#mostly expanding on canon stuff

[mighty-ant]

The Man from F.O.W.L, Part Three

part two

ao3

Steelbeak once spent twenty-three days in solitary confinement. 

Assault and disorderly conduct were the offenses. The brother of some unfortunate schmuck he once faced in some smoky backroom posing as a boxing ring, who left with more broken bones than he came in with, ran up to him in the prison cafeteria wielding a shiv carved out of a toothbrush handle. Talking things out was never his strong suit even before the damage to his beak that landed him in a hospital bed for two months, so Steelbeak slammed the guy’s head into a couple of tables in lieu of conversation. 

He spent twenty-three days staring at four identical gray walls, reigning in his mind as it wandered, stretching his sanity thin. He could’ve asked for books, but reading wasn’t his thing. Letters, entire words even, tended to rearrange themselves before his eyes, flowing incomprehensibly like a river so deep he had no hope of ever reaching the bottom. Instead he slept, unsuccessfully played tic-tac-to, and bounced a rubber ball back and forth against the wall. 

It was mind-numbing, even terrifying to be so utterly alone and powerless for the first time in his life. Steelbeak still wasn’t positive he hadn’t cracked in there. After a certain point he lost count of the days. 

He only knew it had been twenty-three because Heron told him so. 

It was night when she appeared, or at least Steelbeak thought it was. Time had long since gone screwy for him, and he slept a lot more toward the end. Even so, when he was awoken by the prolonged creak and thud of his cell door opening, he knew that not enough time had passed since the guards slid him his latest tray of mystery meat and soggy carrot sticks. 

Steelbeak sat up sharply, immediately on edge. 

The prison guards didn’t bother him much—unlike the idiots trapped in here with him, they’d read his file and knew perfectly well what he was capable of. Steelbeak was one of the few inmates who wasn’t worth messing with; he cut an intimidating figure even before the scars that twisted his beak into a permanent scowl, and pain didn’t slow him down like it might other birds. The last time a guard tried to jab Steelbeak with a taser, the schmuck found himself pinned to the wall with it. 

It was always possible that some newly hired high school flunkie wanted to prove his mettle and didn’t believe the stories about the rooster with the messed up face fresh from a bloody, underground fight club. In which case Steelbeak was more than happy to teach him a lesson. 

But when he turned toward the door, there wasn’t a guard standing there at all. Framed by the harsh yellow light of the hallway was a woman, her features thrown almost completely into shadow. Wearing a form-fitting dress and knee-high white boots, she was as out of place in his cell as sunshine at a funeral. 

“What abysmal security,” she muttered in a precise, delicate accent he didn’t recognize. It sounded posh, though. “A child could break out of this place.” 

“Who the hell are you?” he said, too confused to remember to stand from his cot. 

She fixed him with a deep, dark stare, the white of her eyes catching in the yellow light. “You may call me Black Heron.” She extended her right hand to him but it looked all wrong even in his cell’s poor lighting. The movements of her arm were too smooth and the silhouette had lines and ridges that an arm shouldn’t. 

Still, Steelbeak supposed she hadn’t given him a reason to be rude so he rose to his feet and accepted the handshake. Her palm was so cold against his that it stung and the pointed tips of her fingers dug into his skin. A metal prosthesis, the kind people paid good money for, went up to her shoulder. 

“Uh, sure,” he said. “Nice to meetcha.”

Up close, Heron was older than he’d first thought, with deep crow’s feet and a throat lined with age. She quirked a long dark brow at him. “And I presume you’re Mr. M—”

“Ah ah,” he said, raising a hand before she could finish. “The name’s Steelbeak.” 

What had started out as a nickname in the ring had become ubiquitous with his identity—even the guards knew it. It stung a little now, what with his beak warped and chipped and an overall eyesore, but he had no desire to go back to a name picked out for him by people he never knew. 

Heron tilted her head, looking amused. “You certainly have the face for it.”

 “Uh huh.” Steelbeak smiled with all his teeth, which usually made people shudder. When that didn’t get him so much as a blink, he backed down and folded his arms over his chest. “What do you want?”

Her brows rose slightly, the barest indication of surprise. “Quick to the point aren’t we?” 

“I know the look of someone who wants to make a deal,” he said, trying not to sound too smug about it. Phineas Sharp was a gnat of a man, but he’d managed to own Steelbeak longer than any other boss until the police raid. With him, Steelbeak practically had front row seats to the performance of every kind of sleazeball under the sun, from the truly pathetic to the cleverest of connivers. He knew enough to know that Black Heron was making little to no effort to disguise her intentions here. 

Her smile returned, just this side of sly. “Very well. How would you like a second chance at life? Outside of this cell? This prison?”

Steelbeak leaned back against the wall. “I’m listening.” 

His answer was as redundant as her question was rhetorical. Before she opened her beak again, he knew he would agree to whatever she asked, whatever her terms. He was no fool; he’d pay any price for freedom. 

Heron’s eyes gleamed like she’d read his mind, not that it mattered. Even if she knew his answer, she still had a role to play, lines she’d rehearsed. Two-thirds of making a deal was just scripted theater, and as its actors they were responsible for reaching the finale. 

“Walls have ears,” Heron said. “And my employers were listening. I work for a powerful, covert organization that could use a man of your skills.” 

Steelbeak grinned. With the damage to his beak, it more closely resembled a sneer. “And if I take the job, what then? Are we talking reduced sentence? Time off for good behavior?” 

Heron swept her prosthetic arm behind her, motioning toward the sickly, promising glow of the hallway light bleeding into his cell from the open doorway. “If you accept, we walk out of that door right now.” 

Now that got his attention. 

Steelbeak dropped his arms, practically falling out of his purposely casual lean. “Seriously?” he demanded, with none of his practiced restraint. “What’s the catch, lady?”

“No catch,” Heron replied. “We just couldn’t help but notice that you’re serving a fairly sizable sentence. The man I work with is patient, but not that patient.” 

He crossed his arms over his chest. This was….well. It was the stuff of dreams. The sort of dreams only the very pathetic or the very insane ever had. Abruptly paranoid, he pinched himself above the crease of his elbow, the movement hidden by the bulk of his arms. The pain told him he was awake. But his mind said it was too good to be true.

“You’re not seriously considering turning us down?” Heron said, incredulity winning out over her snake-oil delivery. “You’ll die in this cell. You’ve no allies in this place, and the guards either despise you or are too terrified to go near you. But with us...well.”

He knew the game she was playing. Still, Steelbeak raised his gaze to hers. “Yeah? With you what?”

She’d caught him. A hunter sauntering up to its prey, she made no effort to hide the satisfaction in her smile. “With us, you would be an agent of F.O.W.L: the Fiendish Organization for World Larceny.”

Steelbeak allowed himself to imagine the picture she was painting. He found he rather liked the end result. “Agent, huh?” 

.

He had never raised a hand against Black Heron before. 

Steelbeak stayed on his guard in the early days. Everything was unknown, from the hoards of faceless Eggheads to the lighthouse base pulled straight from a James Pond film. Heron had been a constant that, while not reassuring in of herself, was his one source of familiarity in an increasingly alien world. So he forcibly tamped down the instinct to deck her when she grabbed his beak without warning on his second day, examining his scarred face with her clinical, dark eyes. 

 “Steelbeak, was it?” she said. “We’ll see about that.” 

He agreed with her that his beak was beyond saving. Agreed to the twenty hours of surgery to replace it with a maw of sharp edges and steel because it would increase his worth in the eyes of High Command. Agreed, not knowing that the anesthesia would keep wearing off, making him awake in an inferno of pain so intense he’d black out before she could put him back under. 

The end result was a weapon and shield in one; blows to his face broke bone, and his bite truly became worse than his bark. He ignored the weight of the metal, how it was sometimes difficult to raise his head in the mornings. He ignored the phantom pains of his original beak being shattered, the sensation of it being removed. Once the initial tests were complete and there was no risk of infection, Heron continued to grab his beak, now to silence him and steer him and he allowed her to because violence was the language he understood, knowing that words were useless without force behind them. 

Words were cheap until Steelbeak was the one wielding them. He couldn’t lay a hand on Fethry but that didn’t matter when his words cut deeper than any knife, bloodless but just as lethal. Words were cheap until Heron was spitting his respect back in his face, holding a gun he didn’t understand as she prodded him in the chest with a talon so sharp it pierced him through his suit and drew little pinpricks of blood. 

“Partner?” she repeated, as if he’d uttered the world’s most pathetic joke. “You are a stooge. A low-level flunky, you bird-brained, idiotic, stupid—”

He’d never considered how small Heron was compared to him. Steelbeak had seen her spar before, seen her take down Eggheads practically five times her size. To him, it was second nature to respect strength, to respect power. It made her look bigger to his mind. Stature had no bearing on skill, but where Heron was deft, Steelbeak was blunt in his ruthlessness. It was a small matter to wrestle the Intelli-ray out of her hands and knock her to the floor with a solid jab to the ribs. 

