Made It For My Banner... I Think Imma Make Another, This One Is Too Center Focused--

I need more dosages of this in my life

woe, winter sports teddyghost headcanons be upon ye

A DC X DP IDEA #41

Say Uncle.

Imagine dis…

I don’t have much to say about this one just the fact that when you are buying alcohol to celebrate New Year just make sure not to drink it all at once despite the holidays…

Ah, the hangover: nature's way of reminding you that your liver is not, in fact, a miracle worker, and your brain did not sign up for the tequila marathon.

And no, this prompt is not about just that. I want to get this idea off my list before I completely forget about it.

…

The night when both Martha and Thomas Wayne met their demise Alfred already swore himself to protect the two young masters that were left behind. Bruce at the young age of eight witnessed his parent's murder and death, just because the boy insisted on watching the latest film with only the three of them young master Daniel’s insistence. Daniel, who was only 5 years old caught a nasty cold and was prompted to stay inside the manor to get better. Young master Daniel insisted on the three of them enjoying the film instead of staying at home just reminding them to bring him souvenirs to not be completely left out.

Tasked with raising two young boys both boys felt sadness and guilt for each of their own despite not having to feel guilty about it. Young master Bruce for insisting to go at the theaters and young master Daniel for insisting on a souvenir.

The media with all of its cameras stared down at the Wayne name and manor as it was the tragedy of the century as the Waynes are not only the wealthiest of the socialites but also one of the founders of Gotham City. All metaphorical eyes went to Master Bruce, why only him you ask? It is all because young master Daniel had not been introduced to the public eye as it had been some sort of tradition to the Wayne’s to teach their children at the age of 7 to have them enjoy privacy and have the children at a certain age to understand the dangers of media.

With young master Daniel still technically hidden Alfred made the hard decision to further hide the young master through the system. Both boys of course protested through tears and shouts from both boys. Of course, Alfred tried to explain to the boys for their protection and Alfred assured the boys that he would use his connections to watch over Daniel.

…

Fast forward and the two brothers despite having a secure line of communication simply strayed apart. Maybe it’s because of the distance or maybe it’s because of talking to each other less when both entered their teens, but I say because of secrets…

With Bruce, he had traveled the world training to become somebody, somebody who can prevent tragedies like his can ever happening again. To protect and make a difference to the place that took his parents away. He kept silent about Danny, his training, and his turning into a crime-fighting vigilante. He wanted Danny to stay safe the last family he had, to stay in the life he had built, from what Danny had told him from the rare chances that they both got the time to chat. Bruce kept on thinking to himself that it was safer for Danny. The lack of knowledge of both the public about his bio brother and Danny’s knowledge about his nightlife made Bruce’s nightly chant to himself justified.

…

Danny scanned the manor, it had been a while since he adjusted the cuff of his fitted suit. He hadn't been here in years, and Bruce hadn't gotten in touch with him outside of Alfred's regular chats and the rare times the brothers even called the other.

As far as the world was concerned, Bruce was "dead." The family he hardly knew was shocked to learn that Danny was named guardian of the remaining Waynes in his will. This prompted Alfred to explain who the supposed relative of theirs and began tidying the manor as if the queen herself was going for a visit.

The moment Danny entered the manor both Dick and Jason had their eyes on him. As the two who had been with Bruce the longest apart from Alfred, they should have already heard something about the man from Bruce, even a slip of the tongue but nothing, so they have every right to be wary of their supposed uncle who has actual biological connection to Bruce.

Their apprehension was only increased by Danny's striking similarity to Bruce. He had the same sharp blue eyes, but his expression was gentler, and the same sharp jawline, but it was tempered with fatigue rather than unwavering resolve.

