I guess this is my life now

The interest check is over and we got quite a few replies! Due to this, the Secret Skeleton Exchange is on!

Sign ups will be open until July 31st, after which you will be contacted with your assigned giftee. All gifts will be posted on Halloween (though, again, works do not have to be Halloween based) October 31st.

We got a couple people that were nervous about signing up because they didn't think they were good enough so please know that ALL SKILL LEVELS ARE WELCOME!

Based on the previous interest check:

NSFW is allowed

Artists will have a minimum requirement of basic colors

Writers will have a minimum requirement of 3k

If you'd like to participate, please fill out the following form:

Putting feelers out to see if anyone would be interested in a fan-run Halloween exchange revolving around the DCxDP pairing Dan Phantom (Dark Danny)/Dick Grayson.

Secret Skeleton is exactly like Secret Santa except, you know, not for Christmas. You can find the link to the interest check here:

Putting feelers out to see if anyone would be interested in a fan-run Halloween exchange revolving around the DCxDP pairing Dan Phantom (Dark Danny)/Dick Grayson.

Secret Skeleton is exactly like Secret Santa except, you know, not for Christmas. You can find the link to the interest check here:

Etwas neues. DPxDC zur Abwechslung.

Tim wird von einer Schar Tauben und Krähen adoptiert. Dann taucht ein Rabe bei ihm auf, der kein gewöhnlicher Rabe zu sein scheint

AKA "Danny Fenton works as a barista at a late night coffee shop and unintentionally solves crime. Red Robin claims dibs." DPxDC Dead Tired prompt!

The first time Danny meets Red Robin is at 2am and the espresso machine is broken. Izzy, his co-worker, panics and Danny doesn't really understand why - how busy can it get at 2am on a Tuesday?

Turns out, very busy. A certain population of Gotham - goons, students, and bird themed vigilantes alike - seem to flock to the coffee shop like feral turkeys. It slows down a bit by 3am and the only remaining resident is a red-caped vigilante who stole a spot in the corner with a hoard of muffins and three cups of light roast coffee, mumbling to himself over crumpled notes.

Danny happens to be walking by to wipe down a table when he overhears, "What the hell could BM mean??" and he can't help but bark a badly concealed laugh. Red Robin whips his head around, the eerie whites of his eyemask gleaming as he seemingly thinks very hard, before offering a very flattering half-smile.

"No, I'm serious! It doesn't mean what you think it means. It's code for something else, I swear."

"Yeah?" Danny ghosts closer, hip bumping against the table as he crosses his arms. (He doesn't think he's imagining it when Red Robin's gaze seems fixated on Danny's forearms and biceps where his t-shirt cuff rolled up. Unless he is? He can't exactly see the guy's eyes are looking.) "What's the context? The Riddler left Batman a love letter again?"

"Worse. Riddler is smart with his clues. This is like trying to decipher a diary written by a toddler." Red Robin's face scrunches into a scowl with a shake of his head, as if trying to shake a thought away. And what can he say? Danny's intrigued. He may double majoring in rocket science, but he's had his fair share of overly complicated vague comments by an omnipotent entity. He's sure a half-assed Riddler-wanna-be goon can't be worse. Danny nudges Red Robin's arm out of the way (and ignores the way the guy turns stiff as a board, not even seeming to breathe for a second) to look at the crumpled paper.

The riddle is... not a riddle. Danny recognizes it immediately, much to his amusement. It's something the kids in Amity used to do in High School to make up cool new slang words.

"It's short-hand but using trigger words or phrases to replace phonemes. Bm is bat-man, which can be replaced by words like 'bowel movement' or 'shit'. See here? The words 'sw' and 'compass' are repeated, I'd bet that's code for northwest - the abbreviated word is 'nw'. Night-wing." Danny squints down at the page again. Red Robin's expression is stupefied, shifting quickly between amused and baffled.

"So... this says that Nightwing is taking a package to Batman? Or they want him to, or are worried that he will? I don't know for sure."

And the amusement is gone. The vigilante's expression turns placid, almost apathetic, even though his skin looks a little more pale; he murmurs a tepid "thanks" and retrieves the paper with a movement that seems a little too panicked.

(Later, Danny will hear that several Gotham-Rogue-wannabes got arrested for attempting to sell a new version of venom. Apparently their plan was to disguise a deadly airborne substance as their first 'shipment' so they could infect the Bats once it was confiscated and then move out their second shipment to actual buyers. The GCPD couldn't figure out how the Bats always seemed to know.)

Despite Red Robin's abrupt departure, he quickly came back to the coffee shop - and often. Obviously, only to get assistance with more cases.

