#but in reality it's because he wanted to be in control. he wanted power.

[suzukiblu]

Day seven of February’s second weekly WIP behind the cut, final day ( and still TECHNICALLY in before midnight!! ); “mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Well, we’ve arrived at your final resting place, Mr. Kent and young Mr. Kent,” Alfred informs them mildly as he turns off into the driveway up to Wayne Manor, which absolutely cannot actually be the local Bruce Wayne’s actual base of operations. Kon doesn’t care if the dude thinks he’s a version of Clark, there is no Batman who would just bring a couple of strange Kryptonians home without at least locking some blue K on them, whether one of them is a scared ten year-old or not, and the local blue kryptonite won’t even work on them! 

Except the moment the car stops in front of the front door and he can focus his TTK without the wheels spinning blurring anything, he absolutely can in fact feel the Batcave and all the connected cave systems that are sprawling underneath the place and clearly, like, functional and active. 

Really, he could feel that even through the wheels, they weren’t going anywhere near fast enough to actually blur his senses, but he just assumed he was somehow hallucinating that or something. Except he is definitely not, because he definitely does feel it. His X-ray vision is blocked by lead-heavy mineral deposits and there’s soundproofing and temperature control in the way of his super-hearing and infrared vision and knowing Batman there’s probably some random magic shit he got Zatanna to set up mixed in there, but his TTK can still feel a very obvious Batcave down there without even trying. 

Which, like–TTK is not really a power most people know to plan for or know how to plan for, given it’s basically just him and Match who have any remotely-developed versions of it and Match’s is kinda fucked-up with some of the degradation issues and all, and even red sun and kryptonite don’t totally cancel it out–plus those both have to be directed at him to do anything anyway, not his TTK itself–so like, yeah, in a reality where he maybe does not even actually exist–apparently does not even actually exist–prooooobably the local Batman did not ever solve that particular puzzle, no. 

This is definitely a trap. This has gotta be a trap. 

Alfred gets out and opens the car door for them with a polite incline of his head and Kon gets absolutely zero bad vibes off him, and has literally no idea what the fuck is going on with this weird-ass reality. 

“Okayyyyy,” he says slowly, and gets out of the car. Jon gets out behind him and grabs the back of his jacket, pressing up close against his back. Alfred closes the door; gives them both a pleasant little smile. 

“Allow me to get the door,” he says as he heads for said door, and also: “Earl Grey or oolong?” 

“Assam,” Kon says at the exact same time as Jon–zero percent surprisingly–says “Ceylon,” because all else aside, that was absolutely a test. Alfred never serves a guest Earl Grey unless he wants them to fuck off immediately and can’t be trusted to make oolong without putting milk in it, which is a crime against a drink that Kon doesn’t even particularly like but also a crime that he absolutely cannot handle right now. 

“Of course, sirs,” Alfred says, sparing them both a briefly thoughtful look before opening the door and holding it for them. Kon doesn’t really know what to take from that; did the guy expect something different? 

. . . actually, what does Clark drink when he comes over, Kon genuinely does not even know, he has been in the Batcave maybe four or five times max, and basically every single one was an apocalypse-level scenario that Batman was not actually on-planet for, except for the one time it was an apocalypse-level scenario that Kon was the only Kryptonian-class heavy-hitter who was League-vetted on-planet for. Which sure had been . . . an experience, as an experience. Like, a very weird and annoying and frustrating experience. Also Luthor’d already hacked his comms earlier that day to say some snide bullshit and try to boss him around about how to deal with said apocalypse, so that hadn’t really helped with his mood at the time either. 

But yeah, either way, he’s definitely never drunk Bat-tea with Clark. He’s pretty sure he’s only seen the dude drink coffee or whatever Ma’s got the kettle, in fact. So like, god knows what Alfred’s even thinking right now, because given Kon’s luck he either picked the exact thing Clark always drinks or something Clark just straight-up fucking hates. 

Probably the latter, given, again, Kon’s luck. 

This is totally a Bat-trap and they are totally gonna die here and he is totally gonna be embarrassed as fuck about it, he thinks resignedly, and then just heads into the manor with Jon still basically clinging to his back and seeming nervous again. 

“Thanks, man,” he says to Alfred, and then feels–

Oh, okay. That’s actually even weirder, Kon thinks, and tips back his head to blink up at the landing at the top of the entryway stairs where a presumably-local-but-who-knows Dick Grayson is leaning over the railing with a delighted grin on his face along with the “even weirder” sight that is a Jason standing next to him and squinting down at them speculatively. Like, a Jason in civilian clothes and the actual manor, not in vigilante-grade kevlar and the Batcave.  And like, he’s a lot less ripped than Kon’s version of the dude–like way more slender and maybe even a few inches shorter, which: what the fuck?–but he’s undeniably a Jason Todd. 

Also his hair’s black? Like. Fully black, no white streak or anything? 

So yeah, weird, Kon notes. 

Alright, well, maybe somebody’ll explain why there’s a Jason Todd who’s apparently willingly here to him after the local Batman shows up so he can explain himself to the whole Bat-belfry at once as opposed to having to go through multiple repeats of the same information and also, again, just in case this reality or this Bruce Wayne happen to be clone-racists or what the fuck ever or just have any opinions about “biological determinism” or any bullshit like that. Because that is still very much a conversation he wants to have in person and not–

“Oh my god, has Dad seen you yet?” Dick asks with a gleeful cackle, leaning even farther forward over the railing, and Kon blinks, a little startled. 

