I started writing fanfic almost 9 years ago at this point, but I had to step aside for school. While I'm still undergoing the long journey that is getting a PhD, I wanted to pick up writing for fun again. Trust me after so many papers I need some fun writing in my life. Currently you can catch me on AO3, most of my works from Tumblr are cross-posted there but if I ever decide to start writing spicy works, they will be exclusively posted on AO3 I don't want the Tumblr Gods to smite me and whatnot. (Okay I lied, I got some AO3 exclusives going rn cause they'd be a pain in the butt to cross post here)
Constructive feedback is always welcome here, cause lets face it no one's perfect, especially not my rusty self. Requests are welcome, though I cant guarantee anything will be great. However it is safe to say that this blog is a safespace, I reserve the right to delete comments and block users if it comes to it but generally speaking the fandom I'm writing for seems to be full of wonderful people. So like just don't be aggressively nasty and we'll be good.
Currently Working On:
Completed Fics:
The Phantom Nebula - "When a new cult threats to summon an eldritch entity, the Justice League is prepared for the worst. But since when do eldritch beasts look like teenagers?"
"this fic uses em dashes, so it must be ai-generated" real humans use em dashes.
"this fic has long paragraphs with overly described details and scenes, so it must be ai-generated" real humans can write like this.
"this fic has inconsistencies, so it must be ai-generated" real humans make errors and mistakes. that's why we have this thing called plot holes. sometimes writers are tired and they don't remember what they wrote in the last sentences or paragraphs, let alone chapters.
"this fic sounds robotic and unnatural, so it must be ai-generated" not every writer writes in their native language. sometimes they can sound 'robotic and unnatural' if they wrote in their second or third or fourth language (and kudos to them).
"this fic has a prompt left in it that the author forgot to delete, so it must be ai-generated" the 'prompt' the author accidentally left in their fic could actually be a part of an outline that was meant only for them, so they could keep track of what they would write.
"this author posts too often, no human writes this fast, so they must use ai" 1.) you don't know how fast someone can or can't write, how much time a person has in a day or how motivated/skilled they are. 2.) the frequent updates you see could be something that has already been finished and sitting in the author's drafts for god knows how long. just because it's recently posted doesn't always mean it's recently written.
my point? no, you can never know if a fanfic is 'ai-generated'. unless the author says they use ai, you're just assuming, suspecting and witch hunting. chances are that you're not going to 'stop ai fics from being created', you're just going to wrongly accuse genuine writers of using ai and ruin their day at best, make them want to quit writing or sharing their works at worst.
And with a dance of the mighty wiggle knife, I have two more covers done!
These were the first (likely of many, because this crossover has a chokehold on me lately) Danny Phantom/Batman crossovers that I've bound, so I knew I had to pull out the green for the cover decorations. I will be getting a different vinyl for later projects though, because while I love the color of this stuff, weeding was a special kind of pain.
Both fics are lovely, so give them a read.
Contractual Obligations - hailsatanacab
It’s a normal day for Alfred Pennyworth. He spends it taking care of the manor and watching over its inhabitants, just as he does every other day. It’s an exhausting, never-ending task, that he wouldn’t change for the world.
But that night, he is confronted by a stranger in his rooms with a copy of every single soul-binding contract he’s signed for the protection of his family.
The new Ghost King wants to update his terms and conditions.
The Phantom Nebula - Sphenoid_Thief (Sindria_the_Great)
When a new cult threatens to summon an eldritch entity, the Justice League is prepared for the worst. But since when do eldritch beasts look like teenagers?
If you do this with my fics, or anyone's fics, please know I HATE you. I hate you more than every troll comment, every "your writing sucks kys" comment, every "update soon" comment. I hate you. Other authors hate you. If you want my fic, you either WAIT for it or you pay me for it. And if you won't do one of those things, you don't deserve my fic or anyone else's.
Wow I totally dropped off the face of the Earth for a while there....but good news! I plan to release the last chapter In Search of Kindred Spirits soon, also there's another bunny running around...Another EPIC one shot mayhaps?
Can you please reblog if your blog is a safe place for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, asexual, aromantic, pansexual, non binary, demisexual or any other kind of queer or questioning people? Because mine is.
Well everyone we have a decision, I have a title and summary sneak peek for you all.
No actual chapter just yet as I have been busy with school but enjoy your sneak peek!
Title: The Best Kept Secrets Are Taken To The Grave
Summary:
If you were to ask anyone in Gotham how many graves rested on the grounds of Wayne Manor, they would confidentially say the same answer: two. Thomas and Martha Wayne. But if you posed that question to any of the Waynes, they would tell you there are three.
The third grave is lesser known, tucked beneath the sprawling branches of an old oak tree, its weathered stone blending into the landscape. Hidden away just enough that a passerby might overlook it—unless they knew exactly where to look. Yet, despite its quiet presence, it is a grave well tended. Flowers never wilt for long, and the stone is kept clean, a silent tribute to someone long remembered in the hearts of those who know its place in the family’s history.
