meant to post this yesterday (august 16) for his birthday. oops
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
macklin celebrini has autism
Show & Tell
art blog(derogatory)

⁂
we're not kids anymore.
trying on a metaphor

titsay
AnasAbdin
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
cherry valley forever

blake kathryn
Today's Document
Three Goblin Art

if i look back, i am lost
noise dept.
No title available
wallacepolsom
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

ellievsbear
seen from United States

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seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
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@sidena
meant to post this yesterday (august 16) for his birthday. oops
Based on this post by @pointnclick
I love the idea of Danny and the Joker having an unending beef and I thought of them when I read that post
Ewwww
Teacher: Mr Wayne, thank you for coming in. We need to talk about Damian’s family tree project. Firstly, he is claiming his mother is Talia al Ghul, the renowned terrorist.
Bruce: Ah, yes, well she is.
Teacher: I'm sorry? You and her... None of my business. Now he claims his grandfather, uh, Ra's... He claims he is 687 years old. That can't be right.
Bruce: It's not. Me and him are in a disagreement about it. I think Ra's is only 679 but you know what Damian’s like.
Teacher: I... I guess so. Now in this section he did on his siblings, he has included Jason Todd, which I thought was very sweet of him only he. Well, he gives him one birth and death date and then he includes a 'rebirth' date and when I asked him about it... Mr Wayne, are you alright?
Bruce: *tearing up* He listed all his siblings. Even Tim!
The whole trope of Gotham criminals having to deal with the fact that Robin shapeshifts every couple of years gets talked about a lot, but imagine it for any other member of the batfam.
Imagine being a random henchman, hearing “batgirl is coming!” And having no idea which of the 3 different batgirls that are in the rotation is coming to beat you up. Is it spoiler? Or what if it’s orphan? Could it be the ginger one again?
Henchman 1: Was that Robin? He had the R, the domino mask, everything.
Henchman 2: No, that was Red Robin. Robin has the hood now
Hm1: Oh. Do you think Red Robin and Red Hood are like, related or something?
Hm2: Yeah, what’s up with the whole “Red” thing?
Hm1: Right?
Sillies
Congratulations on the marriage guys!!!! It's about time honestly
Vlad's Journal and Descent into Madness
Journal 73 — Entry #4 — Sunday, 10:42 AM
It appears that today marks another entry in the ever-growing (though sporadic) log of Daniel's voluntary visits. I would be lying if I claimed I did not feel a twisted sense of triumph each time he chooses me, even if it's not for the reasons I once envisioned.
He let himself in, phasing through the walls of my mansion without issue, and made himself comfortable in one of the rooms I had decorated and set aside for him. The ones he swore he’d never use. The ones he mocked.
He then curled up on the king-sized bed, and cried.
Not sniffled. Not pouted. Cried. With the quiet desperation of someone who didn’t want to be seen but came to be seen anyway. I watched from the security cameras, but I am unsure what to do about this.
Should I comfort him? Offer tea? A listening ear? Or would that drive him away again?
He didn’t ask for me. Maybe he just needed to get away?
He fell asleep an hour later, still curled up tightly. Like a child.
I’ve since instructed the staff to remain clear of the east wing for the rest of the day.
What an interesting development.
-
Journal 73 — Entry #6 — Thursday, 8:03 PM
Daniel seems tired at all times.
Not the usual teenage sluggishness or feigned disinterest he wears like armor, no, this is different. It clings to him. A weight I can see in the way he hunches his shoulders and drags his words. A hollowness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.
Fights that should be simple, should be laughable, now stretch far too long. That insufferable Box Ghost (how he continues to exist is beyond me) had Daniel pinned against a dumpster for thirty-eight seconds. I counted. Thirty-eight seconds of sluggish dodging and half-hearted blasts before Daniel finally overpowered him.
He tried to laugh it off afterward. Told a bystander, "Guess I’m off my game today."
He’s been off his game every day this month.
He thinks no one’s noticing. But I notice.
I don’t know if it's school, ghost hunting, or something worse that’s draining him. I have my suspicions. I’ve seen the bags under his eyes, the way he flinches at loud noises, the way his human form looks thinner than I recall.
