#ALSO NO ONE SAY ANYTHING ABOUT THE FUCKING CLONE HIGH HANDS

[lavender-rroses]

// jrwi riptide 111 + nerdy prudes must die (??) spoilers

i’m eating well this weekend

[notmyneighbor]

Special Delivery - Doppelganger Francis Mosses x Female Reader

Word Count - 3.3k

Rating - Explicit

CW - masturbation, oral sex

Also available on AO3

You’re being followed.

You’re out later than you’d intended, but there had been a lot of requests that day. Word was spreading. You were getting quite the reputation among the doppelgängers.

Imagine, a human who was betraying her own kind, making forged documents to help the invaders into DDD restricted areas.

You don’t even feel guilty about it, either, because what has any human ever done for you? You’ve been on your own since as far back as you can remember, dealt a bad hand early in life. This scheme you’ve concocted pays well. Better than any of the other less savory things you’ve had to do to supplement your income, and it came with an added bonus: you knew how to write in the alien’s language as well, the symbols you inscribe on the frame of your apartment door and workspaces guaranteeing you’ll be exempt from harm.

Maybe you could’ve done something with your artistic and linguist skills if you’d had the opportunity, but alas, this was your lot in life. Making the best of a less than ideal situation.

You deviate your course a few times, just to make certain you’re still being pursued. Yes, he’s still trailing you. You’re certain it’s male but you’re not pausing long enough to discern more than that. Well, fuck.

You take another detour. Perhaps not the best decision in hindsight. You’re further away from home now. You don’t recognize the street you’re on. There’s a delivery truck parked on the side of the road. Dairy. Should you try to hide inside? The door was open. Where was the driver? You consider your options. No one would admit you into their house at this hour, and why should they, when you’ve been selling out all your neighbors? The truck, then. Your stalker’s footsteps still sounded a fair distance away. It was your only chance at this point. Maybe you could find something to mark the symbols. If there was still time.

The step to enter the truck is high. You have to ungraciously hoist yourself inside, clinging desperately to the sides to balance your weight. Made it. Your nose wrinkles. There’s a faintly sour smell. Spoiled products. The keys are in the ignition. A feeling of foreboding washes over you. The street lamp nearby barely illuminates the interior of the vehicle. You’re afraid to go into the back. You can’t see anything you can use to write the protection phrase. Your breath saws in and out. Too loud. You’re making too much noise.

A foot on the steel step makes you whirl around. It’s your pursuer. Dressed as a milkman, but you know instantly it’s not. Replicant. Deceiver. The clone of whatever human he’s copying. He’d chosen a handsome one, though you doubt it had anything to do with appearances, more a matter of convenience. Broad shouldered. Narrow waisted. He lifts himself into the truck with practiced ease. You’re so fucked.

Dark eyes and hair. Pale skin. He blocks the light from outside as he crowds you further inside. Well, you couldn’t say you’d had a good run, but you’d done your best. You close your eyes. You don’t want to see the teeth emerge before he devours you.

“What are you doing in here?”

Your eyes fly open again. He hasn’t advanced any further. He wanted to talk? Play with his food before he ate it? Maybe he wasn’t hungry. Mabe you could talk your way out of this.

“I…I got lost on the way home.”

“You’re lying.” No malice behind those words, just an observation.

“I heard you following me. I know what you are,” you admit, then instantly regret it. Stupid girl.

“I know who you are, too. You’re the one who makes the ID’s and entry requests.”

“Business hours are Monday through Friday, 8am to 5pm.” Were you seriously being flippant with a doppelgänger? You give a little chuckle to show you’re joking around, but the noise sounds more like a dying hyena, slightly panicked and hysterical.

“Those hours don’t work for me.”

“Oh.” So he was a prospective customer then? “Cash up front, half in advance, the rest on delivery. Currently working this week behind the abandoned grocery store off of Burke Street. I have to rotate the site to, you know…”

“I’ll pay extra,” he adds. “For the inconvenience of the hour and short notice.”

You lick your lips at the prospect of making additional funds. What would be fair to charge? “You need it right now? What’s the hurry?”

“Are you able to do it or not?” This now laced with irritation. His patience and good graces were wearing thin already. Best not to ire him further. You’re lucky to still be alive.

“Yeah, I can do it.”

“I’ll drive us there, then.”

“Where am I supposed to sit?” You glance around the front of the cabin. There’s only one seat for the driver.

You see his shoulders raise and lower in a shrug before he sits behind the wheel. You suppose your only choice is to sit on the floor.

“Your truck reeks,” you say, that sour smell assaulting your nostrils again as you lower yourself down.

The engine rumbles to life. “Deliveries didn’t get made today.”

“Did you…” You’re wondering what happened to the original, human operator of the vehicle. Had he suffered some grim fate? Were his remains sitting in the doppelgänger’s gut, being digested at this very moment? You shudder at the unpleasant thought.

He glances down at you. “No. I simply duplicated his form and stole the truck. You humans leave your body substances everywhere,” he says, lifting the cap off his head and tossing it onto the dashboard. “This one perspired all over that.”

That was all it took for a doppel to replicate a human. Just a little bit of something from the original. Sweat. Blood. Mucus. Probably other, even more unsavory substances, too.

It’s uncomfortable on the floor. The truck’s suspension jostles you roughly. Luckily you don’t have far to go. The driver eases behind the abandoned brick building, shutting off the headlamps. There are no functioning street lights in this part of town. You’re shrouded in darkness.

The doppel stands and you struggle to your feet, reluctantly accepting the hand he offers you to assist you to your feet. You’ve never touched one of the invaders directly before. It feels normal. Just like a human. You’re not sure if that makes it better or worse.

You’ve been working out of the manager’s office in the rear of the store. You’ve got an actual set of keys, pilfered once you’d broken into the building. Another of your talents, that. Breaking and entering. An additional skill this unfair life has made you adept at.

You’re not used to being here so late. It’s amazing no one’s realized the building is still on the electrical grid. You’re grateful for the mistake, switching on the light in the back hallway after feeling blindly for the switch. The doppel is just behind you. You unlock the office door and hit another light switch, sighing in relief. That was better. Familiar territory. No longer in darkness.

But there’s an anxious invader at your back, and that knowledge is less than comforting. You sit down in the office chair behind the steel desk and he settles into the hardbacked one across from you.

“So, um…about the fee.”

Without a word the alien digs into his pants pocket, extracting several bills from a wallet and sliding them over to you. “Will that be sufficient?”

You’re trying to keep a straight face. Where did he get this much money? “Yes, that’s fine. Do you…do you have a home address for the individual?”

Delving back into the wallet, he now produces a car registration. Francis Mosses. You recognize the area he resides in. A better part of town than the one you’re living in, but maybe someday you could change that.

Although, you’re about to make that area a lot less safe, you think, pulling the necessary tools out of the large bottom desk drawer, including a DDD logo stamp. That had been the hardest item to acquire. The rest were fairly routine.

“I need to take a picture. Do you just want to get that over with now?” He nods. “Can you stand in front of the door? It’s a good blank background.” Another nod as you stand. He closes the office door and positions himself, waiting for you to snap the Polaroid. Damn, he really is attractive. Exactly your type. You don’t even mind the little bend at the bridge of his nose or the shadows under his eyes. You take several pictures, one for the ID card and one for the entry request, with some extras just for…well, maybe just to have options if the others didn’t turn out well.

You’re not used to being watched while you work.

You typically have the doppels come back to pick the forgeries up later. These dark eyes watch your every movement like a hawk, from the way you print onto the request form to the drag of the scalpel blade around two of the photographs(they had all come out fine), carefully affixing them to both documents. You roll the stamp in the black ink pad and press it gently but firmly into each corner, waving a hand over the fresh ink to help it dry.

“You’re skilled at this,” he murmurs appreciatively, and your head lifts to meet his gaze. “I see why you come so highly recommended.”

“It’s not like there’s any competition,” you say, feeling a flush creep into your cheeks over the praise.

“True. Not many humans would betray their own kind, would they?”

Your lips press into a thin line of displeasure. You didn’t need the reminder. Was he mocking you?

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sure you have your reasons.”

Somewhat mollified, you glance down at your work. It still looked a little moist. You need it to be completely dry before you apply the lamination to seal it in permanently.

The copycat is still staring at you. You, not the documents you’re working on. You clear your throat. “I want to make sure they’ve dried properly.”

“Of course.”

“It’ll just be a few minutes.”

“I don’t mind the wait.”

You lean back and the swivel chair creaks. Your shoulders are aching. You’d made a lot of forgeries today. Too much time spent hunched over the desk. Your eyes are a little sore, too, dry and burning. You needed a bath and maybe a snack and bed. Forget dinner. That sounded too complicated at this hour.

“You’re tired,” he observes.

“It’s been a long day.”

“I am inconveniencing you greatly, aren’t I?”

He doesn’t sound remorseful, exactly. You don’t know what he sounds like. It’s too difficult to process. You’re exhausted, that post adrenaline rush from earlier really depleting the last stores of energy. You don’t even think you’d protest if he decided to turn on you right now, taking the goods and making a meal out of you before he ran. The symbols are more of a professional courtesy than anything. It’s not like it actually prevented the doppels from physically being able to attack.

The legs of the chair he’s seated in drag across the dirty linoleum flooring, making a loud scraping sound. You watch warily as he comes around the desk, easing past a filing cabinet to reach your side.

“We haven’t really negotiated the full price yet, have we?”

Oh. Was that what was happening? He was going to stiff you. Suddenly that advance amount no longer seemed so generous. That was to be your total payment. Honestly, you should have been more demanding.

“I have more money,” he says, immediately canceling out your previous assumption, “but I don’t think that’s what you need most right now.”

“You’re right. I should be at home in the bathtub. Or better yet bed,” you add.

His hand reaches for the edge of the chair, turning you fully to face him. The abrupt movement catches you by surprise.

“Maybe what you really need is some good old fashioned milk.” His hand closes over your wrist, dragging your hand towards what you’ve somehow missed previously. He’s hard. Like full on, bulging, fit to burst out of his trousers. You should be terrified. You are scared, kind of. But turned on. Stupidly aroused because you haven’t had anyone give you this kind of attention in who knows how long. Sex had just kind of fallen by the wayside for you. There was so much else that needed to be accounted for.

You watch the hand pulling the leather strap of the imposter milkman’s belt in wonder, as if you can’t quite reconcile it’s your own doing this. Its partner joining, thumbing the button of the fly through the slot and parting the metal teeth below into a wicked grin. You shove the waistband of his briefs down and his cock springs free, flushed and thick and oozing precum. You stare at that clear bead of fluid as if hypnotized. Your mouth waters. You want it. You want to suck this creature dry.

Your tongue swipes over the crown of his erection and the doppel hums in pleasure. “Good girl,” he says encouragingly, and the praise sends heat right between your legs, your pussy tingling in response. You’re no longer thinking about your unfinished work on the desk beside you, about how dangerous it is to be alone with a doppelgänger in an abandoned building at night. You’re instead wondering how much of that dark pink length you’re going to be able to voluntarily sample before your gag reflex interrupts and he’s forced to fuck into your throat manually. Your sex throbs again. Time to stop wondering and find out.

Your lips close over the head and begin sliding over the shaft. Clean musk. A better flavor than perhaps you’d anticipated. You take a few experimental bobs, testing. He’s stretching you already. Your lips. The fat head bumping your cheeks, your soft palate. His fingers are in your hair, combing through the tresses with a strange kind of tenderness.

“So good. You’re so talented…”

You whimper a little, trying to reach more of him. There it is. That natural barrier of your body’s resistance. You struggle against it until you’re forced to withdraw, coughing and gasping, leaving a trail of thick saliva behind. You give yourself a brief respite, stroking the slick fluids over his prick. It makes a lewd squelching sound every time you massage the shaft. You can feel your arousal leaking between your legs, saturating your panties. You reach under your skirt, no longer caring about how depraved you appear. It’s a relief when your fingers make contact with your clit, dragging that wetness around the nub in frantic circles.

“That’s a good girl. Touch that pussy. It feels good, doesn’t it? So good…”

Your mouth engulfs his cock again. You roll your lips inward and massage the length in short bursts. Now relaxing and planting soft, passionate kisses on the tip. You spit on it and slurp up the liquid noisily. You like the sounds the doppel is making. You’ve never liked the men who were quiet, reserved. This invader isn’t holding back. He moans and groans and hisses. His teeth catch his bottom lip. His head tips back when the ecstasy of the blow job gets to be a bit overwhelming. And you love every minute of it. You savor every sound and gesture as you perform the obscene act while masturbating, grinding your swollen bundle of nerve endings against your pubic bone.

“You’re hungry, honey, aren’t you? Starving. I’ve got what you need, darling.” The nails of the hand you have curled around his hip dig into the cotton and polyester blended fabric of his uniform pants as you push yourself even further down his length, this time bruising your throat. You ignore the discomfort, grateful when the hand in your hair finally tightens and you feel him begin to fuck your mouth, battering the rear of that moist cavern over and over. “You want a drink, baby? You ready for it?”

You hum in agreement and he eases up, withdrawing until just the head of that thick phallus sits on the tip of your tongue. You’re panting, moaning, frantic for his release perhaps even more than your own.

“Here you go, sweetheart.” A couple of swipes along the shaft and that brief pumping is enough to send him over the edge, thick pulses of cum now spraying the inside of your mouth, pooling on the wedge of muscle his dick rests against. There’s a lot. An absurd amount. You can feel it leaking from the corners of your mouth. Bitter, but not the worst you’ve tasted. Sheer coincidence your body decides to shatter the instant you swallow that load, forcing that creamy baby batter down your gullet while your pussy spasms against your relentless finger.

“There you go, baby. Good girl.”

The milkman’s doppel bends to kiss you, surprising you with the gesture, now of all times, licking your face clean before thrusting his tongue between your lips and you crash right into another orgasm, moaning and twitching while the imposter fucks your mouth with his tongue.

Truly wrung out now, you collapse against the back of the chair, your chest heaving. The doppelgänger refastens his pants, but not before you notice it looks like he could go another round soon, and oh, doesn’t that make your cunt throb again in spite of being so recently satisfied, twice no less.

It takes great effort to smooth your skirt and your mussed hair back into some semblance of order, returning your attention to the documents that are certainly ready by now, the ink well set. The doppelgänger doesn’t return to his seat, instead remaining beside you, watching as the final protective layer is applied.

“There you go. Finished.” You glance up to see the doppel’s gaze fixed on you again, the money forgotten in his hand.

“Maybe…maybe we could work out a deal for the remainder of the payment.”

Your heart speeds up a little. “I’m listening.”

“Maybe I could make special deliveries. To your residence. For as long as it takes to cancel the debt.”

You hum, pretending to consider the offer even though you already know what your answer will be. “What happens after that?”

“We can renegotiate the terms when the time comes.”

“Interesting.”

“Interesting as in you want to think it over, or…interesting as in you definitely want more?” He bends to kiss you again. Gentler this time, but no less appealing.

“The latter.”

“Good. I was hoping you’d say that.” He sets the cash on the desk. “Consider that a tip then, for a job well done.”

You’re not going to argue with that. You hurriedly put everything away and lock the office again, soon finding yourself back outside next to the truck.

“Are you walking home, or do you want a ride?”

You weigh the discomfort of being on the floor in the smelly vehicle against walking home alone at an even riskier hour, where an encounter with another doppel would most assuredly not go as pleasantly.

“I’ll take the ride. But you need to clean the truck out.”

“I’ll do it in the morning.”

“The real milkman must have caught hell losing all these orders and the company car,” you murmur as you return to your former position inside the vehicle.

“Not my problem.”

“Every man for himself, right?” You can hardly condemn the attitude, given your current career choice.

“Exactly.” A flash of teeth in the darkness. He steals another kiss before starting the engine, bending low to capture your lips.

You’re delivered safely to your apartment building minutes later, personally escorted by the cloned milkman.

“I’ll bring you your next delivery tomorrow night, hmm?”

“Okay.” He’s standing so close. It takes just the slightest lean for him to kiss you again.

