#why is he familiar

[geometricalien]

having kouki meet everyone is like having daggers thrown at him and every single one being a near miss.

[nyaslashthreat]

shout out to when i told my dad about goncharov and he figured out it was fake because i told him "1973 martin scorsese film with robert de niro" and he said that wasn't possible because the godfather came out in 1972 and the godfather part II came out in 1974 and they wouldn't have had time to make a movie in between. a perfectly good jest, foiled by this man's weird and vast knowledge set

[gutsby]

Easy to Please

Pairing: Sleazy Landlord!Joel x Reader

Summary: Months pass, and you can’t make rent—again. You find another way to pay your sleazy landlord. Again.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (m!receiving). Dubcon à la power imbalance / sex for money. Infidelity. Pervy!Joel. Talks of abuse. Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—please read at your own risk.

Note: This fic was loosely inspired by my three favorite songs about female adultery—‘Thinkin’ Bout Cheatin’ by Mae Estes, ‘Lyin’ Eyes’ by The Eagles, and ‘Cheatin’ Songs’ by Midland. No, I don’t support infidelity. Yes, it makes for fun fiction.

Word count: 3.1k

You hate the face he makes when he cums.

You hate the way he tastes when he’s done.

You hate the grit and the heft of the man, every lone hair that sprouts silver from his chest, and the way he pats the open space beside him in bed after you roll away.

‘Never seen a girl so goddamn allergic to cuddling!’

What makes his observation worse is that you know you’re hating it more and more with every passing day.

Today you have seven Benjamins, two Grants, and a Jackson tucked into your purse. You walk with a sluggish gait, knowing you’re $310 short of making this month’s rent and last. But you go on anyway. It’s not like Joel can’t see you from where he’s seated on the porch.

The pleasantries you exchange are short. By now, you have only to breeze past him in his lawn chair and say, ‘I can’t stay long,’ and he knows the rest. He grabs his six-pack, then his Pall Malls, and asks after you all the same.

“How’s the wrist?” he says.

You sprained it over the weekend. You aren’t sure how he heard. At any rate, you ignore the question and set your bag down on the counter before going to the fridge. You deflect with a question of your own—what the hell happened to the lemonade? He had a full jug last week.

“Got thirsty,” Joel answers, shrugging.

You’re always thirsty, you tell him, and you eye the case of Heineken that he’s placed by your purse. You don’t need to see his face to feel the smile starting to form.

“Don’t I know it,” he says. Insinuating.

You’d hit him over the head if you’d been able to reach. He’s still smiling when your shoulder checks his—closer to his elbow, from the feel of it—and when you leave the kitchen, he leaves too. He trails behind you with an ease that says this is the sixth time this has happened since August, and you’re hardly a week out from Halloween.

It’s not just rent you need to pay; it’s other things. Transmission in your truck’s gone to shit. Phone’s been on the fritz since you dropped it in the tub. Talking heads on TV say the country’s on track to get hit with another recession, and from the way your boss has been slashing your hours in half, you think they may be right. The crack in your bathroom window was tiny last week. Today it’s gone, because your husband put his fist through the thing on Sunday. You patched the hole with duct tape.

Joel’s covering the cost for the pane to be replaced, but that’s because he has to. He’s your landlord—proud owner of the Delta Commons trailer park since ‘97—and that’s what landlords do. Everything else is yours to pay.

You’re a part-time student, part-time waitress, and a full-time caretaker for your ailing spouse, or so you call him. Joel knows Stetson’s not sick, just perennially unemployed and drunk. You pay for most things, and it’s rarely enough to cover your rent. Stetson doesn’t care.

And that’s where Joel comes in.

No pun intended, but in his mind, there’s really no nicer way to say it: you fuck his brains out to make up for the shortfall in rent. You blow him before work to make sure your husband and you will have enough to eat that week. You bite the warm, freckled skin between his shoulder and his neck while you ride him, because you know that gesture will get you a little extra cash when you leave. You smile after swallowing him, and Joel knows that it tastes like shit. You’ve gotten good at faking it lately.

