i don't do bad sauce passes
One Nice Bug Per Day
Monterey Bay Aquarium
hello vonnie
🪼
⁂
sheepfilms
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
blake kathryn
if i look back, i am lost
Today's Document
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Game of Thrones Daily
d e v o n
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Peter Solarz
Xuebing Du
izzy's playlists!
occasionally subtle
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@daemonlogical
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minecraft logo font text generator w/assorted textures and pride flags
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microsoft wordart maker (REALLY annoying to use on mobile)
you're welcome
josh?
where’s the body of christ?
Alfred's Helping Hand
Alfred Pennyworth had survived wars, raised one billionaire vigilante, and outlived more Wayne family secrets than there were gargoyles on the manor roof.
What he had not survived particularly well was being old.
His knees ached. His back complained. And while he would never admit it out loud, the manor was… large. Very large. Too large for one dignified but increasingly creaky butler to handle alone.
So Alfred did the unthinkable.
He hired help.
Danny Fenton arrived at Wayne Manor with a single duffel bag, a résumé that was mostly lies by omission, and the deeply ingrained habit of watching corners, shadows, and ceilings.
Runaway from Amity Park. Former hero. Current nobody.
Perfect.
Alfred took one look at the thin, tired teenager with old eyes and zero questions and said, calmly, “You’ll do.”
Danny blinked. “You… don’t wanna know why I’m here?”
Alfred smiled pleasantly. “Master Wayne’s charitable foundation has a standing policy of not asking questions that invite complicated answers.”
Danny nodded immediately. “Cool. I love that policy.”
The job was simple.
Simple chores
Running errands
Helping set up for galas
Carrying boxes that definitely did not contain grappling guns
And, occasionally, standing very still and pretending he could not hear screaming from the cave beneath the manor
Alfred was very clear on one rule.
“If you see something you shouldn’t,” he said while polishing silverware that definitely had batarang-shaped nicks in it, “no, you didn’t.”
Danny gave him a two-finger salute. “Sir, I am a professional at not seeing things.”
And he was.
He didn’t see the armored boots vanishing down a hidden staircase. He didn’t hear the computer whirring under the grandfather clock. He absolutely did not notice the cave full of military-grade equipment under the house.
Danny kept his head down. Alfred got his help.
Everyone was happy.
Well.
Everyone except the Wayne kids.
It started innocently.
“Who are you?”
Danny turned from the pantry to find a boy with dark hair and suspicious eyes staring at him like he was a puzzle missing pieces.
“Uh. Danny. I work here.”
The boy—Tim, as Alfred later introduced him—tilted his head. “Why?”
Danny paused. “…Money?”
Tim squinted.
That was the first red flag.
Then came the second.
Jason followed him.
Literally.
Down hallways. Around corners. Once, Danny turned around and Jason was just there, leaning against a wall like a haunted leather jacket.
“You’re not normal,” Jason said.
Danny stared. “Okay?”
“And you’re not a fed.”
“Also correct.”
“And you flinch like someone who’s been shot.”
Danny smiled thinly. “I’m clumsy and its Gotham.”
Jason snorted. “Sure.”
Tim got worse.
Tim didn’t follow him.
Tim observed him.
Danny would look up from dusting a shelf and find Tim staring from the top of the stairs, notebook in hand.
Sometimes Tim wasn’t even there physically—but Danny could feel eyes.
Which was deeply unsettling when you were half-ghost.
Damian, at least, was honest.
“You are hiding something,” the youngest Wayne said flatly while Danny carried a box of decorations. “I will discover what it is.”
Danny sighed. “Kid, if you do, please keep it to yourself. I’m tired.”
Damian narrowed his eyes. “Suspicious.”
It escalated.
They asked what errands he ran. Why he knew the house so well. Why Alfred trusted him. Why he was calm when alarms went off. Why he wasn’t scared.
Why, why, why.
Danny snapped when he turned a corner and found all four of them standing there. Dick had shown up at somepoint and joined in.
In a line.
Blocking the hallway.
Like a tiny, highly trained interrogation squad.
“Okay,” Danny said, voice tight. “Nope. I’m done.”
That evening, Danny knocked on Alfred’s door.
“Come in,” Alfred called.
Danny stepped inside, arms crossed, jaw clenched. “Sir. Respectfully. Please. Control your grandchildren.”
Alfred didn’t look up from his paperwork. “They’re bothering you.”
“Yes,” Danny said immediately. “Constantly. They follow me. They stare. One of them took notes. I think another tried to profile me. and Im almost positive one of them tried to take my DNA.”
Alfred hummed. “That would be Master Tim.”
“I just wanna do my job,” Danny continued, “without the added trauma. I don’t ask questions. I don’t snoop. I don’t care what’s under the house or why half the furniture is reinforced. But if they keep treating me like a mystery, I’m gonna lose it. And trust me, that won't end up being a good time for anyone.”
Alfred finally looked up.
There was something sharp behind his eyes now.
“I hired you,” he said gently, “because you know when not to look.”
Danny swallowed.
“I will speak to them,” Alfred said. “You have my word.”
Danny exhaled, relief flooding him. “Thank you. Really.”
As he turned to leave, Alfred added, almost fondly, “And Danny?”
Danny paused.
“You’re doing very well here.”
Danny smiled, small and tired. “That means a lot, sir.”
The next day, the Wayne kids stopped following him.
They still watched, sometimes.
But from a distance.
Respectfully.
Alfred, meanwhile, moved through the manor with lighter steps.
And Danny Fenton—runaway, former hero, professional not-seer of secrets—kept the house running smoothly.
Which, Alfred thought, was exactly what the family needed.
Even if they didn’t know it yet.
"Yes, mom," Jasmine Fenton said, stifling an aggravated sigh as she finished putting away her groceries, "I'm being safe."
"It's just," her mother said, "I'm not sure you're prepared for just how bad Gotham can be."
"Mom, I've already been here for two years, and I've got the collapsible creep stick and the new wrist ray you sent me and my Fenton Phone on me at all times."
"Honey, listen, I know you feel like Amity Park prepared you for anything, but you're not from Gotham like your father and I. Okay? So I want you to do me a favor, I'm texting you my sister's phone number, if you run into any trouble I want you to call her."
From behind Madeline, Jasmine heard her father let out a startled yelp. "Your sister the eco-terrorist supervillain? THAT sister?!"
