#body horror baby au

[13runningsomething]

Donnie and Beatrice are here to wish you luck for the story competition! (Donnie is, perhaps, a bit nervous. For reasons related to Bea. She's awfully pink.)

Leo offers them a short bow. "Thanks. And same to you! This is still pretty overwhelming, but I'm excited to see how it all works out."

"Your baby's so cute!" Mikey interrupts, with all the subtlety you would expect. "Are they part Kraang?"

His brothers and their guests turn their heads sharply toward him, eyes wide with shock, and perhaps fear.

The moment is broken as Raph grabs him by the shoulder. "The heck is wrong with you?! You can't just ask them stuff like that," he rasps.

"But they look like a Kraang," Mikey innocently pleas.

Leo steps between the two, but reserves most of his attention for the younger. "Then I should remind you that not everybody likes the Kraang, or even the Utrom. If that's what this kid is, they probably wanna keep it on the down-low."

Understanding seems to wash over Mikey's face, and he turns to offer a sheepish apology to their new companions.

Donnie seems to be one step ahead of him, however. "Please excuse our brother, he didn't mean anything bad by it. One of our best friends is actually part-Kraang herself."

His brothers collectively facepalm as Donnie smiles up at his counterpart.

@tmntstorycomp

[themeeplord]

Oh...My god...For the longest time I was wondering "How would Meep draw the other animatronics as creatures/demons/mermaids" BUT NOW I DON'T NEED TO! Circus Baby looks fantastically horrifying, great job I adore the nightmare mouth, I wonder how Eclipse would react to that? Also how fast can Baby go from flat-faced to TEEFS?

aaaAAA- ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

Thank you!!! I'm glad you like her design so much!! :'3

I think mer Eclipse would react like anyone else would: question reality and want to get tf out of there fpfkfjjdjfhf

And to answer your question of how fast she can go from baby face to monster jaws: the answer is REALLY FAST

Mer Circus Baby is from @naffeclipse's fic Song Fish Amid the Stars

[pixlokita]

I don’t think this needs a trigger warning I didn’t draw the blood :0 anyway that’s how they appeared I guess . what… explain how? Idk ? Remnant ?

[blueflipflops]

Been deep into dp x dc rabbit hole these days. Don't know how those two fandoms got together like this but damn do they make good stuff. So heres my little hat in the ring.

I know we love @tourettesdog's Little Baby Man! Danny but how about we pitch in an Eldritch Nightmare! Jazz in the same au?

Imagine while Damian takes in Little Baby Man!Danny, he sometimes disappears and reappears back at the mansion at weird intervals like a stray cat that invites itself to your house, demands to be fed, naps, and then leaves to roam around in the streets.

Damian tries his best to entice the creature to staying permanently in the mansion with food, bed, toys, etc but while Danny likes to stick around him, he doesnt stay for more than a week before he leaves the mansion to roam again. One time Damian tried to stop him, he just gave him big teary eyes and Damian folds like a wet paper towel.

He can't exactly keep him in the mansion when Danny keeps doing this so he tries to follow him instead to know who/what is keeping this creature's attention more than him. It should've been easy but Danny keeps losing Damian either with his powers or he just flies too fast or to small narrow places.

He is so invested on keeping this strange creature that the others are noticing Damian's weird behavior. When they do, they inevitably got invested as well that they actually make bets on catching the weird flying creature their little demon brat of a brother wants to keep as a pet.

They noticed that the creature was going to same area everytime, no matter how far he came from. So they investigated this on their free time until they narrowed it all down to an abandoned warehouse near the sewers.

One of them (y'all pick which batkid, I like to imagine Tim cuz i love tormenting the lil guy) followed the trail to this warehouse and hear the familliar happy excited chirping of the flying menace but the vibes are off. They held their breath as the air suddenly feels heavy. Like one wrong move could be fatal. Like they're in the prescence of a predator. For a minute, everything is silent. Until... something chirped back.

It was a deep and guttural echoing sound that they felt deep within their bones. Their heart raced as they realized that this might have been a bad idea. Nevertheless, they took a deep breath as they turn around to peek at what the actual fuck made that sound.

Their breath caught as their face rapidly lose colors. Before them was a huge creature with a long orange hair that pools onto the floor, similar ears and tail to their brother's little pet, a humanlike face and upper body--well, until the torso which was showing ribs and the creature's insides barely being held together by a thin membrane across its 'stomach' but some intestine like thing is dripping down. Its arms and hands are boney with a thin purple blue skin and long sharp claws.

It hummed as the little guy flew around the eldritch creature with excitable chirps and it felt like the wall he's hiding behind shakes in vibration.

Throwing caution to the wind, they sent a messege to their group chat with a slightly blurry and static-y picture.

'Found your flying noodle. Also found its mother/sister/something??? What the fuck, Damian. What the fuck did you brought back to the mansion?'