“You call him Dad?” he asks in reflexive bemusement, and Dick snickers at the question and folds his arms on the railing with an artful shrug. 

“Well, not in front of Vicki Vale and her peers or anyone with a recording device, but yeah,” he replies easily. “Take it your personal reality’s a couple decades behind ours, though.” 

“Actually–” Kon starts, though he has literally no idea how he’s gonna finish, but Jason’s already leaning forward too, bracing his hands on the rail and wrinkling his nose with a dubious expression. 

“Jesus fuck, who let twunk Uncle Clark wear designer?” he snorts. 

. . . okay then. 

“My date to the gala I was at before the multiverse got drunk and fell off its ass bought it for me,” Kon replies incredibly, incredibly dryly. Dick and Jason both blink in their own obvious bemusement, their heads cocking in opposite directions. 

“Your date bought it for you,” Dick repeats slowly. “For a Gotham gala.” 

“Yeah,” Kon says. 

“How the fuck did Aunt Lo afford that getup?” Jason asks, looking even more bemused. 

“She did not,” Kon says, because fuck it, whatever. “Like, Lois is cool and all but I could not handle her. Also, she is very, very married to both her Pulitzer and her husband. But my boyfriend's love language is 'spending his vast family fortune on unnecessary amounts of gift-giving', so like, not so much a concern?” 

“Your boyfriend?” Jason repeats incredulously, and Jon frowns in confusion and peers up at Kon’s face. 

“You’re not dating Mom yet?” he asks. “Mom married somebody? And you date–boys? That’s, like–okay?” 

“It is very okay, actually, but I reiterate: I am not Superman,” Kon says with a sigh as he gives the kid’s head a heavy pat, given it’s about the eightieth time he’s said it by now. “But also I don't wanna explain myself to every single Bat in the belfry one by one, so could we maybe convene somewhere and I can riff up a metaphorical Power Point or something?” 

“Uncle Clark, are you dating our dad?” Dick demands, looking torn between further delight and low-key horror. Kon stares at him. 

Alright, he probably brought that one on himself, considering. 

[sweemmy]

VALENTINE'S SPECIAL .ᐟ

In his mind, thoughts flowed like an endless torrent, an intricate web of rapid plans that only he could decipher. Yet, as his gaze fell upon you, that storm of ideas faded like a distant echo. The chaos of Hell, the souls writhing in their despair, the contracts he sealed with precision—everything was suspended for an instant. In that brief moment, only you existed.

It’s fascinating how fate, with its invisible hand, can disrupt those who believe they are immune to its influence. Alastor, a being whose presence radiates absolute control, whose mastery over chaos seemed unbreakable, found himself… transformed. As though an outside force, subtle and precise like an arrow, had pierced his being in such a way that not even his sharp wit could predict it. A change so deep, so unexpected, that even he, in all his vastness, couldn’t escape its touch.

From the moment your eyes met his, something within him shifted. It wasn’t a change that made itself known immediately, nor something he could understand clearly at first, but over time, the transformation became impossible to ignore. A presence, faint at first, almost ethereal, that drew him to follow every one of your movements, to read the silent emotions in your gaze. That same invisible force that had pierced him with such relentless precision had settled in his chest, growing with an unsettling intensity.

He watched you from the shadows, unwillingly, as if each of your gestures, so subtle and natural, forced him to notice even the smallest detail: the soft play of your hair in the wind, the spark in your eyes when you laughed, the slight tilt of your head when you sunk into your deeper thoughts. Every one of your actions defied the laws he himself had imposed on his existence, as though you had the power to break the very rules that governed Hell itself.

And yet, in every one of those moments, an indescribable sensation enveloped him. A disquieting warmth that ignited in his chest every time he saw you, an overwhelming need to be near you, to be close, despite his own code of honor demanding distance. He had tried, fought against that attraction, ignoring it and rejecting it for a time. But the arrow of Cupid, though invisible, had struck him with such precision that he could no longer escape its mark.

He didn’t understand why, but every time your eyes met his, the world seemed to crumble around him, as though everything he knew warped with a single glance. It wasn’t the universe that captivated him, no; it was you. You, who had made something as meticulous and cold as his heart, a perfectly tuned machine, overflow with a rhythm he could neither comprehend nor control.

Alastor couldn’t escape the thoughts that spiraled around you, like a whirlwind he strangely didn’t want to escape. Every time your eyes met his, he felt an electric shock run through his body, as if reality itself gave way to an invisible spell. He couldn’t avoid it, nor even deny it. Reason, always his fortress, that unbreakable wall, now felt fragile, lost under the pressure of a tide of emotions that were equally strange and terrifying to him.

He saw you in every corner of his existence: in the shadows that danced softly on the walls, in the reddish glow that lit the room. You were there, in every thought, in every sigh, like an ethereal presence he couldn’t, and didn’t want to, rid himself of, persisting even as it faded into the darkness, unstoppable, marking his soul with your imprint.

And when he watched you move with that unique grace, that lightness only you possessed, something within him softened, as if, for a brief moment, he forgot his very nature. A faint, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips. Because, despite being a being marked by darkness, a distant entity who would never allow himself to be vulnerable, he had been wounded. Not by a dagger or a blow, but by the most profound and delightful way possible. What he felt for you, though confusing and unsettling, was the only truth that resided deep within his being.

