the tally of people he has failed to save.

Soap hates to admit it, but the morphine makes healing so much smoother. What once was a constant, sharp pain has been dulled down to a distant beating. Ghost let him lean against him when he became loopy, telling him that’s a side effect.

A few trucks eventually arrive, several ULF fighters wearing plain clothes jumping out. It seems like Commander Karim has sent a medic team along, but as Gaz isn’t physically injured, and Soap won’t benefit from anything more than a few hours of rest, they give Kyle a shock blanket, and sit them in one of the trucks.

Ghost keeps a hand around him as they’re driven to the camp, Soap nearly cracking a tooth with how hard he clenches his jaw. The roads here are not very considerate of his open wounds, that’s for fucking certain.

He doesn’t think the shaking is only from the pain, though. Soap continues to glance at Gaz, his eyes fogged over.

What happened was eerily similar to Kyle’s Reaping. Similar enough that Soap has almost no doubt it was planned, that whoever planted the bomb wanted to take him out the same way he died.

“Whoever”... if it’s not Makarov, it’s one of his fucking allies, they don’t need proof to know that by now. Only a few people knew the 141 was supposed to leave today, especially when it came in at such a late notice.

Soap’s flames glow brighter. Novikov knew.

When he gets his hands on that fuckin’ Doctor…

Another bump jostles him, making his back hit the side of the truck. Soap barely contains a yelp as pain flashes up his spine. Ghost pulls him closer, glaring at the road like it can feel remorse. It makes Soap smile.

If it weren’t for Ghost calling that meeting… this truck would’ve been far emptier.

The ULF base they arrive to is unlike any other base Soap has been in. Nestled between a mountain and a forest, the place itself looks benign; a few shacks that have seen better days and one or two actual structures, surrounded by a wooden fence.

As their truck drives closer, large metal doors embedded in the mountain’s side open, revealing the true base.

Concrete walls stood in stark contrast to natural excavated stone, dimly lit by floodlights and ancient-looking lightbulbs, Soap could see from the makeshift road how the large cavern has been sectioned into different parts, with tunnels shooting off the main area everywhere he looks. He can’t tell soldier from civilian here - most don’t wear uniforms or identifying marks, besides a green cloth wrapped around wrists or heads.

The truck stops near what he assumes is medical, and he takes a moment to thank every Reaper the drive is fucking over. Ghost helps Soap jump out, supporting him as much as he can as they make their way to one of the beds. Not like he’ll be sleeping tonight much, by the time his skin reforms they’ll probably need to be in debrief.

Still, one of the nurses pulls the curtain around the cot, the thin fabric barely blocking any light, not to mention the lack of roof. Doesn’t do much to block the sound of the bustling base, either. He appreciates the thought, though.

He lets go of Ghost to carefully drag himself to a prone position, grunting until he manages to settle. Soap closes his eyes, allowing the pounding in his head, the synchronized beating of his open wounds, to take over his senses.

It makes it so when something cool touches his shoulder, he jumps in surprise, eyes flicking to see Ghost crouched over him.

“LT? What are ye-?” he lets out an involuntary sigh as fingers kneed at his muscles, every part of him feeling both untethered and knotted beyond belief, “fuck…”

“That good, Johnny?” Ghost skirts around his injuries, peeling away the cloth that melted into his skin, “helps?”

Helps? Simon is seriously asking if this gentle touch, so careful and soft, seeping away the cloying heat burns always carry, is helping?

He asks if it helps when wherever his fingers brush, muscles and fascia and skin rush back to heal, begging to be held, cells working overtime just for the chance of prolonging the contact? Burning through what energy he has remaining, healing scars that would take hours in seconds, as if those callused hands have reached inside him, found the wires that lead to his molten core, and for once instead of turning up the heat, mercifully decided to let the pressure building and building out, finally letting him breathe?

He asks if this helps? Soap wants to cry.

He buries in face in the scratchy pillow, hoping to muffle some of the frankly embarrassing noises he’s letting out, disguise the stutter of his breath.

“Aye… I… thank ye.”

“I’ve got you, Johnny.” Simon murmurs, hands not leaving him for a second, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

Soap lets go, and the humming of the base, the blinding lights, the ache of his broken body, it all falls away, replaced by pale fingers, turning the valves, depressurizing.

He falls asleep, impossibly, and when nightmares hound him, he can trust in dark brown eyes to be there when he startles awake, trust that they’ll let him drift back. Let him back into a peaceful, dark void.

Soap is only mildly annoyed Ghost let him oversleep. He’s too grateful for the extra hours of healing to be truly mad, either way.

When he gets up, the skin on his back is mostly formed, still scarred to high hell but that’s to be expected. The chair besides the cot is empty, Ghost probably leaving for debrief a while ago.

With the few words he remembers in Arabic, he manages to ask a nurse for a spare shirt and get directions to the meeting rooms. Walking pulls awkwardly on his skin, the stiffness one he’s familiar with, yet forgotten in the past few months.

Been a while since he was sent on bomb disposal, after all.

