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vladdyissues · 2 months

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Fair Catch

Sequel to We Have A Problem

A pair of powerful white headlights bored through the November night, illuminating the way for a glossy black Aston Martin to prowl up the mile-long driveway. The house at the end hardly fit the appellation; it was a castle, pennants waving from the towers, the front façade illuminated by a battalion of landscaping spotlights.

The car pulled into a detached garage, and moments later Vlad Masters strolled into his domicile, still decked in Packers green and gold and toting a foam cheesehead under his arm.

“What a game!” he crowed for the hundredth time. He tossed his keys into a bowl on a side table and moved into the kitchen, offloading some of his accoutrements. Merrily humming the Packers fight song, he flounced to the fridge and grabbed a 12-ounce longneck of Wisconsin King. He popped the top with a metallic clink and knocked back a mouthful of premium Grade A milk as if it were beer.

“Thirty-four to thirty one!” He danced a little jig. Mercifully, no one was present to see it. “What a game!”

And it had been. Green Bay facing off against the Vikings at Lambeau Stadium. The teams tied in the fourth quarter, 31 and 31, with just two minutes left, until Ryan Longwell made a 33-yard field goal with just three seconds to spare. Perched in his own private VIP lounge overlooking the field, Vlad Masters erupted like a green and yellow volcano, cheering and howling and throwing popcorn and furniture and any of his staff unfortunate enough to be within arm’s reach. His mania endured on the drive home and would likely keep him wired for the next twelve hours. Now came the almost onanistic ritual of basking in the triumphant postgame afterglow. A fine finish to a fine evening.

Bottle in hand, Vlad sauntered to his foyer and flipped on the lights. There it was, his extensive collection of Packers memorabilia, all neatly organized behind glass in special humidity-controlled display cases. He strode by, gazing upon his possessions with the air of a hedonistic king inspecting his coffers: vintage jerseys, photographs, limited edition cheeseheads and scarves, rare items of sports history that rightly belonged in a museum instead of a selfish billionaire’s private collection. And sitting front and center on a pedestal, the most treasured item in his hoard, his beloved, irreplaceable—

Vlad abruptly choked. Milk sprayed from his mouth and nose.

The football autographed by the legendary Ray Nitschke, his most prized possession, was nowhere to be seen.

The bottle slipped from Vlad’s limp fingers and shattered on the stone floor. Hysteria clutched his heart. His stomach dropped to the bottoms of his ugly green oxfords, now spattered with milk. His mind raced through possibilities with the frantic fervor of a mother discovering one of her children missing.

“Did the maids—? No. No, and I didn’t…” The color drained from his face. “I can’t have been robbed. It’s impossible.”

And it was; no one could get through his security system. He’d built it himself using the most advanced tomographic and photoelectric beam technology, and tested it extensively before deploying it over every inch of his property. He checked it regularly and performed scheduled diagnostics and upgrades to keep it cutting-edge. Even if the power were to go out, a generator array would keep the system running independently for months.

At that moment he finally noticed the canary-yellow sticky note planted in the middle of the display stand’s empty prongs. He darted close and leaned over it with wide eyes.

Dear Fruit Loop,

Don’t worry, your ball is safe. FOR NOW. I’m going to hang onto it until you get someone else to narate Knowing Universe. All of it. I don’t care how you do it, but I don’t want to hear your dumb stupid ugly snotty voice on ANY of my shows ever again, got it? If you ever want to see your prescious ball again, you’ll get on this STAT.

Sincerely,

You know who

Vlad clenched his fists—and his jaw, his toes, every muscle in his quivering body. His eyes flared red, the left one twitching spastically. When he exhaled, twin jets of smoke whooshed from his nostrils.

“Daniellllllll!”

Read on AO3

#danny phantom #vlad masters #green bay packers #packers fanatic vlad #dp fanfiction #hjbwrites #ficlet #humor

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ladylynse · 3 months

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Revision: Maddie can’t deny it any longer. If ectoplasm can become blood, there’s more to this story than she ever realized. Sequel to Shift

Chapter 18, in which Jazz arrives on the scene, Danny lets some of his plan slip, and Maddie is once again faced with a choice.

Also on FFN

#danny phantom #dp #dp fanfiction #phanfiction #danny fenton #jazz fenton #maddie fenton #danny phantom fanfiction #fanfiction #my writing #ladylynse #fic: revision

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phantomtwitch · 3 months

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My second fic for @ecto-implosion 2023! I was super excited to step in and write for the awesome @half-deadmagicperson and the fantastic artwork they created. Their artwork will be embedded in the fic on AO3, too, but I encourage you to check it out and the other art they’ve done on their blog!

All three chapters of the fic will go up this week.

Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: Danny Phantom Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Danny Fenton & Tucker Foley & Sam Manson Characters: Danny Fenton, Tucker Foley, Sam Manson, Jazz Fenton, Maddie Fenton, Jack Fenton (Danny Phantom), Skulker (Danny Phantom) Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Identity Reveal, Very Mild Gore, Description of Injuries, but it's not super graphic, Emetophobia, No One Knows AU

Summary:

The portal accident left Danny with scars that glow whether he's Fenton or Phantom. He's done his best to hide them, but it's only a matter of time before someone finds out his secret.

#danny phantom #ectoimplosion2023 #my writing #no one knows au #dp fanfiction

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what-even-is-sleep · 4 months

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Sliding in at the 11th hour... right before the ending of final extensions... I present my fic addition @tsubaki94's wonderful Ecto-Implosion art! I hope I did it some justice and look forward to possibly adding to this world of HC's in the future!

"Above the seat Lancer was gesturing towards was a horribly cheesy sign, labeling it “The Happy Waiting Chair!”. His leg may have been hurting like crazy, but there was no way he was ever sitting down on that. It looked like one of the chairs taken from behind the gym room bleachers– chairs like that saw more than just dust, gum, and trash from the bleachers above. He’d once heard an upperclassman say that someone had stolen one of them on a dare, pissed on it, sprayed it with perfume, and thrown it back behind the bleachers to blend in with the others. Danny decided to lean against the wall instead, folding his arms over his chest, balancing slightly on his better leg, and leaning his cane against his hip. Not a particularly secure spot, but it would do."

