#he survives

[kebriones]

Anyways here's my Odysseus design. His hat is important it protects his galaxy brain.

#odysseus #the odyssey #ancient greek mythology #GIVE HIM HIS HAT YOU COWARDS #HIS BEANIE #HE WILL GET SUNSTROKE OTHERWISE #no GPS: the poem #odysseus is like a tardigrade #everyone around him dies #he survives

[short-boii]

Haha decided to do an animatic of my favorite asshole with the hazbin hotel sound

i spedran to do this and it shows

haha creek’s homeless & guilt ridden/j

#trolls #trolls dreamworks #creek #trolls creek #if you couldn't tell #this is after trolls 1 #he survives #somehow #from chef idk #haha he’s being mentally unstable #trolls branch #trolls poppy #trolls world tour #trolls band together #heehehee he’s going through it #are you truly a villain without your own song? #technically it’s alastor’s but idc #lowkey #i want him to come back #as a big time villian #but that's just me #this song #suits him ngl #he probably still fears the bergens #that would be his downfall lmao #joking about the guilt #not the homelessness #he’s homeless

[noemitenshi]

Second Chances

a post season 8 story by

NoemiTenshi and rebelbravado

Chapter 1 - Maimed

The second he regained consciousness, he wished he hadn’t. His entire body crying out, shouting, screaming – tortured. He felt tortured, the pain overwhelming and all-encompassing. It took away his breath, took away his ability to think – what had happened? Why didn’t he know?!

He felt like throwing up, like screaming, like escaping. He felt like dying, the only way to escape, the only thing his mind could come up with, not even words, just a sentiment, vague and helpless. Desperate, so desperate—ohgodohgodohgod.

Panic seized him, a flood-wave collapsing over him, drawing him under, drowning him. The sudden and complete understanding that he was dying, coming over him with such clarity.

He was dying.

He was dying.

He had to do something. Anything. Had to move. Had to find help – and something in him recoiled – why though? Why, what had happened? Oh god, he was on the verge of death and he couldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember and it was more than just the unbearable agony he was in making it difficult. He just couldn’t. Didn’t know how this had happened, why it had happened. What had happened. All of him feeling like he was on fire, he could hardly parse where the pain was located. It was everywhere.

Everywhere.

Feverishly and with a pounding in his head he tried to look around, to concentrate on what he was seeing, but god, it was so difficult, his vision blurring, his head so heavy, feeling like it would explode any second now—he could hardly make sense of anything – nothing looked familiar, as if it was his first time he’d laid his eyes on his surroundings (but that couldn’t be).

His gaze dropped, exhaustion or frustration causing it, who could tell and a howl tore from him – more animalistic than human – wounded.

Maimed.

He’d been maimed.

The metal rod that had been used to skewer still in him. His hands reached for it – as if he could do something about it – or was it just the horror of seeing an object with the circumference of his lower arm sticking out of his stomach?! Running that through him – and his hands closed around it and his world tilted, turned and he felt like throwing up.

Something sticky on his fingers pulled his focus, blood, he was bleeding, bleeding since that thing had been put in him, red warmth seeping through his fingers and he was unable to stop it, unable to do anything but watch himself bleed out.

He needed to do something!

He needed to… get to someone. Find – anyone. Alone he couldn’t survive this. He could barely even think. This time the jolt of discomfort at seeking help didn’t even register, he was too focused on trying the unwise choice of standing up.

Movement hurt.

Movement made him feel this foreign object in him so very clearly. White hot agony he was wrapped around. It knocked his breath out of him, blanked his mind and he could only pant, exhausted.

But the panic was still there, the bone-crushing fear he’d die.

No, not fear.

Certainty.

The certainty he’d die had him in a vice grip, tore and ripped at him. And so he did move. Did move because anything else was death. He didn’t have enough energy to stand up, hardly had enough to crawl, but he did. Somehow he did, one hand at that iron rod, trying to not vomit, not to black out, more dragging himself forward than crawling, without even knowing where to, where would be safe, where could he find help!?

He just didn’t remember, oh god, why didn’t he?!

Didn’t matter, he just had to find someone. Anyone. He had to.

He was dying.

He was dying.

Not yet, not yet, not yet.

Inch by agonizing inch he was moving forward, under pain of death – and it was, it truly was – nauseous and hot all over. In flames, he was standing in flames – that was what it felt like. Burning up. And he would, would burn up, would burn right out.

