#prompt: sickness | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

factorialsotherfandoms · 5 months

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TW: very serious illness, vomiting, choking, etc

A series of scenes of a very sick Forever, with massively variable amounts of time between them. They're random and disjointed, just like his ability to comprehend.

Forever is in hell, in absolute hell. Agony stems from his cheek and his hand, bleeding, black agony. Sweat pours down his face, but no matter what he does he feels no warmth. His entire body aches, so bad he cannot even reach out and pull a blanket back over himself. In his dreams he hears clocks, and smells gunpowder, and sees fire and blood engulfing everything - Richarlyson, the Favela, the Island - and crushing it all to dust. He screams for his friends, for his family, or he would if he could only get breath into his lungs.

Fingers touch his forehead - far, far from the agony in his cheek - and he tries to chase after him. There's soft words he doesn't understand from a gentle voice, and a spoon at his lips.

He tries to drink it, the warm liquid which tastes of nothing, he really does.

He chokes instead.

Hacking and coughing and wheezing, and he can just about hear sobbing tears as he's turned on his side, someone rubbing his back as he vomits half a spoon of broth and a great deal of stomach acid.

He was already exhausted, but even with help the action leaves him in the dark.

Even when his brain shuts off from exhaustion he can hear the sobbing, the begging, and he thinks - don't you know I want this to end too?

---

"Forever? I'm sorry I can't stay, but I need to go look after Richas. He's awake now! He misses you. So... You've got to wake up, okay? I don't want to risk him getting sick, too, so you've got to get better so you can cuddle him. You'll be okay while I'm gone? I hope so. I'll be back really soon, I promise, I know for all you pretend otherwise you hate being alone. I'd get Bad to sit with you, but... He's also sick, and I'm really worried one of you would end up killing the other. It's a different sick, and I don't think you'll manage two..."

---

Forever wakes in the middle of the night. He's too hot, or maybe too cold, and something's missing - where is Richarlyson, where is his son? Wasn't his son sick? He should find him - he needs to find him.

In a blur he cannot quite remember the details, but he knows he needs his baby. Blankets drag after him as he wanders the halls of his house, calling for his Richas in a voice barely audible as he does. His voice cracks and breaks on every note, and leaves him hunched in a coughing fit every third. Still, still, he needs his baby - where is his baby?

"Richas," he calls, wandering the silent hallways and empty gardens with nothing but a blanket between him and wintery air. "Richas?"

He isn't sure where he is, but he keeps looking for his son until the sun rises and his body gives in and collapses.

---

"Forever! Forever can you hear me?!"

"Shit, Pac, what happened?"

"I don't know, I don't know, I came with food and he was missing and then I found him here."

"Shit, okay, let's... Let's just get him inside. You get his legs, okay?"

"Okay."

"Fuck he's burning up - have you managed to get him to keep water down yet?"

"No, not yet, we might need to... He needs a doctor, Fit, a real one."

"One problem at a time, Pac; we'll get him inside then we'll work that out."

"I don't think we should leave him alone any more. I'd ask Bad, but..."

"But he's... Fuck. Okay. Let's just get him safe, I'll grab some IVs from the Order, and then we'll see who we can find. Baby steps, Pac, remember the baby steps."

---

It's dark and it's cold and the world is made of ice. After so long in the Nether, Forever's body can't handle it any more. There's a blanket over him, but it seems to do nothing for the frozen chill.

He reaches out, tries to find another, or maybe pull the cushions of the couch onto himself, but he doesn't find softness - he finds metal.

Confused he tries to wake up more, but then someone takes his hand.

"Go back to sleep," the owner of the hand tells him. "You'll... You'll feel better in the morning."

Forever tries to tell him it's too cold; he's gently shushed, the tears that drip onto his face equally cold.

The tears should be warm.

With that realisation, Forever is absolutely certain that he is going to die. In a single moment of clarity that reality hits him - he's going to die, and it won't be a death he can come back from.

"Please, Forever, sleep," the person with him begs again.

If he dies now... If he dies now he dies in the cold, but he won't be alone.

It's a better death than he could have hoped for, to not be alone when it happens.

---

"How is he doing?"

"It... It's.. He's... He's dying, Bagi. He's dying, and there's nothing we can do."

"Is there medicine that would help? Maybe if we ask the Federation... They hate us, but surely they don't want their President to die?"

"We're already giving him everything we have... Nothing seems to be working. I- I can't- We're doing everything! I don't know how to help him, I don't know how to help anyone!"

"Surely there's something else? There has to be? We- There must be a way we can help him. You made the cure for the happy pills, right? That's what Fit said - can you make anything for this?"

"I... I can try? The lab is still set up, but I'm not sure what else I can do... And it takes so long - I don't even know where to start, we don't even know what's wrong with him! I can't- I- I'd need to work that out first, and I don't... I don't think he has that long..."

"Anything, Pac, anything is better than this!"

"I know that! Can't you see I'm trying! I'm doing everything I can!"

"There's got to be something!"

"If there was don't you think I'd be doing it already?!"

"Pac!"

"..."

"... Pac?"

---

Forever wakes in agony and with a scream - he's burning and burning in fires of his own creation, a thousand totems shattered as the ground explodes around him. There's something on - in - his body, twisting and curling and fighting in. He sobs and he screams with everything he has, trying to escape what is already inside.

Meaningless words, meaningless voices, but the arms which grab him and pull him into a hug make sense.

He's in pain, he doesn't understand, his head is on fire and it's a struggle to breathe, but someone - anyone, he isn't sure who - is holding him like he /matters/.

He sobs into their neck and takes the gentle nonsense-noises he can, until a second someone starts nudging his face. He doesn't have the strength to object, even as they put pills in his mouth, and a glass to his lips.

This time he manages to swallow, but it hurts - it hurts so much, he feels them all the way down as his throat tries to reject them.

Fingers in his hair try to soothe him, but he sobs again as a broth is dripped from a spoon to his lips - it hurts less than the pills, the warmth soothes the daggers in his throat, but it hurts it still hurts it still hurts.

Forever must whine, because the soothing from the person holding him gets a little more insistent. The other voice is saying something, too, gently wiping spilt broth from his chin. He can't follow it even slightly, despite recognising their voice as his native Portuguese.

After a little bit they put him back under the now strangely dry covers. He tries to grab, to cling to the comfort; the person hugging him still lets go, but then sits beside the bed, holding the hand that doesn't burn and brushing sticky hair from his forehead.