Steelbeak pointed the gun at her face and relished in her utter bafflement in the second before he pulled the trigger. In that split second it didn’t matter that he only had the skeleton of a plan, that his last ally in this place had been prepared to stab him in the back (metaphorically and maybe literally). 

In that split second he was returning to what he knew, what he was best at: threats of violence and the will to act on them. 

“Not so smart now, are ya?”

.

Steelbeak woke up when an Egghead dropped him on the floor. 

He lashed out before he was even fully conscious, delivering a blow to the solar plexus that had the burly henchman doubling over with a wheeze. Before Steelbeak could bring his linked fists down on his head, a dry, familiar voice barked, “Enough.” 

With his hands still raised in midair, Steelbeak turned to acknowledge Bradford Buzzard. The old vulture’s bushy brows were furrowed in a thick, straight line above an uglier-than-usual scowl. 

Steelbeak lowered his arms as another Egghead delivered Black Heron, who was still babbling inanely. He didn’t say a word, all too aware of Buzzard less than ten feet away, but he couldn’t resist a smile. Steelbeak, the stooge, the idiot, reduced the high and mighty Black Heron to this without even trying. His slipshod plan might’ve failed, but failure didn’t sting as badly as it otherwise might’ve. 

Still, no good thing could last forever. 

He scowled when another Egghead appeared with the Intelli-ray, handing it to Buzzard. He fiddled with the settings for a moment before firing at Heron, who was examining the fingers of her prosthetic hand with rapt fascination. Steelbeak idly hoped that she would poke her own eye out. But the blast from the gun immediately knocked her out and Buzzard gave it back to the Egghead with his beak curled in distaste. 

“Dispose of that, please,” he ordered. 

The Egghead nodded before slipping out of the conference room as soundlessly as they had appeared. 

He and Buzzard were silent as they waited for Heron to regain consciousness, which was just fine with Steelbeak. He wasn’t in any hurry to get chewed out, and the burns from his out of nowhere electrocution ( by Heron’s lab rats? ) were starting to twinge. The pain was worse around his beak, the burns at the seam where metal met flesh sharply stinging. 

Heron began to move, groaning under her breath while Steelbeak looked on in cross-armed distaste. Buzzard approached her, gait slow and sure, and leaned down so that his sharp beak and acid yellow eyes would be the first thing she saw. 

And they were—Heron opened her eyes blearily at first, before the shock of Buzzard’s proximity could register. That lasted for about a second before he snapped, “Wake up.” 

Steelbeak leaned back with a smile as Heron startled, and Buzzard wasted no time in tearing into her. The gun she had been so proud of was sitting in an incinerator somewhere while her oh so genius plan was flatly ridiculed. And Steelbeak, who had never learned to quit while he was ahead, was unable to resist one last pointed jab at Heron, dropped on the ground just like him, elite spies turned into a pair of chastised children. 

“Ha! Who’s stupid now—”

He nearly bit his tongue in half when his beak seized, clamping shut of its own volition like a bear trap being triggered. 

Steelbeak reacted instinctively, violently, and punched the side of his beak to force it open. It remained sealed and his heartbeat pounded loud in his ears, ratcheting up into his throat, fit to choke him. He punched his beak again, and again, and again, his furious scream trapped behind its serrated edges. His knuckles began to ache and bit by bit they began to bleed.

Distantly, he was aware of Buzzard setting some sort of remote on his desk as he walked away from them. He continued to speak over Steelbeak’s garbled rage as he rained blow after blow upon his beak.  

As Steelbeak beat his own face, Heron was dismissed. 

She rose slowly, face averted, her pride stunted beneath Buzzard’s ire. But she was free to leave because her own body hadn’t been turned against her and for a split second, a single, swift, solitary instant of time, Steelbeak was almost desperate enough to reach out to her. Almost . He kept that shred of dignity intact, even as he resorted to clasping his hands around the top and bottom of his beak in an attempt to pry it open by force. 

The door closed behind Heron before Buzzard acknowledged him again. 

“Ah,” he said dryly, yellow eyes flicking over him with little reaction. “I almost forgot about you.” 

With the press of a button, he granted Steelbeak his freedom. 

He couldn’t help the deep, gulping breath he took as his aching jaw dropped open, relief nearly making him lightheaded. But that relief swiftly gave way to rage, pure and unbridled, that made his breath and every inch of his body quake. His hands curled into fists so tight the cuts on his knuckles began to weep. 

Buzzard turned his back on Steelbeak like he was nothing. Like he was less than nothing. 

It would be a matter of seconds to get up, cross the room and wring Buzzard’s neck. To raise his fist and exact retribution for this latest humiliation. But stupid as Steelbeak might be, he wasn’t that stupid. Nobody as frail-looking as the Buzzards controlled a global spy ring without powerful countermeasures against mutiny. 

That didn’t stop Steelbeak from snarling, low in his throat, as he pushed himself to his feet. 

Buzzard glanced over his shoulder, a rare smirk stretching across his narrow beak. “Good. You’re learning.” As quickly as the amusement appeared, it dropped from his face, tucked behind an emotionless scowl as easily as shuffling papers. “Now, I trust we won’t be seeing anymore of your half-cocked schemes?” 

“Half-cocked?” Steelbeak bit out. “I took out one of your top agents without even trying! If you gave me some actual resources, or my own missions, instead of foisting me on Heron all the time, maybe I could actually get something done around here!”

He took a step forward without thinking.

Buzzard scarcely had to move to press the same button on the remote, to lock his beak shut with another damning clang . Steelbeak immediately wrapped his hands around his beak, fighting the instinctive, panicked urge to try and open it by force again. 

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” Buzzard sounded bored . “You don’t want to know what the rest of these buttons do. I’ve been assured the results aren’t pleasant.” 

He stepped out from behind the conference table, folding his hands behind his back. “It’s become increasingly clear to me that you’ve misconstrued the reason behind your recruitment. You are an agent, yes, but only in name. You are our muscle, cannon fodder, a blunt instrument to be wielded at the will of your superiors.” Buzzard stopped less than two feet away from Steelbeak, unconcerned by the way the rooster loomed over him, trembling with rage down to his stupid, fancy designer shoes.

“You, Steelbeak, are here to follow orders, not issue them. And if you can’t do that then I’ll just drop you back in the hole where we found you. Is that clear?” 

Buzzard lifted the remote. Before he could stop himself, the small, weak part of Steelbeak that feared pain, the part he thought he’d killed years ago, took a step back. His flinch did not go unnoticed.

 The slow smile that spread across the old vulture’s weathered face made Steelbeak’s stomach turn like someone stuck a shiv into his guts and twisted. But despite his posturing, all Buzzard did was deactivate the lock on his beak.

“Now, I believe you have a job to get back to.” 

.

Some nights, Fethry dreamt of the ocean. 

He would remember lapping waves on a cold, gray shore, the cling and give of wet sand beneath his feet. The only source of warmth were his parents’ hands wrapped around his own, his mother on one side and his father on the other, giants to his mind. They led him forward, swinging his arms between them, but whenever he tried to crane his head back to see their faces, all he saw was gray sky. 

He dreamt of an unending horizon, a world of undulating blue no matter which way he turned. He felt a refreshing, salty breeze ruffle his feathers, tempering the heat of a midday sun, his legs swinging over the balcony of the lab pod as he spoke to the crudely drawn face of Arturo in the golden sunshine. 

 He dreamt of sinking into a void, alone and utterly blind save for the ribbon-like phosphorescence of the creatures he studied and named. But they were all of them silent and his own voice stunted, his throat filling with water whenever he tried to open his mouth. 

Fethry sometimes woke up from these dreams unable to rise from the tangled sheets of his bed, weighed down by every ounce, every mile and grain of salt he had lived under those four years. 

When he did manage to sit up, flexing his cold fingers to try and regain feeling, he would look out the window to ground himself. He always slept with the curtains wide open for this reason—to see the sky and the flash of passing cars and the individual beacons of streetlights in the dark. To remind himself that he wasn’t in the lab anymore, miles of ocean poised over his head to crush him. 

Returning to Duckburg was a challenge.  

Seeing his family again was part of that, even if having Della back was the best surprise he didn’t know he could ask for. 

Having all his cousins in one place, at least until an errant breeze swept Gladstone away to his next all-expenses-paid vacation or a new adventure caught Della’s eye or Donald got too annoyed with him, reminded him of the summers they spent together at Grandma Duck’s farm, balmy days in the orchard and cozy nights around the fireplace. He hadn’t been to the farmhouse in almost ten years, not since Grandma passed. Cousin Gus was running it now. Visiting always seemed moot if he was doing it alone. 

And anyway, he was eager to reconnect with Huey and Dewey, to see Louie again for the first time since he was a toddler and meet Webby (he still wasn’t sure where she’d come from but he was more than happy to have a new niece). 

But the world was bigger and louder than he remembered, and after the chaos of the Moonvasion it was difficult to leave his dingy Hookbill Harbor motel for anything other than visiting Mitzy, who had made a home for herself in Duckburg Bay. The sound of waves knocking against the wooden pilings of the docks, that ageless rhythm, salt air and seabirds calling, were more familiar to him than honking cars or what felt like a hundred different voices speaking at once everywhere he went. 

