thecorefrisk

[thecorefrisk]

Yknow what would be fun? If people explored the whole ‘everyone thinks Danny and Phantom are two entirely different people’ thing further in dc x dp fics. Not as in, ‘analyzing how that would affect him and his day to day and how it would mess with his psyche’.

But pure shits and giggles.

For example:

I just saw a post that used the pre-mentioned trope to detail a prompt in which Danny and Phantom are assumed to be in a relationship and that Ellie is/was their child. And then later on, Danny is assumed to be ‘pregnant again’ and mad at Phantom for getting him pregnant ‘again’.

And then, I saw another post with DeadTired (Tim x Danny) in which Danny and Phantom are assumed to be lovers (they ‘separate’ in literal terms— as in, Danny and Phantom become separate entities when they chose to— and call each other their ‘other half’ without thinking of the implications) and everyone believes that Phantom is simply waiting for Danny to die so they may be together in death as they ‘cannot be in life’. And Tim, of course, decides to try to make sure him and Danny stay together even after death. Danny is just confused why his boyfriend is suddenly talking about death so much.

The trope in which people believe— like everyone believes— that a character is romantically involved with their secret identity whilst they remain oblivious to said belief is everything to me. And Danny is so perfect for it. Because for as much as he would definitely hide his secret identity fiercely, he’s also a teenage boy who doesn’t always understand the implications his words have.

Or, better yet, he’s trying to hide his identity from the bats or something and he just keeps accidentally making it sound like Phantom and him are involved!

This is especially good when we consider the whole ‘Ghost King’ part of Phantom (not cannon but yknow). Like, the horror that comes with the thought of this random teenage boy that you know and care about being involved with a being with records of him dating back to Egypt and whose very mention has his enemies cowering?

I love when the miscommunication trope is used like this.

[thecorefrisk]

MLB x DC

So, I once read this fanfic. (Shocker, I know, a tumblr user who reads fanfic. It’s never been seen before.)

And it had this one thing that I actually fell in love with entirely. It is going to ruffle a few feathers, though. Because it does mention the whole Talia and Jason getting down and dirty.

Because in this fanfic, Marinette was Talia and Jason’s daughter. Biologically. Artificial fetus and everything.

And, as I do, I became obsessed with it.

And now I have a bit of a fanfic in the works (with connecting story lines, alternate universes, and etc. but that’s besides the point).

The premise: an amnesiac, blind Marinette in the middle of Gotham City— crime central. She’s stranded there with only the clothes on her back and a backpack she can’t seem to open. Not because she can’t but because there’s some sort of… block there. She just can’t make herself open it.

And the bats— they are all strangely pulled in by this girl whose grins are familiar for some reason and who stumbles around Gotham, blind, and yet somehow in one piece. This girl who has flowers and birds following her, lured in by her presence, and who could ask the sky for sunshine and she would get it.

In a world of bloodshed and violence, she is a rarity.

Still, why does she look so familiar?

[thecorefrisk]

I need more Maribat fics that actually explore the whole ‘Marinette grew up with death and destruction being a temporary thing’ and the way that outside of the whole stalking part of her personality, she’s actually the ideal superhero.

Give me a Marinette who, when she fights, tends to permanently injure her opponent since she’s so used to fighting akumatized people whose injuries just heal when she fixes everything in the end or don’t get injuries at all even from the heaviest of hits. She’s the girl with the plan that always just works somehow. She’s clever and creative, which is a pretty deadly combo in superhero types.

Give me a Marinette who doesn’t know her own strength. When she holds your hand, the callouses on her palms are startling to say the least and you can just feel the strength in her arms when she flexes her fingers. As much as a lot of her miraculous probably softens the look of her arms and legs, making them look toned rather than defined and bulky (as they should be), you can’t just go through all the rigorous amounts of exercise and work Marinette goes through and not have your body be affected, even with magic considered.

