Gingkos and fanfictions

Bonus

*6 weeks later*

Jon, postmission: Agh what are we going to do with this beast? Danny is going to be here in 5 minutes! He can't see this thing! He'll freak out!

Damian, pouting: If father would just see reason and let me keep him, we wouldn't be in this situation.

Jon: What even is it? It looks kinda dogish? Maybe it already has an owner?

Beast in question: *towering golden colored animal with a wrinkled dog like snout, massive dog like paws, scales going up its limbs, long, slightly curled fangs, a curly lion-like mane, and a long curly furred tail*

Jon: I don't see a collar, do you?

Damian: No. Perhaps-

Beast: *perks up*

Danny: Hey, sorry I'm a bit early, astronomy club let out early because Michael was stupid and did a back flip off the- *stops as he makes eye contact with the "beast"*

Jon: Uhhh Danny, listen this this is-is uh-

Damian: A statue. I had it commissioned and it just arrived-

Danny: How in all the afterlives did you find a Fu Dog puppy in America!*eyes glittering in awe*

Damian: Fu Dog?

Jon: Puppy?!

Danny: Hi baby! Oh you're just the cutest thing aren't you?

Fu Puppy: *wags and shoves his nose in Danny's hand, having decided Danny wasn't an evil spirit*

Danny: So how did you find him? Fu Dog breeders are suuuper touchy about where they send their puppies, they're almost unseen outside of China! *happy petting the massive puppy, ignorant to the bewildered looks he was getting*

Jon: Oh uh we jus-

Damian: Jon told me you were in search of a dog. My father has a friend that pulled some strings. He was supposed to be a surprise, but due to some miscommunication the puppy was delivered early.

Danny, eyes soft: Really? Jon thats the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me.

Jon, blushing: Oh uh it was-it was nothing!

Danny: Oh but this must have cost a fortune! How much do I owe you?

Damian: No need, my father happily payed, it barely made a dent. You can repay us by taking good care of him.

Danny: If you're sure. *laughs as the puppy licks him*

Jon: So, uh, not to be a party pooper but how is he going to fit in your house?

Danny, laughing: Uh, spirit shifting silly! All mythical dogs are able to do it, its how they blend in with their owners when they're masquerading as human or living. Its taught to all puppies as soon as they're old enough to be taught, since its so important to our part of the worlds secrecy. Watch, *clicks his tongue to grab the puppy's attention* P̸͚̦͌͆u̴̘̠̞̒͌p̸̡͖͛̈́͊͜p̸̠͉̠̒͘͘ÿ̵̫͚͓́̾͝,̴͕̼͖̓͌ m̸̺͕̘͋͠͝á̵̻͙͐́s̸̙͇̫̓́̚k̸̟̝͛̕͝.̴͓̠͉̐͌

Fu Puppy: *starts shimmering gold, and shinks down. the light dissipates revealing a tiny apricot colored Shar-Pei puppy*

Danny: See? *happily picks up his new puppy* Its fine!

Damian: *staring thoughtfully*

Sokka does not teach or study history, but he does sometimes sit in on lectures about recent history. Whenever he does, several doctoral students flock in to sit near him (even if it's an intro course) so that they can eavesdrop on his grumbling. (No matter how they try, an "overheard utterance" is not a valid source according to their professors. No, we have no sources on the Avatar's bison taking part in combat - sky bison are not war animals and...)

He gets regular deliveries with the Beifong family crest on them, and he goes "sweet, Toph must have found some new minerals" and at this point nobody needs to ask which Toph. He seems to have friends everywhere, literally everywhere. Wang was headed out to this massive swamp to study if it's one big organism, and Sokka told him to find some guy named Hue and "don't mind the loincloth." One time the university gets shut down because the Earth King wants to visit. Oh, visit the University? What an honor- Of fucking course not, he wants to visit Professor Sokka, who yells at him and his royal guards for interrupting his day. The Earth King and his many, many royal guards then sheepishly say sorry and file out.

The last straw is when - not a week after he yelled at the Earth King - the assistant head of the Political Science dept walks in to the faculty lounge to find Sokka having tea with a nice normal man dressed in Earth greens for once, and can't resist a little joke. "Let me guess, you're having tea with the Fire Lord." And then she can instantly tell that she fucked up, because both of them go stock still.