The ULF fighters aren’t as frantic as they were earlier, and the base seems emptier. He makes his way through, marveling at the sheer amount of revenants he can spot. Just like Las Almas, Urzikstan has an abnormal amount of them, as war zones often do. To think this country has been surviving through almost 30 years of conflict…

This area seems more well-built, and he has to open three doors before he can find his team. Five heads turn to stare at him, the 141 as well as Commander Karim and Alex caught in the middle of debriefing.

“Ah- sorry fer being late, nobody woke me up-” Soap starts, the screeching of dragging chairs cutting him off. He barely manages to brace himself before he gets a careful hug from Gaz, Ghost scanning him for signs of discomfort from the corner of his eye.

Soap returns the favor, tightening his arms around Kyle, “good morning to ye too, Garrick.” he says fondly.

“Bastard” Gaz laughs wetly, pulling back, “how’s your back? Should you even be out of bed yet?”

Ghost meets his eyes. “Had some help with healin’ this time around.” Soap says.

He feels Price pick at his mind, and smiles. “Well, you came just at the right time, Sergeant. Take a sit.”

“Yes sir.” Soap lets Gaz lead him to an empty chair, Ghost sitting down on his left. An ungloved hand takes his, fingers squeezing his comfortingly. He tries to not let the squirming fuzziness in his heart show on his face, as Price begins talking.

“Our target is what used to be a Russian prison, which was captured by Urzik rebellion forces and converted to a makeshift holding facility.” Price points to the map spread on the table.

Commander Karim joins in, “currently, this facility is under Al-Mudahiyn’s control.”

“Al-Mudahiyn?” Soap asks.

“The Sacrificers. Made up of ex-ULF fighters.” Karim and Alex share a look, “we don’t make a habit of attacking them directly, as we both share similar goals in the end, but their methods have forced our hands in the past.”

Alex sighs, “Al-Mudahiyn would rather let whole villages die if it means killing more Russians. They’re powerful, don’t get me wrong, and it definitely helps that the Russians are fuckin’ afraid of stepping into their territories, but…”

“I will not allow my people to be trampled for a chance at revenge.” Karim almost snarls. “Our intel has reason to suspect this facility has been used to transport the revenants kidnapped by Graves. As I’ve said before, we will need to go on a recon mission to understand exactly who and how many soldiers are currently there.”

“Recon will be done today, and if nothing’s out of the ordinary, we will infiltrate tomorrow night.” Price continues.

“Wait,” Gaz pipes up, “if Graves left the revenants in that facility… doesn’t that mean he worked with Al-Mudahiyn?”

“Yes.” Alex answers, “this is why we also suspect they’re working with Shepherd.”

Steamin’ Jesus. What a mess.

“Those fucking dogs can’t help but dirty their hands.” Karim mutters under her breath, a few curses in Arabic he doesn’t recognize lacing into her words.

“What’s the plan, Commander?” Ghost asks, sharp stare burning into the maps.

Soap looks at them as well. The route to the facility is marked by a black line, a winding way going both under and on ground, avoiding enemy encampments marked by red and green. This is going to be hard right from the get-go, he can already tell.

He wonders if his wounds are healed enough by now to not reopen in combat… if he was still with his old team, they would’ve probably sent him already, so he supposes it’s fine-

“You’re going to a medic to get checked after this, Sergeant. If you don’t get cleared, you’re staying here.” Price shoots his thoughts down. Soap frowns with indignation, Price wouldn’t bench him for the whole mission just because his injuries might reopen, right? Besides, he can heal them on field, no need to-

“Soap.” Price sighs outwardly, “stay here for the recon mission, at the very least. The team isn’t in the headspace to see you harm yourself again, and you aren’t, either. Focus on resting for tomorrow, got it?”

Soap looks down, at his and Ghost’s tangled hands, looks to his right at Gaz, whose eyes flit to his back every few minutes. Focuses for just a second on how much his body aches.

His knee-jerk reaction to all those details is to try harder. Heal faster, get back to the field as soon as possible, fix this, because it is his fault, if he only detected that fucking bomb, disarmed it before it could go off-

But… he could give what Price ordered him to do a try.

“Alright, Captain. Not gonna bench me for tomorrow as well, right?”

Price sounds exasperated in his mind, “I’m not sending you to the field broken.”

Farah begins talking about today’s mission, and Soap diverts his attention, leaving Price’s thoughts unanswered.

He hopes to all Reapers the medic clears him for the infiltration. After the explosion, Soap doesn’t think he can let his team out of sight.

Fate isn’t just after Soap and Ghost, anymore. None of them are safe.

The medic did not clear him for duty. In fact, by the look in his eyes Soap would reckon the medic would’ve preferred to ground him for another month. To his surprise, the medic instead sent him to another part of the clinic, explaining to him in a mix of English and Arabic that there’s something that could help him there.

Well, if it gets him back to the field tomorrow, he’d try it.

