#dc lore

branched off from a discord convo about Clark and Kara

Phaelosians come from a section of krypton that was banished many years before it was actually destroyed. they have a connection, but one severed while it was still alive and far before they were ever even born. Phaelosians did cling onto whatever traditions, cultural elements, and stories of Krypton they could. As explained later, the echoes of Phaelosians are pretty sparse from Kryptonian knowledge with only house fables or a different view on history (ex: Phaelosians prays to a woman Kara only knows of as a scientist and some speaking a dead version of kryptonese).

and then we jump ahead to warworld, the twins do not remember the surviving colony. they were babies when their people were taken so once again, they are stripped even more of the very small connections they have remaining as Phaelosian culture crosses over with Warzoon and other enslaved aliens because they simply have no other choice. With Otho and Osul specifically, they also strongly believe they want to be like Mongul until they realize what that means (spoilers…) and they can't live like that, but also spent most of their lives rejecting that

lastly, we get Clark and Kara. First rescued by Clark who similarly was taken away from his culture as an infant but still had the connection to learn over time and even taught them. maybe to the point of acceptance of a culture they didn't know they could. they get their first toys ever and they're kryptonian. they meet Kara and she doesn't just connect with them on a kryptonian level but a phaelosian level by bringing them their house fable. something they didn't even know existed because phaelosian elders lost hope in anyone ever knowing that again like their entire lives, something has been ripped away from them and just like thinking about how trafficking relates to their story…they're looking for something that the only person who can give it to them lost forever (explosion) but was also aware of how it was taken away in the first place (exile)

like look at their little faces. they didn't know

so like, i’d like to ask if like, in an alt world,, would ( Reader’s Child ) have also possibly have Reader’s flame abilities? Even if just a little? like say; if Reader was lowk Human Torch in power sense, Reader’s Child could lowk control flames.

is that possible? 🤔 if they’ve lived in a better environment and their abilities actually manifest???

Story mentioned Warnings: violence

I'm so glad you like the story! It's one of my darker works — yet not all too graphic — that isn't focused on medical trauma so it was a bit out of my comfort zone.

Now for your question I will have to admit that I basically see the Reader as an untrained version of a firebender from A:TLA. So you comparing reader with Human Torch made me go back to fandom wiki's and texts from a friend.

So the Human Torch got his powers because of cosmic radiation and Meta Humans in DC exist because of the following:

the Meta-gene, which that can activated through different methods.

One of the methods mentioned in the link I have attached is trauma. That's how you — the Reader — got your powers (I won't get into that yet, since I might make that a plot point).

This is the method I will be using when it comes to the Reader's family. My small fanon imagination is that besides that a family has to carry the meta-gene to become a meta; it needs to be activated the same way.

However a gene doesn't always carry over. For example, an extra finger on someone's hand might come because of a genetic disorder. However that doesn't mean that the next generation will have that as well; it might skip one child but not theirs. In some cases it could even mean that someone with a genetic disorder has one child without the same disorder, but than has one with it.

Based on my high school biology education (which wasn't my strongest subject, I will admit) I have the fanon interpretation of: not everyone in the same family (line) will become a meta even if they go through similar trauma (which in this instant is physical abuse/trauma).

In this fanfic, the child would have never become a Meta because they don't have the right activation marker for them to get powers.

But if they got powers, it would have been in the same realm as their parent with variation.

I like to think of family members before you as the soil you grow on. You, yourself, have to water the plant (so you) to grow. With growth comes breaking cycles, but also choosing your own plan. With that plan can come the acceptation of what you have been through and how people can be flawed, but it can also come with anger or indifference. (I won't get all too far into this as this isn't too related to the ask)

So if you have chosen to take a different path than your family before your meta-powers activate it would be different from the usual powers in your family line.

this is a fanon interpretation

Can someone who's extremely passionate about DC lore(specifically Batman, the Robins, and all the characters surrounding them) please rant to me about it? I want to know everything but I don't want to actually read every single comic.

Patient: Bruce Wayne Therapist: Dr. Misaki Eto, Ph.D. Date: [REDACTED] Session Number: 1 Security Clearance: LEVEL OMEGA

SESSION TRANSCRIPT – EXTREME CONFIDENTIALITY ENFORCED

Dr. Eto’s Pre-Session Notes: Bruce Wayne does not talk.

That was the warning. That’s what every previous therapist wrote down in their notes before giving up and moving on. “Uncooperative.” “Unwilling.” “A waste of time.”

I was prepared for a man who would sit in front of me for an hour, arms crossed, saying nothing. Maybe he’d throw in a grumble for variety. I was fully expecting my coffee to do all the work in this session.

