(i Had This All Written Out, And Then The App Broke On Me, So Here's Take Two)

(i had this all written out, and then the app broke on me, so here's take two)

Ghost Writer was somewhere between relieved and pissed. Only so many words translate correctly across languages, but none of them can accurately describe how he was feeling.

The Realms had been in chaos for both days and eons. Their King, the child they had raised, had been taken from them. He had been taken from their reach, hidden from their sight. The Realms would not rest until he was back safely in her arms.

John Constantine was a man who was known throughout the afterlives connected to this specific Realm of Reality. He was known as a con man and a thief. Ghost Writer knew him as an ally. A tentative ally, but an ally nonetheless. John Constantine turned over old tomes of magic and Magiks that he deemed too dangerous in the hands of humans and human adjacents to Ghost Writer in exchange for a single favor.

Based solely on the man's reputation, Ghost Writer had assumed the man would attempt to turn the deal around on him. He was glad he was wrong.

"Child," Ghost Writer sat on the wooden stool beside the bed, "They will no longer harm you."

Phantom had been conscious when Ghost Writer had arrived. The child had watched he and John Constantine move into and about the room. Now, under the Concept's gentle hand and careful watch, he allowed himself to sleep. His Obsession would help him heal, but it could not do so alone.

John Constantine ran a hand through his hair in lieu of lighting the cigarette he held between his lips. "This is who you all were looking for, right?"

"That is correct." and fairly obvious.

"Who is he?"

Right, this man had been to an afterlife, but he had never died. He had never become one of Phantom's people. "He is The Great One, The Protector. He is Space, he is Balance. He is the Realm's Child. He is our King."

John was impressed, but he didn't announce that other than a dip of his head in a bow to the Child King. Then, he said, "I don't trust human doctors to be able to help him. I don't think he'd want to be anywhere near a human doctor, actually. Will you call a Healer for him?"

"I already have." Ghost Writer laid his hand over Phantom's, reassurance to the child that he is not alone. He is safe now.

"You have?"

"Indeed." There were not many Healers in the Realms that would heal living beings. There are fewer still who would willingly heal those of this Realm of Reality for what they had done to The King. They would all make an acception to help their King. "He is The King's Healer."

John Constantine is a man who makes it a point to remind living beings of their mortality. There are many who claim immortality, but he knows that there is no such thing. The only beings to achieve true immortality are the ones who have died and the ones born with and from Space and Time. He is very aware that he is in a room with two extremely powerful beings. He knows that a third one is on the way. The power from one of them could bring a weaker man to his knees. And John Constantine is about to be in an enclosed room - in space - with three of them.

"What's the damage?" the occultist asked the Concept given form, "What's going to happen to the people here?"

A deep voice tore through the air, opening a rip in the middle of the room as it spoke. "Those who did this will be punished."

"All who worked at the facility," Ghost Writer continued, "all who allowed and promoted their work, and all who supported them will be put on Trial within the Infinite Realms."

The yeti was now fully in the room, the Rio closing behind him. "They will be sentenced to Punishment for whatever time remains of their natural life."

"When they die, they will be sent to the Void." Ghost Writer whispered, though his voice carried as though he'd yelled.

"A place of existing without existing. A paradox." The yeti growled, "A merciful end for the likes."

"Frostbite," Ghost Writer greeted, his eyes leaving Phantom, "You will heal him?"

"Of course," Frostbite said, "I will do what I can here, but he will have to be taken to the Far Frozen so that I may help him properly."

"This world has heroes, did you know?" The Concept moved to sit on the foot of the bed, his hand moving to rest on Phantom's ankle so that Frostbite could examine him.

"Other than Phantom?" Frostbite asked, "I did not know."

John felt as though the weight of the Sky was dropped on him, but he didn't stumble. He knew that showing weakness to beings and entitles stronger than him was a good way to get killed slowly and painfully for their enjoyment. He spoke anyway, "Phantom-" He cut himself off at the glare from Ghost Writer and Frostbite. "King Phantom," he amended, "was- is? was a hero here?"

"Yes," Frostbite smiled smally, "He was born here, he was raised here, he lived here, and he died here. He is Balance. He is The Protector."

"He protects the living from the dead and the dead from the living." Ghost Writer said.

"And the living fucked it up." John finished. He sighed. "I'll alert the others to your decision. They won't interfere."

"Good," Ghost Writer stood and looked John in the eye, "Keep your favor. You have earned it." Then, the three beings were gone.

John Constantine is a man who is consciously aware of how easy it is to die. He knows the different afterlives and those who run them as well as he knows his own past.

