#(something something letting go of people who are already dead)

[found-pham-ily]

@harvestandhearth

I almost didn't write this because of the amount of hate I was getting but you were so excited I figured one little addition wouldn't hurt.

Tw Cop!Danny if you don't like don't read.

It had been an offhand comment. Walker had notice the ghost boy...now man had seemed upset. Upon hearing Phantom's plight he had made the suggestion, become a cop.

Danny wasn't a fan of cops, too many bad things done under the guise of protecting and serving. But he'd failed at becoming a fire fighter. The heat from one of the training events had all but hospitalized him, which got him kicked out. Thanks to the meta protection acts and the open secret of who he was no one judged him for his weakness.

Then he tried for the Emt route, but between his poor high-school grades effecting any chances at a scholarship and the time he had to spend fighting ghosts he didn't really manage well and ended up dropping out. But hey he picked some stuff up and used that to patch people up post Ghost fights.

He considered a social worker too, but he couldn't exactly fight Ghost on the clock, and the lack of action made it a slog. After so long of being a vigilante, the need for action was a second nature. The Ghost biology needing to fight didn't help either.

Walker's idea buzzed around his head. It made sense in a weird way. He could actually help people, fight Ghost on the clock, and get a decent pay check...

His sister ever the busy body had asked why civil service jobs? Why not go for Nasa like he dreamed of. With the acts repealed and him being labeled a meta he could legally do so. But those damn grades ruined it.

So a cop be became. It was disturbingly easy to become one too. Worrisomely so. He was both good and bad at his job depending who you asked. The people despite their teasing loved him. He had always done his best for them, he only rarely used any form of violence with people, and when needed nothing more then the bare minimal to safely stop them. Hell he'd taken a few bullets from other cops to save people.

The other cops hated him, Danny didn't subscribe to the usually loyalty and standards a cop had. You did something illegal and abused your power he'd report it in such a way consequences had to be given. Yeah he'd keep his partner safe, and did his job well but he broke the status quo. He also made the whole force in Amity look bad. He was so good he made them look incompetent.

But despite all he did Danny wasn't free from the social scrutiny. Both from the living and the dead. Ghost mocked him for becoming lame and joining the cops. Humans just went with the stigma, not unfairly so; and it just fueled him to do his job better. To prove to people that just because he wore a uniform he wasn't full of hate.

Apparently he did his job too well. At least that's what he assumed as he sat in an office a Green Lantern in front of him. "So let me get this straight, you want me to become the face of a civilian branch of the Justice League?" Danny was still bitter about all the help he didn't get as a budding child hero.

"Yes, your work as both a cop and a meta dealing with supernatural threats has gained an online following. We want people to know that we work with the authorities and accept metas in non-hero jobs." Hal could tell the man was suspicious of him. Which wasn't unfair since the league seemed to always recruit metas into hero jobs.

"You wouldn't have to do more then you already do aside the occasional press conference." He continued.

Danny sighed and thought on it, this would secure his job that he knew was on the chopping block due to his 'insubordination'. They couldn't fire him without a major backlash if he had the Justice League on his side. But he didn't like the idea of being some sort of symbol. He just wanted to help protect people, and maybe throw some punches with some ghosts. He was a simple man after all.

"Fine but I want the medical benefits the League offers." Medical was expensive, and while Danny healed faster then the average person that didn't effect the initial bills. And he had to go to the hospital for paperwork's sake.

"That can be arranged." Hal was just glad he didn't get the expected rejection from the ex-teen hero.

[alwaysmoncheri]

heyyy <3 I was wondering if you could write something a little softer for rafe?? it’s that kind of day😞

of course, honey! I hope this makes your day better <3 thank you for requesting

cw: implied fem!reader, soft!rafe, mentions of alcohol, tooth rotting fluff, 1k

<3

You smooth down your dress, applying more pressure to the stubborn ends that keep folding up. For an expensive dress, it was pretty cheap. Or maybe you didn’t iron it correctly. Either way, you aren’t going to let it ruin your night. Your hands shift to the straps, carefully adjusting them to ensure they sit right. And as you look at yourself in the mirror your shoulders soften and warmth fills your chest. Your hair sitting just right—yet still, so imperfectly you. Emerald green dress flowing elegantly, its silky fabric comfortably gliding over your skin, embracing your figure.

Rafe waits for you, already mingling among guests. He knows you like to take your time. More time than you need, but it’s your process and you love it—then so does he. 

Another moment passes before you slip out the door, and Rafe spots you immediately. Like he’d ever miss you. Not when you’re always exuding the kind of loveliness that lures him in. He finds it endearing, your eyes sifting through the crowd to find his. It’s like you’re nervous, though, you’re anything but. Still, you find your way back to him, even if it’s a glance through the crowd. Even if it’s a slight tug of a lip—a hint of a smile. Even if it’s for a moment. Before someone takes your arm, drawing you into a circle of people. 

You’re stunning. Rafe knows if he were to ever drop dead, now would be that moment. The drink he’d been nursing is long forgotten and his eyes don’t leave you. 

“He’s not even pretending to be subtle,” Sarah whispers, slightly leaning across the table. A smile playing at her lips. You don’t need to turn to know who she’s referring to. 

