#I feel like danny isn't feral enough

[starwrighter]

I am not a Baby!! (yes you are)

(Previous) (Next) (Masterpost) (Ao3)

(Chapter five lol)

A jarring noise jolted him awake way too soon for his liking. His eyelids still felt like anchors and vague images of a good dream lingered in his mind. If he went back to sleep now the chances of him continuing his dream where it left off were next to zero. As the noise continued Danny found himself pouting, his eyes watering despite not being sad. Frustration bubbled like a hot spring as he whipped his head around to the source. The radio!

All his anger shifted to giddy hope, exhaustion melting away as he rushed to the blinking red light and pressed play. The machine whirred and clicked a robotic voice different from his PDA chiming in

"Playing pre-recorded distress call..."

"This is lifepod 3, uploading our coordinates. We're plugging some holes in our emergency Seaglide, so if we're late for the rendezvous don't panic. Also, don't go home without us. Seriously. 3 out."

A young lady's voice played from the machine, coordinates downloading to his PDA along with the message itself. It felt like a decade had passed since he'd heard a human voice despite only being on this planet for a day at max. Looking at the coordinates, their life pod should be floating around in one of the kelp forests. Danny still looked human, so meeting up with the other survivors probably wouldn't be too scary for them, alarming yes, but not scary.

In all likelihood, the crew of life pod 3 wouldn't still be there when Danny reached the signal. The message had been sent around ten minutes after the crash and Danny was just now receiving it a day later. A rendezvous was mentioned in the distress call, maybe he could get the coordinates from the other pod's radio? The call he received was obviously responding to a distress call other than his. Why he wasn't receiving messages in chronological order was probably the same reason his PDA's blueprints were corrupted and his lifepod's interior was on fire when he woke up.

All he knew was following that signal was the first thing he was going to do when he set out again. Inside the life pod, however, he was going to have breakfast. Toddling over to the storage unit Danny picked out what was supposed to be a block of food. Scrunching up his nose Danny took a bite, it was dense and crumbled when he bit into it yet, was somehow chewy like a fruit gummy. The taste was nothing like fruit in fact it tasted more like meat. Not good meat either, like someone had taken raw steak rolled it around in their yard fresh after mowing, and then sprayed disinfectant on it. It took an entire water bottle to wash away the artificial taste on his tongue! Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if you told him this was expired. It wasn't packaged, it just sat at the bottom of a warm storage unit next to his remaining water bottle and flares.

...

Was this some kind of space rat poison? Did he seriously just eat rat poison, his PDA didn't warn him it was rat poison. It should have warned him if it was rat poison there was no reason the PDA would have to poison him... Unless it wanted to? Did his PDA become sentient because it was sick of his crap? He hadn't even gotten close to the level of annoying his friends and enemies dealt with on a daily basis. If his PDA became sentient it was either a coward or trying to save itself the trouble.

"Hi?" Danny questioned, staring intently at his PDA waiting for a response... Nothing happened, after minutes of waiting silently so as to not interrupt the PDA if it decided to speak nothing happened no pop-up, notification, or comment. It wasn't at all disappointing and if it was that was only because the thought of a sentient AI to talk to sounded super cool.

Ancients, how was he this desperate for interaction already? Where was his fire extinguisher? Shuffling around the lifepod Danny looked under the seats, snatching up the bright red fire extinguisher and clutching it to his chest. Resting his chin on the handle Danny sighed, chubby fingers slipping against the smooth metal. The fire extinguisher wasn't as heavy as it'd been when he first sprayed it pretty soon, Wilson would be as useless for putting out fires as it was for blunt force damage. A knife in his backpack could be justified but a fire extinguisher while swimming in the ocean? A waste of space. Leaving his inanimate friend behind was the practical option but Danny didn't care.

The knife he'd acquired last night might be his main friend from now on but Wilson was the Og. They're going on adventures together and Danny would keep it in his room as a souvenir. A knife would eventually be taken from him but fire extinguishers were for forever! Stuffing Wilson into his bag Danny prepared to leave his lifepod again.

Squeezing the knife in his right hand Danny gave a few test swings. Physically, he's weak but the knife was sharp and it'd do some serious damage if he was careful what he swung at. As much as his food tasted like something you were served in prison this was not prison and throwing hands with the biggest creature on the planet would do him no good. With that said he was going to pick a fight with whoever invented those nutrient blocks, or maybe he'd sick the lunch lady on them? Whoever made these rations deserved to live off of only them for at least a week.

Opening the hatch was easier than it was yesterday, the orange handle turning smoothly with one yank instead of many. Water less foreign against his skin, the wetsuit feeling more natural than it had before. A dive that wasn't skin-tight would still be preferred but at least it was breathable and protected him decently. Swimming had gotten a bit easier, the flippers didn't make a huge difference when you accounted for the heavy oxygen tank strapped to his back. Surprisingly the weight of the new tools in his backpack and the oxygen tank strapped to him didn't drag him down to the seafloor.

