Disclaimer that this is a side blog because if I have any connection to my "real" tumblr self where my friends can see me I will explode. This will mostly be a DP blog but you've been warned that I'm into other things
Hey - call your reps ASAP about invoking the 25th amendment to remove Trump from office due to incompetency. We called today and within 30 minutes one of our state reps made a public statement in support of it.
Welcome back! For those new, Dannymay is a month-long calendar event dedicated to Danny Phantom. Each day of the month will have a unique th
We’re back for another year! The 2026 poll is now open, so it’s time to get creative and submit your prompt ideas for this year’s Dannymay. The poll will close at the end of day Tuesday, April 14th, and the official calendar will be posted on Saturday, April 18th.
For those who don’t know, Dannymay is a spin-off from the longstanding Phanniemay prompt challenge where artists, writers, and creatives alike challenge themselves to complete as many prompts in May as they can. Whether you just complete one day or the whole calendar, that is up to you!
This year we will only be accepting general prompts, but feel free to make whatever art, fanfiction, music, or more you’d like involving your favorite AUs and headcanons!
Like usual, we will NOT be repeating prompts from the most recent Dannymay Calendar. You can find the Dannymay 2025 calendar here for reference
(phight attack to @camels-pen, ringing in at 2.5k for "Danny and Valerie reluctantly team up for their biggest challenge yet: grooming Cujo.")
Valerie wanted to strangle someone.
It wasn't enough that Phantoms dog (that he still didn't claim) was running around town, no.
This time it had fleas. And was giving people fleas, because it had fleas.
Not just any fleas, of course not. Ghost fleas, treatable with a special ghost-only brand. Choose unknown side-effects, or have fleas. Fleas from Phantom's dog.
She would solve it herself; a lot of animal ghosts were 'solved' with violence, the result a pile of ecto-goo that nobody would bother to identify.
But firstly in the list of problems, the dog was crazy strong for no discernible reason.
It was faster than her board, and god forbid she decide she's brave enough to put a hand on it even if she got close. Just because her suit made her immune to picking the fleas up herself didn't make her immune to an already irritated dog turning to snap at her.
Shooting from afar not only did nothing, it was worse than nothing; property damage was not acceptable.
It tied into reason number two fairly deeply; Her public image.
If she were to say it aloud it would drip with the hate it deserved, which didn't make it go away.
Some of it mapped to reason, straight laced bullet points that were hard to deny; top being that if she destroyed as much as the ghosts did, she wasn't really better than them after all.
What wasn't reason was the popularity contest, the stoking of the crowd Phantom reveled in. Red huntress wasn't friendly, hadn't began that way and it was weird to pivot now, so while crowbaring in kindness and a wink was on the to-do list it hardly helped with Phantom's fan clubs going after her.
Another one, though, was how god forbid something as innocent and untainted as a dog be on the ass-kicking end of a gun.
Even in a hypothetical where she didn't have very good reasons to hate Phantom and his dog, she wasn't getting the moral fuss. But it was Phantom's dog, and a dog in one fell blow. So it being a presently active danger to the town was seemingly second to the hearts of the people, who were getting fleas.
Violence was off the table, in the end. Shooting it hadn't worked before anyways.
So she had a stupid plan, and Phantom was going to walk into her lap about it because he was desperate too. Because Phantom's dog was incidentally an image problem for Phantom.
The plan starts smooth, and then she doesn't actually have a plan. But ignoring things like that has worked out so far, right?
Phantom blows through town carrying baskets with bottles of anti-flea soap, and Valerie represses a shudder. They're going to be hearing about side effects- real or not- for months.
He turns a corner she knew he'd have to go on, because there's a response group waiting for him down that way that have politely conceded this is better than nothing and otherwise working.
Valerie is there with her gun.
"Truce?" She asks, almost getting the innocent tone down.
"That'd be a bit more believable without the gun." Phantom replied thinly, soaps sitting in the basket. Menacingly.
"You're just as bad about fighting as any other ghost. Insurance."
A frown finally found it's way on his face, though not an angry or frustrated one.
"I'm kind of busy here, Red."
He moved to dart past, but the gun loudly charging convinced him it was a bad idea.
"You wouldn't in town." He said, like he was flatly informing her of this.
He was, but she didn't have to admit it.
"You'll have to bet on that."
"Look, neither of us have time. I'd flea, but we've got enough of those around here right now. What's your problem?"
"Truce is the whole offer; we need to solve your dog, but for some reason it's immune to violence."
"And you wonder why he hates you-"
"And if it's immune to violence but still giving people fleas, I'm fresh out of ideas."
Phantom briefly looked mad, but Valerie didn't care much.
"You also need to fix this. It's public knowledge that it is your dog. Eventually, the immunity to violence will be less of a social bind and more of a question as to what the Fentons are willing to see works."
Phantoms expression carefully smoothed out, but not before a brief pinch.
"Okay, red-hot shot, but what do you suggest I do here?"
Valerie must have stayed silent just a liiiitle too long, because Phantom clamped down on the weak point of the plan.
"Unless you're expecting me to be the ideas guy?"
"I'm out of them. You?" She admitted, keeping the gun aimed.
"Look, the bottom line is that he needs a flea and tick bath. I can't even slow him down normally to get him into a bath, and whenever I'm not handing out soap- very expensive soap by the way- I'm trying anyways. I don't exactly have a garden hose of pet soap to chase him with, though, so you can see my results."
Phantom was pointedly looking past her, off to monumentally loud crashing noises that she was sure was the dog in motion again.
"We need to hose him down, basically?" She pressed.
"Don't forget the bath part of this. I can't even manage that when he's not busy trying to bite me from flea incurred wrath, and we do need to get all of him."
"Okay." She replied, thinking.
"Okay?"
And yeah, just okay. She wasn't sure yet either.
"Go drop your soaps off, and give me five minutes about this."
Phantom rolled his eyes, obeying anyways.
~
Danny wasn't going to look a gift-hunter in the mouth about it, but he did wish that Valerie would be more polite about the situation.
They'd been there and done that with working together, so why was it hard now?
He'd be lying if he insisted on not having any clue though; Cujo was sort of hard to miss.
He'd handed off the soap, went back to Valerie, and they ended up on a rooftop groaning over dumb plans that should've worked when Danny did them the first time.
But Valerie could do some things he couldn't, which was going to be the best answer they had.
"How do you feel about raiding the FentonWork's basement?" He'd finally asked.
Valerie hadn't liked that, but couldn't deny that he made a compelling case for his plan.
The real problem was that he couldn't believe he was actually baiting his parents into doing work.
"Hey dad, do you think making the Ghost Catcher bigger could get that dog ghost? Or like, what if you could adjust it? Pull the sides out and it'd maintain shape, or even have the net stretch a bit when it's like that so it wont shatter the frame?"
Plying his dad was essential, because his mom would insist on moderation and oversight. And he kind of needed it done overnight.