"Reformed," Maddie bit back. "Pam got a clean bill of health from the Bat, you know that."
"The Bat," Jack snapped, "is a pantomime the GCPD puts on to explain police brutality. Everyone knows that!"
Jazz rolled her eyes. This wasn't the first time they'd had this argument, and it wouldn't be the last. As much as Danny hated their arguments about Santa Claus, Jasmine hated their arguments about Gotham. "Mom," she tried to interrupt.
"Why don't you ask your idiot cousin if he thinks the Bat is real?"
"First of all, Brucie isn't an idiot, and he's settled down a lot since he adopted what's-his-name. Deckard?"
"Dick," Jasmine said, at the same time as her mother, who absentmindedly disconnected the call as the argument continued.
She wondered if Danny had to deal with arguments about whether or not Superman was half-ghost like him when he announced he was going to Metropolis for their excellent rating in engineering and avionics.
Ivy: Oh shit, is that Bruce Wayne?
Bruce: Oh, Doctor Isley, what are you doing at my family reunion?
Ivy: This is My family reunion, my sister invited me after I missed the last few in Arkham. Who invited you?
Bruce: My cousin Jack.
Ivy: Jack? As in, Jack "Walls are a Suggestion" Fenton?
Bruce: Yeah, why?
Ivy: Oh my god, Bruce Wayne is my In-Law.
Harley: I think you mean OUR In-Law.
You're forgetting one thing - Danny dates Kon and then Clark and Bruce are in laws
I’m trying to get the boys I coach to stop saying “I’m gonna kms” after every little inconvenience (it’s my fault tbh) and last night my goalie missed an easy shot and screamed he’s gonna run away to Africa, become a National Geographic photographer and win the Wildlife Photographer of the Year award.
Turns out that’s actually what he wants to do. And I love that he replaced ending his life with his dreams for his future. Like yes, this inconvenience sucks but I will persist anyway.
*moving expired potions from the shelf labeled Healing to the shelf labeled Poisons*
*moving expired Poisons to the shelf labeled Potential Mountain Dew Flavors*
why are there 5,000 people on this site holding back from doing something with literally zero repercussions for anyone in a world that will never remember the chances you didn’t take? don’t waste your time on this earth live your life slap some rice
Hi my job is literally to reset the shelves and honestly?? Slap that rice. Slap it good. patting down the bags makes it easier to stack more, which means when I have to do it it’ll be flatter and more settled and more likely that I can just slide it along without it slidin’ around. You are doing me a FAVOR by slapping that rice.
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Slap that rice. Slap it good. Slap that ricebag just like you should.
SLAP THE RICE
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the word "difficult" just autocorrected to this right before my eyes i feel like i am undergoing forced glindafication
A Fine Warrior (and diplomat) pt 4
"Okay, so you know how I thought our debate was going to be a cinch because we had Damian on our team?"
Tim felt his attention shift to the students at the desk behind him. They'd been working quietly until the new speaker had arrived.
"Yeah? How'd it go?"
"Well...you know that dude that broke his face? Fenton or something? He's in Ms. Evers class across the hall and since we were doing debates with other classrooms to, ya' know, make it more realistic he ended being on the team across from us."
"No kidding!"
"None. Anyway, so like, he shows up and it got weird. I guess they're both super hard core about debate class. But, Fenton showed up and just...wiped the floor with Wayne."
That had to have just happened. Damian's civics class was his first in the day and he'd been preparing frantically. Tim check the group chat. Aside from a candid of Alfred inspecting a cook book, courtesy of Bruce, it was quiet.
"Your fucking kidding! There's no way. That kid knows like, ten languages!"
"I'm fucking not, okay! He's like...crazy smart but Fenton had this....air about him. he stepped up to the podium and it was like..uh. you know how your parents sometimes watch U.N. debates?"
"No. Dad watches reality TV."
"My parents watch Stargate." One of them offered. She hadn't spoken yet so far.
"Okay. Fucking pretending the watch U.N. debates. I mean, you watched the one with Captain Marvel and that dumb Republican?"
"The one who said Superman should be deported? Yeah."
"Okay, imagine that, but one of them doesn't become a rabid fucker. So, Captain Marvel in a debate with Wonder Woman."
"....who is Fenton?"
"Wonder Woman. He was like....weird, edgy grunge guy for a second and the second. I mean the fucking second he stepped up there it was like...a whole other person. It was actually insane. I think Ms. Evers was about to have a coronary. Nothing like having one of her students turn into an actual diplomat."
Someone snorted. The girls whose parents watched Stargate piped up. "So, did he tried to kill him?"
"Nah, but he was not happy about losing. I mean, if we're going to be beaten at least its by another genius. Anyway, so he just spent the rest of class just bitching in Arabic."
"Lols. He's so cool, but fuck if he's scary."
"Isn't Fenton about to be a new Wayne?"
Tim tried not to choke as a round of confusion followed.
"His guardian, I guess. They those two got into a fight their parents were called. No joke, Bruce Wayne asked out Danny's parent. In front of like, both of them."
"....seriously? How hot is this guy?"
"Apparently otherworldly hot and with a really nice voice. So, if they get married they can be brothers."
"Wow, because he doesn't have enough of those."
Tim agreed. He had more than enough siblings and really didn't want Bruce bringing back someone who could beat Damian in a debate. Or give him a bruise. His research into Danny Fenton showed someone who was interesting and utterly baffling. As odd as everything was about him, Zeit was even more peculiar. They almost didn't exist and it was wholly unclear where they'd come from.
"You know, Danny's pretty cool." The girl said to a round of agreements. "Do you think he'd be okay to tutor people in self-defense?"
Why not go to Damian?"
"Why not ask Wayne?"
"He's...pretentious and kind of an asshole? He's also super intense. Danny is chill, at least. He went to go get chips from a bodega and Allie asked him to bring back tampons. He did, and he even got her some chocolate. I'd rather learn from someone like that."
"Wow. Yeah. Might as well ask him."
Burying his head into his hand, Tim was careful to savor the memory. He knew exactly how he'd use this on Damian.
:Bruce is on another date with Zeit. We need to discuss the Step-Parent Protocol: Stephanie added to the group chat.
:I'll print out the exam form!" Tim added, and with a few clicked the library printer was whirring away.
:I do not have time for such nonsense. I must further study diplomatic debate.:
Tim grinned. :Want a rematch with Fenton?:
Cass' usual flood of emojis flooded the next few texts. He knew, without looking up from his phone, Damian would be fuming somewhere in the building.