What he hopes isn’t totally fabricated is the way you call him big. Strong. Handsome. So stupidly well-endowed that you have to wince for the first few seconds when you sit on it, and go slow when he takes you from behind

“O-ow!” you whine presently.

His dick isn’t even in you yet. You just stubbed your toe on the edge of his dresser on your way to the bathroom.

“You alright?”

“Fuck me!”

I will, he thinks.

“Want me to get an ice—”

“Let go-OW! FUCK!”

Joel barely even touched your wrist and you were flinching away with a brand new pain. You rub it, almost defensively, then pin him with an icy glare. Nice going.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

Now he’ll be lucky if he can swing a half-hearted handy from the one that isn’t hurt. That’s how mad you look.

You turn your body away, and for a second, Joel assumes that his fate has been sealed: you’ll bumble over to the rug by his bed, toss a pillow on the floor, and assume what he already knows to be your least favorite position. You’ll kneel, and talk of migraines and your long, grueling day and in the end find an excuse not to use your mouth. That’ll be okay. But with the debts you owe him now, it also won’t be enough, and Joel will have to ask you back again. He hates sounding needy, but baby, deal’s a deal.

Luckily you don’t give him the chance to use that line. Much to his surprise, you get on the bed. You lie down. You seem to take a little more care settling in this time, but you take off your clothes. It’s a lime green tank top and some ratty jean skirt, but it’s enough to tempt him.

And not just tempt, but oblige him to accept, unblinking. He crawls over the bed to get to you, and he finds that his spit’s filling his mouth a little quicker. His hands are starting to shake as they slide over the duvet, and the tree trunks he once called his legs are runny, like eggs.

He has to remind himself, bluntly, of your last name, the shiny ring on your hand, your husband’s name, your—

“Age—what’d you say your age was again?” Joel asks.

You look confused for a second, but you tell him.

“Twenty-one.”

Way too fucking young to have gotten hitched three years ago. But then he remembers this is Leakey, Texas, and your family hasn’t strayed more than ten miles from the center of town in four generations. You told him that.

“I thought you said twenty,” Joel says, a little uneasy.

“I did. Up until this past Sunday I was.”

“Oh.”

A beat.

“Happy birthday.”

You blink.

“You gonna take your pants off or what?”

And he does. Maybe embarrassed at first, but then the jeans come off, and his boxers go next, and without so much as a word or a breath, his worries are sliding away like water off his back. Like his clothes now peeling off.

Like your smile growing thin at the sight of him half-stripped on the bed in front of you. Joel doesn’t flatter himself to think he’s even half as handsome as he was in his youth, but he knows he has his draws. What endears him to you today is, unfortunately, his wallet. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be convinced to like him more.

More than Stetson, he thinks without humor.

Dumb son of a bitch can’t tell his ass from his elbow and yet he’s won himself you, living it up these last three y—

“Oh.”

He sounds like an owl now. His clothes are off, and you’re rubbing him, pumping him gently in your hand, which you were so kind to make wet with your saliva. It even sounds better than his, the way it squelches with every flick. Joel can only say so much in strangled breaths.

He tries anyway:

“Feel like a dream, sweet pea.”

Sweet pea.

Your pace quickens. Joel swears he can see the corners of your lips twitch, but then he thinks you’re just wincing. You move down to the floor beside the bed. Kneel almost politely while you nestle yourself between his parted legs

Your mouth is warm. It’s always warm. Joel wouldn’t expect a girl’s tongue to greet his dick like ice, but yours is always heated to a thousand degrees, it feels like. He enjoys the sting. Your lips envelop his big, leaking tip, and he swears he can stay like this forever—in you.

On you, too. He’s got his palm resting flat on your head, and he doesn’t mean to, but he pushes. He bunches your hair in a fist and drags your face to make you swallow.