He tries to focus on that instead of the agony as he drifts to sleep once again.

---

"Thank fuck for that."

"Phil?"

"We managed to get him to swallow your pills, Pac - and some food. Seems the fever might finally be coming down."

"Thank you, thank you - let me check."

"Go ahead, and Bagi's the one who actually got him to swallow. I was just moral support."

"Okay, okay..."

"How's he doing?"

"Bad. Better, but bad."

"Better is about all we can ask... You'll be alright with him?"

"Fit's coming soon; we'll be okay."

"You're doing great, Pac, just remember to get some sleep yourself."

---

Everything aches and everything hurts, but Forever can at least think when he wakes up. He's drenched in sweat, and even turning his head feels like more energy than he has. There's wires and needles and monitors covering him, but he's not at the hospital - it looks like his base.

Not the couch, though - he remembers passing out on the couch.

Instead he's on a bed he definitely doesn't own, and FitMC of all people is dozing on his couch. And asleep beside him, holding his hand tight, is Pac.

He looks at his friend, and breathes.

The breath becomes a cough, and it startles Pac awake. Forever watches his eyes jump immediately to the monitors, only relaxing when he's read them.

And then Pac's eyes turn down, and he asks "Forever?"

"Hi," Forever doesn't quite have the strength to form words fully, but he mouths them and hopes he's understood.

"How are you feeling?"

Forever decides on just pulling a face; it earns a laugh, which quickly turns to unusually quiet tears.

"I'll let the others know you're awake," Pac smiles with the tears. "Just give them a minute."

"What-?" Forever tries to ask.

Pac puts tablets to his lips, and makes him swallow them with a 'shhh'.

The things taste foul - too foul to be any concoction of the Federation.

"The eggs are all awake," Pac starts with that information. "Some are having a bit of trouble with the new eggs, but I'm sure it'll settle down soon. We haven't heard anything from the Federation except a new happiness system, and it's been quiet. But... But some people are still missing - Baghera and Cellbit and Max and Foolish... Maybe more. And Bad is also really sick."

"With-?" Forever's voice fails; his bad hand manages just about to twitch.

Pac shakes his head, "he won't let us see, but there's memory loss. I think... Maybe the nuke caught him?"

Nuke? Forever's body seizes at the very thought of it - of a nuke, or a world eater, or-

He can't continue the thought, because something small barrels into his chest. Small, with a mooshroom hat on, and Forever can't breathe for a moment from the sheer force, but it's Richarlyson - it's his son.

He zones out whatever the people who came with him say, too exhausted to follow more conversations - and, worse, one in English. Instead he somehow finds the strength to lift his arms just enough to hug Richarlyson back, pressing a kiss to his hat as it's the only thing Forever can reach.

""Richas," he manages to whisper. "I missed you."

His son clings to him tighter, and one of his friends brushes his hair, and Forever is still sore and in pain and can tell he's very, very sick. But it's okay, it's okay, because his family are here.

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp forever #qsmp pac #angst #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #trigger warnings are in the post itself #and anything worse than generic illness below cut #whumpcember2023 #prompt: sickness

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abyss-presence · 1 month

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Note: headcanoned to hell; Yellow cat is called Nael and uses he/they; 3rd person pov; swears included; I forget the previous paragraphs mid writing so maybe inconsistent story

@aniflowers

Gracious Fall

Nael has not left Leshy alone even for a second after their little fight. Of course, after the Leader returned from their crusade, the spider disciple that intervened the last time told on them almost right away. Fucking snitch.

Surprisingly enough, Lamb somehow figured out that it was Leshy who started the fight, so he was the one who had to go through the horrifically embarrassing process of getting intimidated by the Leader. Not only was it embarrassing, it also genuinely scared Leshy. Not because Lamb was scary to them, hell no, but because...

Because they wore the red crown. And the crown belonged to...

...

Nevermind, let's not uncover this can of worms. For now.

Anyway, today was one of the days when Leader just came back home from a three day long crusade, with precious resources and a new addition to the cult.

It was a peaceful day, and nothing could ruin the comfortable silence with the occasional buzz around the flock, be it the distant chatter of the other cultists, or the sounds of them working–

Oh, huh? Leshy could pick up a subtle sound of footsteps getting closer and closer. Sounds like someone was running in the direction of the cult grounds.

"Leader, Leader! Glorious Leader, please help!" Nael's voice rang through the air, a clear tone of worry and concern in it. People immediately gathered around the entrance, looking at Nael with a mix of emotions: confusion, curiosity, worry, or maybe all at once.

The Lamb quickly approached the group that formed around the yellow cat, Leshy following suit to find out what the ruckus was about.

Nael had just returned from his mission, looking exhausted and panicked. He reached out towards the Leader, placing his paws on their shoulders.

"Glorious Leader! I found a follower awaiting for indoctrination like you requested, but they're sick! They will die soon if we don't help them!" The Lamb only nodded in response, immediately rushing over to the indoctrination stone to aid those in need. As the soon-to-be follower appeared in front of them, they realized why Nael was especially worried about this one: it's a tiny kitten who looks badly injured and on the brink of death.

Leshy could sense a new distinct scent of this orange kitten. How? That is a mystery that will remain uncovered for a while longer.

He could hear all the chaos ensuing around this sick baby, and for the first time in, what felt like, forever he felt like he missed being able to see. He felt the same a couple of times before, especially strongly when he just lost... no, when his eyes were just taken away from him. But to have that feeling reappear again now of all times was... strange. Strange and unpleasant.

The orange kitten was laid to bed, and the Lamb then asked both Leshy and Nael to pick the Camellia flowers they've been growing for the sick. Normally Leshy would feel apprehensive about anything the Lamb asks of him and would complain all the time, but now he felt compelled to follow through with the Leader's orders and do as he's told.

He and Nael both went ahead to pick up the needed flowers, with Nael directing Leshy throughout the process. After the entire farm was cleared out, Leader left them both to take care of the kitten, and their disciples to look after the cult while they went to gather more flowers and seeds from Darkwood. That will probably take another two to three days... and now Leshy's left alone with this stupid cat again. Great.

They sit together in the medical bay, Nael's paw firmly yet gently placed on the other cat's side as he sleeps. Leshy is sitting at the edge of the bed, messing with his hands to drown out his thoughts. That's when in their silence he catches a faint smell of blood.

"You're injured..." he comments, turning his head in the general direction of the yellow cat.