If he had a week for his mom to do it, he'd let her. But Valerie only delayed to the next day because she also needed to sleep.
Step two was getting the Fenton Hose off the side of the house and hiding it in his room. It was very essential that the Fenton Hose was what he got, because it had its own pressure system and intake for attaching fluids that weren't water. Such as Fenton Anti Ghost Liquid Lawn Fertilizer.
It was very simple to get, right after he destroyed a Fenton Surveillance Camera for the third time in the month.
The Fenton Creep Stick was very useful for that, thankfully.
Step three was hoping he had enough pet soap. He really hoped he had enough pet soap.
Step four was unlocking the front door in the morning, after a (false) ghost call took his parents away from the basement, and letting Valerie in with her hunter get-up and all.
"How did you get in here already? I was expecting Danny to just let both of us in."
Danny did his best to give a lopsided grin while ignoring that she definitely meant Fenton.
"Trade secret."
The plan was almost insultingly simple from that point on. Valerie would take the improved Ghost Catcher and set it up in the park so Danny could corral Cujo into getting snared.
He'd been pressed about better options, only to have to inform her that the grappler had never worked on something meaner than a ghost-squirrel. The Jack-O-Nines was off the table to the point he didn't even bring its existence up.
He allowed himself the one faint grimace as he floated from above, waiting for Valerie's signalling gunshot. He idly put another bottle of soap through the F-hose's funnel while trying to map out how to get Cujo from his current point A to the park with no destruction.
Cujo looked properly miserable, everything on him within scratching reach split open and raw. One of the wounds was still dripping, even.
The gunshot went up, the chance to point it at him thankfully not capitalized on.
It didn't take long for Danny to be a bit behind Cujo, the park in the direct path of the direction this would scare Cujo off into.
"Here boy!" He called cheerfully.
Cujo seemed cheered up for one quarter of a second, looking over at Danny with a wagging tail.
But his eyes locked onto the hose, which Danny had known long before this that was not going to pass Cujo inspection.
Cujo bolted, and for about a block it was in the correct direction.
Then Valerie revealed that she thought waiting was for losers, or something, and Cujo adjusted course immediately.
"What are you doing!?" He shouted to the wind. "He's off course now because he doesn't like you!"
"I don't like him either! And I don't trust you!"
"Stop moving him left, start moving him right!"
"This IS right!"
"THE OTHER RIGHT!"
Danny wished he'd just lied to Valerie by turning around and getting Sam and Tucker in on this instead, but they were both on strict no-contacts with his Phantom half because if he got fleas then they'd get fleas.
Cujo was now, instead of going through a set of office buildings, going through some houses. Danny grimaced and turned the mist hose setting on for the path of destruction, watching as the soap exploded every errant flee into goo.
"THAT'S what that shit does?! What the fuck!?" Valerie screeched as she tried cutting in front of Danny while Cujo finally banked right hard enough for her to gain ground.
"Get the hell out of the way!!" He barked back.
Valerie seemed so shaken by the break in his non-swear rule that she almost ran into a pole.
"Violent ass soap!"
"Like you'd be kinder to fleas!"
Cujo, finally somewhat course corrected, was still clipping houses mostly. And a fair amount of cars. And everything else too.
"You're constantly acting like any animal-"
"I am NOT going to sing kumbaya with fleas! I have some standards about animals!"
Even Sam had some standards about it, fleas too great of an evil to refuse to kill.
Cujo, of course, course corrected too right left shortly after Danny was confident they were on track again.
It went on like that for some time, being a dangerous strain on his soap reservoir.
But finally, finally, they were in the park. Valerie had the button to make the net turn on.
It was already too late, but Danny could out fly Cujo any day of the week. Just not stop Cujo.
Danny was on the other side of Cujo before the dog knew it, Cujo grinding to a halt to turn tail and go back to where the net was set up.
With a concerning loud hum, it flicked on. With a concerning snap, it stretched and closed around Cujo.
Valerie at least knew her job on this part, the kiddie pool they'd stolen being rapidly shoved towards Cujo.
Usually unluckily, Cujo was pretty bright. Luckily right now, Cujo was bright enough to know that most nets for big creatures sucked for small creatures, so going small would help, right?
Wrong. The net entangled tighter, metal sides now the heaviest thing Danny had to risk grabbing.
Danny ignored the way his finger-tips split from each-other as he lifted. He'd be fine.
Into the kiddie pool, Cujo figured out that his brilliant plan didn't pan out. The net forced Cujo into a position that hurt to look at as he grew, but thankfully spread limbs out far enough that Danny was confident he would hit most of him.
"Bath time!" He chirped, pointing the hose. Cujo roared in response, Danny's core and heart vibrating against his insides.
Valerie lifted her (equally stolen) massive sponge as the hose turned on, the plastic tub already groaning underneath Cujo and now forced to take fluids.
The tub didn't last long, but it honestly hadn't been expected to. It was a last second toss in for an attempt at controlling the risks of the plan.
Valerie had to get to work without the container in the meantime, the occasional dribbling spritz and whatever was pooled on the remaining plastic having to do.
Fleas burst throughout the whole ordeal, Danny also not safe from the blast radius. Valerie was definitely getting the worst of it though, coated head to toe in green-gel.
Danny was, notably, out of soap well before Valerie was done scrubbing with the sponge through the net. The lather carried them, and hard, as the bursts slowed.
Slower and slower, until there were none.
"Okay, now he's gonna flip no matter what we do, you know that right?" Danny warned.
"Shut up and let your mutt free, if its so fucking important."
"Hit the off button on the side."
The metal clanged to the ground, and Cujo was gone in an instant. Danny had honestly expected more high octane violence as a response.
Valerie examined the wake of destruction, mostly in the form of exploded flea goo, and finally caught a look at herself.
"Lets get hosed down. I think we can parlay for that long." She pleaded, clearly exahsted by the very idea of trying to scrape the gunk off.
Danny solved this by very carefully phasing the funnel end of the hose into a fire hydrant. Danny no longer wanted to know the pressure rating on the machinery as he pointed and shot the water, blasting goo off into the street as the gears hummed ominously.
"Why is my suit green, Phantom?" Valerie asked dully, dripping as he turned the hose off.
"Oh, it's uh.... You're gonna be green down to skin, for a while, I guess? I didn't think your suit counted as-"
Danny did not get to finish that, the gun expanding out instantly.
Danny was forced to abandon the hose where it was, and honestly he was just glad everything got done. He could freak out about distributing more soap later so nothing could spread further, though thankfully actual animals were a bad host for ghost fleas. Just humans and actual ghosts to track, which was much easier.
And Cujo was almost certain to stay away for the next week, if not longer, so plenty of time to mop everything up. Everything was coming up Danny!
(Happy phic phight @charcoalhawk. "For years after he escaped Vlad’s dreams were filled with white white white" at 509 words)
White, white, white.