Give me a Marinette whose morals are a bit askew. Some might say ‘but she’s so justice driven!’ However, I raise you this, autism. Autistic people, such as myself, also tend to be very justice oriented people and yet my morals ARE a bit askew. Im not a completely morally white person. I don’t think everyone should be saved. I don’t think everyone should get to live. I love helping people! I think people are great! But I also have the belief that some people should be killed and I’m half willing to do it myself. Now, this isn’t true for every autistic person, of course, but I am trying to make a point.

There’s also the whole reviving thing. It would take her a while to truly understand death as a concept again after years of Hawkmoth. So, when Jason reveals his whole ‘I died’ thing, Marinette is mostly like ‘oh, yeah, me too lol’. She’d be more horrified by what led up to his death than the death itself in this concept.

Also, are we ever going to address the cat sized elephant in the room? ‘Copy-Cat’? The man who was in love with Ladybug even though it is later revealed that everyone knows that Ladybug and Chat Noir are teenagers?

I want that addressed. Like a LOT. Specifically by Dick because he went through a LOT of sexualization during his later years as Robin then as Nightwing. (Still goes through it tbh.) And he would probably make it clear to her that the guy’s obsession with her was NOT cool and she should definitely stay far, far away from him. It could be a moment where she allows herself to acknowledge that something bad happened and that it wasn’t okay that it happened and everyone stood around and smiled. Because the guy’s behavior is never actually addressed as creepy. The moment he had with Chat wasn’t Chat telling him to back the hell away because the guy was clearly a lot older, it was a moment where Chat was making a guy with a fascination with Ladybug jealous.

I want this to lead into Marinette silently rethinking the whole thing with Master Fu as well. Because she had been spending an unspecified amount of time with a grown man, at his house, without her parents knowledge, and none of her friends knowing either. (I believe, I haven’t watched the episodes that he’s in a while.) The point is, that situation could have turned out so badly. I’m aware this is a kid’s show but realistically something bad could have happened. And Marinette knows this because she imagines trying to explain this to Nightwing or Red Hood or any of the Batfam and immediately winces.

Nothing bad happened and Master Fu would never but it could have. It could have and that’s the point.

I just- I want Marinette explored not as a miraculous character but as a DC character if that even makes sense. Because as a miraculous character, all they focus on is the whole Lila and Hawkmoth thing but as a DC character her entire life would be focused on.

And as a DC character, the batfam would likely not discourage Marinette’s little stalking habits. In fact, they might (accidentally or otherwise) encourage them. Because they are kind of stalkers too. Between them, boundaries don’t exactly exist even though they are set. I’m not saying they’re all terrible creepy people! But I am saying is that Marinette memorizing Adrien’s schedule and breaking into his house like once or twice is pretty tame compared to the whole thing the batfam has going on.

(Again, I’m not saying it’s GOOD, I’m just saying that it does exist and that the batfam wouldn’t exactly go out of their way to discourage Marinette’s very bat-esque flaws unless in a hypocritical manner as they shove their own stalker boards into the unknown.)

Yeah, Marinette would fit right in a vigilante group. (How Adrien fits would be an entirely different matter.)

[thecorefrisk]

Thank God you introduced to me to your sister.

This song is so Steph & Cass that it is INSANE.

[thecorefrisk]

Getting one, two, three, four knocked out.

(A batfam prompt-- Jason edition)

This is based off of me and my current agony. Today, I went to the dentist to get four of my teeth getting taken out. Not for cavities or anything like that but because of the braces I'm going to be wearing and the plan my orthodontist has to get my teeth straight and orderly.

(This was made possible because I had quite the case of overcrowding on my bottom teeth because of the two baby teeth I still had which caused the rest of the teeth to have to use whatever inch of space they could get. It is so, so painful afterwards when the anesthetic wears off but so, so worth it because of the results it brings. (Straightens teeth, fixes overcrowding, etc.))

