#whoever you are. thank you So So SO MUCH | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

slayerfruit · 1 year

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(DISCLAIMER: Cott’s personality has not been heavily documented! Writer interpretation is IN PLAY and is TERRIBLY INDULGENT AND I’M MAKING YOU SEE IT. THIS ANON POST INCLUDES FAIL[GENDER NEUTRAL] POV. And like. Body hair. transGirl-dick (epic). HONKERS (little bit). Minor Anal sex. (excessive?) Burping. Weight Gain too. A bizarre combination of the first and last thing. I’m so sorry. Your candy duo is my current hyper-fixation. I will not bear it in silence.)

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There’s a pass underneath your seat.

This is not the first time you’ve come to one of these shows, nor have you shown up to every one. The signal for a show being almost ready is pretty subtle, given the show-runners less than legal activities, and so you often miss the performance days. Still, you try to come every chance you get. The duo is genuinely pretty funny. And uh... Quite good looking too, even when they aren’t actively emphasizing it by doing more sensual acts.

This isn’t one of those acts. This one’s straight comedy, all clean and natural as can be in this OSHA-defying carnival, and you’ve got a pass underneath your seat. Your seat is the important part. This place, as obscurity is a necessity in the now, isn’t really… packed. Anyone is free to sit anywhere, and there are a good number of seats to pick from, most in pretty good condition. You sit on the third row, middle column, 3 seats to the left. Every. Time. And there’s a pass underneath your seat.

You pick it up. You are the only one in this particular row of seats, and so you see no issue in taking a closer look at it, putting the actual show aside for a moment. A red/pink gradient card, VIP BACKSTAGE on it’s front in bright, yellow letters. You turn it over and feel your face flush crimson as you are faced with a surprisingly well made portrait of Cottol.ine giving a thumbs up as several thoughts cycle:

She’s naked.

She doesn’t even fit in the card frame.

You are almost certain she drew this herself. It’s also got your name on it.

You quickly stuff the card into a jacket pocket so to hide it. You… HAD heard about these prior, although none of the people who got them ever gave anything but a smile and an unwavering front to anyone who wanted to know about what they were about, or why they showed up late to their apartments with sugar coating their lips. It might be a sex thing. Maybe not. Again, only people who have received them before know and they won’t say anything.

The show continues, and you do try to actually watch the show you came here to see. The pass feels like red coals in your pocket though, burning with your curiosity as you wonder what you are in for after the show concludes. What could it be? Why you?

The show doesn’t take too much longer to conclude, and with a little flourish Cand.yman slides back and swishs the curtains shut with a twist of his wrist. The spotlights flicker and dim as the functioning walkway LEDs light the way out of the main stage.

The first act has closed.

(/Cheeky) > Y/N: Begin Act 2.

You are! You’ve just got to manifest the courage to actually. Step through the Backstage doors? There’s nobody else around right now, the end of the show prompting an easy exit from everyone else. You are alone.

...But probably not for long. You psych yourself up the best you can and push open the doors, noting that these have actually been oiled as to remain silent. You gently lead the doors shut, now standing on the other side. You’ve got a choice now between two doors. Two nameplates. Cand.yman or Cottol.ine? …..You would feel like an asshole if you opened Cand.y’s door first while having a pass with Cottol.ine on it, so this is a really easy decision. You grab the door handle- and fall flat on your face as the door swings open, having never been closed. You hear a slight gasp from overhead as your body meets wood and proceeds to commune in the language of mild pain.

“Oh my goodness! Are you okay?” A soft yet chipper voice somewhat tinted with worry says, one that you could not possible put to anyone except the sugar lady herself. You flick a thumbs up in the direction the voice came from and shake out a general reassurance before pushing yourself up on your knees- and freezing at the sight that awaits you.

You… okay. Everyone has some theories on how it is that the candy performers can adjust size, body type, parts… you were not quite prepared to see Cottol.ine just. Lying on a cushion. Swallowing from a tube. A tube connected to a tank simply labeled “Sugar”. A few grains slip from her lips and onto her sleeves as her cheeks bulge before she gulps it down, still looking at you as it seems to go down her throat- and then, soon as it would have hit the stomach, Cottol.ine’s thin show-body starts to lose that thinness.

You watch her, amazed as takes another full mouthful of sugar.

