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[suarez-kv]

"CAN YOU PROVIDE A STATEMENT?"

Journalist!Danny, who knows every single dirt about everyone, from corrupt politicians to vigilantes and rogues alike, and has an active gossip blog that every person keeps track of because even if it's the home of the most flabbergasting article ever known to man, it's frighteningly true.

Everyone— and I mean everyone thinks he's a meta, everywhere and nowhere at the same time, once two politicians were having a heated discussion secured area not allowing the media or any outsiders except him, sticking to the corner of the room sipping coffee while typing away at his laptop keeping track of the chaos that's currently happening.

And no one notices him, until like a minute later, when a notification is heard across the room and an article pops up saying:

"This meeting is going to be a bomb: Diplomat Joker tries to fix world problems by bombing gone wrong."

A guard blinks a couple of times at his phone, then turns to face Danny a couple of times before leaning in and whispering, "Why'd you have to title it like some kind of clickbait channel?" Danny, who's just quietly snickering, just said, "It makes it appealing to the audience."

"I just like to be in the front seat when it comes to drama", he explained to Superman, who looked at him in horror as he bounced up and down on the moon with no helmet on to provide oxygen.

While at the same time, Green Lantern is getting demolished by an alien in the background

"Green lantern provides statement about getting smashed—on the surface of the moon."

No one tried to stop him, it's not like they can, no matter how hard they try to track him, he disappears and only reappears when havoc is in the area, and it's not like the government hides it, everyone knows that Danny is highly sought by investigators, villains, and the heroes all alike, yet even if the most powerful and smartest people get together to find Danny he seemed to only slip through their hands like fog, only turning up as a blurry figure from the corner of your eyes and the moment you try to focus on that figure it's gone, just like some kind of ghost.

The only person who could garner his attention was Lois Lane, whom he respects big time; they would co-author articles sometimes. The same can't be said when it comes to Vicki Vale, oh—and he's a big fan of making unhinged article titles.

[suarez-kv]

Phic Phight - Surprise Professor Professes Only Violence

For: Chrysanthemum9484

It doesn’t matter who Mr. Lancer picked to teach a class on ghosts, all the options lead to suffering. Danny just happens to be the option less damaging to everything and everyone around, much to his annoyance.

Danny’s a little concerned when Mr. Lancer all but corners him outside of social- what a dumbass class. Danny eyeing the man cautiously, “I swear I didn’t break anything today”.

Mr. Lancer shakes his head, huffing a little out of breath, before fixing his tie, “you’re not in trouble, not this time. However, seeing as you have a spare next I would like you to follow me”.

Oh zone what now? Did his parents drop something questionable off? Or was the guy trying to tutor him again? Were Sam and Tuck fighting again? Or did someone or something blow up his locker for the fifth time this month…

Danny sighs and follows, “what is it”; it’s not even a question, he’s resigned, defeated. His spare has so totally been lost. Ugh.

Mr. Lancer wastes no time in walking off, grabbing Danny’s arm because, as per usual, he doesn’t trust Danny to not just disappear on him. Reasonable honestly. “As you know, this town and school have had to make a few adjustments to deal with the ghost issues. One such adjustment is going to be a ghosts one oh one course-”. Holy shit finally, Danny was wondering when the school was gonna man up and do that. Knowing about ghosts in this haunted ass town was kinda super necessary. And he guesses that Mr. Lancer just wants Danny’s advice? Since Danny was a teen and not insane. “-it’s happening during fourth period-”. That’s this period isn’t it? Why does Danny have a bad feeling about this? “-and seeing as you are not insane or a government funded bigot, everyone agrees you should teach it”. Mr. Lancer coming to stop in front of a closed classroom door, looking at Danny now, “now knowing you, you’d skip town for a week to try and get out of this, and you respect me enough to not simply kick me in the knees and run. Just try alright? It’ll count towards your gpa if that gives you any incentive”, then turns back to the door, opens it, and basically shoves Danny inside. “I know you’ll do great!”. And… and the man has the fucking audacity to just up and leave!

What. The. Actual. Fresh. Fruity. Fuck.

Danny stands there in a wide stance, arms slightly away from his sides, and slowly looks at the goddamn class full of people. Fuck him so much. Fuck Lancer. What the zone man! Danny blinks harshly at everyone, “I’m gonna kill that man”.

Dale snorting at him, “ironic that the first thing you say in a ghost class involves murder”.