There! There was movement, sounds. God, he almost hadn’t heard, hadn’t seen, too fucked up to register anything but the entirety of him in brutal, all-encompassing pain. But there was someone! He tried calling out, a broken sound escaping him. Tried again, put his all into it. All or nothing now. What else was he supposed to do? His next hey! was louder, loud enough for the person to turn, slowly, movements jagged – something felt wrong about this, sent a new sliver of fear down his back but he didn’t pay that any mind either. Didn’t until he saw that person’s face, registered, what it was, he was seeing, skin half rotted off the bones, mouth curled into an unnatural snarl and oh god, the sounds! Why hadn’t he noticed that the sounds were all wrong too?!

The impulse to run smacked into him and he followed it blindly, forgetting for a heartbeat that he couldn’t, and so he fell backwards, a scream torn from him as the impact moved the rod but he didn’t stop, half-crawled, half-dragged himself away while his eyes were glued to that form, that wrongness walking, advancing towards him now.

He felt the fight instinct rising, he had to, if it got to him – and it would, get to him – but how, how could he when he could barely move himself. How could he when he was barely alive.

Pain exploded behind his eyes, his head felt like it was about to burst open – he had collided with something. Someone he realized as the figure bent over him – he’d run headlong into another one of those things. Of course there were more, oh god. This was it.

This was it.

Something in him, remnants of useless resistance didn’t let him close his eyes, had him stubbornly confronting his fate head on. The last thing he’d ever see, these ghastily grotesque features approaching, the certainty that he’d be ripped apart.

That vision was so strong that for a moment it eclipsed reality. But then the figure's eyes widened, then, a furrow on its otherwise smooth skin of the forehead. No rotten flesh, no unnatural snarl. Not dead, after all. And that face – oh, that face! He knew that face, that face free of rot, no unnatural snarl pulling at dead lips.

“You,” he whispered, voice thin and croaking and still, still it was unmistakable colored with relief.

Because he knew that face. Knew it, without knowing how or why. And more, even. It made him feel not only relieved but safe.

The echoed “you?!” clearly surprised, confirmed it; this person knew him, too. Oh god, he knew him, too!

“Help me,” he managed to press out, gasp, really, on a stuttering breath – so drained of—everything.

And still he added, despairingly, tasting his own death already in the bitter tang of blood in his mouth, in the trickle down his chin, “P-lease.”

Then, everything went dark.

#troy otto #troy otto fanfic #fanfic #ftwd #ftwd fanfic #whump #hurt #no comfort #yet #fix-it #he survives #of course he does #my fic #second chances

[faofinn]

25. Confused/Disorientated

READ CAREFULLY - This prompt contains graphic descriptions of self harm and attempted suicide (unsuccessful). Reader discretion advised. Trigger warning for depression, self harm and attempted suicide.

Fao's depression had fluctuated in hospital, as it had his whole life. He’d taken meds for a while in Uni, come off them before he joined the Army, stayed off during his service. The routine, the responsibility, the success he’d had at his job had kept the ‘black dog’ at bay. He’d been clean for years whilst he’d been with Alex - they’d had the world at their fingertips, everything went the way it was supposed to. When the flares had come, when life had felt dark and hard and not worth living, she’d been there for him, to pick him up and urge him to carry on. His family had been too, supporting him and loving him and giving him a reason to keep going.  After Alex had died things had been much, much worse, the harm had started and those thoughts that told him he’d be better off joining her had crept in, but with friends and family around him he’d kept himself safe, kept himself alive, though the scars on his arms that obscured tattoos bore the brunt of it. 

The dark days were more frequent than the light ones in hospital. It was to be expected, he supposed - everyone stuck on the ward was in a bad place - but he’d muddled through as he always did. He spoke to his family, and Harrison, too. They picked each other up, supported each other as family did. 

But today had been the worst day of all. He’d had a shouting match with Harrison overnight, something stupid that neither of them had meant but tensions had been high, tired and in pain, and cross words couldn’t be unsaid. They’d sat in stony silence all morning, staring at each other across the room and neither one wanting to back down. To make matters worse, he was due another surgery, and they came to take him to theatre at around 2. It was due to be complicated, with the agreement he’d be in the HDU overnight post-op, so Fao’s room was empty yet again. He hated staring at the empty bed space, worrying about his friend. Cross words aside, they were friends, Hell more than friends, half the time. 