Gulp. Gulp. Gulp…

And swallows again, causing her whole body to plump up. The blueish-yellow leggings she is wearing push down as her legs and thighs as to emulate the example being set by her ass, which is taking a nice swig of fresh air out from under her current polka-dot dress. Her stomach, still covered, begins to show itself in a curve under the dress as her breasts push out themselves, nipples visible through the bra as they make themselves very apparent.

Another. Another. Another. She reaches down to briefly remove her shoes before tugging her leggings off, putting them aside just as her legs thicken out again. Her dress decides that attempting to hide this ladies gut is a lost cause, and simply elevates itself to reveal a now pudgy midriff, adorned with a multitude of soft white hairs. Having given up covering her lower half too, you can now catch a clear glimpse of solid, heavy girl-bulge as her underwear is pulled tight from her widening backside. Her breasts, until now still a suggestion, burst from under the hidden bra with a SnnnnRCK as they flop freely against the now barely worn dress.

She holds up a finger, silencing the nonexistent things you had to say about this situation as she goes through just a little more.

GULP. GULP. GULP…

One more decisive swallow, a flick of a nearby switch to “off”, and Cottol.ine quickly reaches down and yanks the dress up fully over her boobs- just as they flop down and smack against her gut, surpassing “head” and making their way confidently towards proper “melon” size. Said gut takes a jaunt over her thickening thighs, and threatens (but could never succeed) at obscuring her thickening girlcock, forming a delicious fuzzy overhang over her thighs. If you had any mental ram left, you might comment on her ass wobbling back there too. As it stands, you are currently soft rebooting instead. She takes the opportunity to remove the hose from her mouth, hooking it onto a nearby- well. Hook, before refocusing on your dumbfounded expression that you are sure makes you look sufficiently foolish. She opens her mouth and says “Welcome to the-” before her cheeks bulge out and she lets out a HwOOooooooourp. “Oops! Sorry. Welcome to the VIP Treatment!”

> Y/N: For your own sanity (and the reader’s frustration), take an Intermission.

In an effort to dislodge some of the awkward tension that you don’t think anyone other than you is currently experiencing, you open your mouth and blurt the first reasonable question that comes to mind: “Do you spend a lot of time back here chugging raw sugar by yourself?”

...You quickly fight an extremely strong urge to walk out of the room and obliterate yourself at a nearby alien obelisk. She doesn’t seem to be offended though. “It’s not preferred, but it works! The fun way is to just indulge yourself in sweets and well crafted food and laze about for weeks- but for shows that takes a little too much- HwwWooourp -time. Sugar accomplishes the same thing for us candy-made entities that lard would do for you! ...Without the awful taste, of course.”

She reaches down and grips a bit of gut in her hands, shaking it and wobbling her entire fuzzy gut. “This body proportion is just a little bit more… comfortable for me right now. Normally I’d ask if you want something else- But.” She looks you dead in the eyes (as well as someone who’s eyes are theoretical can). “I really think I know the answer to that one already.” You feel like a tomato. It’s probably written everywhere what your answer is. She isn’t quite smug, but there is a self-assurance and calm there that leads you close the door behind you and ask your other question:

“Why me?”

Cottol.ine smiles a little. “It’s really not that complicated. You are cute!” She pauses for a moment and adds “If you are talking about how we choose generally, we just fill a hat with the name of every person who showed up to the show who is our respective types and isn’t transphobic and pull one out.”

Honestly, so valid.

> Y/N: Please just get to the horny. This is going to be such a long post. WE ARE REACHING 4 ACTS IN A ANON ASK. P L E A S E

Fine. You steel yourself. You are going to ask for something enjoyable and not weird. Sex would be good. A typical request. Yeah. Alright. You open your mouth-

“Can I lick your belly fuzz?” FUCK DAMN IT WHY ARE YOU SO BAD AT THIS

“Sure!” She answers easily, cutting your mental chatter into silence. “Would you like a certain flavor? I’ve got a variety of options for this kind of thing.” She brings herself to her feet and thuds herself over to a wall-mounted cabinet, pulling it open to reveal a variety of flavored syrups. You feel a little dumbfounded. This is not unusual. You point out an orange cream-sickle flavor to her and she takes it into one hand and makes her way over to you- before tripping over her leftmost-left foot and planting her gut navel-first on your face. Your are now submerged in belly blubber.