“Unless, of course, you wanted another advance…”

You shove the door you’ve already unlocked open, inviting the doppelgänger inside.

[suzukiblu]

Excerpt from the one where Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it.

(The read-more is definitely necessary, length-wise. I . . . got very into this idea and frankly this is barely a third of it so far, lol.)

"So, uh . . ." Kon says, skeptically eyeing the softly glowing rock in his hand. Metallo, like, threw it at his head. He has no idea why. "Is this supposed to do something or . . . ?"

"It's pink," Kara says leerily, staying very firmly back. Like, unexpectedly far back, in fact.

"Yeah, I'm not actually blind, thanks," Kon says, turning the rock over and squinting at it. It continues not to do anything, aside from the glowing thing.

"No, it's pink kryptonite," she stresses.

". . . it literally doesn't hurt at all, though?" Kon says. Though he probably should've figured it was some kind of kryptonite, given that Metallo had it and had apparently thought he could hurt him with it.

Seriously, though, his gloves are fingerless and he's got it right in his hand. It should be hurting him, if it's actually kryptonite.

"Pink kryptonite doesn't work like that," Kara says, edging a little farther back. They're floating a few hundred feet in the air right now, but from the way she's acting Kon's vaguely concerned that he might be about to explode or something. "It just affects our sexual . . . urges."

"Oh," Kon says, frowning in confusion. Weird, but . . . "Is that all?"

"I don't mean like it makes you horny, Kon, I mean like it makes you homosexual," Kara hisses, looking mortified. "And don't ask how I know, alright?!"

Kon . . . blinks.

"What the literal fuck?" he asks incredulously, just staring at her. "How does that even–are you telling me Metallo went and chucked gay kryptonite at me in the middle of a fight?"

"Yes!" Kara says, still clearly mortified. "So just–just stay over there with it until somebody shows up with a lead box, okay?! The effects will stop after we get it contained."

"Alright, alright. So then do you think the dude was flirting with me or is he just a fucking idiot?" Kon jokes, balancing the kryptonite on his index finger with his TTK. "Although I really don't think he'd be my type either way. Like, nothing against cyborgs in general, obviously, just the whole thing with him being a murderous supervillain who literally runs on kryptonite seems like it'd make us totally star-crossed. I want somebody I can actually commit to, you know?"

"Sure," Kara says, still eyeing the kryptonite with serious trepidation. It's really not helping Kon feel less like a time bomb, to be honest. Is there like some other side effect that he should be worrying about right now or something? Like, is he missing something here?

"You seem kinda high-strung about this," he observes, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Look, you'd have avoided it too if you'd dealt with it before!" she says protestingly. "So stay over there and definitely keep it away from Kal, I don't know if Jimmy ever really recovered from the last time."

"Oh, well, congrats to Jimmy, I guess," Kon says, since he can't really see a downside to scoring a one-night stand with Superman. Like, a downside for somebody who isn't literally his clone, he means. The clone thing would definitely make it weird.

Just it's also Clark, though, so he'd probably be the generous type in bed. Like, the sort to really take care of somebody. Be as gentle as happened to be appropriate but also be down if his partner maybe wanted it a little rough for whatever reason. And he'd definitely be able to go all night. Again, Kon isn't gonna go there himself, it really would be too weird, but he can make a logical conclusion. Extrapolate one. Whatever.

Then again he'd be down with Power Girl absolutely destroying him whenever the fuck she wanted to and she's genetically his . . . some form of cousin or something, he guesses. His half-cousin from another reality. So really, Clark's not even that weird an option. And like, all appearances aside Kon's a binary clone anyway, not even a one-for-one match, sooooo . . .

Actually it's probably weirder that he thinks Power Girl is so unspeakably hot but comparatively Kara is just . . . fine? Like, that's a little odd, isn't it?

Maybe it's an attitude thing. Or the costume.

Might be safe to blame the costume, yeah.

It's just such a good costume. Like, Kon aspires to reach that level of costume.

But really, all that aside he still doesn't even know what the big deal about temporarily going gay is, although to be fair he's also currently talking to Supergirl and not, like . . . literally any dude whatsoever. So like, who knows how weird this stuff might actually make him under those circumstances. Maybe it like fucks with inhibitions and stuff too?

Yeah, hell if he knows. He's really only dealt with green kryptonite before. He was vaguely aware that other colors existed and apparently did different stuff, but . . . this just seems very different, put it that way.

Maybe best to avoid Jimmy Olsen for a little while, Kon decides privately. The guy probably doesn't need that.

Besides, Clark apparently got there first anyway and Kon just really doesn't want to be worrying about measuring up. Miss him with that, thanks.

. . . although maybe he'll go visit Tim later.

Eh, no, Kara made it sound like the pink K's gonna stop affecting him pretty quick once they box it up, so not much point in bothering. Though maybe he'll visit just to hang, come to think of it; they haven't seen each other in almost a whole week. Well, he hasn't seen Tim, at least–who knows how much Bat-surveillance Tim's seen him through.

Kon should maybe sweep his room for bugs again. Note to self.

Although would it be weird to just like . . . keep the pink kryptonite, maybe? Since it apparently doesn't actually hurt anyone or anything? Because that could be, well . . . just interesting, that's all. Like, Kon is open to exploring that experience. Just–as an experience.

"Actually, you're surprisingly not high-strung about this," Kara says.

"Am I?" Kon asks. "I mean, it's not that big a deal, is it?"

She stares at him.

"Kon," she says slowly. "Pink kryptonite affects your sexuality. It makes you attracted to people you're not normally attracted to. It confuses you and everyone around you and it is really freaking embarrassing to explain afterwards."

"I've been mind-controlled into shaving my head and breaking my best friend's arm," Kon says, continuing to not really see what the big deal is. "That was embarrassing. And fucking traumatic. This? This is just kinda weird."

"Only kinda?" Kara asks incredulously. "You're one of the straightest guys I know! How are you just fine with this?!"

"I mean to be fair, that's probably making some unfair generalizations about straight guys," Kon points out. Kara stares at him. "What?"

"I don't even know how to respond to that," she says.

"Sorry?" Kon says, then tucks the pink kryptonite into his jacket pocket with a shrug. He's not trying to hide it or anything; just getting kinda sick of holding it. And it's that or he either ditches it somewhere or starts tossing it around and that'd probably be . . . just, well, absolutely epically stupid of him.

Or it seems like it would be, anyway. Whatever color it is, it's still kryptonite.

"I mentioned keeping that away from Kal, right?" Kara says.

"Yeah, on that note, are they like . . . done down there yet?" Kon asks, glancing down towards the mess of the street that Clark's standing on a few hundred feet below with a whole bunch of randos from S.T.A.R. Labs, for some reason. Somebody mentioned something about neutralizing Metallo's kryptonite heart without actually killing him, but mostly it was science talk and clearly theoretical anyway so to be honest Kon'd kinda tuned it all out as "not currently relevant", and that's all he knows.

"Definitely not," Kara says.

"I'm gonna call Robin while we're killing time, then," Kon says, pulling out his phone.

"You're going to call your closest male friend," Kara says. "Right now. While you've got pink kryptonite in your pocket."

"Yup," Kon says, already pulling up Tim's contact.

"Can you not see how that might be a bad idea at the moment?" Kara asks. "Not in any way whatsoever?"

"Well I'm not calling Impulse," Kon replies reasonably. Kara stares at him again, for some reason.

Eh, whatever.

He calls Tim.

"Hey, Conner, what's up?" Tim answers distractedly, which Kon doesn't hold against him because when isn't Tim distracted, really. Dude's got too much going on in that head of his, for real. He's just glad the guy ever picks up the phone at all.

"So apparently I'm gay right now," Kon greets conversationally, figuring he should lead with that just in case he actually is about to do something embarrassing to explain. "Pink kryptonite is fucking weird, man."

". . . uh," Tim says as Kara covers her face with her hands. "What?"

"Pink kryptonite makes you gay, Kara says," Kon says. "And we're both just kind of chilling above downtown Metropolis waiting for Kal to finish up with the science-y people so we can get said pink K locked up, so I'm bored out of my mind right now and calling you to complain about it."

"You're calling me," Tim says slowly. "While you're . . . gay."

"What, is he asking to come over?" another voice asks from the phone, sounding amused. It takes Kon a second to recognize it, but–oh yeah, that's the mysterious Bernard, isn't it?

Right, Tim has a boyfriend now. Kon's never actually met him on account of being the worst at secret identities and the whole thing that is Bernard living very firmly in Gotham, land of "no metas allowed unless you're either a supervillain or Batman's too dead to stop you", but he's heard him over the phone a couple times now, although they've never actually personally talked. So maybe thinking about Tim while being high on pink kryptonite isn't actually, like, kosher? Or polite. Or whatever.

. . . then again, Bernard did ask.

"I don't know, maybe?" Kon says thoughtfully, considering the idea. "Are you open to me coming over?"

"Yes," Bernard says.

"Bernard," Tim says.

"Babe, I know we're pretending I don't know you're an ass-kicking vigilante and all but come on, don't make me turn down Superboy," Bernard says wryly.

"We're–wait, pretending?!" Tim sputters.

"Pretending so, so hard," Bernard confirms, sounding nothing but fond. Kon's actually a little jealous of that tone of voice, he's gotta admit. Like–it's been a bit since anybody's talked to him that way, is all. "But like, if you actually thought you were being subtle maybe you shouldn't talk about kryptonite on the phone right in front of me or put themed emojis next to all your superfriends' civilian names in your contacts list?"

"Oh my god, you do that?!" Kon asks with a gleeful cackle, immediately forgetting everything else in favor of that absolutely delightful piece of information. "You're the worst! Batman just rolled over in his grave and Oracle is absolutely losing her shit on the other end of her wiretap!"

"B's not even dead right now," Tim says in exasperation. "And if O cared she'd have already hacked my phone and changed them. And for the record plenty of people put random superhero emojis next to their friends' names, that's a totally normal thing to do!"

"Usually the random superhero emojis aren't associated with contact pics that are dead fucking ringers for said superheroes," Bernard says, sounding amused again. "Just as a thing and all."

". . . anyway so you're gay today, how's that going for you, Conner?" Tim says as Bernard laughs gleefully in the background. "Triggering any unfortunate mental health crisises or anything? Making you worry about the validity of your masculinity? Because I can safely assure you that's all bullshit and you're fine."

"Naw, I know all that, being gay is just a thing," Kon says with a shrug. "Kara's being a little weird about it but honestly it's going way better than, like, the times supervillains mind-controlled me into being into them. Like just as an overall experience, I mean."

"Wait, how many times has that come up?" Tim asks in bemusement.

"I dunno?" Kon shrugs again. "I mean you were there for the Poison Ivy incident, and then Gorgeous Gilly happened to me a while later, which was, uh, genuinely horrifying because she tried to literally marry me during all that, so . . . I think just the twice, probably? But don't quote me on that, I don't even remember what I had for breakfast."

"And how is Kara being weird, exactly?" Tim says in his very unsubtle "assessing my teammate's psychological condition" voice.

"Oh, she's mostly just avoiding me?" Kon says, as a guy who's personally not really all that concerned with his psychological condition at the moment. "Because I've got the rock in my pocket on account of not wanting to just leave it lying around somewhere and she doesn't want to get affected by it. I don't know why, I don't really get why it matters."

"I mean it matters, definitely," Bernard says. "Like it very strongly matters to a lot of people."

"Fair, but I think we're all too invulnerable to really have to worry about getting gay-bashed or anything," Kon reasons. "Like, at least not as a heat of the moment thing."

". . . god can you imagine the world we would live in if every piece of shit gay-basher had to deal with the consequences of punching fucking Superman?" Bernard says feelingly. "For real."

"Oh, pink K's temporary," Kon clarifies. "Kal's not gay anymore."

"Hold up, I'm sorry, are you saying that at some point he was?" Bernard demands in obvious delight. "Is that what you're telling me right now?"

"I guess he was into redheads?" Kon says, tilting his head. "Slightly twinky redheads, specifically. Which I don't blame him for, I'm gonna be honest."

"Well now I know that forever, thanks," Tim says dryly.

"Alternate option: he could've been into Batman," Kon points out.

"Redheads it is," Tim says. "You just . . . redhead away over there."

"I mean I thought about it, kinda," Kon admits.

"Ngh," Tim says, for some reason.

"No thinking about Batman, though?" Bernard asks with a snicker.

"Not so much," Kon says, making a face. "Did consider having some Superman thoughts but I'm apparently not that narcissistic, surprisingly enough."

"Kon!" Kara chokes.

"Tell me you've never considered having Superman thoughts and I'll tell you you're a fucking liar," Kon snorts, shooting her a dry look. "Weren't you like totally naked when you first showed up on Earth? And then he found you like that and wrapped you up in his cape all nice and gentlemanly and took you home with him?"

"He is my baby cousin and you're being affected by pink kryptonite poisoning!" Kara accuses, her face bright red.

"Wait, is it actually poisoning me?" Kon says with a frown. "I feel like you should've led with it actually poisoning me, if that's actually a thing."

"Well no, not actually, it's physically harmless," Kara says grudgingly, folding her arms. "But you're still being affected! You're having Superman thoughts, of all things!"

"He just seems like he'd be considerate," Kon says reasonably. "Like, you know. Biblically."

"Ngh," Tim says, again for no apparent reason. Bernard sounds like he might be laughing. Or choking? Or maybe both; it's unclear.

"Please don't hit on Kal," Kara says. "Especially don't hit on Kal with pink kryptonite in your pocket. I don't want to know how that situation would end up."

"Ideally with him being considerate," Kon says. Tim chokes. Kara covers her face again.

"Does pink kryptonite affect your inhibitions too or are you just always like this?" Bernard asks curiously.

"Eh, pretty sure I'm just always like this, going by the things I've definitely still not been forgiven for saying to Power Girl," Kon says, idly tapping a finger against the side of his phone case. "Like, pretty damn sure at this point."

"That is unfortunately accurate," Tim agrees resignedly.

"So you're saying it is ethically okay to have Superboy over while he's gay," Bernard says in a promisingly speculative tone. Kon grins. Just a little, but yeah–definitely he grins. Kara grimaces, because she is absolutely no fun whatsoever.

Spoilsport.

"I did not in any way say that," Tim retorts dubiously.

"I mean that's what I heard, man, and I'm the one with super-hearing in this conversation," Kon says with a wider grin. "My inhibitions are all inhibited and my personal opinions of people are all the same, I'm just currently batting for the other team."

"So your normal opinion of me is that if you were gay, you'd come over," Tim says dryly.

"Yeah?" Kon says, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, obviously."

"How is that obvious?" Tim says.

"Because I already come over every time you let me," Kon reminds him.

"Oh yeah?" Bernard says slyly. "And how often does he let you come, exactly?"

"Not often enough," Kon replies honestly, and doesn't even bite at the obvious dumb sex joke Bernard so thoughtfully set up for him even though it is frankly painful not to.

"Ngh," Tim says. Kon continues not to understand the reason for him repeatedly making that same weird little noise, but whatever, he guesses. It's Tim, maybe he's stitching his own bullet wounds again or something. Guy's a multi-tasker like that.

"You know this would probably make for a fascinating case study about sexuality, actually," Bernard says musingly. "I mean, all I intend to do is abuse the situation to get into your very tight tights, but seriously, maybe we should all be taking notes or something."

"Ugh, hell no, Rob'll go full Bat if we let him do that," Kon snorts, then smirks. "He can take pictures, though, I know he's into that."

"Ngh," Tim says yet again, accompanied by a weird random "thump". If Kon didn't know better, he'd think he'd just fallen off a chair or something.

"Aw dammit, dude, I think I actually like you as a person now," Bernard says, sniggering. "Are you keeping the kryptonite? Please keep the kryptonite. Like, just for Valentine's and Tim's birthday, that's all I ask."

"Honestly don't know if Superman's gonna let me but I do kinda wanna," Kon admits. It seems pretty convenient, really. And definitely fun.

". . . and you're sure his inhibitions and opinions aren't being influenced in any way, Kara?" Tim asks suspiciously.