Damian Wayne was not a jealous person.

Jealousy was inefficient. It corroded logic, blurred tactical assessment, and reduced formidable opponents into petulant children grasping at what was not theirs. He had been trained—by the League, by his mother, by experience—to excise such weaknesses with surgical precision.

He did not succumb to petty emotion.

If he did—which he did not—it would certainly not be because of Tim Drake and his… raven.

Time had passed since Ghost entered Timothy’s life. Alongside the bird came the boy who transformed into it—Daniel Fenton—and further alongside those two came the new vigilante who assisted Red Robin with his rogues. A being dressed in stark black and white, who could be seen hovering just behind Drake’s shoulder like an enamored wraith.

Damian was not blind.

The bird.

The civilian.

The vigilante.

All the same individual.

And all of them—every incarnation—were insufferably devoted to the Drake heir.

The bird perched on Drake’s shoulder during briefings, preening his feathers as though he belonged there. The civilian leaned too close when speaking, smiling in a way that suggested secrets and shared history. The vigilante hovered at Drake’s back during patrol, eyes glowing faintly green as he scanned rooftops before Drake even turned his head.

It was excessive.

It was unnecessary.

It was… thorough.

Damian observed this from the shadows of the Cave one evening as Drake adjusted his cape. The small black bird sat comfortably on his gauntlet.

“You are aware,” Damian said coolly, “that animals are not permitted in the Cave without prior approval.”

Drake did not look up. “He’s not an animal.”

The bird chirped.

Damian’s eyes narrowed. “It has feathers.”

“It also files taxes,” Drake replied flatly.

The bird shimmered, dissolving into a swirl of green light. Daniel Fenton stood in its place, hands tucked into his jacket, expression bright and far too pleased with himself.

“Hey, Demon Spawn,” he greeted cheerfully. “Miss me?”

“I do not recall ever expressing anticipation of your presence.”

“Ouch,” Daniel placed a hand over his chest. “And here I thought we were bonding.”

Damian studied him with clinical detachment. Daniel leaned subtly toward Drake as he spoke, as though proximity were instinctual. Drake did not shift away. In fact, he angled slightly closer.

That, above all, was what would have inspired jealousy—if Damian were capable of such a pedestrian flaw.

He did not require a paramour.

He had witnessed the consequences.

Jonathan had practically restructured his existence around his relationship. Richard had endured the humiliating dissolution of his engagement. Romance demanded compromise. Time. Emotional exposure.

Damian Wayne did not need those liabilities.

What he required was efficiency.

And if he were experiencing any flicker of dissatisfaction, it was not romantic in nature.

It was practical.

He wanted a pet he could take on patrol.

He already possessed several animals. They were superior specimens.

Goliath was formidable but far too large for Gotham’s narrower architecture. His wingspan alone would alert half a block.

Batcow, while symbolically powerful, lacked durability against firearms.

Titus was capable, but ultimately mortal—and therefore a vulnerability.

The pets that would not die easily were too intimidating. The ones who inspired affection were too fragile.

Drake’s ghost, however—

The bird could fly silently beside him.

The vigilante could phase through walls.

The civilian form could access restricted areas without suspicion.

And all three followed Drake with unwavering loyalty.

Damian was not jealous.

But if he were, he would admit that such versatility was enviable.

During patrol two nights later, he encountered the vigilante form again. Red Robin grappled across Crime Alley, and the ghost followed effortlessly, floating rather than swinging.

“Left,” the ghost murmured.

Red Robin adjusted mid-arc without hesitation.

A gunshot rang out from a hidden fire escape.

The bullet never reached its target. It slowed midair, glowing faintly green before dropping harmlessly to the pavement.

Red Robin landed, efficient and composed. “Thanks.”

“Obviously,” the ghost replied, drifting closer. “You think I’m letting my boyfriend get ventilated on a Tuesday?”

Damian landed beside them. “You rely excessively on external support, Drake.”

Drake arched a brow. “We’re on the same team.”

“Dependence breeds weakness.”

The ghost floated upside down, meeting Damian’s gaze with infuriating amusement. “Or,” he offered lightly, “it breeds trust.”

Damian scoffed. “Trust is earned.”

“Good thing he earned it then.”

Drake’s lips twitched.

The ghost righted himself and drifted back to Drake’s side—not behind him, not in front, but aligned. Equal.

It was not subservience.

It was devotion.

Damian felt that faint, unwelcome tightening in his chest again.

He dismissed it.

He did not desire companionship.

He desired capability.

Later, in the Cave, Damian approached Drake with deliberate casualness.