:Did Demon-Bird lose? Is this the same kid who broke his nose?: Jason wondered.
:It seems he possesses moderate intelligence.:
High praise from Damian indeed.
Maybe a new brother wouldn't be so bad.
part 3
https://www.tumblr.com/planningconquest/804242083115319296/a-fine-warrior-i-guess-im-doing-this?source=share
Emotions are Aphrodisiacs
Danny is a ghost. The ghost. Or sorta? He's a halfa. He knows this, which makes him a lot more susceptible to the overwhelming sense of emotions that are other ghosts.
Seeing as humans are very emotional creatures, and ghosts are made from emotions.
This means when Danny moves to Gotham for what he would say was a 'vaca' from all that is being king of basically everything, he was very aware that he moved into another ghost's haunt.
But he knows that as long as he doesn't damage anyone or anything in said haunt, the ghost won't care, he's king, they don't tend to care unless it's to challenge him. And no one (honorable exclusion of Vlad, the bastard) really wants to challenge him. He's the closest thing to God by mortal definition.
So, for the last two weeks, Danny has been balancing college classes for engineering and astrophysics with his nightly activities of eating all the corrupted ectoplasm Gotham has to offer.
Simultaneously satisfying his obsession for stars and space, and his obsession to help and protect, while also getting a good snack out of the affirmationed corrupted ectoplasm.
Danny really hadn't been more relaxed since he first died. That was, until around 2:57 am on a Tuesday that marked Danny's third week in Gotham.
Danny would just like to mention that he was minding his ancients-damned business. He'd just picked up food for himself and Cujo, though neither of them have to eat, it's still an enjoyable experience, along with enough caffeine to kill, well, anyone that's actually alive.
The store clerk that checked him out looked ready to call the police or a mental hospital, or both.
Walking into what he assumed was an empty alleyway, and it was. Empty, that is. The rancid smell of piss and sex, and probably blood in the humid air blowing from semi-broken air conditioners made Danny wrinkle his nose and sigh, it was a shortcut back to his apartment even if it was a dead (ha) end. Danny usually just phased through the wall into the apartment complex right next to his.
But that's what happens usually. And usually is not a word that exists on a late night (early morning's?) Tuesday.
So, because the universe hates Danny, and because Clockwork thinks that his misery and torment is entertaining, Danny has the unfortunate pleasure of hearing a thud behind him from what could only be a body dropping into the alleyway he just walked into.
Yay him. Yay, Gotham.
Danny, like any sensible person, turns to greet the sight of a tall figure (Ancients, he's HUGE), clad from head to steel toed boot in leather, red, and guns... was that blood? What's up with this city and blood?
Danny has no reason to be interacting with any of the furry brigade that calls Gotham home. He hasn't done anything illegal by this world's standards... he thinks.
Shit, was he about to lose kneecap privileges for Jaywalking? He swears he only does it at night.
Danny, like any sensible person with a fear for their lives (deaths? Half life? Whatever), just turns back towards the inside of the alley and just-
"Nope. Not today, Satan."
Which he thinks is funny, cause he knows Satan, he's a pretty chill guy, actually. Danny thinks he gets a bad rep for being the first ever Wrath demon.
Because the universe just, and one can not stress this enough, hates Danny, he is greeted with ciderblock walls and remembers that this alleyway is a dead end.
He can't just phase through anything now. He doesn't want more reason for the bat and his birds to be on his ass. The absolute Adonis seems to agree because as soon as Danny turns to leave, he feels a strong tug yanking him back by his faded NASA hoodie.
It's his favorite hoodie, the first space themed thing Jazz got him after he died. It's the one with an old milkshake stain on it. So, you can imagine he's not very happy when he hears the distinctive sound of thread tearing.
His core lets out a growl just loud enough to make the little shades lurking in the corners of the alley scatter.
The Adonis, he thinks this one is Red hood, must have heard the growl, too, cause he just about snarls right back at Danny, which caught him off guard.
Not to be confused with fear, Danny doesn't fear much anymore (Danny fears Jazz, everyone should fear Jazz), perks of being half dead, and all. But it does catch him off guard, simply for the fact that humans don't hear cores.
Most can't even see ghosts, which makes Danny pretty invisible if one isn't paying attention to him.
Back to the demigod, though, and he just has to be a demigod, there's no way a human can get their thighs that juicy looking without steroids, and Danny can't smell any on the... revenant.
Oh, that's a revenant, and said revenant just took off his mask (hood?) to reveal another mask, this one only covering his eyes.
Ancients, the people of Gotham are hilariously paranoid.
That doesn't really matter right about now, revenant-demigod is now baring inhumanly sharp canines at Danny before shoving (yeeting is a little more like it in Danny's humble opinion) him against one of the alley's many blood stained walls.
Tossing his hands up in the universal sign of surrender, Danny gives the Adonis a wobbly smile.
"H- hey man, I'm sorry for imposing on your haunt for so long, but I just thought we were chill."
Danny's going for resurance, but he does tuck in his neck and let his groceries phase through his hands to free up some space.
The revenant Adonis just growls from his corrupted core. It's hot, but cracked and small. Danny thinks if he was fully dead, it would be a fire core.
"Not that that's an excuse, I shouldn't have stayed in the first place when I noticed this was someone else's haunt. It's lovely here, by the way."
Danny's just rambling now. He doesn't really have the mental energy to fight a violent almost ghost right now. Come back to him in about 3-7 business naps and half the amount of caffeine it takes to kill an elephant, thanks.
Unfortunately, revenants are the type of undead with the shortest fuse and a zero tolerance level for bullshit. Especially when that bullshit is Danny flavored.
Clockwork must be cackling at him right now. How does Danny get into these situations?
To his fantastic (note the HEAVY amounts of sarcasm) Fenton luck, the revenant decides he's done with the chitchatting and grabs Danny bodily by the chin and tilts (nudges?... no, slams,) Danny's head up to bare his throat.
And then, just... bites down on Danny's neck like he's a dying man (haha, dying), and Danny's blood is his last desperate drink of water.
Danny hopes there's no one near by recording because he lets out a very indignant sound, and Sam can never get to that. Danny suffers enough, thank you very kindly.
Adonis lets out a guttural moan that goes straight to Danny's core, literally, get your head out of the gutter, and presses his entire body against Danny. Which effectively has Danny pinned to the wall like an insect on a board.
