#ask memed successfully

[squadron-of-damned]

Character ask: Downey of course

(poison murder man our beloved)

Poison murder inhumation man our beloved

First impression: Oh, he is going to be a problem and a pain in the arse. As if this series didn't have enough of snobbish pricks

Impression now: He is one of the five people in the series who actually does his job and I respect him so much for it.

Favorite moment: When Vimes breaks his nose in Feet of Clay. A few books later Vimes throws an orange at Inigo Skimmer, also trained as an assassin, who doesn't dodge, catch or deflect it, because it isn't dangerous.

Idea for a story: TBH not like I have a coherent idea, but I want a story where he is in his element and for once given free rein to do what he has or wants to. Preferably right next to Vimes who is trying to be White Saviour and Good Cop Detective and failing to help the situation by it at all. Meanwhile Downey speaks four languages in five minutes, wears the shiniest black and disappears in an empty well-lit room at midday and ssets off a long Rube-Goldberg machine that ends up in one unconsequential death and crisis averted, and Vetinari later notes, not even to him, that it was a lucky coincidence that it happened.

Unpopular opinion: He is actually smart. Not genius, not brilliant. But smart. Extreme street-smarts on him.

Favorite relationship: whatever he is having going on with vetinari, I take that in almost all flavours. As an old Homestuck, I do love me some pitched spades.

Favorite headcanon: His doctoral thesis was on the usage of arsenic in candles as a method of inhumation, and he reported that thesis as stolen a month to the Watch or so before the events of Feet of Clay. That theft was dismissed and forgotten. Afterwards he didn't give Vetinari an earful and not even a weary sigh, but it was really, really obvious that he wanted to.

[squadron-of-damned-writes]

1, 2, 11, 12, 19 and 20

1: do you know how you want the story to end when you start, or are you just stumbling through the figurative wilderness hoping to find a road?

I usually have a specific point in the woods that I want to get to, and I take the path of the least effort to get there, and then to the nearest metaphorical bus stop where we can leave off to the normal life.

Sometimes the route is so scenic that I forget to document the spot I've wanted to visited initially, because it throws off the vibes (Lost in Translation). Sometimes the path of the least effort is turning up with a machete and just hack my way through the undergrowth (Sick of you; All the Screws in the Wrong Places).

2: talk about a notable time a narrative or character has looked you dead in the eyes and said “fuck your plan, here’s what we’re actually doing.”

Okay so actually I am currently having a problem. In Angelus Ex Machina (spoiler alert) Barok, Sarah, Meeny and Albert all survive getting attacked by the invisible gas-lamp cobbles-rending breaking assailant. And Eeny Enoch Drebber is very much supposed to barge in, all claws and mild fury, and Barok is demanding to know what the fuck was that and what the hell is going on. And Enoch, being the good natural exposition, would explain.

Except Eeny is staring me very dead in the eyes "Listen, I am not explaining shit." Which, I mean, fair. Entirely in character. Not to mention that he shouldn't actually fully grasp what's going on. It is an experience he's had when he was very young and he had forcibly rationalised it since then.

So we are now staring here at each other over the third draft of Enoch Drebber Explains What The Fuck and I am starting to relent that yeah, we might need someone else to do this. (Kazuma and Albert in the background are very much "Nobody tell Barok about the Anglerfish, please.")

So in case you wonder why there is no 4th chapter of Angelus Ex Machina yet, it's because Eeny is being stubborn (and also right).

11: what’s something neat you’ve learned while doing research for something you were writing? also, how much do you worry about doing research in general?

Honestly I tend not to write fics that are research heavy... But I write about things that I specifically know something about. The acetylcholine neurotransmitter bit in Totenwaltser? Zero research, I just remember that from school. I did venture into history of trains in Japan for Lost in Translation so I could get Hanasu's love for trains right. I even wanted to make sure that at the ~1906 the fic is taking place in, the railway he mentions actually existed.

Most of my research, however, is browsing the relevant fandom wiki. So I learn spoilers, but since I usually write for "alternate" universes and fantasy settings, I don't really stress research that much.

12: do you ever have trouble focusing on writing? how do you get around that? 