"He's really just like this, yeah," Kara says resignedly. "Well admittedly Kal spontaneously developed opinions on window treatments and used the word 'smashing' in cold blood when it happened to him, but that might've just been him sucking at flirting. Because he really does suck at flirting."

"What about when it was you?" Kon asks curiously.

"No one ever said it happened to me," Kara says.

"You kinda implied–"

"No one ever said it happened to me," Kara repeats, narrowing her eyes at him and doing an impressively bad job of acting like she's not blushing.

So it definitely happened to her, yeah.

"Okaaaaay, we'll pretend about that too then," Bernard says. "Well, what are your opinions on window treatments, Conner?"

"That I don't know what they are," Kon says.

"Sounds like he's in his right mind to me," Bernard says.

"He is absolutely not," Kara retorts dubiously.

"I really don't feel weird or anything, I swear," Kon tells her, since he still doesn't get the problem but also doesn't actually want to worry her either. "I don't even feel any different."

"Kon, you are hitting on your best friend and his boyfriend," Kara says. "Together. At once. Simultaneously, one might even say."

"You've met Wonder Girl and Arrowette before, right?" Kon says. "And both the Batgirls? And–"

"Oh my god, Kon," she cuts him off.

"Just saying," he says, then pauses for a moment and frowns consideringly. "Actually, question, how gay is this stuff making me, because while we're on the topic of threeways I kinda always wondered about what Starfire and Nightwing get up to together and if–"

"KON!" Kara yells, covering her ears.

"I'm just asking," he huffs.

"I don't know if it's actually possible to be gay enough to not be into Starfire," Bernard says musingly. "Like I can't imagine how it ever could be."

"Right?" Kon says.

"It's possible to not be into Starfire," Tim says. "Like, theoretically. Asexuals and aromantics both exist, for one."

"Do they?" Kon says doubtfully. "Like in general, sure, but when around specifically Starfire?"

". . . I can't technically prove you wrong due to a lack of reliable evidence but still," Tim says. "The possibility is there. If nothing else the multiverse is a thing."

"Last time I saw her she was wearing half a gold lamé bikini and I am not going to tell you which half or define how loosely I am using the term 'wearing'," Kon says.

"I said it's possible, not probable," Tim says.

"What about you, man, are you the gold lamé type?" Bernard asks with a teasing snicker. "Just while you're gay and all, of course. That's like, practically a cultural thing. Gotta be authentic to the experience, yeah?"

"That is in no way whatsoever a cultural thing, babe," Tim says dubiously.

"Please, like I've never worn freaking lamé," Kon scoffs. "I've worn collars and loincloths and leather and crop tops and enough unnecessary belts to tie up a Bat, lamé is nothing."

"Collars and . . . loincloths?" Bernard repeats, sounding confused.

"Yeah, this one time I crash-landed on a lost isle of beast-men and they kidnapped and enslaved me for a few months," Kon explains, waving a hand distractedly. "Frankly I count myself lucky they even let me have the collar, much less the loincloth."

". . . um," Bernard says.

"You, uh, never mentioned the collar part of that story before, Kon," Tim says, clearing his throat. "You very definitely never mentioned the collar part of that story before."

"Oh yeah, the prince kinda kept me as his pet for a little bit?" Kon tells him with an easy shrug. "Like he and all his buddies ganged up on me and then took me home with them, but I was kinda . . . feral, I guess? Technically? So like, collar and chain setup. But he was cool, he took real good care of me."

"Ngh," Tim says just barely faintly.

"Yeah you should definitely come over," Bernard says. "Tim, get the check. Conner, exactly how super is your super-speed?"

"You can just call me Kon," Kon says. "And . . . mach 3, last I clocked it?"

"Isn't that like two thousand miles per hour?" Bernard asks.

"Two thousand two hundred and twenty-three point three," Kon replies with a pleased smirk. "Faster than a speeding bullet. Or so they tell me."

"We'll just meet you at Tim's, how's that," Bernard says. "That work for you, Kon?"

"That works for me, Bernard," Kon confirms, smirking wider.

"Oh my god, Kon, you cannot possibly be serious right now," Kara says in exasperation, rubbing at her temples. "Just because you're temporarily gay doesn't mean you should do anything about it!"

"I mean, I'm feeling pretty serious?" Kon says, shrugging again. He still doesn't get why she's being so sensitive about this. "It's not like this is the weirdest thing I've ever done in pursuit of a good time. Like, holy hell, lemme tell you about the Ravers sometime."

"You're going to have to look Robin in the eye after this!" Kara says. "And work with him! And be a normal person in his presence! Normally!"

"I'm aware?" Kon says, vaguely bemused by her concern. Like he's never been normal around somebody he's slept with before, geez. "Tell Kal I ran off with the pink K, if he wants to lock it up in the Fortress or wherever I can bring it back tomorrow."

"Maybe Monday," Bernard says.

"Or maybe Monday," Kon amends.

"It's Thursday!" Kara sputters.

"So it's a long weekend," Bernard says.

"I'm not explaining this to Kal," Kara says. "I'm not explaining this to Batman."

"I really don't see why you'd have to," Kon says. "Rob, you cool with the long weekend thing? Not too much of an imposition?"

". . . I got the check," Tim mutters in obvious and absolute mortification.

Kon's gonna take that as a "yes".

"Cool," he says, grinning broadly. "See you soon, Boy Wonder."

He ends the call. Kara drags her hands down her face and continues to stay very far away from him and the pink kryptonite in his pocket.

"When you go back to normal and freak out and make everything weird with Robin and your team and even Robin's literal boyfriend, I'm going to say so many 'I told you so's," she swears vehemently. "So don't say I didn't warn you."

"Your objection is on the record," Kon says, then tosses her a lazy salute with another grin and takes off, kryptonite and all.

Best to just scarper while Clark's distracted, yeah?

Definitely best.

[little-pondhead]

The Folly of Men -

Chapter 3: #228B22

AO3 - MASTERPOST

[GENERAL TW: Swearing, lukewarm violence, lots of POV changes, and mild body horror.]

-

Damian was still being watched. The summer storm had well and passed, but the eyes he felt on the back of his neck were persistent, following him no matter where he went. He drove himself mad, tearing his room and the rest of Wayne Manor apart for bugs, asked Oracle to scan the city while he patrolled, and even pulled in a favor with some magic users to ensure he wasn't being haunted. Nothing! It was concerning his family, but Damian didn't care. He kept himself surrounded by others at all times whenever he left the house. Something was out there, ready for him to be truly alone. He didn't want to give them the opportunity.

The day came when he was assigned to patrol with Orphan since Batman was with the League but was separated due to the Riddler's schemes. They had solved the riddle already, thankfully, but Damian was intercepted while on his way to their meet-up point.

Pru, a former League assassin, caught his attention from one of Gotham's rooftops, and he swung down to meet her.

“Assassin,” was his only greeting. Damian was not a fool. No matter what had happened between Pru and Drake, she was still dangerous. He drew his sword easily and pointed it at her neck, reminding her that he was still a threat as well.

Pru didn’t look too happy to see him either. “Don’t give me that shit, Robin,” she snarled. “I’m just here to pass on a message.”

“I believe you are loyal to my brother, not me,” Robin hissed. “Why should I believe anything that comes out of your mouth?”

“Because it’s important!” Pru looked frustrated. “Eth Alth'eban is on lockdown, and I barely managed to get out. I can’t get in touch with Red Robin; every time I try, something happens and messages are re-routed or destroyed. Lightning strikes on the communication towers in Antarctica, the encrypted server that runs through Bolivia crashed from a fucking hurricane, even the goddamn carrier pigeon got drawn off course from high winds in Brazil! Do you have any idea how erratic the past two weeks have been? It’s like something is out to get me!”

“So why come to me? You’re in Gotham now.” He pointed out.

Pru threw her hands up, exasperated. “Because Nightwing told me Red Robin is out of the country to help with flooding in Qatar! Apparently, there’s a fucking tropical storm hitting it for the first time ever! You’re the one who really needs to hear this, anyway, so I gave up and found you. It seems Gotham won’t let me leave until I say my piece.”

Damian considered the situation. Pru really did look like she’d been through hell and back. She looked furious at something, and her clothes were still damp from rain. Except it hadn’t rained in Gotham for a while. Not since…the summer storm. The back of his neck tingled again, and he glanced around. Clouds were closing in. Fuck.

He sheathed his sword. Pieces from this puzzle were starting to fall into place, but he needed more information. “Say what you must,” he nodded to Pru while tapping his comms to alert Oracle to the conversation. He also activated his emergency tracker, hoping Orphan or Nightwing would find him in time. Their conversation would end quickly once the woman relayed her message, and Damian wasn't about to force Pru to stay because he was nervous about being alone.

“Finally,” Pru sighed and sat heavily on the rooftop, not minding the glass that dug into her hands and thighs. “Your grandfather has a new Heir.”

Damian blinked, pausing. He wasn’t quite expecting that.

“I only knew about this early because they killed my inside man in the medical department. I got a hold of his notes, and it looks like they were in the middle of treating an unknown entity, and the files all referred to it as the ‘Demon's Heir.’ I'm not Red, so I can't be sure, but the records don't start in a way that would suggest they made a test tube baby or another clone."

"And it is not my cousin they are treating? Perhaps grandfather has changed his mind and declared Mara his ideal Heir."

Pru stared at Gotham's roiling clouds, looking frustrated. She didn't seem to notice anything strange about them. "No. Mara al Ghul was in Kuwait until recently. She and the others from the Demon's Fist were doing something on orders from Mother Soul. It's above my pay grade, so I can't tell you much more than that other than they left suddenly without finishing their business. I'll take a guess that Mother Soul will be pissed about that. I do know that the medical records were updated two days ago to reflect a stab wound to the entity's chest. Their name was also updated: Phantom."

Damian considered Pru's words. He turned the clues over in his mind like stones, carefully examining anything that might hint at deceit. She was telling the truth, unfortunately. "So someone named Phantom has claimed the role of Demon's Heir, and my cousin most likely heard this news first and abandoned her post to attack the usurper," he summarized. "And my grandfather has closed off his city for one reason or another, presumably to either train or protect Phantom. Am I correct?"

Pru nodded. "That's pretty much it, birdie. Whatcha gonna do about it?"

He ignored the jab. "I will consider my options," he said stiffly. "Now that you've served your purpose, leave Gotham immediately." Orphan, where are you?

The former assassin laughed and hauled herself to her feet, brushing off the glass and dirt that stuck to her clothes. "I'll consider it. I've been running around for weeks; Red Robin won't mind if I crash at his, will he?"

"He will."

"Tough shit. See you around!" Pru jumped off the rooftop and into the alley below, not giving a shit about potential muggers as she waltzed into the night.

He was alone.

Damian watched her go before tapping his comms again. “Did you hear everything?” He asked Oracle, but no reply came except static. He expected this but cursed anyway. Thunder started to rumble overhead; he felt it deep in his bones. Whispers of electricity started crawling along the rooftop, following wires and coming dangerously close to touching him. He was forced to back into a corner on the rooftop and hoped his rubber-insulated boots were enough to prevent a shock. The feeling from earlier was stronger than ever. Someone was watching him. They knew he was finally alone. Obviously, Orphan nor Nightwing would get there in time, so Damian would have to deal with this himself.

He turned in a circle, straining his eyes to see through the cloud cover. He still couldn’t pinpoint their location, but he knew they were up there. “Reveal yourself!” He barked, hand on his weapon.

A moment passed. The air pressure changed, making his ears pop uncomfortably. His eyes were trained on the sky as rain started to fall. The clouds above the city gathered wildly, swirling together and reaching down toward him. The bolts of electricity that crawled over the rooftop raced together and rose up to meet it, becoming large bolts of lightning that could do real harm to the city if even one got loose. He stepped back into the corner even further, watching the mass of storm clouds finally get low enough to spread out across the building like a thick fog, revealing a figure in the vague shape of a man.

Great. Of course, it was something magical. He'd be having words with the magic users from earlier.

The man wasn’t touching the ground. In fact, Damian could hardly make out his legs as his broad form blurred from the wind, snatching bits of his green body away. Smaller rain clouds encircled his waist like a belt, and his hair looked more like jagged horns sitting against his brow. While he wore a well-loved weather vest and thick gloves, the rain around them would have soaked the man through by now. But he was perfectly dry. Damian was a little envious.

The man was smiling at him, but not the kind of smile that welcomed him into the conversation. No, this man of clouds and lightning was holding himself like someone was forcing him to be there. His red eyes looked like a swirling red cyclone, and his overall air was disinterested and tired.

Damian flinched as the man opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out except drawn-out screeches and clicks. It sounded like thunder was crashing right next to his ear or a tree getting struck by lightning. He didn't like it. The man frowned, realizing Damian couldn't understand him, and cleared his throat to try again.

“Hello, little Robin,” the man eventually tried, this time in Arabic. His voice was…strange. It sounded like he was gasping with every word, and the thundering sound was still there, muted and layered under the greeting. "I'm sorry, I forgot the people of this world are not natural speakers of the Realm's language."

“I am not little,” Damian snarled, likewise in Arabic.

“Of course not,” the man waved his hand. “A ghost’s size does not determine their power. I greet you nonetheless, little Robin.”

Damian had a feeling that speaking with this man was going to be infuriating. “Who are you?” He demanded. “And why are you in Gotham City?”

“You may call me the Navigator,” the man bowed a little, stiff in his back like he wasn’t used to the action. The Navigator, it seemed, was used to being in power. But by bowing to Damian, he showed his reluctant submission right off the bat, hoping to appease him and have a civil conversation. “And I believe you have a hunch as to why I’m here. You noticed me pretty quickly, after all.”

“So you are the one who’s been stalking me.”

“In plainer terms, yes.”

“I presume you’re the one who’s been messing with Pru as well?”

“You would presume correctly,” The Navigator's face scrunched and swirled like he was making a face of disgust. “I would rather have sent my sylphs to do it, but the Scepter insisted I do this part myself.”

More new information. If Damian remembered, sylphs were elemental wind spirits. So the Navigator was either a spirit himself or someone who could control them. But he said ‘ghost’ earlier. How did that fit in? He didn't look like the undead Damian knew of.

And ‘the Scepter’ was said with an inflection that suggested it was a name. Scepters were symbols of royalty, but Damian didn’t know anyone who actually used one or went by that name. It was no title he’d ever heard of. Whoever they were, they had to be more powerful than the Navigator if they had truly sent him after Robin.

“Aye, I can hear your brain working from here, little Robin.” The Navigator rolled his eyes, stretching the tiny cyclones. “You three are so similar that I’ll never find peace.”

“I don’t quite follow. State your business quickly; I’m losing my patience.”

The Navigator waved his hand, summoning a tablet out of nowhere. He tapped on it a few times clumsily, like he wasn't used to holding it, and then tossed it to Damian. The boy caught it easily and examined the thing. It looked like a normal tablet, similar to the ones Drake made and sold. It had a shield logo stamped on the back with Egyptian hieroglyphs engraved around the edge. It was warm to the touch, and Damian felt a little tingle as he turned it over in his hands. This was filled with magic.

The screen was made from something other than normal glass, that much he could tell as he scrolled away, trying his best to absorb the information quickly while keeping an eye on the stranger. It was a contract, he realized. The contract had been written on papyrus and then scanned in digitally. Half of it was written in a language he recognized but couldn't read. The other half contained details on limitations for the Navigator and instructions he was to follow regarding 'ghostlings,' 'The Guardian,' and...Damian Thomas al Ghul-Wayne.

Damian paled beneath the mask. His full name was in this contract. This was about him. The magical being before him knew who he was. He sped through the pages faster, frantically looking for answers.

...And as stated previously, the Navigator, Ancient of Storms, will grant Damian Thomas al Ghul-Wayne his blessing. This blessing will last the entirety of Damian's natural life until death returns him to the Realms. Upon completing the blessing, the Navigator will dispatch one guard to watch over Damian until the Scepter returns* but will not interfere with him personally.

