#been eyeing the sam one of these...

[starry-bi-sky]

fast food is the best course of action after causing a scene. ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀɴʏᴀʟ ᴀʟ ɢʜᴜʟ ᴀᴜ

(First Post Here and Second Post Here

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Danny finds Sam easily.

She's right where she said she was over the phone: standing outside on a balcony, in Gotham, at Father's many charity functions. 

("Would you still be willing to fly over to Gotham, Danny?" She asks, her voice ringing clear through the speakers. Danny is already climbing out his window before she even finishes her sentence. He was just about to settle down for the night, his ghosts would know better by now than to disturb him at this time. The Box Ghost not included.)

("Of course." He says, sounding more confident than he feels. Sam was one of his best— closest friends, he would do anything she or Tucker asked. Even if it means stepping foot into his Father's city. He drops down silently, and walks through the house's ghost shield. "Would you like me to bring you anything?")

(Sam sighs through the phone, relief leaking through. "One of the veggie burgers from Nasty Burgers would be great, with their new ecto-fries. Extra salt. I'm sick of all this rich people food.")

(A small smile pulls across Danny's face, tilting at the corner as his living form falls away to his ghost self. "Alright," he says, and kicks himself off the ground, "I'll be there in a few minutes.")

("Thanks, Danny.")

He had the bag of food with him, stored in a container he had to run back to the house to get that would prevent the food from cooling during his flight over. Clutching it in hand, he floats down behind Sam and sheds his invisibility.

Being visible and being invisible always felt different, but in a way Danny can never describe, no matter how many times he tries to think about it. It's like a gut-feeling, a sixth sense, he always knows when he's visible and when he is not.

His ghost form burns away like steel wool being lit, and Danny drops the last foot to the ground silently. In his other hand lies his thermos, but filled with plain ectoplasm — lazarus water. "I have your food." 

(He brought the thermos for himself — his side was still healing from his last fight with Technus. The ghost impaled him with a broken pipe, and Danny returned the favor by wedging his sword into his chest. Technus had been quite offended by him ruining his favorite coat.)

Sam jumps a foot into the air, and her hand slams across her mouth to muffle the shriek she lets out as she whirls around. "Danny!" She hisses, her voice rising in pitch, and her eyes narrow at him into a glare. "Freaking-- Tucker's right, we seriously need to put a bell on you."

"You have been saying that for years," Danny grins, sharp-toothed and jack-knifed, and passes the container over to her. "And yet I've yet to see any kind of bell." He was going to start getting disappointed at this rate.

As Sam takes the container, Danny hops up onto the railing and looks around. He hadn't seen any of Father's other children lurking around the building before he revealed himself, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. He wasn't going to fool himself into thinking that their stealth skills were poor.

He wasn't that arrogant.

...Anymore.

"Oh you will." Sam threatens, unzipping the container and grabbing the takeout bag. "I'll get you a collar and everything, we can start calling you Catwoman." When she pulls out her fries, Danny snaps forward and steals one from the box, ignoring her indignant yell as he pops it into his mouth.

"I spent my own money on these fries, Sam." He sniffs, leaning away from her with a stifled huff of laughter as she swats at him. "So they are technically my fries. And also, Catwoman would be a poor thief if she wore a bell."

Sam grumbles at him, and takes a bite out of a handful of fries. "I'll venmo you money." She says past a mouthful of food, Danny would have been disgusted in the past, when he was still new. But he's gotten used to this... normality. So he makes no reaction to it. "How does three hundred bucks sound?"

Danny immediately frowns.

"Did you have a fight with your parents?" He asks, eyes glancing to the doors. Doors that are covered heavily by curtains and blurred heavily, decadent music passing through in muffled sounds. He shifts himself away from the light. "You only spend that much money when they've pissed you off."

Sam's chewing stops, and her annoyed expression falters into one Danny knows well -- hurt, furrowed brows, a small frown, disappointment -- and she turns her head away from him. She swallows. "Yeah." she says, quiet.

Oh.

Danny knows that tone too.

Guilt settles like a rock in his chest. He leans forward, "Was it about me again?" He wasn't blind to the disdain Sam's parents had for him, far from it. This wasn't the first time Sam had gotten into a fight with them over her friendship with him and Tucker. But especially him. He unsettled people, even after years of observing his age-mates and trying to mimic their behavior, and anyone who knew him in middle school knew it was an act.  

