Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and have a kickin’ Kwanza and a Happy New Year to @howdoib! Here’s something a lil spooky for your holiday truce present!
Something that really fucks me up is this scene where Robin says she wants to die and how Luffy makes this face
And upon reading this for the first time, I felt a huge wave of emotion over his expression because it just felt to me like when he heard that, he was seeing something else. Almost like a memory that we weren't being shown.
And then later when Ace and Luffy's backstory plays out, this is revealed;
That Ace was suicidal. Feeling like it was wrong for him to have even been born and to live. Feeling hurt, angry, alone and unwanted.
And that the only reason he felt like he had the strength to keep living was because Luffy told him that he didn't want him to die.
Ace never directly told Luffy that he wanted to kill himself. But with the way he carried himself and the obvious disregard he had for his life, it was easy to see for someone as empathetic and intuitive as Luffy. And so Luffy stayed close to Ace desperately until he felt strong enough to stand on his own.
Luffy has had so many suicidal people in his life since such a young age and he always saves them in such a seemingly effortless way just by saying
"I'll be there with you. I'll stay."
But what alot of people don't understand is that in spite of Luffy's endless empathy, compassion and love that's deeper than the ocean, when somebody he loves wants to die it always hurts him so bad and it shows so much on his face at even a hint of it.
He bounces back with a smile so often and kicks so much ass that it's so easy to forget sometimes that he's just this 17-19 year old kid...
Who, at his core, is still always crying and begging the people he loves not to leave him because he doesn't want to be alone anymore, either.
Look at the suit design I did! I love it so much & this is low-key for a comic au i've been working on (thinking about) for a little while, though don't expect anything from me, please, comics are hard and scary
(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent
—
Tw: vivisection mention (not in detail), bad Fenton parents
Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually
—
It was a dark, cold, miserable night, and Scarecrow, Jonathan Crane, wanted nothing more than to be home, covered in blankets with the heater set to max as he worked on his most recent strain of fear toxin.
Instead he was at the docks, standing in as backup for the Penguin as he made a deal with some sleaze-bag smugglers. Something about some sort of body armor for his hired help. Crane hadn’t really paid much attention to the Penguin’s words, only caring enough to show up because of the reward.
But honestly, he couldn’t care less about the money at this point.
He was cold, and miserable, and his leg hurt something fierce (he’d had chronic pains ever since being mauled by Killer Croc some time ago), and he was so, so close to a breakthrough with his new toxin, and he really couldn’t stand the Penguin anyways. The only thing keeping him there was his reputation as a rogue.
Just as Crane was deciding that the whole ordeal wasn’t worth it, he heard the sound of a chase a few blocks down. With a deep, heavy sigh, he moved from the wall he had been leaning against, looming in the alleyway as he waited for the potential threat to reveal itself.
A few moments later, a boy came careening into the alleyway, sliding to a stop when he noticed the Scarecrow, his eyes growing impossibly wide. Beneath the mask, Jonathan grinned.
The boy swore, loudly, glancing between Scarecrow and the exit of the alleyway. As the echoing sound of footsteps grew closer, he chose to face the way he came, turning his back to Scarecrow.
What an idiotic way to get killed. Either the boy was a complete and utter fool, or there was something out there worse (to him, at least) than the Scarecrow.
Jonathan Crane tilted his head slowly, considering. He could just cut his losses and leave, Penguin be damned, or he could stay and see what had the boy so spooked.
Eventually, unfortunately enough, his curiosity won out. He shifted, bringing a hand to his side where he kept several canisters of fear toxin.
Crane had to bite back a groan when the boy’s pursuers entered the alleyway.
It was those damned idiots in white suits.
They had been tailing him for weeks now. They were easy enough to fight, but they were annoyingly persistent, and always seemed to have a way to find him. (Not to mention, the Riddler had strong opinions on their outfits, and if he had to hear the white-suit-in-Gotham rant one more time he was going to throttle him.)
Led by the men in white was a woman in a teal hazmat suit. Jonathan had seen her around, too, though less frequently than the others. He had honestly assumed that she was just a new C-tier rogue and avoided her like the plague.
Her eyes went wide as saucers when she saw Jonathan standing a few feet from the boy. No one moved a muscle.