Catching a few fish with his teeth to distract the metal muncher. Danny wandered towards the signal. Sticking low to the seabed, he ducked between creeping hiding amongst the vines and using supply crates as cover. Tossing a fish at metal munchers that lurked a bit too close to his hiding place distracted them long enough to get to the next one before they swam to inspect where their snack had come from. His PDA informed him it gave the metal muncher a name when he distracted it long enough to scan it. A "Stalker" is what the AI deemed a suitable name. Danny thought that name was boring, a dramatic name for a creature that Danny found to be scatterbrained and lacked the dedication to hunting the name implied. Its pattern of movement was closer to sneaking than it was to stalking. It was an annoying name choice but it made sense. You couldn't give a living creature the genius name he came up with.

Coral was wrinkled like a brain but colored a bright purple and spat out air bubbles that filled his air tank. Giving him more time to explore before the natural need for air spoiled his fun. Sandstone outcrops popped up more often in the kelp forests, useful silver and gold dropped into his open palms before quickly being stuffed into his backpack.

As he closed in on the signal, body pressed to a grassy seabed a sinking feeling started to fester in his stomach. A feeling that soon shifted to overwhelming grief that hit him like a crowbar to the cranium. Chest tightening as a sunken lifepod clear in his view. If it'd had just been sunken there was hope that it'd happened after the crew moved on, perhaps a Stalker taking a little nibble? No, this lifepod had been exposed to some sort of explosion, metal blackened and jutted outward. The bottom hatch looked to be ripped from the floor, now leaning against the gaping hole just below the bright red 3 labeling the lifepod. While there were bite marks on the pod, parts of the yellow latter were likely torn off by a passing stalker that likely occurred after the initial explosion.

Considering his lifepod was on fire when he woke up, this one exploding for no visible reason was too much of a stretch. Swimming into the sunken pod, prepared for the worst. Mentally preparing himself to see a mangled body or the horrific scene of a lethal incident. The lack of gore upon his entry was both relieving and unnerving. A lack of bodies didn't bring him hope, the hairs standing on the back of his neck and a cold breath stuck in his chest told him with certainty that the crew of this lifepod was dead.

The crew's last voice log confirmed this. A modified power cell, one to supercharge a sea glide to be capable of carrying two people at a higher speed. The math was perfect in theory but the seglide itself wasn't built for the power cell. It was too powerful, the kind you used to power bigger things like prawn suits or seamoths. Like rigging a car battery to power a lightbulb it was doomed from the start Chances were, it started to overheat the moment they turned it on and overloaded a few feet from the pod just like the crew thought it would.

Awful, There were no names on the PDA. No bodies to be buried or cremated and no names to be remembered for grieving. Deaths that he could only mourn in the confines of his mind. Jane and John doe's that died doing their best to ensure survival in a shitty situation. It took everything he had not to cry, though maybe he was already crying but the ocean was washing his tears away without a trace just like it had with these people.

A large displacement of water followed by a not quite shriek of something much bigger than a metal muncher snapped him back. That did not sound friendly! Danny hugged the wall of the lifepod peeking out through one of the many holes made by the stalkers.

That didn't look friendly either.

A gigantic snake-like fish with pelvic fins like silk sleeves. Gills glowed a toxic white, its yellow body shimmering in the daylight. Similar to a hoverfish there were spots lining the fish's back, a large white blob in the shape of a bat on its chest. It glided through the water slowly circling the lifepod, eyes glowing yellow.

"Thirty seconds," Danny could have screamed, the robotic alert like a firecracker going off during silent reading. The giant fish whipped its head around creeping towards the lifepod at an agonizingly slow pace. Heart racing, Danny clung to the side of the lifepod pressing himself as flatly against the pod as he could. Desperate to avoid being spotted he shoved himself underneath a metal panel.

A stalker's roar broke through the water followed by a pained shriek and a body slamming against the sand. Danny took this opportunity to make his escape, vision blurring as he swam to the surface. A gasp of air could never taste any sweeter as he watched a pack of stalkers attempt to eat the giant. The giant just seemed annoyed, their face pinched in what he could only assume was the fish equivalent of exasperation. Batting away the hungry gators with their blanket-like tale, Stalkers attempted to thrash around a creature that was several times bigger than them, thinking they could take him as a group.

This distraction lasted long enough for Danny to flee back to the shallows. Back to the bladderfish and Peepers who didn't look like they could swallow him whole without noticing it. Now Danny didn't mean to judge a book by its cover but he also wasn't willing to swim up to a fish that big, not when he wasn't sure if that was the one who'd had a taste of human flesh.

"Detecting increased local radiation levels. Trend is consistent with damage to the Aurora's drive core, sustained during planetfall"

Well shit, sometimes Danny hated being right.

@pupstim @ashoutinthedarkness @avelnfear @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @meira-3919 @blep-23 @hugsandchaos @stargazing-bookwyrm @starlightcat04 @bytheoldwillowtree @zeldomnyo @justwannabecat @shepherdsheart

#Danny named a fire extinguisher Wilson in chapter two lol #Danny wandering towards the signal while unintentionally wandering toward Signal #Danny deserves to cry let the boy cry #dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #subnautica au #I feel like danny isn't feral enough #I need to fix that in future chapters smh

[ew-selfish-art]

DPxDC Au: Normally when Danny vandalizes ancient cave walls and historic places on his 'favor' missions for Clockwork, he gets sent back to erase them. But no, apparently this time, when Danny added his actual phone number into some painting, he's not allowed to go back and fix it. Ugh.