But Fethry was in no hurry to become a recluse (again), accidentally or otherwise, so he allowed Huey to cajole him into visiting Uncle Scrooge’s laboratory under the Money Bin. The lab hadn’t changed much since the last time he stopped by, almost five years ago now, the first and last time he’d asked Mr. McDuck (not Uncle Scrooge) for a job. 

The McDuck Sublab of the Future had already been a few decades old by then, but it was well-maintained, with crews rotating out every six months. Fethry had asked if there were any openings left, anything at all, he’d even be a janitor if that’s what it took to see the ocean in a way he never had before. Mr. McDuck, hardly glancing up from the tower of expense reports on his desk, summoned a secretary who led Fethry down to Gearloose Labs, where Dr. Gearloose pointed him toward a stack of waivers to sign and informed him of the 4 a.m. departure that following morning. 

Fethry thought he’d be gone for six months. 

It was going to be an educational getaway, a tantalizing excuse to indulge in what’s been his special interest for as long as he could remember. Since he was ten and first watched a humpback whale breach in a spray of water and rainbow fractals, pet the silky back of a netted stingray, and picked at barnacles latched to the side of the boat during the few fishing trips Abner took him on before their parents died and he lost any incentive to be a big brother or socialize with people at all. 

But six months turned into a year. The old crew, real scientists, explorers, and engineers, left but no one came to replace them. Budget cuts, said the pilot who continued to deliver food and supplies every 3 months but never stayed long enough to share a cup of tea or a game of checkers. “Old McMoneybags is downsizing, they say.”

And so one year became two. 

But Fethry couldn’t leave; he wouldn’t abandon his team, not like they’d abandoned him (so what if his new team was made up of krill!). If he left, who would keep the sublab running? The giant sea worms in the Tully Observatory would starve, not to mention all the carefully caught specimens in the lab rooms. Besides, Uncle Scrooge would check in sooner or later. Fethry would let him know that the McDuck Sublab of the Future was in dire straits and he would send someone to help Fethry keep it all afloat. 

But two years became three. 

Then four. 

In the present, Dr. Gearloose looked up from his tablet at the sound of the elevator doors opening, and before Huey could launch into what surely would’ve been a lovely pre-prepared speech, he blanched and pointed at Fethry with all the vitriol a prosecutor would give the accused. 

“ You. What are you doing here again?”

Fethry couldn’t help laughing, just a little. It had to have been almost five years since he saw the guy, and Dr. Gearloose was acting like it was just yesterday that Fethry last stepped through these doors, tripped, and knocked over a glass canister of metal-eating mites that ate through the wire frame of Dr. Gearloose’s glasses while they were sitting on his face. 

“Good to see you again, Dr. Gearloose.” Fethry shook the hand that the scientist was still pointing at him with. 

“You know Dr. Gearloose?” Luckily, Huey seemed more surprised than disappointed by the interruption. And maybe a little uneasy. Dr. Gearloose’s temper was infamous, after all, and Fethry didn’t exactly come across as a pillar of strength to most people. 

“Oh, we go way back, Hue.”

Seeing that his glare was having no effect on Fethry, Dr. Gearloose pinned it on Huey instead. “Intern! What is the meaning of this? You know only scientists are allowed in the lab during business hours.”

“But-but Boyd’s here!”

“Boyd’s a creation of science, he doesn’t count. Duh.”

Huey’s little friend waved from the ceiling, where he was sitting among the support beams—just hanging out, it looked like. “Hi, Huey! Hi, Mr. Fethry!”

Fethry waved back. “Hey there, kiddo. Am I gonna see you at the troop meeting this Saturday?”

Huey got excited enough to withstand the force of Dr. Gearloose’s glare too. “Boyd you have to go! Uncle Fethry told me there’ll be a new knot-tying lesson.”

One of the ways Fethry decided to reenter society was by rejoining the Junior Woodchucks. While his study of the JWG hadn’t lapsed, his tenure as a troop leader certainly had. With Launchpad’s help he was able to renew his membership and get back into nature. 

Four years living under the sea had turned the smell of dirt and the play of sunlight through the trees into alien things, and he was an eager explorer all over again, rediscovering a land he thought he’d forgotten. He barely slept a wink the first night he went camping, kept awake by the sound of the wind through the trees, nocturnal friends rustling in the undergrowth, other campers turning in their tents. 

He hadn’t been alone in the sublab, not in the technical sense, but the ocean was silent for someone who wasn’t born to hear its songs. On the surface everything spoke, everything called up to the top of the sky in a voice all their own, “I’m here!” 

It was a language Fethry had all but forgotten, but he was relearning it now. 

When he joined Launchpad as a troop leader, that put him in charge of Huey’s troop. After initially fearing that Huey would request a transfer to a different troop altogether (he was used to family members being embarrassed by him, not that it hurt any less), it turned into the best thing that could’ve happened for them. They’d gotten off to a bit of a rocky start back at the sublab, and it was nice to have a common interest to build off of as they got to know each other better. Fethry stopped thinking of the kids as Little Donalds and they started calling him ‘Uncle.’ 

It was a relief to find out that Huey had a friend (a best friend) who operated on a similar wavelength as him. Fethry knew what it was to be alone among peers—even the Junior Woodchucks weren’t perfect—and Boyd was just what Huey needed to get out of his shell. 

Fethry didn’t stop his nephew from running to join Boyd, the little robot boy jetting down to pick up Huey and carry him up to the rafters so they could continue their conversation. He and Fethry could pick up their tour once he was done. 

When Dr. Gearloose got tired of yelling and nobody listening, he stalked away. As little as he might want Fethry there, he probably (just barely) stopped himself from having him bodily tossed out because of his connection to Scrooge, tenuous as it was. It was a courtesy he doubtlessly wouldn’t have extended to anyone else.

Fethry wondered if he should feel grateful or not. Being associated with Scrooge McDuck wasn’t always a good thing. 

“Doctor-Intern,” Dr. Gearloose barked as he climbed a set of steps and disappeared further into the lab. “Deal with this idiotic interloper.”

The scientist that scrambled out from a bathroom-turned-office was much more Fethry’s speed. Messy-haired, short, and harried, the brown-feathered duck shot him a smile that was only a little tight at the edges. 

“Hey! Hi! Sorry about Dr. Gearloose. How can I help you, Mr…?”

Fethry took the offered hand much more happily than Dr. Gearloose’s accusatory one. “Oh, I’m no mister! Just Fethry. Fethry Duck. And you must be Mr. Crackshell-Cabrera, Huey’s mentor! He talks about you all the time.”

Often in the same breath as Gizmoduck but Fethry felt that wasn’t his secret to share.

Some of the tension left Mr. Crackshell-Cabrera’s face as he chuckled, taking his hand back to sweep it boyishly through his hair, only messing it up more. “Oh, well um, I’m honored! Huey’s a great kid. And it’s just Fenton, Mr…Duck…”

A familiar prickling sort of dread settled coldly over Fethry as he watched realization dawn on Fenton, his expression shuttering like smoke rising to block out the sun. 

Fenton glanced over at Huey and then back to Fethry, maybe taking in their similar red hats, or the fact that they arrived together. Maybe he heard Fethry being called ‘uncle,’ a blessing that was sometimes curse now. Getting recognized hadn’t been a problem in years past, when he lived outside of Duckburg. There were a thousand Ducks in Calisota after all, nevermind the world. But with one of the triplets in tow, it was too big of a coincidence for anyone to miss here. 

“You’re one of Mr. McDuck’s nephews?” Fenton blinked, looking him up and down. He probably wasn’t doing it to be mean. When someone heard the name ‘McDuck’ in association with you, they usually expected someone glamorous like Gladstone or and tough and no-nonsense like Donald. 

By contrast, Fethry knew he was a little more hardscrabble and goofy, and that was a nice way of putting it. Not exactly “nephew of the richest duck in the world” material. 

But Fethry still smiled and gave his now-typical answer, because Fenton was cute and he’d been nice so far. “Only through marriage, but yes!” He’d never claim to be something he wasn’t, and Donald had ownership of the McDuck name in a way Fethry never would. 

“Huh. I hadn’t heard of you.” Fenton seemed to remember himself, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous little smile. “Not to be rude or anything! I’m still not sure how this family works.”

Behind him, Fethry saw Boyd fly Huey back down to solid ground. Ah. He must be ready to continue the tour.

“You and me both!” Fethry nudged Fenton with a wink, moving around him to meet Huey halfway. 

Fenton followed, surprising him. “So, what do you do, F-Fethry?”

“He’s a marine biologist!” Huey had joined them, grinning proudly and his tone, while upbeat, brooked no argument. 

Fethry’s heart skipped a beat, touched by the support of a family member who’d once had so little faith in him. He wouldn’t soon forget Huey’s horror just a few months ago when he learned Fethry wasn’t a “real” scientist. The turnaround was almost overwhelming. Still, he decided to be honest. 

“ Amateur marine biologist.” 

Huey sent him a look, like he knew what Fethry was trying to do. “He’s taking care of the kaiju-sized krill in the bay,” he bragged, not one to be outdone. 