“Danny,” the woman spoke softly. The boy, Danny, flinched, glancing between her and Scarecrow, “come on, we can talk about this. Your father and I only want to help you.”
He was running from his mother?
Scarecrow paused after that revelation, choosing to fully take in the boy’s appearance.
He was lean, almost gaunt, and wearing clothes several sizes too big for him, probably stolen. His entire body shook, from fear and cold both, and he clutched his stomach with one hand. At first, Scarecrow assumed that it was due to being out of breath, but as he looked closer he could see blood staining the dark fabric of the boy’s shirt.
He was injured, underweight, and running from his parents.
Something that felt a lot like rage swelled in Jonathan’s heart.
“Danny, you don’t get it! We’re so close now. We can fix you, and then we can go home, and everything can go back to normal,” she said, smiling in a way that was clearly supposed to be reassuring. She took a few steps forward, the men behind her clearly readying their weapons.
The boy backed away from his mother, inadvertently coming closer to Scarecrow.
He glanced up at Crane again, his blue eyes shining in fear, but not of him.
Sickening. Sickening.
In one fluid motion, Jonathan grabbed the boy by the wrist, pulling him behind him, and threw a large canister of fear gas into the group who had been chasing him.
The liquid in the container turned to gas as soon as it broke open, billowing out and filling half of the alleyway with a thick yellow smog.
The boy gasped, pulling his shirt over his face in a pathetic attempt to filter out the toxin. It would have to do, though, Scarecrow thought, rushing forward to force the boy’s aggressors to breathe in the gas.
The fight that the men put up was pitiful. The few individuals who didn’t breathe in the toxin immediately were clearly unused to fighting hand-to-hand, and dropped like flies in Scarecrow’s wake.
Just as the men began to spasm and shout in their terror, as if on cue, the familiar wail of police sirens reached the Scarecrow’s ears.
He heaved a heavy, irritated sigh, fingers twitching for a cigarette. He was trying to quit as of late, but he felt that after today, he might deserve one.
Though now was not the time to be thinking of cigarettes.
Jonathan approached the boy, mindful of any signs he might run off.
The boy didn’t seem to notice his approach in the slightest, just staring at the woman in the jumpsuit as she writhed on the ground.
Right. That would most likely be traumatic for a child to see, wouldn’t it?
Scarecrow moved in front of the boy, blocking his line of sight. The boy looked up at him now, his face completely blank.
“The police are on their way,” Scarecrow spoke, his voice low. The boy didn’t acknowledge him in any way.
“You don’t want to be here when they arrive, do you?”
After several moments pause, the boy shook his head slowly. He looked numb.
Dissociation, most likely.
“You’ll come with me, then.”
It was a statement, not a question, but he waited for the boy’s response regardless. As soon as he nodded in agreement, Jonathan lifted him up, carrying him out of the cold, miserable alleyway.
Scarecrow paused briefly to warn the Penguin of the incoming officers through the comm he had been given, and then he was off, weaving through the streets and alleyways towards his getaway car.
…
The drive back to his safe house was quiet. The boy didn’t look over at him once, instead opting to stare out ahead of him.
…
Luckily, they were able to make it back without detection. Jonathan ushered the boy into his small apartment, sitting him down on the dingy couch that had come with the lease.
“Wait here, alright?” Jonathan said, the boy nodding once in response.
With that, he retreated into the small kitchen, looking for some sort of warm beverage.
It was nearly three in the morning now, so coffee was out of the question. He was completely out of the hot chocolate he had bought for whenever Eddie or Harley came over for a visit, so that was out too.
He supposed the only option was his chamomile tea. Did teenagers like tea? He supposed it didn’t really matter, the kid was on the run from his parents in the house of a Gotham rogue. Surely he had bigger things to worry about.
Jonathan made the drinks quickly, leaving the kitchen with two mugs in hand. He gave one to the boy, who looked up at him in surprise, before settling into his own seat.
It was an incredibly comfortable old leather armchair that he had gotten some years ago and stubbornly held onto ever since. He usually had one of the rogues he was at least somewhat friendly with pick it up when he entered Arkham.
Whenever Eddie and Harley were over, they would call it his old man chair, and he would tell them to leave.
