#danny the tailor

[catostrofiqu]

Danny the Aggressive seamstress.

So I can see this as the justice league looking to hire both someone to help newcomers with costumes and also help fix up old costumes.

Batman finds out about Danny looking into Tailors and seamstresses. He decideds a retired superhero probably knows how costumes should be functional as well as comfortable.

I can see Danny as just an old mentor Esk figure for the younger age group.

Not many of the younger age group take him seriously until he beats up Darkseid with an L square ruler

[hailsatanacab]

A Persuasive Argument - dpxdc

"Great!" Danny says, clapping his hands together to get everyone's attention. The dinner table falls silent as everyone looks towards him. It's a full house today and, honestly, Danny's a little nervous. "I'm sure you're all wondering why I gathered you here today."

"It's dinnertime. In our house." Duke mutters, while doing a very bad job of concealing his yawn. He holds his fork poised over the braised beef, but, just like everyone else, still looks towards Danny before tucking in. It's intriguing enough to wait.

"Yeah, no one misses Alfie's dinner." Dick says, with a brilliant smile that Danny can't help but return.

"Precisely! What better time to talk to you all than when you're all actually here!"

"Wait, I thought you came round to work on our English essays?" Tim asks, blinking owlishly.

"I'm afraid I've lured you here under false pretences, Tim."

"This is where I live."

"I would still really appreciate help on that essay though, I mean, what the hell is Hamlet even about? I just don't get that old time-y language, like 'Hark! A ghost hath killed me!' - absolute rubbish, what does that even mean?"

"The ghost never kills anyone in Hamlet, he's there to tell Hamlet that he was murdered. Have you actually read it?"

"No, but it sounds like you have. Tim, I want this guy to help me with my essay instead. I know for a fact that you haven't read Hamlet, either."

"So? We don't need Jason, I've read the Sparknotes."

"Hi Jason, I'm Danny, pleasure to meet you, summarise Hamlet in three sentences or less."

"Am I auditioning to help you write your essays? I can't believe you’ve gone through your whole school life without reading it, it’s good!"

"Hamlet, along with a number of other classics, was banned in our house because it portrayed ghosts as intelligent and sympathetic beings rather than evil, animalistic beasts. I didn’t even get to see The Muppet's Christmas Carol until last year with Tim! It was surprisingly good, and I hate Christmas because everyone always argued and it sucked. But we're getting off topic. I—"

"No, no, please go back to that, because what the fu—"

"Boys, please." Bruce interrupts, looking to the world as if he wants to hang his head in his hands. "Danny, you were about to say something?"

"Oh, yeah, Mr. Wayne! Thanks!"

"Please, call me Bruce."

"Well, that very succinctly brings me to my point, because I'd actually really like to call you dad."

Nobody says a word. Nobody even blinks, all as shocked as the other, watching open-mouthed as Danny pulls his laptop out from beside his chair. Bruce can definitely feel a headache coming on.

"Before you say anything, I've prepared a 69 slide PowerPoint presentation on why you, Bruce Wayne, should adopt me, Danny Last-Name-Pending. Please save your questions, comments, and verdict until the end, thank you."

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #12

Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.

Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

"Sorry Alfred!"

[faeriekit]

New In Town (dp x dc)

ALRIGHT! 👏🏽 A prompt. (Or, well. A premise.) I’m schtealing a lot of worldbuilding from @mediumsizedpidegon‘s post here so bear with me please.

The Bats, however they catch wind of Amity, catch wind of Amity Park. Of course they do. Amity Park has a very distinct presence— Or, well, a lack of a presence. It may have an abundance of documented weirdness online, from folk stories to abandoned livestreams to concerning details in expats’ online blogs.

But there is no online evidence of Amity Park that leaves Amity Park.

So. What is a family of detectives to do when confronted with the need to gather physical evidence? Road Trip, baby!🏄🏽‍♂️🚗🚞🚡

Everyone hops in the car/Batplane and makes their way to Amity Park; they make hotel reservations, ring up the only reasonably rich enough people to even touch their social circle (the Manson family, and Vlad Masters, apparently), make an itinerary for all the documented tourist stops to hit up while in town off the town website, and prepare themselves for whatever dimensional weirdness is causing a complete tech blackout on the town and an inability to be found by satellite.

They get about ten feet into Amity proper when they meet the first local.

His name is Danny. He’s nice! Affable. He looks a lot like any other Wayne sibling, actually, if a little on the younger side. He notices it’s their first time in town. Do they need any help getting around?

Best way to get information is to ingratiate with a local, so...sure, why not? They get a free tour guide, Danny gets to show off his town; they see all the sights, like the local burger joint, the school, the Manson home, the town hall, the city proper. They’re having a clothing swap in the temple parking lot, actually. You should go check it out!

For whatever reason, it’s all...Punk? Goth? There’s a couple of lolita dressed tossed in, and some crocheted things. Everyone has a trunk out their car, eyeliner, and at least two piercings in their face; everyone here seems to know each other on a personal level. Well, small towns are small towns. Whatever.

Danny isn’t deterred by their reactions. If they want, there’s the movie in park tonight! If not, they can catch dinner, though; their hotel restaurant closes at 8pm sharp. (He just...knows this off the top of his head?)

They split up. Some of the family people watch at the restaurant. Everyone is...weirdly courteous to them. A little standoffish. But not at the Wayne name, just at...them being there.

The people at the park find out they’re watching The Night of the Living Dead. This would be much more normal if the park wasn’t also clearly the cemetery, in the middle of July? Which is. Why? It’s not even for any holiday or special time of the year? It’s just...clearly a movie night in the summer? There are little kids here, playing among the gravestones while their parents set out blankets and snacks. Why is this considered a family event??

Well. At least Jason has fun.

Everyone goes to bed and reconvenes in the morning. When they wake up and roll out for the day, Danny manages to find them again, this time with two new friends, bright and chipper in the morning. There’s a farmer’s market today! Everyone’s worked really hard on this week’s harvest; don’t they want to see?

...Sure?

And the longer they’re in Amity Park, the more they begin to realize how convenient it is, that they’re ferried around so easily; that there’s immediately a local who takes a liking to them, that there’s always something else to do; how suspicious it is that no data can get in or out of Amity now that they’re in it, or how they can’t seem to get close to any of the more suspicious parts of town they want to infiltrate. The town is entirely closed to outside influences. The fashion trends are strange and foreign. They only eat things grown in the area, by people they know, and it’s all sort of...green. Everyone knows everyone. Everyone knows where to go. Who to talk to. The superstitions— make no wishes, step on no cracks, wear no large jewelry, cross no shadows of any person (living or dead, apparently), speak to no one without full view of their eyes. 

But nothing seems dangerous— not until a few of them try to investigate Axiom Labs, a subsidiary of the otherwise national Dalvco company, and are met to the face with a blaster that uses tech they’ve never seen, by a red fighter in an ultra-synthetic suit.

Overnight, the extremely polite and welcoming town becomes a hostile entity to fight their way out of.

[tourettesdog]

I like to HC that the portal zap screws with Danny’s hormones and he doesn’t grow any taller after dying (staying roughly around 5′)

So AU time where Dani, having never encountered that particular stressor in her life, inherits the tall Fenton genes he was supposed to without issue She’s also more ghostly because... yes.

The cat is named Dany. He was stolen from Vlad and travels with Dani.

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Sewing Club (dp x dc)

This had all started when Frostbite had asked Danny why he'd never changed out of his hazmat suit. Danny had assumed it would've been useless to try since the one time he had put on any of his normal clothes on as Phantom, they had disappeared when he turned back human and when he went ghost he was back to the hazmat.