Fenton’s thick eyebrows almost flew off his face. “What—that sea monster?”

Fethry gave in with a laugh. “That’s Mitzy!” He tugged Huey into a little sideways hug as both an apology and thank you. He wasn’t used to anyone defending him, much less family. 

“In that case, what’re you doing here?” Fenton tugged nervously on his tie. “You’re not, ah, you’re not here looking for a job, are you?”

The thought of walking up to Dr. Gearloose and asking for a job was hilarious. But the thought of going to Uncle Scrooge again and asking for a job was more nerve-wracking than anything his new employers at F.L.O.W might have in store for him. 

Fethry reassured Fenton with a grin and a wave of his hand. “Oh, no thanks. I already have a job with a research lab nearby. Now, I believe Huey was going to treat me to a tour! Would you care to join us?”

.

 The McDuck Sublab of the Future had been a relic of the past. Years of only his inexpert maintenance kept everything running: solar panels, life support, the aquavator. The electricity was buggy, there were hull breaches, and the hydrothermal vents grew in intensity every year, undoing what few repairs he was able to make. 

But the sublab did its best to warn him of hidden dangers, creaking and groaning its displeasure in the darkness. He learned the difference between the sounds of the hull settling and an imminent hull breach and had the timing of the vent eruptions down to a science, at least until they mutated past his understanding and demolished the sublab in the end. 

Working for F.L.O.W was like learning a new language. He wasn’t familiar with the rules or the dangers at first, couched as they were in social interaction and plain obfustication, which he’d had little practice with in his last four isolated years. 

He wasn’t a spy like Mrs. Beakley. He wasn’t rich, or lucky, or a pilot. He wasn’t even an adventurer, really, just someone who got caught up in the periphery of them. He made up songs for his krill for Pete’s sake! 

But he was patient. He listened. He watched. He learned. Especially when nobody expected him to. 

F.L.O.W wasn’t what they seemed. Fethry wasn’t sure what they were but the Federation of Leading Ocean Wayfarers they were not. 

His recruiter, a bubbly red headed duck named Pepper, disappeared after his first day and no one would tell him where she went. He was the only scientist on staff half the time, or so it seemed until Dr. Heron apparently got tired of him cluttering up the corner of her lab and had him moved to his own space, where he worked alone all hours of the day (and sometimes night). So much of F.L.O.W headquarters was off limits to him, and what he did have access to already looked like a monotone cross between the hallways of a Star Destroyer straight out of Galaxy Wars  and an office from the ‘60s. 

Fethry wondered what would happen if he tried to leave. He hadn’t made plans or anything—hadn’t thought much about it, really—but there was an air of menace permeating this underground facility that he couldn’t ignore. 

It was more than the clicking claws of Dr. Heron’s prosthesis, or the way she eyed him like a stain on the bottom of her platform boots. More than the faceless security guards that patrolled the drab hallways (Eggheads, he heard whispered around corners that were empty when he rounded them). 

More than anything, it was the way Steelbeak, handsome and proud and utterly incongruous, wouldn’t look Fethry in the eye when he lied. That, more than anything, warned him against trusting F.L.O.W. After all, the only thing blind trust ever got him was four years at the bottom of the ocean. 

And maybe it went against his better judgment, but he did trust Steelbeak. 

Though it had been a few weeks now since Fethry last saw his friend (ex-friend?). Two weeks, six days, and fifteen hours to be exact, but then he was used to counting his lonely days, used to people abandoning him.

Fethry’d never had much of a mind for romance. The back-and-forth dance of flirting eluded him and kissing and…other stuff hadn’t held much appeal. He knew he talked too much about things most people probably didn’t care about, he was spacey, and boring. No one had ever shown an interest in him and he’d never shown an interest in anyone, so he figured that was that. He had his team and he had Mitzy (and now Huey and the Woodchucks), and that would have to be enough. 

But then Steelbeak, with his sharp face and sharp voice and sharp suit, listened to him ramble and didn’t leave (not at first). 

Steelbeak, with his nice shoulders and his tallness, which Fethry hadn’t thought he cared about until now, who laughed at Fethry’s fish puns once he explained the joke, and what an incredible laugh it was—nasal and ridiculous and genuine, it flustered Fethry every time he heard it. It was almost a foreign concept, laughing with someone instead of being laughed at .  

In the amphitheater, over a month ago now, Steelbeak had saved him from a painful fall. Fethry still thought about that moment, dreamt about it even—a handful of seconds stretching into eternity. Steelbeak’s grip around his wrist, his hand so big it swallowed his wrist entirely. Their bodies flush, sharing breath, sharing warmth. Steelbeak’s expression, made fearsome by the gunmetal gleam of his beak, softened in his surprise. 

Fethry wasn’t completely clueless, despite all evidence to the contrary. Studying creatures of the deep was his life's work. And that included the deadly ones. So Fethry knew what a predator looked like. He knew how predators hunted, how they moved through their environment. Some were subtle and unassuming, like the man-of-war. Others were obvious in their intent; the barracuda was sharp and sleek, all streamlined silver, with a grimace of jagged teeth ready to snap a fish in half. 

Even though he’d grown up on the periphery of great adventures, Fethry still learned a thing or two from them. He learned about spies and assassins and pirates and what have you, nevermind that he rarely encountered them. He learned about the dangers of the world that went beyond the everyday.

He knew, for all intents and purposes, that Steelbeak was the barracuda. 

He’d been to prison. His prosthetic beak was more intimidating than practical. He carried himself with the casual, loping grace of a trained fighter and his hands bore the calluses and scars of years of broken and poorly healed skin. 

Maybe all of that meant Fethry was supposed to be afraid of him. Donald would certainly think so, and before the sublab there was a time that Fethry would’ve done anything to get his favorite cousin’s approval. But Fethry had seen worse than a big bruiser with a bad attitude. Silence was scary. Darkness was scary. 

Steelbeak, who stuttered when Fethry complimented him, was not. 

Steelbeak, who stalked through F.L.O.W like there was a target on his back, like he’d been given a stay of execution but he didn’t know for how long, was not who Fethry should be scared of. Even when he yelled and sneered, threw Fethry’s friendship back in his face like a rotting fish. He wasn’t afraid. Just worried. And sad. 

Then something happened one day that had never happened before. 

A strange alarm went off while he was in the middle of listening to the three heartbeats of Octavio, his giant Pacific octopus. A pair of Eggheads ran into his lab, told him there was an emergency and that he had to stay inside. That was the last thing they said before stationing themselves by the door, motionless as statues and just as blank faced. They ignored everything he said, whether it was a joke to cut the tension or a question about what was going on.

Fethry wasn’t sure if they were meant to keep danger out or keep him in. He decided not to find out.

The lockdown only lasted about an hour. 

The Eggheads didn’t say anything to let him know it had been lifted—they must’ve had radios built into those helmets of theirs because, without warning, they turned in unison and marched out the door. 

“Is everything okay?” Fethry called as they closed the door behind them, not expecting an answer. 

He also didn’t expect to hear an almighty crash outside his lab, and the thud of a body hitting the ground. 

He rushed to the door but only opened it a crack. What if the emergency was still going on and that’s why the Eggheads had left so quickly? There could be something dangerous on the other side.

The first thing Fethry saw was one of the Eggheads on the floor, groaning but alive. The other Egghead, a brawny seagull, was pinned to the wall with an arm across his throat by a furious Steelbeak. 

His chest heaved with every breath, and he looked angrier than Fethry had ever seen him. He looked apoplectic. He looked hurt . 

His feathers and carefully pressed suit were singed and blackened at the edges, and his knuckles were red from small, bleeding wounds. The front of his suit was smeared with blood, like he’d tried to wipe his hands off on it. The contrast was jarring against his black and white ensemble. 

“Steelbeak!” Fethry threw the door open the rest of the way before darting out into the hall. “What’re you doing? What’s wrong?”

For a painfully long moment, Steelbeak wouldn’t look at him. He stared straight at the Egghead, his wide eyes seeing nothing, and his heavy breathing veering worryingly close to hyperventilating. He pressed harder against the Egghead’s throat and the seagull choked. 

“Steelbeak.” Fethry reached out, wrapping his hand around the wrist hanging tense and tight-fisted at his side. 

Steelbeak recoiled. He dropped the Egghead, who fell to the floor with a wheeze, and ripped his arm out of Fethry’s grasp. But at least he was looking at him now, eyes bloodshot and arms shaking with tension. 

Fethry took a step back, raising his hands in front of him. 

“Hey, hey, it’s just me.” He spoke softly, but calm, not wanting Steelbeak to feel patronized. Blood rushed through his ears but he ignored it. “Are you–are you okay? Your face—y-your hands. I have a first-aid kit in my lab—”

“What’re you doing,” Steelbeak bit out. 

Fethry’s mind blanked. “Uh…I don’t…I just wanted to—”

“What.” Steelbeak took a step forward. “Do you think.” Then another. “You’re doing?” He loomed over Fethry, crossing well into his personal space. At his sides, his fists shook and this close the burns and bruises on his face were thrown into sharp relief. Their beaks were only a few inches apart, and Fethry found he’d never wanted to kiss someone more than he did in that moment. 

