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fascinatedscrawls · 29 days

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Nailed It

At what point - Danny pauses mid-thought to huff a laugh at his unintentional pun. The motion of it has him curling his fingers in a little involuntarily and his good humor fizzles as his fingers catch the blanket.

At what point (the pun is intentional because he needs to be able to laugh at this) do nails stop being nails?

In biology last year or maybe the year before that? Not important. In class they said that nails are made of keratin - similarly to hooves and claws and horns and feathers.

So what makes them so different? Sure a feather is different from a horn, but when exactly will he need to admit that his nails aren't exactly nails anymore?

It takes him far too long to unhook the sharp edge of his nail? Claw? To get his fingers in order and shove his blankets away from his legs. Crossing them, he studies the hard keratin at the ends of his fingers.

They're weird.

Actually, it's more that they feel off to him, like someone glued pennies to his fingers - all awkwardly shaped and heavy.

The things aren't exactly weird by themselves. In fact he's pretty sure he's seen some ladies with nails shaped to points like this and he's certainly seen a Halloween costume that curved them more than his have managed, but he went to bed - Danny checks the clock and feels at least twice as tired - way too few hours ago with short nails. He learned to keep them that way ages ago to try and make scrubbing the things he got under his nails down in the lab easier.

Flexing his fingers he grimaces at the thought of having to do something similar to these.

A muffled call of his name from downstairs reminds him that he can't just roll over and ignore the change. He's got school. Ugh.

Danny flinches back from his own hands, realizing almost too late that burying his head in his hands is a bad idea when the sharp points scrape against his hairline. It should make him take more care rolling out of bed, but that small tear in his sheets and the scratch mark on his door handle are a problem for future Danny.

Current Danny has his hands full as he stares down at his nail clippers - his now broken nail clippers that just lost a fight with something decidedly outside of their wheelhouse - his mood now somewhere a little past horror and moving quickly towards 'this might as well happen'.

"Jazz?" He calls out, checking to see if he even managed to nick anything while destroying the clipper. "Can you grab the industrial file from the lab for me?"

Those things are made to chip away at metal. Danny prays that whatever his nails or claws or whatever are made from now, they won't be stronger than that.

#danny phantom #dannymay2024 #prompt fill #prompt: nails #drabble #ghostly features creeping in

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fascinatedscrawls · 1 month

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Phic Phight Prompts: people can't get out the amity & A day in the life of an Amity Park resident.

Word Count: 2406

For @godgytrnbrt and Splax

Summary:

It wasn't like Angela Foley ever ignored the news in the past, but ever since ghosts started attacking Amity Park keeping an eye and an ear on the local situation was a necessity. How else was she supposed to know the town turned into the Hotel California overnight in time to let her boss know she'll be working from home indefinitely until it's fixed?

Tapping along to the beat of a song that is slowly drifting further from the 'Top Hits' stations and into the 'Oldies' category, Angela Foley looks away from the veritable sea of brake lights ahead of her to eye the shops to her right. The cars around her haven't moved since before the song started and a coffee sounds really good right now.

To be honest, it sounded good before she even left the house this morning, but she initially planned to stop by her favorite cafe next to the office.

A glance at the clock shows that, while she isn't late yet, coffee wouldn't be possible even if the traffic in front of her vanished into thin air. A not-so-impossible feat these days, though one she hopes doesn't actually happen. As it is, she's positive she's going to be late.

Which means stopping at this coffee shop to wait out the worst of the traffic couldn't be too bad, right? She's visited before, a handful of times even, and the local staff really helps when Amity Park's local problems crop up. The one time she saw a ghost attack here - it was the one obsessed with boxes, memorable mostly due to how frequently he's spotted - the staff helped the customers clear the building. As she texted Tucker at the time, Angela thought the clean up response times would be longer, but as if to prove her wrong, Inviso-Bill showed up just a few minutes later so she was able to see how quickly the shop's staff got back to business.

(Personally, she's of the mind that an attack on a business should necessitate a paid leave for the employees until the damages are fixed, but she also knows how unrealistic that is in a chain restaurant like this. Outsiders just can't understand.)

Shaking her head, Angela lets the car roll a few inches further, leaning forward to see where the turn in starts. Not too far, maybe a car-length or so. She taps at the steering wheel again, thoughtful this time.

Before she can decide either way, the music on the radio cuts short to make way for the familiar beeping of a news alert. She sighs, shoulders tense, then reaches for the volume to turn it up.

"Alright, what's going on this time?"

"This is an emergency announcement for all Amity Park residents. I repeat - all Amity Park residents. Please be aware that due to an unknown entity, all Amity Park residents are currently unable to leave the city." The local shock jock is a little more serious than his usual persona as he reads the news bulletin, but it's clear that after months of having to share similar news stories he doesn't mind playing into it a bit. "That's right, folks. It looks like our beautiful town has gone full Hotel California on us today. According to reports the city limits aren't exactly the hard limit, but many of those trying to commute out of the city for work are finding it even more difficult than usual."

Leaning an elbow on the car door, Angela allows herself another deep sigh as she mentally rearranges her whole day around this new inconvenience.

Being essentially held captive inside her own city is certainly not good news, but Angela's seen and survived worse than this. Thankfully, working from home isn't outside of her wheelhouse as it might be for others.

However, to work from home she first needs to get there.

"Thankfully, at least for any guests visiting us, whatever is keeping us in doesn't seem to impact non-residents. Experts are working on pinning down why that is and how long one needs to live here to be classified as a 'resident', but for now they ask that all of us lucky locals return home and clear the roads to allow our guests to continue on their merry way."

Angela watches the car in front of her execute a not quite legal or safe turn into the shopping area, the small car jumping the curb to make it in. As they beeline across the parking lot she can see they're clearly headed for one of the back exits that leads into the only mildly confusing web of neighborhoods that make up Amity's suburbs.

Good plan.

Keeping an eye out for any pedestrians or cops, Angela follows them. Another two cars follow her to make a similar escape from the traffic. She has a passing thought, a faint hope that they're also locals going home rather than visitors trying to beat the traffic. Well, if they aren't locals, she's sure they'll get to where they need to be eventually.

Just maybe a little later than they thought.

At the second stop sign Angela blindly rummages through her purse until she finds her phone. Driving with only one hand on the wheel isn't exactly recommended which she would stress to Tucker if he were here (she's trying to be an exemplary driver in front of him these days to set a good example), but it gets the job done. She at least waits until the next stop sign to navigate the menu until she can call her boss.

Lowering the volume until the music - oh, it looks like the DJ thinks he's funny - until Hotel California is barely audible, she hits call. The older woman picks up on the third ring.

"Hey Pam." Angela goes for cheery, wanting to soften the mildly bad news.

"Oh, no. What is it this time?" It wounds like she missed it. Thankfully, her manager sounds more amused than exasperated.

"Something's keeping all Amity Park residents from leaving the city limits." It's not a shield, at least Angela doesn't think it is as she squints up at the decidedly blue sky for half a beat. Usually those are pretty visible. Then again, she isn't an expert. Whatever it is, she hopes it isn't long term. She and Maurice were hoping to make a trip to see the rest of his family in a few weeks.

"I told you that you should move out of that place." Pam says again, likely shaking her head as she always does as she makes this argument. "I'm sure I could get the company to pay for it!"

"I appreciate the offer," Angela really does, "but we don't plan on moving anytime soon."

Because ghosts or no ghosts this is their home. The one Maurice picked with her. The one that Tucker has vocally refused to abandon. It's where their friends are, where Angela's bi-weekly book club meets, where Maurice's old college buddy lives. It's the only place Tucker's ever known.

Angela can't imagine leaving it after fighting to keep it through thick and thin.