Emilie fiddling with her hair, “yeah and why’d he stick you here anyways? It’s not like you’d need to learn this”.

Todd snorting, “probably taking pity on him and giving him a free easy grade”.

Danny drops his arms and glares at Todd, “actually, he just shoved me in here to teach this damn thing”, sighing and rubbing a hand down his face, “hence why I now wanna kill him”.

Someone snorts, “sure. Right. He tOtAlLy DiD tHaT”.

But after a couple of seconds someone else shouts, “holy shit he actually did! The thing online just updated with him as the teachers name!”.

Everyone else just starts screaming and shouting and otherwise freaking out while Danny groans very deeply and moves to walk over to ‘his’ desk. Fuck his half life.

The worst thing was that he knows that he can’t just go crawling back to Mr. Lancer and claim he needs time to prepare. Since he knows that Lancer knows that that shit would be a goddamn lie. His parents have literally made him basically memorize presentations to give at ghost conventions. Danny absolutely can do this. He just really really doesn’t want to.

But…

Ugh. He needs to get that gpa of his up and Mr. Lancer’s a manipulative dick to bring that into this.

Danny wants to just lay on the desk and cry. He is absolutely beating Boxy through a tool shed whenever that guy shows up next. As it stands, he’s just going to slump down into the chair, put his elbows on the desk, and put his head in his hands. Grumbling through said hands loud enough that he knows he’s being heard, “look, okay, if any of you fuck up and fail this shit, thus hurting my grades or whatever, I will personally find and pay a ghost to haunt you”, sighing, “I do actually know how to give seminars, or whatever, on ghosts. And I know none of you fuckers go to goddamn ghost hunter conventions, since none of you have parents that force you to attend them, fuck every last one of you, so I can technically actually teach ya’ll shit; so sit down or stay seated or whatever, and shut up”.

“WOW, someone’s pissy”.

“I will kill you too, Todd”.

“Oh yeah? With what? Your noodle arms?”.

Danny lifts his head out of his hands, stares at the asshole, then starts digging through the desk. He’s not sure why but there’s a sledge hammer in the bottom drawer, it goes on the desk very loudly.

One of the freshman nerds blinks, “why was there a hammer in there?”.

Danny shrugs loosely, “I don’t know, I don’t care, but that can definitely breaks someone’s fingers so, you know. Threat stands”, clearing his throat, “okay so because the preparation time that I was given was precisely jack fuck all, I’m gonna run this shit like a convention panel. Just without any slides, yes I’ve had to make slides shut up or kill you, without all my funny jokes on them”.

Lindsey actually sags dramatically in relief, “oh thank Zone. Mr. Lancer managed to spare us”.

Danny standing up, grabbing the sledgehammer, and swinging it back and forth up in the air a bit, “hammer time threat stands”, puts the thing back down loudly, handle sticking up in the air, and moves to the fucking white board, “ya’ll get my jokes written all over this board now”.

Multiple people shout, “Lindsey!”, at the girl. Danny doesn’t care, Danny thinks his jokes are great. Promptly writing, ‘why did the ghost decide to start teaching? Because he’d heard it was going to be dead fun’; to a class of his groaning peers.

Turning back to everyone, “so since I should attempt to actually graduate, I’m gonna actually start this shit off but with something that’s gonna make all ya’ll suffer, ghost baby making! featuring The Box Ghost and The LunchLady”.

Everyone looks suitably disgusted with him. Multiple people shouting, “oh zone why!?!” and “you’re evil!”.

Does how ghosts have babies have anything to do with dealing with and surviving ghosts in this town? No, obviously not. Does he care? Abso-fucking-lutely not.

Mr. Lancer sticks his head in the room, eyeing the sledgehammer, “why is there a sledgehammer?”.

Danny snarking right back, “why was it in the drawer?”.

Mr. Lancer nodding a little, seceding that, “the janitor must have left it. How are you fairing?”.

Danny just glares at the man violently while Dale sticks up his hand, “Mr. Lancer, he keeps threatening to kill us”.

“Mr. Fenton!”.

“Bitch, you knew what you were doing”.

End.

Prompt: "The teachers of Casper High decide that assigning a student to teach a subject is the lesser evil considering that the other options are a pair of insane scientists and a bunch of government cuckoos. Or in other words, Danny ends up teaching Ghosts 101."