Danny made significant adjustments during his brief time as their new guardian. Without Damian ever hanging onto Dick like some sort of life Line, Dick has now the time to properly sort out his feelings and mourn for Bruce. Jason despite the bad blood between father and son is also seeking professional help as per Danny’s wishes to sort out his thoughts and with Danny slowly filtering out his ecto to a much healthier one. Tim finally had a sigh of relief when he saw their supposed uncle handle the board like an iron fort. He had managed those elites as if Danny had the experience dealing with old men that thought to be the center of the universe. Finally, Damian, who at first struggles with the supposed usurper to his supposed birthright begins therapy that focuses on undoing the works of a cult, as per the suggestion of the usurper’s foster sister.

Slowly but surely they finally had a sigh of relief to the civilian side of their lives, as Danny kept the Wayne co flourishing and the nosy journalist away from them especially Damian since he is the only biological son of Bruce Wayne despite adopting Dick, Jason, and Tim first.

 On the other hand, their vigilante life is full of tension, as Tim supposedly found evidence of Bruce being alive. Dick and Jason kept pushing on to Tim that he is full of grief to accept Bruce’s death and brush his claims. Of course, Tim tried to find more definite evidence but was later banned from the Batcomputer for his mental health.

…

It all came to a head when a sleep-deprived Tim stumbled into the dining area for breakfast with the rest wearing his robin suit and sweatpants and a haphazardly worn domino mask on his face. As Danny is about to ask Tim about his sleep, Tim not recognizing who he is talking to begins a floodgate of information.  The partial evidence, Gotham’s criminal activities, the number of vigilantes needed to wear the cowl to ensure no one could suspect that something happened to Batman and so much more.

By the time Tim ended his rant he saw a pale-faced Dick looking at him with pure disbelief, Jason and Damian looking at him with murder in their eyes, and finally, Alfred holding a tray of freshly squeezed orange juice so tightly that it began to shake.

Tim is now dreading whatever expression the person is in front of him. Tim now slowly looked at Danny’s… Contemplative face?

All of them are now holding onto their breaths looking at Danny waiting but for what?

Danny blinked, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he muttered something under his breath, too low to catch. Then, slowly, he raised his hand and tore open the air, as if cutting something in midair.

A green rift shimmered, pulsing with an eerie light reminiscent of the Lazarus Pits, though a bit brightener. Before anyone could react, Danny reached into the rift with the ease of someone retrieving a misplaced item and yanking a battered figure through.

Bruce Wayne, still wearing his Batman suit, though, stumbled into the hallway, his cowl pushed back to reveal a rare expression of wide-eyed shock.

The rift closed as abruptly as it had appeared, leaving only each of them with their respective jaws dropped and wide open.

Danny looked at Bruce as if scanning any injuries and let out a deep sigh of relief.

And uttered a single sentence that seemed to come from Danny’s inner mind.

I can't believe you turned into a furry fruit loop.

Immediately turned around and left the still-shocked family with their minds still rebooting at what had just happened. Bruce, for his part, could only stare after him, his mind racing to catch up.

…

Danny on the other hand is mildly a bit stressed, don’t get him wrong. Having Dan, Ellie, and Klarion as his kids is the most wonderful thing that ever happened to him, he just wished that the kids the rare chance they have their truce would send their home straight down the deepest rings of hell. As much as he had a clear reason to fight off some demons after so much adventure in terms of retrieving their house it got so old that it became a hassle.

 Let's also talk about how chatty Mom and Dad have been ever since his older brother Bruce became a crime-fighting furry, and when he started adopting kids as if they were Pokemon. Bruce doesn’t have to catch them all, and stop encouraging him, Danny wailed to his ghostly biological parents. As much he adored his nieces and nephews, he densest need to know from his ghostly parents how many flips Dick did with one hand or how many books Jason added to the library or how many albums of pictures Tim had, or even how adorable Damian is.

So imagine his surprise that in the middle of him sorting out paperwork, he is now an official guardian to his nephews since Bruce had “died”.

At first, he was hesitant on top of his children, for, he has an entire realm to sort out. Add to the fact that he didn’t feel Bruce’s spirit enter his domain. Bruce’s kind of lifestyle along with his nieces and nephews already guaranteed them a spot in the realms.

