#kind words for phantom

[phantom-does-a-thing]

i wish you knew just how much stuff your writing has gotten me through and inspired me to create my own fics …. so many of the scenes from various fics of yours have stuck with me super hard . try not to doubt yourself pls <3 ik how hard it can be to create things and deal with self doubt and criticism and such but i promise u are so so much more wonderful and skilled than u realize

WAAAAAAHHHHH IM SO GLAD I WAS ABLE TO INSPIRE YOU THAT MEANS A LOT TO HEAR… I want to write something worth remembering……… I guess I have in a way. I’m glad it helped get u thru things eueue.. thank you

[azulhood]

Jazz was, at her core, a pessimist.

Oh sure, she wanted the best outcomes and strived to always see the best in people. But listening to her parents talk about and share crime scene photos of someone who was brutally murdered and who may haunt the place they were headed to while true crime podcasts played instead of road trip tunes as they traveled to whatever graveyard had caught their interest had dulled young Jazz's faith in humanity.

Jazz still had memories of a young her standing in an abandoned insane asylum (or abandoned hospital, or old house, or graveyard, or whatever place they dragged her too) holding a small torch with shaky hands and begging to leave because she was terrified "Can we go? Please? this place is scaring me" only to be told "In a minute Jazzy, we down want the ghost getting away."

They had settled down after Danny was born, choosing to stay in one placed instead of traveling all over the country. She still expected them to unexpectedly announce that they were going on the road again, she had plans in case they did (saying she'd stay behind with the van to take care of Danny was better then both of them getting used as ghost bait) But surprisingly they didn't.

And Jazz was thrilled. Sure, she and Danny were known as the kids of the towns crazy ghosthunters, and sure, she basically had to raise her brother since her parents would rarely leave their lab let alone focus on something not ghost related, and yes, she did have to carefully plan out how to use the family's money so that none of them starved.

But no more sleeping in cheap hotels or their van, no more making friends at playgrounds that she'd never see the next day, no more countless hours spent in places where people died, no more English lessons while on the road. She went to school now, she had friends that she saw more than once, she had a home that wasn't filled with cockroaches and the sounds of a argument from the room next door. She had a semi-normal life.

In this time of normality, she relaxed, she let her guard down. Then Danny died and only came back halfway.

And Jazz was back to being that little girl who was scared of ghosts, only this time she was scared for a ghost.

Danny didn't tell her at first, and even though it hurt she understood, and so while she waited for him to tell her, she planned.

She took job after job, from mowing someone's lawn to working at a checkout. Money had been put aside in bags filled with clothes and a pair of new id that she had gotten from Tucker, ("Just in case our parents get classified as supervillains and we need to flee" She said not giving anyway that she knew of Danny's ghostly problem, Tucker had made the id anyway even if he thought she was joking and did not in fact have a plan should that situation happen) One of their neighbors was willing to let her buy their old car despite her family's driving history. A safe house (more like safe apartment) was bought in the only place that was willing to let a teen buy property, Gotham City.

Danny fought numerous enemies until the only enemy that was left was telling their ghost hunter parents that their son was half dead.

Compared to her, Danny was an optimist, seeing the best in everyone without even having to try like she did. Believing that the best would happen like if he didn't, he would break into a million pieces and not know how to put himself together again.

Even though he was scared Danny believed that their parents wouldn't react badly, Jazz hoped they wouldn't but was prepared if they did.

And finally, after many nights spent wide awake in case her parents tried to rip Danny apart molecule by molecule while she slept, the shoe dropped. Their parents loved them, but their work came first, it always came first. Jazz loved her parents, she truly did, but she loved Danny more. And in the end, that made her choice of driving all the way to Gotham with nothing but their go bags all the more easier.

And that was how Jazz and Danny ended up as the neighbors of one Jason Todd.

[riot-ghost]

Commissioner Gordon was ostracized within the Gotham Police department. He knew this was because of his ties to the Bat, his late hours, constant overtime. He knew that even the good officers, while he couldn't tell too much who was who, didn't mean to ostracize him. It happened on accident, he's sure. He picked up some clues from the world's greatest detective. Rumors went around, running rampant about him. He just couldn't care so much about them.