Mean old man, you must be saying in your head when he stuffs your mouth full. Makes your eyes prick with tears.

Sweet girl. My sweet pea, he thinks, affectionately, and continues to rub your scalp. He holds your teary gaze.

And then you’re moving up. Down. Coating his length with shiny spit and tiny whimpers as your lips move gently back and forth, again and again. Joel’s grip tightens in your hair, and he begs for more. More.

“More,” he orders, jaw clenched, “Fit a little more’a me.”

From where you’re kneeling below, you look put off.

Then you pull off, and you wipe your wet chin.

“Chokin’ me,” you grumble, “‘S’too big.”

Normally, Joel loves to hear that.

Now, however, he’s sliding his touch to your chin and tilting your head up to him. Thumbing at the spit dribbling out on either side of your mouth and subsequently coaxing your lips further apart.

He slides back in, and you don’t fight it. You like it. Holding his gaze in a soft, docile look while your lips stretch deliciously around his shaft, you must love it. Every inch and every twinge of pleasure from the brush of his cock going in and out must be your favorite thing.

Joel hopes it is, anyway. He holds your face now, and your throat convulses involuntarily. You’re so pretty.

“Such a good, sweet girl, ain’t ya?” he presses, watching the coarse grey hairs at the base of him tickle your face.

You respond well to praise. You preen under those words, and try to nod. But his cock is so deep down your throat you end up choking again. Joel watches all of it smiling.

Petting your head and not pushing again. Grinning.

“Love my cock nice and stuffed in that pretty throat?”

You blink instead of nodding, but it’s more than enough.

“Love me deep?”

And the head of him sinks somewhere he’s never been. Your eyes are like two wide pools, and your lips leak everywhere—your chin, your cheeks, your neck.

Joel’s smearing it all with his palm and smiling so wide that he thinks he might pull a muscle. He pants heavily.

“Just what you’re made for. Just what you need.”

You look like you might agree. He keeps going.

“My fuckin’ mouth. My pretty, pretty mouth.”

He holds your face. He thinks he might cum.

“Ain’t a damn thing Stetson can do for this mouth, huh?”

And then he doesn’t. Joel barely blinks, and you’re already bucking your head out of his hold, mouth skittering away while the spit spills out. You’re practically drenched down to the chest when your face rears back. Your eyes are alight and no longer smiling when you grit:

“Don’t.”

Joel should’ve known better.

He’s hit a raw nerve, and now he really wishes he hadn’t.

It doesn’t stop there—but it doesn’t get better, either. Things progress in much the same way as they always have but with none of the need, or the warmth, of before. You climb back up and straddle him quick. Not meeting his eye, you just sit down, and slide down, and don’t wince at all. You don’t tell him that he’s big, and he doesn’t get the chance to even groan at the first influx of pleasure before you’re riding him. Bouncing and grinding your hips against his with all the passion of someone perusing the newspaper. You don’t whimper or moan.

Of course, Joel enjoys the feeling. He also wants someone to punch him in the throat for what he’s done.

“Hey, hon—” he starts, voice strained, “Hon, I’m sorr—”

“Shut up,” you snap.

Your movements hardly falter, and now your hand is seizing the headboard. You’re clenching him tight inside your wet, drooling cunt, and it’s obvious you’re trying to make him cum as quickly as possible. You swallow hard.

Joel isn’t sure what to do. On the one hand, his body is being flooded with pleasure, and on the other, he fears you may never do this with him again. Quickly fixing on the latter, he cups your face in one hand. It’s still wet.

His fingers smear the spit, and somehow you look even prettier. You keep grinding your body in desperate little fits above him, and really, you feel fucking amazing, but Joel is too focused on other thoughts. He squeezes you.

“Baby—” he tries again, but you shush him just as fast.

Your hips are moving viciously now. No matter how sore your legs might have been from a long day toiling away—just a couple hours before your shift at your next job, if Joel’s remembering correctly—you’re working him well. Doing him in. Fucking his brains out, but you aren’t his.