During this period, the Guardian will fulfill the contract between the Gardener, Ancient of Growth, and one Ra's al Ghul. *The Scepter will enter The Guardian's time loop, and therefore, the Navigator may return to the Realms once the time loop is closed again. The runaway ghostlings will be promptly returned to their Lairs and Haunts in the correct dimensions.

As one last note, the Navigator will also refrain from fucking around with The Sword and The Shield unless he wants to find out what they can do. (I'm serious, too. The Shadow is busy, but I'll still find out if you try something, and I will kick your ass with no hesitation. The other two will be more than willing to punt your ass into Soup Time, as well.)

Upon completing this assignment, I release you from your bind, Ancient of Storms. Return to your Lair and rest with your sylphs. Thank you for your service.

Upon signing, all parties agree to abide by this contract until its terms are met. May the End take our souls if it is ever broken.

The Navigator, Ancient of Storms

Jasmine Nightingale, the Guardian's Scepter

At the bottom, under the signatures, Damian spotted a smaller note addressed to him.

Damian al Ghul, I look forward to our first meeting. Don't forget to bring your sword!

"You," he breathed heavily, glancing up at the mass of clouds. "Explain. What on earth is this?"

The Navigator cocked his head a little too far to the left. "I thought it was pretty self-explanatory," he said in a bored tone. "I was essentially sent on a ravenger hunt to find you and some escaped ghostlings. You shall receive my blessing whether I like it or not, and then I'll leave you to return to my Lair. Hopefully, I'll never have to grace these rotten clouds again!"

"It's 'scavenger hunt.'"

"Huh?"

"Never mind. You are useless at explaining. What is this 'Ancient of Storms' title you have? What are these Realms this contract speaks of? Why must you give me a blessing?"

"Ughhh," the Navigator rolled in the air, groaning. "I'm the embodiment of storms, isn't that obvious? I'd rather deal with Plasmius now than talk with a naive ghostling like you. What kind of ghostling speaks like this anyway? It's rude! I've been practicing my manners; the least you can do is humor me. At least Phantom can figure shit out on his own; I don't have to explain anything to him."

"Phantom?" The name caught Damian's attention. "You know Phantom? Who is he? What does he want with my grandfather?"

"Dunno, little Robin. That's between the Scepter and the Gardener. They had a contract in place decades before your grandfather was even born. And since I'm not allowed near Phantom for a while, all I know is that he's been handed over to Ra's al Ghul for a chance at recovery. He was involved in an incident recently. I don't know the details, but he's hurt so badly it's turning the Realms upside down. That's why I was sent away; I thrive off chaos."

"So, again, you are useless," Damian snarled. He turned away, which, in hindsight, was a stupid move, but he was so angry at the lack of answers that he didn't care. He buried himself back into the tablet, scanning through the contract again, looking for anything useful. Everything seemed so organized, yet the information he wanted felt just out of reach.

He vaguely heard the Navigator mutter in surprise. Something about freaky time visions being too accurate before a blinding white hot pain spread across his body. He dropped the tablet, falling to his knees. It felt like lightning was crawling under his skin, burning him from the inside out. He was distantly aware that he was screaming but didn't know how to stop it. Then the pain was gone in the next instant, and he was left collapsed on the roof, eyes screwed shut as shudders racked his body. He smelled burning flesh. A misty touch brushed away his damp bangs, cooling his brow.

"Yup, I'm pretty sure he's still alive," the Navigator murmured. "Well done, little Robin. Perhaps the Scepter knew what she was talking about when she said you could house my power. Either way, I've said my piece. The rest is up to you. Goodbye, and I hope to never see you again. Feel free to pass on those ghost rabies to the Gardener if you ever see him, though."

And with a rumble of thunder, the presence of the spirit disappeared, taking with him the gentle rain and green storm clouds. Damian lay on that roof for what felt like ages, staring into nothing and dazed from the pain. Nightwing eventually found him, however, with Orphan not far behind.

"Baby Bat!" His elder brother cried, sliding to a stop beside him and gathering Damian in his arms. Cass hovered next to them, unsure of what to do.

"Baba," he croaked in return. "The tablet..."

"Don't worry about that," Nightwing pushed his bangs back, just like the Navigator had. "Are you okay? You're shaking; Oracle lost contact with you over an hour ago and you never showed up to the rendezvous spot. What happened?"

Damian tried to tell him. A being made of storms came by, looking for me by name. He wanted to say. He cut off my comms and shared a contract with me. Then he struck me with lightning and left. We need to bring the tablet back to the Cave for analysis.

But his throat was too dry, and Damian's mind was in too much pain to form the words. As he curled up in Nightwing's arms, all he could mumble was the word 'baba' again and drop his head to the side. Nightwing cursed, instructed Orphan to grab the tablet, and swiftly made the trip back to the Cave with a sense of urgency. Damian groaned the whole way. His body was tender, and every jostle sent tiny shocks through his nerves.

He must have passed out at some point because he remembered skirting around Crime Alley one moment and Alfred checking his vitals the next. The butler gave him a gentle look and dabbed his forehead with a cool cloth. "Where's-" he tried to ask.

"Quiet, Master Damian. Master Dick will be here in a moment." Alfred soothed. Damian dropped it and settled back into the medical bed. When had he taken his clothes off? How long was he out?

A few minutes later, his siblings got the message that he'd awoken and stormed the med bay. "Baby Bat!" Cried Dick, sliding into the room and bolting to Damian's side. "Are you okay? Do you remember us?"

"Yes, baba." Damian croaked. Alfred held a glass of water to his lips, and he sipped carefully to soothe the burn in his throat.

"Dickie told me you got one hell of a shock," Jason, the second eldest, stood in the doorway, arms crossed and staring at them. Cass hung from his side, overwhelmed with anxiety. Steph was shuffling an exhausted Duke into one of the other medical beds, simply so the boy could feel included but still get some rest.

"I did," Damian confessed. Dick gripped his hand tightly, helping him sit up better. "I've been feeling a presence stalk me over the past few weeks, and tonight, I was finally confronted when Cain and I were separated." He left out the part with Pru for now but relayed everything the Navigator had told him, including the details he'd seen on the contract.

Everyone stayed silent as he spoke, but Dick looked like he was ready to bite someone by the end of the story.

"I'm calling everyone back to the Cave," he decided. "This is a Code Addams."

Jason shook his head immediately. "I'm all for punching storm cryptids," he said. "But you know this doesn't fall under Bruce's emergency plans."

"He's right, Dick," Steph frowned. She sat on the other side of Damian's bed, playing with his fingers lightly, and he didn't have the energy to move her. "We can put out a warning, but this sounds like League business to me. Most of us won't really be any help when it comes to al Ghul family drama."

"It's not 'drama,' Brown. Grandfather has taken a new, unknown Heir that has connections to several powerful entities if I'm not mistaken."

Steph nodded. "Yeah! Drama! And if that freaky storm demon shows up again, then we're even less equipped to deal with it. B's not even here right now to help, so we're on our own for this one."

"I'll even send Babs a copy of the contract; she'll probably be able to find something we can't." Jason started tapping away at his phone with one hand, updating the BatKids group chat on the situation and unloading the work onto Barbara.

Dick looked devastated. "But-"

"Hey, Dami?" Duke groaned, cutting everyone off. He was tangled in the thin sheets of the bed now, squinting at the youngest Wayne like he was staring at the sun. "I was kind of half-listening, but you said something about the lightning strike being a blessing, right?"

"Correct."

"Okay, um. Are you aware you glow now? Well, glow more than you used to?"

"...I was not aware. What do you see?"

Duke shuffled and threw an arm over his eyes. The lights of the med bay were giving him a migraine, but he refused to leave now. "You used to just look like a lamp. Now, you look like a bolt of lightning," he said. "There's electricity following your nerves. And your eyes are glowing green—just like Jason's when he's mad. Whatever you got hit with, it's definitely doing something to your body. I just don't know what."

Everyone paused at that.

"Well shit," Jason eventually broke the silence, bringing Cass even closer like a teddy bear. "Looks like we should get a hold of Talia and Bruce, at minimum. Demon Brat, you should probably go to Eth Alth'eban if you want answers."

Damian thumped his head against his thin pillow. "Fuck."

"Potty mouth!"

-

Danny was starting to get tired of waking up sore.

At least he recognized the room. It was the same one as before and actually decorated like a patient's room, not an underground bunker with his own blood splattered on the walls. He groaned, trying to shift his body. How much was he missing? His lungs were back, obviously. They felt raw in his chest. His vocal chords were also half-baked, but speaking wasn't really an issue right now.

What mattered was his pounding headache and the fire beneath his skin. He had started to sweat in his sleep, which is something he'd never done ever since he had died. Danny tried to glance down at this chest. (Had someone slipped his bones back into place?) The bandages were professional work but pulled away easily when he tugged on them. He hissed as they caught on fresh scabs and drew tiny amounts of blood.

His torso was a fucking mess. Danny was underground for ages, he knew. The GIW treated him like an immortal lab rat by tearing open his body every day to poke around and take samples. It was a miracle they didn't find his broken core, which was hidden deep behind his heart.

The cuts on his torso were being held together by surgical staples; no doubt any stitches or glue dissolved when in contact with his blood. His skin was flushed, puckered, and oozed green. The stab wound was fresher and looked nastier than what Lunch Lady could cook up. It was probably infected. He most likely would have scars even as a ghost. Frostbite once told him that wounds to the soul were the hardest to heal, and Danny didn't see himself getting over this anytime soon.

He laid his head back, staring at the smooth ceiling. A whine built in his throat. Why did everything have to hurt? He just wanted to go home.

But where was home?

His home was gone.

He had nothing to return to.

His parents pretty much disowned him the moment they sold him to the GIW.

The whine turned into a quiet sob, and he let himself sit there and shake. All he had ever done was try to be a good son to his parents, a good friend to Sam and Tucker, and a good brother to Dani and Jazz. Why did it have to be up to him to save others? Sure, it was kind of fun, but the stress of protecting both humans and ghosts got to Danny fast. The others didn't understand. No one understood. And now they never will because Danny was gone and had no home.

And there was that heavy pain again. His core became impossibly cold, uncomfortable against his human heart. It was pulling at his skin and at his bones. He gasped and cried, balling up the bandages in his fist. Was his chest caving in? His core felt like it was trying to turn him inside out and tear him apart.

Why was no one there to help him? Why wasn't he good enough to be saved? Was it because he couldn't save that little girl? Were his failures finally catching up to him? He'll do better, he promises...

Desiree must have heard his silent pleas. The door to his room opened, and a single man entered. It took a moment to recognize him through his tears, but Danny eventually saw that he was the same man who had soothed him to sleep previously.

"Ra's al Ghul," Danny managed. The man nodded to him, coming closer to stare at Danny while he writhed on the bed.

"You are having another panic attack."

"C-can't-"

"The doctors say you have lungs once more. Use them."

"It hurts-"

"Then let it hurt," Ra's didn't look away from Danny. He was cold but not disgusted. He expected Danny to be strong enough to handle this himself. "You are my Heir now; either embrace the pain or let go of what torments you. Become stronger."

"I can't!" Danny sobbed. His shoulders shook with the effort it took to speak. "They'll come back-"

Ra's firmly said, "They shall not."

"You don't know that! I'll be cut up again!"

"You are not from this world, Phantom. Whatever torments you cannot follow."

The words slowly sunk into his brain. The weight was lifted off his chest for a moment. Another world? He wasn't in his home dimension? The GIW didn't exist here? His parents weren't waiting around the corner with a bone saw and handcuffs?

That was great, but that also meant he truly was alone now.

There was no way for him to find his way back, was there?

The pressure from his core lessened, and his body stopped trying to eat itself. His chest expanded again, allowing him to breathe properly through choked sobs and broken groans. He clenched his teeth, trying to stop the tears. He really was useless.

"You are not useless, Phantom." Ra's had a hard light in his eyes. "As mentioned before, you are an al Ghul now, one of my grandsons, no matter what you were previously. You are very valuable to the League now, and I refuse to let you go."

Danny sniffed. "I can't offer you much," he said. "I remember that Undergrowth promised you power and knowledge, but I'm practically a high school dropout, and I'm so weak I can barely lift my head."

"So you shall regain your strength. I have lived a long time, grandson, and I shall live even longer. Your recovery will be swift when compared to the erosion of time."

"Mr. al Ghul..." Danny said defeatedly. His throat felt thick from all the crying. "I couldn't even keep my town safe. All I'm good for is killing kings and pissing people off. I don't want to bring you that kind of shame."

Ra did not show any signs of his satisfaction with Danny's words, but Danny could taste it in the air. "So you were a warrior, yes?"

"I-uh, sort of? I'm a ghost, and I died two years ago. Ghosts fight for every reason and no reason. I kinda had to learn on my feet or risk getting Ended."

"A warrior who cannot die. A man who has the will to act." Ra's appraised him like a prized cow. "Yes, I shall be able to use you, child. The al Ghul legacy shall never die out if you become the Demon's Head. Phantom al Ghul is a...fitting name, I suppose."

Danny wrinkled his nose. "I don't know what half of that means, but okay. And my name isn't really Phantom; that's just my title and hero name. My real name is Danny."

"Then, Daniel-"

"Danny!"

"Daniel, now that your tears have stopped, let me call for refreshments and fresh bandages. We must discuss the Gardener's contract and your usefulness in great detail."

Danny sighed. He was calmer, but now he had to do an Ancient's magic paperwork? He'd rather let his core swallow him whole.

At least someone needed him again.

-

The group followed Jazz’s decision without a second thought and stepped through the giant portal alongside her. Luckily, it led right to the edge of the In-Between, where Clockwork and a few others resided in their individual spaces. Jazz yelped as she realized there was no solid surface to land on and flipped around in the air uncontrollably. Sam and Tucker had the same fate. All of them kind of bobbed around like ducks in the water before Danielle sighed, gathered them all up with some rope from Tucker’s pack, and hauled them along in the vague direction of Clockwork’s tower.

For a space called Long Now, it didn't take very long to reach the tower, even with Dani hauling along three passengers. Everyone was pretty quiet during the ride, still processing what they had seen in the underground facility. It was a little strange. None of them felt disgust or fear at Danny's actions, but anger and sadness at what he was forced to endure. Not once did they consider abandoning him, even though others might have shied away from his monstrous outburst.

Jazz wondered what Clockwork could possibly say to them that would make the whole thing better. She just wanted to see Danny. She wanted to sit down with him and watch shitty kid's movies while they huddled under that one big quilt her parents had. The one that was gifted to them as a wedding gift and the one they added to when something important happened. She felt horrible thinking about it now.

Jazz would probably never see that quilt again. And if she did, she would probably burn it.

"We're here," Dani quietly announced, untethering the group from her body as they touched Clockwork's island. Long Now was a special place even in the In-Between. The tower's foundations were in varying stages of decay, and much like its owner, the building warped from looking good as new to 'about to fall over' kind of old right before their eyes. Everything felt so fragile.

They entered the lower entrance, climbing a spiral staircase past rows and rows of clocks lining the walls. Everything was ticking out of sync, which usually annoyed Jazz to no end. Right now, she couldn't care less.

Reaching the top had a lack of fanfare. One minute they were passing the biggest fucking grandfather clock they'd ever seen, and the next, they were in Clockwork's main room at the top of the tower, facing the old ghost himself.

Clockwork didn't even look at them. He seemed exhausted.

"We're here," Jazz announced. "Tell us what you know."

"No greetings, Jasmine? I thought you raised Danny to have manners, so where are yours?"

"Locked behind the walls of Fentonworks. Tell us what you know, Clockwork, or I'll break everything here." She snarled. It wasn't an empty threat, and everyone knew it.

"Please, Clockwork," Tucker added. "We saw your message. Where's Danny?"

Dani started crying into Sam's shoulder. "Where's my brother?" The ghost girl sobbed. "I want to see Danny!"

Clockwork sighed. He was aging rapidly, growing wrinkles as they watched. "Daniel is safe, for now. I hid him in another world. However, the flow of time has changed. New paths are being forged. If things continue as they are, Daniel will become something worse than Dan."

Danielle muffled another sob.

