âFor the last time, I am NOT your son!â the black-haired boy shouted, trying to squirm from the manâs tight grip. He had been unceremoniously plucked from the ground and dragged for about a mile. The entire time, the man ranted off about âghostsâ and âDanny my boy.â
Frankly, Klarion had enough of men kidnapping him. At least this time (Klarion could only assume) he wasnât being sold into slavery.Â
Finally, the father heard him. He stopped in his tracks in a desolate part of the city. He brought Klarion in front of him, staring at his face. Klarion scowled at the attention but it did not dissuade the fool at all.
âWhen did your hair grow like horns, Dann-o?â the man asked.
Klarionâs scowl deepened. âYou should invest in spectacles, mortal.â
Teekl, where have you gone? Klarion questioned, hoping to escape with his familiar.Â
I am here, Master Teekl responded. In the corner of Klarionâs eye, he could spot his orange-furred familiar hanging on top of a lamppost. The damned werecat stared down with a, ironically, Cheshire grin. Klarionâs frown only deepened.Â
The man in front of him laughed loudly, freeing Klarion from his grasp. Unsurprisingly, Klarion dropped on the cement sidewalk with a thud. His legs clattered against each other as if they were porcelain. He swore he could hear Teekl giggling through the mind link.
âYou sound just like Jazzy-pants!â the man boomed. âAnd the traffic officers. And the government officials. And Maddie. And-â
A hex was ready on Klarionâs tongue but, like a valve, his magic went dry. His head swiveled to glare at Teekl, now sitting right on top of the headlamp.Â
Let me take my vengeance Klarion seethed.
The man has done no wrong. Teekl climbed down the post, staying at the base.
Did you not watch him drag me? I pity the boy who he fathered.Â
Teekl licked her paw. Perhaps you could help him in a non-destructive way, Master.
Thatâs no fun, my familiar.Â
To this, Teekl walked behind the lamppost, disappearing to the other side. Klarion rolled his eyes at the theatrics.Â
âAnd, most of all, the Coast Guard!â the man ended. He stared down at Klarion as if expecting a standing ovation for the number of crimes he must have committed.Â
Klarion does stand up, though he did not clap, and dusted off the dust on his trousers. With one elegant swish of his hand and a few magical words, the manâs eyes glowed a light blue. The man blinked, clearing up the light and really looking at Klarion.
âYou donât look like Danny,â the man said, dumbfounded. Klarion resisted the secondary curse. Teekl, though not visible, stayed an observer of this interaction.
The spell corrected the manâs eyes, in a sense. What it actually did was revert his eyes to an earlier form of development. Klarion hoped the man was born with poor eyesight so that the eyeballs would be marbles in the adult skull. To his disappointment, the man developed his poor vision much later.Â
Klarion rested a hand on his hip. âEvidently. Iâm sure you must find whoever this Dann-o is-â
âI shouldâve known! Dannyâs never this pliant when we go ghosthunting!â the man laughed. Klarion, for a moment, admired this mortal sonâs ability to resist his father. The man leaned down, with his hands on his knees. Klarion despised the height difference. âDo you still want to go hunting, boyo?âÂ
Klarion paused, his turn to be shocked. âI- Iâm not sure I follow.â
âWell⊠what did you say your name was again?â
Klarion readjusted his cufflinks. Teekl wouldâve called it a nervous habit but he simply wanted to look tidy. âMy name is Klarion. I am a witch boy, yet to attend the trials to be a witch man.â He ignored how he never gave his name before this point.
âWell, Kul-air-eon the Witch Boy, Iâve got an ecto-signature for a natural portal and Iâm sure a kid your age wouldnât mind shooting some ectopuses down. Like all those video games you play!â He laughed again, hitting Klarionâs back with a hard slap and jolting him forward.Â
Klarion scowled at the contact but made no motion to withdraw from the conversation. He could, if he wanted to, leave without saying a thing. The misunderstanding had cleared and the offer the man made was ridiculous. Klarion was his own person and he could do to the human world as he saw fit.
He caught Teeklâs red eyes, the shadow of her on the manâs back.
