#created a creature for a phantom fic

[emotigonecreative]

Another year another invisobang! I was so stoked to be paired up with summerssixecho and sillysugargliders for this year's bang, and decided to create 1-2 illustrations for each chapter of Summer's fic Impossible Creatures.

Summary:

When Dani ends up asking Valerie for a place to stay, Val wasn't expecting to uncover more questions than answers about who this half-ghost girl is or where she really came from.

Thank you to the mods for another awesome event, and thank you to my partners for being awesome to work with!! Its been a blast~ :3c

(And if you haven't already seen it, def check out sillysugargliders piece for the fic! They did a whole animatic and it turned out so cool!!!)

[starry-bi-sky]

show me how to lay my sword down long enough to let you through - clone^2 ch1

A little boy has landed in Amity Park, and he looks suspiciously like the 13-year-old Damian Wayne living in Gotham. Good news: he landed in front of Danny just as he was finishing up his fight with a ghost. Bad news: the little Damian-look-alike doesn't speak a lick of english, has a sword, and seems very keen on using it whenever he can. Against Danny specifically.

Danny already has his own issues to deal with -- like how it's not even been a year since he found out he was a clone of Bruce Wayne specifically, with all the identity issues that come with such a revelation -- and a stab-happy six year old that was very obviously a clone of Damian Wayne was not one of them. However, the kid was alone in a foreign country, and despite his hostility, it's very clear that he's terrified.

Call him a bleeding heart, but Danny takes him home.

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womp i wrote it and posted it. truly, it was only a matter of time before i did. my clone^2 au except now it's a fic! Here is the humble beginnings of this au if anyone is interested. The full thing is also posted below the read more if you want to read it here instead.

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Danny knows more than he probably should about ghosts, ectoplasm, and all things relating to it — courtesy only in partial credit to his parents and largely to every ghost, spirit, mythological creature, and conceptual entity taken sentient form he’s ever come across in the last two years of his run as Phantom. 

For example: he’s learned how to classify the difference between a ghost and a spirit when the words are synonymous with each other. He knows that ghosts cannot pass into the Realm of the Living without a naturally-made or manmade portal that splits the seams between dimensions like holes being chewed through a shirt. 

He knows that spirits are just weaker could-be ghosts that are trapped in the Living Realm, unseen by the Living, with unfinished business until someone can come along to help them move on. He’s helped quite a handful of them in the last two years thanks to his clairvoyance, but the city has more spirits than he could possibly know how to deal with. So his efforts are like trying to empty a pond with a bucket. 

Danny still tries, anyway. One afterlife saved is one afterlife saved, right? 

What he also knows is that natural made portals are exceedingly rare. That they occur when ectoplasm in any given area for some reason or another currents against each other, condensing and building in energy and density until eventually something gives and like snow on top of a roof it caves in and creates a portal. 

He knows that these natural made portals typically only last a few seconds at a time, and vary between the size of a rodent and a marsupial no bigger than a wallaby. He knows that most natural portals only last from a few seconds to a few minutes, with the record-holder being five minutes from a portal that was the size of a toddler. 

And the reason they never last so long is because ectoplasm is an energy, like most energy, it usually has somewhere to go. It cycles through plants, through the animals, through the ground, anywhere it can reach. It’s cousins with solar energy in that sense. Meaning it, usually, has little opportunity to clash and current with the rest of the ambient ectoplasm in the area.

But it does happen, albeit rarely, and only for a few seconds. Like the equivalent of a static shock; it’s only there for a moment before it collapses in on itself and disappears. 

So with that being said, Danny likes to think he’s — maybe not an expert — but fairly knowledgeable about the existence of natural made portals. The Ever-Infinite Bridge Between Realms is ever-expanding, ever-growing, and with it so is the information he has on it. Anything could become obsolete in a moment. 

And the only reason he’s thinking about it is because his parents were talking about portals in the kitchen earlier that evening, talking about their portal specifically, but Danny latched onto it, and his mind wanders. He’s not sure why they were talking about it, the portal has been running, unfortunately smoothly for the last two years. He has the scars and eyebags (and trauma) to prove it. 

Besides, his mind should be on other things. 

Like the goddamn flying snake he’s been chasing across the city skyline for the last thirty minutes. An amphiptere his mind unhelpfully supplies, a word he grabbed nearly two years ago when he first started out as Phantom and was desperately looking up the various ectoplasmic creatures slipping through his parents’ portal. 

Some of them didn’t have proper names — like a three-eyed fox he once saw with the tail of a peacock and hooves of a goat. He managed to lure it out of the alleyway it backed itself into with a nasty burger. It tore into it with the fervor of a starving coyote and Danny let it finish eviscerating the burger before sucking it into his thermos.

It was incredibly disturbing to watch at the time, since the thing had an almost beak-shaped muzzle, but now he wishes he was back in the alleyway trying to coax out a ecto-fox-griffin thing rather than chase after what was basically a dragon with no legs — it doesn’t even have the decency to be a wyvern. 

He’s only keeping up with the stupid snake due to his grappling hook, something Danny made a year ago in order to keep up with the ghosts flying around the city, and his best fucking self-made invention yet — made from the discarded inventions from his parents’ lab — with his jawbreaker gloves coming in at close second, if only because he gets to call them his jawbreakers. 

(It was remarkably simpler than the grappling hook — he just reinforced the knuckles on his gloves.) 

Because as much as he likes running, he was going to give himself a heart attack if he chased every ghost he came across on foot. It’d take him all night just to find one. And there was something inherently freeing in the terrifying, adrenaline-rushing sensation of soaring through the air with nothing but hard ground below and endless sky above. 

The amphiptere twists its head and looks behind it, and Danny gives it a little shit-eating grin from behind his mask and a small, two fingered salute. The mane of feathers behind the snake’s head puffs up like a frilled lizard, and it opens its maw to hiss — this distorted, almost screeching sound — at him menacingly. 

Danny, in response, scoffs under his breath and waves a hand in front of his nose. “Ugh.” he mutters, scrunching up his nose as the snake’s hot breath hits him square in the face. “Someone should throw you one of those dental doggie treats.” 

The snake, of course, doesn’t hear him over the sound of its shrieking and the wind. When it twists back around, it dives to the ground, flicking its tail harshly like it’s hoping to hit him as it goes down. 

Finally, Danny thinks, dodging out of the way with a twist of his body, and follows it down into the factorial district of Amity Park. It’s already disappeared somewhere when his feet hit the sidewalk, but the buzzing of his ghost sense still tingles on the back of his neck like a seventh sense. So it’s still nearby. 

Danny’s grappling hook retracts with a quiet, zipping noise. He hooks it onto the loop of his jeans, and stalks down the side of the road. 

Spirits linger beside the buildings. Men, women, and kids wearing clothes from all different time periods congregating in groups and conversing with one another, playing, watching him. Cities never sleep, they doze, and the dead come out at night when the living aren’t there to wake it up. Danny’s spoken to them many, many times. 

“Excuse me.” He murmurs, tapping a man in overalls and a railroad cap on the arm. If it weren’t for his faint green glow and how he wisps at the edges, the man would almost look alive. The man turns to him, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead when he sees Danny. “Have you seen a flying snake coming through here?” 

The man blinks at him, “As a matter o’ fact,” he says, adjusting the cap on his head, “I have. Flew down the road like a bat out of hell.” The man points down the street, and Danny leans around him to see. “Thought it was gonna knock me righ’ out my work boots.” 

Danny presses his mouth into a thin line, making a low ‘hn’ sound in the back of his throat. “Did you see if it went into one of the buildings?” He almost hopes it did, he could probably try and sneak up on it that way. Man, he needs some kind of stunner or something. 

“Right in there.” The man tells him, pointing to an old brick factory with the windows grimy and cracked. Of course, Danny sighs out of his nose. If he squints, he can see a green glow coming through the glass. 

If he’s lucky, he won’t run into the Box Ghost while he’s in there. He turns to the man and nods politely, “Thank you.” And when the man nods back, Danny turns and hurries down the street. He weaves around the spirits congregating around him, he’s heard from one-too-many spirits how irritating it is to be walked through by the Living. 

The door is rusted and locked when he finds an entrance, only made worse by the chain wrapped around the door for good measure, with a padlock. Of course. Rolling his eyes, Danny reaches for his pocket and pulls out a lockpick — too many times doing this has taught him to bring one along, just in case. 

(Man, he was envious of ghosts’ abilities to just phase through things. It would save him a lot of trouble. And roadburns, bruises, broken bones, and every other injury known to man.)  

He jams the lockpick into the padlock, jiggles it roughly, and unlocks it with a soft click. “They need better locks.” Danny mutters, pulling off the chain carefully with quiet, metallic clattering, and putting it on the ground. He jams the lockpick into the door lock, and with a little more finesse, unlocks that one too. 

The door opens with a heavy creak that has Danny scrunching his shoulders up to his ears and his mouth pulling back with a sharp inhale. Shit, he freezes in place, darting his eyes around for the amphiptere. 

He sees its glow off in the corner, stark ectoplasm green against the red brick walls, half hidden behind empty conveyor belts and forgotten, empty metal barrels. It doesn’t notice him, with the door open he can hear a loud crrrchk-ing followed by intermittent bangs. 

It’s chewing on something, wriggling around like a cat playing with a toy mouse. Danny silently creeps in and slips through the gap between the door, closing the door behind him slowly. His eyes never leave the amphiptere. It still doesn’t notice him. 

Two years isn’t that long to teach yourself how to be stealthy, but when you’re doing it every night, you learn quickly. Danny keeps himself low to the ground and his footsteps light. The amphiptere is oblivious to him; its clanging, hissing, snarling drowns out the room to any other noise. 

As he gets closer, Danny unhooks his thermos again. There’s a quiet click as he opens the lid with a press of a button, and the thermos hums to life in his hand, warming up against his palm. He creeps around the conveyor belt, his breathing slow and steady. 

When he reaches the amphiptere, its back is facing him. It coiled itself close to the ground, its jaw clamped around a metal barrel that’s been crushed like a tin can down the middle. Danny clenches his teeth, discomfort shivering down his spine. That could’ve been his arm had it decided to fight back. 

Silently, he raises his thermos at the snake, and with his arm steady, his thumb slams one of the buttons. There’s a recoil like he’s firing a gun, and Danny finds his purchase on the ground as a beam of light lashes out and hits the snake. 

The reaction is immediate. The amphiptere drops the barrel with a hideous, furious shriek and lashes out, trying to escape from the beam dragging it towards the thermos. But Danny’s long since learned that the pull of the thermos is much stronger than most ghosts, so long as he doesn’t disturb the tractor beam. 

One thing is for certain — keeping the damn thing steady is one hell of a forearm workout. His arms used to shake after a fight, and they’d feel sore in the morning. Not so much anymore since Danny started working out with Sam.

(Tucker declined when they asked him if he wanted to join — he’ll stick with his tech and walking on the treadmill.)  

When the amphiptere disappears inside the thermos, Danny slams the lid back on and slumps with relief. Finally, he groans quietly, clipping the thermos onto his belt and pressing his hand to his lower back to stretch. There’s a satisfying pop-pop-pop, and Danny sighs from his nose. He’s calling it a night. 

He glances at the time on his phone. It was three am, fantastic. He has school in four hours. 

Other than the snake, tonight had been blessedly quiet. Danny spoke to some of the spirits lingering around Third and Main downtown, got some of their information so he could start helping them with moving on — two murders and then a simple fetch quest, — chased down a few other ghosts — most of them just ecto-entities, but there was a young ghost child who he had to play hide and seek with before she would agree to be taken home in the thermos. 

He also got into a fight with a fellow teen ghost who wanted to see the “Death-Touched” and if Phantom was as good a fighter as the rumors say he was. Danny’s been called “Death-Touched” since the night he snuck into the lab and released every single ghost his parents had trapped in cages, that wasn’t unsurprising. A little a lot ominous at first, but Danny is nothing if not adaptive. 

He’d kicked the other teen’s ass, dragged him into the thermos, and moved on. 

But other than that, tonight had been tame. So before Murphy can come and kick him in the teeth, Danny’s calling it a night. 

Danny is one step towards the exit when he hears a loud, suctioning noise followed by something akin to a glacier cracking down the middle. His heart sinks instantly to his feet, and the chill of his ghost sense crawls up his throat and freezes the back of his teeth. No mist spills out, yet. 

Ah, fuck. Danny stifles a groan, turning back around. There goes the rest of his night. 

A portal the size of an acorn swirls into existence right before his eyes, and then rapidly grows. Swirling like a whirlpool, it grows bigger and bigger until it’s half the size of him. The bigger it gets, the tenser Danny becomes — the bigger the portal is, the bigger the ghost that can slip through gets. 

Please don’t make him face the snake’s fucking cousin. Danny prays, rapidly scurrying back with his hands raised defensively. He scowls under his mask, and waits tersely for something to fall through. Whatever comes through, he hopes it’s friendly. Or slow. Or maybe both. 

Danny doesn’t get another winged snake. 

Instead, a child stumbles out of the portal. A non-glowing, living-colored child who couldn’t be any older than six, and who rapidly spits out a phrase in a language Danny doesn’t catch. Danny’s hands drop slightly from his side, bewilderment settling in the back of his throat. 

As the child rights himself, the portal dissipates behind him with a hissing sigh. It takes Danny’s ghost sense with it, and the chill evaporates from his mouth. 

Oh, oh no. 

Danny’s heart drops from his feet straight into the ground. Six feet into the ground. Oh, fuck. 

That was a living child. That was a living child. That was a whole-ass living child.

If natural portals were rare, then whatever the hell this was — teleportals, Vlad’s teleports, whatever — was unheard of. The only time he’s seen a portal that transported someone from one place to another on the same plane of existence was Vlad. His man-made teleportals. 

Natural portals between one place to another? He’s never heard of such a thing. And one just opened in front of him and spat out a child. A human, living child. A portal just kidnapped a child.  

A child who, Danny realizes, is holding a sword. A katana, of all things. One that was designed to match his size. A child who was, for a lack of better words, wearing something Danny would expect a ninja to wear. A child who was dressed from head to toe in black. 

A child who looks suspiciously like a baby-faced Damian Wayne. Brown skin and green eyes and all, but with youth still clinging to his cheeks. It couldn’t be Damian Wayne himself — that boy was thirteen, and Danny would’ve heard from Sam if something happened to him. 

So this meant either two things: Damian Wayne was just now turned into a child and dropped into Danny’s lap, or this was a clone of Damian Wayne. Danny was thinking it might’ve been the latter. 

Fuck you, Murphy, he thinks instantly, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. This was mean. 

He stares, uncertainty — and perhaps a little bit of nausea — forming a pit in his chest, as the child makes eye contact with him. The air is silent and thick — with dust, asbestos, or just the silence, Danny isn’t sure. Maybe all three. But they stare at each other for a long, suffocating moment. 

Then the kid — Damian — lunges at him, his sword quickly unsheathed.

“Shit!” Danny dives back, just barely dodging being grazed by the gleaming blade. That was fast. Danny isn’t around living kids often but that was too fast, that much he knows. Kids don’t move that fast on their own. Not without being taught.

Damian spits something at him in that foreign language, his face twisting with anger, and the kid turns himself and lunges once again. Danny dodges again, swatting the sword away reflexively with the side of his gloved hand. 

“I can’t understand you.” He tells him, his voice comes out rougher than he meant it to, and it comes out muffled from his mask. Please tell me you know English, he hopes, hopping up onto the old conveyor belt. 

“'Akhbirni 'ayn 'ana walan 'aqtulak.” Damian snarls, chasing up after him with worrying ease. Danny swats away another stab at him, frowning when the blade leaves a cut in his leather glove. It doesn’t reach skin, but the fact of the matter is that Damian still cut his glove. 

He doesn’t know English either, great. Perfect. Fantastic, even. Danny backs up on the conveyor belt, twisting away from Damian’s attacks with… well, not relative ease, the kid is faster than Danny’s expecting, but he’s not getting hits in. So some ease. 

But Danny’s been fighting ghosts for the last two years. Fighting entities capable of moving at the speed of light leaves you with quick reflexes and even quicker eyes. Damian jumps up to try and kick him in the face, and Danny ducks down and dashes off the conveyor belt, hopping to the next one over.   

When his feet hit the belt, he uses the momentum to leap up onto a rusty shelf. His fingers dig into the sides, and he climbs, vaulting his legs up to the top once he’s high enough. He twists around and stares down at Damian, instinctively crouched on his fours. “I’m not fighting you.” Danny says sternly, watching the kid hop after him. “I don’t fight the living, and I don’t fight kids.” Living ones, that is. Youngblood was fair game. 