The two of them sat quietly for a while, drinking their tea slowly. It was clear that the boy was leaving whatever headspace he had slipped into, becoming more alert (and uncomfortable) by the second.
“So,” Crane began, pausing before speaking more quietly when he saw the boy flinch, “you knew them.”
It was not a question.
The boy nodded, curling in on himself. He held the mug close to his chest, no doubt soothed by the warmth.
“They’ve been following me around for some time now,” Crane continued, “and you’re going to tell me why.”
The boy looked up at him, a pained expression written all over his face.
“You won’t believe me,” he murmured, curling up even further.
His clothes were soaked. Jonathan should have put down a towel before letting him sit down.
“Sure I will,” he said, ignoring the blood and water seeping into his furniture.
The landlord would not be happy.
“It’s gonna sound crazy.”
“I’ve been to Arkham.”
The boy paused, before mumbling something quietly.
“Again? I couldn’t hear you.”
“I said,” the boy huffed, quickly changing his tone when he remembered who he was talking to, “they…think you’re a ghost.”
“A ghost,” Crane repeated flatly.
“I told you it was gonna sound crazy!” The boy protested, before wrapping his arms around himself.
“Well,” Jonathan hummed, “it’s not the strangest thing I’ve heard in Gotham. Explain it to me.”
The boy paused, glancing up at his face, no doubt looking for some sign of mockery. He found none.
Then, he opened his mouth, and explained everything he could.
Ghosts, the portal to another world, the GiW, his parents. It was all incredibly far-fetched, but also far too consistent to be made up on the spot, and Crane could tell that the boy genuinely believed what he was saying.
“…but, if you don’t believe me, fine. I know it probably sounds stupid and fake,” he mumbled, looking away.
“I’ll believe you for now,” Crane said. The boy whipped his head up, staring at him in shock.
“If I do trust that what you’re saying is true, though, then why do I show up on their equipment as a ghost? I’m not dead, and never have been.”
“Um,” the boy hummed, looking somewhat nervous. Understandable, really.
“Well, have you by any chance been involved in any lab accidents recently..?”
Jonathan Crane froze, his face dropping. The boy noticed his change in demeanor, flinching slightly.
“Penguin,” he hissed out, his voice slightly inhuman. “Cobblepot, that motherfucker.”
“Wait—calm down! The angrier you get, the easier you’ll show up on the radar!”
Crane glared down at the boy, seething with rage. He once again flinched, looking away from him. With an extraordinary amount of effort, Jonathan slumped back down in his chair, breathing deeply in an effort to calm himself.
When he cracked his eyes back open, the boy was openly staring at him, curiosity written all over his face.
As soon as he noticed Crane looking back at him, he glanced away, straightening in his seat.
“Well, you’ve given me a lot to think about. In the morning, we’re going to discuss this in a lot more detail,” he said, standing up with slow movements. The boy stood as well, hands clasped together.
“For now, though, you’re going to let me take a look at that wound of yours, and then you’re going to take a shower and go to bed.”
The rest of the night went rather quickly.
The boy was rather hesitant to show him his wound, instead assuring him that it had been properly sewn up and that he was fine. Crane was having none of it, though, and gave him a once-over just in case.
It was, very clearly, the kind of cut used during an autopsy. Danny didn’t offer any information, so Crane had to assume that he was either back from the dead, or he had been vivisected. Either was possible in Gotham.
At the very least, Danny hadn’t lied about the stitches, and the wound was already beginning to heal.
With that, Danny showered quickly (he leapt out with a shriek the moment the hot water ran out), and went to bed in borrowed clothes without much complaint.
Thus, Jonathan was left with cold water for his shower, and slept on the still-damp couch so that the boy could have a bed to sleep in. Somehow, he found that he didn’t mind as much as he thought he would.
Summary: Danny, Sam, and Tucker have a movie night at Sam's house on a rare night off from Danny being grounded.
...
It takes a while, but things do start to mellow out after another couple weeks. Danny eventually catches up on homework, and now he’s back to only sort-of failing instead of actually failing. His parents let up on the grounding a little bit, and he’s allowed to spend time at Sam’s house and Tucker’s house sometimes, though nowhere else yet. He settles into a ghost fighting routine with Jazz and they both work up a rhythm that works well. (Danny does most of the physical fighting and Jazz does a lot of background strategizing and overlooking of the fight that makes things run way smoother.)