...

Tim has had the painting of Bruce professionally reviewed a few times since the old Bat was retrieved from the time stream. He's not entirely sure how the painting still exists, he's not even sure that it matters any more... But one day Tim catches something new in the painting.

It was small, and it could've just been the light at first but... Is that a phone number in the background?? It looks like black marker on the black curtains and it makes him feel feral. The family is kinder this time about how they think he's gone crazy- but each one of them admit that they can't remember a phone number ever being present.

The lab reports that the number was added over the paint- and that it's an ink based marking akin to a sharpie but like, hundreds of years old. So... It's been added recently but not at all recently enough for Tim to have an explanation.

Tim doesn't want to hear any more of his family members opinions on the matter and he certainly isn't going to just, stop investigating or something stupid like that. So, he takes the painting to the tower, gathers his team (Cassie, Kon and Bart), and they call the number in the middle of the night after a lot of planning/back-and-forth/catastrophizing.

It doesn't answer until the final ring, and the static that comes through the phone is bone chilling. A deep, monstrous groan which echoed with agony fills the room.

"I have a math test in like, three hours, who the fuck are you and why the fuck are you calling in the middle of the night?" The voice now complains, still sounding vaguely inhuman despite it's very human word choices.

"Your number is in a historical painting, we had a few questions but uh, you can call us back later?" Tim cringes as he says it but he hadn't planned on having to reply to someone trying to go back to bed. Or someone who was apparently also a teenager. (He had so, so many contingency plans for like, every kind of villain, alien or demon. lame.)

"...Ugh. might as well." The voice calls out, agreeing with a sigh that echos so deeply the team can feel it in their bones.

"Cool. Good luck on your test?" Tim offers.

"Mph." And the line hangs up.

...

Danny is at lunch with Sam and Tucker when he remembers the late night call. He'd spent the morning bitching about never getting a full night of sleep and it finally occurred to him what had happened. Of course his friends think it's hilarious that CW wouldn't let him erase his number. Of course they do.

They stop laughing when Danny calls the number back.

"Hello, this is Red Robin of Gotham. I have Superboy, Wonder girl and Impulse present with me. How did your math test go?"

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #dc crossover #dp crossover #long post #let danny be a shit head kid who puts the weird s on historical documents #clockwork always has him clean up his messes but not this time #this time he holds it over his head and danny is so annoyed #yj just want answers and dammit the horrors persist but so do they #someone please continue this #i beg

[suzukiblu]

Excerpt from an in-progress DP x DC soulmate AU starring Jazz Fenton, a very unfortunate mugger, and a smoothie. Oh, and I guess Jason is there too.

Jazz meets her soulmate in, of all places, Park Row. Or as the locals call it, Crime Alley.

Seems about right for her life, she decides as she kicks the shit out of the guy who was trying to stab him for his wallet fifteen seconds ago. Her soulmate watches her curiously, seeming unconcerned by the fuss, and takes a sip of his smoothie.

Also seems about right, for her soulmate. A guy who got too nervous when necessary violence happened was not going to survive Thanksgiving in Amity Park, much less Christmas.

Well, it is Gotham.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi, sorry, one sec," Jazz says, then leans over the groaning mugger and offers him a card to the best local crisis center she's managed to track down via research and word of mouth in the four months she's been in Gotham. Not her card, obviously, since she just roundhouse-kicked the guy in the head to protect her soulmate from him and that's arguably a conflict of interest. Or close enough, anyway. "So you should check these guys out, they've got a very high success rate in their job program and there's an associated food bank and rent assistance, if you qualify."

"What?" the mugger says dazedly.

"Also if you ever touch my soulmate again I'll make you wish for the cold mercy of the Infinite Realms," Jazz adds pleasantly. The guy goes very, very pale. Then he snatches the card from her and runs for his life and eternal soul.

"This is the nicest thing the universe has ever done to me," her soulmate muses, taking another sip of his smoothie.

"Getting you mugged?" Jazz asks wryly, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Are you religious? Do you want kids?" her soulmate asks. "Also, who's your favorite Bat?"

"Robin, obviously," Jazz says. "The overdramatic and feral little stabby one, I mean. He reminds me of my little brother. Makes me feel a little bit maternal, to be honest. So that answers two out of three, and as far as religion goes, I only believe in Psychology Today, highly customized guns, and my mom's ninth-degree black belt."

"This better not awaken anything in me," her soulmate mutters under his breath.

"That seems unlikely, or we wouldn't be soulmates," Jazz says.

"Point," he says, sipping his smoothie again. Jazz didn't even know anywhere in Crime Alley sold smoothies, but she is new around here. "Wanna go break my bed? Or maybe go get coffee?"

"You've already got a smoothie," Jazz says.

"So I do," he says.

Jazz looks him over. He's her soulmate, so she's not surprised to find him gorgeous. She wasn't ever expecting a familial soulmate–Danny is a very intense sibling to have, and her parents are very intense parents to have, not to mention everything about Dani, and "soulcousins" aren't typically a thing–and she's never been especially interested in keeping around too many close friends, so considering all that, she was already expecting her soulmate to be a romantic one. If they are platonic, it's definitely only going to be because her soulmate is an aromantic asexual. Which he probably isn't, since he already asked about kids and religion and if she wanted to go break his bed.