He shudders when Adonis licks at the skin in his mouth, gnawing at the bite marks and massaging his jugular to increase blood flow.
He tastes like rage. The revenant, that is, Danny doesn't know what he himself tastes like.
Adonis tastes like rage, and vengeance, and fury. It's good. They're not emotions Danny's used to tasting. Not like this. Not so pure.
He thinks he said some of that out loud because Adonis chuckles, and Danny can feel his lips pull into a smirk against his throat.
"Could've wine and dined me first." Danny mumbles, feeling a little indignant and flustered and full. Which is a little funny since the only one of them getting physically full right now is Adonis, but Danny still feels so full.
Full, in that satisfied, sleepy way cats get after lots of treats and laying in the sun all day.
Danny feels like a satisfied, sleepy cat after laying in the sun all day, and Adonis is warm. Danny hasn't felt warm in a long time.
He shivers and moans and practically melts into Adonis and all of his warm, large body that makes Danny feel safe. Danny also hasn't felt safe in a long time.
Adonis seems to be in a clearer head space because he starts to slow down in his eagerness to suck Danny dry like a leech.
He huffs into Danny's neck and shifts a little against him, stopping his massaging to his jugular in favor of ripping something out his ear and dropping it to the ground to crush under his steel toed boot.
Danny has something else he can crush (joking, but only a little). Haha, Sam was right. He is a huge masochist, but he's never saying that to her face.
Danny shivers again when Adonis sighs, too warm breath against too cold skin. But the next time Adonis shifts against him, it's not to pin him down or keep him far too close for them to be strangers.
It's to move away.
Adonis lets go of his neck, licking away the small beads of blood that try to leave his wound before it heals.
Danny thinks he might be a little delirious from the blood loss. Everything suddenly seems very funny right now.
So, when he sways a bit on his feet and his knees buckle, he just giggles and presses his upper body's weight into the demigod in front of him.
Adonis is strong, he can take it. Besides, if he wasn't holding up half of Danny's body, he thinks he would've sinked to the very disease ridden floor of the alley with his groceries.
Someone's talking to him... everything's foggy, and Danny feels warm and really, really sleepy.
"-ey, Hey. Don't close your eyes."
That sound came from above him, so Danny tilts his head back to peer at Adonis, who's moving his blood-stained lips all weird like.
"Huh?" Danny hears himself huff out, letting his ears twitch and flex to catch whatever frequency Adonis's voice is now.
"Don't close your eyes, kid."
Okay, he heard that one, Adonis's voice reminds him of melting chocolate and the expensive kinda rum Vlad keeps in his creepy ass castle.
He's processed what Adonis said now, deciding that he doesn't wanna listen because-
"But I'm sleepy now, and you're like.... crazy warm."
"Fine, then just... keep talking." Adonis sounds exaggerated now, like he's tired of Danny's bullshit. Zero tolerance, remember?
"Sir, yes, sir." Danny salutes, giggling a little madly at the perplexed expression forming on Adonis's pretty face.
He thinks he rolls his eyes, but he can't really tell with the mask covering half his face.
"Where do you live?" Comes from Adonis, a bit distant but still clear.
"Where do you live?" Danny counters, because he's not letting a handsome stranger take him home. That's how you loss your kidneys.
"I'm not telling you that." Adonis replies pointedly. Good, Danny thinks, at least one of them has some self-preservation.
"Then, why should I tell you?"
"..."
Danny raises a snow-white eyebrow in indignation.
"That's.... that's fair."
Danny hums, a little distracted by the almost core that might make this revenant into a halfa.
Danny doesn't really know any other halfas.
There's Vlad, who's more ghost than human, far too driven by his obsessions.
Or Dani, but she's a clone, and spends most her time as a ghost.
Or... Dante, but they try not to bring him up much.
But this almost ghost, definitely demigod, could most certainly become just like Danny if he manages to eat the corruption and fixes the creaks, which already seem to be healing themselves....
"You're just like me..."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Take me home, bloodsucker." Danny sighs, not in the mood to explain how cores work to a revenant (that probably doesn't even realize they've died) right now.
"I don't know where you live." Adonis prompts, clearly not ready to drop whatever he thinks Danny is now about.
"And you won't find out." Danny chids, tone a little sing-song and definitely childish. And he'd so bop Adonis on the nose if he didn't think it would lose him a finger.
"You just gotta make tonight difficult, huh." Adonis sighs, directing them to the fire escape after kneeling down to grab Danny's dropped and forgotten groceries.
What a gentleman.
"You're the one who came out of nowhere to chomp on my neck like a bat outta hell.... literally."
"..."
"..."
"Touché."
Danny cackles a little. Now he's just being difficult because it's funny. Blood lost delirium be damned.
"So, where ya taking me?" Danny questions, almost like asking about the weather or the scores for last Sunday's football game. Illinois lost, much to Danny's chagrin.
And not like there's a handsome stranger, who may or may not be a halfa, taking him to a second location when his apartment is not even a block away.
"Warehouse."
"..."
"..."
"You gonna steal my organs?"
"What? No, Jesus, I should've been more specific." Adonis sighs, he's done a lot of sighing tonight. It's a bit humorous, really.
"I'm taking you to a warehouse because that's one of my safe houses."
"And you didn't just that before because.....?"
"Must everything be a question with you?" Adonis grumbles out through clenched teeth.
They're on the street again, taking back alleys and empty roads to get to this... warehouse.
"Yes, I'm very opinionated."
"I noticed."
"That's nice." Danny mumbles, patting one of his very large pecs like he's placating a rowdy child, Adonis gives him a blank and unimpressed stare.
"So, you're like... a vampire, you do that often?"
Oh yes, because it's completely normal to meet a masked vigilante in a dark, dirty, and decrypt alleyway and have them suck amounts of blood out of you that would've killed the average person.
"No, I don't.... you're a very trusting person, aren't you?"
"Nope!" Danny chirps, perfectly content in the arms of this strange, probably kidney stealing demigod.
"I just know I can't die twice... or I can't die for the 56th time?" Whatever, he's sure demigod gets his point.
"You've died 55 times?" Adonis nearly whispered, maybe he was concerned that Danny would take his kidneys... Danny wouldn't. Probably.
"Yep, but the 55th time only happened cause my friend needed to kill me again."
"..."
"..."
