2 Ideas:

Fenton parents make an invention to reverse a ghost's evil impulses!" It actually brings a ghost's instincts forward. The effects last about two weeks.

The Fentons are in Gotham when they get the chance to use it on Phantom.

Good news: it happens near the Bats, so he's quickly rescued.

Bad news: baby ghost instinct wants parents and turned human to get reassurance. That did not happen and now Red Hood has a crying, keening teenager shaped leech.

“Are you busy today?”

Danny looked up from his phone, where he’d been messaging Jazz. She’d been pestering him to be more social again. Damian had been getting progressively more twitchy recently and he couldn’t figure out why. So, he figured, why not?

“Not really,” he answered after weighing the pros and cons of his answer.

“Good,” he said. “You are coming to dinner with me.”

Danny blinked once. Twice. Damian didn’t change. He still stood, somewhat stiff and formal and agitated in front of him. “What?”

“I am bringing you to my family dinner. Tonight. We’re leaving in five minutes.”

Danny wasted approximately thirty seconds of those five minutes staring in shock, before remembering that Damian could and would drag him out the door sans shoes if need be. He’d done it before. Given they went to school in Gotham, that had meant that Damian had carried him over his shoulder to his car and thrown an ugly purple pair of crocs at him before Damian had dropped him off at his study group. He bolted to his room to grab his wallet and a jacket, then slid into the kitchen to grab an ecto blob boba smoothie and a piece of meat.

Damian grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out of the fridge, sans meat. “Time’s up,” he said.

“But my snack-” Danny tried…

“You will be fed,” was snapped at him as they left their apartment. “If you must have a snack, I’m certain one of the heathens has left something in my car you may have.”

'Well, shit,' Danny thought. 'Guess I’m gonna need to have that meat for a midnight snack.'

_______

Danny sat at a dining room table full of rich people in their own house and wondered briefly how this had happened. Damian had dragged him into the house as if he thought the halfa would run away given half a chance. Which, he wasn’t exactly wrong, but still. He had refused to let go until he’d forcefully sat Danny down in a chair and introduced him to the room at large as “my roommate who refuses to feed himself properly and is trying to burn the building down by incorrectly using the toaster.” Which, rude.

"How do you do that?” the blonde, who he thinks was introduced as Brown, asked curiously.

"He puts raw meat in it,” Damian growls.

Everyone in the room turns to Danny at once.

“Why?” one of the two largest men, this one with a white streak, demanded. “Even I knew better as a kid, and I didn’t even have a toaster.”

Danny blinked at that before replying, “Well, the toaster at home was the only appliance that didn’t reanimate food. Ever. The oven was guaranteed to do so and the few times we had a working microwave it was Russian Roulette of the end result being animated, electrically charred, glow in the dark radioactive, or actually cooked through.”

“Oh my god, is that an actual reason?” someone whispered.

Damian just looked betrayed. “Why?”

“I did tell you, didn’t I? I’m pretty sure I told you,” Danny said confused. No realization dawned in Damian’s gaze. “My parents are ecto scientists? I know I changed my last name when I came out here, but I was pretty sure I told you about that.”

Damian’s eye twitched. “The crazed, zealot, mad scientist Fentons?”

Danny sunk into his chair with a sigh, resigned. “Yeah, them. After the Justice League took them in, I’m pretty sure they put my sister, friends, and I on some kind of potential rouges watchlist because of it. I’m just glad they managed to close the portal and confiscated all the weapons blueprints from them and the GIW.”

“They only took the weapons blueprints?” Richard asked.

Danny shrugged. “They took all of them, but the weapons were getting really dangerous. They kept upping the sensitivity so they targeted more and more liminals, ecto-contaminated people. I know how to make everything because I had to sabotage or fix everything so it wouldn’t target me.”

"Why would it target you?” Bruce asked, concerned.

Danny stared blankly at the man. “Do none of you follow the news? My lab accident was used as evidence of human experimentation at their trial. The whole house was an OSHA violation. The only reason their ecto levels were as low as they were is because they wore specialized hazmat suits twenty four-seven. That whole thing is why my sister and I changed our last name. So we could avoid,” he waved his hands around, “this.”