The Justice League will keep out of the way of supernatural affairs. They will warn against getting in the way of the Ghost's Retribution. They will turn a blind eye or they will die for complacency.

John leaves the room and lights his cigarette, rules be damned. He's used to cleaning up messes, but this is of a scale on its own.

Don't know why but I kind of want to use that one scene from Prince of Egypt where the Nile turns into blood with like the Lazarus pits turning the blood after the Giw kidnapped Danny like the pits and Lazarus Island are just turning into dark red blood and we'll be like this until Danny's returned back as their King like every place that has like a high level of death energy now has things turn into like locus or like ancient curses until Danny's returned

Also every ghost acting like a feral monster cuz the king is gone and that means they're stableness is gone with the King

Oh interesting.

The world was in chaos. No one knew what had caused the change. But suddenly supernatural entities and forces everywhere were causing chaos. Batman had been in the cave when the Lazarus Pit turned blood red. Shortly after he heard reports from Crime Alley. Hood had flown into the worst murderous rampage yet. The two incidents were clearly linked. He is to sedate Hood to stop his rampage. H was currently in an induced coma.

Jason was hardly the only one affected. Everyone he knew that had been revived by the pits? Were more angry, rash, prone to violence. Talia had called as well. Every put under the control I the LoA? Were affected the same way. Then he got the calls from Constantine and other members of JLD. Ghosts everywhere were causing massive amounts of damage. To both people and property.

Any people who were sensitive to death magic? Were either angry, depressed or in pain. Something he happened. But they were at a loss as to what. The fact they were compromised wasn't helping. He could feel his control sipping the longer this went on. Robin had been benched. He was currently far too likely to cause damage.

Then they found the starting clue. A city in Illinois was under constant attack by ghosts. Amity Park had been evacuated now for the most part. One facility seemed to be the focus of the attacks. Whatever was causing this? Was likely being held there. The government was being obstructionist at best. And with their collective patience being stretched to the limit? That wasn't going to keep them out of that facility.

Listen to me,

we will NOT be bullied out of our own fucking tags by those spam bots.

Don't start using new tags. These are our tags. Defend them!

I saw a very blunt Instagram comment today that told a writer, "AI is going to steal your job soon. You may want to choose something else." It was so nonchalant and casual, like what was just said wasn't heartbreaking to hear.

Can we writers just make a pact just to... not quit? Can we not give in so easily? Can we actually fight to keep our professions and continue to share our own original work? I will never expect writing to be my main source of income, but that does not mean I'm so willing to give it up for the sake of some robot.

IMPORTANT PSA

I told ao3, so now I'm here to tell you all.

I do see your comments and your reblogs, but I don't always respond. I try, but sometimes life just gets in the way or I completely forget for days or weeks. Sometimes, by the time I actually remember or see the comment, it's disrespectful to even respond because it's so late.

There is no such time as too late to respond to comments and reblogs. It may take a while, but most people, I've found, are pretty understanding. At least, that's what I've seen while reading comments on other stories.

Fandom culture is, for some reason, falling back onto this theory that everyone just knows what everyone else is thinking and it's sad. Interaction between everyone who creates and consumes is falling quickly and steadily.

Artists of all kinds are getting kicked in the ass because of the rise of AI creations. We're being kicked while we're down because people are seeing our stuff, we know they are, but they're not communicating with us.

I can guarantee that commenting and rebloging and tagging will motivate artists much more than you think.

I've heard stories (one of them my own) of people giving up on stories or whole art pieces because people weren't communicating or interacting with them.

I've heard stories where people have picked up pieces that they hadn't touched in years because someone commented on their work.

Fandom Culture has become less of a community and more of a consumer base. It's disappointing, to say the least.

I was born in 2004 and raised on old fandoms and fandom culture. I didn't jump into it until 2017, but even then was so much better to post and write because people were leaving comments about their favorite parts or compliments and keyboard smashes.

New people coming into fandom culture aren't getting the true experience that a lot of us grew up on and in. They're coming into a place closer to window shopping than an actual library.

2020 was largely the cause of this when huge amounts of people entered fandom culture because there was nothing else for them to do. But they're not all to blame. We didn't do a good enough job teaching them the proper etiquette. But it's not too late.

Lesson number one is to comment. Never post a hate comment and never give critique unless it's asked for.

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

Dick had to give it to the kid, he'd somehow thought of everything. It was a little concerning, actually, but the kid had brushed off every attempt had probing for answers. Who trained him? If he was trained at all. ...had the kid gone into vigilantism alone? Oh, dear. THat's not good fro Dick's current worries.