According to Frostbite, though, ghosts could change clothes, as long as they had been made by ghosts. At first Danny had been ecstatic, and he'd rushed to the nearest ghostly tailor where his hopes had been crushed. Because ghost clothes were apparently very expensive and very in demand, ten-year-long-waiting-list kind of in demand.

That was when Danny had had a brilliant flash of inspiration. He was a ghost! Which meant if he made his own clothes, they wouldn't disappear into the void! Which brought him back to today, taking sewing classes two states over during summer break.

"That's good, those stitches are looking neater," Alfred said as he passed by Danny's chair. The halfa smiled up to the older man before bending back down onto his needle and thread.

This was not how Danny had thought the summer would go. At least he got some free cookies out of it.

[luxaofhesperides]

Ghostlights where Phantom saves Duke or the Signal, and a week later (at a Wayne gala or some other place) Duke recognizes the light/aura coming from Danny

Putting off gala prep was perhaps not the best plan. Duke spent the past month insisting that everything is fine and he has it under control. Duke is also a lying liar who lies, and now he’s frantically trying to pick up his suit in time to get it dry cleaned and altered as necessary. 

Alfred would be disappointed in him, but in Duke’s defense, he had to go out of town on a mission to bust a growing drug cartel, and then spent half a week visiting a shelter for metas on the run (unofficial and hidden away) to help everyone find new homes and learn to control their powers. These things take time!

Unfortunately, gala prep also takes time, and since it’s a charity gala for funding the education of every Gothamite student, it’s not one he can slip out of. The entire family is being strong-armed into attending and not making a scene until the donation period in the first half is over. 

Duke knows he’s not the only one who’s scrambling to get ready for a gala that’s taking place in three days, but they’re not helping him, so it feels like he’s the only one messing up. 

“Sorry!” he calls behind him as he sprints through a group of people. 

He could have asked someone to drive him, but he knows they’re all busy and doesn’t want his own poor time management to cause problems for anyone else. Even though he’s sure Bruce is looking for an excuse to get out of a mandatory Wayne Enterprises board meeting that both Lucius and Tim dragged him to.

RIP Bruce. He will be missed.

The Diamond District is full of people walking the streets, sprinting between parked cars and waiting for their rides. They’re all dressed nicely, making him feel out of place. It’s a feeling that’s never left him since he joined the Waynes but it’s particularly bad when he’s left to navigate these spaces alone. Rich people and socialites are a different kind of human, one that Duke doesn’t care to understand; there’s greed in all of them, turning them heartless, and they can give as much as they want to charity but it won’t change the fact that all they do is a performance to make people like them, rather than a desire to do anything good. 

The sooner this is over, the better. He keeps going, hoping that he can still make it to his appointment with the tailor. Alfred recommended the store, then set up the appointment, so all Duke has to do is trust their judgment as they get him fitted. He’s still got twenty minutes until the scheduled time, but some unspoken rule makes it so he has to show up fifteen minutes early for better service or risk being turned away and told to reschedule. 

Duke slows to a walk when he catches sight of the store, the trying to catch his breath and look more composed before he reaches the door. He takes a moment to straighten his clothes a bit, then opens the door and steps in.

The bell jingles pleasantly above his head. The store is empty of any other customers, and the employee at the front counter looks up with a plastered on smile. 

“I’ll be with you in a moment!” she says, then looks down at her phone and types something out before placing it under the counter. A tablet comes out instead and she swipes through a few screens, then sets it down and look at Duke again. “How can I help you, sir?”

“I have an appointment? For a suit fitting. Under the name Thomas.”

She taps on the screen for a minute, then nods and gives him another customer service smile. “Alright, I’ll go ahead and grab the tailor. They’ll be out with your suit soon. Please, feel free to take a seat or browse some of our suits. We just recently got a new collection in from Italy.”

“Sure, thanks. I’ll just… be here, I guess.”

The employee takes her tablet and disappears through a door, leaving him alone in the store. He doesn’t want to sit down, not while his heart is still trying to settle from his sprint through half of Diamond District, so Duke wanders around the neat stacks of dress shirts and vests, pants and belts and shoes lined up neatly against the walls. 

He takes a moment to shoot Alfred a text that he’s at the tailor for his fitting appointment. Steph’s sent him a long string of videos online, and he’s just about to go through them when the bell rings again. 

Duke glances up and watches a guy walk into the store. He looks around, makes eye contact with Duke, then quickly looks down, taking a seat by the door.

Probably another upper class citizen uncomfortable with the fact that someone in jeans and a hoodie is shopping for suits. Shaking his head lightly, Duke wanders deeper into the store to get some distance between them so they could ignore each other more easily. It’s only until the tailor comes out, and then he can go to a fitting room and be done with this whole thing, so Duke resigns himself to suffering through the tense silence. 

How long is he even supposed to wait? He can only look at clothes in one of three colors before he gets bored. 

He goes to another rack, trying to see if he can notice anything different about these shirts. 

And then he hears a shoe scuff against the floor behind him. He tenses up, but before he can turn around, a belt is wound around his throat, pulling him back and choking him. 

Duke drops his weight, tucking his chin and gets a hand against the inside of the belt to try to push it away. His back hits someone’s chest and he’s trapped, focused on trying not to be choked to death while also keeping his vigilante abilities and meta powers secret. 

More footsteps come from behind, and a soaked cloth is pressed against his nose and mouth.

Chloroform, he realizes, familiar with the smell from Bruce’s training. But training isn’t enough to keep him from being knocked out, and he quickly slips away from the waking world, falling to the ground. 

Just before he passes out completely, he hears the employee who greeted him say, “I’m not sure how much Wayne would be willing to pay for him, but let’s start high and negotiate lower. New kid can’t possibly be worth that much…”

Duke wakes up groggily, memories of what happened quickly snapping into place. He’s too out of it still to get up, but he’s awake enough to be offended. Sure he’s the new kid, and barely even a Wayne, but he’s still worth a lot!

Kidnappers these days. So rude.

He doesn’t hear anyone around him, and it feels like he’s lying on a cold concrete floor. Basement, maybe? Warehouse? Storage unit tucked away somewhere? There’s nothing much to see when Duke is able to open his eyes, squinting bareilly at his surroundings. His arms are tied behind him, wrists bound, but they left his legs alone. 

If he could just hit the panic button on his bracelet…

Duke wiggles around, fighting through the lingering effects of Chloroform, and manages to sit up. If he strains his hearing, he thinks he can hear voices outside of the empty room he’s been left in. There’s a window high up, too high for a normal person to reach without help, but if he can use the shadows to travel through it, then he may be able to escape on his own. 

First things first: he needs to free his hands before anyone comes in to check on him.

They used zip ties on him, which is inconvenient. He’s learned how to get out of them, but it’s difficult enough without being drugged and having to do it behind his back. 

He’s feeling the zip ties bite into his wrists just as there’s a crash from outside the room. His kidnappers yell, alarmed, and are quickly silenced. That’s rarely ever a good sign. Duke renews his efforts to escape, ignore the pain in pushing against his binds like this. 

The door opens. Duke hears the small click of a lock disengaging and freezes. Then he gets to his feet, still unsteady, and prepares to ram his head into anyone who comes near him like some sort of deranged battering ram, or a drunk raging bull. 

Duke is ready for the worst: a gang hoping to steal away a Wayne hostage, a Rogue, Gnomon popping in to cause trouble for the sole purpose of getting on Duke’s nerve. 

He’s not expecting another teenage boy, who is literally glowing, to poke his head in and zero in on Duke. He blinks, then smiles; it’s friendly and sincere, nothing like the employee who helped kidnap him. 

