Tumgik
#phic
brendadaaedestler · 3 days
Text
The Voice in the Stables—POTO Fluff Week 2024
Read my new one shot on Ao3!
Finally, and certainly not two days late, because that would be ridiculous, I bring to you all my one shot for day seven of POTO Fluff Week 2024 hosted by @textsfromthefifthbasement! Thank you so much for hosting, Elizabeth, this was a ton of fun!
This one shot was inspired by my want to write a fantasy AU! I've had the vague ideas for this fic for a while, but it is nowhere near fully plotted out, so it will be a long time before anything more gets posted regarding this AU. I hope you all enjoy!
If you've missed my other Fluff Week works, I shall link them here:
Garnier Manor || Regency AU
The Ocean in a Siren's Eyes || Oceanpunk AU
The Rosy Hours || Non-Western AU || collab with @nerdywriter36
I've Become Rather Fond of Fools || Medieval AU || collab with @nerdywriter36
Love Goes On and On || Crossover AU
What the Forest Hides || Fairytale AU || collab with @nerdywriter36
Tumblr media
17 notes · View notes
wastefulreverie · 5 months
Text
fixed point
“Would you like to know how much time you have left?” Clockwork asked.
Danny had never wished more that he’d died in something with pockets so he could hide his shaking hands. The endless ticking in the lair—hundreds of hands TICK TICK TICK -ing in perfect sync—had never sounded so ominous.
“I—” his voice rattled his throat, a raw thing “—I didn’t think you gave spoilers.”
With an absent spin of their staff, Clockwork shifted from adult to child and said nothing. Dread hung heavy in the air, Clockwork’s unblinking stare piercing through it all. Danny pointedly did not make eye contact. Instead focusing on the oscillating hands of the wall behind them.
He took a breath.
“Will it make it easier, knowing?”
Clockwork blinked once, face betraying nothing.
Dammit.
He wasn’t an idiot. There was really only one outcome of this conversation. Just as there had been the day he’d first pulled on his jumpsuit, walking—tripping—through the threshold. Life snuffed out of him in less than a second.
He brought his shaking hands together and met Clockwork’s even gaze.
And answered.
Thirteen days.
Seven hours.
Thirty-six minutes.
It was somehow both longer and shorter than he’d expected.
It was also a weight off his shoulders, at least in the beginning. It wouldn’t happen any earlier than the date Clockwork had recounted that night. Thirteen days of freedom. Peace. Liberation.
Because if he thought too much about the length of thirteen days, how three-hundred or so hours wasn’t enough time— it’s not fucking FAIR —he would be swallowed by the crushing anxiety that made its permanent home in his stomach.
So there was that.
He didn’t bother telling his friends. They were already all on edge, but if he could act like all was well he could ease their worries. Because ultimately they were just worried about him, and if he was fine they would be too.
He did, however, make contingency plans. Farewell videos on a USB drive taped to the underside of his bed.
He wanted Clockwork to be wrong. Some nights he laid awake, trying his damndest to find a way off this track. This self-fulfilling prophecy. But there was nothing. That moment had already passed with that stupid news broadcast that had glued him to the couch, shaking, as his parents had shouted and jeered at the screen. Dismissive. Furious. Invested.
They hadn’t noticed when he pushed himself off the couch and stumbled, shaking, to the bathroom to purge the contents of his stomach.
It was a miracle he’d only gotten a two-day suspension for slugging Wes in the face in front of the whole cafeteria. Even more so that no one had pieced it together from that.
No one saw him. But they would. When it was too late.
He couldn’t stop it. But as he didn’t acknowledge it in the waking world it wouldn’t exist. So he reserved his existential crises for when there was nothing to distract him from the looming, inevitable deadline.
He wished he could tell Mr. Lancer that whenever he was given detention that afternoon.
On the night of the twelfth day, he didn’t sleep a wink. No amount of coffee could keep his head above his desk that morning, and so, Danny spent his final hour in detention. He considered skipping. Detention was not the place for everything to come to an end.
But wouldn’t leaving—deviating from his normal routine—up the chances of putting events in motion?
Avoidance was his specialty, after all.
Jazz could write a paper on his coping tactics alone if she hadn’t already. 
At nineteen minutes Mr. Lancer stopped in front of his desk. It was only him and Valerie today, and she sat somewhere three desks behind and to his left of him. Her hair was in a loose ponytail, loose yellow sleeves draped over her hands. The bags under her eyes rivaled his own, even though he was sure there hadn’t been too many ghosts in the past week or so—but then again, he’d not been the most attentive to things on the ghost front lately. It was probably his fault she was here at all. 
“Mr. Fenton,” Lancer said. He forced his head to turn, a feat much more difficult than it sounded. His head felt full of lead. “Is everything alright at home?”
Danny forced himself not to cringe.
“Uh.” He ignored the sound of Valerie shifting in her seat behind him. Great. An audience. “Yes.”
“I’ve noticed you’ve been getting much less sleep of late, is all.”
Now this was a load of shit. Danny’s sleep schedule was normally trash. This current existential crisis was no more taxing than his normal night activities.
Lancer continued. “And your parents have—” he paused, eyes flitting somewhere behind him. “—in light of recent revelations, I just worry, Mr. Fenton.”
Hm.
Did he know, then?
Was this it?
Danny stared stupidly for a moment, forgetting to shut his mouth. And then shrugged.
Falling back on ignorance.
If he was honest, he hadn’t quite expected Lancer to be the one to put it together, but it also made sense. 
Lancer’s mouth thinned. “I know they can be intense, especially with the scrutiny placed on our school now. No one should feel scared to come to school. Or go home,” he said, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. “This is a safe space.”
For a moment all he could hear was the drum of his heart in his chest. And then behind him, Valerie cleared her throat.
“With all due respect, Mr. Lancer,” she said, “nowhere is safe with that putrid ghost hiding among us.”
Danny didn’t turn around. Lancer’s reaction was subdued, but there was a protective fire in his eyes that confirmed Danny’s suspicions. He wondered how long ago he’d put it together.
“Ms. Gray,” Lancer said, “I see your point, but I’m just trying to ease tensions.”
Danny checked the clock.
Seventeen minutes. 
Maybe he should’ve skipped detention after all.
(No escaping the inevitable. No do-overs this time.)
Valerie scoffed. “So what? We let our guard down?” he chanced a glance behind him, and Valerie’s eyes were red-rimmed—from lack of sleep or otherwise he had no idea. “Someone here is a walking weapon and we’re supposed to ignore this? Fenton at least knows he’ll be safe at home, but what about the rest of us? We don’t get to go home to ghost-hunting parents—we have to hold our own.”
Lancer nodded. “I understand. I just think that it’s very frightening for all of us, ghost hunters or not.”
Danny’s voice cracked when he spoke. “Yeah.”
Valerie’s expression softened. “I didn’t mean to make light—”
“No. No, you’re right,” he said. “It’s not safe with Phantom as a student here. Whoever he is.”
She sighed. “Danny, I don’t know what it’s like with your parents, but—”
“But what?” he cut her off. “Because they’re ghost hunters they’re automatically the safest people in the room?” He lowered his voice. “You would think that.”
She froze. “What does that mean?”
Hm. Whoops.
“People don’t know what it’s like, I guess.”
Danny turned back around. Lancer’s stare was dripping with sympathy.
Fifteen minutes.
There was a scrape of a chair, a thud of feet, and a warm hand on his shoulder. Valerie released him just as fast. When he met her eyes, they were as wide as saucers.
“D—Danny,” she said with a note of panic. “You’re cold.”
“Yeah?” he asked.
She took a step back. He hadn’t seen her this scared since they’d been stranded on Skulker’s island together. He could see the realization dawning. 
“Val,” he said, knowing full well what was going through her head, “what’s wrong?”
“It’s not you,” she said, a desperate plea. “I can’t be this stupid.”
He sighed and Lancer stepped between them.
“Ms. Gray,” he said, “now let’s not jump to conclusions—”
“No!” she shook her head. “No, no, no! It doesn’t make sense. You’re—your parents hunt ghosts. Hunt Phantom.”
Danny crossed his arms.
“So do you.”
Lancer looked between them like Danny had announced that he liked eating golf balls. “What.”
Tears welled in Valerie’s eyes. “I trusted you!”
The minute hand inched forward.
Fourteen.
“You trusted me to what?”
Valerie clenched her fists. “Don’t do that! Don’t play stupid!”
“Ms. Gray—”
“I’m not playing.” Danny turned sideways in his desk, facing her head-on. “Tell me what you think I’ve done, Val.”
“Mr. Fenton—!”
“You replaced him. You replaced Danny. How long have you been pretending to be him? To be alive? How can you live with yourself, going home everyday and seeing his parents and—and—acting like you’re still—” she choked on her tears. “You terrorize this town, Phantom. I won’t let you take anything else from me, or anyone.”
Lancer’s eyes were wide. He’d never seen the man so shocked, in such foreign territory.
Valerie, on the other hand, was resolute. There was as much determination in her face as tears.
“I’m still me,” he said. “I died, but I came back. I never replaced myself, however that works. I am sorry, Val. There’s a lot that—”
“Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up! ”
“—that I didn’t mean to happen.”
Lancer slammed his hand on Danny’s desk.
“Can we all settle down!”
It all happened in a matter of seconds. The clock in his peripheral kept him tethered to the moment. 
Valerie reached behind her and pulled a blaster.
A flash of red—
(The minute hand moves.
Thirteen.)
—and a burst of hot pain through his side.
He crumpled forward, his head meeting the linoleum floor with a SMACK and somewhere above him a distant shout.
Everything from his side to his cranium THROBBED and it wouldn’t fucking stop.
(He’d taken hits from Val before. This shouldn’t hurt so much. Why does this—?)
Iron pooled in his mouth. 
Oh right.
Ectoplasm was thicker than blood.
Danny tried to push himself up from the floor but the world spun and his arms gave out below him and he slumped back down to the cold, hard floor.
The floor felt better.
Maybe he would…
Stay here for a while…
***
The television clicked on. A rerun of the six o’clock news.
He didn’t let Jazz turn it off.
“According to a recent report, there is speculation that our local ghost vigilante Phantom might be living among us. Care to tell us more, Lance?”
“Yes, Tiffany.” Lance Thunder’s stupid blonde hair was polished and perfect as usual and he wanted to wipe that stupid half-smile off the bastard’s face. “A ghost ID’ed as Walker —” at this, a crude picture that was mostly just a white blur appeared on the screen “— has publicly announced that our hero is a student at Casper High fooling us, flying under the radar.”
“And as far as we understand, tips from ghosts aren’t verifiable…?”
“Normally, yes, but there is evidence to suggest that—”
“This isn’t good for you,” Jazz hissed. “I know that it’s scary, but—”
“Exposure therapy,” he snapped back. “It’s gonna be the talk of the school anyway.”
She slumped back down onto the couch. “Take care of yourself.”
The door to the lab was thrown open. His parents marched through the kitchen and into the living room, perfectly eclipsing the TV.
“—telling you, Jack. The DNA scans are inconclusive at best. Their so-called ‘experts’ are out of their depths.”
“We’ll show them once and for all. If we can find out which student it’s using as cover—”
“—we’ll expose Phantom for the monster he is!”
His parents disappeared upstairs for the night, but he could still hear snippets of their vows to destroy him. 
He shot Jazz a tired look. “Easier said than done.”
***
Someone was touching him.
Everything on his left burned. Far above him were LEDs and beige ceiling tiles. He wasn’t sure when he’d been rolled onto his back. But he was now, and someone was pressing down on the spot that burned burned burned—!
Blood trickled down his throat.
How many minutes had it been?
How many did he have left?
There were voices, somewhere, but everything sounded like it was underwater. Maybe it was. Drowning would be preferable to many of the other deaths he’d prepared for. Still terrible, sure, but vivisection lowered the bar considerably. 
“—have you done!”
“He’s—” A girl’s voice wavered, quiet. “He’s Phantom. He’s not supposed to—to—”
Wow. Valerie had the decency to sound ashamed.
At least he could die knowing that his killer at least had a few shreds of regret.
(Is it sad that it’s more than he expected?)
“—little first aid.” The pain came in waves, and all Danny could hear was the rush of his stupid heart in his ears. “—expecting shootings in America, but not from a—” 
Just as fast as it came, the world melted away. His last grasp on consciousness slipped away.
(As fast as the click of a button.)
***
Wes had a punchable face.
But hey—that’s what you get for talking to the press. The accusations were written off as pretty baseless, but the damage had been done. He got inquisitive stares now and again. After all, Wes was a joke, but his interview put Danny’s name on the list of suspects and that was enough to fuck his entire life over.
After his two-day suspension, Danny had little opportunity to survey his work. Honestly, more people asked him about how bad he fucked up Wes’s face than whether or not he was Phantom.
(From what he had seen, it was in a perpetual state of purple and that was enough to curb his anger for now.)
So. He had two days off from school.
Danny went to see Clockwork.
Long Now welcomed him with welcome arms, and he broke down into a fit of whines and gripes about how it seemed like everyone was out to get him, that everyone wanted to put his head on a pike. Everyone wanted to ferret out the wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Clockwork shared their sympathies.
