#wanted to make something for Blue's DC canon

[adanseydivorce]

Option 1: for this one I’m thinking he *dated* girls his parents or Helen wanted him to meet/be seen with at functions daughters of people his parents wanted to impress etc. they weren’t really relationships that lasted longer than they needed to for a particular campaign or venture. They might not even have *been* relationships but literally just being seen together at some event in DC. Makes sense in the context of Gansey saying when “he was dating somebody” they were different from Blue.

Option 2: pre canon Chengsey truthers can claim this one, but Gansey basically dating at Aglionby specifically rather than like, while he was constantly moving between boarding schools and other countries. Is also consistent with his remark about his dating experience not being relevant to help Adam with Blue.

Option 3: the anecdote about Gansey interviewing a boy who survived being struck by lightning on the ley line and the time they spent together… kinda sus.

Option 4: this is less an option in itself and more something I believe that could coexist with the other options but also could lead into something totally different be true, but Adam is being delusional/exaggerating Gansey’s experience levels in his head due to being horribly down bad and thinking everyone else also sees Gansey as the coolest hottest most effortlessly perfect person to evah. So I think he could have been told something along the lines of one of the first two options and heavily exaggerated them in his head or it’s possible Gansey hasn’t even dated anyone or just been with one person and Adam just thinks he’s dated so many people, because he’s Gansey.

Option 5: I don’t think anyone will vote for this because why would you? but keeping it as an option to be polite.

Other options: go crazy! tell me anything.

*also must be noted that we don’t actually know who Adam has dated pre series or if he dated anyone so that’s a context that’s missing, might do a poll on that in the future too.

[aceghosts]

"You'll hear me howl by the light of the moon/That's how you'll know that I'm coming for you/Gonna find you alone in the dark of night/When the World Ender comes, better run for your life"-The World Ender by Lord Huron

TEMPLATE CREDIT AND ICON CREDIT

[starry-bi-sky]

I am absolutely loving your Danyal Al Ghul au. While I have a soft spot for the whole plotline of Danny becoming his canon personality almost right after breaking away from the LOA all because of Jazz, I'm just as much for your take in which he goes through the same character development as Damian.

Now I'm curious. You already tackled his relationship with Dani, will you eventually take a stab at when he, Sam, and Tucker meet Gregor? Given that it's one of my hated episodes as I couldn't stand Sam's infuriatingly hypocritical attitude to Danny's suspicions of him, I'd kill to see your spin on it.

Aw, thank you! Danyal Al Ghul aus are what got me into DPDC first, so I have a major soft spot for them. That being said, uh, its exactly that soft spot that causes me to have Many Opinions about the trope you just mentioned. Like the trope is all fine and dandy, i don't blindly hate it, my main issue with it is that most aus i've seen treat his backstory as an ex-assassin more like a pretty cosmetic accessory rather than something that actually should have had an impact on him. Especially if he remembers being in the league.

Like i cannot stress enough the fact that being in an ecofascist assassin cult (regardless of his standing in it) should've left him, in some way or another, screwed up morally and psychologically because that's just how development works. Nature vs. Nurture is like a game of tug-o-war that never ends, where they are constantly fighting against each other and one side usually has the upper hand or greater influence. Children model the behaviors of the adults around them (ex: bobo the clown doll experiment), and what impacts them in childhood can stick with them permanently.

Like how my psychology professor put it: a baby's brain is like wet cement; if you slap your hand on it, it leaves an imprint, and the cement dries that way. The same rings true for small children.

I could go on, but I frankly have so many thoughts on that alone that I would end up completely derailing from the second half of your ask, and I don't want to be more critical than I already have. Especially since you just mentioned you have a soft spot for the trope.

[Okay, hold onto your hats because this is long. Naturally lmao.]

Gregor! Man, I'll admit I last watched the show back in middle school on a dodgy illegal website (it had surprisingly good audio and visual graphics, and full episodes. But really annoying porn ads.) but I only made it to like season 1 before my hyperfixation faded and I lost interest. So I never actually saw the Gregor episode.

But... it is relatively easy to find free websites that stream Danny Phantom :), so finding the episode took me like. Thirty seconds. Plus the Tv.Tropes recap page because my damn earbuds just died and im out in public as of rn.

I'm not sure if I'll write something for the gregor episode like I did with Dani, since Dani's a bit of a special case in that she's a clone and tends to be a reoccurring presence in DPDC, and I thought the new dynamic with Danyal would be interesting.

Plus, I'm not a big amethyst ocean shipper for the pure reason of I'm just not all that interested in it; its kinda bland to me. I'll admit I've entertained the thought in this au due to the whole balcony scene i wrote, but I would've entertained the thought anyways if it was Tucker in that position instead. Big multishipper, me.

But, if I had to make it official? Danyal is not interested romantically in Sam when the Gregor episode happens, regardless of his relationship with Valerie. Who, speaking of I'm trying to think about how that would go, and I'm torn between including him almost-dating Valerie or not.

Because on one hand it helps point out Sam's hypocrisy (and i love her but i am always happy to point out her flaws and address them in au) in this episode in terms of Danny spying on them, but on the other hand I'll want to include a lot of set up in order to make Gray Ghost work in this au and wow will that take a while.

Especially with the Flirting with Disaster episode because it happens due to Technus' meddling, and Danny is, well, the son of the Batman? A trained assassin? An ex-assassin nonetheless, but still an assassin? A prodigy child in this au? He might not have needed to use most of his skills in the last few years, but like... there's just a bunch of 'what if' and 'well technically...' and 'would he? he could, but would he?' things that is getting in the way of my thought process and making my head spin.

.

Mmm. Okay. Flirting with Disaster occurs relatively the same as canon with a few exceptions; like Danyal noticing the strange coincidences, and he might take the idea into proper consideration because Sam has a point it is strange, especially out of nowhere.

However,,, he really enjoys Valerie's company, and he does really like her. He's been adjusting to civilian life for the last four years and while he's made a lot of progress, he's still. an ex-assassin child living like a wolf amongst sheep. This is normal, typical teenager stuff, and usually his friends like to encourage him doing normal teenager stuff.

So he's stubbornly holding out on the thought that this is normal, that ghost stuff isn't interfering here. He's a little hurt that his friends are discouraging this, he's not bothered by the fact that Valerie is a ghost hunter and he a ghost -- his mother is an assassin, and his father is Batman, and they still had a relationship. (Granted, he's not gonna tell them that)

If anything, being diametrically opposed to each other but still being in love is part of the family! Granted, usually both parties are aware of said opposition to each other, but he'll make a special exception this time around.

(And man now that i'm thinking about gray ghost, im now thinking about various like. scenes i could write between the two of them. maybe in a reblog.)

Anyways uhhh things relatively go the same as canon. Yeah. I think Sam still has a crush on Danny and still spies out of jealousy with Tucker.

.

Now, the Gregor episode! With that out of the way; the TVTropes recap for this episode isn't the best because it doesn't go into detail about the entire episode like it does with Flirting With Disaster and Shades of Gray.

(which i looked at earlier because I made a section of this post talking briefly about what changes I'd make to the Shades of Gray episode to help set up Gray Ghost, but ended up deleting because it was kinda irrelevant for the matter at hand.)

So I'm taking in bits of the episode clips at a time, I'll try not to get too nitpicky about how each scene goes because then it's gonna take me a longer time to write this.

But! First thing's first; since Danny is not romantically interested in Sam, he is also not jealous of Gregor. He is however, a bit eyebrow-raisey at him in their first introduction, but that's because Gregor is coming off as obnoxious.

Danny thinks he's kinda annoying, and it doesn't take a genius to see that Gregor is trying to impress Sam. But since they've only known him for five minutes he takes the good faith assumption and assumes that Gregor is genuinely trying to show interest in Sam's interests too because he likes her, so he keeps mum. The fake hungarian accent is weird, but it's overall harmless, so he doesn't point it out.

He does do the spying thing when he starts suspecting that Gregor might be working for the GIW. The episode only has this happen twice, but for the au this happens a handful of more times over the course of the week, with Danyal's suspicion steadily rising more and more each time.

Hah, when he brings up wanting to spy on Sam and Gregor because of this reason, Tucker still does his "woah! you wanna spy on Sam?" thing.

Danny immediately turns to him, completely unimpressed, and crosses his arms. "Tucker," he says, deadpan, "you and Sam spied on me and Valerie."

He uses a combination of his ghost powers and his regular stealth ability to spy on them. He's hiding in a tree when they're skipping rocks, close enough that he can use his powers to hear them talk but far enough away that he has a good view of their surroundings.

He's invisible in the cinema, but doesn't accidentally get in front of the projector. He checks the inside of the room for the GIW, and then waits outside the actual room itself, keeping an eye on the area and occasionally flying in to watch the movie out of boredom. It reminds him of being back on a recon mission with the League, but it doesn't end with him orchestrating someone's death.

Then when they're at the mall he stays in human form, blending in with the crowd. He runs into the GIW there, but realizes that they're not there because of Gregor; they're just shopping. They didn't show up at either of the last two locations, and he follows them to make sure they're not also trying to blend in. But they're literally just there for shopping.

Danny is rather pleased with this turnout; so far Gregor isn't a spy, he's just annoying. The next day at lunch he asks Sam how her date with Gregor went, and that's how she figures out he spied on them, because well, she didn't tell him that.

"Have you been spying on me?"

Danny messes with his food a little bit, and Tucker is sinking into his seat with embarrassment. He frowns, "Only last night. Those incompetent government dodos--"

His lip curls up; he gets all 'Shakespeare-y' (as Sam and Tucker put it) when he's insulting someone, "--kept appearing whenever Gregor did. I followed you and him last night to make sure he wasn't a spy."

A roundabout way of saying, "I was worried".

Sam is, as canon, furious. Danny understands why, he knows generally speaking that people don't like being spied on. But he's confused on just how angry she is, and is a little irritated by it.

"Why would you do that!" She exclaims, "That's way out of line, Danny."

"How? You spied on me when I was going on dates with Valerie." He narrows his eyes, and points his fork at her, "I'm not blind, I noticed."

"That's different, we told you why we were suspicious. And we don't have ghost powers like you do."

"I don't need ghost powers to sneak around, Sam, you've seen this firsthand. And I just told you why I followed you, I thought he was working with the guys in white--"

"So you think someone can only be interested in me if they're after you?" (this is a paraphrased quote, folks ;D)

"No! If that was the case I would have voiced my concern the moment I thought it. I don't get why you're so angry, you spied too."

Iiits.... a mess. Sam storms off with Gregor, Tucker tags along because okay, yeah, maybe Gregor isn't with the GIW, or maybe last night was a fluke. Either way he ends up tagging along. Danny overhears that conversation between the GIW and Mr. Lancer, and maybe he's right, maybe he's wrong; but something is up.

I've gotten to that scene in the locker room where Gregor tells Danny that he knows he doesn't like him, and I've paused at Danny's reply to say this: Danyal doesn't even bother trying to deny it.

"I know you do not like me."

"You're right; I don't."

"Ah, let me finish. I know you do not like me because you want to protect your friend, Sam, and I respect that."

"...That's correct."

"Good! Because I am going to ask her out."

"I had a feeling you'd say that," he stands up, claps his hand tight on Gregor's shoulder, and leans close to him with a threatening smile, "so you understand me when i say; if you break my best friend's heart, you're as good as dead, right?"

"Ah,, yes. I am so glad we got that cleared out of the way, and now I hope after we can.. how you Americans put it, hang out?"

In the episode he hugs Danny and gives him a la bise (which is that french greeting where you kiss someone on the cheek two or more times) after they end their conversation. But here, when he goes to do that to Danyal, Danny leans away, points an accusatory finger at him, and says; "Absolutely not; we are not close."

The next scene after that is like, end of day. Sam, Tucker, and Gregor walking away. Sam looks over her shoulder to glare at Danny, then gets forlorn. Tucker looks back and just looks forlorn.