“Hey!” he says, coming into the room properly. He’s floating a good foot off the ground, eyes a bright neon green, with white hair that sways as if he’s underwater. “Are you okay? I saw them drag you out of the back of the store and followed them, but I got a bit lost. Sorry for taking so long to get here.”

“...It’s fine?” Duke offers, trying to wrap his head around what’s happening. “I wasn’t expecting a rescue so soon, anyways. Think you can help me out here?”

“Yeah, of course!” he flies closer, then drops down to the ground behind Duke. He hums lightly under his breath, and then Duke feels a cold touch on his wrist and the zip ties are suddenly gone. 

Duke blinks, then brings his arms in front of him. He moves around a bit to make sure he’s not hallucination, and sure enough, he’s free and unbound because a random meta teenager vanished the zip ties into the ether, or something. 

“Thanks, man. Any idea where we are?”

“Not a clue. I got lost coming here, and I was following them. I don’t think you should trust any directions I give.”

“Fair enough,” Duke laughs. “I’m Duke, by the way.”

“Phantom.”

“Well, thanks for the save, Phantom. Can I treat you to something?”

“Like, coffee?”

“Sure. Or brunch, or ice cream. Whatever you want, really.”

Phantom considers it for a moment, then shakes his head. “Sorry, I would love to but going out in public looking like this,” he gestures to himself, “Is not a great idea. Thanks for the offer though. You got a ride?”

Duke pats his pockets, then sighs. “My phone’s gone. I still have my wallet, though.”

“I fly you to someplace you can call someone, if you’d like.”

“You sure? I could probably just walk out of here and call a taxi.”

“I don’t think walking around by yourself after being kidnapped is a great idea,” Phantom says, doubtfully. “Seriously, let me fly you.”

He should just hit the panic button and wait for someone to show up to get him. He shouldn’t go to some unknown location with a meta he literally just met. 

But, you know what? No one else can say they got kidnapped twice in one day, so Duke nods and says, “Sure, sweep me off my feet, Phantom. You gotta commit to this rescue.”

Phantom laughs. And then he does sweep Duke off his feet into a princess carry with a cheeky grin and flies them out the building, which turns out to be an abandoned apartment building slated for demolition. 

“Keep this up and you’ll be replacing Superman in no time,” Duke jokes.

“I think I could manage it,” Phantom replies thoughtfully. “I mean, I’m already prettier than him, don’t you think?”

“Oh, definitely. The glow really brings out your eyes.”

Phantom gets him a few blocks away when Duke recognizes where they are, and quickly directs him into Crime Alley. They land on top of one of Jason’s safe houses, and while he’s sure there’s enough security to take out a SWAT Team, that’s absolutely not going to stop him from breaking in to use one of Jason’s burner phones and eat his leftovers. 

He’s set down on his feet gently, and as soon as Phantom sees that he’s fine, able to walk and everything, he floats back up, just out of reach.

“Be careful, okay?” he says, getting ready to leave.

“I’ll do my best. Hey, are you gonna be in Gotham for a while, or…?”

Phantom gives him a tired smile. “Nah. I’m just passing through. As long as my luck doesn’t get even worse, then I should be out of here in a few days.”

“Shame,” Duke says, giving Phantom a very visible once over. He’s pretty tall, and Duke can see some muscle on him, and the tight black outfit really adds to his look. The glow that comes out of his chest makes him look ethereal and Duke is beyond glad that he got such a charming rescuer.

Phantom doesn’t blush like a normal person. He glows brighter instead, curling into himself a bit as he looks away, unable to stop the smile from growing on his face. 

“I guess,” he shrugs. “Are you really going to be alright from here?”

“Yeah, man, I have a friend who lives here. I’ll just bother him until he agrees to give me a ride.”

“Alright.” Phantom drifts away, glancing behind him before turning back to Duke. “I’ll get going then. Take care, Duke!”

Duke waves and watches as Phantom begins to fly away. Then Phantom… disappears? Or rather, his body does but Duke can see an orb of light making its way across Gotham, almost like a star fallen from the sky.

He stays on the roof until the light is long gone. When he’s finally ready to go in and steal from Jason, the sun has completely set. 

And he still doesn’t have his suit.

Duke sighs, and mentally prepares himself to other day of stressing out about the gala.

Three days of stress and last minute scrambling leave Duke in the Gotham Museum of Modern Art with Steph, Tim, Cass, and Damian. They’re hiding in the photography gallery to avoid other guests, taking a break from being polite and letting thinly veiled, passive aggressive insults slide over them.

.

.

.

“How much longer must we suffer this before we can go?” Damian grumbles, looking like he’s do anything to get his hands on a blade. Which, considering how many people tried to either pinch his cheeks are say some racist remark about him and his mother, is totally fair. Duke would just punch them, but sometimes a little drama helped get the message across. 

“At least two more hours,” Tim says, not bothering to look up from his phone. From what few glimpses of the screen Duke caught, he’s leading a Titans missions through text and clever hacking. Though it may be more accurate to call is a Young Justice mission since there’s no way any of this was authorized by a Justice League member. 

Also Anita, suited up as Empress, is there. If they aren’t on the news for property destruction and absolutely batshit wild shenanigans, Duke will have to check on Tim to make sure he’s not a pod person sent to infiltrate the family. 

“Think we can sneak out without anyone noticing?” Steph asks, looking at the emergency exit longingly.

Cass shakes her head and points to the door leading to the ballroom. When they look over, Dick makes very deliberate eye contact with them and give them a smile that looks stretched across his face.

Tim winces and pushes Duke. “Oh, something went down. Go take over for him and let Dick rest in here for a bit.”

“Man, why does it have to be me?” he grumbles even as he stands. Dick lets out a heavy breath and gives Duke a grateful smile, patting on the shoulder before shoving him out the door. 

As soon as he’s back into the main hallway, the music and chatter swell, no longer muffled by the thick walls of the photography wing. A few people come and go from the ballroom, no doubt looking for the restroom. 

Or more private places for… other things. Things they definitely shouldn’t be doing in an art museum.

He really can’t wait for this night to be over.

Duke joins the rest of the guests, fake smile on his face, and quickly makes his way to the snack table. He might as well make the most of his time stuck out here. Maybe he could even cause another relationship scandal by implying that Bruce is sleeping with one of partners when in hearing distance of a couple. Maybe even both of them. 

Bruce would go with it. It’s hilarious and he also needs something to make these events bearable.

Sadly, he doesn’t see any good targets as he scans the ballroom. A few people are dancing, while others are talking in small circles, closed off from outsiders. There’s an entire table of old ladies with glasses of wine in front of them; Duke considers hanging around them, since they confess to a lot of crimes after a few glasses. It’s fascinating. 

Also, he does kind of miss hanging out with the one old lady who’s declared herself his high society grandmother and told him stories of how she used to go to bars to find racist people or Klan members during the Jim Crow era, seduce them, then poison them and get their addresses so a few gangs she was friends with would fuck them up.

Granny Kaliasto is the coolest person ever. 

Just as he’s about to finish his last mini rolled crepe, Duke catches sight of one of the few teenagers still in the ballroom. The others, mostly stuck up rich kids no one actually likes, have already left to take over some other part of the museum to gossip until their parents decide it’s time to go home. These two are clearly not part of that crew, what with the girl being very goth and in a poofy, ripped dress, and the boy having already taken his jacket off to keep over his forearm, the top button of his shirt popped open.

They might be cool. He’s hoping they’re cool because he desperately needs some company to keep from dying of boredom while the gala continues on.

Duke walks over to them, going around the side of the ballroom, until he’s close enough to hear them talking.

The boy has his back to Duke, but the girl sees him. She immediately scowls and slaps the boys shoulder, eyes locked on Duke.

