#the only way Danny was getting some self love was literally splitting himself in half

[angelic-ish-phantom]

Purify

The first time Danny had accidentally flown through the Fenton Ghost catcher, he hadn’t exactly been able to dwell on it.

In his defense, he’d been so wrapped up in the increasingly stressful situation with Desiree and Tucker that he hadn’t really had time to think. He hadn’t realized he wasn’t able to think. He hadn’t realized he wasn’t.

So months later, when he’d been overwhelmed and tired and just wanted a break, he’d thought back on that distant experience and wondered. He’d wanted a solution. And he’d gotten one, but he hadn’t remembered. Had never truly processed how he’d been gone. Not when he’d so quickly received two sets of hazy memories from the too-few seconds he’d been split.

So Tucker had looked on curiously, and Sam had waited apprehensively, ever-skeptical.

And Danny had flown through the device without a second thought.

He didn’t have any thoughts after that.

oOo

When Phantom came apart from himself, he was overwhelmed, hyperaware of the sudden feeling of his core, burning alone like an icy star in the depths of his form.

He could feel his thoughts speeding by like some haunting melody, untethered by a human mind. He could feel his obsession weightless without the shackles of his human responsibilities.

His form felt so… flexible without the burden of human physicality. How had he never noticed how horribly solid he’d been.

“Wow…” he whispered, all sound where there should have been breath, like something out of a speaker.

And Phantom dragged neon bright eyes upon his other half, the human sprawled on the ground. When Danny had flown through, he’d managed to catch himself with flight, but his mirror (Fenton? Danny?) had eaten the floorboards.

“Sooo… Are you good, feeling okay? There nothing wrong with you- you two?” Sam asked, concerned glancing up at Phantom while shaking Danny’s shoulder.

Danny groaned. “I’m fine. Feel tired though.” He replied, muffled as he spoke into the floor. “Weird. But mos’ly tired.”

He slowly pushed himself to be propped on his elbows, then glanced around. Then Danny looked up.

And oh. Oh wow.

He stared in blue, only it was green. He could see his own green eyes glowing in Danny’s vision, shining back at him in infinitum.

Phantom hadn’t thought vertigo could feel so soothing. so reassuring.

It was reassuring in a much broader sense come to think of it. Phantom had… worried. When he’d been Danny, he’d thought using the Ghost catcher would split his ghost half from his human half.

Really it had split his ghost half and his human half. Phantom was Phantom, and his other half definitely wasn’t just Danny.

“Um.” Fenton stumbled, eyes wide, clearly having seen what he had. “Okay, Wow. Are- are you doin’ okay, man?” He asked.

“…Yeah, I think.” Phantom answered tentatively. Despite how he still kept his voice low, it rang clear; he had an uncomfortable feeling that if he spoke at a normal volume it would hurt the humans, that, that steady echo beneath his words would become something shrill as a scream.

He’d have to be careful about that.

“Is this like a duplicate or did you actually just,” Tucker paused to make an accompanying gesture, “pull out your ghost half.”

“There are two of us.” Phantom couldn’t resist a sewing cheekily.

“That answered nothing.” Sam deadpanned.

“He means we’re different people.” Fenton explained, also not clarifying.

Phantom grinned. They were changed; neither of them were the same person that had flown through that device. And Phantom couldn’t help his eager curiosity at what might become of this.

oOo

It had worked for a day, a trial run. And both Phantom and Fenton wanted to keep trying.

Sam and Tucker had tried to convince them to rejoin again before they left, and it had made sense. Neither of them had known what this long term separation might lead to.

But they didn’t.

Because it was an almost scary thought, the idea of becoming nothing more than parts of a whole, of loosing their senses of self to become someone they remembered being but could never truly be.

At least that’s why Phantom thought his other half had refused. They hadn’t really discussed it. No, what they were talking about was much more important.

“I’ve just been calling you Fenton in my head…”

Phantom sat, legs crossed on their (Fenton’s?) bed while his other half paced.

“But others have always called us Fenton, it was our- Danny’s name too.” Fenton argued, before groaning, “why can’t we just have had another easy, convenient name like Phantom lying around?” He flopped down onto the bed beside him.

“I mean, Phantom and was the name we, he?, used too.”

Fenton waved, “Yeah but, It wasn’t really Danny’s. Well, it was but- why I am tryna explain this, y’know what I mean!”

And Phantom nodded since he did. The idea behind the name ‘Phantom’ had always been an alter ego, another self, as much as it was, had been, Danny.

And Phantom was exactly that: Another self.

“What about Daniel?” He tried.

Fenton made a face which, okay fair, Phantom heard it as soon as it left his mouth. “Tha’s what the Fruitloop calls us. Absolutely not.”

“Yeah, sorry…” Phantom said, “Do you think staying like this for a while will make him loose interest?”

“With any luck. But God knows we don’t have any, so he’ll probably just try and stick us back together.”

“Ugh, he would… What about Neil?”

Fenton squinted questioning at him, “Where did you get ‘Neil’ from?”

“It’s the last half of our name. Like, Dan-Neil, you know? I think it sounds good.”

“It sounds like you changed the pronunciation of our name.”

Phantom pouted.

“…Neil. Ne-il. Neeeeil. Fine… I guess ’s doable.” Fent- Neil conceded. “But I’m only settling, because I don’t want to keep being mad at Sam and Tucker for calling me Danny when there’s literally no other option.”

“Settling!” Phantom cheers, before grinning wider than a human was probably supposed to be able to. “You know this means that between the two of us, I’m better at choosing names.”

Fenton’s expression grew flat. “What-“

oOo

Neil could never do what Phantom does.

He knows that he probably could, considering they were technically the same person, but it seemed so… extraordinary.

Neil was able to get Danny’s grades back up, with the work ethic of someone that had learned they what they were capable of if they only applied themselves, and actually had the time to apply himself. Neil was able to spend time with his friends and not have to drag them into fights to protect the town. Neil was able to take up hobbies, and catch up on sleep, and enjoy being warm again.

Neil could do all that, because that was normal, but what Phantom did? He flew throughout Amity day and day out, stronger and faster and brighter than ever. He kept everyone safe, and explored another world in his free-time. It’s not like their lives were totally separate from each other, but Neil held a new appreciation for all those things they’d once done together that he’d thought he’d barely managed.

Of course Danny had been struggling; he’d been a hero.

“Hey, you free?” A hero called from his window.

“Yeah, I’m just studying, man. What d’you need.” Neil replied, shutting his book.

He’d grown used to it by this point, but it was still weird, the way his voice tended come out in a drawl now, sometimes slurring. Everything just feels so heavy and sometimes it can feel so hard to think. It’s like his brain hasn’t realized he doesn’t have a core anymore and keeps sending thoughts the wrong way.

And the tiredness… The thing is Neil doesn’t actually think he’s tired. He’s just used to having so much more energy, the strength to fight ghosts and win. Now, he had to sleep for a full eight hours and he still feels… exhausted in comparison.

It wasn’t terrible. Especially considering how much easier everything had become, but he could still complain. Internally.

“I’ve been working on something I really want to show you.” Phantom said excitedly, quiet as ever. “It’s in the ghost zone though.”

Neil glanced out the window worriedly, “It’s gettin’ kinda late…”

“It’ll be quick, I promise. We’ll be there and back so fast, it’ll be like you never left.”

“I dunno…”

“Pleeeeeaaaaase. It’ll be worth it.”

Neil sighed, rubbing a slow hand down his face, “Fine.”

oOo

It was not fine.

Neil had forgotten he couldn’t fly on his own.

“I hate this! I hate you!” Neil yelled for the nth time as Phantom carried him in a way that had his body dangling over the void beneath them.

“You don’t mean that.” Phantom corrected incorrectly. “Its just around- here!” He exclaimed, the sound of static and screams making Neil’s ears ring for a moment.

“Sorry…” Phantom apologized immediately, “but look.” He gestures in front of them.

“…a door?” Neil asked incredulously, considering the amount of doors they must have passed on the way might have been uncountable.

“Our door.” He corrected, happily.

“…”

Phantom seemed to realize he wasn’t understanding. “The doors are lairs. I found out a lair is the place a ghost lives, basically. Like Skulker’s island. But inside out.” He explained, “And this is ours. Mine. Well it was Danny’s, but he never found it so I made it for us.”

And Neil tried to catch up with that, the idea that behind every door they’d ever seen there was something like a home. Then Phantom opened the door and put him down and he saw.

It was an entire world. Sprawling meadows and mist, and pines in the distance. Nebulas painting across a sky. It was incredible.

And a part of Neil wanted to be sad, because this place didn’t truly belong to him the way it once had. Then he looked at Phantom’s excitement, and couldn’t help but mirror it, because it had still been made for him.

The two of them ran and played, well past how long they should have stayed, and when Neil finally exhausted himself, slumping against a tree, Phantom and his endless energy sat down right beside him.

“’s probably so late.” Neil wheezed.

“But that was fun wasn’t it.” Phantom beamed.

Neil smiled softly even through his clear fatigue, “Yeah. It w’s great… this place is wonderful.” He mourned, again, that Danny had never found it.

“You’re wonderful.” Phantom shot back, delighted.

Neil snorted.

“I mean that you know.” Phantom continued, an happy-serious expression on his face, “You deserved a break. You’re always doing school stuff and acing it too. Not to mention you spend so much more time with Sam and Tucker, and they’re important.” He said, and Neil could remember the way their obsession would have flared, “The only thing I really have to do is get ghosts back in here. It’s not hard. Your stuff seems so much more complicated. I don’t think I could ever manage it. I don’t know how Danny ever did.”

Neil felt happiness swell at the appreciation, but… “‘s no accomplishment. I’m jus’ doing normal things.”

“Human things.”

“You literally protect Amity every day. You fight ghosts without any help. Tha’s a thousand times more impressive th’n getting our homework done.” Neil yawned back.

Phantom hummed dismissively as Neil leaned into them. “Agree to disagree… You can sleep. I’ll take you back tomorrow.”

Neil groaned, “I forgot we have t’do that again t’go back.” Then he squinted up at Phantom, “Do you even know when tomorrow is from in here?”

“Yep.” Phantom raised a phone.

“My phone!”

“My phone.”

“It not your turn. It’s still Friday, you have phone custody on the weekend. You can’t jus’ steal my phone!”

“Saturday is tomorrow and you weren’t even using it so, my phone.”

“I hate you.” Neil muttered darkly, way too tired to argue properly.

“Love you too.” He beamed, beginning to play on their phone. Considering Neil was fairly sure Phantom didn’t need to sleep, it would probably be dead come morning.

Neil sighed his annoyance before closing his eyes.

He could hear his own heartbeat like this. Ear to his other half’s form, it rang louder like the steady beat was trying to call back to the low thrum of Phantom’s core.

Neil knew that if they were Danny the two organs wouldn’t need to try and sync up like this, they work in tandem. It’s one of the small things Neil missed, but he thought he’d rather be together like this.

Both of them were happy. Neither of them were having a hard time of things. And Neil though he enjoyed Phantom’s company. He was like a brother, a twin, someone that knew him as well as he knew himself.

Neil didn’t think he would ever give up on having that. At least not forever.

#there was supposed to be a lot more but I’m so tired of working on this one #concept came first Ectober came second #I really wanted to get the one more scene done but I can’t figure out how it would go so I’ll probably finish it later. or not… #✨phone custody✨ #the only way Danny was getting some self love was literally splitting himself in half #danny phantom #dp #danny fenton #fanfiction #Phantom&Neil #phicc #fanfic #danny phantom au #dpau #dp au #ectoberhaunt22 #eh order #day 7 #purify

[greatbigolhampuckjustforme]

Something that has been on my mind for a while but I haven’t seen get talked about at all:

In The Ultimate Enemy, I don’t think Vlad was a reliable narrator.

In the episode, Vlad explains that Danny was grief-stricken after the death of his family and friends, and he undergoes a procedure (performed by Vlad) to remove his emotions?? Vlad removes Danny's ghost half, which in turn uses the gauntlets to remove Vlad's ghost half, and Phantom fuses with Plasmius to create Dan/Dark Danny.

There are a few things I find interesting here.

Danny has been split before and found no issue.

During Identity Crisis, Danny's ghost and human forms get separated through the ghost catcher, resulting in Super Danny. Super Danny is a full-time superhero whose only purpose in life is to heroically save lives and protect the citizens of Amity Park.

Now compare this to the version of Phantom we're served during TUE. This version of Phantom seems so angry and vengeful, the antithesis of what we know Danny to be. Danny asked to have part of himself ripped out, and then lashed out when Vlad followed through.

I think Vlad exaggerated Danny's reaction here. Vlad is evil, and I believe he attributes this to his ghost self rather than accepting it as an inherent part of his person, so he assumes Danny is the same way. He doesn't realise that, like the Dairy King says, "not all ghosts are evil". Thus, he hyperbolizes the events that took place to make it seem as though it was Danny's inherently evil ghost half that ruined everything, not Vlad's own actions.

2. Danny wants his feelings to be ripped out.

Sure, Danny is a teen who just had his entire life pulled out from under him. Asking to have his human emotions removed might be something a 14 year old would ask for in the wake of the deaths of all the people he loves.

But to actually go through with it?

Ever since they met Danny has been wary of every action Vlad has taken. He knows exactly what Vlad's motives are, he knows the man is greedy and violent and relentless, he knows that Vlad is not someone that can be trusted. So why would he trust him with something like this?

This also leans into Phantom attacking him. If this part was true and Danny's ghost half did attack Vlad upon being separated, it stands to reason that maybe the procedure wasn't entirely consensual, and Phantom was acting out of self-preservation rather than just attacking because ghosts are evil.

3. Vlad is willing to rip Danny's feelings out.

Danny is grieving. I might understand him wanting this, but why did Vlad go through with it? The premise of the procedure is ridiculous at best, and I'm sure he knew how risky it was.

Instead of seeking help for this grieving and traumatised teenager, he used a strange invention to rip out Phantom, as if that would solve literally anything.

4. Phantom fuses with Plasmius.

Now, this is incredibly interesting, because they don't fuse by some weird coincidence or accident; Phantom separates Vlad from his ghost half, drops the gauntlets on the floor, turns intangible, and overshadows Plasmius while he's passed out on the ground.

What in the actual hell would the motivation be for this? I seriously cannot think of a single reason he would. Is it power? Phantom is plenty powerful on his own. Plasmius only really has the upper hand when it comes to duplicating himself, and even that is a skill Danny knows he can practice, so why do they fuse???

5. Phantom fuses with Plasmius 2: Electric Boogaloo.

Putting this separate from the other fusion part because I do what I want.

How does it work when a ghost fuses with another ghost? Phantom and Plasmius are never shown as having any sort of conflict, which is out of character considering their entire relationship is based in conflict. How do they suddenly get along when they share a single body?

Moreover, when they fuse, they take on a form that looks like Phantom, but with some of Plasmius's more ghostly features (forked tongue, green skin, etc.) even though it was Phantom taking over Plasmius's body. To me, it would make more sense, if these events were true, for the pair to look like Plasmius, but with a few Phantom-esque features.

That is, of course, unless that isn't what really happened...

6. Vlad cowers in fear during this.

As we've seen in the show, Vlad is not a cowardly man. He's cunning, and is willing to do whatever it takes to get what he wants. He will never portray himself as weak unless he stands to gain from it.

So why do we get a clear shot of him absolutely terrified of the scene unfolding in front of him?

Perhaps it could be because he's suddenly powerless while in the presence of a powerful and malicious ghost. This explanation could make sense. Except then how did he survive? Especially given that...

7. Danny was killed by Dark Danny.

I don't know if that really does justice to what happened. Danny is seen cowering on the floor while the ghost stands over him menacingly. Vlad narrates that some things are better left unsaid, but the next thing we see is the mansion blowing up. Obviously, the implication here is that Danny was killed by the ghost, and then the whole place was destroyed.

Now, strangely enough, my first question is about how Danny was conscious during this ordeal. The whole series of events couldn't have taken more than a few minutes from start to finish, but even though we see Danny strapped down, gas pumping into his lungs to keep him unconscious for the procedure, he's suddenly awake, aware, and free from his restraints.

There is no way Danny would've been alert enough to act the way he did in the short clip that was shown.

8. The ghost let Vlad live.

This makes no sense to me either. The Phantom/Plasmius fusion killed Danny, but allowed Vlad to live, even though both were in the lab.

Okay, maybe Vlad's ghost half wasn't willing to kill his human half out of some leftover sense of self-preservation.

But wouldn't Danny's ghost half have the same instinct? Doubly so since he's so hellbent on protecting humans?

And not only did he not kill Vlad outright, but Vlad was also not killed during the explosion, which implies he got out beforehand. This could have only happened if the ghost allowed him to escape, since I have no doubt it would have noticed if Vlad tried to make a quick getaway while it was distracted.

Why would the ghost kill Danny with no remorse, but not ensure Vlad also perished?

So, what really happened?

Honestly, I'm not entirely sure. The true events could be any number of things. Maybe Vlad did the procedure for his own gain rather than to help rid Danny of his emotions. It could be to try and mold him into the perfect son while he's grieving and easy to manipulate. It could be that he was trying to separate Phantom to implant into a half-baked clone. I'm not entirely sure.

But what I do know is that what we're shown in The Ultimate Enemy is definitely not what really happened, and Vlad, for one reason or another, is manipulating the narrative to make himself look like a good person and a victim, all while painting Danny to be the reason the world is under attack.

#danny phantom #dp #the ultimate enemy #danny fenton #vlad plasmius #vlad masters #analysis #text post #my post

[pokelolmc]

Fixing TUE Part 2.5--How I'd change Dan's story.

This is my take on Dan's narrative as "Danny's evil future self" in my analysis of The Ultimate Enemy. You can find part two here:

(Part 2), Part 2.5, (Part 3)

The episode tried to play the "alternate timeline evil self" straight, but turning Dan into a Danny and Vlad fusion causes it to veer off the "Dan is Danny turned evil" mark and contradict the episode's previous setup.

I'll admit, I got a bit negative in the last post, so it's a good thing this is more about ideas for improvements.

The obvious choice is either: make Dan literally just Danny/Phantom as an adult, turned evil (to play into the original narrative) or keep the fusion aspect and subvert the narrative.

So, while it'd make for a much more straightfoward/correct "villain self" story if Dan really was just if "Danny woke up and chose violence", I think I'd stick with the fusion aspect. Because that leaves so many interesting questions to explore about identity and moral responsibility--and it'd create an interesting twist on the typical "alternative villain self" trope.

Let's say that the new version of the episode follows a similar portrayal of Dan to canon initially--"Dan is Danny's evil future self", "Danny is going to become Dan" (without Clockwork's commentary, since he knows better)--and Danny agonises over it (after he actually makes legitimate moral mistakes in the episode and feels guilty about it, like actively abusing his ghost powers to cheat the CAT).

Then he finds out how Dan was actually created, and it's treated like a plot twist. The final act reveals that Dan is a fusion of two ghost halves, and Danny's not responsible for Dan in the same way he thought he was. Alternate!Phantom is still a part of Dan, but Dan and Danny's dynamic is different now.

In-universe, maybe the reason Dan only identifies as Danny is he didn’t want to remember the truth of his creation, and went into complete denial. The fact that he was born from Danny and Vlad's deep grief/loss/loneliness/emotional pain was too much for him to confront. It was one massive, overwhelming, toxic concoction. So, he decided he’d rather forget it. Since Vlad’s human half was still alive somewhere and could meet him again (reminding him of his fusion nature), his mind could’ve chosen to disconnect from the Plasmius component of his identity.

Instead, he deluded himself into believing that he was just a Danny who turned evil after he lost his loved ones and “purified” himself of his painful human half, since Danny’s identity was the most convenient to appropriate (with his human half being dead,  and all) and the fusion woke up with Danny's logo.