So when Tim exploded out of sleep or just needed someone to vent it made him send out a silent question to Clockwork. There he was, his dumb older brother, falling through each timeline, he simply grabbed the scruff of his neck and pulled him back to the present.

As Danny left the manor, he silently wept for the added paperwork that he expected to be added as well as damage control to whatever chaos his children got themselves into.

….

 PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

DP X Marvel #16

It started, as these things often did, with Clockwork showing up at 3:07 AM in Danny’s bedroom and dragging him out of bed by the ankle like a disappointed father dealing with a child who had failed Algebra. Again.

“Wha—Clockwork?!” Danny shouted, flailing in his space-themed pajama pants as he was unceremoniously yanked into a swirling portal of green and purple time goop. “I have school in four hours!”

“You won’t need it where you’re going,” Clockwork said with the kind of deadpan that made you suspect he hadn’t laughed in several centuries.

“That sounds like a threat.”

“It is.”

Next thing Danny knew, he was falling face-first onto a Persian rug that smelled faintly of incense, ancient secrets, and emotional trauma. He groaned and looked up just as a swirling portal closed behind him, revealing a tall, caped man sipping tea with the patience of a man who had seen God, mocked Him, and been promptly smacked in the face for it.

“Stephen Strange,” Clockwork said, materializing again because apparently he didn’t believe in exits, “meet Daniel Fenton. You’re going to teach him how to not accidentally vaporize the concept of space.”

“I what?” Danny blinked.

“Wait—this is the child you were talking about?” Strange said with a distinct expression of “I expected someone taller and more eldritch.”

Danny raised a hand. “Hi. Still in my pajamas. Please explain.”

Clockwork gave him a look. “You’ve been randomly tearing holes in the multiverse with your emotions. If you continue, you’ll accidentally delete the timeline where pizza was invented.”

Danny went pale. “That’s my favorite timeline!”

“That’s why you’re here.”

And that’s how Danny ended up training at the Sanctum Sanctorum instead of going to college like a normal eighteen-year-old. Not that Danny was ever normal. Or functional. Or even consistently corporeal at this point.

“Why is there a ghost teenager eating cold Pop-Tarts in my artifact room?” Wong asked the next morning, frozen mid-step with the sling ring still on his fingers.

“I live here now,” Danny said through a mouthful of Strawberry Frosted. “Clock Daddy said so.”

Wong stared at Strange. “We don’t even let you eat in here.”

“He’s technically a spectral demi-being empowered by quantum echoes,” Strange muttered. “I’m not sure he can be stopped.”

Danny quickly became the Sanctum’s chaos gremlin. The Cloak of Levitation hated him, loved him, used him as a chew toy, and then dragged him into a corner and cuddled him while he tried to watch anime at 2AM. Danny responded by naming it “Blanky.” The Cloak permitted this. Wong did not.

There was one particular week when Danny got stuck halfway between dimensions because he got emotional watching a Pixar movie. “I JUST—THEY FORGOT ABOUT BING BONG, STRANGE, THEY FORGOT—”

“Kid, I swear to the Vishanti, if you collapse another nexus realm because of children’s media—”

“HE SACRIFICED HIMSELF FOR JOY, OKAY?”

Training with Strange was like being punched in the brain repeatedly with Shakespearean insults and quantum theory. Danny tried. He did. But he was more of a vibes-based learner, while Strange was a “recite this 900-word incantation backwards while dodging metaphysical arrows” type of teacher.

“I can just blast it, though?” Danny argued, half-asleep, floating upside-down above the kitchen one night.

“No. No blasting. No phasing. No yelling ghostly wail and reducing my library to ash.”

“But I’m good at those!”

“You also set the Time Fractal on fire.”

“It had a face. It looked at me first.”

Clockwork would appear now and then, mostly to drop Danny cryptic warnings like “Avoid the one with the metal arm,” or “Never trust a raccoon with a gun,” or “Don’t play Uno with Loki. He cheats.”

“I don’t even know a Loki,” Danny protested.