Everyone knew that Commissioner Gordon always took his late dinner at 9:37 at night. Everyone cleared from the break room. Gordon opened the door, taking a heavy breath. He was still expecting the empty room. It felt empty, in a way Gordon had picked up from The Bat. He pulled his burrito out of the fridge, opening the styrofoam container and eating a bite. "You're not going to heat it up?" Gordon barely manages to catch his burrito, his whole soul leaving his body.

"Jesus Christ, kid, you scared me." Gordon lets out a heavy breath, seeing the new detective sitting at a table in the corner. He's eating... Something indescribable. He looks tired, his long black hair bulled back into a high ponytail. His face seems disproportionate, large prominent features. A crooked nose, a wide, thin mouth, large eyes accompanied by large bags. His skin was pale, dusted with faded freckles and litchenburg scarring. The young man- still a boy, practically, shrugged at Gordon's words, eating another bite of the odd food. "No one warned you I'd be in here?" Gordon decided to sit with him.

"No, they warned me. But the past couple of days they've been... Avoiding me." Dr. Fenton, Gordon remembers his file passing over his desk. He could never be a cop- he was a detective-by-hire because of some medical condition. Gordon feels a pang at the emotionless words.

"Ah, they avoid me too." Gordon takes another bite of his cold burrito. "So, how have you been enjoying working here?"

"Well, it's been alright, I guess." Fenton took a drink from his thermos- which has a straw in it. It goes unsaid that this was the only job Fenton could really get. Close to the force, anyways. His medical condition refrained him from being a proper officer, so he wasn't officially a Gotham PD detective. He was an out-contract detective, receiving the same work, pay, and hours as the regular detectives.

"Getting around the town well enough?"

"Well enough, I suppose. Almost got robbed." Fenton held three doctorates- criminology, psychology, and natural sciences. All at the young age of 22.

"Almost?" Gordon snorts a bit at that. "Scared them off with your badge?"

"I don't have a badge. And I don't have a gun, if that's what you're thinking. I guess they just thought I was too pathetic to have much cash." Danny shrugged.

"Oh come on, you're not pathetic." Gordon is a bit taken aback that the boy doesn't carry any weapons. He makes a mental note to get him a badge.

"I looked pathetic enough not to rob."

Gordon feels like he missed something there, because Gotham robbers would rob a kindergartner if they were unattended. Regardless, he and Fenton sat in silence for a good couple of minutes. "What are you eating?" Fenton asks eventually.

"A burrito from the Mexican stand on Westwood."

"Why are you eating it cold?"

"Because if I reheat it, then the sauce becomes a solid liquid and everything gets soggy. What are you eating?"

"It was supposed to be stir fry?" Danny stared down at the leftovers container. "I'm not good at cooking. No videos ever make sense, so they don't turn out right."

"Your parents didn't teach you?" Gordon asks.

"No, they weren't the best chefs. They did pass on the family fudge recipe though. I can make some killer fudge." He laughs a little bit at that.

"I'll bring you lunch in from now on." Gordon says. "Until we can get your cooking sorted out, anyhow. Normally my daughter and I spend Tuesday nights fixing dinner together, so you'll get the best meals Wednesday."

"You don't have to do that." Danny seems a little caught off guard by the kindness.

"I can't have one of my youngest detectives going hungry!" Gordon smiles. "Besides, you're the first person in the precinct to eat dinner with me in nearly twenty years. You keep eating with me, it'll be no problem. I enjoy the company." Danny smiles at him and Gordon is reminded of someone, but he can't remember who.

Over the next couple of weeks, Gordon and Danny get well acquainted in their overlapping shifts. Danny works the nights and sometimes early mornings, similar to what Gordon does. Gordon finds himself feeling fatherly to the young man, who's working and picking up significant overtime to pay off his student loans. He learns that Danny moved here from Illinois- it was the only PD he could work at. He had no formal fighting training, but apparently his mom had taught him some moves. They had yet to overlap in the field, and it was easy for Gordon to forget that the boy was really a detective.

"Danny?" Jim paused, having finally made his way to the crime scene. Danny was crouched over a dead body, using his gloved hands to inspect the wound- the word Joker carved using some sort of knife.

"Gordon?" Despite all insistence, the boy still used his last name.

Jim has to stop himself from asking him why he's here. Danny's eyes shift to a spot behind him and James sighs. "What happened?" Batman's voice startled the last officer in the room, who quickly stuttered an excuse and left.