He's not healing properly either. The wounds last longer.
I offered him a place to rest again; carefully, cautiously, phrased as a joke during our last encounter. He rolled his eyes. Called me a fruitloop. But he didn’t say no.
Curious.
I've added new medical supplies to the east wing suite. Subtle ones. Just in case.
-
Journal 73 — Entry #10 — Monday, 3:16 PM
Danielle has visited as well.
Or Ellie, as Daniel insists on calling her. The nickname rolls off his tongue with such natural fondness that even I hesitate to correct it aloud.
She arrived without fanfare, just appeared on my balcony with a backpack slung over one shoulder and a guarded look on her face.
Apparently, Daniel has "vouched" for me.
Those were her exact words. Said he told her I’ve “been better lately,” and that if she ever needed a place to lie low, this mansion was an option. My mansion. Me. He offered me up on silver platter, without my input. And she—perhaps foolishly, perhaps bravely—took him at his word.
She is smaller than I remembered. Louder, too. Fierce in the way only someone desperate to prove they belong can be. But beneath the bravado, she is still very much a child.
A child I created.
And now, after everything, she is willing to give me another chance.
It’s almost laughable. After all the betrayal, the manipulation, the abandonment, she strolled into my home, poked around the east wing like she owned the place, and asked if I had any soda.
I don’t know what Daniel told her.
I don’t know if this is some elaborate trap or test, or simply another piece of evidence that he’s unraveling and trying to stitch together something that resembles a family before it’s too late.
But for now, she’s here. I’ve assigned her a room adjacent to Daniel’s, with reinforced walls and a view of the orchard. She seemed pleased.
She asked if I’d kept any of her old clothes. I had.
She smiled.
What an impossible day.
-
Journal 73 — Entry #16 — Wednesday, 9:47 PM
We, Danielle and I, rarely talk.
Not in any meaningful way, at least. She speaks of her travels with sweeping gestures and exaggerated flair. Cities she’s passed through, ghosts she’s talked to, backpackers she’s raced for the last slice of pizza. She’s young and restless and already aching for something more.
When our conversations stray from her stories, they fall to him.
To Daniel.
His latest scuffle. His stubborn habits. His strange need to be everything to everyone except himself. She talks like a sister. She complains like a sister. And sometimes her worry slips through. Then she shuts it down again with a scoff or a joke. She is so much like him in that way. It’s painful.
Lately, we've been circling the same refrain: how tired he seems.
Not just physically.
She noticed it too. The way his powers flicker. The blank, unfocused way he stares at things he used to care about. Even his transformations are slower, sloppier. Like it hurts him.
I told her what she already knows: something is wrong.
She asked if I’d spoken to him. I asked her the same.
Neither of us had.
So instead, I encouraged her to reach out to the elder sister, Jasmine. The elder Fenton does not trust him, which is understandable.
But Daniel listens to her, even when he pretends not to. If anyone might be able to pry something out of him, it’s her. Danielle made a face at that suggestion, muttered something about “Jazz being nosy.” But she didn’t say no.
Still, despite the silence between us, I’ve made arrangements.
As of this week, Danielle is officially named as my heir.
In the case of my death—accidental, orchestrated, or otherwise—she will inherit my estate, my assets, my research (edited, of course), and full control of the company. The board won’t like it. But I’ve never cared for their opinions.
I don't believe I'll ever have a child the natural way. Too many enemies. Too many secrets. Too many… flaws. The child or I, I will not find out by trial.
Danielle is… not quite a daughter. Not quite a creation. She is mine, and not mine, in equal measure.
And at least with this, she will be taken care of.
Even if she never thanks me.
-
Journal 73 — Entry #23 — Saturday, 2:04 AM
It all comes to a head.
Jack and Madeline had learned the truth.
Apparently have known the truth for a while yet.
They found out about Daniel’s… status a couple of months ago. But they didn’t hunt him down. Didn’t tear him apart molecule by molecule the way they so often ranted they would.
No. They did something worse.
They experimented.