Pam clicks her tongue, clearly expecting the answer after hearing some form of it for weeks.

"Alright." That tone means that Angela's going to have this conversation at least once more, but it's put aside for now. "What's your ETA? Will you make the eleven o'clock meeting?"

"I should be able to." Angela assures her after another quick look at the clock. "I'll email you once I'm back at my desk."

"I'll keep an eye out for it." Pam hangs up. That would be more offensive if the woman didn't end every call like that.

The drive home is far quicker than her aborted attempt to drive in to work and Angela may still be slightly later than usual to log in, but she thinks that the professionally made cup of coffee she finally got her hands on is worth it.

She sips her way through the cup while making sure she has everything ready for the today's meeting and tomorrow's while she's at it, then devotes another few hours to what they pay her for - something between network and cyber security. She left the hardware side of things behind a few years ago (now only dipping back into it to help investigate new technologies for others to install and maintain) in favor of learning how to keep people out of their company's data.

Some might find it boring, Maurice certainly prefers his own specialty - operating systems - which she gladly leaves to him, but Angela finds it rewarding. Especially since Tucker found an interest in it a few months ago! It might be due to that ghost that keeps trying to use technology against the town, but whatever the cause Tucker's insights and inputs when they discussed hacking and how to prevent it were always so interesting to hear.

The TV, a small one set to the local news station as quiet background noise and an unfortunately precaution these days, brings Angela out of her most recent project by playing it's usual mid-day jingle. She still thinks it's a little corny even after all these years of hearing it, but it does remind her to stop and eat on time.

She's halfway through making her sandwich (a bit of a let down as she planned to go out with some of her coworkers today) when she spots the fresh strawberries she previously set aside for tonight's baking. Angela eyes them for a moment before reaching for all the ingredients she'll need for the cupcakes. If she's going to be stuck at home she may as well be productive. It's still a toss-up if she'll be able to bring these in to work for Tom's birthday, but Angela's sure her family will be happy to eat them if she can't.

It's nearing the end of her lunch break and the timer is going off when she hears the the door open, a tell-tale jingle of keys following it.

"Did all of you get stuck on the bridge?" Tilting her head to one side, she smiles as Maurice brushes a kiss on her cheek before dropping his is head to rest it on her shoulder.

"Got it in one." He sounds exhausted for not having gone to work, but considering the traffic jam that he certainly got stuck in the middle of she isn't surprised.

With his skill set Maurice will likely always need to commute to the next city over - not Elmerton which is closer to Amity Park's size, but a more metropolitan city that headquarters the tech conglomerate he works for. It's a bit of a hike so Maurice carpools with some of his coworkers. Unfortunately, the river they cross is right around Amity's borders. The bridge that spans it is both long enough to catch a fair amount of cars and old enough to make it nearly impossible to turn anyone around.

Angela doesn't even want to try and imagine what it was like for them this morning. "How did you get out of that?"

"Some of the authorities started driving our cars to the other side and then back over on the other side of the divided bridges." Came the muffled reply. "We had to walk back to our side of the river though."

"Isn't that nearly half a mile?" She asks, idly blocking her husband's wandering hand from grabbing at the still hot cupcakes she's just taking out of the tin.

"My feet hurt." He says in lieu of an answer, which is an answer in its own way Angela supposes.

"So go sit down." Blocking another grab, she uses one oven mitted hand to push him out of the room. "They still need to cool and be iced."

It takes them both a little while longer to get back up to their shared office space - which is usually just hers as Maurice's job asks that he comes into the office most days, but with the increasing impact of ghost attacks on their ability to make it there, he now has a little desk of his own.

He's still trying to explain to his manager - one of those corporate types who certainly doesn't believe the ghost stories, even if they're consistent across the two or three dozen workers who routinely get impacted - why he's so late as Angela quietly shakes her head and starts back in on her own work when the local news station cuts in with breaking news.

"This just in - Inviso-Bill clashes once more with other spectral entities near the city center." Angela looks over to see grainy footage of a familiar street corner with two glowing figures zipping back and forth, clearly having it out. "Witness reports state that there was mentions of a 'curse' and 'barriers' before the Fentons arrived on scene."

A familiar RV smashed through a sign and a park bench before the video cuts off, likely so that the person filming could get to a safer location. Angela shares a look with Maurice as the news anchor returns to the screen.

"It's unclear exactly what happened next, but we can confirm that the restriction on Amity Residents is now resolved." The news anchor continues, but Angela is having trouble hearing it over her husband's pained groan. She holds in her laughter (more relief that this problem was short term than anything) and shoots off an email to Pam, letting her know that barring any new issues, she should be in the office for tomorrow's meeting.

She still attaches the presentation's slide deck to the email just in case.

Maurice is just hanging up as she hits send and he leans back in his chair to throw an arm over his eyes.

"Looks like I can bring those cupcakes in for Tom's birthday after all." That gets the pained groan she anticipated and she smiles, she loves teasing him even when he can't see it. "Oh, cheer up. I made extra just for us to share."

Judging by the look of excitement on her husband's face, it'll probably be more like 'for us and Tucker's best friends', because she's certain that if she doesn't let her son know about the dessert there's a fair chance there won't be any left by the time he comes home and if she does message him they'll probably have a pair of hungry guests following him home right after school.

Well, that's never too bad, Angela supposes already thinking about what vegan options she has in the house in case Danny and Sam want to stay for dinner.

Their family loves living here because it's their home and home's always better with good company and good food. All in all, it's another successful Tuesday in Amity Park.

#phic phight 2024 #phic phight #danny phantom #one shot #Angela and Maurice Foley

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fascinatedscrawls · 1 month

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Phic Phight Prompt: The people of the apocalyptic future have no idea what to call this Phantom look-a-like menace, so they keep coming up with increasingly ridiculous names to refer to him as, but none seem to stick. At Dan's insistence to choose anything with a modicum of dignity, they all double down just to cheese him off. Terrible merch, puns, and awful slogans of his various names are plastered all over the city next to his face. He cannot stand it

Word Count: 2209

For Shinx

Summary:

Even in the face of a one ghost catastrophe, the world keeps spinning. Everyone copes with the new normal in different ways, some get angry, others ignore it, and Tony? Tony likes to laugh when he can, especially at the one who caused all of this. Sharing his collection of everyone's various stabs at naming the ghost terrorizing them is dangerous, but always worth it. Especially when he knows how much that guy hates every last one of them.

It's a quiet afternoon.

Well, these days it's always quiet. With a ghostly madman exacting some sort of revenge or twisted justice wherever he happened to be, most people only go out when they have to and try to go as unnoticed as they can manage while doing it. Especially this close to the ruined city of Amity Park.

Tony's second-hand store is just over fifty miles from the abandoned town where some argue this all started. That doesn't bother him though, he's got no plans to try and see it like the thrill seekers. Besides, people all over the globe have reported seeing that flying catastrophe all in the same day so Tony's pretty sure that no place can be truly safe.

He barely thinks about these days and as it as he wastes time in the back while waiting for a customer to find their way to the store it doesn't even cross his mind. He's already dusted, put out all the new supplies (the handful he received today at least), and even organized the place if one feels very generous about their definition of 'organized'.

It's only when he's unhappily contemplating the stacks of accounting paperwork piled up on his desk that he hears someone come in and he's not ashamed to admit that he lets out a gusty sigh of relief at the sound of that little bell above the door. Pushing himself out of his chair, he sweeps the papers into a drawer and makes sure everything is secure before stepping into the shop proper to greet whoever entered.

