#Major crack

[puppiesandnightlock]

LINK: Last Friday Night

Cowritten with the lovely @livingtobethevillain, who's idea set us off on this road ;-;

Summary: Damian wasn’t one to go out of his way to cause scandals or to give the masses something to gossip over. He tried to distance himself from his family in that aspect. He liked the way his name was kept out of the papers, unlike his father or siblings. It was something he took pride in.

Or something he did take pride in. Because as the saying goes, love makes you stupid. And well, Jon wanted Damian to have fun. Damian had reasoned that a couple drinks wouldn’t hurt. But once Damian had passed the threshold of ‘a couple drinks’ that's when the trouble really started.

TL;DR Damijon + friends go out and party, Damian gets a bit too drunk and everyone thinks this is hilarious

Anyone who knew Damian would know that being caught by the press doing anything “improper” was simply unheard of for him. 

His brothers and father had hundreds of scandals, memes, audios on the internet but surprisingly, even having been brought up in the spotlight, he’d rarely had any.

But of course, Jon had to change that.

There was an awful lot of truth when people say love makes someone stupid, and as much as Damian was loath to admit it, he was as weak to the emotion as anyone, and it had led to many things he’d come to cringe at.

Although, admittedly there hadn’t been any as…spectacular as this one, though.

It was not a special occasion by any means that led to these events, just a meet-up with some friends at a local bar near Met U. They’d parked a few blocks away and were walking down to the entrance, hands swinging between them.

Damian took a deep breath, letting the warm air slide in and out of his lungs before looking at his husband out of the corner of his eye.

“Jonathan, if you have something you’d like to say you are welcome to say it.” Damian said, the corners of his mouth quirking up in amusement.

“Well-I-I just-” Jon stuttered before clearing his throat and gathering himself. 

“I wanted to ask if-well I couldn’t help but notice that you're always the one in the group that stays sober on the nights we go out and I wanted to ask if this time, would you want to be the one to, y’know, party.” Jon rubbed his neck with the hand not intertwined with Damian’s, the other man raising an eyebrow. “This isn’t like-a scheme to get you drunk by the way, I know how it sounds. I just…I want you to have fun.”

Damian's expression softened. “Thank you, love. But you don’t need to worry, okay? I have plenty of fun even when I am off to the side.”

Jon snorts and Damian scowls playfully. 

“Last time we went out you were so high strung that you nearly drop-kicked a guy ‘cause he bumped into me.” Jon laughs.

“He shouldn't have bumped into you if he didn’t want to face the consequences.” Damian responded dryly. 

“Yeah okay,” Jon says, rolling his eyes. “Just-try to let yourself have fun. I'll be the one that plays lookout tonight, alright? You don’t have to worry about anything.” 

Damian hums in acknowledgement. “You feel very strongly about this.” 

“I do.” Jon gives a crooked smile and Damian can’t help but give a small but genuine smile back. 

“Well, we’ll see when we arrive.”

That was neither a yes or a no, but a small victory nonetheless. They weaved through the crowd of college students, staying in a comfortable silence until they reached the inside of the bar. 

They were quickly spotted by Kathy, who dragged them over to where Colin and Maya were sitting, already with drinks in hand.

“Damian!” Colin slung an arm around his neck, not quite drunk but enough alcohol in his system to be rendered tipsy. 

“Wilkes.” Damian ducked under the grasp, momentarily regretting the evening. 

“So, who’s gonna stay sober this evenin’?” Kathy called from where she was hanging off of Jon, much like Colin had Damian a few seconds before. “Y’all can count Colin off the list.”

“Jon is, I believe.” Damian responded, slightly awkward.

Cheers went up, and Maya tipped her glass towards him. “All grown up, aren’t you, little brother? Gonna join the grownups for some fun?”

He scoffed, taking a seat next to her. “Hardly. Just because I did not join the rest of you imbeciles in becoming inebriated doesn’t mean I was less of an adult.”

“Hey!” Jon put a hand to his heart, mock-offended. 

“Not you, of course,” He was quick to remedy the statement, both sharing soft smiles that left their friends gagging. 

“I’m too sober for your disgusting PDA,” Kathy announced, waving a hand to get the attention of the bartender. 

“Amen to that!” Maya sipped from her cup, Damian’s answering unimpressed expression being undermined by the blush that heated up his face at their words. Jon only laughed in response, placing a chaste kiss on Damian’s cheek, before then starting up a conversation to update their friends on recent solo missions, although they were worded to sound like typical civilian jobs to any possibly prying ears.

Kathy brought over a refill for Colin and Maya, as well as Damian’s first drink of the evening. 

“Figures.” Colin snorted, looking over at the glass. “You’ll never grow out of rich boy shit, will you?”

“This is perfectly acceptable.” Damian sniffed, looking mildly insulted. Jon patted his shoulder, nodding along. 

”Whipped.” Kathy muttered into her drink. Jon coughed, the rest of them snickering.

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

They went on like this for a good five minutes, Damian on the brink of losing his mind for all of it. It was better to save his grievances until the night was in full swing, as things would only escalate from there, and there was no use in wasting his breath when it wouldn’t be heard over the loud music.

It wasn’t long before the group needed another round of drinks. Jon volunteered to grab them and motioned for Damian to follow. Damian tilted his head in a silent question but followed anyway. The pair made their way through the crowd, their hands naturally linking back up as a way to stay close. 

“Are you alright, Dearest?” Damian asked upon arriving at the main bar area. 

“What? Oh yeah, I'm fine. I actually wanted to check on you again.” Jon admitted sheepishly. 

Damian huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes fondly. “Of course,”  

Jon fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “You know I wasn't trying to pressure you earlier right? You don't have to get balls to the wall wasted-I just-”

Damian squeezed Jon’s hand reassuringly. “Beloved. I know you didn’t mean any harm. I am well aware of my autonomy, believe me. And if I do get ‘balls to the wall wasted’ that is my choice. Okay?”

Jon laughs and his shoulders slump in relief. “Yeah. Okay. Sounds good. Is that-like-the plan then?”

“tt-of course not. Who do you take me for? Richard?” Damian scoffed, his face scrunching up at the mention of his older brother. 

Jon grins. “I mean-”

Damian glares. “Finish that thought, Kent. I dare you.” 

Jon barks out a loud laugh. “Wouldn’t you call me ‘Wayne’? I did take your last name.” 

“You’re an imbecile.” Damian said, the effect was lost of course seeing as the pair’s hands were still connected and there was an unmistakable fond note in his tone. 

It wasn’t much longer before Damian and Jon were able to get the group's desired drinks. Sliding back into their claimed seats, Damian stayed tense, back straight as he sipped on his drink and surveyed the room. He was quickly offset as he felt a light smack hit his shoulder. 

“Relax, Darlin’.” Jon said, looking exasperated. 

Damian sighed, rolled his shoulders and focused on the conversation that was being had at the table. 

“And then, you’ll never believe this, he tried to hit on me!” Kathy waved her drink around, Maya and Colin cackling.

“I was like, excuse me sir, does this look like the face of someone ready to drop their panties? No! I have a knife to your throat.” 

Damian snorted at that, Jon looking over, pleased. As time went on, the music seemed quieter and the lights not as blinding. Damian had already well entered tipsy-zone, onto his fourth drink now, and the world blurring together into a perfect mess.

The rest of their friends were past the safety zone and on their way to an early morning monster hangover. 

“Beloved, have I told you how much I love you today?” Damian had draped himself on top of his husband, looking at him with adoring eyes, caramel skin dusted with a pink flush. 

“Yes.” Jon chuckled, keeping him close. “But I’d love to hear it again.” 

Damian hummed and leaned in close enough that their breaths mingled and Jon could smell the alcohol on his husband's breath. 

“I love you.” Damian said quietly in the very little space between them. His husband leaned forwards to close the distance and place a chaste kiss on his nose.

“Love you too.”

Damian laughed in response and leaned back just enough to breathe, his arms comfortably wrapped around Jons shoulders and one hand propped to play with the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“You’re pretty.” Damian mumbled. 

Jon flushed immediately, ducking his head with a small laugh. “Thank you, darlin’, you’re not half bad yourself.”

Damian tilted his head with an indulgent smile. “I'm absolutely stunning and we both know it.  What’s that one song? The one that’s like-'I'm sexy and I know it’? Yeah, that's me.” 

Jon coughed, unsure whether to burst into laughter or blush harder. “Sure is, D. You've always been the more confident of the two of us.”

Damian groaned. “Well yeah, but do remember-you have every reason to be confident in your appearance as well. I mean-I love you for many reasons but one of them would absolutely be how ethereal you look at all times.”

He went with the ‘blush harder’ option, resisting the urge to duck his head again and instead peppering Damian’s face with little kisses. “You’re so sweet when you’re like this.”