Daniel told me himself, between broken sobs and pained, shuddering whimpers. His voice was hoarse. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. He didn’t need to show me the marks. I could already see them. Burns where the ecto-suppressors had clung too long. Numb fingertips. Old bruises in the shape of restraints.
He said they told him it was for his own good.
That if they studied him enough, picked him apart the right way, they could fix him.
Turn him back.
And the most agonizing part? He let them.
He allowed it. Out of some stupid, desperate hope that maybe they’d see past the ghost and recognize their son again.
But they didn’t.
They mourned him instead. Grieved the loss of their bright-eyed boy while he sat in front of them, begging them to look. And then they convinced themselves that what remained was a ghost. A parasite. A shell.
A thing.
They weren’t trying to help him. They were trying to exorcise him.
The final straw came when they arranged a transfer.
To the Investigation Ward.
That’s when he ran. I’m not sure how he got here, only that he did. Collapsed in the east wing like a dying ember, and for once, didn’t resist when I carried him to bed.
I tried to ask what he needed. He flinched.
I tried to offer medical care. He closed his eyes and shook his head.
So now I sit here. Watching him breathe.
I, of all people, do not know how to help him.
But, I suppose I can do nothing but try.
-
Journal 73 — Entry #31 — Monday, 11:56 AM
Daniel has finally left his room.
It has been a month and a half. Forty-five days of silence. Of closed doors. Of untouched food trays and ignored attempts at conversation. The east wing has remained in this constant state of quiet.
Today, there was a breakthrough.
It took the combined effort of Jasmine, the goth friend (Manson, I believe), the tech one (Foley, insufferable as ever), and Danielle to coax him into stepping outside. Like a little ghostly intervention squad. They bundled him in a jacket he didn’t need, dragged him out to the orchard, and settled under the pavilion.
They talked. Laughed, a little. And then, of course, Danielle cried.
It only took twenty minutes.
I heard it from my study window: that first shuddering breath, the quiet sob that broke whatever dam he’d been holding for weeks. And what a gift these children have, because not one of them let him do it alone.
They all started crying seconds later. Every one of them.
There is very little in this world I cannot provide. With money, everything is purchasable. Comfort. Privacy. Safety. Except for the actual feeling of safety.
And Daniel, my brilliant, reckless, maddening Daniel, does not feel safe. Not even here.
This morning, I found a sticky note on my work table.
It wasn’t signed, but the handwriting is unmistakable: narrow strokes, careful slant, a smug little curl on the "y."
“Maybe it’s time for a change of scenery.”
That damned clock ghost. Must he always meddle?
Still.
I’ve begun browsing properties. Quiet places. Somewhere further from Wisconsin and further still from the Fentons
This was not because he told me to.
But because I already had that idea in the first place.
-
Journal 73 — Entry #38 — 7:39 PM
I can only sigh.
When one thing goes right, twelve other things go wrong. And when they go wrong, they go nuclear.
This is all Daniel’s fault.
Yes, yes, I understand that he is considered the Ghost King of the Infinite Realms, fine, excellent, very regal. I may have a part of that. But, what I do not understand is why he failed to mention that he’s been summoned multiple times by said title.
Summoned. As in: forcibly pulled out of whatever he was doing, with absolutely no regard for time, boundaries, or plans. And the worst part?
He forgot to tell any of us.
According to him: “Well, it’s not like it happens a lot. And I can normally reject it.”
I would very much like to understand what goes through that boy’s head during times like these. What mysterious nonsense occurs in his skull when he decides not to share crucial information with the people who have quite literally been housing, feeding, and medically tending to him since his nervous breakdown.
His friends have already scolded him for it.
Manson still gives him death glares. Foley has been spamming him with memes.
(Danielle doesn’t seem to care either way, excited by the new world to explore.)
But it was Jasmine who finally got through. Her lecture was devastating.
After ten minutes, she was teary-eyed with a face to match the color of her hair. It was only when she ended with: “What if we got hurt because of this.” that Daniel cried. Again.
Honestly, I might cry too. Out of frustration.
Because, thanks to his negligence, we were all summoned with him.
“Ghost King and Entourage” were the exact words used when we were yanked out of our newly-purchased estate and dumped us into an entirely different world.
Yes. Another world. A whole different dimension.