#mypost #ectoimplosion2023 #danny phantom #tucker foley #dp fanfiction #dp #danny fenton #spectra #mr lancer

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weshney · 8 months

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Portal Panic Chapter 17

And A Partridge In A Pear Tree

Danny Phantom x Boku no Hero Academia

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Ao3 | FFn | Youtube Audiobook

Tags:

Mystery, Angst and Humor, Misunderstandings, No Romance, Friendship, Swearing, Slow Build, Rare Characters, Author Regrets Nothing, Except When The Characters Push Me Around And Give Me More Work, Like 5 Different Major Interwoven Plots At This Point

College Age Danny Fenton (20), Danny Fenton Gets a Hug, Or Three, Mostly From the Same Person But It's Fine, Danny's Fenton's Clones Are Little Shits, But Just to Him, Meddling Clockwork (Danny Phantom), Ghost Obsessions But They're Really Just Hyper-Fixation, Valerie Gray Jack & Maddie Fenton Know Danny's Secret, Supportive Jazz Jack and Maddie Fenton, dyslexic Jack Fenton, Phantom Planet Who?, no beta reader we die like danny

Mineta Minoru Doesn't Exist, Pre-Overhaul Arc (My Hero Academia), Well Kind Of, Midoriya Inko is a Ray of Sunshine, Bakugou Katsuki Needs a Hug, Eventual Happy Ending, Kirishima Eijirou is a Good Friend, One Main OC Needed For PlotTM, Protective Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, All Might's Trying Not To Have Heart Attack Buuuut, Retired Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Loosely Follows BNHA Canon, But in the Background

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A white shape suddenly zipped from the portal, and it was barely a second before Danny’s own monochrome blur overtook it. A series of barked coos, loose feathers and panicked flapping exploded from Danny’s hands as he held onto the mysterious creature. Frowning, a miniature ecto-shield formed around the open portal, effectively closing its door. It didn’t matter though, because not a moment later, the rift evaporated.

“What’cha got there, Danny-boy?” Mr. Fenton chirped, stepping away from a laptop that was connected via USB to a monstrous server beneath it.

“Uh—smoothie?”

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And then there was that damn Chisaki. Just the icing on this shit cake. If the Shie Hassakai expected the League to bow down and lick the dirt from their boots, they had another thing coming.

While it was obvious the yakuza were on to something big—whatever they’d shot Compress with was definitely worth stealing—there had to be a way to take advantage of that beaked bastard without ceding power.

Shigaraki’s red eyes passed unseeing over another row of games, until they suddenly sharpened on a dramatic cover art. Protagonists from several different franchises stood together, working to battle against a sea of Nohearts.

A wide smile pulled at cracked lips, splitting one and causing it to bleed; but he barely noticed.

Of course.

Why didn’t he think of it before?

A crossover.

#danny phantom #boku no hero acedamia #portal panic #dp x bnha #dp fanfiction #crossover #my hero academia #dp fanfic #dp x mha #dp crossover #fanfiction #fanfic

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kitsune024 · 9 months

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Crossovers

Puss in Boots

MCU

Is Yourself by FriendlyFrat_Boy I Chapters: 11/? I Ghost King Danny Fenton, Dark Danny Fenton, The Ultimate Enemy..kind of Echoes by @phantomtwitch I Chapters 23/30 I No One Knows AU, hazmat au, Overpowered Danny Fenton, Eldritch Danny Fenton Mini-Bang: Crawling In My Skin by @skarlettskwrl I Chapters: 1/1 I One shot BAMF Danny Fenton, Eldritch Danny, No One Knows AU, Hurt No Comfort, Dark Harvest by @wastefulreverie I Chapters: 2/2 I Completed 👻 Halloween fic, Ghost Hunger Days of Future Past by Acidwing I Chapters: 12/12 I Completed Dan Fic, Danny & Dan, Canon Divergence, Dark, The Ultimate Enemy The Consequences of Amnesty Forest by princessFanona I Chapters 2/2 I Completed Eldritch Danny, Ghost Hunger Terrarium by @ventisettestars I Chapters 5/5 I Completed Undergrowth, Plant Danny Watching the Horizon by SQ_Scrawls I Chapters 6/6 I Completed Danny dies for real this time, Grief, Angst, Full Ghost Danny, Space Obsession Danny, one sided Danny Fenton/Sam Manson Deranged Senses by @scarletsaphire I Chapters 5/5 I Completed POV Multiple, Loss of Control, Descent into Madness Cannibalism Gore Identity Reveal Feral Danny Fenton

Bookmark Series

Something’s Wrong With Danny Fenton by @ghostly-cabbage I Part 1 - 2 I No One Knows AU, Horror Danny, Creepy Danny Everything Was White by @lexosaurus I Part 1 - 2 I GIW, Identity Reveal, Torture, Aftermath Torture, Hurt Danny The Gravity Of Time by @punchspeedchunk I Part 1- 3 I Ghost King Danny Fenton, Identity Reveal, Badass Danny Fenton Rites of Kingship by @maskedemerald I Part 1 - 2 I Ghost Portal!Danny AU The Ultimate Saga by Firefury_Amahira I Part 1 - 5 I Completed Dan Fic, Dan/Valerie, The Ultimate Enemy, hate!ship ------ Series by @haikujitsu FFN Part 1. Phantom of Truth I Chapters 22/22 I Hurt/Comfort & Suspense, Danny, Maddie. Part 2. Shadow of a Doubt I Chapters 65/65 I Drama & Family, Danny, Maddie, Valerie, OC -------

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phantom-rambling · 10 months

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(Better read this one first.)

The lights go up.

Everything beneath the circus tent is black, green, and purple. The classic three-ring-and-trapeze setups are crowded with pine boxes–stacked to form pedestals. Brainwashed ghosts of varying shapes and sizes perform as they take their places around the stage. Their movements are formless and unnerving. The crowd in the grandstands watches in bewitched silence or claps a little at the end of a noticeable stunt. Suddenly, every figure in sight stops mid-stride.

Freak Show appears in spotlight with a clap of flash paper. His heel is balanced on the lip of the center ring. His deathly white skin gleams against the darkness. He’s wearing a sharply tailored pinstriped suit—the only red in the entire tent. The crowd’s eyes follow as he reaches up to tip his hat in greeting.

But he’s startled to find nothing there. The spiderlike man smooths back the wrinkles on his forehead in a casual gesture and covertly peers around.

The spotlight abandons him, swinging up across the motionless faces of a troupe of ghosts poised on one of the stacks of boxes. It settles to shine at the top on a clown in a baggy yellow sack-style costume with loud pink polka dots all over it and orange frills on the hands, feet, and neck. The clown’s gloved right hand is extended to point, as if having drawn the spotlight’s direction by itself. Its painted face is obscured by the ringmaster’s ebony silk top hat sat snug on its head. The crowd giggles.

Freak Show, miffed and unsure, hurries through the darkness as quietly as he can toward the lit figure. Meanwhile, the clown’s elbow slowly bends for its fingers to reach the back brim of the hat. With a pinch and a tug, the hat tumbles off–revealing a long messy mop of bright rainbow hair. The crowd laughs and claps. The hat bounces off the toe of one of the clown’s pointed white shoes and rolls on the box. Freak Show appears at the edge of the spotlight and swipes to grab the hat. But the clown swipes faster and plays keep-away with it, dodging and weaving like a rubber hose cartoon as Freak Show lunges and reddens. The crowd chortles with increasing vigor at each failed attempt.

The nearly crimson ringmaster steps back and glances at the darkness above before digging in the pockets of his robe. He produces a ring. Its menacing blue jewel glares in the light. Freak Show slips it on a finger and straightens himself. He turns to the audience with a demonstrative smile and juts the ring in the direction of a nearby performer. The ghost’s body vaporizes, reduced to a green wisp that gutters on the floor. The audience yelps in amazement. He then turns the ring on the misbehaving clown. The clown stands still.

