#danny loves his little brother he just shows it in an unorthodox way. some of it is not his fault

[starry-bi-sky]

There are two things that Damian knows that he knows Father doesn’t.

He has an older brother

He was dead

(And a secret third thing: Damian was glad he was dead. They did not get along.)

Well. No, correction, they were two things that Damian knew that Father didn't. Past tense. Strange magic swirled through the air and created a mirage before his eyes, and immediately a scowl forms across his face.

The mirage shifts and shimmers like the light hitting a slowly turning prism, and then it settles into a memory. One that Damian does not recall. Like looking into a tv screen, it shows, faintly, a room, with most of the magic going into the image of a crib.

His mother was standing on one side, and next to her, standing on his tiptoes was a small five year old boy looking up at her. With dark hair and skin that was only few shades lighter brown than Damian's, the little boy's resemblance to Damian was undeniable.

However, his eyes were blue. Not green. Damian's scowl deepens, and he sinks back. "Danyal." He mutters, and feels eyes turn on to him.

Danyal Al Ghul. Damian's older brother. A prodigal swordsman like Damian, and five years his senior. He'd be fifteen if he was still alive. His memory of the last time he saw his brother was still clear in his mind.

(A sword to Danyal's neck. Stars were glittering through his window. Damian was five, Danyal ten. He is not sure why Danyal had snuck into his room, all he remembers is hearing a sound and on instinct reaching for his sword.)

(His brother had intercepted easily. But had not shoved the sword away. Moonlight hit his blue eyes, and Damian remembers seeing the pupils shrink to let the light in. His eyes looked almost silver.)

(His brother bares his teeth at him. Damian wants to slice his neck more than anything, and he bares his teeth back. "Good." Danyal says, his voice low in a hiss, "Your reflexes are good, little brother.")

("Of course they are," Damian remembers snarling, and presses the sword closer. But it does not budge. "I am an Al Ghul.")

(Something unrecognizable passes through his brother's eyes, and his mouth twists into something like a smile. "I know." He says, and tilts his head downwards at him. "And you will be great.")

(His brother shoves the sword back, causing Damian to stumble. And like the wind, he is gone.)

(The next morning, he goes on a mission with mother and a few others. Mother is the only one to return with Danyal's sword, and a red-eyed look in her eyes. Damian does not mourn. Now there's only one of them.)

"Momma." The little Danyal-mirage speaks, a furrow between his childlike brows as mother lowers a bundle into the crib. His blue eyes watch her, and lifts onto his toes to peer into the crib as she sets the baby down. "Who is this?"

Their mother's hand comes to rest along his back. "This is Damian, my son." She murmurs, voice low. "He is your little brother. Protect him well."

Damian scoffs internally -- not likely. He remembers every spar he ever had with Danyal, every harsh word and insult. His pushing, pushing, pushing for Damian to get up. To try again. Do it again. The only kindness he ever showed him was when his fingers bled. And even that was harsh, firm. Rolling gauze around his wrist and scolding him, telling him how to wield his weapon better.

(It was the same as everyone else, but somehow it hurt worse coming from his own brother.)

But he watches his older brother's youngest self tilt his head to the side, and then reach his chubby hand through the crib's bars. He runs small, blunt fingers over the baby's arm, and the baby jerks. Through the crib's bars, Damian sees himself grab Danyal's fingers.

And he scowls even deeper.

And Danyal's eyes... widen. He lets out a little gasp, and a small smile Damian's never seen him wear tilts at the corner of his mouth as he looks up at their mother. "Mother," he whispers, "he grabbed me!"

Damian... his scowl falters, for a moment.

He doesn't wait for a response, he looks back to the baby with sparking eyes. His expression melts like sugar as he bounces the finger being gripped tight by the small hand. "Hello, little brother." His brother says, voice its of usual firmness, but there's more fondness underlying it than Damian's ever heard. "My name is Danyal."

The mirage shifts before Damian can comprehend his older brother's voice. It shows the crib again, appearing as if a few days had passed. There is night lilting through the nearby window, and a creek of the door. The baby doesn't stir.