“No matter what I do, I just—I’m a wreck. I think someone’s figured it out. That they know, but then I mention it to Jazz or Sam or Tucker and I’m just paranoid and I think I’m paranoid now and—” he groaned. “I don’t know what to do. I’m losing my mind.”
“You do know that it’s inevitable that the truth comes to light.”
He froze. “What.”
Clockwork shifted from senior to adult. “Your paranoia isn’t for naught. It’s a matter of time.”
No. This couldn’t be happening.
He’d figure a way out.
There had to be something.
“I thought nothing was inevitable.”
“Not nothing,” Clockwork hummed. “Often, it is nothing. But not this time.”
Their words shook him to the core. He’d suspected it, sure, but confirmation was—
“I know it isn’t fair.”
“Don’t tell me what is and isn’t fair!” Danny snapped. “Your entire life isn’t—isn’t under scrutiny for everyone. If they know that I’m me, I—”
He pressed his hands to his chest.
He would be finished.
One way or another, someone would find a way to put him on their table.
The government.
His parents.
Maybe someone else out for his blood.
(His body.)
“I can’t see what will happen past them learning the truth,” Clockwork said. “But it is a fixed point. Everything past that diverges, a thousand roads. Timelines. Possibilities. I can’t tell you what to expect. The best, the worst. I cannot offer that reassurance.”
“Oh.”
They nodded. “It’s a lot to take in.”
“I don’t want them to find out,” he said in a pathetic whine.
For a long moment, Clockwork said nothing. If not for the constant ticking of clocks, he would have thought they were frozen. But then Clockwork’s expression shifted.
And they asked: 
“Would you like to know?” 
***
……
………
Warbled voices were around him again. Different.
But this time more in focus.
“Sir, Ma’am, if you could leave the room—”
“I will NOT. That is my son, and I am not leaving until someone tells me why there is a HOLE in his chest—!”
And somewhere else, a shriek of sobs.
“We’re transporting him to the hospital, you can’t—”
“I did it,” said that same, sobbing voice. “I shot him. I shot him.”
More people were touching him and Danny didn’t like it oh god no no no —
“—get him on the stretcher—”
“—the hell DID you—”
“—Ms. Gray, you—”
“—no! I want to know why—”
“—securing him, just—”
And now time did slow.
The EMTs lifted the stretcher.
And his face lolled to the side, giving him a clear view of the clock.
The minute hand moved one last time.
Just as:
“I didn’t mean to! I didn’t—he’s Phantom, I didn’t think that it would—!” Valerie, cut off, sobbing. “I’m so sorry, Danny. If you can hear me, I’m so sorry.”
And then there was silence.
Crushing darkness.
***
If he had any last doubts that his secret was out, they were snuffed out when he woke up in the hospital to the pained faces of his parents. Jazz was in the chair to his left, hair mussed up and asleep. His parents’ eyes were red with tears. In his delirium, he also noticed Sam’s backpack discarded in the corner.
How long had—?
“Two days.”
Clockwork appeared before him in their adult form. They swung their staff, looking rather pleased with themselves. Danny then realized the occupants of the room had been frozen as long as he’d been awake. 
“You’re recovering well, all considered.” Clockwork tapped a clipboard on a nearby table. “I will say, I am surprised that we took this route. It is what you might call a ‘spoiler,’ but it’s kinder than most.”
“Is it,” he said, voice hoarse.
Clockwork waited for him to finish coughing up his lungs before speaking again. “They’re handling it as best they can. I won’t say it’s great, but you’re on the way there.”
“I—what happened, again?”
And as he asked, it came rushing back.
Lancer. Valerie.
And paramedics?
Clockwork gave him a knowing smile. “Your teacher called an ambulance. In his panic, he might have let it slip that you were having a reaction because of a ghost weapon, and your parents were looped into the call.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Danny’s eyes found his frozen heart monitor, time stopped between beats. Below, his mother had tied off the top half of her HAZMAT suit and was wearing a black shirt beneath. He did notice that the contents of her weapons belt were emptied.
He turned back to Clockwork. “How did they take it?”
They shrugged. “Why don’t you ask them?”
“Wait—wait, I'm not ready.”
“How about this? I tell you how much time you have left.” They raised their staff. “Three—”
“Clockwork—”
“Two—”
“Don’t you dare!”
“Time in.”
1K notes · View notes
mcgomega · 2 months
Text
DP x DC drabble
"Let's pull a Cinderella act"
Summary: The Observants throw another stick into the New Ghost King’s - which is Danny - peaceful life. Behind his back they arranged a marriage between Prince Aragon and Princess Jasmine and there’s nothing Danny or Jazz's boyfriend Jason Todd can do about it. Or is there?
“JASOOON!!!!” Danny's wail echoed through the wast space of the Batcave, scaring a flock of bats into flying frantically all over. 
The vigilante in question whipped his head around, trying to find the source of the distressed call. He and his team of Outlaws have just returned from a very tiresome mission, and, since he and Bruce got on very good terms, the Bat allowed them to rest and eat in his home. The other members of the batfamily decided that it called for the slumber party and insisted that they should call in the Nightingales, since they're practically family at this point. Jason was just about to make a call to his girlfriend when he heard the very distressed voice of her brother carry through the cave.
This never brought good news.
Just as Jason was about to shout back, the half-ghost flew like a bullet and collided with confused and concerned vigilante, knocking the breath out of him and forcing him to fall on the floor. Roy and Artemis raised their weapons and Bizarro growled at the new face, but Jason waved them off: "Stand down! It's alright! That's Tim's boyfriend!"
"Which one of them?" Roy asked with a quirked brow, but did lower his bow.
Jason ignored him to instead focus on the boy squeezing the last bits of life out of him “Woah woah, Danny, calm down! It's okay! You're okay." He could now see that he was shaking. "What happened What are you doing in the batcave?! How did you even…”
He was interrupted by a panicked shout right into his face, while crystalline tears streamed down Danny's face “JASON WE HAVE A PROBLEM! THEY’VE TAKEN JAZZ!”
Immediately Jason froze, face turning grim and eyes shining a brief green. The Pit stirred in his chest, making his skin burn “What?!”
“I tried to stop this!" Danny kept saying frantically, tugging at his white hair and breathing hard as he struggled with words "I did all I could, I swear! But those goddamn eyeballs they… They did it behind my back! No one told me anything! Those fuckers still…”
The air of the cave turned so frigid even Artemis started shivering.
“Danny?” Tim’s voice echoed through the cavern as he and the rest of the family, including Bruce and Alfred, rushed to the garage area near the entrance upon hearing the first ghostly call.
“Tim! Babe!” Immediately Danny flew into his boyfriend’s awaiting arms and squeezed him in a hug. “Tim Tim Tim… I don’t know what to do! Jazz she’s… I… Oh Ancients what should I do?!”
“Shhh… Calm down first of all” Tim soothed in a warm and reassuring voice that Danny loved so much, while rubbing his back. “C’mon, follow my breaths. In 1, 2, 3…”
With Tim’s guidance, Danny finally calmed down enough to stop turning the air so cold from his panic. He was given a glass of water courtesy of Alfred and sat in the lounge area of the cave. Tim placed himself at Danny's right and holding him by shoulders to ground him. Jason was at his left, gripping his guns that he was just in process of unstrapping when his girlfriend’s brother tackled him. The rest of the Bat Clan and the Outlaws found places to perch or lean to in the lounge, postures rigid and ready for action while their eyes were trained on the young half-ghost.
“Now..." Bruce took the initiative as he spoke in his soft but serious voice reserved for questioning scared victims and witnesses "Can you explain what is going on? And what does that have to do with Jazz?”
Danny took another sip of water and a shuddering inhale-exhale. Then blurted: “Jazz is getting married!”
Jason saw red/green upon hearing this as he gripped the leather of the couch, ripping it barehanded “WHAT?!”
“That’s all the Observants’ fault!" Danny rushed to explain, his panic resurfacing "Apparently they’ve been planning this ever since I was crowned!”
“Planning what?” Tim asked as he kept soothing and rubbing Danny's back.
But Danny stood up and started pacing between the Bats as he ranted “Apparently they wanted me to have more political power or some bullshit and for that decided to wed my sister to the most influential ghost - after me - in the Infinite Realms. Naturally there was a whole ass tournament - that I didn’t know about - to decide who’s the most influential! Guess who won?" Danny took a dramatic pause "Prince Aragon!!!”
Tim made a sour face, for he was the most familiar with Danny's list of rogues and other ghosts he was on bad terms with “But he’s a close-minded prick! Didn't he try to make your girlfriend Sam marry him?”
“EXACTLY!" Danny shouted throwing his arms wide "That’s what I said when he barged into our house and took Jazz away into the Infinite Realms!”
“Why didn’t you go after them?” Jason demanded, just barely containing his rage and not knowing where to direct it. Roy and Artemis' hands on his shoulders helped ground him.
Danny whipped at him, eyes blazing green, his aura making the Pit cover “I did! Flew right into the 'Zone! But as soon as I entered, I was stopped by the Observants telling me that Jazz is betrothed!”
“Can’t you do anything about it?! You’re the motherfucking High King of all ghosts!”
“You’d think that! And I thought so too! But when I demanded to cancel the betrothal, those damn eyeballs said that everything has already been agreed upon, UNDER MY NAME! And if I go back on it, it would be like a declaration of war against Aragon’s kingdom and that’s the least of all the crap I need right now!”
“How could it have been agreed upon under your name when you didn’t know about it?” Tim asked, rubbing his chin as his detective mind worked.
“Because, since I’m still young and most of my duties belong to the living realm - y’know, dealing with unruly ghosts and saving the world once in a while - they took it upon themselves to spare me some… minor businesses. Which apparently includes my sisters and their marriages!”
“Fuck!” Suddenly Jason stood up, gripping his guns, eyes blazing green. “You said he won a tournament? Don’t all ghosts settle their arguments with fight? Let me fight this fucker and win Jazz back!”
Danny groaned, the temperature dropped as the half-ghost took a deep breath. “That’s the worst thing, Jason: you can’t!”
The Pit stirred like a storm “The fuck do you mean I can’t?!”
“Because…” Danny seethed through his teeth, sharing Jason's rage “Apparently, only I, as a King, can date and marry whoever I want! Which is why none of the eyeballs had any problems with me, Sam and Tucker and then Tim, Kon and Bernard too! Heck, they even congratulated me for acquiring a Kryptonian Prince as a consort! Oh yeah, get this babe” Danny turned to Tim with an unhinged manic smile that Tim knew meant how much stress he was under “Only Kon and Tucker are acknowledged as my consorts, because Kon is a royalty apparently and Tucker is a reincarnation of a pharaoh! You, Sam and Bernard are considered concubines!" 
That declaration made Tim scrunch his face and then glare at Steph when she snorted and mumbled "You'd rock the Leiya look".
“But back to the problem at hand!” Danny turned back to Jason “I can date whoever I want, but my sisters can’t! I was told that you and Jazz cannot be together because you’re a commoner!”
He was gonna break something at this point. Only Biz could hold him back “That’s bullshit!”
“That’s what I said! You and I both know how much you and Jazz love each other! You are literally soulmates!" Danny floated to the raging revenant, his core sending calming waves to soothe the pit, even though he too was shaking in anger and frustration. "Jason, I swear, I tried, I yelled, I threatened! I did all I could to reverse it! But I was denied all the time! I even asked Clockwork for help but he’s tied by the Observants too! He’s displeased about it too! Said you and Jazz are destined for each other! So I tried finding a way to denote the law that prevents my sisters from marrying whoever they want… but I was told it’s gonna take a decade of paperwork! A time we don’t have!”
“Wait…” suddenly Damian raised his voice, face scrunched in confusion “If your sisters cannot decide who to marry, why didn’t those Observants raise any complaints against mine and Elle’s relationship?”
Danny took another deep tired breath, the manic grin returned as the temperature dropped another grade down. “Another nasty thing I’ve just found out. Congratulations by the way! Because, apparently, Ra’s Al Fucking Ghul made a deal a millennia ago with Pariah Dark - previous Ghost King - that whenever both of them have a fitting progeny, they will be betrothed to each other!!! So yeah, another political marriage! Don’t worry too much though, you have time until you’re both adults. Call Ellie though, she’s freaking out right now”.
Appalled and rightfully enraged, Damian went to do exactly that, followed by supportive Cass as calming presence.
“So what are we gonna do now?” Jason demanded.
Danny deflated and sat back on the couch, looking so much smaller and more vulnerable as he leaned into Tim's embrace. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. But we have to do something soon! The wedding is tonight and Aragon is hosting a ball in celebration. If no one challenges and defeats him until midnight… Jazz will be his forever…”
Jason felt his own shoulders slump “But I can’t challenge him because I’m a commoner…”
“Yeah…”
Danny looked up at Jason, tears of ice streaming down his face. “Jay… I swear… I tried all I could”
Jason signed. Holstered his guns and stepped close to ruffle Danny’s hair. “I know buddy. I know you did.”
Danny reached to hug Jason across his waist, sobbing, while Tim rubbed his back. “You two are perfect for each other. I want you two to be together. I don’t want Jazz to marry that prick!”