It's known to happen. Less lack of focus and more of inability to wrangle words together in a way I find acceptable. I usually just nod and don't write for a period of time. When my writing juices replenish, I return to it.

Usually finding some sort of writing project that puts a deadline over my head is a good kick-start when I've found the dry-spell of writing too long. Fic swaps are great in this way.

Also reading comments on unfinished fics works really well. People being passionate about something I am making (lapsed) is often enough to re-ignite my own passion for it.

19: what are some books or authors that influenced your style the most?

Terry Pratchett. There is no avoiding that. My fics read like Discworld. Which is great if I want people to keep on reading because they want the next joke. It sucks when I want to write, say, a horror. Or a sexy smut. Sorry, you are laughing now about stupid pun.

20: what is your favorite trope to write?

I don't have a favourite trope, but juding by my AO3 tags, it is Canon-Divergence.

My favourite trope to think about is "I killed you, I wish your ghost which only I can see and hear would shut up for five minutes, or at least stop being sexy. Wait, what?"

I have exactly two pairs that are like that, only 1 has it supported by canon somewhat.

...Somebody might point out that i have a recurring theme of writing about people who are re-integrating into life and society after a long time of isolation. That's because I am low-key using those fics to figure out how to live now that my depression and anxiety are medicated. What I am saying i that this is not a trope.

[itsmyfandomandilikeit]

Dawn of the final week. 6 days remain.

[starflungwaddledee]

For the ask meme (for real this time haha):

🫂: Is your OC a forgiving person, or do they tend to hold grudges?

⭐️: If your OC could pick a final weapon from any game to use (such as the Star Rod, Crystal Gun, Triple Star Cane, etc.) which one would they choose and why?

hi veins!!! thanks so much! asks are from here

🫂: Is your OC a forgiving person, or do they tend to hold grudges?

grudges take a lot of effort! living on popstar and under the guidance of the dream land four in particular, i would say that starstruck actually learns to be unconditionally forgiving. a fantastic example of this is can actually be seen in her main oc X oc AU jstruck, where starstruck continues to care for J despite J being an undeniably wretched person to her. this easily comes across as gullibility or naivety, and i think there's an element of that at play. but i do also think that it's a disservice to remove all of starstruck's agency from the situation. if there is anything starstruck does with wilful intent and purpose, it is choosing to love.

⭐️: If your OC could pick a final weapon from any game to use (such as the Star Rod, Crystal Gun, Triple Star Cane, etc.) which one would they choose and why?

star sparkler!!! you get to fly and shoot rainbow lasers! your friends are there!! kirby has a cute little visor on!! SUPER easy answer!

[acetier]

"feel free to ask literally anything about torin!" Oh Boy I don't want to spam ur inbox with TOO MUCH bc he and varre live in my head rent free so for now I will ask the most pressing thing on my mind....... torin overthrows mohg as per your first post about them, right? How do you think varre reacted to that???? I can never imagine killing mohg would go over too smoothly with him, so I'm curious if/how torin was able to win him over!!

"I'll ensure you regret this, my lambkin..."

((aftermath under the cut))

it didn't go over smoothly at all, aka torin is once again reminded that his actions have consequences and those consequences are rarely (if ever) good :'^D varre's still fanatically loyal to mohg and views any attack against his master as an attack against himself, so torin killing mohg would be an unforgivable betrayal.

i ended up killing varre at the end of his questline in my first playthrough haha. i think for them to have a (sort of?) happy ending as they are now, torin would need to be content with serving the dynasty alongside varre and abandoning the rest of his quest (which he isn't willing to do as part of what drove him to varre in the first place is his desire for revenge and he can't give that up so easily).

on the other hand if you want to imagine a scenario where varre ends up surviving, he and torin would need to go their separate ways for a while. when they meet back up it'd be after torin resolves his quest for vengeance and comes to terms with his losses and also probably after he's burned the erdtree (and melina). by then they've both been through the wringer and are so Tired of it all that it's easier to fall back into comforting old habits with each other. it'd still take them a while to fully reconcile tho :'^)

[runespoor7]

Per ask game, jzx/jyl?

