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deadsetobsessions · 8 months ago

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“DIDJA SEE THAT, DANNY?!” Tim, a scrawny eleven year old now, excitedly smacked Danny’s arm.

“Ow. Yes, yes I did.”

“Oh, gosh, I have to tell Jazz about this!!” The kid waved his arms about wildly, grinning from ear to ear.

“Jaso- I mean, Robin, smiled at me! And said he liked my t-shirt!! Oh my god, he likes literature puns, he even laughed! And then he punched the bad guy in the face! Look! I even saved the tooth!”

“Okayyy, nope!” Danny plucked the tooth and tossed it, ignoring Tim’s betrayed face. “I’ll trade you that for this.”

Danny Held out a piece of paper with Robin’s and Batman’s sigil on it, from when he asked them to sign it after they “saved” the two brothers from the two-bit thugs trying to mug them.

“Oh. My. God. This is like the best day of my life!! I love you, Danny! You’re the best brother ever!! Oh my god! I have to get Nightwing’s signature!!!”

Danny felt a rush of warmth at Tim’s proclamation of affection. Ah, he should probably step in.

“Hey, wait, no, we’re not going to Blüdhaven for you to stalk another vigilante.”

“It’s not just any old vigilante-!” Tim ignored Danny’s dramatic clutching-pearls gesture of mock hurt. “It’s Nightwing. The original Robin! He gave me my first ever hug!”

Danny paused. God dammit.

“…Fine.”

“YESSSSSS!!!!”

——

Danny-

“I’m gonna be Robin whether you want me to or not!”

-is so damn tired.

“Tim. I’m literally a vigilante ghost. What makes you think I’d be stupid enough to argue with a kid who runs around Gotham at night to take pictures of other vigilantes?”

Tim deflated. “Oh. Honestly, I thought you’d put up more of a fight…”

Jazz laughed and ruffled Tim’s hair. “I definitely couldn’t stop Danny when he went out. He trusted me to support him and I trusted him to come to me if he was injured, though. Can you promise me that, Tim?”

“Yeah… okay, Jazz, I promise.” Tim promised, even if he was still pouty.

Danny chimed in.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m totally worried and I’m gonna hover like a mother hen when you go out, but again, I know how stubborn and crazy we vigilante types have to be.” Danny paused. “Do you want me to put up a token protest?”

Tim nodded, sulking. “Yes, please. I had a speech planned out.”

Jazz and Danny exchanged amused glances.

“Oh, okay, my bad, kiddo. Here, let’s start from the top.”

“Okay. Ahem,” Tim straightened his back, settling into his previous mulish expression once more. “I’m gonna be Robin whether you want me to or not!”

Danny placed an appropriately disapproving frown on his face. “No, you can’t! It’s dangerous! You could get hurt! You’re just a child!”

Tim launched into his speech. “But I can’t stay still and do nothing when people are getting hurt! Even…!”

They were gonna be here for a while. There was definitely something about Batman going on a spiral because Jason wouldn’t be able to walk again after the Joker got to him. Danny wondered if ectoplasm could help. He might offer, if it actually had a change of getting Tim out of the vigilante business.

But that’s for later, because they had time. Jazz was on Spring Break… and they’re still staying here for free, after all of these years.

“So, how are you going to convince Robin to let you be Robin?” Jazz asked Tim.

Tim froze. “I… hadn’t thought of that yet.”

“Well, you could always remind him of the fact that we saved him from the Joker. He seemed pretty ready to leave the Robin mantle, the last time I saw him as Phantom.”

“I don’t want to blackmail him into it!” Tim whined.

“It’ll just be a suggestion, Tim.” Jazz smiled patiently.

“Besides,” Danny continued, smirking mischievously at his adopted little brother. “If you were actually blackmailing him, you’d pull out the photos where he ate dirt.”

“I guess that’s true…” Tim mumbled. “I know! I’ll have to follow them to see how I can best approach him!”

"I think that's called stalking," Jazz deadpanned.

"Well, it's not any worse than what he's already done." Danny shrugged at his older sister. "Sure, kid. Why not? Do whatever you want."

"I was planning to!" Tim bounced off to grab his photography gear. Jazz stared off after him.

"Should we be encouraging that?"

"More like can we actually stop him?" Danny leaned back, lazily completing his GED assignments. Jazz sighed.

"Guess not. Make sure he doesn't get in trouble."

"Do you even know how hard that is, Jazz?" Danny complained, dodging the whack Jazz sent at the back of his head. She smirked at him.

"Womp, womp, Danny. How does karma taste today?"

Danny flipped her off as he put the last punctuation on the paper. He heard a clatter and groaned.

“I’m gonna go watch Tim stalk Batman for the night. Want anything from the store?”

Jazz hummed. “Get me the specialty strawberry ice cream, from that one place?”