(When did I start narrating each scene?? Eh, I'm writing this in brief spurts of time throughout the day. Don't fix what's not broke)

After that there's this whole scene with the two GIW agents that have been chasing Phantom all episode. They're there because they have Tucker's PDA that Skulker took, and it's got the information of their purple backed gorilla assignment on it. They've been going around seeing who Tucker associates with in hopes of catching Phantom.

Uhh ahaha and that is where this gets a little interesting imo, and also allows me to mention that im retconning Danyal's (already) redesigned ghost form. Which I've wanted to retcon even before this moment bc it was just too busy. I'll get to that in a moment.

The GIW suspect Gregor for being the Phantom because of his white hair and green eyes, which is all fine and dandy until you remember: Danyal (and by extension Phantom) has that very noticeable, rather identifiable facial scar that goes across the middle of his fucking face. The GIW could easily suspect that Phantom hides his scar with makeup if he's in disguise, but if they meet a kid with a seemingly identical facial scar and similar disposition? Hoo boy.

Solution? I've got two: Gregor is canonically a kid from Michigan who faked everything to impress Sam. Considering he knows she's gothic and knows that she's ultra-recyclo vegetarian? He probably watched her from afar or got information on her somehow. His hair is dyed, his eyes might just naturally be green, but if he notices that she's got a crush on either Danyal or Phantom? A little sfx makeup could help him recreate a similar looking scar.

My second solution that's gonna happen anyways bc its that suit redesign; Danyal does hide his face as Phantom. Ghosts are emotional creatures and its a popular headcanon that their interests, ambitions, etc, influence the way they look as a ghost, not just their death. A big reoccurring theme of my au is that Danyal did not leave the League unscathed, and that being an assassin is an important part of his identity.

So i'm discarding the hazmat suit look entirely and leaning into the 'assassin' thing. But the general (stylized) feel is like, white ribbon/cloth vambraces that he has used as a garrote at some point, a hood, a gaiter scarf-type thing. I'm keeping the cape. I did a doodle a few days back that's not the official redesign, but a redesign for Phantom. I may reblog this post with that attached because it's got the general feel down. There's very little white involved, but the inside of his cape flares out and looks like the night sky.

Now, the hood and gaiter scarf gets rid of most of the problem, but Danny's hood doesn't stay on all the time, so the GIW have likely seen the upper half of the scar. :] Gregor's own drawn-on scar doesn't have to be 1:1, but it looks close enough, right? A small scar cutting through the edge of his brow and ends right below the corner of his eye. A 'cool, badass' one opposed to Danny's 'garish' scar.

But! Back to the episode scene. Canon Danny gets written off as being 'too prepubescent' to be Phantom, and honestly it'd be hilarious if Danyal was written off for the same reason (he's calling them idiots in his head if they do). But instead -- leaning into the GIW's incompetence here -- he gets written off as being too mature or too talkative. Or something equally as absurd.

Sam breaks up with Gregor for canon reasons, but when Gregor does his "i really like you, but, come on-!" and gestures to tucker, he adds on "and that scary friend of yours too, seriously!"

Things go relatively the same as canon after that. Danny does end up apologizing for spying, however. Sam does it first. Sorrows, prayers, all that.

.

Things usually end up changed or different when I actually write it down, so I'd likely add more or adjust different scenes according to the flow of the oneshot. This is just like, a general vibe of how things would go, and where some of the more obvious changes would be if I did write this oneshot.

Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for the ask :]

[chiiroptereh]

A study into 90% of Bill's organs

I went so overboard omg but I wanted to try underpainting :Dc See if you can guess what color was the base for each of em! Reasoning for design choices beneath the cut.

Teeth are retractable so as to not puncture the eye when not in use

Lashes are retractable because I couldn't figure out what else to do with them LOL they're pretty thick whiskers and so he'd have some trouble if they stayed in the way, but having them fully retracted would, I imagine, risk them getting stuck or the pores plugging with oil/dirt

Whether or not his tongue is forked varies in canon, just as his blood color does, so I just chose the ones I prefer! I do really like it when people give him blue blood but I think in subtler hues it can make him look a lil nauseous so it's easier for me to work with red

He cleans himself with his tongue because he's a gross little beast and can't just take a shower or something. Ok but really I just thought it was cute what are you a cop leave me alone

Every villain needs to be able to have claws it's like a rule somewhere I think

The second set of eyelids serve to protect the optic nerve but are mainly something I added partially for emoting purposes and partially because of how many times the animators do this thing where his lashes don't follow his lids and it drives me less insane to have a hc about it

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Spilled Ink

Pairing: Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike x f!reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: Uhhh Marcus Pike as the world's softest tattoo artist that's it that's the fic.

Warnings: Lots of tattoo talk, obviously, which includes needles, tattoo guns, pain, mention of bleeding, etc.; reader is explicitly coded as neurodivergent because I said so; yearning; lots of kissing; Marcus Pike being a goddamn menace and he fucking knows it

A/N: @kedsandtubesocks made a post about Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike (original post HERE) and then I wrote 7.5k words in 12 hours, as one does. All credit for the idea goes to the amazing Erika who entrusted me with this idea and THANK GOD SHE DID because I don't think I could have gotten it out of my stupid brain otherwise. Header pics credit go to Erin @perotovar, who made these with Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike in mind and I'm just WOOFWOOFBARKBARKBARKBARKHOWL. Thanks also to @littlebirdsbookshelf who suffers through HOURS of me sending screenshots every time I write anything. Love you <3

Additional Note on Canon: I am pretending that we never got to see Marcus Pike in short sleeves in the show despite it happening twice. He has full sleeves on both his arms in this fic that he covered up during his time working at the FBI. Because sleeves are hot and I said so.

Masterlist

It’s not unusual, these days, to wander down the sidewalk staring at your phone. Some people are texting. Some people are reading the news–because hey, this is D.C. Others, like you on this brisk morning, are watching the little blue dot on a tiny representation of the city streets, trying to find the address you had typed into the search bar.

A text box pops up, informing you of your arrival, and you finally look up.

No wonder it took you so long to find the place–it’s hardly what you expected at all. You always picture tacky neon signs, bars on the windows, undesirables milling about on the street, smoking cigarettes.

Okay, so you admittedly don’t actually know much about tattoos.

All you know is that you want one–a fact you confessed to a friend over lunch the other week: a conversation that led you here.

“Okay, so get one,” she had said bluntly.

“It’s not all that simple,” you had protested. 

“Why?”

“It’s just… it seems like a lot. Mentally. Physically. I’m not sure I have what it takes.”

“They don’t hurt that bad,” your friend had insisted.

“I’m not just talking about that, I’m talking about… y’know, just everything. The noise. New people. Strangers touching me. It just doesn’t seem like something I’ll be able to do.”

“Oh. Ohhh. Because of the… yep. Actually I might have something for you,” she said, taking out her phone and scrolling through that app that drives you crazy–it’s overstimulation in a convenient package–full of noise, chaos, and flashing lights. 

She must have seen you pull a face, because she held out her hand placatingly. 

“Just finding the name of the place, hang on. It’s a shop right here in DC that went ‘viral’ for this video of a guy with autism who wanted a tattoo to commemorate his dad, but he was only comfortable lying on the floor–so the tattoo artist just… got on the floor with him! It was really cute, and anyway I guess he caters to all sorts of people, so… I dunno. Check it out.”

And here you are. Checking it out.

The words “Government-Issued Ink” are spelled out on large windows, and the punny name–apt for its location not far from the Capitol–makes you snort. 

The shop is bright, warm, and inviting–tearing down your outdated preconceptions that tattoo places must always be run-down, dark, and dingy. It’s also empty this early in the morning, save for a lone figure in the back, seated at a well-worn desk, his head pitched forward over his work.

He’s so enveloped in whatever he’s sketching that he must not have heard the light ringing of the bell as you had entered. You watch him for a few moments–taking in the graceful movements of his hand and the way his fingers grasp the pen. He’s dressed in a plain blue button-down dress shirt, which also doesn’t fit your assumed archetype of ‘Tattoo Artist.’ You can’t see his face; his head is leaning forward too much and a few short locks of dark brown hair obscure your view.

Suddenly wondering if you’re being incredibly rude, staring at someone without announcing your presence, you open your mouth to introduce yourself.

“Um.”

While not exactly eloquent, it serves its purpose. The man startles and looks up in surprise.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, jumping to his feet and letting the pen clatter carelessly to the desk. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s okay,” you shake your head rapidly. “I was, um…” You blink a few times, your nerves getting the better of you as the man comes around his desk to approach the front of the store.

“Interested in a walk-in consultation?” he offers, holding out his hands in a gesture that could either be an open invitation or a shrug.

“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I was thinking about getting, uh, a tattoo, and I was told this shop was… good. With tattoos. And other stuff.”

“Other stuff?” he chuckles, smiling warmly. 

“You know… with people who… might not be good at getting tattoos.”

“What makes you think you aren’t ‘good at getting tattoos?’”

“A hunch,” you shrug, expelling a little huff of laughter through your nose. “I was told to ask for a Marcus Pike?”

The man’s smile widens. “You’re looking at him.”

Oh. You aren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Marcus Pike is well-dressed and clean-cut, almost startlingly so. You scan up and down, looking for any sign that this man could possibly be a tattoo artist, but the only evidence you can find is a small black target inked between his thumb and forefinger on his right hand. Don’t… tattoo artists usually have more ink? Of course, with him almost completely covered from head to toe, you obviously can’t create a full picture of Marcus’s skin, but the fact that he wouldn’t look out of place in one of the nearby government buildings still takes you by surprise.

You realize you haven’t said anything in response, but Marcus doesn’t seem to be bothered by your deer-in-headlights stare. Instead, he grins again and steps sideways, extending his arm in a silent invitation to come deeper into the shop.

“Come on in. If you’d like, go ahead and sit wherever you want, and we can talk about it. No pressure,” he promises. “I’m not here to push ink on you like a used car salesman; I’m here to collaborate with you. Figure out what you really want. And, if what you want ends up being ‘nothing,’ I totally support that, too.”

There’s something innate and intrinsic about Marcus Pike that sets you completely at-ease. You cast your eyes around, taking in the eclectic seating in the shop–all mismatched, all different colors, styles, and shapes, but all looking incredibly comfortable and inviting. You settle on a giant turquoise beanbag that seems to swallow you whole when you sink down into it, and Marcus grins and sits down in the bright yellow saucer chair beside it. 

“So at the very least, you’re thinking about a tattoo,” Marcus leads. “Can you tell me about that?”

You nod, feeling encouraged by his openness. “Yeah, so… my mom, she passed away a couple of years ago, and it just seemed like I should… memorialize her in some way. Like, in a way that leaves its mark on me like she left a mark on me, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of getting some kind of permanent art that commemorates her.”

“That’s a great idea,” Marcus says softly. “Lots of people choose to do that after losing a loved one.”

“Yeah, the only problem is that I’m not good with um… noise, or people touching me, or… pain, really,” you confess. “I’m like, the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.”

Marcus chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Personally, I don’t believe that. I think anyone can get a tattoo done if they want it, provided they get it done in a way that feels safe and comfortable.”

“My friend, she uh, recommended your shop because apparently you’ve done some stuff for people with autism and it went viral on TikTok…” you ramble, “and I thought maybe that meant you’d be a good fit for… for me.”

Understanding flickers in Marcus’s expression, and he nods, a small smile spreading across his face. “I hope so,” he says with quiet earnesty. 

A beat passes–just a few seconds of silence–but something small and soft and warm settles down between the two of you, and the comforting feeling sinks down into the pit of your stomach and stays there, latent and waiting.

“So, let’s talk design,” Marcus announces. “Do you have anything in mind? Any images or ideas, however vague? I can do anything from replicating designs to building something completely from scratch for you.”