What made you ship it?

it has a Shoujo Prince and a Shoujo heroine who gets looked down upon and who wants that one and the Shoujo Prince is a tsundere and doesn't know how to express his admiration once he has realized he likes her. What's there not to like.

What are you favorite things about the ship?

I love JZX. He's my favorite minor male character in the book and he's never done anything wrong in his life ever.

I love the confession! Reader, I gasped! It was so brave and dashing! (you're doing amazing sweetie) It came on the heels of of JYL taking a public stand and Saying things! He did it because she wants him to be brave about owning up to his feelings, too!

I like that JYL gets one thing she wants :) and that one thing is her hot Shoujo Prince crush who thought she was boring and average when they were younger :)

Basically it's a really sweet ship with a nice storyline.

Also I'm just saying, everyone's ragging on JZX all the time for fumbling the girl who's been in love with him since she was like twelve, but there's only one person who manages to successfully impart to the person he likes that he likes them by age twenty-something in that story and that's him, tsundereness and all.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

Yes I want the ppl who made decisions on how to adapt them for the Untamed to fite me

JZX did Nothing Wrong and it speaks good things of him that he would heed the word of a common-born woman rather than that of the sister of the Jiang sect leader.

[trousle-ink]

Giving into the trend

[misspickman]

I wish i could do the hcs game but i can never think of headcanons when i have to. I Know i have them but also no i dont. Ive never had a thought in my life

[crimsoncowl]

❝ i certainly don’t mind you askin', if you don’t mind me not telling. ❞

sharp eyes, ignited with a soft, red glow, are directed in quiet contemplation towards the human.

“ hm, ” a twinge of disappointment is present in the automaton’s voice and they look away suddenly, scanning for something on the horizon. “ that won’t be a problem. ” certainly, there were ways to obtain information from unwilling parties. ‘perhaps, I will secure you to an operating table meant to hold my own bodies and test your tolerance. perhaps, I will open up your skull and prod at the grey matter of your brain until I find what I seek, then set you free and watch as your mutation puts your head back together. perhaps, I will lock you away deep in the earth, alone and in the dark, and simply wait until you’re ready to talk.’

the machine turns back toward the woman, the motion followed by mechanical whirring and metal armor-plates scraping lightly against each other. “ although I would advise against it. ”

[msftsn]

@lunaetis since you said you lack variety for yinyue icons i made some custom expression edits for her. you're welcome <3

[renofmanyalts]

(moods) Wistful for Emerik/any

Send me a mood and I will tell you how my character deals with it.

Prompt 1 (Make-up Day): Envoy

Who: Emerik Liubasch, Semir (original NPC)

What: Emerik must lighten his pack.

Where: A rail yard on the outskirts of Martrvje, a port city in occupied Bozja.

When: About two years before the events of the Bozjan Southern Front field operation began. Takes place a few months after this piece [Mature community label, requires login].

Content notes: Garlean colonial oppression, refugee struggles, partings in wartime, mentioned injury/abuse

Music: "Intro (The Envoy)" and "Outro (What It Means to Be Human)" by Being as an Ocean (both instrumental)

When a soft knock sounded at the door of the railroad car, a faint murmur of concern rippled through the two dozen heads scattered amongst the stacks of crates. Emerik's heart thudded in his chest, fur standing on end as he uncrossed his arms. He felt Semir do the same beside him, their elbows brushing. 

The boxcar was still at rest, one freight car among many in a long train waiting to leave the rail yard on the outskirts of the city. Had they been discovered? His fingers itched for the smooth wood of his staff, but it, like nearly everything else he owned, had been left behind. It would have been foolishness, in any case, bringing a weapon — no matter how simple. Emerik tugged at the cuffs on his borrowed jacket, the final piece of a traveling outfit intended to soften his features, to render him polished and nonthreatening.

After an eternity of rapid heartbeats, the door slid open a few ilms, a sliver of just-bluing sky showing around the silhouette of a hrothgar with one ragged ear. Emerik relaxed a fraction. That was their contact — the member of the Resistance that Semir had nodded to in a coffee shop four sennights ago, setting all this in motion. Emerik did not know his name. Gods willing, he would keep it that way.