Next

Heres without the green haze

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (V)👽👻💚

[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 whatever prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWO is here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and this is part five💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off... Batman had a meeting! Danny acquired age appropriate enrichment toys. All is well. You know. Except for the everything else. But it’s fine and MM is on his way so it’ll all be great soon for sure! :)

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

💚👻👽👻💚

One…Morning? Evening?

Well. One day, Danny rediscovers his tongue.

Most of the muscle is there. Things taste better after he remembers how to taste.

(If everything tastes like iron, well…Danny tries to ignore that.)

Its main function is social. When Danny needs the quiet humans he can’t see to Shut Up or Go Away!, it is now within his power to blow a raspberry.

A slightly bloody raspberry. But still! A success! And when the fuzzy red human buzzes and whines about scaring them off, Danny blows it one too.

If all it does is make the human cry more, hey. That’s not Danny’s business.

*

The buzzy human comes back with its friends, with fresh sheets, spilling nervousembaras!sednervous all over the room.

Blech. Danny saves himself the trouble and phases through his bed and through the floor below. He does not need to be grabbed again.

He has more energy than he used to. It gets him farther than he’s used to; by the time he finds and works his way through an apple, a pear, and a whole plate of chicken wings, he’s still not sleepy.

…Huh. He rolls over underneath his usual haunt: a conference table. He isn’t feeling the urge to drop into his core. He’s achy, sure, and his limbs hurt and his mouth hurts from eating and he can’t see, but also…

Is Danny bored? Is he finally well enough to be bored of being sick and injured?? That’s. Is that progress? Is it…regression??

Danny sulks under his conference table (his now) with a pile of chicken bones and a few stems and doesn’t know what to do.

If he goes back to his bed…will the sheets already be done? Will people be waiting to get him? Did he lose his…ugh, he doesn’t want to think of them as toys. His…enrichment? Educational tools?

…Okay they might be toys. Whatever. When Danny feels better, he’ll grab something more age appropriate. Maybe he’ll get them from his—

Danny flinches.

…From his house.

If he can get there.

Whatever. He doesn’t want to think about that right now. He wants to figure out how to get rid of his trash without revealing his location. Or leave his conference table shelter.

Danny drums his claws against the low-pile carpet that stretches below him. Should he stay? Rest up? Wait for the threats to his admittedly-kinda-pathetic territory to leave? Should he…go get more food? Should he explore more? He feels all kinds of sore and tired but his head mostly feels clear. Maybe if he—

There’s a hissing noise. Danny bristles. He hisses in like, but—oh. It’s a door.

…Oh. It’s the door.

Uh oh. That’s um. That’s.

Uh oh.

Danny quickly pretends that he hadn’t hissed. He invisibly pushes the top of his head through the thick wood of the conference table. They shouldn’t be able to see anything if he peeks.

Well. Unless they can? But if they can, that’s. Uh. That’s a whole new problem.

Several tall, colorful, adult humans walk into the room. He can’t quite tell how many. Just a bunch. And they’re tall. But hey, they’re color coordinated for easier determination, at least.

Danny lowers himself back down through the table. Should he leave? Will they see him if he tries to leave? Can they spot him?

He sits and worries and he dithers as the humans slowly surround the table and the hidden ghost underneath. Should he…should he go through the floor? Will they know he’s there? Is it even safe to get back to his cot yet?

Feet start appearing underneath the table. Danny shies away from them. He pulls his chicken bones away from them too; if they step on one, they might notice him.

Then everything gets quiet. There’s only one quiet, droning voice.

So maybe Danny peeks again.

There’s a giant shadow at the front. It’s probably human. It has black arms and black legs and a patch of what is probably skin in his very fuzzy vision. It stands beside a lit screen.

Danny squints.

…Oh. He can’t quite tell what it’s about, or what’s exactly is being shown on the screen, but he knows what a powerpoint presentation is supposed to look like: a person, a lot of talking, a screen, and a lot of people listening. They’re just…talking. They’re not even talking about Danny.

Okay. He’ll rest under the table. It seems…safe enough for now.

It’s better to listen to human heartbeats and breathing in a room than it is to sit in his silent one, waiting for some new horror to break the everpresent quiet. Danny lays on his belly, nose to the carpet, and counts how many feet are under the table. (There are sixteen feet.) Some humans are wearing real shoes, with inch-thick soles of hard rubber at the bottom. Some are wearing things that look like shoes, but are too flexible, with soft soles that bend and curl as they flex under the table. Very few of them have laces or fixtures. Huh.

A wrapper falls. Danny watches the ball of foil flutter to the floor, at peace with his position, tired of inspecting shoes. And then a face pops down.

Danny freezes. (It’s not the smartest move.)

The face that popped down probably sees him back, considering how still it goes. And then, very slowly, so slowly, a hand reaches down. Danny flinches back, and—

…It grabs the wrapper. The adult carefully gets back up. The face disappears.