"Yeah, I am. But taking care of him was more important,'' Nael felt no shame in admitting that he didn't come home from his mission unscathed, since, in his mind, that just further proved his loyalty to the Glorious Lamb.

Leshy hesitated for a moment, deciding on his next action very carefully.

When he was still a God, he had his own followers, his own cult. But experiencing this type of devotion first hand, or rather, witnessing such devotion with your own very eyes was... somewhat disturbing. But also very moving.

With a frustrated sigh, Leshy gets up and pushes Nael down.

"Hey, what are you–?!" Leshy hissed at Nael, using this gesture to keep him silent in order to not disrupt the child recovering from his sickness. He picked up whatever medical supplies were left, including a bandage or two, and sat back down onto the bed, disinfecting and patching up Nael's wound in silence. "Oh... thanks... I guess." Nael chuckled awkwardly, watching Leshy's every movement out of caution. Leshy has been around the cult for some time, yet Nael still knew so little about him. He tried asking other cultists, asking Leshy's siblings and asking the Leader themselves, but none could give him a cohesive answer. So he was determined to find out more. Nael relaxed his tense muscles, letting Leshy do his thing and heal him, before he gathered the courage to ask: "Hey, Leshy? Why did you attack me back then? I'm not looking for confrontation, I just want to know the reason."

For some reason, when Nael was using this diplomatic tone, his brows furrowed subconsciously, Leshy had to pause for a good minute to collect himself again. He didn't really understand what was that about, but...

"It's... it wasn't your fault, you know? I just... I get irritated when people stare at me this much," he sighed and put back all the supplies after he was done with Nael's wound. "I thought it wouldn't affect me, I was a God for fuck's sake! People used to admire me, pray to me, sacrifice lives for me, but now... now that I'm a mortal it just– it feels so fucking disgusting when they stare at me. And I can't even see it, but I can feel it, which is even worse." Leshy turned to face Nael after his little rant was over, awaiting his reaction.

The only sounds that filled the air at that moment was the orange kitten's soft but shallow breaths, the buzz of the cultists outside the medical bay, and the ruffling of various fabric inside of it, before Nael finally spoke:

"You were a what–?!"

#cotl #cult of the lamb #leshycatpril #leshycatpril2024 #week 2 #prompt: sickness #idek if this fits the prompt...#not requested #dividers by cafekitsune

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unforth · 10 months

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Gentle reminder that very little fandom labor is automated, because I think people forget that a lot.

That blog with a tagging system you love? A person curates those tags by hand.

That rec blog with a great organization scheme and pretty graphics? Someone designed and implemented that organization scheme and made those graphics.

That network that posts a cool variety of stuff? People track down all that variety and queue it by hand, and other people made all the individual pieces.

That post with umpteen links to helpful resources, and information about them? Someone gathered those links, researched the sources, wrote up the information about them.

That graphic about fandom statistics? Someone compiled those statistics, analyzed them, organized them, figured out a useful way to convey the information to others, and made the post.

That event that you think looks neat? Someone wrote the rules, created the blogs and Discords, designed the graphics, did their best to promo the event so it'd succeed.

None of this was done automatically. None of it just appears whole out of the internet ether.

I think everyone realizes that fic writing and fanart creation are work, and at least some folks have got it through their heads that gif creation and graphics and moodboards take effort, and meta is usually respected for the effort that goes into it, at least as far as I've seen, but I feel like a lot of people don't really get how much labor goes into curation, too.

If people are creating resources, curating content, organizing the creations of others, gathering information, and doing other fandom activities that aren't necessarily the direct action of creation, they're doing a lot of fandom labor, and it's often largely unrecognized.

Celebrate fan work!

To folks doing this kind of labor: I see you, and I thank you. You are the backbones of our fandoms and I love you.

#unforth rambles #this wasn't really prompted by anything #I'm just sick and tired and distractable #or i should say it wasn't prompted by anything recent or that happened now #like no one has disrespected me #but as i hit the point that it's regularly taking me an hour plus every single day to queue things for the danmei art blogs #i just think of all the times people go WAIT YOU RUN ALL OF THOSE??? BY YOURSELF???#like i just don't think a lot of people realize how much work it is to really do background fandom labor long term #and i appreciate places like rec blogs and networks and events and just everyone #y'all are awesome #thank you so much

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spinzolliii · 1 month

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There’s something about a whumpee just sitting down. Not fainting, necessarily. Maybe they’re just about to faint, and they quietly just kneel on the ground at a time and place that doesn’t make sense. They don’t even have the capacity or willingness to articulate why they need to abruptly stop and sit. Maybe they’re catatonic while the others look at them.

Maybe a caretaker can see the dull, vacant look in their eyes and immediately senses that something is seriously wrong. Maybe the fainting comes just a few moments later.

#cold whump #fever whump #physical whump #sick whump #whump #whump prompt #whump tropes #whumpblr #whumpee #illness whump #fainting whump #fainting #whump scenario #whump ideas #hurt/comfort #sickfic #sicknario

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starry-bi-sky · 4 months

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There are two things that Damian knows that he knows Father doesn’t.

He has an older brother

He was dead

(And a secret third thing: Damian was glad he was dead. They did not get along.)

Well. No, correction, they were two things that Damian knew that Father didn't. Past tense. Strange magic swirled through the air and created a mirage before his eyes, and immediately a scowl forms across his face.

The mirage shifts and shimmers like the light hitting a slowly turning prism, and then it settles into a memory. One that Damian does not recall. Like looking into a tv screen, it shows, faintly, a room, with most of the magic going into the image of a crib.

His mother was standing on one side, and next to her, standing on his tiptoes was a small five year old boy looking up at her. With dark hair and skin that was only few shades lighter brown than Damian's, the little boy's resemblance to Damian was undeniable.

However, his eyes were blue. Not green. Damian's scowl deepens, and he sinks back. "Danyal." He mutters, and feels eyes turn on to him.

Danyal Al Ghul. Damian's older brother. A prodigal swordsman like Damian, and five years his senior. He'd be fifteen if he was still alive. His memory of the last time he saw his brother was still clear in his mind.

(A sword to Danyal's neck. Stars were glittering through his window. Damian was five, Danyal ten. He is not sure why Danyal had snuck into his room, all he remembers is hearing a sound and on instinct reaching for his sword.)

(His brother had intercepted easily. But had not shoved the sword away. Moonlight hit his blue eyes, and Damian remembers seeing the pupils shrink to let the light in. His eyes looked almost silver.)