Danyal sneaks in, still wearing his training clothes and a sword strapped to his side. Damian's scowl returns, watching him creep over to the crib. Of course -- the last night he saw his brother wasn't the only time he'd snuck into his room.

Would he go so low as to attack an infant? Damian wonders, watching his brother cross the room to his crib. But while his fingers rest against the hilt, they never curl to unsheathe.

His brother peers into the crib again, and there it is again, that smile wider in the corner of his mouth. It's not a full one, but its as uninhibited as it gets. Dripping honey-sweet with awe. "You are so tiny." Danyal whispers, and pokes a finger back through the crib. It wriggles, then pokes Damian's cheek gently. "Was I as small as you when mother gave birth to me?"

There is no response from the baby. Not a coherent one anyways, the little thing snuffles and turns his head, mouth open to latch. Danyal stills, his eyes grow ever wider again.

Danyal says nothing else, just rests his cheek against the crib and watches the baby sleep in silence. The affection never leaves his young face.

Damian feels unsettled. Off-foot. This Danyal is foreign to him... He wonders what happened to have changed his brother's mind on him.

There's a scuffle, quiet, but there. Danyal picks up on it just as Damian does, and his head pricks up like a deer, head already turning away from the crib. The affection leaves his face, falling away like water into something serious. His blade is already slightly unsheathed.

Two assassins, belonging to grandfather, burst out of the shadows. Their swords swinging into the air and ready to strike.

Danyal kills them both, his back to the crib. It's not without struggle, and when the two assassins lay dead on the floor, the baby is wailing at the top of his lungs. Danyal has a laceration cleaving down diagonal of his cheek. It's close to his eye, just barely missed blinding him.

Damian never knew how he got that scar. He does now. (He doesn't know how to feel about it.)

His brother clutches his bleeding face, sheathing his sword as tears well up onto his face. But he turns towards the crib, and hurries over. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay." He hushes rapidly, the League-drilled seriousness fallen away to reveal a panic-stricken five year old. He sticks one hand into the crib, the one not clutching anything, and grabs little Damian's hand.

Their mother comes bursting in that moment, and Danyal turns his head towards her. "Mother." He says, his voice cracks un-wantingly. Their mother steps over the bodies of the assassins easily. "They tried to kill Damian."

"But they did not." Talias says, kneeling down next to the crib to inspect Danyal's face and Damian's well-being. When she finds nothing of concern beyond the injury, she continues. "You killed them before they could, Danyal. Well done."

The mirage of his brother nods, his eyes teary and red.

Damian... is discomfited. he never thought Danyal would kill assassins for him. He would have thought his brother would sooner look the other way. The mirage shifts again, and it quickly shows time passing.

Danyal sits in Damian's nursery every night, after that. He lays at the foot of the crib with his sword, a pillow and a blanket with him. Some nights there is nothing but peace -- or as close to peace as a baby could achieve -- and some days assassins break in.

Danyal kills each one.

The mirage shifts again, and it shows more memories of Danyal interacting with Damian during his youth too young for him to remember. His first steps, his first words.

"Danya." The small toddler of Damian says, arms reaching for Danyal.

A frown curls across Danyal's face, and pulls Damian into his lap. "No, no, little brother." He scolds, voice firm but.. softer. "It is Danyal, Damian. Danyal."

"Danya!"

Damian's brother sighs, but there is that same-small tilt at the corner of his mouth. A glimmer in his eyes. A glimmer... that Damian is finding he recognizes.

(He always thought his brother got that look in his eyes when he was mocking him. Was he wrong?)

The mirage shifts again, and this time it shows only mother and Danyal, alone. Danyal is older, taller. Seven, if Damian had to guess. Mother has a stern look on her face, her hands tight on his shoulders. "Damian will be starting training soon, my son."

Ah, then close to eight then. Training starts, always, at three years old. He watches Danyal nod, his expression mimicking their mother's. His arms are folded, always folded, behind his back, always neat.