"You will follow commands."

"Why?"

"You will be activated by the phrase The Shadow over the Flag"

"Why?"

"You are a weapon," Waller hissed at the clone who was staring at her evenly from the chair they had strapped him to.

"Why?" The darn thing repeated, tilting his head much like the bird his donors called themselves.

"You don't need to know why." She spat, nodding her head at one of the scientists. They took that as a sign to turn on the electricity, listening to the boy scream as it ran amok through his body. She counted to twelve before raising her hand to signal the electricity to end. "You are a weapon of the United States."

The clone gasps through his pain before raising his head and grinning at her. Almost as if he wasn't just about to pass out from the mental training they were attempting to put him through. "Why?"

Scowling, she turned away, throwing a command over her shoulder. "Break him."

The clone's voice yelled back. It's eerily cheerful, much like the first Robin had been whenever he attacked goons or the second Robin when he set a building on fire or even the third Robin when he outsmarted adults. "I'll catch up to you later. I'll catch up to everyone involved with my creation, and I'll teach you what happens when you attempt to make a living weapon."

She didn't care. Waller had been threatened her entire life by beings far stronger than the experiment they had created. She doubted that it could fine her or her team. It was a mystery where the clone had developed a personality—one that took nothing seriously and seemed almost happy in the chaos that brought it pain—but she had broken many people before.

One she helped create would be just as simple to break.

A week later, Waller found out that everyone in that unnamed government sector had been hunted down and killed by the clone that had escaped with none the wiser. She found out because it was waiting for her, wearing the wedding rings of those on her team and the badges of those who were unmarried.

Waller had found it sitting comfortably on her desk in her home office, flipping through her laptop and sending files to random emails.

"I wonder how many Americans are going to die with that information out." A wide, wicked grin rested on its lips as it released files and files of government secrets. She stood there, frozen in the doorway, unsure of what to say as it raised its head and stared her down with borrowed eyes. "I wonder how quickly the country you love so much will turn on you for a few files."

Waller responded by raising her gun and firing. But the clone bent in a way that spoke of the First, dodging the bullets with a gentle laugh. As if she wasn't trying to shoot it, but instead they were having a little pillow fight at a sleepover. Then, in the next second, her right hand was gone, nothing more than an explosion of blood.

Like a water spray bottle that had squirted out a stream.

She stared at it, more confused than in pain, watching the blood leak down her arm. The gun clattered against the ground as the Clone giggled. "Oopsie, mother had a little spill~!"

"Protocol Alpha-ten!" She shouted, twisting on her heel and running down the hall as her security system automatically started destroying files and locking down the building.

"Overright: Omega-four-four-three," A voice calmly called out. Her voice. Waller realized with horror that the clone was skipping after her, mimicking her speech so well that the security system halted all movement. It believed the clone.

But they had tested it against the Martians' shapeshifting. And not even taking her form could trick her system!

"Are we playing tag?" The clone called out, and suddenly, bam- her left leg from the knee down was gone. She stumbled, grabbing onto the wall, with a cry as the clone laughed more. "Am I it?"

"Protocol: Nine-Pitch Black!" She screams, praying the message gets out —if only as a warning to the rest of the world —but even before she finishes speaking, another voice overlaps hers.

"Override: White Fall five-nine-eight-twelve." The clone walked up behind her, kicking out her good knee. Waller tumbled to the ground, breathing heavily, trying to think through the pain. It crouched down to her fallen form, tsking. "Calling for help? From the Justice League? After all the grief you've given them? A new low even for you."

"What...what are you?" She gasps, watching his blue eyes shimmer to green and his teeth sharpen. The DNA was human, not even meta-human. None of the Bats were. So, how was this clone changing? Did someone on the team mess with its DNA strand when they were making it?

"Shhhh shhhhhh." The clone cooed, pressing his finger against her trembling lips as a terrible pressure filled the air. A chill broke across her body as frost slowly crept along the walls, and the lights burst one by one. The clone's glowing grin looked more and more haunting by the second.

"My dead Amanda Waller." It purred, leaning in and letting its human features melt away to reveal a monster. "You know what I am. All living things know what I am. They can't escape me."