"Welcome, welcome." Tony smiles at the young lady even as she nods at him stoically. Her grim demeanor doesn't worry him - many of those who are young like her are angry or disillusioned now that they find themselves staring down a future where they'll never be truly safe, one that might be cut short even if they want to try and live under that for decades. Firmly in his sixties and with far less to lose, Tony copes in other ways. "Take a look around, I have quite the selection."

"So I've heard." The sharp cut of her short dark hair only makes the green of her eyes more noticeable as she gives his wares a perfunctory glance. Whatever she's looking for, it's not here and Tony knows what she'll be asking for before she says, "Rumor has it you have some rare collectables."

He knows he shouldn't, knows how suspicious it looks and how futile the effort is when the real threat can go invisible, but Tony still glances out the yellowing glass at the front of the store as if he might catch a sting operation in progress. As usual, the street is mostly empty with only the infrequent passerby power walking to their next destination with hunched shoulders and they all pointedly pay no attention to the things around them.

Tony's eyes catch on the condemned building across the way - its windows shattered with clawed off posters lining the walls around them. The image is nearly gone on most, but those that are left with scraps of familiar ghostly hair and only the tattered ends of a name printed at the bottom of whats left of each repeated page.

He's not sure where his old friend is, the one who used to run the place and the one who put up those signs so proudly. Doesn't know if they're in hiding or if their absence is a sign of something more final.

But he knows exactly why it happened.

Yanking his eyes away from the wreckage, he smooths out the strained edges of his smile to make it sit more easily on his face.

"Oh, I find myself collecting all sorts of odds and ends." He dithers, watching her reactions closely. "It's part of the reason I opened up the shop. Is there something specific you're looking for?"

Those green eyes narrow and her lips purse as they stare each other down. Just because he knows what she's likely referring to doesn't mean it isn't dangerous. Tony doesn't know her and with a request like this it's probably better for both of them if he keeps it that way, but if someone trusted her enough to tell her then she should know how to gain access to his most dangerous yet beloved collection.

"You know, I can't quite put my finger on it." She eventually grits out, not quite grinding her teeth, but certainly unhappy to be using a code phrase.

Tony's smile widens as he steps to the side, ushering the woman to the back with a sweep of his arm.

"Well, let's see if we can't put a name to it, shall we?"

Letting out a gusty sigh at Tony's favorite joke, the young lady takes the invitation and walks by him with a roll of her eyes. She stops far enough inside the windowless room to let him follow her, but watches him closely has he shuts the door behind them.

Tony takes in her tense shoulders, the curl of her fingers as if contemplating reaching for a weapon he can't see (though that hardly means anything, it didn't before weapons could fit into people's watches and he certainly doesn't have a better eye for them now), and the couple of inches she has on him even without his perpetual slouch.

He leaves the door unlocked.

Ghosts can go intangible. If the young lady wants an exit, he'll let her have both of them. Tony glances at the fire exit at the back of the store, the one that can't be locked from the inside, then goes to unlock the small room next to his storage area.

Technically, the place is labelled as his office, but the ruse is a lazy one with his desk in clear view as soon as anyone gets into the back. It's worked out for him so far though and Tony will admit, if only to himself, that even if he doesn't want to go to Amity Park, he's still a little bit of a thrill seeker.

Just maybe not enough to paste it all over the outside of his business.

The 'office' door opens with a low creek, as if to show how infrequently people ask to see this collection. Pushing the door open and flicking on the light, Tony looks over his shoulder to see the young lady's reaction. She doesn't flinch which is encouraging - one young man almost ran out screaming at the sight, Tony was lucky the kid's friend was there to stop him from attracting the wrong attention.

Tony can't wait to see which one is her favorite.

Stepping inside, he smiles at the mismatched collection - from t-shirts to posters, figurines to mugs, floor to ceiling the walls are packed with merchandise bearing the face of that ghostly menace that haunts them all.

Who? Well, the collection aims to answer that question.

Though, judging by the angry response each of them has inspired in the subject, likely not the one the ghost wants.

"They weren't lying when they said you had the biggest collection they'd ever seen." Mentioning no names, the woman walks in to survey the items, grudging respect in her voice. "You have a lot more of the 'Inviso's than I've seen all at once."

Tony reaches up and pulls at one of the shirts to show off another one behind it - both sharing the same angry spectral face, but bearing a different name. 'Inviso-Bob' makes way for 'Inviso-Benjamin'.

"The 'Inviso' line is the classic series - based off the old 'Bill' character that used to feature on the local news stations." Beside both shirts, Tony picks up a mug with another angle on that snarl and a faint outline of a basketball behind it. "This one is my personal favorite, I picked it up from a friend who had a set printed before companies started banning these types of things due to the inevitable damage they'd lead back to them."

The young lady takes it from him to read the name printed at the bottom and snorts, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Inviso-Baller?"

Even though it's quiet, Tony still waits half a beat before letting his smile grow. (If the ghost were close enough to hear and investigate, there would be no escape for him, not in the middle of such incriminating and insulting items, but after years of being cautious, he can't help it.)

"Not much of a pun, that one, but amusing none the less." Accepting the mug back, he places it on its little shelf before gesturing around the room. "The other, hmmm, traditional names are also present along with a few unique takes on them if you'd like to take a look?"

Traditional or original, it's hard to classify. Their problems weren't even a decade old, but after nearly a decade and what must be hundreds of iterations in multiple languages, he needs some way to categorize the memorabilia.

He watches, enjoying her quiet amusement at the different names he's collected. Everyone who gains entry loves them.

The 'Phil-tom' that looks more like a mash up of common names instead of a play on phantom, the 'Phan-Thomas' on a news article next to it. 'Spec-Ted' and 'Spec-Theodore' were popular for a while, lasting a whole three weeks and gaining quite the following before the rampaging ghost came back from wherever it had disappeared to dismantle the newsroom that came up with it.

Tony has yet to see someone read the 'El Espoo-Ken' and not snicker a little and she's no different. Shaking her head a little at the postcard that showcased it, she moves on only to stop a few steps later. It's hard to see what she's looking at from here, but after a moment, Tony follows the tilt of her head to the familiar poster half hidden behind another shirt.

"Ah, I see you've found the more dangerous part of my collection." The whole thing is dangerous, but puns are one thing.

Insults are another.

He lets the door swing shut behind him, the latch not quite engaging as usual, as he steps closer to read his friend's poster once more - this time not just the scraps left on the building outside, but a pristine version he kept for himself before it all went down.

"He came to take those down far quicker than the inventor anticipated." A life and business ruined, all over one little insult.

Printed in black and white, the ghost snarls down at them. Beneath it, eight little letters. One name. Uttered first by a child, the owner's grandchild - Tony can still remember how his friend laughed about it.

"'Spec-Turd' she said, can you believe it?"

"He would."

There is something in that clipped response that makes Tony pause. He blinks at the poster before looking at her sharply.

It strikes him then that she's not just that she's tall. If he stood up straight, forced his spine to cooperate in a way he hasn't managed in years, they'd actually be quite close. No, what he's seeing isn't just height.

This young woman is unbowed. She's unbroken.

She is angry.

And judging by the fire in her eyes, by the way she talks about that ghost, it is personal.

Tony swallows and takes half a step back, suddenly feeling that maybe the unlocked doors are less for her sake and more for his.

There are many who get fed up and take a stand against the ghost.

Few survive it.

He doesn't know what he does - doesn't know if it's a rattle of his keys in his pocket, a scuff of his shoe against the concrete flooring, or simply something in the air - but in an instant she's back from whatever terrible memory the poster reminded her of, her green eyes snapping to Tony.

He successfully fights the urge to take another step back. He can't quite stop the flinch, but he can squish it into a tense smile with the ease of long practice.