“You will.”

Danny’s powers kept getting weirder. One time he coughed and spat up ectoplasm that turned into a sentient clone of himself, but with an Australian accent and a nicotine addiction. They had to banish him to the Mirror Dimension after he started flirting with Strange.

“Who made you like this?” Strange hissed, trying to undo the spell with rapidly twitching fingers.

“I think I made myself like this,” Danny whispered.

Somehow, the multiverse noticed. A portal opened on a Tuesday—because of course it did—and dropped in Peter Parker mid-panic with a half-dead demon strapped to his back and a terrified expression.

“HELP! I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING!”

Danny stared, eating a microwaved burrito. “Are you a spider?”

“Are you a ghost?!”

“Do you want a burrito?”

“Yes?!”

And that’s how Danny accidentally made a new best friend. Peter and Danny had exactly the same amount of brain cell(s), which meant Strange had to install magical barriers to keep them from combining into a singularity of disaster.

“Stop bringing the Spider-Child into my Sanctum!”

“He brought himself! Through a hole! In the air! Like me!”

“Oh god, there are two of them now,” Wong muttered, lighting incense aggressively.

The Sanctum slowly became a hub for the weird and unstable. Kamala Khan stopped by and declared Danny her new weird older cousin. America Chavez tried to punch him once and fell into his thermos. Loki found him and said, “Ah. You’re one of those,” and walked away very quickly.

One particularly cursed day, Tony Stark walked in, saw Danny floating above a bowl of ramen while casually moving furniture with his mind, and said, “Nope,” before immediately walking out.

Danny’s magic was…unconventional. When Strange taught him how to summon a shield, Danny ended up with a glowing neon green circle that said “NOPE” in ghostly cursive. When told to summon a blade, Danny pulled out a glowing halberd shaped like a Fenton Thermos with an axe edge.

“I call her ‘Big Suck.’”

“I hate you,” Strange said.

“I love me.”

Then came the Incident. Danny got bored, which, to be clear, is always the beginning of the apocalypse. He found a cursed artifact that looked like a snow globe with a tiny screaming soul inside and thought, this seems fun.

It was not fun.

He broke it open trying to use it as a nightlight and released an ancient chaos entity named The Unfathomable Carl. Carl had a god complex, seventeen mouths, and a Twitter account within four minutes of escaping.

“HOW DID HE EVEN GET A PHONE?!” Strange screamed while fending off a barrage of cursed pigeons.

“HE FOLLOWED ME ON INSTAGRAM!” Danny shouted from behind a sofa.

It took three Avengers, a packet of Mentos, and Danny screaming “YOU’RE NOT EVEN THAT SCARY, CARL!” to trap him back in the snow globe. Clockwork appeared mid-chaos, sipping ecto-tea.

“This was necessary for your growth,” he said calmly.

Danny hurled a shoe at him.

Eventually, Strange came to a horrifying realization: Danny wasn’t learning magic in the traditional sense. He was absorbing it. He was like a sponge that had been dunked in eldritch Kool-Aid and now radiated unpredictable power every time he sneezed.

“Do not, under any circumstance, let him near the Time Stone,” Strange told Wong.

“He already touched it.”

“WHAT?!”

“He said it ‘smelled like cosmic fruit roll-up’ and tried to lick it.”

“I HATE THIS CHILD.”

Danny was currently learning how to open a rift without screaming “YOLO” at the top of his lungs. Progress was…questionable.

“Did you just use Ebonic incantation slang to fold space?”

Danny grinned. “Magic, but make it ✨feral✨.”

“You’re going to give me an aneurysm.”

“I already gave Wong one.”

“You what—?”

At some point, Nick Fury showed up, stared directly into Danny’s glowing green eyes, and immediately called for backup.

“He’s a threat to national security.”

“I’m seventeen!”

“You’ve destroyed seven timelines.”

“Okay but they were minor timelines! Who needs a universe made of talking cats, anyway?”

“…I did.”