White hospital walls, white sheets, white coats.
He is blissfully awakened by a screaming alarm before his own mind can elaborate on the dream
~
White, white, white.
Bloodless nails, bloodless skin, the whites of eyes staring at him. He can't quite make eye contact.
They'd like another blood test.
Vlad wakes up screaming.
~
He's back to white, white, white.
He doesn't know how he went from A to B, to his company back to white.
"You passed out in a crowd." A doctor says gently. Vlad is restrained, despite burning every medical file that marked him as violent.
The dream ends with Vlad's hands around the doctors throat. Even past his heaving breath, he wonders which doctor his mind brought up. The face was too indistict to put a name to, and he can't quite recall the voice.
Maybe it was all of them at once, a tormenting medley of liars.
~
White hospital, white sheets, white coats.
There are no visitors today.
~
White teeth, white bone, white tile overtaken.
The dream folds beneath him like clay, the pieces of the doctor indistinct as he takes just a little too long to wake up.
The doctor hadn't shredded like a real person, even. Just more clay.
~
White papers, white backing to the clock, white pencils.
Vlad thought that part was freakishly far, even. Who buys white pencils as opposed to school yellow? Why bother?
"We just want to help. You're clearly distressed."
"Let me out, then."
It ends the same.
~
There's only so many things that can be white before it all repeats. Day after day after day.
There are no visitors.
Vlad is Aware. Vlad is not looking around the room, because he doesn't want to see it. Any of it. Years out from escaping, and a piece of him is still there.
Before cameras, live-feeds noting everything dangerous he could do, duplication and possession had granted him more than he could ever articulate.
~~
He's that idiot psychiatrist again, and lost again in white hallways. He's dimly aware that the duplicate is slumped over listlessly, not that it matters. Not that it ever matters when it's himself.
One hundred thousand doctors walking past one hundred thousand white doors.
One hundred thousand doors holding one hundred thousand patients, labeled with white name plates.
He doesn't have the stomach to look into the rooms, but the names. The names, the names, the names.
He can't find his own. He's not sure he's important enough to have a plate, after the years spent here.
~~
Vlad always wakes up. He will always wake up.
Maybe some day he'll just stop sleeping at all though. White dreams kept bleaching his dark sheets, his dark room, his dark life.
Maybe some day he'll stop dreaming at all.
~~
One hundred thousand white granite graves for his freedom. It's not like unlocking his door as the psychiatrist and running out screaming had helped.
One hundred thousand medical pages in a roaring fire, hot enough to see flickers of white.
(phic phight fill for @lexiepiper at 1024 words for "Someone other than Danny experiences body horror.(Bonus points if Danny tries to help them, but it doesn't go to plan.) Enjoy 🎉)
Undergrowth had finally found her again- his little plant, a cutting off of humanity. Few other things were worth saving like this one was.
Undergrowth hadn't treated this one especially well, so focused on getting a takeover complete that the process had been put off.
Even with that plan fallen through, Undergrowth would see the mistake rectified.
The greenhouse overseeing this seed had whispered to him, spoken well and true. Plants from wall to wall speaking of care. They were glad to see their mother ascend.
Inside the lifeless house, Undergrowth picked the cutting.
Horrible place for a plant, decorated like poison.
A wave of his hand saw the whole thing overtaken with new children. Reckless, perhaps. The dreadful little icicle was still around somewhere, afterall.
But it didn't matter, really, because Undergrowth was gone before even the greenhouse plants could speak to the improvement.
The cuttings non-resistance to sleeping spores would have to be corrected, but the effect alone was enough for now.
Few humans seemed to appreciate the work that cultivation was, to the point even loyal cuttings seemed fearful. It would be easier to start with her mind dulled than not.
First she was laid flat, the grass beneath her form reaching to restrain in case the dose hadn't been enough.
Flowers bloomed around her, and soon roots propagated atop the skin.
Doleful eyes opened, uncomprehending. The grass tightened in response.
The roots found their weak point, piercing the skin in one swift motion.
She did not scream, though whether it was stalwart determination or the spores lingering was beyond Undergrowth's interest. She simply lay, an open mouth wound frozen with more spreading roots. The entry point would make it even easier.
Each and every flower bloomed, widening faster than any mortal plant. There were many kinds atop, all important, all waiting.
Undergrowth was large enough to be the flower's wind, a hand swiped well over shaking everything below to its core.
The fuzz of pollen puffed out, trailing after the vacuum from his hand.
With a swipe in the other direction, and a little bit of will, the flowers pollinated themselves.
Undergrowth couldn't see the cutting beneath the blooms now, petals pointing back towards stems.
These would not be any seeds though.
Petals fused to stems, single pods rapidly forming.
Rapidly bursting.
Undergrowth was now impressed she wasn't screaming, even with the roots likely entangled in lungs.
The nectar was a slow acid though, a pioneer for the next plant.
The roots matted fervently as she writhed, uselessly straining against her fate.
Along each root, now forming bark like branches as the mat grounded itself, were sprouting twigs.
Undergrowth let them carry on. Meddling in what she became was not the point; far from it.
Carrying on would take weeks at least, possibly years. Undergrowth had never seen decades, but the possibility was there.
The island they were on, one of Undergrowth's own carefully curated spots, continued on its endless path through the zone. Undergrowth closed its eyes, and slept, for waiting on this to be done right was going to be the most important part.
Undergrowth couldn't put a finger on how long it was before the little icicle found the island finally, naps coming up and down as things developed, but it was definitely a while.
Undergrowth was, by all means, camouflaged in the jungle he had placed around his new seed. The icicle likely knew he was there somewhere, but clearly hadn't noticed Undergrowth attached to the landscape.
"Saaaaam." It whined, looking around like calling her old name would help.
It correctly identified the bush as strange, larger than a human house would be.
The skins of the fruits were frosted, but the icicle's held ecto-light to one showed the outline of a body.
Undergrowth didn't wait for it's plan, plucking it by the collar.
Ice resistant vines wrapped around it even as it glowed an ominous blue, and by the time it released the power the vines had their hold complete.
"What are you doing to her?" It hissed, accusatory.
"Seeds need to have the human bits removed. A sap from pods to dissolve, the original root mats to transfer, and my managing to make sure the spirit is whisked through the branches."
The blue overpowered Undergrowth's vines, and several branches were victims to ecto blasts.
The fruits weren't stable constructs though, not without their attachment to the stem. On the branches' deaths, the skins ripped open. Even with the fruits quick crash to the ground, the bodies dropped faster.
For the price of two branches, there were three. One who's hair had modified to petals, their soft purple color truthfully rather pleasing. One who's body was more bark than skin, pricks of green leaves showing through this early being somewhat miraculous. And one that might have looked almost normal at first, but if the icicle had inspected would see the thorns for teeth.
It threw up, which was honestly just sad.
Undergrowth had it by the collar again in short order, giving it a knowing tsk-tsk.