“I know… I don’t want that too” saying that, Jason reached into his pocket and pulled out a small blue box. Everyone gasped as a realization hit them all, including Danny who started crying even harder.
"Fuck..." Roy mumbled as he gripped Jason's shoulder. "Is that what you wanted to tell me?"
Jason nodded "I wanted to ask you to be my best man. And Artie, you..."
"It would've been my honour" the amazon assured in earnest. "Jasmine became a great influence to you. You would make a perfect couple and I would've gladly become a witness of your union." Bizarro nodded along with her.
Bruce put a hand to Jason’s shoulder and the two looked at each other. Bruce with both pride and sorrow, as he was also very invested in his middle son’s relationship with a bright and feisty young therapist. That prompted Jason to launch himself into his fathers arms as he was hugged. Then the rest of the batfamily joined the hug, comforting their brother.
“Is there really nothing we can do?” Duke asked to no one in particular.
“Perhaps there might be” a new voice suddenly carried through an entire cave.
Everyone whipped their heads, weapons and battle stances ready, and saw a newcomer: a woman dressed in a vintage, all black outfit with a veil covering her face. But that wasn’t the most striking feature. She looked like she was cut straight from an old black and white movie reel, with imperfections of the film flickering all over her form. It made some of the bats squint and rub their eyes in irritation, but Danny visibly brightened up.
“Lady Gotham?!” he called in disbelief, flying to the Spirit of the City. “What are you doing here?”
The old ghost smiled kindly “I followed the distressed call of your soul, my King. And I’m glad I did. Same as all of you, I have my own personal investment with the blooming love between one of my knights and the princess. That’s why I’m here to provide a helping hand.”
Something like hope oozed off of Danny and the death-touched bats felt it. And then it weakened “But Gotham! I tried everything! There’s no other way to stop the wedding unless someone challenges Aragon for Jazz’s hand. And Jason can’t do that because he’s a…”
“Not royalty? Are you so sure about that, my King?” Gotham's smile widened cryptically. Which was unnerving even to the most seasoned of Bats.
“What do you mean?”
The spirit looked to Jason and her smile warmed and turned motherly, which was... so familiar somehow. “You may not remember it, my child, but when you perished, I collected your ghost. Brought you to my court.” She gently cupped his face. “You may have lived in poverty until my knight took you under his wing. But ever since you were born I watched after you. And when you let out your last breath, I claimed you as mine. My first-mourned. My precious little prince.”
Jason looked at the spirit in confusion, but Danny’s face brightened. “Of course! I heard about that! About a Prince of the kingdom of darkness that vanished one day! That’s you, Jason! You’re the Ghost Prince of Gotham!”
That was news to Jason “What? Me? But… how is that…”
“I know it is confusing for your mortal mind, my dear. So please don’t ponder on it yet. We have an important mission ahead.”
“Right… Yeah! Jazz is a priority right now!" Jason shook himself up and loudly clapped his face "What should I do?”
“You will go to the Infinite Realms, attend Aragon’s ball - with my invitation, mingle with the guests and then, when Aragon will announce his marriage and say the words “is there anyone who challenges my right to marry the princess” you will call out and say “I, Jason Peter Todd-Wayne, Son of Willis and Catherine Todd, adopted son of Bruce Wayne, Ghost Prince of Gotham, challenge you, Prince Aragon, for the hand of Princess Jasmine of the Infinite Realms.”
"In those exact words?" Jason cringed.
"Preferably. And the rest is simple: fight Aragon and win.”
“Just like that?”
The spirit hummed as she tapped her chin “Well, you’d need means of transportation and a fitting costume of course, there’s no way you’re gonna be allowed to a royal ball in your vigilante suit. And your motorcycle isn’t fit to traverse the realms.” She turned back to Danny "If I may, Your Majesty?" She outstretched a hand.
For a moment Danny stared at her dumbly and then perked up "Oh right! Ectoplasm! Here, have as much as you want!" He cupped his hands and a glowing green ball of plasma formed in his grasp, lighting up the cave. Lady Gotham breathed in the offered energy like one would smoke a cigarette, and breathed out grey mist reminiscent of the smog covering her city's skies.
"Mmm yes, that should cut it. Follow me everyone, hop hop!" She paced elegantly out of the lounge, like a boss that she was, clicking her heels that send echoes across the cave. Everyone followed her out into the open garage area. She stood and hummed in thought. “What was that spell in that movie? Ah yes! Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo!” With a wave she send a splash of darkness fly somewhere. And in the next moment a roar of an engine sounded, followed by…
“An old Batmobile!” Bruce gasped.
Dick gasped in wonder “But that thing is beyond repair! We only kept it as a memento! It can’t ride anymore!”
“Then let’s bring it some new life” with another wave of Lady Gotham’s hand the damaged vehicle broke down, its details swirling in a vortex of darkness until it rearranged itself into… a black carriage built in gothic style with bat motifs and red and silver accents. The interior was furnished with burgundy velvet seats and curtains.
Steph whistled. "Sweet ride! Can we keep it?"
"Of course! It's made of physical materials and will maintain its form even beyond the Infinite Realms. It does need some resilient steeds".
At that moment Damian returned and eyed the carriage critically. "We only have two horses and that wouldn't be enough to carry this vehicle."
"Of course not, Little One. And regular horses wouldn't exactly cut it, no matter what breed they are." The Spirit raised her gaze to the ceiling of the cave. "Are there any volunteers in aiding the members of your colony in these trying times?" Her voice echoed throughout the massive empty space.
For a moment it was silent. And then a series of chirps as six adult bats descended and perched atop the carriage.
"Bats?" Damian cried indignantly. "You're gonna make actual bats carry the carriage?"
"Nah, there has to be some magic behind it" Dick offered. "Haven't you read or watched Cinderella? We're gonna have to fix that if you didn't".
Lady Gotham smiled at that. True to what Dick said, with another splash of darkness the bats turned into beautiful black horses, already dressed in fitting upholstery and harnessed into the carriage.
"Now for the coachman and the outrider" She blew a series of melodic whistles and raised her hand up. The Bats gasped in awe as two tiny birds landed on her fingers.
"Those are robins!"
"Oh are you kidding me?"
"Sticking to the bit till the end it seems."
Lady Gotham ignored the family's jabs and instead turned to Bruce. "You cannot adopt them, by the way. They have families of their own" Then she sofltly gazed at Damian "You however can take care of them once they return to their original forms".
"The bats too?"
"The bats too" Lady Gotham nodded.
Her magic swirled again and the two robins turned into two young men. Their clothes resembled the classic Robin uniform but done in an 18th century style. Eyes covered by domino masks. They also chirped and turned their heads like the birds they are. They bowed to Lady Gotham and quickly took their positions upon the carriage.
“Now that the means of transport are ready, time for dress up”.
“I can lend Jason one of my suits” Bruce offered. “He should fit.”
“With all due respect, Bruce dear, but as luxurious as your wardrobe is… all of it is bland. And our dear prince needs to impress and dazzle everyone! To let everyone know what he’s about! So…” her gaze wandered around the cave, looking for something as she hummed. And then she stopped on the… “Ah! That! That will most certainly do!”
Both Bruce and Jason stiffened as Lady Gotham paced towards the glass case containing Jason’s old and tattered Robin suit. A chill overcame Jason as memories rushed in his head.
“You can’t…” Bruce started and reached his hand but stopped, at loss for words. Jason eyed him cautiously. But Lady Gotham only chuckled.
“Come now, Bruce. You can’t keep clinging to that old thing. Your son’s future is at stake. It’s time to let go of the past.”
Her words helped Jason get a hold of his raging emotions. She was right. What happened - happened, there was no changing that. What's important is what could still be done. And if his old suit can serve its final purpose, so be it.
With a nod and a resigned exhale, Bruce opened the glass case. Lady Gotham waved a hand, the suit flew up and around Jason, spinning faster and faster with swirls of darkness, enveloping Jason and raising him into the air. Panic tried to raise its head in the Pit but he willed it to calm, thinking of Jazz. Of his girlfriend... his bride... his princess... who was waiting for him in an evil dragon's lair.
“Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo!”
With a magnificent burst of embers, Jason landed on the ground in a beautiful three-piece suit made of the deepest black silk that seemed to absorb all light. The sleeves and lapels of the jacket were decorated with intricate embroidery depicting feathers in burgundy color that looked more like flames. On the left breast pocket was a golden "R" brooch with a huge ruby embedded in the hole of the letter. Beneath the jacket and black west was a deep red silk shirt with a black tie around the collar. Long and wide cape flowed from Jason’s shoulders all the way to the ground and then some, looking like a shroud of pure darkness. A reddish-black domino mask sat comfortably on Jason’s face. His hair styled just sleek enough to not look messy, with his white streak shining bright just like Danny's ghostly hair do.
“Oh wow”
“Jay you look…”
“Magical!”
“Like a real Prince from a fairytale!”
“It’s… so light…” Jason commented as he took a feel of his attire. “Fits like second skin! It’s like I’m not wearing anything!” He threw a punch, and then a couple of kicks and a roundabout kick, making the cape flow magnificently. “Doesn’t restrict any movements at all! Shit, that’s the most comfortable thing I’ve ever worn!”
Lady Gotham beamed at him “No wonder! It’s made from your old suit after all.”
“Can I keep it?”
“Absolutely! But you must hurry! Only six hours remain until midnight!” She ushered Jason into the carriage. An earpiece was shoved into his hand and some bat equipment tossed into the carriage last minute. All the Bats called their best wishes as they patted him on the back. 
"You got this, Jay!"
"Keep the comm on all the time!"
"You're the most badass Cinderella ever!"
"Knock them dead! I mean... dead-er!"
The moment he was inside the vehicle, the coachman whipped the horses into movement. The carriage sped through the Batcave’s tunnel at the speed only a Batmobile could take. And at the end of the tunnel a green portal opened up, courtesy of Danny.
“As soon as you kick Aragon’s ass, bring Jazz to the King’s Keep so I can marry you two!”
“You got it, little brother!” Jason called back with a smirk.
Once the carriage and Danny slipped into the Infinite Realms, the portal closed.
———
Author’s note: Please leave some comments if you liked it and wanna read a continuation. I’m starving without feedback.
393 notes · View notes
torscrawls · 7 months
Text
Batman’s no-kill policy is ectophobic
Summary:
“Well that just makes it sound like he thinks ghosts are worse than humans, you know? And! It got me thinking, Batman refuses to kill his enemies, right?” “Right,” Tim faintly agreed, desperately trying to make sense of this conversation. Phantom relentlessly continued, oblivious to Tim’s spiraling sanity. “Maybe that’s because he thinks that ghosts are less than humans! He doesn’t want to create more of us.”
Phantom is upset that Batman refuses to kill his enemies. Tim just wants his shift to start so he can get out of this conversation.
Words: 1 245
You can read the whole thing on AO3.
-
Tim was sitting in the break room of the Watchtower, mindlessly flipping channels on the big wall-mounted TV while trying to wake up for his next shift. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Phantom slowly drift in front of the big windows, face almost pressed against the glass and his whole attention fixed on the stars outside.
This in and of itself wasn’t anything uncommon; Phantom seemed to have an almost obsessive fascination with space, but what had caught Tim’s attention was the frown on the ghost’s face. Normally he would have a dreamy expression if not a big smile on his face as he watched the expanse outside the windows, but not today. And Tim was willing to admit that it was getting to him.
After another few minutes of switching between channels, silence, and no change in the frowning Tim pressed the off button on the remote and heaved a sigh as he turned to face the window and the floating ghost. “What’s wrong?”
Phantom startled as if he had forgotten he wasn’t alone in the room, or as if he had forgotten he could be seen by others. He had a bad habit of forgetting to turn himself visible and scaring the shit out of people around the tower. He looked over his shoulder and fixed Tim with a wide eyed, literally shining, look of confusion. “What do you mean wrong?”
Tim made a vague gesture at the ghost. “You’ve been frowning ever since I got here. Did something happen?”
Phantom turned around in the air, spinning on his own axis until he was looking at Tim upside down. Tim noted that his hair stayed in the same position throughout. He wasn’t jealous, not at all.
“Well, I was just thinking... Does Batman hate ghosts?”
Tim blinked, thrown by the direction the conversation had taken. “What? No?”
The frown on Phantom’s face deepened as he righted himself in the air. “But he just told me that he ‘was sorry for my loss’, as if something bad had happened? And when I asked him what he meant he said he regretted not being able to save me.”
Tim paused, weighting his words carefully before slowly saying, “I’m sure he just meant that he was sorry that you had… You know…” Tim trailed off, winced, and then forced out, “Died.”
It was always a hard subject to breach, nobody liked to think about death. The Justice League and the Batfamily had all come to the unanimous decision to avoid the subject around their newest member since they were convinced that he would react badly to the topic.
Phantom snorted. “Yeah I know. Kinda hard to miss.”
“I didn’t mean—”  
But Phantom cut him off, “Wait. Is that why none of you talk about death around me? You’re scared that I’m gonna be, what? Offended?”
“Well… No?” Tim said unconvincingly.
Phantom laughed. “Oh my Ancients! You did! That’s so cute!”
“You know, we don’t really talk about death with each other either,” Tim said, feeling like he had to defend himself somehow.
Phantom tilted his head, still smiling. “Why?”
