#Crown of Lazarus

[numerousbees1106]

Crown of Lazarus Teaser #2 - Tumblr exclusive!

No-One Knows Just Who To Believe

(This is the follow-up teaser to the one posted yesterday, which can be read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55069789#main). Edited on 4/12/24 to fix some formatting issues.

It began slowly, as it always did. His mind, wrapped in infinite nothingness, thought only in the subconscious, all greater thought replaced with the gentle soundless static of the hindbrain. His body existed somewhere far away, his worries and fears farther yet still. For an endless moment, he simply existed within the threads of reality, interwoven with its fabrics, cradled and protected like a dragon in its egg.

But slowly, the harsher edges of existence began to creep in as they always did, like a camera slowly zooming in, and he became aware of his own wakefulness bit-by-aching-bit.

In his mind’s eye, he saw himself, but the proportions were all wrong, with some parts far too large and exaggerated, and other parts far too small, shrunk down like some sort of twisted caricature. He was rotating in an endless void, but simultaneously he was far too still, like an image pasted hastily into a video.

He became aware of his heart thumping, a sensation painful in its sudden stimulation. His breathing echoed loudly in his ears, his blood crawling through his veins like tunneling insects, bringing with them the numbing agony of his nerves regaining sensation.

Anakin slowly peeled open his eyes, eyelids sticky with disuse, nausea boiling in his gut. He felt too hot and too cold, sweaty and shaking, as his organs and various internal systems began to reboot and reawaken.

Even as his sluggish mind slipped in and out of what Anakin called his Reawakening daze, he clung desperately to lucid thought, knowing that he had to think up a damn good excuse for why he was mysteriously back from the dead.

The morgue, he figured. I’m probably in a body locker in the morgue.

Briefly, he wondered why he wasn’t freezing, but as he clumsily felt along his body, he recognized the scratchy textures of the blankets considered damn-near sacred by the clones. The blankets - thick and one of the more expensive pieces of gear - were limited to one per bunk, and it was a pain in the ass to get a replacement. As such, they were considered special by the clones - the blankets were always neatly folded, even in the messiest of chambers, even if the various other sheets were strewn all over the place. The blankets were always kept clean, and to steal a brother’s blanket was considered to be a serious crime. A handful of the 501st had even customized their blankets with dyes or sewn-on patches, despite it technically not being allowed.

And Anakin could feel some familiar patches on some of the blankets he was wrapped in.

Tears began to sting his eyes as he gingerly ran his fingers over one of the patches, shaping it out in his mind until he was certain - this was Rex’s blanket, that was laid out underneath him, cushioning what to them was Anakin’s eternal slumber. And the blanket draped over his torso, that bound his right arm to his side but left his left arm loose, Anakin recognized as Kix’s. And the one that gently wrapped around his legs and feet, Anakin could feel Jesse’s name embroidered on. A few other blankets embraced him, and more still cushioned the body locker around him, and Anakin’s heart clenched painfully with both immense love and grief. Damn his trust issues - he should have told them long ago.

With a shuddering breath, Anakin carefully unlocked the locker with the Force, gingerly sliding it out until a dim and flickering light greeted him.

Oh-so-gently, he moved the blankets out of the way so that he could sit up - they had really tucked him in tight, and it took all of Anakin’s willpower to not break into ugly sobs right then and there. He needed to find them, now. Just the mere thought of his beloved troops mourning for him another needless minute longer… it coiled something in his chest, curdled his heart like spoiled milk, radiating bitter guilt from his soul. He needed to go to them, to explain, to apologize to them, to beg for their forgiveness. He needed to reassure them that it was alright, that everything would be okay, that he was fine, that they would be fine. But, as he clambered out of his not-so-final resting place, he encountered a bit of an unexpected issue.

His wings were back. And they were a lot bigger than he remembered.

Shavit. Kriff. E chu ta. Karabast. Damn.

How in the Sith Hells was he supposed to hide this?

A thousand horrid scenarios raced through his mind. The Jedi, furious at him for lying to them for years. The Republic, desperate for a victory, throwing him into suicide missions again and again until there was nothing human left of him. Obi-Wan’s crestfallen face as he realized the betrayal.

Experiments. Slavery. Torture. His death.

Scenarios, infinitely numerous and infinitely grotesque, raced through his mind.

Except, as he panicked, he saw as the golden feathers became awash with a sickly pale green color, the same color he had come to associate with fear and panic and terror. And, as he noticed this, the pale green was replaced with the blue-violet of confusion.

Okay, he thought. Okay, maybe there is a way to hide this.

As he thought this, a light pink-yellow shade crept into his wings - hope.

He breathed deeply, tenderly stepping around the candles that had been left in front of his body locker, drawing his wings in tight to prevent them from knocking over the lit flames - or worse, catching fire.

All around the room, tiny trinkets and objects his men had held dear were carefully laid or propped up, tiny offerings to help him in his final march towards a battle far away. That was the idea, anyway.

Anakin only realized he had paused when his drooping wingtips knocked over a small wooden carving of a bantha, the grief-gray and guilt-gray-green feathers flinching in surprise and knocking over a few other nearby trinkets. The subsequent racket, though not terribly loud, was enough to make him freeze, that pale green color returning.

“What was that?” A voice sounded from right outside the door.

The Final Guard, Anakin realized. It was a tradition the clones had inherited from the Mandalorians, wherein the Final Guard - a select group of the deceased’s closest friends and allies - would stand watch over the body until it arrived at its final resting grounds.

“What was what?” A louder voice, one Anakin recognized as Hardcase’s voice, responded.

“Didn’t you hear that? That racket?” The first voice - Appo’s voice - hissed.