"Now now, while only one fruit will see picking, it'll hardly help her to kill all her possible iterations."
"I-I'll! Do-"
"Something, I'm sure, but very little that won't kill her for good. Is this your intent?"
It stammered, and ran once Undergrowth lost grip on its suit. Undergrowth noticed later it took the thorn-teeth corpse with it, which wasn't of relevance.
The body's exit from the island would ensure it never woke, slowly decaying beneath the icicle's nose.
Undergrowth carefully scooped up the two abandoned bodies, humming to himself.
The petal-haired one opened its eyes, uncomprehending. Undergrowth was sure the psychic bond to the rest hadn't actually broken, meaning whichever iteration he chose would certainly remember this mistake.
Regardless, neither were ready yet. The bark body of the other was already going grey, clearly too unstable to make an emergency pick.
Undergrowth squished both in his hand, and laid the pulp to the roots of the bush.
There would be plenty of others to pick from, despite the misfortune. His seed just needed some more time to mature.
(Phic fill for Phight to one @haloburns ringing in at 1618. Hope you enjoy!)
Vlad was nothing if not professional for the first few days.
This is your room, these are your things. Vlad would buy new things eventually, but here it all is. This is the dinning table and this is the kitchen; burning things down was not allowed.
Dan pretended he didn't see The Dairy King hiding away in the back, like an introduction would be dangerous.
It might've been, to be fair.
Dan knew it better than Vlad though; Vlad was absolutely positively not prepared to handle a guest for longer than three days, let alone effectively adopt a child.
Why exactly it took Dan so long to remember that was a very good question, a question that he himself didn't have answers for. It was a fast lesson in the meantime, Vlad forgetting that Dan existed some time after seven pm. The Dairy King watched in lieu of a real adult, and Dan decided to pick a fight about Vlad forgetting him.
It went over like rain on chickens with their coop door still open. Distressing certainly, but something of a joke. Vlad shuttered his emotions too fast to get to the good parts.
Vlad was annoying like that. Dan remembered that too, now. Meetings, so many meetings, where the best answer was to stonewall the fools before him.
Day four Vlad got sick of trying to gently wheedle Dan into having opinions and tossed a credit card at him.
A shiny thousand dollar limit, for him to toy with in order to "decorate his space as he pleased".
It pissed Dan off, he was pretty sure.
He didn't quite want to admit why, though.
He could remember Vlad's side; Sometimes money was the only answer that mattered. Vlad had probably caught on that Dan didn't want a hugs and kisses redemption, which left Vlad with few options.
He remembered being Danny too. Enough to remember the temptation of money, and how it was gross. A blatant bribe to shut the fudge up and fall in line.
"What's eating you?" Dairy King finally asked, trying to seem casual as he stuck his head in through the wall.
Dan didn't start even though he was surprised; Letting the enemy know they got you could be lethal.
"The dumb thing is that I don't know either." Dan lied.
Dan shifted the card in the light as he spoke, the strip shining brighter than it had any right to.
"I figure that you don't like being bribed." Dairy King observed, awfully bold.
Dan gave it a long pause, considering.
"Yeah, that'd track." He admitted, setting the card down.
"You know, Vlad's not guarding the fridge. And it's still early, so if you didn't know that rocky road was all his..." Dairy King suggested innocently.
The fridge raid and Vlad's rage was much better than the card, and Dan remembered why Vlad generally tolerated Dairy King.
Days later though, the novelty had worn off. Dan wasn't sure if Vlad was tracking the card, but Vlad was almost certainly tracking the mail. Vlad was almost definitely going to put together than Dan hadn't spent a dime, in fairly short order.
Dan didn't want to talk about it, but the only place to not get cornered about it was going to be away.
Dan didn't even bring the card, just stole cash from Vlad's wallet.
It was easier, somehow.
He didn't know what to do.
Suddenly, all around him were buildings he'd done his best to destroy like they never were.
There was that shop he'd hated, with the brat inheritor. She wasn't in charge yet.
There was that one restaurant he, Sam, and Tucker had always gone to on the rare occasion The Nasty Burger wasn't on the table. He hadn't even remembered the name until he saw it again, but he knew the taste of the chicken strips all the same.
There was the school, there was his house, there was his basement.
Dan was gone before Danny could catch him, before Danny could yell at a previously crazed man for having nostalgia.
He was alone at the park eventually.
He sat on the swings like Danny always had, gently moving back and forth.
Vlad had been a swings kid too, but his old friends had always like to load everyone up onto the playground carousel and see if they could launch anyone off.
They hadn't been allowed to do it anymore after someone's older brother had gotten a motor bike and a rope.
In retrospect, he knew why it'd been banned, but it'd been fun.
And it hadn't been Dan banned from doing it, hadn't been the one launched off to minor road rash.
Dan was sure both he and Vlad would go back and do it again. Just the once.
Dan continued to sit on the swings.
Dan sat on the swings the next day too.
And the third.
Vlad corned him once he was back on the third, clearly trying to be charming and relaxed.
Why oh why wasn't Dan showing for family dinner? And truly why bother to steal from Vlad when Dan hadn't even touched the card? How immature.
Dan stonewalled him back, right up until Vlad's demeanor cracked.
"You are just like her sometimes. Mad as you can be, and clear as day but no, you're fine."
Dan was already seeing red. Dairy King vanished from sight, more emotionally in tune with the room than Vlad was.
"Like who?"
Despite the strength he wanted, despite the absolute wrath of already knowing, his voice was whispery and cracked. He was pre-stained with something deeper than hate.
"Your mother."
"Danny's, or yours? I'm a fusion, Vlad."
Vlad realized his error too late, and then committed to the wrong answer.
"You are like Maddie in ways that-"
Vlad was promptly eating lasers.
The ruined dinning room and kitchen didn't make Dan feel better about the ordeal. Just rubbed it in that he caved to anger again.
Crowing over the win wouldn't help either, he knew that.
Vlad at least learned his lesson the first time, leaving Dan to his own devices.
That was honestly worse, but Dan wasn't going to argue. Dan didn't know what he'd try and abuse Vlad into giving him, because he knew only as much as Vlad did about how to maybe handle his own idiot self.
Dan kept going back to the park, mostly. Once he locked down the faint sense of desperation, it was nice. It was simply nice.
Eventually, Dan was brave enough to try going on the playground carousel.
It sucked and was lame, and he shouldn't have gotten on. He was uselessly shoving himself around, and he was sure he looked completely stupid.
And then a six year old girl had crawled on, and smiled up at him. All that played in his head was the dumb little tune, All I want for christmas is my two front teeth or whatever.
"Hold on tight, I guess. Not my problem if you get flung off."
She squealed as he spun the carousel, so easily amused by the motion and g-force.
So was he, now that someone else was there.
It got to where he was just barely hiding the open use of flight as skipping across the ground, certainly spinning the thing much faster than a normal human could.