Ironically, he didn’t actually lose his painful emotions. The halfa-splitting sorted deep emotional pain into the two ghost halves—based on the mental states/desires of the halfas when the separations occurred (eg., Danny’s desire to remove his pain). Rather than “ridding himself of emotions”, he became that negativity/pain incarnate, and it came out in the most destructive and monstrous way possible. After all, anger and wrath can come from a defence/vent for unacknowledged pain.

When Danny learns of Dan's backstory, he has to take a step back to process it all. He knows that Alternate!Vlad's too weak to kill him, even with the Ghost Gauntlets, so he reluctantly trusts his nemesis(...?) and makes a deal--if Vlad knows anything that could be used to stop Dan, give it over to Danny and he can go after Dan himself to undo everything in the past. No fight for the sake of a cutaway gag, here--we get some relationship development (on Danny's end, at least).

Vlad reluctantly agrees (he believes there's no way Danny can win, but he doesn't have much else of a choice--he's backed into a corner, and just thinks "What the hell? I've got nothing...")...and that triggers him to admit what happened ten years ago. Then he gives Danny the Ghost Gauntlets willingly and gets all serious:

"...Daniel?"

"...Yeah?"

"You have to promise me one thing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just swear it!"

"O-okay, okay! Jeez! I swear. Happy?"

Vlad looks down pensively before his sunken, hollow eyes bury into Danny's with alarming clarity.

"If you fail...NEVER go to me. Leave Amity Park, move to another country, hide in the Ghost Zone...I don't care. Just...stay away from me, at all costs. If I chase you, run. Run like the world depends on it."

For someone who's never seen Vlad want nothing to do with him before...acting more like Danny's response to Vlad's advances in the past...it's bizarre. It prompts him to question what's really going on in Vlad's head in his own timeline, and what if there's something still in him like this?

So Dan's backstory actually affects the plot, and plays a role in the climax of the episode. And even though he doesn't show up in person, we address Vlad's responsibility in Dan's creation and he gets to contibute, willingly and meaningfully--by providing Danny with Dan's backstory (not just the Ghost Gauntlets Danny stole from him in combat).

It could come into play as a psychological weapon, to shatter Dan's denial— “I’m not you, Dan…I CREATED you!”, “You’re not me, you were MY MISTAKE!”, causing Dan to have a third-act breakdown (technically not main!Danny's mistake, since he's not Alternate!Danny, but he's putting it in the words Dan used in order to correct him). Then the Ghostly Wail can finish him off...or maybe he's strong enough that the Ghostly Wail doesn't end him, and it's the shock of the revelation that immobilises him enough for Danny to get him into the thermos.

#danny phantom #the ultimate enemy #danny fenton #dp rewrite #tue analysis #10 dp episodes with missed potential

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Week Fog/Splatter (Also Works For Darkness/Poison And Glow Stick/REDRUM): Poised To Go Splat

Casper high, predictably, can’t even have a normal dance without it getting interrupted by something ecto.

Danny pushes in the gymnasium doors, drink -which is, in his opinion, unfortunately non-alcoholic punch- already in hand. Side-stepping and leaning against the wall purely to watch the pulsing, flashing, moving strobe lights and laser beams bouncing off and curving over people glowing bright neons thanks to the blacklight. Excluding that light, it was borderline pitch-black; which he finds he’s perfectly content with. Being able to see in even absolute dark and all that. Honestly, this would probably look cooler without his fantastic night vision. Seeing as everyone else probably can’t see the turned off ceiling lights or teachers dressed in dark colours hanging out watching the dance. But fuck, at least his parents aren’t here this time. Lancer is, but Lancer’s probably the only teacher left who doesn’t hate his entire being, guts, and continued existence.

Looking around at the decorations as he wanders aimlessly over to the food table, thank everything the theme was Creepy Critters, guess the school and town were finally tiring of making goddamn everything ghost-themed. Sure it was funny and ironic at first -honestly come on, a ghost going to ghost-themed events? HILARIOUS- but things lose that little spark of novelty real quick. Especially when you are a ghost -or half of one at least-, are surrounded by and fighting other ghosts, have ghost hunters for parents and friends, and live in the most haunted town in the world. Ghosts were their thing but nobody likes a one-trick pony, especially the people living with said pony. Now what does ponies have to do with the current Halloween Casper high ball and him acquiring fake cheesy snacks? Absolutely nothing. He’s not even wearing a pony costume. Sure he thought about it, FrightKnight would argue that undead alicorns absolutely do count as a creepy critter, but Danny’s pretty sure that’s not what the school was going for here.  

Needless to say, Danny’s rocking a pretty solid -if he says so himself- raven costume. And sure, maybe it was glowing all by itself and maybe the feathers were just slightly sentient and made of black moulded ectoplasm, but it’s not like anyone here’s going to notice that. Danny is exceptionally experienced with what people will and will not notice in this school and town. Regardless, he gets his hands on his sweet cheesy puffs... and is instantly disappointed they got the no-name brand. Those things were so greasy they legitimately tasted like straight-up flavourless grease, just with a side of cheese. Like someone poured grease into a mould, filled it with air to make it puffy ‘n shit,  and then sprinkled some cheese on top like an afterthought. Needless to say, he eats an entire handful. Danny Fenton-Phantom is not a man -teen, whatever- of refined tastes or any large amount of standards. He’ll eat cheese-flavoured grease, he’ll do it gladly.

Deciding to meander onto the dance floor aka the centre of the gym, to enjoy the light show and attempt to get lost in it a little. Most people are chitchatting with their friends, dancing stupidly, pretending to be drunk, or pretending they’re about to sneak into the bathroom to fuck purely to get a rise out of the teachers. Sure it takes all of half an hour for someone to start smashing apart glow sticks and smear the liquid around, which of course cause practically half his fellow teens -including him in all honesty- to follow suit, but that’s really par for the course at any Highschool dance worth it’s salt and ectoplasm. Besides, not like he actually had to wash his costume, fuck that he’ll just absorb the ectoplasm into his system; leaving the probably toxic glow stick juice though. He doesn’t have standards but he does have at least a mild desire to not intentionally poison himself. Regardless of the fact that his ectoplasm would just destroy whatever toxins anyway. Thinking of that though, maybe he could, like, drink one or two just to freak people out. It’s not a Casper party unless Danny Fenton does something weird and freaky, right? And pretending to get repeatedly trapped inside the mirrors and writing on them to be freed was so last year, like, literally last year. Yeah fuck it, self-inflicted poisoning be damned, that’s what he’s doing this year. Meaning he promptly snaps one open and shotguns it while winking at one of the teachers he can easily see. They scowl and throw out their hands to the side. Mission accomplished already. Nice.

Vaguely he wonders what the heck his friends are up to while he dances loosely and only absently aware of people around him. He knows neither’s coming, Tucker being grounded and Sam disliking the idea of school parties while also not being willing to tolerate one purely to keep Danny company. Which was fine, he could entertain and enjoy himself by himself just fine. And he gets that he can be a little much for most people, his friends included. But hey, they haven’t totally ditched him in life/half-life, so he’s going to consider it a plus. Tilting his head back to let some of the flashing beams periodically flash him straight in the eyes, how it made everything else blackout for a bit was a nice effect even if the light bordered on painfully bright for those split seconds. He gets his friends pulling away from him some, really it was hard for humans to be close with anything that wasn’t quite human enough. Same reason Vlad was utterly friendless, alongside being an evil nutcase anyway. Danny honestly doesn’t mind, honest, he’s perfected the loner act at least to some degree most of his life. He was always only close enough with people to be able to include them in his social circle. Sure Sam and Tucker got almost unhealthily close and attached to him for a while there, but the whole ‘we almost killed you and need to protect your dumbass now because fuck, you died’ and ‘this hero thing is cool af’ things wore off real quick. Their friendship was effectively back to normal now, close but at arm's length. He liked the breathing space even if it was just slightly lonely. But again, as he spins and twists a little, he’s perfected the sorta-loner thing.

He shotguns another little glow stick -that he’s pretty sure used to be wrapped around someone’s wrist- and lays spread out on the ground; not really giving a damn about occasionally being stepped on and waving off anyone who checks on him with a cheeky ‘I'm good’. That gets boring really quick though, especially as people just consciously know to avoid his spot on the floor now. He paused in his almost attempt to push himself up at hearing someone mutter, “ah yes! Finally got this stupid thing working”. Danny tilting his head at seeing something vibrate on the ceiling before making a hissing sound and spitting out fog. Ah, so they actually dished out for a fog machine? Oh wait, never-mind. It’s got a little green flaming F on it. Ah fuck, he should probably be worried about that, that F was probably ominous all things considered. But he can’t really be bothered to do more than watch it spit fog for a bit, fog machines were frickin’ awesome. He should totally buy one. Or make one.

It don’t take long to hear a couple mildly impressed sounds over the fogging up air above everyone’s heads, and a few complaints about it apparently smelling like rotten lime juice and cat piss. Which yeah, definitely ominous. Weren’t fog machines supposed to smell like fake vanilla or something? Make you wonder just what the Hell the added strong vanilla was there to attempt at covering up. Maybe this was just what it smelled like without the added vanilla. Doubtful and Danny’s hardly ever that lucky. Hence why he’s deciding staying on the floor is officially a good idea. Watching the effect with the lasers ‘n shit is cool as heck though.

He absolutely can tell when the fog gets far enough and thick enough to reach him, ‘cause the ecto making up his costume gets just vaguely liquidy. Oh yeah, he should probably nope out of this situation. At the very least if this stuff destroyed his costume he’d be stuck in just his boxers and a wife-beater. No one needs to see that. Or more specifically, he doesn’t want anyone to see that; considering all the scarring and the muscle he’s at least attempting to hide from the school at large.

Deciding to sit up and immediately deciding that crawling would have been a better idea at feeling like someone just started jabbing tiny needles into his face, which he immediately winces at and gets up. Pushing his way past the people, some looking legitimately drunk or otherwise like hot garbage. Zone, he probably looks drunk right about now since there is precisely zero chance he’s walking in a straight line considering how everything’s warping, bending, and pulsing. Yup, leave it to his parents to absently poison him at a seemingly basic normal high school dance. Lovely.

Well at least he got to have a good time for a while there. Right now though? He so totally is going to throw up. It’s happening and it can either happen on the dance floor -gross and unpleasant for everyone around- or in the locker room/bathroom -also gross, in fact it’s just slightly more gross but less embarrassing. But it’ll be less gross for everyone else. Which, come on, other people kinda tend to be his priority.

One stroke of luck though, the locker room is blessedly empty. Saving anyone from gross or just downright weird collateral when his costume effectively explodes in a sticky gooey ectoplasmic mess. Splattering all across the room while also sticking to him like some kind of disgusting vaguely sentient tar. Which effectively flings him into the centre of the room, smashing his back onto one of the benches, and makes wet slurpy suction noises when he lands on the ground properly. He absently thinks it was the single most comical stereotypical sounding ‘splat’ noise he’s ever heard, as he groans slightly.

Unsticking his arm from the ground with wet thwap suction noises to shot his hand over his mouth as he gags. Ah yup, there’s the whole vomit thing he was talking about. Shit body, time to get up. Preferably, like, now. It takes an honestly ungodly amount of effort to peel himself off the floor, the black ectoplasm still sticking and stretching with him as he stagger walks to the bathroom and effectively throws himself at the toilet; smashing his head on the ceramic tank in the process. Because, apparently, vomiting wasn’t enough for him. No. He also needed to have a mild headache. Fun.

It takes about three seconds before he feels like he’s hurling up his entire insides -which is a plausible theory- along with inner layers of flesh -also quite possible- and it glows ridiculously; that last one he can probably blame at least partly on the whole glow stick juice shooters idea of his.

Blinking down into the toilet bowl and wheezing, single most interesting mixture of glowing colours he’s seen in a long-ass time. And oh, yup more vomiting. Ah fuck, Jesus. He shoulda stayed home. He straight up really does feel like his insides are just mildly being torn apart or maybe liquified. Which, considering his costume and it’s black splatter remains, might be legitimately accurate. Which is, like, super not good for his half ecto ass. The fuck’s he supposed to do about it though? He’s stuck with his head in a toilet, ironically splattering the inside of that bowl about as much as the rest of the place was already messy with ecto.

He should at least attempt to do something about this. His phone is fuck knows where in the black mess behind him. Ancients knows if it even still will work properly after getting effectively soaked in supremely sticky ectoplasm and probably thrown violently into something. Eh, nobody said his ass wasn’t creative; hacking up his innards or not. Electing to use some of the ectoplasm -he’s not going to question how the heck he’s able to consciously move the black ecto. Beyond that he probably absorbed it some, in some weird attempt to make up for the glow stick contaminated crap he’s been hacking up- to smear a little ‘get help’ and ‘preferably from my dumbass parents’ on the mirrors, since speaking is kinda out of the option here. Not that anyone will walk in here and not call for help; this was kinda noticeable after all.

By the time someone does wander in he’s groaning into the stupid toilet -that he just mildly hates and feels way too friendly with at the moment- and feeling like his skin is going to bubble right off his muscles, his bones feel a little loose and wet too. Which, like, all that is a super supremely not good sign. Fuck, sometimes he wished his parents were just stupid rather than stupid smart. They wouldn’t be mildly good at actually hurting his ecto-ass otherwise.

“Oh holy crap, what the fuck”. Whoever’s footsteps get closer and make squelching noises, “oh god ew, why is it so sticky? Ah ew”. Danny retches again just to make a point that would dude bro to hurry the fuck up. “Fuck. Fenton? Of course it’s you, and- oh well that’s actually worrying. Ah, I’m just gonna go call your folks. Jesus fuck. You are one poor son of a bitch, you know that?”. Danny obviously doesn’t reply to that beyond sticking up a kinda floppy saggy arm and flipping the guy off weakly. “Wow fuck, that’s- uh. Are you like dissolving or something. Why the fuck do I still live in this tow- oh yeah hi! I don’t know what’s up but Fen-Danny dude is going all exorcist in the school locker rooms. Also kinda looks like he exploded black tar everywhere and bones seem questionable at best and pretty sure the toilet is, like, glowing or some shit so maybe come and like get him? So someone doesn’t have to, like, tie a liquid Danny up in garbage bags”. Ancients, people are way too used to weird shit in this fucking town.

Danny can almost hear his parents freaking the Hell out over the dudes phone, he would be actually able to hear it if it didn’t sound like he was underwater and actively sinking down deeper. This, decidedly, sucks. But he’s kinda good at the whole dissociating away the pain and other awfulness at this point. He feels it but like he’s watching himself feel it rather than directly feeling it. It’s a lot and kinda everything, but he’s not really there for it.

He feels the guy try to pat his back or some shit, whatever it is it definitely doesn’t happen right and he can feel himself latching onto the dude and sucking out whatever bits of ectoplasm the dude’s carting around in his system -every Amity Parker was ecto-contaminates after all- and Danny’s body kinda just devours it for some more energy. “Oh god, congrats I’m officially disgusted. I mean, I already was but give me back my freaking arm. Cannibalism is so not your style. Jesus”.

Both of them hear someone else opening the door. “I really wouldn’t, there’s some honestly nasty shit going on and this tar stuff is like fucking flypaper or some shit”.

“Holy fuck! Okay this is kinda cool and super Halloween-esque. But yeah- oh fuck! Hell no!”. Danny can tell the black ecto -which, fuck, absolutely part of him now. Cool. He needed the energy anyway- has sorta bubbled and popped onto the new guy and grabs at him. Promptly absorbing more ecto from that dude and apparently his ecto has just decided that this is the course of emergency action. Decontaminate people via lowkey ecto-cannibalising them. Yeah this is his luck alright. Not that this is actually really making him any better, since he just keeps throwing whatever up. But hey, it’s keeping him from getting worse. That’s something. What he honestly doesn’t appreciate really is new guy running out of the bathroom and taking a stretchy string of black with him. Right back to the whole poison fog situation. So he makes a damn point to smack more ecto on the mirror, ‘fog machine off’.

“Ah, you literally have not let go of my arm. But ah fuck, I’ll just text a friend. Fuck man”.

-

The dance outside goes into mild panic chaos mode as soon as a guy book’s it out of the locker rooms like he’s attempting to flee from the black thing grabbing him, which promptly just explodes and splatters everywhere. Coating, bubbling, crawling, and splattering all over the floor, walls, and multiple people. From there it practically spreads around like a freaking plague sticking from person to person.

Someone does manage to get to one of the teachers though, “the, fog machine, it’s causing this, shit”. The teacher sighs, “of course something the Fenton's made is causing this”, and runs off.

The chaos only gets worse when the Fenton’s themselves barge in, everyone pointing at the black stuff -which they can’t even be sure is ectoplasm at this point- or at the locker room doors. Which is enough to jerk the two hunters out of their shock and get them back to bolting to the locker rooms, which had been their goal to begin with. Meanwhile, the teachers attempt to free people from the sticky mess, fend the black stuff off, or control the chaos. Everyone wondering why the heck school dancers can literally never ever go off without a hitch.

-

Danny makes a point to smear up the mirror messages at just vaguely scenting his folks, while the dude mutters, “oh thank fuck”. Danny can practically feel the guy flailing around the arm that isn’t apparently stuck in him, which like mind trip right? Not that this entire event wasn’t already a bullshit trip and a half.

Seconds later feeling a very solid hand on his shoulder as he retches a little more and feels dude guy get yanked away from him. Well obvious as shit what happened there. His folks suits were ecto-phobic and ecto-proof after all. “Danny? Sweetie?”. Ah so that was his mom. Nice to know. He’d like to leave this entire situation now. Thank you very much.

He can hear her scowl and sounding slightly less directly talking to him, “damnit. Looks like the ecto-repulsitory solution is affecting him. I knew we should have tested it at home”.

“There was hardly time Mads! Nothing for it now I guess!”. His dad freaking laughs. Cool. Glad they’re having fun. They could totally help him out here any minute now. Like, any minute now.

Those glow sticks were a bloody terrible idea, the toilet smells fucking rank and he’s blaming it on that; he needs some kind of scapegoat after all, and it sure as shit wasn’t gonna be his ecto.

Who he’s assuming is his mom pulls him back and he sorta collapses backwards -into what he’s just gonna assume is a blanket- rather bonelessly. Like, literally boneless. As in, fuck he’s so totally a vaguely person-shaped sorta semi-solid liquid right now. Lovely. He should probably pull himself together before he scares the piss, shit and vinegar out of his folks. And hey, he’s not smelling or tasting the lime anymore so he might actually be successful at that. Though he makes some not particularly impressed or happy gag/grumbling noises at feeling his folks physically trying to tear off stuff from him. Probably the black ecto, which was kinda understandable at the moment. But fuck, that’s kinda all that’s feeding him ecto-energy at the moment so kindly fuck off yeah? He does manage to slur out, “mom”, in an annoyed tone before gaging and coving his mouth with a very limp hand again.

“Jack, bucket now”. Which yeah cool, he’s down for not throwing up all over himself. So fine, he appreciates the bucket as he hacks and gags some more. But at the very least the whole vomit ecto thing feels less thick and sticky, more vaguely like light water. Which may or may not be a good thing. But that’s pretty typical for, like, half the shit that happens to him these days. He gives his folks a little thumbs up when he’s done though. Partly to be an ass, partly to be reassuring. Those two things don’t seem like they can coexist, but by the Ancients do they ever. His mom takes the bucket away.

Blinking his eyes open a bit blearily, noting being wrapped in a towel -an anti-ecto one specifically- like a little Danny burrito. Not that he was exactly edible. Zone, he very explicitly wasn’t edible. Considering how ectoplasm was pretty gosh darn toxic. Glancing around at the black sticky splattered everywhere, well damn he sure made one Hell of a mess. The poor fucking janitor. It looks like his folks successfully ripped it all off him and are using the blanket to keep it all off. Explains why he feels tired and energetically spent then. Wasn’t being fed/absorbing ectoplasmic energy any more. Eh oh well, not that he can really complain about that to his folks. Instead choosing to groan a little, “what have I told you guys, about not testing shit against, me and my shit, before using it, like this”. And really? They have had this conversation dozens of times. Sure they still -how they haven’t come across the idea of halfas yet is absolutely befuddling- thought he was just weirdly ecto-contaminated. But they knew shit affected him and yet....