He was instructed to wait, standing in a line of people trailing far behind a door. Soap passed the time by having a staring contest with the peeling off-white paint slapped on the wall in front of him, and do his best to not think about last night.

So far, the wall is winning, and he managed to shove down any rising memory pretty well, beside the way Gaz’s eyes looked, wide open and horror-struck.

He’s glad Kyle got Price and Ghost, that they’re such a close-knit team. If Gaz was under his last CO…

Soap sighs, temping down the fire bursting from his fingertips. It has gotten large enough that it started garnering attention, and he rather not scare the wounded here.

After what felt like hours (it was probably just 30 minutes, but God were they boring), Soap enters the room to find a cot and a chair, in which a boy no older than 16 sat. He assumed the kid was the patient before him at first, but the boy motioned for him to lay down.

He understands more from the tone than the words themselves that the boy is asking him something, “sorry, my Arabic is a wee bit rusty. You know English?”

The boy blinks, “uh, a little. Do you feel pain somewhere?”

Curious, Soap sits on the cot, “got exploded yesterday, my back’s a bit of a mess.” the boy only gets more confused, so he adds, “Ah can heal from those, just- I was told you can help?”

A light flickers on in the boy’s dark eyes, and he instructs Soap to take off his shirt and lie down.

After getting situated on his stomach, the boy places his hands on his scarred skin. Soap is surprised the sight didn’t make him flinch.

He’s even more surprised when he feels his muscles twitch, skin tingling as it follows the boy’s hands.

“Yer… you’re a revenant?”

The boy nods, his focus on his powers, orchestrating his cells to go into overdrive and heal. Must have been Reaped by Flesh, there are a few in the SAS. Most of the time, they can only heal themselves…

“How old are you?” he finds himself asking out loud.

“Fifteen.”

Far too fucking young to be in this position. Too young to already be used to seeing injuries like his, to be desensitized to the cruelty of this world, to be acquainted with death.

He wonders where are his parents, his family, and he doesn’t dare to ask because he fears the answer is one he already knows.

“What’s your name?” Soap asks instead.

The boy’s gaze dart to his before returning to his task, “Amir. You?”

“John, but most people call me Soap.”

That makes Amir’s brows furrow, before he gives him a half smile, “like… cleaning soap?”

“Yep. Cool name, no?” he boasts sarcastically.

Amir laughs, “yeah. Very cool.” he answers, matching his sarcasm.

They fall silent, Amir passing fingers over his spine, the sensation making Soap grunt. “Move your shoulders” the boy tells him, and he gives the joint a careful rotation.

Amir seems pleased, “any more pain?”

“... No.” Soap lifts himself up, moving his torso and marveling at how the muscles barely hurt. There’s definitely some tension left in his skin and flesh, but it doesn’t feel like it will rip open at any sudden movement. “Thank ye.”

Amir smiles, “you are welcome.” he switches to Arabic, calling the next person over, and Soap takes it as his sign to leave.

To combat his new problem with boredom, Soap decided to explore the base. By now, he’s managed to find their mess mostly because of the wonderful smell wafting from it, their armory, and showers.

Eventually he reached a quieter part of the base, deeper into the mountain. Reading the signs beside each door, he gathers this is the barracks. Soap attempts to read another nameplate when he hears someone walking towards him.

“I believe you are supposed to be on bed rest, Sergeant.” Commander Karim calls out.

Soap huffs. Price told the fucking Commander to keep an eye on him. He’d be annoyed at the lack of trust if he didn’t know he would’ve done the same in his place. “I was sent to Amir, he fixed me up.”

Karim nods, “you should consider yourself lucky, then. Amir is usually quite busy.”

Soap feels the same pity he felt before rise again, “ye don’t have teh answer if it’s confidential or anythin’, but… how did he get here? How did he…”

How did he die so young?

The Commander stares at him for a moment, before turning around, “after me, Sergeant.”

Karim leads Soap outside, through a smaller tunnel opposite of the entrance. The sun blinds him after so long underground, and he takes a deep breath of fresh mountain air.

When his eyes adjust, a city comes into view, tucked around a river. Even from here, he can see remnants of airstrikes dotting the fields in its outskirts.

“This was my city.” Karim points to a neighborhood, farthest from the river, “my house was there.”

Commander Karim doesn’t look at him when she says, “the Russians attacked when I was seven. A missile hit the building me and my mother were in, and we died.”

She allows the statement to hang in the air, allow the horror to seep into Soap. “... Ye were Reaped at seven…”

“I’m not an anomaly in that, Sergeant. Many of the revenants in the ULF died before reaching maturity. Many of them, the last living member of their family. Amir is no different, I am no different.”

No words feel like enough, regardless he says, “Ah’m sorry, for whatever it’s worth.”

Karim sighs, “it’s not worth much, these days, but I appreciate it.” she makes eye contact with him again, “I am sorry for what happened to you and Sergeant Garrick last night. I was told your injuries were severe.”

She ignores the surprise on his face, “Captain Price informed me of your Reapers’ warning, that there is a traitor amidst your people. I want to assure you, the ULF is on your side. Betrayal isn’t foreign to either of us, but it has a way to gnaw at trust. It is important, I believe, to be able to trust your allies.”