The sound of someone clearing their throat quietly brought the questions to a stop. Danny looked over at the man to give him a relieved smile, which grew truly grateful as the butler placed a plate of spaghetti in front of him.

Once everyone was served, Danny dug in. 'Damn,' he thought, 'steak cuts in spaghetti? Must be a rich people thing.'

With the butler, Alfred, if he remembered correctly, standing by the door, no one focused their questions on Danny, for which he was very grateful.It also took him an embarrassingly long time to realize that no one else’s spaghetti had steak cuts. In the meat. He carefully chewed the next bite of meat and sank down in his chair with an embarrassed groan.

“Is there a problem?” Damian asked, a smug, knowing glint in his eyes.

“I made a bet with my friends that I could last at least a semester without anyone figuring out this,” he gestured at the very delicious spaghetti. “I owe them phone numbers now. I don’t suppose you know where I can find Dr. Pamela Isely?”

“And who else’s number do you need?”

“Tim Drake, can I pass your number to my tech friend so he doesn’t remotely brick my electronics?”

A string of startled laughs erupted from the table at the question.

Danny needs a few...odd things. A few dietary and emotional requirements unique to his physiology. Meat is one of them.

But like, raw meat. He doesn't have to eat it often, maybe twice a month, but it does need to be completely raw.

He also needs to eat non-sentient blob ghosts, which are very different from sentient ones. Same amount, maybe twice a month.

He's weak to hot temperatures, where most humans require some sort of positive contact he needs to fight, if he gets too much sunlight his dopamine levels drop, and oddly enough as he got older milk or products with a lot of milk started to affect him like alcohol affects humans.

Now that he's made it to college, hiding most of these things is easy enough.

He chose Gotham, because of minimal sunny days and naturally cold weather. He regularly goes for walks at night, to fill his need for fighting. He says he has a milk allergy, and avoids milk products.

The blobs and the raw meat are a little uh. Those are a little hard.

He's taken to ducking into a bathroom stall to just swallow the blobs whole. But the meat...

He decides to sear the outside and leave the inside entirely raw. Does this detract from the nutrients by cooking them off? Yes. Does it mean he needs to eat raw meat four times a month instead of twice? Yes. Does it mostly hide that he's doing this in front of humans? Kind of.

Until he got a vegan roommate.

Said roommate is far too sharp-eyed for his own good, and now the guy is being weird.

Or: Damian's roommate is a meta who clearly has dietary restrictions outside the norm. It's fine; Damian understands that like animals in the wild, people have different diets. But the cuts of meat Fenton is eating are...subpar. Damian isn't sure how to be...civil, or appear polite, or not be a "snob" if he suggests Fenton allow him to procure farm fresh cuts of steak from cows raised in an open pasture and were well taken care of.

“So, you just use the rocks on blankets border?” Jason asked.

Jazz smiled. “Yes. Sam got us color coded beads for the blankets, and she turned one of the rooms at her house into a fabric shop, but all of us decided to make the blankets ourselves. And for them to be comfortable and meaningful for liminals, the cairn stones can’t fill the whole thing. So, we just put them in the border.” She gave a rueful grin as she continued, “It also helps the blankets to stay on the restless sleepers.”

Tim Drake had tracked down Sam’s contact information after the family had noticed Cass’s sudden habit of putting pebbles, small pieces of rubble, beads and marbles on Jason whenever he’s caught sleeping at the manor seemed to correlate with a less mercurial temper. The teen had laughed when he’d asked about what she’d talked to Cass about and asked for his email to send the information to.

When Jason had started reciprocating with everyone, Tim had called her back and she’d laughed at him and sent more information. Eventually, after Jason had lent Tim his blanket after being injured, Tim just gave up, he wasn’t finding any other information about this anywhere else, and called Sam to ask how many tickets he needed to buy for her to come to Gotham.

A week later saw Sam Manson, Tucker Foley, Danny and Jazz Fenton as guests in Wayne Manor. They had brought with them a collection of patchwork quilt looking lumpy blankets and an offputting old fashioned treasure chest.

“And you color code the rocks?” Steph asked, a dangerous gleam in her eye.

“Yes,” Tucker answered. “Not all of us can look at or touch them and know who gave them when they’re all in a pile. It’s not a bad thing, we just don’t have senses need for it. You don’t even need to color the whole thing. I put hieroglyphs on mine.”