"The Joker broke in, tortured her, and left." Jim says. "We just have to figure out why."

"No, we don't." Danny looked back at the body, his eyes unfocused. "It was political. Do you see the swelling here on the neck? No lacerations, and no bruising. Allergy, I suppose, or a poison that reacts similarly. No clawing at the neck or face, but heavy rope burns on the wrists and ankles. The cuts were sloppy, and from the bleeding, it was done after she had died. Maybe five, ten minutes after? The window wasn't fully closed when it was broken into, do you see how the glass fractured there at the top?"

Jim blinked, and Danny continued. "It doesn't fit the motive of a mad-man like the Joker to do this. Who you're looking for is a woman, younger than the victim, maybe around twenty or thirty?" His eyes unfocused again. "Hmmm." He snaps back, looking around. He stands, his hands shaking a little. He looks around, eyes landing on the shelf. He scans it, using gentle hands to lift the potted plant. He pulls out a camera, unplugging it. "A Direct Link- model E47C." He sets the camera in an evidence bag.

Batman gives a grunt- and if Jim isn't mistaken it was one of approval? Danny held the camera out to Jim. "That was some fine detective work today, kid." Jim sets his hand on Danny's shoulder. Danny glances off to the side nervously. He locks eyes with Batman. "Danny, this is Batman. Batman, this is Dr. Daniel Fenton, the newest detective on the force."

Batman holds a hand out. "I look forward to working with you." Danny pulls off one of the disposable gloves, reaching out to shake his hand. "You're shaking a little, are you alright?"

"Medical condition." Danny answers. "You're taller than I expected."

"It's the ears." Jim represses a smile. "You go ahead and get your deductions filed. I brought pasta." Jim watches Danny leave. He turns to Batman, who's staring him down with that signature I-know-everything™ face. "What?"

"When are you going to let him know that you're mentoring him?" He says it like a sentence, and was that amusement in his tone?

"I'm not." Jim turns to the window.

"You brought him pasta."

"He never learned to cook."

"So you're teaching him." There was definitely amusement in his tone now.

Jim huffed. "We're getting old." He finally sighs. "We both have full grown kids. Crime and corruption are still thick in this city." Batman is standing next to him with a swoosh in his cape. "Retirement... I could see myself with it. Sipping cocktails on the beach. A beach with sunshine and no broken down carnivals."

Batman is silent for a moment, as if considering this. "So you see Fenton taking your place?"

"Like you see your Robin." Jim admits.

[starry-bi-sky]

Stuck in the middle of a forest made of

Flesh and bones and they're all scared of

A lost little boy who has lost his heart

Fear's not enough, they have to

Tear him apart —-------

There are two things Daniel Fenton knows that his family knows as well: 

He’s adopted.

He can’t remember anything else before that.  

‘Adoption’ is a loose term, implying that they went through the official legal processes and troubles of adopting a child into their home willingly, and with the full intention of doing so going into it. That is not what happened. What happened is that Jasmine Fenton found a half-dead child, in strange clothing, in the middle of the woods at her Aunt Alicia’s cabin, and then she went and got her parents. 

What happened is that a twelve year old Danny woke up in the same cabin, wearing clothes much too big on him that didn’t belong to him, and with very little memory of before that moment. He wakes up like a spring being set loose, sitting up so fast he scares the daylights out of Jasmine Fenton sitting next to him. He wakes up, reaching for his sleeve for something that isn’t there, and when it isn’t his mind stutters, like he’s tripped at the top of a steep hill. 

When they ask him for his name, he tells them, clearing muddled thoughts from his mind; Danny. He’s twelve.

(He thinks that’s his name, at least. It sounds right; it feels right. If he thinks really hard about it, he thinks he can remember someone calling him that, utter adoration in their voice. So it must be his name.) 

The Jasmine girl convinces her parents to take him home with them, and they give him the spare guest room upstairs. He has nothing to fill it with.

It’s… a strange experience, to go to a ‘new’ home when he doesn’t even remember his old one. 

The official adoption process… happens. He can’t say it’s easy, or difficult. He’s oblivious for the most of it, Jasmine intends on helping him settle in and Danny can’t say he enjoys the smothering. He learns that he is stubbornly self-independent, that’s one new thing he knows about himself. 