(His brother bares his teeth at him. Damian wants to slice his neck more than anything, and he bares his teeth back. "Good." Danyal says, his voice low in a hiss, "Your reflexes are good, little brother.")

("Of course they are," Damian remembers snarling, and presses the sword closer. But it does not budge. "I am an Al Ghul.")

(Something unrecognizable passes through his brother's eyes, and his mouth twists into something like a smile. "I know." He says, and tilts his head downwards at him. "And you will be great.")

(His brother shoves the sword back, causing Damian to stumble. And like the wind, he is gone.)

(The next morning, he goes on a mission with mother and a few others. Mother is the only one to return with Danyal's sword, and a red-eyed look in her eyes. Damian does not mourn. Now there's only one of them.)

"Momma." The little Danyal-mirage speaks, a furrow between his childlike brows as mother lowers a bundle into the crib. His blue eyes watch her, and lifts onto his toes to peer into the crib as she sets the baby down. "Who is this?"

Their mother's hand comes to rest along his back. "This is Damian, my son." She murmurs, voice low. "He is your little brother. Protect him well."

Damian scoffs internally -- not likely. He remembers every spar he ever had with Danyal, every harsh word and insult. His pushing, pushing, pushing for Damian to get up. To try again. Do it again. The only kindness he ever showed him was when his fingers bled. And even that was harsh, firm. Rolling gauze around his wrist and scolding him, telling him how to wield his weapon better.

(It was the same as everyone else, but somehow it hurt worse coming from his own brother.)

But he watches his older brother's youngest self tilt his head to the side, and then reach his chubby hand through the crib's bars. He runs small, blunt fingers over the baby's arm, and the baby jerks. Through the crib's bars, Damian sees himself grab Danyal's fingers.

And he scowls even deeper.

And Danyal's eyes... widen. He lets out a little gasp, and a small smile Damian's never seen him wear tilts at the corner of his mouth as he looks up at their mother. "Mother," he whispers, "he grabbed me!"

Damian... his scowl falters, for a moment.

He doesn't wait for a response, he looks back to the baby with sparking eyes. His expression melts like sugar as he bounces the finger being gripped tight by the small hand. "Hello, little brother." His brother says, voice its of usual firmness, but there's more fondness underlying it than Damian's ever heard. "My name is Danyal."

The mirage shifts before Damian can comprehend his older brother's voice. It shows the crib again, appearing as if a few days had passed. There is night lilting through the nearby window, and a creek of the door. The baby doesn't stir.

Danyal sneaks in, still wearing his training clothes and a sword strapped to his side. Damian's scowl returns, watching him creep over to the crib. Of course -- the last night he saw his brother wasn't the only time he'd snuck into his room.

Would he go so low as to attack an infant? Damian wonders, watching his brother cross the room to his crib. But while his fingers rest against the hilt, they never curl to unsheathe.

His brother peers into the crib again, and there it is again, that smile wider in the corner of his mouth. It's not a full one, but its as uninhibited as it gets. Dripping honey-sweet with awe. "You are so tiny." Danyal whispers, and pokes a finger back through the crib. It wriggles, then pokes Damian's cheek gently. "Was I as small as you when mother gave birth to me?"

There is no response from the baby. Not a coherent one anyways, the little thing snuffles and turns his head, mouth open to latch. Danyal stills, his eyes grow ever wider again.

Danyal says nothing else, just rests his cheek against the crib and watches the baby sleep in silence. The affection never leaves his young face.

Damian feels unsettled. Off-foot. This Danyal is foreign to him... He wonders what happened to have changed his brother's mind on him.

There's a scuffle, quiet, but there. Danyal picks up on it just as Damian does, and his head pricks up like a deer, head already turning away from the crib. The affection leaves his face, falling away like water into something serious. His blade is already slightly unsheathed.

Two assassins, belonging to grandfather, burst out of the shadows. Their swords swinging into the air and ready to strike.

Danyal kills them both, his back to the crib. It's not without struggle, and when the two assassins lay dead on the floor, the baby is wailing at the top of his lungs. Danyal has a laceration cleaving down diagonal of his cheek. It's close to his eye, just barely missed blinding him.

Damian never knew how he got that scar. He does now. (He doesn't know how to feel about it.)

His brother clutches his bleeding face, sheathing his sword as tears well up onto his face. But he turns towards the crib, and hurries over. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay." He hushes rapidly, the League-drilled seriousness fallen away to reveal a panic-stricken five year old. He sticks one hand into the crib, the one not clutching anything, and grabs little Damian's hand.

Their mother comes bursting in that moment, and Danyal turns his head towards her. "Mother." He says, his voice cracks un-wantingly. Their mother steps over the bodies of the assassins easily. "They tried to kill Damian."

"But they did not." Talias says, kneeling down next to the crib to inspect Danyal's face and Damian's well-being. When she finds nothing of concern beyond the injury, she continues. "You killed them before they could, Danyal. Well done."

The mirage of his brother nods, his eyes teary and red.

Damian... is discomfited. he never thought Danyal would kill assassins for him. He would have thought his brother would sooner look the other way. The mirage shifts again, and it quickly shows time passing.

Danyal sits in Damian's nursery every night, after that. He lays at the foot of the crib with his sword, a pillow and a blanket with him. Some nights there is nothing but peace -- or as close to peace as a baby could achieve -- and some days assassins break in.

Danyal kills each one.

The mirage shifts again, and it shows more memories of Danyal interacting with Damian during his youth too young for him to remember. His first steps, his first words.

"Danya." The small toddler of Damian says, arms reaching for Danyal.

A frown curls across Danyal's face, and pulls Damian into his lap. "No, no, little brother." He scolds, voice firm but.. softer. "It is Danyal, Damian. Danyal."

"Danya!"

Damian's brother sighs, but there is that same-small tilt at the corner of his mouth. A glimmer in his eyes. A glimmer... that Damian is finding he recognizes.

(He always thought his brother got that look in his eyes when he was mocking him. Was he wrong?)

The mirage shifts again, and this time it shows only mother and Danyal, alone. Danyal is older, taller. Seven, if Damian had to guess. Mother has a stern look on her face, her hands tight on his shoulders. "Damian will be starting training soon, my son."

Ah, then close to eight then. Training starts, always, at three years old. He watches Danyal nod, his expression mimicking their mother's. His arms are folded, always folded, behind his back, always neat.

"You can no longer have the relationship with your brother as you did before." Mother says.