"I don't sell anything here." His usual wrap-up comes out as creaky as the door's hinge. Tony coughs a little to clear the tightness from his throat. The fierce expression he saw not moments ago makes way for faint concern which makes his next question come a little easier. "Would you like to take a souvenir?"

"I-" What is clearly a negative response cuts off almost before it starts. In the silence that follows, she cuts a glance back at the poster. As she bites her lip in thought, Tony can read her intent from her expression and he tilts his head to try and remember where he put his scanner.

"Can I get a copy of this?"

If anyone else asked for that dangerous insult, Tony would have tried to talk them out of it.

Looking at her standing tall in this tiny back room, Tony finds himself recalling the few reports of someone fighting with the ghost and surviving.

No, what are the odds?

He shakes the thought away and goes to take the poster down so they can get a clean scan.

"Of course."

#phic phight #phic phight 2024 #valerie gray #one shot #danny phantom

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fascinatedscrawls · 1 month

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Phic Phight Prompt: Kwan starts a poetry club and invites everyone at school to the first monthly poetry slam. Some unexpected poets show up.

Word Count: 1881

For TheSilentBard

Summary: When Kwan revives the old poetry club he gets a bigger crowd than expected. Danny's sure no one is going to forget this meeting, especially not Mr. Lancer.

The club room is full to bursting, students - some excited, but most reluctantly - occupying each of the cheap chairs scattered almost haphazardly around the place. Slouched in one of the back corners, Danny watches Mr. Lancer pick his way through the messy array of seats to get to the front of the room with a dead-eyed stare.

"Excuse me, pardon me, please don't leave your - oof!" The teacher trips and nearly falls, barely catching himself on the back of a chair instead of braining himself on it and all Danny can muster the energy for at the sight is a slow blink. "Lord of the Flies, Mr. Baxter! Do be more careful with where you rest your feet!"

Closing his eyes even if he knows he can't sleep here Danny hears a snort which could only come from Sam. Technically, unlike him and Tucker, she isn't required to attend the club session for a chance at extra credit because she's acing the class.

"It hasn't started yet." Tucker points out helpfully, stylus still tap tap tapping away at his PDA. "You could leave. If you actually wanted to."

The teasing barb hits its mark once again and Sam slouches further into her seat with a tsk.

"I'm here to watch how hard this bombs." In her pause for emphasis, Danny can almost hear her rolling her eyes. "I haven't wasted fifteen minutes of my afternoon just to leave before the show even starts."

"So you admit that you're attending the new poetry club for fun." Tucker snipes, smile clear in his voice. There's a scuffle over Danny's head as Tucker ducks whatever Sam threw in retaliation. Used to it and too tired to participate, Danny slumps down until his head is resting on the back of his chair. The smooth plastic is uncomfortable and his spine is already protesting at the angle, but pushing himself back up is just too much work.

Now at the front of the room, Mr. Lancer speaks to Kwan at a volume that's likely a little louder than he thinks. Or, Danny grimaces as something else flies over his head and Sam hisses, it could be some kind of ghostly hearing he's developing.

Ancients he hopes its not that, but it would explain why he's finding it so hard to sleep these past few nights. Even for the evenings without ghostly visitors he's barely getting a couple of hours at a time. He opens his eyes to glare at the injustice of it all, which looks a lot like the pockmarked ceiling of the club room.

"Now, we're all very excited to see the old poetry club get enough interest and funding to finally return after over a decade with no members," Mr. Lancer says catching Danny's attention and likely repeating himself for what must be at least the third time if Kwan's disinterested smile is anything to go by. Two encouraging pats on his shoulder courtesy of their teacher twists his smile into something closer to a grimace for half a second before it settles into a more natural expression. "I know you had something in mind for the first meeting and hopefully, by offering that extra credit today you'll see membership continue to improve. However, if things go off the rails you can count on me to help with your inaugural meeting."

The words would likely be more comforting if someone didn't yelp in the back of the room just as he said them. Wincing, Danny closed his eyes at the loud noise before a tingle at the back of his throat made him straighten up abruptly. Eyes wide and far more alert than before, he stares open mouthed at a handful of ghosts calmly floating in through the closed door, drifting towards the front of the room without any care for who might be sitting in their way.

Another aborted scream or two rings out before Mr. Lancer even has a chance to turn to address it with a, "Edgar Allen P-"

The last of the English teacher's oft stated and highly creative use of the famous poets name as an epithet cuts off in the face of the man himself.

Or more accurately, the ghost himself.

Mr. Lancer coughs behind a hand, clearly having a hard time believing his eyes. At least a third of the room is on their feet, but when the ghosts do nothing more than mutter to each other they clearly start to relax. After months of ghost attacks and at least a few weeks of less dangerous hauntings happening all over town it looks like most of his classmates are willing to risk a sudden, potentially dangerous turn around in an attempt to earn a few more free points for class.

"Poe?" Mr. Lancer finally manages to squeak out. He looks ready to faint as the ghost nods a greeting (the ghostly raven on his shoulder doing the same, pulling a snicker from a few people around the room including Tucker), but holds it together with a gulp as he straightens his tie.

"Shakespeare, Poe, Dickinson, Frost - what do you know," Sam mutters as she identifies more of the ghosts on stage than Danny could have managed. It's no wonder she's actually passing the class. "Maybe this won't be so bad after all."

"How," Mr. Lancer visibly swallows back his nerves even as his hands shake. "How nice of you to join us. Will any of you be participating in our poetry readings today?"

"Yes. As always, we're here to share our works -" One of the ghosts (is it Frost or Dickinson? Wait, Danny corrects himself, he's pretty sure Dickinson is the lady actually) says before getting interrupted by the raven.

"Evermore!"

The ghost sighs at the spectral bird, but they clearly expected the interruption as they don't comment on it. Instead they go back to consulting with the ghost beside them, quietly discussing which poem they'd like to read today if their only faintly indistinct mutters are anything to go by.

"Delightful!" This has absolutely made Mr. Lancers day if not his whole month judging by his wide smile. He turns the slightly manic expression on Kwan who flinches under the force of it. "Perhaps we can hold off on your planned presentations until after our guests have, ahem, graced us with their works?"

It sounds less like a question and more like an order, especially when Mr. Lancer doesn't even wait for a response before motioning Kwan to a nearby seat.

Danny relaxes into his own with a light sigh of relief as the scattered conversations around them take on an edge of awed excitement. Not a fight then. Huh, he's actually not sure why he thought there was going to be one when clearly these ghosts are just here to indulge in their obsessions.

He quickly puts the thought out of his mind and settles in to hopefully enjoy a performance straight from the horses mouth (maybe that will be what finally helps him understand iambic pentameter), which means he jumps along with half the students when the door gets kicked in.

"Freeze, ecto-scum!" Two white suited men shout in what has to be a practiced synchronization of words and poses. Both of them have ecto guns in their hands. Hilariously, neither of the blasters are pointed anywhere near any of the ghosts.

"They should probably take off the sunglasses." Sam snarks, now on her feet and sounding more relaxed than her tense posture displays.

"But without them they'd just be odd wedding ushers." On Danny's other side Tucker eyes the GIW agents with all the suspicion they're due.

"I think they'd be just as blind either way," Danny points out, sliding his chair a little further back in case he needs to disappear behind his friends. It's looking more likely.

Or it is before Danny gets a look at Mr. Lancer's face.

Danny has done many things that his teacher does not approve of. He's missed class, forgotten homework, fallen asleep on his desk, and even attempted to cheat on his exams, but never before has he seen Mr. Lancer look like this. Instinctively, he finds himself hunching his shoulders in an attempt to make himself smaller, less noticeable, in the face of someone clearly ready to rain hellfire upon their enemies.