Steelbeak wasn’t the barracuda right now; he was the tarpon, the fighting fish, swimming straight at its prey and daring it to move out of the way first. But Fethry wasn’t afraid, even if maybe he should be. There was something in Steelbeak’s eyes, some emotion he couldn’t place, that seemed on the verge of shattering. 

Fethry leaned back to look him in the eye. “Nothing,” he replied honestly. “I just want to know if you’re okay.”

Steelbeak flinched as though Fethry had struck him. He backed away so fast he almost tripped on the Egghead he’d dropped, and his fearsome face was knit with confusion and pain. 

“If I’m–why do you even care? After what I–”

Steelbeak slammed his beak shut tighter than an oyster, looking a little horrified with himself. He whirled to face the two Eggheads he’d choked and thrown respectively, and growled, “You didn’t see or hear nothin,’ am I clear?”

They nodded furiously. “Yes, sir. I-I mean no, sir.”

When Steelbeak turned back around he didn’t look at Fethry, gaze stubbornly fixed on some distant point down the hallway. 

Fethry tried to reach for him as he passed, but Steelbeak gave him a wide berth, shoulders hunched and a hunted look in his eyes. 

He dropped his hand, watching Steelbeak’s back until he disappeared around the next corner. The Eggheads rushed off too, ignoring Fethry again as he called after them, desperate for answers. Within seconds he was left alone in the hall, gray walls like prison bars around him and silence ringing in their wake. 

Fethry let out a very Donald-like huff. “Enough is enough,” he said determinedly to no one but himself. 

He refused to let himself be trapped again.

[obseletrix]

osamu mikumo: World's Squishiest Wizard

[padfootastic]

I understand being critical of remus but there's a real lack of understanding for his lycanthropy that comes as a reason for it on your blog. Kind of weird considering it's often depicted as an allegory for disability and the discrimination that comes with it

i mean,,,,that’s fair i guess? but i’m also gonna have to disagree for a bit there.

i don’t really touch the allegory part of it for…reasons but i’m gonna argue that i’ve never undermined it either. i do not like remus, but most of that is kept in dms and rant channels. what u guys see here is a very sanitised, nUaNcEd version of it. most of what i criticise him for is very like. individual choices he makes.

and ofc i realise that personal actions don’t exist in a vacuum, that those are informed by the structural conditions around him, but at most they can explain what he did, not justify it, yeah?

there’s hundreds of blogs out there that are real sympathetic to remus for precisely this reason. the entire reason i even started being critical was because THAT entirely ignored the fact that his behaviour had consequences for others. perhaps i swung too hard towards the other side but i think i keep it remarkably even here, on my blog at least, considering how much i actually dislike him lol

[doomxdriven]

[shadow-pixelle]

Last Line Challenge

Rules: Make a new post and post the latest line in your WIP & tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like). 

I got tagged by @shootingstarpilot for this, which is very neat. Never actually done one of these before properly, so I'mma share two different last sections; some from my current in-progress Big Fic, and then some from the last thing I actually wrote.

(Under a cut because two snippets is gonna be long.)

So first off, the last thing I actually wrote;

'“Jesus.” Tim muttered. “I sort of wish I hadn’t asked, now.”

Phantom flushed, going slightly green. “Sorry.”

“Hey, better to know than not, isn’t it? If there’s a chance of running into stuff like this?”

“I- well, yes, but it’s not your job to deal with them.”

“Yeah, well, the magic users in the League aren’t always gonna be around, and even if it’s your job to come grab them, they might still need delaying or whatever.” Tim shrugged. “So I’d rather know.”

“That’s fair.” Phantom admitted, shifting to lean back in his seat. “So. Anything else you want to know?”'

I'm not 100% sure what's going to happen to this, admittedly, but this is the end result of my attentive deficit muse getting into two new-old fandoms recently so there we go. It's DC/Danny Phantom.

Anyway, second off, the last little bit of my current main project, which has been going on-and-off for a while;

'

“Huh.” Fox says, after a few attempts that die before he manages to get a word out. “Ok. Right. Ghost let me go so I can go hug my vod, please.”

Ghost does not let Fox go, and instead after a moment the entire mass of darkness lifts up into the air and floats over the group to place Fox down next to Ponds. Then it vanishes, and Fox promptly grabs on to him while the rest of the batch crowd around.'

This one's a crossover too, the end result of me just deciding that Weird Eldritch Things Are Neat, Actually and starting writing without thinking. It's now 15 chapters and like, 60k words, not quite done, but also hit a roadblock recently in the form of the aforementioned 'falling into new-old fandoms again' thing. It's Star Wars/Hollow Knight.

checks my people list uuuuuh right I don't have many people to tag really... @kalicofox is my main writing buddy, so here you go, and then I guess anyone else who sees this and feels like doing it can go ahead as well? No pressure, of course, there's a lot going on.

[ahalliance]

me googling whether time lords are face blind to check if that’s a hc or actual canon fact

[tigressaofkanjis]

My biggest pet peeve in Transformers media and fanfiction sometimes is that Transformers aren't treated as aliens. They are referred to as aliens, they obviously are aliens, but they never feel like they are aliens because they are always written or seen as having all human mannerisms or features usually. Human posture, human noses, human mannerisms, humanoids...

What about TFA's cat noses or TFP's helm noses? One of the reasons I think those two shows have peak designs is because they have this lack of uncanniness to humans design wise. I'm not looking at a human being as a robot, I'm looking at an alien robot, ones that have claws, ones that have different body types that blend with their vehicle modes, ones with horrific mutilations and designs impossible by human standards. I love seeing that type of stuff in Transformers because to me, it makes them feel alien without completely changing the premises of similarities to where we can't compare their culture or likeness to humans. The films (mostly 1 and 2) showed off this as well.

Another thing I really would like to see in Transformers media is non-human interactive qualities. What do I mean by that? One thing I've noticed is aside from techno-organic species, regular Cybertronians do have a few qualities found in animals. Engine humming I believe was once used as a form of purring in the films and in some of the cartoons. Humans can't purr; cats can, and that small detail is always interesting to come across because it's like "wow, they have this feature that shows off a trait found in Cybertronians. That is so cool." You have them with multiple voice boxes for mechanical, natural, and human-like tones which is also an animal trait. Bumblebee is self-explanatory in most universes being able to still make sounds yet not talk. They have sensors across their body that don't act like the basic human receptors. Most animals can do more than just feel through certain points of their bodies. They can taste, smell, or even hear a hundred times better than a human being throughout various body parts, and Transformers have been hinted to have this ability too, especially through their servos. It's stuff like this that expands upon their existence as aliens.

They have extreme durability, their body morphs to extremes and can also double as a moving weapon (most obvious of course), some of them can make ungodly roars and creature-like noises to warn or show their threatening demeanor (Megatron's dinosaur-like growling), some can have two rows of teeth (a flat base in front and fangs hidden behind), and some of them have mimicking animal-like features (Starscream's bird-shaped feet with visible expansion the same as organic foot padding with similar distributive weight physics in a few universes) despite having no beast mode. There's probably more I can't think of on the top of my head in canon, but all those things are not heavily used as they should be to make them feel alien. They can still hold some relation to the humans they interact with, but I think a lot of Transformers are more than just metal "humans", you know?

Depending on the universe in fanfiction and who you encounter who writes it or not, you have several things that are always cool to see. They have to sparkbond (merging of hearts) above everything else to create a sparkling's life force with interface as just the extra for physical coding features. I've seen people use the non-canon heat cycles which are, of course, our fandom way of making a type of breeding euphemism akin to an animal's cycle. You have the common phrasing of nuzzling, heightened senses, armor and certain parts of the helm acting like fur or ears where it raises and flattens per their mood, and some Transformers have limb dissonance where if necessary, they can convert between bipedal and quadrupedal stances (best example is Bulkhead and Lugnut from TFA who have long arms but short legs and they have the bulky structure where they could possibly run like an animal briefly and the physics of it would work).

So, you have all these different things a common Cybertron most likely would be able to do or have but a human couldn't, and it's never utilized to their full potential. I would like to see people address the nature of Cybertronians as alien and not be afraid to make them alien. I think that's the biggest flaw in our franchise is that everyone is scared of making the Transformers not the humanoid "norm" and getting ridiculed for it. Like, they're aliens, you can make them act however animal-like or completely batshit insane as you want them. You can give them powers, animal-based senses, and behaviors hidden among a human thought process. And technically, you wouldn't be wrong to what they could be as a living creature in the universe by doing so. They aren't humans; they look humanoid, but they aren't us. Why should they have to be in every regard?

Thank you for reading my TED Talk.