Aka, the story of the lost Wayne, Bruce Wayne's first son, one Daniel "Danny" Fenton-Wayne and the ghost that haunts Wayne Manor.
Hi folks, welcome back for chapter 3 of In Search of Kindred Spirits. We have one more chapter after this to go! I don't have much to say on this chapter other than here we get to see Danny's search through the zone. But have fun everyone, and as always feedback is welcome!
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The Ghost Zone stretched infinitely in every direction, an otherworldly expanse of swirling green mist, floating islands, and jagged portals that flickered like torn seams in reality. Rivers of shimmering ectoplasm wound their way through the void, glowing faintly as they meandered past bizarre, gravity-defying landscapes. It was a place of eerie beauty, alive with strange whispers and the occasional flicker of ghostly figures darting between dimensions. Yet its vastness was daunting—so endless that even Danny, who had spent countless hours navigating its labyrinthine reaches, often felt like a single drop in an infinite ocean.
Jason wasn’t here. At least, not in the places Danny thought he would be.
The search was proving longer and more grueling than Danny had anticipated. Six months had passed since Jason had vanished, six months of tirelessly scouring the Ghost Zone’s countless nooks and crannies. Danny had questioned every ghost he encountered, chasing cryptic hints and fragmented tales that inevitably dissolved into dead ends. He had dived headfirst into unstable portals, braved spectral storms, and crossed paths with some of the Zone's most notorious denizens—all in pursuit of a lead, a sign, anything to guide him to Jason.
The weight of his task was beginning to press down on him. The Ghost Zone was infinite, unpredictable, and dangerous. Doubt whispered insidiously in the back of his mind, asking questions he didn’t want to face: What if Jason doesn’t want to be found? What if he’s gone for good? But Danny shook those thoughts off as quickly as they came.
He couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t give up. Jason had been there for him when no one else had, standing by his side in the moments that mattered most. Danny had made a promise—not just to Jason, but to himself. No matter how vast or treacherous the Ghost Zone might be, he wouldn’t let him down.
The first lead had come from Skulker, the self-proclaimed ghost hunter who seemed to delight in crossing paths with Danny. This time, he was lurking near a swirling vortex of green energy that looked suspiciously like a trap.
“Looking for someone, whelp?” Skulker had asked, his tone laced with mocking amusement.
Danny dodged the green net Skulker flung at him with practiced ease, his glare sharp. “None of your business, tin can.”
Skulker grinned, his predatory smile revealing rows of jagged teeth. “Oh, but it is my business. Word travels fast in the Zone, Phantom. I hear you’ve been scouring, chasing after a wayward soul. Someone… human?”
The accusation made Danny freeze mid-air. He masked his surprise with a glare. “What do you know?”
Skulker’s glowing eyes narrowed, glinting with a mix of menace and amusement. “More than you, it seems,” he drawled. “But let me offer a morsel of advice: tread carefully. The Ghost Zone holds many secrets, and not all who perish find their way here. Some fates…” His voice dipped lower, almost reverent, “are stranger than even you can imagine.”
Danny’s stomach tightened. The weight of Skulker’s words settled heavily in his chest, but before he could press for more, Skulker vanished into the swirling void, leaving Danny alone with his thoughts and a growing sense of unease.
It was the first time Danny truly questioned the foundation of his search. What if Jason wasn’t in the Ghost Zone at all? The possibility hit him like a punch to the gut. Every lead he had followed, every corner of the Zone he had searched, might have been for nothing. And worse—what if Skulker was right? What if Jason’s fate was something Danny couldn’t even begin to understand?
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Months slipped by, and Danny’s search grew increasingly desperate. He ventured deeper into the Ghost Zone, navigating its most treacherous and mysterious regions—places he had once considered nothing more than ghostly folklore. He braved the Valley of the Lost, a desolate expanse where wandering souls cried out in anguish for memories that had long faded, their voices hauntingly hollow. He ventured into the Obsidian Flats, a strange void where time and space twisted in impossible ways, folding in on themselves like a cruel labyrinth.
Everywhere he went, Danny asked the same question: “Have you seen a soul named Jason Todd?”
The responses were as maddening as they were unhelpful. Some ghosts sneered at him, their laughter echoing mockingly through the void. Others offered cryptic riddles that left Danny more frustrated than before.
“You search for one who is neither living nor dead,” Nocturn, the ghost of dreams and shadows, told him one night. His voice was smooth and ominous, like silk sliding over a blade. “Much like yourself, but also not. Such souls are rare, Phantom. If he is not here, then perhaps he lingers… somewhere in between.”
Danny’s frustration bubbled over. “In between what?” he demanded, his voice cracking with urgency.
Nocturn smiled faintly, the gleam of his teeth visible even in the dim light of the Zone. “That is the question, isn’t it?” he mused before vanishing into a swirl of dark mist, leaving Danny alone with his thoughts.
Nocturn’s words gnawed at Danny. What did “in between” even mean? The Ghost Zone was supposed to be the final destination for souls caught between life and death. If Jason wasn’t here, then where was he? And worse—what if Danny’s search was destined to lead him nowhere?