Then again, she's met people who'll posture worse than that. Especially guys, and especially ace ones with a clear investment in their masculinity, and given this particular guy is built like a brick house could only dream to be, chances are he has some feelings about his masculinity. Though he's also drinking a visibly pink smoothie, not a neutral-colored protein shake or generic black coffee, so . . . fifty-fifty there, maybe?

Further inquiry will probably be required.

"I'm Jazz," she tells him. "What's your name?"

"Robin," he says. Then he–pauses. Blinks. "I mean–Robin."

He looks very confused for a second, and Jazz blinks too, and refocuses her eyes a bit. Oh, is he–

"Are you overshadowing that guy?" she assumes. For the love of–of course her soulmate would be a ghost, she thinks dryly. Who'd want a soulmate their mom and dad wouldn't want to grill for information and ask a thousand invasive questions, after all? "I mean, he's really hot, don't get me wrong, he looks good on you, but I'd rather meet you for real."

"'Overshadowing'?" Robin looks bemused.

"I'm Danny's sister," Jazz clarifies. Robin does not look less bemused. "You know, the new king?"

"What?" Robin says. Jazz frowns a little, feeling a bit bemused herself.

"Do you not get out much?" she asks.

"Never, actually, but also yes and constantly and way too often," Robin says. "My job is kind of demanding that way."

"What's your job?" Jazz asks curiously. Ghosts' jobs are always interesting, even if only for how they interact and manifest with their Obsessions. She wonders what his Obsession is, actually, because smoothies seem like an unlikely option but she doesn't have much else to go on here.

Can't be weirder than Box Ghost, either way.

"I'm a Bat," Robin says, then looks absolutely alarmed and also absolutely horrified.

"Huh," Jazz says, tilting her head. He seems really big to be one of the Robins, and a little too old besides. A year or two younger than her, maybe, and even the older Robin she's pretty sure is at best Danny's age. Though that's assuming this body is the one he fights crime in, admittedly. Although it's kinda funny if one of the Bats is just named Robin. Must get annoying on patrol, though. "I didn't know any of you were dead, but I guess that's not actually a surprise either, given the profession."

"Why did I say that to you?" Robin asks tightly.

"I told you, I'm the new king's sister," Jazz says. "You know, it's the royal family thing. Technically I'm his regent, legally speaking, but only because I'm better at paperwork and he doesn't count as a legal adult in the Infinite Realms yet. Hasn't been dead long enough, you know how it is. But I've been alive long enough to, apparently? But his 'being alive' technically stopped tracking at fourteen. It's complicated, basically."

"What the fuck does that mean?!" Robin demands.

"It means you can't lie to me because you're one of my brother's subjects," Jazz says, really not understanding his reaction. Every ghost knows this, after all. The only ones who wouldn't know it are too young to be away from their guardians' haunts or even leave the Infinite Realms at all. Definitely a ghost who knows how to overshadow someone this thoroughly and fully is old enough and experienced enough to know it, though. "Whose body is that, anyway?"

"It's my father's," Robin says. Jazz's eyes widen a little and she has several very concerned internal reactions before he chokes and sputters–"I mean–it's not–he's not–!"

"You realize there is no healthy way to mean that, right?" Jazz says. Robin looks frustrated and freaked out and she feels bad about it, because she didn't mean or want to upset him, but she clearly has. "Sorry. I mean, I still secretly feel like I'm the one parenting my parents half the time, you're not the only one with weird feelings about yours."

"I'm his," Robin says, then grits his teeth in visible pain. He's this close to crushing the smoothie cup he's holding but hasn't actually done it. Jazz wonders if that's an example of deliberate self-control or subconscious restraint.

She's pretty sure Robin didn't mean to say that, though.

"Are you okay?" she asks, a little concerned. Normally ghosts just stop talking about things they want to lie about, when they realize who she is.

"No," Robin says. "I'm just his. I've always been his, I always will be, his good soldier, his worst mistake, not his actual fucking son, why am I telling you this?!"

"I don't know," Jazz says, frowning in increased concern. "Usually people can work around the inability to lie a little bit, but you sound like you're being compelled to speak. Increasingly like, actually. Hm. What's your Obsession? And what kind of core do you have?"

"What?" he says.

"They might be making you unstable, is all," Jazz says. "I don't think it'd be a soulmate thing but to be fair I don't really know how that works. Are you dead, or are you a manifestation of something?"

"I'm dead," Robin says, staring at her. "That bastard clown beat my head in with a crowbar and blew up what was left of me. I woke up in my grave and–I–how did you know that?"

"Well, I didn't, that's why I asked," Jazz says reasonably, idly wondering why the Joker isn't dead yet, since this is Gotham and obviously it wouldn't be another "bastard clown" Robin was referencing, even if he wasn't a Bat. But like, at least dead via the court system, if nothing else. The Joker is insane, yes, but no one can argue he doesn't know right from wrong at this point. Does New Jersey just not have the death penalty, maybe? She hasn't thought to check. "Maybe it's the guy you're in? He's not drunk or high or anything, is he?"