[gumbootillustrations]

divine warriors loredump!

so yeah, the divine warriors! admittedly, i'm fascinated by them - i rlly rlly wish that we'd gotten to see more of them + their powers/domains/abilities in mcd, especially considering that they're a driving force behind the plot. so, i've gone ahead and done some redesigns for the sigils (above) and expanded on the domains and abilities of the divine warriors within the context of ashes, ashes.

more under the cut!

irene retains her matron title. for her domains, i rlly wanted to lean into her being a deity of life and family; as such, her official domains are  life, light, healing, childbirth and parenthood, fertility, marriage, tradition, beauty, and romantic/familial/platonic love. menphia also has domains over aspects of love (namely over sexual/carnal/manic love), but i wanted them to sort of have an aphrodite ourania (irene) and aphrodite pandemos (menphia) sort of vibe. in terms of the abilites that her relic gives its wielders, its a lot of what's seen in canon mcd: lots of healing and light abilities, but also some dimensional manipulation and time manipulation stuff thrown in there for the shits and giggles.

for shad, i rlly wanted to play into him being both a mirror and a foil for irene. where irene creates, he destroys; where irene brings life, he brings death. his official domains are that of death, darkness, chaos, the afterlife, change, rot and decay, the Nether, bloodshed, and madness. although he's also a war deity like menphia (and, to an extent, esmund and xavier), he's mostly associated with the worst bits of battle - the blood, the rot, the awful awful deaths, that sort of thing. his relic grants its wielders a lot of destruction-associated powers like disintegration and rot/plague/death stuff, but also some shadow and blood manipulation as well.

like a lot of other folks, i felt like enki was the best fit for a knowledge deity. he looks after scholars, librarians, witches, and inventors; officially, his domains are those of knowledge, air, magick, prophecy, the weather, winter, reason, and lightning. from here, you'll start to see pretty much all the warriors having some sort of like. elemental association? is the best way i can put it. i've sort of based it off of the minor arcana of the tarot; the suit of swords, which is associated with air, is the suit of knowledge and the mental realm, which i thought was fitting for enki. enki is also one of the four seasonal divine warriors (the others being esmund, menphia, and kul'zak); he gets winter, mostly because of his centre of worship being in gal'ruk. wielders of his relic get air and weather manipulation powers, as well as powers related to memory and access to witchcraft (if they aren't witches already). they also gain clairvoyance.

esmund! again with the tarot symbolism; esmund is associated with the element of earth and the physical world, hence the mountain in his sigil. his domains are those of protection, earth, wealth, autumn, boundaries, earthquakes, guardhood, and the harvest. the domain over the harvest might seem a little left field but it makes sense i promise! i sort of saw esmund's association with the harvest not only being because of him being an earth deity, but also because i feel like being able to provide is a form of protection, and given the setting of mcd, i feel like being able to provide a good harvest is a part of that. this is also why he is associated with autumn. regarding the abilities that his relic provides, there's a lot of earth manipulation and barrier/force field creation stuff in there; his relic wielders are also freakishly stronger and more durable than those who wield other relics, sort of playing into esmund himself being a tank.

i changed menphia's title to 'the conqueror' because i thought it'd be a bit more fitting for her, especially considering how i'm working tu'la in ashes, ashes (more on that later). i also changed her colour scheme to more of a blue/copper theme despite her being a fire goddess - i thought it was neat, considering that blue flames are those that burn the hottest. her domains are those of warfare (the glorious bits), fire, soldiers, political power, summer, passion and courage, festivals and celebrations, and sexual/carnal/manic love. i'm still not suuuper sure on the abilities that her relic gives its wielders, but there's definitely some pyrokinesis and emotion/heat manipulation, along with some combat-specific foresight in there. i'm open to suggestions!

nothing much really changes regarding kul'zak. he's a nature deity and watches over journeymen and particularly sailors, given that he's a water/ocean deity; he's often worshipped by pirates. officially, his domains are travellers, water, animals, the wilderness, the cardinal directions and navigation, hunting, and spring. i really wanted to lean into him being a man of the wilderness and not really having a home in urban environments. as such, his relic grants its wielders a lot of wilderness-based abilities, like shapeshifting, water and plant manipulation, and camouflage, with a bit of teleportation in there for all your wandering needs.

xavier is probably the divine warrior that i've changed the most. first off, he becomes a divine warrior in ashes, ashes where he isn't in canon mcd. i also really wanted to lean into him being the founder of the jury of nine, hence his title - the justiciar. he's associated with the domains of guardhood (along with esmund), loyalty, metal and metalworkers, justice, balance and order, peace, brotherhood, devotion, and artisans. where esmund looks after the more physical side of being a guard (being your lord's shield and spear, aka the protection side of things), xavier looks after the more emotional side of being a guard - the devotion to your lord and the comradery that you share with your fellows. his relic's abilities capitalise on that, with its wielders being able to both amplify and nullify the magick of the people they're fighting alongside/against. there's also a bit of metal manipulation and a lot of supportive magick in there too.

and, as a fun little tidbit - a lineup of the divine warriors! (the layout is inspired by @star-boi0720 - the way you lay out your drawings like this is mint as 🤩)

i'm still not suuuper happy w kul'zak or irene's designs but i'll get there in the end i guess :)

[picturejasper20]

Okay, this is something that i have avoided talking for a while but i feel like i'm going to have to address it because it is getting on my nerves: There is a recent trend i have noticed lately of younger-new people joining the Danny Phantom fandom and just... shitting on the fandom and fanon as a whole, like talking about how much fanon lore sucks and its terrible and yada yada

And it is genuinely starting me to make me feel angry because it feels disrespectful to an extent

The reason of why the Danny Phantom fandom is big and has been going for so long is because of fanon, because the series has many interesting ideas or concepts that were never properly developed in canon or were dropped in the same episode they got introduced. So the fans took those ideas and decided to do something bigger with it, expanding on them.

Around 90% of Danny Phantom fandom comes from this stuff, from how the fandom tries exploring these concepts and do something more with them.

It goes to the point that i had to leave one group of over 50+ people because i noticed how much some of these younger fans were shitting on fanon and the fandom. You know, something that was build by older fans over the course of around 15 years?

And i'm not saying the fandom is perfect because i have problems with it myself- but if you are going to participate in a fandom that mostly works around fanon concepts and fanworks and then constanly insult said fans and fanon... then what are you doing?

Why do you join this fandom for if you are going to go around insulting other fans and people like this?

I want respect other people's opinions but this for me is less about people having different opinions and more coming off as rude and insulting to other fans. This is like if i was invited to a friends' house, started insulting their family members, breaking their furniture and took a shit on the carpet. Not the best analogy but you see where i'm getting at.

It reaches to a point that these fans aren't longer just having a different opinions but it feels like they are disrespecting certain fandom etiquette along with being rude on the way.

And that bothers me.

[reds-skull]

Fanfic Recommendations: Writers

I thought of making this kind of list for a while now, since in my notes I save writers when I like most/all their fics (instead of saving each work individually)

This list is going to be very long, I'm gonna try to add to each writer a little description of the type of work they usually write.

Should leave this as a disclaimer for all my fic rec posts, but always look at the tags and CW on each fic before reading!

As always, if a link doesn't work, you're welcome to reach out!

[This list will include both SFW and NSFW writers, since a lot of them do both]

thirteenbullets - Writer of Anytime You Need Me, basically the ultimate hurt/comfort series. [fun fact, part 6 was the first fic I read in this fandom, and I partially blame how good it was for how fast I got obsessed with cod lol]

mothbeast - Writer of Pattern Breaker, one of the more well known fics for ghostsoap (for a good reason!). Love their other fics as well [some are NSFW]

glaciers (Hayfever_Street) - Non AU fics, where they put ghost and soap and various situations for angst! [some NSFW]

Red_Clegane - non AU and AU fics, some of the best non-military AUs I've read. All of their fics share a similar taste, but they're all equally good, so if you like that style you'll enjoy most of them [some NSFW]

sauceboss_yahoo - AUs with supernatural elements, and non-military AUs. Some a/b/o if that's your style [which obviously means there's some NSFW]

yourvaliants - AO3 account of valiants on Tumblr, I'll expand more when I get to Tumblr users, but this is just their place to post NSFW comics since Tumblr doesn't allow that.

wayfaredsoldier - non-military AUs, AUs with supernatural elements, and in canon universe [some NSFW]

MildLimerence - If you want smut with good plot, this is the writer for you haha. They have several soulmate AUs and fantasy/supernatural AUs, as well as canon universe [mostly NSFW]

Arodana - supernatural AUs and non-military AUs, very enjoyable long works [some NSFW]

crown_twist - a mix of NSFW and hurt/comfort oneshots, if you're in the mood for something short and good this is the writer for you [some NSFW]

ElizaStyx - mostly oneshots for a variety of pairings, a mix of NSFW and fluff [some NSFW]

Sillililli - Canon and non-military AUs, with just a pinch of NSFW [little NSFW]

Louffox - Canon and non-military AUs, a lot of angst and hurt/comfort. A few longer works and a good amount of oneshots [some NSFW]

kcisbroken [previously artbykc0001] - Historical AUs, sometimes MCD, some non AU oneshots and NSFW [some NSFW]

