Ive Never Really Met Anyone That Thought Of Ribs As Interesting… That’s Such A Shame. Ribs And The

Dick, to the Titans: OK this is my little brother, everyone has to be so nice to him!

Jason, 6'4, built like a double fridge and holding a gun: Hey.

The Titans:

Years later.

Dick, to the Titans again: OK this is my even littler brother, everyone be super super nice to him!

Duke, 6'2, built like a linebacker and lit up like a glo stick: Yo.

The Titans:

Years after that.

Dick, again, to the Titans: OK this is my littlest baby brother, everyone has to be so sweet to him! He's a baby!

Damian, 18 and 6'0, made of pure muscle and holding a sword: Greetings.

The Titans: ...where are you finding these brothers.

This, this is what I want

Learning to Be Someone's Favorite

braindead version of this post

Tim, of course, would never believe that he could be anyone's favorite person.

Tim doesn’t expect anyone to like him—not right away, not even eventually. He’s learned to approach every new connection with the quiet, sinking knowledge that the best he can hope for is tolerance, and the worst is outright disdain. It’s not paranoia, not in his mind. It’s pattern recognition.

People don’t dislike him on purpose, not really. But Tim knows what he is—a little too sharp, a little too obsessive, a little too much. He doesn’t have the warmth Dick has, the easy charisma that draws people in. He’s not raw passion and magnetic energy like Jason. He’s not Cass’s quiet strength or Damian’s undeniable presence.

Tim is… there. Functional. Useful. And if people don’t like him, that’s fine. It’s not like he’s giving them much reason to.

Which is why Danny throws him completely off balance.

At first, Tim doesn’t know what to make of the guy. Danny just… shows up one day, cracks a joke, and slips into Tim’s life like he belongs there. He’s ridiculous and charming in that obnoxious, impossible-to-hate way that makes Tim’s head spin. And he stays. That’s the strangest part. Danny keeps showing up—at the Cave, during patrols, sometimes in Tim’s apartment with no warning, casually eating cereal like it’s completely normal.

Tim keeps waiting for the catch. People like Danny don’t stick around for people like him, not once they get to know him.

But Danny stays.

And not just stays. He latches onto Tim like it’s second nature, treating him like a gravitational center. Danny always seems to know when Tim’s burning the candle at both ends—he’ll show up uninvited with coffee and snacks, throw Tim over his shoulder (literally) to force him to take a break, or just plop down next to him and start chatting away about nothing until Tim feels the tension in his shoulders loosen.

Danny likes him.

The realization hits Tim like a sucker punch one night after a particularly grueling patrol. They’re sitting on a rooftop, splitting the last of the takeout Danny insisted on ordering, when Danny leans back and says, casually, “You know you’re my favorite, right?”

Tim nearly chokes on his noodles. “What?”

“You’re my favorite person,” Danny repeats, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He grins, bright and unbothered. “I thought you knew that.”

Tim stares, unsure what to say. It doesn’t feel real—he’s used to Danny’s teasing, but this isn’t that. Danny’s just... stating it. Like it’s fact. Like Tim is the kind of person anyone would ever call their favorite.

His first instinct is to reject it, but he doesn’t. Not outright. Instead, he files the comment away, tucks it deep into the place where he hides the things that scare him most.

After that, Tim notices the way Danny treats him. How he never seems to prefer anyone else, how he always seeks Tim out first, how he lights up when Tim enters a room. It’s overwhelming, and terrifying, because Tim’s used to relationships being conditional. He knows how easily favor can turn into irritation, frustration, dislike.

Tim starts to tread lightly. He keeps himself carefully controlled around Danny, terrified of making the wrong move. He goes over every word they exchange, second-guessing himself constantly. The last thing he wants is to push Danny away—or worse, turn that bright, unwavering affection into resentment.

But Danny doesn’t seem to notice Tim’s cautiousness. Or if he does, he doesn’t care. He keeps showing up, keeps throwing an arm around Tim’s shoulders, keeps calling him his favorite with a grin and a wink. He stays.

And slowly—so slowly Tim doesn’t even notice at first—he starts to believe it.

Danny Fenton thinks Tim Drake is the coolest person in the multiverse.

And maybe, just maybe, Tim is finally starting to think it’s not a mistake.

rb to have a super gay 2023

Earth is Space Australia “Storm of Ice.”

“Are you going to bother telling me where we are going?” Krill wondered examining the camera feed from the hull of the ship and out into the vast darkness of space.

Compared to what he was used to, this part of space was relatively empty, no nebulae, no ice fields, and only the distant arm of a spiral galaxy to add light to their movement.

The captain waved a dismissive hand, “Oh, nowhere important.” Krill panned the camera around to face forward watching as the bright yellow of a terribly average star winked at them from the darkness. As fast as they were going, the star ahead slowly began to expand.