âIt is Klarion, mortal. Neither am I the witch boy. There are plenty others of my town who are witch boys themselves-â
âIâm Jack! Jack Fenton of Fenton Works!â the man - Jack - once again interrupted. He seemed to do it not for the sake of being rude but because he lacked complete social awareness. Klarion was surprised at how little it annoyed him. âIâve never met a witch boy before, Klary-on, so Iâm pretty sure youâre the Witch Boy!â
The logic was faulty and the pronunciation of his name should not be this difficult.Â
Klarion eyed the man. â...What does your hunt entail, Jack Fenton?â
âGHOSTS!â Jack yelled with childlike excitement. Seconds passed as he did nothing more to elaborate.
 Teekl continued to watch him with a sort of expectation. Klarion sighed. Teekl had been haggling him with about attending mortal rituals. Perhaps this âghost huntingâ would give insight into the above-world practices.Â
Klarion stuck out his hand. âI will temporarily join you, but do not expect me to stay.â
Looking back, Klarion should have known not to lend his hand. In seconds, Jack led him on a secondary dragging across town. This time, Teeklâs laughter had no barrier stopping it.
After some long months and at least three appeals, my account was finally given back to me! OH THIS IS SO GOOD.
Hello to my followers that completely forgot about this account and saw little importance to my plight, glad to be back on tumblr! Oh I can do phic phight now! I can share on Tumblr again!
hereâs the official fbi memo about it! you can view the whole document here
the fbi presented these âfindingsâ to mccarthyâs house unamerican activities committee (huac) in an attempt to get itâs a wonderful life pulled from theaters but huac decided not to take any action
My guy I loved your Constantine fic! I read it a while ago through my hunt for anything Dp x Dc related. I've always meant to go back and read through your other fics when I had the time. I'm so glad to see you have others!!
My immediate thought when you said my Constantine one was: âWhich one?â I gotta assume your talking about the most recent one I did for crossover week and then immediately fell off the edge for lol.
PS: If you wanna see the other one, itâs on AO3 under EyesOfCrows. Name is Beach Day Demons :)
My whole schtick in this phandom has always been crossovers my guy. Slowed down recently but itâs always cooler go back and see people enjoying my work. If I had half the drive I had back when I was like 14 (Iâd written 2 full Danny Phantom stories, albeit horribly) then I would share much more of what I have, but I am content with what I present now: oneshots and xover ideas.
And thanks for looking into my other DP x DC fics too! I think about the ones I did during Dannymay last year because those are my most popular. Thereâs more scattered on my page but I reblog so much that theyâre lost even to me until some poor souls manages to reblog it, show it up in my notifications, and remind me I did such a thing. The only thing thatâs somewhat put together is that Dannymay one.
To be honest, I think of your SCP x DP thing going on is 1000x more interesting because of how unique it is! Iâve seen my fair share of DP x DC and barely any thing relating to my favorite fictional document website. Youâve got some very interesting thoughts going on in there other than: âWhat if this DC hero/villain met the utter power baby that is Danny? I think itâd be funny.â (Admittedly, it is funny to me. I write so much for a reason lmao.)
Anyway, thereâs the links if you want to go lurking around on my page. Iâm definitely going to go do same on yours so no shame. If you want to find more, go dumpster diving through my writing as much as your raccoon heart desires _(âăΔ:)_
To be honest I'm not the one to make the dp x scp crossover idea. I got inspiration from @poopypoop65 with their amazing art! It was so good it got be back into my scp fixation abzbsjsbdb
I also have a few DC x dp crossovers sitting in my drafts so there is absolutely no shame in the idea!! You've managed to do it very well and your Constantine fic was very unique from the others I've read. I read a lot ;-;
I've got so many more DP x Marvel sitting my drafts too đ
Will I ever finish a project
Also beware of the fics that I wrote when I was like 12. *shudders* yikes.
And if anyone wants to also build on dp x scp idea they are welcomed to. There are a lot of things that can derive from it
I always love the idea of Danny just, sensing death off Jason Todd because it makes some sort of sense. Like Danny going, âYou! Youâve got ectoplasm in your eyes!â
And I know itâs because of the popular idea that the Lazarus Pit is just one giant pool of ectoplasm but what if it really is just the stench of death?