The partisan pulled the door further open on well-oiled, silent tracks, climbed nimbly up onto the deck, and slid it closed again. The darkness returned.

"Bad news," the soldier said, speaking quietly. His voice sounded young. It had surprised Emerik when they first met, and it still seemed incongruous now. "We were given old information, and the expected gross weight for this car is slated to be a half-tonze less than we had accounted for. We have to reduce weight, or the Garleans will notice the discrepancy the minute we pass through the first checkpoint."

"Will... will someone have to get off the train?" The hesitant voice came from somewhere left of the door — the mother with her two young ones, Emerik thought. The little family had been huddled together when he and Semir had arrived at the rail yard, the children sleeping with their mother's skirts wrapped around their shoulders. Emerik could picture Semir's deep frown when he'd seen the swollen bruises on her face.

The soldier's voice took on an apologetic tone beneath his urgency. "Maybe. But I am hoping that we can reduce baggage weight, instead. Please go through your luggage and remove anything that is not absolutely essential to your survival on the trip, as well as anything that is particularly heavy." 

Worried whispers rose in the darkness, and the soldier continued: 

"This is not an easy task, I know, and I am sorry that I must ask it of you. You number twenty-four, so we need to eliminate more than forty ponzes of weight per person. Keep your necessary medicine, food and water, your identification papers, and money. Put it in a pillowcase or wrap it in a cloth to carry it. If you have jewelry, keep whatever you can hide on your person, and whatever clothes you can put on, plus a blanket and pillow each. Everything else, including your trunks and cases, please separate it out and set it by the door. Quietly and quickly, please."

"What will happen to our belongings?" That was the voice of an older man with an accent speaking of the wealthier parts of the city. He was accompanied by a young woman Semir figured for his daughter, though Emerik was not so sure.

"I'm afraid they will probably be destroyed. We cannot hide them here, and we have no way to get them to you once you have left, so we will have to dispose of them quickly — most likely in the river."

For a long moment, dead silence reigned. Emerik's thoughts drifted to the contents of his leather suitcase. What clothes he had, he wore — and some that weren't his, besides. He had no jewelry nor medicine, and all his earthly wealth sat in a pouch strapped below his shirt. Everything else had been sold in haste. Semir carried only their sack of shared provisions; there was nothing there to shed.

The suitcase, though.... It held a full dresser drawer's worth of treasure: a tin of long beeswax tapers, their wicks still conjoined; more than a dozen large blocks of herbal soaps, their paper wrappings labeled in his grandmother's handwriting. They sat heavy between his feet — heavier still with their role as the last fragments of his family's traditions.

The soap would sink easily in the river, he thought. Old as they were, the bars would dissolve slowly, and their flecks of rosemary, chamomile, marjoram would be carried away by the current.

The candles would float. Maybe some curious animal would eat them, or maybe some enterprising young scavenger would find them first. After decades hidden away, maybe they would finally have their chance to burn.

Someone flicked on a magitek torch. Cold, blue light washed thinly over the boxcar's high ceiling. The other occupants sprang into startled motion, flinging open trunks and boxes with grim purpose.

At a touch to his elbow, Emerik turned to meet his friend's eyes. Semir wore an expression of gentle concern

"That is your whole purpose in going, is it not?" he said, nodding to the suitcase.

Emerik directed his gaze across the dim train car and nodded. (The stack of discarded belongings at the door was growing, but only very slowly. "I must ask you to be ruthless," the Resistance soldier said. Panic fluttered at the edges of his too-young voice. "The train departs in just over a quarter bell.")

Ruthless? 

Emerik bent to snatch up the suitcase. He could do nothing but rue its loss — but there were lives on the line. What use a people's healing traditions without a people to use them?

But before he could step out from the bulkhead, Semir stopped him, one tawny hand laid lightly on Emerik's dark one. Emerik shot him a questioning glance, and Semir leaned down to speak into his ear.

"It's not going to be enough." Semir gestured toward the pile near the door. Still growing, but nowhere near a half-tonze. "Most of these folk didn't have forty ponzes of sentiment to pack. Even if everyone trims the fat, they're going to have to send some of us away. At least one."