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Hi guys, I need to talk about how frustrating it is that most of the famous fanfics are in English and my first language isn’t English

Cause I’m Mexican, I know my way around English but I’m not nowhere near perfection, and it’s frustrating cause I’m a Goddamn literally genius in Spanish but when I try to write in English is like I forget everything I know 😞

That’s all thanks

[suarez-kv]

A DC X DP IDEA #45

Mine, Mine, MINE!

Imagine this….

I know Damian is raised in an environment where he is treated as a prince, the only grandson, the heir. Sure those privileges may come in the price of ripping his innocence and childhood away from a very young age. In the end he got everything he  ever wanted nor needed. A single word from him and all gather around to get what he needed.

But there will be a day where there is something you cannot get no matter your demands or commands.

….

By the time Damian could form full sentences, he had learned the art of taking. To demand was his birthright; to receive was merely the universe setting itself right. If another child had a toy, Damian wanted it. If a servant carried a blade of exceptional craftsmanship, it belonged in his collection. Even as a young boy, his chambers were overflowing with silken robes, masterfully forged weapons, and rare treasures pilfered from across the world.

His first words had been "Mine." He was greedy from the cradle, claiming everything within reach with an iron will and a clenched fist. As an infant, a single furrow of his brow or a half-formed cry summoned an entire team of wet nurses, attendants, and servants who scrambled to appease him, terrified of drawing the ire of the Demon’s heir. His crib was adorned with silk imported from lands that no longer existed, and gold-threaded blankets were replaced the moment they became even slightly soiled.

When he took his first steps, the world shifted to accommodate him. Marble floors were polished before his feet touched them, and his path was lined with offerings—daggers forged by masters, scrolls of ancient knowledge, carved figurines from forgotten civilizations. Every item he glanced at was quietly removed from its place and added to his collection, regardless of its original owner. He collected without remorse, hoarded without gratitude. His chambers grew into miniature treasure vaults, filled with relics and riches that served no purpose beyond feeding his insatiable desire to own.

Neither Talia nor Ra’s al Ghul discouraged his possessiveness. To them, it was simply a symptom of his lineage. The blood of conquerors and kings ran in his veins, and if he took, it was only because he was destined to. The League of Assassins reinforced this belief with every passing day. He was not taught humility or restraint—only power, precision, and domination. He was forged to rule, molded to believe that the world was his birthright.

But then there was Danyal.

His twin, born under the same stars, shaped from the same blood, yet utterly alien in his quiet nature. Danyal never demanded, never claimed, never expected. While Damian amassed trinkets and trophies with the entitlement of a young emperor, Danyal existed in the spaces left behind—content with simplicity, with little, with the unremarkable. When Damian snatched one of his brother’s few meager toys and added it to his already overflowing pile, Danyal gave no protest. He simply let it go, his eyes soft, his hands uncurled, his expression free of malice or resentment.

To Damian, this was a maddening contradiction. They were both of noble blood. They were descendants of kings, warriors, legends. Danyal should have yearned for greatness, fought for it. But instead, he bowed his head, stepped aside, and surrendered without a sound. Damian saw weakness. He saw foolishness.

When Danyal died on a mission gone wrong, Damian did not weep. His hands did not tremble, his eyes did not stray from the trail of blood that marked the last place his twin had stood. The League moved on without pause, the death barely a footnote in their endless ledger of sacrifice. There was no funeral pyre, no rites or remembrance. The corpse was retrieved, cataloged, and discarded like a failed weapon. Damian told himself it was fate, a destiny trimming the weak from their bloodline.

Danyal had never fought for more. He had never claimed what was owed to him. In Damian’s mind, that made him unworthy. A noble soul without the teeth to defend its title. A flickering candle smothered by the wind. And so Damian forced himself to move on. He trained harder, sharper, faster. He swallowed whatever little grief he has and reforged it into ambition.

At ten years old, when he was finally sent to Gotham, he carried himself like a young prince returning to his rightful throne. He arrived at his father’s doorstep cloaked in expectation, armored in superiority. His every step was deliberate, as if the very ground of Wayne Manor should bend to his will. He was the blood heir, the legacy reborn. Everything in the manor should have been his.

But instead of reverence, he was met with resistance.

When he challenged Drake—Timothy Drake, the imposter who had dared to stand at his father’s side—Damian expected combat, a duel to settle succession. He anticipated a fight that would end with his place solidified and his father's acknowledgment finally secured. But Drake refused. He did not raise a hand. He yielded with words instead of steel, and Damian, raised in a world where weakness was unforgivable, saw it as cowardice.