Reading the file Danny had handed him, Dick had to wonder how long it had taken him to put together this cover story. Also, where he'd managed to get the equipment to do it. At a glance, the kid didn't seem to have much on him. Not even a phone!

He closed the folder and set it back down on the table. "Really?" he asked, "'Congratulations, it's a boy'?"

Danny's cheeks turned a bit red as his gaze shifted to the folder. "Well, yeah. You're stuck with me now until I can get you into good habits and a healthier schedule."

"That implies that you're planning on leaving."

Danny shrugged, all his confidence now fading away. Is this what he's really like? "Well, I mean, I'm sure you don't want me sticking around at all, let alone for a while."

Dick frowned and looked back at the black folder and the binder sitting on his coffee table. God, his apartment's a mess! He smiled at Danny. "My name's Richard, but everyone calls me 'Dick'. You can stay in the guest room."

Danny lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. "Really?"

"Yep. You went to all this work, it'd be a shame if it all went to waste."

The grin on Danny's face was more than worth the security risk that he now posed. "You won't regret it, Mr. Dick!"

Dick smiled back at him, "Please, drop the formalities. We're cousins, apparently."

Was he attached? No. He wouldn't allow himself to get attached. Sure, maybe he was letting this kid - he really needs to start calling him Danny - stay with him for a while, but he wasn't going to get attached. Getting attached meant losing him. Dick wasn't sure he'd be able to survive if he lost someone again.

...damn it.

***

First order of business, now that Danny was officially Dick's - why would he willingly go by that nickname? - ward/cousin, Danny was going to make sure he got some sleep. Today was Dick's day off, so Danny had sent him to his room to take a much needed nap. The man was basically dead on his feet and Danny would be damned if he let him wander around this mess of an apartment with blurry vision.

The second thing he did, once he was sure Dick was asleep, was start to clean up. The place was a stereotypical bachelor's pad, complete with questionable stains in the carpet, rips in the cushions, dishes piled up in the sink, and old take-out on every table and counter. Gross.

He made quick work of the old take-out by throwing it all away and hitting it with a very small and controlled ectoblast. He was so glad Dick had disposable gloves on hand.

The dishes were the next thing he handed. The water was cleaner than in Gotham, so he didn't worry about washing the dishes by hand when they all didn't fit in the dishwasher. He dried the ones he'd hand washed before putting them away. Dick had no organisation in his cupboards, so Danny fixed that, too.

The fridge and freezer weren't too bad. Sure, the dairy products had all expired and most of the food was freezer bitten, but none of it was moldy yet and the appliance itself was in perfect working order. He'd have to go shopping later.

Danny had never liked cleaning, but he'd had to when his parents refused to follow any OSHA laws or Lab Safety courses. So, when he found the cleaning supplies, he took a deep breath and began scrubbing the bathroom. It wasn't too bad, thank god, and was already fairly clean. It was quick and he was able to move on very quickly.

The counters, tables, walls, and tile and wooden floors were all easy to clean with a wet rag and a broom. He wasn't going to even try saving the rug because it looked well beyond the point of no return. The couch and chair cushions could be sticked up, but he didn't have a sewing needle and thread with him.

The last thing he did before taking his backpack into the room he'd been given was to write down a shopping list and leave it on the counter. It wasn't a lot, just food and some dishes and toiletries. He'd have to figure out with Dick a way to pay rent, too, but that was a later Danny problem. He'd tired himself out and was still running on pretty much empty. So, he allowed himself to fall asleep. He'd check on Dick when he woke up.

Part 4 Part 6

Tag List:

@flame-343 @ghestie93 @anarinette @aglmry @peachtreewriter @evix-syne666 @loudlypanickinginvenezolano @lumosfeather18581

Danny smiled from his place on the clocktower roof. He'd been in Gotham for a while now, two years to the day exactly, but he'd never get tired of the view. Sure, he hated not being able to see the stars at night, but there were worse things. He did make sure to leave the city every night to see them, though.

He liked being up high. It reminded him of, not simpler times, but times when he wasn't as alone. Jazz had made her way to Harvard, Tucker was MIT, and Sam was at Pomona. Danny was nowhere.

They say after he turned fourteen, he died. It, to say the least, wasn't a pleasant or painless death, though it didn't hurt past the initial shock and revival. When he was sixteen, he realized he wasn't aging. Sure, Danny Fenton aged until he was sixteen, but Danny Phantom stopped at fourteen. Good for keeping a secret identity, but horrible for wanting to half live normally.

The day after he turned eighteen, exactly four years after he died, Danny disappeared. He left everything behind and hid out in the one place he'd always said he'd avoid. It was the one place no one would look for him. The one place where he was just another face in the crowd.