Sooo... let's imagine one day you (or we) are in a similar situation. In which you get teeth taken out and are not put into a state of mind where you are loopy and unlike yourself (like when people get their wisdom teeth taken out). You are instead put in a situation where you can't feel your mouth and lower jaw and have folded gauze stuffed into the gap(s) where the teeth/tooth once laid.

In situations like these, you constantly have to replace the gauze because it eventually will get flooded with too much saliva and/or blood.

Of course, when you begin to notice the red streaks falling out the side of your mouth when you look over at the mirror to check. (You look a little bit like a character from a horror movie about teddy bears, their stuffing, and sewing, but that's alright. You'll be okay.) So, like any reasonable person, you go to the bathroom to change them. You're home alone so leave your bathroom door open because you can and for convenience. And you're probably going to have to replace them in a couple minutes so why bother closing the doors?

Of course, snooping vigilantes were not considered in this equation.

Jason has come to the manor. (Like he does every blue moon.) He was feeling like a little shit that day and wanted to bother his siblings but no one seemed to home.

Well, no one except Alfred and you, of course. We all know the better choice to bother. And unfortunately, Alfred was nowhere inside the manor-- probably in the garden-- so he was not there to inform Jason of your situation.

He goes to your room, doesn't knock, and is instantly disappointed to find your bedroom empty. It's unusually messy. A dark towel crumpled over the blankets, almost as though in a rush. The blankets themselves droop over the edge of the bed, threatening to slip down to the floor. Usually, your room is... neater, to say the least. Not neat but neater than this.

But... your bathroom door is open. Jason doesn't think about why you have your bathroom door-- you could be practicing makeup in the mirror, cleaning, anything really.

What he doesn't expect is to see you curled over the sink, muscles trembling. His practiced shit-eating smirk crumbles to dust when you lift your head and blood, stark red against your usually pristine skin, is dripping off your chin in a thick river.

His eyes dart over to your hands where they grip the sink-- the tips of your fingers are stained red as well and he would bet good money that there's probably some on your palms as well. It's all over the sink, all over your clothes, and has some strands of your hair sticking to the skin of your neck and your cheeks.

You've clearly attempted to clean the mess judging from the powerful scent of chemicals that has spread over the entire bathroom and the large spray bottle set on the sink like a white flag.

You look over at him, in terrible agony. Not because it was terribly painful but gave a long-term discomfort that lingered and lingered and dug into your very bones with no care for any objections you might have. You can't feel the lower half of your face and it's frustrating. You have no control over how it contorts or if it does so at all. But hot tears still mark and stain your face and gather at your chain.

Jason-- sweet, loyal, protective, passionate-- is furious. Someone hurt you. Someone put their hands on you. Someone thought it had been a good idea to leave you bloody.

It does not help that your jaw is still sore from the anesthetic hours later when it's mostly dissolved, especially since you can't speak without spraying blood everywhere in a fifty-mile radius. And if you have a hard time trying to convince and talk to Jason, imagine how much harder it is to try and convince the rest of your family.

(For this, I'm thinking either they find out a little later when the bleeding has slowed down and you can speak again and it becomes a sort of inside joke or a funny story they/you tell.

Either that or they never find out and you just keep going out and doing completely normal things that just so happen get you hurt-- like doing skateboarding tricks and twisting your ankle because of it or getting home 'unusually exhausted'/stressed/snappy because of finals week or too many extracurriculars or simply life. The family all has their own theories, but they all come to the same conclusion that someone is hurting you and you are attempting to protect them.

Some think you're a part of the mob and you've been blackmailed into doing so, only you're doing a bad job/are being run ragged and the mob punishes you for it.

Others think it's a partner or a friend who is abusing you, but you love them too or are too afraid to tell your family.

And a few may even think you're getting trained mercilessly or being mistreated at a place of work (school, workforce, etc.) and you're trying to protect that person because of the training or because you are attached to this authority figure. (Some teachers suspected of gr00ming are swiftly fired.)

[thecorefrisk]

There are no hearts for anyone outside this home.