“And?” you ask, hiding your smile with a sip of your drink. Sarah tilts her head, raising her eyebrows, silently asking, “seriously?” You shrug causing her to laugh. Though, you can’t help but turn over your shoulder meeting your boyfriend’s gaze once more. A hand clasps his shoulder in greeting, and Rafe only offers a tight-lipped smile in response. You slump onto the table, forehead touching the cool glass as you let you a huff. You’re working with Rafe on his social skills. It isn’t going too well. 

Sarah, having followed your gaze, only laughs, “He looks like he’s going to die if you don’t go over there.” 

You lift your head from the table, and Sarah gives a subtle nod toward Rafe, silently urging you to go talk to him. He’s standing there, among guests—friends, looking like he could use some company—and maybe some encouragement too.

You straighten and smooth out your dress. A quick press to the fold at the hem, and after offering a quick goodbye to Sarah, you turn on your heel.

Rafe isn’t standing very far, he never is. 

“Hi,” you smile, soft and sweet. His chest hurts. He needs to sit down, he thinks, before he makes a fool of himself. 

“Hey,” he responds, his voice low and rough. He smiles back, but he’s holding his breath. Rafe knows you’ve noticed when your smile widens—he wonders how your cheeks don’t hurt. Maybe they do. He’s never asked.

Without a word, you shuffle into his chest, arms wrapping around you instinctively. Arms around your waist, and palms pressed flat against your back. You tilt your head up leaving a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. Rafe’s heart pounds, overwhelmed with love. Every time your lips touch his skin, it burns into memory. So, if you ever slip away, he’ll have one forever thing. 

A hand leaves your waist, quick to brush your hairline, and rest on your jaw. You blink slowly, waiting for him to kiss you. Then, he does. It’s sweet, unhurried, and now it’s your turn to be overwhelmed. You smile again, finding his lips mirroring yours. It’s rare from Rafe. It makes you want to kiss him again, but you can’t when you’re smiling this hard. 

Though, it doesn’t take long for Rafe to move back in—lips meeting yours. This time, leaving you dizzy. 

“You’re so beautiful.” he sounds breathless as he plants firm kisses along your jaw, “Every time I see you, it just keeps getting better.” 

“Yeah?” you ask, a playful lit in your voice, but there’s a spark of sincerity in your eyes, as if you’re searching for him to prove it. 

“Fuck, yeah.” Rafe replies with a wide grin, before kissing your neck again. He’s intoxicating—placing his lips everywhere from your jaw to your collarbone. He’s forceful enough to almost knock you off balance, but he always anticipates the moment he’ll need to steady you. It makes your heart soar.

“Okay.” you almost snort, hand touching his cheek—a silent signal to calm down. 

He leaves a soft kiss on your pulse before one arm slips from your waist—grabbing his drink, the other keeping a firm hold to keep you close to his side. 

It’s funny how much something so simple—just being near him—could make you feel like the center of the universe. Maybe that’s because you are to him. You’ve opened him up to so much love he never thought he’d be capable of. And your love is his favorite—not grand gestures or dramatic moments—it’s just this, the quiet comfort of being with him, and it’s enough. 

The two of you stand in the crowd, occasionally speaking to the people who approach. With glasses of champagne in hand, you savor the closeness and warmth of the night. 

“I didn’t see you making any new friends earlier,” you tease, tilting your head up to look at him. 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Eyes taking you in, as if he hadn’t gotten a good enough look earlier, “Too busy looking at you.” 

You laugh softly, “Trying to charm me?”

Rafe looks at you, insulted, “Trying?” he asks, straightening up, his posture shifting into something a little more smug, “Baby, I don’t have to try.”

Your mouth falls open. You stare at him for a moment before shaking your head. “I can’t wait for you to be humbled.”

The hand on your waist that was drawing small circles on the fabric of your dress stills. Your stomach flutters when he leans down, lips brushing on the shell of your ear. 

“And I can’t wait to take this off.”

You burst into laughter.

<3

masterlist . rafe cameron masterlist

thank you for reading, my darling! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily! send requests to my inbox!

alwaysmoncheri © ─ all rights reserved. please do not repost/translate/copy any of my work.

[blankknsfww]