"I hate drugs," Robin says, gritting his teeth again; tightening his grip on the smoothie again. He's trembling, just barely. "I hate them. I'd never touch them. I don't know what you are. You're scaring me. Please stop."

He definitely didn't mean to say that, Jazz can tell.

But . . . he doesn't know what she is.

He doesn't know.

Well, that's a problem.

"Robin," she says gently, and for some reason his face twists painfully at the sound of his own name. "Can I see your core? Please?"

#hardcover ship #anger management ship #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #idk which order is 'accurate' here lol #jazz x jason #jason x jazz #rinfic #long post #wip: queen regent jazz and her dead soulmate

[zillychu]

woke up from a dead sleep last night realizing I could make soroku flavored pitch pearl and no one could stop me

edit: you know what? I'm feral and I won't apologize. more under the cut bc this is my house

I slammed this out all at once so I apologize for the quality but I'm having EMOTIONS

so imagine. bc of the way Danny was quickly resuscitated, his ghost only barely started forming. With the excess blast of ectoplasm from the portal being created, that little whisp was given form even after Danny's soul returned to his body.

except this ghost (Phantom) slowly comes into consciousness while trapped in Danny's body. they're separate entities sharing one body, but Phantom doesn't really have a sense of self right away. he pieces together vague fragments of Danny's memory to get a basic understanding of the world, and is mostly just observing like a backseat passenger.

Phantom starts reflexively protecting Danny, his powers and instincts bleeding through when his emotions are high. Danny doesn't really transform, and his personality doesn't totally shift that much at first because Phantom’s mind isn't complex yet. but as time goes on, and Danny has tense conversations with ghosts, Phantom realizes that's what he is. he's a ghost, somehow trapped in his old body. and even now, this early on, he already feels separate. he doesn't have all the memories Danny has.

this slowly turns into horror. into rage. sorrow, mourning a life he never got and will never get to have. forever trapped behind the eyes of someone else, never able to interact with the world. Phantom's rage eventually boils over until it allows him short bursts of taking over Danny's body. it starts out small–a stray hand moving without his consent, knees locking up, ghost abilities going awry. Danny can start feeling emotions that don't belong to him. get vague impressions, almost hears a voice inside him.

and eventually, Phantom is able to fully take over. this is when Danny “transforms". at first, Danny blacks out because his consciousness isn't used to being shoved into the back seat. but eventually, he's awake for these “episodes", trapped in the back of his mind while Phantom controls his body. this only happens when ghost stuff is happening, when Phantom feels threatened enough. he's not protecting Danny, he's protecting himself. Phantom knows instinctively that if Danny dies, he dies too. he's not a normal ghost, he wouldn't be freed. he'd simply disappear.

at one point after a fight, Phantom can feel Danny struggling to take back control. and he talks to Danny for the first time, acknowledges he's there. asks how it's fair that Danny is the one that gets to exist. but Phantom is tired and weak, he slips back into the passenger seat.

over the next few days, he's able to start talking to Danny even while he's not driving. though he's not chatty, it's only when necessary. and Danny knows, can feel it across the link between them–Phantom hates him. the ghost he created is desperate to find a way to take over completely. and as time goes on, Danny realizes with horror that it might actually be possible for Phantom to do that. he grows stronger every day, can stay transformed longer, controls Danny's body with much more ease.

it's only through a chance meeting with Frostbite that Danny and Phantom fully learn what happened to them. Danny feels sympathetic towards Phantom now. this isn't a malevolent ghost, it's a person who was never given the chance to live. who's trapped. who has to watch someone else live a life they're just as deserving of.

and Phantom feels that emotion from Danny. is so shocked by it, he doesn't know how to handle it at first. it takes him a while to contemplate, to talk to other ghosts like Frostbite. until one day, Phantom realizes… he feels sympathy for Danny, too.

neither of them asked for this. both of them deserve to live. Danny didn't do anything wrong. they're both villains to each other's story. and if anything… doesn't Phantom owe his life to Danny in the first place?

Phantom takes over less often. Danny doesn't feel hatred from him anymore. anger, yes–but not aimed at him. in fact, Phantom starts controlling their body in little ways in order to protect Danny from things that aren't even dangerous. just to avoid pain that would only affect the human tethered to him.

it isn't long before they're separated, either thanks to another ghost or Danny's parents. they're thrown apart in the middle of a horrific fight, and when Danny sees Phantom's equally shocked expression, he's terrified.

this ghost that hated him for so long–at best, Phantom would leave him defenseless. at worst, surely some part of Phantom still wants to kill him for stealing away his chance for autonomy.

and yet, when fire rains down on them, Phantom risks it all to grab Danny and get them both to safety. they're still both shaken and stunned this is even happening, but Phantom is able to nervously be like shit shit shit okay stay here don't go anywhere or I can't protect you, okay?

after the fight is over and dust settles, Phantom offers Danny his hand. they stare at each other and god if this isn't the weirdest thing. like, uh, okay, what now? they decide to go see Frostbite, who confirms that they're fully separate now. they ask if there's any chance of merging again and Frostbite assures it's impossible.