Even the Watcher started side-eyeing Danny like a nervous babysitter. Carol Danvers tried to spar with him once and ended up in a ghost trap he made out of duct tape and ambition. “I respect you,” she told him from inside the glowing cube. “But I hate you.”

“Get in line.”

By the time Danny hit six months of training, he’d accidentally absorbed a minor chaos god, reinvented ice magic as a form of dance-fighting, made friends with Mephisto (“He’s not that bad once you get past the brimstone”), and turned his hair permanently silver-blue from temporal exposure.

Strange sat in his chair, robes scorched, tea long gone cold.

“Wong,” he said softly. “I think the child is the apocalypse.”

Wong nodded solemnly. “And yet…I fear I love him.”

Danny phased through the wall with sunglasses and a churro. “Hey! Want to help me prank Odin?”

Strange sighed like a man whose karma had caught up with him.

“I’ll get the goat.”

And so it continued. Danny Phantom: Ghost Kid, Sorcerer-In-Training, Time-Space Menace, and unofficial emotional support chaos goblin of the multiverse. He may not have understood quantum geometry, astral projection, or taxes—but damn it, he had style.

And, apparently, a date with the Living Tribunal next Tuesday.

“I hear he’s into jazz,” Danny said. “Think I should bring cookies?”

“You’re going to destroy everything.”

“Yeah, but like—charmingly?”

Prompts Master List

Tea on Time

Stop Giving Us Kids

It’s on Fright

Are You Sure You’re Not Amazonian?

War between Warlocks

Net Gain

Phantom Ph.D

Burned Bridges and Pepper Spray

Date Night at Cadmus

For the Bit

The Unreachable Heart of Tim Drake

Everyone wants to be Tim Drakes favorite, but not for the reasons you might think.

It’s not about Tim’s intelligence or his quick wit, though those things are undeniably impressive. It’s not about the way he somehow manages to hold the entire Bat-family together, even as they fray at the seams. It’s not even about the quiet warmth he offers, the small moments where he lets his guard down just enough to remind everyone that he’s human, too.

No.

They want to be his favorite because Tim gives and gives and gives—until there’s nothing left of him to take.

———

Bruce wants to be Tim’s favorite because it’s easier than admitting how badly he’s failed him.

Tim is a reminder of every mistake Bruce has made as a father, every time he turned his back or let Tim fall through the cracks. He wasn’t there when Tim needed him most, when Joker turned him into something unrecognizable, when Tim clawed his way back to himself alone. Bruce thinks if he could just be Tim’s favorite, maybe it would make up for all the times he wasn’t enough.

But it doesn’t.

It won’t.

And Bruce knows it.

———

Dick wants to be Tim’s favorite because he doesn’t know how to fix the distance between them.

It wasn’t always like this. Once upon a time, Dick was Tim’s hero, the person he looked up to more than anyone else. But things changed, and the closeness they shared shattered under the weight of misunderstandings and unspoken words. Dick misses the boy who idolized him, who trusted him without question.

He wants to be Tim’s favorite because he doesn’t know how to be his brother anymore.

———

Jason wants to be Tim’s favorite because he sees too much of himself in him.

He knows what it’s like to be the one everyone forgets, the one who carries the family’s burdens without complaint, even as the cracks start to show. Jason doesn’t want Tim to end up like him—bitter, angry, consumed by the feeling of being unwanted.

But Jason doesn’t know how to show that. So instead, he fights for Tim’s attention, picking at him, challenging him, pushing him away even as he tries to pull him closer.

He wants to be Tim’s favorite because it would mean Tim still has room in his heart for someone like him.

———-

Steph wants to be Tim’s favorite because he’s the one she always chooses.

She loves him. God, she loves him so much it hurts sometimes. But Steph also knows Tim has walls he doesn’t let anyone past—not even her. He hides himself behind his work, behind his role as Red Robin, behind the pieces of himself he’s convinced no one else will ever understand.

She wants to be Tim’s favorite because she doesn’t know if he’s capable of letting her be anything more.