"Who are you?"
Oh, how rude of Danny, Jazz would be disappointed by the sheer lack of manners shown this whole night.
"I'm Danny. Nice to meet you!" Danny beamed, making sure to show the pearly whites that always got his dimpled cheeks pinched by old ladies.
"Right.... that tells me nothing." Adonis grunted back, which, rude. Danny's here showing of his Midwestern cheer, and here this absolute hunk of a man is denying him so much as a close lipped smile.
The nerve some people have.
"Yes, it does. It tells you that I'm Danny."
"Danny what?"
"Danny Fenton, but not Dani Fenton, that's my sister or daughter... it depends on how she's feeling this week."
Adonis sighs again, Danny counts that as the 5th one of the night if you count the huffing and puffing too.
"So, you have a sister/daughter whose name is also Danny Fenton." Adonis states, even though it sounds more like a question, Danny will answer him anyway.
"No, I have a sister/daughter whose name is Dani Fenton. With an i, not a y, that's my name."
"Right."
"Yep."
"I shouldn't have crushed my ear comm."
Danny giggles as they walk up the stairs of a non-descript warehouse.
"Can you stand?"
"Nope! But I can float." Danny hums dreamily, snickering at the strange and blank stare that gets him.
"I'm gonna sit you down now."
And he did, moving slowly, cautionly placing one of Danny's legs down at a time. But, what Adonis didn't seem to realize was that Danny's feet never really touched the ground.
Not Danny's fault he couldn't bother being observant, he did tell Adonis he could float.
"Hey," Danny hums, squinting to consider every factor of events that have happened in the past 2 hours.
Adonis grunts noncommittally, shifting the bags to one large hand to pull a key chain from his utility belt.
"You never told me your name."
Adonis pauses, the door creaking open with one of the many keys in the lock, he should grease the hinges more often.
The revenant sighs heavily, (6th time!), looking towards the sky like it held the answers to the universe.... it does, but that's not the point.
"Just get in the house."
"Not until you tell me your name, it's proper manners. I told you mine."
That earns him a glare, he thinks... the white parts over the eyes squint at him all angry like.
"I'm Red Hood. Get in the house."
"Okay." Danny snorted softly, tossing a thumbs up at the revenant as he tips on his back to float lazily through the open door.
Red Hood looks at the ground then at Danny's feet, which by the way, are not attached to said ground like a normal person.
"..."
"Nice place you got here, big guy."
"..."
Danny glances at the hulking figure currently staring at him then glances at his own feet, which by the way, are not attached to said ground. Like a normal person.
"Well?"
"How the hell are you doing that." It sounds like a statement, like a demand or order even though Danny is fairly certain it's supposed to be a question.
"I thought I told you already?" Danny can remember that, that he told Red Adonis he could fly.
Well... mostly float, ghosts don't really fly, they just tend to ignore gravity.
"I thought you were still trippin' balls." Red points out accusingly, Danny thinks he can hear the frown in Red's voice as he watches a large leather-clad hand inch towards a gun off safety.
"What makes you think I'm not?" Danny counters, slowing raising his hands in the universal gesture of peace.
"In fact, what makes you think you aren't?"
"You're not exactly helping your case." Red scoffs, there's a threatening steel to his voice now, and Danny has to remember that this is a revenant.
All the revenants that Danny's ever met wanted to kill him.
Unfortunately for Danny, he tends to be very attracted to people that want him dead.
"What are you?" Red demands the knowledge like it's his birthright. Danny is also very attracted to rude people that demand things they shouldn't from him.
"Do you really wanna know that?" Danny ventures skeptically, most ghosts don't like to be reminded they're dead.
Danny doesn't, that's for sure, he's glad the scars that flow like lighting from his left hand doesn't really show when he's human.
Most ghost don't like to be reminded that they're dead.
Most ghosts that Danny's met that didn't want the memories of pain and sorrow to be imprinted back into their cores when it just now went away.
Though, a majority of those ghosts were revenants. No revenant likes to be reminded of their death.
If Danny has to explain what he is, this revenant, that doesn't even know it is one, might go into a green-filled rage.
Red's gun clicks off safety as it slides smoothly out of its holster, grocery bags crinkle in that odd way soft plastic tends to as Red raises his arm to point the end of that barrel square between Danny's eyes.
"Talk. Or I shoot."
"You might shoot if I talk."
The trigger finger twitches with irritation. Danny is being an irritation, and should really stop because he doesn't feel like pull bullets from his skull... again.
"Fine, you asked."
He feels like he should remind his audience that this situation is not his fault. Danny just wanted some caffeine, chocolate, and his ice cream.
He digresses, so a ring of light begins to emanate from the top of his head and the tips of his toes, both rings glide across his skin much like a smoother version of a snakes skin peeling off. Or like that one X-men Wes likes so much.
Once the rings of light meet in the middle of his torso, Danny is left with the palest blue of skin, and faintly glowing white hair that sticks up in waves pointing in every direction possible.
Red Hood shoots him.
"..."
"..."
"Ow."
"What the actual fuck." Red looks very tempted to shoot him again, he panics and fades before Hood's very eyes.
Danny... is still there, of course, he wouldn't be leaving his coffee or his mint chocolate ice cream (no, it's not gross, Sam. You're just a hater.)anytime soon, but he remains, quiet and still.
"Please don't shoot me again?" It comes out like a question, even though Danny didn't mean it too, Red still shoots where he thinks Danny is currently standing.
He's not standing there, because he's behind Red now, trying to find a way to get his groceries off Red's arms without alarming him to Danny's current position.
"What the fuck are you, and what part of hell did you crawl out of?!"
"If I explain everything, will you please stop trying to shoot me?" Danny partially whines, begs, he was very serious about not wanting to pull lead out of his skull.
He throws his voice around the room just so Red can't exactly pin-point where he is, and he's never be so fucking grateful for his death effecting his vocal cords.
Red is breathing heavily enough for Danny to hear it all staticy and broken up through his core as it tries to accommodate to his panic.
He thinks he can see the faintest of toxic green glows through those white slits for eyes in his mask.
And Red's hand holding the gun is shaking a little... maybe with anger or fear or just the ache and pain that loneliness brings.
Danny doesn't wanna be alone in this universe, and he thinks Red is tired of it too.
Red sighs, heavy, and long, and so tired as he lowers the hand holding the gun, the safety coming back with a comforting 'click' and Danny slowly emerges back into eye sight a little to the left of standing right next to Hood.