Danyal's expression... falters. It shifts, it fluctuates. He looks surprised, thrown off. Like he isn't quite sure he heard what mother just said. His brows furrow. "What... do you mean, mother?"

"I mean what I said, Danyal." Mother says, stern, "Ra's will be keeping a closer eye on Damian now that he is of age to begin his training. He will not like if he sees you both getting along."

"I am sorry, my child. But your relationship with Damian ends here. You are rivals now, not brothers." In a cruel form a gentleness, mother raises her hand and tucks a stray curl out of Danyal's face.

Of course. Damian never had a relationship with his brother because of Grandfather. Of course. No, he's not feeling a little bitter. No. There's not an inner child that still, like a candleflame, wishes that he'd had a bond with his only flesh and blood.

Danyal is dead now. So it's not like it matters. He's happy about this.

Danyal frowns, and he steps back. He looks lost in thought. "We are still brothers, mother," he says, argues, and looks up to meet mother's eyes. "Let me train him, I will make sure he gets the skill he needs. If we must be rivals, then I will teach him how to defeat me. If he can defeat me, he can defeat anybody."

Their mother, and Damian, both blink in unison. Then mother smiles something sharp, calculated. She folds her hands behind her back. "Then do it. But you will make him hate you."

"...So be it."

Damian.... Damian is silent. His world axis has been tilted on its head. He is sliding, and sliding, and sliding down. Spinning. Many things click into place at once.

More memories from the mirage show. It shows Danyal training Damian. It shows their arguing, their bickering. It shows Danyal going to their mother to praise Damian and his skills, how fast he is picking up on the sword. How one day he will surpass even him.

It shows Danyal sitting outside Damian's bedroom door every night, listening in for anyone who dares to break in. His knees drawn to his chest, his sword at his side. Sometimes he sneaks in, sword drawn, when he hears a sound.

Some nights, Damian wakes up. He remembers those nights. Danyal standing over his bed with his sword unsheathed and tight at his side. He remembers the instant terror as he immediately reached for his own weapon.

His brother always scolded him for his lack of vigilance. That had he been anyone else, Damian would have had his neck cut. He would've been dead already. It only made Damian's hatred of him grow.

But he understands now. Because there were assassins in the room that Damian, four years old, three, did not notice. Not until later. He always assumed the attacks on him after Danyal's death had been because now there was a new heir to target.

It had been the only lesson he'd been even somewhat grateful for.

Then finally the mirage shimmers, and it shows Danyal, ten years old, in one of the training rooms, mid-spar with Mother. It's fast, sharp, impressive and like a blur. Damian is unsure if at ten which one of them was the better swordsman. Some of the assassins who have never met Danyal said Damian was, but the ones who had said it was Danyal. He'll never know.

In a lull in the fight, when their swords are crossed, mother speaks. "Ra's wants you and Damian to fight." She says, teeth grit into a deep scowl. The cross breaks and Danyal jumps back, he frowns.

"We have fought, mother." He says, and dives in first, swinging for mother's feet. Mother dodges, and slices at his arm. He swerves out of the way, twisting on his feet like a dance. "We are always fighting, doesn't he see our spars?"

"Not a spar like that, my son." Mother says, a snarl in her voice. She lunges, and Danyal blocks her blade. "A fight to the death. Father has grown tired of having two heirs."

That gets Danyal's attention -- or, more accurately, it distracts it. His eyes widen, and his sword lowers for a single moment. A mistake. "What?" Is all he gets out before mother has him on his back, her blade pressed to his throat.

He freezes. As does Damian. Danyal's brows furrow, then unfurrow, only to knot up again. "Mother, what do you mean a fight to the death?" He flips to his feet when mother removes the sword. She walks over to grab her water.

"Must I repeat myself, Danyal?" Mother snaps, rubbing her forehead before swigging from her canteen. "Father wants to find out which one of you is the stronger heir, and so you will fight to the death after your training in a few days."

Danyal's tan face loses a shade of color, he looks ashy. "There must be some mistake!" He exclaims, his arms gesturing out as he peers around mother. "There is a five year disparity between us, Damian has only just started training two years ago. It would be an unfair fight!"

"Do you think me unaware?" Mother whirls on him, and there is a grief-stricken look on her face. Like she is already mourning Damian's death. Damian feels ill. "Your skill is far beyond what Damian can accomplish right now, and there is nothing that I say that can convince Father otherwise."

Danyal wears an expression like he is scrambling for answers. A white knuckle grip on his weapon. There is a long silence, and his lower lip curls up. His throat bobs, he swallows. "Is there really nothing we can do?"

Mother makes a frustrated sound, pushing her loose hairs out of her face. "Not unless Father changes his mind, or I send one of you away. But Father would surely send someone to look for you or Damian."

"What if one of us faked our death?"

Mother stills. As does Damian. No, he thinks, stiff as a rod, no way. These mirages were lying, nothing but figments of an imagination. Of some quiet what-if that Damian had not yet stomped out.

Mother's expression shifts, and then turns contemplative. Danyal notices, and keeps pushing, he looks as hopeful as he could get beyond his usual unwavering, stone-like expression. "One of us could go to father--"

"No." Mother cuts off, voice sharp. Danyal wilts, confusion flittering across his face. Damian, from the corner of his eye, sees Father tense as stone. His white-slit eyes have not left the mirage. Nobody's has.

"Father will undoubtedly check there first, it would not be a good idea. You or Damian will have to go somewhere where he would not think to look. Someone unaffiliated with the League."

Danyal's face falls, shutters, and then closes up again into stone. Mother begins to pace, and Danyal's blue eyes follow her. "So a stranger?" He asks, and there is disgust lilting into his voice.

Mother nods, and she looks just as offput as Danyal.

The mirage of Damian's brother rolls his shoulders back. "Then I will do it, mother." He says, voice unwavering. There is a stubborn note behind it all, one that Damian recognizes. "I will fake my death, and Damian will stay here."

Mother's eyes turn sharp on him, and she stops in her spot. She pivots. "Are you sure?" She asks, eyebrow raising, "There is a chance you will never meet your Father if you leave. Nor will you see I or Damian again, if you do this."

Something like fear flickers across Danyal's face, eyes widening momentarily -- as if that very thought had not crossed his mind. But then it smooths over to sharp determination. He nods. "It would be the same for Damian if it was him instead. I will do it, Mother."

Damian feels ill again. Father has a strong set in his jaw, his teeth grinding.