———

Cass wants to be Tim’s favorite because she sees what the others don’t.

Tim is tired. So tired he’s cracking beneath the surface, even if he’s too stubborn to show it. Cass sees the way he pushes himself, the way he gives and gives and gives until there’s nothing left. She wants to shield him from it, from the weight he insists on carrying alone.

But Tim doesn’t let her.

He doesn’t let anyone.

Cass wants to be his favorite because maybe then he’d let her take some of the weight.

———

Duke wants to be Tim’s favorite because Tim makes him feel like he belongs.

Duke is still finding his place in the Bat-family, still figuring out where he fits in this patchwork of broken people trying to make something whole. But Tim? Tim treats him like he’s always been part of it, like he’s not someone on the outside trying to find his way in.

He wants to be Tim’s favorite because Tim makes him feel seen in a way no one else does. And maybe, just maybe, being his favorite would mean Duke could give that feeling back to him.

———

Damian wants to be Tim’s favorite because he doesn’t know how else to be a brother.

It’s not like he’ll ever admit it. Not out loud. But there’s a part of Damian that craves Tim’s approval, that wants to hear Tim say he’s proud of him, that he trusts him.

But Tim is cautious around Damian, careful in a way that feels like distance. And Damian hates it—hates that no matter how much he’s changed, no matter how hard he tries, there’s still something fractured between them.

He wants to be Tim’s favorite because he doesn’t know how else to prove that he cares.

———

The truth is, everyone wants to be Tim Drake’s favorite because they know they aren’t.

Tim doesn’t play favorites.

He’s too careful for that, too afraid of what it might mean, what it might cost. He keeps himself at arm’s length, even from the people who love him most.

They want to be Tim’s favorite because maybe then he’d stop being so afraid to let them in.

But Tim doesn’t know how to do that.

And maybe he never will.

Part 2: The Watchtower

Danny wasn’t technically a member of the Batfamily. But considering he had been crashing at one of their safehouses for the past couple of weeks and running night patrols with Robin, he was basically an honorary stray at this point. Which is how he ended up at the Watchtower when the Justice League was holding a debriefing.

Danny didn’t expect much to happen—until Superman walked in, took one look at him, and froze.

His eyes narrowed as he turned to Batman. “Bruce,” he said, voice laced with suspicion. “Is this the same one from the cleanup?”

Danny blinked. “Oh, cool, I get to be a ‘this one.’ That’s not ominous or anything.”

Superman ignored him, gaze locked onto Batman. “You know his heartbeat is wrong, right?”

That made Danny pause. He put a hand over his chest, mildly offended. “Uh, rude?”

“It’s not human,” Superman said firmly. “It’s close—but there’s something off about it. Bruce, tell me you did not just bring home an unknown meta without vetting him first.”

Batman, to his credit, didn’t even look up from his data pad. “I know what he is.”

Superman frowned. “And?”

Batman didn’t elaborate.

Danny grinned. “See, this is why I love working with Bats. So good at keeping a secret.”

Superman wasn’t amused. “What are you?”

Danny tilted his head. “A guy who really likes pancakes.”

“Not what I meant.”

“Wow, rude again.”

Superman’s frown deepened. Danny could practically feel the suspicion rolling off him.

The kid’s heartbeat wasn’t human. That was odd enough. But something about it nagged at him—because it wasn’t just different. It was familiar. He couldn't place it exactly, but it reminded him of something. Kryptonian? No, that was impossible. …Right?

Superman listened closer, trying to pick apart what exactly was off about it, but the more he focused, the more the suspicion dug in. His mind whirred, running through possibilities. Half-Kryptonian? A clone? A hybrid of some kind? The lack of information was driving him insane.

By the time they left the Watchtower, Superman was still staring at Danny like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. 

Then Danny, ever the dramatic little menace, casually floated up into the air like it was nothing.

Superman stared.

Danny caught his expression, grinned, and gave him a mock salute. “Later, Big Blue.” And then he shot into the sky, disappearing into the vastness of space like it was just another Tuesday.

