Uh...

Hello. Feel free to take a prompt, that's what they're there for. Please, give credit. I post on weekends, if I've got something. My AO3 account uses the same username.

[oonightmareoo]

Feeling the intense urge to become an animator as a hobby, just so I can see what I write about (I have aphantasia) and maybe give y’all a treat… any tips/tricks/resources y’all would suggest?

[oonightmareoo]

Just once, I want Danny to spout off something that he’s clearly heard from Jazz and then cringe at it.

Jason: “Just gotta wait until the Stockholm Syndrome kicks in!”

Danny: “Actually, that is a phony diagnosis created by a sexist psychiatrist who saw a hostage situation on TV and decided that the woman, in fight-flight-fawn mode, was in love with the man waving a gun at h-"

Jason: *raises eyebrow*

Danny, realizing: "Oh, you meant it as a joke… Ancients, I sounded like Jazz there.” *shudders*

Dick, exasperated: “Monkey see, monkey do, after all…”

Danny, eating a snack: "Actually, monkeys mimic behavior as a form of communication and survival, while the so-called Chameleon Effect is influenced by a desire to fit in and be liked by the people around us. It's also influenced by a part of the brain that certain- *pauses* *pushes snack away* And that was super fucking weird to bring up all of a sudden, sorry, what were we talking about?" *face screwed up in disgust*

Dick: *is just amused*

Damian, angry enough to turn red: "-I will eviscerate you so much that even your mother would be disgusted by your incompetent-"

Danny, off to the side and kinda zoned out: "Did you know that excess violence in teenagers, while typically attributed towards early childhood development by those around the teenager, is almost always caused by their current situation and a feeling of estrangement, lack of control, or- wow, yea, okay, I'm shutting up now, I just realized what I sounded like. Uegh."

Damian, suddenly calm: "You bring up a valid point, Daniel. Come, make your argument in front of father. Please."

Tim: "I'll sleep when I'm dead; for now, there's coffee."

Jason: "That shit stunts your growth, pipsqueak."

Danny: "That was actually debunked. What coffee does do is it blocks your adenosine receptors and enhances your dopamine signaling, increasing your mood and motivation as well as enhancing your memory, and then it also improves your attention and alertness. However, it also increases your anxiety and sleep disturbances, which can mess up your memory consolidation and brain recovery." *makes a disgusted face* *shudders* *takes a sip of an energy drink* "Anyways, ignoring all that nonsense that I'm definitely ignoring that I've accidentally memorized, sleeping when you're dead is also a myth. I would know." *chugs energy drink*

Tim, despairing with a tight grip on his coffee: "Nooo, I was relying on that!"

[oonightmareoo]

He was dreaming.

At least, he thinks so?

There’s no point in his memories that would explain why he’d be wandering this cave without a thought in his head, at least. He would come across a branching path and, without pausing to consider the best option or finding any clues as to what path he might be choosing, would pick one at random to follow.

Now, don’t get him wrong. If he were in this cave of his own volition, he probably be taking pictures of the scenery. Underground lakes, natural lime and rock structures, even quartz the size of Bruce - it was breathtaking to behold. Were he really in a cave and not in a dream. There was enough supernatural in the world that Tim was taking careful notes of what he saw in the back of his mind.

When he woke up, he’d write it all down and see if someone could find meaning in it. If they could, great. If not, even better.

For the first time, his dream self paused before passing a threshold. On the other side was nothing special, Tim could even believe it was just another chamber of the Batcave. After passing all those beautiful sights, the chamber was underwhelming. But there were no paths out other than the one he’d come from.

His dream self shuffled forward, feet - had he been walking without shoes the whole time? Definitely a dream then - brushing the rock floor hesitantly as he quietly approached a column on the opposite side. It was a thick column, it’d been forming for several hundreds of years clearly, and hid whatever his dream self approached.

Stepping around it brought Tim up short, startling him enough that even his dream self paused to stare. There was a skeleton. Of a Victorian vampire, perhaps, based on the teeth and clothing. The skeleton even had the remains of what must’ve been a cape. Several of the visible bones were broken, the skull caved in, and an eye socket malformed from either injury or deterioration. Tim didn’t exactly pay attention to what his parents would say about archaeology, to be fair.

What was noteworthy, though - the vampire had been gripping something tightly when they’d… passed? Something wrapped in thick fabric, clenched in fingers even now that they were nothing but bone.

Logically, Tim wasn’t going to do anything about that.

Illogically, Dream!Tim decided he must have the cloth-covered object.

Tim watched in muted horror as his hand reached out, snapping old bones to get to the fabric. Surprisingly, nothing happened despite the desecrated skeleton and Dream!Tim retrieved the object with no further protest. Turning the object over in his hands, Dream!Tim found a spot he could use to open up the fabric, which he did with haste.

Leaving Tim holding an uneven orb. The orb was glowing a soft blue, the surface jagged as though it were an uncarved piece of ice - the snow flurries Tim could see inside of it were mesmerizing. It was beautiful. It seemed fragile. It was clearly magic.

Tim didn’t give a damn.

Tucking the orb into his pocket (was he in his pajamas?), Tim took another look at the skeleton he’d just taken from and took a quick step back upon realizing the vampire’s head was now tilted back instead of forward, watching Tim without eyes. No, watching Tim’s pocket. Tim’s new treasure.

He’d be damned if he let that dried up vampire have his new core. (Core?)

The skeleton began the arduous process of shambling to its feet but Tim was quicker, leaving the chamber and racing back the way he’d come.

—

Tim woke up with a gasp, his heart racing like he’d done an ill-prepared solo patrol directly after an Arkham breakout. Again. Wildly looking around him, Tim began relaxing upon seeing his bedroom. With his blackout curtains, he’d need his phone to check what time it was, but he wasn’t concerned.

Honestly, he wanted some more sleep.

So he turned on his side to return to dream world… or, well, that was the plan.