Eventually, he does seem to improve his reputation at least back to where it was pre-Freakshow. Especially when Jazz manages to make it known he was part of the reason Freakshow was captured and all of the valuables returned.
Unfortunately, the one person it doesn’t seem to have any effect on is Sam, which is really inconvenient given that she’s kind of the point of all this. Danny can’t blame her, though. He hasn’t had a chance to talk to her directly as Phantom, and he doesn’t want to just ambush her at school one day, that would be the opposite of helpful. So Sam’s only one-to-one interaction with him continues to be “that time he tried to kill me by dropping me several stories to the ground.” Honestly, her being suspicious is probably the logical choice.
He tries hard not to be thinking about that when he’s with her as Danny Fenton, though. Compartmentalizing can actually be very helpful. Prevents him from screaming in frustration every time she goes off on a rant about how everyone’s being fooled by that Invis-o-bill idiot again. (Could she at least not use that stupid name?)
And this week isn’t going to have anything to do with Phantom at all, because the three of them are going to hang out in Sam’s basement with a lineup of scary movies and enough popcorn to put them into a food coma. (Sam’s three favorite horror movie icons are going to be fighting each other in an upcoming movie, so they’re rewatching all of the old ones first at Sam’s insistence.)
Danny got special permission to go from his parents on account of his improved grades and good behavior, meaning things almost feel normal as he walks up to Sam’s house and knocks on the door.
Sam pulls it open a second later, a bright grin already on her face. “Danny, finally! Come on!” She grabs his wrist and yanks him into the house before Danny can say anything, and pulls him past her parents without letting him get out so much as a hello.
Tucker’s already waiting in the basement when they get down there, and gives Danny a wave in a break from shaking a truly ridiculous amount of salt onto his giant tub of popcorn.
“Yours is on the left,” he says, nodding at one of the three tubs. “Sam’s has the vegan butter.”
“Thanks Tuck,” he says, picking it up and heading over to his usual movie chair as Sam grabs her own popcorn tub and does the same.
“This is going to be the greatest movie ever,” Sam says, a grin lighting up her face as she turns the giant movie screen on. “Plus I already bought us tickets, I cannot wait to see it on Friday.”
“I thought ticket sales didn’t open until Monday,” Tucker says as he finally sits down, apparently done taking years off his life with the amount of salt he’s using.
“There’s still a couple advantages to being filthy rich,” Sam says. “We have three reserved seats right in the middle of the theatre. I decided to cheat just this once.”
Danny snorts. “Figures you’d break for horror movies.”
“Hey, I’m not breaking anything. This is a one-time thing,” Sam says very seriously.
“Sure,” Danny says, giving her a teasing smile.
“I mean it!”
“Uh-huh.”
“I think Danny’s just telling you to get off your high horse,” Tucker says with a smile of his own. “So much for hating being rich, huh?”
“Guys.”
“We’re just teasing, Sam,” Danny says, nudging her in the side. “You know we’re gonna love having those seats too.”
Sam gives him a not-very-serious-glare, and then starts grinning again as she turns back to start the first movie.
“Honestly, I wouldn’t care either way,” she says. “I don’t think anything could ruin this week for me.”
Danny smiles at her for a second, enjoying the image of her being so happy. He settles back into his own chair and tosses a first handful of popcorn into his mouth. Horror movies may not actually scare him much anymore, but Sam loves them enough that it’s incredibly easy to care, if only just for her sake.
Tucker still hides his head between his hands at a couple points, but he sticks it out through the whole movie, which is impressive enough for him.
“God,” Sam says, leaning back with a grin after the credits finally roll. “It’s still good. Isn’t it still good Danny?”
“It’s still good,” Danny agrees with a fond smile.
“Speak for yourself,” Tucker mutters, from his clenched up position in his own chair.
“Well I hope you’re ready for more tomorrow night!” Sam says with a grin at him.
Tucker gives her a look. “You’re both so lucky that you’re my only friends.”
“Aww, he loves us,” Danny says.