Sam's silence gives him all the confirmation he needs, and the guilt heavies itself with the weight of the sky. Danny's never much cared about others' opinions of him -- he is (was?) an Al Ghul, they never heed to mind what the weight of a simpleton's thoughts.

But.. he cares a little a lot when it hurts his friends like this. He presses his lips together into a thin line, and forces the words out through his teeth. It sounds robotic. Al Ghul's do not apologize. "I... am sorry." But this one does. It doesn’t come easy. 

Sam sighs through her nose, and turns to roll her eyes at him. "Don't apologize on their behalf when you won't even apologize for your own; their assholes." She says, and goes reaching for more fries.

It's a sign, a signal. A silent word for the conversation to move on, to change. A distraction. Danny grasps it with both hands, and makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. And like he has learned, puts a hand to his chest like a scandalized American southern lady. "I apologize! I apologize plenty."

She snorts. "Only when you think it matters." And pokes him in the ribs sharply with her fry. He withholds a wince and snatches it out of her hands. "You're about as unapologetic as they come, Danny J. Fenton. I've seen you look more sincere when you're trying to drive your sword between Vlad's ribs."

"Stabbing Masters is a very important task for me, Sam." Danny says in only partially faux-seriousness. Masters has yet to realize that Danny had no interest in becoming his son, but he had to (reluctantly) admire his persistence. "Of course I will apply myself to it as best as I can."

He grins triumphantly when Sam laughs, and she reaches over to shove him square in the chest. He barks out a laugh of his own as he grips onto the balcony railing and catches himself at an angle.

"Quit with your method actor talk," Sam retorts, grinning sharply while Danny twists himself back up elegantly. "I know you can talk like a normal person, I've literally seen you do it."

Danny sniffs, and snatches more fries from the carton as revenge. "I'm not entirely sure what you mean, Miss Sam." He says, grin-twisting when Sam rolls her eyes. "My speech has always been this way. This 'normal' you speak of, I do not know it."

She waves her hand dismissively at him. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. But if you keep talking like that, I'm pushing you off the balcony."

"Such violence, Sam."

He gets a laugh again, full of disbelief without any of the annoyance. "I'm gonna be the one that stabs you, oh my god. Pot meet kettle." She looks at him again, smiling.

Danny smiles back, and with a flick of his wrist pulls out a kunai from his sleeve. It was one of the few weapons Mother was able to pass on to him whenever she made her scarce visits. He cherishes it well, along with anything else she was capable of giving him. 

He holds the handle out to her, and watches her face shift from disbelief to shock, then back to disbelief. "Then you're gonna need a weapon to do that." 

"Of course you have a pointy object on you." She mutters, and takes the kunai and puts it in her purse. Danny makes a pleased hum, it resonates low in his core, and drops his hand. "When do you not have a pointy object on you?"

As if to make her point, Danny's hands twist near his side, and he holds his palms up to her, revealing the shobo he had also hidden on him. He gives her a shit-eating grin. "Never." He lowers his hand, and pockets the small weapon once again. 

Sam huffs, "Of course," she repeats, "thanks. I was gonna bring a knife but..."

Danny finishes the sentence for her, kicking his feet idly and knowingly. "The security at the door?" He'd seen them on his flight over the building. It wouldn't do much in the face of the Rogues, but at least they were good at keeping appearances and keeping out the smaller threats.

He rolls his eyes and turns his head away, looking up to the ugly, smog-covered skies. There was no bat signal in the air, and while that was a good thing, Danny almost wished there was. He wanted to see it. "I saw, and I would’ve called Father foolish if he hadn’t hired help. He attracts trouble almost as badly as I do."

"Maybe it's hereditary," Sam jokes, laughing under her breath. With her fries finished, she started on her veggie burger. "At least your dad isn't a vigilante like you are."

Danny smiles wryly. It felt nice to be able to talk more freely about this. That he didn't have to hide the fact that his father was Bruce Wayne, now that Sam knew it from her own accord. Maybe he could have conversations like these more often. Even if it was limited to Bruce Wayne only.

(Even if it felt a little terrifying to know that his father was so close by, close enough that Danny could reach out and touch him. To speak to him. But how would he explain that? And with an audience?)

(He’s wanted to see him since he was a kid, and he still does. It clings onto him like a cough that doesn’t go away after the cold already has, and while it has faded over the years, it clings. His mother’s words still ring in his ears however; it’s not safe. It’s not safe.)