“I haven’t been able to hear much of anything since… well.”

A solemn pause, a heavy sigh.

“Get that checked out, vod,” Appo muttered.

“Once the Final Guard is done,” Hardcase agreed. “Oh, and the noise was probably just some of the offerings falling over.”

“Probably,” Appo concurred, voice thick with grief.

Breathing out a soft sigh of relief, Anakin tucked his wings tight against his sides as he eyed the vents. Those would be his best best out of the morgue, unless he wanted to knock out Hardcase and Appo with the Force, which he very much did not want to do.

It would be a tight squeeze, but maybe…

Unscrewing the vent and removing the cover was the easy part. Much harder to do was actually maneuvering his body into the small space that was a few feet above his head, all without making too much of a racket. He, however, had a secret weapon on his side: sheer Skywalker stubbornness.

Alas, he mused forlornly as he kicked uselessly at the air, finding himself stuck within the vent, I am also cursed with Skywalker stupidity.

His wings prevented him from moving forwards, the feathered limbs simply being too wide to fit, but also prevented him from reversing out of the vent, as any backwards motion bent the feathers the wrong way, sending sharp pin-pricks of pain through his newfound appendages.

“Stupid… kriff… damn these wings!” Anakin hissed under his breath, wiggling and wriggling each way in a fruitless attempt to free himself. With a sigh, he went limp, resigning himself to his fate. Still, as he reminisced on the events that had led him to this point - sulking, really, though he’d never admit it - he imagined his wings simply… disappearing.

And they did.

Painfully.

Very painfully.

Feathers fused back into flesh, hollow bones breaking up into thousands of fragments before merging into his muscles, tendons dissolving into goo and sticking to his sides until the wings were gone completely, with only his bleeding gums from where he had cracked a tooth on his metal hand, biting down on it to muffle his agony, to show for it.

Gasping and panting, tears streaming down his face, Anakin forced himself to move forwards with shaking hands. He had to keep moving. He had to keep going. Somehow he knew that his wings would come back, but he didn’t quite know what would bring them back. It could happen at any moment, for all he knew, trapping him in the vents until he reabsorbed them - something he very much was not keen on.

Well. At least he didn’t have to worry about having to hide them, though it wasn’t quite what he was hoping for.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the vent collapsing beneath him, sending him plummeting very ungracefully to the floor below…

Right in front of Rex.

The aura around the petrified clone Captain was a horrid shade of pale green and shock-silver, the man’s face draining of color as he stared down at Anakin’s frozen form, their eyes meeting.

Captain Rex collapsed in front of him, unconscious.

Well, shit.

[unciaknightfall]

This was my first drawing in my new home! Not fantastic but it makes me smile <3 Idiots welcoming in a new life chapter

[the-dance-of-italy]

I'm making myself sad again over these two tragic bitches

[traggalicious]

THE BOY! He got he a flowr crown <333 made of petunias (for uhhh healing i think?) some other flower (4 sadness) idfk what it is but its rose-like maybe jt is a rose, and daisies (familial love). He babey. Love his permanent :3/-w- face…

[somnoir]

Ghost KingConsort?

Prompt: Demon Twins AU where the ghost king is summoned and claims his appearance is that of his beloveds. Shenanigans of a vindictive dead twin.

Danyal Al Ghul escaped from the league. The Lazarus Pits were never merciful but for once, they were. The pits were merciful to him as the green swallowed him and spat him out miles away from that place.

Danny can't forget his first death, the sword in his gut as Damian cut through him. The title of heir was reserved for only one of them and the spare was no longer needed. He supposed it was yet another mercy upon him, knowing that the title of spare was not simple. He would have been Damian's spare—spare parts.

Danny remembers his second death. The electricity that killed him over and over again as the ectoplasm spilled from the artificial portal brought him back to life again and again. One second he was dead, the other he was being revived. It was torturous in every way possible.

It's been years since then. His parents were a difficult case, unable to accept that their darling child had died and continued to believe that Danny was being possessed by the menace Phantom. They hunted him, tried to rip him apart to 'free' their son. It took both himself and Jazz leaving with the help of Vlad (reluctantly accepted) for his parents to stop hunting. Their home that had already felt empty was even more empty now.

It's been almost four years since then. Danny had settled into his role as Ghost King, even when the crown of fire floated over his head then descended to be too big, too much—resting around his neck.

It's... Difficult...

CUT TO THE JUSTICE LEAGUE SUMMONING HIM!

Danny Fenton, nineteen and very much overworked from all the paperwork he had to sort through as Ghost King, finds a small tugging to his very being. A summoning he recognized, sighing loudly before he's answer to this visible desperation. Like it was a world ending issue.

And yes, it apparently was when the fabric of reality itself was tearing itself apart for some strange reason. As the ruler of the infinite realms—the king of the very domain that basically glued the multiverse—this was apparently the right call.

Dressed in all of his kingly regalia, Danny felt the crown of fire float up from his neck and burned over his head. His cape, cloak—whatever—was heavy and he blinked, green eyes boring into every soul present. He recognized the fractured soul of the laughing magician—one of his more irksome subjects that avoided taxes like it was the fucking plague. He really should tell Skulker to haunt his grandfather. Maybe even Youngblood would be suitable.

But aside from the laughing magician, his eyes settled upon a familiar soul, a familiar face. Danny blinks again.

Shit... He thought, staring at the masked yet horrified face of his own twin. Robin was nineteen as well by now, older, stronger—redeemed.

In the past, Danny would have cursed Damian to the seven hells and allowed the seven sins to have a bite. But Jazz was blessing. An older sister who made sure to heal him, to let him grow, to let him develop. He's forgiven Damian for his faults. They were children, brainwashed by a mad man. He's not too angry. Resentful and a bit vindictive? That was a given as he technically was the spirit of a murder victim. Of kinslaying.