"You can no longer have the relationship with your brother as you did before." Mother says.

Danyal's expression... falters. It shifts, it fluctuates. He looks surprised, thrown off. Like he isn't quite sure he heard what mother just said. His brows furrow. "What... do you mean, mother?"

"I mean what I said, Danyal." Mother says, stern, "Ra's will be keeping a closer eye on Damian now that he is of age to begin his training. He will not like if he sees you both getting along."

"I am sorry, my child. But your relationship with Damian ends here. You are rivals now, not brothers." In a cruel form a gentleness, mother raises her hand and tucks a stray curl out of Danyal's face.

Of course. Damian never had a relationship with his brother because of Grandfather. Of course. No, he's not feeling a little bitter. No. There's not an inner child that still, like a candleflame, wishes that he'd had a bond with his only flesh and blood.

Danyal is dead now. So it's not like it matters. He's happy about this.

Danyal frowns, and he steps back. He looks lost in thought. "We are still brothers, mother," he says, argues, and looks up to meet mother's eyes. "Let me train him, I will make sure he gets the skill he needs. If we must be rivals, then I will teach him how to defeat me. If he can defeat me, he can defeat anybody."

Their mother, and Damian, both blink in unison. Then mother smiles something sharp, calculated. She folds her hands behind her back. "Then do it. But you will make him hate you."

"...So be it."

Damian.... Damian is silent. His world axis has been tilted on its head. He is sliding, and sliding, and sliding down. Spinning. Many things click into place at once.

More memories from the mirage show. It shows Danyal training Damian. It shows their arguing, their bickering. It shows Danyal going to their mother to praise Damian and his skills, how fast he is picking up on the sword. How one day he will surpass even him.

It shows Danyal sitting outside Damian's bedroom door every night, listening in for anyone who dares to break in. His knees drawn to his chest, his sword at his side. Sometimes he sneaks in, sword drawn, when he hears a sound.

Some nights, Damian wakes up. He remembers those nights. Danyal standing over his bed with his sword unsheathed and tight at his side. He remembers the instant terror as he immediately reached for his own weapon.

His brother always scolded him for his lack of vigilance. That had he been anyone else, Damian would have had his neck cut. He would've been dead already. It only made Damian's hatred of him grow.

But he understands now. Because there were assassins in the room that Damian, four years old, three, did not notice. Not until later. He always assumed the attacks on him after Danyal's death had been because now there was a new heir to target.

It had been the only lesson he'd been even somewhat grateful for.

Then finally the mirage shimmers, and it shows Danyal, ten years old, in one of the training rooms, mid-spar with Mother. It's fast, sharp, impressive and like a blur. Damian is unsure if at ten which one of them was the better swordsman. Some of the assassins who have never met Danyal said Damian was, but the ones who had said it was Danyal. He'll never know.

In a lull in the fight, when their swords are crossed, mother speaks. "Ra's wants you and Damian to fight." She says, teeth grit into a deep scowl. The cross breaks and Danyal jumps back, he frowns.

"We have fought, mother." He says, and dives in first, swinging for mother's feet. Mother dodges, and slices at his arm. He swerves out of the way, twisting on his feet like a dance. "We are always fighting, doesn't he see our spars?"

"Not a spar like that, my son." Mother says, a snarl in her voice. She lunges, and Danyal blocks her blade. "A fight to the death. Father has grown tired of having two heirs."

That gets Danyal's attention -- or, more accurately, it distracts it. His eyes widen, and his sword lowers for a single moment. A mistake. "What?" Is all he gets out before mother has him on his back, her blade pressed to his throat.

He freezes. As does Damian. Danyal's brows furrow, then unfurrow, only to knot up again. "Mother, what do you mean a fight to the death?" He flips to his feet when mother removes the sword. She walks over to grab her water.

"Must I repeat myself, Danyal?" Mother snaps, rubbing her forehead before swigging from her canteen. "Father wants to find out which one of you is the stronger heir, and so you will fight to the death after your training in a few days."