busy thinking about trailer park!price, who's retired and lives in a beat up rv with his scruffy white dog whom he has to yell at to 'hush up' every ten minutes, especially when he brings one of his many girls 'round. it's no surprise that john gets lonely and overwhelmingly horny living all by himself. he often gets himself off by watching old porn tapes, but quickly gets turned off when he realizes these people could be dead or the same age as his grandma. with no internet access his options are unfairly limited, until he gets an idea. escorts. now, price has no problem picking up girls at the local dive bar, but something about paying for a girl just makes him feel this much more important. he uses his last quarter on the public telephone and spends his hard earned cash. he pauses for a minute, wondering if he'll regret this tomorrow, but figures he's too deep in to back out now. it doesn't long for you to show up, pulling up in a cute little pale blue punch buggy car just right outside of his rv. you sigh and pull yourself out of the vehicle, only to meet the eyes of an older, yet extremely handsome man sitting in a rickety lawn chair and spitting chewing tobacco into a crumpled up plastic water bottle. it doesn't take long for you both to get busy, him practically pulling you into the rv and undressing you in record time. thankfully, he doesn't forget to prep you, letting out an annoyed sigh as he fingers you lazily, his thumb rubbing your puffy clit in a circular motion. you felt quite embarrassed getting so worked up for a guy that was only using you for sex. the most you would get out of this was a quick orgasm and maybe a beer, but if it was with him you weren't complaining. after he finished working you open, not bothering to give you that orgasm that you were oh-so-close to having, he begins to tug down his jeans hastily his erect cock springing out of his pants and boxers to hit his beer gut and thick happy trail. he practically rams into you, completely ignoring your pleas for him to use protection or to go slower. it wasn't his problem if he got you pregnant, nor was it his problem if you left his place sore and unable to piss correctly. he cums quick, which isn't surprising to you, most customers do, what is surprising though is when he keeps going. he moves his thumb back over top of your sensitive clit, rubbing furiously at the bundle of nerves as he thrusts in and out of you at an ungodly pace. once he pulled all the way out slammed right back in, making immediate contact with your cervix, you knew you were done for, throwing your head back and let out a loud, high-pitched moan as you squirt all over his already flacid cock. he quickly pulls out and waves you off, but not before handing you a bottle of water. you huff, cleaning yourself up in his 2x1 bathroom, and leaving with a wobbly leg. you get back in your car, leaning your head against the steering wheel before deciding that yes, you actually were thirsty. you grab the water bottle he handed you, unscrew the top, and without looking you took a sip of his chewed tobacco. what a prick.

[sonchop]

yk, I think it's really funny (I'm about to cry) that when in the s1 ep11 - s2 ep1, when cheng xiaoshi sees lu guang dying, he keeps his mind clear, fights well with the possessed qiao ling, not letting the red eyes guy harm her at the same time worries about lu guang and, as we later find out, also remembers the info (like he was able to tell the most important moments without hesitation). i mean, lu guang does look pretty dead at this moment, but xiaoshi is still holding up well, wow

meanwhile, lu guang, when he sees qian jin hurting xiaoshi... well, he's not just scared af, he immediately, I would even say, mindlessly rushes at qian jin (not even checking on xiaoshi lol (I think he understands that this shoot will not kill him but still-)

usually lu guang is the one who keeps his mind clear and calm in all situations, when cheng xiaoshi very often acts rashly and thoughtlessly driven by emotions (even if in the season 2 he is a little more rational)

but when danger threatens dear people..

lu guang is the one who will be ready to kill for someone who is dear to his heart, aaand xiaoshi is able to pull himself together and act consistently

I think it might also work with the "go back in time and save a life" thingie, like xiaoshi is able to resist his wish to dive back in time and save his bf, even if it kills him inside and all this because of lu guang's words and his own understanding what his actions may entail

(we don't know what he what would he do if he saw lu guang's dead body, but the fact is that he cannot allow himself to do something so serious with the flow of time)

while lu guang is ready to become the main hypocrite in the world, make irreparable changes in the flow of time, and take this sin upon himself, if only cheng xiaoshi would live.

so I wonder if this is because lu guang has already witnessed several deaths of cheng xiaoshi or is he initially more protective and emotional, but he's really good at hiding it?

[doublejango]

I am already seeing virtue signaling posts from people saying "I don't care what you believe or how you voted..."

That's great. I care. I care a lot. The outcome of this election effects me, but so much more than me. I care. It matters. And if it really doesn't matter to you? Good for you. If you are privileged enough, safe enough, and entitled enough to truly not care about how the election will impact other people... I can't even imagine what that must be like. Nice, I guess?

I spent most of last night and this morning crying.

I'm done with tears now, and have moved on to rage.

And you know what? I promise not to let it burn out. Because smiles and positivity may work for many of us, and I'm not going to lose mine either, I promise not to lose my queer joy--they can rip it from my cold dead hands, not to get too damn dramatic here--but I'm also not in the mood to start forgiving and smiling and welcoming Nazis into the bar.

So. I will hold onto anger. I've been tolerant and accepting long enough in life... and have learned something important about what causes the worst harm.

I have been gay bashed before. Violently. Blood. Broken bones. Lost teeth. And you know what the worst part of the recovery of all of that was, the part that did the most psychological and emotional damage? It wasn't the actual bashing itself. It wasn't even the memory of exactly what it felt like to have something swung full force into my face with extremely violent intent. It was the denial from my "friends" and family afterwards. The people who wanted to deny that it was a hate crime. The people who wanted me to shrug it off and not be upset about it. The people who loved to say oh well it wasn't that bad. You know what helped? Letting myself feel fury. Letting myself name the attack as hate. "It wasn't that bad," though, they said, asif it was their judgment to make--endless hours of dental procedures, pain, wounds that never fully healed, the trauma, the lost work, the new experience of vomiting blood with broken jaws and knocked out teeth. Because it wasn't that bad. And there was so much self-reproach, because I could have avoided it. I wasn't the intended target. He was swinging for a lesbian with me. When the attacker burst out of hiding he was swinging for the side of her head, her temple. I jumped in between them. Didn't think. It was an impulse. Protect the people you care about. So I took it to the face. And I grabbed him. I threw him, and fell doing it. I remember being on my knees in the mud. Seeing my teeth in the mud. Seeing my blood just. Everywhere. And knowing I needed to push back to my feet immediately because it might not be over.

