#but i felt spiteful at tumblr and am making you all scroll

[greyias]

The Incredibly Boring Post About Tea that Broke Tumblr

After breaking Tumblr, I forgot what I was saying, something something putting off having to go wrap my outdoor spigots because Arctic blast, something something making writing progress...

Oh yeah.

TEA.

Earlier this year, I tasted the most magical tea from the little tea subscription service I use, which as it cooled, tasted like chocolate milk. It also held up to at least one resteeping, making it a perfect, after coffee beverage in the mornings. As the shop makes very small batches, I was only able to order one larger bag before it was gone completely. Desperate to get my fix, I scoured the internet, until I was able to find the specific cultivar that was used, and ordered a 4 oz bag of Gu Zhang. I figured that was a reasonable amount. Enough to last me until I needed to re-order.

I merrily went on drinking my precious, almost daily. When I started to get low, I went back to place an order... and it was out of stock. Had been out of stock for months. Everywhere. I couldn't find a single vendor carrying my precious.

After months of scouring, I had to finally console myself with the fact that we would never be reunited again. I kept ordering samples of other teas, trying to find another one that could fill that "post coffee" hole in my heart. The closest being a one-time sample size pu-erh cream earl gray from Adagio, who just went ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ when I asked if they'd offer it in the future.

And then. Magically. TeaSource e-mailed me a week or so back, and told me that my beloved Gu Zhang was back in stock. Having learned my lesson, I went and ordered the biggest size this time around, an entire pound. But erm. I may have neglected a key factor in my tea drenched fervor:

That's um. A lot of tea. specifically in a bag that does not have a convenient resealing option. I mulled this over, for all of 18 hours, before I finally came upon a solution.

I'll just repackage the big bag, into the smaller bag (that I legit could not make myself throw away. Why? Was I predicting the future and a need for it? Was I stupidly attached to the memory of my magic tea? Do I have hoarder tendencies? The world may never know.)--

--and reseal the bigger bag using my old FoodSaver that I shoved deep into the recesses of a cabinet. Success! My giant tea horde should hopefully not go stale in between refills.

After a little chopping of some vanilla beans (because for some reason, to get the magical chocolate milk combo, it needs this specific cultivar of tea, plus an infusion of vanilla beans. The longer this sits, the better the steep), I am back in business!

And now that I have wasted a good thirty minutes on this post after Tumblr's attempts to foil me, I will make my second steep and attempt to get more words out on the document that has been staring at me accusingly for the past five days.

...and then go winterize my pipes or something.

[britcision]

OKAY FRIENDOS

This chapter fucking fought me, not least because I wasn’t actually sure what exactly Danny wanted out of meeting Waylon… and then I realised that was because Danny wasn’t sure either

I did consider just letting this one run long and posting in two parts when all was said and done, but this was where I’d have had to break the chapter in two for Tumblr anyway, and it’s actually a really good place to end… so one more chapter for Waylon!

And then tumblr mobile decided not to let me fucking paste the chapter in, and I am fucking DYING with the laggy piece of shit that is the mobile website. I crave death. Let me join the boys.

First Chapter and AO3:

Previous Chapter:

——————

A Good Excuse To Be A Bad Influence 

Jason wasn’t exactly expecting to roll up to Danny’s dorm to thumping stripper music, and yet as he turned off the bike… that was definitely what was happening. 

Flicking the visor up, he soon caught sight of the cause, a visibly frazzled Danny hurrying over. His pocket seemed to be having an independent party that Danny himself was not invited to. 

���I have sinned against the almighty Tucker and am being punished for my crimes with an endless loop,” he explained flatly without being asked. 

Jason snorted, reaching back to unhook the new helmet from the back of the bike and hand it out. 

“Oh? And what did you do to upset his highness?” He teased, a smile tugging across his lips in spite of himself. 

In spite of the certain knowledge that Tim would absolutely be latching onto this form of punishment the second he found out. 

He’d not really felt like smiling since he got in last night, yet the second he saw Danny his anger eased. 

Didn’t hurt that the pit was practically vibrating in smug satisfaction, clearly appeased that he also wouldn’t let them be kept apart. But there was still an open happiness all Jason’s own in watching his new friend suffer. 

Danny sighed, pulling out a heavily wrapped sock-sausage that eventually contained his phone, and scrolled to show Jason some messages. 

Jason scanned through them quickly, because the music was fucking loud entirely unmuffled, then passed the phone back to be reburied. 

“You knew what you were doing,” he told Danny entirely unsympathetically, and Danny snickered. 

“Sometimes he needs to be told when he’s being a dramatic bitch. So were you there for the whole,” he waved a hand vaguely, the other stuffing his phone back into his pocket. 

Which meant Jason had to think about the cave again. And the phone call he’d gotten an hour after ignoring Bruce’s summons. 

:::

Jason was actually on his way to bed on time for once in his life, the early end to patrol and lack of crime lord duties giving him a chance to get a full five hours sleep. 

He should have known he wouldn’t get lucky two nights in a row; Constantine wasn’t around to distract Bruce anymore. 

He’d contemplated not answering. Contemplated trying not to shoot Bruce in half an hour if the fucker showed up at his window. 

The pit growled. 

It was the worst thing he’d ever heard. The worst thing he’d ever felt. And he did feel it, vibrating in his very bones. 

It sent shivers creeping up and down his spine, muscles tensing as if to run away from something inside him. 

He answered the call, hoping it wouldn’t show in his voice. 

“What.” Flat, unfriendly. Not encouraging conversation. 

“You didn’t come to the cave.” B’s voice was equally flat, but in his case it sounded like a condemnation. An accusation. 

Jason gritted his teeth. 

“I have shit to do in the morning. Make it quick,” he snapped, giving his bed a glare it definitely didn’t deserve. 

His pillows had never done anything to hurt him. 

There was a momentary pause before B audibly decided not to push it. 

Good. 

Jason was in a mood to bite. 

“We have intel on the Infinite Realms. I’ve sent the report. You need to stay away from Danny Fenton, for your health,” B said, still cold, still clinical. 

Like he didn’t care. Like what Jason wanted didn’t matter. 

Jason’s grip tightened and the phone case cracked. 

“Yeah, no. Fuck off.” He spat the words, adding “get new phone” to his list of chores for the morning. 

He’d been doing so well with this one. Of course B had to ruin it. 

At least the old man didn’t seem surprised by his reaction. 

“Jason. It… he. His abilities may affect your condition,” he said slowly, sounding tired. Old. 

The pit snarled, sensing weakness, and Jason kinda wished he was still lost in its rage. Back when he was, it was easy just to hate those moments. 

B showing signs of humanity fucking hurt. 

“He is. He’s making it better,” he shot back, brooking no argument. 

“We don’t know that, Jason. Please, just… just for a few days. Until we can talk to the League, understand what he’s doing to you.” 

Was. 

Was that Bruce begging? 

It froze something small and soft in Jason’s chest, stuck him in place. And did nothing to stop the flood of icy rage from filling him up. 

Filling his chest, crushing his lungs, making it hard to breathe. Because of course, anyone and everyone else’s judgement was worth more to the man than Jason’s. 

Begging Jason to listen to him, when he would never, ever, fucking ever listen to Jason. When it didn’t fucking matter if Jason begged. 

“And why the fuck would the League know better than a doctor from the Realms?” He finally snapped, ignoring the way his throat tightened. 

There was a long silence. 

“A doctor?” Bruce asked softly, his voice still so flat and emotionless that only his kids could have read the confusion. Jason rolled his eyes. 

“Danny brought me to a doctor. I’m gonna be fine,” he ground out reluctantly, part of him resenting Bruce’s constant insistence on knowing everything. 

But… well. If it got the guy off his fucking back. 

There was a long silence, one that Jason was fully aware B was likely spending working this new information into his latest paranoid fantasy. 

Jason seriously considered just hanging up and going to bed. He was about to do it when Bruce spoke again. 

“Would this doctor be willing to speak to the League?” And there it was again, Batman voice, clinical and distant and always, always fucking suspicious. 

Jason rolled his eyes harder. With emphasis. Willing to be interrogated by first the Justice League and then separately also goddamn Batman. 

Actually, now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure B wouldn’t get anywhere with Frostbite. Frostbite took his work seriously and was, yeah, king of a full realm of yetis. 

None of Bruce’s pointed silences, menacing looming, or vague growls would bug the guy who got Danny through Fucked Up Ghost Puberty. 

(And would probably be helping Jason through his own Fucked Up Ghost Puberty… joy of joys.) 

It might actually be fun to see him try. If just being here wouldn’t put Frostbite in danger, because hell fucking no that wasn’t happening. The guy may not be his king but Jason would still die first.

But of course, in all his paranoid bullshit about the Realms influencing Gotham, B had somehow conveniently missed what America was doing to the Realms. 

Like Jason hadn’t even done the full write up. 

“Not while the fucking League are required to hand him right to the US government for torture and experimentation. Which, by the way, did you read my report on the Anti Ecto Acts?” Jason asked sarcastically, doing his very worst fake concern. 

And again he was met with silence. Fuck, maybe Bruce hadn’t read it. Jason had dropped it in the day before all this gala bullshit had started, and it had been a busy two days since. 

Maybe B deadass hadn’t put the pieces together.  Might as well hammer it home for him. 

“You know, the one that says you, me, Cass, and Damian are all non-sentient because we’ve been exposed to the pits?” Jason added, eyes narrowing. 

Which wasn’t technically true, since it was the resulting liminality and ability to process ectoplasm that made them count, but Bruce didn’t need to know that yet. 

Finally he spoke again, voice gruff and clipped. 

“I’m looking into it. But for now, Jason, please-” he said again, the cover of Batman beginning to slip. 

But Jason was done. No fucking chance Bruce was giving him orders when he hadn’t even bothered asking for Jason’s opinion. 

He wanted to spout off about dangers of the Infinite Realms after talking to some wet paper bag of a man who hawked his soul like it was a pokemon card. Hard pass. 

And even after hearing that Jason knew what was going on a damn sight better than Bruce did, he still wanted to push him around? 

Fuck that. 

“Sorry B, legally non-sentient, guess I can’t be blamed for my actions,” he drawled, then turned his phone off and dropped into bed. 

He had a lot of shit to do before picking Danny up in the morning. 

:::

Jason shook his head, partially to clear it but also in answer to Danny’s question. 

“Hell no. Tim told me he was being a paranoid old fuck again so I went to bed,” he growled, a little surprised by the sudden rush of anger the memory brought. 

It must have been strong enough that Danny noticed it, because he could feel Danny’s worry too. 

He sucked in a sharp breath, pushing the anger back down. He still hadn’t turned his phone back on. 

Actually it might still be beside the bed in his apartment. It didn’t really matter. 

Danny took the new helmet from him, leaning up against Jason’s side in a soft wave of comfort-sorry-amused. 

Amused? 

Before he could ask, Danny had turned the helmet over to look at the visor. 

“So I’m guessing, from what we talked about in the car, what Tucker told me, and what you’re not telling me, that Bruce thinks you should be far, far away from me?” He asked innocently. 

The pit fucking growled again, raising the hair all along Jason’s neck, and Danny trilled soothingly to it. 

Even knowing what to expect, the sudden and complete lack of rage still made Jason shiver. 

“Thanks,” he said before Danny could apologise. 

For managing Jason’s unstable emotions for him when Jason couldn’t. Although… 

If they actually were the pit’s all along, that’d explain why it had been so hard to push through. It was weird that the idea was actually starting to feel comforting. 

Danny gave him a slightly relieved grin, nudging back. 

“Yeah, well, not like you recently bound your entire soul and afterlife into keeping me safe. Not like either of us know what the fuck that’s gonna mean,” he said, all flippant and glib, and… 

Yeah, he’d almost have a point, except Jason had put himself on the chopping block to keep others safe since he was thirteen years old. 

He shook his head, chuckling softly. 

“Oh, I didn’t get on with the old man long, long before you came into the picture,” he assured Danny with a dry smile, rolling his eyes. 

Danny snickered, spinning the helmet and looking “innocently” up to the sky. Whatever the fuck came out of his mouth next, Jason was ready for it to be a doozy. 

“Yeah, well… if I’m the bad influence boyfriend your dad wants you to stay away from…” and that sentence alone almost made Jason choke, without even the kicker, “can I drive your motorcycle?” 

At least it stopped Jason from coughing. He shot Danny a sudden suspicious glare. 

“Do you even know how to drive a motorcycle?” He asked with a full awareness of what the answer would be. 

Danny shrugged, giving Jason his best “innocent” smile. 

“Definitely motorcycle adjacent?” He offered sweetly. Jason shook his head firmly. 

“Nope.” 

“Oh come on!” Danny pouted, tossing both hands into the air, his new helmet held tight despite the dramatic gesture. 

Jason shook his head again, in case Danny had missed the point. 

“Nnnnnnnope,” he drew the word out, popping the p, and Danny rolled his eyes at him. 

“It’s not like a crash would kill either of us anyway,” he huffed, and while he may have that kind of confidence in his ghost powers, Jason’s core hadn’t formed yet. 

He wasn’t about to fucking risk it. 

“That doesn’t mean it’ll be a fun experience. They’re called “donor-cycles” for a reason,” he told Danny archly, definitely not moving from astride his girl while this was “up for debate”. 

Glanced back to find Danny staring at him, clearly holding back a snicker. 

“That sounds waaay more like something the Disapproving Dad Who Doesn’t Like His Son’s Hot New Motorcycle Boyfriend would say,” he pointed out, rising on tiptoe to rest his chin on Jason’s shoulder. 

Jason licked him. Mostly on the cheek. 

It was a stupid impulse, the kind he usually didn’t even get with anyone but Dick, and he might have regretted it immediately if it hadn’t fucking worked. 

Danny jumped back, cheeks flushing, and while Jason was pretty sure his own had pinked up, well, behind him Danny couldn’t see that. 

But he pulled on his helmet just to be doubly sure. 

“Yeah, well, protecting your ass includes not letting you kill us both in a fiery wreck. Or maim us,” he added before Danny could voice the protest Jason could clearly taste. 

Silence from behind him, and then Danny sighed and pulled his helmet on, climbing aboard behind Jason again. Who decided to throw him a bone. 

“I’ll teach you how to drive it first,” he promised, and Danny cheered loudly, thrusting both fists into the air as they pulled out. 

Neither really noticed that Danny’s background music had changed to Radar Love. 

** 

When they’d finally dragged themselves to bed, Tim had offered to let Tucker use one of the manor’s nearly infinite guest rooms. 

They’d picked one out and everything, changed into pyjamas (Tucker borrowed an old pair of Dick’s), and sat on the bed in Tim’s old room talking about technology until they both fell asleep. 

Probably around 8am. 

Tucker hadn’t had a proper slumber party since leaving Amity Park, but he was kinda getting used to waking up tucked next to a still-sleeping Wayne adoptee when his phone buzzed around 10am. 

Foul treachery from Danny. As usual. 

Tucker barely woke up, hand crawling from the pile to rest against the PDA, and that was all he needed. His awareness slipped from the device to his phone, always linked. 

From his phone to Danny’s. Into Danny’s music app, where he picked a suitable vengeance even as he slipped back into sleep. 

Watched Danny through the phone as if it were a dream, easily filtering out the sounds of his own music as Danny flailed around, trying to turn the music off, trying to turn the music down, failing on all counts, and flailing his way out of the dorm. 

Down to meet Jason, his phone now buried in six layers of socks that did nothing to stop the music from being heard, or Tucker from watching. 

Tucker cranked the volume a little more anyway. The thought had to count for something. 

If Danny wanted to call him petty, well, Tucker Foley could redefine “petty” all on his own. 

Providing his friends with a semi-mocking soundtrack really was the least of his abilities; he was literally doing it in his sleep. 

**

Honestly, driving in Gotham wasn’t even all that exciting from Danny’s perspective. After being tossed around the GAV despite the seatbelts, a couple of cranky fellow drivers just didn’t register. 

If they hadn’t been going through the city, maybe going highway speeds it might have been different, but he’d kind of worked out how loud he had to be to be heard. 

By Jason snickering when he screamed at pedestrians. 

If they didn’t want to be screamed at they shouldn’t be trying to loom menacingly. 

Of course, that just meant now was the perfect time for him to use his new power for evil. Danny flipped his visor up, straining as high as he could to yell to Jason. 

“SO, THAT CONSTANTINE GUY?”

There was a sudden click in his ear and he jumped as Jason’s voice came through, quiet and definitely amused. 

“There’s a radio in your helmet, Danny.” 

Oh. 

News to fucking him, he was pretty sure that wasn’t standard in motorcycle helmets, but not from any lived experience. Johnny 13’s dead experiences were a little out of date. 

Poking around the sides of his helmet, Danny soon found a button. 

“Sweet. Looks like you finally forgot to mention something,” he teased, and heard Jason snort loud and clear. 

Didn’t have to hold the button to talk then. Good times. He’d get Tucker to take a look on the way home after he ecto infused it. For now he flipped the visor back down. 

“Looks like,” Jason agreed dryly, swerving them around a cluster of traffic. 

He wasn’t exactly sticking to the letter of the law, they were definitely half again over the speed limit, but they hadn’t gone on a sidewalk so it was nothing to a Fenton. There was even an empty slot in the lane he merged into. 

“So what about Constantine,” he prompted, and while it broke Danny out of his musings, it also reminded him of the exact thing he’d planned to do to make the trip more interesting. 

“Oh, I own his soul. Like, a dozen times over,” Danny chirped perkily, grip tightening just before Jason had to slam on the breaks to keep from hitting the car beside them. 

They sped off again before the sudden swerve caused comment, and passed a block or two in silence. Then Jason sighed. 

“Of fucking course you do that for everything and not just Mariokart.” He mostly sounded resigned, so Danny allowed himself a snicker. 

“What, it’s not like we’re gonna die. You’re even still on the road,” he dismissed easily, waving a hand to show just how unconcerned he was. 

Did not expect Jason to huff, reach back and grab his hand, and pull it back around himself. 

“I’m reconsidering teaching you to drive,” he told Danny flatly, and Danny pouted but took the hint and held on. 

“Oh come on, you can’t say that, you haven’t even seen me try!” Danny protested. 

Jason made an unimpressed noise. 

“Your town’s weather includes reports of if your parents will be on the road.” 

Which, by the way, was totally unfair of him, since he’d never have known that if Danny hadn’t told him. Or Tucker hadn’t told Tim. 

Same difference. 

“My parents, not me,” Danny argued anyway, shrugging, “and it wasn’t their driving that killed me.” 

This time he was close enough, snugged tight to Jason’s back, that he felt the guy’s whole body shiver with a loud and rumbling growl. The same growl he’d heard and soothed earlier. 

Something had really riled up Jason’s pit ghost. 

Danny hummed another quick soothing trill, stroking his aura gently across Jason and his extra passenger. 

Sort of trying to do it unobtrusively; he would actually really prefer that they didn’t fully crash. It kinda worked, in that Jason managed to unlock suddenly solid muscles enough for them to make the next turn. 

“Sorry,” Danny said quickly, kind of to both of them, “guess Pitty doesn’t like the death jokes today.” 

They passed another few buildings in silence, and Danny had definitely noticed by now that they weren’t heading for the manor. Didn’t matter so long as Jason knew where they were going. 

Danny waited him out, long enough that he almost wanted to make another joke and lighten the mood. Again though, Jason broke it first. 

“Pitty.” He did not sound impressed. But he didn’t feel mad. More what the fuck just came outta your mouth. 

Danny gave him a quick squeeze, and almost felt the pit purr. 

It was kinda getting stronger the longer they hung out. Technically that probably meant that both cores were making progress. 

“Well, technically you probably get to name it, but until you come up with something I’m calling it Pitty,” Danny explained, and rather felt that Jason should be grateful. 

Unlike the rest of his family, Jason had seen the full list of how Jack Fenton named things. Danny preferred to think he took after his aunt. 

He coulda called it the Fenton Pit Friend or something. Really, it wasn’t hard to think of anything worse. 

From his aura, Jason now seemed to be intentionally ignoring him. 

Stewing in indignation-disbelief-confused-confused-confused. Well, that was his call. 

Anyway. 

“Back to Constantine though, I wasn’t kidding. I do actually own his soul,” Danny said casually, since they’d gotten distracted from his previous attempt to make the drive more interesting. 

For a moment he wasn’t sure if Jason would rise to the bait this time either, and then another sigh came over the radio. 

“Y’know, somehow, that’s the least surprising thing you’ve said. Man sells his soul so much everyone seems to have a chunk,” Jason grumbled, and Danny snickered. 

“Oh, pretty much. He’s the Caterpie of human souls. He never made a deal with me directly though,” he added quickly, without being fully sure why. 

He was pretty sure Jason wouldn’t jump straight to “Danny is a soul trader”, but honestly he’d gotten used to getting ahead of wilder trains of thought. 