“Got another comment about my dress?” she says, voice sharp and acidic.

“Another?” Duke repeats. “I was just bored and wanted to talk to people who were my age. Sorry?”

The boy smacks the girl’s arm, then turns to face Duke. “Sorry about her! Sam is just naturally rude and aggressive. Tonight’s been a bit rough, with this crowd.”

Duke goes to say something, but the words stick in his throat when he sees the boy’s eyes shift from deep blue to an electric green. When he focuses, he can see a faint glow in his chest, the same glow he saw in Phantom.

“Dude? You alright?”

Sam looks him over judgmentally. “I guess it’s nice that I’m not being ogled for once, but don’t do that shit to Danny either.”

“Wait, that’s not what I was doing!” Duke hurries to say, snapped out of his shock. “I just… you look a lot like someone I met recently.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. What was your name? I’m Duke, by the way.”

He holds out a hand, and the boy shakes it with a small smile. “Danny. I don’t think we’ve met. I mean, I’m only here because Sam wouldn’t come to this gala without me, so her parents flew me in.”

“You from out of town?”

“Sam and I are from Illinois. Her parents are traveling around the east coast right now, and they decided to spend a week in Gotham to talk business.”

“I’d ask how it is, but outsiders tend to really hate Gotham, so…”

Sam barks out a sharp laugh. “Oh please, we can handle Gotham. Our town might not be as big and well known as Gotham, but we got our own shit to deal with there.”

“I do get shot at a lot back home,” Danny adds thoughtfully. “And that’s without the ghosts.”

“Woah, what?”

“Up for a bit of a story?” Danny asks, impish grin on his face. By his side, Sam brings a hand up to cover a manic smile, shoulders already shaking with laughter. 

This is already better than the grandma gang. Duke leans against the wall, getting settled in, and says, “Always, man. Hit me with it.”

The next hour an a half passes quickly with Sam and Danny dramatically narrating some of the things that have happened in their town. Duke listens, absolutely enraptured, and doesn’t even notice the Waynes file into the ballroom again. 

Unfortunately, they bring with them the attention of most of the ballroom, including Bruce and Sam’s parents. 

She cuts the current story about Box Ghost short with a heavy sigh. “Hold up, I need to greet the Waynes properly while my parents are watching.” She steps in front of Duke and Danny, holding out a hand with a pained smile.

Tim takes it first, giving a solid shake, and introductions start. 

Free from the rules of high society, if only for the moment, Duke leans closer to Danny and whispers to him, “Phantom. Wanna get out of here?”

Danny flinches and turns to him looking panicked. “How did you know?”

“I kinda got magic eyes. I see a lot of things normal humans can’t. Don’t worry about it. I still owe you, so you wanna get out of here?”

He watches as Danny glances around the ballroom, then back to him, clearly weighing out his options. Then he nods and says, “Know where to get a good milkshake around here?”

“Sure do.”

“I guess you’re the one rescuing me this time.”

“Not a rescue,” Duke corrects, and casually picks Danny up over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry, “A kidnapping.”

Danny laughs and waves Sam and all the others goodbye as Duke marches out of the ballroom.

“Don’t bother me for the next two hours!” he calls to the Waynes, “I’m going on a date!”

There are shocked gasps and murmurs all through the crowd. But as he spins around to wave at his shocked and easily amused family, he also catches sight of Granny Kaliasto raising her half full wine glass towards him.

She really is the coolest.

He’s definitely telling her all about this at the next event they attend together. It’ll be nice to have a few stories of his own to share.

[spacedace]

So, sat down to write some more for Business of Family, got sidetracked by the idea of Jazz & Danny eventually joining Penguin at a Gala, further got sidetracked by trying to figure out what Jazz & Danny would wear, started looking up reference images to try and get an idea and -

Guys.

Guys, Guys, GUYS!

LOOK AT WHAT I FOUND:

I wasn’t even looking up Batman themed suites, I was looking at Art Deco inspired evening wear and it was just there in all it’s glory

Just, just IMAGINE someone wearing it at a gala. Is it Danny? One of the BatKids? Clark? BRUCE???

I just - holy shit. Holy shit. This suit is just, absolute perfection. Imagine it in like, the highest rich folk nonsense quality, gold thread embroidery in place of bright yellow print. Tailored perfectly. Oh god, imagine that it actually has a light system so that all the Bat-Signals LIGHT UP

I love it, it’s awful, I needed to share it with all of you, it’s going to be in every Batman related thing I write forever now

[dcxdpdabbles]

Cave Boy Danny is a dad and that one fact makes Tim less suspicious of him.

Because the contingency plan for Bruce is his kids. It's also really concerning HOW young Bruce is a parent. (How old is he?!)

And this story won't be complete without Dani showing up to cause mayhem while calling for her Father.

She commits to the bit without even knowing all the details. Or the bit.

So, in Cave Au, I had planned to have Danny call Dani, his adoptive sister, instead of his daughter to make the Waynes much more nervous about him, but I'll write a different Au for you to make up for it.

Dani Fenton is the new kid in Tim's class. She's moved with her single father, Daniel Fenton, from a small town in Minnesota. At first, there is not much to her, even with her large brian.

She's a scholarship girl with a mind for chemistry that could make any scientist green with envy. Her uniform must be better tailored, likely second-hand, because it hangs loosely around her body as if made for a taller girl. She doesn't talk to other students, often popping in headphones when they are dismissed to the next class or during breaks.

Most of Gotham Acadamy doesn't want to interact with her, and she's completely fine with returning the sentiment. Personally, Tim only noticed her because she had a Dumpty Humpty sticker on her laptop.

He's surprised to find anyone in his generation who even heard the band, much less enjoyed it enough to have merchandise. It was a rock band that was popular twenty years ago when Bruce was a teenager.

Tim only knows about them because Bruce sometimes puts them on when he wants to work on any Bat vehicles.

He recognized her sticker, but it wasn't a reason to go over and start a conversation with her. The only action this realization caused was Tim pulling up his playlist and pressing one of Dumpty Humpty's songs.

No, what caused him to talk to her was an incident that happened three weeks after she arrived at Gotham Acadamy. It's a well-known fact that scholarship kids were picked on. Even though Waynes attempted to curb the bullying, it still happened to the kids they gave financial assistance to.

Tim had stumbled across a group of girls surrounding Dani by the soccer field. She was sitting on the grassy hill overlooking the field, and around her were various art supplies. Dani had likely been painting when the girls had rudely interrupted her.

It didn't take any of his Bat training to see how they were mocking her, and he sped up just as one girl reached out to try and snatch her screech book out of her hand.

The key word being tried.

Dani had been much faster, for she not only tugged her book out of the bully's reach but also kicked out the feet from under the girl in the same motion.

"Nice try." Dani taunted, her accent just peeking through. "Now, do me a favor and get your daddy to buy you a yacht you can't drive instead of bothering me."

"At least my Dad has money!" The other girl screeched.

Dani snorted. "Oh boy, you really cut me where it hurts. How will I ever recover from that comeback?"

"You Bitch!" A blond girl yelled. Tim knows her. Tina Lumière, the youngest of Harry Lunmiere- a family who ran luxurious vacation services. A family that was always quick to lure in investors. She's been trying to flirt with Tim since Bruce took him in, convinced he'll fund her family business if she bats her eyelashes hard enough.

Tim hates interacting with her.

"Yeah, Yeah, Yeah. I'm a poor bitch that won't amount to anything, and I need to stay away from Timbo Dragon so you can go make rich stupid babies with him."

"That's not his name-"

"Look, I only have one day of the school week where I have a free period, and you're wasting it on this." Dani waves her hand around the group with an over-exaggerated squint. "I mean, honestly, why would I go after some guy? I'm a lesbian."