His adoption papers say ‘Daniel J. Fenton’. Danny remembers staring at the name ‘Daniel’ for a long, long moment, something curdling sour in his sternum. His name is Danny, that he knows. But it’s not Daniel. But he doesn’t know any other way of saying it, so he keeps his complaints to himself.

(Jack Fenton boisterously claps his hand on Danny’s shoulder and jerks him around, grinning wide as he welcomes him into the Fenton Family. Danny’s mind blanches at the touch on his shoulder, an instinct snapping like the maw of a snake, telling him to cut off the man’s fingers for daring to touch him.) 

(He keeps the thought to himself, tension rising up his shoulders the longer Jack Fenton’s heavy hand stays on him.) 

They found Danny in the summer. It’s a perfect coincidence, Maddie Fenton says before she goes back into her lab with Jack Fenton. She says it’s enough time to allow Danny to adjust; that they’ll enroll him into the school year in the fall. Then she stuffs a canister of ectoplasm onto the top shelf, and disappears like the ghosts she studies back down the stairs.  

(There’s something eerily familiar about the ectoplasm sitting in the fridge, something unsettlingly so. Danny knows what that stuff is, but he doesn’t know where. When the house is empty, he takes a can from the fridge and inspects it.)

Jazz wants him to leave the house. Danny doesn’t want to step foot outside of the FentonWorks building until he has something that quells the feeling of vulnerability he gets whenever he does. He tried to once, and he felt exposed. Unsafe. 

He turned back around and went inside.

—-------

Where do we go

When the river's running slow

Where do we run

When the cats kill one by one

—------

One day, when the house is empty — or, as empty as it can be; the Fenton parents down in the lab, and jazz out with friends. Danny is making a sandwich, and he caves into the urge to flip the knife in his hands between his fingers. A childish impulse, but one he falls for nonetheless. It comes to him easily, like second nature, in fact. The slip of the blade between his fingers is seamless, flowing with an ease like water running down the wall.  

He’s almost startled by it; his body holds memories that his mind does not. Muscles that know which way to move and twist, limbs that know how to hold and how to throw. He continues twirling it, fascinated, as if he were a scientist discovering a new species of animal. 

It’s not for a handful of minutes when a new thought hits him; an impulsive thought that pops in the back of his mind like a firecracker; Danny moves without thinking. 

He turns, and throws the knife. The pull of his shoulder, the flick of his elbow, is familiar like a hug. He knows when to let go, and the blade flies through the air in impressive speed, embedding itself into the wall with a hearty, loud thunk. Sinking into the drywall like butter. 

Danny stares at it in shock, he feels relieved — about what? — before he feels the guilt. He scrambles across the kitchen to pull it out, heart racing in his chest at being caught, and prays no one notices the hole it left behind. 

(He runs up the stairs before anyone can find him, food forgotten, and hides the knife beneath his mattress like a guilty murder weapon.)

After that, he leaves the house more. It’s more out of fear of being caught than the desire to leave. But Danny is quickly learning that among all things, he is someone who was dangerous, before he lost his memory. Even with his mind in fractures, he is still dangerous. 

He’s not sure how to feel about that — he thinks he should be scared. He feels a little proud, instead.

—------

Hazel beneath our claws

While we wait for cerulean to cry

Unsettled ticks run through time

Enough for the hunt to go awry

—-----

There’s another thing he learns about himself. That he knows about since he woke up. He knows that he left someone behind. He doesn’t know who, but he knows they must have been close; he’s always looking down and finding himself surprised when the only shadow he sees is his own. 

He thinks that he must have sung to them a lot; he finds himself humming familiar melodies when he’s lost in thought. Lullabies lingering at the tip of his tongue, an instinct to turn and sing them to someone beside him. He can’t remember the lyrics, but his mouth does, it tries to get him to say them when he’s not thinking. He can’t. 

Danny’s found himself humming under his breath more times than he can count, trying to recall whatever it is his mind is trying to claw forward. 

(“That’s a pretty song, Danny.” Jazz tells him at breakfast one day, Danny screws his mouth shut. He hadn’t realized he was humming. “What is it?”) 

(Something mean and possessive rears its head on instinct, uncoiling like a snake from its ball. His shoulders hunch defensively, he bites his cheek to prevent himself from baring his teeth. He doesn’t know what song it is, but it’s not for her. “I don’t know.”)  