“The one that’s definitely a front for Falcone’s money laundering??”

“Yeah. They make good strawberry ice cream.”

“Sure.”

Danny went ghost and flew straight through the walls to catch Tim sneaking out by the scruff of his collar.

“No. Bad Tim.”

“Awww, come on Danny!”

#danny phantom #batman #tim drake #bruce wayne #jason todd #dc x dp #dick grayson #nightwing #bamf danny phantom #dcxdp #dpxdc #Tim is a fanboy above all fanboys #Jason is just straight up not having a good time #baby Jason would totally giggle with a kid and punch a grown man in the face right after #jazz: oh how the tables have tabled #jazz Fenton #Danny Fenton #squatter! danny fenton

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teaandinanity · 19 days ago

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7KPP Week, Day 1: Background (remix)

Fair warning to my followers, it is that time again and I'm gonna be posting Nonsense for the next week (if the executives function and I manage to be productive) or at least a few days of it (if the executives are typically dysfunctional).

Putting this under a cut because just the blather is Long and then the ficlet for Baby Weaver Valya is Longer.

Day 1's prompts were

What is your character's background and why did you pick it? How do they feel about it? If you've talked about this before, you can instead consider the following: Have you considered using an existing MC for one of the secret backgrounds? Is there another background you think might be interesting for your MC? Elements of another background you could incorporate into them for an AU?

Calanthia is a Widow because I wanted a Katyia's Legacy MC and found Widow easiest to min/max. Valeriya came into existence because I did Lyon’s date on Calanthia just to see what it was like and immediately said ‘oh no’ because it is My Exact Jam. Then I went ‘… does he still say you’re a good person if you are Entirely Morally Neutral’ and then the answer was YES and I got brainworms SO bad. Valya hates pretty much everything about being a Widow because everything about her backstory is worse than Calanthia’s. Anthy’s parents are bumbling idiots with no financial or political acumen but she and her siblings figured out how to manage them by the time she was like 13. Valya’s parents are genuinely bad people made infinitely worse by unhappiness with their circumstances and are cruel to each other and their children and the next-oldest of her siblings actively hates her and tries to ruin her life on a regular basis. Anthy’s marriage was of course mercenary but it was also mutually beneficial and she and her husband were friends. Valya’s marriage was a nightmare; she was justifiably terrified going in, she was way too young, she went through with it mostly because she knew she’d outlive him even if she had to get blood on her hands to make sure of it and because otherwise her mother (who hated her a lot for being ‘the reason’ she had to marry her husband and therefore also ‘the reason’ her life has sucked so much since) would have seen her married to less advantage and to someone she really would have been shackled to for the rest of her inevitably-much-shortened life. Anthy is older and well-adjusted. Valya is still in her teens, traumatized, and just DESPERATELY wants to be safe. The main thing they have in common is that they fall in love and go ‘oh no.’

I’ve considered making Valeriya a Weaver, and I really want to try that once the secret backgrounds are in the game! It’s interesting to consider how DIFFERENT her life would have been if her mother had NOT married her father and just gone off to the countryside and then sent her oops baby away to be raised by her sister in Arland. Valya would be so much more well-adjusted under those circumstances, so she’s probably much happier and way less tentative with Lyon.

Probably also less careful in general, and more apt to meddle, so I imagine there’s at least one extra assassination attempt. The rest of her life probably looks very similar, though; after her marriage, even a very traumatized Valya grows into her new life and eventually feels very happy and safe.

I’ve also considered making Anthy a Weaver because I think it would be fun to do Jasper’s romance on a Weaver. I have considered making her a Historian for the same reason and because that would make the ‘you don’t have to act. I will.’ line hit like a TRAIN. We'll see how I feel about all of that once the secret BGs are in; the one I'm sure of is that I'll be trying Weaver Valya.

With that initial meta babbling out of the way:

On to the Fic!

She isn’t in the least Arlish and she is made to know it very young. She doesn’t mind, though; she looks like her aunt, and her uncle looks at both of them like they’re marvelous.

The fifth time she is allowed to attend a dinner party with her guardians, the first time she is permitted to separate from both of them to play with a few of the other children present, one of the other guests says something unkind. Valeriya hardly notices; the lady isn’t very important, and her opinion is so much hot air. But the other children freeze, and look at her, and she realizes she has to respond. Valeriya raises her chin the way she has seen her aunt do and says,

“I see why you’ve come over to play with the children, Lady T--- - you certainly still need a governess to teach you manners.”

It’s not the graceful set-down her aunt might have managed, but she’s nine. And the adults close enough to overhear all seem to feel, nonetheless, that she’s won the bout, especially when the lady flushes and flounders and can’t seem to come up with a rejoinder.

When they leave, her aunt slips her a few dried cranberries, clearly a reward, and her uncle puts a warm hand on the crown of her head with an approving smile.