Soap is reminded of Graves, a tingling in the back of his neck, and nightmares of a useless body, helpless and numb. Remembers that Karim and Alex were kidnapped by the revenant they thought was one of their own.

“I trust ye, Commander, and Ah’m sure the same goes for the rest of the team.” Soap assures, fully believing in his words.

Somehow, he feels that the Commander could tell. She gives him a small smile, and looks back at her hometown. Skin refracting sunlight, she seems at ease, in a way Soap hasn’t seen in Las Almas. Her care for her country, her people, is different than he experienced himself. He wonders what it feels to give yourself so wholly for such thing.

Soap supposes he knows a similar, except his home is with a small taskforce, made of men he would give his life for with no hesitation.

Commander Karim gave him some work to do, utilizing his knowledge of explosives to tinker with their existing supply and optimize it for field use. He’s elbows-deep in a pile of C4 when a voice begins echoing in his mind.

“Farah informed me of your shape, kid. Debrief in ten, don’t be late.”

Soap practically jumps out of his chair, running out of the armory and almost colliding with the poor soldiers in the hall.

A mix of excitement and nerves fills his lungs. Time to get back to the field.

[tiktaaliker]

its the first time that any of us have seen color like this for weeks

[youngpettyqueen]

cant stop thinking about Jadzia sending Worf to check on Julian after he gets hurt in Revenant so I decided to do a quick little scene of it for a writing cooldown

Difficult as it is for him to move away from Jadzia, Worf knows an order when he hears one. Forcing himself to comply, he draws himself up to stand, and turns and heads towards the fallen doctor at a jog.

Worf hasn't been acquainted with Julian for long. He's hardly spent any time with the doctor- this mission has been the most spent he's spent with him since his arrival on Deep Space 9. He's found Julian to be a loud man, nearly incapable of silence, with a quick tongue and a smile that never seems to leave his face. He hasn't been particularly fond of the man, and finds his unending energy and bantering to be irritating for the most part.

Now, though, Julian is none of the things he usually is. When Worf reaches him, there's no witty remark to greet him. Julian doesn't seem to notice him. He's sitting against the wall, curled at the torso, his hands tucked against himself and hidden. The only sounds that escape him are ragged gasps and whimpers of pain. There's no bravado or smile here, just a wounded man in the throes of agony.

Worf kneels before him. "Doctor Bashir." He says, his voice quiet.

Julian looks up at him. His eyes are wide, his expression anguished. The damp sheen on his cheeks doesn't escape Worf's notice. "Commander-" He chokes out, "Jadzia, is she-?"

"She is alright," Worf assures him. A lie, for certain, but if there's another thing he knows about Doctor Bashir, it's that he will abandon his own needs without hesitation in order to help a patient. And right now, he's the one with the wounds that can actually be treated. Jadzia's pain runs far deeper, beyond the physical, "What is the nature of your injuries?" He asks.

"My hands," Julian says, shaky-voiced and struggling, "The phaser, it e-exploded right in my hands. It- it hurts," He admits. Vulnerability is not something Worf has seen so far on the doctor, and he finds it to be an aching sight, "God, it hurts so bad..." He whimpers.

Worf doesn't doubt him. "Let me see," He bids, holding his hands out. Julian hesitates, and he adds, "I will not harm you, Doctor. I only want to assess the extent of the damage before calling for medical attention."

Julian's pain-bright eyes dart over his face for a moment. Then he swallows hard, and uncurls himself enough that he can lift his arms. He holds his hands out slowly, his arms shaking badly, and Worf is as gentle as he can be as he takes the doctor by the forearms and draws his damaged limbs closer so that he can take a look.

His hands are, in a word, mangled. Even a cursory glance tells him the damage is extensive. The gloves of the arcsuit are completely gone, and the sleeves are torn away till just past the doctor's wrists. Splotchy burns mottle Julian's skin red and pink and raw, extending from his fingers down to his forearms. Worf carefully turns his hands over, and finds the picture is the same on the underside of his arms, and that there are deep lacerations in his palms and across his fingers.

He remembers hearing Julian scream. Loud and shrill, the sound of pure agony. Now he understands why.

Worf gives the rest of Julian a quick glance. There are other tears in his arcsuit- higher up his arms, at his chest, at his neck and face- but he doubts those shallow wounds can even be felt compared to the raw agony of his injured hands. Even so, they must be treated.

"You will require a hospital," Worf tells him, "I will take you to be transported. Can you stand?" He asks.

Julian nods weakly. Worf doesn't need to be asked to help; he shifts his position and gets an arm around Julian, easing him off the wall. He hooks his hand underneath Julian's arm and pulls him up to his feet with ease, his other hand supporting the doctor's injured hands, keeping his arms steady. Julian leans heavily against him, his knees weak and unsteady beneath him as he struggles to stay upright.