“Sorry Sweetie”.

His dad laughs a little, “we were in a bit of a rush. Wanted to protect the dance from ghosts you know!”.

Danny snorts, oh yeah, they so totally protected it from ghosts... by literally poisoning one. “Funny thing. Don’t think no ghost, has ever crashed, one of the dances. Usually you guys”. Ah Hell, he didn’t mean for that to sound kinda cutting; based on their slight grimaces it was at least somewhat hurtful. Which of course means now he’s gotta fix that. Fuck him. “Didn’t mean it, that way. Aw Hell whatever. Let’s just go home, yeah?”.

His dad scoops him up without any hesitation, “you sure Danny-boy?”.

Danny rolls his eyes tiredly, slumping bonelessly, “I doubt I’ll be, doing much more dancing”. Hell, was anyone? Judging by how they all kinda scuttle embarrassingly out of the locker room to a gym filled with only sticky black and people still yanking their limbs and shoes out of the tar-like ectoplasm. Why the heck the laser light show is still going on he doesn’t have the slightest clue. But hey, it looks pretty fucking cool, he’ll give it that. He kinda wanted to squirm out of his fabric confines and reach down to scoop some up, it was kinda part of him after all, but Ancients knows what in all is in that stuff at this point. Bits of other people’s contamination, fog poison, glow stick juice, generalised floor hunk, food and juice obviously, maybe even bits of people’s food. Yeah, he’s gonna give that one a hard pass. Plus his folks would freak at him. They didn’t exactly want him more ‘contaminated’, after all. Still he gives an impressed whistle. One of the teachers scowling at him, “you just had to one-up yourself huh?”. Which Danny gives a cheeky lopsided and slightly melty smile at.

Danny speaks back up as his folks settle him down in the GAV, “so, what’s that stuff supposed to do? What did it even do?”. He has a few ideas but better to let them explain themselves to him. Their intentions did matter at least a little.

His dad perks up, “oh! It was supposed to disorient and discombobulate any ghosts! And make them unable to use abilities by making their ectoplasmic cells disjointed!”, then looking rather guilty, “I guess with you it made your more unusual ecto suffer some kind of disconnect with the rest of you. Like it made your body think it was rotten. Like food poisoning! And made your ecto ‘think’ your body was foreign so it tried dissolving it!”, tapping his chin, “not the slightest idea what was up with the black stuff clinging to you though”, and looks to his mom who shrugs.

Danny will admit that shit was confusing as Hell, so fine that would make a suitable deterrent. Not so suitable when the thing it’s trying to deter can’t fucking move away from it effectively though. So major design flaw there. Ah well, with his less than pleasant -for everyone involved- reaction, they’ll probably scrap this particular experiment. Which is totally fine by him. He may as well satiate their curiosity a little, to avoid any repeat incidences at the least, “ah well, I may have went and made my costume out of some of that black purified experimental ectoplasm”.

His mom blinks at him, “you did what???”, shaking her head in clear disbelief, though really they should expect this kind of stunt from him at this point, “sweetie, did you at least have something protecting your skin?”.

Danny grins a little, “I used that spray stuff”, which wasn’t even a lie. Walking around a dance with literal purified ecto on him without spraying on some kind of barrier to keep it from hurting anyone would have been grade A stupid, even for him. And honestly? That probably saved his ass slightly, was probably why that ecto had been able to absorb other ecto at all instead of just being a liquid sticky mess.

His mom taps her chin, “huh, the caustic interaction between the settled spray and fog formula must have caused the ectoplasm to coagulate and seek out energy sources”. Danny decidedly doesn’t say shit, let them think what they want. While she continues, “and you were its closest potential source but were obviously having a reaction yourself, so it just clung to you instead”. It would probably be mean of him to point at that it was kinda part of him at that point and that he could absolutely feel through it. Or that it wasn’t feeding itself but rather him. So that he, y’ know, would, like, pass out from energy loss or some shit. Passing out in a toilet, ugh that so would have been not fun. Thank you weirdly sticky black ecto stuff.

Anyway, he yawns, because now he’s tired and would like to genuinely replenish all the ecto he hacked up. At least he was a bit more solid now though. That was a positive something.

His mom smiles at him sweetly a bit as they get home, “I guess we best let you rest rather than spewing theories at you”, and nods at his dad, who swiftly and surprisingly smoothly scoops him up. Danny’s cool with this particular course of action, not making a fuss about his dad carrying him up to his room or his mom kissing him on the forehead afterwards.

Eyeing his phone, naw, he’ll let his friends find out on their own and be confused for a bit. That’s what they get for sorta ditching him.

-

Nightshade: do I want to know how you ‘unleashed a black slime monster’ at the dance?

PDAxpda: ???

PDAxpda: ‘monster’ not ‘ghost’

PDAxpda: found photo the heckers

Nightshade: someone also mentioned you got drunk on glow sticks and vomited literal rainbows

Nightshade: nice asettic but yoyr a dumbass

PDAxpda: 💯 that shits toxic

PDAxpda: not that that matters to a certain someone

Dpain: 😉

Dpain: and I guess I kinda qualify as a monster

PDAxpda: I hate the implications there

Nightshade: that black shit was you wasn’t it you ass

Dpain: only vaguly

Dpain: nebulously

Dpain: margunally

Nightshade: I hate you

Dpain: 😏

End.

#ectober #ectoberweek2020 #ectoberweek #Danny Phantom #phandom #danny fenton #maddie fenton #jack fenton #vomiting #highschool dance #don't drink glow sticks kids #danny's a little shit #getting sick #fan fic #phan phic #my writing #have a fic suck my dick #phantomphangphucker #yeah that's right i put six prompts into one fic #suck it #gothmoth #thetribalmoth

[eddiesdiaz]

body swap au for @stacksonweek day 4: magical mishap (a little bit late as always) // co-written by the beautiful amazing @florenceandthemachine whom i love and adore

“I’m tired, Jackson.”

“Shut up and scrub, Stilinski.”

Stiles might have laughed if he had the energy.

As it was, he did not—he and Jackson were standing waist-deep in a river that cut Beacon Hills Preserve nearly in half, scrubbing blood and rot and…various other things out of their clothes, skin, and (worst of all, in Stiles’ opinion) hair. 

He still wasn’t entirely sure how a golem wound up in Beacon Hills—it was green, and huge, and smelled like a dead thing that had been dragged through a fucking sewer. The green swamp thing (golem, Stiles mentally corrected) wasn’t even their enemy, which made it all the more frustrating—it was targeting a group of witches, a coven that Derek had given permission to travel through Hale territory.

The golem had other ideas, apparently. 

A few dead hikers later and Derek, in his infinite alpha wisdom and self-loathing, had immediately decided that because he let the witches onto Beacon Hills land, they must have been the ones killing people—ignoring everything that Stiles was trying to say, about how the deaths they had come across didn’t make sense, Derek, and there was absolutely zero magical residue at all, Derek, and I swear to god if you slash my tires to keep me from staking out again, Derek...

...And naturally, Derek was wrong, and wasted so much time and energy going after a powerful group of beings that would have been much better served as an ally, not an enemy. So Stiles had worked even harder. He did research, he looked up proof, he found a defense, and after almost three days awake—which, even then, was barely enough time—he had a solution.

A solution that relied a little too heavily on Danny pulling some text messages off of Derek’s phone, sure, but it was a solution nonetheless. He had managed to track down where the pack had split up in their futile (and literal) witch hunt, and with the research he had done, it was easy to know which oath to follow. Stiles only wished that path didn’t wind up with his hand almost elbow deep in the chest of a nasty ass monster made of mud and moss, wrapping his hand around a tiny piece of parchment, and pulling it free with a tug. And then pretending that he wasn’t on the brink of vomiting as the thing blew up, a moment before it was about to crush half of the pack in one of its giant, muddy fists. 

Which led to the here and now, standing in a river, trying not to barf. Great way to spend a Tuesday night. 

“I am tired, Jackson.”

Something in his voice gives Jackson pause, and Stiles can’t even muster up the energy to feel thankful at the lack of snarky report. 

“I haven’t slept in days. Days. Just so I could make sure that I had this information right. I saved several pack members from…injury, at least, if not worse, I fucking stopped Derek from starting something with a coven of witches that he probably wouldn’t have walked way from. I did all of that and I did it alone, and I just...and after that…and then fucking Derek!”

Fucking Derek indeed, because after all that, did Stiles get a thank you? Did he get any appreciation? No. He got Derek yelling in his face about getting in the way, and then a barked order for he and Jackson to scrub up, get home, and stay out of the way. And now they’re standing waist-deep in a river, and Stiles is so furious with the entire situation he doesn’t even think to ogle Jackson like his life depends on it when the former Kanima decides that the best way to wash out his shirt is by stripping it off.

He starts scrubbing at a spot on his shirt with renewed vigor, fuming to himself, only pausing when the splash of Jackson’s steps signal movement behind him.

“Stilinski, I get it, but I think—“

“Ha! You get it? You get nothing, Whittemore.” Stiles snaps, whirling on his heel, almost slipping and falling beneath the water before steadying himself. “You absolutely do not get it. I work so hard to keep everyone safe. I’ve had to do everything, everything on my own, while you… I mean, you wanted the bite, and Derek gave it to you. You wanted Lydia, and you got her. You want a new car, a new lacrosse team, a better wardrobe, you got that too. People just hand these things to you—“ his scrubbing was reaching a furious level now— “and meanwhile, I do everything in my power to keep you and the rest of those fucks safe, and all I get is snapped at, and it’s just—not—fair!”

The fabric beneath his fingers tears suddenly and he just…freezes, staring through the new hole in his shirt with shocked eyes, and blurry vision. Is he crying? Probably, but he’s not sure—it’s a small consolation to know that even if he is, the stench of rot and mud is so thick, Jackson probably can’t smell it on him anyway.

Because more than being tired, Stiles was afraid. Is afraid. Has been and likely always will be afraid. Afraid that no matter what he did, his dad would get hurt, or he would fail, or his friends would still wind up dead—that Jackson would wind up dead, not that he would ever admit to it—and tonight was too close a call. The fight drains out of him as he looks down at his fingers through the hole, shoulders slumping, voice flat as he starts to make his way out of the river. All he wants right now is to go home, hug his dad, and pass out for at least a day.

“I appreciate the empathy or whatever, but you have no idea what it feels like to be in my position, Jackson. Fucking none. So just… take your Porsche back to your mansion, kiss your still living parents, and I’ll see you at school.”

Stiles could almost swear he sees something soft in Jackson’s eyes, something almost resembling sympathy, but he can’t find it in him to investigate further. The exhaustion is pulling at him relentlessly, and for once, he stops fighting it. Pulling into the driveway on full autopilot, he barely manages to throw his wet, smelly clothes off of his body before collapsing into bed, asleep as soon as his head meets the pillow. 

///

As is his usual, he’s slow to rise the next morning, dreading what he’s sure will be a battered and bruised body, but when he grits his teeth and stretches…nothing. There’s no pain, no stiffness, not even a popping joint. His body feels…good. His bed feels good. Has his bed always been so comfortable? He’s reaching for his phone when his arm smacks a wall instead, and that’s the first indication that something is off. 

He’s never been to Jackson’s house, but he knows immediately that’s where he is as soon as he opens his eyes — because no other teenager would have a fucking king size bed with silk sheets, a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, and a walk-in closet the size of Stiles’ entire bedroom. 

His first thought is that he’s remembering last night wrong. That he had actually ended up being too tired to drive, so Jackson brought him here to crash. Which was really cool of him, especially after Stiles unleashed his raging inner monologue on him, and he should definitely apologize for that. 

Once he drags himself out of Jackson’s absurdly comfortable bed, though, and seeks out the nearest mirror to assess whether he looks as bad as he thinks he should feel, he finds Jackson’s face staring back at him. 

It’s probably a testament to their completely fucking ridiculous lives that Stiles doesn’t even flinch. Because after all the shit that’s happened to them, why not this too? In fact, having some sort of Freaky Friday situation with Jackson is pretty damn low on his list of things to be concerned about. Barely even on the radar, really. It’s more of a slight inconvenience than anything. 

Assuming, of course, that they had actually switched places and Stiles’ body wasn’t like…dead in a ditch somewhere. That would be a huge bummer for everyone involved.

To be honest, all Stiles wants to do is lock himself up in this absolute paradise of a bedroom and catch up on his sleep. He feels more well-rested than he has in weeks after a night in Jackson’s bed (or is it because he’s in Jackson’s body, who probably sleeps this well every night [or, because supernatural healing and rejuvenation capabilities]?), but he could still use another solid day of rest and relaxation. 

As it is, though, he checks Jackson’s phone and sees that he’s late for school. Stiles would ditch in a heartbeat if he was himself, but golden boy Jackson Whittemore has had perfect attendance since kindergarten. So he throws on some clothes and hauls ass out the door, all the while wondering why he knows that, and more importantly, why he cares. 

///

Despite his best efforts (speeding like a mad man in the Porsche, for fun just as much as necessity), he’s too late to catch Jackson before class. He spends the entirety of the morning trying to get used to the fact that he can hear everyone’s heartbeats and smell the way they’re feeling. Stiles knows damn near everything there is to know about being a werewolf, but actually being one is different. It’s sensory overload, and it’s overwhelming as hell. 

He holds it together well enough, though, because this isn’t his first rodeo. He’s been through this enough times to know how to control it. So he does, and he makes it to lunch without wolfing out, which he’s pretty proud of. Being a werewolf isn’t something Stiles has ever wanted, but he has to say, he’s kind of crushing it. 

As soon as he sees Jackson (himself?) in the cafeteria, he rushes to Stiles and pulls him into the hallway so they can talk alone. 

“What the fuck, Stilinski?”

Stiles has to laugh. 

“I have no idea, dude,” he answers with a shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“You look like shit,” Jackson observes, smirking in a way that usually makes Stiles want to punch him when he’s not looking at himself. “That’s not easy to do with my face.”

Stiles, for his part, just rolls his eyes. “Shut up. Have you told anyone what happened yet?” 

“Yeah, I told McCall, and he told Derek. We’re all meeting at the loft after school to figure out what’s going on.”

“Great,” Stiles deadpans, barely holding back a dramatic sigh. Just thinking about dealing with the pack right now is exhausting, but as much as he would have loved to entertain the idea of fooling all of their friends, it was probably for the best to keep them in the loop. 

Jackson laughs and makes a noise of agreement. “Hey, you’re good, right? You have the wolf under control?” 

Stiles nods. “I think so, yeah. So far, so good.”

“Yeah, I figured you would, but I had to check.”

Jackson says it as easy as anything, like it’s no big deal, but Stiles is taken aback by it. Because while he has to fight everyone else tooth and nail just to prove his worth, here Jackson is trusting Stiles to handle himself, simple as that. Stiles is grateful that, for once, Jackson can’t hear his heart stutter in his chest.

“So I’ll see you after school?” Jackson asks, snapping Stiles out of his thoughts. 

“Yeah, see you then,” he agrees. 

///

The pack meeting turns out to be an hour-long session of bashing Stiles, treating him like a child and insisting they all take turns “looking after him” in case he fucks something up and they have to step in and fix it. 

None of that surprises Stiles, if he’s being honest. What does surprise him, however, is the way Jackson stands up for him. 

“For God’s sake, he doesn’t need a fucking babysitter,” he scoffs, looking pointedly at Derek. “He single-handedly raised Scott’s wolf when his alpha was nowhere to be found, and he helped every single one of us with our control when you couldn’t be bothered. If you think he can’t handle this on his own, you’re full of shit.”

That earns a stunned silence from everyone in the room, and Stiles chooses to ignore the flush high on his cheeks. Jackson typically wasn’t big on talking during these meetings—in fact, it was pretty likely that was the most he had ever said in a pack meeting, and all those words were just to defend Stiles? 

That’s weirder than the body swap.

“Hey, uh, thanks for that,” Stiles tells him once the meeting is adjourned and they’re headed back out to their cars. 

“It was true,” Jackson says with a shrug. “So are you gonna tell your dad about all of this?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t wanna worry him for nothing. Just don’t let him eat garbage and be sarcastic, but not mean, and he’ll believe you’re me.”

“Got it.”

“What about me? You have any tips for your parents?” Stiles prompts. 

Jackson laughs at that, though Stiles isn’t really sure why. “Trust me, you don’t need any tips,” he says. 

Stiles can’t help but be a little annoyed at the cryptic advice, because what the hell is that supposed to mean?

He’s chewing the thought over as he pushes the button on the visor of Jackson’s Porsche (which he has named Persephone), and his brow furrows when he looks into an empty garage. He thought that maybe Jackson’s parents had been up and out before his school day started, but they weren’t home now, either? 

A business trip, maybe? Jackson hadn’t seemed worried about it, so he probably didn’t have a reason to be either…but he had to admit, he isn’t sure how to feel about being alone from the moment he unlocked the front door to the moment he woke up—to a very amusing set of text messages, he might add.

11:37 PM: dude how do you get your human brain to shut off

11:44 PM: seriously what the fuck i am tired why cant i go to sleep?

12:17 AM: fuck it im going to count your moles to bore myself into a coma

12:43 AM: didnt work. you have fourteen beauty marks on your left ass cheek. just fyi

Stiles did not want to know that; in fact, any schadenfreude he may have been feeling at apparently ditching his overworked human brain was immediately muted by the thought that Jackson had technically (apparently) looked at his naked ass.

...Which leads to Stiles realizing as he shampoos his hair that technically, he’s seen all of Jackson naked too. Technically, hell, he’s currently feeling Jackson up as he scrubs. It’s a lot of technicalities that Stiles absolutely does not want to face. 

He rinses quicker than he washed and almost jumps into some clothes, weirdly nervous about the potential to see something that he feels he really shouldn’t spend too much time getting up close and personal with—even if Jackson was apparently using a hand mirror to count beauty marks on his temporary ass cheek.

///

He opens the garage door and starts Persephone up, but before he can fully back out of the driveway, a sleek sports car is pulling in the drive beside him, and sure enough, Derek in all his brooding glory is soon rapping on the passenger side window. 

“Open up. I’m going to make sure you get to school.”

Stiles sighs to himself before unlocking the door. He should have figured that Derek would take part in his “keep stupid Stiles from causing trouble” campaign, but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy having Derek anywhere near him—or the feelings that came with it.

Because the truth is, feeling Derek this close to him makes him fucking uncomfortable. He isn’t sure if it’s a wolf thing, or a Derek thing, but every breath he takes while they’re in the enclosed vehicle makes him more and more nervous. If he were in his own body, he’d be fidgeting like crazy—but now, he can just feel his brain going into overdrive, trying to access that little part of Jackson’s hindbrain that feels his instincts going crazy.

Everything gets catalogued as he drives—while he had always thought Derek would give off commanding, calming vibes, it’s more of the opposite. He can actually smell Derek’s annoyance (which is not surprising) but there’s something else there, something that’s bitter, acidic, deep rooted and laced in everything Derek does or says. 

He’s halfway out of the car, engine off, keys in hand, when it clicks in his head. Derek is talking to him, low and monotone, and if you weren’t listening with supersonic hearing, you might have assumed he was bored. He’s in the middle of explaining something that sounds suspiciously like a curfew (just because Stiles can hear does not mean he was listening) when Stiles interrupts. 

“Jesus, Derek. I hope you hid your emotions better around Jackson before we went all Freaky Friday. I can’t tell which you hate more right now, this body in general or the fact that I’m in it.”

Admittedly, Stiles isn’t sure what he’s hoping for after he speaks—an argument, maybe, or a denial, but when Derek just stares at him, eyes wide in surprise even as his brow furrows, it tells him all that he needs to know, and he can feel his heart sink. Being annoyed with the situation is one thing, and it would have been stupid to assume Derek was thrilled about the situation when he and Jackson were still sorting it out, but damn. It was a punch in the gut to know that Derek really did hate him.