“Well done, little Valiant.”

Her aunt laughs and asks why he’s never given her an Arlish nickname drawing him into a bantering conversation that means Valeriya doesn't have to respond. Instead, she considers the name. It’s a nice gift. She likes it.

Courage isn’t a virtue often ascribed to Arlish girls, but then--

She’s not Arlish.

Aunt Eleonora has been away for a week visiting friends. That’s what she said when she left, at least – that she was going to visit two of her friends. It may or may not be true; it’s entirely possible that she is instead averting an international incident, or perhaps even causing one, but if it’s either of those, she didn’t see fit to mention it to Valeriya prior to her departure, and Valeriya didn’t notice any of the usual signs and appurtenances of an aunt intending to involve herself in something exciting.

Regardless, factually, Aunt Eleonora is presently from home. In her absence, Uncle Earnest is the one who receives the post.

He isn’t the type to open anything addressed specifically to his wife. He’s good like that. Eleonora genuinely loves him because he’s good like that. Also because he doesn’t ask too many questions if someone turns up dead somewhere she’s recently been, even if it’s someone he knows her to have been profoundly annoyed with. Valeriya honestly cannot tell if he deliberately cultivates a certain ignorance or if it has simply never occurred to him – a good man, in the pure and simple manner of a friendly dog – that his wife may occasionally moonlight in murder.

It likely helps that Aunt Eleonora is scarcely taller or broader than Valeriya, who at fourteen is far from finished growing, and has wide, innocent eyes that she can use to great effect. Aunt Eleonora isn’t what people imagine when they picture a murderer. It’s not as if she does the thing with her own hands, but she’s certainly culpable for at least two deaths, and that’s just the ones Valeriya knows about.

Valeriya feels that she probably ought to disapprove of that. Probably.

In principle, certainly, she disapproves of murder.

Duke Adam absolutely deserved it, though; she spoke to the maid who was serving them while they visited and she’d have swung a poker at the back of his head herself if she’d thought a twelve-year-old girl could muster sufficient force to do the thing in a sufficiently decided fashion to effect the desired result. Whoever her aunt arranged to deliver the blow had significantly more arm strength than Valya can ever personally aspire to. Might’ve been one of the stable boys, but in this case, Valeriya elected to cultivate her own willful ignorance so that dropped hints would elicit only the truest blank incomprehension.

Aunt Eleonora approved; it doesn’t do to cause problems for the people willing to do your dirty work.

Cold-blooded murder generally ought to be avoided. Of course it ought. Occasionally, however, someone thinks power will insulate them from the consequences of being a horrible person. Aunt Eleonora does not think that ought to be the case.

Valeriya can't bring herself to disagree, and so she cannot disapprove of her aunt's inclination, in such instances, to be a surgical implement that excises such cancer from the body of their adoptive nation.

Valeriya once overheard one of her aunt’s friends imply it was the Revairan in them, and of course their birth nation has acquired a certain reputation for bloody hands and ruthlessness. It’s a silly conclusion, though.

She’s overheard enough conversations in the halls of power, sheltering in her aunt’s shadow. She knows how cheaply Arlish nobles hold the lives of a hundred, even a thousand, peasants. They pretend to be appalled by the bloody purges in their neighbor, but dressing suffering and sacrifice up in courtly manners and talk of duty doesn’t reduce the resultant suffering. Pretty words don’t make their own victims any less dead.

Valeriya has been informed she is not allowed at court again until she’s better at keeping her face as still as her tongue. She’s good at being quiet. She’s less-skilled, apparently, in keeping her judgmental disapprobation from showing when people are being overtly terrible right in front of her at dinner.

In any case, for reasons benign or otherwise, her aunt is from home, and thus it is Uncle Earnest who receives the post.

Valeriya saw the envelope; the direction was only to this house, not to her aunt specifically. It came from Revaire.

Likely more bad news; the news from Revaire is never really good. The most recent round of purges seems to be over, but the current regime won their throne with blood and have shed significantly more to maintain it. The internal unrest has made them uneasy neighbors, although Valya personally thinks that the turmoil makes them unlikely to actually have the strength to threaten other nations, particularly Arland; with the marriage alliances currently in place, anyone attacking Arland is liable to find themselves facing the combined armies of three nations on the field.

Her aunt has been upset by much of what they’ve heard, although not upset enough to set up reprisals against anyone. Valya sympathizes somewhat, but she doesn’t know anyone in Revaire, not the way her aunt does. Aunt Eleonora grew up there, and does not entirely despise her family. Valeriya wasn’t even born in the ancestral home of their family, and was fetched across the border with a wetnurse before she was two weeks old.

