#anyways rip lazarus

[neoluca]

o shit that sounds dope! i cant wait to read that!!

ah.

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

:) you all know what time it isssss

Danny Al-ghul

But not in the way you would think. So the Fentons find out about Danny being phantom (catching him changing or something) and {this is a Bad Fenton Au so we gonna traumatizing the fuck out of this boy} and they experiment and torture him for a few weeks to a month in this time frame Jazz, Sam and Tucker have died and have not come back as ghost due to dying by a ghost blaster ( hint hint )

And Danny eventually die (fully this time) due to torture and starvation (They didn’t think ‘Ghost’ needed to eat) and when Danny died he gets yeeted into a part of the Zone no one goes to and when I say no one I mean NO ONE and eventually crashes into it

And now into a bit into this part of The Zone it is actually The Home of the dead Al-ghuls and their assassins + some pit demons but they aren’t really that conscious…I guess I mean they move around and sometimes talk or well scream because they are infected by The Madness (Pit Rage) and kinda act like obsessiveness ghost…oh I never explained what that was well I do it in the next post or something but for the time it just means feral and more animalistic than a normal ghost would be

So basically Danny crash landed into a feral Pit {you see what I did there} and after some shenanigans and shit the dead and Feral Al-ghuls kinda just accepted into the family I mean the past tense assassins and the younger dead Al-ghuls listen to them so he’s a part of them now

And if you were to ask one of the Al-ghuls ( If they were sane enough for that ) they would basically say

=====================================

“Yeah that Danny we don’t know who’s kid he is and he’s not really into the hole assassin thing and he’s far to soft to be an Al-ghul but he heals us and takes care of the younger ones so he’s part of the family and no one’s going to take him away” * proceeds to rip out the core of the ghost who asks and eats it or brings it to Danny because he eats less than everyone else ( he doesn’t he just doesn’t eat fucking CORES)*

=====================================

What I mean about healing them is that Danny constantly carries around a never ending black marble bowl { like in my Snake Empress Au } of the purest ecto you can have ( Clockwork gave it to him for helping the Ferals and the LOLS by the misunderstandings from the future you’ll give it in a sec ) and when ghost are feral instead of cuts and stuff they break and crack like a porcelain doll or something else that cracks that like that and pours a bit into the crack/break

——————————————————————————

Now onto the DC part of this! So while Tim was looking for Bruce in the timestream {like in my Void and Prism Au} and somehow ends up in front of a giant temple like building that is surrounded by multiple lagoons and lakes of Lazarus pits ( and that a bit concerning in itself ) and as Tim walks in he hears footsteps and the pulling of fabric on the ground so he turns around not really knowing what to expect but he was most definitely not expecting the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen but what caught his attention is the black marble bowl that has the purest Lazarus water he’s ever seen and a few shenanigans and a get together later Tim is now dating this ethereal, beautiful, kind he should probably stop while he’s ahead before he goes on for hours {So basically Tim is down bad for our little ghost boy} who so happens to an Al-ghul and Danny helps Tim find Bruce but Danny makes Tim promise to keep in contact ( which Tim was going to do anyway and not to mention Danny’s literal Amy of Feral Al-ghuls/assassins/pit demons who will kill him and than hunt him in death for his core to give to Danny as a trophy and just for the LOLS let’s have everyone misunderstand that Danny is an Al-ghul )

So a few years later Tim and Danny are still in contact and Tim is still down bad but he still hasn’t told everybody about it until one day the Batfam fucks up and Tim fucks off to The Ghost Zone back to his boyfriend ( possible fiancé but still hasn’t told anyone)

=====================================

The JL-JLD: running around like headless chickens

The Batfam: Much angst

Tim and Danny: chilling out and being in love and shit

====================================

And now on to the details of this!

For Danny’s outfit I’m thinking something like this

And he’s wearing some jewelry like this

And for hair

also here is a pic of the black marble bowl ( it is the same in my Snake empress au and in this )

=====================================

nd that’s about it about this au and I hope you guys like it tell me if you want to see more of this byeeeee

[thewritetofreespeech]

Hi, it's me again! Could I request Jason Todd who has a moment of body dysmorphia while really spiraling inwardly mentally with him being so big, so changed after the Lazarus pit, having all these scars and the autopsy scar. His female girlfriend comes to help him and grounds him, reassures him. He's perfect the way he is and really lovable!

-------------------------🦇----------------------------

“Jason! Can you hurry up? I’d like to get in there before we go to bed.”

“Yeah. I’m working on it.” Jason called back to his girlfriend as he finished up his routine for the night.

Patrol had been light. So no need for first aid or stitches this time. Like he needed another scar. Sometimes when Jason looked into the mirror like now, he barely recognized the man looking back at him. Time was not always kind to mortal men who pretended to be superheroes. The physical strain. The bruising. The marks. He glanced over his body in the mirror. Old scars mixed with new. Some that were faded that he couldn’t remember how he got. Simply too old or memories that were lost to him in the Pit.

Jason flinched and clutched his head when he tried to think about the Pit. Visions of knives cutting into his flesh and stitching him back up. The scar down his front from chest to naval oozing with black putrid goo. Banging on his coffin liked the pounding in his head. Flashes of skin sluffed off a bleached white skeleton staring back in the mirror.

'Dead man walking. Dead man walking. Dead man walking!'

His hands lance out for the mirror before he could stop them. Ripping it off the wall with his bare hands before throwing it into the tub with a shatter.

“That’s ok. I didn’t need to shower anyway….”

Jason looked up, panting in his panic & rage, to find [Y/N] standing in the door. Her expression even but clearly freaked out about what he had done. The uncertainty of what he was going to do next. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok.” Jason hissed through his teeth. No, it wasn’t ok. Why did people say that when things weren’t ok. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” He said as he rubbed his face with his hand. How could he explain what was going on? “I just get these flashes sometimes. Headaches. Probably something to do with the Pit.”

“Well, coming back from the dead can probably be very traumatic for the brain.” She agreed. “Not to mention all the other trauma.” [Y/N] aware of his past, before & after coming back from the dead. She knew of his superhero exploits, and even his new role as a vigilante. “Why don’t you take a break for a while? Get your head straight?” She suggested. Carefully coming into the bathroom to avoid any glass or startling him as she came in to place her hand on his shoulder. “It might do you good.”

“I can’t.” He told her. “If I do then what was all this for.” Jason gestured to himself. All the pain. All these scars. His body mangled and twisted, along with his mind. What was the point of it if he couldn’t do some good, in his own way, with it.

“Maybe it’s just about you being here, and not some bigger picture Jason.”

[Y/N] wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his shoulder, giving him a light squeeze. “I know saving the world is important to you, but it’s not the only thing in the world. You need to focus on yourself sometimes. Talk to me. Or talk to someone. I think it would do you good.”

Jason listened to what his girlfriend was saying, then lifted his hand to grip her arm around his waist. “So, you don’t think I look gross?”

“What? Of course not! Is that what this is about?”

Jason shrugged. It was what had started all this but now it felt like it had spiraled into something more serious than he intended.

[Y/N] just rolled his eyes and let him go. “I’m not going to just stroke your vanity, Jason. You already know how hot I think you are.” She kissed his shoulder and gave him a withering look in the direction the mirror should be. “Come to bed you idiot. I’ll show you just how ‘not gross’ you are. You’re gonna be real disappointed in a minute though that you didn’t let me shower first before you blew up the tub. You’re cleaning that up tomorrow by the way.”

Jason chuckled. The shift from caring concern to just plain annoyed at how ridiculous he was being somehow grounding to him. “Yes ma’am.” He simply replied as he followed her into their bedroom to make good on her promise.

[starstruckloversweets]

Me with my YouTube ahh thumbnail 🌸🎀

It honestly feels like we're watching a tightrope walk, where their bond could either solidify or shatter at any moment. 😩💔 {Dc stop please I can’t keep going in spirals}

Reasons Their Relationship Might Actually Work Out

There are some really sweet and promising signs that Flatline and Damian could make it as a couple.

Surprisingly Deep Connection from a Wild Start yk thinking literally ripping someone's heart out wouldn't be the best or least good first impression, but for Flatline and Damian on Lazarus Island, that's literally how their story began Despite that kinda stupidly violent introduction, their dynamic quickly shifted from enemies to something surprisingly affectionate . Damian, who's usually so closed off, even admitted to an "attraction" to Flatline, though he'd try to play it off as just an "annoyance" in *Robin #10* . Flatline, on her end, clearly enjoys his company. Remember when she playfully winked at him after their first big fight, or how she sought him out to get to know him better later on ? She even showed up at Gotham Academy with him in *Batman and Robin #8*, which really says she wants to be a part of his everyday life, not just his superhero adventures . It's these little moments that suggest a real personal bond is forming between them. Their first significant interaction ended with her taking his heart, and by the storyline's end, they had developed crushes, so "she took his heart again" .

{honestly funny in a way but anyways}

Flatline's Turn Towards Good and the Bat-Family's Nod Flatline, despite her "sketchy past" and connections to the criminal underworld, has actually been showing a real shift towards doing the right thing . A prime example is how she handled her sister, Mila, in *Batman and Robin #8* . At first, it looked like she was betraying Robin, letting Mila freeze him, but it turns out, Flatline was actually working with the D.E.O. to protect Mila and bring smugglers to justice . This move really highlighted her commitment to doing good, even if her methods are still a bit unorthodox . Plus, a huge sign of approval came when Batman himself, arguably the most important figure in Damian's life, recently gave his blessing to Nika in *Batman and Robin #6*, awkwardly asking if she was a friend of Robin's after she had taken down cult members . As one fan put it, this kind of acceptance from Batman is a "good sign for Flatline", suggesting she might actually be welcomed into the Bat-Family, which would be a huge support system for their relationship .

Now for Damian’s emotional relationship

Damian Wayne has been undergoing some serious personal growth, actively working to become a "better person" . The fact that he's even open to a romantic relationship, especially with someone as complicated as Flatline, shows he's becoming much more emotionally open than he used to be . While some fans initially had their own ideas, like seeing Damian as "asexual" or feeling a love interest might "take away from what people like about him," many others have expressed that they "like him having a crush" and appreciate Flatline's unique character design . This willingness to navigate a complex romantic connection, despite his past struggles with social interaction and emotional repression, truly indicates how much Damian has matured . Joshua Williamson, the writer for the *Robin* series, mentioned that they wanted to "hit the ground running with a new story" and not dwell too much on Damian's past struggles in the first issue, which also introduced Flatline .

And now for this part which already has my legs shaking {mostly cause i need to take my vitamins but refuse to 😔}

On the bad side, there are some pretty big red flags and ominous hints {and hey I said hinting so don’t go suing me} that suggest their romance might not last.

The Ra's al Ghul Secret — A Ticking Time Bomb This is probably the biggest threat hanging over their heads . Flatline actively brought Damian's grandfather, Ra's al Ghul, back from the dead during the "Lazarus Planet" event and deliberately kept it a secret from Damian . As *CBR* pointed out, if this secret "gets out, and it probably will, then Damian will have to deal with the emotional fallout of discovering that Flatline has violated his trust" . This kind of betrayal could be devastating for Damian, potentially making him "raise his walls again, undoing all of his character growth" and souring his view on romantic relationships entirely . Considering Damian already has a difficult time with trust and is uncertain about Flatline's reappearance in *Batman and Robin #7*, this secret is a disaster waiting to happen .