"You are?" The brunette in the circle of bullies asks, with too much interest. Dani sends her a wink, and the girl actually blushes. Tim is suddenly reminded of Steph, and that causes him to smile.

"That's not his name!" Tina shouts, stepping in between the flirting girls. Dani's face clouds over in distaste as she continues. "His name is Timothy Drake. I know you're lying about not being interested in him! I saw you staring at him in biology."

"I was looking at his rock band sweater. It's a band my dad likes-"

"Shut up!" Tina slaps Dani across the face, seemingly smug, but it doesn't last long since the raven-haired girl springs up with a nasty right hook.

It hits Tina right in the eye, knocking the girl down like her friend. She screams, which triggers all her friends to jump at Dani. Despite being smaller and outnumbered, Dani gives as good as she gets, throwing a girl over her shoulder and punching another in the throat.

Tim picked up his speed, walking into a fast run. He barely has the mind to pull out his phone and point it in the group's direction. "Hey, break it up! Break it up!"

The two holding onto Dani's hair let go like they've been burned. If a teacher had tried to stop the fight, they wouldn't have gotten far, but Tim is a Wayne. They have much more power than some poor staff.

"Tim," Tina wails. Her eye is already starting to bruise. She's going to look terrible for a while while it heals. "She attacked me!"

"No, she didn't," He says, rolling his eyes. He waves his phone at them. "Don't lie. I recorded the whole thing. Also, harassing others is super unattractive."

He didn't, but they don't know that. Tina's face falls apart as he helps Dani get her things and then escorts her to the main building. He doubts that will stop her harassment, but hopefully, it will detain them long enough for him to find a better solution.

"Thanks," Dani says after they finish walking. "That was cool of you."

"Don't mention it." He gives her a standard Wayne-dizzy smile. "What of mine sweater were you talking about?"

She grins. "The Dumpty Humpty one.'

"Oh yeah, that's my dad's. He loves the band."

Her eyes light up. "Mine does, too. Maybe we can get our dads to meet and discuss it."

Great. Dani Fenton was another opportunist trying to get Bruce to meet her parents. Pity.

"I'm sure there will be a chance in the future. Maybe the parent-teacher conferences, we'll run into each other," He says with a laugh, not giving her a direct answer. Dani nods and then walks off to her next class. He reports the girls, compiles enough evidence, and when he's sure the school will step in, he doesn't think about the afternoon.

Then, four months later, it's parent-teacher conferences. Bruce and Tim are just about finished visiting all his teachers, that are falling over themselves to get on Brucie's good side when Dani appears, dragging her dad behind her.

"That's him." She says, and Daniel's face lights up.

"You're the Dumpty Humpty fan?" He asks Bruce. His dad has no choice but to play along even though Tim knows he's dead tired and wants to go home.

"Of course. Who doesn't love a good Fairy Tale Ending to listen to on the way home?" Bruce laughs, and Daniel's grin widens.

"That's great, but I like Bloody Prince Charming more. Daniel Fenton, by the way." He holds his hand, and Bruce shakes it slightly more interest now. It's not that Dumpty Humpty isn't just old; it wasn't popular in this part of the country, so it's even rarer to find fans in Gotham.

"Bruce Wayne."

"Nice to meet ya!" Daniel chirps- seeing anyone other than Dick be that cheerful is odd. "Wish we can talk more, but I got to get to this one's art class."

"Of course," Bruce says, even though he's surprised they walked away so quickly without asking for anything more of them. Most try swinddle a second meeting somehow.

Dani waves Tim goodbye, and the Fentons are off down the hall, chatting between them in ordinary, eased tones. It's odd but a forgotten interaction for Tim after a few days.

Not so much for Bruce.

Tim finds out a month later that Bruce not only met up with Mr. Fenton again but even asked for his number on their second meeting. Then the two men went out for dinner, went to the mall, went shopping, and even did some charity fundraiser together.

Bruce would often message Daniel that it felt like he was the new teenager. Tim still did not think it odd.

Only when Damian burst into his room, dragging the rest of their siblings in. The youngest had called on a sibling meeting to discuss a new issue that worried him about Bruce.

"Tim, who is Father's suitor, and what are his intentions with Father?" The boy asked after everyone had settled.

"What?"

"Babybat has a point. I haven't seen Bruce this interested since Catwoman first appeared," Dick added. "I really hope this lover sticks around."

"What lover?" Tim questions Jason, who shrugs.

"A Daniel Fenton? The old man has been going steady with him for about a month now. Haven't you noticed? You were the one that introduced him."

"No, I've been focused on the Phantom case," Tim says, gesturing to the board covered in red yarn and a news clipping of the new hero.

Phantom had appeared a while back, going through the city and helping the little people. He's even harder to catch a glimpse of then Batman, but he's been helping to slowly cut down the pity crime and muggings, letting the Bats focus on the big guns like the Rouges.

The Bats had been trying to pin him down to offer assistance and gradated for all his hard work. They just catch him since Phantom is a meta and always slips away at the last second.

"Whatever the case may be." Damian started up again. "We must protect Father from those with less than honorable intentions."

"Hear, Hear," Steph and Duke cry, lifting up their juice boxes that Cass had passed out. It wasn't a proper sibling meeting without snacks.

"He can't be all bad," Tim said. "He's a single father."

"Having a kid makes him more worthy?"

"In my experience, step-parents have been really great." But Dana was incredible like that, so maybe Tim put too much faith in Bruce's dating life.

They all agree to closely monitor Daniel Fenton and his daughter Dani. There may be more than meets the eye.

[home-of-renn]

Phantom's hazmat suit doesn't look anything like the one Danny wore before the accident.

Many high-level hazmat suits are made from rubber - which doesn't make sense if Danny died from the electrical shock in the portal. BUT, it turns out that while rubber is a great insulator for electricity, like most things, it's only effective to a certain point. You can still get hit by lightning while wearing rubber. Danny got hit with enough energy to tear a hole between dimensions - which would be way more than his suit could handle, hence why he died. Plus the Fenton's didn't have proper access to ectoplasm until after the accident so they wouldn't have been able to make a suit better suited to withstand any kind of energy from the Zone.

Now, I like to imagine Danny's zap to have been more like a lightning strike than a regular little electrical shock. Lightening produces enough energy that it can even heat the air surrounding it and people who've been hit by it can suffer severe burns - internally and externally.

Rubber shrinks when exposed to heat. I have personally never liked the whole concept of Danny's suit looking the exact same before and after, just with the colours reversed. Like, it's not far-fetched to assume that the Fenton's made their own suits, including Danny's. It would mean that Phantom looks the exact same as their son in his hazmat suit, just with a different colour scheme - which is way too on the nose for me.

So, I propose that the Fenton's hazmat suits look more or less like regular ones, just colour coded and a bit more tailored to their wearer - so not as baggy and a bit more fashionable.

But Phantom's suit is skin tight - shrunken and fused to his skin after the immense heat endured at his death. It doesn't look like the Fenton's design and it doesn't look like your first idea of a hazmat suit.

Phantom's suit is tight enough to be mistaken as his skin - until you get up close and can make out a perplexing hexagonal pattern that's unique to the Fenton design

The soles of Danny's shoes melted from the heat and now Phantom leaves no footprints in his wake.

Phantom's skin has an almost pearlescent glow - not nearly as bright as the other ghosts. Lichtenberg scars are caused by bursting blood vessels and the glow that seeps from beneath his skin is almost enough to conceal the spidery scars that creep along the left side of his face, over his lips and the bridge of his nose, disappearing into his hairline and beneath the collar of his suit.