Danyal's tan face loses a shade of color, he looks ashy. "There must be some mistake!" He exclaims, his arms gesturing out as he peers around mother. "There is a five year disparity between us, Damian has only just started training two years ago. It would be an unfair fight!"

"Do you think me unaware?" Mother whirls on him, and there is a grief-stricken look on her face. Like she is already mourning Damian's death. Damian feels ill. "Your skill is far beyond what Damian can accomplish right now, and there is nothing that I say that can convince Father otherwise."

Danyal wears an expression like he is scrambling for answers. A white knuckle grip on his weapon. There is a long silence, and his lower lip curls up. His throat bobs, he swallows. "Is there really nothing we can do?"

Mother makes a frustrated sound, pushing her loose hairs out of her face. "Not unless Father changes his mind, or I send one of you away. But Father would surely send someone to look for you or Damian."

"What if one of us faked our death?"

Mother stills. As does Damian. No, he thinks, stiff as a rod, no way. These mirages were lying, nothing but figments of an imagination. Of some quiet what-if that Damian had not yet stomped out.

Mother's expression shifts, and then turns contemplative. Danyal notices, and keeps pushing, he looks as hopeful as he could get beyond his usual unwavering, stone-like expression. "One of us could go to father--"

"No." Mother cuts off, voice sharp. Danyal wilts, confusion flittering across his face. Damian, from the corner of his eye, sees Father tense as stone. His white-slit eyes have not left the mirage. Nobody's has.

"Father will undoubtedly check there first, it would not be a good idea. You or Damian will have to go somewhere where he would not think to look. Someone unaffiliated with the League."

Danyal's face falls, shutters, and then closes up again into stone. Mother begins to pace, and Danyal's blue eyes follow her. "So a stranger?" He asks, and there is disgust lilting into his voice.

Mother nods, and she looks just as offput as Danyal.

The mirage of Damian's brother rolls his shoulders back. "Then I will do it, mother." He says, voice unwavering. There is a stubborn note behind it all, one that Damian recognizes. "I will fake my death, and Damian will stay here."

Mother's eyes turn sharp on him, and she stops in her spot. She pivots. "Are you sure?" She asks, eyebrow raising, "There is a chance you will never meet your Father if you leave. Nor will you see I or Damian again, if you do this."

Something like fear flickers across Danyal's face, eyes widening momentarily -- as if that very thought had not crossed his mind. But then it smooths over to sharp determination. He nods. "It would be the same for Damian if it was him instead. I will do it, Mother."

Damian feels ill again. Father has a strong set in his jaw, his teeth grinding.

Mother stares at Danyal, and then her expression softens. And like before, it is grieving. "In a few days time, I and another member of the League will be going on a mission to the American States. I will tell Father that you will accompany me, once there we will dispose of the other member and then orchestrate your death."

The American States. Danyal was here, in the country. He was out there somewhere -- but no this was fake. It had to be. Danyal was dead. A fool who got himself killed on a mission with mother and left the title of Heir to Damian.

Or maybe it had been his plan all along. His and mother's both.

...Was mother ever going to tell him?

The mirage of Danyal nods, sharp. Understanding. There is a gleam in his eyes that is not pride, it is tears. And when Mother leaves the room and leaves him alone, the stone-like expression on his face crumbles and falls.

His brother, ten years old, curls up his lip in an ugly way. It wobbles as the tears in his eyes do, and he brings up his hand to slam it over his mouth. And sinks to his knees, a yell-like sob muffled behind the skin.

His brother, ten years old, looks smaller than Damian remembers him being, and cries.

Damian has never seen Danyal cry. Not once in the mirage of memories, nor in his own.

The memory holds for a minute, and then disappears. And no new one shows up. The magic is gone, and it leaves a silence in its wake. Heavy, staticky, and full of revelations.

So there are two things that Damian knows that his Father now knows too.

He has an older brother

His older brother is alive.

(And a new secret third thing: Damian wasn't sure how to feel about it.)