Tim blinked, thrown by the question. “Because… People don’t like to think about that?”
Phantom pursed his lips in thought. “See, that’s what I meant! Isn’t that just kinda rude? I mean, I’m dead, does that mean you guys don’t wanna think about me?”
“No?” Now it was Tim’s turn to frown. “That’s different.”
“Hmm,” Phantom hummed, looking unconvinced.
Tim scrambled for a change in subject and latched onto the first thing that came to mind. “So why would you think that Bruce hated you just because he said he was sorry for your loss?”
“Well that just makes it sound like he thinks ghosts are worse than humans, you know? And! It got me thinking, Batman refuses to kill his enemies, right?”
“Right,” Tim faintly agreed, desperately trying to make sense of this conversation.
Phantom relentlessly continued, oblivious to Tim’s spiraling sanity. “Maybe that’s because he thinks that ghosts are less than humans! He doesn’t want to create more of us.”
Tim had to step in at that, feeling like they weren’t on the same page when it came to some very important fundamentals. “Phantom, you—you understand that people don’t like dying, right? It’s the end.”
Phantom tilted his head with a look of confusion. “It’s not though?”
And Tim guessed that was true. He couldn’t really argue the point with a literal ghost, now could he?
“The town I come from, people don’t really care. Death, life, it’s kinda all the same,” Phantom said happily, as if that wasn’t a very troubling statement to make. And with no respect for Tim’s quickly dwindling sanity, he continued with a thoughtful finger tapping at his lower lip, “Except that death has a lot more flying in it. And energy beams.”
Tim made a mental note to try and find out exactly what town Phantom was talking about. Hopefully it wasn’t one on Earth. He managed a resigned, “Of course,” and hoped that was the end of the conversation. He needed to have enough energy left for his whole shift after all.
But Phantom just nodded and continued on, “Batman refusing to kill his enemies is all just an obvious ploy not to have them move on as ghosts!”
“Obviously,” Tim faintly agreed.
“That’s messed up! He just wants to trap them in the human realm with him so he can torment them forever!” Phantom shook his head. “I know a couple of people in the Zone who would love to exchange torture ideas with him. I thought that Fright Knight was scary and now I’m working with a guy like that, can you believe it?”
Tim couldn’t. “I—I don’t think that’s what he means by that.”
Phantom huffed in annoyance and crossed his arms. “It’s blatant ectophobia, is what it is!”
Tim opened his mouth to try and come up with an argument when the subject of their argument stepped into the break room. Bruce addressed him with clear disapproval in his voice, “Red Robin, you’re late for your shift.”
Tim had never been so grateful to receive Bruce’s disappointment. At least he wasn’t alone in this shitshow of a conversation anymore. “I’m sorry. Me and Phantom was just having a conversation about how you’re clearly discriminatory towards ghosts.”
Bruce stopped from where he had turned to leave. “…What?”
Phantom nodded. “Yeah! Don’t think I’ve forgotten your rude comment earlier about your condolences!”
Despite the bizarre situation, Tim almost laughed at the shocked expression on Bruce’s face, visible even under the mask. His father opened his mouth, closed it, and tried again, “I was just saying that I wish I could have helped you before you ended up as a ghost.”
“And I’m saying that that’s clearly showing a preference for living people!”
Bruce pressed his mouth into a thin line before saying, “I think we need to have a conversation about the value of life if you’re going to be joining us on any more rescue missions.”
“See!” Phantom looked at Tim as he gestured angrily at Bruce “There he goes again!”
Tim got up from the sofa. “I’m late for my shift.” And he left the break room as if the ghosts of hell were at his heals. Which they kind of were; Phantom’s angry voice following him down the corridor. He really wasn’t awake enough for this shit.
534 notes · View notes
flora-gray · 2 months
Text
Erik/OC Fanfics!
Now seems like a great time to share some of our favorite fanfics featuring a relationship between Erik and not Christine, not Meg, but A BRAND NEW CHARACTER 🤯
Historically, I was never a big fan of anything other than E/C, let alone an OC, but I have been converted by some incredible works written by some very talented writers.
I’m going to limit myself to just one so that others can talk up their faves, so I’m gonna get us started with this gorgeous piece by @les-gnossiennes-fantomatiques
All Imaginable Pangs (rated M, complete, Leroux-based, pre- and post-canon, canon compliant) is a beautiful story of Erik’s relationship with an aging courtesan who he hires as an art model, from her POV. Augustine is a fully-realized character with incredible depth and growth, and endlessly compelling. Highly recommended!
What’s one (or more!) of your favorites?
101 notes · View notes
glitch-in-space · 1 year
Text
DP x DC Prompt #1 - Super Strength Theory
New theory behind Danny’s super strength: ghosts don’t actually have real ‘super strength’, not like you would traditionally think, but rather, the limiters the brain puts in place to stop a human’s muscles from tearing their own body apart go away with death. So, ghosts only have a small amount of strength boost, the rest is just the average human body without limits. Danny, in his human form, can only use his ghost strength thanks to his healing factor repairing the damage as he goes.
Unfortunately for Danny, this does mean using his full strength in his human form causes excruciating pain and deep bruising that lingers for days after the fact. Something he only finds out when he stops a runaway bus from hitting the youngest Wayne...
457 notes · View notes
redead-red · 4 months
Text
Tumblr media
It's @ecto-implosion time!!
This is the piece I made for the event~~ you guys already know I'm a sucker for Westons and sibling bonding. And how incredibly lucky I was to be paired with the wonderful writer Missellaineous
Please check the incredible fic The Love That Binds Us
67 notes · View notes
camels-pen · 1 year
Text
The Law of Fenton
Summary:
The more a Fenton tries to be scary, the funnier and lamer it is.
The vice versa, however, is also true.
based on @notoverjoyed's prompt "Danny goes to college and dodges the attention of the campus paranormal club as they try to figure out just what the hell he is."
Ao3 Link
“There! He’s over there!” 
Danny sprinted down the path, just barely managing to scramble around the corner and pulling tight to the wall as a thundering cloud of footsteps ran past him. He waited a moment, straining his hearing for any sign they were turning back. After a long enough silence, he slumped against the wall with a breath of relief.
“Danny! I just have a few quick questions.”
He jumped, flailing his arms. “What the fuck?! Where did you even come from?!”
The man chuckled. “Don’t worry about it, just answer my questions, please.”
“Are you sure you’re not the paranormal one?” he muttered. “And I already told you no, I don’t wanna be interviewed.”
“We never mentioned a full interview, but if you’re willing—”
“What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, you want an interview? Talk to my secretary, she’s behind you.”
The man whipped his head around… only to furrow his brow at empty air. He turned back only to curse as his eyes darted around the side of the building.
Danny shook his head with a smirk, invisibly watching as the man got increasingly frantic as he searched the area. Well, at least the President was as gullible as the regular members. 
---
Off and on, Danny struggled to get through his classes because, despite being more than a state away from his hometown, there were still people trying to ruin his life.
He thought it would be better here—no ghost attacks, no ghost hunters, no Dash—and yet, somehow, it was worse.
If he could go back and smack his younger self from 6 months ago, he would— deciding to use his ghost powers late at night to sneak into one of the lab rooms to staple an assignment together was so not worth it.
Someone else—sneaking in without ghost powers—seemed to catch him in the act and a picture started spreading around campus of a floating stapler, his name on the cover page of the assignment in. 
Full. 
View. 
Ever since, he’d been hounded by these chuckleheads calling themselves the “Paranormal Exploration Experimentalists” between classes, outside his dorm, in other clubs.
They used to try getting to him during classes too, but his professors quickly put a stop to it. Whether out of the goodness of their hearts or out of hating students talking over them, he didn’t know and didn’t care. 
He grumbled to himself as he angrily munched on a bowl of cereal on the couch, having pulled an all nighter and having a physics class in an hour. A rerun of some older cartoons were playing on the television.
Danny sighed. Oh to be a prey animal in a cartoon. It seemed like such a good life: going wherever you want and not having to worry about having the money for it; sneaking food from restaurants or unsuspecting humans; (third thing).
He continued to yearn for the simple life of a road runner when Looney Tunes ended. Class time was coming up soon and he was just about done with his sort-of-breakfast sort-of-dinner. Just as he grabbed the remote though, the title card for the next cartoon came up. In an instant, it was like a lightbulb went off in his head.
He couldn’t live the simple life of a cartoon prey animal—maybe temporarily if he jumped into the tv with his powers—but he could treat that pesky club president and the other jerks in the P.E.E. club to the same karma as an unlucky cartoon predator animal.
---
The following few days lent itself to preparation. After all, he had lots of reality breaking powers at his disposal, but without a plan, he’d just end up peaking their interest as some strange entity haunting the campus or, worse, they’d take it as some kind of proof that he wasn’t human. Which is true, but he didn’t want them to know that.
So, he set up a call between himself, Sam, and Tucker—he was going to include Jazz, but she’d probably yell at him or something for being so petty about this—and they plotted how exactly to scare the P.E.E. club shitless in a way that didn’t lead to Danny’s human identity, with many of the best ideas surrounding an item featured frequently in the cartoon that inspired him.
It was fairly simple: ‘Tom’, as Danny had started calling him, would be the first victim.
---
“Hey, president guy!” he waved a hand at the man, walking up to him in the hallway where he was sitting outside a closed door, papers and binders spread at his feet. “I’m ready for an interview.”
‘Tom’ raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yup!” Danny squatted down in front of him. “If you get it done, you’ll probably leave me alone. So the sooner I get this over with, the better.”
“Well, yeah, I guess.” The guy pulled out a faded agenda and a pencil from under one of his binders. “When are you free?”
---
“I’ll agree to an interview with Tom.”
“To lure him out?” Sam asked.
“Well yes, but also to have all his club members’ attention on me.” 
“They already have all their attention on you. I thought that was the problem?”
Danny grinned. “Yeah, but this way they’ll be more focused on hearing about the interview than poking around for other supposed paranormal stuff around campus. Including anything my duplicates get up to.”
---
Danny Duplicate #13 roamed the skies above the building the original Danny was currently sitting in. The duplicate combed the roof and jammed the lock by phasing some wood in it just for good measure.
“So, you’re some kind of invisible man?”
“Starting off strong, huh?” ‘Tom’ was no journalism major, but he was expecting some lead up questions. “Well, not really. Everyone back home can do this kind of stuff.”
“What kind of stuff, exactly?”
The duplicate began poking Danny on equipment placement. A little further from the door, he mentally responded, don’t want to actually get anyone hurt. Absentmindedly, he said, “Oh, lots of stuff. It’s like magic with how versatile it is.”
“Okay, but what is ‘it’?”
“Ectoplasm,” he said, before his thoughts caught up to him. Fuck fuck. He wasn’t supposed to say that.
---
“And you’re gonna direct a bunch of duplicates while also trying to avoid spilling everything in this interview?” Sam said, squinting.
“What?” he said, crossing his arms, defensive. “I can do it.”
“Danny, I love you dude, but you remember what happened during that scramble at graduation, right?”
“No.” He blushed. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
Tucker smirked. “I have the video saved on my phone if—”
“ANYWAY,”—he interrupted loudly—“I’m older now—”
“You’re, like, six months older—”
“I’m OLDER now. It won’t happen again.”
---
God. He can’t believe it happened again.
Danny’s duplicates froze where they were setting things up. Danny himself laughed awkwardly. “Y-Yeah, y’know. There’s always been a bunch of ghost sightings around Amity Park, y’know? So, uh, the most popular theory is that sometimes the ghost’s leave weird energy stuff behind and we call that ‘ectoplasm’.”
Tom was furiously scribbling on his notepad, nodding along. “And how does that relate to your powers of invisibility? Does this mean everyone in your town can turn invisible?”
“Uhh—”
---
“So,”—Tucker spread his hands, voice low and promising with ideas—“you could set up a giant mouse trap right on top of the roof. Then drag him up there with an invisible duplicate so Danny Fenton has an alibi from the victim himself.”
“Don’t call him a victim,” Danny said. “You’re making it sound like I’m gonna maim him.”
“Oh, and he could conveniently look away as Fenton while his victim is being taken—” Sam continued, speaking right over him.
“Guys—”
“Yeah, and then Danny can, like, turn up the ghostliness to the max on his duplicate and threaten them not to meddle in some completely unrelated supernatural rumour on campus.”
“Then Danny Fenton can pretend to be a scaredy cat and panic. Maybe call for help from the people eavesdropping on the interview to help look for the kidnapping victim too. So he can build up eye witness reports that make it seem like he couldn’t be the perpetrator.” 
Tucker slapped a fist on his palm. “Oh! During the interview, he could bring back the fear of ghosts excuse from high school, which would help when he inevitably slips up too.” Sam nodded. “He could say he doesn’t know any specifics, but that he knows that weird stuff happens in Amity all the time.”
“I hate that excuse,” Danny grumbled.
Sam snorted. “Well, unless you want to gaslight the entire club or admit to being an amateur magician, suck it up.”
---
“I’m not too sure,” Danny said, grinding his teeth a little. “I’ve been afraid of ghosts my whole life so I tried to avoid learning any specifics.”
“Then, the picture?”
