Hanna or Hans, ???, they/them pronouns
Multi-fandom blog, a mess and there's nothing to be done about it.
Hang on, didn't I see you at the devil's sacrement?
hello! i realized i needed one of these. probably. maybe.
intro: hi hi hi! i'm haleswallows. please feel welcome to call me hale, hales, or hans. they/them, not a person most days but i try.
i am also haleswallows on ao3
all of my work is free to podfic, or open for your inspiration should it sing to you. just link me in some way, so i can holler wordlessly at the moon with joy.
tags of note:
#artprobz for my art
#my writing for my writing (wow creative)
#dragon fic for the my Danny/Tim fantasy arranged marriage fic with dragons, "Wings Above, Leagues Between", formerly known as "Between a Rock & a Dragon's Egg".
#Promises Promises for the Danny/Tim fake dating AU
#Deathless Death for the Bar Owner&GNC!Danny/Jason Pet Play Series
#pain on main for the Danny/Jason Shared Pain Soulmates AU (on indefinite break)
#Idolatry AU for the TimStephKon Band AU
#Ozone and Amber for the Omega!Jason/Beta!Danny omegaverse AU
(perpetually under construction: check back for updates)
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as promised, here's 1000 words of Incident Report #8 (aka, the series where Tim and Fright Knight adopt each other)
The byline for this one is "Naked and Afraid: Red Robin Edition
Tim is naked, the goons are afraid"
“I can’t even get a signal on a tracker, he must not have had one on him when he was taken,” Oracle confirms. Even with the voice modulation, Dick can hear the tight worry in her tone. He feels that same concern tying his shoulders into knots.
Damian stomps around the apartment, careless if anyone hears them. Obviously, he’s begging for a fight or some sort of action, anything as an outlet. Concern has never been an emotion Damian’s processed in healthy ways. Poor kid, Dick thinks, because he can’t help worrying after everyone.
Dick follows logic path after logic path, all the while flipping the Gate Pendant over and over and over in his hand. Start from the top, he orders his scattered thoughts.
Evidence, Tim has been kidnapped after a struggle. Evidence, Oracle can’t track him. Evidence, the Gate Pendant was left behind. Conclusion, Tim got nabbed unawares and the fight started in the bathroom.
Oh God, did they ambush him in the shower? Poor kid, Dick enthuses again.
Fact, they have no lead. No note, no motivation, no demand for ransom. Bruce is probably wearing a hole in the Cave’s floor with his pacing under Alfred’s stern gaze while they wait for contact from the kidnappers. If there will even be… Dick's mind keeps circling back to the worst case scenario.
Fact, Dick has a possible solution in his hand. He flips the Gate Pendant over again.
Option One, they go on a wild chase through Gotham, Oracle scrambles every single traffic cam and CCTV she can hack for some hint of a clue or a sign of where Tim might have been taken. A clock ticks down in Dick’s mind’s eye.
He can’t help but think about the stats, the murder rates for abductees after twenty four hours. There’s a deadline on Tim’s survival chances. Not even accounting for possible injuries or rogue involvement. Assuming he can’t defend himself, taken without any gear and possibly hesitant to make Tim Drake, tech-bro businessman, a little too capable. And all evidence available confirms some level of competency of the perpetrators.
It reminds him so strongly of another brother – Dick not even planet-side, a funeral he never knew about.
Whatever it takes, Dick isn’t going to let anything happen to Tim.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
"Wait!" the goon cries. Her hands are up, cowering half behind her forearms where Tim's posed to crash the butt of the rifle into her face. "Wait, wait, wait, please, I don't have health insurance."
He pauses. "Talk fast."
Look, Tim might be pissed off. He's naked. He's cold. His feet are sticky and he thinks he's going to need a Hep C vaccine. But he's not an asshole.
Well. He is an asshole. He's not an unreasonable asshole.
"Look, we didn't know, ok?" she pleads, peeking from behind her arms still protecting her face. "We took the job through the union. None of us knew it was to kidnap Tim Drake. If I'd known who we were kidnapping, I wouldn't have accepted the job."
Tim squints. Huh.
Interesting.
Relaxing a hair but keeping the rifle ready to wallop the goon in case she gets any bright ideas, he demands, "Tell me everything."
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Getting the gloves off the Nightwing suit is a pain. Of course it is, it’s meant to be, what with the clasps and security measures. All protective, but now a hindrance as Dick fights the damn thing off.