Chapter 1 -- And the world didn't weep for joy (but it gave a great, relieved sigh)

A red sun rises in the great beyond. The sky swims with dark oranges, reds, and purples– a bruised, bleeding sky. The world awakens with one notion carried within the fleshy, pink muscle of their ever-working brains: Jackson Mayfield has come home.

–

“–we are all so relieved to see the young Mayfield son returned to his family’s arms safe and sound after three years of total mystery–”

“–Where has he been? What has he–”

“–possible kidnapping? Or, perhaps magic–”

Violet turned off the radio. A long hour had been spent attempting to found one channel not speaking of young ‘Jackson Mayfield’s’ return home to no fruition. 

Jackson Mayfield wasn’t cared about. At least, not before all of this. He was whispered about on those rare nights people dared to question just where he might be, what he might be doing, or if he was alive at all. His family never addressed any rumors that surrounded him, avoided any mention of him like the plague; it was as though his name had some sort of taboo attached to it, like if spoken, a dark fate would befall those who dared to raise their voices. He had ‘gone missing’ three years prior, leaving behind only a mockery of a bouquet and ashes and an empty seat at every gala that no one dared to touch. 

Her brother had gone the same way. And if people had cared so little for the disappearance of a young man of the House of Mayfield, son of Duke Burton himself, then they cared for the disappearance of her little brother even less. 

(Peasant, they called him when she went to the authorities. Called them. Commoners. And no one cared for the lives of the common. 

Unless, of course, that life inconvenienced them.) 

A hand slammed down on the desk in front of her, setting the contents haphazardly thrown onto it rattling and knocking her out of her thoughts. Her hands relaxed from their curled position reflexively. 

Oscar ‘Oz’ Hall. The journalist she worked under, or rather, apprenticed under. (Really, she just shadowed him, but sometimes she felt more like his handler than anything else.) 

He was a tall man of unimposing figure and a sharp, mischievous face that often had possible interviewees scampering off or avoiding him entirely. A large grin split his face in half– victorious– his wild red hair falling in front of his face and only serving to make him look all the more fox-like and less and less man. 

Violet shifted in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs in what she hoped would come across as in a casual manner. He had given her that same smile two months ago, just before he threw himself over a chocolate fountain and totally ruined the dress of a young noble lady who they were lucky enough to find out that she found it spectacularly funny. 

“Yes?” she said, holding back a sigh. 

His grin became a tad strained. “Yes, what?”

Violet did sigh this time. “You want to say something; say it.”

Despite her bluntness, a trait many of the previous journalists that she had shadowed before had not appreciated as much as Oscar did, ‘insubordination’ they called it, Oscar’s grin came back full-force then some. “There’s a story in this.”

Understatement of the century but before Violet could tell him as such, he continued on. “A story that we can unearth. Jackson Mayfield–” he spread his arms, hands moving wildly with a flair. “–second born son, back after all these years, yet his family doesn’t say a word other than ‘Oh, we are so happy he’s home’!” He guffawed. 

Violet nodded along like she always did when he got into these jittery, excitable moods, hands tapping on the arm of her chair in a continuous pattern– pinkie, ring finger, middle, pointer, thumb and back again– and leaning forward with feigned interest. (It really wasn’t all that hard to fake it, she was interested, just not for the reasons the journalist was.) 

“Yes, that is suspicious; you’d think they would give more of a statement when the boy has been missing for so long,” she acknowledged. 

Oscar’s face brightened further, if possible. “Exactly! There’s obviously something they’re trying to hide and I’m going to find it.” His grin was full of teeth now, his eyes set into a determined stare as his eyes raised and lingered on some great beyond likely full of glory and girls and lots and lots of birds full of feathers he was terribly allergic to. 

Violet cocked a brow. “You are not going to be uncovering this.”

His expression crumbled entirely, face going stormy. “Violet, do you not–”

She cut him off. “I will be handling this story.”