His suit is the colour of charred soot and ash - a stark contrast to his pristine accessories and colourless hair. When he flies in the dead of night, high above the streets of Amity, he almost looks like a shooting star.

[jackdaw-and-hattrick]

Some pointless but sweet thoughts:

Jason’s love language is food/sharing a meal: he brings Danny dinner every day so he’s sure he’ll eat. When he knows he’s having a bad day, Jason bakes, bringing over a new dessert for them to share. To him there is nothing quite as romantic as splitting an orange. He’s never once gone to the Manor for Sunday Dinner without a dish in hand. People rejoice when he’s in charge of the soup kitchen.

Danny’s love language is gifts/repairs: he’s always grabbing cool looking rocks and feathers and then just… wordlessly handing them to Jason when they next see each other. He’ll give larger gifts as well (a custom motorcycle, a nightmare gun, the actual library of Alexandria, etc) always carefully tailored to the recipient and with no explanation. He mends shirts as apologies and unclogs the sink as thanks.

[alyakthedorklord]

Ectoplasm = The Primordial Soup

I have Thoughts/Headcanons about the Infinite Realms I want to put down somewhere

The concept of Infinity is really really interesting on a metaphysical sense and to have a REALM titled after it? I want to know MORE. What is it? Is it purgatory? An end? A beginning? A funhouse mirror? Or all these possibilities in one, as it is truly Infinite?

Fanon-wise, especially in crossovers, the ghost zone/infinite realms is a truly infinite realm that connects to every universe out there. It serves as the Main Realm of the Dead, the sea in which all the other realms of the dead are floating in, right? When Danny is written as the King of this Realm, he is often placed at the top of the chain of command, above hades/hell/whatever demon or deity the author sees fit. The crown and ring literally grant (quoted from the show) “infinite power,” so Ghost King Danny is OP for a Canon Reason.

We are also using the fact that its a ghosts obsession that keeps them on that plane. Its their obsession that powers them, they are so attached to this one thing that the ectoplasm around them forms into what they want. Aka, power of belief. Belief is what makes the ghosts exist, and the concepts exist, and as we often see in writing, the many religions that the realms of the dead belong to.

(Edit: We see this in the wide array of personalized powers each ghost has, in thier wildly different appearances, every haunt and island tailored to them.)

With all these powers gathered in one place, what is the REASON that the infinite realms is as it is?

What if the infinite realms, and ectoplasm itself, is the primordial soup? What if every universe is formed first from a being of the infinite realms? What if the beings that created those worlds are just… primordial ecto entities. Playing in the sand. Over time growing in strength and detail until they became Gods of their own worlds, seperate from the infinite realms even as these worlds were born from it? All that remains are doors into their dollhouses, windows into their dreams, and the belief of the souls they made came back through and made more gods, more spirits. Souls come through those doors, back into the cycle.

This would explain why Danny Phantom Ghosts are different from traditional/normal ghosts in whatever crossover your using. Because they are ghosts, but they’re more akin to itty bitty primordial spirits.

The rivers of the dead, the Styx, the Nile, souls they travel back through the infinite realms before reentering the cycle or dropping off at thier final destination. But sometimes, as a soul is traveling, and their connection to something is strong enough, and their will is strong enough, they catch hold of primordial soup/ectoplasm, create a body of it, and escape the cycle of Life and Death. They become mini gods of their own obsession.

This ALSO explains ghost king by right of conquest and the head canon that ghosts bond by fighting! Not only are they basically indestructible, but the power of your will and strength of your character is a DIRECT link to how powerful you become. Winning in a fight demonstrates your stronger connection to the fabric of reality and your hold on your own existence. The flavor of that connection really helps Ghosts figure each other out.

Also, to become an Infinite Realms Ghost you have to be the kind of stubborn bastard who looks at the fabric of reality itself and goes “Actually? You work for ME now. Lets go.” They are all confrontational assholes.

The primordials don’t explain Shit to the tiny spirits so they go, “ah. I ghost. This is Ghost zone. This is normal afterlife.” And they don’t know that this is a place of creation, because all they know is that this is a place of death. But they make islands and lairs and domains of which they control, thier own Miniature World they are god of. They collect weaker spirits, who fit thier aesthetic and fill out their worlds. (Uniform/crowd ghosts often band together to form a group identity, acting as a support system for those who might fade easier. And definitely not Ease of Animation. Im putting lore here, yep. Main Character Syndrome is a Health Benefit/Status symbol in the infinite realms.

Anyways, eventually the secret of what exactly the infinite realms are is hidden away.

But as King, and Ancient of Space…

Danny is in charge of organizing all these universes. These galaxies, these tiny works of art.

He is so excited for when he’s old enough to make his own.

Im sure ill be editing this when I have energy for anything other than a stream of consciousness.

[maniacwatchestheworld]

Here. Have a DPxDC prompt or something. (#1)

Danny, Tucker, and Sam were walking down the streets of Gotham, chatting as they cut their way through the decrepit alleyways and backstreets to get to their favorite comic shop in the city. Tucker and Danny were deep in a debate over the latest storyline in the Road Rage series and so didn't notice the man walking towards them in the dark alley until Sam nudged them both.

"Guys!" She said it in a pointed whisper to catch their attention, but hopefully not that of the stranger's.

Sure enough, heading towards them was a muscular tower of a man. He was wearing what was clearly an expensive suit, tailor fitted for him, and a golden mask over the left side of his face.

"No way...! I-Is that Two-Face!??" Tucker was shivering, suddenly struck by fear now that he was in the presence of one of Gotham's most famous criminal masterminds. "What does he want from us!?"

"Didn't they say that he had reformed...?" Sam asked, less afraid and more curious.

"Maybe if we keep walking, he won't notice us..." Danny mumbled as he continued to shuffle forwards.

A collective breath escaped the trio as they passed the man, but just as they thought they were in the clear, there was a clatter.

Slowly, the three turned around to see the man holding something in front of him.

"Excuse me, young man, but I think you-" but before he could finish, Tucker was yelling.

"PLEASE DON'T HURT US, MR. TWO-FACE, SIR! WE'LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING YOU WANT."

"...What are you-"

"Tucker, I don't think-" but before Sam could talk some sense into their friend, Danny interrupted.

"Don't worry guys, I'll take care of this!" And with that, Danny went intangible and entered the body of Two-Face to overshadow him.

Danny could feel the man inhabiting the body go unconscious as he took control. "See, guys! It's no big... Deal... I'll just..." Suddenly, Danny got the very real feeling that he was not alone inside of this body. There was something else in here. Other... People... And they were fully aware that Danny was in here with them. Inside of this man's mind, Danny knew that all eyes were on him. They did not want him here. And whatever was holding them back before was no longer there, now asleep at Danny's feet.

"What are you doing in here, child?" A faceless voice asked into Danny's neck, forcing a chill to run down his spine.

A flash and suddenly Danny was confronted by a mass of anger and scars. "Who are you? You're not one of us! Get out. Get out! GET OUT!!!" He was screaming.

Danny was screaming. The body of the man he had just possessed was screaming for him to get out.

Summary/TLDR: Danny, Sam, and Tucker pass Harvey Dent on the street. Harvey is minding his own business when he notices one of the kids drop something/something falls out of one of their bags. Harvey tries giving it back to them, but Tucker starts freaking out. Thinking that it would solve everything, Danny overshadows/possesses Harvey Dent. However, while he rendered Harvey unconscious, the other members of Harvey's system are still very much awake and do NOT want Danny in here!