Damian scowls, pointing his sword at him accusingly from the conveyor below. “Tawaqaf ean alrakd wawajahani 'ayuha aljaban!” Then he’s jumping up after him, doing an impressive flip in the air before latching onto the lower shelves and climbing up. 

Admittedly, Danny is rooted to his spot with disbelief. What the fuck? “Who taught you that?” He says unwittingly, bewilderment slipping into his voice. Seriously — who taught him that? What six year old knows how to do a backflip at this age? Who made you, kid?

Naturally, Damian doesn’t answer him, and Danny grabs his grappling gun and aims it at the rafters. With a quick pull of the trigger, the hook shoots out and wraps around one of the beams. Danny yanks back, and he braces as the cord yanks him forward in return. When he reaches the beam, he pulls himself up as the cord unravels itself and retracts back into the gun. 

Danny shoves his gun back onto his belt, and disappears into the shadows of the ceiling.

Just in time, Damian was at the top of the shelving unit he was just on, and the kid stomps his foot angrily. Briefly, a smile tugs at the corner of Danny’s mouth, amusement fizzing out in his lungs. “Tawaqaf ean alrakd!” The kid yells, his hands shaking at his sides. “'Ayn 'akhadhatni ya Lieazir!” 

He swivels his head around, his face scrunched up in the dark room as he searches the rafters. Danny silently crawls across the beam, stooping low and moving slowly, and never taking his eyes off Damian. 

The kid is wound up like a spring, and jumpier than a war vet on the Fourth of July. It’s a little funny, but as Danny creeps through the ceiling, the kid only grows more frantic. The only light coming through is the muffled, yellow dim of the streets, and the moonlight that was in the middle of waning from gibbous to crescent. Good enough that Danny can see the kid’s face shifting from anger to fear. 

“Laeazir!” He yells again, and his voice cracks. Danny stills. “Akhruj huna Lieazir!” 

Okay, it wasn’t funny anymore. Danny holds his breath, watching as Damian’s expression fluctuates between scowling fury and wild-eyed panic. He’s twisting on his feet, whatever lethal grace he had earlier from their brief fight is gone now, replaced with clumsy, fawn-like alarm. 

Damian breathes in deeply, and Danny can see the whites of his eyes when he turns his head wildly in his direction. “Azhar nafsak!” 

He’s scared. Danny realizes, pricking up slightly from the rafter. He’s scared. That’s why he attacked him, he’s scared. Of course he is, Danny thinks, feeling like an idiot. He crawls over the beams again, creeping around Damian, keeping his gaze sharp on the kid’s feet. With how much he was spinning, he’s a little worried he was going to fall off the shelf. 

Of course he’s scared, he thinks again. He’s a kid, he doesn’t know any English, and he’s alone. Danny can’t imagine what’s going on through his head — of course he’s scared. He must be terrified. He looks terrified. 

Danny raises himself up carefully, gripping onto the rafters, and dashes across quickly. Damian whirls around towards him, his hands flying to his katana at his sheathe. His fear smothers on his face, and Damian tenses up defensively. 

The grappling gun finds its way back into Danny’s hands, and Danny shoots it at a beam connected to one of the pillars. When it catches, he leans to the side, and lets himself fall. The cord goes taut, and Danny flicks a small button on the side that allows him to lower to the ground with some relative ease. 

With his back to Damian, he hears a quiet scuffle and the shelf creaks. When his feet touch the ground, he tugs on his gun and the cord retracts. Danny can hear quiet, rapid-approaching footsteps coming up behind him, and he shoves his grappler back into its place and whirls around. 

And immediately, reflexively, catches the blade being swung at him with both hands. Shit, he wheezes out harshly, eyes widening in shock. The blade digs into his hands, but there’s no sting — his gloves had taken the brunt of the hit. They were probably ruined after this, but Danny’s less upset over that more than he is relieved. 

Damian glowers up at him, and this close up, Danny can very barely see a watery sheen covering his bottom eyelashes. His heartstrings pull, but it doesn’t stop him from curling his fingers tight around his katana to prevent him from pulling away. 

“Let me help you.” Danny says, rushed. He doesn’t understand him, the obvious part of his mind whispers. He needs to get him to understand him. Damian’s arms tremble slightly, he pushes down harder on Danny’s hands. But he doesn’t budge. 

He tries to yank it back instead, and it gives slightly — only for Danny to readjust his grip, despite the fear spiking in his heart. Cold metal kisses at part of his palm. It’s cut through his glove more. “Put the sword down.” 

“'Ayn 'ana.” Damian snarls at him, there’s still a tremble in his voice. “'Ayn 'akhadhatni.” 

A low, frustrated sound emits in the back of Danny’s throat. “I can’t understand you.” He snaps, if the kid would stop trying to kill him for five seconds, maybe they’d be able to get somewhere. “And you can’t understand me.” But if you’d stop attacking me, I could figure out a way how. 

Something takes mercy on Danny — because Damian gives up on trying to take back the sword. He lets go of the handle, and Danny sees an opening. Immediately, he tosses the sword off to the side, ignoring the clattering and skidding it makes against the concrete floor. The kid is fast, but Danny is faster. He wraps his hand around Damian’s forearm and yanks him forward. 

Damian yells angrily, and Danny traps his arm against his chest and twists him around so that his back is to his chest. Danny is also stronger. Both as a given from his size, and what he does every night. Trapping Damian against him is easier done and said, and Danny immediately sits them both on the ground once he has a good purchase on him. 

“'Utliq sarahi!” Damian yells, thrashing against him violently. Danny simply tilts his head up to prevent Damian from headbutting him in the chin, and wraps an arm around his torso tightly so he can fish for his phone. “'Ayuha alqadharatu! 'Utliq sarahi!”

Danny doesn’t know what he’s saying but he can guess, and he readjusts his arm when Damian nearly slips out. “No.” He says curtly, and when he gets out his phone, he sets it down briefly so he can pull his glove off. With his other arm preoccupied with keeping Damian still, Danny tugs it off with his teeth instead.

Silently, he inspects his palm for any injuries from the katana. He hadn’t felt anything, but it doesn’t hurt to check. He smiles faintly, relief weighting off his shoulders, when all he finds is a small cut near the meat of his palm. Not even deep enough to bleed. It stings, but it won’t even scar. 

He picks up his phone again, and with his mask on he can’t use the facial recognition. Danny taps in his password with his thumb, and quickly pulls up a translator. In his arms, Damian continues to thrash around, twisting and trying to pretzel himself out of his grip. 

“'Ana Damian Al Ghul, dam Ras Alshaytan!” Damian demands. Danny is a little worried that he might bite him, and he hoists him back up onto his lap when he tries to wriggle down. “Yajib 'an tastamie li'awamiri ya Lieazir!” 

Al Ghul. Danny’s never heard that last name before, and he pauses from his typing to frown. “Hm.” Damian — the original, that is, not the clone in his arms, — went by his father’s surname, and Danny can’t remember if it was ever released what the mother’s last name was. 

He quickly swaps the tab on his phone to a new one, and types into the search bar: ‘Damian Wayne mom last name’ and clicks enter. There’s a few seconds where his phone is loading, and then it pulls up the results. And with it, is a chunk of text from the top article: Damian’s mother was kept anonymous for her privacy’s sake. Who she was, what her name is, it’s all unknown other than that she was Chinese-Arabic. A remarkable feat of anonymity in the grand scheme of things and the all seeing eyes of the internet. 

“Hn.” Danny’s mouth presses into a line, and he glances down to Damian. Original Damian’s maternal surname was unknown, and now he knows that his clone was calling himself Damian, what was the off chance that ‘Al Ghul’ was a random last name given to him, and wasn’t actually his mother’s surname?  

…Not likely. Or it was a low chance. 

Putting that aside, he swaps back to the translator and converts what he wrote into Arabic. Damian’s mother was Arabic-Chinese, and the language Damian was speaking didn’t sound like Chinese. So, fingers crossing, he hopes it’s Arabic. 

Turning up the volume as far as it could go, he looks back at Damian, whose struggling and yelling has slowly begun to cease. Danny doesn’t trust it, and he smiles a little amusedly, that’s not going to get me to let go. He checks the translation to make sure it’s what he wants it to say, and then hits the play button. 

[I can’t understand you, but my name is Danny. I want to help you.] 

Damian jerks, hitting his head against Danny’s chest in surprise. “'Utliq sarahi 'ayn 'ana?” He sneers, “'Ana last bihajat limusaeadatikum.” 

“I just said I can’t understand you, bud.” Danny sighs, once again adjusting his hold on Damian. The kid kicks at him and misses him entirely. His arm was starting to get tired from the strain of holding Damian on its own, so Danny puts his phone behind him and swaps them. 

He honest to god gets hissed at when he has to adjust Damian as well, and Danny pauses for a moment just out of pure wonder at the boy in his arms. He was hissed at, as if he was scruffing a stray cat. He was so telling Sam about this when he gets this kid home.  

Smiling faintly, Danny pulls his other glove off with his teeth, checks for injuries, and then with a little bit of contortion, grabs his phone and pulls it back up. Then his train of thought catches up to him, and he freezes just as he’s about to type into the translator again. 

Take him home? The kid? Danny can’t do that. There wasn’t any room in the house, and how would he explain this to his parents? 

‘Hey mom, dad, this is Damian. He’s a clone of my genetic template’s son! Yeah, yeah, that template, the one who just so happens to be the old college buddy that you accidentally cloned instead of dad? The one who just so happens to be capable of suing our family out of existence if he happened to catch wind of my existence? Oh, where did I find him? Last night while I was out. Why was I out? Oh, because I just so happen to be the Phantom, your sworn enemy and the ghost-hunting vigilante who you are convinced is also a ghost. Can we keep him?’ 

Yeah, yeah, he can see how well that would go down. He might as well take off his mask and tell Bruce Wayne he had a clone already. But… where else would Damian go? He doesn’t know any English, he was alone in a foreign country with no money, no way to get home, the worst thing Danny can do is abandon him right now. 

Danny presses his mouth into a thin line, a frown beginning to pull at the corner of his lips.

…He could figure something out with his parents, Jazz will help him once he explains the situation. And if he can get Damian to agree to stop trying to kill him, then they can both make it back to Fenton Works before sunrise… Hopefully. 

Pressing his mouth into a thin line, Danny starts typing into the translator again. [You’re in America right now. The translator doesn’t translate the name of my city well, but we’re in Illinois. You are very far from home.]  

Damian jerks once again, twisting his neck to look up at Danny with disbelief. “'Amrika?” He says, the corner of his up curled up. Danny nods curtly, he doesn’t need to know Arabic to know what ‘Amrika’ means. “Hadhih Amirika?” 

Danny nods again, “Yeah, America. You’re in Amity Park.” He points to the ceiling, and gestures around them slowly. Damian watches him carefully, his eyes narrowed. “Am-i-ty Park.” Danny says, enunciating the syllables slowly. 

Green eyes narrow at him further. “Amity Park.” Damian says, slowly and sharp. When Danny nods, he drops his head and Danny tilts slightly in order to see as Damian casts the room a disdainful look. “Amity Park.” He repeats, voice full of enough venom to kill a full grown man. 

He can’t help himself, he snorts to himself and grins underneath his mask. The sound causes Damian to snap his head back up at him, and return his glower full force. He tries to wriggle again, but, like all other times, it’s in vain. 

“Sawf tutliq sarahi.” Damian orders, mouth twisting back into a scowl. Danny almost wants to tell him that his face will freeze if he keeps doing that. He’s already got his thumb hovering over the keyboard. “Yajib 'an 'aeud 'iilaa aldawrii.” 

Danny types into his phone, [I want to help you. You don’t know English, so getting around on your own will be next to impossible. If you promise not to attack me, I will take you back to my home and we can figure out how to get you home.] 

It’s… okay. Danny doesn’t really want to help the kid get home. Wherever that is, it’s teaching a child how to kill people, and it’s making clones of people. Statistically, that’s a bad sign. It also means that, for all intents and purposes, Danny should help the kid get home so he can find out whatever this organization is and, hopefully, put a stop to their cloning. 

However, Danny has his own city to take care of. Amity Park is full from head to toe with ghosts and spirits, and with his parents playing whack-a-mole with the portal’s door controls, he doesn’t feel comfortable leaving the city for even a few days. His parents can catch a lot of ghosts in only a few days. 

His parents can spill a lot of blood in only a few days. 

The evil cloning organization that made Damian will just have to be something Danny can leave in the capable hands of the older, more experienced heroes. For now, he can try and stall Damian’s homecoming and also keep him safe by keeping him housed. 

Damian, instead of wriggling again, slumps against him with a throaty huff. Danny peers over his head, checking to see if he was just pouting or had, somehow, passed out. Damian was scowling, his shoulders slumped up slightly, and Danny internally coos. 

He’s pouting. It was adorable.

The boy is silent for a long minute, a scowl carved like marble in his face, and Danny is content — no, wait, slightly content. He still wants to get home at a semi-reasonable time, — to wait him out. He is stronger, bigger, and faster than him. Eventually, Damian makes a low grumbling noise, something Danny can almost mistake for as a groan, before the kid slumps against him. 

“​​Hsnan, sa'abqaa maeak hataa natamakan min 'iieadati 'iilaa aldawri.” He says, sounding significantly less full of indignant rage, and more so full of indignant irritation. He also no longer wriggles, and Danny feels hope sparking low in his gut. Did he finally get through to him…?

More seconds pass by with the two of them just sitting there in silence, before Damian wriggles again — but rather than trying to escape, he twists his head to give Danny a dirty, expectant look. Danny frowns, confused, and then jerks — Oh! Oh! 

He fumbles for his phone, [Was that a yes? Nod if it was a yes?] 

Damian scoffs at him, looking very much like Danny was nothing more than dirt under his shoes. But he nods curtly, “Naeam sa'adhhab maeak.” 

Danny cheers, loudly. The hand curled around his phone punches skyward, like a fistbump to the ceiling, and Damian drops his head away from him. He yells something at him — probably telling him not to be so loud, but Danny pays it no mind. He’s only focused on the pure, utter, relief, pouring into his lungs and trying to trick itself out of his mouth as a laugh. 

Yes, yes! He convinced him! That’s one less worry to worry about, and as Danny drops his hand with his phone, his other arm starts to loosen up around Damian's waist — something Damian very much notices. As he stiffens up and is halfway through shoving himself out of his grasp. 

Danny lets him go, remembering abruptly the mask on his face. He lets Damian get to his feet, but he’s quickly scrambling soon after, not to grab him again. But to scramble for the katana he’d tossed out of the kid’s reach. Damian exclaims behind him, but Danny has his fingers curled around the handle before the kid can chase after him. 

When he stands and faces Damian again, the kid is all puffed up with rage again. Danny doesn’t doubt that, if the kid is trained to be some… kind of ninja…. that he has more weapons on him. But Damian looks more focused on his sword, so Danny holds up his phone-hand in a gesture to hopefully make Damian wait before he attacks him. 

“Wait, wait, wait!” He cries. Damian does, fortunately, and Danny quickly types into his phone again. [I will give you back your sword, and I will show you my face when we reach my home. But you must promise you won’t attack me once I do.] He pauses for a moment, and then types in as well: [I’ll also show you how to use the translator so we can talk both ways.] 

He doesn’t know if Damian even knows what his… father? Looks like, or what his feelings on him are if he does. But Danny was going to cover his bases, and if there was the off chance that Damian held negative feelings for his dad, he didn’t want the kid to attack him, again. 

(It probably wasn’t a good idea to do this at home, but at this point Danny just wants to be in his room.)

Damian eyes him up suspiciously, tense as a wooden plank and hunched like he was ready to pounce anyways, but he nods curtly. “Aeidak.” 

“Okay.” Danny breathes out, slowly straightening up. He’ll take that as Damian promising not to attack him. “Okay, good. Good.” Lowering his hand, he pockets his phone back into his jeans and flips the sword around so that the blade is pointing downwards. He holds it out for Damian, and the kid, quick as a whip, snatches it back from him and sheathes it into its scabbard. 

Great, finally. Now he can leave. Danny’s hands drop to his sides and he wriggles his fingers at Damian, absently gesturing for him to grab his hand. He turns his head away, searching for the door. “Let’s go.” 