He had a sneaking suspicion that the fist-sized rock in his pocket, putting pressure on his hip, was going to ruin that plan.

[oonightmareoo]

I’ve seen a few fics where Danny finds out that he’s actually half-Kryptonian, instead of half-human… but it’s always because of something obvious. Like, maybe Danny should’ve realized BEFORE someone pointed it out to him type of obvious.

Gimme something circumstantial.

Gimme hetero!Danny finding a cool glowing pink rock and debating what to do with it when he sees Tucker and is just like “imma hit that ASAP” and it takes everyone forever to figure out why Danny changed so suddenly, so drastically.

Gimme Danny finding this glowing blue rock and suddenly he can’t use any of his normal powers, though he can kinda phase through solid objects but his control of that power is shaky at best and nonexistent at worst.

Gimme Danny stumbling into a cache of green glowing rocks that Luthor had squirreled away for a rainy day, and then being unable to do anything but crumple to the ground and wait for rescue. Or a second death.

Gimme Danny being handed a glowing red rock and some unexpected thing happens and he has no idea what to do, panicking to the point that Clockwork steps in and is like “maybe go talk to a Super?”

Gimme Danny cutting himself on a sharp silver rock and then gaining paranoia to put the Bat to shame.

Gimme Danny finding a glowing purple rock and deciding Sam would probably like it but now time is being funky and he can’t even get Clockwork to help.

Basically, just gimme Danny finding Kryptonite, not knowing shit about Kryptonite besides what the general public is aware of when it comes to Superman’s very public weakness, and reacting to it only to need assistance by a hero. Revealing that oh, that’s Kryptonite and Danny’s a Kryptonian - or at least half-a-Kryptonian - and maybe Danny should be taught about the things Kryptonians have special about them.

And if that results in Danny joining the Justice League, the GIW being disbanded, and the Anti-Ecto Acts being dissolved, then happy endings all around really.

[oonightmareoo]

.... I am not sorry. Enjoy!

...

...

"You once asked me," Tim commented, eyes meeting the white blinds of Red Hood's helmet, "why everyone calls me The Smart Robin."

Red Hood didn't respond. Tim didn't expect him to.

"At the time, I'd said something about my computer skills. Maybe it was how I could outsmart even The Bat. I remember commenting on that, too. Dick had then issued some dumb challenge." Tim lifted one of the nearby escrima, without an owner for so long that the little details had begun to degrade, to block some of the light above him. He could almost pretend they were brand new and he was just holding onto them for Dick, adding some new upgrade or fixing the now defunct taser function in them. "I don't really remember what happened afterwards. That doesn't really matter, either."

Damian had been unable to recover anything but Dick's escrima.

"You once asked me why everyone calls me The Smart Robin," Tim repeats, frustration bleeding into his voice. Tim turned his gaze to survey the dilapidated Batcave, hardly a shadow of its former glory, and his eyes drifted to the displayed Batman uniform.

It was almost depressing how Bruce hadn't even been able to suit up.

"The fucking Smart Robin," Tim seethed, standing up and reeling his arm back - before carefully bringing the escrima back down. He couldn't throw one of the last keepsakes of his oldest brother. He sighed, reaching down to grab the scuffed helmet before tucking it between his arm and side.

He stood there for a long moment, staring at nothing, before jerkily beginning his trek to the smashed Batcomputer. "What good is the title if I can't figure out how to fix this?" Tim muttered to the helmet before flopping into the somewhat-repaired computer chair, letting the helmet roll across the remaining desk.

He reached over his head to grab the cape he'd draped over the back after Damian had also perished, burying his face into the fabric. It smelt like dust and debris and that specific scent that Tim had always attributed to Gotham herself. Neither Damian's favorite tea nor Titus' shampoo scents were left. At this point, it was a swath of fabric that Tim couldn't even wear because he couldn't bring himself to use it for scraps.

Tim wished he had something of Duke's but there was nothing of his where his tracker was last recorded. Cass and Steph were uncertain as to whether they were still alive or not, as they were in Hong Kong when it all went down and long-distance communications were one of the first things to be eliminated.

The Supers were the first to fall to their still unknown foe, disintegrating into dust before Lois' eyes - according to the hysterical newly widowed and grieving mother. Supergirl and Power Girl were both unknown, but unlikely to have survived due to their MIA status. After the Supers, the Earth-based Lanterns and all communication with Oa. Then, Wonder Woman and then... Bruce.

That was, at least, the presumed timeline. After the main three Justice League founders and their ability to call for assistance from what was essentially the galactic police were eliminated, the unknown enemy then began expanding and checking off an arbitrary list. At that point, the Bats were still largely unaware, and it took a news feature on Bruce Wayne disappearing in a cloud of dirt for Tim to be made aware. He'd immediately informed the others.

They'd tried everything they could to figure out what they were even supposed to be fighting. Then it began taking civilians, picking up speed, then started disintegrating the earth itself. And then it took Red Hood. Nightwing. Robin. Signal. All the way until, so far as Tim could figure, Red Robin was the only still active vigilante. Not that there was anything left of Gotham to protect, aside from dust-filled streets and dirty ruins.

It almost felt like some higher power had decided to hit Reset on this dimension, and it had to destroy everything before it could restart.

"Oh hey, I finally found someone- hey!" The unexpected voice would've caused Tim to jump up to defend the last of his home had he not been so willing to join his family. Instead, his head flopped back so it leant against the headrest, his eyes rolling in the direction the person was in.

If Jason hadn't declared that no God exists within two months after Bruce's... disappearance, Tim would almost call the person an angel.

"So, this Realm kinda hit a... disturbance of sorts in the Infinite, I've been trying to find someone that could actually explain what all went down so I could try and, like, diagnose it, I guess?" The white-haired man kinda shrugged, "I mean, something like that, at least. Can't fix it if I don't know what's wrong, y'know?"