[hrrtshape]

hi emma! i’ve noticed something with manifesting that seems to be a pattern but i don’t fully understand!

when i want something without obsessing over it, and instead just casually, offhandedly express my desire for it not even more than once or twice, it almost always happens. when i’m not even trying to “manifest” it, just when i’m stating it’s something i want.

ex: i wasn’t in the mood for spanish class last week and in the morning i casually stated that without thinking about whether it would happen or not, just like “oh, it would be nice if the teacher weren’t here today” and then she ended up not being here!

or i didn’t want to go to school yesterday, but my dad is very strict so i wasn’t expecting to get a break, but without me even asking him or bringing it up at all, he suggested i skip yesterday and i got to skip.

or i wanted to eat out, i had a strong craving, but my dad is again very strict about that, but yesterday while we were out he suggested i get a sandwich from my favorite place, which was exactly what i happened to be craving

things like this happen a lot, but when i’m genuinely trying to manifest something, like spending all day affirming for it, i find that it doesn’t happen as often. why is that? am i just not… nonchalant enough about the things i actually want? should i be less obsessive?

you’ve basically cracked the code without realising it !>!?!?!?!?!?!? you’re good at manifesting when you’re not trying to manifest. it’s the law of least resistance. when you casually state a desire, you’re not smothering it with desperation or control. you’re letting it breathe, and the universe (or your subconscious, or the sheer power of probability bending to your will) meets you halfway.

but when you’re sitting there affirming all day, you’re proving to yourself that you don’t have it yet. you’re gripping too tight. it’s like trying to catch a butterfly by squeezing your hands shut instead of just letting it land. the things you don’t fixate on come easily because you allow them to. no pressure, no resistance, just a fleeting thought that floats into reality without a fight.

so, yes. be less obsessive. want things the way you want a good song to play next on shuffle. casually, with trust, knowing it’ll show up. manifesting isn’t about force; it’s about inevitability.

[kasel-the-mightless]

Hi! Recently saw you did a crossover of you Odysseus and Poseidon, but your Poseidon didn’t show up. I was wondering if you have any sort of reference photo?

(If you don’t that’s all good! I was just wondering!)

Yep! Here it is, my Poseidon design!

Now, fellas, take a closer look at him. He has a straight, easy-to-read figure made of clear shapes and lines. Chainmail made of silver scales that reflect the rays of the sun, a trident, and a shield

Oh, but what is this? Strands of hair are falling out here and there, forming a messy mass at the end. Because that's who he is. All sharp and strict, but wild and messy around the edges.

He stands at first glance powerful and reserved, but if you look closely, you can see the way he holds his hands. He holds the shield in a relaxed, almost casual manner, while the trident in Poseidon's hands is clutched tightly and securely.

Because he only needs the shield for show, and if he has to, Poseidon would rather throw shield to the opponent's face than defend himself with it

What am I getting at? With this design of Poseidon I was trying to convey his line in the "Ruthlessness":

In all my years of living/It isn't very often that I get pissed off/I try to chill with the waves/But damn, you crossed the line

He tries to put on a show, to appear cool, chill and collected, when in reality he is nothing more than 53 raccoons trapped in the body of a god. He's trying to claim control that he doesn't actually have. And I'm not talking about his physical, or, if you prefer, magical power. I'm talking about his control over himself.

He's hot-tempered, he's furious, he's passionate. And it's funny that he tries to seem like something else.

At least that's how I see it, I don't know, I'm open to different interpretations. I like to live in the world and collect different versions of Poseidons, you know? One is manic, one is depressive, one is just a bit of a fool, one is simp, other is shrimp— the more Poseidons the better, I suppose.

P.s — Yeah, it's not blue. Because when I drew this, there was a beautiful sunrise outside. Plus, I— I want to stand out a little???

P.p.s — the drawing is very schematic. Sorry

[rocketbirdie]

I LOVE LOVE LOVE UR DARK ZACK AU!!! everything i’ve seen about it so far just has me so !!!! its so good. and would love to hear more about it :)

ooooooughhh dark!zack my darling sweetie angel love of my life

admittedly i don't have much of a plot going for them rn LOL just jingling them like keys in my brain

It's a Zack who decided he's sick of being a doormat. Being friendly and giving people the benefit of the doubt is what led to Shinra ripping away the most formative years of their lives.

For a long time, Zack tried to uphold his code of ethics, in spite of all the violence. At first he told himself it was just to protect Cloud... but over time, the more people he had to kill, the more it dawned on him that they will never be able to return to a normal life.

Once he stopped trying to make excuses, he found himself quite enjoying his new identity as a terrifying ex-SOLDIER fugitive. Things are much simpler now that he's free of moral obligations! People finally take him seriously, nobody bosses him around, he has control and it's SO addicting.

Now don't get him wrong, he's not a psycho killer, he just... happens to, um, murder people that get in his way.

[autumnoakes]

hyperfixations really will have you imagining a 2 hour video essay on some white guy video game character huh 😪

[cdroloisms]

Ok there are a lot of things I don't understand about Wilbur and Dream's interactions, but one of the main things that I don't quite get is the whole breaking into the prison and burning the disks with Tommy , like ok why was Wilbur so convinced that by threatening to kill himself he was gonna make Dream do what ever he wants ( burn the disks)

And well we can say that Dream was just agreeing to whatever the hell the wanted because he wanted them out of his living room ( and because he didn't need the disks) but like ,Wilbur didn't know that, what made him so sure that Dream wanted him alive especially after the prison break ( Dream didn't need his help anymore) to the point that he thought he could use it ( his life ) as leverage

Did Dream want to keep Wilbur alive, if so, then why? I don't know man, seems like the only person that would be losing in this situation is Wilbur himself.