No hand takes his, which Danny should have expected, so he drops it back to his side and leads Damian to the exit. The kid sticks close to him, but keeps just barely out of sight from his peripherals. His steps are quiet, Danny would say almost silent but that wasn’t the case. If he wasn’t paying attention, though, he probably wouldn’t have noticed. Ninja stuff, probably. Danny’s a little, no, a lot concerned that he’s so good at that. 

Ancients, bud. He thinks again, disbelief returning like a hand around his throat. Danny keeps glancing back at Damian to make sure he was still there. Just who, exactly, made you? 

When they get outside, the night air hits them cooler than it was inside. Spirits were still lingering around the sidewalks, chattering amongst each other and throwing him various, curious glances. Danny suppresses a frown, but can’t stop himself from making a low ‘hm.’ 

They probably felt the shift in the atmosphere from the portal opening. It may have dissipated, but the excess was still lingering around. Without his focus solely on Damian, Danny can feel it too. Like a fog in his chest. Or, perhaps more accurately, like going through the day in a tired glaze, only to be hit with pin-startling clarity. The spirits were probably trying to soak up as much as possible in order to gain a stronger physical form. 

Which, unfortunately for them, wouldn’t happen from this portal alone. Too many spirits trying to do the same thing. Not enough ectoplasm. 

He leads Damian down the steps, and over to the sidewalk. On instinct his hand reaches for his grappling hook, but Damian, still loitering in his peripherals, tenses up. Oh, right, Danny thinks, and switches for his phone instead, this is a two-person trip. 

It’d probably be rude to just grab Damian and start flying. Damian might try and stab him, or worse, try and get out of his hands again. The mental image of Damian falling nearly fifty-feet in the air flashes behind Danny’s eyes, and he represses a shudder.

Yeah, let's tell him first. 

His fingers fly across the screen. [I’m going to use a grappling hook to get us back to the house. It’ll be faster. I’m going to pick you up, hold on tight.] 

Damian scoffs at him, but nods. Danny pockets his phone, swaps it out for his grappling hook instead, and lets Damian look at it for a minute before he crouches down and wraps his free arm around Damian’s legs and hoists him up. 

Something gets said to him by Damian, harsh and scowly, probably an insult, but he wraps his arms around Danny’s neck and his legs tight around his torso. At this point Danny just rolls his eyes and adjusts his arm to hold him tight around the waist. “Hold on.” He mumbles, and points his gun to the sky. 

Flying through the city is admittedly trickier with the extra weight on his front and only one hand free, but Danny takes it as a challenge rather than a problem — if only so he doesn’t think too much on it. Damian’s fingers claw into the back of hoodie the moment his grappling hook pulls them through the air, it borderlines almost painful, and Danny doubts he could drop the kid even if he tried. 

There are a few close calls where Danny nearly clips the edge of one of the skyscrapers, but it takes one easy twist and a little bit of spinning to correct the angle. The threat of it sends a rush of adrenaline through his veins, and Danny can’t say he didn’t laugh a few times. Becoming Phantom turned him into an adrenaline junkie, he thinks.  

Damian doesn’t seem to be having much fun though, his grip suffocating on Danny and his face buried into his shoulder. He’s choking Danny a little, but he wouldn’t dare try and correct it while in the air, and it’s only bringing him mild discomfort. 

Not fast enough but all too soon, Danny is touching down near the residential area of Amity Park where the buildings are too small for him to grapple through. He drops onto one of the apartment rooftops, and his feet are barely touching the ground before Damian clambers off him like a wet cat trying to claw its way out of a pool. 

With the sound of his grappling hook receding, Danny laughs low under his breath. “Flying not for you, bud?” He asks, slightly breathless and grinning under his mask. The hook clicks into place in his palm, and Danny shoves it back onto his belt. 

The kid glares at him amidst brushing off his clothes and patting at his sides. His hand brushes over his sword, and when he feels the hilt still there, Damian drops it. The kid straightens up like a soldier — immediately killing Danny’s sky-flushed mirth in the process — and stares up at him, awaiting orders.

Danny’s smile falls, and he clears his throat. Okay, he thinks, checking himself over for anything out of place, before looking back to Damian. Resolve hardens like cement in between his ribs. He’s not going back. Not if I have anything to say about it. 

He moves around Damian and steps over to the roof ledge, swiveling left and right for the direction of his house. Which is unnecessary, he can see Fenton Works from a mile away, but he does it anyways. Anything to distract him from the discomfort that’s been sledgehammered at him. “This way.” He murmurs, gesturing for Damian to follow. Shuffling feet, and Danny can sense more than see the little boy at his side. 

Considering the way he saw Damian hopping around earlier, Danny is confident in his ability to roof hop with him — confidence well deserved because Damian follows him with relative ease. Which is still real damn worrying, but he can dwell on it when they get to the house. 

Still, he keeps a close eye on Damian the entire time they’re leaping rooftops. The boy was six, he didn’t have the same stamina nor height that Danny did — it’d be too easy for Danny to lose him on the way to the house because he couldn’t keep up, or he decided to change his mind while Danny was distracted and book it in another direction. 

They reach the house in no time, and Danny’s fishing for his key from his belt the moment his feet hit the concrete of the rooftop. Damian remains behind him, an ever-constant shadow as Danny ducks under the various legs, wires, and poles of the OPPS Center and unlocks the door to the roof. 

Getting to his room is a relief. The strange, buzzing sensation that settles through Danny’s eyes like a thin film whenever he’s using his ‘scary eyes��� dissipates, and he’s kicking off his boots with a low sigh before he can really think it through. He’ll put them back in their place when he’s done — but for now, he just wants them off. Damian pools in behind him, slinking off to the corner of the room as Danny shuts the door. 

His room is spotless — a cleaning habit he’s kept meticulously since he wanted to be an astronaut. He had planets hanging from the ceiling, glow in the dark stars muttered against the walls, and posters of astronomy, Dumpty Humpty, and NASA plastered beside the stars. And a large corkboard hanging above his desk. 

“Finally.” he groans, twisting his hips and stretching out his back before reaching over and turning on the hanging lights. A soft orange glow fills the room, and Danny turns just in time to see Damian jump in surprise. He’d moved over to Danny’s bookshelf on the opposite side of the room, his body half turned away and tilted like he’d been inspecting it. 

Danny stifles a smile, and tugs off his thermos and grappling hook and places them on the desk. Damian straightens up, shuffling away from the bookshelf and back over to him, his brows beginning to furrow with a look of determination. 

He marches towards him, “Laqad wasalna 'iilaa manzilika, walan ealayk 'an tafi bikalimatik watakhlae qanaeaka.” 

Danny doesn’t know what he’s saying, but Damian points to his face while he’s speaking so Danny figures it out relatively quickly. Besides, it’s not like he’d forgotten either. He has to take off his mask to sleep, and it’s easier to change when he’s not wearing it. He grabs his phone from his pocket.

[I know, I’ll take off my mask. But remember: you can’t attack me.] He hits play, and watches Damian scoff for the nth time, roll his eyes, and nod. As if to reassure him, or to prove that he wasn’t going to attack him, Damian folds his arms behind his back. 

Briefly, Danny feels himself nearly frown again at Damian’s almost soldier-like posture. But he has time to worry about that later, he shoves his phone back into his pocket. Danny raises his hands and curls his fingers around the bottom of his mask. 

Carefully, mindful of the straps, Danny pulls it off. The cool air immediately rushes over his damp forehead, and he quickly shakes his head with bated breath to get the strands of hair plastered to his skin off. He locks eyes with Damian, tense, and with air trapped in his lungs. 

Damian’s eyes widen comically, his scowl softening for a moment. For a moment, Danny thinks that maybe things will be fine…ish. But then Damian’s face is scrunching up again, his face sharpening angrily, and his hands reach for his sword. 

“Dijaal!” He hisses, fire lighting in his eyes as he grabs for his katana.

Danny takes a step back and holds his hand out, narrowing his eyes defensively. “Hey, hey, hey!” He hisses back, he points a finger at Damian accusingly, arching an eyebrow. “You promised!”

Apparently, the tone of ‘no takesies-backsies!’ transcends language, because Damian freezes where he stands and simply remains glowering at him. Danny raises his eyebrow higher, locking him in a staring contest, and Damian takes his hand off the hilt. 

Great. Good. Fantastic even! Crisis avoided, and no parents woken up in the process. That’s a success if Danny’s ever heard one. He keeps his eyes on Damian, before slowly reaching for his phone again. It’s like having a stand-off with a bull. A tiny, six year old-sized bull with a sword rather than horns, but a bull nonetheless. 

He gets his phone out safely, and gets out the translator. Again. [I know I’m a clone of your dad. I didn’t ask to be. I still want to help you.] And he does, he so much does. Danny was a bleeding heart, forever and always. If he can help, he will. He hopes that the blood he is made from won’t stop Damian from accepting that help. 

Damian stares him down, eyes narrowed like he’s trying to analyze Danny’s every move. Danny stays still and lets him, waiting for the jurisdiction of the small assassin. 

Whatever it is that Damian sees, it causes him to drop his hands to his side with an irritated sigh just like before. He says nothing, but the resigned slump of his shoulders tells Danny all he needs to know, and he beams. 

Success, he thinks, laughing quietly in earnest. [Stay here.] He quickly types into his phone and plays. He reaches for his thermos. [I need to release the ghosts in my device, then I’ll show you how to use the translator.] 

He plucks the thermos from his desk and tosses his phone over Damian’s head and onto the bed. It bounces, Damian grumbles something under his breath, and the phone bounces again. Danny puts the mask down, and dances out the door and down into the lab with practiced ease.

When he returns, Damian is snooping around his room, looking around his desk this time around. He straightens up when Danny steps into the room, and Danny doesn’t bother addressing it — instead he grabs his phone again and gestures for Damian to sit on the bed with him. 

It takes a painfully long amount of time to show Damian how to use the translator, with a ton of repetition and fiddling around. But they manage, finally, to get a system up where Danny will type something into the translator, play it back to Damian, and then hand the phone to Damian. Damian then would swap the translation, use text-to-speech, and play it in english. 

Naturally, text-to-speech has its flaws, and Damian is only recently learning how to read, so Danny figures out the translation errors on his own. They don’t talk for long, Damian is shut off, snooty, and reserved to him. All Danny knows is that his name is Damian Al Ghul, and he is the blood son and second heir to something called the League of Assassins. 

How cheery. “League of Assassins” sounds definitely evil. Ancients, Danny doesn’t wanna know. He’ll have to get involved if he knows any more. 

He lets Damian fiddle with the translator more in regards to searching his closet for clothes for Damian to wear. He doesn’t have any shorts that will fit, but he pulls out an old NASA t-shirt that still somewhat fits him, and tosses it to Damian. 

After much arguing, he gets Damian to wear it, and he gives Damian the bed. That takes less arguing — Damian is all too happy to sleep in a bed rather than the floor, and Danny pulls his beanbag chair out from its nook to shove it under his desk. 

He’s still awake by the time sunlight begins peeking over the buildings, his eyelids heavy and sore with exhaustion, and his limbs feeling loose and disconnected. He’s fixed up his gloves — torn from the katana, but now half-heartedly sewn up with thread and a lot of muttered swearing on Danny’s part. His mask is shoved in a hidden pocket in his backpack along with his thermos. 

Damian is fast asleep in bed, and with nothing else to do, Danny keeps his sharp eye on him. Swamped in Danny’s shirt and curled up under the covers, Damian is teeny. Well, he was small even before that, but it is even more apparent when tucked under blankets meant for people bigger than him.

And, for perhaps the third time that night, Danny is hit with just the sheer longing of how much he wants to help him. Danny is the hand that feeds, and Damian has a lot of teeth. The cut of his gloves is more than proof enough of that. But Danny wants to help him, Damian has no one else here to. Danny, so far, is the only one who can help him.

He is also hit with the sheer magnitude of what he’s just done — the terrifying revelation that Danny’s just taken in the clone of his template’s son. What the hell does that make for him and Damian’s relationship? Genetically, Danny is technically his father, but they’re complete strangers to one another. 

What does that mean for Danny? It’s been four months since his parents revealed their betrayal. Their lies. Their backstabbing, earth-shattering, fifteen years of astounding— the truth to Danny about his… birth. Four months isn’t long enough to deal with something like that. He is still questioning everything he does — whether his actions belong to him, or to Bruce Wayne.

And this? This just takes the fucking cake.

Danny breathes in deeply, snapping himself out of the slow-creeping spiral threatening to drag him under the waters of his mind. His eyes flick to the window. It’s too early to think about this. Much, much too early. He slinks into his beanbag with a low groan, stifling back a groan. 

He can worry about the identity crisis and his crisis of autonomy later. Later, when he’s not mind-numbingly exhausted and already mentally fragile from that alone. Not when there’s a teeny baby assassin sleeping in his bed who happens to be his son? Cousin? Brother? template’s son’s clone. 

With sunlight peeking through the windows, he slinks out from under his desk to prepare for another day.

[gilbirda]

The king's dead (long live the king) - Masterpost

In this post I'll be updating everything I have on this AU. The tag will be "Eldritch Ghost King!Danny" if you want to search my blog!

It was a big project I wanted to challenge myself with, with crazy lore and worldbuilding, with a lot of exploration of eldritchness and angst. But I just got absorbed by DPxDC crossover, saw my niche in writing romance, got obsessed with Jason and Jazz and the rest is history.

I feel it's a crime none of this will probably see the light of day, so. Here. Chaotic mode it is. Fish my posts boy. I will post sporadically about this AU. You have been warned.

If someone wants to take anything from the lore or ideas, you are welcome to! Tag me so I can check it out!

Also I'm down for discussing AU with people 👀✨

What is this fic about?

This was supposed to be my magnum opus. It's the "main" fic in my AO3 series You and me and our best friends make three. So far the series has side stories or one shots located in different moments of the story. The main fic was supposed to tell the full story on how it happened, how we ended up here.

Back in 2021, when I went down the rabbit hole with Danny Phantom, I envisioned a neat AU where Danny was this eldritch ghost king... with a twist.

I love eldritch Danny (those who know me can confirm) but I wanted to explore something I haven't seen a lot even in the angst torture-vivisection saturated market of this 20 year old fandom:

What if the Ghost King is not power, but a sacrifice?

What if it is not known that the Ghost King is actually the host of a powerful entity (I called it The Whisper, because it talks in your mind in whispers) who is always hungry. Always. Hungry. And if it doesn't have a host will eat all the Infinite Realms then the Living World.

The Ghost King makes a pact with the Whisper. The King can tap into the ectoplasm, the energy, of every creature, object, city, etc. in the Realms and convert that energy into food for the Whisper.

But nobody knows this. Is a secret shared from King to King, and you only find out after accepting the crown.

Why would you refuse? Is the King, it's an honor, is power, is greatness. Who would deny the Whisper its food?

Only one managed to sever the connection.

His name was Pariah Dark.

He went insane.

What is The Whisper?

Basically this ⬆

Is a cosmic entity that was stranded on Earth a loooong time ago. It created the Infinite Realms with its flesh and blood (ectoplasm) and all ectoplasmic creatures come from it.

But its hungry.

-----

Posted chunks of story so far and their order in the timeline:

Act I:

Desired - Danny meets the Core for the first time

Ceremony - Danny is crowned King

Party like you are dead - the Ghost King invites all of Amity Park to his castle. Reveals all around.

Act II:

Never judge a book by its cover (dpxdc crossover)(my very first dpxdc work!) - Justice League summons the Ghost King to help deal with an eldritch creature. What they get may be a worse monster

Hidden identities? Never heard of them (dpxdc crossover) - direct sequel to the previous part. Batman and some of the colony go to Amity to investigate. They catch glimpses of horrors that they can't help but wonder

Remedy (+18!!!)(my very first DP fanfic!) - self indulgent Porn Without Plot in this universe. Placed in a distant future where everything is fine

Race ya! - funny haha thing set a bit after Remedy

[sinorim-pisani]

tl;dr The Danny Phantom fandom is just obsessed with Found Family and I FALL FOR IT EVERY TIME

Hear me out, people, hear me out......

FRAIDS.

that's it that's the post.

jk jk that is absolutely not the post, because I have SO MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT FRAIDS. Danny Phantom lore at it's FINEST.

Strap in folks, it's about time for another (weirdly long??) DP word blast!

Now this could be the "found family trope" lover in me, but I freaking love the possibilities that exist when it comes to the concept of a ghost fraid. What I've read in fics is just *chef's kiss*. We have the mental links, the ectoplasm based threads that bind everyone together, the found family idea of course, and pleeeeenty of angst potential. But I wanna talk about the nitty gritty details.