[oonightmareoo]

“Wow,” Bruce tensed at the unexpected voice, “that was, to be polite, an absolute train wreck.”

“That’s the polite descriptor?” Bruce turned to meet blue eyes, “I shudder to imagine the impolite version.”

The room had been empty. He’d made sure of it before allowing Dick to move their… argument. There were no signs of life on this or the next five floors down. Yet, there he was. A beautiful man, too many years his junior for his thoughts to go straight to the man’s looks, sitting on a stool at a workbench.

“Oh, for sure, you definitely don’t want to hear what else I could describe that as.” The man nodded, bringing Bruce’s attention to the jewelry tucked into the man’s shirt and hidden by his hair. “Ignoring all the stuff I clearly shouldn’t have heard,” which meant he did, in fact, notice the Bat-based vocabulary, “you are terrible at communicating with your kids.”

“Oh?” Bruce strained to sound casual, trying not to give away what all he may have not already.

“Oh yeah. Like, clearly you love your kids. Right?” The man waited for acknowledgment, which Bruce begrudgingly gave, before he continued, “right, so, what’s stopping you from saying it? Just a simple, I’m worried about you going on that inter-dimensional mission because I love you and want you to be safe, would work great. Might even get you brownie points, you know? Instead of what you said, which implied a lack of trust and a sense of derision towards your son’s skills, and was never going to be taken well.” Well. That answered well enough what all the pretty man had heard.

“It’s not that easy,” Bruce frowned at him, debating how many NDAs he’d have to threaten the man into signing.

“Sure it is. Just open your mouth and say the words, let them sit there, and don’t take them back.” Blue met and held blue from across the room before the man rolled his eyes, “right, okay, would it help you to think of it as a series of undefined tasks or a science experiment?”

“The latter,” the former sounded like what he’d already been working with.

“Okay, so pull up a stool,” the man twirled a pen as he pulled over a loose sheet of paper, “and we’ll start with the scientific method: if the big bad Bat communicates ineffectively then his children will be upset because they don’t have empathic abilities. What about this sentence can we change to make it better?”

“My ability to communicate,” Bruce admitted.

“Very good,” the man praised and Bruce wondered if he could get away with slamming the man’s head into the table without it being workplace abuse. Probably not. “So, if the Bat communicates effectively, then…?”

“My children won’t be as upset.”

“Because…?”

“They’ll understand what I mean better.”

“Alright, we now have our hypothesis. Next step is the experiment.”

[oonightmareoo]

Amity Parkers know that Danny Fenton is nothing to look at.

They've seen the dude eat shit so many times, they're legitimately surprised his chin isn't permanently bruised from how often it hits the ground after he trips. He's the son of the town crazies and there's even rumors that he's cursed or something, since there's been witness accounts of Fenton's eyes glowing green or disappearing in plain view. His entire time in middle and high school was spent being shoved into lockers, put into wedgies, eating the quarterback's underwear - Daniel "Danny" Fenton was not a prize and was honestly the bottom of the barrel for only the truly desperate.

So, explain to them why the fugly nerd managed to pull so hard once he left Amity?

Every other day, there was a new image or clip of Fenton interacting with a Wayne - the cream of the crop, the ideal of ideals, the ones someone could only dream of the chance of being in the same building as - and a headline detailing some new dramatic action the Wayne kid had taken to fight their siblings for Fenton's attention. If it wasn't a Wayne, it was some other famous person - even Superboy, the teen dreamboat, seemed to shoot his shot with Fenton.

Was there something that Amity Parkers were missing? Fenton didn't exactly look all that different from when he'd graduated high school. Why was the world suddenly treating Fenton like... like a diamond in the rough? It didn't make any sense!

Finally, they think in near unison, watching Fenton bite dust on live television, maybe the world will finally realize that they'd been irrationally attracted to a loser.

Instead, they watch as the world collectively is endeared by how clumsy Danny is and isn't that cute? A little flaw for what is otherwise a perfect person.

Amity Park is baffled.

[oonightmareoo]

Danny is Bruce’s clone.

Hold on now, hear me out, I get that it’s been done before (but really, can you have too much of a good thing? In fanfics?) but just… give me a second to get to the point of this prompt.

Danny is Bruce’s clone. He wasn’t created to kill Bruce or take over his life or because of Batman or what-have-you, but simply because his creator thought Bruce was pretty. Not in an “I want to get him in my bed” pretty, but an “I want to display him in my house” pretty. Danny’s creator took one look at Brucie Wayne, just before adopting Dick Grayson, and went “he would look lovely in my front room.” They’d intended to create a child with Bruce, but every attempt failed. So, they took drastic measures instead, and, just as rumors of The Batman and Robin Dynamic Duo began being verified as truth, a baby was taken from a cloning pod.

The baby was an ugly little thing, so the creator was very hands off and awaiting the day they could begin grooming the boy into the perfect little centerpiece.

Somehow, in some way, the Fenton’s get ahold of Danny. Which really just ruined the creator’s whole side project, but if mind-controlling was on the table, then mind-wiping was surely available. Now, if only they could find their pretty vase, wherever he might be…

Oh. There he is. And just as pretty as they were imagining.

Meanwhile, Danny is getting creeped out by this person who randomly shows up one day and starts staring at him. Just what he needed, another Fruitloop. Well, might as well ignore them like he does all his other problems.

Hold on, he’s adopted? And shares DNA with who again?? That means Bruce Wayne is his bio-dad, right?

So Danny goes to meet his bio-dad, just to say he has… and the creepy person just. Follows. Everywhere Danny looks, he seems to be meeting that stranger’s eyes again. And it’s like, kinda weird? Like, moreso than being followed by a creepy person is weird - there seem to be various non-lethal traps trying to cage him but they’re, like, stupidly easy to escape. It’s like whoever is trying to capture him is unaware of Danny being Phantom, but who in the world wants to capture just Danny Fenton? He’s 15, average, boring, and broke af, so like? What would even be the point of capturing normal human Danny?