His fingers smear the spit even more. Never will be his.

“Sweet pea—”

“Don’t fucking call me that!”

Now he can’t deny that his climax is close. But this isn’t how he wanted it to end—with you so incensed you can hardly look him in the eye. His hand rubs more, helpless.

And just when he’s seconds away from painting your insides white, losing it all to the pleasure, he sees it.

His wet, sticky touch has uncovered a residue.

Joel pulls his fingers away in a blink, and simultaneously, your eyes are fluttering closed. You’re focused now on climax; because of that, you don’t see what he sees.

What he’s stunned to find on his fingers: makeup.

Lots and lots of thick, heavy makeup on your cheeks. Concealer, he thinks he’s heard it called once or twice.

No matter the name, he quickly comes to see what it’s for. Just as you’re hitting your peak, squeezing the headboard behind him, and coming undone with a shockwave trembling all through your body, Joel pales.

The makeup that you applied so heavy tonight hides bruises. Black and blue and awful hues of greenish-purple too, your whole face, he sees, is engulfed.

He doesn’t speak. He won’t ask.

He won’t cum tonight, either.

He’ll finish something else.

You leave Joel’s trailer angry. You don’t say goodbye. The screen door screams shut behind you when you leave, and silently, you wonder why he didn’t cum. For once, you wish he had—and hadn’t said half of what he did.

Six hours pass like molasses, and by the end of it all—the close of your second shift—Stetson’s name still echoes in your head. The way Joel said it. It hums along the walls of your skull while you walk, and as you draw closer to home, you remember that strange and infuriating tone.

Then you remember your own less than two months ago:

Don’t talk to my husband. Don’t talk about my husband.

They were two simple rules, and Joel broke them both.

He must’ve defied the first when paying a visit to make repairs that week, and that’s when Stetson mentioned your hand: how you ‘slipped’ in the bath. Tripped and conveniently sprained your wrist the same night he almost tore your arm out of the socket for looking at a waiter a tad too long at dinner. You’d bet any sum of money Joel didn’t get to hear that part from Stetson when he came over to see about the window, though.

No, your twenty-first came and went without so much as a word about your wrist. Your arm. Your face—used to getting caked with concealer every third week or so.

You wince as you open the door. You walk slowly.

At first, you’re met with silence, and you sigh with relief. Then you hear it, and shortly drop your purse to the floor.

You all but fall down yourself at the sight: your husband doubled over across from you, in the kitchen. His head in his hands. You don’t need to see the face to know that it’s bleeding. Profusely. You tread ever slower into the room, thinking somehow, some way he’s going to blame this on you. And when he straightens a little and shows off the full, gruesome extent of his injuries, you blanch to think that it might be. His body’s been beaten to a pulp.

Your pulse hammers in your head so loud you can’t hear him groan. You see him, but you don’t really believe it.

And when Stetson reaches for you, you stagger back.

Your hands skim the counter, but your brain barely registers it. Your husband’s calling to you now, ‘Quit standin’ there lookin’ stupid, do somethin’, huh?!’ He’s screaming, and you’re not hearing it. Barely feeling like a sentient person at all but just a doll stumbling backward on two wooden legs. As you walk, your palm stays stuck to the laminate underneath it, and suddenly, you feel it.

An envelope.

In this state, you aren’t sure why you grab it, but you do.

You take the lone white paper, and you turn to leave. Your hands shake as you hold the thing, and your legs are hardly any better, but they carry you, miraculously, from the kitchen to the threshold of the back door. Then out. Stetson’s not just yelling but bellowing, loud, every last obscenity known to man as he holds his bloodied side and limps in his perilous, pathetic way. Fortunately, you’re gone just in time to miss the bottle he hurls.

Outside, you walk. And walk. And in the still of the night you’re obliged to find your way through a miscellany of trailers and trucks and old, creaking vans by moonlight, and the throbbing in your head begins to slow. You don’t rush to get far, and you don’t have your keys even if you wanted to drive off. You keep walking. Watching nothing.