What is a Fraid, if not a subconsciously and artificially created link based on a ghost's heightened feelings of attachment, or ownership? Bear with me, I can explain; we'll use Danny and his Fraid as an example here. Typically, when introducing the idea that Danny is connected to his friends and Jazz and Dani via the concept of a "Fraid", fic authors use the image of threads created with ectoplasm to tell the reader that the group is connected together on a higher level. These threads are often a result of Danny unknowingly marking his people as his, and thereby telling the ghost world that messing with these people means messing with Phantom himself. To me, this sounds a lot like Danny is essentially layering his own ectoplasm onto his group so frequently, intensely, and even intently (despite his continued ignorance to what his ghostly side is doing), that his resulting Fraid essentially becomes a part of himself. The ectoplasmic threads are then a physical manifestation of Danny's ectoplasm as it exists in his friends.

But if this is the case, could a Fraid ever be created intentionally?

Let's lay out the apparent requirements to create a Fraid, based on the proposed example above. I'm postulating that, to create a Fraid, the ghost needs to 1) spend a sizable portion of time around the future fraid members, 2) feel strong feelings of possession, protection, obligation, or what have you, 3) maintain a large amount of affection for their persisted presence, and 4) feel safe enough around them to allow their ectoplasm to manifest like an aura, rather than keep it tightly inside and controlled. In Danny's case, all of these conditions are met by Sam, Tucker, Jazz, and Dani, and they are typically the ones you see being placed in Danny's Fraid. His parents aren't on that list, as they fail to meet condition 4, and possibly even condition 3 (which is not to say Danny doesn't feel affection towards his parents. He definitely loves them, but does he love them consistently, constantly, and in the same way as he does his friends?). While Danny is constantly choosing his friends (he chooses them day in, day out, after Sam convinces him to walk to his death, after Tucker makes a decision out of intense jealousy, after Dani hunts him, Danny is still choosing them), he isn't constantly choosing how he feels in their presence. That would be hard for anyone to do, let alone creatures whose entire being revolves around their emotional volatility. The idea of intentionally creating a Fraid is ruled out, based on the idea that, even for beings that run off emotional cognizance, feelings as vulnerable as those required for the process are difficult to create and maintain consciously.

Now how does Fraid creation actually work?

The way I've described it above, I'm going to claim that a Fraid is essentially the ghost version of a horcrux. Instead of the soul going into an object, the ghost is exposing other ghosts (or people, in Danny's case) to intense amounts of their ectoplasm (which could be argued to be their soul given form, I guess?) and the ectoplasm is then settling inside the other party, being absorbed into their core, or skin, and cementing that individual as a part of the ghost creating the Fraid. Since this kind of ectoplasm is primarily that of the ghost, it will invariably have ties to the emotions that ghost is experiencing, hence the idea mentioned above that there needs to be a prolonged feeling of relaxation and safety about the creatures in the pre-formed Fraid. This being the case, I like to think about how Fraids might function when they're made of other ghosts too, and whether or not those secondary ghosts can basically form a layer of Fraids (like one web of ectoplasm built on another web and on another etc with different ghosts being the center point....does that make sense?). Would a Fraid with mostly ghosts develop it's own impression of a core? Is there a threshold of ectoplasm needed to develop a power level in this case? That's some juicy theory building right there.

When Danny's Fraid comes onto the scene, it gets a bit wonky.

Most of the time, his Fraid is made up of two (or three if you're counting Dan) ghosts and three (sometimes liminal sometimes not) humans, and there's almost of bit of a power imbalance. I would say that both Danny and Dani end up establishing this group of people as their individual Fraids, but how do the three humans influence the ectoplasm connection? And how does the fact that Danny and Dani virtually share an ectoplasm signature influence it? (this isn't to say that they share a core or are the same people, I am a firm lover of ice core danny and water core dani, but Dani is a clone and a product of Danny's ectoplasm....do you think they have the same signature, or would Dani develop her own signature?)

Connecting this to my first question above (is a Fraid a product of a ghost's feelings of "ownership" or "possession"): if you like your humans liminal like I do, I'm going to take a chance and say that Sam, Tucker, and Jazz have developed juuuust enough of a ghost core or an ecto signature for the Fraid threads to stick to them, and that ghosts probably wouldn't be able to draw regular, non-liminal humans into their Fraid unbeknownst to them. Due to this, I believe the humans would be able to reflect the ectoplasm back to Danny, creating a stable loop that allows for the continuance of the Fraid connection. I don't necessarily think this alone would allow for a strong connection - they're human, however liminal they might be, and liminal humans don't have the same ectoplasm reserves as a ghost, nor do they have the amount of "soul-like" ectoplasm needed to cement themselves inside the other parties like Danny could ( remember the horcrux analogy?). But! But but but! If Danny and Dani share an ectoplasm signature, and a Fraid is essentially an emotional feedback loop given substance, then you have two times the ectoplasm signature being run through and reflected back to each of the Fraid members, essentially....eliminating the original weakness of their connection?? And therefore you end up with a fully formed and healthy Fraid system?? I think that's pretty neat, right?

Idk dude, is this too long? Is there a limit to how much I can talk about this? I don't think there is.

for the sake of digestibility I'm going to DEFINITELY be writing a part 2 for this!!

But think about these questions in the meantime, if you want:

Would a ghost that isn't the Fraid's formation point be able to reject or leave the Fraid system? How?

What would happen to the Fraid "head" so to speak, if their Fraid threads were severed or rejected, based on the theory that it's essentially a part of themselves implanted in another creature?

Are potential Fraid members aware of what's happening when a Fraid is in its preliminary stages?

Could Fraids be rare?

Am I projecting my feelings of isolation onto a cool kid's show?? Who knows! I feel a fanfic idea coming tho....

Part 2 coming soon!

[doubleaynus]

🎃🧛‍♂️👻 greetings to all my fellow snowjanus shippers! 

I have put together a prompt list for this upcoming Halloween month that I hope will inspire our fandom into creating some really amazing things! Many of these prompts don’t necessarily have to be NSFW, though in the spirit of kinktober I think it would be more fun if they were hehe

I’ve organized it so that each week has a creature theme, with the full weeks having a ‘free space’ so you can include your own scary story if one of the prompts doesn’t apply to something you have in mind for the boys during spooky season! 

I’ll be posting little snippets of stories I’m working on in the weeks leading up to October but you can find me on ao3 as Tziporah7. I LOVE Halloween and SNOWJANUS and am really excited to see what everyone comes up with! 

October 1st through 5th: Week Of The Living Dead (Zombies/Undead)

Day 1: You Look So Good I Could Eat You

Day 2: Nec(romance)

Day 3: Stitches

Day 4: Aim For The Head

Day 5: Bones

October 6th through 12th: Things That Go Bump In The Night (Monsters)

Day 6: Full Moon

Day 7: Tentacles

Day 8: Bodysnatcher (You’re not ______!)

Day 9: Wings

Day 10: It Came From Outer Space

Day 11: I Put A Spell On You

Day 12: Free Space (Your Creepiest Monster Story)

October 13th through October 19th: Boo! (Ghosts)

Day 13: Vengeful

Day 14: Phantom Touches

Day 15: Ectoplasm

Day 16: Graveyard

Day 17: Campfire Stories

Day 18: Haunted House

Day 19: Free Space (Your Spookiest Ghost Story)

October 20th to October 26th: Bloodsuckers (Vampires)

Day 20: Hypnosis

Day 21: Ice Cold Skin Day 22: Fangs

Day 23: Coffins

Day 24: Hunting

Day 25: Bloodbath

Day 26: Free Space (Your Most Sinister Vampire Story) 

October 27th to October 31st: Drag Me To Hell (Demons)

Day 27: Holds My Soul (Possession) 

Day 28: Sacrifice

Day 29: Succubus/Incubus

Day 30: Angels & Demons

Day 31: HAPPY HALLOWEEN! 

Feel free to reach out if you have any questions!

I want to see what everyone's pretty brains come up with... speaking of, when October comes PLEASE tag me (#SnowjanusSpooktober) on anything you've created for this so I can gobble it up like a true monster 👹 I've set up a collection on ao3 under the name Snowjanus Spooktober 2024 if you'd like to add your fics there too!

that's all for now, happy creating everyone 👻

[mayflysdie]

Familiar contact- A John price fic.

Random inspo I had, but hopefully people enjoy it. I stayed up till 7am writing it lol. Might make something out of this but I idk yet.

I have attention span issues so if it veer off, please don’t come at me for it. I’ve skimmed over it, but there’s probably some things I missed and grammatical mistakes. Thank you❤️

Word count: 3k+

MDNI- mature themes, language, choking, supernatural beings, dark themes.

I told myself to be home by midnight, before the hunting hour started. To lock myself safely in my home, surrounded by wards.

Sigils adorned the doors and windows, passed down from generation to generation by witches determined to protect their dwellings.

The eerie stillness of the night was broken by distant howls and screams, while sinister whispers lured unsuspecting victims into their grasp. These cunning creatures preyed upon human greed, offering promises of fulfilling desires before revealing their true, malevolent nature through blood-red eyes hidden within the shadows.

"I'll give you everything you desire"

" You will desire nothing else, if you come closer"

I pay no heed to their twisted tongues, for I know the moment I look their way, or so much as utter a word, I'll be trapped in their soulless hell. Become a mindless creature like them, existing only to feed on souls until the earth turns to dust.

And I refuse to become one.

I pull my coat tighter around me, trying to shield myself from the biting chill. But it seems to seep through every layer, penetrating deep into my bones. Come to us.

The gusts seem to have a life of their own, swirling and dancing around me, almost taunting me with their strength. As I trudge through the forest, trees now look twisted and tortured under the relentless assault of the wind. Nothing on this earth is truly safe from their wicked powers.

Their branches whip back and forth, creaking as if in pain. Some of them have already succumbed, their broken limbs littering the ground like casualties of war. Despite the fierce resistance of the trees, the wind shows no signs of letting up. It blows with such force that I struggle to keep my balance, stumbling over rocks and roots that are hidden beneath a carpet of leaves. My hair is wild and tangled, whipped into a frenzy by the wind's powerful grasp. 

As I stand in the midst of this chaotic scene, I can feel the energy of the whispers pulsating through the air. They seem to be growing more desperate by the second, their voices becoming more urgent and insistent. These phantom entities, longing for control over my soul, reach out towards me with ethereal hands that pass right through my body.

But I refuse to acknowledge them, refusing to give them the power they so desperately crave. Meanwhile, the trees around me struggle against the relentless force of the wind. Some bend and sway gracefully, while others are unable to withstand the intense pressure and break, crashing to the ground with a loud thunderous sound. My heart aches at the sight of these ancient trees, some of them hundreds of years old. Despite surviving in such a harsh environment, they stood tall and thrived, only to be struck down by the dark forces of hell.  Life is truly, cruel.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My small home, tucked away in the dense forest, comes into view. Smoke curls out of the chimney and warm light spills through the windows, creating a comforting glow. Thick moss clings to the weathered stone walls, leading up to the old black roof. A protective barrier of sturdy stone surrounds my home, making it feel like a fortress. My pace quickens as I approach, eager to escape the eerie whispers and relentless winds that seem to follow me. But as I near my house, all sounds of nature cease and an ominous silence settles over the land. My steps falter as my eyes narrow, scanning for any signs of danger.

Suddenly, a swirling mist materializes to my right, coalescing into the form of a tall, muscular man. Curled horns protrude from his head and his bright red eyes lock onto mine with malicious intent. My heart races as I realize he is a demon - not just any demon, but one of great power and influence. I recognize him from my extensive research on the seven gates of hell - standing before me is none other than John Price himself, ruler and master of all seven gates.

In a deep, smooth voice with a British accent, he sneers at me with a wicked grin. "Well hello there, little witch," he says mockingly as he takes slow steps towards me. Fear courses through my body like ice water. Why does his voice sound so familiar? That nickname….

“ John” I say, somehow holding my voice steady despite the tremble in my body. my hands twitch at my sides, ready to defend myself. “ what do you want?” I hiss. but he just smiles even wider, tilting his head at me. 

“ Can’t I visit a lonely little witch? whom lives by herself in the forest”. He steps closer. 

“ no, you cannot. I have no business with you, demon” 

A sharp gasp escapes my lips as he materializes in front of me. He leans down, bringing us eye-to-eye, his intense gaze locking with mine. The scent of smoke and fresh pine fills my nostrils, mingling together in an intoxicating combination. His long fingers, slender yet strong, grasp my chin firmly yet gently, his thumb lightly caressing my cheek. His touch, it feels familiar too. But why?

“ Been watching you, darling. A nasty little witch you are” His breath fans my face, our close proximity jolting my senses back into place. 

I grit my teeth, taking another cautious step back as his hands fall from my face. His amusement is evident in the glittering mischief in his eyes and the sly curve of his lips. I feel a surge of electricity tingling at my fingertips, slowly spreading up my arm until bolts of raw energy flicker and dance beneath my skin. With a few whispered chants, I channel the power and unleash a dazzling bolt of lightning towards him. The air crackles with anticipation as the bright beam strikes the earth where he stands, sending up a cloud of dust in its wake. The ground trembles beneath me, humming with residual energy. 

my eyes narrow as the dust fades away, and there he stands. a cloud of mist surrounding him in a protective barrier.  This grimy little bitch.

“ Now darling, that wasn’t very nice”

“ Oh really? thought i’d give you a proper welcome” I sneer, my fingers twitching again. my mind reeling for a plan.  My grandmother never said anything about defending myself against the king of hell. What the hell am I supposed to do.

The mist around him disappears into the earth. He crosses his arms.

" Well you could do me" he retorts and I frown. Get out of my head!

I send another bolt his way, and he deflects it with a flick of his wrist. John's laughter echoes through the forest, sending shivers down my spine.

" What do you want John. I haven't broken any laws, nor did I summon you".

His eyes gleam with amusement as he takes a leisurely stroll around me, his steps echoing in the unnatural silence that surrounds us.

"I do love a feisty one," he muses, his voice smooth like silk yet carrying an underlying edge of danger. "But I'm not here for your misdeeds, dear witch. No, I am here for something far more intriguing."

My heart pounds in my chest as I try to maintain a façade of calmness, even as his presence threatens to overwhelm me. "Then what is it that you seek from me, demon?" I demand, my voice steady despite the fear gnawing at the edges of my mind.

John Price's smile widens, revealing a row of perfectly straight and gleaming white teeth that seem to glint in the dim light. As he approaches me, his footsteps fall with an air of confidence and authority. He stops in front of me, tilting his head to reveal the sharp angles of his jawline beneath his beard, and the way the moonlight catches in his dark hair.

"I have come to claim you, little witch," he purrs, his voice low and smooth like velvet. I can feel his warm breath on my skin as he speaks.

"Claim me? What the fuck are you talking about?" I snap back, my anger boiling over at his bold words.

"Your coven, centuries ago, promised me a bride if I granted them power," he explains, his eyes never leaving mine. "Twenty generations from then, a woman will be born with powers stronger than any witches before her. And only she will be worthy of becoming my bride." A knowing smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth as he finishes his declaration.

And if I could've sent every last bit of my powers away, I would have on spot. Simply bag them and ship them off to the next person.

The earth trembles beneath my feet, my anger coursing through me like molten lava. My eyes blaze with a fiery red intensity as I bring my hand up to meet his chest. The wind responds to my rage and strengthens, pushing him back with a forceful gust. He stumbles several feet before landing gracefully on his feet, a smug smirk plastered across his face. I grit my teeth, wishing desperately to wipe that lecherous expression off of his creepy features. "My, my," he purrs, "those eyes are like untamed flames."

He watches me with a mixture of amusement and fascination as I confront him with a strength that surprises even myself. The air crackles with tension as we stand facing each other, a silent battle of wills raging between us. I can feel the power coursing through my veins, a primal energy that demands release.

With a fierce determination, I raise my hands towards the sky, calling upon the elements to aid me in this dire moment. The wind howls in response, whipping my hair around my face like a dark shroud. The trees sway in a wild dance, their leaves rustling in a chorus of support.

John Price's eyes widen with recognition as he senses the ancient magic surging around me. In a swift motion, he raises his own hands, summoning shadows that twist and coil at his command. Darkness engulfs him as he prepares to strike back with his formidable powers. No, he’d never hurt me. But how do I know that?