Damian laughed in response to the kisses, lightly pushing Jon away and rolling his eyes. Jon gives a crooked smile and Damian takes another drink from his glass. 

“I'm not sweet, Jonathan,” he scoffed. “I’m simply an honest man. And the truth I'm living is that you're the love of my life.” 

Damian leaned in to steal another kiss from his blushing husband before leaning back again and sipping from his drink. 

This time Jon did hide his face a bit, sure he was burning from the words. Their friends who had previously been on the dance floor returned, Kathy leaning on Maya and Colin stumbling over with a grin on his face.

Damian sat up upon seeing their friends. He downed the rest of the drink he had been drinking and waved them over. 

“Hello peasants.” Damian smirked. “Glad to know none of you are passed out in the bathroom.” 

“If anyones ending this night passed out in the bathroom, it’ll be you. I’ll eat my shoe if I can’t hold my liquor better than you can, assassin training or not.” Colin challenged, leaning over.

“Yeah sure, Wilkes. Whatever you say. I’ll bet you check out before we even get started. What, with how you're leaning off to the side?” Damian scoffed, pointedly ignoring the way he was also leaning a bit too far to the side when he wasn't paying attention. 

Colin called for a round of shots, leaning towards the other side at Damian’s observation. 

“C’mon, how many do you think you can do? Before passing out, of course.”

“More than you, I'm sure.” Damian challenged.

“Bring it, Wayne.” he picked up a shot glass, the rest of them looking on, Kathy and Maya cheering while Jon looked mildly concerned.

Damian patted Jon’s fidgeting hands reassuringly. “Stop looking like that,” he said, picking up his own glass. “Go back to being embarrassed. That was cute.” 

“Hey!” Jon protested, his voice going unheard as the girls counted down.

“1, 2, 3!”

Damian and Colin both swallowed down their shots, both of their faces screwing up for a moment at the strong taste.

“Gonna give up?” Colin grinned, picking up a second one. He tipped it towards the other boy, a challenge clear in the gesture.

Damian scoffed and snatched another shot. “I hope you’re prepared for the hangover you’ll experience tomorrow. I’ve heard blackouts are worse than normal hangovers.”

“You’re gonna eat your words, rich boy.” 

By the fifth shot, both were beyond the bridges of completely wasted, Colin more so then Damian. Jon plucked the 6th glass from both of them, giving them both glasses of water instead. 

“Okay, no one’s getting alcohol poisoning tonight, thanks.” 

“Aw, why not?” Damian pouted, head tilting in amusement. “Go big or go home, right?” 

“Mm, yeah but I'm the one taking you home, and I love you too much to let that happen.”

Damian slid off his chair and leaned into Jon, standing between his legs, chest to chest with his husband. 

“I love you too, beloved.” Damian tilted his head up and caught Jon’s lips with his own. Jon made a surprise noise before melting into the contact. Damian's hands coming up to tangle in Jon’s hair before Damian was pulled away by the collar of his shirt. 

Damian turned and glared at Kathy, while Jon was catching his breath. “Excuse you.” 

Kathy grinned in response and shrugged. “Keep it to the bedroom, lovebirds, I don't wanna see it.” 

Damian muttered a couple unsavory words under his breath but sat back down in his own seat. 

Jon momentarily mourned the loss of his husband, joining Damian in shooting Kathy a less-than-pleased look. 

“Like you haven’t done worse,” He scoffed. “At least you haven’t walked in on us, unlike some people who don’t understand the concept of locked doors.” 

She seemed to have been silenced with that, only snickering a bit as she snuck a sip from Maya’s half-empty glass, sitting abandoned on the table.

From there time flew by, Jon sat in place for a long while, just observing and having lost Damian at some point. Jon exasperatedly looked around throughout the crowd and it was only when Maya stumbled out of a dance circle that he was able to ask where his husband had wandered off to. 

“-eah i don't know, i think he and Colin are dancing somewhere. I know Kathy went to get them some more water.” Maya laughed. “Never thought I'd see the day that Damian Wayne got shitfaced in some random bar but here we are.” 

Jon snorted and let Maya stride over to Kathy. Jon–now with a direction in mind–headed over to find Damian on the dancefloor. 

Jon wasn’t disappointed by what he found. Damian and Colin were each having the time of their lives drunkenly dancing and then proceeding to laugh their asses off at the other at the drop of a hat. Jon’s eyes wandered back to Damian and Jon let out a choked noise upon seeing the man's newest attempt at dancing. This time he moved his hips and let his hands drift up his sides. The lights above them washed over his handsome features nicely, his dark eyes feeling like something Jon could get lost in. 

Someone bumped into Jon and the spell was broken by another round of laughter from Colin and Damian. Jon strode forward and wrapped an arm around Damians waist. 

“Hey, darlin’. Having fun?” He said fondly. 

Damian twisted in Jon’s hold and pressed close, as he had done multiple times that night. Jon was beginning to sense a pattern.

“I am, thank you for asking, dearest. Me and Colin were dancing.” Damian said, only slightly slurring his words. 

“I think it might be time to head home, hun. It’s late and I can guarantee that tomorrow you're going to want as much sleep as possible.” Jon stated, rubbing his hand soothingly up and down Damians back.

Colin whined. “Awe c’mon, night’s barely begun. We’ve been here, what? Two hours?”

Jon laughed. “Try again. We’ve been here for about four and a half.” 

“Damn, alright.” Colin shrugged. “Just make sure to tell Kathy when you leave. You don’t want her losing her mind when she can't find y’all at the end of the night.”

“Will do. C’mon, D.” He led his husband back to where the girls were, Damian doing as much as possible to stay close to Jon, hanging off of him like a baby koala. 

They stopped at the table, Jon being pulled into a seat while Damian unlatched himself and proceeded to sit in his lap instead of the many available seats, arms going around Jon's neck.

“What’re you doing?” He chuckled.

“Is it illegal to take a seat now? Unbelievable.” Damian scoffed.

“I-Okay, we need to get you home.” Jon shook his head fondly, before pulling out his phone and sending a quick message to the group chat.

“There. Now they know that we’re headed home. Are you okay to walk or do I need to carry you?” Jon said, only half joking. 

Damian huffed. “I can walk perfectly fine.” 

Jon raised an eyebrow.

“You’re lucky I'm madly in love with you or else your disrespect would not go unnoticed.” Damian said, sounding fond. 

Jon smiled softly. “I wouldn't have thought that you’d be an affectionate drunk, but here we are.” 

“M’not drunk, I'm just…hm. In a good mood.” Damian insisted. 

“Of course, of course.” Jon rolled his eyes, before sliding Damian off his lap and steadying the both of them. 

“Time to go home, Dames.” 

—--------

The light was much too bright out, Damian decided as he opened his eyes, despite the protests of the hammer going off inside of his skull. The blackout curtains were drawn shut, but the tiny sliver of light coming through them seemed much more like a flashlight shined directly into his face.

With what he’d admit was mild discomfort, he shifted in bed, drawing a small noise from his husband, who was apparently not asleep.

“Good morning.” The words were whispered but sounded like a megaphone, causing Damian to swat at him.

“Speak quieter.”

“I guess the hangover isn’t treating you as well as you’d hoped.” Jon’s voice was much more amused than he would have liked, but at the moment, he hadn’t the energy to comment on it, only grumbling.

“This is all your fault.”

“It always is, isn’t it?” Jon gently pushed back a few loose pieces of hair around his face. “You didn’t have to get as…compromised as you did, but you Bats can never back down from a challenge.”

“And you kryptonians do?” Damian snorted, wincing as the action jostled his body. “Beloved, if you ran from a challenge, i don’t believe we’d be here.” 

Jon hummed in acknowledgement. “So, moral of the story is we’re both stubborn and competitive. Yeah? Me slightly more than you, of course. ‘Cause you’re just a sweet baby angel aren’t ya, honey?”

Damian scoffed and subsequently cringed again, Jon’s previous snark was replaced with soft, exasperated affection.

“I’ll grab you some painkillers and some water. I'll be right back, darlin’.” Jon clambered out of bed and shuffled himself out of the room. 

Damian closed his eyes and willed the headache to go away. 

“Hey, we’re both off today from day jobs so that’s nice–oh and I was planning on calling Bruce and asking about us sitting out of patrol for tonight-” Jon rounded the bed and quickly handed off the aforementioned items. 

“No.” Damian mumbled. 

“You really can’t think you’re alright to patrol tonight-” Jon said slowly.  

Damian glared tiredly and Jon crossed his arms. 

“I’m fine, Jon. Stop coddling.” Damian insisted. 