Fuck. The picture. “Uhh, the—the picture.” Oh, he really had to use that gag back up excuse, didn’t he? Ugh. “I really didn’t want to give it away, but you guys have gotten really annoying with the constant pestering.” He sighed. “I’m an amateur magician. I was using a really thin wire and hooks.”
“Is that so?”
“Well, yeah,” Danny said, putting on his most condescending voice. “It’s pretty obvious when you look for it. I’m surprised that wasn’t the first thing you ruled out.”
---
“You gotta scream.”
“I’m not gonna scream!”
“Danny, you have to scream,” Sam repeated. “No one’s gonna buy it if you don’t. You suck at acting.”
God, he hated it when she was right.
“Fine, but I draw the line at calling for help. I’m not gonna be some dude in distress.”
---
Danny Duplicate #1 hovered behind Tom, ready and in position. It seemed the other duplicates were prepared too. Good. He just needed to plant the idea in the guy’s head that he was a regular human and then he could strike.
“We did rule it out. We ruled out many forms of illusions from stage magicians. Professional ones,” Tom said calmly, tapping the end of his pencil on his paper. “We also ruled out photo editing as the person who took the footage is not only part of this club, but also a good friend of mine.”
Fuck, are you serious? Stupid Fenton luck at it again. “Maybe they should get glasses then?” He slumped back in his seat, putting on his most pathetically tired look. It wasn’t hard. “Look, I’m not trying to call your friend a liar or anything, but I really was just practicing some tricks.” 
“Of course,” Tom said, disbelief clear in his voice.
He threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t even mind you throwing around rumours or anything, just quit hounding me everywhere I go!”
At that, Tom did start to look a little guilty. “I guess, regardless of if you’re telling the truth, we should probably back off a little.” Oh thank god. Maybe Tom was reasonable after all. Maybe he wouldn’t need to even go through with—“After all, we aren’t sure what you’re capable of, and if you get upset, you might hurt someone.”
Wow. Wow. This guy really just said that to Danny’s face. Suddenly, he was glad he decided to amp up his threat from the original idea.
---
“The mousetrap isn’t enough though. If I was Tom, I wouldn’t give a shit about a single ghost threatening me.”
“Your viewpoint is skewed,” Tucker said. “You’re, like, Ghost Threat Georg; you get threatened by ghosts so often that you think people get ghost threats all the time, which is very much wrong.”
“Your viewpoint is skewed,” he said petulantly.
“Look, I wouldn’t have believed it either, but going to school in a place with basically no ghosts means most days I don’t get a single threat.” Tucker shrugged. “And the ones I do are usually some of your old rogues trying to ask to hang out somehow. I haven’t gotten a legit ghost threat in ages.”
“Yeah, same here,” Sam said. “It’s kind of weird, but Tucker’s right. I’m pretty sure the trap is enough.”
“No,” Danny shook his head. “It needs something more. It needs something to really send the message home.” He grinned. “And I’ve got just the thing.”
---
“A very bold claim you’re saying to the face of said person you think might hurt someone.” Danny strained to stay loose and relaxed. “If you’re so worried, why not go to campus security or something?”
Tom waved a hand. “Security guards are functionally useless in this situation. I’ve prepared myself and my club members on how to defend themselves and others against paranormal threats”—oh good, Danny thought gripping his leg, another GIW scenario, just what I needed—“using purified salts, stakes, holy water, etcetera. The basics.”
Okay, the lack of any real anti-ghost stuff made him feel a little better. “Right. The basics.” Wait a second. “Just out of curiosity, what exactly do you think I am? Just some guy with invisible powers?”
“We haven’t pinned anything down, but none of our theories are that simple,” Tom flipped through his notebook. He stopped on a page and read aloud, “Shapeshifter, shapeshifter, dragon with camouflage abilities, shapeshifter, a human shaped chameleon, shapeshifter, creature made entirely of string that can unravel at will, and shapeshifter.”
Huh. 
He really shouldn’t ask, but—“Why didn’t anyone think I was a ghost?”
Tom laughed. Fully belly laughed. “Danny,”—he wiped a tear from his eye—“you might be elusive, but you’re nowhere near scary enough to be a ghost.”
“I could be scary!” he protested. 
“You were the only entry in the haunted dorm room competition back in October to make everyone laugh their asses off.” Tom grinned. “I still watch the video sometimes to lift my mood.”
“Hey, I worked really hard on that—”
“Anyway, it’s just not possible.” Tom said, talking over him. “You don’t have it in you to be some spooky spectre come back from the grave to haunt the campus. You don’t have a single scary bone in your body.”
Okay, well, Danny’s had enough of this slander. Clearly, Tom didn’t believe in Danny being a ghost so, whatever, fine. That was what he wanted in the first place. He was fine with it. Didn’t make him want to spill his guts just to prove the guy wrong at all. Nope, no sir.
He did wish he’d put more effort into making his plan more fear-inducing, but whatever. It might not be that scary, but it was gonna get Tom off his back forever and Danny was done talking with this jerk.
---
“And you don’t think this isn’t… a little much?” Tucker hedged.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s probably gonna scar him for life,” Sam said. “It’d still fix your problem, but I didn’t think you liked going that far.”
“What? No.” Danny shook his head. “You guys probably have a messed up sense of fear from fighting ghosts and stuff for four straight years.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “You were fighting those ghosts too.”
“Yeah, but I’m just built different.” He looked through the list of equipment he’d written down next to him. “This is gonna be hilarious. He’s either gonna laugh his ass off or, if his sense of humour sucks, call it lame and move on. Either way, I’m freed from those stupid P.E.E. stalkers.”
“I don’t like this slander against our sense of fear,” Tucker said. “I have very normal fears. This is definitely one of them.” Sam agreed.
Danny rolled his eyes. “Fine, maybe, by some miniscule chance, you guys are right and his sense of fear’s messed up like yours.” He raised a finger. “But! At most he’ll probably get a little spooked and end up staying away because of it! So, I win regardless.”
Sam hummed disbelievingly. 
---
He sent the signal. Off to the mousetrap with him.
He couldn’t see it, but he felt Danny Duplicate #1 salute him. On it boss.
“What—?!” Danny Duplicate #1 grabbed Tom around the middle. Tom wiggled in the chair, unable to move his arms or get up. His notepad and pencil fell to the ground. “Hey, what the fuck?! Did you—?!”
Despite how he hated it, Danny’s best blood curdling scream was so impressive it shocked Tom into flinching, even stopping his struggling to press his ear to his shoulder with a wince. At least the guy would totally believe Danny’s excuse after this.
The faint chatter outside the room silenced. Then all at once, people were yelling, jiggling the locked doorknob—one of Danny’s conditions for the interview, being alone with Tom so as to ensure his plan went off without a hitch—and Danny jerked his head up towards the ceiling. The duplicate nodded and quickly phased through the ceiling, Tom in his arms.
Now, what to do about the bystanders….
Oh, duh. 
“A FUCKING SPIDER, OH MY GOD!”
The yelling and lock jiggling quickly started to peter out after that, followed by the faint sounds of laughter and one, “Jesus Christ, the lungs on that guy,” which Danny would take as a compliment.
He chuckled to himself as he shared his senses fully with his first duplicate.
The plan was going perfectly. Sam and Tucker didn’t know shit.
---
“It’s really not that bad!”
“It really is,” Sam and Tucker chimed in together.
“It’s not,” Danny sent a picture through their chat. “Look, see! It’s cute!”
“Danny, this is fucking horrifying,” Tucker said.
“Fuck, that’s so cursed, what the hell?” Sam said. “Why did you choose this one? Where did you even find it?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Also, they’d probably tell him not to buy stuff from people hanging out in the rundown bathrooms in the engineering building every time he happened to pass by. “What does matter is that it’s fine.”
“Danny, your plan is to restrain and drag someone to the roof, put them in front of a giant mouse trap prepared to go off, and have him surrounded in a circle of your duplicates, who are going to be backlit by green flames and wearing the most cursed version of a Jerry costume I have ever seen in my life,” Sam said. “This is not fine.” Tucker nodded his agreement.
“It is!”
“You’re not gonna be right about this.”
“I’m gonna be so right about this. I’m gonna be the most right anyone’s ever been about anything.”
---
Tom pissed his pants and fainted.
Damn, Danny thought as he phased the guy back into his club room, I can’t believe Sam and Tucker were three for three on this.
295 notes · View notes
ladylynse · 3 months
Text
A DP ficlet for @schwoopsiedoodles. The prompt was technically 'New Years' but, uh, that was more of a starting point than a focal point with this one.
Phantasmagoria [FFN | AO3]: At first blush, the new year seemed like it would start off normally enough, but Danny should really know better than to expect normal by now. Still, this was not what people usually meant when they talked about a new year yielding infinite possibilities.
-|-
“Happy New Year, little brother,” Jazz said as she wrapped Danny in a hug. Fireworks burst on the TV, some celebration they’d switched to just before midnight, but Jazz clearly didn’t think that was loud enough to cover her next words because she lowered her voice before adding, “We made it through another Christmas, and we made it through last year, so we’ll make it through this one, too.”
“Happy New Year, you two!” Maddie said as she joined them and turned the affair into a group hug, and then Jack was on the other side, wrapping them all in a bear hug, and Danny—
Danny was being squeezed too tightly from every side now, and he was getting hot enough and feeling trapped enough that not phasing out of everyone’s grip was more of an active decision than what should be the tangible default of remaining in place. Jazz’s hair was tickling his nose, but better the smell of her shampoo than the scent of ectoplasm from his parents’ HAZMAT suits that lingered despite the intense decontamination and washing protocols. He should say something, maybe force out a laugh or joke about Jazz not breaking into song like usual, but—
But maybe that was it.
Maybe that’s what was bugging him, why he wasn’t as happy as he should be even though he knew, objectively, that Jazz was right, that everything was as good as it ever was these days.
Jazz wasn’t singing Auld Lang Syne.
It shouldn’t bother him. It’s not like she had to sing it. She just always had; it was practically as much of a family tradition as the annual Christmas argument. She liked the song—she had for as long as he could remember—and Maddie would join in once she started. So would Jack, even though he couldn’t sing any better than he could aim.
So why skip it this year?
There was something niggling at the back of Danny’s mind, a sort of awareness that came slowly, creeping over his skin and making it crawl in the process.
He didn’t feel hot any longer, but the feeling of being trapped definitely hadn’t gone away.
Maybe that was a good thing.
That meant that whoever was doing this to him didn’t know he’d realized something was off.
This didn’t feel like the Ghost Writer. Even if he’d mercifully decided to weave his stories into reality without rhyme, Danny doubted he’d give up the background narration entirely. He liked being in control of the narrative too much.
Danny wasn’t ruling out this being a dream, though, or some other happy simulation designed to keep him under, to keep him from questioning it. Things hadn’t worked out last time when he’d been dreaming of his friends, so if this was round two of ‘keep Phantom out of things by keeping him asleep’, shifting the narrative to his family might make a sick sort of sense. It would make more sense than an attempted reality rewrite from someone like Desiree—or someone armed with something like the Reality Gauntlet.
This was too personal for that kind of thing.
“Uh, Dad?” Danny finally tried. “You can let go now.”
“I’ll never let you go,” came the response, but it wasn’t Jack’s voice, it was Sam’s, and he was smelling her shampoo now, not Jazz’s, and Tucker was sandwiching Danny between him and Sam, and—
Shouldn’t he feel sick after a transition like that? After a lack of transition like that? This was a dream, but if Nocturn or whoever it was was trying to keep him down, wouldn’t they at least make him a little dizzy? It all might have felt seamless, a shift occurring between one blink and the next, but the whiplash between what is and what was—
“Dude,” said Tucker as he released Danny and stepped back, letting Danny see that not only was he no longer in his living room but he was also no longer in his house. They were in Sam’s room, and it was decorated the same as always; nothing seemed out of place at a glance.
Then again, if this was a dream, and he thought he knew how everything looked, would anything feel out of place when he was the one imagining it in the place it was now?
This was making his head hurt.
It just didn’t hurt enough to wake him up and snap him out of this, which was annoying.
Tucker was biting his lip, but his words burst out of him a split second later. “I know this is kinda a stupid question considering everything, but are you okay?”
He really wasn’t, but fine, Danny could play along. That was easier now that Sam had let him go at Tucker’s words, which had the unnerving effect of lessening his feeling of being trapped even though he knew he was still very much trapped.
But if the shock of the transition wasn’t enough to snap him out of it, and the shock of realizing what was going on wasn’t enough, what would be?
“I’m fine,” Danny said, and Sam promptly punched Tucker in the arm, who yelped.
“What was that for?”
“Asking a stupid question,” she ground out, “that made Danny feel like he had to lie to us and say he’s fine when he’s not.” Her gaze flicked to him. “What Tucker means is that it’s okay that you’re not okay yet, but we’re going to be here for you for as long as you need us.”
Wait.
What?
Tucker blew out his breath in something that wasn’t exasperation or a sigh but something else, something closer to…regret? Jazz would do that sometimes—she said it helped her to centre herself and get her thoughts in order—but had he ever heard Tucker do it?