Nothing happens.

The crowd chitters. Freak Show tears off the ring and produces a talisman of blood red mineral carved in the shape of a demon’s head.

No luck.

He throws it down and tries again. The clown leans on one leg and taps its foot. After the third loss, Freak Show’s hand flies in and out of his pocket so fast that it drags out a whole tangled mass of cursed trinkets. He nearly falls to catch them, but misses. They hit the floor with a jingle and scatter. The crowd howls with laughter. Even the clown doubles over, holding its stomach. Freak Show snatches a blackened gold necklace from the pile and raises its glaring pendant at the damned hooligan’s face. The neck of the clown’s gown erupts in eight-foot flames that lick at the tightropes above. The audience shrieks.

The singed cloth falls to the wooden floor in a heap, along with the hat. Dead silence fills the air. A little surprised at the reaction himself, Freak Show regains his composure and coolly approaches his prize. The fabric twitches. He hesitates. The ashy yellow gown bucks with an “arf”, and little teeth from inside clench the brim of the hat. A dog with short blue fur and spry legs races out. It leaps down onto the dirt stage, taking the hat and the spotlight with it. The ringmaster fumes and chases it as the crowd cheers.

Dani, hiding in her ghost form in the shadows of canvas high above, laughs to herself. She likes this new guy already.

She turns around and pries apart two layers of the tent’s facade to check on the others. Danny and Valerie are still working on disabling the industrial-sized doomsday mind-control machine–or whatever it is–that Freakshow has hoisted above the stage. The two are hanging in the air at an open panel on the thing’s side. Piles of its guts have been strewn out onto Valerie’s hoverboard as they work feverishly to cut off the power supply without blowing anything up. They bicker in hushed tones over which wires to cut. Neither gives a convincing impression that they’re very sure what they’re doing.

“Almost done?” Dani interrupts.

“Getting there. This wiring is idiotic,” Valerie replies.

“How’s Tim doing?” asks Danny.

Dani zips her head back out and looks down. The dog is running literal circles around Freak Show as the inhibited ghosts fumble to assist. She snickers.

“He’s kinda making me jealous.”

“Just keep an eye out, okay? We don’t know what else could be up here,” Danny tells her. Again.

“What, you think I’m gonna get a spider bite?”

“As if you’d mind.”

Dani doesn’t really hear him. She��s busy thinking about what kind of superpowers you could get from a ghost spider.

“Why did we let the person we barely know handle the distraction again?” Valerie asks.

“You let Wulf come on the last one,” Danny replies.

“Dani vouched for him.”

“And I vouch for Tim. Besides, he’s immune to Freak Show’s tricks.”

“So am I.” Dani taps the Fenton Phones in her ears that keep out the mind control. “Especially if you’d let me pull his cape over his head and shove his stupid hat over it like I wanted. Tim coulda taken pictures. We’d have a Christmas card right there.”

Valerie can’t hide a smirk, but Danny just rolls his eyes.

His sister sighs. He’s so boring these days.

He and Valerie start talking about how to tackle a junction of cords that looks like the head of Medusa when Dani shushes them.

“Wait a second.” She propels herself closer to the outer wall of the tent. Equidistant from the roar of the crowd and the muttering of the machine, she hears tires. Footsteps. The clink of metal. She burns herself a small window with her palm, though she already knows what she’s going to see.

“We got trouble!”

The tent’s flaps fly apart as Guys in White pour in. Each of them is clad in shiny white armor with bulky projectile weapons in hand. The crowd continues to cheer as its own silhouette evaporates in the moonlight from outside. The dog raises its head and barks madly, dropping the hat. The agents ignore the ghosts around them and fire lasers into the roof. Valerie and the halfas put up their shields just in time. The concentrated bolts of plasma slice through the machine like butter. Its moorings fail, and the sabotagers lurch out of the way as the whole thing comes crashing down on the center ring.

What follows is a confusion of ecto-bolts, lasers, darting liberated spirits, and dust. The dog stumbles around on the wreckage of the grandstands with its face stuck in the top hat. Freak Show–battered but undeterred–takes his stupid hat back. He scrambles around, looking for an exit in the chaos without being seen. A crack of green lightning about two feet away scares him limp. He drops to the floor. The dog catches up, nabs the hat, and is gone before it can be reached. Unable to track the dog in the debris, Freak Show shakily gets up and lumbers away. He’s back in the hands of the agents before he’s out of the dust cloud.

The halfas hold their shields as Valerie returns laser fire with laser fire in a hail of bright red energy blasts. In preparation, they’d made up this formation to avoid each person having to juggle offense and defense. But now they find themselves unable to move much as a clump. No matter how many agents they deter, more seem to pile on. It feels like they’re coming from every direction. Closing in.

“We gotta get out of here,” Valerie orders.

“Where’s Tim?” Danny shouts over all the noise.

They have to carefully break formation to look for the dog. No one can see a thing, and they’re all getting banged up. Dani calls out for their new partner, drawing more fire in her direction. She remembers to turn intangible, but a burning shot grazes her arm anyway. She also has to be mindful of her distance to the ground, or else risk melee attacks from batons and debris that swing out of the haze. Something whacked her foot a minute ago.

The dog finally hears her, at least. A muffled bark comes from somewhere behind her. She turns and sees the dog running from an electrified net that gets thrown, reeled back, and thrown again. Dani fires a slew of bolts in the direction of its caster. She hears them hit something, but the net comes again. Her brother swiftly appears and scoops the dog up as it jumps from a collapsed heap of boxes. That’s good enough for her. She flies upward.

They all fly out of there at top speed into the surrounding fields of Amity Park’s city limits. Ghosts soar out of the destroyed tent, up into the night sky like bees from a burning hive. A deadlocked parking lot of government assault vans attempts to follow them out. Dani stops looking back and focuses on heading back toward town with the others.

Exhausted, Tim stops being a dog and returns to his street clothes. This leaves Danny holding him awkwardly by the waist with his legs dangling. Tim still has the hat in his mouth.

“Is there a reason you couldn’t have done that a little earlier?” Valerie asks pointedly.

“I forgot how until now,” Tim answers defensively after transferring the hat to his hand.

Danny turns Tim and himself invisible, so as not to be spotted. Dani joins Valerie on her board to do the same. When things go this crazy, the girls’ usual plan is for the two of them to split up and debrief remotely. But she isn’t sure Danny knows. Before anything can be said about it, the group notices familiar pod-shaped tracing jets approaching on the horizon, ready for them to scatter.

“Great. Now what?” Dani asks aloud.

“Train car!” Valerie points to a nearby train track where an engine with several freight cars attached speeds along toward town. Too low to track, and the Guys won’t be expecting it. The four of them head down and slip spectrally into a half-empty car of hay bales. Urgency finally lifts, and they all melt against the barn-smelling floor.

Danny is the first to say what everyone’s thinking.

“Well, that was a trap.” He rubs a sore spot on his side where he got hit with a stun baton. “I should’ve known something was off. Freak Show’s an ‘artifacts and occult’ guy. A big machine like that isn’t really in his wheelhouse.”