Emotions wage a war inside me.

But I am ready for him. With a primal scream that echoes through the forest.

With a fierce cry, I unleash a bolt of lightning so powerful that it reverberates through the earth, leaving my body trembling with its force. The smell of ozone fills the air as electricity crackles around us, sending shockwaves into the ground and trees. And then suddenly, I am flying backwards, my back slamming against a rough bark of a tree. The impact knocks all the air from my lungs and I land on all fours, gasping for breath.

Through the haze of pain and confusion, I see John lying on the ground, his body smoking from the electric blast. Despite my own discomfort, anger surges within me. I grit my teeth as I struggle to stand, my muscles protesting from the jarring impact. God that hurts like a bitch.

But even as I rise, determined to keep fighting, I hear him chuckling. It is a sinister sound that sends shivers down my spine. My eyes narrow as I face him, ready to take him down. As if I could, I know I’m not strong enough.

"That's what I need," he groans as he stands, brushing off his clothes with an air of nonchalance. His red eyes have returned to their normal state, but they seem even darker now - like staring into a void.

"You want more?" I growl, raising my hands to strike again. But he raises his own in a mocking surrender. "I don't wish to fight you, little witch," he says with a sly smile. "A man should never harm a woman."

His words are like a slap in the face to me. This man is supposed to be the king of Hell, yet he claims to be against hitting women? I scoff in disbelief.

"Oh please," I retort. "Don't expect me to believe that for a second."

He shrugs as if it doesn't matter to him one way or another. And then suddenly, mist begins to form around my feet and up over my body. It spreads like a thick fog, rendering me immobile. Panic sets in as I struggle to break free.

"Let me go!" I shout, squeezing my eyes shut as I try to force myself out of the misty grip. But it seems to have a will of its own, keeping me firmly in place.

" I can't do that, love". He appears behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I hiss at the contact, his touch sending jolts through my skin.

“Now sleep, my love” He whispers. and I curse myself, as my eyes start to grow heavy. “w-what”. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I am jolted into consciousness, my body drenched in a cold sweat. My mind pulsates with a throbbing ache, as if being relentlessly pounded by a massive block of stone. With wide eyes, I frantically scan my unfamiliar surroundings.

It is then that I notice John seated in the corner of the room, engrossed in a book. His calm demeanor reveals no trace of concern or surprise, almost as if abducting people is just another routine task for him.

The audacity of this man! I want to strangle him.

"Where the hell have you taken me?" I shout at him, but he simply ignores me. Fine, if we're playing games now.

I curl my index finger and softly whisper a few words. Suddenly, his chair bursts into flames, scorching his backside. He springs up from his seat, dropping his book and grabbing his now charred rear end. As he curses and flails about, I smirk at him.

"Are you going to keep ignoring me?" I mock with a smug tone.

The fiery gaze of John meets my own as he casually pats his still-smoking ass. My questioning eyes shift to the discarded book on the ground, my raised eyebrow expressing confusion. "A cook book? Is that truly your book of choice?" I prod. He responds with an eye roll, snatching the book from the floor in annoyance.

Maybe I'm unhinged for being so casual at the moment, but my head hurts too much to really care. I'll unpack this after ibuprofen.

“You insufferable woman, you ruined my favorite armchair,” John seethes, pointing to the charred remains. I roll my eyes, unimpressed by his dramatics. You just kidnapped a witch and you're over here fretting over a chair.

“Take me back home,” I demand, standing my ground.

“No,” he replies firmly, a hint of anger in his voice. What is wrong with this man?

“Yes, I refuse to be your unwilling wife,” I argue, climbing out of bed and trailing after him as he storms into his closet. He pulls out a pair of unburned pants.

“You don’t have a say in this matter,” he declares. I cross my arms in defiance, scoffing at his arrogance.

“Because forcefully taking a wife against her will always make for a happy marriage,” I retort sarcastically.

My cheeks flush with embarrassment when he casually removes his burnt pants, standing only in his undergarments. "Jesus!" I exclaim, quickly turning around to face the wall. He chuckles behind me, clearly amused by my discomfort. " Jesus is not here, darling"

oh fuck right off.

I hear the sound of a zipper, followed by his footsteps approaching. I turn around, bumping my nose into his chest. not expecting him to stand so close. “ the hell” I mumble, rubbing my nose.

“ let me see this contract my coven signed. there’s got to be a loophole. I mean, why me? there’s other witches out there”.

I follow him out of the closet. He spins around, pushing me against the wall. I narrow my eyes, lifting a finger to zap his ass when he slowly pushes my finger down. as if I just showed him an ugly photo.

he then places both his hands on either side of my head. “ be a good girl and hush, yeah?”.

his low husky voice sends a shiver down my spine. fuck me, what’s wrong with me.

“ You be a good boy and release me, yeah?” I mock, smiling.

his hand slithers up to my throat, grabbing it tightly. he growls, I feel the rumble in his chest against mine. 

"You wouldn't dare," I gasp, struggling to breathe as his grip tightens around my neck. The fear in my eyes is unmistakable, a raw and primal emotion that courses through my veins like poisoned venom.

"Try me," he snarls, his voice low and dangerous. I can see the darkness within him, the deep-seated hatred and anger that has been simmering inside him for centuries. So much for not harming women, huh? bipolar asshole.

And then, without warning, he lets go of my throat. There's a strange mixture of relief and disappointment that washes over me as he steps back. He crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes firmly fixed on me.

" All I want is for you to accept your fate and become my wife. I want no one else but you" His voice is calm, almost soothing, but there's an underlying edge to it.

His words prick at something in my brain, erupting pain through my skull.

I glare fiercely at him, mustering all my hate into my eyes. As if that alone could poof him into dust. " Fuck you, you crazy bipolar demon"

He shakes his head, walking away from me. leaving me standing against the wall, mind reeling and grasping for any ration response.

I mean, not even ten hours ago I was freely walking through the forest on my own, collecting herbs. And now, I'm stuck god knows where with a demon who claims I'm his bride.

But why does it feel like I know him?

My head pounds, sharp pain piercing my temples. I cry out, grabbing the sides of my head as I crouch down. Whispers ringing in my ears, the voices of my mother and grandmother.

As fragmented images race through my thoughts, I am transported back in time. Current reality intertwines with hazy flashbacks, creating a tumultuous whirlwind of emotions. In one vivid recollection, I am young and standing in my mother's bedroom. Her screams echo off the walls as she fiercely argues with my grandmother.

Tears stream down her cheeks, "I will take her away, far from his reach." With a forceful shove, she pushes my grandmother out of the way and storms into the closet. Mom, why are you crying.

Overwhelmed by the intense scene before me, I tremble and cry silently. Despite my limited understanding at the time, I know that something is gravely amiss, and it involves me. "There's not a place in heaven or hell where he won't find her, Eylean. Our ancestors made the deal, and there's nothing we can do to stop it" My grandmother argues, chasing after my mother.

Come outside, sweetheart. A voice whispers in my head, gentle and comforting. Come to me.

I do as the voice says, running out of my mothers room. My little legs struggling to keep up with the fast pace, threatening to misstep. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I ran, adrenaline driving me forward. The sound of the back door slamming echoed in my ears, a reminder of the argument that had just taken place, the booming voices inside. Tears blurred my vision as I stumbled towards the stone fence, desperate to get away from the chaos inside.

Why, why me?

With trembling hands, I gripped onto the rough edges of the stones and pulled myself up and over the fence. My clothes snagged against the sharp edges, leaving small tears and scrapes on my skin. But I don't care. All I want is to reach my safe haven. As I reached the other side, my feet hit the soft grass and I took off running again. The cool air brushed against my tear-stained cheeks as I made my way towards the massive red oak tree. It stood tall and proud, its branches reaching towards the sky as if welcoming me with open arms. With shaky breaths, I collapsed against the trunk of the tree. The vines that twisted around it provided a sense of comfort, almost like they were hugging me. I wrapped my arms around my knees and buried my face in my legs, letting out loud sobs as I tried to calm my racing thoughts and emotions.

The wind started to howl, the force of it whipping through my hair and stinging my cheeks. I could feel tears sliding down my face as I tried to make sense of what was happening. The wind calmed, replaced by the sudden cold chill in my bones. Raising my head slowly, I glanced around through my blurry vision. Through the mist that had settled in front of me, I saw a figure emerge. It was a man, his large build crouching down in front of me. As he placed a comforting hand on my knee, I caught a glimpse of his bright blue eyes. They were like pools of clear water, sparkling and drawing me in.

Despite my fear and confusion, I couldn't help but gaze into them, feeling strangely captivated. A small smile tugged at the corners of the man's mouth, as if he were trying his best to offer comfort. His voice, deep and soothing, was one that I recognized from earlier. The sound of his accent brought a slight sense of familiarity. He spoke softly, reassuring me, "It's okay sweetheart. You're safe here." But I couldn't stop the sobs that wracked my body, my mind still reeling from the events that had just unfolded. "But they're fighting," I hiccupped, shaking my head. "Mommy says a bad man is going to get me." My words came out barely audible through my tears, but the man seemed to understand.

He moves to sit down beside me, our body’s brushing against each other.

“ I’m already here, little witch”

[eyebawll]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍-𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 [𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑] [𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏]

First Supernatural fic! A little short (in my standards), may conjure up another part if it goes well. This takes place just shortly after Sam gets his soul back and he's still coping.

SUMMARY: Y/N is a well renowned hunter who keeps to herself. After losing her sister (among many other family members) during a hunt to a devastating monster, she locks herself in for good with nothing but rage pumping through her veins.

It's rumored she holds a weapon that, besides the colt, can kill anything. It's become a big deal in the past, many hunters trying to take it for themselves, only to be cursed, injured or even dead in the process. That was until it was revealed who had given it to Y/N.

What will happen when she runs into the Winchester brothers during a hunt for the very thing that has destroyed her family?

Written in third person, female!reader

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ, ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ

Very novel-esque writing. i'm sorry. i got carried away

ʷᵒʳᵈ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ: 4,390

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

The forest lay draped in an eternal shroud of darkness, the silvery glow of the moon casting faint, ghostly beams that struggled to penetrate the dense web of ancient trees. The atmosphere was thick with an otherworldly chill, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. Tall, gnarled trunks rose like skeletal sentinels, their twisted branches clawing at the heavens in silent supplication.

Eerie whispers, like faint echoes from another realm, seemed to drift on the breeze. Soft susurrations carried the promise of secrets, secrets that the forest had guarded for centuries. These spectral utterances mingled with the rustle of leaves and the faint creaking of branches, creating a symphony of sound that was both mesmerizing and unsettling.

Amid this haunting tapestry of shadows and whispers, a lone figure moved with a desperate urgency. A slim young woman, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps as her heart pounded in sync with the frantic rhythm of her footsteps. The ground beneath her seemed to tremble with her every stride, her bare feet sore from each scratch and scrape from twigs, rocks and leaves underneath, each footfall a desperate plea for escape.

The forest's inhabitants—creatures of the night and unseen beings—watched from their hidden sanctuaries, their eyes glinting with a luminescence. Yet, none could compare to the ominous presence that stalked the innocent woman.

In the ethereal twilight, illusions took shape like phantoms conjured from the darkest recesses of the mind. The voices of fellow hunters, once allies and friends, one even her own older sister, twisted and distorted into a chorus of accusation and betrayal. Their spectral forms advanced with a relentless determination, a parade of torment born from her own insecurities.

"Disgusting!"

"You're not strong enough! You don't belong with us!"

"You never did!"

"YOU ONLY HOLD US BACK!"

Countless insults and howls, hurls of venom and anger were thrown at the woman. As she sprinted through the labyrinthine woods, the cacophony of voices swirled around her like a tempest. The shadows themselves seemed to coil and writhe, mirroring her inner turmoil. But amidst the maelstrom of chaos, one face emerged from the torment—Y/N.

Y/N's expression was a mosaic of sorrow and anger, anger for all of this to be happening, anger for her sister as this creature manipulates her. Her eyes twin beacons of hope in the encroaching darkness. "Emily, Emily!" The voice behind her cried, far different from the others, "It's not real! Fight it!"

Emily turned around to face the direction of her sister's yells, her body jerking slightly with her movement as she catches a glimpse of Y/N, running with her arm reaching out to her. Quickly, she turned back, hopping over a large boulder she would have tripped over. Panic pumped through her veins, and her heart felt as if it was going to burst out of her chest.

Amid the twisted labyrinth of trees, Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she closed in on her sister. Her footsteps were swift and quick as if she drifted through the air, each one a prayer to reach Emily in time, to pull her back from the precipice of the consuming darkness. Emily's breath came in ragged gasps, her panicked sobs echoing like haunting melodies of a woman in white through the shadows drenching the forest.

"Emily! Emily, it's me!" Y/N yelled once more, a lifeline of vague comfort in the midst of it all. Her arms stretched out, fingers yearning to grasp onto the fleeting fabrics of the younger woman's clothing. Emily's movements were wild and uncontrolled, her form swaying as if caught in a cruel dance with harsh winds.

Their eyes locked, and Y/N's heart shattered at the sight of the expression on the face of her other half. "Emily, please, look at me. You're not alone. I'm right here." Her voice trembled with a potent blend of fear and nausea, a plea for Emily to recognize how real she is and how fake everything else is.

Emily's cries were a symphony of agony, tears streaking her dirt-stained cheeks. "Y/N, make it stop! Make it stop, please!" Her voice cracked. She reached out with trembling hands, fingers brushing Y/N's arm as if seeking refuge from the torment that consumed her.

Y/N's heart bled as she closed the final distance, her arms enfolding Emily in an embrace. She could feel the violent tremors that wracked her sister's body, the very essence of her being gripped by a bitter chill. "I'm here, Emily. I won't let it take you," Y/N whispered fiercely, her lips brushing against Emily's sweat-dampened forehead.

Yet, even as Y/N held onto her sister, a sinister current coursed through the air. The shadows seemed to thicken, a malevolent presence looming ever closer. Emily's cries escalated into agonized screams, her body convulsing with the force of the darkness that sought to claim her. Y/N's heart raced, every fiber of her being consumed by a profound and paralyzing fear.

As Emily's eyes met Y/N's, a chilling realization dawned – the vibrant blue that had once sparkled with life was fading, eclipsed by an encroaching grayness that spread like tendrils of frost. Y/N's grip tightened, her own voice trembling with a mix of desperation and sorrow. "Emily, fight it! Hold on!"

Emily's voice wavered, words barely audible through the guttural moans that tore from her lips. "It's so cold, Y/N. Everything's so cold...so dark. Make it stop, please..." Her voice trailed off into a pained whimper, the shadows swallowing her words and leaving only the haunting echo of her suffering.

Y/N's fingers brushed against Emily's clammy skin, the chill of the shadows seeping into her very soul. With every ounce of strength she possessed, Y/N fought against the consuming void, her voice a soothing murmur. "I won't let it take you, dammit!" Anger boiled inside, "Get the hell off of her!"

Just as the darkness threatened to claim Emily completely, a distant rustling broke through the sound of struggle. Y/N's heart leaped as figures emerged from the shadows—the real, other hunters, their expressions etched with concern. They had followed Y/N's trail of yells and cries, arriving in the nick of time.

Y/N's voice trembled, a mild wave of relief as she sees the others. "Help her! We need to help her!" The hunters rushed forward, their hands reaching out to lend their strength. Together, they formed a shield against the darkness, a defiant stance against the malevolent force that sought to tear Emily from their grasp.

Emily's cries and convulsions intensified, her body wracked by spasms as the battle raged within her. Her hair was etched in a misty black, while her clothing was oozing with the same. Y/N's heart ached as she held onto her sister, her voice a fervent plea as she looked to the heavens. "Please, don't let her go! Not like this!" She sobbed. She held Emily tight, rocking her back and forth. She had lost so much, most of her family was already dead or turned. She'd barely consider other hunters as anything more than allies. She was terrified of becoming too attached.

And this is exactly why.

Silence. No movement, no cries, she didn't even breathe. Emily's petite figure went cold and limp in her big sister's arms, a shriek tearing through the cold air.

"EMILY!"

The veil of unconsciousness lifted, tearing Y/N from the depths of sleep into a realm of disorienting wakefulness. In an instant, her senses snapped to attention, an electric surge of panic and anxiety coursing through her veins. With a sudden jolt, she sat up, her chest heaving as if she had finished running a marathon. The room around her was shrouded in sunlight pooling in through the old vintage curtains.