Jon sighed in response but didn’t push. He crawled back into bed and picked up his phone only for his eyebrows to shoot up into his hairline upon seeing the mass amounts of notifications on his homescreen. Tiktok, instagram, snapchat. Any kind of social media and there was someone mentioning him, or trying to get his attention. It wasn’t too unusual. Not really. Jon always had at least a bit of attention due to marrying one of Gotham’s sweethearts. But even then, this was excessive. Curiously Jon randomly opened one of the Tiktok videos that people had been sending him–and Jon couldn’t help the laugh that shook his body upon watching. 

“Shut up,” Damian uncurled just enough to glare at his husband. 

Jon didn’t even attempt to stifle the chuckles that escaped his mouth. 

“You’re famous, Dami.” Jon snorted. “Again.”

Damian huffed and sat up to snatch Jon’s phone. It took all of five seconds for Damian’s face to flush upon recognizing himself from the night before. 

It was an edit, Damian vaguely remembers himself and Colin dancing with each other and apparently the people had  not only seen but recorded, uploading the clips onto the internet for frivolous purposes like these.

Damian glared at Jon and gestured pointedly with the phone, ignoring the looped music playing from the device. “This is your fault.” 

Jon laughed harder. 

Their ship name was trending again, along with different variations of Damian's name. The rest of the morning was spent with his horrible husband watching various edits and reading posts aloud to him.

Of course, it was all followed up by being doted on the rest of the day, which may or may not have made up for everything.

When the evening came and he slipped on the suit, Jon tried to talk him out of it again. 

“Really, Dami, I think they’d understand, people have called off patrol for less.” He plucked the mask from his husband’s hold, putting out the puppy eyes he knew made the other’s resolve crumble.

“Jonathan.” Damian huffed, reaching up for the mask, eyebrow raising as it was held above his head in a childish gesture. “I will not be brought down by a generally harmless illness and an unfortunately timed headache.”

“A hangover, babe.” Jon kept the mask above his head as if they were bickering preteens and teens all over again. “You never drink enough to get properly wasted, so now that you have, it’s not going to be kind to you.”

“You’re being childish, give it to me.” Damian scolded instead, refusing to lower himself to the grounds where he’d jump. He’d need a running start to reach above Jon’s height, and frankly, he was not in the mood for this, nor willing to waste what little energy he had left.

“Just stay tonight, i’ll stay with you,” He pleaded once more. Damian sighed, looking out of the apartment window at the darkening sky.

“I will end patrol two hours earlier.” He offered, headache thanking him as it thrummed in his skull. 

Jon scrunched up his face, analyzing him, before handing him the mask, resigned. “You shouldn’t even be going out. I’m a horrible husband for condoning this.”

“You were a horrible husband when you let me go viral due to my antics while inebriated, no matter how pure the intentions.”

Jon whined. “You’re so mean.” 

“So I've been told.” Damian snorted.

Jon sighed and handed over the mask, it was quiet for a moment as Damian checked over his gear. 

“You have to admit that the reality of you being a party drunk is pretty damn funny-” Jon said, breaking the silence.

“Jonathan.” 

“I know you’re embarrassed, it's okay honey-'' Jon grinned. 

“I am not embarrassed-” Damian huffed. 

“You totally are!” Jon laughed. 

“You are on thin ice, habibi.” Damian turned away from Jon and made his way out into the night.

“You know you love me.” Jonathan chirped, following close behind. 

“I suppose that’s why I married you, isn’t it?”

—--------

Damian was beginning to wonder if he should have listened to his husband.

The sudden jolt of nausea had caused him to nearly miss a swing from his grappling hook, looking downwards not helping whatsoever. He made it finally to the designated rooftop his siblings had told him to go to. On a normal day, he would have seen where it was going, but at this point, he was much too out of it to care too much.

“Hey Demon.” A voice from behind him caused him to jump and he turned, seeing his second oldest brother grinning at him, helmet under his arm.

“Todd.” he crossed his arms. 

“He got you, didn’t he, Baby Bat?” Tim appeared next, a smirk on his face. “Must be a bit disorienting for you, huh?”

“I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re on about, Drake.” Damian sniffed, turning around and silently begging every deity known to man that his siblings wouldn’t mention his…late night escapades. 

Of course, God is dead and Damian could always count on the others to stir the pot even more.  Dick hugged him, and mentioned nothing, thank fuck, but Stephanie was another thing.

“You’re all over the internet, Dami!” Steph cackled, shoving his phone in his face. The brightness was too high for his liking and he batted it away, grumbling.

“Little brother, not in shape for patrol.” Cass said, sounding serious but the mirth was dancing in her eyes.

“Baby’s first awful hangover!” Jason cheered, ruffling his hair. “Surprised your gorgeous husband whom you love so much and is the best person in the world didn’t make you stay.”

Damian cringed at the use of descriptions, just one of the things from when he was drunk off his ass and waxing poetic about his partner going viral on the internet. 

“He attempted it. I am perfectly fine, thank you.”

“You’re too young for this,” Dick wailed. “This is my baby, you guys, this is not right-!”

“Grayson.” Damian grumbled and his oldest brother clung to him. “Stop.”

Jason snorted. “C’mon don’t beat him while he's down. Plus. You’re, what? Ten years old?”

“I am twenty four!” Damian hissed.

“Four?” Tim echoed, shit-eating grin splitting his face open. “Holy shit you guys, he’s still a baby.”

“Drake.” Damian growled as he was held tighter. “Sleep tonight and you will not wake tomorrow.”

“Dami,” Dick whined. “You got drunk-” 

“Yes, we’ve established this.” Damian grumbled. 

“You’d think with all the bitching you’ve done at us, you’d never even touch alcohol.” Steph said, still scrolling on her phone. 

“I am an adult. I am allowed a couple drinks-” said Damian. 

“More than a couple.” Cass shook her head while the rest of their siblings stifled their laughter. 

“Need to go home.” She declared, poking at him affectionately.

“I’m fine.” Damian would never admit to the whine that laced the words, swatting at Cass’s hand.

“Uh-huh,” Jason snorted.

“I blame Jon.” Damian grumbled. 

“How could you say that about the love of your life?!” Steph gasped in mock offense. 

“He’s the one who encouraged me to ‘have fun’. I was merely making him happy and…got carried away.” Damian flushed and elbowed Dick at his responding coo. 

“God, you guys are so gross. Ew, Look you’re practically grinding on him-” Steph flashed her phone in Damian’s eyes again and Damian hissed. 

“He is my husband. Stop being a voyeur, Brown.” Steph’s face screwed up in disgust. “And I swear you turned up the brightness on that vile device just to spite me.” Damian scowled. 

“Maybe I did, what’re you gonna do about it? Stab me? When you can’t even walk in a straight line?” Steph grinned. 

“You’re all dead to me.” Damian deadpanned. “Also that is a gross dramatization. If I was that compromised I wouldn't have come to patrol at all.”  

At the responding looks of skepticism, Damian sighed. At that moment there was a thump and the crunch of gravel as another person joined them. None of the young adults had to look to know it was their dad, or as he was now, Batman. 

The immediate silence weighed over them, louder than the previous conversations. Anticipation hung in the air as he cleared his throat, seemingly waiting for a greeting.

“Father.” Damian glanced at him, seemingly unconcerned over the possibilities this exchange might bring.

“Damian.” Bruce responded stiffly, looking rather uncomfortable. Damian raised a brow, seemingly scandalized.

“Names on the field, Batman.”

“Right, well, how has your day been?” Bruce coughed, much to Damian’s confusion.

“Fine..?” Damian narrowed his eyes at him. “What are you getting at?”

“Last night seemed to have been very eventful for you.” There was a choked wheezing noise from behind him, undoubtedly one of his brothers. 

Damian flushed, crossing his arms and looking much like a petulant child then the adult he was supposed to be. “I’m far past legal age, father. I’m married, I no longer live under your roof, there’s really no need for-”

“I don’t think we really ever had a talk about safe drinking, son.” Bruce cut him off with a seemingly concerned tone of voice.

“Father, we absolutely do not have to-”

“You should always have a limit, and I know that you do, but please remember to have a designated driver, and stay hydrated.” Bruce’s voice was tuned out by Damian’s own fuming thoughts, his siblings barely concealed laughter echoing in his mind.

This was humiliating. Here he was, surrounded by absolute hypocrites, all clowning on him and giving him talks. He was Damian Al Ghul Wayne (Kent), for fuck’s sake! He’d been building up his tolerance since he was a child, granted not that it had been exercised recently past a glass of champagne at a gala, but still. 

“-amian? Damian, are you listening to me?” He snapped out of his thoughts, Tim seemingly doing a dolphin impression next to him, high pitched shrieks and rumbles of barley held back laughter.

“No.” Damian scowled. “You’re all hypocrites, how dare you have the audacity to treat me this way when each of you have had much worse versions of this than I have! At least I didn’t go around trying to flirt with anyone other than the person I am actually with.”

