#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

[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!"

[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."

[veridisquo22]

Vlad Masters might not have been able to buy the Green Bay Packers, but I’m convinced that he would be throwing obscene amounts of money at the University of Wisconsin athletics program with the NIL system used in college sports. The man has NIL trust fund guy written all over him.

[bluerosefox]

Always Favors You

Another Sibling Danny and Jason idea!!

"Are you Jason Peter Todd?!" demanded a deep and commanding tone from the strange glowing being in front of them.

All the Bats stiffened and tensed, no doubt gearing up for a fight against the being that somehow knew Red Hood's full name.

Jason, Red Hood, decided to put on a brave front despite no doubt cursing in his head and wondering how the heck did this thing know his full freaking name.

"Whose asking." he snarled out, his hands twitching for his gun when the huge glowing knight with purple flames coming out of his helmet and cape, who was riding on a nightmare looking horse while they all had been in the cave going over tonight's patrol.

The Knight didn't seemed bothered by his response nor did he even seem to care or flinch when Batman made his own demand on 'Why was he there and who was he' or when Damian unsheathed his sword and pointed it towards him. Instead the strange glowing Knight reached to it side and pulled out... A glowing scroll? Huh. (Also he completely unnerved everyone in the room when the Knight didn't even react when Batman had tossed a Baterang when he reached for his side)

The Knight opened the scroll and spoke clearly with purpose.

"Jason Peter Todd,

You are hereby invited as a special guest of honor to the crowning of our future King of the Infinite Realms.

Daniel Phantom, once Daniel Jackson Fenton, and once Daniel Austen Todd.

Prince of the Infinite Realms, the Keeper of Balance, The Peacekeeping Halfa, the Defeater of the Tyrant King Pariah Dark, The Great One, Youngest of the Ancients, Ancient of Space, The Bridge between Life and Death.

You, the half-brother of our King, have been given the highest of honors for your past actions and will be given housing and food in the Realms and Phantom's Keep, for the week long event. Personal servants and attendants will be at your disposal and a seamstress will be on hand to tailor make your attire for the Coronation.

Signed: Clockwork. Ancient of Time. Watcher of the Infinite Timeline. Kronos. Mentor and Adviser.

PS: I shall have Fright Knight ("Me" the Knight bluntly said for a second) leave this scroll along with a personal one for you from Daniel to read over and once you make up your mind sign the bottom of the scroll.

I do hope in time you will pick the right choice Jason Todd, we of the Infinite Realms would like to reward you for your actions. After all, if you hadn't gotten young Daniel away from your father that night all those years ago, we would never had gained our Prince nor be free from our once Tyrant King.

Ah, one more thing.

The Infinite Realms will always favor you Jason."

Jason felt like he couldn't breath as Fright Knight? Rolled up the scroll, pulled a letter from his side, and held out the two items for him to take.

[clockwayswrites]

Like a damn bird of paradise Part 40

masterpost (pls no editing or concrit, I'm full of steroids)

“Well, you’re not my drafting paper,” Danny said with a little smile as he learned against the door frame of his apartment. The collar of his well worn sweater slipped down his shoulder, making him look wonderfully relaxed.

Bruce cleared his throat and help up the takeout bag. “Just a lunch offer, I’m afraid.”

“Lucky for you I’m starving, both for food and company,” Danny said. He stepped back and let Bruce enter. “I didn’t realize how much I would miss being in my office. There are dozens of little interactions I have every day that I don’t get while I’m locked away here like Rapunzel in her tower.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think you have the hair for Rapunzel,” Bruce pointed out as he made his way to the table to set down the food.

Danny laughed and ran a hand through his hair, messing up the locks. “No? Not here to be my prince in well tailored armor then?”

Bruce stepped forward to straight them back out. His hand drifted down to Danny’s cheek and he ran his thumb across the faint scattering of freckles. “If it’s a rescue you want, you only have to say the word. Or even just a vacation. My kids are always trying to get me to take one. I could ensure complete discretion somewhere private.”

“I just got home a few days ago,” Danny pointed out.

“That’s not a no,” Bruce replied.

“It’s not a no,” Danny said with a small, amused smile. He leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to Bruce’s lips and then too quickly pulled away. “What did you bring for lunch?”

“There’s an good Algerian place near enough to work, I stopped there on the way,” Bruce said as he made himself break apart and move over to the bag of food. “I got a selection of things.”

“Oh, I’ve never had Algerian before, I don’t think, that sounds great,” Danny said. He went to his kitchen, which was small but felt bigger due to the open layout. “What would you like to drink? I’ve got ice tea, ginger ale, and milk. I’ve also teas and coffee I could make up quick enough.”

“Ice tea is fine if it’s not too sweet, otherwise a ginger ale,” Bruce answered as he methodically set out the take out containers.

“I’m not southern enough for sweet tea,” Danny said with a soft chuckle.

“Where are you from originally?” Bruce asked. He had gamely resisted looking Danny up. He was trying to do this the right way. Besides, anything concerning Lucius would have found before even starting to consider introducing Danny to the Bats as an engineer.

“Ohio. I was in Chicago for undergrad, SoCal for grad, and MIT for my doctorate, and Austin for my first job, so I’ve made the rounds,” Danny said. He set two glasses of tea down on the table, followed by two plates, some napkins, and silverware.

“And now Gotham, of all places,” Bruce said as he pulled out a chair for Danny.

Danny gave another soft laugh, but took the offered chair and let Bruce push it in for him. “Not of all places, WE was always my end game. Well, my end game as soon as I got myself back on track. High school was rough with the accident and it took me awhile to get things back together. I had to start at a community college.”

“Hardly anything wrong with that,” Bruce assured Danny. “You’ve gotten far further with your education than I ever did.”