BwoOOOOooooouurp. “Whoops! You alright down there?” You mumble something that sounds affirmative and probably reflects too much of your personal feelings. “Good! Well. Don’t see any reason to get up then!~” You hear a cap being faintly unscrewed before gulping follows, the slight movements of even swallowing causing her gut to shake around your head. Before long, something tickles against your cheeks, and then the other, and then everywhere. She pulls back just enough from the wall to let you see: Her belly is quickly growing orange, fuzzy hair, framing the white hairs from before in a hairy circle as she finishes the syrup and tosses it at a wall (it bounces into a trashcan), letting another BwhooOOoourp-HwooORRP!! directly out at your face in a citrus, sugary cloud. You blink a little. This will never leave your mind.

“SoOooooooOOOurp. Have a taste! It’s all yours!” She wobbles it enticingly at you. At this point, what’s the point in even pretending you do not want to do this? You collide tongue to gut, trying for an area less fuzzy. It tastes… well. Like sugar. You swish your tongue around in the same spot, and realize you can just. Kinda lick anywhere and taste sugar? Exploring, you lick a strip upwards from the navel and meet the white hairs head on.

...Vanilla! You lap all around the navel with this info in mind. This stuff is actually really good. The way the flavor melts in your mouth is so pleasant, you can almost forget you are flicking your tongue out at somebodies gut! Actually, speaking about somebody, you pull back to ask if this is alright- and receive a hand planted on your head immediately. “Shh.” She tells you. “Don’t woOooourprry about it. This is fun.” She’s smiling. Her fingers brush against the back of your head.

...You move your head back down and continue. You drift out from the white section and into the jungle of orange beyond. You make contact- and moan into her fatty middle. That’s so good. This is everything you hoped this would taste like. You flick your tongue around madly, smushing your face into her gut. She giggles overhead, hand brushing over your head as you clear slowly regening hair as if possessed. “Are you having fun there?” She asks you, reaching another hand past her gut and grabbing yours.

...Yours? Her hand on your head incentives you to continue, but you were flat as a board everywhere an hour ago. She traces a finger over a navel of your own (your own!?) and pushes her finger in. As you collide with a new bit of hair to your left, you feel it: Her finger, unmoving, is enveloped. She says in a tone that makes it obvious she’s smiling wide: “I don’t think many people realize what being ‘made of candy’ really means. Would you like to hear a hint?” You murmur a yes into her body.

“You are going to get fat. You are going to lick until yoOOOoouurrpu either retract consent, are too tired to continue, are too big to continue, or I run out of syrup to keep this up. BWOourp.” She pinches your sideflab a little, making you jolt as her words sink in. This is not where you thought this was going, but. But.

...You start licking again, faster in lieu of giving an actual response. Now that you’ve been made aware, you can feel the way your body is padding out as sugary hair dissolves against your tongue. The hand on your head trails down and brushes against your cheek, taking a fingerful of newly acquired fat. You feel your own belly push out, pushing out over your clothes and colliding against her own, still much larger belly. You feel your ass press against the wall behind you, and then spread along it slowly as you swipe across the vast pastures of her hairy fields.

She presses her hand lower hand firmly against your gut, and you note with a tinge of delight that it takes almost no time at all for her hand to be forced backwards, the distance you have to lean forward to get at her gut with your tongue unfortunately not going backwards. You feel your head collide with the beginnings of another chin (how novel!) as you try to lean forwards- but find the task to be too difficult. You try to vocalize, but only let out a desperate whine instead. Cottol.ine takes pity on you, pushing herself to her feet and leaning her gut directly into you and allowing you to continue.

Swish. Flick. You can’t see with her middle coating your vision, but you can certainly feel. You feel your ass pushing you a little out from the wall now, maybe around the range of beach balls if you tried to guess. Your gut flows, and then flows further over itself. It makes impact with something- something that you are almost certain is her dick, fully ready and pressed idly against you. You are too ravenous to care too much- up until something terrible occurs:

Your tongue meets nothing. You’ve exhausted the syrup. As your motions cease, she pulls away from the wall and shows that your assumption is correct, there isn’t a single remaining hair on her entire gut. She turns around and checks it herself in the back mirror before swinging back around and crouching in front of you, almost starry eyed as she exclaims “You did it! Look at you!”, grabbing two chubby cheeks and continuing with “That was a hell of a show! You were a wreck when you came in- and now look at you! This work is allll yours!” She looks you over, and a little slyly adds “Although, you might need some help if you wanna work it off.”