The GIW are making an attempt to aim at their foes only to find themselves blocked bodily by one enraged vice-principal.

"Gentlemen," Mr. Lancer grinds out, frowning hard enough that Danny starts to wonder if the expression hurts him to maintain. His words are polite, but the tone is very clear: he doesn't hold even an ounce of respect for these invaders. "Our poetry club was just about to start. Please see yourselves out if you plan to be disruptive."

The white suited agents protest loudly, but it's abundantly clear that between Mr. Lancer and the students who were excited for a chance to hear from the masters (or possibly, just very invested in this afternoon's extra credit) that they won't be capturing or shooting any ghosts today.

That's good, because Danny's too busy trying to slow his heart rate down after he finally noticed Sidney Poindexter hovering just behind his shoulder. It took Tucker pointedly clearing his throat and Danny's pretty sure he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of the glowing teen.

"I see you've found the Dead Poets Society," He pushes his glasses back into place with a bland look in the face of Danny's weak glare. "I had wondered where they got to when they missed our usual club meeting."

"They meet regularly?" Danny asks, but doesn't get more than a nod in response before Sam cuts in with a question of her own.

"Why at the school? I'm sure there's other good places to meet."

"I invited them and offered it as a neutral ground." There's a pause as Danny shares a look with Sam and Tucker, all of them imagining the circumstances behind some famous poets needing specifically 'neutral ground' to meet on. Danny winces as he suddenly remembers every bruise or worse that he's gotten since ghosts started visiting Amity Park's very clearly not-at-all-neutral ground. Sidney ignores their silent conversation, not looking away from the ghosts quietly arguing at the front of the room. "It certainly made the poetry club less repetitive, so I've let the weekly meetings continue."

"So what you're saying," Tucker grins as the door to the classroom is slammed shut and locked, muffling the indignant agents' argument, "is that we're definitely in for a show."

"Well, I could imagine worse ways to spend my afternoon." Arms crossed, Sam settles back into her chair and, following Sidney's example, ignores how Tucker's smile somehow reaches new heights of smugness.

"Well, at least it will be an interesting extra credit assignment."

And maybe, if he's lucky, it'll be a reoccurring one. Danny could really use the extra help passing any of his classes. Besides, if the stars in Mr. Lancer's eyes are anything to go by, Danny wouldn't be the only one checking in on the poetry club's weekly meetings from now on. Danny might as well get some extra points for keeping an eye on some positive ghost-human interactions.

#phic phight 2024 #one shot #danny phantom

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fascinatedscrawls · 1 month

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Phic Phight Prompt: Clockwork Takes Danny Stargazing

Word Count: 1320

For @jackdaw-spwrite

Summary: When Danny agreed to put effort into his study habits in exchange for some out of this world stargazing, this isn't what he imagined. It's so much better.

"This way."

Danny meant to follow Clockwork and his directions, but when he followed him through one of the many doors in the older ghost's domain he felt himself stop short mid-flight.

Unexpected sights, sounds, and scents flooded in - tall trees with shiny bronze bark and almost clear leaves that rippled like water, thorny bushes that looked wild as they rustled only to fall into and out of almost recognizable shapes, little rivers and ponds splashing with something more orange than blue. The last might be due to the ceiling, or rather, the startling lack of one.

That might be the strangest thing of all because Danny could swear that they were walking further in to Clockwork's maze of a home.

A home that was firmly in the green and purple tinged Ghost Zone.

The ghost zone which didn't have red-orange sunsets like the one lighting the garden and the sky above it.

A quiet thunk of something hollow against a rock drew Danny out of his distraction with only a small, guilty startle. The garden wasn't large enough that he'd lost sight of Clockwork, thankfully, so it was a quick, short flight that brought him back to the cloaked ghost's side.

Growing older in a way that felt pointed, especially when paired with that knowing smile, Clockwork tapped the large round paver that sat below them. It bisected two curved spaces whose complete outline looked like an hourglass with each half filled with a different set of plants.

Danny thought he recognized maybe three of the flowers he saw growing in both and even that was a generous assumption. He wasn't even sure if that thing filling with water until it tipped over before setting back into place with a thunk was even made of bamboo like the one Jazz had in miniature in her room (she claimed it was for meditation, but how something slowly tapping away could help someone concentrate was beyond Danny) - it was electric blue with silvery edges.

"You know, when you promised to take me stargazing this isn't what I imagined." Danny pointed out looking back up at the cloudless and, more importantly, starless sky before raising his brows at Clockwork expectantly. He didn't do all that studying, listening to lectures and letting himself be quizzed on the different leaders of the Infinite Realms for nothing. Clockwork bribed him with some 'out of this world' stargazing and Danny was going to hold him to it.

Though, he had to admit, the garden was pretty cool. He would need to see if he could get some pictures or something for Sam so she didn't interrogate him later for more information.

Well, she'll probably do that either way, but with pictures she might feel generous enough to let him eat and sleep occasionally while grilling him for answers.

The not-bamboo thunked again and Clockwork gave the paver another tap.

"Be sure to stay within the circle."

Because Clockwork was sometimes (frequently) allergic to explaining, that was all the warning Danny received before the colorful garden vanished into inky darkness.

Danny held still, straining his eyes to try and make out the shape of the paver below them. If this was another test instead of a reward he may just scream. A quiet scream, but a scream none the less.

Thankfully, it didn't take long for his eyes to adjust - Clockwork's faint glow along with his own even more muted shine eventually assured him that he hadn't moved. If that was a test, hopefully he passed.

Putting that aside for now Danny looked up and felt his jaw drop because the garden wasn't just in shadow.

It was gone.

In its place was a vast array of stars, the pinpricks of light almost flickering through a bright fog - clearer than any view he's ever seen on Earth. He squinted as he tried to differentiate the brighter lights from the dark, trying to pick out planets and stars that he knew, his brow furrowing as he couldn't quite manage to place any of the clusters he was seeing.

"Where are we?" How far was Clockwork able to take them? What kind of power was this? Could Danny do something like this?

Oh, no, wait. Danny didn't want a power like this because he was sure it would leave him stranded light-years from home without anyone to help him get back. Well, except for Clockwork. The minor reassurance was enough even if the fear lingered a little longer than he'd like in the face of this cosmic beauty.

"Closer to home than you might think." The ghost in question assured him, flickering into his more childlike form before pointing behind Danny. "If you turn around you may find something a bit more familiar."

Spinning in place Danny squinted even harder at the distant stars as clouds of gas and dust shifted slowly between him and them.

Except the clouds weren't moving slowly anymore. As he watched they started moving faster and faster, going from indistinct fog to thicker streams and threads then swirling into knots until an indistinct shape started to appear. Around them distant stars winked, flickered, and died while others newly sparked into being.

Light grew at the center of the undulating clouds, particles moving inwards before bursting out again and again.

"No way." All the stars around them paled in comparison to what he now suspected was happening. Danny didn't even realize he was drifting forward until a light hand landed on his shoulder.

"We are currently in two times while also being in neither." Clockwork informed him, unoffended by the way Danny couldn't look away from the star - the earth's star - his star - the Sun - as it formed. "I do not want to test which one you would find yourself in if you left."

One hand moving to cover Clockwork's, Danny couldn't find the words to tell him that leaving was the last thing he wanted to do right now. How he was glad his eyeballs couldn't dry out so he didn't have to blink, that he didn't have to worry about oxygen or radiation, that this might be the first time he was truly happy he got in that lab accident because without it he would never get a chance to see this.

Because Danny loved the stars, the light they provided, the life they could support, the hope they could bring. He loved every one of them.

And no other star ever loved him back more than this one, Danny was sure of it.

His vision blurred and he blinked away the water gathering there as he tightened his grip on those increasingly knobby fingers.