He misses his person. Dearly. He knows, the longer he is without them, that they must have been close. Otherwise, he wouldn’t feel like he’s missing a chunk from himself. He wouldn’t be turning to someone who's not there; reaching for a hand that’s missing, birdsong on his tongue, a story to tell. 

A dream haunts him one night. Warm and familiar, he’s holding onto someone smaller than him, they’re tucked into his side like a puzzle piece. He’s humming one of his songs that is always playing in the back of his mind, an unfinished tale of a harpy and a hare. Danny can’t remember their face, not all of it. He remembers green eyes, hair dark like his own, skin brown like his. 

He loves them more than anything else in the world, a fact he knows down to his soul. He loves them so much it fills his heart with sunlight. Danny squeezes them tight, nuzzling into their hair; he makes them laugh. Then, he proudly boasts something. That when he takes something of their father’s, that his person — a sibling? That feels right — will be… the word fades from Danny’s mind before he can make sense of it. 

His person hugs him tight, his… brother? And their mother — a woman whose face he can’t remember either, but who he loves like a limb nonetheless — appears, smiling. Her hands reach for them both, voice calling them, ‘her sons’. There’s ticking in the distance, it sounds like the fastening of chains.

Danny wakes up cold, tears streaming down his face. The details of the dream already fading from his mind like the cold pull of a corpse.   

—-------

Harpy hare

Where have you buried all your children?

Tell me so I say

—-------

When school starts that Fall, Danny joins the sixth grade class, and quickly learns more things about himself. One of those things being that he’s smarter than the rest of his grade, whatever education he had before, it was better than the one he’s getting now. 

Everyone knows he’s adopted right off the bat. He tells them when the teacher forces himself to introduce himself, but it’s not like they needed him to tell them for them to know; he never existed in their little world before now, and the Fentons are pale as they come. Danny is not.

He befriends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley; they ask him about the scars fading up and down his arms, they ask him about the scar carved diagonal across his face.

Danny, as politely as he can, tells them he doesn’t remember. He thought kindness would come second nature to him, his dream burned into his mind where he hugged his brother so sweetly. Apparently, his sweetness is only second nature to people he considers his own. 

(It becomes even more apparent when Dash Baxter tries to bully him later that day, and Danny ruffles like an eagle threatened. His mind whispers, hissy and agitated, sinking like a shadow at his shoulder, several different ways Danny could kill him for talking to him like that, and fifteen more ways he could cripple him.)

(Danny ignores those thoughts, up until Dash Baxter tries to grab him. Then he breaks his nose on the wood of his desk. It’s easy how quickly the rest of his grade sinks him down to the status of social pariah.)

(At least Sam and Tucker still talk to him after that. When Danny goes to the principal’s office later, he wisely doesn’t mention the worse things he could’ve done than break Dash Baxter’s nose.)  

—--------------

It clicks and it clatters in corners and borders

And they will never

Hear me here listen to croons and a calling

I'll tell them all the

Story, the sun, and the swallow, her sorrow

Singing me the tale of the Harpy and the Hare

—-------

More dreams come, of course they do. Each one halfway to forgotten whenever he wakes up, ticking faint in his ears. He is many different ages. He is young, shorter than a table. He is older, holding onto his little brother. He is singing in almost every single one. He is singing to his brother. 

Danny can barely remember the lyrics, he’s begun leaving a journal by his bedside so that it’s the first thing he can write down when he wakes up. He’s a storyteller, he learns. He feels like a historian, trying to piece together a culture long dead and forgotten. 

His most vivid dream-like memory is not a happy one, and for once he’s almost relieved he barely recalls it. He is somewhere that isn’t home, but his mother and brother are there. He is dressed in black, blades keen in his hands. 

They are atop a moving train. They are fleeing something. His brother is struggling to keep up, he is small, and young. It’s beautifully sunny, they are somewhere green and lovely. 

It is a fast dream. 

His brother stumbles on something, and Danny, fast as a whip, snatches him by the back of his shirt and hoists him up to his feet before he can fall. “Watch your feet, habibi.” He murmurs low, a hand on his back. It’s hard to hear, there is wind in their ears.

His brother, face obscured in all but his eyes, which are green as emeralds, nods. 