“I like the idea of it being a unique piece,” you tell him.

“I prefer original designs too,” he says. “Not to sound incredibly cheesy, but there’s no one like you, you know? In–In the general sense, of course.” He chuckles sheepishly, looking down at his hands. “I like knowing each person that comes in here leaves with something unique. Something all their own—I’m rambling,” he says quickly, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. “One thing about me is that I talk too much. Anyway–did you have any ideas you can share with me about what you’d like?”

“I don’t have a good image in my mind,” you confess anxiously. After all, how can he build a design based on the swirling, disjointed images in your brain? “I think I want it to be colorful, like she was. And… I keep getting thoughts about, I dunno, the cyclical nature of life, something corny like that.”

Marcus laughs. “Sometimes the corny stuff is what sticks with us. So, colorful and commenting on the cyclical nature of life,” he lists off on his fingers, still grinning. “Anything else?”

“I’ve looked through your galleries online,” you tell him. “You have a few that look like watercolor paintings, and I really love how they look.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’m gonna throw out an idea—Feel free to tell me ‘no,’ because I’m just brainstorming here, but I keep thinking about a tree of life. The leaves could easily be done in watercolor and could be any combination of colors you want.” His right hand twitches–as if reaching for a phantom pen–as he speaks, and his gaze seems to be fixed on a spot on the wall, his eyes glimmering with enthusiasm as he starts to speak faster.

“You could have the leaves and the roots connecting on the sides, making a circle, maybe even having her birth date and death date embedded in the roots…” He blinks rapidly a few times, as if dispelling the image from his head. “Anyway. That’s a possibility.”

“I think that’s amazing,” you say softly, watching Marcus with something like amazement in your expression. “Actually… I really like that idea. It sounds… perfect.”

“Oh,” he intones softly, looking at you in surprise as a bright, toothy smile breaks across his face. “Oh. Well then, let’s do it, huh? One final question: where do you envision getting it?”

“I was thinking on my shoulder. Here,” you indicate, pressing your hand to the skin of your upper arm. “That way it’s visible when I want it to be, but easily hidden if for some reason it needs to be.”

“That’s perfect,” Marcus says. “Plus, the circular design will go really well there. Okay. Great. Um, some things to know about the process. We’ll exchange emails, and you can contact me at any time with any questions, concerns, ideas, changes, anything. In the meantime, I’ll get started on a design for you, and I’ll share initial sketches that you can give feedback on before I move to the final stages of the design. It’ll take a couple of weeks, maximum, depending on any changes you ask for. My only request is that you’re always honest with your feedback–don’t tell me you like something when you don’t. I promise, it won’t hurt my feelings.” He grins widely. “After that, you book an appointment on a day that works best for you. I almost always book the whole day for the appointment to factor in time for copious breaks and making sure you feel comfortable. Does that work for you?”

You nod eagerly.

“Last question,” Marcus says. “Is it okay if I get a close-up picture of your upper arm? That way I can make sure it fits the curvature of your arm, it’s the right size, stuff like that.”

“Mhmm,” you nod again, pressing your lips together and trying not to look nervous. Thank god you wore a sleeveless top under your sweater.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he insists.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you say quickly, removing just the one arm from your outer layer and pulling it aside. 

You watch as Marcus grabs a little ‘point-and-shoot’ digital camera from his desk and comes back to your side.

“This is just used for design purposes,” he promises. “I delete them after the design is done.”

“I trust you.”

His resulting expression could light an entire room. “Thank you,” he answers quietly. “Okay. Super close-up, just your arm. Cool?”

“Cool,” you confirm, and you hear the camera click several times.

“Actually,” Marcus says, still staring thoughtfully at your bare shoulder. “Would it be okay if I made a couple of little marks–washable marker, of course–to make sure the dimensions are how you want them?”

Oh. You normally don’t like it when people touch you. You knew it was going to happen eventually, obviously, because how else was he going to get the design onto your skin? But it was something you had planned on working yourself up to, not something you had to do today. On the other hand, something about Marcus’s entire bearing makes you inexplicably ache to be touched by him. 

“‘No’ is an acceptable response,” he interrupts your dithering with a quiet reassurance.

And actually, that works to seal the deal for you, and your decision is made in an instant. 

“Yes. You can. That’s fine.” And, to your surprise, you mean it.

Marcus seems just as surprised at your answer–his eyebrows shoot upward almost comically at your response.

“Okay,” he says softly. “That’s perfect. Hang on.” He jumps up again to retrieve a black marker–from what was clearly a children’s set of washable markers. He meets your eyes, and again you take in that sincere, earnest, patient look that endeared you to this man from the moment you entered the little shop.

“Is it okay if I touch your arm?” he asks quietly, still watching you carefully as you nod.

“Tell me if that changes,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze to your shoulder again. His touch, when you feel it, is just as warm as you’d imagined. He’s gentle, cautious, and when he speaks again, his voice remains at that same, soft volume and tone. “I’m envisioning being from about here–” he makes a little black dot, “–to here. What do you think?” 

You nod. It’s the perfect size–large enough to cover your shoulder but stopping just above the point where the sleeve of a regular t-shirt would hit.

“That’s perfect.”

“Okay, so that’s–” he tsks softly, measuring the distance with his finger, “–about four inches, so that same distance across, and–” he makes two more marks on either side of your shoulder. “About like that. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you answer, smiling with enthusiasm. 

“Great! Let me just…” Marcus draws a few short lines denoting the proposed boundary of your design, and you can’t help the soft giggle that escapes you at the cool tip of the marker on your skin. 

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “One more picture?”

At your nod, the camera clicks one last time. 

“Like I said, that’ll wash off with soap, no problem,” he promises with a smile. “Thanks for that, makes it easier to scale.” He grabs two business cards off his desk and hands them to you. “Can you write your email on this one for me? And you can keep the other one. Like I said, anything you need, just email me. And uh, barring that, you’ll be hearing from me in a week or so with a rough sketch. Okay?”

You scribble down your email and hand the card back to Marcus before pulling your sweater back over your bare arm. You slip the other card into your purse and rise to your feet. “Thanks,” you say, nodding to him.

“Hey, no–thank you,” Marcus returns. “Thanks for entrusting me with this. I mean it.”

Surprising yourself, you extend your hand toward him, and, when he takes it, you feel enveloped with warmth again.

“Thanks,” repeat, a little bit more breathlessly this time, before turning and hurrying out of the shop before you can embarrass yourself any further.

Your shoulder still tingles from his touch hours later.

Rather than it being a week before you hear from him, you receive an email from Marcus Pike just three days later.

Subject: Initial Sketch

Hello,

Please see attached. It’s just pencil for now, but I made a note of the general blocks of color I was thinking for the leaves. You’ll see what I mean when you open the file. Sorry, I know it’s a pretty rough sketch, I was just excited to get this to you. I look forward to your feedback!

Best regards,

Marcus :) 

Eagerly, you open the attachment. First of all, there’s nothing “rough” about the sketch other than the fact that it’s just penciled in. The details are already so intricate, and you find yourself smiling in amazement as you take in the design.

It’s beautiful.

Brackets, each labeled with a different color in Marcus’s neat, tidy handwriting, surround the top of the tree. Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Violet. 

At the bottom of the image is another handwritten note: *All the colors will blend together and the result should look like a rainbow.

Tears spring, unbidden, to your eyes, as you feverishly type out your response.

Subject: Re: Initial Sketch

Marcus,

I really don’t know what to say other than it’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect. Made me tear up. Look forward to seeing it in color.

Thanks again!

Not even five minutes go by before your phone vibrates with another email.

Subject: Re: Re: Initial Sketch

I’m sorry if I made you cry! Obviously wasn’t my intention but I’m glad the design evokes emotion :) I’ll move forward with the design as-is and you should hear from me soon with a full-color image.

Marcus :) 

You can’t wait. The next week and a half stretches out excruciatingly, but finally, on a Wednesday evening, you receive another email. 

Subject: Final Design

Hey there!

Hope you’ve been doing well. Thought you might like to see the final design of your tattoo ;) See attached and let me know if anything needs to be changed. Be critical! Don’t hold anything back! Once we agree on a final piece, we’ll get you on the calendar.

Best regards,

Marcus :) 

Your mind skims over the fact that Marcus used a winking-face emoji in your email, because you honestly aren’t equipped to process that right now, and open the attachment instead. This time, you start crying in earnest. It’s perfect. The colors are so vibrant, and they make the tree look as though it’s in a constant state of movement. Your mom’s birth and death dates are entwined seamlessly into the roots themselves, in a way that makes them not readily apparent at first glance, but seeming to just appear out of nowhere upon further inspection. 

Subject: Re: Final Design

Marcus,

If I had any critical feedback, I would share it, I promise. But I have nothing. This is everything I’d imagined and more, and it means the world to me.

Thank you so much.

After a few more messages back and forth, you settle on a date one month out. 

You can’t wait.

As excited as you’ve been for the past month, when you step foot back into Marcus’s little tattoo parlor, the air of finality makes your body thrum with anxiety.

You’re really doing this.

Marcus is at the back of the shop, busying himself with setting up his workspace when you enter. Today, he’s wearing a dark green henley that looks just as soft as he is, and seems to complement his features even more. As soon as he hears the chimes, his head snaps up, and he grins widely. 

“Hey!” he calls out excitedly. “Just getting everything ready. Do you want something to drink before we get started? I’ve got water, juice, soda…” he trails off, waving his hand in the direction of a mini-fridge in the corner. 

“I’m okay for now.”

“Sounds good, but when we take a break, you should have some juice or something else with a bit of sugar in it, okay?” You nod, and he continues. “Okay! Where do you want to sit?”

“Don’t I have to sit in the chair over there?” you ask, gesturing to the traditional chair and bench near Marcus’s work table. 

“Not at all,” he protests. “The table is mobile, I bring it to wherever you feel comfortable.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I’ll go ahead and sit in the chair, though.” Of all the options, it looks like the easiest–you aren’t entirely sure how Marcus would be able to comfortably tattoo you whilst sitting on a bean bag chair. 

“Your choice,” he insists, spreading his hands out in an open and unguarded stance.

You settle in the chair and he sits down on a rolling stool beside you. 

“Okay, so I’ve got a stencil of your design here,” Marcus says, holding up a paper with an outline of the tree for you to see. “It’ll transfer onto your skin exactly how you want it to go, and I’ll just trace it. Make sense?”

“Yep,” you nod.

“Before I do that, though, I have to make sure nothing interferes with the design, including tiny little hairs.” He holds up a pink safety razor. “Are you comfortable with me doing this for you?”

At your tentative nod of consent, Marcus leans forward and gently swipes the razor up and down your shoulder until he’s satisfied. His eyes dart between your skin and your face the entire time–making sure you’re still with him. After he’s done, he talks you through the stencil–confirming its location, gently applying it to your shoulder, and then holding up a mirror for you to approve. 

“It’s great,” you whisper excitedly.

Marcus returns your smile and begins to absentmindedly roll up his sleeves in preparation to start working–-and the question about tattoos that you’d asked yourself upon first seeing the man is suddenly and unexpectedly answered.

You can’t help the soft sound of surprise that escapes from you when you catch the colorful patchwork of designs on both of his forearms, disappearing under the pushed-up henley and suggesting that they go all the way up. 

Marcus catches you staring and grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

“I didn’t know,” you say softly. “You keep them covered up.”

“Force of habit,” Marcus shrugs. “I had a desk job for a long time.”

“Doing what?” you ask, curiously. You can’t see the man doing anything but this.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he jokes, winking in your direction. 

Ignoring how the wink makes your heart stutter in your chest, you bark out a laugh at his answer. “What? Were you like a secret agent or something?” you tease.

“Special Agent,” he corrects, grinning. 

“Get out,” you deadpan. “I can’t imagine you as a Fed.”

