#danny phantom fic

[fanaroff]

Constantine coming across Danny for the first time: Kid, are you aware that you’re dead?

Danny, about to play the greatest prank: I’m what? D:

[thr-333]

Chapter 3 of Baby Batler is out!

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[pokelolmc]

(AU: Jack and Maddie are there for Danny's accident)

"Can I take this off?" Her son groaned, "I don't really have to walk around with this, do I?"

She sighed with a gentle chuckle.

"Sure, sweetie. Just as long as you keep the jumpsuit on. Safety rules."

With a sigh of great relief, Danny ripped the patch of Jack's face off his chest.

...she really hoped it wouldn't upset Jack that much.

As much as she loved her husband's antics, she knew things like this didn't sit well with her youngest.

She had no reason not to let this slide.

Jack, meanwhile, sat at the control panel—tinkering away with the buttons and checking the settings and power attachments.

"Can I go take a look?" Danny asked.

"Sure thing, kiddo!" Jack beamed. Maddie elbowed him quickly in the side.

"Jack!"

He shrugged.

"What? It's all off right now, everything's fine!"

Maddie sighed with light exasperation at her husband, and made her way over to the control panel.

"Any idea what's wrong with it?" She asked. He shook his head, sadly.

"Nope. We have everything calibrated exactly according to the blueprints. We should have it working this time. It just...isn't."

...screams exploded into the air behind them.

The couple froze dead.

There was barely time to react—they whipped around.

In an entire second, Jack and Maddie's lives flipped completely upside down.

The portal frame, once empty, set alight with a blinding green like fire, and the silhouette of their son inside arched backwards, one hand planted firmly onto the inner wall.

Maddie's heart leapt up her throat, her mind desperately pleading for it not to be real.

"JACK! TURN IT OFF!" she screamed.

He jammed the power button on the panel futilely.

"I CAN'T! IT'S ALREADY OFF!"

The screams echoed...

Wild, guttural, agonising, feral...

Heartbreaking screams.

Jack, in hard desperation, finally launched forward to the cord on the floor, ripped out the plug, but the blinding assault asserted its own due time—its right, bought by hundreds of brutal volts, to start and end as it pleased.

...finally, after a painful eternity, the light faded without a sound. Maddie's scream was guttural.

"DANNY!"

The blinding shimmering faded...but the greenness did not. The portal was no longer empty—now swirling with an inhuman vortex...

The lab fell into stillness, silent save for the gentle humming of the portal.

Seconds passed, agonisingly.

...

In the silence, in the emptiness, a small figure stumbled out of the portal.

A glowing figure, dressed in black, with a shock of white hair.

The white fringe steered upwards, and a deep horror welled in Maddie's throat.

That hair should've been black.

She could see it—the lithe body, the now-black jumpsuit that should've been white, the young boyish features an unmistakeable mix of her and her husband's.

"...mum?" The voice hissed, less like a true reverberation from a voice box and more like a whistle on a wind.

Maddie's hands dart to her mouth in horror. Unshed tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

Green eyes—acid-green, ectoplasmic-green—flicked upwards and caught hers with a magnetic pull.

The form glowed with an unearthly aura, slumped on the laboratory floor.

Slowly, that gaze drifted down to his hands—to the sight of glowing white gloves...

...the clueless daze escalated into panic.

"...w-what...what's going on...?! What happened to me...?!"

The ghost's eyes flickered to Maddie.

"...mum...? No...please don't cry! ...please...!"

The figure stumbled to its feet. Its steps barely rang about the lab, traitorously silent as if pulled by something weightless, and it crooned out with a shaking hand.

Years of rational theory-crafting and research in the back of her head rattled on, in a voice cold and clinical.

This was a ghost...

A real, completely undeniable ghost.

"Mads—" Jack warned, his own his eyes wide in horror, but she didn't hear him. She stumbled forward.

But the part of her warning of hollow echoes of consciousness and shallow tricks faded out under the pain wrenching in her chest.

...she was a mother.

"Danny?"

The spectre's face stiffened with recognition at the name. Got up on two feet and shakily stumbled.

In a brief, but sickening, flash...Maddie was thirteen years younger, and her infant son was toddling up on his feet for the first time. She held her arms out in eager excitement.

But then the cruel reality flashed into the present. The form that shook before her was glowing and ethereal, see-through like the smoke of a dying fire.

This was not a birth...but a death.

The spectre made it several steps, but after a short few seconds he collapsed to his knees—right as her arms opened.