Worse still, Bruce his father had intervened. Not as a warrior stepping into the arena, but as a father—shielding the usurper. Protecting someone who had no claim, no birthright, no Ra’s al Ghul in his lineage, no biological connection that is burning in his veins. Damian had lashed out. Fury surged through him like fire through dry kindling. How could his father not see it? He was the true son. The legacy of both Bat and Demon ran through his blood.

But here, in this foreign house built on sentiment and ideals, that blood meant nothing.

His hours of grueling training, his flawless blade work, his mastery of languages, poisons, shadows, everything none of it mattered. In the League, every achievement was tallied like gold, every drop of noble blood a weapon to be honored and sharpened. In Gotham, he was just a child with a name. No better than the orphans his father had chosen. He was expected to earn his place not through heritage, but through heart.

And that was a battlefield Damian had never been taught to fight on.

…..

By fourteen, Damian had changed. The transformation had not come swiftly, nor easily. It had been carved into him over years of clashing ideologies, quiet lessons, and countless moments of silent observation. The boy who once barked orders, who demanded the world bend to his will, had been slowly, methodically unraveled.

Gone was the child who screamed, "Mine!" at every turn. In his place stood a young warrior with weary eyes and calloused hands, one who had tasted loss, rejection, and the sting of unearned entitlement.

He had learned, through long nights spent watching others from the shadows of Wayne Manor’s hallways, that love was not given by birthright but earned through sacrifice. He had watched Dick steady the weight of leadership with a smile, watched Tim endure with patience and quiet brilliance, watched Jason bleed and rage and come back again and again for the family that had once failed him. And he had watched Bruce—not the detective that his grandfather would say nor the beloved that his mother would whisper of bedtime legends, but a flawed, weary man who carried his family not with a sword but with open hands.

The League had taught him to take. His siblings had taught him to stay.

“The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” He had not heard the phrase spoken aloud, but he lived it in the moments that unfolded around him. He saw it in the way Alfred laid out tea for children who weren’t his. In the way Cass would wordlessly spar with him until exhaustion broke his fury. In the way Stephanie left notes on the fridge with dumb jokes just to make them laugh. These people—none of whom shared his blood—had chosen each other again and again.

And yet… in the quiet corners of his mind, sometimes, he still wished Danyal were here.

Danyal, who would have thrived in this strange and stubborn family. Danyal, whose softness would have been a strength here, not a flaw. Danyal, who had always looked at Damian not with envy or resentment, but with quiet love.

Damian had spent so long dismissing that gentleness as weakness, never realizing it had been a gift. Looking back now, he could see the missed moments—the times he could have shared instead of stolen, the times he could have listened instead of taken. His brother had not been lesser. He had simply been different. And Damian, in his arrogance, had mistaken compassion for cowardice.

Now, with Danyal long buried and the world colder for it, Damian carried the weight of that realization like a blade across the ribs—never fatal, but never forgotten.

…...

Then came the mission with the Flash. A time anomaly had rippled through the fabric of reality. Barry had worked tirelessly to fix the damage, racing through different timelines  until order was restored. But this time, though fixed, have a new aftermath. A vision stitched together from remnants of a path not taken.

The Justice League, ever analytical, treated it like a curious glitch in the multiversal code—a harmless projection of a possibility that never came to pass. They gathered to observe it as they would a peculiar ripple in a still pond, detached but intrigued. Damian had been pulled along by Jon, who bounced with his usual boundless energy, unaware of what the vision would show. Damian followed, armored in detachment, a practiced indifference in place.

But then he saw it.

The flickering image glowed before him like a memory he had never lived. There, seated around the long dining table in Wayne Manor, was a scene so mundane, so heartbreakingly normal, it rooted him in place. His father sat at the head of the table, a rare softness in his posture as he poured tea. Nightwing laughed mid-conversation, shoulders relaxed, while Tim rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. Jason leaned back with his feet on the table, earning a nudge from Cassandra. And at the center of it all, smiling as if he'd always belonged—was Danyal.

His twin. Whole. Alive.

Danyal passed the bread basket to Tim with a crooked grin, said something that made Alfred chuckle. He nudged Damian's double with his elbow, teasing him, effortlessly folded into the rhythm of a family Damian had once believed unreachable. It was a life that had never happened, a universe where Danyal had lived—not just lived, but thrived.