Or maybe he hates Jackson—which, when that thought crosses his mind, makes Stiles heart fucking break. Because sure, Stiles was annoying on the best of days, but Jackson? He was a genuinely good person. A genuine asshole, sure, but a good person underneath it all. And with all the research he had done on pack bonds and family units, he couldn’t imagine how it would feel for Jackson, Derek’s first beta, to feel that loathing all the time.

Derek still wasn’t denying anything, and Stiles feels a burn at the back of his tongue, building up just to tear into Derek at a moment’s notice.

He’s about to open his mouth again when a familiar roar catches his ears—and in the three seconds it took for him to turn and identify where Jackson was piloting his much-missed blue behemoth of a car into the lot, Derek was gone. 

Good, Stiles thought. Hateful fucker.

Stiles and Jackson may have still been shaky on the “friends” area, but a furious Stiles isn’t the most rational Stiles, and suddenly he’s overwhelmed with an inexplicable urge to protect Jackson. To shield him from everyone and everything trying to hurt him, because apparently that list includes his own alpha. 

It’s illogical. The rational part of his brain realizes this, and yet the feeling is so primal and all-encompassing that he can’t resist it. He can feel himself popping fangs (which is a weird fucking sensation that he will have to address later) as Jackson walks up to him and Stiles immediately wraps him up in a hug. He holds him tight, buries his face in the crook of Jackson’s neck and just breathes. 

Jackson seems surprised, but he doesn’t say anything. He hugs Stiles back with no complaints or snarky comments, apparently content to stand there with Stiles for as long as he needs. If Stiles had to guess, he’d say Jackson’s probably familiar with the feeling of needing to be close, which breaks his heart a little bit, considering he can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Jackson seek out comfort from any of the pack. 

Well, fuck that. That ends now, as far as he’s concerned.

“You good?” Jackson asks when Stiles finally lets go of him, an embarrassing amount of time later. 

“Yeah,” he says, and it’s actually not a lie. He feels much more grounded and at ease, though Jackson is giving him a strange look. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, your eyes are just...they’re not blue.”

It takes Stiles a minute to figure out what Jackson’s talking about. Once he does, though, he recognizes the bitterness of guilt and sadness that’s seeped into Jackson’s scent. That breaks his heart even more. 

Stiles takes a deep breath and blinks a few times, willing his eyes to go back to normal. He has no idea what to say to that, if he’s being honest. 

“Come on, walk me to class,” he decides on, because anything else would be way too heavy for the school parking lot at 8:00 AM.

“So I’m gonna do some research tonight, since the rest of the pack isn’t doing shit to help us,” he continues. He lets his shoulder brush against Jackson’s as they walk. “Don’t worry, I got ahead on your homework last night. I’m keeping your perfect GPA intact.”

“Thanks,” Jackson says, chuckling. “I can help, if you want. Or keep you company, at least, since I know you’re a control freak and you like to do everything yourself.”

“Takes one to know one,” Stiles retorts, biting back a smile. “Yeah. Uh, I’ll call you?”

“Cool,” Jackson agrees, and that’s that. 

///

He spends almost three hours on the phone with Jackson that night. True to his word, he lets Stiles do his thing, but he talks to him, and he listens while Stiles reads from the pages he finds online. It’s not that different from his usual research routine, but it’s a hell of a lot less lonely to have someone by his side, supporting him. 

As far as Stiles can figure, what happened to them was brought on by a witch’s spell, which he can’t say is surprising, considering how royally Derek had pissed them off. The only way to undo it is to let it play out, until they reach whatever outcome the spell intended in order to switch them back. It’s not the best news, considering neither he nor Jackson have any idea what that outcome is. 

He still hasn’t seen even a glimpse of Jackson’s parents, after almost three days of being here. He’d briefly considered texting, but when he opened Jackson’s message threads with them, he saw that he hadn’t texted either one of them in over six months. Stiles wants to ask Jackson about it, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to know the answer. 

“This is so weird,” he says instead, because they really haven’t given the appropriate amount of acknowledgement to that fact. 

“What is? Being rich and popular and perfect?” 

Stiles rolls his eyes so hard he’s sure Jackson can feel it through the phone. “Among other things. Namely the fact that you’re technically the first person I’ve ever seen naked.”

It comes out of his mouth before he realizes what he’s saying, and he wishes the ground would open up and swallow him right about now. Jackson doesn’t seem bothered by it at all, though. 

“Have you jerked off yet?” he asks, sounding more curious than anything. At Stiles’ spluttering silence, he adds, “What? I have.”

Stiles lets out a scandalized gasp and then proceeds to choke on air, much to Jackson’s amusement. He’s definitely laughing at Stiles, the bastard. 

“I mean, I didn’t really have much of a choice,” Jackson continues easily. “You were wound up so tight I thought you were going to explode. I had to take the edge off.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles mutters, flushing bright red. He doesn’t know how Jackson’s being so nonchalant about this, but his virgin ass is mortified. 

“I’m just saying, it might make you feel better.”

“I’m not...I...don’t you think it’s, like, beyond weird?” Stiles manages to ask, though it takes a lot of effort to string together a full sentence. 

“Kind of, but when have our lives ever not been weird?” Jackson asks, and Stiles has to admit, he has a point. “I’m hot, you’re hot, so what’s the difference, really?”

Jackson keeps talking, Stiles is pretty sure, but he doesn’t hear anything after you’re hot. His brain short-circuits. 

“I’m hanging up now,” Stiles chokes out, because he can’t handle this conversation anymore. 

“If it helps, I give you my blessing to feel me up to your heart’s content,” Jackson offers. 

“Goodnight, Jackson.”

Jackson laughs, sounding almost fond. “Night, Stilinski.”

Stiles tosses the phone at the table, ignoring how his face was bright red, and his eyes were probably bright again, and his fangs weren’t the only thing that had… popped in that last ten minutes. 

More than anything, though, he was acutely aware of the warmth in his chest. 

Jackson thinks he’s hot.

10:51 PM: found another one. fifteen beauty marks.

10:52 PM: JACKSON I SWEAR TO GOD

He is so, so fucked.

///

11:29 AM: i want some shrimp scampi tonight.

11:31 AM: ehh, it’s healthy enough i guess, dad will like it. everything you need should be in the pantry.

11:32 AM: … stilinski are you fucking serious right now? i didn’t say your dad wanted shrimp scampi, i said i wanted shrimp scampi

Stiles almost snorts in the middle of his History class—which was better than falling asleep, but only barely—and can’t help but feel the smug sense of pride that bloomed in his chest.

11:35 AM: why jackson, are you asking me to dinner?

11:40 AM: no, dumbass, i’m telling you that i’m coming over to my own house and you’re making me shrimp scampi.

Stiles rolls his eyes and sends an affirmative-looking emoji, a smile on his face as the bell rings and he shoves everything into his bag. He taps at his phone as it buzzes again in his hand.

11:45 AM: trust me, when i ask you to dinner you’ll realize it.

Stiles hates his life a little bit. 

But only a little bit.

///

“Come on, Jackson. I didn’t even make the pasta myself, it is not that hard to boil some water.”

“The fuck do you mean, you didn’t make the pasta this time? How the fuck do you know how to make pasta?!”

Stiles laughs as he pushes some shrimp around in a pan, watching as Jackson goes to sit on the counter. The kitchen is huge — probably bigger than Stiles’ own house — but he definitely isn’t going to complain about Jackson’s general proximity. “What did you tell my dad, anyway? I can’t imagine he was so keen to have you spend some time over here after you tried to sue us,” he says, draining the pasta, looking up after Jackson’s silence carries on a little too long.

Jackson is personifying the deer in the headlights look, a piece of dried pasta broken off in his mouth. 

“Is…is he going to care if I’m not home?” Jackson asks, his voice shockingly small, and Stiles can literally smell the panic rising in Jackson’s voice, which he only needs one whiff of to determine he never wants to smell it on Jackson again. 

Stiles can hear Jackson’s heart start to race, and he doesn’t even think before he goes into full damage control mode. He immediately starts talking (a distraction) and grabs his own cell phone from the table (taking the attention off of Jackson), narrating what he was texting to his dad (letting Jackson know what the right thing to do was, without bringing up what he had done wrong). 

He leans up against the counter as he speaks, his shoulder pressed firmly along Jackson’s, giving him a point of contact to focus on. It was almost “panic attack 101” at this point — Scott had done the same thing to give him some time to calm down when he had an attack in public, back when Scott wasn’t a fuckhead, and even though they were alone in Jackson’s giant-ass house, he figures it would be a better way to help Jackson down than confronting him head on. 

Do werewolves get panic attacks? Stiles really doesn’t want the answer to that question. 

A small scoff from Jackson is the only cue Stiles needs to stop his regular rambling, and he’s momentarily thankful for the grumpy look on Jackson’s face as he chews his dry pasta. It’s the same look that he got whenever Scott suggested a better lacrosse play—the “okay you’re right, shut up about it”, but Stiles takes it as the signal that it is, that Jackson’s okay.

Which is great, because no sooner than that crisis is averted does the next one come up. What started with the slam of a car door outside (down the street or down the block, Stiles still wasn’t sure how to gauge distance by sound yet) turns into muffled voices, talks of luggage and “the car blocking the drive.”

He has no doubt that his expression is probably hilarious when he turns to Jackson, but he’s on the brink of panic himself as a key turns in the lock — because dealing with the pack was one thing, but lying to “his parents” in an attempt to pass off as “their child”? 

Jackson had a near panic attack just thinking about Stiles’ dad, and now here he was about to come face(s) to face(s) with his own parents, and Stiles… is officially out of ideas. Or creative lies. Both wells have about run dry.

Stiles freezes on sight when Jackson’s parents walk into the kitchen. He can’t help it — they’re intimidating as shit, okay? For one horrible, painfully awkward moment, they all just stare at each other in silence. 

“Uh—”

“Jackson,” his mom finally greets him, and although she’s smiling, her tone sounds like she’s addressing a business partner instead of her son. “You’re here. With company. Making a mess of the kitchen.”

She says it with an astonishing amount of contempt, acting way more appalled than the situation calls for — like they’re doing lines of coke off her kitchen counter, not just making dinner — and Stiles is fucking thrown. 

“Yeah, uh, sorry, I—” he tries, but it dies in his throat. He couldn’t finish the sentence if his life depended on it. 

“I didn’t think you knew how to work the stove,” his dad chimes in, with that same “there is company here” type of smile on his face, so fucking condescending it makes Stiles’ skin crawl. 

He can smell their disdain, can feel the irritation radiating off of them in waves — like this entire conversation is nothing but an inconvenience. It’s the first time they’ve seen Jackson in three days (that Stiles is aware of, but he’d guess it’s probably been longer) and yet it’s blatantly apparent they’d rather be anywhere else. 

Stiles is nauseous. He has that feeling again, the same fierce protectiveness of Jackson he’d been hit with after he talked to Derek. He wants to yell, to unleash absolute hell on them for being such unbelievable fuckwads to their only goddamn son, but he doesn’t know enough about this fucked up relationship dynamic to feel comfortable doing it. The last thing he wants is to make things harder for Jackson, and he’s pretty sure telling them off would definitely push things into the territory of worse. 

The problem is, though, Stiles is having trouble mustering up any other, less dangerous reaction. Because as far as he’s concerned, the only appropriate response here is pure, unbridled rage. He takes a deep breath, then another, trying to buy some time, and then Jackson comes in with the save. 

“Actually, I just came to pick Jackson up. We have a project we’re working on for school, so he’s gonna stay at my house for the night.”

His parents just shrug like they literally couldn’t care less and walk away without another word. 

Jackson’s silent as they wash the dishes, and for the entire car ride. Stiles can feel his eyes glowing gold again, but thankfully that’s the only external sign of his anger, so he doesn’t bring it up — he doesn’t know how to. In fact, neither of them speak again until they’re laying side by side in Stiles’ bed, staring up at the ceiling in unison. 

“Jackson,” Stiles breathes, afraid he’ll scare him off if he speaks too loud or makes any sudden movements. “What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry,” Jackson answers, sounding resigned. “I should have warned you. I just...I’ve never told anyone.”

“Explain it to me,” Stiles says softly. 

He feels Jackson shrug next to him. “We’re more like roommates than anything. I stay out of their way, and they stay out of mine. They drag me to work events sometimes to make themselves look good, but other than that, they’re happiest when I’m not around.” 

Suddenly, so many things he knows about Jackson make more sense. His compulsive need to be the best at everything, his arrogance and his superiority complex — he doesn’t believe any of it. He’s just trying to protect himself. 

“It’s more than that, though. Roommates are nice enough. They were cruel, Jackson. And with your senses…” Stiles trails off, because he can’t bear to say it out loud. No kid should have to literally physically feel their parents’ resentment. 

“I don’t know,” Jackson says, sighing. His heartbeat stays steady, so it’s not a lie; he genuinely doesn’t understand why. “They don’t hit me or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking. They just...don’t like me.”

Stiles is relieved at that, but only marginally. 

“You know that doesn’t mean they’re not abusive, right?” he asks, because he needs Jackson to know that. “They don’t get a pass just because they don’t put their hands on you. The way they treat you is bullshit, Jacks.”

He glances over at Jackson out of the corner of his eye, and he has his eyes squeezed shut, like he’s trying not to cry. He smells relieved, though, at the validation. Stiles reaches for his hand and firmly laces their fingers together. 

“Why haven’t you come to the pack with this?” Stiles asks, stroking Jackson’s fingers gently with his thumb. 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our pack kind of sucks.”

Stiles can’t help but snort at that. “Yeah, I can’t argue with that. There’s always me, though.”

Jackson lets out a short bark of a laugh, his face tight with some unreadable emotion as he finally looks over at Stiles. “Don’t say things like that, Stilinski. We can’t afford to make any promises right now. What if we never switch back? What if we can’t? What if that witch had decided to blast one of us into another dimension, instead of just this?”

“Jackson—”

“We could all wind up dead tomorrow with some new terrible monster because that’s apparently our lives now, so you can’t just…say things like that so fucking easily.”

His voice is getting more and more heated, but their hands are still linked together, and that’s all the confirmation Stiles needs. He pulls with a tug and ignores the gasp of surprise as he wraps his arms around Jackson like a squid, his voice heavy and slightly lisped through fangs when he speaks again.

“Jackson, I will always have your back. No questions. No negotiations. Fucking always. Understand?”

Jackson doesn’t respond beyond a small nod of his head. Stiles doesn’t push the issue, no matter how badly he wants to, so he lets it go for the time being.

He half expects Jackson to pull away. He doesn’t. 

///

Stiles wakes up as the sun rises, feeling Jackson’s nose against his neck. He’s splayed out over Stiles in a way that makes him fucking preen, even as his heart races a mile a minute, but not before pulling Jackson a little closer, going back to sleep.

///

“You know, as much as it pains you all to admit it, I know that you know I’m right.”

“Stiles, enough.”

Stiles had tossed himself onto a couch once he and Jackson had made their way to Derek’s loft, only lifting his feet for a half second so Jackson could sit, firmly planting them in Jackson’s lap a moment after. The only person who even spared them a glance was Lydia, and even then, it was just the quirk of a perfect brow and what might have been the ghost of a smile if you squinted.

“Derek, we should just ask the witches. Apologize for mistaking them for the bad guys, ask if there was any latent magic hanging around, yadda yadda. They’re still on Pack land, right?”

“Stiles, I said enough.”

Stiles is not above using cliches when they’re warranted, which is good, because up until that moment he had literally been having the perfect day. He woke up with Jackson in his arms, he got to see his dad for breakfast (who, thankfully, didn’t comment on their likely sleeping arrangements). His dad went to work, they watched movies, they ate shitty food, they played video games, and Stiles only broke one controller in a fit of Halo induced rage.

“They’re still on Pack land, right? Who knows for how long. If we have a window of opportunity, it is closing fast.”

“I fucking swear, one more word—“ 

As much as he hates to admit it, it was like his best bud time with Scott, but on a whole new level — because while Scott was ditching him for whatever the cute girl of the day was (which, actually, was Isaac, he was pretty sure), Jackson was attentive, and funny, and laughed at Stiles’ dark jokes...and they hadn’t gone more than ten minutes without some form of physical contact.

But now here they are in Derek’s shitty, depressing loft, and...well, all good things have to come to an end. 

“I’m just saying—”

“Stilinski. If you don’t shut up about all this, I’m going to rip your throat out with my teeth. The only reason you’re involved in all of this is because of the body you’re in right now, but just because you’re a wolf does not mean you understand what it is to be pack.”

The last few words are low, almost growled out, laced with that familiar Alpha tone that Derek loves to use to get the little underlings to train harder, or move faster, or whatever he thought the benefit of the moment was. His eyes are burning red where they stare into Stiles’, and when Stiles turns his head, he can see Erica and Boyd shrinking in on themselves, heads down and eyes lowered. Even Scott has his mouth clamped shut. 

Which…huh. The display was interesting and all, but was that really all it took? A growled order to shut the fuck up?

“No.”

His mind is running a mile a minute, thinking ahead of himself, even as Derek’s expression crosses into a downright murderous category. 

“What?!”

“No, I mean—well, I mean no. Because you’re right, I’m not part of the pack. You’ve made that very fucking clear that no matter how much I try to do, I’m not part of it. But if I’m not part of the pack, that means that you are not my fucking Alpha. Which means… I am so fucking out of here.”

He stands, slowly, as though wanting to be sure he can prove it to himself that Derek’s influence means nothing to him. He can practically feel the wolf radiating with excitement as he does, which is all the confirmation he needs. 

Huh. Instincts. Weird. 

He has to put a damper on his excitement when he turns away from Derek (who is beginning to switch from rage to hurt and confusion and honestly Stiles does not have the time right now) and faces Jackson instead. While he’s finally — finally — to blow this joint, he knows it’s probably going to be a little more difficult for Jackson to just up and leave a group that he had been craving approval from for so long. And if Jackson wants to stay, Stiles will too, in a heartbeat — but he owes it to himself to at least try. 

“Jackson, I’m tired of bullshitting around. I’m going to go get some answers.”

He puts out his hand, a smile on his face, even as he feels confusion bounce around the room, like they had only just noticed that Jackson and Stiles were basically sharing a love seat before Derek tried to bite his head off. 

Poor Scott even smells a little hurt. Stiles will try to make it up to him and explain, maybe, possibly, but it will be much later. Right now, he has one priority and one priority only, and it’s staring at him, wearing a shocked expression he’s seen in the mirror all too often.

“Come with me?”

He’s expecting Jackson to hesitate for at least a moment or two, but as soon as the words leave Stiles’ mouth, he’s taking his hand and following him out of the loft. He only pauses to flip Derek off with his free hand, leaning into Stiles’ side as they laugh together. 

///

“You’re kind of a badass, you know that?”

They’re back at Stiles’ house (Jackson had asked him, open and vulnerable, to “please, just stay here with me, Stilinski, my parents won’t give a shit,” and Stiles was powerless to deny him) after agreeing to go find the witches first thing in the morning, since it was a little too late to go bothering them tonight. They’re on the couch, sitting so close together Jackson’s practically in his lap, as they watch reruns of Brooklyn 99. 

In response to Jackson’s question, Stiles scoffs. “Me? How?”

“I’ve been wanting to say shit like that to Derek for months,” Jackson admits, nudging Stiles with his elbow. “You’ve been in my body for less than a week and you’re already more ballsy than I’ve ever been.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t just talking out of my ass. He’s not my alpha. He literally has no sway over me.” Stiles wants to ask him about this thing between him and Derek, exactly how long yet another of Jackson’s parental figures has been treating him like shit, but things are good right now. They’re bonding, and for once, Jackson’s scent is emanating nothing but complete contentment, so Stiles keeps his mouth shut and rolls his eyes instead. 

“I’m serious,” Jackson continues easily. “Is it weird that I’m super attracted to you right now?” 

Stiles’ entire line of thought comes crashing to a halt and his mouth goes dry. 