Worf supports him easily as they start to move. He keeps Julian tucked securely against his side, offering balance and support as he continues to tremble like a fawn. He moves him quickly past Jadzia and the fallen Nemi Vess, knowing that if Julian sees them, he'll forget all else, including himself.

"Worf?"

Worf looks around for the exit. "Yes, Doctor?"

"P-Promise you won't tell anyone I cried?"

Worf pauses. Looks down at the doctor, trembling and small against him. Julian looks up at him, and he's smiling, but that smile doesn't meet his eyes. Like he's trying to make a joke, but he means what he says too much.

"There is no shame in acknowledging pain," Worf tells him sincerely, "But if it will comfort you, then I will not tell anyone. You have my word." He vows.

Julian chuckles. A wet sound, halfway to a sob. "Remind me to- to thank you, once we're back at the station." He says.

Worf gets them moving again. "There is no need for thanks," He replies, "I am only doing my duty. You would do the same for me." He reasons.

"Humour me." Julian implores him.

"Very well," Worf agrees, if only so they won't argue. The doctor very much loves to argue, no matter what state he's in, something else he'd learned fairly quickly, "Now, save your strength." He bids him.

Julian nods, drooping heavier against Worf. He holds him steady with ease, supporting his slight frame as if he weighs nothing at all. Should Julian's legs fail him, Worf will carry him, as he would any wounded comrade. Until then, though, he'll support him in his endeavour to walk. One agonizing, unsteady step at a time.

[yeo-rims]

making my mom watch highlights of taeri's filmography, but also it is the fact that she's interested in telling stories about one's journey. be it interior or exterior, specially her shows, she's always standing up for something, fighting for something. and her characters could be alike, jeongnyeon COULD be na hee do, but they're not, because not only her scripts care about the character she's playing (KES look away) but the way she portrays each character is that different from the former. na hee do would never go to the mountain to sing, because she would never take advice from someone trying to destroy her. even in her desperation to beat yurim, it's heedo that save's her from self-harm. but jeongnyeon isn't like that, her desperation is so much more visceral, you believe, honestly, that if she can't do this she will die. and it's not that hee do didn't have the same spark, but jeongnyeon has the sort of desperation that leads to blindness/straight up crazy behaviour. she'll lose her mind if she can no longer sing, and you feel all that from how she begs one more chance, how she has no ounce of pride in that scene. it probably comes close to gu sanyeong learning what the ghost been through before dying. it's the sort of desolation that, upon looking at it, you can't do anything but feel as helpless as jeongnyeon. she gave her all, and she lost all she could give, and you can't help her, you're as helpless as jeongnyeon in that scene, as everyone in that theatre with her. it works so well because we're all powerless in the face of her losing her voice, and even the actress that don't know her feel that impact because they got a taste, but now it's gone.

[new-revenant]

Had a really dumb stupid crack idea hit me

Klarion, Ellie, Dan are the sort of clone children that Vlad made of Danny we already know Ellie and Dan

It's a really stupid head kitten of black used his own DNA to stable Ellie when making her but she still mostly unstable the same thing happened with Klarion but he added too much of his DNA and thought Klarion looked more of him than Danny

Years later Danny and Vlad have fixed their relationship and some would have a custody agreement with each other over the kids so Vlad turns with them decide to take Dan, Ellie, and Klarion with him to a gala

The idea is Vlad is talking to Bruce Wayne when Bruce brings at the topic of his kids like do you have any Vladimir like oh yes

Bruce Wayne meet my children Kinsley, Danielle, and Dante

And the chaotic trio all at the same time go "Call me Klarion, Ellie, and Dan only stuck up fruitloops call us by our real names"

Now the bat family is stuck trying to figure out if Klarion is my controlling this man and sneaking into the gal and pretending to be his child

While Vlad is in the background cursing out why the kids had to have Daniel's taste for calling themselves nicknames and embarrassing him

And the kids are doing Danny proud by embarrassing Vlad that's because him and Danny are neutral now doesn't mean they're going to let him get off scott free for what he did

Hmm, a crack idea, wonder what it’ll be *reads the next sentence* ah, it’s crack. Honestly don’t know much about Klarion, but him being a clone of Danny and Vlad all this time is very funny.

[daincrediblegg]

I love you wilderness survival stories. I love you breakdown of social order that gives credence to what truly matters in the face of the wild untamed and unknown. I love you exposure of colonialist imperialist and capitalist hubris and christian morality. I love you stank and stubborn bitches who absolutely refuse to fucking die against absolutely bleak and incomprehensible odds completely against the will of the horror they have witnessed at the hands of mortal men and at the hand of forces far beyond their mortal means to control. I love you. Never change gorgeous <3.

[espers-n-espurrs]

okay. okay. yknow. ive sometimes fantasized about running away. never thought it be like this though.

[nenukoone]

I have this AU of nnk2 in my head, when they go to collect mornstar they are told to unlock its full power they must seek out the guardians of the stones. Turns out the new guardians of the stones are the trio who came before them so heres guardian oliver!