Damian’s breath caught in his throat. His chest rose and fell once, twice, the motion sharp and sudden. His fingers, usually so still, twitched at his sides, as if the rest of him hadn’t caught up with the emotion rising within. Before he could wrest control back from his heart, his hand extended—reaching, aching, needing.

And the word tore from him before thought could stop it.

"Mine."

It escaped in a whisper but echoed like a roar in his ears. Not the scream of a spoiled prince demanding treasure, but the broken, silent cry of a boy mourning what he had never known he needed. It was not greed that moved him, not anymore. It was grief. Regret. A raw, unfiltered longing for the life that had slipped through his fingers before he had ever realized he wanted it.

Around him, the room shifted. Justice League members who moments ago stood in detached curiosity now exchanged curious glances, as they saw the projection and Robin’s reaction to a projection that is just showing a what-if scenario.

The projection flickered. Danyal’s laughter shimmered and dissolved into static. The dining table faded. The light dimmed.

And Damian remained frozen, hand still half-raised, reaching for a future that was never his to claim.

…..

In the heart of the Infinite Realms, where time unraveled and rewound in endless loops and rivers of light, a lone figure hovered silently above the drifting threads of fate. Clockwork, the Master of Time, ancient and eternal, gazed down upon the scene unfolding within the mortal world. His staff gleamed as it gears ever turning, ticking in rhythm with realities both seen and unseen.

His eyes that is both ageless and all-knowing, rested on the image of a boy no longer a child. Damian Al Ghul Wayne stood still before the dying glow of a vanished vision, his heart laid bare. Once a prince of shadows, molded by assassins and pride, Damian now stood not as a conqueror, but as a brothe still grieving. He no longer sought to possess or dominate, but to reclaim something that had always been just out of reach: family.

The Observers had spoken long ago, their verdicts cold and absolute. Danyal’s future, they had said, was a path carved in steel and soaked in blood. The catalyst of the Infinite Realms, the one who will bring the end. But Clockwork had always known better. Time, after all, was not a straight line, it branched, curved, rebelled. And in one of those near-forgotten offshoots, he had seen a flicker. A possibility so faint it could have been dismissed as error. But Clockwork did not dismiss.

He had seen a future in which the Infinite Realms chaotic would finally know peace. He had seen a king . And that king—against all odds—had come in the form of Danyal Al Ghul Wayne.

A soft, amused breath escaped the Master of Time as his gaze shifted across the layers of existence to a shadow nestled within the Realms themselves. There, hidden among the currents of ectoplasm and fractured echoes of forgotten souls, stood a young ghost. His white hair drifted like mist in the realm’s gentle current, his glowing green eyes solemn yet radiant. Gone were the dark locks, icey blue eyes and quiet smiles of Danyal Al Ghul. In his place stood Daniel Fenton—Danny Phantom—the Halfa. Half-human, half-ghost. A being unlike any other. A bridge between life and death.

Clockwork observed him with fondness, a rare warmth in his otherwise distant demeanor. He remembered the moment clearly, the crack between timelines where fate had faltered just long enough for intervention. The Observers had turned away, believing that Clockwork will carry out their verdict to execute the young boy, but Clockwork had seen the glimmer of what could be. He had rescued the boy from his grave and scattered his memories.

He had delivered the amnesiac child to a quiet home in Amity Park, into the waiting arms of the unsuspecting Fenton couple—eccentric, brilliant, and just compassionate enough to raise him without ever questioning the mystery of his arrival. The boy was given a name, a room, a place to grow. And on that fateful day, when Danny stepped into the portal and his molecules split between two worlds, Clockwork had watched it happen with a quiet, satisfied nod. That had been the moment. The transformation. The birth of a future king.

The Infinite Realms would have their High King.

And now, as the Realms shimmered in resonance with Damian’s grief, and Danny’s own presence and ignorance hummed at the edge of understanding, Clockwork let the corners of his lips curl just slightly.

He had never told the Observers about this faint possible of a timeline. The one he saw only once, a future so far removed it flickered like starlight on the edge of perception. This timeline where, both the Realms have their king but he will have a granchild.

Clockwork kept that knowledge close. Even for a being beyond time, some secrets were too precious to share.

As he look at the grieving Damian telling his family a future could have been and Danny enjoying his somewhat normal routine for a young Halfa like him not knowing the immediate danger that is quickly closing in on him.