“It was definitely made by the Guys in White. Nobody overdesigns like they do,” Valerie adds. “This wasn’t just a trap, it was a sting.”

Danny nods in agreement, his head still on the floor.

“Hey, hasn’t Freak Show been in trouble with the Guys for, like… years?” Dani directs her question at her brother. She’s never had to deal with the eerie kook herself before, but she’s heard Danny complain about him often enough. “What do you bet they cut a deal where he lures us in and gets–I dunno, parole or whatever. Meanwhile, they test-drive this big honking machine that can brainwash a ton of ghosts at once. Makes my skin crawl just thinking about it.”

“Mine too.” Danny sits up and takes out the earphones. He collects Dani’s pair. “Did he actually manage to set you on fire?” He asks Tim.

“No, I did that,” he answers from somewhere behind her. “I think I singed my hair a little, though.”

Danny doesn’t hide being unnerved, which makes Dani grin. Valerie looks away impassively.

“So now, I guess we’ll have to worry about Freak Show being off the hook,” Danny thinks aloud to keep the thread going.

“Doubt it. Cause he stole this.” Tim has spent the whole conversation trying to pry something away from the inside of the hat. He tears away the duct tape and is left with a storage drive. He shows the others the label. “Blueprints and backups.”

“Yikes,” the other three say together.

“So, what do we do with it?” Dani asks. She already has her own opinion, but she doesn’t like the riveted look Valerie’s giving the rectangle in Tim’s hand.

If they built anything like that machine, there are a thousand ways they could use it to their advantage and save their town. Valerie knows that isn’t the way they agreed to handle this. At the same time, Dani knows it’s hard for Valerie to put her trust in ghosts in general. And recent events are only making that more complicated. But even if ghosts aren’t all on their side—and many of them aren’t even that human—they’re not pawns to be used. Dani herself is proof enough of that, isn’t she?

True to his promise, Danny hasn’t said anything–waiting for her lead.

Valerie tears her eyes away to look at Dani. She gives her a half-smile and says, “Well, we can’t let it get out, can we? Shouldn’t even exist.”

Dani nods affirmatively.

“Give it here. I barely got to do anything this time,” she says.

Tim hands it to her. Dani stands up and smashes the drive with her foot.

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First part of this concept/au.

INDEX

I might make a series out of this. It’s fun.

#danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #dp fanfiction #danny phantom au #dp au #phandom #danny phantom crossover #dp crossover #fairly odd parents crossover #dp x fop #valerie gray #dani phantom #timmy turner #the guys in white #giw #freak show #an act of misdirection

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thegurlwhoisntthere · 11 months

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Does anyone else characterize Danny as someone who probably finds Math and Science to be pretty easy, but English hard? Or like, he can do the math and build shit easily but the moment someone asks him to explain what he did he’s like ???

Cause those are the vibes I get from him

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp #dp fic #dp fanfiction #dp fanfic #danny phantom fic #also he wanted to be an astronaut #I think that he’s actually really smart #but really discouraged from the typical school setting #he’s probably one of those people who’s like numbers are easy but how the fuck am I supposed to know why the door is blue

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darks-ink · 1 year

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Hi! 👋 😊 I saw you're taking prompts. How about this for Danny Phantom?

Danny walks into his room one day to find a clone of himself, not Danielle but one he's never meet before, asleep in his bed.

Yeah, that was the plan! Unfortunately as it turns out my wrist definitely isn't up to writing yet so it's a good thing yours was the only prompt I received, haha. Here you go:

[also on AO3]

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Danny walked into his room. Stopped abruptly.

Someone was in his bed. Tucked neatly under his blankets. Asleep.

He blinked. No change. Rubbed in his eyes. Nope, still the same.

“What?” he grunted, before shaking his head. Who would just come into his room, tuck themselves away in his bed, and then go to sleep?

Quietly he snuck closer, just to take a closer look. Sure, maybe his parents had invited someone over, but they had a guest room for a reason! And no one would confuse his room for the guest room, would they?

He looked down at the dirty laundry littering his floor. No, definitely not.

Closer up, he realized the person was about the same size as him. And their hair was definitely similar to his own, jet black and messy, and it seemed to be about the same length. Kind of difficult to tell with them lying down, with the blanket tugged up nearly to their eyes.

Squinting, Danny considered his options. He should probably wake them up and ask them what they were doing in his room, but how? Just talk? Give them a poke? Yell? Hm, decisions, decisions.

Well, the fact that they hadn’t woken up yet suggested that just talking at a regular volume probably wouldn’t do the trick. And while he kind of felt like yelling about this whole situation, that was also really gonna sour the incoming interaction.

He sighed to himself. Guess he would try it the normal boring way.

Reaching out, he jabbed them in the shoulder. A little forcefully, but not overly so.

The person in his bed jolted, slapped his hand away, and then glared at him with viciously green eyes. Glowing green eyes.

Instinctively, automatically, Danny stepped back, raising his fists in the same motion. The guy in his bed—the guy with his face, what the hell—blinked in seeming surprise, the green in his eyes fading to blue.

Reluctantly, Danny shifted into a slightly more casual pose, slowly dropping his fists. The… clone? (again?) didn’t seem violent. Just… sleepy, which made sense, Danny supposed. He usually wasn’t at his best either, if someone woke him up while he was dead asleep.

The clone groaned, dropping from his half-raised position back onto the bed. He raised one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Really? Another fucking clone?”

“Hey!” Danny frowned at him. “You’re the clone here. This is my room, and that’s my bed you’re in.”

The… other Danny? misguided clone? Whatever. The other guy dropped his hand again, twisting his head to look at Danny again. “What are you talking about? This is my room.”

“Man,” Danny muttered, probably not quiet enough if the other one was half-ghost as well, “where did Vlad get this guy from?”

That got the other guy awake enough to push upright. “What did you just say?”

Well, that’s a confirmation on the enhanced half-ghost senses. “Nothing,” Danny answered, offering a shit-eatingly false grin.

“No, no, I definitely heard Vlad’s name in there.” The maybe-clone was sitting up now, swinging his legs off of the side of the bed. His bare feet settled on the floor. The guy was even dressed like him, though he had at least taken off his shoes and socks. “Why do you think Vlad was involved with my…” he paused, clearly trying and failing to find the right words, “my… me.”

Danny snorted, shaking his head. “You’re kidding me. I mean, honestly. The whole,” he gestured vaguely, “Danielle situation.”

“Right,” the other guy said, slowly, drawing out the word. “The Danielle situation. Where a young, unstable, female clone was in our room. And we had to help her out. That Danielle situation.”

“Uh. Yeah.” Danny squinted at the other guy. “Did Vlad somehow figure out how to clone memories, or something?”

“Well, that’s a worrying possibility.” Worrying enough that it finally got the other guy to get out of bed, yawning as he did so. “I definitely feel like I’m the real Danny Fenton.”

“So do I, though,” Danny countered, crossing his arms. “If this is a case of Vlad copying memories, how would we even check which one of us is the real Danny?”

