#salvationday

Harrison Bloome.

22

Son of Doomsday, aka Davis Bloome, born before his powers activation and his defeat. When the amalgamation of Earths took place, he was reset on Prime Earth, causing him to be the only Doomsday to be breathing.

He takes on the name Salvation and joins the Teen Titans as a hero instead of following on his father’s footsteps.

He has all of the kryptonian characteristics and the advanced form of invulnerability and virtual immortality that his father possessed. Thus he is strong on a higher level than an average kryptonian, can fly, release heat through his eyes, possesses a potent breath that can alter its temperature, etc. With the additional trait of reactive adaptation that his father was forced to possess as an experiment. Like his father, he can also transform, although his form is less menacing. In this form he also has venomous claws, but the color of his skin is not as menacingly dark.

He’s close to (my) Jon’s in age, and Jon is the reason he joined the titans (recruited or unrecruited crush). But he is not born the same year, maybe one or two of difference.

He studies journalism in college and has a sports scholarship. He’s an active member of a fraternity where he is the leader of due to him winning every drinking contest.

kieran knew he shouldn’t have come. shouldn’t have stood here at all, shouldn’t have followed the ache straight to their door like it had a mind of its own. he told himself he didn’t need this — didn’t need them — that whatever he’d heard was just that. a rumor. thin, untrustworthy, impossible. not that distance hadn’t already settled between them. not that moving on wasn’t something he could do. in theory. in practice, his knuckles hovered against the wood, then struck, the sound too loud in the hush of the open air.

he lingered there, suspended between wanting and dread — half hoping the door would open, half begging the universe not to make him face what might be on the other side. maybe they weren’t home. maybe they’d see who it was and choose silence. maybe they’d open it just to end this, to finally put him out of his misery. he knocked again, harder this time, frustration bleeding through restraint. "come on, i know you’re in there. just open it."

to say fionn was an idiot barely brushed the surface. it was a chronic condition, really — a talent for disaster honed through repetition. he had a gift for finding trouble and then stepping into it with both feet, usually smiling, usually convinced it would sort itself out. this, predictably, was no exception. it had landed him here in two neat, infuriating pieces. first: sleeping with someone on a dare when he knew damn well their paths were going to cross again. a spectacular lapse in judgment, even by his standards. second: approaching them now, as if he were entitled to anything more than silence — as if a conversation were owed simply because he wanted one.

and yet. he did it anyway. fionn drifted through the party like he belonged everywhere at once, making his rounds with easy laughter and well-timed jokes, a familiar orbit of noise and charm trailing after him. he let time do some of the work, let the air soften, let his presence become background before he angled himself closer. when he finally reached their side, it was with practiced casualness, as though this were the most natural thing in the world. he leaned back on his heels, drink loose in his hand, gaze cast outward into the sprawl of the room rather than on them — a studied nonchalance, a shield. "so..." he said, voice light, almost amused. "i’m starting to think you can’t get enough of me. can’t be that many coincidences, huh?"