When your eyes drift to the envelope in your hand, you barely see that either. You’re just blinking as you look, and breathing as you wait for the sight to make sense.

Inside, you find seven Benjamins, two Grants, and a Jackson staring back. Next to them are a few dozen others—enough to cover August, September, October, and several months before that, if you had to guess.

You hope you’ll get the opportunity to thank Joel, and maybe tell him that you don’t really hate him, someday.

[bet-on-me-13]

Danny was forced to Reincarnate

So! One day, Dr Fate was doing a routine check on the Barriers between the many Dimensions that brushed up against his Universe, when he found an Anomaly.

Somewhere in the United States, Illinois if the spell was accurate, there was a Sustained and Stable opening into the Infinite Realms. Which was impossible. The Infinite Realms was Chaos Incarnate, the birthplace of God's and Monsters like the Lords or Chaos or the Ancients. Openings to the Realms were never supposed to exist for more than moments at a time, if not less than that.

So of course he immediately went to investigate it.

What he found shocked him.

Not only was there a stable Portal to the Infinite Realms created by Scientists of all things, but Realms Spirits have been regularly attacking the small town it was located in without his, nor anyone else's knowledge, for Years. Thankfully it seemed like one of the Realms Spirits objected to their attacks on the Mortal Plane and was defending it, but that was a problem in and of itself.

He quickly took off to rectifying the situation.

He approached the Protector Spirit and proposed an alliance, helped him chase down any loose Spirits still wandering the Mortal Plane, and then with his help Dr Fate closed the Portal for good. The Protector Spirit helped destroy all knowledge of how to contruct the Portal from the Scientists Servers (he was never good with technology) and Dr Fate used a few memory spells to wipe the knowledge from their minds.

The Protector Spirit then thanked him for his help, but Dr Fate told him that there was still one problem that needed rectifying.

He quickly summoned a Spell to immobilize the Spirit, and began the Ritual he had been preparing since the moment they had met. He was never planning to allow the Realms Being to wander free after his work was finished. Good Hearted as he may be, Realms Spirits were still too dangerous to let freely roam a world of Humans. He was never going to be allowed to leave once this was over.

Still, he had helped Dr Fate in his endeavors. For that, he had earned a more merciful fate than the others had. Rather than banish the Spirit to the endless void as he had the others, he instead cast a ritual to allow him to Pass on and find peace.

With his work done, Dr Fate left the small town and went back to his Tower.

...

Unfortunately for Dr Fate, he didn't know a few things about that particular Spirit. He didn't know that it was a Halfa, and was thus still partially Human. He did not know that it was still a Child by Ghost Standards, and that his Core was not yet matured as it should have. And he did not know that this particular Ghost was favored by an entity that governed all of Time. One that had a rather petty vindictive streak.

Because he wasn't the type of Spirit the spell was intended for, the Protector Spirit (Danny if case you hadn't caught on) was thrown into an entirely different type of Afterlife. The Cycle of Reincarnation.

Clockwork, angered that his friend had been betrayed so calously, helped his soul pass more easily through the cycle of Reincarnation. He wouldn't keep his memories or powers (at least not at first), but there would be echoes of who they used to be.

Which is how Danny Phantom, the little known Ghost Hunting Hero, was reborn into their new life as Zatanna Zatara, the well known Magician Hero.

[bluerosefox]

Waiting... Waiting...

So... This was inspired by listening to EPIC (FREAKING LOVE ALL THE ALBUMS, SO GOOD) and by @noxcheshire post of Tim being Odysseus reincarnated and Danny (maybe also reincarnated) being his Penelope (Here) so I had to turn it into a Dead Tired idea.