Phantom asks, even if I overshadowed Danny? or stay real close? yes, it's nothing to worry about. they leave, and back in the quiet of Danny's room, they talk. Phantom isn't sure what to do. now that opportunity is in front of him, he feels paralyzed. Danny does his best to let Phantom know that… they might be separate now, but if he ever wants help or even just a friendly ear, he's here for him.

Phantom is quiet for a while. then says maybe he just needs to rest first. he'll think about it tomorrow. they're both exhausted and injured. Phantom asks quietly… if he could rest in Danny for the night.

Danny's shocked, and–really confused. Phantom blushes and is like I don't know what my haunt is yet, I don't know where to go, but I know… you're kind of my home. now that I know I can leave whenever I want, it's not something bad anymore. I miss feeling your heart next to my core, just a little bit.

and Danny is just as surprised when Phantom overshadows him, then quietly nestles into the passenger seat again. he didn't realize how he got used to feeling Phantom with him. it's a feedback loop of contentedness, and Danny sleeps easily. (they also find out while sharing a body, Danny gets to reap the benefits of Phantom's supernatural healing)

anyway that's all I got for now thank u for coming to my ted talk

#I'll be honest. it has interested me. I've read fics. I'm just more interested in other stuff for dp #but the prospect of pitch pearl 'enemies to friends also maybe they kiss about it' has me sweating nervously #the struggle and angst of defining yourself against your progenitor. the defiant sorrowful anger funneled into misplaced hatred #only to slowly realize your progenitor is a sweet person who didn't condemn you. they even fight for you to have your own agency #so once you finally have your own body you'll do anything to protect that person you've come to truly care about #and because you shared a body for so long. because you had the same origin. you know them as well as you know yourself #you're not incomplete but you still hold half of each other #HAHA WOW anyway I'm in danger :) #don't. don't look at me #should i even tag this. yeah okay #Danny Phantom #pitch pearl

[romegaketh]

if you are open for snippet requests I would like to humbly ask for any speculation au writing you have 🥺 (esp the conflict of moxbry telling yuta to go off his suppressants and the conflict therein. also danny i love him)

ok this is from wheeler yuta is not a therapist and i am genuinely crushed i did not finish it lol. bcc-typical gore! thanks for the ask ❤️

BOSTON. 

The Best Friends used to do team meetings in a hotel room, around a table packed with preferably-vegetarian takeout, and Fast Five on in the background with the volume turned way down. Chuck Taylor would write up an agenda on his phone, and Orange Cassidy would pretend to pay attention but fuck up by gasping at the big chase scenes, even though Trent was halfway through some long complaint about something or other. 

Surprising nobody, Blackpool Combat Club is different.

"Is that all you got?" Jon Moxley spits. Blood bursts from his cut lip and spatters across his chin. He’s on his hands and knees on a pile of mats in a boxing gym outside Boston. 

In front of him - above him - is the American Dragon. Bryan Danielson’s laugh is low and mean. "You know it's not." The crack of his hand across Moxley's face rings through the air. An angry red stain sinks into Moxley's cheek. 

Moxley pushes himself up onto his knees. His tank top is stained with his own blood. His jaw set with determination and real, clear, rage. “Fuck you.”

“Fuck you,” says Danielson, grabbing the back of Moxley’s neck with vicious glee. His hair has fallen out of the little ponytail, and is loose around his face. He looks - not angry, but not not angry. Like something dark is inside of him and he is grateful to let it out. 

If Wheeler wasn't wearing blockers right now he is sure he would be choking on the scent - even with them, he's breathing in fire and copper, as thick as it would be in rut. It’s a shitty little gym but it’s empty; it’s theirs. It feels like being downwind of a forest fire. And not downwind enough to feel safe, either. 

Wheeler signed up for this. He did it clear-eyed and hopeful. He didn’t know how swift it would be, how immediate. One day he was outside, but today, he belongs. 

"Boys will be boys," William Regal sighs, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped under his chin. It’s strange to see him in a hoodie and sweats instead of the suit, but everything about today is strange. "I'm glad you're here. I think they're behaving better now that they have company." 

Yesterday, Wheeler wrote BCC in blood on his chest. Today, he’s here, watching Moxley and Danielson try to kill each other. It’s supposed to be a demonstration. What, exactly, it’s a demonstration of still appears to be in question. 

Moxley raises his head. His eyes flash to Regal, and then to Wheeler. Hot, sharp, furious. When Wheeler crossed the ramp - when he turned away from his friends and came to the future - he thought, now Moxley will know who I am. Well, he does. But maybe now Wheeler is learning who Moxley is. 

Yesterday Wheeler bled like a fountain, but Moxley matched him. Right now Wheeler is sitting next to Regal, with a protein shake the size of his head and a power bar; right now Moxley is pinned beneath Danielson, while Danielson bends his head so his mouth is against Moxley's ear. 

Normally they're better matched. It feels good to know Wheeler did some damage: Moxley isn't slow but he's slower. Wheeler had to scrape himself out of bed this morning. His head still hurts. 

“How’s he looking?” Danielson asks, looking up for Regal's approval like an alpha half his age. Moxley snaps at him, teeth out, but Danielson darts away with the same easy grace he shows in the ring. 

Regal laughs. "Bryan," he says, fondly. "You're showing off."