-Fundamentally Different Philosophies on Life and Death This is a core issue y’all have to address {cause ain’t no one safe}. Flatline's powers are literally tied to death, and she seems to have a very casual, almost cheerful, acceptance of it . She even introduced herself to Robin with the chilling line, "Call me Flatline! Like the one you're about to have!" . She's stated, "All my life I was drawn to death. Being born with the power to absorb the skills of people as they die might have had something to do with it" . Damian, on the other hand, as Robin, is all about protecting life and upholding justice . This fundamental difference in their core values, being on "opposite ends of the spectrum," creates an inherent tension that could easily lead to irreconcilable conflicts, especially in their line of work . Flatline’s ability allows her to absorb the skills and knowledge of those who die in her hands, a power inherited from her grandfather who gained similar abilities from KGB experiments .

- Foreshadowing of Future Heartbreak and Betrayal: Future State storylines, particularly *Future State: Gotham #13*, don't paint a pretty picture . There are explicit hints of a "falling out" between Damian and Flatline . Batman himself mentioned not thinking Damian would ever return to Lazarus Island after "what happened with Flatline" . This narrative foreshadowing already casts a long shadow over their current romance. Adding to that, Flatline's initial mission for Lord Death Man was to literally steal Damian's blood, specifically his heart, for experimentation . Even if her feelings for him changed afterward, that foundational act of deception could resurface and cause immense pain . As one Reddit user bluntly put it, their dynamic has felt "forced, rushed, it's not healthy, borderline toxic". Flatline was also shown to return from Lazarus Tournament in a "feral state" in a preview for *Robin #16*, frothing green fluid and having bright red eyes, which her mentor Lord Death Man revealed . This feral state could be a result of being resurrected on Lazarus Island twice, as Lazarus Pits are known to corrupt individuals .

- Flatline's Pragmatism Versus Damian's Idealism: Flatline sometimes seems more realistic, even questioning how long their relationship would last . This contrasts with Damian's more intense, albeit sometimes awkward, approach to romance . Her somewhat casual reference to him as her "vegetarian boyfriend" might suggest her emotional investment isn't as deep as Damian's earnestness, creating an imbalance . For Damian, who is "very new to romantic relationships" and takes a long time to "let anyone into his heart," this imbalance could lead to serious heartbreak . Flatline is highly focused on her career and aims to rise in Tokyo's criminal hierarchy, even aspiring to be like Talia al Ghul, Damian's mother . She might associate with Damian due to his family connections, and her different goals could eventually tear them apart as her success might require sacrificing their relationship .

{honestly someone sedate me now for writing this shit out I deserve some treats after this…y’all comment treat emojis if y’all read this through thx for reading} [But y’all the relationship is a blend of strong potential and significant challenges, but making its long-term survival highly…lowkey uncertain in this]-so in short words I think they won’t survive and will mostly likely break up 😋- sorry, yall I am so tired ✌️, 🐺💔⛓️

[duncanor]

There's barely any video on YouTube about Lazarus but one of them is titled

"Lazarus is a story about nothing*"

And it makes me So FUCKING MAD!

The fuck you mean it's about nothing??? This is literally a story about humanity being so apathetic about everything that even in the face of their imminent man-made doom, they barely lift a finger to save their ass.

WORSE, they try to stall the efforts of the only people (mostly criminals/misfits) trying to find a solution and they also plans to get ride of them once they ripped the benefits of their work.

AND MAYBE YOU COULD HAVE KNOWN THAT IF YOU FUCKING PAID ATTENTION TO IT AND LET IT COOK INSTEAD OF WHINING ABOUT HOW IT'S "WORST-COWBOY BEBOP"

His video turned me into the joker, I swear to god. Sure the pacing could be better and I wish there would have been as many episodes as in bebop to flesh out the characters a bit more but it isn't meaningless or "not there". There's intentions in every sentences, in every places visited, in the very nature of each characters.

Lazarus is a plea to humanity TO LISTEN and this dude DIDN'T EVEN LET IT FINISH SPEAKING! WHAT A JOKE!

Mad as hell. One of the only video about Lazarus is a parody of itself and it will inevitably discourage people to give it the chance it deserves and I'm genuinely so sad about it.

ANYWAY, PLEASE GIVE A TRY TO LAZARUS!

IT'S GOOD AND IT GOT A HEART. JUST LET IT COOK, IT'S NOT TIKTOK SLOP PLEASE 😭

[nelkcats]

The Wish

Danny wasn't Desiree, he didn't have the power to fulfill wishes or gain power from it, but he did have subjects. And each of his subjects wanted something different, and since becoming Ghost King he had done his best to fulfill them. Or at least, fulfill the ones that were reasonable.

But there were so many ghosts, many ghosts he didn't know, from all corners of the Infinite Realms, and some had requests that while he could fulfill, maybe it wasn't the best thing for him to do.

The wish he had heard the most was "kill the Joker," Danny didn't know who the Joker was. Maybe a mass murderer taking into account all the angry souls who wanted the same thing. And he would be willing to kill him, but that would be a headache regarding universal balance.

Danny debated how to solve the problem without destroying the delicate balance of the Realms; then he was visited by a soul, a teenager who felt like a ghost but at the same time not (a broken soul? That was rare). The soul had a peculiar request, "let me come back, I will kill the Joker."

Danny frowned, he didn't think creating a halfa with a vengeful obsession was a good idea. But before he could give his verdict, the soul was ripped from his hands.

Danny wanted to deny his request, he wouldn't wish an existence like him on anyone, but if he didn't help that soul might disappear. Such "Lazarus pits" were not infallible, they were rotten, full of contaminated ectoplasm, and Danny knew it (he would have to deal with that later), but he also knew that with a little of his help Jason would survive.

Reluctantly he complied with the teenager's request and Jason returned to the realm of the living. Unbeknownst to Jason he had tied his soul to the King's request (to kill the Joker, not that Jason knew that, or would complain if he ever found out).

Danny, of course, was worried about the boy (halfa?), and decided that if Jason hadn't accomplished his "mission" in about 5 years he would bring him back to the Realms, maybe teach him about everything. He needed to get the kid another obsession anyway.

Bruce never let Jason kill the Joker, and the 5 years went by pretty fast. Danny decided it was time to visit Jason, and maybe take him back.

[scary-noodlesblog]

Soulbound Ch 2

Lazarus Rising Part 2

Soulbound Masterlist

Dean and I are sitting at a table giving our orders to the brunette waitress.

"Be up in a jiff." She said, walking away. As she leaves, Sam enters, talking on his cell phone. "You bet," Sam sits down next to me.

"What'd Bobby say?" I ask, turning my head towards the taller Winchester.

"Pam's stable. And out of I.C.U." Sam replies, his tone a little hopeful.

"And blind, because of us." Dean huffs out.

"And we still have no clue who we're dealing with." I mumble and roll my eyes. 

Dean tilts his head a little. "That's not entirely true."

"No?" Sam questions, his eyebrows furrowing a little.

"We got a name. Castiel, or whatever." The older Winchester points out, "With the right mumbo-jumbo we could summon him, bring him right to us."

Sam's tone fills with disbelief, "You're crazy. Absolutely not."

"We'll work him over. I mean, after what he did?" Dean shrugs, glancing between his brother and I.

I scoff, looking at Dean like he suddenly grew a second head, "Pam took a peek at him and her eyes burned out of her skull, and you want to have a face to face?" 

"You got a better idea?" Dean snapped back a little.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact I do. I followed some demons to town, right?" I ask him.

"Okay."

Sam speaks up, "So, we go find them. Someone's gotta know something about something."

The waitress walks up with three plates containing pie, setting them down in front of us. I give her a small grateful smile and a nod. "Thanks." Sam mumbles and also gives her a polite smile. The waitress then plops down in a chair at the end of the table. Dean looks at her, smirking, while I look at her confusedly. "You angling for a tip?" Dean asks.

"I'm sorry. Thought you were looking for us." Her eyes go black for a moment, I glance around, seeing the cook and a man in a uniform also sporting lack demon eyes. The man in uniform gets up and locks the front door. The demon waitress' go back to normal, addressing Dean as if Sam and I weren't there. "Dean. To hell and back. Aren't you a lucky duck."

"That's me." Dean replies, a smug look on his face and in his tone. 

"So you get to just stroll out of the pit, huh? Tell me. What makes you so special?" The demon sneers at the older Winchester.

"I like to think it's because of my perky nipples." Dean smirks, making me snort softly, "I don't know. Wasn't my doing, I don't know who pulled me out."

The demon waitress looks skeptical, narrowing her eyes, "Right. You don't."

"No. I don't." Dean holds his ground.

"Lying's a sin, you know." The demon taunts him, leaning back in her chair.

Dean tilts his head threateningly, "I'm not lying. But I'd like to find out, so if you wouldn't mind enlightening me, Flo..."

"Mind your tone with me, boy. I'll drag you back to hell myself." She glares at him, her tone trying to intimidate him. Sam shifts as if to attack, glaring at the woman. My hand grabs the sleeve of his jacket tightly, not taking my eyes off the demon waitress. Dean holds a hand up and Sam stops, settling back into his seat. The demon glances at Sam and I, then back at Dean.

"No, you won't." Dean decides to test something.

"No?" The demon taunts.

"No. Because if you were you would have done it already. Fact is, you don't know who cut me loose. And you're just as spooked as we are. And you're looking for answers." The demon glances at Sam and I as Dean continues, "Well, maybe it was some turbo-charged spirit. Or, uh, Godzilla. Or some big bad boss demon. I'm guessing at your pay grade that they don't tell you squat. Because whoever it was, they want me out. And they're a lot stronger than you. So go ahead. Send me back. But don't come crawling to me when they show up on your front doorstep with some Vaseline and a fire hose."

The demon doesn't make a move, but threatens Dean anyway, "I'm going to reach down your throat and rip out your lungs." Dean smirks and leans forward, a challenge in his eyes. He throws a right hook at her, making her head whip to the side. I let out a quiet gasp as he throws another. She still does nothing but glare at them, looking more and more nervous. "okay, Dean she gets it," I mumble.

Dean nods and smirks again, "That's what I thought. Let's go, Sam, (Y/n)." We stand up, and the demon sits there, fuming. Dean pulls a roll of cash out of his pocket and carefully peels off a ten dollar bill. He holds it up and drops it on the table like an insult. "For the pie." 

~~~~~~~

Sam, Dean and I walk out of the diner and across the street, tense and quick. My instincts on high alert, my brain screaming to go back in there and kill or exorcise the demons and save the innocent people they're possessing.

"Holy crap, that was close." Dean huffs, speed-walking away.

Sam looks at his brother, "We're not just going to leave them in there, are we, Dean?"

"Seriously, don't ya think we should, I dunno, hunt them?" I raise my eyebrow at Dean, almost jogging to keep up with the taller men.

"Well yeah, there's three of them, probably more, and we've only got one knife between us." Dean points out, continuing to move farther from the diner.  Fair point.

"I've been killing a lot more demons than that lately." Sam states, a little bit of arrogance in his voice. 

"Not anymore – the smarter brother's back in town." Dean chuckles, making me scoff.

"Thank God I ain't your brother, you'd be dumb as a rock then," I playfully insult. Dean looks at me, feigning offense.

"Dean, we've got to take 'em. They are dangerous." Sam pleads, ignoring my joke and Dean's jab at him.

Dean rolls his eyes, "They're scared. Okay? Scared of whatever had the juice to yank me out. We're dealing with a bad mofo here. One job at a time." I sigh as I follow the brothers back to the Astoria Motel.

~~~~~~~

3rd Person: 

Dean is dozing on the couch with a large book open in his lap. (Y/n) is passed out in the bed, laying sideways on it, head and feet towards each side of the bed instead of the head and foot.  Sam sneaks out, checking to make sure his brother and his friend don't wake up, taking the keys to the Impala.