The song The Challenge is the main one here. (Cause I LOVE that song... along with Would You Fall In Love With Me Again)

So WHAT IF Danny IS the reincarnated Penelope, after becoming the Ghost King Danny's memories of his past life as Penelope returns and remembers how before dying/ or being reincarnated both Penelope and Odysseus promised to find each other in their new lives, no matter who they are, what new form they take, they will find each other.

So Danny/Penelope, just like before waits for their Odysseus to return to them, but also tries to find him in their new life (CW is laughing whenever Danny asks for hints and gets a 'In due time, just wait' answer, ugh Danny wants to smack CW for that)

However just like in his previous life with being in a high position of power, Danny is being pressured to marry/take a spouse (now its not just men/males though so its a huge headache, I head canon Ghosts don't care much for gender preference) mostly by the dang eyeballs that Danny is still trying to find a way to get rid of without upsetting the Infinite Realms delicate (but slowly healing) balance even if Danny wanted nothing more than to punch all of the suitors out.

So Danny decides to play the long game again.

And waits for their Odysseus return.

Danny's wait is over when they suddenly feel the Realms shift one day, as if welcoming someone familiar home, and the same feeling Danny had when he had been Penelope and saw the storm that was sign of Odysseus coming home, Danny decides its time to bring out The Challenge once again. (CW gifted Danny a few things from his past as Penelope as a coronation gift, like Odysseus's bow (now enchanted to be unbreakable), a painting of when he was Penelope, with Telemchus, and Odysseus, and the Marriage Bed/Olive Tree, AND the Palace Odysseus made that Danny takes to being in over being at Pariah's Keep)

-x-x-

Meanwhile

Tim Drake, aka Red Robin, always had strange dreams as a child.

War, Death, Monsters, Gods, Goddesses.

His dreams were more like nightmares, haunting him and he sometimes woke up in cold sweat.

He hated storms. Hated being in the water for to long. Hated how he felt both tense but also at home when around Greek heroes, as if he was afraid to 'disrespect' them (Cassie was the only one he didn't feel that way around, mostly cause they had been somewhat friends before their heroing since their parents knew each other) but also knew how to appease them should he insult them. He also had a strange hatred for the CoO with a burning passion because he felt like they were mocking real Owls.

The worst part of nightmares that always pop up are of what feels like should be his home is being invaded by unwanted guests (they aren't guests), how they are angry over trying to string a bow and shot an arrow through axes, of the terrible terrible things he hear them saying they were going to do to his loved ones (two names that keep getting muted out).

How it ends in bloodshed with echoing of begging, pleading, mercy, and screams.

However in those nightmares at the end. He also finds himself looking for something in them.

Or rather he always found someone waiting for him at the end of the nightmares. Calling him by the wrong name but it sounds just right coming from them.

The dream always ends with the person asking 'How long has it been?' and before he can answer he wakes up.

So yeah Tim has horrifying nightmares/dreams he could never explain.

And the urge to find someone. To go home to them.

It isn't until he and his friends from Young Justice are hit by a spell from Klarion (who may or may not had a visit from a certain chaos encouraging Time Keeper) and sent to a place called the Infinite Realms in the middle of their fight, that Tim is hit hard with déjà vu when he spots a certain Palace in the distance and overhears some of the 'people?' (they glow and float and some don't even look human?! where are they?) talk about how the 'King' has issued a new 'Challenge' for his 'suitors'.

A Challenge involving a bow, and axes.

And Tim, feels like he knows this all too well and needs to do it.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Good Morning, World.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[purpleenjoyer]

I drew this last month and never posted it because it was a silly doodle, but given that I'm art blocked as fuck i'm posting it now to remind myself I used to know how to draw /j.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 106

Dan absolutely despised his parole at first, but honestly this is a blast. Sure, he’s stuck in the form of a cat, a kitten even, but he’d found an absolutely wonderful companion. Partner. Ally? Baby Chaos Lord? He’d work on it. 

Klarion is just happy to have found such a great familiar, he even named them Teekl II, which is a great name thank you very much hero-babies! So now he has two Teekl familiars, and Teekl II always gets so gleeful whenever they successfully pull a prank! He even has his own fire magic which is so fun! 