“Do you ever regret it?” Danny asked as he poked curiously at one of the dishes.

“Sometimes,” Bruce said honestly. “But I think being a doctor would have been horrible for my mental health. I’ve never been good at accepting that I can save everyone. I still can’t, but at least leading WE I can help a lot more people at once, even if that is hugely thanks to the efforts of everyone else.”

“The mastermind rather than the master,” Danny said with a little nod, as if he really got it. He chewed on a potato, humming happily at the flavor, before he said. “That’s actually why WE was my end game. You’ve set up a really good environment there with diversity and pay equality and living wages. Also, if I could get high enough, which I have, I knew I’d be able to work on independent projects. It gives me a chance to do some real good too.”

“Your water filters are going to save lives,” Bruce agreed. “I’m not sure if Lucius has spoken to you about it, but we’re looking to make sure that every household in Gotham that wants one can get one. Not only will they be vital if a Rogue gets something in the water supply again, but until the reform of the water system is finished it will help the lower income areas that still have old pipe systems.”

“Really?” Danny asked, scoop of couscous forgotten halfway to his plate.

“Really. I’ve already started laying the seeds with the board. If nothing else, I’ll have them with how much good PR it will bring in for us.”

“You are a fiend,” Danny said with a little shake of his head. “A very benevolent fiend, but a fiend.”

“I just know how to work a board,” Bruce said, perhaps just a little smugly. “I might as well use growing up rich to do some good.”

“I think you’re just good at working people, that’s your mastery,” Danny said.

Bruce laughed, he couldn’t help it. “My children would strongly refute that. The more I care for someone, the worse I am at it. Things with logic or helping others, that’s easy for me to rally behind. Making sure that a loved one understands that the what and the why I’m doing something is because I care for them? Miserable. I’ve always struggled with showing those deeper connections, maybe because it’s always been so easy to act in public.”

Danny reached over and squeezed Bruce’s hand. “For what it’s worth, the fact that you’ve learned that and are trying to fix it? That means so much. I’m sure it does to your family too.”

“I hope so. I nearly lost some of them when I was younger and stupider, and I could never stand to again. Losing Jason for a time… he ran off because we had a fight. I was trying to protect him, make sure he didn’t make mistakes he would regret forever… I didn’t explain myself at the time and if I had…” Bruce shook his head and put on a smile. “Ah, I’m sorry, I’m making things dark. The important bit of this is that we will see your filters through out Gotham, I promise.”

Danny surprised Bruce by leaning in and giving him a soft peck on the cheek. “I don’t mind your shadows, Bruce. I’m well aware that we all have them.”

Bruce cleared his throat and squeezed Danny’s hand. His smile dropped into something smaller, but all the more real. “Thank you.”

Danny squeezed his hand back. “Now, tell me about these vacation options you’re concocting? As Lucius will tell you, it’s been too long since I’ve taken one that wasn’t for health or to see family.”

“Ah, a man after my own heart then,” Bruce said as he mentally ran through options for them. “To start with, sand or no sand?”

“With feathers? I’d be cleaning the sand out of my wings for hours,” Danny said. It was good to hear him mention his wings with more ease.

“Come now, half a hour tops, I’d gladly helped.”

“Why Mr. Wayne, I’m starting to suspect that you are fond of my wings.”

Bruce just shrugged. “When did I ever say that I wasn’t? They’re a lovely part of a lovely man.”

“Ancients,” Danny near whispered and hid his flushed face in his hands. “Okay, okay, I’m officially out flirted. Eat. Eat and convince me of this vacation.”

“If that’s what you want,” Bruce said, unable to help be proud of the reaction from Danny. He had to wonder if they did go on vacation, just how much he could make Danny blush like that.

He expected quite a bit.

[nightingale-prompts]

Talents -DC X DP prompt

The public is aware that each of the Wayne children are creatively gifted. It was almost expected. Richard Grayson was the acrobatic of course and no one was surprised but highly praised. So many parents began putting their children in gymnastics after seeing Dick's performances.

Jason Todd took up writing and published his own books at the age of 13. Poetry, anthologies, and historical fiction were the genres he favored. His books still remain on the best-seller's list, especially after his death. His poetry book "Blackouts" is an emotional journey of everyday tragedies and miracles of life. People would often quote lines from his poems after tragic events.

Tim Drake was more elusive. No one knew what he did until his name came up under a national photography award. His album called "The Shades of Gotham" was a contract between parties of the wealthy and the impoverished citizens of Gotham.

Cassandra Cain kept to herself constantly. No one knew what she did for years. People assumed that Bruce Wayne stopped forcing his kids to perform and others argued that she just didn't have any talents to showcase. All wrong of course. Cassandra posted one of her recent projects online which proved she was very talented. It was a beautiful scarf she was making for the winter. Cassandra was gifted with a talent for textiles. She knitted, weaved, and sowed many of the clothes she was seen wearing. It was no secret that some of the clothes the Waynes wore could not be found anywhere else but people assumed they had a tailor to make custom designs but no one knew it was Cassandra.

Damian Wayne did not lag behind his siblings as she quickly showed off his artistic talents. He's still young so he hasn't gone as far as opening his first gallery but one of his paintings has already been put in a museum. Some call it nepotism but art is subjective. The other Waynes disagree since they have hung every art piece Damian makes in their offices and home right next to Tim's photos.

Duke Thomas isn't one to show off too much. But he does go all out in his hobbies. He secretly takes after Jason in writing poetry and has been inspired by "Blackout" since he first learned to read. Duck related to it deeply. But along the way, he learned a different way to express himself. Kids on the streets of Gotham learned a bit of breakdancing and Duke was no exception. Duke is an accomplished dancer and has gotten a few competitions under his belt now.