Marcus shrugs, giving you another one of his boyish, crooked smiles. “Would’ve been fifteen years this year had I not finally seen the writing on the wall and run for the hills a couple of years ago.”

“What made you leave?” 

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “That’s a long story. How sensitive are you to noise?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject.

“Uh, I dunno. Kind of depends on the day and the situation,” you shrug.

“Fair. Well, I usually let newcomers listen to what the gun actually sounds like, so there are no surprises. If it’s too loud, I do have noise canceling headphones.”

And miss out on hearing Marcus’s soft-spoken reassurances? No matter how loud the tattoo gun is, you’d rather endure it just to be able to hear him talk. 

Marcus turns the instrument on, and the room is filled with a mild buzzing sound. On your worst days, admittedly, it would probably grate upon your nerves, but you’re feeling relaxed, comfortable, and excited about your new tattoo.

“It’s not bad,” you tell him truthfully. 

“Perfect,” he grins. “Are you all set to get started?”

Heart rate increasing with pleasant anticipation, you nod giddily. 

“I’m obviously gonna be touching your arm a lot,” Marcus says, “so let me know if you need a break from that, the noise, the needle, anything.” Seeing your solemn nod, he continues. “I’m gonna do a little dot right here to let you see how it feels, okay?” He gently touches his index finger to your skin to indicate where. 

“Okay.”

The gun turns on again, and Marcus presses it lightly against your skin for just a second before pulling back.

“...That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“I thought it would hurt more,” you confess.

Marcus laughs. “Well, the same feeling over and over again in a small area can start to be pretty uncomfortable. I’ll check in regularly to make sure you’re still doing fine. Good?”

You smile widely. “I’m really excited.”

His smile softens, his gaze becoming warmer and more tender. “I’m glad.”

His other hand gently cradles your arm as Marcus leans in, a look of intense concentration settling over his features as he begins the design. Engrossed in his work, you take the time to study his forearms. They’re a hodgepodge of designs, clearly done at different times and by different artists, but you can see themes throughout. He likes classic styles, you can tell, and in between some of the more traditional works you can see beautiful references to an assortment of famous paintings. A Dali melting clock here. A sunflower clearly inspired by Van Gogh there. On his opposite bicep, you can just barely make out the side of one design that looks like it might be of a Greek statue. Tilting your head, you realize it’s Nike alighting on the bow of a warship, and you inhale sharply. That’s one of your favorite sculptures.

“Still okay?” Marcus asks, glancing up at you with concern in his eyes.

“Sorry.” You shake your head quickly. 

“Just checking,” he says softly. “Try to be just a little more still, okay?”

“Sorry,” you repeat, laughing sheepishly. 

“Don’t be, you’re doing great.”

You try to fight the way your entire body seems to grow warm at Marcus’s praise, but you can’t stop the way the feeling stampedes through you. You’re being ridiculous, you chastise yourself. He’s doing his job, and you’re getting all moony-eyed.

In order to distract yourself, you continue playing ‘Spot the Famous Artwork’ on Marcus’s sleeves–although, as distractions go, it’s not your best work. You can’t help but focus in on the way his forearm cords with muscle as he holds the tattoo gun, controlling each movement so delicately and precisely, creating a beautiful, intricate design on your shoulder.

After finding a bit of yellow patchwork that's clearly a reference to Gustav Klimt's The Kiss near his right elbow, you break your silence.

“You like art, huh?”

It seems like a stupid thing to say to a fucking tattoo artist of all people, and you immediately kick yourself internally for saying something so obvious. 

Marcus glances up, and, seeing how your eyes are focused on his own ink, smiles. “Always have,” he murmurs, returning his gaze to your shoulder. “Some of those are years-old.”

“Is that how you got into being a tattoo artist?” you ask.

“Sort of,” he answers, brow pinched in concentration as he continues working. “I uh, apprenticed for a shop in college to pay the bills before going to Quantico for training.”

“You’re really talented,” you tell him. “I was surprised to find out you haven’t been doing this your whole life.”

Marcus hums his appreciation as he carefully fills in a root. 

“Can I ask what made you join the FBI instead of opening your own place after college?”

He huffs a little laugh through his nose. “Parents would have killed me, going to college and then doing nothing with it.”

“Running a small business isn’t exactly doing nothing,” you point out.

“Well, public opinion on tattoos wasn’t what it is now,” Marcus says. “They were scandalized by my apprenticeship, but it paid the bills, so they couldn’t complain too loudly.”

“Was it them who wanted you to join the FBI?”

“Mm, not so much,” he murmurs. “It was more like ‘whatever you want to do, so long as you can make a lucrative career out of it.’ Being an artist wasn’t one of those things, so in lieu of becoming one myself, I decided I wanted to protect them instead.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Protect them how?”

Marcus grins up at you and waggles his eyebrows playfully. “Art crimes,” he answers. “Being an art detective was kind of in the limelight in the early ‘nineties after the famous Gardner Museum theft, and I got swept up in the craze.”

“So you spent the last fifteen-ish years recovering stolen art,” you fill in for him.

“Stolen, forged, looted, illegally traded or smuggled…” Marcus offers, not breaking his concentration again. He wasn’t wrong–the repeated drag of the needle across what felt like the same square centimeter of your skin was starting to wear on you. 

“Uh-huh,” you say, forcing the discomfort out of your tone.

Noticing the tightness in your voice immediately, Marcus’s movements stop. “Feeling okay?”

You shrug.

The gun switches off.

“You gotta be honest about how you’re feeling,” he reminds you. “I might be able to create designs based off of customers’ vague descriptions, but that doesn’t make me a mind-reader.”

“It’s a little uncomfortable, but I can endure it,” you insist.

“There’s no need to endure something that’s painful,” Marcus argues with an amused smile. “Even if it involves choosing to repeatedly jamming a needle into your skin.”

You can’t help but laugh, and your heart swells when he joins you.

“C’mere,” he says. “Let me show you something.”

You let him lead you to the other side of the shop, where he stops in front of a large storage cabinet that you'd assumed held various supplies. When he opens it, however, you find that isn’t the case at all.

No, the entire cabinet is filled to the brim with a collection of stuffed animals just as eclectic and varied as the furniture. There's also a couple of shoeboxes filled with every manner of fidget toy you could ever imagine. 

"You can grab one, if you want. I know it might feel kind of goofy, but I promise they help with the pain."

"Okay," you breathe. Your gaze lingers first on the IKEA shark, then on a very soft-looking cactus with an adorable grumpy expression, but when your gaze lands on the largest and arguably oddest toy in the collection, your hands can't help but move toward it. 

"The big guy, huh?" Marcus laughs, taking the giant squid off of the shelf and placing it in your arms. You have to laugh at how large and ungainly it is; its massive black eyes stare vacantly back at you, but the effect is dopey, rather than menacing. 

"Where do you get all of these?" you ask in amazement. 

"Most of them are gifts from past clients, including that one," Marcus says, indicating the squid. "But I think he originally came from the Smithsonian. I was told his name is 'Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.'"

"Thank you," you say in a small, appreciative voice.

"'S'fine," Marcus shrugs. "Feel up to continuing?"

You nod, looking down at your partially-inked shoulder. "Guess you didn't get very far before I had to stop," you remark, somewhat self-deprecatingly. 

"It's not a race," your artist says earnestly. "We've got the whole day, and we go at your pace. You're paying me, after all." Another wink in your direction.

"Yeah," you nod, confidence growing again. "Yeah, okay." You plop down in your seat, with Cthulhu in your lap, and Marcus takes his place beside you. 

“Gonna turn this back on again,” he announces as the now-familiar buzz fills the room, “and I’m gonna touch your arm–” his fingers wrap warmly and gently around your skin, “–annnd here we go.” 

The needle scratches insistently against your skin, but it isn’t so bad–not really, not with the hilarious giant squid on your lap and Marcus’s gentle, soothing voice in your ear. He talks while he works, sometimes asking you questions about your own life–to which he listens intently and always seems to have follow-up questions–and sometimes telling you stories of his own. You discuss art, obviously, but also music, books, movies, and baseball of all things.

You find yourself wondering if he has this type of easy rapport with everyone who comes in, but you assume he must. He might be the most disarming person you’ve ever met, and it’s hardly a stretch to believe he’s like this with everyone. Still, there’s an ugly, jealous part of you that wishes the connection between you was unique, special. That he’s only this warm with you. 

Marcus was right–squeezing the stuffed toy on your lap is a perfect distraction from the discomfort of the needle, and before long, the sensation fades into the background. As the time drags on, though, the persistent drone of the tattoo gun causes an ache to creep in and settle between your eyes. You take in a deep breath through your nose, count to three, and exhale slowly through your mouth.

Marcus glances up, watching you for a split-second before cutting power to the gun and stretching his back with a satisfied sigh. 

“Break time,” he announces. “Hand’s getting a bit sore.” He shoots you a knowing glance and another one of those crooked smiles. “And you should probably have a little something to drink, maybe a snack.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you say gratefully as he walks over to the little fridge.

“Apple juice?” he asks, holding up a little juice box that looks slightly comical in his large hands. When you nod enthusiastically, he hands it to you.

His fingers brush yours.

If it were anyone else, you’d recoil, but it’s him. It might just be the forced proximity, but…

You’re developing quite the crush on Marcus Pike.

Shoving the thought aside for the moment, you stab the straw into the little hole and take a long sip. Marcus settles down beside you with his own choice–a little can of vegetable juice–and holds it up in a silent ‘cheers.’

Feeling emboldened, you ask the question that’s been burning in your mind since you started.

“So what made you leave the whole ‘helping other artists’ thing behind and start a tattoo business instead?”

Marcus presses his lips together, and for a moment, you fear you’ve crossed a boundary. Just before you’re about to apologize profusely, though, he speaks.

“Have you ever just… woken up one morning, and realized that everything you were working toward, everything you thought you wanted in life… was a lie?”

“I… I don’t know,” you confess quietly, surprised at the emotion behind his words.

“Happened to me,” he laughs softly. “I had moved to DC for what I thought was my dream job, with who I thought was–” he shakes his head, as though dispelling an unpleasant thought. “I had spent my entire life checking boxes: College degree? Check. Well-paying job? Check. House? Check. Check, check check. I spent so much time trying to get ahead, like life was some kind of game to be won. If I said all the right things, did all the right things, if I did everything right… I’d have the life I wanted.”

“What was the life you wanted?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“It was bullshit, is what it was. Saw one too many rom-coms as a kid, I suppose. I thought I was after the picket fence, the dog, the wife and two-point-five kids, that sort of thing. And one morning I woke up, realized that… that relentless pursuit of something I couldn’t even hold–it was all bullshit.”

“So you just… quit?”

“I quit. I wanted to create things again. I wanted to feel inspired. After a bit of uh… frantic soul-searching before I ran out of money entirely, I sold my stupid, too-big condo that I hated and bought this shop instead.”

“Did it work?”

“Well, I’m not bankrupt yet,” Marcus says dryly.

“No, I mean… did you feel inspired again?”

“I did. I do. So very much so,” he says, his voice soft and gentle. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and that comfortable warmth that had settled in between you the first time you had met him… grows. Mutates. Until the warm, tingling feeling feels a lot more like electricity.

An unspoken moment seems to pass through you, but then Marcus clears his throat roughly, setting the empty can aside and standing again, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Wanna keep going?”

Breathlessly, you nod. 

In no time at all, you’re settled back in the chair with one of Marcus’s warm, strong, large hands cradling your arm as the other gently wields the tattoo gun. As he starts to fill in and blend the colors, the pain starts to increase, and you worry one of the fuzzy tentacles back and forth in your hand as you grit your teeth.

“I know, I know,” Marcus soothes quietly. “The color’s the worst part, but you’re being so good for me.”

It helps you to watch him work, so you do. He’s blending in the colors now, and you watch with interest as it starts to take shape. It’s so mesmerizing that you hardly even notice the buzz of the gun or the light sting of the needle anymore.