We were lucky. It was over. He hadn't expected anyone to fight back. He ran.

But the people who claimed to love me didn't want to deal with the idea that it was a hate crime. They wanted it to be random and meaningless. That made their world a little safer, I guess. And their denial made my world colder. And my recovery lonelier. Harder. They put me down for "bringing it on myself." As if it would have been more virtuous to let this woman take that attack to her temple, as if I would have been more valid for standing by and watching it happen.

There are so many more stories I can tell you, but the lesson is almost invariably the same: the ugliest hurt is often the one caused by the people who just turn away when you identify what happened to you. The hurts that cut the deepest and last the longest often come from the people we thought we could trust, because they want you to just get over it, don't talk about it, admit it could have been worse, don't call it That.

The betrayal from people who are supposed to have your back? That deepens wounds, deepens trauma.

I won't be that person. I won't tell you to smile and turn the other cheek when someone shows you they hate you. Do whatever you need to do to survive--physically, emotionally, psychologically. Just don't give up, and don't let the cowards force you into feeling shame for not giving up and letting the world break you.

Never be ashamed to refuse to break.

Never let someone shame you for choosing strength. For drawing your line in the sand.

I wanted the "exciting" times of my life to be behind me. But they're not--so be it. I'm not going to tone myself down to be safer. I don't care about my own safety anymore. Any self-preservation drive broke a long time ago when it comes to homophobia. I promise to always be ready to fight. To be a queer menace to "polite" society. I promise to be out and loud and gay, to be a shield however I can for those who can't be out, who can't fight back, who can't even speak up because it wouldn't be safe for them to do so. They are valid, too. And I love them. And I will have their fucking backs. I promise to, in my real off-the-internet life, be someone who will always jump in and speak up if I see queer people being harassed or shamed--especially if they're young. I am older. I will fight for my baby gays. I will love them.

And I will never, never put anyone down for refusing to welcome Nazis into the bar. We don't look the other way and quietly tolerate them. Not here.

I may not be around much for the next few days. I need to handle my own shit. My own fury. My own grief. Because right now, there is so much grief.

But I won't be going anywhere.

I will fight to stay.

Whatever it takes.

I'm not giving up.

If I end up on my knees in the mud again, staring at my own blood and teeth, metaphorically or in fucking reality, so be it. I will get back up. And I will keep getting back up. I won't let go of the anger. The spite. And I definitely won't let go of my love for every queer person, the ones I know and the ones I don't, because that love is what will give me strength to get through this. Whatever comes next.

I may not have much sense of self-preservation. But goddamn, I will fight for you.

[thqtcher]

I just woke up to this I’m going to shoot myself. This is awful.

Being a gay, intersex, trans Native American man with several disorders just put a massive fucking target on my back. I’m not saying that white gay people/trans people don’t as well but for me it’s going to get so much worse. I know it gets worse for EVERYONE but shut up. Just shut up.

I’m already viewed as some abomination at school and in ‘safe spaces’ now god knows what happens now. I’m trying to RECEIVE TREATMENT to make my body function as intended but who knows if trump’s uneducated campaign will put me at risk of DYING.

For any trump supporters on here (if you exist) that even dare to call themselves just and progressive, you’ve failed. You’ve failed at being human. You’ve put the one person with nothing but hate and control on his mind in power.

Why? So you could brag to everyone else lower to you? You’ll suffer too. But that won’t matter, will it? The only thing that matters is that you were right after all.

Let me humanize me in the mind of anyone that still thinks what just happened is a “good choice”.

My name is Andreas/Heeler. I’m a gay intersex trans man who’s also Native American. I love other men and I’m hoping one day I could get married to someone and be happy. I’ve lived a long life of being alone and I want to remain hopeful that someone is out there for me.

Outside of being gay, I like to write. I write poetry about anything. I like painting, cooking, being outside, the rain, music, and my friends. I love my friends so much.

With trump elected, I lose everything. Right now, as I say all of this, my body is at great risk of shutting down/harming itself. Everyday I live with debilitating cramps and on top of this, I’m disabled.

If I’m found dead before my 16th birthday, just know I left with nothing but love in my heart for this world. I may leave before I can drive and know freedom. But damn. If you all outlive me, that’s good enough.

Make sure I’m wearing something nice in the casket if my body is identifiable.

[stormandforge]

Raw reactions to X-Force #5

Yup, someone dies.

MASSIVE spoilers (and controversial opinions) below.

It's Nori. There'd been so much foreshadowing in the comic - and so much fan discussion about the upcoming character death - that I had started believing it wouldn't be her. But no, it was always going to be her. When you consider the way she joined the team, her post-Krakoa trauma, her selflessness and her relationship with Forge, it makes complete sense.

That death scene goes hard. We actually see her burned-up corpse, we hear her farewell words - oof, my heart. Rest in power, little blue-haired hero.

This said, everyone attacking Geoff Thorne over Nori's death needs to calm down. I would understand this amount of upset if he'd done her dirty, but he really hasn't. He's consistently written her with respect, gave her as much spotlight as he could in a team book, and gave her a heroic death. Stories kill characters, people. That's just the way it is.