"Daniel did something I did not expect while having his rampage in Yellowstone. It will take a delicate hand to make sure his actions do not cause him to go down the wrong path."

"What did he do?"

Clockwork looked them each in the eye. His eyes were glassy and blank, like the face of a new watch, but his sincerity was enough to reach them. "He sealed off the Realms."

Tucker choked. "I'm sorry, he wHAT??"

"Daniel, in his explosion of sudden power, sealed off the Infinite Realms from your home world's influence. Only the power of an Ancient can break that barrier now. The only portal still open is the one located in Fentonworks, protected by the strongest shield your mortal world has to offer. Vortex had to be sent out to collect ghostlings who didn't return in time. By sealing off the Realms, Daniel effectively declared they were under his protection and claimed the title 'Guardian' since only Guardians have the right to seal off worlds."

Jazz's mind was spinning. "He...sealed off our world. Did he do it on purpose?"

Clockwork shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. This was a decision made by Fate alone. He was simply the strongest power source available that was also willing to defend the Realms to his End. The Realms responded in kind and claimed him as Guardian. That is a title and a burden he will share forever."

"Oh, god..." Jazz sat heavily on the floor, reeling from the shock. Dani left Sam's shoulder and crumpled into her lap, still crying. Tucker and Sam also offered each other comfort, leaning on each other as Clockwork's words sunk in. "So, what happens to him? Where is he now? What future do we have to avoid?"

Clockwork waved his staff, summoning a few large clocks with reflective surfaces. The clockfaces glitched and changed to show different pictures of Danny, all doing various things at different stages in his life. One had Danny laughing with a group of strangers. Another had him shaking hands with a green-skinned man. A third was him sitting in a hospital bed, getting stabbed in the chest. They cycled through different pictures and videos, and it was hard to look away.

"This is the future we must avoid." Clockwork motioned to the smallest clock, which showed a furious Danny screaming into the vacuum of space, tears pouring down his face. A large rip into the Realms tore open from his Wail, and the stars surrounding him started to get sucked in.

"If this future comes true, Daniel will destroy not only your home world but the Realms as a whole," The Ancient explained. "Because of his new link to the Realms, no one will be able to take the title of Guardian from him. He will become a destroyer and tear apart every universe and every timeline. Everything will just...End."

"That's horrible," Sam whispered. "What's the tipping point?"

Again, Clockwork looked them deep in their eyes. "Your betrayals."

"WHAT??" Danielle screeched, whipping around.

"You betray him by dying, Danielle. You melt in his arms and ask why he didn't save you. Samantha, you betray him by leaving him. Your home world is never unsealed and you can't stand not being able to see your grandmother again. Tucker, you betray him by lying to him. You say you're on his side but end up stabbing him in the back for a 'good cause.' Jasmine, you betray him by acting just like your parents." Jazz felt tears prick her eyes, but Clockwork kept going. "You see the monster he has become and can't look past it. The four of you betraying him would be his last straw, and Daniel would rather tear apart the universe than be reminded of you four ever again. And so he does."

Sam protested, "We would never!"

"You wouldn't." Clockwork agreed. "But you can, and in some ways, you already have. That is how time works. If you do not want to bring about this end, you must actively fight against this destiny like Daniel has fought against Dan."

Tucker whipped out his PDA, already taking notes. "What's the game plan, then? I would rather eat Dash's underwear than stab Danny in the back. If I have to throw hands with an evil version of myself from the future, I'm willing to do that, too."

Clockwork smiled at them for the first time since their arrival. "That was the right response," he told Tucker. "You're already taking a step away from that future. But for the best ending for everyone, all four of you will need to connect with the Realms as well."

"But we don't have the same power that Danny does."

"No, but your will is just as strong as his. Prove to the Realms that you're willing to fight, protect, and love just as much as Daniel. Become his support. Do it right, follow in his footsteps, and the Realms shall accept you with open arms. You will be bound together as a family for eternity."

The four looked at each other. Jazz gently wiped away the remainder of Dani's tears as they pondered over the ghost's words. Connecting with the Realms would probably mean giving up some amount of their humanity, especially if it truly was a forever thing. They might follow in Danny's footsteps a little too closely-but for their friend and brother? They would do anything.

"Fuck eternity!"

"Tell us what to do."

"We'll always be there for Danny."

"I don't plan on eating any underwear, but I will fight evil me if that's what it takes."

Clockwork shriveled up, folding in on himself several times before unfolding into a child, like a phoenix (but without the fire). He looked less exhausted now, less like the promise of the End was no longer hovering over his shoulder. "Become the Guardian's Shadow, Danielle. Take up his mantle while he is away and keep the peace in his stead. Be the Guardian's Sword, Samantha. Be at the front of each fight and kill when he cannot. The Guardian's Shield will be you, Tucker. Your wish to protect those around you will come true, and you will gain the power to shield them from harm. And Jasmine-"

Jazz held her breath.

"You will have the most difficult job. You will be the Guardian's Scepter. His symbol of power. You will work behind the scenes to stage events that shall work in his favor no matter what."

She released her breath, surprised. "A scepter? Like the symbol of royalty? But wasn't the position of King given to another?"

"In sorts. Daniel helped elect a council to rule the Realms and refused to be a part of it. However, you shall be his Scepter, only wielded in times of need. You will take the dark and harsher jobs that shouldn't be brought to life. You will pull the strings to ensure the timelines stay together, and he never strays from the path."

"How would I do that?"

"You need to become my apprentice."

-

After Jason's statement about coming to see Ra's in person, the whole Batfamily blew up. Words were said in person and over text, and Damian was too exhausted at the time to get a word in edgewise, so let Jason argue for him. Eventually, Bruce had to take a moment away from his League duties and settle the matter over a conference call. After debating, he allowed Damian to return to the League of Assassins, provided Dick went with him. The man was already on a leave of absence from his job to cover for Batman, and he could keep a level head when dealing with the Demon's Head.

So off they went as soon as Alfred gave Damian the all-clear. Strangely enough, he had no side effects from being struck by fucking lightning. Well, almost none. He did feel flush every once in a while, and his veins burned like there was liquid battery acid in them, but other than that, he was fine! No, he didn't need another cold press, Alfred! It was only a few hours by plane; he'd be fine!

And honestly, with the news that Eth Alth’eban was on lockdown, Damian thought it would be harder to enter the city. Undetected, at least. Sadly, they were found out immediately and had a group waiting for them as they touched down. As soon as he stepped off the Batplane onto the private airstrip in Yemen, he was quickly surrounded by the 'welcoming' entourage of assassins. They took his bags, herding him toward a black car as Dick jogged to keep up with them. Damian was glad they didn't do a pat-down in their rush; he'd hidden the tablet under his clothes just for this purpose.

"Hey!" his brother shouted. "How did you guys even know we were here?"

"This is a League matter, Nightwing." The head of the group, a one-eyed man named after the god Balor, whom Damian recognized as part of his grandfather's elite, barely turned to look at Grayson and dismissed him entirely.

“No, this is a family matter,” Dick leaned against the door of the car, preventing Balor from opening it and shoving Damian in. They stared at each other long and hard.

“You are not an al Ghul.”

“Damian was nearly killed by a storm demon and told there was a new Heir who is somehow connected to said storm demon. I’m not leaving him alone.”

Balor considered the options before him, glancing at Damian. His one good eye assessed him. The boy simply raised a brow. “I’d prefer it if my baba came with us.”

The assassin’s face twitched, which was the equivalent of a snort of disgust, but gave in to Dick’s demands and herded them both into the car. Two more assassins slid in on either side of them while Balor took the passenger seat. The driver barely glanced at the airport security as they drove the vehicle off the tarmac and into the middle of the desert.

The drive felt long. Damian held a stoic face whenever Balor looked at him and refused to engage in any conversation with Dick. Even when the AC was turned off, everyone started sweating, and his brother was threatening to sing show tunes until they turned it back on.

He ended up singing, of course. Damian just zoned out as his brother started warbling through the entire soundtrack of Hairspray. Truly, the man had questionable taste. For their credit, the assassins made it through the entire performance of Hairspray and halfway through High School Musical before the driver slowly leaned over, never taking their eyes off the desert landscape, and flicked the AC back on to blast. They lasted longer than Bruce would have.

Dick still finished the High School Musical soundtrack despite getting what he wanted. No one ever said he did things half-assed.

Finally, Damian spotted the maze of canyons that housed the Assassin City, Eth Alth’eban. Damian wasn’t sure if his elder brother had ever been there before, but the tight hold he had on his hand suggested that Dick either had very complicated memories of the place or was anxious about being in enemy territory. He wasn’t really interested in asking.

As they approached, the main gate was large and imposing. The sun was high in the sky now and beat down on them to reflect all the minute details that had been carved into the gates. They were gorgeous pieces of work, ones that Ra’s was no doubt very proud of. Guards were there to welcome them, examining the vehicle from top to bottom to ensure nothing strange was being brought in from the outside world. Damian glared at his brother when the man leaned forward to take the attention off of him and the hidden tablet, loudly asking the outside guards when they could go in yet.

One of them narrowed their eyes at Dick. “An extra?” They hissed in Arabic. “This was not approved by the Demon’s Head.”

Balor jerked a thumb at Damian. “His choice,” he responded simply. “The Bats are never alone. The Head is aware of this." Since when? They never called ahead. Damian felt the burn of lighting in his veins again. He caught Balor's eye in the rearview mirror and realized that the man's eye color was much lighter than it was supposed to be. It was shifting between gray and blue, like a cloud, and stared at him with unusual intensity.

Fuck. Of course, the secret guard that was mentioned in the contract. It must have gone into effect when the Navigator returned to wherever he came from. How did he know they would end up in the Eth Alth'eban?

Whatever was said next, Damian missed, but eventually, the gates opened, and the car was let through. Dick was quiet once more, staring at the lush city, probably trying to figure out how to do a backflip off the tall buildings. They headed straight for the palace that was past the training grounds. Most people were taking a noon daybreak, so the grounds were empty when the car pulled up next to the designated drop-off point.

Balor motioned for the group to leave the car, and the two assassins tugged on Dick’s arm painfully, practically dragging him along and not allowing any room for him to wander off. Damian wasn’t touched, but he was no less shuffled in the same direction. They went up the steps, through hallways lined with servants and fountains, following a path Damian recognized easily. They were headed to the medical wing.

His mind raced. Was he ready to meet this ‘Phantom’ fellow? Would he insist on fighting to the death to prove his worth? Had his mother gotten his message and made it here before him? So many questions ran through his head, yet this was not the time to ask them. Damian bit his tongue and instead played the part of the perfect al Ghul. Silent, deadly, and proud.

Balor was leading the way. He studied the older man's back carefully, looking for any other inconsistencies in his behavior. There were none, except for a single cloud symbol stamped into his neck that shimmered the same color as Vortex. Did this mean he was possessed? Was he another one of the Navigator's blessed? Did Damian also have the same symbol? No one else seemed to notice the mark, so Damian put it in the back of his mind. He'd have Dick check his neck later, just in case.

They'd reached the end of the medical wing now, where Damian knew the rooms were sealed off for quarantined patients.

Indeed, a pair of guards stood in front of the extra set of doors. Balor nodded to the guards and pushed through without stopping. The quarantined corridor was short, with only six rooms, three on each side. Five were marked with a little green flag by the door, indicating their vacancy. The sixth, the farthest on the left, had a little red flag displayed. Damian pushed his way to the front of the group and beelined for the door. This was it. Soon, he'd have some answers.

His grandfather opened the door before he could knock. The al Ghuls looked at each other, noting how much had changed since they had last seen each other. His grandfather looked…well. He was healthy, and there were no visible injuries. His clothes were immaculate but simpler than his usual ornate robes. It felt like Ra's was dressed for a close social visit, not for taking over the world and planning murder.

"Damian," His grandfather was as short as ever, however. "You are late."

"Good to see you too, old man," Dick snarked. Ra's ignored him, waving a hand to Balor, who promptly shut the door again before Dick could walk through after Damian. The two were to wait in the hallway, apparently.

Damian moved further past his grandfather, forgoing the greeting. His eyes were glued to the hospital bed. Draped in rich blankets and wrapped in soft cotton bandages, a boy around his age was sitting up and staring at him with green eyes similar to his own. He was holding a glass of Lazarus water, raised to his lips like he was about to drink it. Honestly, if it wasn't for his incredibly pale skin and wispy white hair, the boy could have been his-

"Holy shit, we look exactly the same!" The boy lowered the glass, staring at Damian in wonder. His voice was double-layered, like the Navigator's, and it grated on Damian's mind with the sounds of screaming and creaking ice. "Are you Mr. al Ghul's other grandson? This is so freaky!"

Ah, so this was Phantom.

-

[electronicdelusionstarlight]

You know, I was just thinking about the UA entrance exam.

Specifically, how terribly designed it is, but not for the reason they seem to give in the story itself.

Like, here's how it is: Aizawa is shown criticising the UA Entrance Exam once, during the Sports Festival. And the ONE criticism he makes, is that the use of Robot enemies during the exam would disproportionately affect people whose Quirk work against biological opponents, essentially.

His one criticism, is that the exam is not designed to also cater to people like him, and that's it. The way therefore it's set up, it'd be logical to assume he'd ask for a restructuring to the exam to remove the Robots and substitute them with live enemies, possibly Ectoplasm clones.

This is never brought up again, aside from maybe a stealth bring up during the mid term exams when they switch the exam from fighting robots to fighting teachers.

The exam is, and I just got to it myself while watching this video about how Copaganda paints police training and the relative risk police officers face on the job, set up in a very specific environment:

An empty town, where what is essentially a murder spree is taking place. The ONLY entities in the place, outside of fellow examinee, are robots that have been literally designed to attack everyone on sight, and that need to be destroyed to pass. The points granted from saving people are hidden, so they can be more "genuine" of course, and are, ultimately, also part of the problem.

Because here's the fucking thing.

When the fuck is that ever going to happen.

When the fuck, is a superhero, after their 5 years of Hero training in high school, then entering the work force without a need for a decree in higher education, ever going to find themselves in an environment where they can use LETHAL FORCE on civilian targets? With no restraint or care for collateral damage?

And where they are ENCOURAGED to kill as many criminals as they can, and NOT collaborate with other heroes? Because that's another thing, you need to steal points from other people to pass, by culling the number of limited robots, much like heroes are paid by the arrest and by popularity.

You do understand how fucked up that starts to sound right? The other, the enemy, is reduced as a caricature Droid from star wars, there only to kill and destroy, and against whom your only TWO methods of defeat are outright destruction or sneak attacks on their off buttons.

And here's the cherry on the shit too, because, AGAIN, when is that EVER going to be the case?

Do you know how many heroes show up in the first villain attack in BNHA?

Five.

Two are engaging a purse snatcher, three are doing crowd control, the Slime Villain, who may I remind you was guilty of robbery at a convenience store before he got the hostage, gets THE NUMBER ONE HERO, as well as those same FIVE heroes involved, of which only BACKDRAFT is actually doing anything.

Now, imagine you are a hero school, and you produce 40 heroes a year, just like every other hero school out there. How many of those heroes will see active duty, if the rate of crimes demand FIVE heroes to react to ONE criminal?

And people will say "but EDS, this mentality is later rewarded when All Might retires and it all falls to shit," Except NOT REALLY, because that's an externally forced situation caused by, and I can't stress this enough, a hundreds of yeas old NEET boomer who read too many Doctor Doom comics as a kid and decided to become a supervillain, the riots, the open air warfare, is only caused by AFO forcing the hand and inciting popular unrest, which is an unrealistic thing to expect off any society.

In one of the movies, Class 1-A is sent to open an hero agency on a small island with barely a village on it. 20 Heroes. Until the movie truly picks up, the best they do is help kittens from trees, and Bakugou, the sort of person for whom the Entrance Exam was designed, is useless, left in his tent like Achilles, the perfect cowboy cop who peeked in highschool and didn't realize just how much paperwork and dead time his dream job actually entailed.