"Thank you."

That ghostly hand was cold, but the gentle squeeze Clockwork gave him in response was warm and fond.

"Worth memorizing the whole lineage of Royal Roses?"

Danny barked out a laugh at the now distant frustration he'd felt while going through fourteen generations of people who were minor players in the Ghost Zone at best.

"Absolutely." Danny tried to devote at least the same amount of attention to memorizing the play of light on the gasses and rocks around them. "Though I'm not sure how you'll ever top this as far as bribes go."

Clockwork hummed.

"There are plenty more stars to gaze upon." Something thunked, not his staff but the not-bamboo thing, reminding Danny just how accessible the stars might be when they were visible like this from Clockwork's garden. Smugly, Clockwork continued, "And when you get bored of stars, there's always planets."

Danny's scoff at the thought of being 'bored of stars' cut off as he whipped around to see if Clockwork was joking. Judging by the tilt of his head he wasn't and, yeah, alright. Turning back to stare at his favorite star once again, Danny resigned himself to being Clockwork's best student.

He'd do a lot to see something like this again.

#phic phight 2024 #jackdaw-spwrite #danny phantom #clockwork #one shot

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fascinatedscrawls · 1 month

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Phic Phight Prompt: The Box Ghost, aka the most un-frightening pathetic nuisance ever, is actually incredibly powerful compared to the average ghost.

Word Count: 1910

For @phantomphangphucker

Summary: After dying in a warehouse collapse, one ghost sets out to make the ghost zone OSHA Compliant one box at a time.

Working with a couple different crews and shifts for a decade or two means getting used to going by a nickname or three. He's not one to linger on the past, but when he thinks back he's pretty sure that there was a stretch of time where he didn't hear his legal name for weeks, possibly months, so adapting to this new green dimension where no one can get his name right isn't difficult.

Or, the name thing isn't.

Asking everyone to call him the Box Ghost is easier than correcting their pronunciation of his actual name. Everyone around here seems to be going by one title after another - so Boxy (his favorite nickname that the others have given him here, but unfortunately too close to other's monikers to use as an introduction) keeps it simple for his own benefit. Explaining things can get frustrating and having to do so repeatedly is boring, so Box Ghost it is!

Making a habit of introducing himself every time he sees someone isn't a new habit, but it makes itself useful here even if he doesn't have nearly as much trouble remembering ghostly faces as he did human ones.

So introductions - easy!

Needing to sound threatening to get his point across? That's more difficult to get used to. Boxy doesn't exactly like fighting, not after losing the few fights he got into when he was alive. But, if a few threatening words is all it takes to make this place safer, he can put on the act.

Because this place - the Infinite Realms - they're sorely in need of his help.

Back when he was alive, Boxy watched countless safety videos and participated in even more inspections over the course of his career. He rolled his eyes, slouching his way through the required checks, going over lists and participating in drills before getting on with his actual work. While he and the others were careful with the boxes they handled (as they'd be on the hook if they weren't), they usually just made jokes about the old cracked and slowly bowing walls. They weren't in charge and it wasn't hurting anyone, what was the harm?

He knew the harm now.

He might not have blood these days, but Boxy swears he can feel it boiling whenever he sees cracked, bending, and broken walls. Can feel the ache in his jaw from clenching his teeth when he looks at sagging, leaking, and collapsed roofs.

The numerous cliffs hanging out into the swirling, glowing abyss he can't do anything about, but the all the other places where these ghosts live - those he can fix.

Newly dead, he tried suggesting improvements he remembered from before. Tried providing examples he'd seen in practice. Tried offers to fix the old castles, the burnt homes, the cracked caverns only to be fought tooth and nail at every turn - often literally. Fighting back was instinct, one he fought more than the other ghosts whose homes he was clearly insulting.

He smothered the impulse right up until the first time he was thrown through a stone wall.

Boxy still doesn't quite remember what happened directly after that, only the result and the result was very good.

When he came to every wall in the area was square, the rooms complete, the roof secure, and the ghost who lived there? Well, they were a little worse for wear, but they brushed off his concerned look with something between a shrug and a shudder.

"Warn a guy." They had said or, rather, muttered before flying into their now safer home and slamming the door.

So Boxy took their words to heart.

"Beware!" He greeted others as he found more buildings in need of his help. "I am the Box Ghost!"

The practice of holding his hands up in a mild threat came later, after a lot more fights followed by a short run of successes - each of which ended with the other ghost cringing away from him.

Boxy still isn't fond of threatening people. He does this for their safety and the safety of others - so that no one ends up like he did, but if that's the only way to keep everyone safe he'll play his part.

Besides, maybe after this he'll move on to what is clearly his true calling - acting! His old coworkers always used to make fun of his attempts to act, but with just a few words and an exaggerated angry gesture or two he seems to be pulling of 'threat' really well!

Then again, maybe he'll stay off the stage. His ghostly powers don't lend themselves to it in the way he's seen with others. He can fly, but he can't teleport. He can stand up to other's blows, but he can't shapeshift or take on their faces.

His powers mostly lie in his interests, which doesn't seem uncommon in the Infinite Realms.

He can move himself - handy for getting around. He can move boxes - something he's so familiar with he could do it in his sleep even before his death, though not having to touch them is something he still delights in. And, most importantly, he can bring buildings up to code.

This last one is by far the trickiest to do. It's hard to explain what he does and how he does it in words. It's something similar to how he always knows which stack of boxes aren't stacked correctly even when they look secure. He can feel the fault lines, taste the breaking points, smell the way the not-gravity of this place pulls on a structure.

He chose 'The Box Ghost' not only because boxes are, obviously, amazing, but because boxes hold up to the pressures of this place better than other shapes. The right angles, the rigid sides, when put together just right they can stand up even under dragon fire or unexpected island collisions.

Of course, leaning into his name and specialties leads to strange consequences.

Something about this place, it twists things. It took a while for him to notice, but the strength of his boxy architecture is improving, but not without cost. He thought it was just experience, but then he tried to keep the shape of a tower as he improved it and something about the rounded walls made it fall apart.

The fight he had with the owner for causing the tower to crumble was less memorable than the testing that needed to be done after that (sure the guy could turn into a dragon, but his castle was more than big enough to trap him in). With his mastery of all things square and box like, Boxy specialized to the point of being unable to not make things square.

It isn't a huge problem, most purposefully non-square things were built with more thought than the broken down buildings he needs to fix, but it is annoying at times.

He doesn't give it much thought after that, other than making a note to tell ghosts of his cubic specialty when he introduces himself, so he continues his campaign, hoping that one day he can share the burden of this quest to ensure safety in the Infinite Realms. Looking back at all those videos and checklists he knows that this isn't a one-person job, he needs the government to get in on it for his work to be effective.

Unfortunately, any attempts he's made to speak to those in charge either leave him with new clients or with frustratingly few answers.

"The king is in forever sleep," is not the answer he's looking for, especially when he's trying to confirm what kind of building codes are currently in use in this place. As more people hear of him, Boxy finds both more and less resistance to his safety crusade. Some invite him in meekly, while others refuse to bend to his (clearly terrifying) threats, instead posing some honestly, quite reasonable questions about the safety of the buildings he's putting in place.

It's while he's trying to find this justification that he comes across the permanent portal for the first time.

"This doesn't belong here!" Surely they'd have some permits up and posted if such a thing was supposed to be built in the middle of a thoroughfare like this! It's not Boxy's first interaction with a portal, but it's certainly the first man-made one he's seen. He takes the time to inspect it from every angle - the only roughly octagonal shape, the poor welds on the metal, the lack of safety measures - it's horrible! And probably beyond his (non-existent) pay grade.