Also: Nori's coming back, maybe even in this run. We just don't know yet. And don't give me nonsense about the resurrection protocols being gone - mutants came back from the dead before Krakoa, they will continue to do so.

"Forge always has a plan." YES. Nothing to do with his power; he's just always up to something. That's Forge 101. Fuck me, it's so good to have a writer who understands him. And because Thorne has done his homework, I believe what we're witnessing is a typical Forge plan: something that he believes will benefit the greater good, but that is also misguided and full of hubris and will repeatedly backfire in his face.

Forge can be cold, but this is subzero. He loves Nori, he wouldn't act that way if he was fully himself. Something's going on. Someone needs to shake him real hard - beat him to a pulp, really - and realign his neurons. The two most qualified people to do that are showing up in the next issue, so I'm thinking this is what will happen.

Why does he take her gauntlets? It can't just be for the sake of getting his tech back. As i said he's not that cold, and also he can probably make those again in his sleep.

FORGE ALMOST KILLED AN ALT VERSION OF STORM IN COLD BLOOD. The man is not well, I'm telling you.

There's a theme of Forge hurting the women he cares about in this issue. Trust Sage to see the pattern and get the hell out before anything can happen- the hurting or the caring.

OK, now he's hovering above the ground with a big shiny triangle around his body. That's magic, isn't it? For a second I started thinking the Analog must be magic after all, but then I remembered Sage loves staring into it too, so it can't be. Mmm...still processing.

Thorne understands Forge's power better than any writer I've seen (yup that includes Claremont), and I appreciate that he mentions his need for materials to build anything. It should be obvious, but most writers have him make things out of thin air. There's only so much he can fit in that utility belt.

So many people, so many things! Poor Marcus To.

Marcus To is still doing excellent though. Do I need to tell you that Forge is hot? I think I've been clear on that already, but let me reiterate: FORGE IS HOT.

"Slippery as ice": oh, that made me hap-py. Such an evocative, accurate way of describing Sage.

No, Forge's power doesn't let him see what will happen. But you know whose power can see every eventuality? Sage's. This was highlighted in the very first issue, and Forge repeats the exact same words from this moment in this issue. THERE'S SOMETHING TO THAT.

I continue to dig the dynamic between Forge and Sage, curses and all. The little cerebral push and pull they have going on is very interesting.

Also continue to adore Tessa herself. The way she challenges Forge at every opportunity, the way she always asks the right questions *chef's kiss*. Everyone obviously wants to murder Forge on that last page, but I love that she's the one who tells him to go fuck himself, even though she's been the person closest to him on the team. She's my girl. I'm this close to opening a side blog entirely devoted to her awesomeness. (I see what Geoff Thorne means when he says she tries to steal the show. She does!)

OK, so, there's no way Forge has a team anymore at this point, so I assume the next issue will be a downtime one. I imagine he'll go home, have an existential crisis featuring his two exes (as you do) and then get back on the road. Or something? Also, the next issue has a Sage variant cover, which could imply she plays an important part in it. One can only hope. If it's the issue of Forge getting his ass kicked by awesome women, she should take part.

[starry-bi-sky]

Stillborn? No, still born au -- Dani Phantom! Clone girl herself. :]

She can't exist in this au. And it's not that I don't want to add her -- although I'll be blunt, I don't, I'll be the first to admit that I think she's more often than not nothing more than a narrative deadweight used to prop up Danny and I don't like adding characters as props -- but her existence quite literally goes against and muddies the Vlad and Danny dynamic I have for this au. Ellie's existence in canon itself states that she was created -- and Danny's other clones too -- because Vlad gave up on trying to convert him to his side and decided to just make a son instead.

Something that just, doesn't happen in the stillborn-still born au. See, for folks who are only just hearing about this au or didn't see my post about Vlad in this au, he and Danny have a complicated love-hate relationship where they mutually want to adopt each other, but their morals and way of doing things -- mainly Vlad's insistence on getting revenge against the Fentons -- gets in the way of them being able to do that in full.

Vlad knows Danny wants him to adopt him, and is only fighting him on it because he refuses to let Vlad kill the Fentons for essentially killing the both of them. He's succeed in 50% of his goal. Canon Vlad never even made it to 1%. With that in mind, stillborn Vlad has no reason and sees no reason to clone Danny, he has his son. He just needs to convince him to let him avenge them both.

Dani simply has no place in the stillborn-still born au. And in fact, if Vlad did decide to clone Danny -- for whatever reason, -- it would damage his relationship with Danny damn near beyond repair. That's because Danny would view it the same way he views Damian's existence; as a replacement for himself. He would become beyond furious and hurt, and not for the typical 'I can't believe you cloned me, you creep!' reason, but for a 'I can't believe you cloned me, you said I was your son!' reason.

I am not pulling any punches here when I say Danny wants Vlad to be his dad just as much as Vlad wants Danny to be his son, there's just a lot of factors getting in the way. They are, as the french say, ✨mentally unwell.✨ Danny has a ton of abandonment and trust issues due to his experiences in foster care. He would immediately become jealous, insecure, and incredibly furious and hurt. He'd despise her on principal and want nothing to do with her, or Vlad for that matter. He'd just fucking haaate her. It's not her fault she was made but Danny doesn't really care, he's lashing out and pushing people away because he's been betrayed yet again.