...rather than her hands catching him as he stumbled, he fell right through her arms, leaving faint ectoplasmic whisps on her gloves.

(Jack followed suit—approached them hesitantly, wrapped an arm around her and huddles over the prone form that had just slipped through her fingers).

They barely had a second to speak, to mourn, to pull back with a deep breath and piece the scattered fragments of order in their head back together—

A strange halo of light burst into existence at the ghost's waist. It split into two, travelling in both directions over the glowing shape...

...the glow receded. The jumpsuit became white, the hair black, the skin pale and cold but human—

Blue eyes blinked rapidly. Her baby took deep staggering breaths, hands reaching out for her, shaking.

Her mind broke.

Time slowed down. Confusion crawled out of her stomach and up her throat, and for once, Maddie couldn't breathe.

What...?

What just happened?

The traitorous terror dissolved into the ambivolous presence of bemused relief.

"...Danny?" She asked quietly.

Her son squeezed his eyes shut beneath her. She grabbed for his wrist, hauled off the glove with a desperate fervour to feel the vein beneath.

...it thrummed with life underneath the skin.

A wave of confusion washed over Maddie. Her mind froze in its tracks. Her head so light she felt like she could faint.

"Am I...a ghost?" Danny finally croaked, "Am I dead?"

Slowly, befuddled, Maddie shook her head.

"I...I don't know—"

It should've been obvious. It should've been impossible.

And yet, in this moment, it was a question without an answer.

[starry-bi-sky]

The Anita Ekberg Treatment

Jazz Fenton is not blind to her social reputation in the ever-evolving food chain of Lemures Middle School.

Why would she be?

She’s curated it since the second grade, when she was sick and tired of being picked on by her classmates for reasons involving her parents’ occupations, and the teachers wouldn’t help her. Just like they wouldn’t — and didn’t — help Danny.

It was armor for herself. Fighting back physically or verbally wouldn’t do anything, since she already knew the teachers wouldn’t take her side. She’d seen it happen to the other kids that were disliked like she was. She was at a natural disadvantage that her other classmates were free from.

Fighting openly only got people in bigger trouble and their tormentors more ammo.

So she took the opposite approach. The “kill em with kindness” approach.

Make everyone like her to the point they won’t feel the need to be mean to her anymore.

If that fails, make enough friends that any of her enemies will risk tanking their own reputation trying to cross her.

And, quite smugly, Jazz is happy to say it worked.

This is all to say—

Jazz knows she’s popular. Very popular. And while she couldn’t care less about the “celebrity rankings” that followed around everyone like a stain, that didn’t mean she didn’t know she was solidly in the “S-List” in the eyes of most everyone else.

(A list that her baby brother’s “popular” bullies will never even touch, on account that they’re only popular because they’re mean and have the backing of the teachers.)

(As opposed to Jazz herself and all the other S-List kids, who were popular because they’re nice to everyone and had the backings of the teachers to boot.)

It suited her just fine.

It meant she got away with everything, could talk to anybody regardless of their own social standing, and that anybody who cared about the rankings would listen to just about anything she said, regardless of the request or the reason.

It also meant that she knew just about anything, and everyone told her everything.

Which brought her to her next problem.

“Weston’s creeping again?” Spike asks, frowning as he leans against the wall beside her. His jewelry jangles against his arms pleasantly, and his presence is almost a soothing balm to Jazz’s soul.

Keyword: Almost.

The simmering, protective fury bubbling up inside her chest burns just a liittle too hot to be appeased by anything less than Wes Weston’s weasely little head on a spike.

Jazz promptly pulls her mouth back into a hiss, and spits out a quiet, vitriolic: “Yes.”

Wes Weston: a fourteen year old, ginger-haired boy in Jazz’s 8th grade class that’s been stalking her twelve year old baby brother since the beginning of the academic year. Maybe even before that.

Where Jazz is standing, she has a clear view of Danny and his friends huddled in a little alcove. Danny’s hiding a bruise on his cheek that he couldn’t get to heal fast enough this morning, when an impromptu ghost attack occurred during breakfast.

Jazz had distracted their parents to give him the time to run off, and when she ran into him at the school gate a few minutes ago, she stuffed a few snacks into his hands that she snagged from the pantry. He didn’t get to eat.

He’s leaning into Tucker’s side, some of his curls squishing against his friend’s shoulder, and he’s laughing at something Sam said.