The conviction that it is bad news is borne out by the way her uncle acts when he comes back out of his study. He spends much of lunch very overtly not staring at her, and much of the afternoon passing by the doorway while their governess oversees their history lesson – or rather, while Valeriya is engaged in the process of a takeover, because she’s better-read on Katyia and the first Summit than Miss Henrietta, and she loves this subject, and Merit is asking questions which Henrietta is not equipped to answer without consulting reference materials but which Valeriya knows by heart.

He finally does address her, when Henrietta has taken Merit off to help her dress for dinner – an indignity she, at ten, has not yet escaped, but which Valeriya, at the advanced age of fourteen, has been long-since liberated from.

(Merit likes people helping her dress. Valeriya personally prefers to see to her own affairs. Aunt Eleonora says Merit is well-adapted to life in Arland, but she says it with a certain tone that carefully contains no disappointment; there’s a reason she takes Valeriya with her on some of her visits but almost always leaves Merit at home, and it’s not solely down to their respective ages.)

“Valya, dear,” Uncle Earnest says, sad-eyed as a hound dog, soft-voiced. Yes, assuredly bad news. She finds herself more curious than trepidatious, but holds herself very still and looks up at him. Not so far, though, not anymore.

“I’m so sorry,” he tells her gently. “Your mother is dead.”

For half a heartbeat, all she feels is confused.

She doesn’t have a mother. She has an aunt and an uncle and two cousins. But she takes her cue from her uncle’s expression even before she's really managed to make herself understand the information: She ought to be upset. She pushes her face into something more appropriate than blank incomprehension, wide eyes and raised brows, a soft mouth, and her uncle – a good man to his bones – reaches for her shoulder, offering contact, and then folding her into a comforting hug that she receives with real gratitude when she leans into it.

It lets her hide her face and think.

She has never met her mother. Well, she must have, after a fashion, but not really. Not as a person rather than a squalling larvae full of needs rather than thoughts. Now, she supposes, she never will.

Should that upset her?

She feels very little about the matter. A stranger is dead. Many strangers die every day; she is only moderately bothered about it, in general.

In this case…

Maybe it's awful, but she thinks she may be a little relieved. She can never be made to leave this life, which is comfortable and familiar, and be taken away to a strange place simply because the people there have a claim on her by being her nearest blood kin.

She will have to be careful not to let that show.

Aunt Eleonora tries, the year she turns sixteen, to talk to her about boys. About trouble girls can get into, liking boys.

Valeriya realizes, repulsed,

“Is this because Baron Cammus’s son was being stupid at me?”

It’s safe, here, to be so gracelessly blunt; they’re alone in Aunt Eleonora’s private parlor, and she’s allowed to be both honest and overt here, the way she never allows herself in public anymore. She doesn’t bother to hide her absolute revulsion, and Aunt Eleonora laughs.

There’s a note of relief in it.

“Ah, I should have known better. You won’t make your mother’s mistake.”

Her mother sent her away because she’s a bastard. She was lucky that she had family who could easily take her in to raise her up to the same station in life as her kin, rather than dumping her at an orphanage. She’s not ignorant enough not to have some idea what might have happened to her, if she hadn’t been lucky.

“I won’t,” she swears.

“I want to go to the Summit,” she tells her aunt.

Eleonora looks at her consideringly.

“You’re a touch young for it,” she muses, “but Arland does prefer to send girls who are young and pretty. In theory at least, Arlish girls who attend are supposed to know they’ve a duty to marry for the benefit of their nation, and it’s easier to persuade them of that if they’re too young to have formed any real opinions on the matter.”

Valeriya keeps her face perfectly still but for the slightest quirk of one brow, and her aunt inclines her head.

“I do think you might do well. Prove it to me, dear.”

She could ensure Valya got a spot on the delegation, but winning her own place is a test of her abilities. A test to see if she truly would do well with the opportunity. She feels a spark of satisfaction; she’d expected as much, and she does like to be correct. She presents the letter – penned by the queen’s secretary, but signed and sealed by her highness’s own hand – and her aunt smiles, bright and broad and ferocious.

Her aunt is happy to be seeing her off; she has a few errands for her niece to attend to on Vail Isle, and instructions on the precise wording she should use greeting Wellin’s chaperone, and encouragement to stretch her wings. Her uncle is actually crying a bit.

Well; he’s Arlish. He might actually think she means to make a miserable marriage for herself. It’s what nearly every other girl Arland has ever sent to the Summit does, including their paragon of a princess just seven years past.

He hugs her, and she hugs him back.

“Make us proud, Little Valiant.”

It’s still not at all a girlish Arlish virtue, but it is one she wants to embody. With the political situation so tenuous, with the way she intends to get involved, she will need to be brave.

"I will," she promises.

#7kpp week #7kpp week 2024 #this is gonna get SO jossed but like #do I care? I do not. squatter's rights; this real estate is mine now.#I'm sorry this post is so long but that's why we have cuts right #OC: Valeriya (Ambitious Widow)#only the Weaver AU version of her #whee!

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