Clockwork smiled, All in due time.

…...

 PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

PPS: Again it got too long for my liking....

PPS: I got a bit carried away, hehehehehe.....

[suarez-kv]

Fuck off Satan

inspired by this post

Danny Phantom, the Ghost King and part-time Justice League member, stood in the Watchtower briefing room, arms crossed and very much trying to look professional. The meeting had been dragging on, and his phone had already buzzed twice, much to Batman’s annoyance.

The third time, it started vibrating again, drawing glares from the Dark Knight and a few raised eyebrows from other Leaguers.

"Phantom," Batman said, his voice a growl.

Danny sighed, pulling out his phone. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Ghost King business doesn’t wait. Let me just—" He hit the answer button with a sharp jab.

"What?!" Danny snapped, glaring at the screen.

The room fell silent. They hadn’t seen Phantom lose his temper like this before.

On the other end, a smooth, deep voice oozed through the speaker.

"Respectfully, my liege, I ask that you reconsider my proposal on—"

Danny cut him off mid-sentence. "Not today, Satan." With an exasperated sigh, he ended the call and pocketed the phone without another thought.

The reaction was immediate. Superman chuckled, Green Lantern grinned, and Flash burst into laughter. Even Wonder Woman's lips twitched upward.

"Nice," Hal said, giving Phantom a thumbs-up. "Solid delivery."

Danny waved it off. "What can I say? He’s persistent, and I’ve got no time for his nonsense today."

But not everyone was laughing. Constantine sat ramrod straight, pale as a sheet, his cigarette dangling precariously from his lips.

"Danny," Constantine croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Was that the Satan? Like... Lucifer Morningstar Satan?"

Danny blinked, tilting his head. "Uh, yeah? Who else would it be? Dude’s been pestering me about a territorial dispute with the Infinite Realms for weeks."

The entire room went quiet again, and all eyes turned to Constantine. The seasoned warlock looked like he might pass out on the spot.

"You just hung up on the actual Devil," Constantine hissed, his British accent thick with disbelief.

Danny shrugged. "Yeah, and? He’s one of my subjects. I’m the Ghost King. I outrank him. If he wants to whine about his little hellish boundaries, he can take a number."

Constantine’s eyes darted around the room, desperately seeking someone to share in his existential terror, but the rest of the League didn’t seem to grasp the gravity of what just happened.

"You outrank..." Constantine trailed off, rubbing his temples. "Bloody hell, kid, you don’t just hang up on Lucifer!"

Danny smirked, leaning casually against the wall. "Oh, I do. And I’ll do it again if he calls during League meetings. I’ve got enough on my plate without playing arbiter for Hell’s bureaucracy."

Clark patted Constantine on the shoulder. "Relax, John. Sounds like Danny has it under control."

John groaned. "We’re all doomed."

Danny, unfazed, pulled out his phone again and started texting. "Now, if we’re done freaking out, can we get back to the meeting? Or do I need to block Satan’s number to make that happen?"

The League collectively laughed, except for Constantine, who was muttering something about needing stronger wards and a drink.

[suarez-kv]

Batfamily x Danny Phantom AU

Parts:

1 (Batfam meets Danny part 1)

2 (Batfam meets Danny part 2)

3 (Justice League meets Danny)

4 (Sleep or else)

5 (Batfam game night)

6 (Jason and Danny after patrol)

7 (Harley and Ivy meet Danny)

8 (Batfam pizza night)

9 (Jon meets Danny)

10 (Danny's not-so vital signs)

11 (Legal name change)

12 (Bruce vs. the English language)

13 (The Wayne-Kent family dinner part 1)

I've decided to reboot this AU here's the link to the new master post

[suarez-kv]

Short DPXDC Prompts #648

The League gets incredibly concerned that their main tech mechanic, Danny Fenton, has instances of his heart or breathing randomly stopping. His skin is cold as ice and his skin is deathly pale.

Danny didn’t realize that the League doesn’t look at hiring applications. If they did they would have seen that he put being a half ghost on his resume.

[suarez-kv]

Friends i need your help finding a Danny Phantom fic

I don’t remember much, but I do remember that Danny somehow ended up in Gotham and there he started a daycare and accidentally adopted like two kids(?)

I remember that when he revealed his halfa status one the kids said “good fucking riddance”

I know it’s so unspecifically specific😭

Pls help

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Oh how I love you modern Merlin as a medieval history professor. I can just imagine his students talking about him. "His lectures are great, he talks about it like he was actually there."

