Sunny

Random strangers: Aw, your son looks so much like the both of you

Stiles: I know! Right? He was a baby when we picked him, so we had no idea what he'd look like

Derek, playing along: Stiles!

Stiles: What? -oh...

Random stranger: Aw, giving mom a break?

Derek, married and mated to Stiles for years:

Well, this particular blob ghost hangs aroung Gotham, bouncing imperceptibly around Crime Alley and feeding on all the startlingly arrayed emotions there. It latches onto one source in particular, a recently moved-into-the-neighborhood Halfa and honorary Outlaw Danny Phantom, who has a huge goopy crush on the Red Hood.

As it turns out, that huge goopy crush has a transformative impact on how our blob ghost manifests. Hence: Fatson Todd.

Whether Danny, Jason, or some Bat finds him first, it's going to be a fun time.

Danny will just have to figure out, though, how he can spin this very damning turn of events into something less mortifying.

Danny, projecting all his feelings towards Jason onto this little blob, because they're friends and Danny doesn't want to risk losing him as a friend if he confesses. Because Danny is still a little younger, a little softer, not quite at the level of emotional maturity, that possible rejection of romantic affections doesn't mean a friendship would go up in flames.

The audacity of this punk. Jason set the pitcher of filtered water - filter upgraded with Bat-tech, because who knew what the fuck in Gotham’s water supply made it past the city’s filtration and your standard Brita - down on the counter with a little more force than usual. A hard breath vented through his nose while he watched the scene playing out in front of him. 

This safehouse was a studio, which meant that from where he stood in the kitchen he had an uninterrupted sightline on the idiot fuck he’d invited here and the other, littler, more infuriating idiot fuck that he hadn’t invited. Phantom - Danny - floated about a half-inch over his couch, tossing the pretender blob ghost up into the air, cooing when it flew back to him with enthusiasm. 

Complete with flailing, stubby little limbs, spherical body modeled after Jason’s own Red Hood getup wobbling, wide eyes watery and stupid no matter what the hell was happening around him. Damian, the traitor, had taken to calling the thing Fatson Todd. 

He’d almost run him through with the All Blades for that. Damian or Fatson, it didn’t matter particularly to him. 

What did matter was that, despite having spent the last month all but waving a Pride flag in Phantom’s face, tossing rose petals at him or - even more absurdly - actually telling Danny that he wanted to take him out in the way he usually didn’t mean, Phantom hadn’t gotten the message. He would have been tempted to think the other was just trying to let him down easy, pride of the other kind intact, except Phantom reacted to all his hints, tells, and advances with everything short of actual recognition. 

Deep green blushes, clawed hands scratching nervously at the back of his neck, the ambient temperature dipping with his emotional spikes. It was pretty telling. 

And yet, here Phantom was, playing with the damned blob instead of the six-foot wall of muscle and chiseled jawline that was trying, very earnestly, not to blow the fuck up. 

“Gah, Ancients, aren’t you just the sweetest thing?” Phantom laughed, falling back so that the axis of his levitation shifted by nearly ninety degrees when Fatson barreled into his chest. “I could just love on you all day. You’d like that, wouldn’t you Fatson?”

Phantom then pinched the blob’s imitation cheeks. Jason seethed. The usurper hadn’t let him get a proper hour alone with Phantom since he’d been found and promptly delivered to him. When Fatson wasn’t with Phantom, he was with Jason and flaunting the comedy of errors that had been his attempts to End the little thing with a deliberacy that Jason knew was there behind his wide, vacant eyes. 

Like - Jason gaped - just now. Fatson looked up from Danny’s ministrations, met Jason’s eyes, and began to babble cheerily, core resonating with the frequency that Jason had only recently been learning to parse but which undeniably elicited excitement, love, mine mine mine. 

And in Jason’s own safehouse. 

He met the little ecto-bastard’s eyes and aggressively mimed slitting his throat. 

The gesture ceased, though, as soon as Danny followed Fatson’s gaze across the way to Jason. “Oh, Jay, would you grab one of those ecto-cicles from the freezer? I think your kid’s earned a snack.”

He fought valiantly not to grimace. This was the other indignity he’d been suffering lately: Phantom’s insistence that Fatson was somehow Jason’s son. All because Jason was unwilling to get the thing in front of Danny when he was so clearly enamored with it. It had taken all of his willpower not to explode when Danny claimed that, since Fatson had gained the ecto necessary for corporeality from him and had modeled himself after Jason, he was their. kid. 

“Sure,” he tried not to grit his teeth. “Anything for the kid.”

“That’s why you’d make such a good dad,” Danny said, then seemed to cringe, dark green spreading high across his cheekbones, before returning his attention to Fatson with a vengeance. 

He was going to lose it. 

“Aren’t you just the handsomest boy? The sweetest?”

He was going to fucking lose it. 

“I love you so much Fatson,” Danny’s voice lowered, but not enough that Jason couldn’t catch it. “My special boy -”

Before Jason was quite aware of what he was doing, he’d crossed the room, scruffed the imposter by the back of his fake ecto collar, and tossed him back over his shoulder -

and sat, squarely and heavily, in Phantom’s lap.