For a long moment, his features fell into blankness, as though he had just short-circuited. Then, the grin was back, only all affectionate and happy and proud and all that icky stuff that had her face flushing as he threw himself unceremoniously over his desk to clasp his hands over her cheeks, causing a mug filled to the brim with pens to tip over and roll to the ground, shattering upon impact. But he ignored it in favor of cooing in her face and embarrassing her entirely. 

“Oh, Vi,” he gasped, actual tears glistening in his eyes. (She’s seen him watch and document the death of a puppy with the most unaffected expression before; what the hell–) “Darling, you’ve finally come out of that horrible shell of yours and come to the limelight; I am so proud–”

Violet did not flush because she was flustered. She did not. She was… fuming with rage. Yeah. Totally. “You ridiculous, ridiculous man– get your hands off of me you oversized lunatic–”

Oscar treated her like an overly eager toddler would treat a disgruntled cat— roughly bit affectionately. “Glory is an avoidant muse, dear, but I believe with enough effort–”

“You absolute idiot, I will–”

It took several minutes, a couple swats, and a few more broken mugs for him to lay off of her and sit. (Albeit on his desk but still, the small victories.) 

She could not get rid of that stupid look on his face, but she could be mad about it, so she glared at him fiercely. His grin grew impossibly wider. 

“Now, my dear flower–”

“It is Violet-”

“My dear flower, to secure an interview with the Mayfield family, you will have–”

Violet’s eyebrows drew together tightly. An interview? What is he on about? “I’m not going to be attempting to get an interview with them,” the apprentice said slowly, as though explaining something rather obvious. And it was. To her, at least. 

Oscar went deathly still, slowly cocking his head in a way that reminded her of a prowling feline. “You are… not?”

Violet snorted in that unladylike manner her mother hadn’t managed to beat out of her. “Of course not, they’ll answer none of my questions and leave me with more than I started with. It would do neither of us any good.”

A glint shone in the redhead’s gaze, a realization forming behind his chestnut brown eyes. “So… how do you plan to ‘crack’ this?” 

Violet shrugged, attempting to seem apathetic to his stare. “I’m infiltrating, of course.”

And if Violet let out a squawk that birds would be incredibly jealous when he launched himself at her again, for an embrace this time, that was nobody else’s business but her own.

--

This is for my Creative Writing class, but I decided to share it with the world as well just to see if people would enjoy it. I am not open to criticism so please, just enjoy what you are reading or, if not, scroll away. This will spare us both the heartache of hatred or any animosity. I will admit this is not to the best of my ability for I initially wrote this extremely sleep deprived and cranky and wanting a 'pick me up'.

[thecorefrisk]

Dc x Dp animatic idea

God, I read this fanfic-- real cute, real sweet, real angsty-- where Damian and Danny were siblings but instead of being twins, they were older-younger siblings. (Damian was the older, Danny was the younger.) And Damian was a possessive older brother 'cause his brother was (and is) dead and all that and Damian is just a naturally possessive person. And today I was listening to the song Body by Mother Mother and I just... had the greatest idea for an animatic.

First, for the song, trigger warning for some descriptions of different parts of the body getting 'gotten rid of'. (Ex: tear my teeth, tear through my cheeks. Take the nose, go and dispose, dispose, dispose, dispose.)

Danny has a breakdown with that song playing, basically. But, really, what I'm thinking is that when it reaches the climax of the song all the words the GIW have ever said to him swim around him, haunting him. "Ghosts don't feel pain." "Ghosts aren't people." "It'll grow back." Things like that. And it's Danny basically dehumanizing himself in order to feel safe? Secure? Something like that.

Surgical tools and weapons reach for him like they are ghosts in their own right, they cling to him, to his skin, to his heart and they claw at his body. Tearing him apart.

('Take my eyes, take them aside. Take my face and desecrate. Arms and legs, get in the way.')

Name of the Fanfic: Broken Bonds by PolarBearSeals.