“Oh? How’d you get twelve then?” Jason shot back, clearly warming back up to things. 

Mission accomplished. Danny grinned. 

“Well, previous Ghost King was in nappy time for a couple thousand years, but he had this whole thing about collecting souls to add to his army of thralls, so basically anyone could sign their soul over for a chunk of power. Real charmer,” Danny snorted, rolling his eyes. 

It was so far from the worst thing Pariah Dark had ever done, but so far it was definitely the longest lingering annoyance. 

“I got the impression,” Jason agreed in pretty much the same tone, prompting Danny to continue. 

Which. Yeah. Was more fun than thinking about the mountain of thrall contracts still awaiting their owner’s deaths, which the Observants were still fussing over. 

Nobody wanted more thralls, souls wiped clean of everything that made them, well, souls. Just unliving batteries. Even ghosts found them creepy. 

On the other hand, there was nothing the Observants loved more than rules. And the rules said a signed contract had to be honoured. 

Really they shoulda expected Danny to ask who the fuck signed for Pariah, since he was (again) in nappy time prison. He hoped nobody else died while they sorted that out. 

“Danny?” 

Ah. Yup, he did it again. Danny shook his head and sighed, kinda missing the wind in his hair. It kept him more present than the enclosed space of the helmet. 

“Sorry. So, John Constantine, clever bitch, wrote himself a contract that signed his soul over to the Ghost King, not Pariah Dark. Got through whatever screening was in place no problem, and now he’s my problem.” 

A problem that Clockwork had presented Danny with on his fucking birthday no less. 

That had been part one of the soul screening process; who was stuck with Pariah by name, and ho boy that was a depressingly long list… and still growing, though it had slowed recently. 

News of Pariah losing his crown was slow to spread, and frankly Danny himself could be doing more to help that, except. Well. 

Not taking the damn crown himself until he had to. Not wanting to give the creeps of the world anything to call him. 

There were a lot of good reasons, okay? And Clockwork had specially singled out Constantine’s contract and delivered it to Danny himself as a birthday present. 

“Well, that explains one,” Jason agreed with a snicker, pulling to a stop in front of the police station, “but what about the other eleven times?” 

Danny snorted a laugh, sliding off the bike and stretching. As much fun as hugging Jason at high speeds was, he didn’t like being still for too long. 

“Tax season,” he explained cheerfully, pulling off the helmet and looking around, “I guess we’re meeting Harley here?” 

Snickering to himself, Jason pulled off his own helmet and tucked it into the storage on the back of his bike. Danny passed it over, noting that Jason had also had to get a second little pod for the other helmet. 

He wasn’t gonna ask. Maybe they were in storage? 

“Yeah, we’re meeting Harley here. Better not to swing by the manor for a while,” Jason added, his expression souring. 

Which did make Danny feel a little bad actually. He didn’t want to cause trouble for Jason with his family… 

But before he could say anything Jason ruffled his hair roughly, shaking his head. 

“It’s not your fault, Danny. This kinda shit happens every other week, Bruce gets on his bullshit and I steer clear. He’ll calm the fuck down eventually and remember to mind his own business,” he explained dryly, nodding towards the doors. 

Danny hesitated before moving to follow. It felt true, he could feel Jason’s sincere-exhausted-familiar-still over it clear as day, it just. 

“I’m still sorry I wound him up though,” Danny finally decided, heading after Jason up and in. Jason who rolled his eyes and held the door open. 

“Danny. He winds himself up. You could be a literal angel and he would not fucking care. You couldn’t unwind him even if you miraculously found the key. We’ve all tried,” Jason said with a sigh, though at least the anger seemed to have burned off into just… 

Tired. 

Jason just felt tired. 

Probably cuz he was off fucking around with Cass last night, but Danny wasn’t about to call him out on it. 

Not when they’d just walked into the police station (ew) and the wild sight of Harley Quinn, hair in pigtails and dressed in her signature red and black, sat on the duty officer’s desk with a bat. Filing her nails. 

Total silence filled the room, broken only by the swing of the doors opening as Danny and Jason stepped through. 

The whole room was watching her in a kind of terrified awe, like she was a particularly dangerous bomb waiting to go off. Danny’d swear they weren’t even breathing. 

She looked up as the door opened, grinning broadly at the sight of them and waving in a large, exuberant gesture. 

“Oh, there’s my boys! Hey boys!” She called in obvious delight, and half the room flinched. 

Didn’t seem to matter that she hadn’t even been in Gotham for ages, let alone being her former roguish self. She had the kind of presence that left a lasting impression. 

No wonder Danny liked her. She coulda fit right in with his ghost friends. 

Maybe she’d come join them for fight club. 

** 

Pulling himself slowly from sleep just a little past noon, Bruce had to admit he was feeling better. The headache had dulled to a low throb but he felt clearer. 

More aware of himself, and after a glass of water, more like he could take on the day. 

It was far from his first concussion and he was well used to navigating the symptoms over the next few days. So long as he didn’t get any serious memory loss he wasn’t going to worry about it. 

He had far more serious things to worry about, but even they seemed more manageable after almost nine hours of sleep. 

Honestly… he wasn’t surprised that Jason hadn’t come to the cave. Hadn’t agreed to stay away from Danny when asked.  

It had felt like a reasonable request at the time, like the bare minimum of common sense. But they didn’t have that kind of relationship anymore. 

Jason didn’t trust him. Didn’t trust Bruce’s judgement, in how to deal with criminals or anything else. 

Jason hadn’t been the boy who’d looked to Bruce with such trust, such wonder and awe, even before he’d died. 

Sometimes Bruce wondered where he’d gone wrong. 

But there was no use dwelling on the past. Bruce would like to re earn Jason’s trust some day, but he wouldn’t ignore their present relationship. 

Jason wouldn’t trust that Danny was a danger to him without proof, so Bruce would find that proof, if it existed. Hopefully before Jason’s condition became proof itself. 

The first and most obvious step would be to consult the Justice League Dark at today’s meeting, and then make arrangements for this doctor from the Infinite Realms. 

He’d have to look into those laws Jason mentioned ahead of the meeting. Perhaps bring them up to Constantine, see how it might affect matters with the Infinite Realms. 

A bitter part of him mused that he wouldn’t be surprised if the magician was completely unaware of most international laws, let alone the ones of the various lands he travelled, but still. 

The man had been so adamant that the Infinite Realms were completely beyond their ability to handle. That they should cut and run at any cost. 

Bruce could hardly imagine he’d be pleased that the US had apparently declared its inhabitants the targets of its newest genocide. 

Of course, changing the laws and having them struck down would take time, but Bruce still hoped that the act of beginning might be enough. 

Enough for him to visit Jason’s doctor in the Realms or some other neutral ground, since the doctor couldn’t come here. 

Jason had said that he would be fine, not that he was already fine. Bruce wouldn’t have believed him if he had, not really; Jason hadn’t been fine since he’d been dunked in those damn pits. 

Their poison had stuck with him far longer than anyone Bruce had ever heard of. 

Hells, Bruce had had his own dunking. He could just barely remember the rage that had forced itself down his throat, into his lungs as he was brutally thrust back into the land of the living. 

He had controlled it, had mastered it quickly, and now it was nothing more than a faint scrap of memory. Even that was still enough to grant his deepest sympathy to Jason’s struggles. 

If the rage had never left him… 

But no, he decided, going through his morning routine like he was still the young playboy Brucie who never showed his face before 3pm. 

There was no point in indulging those thoughts either. He had mastered the pit’s fury, and it released him. For whatever reason, Jason hadn’t. 

And now they all had to deal with the consequences. 

Still, Bruce let himself hope for the future instead. 

If his children were right, if Jason was right… if Danny or this mysterious doctor from the Infinite Realms could help him with the pit rage… 

He might one day see that little boy again. The boy who looked at Bruce like he’d hung the stars, who could fly because Robin made him magic. 

There was nothing in this world or any other that Bruce wouldn’t give to see Jason whole again. To see him happy. 

The United States government were going to learn (again) what it meant to come between the Batman and the safety of his sons. 

The Justice League’s meeting would be in another four hours. He had plenty of time to do some research and amend their presentation. 

So long as Jason was right. 

And speaking of Jason… there was just one other thing he’d like to do this morning. Heaving a sigh while he had the privacy of his room, Bruce pulled up his phone again. 

He didn’t quite indulge himself as far as making a face as he punched in Constantine’s number, because concussed or not he was an adult. And he was going to need the man’s help. 

Surely Jason wouldn’t object to a single check in with a trusted practitioner? 

As the phone rang, Bruce once again cursed the circumstances that kept Zatanna off world. He was about 75% sure that Jason actually liked her. 

But maybe the extent to which Constantine annoyed Bruce would also cheer him up. 

The call went through, and Bruce snapped his wandering attention back. Maybe he’d take the rest of the day off after the meeting. Heal up a little more. 

Alfred would be proud. 

“Constantine. A moment of your time before the meeting?” It even sounded like a question, not a command. Sleep really had done him a world of good. 

**

Part of Jason wished he could say he was surprised that Harley had taken GCPD HQ hostage just by showing up, but he honestly wasn’t. 

Part of him wished he didn’t think that was exactly her intention, but… he didn’t particularly like lying to himself. Harley was fun. 

And got results, even if she also tended not to end lives. He could respect that. 

And promised not to rat him out to Danny, even if she made no promises about Waylon, who definitely also knew both his identities. 

That… Jason wasn’t really surprised by that either. They’d never talked about it, but Waylon had definitely known he was the second Robin for some time. 

A few of the rogues did, or at least assumed as much from the way the Batman would either obsessively chase or obsessively avoid him in mask. 

Jason personally preferred and egged on the side that thought Red Hood was Batman’s evil twin brother. Or clone. Mostly because Bruce hated them. 

Knowing civilian identities was a step beyond that Bruce would certainly never admit that more than one or two knew, but Jason had (slightly) less issues. 

It was kinda an open secret among the rogues who’d been around since the glory days; Bruce Wayne is Batman. As Danny so rightly said of Dick, the butts matched. 

(Jason was considering adding more padding to the body armour in his pants, if only to change the silhouette, because that was a fucked yet accurate identifier apparently.) 

Most of the rogues didn’t fucking care, Joker and Two Face especially, but it was something that no one talked about. 

And that they all specifically agreed to keep from Riddler for as long as possible. 

(It was his punishment for being obnoxious at trivia nights in Arkham; no one bothered to suggest banning him or asking him to behave.) 

For rogues like the Gotham City Sirens? Hadn’t been a secret since Bruce took off the mask for Selina. 

Killer Croc probably wasn’t technically one of the sirens yet (and wouldn’t that be fun?) but he hung out with Harley, and despite his size he wasn’t stupid. 

The only thing Jason was a little worried about was Waylon mentioning his current alter ego in front of Danny, but honestly the fact that they were at a police station would probably keep his lips closed. 

All vigilantes were illegal. 

Red Hood was illegal and a serial killer. 

And probably couldn’t get the silent and terrified reverence Harley currently held over the station even if he walked in with a rocket launcher. 

She beamed at them, hopping down off the desk with her bat over her shoulder. A little closer, Jason noted that this bat was also bedazzled, but in a different pattern from the one she’d had last night. 

Or the same bat, redone, but he wasn’t putting money on it. 

She hopped down off her desk and skipped across the room towards them, and Jason wished for half a second that he could command half as much menace doing something so… well, innocent. 

But no, he just put heads in a bag, that wasn’t scary apparently. Fucking Gotham. 

He obediently bent down for Harley to kiss his cheek, not wanting to be yanked around in the cop shop (even as a civilian), and still managed to be surprised when Danny also accepted a cheek kiss and then returned it. 

Harley squealed in delight and ruffled his hair, then pinched both Danny’s cheeks. 

“Awww, ain’t you all cute and cosmopolitan! So, shall we go see my big green bestie!” She declared happily, releasing Danny and turning back to lead the way out of the room. 

Didn’t go for the keys. Didn’t address the question to anyone who should have been leading them down. Just got going, the way Harley always did. 

No one moved to stop them. 

** 

Surprising precisely no one, Harley absolutely knew the way down to the cells at the GCPD. Not from a lotta personal experience, o’ course. 

Nah, Harley usually went from crime scene to Arkham back in the day, but she’d known people and busted people out of holding before. 

It had taken a couple real big favours to get Waylon kept here instead of shipped back to Arkham, but that was what favours were for. No one liked having a Harley-debt over their heads. 

And Brucie’s word was gonna get Waylon released on her recognizance, once she scooped some shivering copper out from under their desk. 

He’d have to actually behave this time though. No big bat-centric events, nothin’ above ground. 

Honestly… she might ask him ta head home. Being in Gotham wasn’t good for either of them. Too many old patterns and bad habits, and Waylon had been doin’ a real good job keeping his nose clean. 

If he wanted ta head back to Coney, they could get ‘im a ride. And if he didn’t, well, she’d have someone to watch the new show with.

Her two baby birds were following her like good little ducklings too, absolutely adorable. Although… she paused for a second, cocking her head. 

“Is there a reason we’ve got theme music?” She asked with a delighted giggle as the song clicked. 

It was a little muffled, but Styx’s Renegade? Ballsy choice for a trip to the cop shop. 

The question seemed to surprise both boys though, and then Danny sighed, reaching back to pat a weirdly bulging pocket. 

“Yeah, I upset my techno-god bestie this morning. Apparently my punishment is a soundtrack of my life,” he said dryly. 

Jason paused, a slight frown on his face as he listened too. 

“Wait, it changed? I thought you were on a loop?” He asked, and that was an interesting development. 

Danny just shrugged. 

“Yeah, he’s probably keeping an eye on us and changing it up when he thinks it’s funny. I think I know this song,” he added with a slight frown, brows furrowing as he listened. 

Jason listened a moment longer, then snickered and shook his head. 

“Tuck’s got good taste in music,” he said simply, and yeah, Harley remembered Tucker from dinner. Another lil cutie, all tucked up with Timmy in their own little world half the time. 

Damn good at Mariokart and Spiderheck too. 

Danny snorted and flipped Jason off. 

“Suck up.” 

And immediately the music changed, flipping straight to Pink’s Slut Like You, suddenly louder… although that mighta also been the song. 

Danny groaned as his pocket loudly declared that he was not a slut, and Jason laughed at him entirely unapologetically. 

“And that’s why I’m not the one with the soundtrack,” he declared smugly and Danny sighed, raising both hands in unequivocal surrender. 

“Yes, yes, I’m a bad and naughty boy and I’m getting my just punishment. Can we just get going?” He asked almost rhetorically. 

The music changed again, sultry twanging of a guitar before Lil Nas X began to sing Montero. It took Harley a moment longer to place it than the boys, both of whom now looked confused. 

“I can’t tell if he’s encouraging you or not,” Jason said finally, and Danny sighed. 

“Well I’ve pole danced into Hell before, so I’m taking it as a compliment either way,” he decided with a shrug, trying to shove what looked like an overstuffed sock deeper into his pocket. “I swear the volume shouldn’t get this loud.” 

“Joys of a touchy tech friend,” Harley opined with a snicker, glancing around to see if there were cameras Tucker could be watching from. She blew both she found a kiss, then spun to continue their quest. 

And realized that neither of the boys had followed her, both now watching her warily. 

“What?” She asked, frowning and turning to see if she’d stepped in something. Nope, just clean floors. 

“Danny’s sin was calling Tucker overdramatic,” Jason explained, and oh. Yeah, that explained the looks. 

Harley waved a hand cheerfully, deliberately brushing it off. 

“An’ now he’s givin’ ya life a soundtrack, so I dunno that he disagrees,” she said lightly, skipping back towards the stairs, “c’mon!” 

And when no new burst of music began to switch out Lil Nas, the boys got to following again, Danny grumbling about unfairness. 

Harley liked Danny. He had a refreshing lack of fucks to give, a good sense of humour, and he doted on Jason, who fucking deserved it. 

They’d be so good together, and Harley was gonna have the time of her life watchin’ them work that out. 

Which, now that she thought of it… 

“Hey, by th’ way, ya said ya didn’t wanna meet at the manor?” She prodded, turning to walk backwards down the steps to the cells, frowning at Jason, “what’d Brucie do now?” 

And watched the ease in Jason’s face freeze, muscles tightening, and Harley sighed. Yeah, a trip back to the manor was definitely in order. 

“Just his usual bullshit,” Jason grumbled, running a hand through his already wild helmet hair. Danny snickered beside him and gave her a broad grin. 

“Jason’s officially banned from hanging out with me,” he explained far too smugly, since there wasn’t a chance Jason would have listened to any Bruce-ban. 

But, he was beside the tall and handsome stud he had a crush on, so Harley wasn’t gonna argue. She grinned back at him, just as her foot nearly slipped on a step. 

Before the fall could fully start, she pushed off harder with the other foot, dodging both startled hands grabbing for her, and turned the fall into a backflip down the rest of the stairs. 

Taking gymnastics as a kid really should be a prerequisite for villainy. Especially with the Robins flipping around all over the place. 

She landed almost perfectly, stepping onto her back foot and then raising both arms and giving the boys a little bow. Then she sighed, resting her bat over her shoulder and mock pouting, tapping the side of her jaw. 

“I guess I’m just gonna have ta go back and give ‘im a lil percussive maintenance… bet he hasn’t been restin’ right since he got that concussion either. Maybe I’ll call Selina ta keep ‘im in bed for a week,” she mused. Jason mock puked. 

“I thought you wanted him to rest,” Danny snickered, earning himself a glare from his one true love. A consequence that did not phase him in the least. 

Harley laughed and waved a hand lightly, skipping ahead to get the door into the hall that held the actual cells while they descended the rest of the stairs. 

“Oh, she’s a big girl, Selina can do the work,” she teased, laughing louder when Jason groaned like his soul was being sucked out. 

There was a cop still sat behind the desk just inside the door, an older man whose stocky frame had started softening with age. 

He didn’t quite jump out of his seat as she entered, but dark eyes widened and ruddy skin paled when he saw her. Which, yeah, she had that effect on people. 

“Why are you here?” He demanded, voice only shaking a little. 

Harley gave him a sceptical once over. 

Not someone she’d run into personally, though probably on the force when she’d been active. Off the streets now, probably not far from retirement and trying to make it all the way there. 

Not a lotta Gotham cops did these days, in spite of the rampant corruption. Being in the Penguin’s pocket did sweet fuck all to protect ya when Scarecrow was having a hissy fit. 

This old bugger had probably joined back in the bad ol’ days when they could just ignore mob crimes, hassle the homeless, and look the other way if a situation got violent. 

These days between Gordon, the bats, and the increasingly dramatic rogues (among which she still counted herself even if Batsy didn’t, she had a reputation to uphold)? 

Lookin’ the other way wasn’t the protection it used ta be, and bein’ conveniently “late” to a crime scene didn’t help much either. 

This guy? Probably folded like cheap laundry at the first sign of trouble, but he’d stayed in place. That’d make her job easier anyway. 

Smiling sweetly at him, Harley strolled forwards and propped her bat on the floor, both hands on the handle as she leaned forward over it. 

“Pickin’ up a friend,” she told him sweetly, nodding to the line of cells down the hall, “Uber for Mr Waylon Jones?” 

The guy (Officer Perkins, said the name tag, but he’d not really proved himself memorable yet) swallowed visibly, hands shaking but still visible above the desk. 

Not going for a weapon. Not surprising. 

No one who’d seen a gun pulled on Harley before tended to try it themselves. Just like the Robins, she was a tough target. You had to be real sure. 

“Do you have the appropriate paperwork?” He rasped, a Gothamite accent still prominent despite the quiver. 

Harley raised an eyebrow, letting her smile go deadly sweet. 

“Would ya stop me if I didn’t?” She cooed, rocking forwards on her toes and grinning when his chair slammed back almost two feet. 

The shaking had progressed to a full body shiver, sweat dripping down a blotchy brow as he slammed a ring of keys on the edge of the desk, as close as he was willing to get. 

Harley scooped them up and straightened, tipping him a wink as she sauntered past. 

“Thanks bud! But yeah, I do actually have the paperwork, Judge Thompson’s gonna fax it all along this afternoon,” she told him brightly, twirling the ring of keys around one finger as she skipped back towards the cells. 

The judge’d fax it after she had another lil chat with Brucie. They’d cut things short last night, apparently too short for even their actual chat to finish sinking in. 

Gotta fix that. 

And remember to mention Waylon. 

And maybe see if he had any info on her own little issue. Though she might hit Barbara up for that first, bring some treats down library way. 

It was gonna be a busy day for ol’ Harley, but at least she got to spend time with the kids first. 

“Was that really necessary?” Jason asked with a raised eyebrow, following her down the hall with barely a glance at their shaking audience. 

“Necessary?” Harley asked sweetly, glancing into the first couple cells and skipping on. “No. Fun, yes!” 

“See this is why I like her,” Danny decided with a sage nod, and Harley shot him a wink, “she knows how to have a good time.” 

