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confessedlyfannish · 26 days

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Writing Prompt #12

Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.

Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

"Sorry Alfred!"

#i feel like I'm going to reread this and want to add other stuff #but I also just want to post it and get it out there #fun fact i scribbled a bunch of lines down at 2am bc i didn't want to forget them #im bad at multiple drafts #my writing #dp x dc #dp x dc au #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc crossover #danny phantom #batman #i live to make everybody dramatic #but also i subscribe to a world where clockwork doesn't know how NOT to be dramatic #lol he's a ghost from all of time he doesn't know how to speak to humans and tailor it to the century let alone the decade #and his favorite little girl who calls him clocky loves how he speaks so #he doesn't need to change for nobody #nor feels inclined to #also I feel like as god he's way more inclined to threaten to get what he wants than like...be vulnerable #jazz: let's unpack that #clockwork: we never do #jazz: are you saying that because it's true or because that's what you want to be true?#clockwork: ...#also I cannot take credit for BITCH I MIGHTWING #wish i could #that is cash money right there #shoutout to 11thsense

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sunlitmcgee · 2 years

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if evil monster villain enderboo is canon I give up and am deleting all my fics on AO3

#/JOKING I AM JOKING I WILL NOT I PROMISE #I WILL JUST BE REALLY SAD #AND UPSET AND UNWELL #BECUZ I DON'T THINK THAT WOULD FIT #AND WOULD FEEL VERY FORCED CONSIDERING ALL WE KNOW #I'M JUST A DRAMATIC BITCH

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lordsmaf · 1 year

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#I'm sorry but this was just really funny #trigun stampede episode 6 #trigun stampede spoilers #trigun stampede #tsspoilers #trigun spoilers #stampede spoilers #trigun #screencap #legato bluesummers #wolfwood #nicholas d. wolfwood #nicholas d wolfwood #dramatic bitch

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bioticbooty · 1 month

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not to be dramatic but i would die for kaidan alenko

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weird-an · 1 year

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Hopper wakes up from a crash outside. It's not very loud or anything, but when you had to fight monsters and are a cop, you just wake up.

It's still dark.

Joyce is sleeping next to him, cuddling with her pillow. He thinks about waking her up for a second, but he decides to check first. If it's only a raccoon outside, he doesn't want to wake her up for that.

He grabs a pair of sweats and his gun, because if it's a Demodog, he doesn't want to fight it in his shorts. He curses a little, because the sweats are tighter than before and he can only blame Joyce and all the little treats she leaves behind for him.

He heard Billy moaning about it the other day too, complaining to Steve that he's getting fat "like Hopper" - which is just. Wow. He couldn't pout about it, because then he had to admit that he eavesdropped on the conversation, but he still felt insulted. Even though he knows that Billy was just prissy because his favorite pair of shorts got too tight for his thighs.

Jim opens the door, gun in front of him and groans. These fucking kids.

Even in the dark Jim can tell that El's nose is bleeding and her hand is shaking a little from the power she has to use to lift his fucking station wagon up in the air. It's upside down, too.

Billy stands next to her, eyes sparkling like a kid that gets his Christmas present early. Of course they chose the fucking police car. Of course the Camaro is standing right where Billy has parked it before. Untouched, of course.

At least Steve has the decency to look like a kicked puppy when Jim clears his throat.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he says, trying not to shout. "I told you, if the neighbors..."

"It's 3 am," Billy snaps. So it had been his idea.

The station wagon turns again and lands next to the Camaro.

"I told you not to do it," Jim barks. Billy bites his lip, but he's more pissed off than scared. Which is a major improvement and Jim is happy for every little interaction when he's compared to Neil Hargrove and Billy comes to the conclusion that he's better than that shitty excuse for a dad.

"But it's impressive," Steve says.

"Yeah," Jim admits. Because it is. El beams at him.

"You're not doing this again," Jim says.

"We're not getting caught again," Billy whispers to El. What a little shit. He has to know Jim can still hear him.

"Let the Camaro fly next time," he huffs.