Danny goes to meet Bruce and, just as they lock eyes and Bruce has a moment of “holy shit that kid couldn’t look more like a child me if he tried, who the hell did I knock up 15 years ago” and Danny is like “yep, that’s obviously my dad”, someone comes up from behind Danny and knocks him out with drugs.

They’re in a public place. Neither Bruce nor Danny can reveal themselves. Danny is forced to inhale the chloroform-or-whatever-drug-of-your-choosing, is knocked out, and then taken to another location where he wakes up with a pretty new collar, that blocks Danny’s access to his ghost half, and the creep staring at him waking up.

Bruce drives himself up the wall trying to find the kid that was clearly his, lost like sand within his grasp.

[birdbitch0010]

Ok but like, this was the perfect set up for them misunderstanding the exact kind of creep this dude is. Like Danny. C’mon.

You’ve got a stalker dude who is near constantly following you, always staring at you, and keeps trying to capture you alive. Ie. Kidnapping. Is this not ringing any alarm bells in that empty noggin? And oh man imagine Danny finding Bruce and meandering around in a conversation with him until he mentions the fruit loop that’s been watching him and trying to capture him. Bruce just found this “child” of his (going with the usual 14 year old Danny here) and already kill bill sirens are going off. What do you mean some pedophiles been trying to kidnap his son? Mr a-clone-can-be-an-ornament is going to be getting a violent visit from Batman soon

[oonightmareoo]

I definitely cannot write a fic for this idea - I'm far too burnt out with way too many fics in progress to even try - but this did give me an idea for an excerpt.

...

Danny blinked at the ceiling. It was actually a strange ceiling. He's never seen one remotely like it before. What was it called... vaulted? Where there's an illusion that the ceiling is higher than it is, even if it's already pretty high as ceilings go? It's got the angled wooden bits on the edges, before becoming an interesting design of wooden squares that had even more interesting designs on the inside. Whoever built this room intended for even the ceiling to be an art piece. So yeah, strange ceiling.

Where was he?

Oh sh- actually, though, seriously, where the heck is he??

The door opened - there was a door? Man, his brain is not... braining - and Danny's eyes floated from the art piece ceiling to the person walking in. She was pretty, her blonde hair in soft curls and her eyes a lovely shade of green that... Danny doesn't think he's seen before except that one time the lady was following him and lost her sunglasses-

Oh shit. Oh crap. That was the lady that was following him. He tried making his brain sound the alarm bells, but his thoughts were running far too sluggishly for any sort of alarm. Mostly he was just tired. Like he'd spent the last three days being constantly attacked by ghosts at the craziest hours.

"Oh," she breathed, an excited expression on her face, "you're awake!" She brought a tray over to the side table beside the- his bed?? He was in a bed? She set the tray down, brushed aside her soft-looking hair, before giving him a gentle look. "How are you feeling?"

"Not-"

Whatever his brain managed to gather together to say past his cotton-filled mouth was summarily ignored, as the woman steamrolled over his answer, "I wasn't sure what to put as a dosage when I finally realized that you were a meta, for whatever awful reason, and not just incredibly lucky at dodging my traps. I'm truly glad that I didn't accidentally kill you, that would've been a pain in the rear. I don't exactly have any more of his DNA to make another attempt, and he's been annoyingly cautious who has been near him since he bought his second disgrace."

Man. Danny could not keep up.

"Regardless," the lady continued, taking a seat on the edge of his- the bed? Was he chained down? "I'm glad I didn't miscalculate the dose." Her hand brushed his cheek tenderly, eyes gazing softly down at him. "You're just as pretty up close as you are from far away." Her words sent a shiver down his spine as he suddenly had full clarity on his situation.

Danny was in an unknown location, with an unknown woman, and chained to a bed. He didn't recognize the clothing he was wearing, which meant someone had changed them, and the woman was commenting on his looks after admitting to drugging him to kidnap him. He couldn't feel his ghost half.

He couldn't feel his ghost half, he's gonna hurl-

Danny shifted, attempting to leverage his heavy body to move away from the threat - for all she was soft-looking and seemed like she couldn't hurt a fly, she had fully upgraded from "civilian" to "threat" in his mind - and then froze. Was that an Ancients' damned collar on his throat-

"Get away from me," he heard his voice croak out - his brain too lost in his panic to really register that he was even intending to speak let alone actually committing to the action - and the woman's soft green eyes sharpened.

"You get no say in this, my pretty vase," she patted his cheek, the hand then trailing down his front - he shuddered as it reached his chest, seeming to show no intention of stopping, before she blessedly removed her hand somewhere near his stomach. "Your only focus should be in staying still and looking pretty."

"Hell no-" she cut him off once again.

"If you remain uncooperative, perhaps I should exemplify what shall happen?" The hand that had just- reached up, grabbing ahold of a necklace that had seemed truly fully decorational before the moment she pressed a button hidden on the underside and-

His world lit up- he was in a metal tube, his hand was stuck to the button he'd just accidentally pressed, he could feel his bones melting- bones weren't supposed to do that!! He was dying, being remade, falling apart, being rebuilt, disintegrating-

Blessed relief, he opened eyes he didn't realize he'd shut and fully expected to meet Sam's purple eyes and Tucker's brown - but all he could see was green.

[oonightmareoo]

Danny is Bruce’s clone.

Hold on now, hear me out, I get that it’s been done before (but really, can you have too much of a good thing? In fanfics?) but just… give me a second to get to the point of this prompt.