"Hellblazer." The language spoken by the dead leaves his mouth easily. It can't be understood by the living, and it was barely understood who came back from death. But John Constantine was a different, more difficult case. One hell of a motherfucker that avoided death until the entity itself was ranting to both Clockwork and Danny about his escapes.

And John Constantine recognized his title regardless of the language.

The sad man in a trench coat stiffened, staring at Danny as he stiffly bowed. "High King Phantom." He greets, and attempt at respect. When there was suddenly movement, Constantine was quick to hiss at the others—glaring at Robin who looked ready lunge at them.

Oh, he can't help himself. This was funny. In the words of his own counterpart turned brother—He could make it worse. Jazz was going to nag him, true, but Danny was so. Utterly. BORED. Being Ghost King had a lot of entertainment, like how he got to fight people and basically hang out with people from the past. But it got... Repetitive. Normal Ghosts wouldn't mind with their eternal afterlife, but Danny was still half-alive. He was completely human—just a half dead one.

"Your majesty—" Constantine struggled to explain, "The universe... Do you know why portals have been opening, your majesty? Forgive my impudence but our world has been plagued by portals from different worlds, some even lead to the infinite realm."

"It's not uncommon for natural portals to the realms to open. Many of your dead like to visit." He smirked, "Many like to haunt those who've wronged them."

Constantine gulped, "Your majesty, would you, by any chance, be aware of why these portals are opening?"

Danny sighed. Well, he can't say he wasn't concerned. This was his world too after all, even when now. It was Jazz's world, where she still went to school, it was Sam and Tucker's world. It was his family's world. So yes, he is concerned.

"The portals to the realms are under my jurisdiction. They are natural and open in my places with thick and ambient ectoplasm." Danny drawls, "But these dimensional portals are strange. I'll check in with the Master of Time to see if someone is meddling with reality. It may not even be from your dimension."

He can only shrug at that, remembering how Dan had practically ripped through time with his madness and rage, tearing through the world to ensure his birth.

"I see, thank you for your understanding, your majesty." Constantine nervously says.

"Say, would you like to watch the battle royale for your soul?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're excused, magician." Danny rolls his eyes, "But you'd certainly enjoy watching people tear each other to shreds for your fucked up soul. I don't understand why people want it so much when the paperwork it comes with is a hell in itself."

"Your majesty," Constantine paled.

"I'm joking. I'll deal with this as quickly as possible." Danny paused, grinning as he made a show of offering his hand to the justice league. "I couldn't possible sit by and allow my beloved's world to crumble. He'd be devastated."

Constantine blinked. Everyone blinked. And then Danny turned to Damian and... Batman. Bruce Wayne. His father. At least he seemed to be treating Damian better than Jack did with Danny and Jazz.

"You must have recognized this face, yes?" Danny tilted his head. "You are his family."

"What have you done to my brother?" Robin—Damian immediately growled, like a feral cat as he unsheathed his katanas and aimed for Danny.

"Hm." Danny rolled his eyes, "He's well. Very much taken care of." Because yes, Danny was well fed and taken care of, especially as the Ghost King. "I've taken his form so I assumed you knew of him."

He dismissed Robin long before he could even speak, turning to Constantine once again. "Don't fret too much, John Constantine." The man in question flinched once his name was uttered in the language of the dead he could barely understand. "This will be fixed in a days time. If not, I will send someone to deal with it."

The Ghost King's appearance had been startling when they summoned him. A boy with a striking resemblance to Damian if not for his white hair. A twin? Bruce had sounded devastated at the implications. But Damian? He'd seen the ghost king and felt nauseous, unable to tear his eyes away from the eldritch being that wore his brother's face.

It took a lot of explaining once they were back in the cave. The duel, Danyal's death, the Lazarus taking him and he was never seen again. Everyone was... Well, they were devastated. Yes. Grieving a son and brother they never met. But the Ghost King has been summoned with a face similar to that of their father's, a face that was the exact same one to their brothers. The Ghost King who referred to the dead Danyal as his beloved.

It's the next day when they're back in the watchtower, anxiously waiting for any update. Constantine continues to curse under his breath, shaking his head before a portal rips through reality. Everyone stiffened, preparing for the worst.

A girl appears, a child. She's a spry little thing with glowing green eyes, flaming white hair, and a face that they immediately recognized.

"Sorry that I'm late! Times pretty bendy and we don't really keep up with it." The unknown laughs, "Well, short answer, Phantom has identified the problem and has attempted to apprehend it. Unfortunately, it's been a week on our end and the perp apparently fell into your world."

Time distortion—Constantine had mentioned it. But they stare at the girl who rambled about their supposed target until Batman cleared his throat, seemingly softer on the girl—someone who was visibly a child.

"Young lady, welcome to the Watchtower. Even id the greeting it late." Batman curtly yet gently says. "May I know your name?"

Damian faints on the spot.

The girl blinked. "Oh! You can call me Specter, princess of the infinite realms! I'm Phantom and Danny's daughter."

It is then that the possibilities processes in their heads.

One. The Ghost King took the form of his beloved, aka the dead twin brother of one Damian Wayne.

Two. Damian's dead twin and Bruce's dead son might be the queen (consort?) of the infinite realms.

Three. Danyal and Phantom had a daughter. Damian and the rest of the Bar kids were uncles and aunts. Bruce was now officially a grandpa.