[incorrectelswordquotes]

Revenant: attention male lovers: its okay to beat me with a hammer until i dont move anymore Chevalier: Male lover here! I won't be doing that! Revenant: You wull never pleasure me Revenant: Worthless Animal.

[reds-skull]

Bringer of Demise - Chapter 3

[PREV PART] [AO3]

Here we fucking go... This chapter might sound familiar, if you read the side stories. It is called "Sky Tomb (Reburied)"

“What?!” Soap growls, “who the fuck gave ye the right teh-!”

“Soap!” Price stops him before he can curse this cunt to high hell. The Captain turns to Novikov with a cold demand, “explain.”

Novikov nods, “I was requested to give my opinion on Lumity about two weeks ago by General Woods and Miss Laswell. As we don’t have protocols for this situation, I advised them to keep you, MacTavish and Ghost, separate as to not create new changes.”

“And why, exactly, would a change need to be prevented?” Ghost mutters, his back ramrod straight as he looms over the Doctor.

The posturing doesn’t make Novikov falter, “just as I would not allow an untested revenant with powers we have yet to record on field, I cannot allow you to possibly develop new ones. Today proved to me that, separately, you are stable. As we don’t have sufficient time to determine it… I have to recommend you to refrain from coming into contact while using your powers.”

Ghost scoffs, glaring at Laswell, “you signed on this bullshit?”

“Doctor Novikov is the best Spiritulogist we have, Ghost. He’s likely the closest to figuring out Lumity.”

“Ah can tell ye no one is feckin’ close to figuring out any Reaper, let alone Lumity.” Soap says bitterly, smug satisfaction spreading through him when he sees that the words make Novikov’s face sour.

He can also see Ghost’s eyes widen, before he turns them to Price and grunts, “order me, then, Captain.”

“Pardon?”

“Order me to stay away from Johnny on field, sir. Sign your bloody name on this.” Ghost challenges.

The Captain sighs, breaking eye contact for a moment, “you will not use Limbo around the Sergeant on field. That’s an order.”

“Understood, sir.” Ghost doesn’t seem surprised, “permission to be dismissed?”

Price’s expression makes Soap almost wince in sympathy. The feeling of regret spreads through the air as if someone doused the room with it, “granted. Don’t be late for the helo.”

Ghost doesn’t wait for Price to finish his sentence, before stepping heavily towards the door. He takes Soap’s shoulder and drags him along with a muttered, “on me, Sergeant.” Soap sends a confused look to the Captain, who simply waves him off.

He takes them outside, to the small space between buildings. Soap gets reminded of the conversation they had here, all those months ago.

“They think just because you died once, they can push and pull you like a puppet…”

“… Your strings are going to get tangled eventually.”

Soap doubted him then, even as his resolve crumbled every day Ghost didn’t talk to him.

He didn’t know just how true these words were.

They come to a stop there, Ghost breathing harshly, his grip on Soap’s shoulder shaky. Soap pushes him forward, until his back meets the wall.

Soap tries to think of something to say, anything to calm Simon. He wants to promise that they’ll be fine. He wants to tell him with no shadow of a doubt, that they will persevere, no matter what the future holds.

But he doesn’t want to lie to him.

So instead he asks, “are ye mad at the Captain?”

Simon shakes his head, “no. I know… know he had no choice. Brass has been on our case since Mexico.”

“Then why did ye leave?”

“The traitor.” Simon says, “thinking it might be that fucking Doctor…”

Soap thinks back to the interactions they had. If Novikov really is working with Fate… “Thought they had to be a revenant, not like Reapers talk teh humans.”

“He wouldn’t need to talk to a Reaper, would he? Its revenant will do just fine.”

Soap takes a step back, renewed determination coursing through him, “then we need to tell them! If Laswell looks into him, if Novikov really is the traitor, she will find something!”

He gets pulled before he can continue, “and reveal our cards? Don’t think so, Sergeant.” Simon wraps his arms around Soap’s shoulders, resting his chin on his head, “if we’re wrong, we just let Makarov know we know about the rat. If we are…”

“It could make Novikov run before we can catch him.” Soap sighs, hands coming up to grasp at Simon’s jacket, seeking cold, pale skin.

He feels hands tug at his laces, and his heart twists uncomfortably. “Are ye really gonna listen to Price’s order?”

“As long as you’re not in a life-threatening situation.” the arms around him tighten. Soap’s sneak under the jacket, running fingers up and down Simon’s spine, making him sag against him. “You better not explode yourself when I’m not around.”

Soap doesn’t answer, opting to nod. He doesn’t need to say the same goes for Simon; he’d burn anything that dares endanger him.

He will do his best to avoid injuries, he always does. But when it comes down to it, only one of them can bounce back from a headshot.

Soap can’t promise he won’t jump in front of a bullet for him.

They go back to base when the hour strikes 1500. Ghost separated from him, telling him he’ll talk to Price about the Doctor after Soap convinces him.