(And isn’t that why he faked his death in the first place? So that his little brother would be safe? Why he gave up the heirship, his home, his Mother, Damian, and his chance to meet his Father? Going to see Father, even now, would be throwing that all away. He has to stay away.)

(Why is Damian with Father if staying with Father was unsafe?) 

He just needed to tell Tucker. Danny wouldn’t keep him out of the loop, he was just as much as his friend as Sam was. His eyes draw towards the door, where the golden glow of lights was still pouring through, where music was playing loudly. "Yeah, fortunately." 

They fall into a comfortable silence after that, and Danny finally cracks open his thermos. The pipe Technus impaled him with was covered in a goo that Danny didn’t recognize, but whatever it was, his injury was taking its time healing. The ectoplasm was speeding it up. 

He isn’t sure what the difference between the ectoplasm that Drs. Fenton collected and Grandfather’s Lazarus pools is, but there’s a difference. He swirls the thermos slowly, watching as the ectoplasm inside twists into a small whirlpool sluggishly. 

When left alone, it thickens into a consistency similar to egg whites, or perhaps a thick smoothie, but reverts back into a water-like substance when moved and swirled. It was strange; unexplainable. He can understand, to an extent, why the Drs. Fenton are so obsessed with studying it and the dimension it comes from. 

Sam watches him idly as he brings the thermos to his lips and drinks from it. The effect is instantaneous, a sense of relief washing over Danny as if someone had put a soothing balm onto an injury. It buzzes down to his fingertips, and when he lowers the thermos, he licks his lips and watches the tips of his fingers burn green like frostbite. 

“Your hair turned white again.” Sam comments, her hand reaching out and touching the hair on the nape of his neck. While it’s not the first time Sam’s touched his hair, it still makes him tense up with her hand so close to his throat. Instinct. dan

He ignores the urge to bat her hand away, humming thoughtfully. “I’ve noticed it does that.” He says, pulling down his bangs to see if they’ve also turned white. No, still black. He lets go. “Let me guess; my eyes are green too?” He lifts the thermos again and peers into the chrome casing. 

Sam nods, “Yep, but it’s only the, uh.” She makes a circle around her eyes with her finger. “The iris part. Everything else is fine.” 

Danny can see that. The faint reflection on the chrome casts back an intense green. He takes another sip. It chills the back of his teeth, and he can feel his canines warp and sharpen. He runs his tongue over them, and swallows. 

Sam is still watching him, her fingers drumming against the balcony railing. “What’s it taste like?” 

“Carbonated.” He says dryly, before taking a large swig. He couldn’t name a specific flavor if he tried, it changed every time he took a sip. The only thing that stayed consistent was that it tasted carbonated. And slightly sweet. When he pulls the thermos away, Danny twists his body towards her and offers it out, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Want to try?” 

Her reaction is immediate. Sam’s nose scrunches up and her mouth twists into a smile, and she makes a huffing-laugh sound. “No, thank you.” She pushes it away lightly with her fingers, “I don’t know how to explain to my parents why my hair is white.” 

Right. Danny pulls the thermos away and puts it down beside him, straining his eyes to see if the rest of his hair has changed colors. Even just his first sip would take half an hour to fade back to its normal black, and he was a halfa. He had no idea how long it’d take to fade on Sam, who was human. 

There’s movement from the corner of his eye, and Danny snaps his head towards the source. There’s a figure, small, a boy, trying to hide behind one of the curtains at the door. His form just barely peeking out from the angle Danny was sitting at. He wouldn’t have seen him if the boy hadn’t moved. 

His fingers curl tightly into the railing, and he breathes in sharp. Sam’s smile crumbles away and she turns to see what he’s looking at. “I should go.” He says, and reaches for his thermos. “There’s someone spying on us. Don’t say anything, just look at me.” 

Sam’s expression warps, twists. Her eyes widen, her jaw starts to drop before fixing itself into place, and her shoulders curl up and tense. She forces it all to smooth over, and she leans casually against the railing. There’s a tick in her jaw. “I see.” Her voice comes through teeth. “Do you think they saw you?”

“I am not sure.” Danny says. He keeps an eye on the figure as he twists himself over and grabs the Nasty Burger bag and the container. He tries not to look like he’s rushing. He is. How long has that boy been there? How much did he see? Did he hear anything? 