“And you said you ‘weren’t good at tattoos,’” he teases gently, noticing your obvious interest. 

“Did I say that?” you laugh, teasing back.

“I believe your words were, ‘I’m like the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.’” he reminds you. “And look at you now, huh?”

You duck your head at his praise, unable to withstand the intensity and honesty in his gaze.

“Doing okay after all, I guess,” you say with a sheepish smile.

“You’re doing amazing,” Marcus corrects, smiling warmly. “The type of client any artist dreams of.”

You don’t know how to respond to the things this man says to you. Stunned and at a loss for words, you stare awkwardly at your hand where it still wraps around Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.

“I’m sorry.” The words are soft, concerned. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just meant that your enthusiasm and your curiosity is the stuff that makes me want to be an artist in the first place.”

“Are you saying I inspire you?” you try to tease, but it falls flat.

Just audibly, over the hum of the tattoo gun, you hear his whispered response. 

“Yes.” 

As Marcus wipes away the last of the stray ink on the purple bit of tree, the tattoo gun suddenly switches off. The silence is almost shocking, and you blink rapidly in confusion.

“Break time?” you ask.

Marcus chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “It’s all done.”

“It is?” you ask, although you can see the answer for yourself in the large mirrored wall to your right. 

“How’s it feel?” he asks.

“My arm kind of aches,” you confess, “but oh my God, Marcus… it’s beautiful.”

It’s his turn to preen under your praise, the tips of his ears blushing pink as he grins back at you.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says softly. “Here, let me give you a little something for the pain.” 

He squeezes a glob of light-green cooling gel and coats the angry skin with the barest of touches. “Still okay?” he asks, glancing up at you for confirmation.

After the harshness of the needle, the soft press of his fingers is more soothing than ever, and you have to resist the urge to sigh and melt into his touch. 

“Yes,” you whisper.

“You’re going to want to keep this covered for a couple of hours, up to overnight,” Marcus says as he carefully applies a dressing to your shoulder–still softly, but more businesslike than before as he walks you through all of the instructions for care. “Once you take this off tomorrow, you’ll probably see some fluid leaking from it–that’s totally normal. It’s blood, plasma, and extra ink, and it should stop after a few days before it starts to scab over.

 “You’ll want to keep it from drying out; I’d recommend scent-free, dye-free lotion if you don’t already have some,” he continues. “Wash it twice a day and put lotion on after. When it starts to scab, I can’t stress this enough: don’t pick the scabs.” He gives you a serious look. “Repeat that back to me.”

“Don’t pick the scabs.”

“If you do, you could cause it to scar, or even pull out the ink. One more time for me,” he prompts, and you get the feeling that this is always the sticking point in his speech.

“Don’t pick the scabs,” you repeat.

“It’ll take three to four months for the lower layers of skin to completely heal,” Marcus tells you. “During that time, keep it out of the sun, keep it hydrated, and you’re in the clear.”

“And don’t pick the scabs,” you say teasingly. 

Marcus winks at you. “Exactly. Any other questions for me?”

“No, just… thank you. It’s amazing,” you tell him. “You did such an incredible job.”

“Hard not to, when I have such a beautiful canvas.”

Your eyes dart up, expecting to see a teasing glint in his eyes, but all you can see is heartfelt sincerity. You swallow thickly, and he tracks the movement, his eyes dropping down, then back up to meet your eyes. Is it… not just you? Does he feel it, too? Realization slams through you and threatens to overload all of your systems. Marcus’s lips are parted slightly, and the look in his eyes… it’s desire.

“Marcus…”

“Wait,” he says urgently. “Hang on. Come… come over here for a minute, let me–” he dashes awkwardly over to the till on the counter and gives you your total. Frowning in confusion–he wants to do this now? Interrupting that electric moment that had passed between you?–you dutifully swipe your card and numbly take the receipt.

“Now you’re no longer my client,” Marcus explains softly. “I–sorry–I was about to throw caution to the wind and kiss you, and I didn’t… I didn’t want to be unethical, I–”

“Yes,” you say simply, giving your response to his un-asked question.

It’s all he needs to stride forward, gently take your face in his warm palms, and, seeing no hesitation in your eyes even as he searches your face desperately—presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is as soft and as tender as the man himself, which hardly surprises you. Your eyes slip closed as his lips move against you with aching caution. He’s careful in all things, including this–taking your cues, giving you the lead, letting you feel everything he’s giving you.

All too quickly, he pulls back–but his eyes only sweep your face again, a growing smile on his lips as he sees nothing but want reflected back at him. 

When he lowers his lips to yours again, he’s less gentle. One large hand leaves your face too hook around your waist, pulling you closer, closer–and when the proximity causes you to gasp softly, Marcus is ready. His tongue gently slips between your parted lips and you practically melt into him. When your knees buckle, his strong arms are what keep you standing upright, and still–

He can’t seem to stop kissing you. 

You break before he does–pulling back to suck in a few shaky, heaving breaths, and he smiles through his own labored breathing.

“I wanted–I–” he begins, before hastily pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as if he can’t help but do so. 

“I’ve thought of you,” he tries again. “I thought of you like this for the last month,” the confession finally spills out. “I wanted to–wanted to kiss you so badly all day, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t let myself.” He kisses you again. “But now,” he promises, whispering the words against your mouth. “Now I’m gonna get my fill.”

To punctuate his statement with one of your own, you slant your head and deepen the kiss, wrapping one hand around Marcus’s neck and pulling him closer still. He makes a soft noise in his throat, and the grip on your waist tightens. You lose yourself completely to the feel of his tongue sliding slowly against yours, until he suddenly pulls back.

“I’m doing this all wrong,” he whispers–although he’s still smiling. “I wanted to ask you out to dinner, first.”

“So ask me,” you say with a giggle.

“Come have dinner with me,” Marcus murmurs, shaking his head in quiet amusement as he steals another gentle kiss. “Right now. Tonight.”

“You might have to open all the doors,” you tease. “My arm hurts.”

Another kiss.

“I’m wounded that you think I wouldn’t open every door regardless.”

“Are you always such a gentleman?” you remark with a wry smile.

Another. 

“Well,” Marcus grins wolfishly. He places on last, lingering kiss on your lips and then makes a show of offering his arm. “Not always.”

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XI)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREEis here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here and this is part eleven.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off... Bart and Wally bonding! Wally met his kid relative's weird friend. Stuff got thrown. Everyone enjoyed the thought of playing around with offbrand floam in the ao3 comments.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my awful attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

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Danny’s alone when the itch starts.

And. When it starts. It’s just that: an itch. It tingles, and Danny tugs at the loose skin with his claws, and it fades into the choir of background pain in his mind.

It happens a few more times. In his stomach. In his eyes; Danny bats at the sensation with his hands, curled and careful, and it…tamps down. A little.

And then the itch stops going away.

He gets visitors; the humans like to play with his toys, and Danny lets them, because they’re young and he’s nice and they’re not mean to him. Not like— Their names escape him, but all the beings in his head are blue and firey and loud and not nice, and the green inside his blood burns instead of soothes.

Danny presses himself against the mattress of the cot. His towel wraps around his middle, to catch the Grossness. The young humans are nice. They are not a threat. Even when they’re loud, they’re not mean; they’re just young, and just playful.

He doesn’t want to play with them today, though. They ask him to play, and he bats them away with his claws put away inside his skin.

The itch has become a burn. He can’t play with them today.

It hurts.

Danny hurts.

Danny hides under his blankets and then he doesn’t, because the blanket on his cot scratches up against his itchy parts and he can’t sleep away the burn.

He wants to hide in his core. He wants to hide. He doesn’t, because he’s safe here, and if he goes back into his core then his flesh body won’t heal.

But it hurts.

Danny doesn’t even notice he’s curled up and crying until something touches his shoulder. It’s gentle, but Danny is so scared. He bolts upright—

Oh. The touch is from the alien’s friend. The lady.

He knows this lady.

…Danny starts crying again. He doesn’t know why—except everything hurts, and he’s unhappy, but he’s well fed and well watered and clean, so why does his body hurt so bad?!

The lady pulls back his sheet, makes quiet, insistent, worried words, but Danny can’t understand her and everything hurts and he doesn’t know why and he wants his mom. Danny wants Mom, and she’s not here, and she never ever ever will be ever again—

There are gentle hands on his body. They hurt, even when they’re light and gentle.

Danny cries.

The human lady peels back his towel, and—he doesn’t know what she sees, but she says something stern and not as gentle-quiet and Danny hisses, scared, so scared, so hurt, so frightened.

The soft words come back. A soft touch to his shoulder. An apology.

The whole world hurts, and no one can help him.

…And then there’s a hissing sound.

Something very very cold touches him.

It’s not real cold because it doesn’t make him feel better, but his nerves are trying to interpret what he feels and what they come up with are a “????” that blisters across the wildfire of pain burning through him.

The hissing sound comes back. Again. More cold. More—something else touches him. He’s moved. Something else touches him again.

It hurts. Everything hurts. Everything hurts and Danny wants to go home and go to bed. And he can’t. And—

Someone pulls his blanket. Something pulls at him. There are hands, and there is a hissing sound, and there is a sensation of something Cold and Wet touching him across his burning abdomen.

Danny cries.

He cries.

He cries when a pillow appears in his arms and he cries when his spaceship appears there too. He cries when he’s alone and he cries when he knows humans are there. He cries, and he cries, and he doesn’t stop crying until the wildfire pain becomes only a burn, and then only a pain, and then only an itch again.

It itches.

Danny sniffles through brand-new sinus cavities. He itches. Everything is sore and he’s unhappy.

He’s also…on his back. The lady is there in the chair the buzzing-human-adult left there after its own visit. She is slumped over.

Danny doesn’t have the strength to purr for her attention. He’s too tuckered out.

He just. Warbles.

Thankfully the noise is enough. The woman carefully rises in her chair. She doesn’t move for a second.

Danny warbles again. A little quieter. A little more scared.

She leans closer. She says something—the syllables don’t make sense, but she sounds wet, and she sounds tired, and she sounds sad. And she’s still sitting with him anyway. There’s something in her hand, and—

Danny taps the occupied hand. What is it?

She makes a noise. She lifts her hand.

Danny moves the hand instead of the object of interest. It’s objectively easier.

The item is a spray bottle. He sniffs it. Smells kinda weird. Does it taste like anything? He presses his tongue to it.

Well. That tastes bad.

…And then his tongue goes numb.

Oh.

Oh!

And Danny’s still too tired to purr, but he makes a few grateful noises anyway, and the lady pets his hair with her blue-gloved hands.

The itching is gone. Numbing spray doesn’t last forever, but it’ll work for now. He has to rest while he can.

The burning will be back.

But for now...he’ll nap.

[ciaraswritings]

The Pink Pool

Disclaimer: I do not own DC or their characters, or their settings. This is certainly not canon. Also, putting dye and bubble bath in a pool sounds like a bad idea in real life and you probably should not do it. Indulge in this fictional work instead.

Warnings & Topics: Suggestive themes. 18+.

Word Count: 812 words.

Summary: A short Bruce Wayne x gender neutral!reader fluff, a birthday present to remember, and a pink pool with bubbles. 

Author’s Note: It is not my birthday yet, nor would I like a vacation home for a present in real life, but I thoroughly enjoyed writing this piece. I’m going to try to publish many more summer stories in the near future. I hope you enjoy. 

It was honestly a ridiculous idea. Childish. Unrealistic. But I’d been dreaming of this opportunity my entire life.

The boxes were all unpacked, and we had finished constructing the new bed frame. New white sheets were fitted over the new mattress, new plates had been placed carefully in the new cabinets, the new house was completely ready for new adventures and new love. 