”Pretty sure he just called y’all hoes.” Steph stage-whispered, Tim now in a fetal position on the rooftop and rocking back and forth while Jason cackled loudly.

“Furthermore, yes, while my tolerance isn’t exactly what it used to be, it certainly looks better that I am actually of the correct age for something like this, and everyone seems to have taken it as positive publicity. This was my choice, no matter how other elements may have influenced it.”

He let out a long breath, looking up with annoyed glance. “And besides, I was kept safe by Jonathan, who didn’t let any of us go past a limit, and cared for me and attempted to get me off of patrol.”

”Whipped.” came from somewhere in the crowd, followed by a gagging noise and something that sounded like a dying vacuum. 

“Tt.” Damian turned. “I’ve had enough of you imbeciles. I’m retiring for the night, and you’ll do well to stop gossiping for God’s sake.”

The tips of his ears were dusted pink, betraying his mortification over the events. He moved to shoot his grappling hook, tripping and landing on his face due to the dully pounding headache at the back of his head that was meddling with his senses.

That was the tipping point for his siblings, and the poorly concealed laughter began to scream out near hysterically. 

“What, were you all hit with laughing toxin?” Damian brushed himself off, looking moments away from stomping his foot like a toddler. “You’re insufferable, the lot of you!”

He swooped away, entire body burning in shame. God, he should have just listened to Jon. Not that he’d tell him though.

—----------

Damian was considerably less flustered by the time he entered his home but the tips of his ears still felt warm when he thought back to the mortifying encounter with his family. 

“Of course all of them had to be present to humiliate me. None of them can be bothered to make time for any event of actual importance but oh as soon as there's blood in the water everyone shows up. Sharks, the lot of them.” Damian muttered angrily. 

“So how was patrol?” Damian looked up to see Jon leaning against a doorway nearby. 

“It went well, nothing interesting.” Damian said, lying through his teeth. 

Jon looked amused. “Liar.” 

Damian held back a groan. “And why do you say that, Jonathan.” 

“Aside from the fact that you look more pissed off than usual, you have your tells.” Jon looked fond. 

“What may these tells be, exactly?” Damian raised an eyebrow.

Jon shrugged with a grin and finally made his way over to Damian before wrapping his arms around his waist. 

“You inhale a bit through your nose and deliberately make more eye contact when you lie. I’ve always assumed it was to keep your heart rate controlled and to make what you're saying be taken more seriously because usually you hate direct eye contact.” Jon explained.

Damian did groan aloud at this and Jon laughed quietly. Damian scoffed but couldn’t help the way his eyes softened at the sound and the way he leaned into Jon’s touch. Damian and Jon were again chest to chest but this time they just existed in each other's arms and swayed slightly to the soft sound of a song that only the two of them could hear. 

“Seriously though, are you alright?” Jon pulled away slightly before he finally spoke again after an indiscernible amount of time had passed. His voice was soft and slightly concerned. Damian sighed and pulled out of his arms completely in order to get out of his suit. 

“I’m fine, I promise, habibi. Slightly embarrassed due to my family's idiocy but fine nonetheless.”

Jon hummed. “I’m going to take a wild guess and assume they saw the videos online.” 

Damian snorted. “Stephanie made it her mission to scroll through as many as she could.” 

“Of course she did.” Jon rolled his eyes. 

Damian pulled off the last bits of armor and quickly pulled on a pair of sweatpants that had been lying around as well as a shirt he didn’t doubt belonged to Jon seeing as it hung a bit loosely off his frame. 

“I would like to go to bed now.” Damian said, coming to lean into his husband’s side once more. 

“Sounds good to me. I did put out some water and painkillers for you if you need them, though.” Jon said. 

 Damian's headache abruptly made itself known now that Damian’s attention was brought back to it. 

“Ah, yes. Water and medication, then sleep.” Damian winced. 

Soon, Damian and Jon were able to fall back into bed and wrap themselves around each other under their duvet. Damian hid his face in the crook of Jon’s neck and Jon tilted his own to the side in order to rest his chin atop the soft strands of Damian's hair. Before long, both were fast asleep and soft snoring filled the room. 

It was quiet, save the soft noises of sleep. And despite the darkness of night, the love that they held for each other was as bright and clear as day. It would continue like that as long as they would stay together, a shining beacon of light through the harder times and lighthearted chaos. For now, though, they were content to stay like that, their bubble of home, warm and soft and full of love.

[hinamie]

mentor

[numberonedukethomasapologist]

(This is so random and I'm going a bit insane at almost 3am😫)

Duke: Tim! Wssp?

Tim: *face half an inch away from his phone* reading.

Duke: reading what?

Tim: 🧍🏻‍♂️

Duke:🧍🏾‍♂️

Tim *mumbles*

Duke: huh?

Tim: *mumbles a bit louder* superbat😔

Duke: omg?? *whips out his phone and opens a recent tab* same?!

*staring at eachother in disbelief for a solid minute*

[Meanwhile in the other room]

Jason: *writing superbat fics*

[illmoraineakoi]

So, I know I'm a little (very) late to the AvA stuff, but I was rewatching AvM Season 3 for the seven hundredth time and, well, I noticed something and I'm curious to know if it's been discussed before.

AvM Episode 29, Purple's story, specifically, Pink's death.

Her color changes as she dies, or is represented to have died.

It fades to grey.

Now, the question is, can we, or rather should we, use this to infer anything lore-related? Was this just an artistic choice to depict the act of becoming unhealthy/dying, or could this be what actually happens to stick figures that die over a period of time? Are their colors linked to their health?

Let's have a bit of fun with it, and presume that the fading of one's color can happen to a stick figure for health-related reasons, as the scene could imply.

This fading seems to involve loosing the saturation of one's color into grey. Saturation is how vibrant a color is, and the complete lack of saturation is greyscale.

The World-of-Alan reason for Pink's death is that she 'got sick', which is where the health connection of this theory comes from. If she did loose her color as she was dying as the notes depict, that loss of color was likely a result of her failing health rather than any other factors, like age or outside variables. A whole bunch of human body stuff are indicators for good vs poor health, including skin color (jaundice and cyanasis are good examples) so why not a stick's color for them?

What if, when they fully die, they lose all of their original color?

Now, let me propose this…

Who else do we know of who has had their color loose vibrancy?

What if Victim's color has lightened because he's ill?

[fishareglorious]

kakania numero uno reverse 1999 character on the fact she makes a dig on the sex life of the guy she was dueling with at the moment. while also somewhat kinda maybe implying she fucked his wife

[daisiesandviscaria]

no thoughts just kevin being such a little nerd that he went out of his way and convinced riko to be a history major with him

[weepingtalecowboy]

Fanfiction prompt: considering that wind can see ghosts but instead of hiding it he thinks that everyone can see them because everyone has dealt with supernatural forces

Main while the chain is freaking out because wind keeps talking to nobody and telling them that their his friends or the most unhinged statement he is enemies with the stripes guy who always stands menacingly in a corner trying to be cool (fierce deity)

And the chain starts to worry about wind badly because that is not sane behavior

While another part of the chain (particularly twilight) doesn’t take it THIS seriously because he remembers how Colin spent weeks complaining about his imaginary friend not playing with him and that children can be imaginative especially when bored and that only making him a new toy got him to play with his friend again

And that ends up in the chain thinking that wind must be incredibly bored because they walk all day and not letting him explore and play with bugs and they decided to fix it (but quickly realized that they are in the middle of a forest with nothing particularly interesting)

Wind main while has absolutely no idea what to do with the hand made toy lobster (legend definitely can sew like have you seen him and the ton of outfits he has) or the Fact that Wolfie seems particularly persistent to play fetch ..!.,?! What is going on!? (Twilight quickly realized that he is dog shaped and he also feels extremely guilty that wind is only walking with them)

But also he definitely can’t throw it away because the legend clearly put effort into the thing and he does love lobsters

And he would rather die than let the chance pass to play with Wolfie (that guy never has fun and nobody can make him play anything and the look of pure envy from Wild was totally worth it he is Wolfie's new favorite now , screw you wild)

But unfortunately that one extra toy seems to do nothing about Wind's insistence to talk with walls

And Wolfie tries really really hard to be more interesting than the walls ( he is failing because ghosts will always be more interesting )

The second they enter a town every single link with money goes to ransack the entire town for toys

And wind catches on about their concerns with his mental state and realizes that explaining them how he can see ghosts would probably confirm to them he is crazy

He awkwardly takes the toys and rearranges them in a way that every ghost is next to a toy so that the chain can stop complaining about him because now he has the excuse that he is totally talking to his toys and not any other beings or voices or walls

The chain is happy because they can almost always see him talk to the toys and play with them (the dread they feel when he keeps naming them after dead loved ones of them is something but maybe it is just a coincidence)

Then they catch him playing a game and it’s just the lobster who apparently is named after legend and the bird who he named Marin (Wind was totally only re-enacting Marin's story because he is definitely an adult and only doing the logical thing)

Time later sees him with Wild's majora’s mask (that sits with its face turned like it’s trying not to look at someone) while Wind keeps talking about a big guy with stripes on his face and how he tried to be cool when defeating the demon (war flashbacks activated because that stripes guy seems very familiar)

And legend gets an aneurysm because that lobster story strikes way to close to home for him

They take way to long to figure out in this one (they are the heroes of courage not wisdom afterall)

[yashley]

It’s easier with people around you. To make you feel more like you.