Superman turned to Batman, expression unreadable. “Bruce.”

Batman didn’t look up. “Clark.”

Superman pointed at where Danny had disappeared. “He flew.”

“Yes.”

“Without a jetpack. Or wings.”

“Yes.”

Superman folded his arms. “You cannot tell me that didn’t look Kryptonian to you.”

Batman smirked, finally glancing his way. “I collect strays, Clark. That doesn’t mean I always explain them.”

Superman huffed.

That kid, no Bruce said his name was Phantom, is definitely Kryptonian.

And Clark was going to prove it.

----------------------------------------------------

2.5: Danny vs. Superman (on Behalf of Kon)

A couple of weeks later, Danny met Young Justice. And by met, he meant he immediately took interest in Kon-El—aka Superboy, aka Superman’s clone—because, well. Having a clone of yourself was a whole mess of weird, and Danny had some very strong opinions about it.

At first, this whole thing had just been funny. Messing with Superman? Hilarious. Letting him think he was Kryptonian? Comedy gold.

But now? Now it was personal.

Because the more he learned about Kon, the more pissed off he got.

Superman didn’t even acknowledge him? Treated him like he wasn’t worth his time? Oh, hell no. Danny knew what that was like—the existential crisis, the what even am I spiral, the feeling of being ignored by someone who should have given a damn. But Danny had figured it out. And Ellie—his own clone, his little sister—was one of the best things to ever happen to him.

Superman didn’t get to just pretend Kon didn’t exist.

So yeah. Maybe Danny had started this whole thing as a joke.

But now?

Now he was going to teach Kon Kryptonian. And they definitely weren’t telling Superman.

Masterpost

How could I not? 😂

Prompt #3- It’s on Fright

Summoning has never been off the table. In fact Danny welcomes it.

At least after the first 50 he did.

Now it’s just getting repetitive. Destroy the world, end this specific race, person, sexuality. He’s really heard it all and it honestly sucks. He’s a protective spirit damn it!

Look at all the high and mighty people and cultists that would call on him for their mortal issues? It's even more annoying to listen to the whiney people who think they're entitled to his power or his time.

So he did what he should've done this whole time. If ghosts are strong enough emotional echoes, why shouldn't it be the same way? He establishes a connection between his summoning circle. If the caster's intent when casting the spell is for anything other than protecting life, its free game. Que the registration of numerous ghost to send an echo of themself to fuck with the people who thought they could fuck with the king. Of course, there are rules. You're only there for a short window. No killing is permitted unless a caster is hostile and a threat to ghosts. Ensure the safety and good health of human sacrifices. Blah,blah, blah. But most importantly, make them regret ever casting the spell in the first place. Upon numerous heroes failing to stop the summoning in time, there's a vast amount of random shit that happens further proves to not fuck with the realms. Batman can only hear the nostalgic music before witnessing the lead cultist that nabbed Jason get hit by an ice cream truck driven by a muscular man and little girl in uniforms. Tim and could agree that their soft serve was the best they ever had. Hal comes onto the cultists being forced into a tea party and learning their table manners from a blue dragon in a gorgeous dress and tiara. Flash comes up to Shazam and a lanky grey figure with glasses discussing Justice League fanfiction while the cultists have to cosplay the members and live out their found family dreams. Spectra is having the time of her life honestly. Talking things out with depressed kids to work through those feelings or being allowed to pay a certain clown a visit time and time again for her good work along with, spooking frats and sororities.