As Dean and (Y/n) doze, the television flicks on to the now-familiar static, and the radio starts whining as well. It wakes up the two Hunters, Dean rubbing his eyes while (Y/n) stretches a little. Dean rolls over the pull-out couch, grabbing his shotgun. (Y/n) grabs her pistol, glancing around, her and Dean locking eyes for a moment. Dean grimaces. The painfully high-pitched noise begins again, and he grabs his right ear, keeping the weapon up in his left hand. (Y/n) looks around, hearing a voice calling out to them. "Dean! What are you hearing?!" (Y/n) yells, not hearing the high pitched sound.

'(Y/n)! Dean! Can you hear me? This is important!' 

It seems to yell at them, but Dean can only hear a high pitched ring. (Y/n)'s eyebrows crinkle as the mirror on the ceiling starts to break. Dean grabs (Y/n)'s wrist, pulling her down with him. The voice is still calling out to them as he covers her body with his as the glass shatters and rains down on them, Dean clutching both ears as all the glass in the room shatters explosively. He screams as Bobby bursts into the room as more glass shatters. "Dean! (y/n)!" The two look up at their father-figure, who ushers them out the door as the high pitched ringing stops, as the voice stops.

~~~~~~~

1st Person POV: 

Bobby drives his car as Dean, in the passenger's seat, wipes blood from his face. I sit in the back, gently pulling a couple pieces of glass from my hair. "How you doin', kids?" Bobby asks, glancing at Dean, then into the rear view mirror at me. 

"Aside from the church bells ringing in my head, peachy." Dean grumbles. I look at Dean questioningly, deciding to not mention the voice, or the fact that I didn't hear the same sound that Dean did. 

"Fine," I mumble, looking at Bobby through the mirror.

Dean pulls out his phone, I can see over his shoulder that he's calling Sam. He puts it on speaker phone as Sam answers. "Hey." Sam greets his brother.

"What are you doing?" Dean asks, looking back at me, seemingly scanning me for injuries. Seeing nothing he turns back around, looking out the windshield.

"Couldn't sleep, went to get a burger." Sam answers.

Dean's eyebrows crinkle, "In my car?"

"Force of habit, sorry. What are you doing up?" Sam says, a little too quickly.

"Well, uh, Bobby's back. We're going to grab a beer. (Y/n)'s with us." Dean lies through his teeth. Bobby looks at Dean, shocked, making Dean hold up his finger as a 'hang on'. I also furrow my eyebrows a Dean, wondering what the hell was going through his mind right now.

"All right, well, uh, spill some for me, huh?" 

Dean nods, "Done. Catch you later." He hangs up the phone, a determined look on his face.

"Why the hell didn't you tell him?" Bobby asks, irritation evident in his voice.

Dean sighs, "Because he just tried to stop us."

I fold my arms over my chest and cross my legs, "From what?"

"Summoning this thing. It's time we faced it head-on." Dean gives a single nod.

Bobby looks at him in shock again, "You can't be serious!"

"As a heart attack. It's high noon, baby."

"Well, we don't know what it is. It could be a demon, it could be anything." I huff, resisting the urge to smack him upside the head.

"That's why we've got to be ready for anything." Dean pulls out Ruby's knife, the blade glinting in the moonlight, "We've got the big-time magic knife, you've got an arsenal in the trunk..."

"This is a bad idea." I sigh, rubbing my forehead.

"Yeah, I couldn't agree more, but what other choice do we have?" Dean looks back at me again, determination in his features.

"We could choose life." Bobby retorts, as if that's the most logical thing to do...which it is.

"Bobby, whatever this is, whatever it wants, it's after me. That much we know, right? I've got no place to hide. I can either get caught with my pants down again, or we can make our stand." Dean says.

"Dean, we could use Sam on this." I say, ready to pull out my phone and call the younger Winchester.

"Nah, he's better off where he is."

~~~~~~~

3rd Person POV:

Sam sneaks into the darkened diner and slips his lock-picking tools into his shirt pocket. A song is playing on the jukebox. Sam sneaks in quietly, sees the cook from earlier face-down on the floor, his hands bloody. Sam crouches and turns the man over; he is dead, his eyes burned out and drying blood caked on his cheeks. Sam stands back up, looking around.

The demon waitress tackles him from behind. They trade blows for a few moments until Sam shoves her away. She pushes her hair from her face. She too has empty, burned out eye sockets and blood trickling down her face. She looks both terrifying and terrified.

Sam looks shocked, "Your eyes."

"I can still smell your soul a mile away." She tries to sound intimidating.

Sam swallows thickly, "It was here. You saw it."

The demon waitress sobs, clearly still scared. "I saw it."

"What was it?" Sam asks hesitantly

"It's the end. We're dead. We're all dead." She continues sobbing.

Sam's voice gets more insistent, determined to get an answer out of her, "What did you see?"

"Go to hell." She says stubbornly.

"Funny. I was going to say the same thing to you." Sam steps back, plants his feet, and shuts his eyes in concentration. He extends his right hand towards the demon waitress. She gags and begins to vomit black smoke into her hand. In mere seconds, the waitress collapsed to the floor as the demon is sucked down into Hell. Sam opens his eyes and quickly goes up to the woman, hoping she's still alive. He checks her pulse, feeling nothing. Sam sighs in disappointment, "Damn it." The kitchen door opens and a woman comes out. He looks up, apparently not surprised to see her. Her hair is dark and she appears a little impressed.

"Getting pretty slick there, Sam. Better all the time." She says, crossing her arms.

Sam stands and they share a look. He looks down at the corpse at his feet, his face falling. "What the hell is going on around here, Ruby?"

"I wish I knew." She sighs.

"We were thinking some high level demon pulled Dean out." Sam says, hopeful that Ruby might have some information about what happened with his brother.

"No way. Sam, human souls don't just walk out of Hell and back into their bodies easy. The sky bleeds, the ground quakes. It's cosmic. No demon can swing that. Not Lilith, not anybody." Ruby explains, looking up at Sam.

"Then what can?"

"Nothing I've ever seen before."

~~~~~~~

1st Person POV:

Bobby and I draw a symbol with white spray paint on the cement floor. As Bobby stands, Dean looks around at the many symbols Bobby and I had put around the warehouse, determined to be ready for whatever had the mojo to yank Dean out of Hell. "That's a hell of an art project you've got going there." Dean remarks as he sets up the equipment on a metal table.

"Traps and talismans from every faith on the globe. How you doin'?" Bobby asks.

I stand up, dusting my hands off on my pants, "Stakes, iron, silver, salt, knife. I mean, we're pretty much set to catch and kill anything I've ever heard of." I peek at what Dean had set out on the table.

Bobby looks at Dean. "This is still a bad idea."

"Yeah, Bobby, I heard you the first ten times." Dean snaps slightly, "What do you say we ring the dinner bell?"

Bobby nods reluctantly. He goes over to another desk, takes a pinch of some powder from a bowl, and sprinkles it into a larger bowl, which begins to smoke. He chants in Latin, while Dean and I arm ourselves in preparation.

~~~~~~~

Dean, Bobby and I are seated on tables, swinging our legs and looking bored. Nothing immediately happened when Bobby tried to summon whatever this thing is. 

Dean groans, "You sure you did the ritual right?" Bobby gives Dean a look, making me chuckle, "Sorry. Touchy, touchy, huh?"

As if on cue, a loud rattling shakes the roof. We arm ourselves and back up to the far end of the warehouse defensively, I stand between the two men anxiously, holding a shotgun full of salt rounds like Bobby and Dean. "Wishful thinking, but maybe it's just the wind." Dean jokes weakly. Lightbulbs explode above us, making us all flinch as sparks rain down. The door bursts open and a handsome man in a business suit, trenchcoat, and wings stalks in. Wait...wings?

The light bulbs above his head shatter in a shower of sparks as he passes them. As he approaches, all of us open fire, but the shots don't even slow him down. The man walks up to us as if he didn't just get pumped full of buckshot, standing between Dean, Bobby and I. "Who are you?" Dean asks warily.

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition." The man says flatly.

"Yeah. Thanks for that" Dean grumbles as he plunges the knife into the man's chest, I'm assuming directly into his heart. But it has no effects. The man looks down, unbothered, and pulls the knife out of his chest, dropping it to the floor. Bobby swings at him, but the man catches Bobby's weapon without even looking. The man turns to Bobby and puts two fingers to his forehead, making Bobby crumble to the floor.

"Bobby!?" I yell, kneeling down next to his unconscious body, glaring up at the winged man. 

"We need to talk, Dean. Alone." The man says, turning to look at Dean, then back down at me. I stand up and he approaches me, ready to do whatever he did to Bobby to me.

"Wait! Whatever you have to say, she can hear it too!" Dean yells, making the man glance between us. 

Dean glares at him, kneeling down to Bobby and checking his pulse. "H-He's alive Dean..." I state, my eyes flickering between the man, Dean and my adoptive father.

The man nods, "She's right. Your friend's alive." He says as he looks through one of the books on the table.

"Who are you?" I ask, making the man look up at me.

"Castiel." He says, making eye contact.

"Yeah, I figured that much, I mean what are you?" Dean crinkles his eyebrows, his glare not letting up.

Castiel looks over at Dean, "I'm an Angel of the Lord." That would explain the wings.

Dean slowly stands up, "Get the hell out of here. There's no such thing."

"Dean...I think he's telling the truth. I mean, look at his wings." I stand in front of Dean, gesturing my right hand towards Castiel, who visibly stiffens out of the corner of my eye.

"What wings?" Dean asks me, squinting at Castiel. 

I give him a confused look, "dude they're fucking huge, how can you not see them?"

"This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith." Castiel turns to us, looking at Dean. Thunder rumbles and lightning flashes, making a shadow form behind the angel. The shape of wings stretch out behind Castiel, but I can see his tangible onyx wings spreading behind him, making my eyes widen. "Told you," I gloat weakly at the older Winchester.

Dean shakes his head a little, "Some angel you are. You burned out that poor woman's eyes."

Castiel looks down, guilt on his face, "I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be... overwhelming to humans, and so can my real voice. But you already knew that."

"You mean the gas station and the motel. That was you talking?" Dean asks, making Castiel nod, "Buddy, next time, lower the volume."

"What do you mean? I heard him at the motel just fine, he was trying to tell us something." I cross my arms over my chest, both of the men looking at me.

"And you think now is the important time to tell me?" Dean looks at me in disbelief. 

"Oh please, as if you would've believed me," I roll my eyes.

"That was my mistake. Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage, like (Y/N). I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong." Castiel says to Dean.

Dean scoffs, "Why can she hear you? See wings that appear to be friggin' invisible? And what visage are you in now, huh? What, holy tax accountant?"

"This?" Castiel looks down, fidgeting with his clothes, "This is... a vessel." He ignores Dean's first couple questions.

My eyebrows furrow as I look the angel up and down, "You're possessing some poor bastard?"

Castiel looks in my direction, "He's a devout man, he actually prayed for this."

"Look pal, I'm not buying what you're selling, so who are you really?" Dean asks him, unable to believe what's actually happening. 

"I told you." Castiel frowns at him.

"Right. And why would an angel rescue me from Hell?"  Dean shifts where he stands.

"Good things do happen, Dean." Castiel says, stepping closer to him.

Dean shakes his head again, "Not in my experience."

"What's the matter?" Castiel asks, his voice getting a little lower,  "You don't think you deserve to be saved?"

Dean scoffs, "Why'd you do it?" 

"Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you. But now, I also have...business to attend to with (Y/N), now that I'm aware of some things..."

[purple-goo-writes]

Soooo this hit me earlier-

Phantom and Robin (Dick) being friends, maybe meet during a Teen Titan mission and Robin never told the Adult Leaguers about Phantom and his city cause Phantom asked him not too? Perhaps not wanting someone to get possessed or just Jaded Amity from someone not taking their calls seriously.