I got more questions but like this is what confuses me the most. Idk just don't get it

Honestly I'm going to assume you know about these reddit posts, but while like I think that people should be able to draw their own conclusions to a text without strictly subscribing to what is said by the authors, like, cc!Dream and cc!Wilbur did give explanations behind what happened in this stream that I think are worth checking out: x x

A lot of people perceived cc!Wilbur's comment specifically as speaking for c!Dream in a way that was uninformed and therefore dismissed the post, which I think is...unwise? Like, cc!Wilbur literally says that he's posting from the perspective of his character's thought process, not an out of character word of god on what c!Dream actually values and believes. Further, he literally clarifies that his character isn't entirely correct and is an unreliable narrator.

But looking between the posts and looking at c!Dream's behavior, I mean. What we can say, rather definitively, that c!Wilbur was right about is that c!Dream didn't want to lose that feeling that he had leverage over c!Wilbur. Like, he's pretty damn desperate not to lose it, actually. c!Wilbur "believes that Dream has nothing if not himself"--a perspective that obviously leaves out c!Punz, considering c!Dream's secrecy in terms of this one particular ally, but is otherwise I mean. Like. Correct? cc!Dream emphasizes repeatedly that c!Dream doesn't want to lose "that feeling of control over Wilbur," that c!Dream's power over c!Wilbur is "just in his head," that he's holding onto it even though "it's seemingly gone after the exile reveal." The rest of the server's story only throws this in sharper relief--c!Wilbur literally fucking leaves the whole damn server and c!Dream is cowering in the prison worrying about him A MONTH LATER.

When c!Wilbur makes the assessment that c!Dream is going to hold onto the perceived leverage he has over c!Wilbur tightly, EVEN WHEN SAID LEVERAGE DOESN'T EXIST, to the point of doing almost everything c!Wilbur tells him to? He's 100% right. c!Dream doesn't want to break the illusion. When cc!Dream gives the two examples of what c!Dream wouldn't do, he mentions that c!Dream wouldn't "kill himself" or "give over the revive book," which, I mean. Is literally just saying the same thing twice. Which, again, just goes to show how far c!Dream is willing to go in order to keep holding onto a feeling of control, that--once again! Is emphasized by both ccs AND by the literal text (as we can see that c!Dream at no point is able to actually use the "leverage" he has over c!Wilbur from reviving him to do LITERALLY ANYTHING AT ALL) as not existing in any meaningful manner. This isn't a case of c!Wilbur having an inflated sense of self-importance or a case of him pushing his way into this conflict recklessly w/ a delusional belief that his pitch will work. This is a case of c!Wilbur (as is like, usually the case with him and c!Dream) reading c!Dream like an open book and getting exactly what he fucking wants by force, literally shouting down at c!Tommy and c!Dream until they both comply.

(And it's worth pointing out that like. This whole thing does have a visible toll on c!Dream. He's extra jumpy and defensive in the stream on the same day after Inconsolable Differences, says he went for a stroll outside the prison (something he basically Doesn't Do after he gets the prison back in Daedalus) explicitly to "keep his mind wandering," he bristles at the perception that he's being accused of a terrorist--the exact wording that c!Wilbur uses against him when he makes him write the book in the prison. c!Dream's behavior, while not yet pushed to the point where he starts lashing out in self-defense, was pretty obviously off as soon as c!Wilbur started making demands--he grows quieter, more still, visibly less comfortable--honestly, not at all unsimilar to certain behaviors that we saw in the prison arc.)

And I mean. At the end of the day. Why wouldn't c!Dream want some reason to believe that c!Wilbur would work with him? Why wouldn't he want some kind of leverage? The guy is pretty obviously worried about him, if not outright scared of him. He was ranking c!Wilbur with the likes of c!Sam and c!Quackity when he mentions him in the Finale, for god's sake. c!Wilbur was the person that first called him the tyrant that c!Dream ends up believing he has always been. c!Wilbur was the originator of L'manburg, which c!Dream blames for the literal loss of his home. c!Wilbur is like. Extremely charismatic, extremely good at convincing people that he's well-meaning, that what he's saying is right, that this-person-is-the-enemy and you-want-to-stand-for-freedom and that so-and-so is a cause worth dying for, isn't it. c!Dream was The-Man-That-L'manburg-Opposed from the minute that c!Wilbur decided so and this narrative would follow him literally for the rest of his life.

So yeah c!Dream wanted to keep c!Wilbur alive out of the delusional belief that doing so would mean he has leverage over him. Why he wants that leverage (even though he never uses it and the fact that it literally doesn't exist), I mean.

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

[pericky; a look into ricky's head during their meeting.]

---

"I'm glad you came, I wasn't sure you would." The wine pours, the sound of it drowning out the missing word in that sentence: back.

Of course, is the response, and the part of Ricky that's spent twenty years tearing itself apart to understand why vibrates with relief. It doesn't matter anymore. Of course, of course, he thinks giddily along with the words. He never needed to wonder why Pericles wasn't coming back in the first place; he was always going to.