Hochseeperle - non AUs, angst and hurt/comfort, with NSFW [some NSFW]

eggtimelads - Supernatural AUs, non AUs, oneshots that literally changed my brain chemistry (not clickbait) [some NSFW]

blackbird_flyaway - supernatural and non AUs, recently started a zombie AU (that I just discovered and go read it after finishing this lmao) [Some NSFW]

TheLastTheosaurus - hurt/comfort oneshots. Good ol' reliable [no NSFW]

Nuria123 - absolutely amazing non AU, non-military AUs, and fics so emotional they made me full on sob. A mix of oneshots and longer works [some NSFW]

AvaLoren - non-military, non AU, and a little bit of fantasy, and medieval AUs, mostly oneshots with some longer fics [some NSFW]

WhisperedWords12 - non-military, non AU, and a little bit of fun shifter AU, many oneshots that are mostly NSFW [a lot of NSFW]

Wheezing_Joe - non AU, oneshots with some onehsot series, hurt/comfort and angst galore. Very nice stuff [no NSFW]

coderaven - non-military AUs and non AUs, emotional hurt/comfort, a little supernatural AUs [some NSFW]

oh_ellie - non AUs, hurt/comfort, and a whole lot of smut [mostly NSFW]

headlocket - author of all that's said in the low light. I don't need to say anything else, if you didn't read it yet, you really REALLY should! [little NSFW]

Grangers_apprentice - [note: majority of works locked for users with no AO3 accounts] non-AU, supernatural AUs, some oneshots and some longer works with series. A bit of a/b/o if that's your style [some NSFW]

DarkMoonMaiden - non AU, hurt/comfort and smut. Mostly oneshot, some series [mostly NSFW]

merikai - non AU and non-military AUs, hurt/comfort and angst oneshots [no NSFW]

simcoehole - supernatural but military and non AUs, mostly smut [mostly NSFW]

Epifauna - non AU oneshots, a lot of fluff with some angst [little NSFW]

prettyunhinged - non AU oneshots (some as long as multi chapter works though), angst, fluff and smut [some NSFW]

oshikiri_toru - non-military and non AUs, with some supernatural elements. Very long oneshots with angst and smut. Very underrated writer imo! [some NSFW]

xEclipse - non AU, fluff and smut oneshots that can get very sweet [some NSFW]

unravelledorfrayed - non AU, misunderstanding hurt/comfort (the good kind) [no NSFW]

lkst - very unique AUs, as well as non AUs. A bit of smut and a lot of angst [little NSFW]

now, there are some blogs here that write a lot of little drabbles that are always a treat to read, so I'm also gonna add some of them.

cod-dump - mostly non AU, with the exception of the Teen!Ghost AU.

forestshadow-wolf - AU and non-AU, also has many downloaded fics for you to read (they're a lifesaver when AO3 is down)

valiants - as mentioned above, comic artist and occasional writer, honestly a huge inspiration for me, it terms of storytelling and art style.

ghcstao3 - also has an AO3, wanted to put them here because they post a lot of drabbles here that don't get posted on AO3.

captain-mj - also has an AO3, like ghcst posts a lot of fics here that don't get posted on AO3. Many are NSFW, as a heads-up.

That's all for now, in the future if I make fic recs for longer works, you will probably see some from these writers.

[relaxxattack]

Piggybacking off the last anon, what is it you like about Jane so much? I find my feelings on her kind of mixed but I lean towards positive.

okay i haven’t read act six in probably like 5 years so bear with me here. *cracks knuckles*

jane is sooo so interesting and it’s really a shame people miss like everything fun about her.

pre-scratch she used her detective work to literally succeed at tearing down the crocker cooperation, to the point that HIC has to fucking abandon ship and head into another universe to have another shot at her evil empire. pre-scratch jane is also fucking hilarious! if you didnt enjoy her antics with john as nannasprite you must just have no heart

meanwhile HIC breaches a new universe, and her FIRST fucking order of business is to NEUTRALIZE JANE CROCKER because of how goddamn detrimental she was to HIC’s plans the first time around.

not ONLY does HIC pump subliminal messaging and brainwashing into nearly every aspect of jane’s life, she also tries to straight up mind control her basically whenever possible! she ALSO sends assassination attempts after jane 24/7! (people will seriously try to say that jane lived a safe normal life… as if she wasn’t almost killed by walking into her backyard.) this is because HIC is fucking scared of jane, as she very well should be!

jane is also NOT a boring weepy annoying crybaby like everyone and their mother complains about. jane is literally the most fucking supportive friend and emotion-repressing dumbass you could ever hope to meet. jane combines john’s emotional repression and jade’s intentional cheerfulness together into one of the most fucked up cases of emotional repression in the whole comic

act 6 suffers from a LOT of shitty writing choices, but it’s not jane’s fault the whole act turns into a soap opera— and she’s ALSO not the only one who acts all soap-opera-y either! literally all of the alpha kids suffer from this, people just like jane the least so they project it all onto her. despite the fact that she did her very fucking best to NEVER talk about her feelings, to the point where she ONLY started telling people about shit when she was mind-controlled or took mind altering substances to make her do so! and you can say “ohhh that’s stupid she shouldn’t repress things in the first place how dumb” but, one she’s sixteen, and two, everyone eats that shit up when it comes from like. literally any other character.

people (cough hs2 writers) act like she would actually be “pushy” with a relationship on jake— as if she wasn’t literally the one who helped him make the decision to explore dating dirk?? because she thought it was the right thing to do???

jane is incredibly thoughtful and mature and people really throw all of those traits out of the window with preference for a version of the story where she Comes Inbetween Their Fave Gay Pairing as if she wasn’t, again, the one who got them together. jane is also extremely interesting in terms of queerness; she’s got the makings of a really interesting arc, not to mention she’s the only human girl that dresses mainly masc! there’s a lot there that people just don’t care to explore.

people just have less patience for the prospit kids in general. not to mention homestuck fans love to be misogynistic and berate jane for stuff they love the men doing, or claim she’s coming between them when she’s not, etc etc. and then because no one was writing fun meta posts about her, nobody ever rereads the comic to grab little scenes or lines to expand the online discussion about her! and then because there’s no discussion about her, people assume she’s boring and don’t go looking for bits to start discussing, which cycles on and on forever until we have the ripple effects we see of that misogyny today. which mostly consists of, “oh i hate jane because she was a villain is hs2”, or, “i know hs2 isn’t canon but i still don’t care for jane because she doesn’t do anything that interests me.” (and she’s only not interesting because of the cycle i mentioned before causing NO ONE to have meta discussion about her).

idk, it’s been a while since ive read so i could be talking out my ass but that’s what i’ve got.

TL;DR: jane is fucking COOL, she just suffers from intentional fandom ignorance. and she’s also a canonically hot, fat, masc woman, so i don’t know what else you could possibly want.

[fanfic-writer-and-rambler]

Inspired by this post because I learned is mostly canon that the reason all of that is called that stuff is because Dick named them when he was 8 and that is fudging precious.

Bruce: Okay, so what do you want to name the car?

Dick (8 at the time): Hm... You are a bat and you drive the car in your batsuit. Batmobile!

Bruce (blinking but not sure how to respond): We'll circle back, what should you call this new weapon I made?

Bruce holds up a bat shaped boomarang.

Bruce: It's a boomerang which means it will come back to me-

Dick (throwing his arms up eagerly): Batarang!

Bruce: Tsk... Okay.

Dick: You like them?

Bruce: I'm... Let's go back to that too. What would you call my hideout. It's in a cave, but calling it a cave feels boring to say. What would you, the 8 year old with an expanded imagination call this?

Dick: Hm ... Hm...

Dick walks around looking around the cave while tapping his chin.

Dick: I got it! The Batcave!

Bruce: ...Are you only naming them bat and then what it is?!

Dick (swaying on his feet with a smile): No.

Bruce: I can tell when you're lying.

Dick: Maybe.

Bruce: I feel like that will ruin the entire intimidation aspect of my hero persona. I- Why are you making that face?

Dick sniffles holding his down and about (pretending) to cry.

Dick: But you're... Batman... I wanted it to work with that, because I love you so much. I'm sorry.

Dick sobs, covering his eyes.

Bruce (straighting and feeling guilty): No wait, wait, don't cry. Do not cry, I'll use the names okay? All of them.

Dick: Including Batarang?

Bruce: If you could just-

Dick goes back to sobbing, keeping his eyes covered.

Bruce (sighing in defeat): Batarang it is.

Dick ends his act and cheers.

Dick: Yes! Batcave! Wooo! Woo- hoo!

Dick runs around the newly named Batcave as Bruce rubs his forehead exhausted. Alfred enters the cave with a tray that had a coffee cup on it.

Alfred: You caved didn't you?

Bruce: Don't- Don't say cave right now.

Dick: Bruce! If we get a plane we can call it the Batwing!

Bruce (resolute): Okay that one isn't that bad.

....

Years later when Damian is around.

Damian: Why is everything just Bat and then the item?

Bruce: Dick named everything and it grew on me. He's pretty creative with names isn't he?

Damian shakes his head with his arms crossed.

Damian: I want to change the names again!

Bruce: First child got naming rights. You can start a contingency plan on someone though.