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It wasn’t until Danny visited Clockwork that he finally got some clarity—though, as with most things involving the Master of Time, the answers came wrapped in riddles.
Clockwork floated serenely in the center of his lair, his current form that of an aged man draped in flowing robes. The constant ticking and whirring of countless clocks filled the air, a reminder of time’s relentless march. Danny stood before him, fists clenched tightly at his sides, his desperation barely contained.
“Clockwork, I need your help,” Danny said, his voice steady but pleading. “I’m looking for someone. His name is Jason Todd.”
Clockwork’s glowing red eyes shifted toward him, calm and unblinking. “Ah, Jason Todd,” he said, his tone almost wistful. “The boy who died but did not pass on. I wondered when you would finally come to me.”
Danny’s breath hitched. “So… he’s alive?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Clockwork replied, gesturing to a swirling portal that appeared beside him. Within its depths, images began to form—flashes of Jason’s life. Danny saw Jason’s brutal death at the hands of the Joker, the quiet stillness of his grave, and then the violent churn of a bubbling green pit. The scene shifted to Jason clawing his way out, his body trembling, his eyes wild and filled with rage.
“What is this?” Danny whispered, his voice barely audible over the rhythmic ticking.
“The Lazarus Pit,” Clockwork explained, his voice carrying the weight of ages. “A pool of ancient, corrupted ectoplasmic energy capable of dragging souls back from the brink of death. But its gifts are not without consequence.”
Danny watched, his stomach twisting, as the portal revealed Jason’s transformation. Gone was the boy Danny had known, replaced by someone colder, angrier—haunted.
“He’s alive,” Danny murmured, a mix of relief and dread coursing through him. “But… why hasn’t he come back? Why didn’t he tell anyone?”
Clockwork’s expression remained impassive, though there was a flicker of something—pity, perhaps—in his gaze. “Because the Pit does not give without taking. It warps the soul, twists it into something new. Jason Todd may walk among the living, but he is not the same as he once was.”
“No,” Danny said firmly, shaking his head. “That’s not true. Jason is still… Jason. I know he is.”
Clockwork’s voice softened, though his tone remained measured. “Perhaps. But the boy you seek is no longer in the Ghost Zone. He resides in the world of the living now, much like you—a soul caught between what was and what is.”
Danny’s mind raced. If Jason was alive, then there was still hope. Yet the images of the Lazarus Pit and Jason’s pained expression lingered, filling Danny with unease. Somewhere out there, Jason was waiting to be found—but he might not be the same person Danny remembered.
The questions swirled in Danny’s mind, heavier than the Ghost Zone’s silence. But one thing was clear: his search wasn’t over. Not yet.
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Danny returned to the human world a changed person. He’d grown stronger, his powers sharper and more refined. But he’d also grown more determined. He couldn’t let Jason’s memory—or the hope that he might still be out there—fade into the background. So Danny turned back to the letters, remembering the city that began it all.
“Gotham,” Danny murmured, holding the letter in his hands. The city that had taken Jason from him. The city that might still hold the answers he was looking for.
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Moving to Gotham felt like stepping back in time. The city was just as grimy, chaotic, and dangerous as Danny remembered. But this time, he wasn’t a scared little kid clinging to Jason for protection.
This time, he was Phantom.
Danny took to patrolling the streets at night, his white hair and glowing green eyes making him a ghostly blur in the shadows. Gotham’s criminals were ruthless, but so was he. Phantom became a whispered legend among the city’s underworld—a vigilante who moved like a ghost and struck like a storm.
But for all his heroics, Danny’s true mission remained the same: find Jason Todd.
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On one particular night after months in the city, as Danny hovered above Gotham’s rooftops, scanning the streets below, he spotted something unusual. A group of armed men was unloading crates from a truck, their movements tense and hurried.
Danny narrowed his eyes. Smugglers, probably. He swooped down, his ectoblasts glowing in his hands.
“Alright, boys,” he called, his voice echoing eerily. “Drop the weapons, or I’ll make you drop them myself.”
The men froze, their eyes widening at the sight of him.
“What the hell—?” one of them started, but before he could finish, a gunshot rang out.
Danny dodged effortlessly, phasing through the bullet like it was nothing. He smirked. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that.”
Before he could strike, a second figure appeared, dropping into the fray like a shadow.
Danny’s breath caught.
The newcomer was clad in black and red, a helmet obscuring his face. He moved with brutal efficiency, taking down the smugglers one by one with a combination of gunfire and hand-to-hand combat.
Danny watched, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t need to see the man’s face to know who it was.
“Jason,” he whispered.
The Red Hood turned, his posture stiffening as he noticed Danny hovering above him.
For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the air between them heavy with unspoken words.
Danny felt a lump form in his throat. After three long years, he’d finally found him.
“Jason,” he said again, louder this time.
The Red Hood tilted his head, his voice cold and unfamiliar. “Who’s asking?”