“Probably,” he answers weakly, trying to will his heart to stop hammering in his chest. “But you’re also super full of yourself, so I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Jackson chuckles at that, eyes bright. “Come on, you’ve never thought about what it’d be like to kiss yourself?” 

Stiles is suddenly hyper aware of everywhere they’re touching, his skin warming under Jackson’s touch. 

“I can honestly say that I haven’t, no. But then again, you wouldn’t either if you looked like I did all the time,” he answers. He pauses for a beat, then adds, “I have thought about what it’d be like to kiss you, though.”

He’s impressed with himself for having the guts to say it so easily. Don’t get him wrong — Stiles is fucking terrified — but he’s also comfortable here with Jackson. He feels safer than he has...probably since the whole werewolf hellscape started. So he figures he owes it to both of them to be genuine. 

Jackson’s answering grin is blinding, even if he cuffs Stiles in the side of the head first. “First of all, shut the fuck up. I’ve been in your body for a week and trust me, I am now intimately familiar with how hot it is. Second of all…you’ve thought about kissing me, huh? Since when?” he asks. 

Stiles knows what kind of answer Jackson’s expecting. Stories about how hot he is, about the dirty fantasies he’s had about him. And Stiles has plenty of those, but the thing is...he’s been hit on by a lot of strangers in the past few days, and honestly? It’s not at all as amazing as Stiles always imagined it would be. 

It turns out, a lot of aspects of Jackson’s life that Stiles always thought would be amazing are actually anything but.

It’s more annoying than anything, people acting like they have the right to objectify and touch Jackson just because he’s pretty — and he’s had to sprint away from more than one hushed conversation about what someone would do to him, or even worse, what someone already thought he did (for a grade, for a spot on a team, for whatever). It’s gross in ways that Stiles doesn’t even want to identify. And Stiles needs Jackson to know that this isn’t that. 

So instead, he does the complete opposite. 

“Last year, when Isaac was afraid to go to therapy after his dad died, so you went with him and refused to leave his side,” Stiles says, his voice slow and easy as he feels Jackson’s heart skip around in his chest, the confusion playing on his face.

“A few months ago, when you rented out an entire restaurant for a night so Allison and Lydia could have the perfect anniversary dinner.” Jackson is bright red now, ducking his head away — Stiles isn’t having any of that, though, and he gently redirects Jackson’s gaze to him, hand slipping from chin to cheek far too easily.

“Earlier this week, when I realized that you believe in me, even when the rest of the pack doesn’t. Last night, when you were honest with me even though I know you didn’t want to be. And every single time you smile at me, for real, not that annoying fucking smirk you love to throw around.”

Jackson isn’t even smiling any more. His face is just raw, open, eyes wide and so, so on the brink of disaster, like Stiles is the only thing holding him together, and Stiles feels a thrill at the power — real power — more than any wolf trick he’d experienced so far. “You are so good, Jackson.”

He tilts Jackson’s chin up and tilts his own head, making his intent obvious, but he stops before moving any closer, making it very clear that Jackson has the power here, in whatever they do or don’t do. 

“Can I kiss you?”

Jackson can’t speak, he can only nod his head, but it’s enough for Stiles to close the distance between them.

Their first kiss is…a kiss. It’s not a clash of teeth and tongue, it’s slower, softer, it’s sipping champagne instead of tossing back a shot. There’s no fireworks in the background — at least, not in Stiles’ head — but instead a cool, low thrum that lights up every nerve from his scalp to his toes. It would be too easy, he thinks, to slip into something filthy — but that isn’t what Jackson needs right now, isn’t what he needs right now either, so he allows himself exactly three seconds to drag his tongue along Jackson’s lip (and god, it was really, really weird to think that he was technically tasting himself), before pulling back from the kiss.

Jackson’s pupils are blown wide, and Stiles knows his are glowing bright gold. He lets a low noise pull through his throat (the kind of cross between a growl and a purr that he would absolutely make fun of Jackson for making if the tables were turned) as he pulls Jackson closer, nose buried in the crook of his neck. 

Jackson finally finds his voice around the same time he buries his fingers in Stiles’ hair, kissing his temple as Stiles takes in deep breaths of his scent. “Let’s go to bed, okay? Just to bed,” he clarifies, when Stiles stiffens in shock, another growl leaving his lips when Jackson starts to laugh at him. “Just to bed, you moron. We have a long day ahead of us, but I’m definitely ready to get my own body back so I can kiss you properly.”

Desperate to save face (even as his own face heated up), Stiles immediately stands up, hooking his hands under Jackson’s knees and effortlessly carrying him up the stairs as Jackson clings to his neck. He’s laughing, though — they both are — and by the time they make it upstairs, they’re both out of breath, looking pleased as punch, even as Stiles playfully chucks the shirt he was wearing at Jackson’s head.

Any awkwardness they may have felt had disappeared, and it’s amazing what one kiss can do, even as they both strip down to their boxers (“I will say, I am going to miss your fancy, rich boy, silk briefs.” “Stilinski, if you don’t shut up and cuddle me right the fuck now—”). They slot together easily, comfortably, and it’s almost impossible for Stiles to even think about a time when they weren’t like this with one another. 

The emotional toll of the day is catching up with Stiles quickly, but he’s more than content to nuzzle into Jackson’s hair, taking in deep breaths of his scent as things start to settle between them.

He still can’t believe he gets to see Jackson like this. Jackson, who always has his walls up, who hides behind a carefully crafted “cool and confident” version of himself. He’s been mistreated for way too long, by way too many people who are supposed to love and support him, and he still came out of it sweet and caring and considerate despite having no good example set for him. He’s been surrounded by people and still felt lonely, because the attention he gets is hollow and meaningless and none of them actually care. 

And he’s done all of this while everyone around him makes idiotic assumptions that his life is perfect and he couldn’t possibly have any real problems. Including Stiles. 

Fuck, he really needs to apologize for that. 

“I can feel you thinking too hard,” Jackson mumbles, pulling himself out of a half sleep. He turns his head just enough to press a kiss to the base of Stiles’ neck, and Stiles melts at how unbelievably soft it all is. 

“I’m sorry for what I said that night at the river,” Stiles blurts, because he can’t go another second without saying it. 

Jackson blinks a few times and then pulls back enough so he can look Stiles in the eye. He keeps his arm firmly wrapped around Stiles’ waist, though.  

“You don’t have to apologize, Stilinski. We’ve both said a lot worse to each other.”

“I know, but just...shut up and let me say this, okay?” he asks, waiting for Jackson’s nod before he continues. “I acted like a dick because I assumed you couldn’t understand what I was going through, and that wasn’t fair. You probably understand better than anyone, and I’m sorry I didn’t see that.”

Jackson’s quiet for a moment, but then he smiles and leans in to give Stiles a gentle peck on the lips. 

“You didn’t see it because I didn’t want you to see it. I didn’t want anyone to see it,” Jackson says, reaching up to run his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “And I was okay with nobody seeing it, because you’re right. Poor little rich boy, you know? No one got it, so it was easier to pretend, but…I don’t want to pretend anymore. Not with you.”

Stiles grins so hard it hurts and bumps their noses together, smile growing impossibly wider when he hears Jackson’s heart skip a beat. “Good,” he says. 

Jackson resumes his semi-sentient-ragdoll pose on top of Stiles and lets out what can only be called an “affectionate grumble,” doing whatever it is he has to do to make Stiles a more comfortable living pillow. Not that Stiles is going to complain or suggest otherwise. He just waits it out, kissing the top of Jackson’s head when the other male is finally resettled. 

“Night, Stiles.”

“Night, Jacks.” “I still hate that nickname.” “No you don’t. Not when it comes from me.”

“...fuck.”

///

Stiles blinks awake entirely too early in the morning, when the sun has barely started to rise, and reaches blindly to pull the blinds over his window, groaning in disappointment when he fails to do so. He hasn’t felt this groggy in ages, but for the moment, he’s content to blame any sleepy haze on the warmth spread around him; not even a full night's sleep could make him forget — even for a moment — where he is and who’s here with him. 

He sighs and lets his head flop down against Jackson’s chest as his eyes start to blearily open, his hand resting in front of his face, thumb rubbing a smooth circle across Jackson’s chest. He gets a low hum in return — of course Jackson’s already waking up, the idiot is infuriatingly perfect in every way and apparently his internal clock is no exception, even on the weekend.

He takes the opportunity to smile and look up, sleepily taking in Jackson’s form — his strong jaw and smooth skin, and he takes a moment to raise his hand from Jackson’s chest to cup his face. Jackson, eyes still closed, preens at the attention, and turns to kiss Stiles’ wrist. It’s a mental picture he wants to save forever — Jackson’s breath steady against his pulse point, his tanned lips pressed against Stiles’ pale skin —

His skin is pale. 

His skin is pale again. 

Stiles bolts upright, his legs straddling Jackson (who makes his feelings about the sudden movement known with a very loud groan). He has both hands cupping Jackson’s face as Jackson opens his eyes, looking cross in a way that used to convey anger and even fear — now it just looks like a child pouting. It’s adorable.

“Jackson, wake the fuck up.”

To his credit, Jackson is much quicker on the uptake than Stiles was. 

“Oh, thank god,” Jackson says, reaching to stroke Stiles’ cheek fondly. “I was really starting to miss this pretty face.”

Stiles blushes from his cheeks all the way down his chest, and it only intensifies when he realizes Jackson’s staring at his flushed skin intently. “Shut the fuck up,” he answers, with absolutely no heat behind it.

“You gonna make me?”

“Maybe,” Stiles says with a shrug, sliding down until he’s fully straddling Jackson’s still lying body to capture his lips in a kiss. 

It takes less than three minutes for Stiles to forget his own name. He gives impatient little whines, but Jackson pulls away each time they risk going into warmer territory. He would protest more, really, but when Jackson pulls away with a dopey grin on his face and tells Stiles how excited he is to finally do a relationship right, with someone he cares about, dating and wooing, Stiles actually melts. He melts into a puddle because Jackson is a secret sap, even if Jackson is less than amused when Stiles verbalizes his feelings. 

“Whatever, Stilinski. I’ve been in your body for a week. We both know about the stash of romance novels you keep hidden behind your comics.”

Stiles squawks and throws a pillow at Jackson’s face, indignant for all of three minutes. 

“Whatever. This just means my expectations are high, you better bring out all your big guns if you plan on wooing me or whatever.”

“I do, Stiles. I really do.”

“Oh my god Jackson shut up.”

(They string the pack along for another few days. They would have gone longer, but on Wednesday, Derek is waiting outside Jackson’s garage again, except this time Jackson is Jackson and not Stiles. 

But it’s probably for the best — Jackson has a better poker face, and if Stiles had to listen to a heartfelt [or as close to heartfelt as Derek got, which was ‘not very’] apology, he would probably have burst out laughing somewhere between “I’m sorry I haven’t been treating you as part of the pack my mother would be so ashamed of me for forgetting the humans role in a pack” and “of course I don’t hate Jackson, does he really think I hate him, I’m just worried about him all the time, god what do I do.”

Jackson does a much better job of taking it all in stride, it’s much easier when Derek has a kicked puppy look about him. He reaches up, claps a hand on Derek’s shoulder, flashes his blue eyes, and simply tells Derek “don’t be sorry, be better.”

And then, of course, any sincerity in the moment is immediately erased when Stiles comes out of the house, idly tapping away at his phone, half a poptart dangling from his lips, asking Jackson “hey babe, do you know why Scott left me three voicemails last night? It sounded like he was crying in the last one, did you hear…oh. Hey Derek. What’s up?”

Watching Derek’s face go from kicked puppy to confused puppy to bright red (when ‘babe’ finally processed in his brain) before finally settling on something Jackson would refer to as ‘gassy’ is probably the best thing that’s happened to him in a month, Jackson decides. 

...Well, second best, he amends as Derek drives away, feeling Stiles kiss his cheek.)

#stackson #stackson week #florenceandthemachine #listen....this is v long and i am aware i probably should have put it on ao3 #but the thing is i am LAZY #sometimes i write

[klaussicarus]

Day Seventeen: Childhood

"God, cursed Matroshka dolls, never thought that'd be a thing." Maddy sighed as she looked at the Motroshka doll in her hand. It was well made, and even had reall hair on it, problem was that it was her hair, and it was a perfect replica of her. Jack and Vlad had replicas too. Vlad had thrown a fit when he had noticed the tiny acne on it, but they were generally wary of it. Vlad's weird maybe-uncle-mentor-evil-archnemisis Daniel had given it to them. Apparently Clockwork needed a messenger. And after the whole CAT's timeline, with seeing Vladimir wreck the human world, they could bet that it related to some sort of failed timeline.

"Well staring at it isn't going to do anything. We'll have to open them sooner or later, and who knows if it's a treat?" Jack sighs as Maddy shoots him a look. "I'm just saying, no use in waiting for something to happen."

Vlad sighs, "Yeah, yeah, I know. Well, Maddy, do you want to go first?" Maddy sighs and twists open the body. Inside there was a teal colored something, with little orange goggles. A painted on red smile glints up at her. "Well that's not very informativ-"

A crackling image projects from the center of the smaller doll. It's an older Maddy, dressed up in a teal hazmat suit and grinning, a gun set on her hip. "Oh ew, that's just bad fashion. Why would I wear that?"

Vlad nudges Jack. "I don't know, but maybe opening all three will let us know?" Jack gets the memo and pops his open. The doll looks larger than Maddy's, orange instead of teal though. The projection shows a wall of a man in an orange jumpsuit and graying temples, he was grinning, but his seemed less malicious than Maddy's. Both of them started flickering, closer to unlocking the scene. Vlad opens his. It's pale and has completely white hairs, frowning and suited. The first thing that pops out of Vlad's mouth is "Why am I white?" Jack chuckles. But his doll wasn't projecting.

Jack leans over his shoulder. "There's another little seam in your doll. Maybe for your ghost form V-man?" Vlad looks down. "Oh" Popping that open is a white clothed ghost with green skin and black hair spiked into horns. Almost immediately it pops up another image. This one of Vlad in ghost form, decidedly with more Daniel energy than they liked. But the scene still seemed glitchy. They were missing something.

"You are missing something" Giving the trio a collective heart attack, Daniel steps in front of them in Ghost form. His solid green eyes staring at them judgingly.

He opened his hands, there was two versions just like Vlad. But instead they seemed like younger versions of himself? The ghost one looked much more monochromatic and very little green. The young one had solid black hair instead of his normal salt and pepper gray hair and scruffy goatee. Immediately it linked, showing a Daniel around their age as a ghost. The scene starts up.

"Would you look at the state of the town! It's in ruins! And all because of pesky little Phantom." Not Vlad hisses at Not Daniel. He rakes his red eyes over the landscape. Not Maddy scowls at him, but nods, N.Jack doing the same thing. "I dont like you Plasmius, but, you've offered me and Mads the opportunity to finally catch this pest once and for all." N.Maddy jerkily agrees, "Yes, we've been meaning to finally strap the malfunctive ghost down and dissect his every cell for a while now, I guess teaming up with disgusting trash is necessary after all."

N.Daniel, or rather Phantom, takes a step back. "Hey, we're probably going to not do that. I prefer all my organs inside me, thank you very much." He trips and and there's a call off scene. Phantom's eyes widen. "Guys no! Stay back!"

Another trio makes it onscreen. Weirdly enough it looks like younger versions of the school counselor, Miss Jazz, and Vlad's parents, Mr. Tucker And Mrs. Sam. They run over to Phantom. N.Maddy looks surprised. Miss Jazz shouts at the adults. "Stop! Can't you see that Phantom has been trying to prevent the damages? You're only making it worse Mom!"

Real Maddy gasps, "I'm mom to our school counselor?" Everyone looks back at the scene.

"No! Can't you see? Can't you realize that you're too young to understand? I love you Jazz, I have to, you're my daughter after all. But you have forgotten that me and your mother know what's best!" N.Jack yells back

More looks are exchanged between the the real trio. Maddy and Jack were together and the school counselor was their kid? The situation onscreen was worsening.

Mr. Tucker and Ms. Sam seemed to be pulling Phantom away discreetly. Phantom was bleeding green ectoplasm too fast to be healthy. Dubbed Plasmius teleported to in front of them. Ms. Samantha screamed at him "Why are you doing this! He's a kid! You know what will happen if they get ahold of him as he is now! They can't know yet! They'll go after you next!"

Everyone gulped, it was terrifying to see the raw terror at the thought of Not Maddy and Jack getting Phantom, why were they so violent towards the ghosts? Why were they trying to murder and dissect Phantom? Why was Vlad evil?

Plasmius seems to barely pause, a glint of fear in his eyes too. "Well, I've seen the error of my ways Samantha. I can't be so close to a ghost hunter, even if I were to marry Maddy, she would find out sooner or later, and nothing would stop her from ripping me to shreds. You, Tucker, and Danny know how much his mother is passionate about this sort of thing. And every plot I've tried to kill Jack with for making me this way has failed spectacularly. After all he is just a bumbling fool of a moron, not worth my time."

Jack winces. He knows that it isn't his Vlad saying it, but it hurt all the same. He was always afraid of being the annoying third wheel, and it hurt to have anything come close to confirming that.

Plasmius continues. "And well, I'm dearly sorry for your budding romance, but what better way to tear the family that's been a thorn in my side for years apart than have those two rip apart their own son in front of an adoring public?"

Well that was another wrench. "Your weird uncle is our son!?" Maddy looked overwhelmed, and looking around so did everyone else. Daniel seemed strangely unsurprised but still shocked, like he had come to make connections beforehand but that were still not enough to cover close to even half of what they had seen on screen. Maybe he had. Maybe he hadn't.

Jack was out of his depth and looked ready to cry and scream at the same time, and Vlad watched with a look of hatred for the cowardly version of himself before confusedly remapping this reality to his in a dogged attempt to figure out why Clockwork was showing them this.

Oddly enough, yesterday had a similar but vastly different event that had happened too. But Vlad's parents had just wanted to kill his alter ego off, no research based off of it, and Daniel had tagged along to generally cause problems for both sides, tripping Ellie in the same breath as flicking one of Ms. Samantha's attacks off course in a weird balance of making sure Vlad didn't die but also wasn't getting along too 'easy'.

The scene projecting in front of them died out after Phantom escaped and Plasmius turns sides, damaging a lot of hunting equipment and smashing a soup thermos before turning invisible and flying off.

And they all look up as another scene replaces it. The same room they were in, the boiler under the school. With their role replacements in the same positions, looking at them in surprise and wariness. Phantom, now as a human, nudges younger Mr. Foley at the same time Vlad nudges Jack beside them. The projection was no longer a screen, but a direct mirror. Maddy gasps, and her and teenager Ms. Manson says at the same time. "It's literally them, there's a bridge, Clockwork just opened a bridge."

They split from the same actions when Plasmius, also in human form, steps forward and holds his hand out to Daniel, "Well, I suppose you're the closest to another adult here." Daniel shifts into his normal self, dusting off his travel worn clothes, and spits onto his palm, slapping his hand to his. "And you'd be the closest to a man your world has to offer huh?"

Young Danny snorts, and the other trio starts laughing, before Jack catches the giggles and suddenly all of the teenagers are on the floor, laughing at the absolute absurdity of it all.

The two men sneer at each other, Plasmius pulls his hand away in disgust,

"What're you? An uncivilized mutt?"

"Oh, don't worry I'm house trained. More than I can see from you Cuckoo."

"I see the 'crazy' nickname theme has stayed the same" Plasmius sighs.

"I was referring to you being a cuc-"

"I prefer being called a dog than a little badger if you want my honest opinion!" Young Danny pipes up, ready to stop his older self from finishing his sentence.

Daniel smirks at Plasmius. Already there was animosity breeding.