Danny is Bruce’s clone. He wasn’t created to kill Bruce or take over his life or because of Batman or what-have-you, but simply because his creator thought Bruce was pretty. Not in an “I want to get him in my bed” pretty, but an “I want to display him in my house” pretty. Danny’s creator took one look at Brucie Wayne, just before adopting Dick Grayson, and went “he would look lovely in my front room.” They’d intended to create a child with Bruce, but every attempt failed. So, they took drastic measures instead, and, just as rumors of The Batman and Robin Dynamic Duo began being verified as truth, a baby was taken from a cloning pod.

The baby was an ugly little thing, so the creator was very hands off and awaiting the day they could begin grooming the boy into the perfect little centerpiece.

Somehow, in some way, the Fenton’s get ahold of Danny. Which really just ruined the creator’s whole side project, but if mind-controlling was on the table, then mind-wiping was surely available. Now, if only they could find their pretty vase, wherever he might be…

Oh. There he is. And just as pretty as they were imagining.

Meanwhile, Danny is getting creeped out by this person who randomly shows up one day and starts staring at him. Just what he needed, another Fruitloop. Well, might as well ignore them like he does all his other problems.

Hold on, he’s adopted? And shares DNA with who again?? That means Bruce Wayne is his bio-dad, right?

So Danny goes to meet his bio-dad, just to say he has… and the creepy person just. Follows. Everywhere Danny looks, he seems to be meeting that stranger’s eyes again. And it’s like, kinda weird? Like, moreso than being followed by a creepy person is weird - there seem to be various non-lethal traps trying to cage him but they’re, like, stupidly easy to escape. It’s like whoever is trying to capture him is unaware of Danny being Phantom, but who in the world wants to capture just Danny Fenton? He’s 15, average, boring, and broke af, so like? What would even be the point of capturing normal human Danny?

Danny goes to meet Bruce and, just as they lock eyes and Bruce has a moment of “holy shit that kid couldn’t look more like a child me if he tried, who the hell did I knock up 15 years ago” and Danny is like “yep, that’s obviously my dad”, someone comes up from behind Danny and knocks him out with drugs.

They’re in a public place. Neither Bruce nor Danny can reveal themselves. Danny is forced to inhale the chloroform-or-whatever-drug-of-your-choosing, is knocked out, and then taken to another location where he wakes up with a pretty new collar, that blocks Danny’s access to his ghost half, and the creep staring at him waking up.

Bruce drives himself up the wall trying to find the kid that was clearly his, lost like sand within his grasp.

[oonightmareoo]

Constantine grunted, then began, “we’ve been keeping it under wraps until now,” he said, “but it’s starting to get out of hand.”

Batman stared down at him from the front of the room, making John shift uncomfortably.

“The undead are restless,” he continued anyways, because it needed to be said, “they’re angry almost all the time now. Something needs to be done before they destroy enough to bring the public eye.”

“Do we know what’s causing their anger?” Superman asked, tilting his head.

“They’re trying to find their king,” John sighed, tilting his head back. “Says it’s their new king, just a tyke by both their and our standards. He’s been captured and is actively being harmed when they’re angry.”

“The undead, so like people who’ve been resuscitated?” The Flash asked, causing Constantine to wave at him impatiently.

“Of course not, you dolt. The person needs to have a certain amount of Realms in them for it to affect them. No green juice, no anger. Besides, I’m talking about those that’ve passed, not people whose heart stopped for five seconds.” John sighed, reaching for his smokes - then paused when he remembered he still needed to buy more due to his recent stress-smoking. "They'll fly into a blind rage, though the weaker ones don't know why. They'll find anything to rage over, even the smallest of transgressions that they'd previously been alright with. Someone infringing on their territory, someone ate the last cookie, someone wore the wrong clothes - literally anything."

John didn't care for the way Batman had gone still.

[oonightmareoo]

Tim had no clue why he was here.

Scratch that, actually. Apparently, he was here because he’s a Drake. So, he knew the why, actually.

It’s the how and where that got a little muddled somewhere in there.

So, the how... based on visual evidence, he was going to say magic was the probable cause.

The where... the Fae Wildes? Though, how Janet and Jack Drake managed to have a standing invitation to the coronation of a fairy was not something Tim was particularly capable of answering. Maybe Tim wasn't too far off when he was five and wondering if Janet was actually part of the fae.

Hold on, would that make him, like, half fairy? Well, maybe not - iron, after all, was something he barely put any thought into touching.

Regardless, he should maybe not eat anything or give his name out. Which was an interesting idea when he was at what appeared to be a gala, of sorts. Then again, Tim wasn't particularly keen on the idea of networking with the supernatural and fairytales.

"See, I have to give him the most elaborate box," Tim could hear one of the fae telling another - the former looking, strangely, like a dock worker and the latter like a toddler ready for her first day of preschool. "That way, he knows I can set aside my Obsession when in times of need."

"But, mama's Obsession is feeding people her cooking - how does she honor King Phantom today?" The toddler asked.

"You see that really tall cake over there?" The dock worker asked, pointing over towards what Tim had assumed was the buffet tables. "No one is allowed to eat it. It's why mama is over there guarding it."

All Tim could see over there was a 1950's school lunch lady, so he was tempted to say that that was 'mama'.

"Hmm," the toddler put her hand on her chin in a classic thinking pose, "well, I don't have an Obsession yet so I'm gonna give Phantom this cool rock I found." She nodded as though saying and that's that.

Well, shit.

Tim had to give a gift? And one related to... an obsession? He guessed, if he'd had forewarning before being dragged to this coronation, that he could've gifted a photo of Batman and Robin. That's really the only obsession that he could think of himself having...

"Well, you're an odd one out," a teasing voice stated next to Tim, making him turn away from the supposed father-daughter pair who were oo-ing and ahh-ing over... kryptonite??

Tim met breathtaking blue eyes. Unlike the fae around him, Tim could see that the man speaking to him wasn't glowing and seemed much more human. What were they called- a thrall? A human who was tricked into fae servitude or whatever? Or was that just, like, vampires that took thralls?

