[cowboyhatesithere]

Daily gratitude

I don’t have kids

I don’t spend money on nicotine

I don’t gamble my money away on sports

I’m not reliant on a chat bot for all my life functions

My books/CDs/DVDs collection is plentiful

[leonkennedysprostate]

[the-clari-net]

I went to a wedding today

[the-clari-net]

wedding -> date -> relationship

[wastefulreverie]

fixed point

“Would you like to know how much time you have left?” Clockwork asked.

Danny had never wished more that he’d died in something with pockets so he could hide his shaking hands. The endless ticking in the lair—hundreds of hands TICK TICK TICK -ing in perfect sync—had never sounded so ominous.

“I—” his voice rattled his throat, a raw thing “—I didn’t think you gave spoilers.”

With an absent spin of their staff, Clockwork shifted from adult to child and said nothing. Dread hung heavy in the air, Clockwork’s unblinking stare piercing through it all. Danny pointedly did not make eye contact. Instead focusing on the oscillating hands of the wall behind them.

He took a breath.

“Will it make it easier, knowing?”

Clockwork blinked once, face betraying nothing.

Dammit.

He wasn’t an idiot. There was really only one outcome of this conversation. Just as there had been the day he’d first pulled on his jumpsuit, walking—tripping—through the threshold. Life snuffed out of him in less than a second.

He brought his shaking hands together and met Clockwork’s even gaze.

And answered.

Thirteen days.

Seven hours.

Thirty-six minutes.

It was somehow both longer and shorter than he’d expected.

It was also a weight off his shoulders, at least in the beginning. It wouldn’t happen any earlier than the date Clockwork had recounted that night. Thirteen days of freedom. Peace. Liberation.

Because if he thought too much about the length of thirteen days, how three-hundred or so hours wasn’t enough time— it’s not fucking FAIR —he would be swallowed by the crushing anxiety that made its permanent home in his stomach.

So there was that.

He didn’t bother telling his friends. They were already all on edge, but if he could act like all was well he could ease their worries. Because ultimately they were just worried about him, and if he was fine they would be too.

He did, however, make contingency plans. Farewell videos on a USB drive taped to the underside of his bed.

He wanted Clockwork to be wrong. Some nights he laid awake, trying his damndest to find a way off this track. This self-fulfilling prophecy. But there was nothing. That moment had already passed with that stupid news broadcast that had glued him to the couch, shaking, as his parents had shouted and jeered at the screen. Dismissive. Furious. Invested.

They hadn’t noticed when he pushed himself off the couch and stumbled, shaking, to the bathroom to purge the contents of his stomach.

It was a miracle he’d only gotten a two-day suspension for slugging Wes in the face in front of the whole cafeteria. Even more so that no one had pieced it together from that.

No one saw him. But they would. When it was too late.

He couldn’t stop it. But as he didn’t acknowledge it in the waking world it wouldn’t exist. So he reserved his existential crises for when there was nothing to distract him from the looming, inevitable deadline.

He wished he could tell Mr. Lancer that whenever he was given detention that afternoon.

On the night of the twelfth day, he didn’t sleep a wink. No amount of coffee could keep his head above his desk that morning, and so, Danny spent his final hour in detention. He considered skipping. Detention was not the place for everything to come to an end.

But wouldn’t leaving—deviating from his normal routine—up the chances of putting events in motion?

Avoidance was his specialty, after all.

Jazz could write a paper on his coping tactics alone if she hadn’t already. 

At nineteen minutes Mr. Lancer stopped in front of his desk. It was only him and Valerie today, and she sat somewhere three desks behind and to his left of him. Her hair was in a loose ponytail, loose yellow sleeves draped over her hands. The bags under her eyes rivaled his own, even though he was sure there hadn’t been too many ghosts in the past week or so—but then again, he’d not been the most attentive to things on the ghost front lately. It was probably his fault she was here at all. 

“Mr. Fenton,” Lancer said. He forced his head to turn, a feat much more difficult than it sounded. His head felt full of lead. “Is everything alright at home?”

Danny forced himself not to cringe.

“Uh.” He ignored the sound of Valerie shifting in her seat behind him. Great. An audience. “Yes.”

“I’ve noticed you’ve been getting much less sleep of late, is all.”

Now this was a load of shit. Danny’s sleep schedule was normally trash. This current existential crisis was no more taxing than his normal night activities.

Lancer continued. “And your parents have—” he paused, eyes flitting somewhere behind him. “—in light of recent revelations, I just worry, Mr. Fenton.”