Billy gasps at that and starts rambling about how much more the Camaro is worth compared to a shitty police's car and how Jim can even dare to say that. Jim wonders if Steve really is Billy's boyfriend or if it is the Camaro.

"You can take my dad's car," Steve offers to stop the endless ranting.

"Deal," Billy says, sounding rather delighted.

"You're all going to bed. No cars in the air tonight." Jim waits for them to all hide in their rooms and goes back to bed. He laughs himself to sleep, because seriously, how is this his life now?

This is ... like a post credit scene to my fic Extended Stay that I wrote for @ihni's birthday this year.

#billy is just a dramatic bitch about putting on a little weight lets be honest #also i'm a hopper with a belly fan so season 4 can kiss my ass #hopper is right there is a raccoon outside his name is billy hargrove #billy x steve #harringrove ficlet #billy hargrove #harringrove #harringrove & hopper

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robertdowneyjjr · 6 months

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hey, so. funny thing.

@whinysteve and i have been going insane for like two days because we couldn't find this one fic we really liked, and we both remembered reading it not so long ago but somehow neither of us could recall how it ended? and we kept saying that it's so GOOD and how the heck did it just disappear? well, after hours of losing my mind going through my ao3 history, the steve/tony tag with various keywords, the findingstony blog... it. it hit me that i can't find it because it doesn't exist. because it was the soulmates au idea you posted like two weeks ago where their words only show up after they've met their soulmate.

i thought you might find this amusing. 😩 (i do, but i also need to lie down for a bit because i will never know how steve fixed that mess)

hahahaha omg liv if this is your way of peer pressuring me into writing the whole fic i might actually do it??? because your ask has got me thinking about what would happen next.

that said, steve still hasn't figured out how to fix this mess. i'm very sorry about this.

(stonyclunks soulmates au part one here)

---

having been rescued by SHIELD, news of steve's recovery was immediately delivered to howard stark who, while not as involved with SHIELD as he used to be, still receives weekly reports as one of its co-founders.

he'd gone home that night and brought it up in the middle of cutting his steak. coincidentally, tony had been visiting that day and stayed for dinner, so he found out about captain america's miraculous resurrection before the general public did, and honestly, he had enough of hearing about how great this guy was growing up. he really didn't need to keep hearing about it as an adult after he'd finally worked through his issues with his dad and his obsession with a (not quite) dead war hero.

so after howard's announcement, tony politely requested howard refrain from talking about this guy with him.

"i know he's your friend, and you'll probably be spending a bit of time with him now that he's been found, and i'm really happy for you, but i think it would be better for our relationship if we could talk about literally anything but him," he'd said.

and, well. howard was trying. he knew he wasn't the best dad and he also wanted to do right by maria, who spent so many years torn between her son and her husband while trying to mend their relationship. they were finally in a relatively good place with each other which made maria happy. and to be frank, howard had actually come to really enjoy tony's company whenever he was home. he was quite happy too. so he agreed. they don't talk about steve and howard doesn't ask tony to meet steve.

that very night, tony made sure 'captain america' and 'steve rogers' were muted in all his news feeds and social channels.

he literally doesn't know a single thing about the man besides what he learned in his childhood, which he's blocked out. it's a peaceful two years of blissful ignorance.

fast forward to now, tony's packing up his suitcase and getting ready to check out of his hotel when he sees a text from his mom in their family group chat.

seems he's not quite the perfect role model you always made him out to be, howard 🤡, her message reads.

what follows is a link to an instagram post, and from the message preview he can see that it's steve rogers' profile, and under normal circumstances he wouldn't even bother clicking the link.

but 1) maria usually never brings up the man in tony's presence either, and 2) her comment made him laugh. so color tony intrigued.

he taps the link and sees the post. it's a picture of a coffee cup from the place he was at a week ago. the one where he got body slammed by his mysterious dick of a soulmate and unfairly yelled at for it.

he reads the caption and his legs give out under him.

i don't even know if you'll see this, but all i can do is hope. i'm sorry for the words that have made their mark on you. i know i don't deserve it, but i'm hoping you could give me a second chance. i won't yell at you this time, i promise. yours, a fucking asshole

one week ago, captain america was barely even a blip on tony's radar and that's how he preferred it. now, steve rogers is tony's mysterious dick of a soulmate.

what the fuck even is his life.