#danny phantom #dannymay #dannymay2020 #phantom #danny fenton #fanart #vlad masters #vlad plasmius #creative writing #danny phantom fanfiction #long post #slight angst #dp sam #samantha manson #sam manson #dp tucker #tucker foley #role swap au #role reversal au #childhood #writing #writing prompt

[ducktracy]

169. egghead rides again (1937)

release date: july 17th, 1937

series: merrie melodies

director: tex avery

starring: mel blanc (egghead), tex avery (red), billy bletcher (clerk, egghead), sons of the pioneers (singers), danny webb (egghead)

tex avery would debut a whopping 3 characters in 1937: daffy, egghead, and elmer. but, with tex, he’s gotta keep it interesting, and the confusion between the last two characters is certainly interesting history. out of confusion or just simplicity (because “egghead” is much less of a mouthful than “prototype elmer fudd”), many fans refer to the proto-fudd as egghead, believing that he later evolved into elmer fudd. that, however, is not true. egghead and elmer are entirely independent characters. egghead has open eyes and USUALLY has hair (here is an exception), and is voiced by danny webb (again, an exception is made here... mostly.) elmer has closed eyes, wears a derby hat, and is voiced by mel blanc for the most part (danny webb voices him in cinderella meets fella, further confusing matters). to save space, i made it so that you can read more about the difference between the two here. interesting history indeed! for even more interesting history, this is irv spence’s first animation credit, and paul smith’s first cartoon in the avery unit, moving over from the freleng unit. spence would depart for MGM in 1938, whereas smith would stay with avery until 1940, where he would head off to walter lantz.

egghead is eager to become a “rootin’, tootin’, shootin’, snootin’, high falutin’, tootin’, shootin’, rootin’, tootin’ cowboy”, much to the bewilderment of his peers. to prove himself worthy, he goes on a dangerous, treacherous quest only the most worthy could conquer: wrangling an innocent little calf.

mel blanc’s over-enthusiastic cries of “YIPEE! WAHOO! GET ALONG, LITTLE DOGGIE, GET ALONG!” paired with irv spence’s loony animation collide to open the cartoon. our hero, the eponymous egghead, bucks back and forth on his trusty (off-screen) steed against a western panorama. that is, until a pan out reveals that our cantankerous cowhand is actually hopping wildly back and forth on a pogo stick, cleverly situated in front of his comically enlarged calendar. a great, classic fake-out, enhanced by mel’s energetic shrieks and spence’s spastic animation.

egghead resides in a boarding house, a space unfit for maintaining his wildest cowboy dreams. all of the commotion reaches the lobby of the boarding house, disturbing the landlord, voiced by billy bletcher. the landlord isn’t at all keen on egghead’s racket and literally throws him to the street--bletcher’s monologue is nothing short of hilarious as he rambles on all the way through, from initially hearing egghead’s noise to throwing him out. “well, dadburn that dadburn noise, dadburnit! i’ll put a stop to that, dadburnit. dadburnit, the dadburn boardin’ house ain’t no dadburn place to play dadburn cowboy! now get out and stay out, dadburnit! ...burnit... n... burnit—i mean, dadburnit!”

as egghead collects himself, his daze is cut short by the book so conveniently sprawled out in front of him, among other belongings. a book of job offerings has conveniently flipped open--fortune seems to smile upon our hero:

some more fun irv spence animation as egghead rips the paper out of the book, his bulbous nose prodding the page as he scans the words, too good to be true. “buck egghead rides again!” our protagonist declares, waving his hat around in celebration.  we receive a brief little montage of egghead traipsing towards the post office, writing the fated address out on the envelope. we don’t see the contents inside the envelope, only animation of egghead walking into the post office and writing on the envelope off-screen--a great way to build suspense. 

what seems to be an original number is yodeled by a group of cowboys in conjunction with a well-executed multi-plane pan (tex has used this technique before--i love to singa comes to mind) of bar-none ranch in wahoo, wyoming. the shot exposing the singing cowboys is structured quite similarly to the shots of the barbershop quartet singing in tex’s directorial debut, gold diggers of ‘49, albeit the animation is slightly more exaggerated, with the necks of the cowboys extending on their held out note. the cowboy strumming the guitar appears to be a caricature of paul smith (though i’d also take this with a grain of salt.) many portions of this cartoon have avery-isms of both past and future shorts--certainly fun to dissect!

great gag setup as the “leader” of the ranch gazes out of his window from inside, traipsing out the door, which is comically fitted to match his wide gait. he alerts his band of singing cowboys to the approach of the pony express--sure enough, the words PONY EXPRESS are emblazoned on some sort of object concealed by an iris. iris in to a horse pulling a trailer, the self-titled pony express, with a triumphant fanfare to boot.

nonstop gags are to be expected in a tex avery cartoon, but that doesn’t make the constant amount of punches any less amusing. the leader declares “c’mon, boys! in ya saddles! let’s ride out and meet the man!” with that, all of the cowboys whoop and holler as they all jump on their horses. they take off... and move about 2 inches forward until they all halt and reach their destination. it’s a gag tried and true used in many cartoons (my favorite usage being in, of course, the great piggy bank robbery), but the execution is just as satisfying here as it is in the others.

the horse comes to a halt, a chipper pony express “rider” emerging from the trailer to hand the boys their envelope before heading off again. as to be expected, it’s none other than egghead’s letter. EXCELLENT gag payoff as we finally see the contents of the envelope after minutes of gut-wrenching suspense: egghead himself flops out of the letter and onto the ground. the matter of factness and sincerity of the entire gag sell the whole thing.

once again, irv spence is at the hand of egghead’s introduction, which can hardly be summed up in greatness: mel blanc, billy bletcher, and danny webb all contribute to his vocals. mel blanc gives the tongue tied, squeaky, daffy-esque voice of “i’m a rootin’, tootin’, shootin’, snootin’, high falutin’, tootin’, shootin’, rootin’, tootin’ cowboy, fella! and i saw your ad, so i came for the job.” billy bletcher’s booming baritone takes over, the juxtaposition absolutely bludgeoning as he belts out “because, because, because, because...!” finally, danny webb takes over for the finale, imitating the squeaky voice of a teenage boy going through puberty--”today, i am a maaaaan”, lampooning the traditional declaration given by young men at their bah mitzvah, marking their introduction to adulthood. this line would be reused in another avery entry, i wanna be a sailor, just a few months later. the gag is topped off by egghead proudly puffing out his chest and struggling to keep his pants on. three great voice actors, great lines, and super fun animation, it’s hard to go wrong! the mel blanc/danny webb elmer/egghead conundrum ensues.

the lead cowboy decides to test egghead and see if he’s a worthy addition, enlisting in his buddy red for help. red (voiced by tex avery himself) squeals “OKAY, BOSS!” in a super high, grating, squeaky voice, a jab at famous western star andy devine, lampooned more than once for his raspy vocals--tedd pierce would also harp on devine with his portrayal of a squeaky voiced pig in friz freleng’s my little buckeroo just a year later.

per the leader’s request, red rolls a cigarette with just his mouth (with a lot of fun, eye-crossing animation provided by irv spence yet again), proudly sticking the cigarette out of his maw, lit and all, giving a self-satisfied grin towards the audience. the lead cowboy demonstrates his love of safety and concern for his friends’ well being as he whips out a pistol, giving it a good twirl before shooting right at the cigarette.

red is unscathed, his cigarette now split in half as a result. “now here, you try, pardner,” the cowboy urges on egghead. egghead gives a polite nod and tip of the hat before reaching for the gun, the weight of the gun bringing egghead falling to the ground beneath its weight. once more, red prepares to roll another cigarette, this time a corn cob pipe (and a button nose) poking out of his mouth in a last minute switcharoo.

morbidly (yet hilariously so), egghead struggles with the gun but manages to fire. predictably, he misses--shooting straight at red. wonderful setup as a floating hat and boots are all we see after the cloud of smoke dissipates. red assures he’s okay by waving a white flag from the recesses of his hat, his whole body dropping out of the hat and running away. his cowboy hat is still suspended in mid-air, and for the cherry on top, he darts on screen for a mere second more to retrieve his hat, a gag borrowed from picador porky. simultaneously predictable yet not, with some wonderfully fluid animation and great timing.

egghead is now the laughing stock of bar-none ranch. the leader, however, is a bit more forgiving, ordering his guffawing cronies to wrangle a calf and see what egghead can “do with it.” next act of redemption is a cruel one: the leader hands egghead a branding iron and instructs the novice to brand the poor little calf. despite the cruel nature of the gag, the audience is already alerted that egghead’s attempts to redeem himself will be laughable and in vain. 

the shot of egghead galloping along with the hot iron is strikingly similar in comparison to porky trotting along with a red-hot horse shoe in the village smithy, both shots awfully foreboding in the “this isn’t going to go well” sense. egghead’s victim, a terrified little calf, attempts to escape the clutches of the cowboys wrangling it, but it seems the calf has been defeated. egghead dives into the crowd, and a puff of smoke obscures the action going on...

once the smoke clears, we see that egghead has branded his fellow cowboys instead, the calf unharmed, trotting away with its tail proudly in the air (in a very similar manner to the bull(s) in picador porky.) the whole concept of attempting to cause harm to an innocent little calf (by someone with a rather squeaky voice) would also be rather prominently featured in the bob clampett classic porky’s last stand, with daffy off on an unsuccessful mission to kill a calf as a last-minute resort for a hamburger.

now, the leader orders egghead to go after the calf. if he gets it, he gets the job. thus launches another tex avery staple gag--egghead hops into a crowd of horses, emerging out of the gaggle on a diminutive little pony instead (with a score of “the merry go round broke down” to boot--carl stalling must have been quite eager to use the composition now that he could.) the same gag would be used in a number of other cartoons, the 1946 tex avery droopy cartoon northwest hounded police coming to mind.

we’re treated with some refreshingly dimensional, rather tashlin-esque dynamics and angles as the calf leaps and bounds over a number of fences, with egghead hot on its trail, screeching another victorious call of “egghead rides again... and again... and again! and another time!” the animation is very well executed and tastefully dynamic. 

momentum of the chase is purposefully broken as both the calf and egghead begrudgingly screech to a halt, obeying the rules of the road as they wait at a stop sign before resuming the chase again. another avery-ism--purposefully stopping in the middle of a chase for a “breather” gag. 

in an attempt to fake-out the clueless cowboy, the calf enlists in the aid of cartoon physics to save its hide (literally) as it crawls beneath a cliff and stands upside down, right on the edge. egghead saunters on past, much to the glee of the little calf. yet, egghead realizes he’s been foiled, and we get some more wonderfully dynamic and cartoony animation as the horse whips around, sending egghead slingshotting around from the background to the foreground, positioned on the horse the entire time. treg brown’s electric guitar twang/slide effect (my favorite!) enhances the gag nicely. 

realizing its pursuers are still coming in hot, the calf slides to the edge of another cliff (this time accompanied by a less suitable violin slide sound effect) before scampering down the edge in a last minute effort to escape. egghead and his trusty steed screech to a halt, peering down over the edge of the cliff. the gags just keep on coming--in more tex avery greatness, the horse takes a rather conveniently situated set of stairs carved into the side of the cliff, its complacent grin and dainty little descent topping off the gag. 

a carl stalling favorite, “in the stirrups”, accompanies the wild goose chase between the calf and egghead as the two run over hill and dale through the beautifully painted landscape. yet another avery-ism—a wide, distance shot of mayhem unfolding on screen. against all odds, egghead manages to herd the terrified, exhausted calf back in its own. it seems egghead actually DOES ride again! he approaches the cornered calf (the same high pitched daffy croon a stark parallel to porky’s last stand), and, once more, a ball of smoke obscures the action unfolding.

instead of a terrified calf wrangled up in a ball, we’re greeted with a cow-tied egghead, with the calf shaking its little fists in the glory. once more, this causes the cowboy cronies to erupt in a uproarious fit of laughter.

with great effort, a heartbroken, dejected egghead manages to produce exactly one (1) tear, reflecting his tremendous heartache. once more, irv spence is responsible for the close-up, a very funny one indeed. those wrinkles are almost scribner-ian.

a dejected egghead trudges past the cowboys, their mocking laughter definitely stinging, even if it’s directed towards someone who is hardly endearing such as egghead himself. thankfully, the all too forgiving leader consoles egghead (offhandedly mocking his diminutive stature in the process), saying that he’s finally in.

to egghead, it’s too good to be true—and a happy ending in an avery cartoon is definitely too good to be true indeed. wonderful animation as the leader swaps egghead’s cowboy hat out for a pith helmet, thrusting a trashcan in his grip. egghead now gets the honors of being the street sweeper (to put it politely), an ending reminiscent of the classic drip-along daffy. the egghead/daffy parallels keep on coming!

tex closes with a final bang: as egghead cries “buck egghead...!”, the whinnying of a horse grounds the chipper street sweeper into reality, reminded of his duties. his exuberance melts into disdain, the triumphant backing score backing down in favor of a mournful violin as our hero grumbles “...sweeps again.” iris out.

this review is full of praises for the gags and the animation in the cartoon, which are both very good. however, with that said, is this the best tex avery entry? not at all. is this a bad entry? not at all. for someone like me who’s endured the bosko, buddy, and even beans eras, this cartoon is like heaven sent—for the average viewer who is more acquainted with tex’s future masterpieces at WB and later MGM, this is definitely a step down from his greatest.

irv spence’s animation shines bright in this cartoon and is certainly the highlight, which is both good and bad. it highlights his work and allows him to make a name for himself, but he also puts the other animators at the avery unit to shame. bob clampett and chuck jones’ absence is certainly felt—virgil ross is another star of the avery unit (though i don’t have the best luck picking him out, at least not in this cartoon), sid sutherland can be difficult to discern, and paul smith’s animation is seldom exciting, and at some points the animation looks rather poor when it isn’t a spence scene. nevertheless, his work is definitely something to look out for.

the gags are amusing, some more predictable than others, but definitely amusing. egghead isn’t a very endearing character—they did a great job of making him obnoxious—but mel’s vocals (and technically billy bletcher’s and danny webb’s) breathe lots of life and vivacity into the character. really, his voice is just daffy duck’s voice of the 30s (though a bit less spitty.) that whole “i am a man” sequence is nothing short of hilarious.

in short, not one of tex’s best, and one that you could both skip or watch. i lean more towards the “give it a watch” side, for the historical significance of egghead’s debut, but also for shining moments such as irv spence’s wild character animation and some of the gags. this cartoon doesn’t have the same energy that previous entries such as porky’s duck hunt (and even uncle tom’s bungalow, all things considered) uphold, but if you’re tex avery, that is one difficult flame to maintain, one that would sometimes burn out. this era of avery cartoons, the flame has certainly calmed down, but it’ll reignite for the 1938-1939 season at least. so, in all, amusing short with bits of greatness to it (and historical significance) that leads me to give it a recommendation.

link!

#lt #looney tunes #egghead rides again #avery #reviews #long post

[ruginite]

❤

SEND ME A SYMBOL FOR… Status: Not Acceptin’

❤  five times my muse says they don’t love yours, and the one time they admit it.

 [ Deep down i know this never works….. ]

1-

Unholy. That’s what time it is. No hours no minutes. Just unholy. Which can only mean one thing. Something went shit side ways over night, and their number got called. And he half thinks about throwing something heavy at the figure standing in the door way. But he’s too fucking tired to be assed with the idea. Leaving the door open as he turns to shuffle off towards the kitchen. To locate the coffee…and the pot and will himself an unholy amount of caffeine to counteract the unholy hour that it is.

                 Oh stop. You love me. My beautiful mug’s much better lookin’ than the inside of your eye lids any day.

                        “I like t’inside a’m’eye lids….You? Not s’much.”

2-

He’s a good guy. He cares. He’s just bad at ya know…saying it.

He bulldozed you off a building, Steven.

It was one story, Danny. Plus it blew up a second later and I landed on a car. I was fine.

Okay you know what, here….hold this. I’m going to prove to you the guy has no feelings….

There’s a box shoved into the team leader’s hands. A box filled with sweet pasteries. The kind everyone that knows the current topic of conversation, is weak for.

Danny this is stu—

Shut up.

He shuffles into the room. Completely disregarding the room. To focused on the grease covered engine part in his hands. He’d forgotten his phone, and here’s the last place he remembered putting it. And he almost walks into the pair that step into his path. Blue cast towards them in slight irritation.

Hypothetical Twinkle Fingers….you have a choice. Save our fearless leader here from blowing himself up, or take this box of donuts and set the bomb off yourself.

For a second he thinks they’re serious. But then—no they’re fucking with him. And the truth is he can smell it. The sweet sugary goodness inside the box and—he takes the box. About faces, and shuffles back out of the room; without a word. He doesn’t have time for their hypothetical bullshit. And this? This is just one more way to keep the truth to himself.

3-

                   Hey! I just met you! And this is crazy!

Most days he prides himself on the fact he’s seen (and mostly is) enough weird shit that nothing can really phase him anymore. But at the moment…at the moment he’s being proven incorrect. As they speed down an un-populated road towards HQ. Radio blasting and Fish….Fish being the literal most terrifyingly weird fucking thing he’s ever seen. 

                 Here’s my number! So call me maybe!

There are some things that a grown man shouldn’t do. And belting out lyrics to the pop-y monstrosity that’s currently threatening to make Bastian go deaf is by far one of the top five. And it’s taking every square inch of his minimal self control not to reach across the center console and choke the life out of the SEAL. And Steve isn’t at all helping with the look that screams stop being such a sour ass. You know you love me.To which all Bastian can do is glare back with an inexplicable look that can’t be read any other way but…Yea sure, bout as much as I need another hole n’m’head.

4-

Silence.

It’s a stark contrast between how the lot of them usually are. Always picking at each other. Always joking. But just now…just now it’s all heavy silence. And he finds himself wishing for a sound of some kind. Mindless chatter. Someone sneezing for fuck’s sake. But none of it happens. And he’s left to stand there. Apart from them all. Leaned against the wall, folded in on himself.

They blame him. That’s fine. It’s the easier for them. They might all be on the same team, but the truth is it’s always been them…and him. And maybe that’s his fault more than there’s. But it’s all water under the fucking bridge now. The line’s been drawn in the sand. Because their fearless leader’s in ICU, hanging on by threads. And it’s Bastian’s fault; as far as anyone that matter’s is concerned.

The doors open. The doctor comes shuffling in. Babbles jargen and damage and…the other set of doors at the end of the hall swing open. Suits. And for once in his life he doesn’t buck them. For once he lets them do their job without making it hard. Jaw clenching back the pain of sharp toothed rings biting into his skin, and heavy constraining cuffs locking his hands behind his back.

And honestly he really doesn’t notice that the Hobbit’s trailing after, as they lead him away. Doesn’t notice the arguing that ensues. Not until a hand manages to grab him by the arm. Stops his shuffled and slow forward motion. And blue meets blue for fractions of a second before Bastian tears his gaze away to the floor. Because that look? He knows that look. Knows what it said without speaking.

                  What am I supposed to tell, Steve?

             “Fuck should I care?”

And he’s wrenching his arm away. Feet once more picking up pace. And he doesn’t look back. Because it’s easier to make people hate him, than the opposite. Beyond the fact the opposite….is exactly what got Steve where he is. Barely alive, and the fault put on the one person that just maybe it shouldn’t be. But that’s what Bastian does isn’t it? Takes the blows that would other wise break or kill other people. Bears the weight that would crush everyone else. And really, what is one more black tally mark on his scorecard? Not much he wagers.

5-

Evals. He hates these god damn things. Doesn’t understand why they bother with them. It’s not like they actually give two shits what he thinks about anything. They just want to make sure he’s still knows his place. Where on the proverbial food chain his name sits. And there’s a groan as the questions drone on. The answers just as droning.

           “Yea. No. Don’t care. S’a trick question, there ain’t no right answer.”

But then…the questions get a little more personal. A little more invasive and he doesn’t like where this is headed. He sits up a little straighter. Arms fold over his chest. Blue narrows, lines in auburn. And there’s something a little more threatening and border line terrifying when the spit the last question at him.

              How do you feel your relationship with your handler has                       evolved since you were assigned to their team?

There’s a silence that falls on the room. That’s thick with annoyance. Accented with bitter bits of rage. Because if he’s good at anything, he excels at hiding panic beneath inpenatrable layers of rage. And when the answer comes it’s gruff and all together drenched in annoyance.