Now that there is a new member of the Wayne family the public is waiting to find out what Danny Nightingale's talent is. Everyone knew that Waynes were creative but honestly, no one expected this. A play was announced at Monarch Theater and none other then Danny's names was on the ticket as the star.

[dclovesdanny]

Dead on Main reincarnations of Thomas and Martha Wayne

Jason was Thomas and Danny was Martha

Jason never told anyone how familiar the manor felt. He knew he was the only one of Bruce’s kids who had never gotten lost, but it was never talked about. Jason also never talked about how he would run his finger along his guns at times. (They could kill, but they would protect. Jason would protect his family(He wouldn’t fail this time.))

Danny never told anyone how easy it was to accompany Sam to her parent’s parties. The first time he really spoke at one, Sam’s parents had been begrudgingly impressed, and Sam had been very confused. (He didn’t know how to explain he could remember walking through galas like a storm. He couldn’t explain it anymore than he could explain his fascination with pearls.)

Very few employees at Wayne Industries had been there when the Wayne’s died, since it had been almost 30 years since. Still, those who remained were astounded by Danny Fenton, a boy who was just as convincing as the late Martha Wayne. (It was an open secret that when the Wayne Couple were alive, Martha had run the company more than Thomas had. It was also an open secret in Gotham that Wayne Industries had thrived under her guidance.)

Soon, Danny was invited to a gala as part of a fundraiser for the Aerospace Department. He hadn’t planned to go, but Sam had begged him to go, since she had to go with her family. Finally, he agreed, but not before making it known he would be wearing a dress.(part of that reason was because he wanted to scandalize people. The other part of that reason was because he’d started wearing dresses more often lately. While his teenage self would’ve never done that, he was a lot more comfortable with his masculinity. (The fact that he looked amazing in dresses didn’t hurt.)

Jason had not wanted to go to the gala, but Alfred had requested that he attend. Jason had agreed after serious pressure from Alfred, but since he agreed so late, he wasn’t going to go get a suit tailored. Instead, he went through some clothes that were in the storage closet and found a nice suit that fit him perfectly. (he didn’t understand why Alfred froze when he saw the suit. When he went to remove it, not wanting to make Alfie upset, Alfred told him softly that he should wear it. He wouldn’t argue with Alfred.)

Danny got there just in time to avoid the media circus and slipped in quietly. He let his instinct guide him when talking, and ignored the way that most of the older crowd looked at him as if he had just gone ghost in front of them. (It was bad. One lady seems like she was about to cry when he stopped to talk to her. Another man who is in his late 60s seems like he was about to faint.)

Jason got there early, and tried to avoid most of the party. He didn’t talk to people, but most of them just stared at him with an uneasiness that made him more uncomfortable. This wasn’t the first gala he’d been to since coming back, but he didn’t often make very many appearances. (He didn’t understand why they all look so spooked though or why one older woman looked a second away from a heart attack when he asked her if she knew what time it was)

Jason was so focused on how everyone was reacting that he didn’t notice he was going to walk into someone until it was too late. He looked up, an apology on his tongue, but it swiftly died as he made eye contact with blue eyes )

Danny, after having another weird interaction with someone(this time an older man named Falcone, who wouldn’t stop making eye contact and seemed almost horrified) was just focused on getting some food before he had to leave. He wasn’t focused on his surroundings, so he didn’t realize until it was too late that he had walked right into someone. He looked up, ready to apologize and try to placate whatever socialite he had offended, but the words turned ash in his mouth.

The entire gala was silent as Thomas and Martha Wayne stared into each other‘s eyes again.

[thef1diary]

Oops, it's getting late and I had an overactive brain. Mafia!danny in which he fucks the lawyer prosecuting him 🤭🤭🤭

Live, laugh, lobster

-🦞

— nonnie gimme more of your overactive brain plz cuz as a future lawyer…yeah this got me 😵‍💫😩 18+ content below

Daniel wasn’t the type of man to beg. He wasn’t the type of man to answer to authority, either. He was the authority. So, he sure as hell wasn’t going to let some prosecutor ruin everything he’d built. He was untouchable—or at least, he had been until you came along.

The moment he stepped into your office, he had every intention of scaring you into making you drop the charges against him. A little intimidation, a few well-placed threats, maybe even a bullet left in your desk drawer for good measure.

But then he saw you.

And fuck, that changed everything.

You weren’t some grizzled old prosecutor who’d spent years clawing their way through the legal system. No, you were young, yet carrying yourself like you belonged here. You were all sharp edges and tailored perfection, your blouse tucked neatly into a fitted skirt that hugged your curves in a way that had no business distracting him.

“You’ve got some nerve,” he drawled, standing by the door, smirking. “Charging me for half a dozen crimes? You must have a death wish.”

Your head shot up from the contract you were meticulously reviewing, eyes narrowing the moment they landed on him. The weight of his presence filled the room instantly—too tall, too broad, too confident, leaning against the doorframe like he owned the damn place. Your fingers tightened around the pen in your hand, but you didn’t flinch, didn’t waver. Instead, you leaned back in your chair, crossing one leg over the other as you met his gaze with an unwavering stare, your voice cool and precise when you finally spoke.

“And you must also have a death wish, walking into a prosecutor’s office like you belong here.”

His grin widened, stepping further inside and shutting the door behind him. The click of the lock made something sharp curl in your stomach.

He stood in front of you as if he’d already won. Like he wasn’t moments away from going on trial.

You had spent weeks gathering evidence against him. Witnesses were silenced. Paper trails were scrubbed clean. But you were relentless. You had worked too hard to let a man like him slip through the cracks.

Daniel tilted his head, eyes dragging over you in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t looking at you like a man about to be convicted. He was looking at you like a man assessing his next target.