#they have a lot to work through!! but they'll get there #also i'm determined to write good dad howard at least once in my life #i think tony deserves it in an au at the very least #anyway howard texts steve and he's like 'my wife thinks you're a dramatic bitch'#'good luck with whatever mess you've got yourself in lol drinks next week?'#steve who still hasn't received any DMs from his soulmate a week later follows howard home like a lost puppy #because he's sad and just wants to whine a bit longer #guess who they see getting out of the car with maria after a night at the opera 😃#stevetony #stony #tony stark #steve rogers #stonyclunks soulmates au #kay writes things #soliloquent-stark #ask

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stackyshenanigans · 5 months

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Aren't Draluc's suits like, canonically custom-tailored? Why tf does he wear sleeve garters when he's not cooking?

Just for the drama???

#i got high and realized 'wait wtf are those things for' and fell down a little wikepedia rabbit hole don't worry about it #apparently in the 19th century sleeves were just all made on the longer side so sleeve garters were used to hold them up at the right lengt #meaning. practical use for rolling up sleeves when cooking but not for. daily life #so like. for the drama right?#but now i'm also wondering like. if they were introduced in the late 1800s when did the dragon clan all adopt them into their fashion sense #somehow i doubt a bunch of immortal vampires are super on top of fashion trends #unless grandpa one day was like 'hey i think these things are cool. let's all wear them.'#it's kinda hard to tell if anyone else wears them tho bc (as far as i can remember) draluc's the only one we see take off his jacket 🤔#he could just be a dramatic bitch. because i mean. he is #no one is gonna read these autistic fucking ramblings in the notes of this post lmaoooo there's a reason i tag my texts posts the way i do #tvdint #stacky ramblings #the vampire dies in no time

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mundies-treasure-hoard · 6 months

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I want to go swimming in Hozier's albums. I want to lay on them like a bed and cocoon myself inside them. I want to eat them like a huge slice of pie. I want to immerse myself in them like a bath, feeling the hot and cold all become one sensation. I want to walk barefoot in the grass and become a face in a roiling crowd. I want to talk with them like an old mentor.

I want to jump off a pier with Florence Welch's albums. I want to sketch in a cathedral with them. I want to wittle and draw and smith with them. I want to sneak onto the rooftop of an old church and scream out over the city. I want to run through rotting hallways that used to connect apartments and feel every family and bachelor and new couple that used to live there, and let a bird go from the window.

I want to fall in love with Taylor Swift's albums. I want to sit in a cafe with them, laugh with them, walk through a new city with them and make it feel like home. I will make a thousand new places mine with them. I want to remember that I used to be a child and she isn't gone, just forgotten, and look for her hand in hand with Taylor's albums.

I want to drive through the dark with Lorde's albums. I want to pass by clubs and gas stations with the same neon lights. They're not so different. I want to remember my old friends and feel them gripping my ribs to dig their way out of my chest. I want to make orange juice and feel it drip down my chin, sticky and sweet.

I want to learn to enjoy the winter with Mitski's albums. I want to pet a large docile creature and remember it could kill me with a misplaced kick. I want to drink strong tea with her albums and miss my parents even when I am in their arms and think about how all classrooms and museums and dormitories all smell the same. I want to break a pearl necklace and watch all the cheap plastic pearls roll all over the floor.