“Father, fortunately, has privacy films on the glass. Nobody should have seen me unless they’re specifically trying to peep through the door.” He says. The boy seems to realize that Danny was starting to leave. And, his heart beginning to sink, instead of leaving, moves to grab the door handle instead.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Danny’s breath catches in his throat, he’s hoping that isn’t who he think it is. But how else would he have not noticed an eavesdropper on their conversation unless it was someone who was capable of bypassing those skills? He told himself that he wouldn’t fool himself into thinking that his siblings’ had poor stealth. He got distracted. 

Five years, five years. He refuses to let that go down the drain. He zips up the container and throws his legs over the other side of the railing, his back facing the door. He hears the doorknob click, and without a word to Sam, slips off down the side and down to the ground below.

Just in time. The once muffled music now sounds blaring as the door presumably is thrown open and the pull of invisibility washes over him like a second skin. He doesn't stay to see who it is.

[lillysilverus]

Okay y'all. I knew that the person writing the descriptions for the supernatural episodes on my cable company was biased, but this one has got to take the cake. They're getting ready to show "The Big Empty" and the description for the episode is

"Dean and Jack investigate when a grief counselor's patients wind up dead; they are also forced to deal with unresolved grief of their own".

Wow. So Sam is the standing lamp in the corner I guess.

[yeahthisisabadidea]

Danny is part Fae

Danny Fenton has changling blood. It goes back generations to when the Nightengale witch/ghost hunting family crossed with the 'Faetons' (fae lands) eventually becoming the Fentons.

It's why he can change his apearance between 'human' and 'ghost'. It's why he didn't die all the way and why he's so powerful. It's part of why he was so hard to clone. It explains why he's so good at making deals/getting people to keep promises and finding loopholes to bad situations.

It explains why Jack is considered strange and doesn't play by typical human social rules and invulnrability. (Plus breaking through walls and an obesion with claiming things by using his name)

Also, you can't tell me that young Dan with blue skin, pointy elf ears and red eyes doesn't look like a fairy.

[robinson-graves]

[sits up suddenly from my coffin] anybody fuck with my super danganronpa 2 x guy who didnt like musicals au

[hyohaehyuk]

Source: Jacob Anderson and Sam Reid’s Reddit AMA answers and Jacob' IG

vampcnvs: Life changes a lil when you realize those are not, in fact, Jacob’s green contact lenses in his eyes…. Looking cross eyed as fuck just so he could film himself swapping ocular fluids with Sam, like my god

Love how Jacob gives the PR, diplomatic answer and Sam's just-

"ME AND JACOB SWAPPED LENSES ONCE" 👁️👄👁️

Lord, they’re really sharing every body fluid. i was about to say imagine them swapping fangs too but then i remembered they are molded to their teeth shape and that is the only reason that will prevent them 🤭

[antleredweirdo]

DPxDC Writing prompt: A new circus is in town appeared seemingly overnight, a circus of meta humans with red eyes and equally terrifying and wondrous acts. It’s suspicious as all hell and even more suspicious when Jason suddenly feels overwhelmingly compelled to join it when he sees the commercial for it on the TV. Seriously, where the hell did this ‘Circus Gothica’ even come from?

Ok hear me out; y’know in that one episode where we’re introduced to Freakshow and he brainwashes Danny but then it’s ok because he’s saved by his friends?

What if Sam and Tucker and been too late? If Danny had been successful taken?

What if no one believed Sam and Tucker when they said Danny had been kidnapped and he’s not a runaway?

And what if he’s been brainwashed for over 3 years while travelling in the Circus, the only people caring enough to find him being unable to do anything about it?

And what if Freakshow made the mistake of preforming in Gotham where the Bats dwelled? And where they’ll take a deeper look into the circus’s suspicious behaviour…

[shadystranger]

remember what they gave you

[cybercanadian]

you guys I have a boyfriend 😭

[thatfriendlyanon]

hey babe. go tonight from the mad ones. amiright

[bones-mccoy-turned-me-bi]

Fuckin love Picrew.me

Look at my beautiful sons

(And friends)

[radioactive-yuri]

listen. i do not ever want anything bad to happen to lena kelley. however i do want her to, at some point, be in so much distress that someone has to comfort her. do you understand.

[coconut530]

👁️Movie Night👁️

[cannibalisticsamdean]

debating on whether or not to write another grieving mpreg!sam fic where he finds out he’s pregnant the day after deans death

[theultracharmingladynoire]

.

[fishermcn]

tinker + shinguards. -- rotten-pest (Cotesia asks, bearing a cheery little smile for all the menace she portrays otherwise)

@rotten-pest // no gold or silver will suffice for this gift; only the deaths you deliver cruel and swift // accepting.