Anyway- Dick doesn't hear from Phantom for years, possibly both accidently drop out of contact due to hectic lives on both sides, Dick jut getting started as Nightwing and Phantom is dealing with the GIW.

Not until Tim is Robin and both YJ and TT are thrown off by this strange glowing entity shows up at the Tower bleeding Lazarus Water and asking for Nightwing.

Dick is surprised over how much Phantom had changed. Gone was the hazmat suit and short frame. Now his old friend was nearly taller then him, still built for aerial flight yet it was as if his limbs were just a tad too long the more he looked. Especially when he noticed the ragged claws that poked through his ripped gloves...

Which makes him realize the hazmat suit wasn't gone, it was simply ripped and torn to rags and Phantom had patched it with other materials or simply wrapped bandages around the exposed parts and was wearing a tattered purple cloak over the rest. It also drew his attention to how inhuman Phantom now looked, how wide and feral his eyes were-how now they were fully radioactive green swirling with electric blue, how his skin was stretched tight over muscles and cracked in some places which were blackened with frostbite, how his smile was filled with sharp teeth and stretched just too wide to be normal, his face now wrapped in bandages partially as if to hide how inhuman he had become, the bandages blending in with his long white hair that crackled like electricity and flaked like snow or the tail of a comet. How he was only shorter then Nightwing due to standing hunched over and how twisted his legs looked when not a ghostly tail.

Something had happened and it had drastically changed the protective Ghost.

Nightwing: Phantom-

Danny: *grimace* I go by Wraith now...

Nightwing paused as he realized that his friends voice now sounded like the shattering of ice mixed with the howls of mountain winds.

Nightwing: ...Danny why are you here?

Wraith sighs and hands him a cloth covered bundle which Nightwing unwrapped to reveal a glowing dagger made of green metal that would look like Kryptonite if not for the darker green.

Wraith: The GIW...they wiped Amity off the map...everyone is gone

Nightwing: Danny...we can help

Wraith: *shakes head* No...I need you to only do one thing...after I take them down..

Nightwing: No

Wraith: *closes Nightwings hands over th dagger ignoring how his own skin sizzles from being so close* I need you to end me.

Wraith leaves as Nightwing protests: I'll be at our spot once it's over.

[jessilynallendilla]

DPXDC LOA & COURT OF OWLS FIC REC

TITLE/LINK RATING COMPLETED-WORD-COUNT SERIES

DP FIC REC HOME POST

let me know if the links aren't working and feel free to suggest any

& THE LEAGUE OF ASSASINS 

Ghoulish  M 14,758 SERIES 

Danny meets and grows closer to a stranger named Ra's. He has time to regret it. 

The Grandfather Paradox  M 11,097 SERIES 

Falling through time and space is not what Danny had planned for his day. Being saved by an unknown stranger was definitely up there too, and he definitely hadn't meant to grow attached to a time period he could never stay in. At first it had just been a curiosity. Who would not be curious about a mysterious child from a foreign land wound up suddenly in the desert sand? But interest had turned into fondness, fondness into affection. The boy is his son. In everything but blood. Ra's is not entirely wrong about that. He just missed a generation in between. 

The Lazarus Child  T 3,712 SERIES 

“You told me a child did it.”  “But no ordinary child. A child born in hell.”  What if the child who managed to climb out of the Pit wasn’t who we thought? Instead, it was a black-haired with icy blue eyes child whose face resembles one man we know. Enter Danyal al Ghul. 

Outta Your League  G 1,202 

Maddie wanted to know why a boy that looked just like Talia al Ghul was in Gotham. Damian wanted to know why a random woman felt the need to run from him in terror. Danny just wanted to know what was going on. All-in-all, Danny's campus visit to Gotham U went pretty poorly. 

Two Of A Time  T 

Ra's Al Ghul and Danny Phantom just can't help but keep meeting each other throughout all of time! 

An Heir For You And Me  M SERIES 

Ra's talks Talia into summoning the holder of the Ring of Rage to get a new heir. Talia will do it but she has her own plans. 

Growing Ghosts And Silent Swords  M 

What if Danny managed to sneak up on Talia? She would totally adopt and train him as an assassin right? 

Walking Side By Side  M 

Danny thought he escaped the League and his father's expectations for good when he was 8. To his surprise they came back for him. Recently escaping from the government and his adopted parents alike and trying to avoid both the GIW and the League he gets sucked back in anyways. He has a nephew now though, so thats cool. He's getting out again but at what cost? Is the gain worth it? Danyal Al Ghul-Fenton, the son of Ra's Al Ghul, Talia Al Ghul's younger brother, and the Demon Heir- fell into the Fenton's life at the age of 8 only to get ripped back into his old life ten years later. He manages to get out again with Jason Todd under the assumption he'll assist him in his mission. He assists him a lot more positively instead. The league is still on his back though, after all Ra's still needs an heir. Can Danny escape his family again? 

& THE COURT OF OWLS 

Infiltrate And Annihilate  T 1,998 SERIES 

Danny as Ghost King, unfortunately, has to sneak into the Court of Owls' ranks to tear them down and bring them to justice in one move. He didn't really expect the Bats to be there. 

The Adventures Of Big Talon And Little Talon.  T SERIES 

Jason would like a one Talon please. No, not the Other Talon. He wants the Little Talon. The one with yellow green eyes. The short one. You know the one that chirps. No, he's not turning into his Father, he swears. Little Talon doesn't know what he wants but he knows this new Big Talon is good. 

Remember, Remember(To Think Before You Jump)  NR SERIES 

Danny is a failed clone from the Court of Owls, and was sent away and miraculously(lol) got adopted by the Fentons. But when something with the portal accident knocks the old memories loose, what will Danny do once he discovers Dick Grayson’s secret? And, through connection and memories, the rest of the Bat’s secret identities? 

Dead Man Walking  M 8,384 

None of this was Danny's problem— and he's determined to keep it that way, no matter what the cops, the weird dude in full-on themed body armor, or the secret society of rich people hiding in the sewers of Gotham had to say. If he wasn't getting paid for over time and he wasn't on the clock, then what was he supposed to do about it?? Or: Talons, Talons, everywhere, and nary a living Mortician around to clean them up. 

The Undead People Won't Stop Coming For Me.  T 

Danny didn't predicted this happening at all when he became a mortician in gotham. He was just drinking his daily ectoplasm juice after fixing up two dead bodies between preteens and adults only to see them Stand up, staring at him with glowing amber and green eyes staring at his ectoplasm shot drink like hungry vultures. Sighing as he doesn't get paid enough for this as he offer them some... Only for the next 2 weeks, his mortician is filled with other undead, bring more bodies. Meanwhile, the leader of court of owls and league of assassins are starting to noticed a increasing amount of members disappearing.. 

[annispillowfort]

Crushed Like a Bug in the Ground

(Inspired by "Let Down" by Radiohead)

I. Tires and Second Chances

(Transport, motorways and tramlines— Starting and then stopping—)

He started in the gutter, grease on his hands, hunger in his ribs, ripping the hubcaps off fate’s car like it was something he could steal and keep.

Then— a shadow loomed, a gloved hand reached down, and for a moment, Jason thought— maybe I can be more than this.

Maybe the world had room for a stray like him.

Maybe he wouldn’t end up like his father.

Maybe he could be— wanted.

(Picking up bottles, spilling out wishes—)

And God, did he want.

⸻

II. Robin, Not a Replacement

(One day, I am gonna grow wings—)

He flew.

Gold cape catching wind, laughter breaking through radio static, chasing after a name that was never really his.

"You’re not him," the butler said, kind but distant. "You’re not ready," the others warned.

"You’re not good enough," the city sneered, and deep down, Jason knew— Bruce still saw another kid when he looked at him.

But Jason didn't care. He bled for Gotham anyway. He bled for the Bat anyway.

(A chemical reaction—hysterical and useless—)

Until it bled him dry.

⸻

III. Crowbars and Silence

(Let down and hanging around—)

The first hit landed. Then another. And another.

Then— he stopped counting.

Blood in his mouth, lungs flooding with rot, bones splitting open like cracks in a sidewalk.

"Tell the big man I said hi," the clown sneered, smiling like this was a joke, like Jason wasn’t dying on a warehouse floor, waiting, waiting, waiting—

(Crushed like a bug in the ground—)

But the door never opened. The footsteps never came.

And then—

fire.

⸻

IV. Waking Up Wrong

(Don't get sentimental— It always ends up drivel.)

He came back.

And it was wrong.

Something stitched together with Lazarus hands, stitched with anger and hunger, stitched with why didn’t you save me?

Bruce had buried him. Dick had grieved him. The world had moved on without him.

And Jason? Jason was still sixteen, still burning, still breaking, still hearing the crack of a crowbar every time he closed his eyes.

(Let down and hanging around— Crushed like a bug in the ground—)

The grave had spit him out, but it hadn’t let him go.

⸻

V. Red, Not Gold

(You know where you are with— Floor collapsing, floating—)

He put on the mask.

If the Bat wouldn’t kill, then he would. If the world wouldn’t save the broken, then he’d burn it down.

But sometimes, on rooftops, when the night is too quiet, he swears he still hears his own laugh carried in the wind—

"You’re not him."

No, he never was. But God, he wanted to be.

(Let down and hanging around—)

The record keeps skipping. The song never stops. The warehouse never stops burning.

And Jason?

Jason is still waiting for the door to open.

(Crushed like a bug in the ground.)

i don't even have words for this. this is the first time i actually incorporated lyrics like that into my poetry. and i fully blame these godforsaken editors on tiktok that regularly make me fucking bawl my eyes out. this... warcrime i just wrote was inspired by a tiktok edit about jason, so don't blame me!! blame these evil editors that bust out these edits laced with despair and agony!! please don't doxx me, my loves.

[envysparkler]

“Father,” Talia began conciliatorily, but Ra’s al Ghul was in no mood to be conciliated.

“No,” he said sharply, looming above her as she bowed her head in supplication.  His eyes flashed green, like jade in the sun, and surrounding the room were the silent sentinels of the Head’s personal guard.  “My decision is final.”

It was the heights of folly to argue with the Demon’s Head.  Talia gave it a try anyway.

“Please, Father,” she murmured.  “I beg your forbearance.  It was a child’s mistake, impulsive and accidental.  Please have mercy—”

“He murdered the best poisoner this side of the Iron Curtain,” Ra’s snapped, pacing around her, “by disemboweling him and then hanging him from his own guts.”  Talia winced, expression concealed by the fall of her hair.  “And you call this impulse?”

“The man tested poisons on children!” Talia protested.

“If I ended everyone who I had qualms with, I’d hardly have time for anything else,” Ra’s said, completing his circle and seating himself on the rough-hewn stone chair that served as a throne.  “I said no, and I meant it.”

“Please,” Talia begged again, “let me temper him, let me teach him—”

“He has murdered more than half his teachers.  Are you certain you’re willing to take that risk?”

Talia shoved upright in a rush of indignation.  “He isn’t killing indiscriminately!”  Ra’s raised an eyebrow and she flushed at being caught out.  “Father,” she said in a tone that was meant to be a reprimand and yet came out more a whine.

“No, daughter,” Ra’s said, stern and implacable.  “I allowed you your freedom when you brought the boy home, I allowed you your tests, your secrecy from the Bats.  I even allowed you the Lazarus Pit, when it was clear that little else would work.  But I refuse to let your wayward project rampage through every half-decent connection I have until no one at all will return my call or accept my reference.”

“You exaggerate, Father.”

“Slade Wilson turned down a contract without even glancing at it last month,” Ra’s said through gritted teeth.