Danny is not happy to get thrown into another world, stuck as a kitten. He’s also not pleased to have found a sick baby liminal, but fine. If this is what he’s supposed to deal with then he’ll deal with it! Even if he has to be a familiar for a teeny tiny bit of time. It’s fine, and the dude has a pocket he can peek out of on his coat. 

Jason has no idea where this kitten came from but the Pit is being surprisingly chill about it. Something about a baby? Whatever, he’s made the furball a little matching outfit and they like to sit in his pockets and peer out. No idea how Cat Hood is making the shadows all spooky now or why the eyes went from blue to green, but whatever. 

Ellie is utterly delighted in this situation. She was just wandering, but now she’s a lil fluffy kitten, and ended up landing on this kid’s head. This magic kid’s head! He even has a talking tiger friend too! So cool! She’s definitely sticking with him! This will be so fun!

Billy was worried about making sure the kitten got food, she’s so tiny! Mr Tawny is a big help though, and apparently she’s his familiar now that he’s given her a mortal name? He doesn’t fully understand but apparently she’s connected to his magic now, if the shouts from the gods are anything to go by. Look, an electric cat is cool. Pakhet is amazing, and Fawcet thinks it’s adorable that Marvel has a kitten clinging to his shoulder

[weirdglassthing]

ouaw doodle dump!!

[dovewingkinnie]

trapped in a toys body some new ocs i made today

[lgbtlunaverse]

It's always been my personal belief that Wen Yuan was brought into the lan clan under the guise of being one of the many war orphans they no doubt had at that point. He wears the cloud pattern on his ribbon that marks him as a member of the inner family so either the lan clan is very woke about adoption and Lan Wangji formally adopted him (which I don't think he did both because sizhui says "you were like a father or older brother to me" which sounds like that dynamic was unofficial. And because adopting him would've put a-yuan in danger, which lwj would obviously refuse. It was known who wwx's actual parents were and he wasn't even formally adopted, just a ward, and still everyone was gossiping about him secretly being a bastard. A-yuan would be seen as proof of ~hanguang-jun's mysterious wartime affair~ and there'd be rampant speculation about his parentage, no doubt scandalous since they're trying to hide it. You can see why this is very very bad.) Or they were convinced he was the offspring of some late inner clan members. Born in unsafe times and therefore hidden away with non-cultivators for his own safety, only for his parents to perish before they could go back for him, or whatever backstory the Lan brothers came up with.

But that leaves the question... whose wartime orphan did they think he was? The number of inner clan couples who were of child-bearing age before dying in the war was likely numerous but it can't have been that high. Low enough to narrow down a list of potential parents. Were there Elders who looked at Sizhui and thought "well there's a solid 12.5% chance you're my grandson?" Were there other orphans who wondered if he was their younger brother?

That kind of speculation is safer, because everyone agrees he's a Lan child, so there's no chance of someone concluding that he's a secret Wen spawn.

But I'm thinking of a young Lan Sizhui growing up with his almost-solved mystery. With some of his peers and teachers taking an interest in him, wondering if he's their little brother, or nephew, or grandson, and not being able to give them the answer. Who gets very used to staring at people's faces, trying with all his might to see something familiar in them, and never succeeding. Until years later, long after he stopped trying, when he meets a strange fierce corpse and something in his mind says i've seen you before.

[uo6ep]

Q: You killed someone in high school — what do you remember about that day?

[rose-finches]

[ a memory from the city of flowers ]

I've seen some discussion on what if trein met lilia in his youth, only for him to see Lilia again decades later at NRC and I find it so funny

[abrahamvanhelsings]

no way people have not analysed this to hell and back already but im new to the whole 'i watched the terror' experience and im going insane

[bluerosefox]

Red Hooded Phantoms

Hmm

Another deaged or reborn Danny idea

But also Danny is Jason plotline. I've seen a few Danny is/reborn Dick, Tim, and a few rare Damian ones but I feel like we don't see a lot of Danny as Jason.