#I'm just emotional about music #irls it's about time you figured out that I am indeed a dramatic bitch #miscellaneous writing #hozier #florence and the machine #lorde #taylor swift #mitski

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ivy-saurs · 2 months

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i don't think gumshoe would've been able to keep it a secret for long if he knew edgeworth was alive for that entire year, so i think he only found out around the time of turnabout big top. unless i am simply not giving him enough credit

#or maybe it was addressed that gumshoe did know the entire time and i'm just forgetting #there is also the theory that phoenix knew that edgeworth was alive which is interesting but idk he did directly tell maya and pearl that #edgeworth was dead #however phoenix is known to be a dramatic bitch. and if he really thought edgeworth was dead wouldn't he want to go to the funeral?#maybe funerals just aren't a thing in the aa universe sjsdfkjkjgs #fran's ace attorney thoughts

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lapetitechatonne · 1 year

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Day Four: There’s something off about them. . .

okay, so if you thought the other day was a stretch, this one most certainly is. It was originally my idea for Mistaken Identity, but i had to switch it around some. the idea is original from this post by @hidden-under-lock-and-key. it’s a nice break from the angst i’ve been posting. enjoy!!! <3

ao3 link!

Kate’s Masterlist here!

When in doubt: Manslaughter fixes everything - 2.1k words

In life, sometimes you here confronted with two options. The longer, hard road of being truthful with those around you and dealing with the consequence of your actions.

Or gaslight, gatekeep, and girlboss.

As Danny stared at the heroes that cornered him in the alley behind Nasty Burger, he was feeling like the former.

“It’s okay son,” fucking Superman stepped forward trying to make himself look as soft as the man of steel could, “we understand the need for a secret identity.”

Danny suppressed a snort. Right. That’s why they were cornering him behind a fast-food joint at eight pm. Real subtle.

“That’s um, great sir,” Danny had no idea where this sentence was going, “but umm. . . yeah, Phantom’s not a meta-human. He’s a ghost,” gaslight it was, he guessed, “and as you can see, I’m not dead. So . . .”

Danny just shrugged. He was used to Wes Weston running his mouth, but this was a whole other ball game. People would actually believe the Justice League if they decided to go public.

But he’d already dug his grave—hehe good one—he might as well keep digging.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” the Flash rolled his eyes and gave him a very disappointed look. If he wasn’t very used to them by now, it might have done something.

“Yeah,” Danny smirked looking the Flash dead in the eyes, “prove it.”

“This isn’t a game,” Batman growled and stepped closer to him, obviously in an attempt to intimidate him.

“No, it’s not,” Danny frowned crossing his arms, “this is my life. Not yours, mine. And you’re endangering it just by throwing around accusations like this.”

Judging from the looks on their faces they didn’t understand the weight of the accusations they were placing on him. Great. Just great.

“Metas and aliens are protected,” Superman started, but Danny just shook his head.

“Anyone or anything contaminated with ectoplasm—like Phantom, the dead guy—isn’t considered a sentient being under the Anti-Ecto acts,” they all looked at him with varying degrees of confusion. Dear ancients, they actually didn’t know, “Look it up. Anyways, I’m late for dinner with my friends so I’m just gonna. . .”

Danny gestured over his shoulder and slipped out of the alley, leaving the heroes in various degrees of confusion and concern.

Whatever. Not his problem.

---

Turns out it was, indeed, his problem.

The stared, dead-eyed at the three heroes on his doorstep contemplating all his life decisions. Because what deity did he piss off to deserve this?

“May we come in?” Superman asked.

Probably Clockwork. This would be his idea of a joke.

Danny sighed and stepped aside. Better to let them in than have the whole neighborhood see them.

He glared at the heroes as they filed in, the Flash and Superman looking uncomfortable while Batman simply stared in silence. Danny gave the door a good slam and walked back into the kitchen. Just because they were there didn’t mean he had to play nice.

“Who was that dear?” his mom looked up from her tablet as he entered the room.

He didn’t answer. He just grabbed his coffee and glared at the heroes standing awkwardly in the kitchen archway.

“Um, hi ma’am,” Superman said, tentatively taking a step into the room like she was going to hit him with a wooden spoon or something, “we came to talk about your son’s, um. Extracurriculars.”

His mom just frowned, setting the tablet down on the table in front of her, “Danny isn’t in any extracurriculars.”

Danny snorted into his coffee. This was going real smooth.

“Well, not really extracurriculars,” the Flash flashed—ha—a smile at her, “the other things he does. Outside of school. Ya know?”