Hm.

Did he know, then?

Was this it?

Danny stared stupidly for a moment, forgetting to shut his mouth. And then shrugged.

Falling back on ignorance.

If he was honest, he hadn’t quite expected Lancer to be the one to put it together, but it also made sense. 

Lancer’s mouth thinned. “I know they can be intense, especially with the scrutiny placed on our school now. No one should feel scared to come to school. Or go home,” he said, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. “This is a safe space.”

For a moment all he could hear was the drum of his heart in his chest. And then behind him, Valerie cleared her throat.

“With all due respect, Mr. Lancer,” she said, “nowhere is safe with that putrid ghost hiding among us.”

Danny didn’t turn around. Lancer’s reaction was subdued, but there was a protective fire in his eyes that confirmed Danny’s suspicions. He wondered how long ago he’d put it together.

“Ms. Gray,” Lancer said, “I see your point, but I’m just trying to ease tensions.”

Danny checked the clock.

Seventeen minutes. 

Maybe he should’ve skipped detention after all.

(No escaping the inevitable. No do-overs this time.)

Valerie scoffed. “So what? We let our guard down?” he chanced a glance behind him, and Valerie’s eyes were red-rimmed—from lack of sleep or otherwise he had no idea. “Someone here is a walking weapon and we’re supposed to ignore this? Fenton at least knows he’ll be safe at home, but what about the rest of us? We don’t get to go home to ghost-hunting parents—we have to hold our own.”

Lancer nodded. “I understand. I just think that it’s very frightening for all of us, ghost hunters or not.”

Danny’s voice cracked when he spoke. “Yeah.”

Valerie’s expression softened. “I didn’t mean to make light—”

“No. No, you’re right,” he said. “It’s not safe with Phantom as a student here. Whoever he is.”

She sighed. “Danny, I don’t know what it’s like with your parents, but—”

“But what?” he cut her off. “Because they’re ghost hunters they’re automatically the safest people in the room?” He lowered his voice. “You would think that.”

She froze. “What does that mean?”

Hm. Whoops.

“People don’t know what it’s like, I guess.”

Danny turned back around. Lancer’s stare was dripping with sympathy.

Fifteen minutes.

There was a scrape of a chair, a thud of feet, and a warm hand on his shoulder. Valerie released him just as fast. When he met her eyes, they were as wide as saucers.

“D—Danny,” she said with a note of panic. “You’re cold.”

“Yeah?” he asked.

She took a step back. He hadn’t seen her this scared since they’d been stranded on Skulker’s island together. He could see the realization dawning. 

“Val,” he said, knowing full well what was going through her head, “what’s wrong?”

“It’s not you,” she said, a desperate plea. “I can’t be this stupid.”

He sighed and Lancer stepped between them.

“Ms. Gray,” he said, “now let’s not jump to conclusions—”

“No!” she shook her head. “No, no, no! It doesn’t make sense. You’re—your parents hunt ghosts. Hunt Phantom.”

Danny crossed his arms.

“So do you.”

Lancer looked between them like Danny had announced that he liked eating golf balls. “What.”

Tears welled in Valerie’s eyes. “I trusted you!”

The minute hand inched forward.

Fourteen.

“You trusted me to what?”

Valerie clenched her fists. “Don’t do that! Don’t play stupid!”

“Ms. Gray—”

“I’m not playing.” Danny turned sideways in his desk, facing her head-on. “Tell me what you think I’ve done, Val.”

“Mr. Fenton—!”

“You replaced him. You replaced Danny. How long have you been pretending to be him? To be alive? How can you live with yourself, going home everyday and seeing his parents and—and—acting like you’re still—” she choked on her tears. “You terrorize this town, Phantom. I won’t let you take anything else from me, or anyone.”

Lancer’s eyes were wide. He’d never seen the man so shocked, in such foreign territory.

Valerie, on the other hand, was resolute. There was as much determination in her face as tears.

“I’m still me,” he said. “I died, but I came back. I never replaced myself, however that works. I am sorry, Val. There’s a lot that—”

“Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up! ”

“—that I didn’t mean to happen.”

Lancer slammed his hand on Danny’s desk.

“Can we all settle down!”

It all happened in a matter of seconds. The clock in his peripheral kept him tethered to the moment. 

Valerie reached behind her and pulled a blaster.

A flash of red—

(The minute hand moves.

Thirteen.)

—and a burst of hot pain through his side.

He crumpled forward, his head meeting the linoleum floor with a SMACK and somewhere above him a distant shout.