Other Danny hummed in thought, then shrugged. “I mean, realistically one of us would start melting, right? Because if Vlad had figured out how to keep a clone stable he wouldn’t send him here, he would keep him as his son. That was the whole point of the cloning thing, I think.”

“So, what, we’re just gonna keep trucking with two Dannies until one of us destabilizes?” Danny asked skeptically, raising his eyebrow. Because he was pretty sure he was the real Danny, which meant that the other one would surely destabilize sooner or later.

“Why not?” Other Danny shrugged again. “We seem to have identical memories, we’re identical in appearance, we can easily share. Plus, how often do we get into situations that would be much easier if we just had a second us. We can share this life.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong about that. “And I guess if we need the backup of a second Phantom in a fight we can always lie about the other being a duplicate.”

“I mean, that’s basically the truth anyway,” the other Danny pointed out. “A clone is basically just a technological duplicate, isn’t it?”

Danny snorted. “I don’t think it works that way. But hey, why the hell not. You’ve got a deal.” He held out his hand.

The other took it, an easy smile on his face. “Great. Glad we don’t have to get in a fight about which one of us is real.”

“Eh, we can always do that later.” Danny released the other one’s hand. “Although we probably need some kind of nicknames or something. Because we can’t both be Danny, and if we have to pick which one of us gets to stay Danny we will get into that fight.”

“Hm, true.” Probably-maybe-clone-Danny thought that over for a moment. “Well, I guess we can decide that while Sam and Tucker chew us out over this situation.”

Danny grimaced at the reminder. “Yikes, you’re right. Better get that over with ASAP.”

“It’s like you’re reading my mind.” Other Danny winked at him, then transformed into Phantom in a flash of light. “Race you?”

“Oh, you’re on.” Danny let his own transformation wash over him, hissing when the possible-clone shot off before he was done. “Hey! False start!”

As it turned out, their speed was also identical. Who would’ve guessed?

#danny phantom #dp fanfic #dp fanfiction #phanfic #dark writes #prompt fill #is it cloning or an alternate dimension situation? idk you decide #in my defense I got a new laptop yesterday and I'm 90% the keys on this one are harder to press #which WOULD explain why it's harder on my wrist to type on this one #or I misjudged how well my wrist was doing. that also happens

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ashspecter · 2 months

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All of Nothing

Summary:

Pariah is confined to his prison. He tries to remember everything that led up to this point, but his thoughts are scattered. He wants to blame someone for his pain, but he can’t bring himself to blame anyone but himself.

Words: 1145

Read on Ao3 or below the cut. DP Fic Masterlist

All of Nothing

How had things gone so awry?

How did it come to this?

How had such a goal turned into such a disaster?

He exhales. It’s dark. It’s cold. It’s silent.

How he wishes for the light. How he wishes he had his closest companion beside him. How he wishes to hear their voice. He can’t move. His prison won’t let him.

He used to rule this dimension. His army would rise whenever he gave the word. He used to be able to see the fear in his enemy’s eyes. His people used to sing his name. They used to chant, “Long live the King!” just for him.

He used to have it all!

He curses his partner for not warning him. How could they have let this happen? How could they not say anything? Didn’t they love him?

Now he’s here. Caged. Locked away for an indeterminable amount of time.

Pariah can’t understand it. He praised people for their truths. He appreciated the brutal honesty of his loved ones when he had them by his side. How could there have been a lack of honest words?

If his eyes weren’t already sealed shut, he’d close them in defeat. How he wished he could express his misery in more than just thoughts. How did his once grand vision crumble into ruins? Where did he go wrong? Was it his own hubris, or the deception of those he trusted?

He can see it now, his reign was built upon salt and sand.

It crumbled easily.

It fell apart with just a gust of wind.

All he wanted was to unite the realm, like it had been before the Calamity.

There were those that opposed his idea, but he wasn’t going to let them kick him down.

That’s when he sought out them.

He remembers the time they first met.

They had been alone, secluded by their own choice in a tower far from everything else. They watched. They recorded. They played with time only when they absolutely needed to. They were always alone.

They didn’t like being alone.

Pariah had to approach them with caution. He had to show them he was willing to learn about them— to get to know them. Even then, they had pushed him away. Why?

He later learned that their isolation was self-inflicted. They chose to be alone to protect themselves. To this day, he isn’t exactly sure why, but he suspects they must have lost someone important.

He remembers deciding that he wasn’t going to let them be alone any longer. He had to bug them incessantly before they were convinced to let him stay. But they didn’t let him get close enough to know them, at least not yet.

As they spent more time together, Pariah came to enjoy the little, odd things they did. He found their ticks and quirks darling. From those, he learned that this ghost had more mental scars than he expected.

He noticed their hesitancy to touch certain objects, their sudden flinches at certain noises, and their tendency to lose themselves in thought for long stretches of time. But he also saw their genuine kindness, their willingness to listen, and their brilliant mind that could unravel the mysteries of time itself.

Pariah felt drawn to them, compelled to unravel the enigma that was the Master of Time. He showed them a world beyond their tower— a world filled with beauty and wonder, a world where they didn’t have to be alone anymore. And in return, they supported him in his endeavors. They wanted him to succeed.

Or that’s what he had thought.

He remembers seeing their face. They couldn’t believe what he’d become. Their face, twisted in fear, shock, and disappointment, is etched into his memory.

His beloved.

Did they know?

The question strikes him hard, reverberating through his core.

Did they truly know?

Everything leading up to the moment of his imprisonment— they had tried to warn him many times. Was it because they knew what was going to happen? Could they see his downfall coming and choose not to intervene? Or were they simply unable to change the course of fate? Did they see it happen through their sight? Or did someone tell them?

He can’t help but wonder if they knew all along what would happen. But, looking back now, they didn’t seem to know. They couldn’t seem to determine when. Which is strange, now that he thinks about it. Wasn’t that their whole shtick? Doesn’t their Obsession revolve around time?

He should have known. The meddler… He had placed his trust in them, believing in their loyalty and honesty. Yet now, faced with the consequences of his actions, he can’t help but feel betrayed. He thought they were equals. But now he questions their whole relationship. Was he just a puppet for them to play with?

If he could scoff at how it all turned out, he would.

If all kings have an end like this, who would ever want to be one?

He would have been better off remaining a dreamer.

All the power he had, he never wanted any of it. He only wanted to unite the realms. He only wanted to see the pain and suffering of those around him to end. He only wanted to bring unity and balance back to the zone. But it seems as though the zone didn’t want to be united once more.

He remembers the sounds of sword clanging together. They sounded like somber church bells ringing. The shouts of his men sounded like a Roman cavalry choir.

There wasn’t supposed to be a battle.

There wasn’t supposed to be a war.

Things changed so quickly.

He remembers seeing Clockwork trying to defend his keep. The Master of Time, while not usually a fighter, put up a valiant fight. Why? Didn’t he work with them to bring about his end?

He remembers hearing a scream— painted and ecto-curdling.