His mom stood up from the table and walked in front of him, blocking the heroes' paths to him, “No, I do not know. What exactly are you accusing my son of? He’s a good boy, granted he doesn’t get out much—”

“Mom!” Danny could feel his face turn red.

“Well honey, it’s true. Anyways, he’s a good, upstanding citizen. Certainly, he’d done nothing to require this response.” His mom placed her hands on her hips and Danny fought the urge to actually cackle.

Tucker and Sam would never believe him.

“Ma’am,” Batman stepped forward from his place behind his colleagues, “we’re here because your son is Phantom, and—”

Whatever batman was going to say was completely lost in his mother's very loud and colorful disapproval.

“Excuse you!” she pointed in Batman’s face, “You do not get to come into my home and accuse my baby boy of being that—that menace! You are severally mistaken, and you can see my some is alive and well, thank you very much.”

He watched over his mom’s shoulder as she quickly pushed them out the door, ignoring the Flash's protests.

“But there’s something off about him!”

“Never,” she grabbed the Flash by the front of his suit, and for a second Danny thought she was actually going to deck him, “talk about my son like that again. Or I will make you regret ever setting foot in Amity.”

She slammed the door in their faces and Danny just grinned.

“I’m so sorry you had to hear all that sweetie,” she walked over to him and kissed the top of his head, “You know I love you. I’d love you even if you were a ghost.”

He smiled at her. He knew.

But this just made things easier.

“I know mom. I really thought you were gonna punch him for a minute there.”

She smirked at him and ruffled his hair, “Don’t be silly, I would have gone for the legs.”

Gods he loved his mom.

---

Danny flinched as the cold night air rushed over his skin. Ugh. Fucking Illinois and its fucking weather. It was seventy earlier, there was no reason for it to be so cold now.

Whatever.

Danny lugged the heavy trash bag out to the dumpster in the alley behind their house. He let the lid clatter down, taking a moment to catch his breath. It was a nice night if those fucking losers weren’t around he’d go for a short flight—

Batman clattered down on the lid of the trashcan, sending Danny flinching back into the rough brick wall.

“Jesus fuck dude! What the hell!” Danny yelled trying to catch his breath.

Batman jumped down onto the concrete in front of him, using his height to loom over Danny.

“We need to talk,” he growled.

“No, actually, we don’t,” Danny huffed, trying to push past him.

Batman caught his arm and twisted it behind his back and—ouch!

“What the fuck! Let go of me!” Danny struggled as much as he could without being suspicious but Batman knew what he was doing and Danny had the arms of a toothpick.

“Not until you answer my question,” Batman growled in his ear.

“Frist of all, get a fucking breath mint,” Danny snarked, call it a defense mechanism, “and second of all, it’s this against the law? You can’t just torture me like this is some bad cop movie.”

Batman threw him around so his back hit the brick wall again, and before he would move his forearm was pressed against Danny’s neck.

“I know you’re Phantom. You know it,” his voice lowered, and honestly, it was terrifying, “you’re either an asset or a liability Phantom.”

Danny gasped for breath, wiggling under Batman’s tight hold. Gods, how much did this man weigh?

“Danny!”

They both turned to see Jazz standing at the mouth of the alley, phone in hand.

“I’d like to report an assault,” she spoke into the phone, looking increasingly worried.

Batman growled and was gone as quickly as he came. Danny felt his legs buckle underneath him as Jazz rushed to his side, still on the phone with the nine-one-one operator.

This just kept getting better and better, he thought humorlessly.

---

Clark watched Bruce glare at the tv, making a displeased grunt under his breath.

“The victim's name will not be released, as it was a minor, but that still begs the question: what was Batman doing assaulting a high school? This has been Harriet Chen—”

Clark clicked off the tv, there was no point in watching. He couldn’t believe there were cameras that Bruce couldn’t find—Bruce was even less happy about it. Barry hadn’t even dared ask him if he wanted a donut this morning.

He sighed, sitting down on the motel bed. He just stared at Bruce, who stared at the blank tv.

Riveting.