[havinganidentitycrisis]

☆ | SOUL EATER ◇ PROJECT ARCANA | ☆

1. Lord Death as Death

- Meaning: End of cycles, new beginnings, new life.

- Reversed: A reversal of the Death card suggests one is resisting change or a significant transformation. Holding on to old perspectives or beliefs from the past could hinder progress and leave you feeling stagnant.

• Interpretation: The effect Death has on the world and everything in it, his place as not only as a god but existing in nature as well, his legacy as the first guardian and passing it on to the next, the passing of the torch, and knowing that while his time is running short, he trusts those who will lead after him.

[electrozeistyking]

Ghost Drone is an AU where the events of Murder Drones have been spread out some odd years and changed around (except for Episode 1, which remains the same as it does in the show). Alternate takes on Episodes 2, 3 and 5 have already occurred.

The first comic isn't canon to the AU anymore, but since it's the initial concept, I figured I'd include it. This entire post is basically my way of saying "Hey, this AU has been stewing in my brain since the 16th of November in 2023."

[reaching-writing]

In A Week

His throat felt tight. He scowled, shaking his head, and took a breath. It wouldn’t matter, soon enough. Either he would fix everything or he would die. Simple logic. Either way, it would cease to be a problem before long.

He was betraying Gotham City. He was betraying his principles, his most deeply held convictions. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it in the slightest.

Bruce's sons are dead, his body is broken, and his mind is in shambles. Not for nothing, though, he is the Batman, and he is never out of back-up plans. Unfortunately, this back-up plan involves summoning an otherworldly entity and trading away the very essence of his being.

As it turns out, his soul is worth a lot more than he'd initially bargained for.

-

Important Tags: Temporary Major Character Death, Marriage Contracts, Ghost King Danny Fenton, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Crack Treated Seriously

AO3 Here or Read More ⬇️

-

The Watchtower was nearly silent, save only for the quiet scraping of John Constantine’s chalk against the metal floor. He’d been working on the summoning circle for nearly an hour, under the watchful eyes of an unmasked Batman.

Bruce looked back down at the book in his lap, twisting the wheelchair around to look over Constantine’s work one more time. He surveyed the chalk circle with tired, dark eyes, and he could feel Constantine’s own gaze boring a hole into the side of his head. He pointedly did not turn to look at him.

“That’s it,” Bruce said quietly, moving his wheelchair backwards. He rolled further from the circle, nearly backed against the Watchtower’s control panel, and released a slow breath through his nose. “You don’t need to stay.”

“Like hell I’m leaving,” Constantine said, but his tone lacked any bite. He tossed the chalk aside and stepped back, seemingly looking over his work once more. After a long pause, he turned to look at Bruce, his expression grim. “I know I said it already, but this is a stupid fuckin’ idea. Proper bad.”

Bruce snorted humorlessly. ‘Bad’ didn’t even begin to cover it. It was the most idiotic, poorly-conceived plan he’d ever dreamed up, and he had no other choice. Constantine clearly knew that, too, if the dark circles under his eyes were any indicator. They’d both been awake for days, planning and refining the details of a final Hail Mary that would almost certainly get them killed.

Bruce was ashamed, but he didn’t care. The slim chance of success was worth it. If there was even a possibility of hope, they had to try. He owed it to them.

“If it were that bad of an idea, you wouldn’t still be here,” he finally said, though the words felt sour in his mouth. He didn’t want to push Constantine to leave, but it would be cruel to allow the man to stay and die alongside him.

Even so, he found it difficult to prod the man into leaving. Despite his reputation as the Batman — an uncaring, unfeeling vigilante — he still felt human emotions. He tried to not let them cloud his judgment, of course, but he could hardly deny the icy trickle of fear that gripped his throat. Death was always a possibility on the streets of Gotham, but here in the Watchtower, it had always felt so distant. Now, faced with the inevitability of it all, his fingers trembled and his chest was cold. He was afraid.

Constantine scowled, his fingers twitching towards his coat pocket before pausing with a jerky movement. His fingers shook with the tell-tale stress of nicotine withdrawal, and his eyes lingered on the circle, as if deep in thought.

“…I’ll be honest, Bats,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, “I don’t see us walkin’ away from this one.”

And that was the crux of it. If John Constantine, a man who openly mocked demons and frequently weaseled his way out of soul-binding contracts, had such low expectations… Bruce carefully schooled his expression, privately mourning the absence of the cowl. He still couldn’t bring himself to wear it.

He said nothing. There was nothing to say, not really — he was asking a fellow Justice League member to die with him. He had fallen so far in just a month without—

His throat felt tight. He scowled, shaking his head, and took a breath. It wouldn’t matter, soon enough. Either he would fix everything or he would die. Simple logic. Either way, it would cease to be a problem before long.

He was betraying Gotham City. He was betraying his principles, his most deeply held convictions. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it in the slightest.

“Let’s do it,” he said quietly. The candles around the chalk circle flickered, as if registering his statement. He didn’t dare to meet Constantine’s eyes, his gaze focused solely on the small dagger in his lap. He wrapped a shaking hand around the hilt, the fabric around the hilt rough and scratchy against his palm. He took in another slow breath, his heartbeat steady in his chest.

Constantine made a quiet noise. Without any aplomb, he stepped forward, his back to Bruce, and held out an old book. He slowly began speaking, an old Latin chant, with another language that Bruce didn’t recognize mixed in.

“Eliru, reĝo de la damnitaj. Gustumu la sangon, kiu fluas el via sindonemo. Accede ad nos, rex. Accede ad circulum regni tui!”

The candles flickered from orange to green, their acidic glow flaring up and sending shadows dancing around the Watchtower’s command room. Bruce gritted his teeth, leaning forward from his wheelchair and holding his hand out, the dagger primed to strike at his palm.

“Eniru la rondon trankvile kaj aŭskultu nian rabataĉeton!”

Bruce yanked the dagger across his palm, hissing as the blade bit into the thin skin and muscle. His blood spilled over the floor, coating the edge of the circle, and he was hit with the sudden, gut-wrenching realization that this was it. They’d long since passed the point of no return.

The circle glowed white as Constantine’s chanting reached a crescendo. He was almost shouting the final words of the spell, and the white light started bleeding into green. The toxic color of the Lazarus Pits filled the room, just as the sound of static began to surround them.

Bruce dropped the dagger, his stomach dropping as the temperature began plummeting. He nearly turned around to check the Watchtower’s monitoring system, purely on instinct, before he realized that his back was still warm. The cold was not a mechanical failure, but simply the result of the entity they had summoned. It was the icy touch of death’s king, not the reaching void of space.

The green light grew nearly blinding, and Bruce faintly heard Constantine shout before he, too, was drowned out by the light and deafening static. He squeezed his eyes shut, nearly flinching away, and felt a breeze of cold air against his face. The blood on his palm had frozen in place, and the wound burned as if the skin had been cauterized.

Spots danced across his vision when he finally opened his eyes again, the light gradually fading away to reveal a man. Bruce felt a chill run down his spine, but it was not the cold.

The King of Ghosts was tall, that was the first thing he noticed. The entity had broad shoulders and wore a crown wreathed in green flames. His hair tumbled down his shoulders in waves of cascading white, flowing strangely as if he was underwater. His skin was pale and pallid, as if he, himself, was a corpse that had been left in a cold body of water. At that, Bruce looked down at the entity’s fingertips, which were a ghastly black color at the tips. He wondered if the King of Ghosts had once been alive, maybe in the early days of humanity, and had died of hypothermia in a snowbank somewhere.

The King’s face was stern, with the tell-tale wrinkles of age at the corners of his eyes and the sides of his mouth. He couldn’t have been more than 40, but there was a look in his green eyes that spoke of a bone-deep weariness. He wore a long, dark tunic, but it glimmered strangely, as if it contained the stars from a far-away galaxy. Behind him, there was an enormous pair of glowing, white wings, their light nearly blinding to look at. The King held a thick book, though it snapped shut as he seemed to realize that he was, very suddenly, in a new place. His green eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he made eye contact with Bruce.