Gotham City allowed Danny the anonymity that normally came with death. Instead of just another headstone in the graveyard or a body in the harbor, though, he was just another kid on the streets in a busted hoodie and jeans. No one looked twice and no one asked questions.

In the two years he's spent on the streets of Gotham, he's learned a lot. Survival was something all humans are born with, but growing up with neglectful parents amplified that instinct. Dying and becoming an unwilling hero honed those instincts. Living in Gotham gave him a chance to learn more.

Learning the lay of the land was another thing he learned very quickly. Batman is over all of Gotham except for Crime Alley. That's Red Hood's haunt. Gotham Proper was split into blurry lines and shared between Batman and Robin, Red Robin, Orphan, and Spoiler. Nightwing is over Gotham's sister city, Bludhaven. Signal is the only day shift, so he had the most ground to cover in the least amount of time.

Of course, the Rouge's all had their own territories drawn with hard, barely flexible, lines. Black Mask was really the only one to breach those lines by trying to take Crime Alley, but Red Hood had been keeping him in check.

Learning the rules for each territory and how to interact with each person, Rouge or Vigilante, took time, but he managed. His own experiences had probably helped with that.

The next thing Danny had mapped out was where the neutral stations were. Every territory had them. They were places no one attacked because the important ones have standards. In Crime Alley, it's The Club. In Penguin's area, it's the Iceberg Lounge. Ivy marked off Robinson Park. Etcetera. The Joker is really the only major Rouge without a neutral mark on his map, but that's because he's more of an asshole than the rest. An asshole with standards, but an asshole nonetheless.

Very few of those neutral areas were available to spend the night in. Even fewer we're hiring. So, the homeless population of Gotham City stuck to the streets and back alleys.

However, there were two places Danny knew he could go where he'd be safe from scrutiny if someone looked too close at him. The Club in Crime Alley where all the working girls and boys checked in and reported any Bad Johns or Bad Janes, and The Iceberg Lounge in the richer parts of Gotham.

The clocktower was where Danny liked to spend his nights when the streets were too loud and the lights too bright and the fights too close for comfort. Oracle, who was Batman's eye in the sky and ear to the ground, worked from the clocktower, but he made sure to avoid her. It wasn't easy with what's basically super hearing that he can't turn off, but he found a spot near the very top where he could block out all Bat Business. Plausible deniability and all that.

Danny misses the stars. He misses being able to peek his head out of his bedroom window and name of each constellation he could see. He can't do that in Gotham because of the light pollution that clung to the sky like black mold. It was part of the reason he'd sworn to never go to Gotham.

There are Shades in Gotham. Shadows of people who have died but aren't quite ready to move on. He helps them as best he can, but there's so many that he sometimes feels like he's cutting off a Hydra's head. He gets to see results, though. Some days the parks are more colourful, the clouds have drifted enough to let natural sunlight through, and the graveyards are buzzing with thankful energy.

Danny forwent the thought of trying to get a job a while ago. As far as the world is concerned, Danny Fenton is missing, likely dead. Being dead, in case it wasn't well known, is a legal barrier. Sure, most jobs in Gotham didn't do background checks, but Danny didn't really want to join the Goonion. He's just fine living on the streets.

Ectoplasm is scarce compared to Amity Park, but that's to be expected. Besides, the miasma crushing the city like a weighted blanket was enough to sustain his basic abilities. Food was a bit harder to come by, but, like sleep, he could survive longer without it than a living being can. If anyone were to ever ask - though the likelihood of anyone even finding out - how he was alive, his answer was "Photosynthesis, but for ghosts."

Danny liked being just Danny. No name, no responsibilities outside of keeping himself alive.

Danny Fenton, the loser nerd who fell to the bottom of all his classes, who's obsessed with space and everything in it, who could tell you exactly how long it would take to get from Earth to Betelgeuse and back, is dead. He died the day after he turned fourteen.

Danny Phantom, the hatefully loved vigilante who appeared with the throngs of ghosts, who grew more powerful with every fight, who won more fights than he thought he could because there was no other option, is gone. He disappeared after exactly four years.

Danny just exists. He lives on the streets of Gotham City, staying away from trouble because he learned how to recognize it as soon as he could walk. He loves space and finds every opportunity he can to get out and watch the stars and moon and planets. He likes heights because being up that high reminds him of when he was living and not just surviving. Was there really a difference anymore? He hangs out in graveyards and the docks because the dead are so much more tolerable than the living.

Danny liked being just Danny because Danny doesn't have the world of Infinite Realms and Possabilities on his shoulder.

Danny likes to be able to just be for once.

Storyboard Part 2