Talia winced again.  In retrospect, perhaps Jason’s intimately graphic threat about ripping off Deathstroke’s balls at the first available opportunity hadn’t been all that…discreet.  However, it had mainly been the fault of whoever was idiotic enough to leave out that unfortunate picture of the mercenary pinning down Nightwing, and Talia had managed to calm Jason down with only one destroyed training room and a couple of minor casualties, and packed him off the very next day so he could rampage in peace.  She’d defy Ra’s to do any better.

“Father—”

“No.  I refuse to shelter him.  I refuse to send him away from training.  I want the boy gone, Talia.”

“So you will have me throw him out in the cold?” Talia hissed, stung, as she straightened to her feet.  “A child I have cared for and protected?  You will have me abandon him?”

Ra’s al Ghul, famed and feared Demon’s Head, rolled his eyes.

[delusionalmultifandomwriter]

Please do a fic where adult jason todd gets comforted under/hidden in Batman’s cape!! the softer the better

your wish is my command (i missed the topic a little but it is super soft so i hope you like it anyways)

requested?: yes (i am so excited about this, ahh!)

words: 1848

Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Joker, Orphan

Oneshot, angst, hurt/comfort

TW: throwing up, violence, implicite self-harm urges (this got a lot darker than i planned it to be)

credits: the dialogue parts of the italic are from Batman: A Death in the Family

Have fun, thank you so much for requesting!

Ressurection is not exactly healthy. Which is not too surprising but still. The Lazarus Pit healed Jason's body, the scars were still there but very pale and barely visible anymore.

But the inner scars stayed, even after Jason and Bruce figured themselves out and came to terms with eachother again. Jason suffered from PTSD, who wouldn't after getting beaten up with a crowbar? The nightterrors and the coldness that randomly appeared every now and then were the worst.

This week started off with a night terror. Nothing uncommon, it happened all the time to almost all off them. Jason was at his own place where he was alone. Maybe he woke up his neighbours but at least not his family. He didn't like them worrying about him.

"What hurts more? A? Or B? Forehand? Or backhand? The crazy laugh echoed through the hall. Robin helplessly tried to craw away, his hands restrained behind his back. His breath whistled as he spit out some blood and mumbled a curse. The Joker chuckled evil and leaned down. A little louder, lamb chop. I think you may have a collapsed lung. That always impedes the oratory. Robin leaned up and spit the Joker into his face. The clown smashed Robin's head into the floor, his senses got flooded with the distant metallic feeling of a concussion. Nausea instantly hit him.

Jason shrieked awake. Nausea instantly hit him. He jumped up and nearly got tangled into his blanket. He stumbled into his bathroom and fell to his knees in front of the toilet.

Jason hated throwing up. Especially after a night terror when his mind was already full of thoughts. He leaned against the shower glass still sitting next to the toilet and waiting for the nausea to pass. After a few minutes he slowly got up and scooped some water from the washbasin into his mouth. Jason winced, his throat was raw and still shut tight.

He shivered, the bathroom floor was cold. Jason stumbled back into his bedroom. He grabbed the blanket from the floor and slowly made his way into the living room. He sat down against the heater with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He fell asleep exhausted on his carpet floor.

He was drowning. Breath. He needed air. Needed his lungs fill with oxygen. Cloth. There was cloth over his face. His mouth was dry. The sweet smell of death. He ripped the cloth from his face and threw up green, stale water. Flight! Where was he? He turned around and ran off. People. He took them out. The moves where in his muscles. He pressed his thumbs into the eyes of one of them. A tunnel. A cave. Darkness. Away.

The Joker escaping Arkham was nothing new to Gotham. Nothing new to the Batfam and nothing new to Jason. It happened a million times before but it still put Jason on edge ever since that night in Sarajevo.

He thought he was better. He thought he could conquer the Joker and arrest him again. It was a simple mission. A simple task. Then he met him in a warehouse in the Bowery. The green hair was brushed back, the purple suit dirty with some blood stains on it. The clown turned around and laughed at Red Hood hysterically.

And, hey, please tell the big man I said… "hello".

Jason saw red. He lunged at him and slammed the Joker into the wall, punched him in the face, once, twice. He could break him. He was not Robin anymore. He was taller than the clown now. Stronger. He could give back all the pain. He would give back all the pain. He slammed his knee into the Joker's ribs, a sharp crack echoed through the warehouse.

"Wow, that looked like it really hurt." Jason growled deeply as he lifted the Joker up a little and pinned him against the wall. He pulled him away and smashed him against the wall, the Joker's head lulled foreward a little as he coughed.

"Whoa, now, hang on. That looked like it hurt a lot more." Jason shouted angrily as he threw the Joker on the floor. "Now let's try and find out what hurts more?"

"A?" He kicked the Joker into the stomach. "Or B?" He striked out again.

"Red Hood!" Batman. Jason's head snapped around. "Orphan, stay here until the GCPD arrives." Batman ordered, Orphan appeared from the shadows behind the older man.

Jason finally snapped out of his murderous frenzy. His eyes went wide as he saw what he did. The Joker layed in a puddle of blood, his nose was broken pretty obviously and he was coughing and whincing weakly. Jason backed down when the clown started to laugh madly. Red Hood turned around, pushed past Batman and flea from the area.

The thoughts were flooding over Jason as he ran over the roofs. He was out of breath but he kept running and running until he fell to his knees. He leaned against a brick wall and ripped his mask off of his head. His face was wet with hot tears, smeared over his cheeks and neck. He wrapped his arms around his knees and tried to calm his breath.

He needed to get air into his lungs but his whole body blocked against taking a deep breath. Jason panicked. What had he done?! He disappointed Batman, he promised to be better than the Joker. He wanted to be better. His family would abandom him, what else should they do? He was supposed to be a hero. He sobbed violently, black spots started to dance over his vision. He couldn't breath. Jason felt like he would die here, alone on some roof, alone in this world.

Jason felt someone shake his body. "Jason." A deep but very calm voice called out to him. Jason panted desperatly as his lungs filled with air. Not enough to live but enough to survive.

He was lifted up a little and after that leaned against a soft wall. Soft wall. There are no soft walls, at least none that Jason was aware off but he was too close to fainting to truly bother about the existence of soft walls. Jason started sobbing again.

"Jay, come on. Breath." The voice said desperate. A strong hand was harshly rubbing his back. Jason inhaled the air shaky, his body was trembling.

"There you go chum, okay." Bruce. It was Bruce. Noone ever called Jason chum before. Jason was suddenly embarassed and violently tried to dry his tears up, rubbing on his skin roughly with his gloved hands. Bruce gently took his hands in his and Jason's head slupped against Bruce's chest.

Then Jason started babbling. "I'm sorry, i didn't mean to... he... i, i couldn't." He sobbed again. "The memories, they come back... the Joker... i can't stop it." Jason needed to hurt, he needed to feel something. He tried to pull his hands from Bruce' grip but he held them tightly.

"Jason, look at me." Bruce growled deeply. Jason looked up and as their eyes met, he couldn't find any angryness, not even disappointment. He looked back into his lap and sobbed quietly but his breath, although shaky, evened out a little.

"There you go. You are fine, Jay." Bruce said. "You can breath, you are okay." Bruce always was repetitive with his comforting but it didn't really matter to Jason because he was there, he held Jason in his arms and he was not angry. Jason could stay with his family, he could come back.

"You called me chum." Jason mumbled weakly, his voice was still filled with silent crying. Bruce chuckled deeply. "I guess that is true." Jason felt the hand on his back, he shivered a little as the cold hit his body. "Cold?" Bruce asked. Jason nodded softly.

Bruce leaned up a little and deattached his cape from his shoulders. He wrapped the thick, black fabric around Jason and bundeled him up tightly. Jason exhaled shaky. The bone aching cold disappeared from his body and the shivering slowly but surely passed. His muscles were burning, feeling weak like he could not move anything. Jason blinked drowsily. His sobs died down and just like that, his eyes closed.

Gotham City was no place for a kid. Not even a well-trained and resilient kid like Jason Todd. It was raining tonight, the wind whistled through the city. Robin sat under Batman's cape like an owl baby, as they observed the Iceberg Lounge. They had been sitting there for hours but Robin wasn't cold. He was warm. Wet from the rain but warm. He would totally catch a cold but not tonight. Not right now. Right now he was warm, close to Batman and sucking up his body heat. Nothing bad has happened to him yet.

When Jason jolted awake, he was no longer on the roof. He inhaled sharply, as he felt a hand on his back. "Hey, you are safe. It was just a nightmare." Jason turned around to see Bruce, leaning against the head of the bed with his laptop on the nightstand. The older man gave him a worried look. Jason looked around confused. This wasn't his bedroom. It was Bruce'. The kingsize bed spoke for itself.

Jason looked down at himself, he was wearing a black t-shirt and red and black sweatpants not in his Red Hood suit. "I'm fine?" He mumbled. Bruce smiled at him, it was weird to see him so relaxed. "Yes, you are." Jason nodded slowly. Bruce leaned down to the floor and put something heavy on his lap.

"Here, Tim got you this. You looked like you liked the cape a lot." Jason lifted the heavy thing up, it was a weighted blanket. He wrapped it around his shoulders. "Did i fall asleep?" He asked confused. "Right after i wrapped the cape around you. Dr. Thompkins said you where hypothermic and severly sleep deprived. What the hell happened?" Bruce asked concerned

Jason shrugged and layed back down on his stomach with the heavy blanket around him. He was still tired, his body was grounded now and he wanted to sleep. Bruce sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Sleep, we can later talk about you not reaching out for help" He finally said. Jason rolled his eyes. "As if you are better." He grumbled.

Bruce nudged Jason playfully. He gently rubbed the younger boys back. Jason sighed as he moved a little closer. Bruce pulled the other blanket over him a little and Jason was finally warm. "You scared the living hell out of me." Bruce said while he layed down next to Jason. The younger boy moved a little closer and Bruce continued to gently rub his back.

"M sorry." Jason mumbled sleepily. "Didn't mean to." He looked at Bruce with half open eyes. He buried his head into one of the pillows and Bruce smiled as he watched how relaxed and content Jason looked. He leaned over to kiss Jason's hair.

"It's okay. Don't worry about it. Sleep tight, chum."

-----

Same shit on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55397161

:)

[rainbow-flavoured-skittles]

Sensei Sharpens Student

this is just 4.5k words of Yang and Cole bonding. I don't know where I found the energy to do this. this was just my excuse to write Cole angst again and be self indulgent but it worked out well. cross posted to ao3 as well

tw for death mentions and mild violence

~

Yang stared down at the child’s body and sighed. So young… it was a shame his life had been cut short so quickly. Kind of. Yang couldn’t quite bring himself to feel grief over the child, especially not when it would all be remedied soon.

He picked up the body, careful to avoid damaging it further — those oni had really done a number on him — and brought it to the altar. The child would have looked serene if not for the ugly gashes marring his face. Falling from a skyscraper was a truly terrible way to go, all that shattered glass and broken bones and simply knowing that you would die and it could not be changed.

“Soon,” Yang whispered to the corpse. “It will all be better soon.” It might not be, if his plan failed, but it wouldn’t be much of a loss. The child couldn’t respond anyway.

He checked his hourglass — only ten minutes until the eclipse. Ten minutes until he’d see if this child could be resurrected. Ten minutes until the Rift could be summoned again for the first time in three centuries.

Yang picked up the Yin Blade and held it above the child‘s head. It was time. He slashed at the air, the blade ripping a hole in the very universe itself, and smiled.

The Rift glowed a radioactive, toxic green, not unlike the green of the Lazarus Pits. The colours in it swirled together in hypnotic patterns, seemingly alive. Yang picked up the child, less carefully than before, for any further damage wouldn’t matter soon, and threw him into the Rift. Perhaps that was a bit of a crude word, but it was accurate. The boy was not exactly heavy, and Yang had been a very strong man in life.