“If one were to consider,” he began, voice measured, “acquiring a non-corporeal ally for patrol, what qualifications would be necessary?”

Drake blinked slowly. “You’re asking how to get your own ghost.”

“I am not asking. I am evaluating strategic options.”

Daniel, once more in civilian form, gasped dramatically. “Oh my Ancients. You want one.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“I do not.”

“You absolutely—”

“Fenton.”

Daniel pressed his lips together, visibly restraining laughter.

Drake leaned back in his chair. “You can’t just acquire a ghost, Damian.”

“I acquire many things.”

“That’s worse when you phrase it like that,” Daniel muttered.

Damian ignored him. “The creature demonstrates utility. Aerial reconnaissance. Ballistic interference. Intangible infiltration.”

Daniel brightened. “Wow. You make me sound like a Swiss Army knife.”

“You are loud.”

“I can be quieter.”

Damian studied him, calculating. “And your loyalty to Drake—is that transferable?”

Drake choked.

Daniel’s eyes widened. “Wow. Okay. That’s a question.”

“It is hypothetical,” Damian said stiffly.

Daniel stepped closer, expression softening—not mocking now, but curious. “You don’t need a ghost to keep up, you know.”

“I am not attempting to keep up.”

“Sure.”

“I am not.”

Daniel tilted his head. “You could just ask to patrol together more.”

Damian hesitated.

Drake glanced between them. “He already does.”

Damian scowled. “I ensure operational competence.”

“Uh-huh,” Daniel said gently.

Silence stretched.

The Cave hummed.

Damian crossed his arms. “If I were jealous—which I am not—it would not concern romantic attachment. It would concern tactical imbalance.”

Drake’s mouth curved. “You’re jealous of my bird.”

“I am not jealous.”

Daniel grinned. “You kind of are.”

are you all ready for treadmill thoughts? let's have some treadmill thoughts.

i think one of the ways that AI has most harmed fandom is the slow erosion of trust. which is to say we're all internet strangers and there was no trust. but we do share community and there was a sense of integrity from creators in that social contract. people make things, and we assume that's done through honest means. and there's blow back when that assumption of labor is broken.

it's something we've seen in cycles of fandom -- the accusations of plagiarism and theft, of tracing and copying. there's always been a sort of "keeping honest" that fandom does, and record keeping of those that break the unspoken rules. as fandom has matured, i feel like those horror filled days of old where sock puppet accounts ruled the world, where someone would have their lawyer threaten a defamation lawsuit had long passed.

but there's a new enemy. Gen AI. how easy it is for a random no-name default avatar user to say "huh, this looks like AI" and suddenly there torches and pitchforks. its two fold in problem. one by the people actually using it and giving rise to the sneaky proliferation of AI content in human spaces where people labor for the love of the game. and the slow erosion of the wonder that is human creativity. a slow rot, a poison making every one of us think someone is a witch (uses AI) or that we might be accused of the unspeakable.

but there's thena third thing that's refused to let me be. the purposeful weaponization of that accusation. fandom, to me, has always been a sort of hub. under the umbrella of a shared interest, the world broadens. how we celebrate it, how joyful it is. i have friends in parts of the world and with lush experiences i know because of fandom. i have artists i know about, writers i get to read, that all inspire me and push me to make things. all brought together because of fandom.

and then that accusation -- used as a waynto deride someone ESL, or to deride the ways AFAB people perceive sexual attraction. and how odd this has been happening more as the overton window in the USA shifts. The inherent facism in this new derision of things deemed "degenerate", a US society where ICE terrorizes our cities and breaks international laws by invading delegate buildings.

How curious this week that an artist is implied to be a degenerate fetishist and sexist. How curious and ESL writer is accused of using AI and being robotic for their turn of phrase.

They come threes, right?

Oh, and how odd I'm accused of anti-wokeism and being transphobic for having a character state his pronouns in a smutty one shot.

How. Odd.

@windyengel and I received the following comment on the lie in temporary and while phrased pretty rudely, I wanted to make a general post for anyone that might be sharing a similar sentiment but has not voiced it.

In the intent to be transparent, I replied to them with this comment:

(Please keep in mind I am one author of two and I do not speak for Windy. She might have different sentiments about some things)

Since this is talking about misogyny and heteronormative couples but does not go into specific detail about what exactly this is referring to, I'm going to take a few wild guesses and address what I assume they're talking about.

Before doing this, however, I feel it prudent that everyone understand my own stance on gender. I am nonbinary. I do not apply gender to clothes or makeup or titles. I do not entirely understand what exactly people think the difference is between straight and gay couple behavior. In my opinion, if a dynamic works for you it works, regardless of whatever label someone else wants to put on it.