"What the fuc-"
"I can explain it all, just... please put the gun down?"
"I'd prefer not to."
"Cool, um yea, that's cool too."
"Well?" Red snaps rather pointedly, expertly aiming the barrel of his gun at the spot between Danny's eyes before using it to direct him towards the ratty (It's not ratty, it's vintage. The cigarette holes add character) couch across from where they stand.
"Can we put my ice cream in the fridge first?"
"No. Sit down."
"But it's mint chocolate,"
"That's disgusting. Sit down."
Danny groans in dismay, fading from one side of the room to hover just above the couch.
Hood stays standing by the closed front door, guarding it the way Cujo guards his castles front gates when they're in the realms. It makes a smile tug at Danny's blue tainted lips.
Hood just glares, not sure what's so funny in a situation like this, but willing to drop it to get the answers he needs.
"So what are you?" It sounds more like a statement than a question. The sentence drawn out like Danny suddenly can't understand him.
"Dead." Danny frowns flatly, feeling a little insulted by the tone of the question he's forced to answer.
"That's funny, cause as far as I can see, your pale ass isn't in the ground."
"Then you can't see very far, cause I don't need to be in the ground to be dead."
Hood scoffs, low and gruff, flexing the gun in his hand menacingly.
"Answer the goddamn question."
"Just did, I'm dead."
"I swear to god, I'll fucking shoot you." The threat was real, the gun aiming steady straight for his head.
"All that damn chatter earlier, and now you wanna be quiet?" Hood growls, trigger finger trembling with the suppressed urge to kill. Lazarus green filling his vision as the familiar rage and hate fills his gut.
"I don't fucking think so, Answer. My. Fucking. Question."
"I'm a halfa." Danny states simply, calmly. Trying to soothe the corrupted rage he tastes coming of the revenant in waves.
He drops the eye contact, tilting his head to the side and up a little. Trying to make himself seem small because he knows that's what Hood must feel, even a little, with a ghost as powerful as Danny just sitting in his haunt.
"Half ghost, half human. Half dead, half alive in a never-ending loop of existence." That's not bitterness in his tone, he's just a little grossed out by the mysterious dark stain in the ratty (VINTAGE) couch he's hovering over.
Totally not brooding over his unwanted immortality that forever makes him look 17 at best. Nope. Totally not. You're delusional, audience, delusional.
"You're joking." Hood states, anger effortlessly replaced with skepticism, and a little mouth-watering hunger, watching Danny's pulse thrum inhumanly slow under a particularly appealing looking vain.
"I can rip out my heart and swallow it if you like." Danny bites out, irritation swirling through the frosty waves of his core.
He's tired, and has an assignment he's got to get home and finish before 7:30 and it's already 5:17, and he can smell his ice cream melting.
He doesn't have the mental and emotional energy to be polite in the face of a skeptical demigod pointing a gun at his skull.
"I've been dead for the last 8 years, been stuck looking like a washed up twilight vampire reject for the last 6. No, I am not joking."
"Ghosts aren't real, twilight reject."
Danny says fuck the no eye contact thing, glaring at idiocy that only a revenant unaware of ghostly culture could accomplish.
"You sound like a child." He retorts before violently shoving his own hand in his chest, the sound of bone snapping the only warning before he rips out a green tainted, slowly pulsing heart.
Holding it up like some sort of twisted trophy, he raises a snow-white eyebrow, tipping back his head to let his jaws gape open to reveal four rows of razor-sharp teeth, a pale blue tongue the size of his own forearm, and what could only be described as a black hole in the back of his throat.
He dumps the still-beating heart inside. Snapping his mouth shut with a sharp and rather pointed click, swallowing his own heart whole in the dead silence of the room.
Danny squints a little, beating his chest twice to huff out a large cloud of frosty mist.
"Sorry, heart burn." The wound over his heart had already healed, his shirt included. This leaves him to stare at the revenant blankly, waiting for a reaction of any kind. As long as Hood doesn't shoot him again.
Danny only has the time to hear the safety click off before Hood shoots him again.
"OW! Fucking hell! What the fuck, dude?!"
Danny shouts, digging the bullet out of his skull so it can heal without a lump in his forehead. He'll have to get the first one out with tweezers later.
"Had to check." Hood states simply.
"Check what? The fuckass headache I'm gonna have later?" Danny snaps, tossing the bullet aside as he wipes the radioactive green blood from his forehead.
"You're a Lazarus demon."
"A what who now?"
"You're a Lazarus demon," Hood states again, waving his gun around like he just found out the sky was yellow and everything makes sense.
"That's why I'm so drawn to your blood, why the pit rage can't linger."
"No, you went gnawing on my neck cause my blood's the purest form of ectoplasm your corrupted core could feel for miles."
"What the hell is a core?" The amount of confusion in Red's voice would be funny in any situation that wasn't this one.
Actually it's still pretty funny, but Danny's not gonna laugh because he's trying to figure out the best way to let a revenant with the chances of becoming a halfa know they're dead.
"It's like the heart, soul and consciousness of a ghost," Danny hums slowly, squinting to find what kind of reaction that revaluation gets him.
When he doesn't get shot again, he continues. "It's the very thing that forms a ghost to begin with, and the thing that keeps the ghost around and kicking when it's healthy."
"How the hell do you figure I have one?" Hood squints, mask furrowing where his eyebrows would be.
"Because I can feel it,"
"And how do I know you're not bullshittin' me?"
Danny sends out a wave of emotion as a reply. Watching the gun in Hood's hand slack with relaxation as his own core thrums with a sense of 'calmcalmcalm, you're safe, I swear.' In only the ways another ghost can sense.
"What the fuck..." Hood mumbles slowly, more to himself than Danny. With the gun falling limp in his hand, he only just catches it enough to shove it barrel-first back into its holster.
"It's called frequency emotions." Danny explains slowly, watching Hood slump on the wall behind him, Danny thinks the relaxation he sent translated as relaxing. He thinks for Hood, it translated to exhaustion.
"We can send certain sound waves that only another ghost can hear," He continues softly, fading from over the couch to stand right in front of his oh so tired Adonis.
"But when we hear them, we don't." He pulls on Red's arm that hangs limply with his forgotten groceries, shoving them off and onto the floor so he can drag the revenant over to an old love seat that was positioned next to the ratty older couch.