Note: Plural system stuff going on here! Danny basically made Harvey (who is mostly harmless and was fronting at the time) disassociate into unconsciousness. When Danny leaves the body, Harvey will probably wake back up, but there is no guarantee that he will be able to get back to his senses quick enough to stop Two-Face from taking the reins to attack whatever/whoever made Harvey black out.

(Feel free to use. Credit is appreciated but not fully necessary. Have fun!)

[stealingyourbones]

Slides over a leather pouch with cooked chicken bones. There is a big 'do not leave unattened around animals' sign on the side of the pouch.

I was reading the 'Danny time travels a lot for Clockwork's missions' fanfics, and it had me thinking.

So, he would either have to learn a LOT of languages, or, my personal favorite, have an ability to speak, read, and understand them. Maybe CW gives it to him after the first disaster of Danny's time in, say, ancient Egypt.

So he can instinctively understand and speak them, but he can't control it unless he actually puts in the time to learn the language the normal way. Meaning he can technically speak all varieties of all languages. But. Not on purpose.

This can lead to fun outcomes:

1. Danny copies whoever is talking to him. This becomes a bit of a problem when it comes to larger groups or offending people. Constantine thinks he is British, Jason is convinced he grew up in the same parts of Gotham as he, Martian Manhunter and all other aliens get to speak in their languages. Introducing people to each other is a problem.

2. Danny uses all dialects - future, past, and present - of the language he is speaking, as long as his conversation partners can somewhat understand them. This means that he can casually drop surfer dude slang and posh British phrases in the same sentence. Talking to him is an ordeal in withstanding linguistic whiplash.

3. Even a CW universal translator is imperfect and there is often no completely fitting translation for a thing he wants to say, so he seems to talk in a very clunky way. 'Person who is responsible for maintaining the physical appearance of one's clothing' instead of a tailor, that kind of stuff.

This can lead to great misunderstandings and arguments :D

to add a funky little addition to the third one: does Danny reply in the language that they are currently being talked to or does he reply in that person's native language? Like does Danny talk to J'onn J'onzz in Martian or English?

[m-a-salter]

Why is Peter Capaldi so hot? Part Three.

[part 1] [part 2] [part 4]

In Part One and Part Two we considered (1) Mr. Capaldi's physical characteristics and (2-3) behaviors. In this part, we will consider his acting roles in relation to his hotness. This is essentially the sub-question, "Is Peter Capaldi hot, or am I just in love with several of his characters?" My contention is that, as long as your relationship with him remains parasocial, it is not an important distinction.

And for those of us who have not been brainwashed by moral purity cultures within fandom, this holds for (4) his good, appealing characters and (5) his potentially evil characters. They are hot in different ways, but all are hot.

4. Highly lovable characters

Call me old-fashioned, but nothing is hotter than goodness.

4.1 Danny Oldsen, Local Hero (1983): I am aware that some people don't think there is any relationship between a character being an adorable precious cinnamon roll and the actor playing the character being hot. Those people are entitled to their opinions.

4.2 Randall Brown, The Hour (2012): Principled, highly competent, dapper, and with a tragic backstory, in my mind, the hotness of Randall Brown infuses everything Peter Capaldi does.

4.3 The Doctor, Doctor Who (2014-17): Has anyone read this far who doesn't think the twelfth Doctor is hot? I personally have a particular soft spot for the soft smile.

5. Slightly or majorly evil characters, but in a sexy way

5.1 Malcolm Tucker, The Thick of It (2005-2012) and In the Loop (2009).

5.2 Cardinal Richelieu, The Musketeers (2014): He didn't get to have as much sex as the other characters in this show, but he still wore a lot of leather.

5.3 Daniel Hegarty, Criminal Record (2024): All cops are bastards, some are sexy bastards in well-tailored suits.

[part 1] [part 2] [part 4]

[gyllenhaalstories]

WE'RE NOT COWBOYS — DANNY SHARP

summary: danny likes his banks robberies short and sweet. he avoids collateral damage at all costs... most of the time.

warnings: reader is gender neutral! bank robbery, weapons, injury, blood, some sort of comfort/fluff mix? your guess is as good as mine. 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 2515

gif credits: @/stephendorff (cropped) / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics

notes: i watched ambulance again and i could not resist writing whatever this is. 💵 thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

"Why is it taking so fucking long?" A man shouted from God knew where. "Where's Mel? Has anybody seen Mel Gibson?" More men answered 'no sir' in sync.

You sobbed, the pain stung so bad that even crying hurt. You were stuck in a cycle. The more you cried, the more it hurt and the more it made you want to cry.

A tall, bearded man stared down at you. He rubbed his knuckles, soothing the pain he caused himself by punching you in the face. You had taken him by surprise, squealing of fear while he hurried out of the vault with the last of the money and valued goods he stole. He took a better hold of his rifle, he tried to assess if your life was worth wasting a bullet on.

"I swear to God, I'm gonna kill that guy!" The first person spoke again and marked a pause before continuing, he chuckled while he specified his wish. "I won't! Okay? I won't. Not until today's precious cargo is safe and sound."

Nope, you were not worth it. He abandoned you by the bank tellers' desks, shaking like a palm tree in a storm.

"There you fucking are! Thought you got lost, that's not very Braveheart of you." You heard some mumbling you assumed came from the man who punched you. He received more reprimands and threats in exchange for his tardiness. "Do I have to tie you to one of those kiddy leashes so you don't run away? I saw some parents walk their child with that shit last week. Los Angeles, man... It'll drive you crazy!"

You heard instructions being given, the men were wrapping up and leaving the building. All men except for the one who's footsteps echoed louder and louder. You covered your mouth with your free hand, trying to be as quiet as you possibly could in this moment. You closed your eyes too, maybe if you could not see him then he would not see you. Wrong.

"Hi."

You ignored him, rocking yourself back and forth until another wave of pain made you wail.

"Hey, hey, hey. Listen to me. You're okay, you're fine."

You made the mistake of looking up and locked eyes with this man dressed in fancy attire. He looked like a manager with his tailored suit and dress pants, he even got a shiny name tag to go with it. You failed to read what the tag said.

"My name's Daniel," he offered you a smile you could barely decipher with your vision, blurry from the tears. "Everyone calls me Danny."

You did not budge, bloodshot eyes staring at his foggy figure.

"You're hurt." He noticed a drop or two of blood on your brow bone. "Who hurt you? Was it Mel Gibson?"

You nodded frantically, but stopped. It hurt too much.

"That fucker." He said under his breath, but covered it up with another disingenuous smile. "You stay there, okay? I'll be right back. Don't move."

He ordered you to stay immobile and you listened. Where would you go anyway? Maybe he had an army of Mel Gibsons out there. All you knew was that they swarmed in the bank, you froze in place and, because of your reaction (or lack thereof), you failed to follow the other workers and visitors when they were bunched up in a corner of the facility.

Danny speed-walked his way back to where he came from, instructing his men to leave without him. He'd be fine, there was just a small inconvenience he had to deal with.

The next thing you heard was his familiar footsteps hurrying back to you.

"Good job! You listened." His tone was somewhere in the middle of patronizing and comforting, but at this very moment you preferred to cling to his words and to do as he said. "I'll take a look, okay? Let me look at you." He crouched down.

You pulled your hand slowly away from the left side of your face, where you were punched. You flinched when Danny approached you.

"Shh, it's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. And I'm gonna make sure the guy who did this..." He looked at your wound then back into your eyes. "Pays for it. Got it?"

You nodded, slower this time than before. You figured out what he meant by that and the thought was sinister.

"Oh, poor little thing." He grinned, his facial expression softening when he assessed the gravity of your state. "It's just a black eye. You'll be fine."

You were starting to wonder what being fine meant to him.