I apologize to anyone not looking to engage in the drama, your regularly scheduled programming with continue shortly

I just want to say to everyone out there: I NEVER SAID WINDY IS BAD AT ENGLISH. Being a non native english speaker does not mean you are bad at english. I've met ESL (english as a second language) people who speak better english than me and it's the only language I know.

I have watched Windy write. I have sat on call with her and talked through words and sentence structure. We have edited together. She is not AI. I'm warning you now so that you don't go around accusing people of this: the fact that you've accused her of it at all comes across as incredibly languagistic.

What is languagism? (Sometimes otherwise referred to as glottophobia or linguicism)

Languagism, also known as linguicism or linguistic discrimination, refers to unfair treatment, prejudice, or discrimination based on an individual's language use, accent, dialect, or proficiency.

And I'm going to be honest, I am no longer speaking kindly. I am being somewhat harsh. Your comments read as someone young, who doesn't know any better. I am giving you the benefit of the doubt in this and responding in the hopes to help you see where you can grow.

With that said, do not ever call my co-author bad at English again. Do not ever accuse her of AI again. I have a zero tolerance policy on this and it goes for anyone. If you (as in the general you) mention AI in reference to this story, I will delete and block you.

@windyengel and I received the following comment on the lie in temporary and while phrased pretty rudely, I wanted to make a general post for anyone that might be sharing a similar sentiment but has not voiced it.

In the intent to be transparent, I replied to them with this comment:

(Please keep in mind I am one author of two and I do not speak for Windy. She might have different sentiments about some things)

Since this is talking about misogyny and heteronormative couples but does not go into specific detail about what exactly this is referring to, I'm going to take a few wild guesses and address what I assume they're talking about.

Before doing this, however, I feel it prudent that everyone understand my own stance on gender. I am nonbinary. I do not apply gender to clothes or makeup or titles. I do not entirely understand what exactly people think the difference is between straight and gay couple behavior. In my opinion, if a dynamic works for you it works, regardless of whatever label someone else wants to put on it.

See something you don't like? Cool! Keep it to yourself.

Think you can give some constructive criticism? Cool! Keep it to yourself.

You don't get more art by being a bully. All you're doing is leaving a bad taste in all our mouths and making it unlikely she'll draw something for this verse again. Knock that shit off.

This is a ccover for the fanfic the lie in temporary avaliable on A03 by @windyengel and Take_Me_To_My_Fragile_Dreams.

I knew the art I wanted to use from the talented @chubby-p1nk of Tim in consort robes and in my head I knew I wanted eldritch shadow Danny in the background holding onto Tim but wasn't sure how I wanted to create this. I started by coping over tim and removing the background and then placing him to the side. I then went about looking for an eldritch shadow creature to use but couldn't find one anywhere that I liked. So I made one. Added a black oval and found a couple of smoke doodle images i liked and just kept cropping, size changing, angle messing with the same few elements to make him. Added two green glowing circles for eyes, covered in the same elements from all sides. I had my Danny, now I added in tim and continued adding more of the same smoke elements to look like Danny caressing Tim. It took a while to get them to look how I wanted. Added in some black mist and copied over the crown from my WindyEngel VOl 1 cover to go over Tim's head. I added the title and two author names in a small not so noticeable handwriting font around various parts of danny. 

I'd seen a castle element I liked and placed that on the back ready to use, searched for some clouds for a ghost zone background. I found a cloudy element and changed the colours to be green and added in more colour edited clouds around the edges.  Finally I added in the summary under the castle element in the middle and wrapped part of the summary around the top castle element And threw in a qr code. As it is a wrap cover design I just copied over the font for the spine and didn't add anything extra.

This took about 33 minutes to make in canva.

“The Winter spirit had a dumb but adorable smile stretched over his face as he sat on the floor with his back resting against the shelves. It took a few moments for Hiccup to realise it was snowing.

The room was still mostly dark, with the night waiting just outside the broken window, and the little till lamp didn’t illuminate much. But it did manage to catch the little snowflakes as they materialised from the ceiling and made their way to the floor.

Jack didn’t even seem to notice he was doing it, and it left Hiccup marvelling at something so small and beautiful and perfectly impossible but real, just like most of the things in this crazy new life of theirs. The yellow lamp caught on the microscopic fractals and lit them up, making it look like golden little stars flitting through the air.”

- Chapter 20, Forever Is My Tomorrow

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/53726947

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Happy Birthday to the birthday boiiiiiiiii! ❄️