By this point though, you are far away from the future where you have to work all of this off. Right now you are in the present- the present where you are now very optimistic that you can get her dick in your ass. You muscle up all your strength and, shockingly, push your wobbling, sugar-flab body to a stand, step forward towards the bed- and comically trip, falling directly on your gut and eliciting a BwooOOoooooourp! of your own as your belly is squished against the ground. Now faced with the knowledge that you probably can’t get up again, you shake your ass at her and hope that works as substitute for talking.

Apparently it does, because you hear the sound of cloth being moved aside as her freed dick smacks against your thigh. She remains still for a moment though. “I wasn’t kidding when I said ALL of me is candy. Are you sure you want me to do this?” She asks, sounding a little worried for you even as her dick pushes into your legs. You think about it. Really think about it.

You shakily force your chonky arm into a thumbs up.

She grips hold of your ass, pulls herself up- and thrusts in. It takes a moment for it to enter you proper, even at her current size your ass makes for a hefty distance to travel, but once it does you huff as the sensation hits you- and then fails to go any further.

...You aren’t sure why you thought she would be able to properly penetrate you like that. Even still, as her body claps against yours, your buried [SEXUAL OBJECT OF CHOICE] begins to quiver. Even without proper penetration your body is being stimulated by the wobbling of your own lard. Your body flushes as you orgasm. She’s isn’t too far behind- pushing in one more time and

FLOODING

Your insides with a squeak. You feel something enter your backdoor, but much like the very beginning of this whole situation, you realize it’s being converted almost instantly! You feel her dick, still pulsing into your ass, get further and further away as your ass flows outward and taps the ceiling. She bounces onto your gut as it balloons out in all directions before pancaking back down onto the floor, putting you halfway from the ceiling with your gut pushing against all the walls.

...There is a mild possibility you won’t be leaving this room for a while without some serious antics.

[Curtains close on the scene, a hand coming out to grab them before they can finish. Cand.yman himself comes forward. Slips a sign on the curtain, and lets them shut proper. The sign reads:

“2/10, didn’t get enough screen-time over my SIDEKICK.”]

i. gdxfhbmklghndgvxhbdgmklcvxhbmkl oh my God. im at a loss for words here!!! this is extremely generous of you and i thank you so much for this,, im Completely in love with this and is Absolutely one for the books

#fruitslayer rambles #asks #cottoline fruitslayer #fanwriting #man i *gotta* draw something of this later this is just. ougHBMHKLXCKLNHKLXCH #whoever you are. thank you So So SO MUCH

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luxaofhesperides · 10 months

Text

We Are Robins meeting to Signal apprehending Danny ; requested by @zylev-blog!

“Hey, Danny. How are you feeling?”

Danny gives Duke a tired smile, his head falling back against the wall. He’s sitting up today, which is good. It’s definitely an improvement from the many days Danny was unable to do much but lie down and grit his teeth through the pain as Duke checked on the gunshot wound. It’s a good thing Danny’s a meta with a healing factor, or nothing Duke could have done would have saved him.

As it is, the wound was severe enough to keep Danny vulnerable and unable to move on his own without making it worse. Though Duke has looked, he hasn’t had any luck in finding whoever did this to Danny. He hasn’t brought it up to the rest of the We Are Robin gang, but only because Danny only let him help if he kept it between the two of them.

What’s another secret? If it lets him stay close to Danny and make sure he’s healing well, then he’ll keep quiet and carry on the search by himself. He’s got plenty of practice in doing things on his own.

“Busy out there?” Danny asks as Duke sits down next to him, dropping his backpack onto the ground.

“Yeah, it’s tough with the cops after us, but someone needs to help Gotham and with Batman gone…”

A pained expression crossed Danny’s face. Eyeing him carefully, Duke opened his backpack and pulled out a few protein bars and sports drinks for him. Once Danny takes them and began eating one, Duke takes out the first aid kit, always kept at the bottom of the backpack, and sets it in front of Danny.