“I know how to have a good time,” Jason said immediately, and holy shit that was just sooooooo cute she nearly dropped the keys to go pinch his little cheeks again. 

Just all pouty and defensive and they weren’t even talkin’ about him! It was too much, Harley couldn’t stand it! 

“Yeah, and I like you too,” Danny replied in what he probably thought was a cool way, but no, that was just fucking adorable too. 

Too. 

Cute. 

Harley was gonna die. 

And maybe get herself a cool glowy transformation sequence apparently, which would be kinda cool. She’d always kinda wanted a magical girl moment. 

She could be their fairy-ghost-mother! 

And, to be fair ta Waylon, she had definitely gotten side tracked again. Almost forgot who she was here for. 

But really, it did not mean he had to make a grab for her when she almost walked right past his cell! She coulda done him an injury! 

He released her arm before the bat came down though, chuckling in that growly way of his and raising both hands. 

“Hey. Didn’t want you goin’ right past,” he said innocently, and Harley sighed fondly and reached her bat through the bars to bonk him gently on the head. 

“Hush you, I’m not that distractible,” she scolded him, completely ignoring any disbelieving noises from her two little love birds, “an’ anyway, you gotta be nice to me. I’m bustin’ yer ass out.” 

She jangled the keys at Waylon instead, then began swiping through them for the right one. 

The big guy obediently stepped back to let her look, his attention shifting past her to Danny and Jason. 

“An’ you brought company,” he growled, a wry grin on his face. She had to wonder if he’d noticed how dang adorable they were already at the gala. 

She’d missed soooo much! But he’d catch her up, because that’s what besties did. And cuz she’d kick all the kittens out of his room if he didn’t. 

Jason shrugged, coming up behind her to lean on the bars. 

“I had a passing interest in why you wanted to use me as bait for Two Face. We’re not exactly close,” he explained, the edited down version for their legal listeners in. 

“Ya got balls for a rich kid,” Waylon chuckled just as Harley found the key. One quick victory fist pump and she got to work on the lock. 

Really, there was a reason modern stations had one key ta open all the cells. Or electric locks. What if there was a fire? 

But then, it was Gotham. They’d happily let all their perps burn. An’ probably keep usin’ it as an excuse why they all needed a fat budget increase. 

“Victory! An’ he’s my adorable lil nephew, Croccy, so you’re gonna play nice,” she warned Waylon sternly, swinging the door open and wagging a finger at him sternly. 

Again, for the benefit of their audience, but also because she enjoyed putting on a little panto. A bit o’ show. 

(She’d have to remember to tell him Danny wasn’t in on the whole Hood secret though. She’d slip it in somewhere.) 

Waylon grunted in amusement and stepped through the door, stretching to his full height and breadth in the hallway. And stopping. 

“Who’s playin’ music?” He asked, head cocked as he tried to trace the muffled sound. 

Honestly, Harley’d kinda forgot it was playing until he said it. 

Danny sighed again, at his most put upon, and raised a hand. 

“I have offended the technogod and am being punished by soundtrack,” he explained in a tone so dry it desiccated. And didn’t exactly help. 

Harley patted the now-more-confused Croc on the elbow. 

“He’s upset one of his lil nerd friends by callin’ him dramatic, so his friend hacked ‘is phone to make it play music,” she explained much more helpfully for sure. 

Again, Jason and Danny took slight steps away from her. 

Again, nothing continued to happen. 

Harley’s smile grew more smug. 

“An’ apparently said friend still can’t get inta mine,” she declared brightly, shooting another glance up at the security camera and tapping her pocket. 

Waylon grunted again, clearly not needing to ask further because her explanation was perfect, and gave Danny a nod of recognition. 

“An’ is that why you’re here? Mood music?” He asked, heading off down the hall back towards the doors. Which, yeah, they had places to be. 

Danny brightened right away, grinning up at Waylon and moving to let the big guy pass. 

“Unless you want a rematch? I haven’t been tossed around like that in a while and I could use the exercise,” he snarked, and yeah, this was why Harley liked him. 

Waylon clearly did too, snickering and clapping a massive hand on Danny’s head on his way by. 

“Mouth like that’s gonna get yer killed one day, kid,” he grumbled, ignoring the still cowering cop as they made for the stairs. 

And Danny, bless him, angel of timing, just laughed and followed along, shooting Jason a wicked grin. 

“Oh, it’s way too late for that,” he said light as air, making Jason let out a snort of laughter. 

Waylon glanced down to Harley again, fully aware he’d missed something. She gave him another pat on the elbow. 

“Jason an’ Danny met at Dead Kids Anonymous. Kid’s got himself a ghost transformation an’ everything,” she explained simply, which didn’t have to be completely true to get the point across. 

It made Waylon snicker again, even as Danny cackled along behind them. 

“Now THAT is what we’re telling everyone else. We might as well have,” he rasped between laughter. 

His pocket music seemed to have changed to Thriller. Appropriate. 

Jason rolled his eyes, but he was still grinning. 

Harley didn’t think she’d seen him smile this much the entire time he was alive again. It was nice; most of the times she’d seen him as Robin they’d been fightin’, but he’d always been havin’ so much fun. 

At least he looked like he had. Poor kid deserved to smile a whole lot more too. 

Waylon was taking the news of Danny’s lack of mortality pretty well, giving the kid a thoughtful look. They’d made their way mostly out of the station now, their little bubble of terrified silence moving with them. 

That’d get old one day, but until then Harley was gonna take advantage. 

“Maybe we’ll have another tussle then,” he agreed with a low chuckle, holding the door for the others to leave through. Real southern gent. “Good t’know I won’t break ya.” 

Danny bounced through the door as chipper as Harley herself, giving him a beaming smile. 

“Hell yeah, we’ll find somewhere nice and out of the way. Oh, we had some questions too though,” he added almost as an afterthought, giving Jason a sheepish look that again: too cute. 

Maybe that was how he’d really died. Too cute to live. Though she’d let him make that joke himself. 

Jason didn’t seem bothered, though he did look a little more tense. Not sure where they’d be taking this, more’n likely. 

“Once we get somewhere private,” Waylon agreed, glancing between Jason and Harley himself. 

That probably meant it was on her to pick a destination then. Well, Harley had a place in mind that (while not technically private) wouldn’t involve onlookers. 

“Yeah, I know a spot! I’ll send ya the address, Jayjay, an’ we’ll meet ya there. Don’t think we’ll get four on that bike,” she teased, pulling out her phone. 

She knew the perfect spot, and it’d give her a chance to loop Waylon in. All good news. 

Jason held up a hand quickly.

“Not got mine on me. Text Danny,” he called, and Harley waved her phone over her head in acknowledgement. It might give Tucker a way to jump into her phone, she wouldn’t know.

Tech wasn’t her shtick. Just a good thing they’d all exchanged numbers the night before.

** 

It was a weird feeling to have his body shaken while his consciousness was so far from it. 

Feeling his face pull into a frown not quite mirroring what he felt it should be. Tucker could never have explained precisely what part of him entered his devices; just that it was him. 

Quintessential, pure essence of Too Fine. Everything he was without the meat he was born in. 

But then he did have to slot back into that meat, and trying to do that without matching positions always left him feeling weirdly off kilter the next day. Like he’d put on a shirt but the shoulders were skewed too short. 

So despite not being conscious of a face on his extended form, Tucker tried to form it into a frown anyway, sliding back under his own skin like a teen sneaking back through a window after curfew. 

Hadn’t those been heady days? 

Eyes slowly opening, it took Tucker a moment to remember how to focus them. That they weren’t cameras. But then Tim Drake-Wayne came into focus, and the frown changed to a grin even before he fully “woke up”. 

“Morning,” he mumbled, rolling and stretching, getting used to the feeling of a body again. It was a little weirder each time, which he might have worried about if he didn’t see himself as an extension of his PDA anyway. 

“You were singing in your sleep,” Tim told him without preamble, returning the smile. 

Tucker hesitated for a moment, suddenly embarrassed. If… well. If he’d been singing along, that… 

Look he’d picked songs that’d embarrass Danny, he wasn’t gonna give a fuck about it. The only actual question was, did he tell Tim? 

Who else would ever understand better just what it meant to interact with tech the way he could? Could get excited with him about how cool it was? 

He wasn’t fucking gushing to Technus. No way. Tuck was easily the one winning that ongoing hackathon, but it was the principle of the thing. 

To the zone with it. Tim knew about Amity Park, he knew about the ghosts and the liminal tech. And while they hadn’t exactly discussed liminal people, it’d come up. 

Tim could have a sneak preview. As a treat. 

Decision made, Tucker gave the younger man another broad smile because yeah, bragging about your super powers to a very cool and impressive person? That felt good. 

Tim might be a vigilante too, but Tucker was pretty sure Jason was the only souped up Robin. Most of the bats were famously power free. 

“Oh, yeah. I was bullying Danny,” he explained with a light chuckle, glancing up to find his beloved PDA, Ida. She was half under a blanket now, so he tugged her back out. 

Tim chuckled softly, leaning back and stretching himself. 

“Good dream?” He asked and Tucker snickered, stroking gently across the screen. 

“Danny wishes it was a dream.” Tucker paused, frowning a little at the confusion on Tim’s face. “So you remember we kinda talked about the whole liminal thing?” 

That seemed to jog Tim’s memory, confusion fading into an analytical frown that Tucker was already becoming familiar with. That good ol’ geek face. 

“The humans with budding ghost powers,” he agreed, and Tucker had to wonder if maybe he just hadn’t put the right pieces together yet. 

He hadn’t exactly said that most of Amity Park were liminal, but it was a little hard to remember he had to. Like, they lived on a portal to Hell. 

Maybe he shoulda. 

Well, at least it was a cool way to introduce it to him. 

Tucker pulled Ida into his lap, flipped her over, and tapped the plain plastic backing to demonstrate. 

“Mine’s a low level technopathy at the moment,” he explained as the PDA hummed and then began playing… well, still Montero, so he flicked it again and changed it immediately to Country Roads. 

Tim was watching him with a kind of hungry fascination, and Tucker turned the music off with a thought, then passed her to Tim so he could check for secret touchpads. 

“It’s not something I can do with anything,” he explained with a modest shrug, grinning with pride as Tim immediately got to scanning the casing. 

All simple plastic, not even biometrics; what would be the point? Even touching the PDA was pretty much a formality at this point. She was a part of him. 

“Technopathy? So you can control it with your mind? Why not with anything?” Tim asked eagerly, hands stroking over the plastic, eyes darting between it and Tucker. 

Like he wasn’t sure which was more interesting, Tuck or tech, and Tucker absolutely took that as a compliment. 

“It has to be a device I’ve really gotten into. Like, down to the source code, or something I’ve cracked before a couple times, and then I can just feel how all of it works.”

Tucker wiggled his fingers demonstratively and the PDA beeped to life under Tim’s hands, making the other man gasp. And yeah, totally envy in those cute blue eyes he turned all balefully on Tucker. 

“How many of the functions can you use? Anything the PDA can do, or…” Tim trailed off, clearly thinking of everything he’d already seen the PDA do. 

The real question would have been what couldn’t Ida do. And honestly? Yeah, Tucker remembered the trial phase. 

He gave another shrug. 

“Technically? Yeah, anything she can do, but I still prefer hacking the old fashioned way. Most of the network stuff too, cuz I’m only really “in” the PDA. Or Danny or Sam’s phones.” 

Tucker hesitated, wondering how best to really explain the difference. Danny had never been any good at it, Tucker’d had no idea what he was talking about from the video game thing right up until he’d been sucked in himself. 

Which… was probably gonna be a next-hangout adventure for Tim and the bats. And Oracle, if he could swing it. 

For now he gave up, giving Tim a hopeless grin. 

“Honestly it’s something you’ve really gotta feel for yourself. Danny’s great at the transition from real world to code, but he always just punches things, y’know? Turns out knowing how code is actually supposed to work doesn’t translate well to being part of it,” he added with a sigh. 

Because frankly? It was bullshit unfair. Tucker could code an entire other galaxy around Danny with his eyes closed, but put them in the same metaphysical layer as a firewall and Danny could just. 

Punch it. 

Which, theme for the week, was also not how firewalls fucking worked. At some point Tuck figured he’d either gain a new level of understanding through liminality, or give up and ask Technus a couple questions. 

Technus was currently Tucker’s subject instead of Danny’s anyway. They’d made a bet. 

Which meant Technus shoulda told him about their shenanigans in time, which was probably what Tucker would hold over his head for the whole firewall thing. 

It was so nice when things just worked themselves out. 

Tim looked a little disappointed, but mostly still intrigued. Tucker could see his fingers just itching for his own tablet to take notes. 

“Do you think that’ll change?” He asked, blurting it out like he couldn’t hold back now that Tucker stopped talking, “I mean, if you become more liminal? Or just practice your abilities more?” 

And see, this was what Tucker loved about Tim Drake-Wayne. They were on the same wavelength. He grinned back. 

“Probably. But I mean, it’s kinda cheating too. For now I kinda like that I have to do things the way I always used to first, before any ghostly powers kick in. It’s more me, y’know?” And like hell he’d let anyone think his code skills were just some meta ability. 

He’d worked damn hard for those skills, and he was damn good. One of the best, and he was also good enough to know he still wasn’t actually top of the charts. 

That was the Oracle, although knowing they still hadn’t cracked his servers felt really good. 

Tim was all but vibrating, clearly full of questions, but they were both interrupted by a loud growl from Tucker’s stomach. Immediately echoed by Tim’s, so at least he wasn’t alone. 

The two shared sheepish grins, and then Tucker stretched. 

“So, breakfast and then Twenty Questions?” He offered cheerfully, and Tim nodded at once, thrusting the PDA back and rolling off the frankly massive bed. 

“We can start while we eat, everyone else has probably gone out by now,” he said over one shoulder, stripping out of his clothes from the previous night and hurrying for his closet. 

Ah hell, Tucker had only brought the one change of clothes… which Alfred had laundered yesterday after the snowball fight. Which would mean they were. 

In a place. 

Probably in the manor. 

Maybe in the room they’d talked about setting up? 

He looked to Tim, and only then noticed that his tech idol was shucking off his boxers in exchange for new ones, entirely unselfconscious. 

Tucker frowned back down at his current borrowed shirt instead, waiting til he at least heard both feet on the floor before looking over again. Tim might not care, but in case he did, Tucker could be a gentleman. 

And then he could ask the important question. 

“Speaking of Alfred… my clothes?” He asked hopefully, and yeah, the way Tim’s mouth dropped open and his brain visibly blue screened? 

Just like Danny. They were gonna get along great. 

** 

Of all the top secret, private places in Gotham to go and have a villainous chat… Danny never would have expected a milkshake bar. But like he’d said last night, that was kinda what made it perfect. 

Who’d expect to find Harley Quinn and Killer Croc, properly Waylon, sat in a pastel pink corner booth in the back of the bar? 

Honestly, none of the staff seemed surprised. But they might not have been to see all the bats walk in; it was Gotham. Rogues happened. If no one pulled a weapon, don’t be the reason that changes. 

It made him feel right at home, really. Just like Amity Park. 

And they made a damn good milkshake. Danny took another deep slurp of his, cookie butter and cheesecake was definitely a combo he’d been sleeping on. 

If pressed, he couldn’t really explain what he’d wanted out of this meeting. 

Something in what Harley had said last night had struck home in a way he hadn’t expected, but with Waylon in front of him now… well, for one thing he seemed a lot more like just some guy who happened to be green. 

And who was just adorably happy with his cotton candy milkshake, complete with little umbrella. 

At the gala, he’d been big and menacing and monstrous, all things Danny was very used to and meant “friend” more often than they meant anything else. He’d still take a rematch, but he just… 

Well, that was just it, wasn’t it? 

Waylon really wasn’t all that monstrous, if you looked the faintest scratch past sharpened teeth and scales. He was polite to the servers, a happy straight-man to Harley’s jokes, and he could have teased Jason more for Danny’s tastes but it was definitely effective. 

Jason was much more at ease here with two rogues than he’d been any time his adoptive dad was around. That… well, Danny knew full well he didn’t know much about Jason’s life. 

It felt like he’d learned a whole lot more just today already, though again, it’d be hard to explain exactly what. 

The conversation had been light, easy, and full of banter so far, and Danny really wasn’t sure how to segue from that to “so you were called a monster all your life”. 

Because while for the most part Danny now only had to deal with the GIW calling him a monster (and they’d been quiet for years now, still rebuilding after the whole “bomb the ghost zone” bs)… the things his parents had called him still hurt. 

The things people thought he was, ghosts and living alike, he just… he didn’t know what to do with it. These days he could mostly ignore it, and unlike Waylon he could even pass for living. 

(Never for a ghost though. He’d never be able to stop any ghost from seeing him and knowing immediately, instinctively, that he was other.) 

In some ways it felt like meeting Vlad all over again, but without the crushing disappointment. Well, what it might have been to learn there was another halfa if he hadn’t preceded it by being a massive creep. 

It was… complicated. And all tangled up in his feelings around Jason, because Jason actually was like him and really did get it, or would soon. 

And Jason clearly liked Waylon, for all he grimaced and bitched about the deadpan teasing. Waylon had a lot of interesting stories about Jason’s cape days, most of which Jason hurried to try to interrupt. 

Harley had more, and they’d sat at opposite ends of the table before the boys had arrived, almost certainly so Jason couldn’t shush them both at once. 

If he clapped a hand over Harley’s mouth, Waylon would either take up the tale or start one of his own, and vice versa. There was just no way Jason could win. 

It reminded Danny of his own rogues, though maybe more Fright Knight than Ember or Johnny. The ones he got along with, but more respectfully than just his friends. 

Kinda like watching Harley with the rest of the bat-brood. 

Danny was very nobly doing his best not to enjoy it too much; within a week or two it’d be his turn roughhousing with his rogues, and he was hoping Jason would return the favour. 

There was no way he could get any kind of ghost fight club going without his usual players, and those were the ones with all the most embarrassing stories of his early days. 

Johnny and Kitty especially had blackmail material for days, so as much as Danny was loving the lil baby Robin stories (carefully never actually mentioning the name, since no one was masked)… no, his feeling was kinda more impending doom. It’d be his turn soon. 

And Ancients help them if Harley and Waylon met Johnny and Kitty… nope, not thinking about that. Suppressing a shudder, Danny deliberately tuned back in to Waylon’s story about the time he’d kidnapped Bruce Wayne. 

At least Jason was having fun with this one. 

Of course, it couldn’t have the obvious ending; whether or not Waylon had known at the time that he had Batman, you couldn’t mention the punch line out in public. It’d be rude. 

He left the story at the Robin beat down instead, declaring that the big Bat himself hadn’t even bothered to show up. Didn’t quite go full stage wink, but it was pretty much the next best thing. 

Danny laughed along with the table and Jason shook his head, settling back into his seat with a low huff. 

“Fun as this is, we did have some questions,” he said, voice just a little lower than before. 

Danny was a little surprised he’d bring it up in such a public space. Right up until Harley glanced around, nodded, and settled back into her seat. 

“Clear too. Any o’ the gawkers ‘ve been seen out,” she agreed with a slight nod. 

Danny startled, looking around himself. The milkshake bar was… about half as full as it had been when they arrived. His confusion must have been obvious, because Waylon snickered. 

“It ain’t the Iceberg Lounge, kid, but this is one of Dr Freeze’s more self sustaining operations. Can’t all be heisting diamonds,” he added with a slight shrug. 

Not noticeably less confused, Danny turned to Jason instead. Jason chuckled softly, shaking his head and giving Danny a grin that was almost proud. 

“Shit, you’ve lived in Gotham a year and it’s a fucking miracle how little you know. Iceberg Lounge is the Penguin’s upscale club. This place is run by the guy we talked about last night, freeze rays and diamond heists,” he explained quickly. 

Harley snickered, draping her arms over the back of their booth. 

“An’ if some o’ his ol’ Arkham buddies come in ta chat, his people know ta clear out anyone tryin’ to listen in too hard,” she added, nodding to one of the servers. 

Well. 

That tracked. 

Danny had also definitely thoroughly demolished his “keeping away from rogues” spree, which kinda sucked. But then, since he’d basically gone from one extreme to the other? 

Maybe that’d be fun to tell his classmates about too. It definitely tracked more with Danny’s understanding of his own luck. A whole year, no trouble? More like no chance. 

Also meant this had to be a safe place to talk, apparently. What was it about rogues that made them so eager to get on with each other but nobody else? 

Well, Danny got on with most of his now. But still. 

Jason leaned forward, arms folded on the table. 

“So what’s going on with Two Face, Waylon?” He asked quietly, still apparently aware of eavesdroppers. 

Waylon glanced around the bar, then shrugged, settling back against the booth. 

“Hard to say, with ‘im. Coulda been a coin flip, coulda been somethin’ else, but he wasn’t just gunnin’ for the gala. Somethin’ about you specifically put a bug in his ass, kid,” he added with a frown, nodding towards Jason. 