               “It ain’t. Arrangement’s fucked now as much as it was then.                         M’doin’ this cuz y’jackasses ain’t given me no other choice….”

A heart beat. Then another. Before he’s half growling a question at them this time.

                 “We done?”

6-

R and R. By definition (or at least his) that means sleeping til you wake up. With no where to be in a god damn hurry. But apparently Steven “Fish” McGarrett hadn’t gotten the fucking memo. Because it’s 5am and they’re already having an argument. Not the violent kind mind. But an argument all the same. Because Fish refuses to take inhuman noise as a no about going swimming.

Finally though the gentle back and forth stops. And the covers are yanked off. Bastian’s feet grabbed at the ankles and….

              FUCK! 

Hands scramble for purchase, blindly grasping at sheets that are to tight against the mattress and….

              THUNK.

He face plants. Hard. Cheek to wood floor. And in a split second he’s gone from half unconcious to oh hell no. Twisting around onto his shoulders, wrenching his ankles out of McGarrett’s grip. Getting to his feet much more nibbly, than someone of his build might be expected to move. A shoulder planted right into Fish’s middle and hauled up despite height and weight. Before Bastian’s turning. Tossing the SEAL onto the bed and pinning him down. 

It becomes a blur of flesh and cotton after that. That eventually results in Bastian catching the short end of the stick; and Steve getting away. A pillow snatched up from the floor; a finding it’s mark across Baz’s face.

              “Asshole.”

           You love me.

Foot steps track off out the door. A shake of a head that russles mussed hair. And perhaps a not so loud….

            “Yea….yea I know.”

#hoouna #fish || steve mcgarrett #Guide Us Ignite Us Fix Us || Steve & Bastian #outgoing || answered asks #[ mobile post ] #[ long ass post ]

[thebootybitchdragon]

Here you go my pretties, here are some random Daniel Masters ideas I have.

Things I Like:

His name is Daniel, and he always refers to himself as such. He never uses any nicknames or variations of it, mostly to keep things from getting confusing since we now have Danny, Dani, Dan and Daniel.

I doubt Vlad's entire motivation for cloning Daniel is to just have a son. I think he either wanted to have him take Danny's place while Danny himself was gotten rid of, or, again, use him as a weapon against Danny. Or for some schemes. A particularly strong idea is sending Daniel, under Danny's guise, into the Fenton Family and having him cause utter havoc to rip it apart.

His human form eyes are a darker blue than Danny's, closer to Vlad's shade. His ghost form's eyes are pink, simply due to the fact that Vlad has red eyes and red eyes for evil or dark 'twin' versions of a character is so overused. Pink is close enough to red to still tie in to the opposite color scheme of Danny's green, like Vlad's red does, and it could also count as a another trait from Vlad since his ectoplasm is mostly pink. His skin is the same tone in both forms as Danny's.

He has a short ponytail. I will fight all of you on this; he needs an evil badass ponytail. The ponytail itself is completely black, bc this child has enough anime hair with his fringe. Overall, his hair is wavier than Danny's.

Daniel is able to take on an appearance identical to Danny's, with very minor differences. The main one is the faint marks where the cloning machine was attached to him. He doesn't like attention drawn to them or people asking about them, even in his true form. The second way is his glowing eye color (which is pink). He is also constantly releasing ectoenergy to maintain the illusion, so he is also able to be detected with any ghost sensor easily.

Daniel initially believes Vlad is infallible, that he is always right, and that his word is law. This is of coarse what Vlad has intentionally taught him. However, as time goes on and he has multiple encounters with Danny and the others, his views begin to get less black and white and he starts seeing problems with what Vlad tells him and does. The first time he questions Vlad, Vlad responds with anger and threats to punish him for 'disobeying'. This causes even more doubt, and starts him questioning just what, exactly, Vlad truly cares about.

He is prone to temper tantrums when he doesn't get what he wants, due to Vlad's spoiling. Danny finds this irritating and complains about it. It occasionally gets them into arguments when they try to work together, because Daniel sometimes has a hard time fallowing Danny's orders even if he realizes its the better plan.

Daniel is a smudge taller than Danny, something he tends to like to flaunt even though its not that big of a difference to warrant it. Mostly it's just because he stands up straight while Danny slumps.

Daniel's ghost half doesn't have the Phantom logo on it. It has the Vladco. logo on the back, between the shoulders.

He is most likely home-schooled, tutored, or otherwise privately educated. Possibly by ghosts. Vlad himself does train him how to use his ghost powers, and it makes a difference bc he quickly becomes a formidable opponent to Danny. Vlad has taught him how to do several select moves that Danny himself has been unable to learn, like proper duplication and ectoenergy redirection.

As a counterbalance to all of the Vlad influence, Daniel has lost the Ghost Wail. It is one of the few advantages Danny has over him.

Speaking of Danny, he never calls Daniel by his name. Ever. He cannot stand to, he is vehemently against it. Daniel is his name. He always refers to Daniel as some kind of rude nickname. As their encounters go on, it becomes a little bit like a game for Danny, to find new things to call him in an attempt to piss Daniel off.

Daniel often dresses, acts, and speaks like a rich spoiled brat because he is one. Vlad will literally get him anything he asks for, something he learned incredibly quickly. As such, he began to ask for incredibly ridiculous things just to see if he'd get them. Thus far, he owns a submarine with an entirely pink inside, a castle made of glass, a tree house palace in his own forest, his own “miniature” jet, three cruise ships, and has an island being made for him, on which he wants to build and upside down tower. Danny has criticized all of this, but Daniel's response is simply “I have an island and you don't, stop being so jealous.”

In the same vein, Daniel always refers to Vlad as “father”, except when hes angry and attempting to be scathing. Whenever he uses the term “Dad”, its a sign that a line has been crossed, and he is very livid. It is also commonly used as an accusation or in that kind of a tone.

He always wear high end fashion, often tailored suits like Vlad. When forced to wear some of Danny's clothing, he complained, “I look so pedestrian.” and “People are going to think I live in the sewer, this is so embarrassing.”

Also: “Move, peasants, your future Prince of Evil is walking here.”

Daniel tends to behave like a more sarcastic, dry-humored rude bratty version of Danny with skewed morals, however he silently suffers from a lack of self image and insecurity. He is constantly worried about his identity, because he can't figure out just who he's supposed to be. He attempts to ignore it, but at night when he can't sleep, it haunts him. He knows he's not normal, not truly human nor ghost in any sense. He sometimes feels fake, like a cheap copy, because he knows he's not his own individual. Its part of the reason he starts mimicking Vlad's over-the-top behavior, to hide his insecurity and lack of identity with fake confidence and narcissism. The more exaggerated he behaves, the worse he feels inside. This is noticed by Vlad, who doesn't notice the underlying problems, and encourages the behavior. Danny notices the change, however he only criticizes it. Jazz is the one to see the cracks in the facade, and the one to shatter it. This confrontation is the first time Danny sees Daniel as an individual like Dani instead of a copy that looks and speaks like him. Danny hadn't considered the clone truly has its own personality, and neither did Vlad.

This is loosely based on the theory presented in the game SOMA: That when you have copies made of you, you are only identical up until the split is made. You then become two different versions of yourself, each believing they're the “true” you. In the game, the people who are being scanned to have a digital copy of themselves put into a computer ark to be sent into space often killed themselves after the scan was complete so that only one of themselves—the scan—would continue to exist. By doing so, they believed they were “continuing” their true existence, when really they were just murdering the biological version of themselves. The conflict of being presented with copies of yourself and of copying yourself is prevalent in the entire game, and it constantly begs the question of “If I'm only a copy, and I still really me?” The game handles it quite intelligently and its a game I cannot recommend enough.

Speaking of insecurity and a lack of identity, Jazz is the one to help Danny cope. This takes precedence over her absolute ire towards Vlad, as she was going to go kick his ass for cloning him yet again. Later, Daniel has a few conversations with Jazz about his own thoughts and issues.

Daniel doesn't understand love. He attempts to “love” Vlad, because sons are supposed to love their fathers, but he doesn't understand it. This is due to a general lack of experience with true care and love, because for all Vlad thinks he's loving and care, it's not quite right. The lack of genuine kindness and empathy is the main issue. The first time he encounters a caring person with those qualities, it is Jazz.

He has an irrational fear of caves and dark holes.

He is a pun master. Some things are just too ingrained in someone to get rid of.

Possible Ideas I'm not sure about:

I am contemplating the loss of the Ice Core, but there are pros and cons to each side. Removing it makes Daniel too different from Danny, as he's supposed to be a clone, however changing it to something else allows for the possibility of a better dynamic; ie: if Daniel had a fire core, that would make him more difficult to fight for Danny, yet also uncomfortable for him as they'd be opposites. As of right now, I've no intentions of changing his core type. I did have an idea where Daniel has an Ice core, however its “tainted”. It's darker and a more prone to forming in jagged, broken ways with dark blues and purple discolorations like bruises. Another idea had been the Icefire core, however I felt that, combined with the already suggested things, was too much Vlad influence, especially for such a large part of his design and character.

Daniel envies those around him who had/have mothers. He finds the concept abstract and foreign, and he wants it. He over-idolizes it, due to inexperience and his own yearning, holding mothers and the concept of motherhood in an almost deity-like regard that's oddly childish. “A mother is the person who can take away any and all pain with her love, who can fix things with a few soft words.” He keeps this fascination/desire/envy a secret, entirely due to Vlad's repeated statement that he was the parental figure. This causes him to become incredibly curious about Maddie, which is exactly as awkward as you'd expect. He never reveals himself, however, and after his existence is revealed, he avoids her specifically as he doesn't know how to interact with her.

He adopted Vlad's swearing habits, however its rare and he uses household objects or small items instead of sweets. He also tends to use them more as insulting nicknames directed towards someone or something: “You absolute moronic table leg!” “Get back here, you insufferable ping pong ball!” “Wel you're a freakin wet paper towel!” -muttering under his breath- “Pens in a basket...”

A minor gripe with the concept Butch did was that he stated Vlad put on a few pounds. Which I legitimately cannot see. Vlad is a wine glass, he cannot be anything else. Even when he did get more muscled as the seasons went on, it was all in his chest, the man does not have a stomach. You can pry my big tiddy'd wine glass mile long legged Vlad from my cold dead hands. (I did like that is seemed like some of his ghost half was starting to leak over into his human form, with the hair shape. Vlad's finally got his devil horns.)

#Danny Phantom #Vlad Masters #Daniel Masters #Clone Danny #vox'slittleheadcanons #Someday i'll get to drawing him #that day is not today.

[phantomphangphucker]

Dealing With The Devil - PhannieMay - Day 6 - Compromise

Summary: Danny is a little too willing to do anything to protect others

Warning: angst, gore, blood, death, character death, murder. 

“So let me get this straight”, Danny puts his hands on his hips and tilts his head at the other ghost, “you’ll agree to permanently wear repression cuffs, if I let you... kill my human half?”. 

Danny still can’t really believe this proposition and normally he would laugh at it, before promptly beating the hell out of whomever was requesting to fully kill him. But this, well this was Dan. The monster who could and would destroy the world and zone. Not only that but Danny didn’t have a leg up on him anymore, Dan didn’t need him to exist. And Danny’s no fool, he knows Dan will kill him now. He’s stronger sure, but still nothing compared to his much older full ghost self. It’s not a battle he’ll win, so he’s left having to genuinely consider this “compromise”. 

“Oh don’t get me wrong, I’ll still try to destroy you child. That, and all the other pathetic humans and ghosts”, Dan chuckles as he crosses his arms. “But you’ll be a ghost, fully, no more playing the line. No more human school, or going home a Fenton; just Phantom”, Danny hates the way Dan sneers at him and he fully gets that Dan is probably trying to turn him against humans or something. Cut him off from those he cares about, “my family will still accept me, human or ghost. How are you gaining anything out of this?”. Danny knows this is true and that only makes him more suspicious of Dan’s “proposition”. 

Dan leans in close to his younger self, with a wide grin, “yes well, we’ll see how that goes when you can’t change into Fenton anymore. I’m sure that spectacle will be very amusing to watch”. Danny refuses to flinch back from him but he knows Dan has a point here. His parents really don’t recognise him as Phantom, at all. There’s no way that won’t be worse fully ghost, but there’s no way he could leave his family, even at the rather nerve-racking prospect of revealing himself to them, “I’m still me, Phantom or Fenton. I’ll convince them”.

“Oh I don’t doubt you will, they’re fools after all”“So what? You’ll just enjoy my struggle to convince them? That hardly seems like you’re getting much here”, Danny crosses his arms and glares while Dan shrugs. “I get the pleasure of killing my weak human half again, always nice to relive your first kill. It really is the most pleasurable”, Dan chuckles at Danny’s grimace. While Danny can’t help but be thoroughly disgusted.

Danny still finds there are too many negatives for Dan in this deal, “I’ll be stronger, you know, fully ghost. And the repression cuffs will weaken you”. “Yes, no longer weighed down by human restraints. A worthy fight would be amusing, now wouldn’t it?”, chuckling deeply, “and I’ll just keep coming back, I’m sure all you’re weak little humans will be quite traumatised to see me”. Danny hates that he’s right there, literally everyone had nightmares for weeks. Tucker often still does, and it certainly won’t help Danny’s mental state much either. But he’s got Jazz, so he’s sure to be fine, “humans aren’t as weak as you think”. 

Dan merely rolls his eyes with a smirk, before brandishing the clawed gauntlets with a, now cruel, grin. Danny can’t help but jerk back from the things, they really do look evil. Dan’s chuckling doesn’t help, “Oh I’m going to enjoy this”. Danny stares at Dan, as he mutters, “I didn’t even agree to this...yet”. Glaring now, “no way I’m letting you do that first. Suppression cuffs”. Dan feigns disappointment for only a few seconds before stabbing Danny out of nowhere, “who said you had a choice”. 

Danny jerks and screams while Dan dramatically rips him in half, laughing all the while. Tossing Phantom out against a wall as Fenton breaks his leg landing on the building's ceiling. Dan builds up his ectoenergy, destroying the gloves before slamming his hand around Fenton’s head. Shoving his claws into Fenton’s gut and slowly tearing them up through his chest. Grinning as Fenton’s organs splatter out and ribs shatter, “Ah my old first kill, how nice”. Knowing full well Fenton's only got a few seconds, Dan promptly crushes his head as the boy screams. 

Laughing loudly as Phantom flies at him, looking utterly horrified. Dan sensing him, turns around with a cocky grin, licking the blood off his claws dramatically, “well now, wasn’t that a mess”. Dan easily dodges Phantoms attack and punches him in the head, “I guess I could live up to my end of the bargain, but I don’t work like that”. Danny, however, isn’t as much of an unprepared mess as he was two years ago. Carrying repression cuffs, amongst other things, with him at all times. Usually, they were for Vlad but... Danny almost can’t believe that it’s still so easy to lock things onto Dan, “you underestimate me old man!”. Dan slides away from Danny and glares at his wrists, “this changes nothing. You’re still a ghost, what hope could you possibly have to maintain your human life”. Dan stands up and grins at Danny, who’s cautiously awaiting Dan's next move. 

Dan simply dusts his shoulder off as he speaks, not even bothering to look at Danny, “it’s not like you can actually stay here, not without your human half to sustain you”. Danny knows Dan’s right, his human half was all that kept his ghost half from needing to spend most of his time in the zone. Though ghosts could stay longer in Amity Park than elsewhere, gritting out through the lingering pain of being split, “I’ll manage”. 

“Ahahaha! You can try and when you fail, inevitably have to spend less and less time here. They’ll move on, you’ll be alone. With nothing but enemies in the zone and unable to stay here, well, we’ll see what you do then. Won’t we?”, Danny can practically feel Dan’s mocking tone. But he smirks anyways, “I have friends in the zone too you know. Unlike you, I’m actually liked and pleasant”. Dan’s smile falters a bit at that, though he snickers, “and I’m sure they’ll just love your new look”. Danny blinks at him confused but doesn’t get a chance to dwell as Dan whips him with ectoplasm into a glass window. Cackling as Danny looks down at his reflection, “now I’ll be enjoying the show so run along home little boy”, as Dan leaves through a portal. 

Danny can’t help but feel a bit freaked out at his reflection, he’s glad his skin is a soft light pale blue rather than Dan’s blueish green. The pointed ears and flaming hair isn’t appreciated though, shivering a bit, “well I’m never having a damn ponytail or facial hair”. Sitting down and running his hand through his hair, sighing, “well, at least my eyes are still green”. Seeing his blunt fingers instead of claws only made him feel better, as he gets up and groans at the dark sky, knowing full well he was expected home over an hour ago. “This is going to suck”.

Danny sits floating above a building across from his home, he’s already tried changing back and nothing. Shaking his head and really wishing Jazz was here. Sure it was great her getting to go to university but not so helpful right now, but knowing full well doing this without her in the know would be extremely foolish, he pulls out his phone. It only takes a few seconds for her to pick up, like always. “Danny? Considering the time, what’s going on?”

“Way too much for phone but mom and dad are going to know. As in know know”

“I’m guessing it can’t be put off till I get home can it?”

“No, it can’t be put off at all. And I can’t change either so”

“Wait...why? What way?”

“Frying Pan and it’s, um, permanent”

“Danny...are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah it is”

“I’m sorry Danny. Do you want me to stay up for Skype? You know, just in case?”

“Probably for the best”

“Alright, you’ll be ok little brother. Like always”

With that he hung up, smiling a little now, as he floats invisibly over into his room. The first thing he does is throw on some of his regular human clothing, which is extremely odd to be wearing over his jumpsuit. Danny’s honestly thankful for all his parents' odd little inventions, as he chuckles down at the little spray paint like can; all it can do is negate a ghosts natural glow. Snickering at the can as he sprays it on himself, “this is probably the only time you’ll ever be really useful”. 

That just left him with the whole flaming hair situation, which is definitely giving off it’s own light. Looking around, Danny shrugs and throws on a thick black beanie and smirks at the mirror, “nice, well just gotta cut the lights now”. Danny’s glad Tucker managed to make it so that none of the house's defences could sense him as he cuts the main power, back up power, and back up for the backup power. 

Walking in through the front door, he closes it quickly so no light from outside can come in. “Sweetie? That you? I’m pretty sure where out for power for a bit”, Danny can hear her tinkering in the kitchen. “Yeah, it’s me”, he tries to keep his voice quiet and steady, hoping the echo goes ignored. Predictably, it doesn’t, “sounds like you might have a bit of a ghost flu or something, Danny-boy”. Danny mutters into his hand, “well at least he doesn’t sound alarmed”. 

Danny easily navigates to the kitchen door but intentionally makes it sound like the trip was less easy, having night-vision was nice and all but it was so very suspicious. Sticking his head in the doorway, he can see both his parents are tinkering away at the table; neither looking too concerned. With a quiet nervous sigh, he sits at the table, making sure to stay out of reaching distance just in case. 

Dan, meanwhile, is watching from the shadows and looking through a viewing portal; amused. His younger self has become quite the sneaky bastard. Danny rubs the neck of his turtleneck before summoning up the courage to speak, “it’s a bit more than a flu, dad. A lot more”. 

Danny watches as both his parents stop and put down their inventions, looking in his direction worriedly. “Sweetie what’s wrong?”, Danny’s glad she just looks concerned, not like she’s ready to go on the attack. His dad, however, looks way more suspicious. Opting to talk before his dad gets any, probably right, ideas, “there was a ghost attack a bit ago, I got caught up in it and well...I didn’t exactly survive”.

Danny watches as both his parents slowly go wide-eyed as they take in what he said. Most normal parents would not immediately jump to the realisation that their kid was a ghost now, but these were the Fenton’s; ghost was always the first conclusion. Maddie shakes her head, “are...are you sure? You’re not...glowing and none of our security is going off”. Jack blinks a bit but nods, before tilting his head at Danny. “Er, well I didn’t want to be, like, shot at so...”, shaking his head a bit before continuing, “you remember that Fenton de-glow stuff? Yeah, not really any left”. 