The most he can do is offer supplies and company at this stage of Danny’s healing. He gets twitchy and tense when Duke tries to tend to his wound, and seems to have plenty of practice in patching himself up.

He didn’t answer when Duke commented on it once, so Duke let the matter drop.

Metas may have legal protection, but that doesn’t stop people from targeting them. Duke has no intention of pushing Danny into remembering unpleasant things while he’s already wounded, hiding out in the upper corner of an abandoned warehouse taken over by a group of homeless people. Most aren’t inside during the day, choosing instead to be out with the rest of the city, which leaves them alone.

Duke keeps an eye on the ground floor of the warehouse, making sure no one comes in while Danny tends to his wound. When he peeks back, he can see that it’s much smaller than it was the night Duke found him, crawling down an alley with one hand clutching his side, tears slipping down his face. There had been so much blood that Duke was sure he had just stumbled upon someone dying and froze, horrified.

And then a shout down the road prompted him to move, hauling Danny up and helping him into the warehouse to hide.

For a normal person, if it didn’t kill them, the wound would still be raw and bleeding, larger than any gunshot wound he’s seen before. But Danny’s wound is closing up quickly, no longer bleeding, the edges a healing pink.

It doesn’t look like it’s going to scar, either.

“Think it’ll be all healed up by the end of the week?”

Danny glances up, then continues covering it with new bandage, large enough to cover the entire wound. “Hopefully,” he says. “Then I’ll be out of your hair and can figure out a way to get home.”

“Your folks gonna look out for you?”

“Probably. I’m not planning on telling them, though, since they’ll get way too overprotective. The only reason they’re not tearing Gotham apart looking for me is because I came here with my godfather and he told them we’d be gone for two weeks. Can’t believe he tried to kill me on day one…”

“Your godfather tried to kill you?”

“Yeah. Not personally, or anything, but he definitely hired the guy who shot me. Though he also yelled at him for shooting me? Not sure what that’s about, but I never trusted the guy and he didn’t try to help me afterwards when I ran away, so. You know.”

Duke wants to have a conversation with Danny’s godfather. Maybe bring the other Robins along to make sure the message sinks in: Don’t touch Danny.

But Danny, acting so casual about his godfather trying to kill him, would be unhappy about it, and Duke would really rather be able to take care of him than be shut out for trying to take control of the situation.

“Shit, man, that sucks,” he offers, instead of prying for details so he can hunt down his godfather. “You want a hug or something? I can’t really do much else, but if it can make you feel better about all this…”

Danny brightens and shoves the first aid kit away, his shirt (one of Duke’s old ones he offered up to replace the bloodstained one) falling to cover the bandage. “Please. I would love a hug, dude, I don’t remember the last time I felt so lonely.”

Carefully, Duke wraps his arms around Danny, leaning back so Danny could relax fully and not worry about holding himself up. Danny sighs into the hug, going fully limp as he drops his forehead onto Duke’s shoulder.

“Thanks for this. And everything,” Danny says some time later. He doesn’t move to pull away, so Duke stays as he is, watching the weak sunlight slowly move across the warehouse as it spills in from dirty windows.

“You don’t need to thank me. I mean, I’m a Robin.” He brings up a hand to tap a finger against the R embroidered into his jacket. “It’s what we’re here for.”

It’s been years since he saw Danny. After he was fully healed, Duke helped him get to city limits, watching as he boarded a bus and disappeared down the road, leaving his life just as suddenly as he entered it.

After spending so much time together, quiet hours of stillness just looking out for each other, his life feels emptier without Danny in it. He knew it wouldn’t last, that Danny would go home eventually, but it didn’t make the parting any easier.

Even now, as Signal, taking a break from going on missions with the Outsiders to spend some time with the Bats, his thoughts drift towards Danny, wondering if he’s alright. In his darker moments, he wonders if Danny’s godfather has tried to kill him again, if he’s succeeded. In calmer, happier moments, he remembers Danny’s quiet stories about his family, his town, all his dreams and hopes for the future, remembers the easy company and how Danny didn’t look at him with pity when talked about his parents, just quiet and contemplative.

Sometimes, he can’t resist the urge to look him up, but there are so many Danny’s out there that he doesn’t know where to start. He never got Danny’s last name or learned when he came from.