I was not expecting Bruce Wayne to walk into my office and, within minutes, lay his entire existential crisis at my feet.

[BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

Dr. Eto: Mr. Wayne.

Bruce Wayne: Doctor.

(Note: Patient sits with perfect posture, but there’s tension in his shoulders. Not defensiveness—exhaustion. His jaw is clenched, his eyes are sharp, and he already looks like he regrets being here. Expected behavior so far.)

Dr. Eto: You’ve never stuck with therapy before. What changed?

Bruce Wayne: I have nothing to prove anymore.

(Translation: He got tired of pretending he was fine. Interesting.)

Dr. Eto: That’s not really an answer.

Bruce Wayne: I don’t have time to sit in a chair and—

(He stops. Exhales sharply. There’s a shift—like he’s realized, in real-time, that the excuse doesn’t work anymore. He leans forward slightly, rubbing a hand down his face before speaking again.)

Bruce Wayne: No. That’s a lie. I could make time. I just don’t.

(Note: Self-awareness. That’s rare. He moves past the lie without shame, which means he’s thought about this before.)

Dr. Eto: And yet, here you are.

(He huffs a humorless laugh. Shakes his head slightly. Then—)

Bruce Wayne: …I’m so tired.

(His voice drops, almost a whisper. His hands tighten on the armrests of his chair, but he doesn’t look away. I let the silence settle. He fills it himself.)

Bruce Wayne: You know how long I’ve been doing this? I don’t even know. My whole life? Feels like it. Every night, out there, trying to fix things that just keep breaking. Gotham never stops. It never slows down. The second you think you’ve won, another criminal, another tragedy, another disaster, another war. It’s like trying to drain the ocean with a cup. And the worst part? It’s not the sleepless nights, or the fighting. It’s the fact that I’ve dragged people into this.

(His fists clench for half a second before relaxing. He inhales slowly. Keeps going.)

Bruce Wayne: I tell myself I didn’t have a choice. That it was either bring them in or let them get themselves killed. That if I didn’t train them, they’d still be out there—just worse off. But that doesn’t help when I see the scars on their backs. When I realize I’ve raised them to fight a war I still don’t know how to win.

(He leans back, staring at the ceiling. His voice turns flat, factual—like listing his failures makes them easier to control.)

Bruce Wayne: Jason died.

(Pause.)

Dr. Eto: I know.

Bruce Wayne: He came back. And he hates me for it. And he’s right. Because if I had been faster, if I had been better, he wouldn’t have died in the first place.

(His expression doesn’t change. His voice doesn’t shake. But he blinks—too slow, like he’s forcibly suppressing something before it surfaces.)

Bruce Wayne: But he still calls me when he needs backup. He still comes home sometimes. So what does that mean?

(He waits for an answer I can’t give. He doesn’t expect one anyway. He moves on before I can try.)

Bruce Wayne: Damian doesn’t sleep. At all. I pretend I don’t notice, but I see the lights under his door at three in the morning. He’s ten, and he thinks he has to be better than me. I don’t know how to tell him that I don’t want that. That I never wanted any of this for him.

(His voice tightens, but he doesn’t stop.)

Bruce Wayne: Tim is running himself into the ground. His diet consists of caffeine and spite. He thinks I don’t see what’s happening. He thinks I don’t notice the way his hands shake when he reaches for his fifth cup of coffee at two in the morning. But if I say something, he’ll just double down out of principle.

(He huffs, shaking his head slightly—like he’s amused, but also furious. He keeps talking before he can stop himself.)

Bruce Wayne: And Dick? Dick is the best person I’ve ever known. He’s a better man than me. But every time he looks at me, I can see the part of him that still thinks I should have stopped him from leaving.

(He exhales sharply, rubbing his temple. His voice shifts, quieter now. Almost detached.)

Bruce Wayne: I make sure they have everything. I do everything I can to keep them safe. And it’s still not enough. I wasn’t enough for my parents. I wasn’t enough for Jason. I wasn’t enough to save Gotham. And I don’t know if I ever will be.

(Long silence. His fingers tap against the armrest of his chair. A restless habit. I say nothing. He finally looks at me again, head tilting slightly, evaluating.)

Bruce Wayne: You’re a good listener.

Dr. Eto: It’s my job.

(He smirks. Just a little. Then it’s gone.)

Bruce Wayne: Hn. Maybe I’ll come back.

(He stands up. Session over. He doesn’t even give me a chance to respond. He’s already gone.)

Dr. Eto’s Post-Session Notes:

I was told Bruce Wayne would never talk.

I think the truth is, nobody ever listened.