The dream blurs, but Danny falls behind. His foot catches on air — impossible, it should’ve been, at least. He never trips. — and he lands against the roof with a thud and a grunt. His mother and brother stop, and turn for him. 

The train hits a turn before Danny can get up, and he shouldn’t have, something pulls on him, he swears, but he slips. He can’t find the purchase to pull himself up, cold fear hits him as his nails scrape against the metal. 

His mother and brother’s horrified faces are the last thing he sees before he disappears off the side of the train. 

(The ticking is at its loudest when he wakes up, pounding against his inner skull. He only manages to write down ‘train fall’ in his journal, before he’s flipping over to press his head into his pillow to get the pain to stop.) 

—---  

She can't keep them all safe

They will die and be afraid

Mother, tell me so I say

(Mother, tell me so I say)

—-------

When Danny is fourteen he is still humming songs he can’t remember, his mind still in a broken puzzle. But his room is now decorated with stars and plants in every corner. He has a guitar he keeps in the corner of his room, and he plays the lullabies in his head on the strings over and over again. 

The ectoplasm in the fridge still unsettles him, still reminds him of a past he can’t recall. The knife beneath his mattress has returned to the kitchen — he doesn’t need it. He found a box in the attic last year, it had his name on it, and inside he found familiar, strange clothes, and more weapons than he thought was possible to carry on one person. 

(Even without knowing that the Fentons prefer guns to blades, Danny knows, instinctively, that they were his weapons. He was — was? Is — a dangerous person. He takes the box down to his room to sort through. The weapons all fit into his callused hands almost perfectly — the grooves worn to fit his palm. They’re just a little small.) 

(He tentatively takes a small blade with him to school one day, and feels much more comfortable with it sheathed beneath his shirt. He’s kept it on him ever since, like he’s reunited a lost limb to himself.)   

Danny doesn’t have a name for his person, his little brother, nor does he have a name for his beloved mother. He’s haunted by dreams every few weeks, many of them repeating. He’s ingrained the words he can remember to memory, and the ones he doesn’t, he writes down in his journal. His little brother; Danny calls him a bird, he can’t figure out what kind. His little bird of some kind; when Danny takes something from their father — what, he can’t remember what — then his little brother will be a little bird. 

(He doesn’t have a name for his brother, yet, but he’s calling his birdie in his head. It’s better than nothing.)

—------

Seeker, do you ever come to wonder

If what you're looking for is within where you hold

Will you leave a trail for them to follow a path

You'll soon forget

Home

—---------

When he’s fourteen, Danny dies. It does nothing to fix his fractured memories, much to his consternation. It just confirms something he already knows; that he was someone dangerous, and that he still is. 

When the shock of death has worn off, Danny inspects his ghost in the metal reflection of the closest table. It’s blurry, hard to see, but shock green eyes pierce back at him, green like the portal. Lazarus, Danny’s mind whispers, and he blinks rapidly.

‘Lazarus,’ he mouths to himself. It’s familiar. Sam shows him with her phone what he looks like, joking that he looks like an assassin. Danny doesn’t think she’s that too far off. 

He doesn’t tell her that. He tucks the thought away with the rest of his secrets, and fiddles with the hood gathering at his neck, attached to a cape with torn edges swinging down to his ankles. He pulls it over his shock white hair. It shadows over his face impossibly so, until all you can see are his green-green eyes peering out like a wolf hiding in the brush.

He ends up calling himself Phantom. 

(Maybe now he can start putting lyrics to his lullabies; his memories may not have returned, locked away with the sound of a clock, but the dead can talk. One of them may just have answers.) 

----------

Home is where we are

Home is where you are

Home is where I am

-----------------

Dedicated to @gascansposts for being the one who introduced me to the band Yaelokre, and thus being the whole reason I was inspired to write this in the first place >:] Those lyrics at the line breaks are all from their album Hayfields.

[braisedhoney]

looks are deceiving.

back in the day i would have given anything for these two to fight. they’re already kind of dead, so it’s fiiine they're fiiiine.

[ghoulisheous]

Bruce Wayne runs into a ghost boy in Gotham. He does what he does best and immediately starts investigating, as best as he can without the suit and without raising suspicion about the Wayne family. Ergo, Brucie Wayne tries to keep the conversation flowing without making it seem like an interrogation. Which is.. granted it's a little hard explain why some rich guy is invested in the afterlife of a ghost. But there's hope that it could be swept under the rug as billionaire eccenticities. And the teen definitely isn't suspicious he's Batman.