“I should have known they’d send a pretty little thing like you after me,” he mused, voice thick with amusement. “Smart. Dangerous.”

You crossed your arms, keeping your expression neutral. “Mr. Ricciardo, unless you’re here to turn yourself in, I suggest you leave before I call security.”

He shook his head, an amused expression on his face. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice slow and thick. “We both know security ain’t comin’ in here. And if they did? You think they’d get me out before I put a bullet in that pretty little head of yours?”

You swallowed but didn’t back down. “So you are here to threaten me.”

Daniel sighed dramatically, striding closer towards you with a lazy confidence. “Was gonna. Had a whole plan, too. But then…” He let his gaze drag over you, slow and deliberate, lingering on the curve of your hips, the way your blouse stretched over your chest.

Your skin prickled, heat curling low in your belly.

“Then what?” you pressed, forcing your voice to stay even.

His grin widened. “Then I saw you. And now I’m thinkin’ I’d rather fuck you than kill you.”

A sharp laugh left your lips, and Daniel raised an eyebrow.

“You think I’d ever let that happen?” you scoffed.

He chuckled. “Oh, darlin’… you’re gonna let it happen.”

You knew you should’ve been scared. You should’ve been reaching for your phone, pressing the emergency button under your desk. But instead, heat pooled between your legs, your breath quickening.

You tilted your chin up defiantly. “You really think I’d ruin my career for some lowlife criminal?”

“Lowlife? Wow, sweetheart, you wound me,” he spoke with a hand held over his heart. “But no, I’m not telling you to ruin your career.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I came here to make a deal.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A deal?”

His smirk widened. “Yeah. I’m gonna fuck your pretty little pussy and you’ll drop the case.” Another step forward. “And in return…” His fingers grazed the edge of your desk. “I won't make you disappear.”

Your pulse spiked, but you held his gaze, refusing to let him see even a sliver of fear. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

Daniel exhaled sharply, shaking his head like he was disappointed. “See, that’s the problem with women like you. Think you’re untouchable.” His fingers suddenly wrapped around your wrist, dragging you up until you were nearly chest-to-chest. “You aren’t.”

You gasped, but before you could wrench free, his other hand slid up your throat—not squeezing, just holding—forcing you to meet his gaze.

“You’re shaking, sweetheart.” His lips curled. “Maybe you are scared.”

You swallowed, refusing to give in. “And maybe you want me to be.”

Daniel’s grin darkened, his grip tightening just enough to make you swallow hard. His thumb brushed along your jaw, the touch deceptively gentle.

“You got a real mouth on you,” he mused, tilting his head. “I like that.”

Your pulse hammered in your throat, but you refused to let him see the effect he had on you. He smelled like expensive cologne and smoke, like sin itself, and every nerve in your body was telling you to push him away—to fight back, to remind him that you were in control here. But control felt like a slippery thing when he was this close, when his heat sank into your skin and his gaze made you feel like prey.

You forced yourself to smirk. “And you’ve got a real problem with authority,” you countered, voice steady. “I suppose that’s why we’re here.”

“You want this,” he murmured. “I can see how tense you are. All that fight, all that righteous bullshit you spew in court—deep down, you want a man like me to ruin you.”

Your cheeks burned, but you gritted your teeth. “Go to hell.”

Daniel just laughed. “Darlin’, I’m already there. Might as well make myself comfortable.”

You should have pushed him away. You should have fought.

Instead, you clenched your thighs together.

Daniel smirked. “I definitely like knowing you’re wet right now.”

Your breath hitched. “Fuck you.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he purred. “That’s exactly what I plan to do.”

“I should throw you in a cell for this,” you hissed.

“Only if you’re there. Naked.”

Then he spun you around and bent you over your desk. Papers scattered to the floor, forgotten.

With one swift motion, he flipped your skirt up over your hips, exposing the soft lace of your panties. He groaned low in his throat, his fingers teasing the thin fabric.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he murmured. “Never thought I’d say this about a prosecutor, but I think I just found somethin’ worth keeping.”

You tensed as his fingers pushed aside your panties, running through your folds with lazy confidence.

“You’re wet,” he taunted. “Bet you’re ashamed of that, huh? Gettin’ off on being bent over your own desk by the man you’re tryin’ to lock up?”

“Shut up,” you hissed, but your body betrayed you, hips shifting against his touch.

Daniel chuckled darkly, unbuckling his belt with one hand, the clink of metal making your stomach flip. He didn’t waste time—he yanked his cock free, lining himself up and pressing the thick head against your pussy.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “This is gonna be fun.”

“D-Daniel—”

“Shhh,” he cooed, sliding his cock through your folds. “I don’t have time for your little power trip, baby. I have court soon, remember?”

You tried to push up, but his hand held your throat from behind, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“Go on,” he murmured, teasing your pussy. “Tell me to stop.”

Your pride screamed at you to fight. To tell him to get the fuck off you.

But instead—

“Don’t stop.”

Daniel groaned, “that’s my girl.”

With one brutal thrust, he buried himself inside you, stretching you open around his thick cock. A strangled moan escaped your lips, your nails clawing at the wooden surface of your desk.

“God, you feel fuckin’ perfect,” he growled, setting a ruthless pace. “Takin’ me so well for someone who hates my guts.”

Your walls clenched around him, and he grinned. “Oh, you like that,” he mused. “Bet no one’s ever fucked you like this before. Not one of those uptight lawyers you work with.”

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

Daniel wasn’t having that. He tangled a hand in your hair, yanking your head back so his lips were right against your ear.

“Say it,” he ordered. “Tell me no one’s ever fucked you like this.”