The sight makes Jazz fond beyond words. Danny deserves his pockets of joy, he does so much for the city and never gets acknowledged for it.

What doesn’t make her fond, however, is being able to see the back of Weston’s head, peering around the corner — because Lemures is built strangely and asymmetrically, and Jazz is at a diagonal that allows her a great deal of sight across the quad — and watching her little brother.

There are other students around, coagulating in groups with their friends, but they’re hardly paying him much mind.

There are no teachers. They’re all inside, watching the kids in the gym, waiting to be dismissed for first period.

Jazz digs her nails into her palms and folds her arms into her chest, forcing some sort of pressure on herself so she doesn’t go up behind Weston and drag him to the ground by his stupid hair.

(It’d be the only fight Jazz Fenton would get in, and she has plenty of get-out-of-jail free cards to get away with it. It’d be only a slap on the wrist for her, and utter social death for Wes Weston.)

(All she would have to do is tell the truth anyways: Weston has been stalking her little brother. She has plenty of friends to confirm it for her — they’ve seen it too, both by her asking to snoop on her behalf, and witnessing it themselves independently — and even more willing to lie for her.)

(But if she did that, word would get out. “Danny Fenton has a stalker” would blaze through the grades like a bushfire.)

(It’d reach Danny’s ears, and it’d reach his bullies’ ears too. He’d be horrified and ashamed that something like that was found out, and they’d have material to attack him with.)

It’s a very near thing.

From the corner of her eye, Spike side-eyes her. “Do you want me to get him for you?” He asks, a displeased lilt in his voice.

Jazz’s eyes narrow; she tries to blow up Weston’s head with her gaze alone. “No.” ‘Not yet’ she almost says, because she’s terribly tempted.

Spike’s not as popular as she is, and he’s been in fights before. He can’t get it on his disciplinary record, and she’d need to gag-order him not to tell the teachers why he did it. It’d be a lose-lose all around, and only temporary relief.

She needs to figure out what to do, and fast. She’s been trying to take it slow ever since she found out about Weston’s stalking habit, gathering evidence and witness statements, plotting with her best friends on what to do.

But she’s not sure how much more of it Danny can take.

He’s trying to hide it, but it’s fraying on his mental state. She can tell.

(Jazz is not blind, and there’s a reason she picked up psychology after he died in their HOUSE had his accident. It was to help figure out what was wrong.)

(Like all the times before, it was coming in about as handy as Cassandra’s curse.)

And he has so much to deal with already.

(Jazz peeked into his room once. It was 3am and she woke up sweating from the heater. She’d gone to mess with the thermostat in the hallway, and saw Danny’s glow from beneath his door.)

(She’d laid down flat on the floor to peer underneath, too nervous to actually knock and offer her assistance.)

(They’ve been getting close again ever since Danny told her about dying his powers. But there’s still a glass wall there that Jazz can’t climb yet.)

(She misses the way their relationship used to be, the grief gnaws in the pit of her chest like a gaping wound some nights.)

(But she’d peered under the door one night anyways, and saw him bleeding out across the carpet. Green, viscous, with Danny staring blankly at the ceiling like a corpse.)

(The same way she found him in Mom’s arms the day of his accident. This time, he wasn’t breathing.)

He looks so tired these days when he thinks nobody’s looking. Jazz is always looking out for her baby brother.

So she has to do something soon, before Weston breaks off more of whatever’s left of him.

(Vlad’s doing enough of that already. She’s never forgiven herself for encouraging their family to stay in that house and allowing Masters to get his hands on Danny.)

(She should’ve stayed close. Shouldn’t have left him alone. She wants to snap Vlad’s neck some days.)

(Jazz doesn’t know when she became so violent. Probably around the same time her brother died.)

Her thoughts trail off as she sees Weston shift, tilting to the side — for a fleeting, glorious moment, she thinks he’s going to leave — and reaching into the pocket of his jacket.

He pulls out his phone — Jazz’s stomach twists — and taps his thumb across it briefly. Turning back towards Danny, she catches, even from a distance, the familiar buttons of the camera app.

(She’s had her SUSPICIONS—)

Her blood runs cold.

Wes Weston is dead meat.

[pidgepodge-art]

Here's the animated version of this cover I made for my fic!

It gets it's own post for reasons.

[torscrawls]

Mr. Fenton, the New English Teacher

A prompt fill for Phic Phight for @oliswamp and their great prompt: "Lancer finally manages to teach Danny the art of interpreting literature. Years later Danny becomes a teacher and his students appreciate his laid back attitude and paranormal circumstances."