He had bought this new vacation home for my birthday and taken the next two weeks off work, just to spend it with me in the new villa. If I recall his exact words, he had given me the green light to “do whatever you want with the place, it’s yours now,” as he had carried me across the threshold. It really was an incredible home, a luxurious four bedrooms and three bathrooms, rose vines wrapping around the arches, white flowers decorating the shrubbery. Though it was nothing compared to Wayne Manor, I had been just a tad bit hesitant to accept the overwhelming birthday present, considering we had only been together for a few months. And yet…well, even if we didn’t last, at least I had gotten the glorious opportunity to live in such a fairytale house for a little while.

As I made my way to the French doors that opened to the spacious backyard, I smiled at the recent memory of him revealing my birthday surprise and the shock I had felt.

“You want to spend how many weeks here?”

“Just two. You don’t want to?”

“I do, but… come on, Bruce, work will never let me have the days off. Not so soon.”

“Quit your job.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

I will never forget the smile he gave me with his reply. 

“Maybe I am being ridiculous, but it feels too good to stop.” 

I had not resigned after all, but he had called my workplace, much to my embarrassment. Either way, I was on an unexpected vacation for my birthday, and life couldn’t be better. Bruce had to go back to the office for a few hours to wrap up some unfinished work, but then he would be back, ready to kick off the next two weeks of paradise he had promised me. I was anxiously looking forward to tonight, to spending our first night here together in that lavish bed. But first, I had something else on my mind.

Stepping out into the fading light of dusk, I drummed my fingers against the bottle I was holding. My boyfriend’s go-ahead to do whatever I wanted with the place was fulfilling a dream I had been entertaining since I was thirteen years old. Of course, that was years and years ago, but the thought had always stayed in the back of my mind every time I went swimming in a pool. I just had never had the chance to do it.

My freshly pedicured feet strode towards the rectangular pool, the shimmering blue water accentuated by underwater lights. I picked up the bucket that lay beside the edge of the pool, dipping it into the water to collect the amount I needed, my mind calculating the best way to carry out my plan. Pouring some of the bottle’s product into the bucket, I began to mix the liquid with the pool water. Once combined, I stood, my eyes searching for the location of the jets inside the pool. Locating one, I picked up the bucket and dumped the contents into the pool over the jet. 

… 

An hour had passed since sunset. I had heard the car door slam shut, as well as his dress shoes making their way to where I was relaxing in the pool. My freshly dyed pink pool with bubbly foam floating on portions of the surface. 

I couldn’t help but laugh at the surprise on his face. Raising myself out of the pool, brushing the bubbles off of my swimwear, I wrapped my foamy arms around his neck, pressing myself against him, completely soaking the front of his suit. “Hey, missed you.” 

He was chuckling and shaking his head at me. “I missed you too… and I also missed the memo about a pink bubble bath in our pool. I didn’t really wear the right outfit to this party.” 

I laughed, kissing him before pulling away. “Then go change, I’ll be here.” 

“I know you will,” he winked, before disappearing into the house again. I stepped back into the foamy water, relaxing in the water that lapped against my shoulders and splashed gently on my neck. 

When he returned, appropriately dressed in his own swimming attire, I nearly pulled him headfirst into the pool in my excitement. Finally with my lover, in the pool of my teenage dreams, I was happier than I had been in a long time. I wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. The kiss we then shared was incredibly blissful, just like I knew this night would be.

[inthememetime]

DP × DC but it's a tired and burnt out Danny that makes landfall in Gotham, in this AU Danny is a halfa but it is his sister that plays the role he does in Canon and he only got his powers via ectoplasm contamination. He got burnt out acting as his sisters occasionally sidekick and her alibi in regards to their parents, so after he finally graduated from Casper High he opted to find himself while Jazz joined the Justice League.

So here we have a severely overtired and burnt out Daniel Fenton working at a local Lexbucks Coffee Shop when out of the blue he gets involved in the usual Gotham drama that results in a drive-by shooting wherein Danny gets shot. Danny, being a Halfa, gets up despite having been visibly shot in locations that would be fatal to anyone else but for him it's nothing and he goes back to work.

So begins the interest in Gotham's newest criptid; The Undead Barrista.

👀👀👀

(Lmk if you'd like to read this on my A03, and/or a version from his coworkers POV!) Ok so I did a fic!

Length: short boi. Save about 10-15 minutes.

Summary: see ask above. PLUS Danny sasses Gotham's Rogues Gallery into submission and finds out he really wasn't as useless as he felt.

Danny was second; he was the second child. The second smartest child. The second best as dealing with people. The second one to DIE and get superpowers.

At first, it was exciting! Phantom and Wraith, superhero duo of Amity Park! But Jazz- or Wraith, when she was in ghost form- had the ability to make people feel safe. To calm down situations before they ever started.

Danny had the ability to tear enemies to shreds, destroy infrastructure, and scare people.

Even Sam and Tucker agreed, although not in so many words. They didn't need to; after Dan, after they knew what he'd probably become, things really changed. He was watched, less to make sure he was safe, and more to make sure he didn't become Dan.

When he started sympathizing with that Fruitloop, Vlad, he knew something had to change.

So he flew up, up, into Earth's orbit, so he could look at the planet below. He didn't know how long he stayed there, but when he saw the sun set over the Himalayas, he felt something in him... settle, somehow. And he came to the realization he needed to leave.

It wasn't their fault- his sister, Sam, Tucker. He was the worse liar, so their parents suspected him of everything. He dealt with ghosts better than people, so Wraith was more trusted. As they aged, and Wraith looked the same but older and Phantom started looking like Dan- well. It wasn't the people of Amity Park's fault, either. Besieged by monsters, who would want to rely on one?

He got his things and left. He left a note saying he needed a fresh start, and then took off. He didn't leave the name of the city he was moving to. He didn't know.

That was how he became a barista at a Lexbucks in Gotham with a tiny loft apartment. And for the first time since he was 15, he was happy. Really, truly happy. He made friends in an astronomy club, and got together every other Friday withe people to watch old movies.

He was about to start a management program at Lexbucks. He would be 'needed' by Clockwork every Monday for an unknown amount of time (it was hard to tell time when CW paised as needed. Sometimes Monday lasted weeks, if he thought it was warranted.)

Clockwork being Clockwork, that sometimes meant he needed to solve some ghost issue, or fix a paradox, or come over for dinner, or take a vacation. (Was there a portal in his closet? Yes. Yes there was.)

He saw Frostbite once a week too, Gotham being closer to the Far Frozen, and was learning Greek- both ancient and modern- from Pandora.

He was finally going to ask out Eduardo from the bookstore across the street today.

That meant, of course, he was shot right outside his apartment. Danny left for work around 3 AM; his apartment was pretty close to the edge of Crime Alley, he was the store opener and they started serving customers at 4 AM. A match made in hell.

He heard the gunshots before he felt them, and reflexively turned invisible to change into Phantom. The drive by shooting ended as quickly as it began, leaving Danny to curse and change his shirt. Dammit.

Ah well. Gotta love Tuesdays, right?

Next Tuesday was when Condiment Man walked into the Lexbucks. Probably to try and rob it, but it was difficult to understand over all the giggling from his regulars.

"Bring Gotham to-"

"Sir, this is a Lexbucks. Please just order your coffee, tea, other drink, or something to eat."

Condiment Man gaped for a moment. "I- I don't want coffee. I want villainy."

He nodded. "Fair. But this is a Lexbucks. No villainy, just coffee, tea, sodas, food. No evil available except the evil inherent in corporations."

"I. Um. Ok?"

After a moment, Danny cleared his throat. "So about your order?"

"Um. Well. Can I order you to join me in my quest to bring Gotham to its knees?" He asked nervously.

"Kinky." He said, and Condiment Man sputtered. "But no." His calm demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. "Get your hand off the trigger for that mustard right now, or you'll be cleaning every inch of this place with a toothbrush until it sparkles!"

Condiment Man yelped and left. The locals- regulars and newbies- started laughing. He was pretty sure somebody started crying. His tips were glorious.

Maybe Tuesdays weren't so bad after all.

XxXxXx

"I got a hit on Danny!"

Jazz spun around. "Really? You're sure, Tuck?"

"About 50%, the video is pretty grainy. But you tell me somebody else who deescalates villains with sass."

"Where?"

"That's the problem. They were using a VPN. It's somewhere in the US, probably Gotham, Metropolis, or League City- Gotham Rogues get around sometimes."

Jazz's face started to fall. "Tucker, thank you, but- it's been 5 years. Are we sure his face didn't totally change? I mean, remember Vlad's before and after?"

He sighed heavily. "Jazz, we failed him. I failed my best friend. I missed that he was hurting for 3 years before he ran. No matter what that note said, I was probably part of the problem. Give up on him of you want. But I'm gonna keep looking."

God, those notes had been like kicks in the teeth. If it was Vlad, he'd say it was orchestrated. But it was Danny. He very much did not blame them. He didn't want to go. And what was carefully not said, but pieced together when they compared the note left for him, Sam, Jazz, and the elder Fentons was they were the biggest reason he left.

XxXxXx

"I, the Baffler, will bring chaos and confusion to Gotham's streets with your assistance, Undead Coffee Person!"

That was, oddly enough, better than Inviso-Bill. Still. "Hey man, this is a Lexbucks. And I have a name."

He seemed delighted. "Wonderful! What is your villain name?"

"No, no, no villain name. I'm not a villain. Just a barista. My name's Jack. What's your order?"

The baffler seemed. Well. Baffled. "But aren't you going to join me in my life of crime?"

Danny sighed heavily. "Dude. I just wanna pay my bills. Coffee, tea, what do you want?"

"You can pay your bills with crime!"

The Baffler seemed so honestly pleased it was hard to get angry. Just a big guy in a dumb costume, and Ancients he missed his dad. But then he shot the cash register. "See? Crime!"

Danny snarled and, quick as a blink, The Baffler's hamds were frozen to the counter. "You have ice powers?!"

"And you have dumbass powers, you knockoff Riddler. I'm calling the cops."

XxXxXx

"You must be truly desperate to come to me for help," Vlad said with amusement plain on his face.

Sam narrowed her eyes, and Tucker scowled. "Yeah, well, we need untraceable cash, and you're the kind of guy to keep that on hand."

"And why do you need it?"

Sam grit her teeth, but replied, "let's just say if we find what we're looking for, the number of halfas might be back up to 4."

His eyes flashed brightly. "Well, then. How much do you need?"

XxXxXx

"Together, we will bring Gotham into the next ice age!" Mr. Freeze roared.

Danny narrowed his eyes. "Doctor, this is a Lexbucks. What do you want to order?"

"You, too have powers of ice! Together, we can bring Gotham into the cold!"

He sighed. "Ok. So frozen. Small, medium, or large?"

"I- I am ordering destruction, not coffee!"

Danny pointed to the menu. "Do you see destruction on the menu here? No. No, you don't. Your order?"

He gaped. "Chai latte? Mocha cappuccino? You seem like a smoothie kind of guy, want one of those?"

Mr. Freeze cleared his throat. "What kind of smoothies do you have?"

XxXxXx

"Are you seriously going behind my back with Plasmius?"

Wraith stood, arms crossed with a scowl. "Oh back off, you're nowhere near as scary as Phantom. Or even Skulker." He snapped.

Batman cleared his throat. "I'm told you have information about an incredibly dangerous illegal meta in Gotham?"

Sam shook her head. "I wish I could say I couldn't believe this. He's your brother."

Jazz swallowed. "You don't even know for sure if this is Phantom. This could be a legitimate threat."

"Every time I start to wonder why he left, all I have to do is remind myself about-"

"Sam."

"He's our best friend, Tucker! And she just might've gotten him thrown into Arkham, because Batman doesn't believe in rehabilitation!"

And another argument began.

XxXxXx

"I'm so sorry, Jack. I really like you, I do! It's just..." Eduardo trailed off, shaking underneath Danny's jacket.

"It's ok. You didn't sign up for getting kidnapped by the Penguin in a sick job offer."

He smiled a little shakily, and Danny hugged him tightly. "I'll see you around, ok?"