"Instead it's like a feelin', some of us say it's like a taste too." Danny prompts quietly, and just as he gets Hood to sit, he gets a coherent response that wasn't just the confusion the revenant had been sending back to him.
"It tasted like.. whip cream and marshmallows?"
Danny smiles, happy this giant of a man knows what it's like to feel safe, happier he hasn't been shot again.
He floats lazily to the abandoned groceries with a smile still dancing on his lips.
"And what does that remind you of?" Danny quizzes, even though he already sorta knows the answer.
Pulling his sad, and melted mint chocolate ice cream from one of the discarded bags. He gives it a pitiful look before place a cool kiss to the side of the container, breathing frost-bitten air onto it until he feels it cool and solidify in his hands.
"Like comfort."
Danny smiles softly as he forms a small crystalline spoon from ice, taking a spoon full of ice cream after creaking the lid open. Huming in consideration as mint melts over his tongue, he replays the taste of chocolate and cinnamon, like rich coco in the dead of winter.
Peering at Hood, he can't help the slime that spreads again. Warmth like he's never felt before pools in his cold, cold core, as Red's waves of confusion become a gentle lake of tranquility.
"Good." He decides finally, scooping up another bite of ice cream. "You taste like comfort too."
And maybe, just maybe, Gotham wasn't so bad after all. Even if he still has an assignment to finish in 2 hours.
__________________________________
I first got this concept from a prompt on here, but now I can't find the original poster and I wanted to give credit☹️
Fic prompt #61
Dpxdc
Danny is Tim’s twin.
The Batfamily knows that. They know the name, the history, the way Tim goes quiet when it comes up.
What they think they know is that Danny is dead. Fully, conclusively, no-heartbeat-no-body dead.
And Danny never corrects them.
After the Infinite Realms, after the Ancients, Danny learned that death has habits. It follows certain families. It watches houses like Wayne Manor and waits its turn. The Batfamily doesn’t really get normal family relationships — they get empty chairs and memorial cases and names that don’t get spoken too loudly.
So when they reach for Danny, he gives them a ghost. Someone already lost. Someone fate has already checked off the list.
Being near them in his living body feels dangerous, like standing under a falling blade and trusting it to miss twice. But as a ghost, he’s safe. Already dead means already paid.
They’re trying to build a relationship with him, and he lets them — just not with the part of him that still has a pulse.
Because families like this survive by losing people.
And Danny refuses to be the next one.
Fic prompt #60
Dpxdc
Danny didn’t mean to become obsessed with the zoo. It just sort of happened after Sam pointed out how bad the conditions were, and then suddenly he was sneaking animals out at night for “field trips.”
The deer loved driving. The sharks loved turning the water red just enough to traumatize visitors. The monkeys were disturbingly good bartenders. The penguins discovered cinema, fashion, and the power of a coordinated trench-coat disguise.
Danny’s favorite part was hovering invisibly nearby, watching people stare at the animals in silence, desperately trying to figure out whether they were hallucinating or if Gotham had finally crossed some unseen line.
Then Batman showed up.
Somehow, this led to poker. Somehow, Danny won. The looks on their faces when he returned to collect his prize money made the whole thing worth it.
————————————————-
Wayne Manor was already too full of people when Alfred announced, calmly and without context, “Sir, there is a young man at the door insisting he is here to collect poker winnings.”
Every head in the room turned.
Bruce Wayne slowly set his glass down. “I’m sorry—what?”
Danny Fenton was ushered in a moment later, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, looking around like he’d wandered into a museum he absolutely could not afford.
“Hi,” he said. “Wow. Big family.”
Dick squinted at him. “Who the hell are you?”
“Danny. Fenton,” Danny replied, offering a small wave. “I was at the poker night.”
Jason scoffed. “We don’t invite teenagers to poker night.”
Tim leaned forward, eyes sharp. “And we definitely don’t invite strangers.”
Bruce held up a hand. “Enough. Explain.”
Danny nodded, relieved. “Right. So. Your dog owes me money.”
The room exploded.
“Our dog?” Dick repeated.
“Ace doesn’t gamble,” Barbara said flatly.
Damian looked personally offended. “Father, why is this peasant accusing the Bat-Hound of degeneracy?”
Ace, lying on the rug, lifted his head at his name, blinked at the crowd, and went back to chewing his toy.
Danny winced. “Okay, wow. When everyone says it at once, it sounds fake.”
Bruce stepped forward. “Ace does not play poker.”
Danny pulled out a folded paper. “Cool. Counterpoint.”
He unfolded the IOU on the table.
Alfred’s handwriting was unmistakable.
Tim’s eyes widened. “That’s legit.”
Jason leaned over. “Holy shit, it is.”
Bruce stared. “…Alfred.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Why is my name on an IOU written to my dog?”
Alfred clasped his hands. “Because, sir, Ace was declared the winner.”
Dead silence.
Dick broke it. “The dog won?”
“No,” Bruce said immediately.
Damian crossed his arms. “Impossible.”
Barbara frowned. “How would that even—”
Ace wagged his tail.
Danny pointed weakly at him. “He was just… there.”
Tim stared at Danny. “You’re telling us Ace, who is currently attempting to eat his own leash, beat all of you at poker.”
Danny nodded. “Statistically unlikely. Emotionally devastating.”
Jason laughed. “I like this kid.”
Bruce glared. “No one taught the dog how to play.”
Danny raised both hands. “I didn’t teach him anything. I swear. He does not know poker.”
Damian leaned down and snapped his fingers. “Bat-Hound. Sit.”
Ace sat.
“Play dead.”
Ace flopped over dramatically.
Damian sneered. “He does not possess the intellect required for gambling.”
Ace rolled back over and sneezed.
Barbara rubbed her temples. “Then how did he win?”
Danny hesitated. Every bat eye locked on him.
“…Luck?” he offered.
Tim narrowed his eyes. “That’s not an answer.”
Alfred cleared his throat. “Regardless of how it occurred, Master Bruce, a debt is a debt.”
Bruce exhaled slowly and went to retrieve an envelope. He slapped it onto the table.
Danny picked it up, peeked inside, and grinned. “Nice doing business with you all.”
Dick crossed his arms. “You still haven’t explained who you are.”
Danny backed toward the door. “Just a guy who was there.”
Jason called after him, “Come back for poker night!”
Bruce snapped, “No.”
Ace barked, confused.