Because when Clockwork said “change of scenery,” apparently he meant cross-universal relocation.
I would like to punch him.
But I will hold back. Because at least I still have the lion’s share of wealth I always keep with me; liquid, diversified, and accessible across most known currencies, thank you very much.
A small comfort.
Daniel and Danielle seem to like this world. Something about the saturation of ambient energy and “punching opportunities.” There are superheroes here. There are also supervillains.
Frankly, I find it derivative.
Manson and Foley miss their families.
Manson, more specifically, her grandmother. (She won’t admit it, but she hasn't taken off that ugly cardigan her grandmother made her. I won’t comment. She might bury me in the backyard.)
I am not scared of her. I simply exercise a healthy dose of caution.
Jasmine, interestingly, does not seem to care.
She’s far more upset about the loss of her college credits than the interdimensional kidnapping. She’s already begun badgering Foley about setting up an identity for her so she can re-enroll. In a new dimension.
I am still unclear where this child developed such unrelenting work ethic.
Then I remember Jack and Madeline. Ah. Yes. That would explain it.
Personally, I am… adapting. Reluctantly.
Daniel, for his part, has expressed his confusion.
Apparently, Clockwork usually sends him back right away when summoned. A quick call out, a portal home. But this time? This time, the only thing Clockwork said, verbatim, was:
“Enjoy yourselves.”
In a green sticky note.
I will punch him.
I don’t care how many timelines he sees. I don’t care how cryptic and omniscient he pretends to be. He could have warned me. I had plans. Meetings.
And now I’m trapped in a city with vigilantes and teenagers with laser eyes.
Still, I am trying.
And through all of it, I swear, swear, Daniel is going to sit down and make a list of everything else he’s forgotten to mention. I will personally provide him with a pen and clipboard.
Or so help me, I will… do something.
I'm unsure what, but it will satisfy my vengeance.
-
Journal 73 — Entry #42 — Friday, 6:32 PM
Foley, Manson, and Jasmine have powers.
I would very much like to know what I have to do to make up for the villainy I committed in this lifetime. Was it the cloning? The ghost portals? The part where I threatened Wisconsin with annihilation? Surely there’s a limit to the universe’s retribution.
The situation was this:
Foley and Manson were having an argument. As they do.
Except this time, it was… different. Clearly something that had been simmering for weeks, maybe longer. I assume Danielle was aware. I assume everyone was aware.
I, foolishly, was not.
It was dinner. I was being civil. All I wanted, all I wanted, was to know what these gremlins of children desired to eat.
Foley said steak. Medium rare.
Manson said pasta. With some sort of complicated pesto.
Simple enough. Or it should have been.
The next thing I knew, Foley was glowing gold and Manson was glowing a shade of dark green. There were sparks. From the electronics and the plants.
If it weren't for Jasmine tossing them bodily out of the house—with her own eyes glowing bright green—I believe our new residence would have been destroyed. Or, at the very least, heavily damaged and covered in fluorescent pesto rage.
Jasmine didn’t even raise her voice.
She simply sighed, stood, and threw them out the sliding glass door.
Apparently, their ghostly adventures led to Daniel’s friends being possessed.
Manson, by Undergrowth.
Foley, by Pharaoh Duulaman.
Jasmine was liminal.
So, to recap:
One ghost king. One clone. One god powered chlorokinesis user. One technopath with the ability to control reality. One part-time college student turned liminal. And me.
Just me.
The only adult in the house.
I would like a refund.
Perhaps we can go back to when Daniel despised me, and Danielle wanted nothing to do with me.
Back when things were simple.
When my greatest concern was “Will Daniel ever accept my mentorship?” and not “Will the walls survive dinner?”
I find myself sighing more often than not.
I need a vacation.
Cult Casper High schoolmates, but make it deaged Danny
Danny's entire class slowly figures out that Danny=Phantom but, with the exception of some outliers (Wes), they all agree to keep Danny's secret. One of the A-listers--Dash has definitely been hit by one of his parents before--brings up the idea of what could happen if Danny's parents find out and no one is there is cruel enough to put Danny through that.