Something in Danny tensed, not liking the idea of anyone targeting Jason. Of course, it must have happened before… when he was Robin. 

And he’d died. 

Danny hadn’t even noticed he was clenching his fists until Jason nudged his foot under the table. 

Safe-worry-you okay? Jason’s aura was getting clearer, and Danny did his best to smile back. Sometimes his Obsession still snuck up on him. 

Forcing himself to relax, he grabbed his milkshake instead. It felt warm, which was odd until he realised his hands were icy cold. 

Not quite literally, but closer than he’d come in a while. 

Neither of the rogues seemed to have notice, Harley playing with her milkshake while she frowned at Waylon. 

“An’ you decided the best thing ta do was hit the gala first?” She asked dryly, her tone neatly conveying just what she thought of that idea. 

Waylon shrugged. 

“Not like I coulda swung an invite to get in nicely. Sounded like he had somethin’ real nasty planned, kid,” he added, shaking his head and leaning back in his seat. 

Jason frowned, giving Danny another soft kick on the ankle as he leaned forward. Unnecessarily, for sure, Danny totally had his shit under control now. 

“But no one said anything about why? I don’t think I’ve even met him,” Jason asked and yeah, that probably meant as Jason. Maybe even post Robin. 

Waylon shrugged again. 

“It’s fuckin’ Two Face. Maybe he ran outta matching targets and figured two lives had ta count?” He offered, though it looked like it was still bugging him too. 

Harley huffed and shook her head, blonde ponytails bouncing. 

“I’ll keep an ear out too.  There’s a couple people who’ll prefer talkin’ ta me over you, sugar,” she teased Waylon as he grunted, a tinkling laugh falling from her lips. 

Waylon snorted, but a reluctant smile curled his lips. 

“More likely to spill to ya,” he agreed in a low grumble, poking his straw around a mostly empty milkshake. 

Harley nodded brightly, clapping her hands. 

“Exactly! ‘Specially if they don’t want any of their own special lil secrets told,” she agreed with a truly wicked smile. Then she paused, a slight frown curling her brow. 

It was still a little weird to be able to see the moments where her brain revved up. Danny had to assume it was having been raised by Jazz; it was clearly easy for people to get lost in the bubbly exterior. 

Fingers drumming on the table now, something had clearly jogged her memory. 

“Might be somethin’ ta do with Black Mask too,” she said more quietly, gaze unusually serious as she caught Jason’s eyes, “he’s been quieter ‘n I like lately. Keepin’ ‘imself out of trouble.” 

Danny might just ask if Jason could get him a rolodex of the Gotham villains to match the server Danny had provided for the Zone. 

It did not help that they all had their own wild code names. He was used to dealing with people who had a lot of personality, sure, and theatrics. But ghosts usually just had the one name. 

Except apparently for Frighty, or Halloween as Danny would have to start calling him now. It’d take some getting used to. 

Jason noticed his desperately pleading puppy eyes and sighed. 

“Look, I’ll give you the rundown on everyone tonight. Black Mask is a whole ass problem. Crime boss for the False Face Society, really likes skinning peoples’ faces. Red Hood kicked him out of Crime Alley a couple years ago, he firmed his grip on the rest of Gotham, and him being quiet is never fucking good.” 

And as if that didn’t sound bad enough… 

“An’ he really doesn’t like Jason,” Waylon growled, shoulders tightening and straining his shirt. 

Something in Danny tensed again, and he forced himself to take a long, deep breath. Closed his eyes and took another. 

This was why he’d avoided the whole subject. Until now. 

He could taste Jason’s concern like a tang in the air as he spoke up. 

“There’s fuck all he can do while I’m in the Alley though. Unless something’s really changed he can’t challenge Red Hood,” he explained quietly, leaning in until their shoulders brushed. 

Harley heaved a dramatic sigh, raising a hand and waving to one of the servers. 

“Yeah, yeah, you jus’ take care of yaself, kid. Roman’s a pain in the ass an’ if ya let him kill ya again he’ll be intolerable,” she grumbled, the tone at odds with the cheery smile she gave the first server to glance over. “Another round!” 

“Anything different?” The server, a young man with shaggy blond hair asked. 

Danny considered it, since the menu was both extensive and interesting, but really? It’d complicate things, and he didn’t want to think about something else. 

Just the idea of some asshole gangster trying to kill Jason was bad enough. But he sucked in another deep breath and reminded himself that this was pretty much all speculative. 

Black Mask was quiet, not actively threatening, and Gotham had an army of vigilantes to keep an eye on him even before Harley and Waylon got involved. An army of vigilantes who all seemed to like Jason. 

Jason wasn’t worried. Danny wasn’t gonna go all protective mama bear on the guy just because rogues existed. 

The one thing he’d always promised himself was that even with a Protection Obsession, he was never gonna be as bad as Jazz at her clingiest. 

He loved his sister, she meant well, but he’d hated her constant fussing. Danny had actually died sure, but he’d come right back and she hadn’t noticed for months. 

Jason didn’t have a scratch on him. Or any reason to put up with a clingy almost-stranger, Danny reminded himself as he accepted his new milkshake, hiding a smile behind the glass. 

Hell, if Jason being Fright Knight meant he’d sense if Danny was in danger, maybe that could work both ways. That’d be worth asking Frostbite about, and they had to see him for Jason’s core checkup soon. 

Having survived one Clockwork encounter without a lecture, Danny wasn’t pushing his luck. 

And if it turned out that it wouldn’t be that easy… well, there were other ways Danny could know if Jason was hurt, and unless they had a way to change dimensions? No Gotham rogue could take Jason anywhere that Danny couldn’t find him. 

The feel of another halfa was still faint for now, barely noticeable unless Jason was in the same room, but it was already stronger. 

Or Danny was more used to looking for him. More used to the feel of his energy, the boiling rage of the pit tangled up in everything else that was Jason. 

Kinda a lot still angry, but tempered. Mixed in with that wonderful sense of humour, dry sarcasm and death jokes, and determination. 

Danny was pretty sure he could find Jason pretty much anywhere on Earth right now if he had to. And it would only get easier. 

With the question of Harvey Dent settled as much as it would be (and if a flip of a coin was all he needed, maybe as much as it could be), the conversation turned lighter. 

Harley and Waylon stayed off the topic of rogues, probably to minimise the need to keep filling Danny in. They also mostly avoided embarrassing baby Jason stories though. 

No, instead they filled Danny and Jason in on what they’d been up to down on Coney Island. 

Danny had never expected to enjoy another circus story again, let alone an actual freakshow, but somehow? Hearing Harley tell it, he almost wanted to drop by. 

Not see the damn show. Nope. Hard pass. 

But hanging out with the performers, Harley’s tenants? That sounded like fun. They were just ordinary people, if a bit to the left. 

Roller derby sounded great, even if Danny wouldn’t play it with humans. In the Ghost Zone though? They could probably make a rink. And baseball bats. 

Waylon’s stories were way more domestic too; there was just something about a 7’ crocodile man telling you about his efforts to finally hold the skittish little grey kitten upstairs. 

It was just… well. Like hanging out with Kitty and Johnny, or Wulf. Maybe the only people who could understand what it was like to be a vigilante were the rogues who fit the other half of the mold. 

They all lived lives skewed away from the normal, didn’t fit in. The more they talked and shared stories, the more Danny settled. Relaxed. 

Which was when the last piece finally fell into place. He knew what he wanted to ask Waylon now. 

** 

Still on edge from the night before, Constantine wasn’t exactly thrilled to bits to be hearing from the Big Bat again so soon. 

Honestly, why couldn’t he have a nice, normal emergency? Just the world ending, some arch demon jumping for the throne of Hell, a wayward amateur magician or cursed artefact? 

Why did it always have to be Amity fuckin’ Park? 

Still, after they’d given the whole League the rundown, John was planning on washing his hands of the whole affair. They’d be up to date, they’d have his recommendation (leave well enough alone), and whatever they did after that? 

That could be Zatanna’s problem. Or Shazam’s. Which didn’t really matter. 

So of course there was just one more thing that Batman wanted from him first. 

“A health check on yer revenant?” He asked skeptically, arms folded as he scowled at an annoyingly refreshed and rejuvenated looking Batman. 

Who just nodded patiently like he hadn’t said anything crazy. 

“Nothing strenuous. Just a check in, and then we move on to the meeting,” he agreed blandly, watching John from behind the cut outs. 

Constantine pinched the bridge of his nose and drew in a heavy breath. Let it out. Decided not to think about all of the things that could go wrong tangling with a fuckin’ revenant. 

Bats was still here, hale and healthy, so the kid was clearly used to extreme provocation. How bad could John’s company be? 

Way, way worse the little honest part of him supplied, but… 

Well. The worst of it all was, no matter how damn annoying the man was, how fucking insistent on poking into shit that’d get ‘em all killed? 

Constantine liked him. 

Just a bit. The tiniest, littlest bit, that he firmly ground under his heel at every opportunity, and especially when that poking was getting close to end-of-the-world levels. 

It was the only reason the League had his number at all, because John Constantine sure as shit was not a hero. He liked the world not ending, yeah, but he coulda had Zatanna call him for those. 

He just. Had maybe the very smallest soft spot for how earnest the Big Three all were, deep down. Wonder Woman especially, there was a lady who’d been in the game longer than John himself, and yet it never fuckin’ touched her. 

They still looked at the world, at an old shit like John Constantine, and saw something worth saving. 

So even when he was tired, stressed, and wondering just how deep he should dare to probe to check the Bat’s explorations in Amity Park hadn’t garnered the wrong kind of attentions… 

He huffed another reluctant sigh. It did not help knowing that even if he refused, the Bat would just argue him down until John gave in, or the meeting started. 

It was three hours before the meeting was due to start. 

Constantine would rather jump straight through the damn Fenton portal. 

“Fine,” he growled, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his trench coat. If the revenant got cranky, he could always hide behind the big Bat. 

The bastard didn’t even bother thanking him, just nodded like he’d expected John to agree all along, and made for the exit. 

Were they fuckin’ going out in full costume? In the middle of the day? 

Well heavens forbid Bruce Goddamn Wayne do anything subtly. 

** 

Tim’s afternoon was going great. Thanks to Tucker, he’d had a full and hearty brunch, which made Alfred happy. 

Tim wasn’t much of a gourmet himself, probably as a result of having to survive on what he could find in the house between his parents’ visits. So long as it went down his throat and kept him alive, he was happy. 

He knew Alfred’s cooking was great, it always tasted fantastic, he just… didn’t get excited about food. 

Tucker though? Tucker gushed enthusiastically over every bite, moaning loudly as he dug into pancakes, sausages, bacon, and even black pudding. 

He enjoyed his food almost as much as Wally, and Tim found himself savouring his own a little more as he watched. Usually he’d swallow half of it whole, just to get back to work. 

But he didn’t have a new case today. Sure, there was still work to do on Amity Park (and rewriting all of the Justice League reporting protocols, ugh). 

But he had Tucker here to help, and really, today could be about getting to know the guy. He’d more than learned his lesson from the last few days. 

It turned out that food tasted a whole lot better if he actually stopped to chew it. 

They’d talked while they ate too, Tucker often with his mouth full like he just couldn’t stop and wait to swallow. 

It was kinda adorable. 

Tim had shared some stories about the missions he’d been on with Young Justice, Tucker had told him more about Technus. There may have been a secret side trip to Amity Park in the works so Tim could meet him. 

And introduce Cassie to Pandora. 

There may also have been a secret side trip to the Ghost Zone being planned too. That one was gonna have to be extra-double-top-secret though, since Constantine put a bug in B’s ass about the Infinite Realms. 

But honestly, how bad could it be if three completely untrained teenagers could just hop in and out on a whim? 

Sure, there were risks. Some of the bigger, scarier ghosts that Tucker told him about. And just the air of the realms itself, which wasn’t great for humans in the long term. 

That, Tim was a little less sure about. Tucker could say it’d never done him any harm all he liked, but he was kinda half dead now. Dead enough for super powers. 

Not that Tim wanted super powers. It’s not like he’d ever needed them to keep up with his super friends. He didn’t need them, not even to interface his brain with his computer… 

Nope. 

But that was also how they got around to how Tucker would be getting home, because Tim finally twigged. 

“Wait… when you say Danny flew you here, you didn’t actually mean what you said about the plane, did you?” He asked cautiously when they’d migrated back to the bat cave (with a plate of cookies and juice. Alfred was totally taking advantage of a chance to feed Tim). 

Tucker grinned sheepishly and shrugged. 

“Well, I didn’t know Danny was gonna just go off like that right away. But yeah, he just came and grabbed me and we flew through the Ghost Zone.” 

He seemed to think Tim might be upset with him, but honestly? This was great news. They might be able to wrangle a little extra time. 

“So… needing to go home today was because of Danny?” He asked hopefully. 

Tucker caught on at once, like the genius he was, tracking Tim’s grin and beginning to smile in return. 

“Well, technically I do also have classes on Monday, but so long as I’m back tonight I can fake it if you have another way to get me home, like… say, a bat plane?” He asked innocently, head cocked to one side. 

Tim snatched up his phone, sending a quick text. Of course, there was always the chance Connor wouldn’t answer. Or that he’d be busy. Or that he’d have school. 

As if he wouldn’t have dropped pretty much anything when Tim called him. God Tim loved his boyfriend. 

“I was actually thinking of something a little more discrete than the bat plane… especially since you have some experience being carried.” 

————————

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Next chapter:

[yolowritter]

The Lila Anon

Okay so this is mostly a quick question instead of a full-on post, but has anyone else seen a (guest) Lila Anon pop up on Ao3 recently? They've been leaving in-character comments on one of my fics and I swear I've seen them elsewhere too??? Like, in other people's comment sections??? Am I going insane? Is this a mass-hallucination, a gasslight, or are they genuinely everywhere? Please someone tell me if you've seen this person! I mean, it's a good laugh the first 200 times, but after that the novelty wore off and I realized they weren't joking? No offense mind you, I know this is obviously an internet troll. But the idea of someone taking time to go around Ao3 and comment on people's works as Lila Rossi of all people, and to also act spiteful (in character) about it too...you have to admit it's at least a little funny. In conclusion, I'm petitioning for a new mission! Find the Lila Anon! P.S. I am like 90% sure I scrolled past another Tumblr post abt this very thing a few hours ago, and can't find it for life of me. Also I'm not dropping screenshots of the comments cuz I don't want to make it seem like I'm making fun of the person. Hopefully this doesn't become a thing, but I felt like I had to report on it at least once! My inner Alya wouldn't let go!

[firespirited]

There are a couple of things I'd like to add as someone poor in supplies and in time/energy:

Yes it takes more effort and practice to get a nice looking result with janky materials and there's a learning curve about what supplies are actually a waste of your time.

Yes it's harder to be motivated when you aren't part of a group or the people you intended to follow in a hobby have the nice supplies.

Yes it's harder to find tutorials that are rewarding when you're not using the supplies they have or try to sell you.

It's kind of like learning to enjoy going to a movie alone or learning a skill outside of a class or group: learning to enjoy learning, to embrace your mediocre first attempts, not see practice pieces as wasted time, getting motivated for yourself alone... it's a skill, it's an exercise in patience (in endurance even, for restless folks like me). But that's also part of the fun: the challenge.

My biggest advice is to embrace that you're going to make ugly things for a while but you're also going to have more intuitive, inventive skills than the folks with the nice supplies. Someday soon you're going to be the one who can do clever fixes, recycling and point out to newbies why and how they're messing up because you've been there.

The other super important advice is to find where the other people making janky beginner things are and join them.

Instagram, tiktok and youtube will recommend product photography level videos of high skill with high end supplies. Avoid at all costs!!

It takes quite a bit of scrolling or finding one hobbiest on your level to follow and follow who they follow so I like to go to deviantart first and try and find folks on tumblr next (and crafting for kids/teens blogs) . For example: on deviantart they'll have a low res step by step photo montage tutorial and you'll get to see the unprofessional looking item they made and you won't feel bad because that was an honest time when people put their ugly work up and you can see how they became really good at it a few years later.

[I am learning how to crochet. I'm dyspraxic and can't think in 3d. It's been a week doing a few hours a day: I've done more than a dozen mini samplers with this 3yd piece of just right yarn, taken a photo then pulled it apart. When I can do neat rows and a better coordination for tension, I'll go find a simple thing to make on deviantart or a beginners crochet book on the internet archive library. There has been no dopamine rush, there have been a series of downers and *that* is where the power of spite kicks in.

I know 5 stitches, I *will* get their tension right and then I *will* make a thing and it might take a practice piece or two but that thing will give me my dopamine rush. And if crochet isn't my jam after that I'll try something else or go back to something practiced to the point of making satisfying things.]

Another option is to look at homemade gift lists from craft blogs (past and present) and see if there's anything in your current supplies, recycling, ingredients that you could practice. (I had some felt, cardboard and beads and a single bead needle so I learned to make beaded brooches as seasonal gifts. Following fancy tutorials for the techniques but making my own thing.) Hand made gifts can be a way of easing into a hobby with a specific thing to make in a small time crunch (and you don't have to give it to someone who won't appreciate the work, you can do it for you).

Every fun post on here that encourages people to have hobbies/be creative always gets an avalanche of "Some people are poor Karen" type reactions and respectfully, you're all super annoying. I've never lived above the poverty line and this is a list of hobbies I have that were cheap or entirely free:

Read books: Go to the library, lend a book from a friend

knitting, crochet, embroidery: Get some needles from the bargan store and ask around, people have leftovers from projects they'll happily give you. Thrift stores also often carry leftover fabric and other supplies. And talk about your hobby loud enough and an old lady will show up and gift you their whole collection, because there are way more old ladies with a closet full of wool than there are grandchildren who want to take up the hobby.

Origami/paper crafts: get some scrap paper and scissors, watch a youtube tutorial

walking: put on shoes open door

pilates/yoga/etc: get a mat or just use your carpet, watch a youtube tutorial

Houseplants: look online for people that swap plant cuttings. There are always people giving out stuff for free to get you started. If you're nice enough you'll probably get extra

gardening: You're gonna need some space for this one of course but you can just play around with seeds and cuttings from your grocery vegetables.

aquarium keeping is a bit of an obscure one but I got most of my stuff second hand for cheap or free and now I have a few thousand euro worth of material and plants.

drawing/art: You get very far just playing with bargan store materials. I did my entire art degree with mostly those.

writing: Rotate a cow in your head for free

cooking: again one you can make very expensive, but there are many budget recipes online for free. Look for African or Asian shops to get good rice and cheap spices.

Join a non-profit: Cities will have creative organisations who let you use woodworking machines or screen presses or laser cutters or 3D printers etc etc etc for a small fee. Some libraries also lend out materials.

candle making: You need some molds (cheap), wick, two old cooking pots for au bain marie melting and a ton of scrap candles, ask people to keep them aside for you.

a herbarium, flower pressing: Leaves are free, wildflowers too, ask if you can take from peoples gardens.

puzzles: thrift stores, your grandma probably

Citizen science: look for projects in your area or get the iNaturalist app

And lastly and most importantly: Share! Share your supllies, share your knowledge. Surround yourself with other creative people and before you know it someone will give you a pot of homemade jam and when you want to paint your kabinet someone will have leftover paint in just the right color and you can give them a homemade candle in return and everyone is having fun and building skills and friendships and not a cent is exchanged. We have always lived like this, it's what humans are build to do.

And all of it sure beats sitting behind a computer going "No stranger, I refuse to let myself have a good time."

Anyway I'm logging off bc I'm making some badges for a friend who cooked for me and then I'm going to fix some holes in everyones clothes.

[lothricknightgirl]

just Tumblr things

So. y'know how you just, go around, browse tags, reblog what ya see, y'know, do the Tumblr do, as one does

yeah well as of like a few minutes ago I was doing that

then I came across a cute little ship art thing with the brother of one of the characters experiencing an existential crisis in the background, and it's, like, okay, not really feeling it, compels me though, I scroll past it, and then, I shit you not, the next sentence I see is

Feeling its ovipositer slowly open up your numbed cervix,

and I think I just felt everything, crash, for a moment. Like everything had just irreparably broken but the machine, through sheer necromantic grit and spite, chugged on despite the morass of whatthefuck juice poored all over its inner workings as I scrolled past.

Before I scrolled right back up, blinked, once, twice, and audibly spoke "Huh." deciding that it didn't really interest me and scrolling on.

It was eggpreg porn, if that wasn't obvious. Just had to make that clear.

Where the hell else am I going to go to get this kind of experience

[plu-mes16]

"Creative living is any life that you live, where your decisions are based more strongly on your curiosity than your fear. And if you consistently, habitually, routinely, at every sort of intersection and decision in your life, make decisions that are based on curiosity rather than fear, then you will be engaging with creativity. Your life itself will sort of become a work of art, if you could consistently live that way."