Danny doesn’t move. Danny doesn’t leave. Danny doesn’t breathe.

He waits. The human slowly goes back to tapping its toes, wiggling in its seat—and vibrating, in a way that says bored/bored/bored the way the younger human sometimes does.

…No one says anything. No one does anything. No one jumps under the table to get him, there isn’t a break in the speaker that indicates identifying Danny as Present, or as A Problem. Danny is simply…hidden.

He should leave. It would be smart to leave. Danny would be safer if he left.

But also.

Maybe.

This might be the first time he’s been so close to humans in so long.

They don’t know he’s here. It should be…safe. If he just. Listens to the indistinct sound of human voices. Let them wash over him, like a radio left on in the other room.

Danny’s sated. He’s achy. He’s bored. He’s sad. He’s lonely.

…He stays.

He doesn’t notice his humming or the quiet purr in his chest before the hand comes back down again. Danny flinches away from it, the hum guttering to a stop where it had laid.

There’s something about its hand. The hand came down, before, but now there’s something more to it. Another color—a darker color. It’s hard to tell in the shadow underneath the desk. Maybe a—green? A blue? Maybe?

The hand shifts, just a little. And then the thing comes flying at him. Danny jolts backwards, digging his claws into the mere millimeters of carpeting underneath him, and—

Oh. The thing isn’t moving. It hasn’t even exploded.

Danny reaches out a hand. Taps it, gently. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t attack him. It doesn’t excrete anything acidic or bite him. He sniffs it, just to be doubly sure, and nope. It smells like plastic. The wrapper crunches under his hands, even when everything sounds mute and muffled. The noise is borderline imaginary, so Danny can’t exactly tell what it sounds like when he plays with the little plastic flaps.

He can tell what it is now, though. The food bar goes down whole, wrapper and all, into his gullet.

Nice. The outside tastes bad, of course, but it’s nice.

The hand goes away, and no one bothers Danny. It’s nice. There are voices, but they aren’t yelling. They aren’t mean to him. They aren’t talking about what his insides look like or how bad he is or how to take more pieces off of him.

…Danny’s core thrums evenly. Peacefully. Maybe he will want that nap after all. His body gets kind of grouchy when it comes to plastic. He can pretend that it isn’t grumpy with his improvised diet with a nap.

Danny curls up on the floor, core beating along with the quick and even taptaptaptaptap fluttering of a too-quick human heart, and settles in for a quiet one.

(When he wakes up again, no one is around to see him throw out his chicken bones in the tiny trash receptacle by the doorway.)

(His toys and new sheets are all there when Danny gets back to his cot.)

(He’s too relieved to do anything but take a second nap.)

*

“So,” Wally tries, leaning against the wall. “The… Alien? Extraterrestrial?”

Barry shrugs. Fishes a cheeto out of his bag. “Bart’s been calling it a ghoul. They crashed half a mile off the Kent farm a little after you popped out of the Speedforce; there’s a huge chance something happened to them as part of the temporal anomaly.”

“Happened as in…?”

“Yeah.” Barry takes another cheeto. “Bad.”

And theeeere is the visible guilt. There isn’t exactly any great way for Wally to feel after his unintentional resurrection led to an unintentional…something else.

“…Ah.”

Barry shrugs. There isn’t anything they can do about it; short of rewinding time and shoving Wally back into the Speedforce, which has been shoved off the table with a great deal of force by all of the man’s former teammates, there’s no way to undo the accident that landed the poor alien smacking straight into good-old-fashioned American dirt.

“Don’t worry about the way it happened. It wasn’t your fault, and it sure wasn’t intentional on your part,” Barry points out, and offers the bag of Cheetos towards Wally. The snack is gone in microseconds. The curse of speedsters is really footing the bill of all their emotional eating.

“So, they’re…do we know what they are? Because they definitely shapeshifted fangs as soon as I found their little—whatever that is. Container? Unit? Under the table.” Wally traces the vague shape of the thing’s cerulean heart in the air. “One second I was holding a glass paperweight, and the next I was on the opposite end of a very angry shadow-snake. I think they would have done worse than bit me if it hadn’t had a clear escape route out of there.”

Barry balls the empty bag and shoves it into a pocket. If he litters in the Watchtower, it’s going to be water cooler gossip for years. Bats would never let anyone defile his super cool, super-secret base with garbage without his own form of petty revenge. “Medical says it likely serves as an organ for him,” he says instead, since monologue about how inconvenient it is to be held responsible for his own actions wouldn’t be professional. “So. Think of it less as a container; think of it more as a turtle shell. Medical is pretty sure it’s a part of their body. Messing with it would really hurt them.”

“Yeowch.”

“Mmhmm. One micro-sec.” Barry darts out and away from his nephew; he just remembered he has bottled smoothies in his room. In the time it takes him to fetch two from his mini-fridge—one of his favorite flavor and one of Wally’s—and circle back, the dust motes in the air have hardly even realized he’s gone. They hardly drift even upon his return. “Here.”