[thatgaydemigodnerd]

The real secret component they all missed to getting the ghost kings guarenteed summoning:

His personal phone number

Prompt: Because the Infinite Realms exists outside of time and space, the Ghost King summoning ritual is akin to pulling a random draw on a Gacha Game. The stronger the king, the rarer the summon.

Danny is the strongest :)

I refreshed my ask box and hoo boy there are a lot more asks than I was expecting lol Thank you for the prompt!

-

“So wait, you’ve never been Summoned? Not even once?” Tim looked up from the case he’d been working on, blinking in surprise behind his mask towards where Phantom was lounging lazily several feet above the floor.

“Nope.” Phantom said, popping the P as he shifted around in mid air, long tendril leaving a familiar mildly headache inducing after image behind him as he did.

Tim’s brow furrowed. “No offense, but you’re not exactly the most secretive member of the League. How have you managed to avoid any cults getting a hold of your name to try and do a summoning ritual to capture you?”

Phantom’s grin widened, long fangs glinting against pale blue tinged skin. “I haven’t.”

Across the room, Constantine went very still. Tim slid his gaze back towards the monitor before him, glancing towards the file he’d been reviewing for the case. Zantanna’s report on how summoning worked within the Infinite Realm. How power affected the odds of being able to successfully summon an entity. Odds for most beings from Phantom’s native realm were about 50/50 on a Summoning Ritual working to pull the being to them. Those odds got significantly less favorable for the summoners the stronger the entity got.

But the entity always knew when a summoning was being performed.

“Phantom.” Tim said, slowly, turning back to the grinning ghostly hero. “How many times have people tried to summon you?”

The ghost hmmed, “No idea. If we’re talking just today? …actually still no clue.” Phantom tilted his head, considering. “But since we started talking there’s been at least a thousand or so. It’s slowed down a bit over the last few minutes. Kinda nice.”

Constantine swore a blue streak impressive enough to put Jason to shame and stood, leaving the room in a haze of cigarette smoke and exasperated mutterings of I do not get paid bloody enough for this shit and honestly? Tim thinks he has a point.

Phantom smiles again.

Well, Tim considers, at least they won’t have to worry about him getting yanked in the middle of a battle.

[rusedrabbles]

I have been thinking a dangerous thing to do before morning coffee and the sarcophagus of forvever sleep sounds like it had to be a collaboration between Clockwork and Nocturne. So I thought Time/Sleep/War polycule with halfa son.

The grief of losing their ghostling had driven Pariah mad, and in his blinding rage, the halfa population was massacred. To stop the Observants from attempting regicide, Clockwork and Nocturne created a sacrophagus to keep their husband.

As it so often does, the passing time faded memories of why the Ghost King had gone mad, painting him a senseless tyrant instead of a despondent father.

A ripple across screens, a shift in time's progression, and a new halfa. Time carefully pulling strings, Sleep keeping watch to ensure a restful nap (for that's all they ever seemed to amount to, his poor son always rushing, always busy with something)

An arrogance unchecked rousing the slumbering king, a desperate child forcing him back into his prison, but the magic doesn't take hold. Now awake, having seen what his husbands saw, Pariah would not sleep through his lost son's new life.

Phantom was a new hero, one who seemed to wander a fair bit. Batman had already tried to find anything about Phantom, to very little success. Historical records of a teenager appearing to help before vanishing, allusions to a child of Kronos grumbling about timestreams, whispers of a young man whose rage was like a glacier, slow and unstoppable once it starts to move. The Lanterns had records of entire ships frozen solid, Phantom having been the last sighted individual before they became glacial space debris. Constantine and Raven both vouched for Phantom, which was why he was a part of the team, but there were still too many questions without answers...

The Justice League was heavily outnumbered, and while they could win, it would not be without heavy civilian cost. At least, that was their original thought, until Phantom Wailed for his father (?) and a massive Lazarus green rift ripped open above him, allowing a ghostly warlord with a Crown of Fire through, a skeletal army marching silently in the warlord's wake.

[deadsetobsessions]

I just really like the trope of Danny getting summoned, alright?

——

After he shoved Pariah Dark in his coffin shaped locker what what Danny hoped to be for all of eternity, the half unfortunately inherited all of Pariah’s responsibilities.

“What was it again? With great powers comes great responsibilities?” Danny let his head hit the table with an audible thunk. He’s in his “office,” the ghost zone’s approximation of where he might be able to do work seriously. The house- the extension of his haunt- had added the room right next to his bedroom. Danny had to lift all of the paperwork from Pariah’s castle (that’s now also a part of what’s considered Danny’s but he doesn’t think about that) and move it to his main haunt.

He prayed to the universe at large to let him off. Danny hated doing homework- science not withstanding because at least he understood that- let alone an asshole’s centuries worth of work. Danny bemoaned the fact that he was elected the King. He didn’t even defeat Pariah all by himself, so why couldn’t the others do it?!

Like a wave of merciful fate, the beginning tugs of a summoning pulled at his core.

“Thank Ancients!”

Danny scrambled to grab a sticky note, unfortunately glowing green as things tended to in the Ghost Zone, and scribbled down that he’s been summoned and to not look for him until his vacation work was done.

With that note done, Danny decided to bring his A game to the summoning. Allowing his secondary form to wash over him, Danny quickly checked the mirror to make sure he was presentable. A bright glowing ice crown- not the crown of fire, because it was essentially useless without the ring and Danny wasn’t keen on being a king, let alone a near infinitely powerful one- settled across his brow showed his status. A cape, this form’s best feature, made of an expanse of galaxies, nebulae, and frost cling at the end was swept over his shoulders and pinned together with a cloak pin made of clusters of black holes.

A couple of additions to his normal hazmat suit and his trusty thermos at his side, Danny all but dove into the summoning magic with an excited whoop of glee.