Superman has been quick to react to cultists after a little demon of a girl promised to return if he wasn't treating his clone better to not repeat the beatdown that was personally recorded and handed to Lex to make if he agreed to make merch from it. Most summon sites are Jumpscare Central or a straight up scrap. It's also a wonderful chance for Spectra to give the bats what they fear most. THERAPY!!! Under Jasmine's supervision, of course. JLD has heard the outcries of the JL and still keeps their good standing with the king to themselves. Especially that said king is over every Friday with treats and gifts from throughout the ages. He's fallen for the blonde warlock that has always been able to reliably call on him because he only does it when ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY! Danny found it odd that the only person who could call him now was a sad Brit in a trenchcoat but a conversation or two had them see that they were often than not on the same wavelength. Sick of their duty, in need of a drink, and helping the world to the best of their ability. John is just so human and reminds him of how he is too. That soon applies to Zatanna too, who's distraught from leading. Besides, what happens in the House of Mysteries stays in the House of Mysteries.

deku doodles

Daniel Jones and the Lost Artifact

dcxdp fic idea

Danny was running errands. It was his own fault really. He had made the decree keeping Ghosts in the Zone or Amity. He was the one that forbade them going anywhere else-least they cross paths with Hero or villain or Vigilante and get ~ideas~.

Just because it was the preferred option didn't mean he had to like it.

But who else would he send? Box Ghost? Skulker? no thank you.

Regardless, Ghosts were forbidden from going into the living world. But that didn't extend to their possessions and artifacts.

And fuck did the Ghost Zone accumulate a lot of shit over time.

Which even if only .01% of it found its way to Earth-that was still a lot of stuff.

Like Pandora's tablet. A ghost memo of the last day of Pompeii.

It had fallen through a natural portal and was somewhere on Earth.

Thankfully ghost artifacts were drawn to their 'living' counterparts. Which narrowed down the search-though, as Danny was learning- that definition could be incredibly broad, especially when their living counterpart was lost to time or a concept. (sometimes it was a living descendant of the original owner. sometimes it was a Costco at 3am, sometimes it was a random kindergartener who really vibed with clay figurines)

Danny had already ruled out Pompeii and the British History museum (a place he'd rescued to many artifacts from already)

Which left the Smithsonian in D.C next on his list (he was following Percy Jackson logic here ok? D.C was the 21st centuries Rome, so it made some kind of sense that the Tablet would be here. No, this wasn't just an excuse to see the Air and Space Museum Sam. Fuck off).

He'd been doing this long enough that he even had an Indiana Jones esk identity that allowed him access to archives and special collections around the world (he replaced the ghostifact with a living copy where possible or staged a robbery where not) (he had written so many papers for this cover)(it was unbearable).

So it was a matter of an email to get himself an open invite to the Natural History Museums subfloors. and then just flashing his ID once he was there to get in, he'd been there enough over the years that it was more of a formality than anything else, but he understood the caution and never complained. Just followed security down the elevator and down a few hallways until he found the right department and waved them off.

He meets up with his contact, a Diana Prince, and they start exchanging pleasantries and what not. Danny walks by someone working on a translation of what they thought was a variation of The Odyssey but were having trouble making sense of whatever regional dialect it had been transcribed in. Danny looks over their shoulder out of curiosity and starts live translating the piece. Turns out it was a self insert version written by a school aged child. And they were having trouble reading it because of the usage of slang and spelling mistakes.

Danny's easy translation piques Diana's interest, for even she had had difficulty reading the artifact and it was written in her first language! While she's not as paranoid as a certain other member of the Justice League, she wouldn't have survived this long if she didn't do basic checking up on people. And maybe he really was just a professor from the midwest, maybe he was a god testing her, maybe he was also someone from the old world, stuck here, out of place and out of time.

Which is why his particular interest in their newly discovered artifacts had her accompanying him long after she would typically have left him too it. Excusing herself only for a moment so as to send the man's information along to Gotham with an ask to verify his education. They would be able to get back to her far sooner than anyone else. Because the longer she was in his presence the more she noticed, and the greater her suspicions became. He was too comfortable. His often handed remarks to specific. His muttered comments belaying knowledge even a researcher of his caliber shouldn't just know. It spoke of an intimacy she hadn't felt since she first entered the world of man all those years ago. It made her ache for her sisters. For her people. For a life she would never again be able to have.

Who was Dr. Daniel Jones? (she hoped he was like her)