“I used to put bats on mine,” Sam said. “I’ve changed to plants or seeds.”

“I just put teal dots on mine,” Jazz added. “I haven’t some up with anything else for them. It hasn’t been needed and I don’t have time for anything else.”

They all look at Danny, who has been locking in a staring contest with Alfred the Cat for the last ten minutes. Sam poked him for attention.

“I put stars, constellations, ice or snow,” he answered, not breaking eye contact. “It depends on how much time I’ve got, how tired I am, or if I just need to keep my hands busy. I gave one to Jazz once that was covered in fern frost and the Aquarius constellation.”

“And you do that for all of them?” Damian asked.

“It makes sense for us, since we just have ourselves,” Danny shrugged. “If you guys do that too, I’d suggest something simple in a single color. Your Fraid is bigger than ours, so it’d be difficult to personalize each and every one.”

Ok, so I've seen a few things that say Bruce Wayne and Sam Manson are Jewish. And I've seen a couple of things about Jewish traditions that say that they leave small stones on graves of loved ones, something about anchoing souls. And there's this one fic, I can't remember what it was or who wrote it, that had Sam placing small stones on Danny sometimes, just because.

I had this thought. Since Danny and Jason aren't dead, what if their loved ones made them weighted blankets, with those stones instead of beads/rice/what-have-you in regular weighted blankets.

Those blankets quickly become their favorite. It's soothing on an instinctual level. Sleeping with those blankets is the best sleep they've ever had. No nightmares. Just happy, sleeping, ghost purrs. Because those blankets are full of love and recognition of loss and ghosts appreciate that recognition of loss from the living, need it.

It's why Ember wants to hear her name, why Skulker and Technus shout their names and titles. They want to be recognized.

Just imagine, movie night at the manor. Some poor soul tries to playfully steal Jason's weighted blanket. Jason's eyes haven't been so bright since he emerged from the Lazarus Pits and he's snarling and growling to impress a dragon. Message received: don't touch the blanket.

Trying to find a fic. It's My Hero Academia. Izuku asks All Might if he can be a hero, gets a no. Then he goes down a list, asking a bunch of different heroes if someone Quirkless can be a hero. Eventually, he ends up in Aizawa's class and asks him if someone Quirkless can be a hero. Aizawa tells him he already is.

Gotham is full of flame actives. It is, in fact, rare to find someone born in Gotham who isn't flame active. There are a few sky lines, but most big names have some cloud or mist.

The Court of Owls has most of Gotham's sky flame users, which doesn't help.

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Thank you @umbra95 and everyone who got me to 100 reblogs!

Soul mark au

Humans have soul marks, a picture on their skin representing the one person who compliments them, helps them grow, keeps them safe. Some people have multiple soul marks, some only one, and some not at all.

Ghosts have Fraid marks, images or features in their appearance that reflect the members of their Fright.

Danny has had his soul mates, Sam and Tucker, for years. Sometimes, he'll find an odd colored bruise that lingers and doesn't hurt, but he doesn't think much of it.

Then he dies. His ghost form only shows his face, all other skin hidden away. It takes a while before he can bring himself to check that his soul marks are still there. It takes longer still to learn about Fraid marks.

"Why does everyone here wear sashes anyway?" Danny asked one day, while stopping by the Far Frozen.

"We are a Fraid. We are all similar in many ways, so we manifested another way to show our inclusion in other Fraids," Frostbite responded easily.

"What do you mean?" Danny asked, confused.

"Our Fraid marks," Frostbite said, indicating his own, "Many beings of the Realms have their own way to show their marks, but we have no skin to show, and not all of us appreciate colored fur. This might be our Lair, but we have our own predators here if we aren't careful."

"What are Fraid marks?"

"Marks that show our allies and allegiances. Your human friends may even have their own marks."

"Sam and Tucker are my soul mates. I've had their marks forever. My sister, Jazz's too. But I haven't gotten new marks since I became a halfa."

"Didn't you notice?" Frostbite asked, amused. "You are a human ghost with fangs, pointed ears, and claws. You are here to check on other physical changes. Many of your friends in the Realms are not human, or have a very distinct non-humanoid form. Fraid marks are much more versatile than human, or even liminal, marks."