Pariah knows it came from Clockwork. But when he went looking for them, he couldn’t find them anywhere. He could still feel their presence, however, but it was faint.

He thought the worst in that moment and was blinded by rage.

For some reason, he can’t remember anything beyond that point. He can’t recall exactly what he did. And he can’t explain it at all.

From his prison now, Pariah knows he will never see Elsewhere. He will never see what became of his lover. He will never know if they truly betrayed him or not. He will never know if they were ever completely honest with him.

Then again, was he completely honest with them?

Was there ever an honest word between them?

Were they ever meant to be?

His core aches as his once grand dreams crumble before his eyes.

He used to have it all.

Now he has all of nothing.

#danny phantom #dp #ghost zone lore #danny phantom fanfiction #dp fanfiction #dp fanfic #pariah dark #pariah dark x clockwork #clockwork x pariah dark #clockwork dp #dp clockwork #clockwork #sarcophagus of forever sleep #queue

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phantomrose96 · 1 year

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Haunting

prompt idea from @zillychu, set in the same universe as the rest of the Ghost Speak series (as in, Ryan Finn is here).

...

“Thanks for coming all the way out here, Ryan. I know it’s a long trip.”

“You kidding? A chance to see my buddy Edward, investigate some ghosts with him, and cap off the day with Eddy treating me to a basket of fries? I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Ryan Finn answered, one fry between each finger of his right hand in a sort of Wolverine parody. Edward Lancer would say he looked a bit wired from the 9-hour drive, but Ryan always looked like that.

“Still,” Lancer responded, though he didn’t feel all that bad about calling Ryan out here. He traced the rim of a heady glass of beer with his right index finger. Bass music wubbed from the speakers overhead, and in the dim light of the grill it built a small cocoon around Lancer and Ryan. It kept their conversation private.

Lancer sipped his beer, and he was not usually a drinker, but these things on his mind lately had him on edge. And they were so much more potent now that he’d dragged Ryan along to witness it, now that he had another person who had seen it and made it real.

Ryan jammed his arsenal of french-fries into his mouth. Lancer took another sip.

“So what do you think?”

“Hmm?”

“About Danny?”

“Ah, yep, I mean he’s definitely doing that.”

‘That’…was a way to phrase it, Lancer supposed. He’d taken Ryan back to Casper High, room 209, about half an hour after sunset. Lancer had wiled away many a sunset seated at his desk there, grading papers while the sun stole away from the sky. He wasn’t sure if it would happen, this time. If maybe it was a phenomenon only he could witness. But after 10 minutes of standing in silence, darkness cut only by a desk lamp, they’d seen it.

A shimmer. Glowing eyes. A warble cutting air not unlike the bass pumping overhead. It left a shape like an oil stain on space and time, and its eyes found them, and watched, and then shorted away. Gone. It took only another 7 minutes for the thing to reappear, farther back in the classroom, facing the opposite way. A warbling stain, here, eyes, up, staring, gone with a noise that left Lancer’s ears ringing just faintly.

“Am I haunted, Ryan?”

“Oh yeah, definitely. Well you or the room. You say it only happens in the room? Then the room, and you too probably, together.”

The confirmation sat heavy in Lancer’s gut. It left him feeling unsettled in a way that all the ghost activity of Amity hadn’t managed to plant in him.

“…So do you know how to make it stop?”

Ryan blinked, momentarily taken aback. “Well, yeah I do but—” He planted a hand firmly on the table and leaned heavily over it, elbow twisting out at an odd angle as he interrogated Lancer with his eyes, “do you really want it to stop?”

It was Lancer’s turn to falter. “I’m haunted, Ryan. Of course I want it to stop. That’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Only if you think it is.”

“It’s… not bad?”

“Well it can be bad. If the ghost haunting you is bad. Which this ghost—”

“—is not. It’s Danny.”

“It sure is.”

“So why is it happening?” Lancer pressed.

Ryan laughed. “Because he’s comfortable with you.”

Lancer seemed to miss a beat. His eyes shot a little wider. The silence settled between them. Ryan shoved another fistful of fries into his mouth and spoke through his chewing.

“I mean, he’s gotta feel comfortable around you, if he’s haunting you—your classroom—whatever all the same.”

“But why is he doing it?”

“Oh he probably doesn’t know.”

“So it’s not intentional?”

“Nah.”

“And he doesn’t realize he’s doing it?”

“You could ask him, but I’m guessing no.”

“So then… why?”

“Oh hard question, Edward. I mean, why do cats stare at you all soft and squinty when they’re comfortable? Why do rats do that bobble-bobble thing with their eyes?”

“This feels different, Ryan.”

“Trust me it’s very similar.”

Lancer ruminated on his glass for a moment. “Is this normal?”

“Oh, very.”

“And it’s not dangerous?”

“Nah.”

“Usually when you hear about a haunting, it’s dangerous.”

“Usually when you hear about a ghost, that’s dangerous. Do you think Danny’s dangerous?”

“No.”

“Well there you go. Harmless ghost. Harmless haunting.”

Lancer thought about this. “Okay, okay so just—hypothetically—you said you know how to make it stop? How would that work?”

“Oh, simple,” Ryan said. “Make Danny not feel comfortable around you anymore.” He picked up some more fries in his greasy grip. “You could get mean with him, fail him, stop getting his ghost papers translated, stop giving him leeway with the ghost stuff, and bam! I bet this would stop.”

“You don’t think I’d do that, do you, Ryan?”

“It’d break my heart if you did. I’d never speak to you again. I’d disown you and adopt Danny.”

“He has parents.”

“And they’re hunting him. He needs someone in his court.” Ryan crammed the rest of the fries in his mouth and swallowed. “Unfortunately I live 9 hours away. I hear you’re much closer.”

Lancer nodded, and he nodded harder, finding the tightness in his chest easing.

…

5:30pm came sooner than Lancer could have expected. The sun had vanished about an hour ago, sweeping away in a wash of pale pinks and deep reds. Lancer sat alone, halfway through a stack of English tests, desk lamp buzzing faintly at his side.

He heard it before he saw it—the wub of wobbling air. Then the oil stain followed, a shivering shimmering something which spilled into the air, and dropped the temperature a few degrees.

Lancer looked up. The thing’s glowing green spherical eyes looked back at him, mop of pure black hair providing the faintest of silhouettes to the thing’s shape.

Lancer offered it a little wave.

And it vanished.

#danny phantom #dp #dp fanfiction #mr. lancer #ryan finn #FLUFF. FOR ONCE #FLUFF!!#mostly....

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ladylynse · 4 months

Text

A DP ficlet for @schwoopsiedoodles. The prompt was technically 'New Years' but, uh, that was more of a starting point than a focal point with this one.

Phantasmagoria [FFN | AO3]: At first blush, the new year seemed like it would start off normally enough, but Danny should really know better than to expect normal by now. Still, this was not what people usually meant when they talked about a new year yielding infinite possibilities.