"Death," The word feels punched out of her, and its green eyes seem to dance with amusement.

"Your death."

No one heard her scream, and no one noticed when she was silenced for good.

____________________________________________________________

Bruce Wayne gets a knock on his door at three in the morning just as the team is coming back from patrol. He wants to tell his kids to go get it, but everyone is half dead on their feet from the latest fight, so after getting out of his suit and throwing on his best bed robe, he makes the trek to the front door.

He doesn't even have to pretend to be exhausted. Bruce is getting up there in age, and hero work was a young man's job.

He rubs at his eyes while swinging the large front door open, a sarcastic remark on the tip of his tongue, but it dies the second he sees what's standing on his doorstep.

A child, the perfect blend of all his sons, that it was almost like he was looking at one of those holographic posters of his children's child school photos, beams up at him.

In his hands, dripping blood onto the steps of Wayne Manor, is the head of Amanda Waller, frozen in a permanent petrified scream for all eternity.

"Hi," the child chirps, eyes crinkling like Dick's, lips pulled into a half-smirk like Tim's, and nose scrunched up like Jason's. Bruce was struck dumb by how adorable he seemed despite more heads of unknown victims resting at his feet. "My name is Danny Phantom. I was told this was where my DNA came from, and that makes it my home, doesn't it? Do you like games?"

What none of the unnamed government sector workers knew was that the blood they collected around Gotham had been contaminated. It was filled with the curse that made even the gentlest souls mad.

The man was charming, eager to work, and excited to prove himself. He never slacked off; he always kept on top of his deadlines, was friendly with his coworkers, and was always on time. Really, the only trouble that Foley had caused was his rivalry with Tammy Johnson from Accounts.

Apparently, the two hated each other on sight, and there was no real reason for it. Tim had a personal theory that Foley's sarcasm clashed heavily with Johnson's no-nonsense way of work. Johnson was exceptionally good at her job, but she tended not to get along with her coworkers because she took everything too literally and often confused a joke for an insult.

Johnson also became incredibly defensive, building up a wall after a perceived offense was made, and spent the rest of her time working with the offender in a passive-aggressive manner.

She also made comments here and there that hinted at her less-than-accepting point of view of the LGBT+ community. Nothing that Tim could drag her to HR for, but certainly something to keep an eye on.

That's why he jumped in so quickly when he overheard Foley and her arguing over their disagreement about the stick tower design at the last all-staff training retreat. He had heard Johnson rip into Foley, taking apart every one of his suggestions, with complete condescension and a bit of mockery until Foley's tired voice rang out.

"Is it because I'm gay, Tammy?"

Tim thought he finally had a chance to get her in some kind of trouble, but Foley had shut that down quickly. After explaining that the question was more internet humor than anything Johnson could have said, Tim found that he couldn't make the guy stop talking. Foley, it seemed, tended to ramble when panicked or nervous.

Meeting and speaking with the CEO tended to make many employees nervous.

Foley babbled on and on about his husband, how they were childhood friends who turned into sweethearts and then married, living the dream in the big city of Gotham with such devotion and love. Tim couldn't help but extend an invitation to bring the man around the office. He did it mostly to watch Johnson's already tight lips press harder into a straight line.

Then he met Daniel Fenton, and he realized the rambles of Foley weren't told from the rose-colored lens of a man in love but a perfect description of his husband.

Fenton was gorgeous in a soft kind of way, like a first blooming, a lot quieter than his husband, but intelligence danced in his eyes just the same. He was quick with witty responses, sarcastic in a more teasing way than Foley's, and when he spoke of his passions, he all but seemed to glow.

The first time Tim spoke to Fenton, the man was lost in the hallway leading to Foley's old office. At the time, the entire IT department had been relocated three floors up due to a leaking pipe in the ceiling of the previous floor.

Foley had failed to inform his partner that the offices were in a temporary location, so he was more than happy to bring Fention to the correct location.

Fenton had gifted him with a dazzling smile once Tim offered to walk him in the elevator, and had easily chatted with Tim enough so that the young CEO had nearly burst a gut, laughing at the other man's jokes.