Wally catches it easily. To anyone else, Barry would barely have blinked away. To any other Speedster…Barry knows intimately how lethargic and thick time feels against his skull. Slowing down to a mortal, human speed can feel maddening. Sore. Viscerally and bone-shatteringly wrong in his skin, maybe.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Barry would do that and more for his family.

They drink their smoothies.

“You know,” Barry breaks back in, the thoughts of their previous conversation looming lightly in his mind, “Medical says that the fact that we sometimes see their—let’s call it a core—is really, really bad. It’s not a shock that they’re hiding. It would be like climbing in a closet when you’re so vulnerable that you don’t feel like you can defend yourself.”

The rim of Wally’s smoothie bottle drops from his lips. The man frowns. “Oh?”

Barry shrugs. “Imagine losing your skull so that your brain is exposed all the time. Imagine being a cell and having your cell wall break so your nucleus is exposed?”

They both wince at the image.

“Oh boy. And Bart is…playing? With that entity?”

His uncle snorts. “You tell me. I think you’ve seen more of them than I have at the moment. All I did was catch them hanging out in a conference room. I have to admit, the purring can get a little loud in the…” he makes a vague gesture that could mean anything from room to atmosphere to Speedforce.

Wally’s been mostly of the same mind—the physics of the entity, whatever they are, aren’t specifically third-dimensional. It might be related to how they only sometimes manifest, or how they manifest with only partial corporeality.

“It’s been at least some play and some games for him, I’m sure,” Wally admits, a smile pulling at his mouth nevertheless. “I spotted him going through a stim toy website before he suddenly and mysteriously had a mission on the other side of the planet. But I think most of his concern is the…”

Wally winces at the thought of the myriad of medical issues the entity’s faced since his arrival to Earth. Barry’s wince stretches to match. They both saw the report.

“…So it’s been a lot of food on Bart’s part. A lot of managing his care of them too; Superboy and Rob aren’t the most straightforward team in the world, but I think they’re largely keeping Bart in check on this one— not that they’re on base as much as Bart is.”

Wally smiles. It’s not a very happy smile, or very relieved of his earlier guilt, but it’s a smile nevertheless. That’s fine. Barry’ll work on the rest on Sunday; they’re due for a good luncheon out somewhere nice. Their JLA-approved food budget can foot the bill. Maybe…Indian? There’s got to be good food in Delhi they haven’t tried yet.

“At least J’onn’s back on base next week.” Wally sighs, crooked and a little weary. “Maybe this will finally get them to stop running every time someone gets within forty feet of them. Like, they realize they’re losing vital fluids, right? Wait, is Bart even giving them any water?”

“…I’m going to hold off on that worrying thought. I have a different one I’m sweating over. Do we even know if Bart will let our resident telepath get within forty feet of his new playmate?”

Wally groans, face in his hands. Barry can’t help but laugh a little—perhaps tinged with desperation.

Sidekicks. Always with the new problems. At least last time they had this problem, Kon could talk.

[evermorethecrow]

WONDEROUS BABY CHUUYA

More detailed photos under cut (gore?+ Body horror warning)

Squamb ❤️ this is Chuuya by technicality

[triple-pupil]

Giving up to peer pressure (and by that I mean @tomasitaoficial 's)

My personal interpretation of

King Asmodeus

Prince of Lust, Lord of sex demons, Nephillim, Amaymon's protégé, unofficial representation of Wrath and Sloth.

Each head expresses the extreme version of his current state of mind;

The Bull is wrath, desperation, impotence and other similar emotions. It tends to express the King's honest and brutal opinion on things and is the most comfrontational. It's mouth is hot as lava and can even spit fire.

The Ram is depression, hopelesness, compliance and nihilism. This head shows Asmodeus' more grounded, although pessimistic, views. It tends to defuse conflict, even through self destructing ways to lower tensions. Of course, it's also a big yes-man. It's mouth is ice cold like a corpse.

The human head is mostly a mystery, it has been dormant for a long time. It used to be awake in Ozzie's youth, but at some point after being caged in Hell, it's consciousness seemed to fade away. Ozzie's top clients say it's mouth is barely warm but soft enough to get the job done.

[destinysbounty]

Sometimes I make content that no one but myself will understand and yall just gotta live with it

[phoenixtakaramono]

OPERATION BABYLON - PART VIII

aka the butchlander sugar baby AU.

Tumblr Navigation (note I have not shared the prologue here with its premise setup; I’ve only started sharing this twitter threadfic on tumblr starting from the 2nd 🔞 scene): I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII

Update Schedule: weekly/ biweekly

Although Billy initially didn’t know what to make of the whirlwind Manhattan high-rise house tour Homelander insisted on bringing him on, he thinks he’s figured out Homelander’s game and the unspoken rules by the time he’s carted off to the second flat. So he settles into the routine of making the appropriate “ooh” and “ahh” noises hearing the Yank regale him, the foreigner, about the supposed history of each place.