To make matters worse, the doctor who’d finally come to see him that afternoon had not been helpful in the slightest. He’d not met him before, and it was a good job, really. Fao admitted that his head wasn’t great, and was met with scorn. Apparently he should just stop thinking down, and get over himself. They wanted him out of hospital, he was wasting resources, and apparently they were stopping all of his painkillers too. According to him, he ‘shouldn’t be in pain anymore’ and the painkillers he’d been taking was ‘far too much’. By dinnertime, he was a mess. The pain was overwhelming, he couldn’t think straight. His head grew louder and louder, taunting him with thoughts he’d been successfully evading for days. 

The doctor confirmed that he’d be medically discharged, that they’d started the process, and that his career was essentially over. Fao knew it had been coming, but it hurt, especially on top of everything else. He was in agony, desperately trying not to cry, and as much as he asked the nurses for painkillers, they’d just sadly shake their heads and explain there was nothing on his drugs chart, and they couldn’t get anyone to prescribe anything. He wanted to call Sheila, Fred, anyone, but Sheila hadn’t answered his earlier texts and he’d let his phone die after that. He didn’t even want to move, curled up in bed sobbing. 

Eventually the tears stopped, and the thoughts started again. Goading him, telling him he was better off dead, that nobody cared. They wanted him to suffer, wanted him to be in pain. He deserved to be in pain. He was nothing but a burden. A burden to the staff, a waste of a bed, and when he was home he’d just be a burden to his family. He could barely walk without being in pain, how would he ever work again? 

He stumbled to the toilet later that evening, sore and struggling with his crutches. The little ensuite had stopped working, of course, which meant he had to walk all the way out to the nurse’s station and to the toilet on the ward itself. It made the pain worse, and his breath caught with every step. They were understaffed that night, and the nurses’ station was empty when he walked past. It was on his way back, he noticed the tray that had been left. He had no idea why, but he glanced over it, and caught sight of a scalpel blade that had been discarded haphazardly. Still packaged, obviously it hadn’t been used and had been forgotten about. It was easy enough to lean against the desk and slip it into his hoodie pocket before he carried on back to the room. Still cold, still empty. He hated not knowing - none of the staff had told him how Harrison was getting on, and with no phone to find out from anyone else, he had no idea. He sat back on the bed, breathing heavily from the effort and the pain. 

He slipped back under the blankets and tried to sleep, but it was useless. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could think of was that he was better off dead. His mind goaded him into ways that he could, telling him how his family would be better without him in it. They always had been better without him. They’d only adopted him out of pity, and without him they could focus on Finn,  give him the attention he deserved. He just wanted the pain to end, the thoughts to end. He wanted everything to just stop. If he gave into the thoughts, it would stop. It would all stop. 

The scalpel blade he’d pocketed called to him, and he slipped it from his pocket. The nurses wouldn’t bother him now, his obs were far enough apart, and it was easy to score the blade over his skin. But just to cut wasn’t enough, it wasn’t even close to enough. He needed the noise to stop, needed the pain to stop. 

He found the ecg trace tattoo on his wrist, that he’d gotten for Finn not long after his accident, and dug the blade deep into the flesh. The blood welled quickly in the wound, hot and dark over his skin, obscuring the solid black line of the tattoo. His fingers were slick with blood, but he scored deep across the other wrist. He felt dizzy already, his vision swimming, and he struggled to stay upright. There was so much blood, he felt a flash of fear as he realised just what he’d done. It was harder and harder to stay conscious, the darkness taunting him. It grew on the edges of his vision, and he wanted to give in. He’d get some peace, some rest in the darkness. He knew that. He desperately craved it. Everything in his head told him it was right, that it was better that way. But the flash of fear in his heart said otherwise. 

Slipping into the darkness, he found his call bell in his bed and fumbled to press the button, his fingers slipping. He managed, as the darkness overwhelmed him, pulling him down into unconsciousness. 

His buzzer drew the attention of the staff, of course, and when a nurse came into his room to check on him, she found him in a state, the blood soaking the sheets, everywhere. She pulled the emergency bell, of course, and staff poured into the room. He went straight into theatre in an effort to control the bleeding and stabilise him. It was difficult, he didn’t make their lives easy, but eventually he pulled through and went to recovery, then up to ICU. 