When you dedicate yourself to being a "depraved" perfumer, you acknowledge that the pursuit of alchemical secrets and unnatural boons will cost you dearly. Whether that price is something as heartfelt as losing all you once held close to chest in the pursuit of power or simply a weight upon your soul tallied with the bodies you're forced to pile onto the pyre one after the other, there is always something to be taken for all that can be gained. A scale rebalanced, a pushing back of the world in due reply to you throwing your weight around.

Thankfully in Soot's case, the only toll exacted upon him has been the general sanity of his clientele, and compared to the previous round of customers Corellia (Contessa, Cotellie, somethin' like that--) here seemed to have her wits about her. Barring her taste in color arrangement that is, considering the horrible menagerie of colors sprouting from her breastplate. Radagon's balls, but blinking didn't do him a damn bit of good neither. Reminds him a bit of old Jerren, honestly...

Right, priorities. Focus. Tearing his gaze away from her breastplate and the hideous gambeson beneath it, Soot blinks and glances between the offering of her (admittedly worn, godsdamn--) shin guards and the smile lightening her claw-kissed face. Mhm, damn pests had gotten a nasty swing in by the look of her. Maybe she'd be interested in a new helmet too? "Ain't an armorer by trade, but..." He takes them in soot-stained hands with a care that belies his uncharitable thoughts, a thumb smoothing over the pitted steel whilst cradled in his spindly arms. It isn't hard to tell that these are older than she's had them for how worn-in they are, nor that they've faced the worst the road has to offer long before they were even in decent shape. "Got some dents here," and a dirty nail taps at a particularly deep one with a soft ting-ting. "Cloth's threadbare, coulda been secured too loosely...?"

On the very tip of his tongue, Soot nearly offers her a pair he's had tucked away for some time now. Pair of Redmane issue steel plate, tightly forged and never worn, polished to a sheen... yet it stays locked tight behind his crooked teeth. Another glance spared Cornelia's way, another once over of her from grinning face to garish maille to well-traveled boots, and something in his gut tightens at the thought of just attempting to talk her into tossing out these things.

"Gimme a day, two at most." Setting the guards onto a table already crowded with bits and baubles of an origin unknown and unrecalled, Soot pauses and pats himself down before retrieving an aromatic bottle. He tosses it to Coryn without so much as a "look alive" and gestures towards the ramshackle shack's door, already turning over the leggings between his hands. "Try that. Bloodboil with somethin' extra. Make ya hit like a batterin' ram, it should."

What's a day in the Weeping Peninsula come out to, when the sun never shows its face for all the bloody storm clouds? If Soot keeps track of anything it's how often Cordellia comes and goes, comes and goes, maybe not unwisely checking in on his progress and seeing for herself that he isn't in the business of filching banged up armor. As such she sees the restoration more closely than many of his other clients. Cloth is unceremoniously shorn from inside each legging only to be carefully, painstakingly refitted with a squinted eye and shockingly steady threading needle. Dents left from deflected blows are knocked back into proper shape with precise strikes of the hammer. Dirt accumulated from gods knew how many years of marching across the Lands Between is washed and scraped away with only a few mumbled oaths here and there for the elbow grease and effort put towards it.

It's the tail end of that second day when Soot finally presents the guards back to... fuck, what was it again? Corvina? Close enough. Witness though she'd been to most of the refurbishment, Soot figures he's at least managed to slip a few things past her attention. Where once the steel had reflected their time on the endless journey, now they gleamed with the attention a paid man with scrounged up polish can afford. Those pitted places across their now pristine surface have been properly straightened out, seamless and proven so by the level finger that traces down the surface of both leggings. Perhaps most notably though is the fabric used to soften their interior, replaced from that tattered and ruined material of before with a deep crimson cloth and tight stitching.

"Came out all right, it did. Been a bit since m'last stitches." Soot pauses, gnawing his bottom lips, before seeming to recall something. "Mhm, by the by, added somethin'." Nonchalantly, he plucks free a short but sharp blade from a small divot within the cloth of the shin guard. It's handle is wrapped in the very green binding that had once held together her left legging, it too now clean from the dust of the road. "Gotta sheath in both guards. Can't feel'm when ya walk. Nice in a pinch." With a wheeze, Soot tucks the dirk away and smothers the rest of his coughs into a raggedy sleeve. "Remember me when they do ya a good turn."

[rottingsam]

sam should have had his eyes scooped out in time is on my side