Summary:

“I recognize you,” the student said, “Aren't you one of them?” “One of who?” Danny asked pleasantly, even if he knew what they were getting at. The student rolled their eyes as if he was stupid. “The Fenton, Fentons?” Danny laughed and admitted, “Yeah, you got me there.”

Words: 2,524

Can be read on AO3!

—---

“Let me introduce you to your new English teacher, Mr. Fenton, ” Mr. Lancer said and gestured for Danny to enter. 

Danny strode into the room with a wide smile and his hands in his pockets. A whole room full of wide eyes set in round faces tracked his every movement. And the students were so small. Danny had a hard time believing he’d ever looked this young. 

Ancients, imagine if he’d met himself when he’d been this age and told him that he would stand here, at the front, as a teacher. He would have laughed himself out of the room. 

Danny stopped in front of the whiteboard, next to Mr. Lancer. But here he was, and he found that he really enjoyed it. 

Besides, he'd learnt the hard way what misinformation and flawed logic could do to a person and the people close to them, and he was aiming to make sure that the next generation were better equipped to combat that.

He turned to Mr. Lancer with a smile. “Thank you Mr. Principal, I can take it from here.”

Mr. Lancer raised a doubtful eyebrow and Danny could see the restraint he exerted not to start a semantic discussion then and there about using his role as a name, but he just nodded shortly before leaving.

Danny knew his old teacher had looked forward to this almost as much as he had himself; he'd been the one to inspire Danny to choose this path, after all. 

As soon as he was alone with the class, Danny clapped his hands and started writing on the whiteboard; big letters spelling out his name, punctuated by a smiling blob-ghost. “My name is Danny Fenton, if anyone calls me Daniel they’ll get extra homework.”

When he turned back around to face the class with a smile, a student had their hand high in the air. 

Danny nodded to them to speak. 

“I recognize you,” the student said, “Aren't you one of them?”

“One of who?” Danny asked pleasantly, even if he knew what they were getting at. 

The student rolled their eyes as if he was stupid. “The Fenton, Fentons?”

Danny laughed and admitted, “Yeah, you got me there.”

Several students sat up straighter, and the one who had asked exchanged their exasperated look for a starstruck one. “That's so cool!”

Which was… A bit different to how his name used to be received when he was a student here. Good to know that he didn’t have to start out this new chapter of his life on the defensive, at least. 

Still, he had been spending a lot of time with Mr. Lancer for, so he couldn’t help saying, “Not as cool as classical literature!”

The students' excited looks turned empty and it was all Danny could do not to outwardly cringe. Maybe he had in fact lived long enough to become the monster.

Another student raised their hand and as soon as Danny nodded at them to speak they asked, “If you're a Fenton, can you bring a ghost to class?”

Another student called out, “Can you bring a ectogun?”

“Maybe, and no,” Danny said and then added, “and raise your hands if you wanna say something.”

Five more hands went up.

Danny snorted. “Anyone who wants to ask about something that isn’t related to ghosts?”

All the hands went back down. Danny gave a theatrical sigh, but when he saw the disappointment in their eyes he gave in. “All right. You get three more questions.”

All the hands went back up and he pointed to a girl in the second row, “You. Shoot.”

“You said you can bring a ghost, but you can’t bring an ectogun? Why? Doesn't your family make them?”

“I'm not gonna bring a gun to school! I just started this job, I don't wanna lose it.” She looked like she wanted to argue, but Danny pointed to a small boy in the last row. “You. Go!”

He looked surprised to be picked, even though he had his hand up as high as it went. “If you can bring a… a ghost, can… can you ask Phantom to come?”

“Um…” Danny blinked as he tried to cast about for a plausible excuse. He should have prepared for this! “I think he's busy?”

The boy looked skeptical but Danny nodded to a girl in the middle of the room with wild hair and big glasses before he could ask any follow up questions. So of course she asked, “How would you know that?”

“We… Talk?”

A tall girl in the front exclaimed, “You're friends with Phantom?!”

Danny shifted on his feet. “No comment.”

The class erupted into chaos, kids were standing at their desks, shouting over each other. Danny took a step back, felt the whiteboard at his back and desperately wished he hadn’t told Mr. Lancer that he could leave. 

He’d thought ghosts were full of energy. They had nothing on high schoolers.

He raised his voice and tried to get them to calm down. They didn’t even seem to register that he’d spoken. He cleared his throat and added some ghostly reverberation—just a hint of a wail—and said again, “Okay, settle down.”