When Sheila was allowed to visit him, the nurse showed him to his bay, where he was laying motionless in the bed, save for the rise and fall of his chest. He was pale, too pale, even for him, oxygen over his face and lines all over the place, the central line obvious where it stuck out, his gown having slipped slightly off of his shoulder. He looked almost worse than when he’d just come back. They’d thought they’d gotten past it, but they were right back there. Blood was hanging along with endless other meds, and under the sheets, both wrists were heavily dressed. Fred had gone decidedly pale, and Sheila pressed her hand to her mouth, stifling a squeak. She forced her feet to move, and tucked his Eeyore under the sheets, resting on his chest. He’d want him, when he woke up. And it looked wrong to seem him without the little toy. 

They kept him sedated for a day or so, for his own sake, and so they could get him stable. They transfused endless units until they were happy with his bloods, that he was healing okay, no infection, and then they started to wean him off the sedation.

Fao had had moments of lucidity, an awareness his parents were there, flares of pain that drew his attention, but it quickly dissipated in a haze of painkillers that helped him drift back into the comforting darkness. When he began to stir a little bit more, he couldn’t work out where he was, why he felt so heavy, why every breath dried his throat, something pressing into his face. Moving was hard, but his fingers found something soft, and his brows pulled together in a frown. He tried to work out what it was, the soft fur under his fingertips, trying to see. His vision was blurry, it was a fight to focus, but he realised it was his eeyore. 

How had he gotten here? He didn’t remember what had happened, but he knew he wasn’t at home, the sheets were too scratchy, and the lights were too bright. It didn’t make sense, nothing did, but he was too hazy to really work it out. As he tried to move his wrist, he was met with a flare of pain that made him whine pathetically. 

The room didn’t make sense, overwhelmingly blue, the lights harsh and unnatural. He couldn’t place it, not at first, but it didn’t frighten him. He didn’t know why, maybe it was the fuzziness in his head, making it feel so distant. 

He must have drifted off into sleep, because when he woke again, everything felt a little clearer. Eeyore was still there, resting on his chest, but he recognised the material underneath him as a hospital gown with it’s distinctive patterning, and as his eyes flicked around the room again, he recognised it as a hospital ward, equipment everywhere. HDU? Intensive care? It was quiet, not loud enough to be a medical ward. His brain couldn’t work it out. 

Eventually, things started to piece back together, his accident, the surgeries, everything, but it hadn’t been that. He’d not been down for any more surgeries, he was done. He tried to clear his throat, forcing another breath as the panic built a little bit. Why didn’t he remember?  And then it all flooded back. It washed over him like a tidal wave, almost pulling the breath from his lungs. The guilt, the pain, the scalpel blade in trembling fingers, the blood. The fear, scrabbling for something, anything to get help, the enormity of what he’d tried to do crashing down on him. Evidently he’d failed, because he was here, but that didn’t stop the guilt. It threatened to choke him, overwhelmed and in pain, as he tried to move onto his side to curl up. He found he couldn’t, everything just too heavy and unco-operative. The tears started then, hot and angry, frustrated too. Everything just felt wrong, unclear and confusing, and he gripped his little Eeyore as he cried, a small flash of comfort amongst it all.

#sicktember 2023 #25. confused/disoriented #self harm tw #depression tw #suicide attempt tw #graphic description of suicide attempt #he survives #unsuccessful suicide attempt #suicide tw #Faolan Blackwood #Harrison Cunningham #Sheila Daniels #ICU #intensive care #this really is a dead dove do not eat fic #dark themes #depression #fao has a really hard time #bleeding out

[lord-ofthe-frogs]

after credits scene: nobody could have possibly survived that crash.. anyway let's talk about highly classified stuff that if the bad guys were still alive (we haven't found any bodies) they could possibly find and use against us

agent stone, seemingly unscathed outside of a small cut, having somehow aquired a full soldier outfit + weapons: oh fr?

#HOW DID HE GET THERE #HOW #honestly of course he did #that absolutely insane rapscallion of a man #I bet his little control deck was the safest place in the ship hehe :) #I mean if he WAS unconcious and the control place was safer (a box) and plus he was already slumped on the wall so had less impact from the #fall. #he survives #love that for him #actually guys oh my god actually? #that better not have been just some device to introduce shadow #He better be there PERSONALLY in a whole new villain fit I swear #I would lose my mind #sonic 2 #sonic movie 2 #sonic movie 3 #agent stone

[percentstardust]

finnick after surviving that lizard mutt attack:

#& if you like pina coladas ( shit posts ) #instead of them latching onto him #only one or two get a hold of him #and then maybe he loses an arm in the process #he just doesn’t die #he survives #gets to raise his son and be with the girl he’s wanted to be with and heal