Danny slipped out, laughter echoing faintly down the hall.
The room sat in stunned silence.
Finally, Tim said, “We should probably test the dog.”
Bruce looked down at Ace, who was chewing happily.
“…Lock up the cards,” Bruce said.
Ace wagged his tail, baffled and innocent.
—————————-
Bruce Wayne had learned, over many years, to trust his instincts. The instant his dog leaned back in his chair—his chair—one paw draped casually over a stack of poker chips, Bruce knew something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Ace’s ears were relaxed. His breathing was steady. His eyes were locked on Bruce’s with unnerving confidence.
He was bluffing.
Bruce narrowed his eyes. “Alfred.”
Alfred stood at the head of the table, bell in hand, looking the picture of dignified impartiality. “Yes, sir?”
“My dog is bluffing.”
Alfred nodded. “Exceedingly well.”
Silence crashed over the room.
Dick blinked. “Wait.”
Jason leaned forward. “No. No way.”
Tim stared at Ace. “…He knows poker.”
Ace flicked one card onto the table with his paw.
Damian stood abruptly. “Father, the Bat-Hound has deceived us.”
Ace wagged his tail once. Innocent. Convincing.
Bruce’s voice dropped. “How long.”
Alfred rang the bell. “…Several hands, sir.”
That was when the other animals froze.
The cat stopped mid-chip-swipe. The falcon stiffened on its perch. The horse at the far end of the table slowly withdrew its hoof from the pot.
Danny Fenton, leaning against the wall, mouthed, oh no.
Bruce stood. The chair scraped loudly.
“End of game,” he said.
Chaos erupted.
The cat bolted under the table, chips scattering everywhere. The falcon launched upward, feathers everywhere. One of the horses kicked open a side door with surprising finesse.
Ace’s ears flattened.
Danny hissed, “Abort! ABORT!”
Ace jumped from the chair, chips still clutched in his mouth, and sprinted after the others.
Jason shouted, “THE DOG IS MAKING A BREAK FOR IT!”
Dick ran for the exits. “WHY DOES THE DEER KNOW WHERE THE EMERGENCY DOORS ARE?”
Tim was already calculating escape vectors. “They practiced this.”
Damian drew his sword. “They planned treason.”
Alfred rang the bell again, calmly. “Orderly retreat, please.”
No one listened.
Ace skidded across the floor, slammed into Danny’s legs, and looked up at him with wide, guilty eyes.
Danny scooped him up without thinking. “Buddy, I love you, but you’re blowing my cover.”
Bruce turned slowly.
“Danny.”
Danny froze.
“…Hi.”
Around them, animals fled in every direction—penguins sliding across marble floors, monkeys swinging from chandeliers, a horse galloping majestically through the west wing.
Ace licked Danny’s face.
Bruce stared at the scene: his manor in shambles, his family shouting, his dog exposed as a gambling mastermind.
“…How,” Bruce said quietly, “did my dog learn to bluff.”
Danny smiled weakly. “Natural talent?”
Bruce exhaled. “Everyone out.”
Alfred watched the retreat with approval. “Well executed, considering the circumstances.”
Danny phased backward toward a shattered window, still holding Ace.
Bruce snapped, “Put the dog down.”
Danny gently set Ace on the floor.
Ace sat.
Bruce pointed at him. “You’re grounded.”
Ace sneezed.
The last of the animals vanished into the night.
Silence fell.
Dick looked around. “So.”
Jason snorted. “Poker night’s canceled forever, right?”
Bruce stared at the door Ace had fled through moments ago.
“Are you the witch who turned eleven princes into swans?”
The old woman stared at the figure on the front step of her cottage and considered her options. It was the kind of question usually backed up by a mob with meaningful torches, and the kind of question she tried to avoid.
Coming from a single dusty, tired housewife, it should’ve held no terrors.
“You a cop?”
The housewife twisted the hem of her apron. “No,” she muttered. “I’m a swan.”
A raven croaked somewhere in the woods. Wind whispered in the autumn leaves.
Then: “I think I can guess,” the old woman said slowly. “Husband stole your swan skin and forced you to marry him?”
A nod.
“And you can’t turn back into a swan until you find your skin again.”
A nod.
“But I reckon he’s hidden it, or burned it, or keeps it locked up so you can’t touch it.”
A tiny, miserable nod.
“And then you hear that old Granny Rothbart who lives out in the woods is really a batty old witch whose father taught her how to turn princes into swans,” the old woman sighed. “And you think, ‘Hey, stuff the old skin, I can just turn into a swan again this way.’
“But even if that was true – which I haven’t said if it is or if it isn’t – I’d say that I can only do it to make people miserable. I’m an awful person. I can’t do it out of the goodness of my heart. I have no goodness. I can’t use magic to make you feel better. I only wish I could.”
Another pause. “If I was a witch,” she added.
The housewife chewed the inside of her cheek. Then she drew herself up and, for the first time, looked the old woman in the eyes.
“Can you do it to make my husband miserable?”
The old woman considered her options. Then she pulled the wand out from the umbrella stand by the door. It was long, and silver, and a tiny glass swan with open wings stood perched on the tip.
“I can work with that,” said the witch.
yesterday in economic botany we were learning about plant based oil compounds and stuff and my botany professor was talking about lynn seed oil, which in woodworking is rubbed on over furniture as a varnish. this oil has an exothermic chemical reaction with oxygen, meaning that the reaction creates heat. what often happens, apparently, is that woodworkers will finish rubbing on the oil with a rag and then will ball up the rag and throw it away, but because the reaction is taking place and the heat can’t escape (like it would on a piece of furniture where it can be cooled) it gets trapped in the rag, which gets hotter and hotter until it reaches the temperature where it bursts into flame. apparently many woodworking shops have been burned down by this. the proper way to dispose of rags with this oil is to hang them up on a clothesline, so again the reaction never gets enough heat to start a fire. im telling you this because im a writer and ive never heard of substance that will just…spontaneously combust conveniently like that so long as it’s in a confined space. my botany professor tried it in a trash can in his driveway and it did indeed burst into flame after 45 minutes, which is an exceptionally convenient time delay. im sorry im tying this so fast my laptop is on 2% battery and theres no outlet an
[one single bloodcurdling agonized scream] ok time to lock in
- my brother, verbatim
unfortunate name for a brother
“don’t take it personally” how would you like me to take it then? professionally? romantically? academically?