As Danny got closer to the magic-made portal, he could hear the whispers of the living presences beyond it.

His summoners! Hopefully it’s not a cult again, even if he thought they were pretty funny trying to summon the king of the dead to kill more people. Not funny “haha,” funny weird.

How should he do this…? Scary? Funny? Oh! Or maybe he should ditch the crown!

Danny grinned, waving his hand to dispel the crown of ice. It was nice, but he was in a dungeon critter mood today.

“Oh, this is going to be gooood.”

Danny cracked his knuckles and put on the most dead-inside-and-outside expression he could manage, modeling it off of the Nasty Burger workers during closing shift. The halfa stepped through the portal.

——

“The ritual is completed! You will all face the might of Pariah Dark, the eternal king of the dead!” The villain of the week cackled as his cult cheered. Wonder Woman, scuffed and injured from the magical bolts these magic users had shot at her earlier, grimaced and raised her sword.

“We will defeat Pariah Dark,” she proclaimed. Her allies rallied at her proclamation and readied themselves for another fight. “This world will not bow to the likes of you!”

“We are all but mere ants before the king of the dead! Pariah Dark will bring forth the reckoning this shitty world deserves!”

“Actually, Pariah Dark’s kind of busy, so you’re gonna have to leave a message.”

Green Arrow’s arrow jerked towards the new voice. Batman paused, hand holding batarangs at the ready. He, out of all of them, knew better than to underestimate a young voice.

A gloved hand shoved through the green portal, using the edges like a door frame to heave itself through. A humanoid shape, with sharp ears all but crawled out of the Lazarus green portal. Batman wondered if this was what Jason saw when he came back to life.

"Lord Pariah Dark is busy?!"

The figure- a boyish not-human- heaved a sigh. "Do you people seriously think that the High King of the Infinite Realms isn't swamped with work?"

"And who are you supposed to be? His secretary?" Hal asked, Ring glowing and at the ready. Wonder Woman tensed and mentally struck Hal away from the list of people to consider for diplomatic missions.

"Me? I'm a glorified paper pusher." The being turned back to the cultists, his cape containing the universe swished behind him. "Did you have a message for Pariah Dark?"

"He was meant to rain down death and destruction!"

"Okay, first of all, I feel like you guys are missing a really important point." The being pointed at the cult leader. “It’s not called the King of the Dead for no reason, you know. Death comes for everyone eventually. Also, I have to do a seriously giant amount of paperwork every time one of you fruitloops gets the bright idea to cause an influx of deaths.”

Danny stomped across the circle, grabbed the collar of the cultist leader’s cloak and yanked him down. He shook him. “Do you people have any idea how annoying it is?! Huh?! Do you know how long the A-354 Form is?! Stop trying to get Pariah to kill people! I’m sick of the paperwork, dammit!”

"How- how did you get out of the circle?!"

The cultists and the heroes squared up, ready to fight the possible common enemy: Danny.

Danny is having the best time of his half life. Screw kingly dignity, Danny’s gotta de-stress somehow! He had a whole bag of complaints!

"You wrote the circle wrong, idiots! Ancients, are you people even literate? What even are those scribbles?" Danny kept shaking the cultist. Wow, what an amazing stress ball!

“Uh- hey, he looks kind of sick…” The Flash said, trying to be a good hero and mediate before escalating. Danny snarled and Flash held up his hands, gulping in fear as Danny’s eyes narrowed at him. “Did I… do something?”

“You,” Danny hissed. “You mother- fruitloop! Stop screwing with the timeline, you giant red-! Do you know how annoying it is to readjust the death count every time one of you little merry red jesters takes a jaunt through time and space?! Do you even know how many complaints I had to field?! Oh, boy you’re all going to regret summoning me today, because I’ve had a long time to think about what I’d do to everyone who made me work overtime!”

Danny bared his teeth, eyes sparkling with mirth as he froze the cultists.

"We're not letting you take over the world," Hawk-Woman said, raising her mace that pulsed with electricity.

Danny snorted to hide his wince. "I'm not interested. Just let me punch him once. Just once." Danny pointed at the Flash.

"Honestly, I can't even blame you," Black Canary muttered, fists raised.

"Wha-! Canary! That's so rude! You traitor!"

"Shouldn't have put skittles in my shoes then. Those hurt, Flash."

"Enough." Everyone shut up at the sound of Batman's command. "What do you mean they wrote the circle wrong."

Danny, who was watching the byplay with interest, shrugged. "They wanted to summon the Ghost King, right? We've had a... change of leaders recently."

"Who is the leader now?"

Danny waggled a finger at Batman. "Nuh-uh. I'm gonna collect my over-time compensation, which is punching the Flash, and then we can negotiate for information."

"Flash."

"I don't want to get punched, Bats!"

"The alternative is that I let the current Ghost King have a go at you."

"Flash."

"Oh my god, just get punched, Barry!" Danny heard Green Lantern Hal Jordan whisper.

"Ugh, fine. No one video this."

Immediately, three phones go up to record the Flash getting decked by a teenage looking ghost. Danny floated closer and wound his fist back, letting loose some of the ghost strength he normally keeps restrained. "This is for my overtime and for Clockwork, you jerk."

The halfa slammed his fist straight into the Flash's face, knocking him clear into the air. Superman catches him but Danny no longer paid attention to the Flash, petty vengeance enacted.

"Honestly, I don't have a problem with you as a person. You're kind of cool. Break the timeline again in the next three months, though, and you're on my shit-list."

"What do you want in exchange for information?"

Danny hummed. "Depending on the level of information, and I reserve the right to not answer any questions. For the name of the current Ghost King..."