The class immediately lapsed into silence and everyone stared at Danny with wide eyes. He smiled wide. “Thank you. Now—”

Apparently his little ghostly show wasn’t enough to deter some of the kids, as the same girl with the wild hair and glasses raised her hand again. Danny didn’t try to hide his exasperation as he nodded to her, “Yes?”

“You know a lot about ghosts, right?”

“I guess so,” he said cautiously.

She nodded. “Can you teach us about them?”

Danny raised both his eyebrows. “This is English class.” 

“So?” She asked, as if learning about the dead was a perfectly normal part of English… Wait a minute. Didn’t he know the perfect candidate that embodied both the English language and the dead? Ghost Writer would no doubt like the chance to talk about literature to an essentially captive audience. It was a bonus that meeting him would probably turn most of the class off from ever wanting to interact with a ghost again.

“If you behave, then I might be able to talk a ghost into visiting next week and talk about some classics.”

The class erupted into an equal amount of cheers and groans.

One kid called out, “Classics? I thought you were going to bring a cool ghost.”

“He's an expert at literature.”

“But can’t you bring someone—”

Danny interrupted them, “I don’t see any hands! Now, let’s go through what we’re gonna cover this semester.”

The class groaned, but finally started to settle down. Danny might not be used to people listening to him as Fenton, but he thought he could get used to this. 

—---

A few days later they were five minutes into quiet reading time when Danny’s stomach reminded him that he’d forgotten to eat lunch that day. His ghost sense had gone off, but then he hadn’t been able to find the ghost in question, so he’d spent the whole lunch period scouring the school and decidedly not eating.

He looked around the classroom, noted with satisfaction that everyone seemed to be concentrating on their books, and then slowly, oh so slowly, took out a thermos filled with snacks from his desk and then very, very carefully placed one in his mouth. He bit down and then he looked up and— And the whole class was looking at him, books forgotten. Damn. 

“Sorry?” he said, lowering the thermos back down, “You can get back to your reading?”

“Mr. Fenton. What is that?” a girl in the front asked. Her name was Olivia if Danny remembered correctly.

Danny grimaced, and decided to try and distract them. “Please don't call me that. My name is Danny.”

“Mr. Danny. What is that?”

Well, it was worth a shot. Danny let out a sigh. “Believe me, you don't want this.” Danny said as he popped another crunchy dried piece of ecto into his mouth.

A boy in the third row—Alex—said, “But you always tell us that if we bring snacks then we have to share them!”

“You can’t eat this.” he held the thermos up, tilting it so they could see inside, “See how green it is? It’s ectoplasm. It’s corrosive. You know what that word means?”

His pathetic attempt to get the class back under control failed as Olivia snorted. “Of course we do. If it’s so bad, then why are you eating it?”

Danny shrugged with a smile. “I needed a snack and this was all I had.”

Her eyebrows drew together into an expression of real worry as she quietly asked, “Do they really pay teachers that little?”

Danny burst out laughing. “Oh, no! I’m sorry, it’s not—I’m okay. I like eating this.”

Alex frowned hard. “But you said it’s car—corrosive?”

Another student spoke up, “You like disgusting things, Mr. Danny?”

A lot of the students laughed.

Danny crossed his arms, “I just want to remind you that I have a zero tolerance for bullying in this class. And that applies to me too.” He let a wide grin spread across his face. “And believe me, Poindexter will know, and he'll tell me. Right Sidney?”

“That’s right,” came the disembodied voice of Sidney Poindexter from the middle of the room.

The class broke out into chaos.

“Holy shit, there’s a ghost in here!”

“Mr. Danny actually knows a ghost?!”

“I thought he was lying about that!”

“We’re gonna die!”

Danny laughed and waited until the panic had died down slightly before assuring them, “Sidney is very nice as long as you’re being nice. He won’t hurt anyone. Besides,” He leaned forward and pitched his voice lower, “Do you guys wanna know a secret?”

All of them quieted down and leaned closer, nodding. Danny congratulated himself on being a master of redirection.

“If you guys finish your reading then I’ll tell you where we’re going for our class trip before class ends.”

That settled the argument and everyone went back to reading with minimal complaining. Danny happily crunched on his snacks and ignored the occasional nasty looks he received for it. 

As the end of the class approached Danny got up from his desk and everyone immediately focused back on him. Which didn’t really imbue him with confidence that they’d focused on reading, but Danny would take what he could get.