First things first, when he got home, he was going to dedicate a couple weeks to learning all about the supernatural. Maybe a month or two.

"Sorry?" Tim asked, pasting a polite smile on his face.

"Oh, don't be, always interesting to see a new face." The man grinned back, "and you seem a bit confused about what's going on. I could help you, answer all your questions, for a price."

Of course, even the humans in the Fae Wildes demanded equivalent exchange.

"What would be the price?" Tim asked, because it might even be something that Tim could pay. Knowledge was almost always worth the price one was willing to pay for it.

"Just one date," the man lifted a finger, his eyes staring at Tim intensely. "One date, in your realm, without any strings attached. First date etiquette, so handholding but nothing else. A kiss at the end if we both agree the date was successful." If the man didn't look so confident, so unbreakable, Tim would say the specification would indicate nervousness. So, the details were part of the deal? Did every deal in the Fae Wildes get written in their souls or something, so the specificity of the deal was important? Or was this man so used to dealing with fae that he'd been specific out of habit?

"And how many questions on what topics am I allowed for one date?"

"You may ask me questions until I am needed elsewhere, on whatever topic you should want. I am allowed to veto any questions that I believe violate someone's privacy, however."

"Deal," Tim held out his hand to shake on it. A cold power seemed to seep into Tim's hand on contact, causing him to shiver. "Whose coronation is this?"

"Oh, you know actually nothing, huh? It's Phantom's coronation."

"Who is Phantom?"

"Oh, just some guy that beat the last king. The last king was some sort of tyrant, so this celebration is actually pretty important to everyone here." The man shrugged, as though power switching hands happened every day.

"I overheard someone talking about honoring the new king; what does that mean?" Tim was rushing through his questions, he knew, but he'd been given an uncertain timeline to obtain his answers.

"For some people, that means finding the most rare and exotic things to gift to the king. I heard that some of them are planning on challenging the king to a duel, to pay homage to how they met the king. For those without connections or strength to back them up, they instead deny their Obsession for the day to prove their loyalties." The man, meanwhile, answered the questions as though he were leisurely chatting with Tim.

"Obsession? That sounds like it's capitalized."

"Well, sure. That's 'cause it is. An Obsession is someone's entire existence, the reason they metaphorically get out of bed in the morning. It can be as simple as a drive to be remembered or the desire to protect those important to them. Every human wants to be remembered and to protect their loved ones; the beings in this realm, with such an Obsession, live, breathe, and eat doing exactly those things - y'know, metaphorically."

"And why am I here?"

"Because you've brushed against the veil. Not enough to be noticeable in your day-to-day life, but enough to change the makeup of your being. I bet you even have an Obsession of your own in there, somewhere." So, it wasn't because he was a Drake. The fairy that had brought Tim to the Fae Wildes certainly made it sound like it was, though.

"How would you figure out your Obsession then?"

"Well, close your eyes," the man said, gesturing at Tim. Tim gave him his most deadpan expression. The man laughed, which sounded rather melodious actually, "no, I'm serious! I know, it's super cliche, but closing your eyes does actually help!" Tim stared at the expectant man for a long moment, before huffing a sigh and following the instruction. "Okay, now, think of what you do to relax." Tim's brow furrowed - that was it? "Sort through those things, find your favorite of them all. Is it something that you would do as soon as you wake up? While eating? Before going to sleep? Would you skip eating and sleeping for it? Have you blown off your friends so you could do more of it? Has it, in some way, made you miserable?"

"That sounds like an addiction," Tim pointed out, keeping his eyes closed.

The man laughed again, "in some ways, it kinda is! Do you feel a compulsion to do it, without any addictive substances interfering with your thoughts? Congratulations, it's either a gambling addiction or your Obsession. Now, you tell me, is it an addiction?"

"I wouldn't quite call solving mysteries an addiction, but-"

"Wow, so you're a detective? That's interesting," the man said, grinning as he leaned towards Tim.

Tim blinked a few times before shaking his head, "you said that denying one's Obsession would be enough to honor the king? How would I deny solving a mystery?"

The man paused a moment, before a mischievous spark lit in his eyes. "The king has a few mysteries a human such as yourself won't notice right away - if you can resist solving even one until tomorrow, that is enough to honor him." Something seemed to catch the man's eye, causing him to lean back away from Tim. "So, just don't look too closely at him, yeah?" With that, he gave a wave before walking off.

[oonightmareoo]

It was well-known that Bruce was face blind.

No, wait, it was well-known within the Batfamily that Bruce was face blind.

It wasn’t that obvious, at the beginning. Bruce could pretend with the best of them, but if features began to blur… well, he’d start thinking one kid was a different one.

If Tim was well-rested for once, and wearing casual clothing, Bruce could mistake him for one of the Kent boys, Cass, or even Dick on the rare occasion. If he were just getting back from being undercover in his usual Caroline Hill getup, Bruce would think he was Steph.

This wasn’t limited to Tim. Even Jason, arguably the most distinct of his children, was mistaken for Clark before.

At first, they’d laughed about it, because they thought it was the normal parent thing where the parent would cycle through every name they knew before finding the correct one. Then, they realized that Bruce truly thought they were that incorrect person. And suddenly, every time Brucie would ask someone “and you are?” gained a different meaning. Every time Batman obsessively read over detailed notes on the appearance of suspects had a new explanation.

And it wasn’t difficult to figure out what had happened when Bruce returned home with a confused teen.

Black hair, dark eyebags, that specific shade of blue in his eyes, baggy casual clothing, hell even a few choice scars that could be mistaken for Tim’s.

It wasn’t difficult to figure out, at all. Particularly when Bruce squinted at the real Tim, glancing back and forth between him and the fake Tim with confusion.

[lord-westley]

@cam-the-orange-cat oh look its you

[cam-the-orange-cat]

How dare you

I did call one of the kinders by his classmate's name the other day. He's a boy. She's a girl. All three of us were confused.