That leaves him to pack for the both of them. By now, Soap knows where Ghost stores all one billion of his knifes (seriously, how many knives does one man need? Bastard has steamin’ supernatural powers). He drops the rucksack in Ghost’s barrack, and gets to the tarmac.

At 1550, Gaz comes running by, his pack safely floating behind his shoulder. “Oi Soap! Price and Ghost are still in their ‘Super Secret Meeting’ or whatever, so we’re going to take the first helo together!”

“First helo?”

Gaz drops the rucksack beside him, already floating a few inches off the ground, “yeah, Laswell told us after you left, they’re planning on sending some supplies for the ULF to use.”

Right. Karim’s people probably need all the support they can get, after they lost Graves’ shadows. As much as he hated the bastard, he can admit his powers were convenient to have in battle.

The helo touches down, and Soap elbows Gaz, “och, we don’t need the old bastards anyway, do we?”

Kyle laughs as they board, “don’t let Price hear you call him old, he’s gonna make you run laps in Urzikstan.”

“Ye can’t hide shite from him, I bet he’s scrapin’ through our brains as we speak.” Soap cackles.

They pause for a moment, half expecting Price’s voice to boom in their heads, but it seems the Captain is too busy to listen in on their inane conversation.

Soap and Gaz share a look, before exploding with laughter. It feels good, to pretend everything’s fine for a few minutes. Their giggling dies down when the helo takes off, and Soap watches as the base get smaller and smaller.

He wonders how Ghost is doing.

Soap is used to long flight times, after several years in the SAS where he was often sent to opposite sides of the world on a moment’s notice. The almost seven-hour flight to Urzikstan is mostly spend chatting with Gaz, sleeping, or observing how the clouds gather above Asia as a storm brews.

He wakes Gaz up when the pilot announces over comms that they’re landing in 20. Gaz hates being asleep for that.

“How far behind do you think Price an’ Ghost are?” Kyle asks between yawns.

“Can’t be more than an hour, why?”

“I need a bloody shower before debrief,” Gaz sniffs, “and I don’t think I’m the only one.”

Soap gasps, “piss off!” he reaches over to shove at Gaz, before freezing.

Chk… chk… chk…

That sound… Soap smells at the air, and there…

It bursts under his tongue, as the clicks gain speed, an acrid taste he’s grown to know more than anyone. Gaz is calling out something, words lost on his ears, but the tone reads confused.

He looks down. In the row in front of them, several duffle bags have been shoved under the empty seats. Soap turns his senses to the one closest to the pilot. Moths are clinging to the rough fabric, embers glinting off the metal hull of the helo.

Chk-chk-chk-chk-chk-

He places the signs; HMX, Highly Melting Explosive, burns hot enough to eat straight through steel-

Soap jumps from his seat, burning the harness that kept him tied, and slams into Gaz. Kyle opens his mouth to ask what the fuck is going on, but he doesn’t get the chance.

The explosive goes off. The cabin is engulfed with flames, so bright his eyes burn, the following shockwave knocking both of them into the helo’s wall, Soap feels his body burning, his forehead hitting the hull-

And he loses consciousness.

The howling wind greets Soap when he wakes up. Breath stolen from his lungs, his eyes snap open, taking in the falling sky, mangled pieces of metal burning above him.

The full moon illuminates the dark clouds below him, when he looks down. It all feels so familiar, the plunge, charred hands grasping at air, the world reduced to a swirl of colors. He watches burning moths trail behind him, chasing the lingering heat of the explosion they so crave.

The moths lead him to Gaz. Unconscious, he too is falling.

Gaz is falling. Gaz is falling.

There’s a mangled part of the helo between them. Soap tucks his arms close to his chest, screaming as his burnt skin shifts with the movement. His plan works, however, and he manages to reach the half-molten steel.

It makes his palm bubble and sear, but Soap clenches his jaw, and with a flick of the wrist, explodes the metal.

It gives him just enough momentum to catch Gaz, their bodies spinning in the air.

The explosion was the cause of their fall, meaning Soap will survive, and even if it wasn’t, he would’ve just exploded himself on impact.

Soap will survive this. But Gaz isn’t made to fucking survive.

They fall through the sheet of clouds, water droplets caressing his overheated back, steaming and turning back into water. The world beneath them is dark, the only meager light comes from whatever hell is raining on them, and the ever-flaming moths.

He manages to grasp at Gaz’s tacvest, shaking him as much as he can.

“Kyle!!!” Soap yells, his words almost inaudible over the wind, “Gaz! Ye have teh wake up!!!”

The ground approaches them fast, desperation clawing at Soap’s guts. He feels tears run up his face, as he cries, “I won’t watch ye die, Garrick!!!”

This can’t be it. This can’t be the way Kyle goes.

“C’mon… Don’t do this teh me… DON’T DO THIS TEH ME!!!!!”

Soap pulls Kyle closer, tucking his slacken face beside his. He knows it won’t save him, but he turns as best as he can, so when they crash to the earth, Soap would hit it first.

“Please…” he whispers, the moths the only witness to his despair.