“Initiating breaking sequence, Captain.” One of the crewmen announced.

Krill panned the camera a little further to their right and watched in mild awe as the gas giant grew large in his vision dwarfing its moons a thousand times over. Bands of wind spun upon its surface varying from different shades of red and cream. They entered the pull of the gas giant at just the proper angle to cut across its field and around slowing all the while form the resistance of its gravity before continuing off into space and towards that average main sequence star expanding in the camera’s lens. Expanding much slower now that they had decreased their speed.

A couple of ships detached from the hull as they passed the next planet over.

Krill panned the camera over again in time to see the dark side of a planet winking at him with a thousand distant lights.

“Where are we, Captain?”

“Oh, that, just a midsized human colony.”

The ship was forced to turn following in a circular arc around the sun as they raced towards the next planet, a distant speck in the vastness of space barely visible against the light of the sun.

The captain took place at the helm and manually began slowing the ship even further. He wouldn’t have risked doing the same thing as fast as they had been going earlier, but now he was able to bring the ship to a slow drift as they approached the planet. Despite the captain’s wishes, Krill moved over to the navigation console and seated himself bringing up the current statistics on the system.

“Main sequence star eight planets.”

Keep reading

notes for my impostor syndrome:

• no, it's not painful to walk for abled-bodied people

• no, healthy people don't usually use every chance they get to lean against walls or sit down

• no, ableds don't dream about shower stool

• no, ableds don't celebrate days when they're not in pain. because usually they're not in pain

• no, ableds don't want to stop walking mid-way, lay down on the ground, curl up and cry and whine from pain

• no, ableds aren't exhausted by their own bodies 24/7

They know instantly.

I want Danny, in king Phantom form, to meet Billy, in his hero form, and for them both to immediately know that they other isn't the age they present themselves as.

They then proceed to troll the whole League into believing that they've been friends for eons.

Seeing ghosts in Gotham

He’s walking alone. Despite how dark it is, he’s not particularly nervous, not like the couple of people hovering in an alley.

His shift at Batburger went a little long, not that he’s complaining, he needed the money.

Everything is fine. Splendid. Fantastic. A little quiet, enough to pretend it’s a nice stroll home like it was back in Amity. Of course that all kind of goes up in flames when a dark figure drops into a crouch right in front of him. About two arm lengths away is a guy who straightens to a little taller than Danny himself. From the flickering street light across the street he can spot red, crisscross yellow, and a dark cape.

Red Robin.

Danny shakes his head and turns around.

“Nope.”

A smaller body is already standing behind him, blocking his path. The little guy with a serious face folds his arms across his chest as if challenging Danny to try to get by him.

He’s had enough tussles with Danielle to know better than to test the kid.

Danny rubs at his eyes with a hand, purposefully keeping the other limp at his side. He turns back around.

“Okay. Fine. What? What do you want?”

“You sent in a folder of information to solve the Boothe case,” Red Robin states confidently like there wasn’t any doubt it was Danny who sent it in.

He frowns. It was sent in anonymously. As in they shouldn’t be able to know it was him. Then again they are detectives in their own right even if they dress weird.

“See? This is why no one helps out the police if they’re gonna get grilled for it later on,” he complains sourly.

“That case is connected to another string of crimes we’ve been investigating. I need to know where you got your information.”

Danny glares at him for a second, actually thinking about telling him, then he remembers how quickly these guys throw people into Arkham.

“Do you not get what anonymous means?”

“What is your source?” He asks, completely ignoring Danny’s concerns.

“What are gonna do? Dangle me over the side of a building to get me to talk like you do with the criminals you guys pick up? Go ahead. See where that gets you,” he shrugs indifferently.

“You’re a runaway.”

Danny’s eyes widen in surprise before narrowing into a warning as he turns to look at the pipsqueak that spoke.

“From your poorly made fake ID and the fact you don’t look close to eighteen, you must be a runaway minor. We could bring you in to the proper authorities if you prove to be… uncooperative.”

Danny sneers in annoyance.

“Seriously?” He turns back to Red Robin. Clearly the older of the two and the one leading this investigation. “This is what I get for trying to help? Blackmail?”

“Robin can be a bit… abrasive. I, on the other hand, can appreciate a different approach.”

Suddenly there’s a couple pieces of paper money in between his fingers. Danny couldn’t see how much it was from this far away, but it didn’t really change how he felt about the whole situation.

“Now bribery? Wow, you guys really got the whole good cop, bad cop thing down, don’t cha?”

“Then what do you want?”

“For you to stop wasting your time,” Danny answers with a snap.

Red Robin pauses.