As soon as the body disappeared into the glowing green of the Rift, Yang dusted his hands off and waited. He did not know how long it would take for the child to come back out. He didn’t even know if the boy would be revived, or if he’d ever come out. If the boy was still dead, then it showed that humans could not be resurrected with the Rift. If he was alive, then Yang had his very own pet assassin. Yang would be unharmed either way.

A loud crack of thunder outside had Yang cursing and running to the door. It was the Rift, it must be. The portal on the inside of the temple had closed, but the green glow outside meant there was some degree of success.

He ran outside and found the body crumpled in a rose bush. It was jarringly similar to how Yang had first found the boy, all bones and too-cold skin, twisted in the way that only a dead body could be. Except this body was not dead. It was very much alive. Yang could see the boy’s shallow breathing. He pressed a finger to his wrist. There was a faint pulse, slow but still there. Yang would have let out a breath of relief if he could still breathe. The boy was alive. The Rift had worked. He now had proof that humans could be resurrected with it.

The boy’s eyes fluttered open. It was strange to see the small side effects of the Rift — Yang would have to jot them down. Where before his eyes had been a pale grey, like little pools of moonlight, the left one was now an unnatural green. The same colour as the Rift.

A jagged scar ran down the left side of his face as well, starting somewhere above his hairline and ending just above his chin. It was the same green as the Rift. Yang could find no logical reason for it. The boy’s eye changing colour made sense, the Pits did the same thing, but the scar was unexpected. Yang would have to study that further. He held out his hand and pulled the boy to his feet. He looked disoriented, not completely aware of his surroundings, but Yang smiled anyway. 

“Welcome back,” he croaked to the child.

~

 Everything was black until it wasn’t. Then it was green and pain and screaming and awakening to an unfamiliar place. The boy blinked his eyes at the old man in front of him. He was fairly sure he didn’t know this man. But the boy couldn’t remember much of anything at the moment, so he let the man drag him to his feet and lead him though a door.

“How are you feeling?” The old man asked the boy. They had settled down around a low table, sitting on silk cushions. A plate of cookies was set in front of them. 

The boy did not know how to respond. “I don’t know,” he said. His voice was raspy and unfamiliar to him. That was scary — how could he not know his own voice?

The old man frowned. “What is your name?”

The boy blinked. He thought hard about what his name might be. “Cole,” he said. That sounded right.

“Cole,” the old man repeated. “I am Master Yang. I am the one who brought you back to life.”

Back to life? Wouldn’t that mean Cole had died? He tried to think about what may have happened and was immediately hit by feelings of pain and hopelessness and terror. However he had died hadn’t been peaceful. Cole shoved those feelings down and looked up at Yang. 

“I died?”

“Yes,” Master Yang nodded. “I revived you with the Rift of Return.”

“Did you know me? Is that why you brought me back?”

Master Yang cringed at that. “I did not know you. I simply saw a child in need and helped.”

“Okay,” Cole said. He could tell that Yang wasn’t telling the truth, or at least not all of it, but he had saved Cole from death. That had to mean something.

“I want to train you,” Master Yang said. “In the ways of combat. So that you will not die again.”

“But everyone dies.”

“Yes, but I would still like to train you. So that you can be safe,” Yang fumbled his words, looking for an excuse.

Cole thought for a bit. No matter how hard he tried to remember, he could not think of anything from his past. Granted, he had only been revived for an hour or so, but it couldn’t be normal not to remember. And what if it was people from his past that had caused his death? Yang was offering him safety and training. It would be good to know how to fight, and maybe he could regain some memories.

“I’ll train with you,” Cole told Yang. It seemed like the best option.

“Excellent,” Master Yang smiled wickedly. “Your training will begin tomorrow. You may take one of the empty rooms upstairs.”

Cole nodded and went up the stairs. He opened the first door on the right and looked over the room. It was dusty, clearly having been uninhabited for quite some time. It was still shelter, though, and the bed looked comfortable.

He looked in the mirror. A reflection stared back at him, of a young boy with dark hair and skin. His eyes were strange — one grey, the other bright green. A large crack (scar?) ran down the side of his face. It glowed green as well. Cole shivered at it. The reflection didn’t seem like him, was wrong and unfamiliar. Of course, who even was Cole? How was he to know if this was what he’d always looked like? He couldn’t remember any family or friends, or what he might have done in his free time, or whether he had any goals for the future. It was terrifying to not know who he was.

Yang knocked on the door, shaking Cole out of his spiral. “Cole, I would suggest you go to bed. Your training begins early and I will not tolerate any whining of no sleep.”

“Yes, Master Yang,” Cole said. He shook the dust off of the bedsheets and pillow. He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. His body shut down immediately, sending him into a cold dreamless sleep.

~

The knives came towards Cole at full speed, bright silver crescents that threatened to kill if he didn’t dodge. Cole did a backflip to the left and a handspring to the right, then a simple roll to the floor. Not a single one of the knives hit him.

“Good work,” Master Yang said approvingly. He pocketed one of the throwing knives. “But your backflip was sloppy. We’ll need to fix that.”

“But everything else was good?” Cole asked. He hoped he had done well — he’d trained for hours on the corkscrews.

“Yes.”

“Should I practice throwing them now?”

Yang hummed and stroked his beard. “Go to the armoury and get some throwing knives. Make sure they’re the ones with red leather grips. I don’t want you training with the good knives yet.”

“Yes, Master Yang,” Cole hurried off to go get the knives. He found the armoury, an ancient mahogany door leading to it, and stepped in. There were weapons everywhere, ranging from large battle axes to small daggers to deadly poisons in glass vials. He found the required throwing knives and was about to exit when he saw the scythe.

It was a beautiful piece of work, carefully engraved with runes and enchantments. The blade was polished to perfection, shining and gleaming and incredibly sharp. The handle was made of honey coloured wood, wrapped in black leather. All in all, a stunning ten-out-of-ten weapon.

Cole looked at it and went back down the hall to Yang. “Master Yang, I saw this scythe in the armoury, and I was wondering, maybe after the throwing knives, maybe I—“

“Just spit it out already, boy,” Yang spat.

“Could I train with the scythe, maybe?”

Yang frowned. “It is a difficult weapon,” he said. “Not many use it in combat. It’s much more for reaping crops than anything.”

“But could I learn it?”

“Hmmm,” Yang thought. He intended to have Cole master all the weapons he had, scythe included. It wouldn’t hurt to change his plans a bit and have him learn the scythe next. A perfect assassin should know how to use every weapon, after all.

“Very well then,” he said to Cole. “Once you’ve mastered the throwing knives, I will teach you how to use a scythe.”

Cole had stars in his eyes. “Really?”

“I just said you could, didn’t I?”

“Yes!” Cole pumped his fist in a rare display of childish enthusiasm. Yang smiled a bit at that, though he would deny it if asked.

~ 

Yang nodded in satisfaction at his pupil’s performance. Cole had finally mastered the throwing knives — and in an exceptionally short amount of time, too. He could be the world’s greatest assassin given a few more years.

“Did I pass?” Cole said.

“Yes,” Yang said. “You did well.”

Cole lit up at the praise. “So I can learn how to use the scythe now?”

Yang raised an eyebrow at the question. He had not expected Cole to still remember that promise — children had short attention spans, and he’d figured Cole had forgotten about it. 

But a promise was a promise, and Yang was a man of his word. “Very well, then. You may start training.”

Yang made his way to the armoury and found the old scythe. He had not used it in many, many years. The blade would need sharpening, he thought idly.

“Take it,” he handed the weapon to Cole. “I will teach you the basics, and then we will spar.”

Cole took it gingerly and held it with practiced ease. “Isn’t the blade a bit dull?”

“It will suffice for this lesson.”

“Okay.”

Yang held up his own scythe. “I will teach you how to hold it properly, first. Adjust your hands so that— yes, exactly like that,” he said, confused as to how Cole would already know how to hold the weapon.

“Now, scythes are more for slashing than stabbing. You won’t be able to stab someone through the heart or anything. Remember that.”

Cole shifted nervously. “Master Yang, I think I’ve got it,” he said. 

Hmm. That was strange. The boy held his weapon like he was already familiar with it.

“You seem to have the basics down,” Yang said. “We’ll move on to sparring now. Don’t hold back.”

A nod, and then getting into position. Yang looked the boy over and gave the signal. He was off immediately, going straight for Yang’s throat and slashing at it. If Yang weren’t already dead, he would have died.

Yang went at Cole with his own weapon as well, though he aimed to incapacitate, not kill. Cole clearly had no such qualms — mostly because Yang couldn’t be killed — slicing at his throat and stomach. He was nimble, moving in the same way a dancer might, doing unnecessary kicks and spins. 

It was surprising. Not many used the scythe as a weapon — it was too inconvenient. But Cole used it like it was part of his body. Yang found himself once again wondering what the boy’s past was. He had training, of course, but from whom? Who would have trained such a young child to fight like that? Other than Yang, of course.

Cole took Yang’s distraction as an opportunity to drop kick him and end the match. “Sorry, Master,” he said apologetically. “But you said not to hold back.”

Yang sniffed and readjusted his robes. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“I don’t know. I think it might be from my past? It’s all still so foggy, though…”

“I don’t believe you’ll need any more training with the scythe,” Yang shook his head. “You’re more than proficient.”

“But isn’t there always room for improvement?”

“A good fighter knows more than just two weapons. You will train with the bow and arrows next.”

Cole deflated a little. Yang found himself feeling guilty at that. Guilty! When had he started caring about the boy’s feelings? Hell, when had he started caring about the boy in general?

“You may train with the scythe in the afternoons,” Yang found himself saying. “As long as all your other exercises have been completed.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

~

Cole was crying. Yang knew this because of the faint sobs coming from his room. He knocked on the door. “Cole, why are you crying?” He asked.

The door swung open to Cole, eyes all red and puffy. The scar on his face glowed radioactive green. “Just stuff,” he mumbled. 

Yang sighed and marched into the room. He gestured for Cole to sit next to him. “Explain yourself,” he said. Not the most sensitive of statements, but Cole seemed to do better without being coddled.

Cole wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I remembered something,” he said softly. 

“Then why are you crying? Regaining memories is something to be celebrated.”

“I remembered someone important. I think he was my friend, or something. But I don’t know his name.”

Yang sighed. “But you remember what he looks like?”

“No,” Cole shook his head. “I just remember that he cared about me. I don’t know anything, just vague feelings…”

“Your memories will return with time,” Yang said. “And until then, you have me.”

“That’s so cheesy,” Cole laughed — a dry, broken, laugh, but still a laugh.

“It is true.”

“Thank you, Master Yang.”

“It is a guardian’s job to take care of their ward, no?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Then I’m just doing my job. There’s no need to thank me.”

~

Yang was repairing Cole’s robes when the boy walked up to him. He’d been thinking about how reckless children were, and if it was possible to get more durable clothing. He hadn’t been expecting Cole to be awake for several more hours.

“I want to be a vigilante,” Cole said. He looked at Yang in the face — not quite eye contact, the boy hated that, but close.

“A vigilante? Explain,” Yang frowned.

“They fight crime. I think I used to be one, and I want to do it again.”

Yang sighed and put down the sewing materials. He looked at Cole. “You remember your past?”

“Only some. It’s still really blurry, but I’m sure about this.”

“You fought crime. Illegally, I presume. And you want to do it again.”

“Yes.”

“You’re aware of how dangerous that would be?”

Cole shuffled a little, clearly finding the situation awkward. “Yes, but I’ve trained a lot. You said I was good enough to take out an army.”

That had been a bit of an exaggeration. Yang regretted speaking in such a way. “You are good, yes, but that was hyperbole. Nobody can fight hundreds of people at once and win.”