Until one day, the Fentons shoot down Phantom and haul him back to their lab.
It only takes the class a few hours to mobilize, but in that time, Danny has already been vivisected like a frog and because of the damage, he retreats into his core, and comes out Ghost age, ei that's a toddler now.
That's their toddler now.
Obviously they have to escape Amity Park, because this is dcxdp and the GiW aren't happy about them "defending" a ghost, so they get the hell out of dodge. Gotham is the most obvious choice, Sam explains with a powerpoint, due to low cost of living, most careers not requiring ID and are willing to pay under the table, and high ectoplasm interference. To save money, they buy a run down building together and the whole class says under one roof.
Everyone likes baby Danny. Everyone wants to take care of him. Some of them are weird about it.
Or, the Bats investigate a new cult that popped up, only to find out that their object of worship is a toddler.
LMFAO
He’s not gay enough for superhell
Dc x dp dead on main:
Danny moves to Gotham for college and falls head over heels for the ecto contaminated beef cake in his English lit class.
He’s constantly tripping over himself anytime he’s around and wants nothing more than to grab his attention.
Now thanks to all Mr. Lancers hard work, Danny’s actually pretty good at English, but thanks to a certain walking distraction he starts to fall behind.
The first time he gets a D on a test he nearly sobs. Thankfully he has a merciful teacher that decided to help him out, so they asked Jason if he could tutor Danny so he could bring up his grades.
Unfortunately that doesn’t stop Danny from being an absolute mess, and an absolutely terrible flirt.
While discussing Jane Austin, Danny decides to just bite the bullet.
“So what would it take for someone to win your heart?” He asked with a dopey grin.
Jason snorted, “The Joker’s corpse.” He said, half paying attention before continuing on with the lesson.
Danny blinked, “uhhh, which one?”
Jason paused, “what do mean which one? There’s only one joker.” He looked at Danny like he was stupid.
Danny just shrugged, “well, yeah, now there is. But, like which corpse did you want? The first, 2nd, or 3rd joker?” He asked, giving Jason a dopey grin. “I can definitely get you the 2nd jokers corpse, the third is still active so he’d require some extra effort, but I may have a problem with the first Joker.”
Jason narrowed his eyes, “and why’s that?”
Danny shrugged, “oh Batman killed him years ago,” he paused, “well technically he didn’t land the final blow. He did however cause the concussion that caused him to stumble off a cliff, but he would have died from the internal bleeding anyway.” Danny explained, not understanding why Jason was so shocked but not at all mad about the attention.
“I’m pretty sure most of his body’s been eaten by the local wildlife at this point, but I can try to find his skull if you want?” Danny said, batting his eyelashes.
Jason just stared at him in shock. “How-how could you possibly know that!?!?”
Danny smiled, “oh, I have some friends that are constantly in and out of walker’s prison in the ghost zone. Apparently the guy won’t shut up about Batman and bragging about killing a Robin.” Danny frowned, “stupid move really, living or dead, people are rarely chill about child killers. Walkers had to put him in solitary just about every week.”
Jason huffed, “you expect me to believe Batman killed the Joker after he killed m-Robin and now he’s in ghost jail?”
“Well where did you think he would end up?” He rolled his eyes “He’s not gay enough for superhell.”
Jason just blinked. “Was that a Supernatural reference?” He smirked, making Danny blush.
“Uhh. Maybe?”
Jason smiled, “alright, prove to me that joker is dead and not only will I go on a date with you, I’ll introduce you to my family as my boyfriend.”
Danny turned bright red and beamed “Deal!”
An hour later Jason walked out of the weirdest prison he had ever seen with his new boyfriend and a new lease on life.
When Jason brought Danny home for dinner that night, they ended up eating without Bruce, as he was still frozen in shock by the front door after his son came in, introduced him to his new boyfriend as his dad and gave him a hug!
A real hug! A hug that lasted a full 30 seconds!
Danny wasn’t sure what was going on but he had a hot new boyfriend who was familiar with the ghost zone! He couldn’t wait to introduce him to clockwork!
Don’t forget the hyphen!!!