[kalxdesai]

Confessions of a Broken Mind||Therapy Session

TW: Addiction, Substance Abuse, Death, Suicide, Lack of self-worth, Family Disownment, Medication, Language, Some smart-ass comments (it’s basically everything and the kitchen sink) 

Ah therapy the one place where Danny felt like he could just BE and not be judged. His therapist, one Matthew Davis, had been in Danny's life for over a decade, the two had such a familiar relationship the older man could take simple cues from Danny and know what to discuss, what to drop and what to push. Today, like most days, he was dressed casual: a pair of relaxed black jeans, an Atlanta Falcon t-shirt, sneakers, glasses and as always a pen and notebook in his lap. While this clothing choice may have seemed unorthodox for other patient and doctor relationships, Danny and Matt had established by then clothing was not the high point of their meetings. Usually. "Did you wear that shirt just to piss me off?" Danny asked after a few minutes worth of silence.

A smile played on the other man's lips before a quiet chuckle left his mouth. "No, if I wanted to do that I would have worn an Eagles shirt. Or the Phillies. Or the Heat. Or the Penguins." He flashed Danny a charismatic smile, leaning back in the chair that faced the couch where Danny sat. Matthew had a Mel Gibson look-deep set piercing blue eyes, a mound of brown hair that tended to have a mind all it's own, a slim but firm upper-body, a clean shaven face that was pretty close to perfectly symmetrical. Danny rolled his eyes but couldn't hide his own smile as he looked at the man. There's roughly a minute or two of relaxation before the notebook is opened. "So, how are you?"

While this sentence alone may seem broad, Danny has the shorthand down. "Uh...life hasn't changed much since the last time I saw you. Sleep is still for shit, but it's been that way for so long I can't remember what REM sleep is. Everyone is doing as well as can be..." He let out a breath of air and shrugged. "Sorry, Martin Riggs I am not" he said and gave a tentative chuckle before he looked down at the carpet. "Was there something specific you wanted to ask me? Or something specific you wanted to know?" It had been one thing back when Danny had first fallen down the rabbit hole of addiction but now with the help and support system he was determined to stay clean. He had too much to lose.

Matt's eyes were scanning the notebook, the pen twirling in his fingers. This suited Danny just fine, it was one of many reasons he preferred being the last patient of the day and Matt was more than willing to accommodate, he was either the one patient for the day or the last one. Anything else put him on edge. But now they could be relaxed with most of the day behind them they could take their time and be as at ease as they could. "It's been nearly two months since you lost your father. How has that been?" Danny raised an eyebrow but waited a minute as he reached in his pockets, feeling the chips in his fingers, his own touchstone to the real world as the one he was in could often distort and contort the realities of life.

"My parents...Being raised by them was kind of like being raised by terminators, their actions were dictated by a gain and loss margin, everything they did was calculated and for a specific reason. If they had a checklist it went like this: meet, check, courtship, check, marriage, check, offspring, check, take over the world" he finished and laughed again, brushing some hair out of his eyes. "I can't recall the word love being used, not by my parents, or my grandparents, or anyone else really, it was always fall in line, follow the rules, etc etc." He held the chips still firmly in his pocket, looking down for a minute before he finally looked up again. "She didn't even look at me, not at the funeral, not at the will reading, not a glance, not a single acknowledgment, I mean, I'm not surprised given our history but it's unfathomable to me that someone could be so cold. And for that matter if you aren't raised to love, knowing what it is, how do you learn to love? How do you love, period?"

A silence passed for a few minutes before Matt looked up from the notebook. "You had love-your brothers, all your friendships. May have not seemed like a lot at the time but it was love in it's own form. In a perfect world, all kids would be born to parents that loved them unconditionally and they would come at a time when life was just right for their appearance. But as we know life is far from perfect so stories like you and worse are fairly, sadly common. As for how someone can love if they are not raised with it, well, you may have not been raised by caring parents but it didn't stop you from growing up into a person that cares, the circumstances that you are born into do not have to dictate your own life." He stopped again, his head tilted as he thought for a minute. "You managed at least four relationships, unless the internet lied to me so despite what you weren't raised with you manage to love, no thanks to your parents and that is all you. Tell me about it."