He did want that new gaming console. And Jazz could use some help with her rent.

"I want $5,000 and a plate of really good spaghetti."

"I have cash."

Danny nodded at the Dark Knight. "You just carry $5,000 in cash on you? Who does that?"

"I like to be prepared."

"And he's rich," Superman chimed in.

The Flash reappeared with a plate of spaghetti from an Italian place he teleported to. "Here you go. Fresh, and pleasedon'tscrewwithmyafterlife."

Danny shoveled the spaghetti into his mouth, jaw unhinging like a particularly disturbing snake right before he dumped the whole thing- plate and all- down his throat. "Thanks! The food didn't even try to kill me this time! You're good."

"Does your food try to kill you all of the time?!" The Flash- Barry, apparently- asked.

Danny nodded as he took the cash from Batman's gloved hands. "Totally. It sucks."

"Identity." Batman demanded.

"Oh, yeah. The current ghost king is me."

"...What."

"You have been swindled. Bamboozled. Outwitted and outsmarted," Danny snickered, shoving the bundle of cash in his chest. "But seriously, I'm the king. We got rid of Pariah a while ago."

The crown of ice materialized.

"You said you were a glorified paper pusher!" Hawk-Woman chortled.

"I am! I'm pushing so many papers across my desk, it's unending, I swear!"

Batman growled. "You tricked us."

Danny smirked, "You got tricked." Red Robin, in the corner, snorted quietly. "Anyways, if you've got more interesting things around here, I'll considering busying myself with that instead of sentencing you to an afterlife of paperwork."

The adults straightened, grimacing. "Beast Boy is green," Hal offered up.

"Hey!" Beast Boy shouted, offended at the easy way Hal offered him up. He turned to Danny. "But have you ever seen a green chinchilla? Super cute. Watch!"

"Woah!" Danny clapped. Yes, he'll hang out with them before dragging himself back.

[novelistwriter]

The Ancient Warrior

DP x DC Prompt

Danny is either bored of King work or is forced on a vacation from his Ghost King duties in the DC Universe. But because of Clockwork, Danny is sent the very distant past of the world, and because of his immortal body, something he got when he accepted the Crown of Flames and the Ring of Rage when he was 19, he doesn't age at all or die from being hot with a fatal blow.

Clockwork was the one to tell him to be a warrior where the Halfa found himself, so he donned a modified version of his Kingly Armor that covers his entire body and makes his voice deeper and more menacing and had done so. The modified armor he has allows him to access weaker versions of the Ancients powers.

Danny had unknowingly started a new religion in the DC Universe, the Warriors Religion. It's a religion about fighting, but even Danny himself has told those part of it, when he eventually found out about the religion, that it's not always about fighting physically, it can be for any battle one takes.

Danny has many fighting styles, as he is the Ghost King and needs to defend himself when attacked, which are made up of many long dead fighting styles from many Ghosts in the Infinite Realms, amd because Pandora was one of his mentors, he had Amazonian training as well.

As the years go by, with it getting closer to modern times in the DC Universe, Danny has had many students and adversaries. Ra's Al Ghul and his daughters Talia and Nyssa were some of his students, Diana of Themyscira was an adversary, but not one to battle him to death like many others before her. And then he got another student, Bruce Wayne. While training Bruce, the Al Ghuls would challenge him in battles, but not to the death, as they seen what he did to those killed, as whenever he killed someone, the intense emotions, the ectoplasm from him, and a violent death at his hands causes all his opponents to become Ghosts, but before they could fully form, he gently grabs there forming core in one hand, and teleports them to the Infinite Realms after saying something to the cores. Because those he kills and sends to the Infinite Realms can not be revived by the Lazarus Pits

"May you find peace in the afterlife" for those that had no ill will

"May you find redemption in the afterlife" for bad guys he kills

When Danny is not his 'Warrior' persona, he's an average Gothamite with an average job and trying to survive till the next day in the chaotic city he calls home.

[lampea-by-lamplight]

someday my prince will come

there is a head on the breakfast table, eyes open in frozen terror, a carved apple stuffed in his mouth to make him look like a suckling pig; the lack of blood makes it distinctly obvious that whoever killed him was polite enough to wait for the blood to drain before placing him. also that he was killed elsewhere, the rest of his body in parts and pieces unknown. 

or they could have cauterised where the head was cut off with fire, not that it matters much in the end. 

edmund is dead and she-

doesn’t know what to feel. 

disgust? anger? relief?

she steps closer with the faintest click of metal against stone - a lifetime of being targeted leaves her with silent feet, so long as she isn’t being forced to wear shoes designed to make a noise, and she supposes now she can wear whatever shoes she likes, seeing as the man who forced her to wear them (just another way for him to try and rule her, after she refused to marry him, the one time the law protected her, after the utter hell he made her life) has been unceremoniously parted with at least one of his heads - and reaches out to gently pull the wooden apple free. 

for a moment she just looks at it, a block of wood carved into an apple that could pass for real if it wasn’t for the barely visible line splitting it into two. 

she knows of only one being with the ability to infuse his wooden creations with life like this, only one being who could abduct edmund from his estate with no one the wiser and kill him before his disappearance was noticed, only one being who would kill one of her tormentors and leave her with proof. 

despite the grisliness of it all, her heart flutters.

she pulls the apple apart, opening it up like it’s a book with secrets, the two halves each containing their own little mystery. one side holds a piece of paper, methodically folded until it was small enough to fit, whilst the other holds a pendant. 

an apple within an apple she thinks, a green stone on a golden chain cupped in her hand. she can’t tell if there’s a certain kind of vanity in giving her a necklace with a gem that matches the colour of his pupils, but she knows that’s the least of her problems. 

her biggest problem is what to do with the head (her biggest problem is what to do with the fact she isn’t even considering turning her grim gift giver in.)

