Ngl this is a short one.
So Danny comes to Gotham. Down on his luck. But lo and behold, he still has access to the kingly vaults! He doesn't have to worry about money!!! He can just buy a small apartment and live out his miserable little life In luxury!
But then he is stopped on a horrible and a dark stump in his plan. How in the 7 hells is he gonna explain it to the IRS ??????
Money laundering????
Can't he just say he found a mysterious big pile of gold and be done with it?
No, Danny . How are you gonna explain the fact that you keep finding mysterious little gold files to the tax man . Jazz says emphatically through a video call . Which is a multi dimensional cuz I can't explain why sam wont just give him the money. And btw the just assume that the vaults has a magic function to give the money to him in the local currency.
Sso from that day onwards Gotham had a new little cafe in a quiet little nook. The prices are super cheap. And it by far has the best fudge in all of Gotham. If you exclude Alfred's.
The gothamites love it. It's a favorite college hangout. Everyone is pretty sure the cafe is a front. Everyone is 100% sure of it. But in this economy who the hell cares. At least it's not nfts.
People can actually benefit from this because we can get like a whole breakfast for like 4 dollars ( an au where like Danny's 2000s world is like super cheap compared to the modern Gotham city and nobody taught the poor boy common prices of this world. Danny's thinking like how do I keep accidentally going into these rich people stores with their ridiculous prices, Ughh guess I'll have to buy this I don't want to go farther) and the quality is good too. The scrawny little twink owner sure as hell does not know much about ingredients prices or did the bare minimum study of business.
Anyway when the bats came sniffing (the scrunkly little guy was innocent blame Fenton luck) and we'll tried to interrogate the owner people actually chained themselves to the front like the worlds most confused save the trees activists.
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DPxDC Summoning Failed Successfully
Imagine a warehouse. Imagine a bunch of cultists in dark robes with all the candles, daggers, ancient books, and chanting. Now add Danny.
Only not as the summoned being, no. As a sacrifice.
He is sitting down, tied to a chair, in the middle of the summoning circle, looking as bored and deadpan as he can possibly be. The cultists are chanting, and he frowns, listening to their chants for a moment.
"Hey, is that Latin?" He questions, but to no avail, "You know you're not actually using those words correctly, right?"
"Keep quiet, child!" One of the cultists snaps. Danny leans back in his chair and shrugs.
"I'm just saying, you ain't summoning shit with wrong grammar," he huffs, seemingly absolutely nonchalant about the whole thing. Oracle, who is watching the whole ordeal through the surveillance cameras, raises her eyebrows. Red Robin and Robin are already en route to the building the cultists chose for their extracurricular activities, but now she almost wants to watch this a bit longer.
Gothamites are pretty used to all kinds of shitshows, but this boy is from out of town. She checked him through facial recognition. Daniel Fenton, a transfer student from Amity Park, Illinois.
A few more cultists stop chanting and turn to Danny.
"Do you know Latin?" One of them asks, and the boy makes a half-nod, making a thoughtful face.
"Not fluently, but, like, it's a dead language, I felt kinda obligated to learn it. Just for the meme, you know?" He chuckles.
The cultists, judging by their confused silence, don't know. Barbara doesn't know what he's talking about, either. But she is almost curious now, so she taps Robin's and RR's comm lines:
"RR, Robin, when you arrive, don't jump into the scene," she asks.
"Understood," Tim answers immediately, but Damian, of course, demands explanations:
"Is there an obstacle?"
"Not really," Barbara humms, "The sacrifice is in the process of de-escalating the situation."
She can almost hear the questioning silence over the comm, but, thankfully, no one argues. Meanwhile, one of the cultists pipes up, voice full of doubt:
"So, you can... like, proofread our incantation?"
"Yeah, sure," Danny nods, apparently fine with being sacrificed, "Who you're trying to summon anyway?"
"Satan," that same cultist answers, and Danny laughs approvingly.
"Classic," he nods and smiles, "I'll give you this. The circle is mostly alright, so you don't need an incantation to summon the fucker, I have him on speed dial." And with that, he leans forward, screaming towards the floor: "Ey, Satan!"
Barbara must say the act was actually convincing, but he went a little overboard with it now. She reaches to tell both Robins to get in, but suddenly, a loud, booming voice reverberates through the building.
"The fuck do you want, kid?"
Cultists fall to their knees - it doesn't seem like an act of worship, more like their knees bucking. The whole circle dimly lights up in red, smoke raising from it.
"Do you see this shit, Oracle?" Red Robin questions, and she mhm's at him, not sure what else to say. If this is still an act or a trick, she must say it's a very good one. Although somehow she suspects it's not a trick. She's seen enough magic in her life to tell the difference.
"Do you want to come to Earth, be gay and do crimes?" Danny asks, almost mockingly.
"Fuck off."
The red light flickers and disappears, and Danny looks back up to cultists, grinning cheerfully.
"Welp, looks like he doesn't wanna," the kid concludes and stands up from his chair. Barbara hadn't seen when or how he got out of his bindings.
The cultists just watch him walk out of the circle in bewilderment.
"Pursue?" Robin's voice comes over the comms, and Barbara thinks for a moment.
"I get a feeling like that's a bad idea," Tim mutters over his line.
Barbara agrees.
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I want a fic where Danny is adopted but not by the JL but a villian. BUT! It is a very minor villian to the point where people are absolutely gobsmacked when he calls the villian dad, like everyone just stops what they're doing and watch the interaction. Bonus points if they find out that Danny is an absolute powerhouse monster and wonder what entity away from God's light did they fuck to have him.
