When Ao3 Is Down For Maintenance So You Sigh And Trudge Dejectedly Over To Wattpad Because You Still

when ao3 is down for maintenance so you sigh and trudge dejectedly over to wattpad because you still need fanfic

DPXDC PROMPT: CASS AND DANNY

so i've seen a bunch of things where jason, or damian, or tim, or dick adopt danny. hear me out. Cass does.

Cass adopts Danny.

Danny gets de-aged, and dumped in Gotham to keep him safe from the GIW and Vlad and his parents. Cass is very liminal because of her time in the league, with a mainly empathy-based power set, and during one patrol, she feels something weird coming from an alley. 

She turns off her comms, then goes to investigate and finds smol Danny in a dumpster, trying to find food. He immediately clocks her as liminal so he trusts her purely because he knows she won’t turn him in to the government. Cass, meanwhile, is drawn to the small child, and turns her comms back on long enough to say “Babs, Bat-doption papers,” before scooping up the toddler and bringing him back to the cave. 

Danny is strongly reminded of Jazz, and he is completely fine with whatever is happening, because this liminal woman dressed as a bat found him, and then used empathy and a little ghostspeak to communicate what is happening, so he just relaxes into Cass’s arms.

Cass returns to the cave, and when asked why she has a child, she simply takes the stack of adoption papers Babs has set up, along with a tablet, puts her new kid to bed and falsifies some records to make him her legal son. Any attempts at questioning where she got Danny result in neutrally blank looks and Cass’s insistence that he is, and has always been, her son.

Bruce had been forced to bed early by Alfred for this patrol, and by the time he wakes up, eight hours of much-needed rest later, his children have come to the agreement that it’ll be really fun to fuck with his head, so he wakes up to a small child jumping on him, and, wondering whether he sleep-adopted another child, inquires as to Danny’s origins during breakfast. When he does, Tim looks shocked, Damian’s eyes widen as if he can’t believe his eyes, Cass looks betrayed, and the rest of the table just freezes. 

Hurriedly trying to fix his misstep, he asks what he said wrong, and Steph wraps her arm around Cass, picking Danny up, all while looking disappointed. 

Alfred finally breaks the silence by asking “Master Bruce, have you forgotten your grandson?” 

Bruce bluescreens. He figures out six hours later that while the kid is legally his grandson, he wasn’t present until last night, and he goes through the same process of questioning Cass and Steph about where they got the baby. The two women refuse to give any answer other than “he’s ours”.

Danny has now been adopted by a whole family of Liminals. There’s even a halfa, who reminds him a little of Dan, and he is very happy.

Duke absolutely adores his nephew. He quickly becomes Danny's favorite person outside of Cass, Steph, and Alfred.

Ooh the angst potential

The self is not so weightless, nor whole and unbroken Remember the pact of our youth

Whatever you do, don't think of Sirius Black.

Don't think of Sirius Black spending his twenty-first birthday surrounded by his family and friendsband boyfriend.

Don't think of him spending his twenty-second birthday alone, mourning his brother and cursing his best friend's name and looking at the moon because it reminds him of his boyfriend, who he now believes hates him.

Don't think of the fact that he was barely old enough to drink when he got sentenced to life in the most horrible place on earth, so horrific that people went insane.

Don't think of him spending hours and hours and hours as a black dog, crying on the floor of his cold cell, clinging to the knowledge that he is innocent as the only thing keeping him sane.

Don't think of him promising himself every night that one day, he will set the record straight.

Don't think of him slowly losing hope.

DC SHORT FIC : DAMIJON ANGST

It is dark when Jon holds him for the last time.

The dusk is deepening into twilit night, sky bruising purple like his love’s skin, darkness snuffing out the light in his emerald eyes, the ones that always mesmerized Jon to no end. 

He would stare at them for hours if he could, hands clasped together and time frozen at a standstill, infinity in perfect, flawless viridian.

He never realized how much emotion was in Damian’s eyes until it was gone, a spark destroyed, overtaken by too much shadow, not enough life left. The crystal clarity, sharp and cutting, analyzing him, is gone, a glazed expression to move no more.

Jon raises a hand to Damian’s face. He sweeps back a lock of hair that has fallen across his cheek, a brushstroke of ebony so similar to the ones he uses to shape faces on canvas. It’s soft, he realizes. Soft, and Jon leans down, burying his face in the space between his best friend’s neck and shoulder. Damian smells like dirt and blood and smoke and fire, but underneath there is an undercurrent of the shampoo he used this morning before they suited up and left for this mission. It’s Jon’s shampoo that Damian had taken a liking to. 

He wants to cry. To rage and scream and destroy, because what is the point of living if his love is dead, if the only one he’s ever truly needed, the only one who’d never leave him, is gone, gone to the one place Jon cannot reach, no matter how far or fast he flies.

His ears are ringing. He doesn’t know why. He’s invulnerable, after all.

Jon holds him close, like he did when they were young, Robin and Superboy, like he did when they were teenagers, Damian and Jon, like he does now, Batman and Superman, two halves of a whole, teammates and partners and best friends and lovers. Colleagues and roommates and supporters of each other. Sweethearts and admirers, paramours and beloveds. 

He holds him tight, a hug like the ones they give each other before they leave for patrol and an embrace like the ones when they reunite again. Like the ones he gave at sleepovers and on long stakeouts, beach days and picnics in the Metropolis Parks because Gotham was too dangerous for a date as civilians.

Jon kisses bloodstained lips and watches emerald fade, and then he stands up. 

He leaves his beloved’s side and he runs towards the enemy, a war cry to rival his father’s falling from his lips as tears carve tracks on bloody, muddy cheeks. 

The enemy falls. 

A green spear is thrown as he does, finding its target just a little off,  in a stomach instead of a heart. 

Jon goes back to Damian. The green of the glowing Kryptonite looks like his love’s eyes, and he smiles, a broken, ugly, beautiful thing. 

He pulls it out of his stomach and tosses it aside with human strength. He holds Damian as twilight fades to midnight, and the light is taken from electric, unnatural blue. 

Their families will find them, in the wee hours of the morning, and they will cry and scream and wail. 

It is of no avail, Fate and Death long run their course.

Before they leave, as Fate calls to her partner of eons, Death will raise their hand to their face and place something in the palm of the lover’s hands, an apology of sorts for two lives, two souls so perfect for each other, cut short.

None of their families will see the pearl, hidden in their intertwined hands. None but an Amazon. She will pluck the pearl from the pair and place it somewhere hidden, somewhere safe. Death does not cry for just anyone, after all.