[akela-nakamura]

DPxDC Prompt

Summoning is an imperfect art, mispronouncing a name or having an incorrect symbol can lead to unexpected, and sometimes explosive results. Summoning can open unexpected doors. No one's prepared for what--or who--steps through when a rising gang tries to summon backup.

My little ficlet for this is below the cut:

Smoke. The acrid slam of it in the nose, brought on by the screaming wind. Chanting. A chorus of voices, steady and thrumming. Pain. Everything is hazy, and it’s equal odds on it being from the smoke or the potential head injury. 

Bruce stumbles to his feet, body throbbing. 

This was not how he’d planned this night. 

Of course, he hadn’t planned for Gotham to suddenly be overrun with a new…gang? They claimed to be a government organization, but Bruce has his doubts. He hadn’t had a chance to go through the GIW’s information, but according to Barbara, their claims were sketchy at best.

The shouting about ghosts and waving around sci-fi weapons with no trigger discipline certainly didn’t help their claims. 

Government organization or not, they had no right to raid homes, to drag people out onto the street, or overall threaten his city.

His ears ring, and the chanting rises in volume, impossibly. His chest reverbes with the sound. It’s steady enough to feel like a second heart. His blurry vision locks onto the center of the summoning circle. Because this night couldn’t get any worse, of course. 

First the GIW had rocketed up his list of threats with one simple move. 

They’d gone after Jason.

Jason, who even now was laid out in the middle of the summoning circle, eyes bright, bright, bright green through the haze. 

First they’d taken his son. 

Then they’d used him as a sacrifice. 

Bruce bared his teeth, locking eyes with the closest GIW agent. The man held up his weapon, a glowing baton. His form is weak. 

The baton gord flying, Bruce’s armored elbow slamming the man to the ground. The agent curls up, groaning. Nightwing’s escrima sing electric in the background, followed by the whip of Tim’s bow staff. Damian’s sword glints through the haze, and purple flashes through the crowd of white, white, white. 

He can’t see Cass, but he doesn’t expect too. 

The ground rocks under his feet, and it takes several precious seconds to regain his balance. There seems to be an almost endless flood of agents, with more and more meeting his fists as he tries to make it through the gauntlet. 

Suddenly, the air shifts, the scream of it heading for the circle instead of out. 

The circle glows toxic green, and Jason’s at the center, frozen in the light. 

“No!” Bruce shouts, the sound ripping from his soul. 

It’s echoed by Dick, who stands just outside the circle’s boundaries. His hands are pressed against the light, his blue eyes a shock against the green. 

It’s a confusion of people - GIW white and the summoner’s black. The GIW is here to end whatever it is they need Jason to summon to them. The summoners themselves seem to have broken away from the “agency” and want power from the being they’re calling. It’s a fight on multiple fronts, with the GIW fighting the summoners and Bruce and his family fighting them all. 

The temperature drops. 

“HOOD!” Dick screams, as Jason is swallowed by the green. 

The chant is all he can hear, even as he shoves towards the circle, even as he slams against the same wall Dick’s against. 

The world goes bright and he can’t keep his eyes on Jason. On his son. 

When the light fades, Jason’s not alone. 

A being sits six feet in the air, Jason collapsed over his lap, somehow hovering with the - what is he? He looks human, but there’s something wrong. Off. Bruce can’t quite pinpoint his age. A crown glows on his head, an ever shifting cape spills down his back, dragging close to the floor. His eyes are green as Lazarus, and just as deep. Jason is breathing, Bruce notes. The being’s hands curl in Jason’s hair, playing with it idly. 

The air is *rigid, and everyone’s stopped fighting. No one can draw their eyes away from the being. 

“You dare to summon me with one of my own?” The being speaks, and it’s like crackling glaciers. Someone whimpers. 

“We - wanted to give you a gift,” One of the men in black says, his voice chattering. 

It’s like breathing in ice. 

“A gift?” The being says and the sound is fury, banked in a waiting avalanche. “What kind of gift is this? A denizen of my Realms, trapped and tortured? Used to summon his king, against his will? This is no gift.” 

“B-but we didn’t know,” another speaks, and then obviously realizes he shouldn’t have. 

“Ignorance will not save you,” the being says, and it - he’s? - still holding Jason like he’s something precious. “And I am not the only one you have infuriated. 

“I am not the only one you have awoken.” 

To a man, the GIW agents cry out in panic. Bruce turns, looking for the threat but - the agents are buried to various depths in the cracked concrete floor. The ground is decidedly solid beneath Bruce’s feet but the agents would obviously not agree. They flounder, like the concrete is quicksand. The summoners are next, but it’s ice that gets them, crawling up their bodies until they’re locked into place. 

“My lord!” One cries and promptly finds himself gagged. 

Bruce can’t stay silent any longer. “Hood was used against his will to summon you,” he starts. The being’s eyes meet Bruce’s. “He didn’t want this. Is he alright?” 

“Your son is fine,” the voice is rough, but feminine, and obviously not from the being. It’s around him, dancing through the steel beams and pushing through concrete. “You are mine, my knight. You and yours are mine. The little king will not harm him, nor you.” A figure forms off to his right. 

“Holy shit,” Dick whispers. Bruce has to agree. 

She’s made of concrete, of broken brick and dust, of bone and police tape, of twisted metal and more. 

“Gotham,” Bruce breathes, and he doesn’t know how he knows but he does.

“Hello, my knight,” she says, her form shifting. She turns slightly, and there’s something sharp in her movement. “Hello, little king.” 