Everything from his side to his cranium THROBBED and it wouldn’t fucking stop.

(He’d taken hits from Val before. This shouldn’t hurt so much. Why does this—?)

Iron pooled in his mouth. 

Oh right.

Ectoplasm was thicker than blood.

Danny tried to push himself up from the floor but the world spun and his arms gave out below him and he slumped back down to the cold, hard floor.

The floor felt better.

Maybe he would…

Stay here for a while…

***

The television clicked on. A rerun of the six o’clock news.

He didn’t let Jazz turn it off.

“According to a recent report, there is speculation that our local ghost vigilante Phantom might be living among us. Care to tell us more, Lance?”

“Yes, Tiffany.” Lance Thunder’s stupid blonde hair was polished and perfect as usual and he wanted to wipe that stupid half-smile off the bastard’s face. “A ghost ID’ed as Walker —” at this, a crude picture that was mostly just a white blur appeared on the screen “— has publicly announced that our hero is a student at Casper High fooling us, flying under the radar.”

“And as far as we understand, tips from ghosts aren’t verifiable…?”

“Normally, yes, but there is evidence to suggest that—”

“This isn’t good for you,” Jazz hissed. “I know that it’s scary, but—”

“Exposure therapy,” he snapped back. “It’s gonna be the talk of the school anyway.”

She slumped back down onto the couch. “Take care of yourself.”

The door to the lab was thrown open. His parents marched through the kitchen and into the living room, perfectly eclipsing the TV.

“—telling you, Jack. The DNA scans are inconclusive at best. Their so-called ‘experts’ are out of their depths.”

“We’ll show them once and for all. If we can find out which student it’s using as cover—”

“—we’ll expose Phantom for the monster he is!”

His parents disappeared upstairs for the night, but he could still hear snippets of their vows to destroy him. 

He shot Jazz a tired look. “Easier said than done.”

***

Someone was touching him.

Everything on his left burned. Far above him were LEDs and beige ceiling tiles. He wasn’t sure when he’d been rolled onto his back. But he was now, and someone was pressing down on the spot that burned burned burned—!

Blood trickled down his throat.

How many minutes had it been?

How many did he have left?

There were voices, somewhere, but everything sounded like it was underwater. Maybe it was. Drowning would be preferable to many of the other deaths he’d prepared for. Still terrible, sure, but vivisection lowered the bar considerably. 

“—have you done!”

“He’s—” A girl’s voice wavered, quiet. “He’s Phantom. He’s not supposed to—to—”

Wow. Valerie had the decency to sound ashamed.

At least he could die knowing that his killer at least had a few shreds of regret.

(Is it sad that it’s more than he expected?)

“—little first aid.” The pain came in waves, and all Danny could hear was the rush of his stupid heart in his ears. “—expecting shootings in America, but not from a—” 

Just as fast as it came, the world melted away. His last grasp on consciousness slipped away.

(As fast as the click of a button.)

***

Wes had a punchable face.

But hey—that’s what you get for talking to the press. The accusations were written off as pretty baseless, but the damage had been done. He got inquisitive stares now and again. After all, Wes was a joke, but his interview put Danny’s name on the list of suspects and that was enough to fuck his entire life over.

After his two-day suspension, Danny had little opportunity to survey his work. Honestly, more people asked him about how bad he fucked up Wes’s face than whether or not he was Phantom.

(From what he had seen, it was in a perpetual state of purple and that was enough to curb his anger for now.)

So. He had two days off from school.

Danny went to see Clockwork.

Long Now welcomed him with welcome arms, and he broke down into a fit of whines and gripes about how it seemed like everyone was out to get him, that everyone wanted to put his head on a pike. Everyone wanted to ferret out the wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Clockwork shared their sympathies.

“No matter what I do, I just—I’m a wreck. I think someone’s figured it out. That they know, but then I mention it to Jazz or Sam or Tucker and I’m just paranoid and I think I’m paranoid now and—” he groaned. “I don’t know what to do. I’m losing my mind.”

“You do know that it’s inevitable that the truth comes to light.”

He froze. “What.”

Clockwork shifted from senior to adult. “Your paranoia isn’t for naught. It’s a matter of time.”

No. This couldn’t be happening.

He’d figure a way out.

There had to be something.

“I thought nothing was inevitable.”

“Not nothing,” Clockwork hummed. “Often, it is nothing. But not this time.”

Their words shook him to the core. He’d suspected it, sure, but confirmation was—

“I know it isn’t fair.”