A shudder wracked through you. “No one’s—” You cut yourself off with a whimper when he thrust particularly deep, brushing against that spot that made your vision blur.

“That’s what I thought,” he purred.

His free hand slid down your front, fingers finding your clit and circling it roughly. Your body tightened, the pleasure too much, too fast.

“I should be pissed at you,” he stated, bringing his palm back before slapping your ass, jolting you harshly towards his fingers on your clit. “You’ve been making my life real difficult, baby.”

Tears welled up in your eyes due to the sudden pleasure, and you moaned loudly, forgetting about where you were.

Daniel continued his relentless torment on your cunt while smacking your ass every now and then. “But I’m a reasonable man. I’m willing to forgive.”

“Please—” a moan tore from your lips, cutting your sentence.

“Gonna come for me, prosecutor?” he taunted. “Come all over the cock of the man you’re tryin’ to put in prison?”

Your body betrayed you. The orgasm hit you like a violent wave, stealing the air from your lungs as you clenched around him. Daniel cursed, his pace stuttering as he slammed into you a few more times before spilling inside you with a guttural moan.

For a long moment, the only sound in the office was the ragged pull of your breaths, your bodies still tangled together in the aftermath.

Finally, Daniel pulled out, adjusting his pants while you remained bent over the desk, your legs weak.

He leaned down, pressing a lazy, mocking kiss to the nape of your neck.

“You’re gonna walk into that courtroom in ten minutes,” he murmured, fingers sliding between your legs to collect the cum dripping from your pussy before pushing it back in. “And you’re gonna act like you don’t have my cum dripping from your pretty cunt.”

You turned your head, meeting his gaze. “And you’re gonna sit there in cuffs, knowing the only reason you’re not going to rot in a prison cell is because I’ll let you walk free.”

Daniel’s smirk widened, something dark flashing in his eyes. He slid your panties back in place, trapping his cum inside.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured, finding your clit through the fabric and pinching it sharply as a warning. “I love a woman who plays dirty.”

want more mafia!daniel? send me an ask with your thoughts—filthy or not—and I’d love to write you a little drabble <3

[yuriosakawa]

Even out of the game, some ties never break.

Tucker Foley had long since traded late-night ghost hunts for late-night diaper changes. He had a home, a wife, two kids, and a job that didn’t involve ecto-blasters or portal breaches. Sam Manson, meanwhile, was the very picture of high society—on the surface. Draped in tailored silk and smothered by parental expectations, she was the darling daughter of the Manson family, made to smile, nod, and play her part.

But beneath it all? They were still Danny’s people.

So when whispers reached them—rumors that the Lost Hunter had gone silent, that Danny had been taken—they didn’t hesitate. No hesitation. No discussion. They dusted off what was left of their old lives.

The location was an abandoned observatory, still humming faintly with spectral residue. Pointdexter was there—older, jittery, and still the kind of ghost who tried to play both sides if it meant survival. He hadn’t expected the ambush. Certainly not from them.

The moment he phased through the wall, he was met with a clang as Sam cracked a muffin pan across his face, knocking his glasses askew. She stood over him in a black designer coat, still wearing her family’s pristine image like a costume she couldn’t take off.

“Talk,” she said coolly, adjusting her gloves like this was just another afternoon tea.

Tucker stood a few paces back, clean-shaven, collared shirt partially unbuttoned, a toothpick hanging from the side of his mouth. He looked tired, like the years had finally caught up to him, but there was still that fire in his eyes. Still the man who once helped hack a thermonuclear ghost device with a broken tablet and a hot pocket.

Pointdexter stammered as he hovered midair. “I-I don’t know anything. I swear—!”

Tucker rolled his eyes. Took the toothpick out. Clicked off the safety of his old ecto-gun.

“You know, I gave this up for warm milk and bedtime stories,” he said. “But if you don’t start talking? I’m not afraid to remind myself how it feels.”

That got Pointdexter sweating spectral bullets.

“Okay, okay! I heard something—one of Vlad’s labs, the one beneath the old Axion tower in Neo-Gotham. Danny went dark after going in. That’s all I know—I swear!”

Tucker sighed, reholstering the gun. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Sam leaned in close, her voice ice. “If you’re lying, we’ll be back. And next time? I bring the cookie sheet.”

As they left, Tucker looked at her, smirking. “Muffin pan?”

She shrugged. “It was nonstick.”

They may not have been the heroes of this story anymore.

But they still had Danny’s back.

[demonic0angel]

Roy (Red Arrow) is visiting and getting some parenting advice from Jazz. He is also shooting arrows at Jason and Artemis, because they wanted to practice catching arrows out of the air like the extra drama queens they both are.

(🙏🙏🙏)

"— and if she's a picky eater, sometimes, I find that just renaming the dishes that are given can convince them to eat. Danny used to be like that. He hated chicken tenders but he loved boneless comet sticks," Jazz said.

Roy laughed. He launched an arrow without looking at it and it flew towards Jason and Artemis with frightening speed. The two weren't worried and Artemis cleaved it in half with Mistress.

"I did that for Lian sometimes, but it doesn't work all the time. What's the trick?" He asked.

"Just tailor it to her interests. Danny always liked the stars and space, so I would call meatballs 'dinosaur killing asteroids' or something and he'd gobble it up," Jazz smiled and wrote something down.

Roy glanced over and realized that it was a list of the advice she was given.

Roy shook his head with a smile before drawing back his bow and unleashing several more arrows. Jason was able to catch one and Artemis caught two in both hands.

"How old is Lian now?"

"She's four. She likes reading fairy tales and she's been really into Bluey."

Jazz cooed. "That's so cute! She sounds adorable, I'd love to meet her."

"With the red hair, we could call you Auntie Jazz," Roy smirked. He cocked his bow again and unleashed a volley of arrows. Hidden in the crowd was an explosive arrow.