Clark wasn’t sure exactly how long they sat there before Bruce’s phone lit up.

“Speak,” he said in probably the most unfriendly tone known to man. That was okay, they knew he was working on his people skills.

Slowly. Very, very slowly.

“I found Phantom,” Clark meet Bruce’s eyes as Barry rattled off the location.

They’d get him this time

---

Danny watched as the heroes tried to hide in the bushes to his left. But that was kind of hard to do in bright red.

He just rolled his eyes and continued playing fetch with Cujo. Maybe if he just continued to ignore them they’d go away.

About twenty minutes later when Cujo got tired of fetch and decided he wanted to dig around in the dirt was when they made their move.

“Cute dog,” the Flash leaned against a tree, watching the hole three times Cujo’s size get larger and larger, “he yours?”

“Nope,” Danny popped his ‘p,’ casually floating into a laying position, “Cujo’s his own dog. He just likes me is all.”

They were silent for a few more minutes, long enough for Cujo to get started on another hole.

“You,” a deep growl was the only warning Danny got before Batman jumped on him. Luckily that warning was enough for him to go intangible and for Batman to seamlessly go through him.

Batman stood looking almost disgruntled as Danny continued to float. Danny raised his eyebrows at the man as he growled at him.

“You know, it’s rude to jump through people,” Danny told him flatly.

“Give it up kid,” Superman sighed as he landed next to his boy band, “we know it’s you. Please.”

Superman and the Flash shot him almost desperate looks. Huh.

Well, he was too deep now.

“I usually don’t have fans so old,” Danny smirked a little and Batman growled again, “but if you want an autograph or something—”

The words froze in Danny’s throat as Batman pulled up his holograph wrist computer—which was so fucking cool—and opened two pictures. One of Fenton and one of Phantom.

Uh oh.

He didn’t know if he could mansplain, manipulate, malewife himself out of this one.

“Your faces are a 99.8% match,” Batman smirked as much as a stoic rock could, and Danny just couldn’t let him have the last word. He just couldn’t.

Manslaughter it was.

“Right, right, that’s really dope and all,” Danny let himself float till he was eye height with Batman, “but like, also rude as hell.” He crossed his arms and stared down the heroes, letting his eyes burn brighter. “That kid is a fucking nerd for one thing. And also, I’m dead. Like, dead dead.”

The heroes just stared at him like they didn’t believe a word he was saying. Fine. Time to take it up a notch.

“Like, I would honestly love to be that kid, because at least he’s alive, even if he’s a fucking dweeb,” Jazz would be so mad if she heard all this negative self-talk, but it was for the bit, “What do you want from me? My death certificate? My fucking bones?” He let his form grow brighter and the ends of his hair flicker into flames. “Or would you like to hear in excruciating detail how I was frozen alive in an avalanche?”

He raised an eyebrow at the heroes and they backed off. The Flash looked a little woozy at the idea while Batman went back to his neutral state.

“We didn’t mean to—” Superman started but Danny didn’t let him finish. Time for the big finale.

“Didn’t mean to what? Huh? Stick your nose in shit that you know nothing about?” Danny shook his head and tried his best to imitate Jazz’s ‘I’m just disappointed’ look, “And here I would have thought that heroes would know how dangerous it is to insinuate innocent civilians are super-powered. You should be ashamed.”

“We—” Danny interrupted whatever the flash was going to say for dramatic effect.

“Ashamed! Cujo has more manners than you.” He picked up Cujo’s wiggling, dirt-covered form and glared at the heroes one last time. “I am rolling in my grave. I hope you know that.”

Danny flew off, Cujo licking his face as he smirked. Once they got far enough away he looked down at the dog, “Pretty good, huh?”

Cujo just barked and licked his nose. Hopefully that would be the last he saw of the Justice League.

Manslaughter always worked.

#no actual manslaughter in this fic lol #just a play on words #just Danny gaslighting the JL #he said 'I'm not dealing with this' and stuck to it #crack #crack treated seriously #Danny being a dramatic bitch #Danny Phantom #dcxdp #dp/dc week 2022

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