I'm happy you invited me, and of course he thinks again. A lifetime of pretending he wasn't always going to either falls away. However harsh and lonely the world has been, all's right with it again; and the shy voice of the boy inside him that he's tried so hard to kill says, so quietly, I missed you.

[soft-serve-soymilk]

More random head children musings (aside from the really sad one because that deserves better than a throwaway post):

Honestly I think it’s very fortunate that Dism’s team isn’t *entirely* comprised of lucid dreamers.

[daydreamerdrew]

The Incredible Hulk (1968) #268 and #272

[clowndensation]

have decided i need to write an essay about charoum's whole deal with gortash. which doesn't even get into gortash's whole deal with charoum. because that's an entire other essay.

ok the thing about charoum and gortash is that. like.

charoum is a guy who's never meaningfully been told no in his life. anybody in a position to impart any sort of boundary with him was generally murdered in the process, and then he went ahead and did what he wanted anyways. and i don't think he necessarily understood what he was doing as a child (beyond any young child's capability of understanding what murder or death means). he just knew that murder 1. felt good and natural to him. 2. meant he got to do what he wanted. 3. he's alone and scared and he misses his mom and dad, but they're not around anymore.

by the time he was able to contextualize murder as an action that had consequences outside of his own immediate self-gratification, he was already so disconnected from the idea that other people actually were people - with their own lives and hopes and dreams - that it was infinitely easier to reject any guilt or regret he might feel, in favor of leaning into this worldview he's crafted, wherein he (and orin) exist alongside other people, but aren't actually one of them.

and so while he might enjoy infiltrating the world where all the other people are (going into taverns and singing and dancing and drinking, rubbing shoulders with the nobles and aristos of baldur's gate, being an object of admiration and obsession of his fellow cultists), he understands that he (and orin) are uniquely separate from them all.

and then he meets gortash. and he's fun! he's interesting! he levers people with the same efficiency that charoum kills them. he tries to lever charoum like he's one of those ordinary people. a person on the other side of the curtain, unaware of the stage they all play on. and it works. if charoum isn't paying attention, if he underestimates gortash, focuses on something else, he'll find himself going along with what he wants without even thinking about it!

there is, genuinely, nothing more invigorating than being manipulated into doing what someone else wants, because that proves that someone else has a will separate from his own, and is capable of enforcing it onto him. which is exciting in a way that nothing else in charoum's life has ever been.

[sammygender]

some of my most random fucking original characters from half-baked story ideas i have yet to fully develop are the most tragic ones to ever exist. like yeah the people from my current work are pretty fucked up but they don’t inspire as much pain in me as when i think about citydale characters. min truly and genuinely makes me want to cry

[rivilu]

Putting him in the blender is no longer enough I need to-

[crayonverse]

i need to mkae. m y own gacha react video so i cant stop being so sick and evil abut ein because noone gets him right . ramble in tags ok ay byteee

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

"DAD!"

Bruce sighed at the familiar call, instantly recognizing the voice. It was you, the child he never intended to have, thrust into his life by forces beyond his control. He still wasn't ready for this—wasn't ready to be a father.

In the early days, you’d tried calling him "father" or "dad," hoping for a connection. But he’d ignore you every time, barely acknowledging the title. Frustrated, you’d started calling him "Mr. Wayne" out of spite. And to your surprise, he responded. Since then, you'd settled into calling him as if he were just another public figure, like some distant acquaintance. You learned quickly that Bruce Wayne didn't want to be publicly labeled as your father, that he wasn’t comfortable with the label at all.

But now, hearing that word—"Dad"—from you in public, his irritation rose. He’d told you ages ago not to call him that outside the manor. Yet, there was also a sliver of satisfaction; he finally had a reason to confront you over it, something he’d oddly wanted since you’d moved in.

Turning around to find you, Bruce stopped short. There you were, arms around Harvey Dent, laughing in a way that sent a pang through him. It was the kind of bright, easy laughter he’d never heard from you in his presence. The warmth in your eyes, the carefree lightness in your smile—it all seemed reserved for Dent, a scene that felt oddly father-child-like.

His grip tightened unconsciously, fingers curling around the grass he’d been holding. Harvey looked back at you with an almost fatherly pride, and it stung in a way Bruce couldn’t have anticipated. In that moment, the crowd faded around him, and all he could focus on was the two of you, bonded in a way he hadn’t managed to be with you.

Your laughter rang in his ears like a melody he’d never noticed before, something beautiful and elusive. And for the first time, Bruce felt something new—a desire to be the one to make you laugh like that, a yearning to hear it directed at him. He wanted all of it for himself.

Bruce’s hands clenched involuntarily, his fingers digging into his palms. He told himself that he was better than Dent in every way that mattered—stronger, more capable, more disciplined. But in this, seeing how effortlessly Dent could make you feel safe and valued, he felt an unsettling flicker of doubt. Bruce could face any enemy, any challenge, but standing here, watching someone else make you feel what he couldn’t, he felt almost... inadequate.

The feeling was absurd. Jealousy wasn’t supposed to affect him; he’d trained himself to be above such things. But he couldn’t stop the bitterness gnawing at him as he watched Dent with you, a man whose easy warmth contrasted so painfully with Bruce’s own guarded nature. It stung to realize that, for all his power and reputation, he was losing you to his own friend. Dent looked at you with pride and affection, the kind that came naturally to him—and Bruce hated that Dent could offer you what he hadn’t even known you needed.