After being deaged by Vlad in another failed attempt to make Danny his son, he decided to try raising a deaged Danny instead because the boy would have no memories of his past, however during the struggle between Vlad and Team Phantom, Danny is sent into Vlad's lab portal and into the Zone, only for another random portal to open up and drop him into the DCverse and into a Gotham alleyway.

He is found by Shelia Haywood and well, we all know the life of Jason Todd after that.

Or he dies due to like the GIW, or bad Vlad, or bad Fenton Parents (Not picky on which) and is later reborn due to the damage done to his core.

It isn't until he dies and returns that Jason Danny feels like its something familiar, something is itching in the back of mind as he mindlessly wonders around Gotham after digging himself out of his grave.

And it only becomes more and more familiar when he is later found by the LOA/Talia and tossed into the Pits. Even the rage he gains feels familiar.

Later he becomes Red Hood, and that timeline happens.

Jason Danny doesn't find out the actual truth until one day the sky is ripped open by a glowing Lazarus green portal and a large armor covered being steps out, declaring he is there to fight for his crown/throne against the one that bested him last time and to bring forth Phantom for their battle.

And he had less than a few hours to come forward or else he will rip this world apart. (Pariah Dark may be a Tyrant King but he wanted his throne/crown back along with revenge against the one that stole it in the first place legitimately so it couldn't be denied)

A huge JL and JLD meeting is held and no one can find this 'Phantom'

So someone in JLD has a suggestion to summon someone from the Infinite Realms who might be able to help them locate Phantom (or maybe summon Phantom himself since he's technically the Ghost King.)

If we go with summoning someone other than Phantom, they manage to summon Jazz (whose acting as Queen Regent at the moment since Danny went missing)

And the moment he see's Jazz, Jason Danny feels his head and soul start to hurt. And memories he's sometimes see's in his dreams start bubbling into the surface.

[leathfaic]

My favourite hot take is that Simon adapts way better to being a civilian than Johnny does.

Johnny went and left for the army the second he could do so, relentlessly pushed his career and is, most likely, rarely not on base unless he's been told to fuck off or move his arse home (by either his superiors or family).

Simon on the other hand finished school and then took up an apprenticeship before joining the army. Even then he came home, took prolonged leave to help his family out. He spent way more time just living that reality. And even post Roba he was at home for a while before everything went to hell. He might not take a lot of leave since, because he has nothing to come home to, but he still knows to adjust to it.

If they take leave together Ghost settles remarkably well, still keeping an eye open but he's an adult who had time outside the forces to properly adjust to life.

Soap struggles. He gets by with his charm and bright blue eyes, and that's a good thing because he's too explosive, too intense for most normal social interactions.

He's caught somewhere between the 18 year old boy and the hardened SAS soldier and never spent enough time away to really grow into just John MacTavish. Not Sergeant, not Soap, not the FNG. Just him as a person outside of the military.

He navigates this part of his life like its a minefield. Making it through but boy oh boy, it's not looking graceful.

Ghost helps him mellow out in that regard, pointing out the messy weird mechanics of normal civilan life to him. Teaches him to enjoy that and not let his job ruin him. Simon who knows how quickly it can all fall apart can't help to see the beauty in the peace most people get to experience. He'll be damned if he can't share that beauty Johnny. Even if it's always just for a little while.

And because it's Ghost, who never steered him wrong Soap let's himself be led. Allows himself experiences outside of work and his family. And while he might not be eager to admit it, it makes him a better person.

And years down the line when they both made it out, last mission just one too many that was too close for comfort, all of that helps John MacTavish to adjust. Sure he mourns his life in the military, someone like him is bound to, but he's not too worried. He knows how to get by now. And even the days where he feels very out of his depth, he can approach with ease. Because he still has Simon at his side to show him the way forward.