Mother stares at Danyal, and then her expression softens. And like before, it is grieving. "In a few days time, I and another member of the League will be going on a mission to the American States. I will tell Father that you will accompany me, once there we will dispose of the other member and then orchestrate your death."

The American States. Danyal was here, in the country. He was out there somewhere -- but no this was fake. It had to be. Danyal was dead. A fool who got himself killed on a mission with mother and left the title of Heir to Damian.

Or maybe it had been his plan all along. His and mother's both.

...Was mother ever going to tell him?

The mirage of Danyal nods, sharp. Understanding. There is a gleam in his eyes that is not pride, it is tears. And when Mother leaves the room and leaves him alone, the stone-like expression on his face crumbles and falls.

His brother, ten years old, curls up his lip in an ugly way. It wobbles as the tears in his eyes do, and he brings up his hand to slam it over his mouth. And sinks to his knees, a yell-like sob muffled behind the skin.

His brother, ten years old, looks smaller than Damian remembers him being, and cries.

Damian has never seen Danyal cry. Not once in the mirage of memories, nor in his own.

The memory holds for a minute, and then disappears. And no new one shows up. The magic is gone, and it leaves a silence in its wake. Heavy, staticky, and full of revelations.

So there are two things that Damian knows that his Father now knows too.

He has an older brother

His older brother is alive.

(And a new secret third thing: Damian wasn't sure how to feel about it.)

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc prompt #i promise this is a prompt #it just got very long #danyal al ghul au #my take on a danyal al ghul au #older brother danny #dpdc #dpxdc crossover #i know the usual gist is that danyal al ghul is a better knife thrower than he is a swordsman but hey #consider: phantom has a sword when he fights ghosts. how sick is that?#his ghost form having allusions to the LoA. its not obvious but its there #did i make danny brown skinned? yeah. because him being white or not is irrelevant to me and i wanted to make him darker skinned #thinking about the angst of bruce seeing his firstborn son going “i could stay with father!” and then said child being visibly crushed #when told no. and that he may never see his father ever. actually. if he fakes his death. and still doing it anyways for damian's sake #danny loves his little brother he just shows it in an unorthodox way. some of it is not his fault #also danny being an absolute grump in amity park is very funny to me. he's an arrogant little assassin child in AP who is only here for #his little brother's sake and safety. he loves his brother but that doesnt stop him from being an arrogant little brat #gremlin assassin child danny is so funny #i know this is very ironic for me to post after posting my thoughts on danyal al ghul aus and their missed potential #but actually this prompt is what spurred that post into creation in the first place actually.#because i was thinking about this au and then went “oh hey you know whats funny--” and then i #thought about it too much to the point where i had to make a post talking about it #tried to find a balance between danny being mature for his age and also still being a kid #like yeah he’s a trained assassin and has killed but also he’s a 10yo boy about to be separated - Assumingly permanently- from his family

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puppetmaster13u · 4 months

Text

Prompt 159

Tucker is done. Absolutely done. Danny, this time it’s your fault, and not his, this time it wasn’t him who touched the magical weird artifact thing. At least Sam is there too, so they can complain together.

Or they would, if not for the fact that their bodies are toddlers, and somehow stuck to freaking ghost-speak! And not even proper ghost-speak but like, toddler ghost speak!

He can’t see his PDA anywhere either, which is downright heartbreaking. Patricia had been the best thing he’d made to date! And she was now gone!

At least Danny is also stuck in the same situation as them and- Wait. Okay. Nope, he better not have just seen Sam float slightly. It would not be fair if she got ghost-powers too- holy realms his hand just went through the floor. Okay. Alright.

They apparently all have ghost powers now. As toddlers. In some unknown place that had some sort of ecto-stream runoff thing. That wasn’t concerning at all.

Oh, did he mention the gold-eyed figure staring at them from across said stream? Well they were across the stream, now they seem to be staring at them from like a foot away and maybe having a breakdown. Or a headache? They were clutching their head is what he was trying to say, but his stupid baby vision wasn’t the best at a distance.

Yeah he’s blaming this one on Danny.

#dcxdp #dpxdc #prompts #sam manson #danny fenton #tucker foley #talons #The talons are Pretty Sure these are strange baby-talons but think they might be sick #So they’re taking turns hiding them from the Court so they aren’t destroyed #Someone will eventually find out that there’s several rogue Talons stealing from stores #That day is not today #Halfa trio #Talons are attempting to parent & might end up stealing some Lazarus Waters #The issue is that the closest Pits are either under Gotham or in the Batcave #Tucker wants to throttle Danny because they’re freaking BABIES #Dude they’re in diapers and it’s absolutely horrible he does Not Like #This is how Tucker learns he can just summon handfuls of sand to throw at his friends

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im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 8 months

Text

Danny never thought he would enjoy the sidekick/mentee lifestyle but Kori was really cool. She was a adult but she still listened to him and made intelligent, competent and compassionate choices that were genuinely in his best interest. Danny hadn't known adults like that existed.

Starfire was kinda wierd for a ghost though. Phantom couldn't seem to pin down what her obsession was but he guessed that was fine so long as "The Princess of Tamaran" didn't hurt anyone. Plus, not only was she a ghost, she was an alien ghost! Like from a whole other planet and everything!

Aka Starfire gets booted from the DC universe and wanders in to Dannys via Vlads ghost portal. Vlad attacks her and Starfire beats him up, destroying a lot of his visibly unethical stuff, ect. Danny has been her fan ever since.

She did clarify that she was an alien but Danny assumes she's an alien ghost due to her coming from the ghost zone and having some ghost like powers.

Misunderstandings ensue

#prompts #fanfiction prompts #starfire #kori anders #koriand'r #danny phantom #danny fenton #so many dc heros are worried sick about star #danny has a mentor that put the fear of god/alien princessses in Vlad #Tucker has to be dragged away repeatedly by Sam #who is also enamored with her #they are all being taught

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luxaofhesperides · 3 months

Note

Can I please have meet cute/weird with mistaken villain! Danny (but really just a engineer and or chem student) and the one being put on investigation cause Danny is a day villain(not really)! Duke

Technically, Danny Fenton is innocent. Technically.

Duke wants to give him the benefit of the doubt, especially since he’s having so much trouble finding solid evidence that Danny is stealing from a wide variety of people, but he’s been burned before by trying to see people as better than they were. It doesn’t change the fact that Oracle’s cameras keep spotting Danny right before a building on the street is broken into and something stolen. He’s always just walking down the sidewalk; no one has spotted him entering or exiting a building, but he’s around far too often to be unconnected to these burglaries.