Cuz if thatâs the care then, oh boy, will he be plugging his nose going into Wayne Manor.
Bruce? Almost always on the brink of death. Reapers even said he kept escaping them. In Batman Endgame (spoilers for those who havenât read) he dies in the end but due to comic book logic he is completed healed, albeit at the cost of his memories.
Damian died during Batman Incorporated! Luckily revived by a Chaos Shard from Darkseid. (Of course, not without a road trip of his body continuously getting stolen and a small crossover with Frankenstein.)
Dick âdiedâ twice but one just made his heart stop for a minute and the other got his memories taken. (I donât what tell you but a bullet to the head from KGBeast shouldâve done him in.) There is also an Injustice death and some Elseworlds (which are just non canon) but that doesnât count.
Timâs hasnât died per say but he has had two faked deaths and two Elseworld deaths. Said fake deaths were just because he got kidnapped. Man for the third Robin, youâd think heâd be at the lower end of the kidnapped chart.
If anything, (and if my information is correct) Timâs probably got the least deaths that involve physical injury or repercussions.
So that brings me to the AU where Danny is in Gotham Academy and inexplicably makes friends with Tim!
Danny, of course, senses a stronger scent of death on Timâmost of Gotham has an underlying death smellâand reasons it is because his dead brother/cop other brother/adrenaline junkie father. Nothing can prepare him for the absolute concentration of fresh death when he goes over to Wayne Manor for a project.
The butler who opens the door reeks of deathâhe remembers Tim mentioning offhand that their butler did Special Forcesâand Danny has to stop himself from flinching away. He awkwardly slides in and does his best not to stand too close to the man.
Tim is, fortunately, there but before they can head up to Timâs room the cop brother, Dick, pops out. Not as strong but damn was Danny beginning get a little nauseous. After idle chitchat, theyâre on the second floor and Dickâs off to the gym.
Of course, the little brother that Danny barely hears about shows. Damian. That kid had his ghost sense rising but it stayed at the base of his throat, which was not a good sensation. The kid walks closer to spit some comment at Tim but Danny turns and fakes a cough just so he can hold a hand over his nose. He keeps it over with the excuse of âI needs to wash my hand.â The kid, thankfully antisocial, leaves and they actually spend time on the project.
When they go down to the kitchen for a mid-afternoon coffee breakâDanny is reminded why heâs friends with Timâthey bump into the face of the house: Bruce Wayne.
Dannyâs ghost sense is pounding at his teeth, begging to get out. He actually starts to feel light-headed. All he can think is how the calm, turtleneck-wearing man in front of him should definitely not be alive in any shape or form.
He wobbles a little and Bruce grabs his arm to stop his descent to the floor. Bad move. Danny flinches out of the grip and takes fearful steps back. It wasnât only the scent anymore but the callous fingers that imprint pain.
Heâs dealt with death before. Ghosts and raw ectoplasm and brimming graveyards. But it was always when he was Phantom. His human side? A little more sensitive when it came to houses that reeked more than the morgue.
Danny tries to leave then and there, wanting to wash off the death house and suggest to Tim they only meet up at his apartment from then on. Tim tries to apologize to Danny for his family and if Bruce offended him anyway by touching him. Bruce is watching without a clue of what is happening. Bruce does the only thing that his mother taught him when it came to helping panicky people: invite them to dinner.
Danny throws up a little in his mouth imagining eating with this family.
Now the crĂšme de la crĂšme is Jason Todd walking in that very second, announcing heâs out of food and heâs spending dinner there. Bruce hisses out that they have a very distressed guest right now to Jason.
The ghost sense (finally) leaves Dannyâs mouth like an itch waiting to be scratched. He almost relaxes. Then he makes eye contact with the should-be-dead brother and it starts to make sense. Thereâs a shining green behind those eyes and the white whiff doesnât look like a weird fashion choice. He can see the cogs within the other manâs making the same connection he currently had.