He told Foley to invite his husband to more company events, and the other must have taken that as permission to have Fenton around as much as possible. Tim had more encounters with Fenton when the man showed up with pastries for Foley's office, when the team would go out drinking, or even just seeing Danny hanging around the lobby waiting for Foley to finish.

Five months passed before Tim could not deny it any longer. He had fallen for Fenton, the husband of one of his employees.

It was torture how often Fenton was around, but it wasn't like he didn't have the time. Fenton didn't have a formal job.

Apparently, he lived off his inheritance from a distant uncle named Pariah Dark and was more than happy to be a house husband who did random hobbies. One of those hobbies included baking.

Tim thinks he had a crush on Fenton for a while up until then, but he might have actually fallen in love when he tried one of Fenton's homemade donuts. Like an idiot, he kept asking Foley to bring Fenton around, because in those few hours or minutes of networking (for that was what Foley was doing. The man was ambitious) Tim could admire him, could listen to his voice, and could pretend- in the darkest corners of his heart- that his love for Fenton wasn't wrong.

He knew it was. Foley may not be a friend, but Tim tried not to be too close to his employee, as that often caused more problems than not. However, Foley was someone he respected. He felt horrible having such thoughts about the man's husband, but his heart yearned for Fenton more than it had ever yearned for anyone else.

This was getting so bad that Tim was making up random events so that Foley would have a reason to bring Fenton to. He even had the team photo, from the last Wayne Enterprises fundraiser for charity, framed and placed on his desk because Fenton was in it, smiling at the camera.

Tim's pathetic excuse that the rest of the employees' families were also present for the fundraiser wasn't a good enough reason to spend hours upon hours wishing that his arm was thrown around Fenton's shoulders in that photo instead of Foley's.

Tim had to stop.

He chose to tell Steph about his feelings for Fenton on the request that she stop him from doing something stupid. As his friend, she vowed to help him out and slowly but surely held him to his word.

Tim hadn't seen Fenton in almost three months, since Steph had started camping out in his office, doing her online classes and keeping an eye on him so Tim couldn't run down the ten floors to IT just to check if Fenton was about. She reminded him that Foley didn't work directly under him and didn't need to have such a close relationship with him, so he limited his interactions with the man as well.

Steph was also the one who held him through his heartbreak. Tim was no cheater, but he was a fool in love with someone who was taken, and it hurt.

It hurt to know that he could never be the one Fenton smiled at, or the one that Fenton lay next to at night, or the one Fenton joked and laughed with, still friends in a marriage.

It hurt to know that a man like Foley, who was sending another "I'm going out with the team for drinks" text as he followed Rico to his car while Tim stood in the lobby watching them go, was the man that Fenton had chosen.

A few minutes go by of him just standing there, thinking of Fenton, all alone, waiting in some living room for a man who didn't even find the effort to call him.

This is stupid. You're being stupid. What does their marriage matter to you? Just go home, Tim. He thinks angrily to himself, opening his umbrella and walking out into the familiar Gotham rain.

The water splashes against the fabric with the same aggression as marbles falling onto concrete. One of Gotham's super storms. He grimaces, gripping the handle harder as he strides down to the dinner at the end of the street.

Despite Tim being able to drive nearly every form of transportation, he had failed to obtain a driver's license, partly due to his secret identity and partly because he was too lazy. As a result, Tim walked everywhere, took the train, or the bus to get around.

He didn't trust people to not kidnap him (attempt to at least), so he never hailed a taxi or used a ride app. Not after it happened five different times. The life of a Wayne could sometimes be too much.

Not that he was willing to walk to the train station or bus stop in this weather.

He'll have a coffee and some food to wait out the rain, but if the storm doesn't improve, he'll have to call the Manor and see if someone can come pick him up.

The door dings when he pushes it through, and a wave of warmth, chatter, and music passes over him. He stops at the stand holding up a sign that reads Please wait to be seated.

He folds his umbrella, shaking out some water, as a waitress comes rushing towards him.

Her hair is falling out a bit from her bun, and she seems a bit stressed, but he can clearly see why. Many people had the idea to hide from the storm in the dining room - not a single table or booth seemed to be free. Even the bar stools were all claimed.

"Hi there!" The waitress greeted with slightly apologetic eyes. "It's going to be a forty-minute wait."