Emerik narrowed his eyes. "What are you saying, Semir."

Semir closed his fingers around the handle of the suitcase. In the light of the Garlean torch, his golden eyes held none of their usual luster.  "Let me hold these for you. When you get where you're going, send a letter, yes? I'll get them to you."

"But—"

"I know. I thought we would travel together, too. We—" Semir stopped, swallowed. 

(We three as one, the sentence finished in Emerik's mind, his own voice raised in chorus with Semir and Vuk. But they hadn't been three for some moons now.)

Emerik pushed the thought away. Semir was speaking again, so close that his breath stirred the fur-tufts in Emerik's ear.

"I have connections," he insisted, nodding meaningfully to the increasingly-fretful partisan. "There's good I can do here. But you?" Semir tapped one finger against Emerik's forehead. "You have the memories — and the drive to chase down the knowledge needed to resurrect them. And with that blond bastard" — Emerik flinched — "nipping at your hocks? Best not to wait for the next run."

Emerik ducked his head. He could feel his pulse thudding in his throat.

With a snarl, he shoved the suitcase into Semir's arms, then snapped his teeth shut before any other sound could escape. Leaning forward, he thumped his forehead into Semir's solid shoulder.

Emerik felt Semir nose at his mane, and he could guess that he was smiling; when he murmured, "Keep my jacket safe for me," Emerik was certain of it. Then Semir pulled away, threading through the chaos. After a short exchange with the Resistance partisan — who looked rather relieved — he moved toward the sliding door.

"Semir—"

Semir twisted to look at him, still cradling the suitcase to his chest. 

Emerik forced himself to meet his friend's eyes, trying not to think about the last time he had looked into Vuk's. "If you don't hear from me within a few moons," he managed, "or if things get bad... use whatever you need, if it will help."

Semir nodded. A blink, and he was slipping out of the boxcar door, climbing out into the twilight.

Emerik bent to pick up the sack of provisions and settled it between his feet. It, too, sat heavy.

With a sigh, Emerik nudged the sack into a corner. He pushed up his sleeves, then went to help hand the surrendered belongings down to those waiting to take them away.

—

At this stage in his life — before he had come to Eorzea — Emerik was prone to falling into black, destructive moods rather than wistful ones, and also tended not to express much of that if he could avoid it. Now that he is out from under the direct weight of the Garlean occupation, however, he's settled into some measure of acceptance and is better able to attend to such feelings as gentle melancholy and yearning.

—

I sorta ran myself out of spoons yesterday and so I really struggled today. The length also got away from me, but I sure did learn a lot in all my diving down research rabbit holes! Got a bunch of Bozja lore and stuff settled and obviously filled in more details of Emerik's backstory. I've also just decided to give myself a fair bit of grace about that daily deadline, because the point is NOT to stress myself out — thus posting this about, mm, three hours late. XD

[squadron-of-damned]

Ooooo. :] Who's Body Fey? And what is Coralan?

Bodi Fey is/was my Ace Attorney OC, an uncle of Maya and Pearl Fey. Since men of the Fey family are not really spiritually proficient (canon statement), he was not important enough to mention in the canon materials. His job was maintaining a tourist gift shop in the village below the Hazakura Temple. He was of average height, slightly overweight, and had a strong prescription glasses.

He starts of the entire Embodied Attorney series by visiting Phoenix along with Maya and promptly getting enschemered in an investigation, helping Phoenix. Just as he attempts to channel "somebody who could be helpful", he gets shot straight to the heart. The release of life energy stabilizes the channeling, so that's the first (and last) proper channeling Bodi's ever managed. Now his dead body is inhabited by a ghost of "someone useful" and the moment the channeling stops, you just get one dead Bodi Fey.

Poor Bodi didn't know really many dead people useful to homicide investigations. Actually, he knew just one that his sister had channeled almost thirty years ago. So that's how we've got Gregory Edgeworth into these fics.

Bodi Fey is named that because his sole job is to provide a body for a ghost - hence the name. And also after him the series is called Embodied Attorney.