Finally, he spoke, his voice deep and faintly buzzing with that familiar static. “...You must be Mr. Wayne. I wondered when we would meet.”

“You know who I am?” Bruce asked without thinking, but he internally winced as soon as the words left his mouth. He couldn’t give away how utterly lost he was, how much of a disadvantage he was at.

“Gotham’s local bird-keeper, of course I know who you are,” the Ghost King said, his tone warm. “Your flock is lost to you now, but they still fly in my domain. They are what you seek.”

Bruce’s breath left him all at once, as if he’d been punched. He couldn’t speak, his eyes wide.

The entity continued on, perhaps uncaring for his shock. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I’ve been expecting to meet you for a while. Maybe that’s a strange way to open a conversation… It has been many years since I’ve spoken to- well, a mortal.”

Thankfully, Bruce didn’t need to say a word, as Constantine stepped forward, holding up his spell book. “‘Ello, your Majesty. Er, you already know what we want, so how’s about a trade? The book, in exchange for… Well, y’know.”

The Ghost King raised a white brow before his eyes narrowed. “John Constantine… I’ve been meaning to speak with you, as well. You have saved me a trip to the mortal realm. It isn’t every day that I get to accomplish so much with just one meeting.”

Bruce froze, his heart sinking. He’d known what to expect, but to hear the King say it so bluntly… He cleared his throat, fighting to keep his composure as those intense, unblinking eyes returned to him.

“Constantine doesn’t have anything to do with this, he’s here in an unofficial capacity,” he said quickly, his words steady despite his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. “He is…”

“I’m like his lawyer, here to negotiate on his behalf, your Majesty,” Constantine said smoothly, pulling a cigarette out of his trench coat’s pocket. He leaned down and held it up to one of the candles, still glowing a deathly green, and lit it. With that, he straightened up, taking a deep drag, and breathed out a cloud of smoke. “Pay me no mind, yeah?”

The Ghost King huffed, his head quirking to the side like a bird. “We will address the matter of your soul at a later date, then, magician. And no, the book is not a fair trade. For now, I’d like you,” he pointed towards Bruce, “to tell me what I can do for you.”

Bruce refused to allow himself to be taken aback. He nodded, gritting his teeth for a moment before releasing the tension in his body.

“One month ago, the Joker learned of my secret identity. He took me and my sons hostage, and…” Bruce paused. Flashes of blood and bone flashed behind his eyes, and he could almost hear a high-pitched, shrieking laugh. He would never forget the sound. “My sons are dead. Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake-Wayne, and Damian Wayne. The Joker killed them. I want them back.”

The King hummed, a strange sound that hovered somewhere between static and the crashing of waves upon a distant shore. “The dead do not often tolerate being disturbed.”

“Come off it, mate- erm, sir,” Constantine cut in, sharply correcting himself as the King sent him a dark look. “Your, uh, your Majesty.”

“I invite you to finish your statement, John Constantine,” The King of the Dead said slowly, the room growing colder as he watched the magician. They were rapidly losing control of the situation.

“I just meant, uh-” Constantine floundered, his eyes wide as he held up his hands. “Those kids, they aren’t resting, are they? They’re probably raising hell trying to get back ‘ere.”

The King rolled his eyes, waving a hand towards Constantine absentmindedly. Ghostly chains wrapped around the man’s ankles, sending him toppling down to the floor with a sharp yelp. He opened his mouth to shout, his cigarette falling to the ground, and a gag appeared around his head.

“The adults are talking now, John,” the King intoned, a sparkle of mischief twinkling behind his eyes. As Constantine let out a muffled yell behind the gag, the King turned to Bruce.

“You are not the first to request an audience with me, in regard to your sons,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards before settling down into a neutral countenance. “Though she could not bargain with me, not as you can.”

“Who was it?” Bruce asked before he could think better of it. He immediately went still, hoping desperately that the entity wouldn’t somehow use his words against him. He wasn’t seeking information, he was seeking a deal.

“You are familiar with her. You belong to her, and in a way, she belongs to you,” the King said, waving a hand idly. A glowing green figure appeared beside him for just a moment, their features too foggy to make out clearly. It was a woman wearing a tight cocktail dress, a cigarette raised to her lips.

The image vanished after a fleeting second. “She is the spirit of Gotham City. It is within her shadows that you roam, and within her walls that you bled. She watched the demise of your sons, and she brought their spirits to my realm, when it was time. She is called Lady Gotham. She is… fond of you and your cohort.”

Bruce’s eyes widened. The spirit of Gotham City… The fact that a city could even have a spirit was news to him, but he tried to move past the surprise as quickly as it had occurred. Lady Gotham’s favor was an intriguing prospect, and he was privately glad that someone had been waiting to help his boys when they’d finally passed, but he moved on.

“She requested an audience with you. Did she bring…” He couldn’t quite finish his sentence. He hated to imagine his kids, dead and scared and confused, standing before this imposing entity without any way to defend themselves. It made him sick to his stomach.

“She did not bring them before me, no. She begged for their return to the world of the living, though, and she mourned when I told her that I could not help her.” The Ghost King looked mildly uncomfortable at the thought, his lips pursing together. “If it is any comfort to you, they have not been frightened. Inquisitive and upset, perhaps, but never frightened. They know what happened to them.”

Bruce’s breath caught in his chest. Out of everything he had been expecting from the King of Ghosts, it was not comfort. Cold indifference, perhaps, or even derision. His hands shook, even as he balled them into fists to rest in his lap. He nodded slowly, trying to settle his nerves.

“...Are they happy?” He asked very quietly, unable to speak any louder. As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Either way, he didn’t think that the answer would be pleasant to hear.

The King seemed to sense this as well, and his features softened. His pointed ears lowered. “They were happier in the mortal realm. Death is difficult for ones so young, but there have been people to help them adjust. They have not been alone.”

The pain that had rested in Bruce’s chest for the last month finally made itself known. As if a dam had finally broken, had finally worn away after years of damage, and his eyes burned. His vision blurred slightly as the tears finally welled up, and he fought to breathe around the lump that had suddenly taken up residence in his throat.

There was a moment of silence before the King stepped closer, pausing at the boundary of the circle. A flicker of movement behind his figure had Bruce looking up, and he watched as the entity’s wings shuffled slightly, reminiscent of an uncomfortable bird.

“For what it’s worth, I am… sympathetic to your struggle,” he said, his eyes creased in sympathy. “After hearing Lady Gotham’s case for their revival, I spoke to a few of my closest colleagues. They have agreed that the death of your children was not meant to happen.”

Bruce blinked, the tears spilling over his cheeks. He felt as if he couldn’t breathe, and his entire body felt hot. He was safe, but for some reason, it felt like he was watching his boys die all over again. “...What?”

“The passage of time is a tricky thing,” the King explained, gesturing out in a straight line. “Some things are meant to happen, some are not. Certain timelines must never come to pass, for the good of our reality. Part of my job is ensuring that, well, those timelines cease to exist. Whether that means removing troublesome players or correcting a fatal error, my duty is to the continuation of my realm. Do you follow?”

“You said… You said that they weren’t- they weren’t meant to die,” Bruce said numbly, meeting the King’s eyes with disbelief. “Then why did they?!”

To his surprise, the King did not scold him. In fact, he merely inclined his head, looking sufficiently guilty. “Your sons died because of an error within the timeline. It can be reversed with a bargain.”

Constantine shouted behind his gag, squirming violently against his bindings. He scooted closer to the circle, slamming his hands against the floor, and Bruce frowned.

He sent a look towards the King, motioning down to Constantine. The entity sighed before waving a hand, and the gag over the magician’s face fell away.

“-mph, finally… Right, your majesty, if this whole situation happened because of a ‘timeline error,’ then why does Batman need to make a deal to fix it?!” Constantine argued with a dark scowl, which would have looked more intimidating if he were not tied up and laying on the floor.

His argument had merit, and Bruce realized with a start that he had hardly been thinking. It was difficult to think rationally when he was so vulnerable, but he needed to remain impartial. He was grateful for Constantine’s presence, despite his brusque nature.

“I asked the same question,” the King answered, a frown marring his features. “As it stands, there is a balance to all things. You seek the return of the life and body of 4 souls, and doing this would aid in fixing this timeline, but there is always a price to keeping the balance. To be clear, I couldn’t bring them back under normal circumstances.”

“But you can bring them back?” Bruce pressed, his heart leaping up to his throat. The entity nodded. He leaned back in his chair, falling slack with relief.

“But there’s a price,” the King reminded him. “To bring your sons back onto the mortal plane, as they were, you will first surrender to me your soul, along with your life, death, and eternity.”

“Hold on a fuckin’- mphff!” Constantine started speaking, but the gag jumped right back into his mouth. He shouted behind it, his face crumpling in rage, but the King paid him little mind.

