#but does anyone really mind?

[vwoop-prince]

YJ S3 Dick, still in the midst of his fever dream, hides underneath the 'souvenir' instead of behind some boxes, and accidentally opens the airlock trying to take care of the Parademons. The others get it to close... but not before Nightwing is thrown into space.

There, he stares at the ship holding his friends and mentors. There, he wishes more than anything that he can, somehow, survive. There, he tries to live, if only so his family don't have to bury him like Jason.

There, Nightwing dies, wanting to save everyone, even with the cold seeping into his bones far too quickly for a regular section of space.

Then, Dick opens his eyes to... Earth? There's a little house, and grass, and trees, but there's a bubble of green over it all. Outside of that green was an entire castle, one that looked like it should have far more support beams than it does for even a hope that it stays standing.

And the sky was swirling shades of that same green. It makes him think of Lazarus.

"Well, that's something you don't see every day." He whips his head behind him, a bit too fast for Earth's atmosphere, but it doesn't hurt him. Past the bubble of green was a blue-skinned adult in purple robes, the insides of a grandfather-clock fitted inside their torso, and a black staff with a stopwatch on its top. Beside them was a man with snow white hair, glowing green eyes, a crown of frozen fire dancing above his head, and the most galaxy-like cloak Dick's ever seen clasped to his shoulders. He's wearing... a hazmat suit? Maybe? The twinkling stars and odd lighting of wherever he is were giving him a bit of a headache.

But in front of those two, within this bubble, was...

"DICK!" Wally shouted with unrestrained glee, a blur overtaking his spot for barely a heartbeat before Dick's stuck in a crushing hug that he reciprocates once his brain stops feeling like its melting.

He doesn't know how long it took for them to calm down, but the man with the crown spoke up after a time, as Wally was still wiping their faces free of tears. "Welcome to the Infinite Realms, Nightwing." Dick barely even registered that he was still wearing his suit, but now it felt suffocating. "I suppose you're the one Clockwork was holding out for; There shouldn't've been enough Ectoplasm around you to form a Ghost, and your physical body's still in space. I can see why you like this one, though, Clockie," he states flippantly, turning to his companion. Almost like he didn't expect Dick to pay too close attention to what he was saying.

"Either way, there's two options for you." The man didn't let Dick swallow his tears and question anything. Dick's not sure if he's grateful or not. "First: Stay in the Realms permanently. You'll see Kid Flash whenever you want and learn to be a Ghost with the denizens of the Realms. Maybe find your parents."

"But..." Dick pulls away from Wally, keeping him at arms length, eyes flitting between them. The two outside the bubble were distinctly... ghost-like, so the mentions of 'Ghosts' make sense. But Wally looked... alive. A bit pale, a bit thin... but alive. Dick can't see any of his own skin to see if it was blue or tinted that way, but the Nightwing symbol on his chest kept flickering between its own blue and this 'Realms' green. "But--What about the others? What about you? Why can't you come home?" The last two, he focuses on Wally, because now he can feel a heartbeat beneath his gloves. Wally's alive. He's alive.

His friend just shrugs. "Something about their portals not fit for the living? I'm meant to wait for someone to figure out a permanent portal, but they won't tell me how long that'll take." Wally glares at the... 'Ghosts'? There was a heat to it, but it also seemed like this was a well-worn argument.

"The permanent portal was always an 'if', Wallace West. And that is entirely dependent on if Richard Grayson takes the second option," the clock Ghost--Clockwork?--speaks up. But instead of the adult Dick was expecting, there was an elderly Ghost in their place. Still with the time motif. Was that... more literal than Dick took it?

"Yes, the second option..." The crowned man glares daggers at Clockwork. The temperature dips below comfortable. Dick tries to blink the spaceship and stars out of his sight, withdrawing his arms from Wally to try and warm himself. Tries to remember he's not in space. "The second option is that you return to your body... changed. You'll be able to protect Earth better, stay with your alive family, save the Lost Ones... for a price."

Dick doesn't know if he should ignore the plural in 'Lost Ones'. He doesn't know if he's reading too much into how, in this Realm, apparently only his parents were able to be found. Where's Jason? He doesn't dare hope, but...

"What's the price?"

The man smiles and a ring of blue forms around his waist. It splits in two and travels up and down his body, replacing the cloak and whatever clothes he was actually wearing with a NASA shirt, worn jeans, and red sneakers actually duct taped together. The blue tint to his otherwise tan skin fades completely. His hair turns black. His eyes turn blue.