Danny blew out a sigh and nodded. "Well, aside from some juvenile crushes when I was a kid, nothing really serious back home. I came to Cali and was too busy to considered dating, not that that was a real possibility or anything. In this business if you don't look like Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise, good luck, you have to take whatever is given and fight tooth and nail for a role you really want. Girls too man, I wasn't like those other idiots running around with hundred dollar bills in my back pockets, throwing them at anything and everything, no, like the song says mo money, mo problems. Anyways, Odessa was my first serious everything, well, first everything really...Pathetic...Here I am all these years later still gone. It was your typical teen love at first and well...Then it wasn't. Parenthood is hard enough for adults but for teens that are far from ready? A whole other beast. It didn't matter what our relationship status was though we had the same goal and that was raising our son the best way we could. Uh...my first relationship after that came when Wyatt was about two or so, I was completely upfront about my past, never hid it but in the end she was uncomfortable that I was always going to be in my son and his mom's life so that ended after about five, six months." Danny stopped for a minute to catch his breath. "One-night stands were few and far between with me, between work, Wyatt, staying clean, I was busy, well, that and I didn't like the way I felt in the morning. My next relationship was about a year and a half, um, she didn't care that I had a kid and an ex, not the way my first ex did, um, it was a nice relationship overall but at some point we realized we were better as friends. Weird when that happens after sex but hey" he said and shrugged. "And then came the most serious one, it lasted for three and a half years. It wasn't perfect, of course, nothing is, but it was really special. I mean clearly it was, it's not like I propose to just anyone. But she ended it and that was that. And then Odessa and I fell back into our old ways, had Heather, Brock and well...stay tuned is all I can say for now."

Another lapse of silence, Matt wrote in the notebook, Danny stood and stretched, the drive alone had been long enough and then to resort back to sitting was a bit of a pain. Sitting back down, Danny faced the other man. The dance was nearly over, it was a similar one each time he came, it may have varied on and off depending on circumstances but mostly it followed a simple pattern. Once more Matt was carefully turning the words in his head before he spoke. "Hollywood is a hard business, for some, impossible, and yet, you keep on logging your hours and taking whatever jobs you can. Why?" Now it was Danny's turn to sit and think, turning his words before he answered.

"Like I already said and this shouldn't surprise you or anyone for that matter: Whorewood, excuse me, Hollywood, is for the beautiful ones, or the wealthy ones that can buy their way into their business or worse the ones who are only famous because mommy and daddy are famous." He scoffed and shook his head. "My whole life I have felt like an outsider, like I didn't belong anywhere. But when I discovered acting, it was like a door to a new world had opened and I wasn't the shy, awkward, and just plain stupid Danny. I was anybody I wanted to be other than me. And that was incredible. I love it, I live for acting so while it might not be the easiest career opportunity, because if it was, let's face it, everyone would do it. I'm an underdog and that's okay, it just means I have to try harder, work harder. It's also why I root for the underdog teams" he said and shrugged once.

Matt nodded once before speaking. "You are far from a loser, Danny. Addiction is a monster that has ravaged countless people, it's destroyed lives, families, claimed lives, the numbers are staggering. And yet for every person lost, there is always someone who survives and thrives. You are one of those people, Danny, everyday that you are clean and sober and staying on the right path proves just how wrong you are when you say such disparaging remarks about yourself. Everyone in the world is a little broken, not everyone shows it and not everyone admits it but no one is truly happy or sane or normal. And that's fine, it's called being human and the one thing that we as humans can do is be the best version of ourself we can be. If you can look at yourself in the mirror at night and be content with the face staring back, then keep up whatever you are doing, and if you don't like the face staring back, sit and think and change what you don't like. Your life, whether you know it or not, means a lot to people, it may not be a lot of people, but there are people in your life that love you, care about you and want the best for you. Keep fighting and staying alive for them."