Jason identified it and wordlessly signaled to Artemis, who cut it down with Mistress before they went back to trying to catch an arrow in midair.

Roy huffed out of his nose. Really, if they wanted to just spend time in the vicinity of Roy and Jazz, they didn't have to make up a reason like 'learning how to catch flying arrows'.

Roy asked, "Any advice for teething?"

"Frozen green onions and a lot of patience," Jazz replied easily.

Roy looked at her as he searched for another arrow before he smirked. "So when are you three going to have your own kids?"

Jason and Artemis must've heard his words because when his arrows flew, one of them actually exploded in Jason's face as the man froze like a statue, with Artemis tripping into his side, making both of them fall and stumble into a messy heap.

Jazz turned bright red and squeaked loudly as the resulting explosion briefly rocked their world.

Roy smirked at the chaos he just created.

"Too soon?"

[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.

[i-suc-at-art]

DpxDc prompt #2

Full prompt from this idea

Tim and Danny are apart of an online RPG which is basically DND but anonymous and online. (it’s mainly for secret nerds who don’t have anyone irl to play with)

Danny plays as a changeling rogue who will often swipe things from players they don’t like

Tim plays a Variant Human, monk who wields a pole staff (my guy is not subtle) and will often give back the things danny (who’s known as wraith) (Tim goes by Scarlet Redpoll (mainly just Scarlet though)) stole

Rules of the RPG:

Everyone remains under their game handle (so there’s no doxing) NO REAL NAMES

You can interact with other parties who are using the same campaign as you, however when interacting with main story plot your party will go into its own private server

You can have a party of any size however it’s recommended to have a party over 4.. However you can make it with two or three or solo (but that’s just kinda sad..)

There is a chat feature and call feature in the game, however no hate speech, or bigotry

You can’t join a call unless your apart of the party

ofc this doesn’t stop it from happening but that’s not really relevant to the story

There are Dms (dungeon masters) but your team can also just use the computer for your Dm

Your character can be completely customized, and you’ll move around on a map

Ok now to the fun stuff

Danny and Tim (Wraith and Scarlet) have been playing together for about 3 months, and have made a commitment to play every 2 weeks on sunday (ghosts tend to take a break every 2 weeks on sundays (and B forced Tim to take a break from everything including cases every 2 weeks on sunday) Although sometimes each will get pulled away from the game and they’ll have to end early.

Anyways their campaign doesn’t super matter, only that they are online friends. Ok so one day Tim texts Wraith (they use online name bc y'know tim’s like uber famous) that he can’t make it to their session today bc his dad is forcing him to “bond” Aka he’s going to a gala with Bruce and Dick to stop a heist team that has been rampant across socialite and high society events. Wraith tells him it’s alright, and that coincidentally he’s busy too and was just about to cancel.

As Tim surveils everyone he curses Bruce for making him come. Tim had gotten into the habit of getting a night off from everything. He’d also not gotten a chance to do ample research on the guests beforehand because he’d been working on researching the thieves. He’d heard some chatter about the group looking into a possible haunted vahz, that was on display for the night. Tim had been surveying the party staying near the vahz making sure everyone checked out. Dick had texted saying that he’d cornered a possible thieving candidate and that he needed Tim to run an face ID check, on the picture he’d taken. The photo was of a young woman, her red hair caused Tim to think of Babs, but the woman’s simple teal evening dress couldn’t be further from her style. He’d done a quick search of the woman, she seemed to be some sort of rich young socialite, definitely Dicks type.. Her name was Kelly Jankins, no criminal history, or past arrests, she had a couple of parking tickets that were waved from her late teens. But nothing out of the ordinary. Tim texted Dick the information (save for the part about her being Dicks type) before stuffing his phone back into his pocket and moving from his post to go and get a drink. About 20 feet from his post he bumped into a nicely dressed guy, his hair black and suit tailored.. He also wore a Vladco pin on his left breast pocket.

He’d apologized and Tim told him it was no big deal, his eyes were blue.. But he could have sworn they were green when he first looked up. And his voice.. It sounded so familiar. Why did it sound familiar..?

As Tim walked away it hit him like a truck.. Wraith.

—————

Danny, Sam, Tucker, and Jazz had been stealing for some time now, after Danny had been outed as Phantom to the whole town by his parents. Him, Sam, and Tucker had decided to all leave Amity since all of their parents were unaccepting.. Sam’s parents had gone so far as to write her out of their will.. Danny had told her and Tuck to stay in Amity and fix their relationships with their family, but they’d both said ‘that if Danny wasn’t in Amity Park then they didn’t have their family.’ So they left. The three stayed with Jazz for a bit but she was a broke college student that barely had enough money for food and rent. So the three started stealing food.. It was out of necessity at first, and only from big companies, but when Sam got an online invitation to a big gala that was showing off some old artifacts from a rich guy’s private collection, Danny felt a pull toward a particular item from his core. The item belonged to someone in the ghost zone.. and he needed to have it. He needed to return it.

So they stole it. Danny was to be Sam’s plus one as he’s basically a haunted item metal detector. Sam would steal the item and Tuck would turn out the lights and secretly system. Then Danny would get him and Sam out of there. Most of their plans would be similar to this format. Sam would also grift from the other patrons, only stealing from the ones who seemed to have a shit ton of money. Eventually even teaching Danny how to do it too, she’d told him that ‘using his ghost powers were a cop out’ when he brought that up.. and that ‘anyone would be able to feel the chill of it.’ Which Danny was sure that that was untrue.. But he learned how to steal a wallet, or a phone Sam’s way.