(You can read the rest of the threadfic update here!)

Keep in mind, all of my AU Butchlander threadfics on Twitter are the unpolished first draft versions of what’ll eventually be polished up into long fics on AO3 under the Shock and Awe series. So you may regard this threadfic as an experimental first prototype and exclusive preview whose contents may or may not be changed in the future final draft version. We’re just loosely playing around with ideas and concepts for now!

If you don’t have a Twitter account, screenshots are provided below the line break so you can read this update on Tumblr as well:

TBC

(A/N) - Place your bets on which location Billy’s going to choose as his base of operations y’all voted for it so…. From this update, if there’s things I’d probably change from the threadfic in the edited AO3 version is going more into detail about the fascinating lore of 432 Park Avenue (here’s the tl;dr vid of why it’s the most hated building in NY), draw out the scene of the g0ry reveal to heighten the tension of what Billy had just missed out seeing, and provide a better description of the architecture of Hudson Yards shops. Alas I am constrained by Twitter’s character limit per tweet, haha, and this is the first prototype so I’m not too worried.

[bunnieswithknives]

I made a DHMIS OC... It’s name is Anthony and it teaches you about what’s under your skin!

[macabrecabra]

LOVECRAFTOBER: DAY ELEVEN: Azathoth; The Blind Idiot God, The Sleeping Chaos, The Daemon Sultan, the Abyssal Idiot Affiliation: Itself And a render of Azathoth at last! I did a black and white render, but time to add a bit of color to this monstrous being! This serves as the concept art as well as really the best way to figure out how to do Azathoth for the story was treating em always as a background, so here is a quick paint practice!

The mouths are endless, constantly open up wider and wider, melting back in as the new mouth within opens, multiplying endlessly as the idiot god babbles in its sleep all matter of insanity.

The eyes see nothing and only the glow of stars and light will illuminate them at all. The sleeping god must always sleep for their dreams are all of reality and to wake means all will be undone in its idiotic thrashing.

Nyarlthotep is the only one that can make any sense of the mindless babbling to carry out the will of Azathoth, although who knows what "will" an idiot god wants to carry out half the time.

[mudlarkspur]

Donnie and Beatrice are here to wish you luck for the story competition! (Donnie is, perhaps, a bit nervous. For reasons related to Bea. She's awfully pink.)

well ... at least her reaction is probably unique?

@tmntstorycomp

desc under readmore

side/back shot of BHB!Donnie looking exasperated holding Bea, who is reaching out with tentacle arms. CY!Donnie is standing across from them, twisting away and looking alarmed.

Donnie: is that god??? it's real? ... are those pants???

(note: the word 'pants' has more underlines than 'god', indicating that's what Donnie is more alarmed about.)

on the lower right side of the page is a note that says (hasn't seen any Krang, has seen the Titan)

[themeeplord]

@naffeclipse's Mer Circus Baby from Song Fish, but my mind took one look at her and then proceeded to do its thing.

The rest of the design is under the cut. Warning for mouth centric body horror.

You know her face plates that move? She needs those in her mer form too.

I have an idea for the scooper too, but I felt that this post would be disturbing enough so I kept it out.

This is not 100% accurate, but honestly I just wanted to go ham. (I know she has a tongue in the fic, it can still be hiding in there somewhere, I just didn't find a place for it in any of these drawings)

[huh-1260]

I found my angst, just had to switch Link. So now Twilight is getting torment with a AU idea.

Our Twilight was dead the entire time and is haunting the chain but he doesn't remember that he's dead. Twilight died around his thirties, and Hylia didn't use alive Twi, but dead Hero Shade Twi, who was grieving over his short cut life and having Illa to raise the kids by himself (I am a Midna x Link/Twi shipper but I understand the appeal of Illa x Twi/Link, and how more in likely this is to happen when Twilight settles down after a while searching for a way to visit Midna). Hylia hid the fact that Twi was dead for even himself because one: need reason to create Time Hero of Shade, two: give Wild a connection to keep him around, three: Get the Traveler to trust in other Hylians, Four: To get Four a reason to end up in Termina so the Fierce Deity mask is created along with Majora's mask (That is completely headcannon that Four made both of their prisons, this is not fact! Also pieces of the Twilight realm mirror is also there, which is also just headcannon) Five: Get Wars to acknowledge the Lokomo Spirits gift to him, so Twilight can move on along with some other ghost, and then they could grab living Twi.