He was like a taller, slightly slimmer, way hotter version of Bruce.

The man walks through the bubble, but doesn't disturb the grass beneath his feet. "You become the Ghost King's vassal." Dick flinches away and almost hides behind Wally. "Not my idea! But, well... it is either this, or your permanent death."

"What does becoming a vassal do to him?" Wally asks, gently trying to stop Dick from breaking his ribs with how tightly he was hugging himself. Does he even have ribs?

"He gains my powers. Ice, electricity, invisibility, intangibility, flight... He becomes a Halfa. He becomes what I was, in life. Just... needing to make offerings to me, now and then. Something like that, at least. I give him powers, he gives me a chunk of, I don't know, chocolate once a week. Like a warlock."

Wally keeps talking to the man, keeps getting information that he knows he should pay attention to, but something in his chest screams to accept this deal, and he can't focus on anything else.

Nightwing can protect. He can return to life and go back to Blüdhaven, be the Vigilante they need. He can visit Gotham every now and then, help with cases and stop criminals from harming others. He can see his brother. He can see his friends. He can eat Alfred's cookies, and have little get-togethers with Babs and the Team--hell, he can argue with Bruce.

And all he has to do is... give an offering to this guy? The Ghost King? Every once in a while?

"There's no other price?" The King turns his attention to Dick. His eyes had shifted to a blue-green that almost hypnotize him. The green swirls, the blue forms and melts like snowflakes, and he can't look away.

He takes another step forward and Wally steps to the side. There was familiarity between them. Wally deferred to him. Dick can't quite tell why. Though, with how Wally hasn't once looked at Clockwork, maybe it's because he's... grounded? Are all speedsters in trouble with, what, the Ghost of Time? That... actually makes perfect sense.

"I'll be honest, Nightwing: You've impressed me." The weight behind the King's words lifts the ones that've been on his shoulders since he was nine. "You remind me of myself. Maybe, if I wasn't a Halfa... If I had a mentor... I could've been like you.

"Despite Clockwork's insistence over the years that I get back in touch with the living, I've held off. When he eventually suggested that I help create another Halfa, I locked him in his tower for twenty years. I didn't want anyone to go through what I had. But, now... I see that you won't. You can't. Even if you hide this deal--our shared powers... You'll still have people by your side. Strong people. Smart people. You can already handle yourself. And I'd love to see what you can do--who you can save--with my help."

There was maybe two inches between their faces when the King finishes speaking. Dick roves his eyes across the other's face, trying to find the common and familiar ticks that show lies and deceit and manipulation. All he finds is sincerity and genuine care.

Wally plays with his fingers from the corner of his eye, gaze hopeful as he looks between the two of them. Wally, who was alive and breathing and able to leave if he accepts. Eventually. Somehow.

Dick Grayson sends a quiet apology to his parents and hopes they will forgive him for being a little bit selfish.

"I accept."

He flings his eyes open. Above him, domino mask too wobbly to be properly secured anymore, was Robin crying and begging him to wake up. His hands were sloppily placed over his heart. Batman was trying to drag him away, the firm set of his jaw screaming grief.

Nightwing gasps once he registers his lungs burning.

There's a large cacophony of noise, multiple bright suits and people hounding over him, and the distinct artificial taste of slightly-too-much oxygen that the ship with the Parademons had. That he flew out of and died. He was still too cold.

Someone moves their arm beneath his knees and shoulder and Dick passes out.

(Dick 'Nightwing' Grayson dies in space. Ghost King Danny Phantom likes this too-human Hero. They split their souls in half, take one piece of the others, and all they know is that Phantom is now Nightwing's Patron Deity. Danny uses ice, for electricity killed him. Dick uses electricity, for ice killed him. They are opposites, and yet so incredibly similar. Clockwork was looking forward to when Danny starts putting off his paperwork to hang out with his new 'friend'.)

[goldkirk]

I get that everyone wants TikTok back but do we understand how bad it is that it’s happening the way it’s happening. Like we do understand how much of a horrifically choreographed process this is to boost and benefit Trump right. Can we all take a second to pause and go “hey wow something’s been getting fucked up and fishy for days now with Trump being turned into the hero about this even by the TikTok company themselves all of a sudden”?? (more chatter in the tags re tech companies and authoritarian autocrats)

[cfserkgk]

The siblings again (Modern AU and very sketchy).

I feel like Maomao would wear Lahan's hand me downs just because they're there and it's convenient, but at the same time also despise the idea of wearing his clothes...?