-|-

“Happy New Year, little brother,” Jazz said as she wrapped Danny in a hug. Fireworks burst on the TV, some celebration they’d switched to just before midnight, but Jazz clearly didn’t think that was loud enough to cover her next words because she lowered her voice before adding, “We made it through another Christmas, and we made it through last year, so we’ll make it through this one, too.”

“Happy New Year, you two!” Maddie said as she joined them and turned the affair into a group hug, and then Jack was on the other side, wrapping them all in a bear hug, and Danny—

Danny was being squeezed too tightly from every side now, and he was getting hot enough and feeling trapped enough that not phasing out of everyone’s grip was more of an active decision than what should be the tangible default of remaining in place. Jazz’s hair was tickling his nose, but better the smell of her shampoo than the scent of ectoplasm from his parents’ HAZMAT suits that lingered despite the intense decontamination and washing protocols. He should say something, maybe force out a laugh or joke about Jazz not breaking into song like usual, but—

But maybe that was it.

Maybe that’s what was bugging him, why he wasn’t as happy as he should be even though he knew, objectively, that Jazz was right, that everything was as good as it ever was these days.

Jazz wasn’t singing Auld Lang Syne.

It shouldn’t bother him. It’s not like she had to sing it. She just always had; it was practically as much of a family tradition as the annual Christmas argument. She liked the song—she had for as long as he could remember—and Maddie would join in once she started. So would Jack, even though he couldn’t sing any better than he could aim.

So why skip it this year?

There was something niggling at the back of Danny’s mind, a sort of awareness that came slowly, creeping over his skin and making it crawl in the process.

He didn’t feel hot any longer, but the feeling of being trapped definitely hadn’t gone away.

Maybe that was a good thing.

That meant that whoever was doing this to him didn’t know he’d realized something was off.

This didn’t feel like the Ghost Writer. Even if he’d mercifully decided to weave his stories into reality without rhyme, Danny doubted he’d give up the background narration entirely. He liked being in control of the narrative too much.

Danny wasn’t ruling out this being a dream, though, or some other happy simulation designed to keep him under, to keep him from questioning it. Things hadn’t worked out last time when he’d been dreaming of his friends, so if this was round two of ‘keep Phantom out of things by keeping him asleep’, shifting the narrative to his family might make a sick sort of sense. It would make more sense than an attempted reality rewrite from someone like Desiree—or someone armed with something like the Reality Gauntlet.

This was too personal for that kind of thing.

“Uh, Dad?” Danny finally tried. “You can let go now.”

“I’ll never let you go,” came the response, but it wasn’t Jack’s voice, it was Sam’s, and he was smelling her shampoo now, not Jazz’s, and Tucker was sandwiching Danny between him and Sam, and—

Shouldn’t he feel sick after a transition like that? After a lack of transition like that? This was a dream, but if Nocturn or whoever it was was trying to keep him down, wouldn’t they at least make him a little dizzy? It all might have felt seamless, a shift occurring between one blink and the next, but the whiplash between what is and what was—

“Dude,” said Tucker as he released Danny and stepped back, letting Danny see that not only was he no longer in his living room but he was also no longer in his house. They were in Sam’s room, and it was decorated the same as always; nothing seemed out of place at a glance.

Then again, if this was a dream, and he thought he knew how everything looked, would anything feel out of place when he was the one imagining it in the place it was now?

This was making his head hurt.

It just didn’t hurt enough to wake him up and snap him out of this, which was annoying.

Tucker was biting his lip, but his words burst out of him a split second later. “I know this is kinda a stupid question considering everything, but are you okay?”

He really wasn’t, but fine, Danny could play along. That was easier now that Sam had let him go at Tucker’s words, which had the unnerving effect of lessening his feeling of being trapped even though he knew he was still very much trapped.

But if the shock of the transition wasn’t enough to snap him out of it, and the shock of realizing what was going on wasn’t enough, what would be?

“I’m fine,” Danny said, and Sam promptly punched Tucker in the arm, who yelped.

“What was that for?”

“Asking a stupid question,” she ground out, “that made Danny feel like he had to lie to us and say he’s fine when he’s not.” Her gaze flicked to him. “What Tucker means is that it’s okay that you’re not okay yet, but we’re going to be here for you for as long as you need us.”

Wait.

What?

Tucker blew out his breath in something that wasn’t exasperation or a sigh but something else, something closer to…regret? Jazz would do that sometimes—she said it helped her to centre herself and get her thoughts in order—but had he ever heard Tucker do it?

“Sorry,” Tuck said. “I didn’t mean are you okay okay, because obviously this being a new year doesn’t mean what happened a couple weeks ago didn’t happen. I meant it more as a sort of ‘are you okay because you suddenly seem less okay than you were ten seconds ago’ and I wanted to know if it was something I did. Or Sam!” Tucker’s eyes flicked to Sam as he quickly added, “Please don’t hit me again. That really hurts.”

Coldness pooled in Danny’s stomach again, spreading outward and freezing his lungs. It was harder than it should be to repeat, “A couple weeks ago?”

Tucker’s laugh was a little too high not to be full of nerves. “Or, like, last week, with the funerals. And Vlad.” Sam’s foot shot towards Tucker’s leg, but he was already dancing back in anticipation. “He asked!”

“What about Vlad?” Danny pressed.

Sam stopped her attack on Tucker and frowned. “What do you mean, what about Vlad?”

“See?” Tucker flung out an arm towards Danny. “That’s why I asked if he was okay!”

Sam scowled at him, but it melted away when she turned back to Danny. “Okay, I get that it probably doesn’t feel worse than what he was always trying to do, but the paperwork’s that much closer to being official now, and I just…. I don’t want to lose you. We don’t want to lose you. And if we can’t figure out some way around this….”

“We will,” said Dani’s voice from behind him.

Danny jumped before spinning to face her, the what? spilling from his lips before he could think twice about it. Danielle was in her human form but in a black T-shirt and shorts he didn’t recognize, and—

And that wasn’t all he didn’t recognize.

A far cry from Sam’s bedroom, this place was basically a white box, sharp clean lines and maybe twice the size of his bedroom back home. Not small, but not necessarily big, considering it didn’t have windows or a visible door or, well, anything.

Anything, he realized as he looked around again, except some poorly hidden cameras.

Crud.

Maybe he didn’t have to recognize this place to know where he was.

Danielle was ignoring the cameras, apparently. She must’ve seen them—Vlad had trained her and he wasn’t incompetent in that, Danny was pretty sure—but she wasn’t looking at them. “We’ll get out of here,” she said. Repeated, presumably. “I can’t tell you how, obviously, but we will.”

Danny walked over to the nearest wall, turned his hand intangible, and promptly failed to stick it through the wall.

He wasn’t surprised, considering he’d dreamed himself up what must be some luxury cell courtesy of the Guys in White, but it was really disappointing to confirm that he was aware that he was dreaming but couldn’t control it.

(This had to be a dream. Nothing except dream made sense.)

“If you keep doing that, they’re going to separate us.”

“No,” Danny said with an assurance that better suited Jazz than him as he studied the wall for what seemed to be nonexistent flaws, “they wouldn’t have risked putting us together if they didn’t want something.”

