he's "sizing him up" or so they say
Summary:
“Haha, I didn’t think we’d meet again so soon, Red! Is this luck?” Those dead blues curve up in amused crescents, staring into Diluc’s. Who would’ve known that what he thought was a simple Fatui lackey all those years turned out to become the eleventh harbinger himself?
Celestia sure knew how to play with him in the worst way possible.
And what was a chance meeting between two strangers if they were to never meet again?
That was what Diluc thought as he carefully cleaned the glass in his hands, only to nearly drop it at the sight of orange, grays, and reds at the corner of his eye.
“Haha, I didn’t think we’d meet again so soon, Red! Is this luck?” Those dead blues curve up in amused crescents, staring into Diluc’s. Who would’ve known that what he thought was a simple Fatui lackey all those years turned out to become the eleventh harbinger himself?
Celestia sure knew how to play with him in the worst way possible.
“I request that you step out of my establishment this instant,” he snaps, suddenly feeling irritated by how carefree the other seemed to be despite waltzing into his territory. It was a shame that he couldn’t bring his claymore to scare him off lest he damage his most expensive liquor behind him.
And to his further irritation, the harbinger had the gall to laugh, and somehow, he found it… pleasant? Barbatos forbid, he even dares to say that the short laugh he heard sounds like music to his ears.
Diluc’s eye twitches at the thought, and he thinks that he must be going insane.
“... … … …! … …? … … … …”
The Fatui harbinger’s mouth opens and closes as he continues talking, but Diluc decides to ignore it in favor of sizing him up. The man has certainly grown in the time that they weren’t able to see each other, and he could see the well-trained muscles hiding behind that awful coat. Tartaglia’s face also seemed to mature compared to before, looking much more slim with a slightly crooked nose from a healed broken nose.
His wandering eyes focus on the freckles he spotted on Tartaglia’s cheeks absentmindedly, his hand traitorously itching to take a pen just to connect the dots.
Damn Fatui and their unfairly attractive ginger diplomat.
“...mrade? …Master Ragnvindr, are you even listening?” Chapped lips slanted lopsidedly in a roguish smirk, and Diluc knew he stared for too long. Damn it.
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Phantom, the newest addition to the Justice League, pulls Wonder Woman aside.
He has...a strange request.
He's nervous, flustered, fading in and out of the visible spectrum. It's clear that what he's about to ask of her is important to him, and even though she has an uncomfortable voice in the back of her head telling her this young hero is about to ask her out, she resolves to listen before she jumps to conclusions.
She's glad she did.
"Can...can you put a grave for me in Themyscira? I know it's just for women, but it's the safest place I can think of for it! I just...I don't have a grave, and Clockwork says it's starting to stunt my growth as a Ghost, and I have too many enemies on American soil, so. It's okay if you say no, though, I'll figure something out, it's fine."
Diana lets him ramble to the end, already knowing what her answer is going to be.
"We would be honored to host your grave, Phantom. Do you have any remains I can take home? Do you require a funeral service?"
Phantom looks...he looks beyond grateful. Close to tears.
"No, no remains. A symbolic grave is fine, it just. It has to have my real name on it, my mortal one." He says, looking hesitant. "Please don't reach out to my family, Wonder Woman. They don't know."
With that, he hands over a small slip of paper, torn from a notebook and clearly folded one too many times.
She takes it as though he were entrusting her with the rarest diamond in the world. She wants to, but she does not ask how they could not notice the death of someone so very bright.
Instead she nods, tucking the paper away.
Phantom will get a grand grave, one worthy of a friend to the Crown of Themyscira. She will ensure it.
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I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt
“Woah. You look like shit."
Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.
The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.
"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."
And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.
The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.
If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.
"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.
"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.
"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.
The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.
He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."
There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.
"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."
Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"
"Daniel? Is that you?"
His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.
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