Jazz had been against the thefts at first saying that all of these items belonged to the original owner. But soon she was persuaded when Danny told her that they were stealing stolen items. Stolen ghost items. Some of the items even had a ghost core attached to it. So Jazz became their planner, she’d make sure they’d have all the info they needed and that no one got caught.

Danny ends up in jail after being caught trying to lift someone’s wallet.. Jazz was there to legally get him out and pay the bail. Tucker got caught in a backroom of a place they were stealing from. ��Oh yeah that’s her brother who would often get himself trapped in closets looking for the bathroom.. She apologizes profusely..’

So when Tucker had found their newest item, a haunted vase that had a shit ton of death and destruction attached to it, Jazz had thought up the plan. She’d heard whisperings that Vlad had gotten invited to the party but Danny was going to go in his place since Vlad would never go. Then they had a plan. A plan they were meant to stick to, until someone ran her face and Danny started being followed. So they abandoned the vase opting to get out of there instead of getting caught.

[yoonjae20]

The Lives that could have been (or could be.) (Part 2 of 2)

Read on ao3. Masterpost.

Previous.

“Is every other life where I don’t become Phantom this bad?” Danny asks and Clockwork hums.

“More or less.”

“Then what-“

“I said ‘other lives you could live’ — not could have lived,” Clockwork interrupts. “There are infinite possibilities for your future after all.”

Once again pictures blur around them as they flicker through. Clockwork seemingly plucks out some at random, pushing them towards Danny.

“In this life you become an astronaut. You travel to space and become the top researcher in your field.“ 

Danny‘s eyes go wide at the picture of him beaming, floating inside a space station next to two other people. There are other objects floating around them and he waves at the camera.

“I never thought…” he trails off.

“That you could realize your dream of working for NASA? It’s one of your biggest regrets.”

Danny gulps staring at the still frame and he knows the Ancient of Time is right. After his accident and becoming Phantom he had written it completely off. With how irregular his heartbeat was, he would never pass the physicals. Not even speaking of his failing grades — he would never be able to get back to his 3.6 GPA. Sure he could technically go to space in his Ghost Form — considering he didn’t need to breathe but it wouldn’t be the same. 

Clockwork swishes it away before Danny can touch it, pulling another close to them.

“In this life you become an esteemed engineer, top of your craft and highly sought after,” Clockwork explains. 

Danny had always thought he would be too dumb to become an engineer, even when Tucker joked about him being a nerd. After all he was only improving on already existing blueprints and reverse engineering his parent’s inventions was different than thinking about new ones himself.

“You always regretted not having normal parents even if they love you when they aren’t distracted by work. But without growing up around then you would have never gained the skills to become an engineer and adapt on the fly.”

In the picture Danny is leaning against a table, some kind of contraption laying on it, snickering to himself while a black haired boy sits on the workbench close to him, laughing — blue eyes full of amusement. Danny has one hand settled on the boy’s thigh, intertwined with the boy’s left. 

Danny drinks in the sight, almost hypnotized by it. Clockwork pushes it away and replaces it with another one.

“You always wished that Vlad wasn’t your godfather,” Clockwork continues. “But without him you would have never met your husband.”

Danny is at some sort of gala, holding a champagne glass. The suit he is wearing looks expensive and specifically tailored to him. He is probably in his mid-thirties if not older. Another black haired man — once again blue eyes, leans towards his ear, whispering something in it with a smile on his face. Their suits are matching. Danny never thought he could look this content. For a long time he thought he forgot how to be.

“You always regretted being kind and having a martyr complex and not being selfish enough to put your needs first,” Clockwork says. “But it’s these traits that lead to you having all these lives.”

Danny is cooking with someone — mid-frame as he steals a piece of chocolate covered strawberry while a man with black hair and a striking strand of white swats at him with chopsticks from where is handling a wok. 

“And there are countless other futures like this.”

The images around start whirring again and Danny can only catch flickers.

A snapshot of him playing with a little girl outside — him floating next to a British man with a beige trench coat laughing. Him standing next to Tucker who is speaking to a microphone, the space looking like a streamer set-up. Him watching a black haired girl perform ballet — flickering to him fencing against a boy whose green eyes pin him through the fencing mask. Him studying with a boy with a buzz cut in a library and so many more. 

“I still don’t understand why you are showing me this now at all times.”

Clockwork snips his fingers, the images disappearing. Instead Danny feels the cold weight of the Crown of Fire settling above his head and the Ring of Rage appearing on his right hand. 

“It’s because it’s time you made a decision.”

“I thought I had no choice in the matter,” Danny says, feeling faint. “The Observants-”

“The Observants are not the ones who have the power,” Clockwork says. “It’s for you to decide whether you accept this fate or not.”

Danny knits his eyebrows together.

“I don’t get it,” he admits. “I can’t just give the throne to somebody else.”

“You can’t or you don’t want to?”

Danny groans at that — this feels too much like talking with Jazz when she starts psychoanalyzing the impact of his trauma from repeatedly dying and reviving in the accident. 

“What would happen if I don’t?” Danny questions, anxious. “Do people die?”

“People die all the time,” Clockwork says dryly. “Whether that is a result of your actions remains to be seen.”

“You just showed me a world where they did!”

Clockwork shakes his head.

“The past is different. I can only clearly see what would have happened if you didn’t do something. Compared to it, the future's not set in stone. Every single action you take, every single decision results in a different path. Even I can not see every possible life you could lead,” Clockwork clarifies. “It’s all up to you.”

Danny can’t help the frustration rising up in him at that. He knows Clockwork means well but he is tired of the responsibility settled on his shoulders. He’s just a teenager for Ancient’s sake. He should be worrying about grades and prom and not about the political, interdimensional implications of becoming a King at age 15. 

Clockwork bonks Danny’s head with his staff, ignoring his yelp. 