A strangled cry forced itself through her lips, a raw and primal sound that echoed through the empty walls. It was a cry born of a terror she couldn't quite grasp. Her fingers trembled as she gripped the blankets below her hands, huffing.

Heartbeats drummed in her ears, a relentless rhythm that matched the frantic pace of her thoughts. The sweat-soaked tendrils of her hair clung to her forehead. She drew in ragged breaths, each inhalation a desperate attempt to bridge the gap between the dream and the waking world.

Tears blurred her vision, the remnants of her subconscious torment mingling with the harsh reality of her surroundings. It took precious moments for the room to come into focus, the familiar contours of furniture and shadows coalescing into a semblance of order. Yet, even as the nightmare's grip loosened, a residual ache settled deep within her chest.

"Emily..." The word escaped her lips in a choked whisper, a tremor of grief lacing her voice. The name hung heavy in the air, a fragile thread connecting the terror of her dreams to the ache of her waking heart. She clung to the sheets as if they were a lifeline, her fingers curling into fists against the overwhelming flood of emotions.

With a final sigh, Y/N hunched over with her head down. Her eyes shut, a tear falling into her lap, the drop being absorbed by the thick comforter snug tight over her legs. 

Mornings were never easy for Y/N. Each new day dawned as a reminder of the relentless challenges she faced, a testament to her resilience in the face of an unforgiving life. Even on her days off, a lingering unease nestled itself within the corners of her mind, stuck unto the wonders of impending danger. The cocoon of security she had woven around herself provided a shield, but it could never quite dispel the remaining possibility of danger.

She went about her normal daily routine. Eat, bathe, study—it was a day-today cycle she'd repeat without fail. The steady rhythm of these activities became her anchor, a lifeline that kept her tethered to a semblance of normalcy she lacked during her teen hood.

The simple act of nourishing herself felt like a small victory. The warm water during her shower offered a brief reprieve, a blanket of warmth throughout her entire figure. It was possibly the only place she could ever truly let her guard down—ignoring the many knives and handguns tucked away in every corner and crevice. And when she immersed herself in her studies of the unknown, her mind was at ease, eager to learn more like an intelligent child at their elite school.

She'd decided to take a bath that morning. The sound of the faucet turning on was a familiar symphony, the rushing of water a comforting melody that eased her eardrums. The room soon filled with the gentle hiss and gurgle of water as it flowed, a lullaby of sorts to her senses.

As steam gradually wafted through the air, tendrils of warmth caressed her skin. With each passing second, the room transformed into a retreat, the steam swirling like ethereal wisps that danced in the air. She undressed with a easeful grace, each garment slipping off her body and pooling onto the floor in a crumpled heap. The clothing, once a shield against the world's harshness, now lay forgotten as Y/N stepped out of its confines. The act of disrobing was more than a physical shedding; it was a ritualistic release, a shedding of layers that went beyond mere fabric. Each piece of clothing fell away, like a separate piece of heavy armor.

With a swift step, Y/N stepped into the tub. The warm water greeted her like an old friend, pooling around her calves. A sigh escaped her lips as she settled into the depths, the water rising to envelop her in its comforting embrace. Her mind was clouded with bliss, the weight of the stress not yet touching her core.

The water cocooned her body, its warmth seeping into her very bones as she closed her eyes. With each breath, she felt herself surrendering to the serenity of the moment, the rhythmic ebb and flow of her surroundings lulling her into a state of an addictive detachment.

The world beyond the bathroom door seemed distant, the sounds of the day muffled by the sanctuary she had created.

With ease, her fingers trailed along her arms, the soft glide of her touch a soothing ritual that whispered of self-care. The steam-kissed air enveloped her, carrying with it the subtle scent of her favorite from the bath salts that had dissolved into the water. As she reclined against the porcelain expanse, her muscles gradually surrendered their tension, each fiber yielding to the tender persuasion of the tranquil waters.

Slowly, Y/N's legs found themselves lifting, her knees bending as she settled into the contours of the tub. Her feet, once grounded on the porcelain floor, now found their resting place on the opposite end. The gentle swish of water accompanied her movements, a loving chorus that serenaded her senses.

Closing her eyes once more, Y/N let her head rest against the cool edge of the tub, a small sigh escaping her lips. Her mind now ebbed and flowed like the gentle ripples that lapped against her skin. The warmth enveloped her limbs, cradling each contour similar to her mother cradling her very essence in her tender hold from when she was a young child.

Her fingers dipped below the surface, the gentle tug of water playing a delicate dance with her touch. She traced the outlines of her own hands, the pathways of her palms etching stories of resilience and strength from each hunt, each death and heartbreak. The subtle currents tugged at her fingers, a gentle reminder that life was ever-present, a force that moved in rhythm with her own heartbeat.

Minutes slipped through her grasp like grains of sand, a fluid passage of time that seemed to stretch and contract with each breath. Y/N allowed herself to linger in the embrace of the bath, the world beyond the bathroom door fading into the periphery as the symphony of her senses took center stage.

As the soft glow of midday sunlight danced through the window, casting a warm embrace upon the room, Y/N's attention gravitated towards the sprawling tome that lay open before her. However, the once discerning gaze of the seasoned hunter seemed to drift, lost in the labyrinth of printed words that now merged into an abstract mosaic, their essence slipping through the sieve of her distracted thoughts. Within the confines of her mind, conflicting currents clashed - the steadfast determination that usually defined her, and an unsettling undercurrent of restless uncertainty.

Amidst the encroaching mental haze, a sharp ring pierced the air, jolting Y/N from her reverie. Swift and purposeful, she retrieved the phone and pressed it to her ear, her voice shaking from the startling event. "Hello?"

The voice on the other end carried an air of authority, a trusted hunter's tone that brooked no pleasantries. "Y/N," the voice began, a solemn cadence that bore the weight of urgency. "Got a case for you."

Y/N's eyes remained fixed on the open book, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the pages, a rhythmic dance of distraction. "Mirian," she acknowledged, a blend of reverence and intrigue imbued in her tone. The name held weight, signifying that when the hunter spoke, it was time to heed.

"There've been incidents," the hunter continued, unfolding a tale of unsettling attacks that painted a somber tableau. "Looks like the Chimera's up to its old tricks again."

A shiver coursed through Y/N's spine, a subtle reaction that betrayed the gravity of the name. Memories of past encounters surged forth like specters, a haunting tapestry of battles fought and won against this formidable adversary. Especially Emily's death. Mirian’s words wove a narrative of danger and enigma, a reminder of the stakes at play.

Her responses remained poised, a veneer of calm that masked the storm beneath. "I understand," she murmured, her gaze breaking free from the book to meet the world outside the window. "And where did everything taken place?"

Location after location was recited by the older hunter, each name etching a somber mark on the canvas of Y/N's consciousness. She absorbed the information with a hunter's precision, each detail a clue to decipher, a thread to weave into a strategy. As the conversation progressed, an immediate plan unfurled in her mind, a mosaic of tactics and resolve that began to map out her forthcoming endeavors.

"Understood," Y/N finally affirmed, her voice a testament to her unwavering commitment to the task ahead. "I'll take it from here."

The unknown hunter's approval resonated through the line, a nod of satisfaction that lingered in the air. "Good. Other hunters are staying away from this one. Leaving it to you. Be vigilant, Y/N. Take it down for good."

The call ended, leaving Y/N alone with her ruminations once more. Her gaze returned to the open book, yet now, the printed words seemed to regain their clarity, each letter a beacon guiding her purpose. With a heavy sigh, Y/N shut the book, standing herself tall. Her gaze settled on the ancient leather-bound tome, its pages brimming with secrets of old, a knowledge bank she had accumulated over the years. With a decisive nod, she turned away, her steps carrying her towards the intricately carved wooden desk where her arsenal awaited.

Quickly, Y/N began to gather her essentials. She retrieved a leather-bound notebook, its pages filled with meticulous notes and diagrams of past encounters. A sense of reverence accompanied each turn of the pages, a reminder of the blood swear and tears put into every hunt. Beside it lay an assortment of vials, each containing concoctions brewed from rare ingredients, tailored to counteract the unique attributes of queer entities.

Her attention shifted to the polished surface of the desk, where an array of weapons gleamed in the subdued light. Her fingers brushed against the hilt of a knife, its blade etched with protective runes to enhance its efficacy. A revolver lay nearby, silver bullets meticulously loaded.

Yet, the centerpiece of her arsenal rested against the desk's corner—a sickle of exquisite craftsmanship. The black handle was adorned with intricate patterns and symbols, a labyrinth of gold engravings that seemed to dance in the faint light. The handle fit perfectly in her hand, a natural extension of her unequaled wrath. The blade itself gleamed wickedly, a crescent moon of lethal sharpness. Its edge bore the scars of countless battles, slick and sharp—a gift from Death himself.

As Y/N lifted the sickle, a surge of familiarity coursed through her veins. This weapon was an extension of her identity, a manifestation of the strength and purpose that had driven her. Its weight was comforting, grounding her in the face of vengeful intent.

With her arsenal gathered, Y/N slung the duffel over her shoulder and made her way to the doorway. As her fingers brushed against the cool metal of the doorknob, her gaze flickered to a small weapon hanging by the frame. It was a talismanic blade, a last resort concealed within easy reach. The hilt bore sigils of protection, a final safeguard against unexpected threats.

The weight of the sickle at her side was a reminder of her internal hatred, a beacon of hope to finally destroy this Chimera once and for all. Y/N stepped out, shutting the door behind her.

Bobby's house exuded a sense of warmth and home, its well-worn interior serving as a refuge for the trio of hunters seeking respite from the world outside. The worn leather armchairs bore the marks of countless conversations and the shelves lining the walls were crammed with dusty books, relics of knowledge accumulated over decades of hunting. The air was tinged with the aroma of brewing coffee, a constant companion in the dimly lit haven.

Bobby sat hunched over his desk, his calloused fingers deftly dialing a number on his phone. The room seemed to hold its breath as the line connected, and he brought the receiver to his ear. His gruff voice echoed through the room as he spoke, his words carrying the weight of urgency.

"Hey there, it's Bobby Singer. Listen, I've been hearin' about some strange happenings over in Pinehaven. Yeah, it's that little town off County Road 9. There've been a series of deaths – odd ones. People droppin' dead with no explanation, like they just gave up the ghost." Bobby's brows furrowed as he listened to the voice on the other end, his expression growing increasingly grim.

Sam and Dean Winchester exchanged wary glances, their senses heightened by the heavy atmosphere that had settled over the room. They leaned in, their attention fully captivated by Bobby's conversation.

"You don't say... Well, that sounds like a real mess. Yeah, it's been goin' on for a few weeks now. The victims – they're different ages, different backgrounds. Ain't nothin' connectin' 'em on the surface. And here's the kicker – their bodies are all found with these... bizarre markings carved into 'em. Like some sort of symbol."

Bobby's eyes flickered with a mix of frustration and intrigue as he listened to the voice on the other end. "Yeah, I know it sounds like some pagan ritual, but that's where it gets even weirder. There's nothin' in any lore I've come across that matches these symbols. It's like some new kind of nasty is in town."

Sam leaned forward, his brow furrowing in contemplation. "So, what's our next move, Bobby?"

Bobby glanced at Sam and Dean before turning his attention back to the call, hanging up. "Look, I've tried gettin' some hunters interested in checkin' it out, but they're all keepin' their distance. Say it's too risky. Hell, even Garth – and you know he's usually up for a wild goose chase – turned it down."

Dean chuckled under his breath. "Well, Garth's got a point. But if it's got you scratching your head, Bobby, it's definitely worth a look."

Bobby nodded in agreement, a determined glint in his eyes. "Damn right, it is. I've got a bad feelin' about this one. We'll head over to Pinehaven, check out the crime scenes, see if we can find any leads."

Sam and Dean exchanged a nod. "You think it could be witches?" Sam asks.

Bobby scratched his scruffy beard in thought, his expression contemplative. "Could be, given the nature of the attacks and the symbols that've been showin' up around town. But we won't jump to conclusions just yet. Gotta gather more information before we start pointin' fingers."

Dean's lips curled into a half-smile, "Well, you know us, Bobby. We're always up for a good ol' witch hunt."

Bobby chuckled, a gruff sound that held a warm combination of amusement and fondness. "Just make sure you don't stir up trouble before you've got solid evidence. Last thing we need is a town full of pitchfork-wielding locals."

Sam nodded in agreement. "We'll be careful, Bobby. Promise."

With a satisfied nod, Bobby clasped his hands together. "Good. Now, gather your gear and hit the road. I'll keep diggin' on my end, see if I can find any lore or references that might give us a clue."

Dean couldn't help but interject with a mischievous grin. "Hey, Bobby, remember that time in Oklahoma when you tried to use a hex bag and ended up with green hair?"

Bobby's eyes narrowed as he shot a pointed glare at Dean. "Oh, don't you start with that again, boy. You two idjits were laughin' your heads off, like a couple of hyenas."

Sam smirked, unable to suppress a chuckle. "Come on, Bobby, you gotta admit, you rocked that look."

Bobby let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head. "Just make sure you boys pack some extra salt. We're dealin' with somethin' that's givin' hunters the heebie-jeebies."

With a shared glance, the two stood, their resolve strengthened. As they gathered their gear and headed for the door, Bobby's voice carried after them, a stern warning. "And no more hex bags, you hear me?"

The echoes of their laughter lingered in the air as they shut the door. As Sam and Dean made their way toward the sleek black Impala, the gravel crunching under their boots, Sam couldn't help but break the silence.

"You really think this case is the real deal? Witches? Haven't seen any Pagan witches lately."

Dean slid his hands into his jacket pockets, casting a sidelong glance at his brother. "Bobby seems to think so. And you know how he is with research."

Sam nodded thoughtfully, his brow furrowing. "Yeah, you're right."

Dean's expression turned more serious as he locked eyes with his brother. "Just gotta stay sharp, Sammy. If this thing's as nasty as Bobby says, we need to be on our A-game."

Sam's gaze held a mixture of determination and concern. "I know, Dean. But something just doesn't feel right. If a bunch of hunters won't go near that thing, it can't be a witch. They woulda already tackled it by now."

Dean's jaw tightened, his gaze distant for a moment before he met Sam's eyes again. "Yeah, I noticed that too. It's like everyone's walking on eggshells. We'll keep digging. But first, let's focus on finding out what's behind all these deaths and disappearances."

As they slid into the Impala's front seats, the engine roared to life with a familiar rumble. The brothers shared a determined glance before Dean put the car in gear.

[haleswallows]

Between a Rock & a Dragon's Egg teaser

(rest assured, i promise i'm still working on this. as well as the dead-on-mayn fic and the summoning series... as well as the bang fic. oh whew, i kind threw myself back into fandom, huh?)

Full fic here

“Your Highness.” He said it with a bow, then circled back to the window behind the desk. Tim felt his chest loosen with the distance and obstruction.

Objectively, he knew Shadow was unlikely to harm him. Objectively, Tim knew the risk was low. It was the unknown that kept him on edge.

"Good afternoon, Shadow. I believe Sir Valerie is with Phantom, if you are looking for her.” Shadow tilted his head. The sun caught his eyes. They shone like an animal’s. Tim dared not blink.

“I was looking for you.” And he blinked, setting Tim free who took an involuntary step back.

Why in the world would he be looking for me? Tim thought but instead said “My apologies for assuming. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Does Phantom talk to you?” That wasn’t what Tim had expected. He barely managed to keep his face blank. “He’s hiding something and won’t talk to me or Val about it.”

And why would Phantom hide something from his brother, and his sister’s knight? The question looped around in Tim’s mind. He’s sure his face did something weird while lost in his thoughts. It seemed Shadow picked up on his thoughts. The large man huffed. It dripped with frustration.

“Phantom does not always… trust us. For good reason,” he added in a mumble Tim is sure he wasn’t supposed to hear.

“Because of your service to Pariah Dark?” Tim couldn’t keep from prodding. There was so much he just… didn’t know. He was hungry to know more about his husband and family. The politics in the Infinite Lands felt like ever-shifting shoal under his feet and Tim was desperate for a foothold.

Shadow’s shrug was petulant. “My lack of humanity.”

What?

Shadow searched his face. “You don’t know. You wouldn’t know. Of course. I’m a magical creature. A copy of Phantom, created in the echo of… of what Plasmius did. It isn’t fair to Phantom for me to give the details, but this part is mine.”

Tim sat on the chaise. His entire worldview shifted. “That’s why Phantom… when we met in Gotham for the marriage contracts. Why he asked what he did for you? And… and Mistral?”