Damian watches on, swinging between annoyed and bemused. The little shit, notably, does not offer to help. Instead, he smirks as Dick growls once just before he finally gets the damn thing off.
It’s probably a stupid plan, foolhardy. Reason tells Dick to slow down, logic dictates him to report back to Bruce with their findings. Anxiety and fear demand otherwise. Not that Robin says anything. Dick only needed to meet the lens of his mask for a heartbeat before he nodded in obvious support of Dick’s unspoken thoughts.
If memory serves, Fright Knight answers the Gate Pendant by his own volition. All he needs is a ‘sufficient’ sacrifice. Sacrifice being blood.
He doesn’t stop to worry if his blood will be sufficient. Fright Knight always answers, he knows. The question remains if that’s due to his own prerogative, or the specific offering. Specific being Tim’s blood.
Dick’s never going to understand the strange bond between his little brother and the ghost. Frankly, he isn’t sure he wants to.
All he needs is for Fright Knight to answer.
The honed edge of the Wing Ding is more than sharp enough. He doesn't think twice as he presses the edge of it into the meat of his left palm. For a moment, the skin there splits open but, almost as if in shock, forgets to bleed.
Then it wells up, a steady flow that thickens in just seconds. Dick grabs the Gate Pendant and grips it tight in his hand, setting his mind against the pain of it.
He stares hard at the clench of his fingers, focusing on the points where the pendant digs into his hand.
Dick isn't a praying man. But he finds himself sending out a plea heavenward.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
The thing, Tim considers, is that this is bullshit.
Like, he isn't sure what the plan was. But, Tim imagines, there probably wasn't much of one to begin with? Vibes based planning? There's always this point where Tim Drake-Wayne, Co-CEO and skater boy of the board room, gets egregiously underestimated.
You know, nothing to say for his public persona. But it isn't like Tim's gone out of his way to make himself look like a goofball. Not in the ways that Bruce has. So, surely there's some sort of ageism involved and that's why this has happened.
"Run that by me again?" Tim asks, lifting one foot to scratch his other ankle.
Lex Luthor looks somewhere between annoyed and surprised. Inconvenienced to see Tim in the run down lobby of the abandoned movie theater, oversized t-shirt hitting him about mid thigh, but still shoeless and sticky footed.
He's scrounged up a shirt, malingering stock of movie merch that never sold and was sent to a back room to be forever forgotten about. Lucky for Tim, it's only a tiny bit musty and not at all moth eaten, thanks to the plastic zip it was in. Also, lucky because now he's at least not entirely buck-ass naked.
Just kind of naked.
Doing a Pooh Bear, one might say.
If Pooh Bear wore a shirt from an action movie Tim never even remembered seeing trailers for.
"I paid good money for those goons," Lex Luthor complains. "They came highly rated from the union."
Tim shrugs, feeling a bit belligerent. Thanks to Nancy the Narc (formerly known as Goon Number Five), Tim knew the beneficiary of this kidnapping ploy. Color him surprise (no, don't) that Lex Luthor was behind it.
Oh no, Lex Luthor doing the most derivative Evil Villain Plot? Who ever could have seen it coming!
there will never be anything as funny as the mutual disbelief between long form and short form fic writers about each other's style.
short form writers look at people writing 100k+ fics as though this is some sort of talent given as part of a fae bargain, that the commitment required shows some sort of ungodly mental fortitude.
meanwhile long form writers look at people writing 1000 word one shots like god I would cut off my left nipple to be able to say anything concisely. i would love to play with multiple ideas. free me from the shackles of this child I have birthed. i love them but I now must take them to t-ball and doctor's appointments and they're going to destroy everything I own.
For thr ask game about guessing your interests/ hobbies/ job, I would lowkey not be surprised if your job is either super community oriented or if you had an interest in community work/ volunteering. I haven't read all of your fics, but I know For Sure I've read at least two, which is where Danny is dealing with his parents hunting him down and the fic with them as Siren. Lots of tangled interpersonal relationships, lots of difficult living situations, a focus on a bit more of what that LOOKS like for the people that survive it (mostly Danny)
If not that, then maybe something nightlife related because of the Siren fic
Anon! I'm gently holding your face in my palms.