“Don’t tell me what is and isn’t fair!” Danny snapped. “Your entire life isn’t—isn’t under scrutiny for everyone. If they know that I’m me, I—”

He pressed his hands to his chest.

He would be finished.

One way or another, someone would find a way to put him on their table.

The government.

His parents.

Maybe someone else out for his blood.

(His body.)

“I can’t see what will happen past them learning the truth,” Clockwork said. “But it is a fixed point. Everything past that diverges, a thousand roads. Timelines. Possibilities. I can’t tell you what to expect. The best, the worst. I cannot offer that reassurance.”

“Oh.”

They nodded. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“I don’t want them to find out,” he said in a pathetic whine.

For a long moment, Clockwork said nothing. If not for the constant ticking of clocks, he would have thought they were frozen. But then Clockwork’s expression shifted.

And they asked: 

“Would you like to know?” 

***

…

……

………

Warbled voices were around him again. Different.

But this time more in focus.

“Sir, Ma’am, if you could leave the room—”

“I will NOT. That is my son, and I am not leaving until someone tells me why there is a HOLE in his chest—!”

And somewhere else, a shriek of sobs.

“We’re transporting him to the hospital, you can’t—”

“I did it,” said that same, sobbing voice. “I shot him. I shot him.”

More people were touching him and Danny didn’t like it oh god no no no —

“—get him on the stretcher—”

“—the hell DID you—”

“—Ms. Gray, you—”

“—no! I want to know why—”

“—securing him, just—”

And now time did slow.

The EMTs lifted the stretcher.

And his face lolled to the side, giving him a clear view of the clock.

The minute hand moved one last time.

Just as:

“I didn’t mean to! I didn’t—he’s Phantom, I didn’t think that it would—!” Valerie, cut off, sobbing. “I’m so sorry, Danny. If you can hear me, I’m so sorry.”

And then there was silence.

Crushing darkness.

***

If he had any last doubts that his secret was out, they were snuffed out when he woke up in the hospital to the pained faces of his parents. Jazz was in the chair to his left, hair mussed up and asleep. His parents’ eyes were red with tears. In his delirium, he also noticed Sam’s backpack discarded in the corner.

How long had—?

“Two days.”

Clockwork appeared before him in their adult form. They swung their staff, looking rather pleased with themselves. Danny then realized the occupants of the room had been frozen as long as he’d been awake. 

“You’re recovering well, all considered.” Clockwork tapped a clipboard on a nearby table. “I will say, I am surprised that we took this route. It is what you might call a ‘spoiler,’ but it’s kinder than most.”

“Is it,” he said, voice hoarse.

Clockwork waited for him to finish coughing up his lungs before speaking again. “They’re handling it as best they can. I won’t say it’s great, but you’re on the way there.”

“I—what happened, again?”

And as he asked, it came rushing back.

Lancer. Valerie.

And paramedics?

Clockwork gave him a knowing smile. “Your teacher called an ambulance. In his panic, he might have let it slip that you were having a reaction because of a ghost weapon, and your parents were looped into the call.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Danny’s eyes found his frozen heart monitor, time stopped between beats. Below, his mother had tied off the top half of her HAZMAT suit and was wearing a black shirt beneath. He did notice that the contents of her weapons belt were emptied.

He turned back to Clockwork. “How did they take it?”

They shrugged. “Why don’t you ask them?”

“Wait—wait, I'm not ready.”

“How about this? I tell you how much time you have left.” They raised their staff. “Three—”

“Clockwork—”

“Two—”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Time in.”

[the-clari-net]

Okay, let the record show that Sam didn’t intend all of this to happen.

Some (Tucker) would argue that it began when Sam began her journey into vegetarianism, while others (Sam) would argue that it began when Tucker was born, and his stubbornness came into existence.

For simplicity’s sake, the beginning of this situation came in the form of Danny going into the Ghost Zone; he ended up visiting Princess Dora’s haunt. While visiting, Danny noticed that surrounding her castle were several strange plants that stood in the trenches of once might have been a moat.

“Hey Dora, what are those plants doing there?”

Dora looked at the direction he was pointing at and hummed, “Those are special plants meant to guard the castle. Moats aren’t as useful when everyone can fly, you see.” Danny continued to look curiously at the plants.

Some of the plants looked like earthly flowers, with some of the colors harsher and brighter to match with the rest of the Ghost Zone. Something about them gave off an odd feeling in Danny’s chest. Nothing as instinctually frightening as blood blossoms, but they kept him guarded. Princess Dora hadn’t noticed Danny’s silent observations and continued to explain some of their properties.