I heard this sound on tiktok today. It's really interesting how tiktok is something we quote nowadays, though I guess that it does make sense, seen as it is-though questionable-a source of genuine media. In a way, some tiktok creators have managed to recreate the feel of a tumblr post, with image and sound. Perhaps not quite though, tumblr was indeed a unique platform, I miss it (it's not the same anymore). So I heard this sound on tiktok-and yes I did transcribe it word for word-and at first I didn't think much of it. In fact, I scrolled down a few more videos before I paused. The words whispered in my mind and something felt off. My curiosity was piqued. I went back.

It's interesting, truly, how sometimes we do things so unconsciously and routinely, that we lose-or perhaps forget-why we do them in the first place. And this got me thinking.

And I realised, a little to my dismay, that the reason I have not felt fulfilled in a while is because I forgot. I forgot not to be afraid. I think that somewhere along the road, I fell. And I called myself stupid, and weak, and told myself that I wasn't enough. And maybe someone else backed me up on it. Actually I know someone did. But that's beyond the point. Because I let them. And somewhere along the way I believed it. And I got scared. So I played it safe. I think on the timeline of things, this would have been around two years ago. A long time to be lost when the passing of it keeps you awake at night.

I've wondered what I did wrong, or perhaps differently. I concluded, begrudgingly, that perhaps I just wasn't good enough. That I was scared because I had reason to be.

But I forgot what had driven me up until that point, what had made me who I am.

Some people live for hope, others out of spite perhaps. I had feared failure my whole life until one day I didn't. Because I convinced myself that I wouldn't fail, and that if I did, I would just go onto the next thing. The world doesn't end with one failure.

But lately I've been scared again. Not of failing, but of losing this routine. This monotonous, safe and boring life I've built. It's safe, it's quiet. I've been shielding myself from reasons to be scared, because life has been throwing them at me lately, like hot cakes. And I've had no choice but to gobble them up. Why would I create more reasons for myself to be anxious, afraid?

So I didn't.

But this sound made sense to me. This is what I should be doing. This is a little piece that the old me-yes I sound dramatic bear with me-would never relinquish.

The girl who always gave herself her best chance, the girl who switched schools left and right and fed herself books and science and all the knowledge she could gather. The girl who looked up at the sky because she was too afraid to miss something. I now notice that I look down a lot. I do.

She travelled across the ocean, away from everything she'd ever known, at 17. Had the worst year of her life and yet she didn't go back, though she would have been safer. She kept going, she pushed and pushed and pushed. I've stopped moving at some point. And now I'm stagnating.

And it hurts.

I want to live creatively. I want to reach out to the sky again and leap. I want to leap and not worry about whether I will fall.

(appreciate the dramatic gif pls)

I need to go on.

[evienyx]

Hey so uh, sorry that this is kinda a personal question and unrelated to what you usually post but you seem really nice and I was wondering how you figured out that you were ace? I’ve been struggling with this myself for a while now, and was just wondering if you had any advice or something. Please don’t feel obligated to respond or anything, I totally get that this is kinda a weird question and might make you uncomfy, so sorry about that in advance. Thanks!

Well, I’m going to start off by saying that everyone is different. You won’t figure it out the same way I figured it out, just like how I didn’t figure it out the same way any of my friends did. That’s all right. Take all the time that you need.

Additionally, I only really figured this out for myself in the last few years, and one day something may happen that I identify with a different sexuality and that’s also okay. This is not a ‘one-and-done’ kinda thing. It’s all right. This is your thing. Yours.

For me, it was around my freshman year of high school that I started realizing that I had never really gotten to that phase where I started obsessing over anyone. Now, in middle school, even though that was the time when a lot of people around me really started going hard into the dating thing, I never did. I skipped a year in school, though, so it would make sense for me to be about a year or so later than everyone else hopping on the hype train of teenhood, but halfway through my first year of high school, it was still pretty mute.

People around me would joke constantly, say things like “Oh, well, once she gets her first crush, everything will change.” I remember distinctly my cousin asking me if I had a crush on anyone, and then me saying no, and then my grandma patting me on the cheek and saying “You just haven’t found the right boy yet.”

So, for most of freshman year, I sort of just accepted what people around me said, that I was a “late-bloomer” and I would one day fall for someone hard and everything would make sense. 

When the end of freshman year came around, I was quite sure that I was just another straight girl, who would get the whole ‘attraction thing’ soon enough. 

As the months went on, though, I realized a few things.

1. Whatever thing was meant to change, didn’t come to fruition.

2. I was perfectly fine and open to dating someone, but I didn’t care about what they looked like. When friends and cousins and the like would show pictures of actors and talk about how hot the actor was, I’d agree, but almost completely on a baseline objective level.

and 3. I was completely uninterested in the idea of sex. I didn’t seek it out, or care about it. It was barely even spared a thought in my mind.

I started thinking that there might be something wrong with me, or that maybe I had felt sexual attraction toward someone, and I just hadn’t noticed. But the further into the year I got, the more I came to recognize the fact that that was not the case. 

I recall on one specific wet day in the late winter of that year, I was walking my dog on the one day the temperatures were slightly decent, and I was just scrolling through the internet aimlessly when I noticed something that caught my eye. It was a post (which I cannot find) of around two dozen pride flags, each with a name and description of the sexaulity or gender identity it represented.

That day, walking the dog through slush that got melting snow stuck to his paws and mud clinging to my boots, as the temperature prepared to drop below freezing for another week, I learned, for the first time, what Asexuality was.

I had seen the flag before, of course, and heard the term ‘ace,’ but I had never looked into it, thought about it. I didn’t think much of it at that moment, either. I just filed it away and moved on to exhale sharply through my nose at whatever ‘Stonks’ meme came up on my feed next.

Quite a while (as in, literal years) passed, though, and I found myself thinking about the idea of ‘Asexuality’ that I had heard about more and more. 

The one thing that really held me back was the fact that I was fine with the concept of having sex with someone, though I was only really interested in doing it for the experience/intimacy, and possibly in the future to have a child, and I thought to myself, “I can’t be Asexual if I want to have a kid. That’s not how it works.”

Surprisingly (or maybe not surprisingly at all), there was one thing that really did it for me in the end, and that was when Muffin ( @muffinlance ) announced on Tumblr (in a post I cannot find) that she was going to be having a baby.

An asexual (married too, so take that grandma!), having a baby. While still being asexual.

I looked into it, discovered the idea of someone being Asexual Sex-Positive, Sex-Neutral, or Sex-Negative. I found out, truly, about the idea of being Demisexual, or Gray Axsexual. The idea of an Asexuality Spectrum was opened up to me, and I realized suddenly that all of my worries, everything that had been holding me back, didn’t matter. 

My Tumblr bio shortly after changed from ‘she/her’ to ‘she/her, ace’ and it was one of the best feelings in the entire world. I don’t quite think I’ll ever be able to describe to someone who never went through the experience of finally feeling like your belong, if only for that one moment.

(also, currently, I’m of the opinion that I am either Biromantic or Panromantic. I’m leaning more towards bi, but I’m completely open still. I also have still not dated a single person ever, so who knows. That’s not what this is about, just thought I’d mention it)

You should take all the time you need, find what fits you. It’s weird to hear, and it’s hard to do, but I’m quite sure that once you find it, you’ll know it.

Last holiday season, while at a gathering with the more intensely religious and traditional side of my family, a cousin of mine sang “I Kissed a Boy,” by Adele, but changed the lyrics to “I Kissed a Girl,” so as not to appear ‘gay’ in any way, shape, or form. 

I noticed a different cousin of mine looking a bit upset while he sang the song, and so I talked to her alone afterward to see if they were all right, and after just a few minutes of speaking about nothing in particular, he came out to me in a hallway at a holiday party when no one else but me was around. And, in return, I did the same and came out to them.

He was the first family member I ever came out to, and that was the first time I truly told someone my sexuality. I told them I was asexual, and they accepted it and we hugged and it was one of the more exhilarating moments of my entire life.

So, in the end, how did I figure out I was ace?

I just sort of did. I feel I could have done more research earlier than I did, but that’s all right. It all worked out. I figured it out, and I promise you will, too. And if you get it wrong a few times before you get it right? That’s perfectly okay, too.

Anyway, one more additional personal thought about something I noticed that I think is kinda weird:

Muffin and her actions and stuff are so weirdly tied to such random core parts of my life. I published the first chapter of Fractures because I was encouraged and inspired when I saw her own stories. I finally figured out my sexuality and felt like I belonged, like one of those flags was mine, because of her. It’s just a bit crazy to me. Thanks, I guess, Muffin.

All right, that’s about it. I hope this helps, at least a bit. 

I wish you the best, anon, in figuring out who you are. You can take as long as you need or want, you don’t need to stick to a choice. This is your identity. This is yours. Not a single person gets a choice in the matter besides you. Good luck, and remember, you’ve always got me in your corner. If anyone ever gives you shit about this kinda thing, send ‘em my way. I did Tae Kwon Do for two-and-a-half years, and I’m also constantly fueled by spite and Twix bars. We’re all here for you. 

That goes for anyone. Don’t be afraid to embrace who you are. I’m proud of you, we’re all proud of you. This is who you are. Enjoy it.

[molsno]

every single achievement I have made has been in spite of the technology I have access to, not because of it. I am a computer programmer who hates computers, who hates gadgets, who hates technology, specifically because I have seen all of the assumptions that technology companies make about their users. that you will always have the latest and greatest hardware, that you will always have access to a fast and stable internet connection, that you will never experience technical difficulties, that you can afford every single thing that they charge money for. these things are only true for a handful of the richest, most privileged users, and the white men that have taken over the software industry in particular by stealing the reins from women, people of color, and queer people have enforced a vile gentrification of the industry that pushes out all of its progenitors.

I sat there in my computer science classes in college, lecture halls filled with over 60 people, with perhaps only 5 women in the entire room not counting myself, staring at the people around me and wondering why I felt so different from them despite looking an awful lot like them at the time. I would regularly see them playing first person shooters on their top of the line gaming laptops in class, all the while I stewed over the literal garbage machine with broken scanlines that I was using, a laptop an old friend was going to throw away but decided to give to me. I built a desktop computer for the first time using components that were several years old, and didn't have enough money left to buy a monitor, keyboard, or mouse for months of my life. I had to find a workaround so that I could actually use it - using my decade-old tv as a monitor and a $15 mouse and keyboard that shared the same usb dongle, with keys that hardly worked or were entirely broken out of the box. I knew my classmates had expensive, top of the line gaming pcs with 3 monitors. I felt like a king when I got the idea to put my laptop next to my monitor on my desk so that I could have two screens at once. instead of a pair of desktop speakers, I used a portable bluetooth speaker that I placed behind my monitor, and connected it to my computer with a $1 bluetooth dongle. my classmates, friends, and girlfriends have wondered why I don't play video games very often. I don't know how to convey to them the despair I feel knowing that scrolling tumblr for an hour on my laptop causes it to overheat.

"learn to code", says the tech industry. "you'll make lots of money!" programming is something I enjoy anyway, so why not? I make more than almost anyone I know at my age. the cost of living is so high that it doesn't matter. I cannot afford more than the absolute bare minimum in terms of technology, and I don't see that changing any time in the near future. I have to fight tooth and nail to accomplish things with technology that most people in my field don't even have to think about. I cannot follow instructions, because companies have decided that documentation for old technology is no longer worth providing - obviously no one would use hardware that's more than 3 years old, right? everything I do is necessarily a workaround. computer science is the practice of applying logic and problem solving abilities to achieve goals with computers. whereas most people begin using these abilities after they open their IDE of choice, my challenge begins long before that. the tech industry lures people in with promises of equality, inclusion, and diversity, then write thinkpiece after thinkpiece asking why they fail to achieve these promises. the part they don't acknowledge publicly is that classism is a feature, not a bug.

will there ever come a day where I can afford to have technology that doesn't suck complete fucking ass? who the fuck knows!

[fishmongeringstudies]

eleven: before the first day of the world

i always thought the quote 'we contain multitudes' was a john green quote because of the way its use had, over time, evolved from unironic to deeply ironic to some weird squeamish mix of the two that meant half of the audience would cringe when it was deployed while the other half would nod very seriously and lean back in their seats, thinking fondly about the summer of '97. for the record, i've always been part of the former. except for this one time in my anthropology class this spring where we were talking about the complexities of human behavior in different environments and i, seeing a glowing opportunity to inject some 2012 tumblr-era humor into the room, typed into the zoom chat: we contain multitudes.

unfortunately, we do. but not in the john green sense, which would mean we smoke cigarettes and want to contribute to world peace, or we crochet blankets and simultaneously want to destroy the small backwater town we grew up in with an electric chainsaw. i'm talking about something less looking for alaska and more i will rip all your hair out with a screwdriver. something that cuts at the fabric of your relationship with the people around you, something that makes it hard to figure out which path to take back to your dorm.

have you ever been ruined by someone who, after ruining you, skipped off happily to lunch with jessica who lives down the hallway and whom you would trust with your bank account number, and found yourself unable to do anything but give half of the lunch parade your blessings?

let's make it simpler: sometimes people are more fucked up than they're worth.

and yet i believe that there is no such thing as a bad person. the adjective-noun combination assumes that the noun always possesses the quality of the adjective, while the people who elbow you down the stairs and into the yawning mouth of hell and then wander off singing cheerily into the woods are the same ones who bring friends care packages when they're sick, who entertain long, thoughtful conversations about philosophy and the flaws of the world, who make great lab partners in group projects. the girl whose definition of love is a chain around the neck is a wonderful orator. the boy who only knows how to understand other people by cutting them up and putting them back together wants to design buildings that will save lives. people are inconsistent. we contradict ourselves and then, upon noticing the contradictions, panic, knock over a vase of flowers, and burn the whole house down.

it always comes back to fire when i write about the last fourteen weeks of spring. we're incredibly flammable, you and i. we're instant fire-starters. we're chemically insane.

at the start of the semester when i allowed someone to tell me in an awkward, prepubescent voice that i was broken i wanted to hate them. then i wanted to forgive them; then i wanted to be their friend. three months later i discovered how hard it is to stay on good terms with someone who knifed you without even realizing they were holding something in their hand to begin with, and yet he's still here. talking to the person who lives at the other end of the hallway. walking to the dining hall with the alligator stairwell, his hands shoved in his pockets. trying to graduate. trying to stay alive.

dear friend: i don't want to be your friend anymore. but don't die on me.

that's the sentiment i leave spring with. a bittersweet note that's more bitter than sweet, like ninety-seven percent cacao chocolate, the really awful shit, the stuff i like to think only white american yoga moms with fat apple-faced babies tied to their hips are willing to eat, and even then, only for the instagram sponsorship. when i think of spring i think of the aftertaste, because everything was sweet in the moment, in the immediacy of the screaming sun and the shifting sky above your head. everything looked like it was made of stars. it was only after i'd chewed up the burnt thing you picked off the ground and gave me, swallowed, and walked the long way back to my dorm, that i realized you'd handed me a pile of dirt.

it was pretty good dirt though, and you know the other day someone asked me, after scrolling through this blog with an eye on their watch and the other on the words flying across the screen, if i hated it here after all. if i wish i'd stayed in singapore, among the palm fronds and the pale, moon-white butterflies. no, i said incredulously, my spoon jammed in my kool-aid jello cup. this is the happiest i've been in ten years.

lately i've been trying to articulate the sense of hopelessness i experienced while growing up. how does one even begin to describe the endless staircase of the days, how each week yawned before me like an abyss with an immortal, unbreakable heart? how do you give a voice to despair?

this morning i went to target with my friend. we didn't find a rectangular frying pan so i bought a bag of mandarins instead, and it was sunny on the way there but on the way back a smear of white cloud dashed across the sky and wrapped its soft fingers around the sun's mouth, by which i mean it got colder, by which i mean that for a while, it felt like spring again. when we got back to our dorm i put the mandarins in the fridge and wandered back into my room and then put on the podcast i've been listening to all week, listened to them talk about monsters and knights and the intricacies of war, love, forgiveness. today i didn't sleep through lunch like i did the day before. today i sat in the garden and read a book.

i think the thing about growing up the way i did is that by the time i was fourteen it felt like it was all over. like i'd ruined everything before it'd ever really begun, and even knowing what steps i might take to mend the god-sized crater i'd dug in my backyard, i couldn't bring myself to take them. so things ended. and because life is a bitch and forgiveness never comes from those you most desire it from, you just kind of laugh and drag yourself through the debris.

i think this is why, in spite of the shouting and the cherry-flavored regrets and the hallways full of footsteps like thunderstorms, and the girls and the boys with their teeth like claws, their claws like daggers, their words careless enough to kill, i feel like a person here. because i came here with nothing. two suitcases, one weighing twenty kilograms and the other weighing nothing at all. i repeat: this is nothing at all. do you understand what i am saying? i was no one when i got here. and now i am no one with some prepubescent mistakes scratched into my forearm and a few ideas about self-preservation. but the pages of this book are still blank. they are inviting me to fill them with the illegible dancing chicken scrawl that is my specialty and the bane of every english professor's existence.

i look over my shoulder and my old bookshelf full of journals, red journals, journals packed with the misery of the last nineteen years shrugs its shoulders. it says they gave you bad books and you wrote half-decent stories; what else could you have done? you did the best that you could in the circumstances you were given. you're still doing that now. then, satisfied with its little speech, it burns itself down.

and that's all i need, really, to keep going.

05.31.21

[lornahansonforbes]

Prologue

If you’re reading this today, then you know I’m dead, dead to you as you are to me, and that should make you so very happy.

I gave it all up sitting at a red light.

This last piece is the final chapter of “The Emesis Tray of Feelings,” it’s a trilogy.

The trilogy contains one play, “Hot Neon Lights” and “Patina on the Edge,” which is a series of monologues and now this, “It Didn’t Happen,” a one act play.

The first installment, “Hot Neon Lights,” tells the story of two events. Act One is a very messy breakdown followed by the fourth and final attempt of my taking my own life. I failed four times. Act Two is about six to weeks later and the family meeting with the psychiatrist where they decide if I should be locked up in hospital or go cold Turkey. There was no option, no Grey area, only black and white.

“Patina on the Edge,” is a series of monologues that highlights moments of grand and glorious to being a homeless junkie who was sucking dick, meanwhile being a thief and a shitkicker was a great way to being truly infamous. Lofty goals. It parallels the story that’s laid out in “Hot Neon Lights.”

“It Didn’t Happen.” is a one act play with four scenes. Scene one, the night of the breakup and a month after the breakup. Scene two, a phone call about the breakup. Scene three, a group of friends who just saw the two aforementioned plays and are in a bar talking about what The New York Times will say about “Hot Neon Lights” and “Patina on the Edge.”

As you read this, do know that this is like Ivory Soap, ninety-nine and forty-four one hundredth percent (99 44/100%) true.

Several people have been merged into one character and not vice versa.

You should know that I died alone and bitter that I was never truly loved by anyone except by my dogs, Zoey, Chase, Auggie, The Brother Levi, CoCo and Harry; and my three cats, Rasselas, Othello and Belle Kitty.

I sadly cannot think of one person, past or present, who ever truly loved me.

I suffered with Bipolar Depression and Anxiety for a large portion of my life. The three guys who I stupidly referred to as my boyfriend, I see now that they barely tolerated me as did my family.

I don’t give a shit. You and whomever can say what you want about me and pepper it generously with Drama Qween. You do know that but I can only tell you what my perception was and how I saw things, but as usual, you’re right and I’m wrong. Fuck you, your opinion is paying for my funeral and you had the option not to read this.

Lastly, all the things I’ve written starting in the 1980’s and in between has been thrown out and erased etc. Yeppers. All gone. I kept it all but as of this entry, I threw it all out.

Since I’ve submitted to various outlets and people yet only to learn I’ve been ignored.

But you can find me on Tumblr and not on Tinder. Good luck with that.

Post Script:

I’ve told stories about how I lived and how I overcame. “You should write a book.” Motherfucker, don’t play with me. You ain’t gonna fucking read it. Why even bother existing? I’m done. If you really want to know, actually pick up the phone and call me. Bye, Felicia.

I forgot to tell you that someone asked me not to give up writing. Sorry but I’m not gonna change my mind about cutting off my nose to spite myself.

Scene One

The late summer sun was slowly going down as we approached the corner of Melrose and North Robertson.

Granted it was nearly 8:00 PM, the sun was still blazing away. I turned to look from the passenger seat to see people milling about waiting to go inside but also the paparazzi was there gawking and snapping pictures.

She slowed the car down for just a millisecond and then took a sharp left turn. Then Sister Mary of the Perpetual Parking Spot smiled down upon us and she pulled in and parked the car.

The restaurant sign read Ty’s Thai Tie Dye, an Indochina Conglomerate. We went inside and were seated way in the back. It was a jungle, flowers, potted trees and Passion Flower vines everywhere. The sun broke through like mosaic tiles.