The only way they could get along or for Danny to actually like her in any capacity would be if it was his idea to clone himself. Which is like, kinda obvious but considering most clone plots tend to be non-consensual it's kinda gotta be said. He has to have a hand in creating her, that's the only way I can see him liking her in any way. Or if someone other than Vlad created her. If Vlad clones him though, all bets are off the table and he'll despise her.

TL;DR: Dani can't exist in this au because she goes against the narrative I've got for the two most fucked up half-dead could-be-father-son duo in existence, but if she did exist Danny would despise her.

[thats-a-lot-of-cortisol]

new hair new hair!

Before:

After:

[angeltism]

"spar.kle is fictional who cares" I have seen people praising her for her racist anti-romani comments what the fuck kind of world do you live in

[hecksupremechips]

Girl like. The reason he said "this is how it should be" and faced death with a smile....is cuz he wanted to die. For 2 years he sat there thinking he was worthless and deserved to die. If he hadn’t be shot, his death would’ve been suicide, he was fully planning to die in a gutter somewhere undetected. When saying "this is how it should be" hes literally saying "don’t cry because I’m dying, my death is a good thing actually because I fucking suck and you are better off without me". I don’t think that’s badass even slightly, it’s actually really sad and really shitty. Shinjiro is so convinced that he deserves to die and hates the idea of anyone giving a shit about him because he literally can’t wrap his mind around the idea that he will be missed when he’s gone, that his death is a bad thing actually. And his last words were meant to be comforting because he fully did not intend for anyone to be there when he died, he intended to die alone, so he says them as a reminder that he’s not worth crying over

Personally, if it were me, if I was holding my dying best friend in my arms who was deeply depressed and suicidal and he said "this is how it should be" uh. I wouldn’t admire him for it??? Like am I losing my mind when I say the way this game handles Shinji is bad or is anyone else seeing this too 😰

[burger-goblin]

.

[ame-to-ame]

:|

[snekdood]

i just struggle to believe theres any ethical way to harvest meat. farm animal dying of old age? yeah. ok. sure. but farm animals aren't going to be perpetually dying of old age enough to fulfill the demand for their meats. you can make better and more convincing arguments to me for ethically harvesting eggs, wool and milk rather than meat.

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Seeing ghosts in Gotham

He’s walking alone. Despite how dark it is, he’s not particularly nervous, not like the couple of people hovering in an alley.

His shift at Batburger went a little long, not that he’s complaining, he needed the money.

Everything is fine. Splendid. Fantastic. A little quiet, enough to pretend it’s a nice stroll home like it was back in Amity. Of course that all kind of goes up in flames when a dark figure drops into a crouch right in front of him. About two arm lengths away is a guy who straightens to a little taller than Danny himself. From the flickering street light across the street he can spot red, crisscross yellow, and a dark cape.

Red Robin.

Danny shakes his head and turns around.

“Nope.”

A smaller body is already standing behind him, blocking his path. The little guy with a serious face folds his arms across his chest as if challenging Danny to try to get by him.

He’s had enough tussles with Danielle to know better than to test the kid.

Danny rubs at his eyes with a hand, purposefully keeping the other limp at his side. He turns back around.

“Okay. Fine. What? What do you want?”

“You sent in a folder of information to solve the Boothe case,” Red Robin states confidently like there wasn’t any doubt it was Danny who sent it in.

He frowns. It was sent in anonymously. As in they shouldn’t be able to know it was him. Then again they are detectives in their own right even if they dress weird.

“See? This is why no one helps out the police if they’re gonna get grilled for it later on,” he complains sourly.

“That case is connected to another string of crimes we’ve been investigating. I need to know where you got your information.”

Danny glares at him for a second, actually thinking about telling him, then he remembers how quickly these guys throw people into Arkham.

“Do you not get what anonymous means?”

“What is your source?” He asks, completely ignoring Danny’s concerns.

“What are gonna do? Dangle me over the side of a building to get me to talk like you do with the criminals you guys pick up? Go ahead. See where that gets you,” he shrugs indifferently.

“You’re a runaway.”

Danny’s eyes widen in surprise before narrowing into a warning as he turns to look at the pipsqueak that spoke.

“From your poorly made fake ID and the fact you don’t look close to eighteen, you must be a runaway minor. We could bring you in to the proper authorities if you prove to be… uncooperative.”

Danny sneers in annoyance.

“Seriously?” He turns back to Red Robin. Clearly the older of the two and the one leading this investigation. “This is what I get for trying to help? Blackmail?”

“Robin can be a bit… abrasive. I, on the other hand, can appreciate a different approach.”

Suddenly there’s a couple pieces of paper money in between his fingers. Danny couldn’t see how much it was from this far away, but it didn’t really change how he felt about the whole situation.

“Now bribery? Wow, you guys really got the whole good cop, bad cop thing down, don’t cha?”

“Then what do you want?”

“For you to stop wasting your time,” Danny answers with a snap.

Red Robin pauses.

“Our time,” he repeats calmly.

“Yea. Your time. This is a dead end and you should move on.”

“And why are you a dead end?” Presses Robin.