Danny is suspicious about why this rich bastard is interested in him. Why another rich bastard is interested in him. But all the man's questions seemed more or less harmless. Until Danny let slip how he protected his town and the man asked who he was working with. Apparently the answer he was looking for was more "adult hero mentoring you" and less "more teenagers." He was.. not happy

Queue the line "You're not my dad."

And.. suddenly Bruce thinks he might be in some very familiar trouble. He swears he never goes out of his way looking for this. But his other kids are going to have a thing or two to say anyway

Or, Danny's suspicions turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy and Batman's adoption instincts kick in. The Brucie Wayne persona is just a hair too disarming. They both have regrets

Self-fulfilling prophecies are a bitch

I really just wanted the line "You're not my dad" and that just being.. an immediate trigger phrase. Bruce is instantly just like "Wanna bet?"

He might as well be a sleeper agent.

[fangirlforeversthings]

Qui gon would've been so proud to see his once so impulsive and feisty padawan a menace to his nerves, becoming the orders greatest pride.

Their most reliable jedi and litteral incarnation of the ultimate jedi. One of the most wise and powerful masters in the entire order at his time and a member of the high council, a victorious war hero and General. Respected and admired, someone the other knights and younglings go to for advice, to hear all his teachings, practics and advices from his experiences, the other masters seeking his opinion on important matters from time to time. The very first jedi to kill a sith in 1000 years. Yes the pure source of the light side of the force itself.

[hewinked]

I like the idea that Danny and Dani aren't just father daughter and brother sister, separately or together, because its complicated but also because

like okay

an ancient and city spirit is how people think of them right?

and I always default to ancient in the making Danny and also i love amity spirit danny

but because so many people in amity perceive Danny and Dani as both brother and sister and also father daughter because they dont actually know much about dani

I just love the idea that Dani is Danny's daughter and little sister at the same time because people think she is

and Danny is her brother and her father at the same time because people in amity think she is

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

THE BEST OF PRIORITY: THE CITADEL (PART 1)

Featuring: Cmdr. Sophie Shepard, Lt. James Vega, EDI, and Thane Krios With: Flight Lt. Jeff "Joker" Moreau, Councilor Rannadril Bibsos Tembin Lesti Bensin Valern, Cmdr. Armando-Owen Bailey, and Kai Leng Kalahira, this one's heart is pure, but beset by wickedness and contention. Guide this one to where the traveler never tires, the lover never leaves, the hungry never starve. Guide this one, Kalahira, and she will be a companion to you as she was to me. Mass Effect 3: Legendary Edition (2021)

[infifi3]

ALSO im not too familiar w the latter half of forces english translation so idk if its similar r not but its SO wild how badly their implying that eggman straight up like. MADE made infinite in the english localization ver?????? to me like. ???????????????????? its so fascinating.

[mouse-fantoms]

I saw this picture right,

Hear me out:

[phantom-does-a-thing]

I’ve seen you a few times doubt yourself and your writing, but I genuinely think you are an iconic figure within the JRWI fic community for the sheer amount of work you’ve done and I really love all of your fics. I know some random user on the internet’s opinion probably isn’t enough to get rid of those negative feelings but I hope you know that your writing is loved and appreciated by many.

WAHHHH THESE WERENT SUPPOSED TO BE SO EMOTIONAL WHAT?? ? WHAT HAPPENED TO LIKE "U SMELL BAD" OR SOMETHIG ???? /lh /silly bawling my silly little eyes out thank you I am face down on the floor rn weuEueueueEUeueue

[kotaka-kun]

200 words a day for the month of May - day 3

200 more words of a (slowburn?) Erik/Christine teacher au bc i have Feelings about it

Did Christine flip through the staff roster with more enthusiasm than necessary? Of course. Though she tried to give the pretense of looking over all the names of her colleagues with equal interest, there was only one name she was looking for.

His name and (new) room number in mind, she headed there during her lunch break, but her heart sank when she saw that the door to his classroom was closed. There went her plans for casually strolling by and just so happening to notice him.

Before she could lose her nerve though, she decided to knock. That was a normal, colleague thing to do.

"Mr. Carriere?"