It’s not like he can just ask the Bats for help finding a guy he knew for two weeks before he ever joined them. They’re all busy with their own missions, and definitely don’t have time for Duke’s reminiscing.

“Just caught sight of the truck entering city limits,” Oracle says in his ear. “It’s heading towards the Coventry.”

“On it. Any movement from the mobs?”

“None yet. I expect this to change soon. Red Hood and Black Bat are patrolling nearby if you need backup.”

“Got it. Signal out.”

His comline shuts with a little click, and then he’s grappling over the roof tops, keeping an eye on the roads in search of the truck. He doesn’t have time to think of Danny anymore, not when a shipment of new, experimental weapons is passing through Gotham. Spoiler had heard a few whispers of it and Red Robin helped find more solid details; the mobs are all looking to take the shipment for themselves in an attempt to get the upper hand in the nonstop fight for control of Gotham’s streets.

It’s passing through during the day, visible and a good move to keep from being ambushed at night, but it’s not enough to stop mobs hoping to take out their competition with new weapons. Duke enters the Coventry just as his comline beeps once and Oracle begins giving him specific directions, along with a brief description of what the truck looks like.

Apparently, the weapons are being moved in a U-Haul rental truck. That is… certainly a Choice™ to make for moving weapons around the country.

He follows it from the rooftops, but nothing happens. The truck passes through the Coventry without incident and takes a turn that keeps it away from Crime Alley and the Bowery. It gets to the middle of East End then pulls to a stop in the parking lot of a diner.

Two people get out and stretch, then head in to get something to eat.

It would be the perfect time for someone to break in. Duke pulls the light over himself, manipulating it to make him disappear from sight as he looks down from the edge of the rooftop, tense and prepared for anything.

He almost doesn’t see it at first. It’s just a flicker, a flash of color, a shift in the shadows across the street. But he does see it, even if he can’t find it again, and drops down from the roof, creeping towards the truck.

Duke waits, holding his breath, off to the side of the parking lot.

A minute passes. And then a figure materializes out of thin air, floating right behind the truck. All Duke can see is white hair and a black body suit; they’re either a meta or an alien, but either way, Duke is ready to take them down.

The figure lifts their hands and a bolt of neon green energy hits the truck, melting the back and leaving a large hole that gives them direct access to the weapons. And then they shoot again, destroying the weapons.

“Phantom!” someone shouts, and the truck driver comes tearing out of the restaurant, a white gun in his hand. His companion follows, her gun also out, and the begin shooting.

Phantom dodges the blasts, then vanishes from sight. He reappears behind them a moment later, tackling back of them into the side of the truck.

“No you don’t!” Duke say, rushing forward as he pulls at the shadows around him then sends them racing towards Phantom, restraining them. The driver and his companion collapse onto the ground, groaning weakly, and Duke grits his teeth. “O, send someone to look after the people moving the weapons. Apprehending an attacker now.”

He doesn’t wait to hear a response, tightening the shadow’s grip on Phantom, who struggles fiercely.

“We can do this the hard way, or the easy way,” he says, pulling Phantom closer to him.

Phantom doesn’t answer. They just scream, the force of it making Duke fall back. His shadows dissipate, and Phantom flies up.

“Get back here!”

Duke gives chase, dropping in and out of shadows, throwing some at Phantom in the hopes of catching him again. But Phantom is fast and it takes all he has to keep up as they cross Gotham.

He thought Phantom was flying around blindly, but the way they move across the roofs and then through the streets are too confident, too focused to be anything other than someone with a destination in mind. But where? Where could they be going? If they’ve been in Gotham, then Duke would have heard of them.

A flying, powerful meta with a multitude of powers? Yeah, he would have known about them.

Phantom flies through a wall and Duke curses, going onto the roof and looking around, waiting to see them fly out. But they don’t and Duke finds a broken skylight to drop in from, landing on the support beams of the warehouse, well above the ground.

He knows the warehouse, he realizes suddenly. It’s the warehouse Danny hid in while he was healing. Duke hasn’t been back in years.

“Just listen to me, please,” a voice says behind him, and Duke tense, spinning around to face Phantom, floating just out of reaching distance. “Those weapons are dangerous. No one should have them, it’s why I had to destroy them. Please, you can’t let them get those weapons out.”

Duke stares. Something about Phantom is familiar. The shape of his face, maybe. His voice. Maybe it’s just because he’s in the warehouse again, with someone pleading for his help.