"The hell are you doing!?" someone barked.
Dan slowed the carousel to a crawl before he bothered to look at whoever he offended, stopping dead at the face.
Dash Baxter, the first victim from Amity Park.
"Are you going to answer or do I need to beat your face in?"
Dan did his best to hide his twitch.
"Playing, dingus. You've never spun someone on a carousel?"
"Not at the speed of a car! She's six! You got a motor in those fucking legs?"
"She's fine. Right kid?"
The little girl gave a thumbs up, standing to attention like it was no big deal.
And then tipped over.
Dan was much faster than Dash, so lucky for both of them she didn't even hit the metal.
In his arms she was softly giggling, clearly pleased all the same.
Dash was clearly- and rightfully- pissed about his baby sister.
"Sorry man. She was having fun, and I just... forgot kids don't always know when to say stop." Was all Dan could come up with.
It was the right choice. Dash's wrath tapered to frustration at the words, glancing back at the girl as she walked slightly unsteadily towards the swings.
She'd refused to be coddled, a strong little spirit even at six.
Dan wondered if he'd killed her, or if she'd managed to live beneath the shields.
"Start remembering, or I'm gonna have to pummel you into paste when she isn't looking." Dash threatened, walking off to monitor his sister.
Dan stayed away from the now occupied swings out of general respect.
What would he say, anyways? What would he do?
He didn't know.
He just didn't know what to do.
This was the second chance, surrounded by things he'd destroyed. Out of hatred, out of anger. Destroying in an effort to widen the hole in his core enough that he was just hole.
Dan didn't want to be a hole anymore, really. But Dan didn't want to be Vlad or Danny either, so he didn't get to know what he was allowed to replace the empty space with.
Dan went to the house, and did not spend the card still. Dan sat alone, so sad and pitiful that even Dairy King sensed that it was a lost cause, and stayed away.
Nobody else knew what to do about him either, it seemed.
(1,068 words for a phic fill in the phight for @phantomphangphucker. "The Fentons make vitamins for Danny to help stop his bizarre ‘extreme ecto-contamination’ from causing him any issues in the long run. This goes either horribly wrong or horribly right" Hopefully I've done it some justice)
"It'll help; After-all, we don't know what that contamination will do in the long term."
They'd promised, and given him no choice. His mom watched from across the dining room table as he took two pills.
"We don't know what they're going to do to you." Sam had whispered, haunted. Tucker had looked equally distressed beside her.
"Kill me more, probably." He'd answered. It fell flat, but it succeeded in shifting the focus. The gallows humor was better than wallowing in what he couldn't change.
Jazz had tried to convince him to finally just reveal his secret; to stroll up and say hey this is a bad idea, because I'm already dead!
He didn't do that, and Jazz was on one of her stints where refusing to let him do what he wanted was going to be more detrimental and traumatic than whatever he learned the hard way.
His mom watched from across the table as he took two pills the next day.
They hadn't done anything the first time. He'd fought with The Box Ghost later in the day and felt nothing wrong, except maybe being over-warm by the end.
Day two he was sick and throwing up a couple hours after the pills. Everyone knew why.
Everything burned like fire, cold porcelain and tile like what ice used to be. He was pretty sure organs were actually cooking in his body, ready to melt out with the puke in red-tinted green.
"It's going to get worse before it gets better."
And, well, Danny could admit that throwing up electric green was pretty bad. His dad seemed fascinated by the strength of the glow, not that Danny could partake in the appreciation with his head as far in The Fenton Toilet(tm) as it'd go, with as much ice as the freezer had to spare around him.
Luckily, the toilet was ectoplasm corrosion proof. Unluckily, nobody thought to make the pipes ecto-proof. He at least got temporary privacy with a different ecto-proof bucket.
He still wasn't separated from the bucket by the time Sam and Tucker got back from school.
"You can't be serious Danny." Sam had hissed.
"Well, how would you tell them no?" He'd asked hoarsely.
Tucker had immediately clamped a hand on Sam's shoulder, a sign not to rise to Danny's bait.
Danny didn't think he was wrong though.
Jazz had come in later, and talked about nothing in particular. Given him his homework and put the back of her hand to his forehead like he'd have a fever by human standards.
She swore he did, but the thermometer didn't read over 96.
It felt like 200 anyhow. Nothing had improved in the slightest, Danny still stuck on tiles because the ice around him would melt and make carpet mold if he was anywhere else.
Day three was not better. Nobody even bothered to get the pills into him. Jazz stayed home to fuss over him, insisting he drink water every fifteen minutes or so.
It only barely cooled him off, but it always came back up anyways.
It ended with him trying to throw something actually heavy at her for trying to push so hard, but it didn't go far. He could barely stand, let alone be the worlds first all-star water bottle thrower.
"Back to the drawing board, I think. That's too violent for not enough." His mom had tutted, not checking his temp.
"Did you even test it on anything but him?" Jazz had asked, fuming.
The screaming was legendary.
So legendary, he even managed to stay awake through it all. Not that he processed a single word after the first quarter. While the heat was getting more bearable he wondered if that wasn't because he was just getting used to it. All of him was so sweat soaked that the air itself was like ice whenever there was a draft stronger than someone walking by him.
He woke up to being watched on day four. Sam and Tucker were standing over his bed, which he'd been placed in some time after he'd passed out. The time cheerily displayed 12:03, and the sunlight through curtains proved it was pm, not am.
"Weh?" He blearily questioned.
"Did we learn our lesson yet?" Sam asked.
"Eh..."
"Dude, are you alright? You haven't had a new set, right?" Tucker pressed.
"Nn."
They fetched a thermometer, not trusting his sweat soaked and flushed visage to tell the truth.
"Ninety eight point seven. Basically normal." Sam had declared at first. Tucker nodded sagely.
"Normal for who, the living?" He'd protested meekly. He was feeling better at least, but still like hell had steam rolled him personally.
They'd both gone very silent, his fever broken brain not really comprehending what was so wrong with the gallows humor this time.
Tucker disappeared, and suddenly Jazz was helping them ambulance carry him down to the basement.
The back of the speeder was cold, which was nice. Jazz sat in the back with him, trying to quietly hum and look like she wasn't worried.
She was a very bad liar, of course, but between the cool and thin shock blanket over him it was enough to put him under again for the whole trip.
Or would've been, if Youngblood hadn't broken in.
"Who's this?" Youngblood had pressed, upset.
"It's Danny, Youngblood. You don't torment him enough to know him?"
Jazz squinted to thin air, and Danny shifted to sit up. The fever had broken, or whatever, even if he still felt overwarm, flushed, and over sweaty. In goring all of those, he was fine.
Fine enough to tell Youngblood off himself.
He didn't get that far.
"No it's not- ghosts have cores. This guys human."
He said it casually, like it was obvious and known fact.
"Okay, well, get out anyways. There's no playmate here for you." Danny informed roughly.