From comments under Suit (Up) Yourself: Corala is a state I made up for story purposes (like Capcom made Khura'in and Borginia and Zheng Fa), and it is a coastal state in east Asia. Thorough history it has been mostly a part of either China (as a mostly autonomous area) with brief periods of and later a continental part of Japan. In the 60's there has been a rather bloody revolution which gained Corala a full independence as a state, but also saw a lot of Coralan and Coralan-residing Japanese refugees to the United States. Since 1969 the Republic of Corala is an acknowledged independent state. It is known for its beautiful coral reefs which make it a popular tourist destination both for cruises and diving. It has one of the most strict environmental regulation laws which on one hand preserve its natural beauty but on the other hand slows down its economic development.

It doesn't take a genius that Corala is somewhat of an analogy to Korea. In the Embodied Attorney series I've also made it the country of origin of Gregory Edgeworth's parents, making Miles half-Coralan (at least) by heritage. While the southwest of the AAverse!United states have strong ties to Japanese culture (you might have seen Japanifornia being thrown around - an in-universe explanation why the Us-localization still has all those things like bento boxes and kimonos in it), the northeast has a strong Coralan minority, at least in Illianois. Coralan curry is kosher.

The existence of Corala started with me seeing somewhere someone "hey, what if the Mitsurugi (OG/Japanese!Edgeworth) were Korean in Japan, that make the dynamic more fucked-up-interesting, right?" And I was like "huh, I like this thought. How do I translate it into the localised version without having to justify myself too much?" And since AA has already made up at least three countries, I just decided to make another. And give it coral reefs, because those are pretty.

[squadron-of-damned-writes]

For the writing ask game... How about 10 and 82?

10: at what point in the process do you come up with titles, and how easy or hard is that for you?

I usually come up with the title after I write the story (if it's a one-shot) or after I finish the first chapter (if there are chapters). I then have a staring contest with the AO3 "Work Title" box, coming to the realisation that the fic is named [fandom abbrevation] - [inside joke/up to five word summary of what's going on] such as "aa - cursed larry" (that's Starfury) or "aa - gina noir" (that's Angelus Ex Machina)

So I and the box are exchanging looks for a minute or two before i pick a line from the work, twist it around and make it reference something. For example Lapse in judgement/Dodge a bullet is named that because the kick-off is Manfred's, uh, 'lapse in judgement' and Gregory literally dodges a bullet, as in he doesn't get shot. The Real Feeling of Sharing series started as a parody-with-a-twist on self-insert Modern Girl In Thedas fics, and it felt appropriate to use lyrics from anime opening as a title. Me being out of loop of anime for years, I asked my salty beanpole boyfriend, and he referred me to Reinai Circulation from Monogatari. Original Feeling of Sharing because Origins. Unexpected Feeling of Sharing because nobody expects the (Spanish) Inquisition.

That being said, it's taken me 13 years to do it in under 2 minutes.

82: “proper” punctuation or all lowercase?

I am going to be real with you: You show me to a fic in all lower case, and I show myself to the close tab button. That's not to say lower case doesn't have it's place, when you are writing something like online messages etc. I also don't see the appeal of naming the fic in all lower case. It's a name. Names deserve at least one capital letter.

[springsaladgaming]

hi!! wishing you luck with the puppy 😮‍💨 these for ansel pretty please 👀

danger: what’s one thing that makes your OC angry? what’s their temper like? how do they respond to people who make them mad?

blood: what would your OC would sacrifice everything for? what does “everything” entail—their life, or something else? how far would they go?

proof: what is your OC looking forward to? what best moments in their life are yet to come?

Hi! Thanks for the luck wishes with this puppy. I have one more week with this little terror, so I'm gonna need it 😂

danger: what’s one thing that makes your OC angry? what’s their temper like? how do they respond to people who make them mad?

Ansel hates when people accomplish things at the expense of someone else. He has a pretty calm and cool temper about most things, but that one thing is something that can make his temper burn pretty hot. Normally he approaches a situation as calm and collected as he can, but there are a select few people with whom he can turn agressive and/or petty.

blood: what would your OC would sacrifice everything for? what does “everything” entail—their life, or something else? how far would they go?