Addressing a colleague in the same way their students would was probably less normal.

"My name is Christine. I'm one of the new teachers this year, and I- I just wanted to properly introduce myself."

Silence stretched out before her, no sound of movement coming from the other side of the door.

She was starting to think that he might not even be in his room -- that she was talking to an empty room -- when the door swung open. And there he stood, just as tall and imposing as she remembered him.

[mohabertalan]

Weird things happen in Amity Park.

Strange disappearances, doors that lead to nowhere, faint sounds in the night. And the ghosts. Can't forget about the ghosts.

Who could?

It started barely a year ago during the end of summer. Things seemed normal, until...

Something shifted. Like the entire planet went off axis, begun to spin faster, like gravity failed for a second. Things changed. For better or for worse, no one could tell yet. But the change was felt.

People stopped and stared up at the sky, swearing it was purple for a few minutes. It wasn't sunrise, nor sunset. It was noon. And the sky looked purple, like a deep bruise.

A deep chill sent shivers down the spine of those who noticed. Something was off. Several things were off. It was as if the wind picked up the scent of the dead and carried it to every door, barging into the homes and not letting anyone ignore it.

A faint scream echoed around town, like someone got torn open, like the very fabric of reality got torn open. A gaping wound, a deadly scream of someone... or something.

The shadows grew larger, and horror lurked around every corner whether it be an alley or just a bedroom.

Everything shifted. And death could be felt...

It started slowly. One thing at a time, so people could get used to it. Weird weather patterns, changing colours and tones, wind picking up, cold spots, knocking, noises no one could explain.

Then small blobs of green in your peripheral vision. Black spots, green, purple, blue. Tiny, miniscule orbs in your camera feed. Audio cutting out, TV only airing static, children and animals staring into the corner of the room. The ceiling. The basement. Right behind you.

The first ghosts were barely noticeable. Octopus-like creatures, tentacles, vivid glowing eyes, and always shifting green form. They were everywhere and nowhere, kind of like mist or fog. Like you lit something on fire and the smoke surrounded you. Even when you put the fire out, the smoke remains. Its smell is in your nose. It's already gone, yet still there.

Then things escalated. It was barely September, only a few weeks into the school year when the first "real ghost" appeared. The Lunch Lady or so they called her. Some swore she was real, others just waved a hand.

"You are just imagining things," they would say.

But you weren't imagining things. No one was. And the existence of ghosts soon couldn't be denied any longer.

Inviso-Bill, Danny Phantom, Public Enemy #1, ghost boy, or whatever you wished to call him soon became a really well-known apparition for everyone. It couldn't be ignored any longer.

He was just a child. Barely a teenager if you payed closer attention, with the way he acted and looked. He died so young. You didn't like to think about things like that, but nowadays it was unavoidable. Death lurked everywhere. It came for all, the old, the sick, the innocent, the young. No one was spared. But now you knew what came after.

Public opinion slowly shifted and people began to ignore the signs that something was wrong with the town they lived in. Strange noises during the night? Don't worry, just the house settling. If it was a ghost we would know. The Fentons would know. Phantom would know.

You would know. You got used to it after all.

Weird things happen in Amity Park.

The sky turns purple, the shadows grow larger and sneering can be heard from behind you. A chill runs up your spine as you feel invisible fingers grabbing your arm. You aren't even surprised anymore.

Those who couldn't bear the changes vanished. No one is sure what happened to them. Maybe they ran away from the town while they could, maybe the Ghost Zone ate them up, maybe they got lost in the cracks of reality.

You stay.

After all, you got used to it. Or maybe, while the town changed, you changed along with it.

[disaster-catalyst]

I need more "people of amity park goes into danny's mind, learn his trauma, and change their treatment towards him" fics

I've already read one and it's so good that I just can't help but want more!! I eat these kinds of fics up!! (someone give me the tags or recommend something similar so I can read more)

fic by the way is "Cinema Horrors" by pandaluna on ao3 and I really recommend reading it

[waywardly-we-go]

The thing that I think has me just head over heels in love with Cyberpunk 2077, speaking as someone halfway (?) through Phantom Liberty and rediscovering what made me fall in love, is the absolutely immaculate vibes.

Tone, themes, and feel are paramount in this game, and it's so fucking good and satisfying. I want more stories told to me this way, especially video game stories.