“Because,” Danny emphasizes with a look over his shoulder, “the guy you’re really looking for, my source as you put it, is dead, okay? So you can’t go ask him questions. I sent in everything that was relevant. Find another lead.”

Red Robin’s expression remains blank as he mentally calculates his next move. Danny hopes he takes his advice and let him go home.

“His name?”

Danny folds his arms over his chest, a pathetic attempt to protect himself. He chews on his lip a minute. To tell him or not to tell him. It’s not really ratting the guy out since he’s, you know, dead. Although there is a large chance Danny’s missing something and it’s all going to lead back to him somehow.

“I didn’t kill him.”

“I never said you did,” the vigilante replies calmly, almost nonchalant.

Danny shifts his weight with nerves. He really wasn’t getting out of this without giving them something, huh?

“Greg,” he grinds out like it’s painful.

Silence for a few moments, then-

“As in Gregory Boothe?”

The victim of this whole conversation? Yes.

Danny’s silence is answer enough and the diverted gaze just solidified their suspicions.

“Gregory Boothe’s body turned up a month ago. Presumably he’d been dead for several weeks before that.”

Red lets that damning information hang in the air like Danny didn’t already know.

“So when did he talk to you? Last week?”

Danny jerks at the off handed joke, actually taking a step back and hitching his shoulders up to his ears. He grimaces at his knee jerk response, but can’t take it back. A glance toward the vigilante shows a calculating stunned expression from what he can see ignoring the mask. He looks away again finding a discarded soda can very interesting.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Demands Robin behind him.

Danny tried to resist the urge to curl even more into himself, but knows he failed without even having to look.

“You’re a medium,” Red Robin states. It’s not even a question.

Danny flinches and shoots the guy a scared glare.

“I am not one of those scam artists,” he hisses firmly.

“No,” Red agrees, “you’re not. You didn’t ask for money or attention.”

Danny stares like it’s his first time seeing him. The lack of aggression or accusations was new and a little disarming. He was genuinely confused as to why the guy wasn’t immediately going to denial or throwing him in Arkham.

“Hell of a city to hide in when you can see ghosts,” Red Robin says in a light tone like he was teasing him. The small tug to his lips just proves it.

Danny’s shoulders practically sag at the playful demeanor. A hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck self-consciously.

“Yea, well… no one was gonna look for me here.”

Which was only half the reason he chose Gotham, but it was still truthful.

“So… Greg?”

“Isn’t here right now.” Danny pauses and snorts at himself. “Please leave a message.”

The vigilante does have a sense of humor because he smirks in response to the joke.

“Is there another way to… make contact? Summoning maybe?”

Danny raises an eyebrow incredulously.

“Summoning is rude,” he says like it’s common sense.

Instead he turns to the nearest reliable ghost in the vicinity.

“Hey, Susan, can you go-“

The vigilantes can’t hear how she interrupts him because she was standing there the whole time and knows exactly what he was going to ask.

“Okay, thanks. Meet at mine.”

The ghost woman nods and flies off to go hunt down dear old Greg and Danny turns to Red Robin. He makes a casual move with his head to say ‘follow me’ and continues walking down the sidewalk past the guy and further into the old, decrepit buildings he’s been squatting in.

They already know he’s a runaway, being homeless shouldn’t come as a shock to them. Even with his two jobs, he can’t afford to rent an apartment. No wonder so many people are in poverty or in the slums.

He ducks into his rundown building, ignoring the rats scurrying away, and hops up the rickety stairs, avoiding the ones that were unstable. It was a nightmare figuring out which steps were faulty. Lots of injuries.

At the top he turns to see Red easily copying his movements up the stairs while Robin balances along the railing like a tight rope. When they reach the top at the same time Danny just stares at them for a moment before shaking his head in exasperation. Darn vigilantes. Why did Danny have to get caught up in this mess?

He turns, walking along the floor closest to the wall before getting to what he’s deemed his room.

It used to be an office from what he can tell. A desk pushed against the far wall and a ripped sofa he’s been using as a bed on the other wall. The floors were the most stable in this room which really won out.

Danny goes to the desk where all his papers are scattered over the surface. An organizational pattern only he understands as he shuffles through the pile he pulls from the cubby above the desk. It holds all the same information he sent into the police, just in its raw form with about twice the amount of useless information. Along with it is a few other ‘cases’ that sounds familiar that he just threw together into a pile. Maybe the genius detectives could decipher what he couldn’t.

“Here,” he says, holding out the stack. Red Robin doesn’t hesitate to take it off his hands.

There’s no chair for the desk anymore so he slides some papers out of the way to hop onto the desk to wait.

“No.”

The vigilantes look at him and he shakes his head and looks over to the side.

“No, Abby. I’m not wasting their time.”

Red Robin goes back to flipping through papers. Most of them were old business papers he had found in the office and just written on the back. Some were receipts or pamphlets or some other random scrap of paper he could get his hands on.

“Because yours was an accident. There’s nothing for them to solve.”

Robin watched him cautiously as if waiting for Danny to snap or suddenly turn violent. Instead he leans back on his hands in a vulnerable position which screamed ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone’.

“There is a lot more information here than what was submitted to the police,” Red Robin comments neutrally, purposefully ignoring Danny’s exasperated sigh and one-sided conversation.

Danny shrugs in defense, “Didn’t think all of it was relevant.”