[protoctist]

i know ryoko kui is a real one because she wrote 97+ chapters of a manga about fantasy ecosystems and food chains and not once did she write the phrase "survival of the fittest" (it's a bad phrase) (it's a social darwinist phrase even) (hated amongst biologists) (doesn't make sense) (darwin didn't use it) (coined by an business major) (one of the worst phrases in pop science) (no good)

#i think the closest she comes to this is when kabru says something about the weak being eaten but he also thinks all monsters should die #so i don't think he's like the voice of reason when it comes to ecosystems and evo bio NOT a kabru diss just saying #i think eat or be eaten is fine. it's like migrate adapt or die. i think it's fine and not the same as survival of the fittest #dungeon meshi #ETA: i was wrong darwin did use the phrase after it was coined. doesn't matter phrase still sux

[stil-lindigo]

when people reblog donation posts and say "donate what you can", I really feel like people aren't actually internalising it. not all of us can afford to donate $50, $100, more than that. but i know for a fact that there are thousands of us that can spare $2 or $5, and that all adds up.

it hurts so much to sit here and feel the limits of our own ability. we're not millionaires. we can't instantly fund these escape attempts. but these are bids for life, by people who never asked for the hellfire being rained upon them by sadistic colonialists, greedy for oil and land. they committed no crime other than being born in palestine. and of course it's unfair, to have to shoulder the weight of people's lives when we're all struggling to get by as it is. but our governments relentlessly fail us, they fail to scrape at the bottom of their cold dead hearts for their last dregs of humanity. it is so, so unfair, but it is up to the common man to save each other.

please. look at this spreadsheet. find a fund that resonates with you. and DONATE WHAT YOU CAN.

#i dont know what else to say anymore #i just want all of them to survive #theres truly nothing that could justify this ongoing genocide #and it kills me. that global pushback is so pathetic. gutless and meandering #free palestine #palestine #fuck zionism #fuck israel #we will see an end to zionism and israel within our lifetimes #i might be suicidal but im not dying before i see netanyahu get what he fucking deserves #donation post

[perplexingly]

“He never had any real hope in the affair from the beginning; but being a cheerful hobbit he had not needed hope, as long as despair could be postponed.”

The comic is based on a scene from the chapter “The passage of the marshes”

#my art #tolkien #lord of the rings #this part made me very emotional #this is not the first time that Frodo had spoke of dying but it’s the first time that it really went through to Sam #(he gets over it and plans their survival in the next chapter tho)

[sopuu]

canary’s ascent to death

#HE’S FREE!!!!!!! FREED CANARY!!!!! #something about jimmy being happy with his ending despite being in the first round of deaths again #so proud of him for surviving 20 minutes longer than the past 4 series <3 #and at the same time devastated at mumbo and lizzie’s deaths #mcyt #trafficblr #life series #solidaritygaming #jimmy solidarity #secret life #slsmp #secret life smp #sopuuart #good soup

[chloesimaginationthings]

Why was Nightmare Foxy in the closet in FNAF 4,,,

#myart #chloesimagination #comic #fnaf #michael afton #afton family #nightmare foxy #fnaf foxy #fnaf bonnie #fnaf 4 #fnaf fanart #five nights at freddy's #another unserious comic for yall ❤️ #like what did FNAF 4 mean by this…? #it is canon Michael had these dreams btw #seeing he draws nightmare fredbear in the survival logbook #so if the nightmare animatronics rep Michael and his friends #and Michael is foxy and foxy is in the closet … #what could it mean.. what is the fnaf lore for this.. #if only Matpat didn’t die he could figure this out

[beybuniki]

Your version of Deku makes me think that he ate dirt as a kid (and weirdly enjoyed it)

he did and bakugo can't wait to share this with class 1A

#he rlly does im cryinggggggggggggggg #inko freaking out and mitsuki telling her its ok and important for their development #'i let katsuki eat worms. izuku is gonna survive some sand' #beybunaski #bnha

[doublel27]

We’re never beating the “disaster bi” accusations if you swing from running into the closet screaming “hot chicks” on one date and then invite the man to your sister’s wedding blowing off the closet doors to everyone you know, including your biological parents, who are terrible, for the second.

good luck sir.

#that was a peak lesbian move buckley #if Tommy survives this he can survive anything #911 abc #evan buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy #tevan #kinkley #I don’t know which has won

[thatpunnyperson]

According to NBC here in the US, the missing titanic sub has been found. As debris. Off the bow of the Titanic wreckage.