Danny whistled. "Woah Nelly I'm not sure what I said that made you think you had to like talk me off a ledge but I'm fine, at least in that respect. I take my meds, see you, my sponsor is on speed dial, if I get myself into a bad situation, I get myself out of it. Believe me I know that people are dependent on me, it's one of many reasons I keep going. One day at a time, that's all I can do, just take life one day at a time. I'm not trying for much here, I just...Want to be happy, that's all. But I guess if happiness came easily you would be out of a job" he added which made them both chuckle. Standing, Danny once more stretched and dug his keys out. "Same time, same place?"

Matt nodded and finished writing out the script, handing it to Danny as he too stood. "I upped your dosage-you may be okay with not sleeping but I have an issue so let's try and fix that." Danny shrugged and put the paper in his pocket, facing him again. "And yes I an a Falcon's fan-and a Brave's fan, and a Hawk's fan but my personal favorite team, if I had to pick one-Atlantix oh yes my personal favorite team." His face is impossible to read before he breaks into a grin and laugh, Danny flipping him the bird but chuckling with him as he heads out into the afternoon.

[the-desolated-quill]

Rolling Thunder Cannon Punch - Iron Fist blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

Well how about that. An episode of Iron Fist that didn’t bore me into a coma. Oh don’t get me wrong. There’s still problems galore, but at least I could watch Rolling Thunder Cannon Punch without begging for the sweet release of death.

I think the main reason why I like this episode more than the first two is because this is the first episode not written by showrunner Scott Buck. Rolling Thunder Cannon Punch was written by Quinton Peeples, who seems to have a much better grasp of how to structure a story and progress a narrative. The pace isn’t as tortuously slow as it was in previous episodes, everything moves at a pretty fast clip and it did manage to hold my interest.

It appears we’ve finally gotten past the whole ‘is this really Danny Rand’ thing and they’ve now shifted to Danny having to try and legally prove his identity, enlisting the help of Jeri Hogarth from Jessica Jones to do so. While part of me wants them to just wrap it up now, it’s nice to see the characters do something more proactive for a change instead of just standing around and wringing their hands. Of course Ward is going out of his way to erase any existing evidence of Danny Rand, which injects some much needed tension into the proceedings. The fight in the hospital archive was the first time I ever came close to being engaged by what’s happening on screen.

But what really stole the show for me was Jessica Stroup as Joy Meachum as we get fascinating insights into her character that really elevates her above her brother and father. After we see Joy and Danny start to bond on her doorstep, she drops the bombshell that she’s willing to pay $100 million dollars for Danny’s shares in the company if Danny agrees to change his name and go into hiding. Danny, understandably, doesn’t like this idea very much, to which Joy responds by putting Danny on a guilt trip, saying that she and Ward worked hard to make that money and that Danny couldn’t come swanning back after 15 years and mess things up, as though he had a choice about what happened to him and his parents. I think this is the first time I’ve ever empathised with Danny in any way (don’t get excited though. The episode ruins it later on, but I’ll come back to that).

While Joy seems to be more reasonable than her brother, they are clearly cut from the same cloth. Both have become accustomed to their wealth and social status and don’t want anything to get in the way, including Danny. Joy also seems to be willing to use unorthodox methods to achieve her goals, just like Ward. In quite possibly the best scene of the season so far, Joy offers a dying child’s liver for this guy’s son in exchange for the pier that Ward (and the Hand) want. I loved Stroup’s performance in this scene. I was surprised and genuinely disturbed by how cold and seemingly uncaring Joy is, treating a child’s organs as little more than a business commodity just to get a good deal. This is very dark stuff, and I kind of half wish they would get rid of Ward and Harold and just make Joy the antagonist. She certainly has more of a presence than those two.

So Danny and Jeri now have proof that Danny is who he says he is thanks to the fingerprint on the homemade pot Danny gave Joy as a birthday present when they were kids (I like how they keep it ambiguous as to whether or not Danny stole it or if Joy finally grew a conscience and gave it to him), and now the legal battle over ownership of Rand Enterprises (or is it Industries?) has begun. I like how Danny isn’t motivated by money or power. He just wants to preserve his identity and protect his family’s legacy. Danny is only going to these lengths because the Meachums forced his hand. Okay. I can get onboard with that. There’s just one problem with this, and that’s Danny himself.