“You see, for some of the weaker pest-like creatures, these plants are good at disorienting and repelling; similar to how lavender repels mosquitos. Some of the larger ones – like the trees next to the drawbridge – are much more potent and have specific forms of protection. If I whisper a special incantation into the hollow of the tree, the branches can extend and create a barricade of sorts preventing anything to pass through the bridge.”

“That’s a pretty cool way of protecting yourself.” Danny couldn’t help but wonder aloud, “How did you even discover what these plants do?”

Princess Dora perked up at the question, “Oh, I have a book in the palace library that has all sorts of helpful information about these plants! Would you like to see it for yourself?”

What Princess Dora doesn’t realize is that Danny would much rather let her set him on fire in her dragon form than sit in a stuffy library all afternoon. Danny, however, was taught some semblance of manners, and held his tongue on that thought.

“Oh, no thank you. This seems more of Sam’s wheelhouse than mine to be honest.”

“Oh…Lady Samantha?” Princess Dora said coyly, her gentle smile taking on a more mischievous smirk.

“Just Sam, she doesn’t like to be called that,” Danny crossed his arms and tried to look at her sternly for a moment before looking down embarrassed, “and don’t look at me like that,” he muttered.

Dora couldn’t help herself and let out one last giggle before composing herself and suggested lending her book to Danny’s dear friend for a short period of time.

It was a kind gesture for Danny to think of his friend in that moment. After all, Sam had been consumed with upkeeping her greenhouse and trying to expand into growing her own vegetables. She’s spent the last two weeks ranting about fertilizers and visiting libraries and bookstores to see if there were any solutions to her struggling hobby.

At first, her friends would nod supportively whenever she went on her tirades; however, teenage boys are not known for their patience, and Tucker and Danny are no exception.

To be fair, their relaxing weekend was replaced with an early morning visit to the farmer’s market and digging through compost bins collecting soil samples for Sam to take home.

“Sam, I think we’ve managed to bother every single gardener in a ten-mile radius about your gardening issues,” Danny whined. The two of them were sitting in Tucker’s room, waiting for him to get back with the pizza they ordered earlier.

Sam was busy flipping through another gardening magazine and distractedly replied, “And I’m going to keep bothering anyone who might know something about plants until we figure out how to keep my plants from dying.”

Tucker came in at that moment, pizza in hand, and asked Sam, “So if we find a way to keep your plants alive, we won’t need to go dumpster diving for daffodils and daisies?”

“Yeah, basically,” Sam replied.

And so, Danny and Tucker had a new goal in mind. 

--

The day after Danny met up with Dora, Sam received the book.

Tucker and Sam were sitting in the cafeteria for lunch. Tucker was rambling about nanobots detecting fertile soil of some sort. His glasses failing at hiding the dark rings surrounding them.

“I don’t know Tuck…” she mumbled to herself. Tucker was scrolling through his PDA, showing Sam something on his screen, not realizing that Danny had arrived at the table.

“Hey, I might have something for you to help with your gardening. Princess Dora gave me a book all about ghost plants. Maybe there’s some tips for you in there.”

Sam smiled at Danny and thanked him. She then turned to Tucker and sternly said, “Tucker, put away your PDA and eat something!”

--

Sam was skeptical, but decided to give it a shot regardless once she got home. However, she wasn’t risking her greenhouse on this test. She took a potted fern in her room and began speaking to it, in what she belatedly realized was ghost speak. (Her pronunciation “gives her a strange accent” according to Danny, but it works well enough.)

The leaves began to turn a bright purple and started making her feel drowsy. “That’s not good,” she thought to herself.

Once she started walking away from the plant and her foggy mind cleared, she suddenly notices that Tucker is calling her. She answers and before she can speak, Sam hears unintelligible screams through the phone.

“Sam! Get over to the gardening club, now!”

“Tucker, what is it?! Is it a ghost?” Sam opens her closet and grabs a hidden box, containing her ghost catching equipment.

“Worse! I think I revived James Amity!”

Sam pauses for a moment, “…the founder of this town?”

“Yes!”

“How?”

“It’s nanobots, Sam! They regenerated his cells!”

“…Hold on I’ll be right there, send me your location.”

“Hurry!” Tucker yells and hangs up, presumably to figure out what to do with a reanimated corpse.

Before she left to go find Tucker, Sam grabbed a plastic bag and took her new ghostly fern and placed it inside. “Well, I hope this helps.”