He clapped his hands. “So. I've been told I can't take you on a trip to the Ghost Zone for our field trip—” he was interrupted by a chorus of booing and disappointed exclamation “—but! I thought we should do something even more fun!”

The whole class sat up straighter. Several voices called out, “What's that?”

Danny did jazz-hands, smiling wide as he said, “The observatory!”

Several of the students let out groans and protested ‘Awwws’.

“The observatory?”

“We could have gone to the Ghost Zone?!”

“Hey!” Danny broke in, “The observatory is cooler!”

It was the first time he’d ever been booed by an entire room. He didn’t care to repeat it. 

Olivia’s voice sounded out in the room, thoughtful, “I've heard Phantom spends a lot of time here. Maybe we can see him there?”

“O—oh? Really?” Danny said hesitantly. He hadn’t realized he was known for hanging out at the observatory. Not that it wasn’t true, he just hadn’t known that other people had seen him. He would need to be more careful about that.

“Hey,” Alex said, “Isn't it funny that you and Phantom have the same first name?”

Danny said, completely deadpan, “Hilarious. Now. I’ll give you a note to take home and you have to ask your—”

And that was when the ghost that had evaded him during lunch finally showed up.

Skulker burst into the room through the wall—thankfully he was intangible for once and didn’t tank the school’s budget even further—and aimed a gun right at Danny’s face.

Danny sighed and gestured at his class, most of which had thrown themselves onto the floor beneath their desks as per ghost attack protocol, “Can you wait five minutes? I'm working right now.”

Skulker stared at him. “I'm—I’m here to get your—”

Danny shook his head and cracked his knuckles.

Skulker swallowed and drifted towards the back of the room. “I'm just gonna sit right here, then?”

Danny waved him off. “You do that. Just don't scare the kids.” he turned back to face his class, “Alright, what was I saying? The observatory! Bring the slip to your parents and have them sign it before next class. You need a signed slip to come. Any questions?”

Nobody said anything. In fact, nobody was even looking at Danny as all of his students were gaping openly at Skulker, who had crammed himself into a small plastic chair at the back of the room with his flaming hair casting flickering shadows on the walls.

Danny aimed an accusatory glare at him. “What did I tell you? You're scaring them!”

“I'm just sitting here!” Skulker argued, his armor clanking as he huffed in annoyance.

“Do it more quietly,” Danny said with narrowed eyes.

His comment was met with scattered snickers as the students relaxed slightly seeing their English teacher argue with the scary ghost.

Skulker somehow managed to flush green, even across his metal plated outside. “Hey, don’t—”

Danny interrupted him, “If you want to say something then you need to raise your hand like everyone else.”

That seemed to be the last drop and Skulker got up from his chair with a growl and a, “I’ll raise my hand alright!”

And then he tackled Danny through the whiteboard. He did not go intangible this time and Danny could see his next salary fly out the window at the same time as he and Skulker flew across the hallway. 

His class screamed and the sound of their fear made Danny throw caution to the wind as he immediately changed into Phantom, raised the thermos and made short work of Skulker as he mourned the loss of his snacks. At least Skulker would have something to nibble on for the rest of the day before Danny had time to release him back into the Zone.

As he made his way back to his classroom he was ready to see his class huddling and scared. Instead he was met by cheers.

“Phantom!”

“Hey, Phantom!”

No tears in sight. No worrying. “Hey, kids! Where’s your teacher?”

“He went out,” one of the kids said easily as they all got up to gather around him. Went out?! He had just been body-slammed though the wall!

Well, good to see that they would ditch him in a heartbeat.

“Did you defeat the ghost?”

“We’re coming to visit you in the observatory!”

Wait. Maybe he could use this… “I promise to meet you there if you all do your homework.”

“Really?” The class collectively lit up.

“Yes!”

“We’ll do it!”

“Promise”

He’d never seen them this excited to do schoolwork. Mr. Lancer would be proud.

[1n0sss]

Next up on DOA: Dead On Arrival:

This is a fic me and @i-am-in-your-basement are writing and the next chapter is coming we swear.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58853620/chapters/149998357#workskin

[citrusbunnies]

currently at the stage in a hyperfixation cycle where im shaking old hyperfixations trying to make dopamine fall out, does anyone have any fic recs for skyrim, world of warcraft, star wars esp the tcw era, dc, danny phantom, avengers, spiderman, overwatch, lotr and the hobbit, bg3 or ghost bc TvT