[hiphopcherrrypop]

happy premier week!! who else tuning in ✌😲

[llannasvsp]

Lloyd being Sora's father figure >>> Lloyd being Arin's father figure.

[medi-bee]

isat pokemon au, my liege?

my rambling in tags

[moeblob]

[wreckedhoney]

MASSIVE SPOILER for one of the endings.

it's been a while since i tried looking, but i did hear that something like this happens last year and over time started to think, "was it a fluke?" bc no one posted footage or caps of it then, and i aimed for a completionist run in my first playthrough. turns out it's real! and definitely shines a new light on a character that, for most other types of playthroughs, will not give this much emotion! EDIT: transcript now included, and some stillshots under the cut

[0:28] Marie: Henry, this is the man who kept you from doing the right thing tonight. Kill him. [0:15] Forrest: Henry, you don’t have to do this. If you’ve not killed anyone yet, there’s still time to make the right decision. [0:05] Out of shot: (Gunshots) Henderson Police! Freeze! Marie: No! Henry, get out of there!

[starscreamingg]

Detroit Become Human and why does this game decide that the problem in society is individual people treating androids poorly because those androids are choking them out of the workforce and NOT the corporations and governments who deliberately designed the androids to do this

[anothermonikan]

I see a lot of sentiment within techum spaces about not understanding how tech actually works and considering tech divine or whatever and like. I really do get it's pretty intimidating, but you can learn how your machines work. In fact I think a lot of you would appreciate your objects even more than you do by learning about how they actually function. Demystify tech in your minds NOW!!!

[fromtheseventhhell]

"I have no sister." The words were knives. What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister? | Jon VI

--metaphorical knives at feigning neutrality regarding his sister

Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger's hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. "Ghost," he whispered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold... | Jon XIII

--literal knives from breaking that neutrality to save her

[puppppppppy]

AND I MET THE CHANGE GOD TOO. OKAY. COOL OKAY

[thedolmainblog]

you know arts going well when you start drawing smth completely unrelated

[flowercrowngods]

It’s obnoxious, the way Munson sits on the table, legs swinging a little too fast, a little too much purpose behind the motion. Steve zeroes in on it, the movement of his thighs, black denim pulled tight in one second, then going loose the next. It’s hypnotising. Mesmerising. Calming, in a weird sort of way.

“So,” Eddie drawls the word, again with too much purpose, and all this sudden purpose Eddie spills around him so carelessly like he expects Steve to know what to do with it, with him, with himself, is overwhelming and frustrating. It takes him out of his hypnosis. His eyes snap to Munson’s, and he’s reeling a little too much still to know what it is Eddie will find on his face now.

Whatever it is, it makes him still. He quiets down. Everything about him is gone so suddenly it makes Steve blink hard, trying to regain his footing and not think about how gone Eddie really is. A while from now. In a different dimension. Bloodied and pale and so, so still.

The world fades a little bit, or maybe it’s just Steve who does, but something fades. It gets a little easier to hear, so long as he doesn’t have to be or feel or react.

Maybe this was a mistake.

“You don’t usually buy from me,” Eddie says through the cotton-like fog, and Steve zeroes in again. “You don’t usually buy, period.”

It’s like the guy is trying to read Steve. He lets him. He’s sort of dying to find out something real about him anyway.

“But that changed, hasn’t it? Breaking up with Wheeler got you bad, eh?”

Steve feels the frown on his face before he can think to react, and he shakes his head — against the accusation and against the images in his head, against the guilt, against the knowledge that Nancy is dead and he isn’t, and that she died a hero and that he wouldn’t. Ever. He’ll just die a coward.

“No? Alright, big guy, whatever you say, but don’t think I don’t remember finding you the other day cracked outta your mind so hard you couldn’t even walk anymore, and when I came back because I’m nice like that, you were gone. That’s not being sober, that’s not very never doing drugs of you if you ask me.”

For a second there, Steve had forgotten just how much he really doesn’t like Eddie Munson. The guy’s a nuisance and just really, really annoying.

But this is also the longest anyone has spoken to Steve since— since before. And there’s something addictive about it.

Maybe he doesn’t need the drugs. Maybe he just needs someone to talk to him like he’s a real person.

But Eddie’s still staring at him, still trying to figure him out, and Steve knows he should move, he should fidget, probably, or run his hand through his hair and lose the haze that veils his eyes and crack a smirk at Eddie and just. Do anything that a real person would do.