It can’t be more than a minute until they land, and in that minute Soap curses himself more than any enemy he ever felled.

Always strong enough to survive, never strong enough to save anyone.

It is then he hears a scream echo in his mind, so powerful he wants to cover his ears.

“SERGEANT. WAKE UP.”

Price.

Gravity switches on them, Soap’s stomach lurching painfully, his breath caught, shoulders creaking like they’re two seconds from dislocating.

Kyle’s hazel-brown eyes stare at him, wide with fear. 

Gaz drops them both, Soap rolling to the side to vomit on the ground. He heaves, eyes watering once again as nothing but bile comes out.

Two hands grab at his shoulders, turning him around and making him yelp with pain.

It doesn’t seem like Gaz registers it, or his twisted expression, not when he’s near hyperventilating, the hands on him shaking.

“You’re- you’re not dead, Soap- y-you’re not dead, please, you can’t be dead-”

Soap swallows down the scream that claws up his throat, when Kyle’s hands tighten over his burnt shoulders. He’s sure he looks dead, he feels the burns go to the bone in some places. At least his face is fine, this time.

“Ah’m not dead, Gaz. Yer okay… we’re okay.”

Kyle stops his muttering, eyes brimming with tears. Soap wants to pull him into a hug, but not only that will probably make him pass out, he doesn’t want Gaz to see just how damaged his palms are.

“We’re on our way, Gaz, Soap, don’t move from your position.” Price relays to them.

Soap shakes away the black spots creeping into his vision. Fuck, he might pass out even without that hug, “copy, Captain.” he answers all the same.

Gaz jumps when he slumps forward. Fucking adrenaline crash.

“S-Soap-?!”

“Ah’m fine, jus’ gimme a mo’ teh heal…” Soap grunts. He digs his fingers into his palms, feels the muscles twitching with stabbing pain, and straightens.

Kyle seems lost in thought, he assumes Price is calming him. Soap looks up, moths still making their way down with what’s left of the helo.

It doesn’t take long for Price and Ghost to arrive.

Ghost is wearing his full getup, skull mask and all, but even like this Soap can tell he’s livid. He jumps out of the helo before it lands, running towards them.

His body started stitching itself together by now, muscles failing him a few times as they reconnect. It made Kyle startle every time, thinking Soap was finally kicking it. His palms don’t get the chance to heal, not with Soap using the pain to stay awake. He couldn’t leave Gaz like this.

Ghost crouches down between them, casting a hesitant look at him, and catching Gaz’s shoulder to give him a shake. Kyle has shut down on him, absolutely lost in his mind, reacting to nothing besides Soap’s bouts of weakness.

Price joins them, waving Ghost off, “I got him. Go.”

Soap meets Ghost’s dark eyes, barely visible in the Urzik night.

“Johnny…” Simon reaches for him, and he instinctively flinches when a gloved hand hovers over his back, “where does it hurt?”

Soap gives him a half-laugh, “everywhere, LT…”

Simon scans him, noting his gruesome state, and nods, reaching around to pull something from his pack. Soap raises an eyebrow when he sees it’s a syringe. “Wha’s that?”

“Morphine.”

Morphine? He doesn’t need that-

Price cuts him off, “Christ, kid, I don’t know how you’re bloody upright with the amount of pain you’re in. Give him the fuckin’ shot, Lieutenant.”

“Copy.” Ghost picks up his left hand, turning the palm up. He freezes. “Fuckin’ hell, Johnny…”

Soap looks away, hating the way Simon sounds disappointed. He fuckin’ promised him not a day ago he’d do his best to not injure himself, and here he is, stinking of burnt flesh.

Simon cleans the inner side of his elbow, and lines up the needle, “have you taken Morphine before?”

“... No.”

“Might make you sick.” Simon presses on the plunger, a cool feeling instantly spreading through Soap’s arm.

He shudders. Feels fuckin’ weird is what it is, “good thing Ah puked mah lunch earlier.” the joking tone falls flat when another round of pulling muscles makes him twitch, and in turn jostles his thin skin until it rips.

Simon circles him, and Soap hears the breath he intakes when he finally sees the wounds up close. His hand hasn’t left his, and it tightens minutely. Soap didn’t see them, doesn’t want to make anyone describe them either, but he’d be surprised if his ribs aren’t exposed.

“What happened?” Simon asks, voice strained.

Soap sighs, “someone planted a bomb in one o’ the duffle bags. Enough teh take down the helo with no survivors. Only reason Ah knew it was there was ‘cause of the timed mechanism.”

He turns his head to look at Simon, after he gets no answer. He finds him staring at Price.

“Someone knew we were gonna be there, LT.” Soap continues.

“Not you.” Price says slowly, “I was originally going to fly with Gaz, before Ghost asked to speak with me.”

…fuck. Soap looks down, at his shaking hands, flames weak as they burst from his fingertips.

If it was Price on that flight with Gaz instead of him… Neither of them would’ve survived.

[post-shift2]

I never noticed this, but One Eye has a bowtie we never see because his chin is always in the way. Very cute.