“But I’m still good at fighting. And staying hidden. And gathering information.”

Yang wondered again when he had gotten attached to the boy. He certainly hadn’t cared when he first found him. And now he was worried about the boy being in danger, of all things.

“Cole, when I first found you, you were dead.” Cole flinched at the reminder but nodded. “That was almost certainly because of your ‘vigilante gig,’ so to speak. And you want to go out again to put yourself in danger.”

“I’m trained now.”

“You were trained before,” Yang retorted.

“I’m trained more.”

“You are still a child.”

“But I want to help people!” Cole looked desperate now. “I can help. I have all this training and experience that others don’t and I can save people!”

“Why?”

Cole picked at his nails. “I made a promise to someone,” he said. “‘Always stand up to those who are cruel and unjust.’ I want to keep that promise.”

“There are people out there who would hurt you. They would want to study you like a specimen in a lab.”

“Then I’ll avoid them.”

“It’s not that simple, Cole.”

“Master Yang, please.” Cole wiped tears from his eyes. Yang pushed down the feeling of guilt.

“You are trained, but would have no backup. I would not be able to help you if you’re in trouble.”

“I want to keep that promise,” Cole repeated. He had a steely look in his eyes. This was not something he’d back down from.

Yang got up from the table. “You must defeat me in a spar. Neither of us will hold back. If you win, you can become a vigilante.”

Cole raised an eyebrow. “And if I don’t?” The boy knew how to read the fine print. That was good. It would be a useful skill in the outside world.

“Then you stay here with me.”

“I accept your terms.”

“Then come,” Yang said. “Whoever gets knocked down first will lose. Any weapons are allowed. Fight dirty if needed.”

Cole nodded and followed to the training room. He took his position opposite to Yang. “I’m ready,” he said. He held his signature scythe in one hand and a set of daggers in the other.

Yang attacked first, a series of blows and kicks meant to incapacitate an enemy. Cole dodged and returned his own attacks, a flurry of knives and sharp kicks. Months of training had honed his skills into something deadly, more fluid than the style he’d had when he first arrived.

A dodge, and then a parry from Cole’s scythe. Yang was careful not to aim for the throat or head, hitting the legs and stomach instead. His sword clashed with the scythe. Multiple knives were thrown at each other. A dagger embedded itself into the wall.

It took almost thirty minutes for Cole to knock Yang down. He used his earth powers to his advantage, creating stepping stones to jump off of and hit Yang in the chest. He fell against the wall without a sound.

“I did it!” Cole cheered. He rushed to help his mentor off the floor. “I won, right? You said we could fight dirty.”

Yang dusted off his robes, rather pointlessly considering that he was a ghost and could not get dirty. “Yes, you won. You may become a vigilante and help save people.”

“Yes!”

Yang smiled at the scene. And if he’d let Cole win on purpose, well, nobody needed to know.

~

“—and it should be black, so that I can blend in easily. But also a cape! And a full face mask, to protect my identity.”

“You should talk less and focus more on your designing,” Yang commented. He looked over Cole’s drafts for the vigilante uniform. They were hastily coloured and roughly sketched — nothing final, just good enough to get an idea of how it could look.

“It should have orange accents, too. And pockets,” Cole scribbled some more notes. His hands were stained with charcoal and ink.

“It is very dramatic.”

“That’s the point!”

“You are adding a… scar to the mask?” Yang gestured at the large zig-zag drawn on the design. 

“It’s supposed to look like the one I have. But orange, so that it matches the theme.” Cole pointed at the large scar on his face. After so many months, Yang doubted it’d ever heal. Cole would have to conceal it for the rest of his life.

“That is a liability to your identity.”

“I don’t plan to take off the mask. No one will know.”

“If you insist,” Yang sighed. He was already thinking of how to get supplies for this project. It would be a pain to find proper metal for the armour.

“I’m going to have a mask underneath, too, if it makes you feel better.”

“Alright, then.”

“I’m also going to add a voice modulator. So that I can sound scarier. And more adult-like.”

“You are barely five feet tall. Hardly an adult.”

“Platforms exist for a reason,” Cole rolled his eyes. Yang tried not to laugh at that.

~

It was finally complete. After hours and hours of work and multiple injuries, Cole had finally finished his new costume. He was quite proud of it — the orange accents weren’t too bright, so that he could blend in easily, but they still stood out. And it had all the appropriate ‘cryptid assassin’ vibes, just as he’d intended.

“What do you think, Master?”

Yang stood over Cole, examining the newly completed uniform. “It is good,” he said. “You have a talent for designing things.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’m sure you will strike fear into the hearts of many.”

“I’m not trying to scare people. I want to save them,” Cole said.

“Hmmm.”

“The scaring people is targeted at bad guys.”

Yang nodded thoughtfully. His pupil had grown so much from the scrawny little boy he’d first found. He was a true warrior, now — perhaps not the undefeatable assassin Yang had first sought out to make, but formidable all the same. He was proud of the boy.

“I’m almost ready, now. I think I’ll leave tomorrow.” Cole looked at Yang for permission, as if he had not made up his mind to leave weeks ago.

“Of course. Make sure to visit a lonely old man when you get the chance, yes?”

“I wouldn’t leave you, not forever. You’re my family,” Cole said.

Family? That was a word Yang hadn’t head in a long time. He certainly had never been called family before. It warmed him to know that Cole thought him a member of his family.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Yang said.

~

The next morning, Cole packed his bags and sat beside Yang on the porch. To passerby, they’d see only a young teenager sitting on his own, swinging his legs and looking nervous. To Yang, he saw a boy he’d grown to care for as a son. He didn’t want Cole to leave. It seemed like they’d barely spent a week together, though it had been nearly a year.

Was it selfish, to wish that Cole would stay with him? Yang had grown to care for the boy. He’d never had a family, not in life, but it felt like Cole was his family. Cole himself had said that Yang was his family, and Yang returned the sentiment. Would it be selfish to ask him to stay forever, as father and son, untouched by time or the outside world?

It would be, Yang thought. Cole was nearly sixteen, by his estimates — it was high time he leave to find his own way. Even if his way was to become an illegal crime fighter.

“I’m going to take a train to the main city,” Cole said, breaking the silence. “I’ll figure living arrangements out when I get there.”

“You have enough money? Clothes, food, all your weapons?” Yang asked. It never hurt to make sure, though he was sure Cole had prepared well.

“Yes, Master. I’ve got more than enough of everything,” Cole laughed. 

“That is good,” Yang breathed. He turned to look at Cole properly. “I have a gift for you,” he said. 

“A gift?”

“Yes,” Yang pulled out the dagger. It was an ornate thing, fragile but dangerously sharp. It had been carved from obsidian and inlayed with silver centuries ago. It had been passed down from mentor to mentor over many years. Yang himself had inherited it when he left his mentor. And now it was Cole’s to wield.

“It’s beautiful,” Cole said. He turned it, watching the blade reflect light and sparkle a million different colours.

“My mentor passed this down to me, years ago. And now it is yours.”

Cole held the dagger to his chest. “Thank you, Master Yang.”

“The blade is supposedly enchanted to protect its owner. I hope that it will bring you protection.”

“Thank you,” Cole repeated. He sheathed the dagger into one of his many hidden pockets.

“You should go, now. You will be late for your train.”

“Yeah, I should,” Cole said sadly. He picked up his duffle bag and threw it over his shoulder. The he hugged Yang.

Ghosts cannot be touched. That is a well known fact. But Cole hugged Yang anyway, simply because a boy touched by death like he was could.

“Goodbye, my pupil,” Yang pulled away from the hug. 

“Goodbye, Master,” Cole said in return. He made his way down the path to civilisation and the city.

~

Cole ran down a dark alley, uncaring of the cockroaches and rubbish everywhere. He stuck to the shadows, barely making a sound. The man he was following continued talking on the phone, unaware of the boy behind him. Cole slammed him on the back of the head and twisted his arms.

“You’re going to go to the police station,” he said slowly, “and you’re going to confess to murdering your wife. If you don’t, I’ll know.”

“Who the hell are you?” The man spat. His eyes were full of terror and confusion. 

“I’m the Talon, and you’re going to do as I say or face the consequences.”

“What is this, some sorta bad movie? I’m not doing—“ whatever the man meant to say was cut off as Cole knocked him out. A bit of blood trickled from his temple. 

“Amateurs,” Cole rolled his eyes and picked the man’s wallet up. He’d drop the guy off with evidence and keep the money. There was enough to book himself a ticket to Ninjago City Central, at least. Shame that he hadn’t wanted to confess on his own, though. The justice system would be much harsher on him now. 

He picked the body up and dragged it to the police station. Then he changed into civvies and went up to the bus stop. He looked at the ticket dispenser in the eyes, just as he’d practiced.

“One ticket, please,” Cole smiled. Yang had taught him to be charming, after all.

[sunnie-angel]

1000% projecting here but I can’t stop thinking about Jason with a troubled relationship to religion.

Jason doubted God when he watched his mom’s health decline. Jason was dragged to a church to attend Bruce’s cousin’s wedding and hated every second of the ceremony, not because of the suit, but because of the priest’s words. Jason prayed for the first time in years only seconds before his death. Jason’s first thought coming out of the Lazarus pit was Scripture, maybe thinking about the story of Lazarus and hoping against hope that Bruce would be right there to welcome him back to life. Jason barely contains his anger when someone tries to hand him a church pamphlet that talks about life after death and salvation. Because Jason knows what death is like and these people don’t.

Also, the internal struggle he would have between the dogma stuck in his brain and the blood on his hands. And maybe he never says it out loud, but his motivation is to cleanse Gotham of her sinners.

Anyway, I‘m really sorry if this just sounds like trauma dumping or is incoherent!!! This headcanon was proudly sponsored by my evangelical family. I don’t hate Christians/Christianity, I just like to rub salt into my own wounds.

oh i agree nonny! i think that with all of his life (and death) experiences, jason has such a complicated relationship with religion. i don’t know why, but i always head canon that Catherine was a catholic, and so for the first few years of his life, Jason was too. Every Sunday she’d take him to mass, and if there was the money for it Jason would get a sweet or a hot drink after as a reward for sitting through the service. It’s the image of his mother in her church dress, smiling down at him over a cup of coffee that haunts him the most when addiction changes her. He watches his father never come back no matter how many times his mother prays for it, her fingers worrying the beads of her rosary. The weekly visits to church slow, then stop. Meals don’t start with grace anymore, they hardly share meals at all towards the end. Jason steals Catherine’s rosary from where it’s abandoned at the back of her dresser, starts praying for his mother to get better, that he’ll do anything if God will help her. It’s the first thing he ever steals. Catherine dies, and so do Jason’s prayers.

On the streets, the rosary is the one thing of her’s that he’s able to cling to. He tried to go back once, the the church that he used to go to with his mom. Father O’Shaughnessy tells him that his loss of faith is a test, that it’s all part of God’s plan. Jason’s faith in religion and humanity continue to fracture. On newsstands and through apartment windows, he sees the rich and corrupt warm, well-fed, and sheltered to an excess that makes him sick. His whole neighbourhood forgotten, the risk of being out on the streets growing along with the crime rate.

The only time time Bruce makes Jason attend church, it’s for a wedding. The Wayne cousin isn’t catholic, but the ritual of it, the kneeling and the prayers and the songs, they make something itch uncomfortably in his head. It’s a recognition and a rejection. Bruce never makes him go back.

Jason discovers Sheila, and for a second he thinks that God must be laughing at him. There’s his mom, alive and well, only it’s the wrong mother. His last thought before death is Hail Mary full of grace. He comes to, gasping for air in a new body and a year later. The dead man came out and the grave clothes were removed, but the one who called him back was not his father.