“Lady Gotham,” The being - the king? - returns. “You look well,” 

Lady Gotham laughs, a ringing sound - it’s bells and gravel, fresh air on a summer day and rising wind. “How you flatter me, little king. Do you fear me?” 

The being grins, mischief dancing around him, white hair floating high. “I respect you. It’s good to see you awake, Milady.”

“What is happening?” Tim asks no one in particular. Dick shrugs and Steph just leans harder on Tim. Cass holds Damian’s shoulder firmly, watching carefully. 

Bruce wishes he had an answer. 

“It is good to be awake,” Lady Gotham says, and she shifts closer to the circle, fingers skimming against the barrier of light. “How long do you intend to keep my reaper from me?” 

Reaper. Bruce thinks, and it’s a gut punch. 

It makes sense, to describe Jason. Jason can go where Bruce cannot, do what Bruce cannot. 

The king laughs lightly. “The summoning harmed him, Milady. I’m just keeping him safe. I’m not here to undermine you,” the king’s eyes glow. “But remember who is king.”

Lady Gotham smiles. “I’m aware of hierarchy little king.” 

“My son,” Bruce says, because there’s no point in pretending Jason is anything less. He’s talking to - the embodiment of gotham and a king of - something. “He’ll be okay?” 

Lady Gotham sighs. “He will be fine, my knight. The little king cares for his own.” 

“What - what are you the king of?” Tim asks, bold. 

The being smiles. 

“I am Phantom,” he says. “I am the Ghost King.” 

Jason stirs in his lap, and the implications crash over Bruce. Maybe Reaper has more meaning than he’d thought.

[numerousbees1106]

Just a small update on Crown of Lazarus (AKA the winged immortal Anakin AU)

Just wanted you all to know that I am still working on it! It's currently sitting at around 13.5K words with four completed chapters, but I want to at least finish writing the first arc before I start posting. No idea when that will be done, but I am making progress!

(Not sure what I'm talking about? Read the teasers here and here!)

[unciaknightfall]

Just some Spooky Summoner Shit because I can’t go too long without it c:

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Danny, 15 and thoroughly done with everyone's crap, steals the Crown of Fire and the Skeleton Key and uses the later to find a suitable new High King for the Infinite Realms. The key (also known as Deaths kay) acted like a sort of Infi-map but lacked the limitations of needing a natural portal to spawn in that time/location and could get you past any wards/protections no mater how powerful.

The key spawns him just in front of the form of a sleeping Jason Todd, and Danny decided he wasn't going to question the magical keys judgment and just plops the crown on a bleary and startled Jasons head.

The crown burned for this guy, signaling that it found him worthy and that was more than enough for Danny.

With no context whatsoever, Danny looked Jason in the eye, burning neon green meeting with wide greenish blue, "You're our king now."

Then he vanished.

Jason later finds that the Lazarus entity left behind a handmade pamphlet. It was immensely unhelpful.

[unhingedreblogging]

A rip in reality comes into existence a few feet above the Wayne family dining table, a beaten, broken, bloody body falling through and crashing into it. A heavy black iron crown sitting in this teens hair, a ring the color of bone with a stone the color of frost on his hand, as the blood pools under him, red shot through with Lazarus Pit green. Eyes that flicker between pale blue and unnatural green and the color of winter itself struggle to stay open.

Though the family is concerned they leap into action, attempting to save this teenager who clearly needs help.

[writerfromthestars]

DP X DC : RED HOOD, REVENANT AVENGER OF GOTHAM

Danny's the new king of the ghost zone, and with great power comes great responsibility, so that means paperwork. as he's going through the intake forms for several new ghosts, he comes across a few interesting discrepancies, in the files of one Jason Peter Todd. It would appear that the guy came back to life, but the bureaucratic error was never rectified, so he's running around not fully alive, and not quite dead, either. He isn't a halfa, but he is very liminal and made liminal on corrupted ectoplasm at that. Basically, he's a revenant with an obsession, and the corruption in the ectoplasm means that he has nothing to modulate this obsession.

So, Danny does the logical thing and asks around the ghost zone's latest Gothamite guest to see who exactly, this newest revenant is. What he finds is certainly interesting, and he spends a day going through the records of Jason Todd's life, death, and subsequent resurrection, as well as lists of those the Red Hood has avenged or helped.

And Ancients are the lists long. There are Gothamites who were killed and avenged by the Red Hood, Gothamites who worked for him and are singing his praises, Gothamites who never met him but saw the good he was doing.

So, Danny's decision is as follows: he will head to the mortal world and fix whatever is wrong with this guy's core, and, as compensation for the accidental revival, subsequent trauma, and as thanks for helping so many of his subjects, the Red Hood will receive protection from all things undead, dead, or thereabouts, one of the rare medals of honor that the ghost zone bestows upon very helpful citizens, and Danny will make Crime Alley and the Bowery his official haunt.

It's simple enough. One Tuesday night, he sneaks into the current safehouse, leaves the medal and an official looking letter explaining it, fixes the Lazarus Pit Rage, and delineates the Red Hood's new haunt based on the directions from Gotham, who is more than happy to help after seeing her favorite child recognized for his good deeds.

Jason wakes up that Wednesday morning acutely aware of three muggings happening in Crime Alley, with the Pit Rage nothing more than a bad memory, and a medal on his kitchen table recognizing him for services to the Crown of the Dead, including avenging wronged souls.

He decides to just take the weird omniscient sense of stuff going wrong in the Alley at face value because he doesn't know what the fuck is happening.

Later, when Batman tries to enter the Alley, he finds himself unable to step past the border.

Paranoia ensues.