âWho sent you?â Jason growls.
Danny ignores the question and turns to Tim. âWhat the fuck is your family, dude?â And seeing as Jason definitely knows, he spills his real thoughts. âHas everyone here died or something?â
Itâs a tense few moments. Itâs within that time that he realizes he most definitely wonât be leaving the Manor until much, much later.
Ancients, Clockwork so owes him for whatever bullshit this timeline is on.
ok imagine if Danny mistakes them for serial killers. Since in his mind resurrections are neigh impossible . And the only logical conclusion is that Danny thinks they killed that many people so the smell is potent. Instead of being resurrected by a filthy ectoplasm water, that option seems more believable.
I imagine Danny trying to apprehend and attack the batfam all while crying about how many people they must have killed and bats are trying to defend and explain no they are not serial killers while Tim is out on the sidelines like 'how to get my friend and family to stop fighting?'
bruce, doing his comforting victim voice bc he doesn't want to scare the civilian: my family would love to have you for dinner
danny, who has binge watched hannibal with sam: i - id have to ask my parents. they're, um. strict! always notice the moment im gone hahaha
bruce, acting lighthearted but very concerned by the tells he's reading on this kid: we love having guests over bud, plenty of spare rooms. you could stay forever and it wouldn't be a bother! *gleaming white magazine smile* i insist, anything for one of tim's friends
danny, even MORE terrified, smiling politely as he breathes through the punk guy's acidic-burning-citrus aura of death: o-oh...well if you insist that's - that's so kind of you!!
the bats: *exchange silent glances that promise they're gonna figure out how to help this clearly troubled civilian kid, unwittingly intimidating danny even more, and dooming him to a night of intense anxiety*
Concept: an ordinary student from Amity Park graduates, and goes to Gotham University. It goes pretty well. She wears an anti-possession bracelet from Fentonworks, and carries a gas-mask made by Wayne Industries. She keeps a small shrine to Phantom in her dorm, and leaves regular offerings of candy on the Batman-shrine found on the roof of the Science building, and she respects the rules about going out after dark, and not straying into certain haunts territories. And then Jazz Fenton becomes a freshman at Gotham U, and her friends realize that something is going on.
Hmmm, vague enough that I donât know the direction your heading but interesting that I would want to think of how this would go.
Thereâs definitely ghosts in GU. Low level but this ordinary student (letâs call her Apple for Amity Park Local) know theyâre there. Just small imprints. Appleâs respectful, by all means, and avoids them. She also thinks Batman is their protector, just as Phantom was, and there are traditions to uphold.
Of course she doesnât want to cast away Phantom, so she keeps a shrine to remember him. Itâs only a metal box, constantly open, with an emblem engraved into the lid and a newspaper cutout of Phantom. Thereâs some trinkets too, with string lights and candles and dried flowers. Her roommates think of it as strange but as long as she doesnât go supervillain in Gotham, they donât mind what she does.
There isnât a single rebellious bone in Appleâs body. Thereâs regulations to follow if she wants to stay alive. Never go at dark. Always carry on gas mask. Pay attention to when the temperature shifts. Never say wish. Always follow evacuations.
Again, her friends find it weird, even for Gotham. Theyâre used to having their lives thrown about. They sneak out to go the clubs and drag their feet at evacuations.
âThe Riddler? Again? Do we really need to cancel Movie Night for this?â
(But they only had encounters once a week or so. Apple had to do this everyday for years. Apple had to survived things that she shouldnât have survived in.)
When Jazz comes around, Appleâs friends notice the same patterns. The same bracelet. The same weird walking.
And when Apple sees Jazz she looks happier than ever. She actually looks close to crying. She throws herself for a hug and says the things she only ever whispered beneath her breath aloud.
âThereâs ghosts here too, Jazz. And theyâre so sad. Can you help them?â
Jazz pats her back consolidating. âOf course. Iâll clean up the entire school. Iâm going to study here, after all.â And they almost thought that she was playing into Appleâs delusions if there wasnât such a serious and honest face on Jazz.