It doesn’t help that strange, petty crimes have been on the rise since Danny first arrived in Gotham.

So.

Danny Fenton is technically innocent.

Duke is trying to prove that he’s not.

Maybe I’m looking too closely, he thinks, going over Danny’s sparse file in the Hatch. Maybe Danny’s only one person in a bigger operation.

He could just be the lookout, the runner, the information gatherer who marks which buildings to hit. He may even be the scapegoat, the sacrificial lamb; Danny has no support in Gotham, no family, no job. There would be no one to help him if he got arrested or injured in a fight. He’s a freshman college student from Illinois who should be unprepared for life in Gotham but is somehow managing to survive like a native.

There’s a lot about Danny that doesn’t add up.

Duke has seen plenty of different people since he first went out as the Signal. He’s tried to be kind and give people the benefit of the doubt, but it leads to his loved ones being put in danger. Some people are truly evil, some working on a malicious agenda, some are misguided in their beliefs, and some are desperate people who see no other way to move forward.

He’s not sure yet which on Danny is, but he’s hoping Danny is just desperate and needs a little help to get out of a life of crime.

Which leads to the next problem: Duke has no idea what Danny is steal, or why. He hits both rich and poor folks, civilians and members of the mob, and once, notably, stole something right out of Cobblepot’s office. Allegedly, at least, since no one saw him enter or exit the office, not even the security cameras.

But added to the whispers going around about a new group in Gotham snatching people up from the streets, and some strange green substances found in warehouses often raided by police for the frequent drug labs that pop up in them…

It doesn’t look good for Danny. Especially when a few of the items he stole were found where people either vanished or where that green substance has been found.

A week of analysis in the Batcave and they still don’t know what it is.

Both Damian and Jason suspected Lazarus water, but the composition was completely different. By the look of the molecular structure, it shouldn’t have been in a liquid form at all.

All these findings lead back to one person who may have answers: Danny Fenton.

According to Tim, who’s already broken into Danny’s dorm room and checked over all the labs he has classes in, Danny has some concerning items in his possession. Various inventions and little metal knick-knacks put together by a practiced hand. He was also the one to find all the information that went into Danny’s file when it was first being made: social media posts, school report cards, news articles about his parents… everything.

And then he had an emergency mission to take with the Titans that swept him out of Gotham leaving Duke to tackle this investigation on his own.

He doesn’t have Tim’s natural skill in stalking and invading privacy. He hates breaking into people’s spaces and following them around, but needs must and he has to force himself to work through the discomfort.

It’s a good thing he did, too. Danny’s leaving his dorm after his last afternoon class, hood up to hide his face and something held in the front pocket of his hoodie. He ducks around people on the sidewalk easily, almost as if he’s gliding through the crowd instead of walking.

Duke follows from above, bending the light around him to hide him from sight.

He walks for some time, weaving through alleys and streets as if he’s been in Gotham his whole life, leaving behind the university campus to head towards Otisberg. There’s something strange about the way Danny walks, as if he’s moving around people who aren’t there, guided by something Duke can’t hear. Even using his meta abilities doesn’t do much beyond show him where Danny’s going to be in the next few seconds.

He continues to follow Danny on the rooftops, walking along the edge to keep him in sight.

Then Danny stops behind an apartment building and tilts his head back to look up at it. He tilts his head to the side, then nods and looks around the empty alley. Duke crouches down, keeping his eyes on Danny in the hopes of catching him in the act—

Danny disappears.

Duke curses under his breath and jumps down from the roof, putting more strength into his abilities as soon as his feet touch the ground.

The space where Danny was has a faint outline, oddly enough. He’s never seen that before. From it is a semi-transparent trail, smoke-like and a pale green leading into the building. It goes straight into a wall, as if Danny walked through it.

He can’t go in and search the entire apartment, but he can grapple up and take a look into the hallways to see where Danny’s heading. If he was looking up, then that’s where he should be heading.

It doesn’t take any effort to scale the building. There are ledges and windowsills and plenty of handholds for him to propel himself off of, and paired with his powers, Duke is able to find the correct floor in just under two minutes.

The green smoke slowly dances through the air of the ninth floor, on the east side of the building. If he’s been counting the rooms correctly, then the target of tonight’s burglary has to be apartment 924.

The curtains are drawn on the window he makes his way over to, and his abilities don’t show him anything helpful for the immediate future. He hates going in blind, especially to a civilian’s home, but capturing Danny takes priority. Duke picks the lock and slides the window up slowly, making sure it stays quiet, then slips into an empty bedroom.

He makes his way out into the hallway on silent feet, keeping a wary eye on the thin smoke strands of green, curling along the walls. The rest of the apartment is empty as well, pale sunlight slanting across the floor through the blinds.

Everything is still and silent. Danny’s nowhere to be found.

Did he miss Danny leaving, somehow? Was this a misdirect to get him out of the way while Danny stole from another location? Did he know Duke was following him?

But no, his ears pick up on the faint sound of clothes rustling.

Cautiously, Duke turns towards the front door, where the door to the coat closet is open. He focuses on what’s going to happen in the next twenty seconds and sees Danny panic, then disappear from sight again, but a transparent outline of his body is visible just enough to show him where he runs to. Best not to spook him; Duke pulls at the light around him and bends it to hide him from sight.

Then he moves along the wall, getting around the open door without bumping into anyone or anything.

A figure in front of the coats, shoving them to the side roughly, flickers in and out of view, almost like a reflection in water, distorted by ripples on the surface.

Danny pops back into visibility suddenly, scowling at the coats. “Are you sure it’s in here?” he asks the empty air.

There is no answer, but Danny acts like there is. He rolls his eyes and says, “It’s a favor. That I’m doing for you. I can literally stop right now and you wouldn’t be able to stop me.” He shoves aside another heavy winter coat, then sighs. “Why don’t you look for it, and then tell me where it is.”

He steps back and bumps into Duke.

Danny whirls around, eyes wide, and blast of green light has Duke crashing back into the wall, trying to blink spots out of his eyes.

“Wait!” he yells, grabbing for Danny before he can run off. “I just wanna talk!”

“Standing right behind me like a serial killer does not make you look like someone who wants to talk!” Danny yells back, slipping through his hands like mist.

“I just have a few questions!”

“Well, I have a question: why?!”

“Will you hold still, we’re being too loud!”