Dinner was delicious and uneventful. She was now pulling up in front of my modest flat.

“Darling, I’m sure we’ve had a wonderful evening but I feel that my husband is all over us these past few weeks. I’m just so sick and tired of seeing his Gold Audi here and there every time we go out. Why can’t we agree to disagree with the fact that I’m who I am and you are you we aren’t able to carry on like this anymore. I know that I should break it to you gently, but let’s rip the fucking Band-Aid off, it’s over. Don’t speak. Let’s go our separate ways with our splendiferous memories and as the cliché states, when you do speak of me, be kind,” she blurted out without looking at me.

It took me a moment and then I watched her Black Jaguar Vandam Plas glide away and disappear. Nearly comatose, I fumbled for my keys and took those first tentative steps towards the front door. I saw my cat in the window and her deep gold eyes. We looked directly at each other. I got in my car only to pound the steering wheel with tears in my eyes.

“You ungrateful bitch,” I screamed so loud that my ears were ringing worse than being a rock concert.

I drove into the night with flashes of our tongues lashing about like in some porn as we tore our clothes off each other. She was moist. My turgidity.

I landed at Pfeiffer Beach and I saw a Sandpiper. Fuck my life. The sound of the crashing waves and the sun rising. Stumbling back to my car I spied that CHP had paid a visit with a bright orange parking ticket tucked neatly underneath the wiper blades. God damn it to hell.

When I turned the car over, the radio was blaring, some static but nonetheless it jangled my nerves.

“Now, I am strong enough. Now, I’m strong enough to accept change. Yes, my darling, if you want to live in another place, I can understand it. It’ gonna hurt for a little while, but I can understand it, but before you walk out that door, touch me in the morning,” this woman’s anger and hurt were front and center. We were simpatico at that moment. We were both in a world of hurt and she like me, we were not feeling it.

I tapped a button on my car radio and my playlist replaced her voice as I pulled into traffic on Route 1 South heading home leaving Pfeiffer Beach in my rear view mirror.

Whoever that female voice was previously on my radio, I felt like Kathy Bates and I was swinging that sledgehammer and I left her there to suffer.

Normally I’m not that guy who “gets in touch with their feelings.” It’s just not in my DNA and when I do “get in touch,” it’ll be like a Gatling gun. Crumpled up like a wad of paper, riddled with bullets and left to die gasping for breath in a pool of blood.

This morning I got up and was meandering around my neighborhood. I have absolutely no idea how it happened but I stopped into a local coffee shop and got a Chai Latte. I usually get a green juice with pomegranate and Acai.

I was in a deep, deep funk since I had dinner with my friend and she dumped me. Who was she to me? My girlfriend; friend with benefits: fuck buddy; mistress or just another conquest? Whatever it was, it was good and it lasted but it wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before and so this came to pass and now in my mind I heard Louis Prima singing, “…everywhere I go.” If I really wanted to hear that song, I’d rather find the David Lee Roth remake.

Apparently I got my steps in this morning without some contraption attached to me or some app on my phone. I plunked my narrow behind down on a concrete Jersey barrier and I looking at the waves crashing onto Dockweller Beach. I know it’s not Malibu Beach just a short drive North and it certainly wasn’t Malibu Beach in Boston. From that vantage point, you’ll see the highway and Sister Corita Kent’s artwork in the distance.

Seriously what the fuck, yo? Processing, tabulating, analyzing, and parsing the events of being dumped. I know I saw the data, but what did it reveal? Was it actually that simple or was I looking at the galley’s for the unabridged Cyrillic version of Tolstoy’s tome with copious notes in the margins. Could I decipher The Daily Jumble? Was I looking at some foreign language? Was I experiencing some sort of dyslexia? Sigh! Could I really clean this mess with a piece of used snotty paper?

I’m solving Pi!! Yeah, yeah!! That’s the ticket!!

I clenched my hand around my paper cup and almost spilled my Chai latte. I was fucking pissed.

“Ungrateful BITCH,” that right I said it and I said it with such furious anger venom was dripping of my fangs.

What a difference a day makes. Bull-fucking-shit. Something felt dissimilar yet had I seen the same thing from a different vantage point?

At that exact moment I heard one of those thumper cars approaching blaring something I didn’t understand  anything but I did hear, “Baile, baile con El General” and just like that the car was gone. Was Joy Division only for headphones? This is Los Angeles not Colby College.

Perched on the Jersey barrier, I wasn’t contemplating why lint gets in my navel.  I couldn’t dodge raindrops. Had I tabled my ego? Were my expectations quickly quieted? Was it like that thumper car; was I blaring or amplifying some sort of acceptance of defeat? The hounds had been released at the same time as I gave up my control? I can be that Type-A personality, driven and getting in touch with my feeling resided in an abyss somewhere, but the fuck if I know.

I felt dampness. Where am I now? Am I on the Maid of the Mist or standing underneath Niagara Falls? God damn it to hell!! I was crying. I normally don’t do that. I clenched my jaw so tightly I had TMJ.

“Mission Accomplished,” I think was actually the last time I did cry, but that was for my furry friends, Mickey & Minnie and then it was Stanley & Blanche. Do I get ahold of the anger in me? What the fuck? Maybe a word, a smile, an hour of happiness? NETX??!! I picked up my phone. I scrolled through my contacts. In a parallel universe, I called you a thousand times when I know I did not and I never will call you.

A boisterous and vociferous colony of seagulls appeared just a few yards away from me. Fuck. Hitchcock.

My paper cup is empty. I knew I had to dispose of it. Recycle, reuse, repurpose or like this affair, would it end up in a landfill? Just another thing to be unceremoniously and recklessly tossed away. It’s just a thing.

With a great exasperated sigh, eight months, two weeks and a day. That’s how long it lasted without me actually keeping track of it. Don’t go there. Don’t judge me. Men and women silently judge me and you but I can only assume they leave something on me so I don’t catch cold. Oh, shit. We had seen other naked. She fucking hurt me. Okay, I’m not that person, who’d scrawl, No Sale, on a mirror if I found a check and a note that read, “Last night was dope.”

My phone beeped, a text message letting me know I had to drive to Pacoima.

Gotta bounce. Later. Onto embrace the new challenges ahead and channel them into existence.

Scene Two

Part Three.

A Hello, bleep.

B How did you know it was me?

A I’ve known for a long time and plus it’s out there.

B Why did you say that?

A What did I say exactly?

B Don’t give me that bullshit. I saw it.

A I told you about how I felt but then I felt around in the dark and I didn’t know how that single cell actually started to feel like encouragement.

B What I said was to do it for yourself and not me.

A I did it for you first and then afterwards I got to me.

B You took more than you should have and you took it to another place. Also that’s not how it went down.

A It’s how some people work. As I told before, give me a thing to work with and I can easily create from there.

B I only told you about a sixteenth of what happened.

A But that was enough for me and those three sentences told me everything I needed to know. Fuck bleep, I told you recently about my Bipolar Depression and how I grapple with it hour by hour and mostly by myself with no assistance or guidance from anyone.

B I appreciate that and your candor but it makes me crazy. But fuck bleep, I know how mentally exhausted some people feel being in your orbit.

A Bleep, dude, we’re trying to get to that place in the day where we can say, I’m still here. First we get out of bed unassisted and the rest is gravy.

B Why such labels? I mean I know most of the names but you know I’m a tee shirt and jeans.

A Without inferring or intimating the slightest thing, I had a good feeling that who she is and most likely she has her own money but she doesn’t dismiss her husband’s money.

B I have my own money too but I’m not going to be seen eating on North Robertson.

A Possibly I’d see you at one place on Melrose or on Alameda and they’re not that far from where I put you. Then again, there’s a place around the way and you can walk there. I pay attention to things like that ever since I saw Russell Simmons ex wife Creamora eating at raw restaurant in LA a few years ago.

B Wow. How did find that out?

A She had a reality show and they showed her eating there and as a woman of color, she nearly lost her mind. One of things they served was a pizza but it wasn’t a New York pepperoni pizza all hot and gooey with cheese. I yelled at the TV, Gurl, I’ll take a slice. I’m in.

B Wait a minute, bleep. You told me you have issues with food.

A I do but sometimes I’ve got to throw caution to the wind and suffer with each delicious bite.

B So that’s why you fabricated that restaurant.

A Well, kinda sorta. When I was in LA, I found a great little Thai place a few blocks away from The Dolby and if I remembered the name I would’ve told you about it. They’ve got some amazing vegan options.

B This is one of the things I find about you, you know some of the most trivial things and it’s fucking scary.

A Bleep, I just hope I don’t actually lose my mind. I’d hope that you or someone else would put me down if dementia or Alzheimer’s effected me.

B Don’t say that. I sometimes like it when you remember what happened way back when.

A I’m not sure what’s going to happen but I’m still here regardless.

B I’ve got to ask why you said I cried.

A Bleep, you are but one of many Taurus men I know and if they do actually cry, it’ll be in the shower and they’d never admit to knowing how to cry. They might well up with tears but never cry in front of anyone ever.

B That’s fucked up.

A Taurus men do write but never about their feelings nor do they own a diary or journal. If that April born man exists who shares their feelings, they are a very rare breed of man.

B Well writing isn’t my thing.

A You sound exhausted.

B I had to compose myself and all the while I cursed your name.

A Oh it’s because I hit a nerve?

B You’re the last person I’d ever, of course, I think of to wax philosophic and then admit it to someone else let alone admit it to myself.

A Bleep, motherfucker, I’m completely aware and yet I’m not living under the delusion by pining away waiting for you to ask.

B No, it’s not that but does fall in the same zip code and then I used one word, empath. You dug as deep as you could and I’m like, fuck, man, I’m on the phone with you.

A Bleep. Bleep. I’ve known ever since your old EarthLink email and I never and I wouldn’t unless you asked. I told you before I see things that I don’t necessarily understand and with each message, I just end up seeing something.

B I gathered as much. There’s my Nou-Nou. Come up. It’s okay. Come on, Nou-Nou. Move your lard ass, Janx. There you go. All better. Rumple, not a word. You stay right there and let Nou-Nou get some.

A The kittehs!!

B Don’t distract. I’m not sure if you have a malignant will or you gave me something to think about.

A I can’t apologize more. I’m truly very sorry. I riffed on an idea and here we are.

B Life isn’t over as you think of it just because you’re alive. There’s more.

A That’s why I told you that I wouldn’t write again. Stirred the pot.

B You’re a dick.

A And your point is? A cunt? I’m The Dowager Empress and that’s all there is to that.

B You’re so full of shit.

A We’re not going to snap at each other like two terriers.

B Is this what we’ve been reduced to? Bickering just for arguments sake?

A You’re the one with the brown eyes, so you could possibly be full of shit. I’ve got green eyes, pea green with jealousy.

B You said some shit and it hit me. What’s that thing you usually say? Oh yeah, it’s a punch in the face you can’t take back.

A Bleep, dude. Most people want that moment in life where someone grabs ahold of you and pleads with you not to leave. It’s been played out in the movies, but not in our lives, right? I don’t know the life you led but I’ve had three boyfriends and each one of them dumped me. I’ve cried and played all the sad songs. You could have possibly done the same thing but let’s face it fucking Cher said it best, we all sleep alone.

B Whitney clapped back and said I’d rather be alone than be unhappy.

A True. But I had the near perfect relationship with The Beast. More than 40 years together. We both had separate lives and we were celibate lovers. We had each other’s back we did everything for love but we never did that. I knew that he wasn’t some Sir Galahad to love from afar, motherfucker was two legged boa constrictor. I’m okay with dying alone and unloved.

B That’s really a fucking bleak future. Well insert a happy go-lucky cliché here followed by Shady Pines. I can’t with you, bleep.

A I know that we’re estranged but don’t divorce me or fire me just yet.

B Okay.

-The curtain comes down and the audience breaks out in an uproar of applause and cheers-

Scene Three

E What was that we just watched?

CI wish I knew.

E 90 minutes of a conversation that never happened?

D Clearly you’ve missed the point of it. Two guys who knew each other since high school and they meet up years later. One guy had a bad break up and the other guy was now, as he said, a widower.

C Excuse me?

E Yeah excuse me. I don’t see it. Okay high school is one thing but forty years later, they’re talking like that?

D Okay let’s go for a quick pop at The Stone and we’ll go home afterwards.

E Which stone?

C I think that the closest one is Rosetta.

D No. That’s by Park Avenue. I think this one is Killarney but is it Kilkerry? Fuck. It’s right here at 8th Avenue.

C Don’t make thing of it but look over getting of that cab, Miles Silverberg.

E I know that name.

D Murphy Brown.

C It is him. Not bad looking but not my type.

D Bitch, your type is anyone who can make the letter O.

C You should talk. You’re still paying off that asbestos abatement from the last one.

D The two of you are practically virgins again, but then again Father Frank doesn’t give confessionals.

C/E Fuck you.

D Oh look, we’re here.

E I’ve always wondered exactly how many bars in Manhattan are actually Irish bars.

C Probably a few but I’m not sure. There’s only one Blarney Stone and I think it’s in Lower Manhattan not here in Midtown. I’m thinking that anything above 23rd Street is either owned by The Vara or Lyons’ Brothers.

E Damn.

D Hello, Merrick. We like a bottle of your best Shiraz and three glasses. We’ll be over here. Thank you. Yes, Merrick, yes you’re all that but put a ring on it.

E Why won’t you just fuck him and get it over with?

D We like this game. We just love to flirt with each other. No harm, no foul.

C She’s been playing with Merrick for years and he loves the attention.

E I wonder what The Times says tomorrow.

D This is the the last chapter of the trilogy. Uh…

C First was Hot Neon Lights, second was Patina on the Edge and now, It Didn’t Happen.

D I can’t get it out of my head that one scene with the mother fighting with the dad. She was so mad at him, she put out a cigarette in her hand.

C Oh fuck yeah, that was fucking brutal.

E Can someone get that mad?

D She’s his mother and momma bear wasn’t having it.

C True but I’m not sure about the pretentious names. Trenton Burroughs English and Daniel Charles Snyder. But you know what? They’re actual people. I found out that Trenton is some how many times removed from the Queen of Norway and Daniel is a surgeon with Doctors Without Borders. AND the most fucked up thing is that they don’t know each and have never met.

D You know what’s even more fucked up than? There’s an actual family here on the social register here in New York with the last name, Frankenstein. Google that.

E Thank you, Merrick. Ladies, a toast?

C Yes please and don’t be stingy.

D Miss Thing, leave some for the rest of us.

ALL 3 Cheers! Give my regards to Broadway!!

E Hot Neon Lights was excellent, though I thought the two fantasy moments were beyond me.

D Why?

E Is that what you’d expect from dropping a hit of acid?

C Not all the time. It’s different from person to person. I did it once and I had goosebumps most of the time and I saw these white penny tiles dance like waves and I was surfing.

D I went to see a midnight showing of Eraserhead in college and I hate that fucking movie. Sigh. I cringe whenever I hear, Eraserhead is dead. I wanna punch someone in the face.

E Damn and I said I was traumatized by seeing Gina Gershon’s pubic hair in Killer Joe. I’m sorry but on the silver screen in a crowded theater. I shudder to think.

C A straight guy cringing at the mound of Venus? What happened? Did you see your mother in the shower?

E It’s not that deep. My face is one thing but on a forty-foot screen? Shit was scary.

D Yeah that is unforgettable. Besides that, was the movie any good?

E I don’t know. I mean William Friedkin directed The Exorcist. Both are going to fuck with your head, period.

D Oh yeah he did but what was really fucked up was in Patina on the Edge when he told us how his father and stepmother thought that they were watching his life story on the silver screen.

C What fucked with my head with my head was when he told us that he actually went to M Street and those stairs. I saw the picture and it was daytime and the caption read, Here laid Father Merrin’s body. Regan MacNeil astro-projected his priestly self right out the window. Rest in Power, Mercedes McCambridge.

E What?

C Yeah. Gimme a second.

D You’re obsessed much?

C I couldn’t believe it myself and I took a screenshot. Look.

E Damn. That’s really fucked up. Here.

D Oh my God! That is fucked up.

C I know reality stranger than fiction.

E It wasn’t science fiction or was it tonight?

D Whatever it was, it was some great writing. He can tell a story.

C What did you get out of it?

E I’m thinking that after seeing Hot Neon Lights, Patina on the Edge and tonight’s It Didn’t Happen, I think they should have a face to face and make a decision if they’re going to be actual friends and figure out if they want to be celibate lovers and in a platonic marriage.

D Fuck that bullshit. It’s obvious that they are actually going to have a contentious relationship and they’re not going to find each other sitting together chatting it up in Shady Pines. The only thing that they can have is a hidden mutual respect for each other and the rest of us can only imagine that since neither one of them will admit to anything. He’s a whore and he’s a prude. They don’t know what they want, but can they be friends in any iteration of the meaning. We’ll never know.

C Well…unrequited love can keep you going. Okay I’ve got unrequited love too but I see mine as that song, All American Boy by Steve Grand. I just love that song and I’m obsessed with the media calling it Brokeback Breakout and he’s like the Gay Cowboy. That’s really a bad cliché but it’s even worse to know that not every fag wants to suck the quarterback’s dick. Yeah let that big man on campus get a pot belly and go bald, and at the 40th high school reunion you’re still in a size seven like me and what’s even worse is that all the girls want to kill me.

D Do let me know when old and bitter arrives.

E Oh c’mon. It can’t be all that bad. You’re supposed to live off a compliment for two weeks, but I always hope for the best. I mean I like my family and we all get along.

C Well how nice for you but I doubt it. It’s like Homer isn’t going to strangle Bart for the umpteenth time.

E Back to the other moment in Hot Neon Lights, what was up with that Diana Ross scene?

D That was explained in Patina.

C Yeah. He went to the Diana Ross Live at Caesar’s Palace show on two hits of mescaline but I think the point was like she said, I am and I’m going to be.

D Powerful.

E Didn’t he also explain how he could actually touch the guy on the flying trapeze at the circus. Apparently he likes dropping acid.

C Patina had that whole conversation about “Gee whiz. Boy I was drunk last night.”

D Yeah it was consensual but I’m not sure if they were that drunk or that high.

E I know right but he did fuck that girl after an eight ball.

C Oh yes! He was up to THANGS!!

D Indeed he was but that failed threesome was even funnier.

E Give the guy a break. I’m not sure if he wanted to fuck the husband in front of his wife or fuck the wife as the husband was going to fuck him.

C YES!! The bamboo chair hanging from the ceiling. If I was in that same situation I have no idea how to proceed.

E True, true, but I’m glad he told us from the jump, we’d never believe it actually happened. My mind hurts.

D Look gentlemen, the bottle is empty and we all have to go to work in a few hours. Let’s table this for the next time. Until then.

E Okay but it’s Romeo & Juliet with social media at The Public.

C That’s got to be something else. We’ll text after we read the review in The Times.

ALL 3 Good night, Merrick!!

[space-girlll]

I’ll Make It Up To You

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 1337

Warnings: Angst to fluff; amateur writing

A/N: This is my first writing piece I decided to write for tumblr, and honestly, I’m v scare, but i would appreciate feedback!  Thank you @autumnlyholland for helping me edit this, I love you and don’t deserve you <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tonight was supposed to be the best night of Y/N’s life. She had her hair done in a nice, neat updo and was wearing a dress she could only dream of. It was almost completely perfect, but there was one thing missing. Peter Benjamin Parker. He was nowhere to be found, and the longer she waited, the more it seemed he would never show up. Y/N remembered the day he asked her like it was yesterday. 

~

Y/N began packing up her stuff, ready to go home after a long school day. She had at least six new assignments, on top of her five already assigned. She was definitely glad to nearly be done with her last year of high school. As she headed for her car, Ned stopped her. “Hey Y/N, Peter is looking for you. He asked me to have you meet him in the gym?” 

“What? Why the gym? Can’t he just meet me at my house?” Y/N rubbed her eyes tiredly. She loved her boyfriend dearly, but she needed a hot bath and a long nap.

“He said it was really important…” Y/N groaned and headed back into the school. Her backpack hung lazily over her shoulder, and Y/N threw it onto the ground outside of the darkened gym. She stepped into the dimmed gym, calling out. 

“Peter? Are you in here?” Music played over the speakers, a soft song that Y/N and Peter danced to all too often. She smiled softly, stepping into the room. As she did, the lights turned on, and there Peter was, holding flowers and standing underneath a string of webs that read, in all caps, “PROM?” 

Y/N covered her mouth in shock, feeling her grin grow about six times its original size. She ran over to him, hugging him tightly. Peter smiled and held her close to himself. “So… is this a yes?” 

Y/N laughed happily, pulling back from the hug. “How could I ever say no to you?”

~

‘Where are you Peter?’ Y/N felt tears slip slowly down her face, and quickly wiped them away. There was an explanation for all of this. There had to be. Surely he was just running late. That was pretty typical of Peter.