But here's the thing, what Hylia didn't expect was the fact the Shadow injured Ghost Twi's little physical form for his ghostliness. Which leaves him fine, because he's dead, but it triggers every sealed memory of his future before Wars acknowledges the Lokomo spirits gift, the gift of sight to see the dead, so when the chain is in a inn, that's what happens is Twilight is remembering whether he likes it or not, and runs out of the inn flickering as a ghost and Hylia's gift of a physical shell so everyone else can see him. And when Twi runs out of the inn, he bumps into Warriors who was with Legend and didn't notice Twi. Which leaves Wars panicked about Twi dying (Lol, Twi is already dead) so Wars chases after Twi's ghost much to Legend's confusion.

When Twi is alone, he remembers and starts crying laying on the floor, crying and begging for forgiveness from his family and from Shade for dying so young. Also inserting another headcannon based off of a certain Netflix show (I think??It's been a while and that's probably not how this works) but for Twilight grieving he's looping if it makes sense. Repeating over and over the same thing and not stopping because he's angry and sad at his own death. (He thinks he's a failure)

And it just so happens that happens that when Wars found him, Twi called him by his first child's name. (I headcannon that Twi has two kids, he died before the second one was born. And it just so happens I gave him a daughter as a first born) At first Wars is confused, but uses it to get Twi back to the inn, and with Twi flicking in and out of existence for everyone else but Wind and Wars. Basically Twilight is not okay and neither is the chain once Twi calms down/Twi eventually explains. May turn this into a whole fic or reuse this idea for another fic.

[peachyfuck18]

So the other night I had a dream that one day certain Horror Icons ended up getting Disney princess powers by getting animals to love them and getting them to the killings for them cause in reality deer and swans look cute but are actually murderous fuckers. Here’s how I think that went

-Billy Loomis finds out due to a raven landing on his shoulder one day and soon discovers that he can just control animals just by singing to them but it’s more Phantom of the Opera than typical Disney songs(Skeet Ulrich singing Christine’s parts in think of me cmon just picture it) and of course nobody’s gonna believe a rabbit killed some douchebag jock with its squirrel friend and they see him with Stu and they try to get them together like picnic dates and making a gothic sun dress for Billy just to see him and Stu together

-Carrie White is of course surprised that bunnies and sheep that come to see her but their great company. Especially the doves that come by her windows to greet her and of course helping Carrie with her dress design and while she’s at prom they make sure to get the jump on Margaret and Chris giving her a good night out

-Jennifer Check has no idea why the bats in her attic are now suddenly friendly towards her but she just thinks it’s her demon powers but also goats that escape the local farm just to see her but Needy finds out and she just thinks it’s adorable and of course the animals trying to get them together especially the swans she somehow managed to befriend

-Patrick Bateman one day waking up to find a four course breakfast meal on the table and coming home to find the dishes washed and put away and his disgust when he finds out it was the mice, pigeons and sewer gators of New York City but figures could have a good use for them. Alligators with their pigeon friends have a good use for rivals of Bateman and they are good help around the house

-Ash Williams is just having an average day to his job to S-Mart til he finds a deer trying to give him a flower when he wakes and a snake picking out his clothes for him to get ready but hey he’s seen weirder. But that doesn’t mean he enjoys it. I mean think like can’t get a moments rest without some rats trying to cook him dinner or a wolf licking him in the face to get up in the morning or raccoon and hares cleaning his house. He’s not sure what the necronomican says about this but he’ll be damned if he lets this continue

-Baby Firefly wakes up one day to an armadillo brushing her hair and vultures bringing her roadkill but whatever she thinks it’s cute no matter what Otis or Spaulding say about it

Yes the other horror icons are making fun of them cause why would they get Disney princess powers when their HORROR icons but even they don’t know how they got these powers

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (VII)👽👻💚

[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 whatever 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 this is lucky number seven baby 💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off... Martian Manhunter did a Whoopsie. Things are better than they were though, so...success? YJ got in trouble with Batman but Danny wasn't exactly cognizant enough to notice so that got relegated to the tags.

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

💚👻👽👻💚

The debriefing team meets J’onn in a meeting room not too far from the cafeteria. By the time he makes it to the correct floor, the team has clearly been waiting on him; on the table are a pack of Chocco cookies, a large order of fries, and a ten pack of chicken nuggets. 

J’onn inclines his head. It’s nice to see that his favorite meal is remembered. “Thank you, Batman.” 

Batman’s nod is equally as formal. The human is already most of the way through his italian sub. “No thanks needed. Were you successful in your contact with the entity?” 

Ah. Right to the details, then. J’onn obliges the question with a seat at the table. Black Canary, a chair to his right, gently scoots over to provide him more space. 

In the end, J’onn is relieved to have a prop in his hands. It creates a small, if flimsy barrier between himself and the images the boy had shown him. 

What he knows now…

J’onn sighs. 

The room is peaceful— likely intentionally so, in order to ease the oncoming conversation. Wonder Woman and Black Canary sit beside each other, their individual meals open and half-eaten between them. As the facilitator of the conversation, Batman sits at the end of the table; as the secretary of the meeting, Superman sits beside him, his sloppy joe in one hand and a keyboard beneath the other. 