And then, through the murmur of the crowd, your voice rang out again—“Dad!”—directed at Dent, not him. Something twisted painfully in Bruce’s chest, his vision blurring as he watched you lean into Dent’s embrace, trusting and relaxed. The sight was a punch to his pride, yes, but more than that, it was a revelation of all he’d pushed away, all the moments he’d let slip by because he hadn’t wanted to be vulnerable.

For the first time, Bruce felt an unfamiliar desperation creep in, a fear he’d never faced even in the darkest moments of his life. Losing you to Dent seemed almost absurd, yet it was becoming a reality before his eyes. He was starting to see the damage his own indifference had caused, each unspoken word and dismissed gesture now cutting him deeper than he would ever admit aloud.

If only he’d turned around that first time you called him "Dada." If only he’d been there, shown you warmth instead of distance. Now someone else was in the place he’d abandoned, and he feared—truly feared—that you were already too far out of his reach to bring back.

(A/n: feel free to use this idea to make a story! Though you needa tag me too😼)

[phantom-dc]

Bruce sighed.

He never thought he would die like this. When he started out as Batman he was certain he would meet his end fighting the criminal underworld of Gotham. When he got older and life got stranger, he believed he would die fighting off a threat like Joker or Deathstroke, maybe even Darkseid. Being used as a human sacrifice to the King of the Infinite Realms was not on that list, let alone being a willing sacrifice.

Unfortunately, it had been necessary. An asteroid was on collision course with Earth. The asteroid had a colony of sapient alien life on it, so destroying it was not an option. As the League grew desperate, Constantine revealed a similar incident had happened a few years ago. The King of the Infinite Realms had, along with his subjects, turned the Earth intangible and both the Earth and the Asteroid had survived. Constantine isn’t sure why or how, but there are signs an extremely powerful ghost had merged realities and in the process erased the memories of this event from the entire population of Earth! The only reason Constantine knows about it is because a Demon with time-based powers told him during one of their poker games. Summoning this King was risky, as they had no idea what the King would want in return, but this entity seemed like their best bet. Now Bruce thinks they had been wrong.

Superman pulled Bruce out of his thoughts:

“Bruce, are you sure you want to go through with this? If we work together, we might be able to-”

Bruce cut him off:

“No, Clark. You heard Constantine. If we do not hold up our end of the deal, the Ghost King could simply make his ally, this “Clockwork”, reverse time to before the planet was saved. The Earth and the asteroid will still be destroyed, killing everyone on both. This is the only way.”

Clark looked dejected. He knew his friend was right. The King had turned the entire Earth intangible with one hand! He knew the League couldn’t defeat this foe, not without help. Any being that could help them would demand even more bloodshed in exchange, though. One human life in exchange of saving the entire planet had been a steal, according to the Justice League Dark. Clark looked at Bruce:

“Are you going to put on your cowl? This will be the only chance you have to tell the other Leaguers who you are.”

Bruce looked at his cowl. He had taken of his suit, so that his family had something to bury. But to reveal his identity to anyone other than Clark....

“I will keep it on. Even if I die here, I cannot risk anyone finding out my identity and using it to get to my family. I hope the League understands.”

Bruce is pulled into a hug. As Clark holds him as close as he can without breaking bones Bruce cannot help being filled with regret. He wanted more time with his family and, dare he say, friends. This was not how things were supposed to go. Clark pulls away and seems to want to say something:

“Bruce, I just want you to know, I-”

“WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON, B?”

Suddenly Nightwing enters the room, along with the entire Bat-family. Even Alfred and Oracle, donning masks, are there. They looked confused and scared, which made sense. They had all been summoned to the Watchtower, and when they had seen non-field members there as well they knew something was very wrong. Robin stepped forward, demanding an explanation:

“Father, what is happening? Why did you ask for us here? Explain yourself this instant!”

Red Robin looked ready to fight, staff in hand and in a low stance:

Where is the danger? Who is the enemy? Do you have intel for us? ARE YOU BEING MIND CONTROLLED?

Spoiler yanked at Red Robin’s cowl, pulling him out of his paranoid spiral:

“Easy, Captain Paranoid! Let him speak!”

Red Hood was clearly agitated. It was never a good sign if he was asked to the Watchtower:

“The fuck is going on, old man? Are you dying or something? That’s my stick, not yours!”

Bruce steeled his nerves. This was not going to be an easy conversation. How does one tell their family they are going to die and there is nothing to be done about it? Things had been going well for them, too. Dick and he hadn’t fought as often anymore, Jason had not called him names when he patrolled Crime ally last week, Tim hadn’t done anything that could be considered villainous (that he knew of) and Damian had not stabbed any goons for a month. Truly things had been good. Bruce knew this would mess it all up. He feared Jason would start killing again, or Damian would take out his grief on the criminals or Tim would… Well he had no idea. Last time Bruce disappeared Tim blew up so many LoA bases (he still wasn’t sure whether there had been people inside or not), so it was anyone’s gue-

“Sir, could you please elaborate on why we are here? I’m assuming it has something to do with the reason for this dreadful cold, and perhaps your lack of a shirt?”

Bruce sighed. Alfred always knew how to get through to him. With a heavy heart he told them everything. He would sacrifice himself for the survival of both planets. There was nothing to be done about that, and he asked them to please accept his decision. Naturally everyone was outraged. Amidst the chaos, Orphan asked a question:

“Why you?”