 After about an hour and a half and plenty of pitiful reassurance from her mother, Y/N headed upstairs to her room, not resisting the tears anymore. She felt nothing but sadness and regret. She almost wished she had never said yes to Peter, and she never should’ve expected him to be on time or to even show up at all. And as Y/N sat there wallowing in self pity, a knock came from her window. 

Y/N got up, and saw an injured, saddened Peter Parker standing out in the pouring rain. She opened the window and ushered him inside, examining her injured boyfriend. “Peter, oh my god, what happened to you?” She took his arm and led him to the bed. 

Peter was letting out soft and pained whimpers as he sat down, holding his side lightly. “Jus’ a stupid battle with some bad guys… Don’ worry about me Y/N…” He closed his eyes slightly, leaning on her slumped shoulders. 

“Hon, you’re not okay…” Y/N sighed slightly. “Let me go grab the first aid kit, okay?” She pushed away for a moment, her heart still stinging a bit, and went to grab the first aid kit. When Y/N was gone, Peter leaned back onto her bed and nearly fell asleep. He wanted nothing more than to take a moment and relax. His head was pounding, he had never felt more sore in his life, and despite his enhanced healing, he felt like the pain would never end. Listening to the sounds of her shuffling in the bathroom,  Peter felt as though Y/N could help him overcome quite possibly anything. She was brave and beautiful and resilient and… upset? As Peter reexamined her face, he noticed how Y/N’s lips curved down just slightly and her eyebrows furrowed gently. She had clearly just been crying, and she had mascara running down her cheeks. Why was she upset?

“I promise I’m okay Y/N. don’t worry about me-”

“Shut up for two minutes and let me take care of you, Peter.” Y/N got to work, cleaning and bandaging cuts, and icing bruises. She never ceased looking upset, and Peter couldn’t figure out why. 

Until he saw a large, elegant dress in the corner. 

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry Y/N… I got so caught up in taking care of the bad guys I completely forgot…” Peter reached up to touch Y/N’s face gently, but she pulled away with a frustrated sigh. 

“Don’t worry about it Peter. It was only our senior prom. I’m over it.” Y/N put the supplies away hurriedly before laying back on the bed, an unreadable expression on her face. “You can stay here until you feel better. Then, you might want to go home to May.” She rolled away from him so her back was to Peter. 

Peter let out a gentle sigh, before placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll make it up to you, Y/N… I promise.” 

~

Y/N laid in her bed, scrolling through her instagram to pass the time. She had nothing better to do until dinner, and she had even already finished all her homework. She was mostly focusing on not thinking about prom. But despite her efforts, everyone seemed to be posting nonstop, and it was impossible to avoid the content.. ‘Oh how lucky you must be…’ Y/N thought in spite. Interrupting her angry thoughts was the last person she wanted to see, stepping into her room. Y/N sat up, glancing at her boyfriend. “What are you doing here, Peter?”

“I promised you  I would make it up to you, didn’t I?”

“What are you talking about?” 

“Prom. I said I would make it up to you.” Y/N glanced at what he wore, which she now realized was a tuxedo that matched her own dress. “Get up and get dressed! We’ve got a date.” With that, he marched out of her room and waited by her door. 

Y/N didn’t know what to think, but she still put on her prom dress, and threw her hair up loosely, before meeting Peter outside her door. 

With a somewhat cocky smirk, Peter pulled her downstairs to her basement, which had been redecorated to fit exactly the theme of her school’s prom, Fairytale. Y/N glanced around, love and wonder for Peter flooding her heart as she took in the beautiful sight. Fairy string lights hung from the ceiling, tangling themselves with fairytale style vines, a miniature palace sat in the corner, and music played softly throughout the basement. Peter gently placed a tiara on her head, which matched the crown on his own. 

Somewhat goofily, he bowed in front of her, offering his hand. “M’lady… May I have this dance?”

Y/N giggled and curtsied, taking his hand in response. “You may!” Peter pulled her to his chest, taking her into a slow dance. Y/N rested one hand on his shoulder, and the other in his hand. She rested her head on his chest, feeling a bit more at peace with her life. “Thank you Peter… This really means a lot to me…” 

“Of course sweetheart. And I am so sorry for forgetting. I wish I could go back in time and take it all back-” 

“But you can’t,” Y/N interrupted, “and that’s alright. You’re the most amazing person I know, and while you’re not perfect, you are compassionate and clever. And I’m grateful for that every single day Pete.” She smiled up at him, letting him kiss her for the first time in weeks. It had been a while since Y/N had felt this calm, and she wouldn’t change it for the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags! @autumnlyholland @angelsparkers @audreylovespidey706 

[laufire]

Some things I’ve received during my hiatus, and that it’s related to some worrying patterns I’ve seen recently on tumblr, have made me want to clarify a point. I’ve debated whether to put some of it behind a cut, since +1000 is on the longish-side, but fuck it. I think it’s important --or at least, important that you know this about me--, it makes me angry, and you’ll just have to scroll past it. And it’s a topic I’ll probably talk more about in the future, since it genuinely concerns me, even if not specifically in the same way or focusing on the same things I do here, so you might wanna be mindful of that *shrugs*.

I do not give a single fuck about whether B*llarke is “problematic”, or toxic, or abusive, or “immoral to ship” in any way. And the same can be said about literally every pairing. And if you ever try to harass anyone with those arguments (or any other, but I hope that goes without saying) --including shippers of my NOTPs--, I guarantee you, you won’t have me on your side.

Sure, I don’t like seeing it (and plenty of other ships) on my dash; that’s what filters are for. There are ships whose existence I prefer to ignore in its entirety, and I plan on forgetting them for the rest of my life.

In BC’s case, in particular, I –obviously, if you’ve read this blog– don’t want it to become canon. The way I see it, it’s a crack-ship (and not a very interesting one, AFAIC) between a character I like and a character I dislike, that’s entirely based on misrepresenting canon. Why would I care? But IMO the writers dislike the ship itself, so why would I worry either?

On top of that, I’m rooting for Bellamy’s narrative to be the dominant narrative (not as much for Bellamy himself –thought that’s a nice bonus–, but because it inevitably benefits my favourite characters: Raven, Murphy, Emori, Echo and Octavia), and the show has proven that’s antithetical to Clarke’s narrative prevailing (there’s a reason why every single season has put them at odds, in ways that effectively risk each other’s happiness, health and life). Historically speaking, things don’t end well for male leads that are put in romantic situations with women they haven’t chosen and put moves on by their own accord, and there’s plenty of evidence in canon that Bellamy doesn’t see Clarke in a romantic light –and it’s telling that, in fact, the writers CHOSE to cut out the one moment that could’ve hinted at it, back in season one.

Lastly, as I said, I think the writers themselves dislike the ship; not just aren’t interest in writing it, but actively dislike it. The first piece of evidence (if you plan on ignoring everything they’ve said about it, which already backs this opinion) is, frankly, that it hasn’t happened. Ships well-liked by the writers and supported by the narrative happen fast; lightning-fast in some cases. They likely don’t stay together, because narratives tend to follow a path of separation before the last-minute endgame (which might not happen; endgames aren’t a guarantee, even if there clearly are ships with better odds than others; BC, IMO, is the LEAST likely endgame possible out of all of them), but you better bet that dude is making his interest known ASAP.

Of course, writers in all of history of TV have written ships that they disliked, or at least ships that they only saw as filler and not “endgame material” (though I’m struggling with remembering another one that has the writers feeling so apathetic tbh). So yeah, there’s a very, very small chance of it happening, sure.

But have you ever tried to write a romance for a ship you hate? You probably haven’t, because the very idea it’s ridiculous. But imagine if you had. You would have hated every minute, I bet. And I don’t think any fans of that ship would find your story even remotely satisfying. Professional writers are exactly the same.

Even if the writers felt so worn down that they decided to go for your ship (which, IMO, would be a giant warning sign on itself; it’d be a mere symptom of their disinterest on their own story, and the show would be on its lasts breaths), what makes you think it’d make for a good story? They would half-ass it at best (and probably use it to troll you, out of spite), it would never get the genuine ~feeling that their preferred ships enjoy because, well. They don’t want it. They don’t believe in it. You can’t write with passion about something you don’t believe in, and passionless writing sucks literally every damn time.

And even all that? All that play-by-play essay I just gave you about why I don’t like the idea of canon BC? That still isn’t enough to make me hate on the ship. This can be said about plenty of ships across shows, books, etc., and I don’t talk about any of them because I don’t even remember them after I’ve moved on to the next thing.

But you know what I hate about BC? ITS FUCKING FANDOM.

They’ve proven to be one of the most dishonest ship-doms I’ve ever encountered, and probably one of the most numerous at that, which obviously only makes them worse (one day I’m going to talk about how these type of ships seem to attract assholes that know they can get away with shit due to the numbers and the attitude of those fanbases, but that’s another story).

Their numbers allow them to control the narrative within the fandom (and since canon doesn’t support them, they’ll outright lie about it), to the point were dissenting voices are ignored, disbelieved, and actively ridiculed and silenced, even when we’re pointing out actual scenes that support OUR reading and contradict THEIRS. They routinely act like characters like Echo or Raven don’t matter, while in fact feeling threatened by their relationship with Bellamy, and go into their tags full of condescending concern-trolling or outright hate. They harass other fans that dare to disagree with them, and they harass the actors and the creators of the show on a semi-regular basis.

A.K.A., they’re hurting real, living human beings.

There are hundreds of “toxic” ship out there (and am I the only one who, thanks to fandom, feel like many of these words have completely lost meaning? I truly hope that I am) that I never think or talk about, even if *I* personally didn’t care for or disliked them. By virtue of their small numbers (since a lot of those ships tend to be fringe interests in the already fringe medium that is fandom), most of the shippers usually mind their own business and simply go on with their lives, which I find to be the right attitude. Shipping (and character/show-stanning) isn’t activism, it’s born out of the fucking opposite impulses, IMO. Fiction is a place to explore anything and everything we wouldn’t even imagine doing in real life; there’s a reason why horror is such a popular genre, ffs. (and that’s mainstream, which means it has a bigger outreach and potential real life consequences (even if they don’t happen the way people think they do; fiction mostly reflects and maybe reinforces reality; it can’t create anything out of thin air). I cannot stress how few people read fanworks and how little they impact the real world).

If anything, those shippers have all my sympathy, because 9 times out of 10, THEY are the ones getting the brunt of the harassment. Like, I don’t give a single fuck about Reylo in one way or the other, to name one example (I’ve only watched TFA, which means I’ve missed the ~meaty part of their relationship, for one; but even if I remedied that, I thought both characters were deeply uninteresting, and I find KR painfully unattractive inside and out, so it’s likely I still wouldn’t ship it); but I’ve seen how its shippers got sent anti-Semitic slurs and gore pictures and were compared to school-shooters, and how its antis have effectively shielded a confessed rapist in their midst (and all that without getting into the general pattern of harassment/violent threats/suicide baiting that plagues the purity culture movement in this site; I can send you sources, if you don’t believe me), so those antis can go fuck themselves, tbh.

THAT shit is what I take issue with: hurting actual people. That’s ALWAYS going to matter more than the feelings of some fucking fictional construct, and I can’t believe that somehow became a controversial opinion. Bellamy or Rey or whom-the-fuck-ever doesn’t exist, they can’t get hurt, and the idea of their “feelings” taking precedence over the well-being or real people is fucking insulting.

(btw, don’t bother with any “but what about THIS gross ship/type of ships? you support THAT too?“ I’m not going to answer that and make myself a target for that bullshit, and I think this post proves this situation goes a little beyond something as clear-cut as “support” or “condemn” --among other issues, who am I to “aproove” or not any ship wtf--, but if you mean “are you against people who like it being attacked because their interests in fiction somehow prove they have ~nasty morals?”, then the answer is a resounding “yes”. What the fuck do you know about their life anyway)

[lizthefangirl]

So.

I’ve had a good, long think about some things in my life, particularly how integral this blog has been to it for the past five years—and have finally come to understand what I’ve been running from for a while now: 

I’m very dependent on it—too dependent on it. 

When I say that, I mean all of the fandoms therein, the humor, the [often uhhh slightly biased] discourse. . . I can’t recall ever going over a week without engaging in my blog for five and-a-half years now. And I’m starting to get curious as to just how much time I’ve wasted, how much negativity I’ve been exposed to, how many addictions have been reinforced—and what exactly would happen if I gave that up for a bit.

In religious terms, it’s “fasting.” And I am religious. It’s something I very rarely directly discuss on here. In the past two years of college, I’ve gone from calling myself a Christian to actually investigating theology, having an incredible, unexpected, unconditionally loving family in Christ—and overall, having to face some really tough things about the way I’ve lived, and how unhealthy some of it was. 

It’s so challenging, especially as an artist, to participate in a community where unbelief is sometimes still spiritual, where everything is questioned (which is actually a very good thing), where it’s often quite literally all about sex and money and yes—drugs and everything else. And where it’s essentially not quite normal to be what I’m trying to be. Yet, it’s not that I’ve met any hostility—seriously, people have been far more accepting then I anticipated. I’m determined to be loving in spite of it, to believe in the Gospel in spite of all of the flack people give it (to put it lightly), while still acknowledging the very human faults of many branches of the faith and doing my best to renounce them, and live a better way,  

It’s still devastatingly difficult to constantly be surrounded by these groups of people though, though—even if it is a reflection of a lot of the world. But art is the industry I’ve always strived to be in, the skill I’ve been passionate about my whole life. I’m determined to come out of it successful and resilient in my faith—and maybe even earn respect in the process. I’m still learning, and being exposed to the world. It’s been a wild ride, certain to get wilder.

This kind of parallels the world of Tumblr. I follow a lot of people (they stack up over five years), and discourse that didn’t bother me years ago leaves me uncomfortable now. Things I used to indulge in that developed into a very personal, internalized addiction (which I’ve since finally sought some help for in trusted friends and mentors). 

For a platform on which I’ve always thought I was being myself, I realize that I was being a version of myself that was, frankly, engulfed in sin. And that language makes me cringe a little bit, it really does. Because the negativity that has been associated to Christianity is something that weighs on me every single day, and I get it—you don’t know how much I get it. I have spent the past two years being a fish out of water, being the one who accidentally cusses during service (quite frequently), who cuts up. And I’ve questioned everything, I still do. But. . . it’s standing up to it. This God, this theology, these beliefs—nothing has managed to crack against my questions and doubts yet. And I’ve seen change, felt it. I travelled to another country and felt it more intensely then I ever have in America.

In the past couple years, I’ve separated from some of my closest friends—including my best friend of seven years. The principle reason was our divergent lifestyles. I have been shockingly better off since then.

If I can do that in my everyday life—with people I know and love—why is it so hard to do it to people I have never remotely known? 

Why does that follower count matter to me so much? Why does pre-meditating everything I post, analyzing notes, seeking personal replies—why is that more important to me than doing my work? Forming relationships?

It’s a big, big question that I simply don’t know the answer to (okay, the answer is “because my ego” but i don’t wanna admit that so). But I’m asking it—and for once, that’s not all I’m doing. 

I’m not happy on here anymore, not really. Like yes, I love these stories I’m so invested in. So much! And I’m not ashamed of that, or of anyone else who does. Even though some have. . . well, had negative effects. Do I have to go there? Read between the lines, y’all. 

It’s just that everything I post—even my artwork—becomes a need for response, for validation. That’s what those notes are. They’re fleeting acknowledgement, and I feed on it. Creating fan art is a privilege—visually rendering the stories I read is a joy, and sharing it makes me so happy! But I have my own stories, too. And right now—I think I want to do something with that. 

I’m just tired of constantly monitoring the numbers. I’m tired of encountering things that I don’t want to encounter every time I scroll down my dash. It’s going to be hard to separate myself from it—but I have to try. 

As of right now, I’m going for 21 days. 21 days of not posting. Not reblogging. 21 days of not thirsting for notes. 21 days of getting ready to go back to college and eventually doing so, and seeing what else is out there besides this. 

I do love you guys—the ones I’ve known and spoken to for years. And literally anyone who has ever left a kind comment, or a like, or a reblog (and wasn’t a creep). This platform has transformed my life, and gotten me through a whole lot. More positive than negative has come from it, I think. I’ve developed an identity that has been problematic at times, but ultimately I wouldn’t change one bit. Because it’s gotten me here.

I’m just going to see what happens—I’m going to do this for myself, and see what happens. I think I’ll surprise myself and be fine. But this is a step towards living the lifestyle I want to live, that the people I admire most live. I’ve given my heart and soul and mind to this thing. I’m going to take them back for a while.

Until next time, with much love,

- Liz.xx

[fanficcollection]

Tumblr - Girl (Part 1)

Tumblr - Girl (Series)

Part 2 Masterlist

Pairing: Misha Collins x reader

Summary: You post on your tumblr after a panic attack, not knowing if you would get an answer

Word Count: 1.736

Warnings: panic attack, angst, swearing, mental illness, depression, maybe fluff (I’m really not good at this!)

Notes: it is my first fanfic and I am not a English native speaker so please don’t hate me

Your POV

“Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in.” you said to yourself. You felt the beginning panic attack, your pulse increased, tears welled up in your eyes and you your lungs couldn’t get enough air. “Breathe out. Breathe in.” you continued your mantra. Your whole body was shaking, but you knew it would eventually get better. After a few minutes of just breathing your body calmed down and you took your phone to distract yourself. There was not a lot going on on tumblr but you just scrolled through your dashboard, multiple times you saw postings about the unbelievable support from the SPNfamily and how they cared about their “family members”. You considered yourself as a family member since quite a long time and you often posted help-seeking texts, but not one time you got an answer to those. You just were not important, to anybody, nobody wants to talk to you. Tears started welling up again and you sobbed quietly. Before you knew what you were doing you typed a short text:

Kinda hard

Hey SPNfamily, I read many, many things about your support of family members, but it is hard to get into the family, isn’t it? I really considered me as member, but I couldn’t really get into contact with anyone. I needed a lot of support in the last few weeks and tbh nobody answered my questions for help, for someone to talk. I’m kinda sad about that.

You pressed the “send”-button and buried yourself in your blanket. It took just a few minutes before you heard a sound of your phone. You ignored it, you were sure it was someone who complained about you being an attention-seeking bitch. You cried yourself into a very restless sleep.

In the middle of the night you woke up, your eyes swollen from crying and your pillow soaking wet. Tired and with a bad headache you stood up to get yourself a glass of water and a dry pillow. You saw the notification on your mobile and decided to look at it, you wouldn’t be able to sleep for a couple of hours anyway. It was a private message in your tumblr inbox from a user called oldbonesgoingdown.

“Hey girl,

Just saw your post and was a bit worried about you, so I decided to write you to be sure you are okay. I’ve experienced that unfortunately it can happen that support-seeking posts drown in the floods of SPNfandom posts, gifs, fanfics (you surely know what I’m talking about)

In spite of that I wanted to make sure you know I’m here. In case nobody else recognized your post, I did, and I really wanna help you in every way I can. 

You don’t have to talk to me, if you don’t need to or if you don’t want to, but please just let me know if you’re alright, ok?

Love, oldbonesgoingdown”

You read the text again and again, there was no hate in it, no accusation, just care. A light smile appeared on your face as you tapped at the “answer”-button and wrote a few lines.

“Hello you,

I know it’s late (at least here it’s about 3 a.m.) and I hope I don’t wake you but I just wanted to thank you for your message. Tbh I had a sort of bad moment when I wrote the post and I didn’t thought that anyone would actually care about it. It never happened before that someone cared about me. So thank you! 

And I would really appreciate to have someone to talk to, I just think I will need some time to jump over my own shadow, it isn’t easy for me to share this stuff which isn’t even interesting.

Looking forward to hear from you,

Y/N”

You put your mobile on the floor next to your bed and closed your eyes as you heard that notification-sound again. *Wow, he or she is fast!* you thought, a few seconds you considered leaving your phone alone until in the morning but then your curiosity won and you unlocked your screen.

“Hey

Thanks for your reply, Y/N, is this your real name, Y/N? I like it, it’s a beautiful name, your parents did well here. 

Don’t worry, you didn’t wake me, I couldn’t sleep so I listened to some songs when I got your message, why are you awake this late? Is everything okay? You didn’t specifically say that you are alright, but I hope you are. Take all the time you need, you don’t have to share anything if you don’t want to, I don’t want to push, I just wanna say I’m here to listen, to talk. Don’t rush, my dear.

Love, oldbonesgoingdown”

And a few seconds after the first message arrived there was a second, really short one.

“I was really happy when I saw your message, so I instantly replied, I hope I don’t scared you off.”

You smiled. He, you were very sure now that this was a male because of the comment on your name, really read your message, detected the little things, that you haven’t answered his question, that you put your real name at the end of it and things like that.