Jason returns to Gotham, to Crime Alley, and visits his old haunts. He stands outside the church his mother used to take him to, and can’t force himself to go inside. There’s two women standing outside, handing out pamphlets for the next mass. One of them approaches him with words of God’s love on her tongue and it is all he can do not to rip it out of her. There is no eternal life except this one that won’t leave him. If there’s an afterlife then it’s one he can’t remember and if there’s life after death then he must be in hell because the monster that killed him is still breathing. Jason knows death and life and resurrection more intimately than anyone else will ever know. He does not need to be told.

Thou shalt not kill says his Heavenly and earthly fathers. Jason does, kills regularly to uphold the cause of the poor and oppressed. There’s always going to be blood on his hands, but it is done to rescue the weak and the needy. Jason may never be able to set foot in a place of worship again, but there’s some parts of scripture that still ring true in his bones. He’ll never be a good man but he can be a righteous one.

nonny may i suggest this excellent artwork of tortured catholic Jason?

[omniblades-and-stars]

The loss hurt, no, worse than hurt. It ate up every little bit of light that was in his life. It was a clawing, desperate monster that sat heavy in the pit of his stomach. It squeezed his lungs, made him choke on food before it even made it to his throat, and made him sluggish and angry. He lost his ship, and that was bad enough. One of the true joys of his life, blown apart in space by the kind of spooky legends that everyone swore didn't exist, right up until they were being blasted into pieces by them.

But that wasn't the loss he was really mourning. It was only a small part. You see, there was this woman. Not just any woman, either. She was powerful, wicked smart, a little cheesy, stupid hot, a certified hero and now, she was super dead. And it was his fucking fault.

His stupid fault for being so attached to his ship that he was fully planning to go down with it when she went and did the heroic thing and pulled his ass out of the cockpit by force and crammed him into the last escape pod. She wasn't able to get inside of it herself, and he wasn't capable of pulling her in. He watched with stone cold terror as Commander Shepard was ripped away from the Normandy by an explosion with only enough time to launch his sorry butt away from the wreckage.

It should have been him. She should have gotten in the pod and left him to suffocate and burn up on atmospheric entry. She was too brave for her own good. And he was a coward.

Couldn't even tell her that he had feelings for her. Not that he was ready to admit it until she was already gone. You don't know what you've got till it's gone, blah, blah, blah.

Besides, she was out of his league by about three star systems. She was Commander Shepard, Alliance legend, total badass, and the very peak of physical performance. And he was Jeff, the totally average looking guy with creaky, fragile bones and crutches.

He couldn't imagine that Shepard could think of him like that. And he'd never know for sure now anyways. Thinking about it was a pointless exercise in making himself feel like shit, there were only losers inside his head right now.

Everything fucking sucked after she died. He got to fly the most advanced starship in the Alliance Navy, with the best crew, and the galaxy's savior for such a short time, and now the Alliance had him reassigned. If he couldn't have Shepard back - and he couldn't because she was very, very, super fucking dead - he wanted to at least fly.

Still, it wasn't the same. There was no goofy Commander making bad jokes, no shy asari scientist stumbling on accidental innuendo, not a single hardass turian, or terrifying krogan making sure no one ate a bullet planetside. Not even one sweet quarian engineer helping Adams keep the drive core balanced so Joker could pull insane maneuvers. No more interspecies cooperation. No more saving the galaxy either. It was all bullshit.

It didn't help that the Council and Alliance brass were both sticking their fingers in their ear holes and shouting, "La-la-la, I can't hear you!" over Shepard's warnings that Sovereign wasn't the only Reaper. Now that she had bitten the dust, it was even more disrespectful.

Perhaps it was a grief-addled mind that led him to jump at the opportunity, even if she would have hated it, but when he was approached by Cerberus, of all organizations, to join as a pilot in their Lazarus Cell, he went for it. They wanted to stop the Collectors, and they rebuilt the Normandy. Not just rebuilt, they made her bigger, more powerful, more beautiful. More ship to love. They even made the pilot's chair comfortable. Real leather seats, baby!

But he was lying to himself and everyone else if he told them it was just for the ship. You see, they were trying to rebuild Commander Shepard too, and that Lawson woman was certain it was going to work. Joker avoided Lawson as much as possible, she was all business, and he was sure she wouldn't hesitate to smear his carcass on the wall if he cracked any jokes about a zombie Shepard, but if she said they could bring the Commander back, he fucking believed her. And he was pretty sure it wasn't just blind optimism and desperation that made him believe her.

Mostly.

He knew he'd made the right decision when Dr. Chakwas joined on. Of course, the first thing she did was chide him for not taking his medication enough. Karin claimed that she only joined because he needed someone to make sure he was taking care of himself and managing his disease appropriately or whatever. They both knew that was a lie. They were there for one reason, and one reason only, Commander Shepard.

The new starship was just a really, really expensive bonus. Just the best bonus a guy could ever dream of getting.

Now, if he'd had his way, Joker would have thrown a resurrection day party for Shepard, complete with zombie themed cupcakes, and those little poppers that sent confetti flying everywhere. And booze. A lot of booze.

And strippers.

But something happened at the Lazarus Project labs, and God only knew what because trying to get information from Cerberus insiders was like trying to get blood from a particularly dry rock, and he didn't get the chance to set it up. She wasn't supposed to be awake yet. She was already back.

He didn't really care for drama, at least, not the kind of drama that The Illusive Man seemed to thrive on. So when he walked - or limped - into the QEC conference room on the station they were headquartered at to find Shepard finishing up her call with the big man himself (The Illusive Man, not God), he felt kind of like an asshole. Well, a worse kind of asshole than the one he already was. Sneaking up on a woman who had only been alive again for like a day and a half seemed like the worst kind of practical joke.

Her back was turned on him, but he would know that fiery red hair anywhere. He heard good ol' "Timmy" say something about someone from her old crew, and then disconnect the call. When she turned to see him a cascade of thoughts crashed into his head, and he was glad for once that he managed to keep his stupid mouth shut.

Holy shit! - It's her! - Why is her face glowing? - Do other parts of her glow? - Focus, damn it. - Quick, tell her a joke!

His brain was too busy processing all of the input and raw joy he felt knowing that she was alive to open up with a witty one-liner. It didn't matter anyways because in a split second, Shepard was crushing him in an iron grip hug. The plates of her armor dug into his skin through his uniform. It was bone breaking.

Like literally bone breaking.

"Jeff, you're alive!" She sobbed into his neck as she squeezed him mercilessly.

"Yeah, not for long if you keep squeezing me like that! The bones, remember?" He managed to gasp out as he awkwardly tried to hug her back from within the crushing weight of her grasp. Shit, he forgot how strong she was.

Shepard pulled away abruptly but kept her hands on his shoulders, "Shit, I'm so sorry. It's just … the last thing I remember is the escape pod and these assholes didn't tell me if you'd made it." She met his eyes and she was definitely crying, red-eyed, sniffling, snot, the whole shebang. He'd be embarrassed for her if he wasn't so affected by it.

And damn it, she was actually literally glowing. There were cracks in her skin, like if he got too close he might see the gooey bits underneath. And from the cracks came a strange, amber glow, similar to the light from an omni-tool. Shit, now she really looked like a superhero. Somebody needed to pinch him, because superhero Shepard was the topic of no fewer than four of his nerdiest fantasies. Some other types of fantasies too.

Shepard took her hands back and wiped her eyes with gauntleted hands. "You asshole, why'd you join Cerberus?" If she was trying to sound mad, she was doing a bad job at it. Her sobs turned to relieved laughter as he led her out of the conference room.

"Nobody else was doing anything about the Collectors threatening the colonies," he started to explain. "Besides, they brought you back, so they can't be all bad."

"Joker …" Shepard groaned.

He panicked and struggled to find words to fill the air. He settled on redirecting the conversation, and exclaimed, "They also rebuilt my baby! You're gonna love her!" Stupid. Of course she would be upset that he buddied up with Cerberus. He led her to a darkened observation window, the one that looked out over the Normandy's docking bay. He hit the window controls.

The awed gasp that she made would live rent free in his head until the day he died.

"Oh my God!" Shepard bounced up on her toes. Her eyes were wide as saucers, and just like that, her reservations were forgotten, for now at least. Just outside the new Normandy waited for her Commander. And fuck was she gorgeous. Almost twice as big as the original, she was a powerhouse of a stealth frigate. "She's beautiful! And this is my ship?"

"Hey, now, this is my baby. You can have her on weekends and every other holiday."

"The drive core must be insane! Oh, I can't wait to get in her guts and see what she can do."

This was definitely the Commander he missed - smart, funny, and into spaceships. And little too into disassembling expensive tech so she could find out what made it tick. Borderline serial killer behavior if her victims had been living beings and not guns, cleaning bots, the Mako, and at least one of her omni-tools. "Gonna have to veto that, Commander. You never put it back right."

[hannahwatcheshorror]

THE LAZARUS EFFECT (2015) + REWATCH

😾Dog Dies

Intense film that deserves a lot of credit for what it has done. Extremely polished and well developed though some of the deaths happen too quickly and don’t make entire sense with the progression of the plot? Not a bad film at all, the scene just before the ending is beautiful and intense

REWATCH REVIEW

A movie that takes place in a spooky lab where they are attempting to bring things back from the dead, what could go wrong? It really is a feast for the eyes, this film.

⭐⭐⭐⭐

Scientists try to make a life serum but spoiler alert it fails. Olivia Wilde gets FUCKED but she turns into a spooky lady with a strange backstory. She is scary for sure. She kills everyone and then makes a little army for herself.

REWATCH REVIEW

A bunch of hot and sexy scientists are working on a serum that reanimates people which sounds like witchcraft but is also just science and depends on how long a thing has been dead I guess. They brought back a dog without telling us how long it had been dead. Either way they had started to figure out a creepy solution to death but some men with money stepped in so they only had one shot to do it in the middle of the night. The team snuck in to do science in the dark and… Big accident! Olivia Wilde (Zoe) got electrocuted and died! Very sad for Mark Duplass’ character, Frank. He tries to bring her back with conventional medicine but it doesn’t work now they must try The Serum.

The Serum is able to bring Zoe back but she is different somehow, her brain is firing at 100% power instead of 10% she can hear things she shouldn’t be able to. Zoe is becoming more and because of this she knows that the gang sees that she has come back different, come back wrong, so she is going to start going on the offensive when it comes to these silly skin bags. She tries to wash her hands and water hurts, the world is harsh on her and she doesn’t know why, I mean, she DIED for goodness sake and now no one is being nice to her!

Now our spunky recorder is being thrown into a dream sequence and we get a theory that maybe Zoe’s soul is stuck in a dream too? Theories about Zoe being ripped from Hell are one thing but her just having a little dream is another. Either way we get our first death and I don’t know why I said the deaths were quick before I guess I was just sad that Donald Glover was the first to go. It felt fast an hour in to say goodbye to that lovely man, I’m sorry. Anyway things really start to fall apart now, the gang start to realize Zoe is up to no good and she kills another member (sad!) before Frank and Eva can run away and try to hide. This works momentarily before Frank is outed when he attempts to trick Zoe which of course doesn’t work.

For some reason Zoe really hates Eva and keeps sending her to the Hell realm but Eva uses it to her advantage. They do that little fake out where you think that Eva solves the mystery of who set the fire in Zoe's nightmares and can get out alive but instead they just snap her neck real quick so that is fine. The scene in the hallway with Baby Zoe and Evil Zoe was really neat and fun so it felt kinda lame that it wasn’t “real” or whatever you would like to call it. In the end, Zoe lines up all her friends' corpses and starts to pump them full of serum to make an army of evil little serum babies. Yuck! Wack! Evil!

----------------------HANNAH WATCHES HORROR---------------------