Instead of answering, Shadow looked out the window again. “Mistral would be fine on her own. Val wouldn’t let anything happen to the princesses. Making a deal for my protection is stupid.” He seemed almost insulted by it. Tim was sure Shadow was entirely capable of taking care of himself. But that didn’t always matter with family.

[watcheraurora]

Could you pretty please make a list of the people in your au and their superhero/ villain name(s) + their powers/hybrid features if they have any? Sorry if this has been asked already. I had read the fics in your au a while back. And my stupid brain won't let me read it again.

Sure! This hasn't been asked already, actually

There are no hybrid features on any of them. This is, technically, a 100% human AU (except some humans have powers)

I'll put some basics here, and after Even Strong Walls Fall Down is fully posted and there are no spoilers, I can make a more comprehensive list (because some information is revealed in Strong Walls and I want to make sure that's a little bit of a surprise)

Other information that I'm sourcing were things I answered here and here, some of which hasn't actually made it into the stories yet but since I've already posted it to Tumblr, I consider it "known to the audience"

From this fic universe if you're new and unsure what this ask is referring to

Under the cut 'cause this got long!

Tango Tek

Alias: Deepfrost

Powers: cryokinesis (control of ice/cold), umbrakinesis (control of darkness/shadows, which he generates and can see through) "fueled" by his heartbeat, Sonic Shriek (actually a twist on the umbrakinesis, as it's the heartbeat's volume multiplied exponentially)

Side effects: blue-grey eyes + ice-blue hair while using powers (frost in hair maintains the blue longer) that fades after a minute or two. Sclera of eyes turn black when he's using his darkness, eyes glow slightly to allow him to see through his darkness. Prominent cold aura when powers are in use, barely-noticeable cold aura normally. Skin always cold. Struggles to maintain control over powers when emotions run high

Bonus information: has ADHD, played hockey in school, has a 160 IQ (above genius-level), is considered one of the most powerful superpowered people in the city, is very creative at using his powers, could be considered paranoid but he prefers the term "cautious", manifested his powers at 17

Jimmy Solidarity

Alias: Sheriff

Powers: Super strength, increased speed, enhanced endurance, fast healing

Side effects: Increased metabolism to fuel powers, increased muscle density (no appearance changes to speak of, apart from noticeable musculature)

Bonus information: has a cat named Norman, needs glasses but wears contacts with his superhero mask, manifested his powers at 22, the latest anyone on record has ever manifested powers (usual range is 16-20)

Scar Goode

Alias: HoTGuY

Powers: Acute senses (sight, smell, hearing, etc.), enhanced strength (nowhere near Sheriff's maximum), tactile telekinesis (can control the things he touches with his mind. Mainly used to improve his aim). Is best known as an archer

Side effects: Power manifestation overcame a neuromuscular disease that left him unable to walk, but not permanently. He still occasionally has fits where his legs won't work. Powers slightly saturated the shade of green of his eyes.

Bonus information: uses a mechanical glider to fly, can adjust the draw weight on his bow to 600 pounds, manifested his powers when he was 18

Joel Beans

Alias: Lore

Powers: Electrokinesis (lightning control, lightning is green), flight (Superman-style), invulnerability

Side effects: lightning flickers in the sclera of his eyes when he uses lightning. Permanent green streak in his hair that cannot take dye. Power manifestation and invulnerability removed his allergies. Giving him more endurance, speed, and strength because he can't injure himself by overdoing things

Bonus information: is married to the mayor of the city, Lizzie. Manifested his powers when he was 19. Is retired from field work and instead runs the superhero division and acts as the heroes' handler

Impulse [Civilian Name Redacted bc Spoilers]

Alias: Impulse

Powers: [Spoilers!], but he is a brilliant inventor of technology and experimenting with biology. Allegedly created creatures called Phantoms. Presumably created GeminiSlay and Blood Moon's weapons

Side effects: Active use of powers make eyes turn yellow and glow. Also has a [Redacted because Spoilers]

Bonus information: is the biological father of the Soup Group's other two members (which is known to the other two main villains in the city, but not spoken about), manifested his powers when he was 20, built and rides the Pulse Bike: a highly advanced motorcycle, is almost a genius

Gem [Last Name Redacted bc Spoilers]

Alias: GeminiSlay (most often referred to as just Slay)

Powers: Unknown by most people. Primarily a melee fighter with an energy sword not unlike a lightsaber

Side effects: when powers are in use, one eye turns red, the other gold

Bonus information: her powers manifested when she was [Spoilers], uses a motorcycle

Pearl [Last Name Redacted bc Spoilers]

Alias: Blood Moon (often referred to as just Moon)

Powers: Unknown to most people. Known for being extremely acrobatic and mobile. Primarily a ranged fighter with a bow that shoots arrows of light/energy

Side effects: Eyes tend to turn red when using powers

Bonus Information: her powers manifested when she was [Spoilers]

Etho [Last Name Unknown]

Alias: Arctic Fox

Powers: Unknown. (Information that I've revealed to the audience but the characters don't know is that he's Immortal as a main power) Incredibly skilled at hand-to-hand combat and stealth.

Side effects: Left eye turns and glows red when his powers are in use

Bonus information: is one of the longest-serving field heroes in the city, maintains friendly respect with Deepfrost after the latter was kicked out of the division, never removes the mask that covers the lower half of his face at the division, is an extremely private person, is almost a genius

Grian [Last Name Unknown]

Aliases: CuTeGuY, Poultry Man

Powers: clairvoyance (CG), enhanced dexterity (CG), flight with wings (CG&PM. CG's wings are parrot-like, PM's are chicken-like), telepathy (unknown to people), teleportation (unknown to people), memory manipulation (unknown to all but Deepfrost, who is vaguely aware). Primarily fights with a bow and arrow (CG). Can use illusions and/or change appearances between CuTeGuY and Poultry Man on the fly, as necessary (unknown to people). Immortal (unknown)

Side effects: Eyes glow violet when using clairvoyance

Bonus information: Is an actual god. Like, a minor deity, but still a deity. Has been around for thousands of years and pretends to be mortal because he finds it fun and it staves off the boredom of living forever. He uses whichever alias and costume will suit his needs for what he wants at any given moment. Thrives off chaos. Martyn is the only mortal who knows he's a god.

Doc [Civilian Name Unknown]

Alias: Doc

Powers: can create things out of raw materials using just his hands, can spawn minions (zombies and skeletons), has a cybernetic eye and arm with extra features including but not limited to thermal/night vision and extra strength

Side effects: Unknown

Bonus information: First known person to manifest powers over 30 years ago, created such dangerous weapons trying to overcome Joel's invulnerability that Joel chose to retire to protect the city, manifested powers when he was 19, considers Deepfrost something of a surrogate son and the best protégé he ever took under his wing

Rapid-Fire Round! XD

Cub [Last Name Unknown]

Alias: None

Powers: Technopathic (can control technology with his mind)

Side effects: Permanent eye-color change from blue to vibrant teal

Bonus information: is an intelligent inventor, creates the suits for the field heroes, doesn't want to be known for the powers he had no choice in: rather his creations, doesn't do field work and never wants to, manifested his powers at 16, is good friends with Scar

Cleo [Last Name Unknown]

Alias: formerly Zombie Queen

Powers: extremely fast healing factor/regeneration (like Wolverine or Deadpool)

Side effects: permanent vibrant lime green eyes and a somewhat palid skin tone

Bonus information: was the third person in the city to manifest powers (not including the immortals) around 25 years ago, has never done field work, assists Cub in creating the heroes' armor/suits, also is the primary medic in the superhero division's infirmary, manifested powers at 20

Bdubs [Last Name Unknown]

Alias: formerly Sleep King

Powers: Dream and sleep manipulation and creation

Side effects: Sleeps a lot

Bonus information: also has never done field work, is good friends with Etho, manifested powers at 18

False Symmetry [Civilian Name Unknown]

Aliases: False Symmetry, Queen of Hearts(, Heads, and Body Parts)

Powers: Unknown. (Combat prowess nearly unmatched. Has been witnessed making her sword appear in her hand)

Side effects: Unknown

Bonus information: an information broker, has her fingers in every pie in the city and always tries to know everything important going on, manifested her powers when she was 16

TFC [Civilian Name Unknown]

Alias: TFC

Powers: Geokinetic (control of Earth)

Side effects: Unknown

Bonus information: manifested powers not long after Cleo, was kind of tied with Etho for longest-serving field hero. Founded the division with Etho and Joel. Lost his life in the line of duty, saving civilians (accident not killed). Powers manifested when he was 17

Ren Dogg

Alias: none

Powers: Shapeshifter

Side effects: unknown

Bonus information: Is one of the only superpowered people in the city who actively hides his powers from both the superhero division and the villains. Manifested at 19. Martyn is the only person who knows he has powers

Mumbo Jumbo [Civilian Name Unknown]

Alias: Mumbo Jumbo

Powers: Unknown

Side effects: Unknown

Bonus information: Unknown

[fortune-fool02]

Ghosts that Linger Still

Jack Krauser x female reader

Summary: Memories of Operation Javier still haunt Jack. Thankfully, you are there to help him when they become too much. 

Warning: Light angst. PSTD, nightmares. Spoilers for Operation Javier. Fluff. 

I would like to thank @tomatosalsa​ for their incredible portrayal of Krauser that helped inspire me for this fic! 

Thank you for taking the time to read this! Please reblog and leave feedback as it really helps! Thank you! 

Please enjoy. 

It was the same moment, the same scenario replaying over and over again like a broken record. His mind trapping him, pulling at his body and muscles to its exact movements, his movements nothing more than a puppet having its strings yanked and pulled. No matter what Krauser tried to do, no matter how he tried to fight against it, to move differently, to change what happened, it was always the same outcome. 

He was standing there, sweat trickling down his brow, mixing with the blood splattered across his face. Blood that did not belong to him. His men around him calling out, trying to get a hold of themselves while shouting for orders from their Major. Krauser’s mouth was dry, his mind a blank slate as it was trying to process what he was witnessing. In all his years of service, of all the battles he had fought, he had never seen anything like this. The monster of immense power tearing through his men like they were nothing more than glass. Their hot blood splattering across the trees around them, soaking into the ground beneath his feet. Their lifeless eyes staring up, a look of raw fear carved into their faces in their final moments. 

And he didn’t do a damn thing. His body frozen in place, a frozen film, as he watched the monster tear through his men. The rifle in his arms trembled as he raised it, the creature’s claws raised up high before swinging down towards him. 

An almost... scared cry left Krauser’s lips as he shot upright, his hand reaching for his gun, his eyes wide and alert but tinted by the nightmare still. Shadows around the room creating monsters that weren’t there, clinging to the edges of his vision still. His skin damp with sweat, just as his side of the bed was, as his breaths came out in heavy, ragged pants. His eyes taking in the room around him. There was no jungle, no blood, no mangled corpses of his men. No monster. 

The stitches along his face ached, pulsing with a phantom pain of that monster’s claws. An irritating itch under the skin that made him want to claw at his face but he settled for digging his nails into the flesh of his palms. His left arm struggling to respond to the command, his fingers managing to twitch and lightly curl, but that was all they could muster. As it had been since that cursed day. Pushing himself off the bed, Krauser got up and walked out of the room to get a drink, hoping to drown the lingering marks of the nightmare away. 

[Name] laid in her side of the bed, her eyes open as she listened to him walk out the room, trying to be quiet. This was what they had gotten since he returned from Operation Javier, since the Government had discharged him from service. These nightmares plagued him, but he would refuse to talk to her about them. [Name] sat up and looked towards the door before grabbing her night coat and followed behind him quietly. 

The kitchen light fell across the flooring at the bottom of the stairs, the sound of a bottle opening was heard and a heavy sigh. A twinge of sympathy plucked inside her as she peered around the doorway, watching Krauser leaning against the counter with a bottle in his grasp, it was not an uncommon sight anymore. While Krauser did drink before, it had only gotten worse since he was discharged. [Name] couldn’t blame him though in truth. 

“Jack?” Her voice, despite how soft it was, cut through the air, catching the man’s attention. He looked a mess. Droplets of sweat still sticking to his brow despite his attempt to wipe it off, that faint tremble in his hand as he held the bottle. His position was guarded, straight and firm, like he was on duty again.

"I didn't mean to wake you. Just wanted a drink." Even his voice was firm, trying to keep it so. [Name] walked over, her feet barely making a sound on the cold flooring of the kitchen until she was standing in front of him. She rose her hand up and gently touched his unscared cheek,

"It's okay, Jack. You're okay." A moment passed, then two, and Krauser practically crumbled to his knees, holding onto her tightly. [Name] lowered him down gently, kneeling on the floor with him and just held him. The man didn't shed any tears but she could feel the shaking in his body, his muscles. Her hands gently rubbed soothing circles on his back, whispering soft reassurments and comfort in his ear.

[Name] moved her head a little and, very gently, began to kiss his stitches on his face. Her kisses warm and light, knowing the stitches still hurt sometimes, but this was her way of silently telling him that she didn't care about the stitches, that she didn't care about how he looked now. To her, he was still as gorgeous as he was when she first met him.

The hand of his bandaged arm, the arm that had taken a critical wound to that led to him being discharged, reached up weakly before grabbing onto her nightcoat with all the strength it could muster. [Name] moved one hand and interlocked her fingers with his hand, giving it a gentle yet reassuring squeeze.

"It's going to be okay, love." She whispered and kissed him again.

[thekingofworems]

what if Frankenstein’s creature felt more like a woman. What if they liked more to wear dresses and spinny skirts and style their hair in fancy buns and curls. Trans woman Creechur.

OMFGGG I SEE THE VISION I SEE THE VISION

👀👀👀👀👀

Nodding and looking at this with my big brown autistic eyes

Personally I headcanon Jascha as genderqueer with more masc/androgynous gender preferences, but I definitely love the idea of this large, freaky homunculus and then it's like "flowy... look look the dress spins :D" LIKE DJJHDJJD THAT'S ADORABLE??? Plus he absolutely deserves to get flowers n shit braided in his hair I'D LOVE THAT FOR THEMMM

Yknowwww you could go say a lil hihi howdy how are ya to my interpretation of the Creechur on the ask blog BUT HEY NO PRESSURE /lh /nf

HEADS UPPP finna yap yap yap abt a cool Frankenstein au fanfic I take inspiration from for my take on Adam. If you don't care feel free to skip!!! Mwah mwah mwah love you<3

Btw if u want an awesome, sorta modern Frankenstein university au fic I HIGHLYYYY recommend Song Of Myself on AO3!!! It's a slowww burn and it's like 40 chapters long BUT IT'S AWESOMEEE, instead of Adam, Creech is Jascha because this fic plays into the trope of the creature having memories from the body parts of the people he's made from BUTTT i think it's awesome cuz there's only one person (aside from a few adjustments) that's used to create Jascha. No spoilers, but basically the og person's legs were destroyed, and because Jascha has the person's memories, he has phantom pains, needs to get used to having a mostly different body, etc.

It's a pretty cool take imo, and each chapter is told through Victor, Henry, and Jascha's POVs in that order!! There's an interesting take on Victor, giving him a/a few types of mood disorders. Idr if they were specified BUT YEAHHH😋 I love this fic with all my heart and I need more people to know abt it lmaooo

TOODLESSS

[daddyplasmius]

hand on my stupid heart flashbacks

this is a No One Knows AU & Full Hazmat AU where Danny ended up in the Ghost Zone & didn't go back into the human world initially because he thought he was dead. by the time he realized he is, in fact, at least half alive, he'd already been missing for at least 2 weeks. will probs never finish homsh sorry. i wrote this a couple years ago in a haze & just haven't been able to finish it because i can't replicate the style, which i find is what i love about this fic the most. it wouldn't be the same without it. posting the flashback introsーwhich are meant to be read between chapters/the actual plot, starting after chapter 1ーcuz fuck it. excuse typos & shit, i never properly edited it, as i forgot it existed immediately after i wrote it original description of homsh: Danny Fenton has officially been missing for over a year. Maddie & Jack Fenton refuse to give up on their son. Sick and tired of the police running them in circles, and the case getting colder by the day, the Fentons turn to their last resortーPhantom. 800~ words (full unfinished fic is 20k~)

-

When Danny woke up surrounded by thick, green fog, and couldn’t breathe without swallowing heavy air that was more like water than anything, he was sure he was dead. The portal glowed behind him, illuminating the pitch darkness around him in soft, yellow, warm light.