The vigilante doesn’t respond.

Robin drifts closer as Danny gives a withering glare to the corner. He examines the mess of papers surrounding the teen in the low lighting.

“Are these all files of victims?”

Danny glances over them with a knowledgeable eye.

“Most.” He twists to point at the top left corner of the cubbies. “Those are accidents though… well, what sounds like accidents.”

“There should be more.”

Danny looks at the boy with a tilted head and raises brow.

“Not everyone sticks around,” he explains simply.

Then something draws his attention away across the room. Surprisingly his eyes don’t glaze over like someone with mental illness, instead they sharpen to see something they can’t. It resembled Constantine or Thomas.

“Greg, these guys wanna talk to you.”

What proceeds is a very awkward interaction with Danny as a middle man between victim and vigilante. Despite the need for a translator, Red Robin does in fact get a lead from the conversation.

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

Danny nods. “Sure, no problem. Just don’t rat me out to the police and I can help with any other case that pops up with a ghost attached.”

“You know we can help with your living situation,” Red Robin offers with a glance around the room.

“What, and put me in foster care? No thanks, I’ll pass.”

“There are other options,” Robin chimes in with nonchalance that implies he doesn’t actually care.

“You don’t pass for eighteen, but if you let me make you a new ID we could say you’re emancipated.”

Danny frowns.

“I’d have to be sixteen to be eligible for emancipation.”

“You could be sixteen.”

No, he really couldn’t. Maybe if you squint your eyes and tilt your head, but Danny is fourteen with all the baby fat and innocent face that comes with it. His license now is a clear fake to anyone who sees it, but in this city no one’s gonna question it to his face. They just raise a brow, look at him, then shrug it off and roll with the lie.

“What do you want?” He demands. All this good will and wanting to help him can’t be free.

“We want to help,” Red says too easily.

Danny stares for a second, eyes narrowed as he tries to block out the multiple voices around him.

Insurance. He wants Danny to owe him so he can keep coming back for more information.

“I just told you I would help. Why are you still trying to get leverage?” He demands with irritation.

“We want to help-“

“You want me in your back pocket.”

Red Robin doesn’t give that a response, his lips pressing together to make a hard line.

Instead of pushing, he surprisingly takes a step back and heads towards the door, papers still in hand. Danny doesn’t argue.

Robin ducks out first, blending into the shadows without even a glance over his shoulder. Red Robin pauses in the doorway.

“Don’t try to skip town,” he states like an order. Like if Danny did in fact try, he would be found and brought back.

It didn’t even cross Danny’s mind.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he says tiredly, too fed up with the day to defend himself.

Red Robin watches him for a moment before nodding and disappearing out the room.

Danny slumps with a groan, finally sliding off the desk to shuffle to the couch, body flopping face first into the worn cushions.

It’s silent to everyone else but Danny.

“I know.”

…

“I know, Jack, but I don’t trust them. Even if he is your son.”

Danny never noticed the bug planted by Robin on the underside of the desk.

[faeriekit]

"Okay." Danny slowly laid the already cold body back onto the table, ready to slide back it into the refuge of cold storage. "Okay. Dead guy. Stay there."

The body didn't move.

"Fantastic. Now. Hang out while I pour the embalming fluid into the pump, alright? It should only be a minute."

And it usually did; working in a funeral home wasn't extremely glamorous, but it paid the bills, and Danny had already been used to the rhyme and rhythm of negotiating death with the public by the time he sent in his mortuary school application. It had been a transition that made sense. And in the end, the degree had only cost him a few extra years post-graduation and a little dig into student loans, and now Danny had a stable 12-8 job and health insurance valid in the state of new jersey.

Today, though, the pump had that decided enough was enough. With a bang and a boom, the pump spat out a cloud of smoke and clunked uncomfortably.

The dead body sat up.

Danny scrambled over to push it back down. "No. We talked about this. Dead people don't move. If you want to stay here and have me put you back together all the time, you have to stay put. Got it?"

Whatever the weird gold-eye corpses were on in Gotham, they at least listened to him on occasion. They weren't ghosts, per se— they never pinged on any of the ghost detection devices Mom and Dad had packed in his going-away-to-college bag— but they were, despite being occasionally animate, perfectly deceased.

Weird. Danny had never gotten used to it. Still, they came in droves, too eager to sit on the top of the basement stairwell and lurk in the corners and stare endlessly at them with their weird, avian eyes, and sometimes they heralded the arrival similarly weird-ass bodies that had lost their heads or their arms or their limbs through the more conventional channels.

"I'm losing too much thread to all y'all coming in all the time," Danny complained to the dead body, who, at the moment, was the only person present to blame. "Stop getting your limbs cut off. This stuff is expensive, you know. It's a specialty order."

The body didn't even have the courtesy to blink. Rude.

"At least let them bury you this time. Every time one of you darts off when my back's turned, my boss thinks I'm stealing corpses. My coworkers think I'm building my own Frankenstein or something."

The corpse neither verbalized nor blinked, but Danny hadn't expected it to; with a sigh, he rolled the corpse back into cold storage, locked its little door (not that locking it in had ever stopped it) and called it quits for the night.

It's not like anyone was paying him for the extra hours anyway.

The whole fic on ao3