“That was not an invitation for you to overthink,” the Ancient of Time chides. “You need to recognize what is important to you.”

Immediately his thoughts flash to Jazz, Tucker and Sam. 

As if sensing what he is thinking, Clockwork pushes his wand against his chest, near his core.

“What do you want to do?” he questions. “If your friends or family didn’t exist, if they were dead, where would the path take you? That’s what you need to find out.”

Danny frowns, staring at the clock-shaped top of the wand pressed against the D on his hazmat suit. He knows Clockwork is right — in some twisted kind of way. Danny had always lived according to others expectations. He needed to do well in school or Mr. Lancer would be disappointed in him. He needed to manage his mental health or Jazz would be disappointed in him. He needed to support his parents even if he never saw them because of their work or they would be disappointed in him. He needed to protect Amity Park and stay Phantom or else Tucker and Sam would be disappointed in him. 

Of course by now his Obsession wouldn’t let him change that last point no matter what — but sometimes Danny wonders if his Obsession was truly born from within himself or if it had been forced upon him. If Danny found a way to leave Amity Park — to not have to worry about its destruction through the GIW if he wasn’t there 24/7, would his Obsession change? Would it reveal its true self? 

“Why are you helping me?”

“Because even when the Observants thought you were too dangerous to stay alive, I saw your potential,” Clockwork says. “You could be everything you want if you would stop limiting yourself.”

Danny gulps, looking up from the wand into the Ancient’s eyes.

“So…choose your future.”

That conversation had been several years ago. Back then Danny had been overwhelmed at the prospect of it and many sleepless nights followed.

He sighs and closes the book he had been reading, glancing at the clock. 

His eyes widen at the time — shit he lost track of time. He grabs his jacket as he runs out of the house, jumping on one foot to slip into his shoes and calls out a goodbye to his amused roommates as they watch him go. 

He runs to the meeting spot, arriving 5 minutes late. His head swivels around as he tries to spot his date. 

“Danny!” a voice calls and Danny turns around, relief flooding his face when he sees their black hair. 

Yes, by now Danny can appreciate what Clockwork did for him back then, making him choose a future that he won’t come to regret — actually giving him a choice, instead of placing even more expectations on him.

Which future did Danny choose in the end? Well that’s for yourself to decide. Danny for his part is finally happy. 

“…!” 

[castrian-amore]

DC x DP x Kingsmen

(This is the most niche thing ever but I love it sm and am not sorry)

Danny was recruited an unknown agency but they promise him one thing if he accepts: train the newbies and do his job. In turn they promise him global protection. Protection from the world powers, the JL, the GIW and a chance to expand upon his current skill sets.

The JL are at a loss by just finding out about this organization having slipped under their noses. At the dapper dressed but obviously incredibly skilled fighter in the middle of the Watch tower.

“You know I didn’t think the doomsday protocol would lead me here…”

“Where are you from?”Batman presses. The man gives a fanged smile offering a hand.

“I’m from Kingsman.”

“The tailors?!?”Barry exclaims. The man only gives a nod.

“The very same.”

[clockwayswrites]

What is a nest without a flock? part 39

masterpost (pls no editing <3)

Over his years in Gotham, Danny had worked hard to make it a home. After years of constantly moving from community college to undergrad to his masters to doctorate to post doc to jobs he had just wanted to be settled. He’d chosen his apartment carefully. He had splurged too much of his first few paychecks on real, ‘adult’ furniture, and had worked hard and making sure his plants thrived. He had even considered a pet. He had filled his place with books and photos and trinkets and made it a home.

Stepping into his place again after his time with the Wanyes, the place just felt hallow.

Danny didn’t much care for the feeling. He hoped that it temporary and caused by the oddness of everything else. Maybe it would pass quickly, he told himself as he put away the clothing that Alfred had adjusted for him. Maybe it was just the quiet, he told himself, turning the tv as he watered his plants and refilled the automated system that the boys had turned on for him. Maybe he was just lonely, he admitted as he quietly ate dinner on his couch.

He tried not to think about it.

Work made things a little bit easier, though Lucius refused to let Danny work full time. Danny almost got angry about that until Lucius’ face softened in a way that said friend, and not boss.

“You’re going through monumental physical changes,” Lucius said, eyes darting to Danny’s wings. “Ignoring the emotional and mental toll, your body is expending energy in ways that we cannot account for. Energy your body may not have. I will not have you risking yourself to put in full days of work.”

“But…”

“But nothing. You’re one of my best, Danny, and have put in more than your share of work over the years. Do some tinkering, dream up some ideas, hell, make some puzzles to torment the new batch of interns so we can see what they’re really made of,” Lucius said, “but take care of yourself first.”

Danny sighed, but nodded. “You make an annoying amount of sense.”

“I’m good at that,” Lucius said with a too pleasant smile. “And Danny?”

“Yeah, Lucius?”

“If you need anything, and I do mean any damn thing, you let me know, alright?” Lucius asked pointedly. “Beyond being one of my best, I’d like to think that you’re also a friend.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Fox,” Danny said with a grin.

Lucius rolled his eyes as he ended the video call.

Danny slumped back into his seat. He’d tied a pillow to it in an effort to make it more comfortable to sit with his wings, but it was a short term solution at best. Well, if he was going to to some tinkering, he might as well start with the practical. He’d done is best to not keep work at home, what with his childhood history of that, but it meant things would need to be gathered from work or ordered. About two thirds of the list went of to ‘his’ intern, and some of the more esoteric things he ordered himself for delivery. He also ordered some clothing from the tailor Bruce had gotten the name of as well as groceries to fill his fridge. At least he wonders of the modern world meant he didn’t have to leave his house with the wings, not yet at least.