Bruce explained that, according to Constantine, the King had asked for a single sacrifice in return: “To feast on a non-magic, non-meta mortal human that will not resist being consumed.” It had pointed specifically at Batman, making sure they all knew which one it wanted. There had been no time to negotiate the prize, so he had accepted. After that it had left immediately for Earth, turning it intangible so the asteroid flew through harmlessly and fulfilling its end of the deal. Orphan seemed to think for a bit, before speaking up again:

“We’ll miss you.”

She hugged Batman. The others, realizing there was nothing they could do, at least not before facing the King, joined in as well. Bruce told them how proud he was of everyone. That they were strong and brilliant, and to please protect each other and Gotham in his stead. He thanked Alfred and Oracle for their help over the years and to please continue to support the others with the same strength they used to help him. After a moment they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

Wonder Woman had entered the room. With a saddened expression, and a dented doorhandle that showed her tension, she had come to collect her friend.:

“Batman. It’s time.”

Bruce nodded at her. Thanking her, he tried to leave with her, but was stopped by Alfred. After a quick hug, Alfed offered Bruce a cookie from the plate he had brought along:

“Every man deserves a final meal. I’m sorry this was all I have to offer.”

Taking a grateful bite, Bruce allowed himself to indulge in the taste of home.

“Thank you, Alfred. This means more to me then you realize.”

Steeling himself once more, Batman and the others followed Wonder Woman to the main room. It was the largest room in the Watchtower, several stories high with observation platforms, security screens showing cities all over the planet and a teleportation platform. As they approached the room, Batman was surprised by the cold that radiated form the entrance. Opening the door the source of all the cold and grief became visible to the group. Signal had to shield his eyes:

“What the hell!?!”

There it was, the High Ghost King of the Infinite Realms. A giant being, which had been so large they had to move to the observation platform to speak with it. Even then it towered over the heroes. It’s skin impossibly dark, with constellations spotting its tail & torso. The stars converging on its lower arms, making it look like it was wearing glowing white gloves, the same as a strange symbol on his chest that seemed important. The stars on its neck blending seamlessly with its hair, yet leaving its head completely dark aside from a few little spots on its face. The only facial feature they could make out where 2 Lazarus green eyes, focused on the new arrivals. On its hand, a ring with a skull on it that had freaked out the Lanterns. On its head a dark crown covered in patches of frost, and its own Aurora Borealis spreading from it. The room had already been partially covered in frost simply from the King’s aura. Power emanated from it, which had caused several members that had been dead and revived before to kneel on reflex, which was frightening even if they managed to get up on their own again.

Martian Manhunter had tried to peek in the Kings mind, hoping to find a way to convince the King to spare Batman, but he had been unsuccessful. As soon as he tried his knees buckled, and he had been pushed out. Ever since the Ghost King had radiated frustration. Now, as Batman entered wearing only his cowl and some spare pants, that frustration seemed to spike dangerously. Was the King upset he had been left to wait for his offer?

"What the fuck is this? I didn’t ask for a striptease, especially from some old Frootloop!”

“Constantine, what’s wrong? What is it saying?”

Batman was worried. He had not expected more anger from the being when presented with the offering. Looking at Constantine, he saw the magician frantically looking through the pages of his books, desperately looking for a translation.

“Hang on, mate. I’m doing my best here! Ehrm… no, that’s not right… Something about mating? Maybe he likes you, Bats. He also said something about “the absence of clothing” so…

Suddenly he is cut off by a strange sound coming from the Ghost King. It makes a strange motion with its body and its giant maw opens, as more of those sounds escape. It reminds Robin of Alfred the Cat when he has a hairball. However, there is more sound in the Watchtower now. The Red Hood is clutching his stomach as he is doubling down in laughter.

“HAHAHAHA!!! WHAT? HOW THE FUCK DID YOU TRANSLATE THAT BADLY? HOLY SHIT!”

The Ghost King stops making the noises, and it’s eyes snap to Red Hood. It moves it’s head closer to him, casually passing it through the barrier Constantine had put up. Constantine’s swears in surprise, but the King seems not to care as it “speaks” to Red Hood:

"Oh, thank the Acients! Someone who understands Ghost Speak! Can you PLEASE help me and translate for us? This trench coat guy is terrible, and somehow twists everything I say in the worst way!"

Red Hood relaxed, looking up at the Ghost King’s giant head.:

“Sure man, no problem. I’m pretty sure he is using like 3 different dictionaries to get this far. I saw him first translate Ghost to Pixie, Pixie to Gnome and Gnome to Demon before telling us in English! So, what’s up?”

Batman was stunned. The Ghost King actually face palmed. What the heck was going on?

"Of course he is. That explains why it sounds like he is putting this through Google Translate 4 times! These guys summoned me to save the Earth, which, totally cool. Happy to help! But a summons makes it official, which means I need to get an offering. I can’t leave without it or I face a mountain of paperwork from some stupid bureaucratic eyeballs for not following proper procedure. But I can always ask something simple and get it over with. No biggie, right? WRONG.”

Red Hood actually grabs a chair to sit on. Not even in a somewhat respectful way, he is sitting on it backwards, casually leaning on it.

“Oh, boy. How badly did they fuck up? Gotta be big since Batman over there is ready to be eaten?”