"Thanks, Jack."

Why the hell was he so broken up over a guy who didn't even know his real name?

XxXxXx

Thursday began at the sight of the Joker prowling around. Danny let his jaws drop and released a hiss that made fully grown ghosts back the hell up, following it by the unearthly rattle he learned from Fright Knight.

The Joker backed up. Swallowed. Put on his trademark grin, and stepped back in. Albeit a little further from the front counter. "Now, now, kid, I'm a clown! Kids love clowns, yeah?"

Another hellish hiss echoed from behind the Joker. He paled, then stiffened as a massive blue hand was on his shoulder. "Perhaps this isn't the best place for you."

The Joker laughed shakily. "Hey, pal, I'm-"

Plasmius' glowing eyes flashed, and the Joker's started glowing red. The clown's face fell slack. "This isn't the best place for you."

"This...isn't the...best...place....for me." The Joker slurred.

"Leave." Commanded the vampire ghost.

The Joker staggered out drunkenly. Plasmius turned his attention to the counter. "Can I get a large black coffee? With a shot of espresso, please."

Danny cocked his head and tried not to laugh at Kristen's face when the fruitloop sat next to her. "Sure. Kristen?"

She looked at him, wide-eyed. "He's not going to hurt or overshadow you. Right, Plasmius?"

"Of course," he agreed magnanimously.

Plasmius drank his coffee at the store. He bought a blueberry donut. Gave him a $500 tip. "The number hasn't changed. Call me, and we'll see about moving you before Batman and his friends crash the place."

"I can fly, you know."

"He has multiple jets. And besides, from what I've heard, Wraith is helping him track down the big, scary meta."

"Thanks for the warning, Plasmius. I'll think about it."

The elder halfa nodded and left, phasing through the door.

Jazz was hunting him. Jazz was hunting him. His sister was- it wasn't fair. He left her the entire territory of Amity Park. She had the undivided love and attention of everyone in Amity Park. Inside the roll of $100 bills was a business card.

He pocketed it, and yet another super came in. Plasmius was right. They were hunting him. Red Robin frowned at the menu.

"Hey, do you still have the mint hot chocolate?"

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Small, medium, or large?"

"Large, please." Red Robin waited in silence while his drink was prepared. "So, Jack Walker isn't your real name."

Danny shook his head. "Nah. If you're going to arrest me, might as well just call me Danny."

He observed him carefully, then nodded. "I'll see you around, Jack. Try to keep out of trouble."

XxXxXx

"He isn't a threat!" Tim snapped.

"You deliberately disobeyed me! We agreed not to approach the person who can use mind control!"

"You agreed, B. Wraith, just leave him alone, ok? He just wants to make his coffee and leave every day."

"Is he my brother or not?"

"Does it matter? He left." Tim snapped. "That guy is just trying to make a living. He's not going to hurt anyone who doesn't start trouble."

Jazz embraced both Sam and Tucker, feeling real, true hope for the first time in years. "It's Danny! Guys it's Danny, we can bring him home!"

"None of you are leaving until we can bring him in for questioning."

Jazz's face hardened, then she agreed. That was alright. She had a secret weapon. Two of them, actually.

XxXxXx

"Jack, you've got people asking for you."

Danny groaned.

"Sorry Jack, you're the one who made the rule about people in weird suits with guns."

"Yeah, fair. Thanks."

He stepped out behind the counter, and froze. "Danny?"

He swallowed. Blinked to make sure he was seeing what he thought. "Mom? Dad?"

For the first time in 5 years, he was embraced by his parents. He didn't feel bad about the tears. He couldn't. "Let's go home, baby. Let's go home."

"I can't. I- I'm not..."

"It's ok, Danny. We know now. About Phantom."

"I'm so sorry we made you feel your only recourse was running away."

XxXxXx

He had started to get the idea Jazz might be hunting him in a violent way. The only violent thing was the force of her hug, and the way her nails dug into his shoulder to keep him close.

Danny couldn't quite understand her over the blubbering, but that was fine; he had always been a sympathetic crier. Although the way all of the bats, Constantine, and Superman were shifting awkwardly, trying not to watch them while watching them, was pretty funny. It got worse when Sam kicked Batman in the knee and joined them. Then there was Tucker, and his mom, and- his dad was squeezing them tight enough to pick them up a few inches.

It took a ridiculous amount of time to get them all to stop crying- and Danny included himself. He had a good 5 years of believing he did nothing but harm to his human(ish) family to cry over.

"So just to be clear. You are not a villain."

"Yep. Used to be in the hero game, even."

"And you're not going to start being a villain."

He chuckled. "No, I won't."

"For now, your stay in Gotham is fine, though you should start using your legal name. If you don't like Danny Fenton, you can always legally change it. Can we call on you if we get a ghostly threat closer to home?"

"Absolutely."

"Wait! Danny, you're going home, though, right? With us?" Jazz asked hopefully.

"I'd like to visit," he said quietly, "but Jazz- I scare humans. Pretty badly."

"The ghosts negotiate with you, they listen to you! And people- look, now that Phantom's not there stopping fights by talking to ghosts before they start, or helping the new dead solve their murders- well. Phantom has been missed."

"Jazz, you do all that too. And you calm humans down way better than I ever have, so-"

"Danny," Tucker interrupted, "please, buddy. You don't have to stay, just come for a week. Things are different now. Promise."

And. Well. Even if they were wrong, he missed them. So much. "I can do a week."

[punkeropercyjackson]

Percy,Miles and Jason are very important to me as the 'los tres amigos' trope because it's exactly a dynamic that fits and benefits all three of them

Miles is a soft sunshine boy who's clearly trans and autistic and a troubled kid so Percy would date adopt him as her little brother within three days TOPS of knowing him like she does every other character like that she meets in canon and Jason and her are the perfect setup for her classic enemies to frenemies due to being forced to work together to ride or die best friends she had with Thalia,Clarisse,Zoe and more and Miles is so sweet but has the same mouth running she does and Jason shares it too but he's got the same mean attitude she does so it's a perfect balance and she's got nothing to do with Bruce because they met straight after Utrh as a metaphor for Jason letting Bruce go for people he actually needs and wants and she ends up being part kryptonian because of old Jackson interdimensional shenanigans so Clark's her new dad instead of Poseidon's deadbeat ass and she can actually enjoy the revelation after processing it because it's a Sally thing

Miles never gets included in crossovers despite his whole franchise being about interdimensional hoping and making platonic soulmates along the way and the most recent installment having him break canon word for word because he knows better and i think we all know WHY the DC fandom obsessively ignores him despite their famous motto and why him and Percy have zero content together despite all their parallels but as someone who's read everything Jason's in and watched and played most of his adaptions and games,i know for a fact he's the only male superhero Jason would instantly like and that Miles would be fond of him back and there's good angst and darker storylines potential with Jason not outright telling him what he does for a living and the leadup and aftermath to the reveal and Percy being willing to kill too from the start makes things all the more interesting and on a lighter note,they'd give him special treatment 24/7 and initially only stick to eachother for his sake and their influence makes him tougher and more self-confident and he gets a Blue Lantern ring and Apollo's Blessing out of pure awe at his sheer artistic talent and love for his craft

And Jason gets an actual legit canon team,something DC has NEVER given him the grace of and yeah that's a pun but fr his and Artemis' dynamic and her lore remixes are literally the only good thing to come out Rhato.Instead of the Roy and Kory fuckery,Jason gets Miles,who he genuinely likes as a person and loves hanging out with and he fumbles sometimes but is good older brother at the end of the day and Miles makes him be good again without even trying just like he does pretty much everybody he interacts with that's got some fucked up shit going on and Percy,who's allowed to be not just a female lead but a trans woman one and is on equal grounds with him because again,he actually likes who she is and loves spending time with her inspite of their bickering and Miles and Percy get powerUPS instead of powerDOWNED and are allowed to be just as their own as him instead of walking talking props that aren't even good for him,much less him them.Also,Spider Mutant Jason that ended up that way because of constant exposure to Miles' spiderperson dna + Lazarus Pit dna + Middle name is deadass 'Peter' and he learns how to make special greek mythos items for backup

It's such a random ass crossover on the surface but there's a reason it's and they're called The Anomalies!!!They're supposed to be weird,not fuckass sanatized fandom tropes,they're supposed to find home in eachother,they're supposed to be stories told in the form of characters and sick as fuck powers and layered jokes and wholesome cheesiness that feels genuine because it IS genuine on my part and everybody else i've gotten into it has the same feelings on them i do!!!!Call me Odysseus the way i care them so much🤞🏾🤞🏾🤞🏾

[livannasalinger]

Dc x Dp prompt 3

I was thinking lately that most of the prompts and fics that I see, they range from: focus on Danny, focus on Jazz, oneshots here and there with some different characters, maybe sam and tucker, but not much more than that. Of course, ultimately, the idea of Dc x Dp goes through the importance that Danny has to establish this connection (ghost king, meta laws, being a hero, classic black hair and blue eyes of the Waynes, etc etc) and focus more on relationships with DC characters (batfam, superman, Wonder Woman, etc) . At the same time, I've recently been thinking about how there are few fics that portray the rest of the Casper High as a functional group (not counting Everlasting trio). And then, there's this fic that I really like (see prompt 2) that talks about a different way that the incident with Spectra could have happened. With all this, I thought:

- what if, these incidents with the ghosts made the group more cohesive: I'm not talking about everyone being super friends, although that can be cool, but I'm talking about actually seeing them build a dynamic because they need to protect themselves from danger and they can't get help from anyone else -  Justice League doesn't interfere/doesn't know/doesn't believe

- Anyway, X years pass, the events of DP (except Danny's revelation to the world) occur, but unlike canon, the children mature faster, and start to blossom like powerhouses - imagine Assassination classroom and how they became after graduation, that kind of thing.

- But that's when things start to get interesting, because "out of nowhere" a group of people with impressive skills and suspicious training in different areas begins to appear, young people trained in things they shouldn't. At first, the connection was not clear, as everyone is in different areas, but little by little a pattern starts to become clearer: maybe their presence, maybe some more ghostly physical characteristic.

I see two ways this starts to get noticed:

-- At a Justice League meeting, several superheroes start listing people of interest and justifying why. They might have noticed these people as possible future villains, or maybe they want to recruit them, or something like that. The point is: when one person starts talking, another hero starts remembering that he knows a similar person, a pattern starts to be observed, an investigation starts to be made.

OR

-- An investigation is already under way, as there is a group of people who came from the same place, started to become influential in the field of choice, and nobody can prove, but many suspect that this group is responsible for the disappearance of a mysterious government organization called GIW

In any case, an investigation begins showing  the different ways that the Amity Park group has grown to be BAMF including: Tucker Foley, Sam Manson, Jazz Fenton, Valerie Gray, Dash Baxter, Paulina, Kwan, Star, Wes weston.… maybe even Ellie and Dan.

The investigation proceeds, old photos of the group can be found and they notice the disappearance of only one person: Danny Fenton. Which makes no sense, as he is seen multiple times with all the suspects, but effectively there is no record of him anywhere: no college, no job, not even how he gets from one place to another, no plane ticket, nothing.

It would still be really cool if everyone in the group followed certain customs, derived from the lessons they received on how to deal with ghosts or because they are Liminal and that's why they behave a little differently and, even if they've been living with "normal people" for years , sometimes they just forget common sense and scare people without intending to.

The conclusions that the JL, villains  and other groups, can come to are potentially hilarious: are they villains? what are their goals? Are they a secret cult with this Danny as their leader? Are they or are they not doing something illegal? Are they a threat? And if so, a threat to whom?

At the end of it all I can see Mr Lance showing up and thinking "how come this is supposedly the most powerful group of people in the world?!" and in 5 minutes solving any chaos or misunderstanding like:

"Pride and Prejudice, not even Mr. Weston was that bad" (looking at Red Robin's conspiracy board)

[dyketectivecomics]

hey, i have a question, how would you write Cassie and Jinny's relationship?

would jinny be on young justice, will it be long distance, what would their dynamic be?