“Sorry,” Tuck said. “I didn’t mean are you okay okay, because obviously this being a new year doesn’t mean what happened a couple weeks ago didn’t happen. I meant it more as a sort of ‘are you okay because you suddenly seem less okay than you were ten seconds ago’ and I wanted to know if it was something I did. Or Sam!” Tucker’s eyes flicked to Sam as he quickly added, “Please don’t hit me again. That really hurts.”
Coldness pooled in Danny’s stomach again, spreading outward and freezing his lungs. It was harder than it should be to repeat, “A couple weeks ago?”
Tucker’s laugh was a little too high not to be full of nerves. “Or, like, last week, with the funerals. And Vlad.” Sam’s foot shot towards Tucker’s leg, but he was already dancing back in anticipation. “He asked!”
“What about Vlad?” Danny pressed.
Sam stopped her attack on Tucker and frowned. “What do you mean, what about Vlad?”
“See?” Tucker flung out an arm towards Danny. “That’s why I asked if he was okay!”
Sam scowled at him, but it melted away when she turned back to Danny. “Okay, I get that it probably doesn’t feel worse than what he was always trying to do, but the paperwork’s that much closer to being official now, and I just…. I don’t want to lose you. We don’t want to lose you. And if we can’t figure out some way around this….”
“We will,” said Dani’s voice from behind him.
Danny jumped before spinning to face her, the what? spilling from his lips before he could think twice about it. Danielle was in her human form but in a black T-shirt and shorts he didn’t recognize, and—
And that wasn’t all he didn’t recognize.
A far cry from Sam’s bedroom, this place was basically a white box, sharp clean lines and maybe twice the size of his bedroom back home. Not small, but not necessarily big, considering it didn’t have windows or a visible door or, well, anything.
Anything, he realized as he looked around again, except some poorly hidden cameras.
Crud.
Maybe he didn’t have to recognize this place to know where he was.
Danielle was ignoring the cameras, apparently. She must’ve seen them—Vlad had trained her and he wasn’t incompetent in that, Danny was pretty sure—but she wasn’t looking at them. “We’ll get out of here,” she said. Repeated, presumably. “I can’t tell you how, obviously, but we will.”
Danny walked over to the nearest wall, turned his hand intangible, and promptly failed to stick it through the wall.
He wasn’t surprised, considering he’d dreamed himself up what must be some luxury cell courtesy of the Guys in White, but it was really disappointing to confirm that he was aware that he was dreaming but couldn’t control it.
(This had to be a dream. Nothing except dream made sense.)
“If you keep doing that, they’re going to separate us.”
“No,” Danny said with an assurance that better suited Jazz than him as he studied the wall for what seemed to be nonexistent flaws, “they wouldn’t have risked putting us together if they didn’t want something.”
“Yeah, and giving it to them would be bad. Got that. Hence the whole ‘not telling you how we’ll get out of here’ thing.”
“Except even that tells them something.” He turned back to Dani. “It tells them you have a plan.”
“Or it tells them I want them to think I have a plan.”
“Which is still technically a plan. It’s just a poorer plan.”
“Like you’re an expert on plans.” Danny snorted, conceding her point, so Danielle continued, “All that really matters is they’re guessing. Which they are. Because they don’t know us. Not well enough, anyway. It’s going to be their downfall.”
“I hope you’re right,” he murmured.
“Of course I’m right. I’m me. Besides, I’m not spending my entire birthday locked in here.”
Danny didn’t bother to verbalize the look he sent her; even someone as dense as the GiW agents he’d run into in Amity Park would be able to interpret his confusion.
Dani rolled her eyes at him. “Fine, my chosen birthday. New year, new me. Everyone else can have resolutions. I want cake.”
Danny grinned. “Cake would—”
Alarms swallowed the rest of his words.
He jolted awake, fumbling without opening his eyes for the whatever-it-was that was making that racket so he could make it stop, and it took a precious few seconds to blink awake and remember and scramble to make sure there were no remnants of any ghostly tampering.
Nothing, as far as he could tell.
No helmet, no dust, no goo, nothing new or out of place. He was still in bed, but he was awake. The beeping had stopped by now, so maybe he had imagined it? Maybe it had simply been the last bit of a dream before it had woken him up?
Danny crawled out from under the covers so he could take a peek out the window, and he winced at the glowing green eyes of his reflection before blinking them back to blue. He really had been on edge if his powers were this close to the surface. Maybe he should head downstairs for some water and—
There was someone sitting on the roof across the street.
They were looking in his direction.
They’d probably been looking in his direction the whole time.
That wasn’t as bad as it could be, considering the things that could be explained away because this was the Fenton household, except that Danny knew the silhouette of that particular someone.
It would explain the beeping, too, though he’d never realized it was that loud.
Against his better judgement, Danny opened his bedroom window. It wasn’t particularly cold out—Jazz probably had her bedroom window cracked right now—so it wasn’t like he had to break through a seal of ice to get it open. The main reason he kept his window shut was to discourage ghosts from popping in on him, and that only worked with the polite ones. Still, mild weather or not, he hadn’t been woken by his ghost sense.
“Valerie?”
She heard him, or maybe she just saw the window opening, but either way, she called up her sled and slid almost silently through the air until she was less than three feet from him. Her visor wasn’t shielding her face, and her arms were crossed, which he was hoping to take as a good thing and not a bad thing. “How long?”
“How long what?” Even as he asked it, he realized what she must mean. Oops. She’d heard him after all. “Sorry. From the beginning. Like, the beginning beginning, not just since Technus gave you your new suit.”
Something in her expression tightened. “Please just be straight with me.”
“What? I am!”
“No, I mean—” She broke off with a frustrated growl. “Look. If you answer my questions, we can leave the past in the past. Start fresh. New chapters and all that. But if you insist on playing dumb, I have no reason to trust you—or give you the benefit of the doubt. So how long?”
“I don’t—”
“How long, Phantom?”
Oh.
“Could you, um, be a little more specific than that?”
He was waiting for the dream to shift on him again.
It didn’t.
As Valerie’s frown deepened, he realized that maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe he really had woken up. “Please?” It never hurt to be polite. In theory.
“How long has this been going on?”
She was still watching him, but there was a catch in her voice that hadn’t been there before, and it seemed real enough.
Of course, everything else had seemed real, too.
If this were a dream, his response wouldn’t matter. His response might even shift him somewhere else entirely. If this were really Valerie, though? This Valerie looked lost and was doing a poor job of hiding it behind a show of familiar anger. This Valerie—
“And how long,” she croaked, her composure crumpling entirely as her voice cracked, “is this going to keep going on?”
Wait.
“I don’t want to do this again.”
The dream—not-dream, whatever this was—did not conveniently remove him from the conversation.
“Don’t want to do what again?” he asked, even though he suspected he already knew the answer.
“I can’t keep jumping through possibilities.” The words were soft, more of a reluctant admission than anything else. “If this is you, stop it. It’s cruel even if you don’t think it is, and you always insist that you’re the good guy anyway. If it’s not you….” She swallowed. “Help me. Please. Even if you’re not my friend, be my ally. I— Our truce doesn’t have to end when this is over.”
She sounded like she meant it.
Maybe he should hope this wasn’t a dream after all, if only so he didn’t have to worry about having Valerie on his back all the time.
Then again.
If this wasn’t a dream, she’d be spitting distance from his secret even if she thought Phantom—in a feat of spectacular stupidity—was currently overshadowing Danny while under the same roof as the people who hunted him down at every opportunity.
If she were being honest about what might be an indefinite truce, though, that might not be a bad thing.
Danny wouldn’t say this in Sam’s hearing, but Valerie was a better shot than her, and having Val back him up from time to time would be beneficial in more ways than him not having to worry about her taking a shot at him.
“Indefinite truce if we get out of this alive?” he asked, offering her his hand.
She didn’t look amused at his choice of words, but she swallowed whatever scathing insult she’d wanted to spit at him and shook his hand instead.
“Great,” he said. “Meet me on the roof? I should really change for this.”
That earned him an eyeroll, but she grumbled, “Fine.”
He really did change before following her, first out of his PJs and into clothes and then transforming into Phantom, but she was waiting for him on the Ops Centre without a blaster, so that was a win.
“Thanks,” he said, even though he hadn’t really thought she’d fire at him right after being the one to call a truce. “And—please don’t shoot the questioner—can you elaborate on the whole ‘can’t keep jumping through possibilities’ thing?”
She sighed and sat down, hugging her knees and looking out at the horizon instead of at him. “It means exactly what it sounds like. Sometimes it takes longer for the shift to happen, but whenever it does, I’m somewhere else, in a new situation, and most of them aren’t pleasant.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Case in point, finding you where I found you, because I don’t have to be a genius to figure out what’s going on there.”
Danny winced, and not just because his parents were proof that geniuses could be astoundingly blind when they weren’t looking for something. He didn’t want to get into what Valerie thought now, though. They had more important things to talk about. “I’ve been doing the same thing. The shifting between situations like it’s a dream thing.”
“If you’re going through the same thing, then which of us is dreaming?”
If Nocturn or someone like him was involved, it wasn’t necessarily one or the other. They could both be dreaming.
Or this could be something else entirely and neither of them were dreaming, since Danny wasn’t sure why Nocturn would want them both to be aware that they were dreaming when that meant they’d be actively trying to snap out of it.
Still, better that they were dreaming than some something horrendously damaging and somehow unforeseen had happened to the timeline and they were dropping through alternate realities like they were tissue paper faster than Clockwork could sort it out.
“Beats me,” Danny said, offering Valerie a grin in the hopes that it would cheer her up. He held out a hand, and she took it and let him pull her up. “Let’s find out.”
(see more fics | check out the awesome fanart for this fic)
48 notes · View notes
Text
Belated Valentine's Day Drabble
Erik/Christine, Meg POV, Fluffy as I get
"What a tragedy this is."
Meg crossed her arms as she considered the scene. Erik stood, sleeves rolled to the elbows, in the kitchen of his modest apartment. There was a considerable amount of flour in the mixing bowl in front of him. There was considerably more on his face and shirt.
“Don’t.” He said, lips pressed together in a thin line below his mask.
“I wasn’t going to,” She said, stifling the laugh and swallowing it. “This looks very...good.”
“Meg Giry, you are a terrible liar.”
“But a wonderful friend,” she piped in, traversing the tile floor in an attempt to see what, exactly, had gone wrong in the kitchen. “So I assume the soufflé was a bust?”
“They can be very touchy, yes,” he said, trying to dust the worst of the flour from his once-black shirt. “The humidity isn’t helping.”
“Erik, it’s February,” Meg reminded him. “And...” She pointed to the oven clock. “Your date will be here in an hour.”
It had been several years since her mother had called her asking for a favor; that her friend’s son needed a place to stay when he was in the city. She had said no, obviously - she wasn’t some pervert who was about to let some random man traipse around in her determinedly feminine space and get beard hair in the sink and God-knew what else. But then Erik had arrived three days later with the proof that her mother had ignored her wishes, and he was soaked through from the rain like some horrifying, sopping wet cat, and she could not leave him out there and the rest was history.
It was not a roommate situation that was without flaws; he was a composer, among many things, and this meant listening to the same three notes be plunked out in varying tempos until she thought her ears would bleed; he did leave the seat up, to her chagrin; and he was horrifyingly, constantly, simply always:
There.
She woke up, he was there, making coffee and beginning the same insipid melody. She got home from work, he was still there, several half-drunk beverages on the coffee table. She fell asleep to the sound of his tinkering at the keys, or typing away on his disturbingly out of date white MacBook, which seemed to have been modified to recreate the sounds of typewriter keys.
It was a day, not unlike this one, where she came home from a particularly challenging day of navigating the donors of the city opera AND her increasingly boundary-less boss, that she came home, soaked in a sheen of sweat from the packed train and bus, to find her kitchen upended, and Erik crouched in an unnatural way in front of her tiny oven. She had opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand.
“Silence,” he said. “We need silence.”
She nodded, not bothering to ask why, or for how long, or for what reason. She tiptoed around the counter, only to find her socks soaked through in the dribs and drabs of thick batter, cold and squishing between her toes. She nearly gagged, but did not break her silence until she saw, with horror, every single plate, cup, and kitchen tool in the sink. On top of the soapy water poked out her KitchenAid, the bowl still attached to the mixer now sodden and submerged, the wire cheerfully greeting her from the suds.
“ERIK!”
The soufflé deflated that day, and the KitchenAid got thrown out, and Meg was determined to get Erik a Date™.
“You don’t have to do all this,” she reminded him as the two cake pans were removed from the oven. “She’s very kind, and I don’t know if they even are sweets people.”
“Who?”
“Christine. Erik, focus,” Meg held back the impulse to snap her fingers. “Do you even know if she likes chocolate?”
It seemed he did not consider this. “Who doesn’t like chocolate?”
“I don’t know, Swedish people?” Meg exclaimed. “Look, all I know is she is very sweet, and works in the costume department of the opera, and no one thinks ill of her, which at the opera is a miracle.”
She did not include that most people called Christine Daae, “odd,” or “always with her head in the clouds” or even “strange.” Erik was using a multitool to ice the cake. He could handle a little strange, especially for a girl who said yes to a first date on Valentine’s Day.
She set about straightening the living room, Erik’s compositions into neater piles. “Remember, don’t dominate the conversation.”