Youngblood did not do that, until he realized they were off to one of those icky medical appointments.
Nobody addressed it. Danny was left to weakly sit up on his own power and stare into his reflection on a shiny-glossed panel.
Two days of pills, and he couldn't transform. He just couldn't transform, no matter what he did.
He was still warm, he knew. Probably still at a nice and toasty human temperature. From head to toe he was simply warm, and that was worse than being fevered still
(2.7k, phic fill in phight for @ei-w ' "Instead of Danny, it is Jazz who survives the Nasty Burger-explosion and ends up in Wisconsion with Vlad.". Enjoy!)
Everything was going to go great, until it hadn't.
Yes Danny cheated, she knew that in retrospect. A perfect score was nonsense- even she hadn't managed, and would have been rightfully investigated if she had.
But she'd done it; figured it all out. Danny had pulled away because he was Phantom.
Danny, mom, and dad had been called to the Nasty Burger by Lancer to discuss the cheating situation.
And then, the end. It was done.
She has different nightmares later; from start, the nightmare of red, red, red amongst building pieces is all she has.
Vlad Masters steps up, though she's sure it's because the law pestered him about his status as her god-father.
She and Vlad had stood at that pitiful funeral, and neither of them cried.
She wasn't sure about Vlad, but she'd done enough crying already. No declaration of frustration over grief; just damnable numbness as she stood over a grave reading Daniel Fenton.
She moves; Vlad has too much to just leave. And it's not like she had friends to say goodbye too; Just tutoring obligations to let down.
The last time she was in the Fenton house was to close the portal; and the attacks mysteriously stop once it is properly turned off. Vlad never explained how he managed it's decommission when her parents had claimed it was impossible.
The house (more of a mansion) is cold and empty, and might she add distastefully lavish.
But complaining about that was the privilege of people who could afford lavish; and now, she was one of those people.
When Vlad brings the movers in, she barely makes a dent in displacing Vlad's things.
She had managed to save an almost ludicrous amount of her dad's needlework though, and the most normal piece was now hanging in the foyer.
She wouldn't understand for a while why she was turning it in her mind like she was, that she'd lied to make it happen. Her mom never designed any of those, it was all dad, but mom seemed to be the magic word.
All the same lying was so simple in the end; She was a distressed teenager grasping at straws, of course she was twitchy and upset. And of course, her mom actually liked the designing part of embroidery well enough. Just not the fiddly bits.
Vlad didn't notice; didn't know enough about her mom to know she never bothered with embroidery at all. Just asked for Jazz to point out other pieces ultimately 'designed' by her mom.
But the blooming milkweed with the monarch butterfly was what went to be in guest's purview; right by the door. Beautiful piece, honestly. She just didn't know why her dad had made it; almost everything else was ghost themed.
Once decorations all done, once all the needlework is placed around her room, she sits on the edge of the bed until there's no natural light to speak of, and keeps sitting.
In a case she didn't have the heart to open was an unfinished model rocket.
She didn't know when Danny stopped putting his kits together, and couldn't stop the ever present thought that it was probably right around whenever he became Phantom.
The timeline of things bugged her now; the not knowing. Never getting an answer.
But everyone had hit the end. It was done, now.
Slowly, everything got back to business. She went back to school, and god going back to semi-normal was better.
Not nice, but better. If she was doing homework then she wasn't trying to reminisce, wasn't trying to wish upon a pack of plastic stars.
Vlad was...
Well, she hadn't known description at the time. Vlad was doing something. Always something. Something over in his office downstairs, which she'd been politely but firmly 'requested' she not meddle in. Sensitive documents due to the nature of his company.
But; He was always doing something and never nothing.
She'd wondered if he was much the same; throwing himself into work because it was easier than grief.
It left her with the house, and god she came to hate it.
She never felt alone despite it being empty from top to bottom. Only Vlad to speak to, if he deigned to be around for the day.
And yet, peace was rare. Occasionally the feeling would lift, and she was free to breathe in peace, but it never lasted.
The most egregious happenstance was when something slipped up.
She'd been in the foyer, taking her shoes off. And something had laughed at her for managing to trip over the rest of the shoe pile one footed.
Infinite reconstructions of the moment lasted well past her resolution of the event. It comes down to that she'd slammed into the wall in a panic, looking around for a culprit. Anyone, anything.
The embroidery had hit the floor, and for a few minutes she was blissfully alone again.
There was nothing and no-one, and she was being crazy. Crazy in a world that'd proven to have ghosts.
She tucked the incident away in her mind, and shoved the piece back on its nail.
She'd realize later she had been so hurried that it was upside-down, but the symbolism struck her as poignant even then.
Vlad never noticed.
Something was untenable about the whole ordeal; something was going to snap. She had to do... something.
Vlad was always working, and if he was in the house he was in the basement.
And she had a feeling that if she brought it up to him, it would get blown off.
She just wasn't sure; here she was past everyone's ending without a clue on what to do. She was supposed to have answers, and be stable, but could she really be sure she hadn't imagined things? It was a lonely place, and it stood to reason that it was finally just driving her crazy.
She wasn't helping her own crazy chances, was the thing.
Vlad was gone, as he was frequently, and suddenly the watching had lifted.
Deciding was a snap thing, when she did it. She was alone, with a chance. And she took it, because this was untenable. Either she'd be crazy poking through Vlad's documents, or be vindicated. Somehow. By something.
The basement wasn't even locked.
She wished it was, once she got down. At least she would've earned a bad answer.
A lab, just like her parents in a lot of ways. Brighter, and cleaner overall, but straight down to the portal it was clearly used for ghost research. Later, she'd see it was right down to the stolen inventions.
She could've weaseled her way through the reasoning. Vlad used to be in the same ecto-club as her mom and dad, so there were very real odds he never gave it up to begin with. And maybe it made him feel connected.
But on a hallway, to the side, there were tubes. And in those tubes...
Well, she didn't want to say. Not at first.
But the research, oh the research. Laid about like a fire hazard. Almost worse than dad.
It took so much longer than the first trip to sort through it all.
She'd get an average of ten minutes before she was watched again, and she had no doubts it was very real now. Putting a microphone by that portal proved Vlad was having meetings with someone or another.
She couldn't stand to listen all the way through though, as helpful as it'd probably be. What if it proved something she didn't want to hear?
Just because it was illogical to refuse didn't make her crazy for it.
The papers though, she could stomach. Ten minutes at a time.
Clones, across the wall, in those tubes. Somewhere there was a box of remains that Vlad had 'salvaged.'
That was an interesting nightmare; Plasmius rolling up to the red, red, red rubble with a dustpan and a broom.
The absurdity once she woke didn't help.
Vlad had given her a rare show of care beyond being something in his infinite toy-box, looking her up and down and asking if she was sleeping alright.
No, but she didn't admit that. How would one admit that, when it was him who haunted her?