Maybe it’s all in his mind.

“Danny?”

Phantom flinches, floating back a few inches. “What— How—”

“What happened? Is it your godfather again?”

“My— Duke? Is that you?!”

He definitely shouldn’t be doing this, but Danny’s here. Danny’s here in front of him, needing help, and he doesn’t need the Signal. He needs Duke.

He pulls off his helmet and lifts his bare face to Danny.

“Oh,” Danny breathes. “Well. I guess I should have known you’d be a hero. Can you help me one last time?”

“Yeah, of course Danny. Tell me what you need.”

“Those weapons, they were first made to kill me and others like me. It’s a whole thing I don’t have time to explain. But they’ve been changed to affect humans, all types of people, as well. I can survive a few hits from those weapons, but for most people, it would kill them instantly. I need to destroy all of them and stop any further production before the rest of the world gets a hold of them.”

“That’s why you—”

“They have to be destroyed,” Danny says. “And the people making and selling them need to be stopped. I can’t do it on my own. I’ve tried, but…”

“I’ll help,” Duke says, “I’ll help. This is a big enough problem to bring the Outsiders into it. Or the Bats, but they like to stay in Gotham.”

Danny floats closer, looking painfully relieved. “Really? They’ll be able to put an end to this?”

Duke reaches for him. “Yeah. they can do it. I’ll make sure of it.”

Danny’s feet land on the support beam as his hand meets Duke’s. They balance above the rest of the warehouse, drinking in the sight of each other. Duke rubs his thumb over Danny’s knuckles in soothing circles and watches as the tension begins to fall away from Danny’s shoulders.

“Duke,” he whispers, “I’ve missed you—”

The door below is kicked open, and a gunshot rings out.

Moving on instinct, Duke tackles Danny, wrapping him up in his arms as they fall off the support beam. They hit the ground hard, rolling a bit, and Duke tucks Danny into his chest, bodily protecting him.

“Narrows!”

The Red Hood stands over him, menacing, a gun pointed at him.

“Hood?” He loosens his grip on Danny. “What the hell was that for?”

“Thought you needed back up. You chased after our guy and lost your helmet, I think I’m right to be a little worried about you. So, who’s this?” There’s a hard edge to his voice, and Duke realizes with a sinking heart that all anyone else sees is an aggressor, a meta who attacked a truck full of weapons, attacked two people, and had to be chased down by the Signal. Jason’s seeing a threat and acting accordingly, putting Duke’s safety first.

And with his helmet off, identity clear, Danny’s even more dangerous now that he has this knowledge.

“I’m sorry,” Danny whispers to Duke. He doesn’t have time to ask for what? before Danny’s shooting another beam of green energy at Jason then taking off, flying through the roof and out of sight.

“Shit,” Jason mutters, straightening up from where he ducked to avoid being hit, then puts his gun away and kneels next to Duke. “You alright? Why’d you let him go? I thought you had him.”

“I’m fine. He’s not… He wasn’t going to hurt me. He just needed help.”

“Sure. And what are you not telling me?”

“I knew him. He’s a good person, but he’s been in danger for a long time. This was him trying to protect others from what he went through.”

Jason takes off the helmet and stares at him. Then he sighs and reaches a hand down to help Duke to his feet. “Alright,” he says, “Let’s head back to the truck. You have until then to convince me that they’re the problem, and if they are, then I’ll help you blow up more of their weapons.” He claps a hand on Duke’s shoulder, then pulls his helmet back on. “Grab your helmet. We’re wasting daylight, Narrows.”

There’s nothing else he can do, no way to search for Danny when there are other leads to chase, so Duke grapples up to the catwalk where his helmet landed and grabs it.

Just before he puts it on, he sees a flicker of white just outside the window he’s facing. He ducks his head to hide a smile. It’s almost like he’s stepped back in time; Danny’s here in Gotham, needing help and asking for it in the warehouse.

And though so much has changed in those years, there’s still one thing that Duke will ensure never changes: he’s Danny’s hero. Above Robin, or Signal, or anything else, Duke is Danny’s hero.

This time, he has the power to actually help Danny. He’s going to make sure no one ever hurts Danny again.

“Let’s go,” he says, jumping back down to Jason, helmet on. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”