"I don't mind. Can I wait in here?" He smiles, watching her shoulders relax. She must have had someone yell at her today about the wait time. He gets it.

Once he had to go under cover as a waiter himself, and it took every ounce of his Bat training to not throw a tray at some customers' faces. Especially the impatient ones.

"Yeah, of course." The waitress waves to a little area on the side of the door. There are no chairs, and there is barely enough room to stand, but it's better than nothing. "If you give me your name, I can let you know when a table opens up-"

"He can sit with me." A voice interrupts. A familiar voice. Tim's heart leaps in his chest before he can even turn his head in the direction of the man who had spoken.

Daniel Fenton waves at him from one of the tables, smiling widely, over a half-seated plate of pancakes. He's wearing a soft, white, woven sweater, which makes his eyes pop, and his hair is slightly damp, likely from being caught in the rain.

He looks like a painting come to life.

Tim's mouth goes dry.

"Are you okay with that, Sir?" The waitress asks him, but it's Fenton who answers.

"Yeah, of course. I don't think this storm is going to clear any time soon, so I may as well spend it with someone I know." Fenton laughs, and it kicks Tim's brain into action.

"It's fine," He mutters to the waitress who was frowning. "I would be totally fine with sharing that table."

More than fine. Far too fine in fact. The man is married. A voice that sounds a lot like Steph cautions in his head. He ignores it.

"Well, okay then." The waitress leads him to the table, pulling out his seat before handing him a menu she grabbed from the stand at the front. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Let me guess," Fenton grins, snapping a finger and pointing it at Tim, "A coffee, three creams, two sugars, and a bit of chocolate syrup?"

Surprised, Tim stammers, "Yes, that's right."

Fenton laughs gently before giving the waitress a cheeky little smirk that does horrible things to Tim's already buzzing heart. "He always takes his coffee like that. A creature of habit, you know?"

She flashes a dimple, writing down his drink order. "I'll be back in a few minutes to take the rest of your order."

Tim barely notices her walk away, too captivated by the way Fenton's hair seems to curl slightly when wet. "W-what are you doing here, Mr. Fenton?"

"Tuck and I were supposed to go out for dinner tonight, but he cancelled at the last minute. I got caught in the rain when leaving the lobby, so I figured I may as well have my own dinner." The man reveals casually, as if it were normal for a husband to bail on plans so carelessly.

Tim fights the urge to reach out his hand and place it on Fenton's, wanting to offer comfort in case he was hiding his hurt.

He couldn't stop the words that tumble out of his mouth, though. He winces at the offended tone in his voice. "Your husband cancelled plans on you last minute?"

"Tuck is forgetful. He probably forgot he made plans with me." Fenton shrugs, smile still in place. Tim's stomach flips as the man leans on one hand, attention trained entirely on Tim. "What about you? Why are you here?"

"Hiding from the rain, too. Too heavy to walk home in. "

Fenton frowns. "You don't have a car?"

"I don't have a license." Tim laughs, raising a brow at the disbelief on Fenton's face. "Never bothered to get one. Most people don't in a city, where you can walk or us a bus"

"That's crazy. Back home, everyone had a license. You never get anywhere without one." Fenton reveals.

"You and your husband are from Illinois, right?" Tim hopes Fenton didn't notice how his voice had turned slightly strained on the word' husband'.

"That's right. From the small in the middle of nowhere, Amity Park." Fenton picks up his fork, waving it around slightly. "We have like three restaurants, a small mall, and a park. That's the extent of entertainment, so you've got to drive to do anything. You're not planning on walking in that storm, are you?"

"No, I'll call someone to come pick me up later."

"Nah, that's okay. I'll give you a ride when we finish." Fenton replies easily, stuffing a piece of pancake in his mouth. "I won't take no for an answer. Got nothing better to do anyway."

Tim closes his mouth, having been in the process of denying the offer, and instead raises the menu to hide behind. A flutter goes through his stomach as he realizes that Fenton knows his coffee order because of how often he's seen Tim take it while visiting, and is willing to drive him home.

He doesn't think about Foley. It's a dangerous thing what he does think about, but by the time the waitress comes by to get Tim's order, Fenton has pulled him into a fascinating conversation of old cartoons, and Tim can't find it in himself to care.