Danny escapes to the other side of the apartment, next to a window looking fully prepared to fling himself out of it. But he does stop yelling, so Duke is counting it as a success.

“Why is the Signal coming after me?” Danny asks, glaring at him suspiciously.

“Dude,” Duke says, “You’ve been seen outside of every single building that’s had a burglary since you first arrived in Gotham. All the Bats are after you, they just sent me because I’m the only one active during the day.”

“All the Bats?” Danny repeats, losing what little color he had in his face.

He looks legitimately scared, pale enough to be concerning, and Duke drops his guard and tries to relax the tension in the apartment. “I’m not gonna turn you into the cops or anything. I just had questions and you seem like the most likely person to have answers. That’s it.”

Danny still looks wary, ready to run at a moment’s notice, but he doesn’t leave when Duke approached casually, leaning his weight against the couch.

“So,” he begins, “What’s the deal with all the thievery? It’s rarely something super rare or expensive.”

There’s a long few minutes where Danny doesn’t answer, looking anywhere but at Duke. Then he twitches a bit and glares off to the side, and says, “I taking items that are contaminated with ectoplasm to help ghosts move through the veil and leave Gotham.”

That tells him nothing! That just gives Duke more questions! But at least it’s an answer, the first one any of them have got.

“I think you’re gonna have to explain a little more.”

“Ghosts are real, alright?”

“Yes.”

Danny stops. Squints at him. “What do you mean, ‘yes’?”

“Ghosts are real,” Duke repeats, “There are a few who help heroes or are heroes themselves, but that’s more on the magic side of things so I’m not super familiar with it.”

“Magic,” Danny says slowly. “Sure, alright. Um. Yes, ghosts are real. And there are a ton in Gotham who need help moving on, but they’re too weak to get past the veil. Something about Gotham has made the veil super strong, so they need a little boost to get through. Additional ectoplasm bonded helps with that.”

“And that’s why you’re stealing random things?”

“The ghosts I help can kind of sense ectoplasm-infused things, but they need me to grab them since they can’t hold anything without a physical body.”

Duke nods slowly. “Okay, that’s starting to answer some things. We have found those objects in the last places missing people were seen. Any idea what’s going on with that?”

“Yeah, those people were already dead.”

The way Danny says the most concerning answers as if they’re nothing is really throwing Duke off his game. He was expecting to be calm and serious to keep Danny from freaking out too much and look like a legitimate hero. But as soon as Danny started talking, all his nerves fell away and Duke is left grasping for composure.

“They were…”

“They were ghosts, yeah. And they needed to get through the veil. But they were also able to possess their own bodies and didn’t realize they were dead until I had to break the news to them, which is why it looks like living people just up and disappeared.”

“Okay… What about the green stuff we’ve been finding?”

“Ectoplasm.” Danny holds up a hand and a neon green light surrounds it. Except it looks more solid than light, as if it can be touched, and it moves on its own like fire around Danny’s fingers. “It’s what ghosts are made of.”

Oh. If Danny has ectoplasm, does that mean…

“Are you dead?” Duke asks, heart dropping.

Instead of looking upset about the question, or even disturbed by it, Danny just shrugs and waves his hand back and forth. “A little.”

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Duke says, trying to resist the urge to rub his temples. It’s a habit he didn’t mean to pick up from Batman, and it would just look silly with his helmet in the way. “You’re just doing all this to help ghosts?”

“Yeah. Basically. They asked for help man, of course I was going to help them.”

Danny’s a good person. He’s just a good person to ghosts. But this is good news either way, and he can let the others know that Danny isn’t the next Catwoman and is entirely unconnected from any drug production. Everything that made him look like a criminal is just the fault of ghosts.

“Speaking of,” Danny continues, “Looks like they found what they need, so I’m going to grab that real quick.” He pushes off of the wall and heads for the closet again, moving past Duke without any fear. Duke follows, keeping a few feet of distance between them so Danny doesn’t feel trapped, and watches as he shoves aside the coats again and pulls a shoebox out of the depths of the closet. From it, he takes a single intricate lace headband and holds it up.

It looks normal, if a little old, but when Danny sends ectoplasm through it, the lace lights up and holds the glow.

He pulls some strange contraption out of his pocket and holds it up to the headband. It makes a few beeps, then Danny mutters, “7.4 millisieverts. That’s enough to get you through the veil.”

Another concern Duke can let go of: Danny’s not creating weapons like his parents have, he’s just measuring ectoplasm through his own inventions.

Maybe he could talk to Bruce or Tim about getting Danny an internship at the R&D lab in Wayne Enterprises? That way they could keep a closer eye on him while seeing what he can create in some of the best laboratories in the country.

Well, it might take having them meet Danny before they trust him enough for that, but Duke is sure he can make it happen.

“I better go see this through, then,” Danny says, shoving the contraption back into his hoodie pocket. He gives Duke a small awkward wave, then pops out of visibility. “I’ll see you around, I guess?” he disembodied voice hedges, and Duke smiles.

“I’m sure I’ll be able to find you again.”

“Cool. I gonna go now!”

He doesn’t see any sign that Danny’s left, but he gets a feeling that he’s alone now, the apartment suddenly emptier than it was before.

As strange and concerning as Danny and all his bizarre actions were, Duke is glad he was able to finally talk to him and get some answers. Knowing how Gotham pulls people him in, it’s only a matter of time before the other Bats are exposed to Danny’s kind of strange. He’s already looking forward to it.

For now, though, he has a file to update in the Hatch; POTENTIAL THREAT will be removed and replaced with GHOST HELPER.

If anyone goes snooping into his files and gets confused, then that’s their problem. Duke’s explained enough. And Danny can take care of the rest, once they go through the effort of tracking him down. Duke's done his part, he's ready for the rest of them to step up to his level.

He can’t wait to see what other kind of trouble Danny can get it into.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt fill #my writing #could not do a meet cute/weird in this prompt so i made it a meet disaster lol #heres danny trying to focus on his education!! and then ghosts start popping up asking for help bc gotham wont let them leave #so danny has to make a few contraptions to be able to help them (mostly ecto tracking/measuring/containing) and it looks SOOO sus #the ghosts also have a weak ecto sense which is how they find him bc hes FULL of ecto #and that means hes robbing houses during the day/late evening bc the night is for homework and stress #duke is just... trying his best lol.#sorry if the last part of this is rushed or confusing i am slightly sick and can Not focus #anyways i hope u enjoy!!#thanks for the prompt!!

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