The King glares at Constantine, who puts up his bravest “time to out-bollock a Eldritch Demon” face. The King is not impressed:

"Man, I asked, and I quote: “I’d like to eat a regular human meal that doesn’t fight back, like that guy would eat!” I wanted it to be clear I didn’t want blood, or corpses or virgins or any of the other horrible things stupid cults try to give me! I just wanted a burger or something! But then Mr. triple dictionary over there somehow turns that into: ‘’I wish to feast on a non-magic, non-meta mortal human that will not resist being consumed, and it must be that one.” I’ll admit I was pointing at one of the non-supers, but that didn’t mean I wanted to eat him! I just wanted to make sure it was normal food, something that doesn’t fight back!”

Red Hood looked confused, asking if the King’s food usually fights back. The King rolls it’s eyes:

"In life, I lived with mad scientist parents who treated lab safety as a suggestion at best and a chore for teens at worst. Put enough samples in the fridge and you get a whole new type of Thanksgiving trauma. Dang, I’m getting even more hungry. I’d love some turkey right now. Could you get them to bring me some food? That way I can have my sacrifice and leave…”

Red Hood stands up. He asks if the King can wait a few more minutes, claiming that after all that frustration he deserved something better. Getting a nod from the Ghost King, the Red Hood suddenly shouted over the platform railing towards the waiting Leaguers:

“FLASH! Get your squad up here, and bring pen & paper! I got a job for y’all!”

Zooming up every member of the Flash family gets a list of things to get and a warning not to tell the Bats what’s on it, or Red Hood will shoot them in the knees. Looking at the lists, they quickly caught on what was going on and promised they wouldn’t tell. This was way too funny! Red Hood does a fake bow to the King, clearly amusing himself.

“Don’t worry, your Hungry-ness! Your sacrifice is being prepared! Anything else we can assist you with?”

The Ghost King seems to tilt its head in amusement. Whatever Hood was doing, it was working, which honestly was the only reason nobody had tackled him to the floor.

"Actually, if you could get that Frootloop to put on a shirt that would be great. He is shivering and honestly, I’m worried he’s going to poke someone’s eye out with a nipple. Why is he shirtless anyway? Please tell me he wasn’t actually trying to seduce me or something, he’s old enough to be my dad! Gross!”

This caused Red Hood to again double over in laughter. Everyone was confused, what could possibly be so funny in this situation? Constantine had frantically tried translating during their conversation, but it had gone too fast for him. He gave up when the King mentioned eyeballs and seduction, accepting he wouldn’t get anywhere like this. Batman however couldn’t resist his need to know everything anymore.

“Hood, report! How are you communicating with the entity?”

Red Hood turns to Batman, walks past him and towards Alfred, grabbing one of the cookies he had brought with him. As he walks back and hands it to the Ghost King, he starts to explain:

“Honestly, not sure. It feels instinctive, like a second mother-tongue. Pretty sure it’s some sort of “dead-guy-language” you learn when you die. Speaking off: Turns out Constantine is a VERY unreliable translator. Spooky here is actually pretty chill! He used you as an example to make sure we knew what he wanted, not to demand you as a sacrifice. He is in fact pretty ticked that you guys tried to feed B to him. Speaking of: Batman? Put a shirt on, for fucks sake. You look like you’re going to freeze your tits off.”

This earned a round of giggles from Green Lantern & Green Arrow. Now that the tension had left the room, other Leaguers also smiled in relief. Besides, it’s always fun to see Batman being the butt of a joke. Sure enough, Batman let out a frustrated sound, that got the rest of the Bats to join in on the fun. They understood that their dad in fact felt rather silly right now, which meant that they had more to gossip about soon. Constantine now was wondering what Hood was up to:

“Mate, I did my best! Sorry for not being fluent in every language in existence. What the hell did you send the Flash to get? The bloke is a scientist and denies magic when it’s right in front of ‘im! What could they possibly get that I couldn’t-”

At that moment, the Flashes zoom out of the Zeta tubes and zoom across the observation deck. After a few moments of red and yellow blurs, the deck is covered with tables filled front to back with food! Picking up a receipt that fell to the floor, Batman realizes this is take-out from all over the world. Seeing a puddle of Lazarus water grow on the floor, he looks up. The Ghost King is actually drooling! Red Hood steps aside and gestures to the feast:

“Welp! There is your sacrifice! One. And I also quote: “regular human meal that doesn’t fight back, like “that guy” would eat!” Well, more of a feast then a meal, but I’m sure a big guy like you can finish it, and you can always take home the rest I guess. Bon Appetit!”

Opening his giant maw, the Ghost King digs in. Well, as much as he can. He actually looks kind of silly eating everything with a tiny fork. Still, judging from the purring sound emanating through the Watchtower it’s to the Kings liking.

"DUDE, THIS IS SO GOOD? I need to know these restaurants! You want a bite for helping me out? You saved me SOOO much annoying paperwork, I was about to bail!”

Picking up a plate of karaage, Red Hood took of his helmet revealing a second mask underneath and dug in as well:

“Don’t mind if I do, this smells fantastic! Oh shit, you should try this stuff, it’s great!”

Red Hood being allowed to partake in the offering so casually caused Constantine to do a double take. He realizes he seriously misjudged this entity. Still, that didn’t explain the horrific stories about him. He would need to do some digging into that, maybe with Hood as a translator. For now he takes a swig of his drink. The world was saved, no one died or lost their Soul and he didn’t make any new enemies he thinks. Plus, Batman felt like an idiot, and that always made the Brit smile.

All in all a good day!