So that's the ACTUAL Issue with the entrance exam. It take no account for any other mean to beat the robots but brute force, it takes no account for collateral damage, or the sanctity of life of your opponents, and it tests nothing but how good at ending lives you are.

Which is a problem when you're picking future heroes.

[velvetvexations]

i refuse to watch the clone high revival.

IT AIN'T GOOD

This is my full review I posted in a server back when it aired:

The cast changes are one of the biggest issues. It completely throws the whole dynamic off because they lost Ghandi, who, admittedly, was inconsequential in terms of long term character relationships even if he was like half the show, but they add THREE new people who are all supposed to be way more relevant to the serialized story. Two fall very flat and one is okay but still misplaced. Let's talk about that. Confucius, at first, seems like the obvious 1:1 replacement for Gandhi because he's a cheery dude who partakes in silly antics. He's not a full Gandhi clone [copy] because unlike Gandhi, who had a habit of just assuming he was cool and proceeded to act like it, Confucious is, like, trying to get popular on Tikstagram, I guess? That honestly didn't really come up a lot, he just sort of drifts around being there whenever they need a guy who's not JFK or Abe. Then near the end he ends up in a relationship with Harriet Tubman, which is like, okay, because she's the only character even more generic than he is. Seriously, there is NOTHING about Harriet, absolutely nothing, I can say about her personality beyond "once was briefly concerned about turning into a wine mom". Her design being completely unrecognizable as a historical figure really plagues her whole character, like I truly in my heart of hearts believe that if you read the scripts they would all say "TBD Woman of Color".

Which brings us to the sidelining of Cleo. In the first season, Cleo was a major character and focus of several episodes. She was the person JFK was dating, that Abe wanted to date, and that Joan was rivals with. The entire show revolved around that relationship chain. So it's super fucking weird that Cleo goes several episodes into the second season before she gets more than a handful of lines. Here's why I think that is: Obviously, the second season had to be finished or very nearly finished by the time the Cleopatra [Queen Cleopatra (2023)] stuff blew up recently, but I think even before that we've hit a point where people are a lot more aware that Cleopatra was not Egyptian Egyptian and that her portrayal as such in the first season would get a little more side-eyed. This is even more true considering the mandated loss of Gandhi, as she and him were the only non-white leads. Adding two or three more PoC characters made sense! But being so awkward with the handling of Cleo, who did at least manage to wiggle back into the main plot a little, was still weird, and it sucks that two of the three added PoC characters were so badly handled. So which one worked? Frida Kahlo was pretty cool. I don't know nearly enough about the IRL person, but I can at least define her character on the show as the hyper-chill laid back girl and she had several funny jokes, and based on the little I do know of who she is, they referenced her being an artist several times as well as her distinctive physical appearance. Also, apparently her bisexuality, because Frida ends up with Cleo. And, you know, that's fine, but fucking Cleo? Can I please get an episode or three or six or an entire season just about Cleo realizing she's gay, because fucking what? It comes out (ha) that Frida likes Cleo and from there it's like, cool, she just has to have the courage to tell her, but that makes no sense. Even in this season Cleo has multiple jokes about being The Girl Who Is Hyper-Competitive And Puts Down Other Girls, like from top to bottom the stereotypical cheerleader of 2003, because, hey, the whole premise is that the clones were frozen in 2003 and were just unfrozen! can I get anything dealing with that beyond Abe almost saying the r-word in the first episode? *The old clones are from 2003, the new characters were raised since then and that generation gap is actually interesting when properly explored which it barely fucking is.

Okay. Moving on. There's another new character, Christopher Columbus's clone who goes by Topher Bus because he doesn't want to be attacked for it, and that's the first of several funny jokes we get from him that make him way more likable than the show wants him to be. He's given the early flaw that he's a dick online, but not even in a racist way or anything like that? In fact, he's generally shown to be pretty woke, and the main cast casually shove him out of the way when he tries to get involved with things! If they wanted to depict someone who like, pretends to be woke but really is an asshole or something, they do a terrible job of it and have him come off more like someone who's trying but keeps getting kicked for literally zero reasons. "Oh, but he's mean online!" Yeah, to JFK, who was an asshole like literally last week from the perspectives of the older clones. I don't mind JFK getting hit with the likability stick, but like with Cleo being into women it comes out of nowhere aside from the Abe Says a Slur joke where that contrasts JFK being told he's so sex positive for a lame cringe reference to wanting to fuck and you're clearly meant to think "ah, the roles have been reversed, now JFK is just a confidant bro while Abe is in danger of being an angry loser incel", but it just! Needs! More! Development than that! One interesting part of that dynamic flip is that now instead of Joan secretly pining for Abe while Abe openly pines for Cleo, Abe is secretly pining for Joan while she continues to date JFK as in the first season's finale. It gets kind of lost in the politics of the gender swap, though. Like, Abe is now in that incel space, and he tries to manipulate Joan and then feels real bad about it and stops, but taking the way that's framed with other things that happen this season it's like, oh, it's bad for a guy to manipulate a girl like this, even though Joan did that exact kinna thing back in season one and it was more just "lol wacky hi-jinx!". I'm not trying to be all Misandry Double Standard here, but it's one more reason why it would always be really hard to modernize this show in the first place. Another thing about Abe along similar lines is the musical episode, where a big deal is made of Abe having White Guy Confidence, and that is fucking astounding to me. Like, what? Abe is a constantly anxious loser who is fully aware of that fact, I get that White Guy Confidence is a thing but why the hell is Abe getting tagged with it and not JFK, who absolutely has always suffered White Guy Confidence? Beyond the fact that JFK is now a cinnamon roll out of thin air and Abe's new arc is about avoiding the MRA trap?

In that same subplot you had Sacagawea, George Washington Carver, and Kublai Khan fighting to be exceptional enough to shine despite Abe's white mediocracy, and again like with the primary additions nothing is ever done with either who they were or who they are now. They are literally just there because Non-White, which I want to stress I'm not railing against as a concept, but their lines could be given to literally anyone. GWC was actually in the first season, I'm not sure about the others, and there were some Goddamn peanut jokes! Maybe boiling him down to peanuts is an unconsciously racist meme, as is boiling down all of Black science to "the peanut guy", but if the new series is above that then maybe use fucking someone else you are comfortable reflecting in a humorous cartoon fashion that people will understand? It's not necessarily a race thing, like "oh they were overly cautious with the PoC characters". I can think of one joke offhand - not that it was the only one, just the only one I can think of - where the minor characters had a reference to their historical selves, and that was technically delivered by JFK. Between that and how generic Confucius and Harriet are, I feel like the whole idea, the first word in the title, just completely went out the window. In the first season, beyond spear-carrying "some bit character in this large crowd needs to provide a reaction to something", you'd never have an extended scene where a minor character wasn't making a historical reference. It might seem logical to allow them to be more than that, but think about it: these are, after all, minor characters. With the main cast, not every line has to be Nothing Bad Ever Happens to the Kennedys, but it's like when The Flintstones has everyone go to New Rock City to see The Rockles play a 60s pop song. It's like, what in God's name is the point then?

A few days later:

Okay. I think I've mediated on it enough. I can now give my opinion on a reworked season two. Here's what I would have done, assuming only that the mandate Gandhi be absent is absolute: The group dynamic more or less starts the same, with Joan dating JFK and Abe pining for her, it's a great reversed setup. Abe starts to drift in an incel direction, but Topher is there to provide the "don't get this bad" warning that keeps him on the straight and narrow. Joan and JFK quickly realize they aren't working out, and Joan figures maybe she wants to try lesbianism, because she just seems so much like she would be a WLW. She starts to go out with Frida while JFK teams up with Abe and basically acts as the new Gandhi in terms of silly comic relief who's often hanging out with the protagonist. They support each other in Abe getting with Joan and JFK getting back with Cleo, who's started going out with Topher partly because she's desperate for a boyfriend she actually enjoys being with and partly because she really hates having lost both Abe and JFK to Joan, but Topher is actually also in love with Joan, which puts him at odds with both Abe and JFK. Eventually Joan realizes she isn't gay but Cleo realizes she is and Cleo and Frida get together, which is extra emotionally satisfying because Joan lost someone to her this time. The wacky misadventures of Principle Scudworth and Butlertron are basically the same as they are in season two as it exists, the addition of Candide Sampson wasn't bad at all and overall those b-plots were pretty good with the exception of the really terrible Butlertron origin episode, but the end result in the season finale is all the clones being frozen again just as Joan is about to pick between JFK and Abe. Confucious and Harriet Tubman are not present.

At the time I did not propose further characters of color to replace either Confucious and Harriet and would have to think on it a lot to figure something out. Probably people other than me would be better at selecting good fits that are recognizable to an American audience. I also didn't solve the issue of Cleopatra not being Egyptian, but maybe they find out she's actually the clone of a less well-known Egyptian woman who started claiming to be Cleopatra for the clout? That's certainly something Cleo would do.

[david-talks-sw]

Hi! I’m a big fan of your SW takes (particularly ones addressing the criticism towards Jedi) lol

I was wondering what you thought of the Deception arc in TCW? Personally with most of the Jedi’s decisions during TCW i feel like they’re making the best choices they can, but with this arc it seems almost uncharacteristically cruel. Even if Anakin had not been attached to Obi-Wan (which the council surely knew he was?), his death would’ve been very painful to Anakin. Doesn’t that kind of go against Jedi compassion and the kindness we consistently see?

Again I’d love your take on this, but either way I’ll continue to enjoy your blog in the future!

Hey @soopisoop! Thank you very much for the kind words 🙌! I'm glad to hear you enjoy the posts!

So I lightly touched on the "Obi-Wan undercover" arc in this older, more general post about Anakin's relationship with the Jedi Council, but, hey, let's zoom in!

Not telling Anakin... was wrong. Plain and simple.

Yoda says so himself.

But the train of thought was:

"The chancellor - leader of the free world - is gonna die if we don't do this, so the stakes are high. We gotta send Obi-Wan deep undercover behind enemy lines, but Anakin is very close to him and known for being volatile, so there's a 50/50 chance he'll go AWOL and fuck the mission up and those are unacceptable odds."

It's not an excuse, but a justification.

And, in a slightly different context, Anakin seems to use this justification too.

Hell, if anything, Anakin thinks the Jedi should employ even harsher methods in the war and that their values are holding them back.

It's just that, in this case, it hit closer to home.

There's a "hypocrisy" argument to be made, but honestly... that's the Clone War in a nutshell for you!

The Jedi repeatedly told the Senate and the Chancellor "please don't ask us to fight, we're not made for this, we're diplomats, we act on compassion not violence”...

... because they knew that's what the war would force them to do: compromise on their values, tarnish every principle that defines them and that they hold dear, turn them into hypocrites.

Yes, the Jedi are compassionate, but they're also at war, and they're forced to pick between two shitty choices on the daily.

And the deciding factor, EVERY time, is not "which option is the better/more compassionate one" but "which option does less damage?"

Lying to Anakin is just one of these hard "no other choice" choices.

And EVERY time they see an opportunity to step back from the fighting and let diplomacy start again, guess what Palpatine says?

"Fuck you, go back to the front."

And when you listen to Dave Filoni's commentary on this arc, it turns out that this whole plan by Dooku and Morallo Eval was actually engineered by Palpatine to:

1) Distance him even further from the Jedi so Palpatine can swoop in and manipulate him more and more.

2) Set the board for another Anakin vs Dooku confrontation, to gauge how much more powerful Anakin has become.

"Y’know, ultimately, what we realize is that the whole thing is a fake-out on the Jedi. That Dooku is conspiring with Sidious to set-up this whole bounty hunter plot to make the Jedi believe that they have once again saved the day, and it’s all an effort to get Anakin isolated. So what I really liked about this story that, y’know— as George handed it out, was: we tell the story that’s really about Anakin and Palpatine trying to tempt him to the Dark Side… and we tell it more from Obi-Wan’s point of view. And you see this whole other tale that’s going on, and we check in with Palpatine and Anakin every now and then, until finally, it’s really about them and their struggle. And we see that this is a point that Anakin really wasn’t ready to become the Sith apprentice. He wasn’t strong enough, I think there’s a possibility that Dooku would’ve killed him here." - Dave Filoni, The Clone Wars: “Obi-Wan undercover” video commentary, 2012

So, again, like... sure. The Jedi made a mistake.

But ultimately, had Palpatine not hatched this particular plan, hell, had he not engineered a whole war designed to corrupt the Jedi's morals... that mistake would never have been made in the first place.

To use an analogy:

If a dude tries to make his way in a pitch black room (the Jedi playing catch-up to Sidious' plans) and steps on a Lego brick (their mistakes)... you don't blame him for it, you blame the guy who turned the light off and emptied the Lego box on the floor in the first place (Sidious).

[new-revenant]

DP/DC Week Day one - Lazarus Pit/Worst Case Scenarios Only

I have a feeling that the ficlet thing I wrote below the cut could qualify as a “worst case scenario.” Basically, the Pits are meant to heal people right? And in some cases, it can even bring the dead back to life. That’s only half of the premise for the ficlet :)

Danny was on the run. No one would look for him in Gotham, right? He wouldn’t stay long, just long enough to come up with a plan.

He couldn’t stay out on the streets, and anything seemingly abandoned, like a warehouse, would surely have a villain creeping inside there.

He sensed something…strange. He went to source, it was definitely underground, and went down from there.

The cave was vast, the ceiling high, with gadgets and objects all indicating that this was a superhero’s base. Batman’s base.

But no one was in it at the moment, and Danny was dying to know more about he sensed was. Good thing that he was invisible-and being a literal phantom sure helped.

He found a pit filled with an odd liquid. Green like ectoplasm, swirling in unnatural ways.

No one could blame him for being curious, certainly not. And yet, maybe they could blame him for choosing to lay down in the solution.

He didn’t know why he laid there in green pit. It looked so much like ectoplasm, and yet it flowed like water over his hands, crashing into him like a gentle wave.

It wasn’t ectoplasm. It didn’t burn him or give him energy, or stick to him at all.

But he was tired. So very tired.

He closed his eyes, just for a moment as he sank just a bit.

He opened his eyes.

He looked as what he did the moment he died, black and white suit turned to white and black. His skin was pale, his hair was black.

He gasped and crawled out. Looking at himself, in a form he almost didn’t recognize.

He was human again. And no matter how hard he’d tried, he couldn’t turn back.

He was fully human.

But, he didn’t feel the same as before he got his powers. No, something was still off, still ghostly about him.

Danny could definitely see a streak of white in his hair.

He heard the click of a gun. Looking up, he saw the barrel of it pointed right at him. The one and only Red Hood was the one holding it.

“Who the hell are you?” Red Hood questioned, his voice menacing and low.

In all his stupor, Danny did one of the dumbest things he could. Deflect. Now, the reason why this was dumb is because he couldn’t think straight and he’s a terrible lair, making whatever he says sounds like an obvious lie. Even if he isn’t lying.

“I’m definitely not a clone?” Danny breathily mumbled, sounding far too unsure.

A pause.

“No fucking way,” Red Hood shook his head in disbelief. He lowered his gun and holstered it. Then, he took of his helmet. A domino mask was still on his face, but Danny had a gut feeling that his eyes were blue.

Danny couldn’t believe his doppelgänger was the Red Hood. Worse yet, he also had a white streak in his hair.

Worse still, is that the Red Hood thinks that Danny is his clone.

And all Danny wanted was to run from the GIW.

[nostalgia-tblr]

Okay actually I do have a proper thought on the "sylki is incest" wank. which is that the "anti" take seems to be that Loki/Sylvie is obviously, glaringly, an incestuous pairing but its shippers deliberately ignore that because they like the pairing otherwise (yet also the accusation involves them liking the incest element... honestly it's a bit of a muddle, but let's move on). But. Well, here's the thing that is obvious, at least to me...

Go to AO3 and have a look to find the most popular (in terms of number of works) Loki pairing in the Marvel Cinematic Universe fandom as a whole. Actually, i'll save you the effort:

(These numbers are slightly out-of-date but the ratios remain accurate. I checked.)