He turns to go report this to the scary knight who guards the king's castle only to nearly get run over by another ghost gunning for the portal.

When he straightens up, he finds himself in a nightmare of safety violations. Boxy stares in horror at the clearly DIY walls, the uneven floors, the stairs with steps that are clearly too tall.

Sure, there's a lot of sciency things scattered around the place in ways that look dangerous, but Boxy isn't familiar with that side of things. He disregards it in favor of what he knows how to fix.

So, of course, that's when the alarms go off. The portal slams shut behind him and lights start flashing. A recording blares too loud for Boxy to understand, but he's done enough drills that he knows what to do.

Quickly, quietly, Boxy exits the building and heads for a safer area.

He waits for a handful of minutes before realizing it wasn't a fire alarm after all and the fire department won't be coming to give an all-clear. Normally he'd head back, but the extra time outside has let him realize where he is.

The realm of the living!

There are side walks! Rows of homes, most of them safe and square! For a moment each of the box like suburban homes glows as he happily resonates with the cubic structures.

It cuts off as a delivery truck drives past.

Boxy's attention is captured especially when he realizes the boxes within are filled with books.

Books! Books in Boxes! Books are just what he was looking for - now he can get examples of building codes for the king whenever he wakes up!

He dives into the delivery truck and gets so lost in the ecstasy of so many good, old-fashioned, cardboard boxes, neatly and professionally stacked inside a box truck that he only comes back to himself after he's introduced himself to someone - warning, threatening gestures and all.

After so many successful fights it's a shock when the white haired teen bests him so easily. Then again, just as the boxes and that truck seemed to energize him, the cylindrical capture device the child pulls on him seems to sap the fight right out of him.

It seems like no time at all before he's back in the zone, staring at that misshapen portal once again. It may be a safety hazard, but that won't stop the Box Ghost. He'll brave the portal and fight as many times as he needs to in order to get the books necessary (and maybe a few more boxes, as a treat) to fix all the broken parts of this Realm.

When the Ghost King wakes up and starts managing this place again, the Box Ghost will be first in line to talk to him - together they'll make this place safe for all ghosts!

#phic phight 2024 #the box ghost #danny phantom #one shot #phantomphangphucker

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fascinatedscrawls · 1 month

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Phic Phight Prompt: The Box Ghost, aka the most un-frightening pathetic nuisance ever, is actually incredibly powerful compared to the average ghost.

Word Count: 1425

For @phantomphangphucker

Summary: There are a lot of different kinds of power. Some are easy to see and others - others take a little more perspective to understand. Of course, realizing that the Box Ghost was both feared and respected within the Ghost Zone is still a bit baffling even after Danny gets to see it first hand.

"Wait, wait, wait." Danny held up a hand to stop Ember before reconsidering and putting it to his own forehead in an attempt to drive off the headache he could feel building there. "Can you repeat that?"

"What am I, a wind up doll?" Her look of disgust made way for an eye roll when Danny dragged his hand further down his face to glare at her over his fingertips. "The Box Ghost will have what we need."

Hand now over his mouth, Danny wondered if he needed to get his ears checked. When she clicked her tongue at him and went to keep moving, Danny quickly followed her gesturing wildly.

"The Box Ghost? Really? As in, the guy who comes to Amity just to grab cardboard boxes and crates? The one who won't stop introducing himself and screaming 'Beware!' - that guy?" Actually, a thought occurred to him and he narrowed his eyes trying to fly ahead of Ember to try and read the truth of it off her face. "Hang on, does he introduce himself because he's trying to use some other ghost's reputation? Is there another Box Ghost out there?"

Ember sped up shaking her head as she sped through the Zone.

"Of course not, anyone would be able to tell that the imposter was lying. Or, well," she winced a little, "no one would believe that guy when he lied. I mean, he's not the best actor. Not everyone's meant for the stage, obviously."

"Obviously." Danny repeated, voice and expression flat before he remembered that he was here to ask Ember for help. Pasting on a friendly smile when she sent him a warning look, he tried for a little more clarification hoping that she wouldn't change her mind. "But how did he become the ghost to see?"

"I'm the ghost everyone wants to see." She reminded him instantly, striking a pose like she was getting photographed before waving off his fumbled response to that. "I know what you meant. For this type of thing it's more that it just falls into his domain."

"Like, a kingdom?" The Box Ghost had a whole realm like Dorothea and Frostbite? Danny almost breathed a sigh of relief when Ember shook her head.

"No, more like a website."

Danny wasn't aware that he could stumble while flying, but he managed it anyway. "Excuse me?"

"No."

Ugh. Ember was sometimes all the parts of Jazz Danny couldn't stand - a big sister without any of the care that made Jazz one of Danny's favorite people. At his groan Ember came to an abrupt stop and reached for her guitar. Danny almost brought ecto to his hands before he realized she was holding it out instead of readying an attack.

"Look, everyone has what they're good at, right? Like I'm amazing at singing and playing my guitar so when I play I can do things through my performance."

"Right." Danny drew out the vowel a bit, following but not really sure where this was going.

"It also means that things pertaining to my domain of Rock Star Sensation are more likely to find their way to me even inside the Infinite Realms." Flicking her fingers, she rolled a guitar pick down her knuckles in a practiced move. "That's why my guitar is always in tune and I usually have all the things I need to play it. Strings, picks, if they fall into the realms there's a good chance I'll find them."

So ghosts frequently found things that related to their obsession. Danny wasn't sure how true that was - that things find their way to the ghosts that wanted them rather than most ghosts only paying attention to things they were personally obsessed with, but the Ghost Zone didn't exactly run on any logic he truly understood so he was going to roll with it for now.

"And the box ghost-"

"Finds boxes." Ember finished his sentence, swinging her guitar back over her shoulder and starting forward once more, more noticeably following the path of a few other ghosts Danny could see in the distance. "And other packages, though he doesn't like those quite so much."

"He finds boxes and keeps them no matter what's inside, got it." Which explained why she was leading him to the Box Ghost for those supplies Frostbite was looking for. "How often does he find more boxes?"

Just how likely was it that Danny would find the laundry list of things Frostbite was looking for?

"Oh," Ember didn't even knock before pushing a double wide set of swinging doors open so they could step inside what Danny now saw was their destination. "Almost constantly, I think."

Goggling at the ghostly equivalent of a big box warehouse complete with rows and rows of aisles that practically scrapped the almost cavernous ceiling, Danny didn't even care that Ember was absolutely snickering at his reaction. "Where do they even come from?"

"They're every package that gets lost in the mail, I think." Ember answered, grabbing his arm and pulling him further into the store. "And there are a lot of lost packages these days."

They passed huge piles of boxes, each stacked higher than the Fenton Works Ops Center, many of which baring familiar logos from various online retailers. Danny snorted before his eye caught on a ghost reaching through the cardboard to triumphantly pull something (hedge trimmers?) from a box only to very quickly place whatever was in his other hand into the box in its place. Looking around at other ghosts who were sifting through the madness or bargaining between themselves Danny noticed something.

"Does everyone bring their own stuff?"

"Money doesn't really mean much here, so like everywhere else in the Realms this place runs on trades." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a few CDs some of which Danny vaguely recognized as being popular a few years ago, all of which wouldn't have fit in her pocket if she weren't a ghost. "The Box Ghost doesn't care about what's in the boxes so long as something is inside the box."

Danny's next question was forgotten as the Box Ghost himself burst intangibly through the boxes on the next aisle over, hands raised with a loud, "I am the Box Ghost!"

After months of being warned by the same ghost with nothing resulting from it other than maybe a few hours of annoyance as he chased the Box Ghost around town before capturing him, Danny watched incredulous as the smaller ghost the owner of this 'store' was threatening cowered, literally tripping over themselves as they searched their pockets for something to put into the box they'd left empty a few minutes before.