Within a week the University feels lighter. Like something finally released their grip around the air itself. Apple no longer swerves around weird spots in the hallway or goes the long way to class to avoid specific buildings. They have no reason to think it was because of Appleâs talk but they canât help but connect to it.
They follow her and Jazzâs actions more closely. Apple never lit the candle in the box, even during a blackout. They donât know if Jazz has the same box too. But thereâs the same alertness of preparation and rulekeeping. And they both leave things at the Batman shrine (the one put up as a joke but kept because it felt awful to tear down) and kept it maintained.
They donât know why. They donât ask why. You donât ask why in Gotham. Theyâd all be insane if they did.
But they keep it in the back of their mind. Sometimes they replace the flowers in Appleâs shrine. Sometimes they leave things at the Batman shrine too. Sometimes they curve around empty space without knowing why.
Danny Phantom and the Justice League crossover but Dannyâs taken prisoner after he flies up to get a clearer look at the stars. They take him into the Watchtower and try to interrogate him but heâs happy as a clam. Heâs in a cool secret sattelite, his heroes (Superman AND Martian Manhunter???) are talking to him, and thereâs a window in the interrogation room with just a good enough angle that he recognizes some of the glows.
Give me just a completely innocent, lacking self-preservation Danny and an all too frustrated Justice League
Okay, yes, trauma dumping is wonderful, but how about info dumping? Dannyâs just chattering away about the stars he can see and pointing out the ones he canât, meanwhile, Flash and Hal are trying not to laugh as they comm Superman to inform him, that Danny isnât a threat, heâs a space nerd with powers. The rest of his trip is just Danny wanting to hear space stories and him staring out windows
Danny is so excited about Space that he completely forgets to mention the Ghost Thing for a solid three hours. And itâs not because they wouldnât let him go, itâs because he just wouldnât leave.
Someone is all âkid is there anywhere specific you want to be dropped off at?â
And Danny responds with ânah, itâs a Saturday!â assuming they meant that in a âshouldnât you be in schoolâ way and not the âdo you need help getting back to the planetâ way.
âDonât you have family to get back to?â They desperately ask as Danny phases through several doors.
âNah, my curfewâs at 10:30,â he says. He floats by a nearby window. âHey! I think thatâs Vega over there! Itâs typically attached to the Lyra constellation but from that glow and our current orbit-â
âItâs been three hours, kid,â they plea, âYou must have a life to get back to!â
Danny stops midair and snorts. âCanât have a life if Iâm already dead.â
ââŠwhat?â
âNot even in the self-deprecating way. Iâm dead as a doorknob.â He turns to them and witnesses their shocked faces. âI thought yâall knew? The glowing, floating, echoey voice, and ghostly tail didnât give it away?â
âWe thought you were a meta,â one of them chokes out.
Danny shrugs. âIf meta stood for meta-lotta-dead-people then sure.â He turns back to the window. âLook! You can see Mars from here!â
#danny phantom #srs this would be wonderful
#i love JL confrontations
#they are very entertaining
#bonus if Danny rattles on about his traumas
#as if talking about breakfast #crossover
#dc x dp #xover
Simple thought: what if ectoplasm couldnât scar?
Not saying that ghosts with scars donât exist, but that they will those marks on their body into existence. Itâs a part of them so it leaves a sort of âphysical representation.â Other than that, they donât scar.
Not a mark is left because, after all, ectoplasm is energy.
How would Danny feel about that? Like every time he is injured it doesnât leave a mark behind. There is no proof on his body that anything happened. Poof!
His skin is smooth and flawless, like he hadnât spent last night bloodied and bruised. It is like nothing happened at all. Sometimes he imagines, after waking up and staring at his reflection, it was a dream. He couldnât have fought tirelessly against beings beyond understanding, heâs perfectly fine.
Sure, he can will the scars onto him, remember the sinking claws of a specter wolf and create a mountain range of raised tissue or the discoloration of an ecto-weaponâs blast, but it isnât real. Wounds happens so often that it might as well be a greeting. Eventually, they fade without focus.
His skin shows no history. All except that small scar on his hand. The only proof he had that anything happened. That everything heâs done exists.