"Do NOT bring up Arthuriana he WILL go on an hour long rant and you WILL miss your last train home."

"He has this weird academic beef with Geoffrey Chaucer?!"

"His office reeks of herbs, lord knows what he puts in his morning tea."

"Dude's been teaching here for like 30 years and he still somehow looks 22."

"I swear to you, I saw his eyes turn gold one time during a lecture."

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Hii, I just finish reading “The bitter taste of jealousy” from Vasrod95 and with that fic I realized how we need to make more Ben 10 fics like this. Do you know how varied Danny Phantom fics are? I think we need more of that style. Ben 10 is a series with so much Angst potential that it hurts that fans don't exploit that potential :c

[suarez-kv]

Hi again my people

I honestly just want to rant about the new chapter of scissor seven and the fact that we do not have enough fics about that series.

I believe that the fic potential of this series is enormous, specially with the last episode.

Seven finally remembering all his past, how traumatic was that?

I mean, he knew that he was an assassin, that obviously he killed a lot of people, but he didn’t actually saw those kills as his. Imagine how he felt, knowing that he has the blood of thousands on his hands

I would write something about this but im in finals and I do not have time :c

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Hi, so, I’ve been reading a shit ton of dp fics and I’ve been needing one fic with this specific prompt

Danny in college, just that, not a crossover of dpxdc

Just Danny trying to survive college while his friends are trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong w him

If it is an eventual revelation honestly that’s better

But yeah, if you have something like that pls share the link

[suarez-kv]

I Am quite sure i have a problem, I swear I came up with the weirdest crossovers and I always just go with the flow and start writing.

I just finished My adventures with Superman and I fucking love it, also rn I’m in a Dylan o’Brien brainrot so I thought it was a great idea to mix both my current likings.

So

Now I have the beginning of a fic of Stiles being kryptonian

Yeah, idk

[suarez-kv]

Honestly one of the things that wasn’t on my bingo card this year was going back to my obsession w Dylan O’Brien

I’m not even joking, three days ago I stared writing a fic about stiles being the same person as Mitch Rapp

I don’t even know

[suarez-kv]

They really pulled a Lloyd on my boy Yugo wtf

Both warrior kids that were forced to grow up because of external forces wtf

[suarez-kv]

huesos <3

TRADUCCIÓN BAJO LEER MÁS

hhh hello legends people. (hola fans de las leyendas.)

these versions of them are from the Chaneques film (estas versiones son de la película Chaneques)

In English: thought about making a separate account for these two, but i decided otherwise.

So, the first movie was put on netflix with subtitles a little while ago, and I liked it enough to seek out the other films. Primarily through bootleg sites.  I genuinely love this series so much, it even motivated me to start learning spanish!!

i've drawn Leo and Nando a few times, but I just never posted My favorite character is Nando he is dumb, and he is a moron and I love him for it.

En español: pensé en hacer una cuenta separada para estos dos, pero decidí lo contrario.

Pues la primera película la pusieron en netflix con subtítulos hace poco, y me gustó lo suficiente como para buscar las otras películas. Principalmente a través de sitios bootleg. Me encanta esta serie, incluso me ha motivado a empezar a aprender español.

He dibujado Leo y Nando unas cuantas veces, pero nunca he publicado. Mi personaje favorito es Nando. Es tonto e imbécil y me encanta por ello.

Lamento profundamente cualquier inexactitud. No soy un hablante nativo de español, y el traductor que uso puede no ser perfecto

[suarez-kv]

DP X Ninjago

Okokok I'm back with more because I just realized how alike Danny and Lloyd are.

So imagine, Danny ends up in a new world for strange reasons (reveal went wrong, accidental portal, whatever you want) and He encounters someone uncomfortably similar to his phantom form. he learned that is Lloyd Garmadon, the green ninja, and Danny can see from afar that he is not human.

Imagine the two, united by the trauma of being hybrids and as such a bridge between two or more worlds. And not only that, but they are also leaders at such a young age.

Danny is the ghost king, the great one.

Lloyd is the green ninja of the prophecy and grandson of the creator of ninjago.

They are both young people forced by circumstances to protect a world that hates them, either because of their blood (Lloyd or because of what they are (Danny).

I'll be back with more, now I'm pretty much obsessed with the idea.