“He does,” Sam says, putting a hand to her chest as if moved. “Isn’t it so sweet, Danny?”
“It is, Sam, it really is.”
“I hate you both.”
“Inclined not to believe you,” Danny says with a grin.
Tucker rolls his eyes and sits up. “Please, I would totally be sitting out on this if it wasn’t the only thing outside of school your parents were letting you do with us.”
“Somehow, still inclined not to believe you.”
Tucker crosses his arms with an annoyed huff, meaning Danny is totally right.
“Tell you what, you can bring a cooldown movie tomorrow night,” Sam says. “That way we can all stay longer and you don’t have to go home terrified.”
“Except I still do tonight,” Tucker says.
“Not much I can do about that, you didn’t bring another movie.”
“I’ll walk home with you, Tuck,” Danny says, standing.
Tucker gives him a curious look. “Do you have time to do that and still make curfew? I thought you’re parents were being really strict about that.”
“I have my ways,” Danny says. “See you at school tomorrow, Sam.”
“See ya!” Sam calls. “Don’t let my parents yell at you on the way out!”
“That’s easier said than done,” Danny mutters, but they both head up the steps anyway.
They do actually make it out without any yelling, though they don’t manage to avoid a couple glares.
Tucker turns to him as they start the walk towards his house. “I am glad your parents are letting up on you a bit, though,” he says. “Especially considering you being gone wasn’t actually your fault.”
Danny nods, though he doesn’t really want to talk about it. “Yeah, I don’t think they can really stay mad for too long. I think it’s also pretty clear to them that I learned my lesson, which helps.”
“Your lesson about not getting kidnapped?” Tucker asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Still not gonna tell them, but thanks, Tucker.”
“Still don’t understand why, but alright. I won’t push.”
“Thank you,” Danny says, and he means it. “I do think the whole experience has thoroughly ruined circuses for me, though.”
“You and Sam both,” Tucker says. “Though I think maybe part of that was Invis-o-bill’s fault.”
Danny winces and doesn’t say anything.
“Hey, you okay?” Tucker asks, clearly noticing.
“Fine,” Danny lies. “Look, we’re here.”
He gestures at Tucker’s house just a couple houses down.
Tucker keeps looking at him as they walk.
“I’m not gonna push,” he says again as they reach his house, turning to face Danny. “Just know that offer to tell me anything is still open.”
Danny looks at him, chewing on his lip. “Hey,” he says quietly. “You know I’d never want to hurt you guys, right?”
Tucker blinks. “Uh, yeah, duh. Was that in question?”
Danny huffs a laugh. “No.”
Tucker looks at him another second. “Danny,” he says. “You know what happened wasn’t your fault, right? I mean, how would that even work?”
And it’s funny, because he does know that, mostly. Sure, the issue with Sam is tangled up in guilt and worry and other complicated feelings, but when it comes to actually being gone those weeks, he does know it’s not his fault. He means it when he says that to Jazz.
But now, looking at Tucker, that stupid long-familiar voice creeps up in the back of his head: He wouldn’t be saying that if he knew.
Danny shakes his head, mostly to tell his brain to knock it off.
“I know,” he says to Tucker. “I just… I hate that you guys were so scared for me. I don’t want to worry you.”
“Dude,” Tucker says. “You’re our best friend, that’s our job when you get hurt.”
“It’s not like that’s new,” Danny points out. “Dash shoves me into lockers all the time.”
“Dash doesn’t kidnap you and hold you hostage for several weeks,” Tucker says. “Little bit of a difference there. And for the record, I get worried when Dash messes with you too.”
Danny shakes his head. “It’s really not a big deal,” he mutters. “I’m fine.”
“Danny,” Tucker says. “Please stop lying to me.”
Danny looks down. “No.”
They both stand there in silence for a couple seconds.
“I have to go,” Danny says finally. “Curfew. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Tucker agrees quietly.
Danny waits until Tucker goes back inside to slip down a side alleyway, transform, and fly home.
Turns out, Vlad being redeemed doesn't change how often he gets the shit beat out of him, it's just that now he's getting the shit beat out of him in the course of helping Danny rather than causing problems on purpose
...Though I'm sure he still causes plenty of problems, on purpose or otherwise
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