“Why would I do such a thing?”
“Erik...” Meg warned. “No composing diatribe. No mansplaining.”
“I don’t mansplain.”
“You are a man, and you ‘plain,” she retorted. “And she works at the opera. She doesn’t need to hear you explain Puccini, she knows things.”
She stood, the living room straightened, the candles less...scattered, to see Erik, covered in flour and now icing, standing in the decimated kitchen. She sighed.
A shower, a brisk cleaning of a kitchen that would not hold up to her mother’s scrutiny, and one intercom buzz later, Meg was smuggling her take-out to her room with a blown kiss to a very startled, very rigid Erik. Every candle and then some illuminated the area around the piano, and Meg prayed to any God that would listen that he wouldn’t come on too strong. She crossed her fingers for good measure, and retreated.
That night, the tinkling of piano keys woke her to the most beautiful music. She fell back asleep to it, her dreams colored by the placid joy of the new composition.
She found him alone in the kitchen, standing over the espresso machine.
“So...it went well?” She asked, wriggling her shoulders.
Erik looked up at her, as though startled out of a reverie. “Yes, very well, in fact. We are getting married!”
Meg blinked at him. “Excuse me?”
39 notes · View notes
nerdywriter36 · 9 months
Text
Tumblr media
Jeremy and Greg reading phan fiction for an hour on a podcast is not something I ever expected to see happen.
116 notes · View notes
brendadaaedestler · 2 months
Text
I've recently seen a post about phanfic that's bothered me so much that I felt the need to create a post about it. If you're a phanfic author, please read this, because I feel you need to hear it.
Without dropping names, someone has recently made a post giving all phanfic authors "advice" telling us not to pair Erik with anyone other than Christine or Meg, as "[OCs] always turned out to be either boring or insufferable" in the fic they've read.
Let me state here that this person, to my knowledge, has no phanfic writing experience to speak of. So someone who doesn't actually write is giving "advice" to the writers of the phandom, which is just their masqueraded gatekeeping.
This really should go without saying, but your preferences when reading fic (for any fandom—this is obviously not limited to Phantom of the Opera) do not get to dictate what other people write. The fandom does not revolve around you and your fic preferences.
Something else to consider: everyone's preferences are different. Perhaps there are people who hate Erik/Christine and/or Erik/Meg fics and exclusively read Erik/OC works. This is also an entirely valid opinion.
My point here is that if you don't like a certain type of fic, simply don't read that type of fic. No one is going to tie you to a chair and force you to read that type of fic. Therefore, it is completely unnecessary, rude, and just plain insulting to straight up tell people not to pair Erik (or any character) with anyone but A and B just because you don't enjoy it.
In conclusion, to all phanfic authors, your fic is exactly that—yours. Write whatever you want. Write whatever ship you want. Pair Erik with however many OCs you want. He is a sort of Don Juan, you know 😉
Don't let idiots on the internet tell you what you can and cannot write, simply because your taste differs from theirs. Variety is one of the many beautiful parts of this phandom, and if they can't accept that, maybe the Star Wars fandom* will take them for how much they enjoy gatekeeping :)
*No hate, this fandom just scares me
61 notes · View notes
wastefulreverie · 2 years
Text
"This can't be legal," Danny said in a weak voice. "I mean, how are they allowed to do this?"
Lancer tensed. "It falls under a gray area. If you ask me, the Anti-Ecto Prevention Act gives them far too much jurisdiction."
The GIW, full in pure white HAZMAT suits from the overlarge hoods to the fitted boots, ushered in the next student from his class. Poor Lester walked into the tent, looking green in the face. Sweat rolled down his temples and his hands shook as the suited agent clasped his shoulder and pulled him through the curtains.
Paulina sniffed. "I don't want to be microchipped."
"Were you even listening at all?" Wes scoffed. "It's biodegradable. It'll be out of your system within a year and prevents you from being overshadowed. Unless, of course, you are a ghost." His eyes flitted to Danny. "Then who the hell knows what it'll do to you?"
"I'm not doing it." Sam crossed her arms. She was sitting on the gym floor, cross-legged. "It's unconstitutional, the total principle of it."
"I can't believe I'm agreeing with Manson," Paulina said. "But they'll have to drag me in there before they insert something underneath my flawless skin."
Valerie rolled her eyes. "Not that I object to being overshadowed, but I'd rather not have the U.S. government tracking my every move."
"There's not trackers in them," Lancer said. "They were adamant about that when we were told about this."
"Great," Sam drew out, "the untested ghost repelling microchips with unknown side effects being nonconsensually administered to minors allegedly doesn't broadcast our current locations to the government. That eases my nerves."
The tension in the room was palpable.
"I have uh, I have epilepsy," Nathan spoke up. His voice was short and clipped. "Do they even know how this'll affect that?"
Lancer put his head in his hands. "Dear Lord. I didn't sign up for this. I hate this."
The curtains were drawn back again. An agent, possibly the same one from a minute before but it was hard to tell since they all looked the same in the HAZMAT suits. He looked down at a clipboard.
"Fenton?" he called. "Daniel Fenton?"
Danny stared at the floor from where he was standing, not daring to look up and inevitably see everyone's eyes on him. The tiles on the gym floor looked like maple-colored planks of wood, but there was a thin film of clear plastic—or maybe rubber—when he slid his shoes against it.
"Fenton," repeated the agent, "come with me."
He didn't look up.
No. Because if he looked up, that meant he would have to do something. He wanted to avoid this for as long as he could.
There was a sound of rustling and in his peripheral vision he saw his classmates move out of the way as the agent stalked toward him.
He stumbled backward, not quite tripping, but struggling to keep even footing. Oh. He hoped he hadn't phased his feet through each other. He used to be bad with that. This would be the worst time and place to fall into old habits.
The agent gave him an unreadable look, face obscured by the HAZMAT mask, but Danny could feel the man's impatience as he waved the clipboard.
"Fenton. You're up."
"No."
His classmates glanced at him nervously and the agent shifted his weight, giving an agitated huff.
"Kid, you don't get a choice in this. This is for your protection."
"I can protect myself, thanks," he snapped. "I think I'll do fine without your little ghost zapping chip embedded in my arm."
"I don't know who you think you are, but just because your parents are ghost hunters doesn't make you exempt from this. All students, no exceptions."
He locked eyes with the man behind the mask. Well, it was a calculated guess at where the man's eyes were but Danny hoped his stare came across as menacing.
"It's nothing more than a pinch. I promise this won't be half as bad as you're imagining."
"Oh, I'm sure it will be."
Wes cleared his throat.
"Fenton's a—"
Without warning, Sam pulled herself to her feet and slugged Wes in the face. Hard. He stumbled backward and almost fell on one of the bleachers. Blood dripped from her knuckles and from his nose. Oh. That was going to bruise badly.
Lancer cried in alarm.
"Miss Manson!"
"Sorry, Mr. Lancer. Muscle spasm."
"We don't have time for this." The agent reached forward and grabbed Danny's shoulder as he'd done to Lester minutes before. "Come on. Let's get this done."
Danny stood his ground, and the agent pulled against him. He was stronger than the agent, and despite that, he'd phased the bottom of his shoes into the uppermost layer of the gym's floor. He wasn't going anywhere.
"How in the world—?"
Paulina started sobbing at the top of her lungs.
"I don't want to be here! I don't want to be chipped! I want to go home!"
The agent turned toward her, startled. "Now, calm down now—"
Wes staggered forward, blood dripping onto the floor as he moved. Some fell onto the agent's pristine, white boots. He jumped away from Wes like he'd been burned.
More students joined Paulina, clamoring that they didn't want to be chipped either. Sam raised her bloodied fist and shouted—an unhinged, almost feral scream while Danny gradually phased his shoes deeper into the floor. Mr. Lancer pulled a book out from somewhere and was waving it around, a loose bookmark falling out as he did so, in a futile attempt to capture everyone's attention.
Three identical agents ran out of the curtained tent at the sound of the chaos.
"What is going on!" one of them barked.
"Sir, the students are being uncooperative," the first agent said.
"I need medical attention," Wes said, unhelpfully.
The new agent, who Danny decided was the boss, accessed Wes and the drops of blood on the first agent's boots with horror.
"Agent Kilo, you didn't…"
"No, no. It was the girl."
He nodded his head to Sam, who hid her bloodied fist behind her back.
"He's a liar!" she said. "He hit Wes! We all saw it!"
The other students gave tentative nods. Ever the performer, Paulina flinched away from Agent Kilo, as if afraid he might strike her. In the midst of it all Lancer did nothing.
"Kilo," the boss's voice was stern. "That's not how we do things."
"But I didn't—"
"You're dismissed for now. We'll discuss this later." He turned to Wes. "I do apologize."
Wes looked at him like he'd grown an extra head. "Alright?"
Agent Kilo stormed away, muttering something about lying, conniving brats and threw his clipboard on the ground.
Lancer stepped in. "If I may, I do say that my students have been through an emotionally stressful experience here and I don't know if they should continue with this today. Besides, Mr. Weston does still need medical attention and I believe that should be our top priority."
The boss grunted. "Right. Return to class. We'll continue this at another date."
He waved a hand and the other agents headed back to the tent. Meanwhile, the students trailed after Lancer toward the opposite end of the gym—all sighing in relief.
As they left the gym, Sam caught Danny's shoulder and hissed in his ear. "Danny, the clipboard."
The discarded clipboard was forgotten on the floor.
"Mark our names off," she hissed. "I'll keep them distracted."
He nodded. He tapped into invisibility and retrieved the clipboard. A ballpoint pen was clipped to the top of it and he marked off the box beside his and Sam's names, doing his best to emulate Agent Kilo's loopy initials for the official confirmation. With any luck, the man wouldn't remember it later among all the chaos. With better luck, the man would be dismissed from the GIW completely.
He flipped the clipboard face-up and left it closer to the tent so that the agents would find it. He flew back into the corridor and met up with Sam, who was lingering near the end of the group.
"Got it." He dropped back onto the visible spectrum. "We're officially chipped."
"Oh, thank God. You're a literal lifesaver."
Wes turned, holding a wad of paper towels against his bloodied nose. "Please tell me I'm not the only one who just saw Fenton appear out of thin air, right?"
"You're concussed, Weston," Valerie said, not bothering to turn around and check. "He's not a ghost."
"Manson did not give me a concussion!"
"Yeah, Agent Kilo did," Nathan brushed off. "Keep up. The GIW can suck it."
That was something they could all, unquestionably, agree on.
3K notes · View notes
mcgomega · 4 months
Text
DP x DC prompt: Jazz and her patients
Sudden stray thought just popped into my head.
I love the headcanon that Jazz ends up interning in Arkham and trying her best to fix the system there little by little, no matter how hard it might get.
I just thought it would be neat if the first patients she managed to achieve significant breakthroughs with are Harvey Dent and maybe Edward Nigma. And it all leads to, when there’s the next Arkham breakout, with Jazz inside and with a baseball bat in hand for defense, she stumbles into Two-Face… who beats up other inmates. Then looks at Jazz, who looks at him with hope, and he offers her help in putting all the patients back. He’s doing progress. And Riddler either stays in his cell, or maybe also lurks somewhere trying to stop this.
364 notes · View notes
torscrawls · 11 months
Text
Royal Hot Potato
Summary:
The Justice League tries to summon the Ruler of the Infinite Realms to help them with a ghost problem. They expected Pariah Dark and were ready to do whatever they could to get him to agree to their terms. What they didn’t expect were two teenagers who juggled the title of Ruler of the Infinite Realms like a hot potato while snarking all the while.
Maybe Pariah dark would have been the better alternative.
Words: 2 958
Can be read on AO3!
-
The Justice League was going to fight fire with fire.
Their own efforts in stopping the enormous ghost masquerading as a storm hadn’t been very successful and after countless failed attempts at fighting it they had arrived at the conclusion that they needed to bring in an expert. Someone with a similar skill set. Someone who could at least touch the enemy that had arrived out of nowhere and were currently wrecking city after city and leaving devastation in its wake.
Or, more accurately; John and Zatanna had finally managed to get through to them that this wasn’t a problem they could simply punch their way through, like they usually did. He wasn’t bitter about it. Of course not.
Sadly the Justice League didn’t know of any ghost that was both powerful enough to stop the one currently going berserk on Earth and friendly. And even if he hated to admit it, neither did John. So they went with the next best thing; a ghost that they knew was powerful enough and that they could hope to manipulate. At least somewhat.
They were desperate, okay? And if it was one thing that John was sure of it was that Pariah Dark was very proud and didn't back down from a fight.
A fact they were banking on.
Hopefully they would be able to get their message across and convince him before he killed them all. Which was, admittedly, very unlikely.
John had finished drawing up the summoning circle on the floor in one of the meeting rooms of the Watchtower, the chalk and symbols looking ridiculously out of place in the very modern and otherwise clean room.
He sent the other two people in the room a quick look. Red Robin was studying the circle as if he was trying to memorize it—for all that John knew, he might actually be able to do it, the bats were all horribly smart like that—and Batman himself who was busying himself with the room’s only computer.