“Our time,” he repeats calmly.

“Yea. Your time. This is a dead end and you should move on.”

“And why are you a dead end?” Presses Robin.

“Because,” Danny emphasizes with a look over his shoulder, “the guy you’re really looking for, my source as you put it, is dead, okay? So you can’t go ask him questions. I sent in everything that was relevant. Find another lead.”

Red Robin’s expression remains blank as he mentally calculates his next move. Danny hopes he takes his advice and let him go home.

“His name?”

Danny folds his arms over his chest, a pathetic attempt to protect himself. He chews on his lip a minute. To tell him or not to tell him. It’s not really ratting the guy out since he’s, you know, dead. Although there is a large chance Danny’s missing something and it’s all going to lead back to him somehow.

“I didn’t kill him.”

“I never said you did,” the vigilante replies calmly, almost nonchalant.

Danny shifts his weight with nerves. He really wasn’t getting out of this without giving them something, huh?

“Greg,” he grinds out like it’s painful.

Silence for a few moments, then-

“As in Gregory Boothe?”

The victim of this whole conversation? Yes.

Danny’s silence is answer enough and the diverted gaze just solidified their suspicions.

“Gregory Boothe’s body turned up a month ago. Presumably he’d been dead for several weeks before that.”

Red lets that damning information hang in the air like Danny didn’t already know.

“So when did he talk to you? Last week?”

Danny jerks at the off handed joke, actually taking a step back and hitching his shoulders up to his ears. He grimaces at his knee jerk response, but can’t take it back. A glance toward the vigilante shows a calculating stunned expression from what he can see ignoring the mask. He looks away again finding a discarded soda can very interesting.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Demands Robin behind him.

Danny tried to resist the urge to curl even more into himself, but knows he failed without even having to look.

“You’re a medium,” Red Robin states. It’s not even a question.

Danny flinches and shoots the guy a scared glare.

“I am not one of those scam artists,” he hisses firmly.

“No,” Red agrees, “you’re not. You didn’t ask for money or attention.”

Danny stares like it’s his first time seeing him. The lack of aggression or accusations was new and a little disarming. He was genuinely confused as to why the guy wasn’t immediately going to denial or throwing him in Arkham.

“Hell of a city to hide in when you can see ghosts,” Red Robin says in a light tone like he was teasing him. The small tug to his lips just proves it.

Danny’s shoulders practically sag at the playful demeanor. A hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck self-consciously.

“Yea, well… no one was gonna look for me here.”

Which was only half the reason he chose Gotham, but it was still truthful.

“So… Greg?”

“Isn’t here right now.” Danny pauses and snorts at himself. “Please leave a message.”

The vigilante does have a sense of humor because he smirks in response to the joke.

“Is there another way to… make contact? Summoning maybe?”

Danny raises an eyebrow incredulously.

“Summoning is rude,” he says like it’s common sense.

Instead he turns to the nearest reliable ghost in the vicinity.

“Hey, Susan, can you go-“

The vigilantes can’t hear how she interrupts him because she was standing there the whole time and knows exactly what he was going to ask.

“Okay, thanks. Meet at mine.”

The ghost woman nods and flies off to go hunt down dear old Greg and Danny turns to Red Robin. He makes a casual move with his head to say ‘follow me’ and continues walking down the sidewalk past the guy and further into the old, decrepit buildings he’s been squatting in.

They already know he’s a runaway, being homeless shouldn’t come as a shock to them. Even with his two jobs, he can’t afford to rent an apartment. No wonder so many people are in poverty or in the slums.

He ducks into his rundown building, ignoring the rats scurrying away, and hops up the rickety stairs, avoiding the ones that were unstable. It was a nightmare figuring out which steps were faulty. Lots of injuries.

At the top he turns to see Red easily copying his movements up the stairs while Robin balances along the railing like a tight rope. When they reach the top at the same time Danny just stares at them for a moment before shaking his head in exasperation. Darn vigilantes. Why did Danny have to get caught up in this mess?

He turns, walking along the floor closest to the wall before getting to what he’s deemed his room.

It used to be an office from what he can tell. A desk pushed against the far wall and a ripped sofa he’s been using as a bed on the other wall. The floors were the most stable in this room which really won out.

Danny goes to the desk where all his papers are scattered over the surface. An organizational pattern only he understands as he shuffles through the pile he pulls from the cubby above the desk. It holds all the same information he sent into the police, just in its raw form with about twice the amount of useless information. Along with it is a few other ‘cases’ that sounds familiar that he just threw together into a pile. Maybe the genius detectives could decipher what he couldn’t.

“Here,” he says, holding out the stack. Red Robin doesn’t hesitate to take it off his hands.