@official-clark-kent
I just sent this to my husband and his response was “you can’t put a price on that” uh, yeah you can, they just did. 🙄
Judy Brady Syfers wrote ‘I Want a Wife’ in 1971. It holds up.
My mother used to mutter “I want a WIFE” angrily from time to time.
Later, after my parents split up and my mom’s bff’s spouse died, mom’s bff moved in. Mom would come home from work and the house would be clean! Dinner would be ready! Laundry done! Homework checked!
She called me up, delighted, a few weeks into it. “I was right! I DID want a wife!”
i remember the blissful 14 months when me and my friend shared a nanny, and coming back into the living room to find she had spontaneously tidied up the extreme chaos. That must be what it’s like, being a man, that you can just walk away from some mess to get ready for work, and when you come back somebody else has dealt with it without any physical or mental effort from you.
I think about this essay all the time
just a reminder that these prices are from 2014
In usd today a housewife is worth 278,431 and 14 cents.
Just so you know
So, the other day, when I was discussing AO3's policy on solicitation, a tumblr user came at me saying that AO3's "no monetization/solicitation" rules were "bullshit" because nexus mods allows fan created mods to get paid.
Look at me.
Look at me right now.
AO3 protects you.
AO3 protects you and your works.
It protects your works from copyright strikes and DCMA takedowns.
It protects your work from advertisers.
It protects your work from overzealous legal challenges.
It protects your right to post adult content.
AO3 is non-profit and AO3 will never try to use you or your work to make a profit for themselves and AO3 will go to bat for you if someone tries to legally challenge you or your works.
Please respect AO3 and its mission.
Maddie looked down at the floating, giggling baby boy in front of her, and felt old guilt bubble up inside of her.
It had been at first time Jack and her had fought, disagreeing on theories and neither of them left the arguments at the lab, Jazz had just been a little girl then, barely tottering around with a big gummy smile.
They had tried to patch it up, to pretend that the words they said in their rants didn't hurt, but in the end...Jack had taken Jazz up state, vist his family for the summer and leaving Maddy all alone.
It really was a moment of weakness, she had met Clark Kent and it was a whirlwind of emotions almost instantly.
She had a type, sue her, big nerdy farm boys that stuttered when they got kissed, who looked at her like she was the only thing that ever mattered...
She saw Jack in Clark's sky blue eyes, and the guilt built up.
The romance was wild and fast, like a runaway train hurtling towards a cliff. They moved fast, skipping through the long talks and planning that she had with Jack, and going right to the down and dirty.
Even though she loved it (even though she loved Him) Maddie knew that she couldn't keep it up, she admitted in the end, that she was married, that she had a child and neither of them wanted to tare that family apart.
She still remembered the betrayed look on Clark's face when she told him, when he found out that she was cheating on her husband, the kind of hurt that echoed in her mind, those sky blue eyes that she fell so hard for were like icy flakes as she held her head in her hands and cried.
She didn't know what she had wanted from.him then, to fight for her, perhaps to even comfort her at that time, even though she had spent the last months living a lie. In the end Clark just stood and left, his shoulders tight and back straight, walking out of the small apartment that Maddie rented in Metropolis to get away from it all.
It was for the best, she knew that. When Jack came back they managed to work the relationship out, Jazz had been young enough not to remember the fighting.
And by the time that the baby bump started to form, she didn't doubt that it couldn't have been Jacks child.
(A lingering in the back of her mind, a dark nothingness whispered, "its not his. It's the man you toyed with and threw away")
She had managed to push those thoughts aaway, convincing herself that it had to be Jacks, that the child (Daniel, after her grandfather) would bring them together, mend the cracks even more.
When the boy was born she could only see His eyes. Not Jacks cloudy, ocean blues, but Clark's stark sky colored ones, the same small curl in his downy baby hair.
She had never felt more in love, and never had felt more disgusted in herself.
Maddie let Jack think Danny was his, trying to keep the grimace off her face each time she saw her husband, the man she had spent so long building up a new branch of science with, coo and tickle the child that was proof of her infidelity.
When the boy started to float, that was when she felt a pang of panic, she didn't have the meta gene, she had tested and double tested to make sure, and came to the conclusion that it was Clark. That Clark had powers and never felt comfortable enough to tell her.