The grouch was no doubt keeping tabs on the ongoing fight slash evacuation going on down on earth and if Zatanna’s attempt to distract the ghost with her own weather-magic was still working. Considering the lack of demands to immediately go back down to Earth, John guessed that it was.
Which was good. John really didn’t want to have to do this by himself.
Still, it was only a matter of time before the ghost got tired of the distraction and went back to destroying, so this crazy idea better work.
After another beat of silence John shrugged and decided that there was no reason to delay their very probable, very imminent, death any further. So he crouched by the circle, put his hands on it, and said, “Let’s get this party started, then.”
It didn’t take long for Constantine to realize that something was wrong.
The summoning circle was struggling like a bucking horse under his hands and John almost bit through his cigarette as he redoubled his efforts. Either he had gotten something very wrong with the circle—unlikely—or something was very wrong on the other end of the summoning—not impossible—or, Pariah Dark must be even stronger than they had thought. Which would be bad. Very bad.
But John didn’t have time to warn the others before a pool of poisonous green spread across the floor, swallowing up the circle and lapping at John’s shoes before he took a couple of stumbling steps backwards.
From the depths of the eerie liquid rose a tangle of flailing limbs and twisting flesh. Of white hair and black cloth and pale skin and piercing green.
Then came the sound; warbled voices screaming and hissing and shouting and growling. The pitch rising and falling and setting his teeth on edge as the unholy sound took root in his sternum. Reverberated in his bones. Pulsed behind his eyes.
…Was this the Ruler of the Infinite Realms? This twisted mess of limbs and sounds? No wonder the summoning came with so many warnings. John had never before been scared of a ghost, but this, this was truly a horrifying—
Maybe this had been a terrible mistake. They already had one overwhelmingly strong ghost to deal with, why had they thought they needed another?
“John Constantine,” the being said with overlapping voices drenched in static and John took another shaky step back as he felt himself pale. “I've come for your soul.”
This was bad. Real bad. He was also fairly certain that he had no memories of selling his soul to whatever this thing was. And  whatever it was, it wasn’t Pariah Dark, which meant that their plan would fail.
Then the thing on the ground broke into sudden, pealing, laughter and when it spoke again it was with a much more human, albeit still echoing, voice, “I’ve always wanted to say that!”
…What?
Red Robin turned his pale face towards John and hesitantly asked, “A buddy of yours?”
“Fuck no.” At least he didn’t think so. Sometimes it was hard to keep track of all the different ways some of the creatures he knew could manifest.
John turned back to the ungodly abomination still on the floor of the meeting room. “Who are you? What are you? Why do you know my name?” 
Another laugh. “You’re famous!”
Then a distinctly separate voice from the first groaned and said, “And have generated a ridiculous amount of paperwork. Thanks for that.”
This was followed by the pile of twisting limbs separating, splitting in the middle and ending with two… Two kids.
That was when the pile of twisting limbs separated into two separate beings. Two kids. Both of them dressed similarly in black and white cloth, both of them with stark white hair and glowing green eyes. Both of them very much ghosts. The only real difference was that one looked to be a boy and one looked to be a girl.
The boy of the pair sprang to his feet and looked from Red Robin to Batman with sparkling eyes as he gushed, “Oooh! You guys are the bats!”
“And neither of you are Pariah Dark,” John deadpanned.
The girl didn’t so much jump to her feet as she levitated into something resembling a standing position as she wrinkled her nose. “No. That old man sucked. Don’t compare us to that maniac, thank you. He’s not in the picture anymore. I’m Dani!” She smiled and gestured to the boy, “And that’s Danny with a Y!”
John blinked. There was only one way that ghost titles changed hands, only one way that succession worked. “Not in the—Did you defeat him?”
That was… unthinkable. Terrifying. Pariah Dark was next to invincible, one of the strongest beings in existence. After all, that was why they had turned to him in the first place. The thought that he had been bested in any way was…
The boy—Danny apparently—shrugged. “Well, kinda? It was a group effort.”
“... Fuck me,” John breathed out as the dots connected, “You're the new Ruler.”
Danny looked uncomfortable. “No. Or, yes. It's complicated.”
John turned his gaze to Dani. “So then you’re the ruler?”
One of them had to be. The summoning had been very specific on that detail, even if he would have to study it later to see how it had managed to summon two beings instead of one.
She looked taken aback but before she could respond, Danny suddenly punched her in the arm. Instead of looking angry at the seemingly unprovoked attack, she grinned. “No, I’m not.”
John frowned. Maybe he had been wrong in his assumptions, but then why would the summoning circle have brought these two here? “So none of you are the king?”
Dani smiled, and it was too broad. Too teasing. “No, one of us is.” 
John turned back to Danny again with narrowed eyes. “So then you are the king?” 
“Yes,” he agreed with a nod, but the glint in the boy’s eyes made John suspicious.
Enough so that he turned back to Dani and asked, “Alright. Then you're not.”
She leaned over and smacked Danny over the head and smiled as the boy cursed before innocently looking at John and saying, “No, I am.” 
John threw his hands in the air. “Whatever, I give up.” 
They both nodded in eerie synchronization. “That's probably for the best.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Red Robin asked in clear confusion, “You’re not gonna kill us?”
“Why would we want that?” Dani asked.
Danny snorted and waved him off as he added, “Yeah, we have enough idiots to look after as it is.”
Red Robin blinked. “Thanks?”
Batman, who had somehow made his way over from the computer without making a sound, cut in with a gruff, “We don’t have time for this. We need your help to fight a world-ending threat and—”
Danny cut him off with a groan as he looked to the ceiling. “Seriously?? This again?”
Dani crossed her arms with an equally exasperated expression on her face. “Didn't we get a case like this just last week?? We should make sure we get paid overtime! This is getting ridiculous.”
“Yeah!” Danny agreed, both of them completely unaware of the tightening of Batman’s jaw at getting interrupted. John and red Robin both took a small step away from their seething colleague as Danny obliviously continued,  “You would think that people would learn, but noooo, let's mess with the highly dangerous—” 
John cleared his throat, hoping he wasn’t making a big mistake in chastising the unknown—possibly royal—beings in front of him. But no one had ever accused him of being too respectful and they were in a hurry. “For fucks sake, back to topic!”
Dani turned to Constantine with an accusing, “I thought you would be more fun, man! The reports made it sound like you were a disaster.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint?” Even if he really was a disaster, these two didn’t need to know that.
He received a deep sigh. “It’s fine.”
Thankfully, Batman stepped in at this point, saving John from having to come up with something to say to that. “So, can either of you help?” 
The two ghosts shared a silent look before Danny suddenly screamed, “Not it!” at the same time as Dani exclaimed, “Dibs, not it!”
Danny laughed. “I said it first!” 
“Did not!”
“You mean you won?” Danny asked as he raised a challenging eyebrow.
“That’s unfair!” Dani complained.
What the fuck were they talking about now??
Red Robin turned to Constantine. “Is this really our best shot? This feels like a mistake.” 
Danny snickered. “A grave mistake?”
“That was a good pun,” Dani nodded seriously before a mischievous grin spread across her face. “You win.”
“Fuck!”
John had to agree. This had been a mistake. This was so much worse than anything Pariah Dark could have done.
Batman seemed to be nearing the end of his rope as he growled out, “We don’t have time for this.”
“Right. Sorry,” Danny said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “The ghost you’re having trouble with is Vortex, right? It feels like Vortex.” He smacked his lips. “You know, like licking the back of a vacuum cleaner?”
Dani nodded her agreement to that insane statement.
Batman frowned as he asked, “Vortex?” John had to commend him for his ability to stay on topic.
“Big cyclone stormy guy?” Danny said. “Looks like the result if the Hulk fucked a tornado?”
Red Robin nodded as if that made sense. “That’s him, alright.”
Dani punched a fist in her palm as a predatory smile crept over her face. “It’s been a while since I went a round with old Vorty.”
“Don’t call him that,” Danny complained with a grimace.
“Whatever. I think it’s my turn in the washing machine. Besides, I promised to kick his ass next time we met.”
Danny crossed his arms and tilted his head back in an exaggerated show of arrogance. “Well, last I recall I was the ruler of the Infinite Realms, peasant. Grovel before me!”
“My liege,” Dani said as she bent in half in an exaggerated bow and then promptly punched Danny in the arm before giving a cackling laugh. “Unlimited power! Aaah, I love the taste of revolution in the morning!”
Danny immediately bent in his own bow. “My liege.” Then promptly punched her in the stomach.
Dani bowed, “My liege.” Then punched him.
“My liege.” Bow then punch.
Red Robin watched the whole thing as if it was a tennis match and Batman looked more murderous by the second. John just groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “Please stop.”
They both broke down laughing, leaning on each other for support.
Red Robin crossed his arms with an incredulous look on his face. “Are you seriously playing hot potato with the throne?”
Dani shrugged as she straightened back up, wiping the corner of her eye. “Take it up with the Ruler if you don't like it.”
Red Robin exasperatedly said, “You are the-“
“Not anymore, sucker!” She interrupted him with another laugh.
John was decidedly not drunk enough for this, so he put on his most serious expression and said, “It can’t possibly be that easy to take the throne of the whole Infinite Realms.”
It just couldn't. That would be… Worrying, to say the least. But these two had somehow managed to topple Pariah Dark so really, maybe it wasn’t that easy after all.
Danny gave a barking laugh. “You would think that, wouldn't you? We used to think the same thing! You are more than welcome to join us in our protest to the Observants.”
John flinched. He didn't want anything to do with them and he felt a grudging inkling of respect for the two tykes in front of him; anyone who stood up against the insufferable eyeballs were good in his books.
Dani snorted and cut in, “Yeah, and as if you don't shirk your duties every chance you get. We’ve heard the stories and seen the reports. And complaints. Ancients, the complaints…" she trailed off with a haunted look in her eyes. 
John took it all back. They didn’t deserve any respect. “At least I don't put a whole realm in danger by doing so.”
Danny raised an eyebrow. “You interested in taking over?”
“Fuck no.”
Batman stepped in with a no-nonsense, “So you're both the ruler?” 
They exchanged a quick glance, grinned, and spoke in tandem while nodding, “Both. Both. Both is good.”
Red Robin burst into laughter before asking, “Like a shared custody situation?” He seemed to be much more at easy now that the three of them hadn’t been horribly murdered.
Danny finger gunned him. “Exactly.”
No wonder the summoning circle had had a hard time with bringing the Ruler here if they essentially shared the title. John guessed that the mess of tangled limbs that had first arrived in the Watchtower was the circle essentially giving up and just spitting out both of them. He guessed that also explained the cursing and screams in the beginning. Luckily for all of them, ghosts were very malleable.
Dani tapped her chin in thought. “I think it’s more like a disease. Or!” she raised a finger as if she’d just had an epiphany, “Like a live bomb. I don’t wanna hold it when it inevitably blows up, you know?”
“Hey! So you give it to me?!” Danny asked with outrage in his voice that didn’t even manage to convince John, much less Dani who simply stuck her tongue out at him.
“Alright, sure. Whatever,” John waved them off. God, he hated teenagers. They were worse than all the demons of hell combined. “Then you can both take care of this bullshit. You can each defeat half of him if that makes you feel better.”
Dani pretended to swoon. “Oh nooo, you've defeated us with your logic! Here take the—” 
“Don't. Even. Think about it,” John bit out.
Danny snickered as Dani pouted. “You’re no fun.”
“Please, let’s get back on topic,” Batman said, and John didn’t think he imagined the exasperation in his voice, “Can you— both of you—defeat this… Vortex?”
“Hmmm,” Danny hummed before turning to Dani with a smile. “Tag team?”
“Sure! I’ve been wanting to show you my new sonic attack.”
Danny looked delighted. “Oh! When did you learn that?” he asked as he started flying towards one of the walls with Dani following behind.
“Just last week. I went to this supercool concert and when I tried to join in the whole arena—”
Red Robin called after them, “Do you know where he is? I could point it out on a map?”
Dani turned in the air to give him a deadpan look. “He’s a giant storm.”
“That’s fair.”
“Anyway, as I was saying. You wouldn’t believe the noise those big speakers can make if—”
And that was when they flew right through the wall leading out from the Watchtower and into space, towards Earth, leaving the three of them in sudden silence.
Until Red Robin broke it with an incredulous, “This was so not what I was expecting when you said we were summoning the Ruler of the Dead.”
John couldn't help but agree. He hadn't expected this either.
Batman gruffly asked, “Are we sure about this?”
John fished out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it with a practiced flick of his lighter. “Honestly? I wouldn't worry about Vortex. I don't think he’s going to be a problem anymore. You might want to prepare yourself for what comes after, though. I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of them.”
707 notes · View notes
ectokelpeigh · 2 years
Text
There will never be enough "regular human unfamiliar with Amity Park's nonsense has the misfortune of doing crime around local cryptid Danny Fenton" content out there.
Don't get me wrong there are some absolute gems:
Shots Fired by @things-i-cannot-do-in-amitypark
Things Just Happen Sometimes by Thatweirdointhecorner
Poor Life Choice by @princessfanonanona
maybe one day I'll be home again by anthrop
Suffocation by @sapphireswimming
This post by @lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks
(and a few more that I can't find / are escaping my memory right now. feel free to reblog with additions!)
...But there will never be enough
1K notes · View notes