There’s no chair for the desk anymore so he slides some papers out of the way to hop onto the desk to wait.

“No.”

The vigilantes look at him and he shakes his head and looks over to the side.

“No, Abby. I’m not wasting their time.”

Red Robin goes back to flipping through papers. Most of them were old business papers he had found in the office and just written on the back. Some were receipts or pamphlets or some other random scrap of paper he could get his hands on.

“Because yours was an accident. There’s nothing for them to solve.”

Robin watched him cautiously as if waiting for Danny to snap or suddenly turn violent. Instead he leans back on his hands in a vulnerable position which screamed ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone’.

“There is a lot more information here than what was submitted to the police,” Red Robin comments neutrally, purposefully ignoring Danny’s exasperated sigh and one-sided conversation.

Danny shrugs in defense, “Didn’t think all of it was relevant.”

The vigilante doesn’t respond.

Robin drifts closer as Danny gives a withering glare to the corner. He examines the mess of papers surrounding the teen in the low lighting.

“Are these all files of victims?”

Danny glances over them with a knowledgeable eye.

“Most.” He twists to point at the top left corner of the cubbies. “Those are accidents though… well, what sounds like accidents.”

“There should be more.”

Danny looks at the boy with a tilted head and raises brow.

“Not everyone sticks around,” he explains simply.

Then something draws his attention away across the room. Surprisingly his eyes don’t glaze over like someone with mental illness, instead they sharpen to see something they can’t. It resembled Constantine or Thomas.

“Greg, these guys wanna talk to you.”

What proceeds is a very awkward interaction with Danny as a middle man between victim and vigilante. Despite the need for a translator, Red Robin does in fact get a lead from the conversation.

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

Danny nods. “Sure, no problem. Just don’t rat me out to the police and I can help with any other case that pops up with a ghost attached.”

“You know we can help with your living situation,” Red Robin offers with a glance around the room.

“What, and put me in foster care? No thanks, I’ll pass.”

“There are other options,” Robin chimes in with nonchalance that implies he doesn’t actually care.

“You don’t pass for eighteen, but if you let me make you a new ID we could say you’re emancipated.”

Danny frowns.

“I’d have to be sixteen to be eligible for emancipation.”

“You could be sixteen.”

No, he really couldn’t. Maybe if you squint your eyes and tilt your head, but Danny is fourteen with all the baby fat and innocent face that comes with it. His license now is a clear fake to anyone who sees it, but in this city no one’s gonna question it to his face. They just raise a brow, look at him, then shrug it off and roll with the lie.

“What do you want?” He demands. All this good will and wanting to help him can’t be free.

“We want to help,” Red says too easily.

Danny stares for a second, eyes narrowed as he tries to block out the multiple voices around him.

Insurance. He wants Danny to owe him so he can keep coming back for more information.

“I just told you I would help. Why are you still trying to get leverage?” He demands with irritation.

“We want to help-“

“You want me in your back pocket.”

Red Robin doesn’t give that a response, his lips pressing together to make a hard line.

Instead of pushing, he surprisingly takes a step back and heads towards the door, papers still in hand. Danny doesn’t argue.

Robin ducks out first, blending into the shadows without even a glance over his shoulder. Red Robin pauses in the doorway.

“Don’t try to skip town,” he states like an order. Like if Danny did in fact try, he would be found and brought back.

It didn’t even cross Danny’s mind.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he says tiredly, too fed up with the day to defend himself.

Red Robin watches him for a moment before nodding and disappearing out the room.

Danny slumps with a groan, finally sliding off the desk to shuffle to the couch, body flopping face first into the worn cushions.

It’s silent to everyone else but Danny.

“I know.”

…

“I know, Jack, but I don’t trust them. Even if he is your son.”

Danny never noticed the bug planted by Robin on the underside of the desk.

John Constantine knows full and damn well that Phantom isn't a thousands year old ghost.

He knows because, in the middle of a fight against a deranged warlock, Phantom let out a small, warbling chirp in response to getting hit.

He'd quickly covered it up, but Constantine knows that that chirp is.

It's the ghost equivalent of a baby cry.

With as uncertain and lost as that one was, it was a ghost newborn cry.

Phantom isn't even ten years old as a ghost. Constantine would ventures to say that he isn't even five.

Worse, no other ghost responded to the chirp.

Phantom is, in ghost terms, an orphan.

Which is what has led to Constantine creating a portal to the Infinite Realms, so he can walk into the Realms Child Ghost Education Resource Center and make sure Phantom gets a good ghostly guardian.

The kid's been through enough, and John's gonna make sure he gets someone good.

Don't you worry about my pronouns. My pronouns are pretty standard. Worry about my adverbs. My most frequent ones are "omniously", "haphazardly" and "obliviously".