But he can’t. He can only stand, only stare, only catch a thought or two as they race by him at record speed and hope desperately that the thought isn’t Eddie, his pale skin ripping open with lethal wounds, his voice gurgling as he chokes on his own blood and doesn’t even have the strength to cough anymore.

His hands are shaking. That’s something real at least.

“Hey, woah, shit, there’s no need to— God, man, it’s cool, we’re cool, I won’t tell anyone or some shit, you gotta— Harrington, you gotta calm down.”

Eddie’s off the table in record speed, bringing some distance between them but still looking like he wants to approach Steve with raised hands.

“I’m calm,” he says, not understanding.

“You’re having a fuck-damn panic attack or something, man.”

What? No, he doesn’t— Oh.

“Oh.”

He’s on the floor, and his cheeks are wet. He can’t breathe. His brain doesn’t even catch up, his body

“Yeah, fucking oh, man. It’s cool, you’re, uh, you’re safe? I mean. I’m safe? I won’t tell. I’ll give you what you need if this is your withdrawal, I don’t wanna— Shit, man, what the fuck.”

Eddie is freaking out. It’s surreal. Steve has no idea if he’s still panicking. He must be, because he can’t feel his hands. He’s getting dizzy and his chest hurts. It’s okay. It’ll pass.

“It’s okay,” he says, knowing somehow that his voice shouldn’t sound like this. He’s not a real person anyway. “You can go if you wanna.”

Eddie shakes his head, bewildered, absolute disbelief in every one of his features, so loud even in his silence, and Steve prefers this. The obnoxious loudness. Even when he says nothing.

“What the fuck, Harrington.”

It’s all he says before approaching him, sitting down right opposite Steve, knees drawn to his chest in a mirror position, their feet’s almost touching. Eddie looks scared. Or worried.

Steve frowns. There’s no air in his lungs to ask, though, and he remembers that he needs to breathe. Feels that his lungs are screaming for it and that somewhere beneath the fog and the cotton, his brain is screaming at him, his body clawing at its confines to break free and breathe.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Eddie decides, looking at him so intensely, Steve feels somehow invited to look back. To look as long as he can, before he sort of stops processing anything again and tries not to remember how Eddie looks when he knows he’s about to die.

Those terrified eyes trained on him. They have seen nothing yet.

Eddie starts talking at some point — running his mouth, really, but Steve can’t hear him. It’s nice, though. He finds himself staring up at the darkening sky at some point, his head nestled on cold, wet leaves and damp soil. Eddie’s still talking, still looking at him. Steve tries not to panic that he lost it again, that the day has somehow passed without him.

He looks over, meeting Eddie’s eyes, and catching something that looks like a relieved smile as he stumbles over his words and then stops altogether.

“Hey,” is what he settles on at last.

Steve smiles, a frail little thing, but Eddie doesn’t need to know that.

“Thank you,” he says. And then, because he’s speaking and there’s no fog this time and no blood and no screams, he keeps talking. “For this. And, uh, for that night, y’know, where you wanted to help me. You did, actually, I was just… I never thanked you. So, yeah. Thanks.”

Eddie shrugs, and it’s a little awkward with the angle he’s looking at Steve at. “I didn’t really do shit.”

“You did more than you know,” Steve says, and that’s when the blood comes back. The screams. The fog and the emptiness and the hollow feeling in his chest where he knows there once resided the feeling of It’s going to be okay.

Eddie pauses, and Steve fades. He asks something, but Steve can’t hear him. He gets up, knowing that if he won’t, he’ll stay here all night. Turn into a tree again. Be nothing at all.

He walks away, leaving Eddie behind, and in the parking lot he finds Hopper’s car, the engine running, and then his cheeks are wet again.

Hopper pulls him into a hug, and Steve leans into it. Wants to tell him that he’s fine, that he’s not a tree, that he’s not a person either but something in between but that he’s okay and sorry for worrying him. But the words don’t come, and it is what it is.

“Munson okay?” Hopper asks when Steve pulls away from their embrace, and something about Hopper knowing exactly what to ask him is so vulnerable. But it makes him feel good, too. Like he’s not dumb for it. For the way he’s checking up on them. On all of them. Even Eddie.

“He’s fine.”

“Good,” Hop says, starting the engine. “There’s pasta for dinner.”

[arch-official]

when did it become common consensus that everyone call me "honey"?

[mediumguyenergy]

thinking about Bunny with all of his faults, and terrible jokes and humour in general, just absolutely loving Henry the most out of everyone in the entire world and him being the one that Henry killed with his bare hands