“Do you understand this term?” The King asked seriously, meeting Bruce’s gaze evenly. “Your life will not be your own, not after this. Your death and eternity, even less so.”

He gritted his teeth, watching the entity with narrowed eyes. He didn’t need to truly think about it, not when the lives of his sons hung in the balance. He nodded.

“I understand. Is that your only term for their revival?”

The King looked sad for a moment before shaking his head. “Well… It’s complicated. In accordance with the laws of the Infinite Realms, I must bring a soul to trial for this timeline error. After conferring with my counsel, we have agreed that the Joker is responsible. I will be taking him into the Realms to stand trial and atone for his crimes. He has also killed 4 of Lady Gotham’s knights, which is yet another breach of Realm law.”

“You aren’t asking me for permission for this, are you?” Bruce asked, though he suspected that he already knew the answer. “I’m not able to just hand over another person’s soul.”

“Ownership doesn’t matter in a criminal trial, it’s more like extradition,” the King explained patiently, gesturing with his hands. “You signing over your soul is not a matter of ownership, it’s more like a work contract. I fulfill my end, you fulfill yours. In the Joker’s case, he is being prosecuted for using knowledge of the Infinite Realms to kill Gotham’s protectors.”

“So I’ll work for you, once this deal is complete?” Bruce asked, raising a brow and deliberately ignoring any mention of the Joker. He hadn’t been entirely clear on what soul ownership meant, and Constantine had been vague in his explanations as well. It seemed like eternal damnation, which suited him just fine, but he wanted to be sure.

“Well… The things that I have requested from you are required to restore balance, but in the interest of cooperation, I will tell you that I have no specific plans for your soul,” the King said, looking almost sheepish as he admitted it. He rubbed the back of his neck, gesturing down at Constantine, and said, ��Despite what this one might tell you, I did not answer your summons for nefarious purposes. I hadn’t even realized that it was you summoning me.”

The way the King spoke was interesting. For whatever reason, Bruce got the feeling that this entity was familiar with modern language and mannerisms, if only because of his strange insistence on being polite (except, of course, to Constantine).

Finally, he sighed very quietly. “Will you let me see them one more time, then? Will I have any time here on Earth with them?”

The King’s face softened, his green eyes creased with sympathy. He nodded. “Of course. Mr. Wayne, I don’t seek cruelty. You will have at least a week with your children before I return for you, I can promise you that.”

A week. It was such a short span of time, but it was more than he’d ever hoped for. He fought the tears that threatened to reappear as he nodded, a smile barely tugging at the corners of his mouth. “A week is… Thank you. I appreciate that, more than you know.”

The King smiled. With a flare of green fire, a small stack of papers appeared in his hands, and a pair of reading glasses appeared, already perched neatly on his nose. He adjusted them and shuffled through the papers, organizing them neatly in his arms but presumably not reading any of them. Had he already drafted a contract in preparation of their meeting?

Finally, he stepped up to the boundary of the circle and leaned closer to Bruce, extending the papers out to him. He took them after a moment of hesitation, glancing down to see…

“King Phantom? Is that your name?” Bruce asked curiously, unable to really help himself. He skimmed the terms, finding that there wasn’t very much legalese in the way that he had been expecting. The terms were clear.

“That is what I’m called, yes,” King Phantom said, and though Bruce wasn’t looking up at him, he could hear a smile in his voice. “I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself properly. That was rude.”

“Mhm,” Bruce hummed, not paying it much mind, but paused on the section about the King’s responsibilities towards him. The language was worded strangely, less like a work contract and more like…

Something wasn’t quite right.

In exchange for all services rendered (see Section 3, “Phantom’s Responsibilities”), both parties will enter into a formal courtship, to begin one week from the signing of this contract.

“Did you write this?” He asked slowly, raising a brow as he looked up at the entity.

“No, my mentor wrote it,” King Phantom said with a smile, and a few things clicked into place. Ah. Bruce schooled his expression with some difficulty. “He and I spoke about this after meeting with Lady Gotham, and he drafted those in preparation of this summoning. Is something wrong? I haven’t had a chance to look over it, but I can.”

“Your mentor?” Bruce pressed, ignoring the question.

“The Master of Time, Lord Kronos, known as Clockwork most recently,” the King explained, gesturing with frostbite hands as he spoke. “He is a dear friend and a trusted confidant. He has taught me much over the years.”

Bruce hummed. He examined the list of his own responsibilities towards the King and was pleased to see that the entity had not lied — he had a week from the moment of signing the contract to get his affairs in order, in preparation of leaving the mortal plane to get ‘accustomed’ to the Infinite Realms.

Finally, he asked, “Would it be possible to allow Constantine to review this?”

The King snorted and waved a hand. In a flash of green, the bindings vanished and the magician leapt to his feet with a scowl.

“Damn it all…” Constantine leaned over Bruce’s wheelchair and yanked the contract from his hands, grumbling quietly as he looked through the papers.

While he was occupied, Bruce thought to ask one more question. “One of the terms in your section said that you would return my sons and myself to perfect health. Why?”

The terms of the contract had been shockingly accommodating for Bruce’s side, to such an extent that he wondered just how valuable his soul was. What would his eternity look like, under the Ghost King? Was it really that bad, that even the contract writer had felt bad for him? And if that was the case, what would the courtship be like? He shuddered at the idea.

“It seems fair, doesn’t it?” King Phantom asked with a frown. “You didn’t ask for this situation, and your injuries are the result of a horrible error. This contract seeks to fix that error, in its entirety.”

Bruce hummed, considering the answer. Throughout their conversation, Phantom had been surprisingly kind to him, always answering his questions patiently and showing sympathy for his situation. He wondered about pushing that kindness, ever so slightly.

He glanced over to Constantine, confirming that he was still reading through the papers, and met the King’s eyes again.

“You were human once, weren’t you?”

Beside him, Constantine stiffened, his eyes going wide. He slowly turned to look at Bruce, his expression dangerous, but Bruce paid the magician little mind.

“I was, yes,” the King said, nodding. He smiled after a moment and gestured to his form, saying sheepishly, “Most of this is the result of shapeshifting. Ghosts are just stronger spirits, and we can change our forms as we see fit. The wings are a ghost thing, I did not have them when I was alive.”

“How did you die?” Bruce asked, and Constantine let out a high pitched, strained sound. He was rapidly shaking his head, clearly trying to get Bruce’s attention.

King Phantom recoiled, his green eyes catching on Constantine’s panicked figure. After a tense moment, he smiled.

“I see. Well, for one, please don’t ask any other ghosts about their death. It’s considered rude. For two, most ghosts are the result of a violent or sudden death. That is all I will say about my death, lest I risk giving the magician a heart attack.”

“The- the magician is fine!” Constantine spluttered, but his white knuckled grip on the papers in his grasp said otherwise. He jabbed Bruce’s shoulder with his elbow, shooting him a dark look.

Bruce pointedly did not apologize. He had established that King Phantom wouldn’t hurt him, at least not until the contract was settled, and he was curious about the entity’s temperament. If he was going to spend eternity with this creature, he had to know more about him.

“Freezing to death doesn’t seem violent,” he observed idly, gesturing up to the King’s dark fingertips. To his surprise, the ghost only laughed.

“Again, shapeshifting. Besides, my core- that is, my soul’s essence- is partially responsible for my appearance, and I have an icy core. The frostbitten appearance isn’t an indicator of my death, though we can go through all of the violent deaths if you really want to guess.”

The most sensitive topic that he could think of was a ghost’s death, and it was one that Constantine had insisted that he needed to avoid. Now, in the wake of the King’s lighthearted but polite nature, it seemed like it wasn’t too much of a taboo.

“Murder?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Drowning? Blunt force trauma? Starving?”

“You’re good at this game, but still no.”

Bruce snorted. He smiled slightly, internally considering the many ways he had almost died.

“Poison? Falling? Blood loss?”

“Three more incorrect guesses, Mr. Wayne. Come on, really think.” The smile on the King’s face seemed genuine, and the way he leaned down, as if excited to hear his next guess, suggested that he, too, was having fun.

“Dehydration? Disease? Animal attack?” He racked his brain for causes of death that would have been especially relevant near the beginning of mankind. If Phantom was that old, he likely had died in a common way.

“None of those, either, but I’m confident that you’ll find it.”

Bruce paused. He leaned back in his chair, thinking seriously about it. There were a few more that he had not seriously considered due to the more modern nature of their applications, but maybe that was what he was missing.

“Suicide?”

“Not quite. You’re getting warmer, though.”

He had his answer. He steeled himself, ready to ask his question and receive some kind of reaction from Phantom. The entity still seemed engaged, his long ears perked up and his eyes bright. It was strange to see such an expression on a (presumably) millennia old creature.