"That's your son?"
"Yes."
"The glowing white haired teen?"
"Yes."
"The same glowing white haired teen that just froze a star and then ate it?..."
"Yes! And?"
"THE FUCK YOU MEAN "AND?", HE JUST ATE A STAR!!"
___________
Danny in a less than human form: *screeching*
"Scream all you want but you still have school tomorrow and you're going."
Danny: *leaves taking the cold and weirdness with him*
"Sorry about that, he gets a bit cranky when he has to take a nap."
The rest of the villians in the meeting terrified: Oh...
___________
"It would much easier if you got your son to help with your task."
"Absolutely fucking not! He's not going to do ANY vigilante/villian bullshit if I have any say in it."
"You have the ultimate weapon at your side and you-"
"My son is blessing not a weapon, I advise you to NEVER speak about him like that ever again."
____________
Villian, threatening JL Hero: Tell your kid stay away from my son, he doesn't need any of that shit yall bring into his life.
JL Hero: What?
____________
Personally I like to imagine this somebody as Kite-Man but that's just me, use whoever yall like.
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Gentle reminder that very little fandom labor is automated, because I think people forget that a lot.
That blog with a tagging system you love? A person curates those tags by hand.
That rec blog with a great organization scheme and pretty graphics? Someone designed and implemented that organization scheme and made those graphics.
That network that posts a cool variety of stuff? People track down all that variety and queue it by hand, and other people made all the individual pieces.
That post with umpteen links to helpful resources, and information about them? Someone gathered those links, researched the sources, wrote up the information about them.
That graphic about fandom statistics? Someone compiled those statistics, analyzed them, organized them, figured out a useful way to convey the information to others, and made the post.
That event that you think looks neat? Someone wrote the rules, created the blogs and Discords, designed the graphics, did their best to promo the event so it'd succeed.
None of this was done automatically. None of it just appears whole out of the internet ether.
I think everyone realizes that fic writing and fanart creation are work, and at least some folks have got it through their heads that gif creation and graphics and moodboards take effort, and meta is usually respected for the effort that goes into it, at least as far as I've seen, but I feel like a lot of people don't really get how much labor goes into curation, too.
If people are creating resources, curating content, organizing the creations of others, gathering information, and doing other fandom activities that aren't necessarily the direct action of creation, they're doing a lot of fandom labor, and it's often largely unrecognized.
Celebrate fan work!
To folks doing this kind of labor: I see you, and I thank you. You are the backbones of our fandoms and I love you.
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DP X DC: A Minor Drinking Problem
Phantom is a relatively new member of the JLA, but it's been a few months, and things are settling in well. He's shy and polite but is a master of the snark with villains.
Before a big mission, the all hands on deck kind, everyone is talking about scars and the crazy stories behind them to distract from the coming fight. Danny, finally feeling like he can join in the conversation with all these adult heroes, pulls off his right glove to show a pretty gnarly scar on the back of his wrist. “I got this one when I fought a guy from the Revolutionary War a few weeks ago! Didn't think he'd charge me with a bayonet.” He shares a couple more stories and scars, but only the ones that he can easily show off.
Because of stories like that and some historical depictions of Phantom from different time periods, they think he's this ancient and powerful immortal that just looks like a teenager, it wouldnt be the first time. He's powerful enough to go toe to toe with Superman, so there's no way he's actually a kid. He even sometimes has the haunted, world weary eyes that their most hardened members only get after experiencing too much. Danny, being our lovable, obliviously dense idiot, has not realized that they think he's an ancient being.
After the mission concludes -it was a rough one-, the JLA celebrate their victory with a couple drinks back at the watch tower. Danny is understandably uncomfortable with this whole situation and keeps asking, “Are you sure I should be here?” They reassure him it's fine as they pass around beers, which Danny politely declines several times. Danny eventually sees this as the perfect chance to pad his blackmail folders on his inebriated coworkers.
Anyway, as the night goes on, they have a good time, but Phantom still hasn't gotten a drink like the rest of them, and Green Lantern (or hero of your choice) really wants their shy friend to come out of his shell. So, he slams an open beer bottle on the coffee table in front of Phantom. “Come on Phantom! Let loose a little. Celebrate!”
“Dude! What the hell?! I'm 16! That's illegal!” Phantom squeaks in shock.
“We don't care how old you were when you died. It's how long you've been a ghost that counts.” Flash slings an arm around Danny's shoulders from where he’s sat next to him on the couch. Flash can't get drunk, but he also thinks it would be fun to see their uptight new member drunk.
“That's even worse! You'd be giving alcohol to a two year old!” Phantom is horrified that his coworkers are so casually breaking the law.
“But you said you fought in the Revolutionary War this morning!” Green Lantern said with his eyebrows knit in confusion.
“No, I said I fought someone from the Revolutionary War. As in, the ghost of someone from the revolutionary war!”
“You can't pull that on us. There's murals and stuff of you from thousands of years ago.” The Flash waves off with a laugh.
Phantom’s finger presses painfully hard into Flash’s chest. “I do not need to explain time travel to you of all people. My mentor hates you, and I'm STILL sent on missions constantly to clean up your messes.” Phantom's clear and low. Flash liked it better when he was shouting and not staring him down like a predator with narrowed eyes.
(This random idea popped into my head. It made me laugh, so I thought you might, too. Here you go!)
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