I think we should grapple with the fact that, as per those Green Arrow panels, Jason went to heaven(Christian-adjacent at least) when he died.
Not in the 'he was such a good boy uwu' way, but in the 'what if he remembers that' way. I saw a few panels, which made me giggle, in the Red Hood Webtoon where Artemis implies he's familiar with hell and he's like "rude? And hurtful? St. Peter escorted me past the pearly gates? But fair assumption based off what you've seen of me."
So going off that tiny little sliver, it becomes such a big thing in the context of his actions. He Knows He Got Into Heaven. Presumably he might know how and why and his actions after returning to life can be read one way or another.
That either he Does Not Care about getting back into Heaven, that Paradise isn't worth striving for...OR he Knows his actions won't change that outcome.
Which...opens so many interesting avenues to explore.
Like does he see his own version of the crusade for justice and helping the people of Gotham worth it to be damned to hell for his actions? Or does he Know, at least in a theologically Christian sense for the DC Universe, that he will be walking past those pearly gates again no matter what he does?
What does this mean in the greater scheme of things? What would it mean in the canonical case of DAMIAN, a child who "sinned" because of the influence of his cult upbringing going to Hell for his actions?
Correct me if I'm wrong, but are any other of the Batfam implied to remember the afterlife(even if Red Hood Webtoon is dubious imo) from their various brushes with death?
Like what does that imply about the underpinning of the afterlife in DC? Are heroes reviewed on a different metric than the average citizen? Does a heroic act absolve you of all sin you may commit in the future? Does an unjust act or "sin" in childhood damn you to hell?
Or, taking a LuciferTV stance, is it what you think you deserve to be punished for? Does Jason act only in a way that he feels is justified and knows he won't regret, knowing that should he die he only has to face himself for determination between Paradise and Hell?
Or does he commit his acts as a form of both self harm and sacrifice? Knowing that they guarantee him a place in Hell, but willing to do it to spare victims their suffering on earth and to satisfy his own emotional wounds?
Like, yall, what does this mean if, as implied in the original UTRH run, Jason CANNOT die permanently? Does Jason Know, does he long for an actual End deep down(going off plenty of panels of him saying and thinking suicidal things)?
Or is the afterlife just as corrupt and unfair as the world of the living? Does Jason know that? Does he operate on that assumption that he will receive an undeserved reward at the end of everything? Or that no matter what happens it doesn't matter which way he falls?
So like I absolutely love how you write n stuff and following the scenario where C!Quackity brings C!Punz to the prison to see C!Dream, how do you think C!Punz would interact with both C!Sam and C!Quackity while on his way to C!Dream’s cell? 👀
okay, so I caved and even though I have like 5 active projects now I’m writing a Showing Off AU fic. This is part one (probably of two). Warnings for this part: none.
/dsmp /rp
“Ah, there he is! Just the man I wanted to see!”
Quackity strolls into the bar, a loose cast to his shoulders, an easy grin on his face. He’s wearing no armor despite the lateness of the hour—just a loosened tie over a silk shirt and slacks.
“I’d hope so,” Punz replies, rising to meet his host. “Seeing as you’re the one who invited me here.”
The angry scar that splits Quackity’s laugh open top to bottom does nothing to diminish his buoyant energy. “Enjoying the view?”
“It’s a nice place you’ve got here,” says Punz truthfully. Foolish has outdone himself. The setting sun touches the edge of the false desert in a way that sets the skyline ablaze.
Quackity chuckles, ruefully. “Thank you! Thank you. It’s still a work in progress, of course.” He gestures around himself, at the vast spiral staircase, at the fish tank that makes the centerpiece of the floor, at the chrome bar, shiny and unused. “Shall we?” he asks.
“Sure,” says Punz, and he allows Quackity to usher him to a seat, brisk and proprietary.
Quackity busies himself at the bar, talks over his shoulder as he works. “I thought—well! Sam and I thought we’d make you a little peace offering. After all that nasty business with the Egg, it’s important to make amends, right? You like tequila?”
“Sure,” says Punz again.
“Who doesn’t,” Quackity grins, and sits down across from Punz, setting down two drinks.
Punz waits a beat, watching Quackity sip at his glass before tasting his own. It’s strong, smooth and smoky with a hint of something spicy and herbal.
“So,” says Punz, just before the silence grows uncomfortable. “What’s your offer, then? As far as I’m concerned, there are no hard feelings on my end.”
Quackity eyes him over the edge of his glass. His mouth quirks, a detached, nearly menacing smile. Punz is hardly fazed. All this conspicuous grandeur notwithstanding, he wouldn’t exactly class Quackity among the more dangerous members of this server.
It’s a paltry display next to the real power Punz has borne witness to. He’s seen the forces of life and death themselves bowing to the will of a mortal man. Next to Dream, everyone looks small.