And it looks like the sub suffered what we all suspected, and what was undoubtedly the more merciful of the two options: a catastrophic implosion from the pressure.

Also, more info has come to light about the fishing trawler with the hundreds of migrants that sank cataclysmically off the coast of Greece, indicating that the greek coast guard knew about the vessel AND how much trouble the vessel was in, and were towing it at a speed that made it capsize, at which point they unhooked the tow line and watched the trawler sink without helping the passengers to safety. Despite a bunch of other ships trying to help as well throughout the whole ordeal.

So a lot of people are dead, all because of regulations (and the lack thereof) regarding sea-faring vessels and rescue protocols. People shouldnt be allowed to make a business charging a ton of money for a ride on an uncertified, unsafe, un-seaworthy ship going deep into the ocean with no distress beacon or tether to the mothership. People also shouldnt be allowed to enact laws that criminalize the ferrying of refugees, which then force the refugees to hitch rides on fishing trawlers, and which also prevent people from helping those fishing trawlers full of refugees due to fear of legal consequences.

Hopefully BOTH of these events spark changes on an international scale in terms of what is legally allowed to be sailed, who is legally allowed to be the passengers, and what the rescue protocols are in the event of disaster for any seafaring vessel, illegal or not. It shouldnt be just the global 1% who get 24/7 search parties and remote-operated submersibles helping rescue them.

#the question of 'what do we owe to each other' can be answered simply with 'the dignity of retrieving our remains when we die' #another answer is 'the dignity of thinking about each other fellow humans with similar motivations and feelings' #also 'stopping someones potentially self-destructive behaviors just because theyre rich and want to feel special' #also i feel like humans have been sailing the seas long enough that it should be guaranteed that people will survive sea voyages #im very mad about specifically mediterranean maritime disasters because we have ancient writing saying they made it safe #sailing from Egypt to Greece was so old hat and safe that people legit took the ancient equivalent of cruises back and forth #cleopatra habitually sailed from alexandria to rome with a ton of ships and was fine #Nero tried to have his mother drowned at sea by orchestrating a dramatic shipwreck while she was our sailing AND SHE SURVIVED #and then swam to shore got back to rome and whooped his ass #fuckin pliny the elder tried to evacuate people from pompeii and the surrounding coast villages when vesuvius erupted #and he actually WAS able to rescue people #but he himself had an asthma attack from the fumes which led to a heart attack and he died on the beach #there is legit no excuse for that trawler of migrant refugees to have wrecked #negligence all around #anyway #oceangate

[qiinamii]

tiredge

#qiiarts #xiao #lumine #traveler #paimon #kazuha #zhongli #zhongli's been carrying every team comp i have to survive since day 1 he's also my first limited 5* literally on my first day playing #my emotional attachment to him is absurd and yet i have him at c0 for 2 yrs #love your peepaws dearly okay

[anjanahalo]

Potential DPxDC Prompt

Danny survived high school with his identity intact. It wasn't easy, and it involved "Phantom" making a deal with his parents to help fight the ghosts in return for their amnesty if permanent banishment back to the ghost zone, but no one was getting zapped or gooped or vivisected, so it's all great! Meanwhile Danny Fenton, though his life, has perfected a near universal stain remover that's not just effective even post-washing, but is also environmentally friendly (thanks ghost zone chemists for working even after death on your craft). He decides to submit it to the Wayne Foundation's Innovations of the Future contest for a potential scholarship (Jazz was already teleprompting him from her college in sending out at least ten essays a week for scholarships from other sources). He gets a full ride to the University of Gotham, along with a hefty contract for exclusive rights to his stain remover formula. The issue? Danny knows the product includes a short-lived form of ectoplasm to work, and he is very, very hesitant to allow something as big as Wayne Corp to learn about that. His parents and their zeal caused so much harm just wanting to learn about the Ghost Zone. How dangerous would it be for an Entire Corporation, whose business is to exploit for gain, to learn about it? He didn't think this scholarship application through, did he? Meanwhile Batco is horrified and aghast that a civilian not only sent in something with Lazarus water in it for a fuckin' scholarship, it is actually useful for something besides raising the dead!

#dp x dc #dpxdc #Danny just wonders how he can get that full ride without disclosing more info #The Bats wondered how some Kid in the midwest got his hands on enough lazarus water to work out this formula #and survived both the waters AND the assassins that'd obviously be sent against him if the LoA knew #here i go writing again