J’onn quietly tears open the packaging of his pack of cookies. Plucks one from its plastic insert inside. Chews. Swallows.

“The first thing to note is that although the entity's primary language is not known to me, he is extremely familiar with humans— and, likely, with Earth.” 

Superman swallows the rest of his sandwich in one gulp, nods, and begins to type. Batman turns to face J’onn directly. “How so?” 

“He has many memories of flying freely in Earth’s atmosphere, specifically; the stars line up with the star patterns as viewed from this planet. He is intimately familiar with several aspects of Earth’s culture, including the idea of ‘a bedroom’, which he identified as his own, and a childhood toy, which was a scale model of an Earth spacecraft. If I was shown a variety of options, I could likely pick out which craft specifically. He has a mind for detail.”

Superman’s fingers flick rapid-fire over the keyboard. J’onn happens to be aware of the Krytponian’s career, as the local telepath, but rarely is the man's passion so clearly shown; the focus and quick hands certainly project an air of professionalism around an otherwise at-ease debriefing room.

“You’re using he/him,” the Kryptonian observes, making additional notes in the margins of the in-progress report. “How did that come about?”

“He does have an understanding of the most common gender identities of Earth, and has a favored one. How he came about it…” J’onn inhales. It is a very human gesture. “…I do not know his origins for certain, but I have several theories.”

Batman cuts off an oncoming question from Superman with a silent wave of his hand. “Base information first. Questions and theoreticals at the end.”

Superman’s face at the hindering of his professional instincts is perhaps less than completely mature. “Yes, yes.”

J’onn takes a second cookie.

It’s easy to report on certain things; the entity's initial inability to communicate without acute pain, the subsequent reaction of the teenage team, the eventual discovery of clear communication and transference of emotion.

“Not all of his thoughts were particularly clear.” J’onn nibbles on the edge of his cookie. Black Canary pushes aside her empty tray of California rolls to give her pen and notepad space. This portion of the debrief necessitates more of her skills. “Most of the memories that he aimed to show me were value-neutral, or otherwise unrelated memories, likely due to the stress of his current and deeply traumatic situation. He preferred memories that did not have pain or distress associated with them. When prompted—I displayed my own perspective of the crash we had found him in— the associated memories that were brought up implied that not only was he the pilot of the craft, but that he had a hand in building it.”

Superman’s rhythmic tapping undercuts the soft conversation. “So he is sapient, then, despite the difficulties in communication,” Wonder Woman confirms softly.

“More than. There are echoes of formalized schooling and other instruction in his mind, although I couldn’t discern the topics of the lessons.”

“Were there other beings like him? Anyone we could reach out to? Family members, friends…?”

J’onn hesitates. There’s no way to confirm what he saw. However…

“…There are memories that he has of his own person, in which he looks very human. His self-conceptualization is of an adolescent human boy.”

The grief in the room is palpable. J’onn doesn’t have to look up to feel it press in on him from all sides.

“I suspect that…in the same way that Superman has largely spent his life on Earth, this boy has at least spent several years on Earth as well. There are glosses of memories of an adapted human house, though I was unable to safely explore how far back they went. There are humans who prominently play a role in his self-image and expected worldview, although the mental representations of them have scarred over with some form of psychological trauma. Overall, despite his current form, there was likely a time this child felt safe around both humans and human scientists.” 

Silence rules over the room. 

“...Do we know what changed that?” Black Canary asks, without looking up from her notes. Her pencil eraser taps quietly against the table. 

J’onn sets the package of cookies to the side. “Not…so exactly. There were hints of memories threaded throughout the recalled moments that he did not wish to pin down. Claustrophobia. Fear of incarceration. The fear of physical harm done to him— and the psychological harm of knowing with exact certainty that there were those willing to hurt him. …Intimate betrayal.” 

Superman and Black Canary’s eyes quietly close. Batman looks hardly moved under his cowl; if J’onn could not feel the man’s stress spike in the air, he might not have ever known how worried the human was. 

J’onn isn’t actually meant to know Superman’s circumstances as to his arrival on planet Earth, but there are equally few ways that any of the league can hide the entirety of their thoughts from him— especially at the time of his initial arrival into the League, when mental defenses had yet to be erected in a comprehensive manner. This situation smacks strongly of the story of Clark Kent, son of his human parents. 

“There is no way to confirm my guess without further conversation on the topic. However, it is incredibly likely that he lived under the radar, on Earth, for a lengthy enough span of time to acclimate to human society. The discovery of his non-human biology would have spurred further action, and the result would have given reason for his fear of medical professionals, scientists, and adult humans. Likely, the other humans in his memories meant to support him, and were prevented from doing so or injured in the process. The vehicle that had crashed back to Earth would have served as—”

“—An escape route,” several voices overlap together. 