“Yes, Y/N it’s my real name, I’m glad you like it, to be honest I don’t like it, but it fits to my person, it’s just as normal and boring as I am, I think.

For the moment I think I’m quite okay, I cried myself into sleep tonight and I woke up a few minutes ago. Got some water and a fresh pillow and saw your message so I thought I quickly answer it. J But if you are tired, go to bed, I don’t want to keep you up all night.

Btw you didn’t scare me off, don’t worry, but you are a fast writer!

Greetings, Y/N”

You sent the message and stared at the display of your phone waiting for his next text, minutes went by and you got sad again, maybe he really got to sleep now, you could understand it, you were just a boring, unnecessary person, no one would like to write with you. No one would like to hear about your problems. Now YOU scared HIM off. Shit, tears started rolling down your face once more as you put your phone away. Desperately you took that razor, which you used to store in your nightstand and with fast moves you slid it across your skin, ten times, maybe twenty times. You saw the little red drops and a sad smile appeared on your face. After some time you watched the drops of blood on your wrist you took a tissue, pressed it on the cuts slightly and fixed it with some bandage. Then without looking on your mobile you went to bed, falling in a deep but restless sleep.

Mishas POV

I was just scrolling through my tumblr dashboard and commented on a few things, I was glad I had this idea with the second account. I enjoyed that nobody knew it was me and I could communicate with the other users just normal. Just like they communicate with each other. I made some great experiences with those people, which are supporting each other as good as they could. I read a few texts as a very short one catches my attention. He or she said the SPNfamily just doesn’t answer his/her asks for support. I looked at the profile and figured out that it was a girl talking, but I was worried, she sounded like she wasn’t well, like she had nobody to lean on. I waited a few minutes but nobody reacted to her text and I felt like I had to do something, so I shot her a quick message asking if she was okay.

Hours later I was still worried about this girl, she hasn’t answered yet and I wasn’t sure what to do. A quick look on my mobile told me it was nearly 2 a.m., shit, I had filming tomorrow. I tried to put myself into bed and get some sleep, but I couldn’t close one eye. So I turned some music on on my phone and thought about what to do. Minutes went by as suddenly the music stopped for a moment and a soft noise said that I got a message. In a flash I took my mobile read the short message and smiled for a short moment, it was from that tumblr-girl, then I read the message again, it was no doubt she was having a hard time, that made me sad. I quickly wrote a reply and sent it, fuck, that was too fast, she might think I am a stalker or something. I shot a short second message explaining the situation and waited, hoping for an answer.

Not much time went by as my phone buzzed again, I saw a message from that tumblr-girl in my inbox but at the time I wanted to answer my phone went out. Shit. I was looking for the charger everywhere until I realised I forgot it on set. Shit. Quickly I started up my laptop and read her message again and answered.

“Don’t think like that, Y/N. I don’t know you that well ( now), but I think you are an interesting person, you seem there are a lot of interesting things to know about you and I would like to get to know them all. 

Oh my dear, I hope you are better now, I feel with you, I know this feeling when your head puts up some cruel ideas and you can’t do anything but believing it, I really know it, but it will pass, at least for a while. And remember, I am here, girl, I am.

Love, oldbonesgoingdown

PS.: And I don’t think Y/N is an normal, boring name, like you said, I think it sounds very light, adorable and lovely, I don’t know anybody who is called Y/N. I really like the sound of it.

I waited and waited but nothing came back. I checked the time again, it was after 4 am. Shit. I layed down and within some minutes I fell to sleep, hoping I did nothing wrong to her.

Part 2

[prixmiumarchive]

So, Shadowhunters is good, then? I've thought about watching it but have also thought that it looked like it was kind of over dramatic.

***VERY PERSONAL SHADOWHUNTERS DISCOURSE TO FOLLOW***

Cut for length and to avoid annoying people.

My tl;dr answer is: yes, with caveats, a lot of baggage, and a “it is a Freeform show” disclaimer. So, good music, pretty people, pretty lighting, engaging character chemistry… All there. Melodramatic? Maybe, but really, what were you signing up for?

I got into Shadowhunters because my friend @thethirteenthhouse showed me an episode, and I’m still only like five episodes in with her? I enjoy it, though. At the time that she first showed it to me, I hadn’t really made the full connection that it was another attempt at making a film adaptation of The Mortal Instruments series by Cassandra Cla(i)re.

I realized pretty quickly, though, because they resolve the City of Bones stuff pretty quickly, which was the name of the first TMI book which I had been very, very dimly aware of in high school I guess. I had been put off TMI and Cassandra Cla(i)re (hereafter CC) not by its own content but because of the controversy surrounding CC’s presence in Harry Potter fandom.

I have only recently started to work my way through the Harry Potter series. My parents are not really ax-crazy conservatives, but they occasionally listen to said breed of conservatives, so when I was in the Harry Potter generation, I was denied access to Harry Potter because my parents didn’t want me opening my mind to Dark Magic or something. I mean, we can get into that, but it’s really another story, and I love my parents, and they’re very not-bad-as-parents-go-if-you’re-anything-but-a-heterosexual-vanilla-delight-of-a-human. Anyway, so, Harry Potter is pretty new to me as a person, though I did go through my childhood with a kind of indirect exposure to it. I just didn’t really get to delve in? My parents let up on most of those such edicts after a while, and I did read a few (the first three?) Harry Potter books when I was really into reading in high school. However, I wasn’t really engaging with anyone about it, because I was kind of embarrassed that I was so ‘behind’ compared to my peers who had basically learned to read on Harry Potter. Then, I got sucked into PJO (the first few books of that).

But even though I, personally, was not a Potter kid, my childhood best friend definitely was. She and I had overlapping interests and diverging interests, and she LOVED Harry Potter with no parental chagrin. We used to sit side by side on an office chair and scroll through fansites related to things we liked (GeoCities! Angelfire! Wow.) and eventually got turned onto fanfiction.net as being a thing and other, more restrictive and selective and focused groups and fic archives that existed in the days of yore.

I’m explaining all of that to say that I was actually aware of the Draco Trilogy before all of it was published and when it was popular without a real whiff of controversy having been brought to anyone’s (or at least my childhood best friend’s) attention. If you don’t know about the whole Draco Trilogy mess and want me to do a short fact-finding mission, send me another ask, but I’ll wait in interest of expediency. TVtropes and fanlore websites both have links and information if you just search for “the Draco Trilogy.”

I read excerpts of the Draco Trilogy that had particularly pithy dialogue, funny, or sexy overtones that my childhood best friend wanted to share. I also seem to think that we read a fair bit of Draco/Hermione fic in this manner, which I do not know if CC ever wrote but which I bring up because I was sorely disappointed to find out that Draco/Hermione dynamic that I imagined based on these fics (inspired, in part, by a certain fanon-hopeful interpretation of Draco popularized, at least, if not completely and solely originated by CC) was totally not what I got the impression of as an undercurrent from the films. Basically, the fact that Draco was not as CC imagined him which I had developed a conception of through being-in-internet-fandom-if-not-very-into-Harry-Potter was a major disappointment and probably one of the reasons that HP was not high up on my list of Things To Make Happen when my teenage rebellious ingenuity was at its fullest swing to read Parentally Discouraged Books. And, you see, THAT IS THE THING about CC, The Mortal Instruments, why I kind of like Shadowhunters, and why I will probably never stomach delving further behind the curtain than the Shadowhunters TV series itself, though I know there are loads of people who have done so in ignorance/innocence.

This is a serious case of “I can enjoy a thing while being super-critical of, like, everything about it on a meta level.”

Co-opting some descriptive terms from things I’ve read about the Draco Trilogy, a short summary of its impact on its fandom at the time was, apparently, that it was a fanfiction of such phenomenon that some people began to prefer the Draco Trilogy to the direction canon itself was going. And, as fanfiction power goes, that is like the Holy Grail. It is the Goal when canon is in any way disappointing you and your fellow fans. It’s incredible, it’s impressive, and I’m still sitting here impressed that no matter what hellfire CC has had rained down upon her that there was something in her work that resonated with people to a point that there are many willing to forgive unrepentant and repeated acts of plagiarism and bullying in order to resolve the cognitive dissonance of really loving something that was written by and born from a generally jerkish person.

I say that, consciously, as a person who accepts Moffat Who for the most part in spite of all of the Discourse in that direction, too.

The issue with CC’s Draco Triology was certainly not its plotting, its craftsmanship (in terms of its parts making a whole), its characterization, or anything else that would make it a bad fic. I have yet to revisit the texts, though I have procured them as a funny and fanlore matter of interest for my Harry Potter reading log blog @100privetdrive (which tumblr doesn’t wanna link right now), as someone who knows the controversy, and I never read them in full, but I am led to believe that there are many fans who would still like to revisit the texts but feel bad about doing so because they are tainted with plagiarism and a lot of ugliness that followed. CC’s dedication to her work certainly led her to produce a completed trilogy of interconnected longfics, not to mention her one-shots that she produced for the Harry Potter fandom during her stay. Most of them have vanished into the realm of myth when she retreated from fandom life upon getting her book deal (and upon ducking away from those who were out with pitchforks in the fandom at the time), but the Draco Trilogy was of such renown that it has (for now) escaped permanent erasure from record in spite of CC’s attempts.

What I’m telling you is that people like(d) the Draco Trilogy.

CC’s characterizations of the Harry Potter cast were not necessarily consistent with canon, but they were consistent within what she imagined at the time could be or wished was. It is certainly not the case that her fanfiction and the story she quilted together was devoid of original thought or emotional investment in her characters and what she was writing. The problem was, someone discovered that she was essentially lifting word-for-word passages from some quality-but-then-out-of-print fantasy books for sizeable portions of plot-heavy parts of her story, in addition to much of her pithy, interesting dialogue being straight-lifted from popular television of the time such as Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Honestly, for the latter, few people would call her out for that. She did credit that she borrowed some dialogue from shows she liked, and when trying to defend herself against accusations of plagiarism, she mentioned a kind of in-joke, intertextual referential humor she shared with her fandom friends. Basically, she was doing the same thing as all those incorrect[series]quotes tumblrs that are pretty popular right now, and she did admit it. The issue was what she would not admit when someone found her out and the bullying and war and response that followed.

There is far better documentation on this situation than I can give you, because the entire thing about this drama is interesting hearsay for my part. Again, if you ask, I’ll go on a brief fishing expedition for you, but it will involve a series of search terms you could just as easily google yourself. If any of my recollection is fuzzy, it is because it is solely recollection of things I’ve read about and become aware of as a fandom resident for more-than-the-past-decade.

Getting back to Shadowhunters, the thing about it is, I never really wanted to like anything CC had anything to do with for a long time for all of these reasons. I didn’t really feel good about supporting someone who made the transition from fan-to-creator in a way that felt a lot like she didn’t care who she hurt in the process. I also felt, a little, like it was a betrayal of the spirit of transformative and fandom work to completely remove oneself from the process (by deleting as much as you could of your fandom contributions) when you achieved success. I know of a lot of active fandom writers who don’t do that if and when they become published. However, those people also don’t plagiarize their own work.

Again, this is a-thing-I-read-about because I have not read the Draco Trilogy in anything close to full or ANY of TMI series except screencaps of pages I’ve seen on tumblr. That said, Jace Wayland is CC’s Draco. Clary Fray is CC’s Ginny Weasley. Alec Lightwood is CC’s Harry Potter.

So here is my complicated relationship with kind of liking and getting into the Shadowhunters tv series at this particular juncture in time, space, and my personal history and observation of fandom: I think it is really cool when works influence and can relate to each other. TMI is a far better example of this than 50 Shades, no doubt. However, there is the load of baggage surrounding CC’s success, unapologetic or deflective attitude toward anything she ever does wrong, and so on. But, then again, Shadowhunters is based on her work. Another recent example that might be similar is the CW’s The 100.

The 100 is another show that I genuinely like-what-I-have-seen-of, though I’m behind the point when some people got mad and wrote it off. It is also based on a YA lit book of the same title. However, its similarities with the book diverge sharply after the first few episodes, and it, as an adaptation, is doing its own thing, unrepentantly. I have been told that Shadowhunters is also doing this, and I think that it is an aesthetically pleasing show. It also has interesting concepts at play in its worldbuilding which I will say to my mind are unique in spite of the myriad parallels to a darker-teenier-edgier Harry Potter that will never go away. I also appreciate that the Shadowhunters showrunners are said to care about how their representation of LGBT people plays. It is not an exclusively-white show. It has pretty music. I like the actors’ enthusiasm for the characters they play and the journeys they seem to be taking. I think parabatai is a pretty neat concept. It’s pretty standard as far as what runes themselves are, but the rune usage and tattoos are pretty cool.

There are a lot of things to like about this show. There are a lot of things about them that, without evidence, I am sure are the brain children of CC. I wish that I could just full on and without equivocation go “kudos” to someone who made such an incredible transformative leap from one fandom into her own worldbuilding. However, the divorce of Shadowhunters/TMI/pretty much any of CC’s work feels incomplete and disingenuous on a certain level, no matter how much I am simply enjoying a tv show with-my-criticisms. I feel that a denial of is direct relationship to fanfiction, fandom itself, Harry Potter, and CC’s own past is just an effort to flatten out cognitive dissonance that comes from liking-what-is-intriguing-about-it that simply doesn’t come that easily.

I am enjoying the show in part because it seems really interesting on some kind of fandom-sociological level. I also like it for all the good-things I mentioned above. I like it because my some of my friends love it with an untainted and genuine enthusiasm. However, I’ve got to say, that I actually find watching the Shadowhunters series with my friend feels non-icky in a way that pledging any kind of allegiance to CC’s little empire that actually benefited it in any way does not.

I enjoy Shadowhunters as, basically, the biggest budget AU fanfic I have ever seen, but I think that on some level it has its own soul, too. But I’d be a lot more willing to credit the cast and crew and the Harry Potter fandom of the early-00s with that than I would CC on her own.

[stillinaincrad]

You can kiss my turkey eatin’ ass, Tumblr - I wrote it out again just for spite. 

So, the title of this article is “Top Ten Questions to Ask Anime Fans” (https://www.thetoptens.com/questions-ask-anime-fans/), which is ironic, because then they ask ten more. Anyhow…

1. What Got You Interested In Anime? - honestly, my older sister. She has been a science genius since we were little kids. I owe almost all of my sci-fi geekiness to her, because she always had something on and I’d get hooked - Star Trek, Doctor Who - and even an old 80′s anime called Robotech that I fell in love with. I liked it so much, in fact, I went looking for more. 

2. What’s Your Favorite Anime Series? - Yeah, every list of anime questions has this one, and every time I say I don’t know because only naming one would leave out too many others that are just as good to me, often for different reasons. 

3. Which Anime Series Would You Most Recommend? - as a blanket, sweeping generality I’d say Charlotte, just because I can’t remember being more surprised by how an anime went, but it really depends on the person. I think Neon Genesis Evangelion a must-watch to just about anyone who even wanted to dabble in anime, but it’s intense and deep and political and soul crushing, and that might not be the next person’s thing. So, it depends. 

4. Who’s Your Favorite Anime Character? - again, no good answer, because would leave out too many. 

5. What Was the First Anime You Ever Watched? - Oops, answered that in my answer to #1. Oddly enough, has not changed since. 

6. Who’s Your Favorite Female Anime Character? - That one I can answer and is not a difficult decision to make at all, it’s Lucy. It’s always Lucy. Elfen Lied is ridiculously heavy and will slay your feels like they were a fire-breathing dragon, but somehow I always felt like I understood Lucy’s pain, and how necessary she felt that pain was. I’ll find a way to better put this into words later, but that’s a girl who hurt way more than anyone has ever deserved, and she somehow shouldered it all as if she did deserve it. I always felt like all she ever wanted was love, but had herself so programmed to never allow herself love or to be loved. If you’ve ever been there yourself, she’s such an incredible character. 

7. Which Anime Would You Most Want to Be Turned Into a Movie? - I am not really a fan of movies made from anime, because there’s just not enough time and so much of it gets trimmed that I don’t care for it. If the movie has nothing to do with the anime save the characters (new plot, new story, etc) then ok, but I still like having the whole anime for character development, side stories, etc. 

8. Which Anime Series Do You Favor the Least? - Geneshaft, no contest. I hated the awful characters, the sup-par animation, the obnoxious monotone soundtrack, the complete waste of design and uselessness of most of the mecha… I just hated everything about Geneshaft. I even tried to watch it a second time, thinking I had missed something, and no - it was still a steaming pile of excrement the second time, too. 

9. Which Anime Character Is Your Least Favorite? - the kids from Eureka 7 annoy me to no end, Rossiu Adai was forged from 100% bitch, Makoto Itou was a slime and deserved death, Charles di Britannia for Father of the Year… there’s quite a pool to choose from there, too. 

10. Why Do You Get Offended If Someone Doesn’t Like Anime? - that has no affect on me, to be honest. Only time I get offended is when someone wants to either judge anime based on our western ideals and mindset without taking into account that it comes from a foreign culture that has different belief systems and values and customs as us, or - if you REALLY want to piss me off - when someone wants to look all shifty-eyed at anime itself or anyone who likes anime because it’s “cartoon porn”. Anime is just another medium of entertainment and is no different from television, movies, theater, or books in that regard - there are all gradients of good and bad, right and wrong, and yes, there is pornographic anime, just as there are pornographic films, books, magazines, and television… does in no way mean that all films, books, magazines and television are pornographic in nature. I absolutely cannot stand it when someone is so narrow-minded as to affix a derogatory label to something they themselves are not a fan of and judge others through that overwhelming egotism. I will fist fight you if you try to project your smallness onto me with that bullshit. 

11. What Can Be Found In Anime That You Can’t Get from Cartoons? - in almost a continuation of the last question, anime is not “cartoons”, at least not all the time. Anything is possible with anime, and quite a bit of it is not made for kids at all - just because it’s drawn and animated does not mean it’s a cartoon. Putting the two together is very wrong. 

12. Why Don’t You Go Outside For A While? - why don’t you tell me again how great season two of Stranger Things is, hypocrite. 

13. What is Your Favorite Anime Out of the Forbidden Four? Bleach is the only one of the Forbidden Four I could even tolerate. Even though there is an infuriating amount of filler from about S3-4 on, Bleach is still really good. Did not care for Naruto or One Piece, and I absolutely haaaated DBZ (to be fair, I did not know there was a subtitled version until later in life, and the English dub was obnoxious as balls). 

14. What Anime Couple Do You Hate? - Hideki Nishimura and Ako Tamaki come to mind first. Hideki for being such a spineless little coward for not wanting to hurt the feelings of someone who is so disillusioned by her own inability to accept reality that she’s full-blown batshit crazy, and Ako for being that someone who is so disillusioned by her own inability to accept reality that she’ s full-blown batshit crazy. Seriously, bro - sack up and tell her ‘bye, Felicia’ like you know you want to. It was a video game, if she can’t deal with that then what happens when something that actually affects real people goes down?? RUN, fool. 

15. Why Do You Think it is Better Than Western Animation? - I haven’t seen a whole lot of western animation that takes on the same roles, has the same depth of writing, and has the same quality of art as most Japanese anime. You’ll never hear me say that Absolute Duo is better than Tom & Jerry, and I’d expect anyone who does say that to get hit in the face with a scoop shovel, but seriously - comparing western animation to Japanese anime is like comparing apples to asbestos. The only thing most of them have in common is that they’re drawn and have voice actors. Aside from that, two completely different animals. 

16. What Is Your Favorite Anime Crossover? - so I came up with the idea a long time ago that Decim lets someone go back up instead of down because he was confused by something he was feeling, but now has to come back to the “real world” to retrieve that person. The kicker is, he has no powers here. Imagine him walking around Hellsalem’s Lot, trying to process all the random emotions and make sense of all the bizarre wtfedness going on all the time. Dude… I would watch the hell out of that.

17. What do you think of Yaoi/Yuri anime? - I have a couple of favorite titles that are pretty steeped in it (Rinne no LaGrange?? lol), but as long as it doesn’t take away from the story or become the story, I probably won’t even notice, it’s just part of it. If the entire show is THESE TWO GUYS/GIRLS ARE SUPER DOOPER GAY AND THAT’S LITERALLY ALL THIS IS ABOUT then I’m probably not going to watch it. Doesn’t make me a homophobe, it makes me someone who likes content. 

18. Did You Know That Justin Bieber Hates Anime? - lots of people hate anime. I have so many legit reasons to dislike that 23yr old prepubescent talentless Lake Mead of douche hack that his like or dislike of anime is irrelevant. Besides, we got Samuel L, bitchsnacks.

19. What Do You Think of People Saying Every Anime Is Always Gratifying Woman Sexually? - yeah, scroll up. Already ranted at length about this exact topic. By far my biggest pet peeve regarding anime.  

20. If You are in an Anime What Power Do You Want to Get? - the power to not finish a list of questions on such a ridiculously lame one. Seriously, Top Ten - ultra-weaksauce finish.