Now, that. That is an incest pairing, isn't it? There is some fic which specifies an AU of some sort in which Thor and Loki are not related to each other but most of it is about brothers who are also lovers.

"But they're not really related," you say? Sorry, but in the important ways, they are. Every one of those films, and the Loki series, frames them as siblings-with-issues, and yes one of those issues is whether or not they agree that they are siblings, but I'd say the MCU comes down pretty firmly on the side of "they totally are."

And the point I'm making here is that the actual incest pairing is treated as such by its fans. If you don't feel up to reading any thorki fic I'll save you again and say that it overall leans into the "forbidden love" angle, and the shame and internal conflict of an incestuous attraction or relationship. So shippers of a given pairing do indeed know what incest is and they rarely try to avoid that aspect of such pairings.

Whereas. If you read the Loki/Sylvie stuff, that whole "thorki vibe" is entirely absent. Fans vary on variants, in terms of in what ways these two are or are not "the same person" but they agree on one thing: fucking some other version of yourself is not incest. This is pretty much a unanimous belief, and here I'll mention something else I think is relevant: there are a few sylki twincest AUs (many of which seem to have been written out of spite - LOL, fandom!) and in all of those the AU also features another crucial change - they are not both Loki variants in those fics.

Yeah, that's right! To make Loki and Sylvie siblings you have to remove the selfcest element entirely. Because - this may shock some of you, so sit down before you read this next part - you are not your own sibling. Even identical twins are obviously different people. A clone of yourself might get us into more philosophical territory but that's not what multiversal variants are either. Allow me to illustrate with another informative image:

You get me? Yeah, you get me.

So, to meander towards an actual conclusion here. The MCU!Loki fandom does not, in general, refuse to accept that romantic/sexual pairings that would be incestuous actually are incestuous. In fact if anything it embraces that element of such pairings. It is usually seen as the defining feature of them. If they think siblings are fucking then they will write about those siblings fucking, and they will not be shy about it!

And aside from that mentioned handful of AU fics, sylki is not written as incest. Because it just isn't incest. Look, if you personally see Loki and Sylvie as siblings to the point where the pairing squicks you out, then fair enough there's not much either of us can do about that. Do your best to avoid that content and don't be a wanker about it and I wish you well in your endeavours. But that isn't what most of the complaints stem from, is it? As usual in recent years fans who didn't like a pairing (which, btw, is allowed) wanted to have the moral high ground and some bright spark hit upon "this pairing is INCEST" via some slightly odd logic and it spread from there. Because we can't just not like something, can we? (Actually, that's also allowed!) No, we have to be better than those fans over there, who are all terrible people in some way. They are problematic.

And this is a lot of words for me to essentially say "no, the sylki fic and the thorki fic have very different vibes actually" but... well, they do. The sylki shippers are not denying the incest, because there is no incest there, and even if we for a moment pretend that "siblings" is a reasonable and indeed expected interpretation of the variants concept, it is clear from their content that the people who ship Loki/Sylvie do not see them that way. And that has nothing to do with DNA or otherwise, which I can prove with this very quick question: in one word (or less, if you can), what is the relationship between Loki and Thor?

You said "brothers" or "siblings," didn't you? No, you did. I know for a fact that you did, don't play coy with me on this. We all understand that these two characters who definitely share no DNA are, in every way that matters, brothers. This is not a difficult concept, it's not somehow confusing large numbers of fans either way.

tl;dr - Sylki isn't incest but if it was we'd all know that because the fans of it would not be constantly denying what would, almost certainly, be the main appeal of that pairing for them if that was the case. You can deny that all you want but 11,731 thorki fics (as of 10th December 2023) back me up on this one.

So there.

[rabid-bat]

tell me all of your thoughts about clone high

SAY LESS‼️‼️‼️‼️

Okay so obviously I can't put them ALL here but here are some of my headcanons bc I'm mentally ill to all hell

• Confucius and Harriet "work out" together ((Harriet pushes weights and Confucius takes selfies with her hyping her up))

• Topher is chronically online ((everyone already knows that)) BUT I am against the opinion he uses 4Chan. Topher is such a fucking hardcore Redditor and he browses and shows people shit like r/eyeblech and he was definitely using LiveLeak before it got shut down

• IVAN ON THE OTHER HAND- I know he uses 4Chan. He doesn't start shit like Topher but he definitely gets involved in arguments ((he's argued with Topher unknowingly so many fucking times)) if he feels like it.

• Topher vapes in the school bathrooms and will freak out like a caged animal if he hears jingling keys or anything

• Ivan smokes ((nic and also weed probably)) because he thinks vaping is stupid and I know my poor pookie bear's jacket REEKS of cigarettes

• Confucius vapes but only the fruity flavors and he's offered JFK to take a hit off of his pen and it's always some stupid sweet flavor like crush grape, fruity chewz, or les raisins

• Frida has the keys to Harriet's house and it's basically her second home

• Van Gogh started using a lot more vibrant colors after he met Frida in art class and they had to do that assignment where you draw part of something then swap it until the picture is completed

• Harriet listens to Mitski

• Topher is one of Confucius' few followers and it's because they were little weird guys together back in middle school when they were like 12/13

• Ivan is in engineering

• Harriet's hair is naturally pink and was caused by some sort of defect that was on the strand of DNA they used for her

I have more but they mostly involve my Clone High OC's I made like 4 years ago💔

[junior-high-rui-official]

[ooc post]

wahoooo intro post time

edit: I DO NOT GET NOTIFS FOR ASKS OR MENTIONS!! if you send or answer an ask to/from this blog, please LIKE one of the posts so I get a notif and am prompted to check this blog because I have too many.

(important post [8/7/24])

i saw people making rp blogs + didn't want to be a total clone + like angst. so this happened.

im @2-kakimiko-1 i run @junior-high-ena-official @riho-hasegawa-official and @jail-x-break-official too

the mod is autistic and a minor and uses he/it and a handful of neopronouns listed here :3 you don't need to overuse tone tags or anything but I struggle to tell tone sometimes so I'd appreciate it if you used them !! my timezone is est if it matters

i'd prefer if you used he/it/they for the character! Ngl I used to say no shippy interaction but I genuinely do not remember why I felt that way so. its allowed now yippee

for all intents and purposes this blog is set around the end of Rui's 3rd year of junior high/the summer of his 3rd year of junior high. :3

ummm headcanon time because I'll be playing by those. he's pan, aceflux, transmasc and he just figured that out, and autistic and bpd. he knows the former not the latter. bad at taking care of himself but that's a given. yeah 👍

this blog has and will continue to cover heavy topics, mostly bullying and occasionally sh and sui related things. they will all be tagged and if I forget please tell me! you are also always welcome to ask me to tag anything, I'll tag common triggers if I remember but if theres something I miss or something you need tagged again T E L L M E P L E A S E

ummm dni. basic dni criteria racist MAP or w/e homophobic transphobic ableist etc um I think that's it tbh uhh dni if youre weird (/neg) about rui and think hes a violent cannibal yandere whatever the hell. since I did mention he has bpd I think this needs to be picked out even though it falls under ableism get the actual fuck off my blog if you can't be normal about cluster b disorders.

uhhh be nice to rui hes sensitive be nice to the mod i am also sensitive/hj

edit: my rp style!! I feel like I should clarify it!!

ooc is the double slash! → // like this

unformatted text indicates speech! → like this

italics indicate actions! → like this

italics with brackets indicate internal thoughts! → [like this]

tags:

#ooc post - ooc post

#rooftop whispers - everything in-character

#rooftop mewls - funny other in-character tag for when he gets turned into a cat by anons. this will likely become a regular occurrence.

#tw ____ - trigger tags

picrew used for cat icon

--

arc tags and respective warnings:

#kamishiro family angst - series of events catalysed by several rui clones experiencing negative things at once, mrs kamishiro collapsing under the stress of taking care of that all, and as one thing leads to another, other kamishiro family members end up injured and hospitalized. warnings for: hospital related things, overworking, fainting, car accidents, mentions of brainwashing and torture (on exthief rui), descriptions of injury ranging from minor to more graphic to gory.

[oblivionbladetd]

The Unfortunate implications in Pokemadhouse: The fuck even is Bonnie?

No, Lily, the pwecious babu will not be spared. Before I get ahead of myself, let me describe in literal terms what Bonnie literally is, a somehow perfect mixed clone of G and Lily... fuckin aight. I'll just ignore that by all rights that kid should have popped out saying "M-Moth-er Lil-lee..." because that is me being petty, and believe me barely scratches the surface of how bad it actually gets. As always, more under the cut.

So, elephant in the room, Lily never did consent to having Bonnie until after the machine doors opened. We going to talk about that? No? Okay... It is just fact that G bypassed Lily's personal autonomy to make a life altering choice for her for the second time now. Layer on that Lily was sad about giving away a baby Ralts and it all becomes extremely reckless and short sighted because rather than giving her a week to cool off, she hands her an actual human and Lord Help if it was just Baby Fever, because otherwise that kid is going to get neglected once she stops being wittle cwyptid baby.

Next, we have Lily with the law on her side... No. Just no. Parentage wouldn't mean shit, G sabotaged a machine that is made to bolster a critically endangered species. There shouldn't be any way they get out of that down nothing and up one gotcha and a baby. I know logic in pokemon means this could have costed nothing, but this comic injects real-world logic for cheap drama like you'd inject back alley botox into your wrinkles because having a doctor do it is so expensive, imma do some guesswork and math this shit. Firstly, I will assume that the machine uses stem cells and some very advanced tech to, in essence, 3D print an organism. Stem cell therapy is a thing. As far as Google tells me, the process costs 5000 to 50000 dollars depending on what it's treating. Now, I'll just assume that even the high-end treatment doesn't use a whole pound of cells, so for the purpose of easy math and only doing triple the amount of research Lily herself ever would we will just list a pound of stem cells as costing 100000 dollars. We'll also assume that this amazing nanotechnology that makes this possible takes about half of that per pound of organism. So we have a price, and Google tells me the weight of your average 3 year old is 30.7 pounds. So let's just open up my handy dandy calculator and....4.6 million dollars. Lily walked out the door with 4.6 million dollars of company assets while blowing a raspberry and flipping the bird... okay they traded more of G's blood for Bonnie but 4.6 million fuckin smackeroons! Once they had security footage, they should've had a team of lawyers going at her like a pack of hungry wolves for that is sabotage, and Lily as G's trainer would have to pony up. No wonder Dr.ponytail was so bitchy, likely almost got shitcanned from science at large before finding the footage.

As a very much more mercifully brief implication, look at this wiki cap.

Every time I look, it makes me laugh. Though in seriousness she had to adopt Bonnie in the end and child protective services either doesn't consider Bonnie a human child or are fuckin sleeping real damn hard to not catch this.

Finally, and least fortunate implication of them all... Bonnie will grow up, and unless Lily can single-handedly end the stigma around trainers banging pokemon, she will grow up in a world that either fetishizes or despises her. She will have to look back at her creation, being born of G wanting to give Lily a replacement baby, and try to feel anything other than contempt as she tries to live in a society that actively hates her for existing. The butt of every beastiality joke. The byproduct of pokephilia that nobody decent wants anything to do with. All by herself, sad, bitter, angry...

There's also the fact that she regularly causes property damage. Somebody needs to control their kid. Baking ram sticks and removing hours of dying work and saying it was bad, zero manners, be a parent, Lily...

[npcemi]

The long road of how starting a fight with superman over clone parenting eventually lead to Danny Phantom become God Part 4.5 and 5: Aftermath + Promotions and Shattering Mirrors

Superman collapsed to his knee as the other members of the justice league went to his side. Superman couldn’t believe what he just experienced. The league had never faced a threat this powerful. To summon both a black hole and create a star out of nothing. His eyes still hurt from even looking at whatever that thing was-- He knew they couldn’t let a threat like that go unchecked.

Constantine appeared through a portal, “Oh now you show up!” Superman said in an incredulous breath.

“Oh, I’ve been here since King Phantom kicked your ass out a window, I’m just not so cotton headed I’d try and fight the King of the Infinite realms.” Superman scoffed at Constantine’s words and turned to Batman, “Bruce we need to figure out some kind of contingency…” The leader of the Justice League Dark cut him off,

“Oh, fuck no mate, you’re benched. You stick to Metropolis !”

“You have no right!”

“Actually this contract you lot signed when you begged me to be the leader of your precious little supernatural branch says I can!” Constantine summoned a roll of parchment that unrolled revealing the document with the original JLA member's signatures.

“That’s only if one of us angers a celestial angel or some higher-level entity.” Wonderwoman pointed out as the blonde occult detective pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Who do you think is the King…”

“Just because he is the ruler of his own dimension doesn’t mean he…” Constantine really was starting to get what Phantom meant when he called the man of steel an obstinate dick.

“All of the realms, High King Phantom rules over all of the realms. Ours and any in existence. In all of Anu, there is no realm that King Phantom does not have sovereignty over.

Do you really think any of the ancients have time or care to mess about in random realities?

No, they normally have nothing to do with them, do you have any idea of how bad things have gotten? Between the GIW and you Clark, I am honestly surprised our reality still exists. So yes, you are benched!” At the end of Constantine’s rant Superman stood up.

“You really think a piece of paper will…AH!” The man of steel screamed as electricity overcame his body. When it was over he once again collapsed to his knees. Constantine walked over to tower over Superman,

“And you thought the contract you all signed wouldn’t be magically binding, are you daft ?” Constantine then turned to look Bruce directly in the eye. Constantine knew the man too well.

“And you, no looking up or into anything about Phantom!” Batman held his hands up in surrender,

“I promise I will not look up or into Danny Phantom.” Constantine’s eyes narrowed before he turned and left through a portal muttering something about attempting to salvage this situation.

_____________________________________________________________

Jazz Fenton was in a great mood. Her degree was almost finished and she just got a paid internship that would turn into a full-time position once she graduated. She would be a liaison for any cases that involved the infinite realms. Her new org worked with a lot of supers and villains. It was headed by Dinah Lance and Harley Quinn. Most people thought it was a little weird, but she knew that heroes, villains, and even the dead needed help with their mental health.

She was just finishing organizing her desk when her boss called to her and told her to follow.

“Yes, Miss Lance.” She said,

“Dinah, we aren't too formal around here.”

“Right, Dinah.” Jazz said as they both took a seat in Dinah’s office,

“Look, Jazz we have a special case coming in today:” Jazz was surprised they were already letting her work on cases.

“What is it?”

“One of the main league members is being brought in, he’s having some trouble adjusting to the fact he was cloned and according to the leader of Dark, he also angered some supernatural entity and is according to Constantine, the aforementioned leader,  is acting like a stubborn fuckwit who needs to pull his own dick out of his arse.” Dinah read off of the referral form she got.

“I’ll help however I can, when are they coming?”

“Right about now,” Dinah said as a portal opened and John Constantine walked in followed by Clark and Conner Kent. John introduced himself and his tagalongs.

“And this is my associate, Jasmine Fenton,” Dinah said as Constantine’s jaw dropped and he failed to take a puff of the cigarette he had been smoking. “Did you say, Fenton?”

Jazz was about to respond when she looked at Clark. There was something off about the man in glasses. Something that was resonating with her being, like his very soul angered her, and then she remembered who Clark really was under the glasses.

The man who had caused such a bad PTSD episode in her brother that he cried in her arms for over two hours. The man who broke multiple taboos of the infinite realms. The man who hurt her brother. Her movement was faster than anyone had expected and came with more force than would be possible for even most metahumans. In that instance of realization, Jasmine Fenton closed the distance between the man of steel and herself and struck him so hard in the face that he collapsed to the floor in pain, hands to his face. Which was now gushing blood from his broken nose.

“How dare you!” She screamed. Conner and Dinah pulled her back as she continued to scream.

“How dare you ask a ghost about their death, how dare you make the King re-live that pain!” She was about to attack again when she was interrupted when Constantine asked, “Sweetheart, you know you’re glowing green right?”

“Shit!” The redhead calmed as much as she could, she took a device out of her pocket. She turned it on and saw her ambient ecto plasma was higher than normal. She clicked a button and a sensor popped out the side of the device.