J’onn nods. His fingers steeple together. “There is no way to know how far into space he had gotten, or if his escape was aided by others of his species, or even if the point of origin was in low atmosphere or Earth's orbit. Either way, our patient is alone now, is in extreme background pain, has lost perception in several of his senses that exclude taste, and has reluctantly bonded with the junior team due to a lack of more familiar presences.”

Batman’s emotional presence circles into a silent exhale of frustration. “That would be Impulse’s under-the table operation,” the human correctly identifies, dry as the desert. 

(J’onn is certain that the vigilante will never reveal it, even to himself, but the exhale has its own quiet, microscopic tinge of reluctant amusement.)

“I don’t think it qualifies as under-the-table if you have a running file on his activities, dated and timed by every individual interaction,” Superman points out, not even bothering to glance at the now-slightly-peeved Batman. 

“Hn.”

“Oh, very mature.” 

“It was not league sanctioned.”

“Neither are the majority of your movements,” Wonder Woman points out. The fork from her salad punctuates her sentence with a tease and a wave. “If you informed us your security plans for the Watchtower any earlier than a week after you had already installed the new measures, I would assume you were an imposter and prepare for battle.”

Batman hardly looks put out. He achieves deception with his whole body. J’onn genuinely admires how discordant his behavior and churning thoughts can be. 

“Hn.”

 “Oh, very well-spoken,” Black Canary flatters insincerely, toying with her pencil against her paper. 

It would be very immature of Batman to sulk. Therefore, he does not. 

“Returning to the point of this meeting… Are there any other pertinent details we ought to know?” 

J’onn considers shrugging. He packs three chocco cookies into his mouth instead, chews, and swallows. There are only two cookies left in the pack, now. 

“The biological mechanism utilized for his empathic sense is vibrationally-based. That would be why my initial attempt at communication failed so tremendously; if he does have a neurological center, it is too deeply damaged to interpret telepathic input. He has a fondness for astronomy, can recognize the color red with greatest ease, and likely needs high contrast if we would like him to recognize any materials we provide. He imprinted on Impulse likely because the boy’s presence in the Speedforce mimics the energy readings he expects to see in those of his species.” 

Superman hums. His fingers fly. “So he must have met others of his species before.” 

J’onn makes a so-so motion. “There is no way to be certain. His abilities may be instinctually pre-programmed, or he may have had access to outside materials to teach him.” 

Batman’s arms cross. His sandwich, which had been sitting on the table, is now entirely vanished— wrapper and all. “Was there any evidence as to either particular theory you were able to pick up on?”

“...No.” Hadn’t he indicated such?

“Was there any personal information you were able to pick up on?” 

J’onn has to think about that one. The topic hadn’t come up during their mental exchange, when so much more of the focus had been on creating basic understanding of the Watchtower, his presence within their base as a patient and not as a prisoner, and his current location on the moon. Anything else that J’onn might have gleaned would have to be determined on supposition and analysis. 

“...He enjoys astronomy.” J’onn tries to recall the exact memories he had seen, and only ends up reiterating what he has already said. Perhaps highlighting certain moments will make the narrative clearer. “His childhood dwelling had little stickers on his ceiling. They would stay lit even when the room went dark—”

“...Glow in the dark stars,” Superman whispers under his breath. J’onn exhales. This isn’t a familiar point of human culture for him. He’s glad his description is recognizable. 

“Yes. He organized them to mimic Earth's constellations. He had smaller, handheld versions of rocket ships. Even if he had not known of extraterrestrial origins, he was drawn to the cosmos.” 

Batman coughs. The gesture is a reflex to suppress some welling emotion. J’onn pretends that it works. “Both items are…markers of a young child,” Batman admits. “Indications of a quite young, very human childhood.” 

Ah. J’onn can more deeply recognize the sense of tragedy welling in the air. The items are astronomy-based yes, but they equally highlight his age. 

“When he donned a human appearance, he matched the coloration of the human family who took him in. As fleeting as their acquaintance might have been, he modeled his human form after them— solidly enough and surely enough that, if he feels strong enough to form a mental self-representation, I can see the outline of it in his memories.” No details, beyond vague hints in the entity's mind of his hair and her eyes and their skin.

“Very loved,” Wonder Woman murmurs. 

“Very young, and very loved,” Black Canary reiterates with a sigh. Her notes are a black mess of graphite. “And now he fears adult humans.” 

“Yes,” J’onn admits. The cookies are gone. He sets the wrapper to the side. He reaches for the chicken nuggets. “That said, he has an instinctual familiarity with black and with red hair, will likely experience less fear with a female profile as opposed to a male, and responded favorably when offered the chance to interact with an adult who did not mean him harm. The fact that we have largely indestructible adults at our disposal works to our advantage.”

It is very, very clear who exactly fills that description. Wonder Woman sits up straight, laces her fingers together, and very kindly curtails her smugness. If Superman and Batman would like to be jealous of her current position, they may do so at their own discretion.