Any one of his friends and/or employees. "Everything" refers to his life. He'd sacrifice himself for any one of them.

proof: what is your OC looking forward to? what best moments in their life are yet to come?

Ansel is not actually thinking to the future enough to have a solid answer to this question. If he were more self-aware, he'd realize he was looking forward to reconciliation with someone from his past, but otherwise he's just kind of making it through day by day. As for the best moments of his life, he honestly feels like those are happening in the present.

Thanks for the ask!

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Summoning Failed Successfully

Imagine a warehouse. Imagine a bunch of cultists in dark robes with all the candles, daggers, ancient books, and chanting. Now add Danny.

Only not as the summoned being, no. As a sacrifice.

He is sitting down, tied to a chair, in the middle of the summoning circle, looking as bored and deadpan as he can possibly be. The cultists are chanting, and he frowns, listening to their chants for a moment.

"Hey, is that Latin?" He questions, but to no avail, "You know you're not actually using those words correctly, right?"

"Keep quiet, child!" One of the cultists snaps. Danny leans back in his chair and shrugs.

"I'm just saying, you ain't summoning shit with wrong grammar," he huffs, seemingly absolutely nonchalant about the whole thing. Oracle, who is watching the whole ordeal through the surveillance cameras, raises her eyebrows. Red Robin and Robin are already en route to the building the cultists chose for their extracurricular activities, but now she almost wants to watch this a bit longer.

Gothamites are pretty used to all kinds of shitshows, but this boy is from out of town. She checked him through facial recognition. Daniel Fenton, a transfer student from Amity Park, Illinois.

A few more cultists stop chanting and turn to Danny.

"Do you know Latin?" One of them asks, and the boy makes a half-nod, making a thoughtful face.

"Not fluently, but, like, it's a dead language, I felt kinda obligated to learn it. Just for the meme, you know?" He chuckles.

The cultists, judging by their confused silence, don't know. Barbara doesn't know what he's talking about, either. But she is almost curious now, so she taps Robin's and RR's comm lines:

"RR, Robin, when you arrive, don't jump into the scene," she asks.

"Understood," Tim answers immediately, but Damian, of course, demands explanations:

"Is there an obstacle?"

"Not really," Barbara humms, "The sacrifice is in the process of de-escalating the situation."

She can almost hear the questioning silence over the comm, but, thankfully, no one argues. Meanwhile, one of the cultists pipes up, voice full of doubt:

"So, you can... like, proofread our incantation?"

"Yeah, sure," Danny nods, apparently fine with being sacrificed, "Who you're trying to summon anyway?"

"Satan," that same cultist answers, and Danny laughs approvingly.

"Classic," he nods and smiles, "I'll give you this. The circle is mostly alright, so you don't need an incantation to summon the fucker, I have him on speed dial." And with that, he leans forward, screaming towards the floor: "Ey, Satan!"

Barbara must say the act was actually convincing, but he went a little overboard with it now. She reaches to tell both Robins to get in, but suddenly, a loud, booming voice reverberates through the building.

"The fuck do you want, kid?"

Cultists fall to their knees - it doesn't seem like an act of worship, more like their knees bucking. The whole circle dimly lights up in red, smoke raising from it.

"Do you see this shit, Oracle?" Red Robin questions, and she mhm's at him, not sure what else to say. If this is still an act or a trick, she must say it's a very good one. Although somehow she suspects it's not a trick. She's seen enough magic in her life to tell the difference.

"Do you want to come to Earth, be gay and do crimes?" Danny asks, almost mockingly.

"Fuck off."

The red light flickers and disappears, and Danny looks back up to cultists, grinning cheerfully.

"Welp, looks like he doesn't wanna," the kid concludes and stands up from his chair. Barbara hadn't seen when or how he got out of his bindings.

The cultists just watch him walk out of the circle in bewilderment.

"Pursue?" Robin's voice comes over the comms, and Barbara thinks for a moment.

"I get a feeling like that's a bad idea," Tim mutters over his line.

Barbara agrees.

[stxrmstained-a]

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