He almost went back.

Almost.

He was dead. His parents were ghost hunters. They had drilled into his head from the moment he was born that he could never, ever panic in death. That he would accept it. That he would not be scared. So he would be prepared to be brave in the face of death and would not become a ghost.

He panicked. He did not accept it. He was terrified. And so he woke up in the Ghost Zone.

-

Danny went back through the portal when he saw some ectopuses acting… strange. Like they had an idea in their heads. Like they had a plan.

Which was weird, with animal ghosts. He had only been in the Ghost Zoneーmom and dad called it that, he rememberedーfor a couple weeks. Or, he had already been there for two weeks. Or maybe time worked differently and he was there five minutes, or four years orー

The ectopuses went through the portal and, despite everything, Danny went after them.

While he was busy reeling at being home, the ectopuses immediately attacked dad. Danny was horrified. Jack was overwhelmed. Danny stepped in, in a moment fueled by sheer adrenaline and stupidity, snatching a Fenton Thermos™ off a shelf and releasing his shaky invisibility. The ectopuses didn’t stand a chance. And when they were safely in the Thermos, he slowly turned around to dad, ready for the confrontation. Ready for the “what happened to you?” and the “where have you been?” and the “we’ve missed you”.

Dad scrambled to shoot at him.

Danny fled.

His parents didn’t recognize him.

-

The Lunch Lady attacked when Danny was mourning Halloween.

He’d waited all year. He made a costume that summer. He wouldn’t get to go trick or treating with Sam and Tucker this year. Or any year. For the rest of his lifeーor existence. Whatever.

The Lunch Lady appeared in the school and demanded in straight fury, “Who changed the menu?”

Everyone pointed at Sam.

Danny hadn’t known just how powerful ghosts could be. His parents never told him the specifics. Just that they were dangerous.

This ghost grew and her aura hit him like a hurricane, almost physically pushing him back. It was so strong that the students in the Casper High cafeteria seemed to feel it too.

The Lunch Lady was a much harder opponent than the ectopuses. She levitated meat. She used it as a weapon, and seemed to bring it back to life. She created weird meat creatures that grew sharp teeth and claws out of bones. They were mindless, attacking everything that got too close to the ghost. Danny would have run away without hesitation, if Sam hadn’t been in the crossfire.

Danny fought the Lunch Lady. It was a long struggle, but he caught her in the thermos after over an hour. When he turned to Sam and Tuckerーboth of whom he had to save due to Tucker trying to jump into the fightーall three of them bloody and bruised, he cringed. But a part of him hoped. Desperately.

Surely they would know him on sight.

“Wh-what are you?” Sam gasped at him finally.

Danny flinched as if she had struck him. “J-just… your friendly neighbourhood phantom.”

-

Danny didn’t know what possessed him. Oh. Pun not intended.

He just barely caught the Fentons leaving in the GAV, dragging suitcases behind them. He couldn’t help himself. What on Earth were they doing?

They were going to Vlad Master’s mansion for their college reunion.

It was a whole thing. But something was off. Besides all the adults reminiscing about the 80’s.

Danny sensed ghosts immediately but he couldn’t see anything. Unfortunately for him, Vlad could also sense him. It was two days of Danny staying invisible, and Vladーthe halfa? Is that what Danny is?ーtrying to kill Jack. Somehow, Danny managed to fight off Vlad, not turn back, and without the Fentons getting hurt. His secret intact.

VladーPlasmius, also learned about Phantom. And Vlad hated him. The manーghostーwhatever, seemed to only care about one thingーpossession. Of money. Of things. Of people. He was more ghost than Danny had ever seen. Vlad’s obsession was overwhelming.

Danny couldn’t believe someone so much like himself could be so disturbing.

[silverorchideon]

The Dreamer Created 3 Great Leaders, Inspired by the 3 Great Creatures Created Before When Headspace was First Constructed

There was the Oldest, mutilated to try and satiate their desire, infected by selfishness,

There was the Favorite, largely accessible and unchanged from when they were spawned,

And lastly...

There was the W̸̛̙̼̰̻͓͙̖̜͛̃̇į̸̭̼̞̰̺̪͓͈̃̎̕͜͝s̸̛̘̗͔͇̭̤̥̻̪̝̜͐̄̾̌̔̕͠e̵̡̪̦̻͙͔̽̂̏̿̋̓̕s̸̨͎̟̯̜̖͆̀̈́̂́̀́̔̃̆ͅt̴̗̼̩̲͙̹͊̽̓̿̽͊̉͂͝,̴̛̣̼͈̫͐ ̸̨͔̞͍͍̥̜̭͇̲̤̗̿̔͂̀́̂͐͌͝ǫ̵͍̟̰̤̪̠͙̲̤̈̀͒̒͘ͅn̴̡̻̩̅͌͌̆̂̔̅̀̅̔͘c̴̭̼̝̙̜̪̟̤̹̩̄̄̓͛͊̈́͜͜e̵͓͓͙̹͉͔̩̭̞̻͈̜͑̇͊ ̶͍͕̼̬͎̮̫͙̲̉̈́̏̅̈͛̓̉͜͠l̸̛̩͖̦̻̞͍̓́̑͒̀͠o̴̡͍̩̥̟͎͌̃̔͒̈͐̃ͅv̸̨̡̨͓̞̘̟̩̗̠̣́̿̏ë̶̛̺̯̐̑̚ḓ̶̢̛̞̞̆͋̀̓̀̃̔͝,̶͇̜̗͘ ̵̛̟̺̺̽̋̊̈́͐͘̕ͅb̸̧̛̙̟̦͖͎͋̇͂̀̔̊̒̋͝ǔ̴̝̮͖̂̆̑̌ẗ̵̢̬̫̜͇̺͔̩̏̓́͋̈́͒͜ͅ ̵͎̲̙̫̘̱͔̱̬̂̃͂̓͑̄̀̐͆ͅͅç̵̡̪͎͙͚̳̑̽̈̃̇͝ö̴̡̱͖̭̭́̇́̏̔͘͠r̶̟̱͉͉̯̭͂͒̊͋̒̄̑̐̍̉̌͝ŕ̵̡̘̳̦͍͍̔̈́̆̔͘u̵͈̝̰̥̭͗̎̄̈́̉͌p̵̢̟̼̺̲̟̱̭͖͐t̵̨̠̲̟͓̥̱͔̘̅͊̈́́͝e̵̺̠̘͎̳͉̰͔̬̒͝ͅd̸̤̯͖͖̻̮͎̗͈̥̘̥͊̂̀̕ ̶̥̗͍͓̣̜̌̈́̾f̴̧̢̮̼̥̯̳̲͎̖̟̦̋͑͐͛̅̔͠r̷̦͉̮̲̖͕̤͔̩̓̏̈́̅̉ǒ̴̧̖̮̰̍͆̃́͑͒̈́́͝͝m̷̧̖̦̠̘͉̟̩͍̀͐̐̽̊̓͆͜͝ ̴̢̙͕̞̱̮͉͕̦̈́̕͝ṱ̶̢͉͙̭͍͚̻̙̘̞̄̎͐͝h̷̻͗̈͌́e̶̢͈͔͙̬̙̥̬̳̭͖͎̅̓̈́i̸͔͓͍̗̜̮̥̓̈́̄͜r̴̨͓͈̩̹͔͍͕̿̀̀͒͊͗̒̈́̕͝ ̵̝̭̦̻̍̀̈́̂̈́̏̈́̀͊̆͐ơ̷̧͉͉̣͇̫̞̳̪̖̿̀̃̑̐́̃̈͘͜͝͝ͅr̵̡͈̘̫̥͗͗͛̎͊̓̀̎í̶̡̧̻͚͕͚̣̑̓̈́͛̉̓͋̆̐̌͘͜g̸̛̛͈̙̰̈̐̅̓̚ĩ̴̧̞̹̦͚̜̠͉̲͎̰̎̕͝ǹ̸̡̨̢͎̝̱̩̝̤͉̦̒̈̑̎̾͌̕a̴̦̥͗̇̏̌̏ḷ̵̡͉̳͕̻̝̔͂̋,̴̤͕͙̒͒̓̊̊̊̀́̇͐͝ ̵̡̛̪̳͙͑̈̈́̈́̐͘ͅṱ̶̲̉͆̔̀̏̔̆r̸̠̂͗̋͐ũ̷͖̐̈́͊̀͘e̵̞͂͒́̂͛͑̆̀̽̂͝ ̸̺̝̤̰̫̲̙̙͔̀f̷̧̛̝̙̦̝̼͐ͅǫ̵̳̖̼͉͔̥̅r̸̨̳̠̹̪͕̹͇̩̞͙̱̈́͘m̷͕̝͖̞͍͌̏́̿̏s̶̨͕̮̳̖̱̰̱̹̈́͆̔͐̏͊̚͠͠.̴̠̫̿̓̈́̍̌̆́̐̄͐̍̕

THIS IS MY THIRD TIME TRYING TO POST THESE DRAWINGS FOR MY HEADSPACE! DANNY/LINGERING PHANTOMS/PHANTOMS LINGER IN THE MIND AU MY GOODNESS

So yeah! This AU! I'm really happy with this au, along with the lore and worldbuilding with it. I've been really on a Danny Phantom crossover kick recently, so it's sort of obvious why I'm coming back to my favorite piece of media of all time to cross it over with DP.

If you want to read the fic for this au, you can find it here! I'm really happy with that fic, even if it isn't my magnum opus or anything.

Other than that, images from the gif under the cut!

[balshumetsbaragouin]

It is finished! I'm so happy to post the last chapter and finish off my first long fic! Thank you to everyone who has joined me along the way and who left comments, kudos, bookmarks and subs! This has been a wild ride, so I hope you all enjoy the ending to the first entry in the Pestilence!AU trilogy. Inside, Danny and Valerie catch up after the harrowing events the day before, and Danny asks an important question...

One last time: Have a sneak peek for the dashboard!:

She landed a few feet from the bushes, not wanting to get twigs and leaves caught in the newly rebuilt engines of her hoverboard. She still missed her wings, flying was much more convenient and exciting with them, but after the curse left, so too did the ability to transform. She discovered her ability to interface and control with other technology diminished as well. It had been nice to control the systems inside Plasmius’ house, but she could at least enjoy the knowledge she’d crippled its defenses. She also missed the ability to create new weapons with a thought.

Still, having her mind be curse free and no longer subject to the whims of homicidal ghost hunting sprees definitely made up for it. She slid the armor back into place, the suit quieting to a hum in the back of her mind. Another change involved the suit being more silent. They could still communicate, she just seemed less opinionated. But, if the opinions she had shared were any indication, she tended towards the primal and vulgar anyway. She did not need dietary guidance or suggestions! Squirrels are filled with protein, so are rabbits. They were adorable woodland creatures and she was not a wild animal. They were not going to eat them. The suit didn’t seem particularly happy about it, but the grumbles settled out into gentle hisses. She didn’t try to take control anymore either, just gave suggestions about her diet and butted in about her social life. It was still weird, all things considered, to share her mind with a piece of tech, but what could she do? 

She walked into the park a few minutes early, preparing to settle in for the long haul. For all of his many virtues, Danny had never met a deadline he couldn’t dodge…except today, apparently. She walked into the park, ready to find a bench to relax on for the next fifteen to twenty, only to find him already inside and standing around looking for her. Ok, that’s a new one, Fenton. Agreeing to talk about his feelings and showing up on time, all without being reminded? He’d just opened a new chapter, or maybe just flipped to a new page. When she walked closer, she could see him shove a breakfast pastry in his mouth with one hand and check his phone with the other. On the bench near him sat a water bottle. He picked it up and started chugging the liquid inside. He’d definitely rushed here. “Hey Danny.” He started choking, and she rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I crept over here.”

“I’m used to sensing... Uh, hi Val.” He set the bottle down and waved. “You’re still feeling better, right?” He walked over to her, hands in his pockets, typical bright smile on his face. Like she hadn’t almost died yesterday, like he wasn’t always half-dead himself. 

[sinorim-pisani]

tl;dr GHOST CORES ARE COOL YO (danny phantom word blast)

ok but like the idea of ghost cores is so fascinating to me???? idk if it’s the lore obsessed eldritch creature in my brain or what but PLEASE fanfic writers, take the helm of the danny phantom ship and steer us towards more ghost core lore!!

There’s so much exploration to be found there, in the connection between ghost cores and the Infinite Realms, and cores and d*ath circumstances, and cores and how powers or abilities manifest! 

How many different kinds of cores are there? Is it just a simple divide based on temperature i.e. cold v hot? I feel like there’s too much variation between people of the “ghost zone” and people who can form in the zone to simply leave it at a temp divide! Would it then be based on the common elements of water, earth, air, fire, and their many derivatives? In that case, where do Ancients like Clockwork and Pandora come in? ‘Time’ and ‘Space’ (in the physical, spatial sense, not the galactic sense) don’t seem to be ability types that are just thrown around willy nilly, so does that mean these two (and other Ancients) aren’t truly ghosts? and that they don’t have a real “ghost” core?

I find it so very interesting that the writers chose to give Danny frost-based abilities, and therefore a cold core. Does that decision alone technically indicate there isn’t any kind of link between core formation circumstance and resulting core type? Since Danny formed his core during an electricity-based event, would it not have made more sense to give him a heat core?? 

And then there’s Vlad! His core was technically formed during the accident with the miniature ghost portal , which didn’t seem to involve anything other then drastic exposure to ectoplasmic radiation, and then we as the fandom have taken to saying he has a heat-based core (I can’t remember if this is actually mentioned in the show). Which heat and “radiation” are sorta connected so that one actually makes sense??

I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS AHH my brain just wants to throw them all at the screen rn!

Shortened List:

What actually determines the type of core a ghost forms? 

How many types of cores are there, and what are those types? How are they categorized?

What is the connection between a ghost’s core and the ghost zone? Do cores come into existence spontaneously, and tie a ghost to the zone, or is there already a core created for every creature capable of becoming a ghost, based on a yet-to-be-experienced life? 

How can a ghost’s powers/abilities manifest based on their core type? 

Does a ghost form around a core, or does the core form inside the ghost? Is a core the source of a ghost’s capital O Obsession?

Is a ghost core really equivalent to a heart? Or is it something entirely new, different?

I could definitely go on. All this to say I greatly enjoy fic writers exploring what it really means for Danny to have a “cold-type” ghost core! He’s cold all the time but he doesn’t notice, or he needs to exist in cool environments to be comfortable, or when it comes to medical aid he needs a very specifically cold physical and material environment to be treated well. He finds Frostbite to be a comforting figure and the Far Frozen feels like a second home (the first being Clockwork’s Lair) because his very core is telling him that this is what he needs, that he will be embraced best by the arms of the ice.

[theghostlycoyote]

a flood of blood (blossoms) to the heart

by me :) aka @coyotecrackers

Summary:

Danny Fenton is tasked with investigating a warehouse full of blood blossoms. Jake Long is also tasked with investigating a warehouse full of blood blossoms. What happens when fate (and a warehouse full of blood blossoms) brings these young heroes together?

Tags: crossover, minor violence, minor injuries

Current WC: 9.4 k

CHAPTER 2 IS UP NOW! - introducing Jake Long!

———

This is a Danny Phantom and American Dragon: Jake Long crossover fic, all born from the amazing art created by @ryd3rthest4r for Ecto-Implosion 2023

Find their art here:

Tumblr || Instagram || Chapter 2 of the fic on AO3

———

Chapter 2 Sneak Peek:

The three friends cautiously make their way deeper into the warehouse, picking up flower petals as they go. Trixie sticks close by, scanning their surroundings with her flashlight.

Jake freezes as he reaches down to pick up another petal. Right next to it, a bright green splatter stains the floor. It looks wet, like it was just dropped, and it’s glowing slightly. It looks radioactive.

Somewhere behind him, Spud sneezes loudly, but Jake can’t tear his gaze away from the unnatural splatter in front of him.

“Uh, Jakey, what do you think this is?” Trixie asks nervously.

He looks up to see a huge smear of the same glowing substance on the wall where Trixie is pointing her flashlight.

“Beats me. It’s here on the floor, too,” he admits. Frowning, he glances at the floor directly behind Trixie. There’s more of this splatter on the floor and walls, leading down the hallway and around the corner like a trail.

He points it out to her, and they follow after it wordlessly. What could have done something like this? It’s almost like… blood? But blood isn’t green. He’s seen a lot of creatures in his adventures, but nothing with glowing green blood.