"It won't hurt for long, trust me. I've gotten my fair share of those. I'm a little bit of a troublemaker." He winked at you and giggled.

The adrenaline rush started to drop, leaving you shivering.

Danny quickly noticed. He kept an eye on you, noticing how much you flinched and tensed up when he moved, while he took off his jacket and the black cashmere sweater he wore underneath. "Can ya feel that? It's soft. It's cashmere. I love cashmere." He draped the sweater over your body, hoping that it would stop you from shaking like a leaf. "I'll get you something for the pain."

Your mind began an epic race. If this guy was anything like the villains you saw in movies, he'd probably drug you or kill you the second he earned your trust. Oh God. He was earning it already! You were doomed, this was how it ended for you... Sitting on the dusty floor of the bank and being sweet talked towards your demise.

While your mind spiralled endlessly, Danny had searched the place around. He located a vending machine, probably destined for employees for their lunch break. Now, all he needed was a handful of coins. Lucky him, banks were full of coins. He scavenged through messy desks and even messier drawers until he found what he wanted. He headed towards the machine and, while waiting to select his desired item, he made a quick phone call to Castro.

"Mister Sharp, I can't do this right now! No, I'm not watching the soccer game. I'm just busy, the guys are arriving! What am I supposed to do? Okay, got it. I'll go! I'm coming! Yeah, I'll get a car! I'm running! Are you good? You seem stressed again. Stress is bad. I heard tea helped, have you tried to drink tea? Wait, how am I gonna make it back here? Mister Sharp? Do you need flamingos this time?"

You caught no word of that, despite how his employee was shouting through the phone, too busy listening to your own thoughts. Only Danny's silhouette walking towards you pulled you out of this misery.

He pressed a cold can of soda on the corner of your eye. "It will soothe the pain and you won't swell as much. First time getting punched, huh?" You shrugged, he took that as a yes. "I remember my first time... It was with my brother."

You frowned, the phrasing could not have been worse.

"No!" He yelled, clearing everything up. "I mean the first punch. He punched me. We were playing cowboys and he just popped one right in my face. He said it was an accident. I believe him. He became a Marine, maybe that moment inspired him."

You were not in the right state, both physical and psychological, to unpack what you just heard. Instead, you focused on the cold aluminum of the can and how it numbed the stinging pain.

"There's gonna be a car waiting for us soon. I'll take you back home? You can take something for the pain, lay down and sleep it off. It will turn different colours while it heals, but you'll look as pretty as ever in no time."

You swallowed the lump in your throat that was telling you to not trust him. He was a stranger. A dangerous stranger, at that. Your gut feeling rang all sorts of alarms, but still... You wanted to believe him.

"If anyone asks, you can tell them you were clumsy. Hit yourself while opening the cupboards. They'll buy it, people are so gullible."

The flag could not have been more red than that.

Speaking of red, there was a red reflection coming from the windows.

"There he fucking is, took him long enough." Danny sighed with a roll of his eyes. His demeanour changed radically when he aimed his attention back to you. "Think you can stand up? Here, let me help you." He offered you strong hands to pull you up.

Your legs were shaky, your knees barely held you up on your feet but you managed.

"I gotcha." Danny wrapped a solid arm around your waist, silently encouraging you to lean on him while he guided you towards the exit.

You held the soda can tightly, subconsciously preparing yourself to use it as a weapon if needed.

Danny's employee, Castro, held the door open for you. He drowned the both of you in a river of excuses before his boss could even speak a word. "T'was the only set of keys I found, sir! I made it as fast as I can like you told me to! I always listen so well, maybe not about the flamingos though... But you know, maybe one day you'll think of paying me more. I'm kinda like the employee of the month."

"Employees of the month wouldn't forget the first fucking rule! What is it Castro? We don't touch these cars." The two men repeated this last sentence together like a parent lecturing his child.

You looked around. Your gut was telling you to run while they were arguing, to run and save your life.

Danny's grip tightened around your waist, as if he guessed what went through your mind. He discarded of Castro, sending him off to God knew where again. He opened the door of the luxury car for you.

You sat down, let him buckle your seat belt. It oddly felt like you were a hostage he tied up to prevent you from running away. Perhaps because that was exactly what you were.

"Tell me, sweetheart. Where do you live? I'm taking you for a ride. How romantic!"

*~*~*

Danny sang along, badly if you dared to admit it, to the songs on the radio while he drove you back to your place. He parked the car and walked around to the passenger side. He most definitely overcompensated his insanity with chivalry.

You got out of the car and sighed of relief. He was right, people were gullible and you were the best example of it. "Hey, Danny." You handed him his sweater. "Thank you."

"You can keep it. As a souvenir." You sure would remember this terrifying day and you did not need an expensive cashmere sweater to remind you of it.

The two of you walked until you reached the front door. "Can you promise me something?" Danny hooked a finger under your chin and made you look in his direction. "You can keep a secret, can you?"

You nodded.

"Good. You seem like a trustworthy person."

You smiled faintly.

"Got a beautiful smile too." This hint of praise was not manipulative, well not intentionally. "Listen. We're not cowboys. Well... I'm not. I'm not a cowboy. I do things right. Nobody else got hurt today, you know? You shouldn't have gotten hurt." Danny brushed his finger gently over the bruise. "But you gotta promise me to keep this between you and I."

He felt you tense up, a breath getting caught in your throat.

"You have to. I know you can. I told you how to cover it up." It referring to the black eye, to the context and reason behind it, to this day that was taken straight out of some of your worst nightmares. "This is a day just like any other day for you."

You opened your mouth to disagree. All you wanted was to take some money out of your bank account and go about your day. You did not even get to do any of that and you got a nasty bruise as a bonus.

"By keeping this a secret, you're saving a life." He nodded slowly with a grin on his thin lips. "Yours." His eyes darkened and his smile faded. "We're not cowboys," he repeated. "I only wanted the money and I got it." He shrugged it off like it was nothing. "You don't want to become collateral damage, do you?"

You hoped there would be no other day like today.

"And you won't." He swayed between threatening you one second and, on the next, he was reassuring you. "As long as you promise me." Danny's hands, that were resting on your shoulders, dragged down your arms.

He held your hands in his, it stopped you from shaking. What was it about this man that felt so soothing? You had heard him scream at his legion of bad guys. Yet, with you, he was rather calm and composed. Almost caring.

"We got a deal? Ah, fuck, wait." He rolled his eyes, faking to have forgotten something. His other hand disappeared behind his back and, for one second yet again, you regretted not having trusted your gut feeling. You stared at a stack of cash, fresh out of the bank that he robbed not that long ago, that he pulled out from under the back of his belt. "Now. Do we have a deal?" He presented his pinkie finger to you, waiting for you to seal this promise.

You glanced at the money, then at his face. You were met with eyes as blue as the sky behind him. You locked your finger with his and took the money with you. "Deal."

He started to walk away, turning his back at you. You were left with an immense promise to keep, enough money to take your mind off it for a while... And a cashmere sweater that smelled of his cologne. "Danny!" You called out his name.

He turned to face you, too quickly to have time to put on a fake smile. Danny started to second guess if this whole thing... If you were a good idea. But you cut him short.

"Will I see you around?"

The smile that started to spread from ear to ear was anything but fake. "Fuck yeah, you will. On TV. they'll be talking about it on the news. Impressive, huh? I never get tired of that shit." He took a deep breath, his chest swollen with pride. It took him a moment to register the intention behind your question. He arched his brow, amused. "Oh, you want more of this?" He gestured towards himself.

You agreed to meet again.

He told you he'd pick you up in this same car, so you knew what to expect. It was fine when Danny broke the rules. He could break all the rules he wanted. He was not a cowboy, but he sure was an outlaw.