My gut instinct was to say that I’d probably want to focus on them in those first/awkward stages of dating? Half the fun of reading for me sometimes is just enjoying the journey of two idiots figuring things out. Sometimes ya just want some sickly sweet fluff!

But the more that I think abt Cassie having a fraught history dating Kon/Tim, the metas abt comphet & okay also CassieRose visits my mind a LOT, not rent-free just as a surprise guest atm… also Jinny still on the heels of finding her last gf cheating & when we last saw her doin the road-trip thing with her friend (now kinda-sister???)

I’m like 👀 there’s some messy potential here AND I LOVE IT

But to circle back & try to answer in mostly the same order:

If DC were to give me the reins to write a run today, I’d def want to know what Outsiders is gonna do with Jinny first & make sure I’m not stepping on too many toes obvsly. I rlly hope that they’re picking up on the road trip from the end of her Special, but the premise isn’t leaving me super hopeful that there’s any editors left at DC to pay attention to that kind of thing 🙃 also there’s speculation rn abt a new YJ book with a diff cast so I don’t think either of them are gonna be part of YJ here pretty soon 😅

For fic writing tho, the beauty is that we can Licherally do whatever we want, so I can be as canon-compliant or noncompliant as possible so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ in that respect it’s a matter of when I would want that potential fic to take place (or ig what setting 👀 YJ college au request in my inbox I HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN YOUUUU)

Long distance I think doesn’t really factor when one of the pair is able to fly so uh 😅 change in setting would have to be more of a factor to consider that? (Again, college AU I might consider it for its conflict potential 🤔) (also what qualifies as long distance bc I’ve got a friend who’s dating a guy that’s like 3hrs away, but that’s Texas distance so it’s nbd for them to see each other on weekends but I know some ppl would consider Not Living in the Same City as long distance so aksjsks) idk, distance just isn’t a big deal to me in Gen tho too. Like, You Find A Way to make it work or you don’t and that’s where delicious Conflict™️ can take root lol

And ahh dynamic… that age-old question… who’s Red/Blue, the Grump/Sunshine, who falls first vs who falls harder, god there’s so many things to consider. I do think I fall back on thinking of them as the Opposite Worlds Attract kinda dynamic (wait no, now I’m thinking of night at the museum and zom made that gemhex, not wonderhex I’m 😭😭😭)

It’s FINE, there’s not much new under the sun 😂 but yea, wonderhex is something I love a lot, would love an excuse to write for them 👀👀👀 I just need a nudge 👀

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

One of your recent posts made me think of this, but prompt where ghosts are kind of like far with really weird ideas about morality. Tim has known Phantom for years and has had a gigantic crush on him for just as long as it's reciprocated but Phantom also really wants to coax or trick Tim into coming and staying in the Infinite Realms where he can protect him. So Tim is stuck between "this person is attractive, competent,and has consistently shown that they will choose me over the years" and "due to a case of blue-and-orange morality this person will trap me forever if given the chance and never even realize what the problem is" and he is suffering. And like, Danny won't force him, but...

I mean. Danny ticked half of his canonical opponents in the show. I imagine years as ghost king have only made him more cunning.

This is partially inspired by your prompt where Damian leaves Tim in the Infinite Realms and partially by this post:

https://currently-haunted.tumblr.com/post/688409955993305088/im-very-normal-about-dp-x-dc-crossovers

because I love how that art makes Danny look like something eery and powerful and other in comparison to Tim and how Tim looks like he's on the back foot in comparison.

Yes I love eldritch Danny but not enough people make him think like an eldritch being. Like, Danny having weird morals is something thats kinda canon cause he will actively avoid fighting most humans are Phantom even when they're trying to murder him but will throw hands with any ghost that so much as looks at him.

I love the thought of Tim trying to Outwit Ghost King Phantom while Danny tries to do the same with him all while they're pining after eachother. Its definitely an interesting dynamic I would love to read about.

I can also see Danny semi-losing his mind with worry cause Tim is running around Gotham at night fighting deranged murderous supervillians and how is he supposed to keep him safe when he's doing that???

[pixelartparker]

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[laufire]

although I've enjoyed stories that went down that route before, I can't see jason & talia's relationship in the comic as surrogate mother and son. I don't think the reading came completely out of the blue (I still have this edit of the pietà cover in lost days #2 as my background pic lol. that's some culturally ingrained imagery! although given the issue it precedes, I wonder if it was more of a hint to antichrist!jason lmfao), and can see how lost days #1 would inspire it (although the same events in batman annual #25 end with talia kissing jason after the pit... and I read that first because lost days wasn't out yet when I was catching up in my jason reading, way back when. lost days erases this moment and I do prefer it that version though. that moment, at that time, made no sense).

but after that first issue that's not what I see in the run. jason's certainly not in the market for a parental figure, and he wouldn't have responded well to talia, had she approached him as one (and at this point, talia was very much about finding the right approach to manage jason... because jason had attempted to kill bruce -the comic attributes this to temporary psychopathy but winnick and I differ on this one-. and this didn't happen only because jason decided not to go through his plan at the last moment. ymmv at to why). this reading comes from a mix of things in fanon, but one of them is literally "well she's bruce's love interest and he's bruce's kid sooooo", and I just don't vibe with that, basically.

reading talia's first appearances and realising she's meant to be close to dick's age also compounded my own interpretation of talia's dynamics, sometimes for the worse sometimes for the better, but it's a canon detail that just feels so fitting for the talia comics I've read that now I'd struggle to see her differently, when beforehand I really hadn't thought about her age. this way, they're not exactly peers (dick seems around 4-6 years older than jason in new earth, ymmv), and I usually land on talia being a couple years older than dick. but this colours how I interpret their dynamic, too. how I think they'd see it, in particular.

since I'm talking about the nature of their relationship I do have to mention That Scene. very contentious and I do get why (I do not care for any m/f/m triangle dc has ever tried to pull with the bats, especially bruce vs. dick-slash-jason). but fandom either sees this as "talia, a much older woman, statutory raped jason, a teenager" (jason in the last issue of lost days and in utrh looks very much in his twenties), OR "I've decided talia is jason's mother figure, and I'm -with good reason!- tired of how often she's villianised, so I just Don't See It" [insert mariah carey's i can't read suddenly.gif], as thought there's no other possible interpretation.

and the way I see it is. it's not a Good Thing to happen, nor is it written with that intention! the characters are NOT in a good place and they're NOT making wise, healthy choices lol. and it's something that sidetracks what could've become a really interesting, closer friendship & alliance (I want them to be friends and allies sooooo badly lol. I think they'd work so well!! there's reblogs in my queue about it!!). but I don't see it as something to completely handwave if I'm writing new earth canon; just something to tackle head on, if I ever write about them after this period beyond having it as a secondary dynamic (which I plan to do, but that's another story).

ironically, these ramblings came to me because I'm developing their dynamic in a WIP for a different canon (the young justice cartoon. for reference, the ages there are: Talia, 1984; Jason, 1999; Damian, 2018), and rn if you asked me if they have a surrogate mother-son relationship in it my answer would be a solid... maaaaaaaybe? LOL. if they end up like that, it'll be with MASSIVE ammounts of spousification, though. which is how I see any parental relationship involving jason going, outside of 80s!bruce & jason, to be honest.

[jasontoddssuper]

*Grabs fake DC stans by the shoulders and shakes them violently like jars of sweets*You're not 'fixing' Jason Todd by making him not actually edgy because you want him to have a soft side-He already has one in canon and he's shown it countless times.He can be a goth asshole AND a total dork who's kind and gentle when he wants to be.Not only do they not contradict eachother but they're literally the best part of his character and the most consistent one too.Stop complaining about wanting something that's already there and pick up a damn comic instead of shipping adults with minors and family members and pretending poc don't count as part of the cast because they don't have blue eyes.I'm begging you dudes

[spacetime1969]

TOAxDC anyone?

I've been a part of the MariBat fandom for years now, and more recently become a part of the BatPham fandom since it grew into a full fandom of it's own.

In all that time I have been sitting on an idea for another crossover with DC that I think has just as much potential to become something entirely its own.

So, allow me to present the idea of Tales of Arcadia x Batman, which I've been affectionate calling the BATHUNTER crossover in my head.

More ramblings and fic recs under the cut.

So, first and foremost:

We have a bat bait, blue eyed, black haired, protagonist with trauma. Comparing this to the other two fandoms we've already hit the ground running.

We also have a reason for them to be in Gotham. At the end of Trollhunters we have Claire and Jim going with the trolls to find a new heartstone in New Jersey. Gotham is in New Jersey.

The trolls traveling across the country and founding New Trollmarket right in the Bat's territory doesn't even require an explanation beyond 'They found the new heartstone under Gotham City.'

The opportunities for identity shenanigans are still just as present as ever. If you stick to the full canon of the Tales of Arcadia universe, sans the time travel reset, then Jim, Claire and possibly Toby are both human and the bats could meet them as human civilians and as vigilantes who go around with glowing face covering armor and the ability to just disappear.

Personally, I'm not a huge fan of canon past the first half of wizards. So I like the idea of Jim using a glamour mask to go to school while being a vigilante in his half troll form. Make the bat's even more confused.

I also feel like the dichotomy between the three rules of trollhunting and Batman's usage of fear as a weapon and no killing rule would be fascinating.

Just:

"Fear heightens your senses. Fear keeps you alive. Arrogance gets you killed."

-vs-

“You prefer to call me Batman. But the reason you can never escape me … is that my name is fear. And I live within you.”

“Always finish the fight.”

-vs-

"Heroes should never kill a villain, no matter the depths of his villainy."

They would probably agree on rule three, though: “When in doubt, always kick them in the gronk-nuts.” Since Batman identifying weakness in both his teammates and villains is a whole thing.

Lastly, the potential for bio-dad aus is fascinating to me. Specifically, not with Bruce as the bio-dad, but with Commissioner Jim Gordon.

For anyone who hasn't happened on Jim Gordon's backstory, allow me to give some context. Jim Gordon's wife was named Barbara Eileen Gordon. They had two children, Barbra Gordon and Jim Gordon Jr. Barbara Eileen divorced Commissioner Gordon because she wanted to get her son out of Gotham.

From what I understand, in canon she keeps the name and eventually moves back to Gotham after her son becomes a serial killer and inmate of Arkham Asylum.

But this is an AU, canon is what ever we want it to be and Jim Lake being the biological kid of Commishionre Gordon and little brother of Barbra Gordon aka Oracle has some real potential in the right author's hands.

Fic Recs:

Loose Lips, by NerdofSpades

Batman wants answers. Jim wants to be left alone, so he can go back to his not so normal life. Too bad those two things aren't at all compatible with each other. At least Jim gets some new friends out of all of this. Probably. Maybe.

One of my favorite fics in general. Jim becomes friends with the Young Justice team while trying to convince Batman that he's 'just a civilian'.

three teenagers are loose in gotham (what will they do), by clayr_of_the_lillies

sometimes you become a vigilante deliberately. sometimes its twitter's fault. aka a tales of arcadia/batman crossover that wouldn't leave my mind.

Very funny and well thought out. I particularly like this interpretation of Gotham's trollmarket and the friendship between the trollhunters and the batfam.

In Their Blood, NerdofSpades

Barbara Lake saw an uncomfortably familiar pattern in the behavior of James Lake Junior. She saw it in almost everything he did these days. She had seen it in her friends growing up. She had lived it herself. She just wasn't sure how to help him, so, instead, she calls in a friend.

Another fun one by NerdofSpades. Barbara, having been Batgirl, recognizes Jim's behavior in herself. It's a shorter one but still a lot of fun

I'm also working on a couple of my own fics set in this crossover, but their still WIP for now