I Think Not

Bruce sat at his desk, head in his hands, fingers rubbing at his temples. It did nothing to soothe his headache as the fire lizards continued to whirl and pivot in the air in leftward circles, chirping and chattering at each other and Bruce.

Alfred stood in the doorway, eyebrow loudly raised, despite the elder man’s silence. Bruce ignored the judgment radiating from his direction.

“Father, I-” Damian burst into the room, neatly stepping past Alfred before stopping just past him, eyeing the fire lizards.

Bruce felt his headache spike.

“Father,” he says again, this time with anger and fire in his voice, “who is threatening you so?”

The harnesses of the fire lizards catch the light, highlighting the flowers embroidered on every strap and, if that wasn’t enough, the icons of the flowers on the connecting parts of the harness.

“There is no threat, Damian,” Bruce let out another sigh as he dug his fingers harder into his skull.

Damian pointed harshly at the fire lizards chittering away in the air above him. “Yellow Carnation. Spider Lily. Butterfly Weed. Basil. Aconite.” His finger moved to point at Bruce. “Someone is angry at you and willing to kill you by any means necessary. Something needs to be done. ”

“Damian-”

“Bruce!” Tim barreled into the room, looking harried. “Bruce, where’s my coffee! I’ve got a meeting and I spent all night working on it and I need coffee or I’m going to pass out in the middle and they won’t take me seriously! Why are there so many fire lizards in flower harnesses oh my god who did you sleep with?!”

Bruce covered his eyes and tangled his fingers in his hair, despairing.

“You imbecile!” Damian shrieked. “Do you know anything about flower language?!”

“Bruce!” Dick hit the doorway and launched himself over the bottleneck of the doorway, rolling over the floor and popping to his feet in front of the desk Bruce was sitting behind like the flimsy shield it was. “Bruce, is Jason coming?”

Bruce dug the heels of his hands into his eyes briefly, before removing them to address his boys, his precious children, the source of his headaches.

“Boys!” he shouted to get their attention over the squabbling. They all looked at him and he pointed at the fire lizards. “Those are Jason’s Damian. He isn’t coming Dick. I don’t know anything about your coffee Tim.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed as he took in the fire lizards’ harnesses again. Then he pulled a token out of his pocket and held it to Bruce. “Is this his?” he asked. The token was of a poppy, colored white.

Bruce raised an eyebrow and nodded.

After a moment of silence, Tim’s screech caused the fire lizards to go between.

“Jason stole my coffee!”

Johnny hits Jason with his bike ("we were supposed to go through him babe!" "But we didnt!") which knocks Jason unconscious. Kitty sees he's a ghost and is like "its a baby!" gif and refuses to leave him there.

Jason wakes up to the weirdest coddling experience of his (after)life. After many many tries he cannot successfully escape the growing group of concerned ghosts who are doing the coddling

Two days later Batman issues a search for his missing son, becoming more and more distressed when the batfam finds no leads

Random linguistic worldbuilding: A language with six sets of pronouns, which are set by one's current state of existence. There's a separate pronoun for people who are alive, people who are dead, and potential future people who are yet to be born, and the ambiguous ones of "may or may not be alive or aleady dead", "may or may not have even been born yet", and the ultimate general/ambiguous all-covering one that covers all ambiguous states.

The culture has a specific defined term for that tragic span of time when a widow keeps accidentally referring to their spouse with living pronouns. New parents-to-be dropping the happy surprise news of a pregnancy by referring to their future child with the "is yet to be born" pronoun instead of a more ambiguous one and waiting for the "wait what did you just say?" reactions.

Someone jokingly referring to themselves with the dead person pronouns just to highlight how horrible their current hangover is. A notorious aspiring ladies' man who keeps trying to pursue women in their 20s despite of approaching middle age fails to notice the insult when someone asks him when he's planning to get married, and uses the pronoun that implies that his ideal future bride may not even be born yet.

A mother whose young adult child just moved away from home for the first time, who continues to dramatically refer to their child with "may or may not be already dead" until the aforementioned child replies to her on facebook like "ma stop telling people I'm dead" and having her respond with "well how could I possibly know that when you don't even write to us? >:,C"