“Yeah, and giving it to them would be bad. Got that. Hence the whole ‘not telling you how we’ll get out of here’ thing.”

“Except even that tells them something.” He turned back to Dani. “It tells them you have a plan.”

“Or it tells them I want them to think I have a plan.”

“Which is still technically a plan. It’s just a poorer plan.”

“Like you’re an expert on plans.” Danny snorted, conceding her point, so Danielle continued, “All that really matters is they’re guessing. Which they are. Because they don’t know us. Not well enough, anyway. It’s going to be their downfall.”

“I hope you’re right,” he murmured.

“Of course I’m right. I’m me. Besides, I’m not spending my entire birthday locked in here.”

Danny didn’t bother to verbalize the look he sent her; even someone as dense as the GiW agents he’d run into in Amity Park would be able to interpret his confusion.

Dani rolled her eyes at him. “Fine, my chosen birthday. New year, new me. Everyone else can have resolutions. I want cake.”

Danny grinned. “Cake would—”

Alarms swallowed the rest of his words.

He jolted awake, fumbling without opening his eyes for the whatever-it-was that was making that racket so he could make it stop, and it took a precious few seconds to blink awake and remember and scramble to make sure there were no remnants of any ghostly tampering.

Nothing, as far as he could tell.

No helmet, no dust, no goo, nothing new or out of place. He was still in bed, but he was awake. The beeping had stopped by now, so maybe he had imagined it? Maybe it had simply been the last bit of a dream before it had woken him up?

Danny crawled out from under the covers so he could take a peek out the window, and he winced at the glowing green eyes of his reflection before blinking them back to blue. He really had been on edge if his powers were this close to the surface. Maybe he should head downstairs for some water and—

There was someone sitting on the roof across the street.

They were looking in his direction.

They’d probably been looking in his direction the whole time.

That wasn’t as bad as it could be, considering the things that could be explained away because this was the Fenton household, except that Danny knew the silhouette of that particular someone.

It would explain the beeping, too, though he’d never realized it was that loud.

Against his better judgement, Danny opened his bedroom window. It wasn’t particularly cold out—Jazz probably had her bedroom window cracked right now—so it wasn’t like he had to break through a seal of ice to get it open. The main reason he kept his window shut was to discourage ghosts from popping in on him, and that only worked with the polite ones. Still, mild weather or not, he hadn’t been woken by his ghost sense.

“Valerie?”

She heard him, or maybe she just saw the window opening, but either way, she called up her sled and slid almost silently through the air until she was less than three feet from him. Her visor wasn’t shielding her face, and her arms were crossed, which he was hoping to take as a good thing and not a bad thing. “How long?”

“How long what?” Even as he asked it, he realized what she must mean. Oops. She’d heard him after all. “Sorry. From the beginning. Like, the beginning beginning, not just since Technus gave you your new suit.”

Something in her expression tightened. “Please just be straight with me.”

“What? I am!”

“No, I mean—” She broke off with a frustrated growl. “Look. If you answer my questions, we can leave the past in the past. Start fresh. New chapters and all that. But if you insist on playing dumb, I have no reason to trust you—or give you the benefit of the doubt. So how long?”

“I don’t—”

“How long, Phantom?”

Oh.

“Could you, um, be a little more specific than that?”

He was waiting for the dream to shift on him again.

It didn’t.

As Valerie’s frown deepened, he realized that maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe he really had woken up. “Please?” It never hurt to be polite. In theory.

“How long has this been going on?”

She was still watching him, but there was a catch in her voice that hadn’t been there before, and it seemed real enough.

Of course, everything else had seemed real, too.

If this were a dream, his response wouldn’t matter. His response might even shift him somewhere else entirely. If this were really Valerie, though? This Valerie looked lost and was doing a poor job of hiding it behind a show of familiar anger. This Valerie—

“And how long,” she croaked, her composure crumpling entirely as her voice cracked, “is this going to keep going on?”

Wait.

“I don’t want to do this again.”

The dream—not-dream, whatever this was—did not conveniently remove him from the conversation.

“Don’t want to do what again?” he asked, even though he suspected he already knew the answer.

“I can’t keep jumping through possibilities.” The words were soft, more of a reluctant admission than anything else. “If this is you, stop it. It’s cruel even if you don’t think it is, and you always insist that you’re the good guy anyway. If it’s not you….” She swallowed. “Help me. Please. Even if you’re not my friend, be my ally. I— Our truce doesn’t have to end when this is over.”

She sounded like she meant it.

Maybe he should hope this wasn’t a dream after all, if only so he didn’t have to worry about having Valerie on his back all the time.

Then again.

If this wasn’t a dream, she’d be spitting distance from his secret even if she thought Phantom—in a feat of spectacular stupidity—was currently overshadowing Danny while under the same roof as the people who hunted him down at every opportunity.

If she were being honest about what might be an indefinite truce, though, that might not be a bad thing.

Danny wouldn’t say this in Sam’s hearing, but Valerie was a better shot than her, and having Val back him up from time to time would be beneficial in more ways than him not having to worry about her taking a shot at him.

“Indefinite truce if we get out of this alive?” he asked, offering her his hand.

She didn’t look amused at his choice of words, but she swallowed whatever scathing insult she’d wanted to spit at him and shook his hand instead.

“Great,” he said. “Meet me on the roof? I should really change for this.”

That earned him an eyeroll, but she grumbled, “Fine.”

He really did change before following her, first out of his PJs and into clothes and then transforming into Phantom, but she was waiting for him on the Ops Centre without a blaster, so that was a win.

“Thanks,” he said, even though he hadn’t really thought she’d fire at him right after being the one to call a truce. “And—please don’t shoot the questioner—can you elaborate on the whole ‘can’t keep jumping through possibilities’ thing?”

She sighed and sat down, hugging her knees and looking out at the horizon instead of at him. “It means exactly what it sounds like. Sometimes it takes longer for the shift to happen, but whenever it does, I’m somewhere else, in a new situation, and most of them aren’t pleasant.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Case in point, finding you where I found you, because I don’t have to be a genius to figure out what’s going on there.”

Danny winced, and not just because his parents were proof that geniuses could be astoundingly blind when they weren’t looking for something. He didn’t want to get into what Valerie thought now, though. They had more important things to talk about. “I’ve been doing the same thing. The shifting between situations like it’s a dream thing.”

“If you’re going through the same thing, then which of us is dreaming?”

If Nocturn or someone like him was involved, it wasn’t necessarily one or the other. They could both be dreaming.

Or this could be something else entirely and neither of them were dreaming, since Danny wasn’t sure why Nocturn would want them both to be aware that they were dreaming when that meant they’d be actively trying to snap out of it.

Still, better that they were dreaming than some something horrendously damaging and somehow unforeseen had happened to the timeline and they were dropping through alternate realities like they were tissue paper faster than Clockwork could sort it out.

“Beats me,” Danny said, offering Valerie a grin in the hopes that it would cheer her up. He held out a hand, and she took it and let him pull her up. “Let’s find out.”

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