He met Phantom’s eyes evenly and said, “Electrocution, your Majesty.”

Phantom’s lips quirked upwards in a small, sad smile. He nodded. “You are correct. Well done, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce suppressed the urge to smile in return. He’d expected that selling his soul would be a more unpleasant affair, but Phantom had an even temperament and even a sense of humor. He was surprised by both, frankly.

“Bruce,” he said quietly. “Call me Bruce.”

“As long as you call me Phantom, none of this king or majesty business,” the entity said with a wider smile, stepping back from the edge of the circle. His wings were relaxed now, no longer held so tightly against his back. The white feathers glowed ever so slightly, and Bruce had to remind himself not to stare.

He nodded, glancing back to Constantine, who was staring, slack-jawed at the contract. Bruce glanced down at the page and immediately identified which term had caught the magician off-guard, and he cleared his throat.

“It all looks fine, right, John?”

Constantine met his eyes, finally closing his mouth. After a beat, he nodded. “Yeah- yeah, it looks… fine. Bats, are you sure?”

“It seems fair,” Bruce said, pointedly not discussing the clause that Constantine had been examining. If the King hadn’t read the contract, then this could only work out in Bruce’s favor.

The magician looked at him for a long moment before finally nodding, his expression twisted with pity. He handed the papers over to Bruce, saying quietly, “You’re a good dad, mate.”

“If I was, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” Bruce said very quietly, accepting the small stack of papers. He looked up at Phantom with a steely gaze. “Alright, you have a deal. How do we sign?”

“You may be familiar with other forms of contract signing,” Phantom said, gesturing to Constantine. “Demons and fae often seal their contracts with a kiss. I find that unprofessional and, frankly, very cruel. We sign the final page and shake hands. Is that acceptable, Bruce?”

He briefly wondered if Phantom’s lips would have been cold before immediately shutting down that train of thought. Instead, he nodded. “That’s fine with me.”

King Phantom smiled, exposing sharp teeth as he did. He waved a hand and another flash of green light appeared, summoning a quill and a pot of ink. Both objects floated in the air before him, seemingly weightless, and he grabbed the quill. With a quick dip into the ink pot (which, disturbingly, seemed to contain Lazarus Water instead of ink), he signed the final page of the contract before handing it off to Bruce.

The quill was cold against his fingers. He shuddered, holding it tighter, and dipped the tip into the Lazarus Water. It was more viscous than he’d realized, and it clung to the end of the quill like honey. He lowered it down to the page and slowly penned his signature, his stomach dropping as he did.

Finally, the papers glowed a bright, toxic green, and the King smiled. He held out a hand, and Bruce took it. It was as cold as he’d expected, but soft to the touch. They shook once, and the deal was sealed.

There was a quiet moment of tension before Bruce felt an overwhelming sense of finality. He released Phantom’s hand, clutching at his own chest, and took a slow, deep breath. A tingling sensation ran up and down his spine, which was strange for a beat before he realized that he could feel it. He laughed softly, in disbelief, and slowly stood up from the wheelchair.

Phantom watched him with a soft smile, his head tilted to the side. The ghost stepped closer, placing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, and said very quietly, “You should head back home. They’re waiting for you.”

With that, the King of Ghosts vanished, his form dissipating like smoke, and there was a thick silence left in his wake.

“I can’t believe you just did that, you bloody fuckin’ idiot,” Constantine huffed, his tone incredulous. He stepped closer to Bruce, digging a cigarette out of his trench coat and immediately lighting it. “You just sold yourself to the fuckin’-”

“We read the same contract, didn’t we?” Bruce asked with a smirk. “He’ll probably realize what happened before he comes to collect me, but still.”

“Being engaged to the bloody Ghost King is still crazy!” Constantine spat, throwing his hands up in the air. He took a heavy drag of his cigarette before groaning. “You know how pissed he’ll be? Bats, you’re mental-”

“According to the contract, it’s an official courtship, not an engagement,” Bruce corrected mildly, unable to help but smile. He stepped away from the wheelchair and breathed in deeply, noting that his legs felt better than they’d felt even before his encounter with the Joker.

“I’ll let you clean this up,” he said with a dark smirk. “I need to get back home.”

Constantine sent him a miserable glare, but nodded. “Fine. Go hug your kids… Bloody nutcase.”

That was exactly what he planned to do.

-

(If you liked, be sure to leave a comment or just reblog! An extended chapter is available on my AO3 and you’ll be able to follow the rest of the fic there. Thank you for reading.)

[moghedien]

Things that have happened in the last 48 hours

Tucker Carlson fired from Fox News unceremoniously and without warning, apparently directly at the command of Rupert Murdoch. Reason isn't clear but Dominion claims with wasn't because of their recent settlement with Fox News for over $700 million. Considering all that Fox News hosts get away with saying regularly, something pretty wild has to have happened for them to suddenly fire their number one money maker and the host of the highest viewed tv program in the country, on any channel.

Don Lemon fired from CNN possibly without warning, though CNN claims they tried to meet with him. Possibly due to sexist and/or racist comments, but the reason isn't currently clear and CNN is just not wanting to talk about it

Nate Silver was laid off by Disney and ABC and is no longer part of FiveThirtyEight, which he founded.

Steven Crowder announced that he has been divorced since 2021 when his wife filed a no-fault divorce, openly bemoaned the fact that the laws of Texas allowed her to divorce him without his permission, and then publicly accused Candace Owens of trying to use his divorce to extort him for money.

Candace Owens started commenting back at him, denying the accusations of extortion and has now officially begun another far right media civil war as people are taking sides, because she took the bait. She may or may not have sent him a cease and desist and be planning to take legal action.

[crybabycunt]

Yelena: So, you lied about your height.

Kate: Yeah...

Yelena: What I don't understand is why you said you were shorter than you are. Usually it's the other way around.

Kate: I panicked when you told me you're only 5'4".

Yelena: (affectionately) You're so stupid.

Yelena: I want to climb you like a tree.

[therealstonedelephant]

sukugo is a crack ship TO YOU. to me it's a perfectly legitimate ship, held back within the canon universe principally due to adherence to classic genre structures and not by lack of character compatibility

[tweetsofyj]

[themalhambird]

Considering Celebrimbor is the ONLY one of the main elves we never saw Adar interact with, my brain is doing a really good job of locking onto the idea of a Celebrimbor x Adar Political Marriage AU.

No, I don't know exactly how that would come about - something something elves and uruks united against The Shadowy Threat of Sauron whatever. Celebrimbor looks *hard* at Gil-galad when he asks if he would agree to it and is just...."If I say yes do you promise to give me Many Forge Supplies for a wedding present?"

Adar, for his part, isn't exactly interested in having a husband so much as the PRINCIPLE of it being openly acknowledged he's good enough for an Elf-Lord. Anyway they get married, discover over the course of the wedding dinner that they actually find each other interesting company, and proceed to have a cordial acquaintence with Adar staying at Eregion far more than he anticipated, like he'll stomp up to the forge with a really big sack over his shoulder and all the elves are eyeing him warily and he just dumps it at Celebrimbor's feet like: "here's a load of old and broken armour for you to play with only some of it was stolen directly from corpses" and Celebrimbor's all "Lovely now come and look at this, I've was thinking about the whole sunshine problem your children have and what started out as a thought exercise accidently became detailed schematics for enormous mobile rooftops you can extend before making camp so that the shade covers you even in daylight. "

Anyway. It takes them far too long to realise that they're actually into each other. Adar's letting Celibrimbor braid his hair and Celibrimbor's letting Adar make him go to bed if he's been working for too many hours straight and they're still referring to eachother as "possibly something of a friend" Eregion elves and the Uruks who set up base in Eregion's vicinity whenever Adar goes to see Celebrimbor are actually starting to interact with each other by virtue of having "how are they this oblivious about it?????" as a conversation starter.

Eventually Adar has an "oh no he's hot" moment and promptly flees Eregion because he's convinced Celebrimbor would be repulsed If he actually tried anything romantic and /or sexual. Celebrimbor is puzzled and hurt, but a stranger comes to Eregion and affords a little distraction.

This Annatar fellow is so very interested in the mithrael rings Celebrimbor made to reflect the light of the Valar, though Celebrimbor's not sure he follows his reasoning for sets to be made for either dwarves or men. Still, pleasent company. Until he starts suggesting that Gil-Galad debased Celebrimbor and his authority by forcing him into marriage with an orc, at which point Celebrimbor punches him in the face without thinking...

Merdarnia and the other smiths are very exasperated that "I think I'm in love with Adar" is somehow a bigger revelation to the Lord of Eregion than "I punched Annatar in the face and he turned out to be Sauron, he has now taken over the city and is holding us hostage."