I’m sorry, but I still don’t like this character very much. Part of it is down to the performance, with Finn Jones having all the charm and charisma of an itchy verruca, but it’s mostly down to the writing. I mentioned earlier how I was actually starting to empathise with Danny when Joy stuck her oar in. Well that was ruined when Danny, once again, barges into Colleen’s dojo and starts telling her class the proper way to do martial arts. Putting aside the racial implications of a white guy instructing an Asian master of a dojo how to properly run a martial arts class, it demonstrates a sense of entitlement and arrogance that just isn’t appealing. Why should I sympathise with this bratty know-it-all? This privileged white boy who thinks he knows best. Who does he think he is? I wouldn’t dream of walking into, say, a science lecture and telling the lecturer how to instruct their students. That would be incredibly rude and insensitive, right? So why does Danny think this is acceptable?

Since I’ve mentioned Finn Jones, let’s quickly talk about the fight scenes. One of the many recurring criticisms of this show is that the fight scenes are shit. I respectively disagree. The fight scenes are actually pretty decent for the most part... when Finn Jones isn’t doing it. I mean did you see Colleen in that fight club scene? That was awesome! It was fast, brutal and intense. Compare that to the scene where Danny ‘instructs’ Colleen. Suddenly the fight choreography is a lot slower and less engaging. Why is this? The problem can’t be with the choreography because, as I said, the fight club scene is cool. The only possible explanation is that Finn Jones can’t do the fights. It looks as though the director asked Jessica Henwick to slow down in order to accommodate Jones. Now, call me crazy, but if I were making an Iron Fist TV series, I would cast somebody who could, you know, actually fight. We know for a fact that the people behind the scenes were determined to stay true to the source material and cast a white person as Danny Rand, and they have every right to do that. But if you’re so determined to keep the main character white that you cast a guy that not only can’t fight, but is also hindering the performers around him who can fight, maybe it’s time to reevaluate your priorities.

Basically what I’m saying is Lewis Tan should have been Iron Fist.

But it’s not just the arrogance and casual racism. There’s other things to. Like the patronising sexism for example. Danny keeps insisting that he doesn’t want to leave the dojo because he’s worried that Colleen will be in danger, despite the fact that she can easily take care of herself (she’s the master of a dojo, for fuck’s sake) and that he’s the one that brought the danger to her in the first place. Also he’s a bit shit at this whole protection thing, isn’t he, because at the beginning of the episode when those guys break in, Danny hides on the ceiling. Wow. Very heroic.

But the biggest problem of all is... why? Why has Danny come back from K’un L’un after all this time? Why is he in New York? It’s difficult to empathise with him because we still don’t know anything about him and we have no idea what his goal or motivation is. This is basic shit, guys. This is like the first thing they teach you at a creative writing class.

Finally let’s talk about Harold and Ward. Things are threatening to become interesting with Ward having second thoughts about being in charge of the company and the revelation that Harold isn’t so much working for the Hand, but rather he’s their puppet. Unfortunately I was somewhat distracted by the Hand’s supposed leader... Madame Gao?

But... Madame Gao never worked for the Hand. Aren’t the Hand a Japanese group? Madame Gao is Chinese. They made that pretty clear in Daredevil Season 1. Nobu and Madame Gao worked for separate factions. Scott Buck does know the difference between Chinese and Japanese, right? Bloody hell, I don’t think even the original Iron Fist comics made that mistake. Maybe they’re going somewhere with this, but I’m going to be keeping a watchful eye on this development because... this is kind of dodgy.

While Rolling Thunder Cannon Punch is nothing to get excited about, it is at least an improvement over the dull and plodding first two episodes. Whether the rest of the season will follow this trajectory and continue to improve remains to be seen.