The simple answer though was that outside of a rare performance, Vlad didn't care.
He was singularly focused on getting those clones to work, mixing and matching DNA to try and get something to survive.
None of them did.
She was even in the room once when one of them melted.
An alarm had given her a heart attack, and the offending tube was lit in red as the form within bubbled.
It wasn't his prize clone; Vlad didn't show up to try and keep it stable, despite having notifications for this thing on his phones.
But she'd stormed out anyways as she realized there was a chance he would, and she'd laid in the living room waiting to see if she could see him come in.
Even with acknowledging that she wouldn't see if if he just phased through the floor, she knew he hadn't rushed to fix it.
Vlad had strolled in hours later, modestly annoyed.
"Something went south, but far away from me. I'm just mad, I suppose. I was hoping it'd pan out, but it wasn't one of those fires worth my time." Was what he'd said.
Its what cemented him as a proper lunatic to her.
If he was grief stricken then why was he so blase about it? If it was a push in science then why wasn't he mad about that either?
His notes didn't double about the science; they remained that passive pleading they'd been before.
And Jazz realized that Vlad was an unreliable narrator to himself. It wasn't about care or grief.
She wasn't sure what it was about (at first), but care and grief was his justification.
She bid her time anyways. What else was she supposed to do? Re-steal her parents old inventions and go in guns blazing?
No, it'd end poorly.
The goal struck her over 'family dinner', Vlads attempt to make it feel like home.
It clearly bothered him that it was a massive failure, but she didn't care to meet in the middle anymore.
She prodded at the risotto, which was more al-dente than anything else. She wasn't sure how.
"How is school going?" Vlad asked.
It was rote. School was fine. She was investigating colleges whenever she was watched, pouring over what would get her away.
"Staying safe?" Vlad had asked teasingly.
"Safe?"
"Wouldn't do for me to lose the last thing of your mother."
He'd said it like it was funny.
"Besides, it's... I'm... Well, Daniel is... already gone, and I wish I'd gotten to be involved enough to help. You're here now, though."
She shoved the revelation down and didn't pour over it.
It was old news even on inception. Of course, of course.
Stuck endlessly in the past over her mother, hated her father, and the one flash of future and relation for his half ghost situation was a smear on pavement.
Of course.
Looking back though, it was the last straw. The plan was decided from then on, she just hadn't known it yet.
Jazz 'took interest' in the legal half of the business. She had nothing else to do about it, all she could try was to get enmeshed or drop it.
She got enmeshed.
Vlad was pleased; if Jazz was like him then that was good, because he was great and right.
Vlad was so pleased, the paperwork was done before she'd even bothered to plan for it. The ones declaring her the legal heir instead of simply owed compensation in the event of his demise.
Anything short of screaming his ownership to the world wouldn't do.
She floated through her own life just like before. She was putting names to it now, at least. The way the grief had taken her out of her own life.
It didn't even bother her when the vulture things fully revealed themselves.
Vlad explained it then.
He was trying so so hard, didn't she know? He was going to make it better, do it right.
Danny was the only one he'd managed to isolate from the mess (lie; Danny and dad were isolated. He never found mom), and he was trying.
So much work, didn't she know?
She smiled and nodded, and she was allowed into the lab for real now.
Eventually it came with a real chore list, one she hadn't flagged as suspicious at first. Vlad was openly disdainful of having to clean the portal, even in his own paperwork.
She should've asked far earlier how Vlad and Danny had came to be half-ghosts. She hadn't gotten that far in the paperwork and journeling though, and now those papers were kept nice and neat under lock and key.
Understanding what had happened at first was the hard part. The rest of the logic was a joke.
She'd gone in with her protective gear, something happened, and now she was something else.
And Vlad wanted her transformation data, because he was pretty sure that was the thing holding the clones back.
She'd agreed. Fawn, she was putting a name to.
And when she sat alone in her room, surrounded by embroidery, she knew.
She hadn't handled it well, she knew. She'd checked out of her own life so bad that the past months could only be narrated with gentle detatchment.
Vlad, though, had done so much worse. And would do so much worse.
It wouldn't even be for grief.
The Fenton Gauntlets were easy to steal. So was Vlad's thermos 2.0.
Vlad didn't see it coming.
Plasmius was on the floor in seconds, sucked in in an instant.
There was a disk at the bottom of the thermos where ghosts were actually kept. It was alarmingly frail, and if it shattered it would end the ghost within for good.
She pulled it out-
Vlad's hands were around her throat. Pain, blooming from the pressure. She couldn't breathe, she was too stunned to see.
Vlad had her pinned to the floor, and there was a shatter beside them both. She almost didn't notice, but she knew, because for one full second he'd stopped. Not just his assault, but everything.
The grief was immeasurable and plain on him.
The assault did not resume. He shifted off, kneeling by the remains.
It was probably a literal five minutes before she was breathing right enough to speak.
"He's dead, Vlad. You're the villain. You're going to resurrect a clone, to do what? Do you have his memories on tap? It won't be Danny, just a pet you're determined to have. So determined that killing me halfway wasn't even a question, was it?"
"We could have something back though. I thought you understood that."
"It wouldn't be real."
Jazz was already destroying other plans though; she still had the gloves. with her hands to her own chest, Vlad noticed too late.
She stood above, just as distressed as Jazz.
Jazz knew she wouldn't be able to do the last part to herself. She couldn't look at herself and decide to make her kill count two.
Her other half moved to the portal anyways, and ripped out the essential wires. Just like they'd planned.
Vlad watched, hapless to her whims.
Everything stopped in the portal, the interior fading to clear. The wires plain as the panel sparked, plain like Vlad's distress.
When her half stood before her in fearful acceptance, she didn't do anything.
Jazz was afraid of her own death; enough that she couldn't do it to her own mirror.
She wondered if it was even a fraction like what Danny felt about his mortality.
Her own image left silently. Gone without a trace.
"Well." Vlad had started shakily.
"That happened."
"Shove off." Was her only answer.
Vlad, shockingly, helped her to her feet.
Hand still around hers as they both steadied themselves, she wondered if he himself was too stunned to be evil about it.
She was deeply wrong.
The whole ordeal left her with no bandwidth to react. Not in time.
Vlad took one massive step back, straight towards the opening of the portal. Straight in.
Suddenly, she was close to his chest.
The wires still sparking, a circuit was completed much like Danny's had been.
Vlad and Jazz ended.
Something else walked out. Neither, and both at once. Something that would have to be fixed was walking amongst the world.
(A hero from some-when else would have to figure it out, and Clockwork shook their head somewhere else in pity.)
Danny shrugged. “You were the one that asked for the stupid fancy crab.”
“I also said it was one-of-a-kind.” Skulker ran his hand over his hair. “Where did you even find it?”
Danny groaned. “With the first one—look, do we have a deal or not?”
Skulker grimaced. “You didn’t hold up your end.”