“I have a lot of respect for you, man,” Quackity begins.
Punz can’t say the same. “Same,” he says.
Quackity sets down his glass and leans back in his chair. He drums his fingers on the table. “You were on Dream’s side for a long time, weren’t you, Punz?”
Punz is too used to deceit to stiffen, but a part of him wants to. “I was,” Punz agrees carefully. “I go where the money tells me.”
Quackity laughs. He lifts his arm like he’s going to clap Punz on the shoulder, then appears to think better of it and rubs his hands together instead. “A man after my own heart! A man after my own heart. Believe me, I get it. A bit of capitalism’s no crime, is it? Guys like us, we find power where we can.”
“That we do,” says Punz. He glances out the window and resists the urge to check the position of the sun.
“Dream’s a powerful guy. Well, was a powerful guy,” Quackity amends. “And you had the guts to sell him out. That takes nerve! That takes some fucking nerve. Las Nevadas could use a guy like you.”
“I don’t like joining sides,” says Punz dismissively. He doesn’t like the direction this is heading. He lets an edge of faint annoyance creep into his voice. “Come on, dude, I just got free of a fucking brainwashing egg cult, you think I’m in the mood to sign up for a—pyramid scheme? Or, I dunno, what else do you sell here, timeshares?”
Quackity’s face darkens. “Nothing like that, nothing like that,” he says. “But actually, that isn’t what I called you here to discuss.”
Punz waits.
Quackity takes another sip of his drink. His smile returns. “How would you like to pay Dream a visit?” he asks.
Surprise flickers through Punz’s chest. Sam had offered the same thing, the first week Dream had been locked away, and Punz had declined, as per the plan. But—Quackity? What did Quackity have to do with this?
“Why would I want to see him?” Punz asks, coloring his tone with a calibrated curl of disgust.
“Don’t you have anything you want to say to him?” Quackity asks. “We both know what that prick is like. Working under him—it can’t have been all sunshine and roses. How many times did he pull some shit and you had to hold your fucking tongue or else, huh?”
Quackity’s eyes are glittering. Some dark emotion lingers below the surface.
“Too many,” Punz agrees, for the sake of it. “Way too many.” He picks up his drink.
“Dream’s been asking for you,” Quackity says.
Shock nearly makes Punz drop his glass. His face stays calm, he’s too well-schooled for that, but he knows his eyes have widened.
“Asking for me? Why?” The incredulity is all too true. Distant panic claws at his gut; he shoves it down.
“You tell me,” says Quackity.
A cold trickle of paranoid terror worms its way under Punz’s skin. He’s very aware of how he’s cataloguing the exit behind him, the window to his left. Quackity’s studying him intently, still with that dark, knowing air, that pretense of power as thin and false and performative as the sands of Las Nevadas. But for the first time, Punz wonders if there isn’t something underneath it after all.
“I—I don’t know,” Punz says slowly. He puts his glass down before he breaks it or something equally incriminating. “I mean, I betrayed him, I’m sure he hates me. So, what—he said something to Sam? Or something?”
“Or something,” Quackity shrugs.
Punz takes a deep, shaky breath. Lean into the fear. Use it. The lessons he and Dream taught each other. “Did he—did he say he wanted to hunt me down?”
Quackity smiles, grim and satisfied. “He’s no fucking threat to you, I can promise you that.”
Punz nods. The drink isn’t settling well. He hopes he doesn’t look too pale.
Dream asking for him, Dream asking for him. His mind runs in damning circles. Dream’s weeks and weeks past schedule already. ASKING for him? Dream should not be asking for him. There is no world in which Dream should be asking for him. Why would Quackity say that, why would Sam say that—what is the truth?
Is this a signal, is this a message—or is it a trap?
“But I spoke with Sam, and he agrees,” Quackity continues. “I think it might be a good thing for you to see him. A good thing for both of you.”
“A good thing,” repeats Punz loosely.
“Come on,” Quackity says. His gaze sweeps up and down, assessing. His voice goes a little softer, he leans in a little closer. “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought of getting a little payback, huh? I mean—what drives a guy to give up whatever Dream was paying you for whatever fucking bottlecaps Tommy scraped together, right?”
Punz meets his eyes. Pulls his mouth into a tight line and lets Quackity find whatever he’s looking for in the blank slate of his face.
“We owe you,” Quackity says. “The whole fucking server owes you for doing the right thing. So come on. Take what you’re owed, right, pal?”
Punz stares at him. Payback, a little itch in his mind wonders snidely. What you’re owed. Now what does that mean?
Quackity’s expression flattens into a shark’s grin. Dead-eyed. “Unless, of course… you don’t want to.”
Punz swallows, and abruptly, numbingly, he knows he has no choice. He cannot refuse.
He kicks back the rest of the drink. Don’t think too hard, don’t read too deep. Play the role that’s expected of you.