She cut her finger with one of her fangs and dropped some blood on the sensor. She was thankful her blood was still red, but it was darkening into a muddy colour with a slight greenish glow. The device told her her blood ectoplasm level was at 8%, way lower than normal. The machine also indicated her heightened emotions and that if she didn’t calm down she might die right there in the office.

“What is that?” Conner asked not caring if his original was still on the ground trying to stop his nose bleeding.

“It’s a device that measures ectoplasm levels. Ambient levels, levels with a particular signature, and blood ectoplasm concentration.” she sighed and calmed down.

“Why do you need it?” Conner asked curiously despite Constantine's glare telling him he was being rather rude.

“I’m a death-leaning liminal, the smelly blonde man can explain later.” She said as there was a flash of flames.

“Jasmine, are you alright?” Everyone turned to see a nearly seven-foot Dracula knockoff with red eyes.

“Yes, I just let my anger get ahead of me, I'm fine.” She said, trying to waive off the ghost who then pulled out a vile of a green glowing liquid and attempted to hand it over to her.

“Vlad, I’m fine.” She said as he put the vial in her hands.

‘I’m sure our loving patriarch would love it if you died because of all of your ectoplasm burning up and became a full ghost before he did.” Jazz begrudgingly drank the vile, knowing how much shit Danny would give her if she died.

“Honestly I don’t know what would cause a normally level-headed young woman to lash out like her feral niece.” Jazz pointed over to Superman who was now in one of the chairs. Vlad scowled,

“Do you want me to take care of that for you?” He said in disgust. Everyone’s eyes went wide at the implied threat, Constantine prepared a portal to run, Dinah prepared to fight and Conner was right behind Constantine. After what he saw in Dani's mirror, he didn’t want anything to do with an angry ghost.

“It’s fine you can leave.” Jazz said.

“Can I expect you all at the Keep this weekend?’ he asked.

“Yes,” She said as Vlad teleported in a flash of flames and was gone. Jazz looked up to see Dinah looking at her wide-eyed. The realization she had just punched a client finally settled in,

“I’m fired aren’t I?”

_______________________________________________________________

Danny heard a knock at the door and went to open it and looking at him was Bruce Fucking Wayne.

“What do you want.”

“I wanted to talk to you about something, and make sure you and Danielle are safe.” Danny immediately moved to shut the man up.

“Shush, don’t say her name or talk about her here, my parents don’t know about her!” Bruce's face softened. Danny led them out of the house and brought them to a more private alleyway, which made the dark knight feel more at home.

“I’m not sorry about what I did to Superman,” Danny said getting down to business.

“I’m not expecting you to be. Both Constantine and I have tried to talk with him before, but now we’re forcing him into therapy. I think you did exactly what he needed.” he was shocked by Bruce's words. Even the Observants yelled at him about what he did, all the clockwork said in his defense was say “Everything is as it should be.”

“Oh, what do you want with me then?”

“My associate oracle looked into Danny Fenton, and we found you live with ghost hunters and were concerned about you and your daughter’s safety.”

“We’re fine.” Danny snapped and Bruce held his hands up defensively before handing him a small card.

“I just wanted you to know if there was anything you need, or if you have to escape we can provide assistance.” Danny looked at the man skeptically,

“So this isn’t like some crazy scheme to adopt me?” Bruce had to rip his earpiece due to the collective volume of the snickers.

“No.”

“Good because that wouldn’t turn out how you think it would.” Bruce gave him a look that told him to explain and Danny sighed.

“A fruit loop named Vlad Plasmius was college friends with my parents. He likes my mom. There was an accident, he was hospitalized and got ghost powers. Many years later he tried to kill my dad, marry my mom, and make me his son. It never worked.” Danny shook his head and continued.

“After I became King, I was able to learn of his obsession with family and love,” Danny remembered how he learned of Vlad’s true obsession, realizing that he must have been alone and abandoned in the hospital room when he died.

“After he shot me in the chest because he was mind controlled. I decided as the more powerful ghost to give him what he desired in a way.” Danny snickered.

“I ghost-adopted him, effectively making him my son as far as ghosts are concerned, he’s much happier now, but he is still a little salty.” Bruce looked at him dumbfounded, Danny was glad Vlad could fulfill his obsession even if it did make him a bit of a mother hen.

“But yea I wouldn’t recommend trying to adopt me.” The rest of their conversation went smoothly and no offers for adoption were made. When they got back to Fenton's works, Jazz and another red-headed woman were sitting at the table. She introduced herself as Barb. They engaged in a basic conversation about ghosts. Until Danny asked,

“How was your first day of your internship?” Jazz sighed with a dejected look,

“I got promoted.” Before Danny could ask why she sounded like that was a bad thing, Jack and Maddie came bursting in showing off their latest captured ghost with proud grins. They were testing out a new time of large containment device that would allow them to study ghosts in real-time.

Jazz’s hands went straight to her mouth, her eyes wide, glowing, and dripping tears of rage. Bruce turned to look at Danny who was wide-eyed as his eyes began to change, his hair whitening as he looked at the small white-haired ghost in the container. He was breathing to try and calm himself down.

“Daddy help!” Danielle screamed as the containment device shocked her.

All light ceased to exist in that room all anyone could see was an endless black.

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for an anon; a fake cryptid and a real romantic.

“I think I’m gonna try making him a ruby and do that in a trilliant cut,” Superboy says decisively, which isn’t necessarily much progress towards “normal” friend-making but again, Clark doesn’t want to discourage either a hobby or a creative outlet for the kid. Or just literally anything that isn’t about being a superhero, even if the trilliant cut resembling the S-shield and making friends with a vigilante are only sort of “not about being a superhero”. 

Look, the kid’s six months old and was educated by ethically bankrupt scientists and absolutely exhausted grad student interns, absolutely none of whom had either normal childhoods or an interest in instilling any semblance of “normal” in their cloned Superman’s head. Clark’s not going to be picky here, he’s just gonna meet him where he’s at and go from there. 

Superboy has some unfortunate difficulties understanding the difference between celebrity attention versus genuine admiration and things like that, and also an unfortunate tendency towards causing a lot of unnecessary property damage and jumping to conclusions and temper issues, but he tries, and he clearly does think about things. There’s just a lot to figure out in the world, and he’s had to do it in speed-run mode and while being an active superhero. 

Really, Clark thinks the kid’s doing a lot better as a superhero than he would’ve done at his “age”, and he’d actually been that “age”. Superboy is frankly just about the best-case scenario that could’ve come out of a situation like Cadmus and also mercifully only seems to be minimally traumatized by the sorry excuse for a “childhood” he was provided, so . . .

“That sounds nice,” Clark says, smiling at him. “I’m sure you’ll do a good job with it.” 

“I’m gonna do a good job with it if it fucking kills me,” Superboy says, looking determined, which seems like a lot of intensity to put into making a gift for a friend, but again: six months old and educated by ethically bankrupt scientists. Clark is going to stick with the “meeting him where he’s at” approach. 

“Just do your best to start, maybe,” he says wryly, reaching over to pat the kid’s shoulder. Superboy grins at him, his expression turning pleased. 

“I will!” he says. “Wanna see some of the test ones?” 

“Sure,” Clark says, figuring Superboy will just–

Nope, no, Superboy just immediately stuck both hands into his jacket pockets and came up with two big fistfuls of a good dozen high-quality diamonds done in trilliant cuts. Very large diamonds. 

Heavens to Betsy, Clark thinks a little faintly. That is . . . that is so many diamonds for Superboy to just have in his pockets. They weren’t even zipped shut! They weren’t even buttoned! 

Superboy lays his series of diamonds all out in neat little rows on the ledge, because there are enough of them to require multiple rows, and then reaches back into his pockets for a few more, because of course there are more. Clark continues to feel vaguely faint and has absolutely no idea how to point out how much money this is. Even at lab diamond rates, this is so much money. Just–so much. 

At this point in his life Clark has seen entire planets made of diamond, mind, but he still grew up in smalltown Kansas as a farm kid, so there’s something about seeing quite this many virtually flawless ones just laid out on a Metropolis rooftop the same way he would’ve shown off his POG collection to his friends as a kid. Even the damn cuts are just shy of perfect. 

Well, at least Superboy’s enjoying his first hobby, he supposes. But also, Jesus H. Christ.

“They look good, kid,” Clark says, smiling at him encouragingly. No need to take the wind out of his sails, obviously. Though seeing them now, it does occur to him to wonder–“Where did you get the tools?” 

They must be good ones, because honestly he really wasn’t expecting results this good–or even half this good–from a six month-old teenager. Superboy could definitely ruin De Beers’s day with those.

Or their industry, again. 

. . . well, it is De Beers, so . . . 

“Oh, I don’t have any,” Superboy says, shaking his head. “I just use my TTK.” 

Clark . . . pauses, for a moment. 

Clark pauses for a long moment. 

“Tactile telekinesis can cut diamond?” he asks carefully. “This precisely?” 

“Yeah!” Superboy beams proudly at him. “Cool, right?” 

Clark looks very, very closely at the diamonds. The cuts on them are practically atom-sharp. 

Alright then, he thinks to himself even more carefully.

[vegalocity]

Hiii the other day I was reminiscing about your oblivion fic, (it's my favorite fic of all time), do you plan on continuing it? Or if you're leaving it (which is fine btw, I don't wanna put pressure on you) would you tell us how you were planning to end it?

Okay so first off-

aww thank you! I'm so glad you enjoy it that much! And second off-

....

under the cut

I DID have two last installments in mind as i was planning out how things would go, But i wasn't able to get them to paper before i lost steam--In large part because @unseelie-robynx And I ended up fleshing out the Bad End from Side B And came up with a sort of splinter AU we call the Tyrant Prince AU (for more info click here!) (also Robynx has done a BUNCH of additions to the Bad end idea with her own path, it's real fun) I might go back to the original story i don't know at this juncture, so assuming i won't i'll just tell you my plans-

So i had part 5 and part 6 planned out- Part five (Ovation) was going to be about the rest of the Monkie Crew finding out about what was going on with Red

Everyone of course would react differently, Xiaojiao is trying to figure out the practicalities of un-brainwashing someone, Tang is morbidly curious about both Red's mental state and Oblivion itself (Ironically the true difference in Oblivion Classic and the Tyrant Prince timeline is that in TP Freenoodles didn't get together until AFTER Xiaotian went off the deep end into 'mind control is fine actually' but in Oblivion Classic They're long married because there was gonna be a joke about Pigsy threatening to divorce Tang if he tried to use him as a guinea pig for mind control studies) And Pigsy is sure 'mind control' is just Xiaotian not understanding how drugs work and thinks Red's just Suuuppeerrr High, Sandy is most concerned with keeping Red comfortable so when the 'high' fades he won't have TOO Massive a crash.

But Red IS starting to sober up, if slowly, and once more tells Xiaotian he loves him- which Xiaotian asks again for him to stop,

And it's the first time Red's sober enough to say no to him. I never got to this scene but i imagined Red being both THOROUGHLY addicted to the mind control present, but also getting sober enough to know that something's not right. though the only thing he can peice together as not right is that he's not going to pretend like he doesn't 'love' him when he does and that he 'doesnt need oblivion' which his supposedly also does.

And this is the moment where Xiaotian decides he can't pretend to know what's best for Red, OR that he'd be a good anchor for Red to cling to while he gets sober, and he has to just admit defeat and properly deliver him back to his parents.

He explains the situation as best as he can to them, but they don't really trust or believe him, but he hands red over, says they don't have to tell him anything past this point, but for his own peace of mind he'd LIKE to know if Red starts doing better, and just leaves. (doing his best to ignore Red's crying for him and begging not to 'give him' to his parents because 'he belongs to him' and all that)

Which leads into Part 6 which is basically just a one scene epilogue

it's two years since then, the bull family hasn't been seen hide nor hair of excepting one or two sightings of bull clones buying groceries, and Red Son returns to the city, clean for long enough that he still has some questions and tests that need to be done. It's awkward, but Xiaotian agrees to whatever Red Son needs.

It's simple things, asking for Xiaotian's perspective on the whole event, if his Parents DID tell him how he'd been doing (they did not) and asking if he gets the memories of the clones when they destabilize (He does not)

And then ultimately- asks him to order him to do something. anything. Said firmly, said like he EXPECTS him to do it. So he can be SURE he can say no.

Xiaotian obliges, something simple like 'take off your glasses' which is immediately responded to with 'Fuck off Noodle Boy'

They're both pleased.

Red Son states his parents might try to take over the world again, and he'd probably supply them with tech, but he's not sure if he's ready to get back into the fights himself. it feels... wrong, still. That he's not THAT recovered yet. And perhaps when his therapist hears he sort of went rogue for this, he would be scolded for trying to rush the process, but...

there was one more thing he wants to know. Something he NEEDS to know for himself. Because if he doesn't know then he'll spend the rest of his life questioning it.

Xiaotian is about to ask what he means but Red Son rushes up to him-

and Kisses him.

Because he needs to know if that was real, or just another thing the clone did to him.

Admittedly i wanted the result to be ambiguous, Xiaotian pulls away and Red Son immediately fire teleports away, and we switch to his POV, and he's several buildings away, still watching Xiaotian as he looks around for him, looking worried. And Red Son takes a breath, and looks back in the direction he knows the club once was, and heads home with a smile.

the Last line being 'But now he Knew'

[mneiai]

I cannot fathom why so many people in HOTD fandom act like Rhaenyra had endless safe possibilities for who could father her children.

She needed someone trustworthy. Who was attracted to her as she was attracted to them so they actually could easily have pregnancies (which normally take more than one attempt!). And who would not mind never being able to actually publicly claim their kids, never say "oh yeah that heir to the throne/king is my kid." Also someone who wouldn't antagonize Laenor, for that matter, since they'd more or less have confirmation he was gay instead of just suspecting he was.

"Oh, she could just fly to Essos and have sex with someone." Okay and when her enemies noticed that every time she had a kid she spent time in Essos about nine months before? Especially when Daemon was living in Essos at the time? The only thing worse than trusting random sex workers not to say anything to spies is giving people the impression Daemon was the kids' father. Also making sure that they had zero non-Valyrian traits that could pop up would be difficult if not impossible, so she still could have ended up with a dark haired/eyed child.

"There were other Velyarons!" Uhh, yeah, Rhaenys would have been fine with her husband fucking a woman that in the show she clearly resents. And Vaemond would have been totally trustworthy and not at all blackmailed Rhaenyra or otherwise tried to use the secret to harm her/get something. If this was the books and there were a ton of Velaryons, maybe you could make that argument, but even then, the reason that Rhaenyra married Laenor was to combine their claims which the other Velyarons didn't possess because it came through Rhaenys, so it could still cause issues as an open secret.

"She should have still found someone that looked like herself or Laenor!" She's basically shown as having zero social life outside of Alicent (with implications that Otto might have manipulated that). She should have other ladies, but all of them she's actually shown with are dressed as servants, instead. How exactly is she supposed to find a trustworthy dragonseed or something like that without still causing suspicion if she's more or less socially isolated?

Harwin was someone she was attracted to, who was attracted to her, who had a reason to be around her often as a sworn shield and high ranking Gold Cloak, not to mention the Hand's son and heir to Harrenhal, and who she already knew was trustworthy and had good reason to believe would keep her secrets while not being a dick about it. She also had no way of knowing that all of their children would have his coloring, especially since in the HOTD-verse Rhaenys didn't even get the Baratheon dark hair, which would make it seem like Targ coloring was super powerful.

"Alicent did her duty and would have never done that!" Alicent literally had an affair, too. Yeah, it's creepy and has major consent issues, but she could have just...not done shit with Larys. She chose to, to get information, even though she had major leverage to get him to leave her alone if she really wanted to.

And all of this is premised on the idea that "If the kids looked like Laenor, everyone would stop calling them bastards!" Except that even if the kids looked like little clones of Laenor, they'd still be called bastards by Rhaenyra's enemies, both because Laenor was known to be gay but also because making Rhaenyra seem like a "whore" discredited her. It literally did not matter who fathered them or what they looked like.