You got it right that I do community action! In college, I did a lot of work with addressing food insecurity in public school systems. The big thing I've been focused on lately has been working with local legislatures and city officials on better walking / biking infrastructure for my city with a focus on getting resources to low income people. Bikes are a huge gateway to getting people into work, but that only works if biking is viable and safe. There's a really passionate group that's been doing a ton of great work with a lot of results. Locally, we're also pushing hard on our mayor about rent stabilization because the housing crisis is awful where I live. Never had the honor of working in community action, but have given tons of free time and money to it.
.... you caught me 🤣 I worked in the 'nightlife' in college 🤪 but I've been 'retired' for a long time. I got out before OF became huge.
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idk if this is controversial or not, but I really like when non-professional writing like fic has hints of author bleedthrough when it comes to like, what different people assume is common knowledge. Like sometimes I’ll be reading a fic and it’ll just be obvious that the person writing it is either obsessed with medicine or has been to medical school, because they’ll use terms that are just a shade too technical without explaining them. It’s never the super specific stuff that they’d know other people are unaware of, it’s always the things that once you’ve known it for a while you forget it’s niche knowledge. It’s fun because as a fanfic reader it reminds me of how this is a fun hobby community, where everyone has their own thing going on outside of fandom. Everyone’s got their own specialties and they can’t help but write that into their work sometimes
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 20/?
Fandom: Danny Phantom, DC Extended Universe
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Tim Drake/Danny Fenton, Danny Fenton & Jazz Fenton & Dan Phantom & Danielle "Dani" Phantom, Tim Drake & Valerie Gray, Jazz Fenton/Valerie Gray
Characters: Tim Drake, Danny Fenton, Jazz Fenton, Dan Phantom, Valerie Gray, Dorathea "Dora" (Danny Phantom), Fright Knight (Danny Phantom), Danielle "Dani" Phantom, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Oliver Queen, Diana (Wonder Woman), J'onn J'onzz, Duke Thomas, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Barbara Gordon, Batfamily Members (DCU), Original Characters, Vlad Masters, a good smattering of characters from both DC and DP but not major idk there's lots of people in this
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Magic, Soul Bond, Arranged Marriage, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Political Marriage, Alternate Universe - No Powers, No Heroes, POV Multiple, Not Beta Read, Danny Fenton and Danielle "Dani" Phantom are Siblings, Danielle "Dani" Phantom is Called Elle, Crossover, Crossover Pairings
for my loveliest bog, @crypticfen a bit of Dragon Fic. This is chapter 20, finished today. just needs some editing before it goes up
They passed a man with his fruit cart. It appeared dull with the season's fruit in comparison to the elaborate treats and toys and wares of the surrounding vendors. Nothing odd, other than the way he glared at the pair. Tim noted him, watching from his periphery. It wasn't too out of the ordinary, Tim was familiar enough the fleeting whims and caprice people had for their rulers, but habit kept him vigilant. Between Phantom at his side, the blade in his boot, and a guard lurking near, Tim felt no need to fear.
Phantom too noted the man. He shifted to bring Tim around to his other side with an easy tug and smooth side-step. Tucked into the shield of Phantom's body, it blocked the man's view of Tim.
It seemed nothing would happen until he spat at their feet at they skirted around his cart.
Phantom stopped. He did not deign to look at the phlegm that only just missed their boots. Rather, he shifted his hand to the small of Tim's back and waved off the guard that pressed forward.
The ever-vigilant part of Tim's brain focused on the man. But he couldn't help himself from noting the span of Phantom's hand, how neatly it sat in the curve of his spine, how much he wanted to lean into it. Tim tensed and willed himself not to.
Oh. Oh, how he wanted to. The heat in his belly urged him to.
Ooh a very intriguing snippet to read for breakfast. You had said that this chalter had a lot of them not talking to eachother but ohhh theyre going to not talk while touching and in public!! The tension is going to be so gooood
And! From Danny's POV, he's noticing Tim tensing at his touch so he's going to go mope about that later. Meanwhile, Tim's writing himself a note "Phantom..... big hands.... I like????"
for my loveliest bog, @crypticfen a bit of Dragon Fic. This is chapter 20, finished today. just needs some editing before it goes up
They passed a man with his fruit cart. It appeared dull with the season's fruit in comparison to the elaborate treats and toys and wares of the surrounding vendors. Nothing odd, other than the way he glared at the pair. Tim noted him, watching from his periphery. It wasn't too out of the ordinary, Tim was familiar enough the fleeting whims and caprice people had for their rulers, but habit kept him vigilant. Between Phantom at his side, the blade in his boot, and a guard lurking near, Tim felt no need to fear.