Danielson shrugs. Moxley's blood is on his cheek; it makes his grin look feral. "You heard the boss," he tells Moxley. "You want a nap?" 

Moxley growls, a low deep sound, big enough to fill the whole building. He looks like a kid, too. A baby alpha, tussling, for the attention of a bigger one. But Moxley is Jon Moxley. And that's Bryan Danielson. Everyone who's ever watched a wrestling match knows how sharp their teeth are. 

Regal puts his hand on Wheeler's shoulder. Gentle, careful. He's not possessive with Wheeler like he is with them. Wheeler is grateful for it, though he feels like he shouldn't be: he didn't sign up to be treated with care. But maybe he did. Bryan said he would be - under a wing. A dragon's wing, he'd thought, tossing and turning, before the day he made the decision. 

Regal isn't a dragon. Regal is a man. Because only men have power like this: the power to speak, and be obeyed. "Settle down," Regal tells them - both of them, it's clear. "Don't make me come over there." 

Danielson wipes Moxley's blood off his cheek and the dragon recedes. He's just a man on a mat, with Moxley a foot away on his knees. The warmth comes back to Danielson's face, and to his hand as he reaches down for Moxley -  long fingers extended, palm wide and open. 

But Moxley glares, turning his face away, to spit onto the floor on the other side. 

Something flashes in Danielson's face. Not anger, something quieter. Before Wheeler can look deeper, it's gone. "Gross," Danielson says, easily. "I'll get you a paper towel for that."

Moxley rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah." It takes him longer to come back to himself. Wheeler is maybe glad. He's not sure how to feel. He knows that - for whatever reason, rightly or wrongly - he fought Moxley and Moxley fought him. And it mattered. 

Danielson is crossing the floor, the bright, easy smile on his face. "How are you feeling, today, Wheeler?" 

Wheeler holds up his power bar. "Perfect," he says. "I even got snacks."

"Fantastic," Danielson says. You wouldn't think he is a predator, like this. He just looks like a cool alpha you'd meet at the gym. Except for the blood. "You were great last night. Really gave Jon a run for his money."

"I did my best," Wheeler says. The cut on his forehead itches. "But thank you. It means a lot."

Danielson smiles. "Good. We're very happy to have you."

To have Bryan Danielson standing in front of you - in shorts and a bloody white t-shirt, with his hair up, with his hands bruised - it doesn't feel like it happens every day. It feels like another world. But Wheeler fought to get here. He did. He earned this. "I'm glad to be here," he says. 

"I'm certainly glad we got you away from the Best Friends," Danielson says, amicable and easy, like he'd say, buddha bowl hold the tempeh. "I hate to think about how you'd have been wasted staying longer under Orange Cassidy." There's a cruel smirk when he says the name. Something uglier. The dragon peeking out from behind the man's eyes. 

Wheeler's shoulderblades prickle. He feels his own hands form fists. Just because he’s not on Orange’s team anymore doesn’t mean Orange didn’t train him.  

"Hey." That's Moxley. All of a sudden he's at Danielson's back, his hand on Danielson's shoulder - the difference in their heights enough that Moxley is looming. His voice snaps through the air. "Cut it out, Bryan." 

"He was a good teacher," Wheeler says, looking at Moxley. It feels like, when he was bleeding, and he almost got that pin, and Moxley looked - Almost. Not quite. "I'm grateful to him. To all of them. I'm glad to be here, now." 

Danielson looks up at Moxley. "Yeah?" 

"Bryan," Moxley says. It's so clearly about something else that Wheeler looks at Regal, whose mouth has compressed into a thin line, and whose hands are curling into balls against his thighs. He can't read it; he doesn't know Regal. He could guess. If he were to guess he would say - nervous, uncertain, and a little remorseful. But that doesn't sound like William Regal. Not William Regal, who headbutted Moxley when he was dripping in Bryan’s blood. 

A conversation passes between them. Not so much a conversation as an unmoving fistfight. Moxley, scowling; Bryan, a contemptuous shrug. Wheeler really did think they liked each other. Maybe he just got used to the Best Friends. Even when Kris was being a jerk, he knew she liked him. 

Moxley wins. Danielson spreads his palms open, shrugging.

Moxley spends a lot of time looking awkward. You don’t realise that when you spend most of your time with Moxley with him kicking your ass, but actually - he’s kind of tentative. Feeling things out. Like he thinks Wheeler is going to say, fuck off, and turn around and go back to the Best Friends.

Wheeler likes it. Maybe he just likes Moxley. Maybe he just has a CD full of Mox matches in a drawer somewhere in his mom’s house. Who can say?

"Anyway," Danielson drawls. "I wanted to say." He taps his fingers against the side of his neck. "Do you wear them all the time?" 

Wheeler's stomach drops through one of those trap doors in Indiana Jones, right into an extremely culturally insensitive pit of snakes. "To the ring, yeah." Regal is looking between them like a sunning lizard, so Wheeler explains, "Blockers."

The patch on his neck doesn't itch. It's only been on for a minute. He slapped it on in a hurry. 

“You’re an alpha,” Regal says. 

“Yeah,” Wheeler says. Maybe it’s generational. Maybe Regal’s actually an asshole - the wrong kind of asshole - and Wheeler needs to get out now. “I wrestle in them so it makes sense to train in them, too.” 