[the-clari-net]

i wrote in my journal last night.

i filled out two pages

[the-clari-net]

I went to a wedding today

[cherriielle]

just to hide outside your door 🐍🍎

[ngoziu]

grizzled dead-inside hired assassin but he never falls for the femme fatale he only falls for the Completely Awkward Guy At The Computer and it's really frustrating for him

[glacecakes]

The way that Lois Lane looks like Luz Noceda cosplaying as Lance Voltron is genuinely haunting me

[yuumei-art]

Six Eyes on the past

Jujutsu Kaisen fanart because I always love a good doomed-by-the-narrative

[anidealshape]

the r/curatedtumblr -> tumblr migration is so funny to me. it's like going to the zoo and enjoying it so much you climb into the enclosure to live with the monkeys

[gremlin-pattie]

this reply evokes such an incredible image in the mind’s eye

[vyeoh]

I've never experienced such empathy for a movie character as when I watched miles tell his mother "whatever" like bro i could almost feel the sandal being thrown mach 4 at my head

[taohs]

he’s back!

[the-clari-net]

Now that the official is out i can let these out. I missed him 😭😭

[amethystocean-adr]

GHOST MEME [Danny Phantom AU]

I’m back! ^^ I made this to celebrate the 19th anniversary of Danny Phantom!

[ruinedchildhood]

[bleedingectoplasm]

Touching Memories

Here’s a fun little drabble for DP side hoes week day 3! The prompts were Clockwork and memories. TW for some light gore. I hope you enjoy!

The ghost child is knocking at his door. Or has knocked. Or will knock.

In one of the timeline’s infinite iterations, the ghost child is knocking at Clockwork’s door. And the version of Clockwork living in that moment lets him into his lair.

In the instants that follow, Clockwork ushers the ghost child to his parlor, an extra dimensional space in his lair that only spawns into existence when he has visitors. The ghost child sprawls out on the sofa, utterly irreverent and unaware of the true power that is contained in the deity sipping tea across the room.

And then, the ghost child begins to complain. He whines about battles with other ghosts, moans about malfunctioning technology, winges about scraped knees and bruised knuckles and snapped bones.

Clockwork smiles, placating and patient, with the understanding that the young ghost before him is but a pebble in time’s ceaseless stream. He offers advice to the little pebble, hoping to help the waters of the universe smooth out his rough edges.

“You must be compassionate,” Clockwork counsels, “You must meet your rivals where they are. You can’t possibly understand what has shaped them into the ghosts that stand before you.”

But Clockwork can. Clockwork does. He understands it all.

The ghost child grumbles, but does not push back. As he rises to leave, he floats towards Clockwork for an embrace, behaving with casual familiarity with the primordial being that he views as a surrogate father. Clockwork indulges him. In the second, minute, hour before he and the ghost child’s bodies connect, he braces himself to experience the inevitable disorientation, the natural side effect of his most unsettling power.

The millisecond that Clockwork touches the ghost child, he is violently ejected from his corporeal form. His consciousness trips and stutters for a moment, as it always does, before he finds himself in the body of a fourteen year old boy staring at the yawning mouth of an unforgiving portal to another dimension.

This is the way that Clockwork is able to maintain his godly empathy, the trick to his inhuman understanding, the mechanism through which he keeps his finger on the pulse of the Infinite Realms. Every time he so much as brushes against another ghost, he accesses memories of their death. He lives through the most vulnerable moment of their lives, seeing the world as they once did, experiencing the timeline from their perspective.

He has been Ember as her house burns around her, flames licking up her spine as her flesh melts from her skeleton. He has been Youngblood, coughing splotches of blood into his sleeve with an incessant ache in his lungs just before he slips into eternal sleep. He has been Skulker, starving in the woods, his stomach gurgling as it digests itself, watching one final sunset while slumped against the side of a tree. He has been Kitty, laying next to the corpse of her boyfriend on sun scorched pavement, the smell of burning rubber stinging her nose as she feels the breeze whistle against the hole in her skull.

And, countless times, he has been the ghost boy. He has felt electricity mercilessly frying him from within as each molecule is torn apart and remade wrong, his own screams echoing in his ears and the scent of his cooked flesh permeating the air.

Time is valuable because it is limited. Moments are precious because they end. Life matters because there is death.

So Clockwork grants the ghost boy a moment of affection. He lives through his death once more. He does so with the ancient understanding that this gesture will matter to the pebble precisely because it cannot escape the stream.