(Little did she know, that on the day she told him, Clark had a ring in his pocket, his mother's simple band that held a small diamond, he had planned to propose, to tell her his biggest secret, but the words died in his throat at her confession, and the box now sat, in the dark corner of his bedside table, only to be gazed at with a sorrowful heart in days he is reminded of the woman he thought he knew)
It was when the boy, Danny was age 14, bloody and delirious, with scars in a Y shape across his chest that oozed green instead of red, when she had to pull him out from a lab that used her own technology to torture her son that she finally pulled out her phone, with shaking hands she typed out the same number that even after all these years she still remembered.
"Hello Kent residency! How can I help ya?" A young voice answered, and she could hear the cheery sunshine smile through the line.
("He has a family now. Don't you dare feel jealous Madeline, you did this to yourself")
"Hi there, is Clark there? I-i need to speak to him about something." She managed to say with an even voice, even though her heart pounded in her chest.
"Uhhh...yeah I think Dad is around. Lemme-oop here he is" there was a rustling as the phone was passed between hands, a whispered conversation.
("Who is it Jon? *I dunno Dad, just some lady asking for you?* sigh, dont just answer my phone son, now go help your mother, it isnt fair that she does all the house work")
There was a shuffle of feet and then- "Hello, Clark speaking, may I ask who is calling?"
That voice. It was deep but gentle and caring, smooth like velvet with a hit of that country still in him.
"Clark...its been a while....I-its Madeline. Please dont hang up. I am just...I just need you help with something." She hears a sharp drawn in breath, the perfect stillness that she could have thought that he had hung up until-
"What do you need." It was clipped, words controlled and even, though there was something behind held back, old emotions and hurt dug back up with just a simple phone call.
"After...our-our relationship. I got back with Jack. I am not...not calling to get back together. It's just...Clark I was pregnant. It...he was yours."
There was another drawn in breath, then a sound closer to a whimper than a sigh "W-what?" (On the other side, the Man of Steel was hunching over the living room coffee table, glasses thrown to the side as he massaged the bridge of his nose, breath speeding up as his brain raced) "How...how can you be sure it is mine..."
She presses her back agaisnt a wall, her head leaning agaisnt it as her eyes closed, "Clark. He can fly. And lift cars. And...and lived when thousands of volts of electricity ran through his body...I dont have the meta gene, neither does my parents or Jack and his. The only conclusion i can come is that..."
"He's mine..." Clark's voice was limp, sounding far away yet all the same still there.
Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, both clearly going though the motions, before Clark finally spoke "Why did you never tell me till now." There was a longing in his voice, one that Maddie couldn't fully understand.
"It wasnt until he was born that I knew for certain Danny was yours Clark. I didn't want to...to risk everything that Jack and I had built again after it all just to call you...I knew how much you had wanted to be a father but i...I was scared Clark."
The mans stuttered breathing was the only way that Maddie knew that he hadn't hung up, "I am only reaching out now that...that Danny is in danger. Things have been happening and...he needs to get away from Amity Park, the GIW have been hunting him. I have managed to stem most of the attempts but they are getting annoyed at the lack of results. I dont ask you this lightly Clark...but I have no body else to ask."
The line was quiet for a while, before Clark breathed out slowly, "I would love to meet him...a-and if he is in danger...i-i would be honored to take care of him."
---
Danny clutches his bag as he stares up at the tall condo, his nose scrunching up as he makes a face, "...Y'know mom when I said I wanted to cosplay Percy Jackson for Halloween I was thinking, more letting me dye my hair silver for the stripe thing and getting an orange t-shirt and a sword, less finding out my dad isnt actually my dad and getting shipped to New York..."
Maddie sighs as she rubs at her eyes, "Daniel...please. this is hard for me enough already. I really do not have the patience for the sass...Clark is a good man, he will take care of you while Jack and I take care of the GIW..."
Neither of them get the chance to respond as a tall man with curly black hair steps out from the condos entrance, flanked by a dark haired woman, a young boy with a big smile and a punkish looking teen that seemed to want to be anywhere else.
"Here they are Danny, the Kents."
"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING??"