If anyone wants to know how someone with face blindness (prosopagnosia) copes with being face blind: I rely heavily on voice, behavior, and context. Does it sound like so-and-so? Are they acting like so-and-so? Am I seeing them in a place I'd expect to see them?

So if you're a coworker who just got a haircut and we're both at the grocery store instead of work: the chances I'll recognize you are slim to none. If you're one of my students but it's pajama day at school and you do a goofy voice? I probably won't know who you are. There was a time my own brother was wearing a new shirt and was chatting with someone (he is so shy, he never casually chats with anyone), and I walked right by him.

I can see you just fine. But I cannot remember what you look like. I cannot describe my own facial features. I sometimes surprise myself when I see my own reflection in the mirror.

[depravedmicrowave]

That's genuinely fascinating. Does it affect artistic faces too, like hyper realistic games or anime or 2d faces?

For you, would the crazy makeup of the joker be memorable on someone?

[oonightmareoo]

I can’t speak for someone else, but my personal version of face blindness makes it so fictional characters can blur but don’t tend to.

Like, if you were to show me a white-haired anime boy, I’d prolly spend a bit of time trying to figure out who it is… but if they have something that I know is distinct for them, like Kakashi Hatake’s headband covering his eye or Gojo Satoru’s standard outfit, then I’m more likely to recognize them as they are before any other details may pop out to me or they speak. Most fictional characters have that distinction.

For the Joker, I can typically recognize him up until they drastically change the makeup. Like, Jared Leto’s version was just different enough that I had to be introduced to the character being Joker rather than knowing right away who he was supposed to be. Also, if someone shows me a cartoony or chibi version of the Joker and there’s nothing to insinuate “hey this guy has to do with Batman” and there’s no, like, bright red HAHAHA’s or weaponry on the image, then I probably won’t recognize that it’s him and will wonder what he’s from.

I’ve thought a few characters were fanmade OC’s because of this. Fanart can be difficult to parse through, and I typically rely on tags or comments to know which character it is.

Hyper-realistic games are incredibly difficult to distinguish characters from each other. It was mildly entertaining to me that I didn’t notice there were two different non-donkey reoccurring guys in [Baby Steps] for a while because it’s not actually that realistic but it still threw me off when I finally realized it. Playing [Assassin’s Creed: Shadows], I’m not even trying to figure out whether I’m talking to different NPC’s or not, none of them are distinct enough and I kinda got tired of trying to figure out whether Nobunaga was on screen or not.

Even some fictional creatures aren’t really exempt from my confusion, as there’s some [Pokémon] that I need to have right next to each other for comparison purposes. Like, I am fully aware of Carkol and Coalossal’s differences - I still need them right next to each other to be able to identify which one of them is which cuz they’re too alike. I didn’t even realize they were different ‘mons up until I accidentally evolved Carkol as I hadn’t fought a Coalossal and so hadn’t seen its name.

Also, y’know those images where they throw a bunch of characters from different shows into the same image to be like “these characters all have something in common!”? Cartoon Network did something like that, and there’s some images like that of anime protagonists… yea, I don’t bother looking at those pictures anymore. Gives me a headache as I try to distinguish each character, and I’m usually wrong anyways.

[oonightmareoo]

It was well-known that Bruce was face blind.

No, wait, it was well-known within the Batfamily that Bruce was face blind.

It wasn’t that obvious, at the beginning. Bruce could pretend with the best of them, but if features began to blur… well, he’d start thinking one kid was a different one.

If Tim was well-rested for once, and wearing casual clothing, Bruce could mistake him for one of the Kent boys, Cass, or even Dick on the rare occasion. If he were just getting back from being undercover in his usual Caroline Hill getup, Bruce would think he was Steph.

This wasn’t limited to Tim. Even Jason, arguably the most distinct of his children, was mistaken for Clark before.

At first, they’d laughed about it, because they thought it was the normal parent thing where the parent would cycle through every name they knew before finding the correct one. Then, they realized that Bruce truly thought they were that incorrect person. And suddenly, every time Brucie would ask someone “and you are?” gained a different meaning. Every time Batman obsessively read over detailed notes on the appearance of suspects had a new explanation.

And it wasn’t difficult to figure out what had happened when Bruce returned home with a confused teen.

Black hair, dark eyebags, that specific shade of blue in his eyes, baggy casual clothing, hell even a few choice scars that could be mistaken for Tim’s.

It wasn’t difficult to figure out, at all. Particularly when Bruce squinted at the real Tim, glancing back and forth between him and the fake Tim with confusion.

[oonightmareoo]

“Excuse me, Mr… uh, Kent, was it? May I ask you some questions?” The kid was hardly older than Clark’s own son, so he thinks he could be forgiven for ignoring the Bat-insignia’d alarm bells the kid set off with his gaze alone.

“Sure? How can I help, son?”

“Er, well, the questions are about a um, sensitive topic so… is there like, a meeting room we could talk in or something?”

And really, is it Clark’s fault that the boy’s green eyes look so earnest? “Yeah, of course, just this way.” He leads the ginger to a meeting room not that far away, shutting the door behind them and watching the boy walk a few paces ahead of Clark.

The boy abruptly turns toward Clark, earnest and honest expression forgotten and in its place was an expression that caused Clark’s hand to automatically reach up to help - true desperation. “How do you make people not notice that you’re Superman?”

Clark’s hand froze, “I- what? Superman? Son, you’re joking, right?”

“Don’t patronize me,” the ginger snapped, “I know you’re Superman, even if you hide it better than- that doesn’t matter. How do you keep people from noticing? Is it the glasses? Is there some Kryptonian material that influences people into looking the other way? Is there any way that I can have some of that material?”

“I- they’re just normal glasses?” This was not how he’d anticipated the day to go when he’d been informed there’d be a tour group in the building.

“Then, is it the posture? The hairstyle? Magic from JLD? What do you do, how can I help him hide?”