Danielson raises an eyebrow. “Well,” he says. “You might gain some reaction time if you lose them. Usually it’s about half a second.”

Mox says, “Cut it out, Bryan.” His hand moves, but he doesn't grab Danielson's shoulder. He just puts his hand on his own hip and rolls his eyes. "The kid's been here a minute. Let him do some fucking pushups before you completely overhaul his life."

Danielson doesn't move. He keeps his eyes fixed on Wheeler, but it's very clear that Wheeler is not who he is talking to. "Improving his technique is not overhauling his life, Jon."

Wheeler clears his throat. "Company policy," he says. "Everyone's entitled to their preferred presentation." He’s paraphrasing from a lecture he's been given multiple times by Daniel Garcia. "Up to the point at which it encroaches on someone else's presentation." (That's a reference to wrestling in heat. Also rut, but in practice it's only really omegas who get in shit for wrestling under the influence. That's also a paraphrase from Daniel Garcia. Wheeler wasn't the object of the lecture. He was just in the vicinity and it stuck.)

Danielson tilts his head. “Is that a moral stance, Yuta?”

“Kind of.” Wheeler swallows. “Actually, you know what? Yeah. It is. You wore them at WWE. I wear them here.” 

Mox looks at him. A longer, deeper look. Like he did after he got the pin, when Wheeler was lying there on the mat. 

Danielson smiles. The smile is broader, wider. “Okay,” he says. “We can work with that.”

Regal says, “If you’re quite finished, I think now would be a good time to demonstrate some holds for young Wheeler.” His voice shades into calm reproof. “Since he certainly didn’t learn any from whatever you were doing before.”

Mox ducks his head but Danielson just laughs, a big laugh, like a bell. “All right, all right,” he says. “Point taken. C’mon, Mox.” 

It's just Wheeler and Regal on the bench again, both of them watching Danielson turn Moxley into various shapes while Moxley grimly allows himself to be bent.

“To be perfectly honest with you,” Regal says, “I’m very glad you came along. They were about to kill each other.”

“Great, now they can kill me.” Wheeler is only half-joking. It’s not like he knows if Danielson is a good teacher, or Moxley. But he was taught well before. He’s confident in his own ability to figure out what he needs.

“We’re lucky to have you,” Regal says, abruptly. “I hope you know that we know that.” 

“Oh,” Wheeler says. He thinks about Danny and Lee - Danielson wanted them, too. He wanted them so much he’d have bled for it. But Moxley bled for Wheeler, and now Wheeler is here. “Thank you.” 

“I know it’s a lot,” Regal says. “I know -” and he gestures, with a big sweep of that broad, scarred hand, “they’re a lot. But they’re good. They really are. And you’re good. They’ll make you better. And I will, too. We’ll do our damnedest.”

“I never had any doubts,” Wheeler says. That’s not a lie. He could have turned around. So many times. All the times. But he didn’t. He stayed the course. He’s here. 

Regal’s eyes crease. “They’re hiding something from me,” he says, quietly.

“Oh,” Wheeler says. 

Regal smiles at him. It’s a wistful smile; the craggy face of a mountainside, stretching onwards and upwards, despite snow and sleet and spring avalanches. “It happens,” he says. “Sons hide truths from their fathers. I hope one day soon you’ll come to hide the truth from me, as well.” 

Wheeler swallows. “I’ll do my best.”

Regal’s laugh is soft. “Good. I’d expect nothing less.” 

Wheeler lets himself look. Regal is an old man. You can see it here, in this shitty gym, with its bad lighting and the smell of sweat; the lines around his eyes, the tremor in his hands. But there’s something else there too - not just the man Wheeler watched on tape for years, not just the myth - but kindness, too. A deep well. Wheeler did not expect to find that. “They know you love them.” He didn’t mean to say it like that. Abruptly, out of nowhere. Too obvious. Chuck Taylor would say, get it together, kid. Chuck Taylor is very good at talking to people. “They couldn’t not know that.” 

But Regal says, “Oh,” his voice softening a little, with a little joy. “Thank you. I’m glad you see it.” 

“Anytime,” Wheeler says. 

Regal rakes his fingers through his hair, leaning back so he can look at Wheeler with the full force of his gaze. “I’ve got a question for you, young Wheeler,” he says. “Who is the most important member of the Blackpool Combat Club?”

It’s like the slap: it’s a test. There’s a right answer and three wrong ones. Maybe more than three.

Wheeler aced the slap, though. Full marks, gold star. Extra credit. He looked right into Regal’s face, but he didn’t hit him. He stood his ground; he didn’t lose it. 

Stand your ground; don’t give it away. He takes a breath. Bryan is the unstoppable force and Moxley is the immovable object. Maybe it's the other way around. Either way, they destroy each other if left unchecked. So there's only one option. Give me a place to stand and a lever and I can move the earth. Regal is both the lever and the place to stand. “You.”

Regal laughs. It’s a warm laugh; it settles in Wheeler’s chest like apple cider on a cold day. "Thank you," he says. "But not quite. Think about it and get back to me."

#au: speculation #ask: anon #fic: mine