Phantom too noted the man. He shifted to bring Tim around to his other side with an easy tug and smooth side-step. Tucked into the shield of Phantom's body, it blocked the man's view of Tim.
It seemed nothing would happen until he spat at their feet at they skirted around his cart.
Phantom stopped. He did not deign to look at the phlegm that only just missed their boots. Rather, he shifted his hand to the small of Tim's back and waved off the guard that pressed forward.
The ever-vigilant part of Tim's brain focused on the man. But he couldn't help himself from noting the span of Phantom's hand, how neatly it sat in the curve of his spine, how much he wanted to lean into it. Tim tensed and willed himself not to.
Oh. Oh, how he wanted to. The heat in his belly urged him to.
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I refuse to respond to you with smut. Here's a bit of the prequel where Siren is still going by Danny and hasn't figured out pronouns yet.
it's that easy. Somehow, it's that easy to lay it all down and leave the heavy things behind.
Which is why is feels a little like an injustice when a familiar chill shoots down Danny's spine, or that he gasps out a puff of mist. Because hasn't he done enough, hasn't he run far enough, bleed enough, hurt enough? Because even when there's only a wisp of Phantom left beneath his skin, the world still asks it of him.
Tucker and Sam are finely conditioned to sounds of Danny's distress. The gasp might as well be Pavlov's bell with the way they turn, hackles already raised. Tucker shifts his hold on Danny's hand to something firmer, tightly grasping Danny's fingers and pulling him close. Sam's hand dips into her bag and Danny suspects she's been carrying an ecto-blaster this entire time, even though there hasn't been a need.
With all his effort, Danny tries to grow roots to the spot. Despite that, Tucker and Sam keep him moving. Heads on a swivel, they bodily shepherd Danny. Danny looses his hold on the umbrella in the shuffle as a shiver wracks through him again and his knees go weak.
"It's ok, it's ok," Tucker chants, mouth set and eyes hard, his grip turning painful where he's still holding Danny's hand.
Cold fogs in Danny's lungs and his breath hitches. It feels like he's back in the lab with his ghost sense going off constantly and vision haloed in shadows, shivering and wondering if he'll ever feel warm again. But the feeling of Tucker's arm clamping around his shoulders, the solid warmth of his best friend keeps Danny's mind in the present.
There's a ghost — or rather a shade, just the wisp of a life lingering. From the corner of his eye, Danny watches numbly as Sam draws an ecto-blaster. Mindless of the threat, the wisp stutters forward and back, bobbing like a guttering flame.
Danny's throat feels tight. There's something wrong and he can't pin point it, he can't lay a name on it. It's like his body knows something his mind doesn't. The wisp waivers again, drawing itself deeper into the shadows and ducking out of the anemic afternoon sun hidden behind the misty clouds. Danny steps after it without thinking and pulls Tucker with him.
"Wait —," he starts, confused why he feels so sad. "Wait, it's ok."
And not unlike a feral cat, the wisp pauses as if considering it's options — to run, or cower, or lash out with claws. But it's so misty and incorporeal, the weakest ghost Danny's ever seen, he's hardly worried at all.
Could we please see what you last wrote for Promises Promises? 🥺
Of course! Tim is slowly becoming aware of his pesky feelings.
"And yes, very sure. Uh, rule whatever for discussing things in good faith. I appreciate that you cook, but you aren't obligated to. It's really nice that you share food with me, and —," Tim rushes, sensing that Phantom's going to interrupt, "I know you've said it isn't a bother, but let me treat you to dinner. It's only fair."
The speaker crackles with a huff. "It isn't. I'm staying here for free. And now you're buying dinner."
"Yeah, well." Tim doesn't have a rebuttal. "Does it have to be fair?"
Like…. their relationship is largely transactional. There's a contract. He just referenced it. But. Like.
Does it have to be?
"Don't answer that," Tim quickly adds. Turns out, he doesn't actually want that answer. Not right now, anyway. Trapped in his car, in traffic, with his emotions? Torture. "You said you got a recommendation?"
"Sure," Phantom allows, letting Tim move the conversation, genial as always. "It's a Thai place. I've never had curry, because I grew up sheltered in a small town in Ohio. Turns out the peak of culinary experiences is not chili served on spaghetti or includes Hidden Valley Ranch, shockingly. So. Thai."
"Thai's good, I love Thai," Tim says thoughtlessly.