Both his parents look rather horrified now, Danny is seriously hoping that is not at the whole I’m-a-ghost-now thing. “Sweetie, we’d never. You still know who you are so you’re not going to...going to hurt anyone”, she almost looks guilty at even implying that her good-natured son could harm anyone. “You cut the lights too, didn’t you? Fenton genius right there, but I’d think we’d recognise our own son”, Jack pauses and frowns a bit, “you don’t look that different, do you?”. 

Danny’s a bit surprised that his dad is being rather toned down, he’s not sure whether to be worried or glad about that, “well I mean you guys get a bit...excitable about ghost stuff. I do look a bit different yeah, still clearly me but...different”. Danny puts a little bit of strength behind his next words, “and no, I’m not going to go hurting or harassing people”. Danny watches as his mom nods strongly, clearly believing him. While his dad looks a bit guilty, “yeah we are a bit overzealous and I’m way eager to see what you can do, but helping you adjust is more important son”. 

Danny can’t help but mutter about good timing, as the red back up light finally comes on. Though he’s got no clue what his light blue skin looks like under red light, he’s dad promptly gives him an answer with lighthearted chuckling, “light purple is a bit of a girl’s colour, Danny-boy”. Danny instantly blushes at that which only seems to make his dad a bit excited, “Oh! Ghost blush is yellow under red light! Neat!”. This only makes Danny blush harder and move to cover up his cheeks, feeling extremely awkward now. Which Jack clearly picks up on, “Oh, right, adjusting. Um, sorry son”. 

Maddie smiles warmly at her son, “ignore your father, but I’m guessing you’re more blue than purple”, snickering a little, “like the Box ghost”. Danny feels a bit bad for Boxy at how that instantly offends him a bit, not to mention embarrasses him more. Enough so that his long pointy ears flick downwards, out from under the beanie. Groaning with his hand on his forehead “mom! I could have done without that comparison”. In his embarrassment, he doesn’t notice his dad move to touch his ears, until he feels it anyway. 

Stiffening a bit and flicking his, currently yellow looking, eyes over to his slightly crouched dad. Jack pulls his hand back gingerly noticing that, “it’s hard not be curious son, um... you can swivel them?”. Danny honestly doesn’t know but considering Dan can, it only makes sense. Rubbing his sweater covered neck again, he flicks his ears back up by simply relaxing them and gives his dad a cautious smile. Jack beams back at him and nods, while Maddie speaks up, “if it’s anything, sweetie. I don’t think you look much different, though I could see how the fangs could be a bit threatening”. 

Danny blinks a bit before running his tongue across his teeth, muttering more to himself, “how did I not notice that”. Jack chuckles next to him, “well, hopefully that means you’re not too bothered by this”. Jack gets up and sits down near Danny before patting his shoulder. 

All of them jump a little as the regular lights come back on, revealing that Danny is very much blue-skinned and green-eyed. “Er, um, hi?”, both his parents can’t help but laugh. Though Maddie shakes her head at him, “I’m pretty sure we could already see you, Danny. You being dead is honestly more upsetting than blue skin”. Jack nods at Maddie before turning back to Danny, “your mothers right and you really don’t look that different. We really would have recognised you”. 

Danny fiddles with the beanie, “uh, well I’m covering up some stuff”. Jack notices his white-gloved hand as Danny plays with his hat, clueing in, “I don’t think I’ve seen you wear a turtle neck in years”. Danny blinks at his dad, not really expecting to get called out on the clothing yet, “yeah, my face is pretty much all I’m not trying to cover up. Kind of a long explanation tied to the clothing. Hairs weirder but easier, if that makes sense”. 

At both his parents nods, Danny slowly pulls the beanie off; revealing the lazy blaze of white fire. Placing the hat on the table before looking to see their reactions. Both of them are wide-eyed and Maddie’s mouth is gaping a bit. Jack, with a bit of a twinkle in his eye, “you’re hair, it’s fire! Can I touch it?”. Danny shrugs a bit, “I mean, I don’t know if you’ll get burned but sure I guess”. 

Dan, still watching through the viewing portal, is glaring at the spectacle of Jack practically patting and petting the flaming hair like it’s a freaking dog. Full-heartedly hoping the idiot gets burned. Cold icy fire is still fire and ice can burn too. 

“It’s cold!? Can’t say I expected that!”, Jack chuckles a bit as he tries to cup some of it and it promptly dissipates. Danny can’t help but snicker, “all of me is ice cold, so I’d say that’s pretty expected”. Maddie gets up then and puts her hand to his cheek nodding, “yeah, you are really cold. But that’s fine, so long as it’s not bothering you”. Danny shakes his head, smiling a little, at his mom. Making his hair wave around a bit as he talks, “no, I’m fine mom”. 

Maddie eyes him a bit suspiciously, which makes him a little nervous, “Sweetie, you seem...kind of like you’re already used to this. It’s like you were more bothered about what our reactions would be, than being a ghost”. Now Danny’s flat out nervous, knowing full well that he probably shouldn’t put this part off anymore, “Er, well, it’s new and I’m not quite sure yet how it’ll affect my life or well, death. But it’s not like I didn’t already know about ghosts, I’m more familiar with the zone than most ghosts, so spending a bunch more time there isn’t much of a worry. If I have a concern I could probably just ask ClockWork, though he might just give me a riddle instead of an answer”, glancing at his parents confused faces, Danny rubs his neck before continuing, “before you ask, he’s a friend and mentor. He knows pretty well everything, actually there’s probably nothing he doesn’t know...and I’m getting sidetracked”. 

Danny shuffles as Maddie shushes Jack, easily picking up that it’s best to just let him talk. Even if what he’s saying doesn’t make sense, “anyways, there really isn’t anything physically for me to adjust to. Outside of looking a bit different and not being human at all anymore, anyway”. Danny feels a bit like an ass, as he’s just confusing them more and more, “look, um, this ain’t really the first time I’ve died. Well, half died is more accurate. You see, I kind of lied...about the portal accident. I didn’t just get a little shock from brushing up against the frame,  when it activated”. Looking down at his hands in his lap and fiddling with them, “I was actually inside of it. So the zone literally opened up on me, completely engulfing me and electrocuting me to half death. See, somehow the zones ectoplasm bonded to me and protected the rest of my living cells. Thus half death, and now, full death”. 

Danny watches his parents nervously while they blink at him. Ranges of emotions flicker in their eyes, Maddie’s settle on worry while Jack’s are dejected. “Son, why? Why did you hide this? I’m sure we could have done something”. Maddie nods before going wide-eyed and looking sad, “you’re only telling us now. Because... because you don’t look human anymore”. 

Dan flat out cackles at this, waiting for them, in their pathetic human hurt, to reject him. Though he knows full well they won’t, but this evil bastard can dream can’t he? 

Danny rubs at his sweater neck and looks away, “you’re not wrong. And I’ll admit it was largely because I didn’t want you to kill me or send me to the zone or experiment or...try to fix it. But it was also to protect you, the less you knew the less likely you’d get involved in some mess or another”. Now both of them look completely dejected, with Jack flinching at his previous comment. Danny chuckles weakly, “stupid thing is, I knew you wouldn’t harm me if you knew. Figured that out for sure after about a year, but hiding it was routine by then and I guess I was a bit of a coward”.

Maddie’s speaks while Jack looks a bit less bummed out, “you’re right that we wouldn’t, I’m sorry that you ever feared we would. And all kids fear being open with their parents, sweetie. But what could you possibly be getting up to, to need to protect us?”. Danny grimaces and that only concerns Maddie more, “you've been abducted or trapped at least four times purely for being related to me. You were even murdered once for it”. Danny frowns and shakes his head as he keeps speaking, “my life is stupid dangerous, but I’m fine, I’m happy. I’m leading a good, um, existence; even if it isn’t exactly safe and I’m not about to say I don’t enjoy all the fighting, hurling witty insults, protecting people and so on”. 

“Son that is both strange and worrying, but I can’t say I don’t get it. What we do is dangerous too but we wouldn’t trade it for anything. Except family”, Danny can tell his dad’s trying to give him a meaningful look. Clueing in, Danny waves his hand dismissively, “you guys don’t need to quit being hunter’s, I’m ok with it. Though I could do without the anti-ghost stuff just laying around everywhere. Some of it affected me before, now probably all of it will”. Both nod, feeling more comfortable with this topic over their sons apparently dangerous lifestyle. 

Maddie smiles though can’t help eyeballing his hair, “of course, and I guess we really should put your ecto-signature in everything so you don’t set it off”. Danny can’t help but chuckle, “too late, Tuck did that well over a year ago. That’s part of the reason the house isn’t trying to destroy me. Though, I’m guessing full death probably made my signature stronger”. Jack slaps his son on the back and grins widely at him, “again, sneaky Fenton genius”. While Maddie sighs, “so you’re friends know then?”. Danny nods at her, “they were there, for the accident. There’s no way they couldn’t know, they thought I flat out died. Well, until I changed back into a human anyways”. Now their both looking at him confused again and this time he has no clue why. Jack tilts his head, “what do you mean back human? You were a ghost?”. 

“Um yeah? Can’t exactly be half ghost without also having a ghost form. I could change pretty well on command once I figured out how”, Maddie mouths “duh” and chuckles. While Jack is even more excited now, “so you already know what it’s like being a ghost! No wonder you’re pretty ok with this!”. Danny nods, “yeah that’s pretty much why the clothing is harder to explain. And why I wasn’t sure you’d recognise me. You never have before and I looked far more human before. You’ve see my ghost self nearly every day for the past two years. Heck, I have literally transformed right next to you. You even called me on it and yet...”. Jack and Maddie would feel a bit saddened if Danny wasn’t clearly laughing. 

“Well you sure seemed to have gotten some amusement out of fooling us”, Maddie shakes her head, amused herself, as Danny nods almost sheepishly. “Is it bad that I can’t think of what ghostie you could be? All of them seem so unlikely”, Jack tilts his head at his son genuinely trying to figure it out but no personalities really match is mild tempered, kind and rather shy son. 

Danny smiles almost pitifully, “I’m not sure if it is dad. But considering not even Jazz or the other halfa figured it out without seeing me transform, I wouldn’t feel bad. But if you’re trying to figure it out yourself the gloves are unchanged, and my hair has always been white, just wasn’t flaming before”. Danny will actually be a bit concerned if that doesn’t give it away, because really? How many other white-haired glove wearing ghosts are there? Especially ones that are daily occurrences in Amity. “Wait there is another like you? And halfa? Is that the title?”. 

Danny nods at her, “yup, halfa’s the name and the other one is a prick though. A completely power hungry, manipulative, creepy madman. Kind of sad that the only two of a species completely hated each other. The newer third one also hates him, and he created her so...”. Maddie mouths “wow” while Jack slaps his hand excitedly on the table, before poking at Danny’s turtle neck collar; clearly asking for permission to peak under it. Danny nods while chuckling, pretty well knowing his dad’s figured it out. 

Jack slaps the table more after seeing the, now iconic, white and black jumpsuit. Not enough to see the DP but it was enough to tell who’s classic outfit this was, “you’re a hunter in your own sense! And protecting Amity too!”. Jack shakes his head as he settles down a little while Danny just smirks. Jack speaks up again, “but you seem so different? He’s loud, assertive, cocky even”. 

Danny smirks even more, “if I went around acting exactly the same I’m sure everyone would know. Fenton was shy cause he had a secret to keep. And no way could I get into a fight as Fenton, if I genuinely punched a regular human I’d probably kill them. Even in human form, I was ghostly strong. So I let people push me around instead of fighting back. That and if people thought Fenton was weak and unwilling to fight, they wouldn't connect the dots. Especially since pretty much all anyone ever saw of ghost me was the fighting”. 

This is enough to get Maddie too figure it out, everyone knew who the cocky ghostly teenager that always seemed to be in some fight was, whispering, “you’re Phantom? Wow sweetie”. Danny nods and runs his hair through his hair, making the flames wave around his hand. Before phasing his clothing off rather dramatically, as they fall to a heap on the floor. 

Jack slaps Danny’s DP symbol excitedly, while Maddie talks as she looks him over, “Sweetie you are absolutely right, we would have freaked if you walked in like this; with the lights on anyway. Can’t say how I feel about the new look, it’s definitely more intimidating and fearsome”. Danny rubs his neck, knowing full well that will actually get him compliments from quite a few ghosts. But personally, “I can’t say I care for it either. Sure the fangs, and even possibly ears, would have grown in eventually; halfa or not. But the hair is way too similar to someone else, even if it’s not really surprising”. 

Even noticing Danny’s grimace, Jack grins, “well I think it’s kind of cool looking. Though I do think your previous look was more friendly”. “Yeah, made it easier for people to trust me and see me as the good guy when I kind of just looked like a glowing kid. I know lots of folks are going to be put off, not to mention wonder why my look suddenly changed. No one batted an eye at the addition of my symbol but that was not a major change. This... is”, plus Danny would have to explain it to people without giving away that he was once a halfa. That or tell the whole freaking town that the two Danny’s were actually one and the same, and now totally dead. 

Dan takes this as his cue to fuck shit up, promptly setting off Danny’s ghost sense just as he blasts him with an ectobeam. “DANNY!”, both his parents yell at the same time while Danny phases straight through a wall to avoid damaging it. Quickly zipping back out, crouched and looking around. Thankfully, he’s gotten good enough with his sense to actually tell what ghost had set it off, practically growling, “should have figured. What? You get bored of watching from the shadows, old man?”. 

Jack and Maddie both have weapons out and are frantically scanning the room, though making sure to not point their guns at Danny. Dan decides to be the dramatic over the top shit he is and walks through a wall with fire blazing around his feet and in his footprints. Uncrossing his arms, he shrugs exaggeratedly and sneers at Danny’s glaring face. While the Fenton’s gape at this guy who looks nearly identical to their son, which just makes Dan laugh, “fearsome is quite right I’d say, and it’s too bad those two fools reacted so acceptingly. It really would have been much more fun to watch them kill you”. 

Dan laughs as Danny fires a shot at him, teeth bared. And Dan doesn’t exactly care that the Fenton’s copy their child’s actions, but he’ll mock it anyways, as he easily avoids the fire, “and here I thought mother and father dearest said they wouldn’t shot their boy”. Dan’s a little too distracted enjoying his parents shocked expression to dodge Danny’s ectobeam and stinger attack, Danny growling, “that doesn’t apply to you! You gave that up when you murdered them!”. Dan grabs his side and laughs, “can’t change genetics, and really they got off easy. Highly combustible hot sauce is much more pleasant than what I gave the rest of humanity”. 

Danny, being much more of an up-close-and-personal fighter, promptly punches Dan in the face; though worried at Dan’s smirking. Quickly finding out why, as Dan’s duplicate slams him over the head with his human corpse. Danny can’t help but jerk back, completely disgusted and disturbed. While Dan cackles, “nice isn’t it? I think it’s a wonderful present. Don’t you?”. 

“You’re one sick bastard, it wasn’t enough for you to just kill me was it?”, this comment is enough for Jack and Maddie to fire at Dan very aggressively. Dan rolls his eyes, blocking the shots with a shield and freezing them, “ah ah ah, you’re not doing anything here”. Smirking as he jumps at Danny, claws and teeth bared; tossing the Fenton corpse to slide next to the parents. 

The Fenton parents are stuck watching as their two flaming-hair, black and white sons pretty much try to kill each other. Both of them can tell this is nothing like the fights they’ve seen Phantom in so many times. This is closer to a horror movie monster brawl than a superhero comedy sparring. 

Watching Dan stomp Danny’s face into the ground while Danny fires blind at him, Dan cackles “this is almost sad, child. Even with the agreed upon repressor cuffs, I’m still the stronger Phantom”. But Danny smirks as the houses security system finally boots back up properly, going on full assault against Dan while Danny chuckles, “forgot about that didn’t you?”. Dan glares at him as he jumps across the room, getting hit quite a lot before changing to look like 16-year-old Danny; as the room promptly stops its assault. Smirking at the bewildered Danny, “and what makes you think some security system is going to stop me?”. 

“You have no place wearing my form, monster”, Danny growls out as he pulls out his thermos. Dan responds as he being sucked it, “it’s my form too, always will be”. Danny shakes the thermos aggressively while glaring at it, as his parents unfreeze and collapse to the floor. 

His mom snaps him out of his angry assault on the thermos, “Sweetie, were you just...fighting yourself?”. Jack throws in his two cents, “an evil Danny, clone?”. Danny at first snaps his blazing eyes to his parents but then to his own corpse, promptly phasing it through the ground. Shivering a bit before looking to them and responding, “I wish I could say that thing is a clone. But no, he’s me from the future of timeline that, through cheating, I managed to avoid becoming reality. But due to that cheating, he exists outside of time, and yes, he’s the one who killed my human half. He killed his human half at 14 and wanted the “pleasure” of repeating his first kill”. 

Jack sits down weakly at the table and stares at the bloodied spots on the floor. Maddie walks up to Danny, talking as she notices he’s clearly injured and weakened, “so you... were supposed to become that?”, shaking her head, “you’re hurt, and I think we should all sit down”. Danny nods though his ears flick down in mild shame, talking as they head to the table, “yes, but I’m not him and I never will be. ClockWork saw to that, though I’m not impressed he escaped from ClockWork”. Sighing as he cleans himself off, “though, I guess if ClockWork allowed it then it was better than any other option”. 

Jack seems flat out pissed at this, “how is letting my son get murdered the best option! And he did-that thing did that!”, Jack points aggressively with both arms at the largest bloodied spot on the floor; where the corpse used to be. Danny rubs his neck awkwardly as his mom patches him up, “ClockWork is not really someone you question about things. He can see every single possible future, and he has a major soft spot for me. The only way he’d let something really bad happen to me, is if something far worse would have happened otherwise. That or if either the timeline itself or the world, would be destroyed otherwise. In some ways, ClockWork is better viewed as an omnipotent nearly unbiased god, than some ghost”. 

“As always, you are indeed right in your judgement of me, Daniel”, everyone snaps their heads to the childlike cloaked ghost of time. Danny’s the only one to smile fondly though, “let me guess, there’s some big revelation you’re about to give me. That or hint at something I probably should have already figured out but totally didn’t?”. 

ClockWork sly smile confirms Danny’s guess as ClockWork speaks, “all worlds need rulers, my little apprentice. And who’s to say how to best pick the worthy heir. I’m certain that time on this earth isn’t it”. ClockWork tosses the ring of Wrath to him, making the point crystal clear to Danny. Danny catches it as he gapes at ClockWork, before blinking and glancing at the thermos, “that...would have been more than just catastrophic. Would the Observants have even allowed that?”. ClockWork nods with a frown, “they only watch and somethings simply can’t be undone. Consider this a rare occurrence of only two doors”. With that ClockWork leaves as the two parents sit utterly confused. 

“Danny-boy? What did any of that mean? What just happened?”

“Did he call you his apprentice? And what is that ring?”

Danny looks at both of them and laughs, “well for one, I was right. The other option would have basically been world endingly bad. Pretty easy choice between being full ghost or world destruction. And ClockWork knows I’d gladly make the compromise of my human side for protecting the entire zone and earth. Especially from Dan”. Glaring at where the thermos used to be, Danny’s glad ClockWork took it though surprised he didn’t even notice, “for two, I’m just going with honesty here, you remember my defeat of the ghost king? Well, that stripped him of his crown. And I guess the zone needs a king, so that role fell to the one who beat him. I was still on the path to becoming Dan at that time so thus, he had the same claim that I did. But since he’s technically older, it would be his by default unless I genuinely beat him”. Danny smirks to himself, “and since Dan unwittingly agreed to the cuffs those didn’t count as cheating”. 

“Wait, son, you mean what exactly?”

“Well, it would seem... I’m the new ghost king now”, Danny holds up the ring as if to prove a point. While his parents both gape at their flaming-haired green-eyed 16-year-old Ghost king for a son. 

End.

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