“I got you the stupid crab! You didn’t say how many—”
“I obviously meant one.”
“—and these guys had their claws stuck to each other and wouldn’t budge. So, whatever. Two-for-one deal.” Danny squinted. “Actually, you should give me two weeks hunt-free instead of one for this.”
“One crab is literally all I needed—!” Skulker paused. “Wait their claws were stuck?”
Danny raised a brow. “Yeah? They wouldn’t come loose with pulling or intangibility—”
Skulker bolted away. Danny quickly followed after him, cardboard box of crabs in tow.
“What the hell?! Why are you so messed up about getting an extra crab! You can make sushi or something out of the other one, just promise me my one—two weeks of fucking peace!”
“Get those things away from me!” Skulker yelled. He turned, shooting a bazooka out of his arm.
Danny quickly jerked out of the way. “What is so wrong with these crabs?!”
“One of them can be taxidermied, but a bonded pair will tear any ecto-being around it to pieces as a show of strength for their partner!” He slapped his chest. “I just made this new suit yesterday!”
“You’re just making stuff up; they haven’t done anything to me!”
“It’s probably some weird halfa thing, I don’t know and I don’t care!” Skulker activated his jetpack. “I’ll give you a month, just get those things away from me!”
Skulker shot off and Danny stopped following. “Huh, if it was that easy, I would’ve done this a lot sooner.” He looked down at the box cradled to his chest. “You guys wouldn’t do that to me, right?”
The smaller crab snapped its free claw at him.
“Eh, good enough.” Danny hummed. “I should probably get you guys back to where I found you—” Danny’s eyes lit up. “Or…”
-
One month later, Skulker would hover outside Danny’s bedroom window, smug as all get out, and promptly disappear when he saw the glass tank set out on Danny’s desk.
Aw hell, making me choose here. I'm listing two bc you can't stop me <3
Long works definitely taken by [Don't Shoot, It's Me! No, the Other Guy!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/52109200), for the '23 ecto-implosion. Whole thing came together well even if I think some rough edges are Highly Visible (they are not).
Short wise, ngl I like [A Gift, For You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/64356844) which was done for phic phight '25. There's a lot to sit with; There's the way Clockwork would obviously call this love while either not processing or blatantly ignoring the violations to autonomy. The express trust from Danny at the end after 2k words of Clockwork walking through the thought process of a decision they also don't know the (full) ramifications of. The couple of blink-and-miss oddities (the amulets sentient and the dust in the tower is magical, possibly malicious? But don't worry about that, we're here for the scale.). And don't forget Clockwork just destroying artifacts in the way of doing it right! Makes you wonder how they're still chained.
Lancer's droning didn't soothe Danny's nerves persay, but it was familiarity incarnate. Pencils tapped out a rhythm loosely in time with syllables, and the pointed snickers were ignorable as Danny stared out the window.
And then Lancer's shadow was over him, and Danny knew he was about to get into the stupidest argument of his life.
"And, while I do appreciate the ways children have fun, this is getting to be a distraction."
Danny was sure there was a split second where the world around his very self looked hostile in an otherwise undefinable way; he could hear the crown's low warning hum, more in his teeth than his ears.
"If you can get the cursed ghost crown off, and have it stay off, be my guest." Danny sighed.
He, Sam, and Tucker had argued for hours what the cover story could be.
"Cursed is a new excuse, I will say." Lancer sighed, plucking the crown off. Danny very pointedly did not make eye contact with the Nasty burger crown, an even cheaper knockoff of the already cheap burger king crowns.
Lancer had already stopped paying attention, but the rest of the class hadn't even slightly. Gasps and sputters ripped through as the paper crown teleported back onto his head.
Danny just wasn't very appreciative of its sense of humor, was the thing.
"I don't know how you-"
"Mr. Lancer, it teleported!" Someone shouted, and Danny refused to look to verify.
Lancer gave a pointed harrumph and instead took the crown again.
Lancer was careful about it this time, watching the crown in his hands as he walked to his desk.
Danny could feel the crown snicker as it was carefully set down, and the second Lancer turned it was gone again. Right onto Danny's head.
"Not so cursed after- by Shakespear's entire works, how do you get into these situations!?" Lancer spoke, first smug and rapidly turning to exasperated screeching.
"Your guess is as good as mine this time." Danny begrudgingly informed.
"Freaky Fenton's got a new look! Maybe he can rule the dumpster behind the Nasty Burger with that thing." Dash laughed, openly mocking.
Danny closed his eyes in time to not see the light from the crown flash-banging the entire room.
"It's got opinions." He said, mildly. And man, did it ever have opinions. He couldn't seem to change the one where it thought this was a good idea, no matter how he plead with it.
"No one would have me. Not my family. Not the streets. Not even your Order. She took me in when I had nowhere else to go. I will never betray her. Not for anything."
"Pardon my ass. 'She's not loyal to you' she's not loyal to much of anything but herself, and she's still the first person to treat me like I was human after everything."
"So everything she-"
"No no, back your sorry little thoughts up. You're gonna go on to say she's the worst person ever by some metric or another- I don't care which- and yet, the worst person alive to you was the only person to say I deserved food and shelter. First person to give me more rights than a rabid dog."
"And what did she make you promise in exchange?"
"You act like that's the highest gotcha known to man; the fucks a forty hour week promise you? A forty hour week your order wouldn't give me- and honestly, I think I'm paid better than you. Behold, a lapdog! Bark bark, motherfucker."
"You stand here in front of-"
"Shoot me and call me a statistic, or get the fuck out. I'm not even a fucking- fuck, you and what warrant anyways? Same as it ever was with you lot- but this time I have dental. You got dental? This lapdogs got dental."
NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.
Due to how Danny can canonically jump over a car in human form with no apparent assistance from his ghost powers, which headcanon is the best explanation for it?
A call for the phandom to support Danny Phantom Fair Game!
Earlier today Pichikui/Gabriela (the illustrator and writer of Fair Game graphic novel) asked for people to leave ratings and reviews on the websites they bought Fair Game from so it can probably increase the chances of getting a third graphic novel!
I need you to see check these numbers to see the difference between A Glitch in Time number of reviews/rating and Fair Game numbers reviews/rating on Amazon:
Danny Phantom Fair Game amazon numbers: 26 rating-reviews
Danny Phantom A Glitch in Time amazon numbers: 562 rating-reviews
A Glitch in Time has more than ten times reviews and ratings than Fair Game does!
While A Glitch In Time came years ago, this difference is quite a problem because reviews and ratings seem to have a clear impact in if the graphic novels are going to continue or not according to Gabriela/Pichikui
So, if you are someone who bought Danny Phantom Fair Game from Amazon or other similar website, please try leaving some rating or short review if you are interested in seeing more of graphic novel books. It just takes five minutes, and you don't have to leave a long detailed review, just something that makes it clear you support it and would like getting a continuation from it.