[oonightmareoo]

The bell rang out above him as Tim shuffled over to the counter, already tiredly calculating how he was going to order the most caffeine in a drinkable quantity. There was a short line before him so he had some time.

Letting his eyes wander, he took note of the tasteful decor, and the stunning number of plants for a business unrelated to Ivy, before his eyes inevitably found the people within the building and began sleepily profiling them.

There was a male, Caucasian, in his early twenties, his head in his hands with a laptop opened to a blank document in front of him. College student, likely. A woman, of Asian descent, late twenties to early thirties, her eyes closed as she inhaled the steam coming from her drink. It was a Saturday, so it was likely her day off. The person in front of Tim - male, Caucasian, teen, typing rapidly on his phone with one hand and holding the strap of his backpack in the other - was on his way to a study session, if not setting up here to study with his friends. The person in front of him - male, African descent, late fifties, married, squinting at the board and chewing on his lip - was anxious about how long it’s taken him to decide on something, either having an anxiety disorder or needing to head out quickly. The barista…

Tim blinked. He’d thought he’d slept last night.

The barista was gorgeous. If Tim believed in the fae being in Gotham, he’d suspect this was the Summer King or something. They were definitely a meta, with subtly pointed ears and lightly glowing blue eyes, and small but noticeable fangs that flashed when they spoke.

Tim couldn’t look away now that he’s seen them.

“What can I do ya for?” A Midwestern accent, projected more with this sentence but otherwise light enough to miss.

“At no cost, and repeatedly please,” Tim heard someone mutter, only to watch those pretty eyes widen as a bright flush took over the man’s(?) face.

Even his ears turned red, Tim noted idly. The barista was staring at Tim as though stunned.

Oh, wait, what did he say?

[oonightmareoo]

The bell rang out above him, and Tim's eyes eagerly went to who was behind the counter. The fae-like barista was focused on grabbing a muffin from the pastry case, the blue eyes Tim had dreamt of last night glancing up at him then turning back to the task at hand.

Then, they froze, tongs almost crushing the muffin they'd grabbed. Tim watched, fascinated, as their cheeks flushed, the red traveling slowly but surely from their cheekbones to their collar and not missing their ears on the way. Tim was tempted to even say their hands were pink from their flush as well, though that was probably too egotistical even for him.

The muffin was quickly set, sideways, onto the waiting plate before being set aside, precariously balanced on the edge of the counter as the fae bustled themself over to the till. "Hey, what can I- I, um, do- coffee?" The barista, flustered, waved vaguely over their shoulder, missing the direction of the menu by about a foot.

Tim, charmed, took pity on the poor soul, "I'd like a medium iced coffee and a pain au chocolat, please."

The barista hesitated then nearly yelped, "heat?"

Tim couldn't help the quiet laugh he gave as the fae, impossibly, seemed to turn a deeper red. "Yes, I'd like the pain au chocolat to be microwaved, thank you." The meta, seemingly giving up on words, turned the tablet towards Tim for him to pay before rushing away to fill the order.

Probably to hide their face, too. His ego definitely wasn't inflating from this interaction, not at all.

When he received his order from the now silent barista, he traded the bag with a paper before turning to walk out. Watching the reflection of the barista sink below the counter with their hands on their face, piece of paper with Tim's number being pressed to a red cheek.

He could swear that he heard a high-pitched whine overlaid with the ring of the bell.

[oonightmareoo]

The bell rang out above him as Tim shuffled over to the counter, already tiredly calculating how he was going to order the most caffeine in a drinkable quantity. There was a short line before him so he had some time.

Letting his eyes wander, he took note of the tasteful decor, and the stunning number of plants for a business unrelated to Ivy, before his eyes inevitably found the people within the building and began sleepily profiling them.

There was a male, Caucasian, in his early twenties, his head in his hands with a laptop opened to a blank document in front of him. College student, likely. A woman, of Asian descent, late twenties to early thirties, her eyes closed as she inhaled the steam coming from her drink. It was a Saturday, so it was likely her day off. The person in front of Tim - male, Caucasian, teen, typing rapidly on his phone with one hand and holding the strap of his backpack in the other - was on his way to a study session, if not setting up here to study with his friends. The person in front of him - male, African descent, late fifties, married, squinting at the board and chewing on his lip - was anxious about how long it’s taken him to decide on something, either having an anxiety disorder or needing to head out quickly. The barista…

Tim blinked. He’d thought he’d slept last night.

The barista was gorgeous. If Tim believed in the fae being in Gotham, he’d suspect this was the Summer King or something. They were definitely a meta, with subtly pointed ears and lightly glowing blue eyes, and small but noticeable fangs that flashed when they spoke.

Tim couldn’t look away now that he’s seen them.

“What can I do ya for?” A Midwestern accent, projected more with this sentence but otherwise light enough to miss.

“At no cost, and repeatedly please,” Tim heard someone mutter, only to watch those pretty eyes widen as a bright flush took over the man’s(?) face.

Even his ears turned red, Tim noted idly. The barista was staring at Tim as though stunned.

Oh, wait, what did he say?

[oonightmareoo]

So, I saw a TikTok post the other day where someone with DID was asked about how DID would affect the Omegaverse……… and my brain immediately went to the SysTim AU. Just, Tim is an Omega/Alpha (dependent on the author; I personally prefer Sneakmate!Tim cuz angst, of course) while Caroline is the opposite, JJ is too young for a designation, and Alvin is a Beta. If you like SysTim having Robin and Timothy, I feel like Robin is also a Beta while Timothy is an Alpha.

……… I just realized there’s only one Omega in my headcanon. Hm. That sucks for them, I suppose.

That’s it. That’s the whole idea. Here’s the link to said video. Enjoy.

TikTok - Make Your Day

…… please tell me someone has an idea for a fic because I don’t but I wanna read this…