Around them the other ghosts scattered as the Box Ghost yanked the offender up by their collar, eyes burning bright and an surprisingly impressive wave of energy rolling off him that even Danny could fee,l before a figurine (in mint condition) was held up in shaky hands as an offering.

There was a pause as the Box Ghost blinked away his rage to inspect it. Then he snatched it from their hands and put it ever so gently back into the temporarily empty box. Giving it a satisfied pat, he then threw out a practiced "Beware!" before vanishing back to wherever he came from.

Danny watched the ghost he dropped snatch up their prize and shoot out the double doors before giving a knowing Ember a wide eyed look.

"Never mess with a ghost over their obsession on their own turf, especially not a guy who gets all his power from the ecto people give off his his warehouse." She warned him.

"But - he's so-" Danny struggled to put it in words. "He never does anything like that in Amity?"

"Not his turf is it?" The pointed look met its mark even before she followed it with, "Besides, you've got his kryptonite."

Baffled, Danny pointed at himself. Ember helpfully pointed at him too. Following her finger, Danny unhooked the thermos from his belt.

"For a guy who is all about boxes and other things cubic, the only thing worse for him would be a sphere."

Aaand there was the Infinite Realm's 'logic' catching Danny off guard again.

"I guess it doesn't matter how powerful he is if I'm always fighting him with the perfect weapon."

"Yep, now get searching. I don't have all day and this place doesn't have any sort of organization."

With a groan, Danny snatched the CDs from her hand and got to work.

#phic phight 2024 #danny phantom #the box ghost #one shot #phantomphangphucker #I cannot be stopped there's another version of this prompt coming directly after lol #hope you like one or both of them!

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fascinatedscrawls · 2 months

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Sorry for the wait but the sign-up form for 2024 Phic Phight is now open! You have until March 27th to sign up!

What is Phic Phight?

Phic Phight is a Danny Phantom fan-fiction writing competition, were writers are asked to provide prompts. Then they are split into two teams; team ghost and team human. The teams are given prompts from the opposite team and gain points for creating fics based on the prompts. The winner gains bragging rights for the year. This was created as a friendly competition to inspire new ideas and stories for the phandom.

Phic Phight begins April 1st and ends April 30th.

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#phic phight 2024 #danny phantom #heads up I'm signing up so this blog may get busy!#fingers crossed at least

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fascinatedscrawls · 5 months

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Okay!! The thing I've been stressed about has now mostly resolved (with, of course a different kind of stress soon to follow). Wooo! 🎊

I'm going to try and funnel some of this relief into the dinluke fic picked in the last poll, but when taking breaks I can edit somethings I didn't post last year.

#poll #I'm not a fast writer #so I'm unsurprised that i haven't finished the other fic #it got big #but i want to celebrate!#steddie fic #maybe I'll do more than one if i do one fast!#I'll start from the top pick and work down lol #i have at least 3 others i think i finished #but i cant be sure

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fascinatedscrawls · 5 months

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You Dropped This, King

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52571512

Fandom(s): Danny Phantom, Justice League - All Media Types

Summary: New turns of phrase can sometimes work in everyone's favor, especially when Danny manages to get Clockwork on his side to help it along.

Excerpt: "Yeah, it doesn't quite do that any more, you know?" They must. Everyone does now. 'I summoned the ghost king, but all I got was [insert a different ghost here]' trended for weeks after it dropped. "Centuries of linguistic drift can do that to you."

#dpxdc #one shot #only jokes and good times here #I swear I'm working on my other things #this just forced its way out between drafting and redrafting the star wars fic

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fascinatedscrawls · 5 months

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Life got busy (and still is), but I should have a little time to try and write down some ideas that are haunting me over the next week.

Thanks for the assist! No matter what comes out on top I may work on some of the others too depending on The Muse

#poll #help me pick a thing #no idea if I'll finish anything #but I'll post what i can for new years

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fascinatedscrawls · 11 months

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Does the opposite of writing myself into a corner, writing myself into a long hallway where I can clearly see the exit, but like a nightmare it never seems closer.

#the other agnsty vampire eddie fic is not like LONG #but it is longer than I expected #and every time I get to where I thought it would end #I have more to say #it's only 2k rn #but I thought I'd be done like 500 words ago

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fascinatedscrawls · 11 months

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I Trust You

WARNINGS: Major Character Death, blood

Summary: Steve trusting Vampire Eddie can't always work out for the best.

It feels like a nightmare. Like a horror film.

The sun is just setting, casting strange shadows on the too clean lines of Steve's living room. There's no music, no chorus of strings playing dissonant chords, but at the same time it doesn't feel like those heart pumping moments of terror from that terrible spring break. Nothing pounds in his ears, no clocks tick or chime in the distance.

Just a thick, suffocating silence.

Eddie doesn't know if the high pitched noise he hears is his own keening whine or something other. Logically he knows that no one actually hears a death knell, but after coming back changed, after becoming a literal vampire, Eddie can't be sure any more.

That aside isn't enough to distract him. It couldn't be. Not when the true horror is there at his feet.

"No." He whispers, falling to his knees beside his friend. Any thoughts of them one day becoming more are crushed cruelly under the weight of his guilt, his lips twisting as he forcibly buries them once and for all.

They may have become close, they are friends- were friends, but there's no coming back from this.

"No." Eddie sucks in a stuttering breath and coughs, first involuntarily and then on purpose. Hacking at the taste of copper lingering on his tongue, in his mouth, in the air. He can't - he feels sick, but even as he gags and nothing comes up he's both horrified and glad.

He wants it out. He wants to never have tasted it. To never have even thought about drinking it. He would rather die than have it if this is the consequence.

A small, tired part of himself is glad he can't throw the blood up all over its source.

His voice rasps as he says the word again, like denying it enough might fix this. "No, no, no."

"It'll be fine, Eddie."

Steve's words linger, almost echoing in Eddie's memory as if mocking him. On his knees, Eddie can't stop himself from reaching out to him, pulling Steve closer. He shouldn't. This is so wrong, but he - he can't not. Closing his eyes, he cradles Steve in his arms and presses his tacky chin to that once perfect hair.

"I trust you."

He'd said, so open and understanding as he pulled Eddie closer. It wasn't demanding, Eddie could have said no, should have said no - but he could never deny Steve anything. Not when he put so much faith in him.

"I trust you."

"You shouldn't." Eddie repeats himself to the memory, denial even more vicious now than it was every time before when he said it to Steve's face and he nearly chokes on it. "You shouldn't have. Oh, god. Why did you trust me?"

How could he possibly trust a vampire, a monster created by a monster, new and untested?

Limp in his arms, Steve doesn't respond.

Doesn't breathe.

Can't.

The ringing silence gets louder as Eddie holds him closer, eyes shut tight against reality. He doesn't want to see the way Steve's throat is raw and bloody, how his skin is pale and waxy, how his eyes stare blankly at nothing.

Because Steve trusted him to stop, to not take too much blood, to be careful. And Eddie couldn't do any of those things.

Not a single one.

"I'm so sorry." His apologies will never be enough.

Not when Steve will never hear them.

#steddie fic #Steddie #Vampire Eddie #drabble #You guys voted for this #I cannot believe it #I'm working on the not so angsty version rn #it'll be out later tonight or tomorrow #depending on how much more wants to be written #and how much I want to keep you guys on the edge 😈#laughably I don't write angst without knowing how to make it kinder #conversely I also know how to make my kindness hurt worse than the original angst #steve harrington #eddie munson #this is on ao3 as well #I'll link it in a few days once it won't drop it from the tag

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