Damian: You're lucky I like doing that.

Damian leaves the cave. Bruce turns to his computer, but notice Dick staring at him teary eyed.

Bruce: What?

Dick: You still like my names?

Bruce (sighing): Yes.

Dick: I love you dad!

He hugs his father. Bruce pats him on the back with a small smile.

Bruce: Oh good Lord. I love you too.

[juuuulez]

📰 | epilogue: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes x Saviour! Reader, 6 year timeskip, cute Judith moments, S10 Negan (aka Negan redemption arc), winter vibes because I wish it snowed where I live.

summary: Six years later, Carl and Reader consider what the future holds.

holy shit guys…it’s over! it’s done! writing this was so weird but also i’m very happy with the ending, and also getting to expand on Carl’s character beyond his death in canon was amazingly freeing.

i’ve got some requests to catch up on, but feel free to ask for stuff in the Capulet-canon! i’ll definitely go back to this and do little spinoff oneshots because they r very cute.

i hope you enjoy this as much as i did!

-> masterlist <-

Snow crunches under your feet as you treck back to Alexandria’s walls. A thin layer has dusted itself over your hair and shoulders, falling from the fabric of your jacket with each step. Slung over your back is a bundle of game: mostly rabbits, some squirrels, all tied up at the feet.

They’d designated you to checking the traps, a fairly mundane job that was mostly bearable, sans when the weather was this harsh. Having a small amount of freedom was nice at times, where you could be alone with the woods, though you knew someone was trailing nearby, shadowing your every move.

It didn’t hurt that much, knowing they didn’t trust you. You understood. But it sucked that it was these random assholes who hadn’t even been there during the war. Since when did they get a say?

Regardless, you felt relief as you arrived back home, if you could even call it that. The gates opened with a creak, allowing you inside, a familiar scene yet twisted in so many ways.

It had been six years since the war ended.

Six years of living in Alexandria, carefully under everybody’s watch. Of being torn down and scrutinised for mistakes you’d made as a teenager. Not that you’d call them mistakes, maybe that was your biggest flaw, being too prideful.

Someone comes to collect the bounty, to which you hand over the bundle, not before untying one of the rabbits you’d personally shot. That one would make your dinner tonight, besides, you’d been promising Judith a lucky rabbits foot.

The man doesn’t speak to you, though you aren’t offended. You’ve never been a big fan of small talk. In your opinion, there are very few you have the patience to converse with, and as long as they were still interested, then nobody else mattered.

Speaking of people important to you.

In the distance, you could spot Negan plowing snow along the main road that ran through Alexandria. You internally rolled your eyes, knowing that they’d been giving him stupider and stupider jobs recently.

There’s another figure, a young boy, who’s been tasked with watching him. He sits on a porch, a few feet away, kicking at the frosty ground.

“Hey, you wanna take a break?” You ask him, standing in front of the young male. The rabbit is still slung from your shoulder, along with the bow on your back.

He looks a little confused with the suggestion, and maybe offput that you’re talking to him. “No, I’m.. alright, thank you.” He attempts to brush you off, though clearly remains wary, almost unsettled by your presence.

You roll your eyes this time, not willing to continue this pointless back and forth. “Fuck off, okay? Just for a few minuets. Go waste your time somewhere else.” You demand.

Only a second of glaring down at the boy and he’s scurried off, likely to tell someone of your hostility. That’s one benefit, at least, that not many are willing to engage in a physical altercation with you, as they’d all heard stories of the war.

As you turn around, you catch Negan already watching you. A smile spreads onto your face, despite his rugged appearance, and the snow all over your jacket.

“You’re gonna be in deep shit for that one, you know?” He tells you, as if it isn’t obvious, though his tone indicates that he is pleased to see you again.

Lately, you’d been finding Negan more often around Alexandria, usually gardening or doing some other boring maintenance task. Depending on who was around, you were even sometimes allowed to visit him in his cell.

It hadn’t been like that for a long time, though. For the first four years after the war, you weren’t allowed any sort of contact. It was hard, and you’d struggled with bouts of depression on particularly difficult days, but things were starting to look up again.

“I don’t really care.” You shrug, smile turning into a downright grin as you approach. “Can’t make me do anything worse than hunting in dead-winter.”

As you crossed the path, Negan’s smile grew tender. He extended his arm to you, palm cupping the back of your neck and thumb moving the snowy hair from your face.

Though he had many regrets, letting you get caught up in everything was the biggest. In many ways he felt like he’d failed his job, which was to foster and protect a young girl. Yet, time and time again, you were put in harms way.

“What about plowing snow?” Negan sarcastically suggests, leaning on the handle of his shovel. The notion made you frown, straightening out the blue shirt he wore.

“No jacket?” You question, brows furrowed while you looked up at him.

The concern on your face made Negan smile, having watched you grow from a reckless teenager to a conscious young woman. “Nah. I have thick skin, doll.”

Regardless, you roll your eyes, trying to swallow your concern as you look to the snowy path. “I’m gonna ask someone about getting you warmer clothes.”

“I should be the one that’s worried,” Negan points out, “Hunting in this weather? It’s like they’re tryna’ kill you.”

He says it with a slightly bitter tone, genuinely irritated despite the fact that you’ve lived quite comfortably in Alexandria over the years. More so than him, certainly. Yet, the concern makes you smile, regardless.

“Someone’s gotta do it,” You justify with a shrug, “Trust me, I tried to dodge. Been feeling kinda shitty recently.”

“Shitty?” He echos.

“Yeah. Just.. bleh, y’know?”

Negan gives you a stern look, “I don’t know.”

You roll your eyes, not wanting to worry him over something you’d already written off as insignificant. “Just feelin’ icky lately, maybe a bit nauseous. I think this weathers fucking me up.

This causes him to let up a little, though you don’t miss the smug grin on Negan’s face as he continues to shovel snow. “Don’t sound like the weather,” He remarks, “Sure you aren’t pregnant? You and Carl are probably breedin’ like bunnies now you’re living together.”

The vulgar attitude never usually phased you, but this time your brow furrowed, glaring over at the man. “Don’t be gross.” You grumbled.

Luckily, Negan lets up, knowing this may be a soft spot for you. “Fine, I’m just teasing, doll. But you’ll tell me if it gets worse?”

“Yeah,” You agree, hoisting the supplies on your back a little higher. “I’ve gotta go get this rabbit skinned. And I’ll see about that jacket, okay?”

In return, he gives you a semi-enthusiastic thumbs up, though you know the emotion isn’t there. It makes you smile. You’ve truly missed him over these years, and seeing the toll imprisonments had on his attitude is jarring.

Nonetheless, you treck further into the community, locating your place. The small house sits near the back end, away from the main commotion, which you’ve grown to appreciate over time. Originally, you stayed there with Aaron, who was tasked with keeping an eye on you.

Then it was Rosita, and occasionally Tara. Back then, you were equally rude and hostile, and made a point to prove your disdain towards the entire situation. Of course, over the years, those walls melted away and you were forced into a state of acceptance.

Now, there was nobody watching over you. At least not in the safety of your own home. With the rate he was over, Carl practically lived there, though you knew he just didn’t like being in his own house with Rick gone. You’d understand how that would be unsettling.

The door creaked when you opened it, the haul causing you to bump it open with your hip. You dumped the bag at the door, and managed to unhook the bow with one hand.

You ventured further inside, intending to throw the dead rabbit onto the back porch to skin it. But you barely made it three steps down before your mission was halted, two arms snatched around your waist and tugging you back into a firm body.

“Jesus,” You huffed, “I didn’t hear you.”

Carl looks down, eyeing the left side of your head, completely flattened with the absence of an ear. “Shit. Sorry.” He apologised, having momentarily forgot in his haste to greet you.

The injury had thankfully healed, but your eardrum was ruined beyond repair. You were completely deaf from one side.

“I’m also wielding a dead rabbit, so watch out.” You remind him, shimming in his hold so that you’re face to face, though you hold the rabbit at an arms length away from his body.

“Then.. is this a bad time to kiss you?” He asks, and though it sounds genuine, the little smirk on his face indicates that your answer doesn’t matter.

You roll your eyes, a smile growing on your own face. Somehow, after all these years, you still get all bashful. “Never a bad time.”

No matter how much time passed, his lips would always feel perfect on your own. Carl kissed you like you were precious, made of porcelain, and the idea that someone was capable of being so gentle excited you. That, and it let you take control, something you lacked in your current life.

You shimmied your spare hand out of the snowy glove, so that you could wrap it around his neck. Lately, Carl had been letting you trim his hair, though you opted to keep it that same shoulder length, thinking it made him just adorable. He wore the bandage less, too, at least when at home.

Coming up for air, Carl pressed another tender kiss to your cheek, holding you a little closer. “Your hand is really cold.” He whispered.

In response, you dragged your palm over his face, squishing the cold flesh into his cheek. He groaned, finally letting go of you, seeeking reprieve from your snowy fingers.

You were finally able to continue down the hallway, though his footsteps followed right behind.

“Do you want to catch dinner with everyone?” He asked, “They’re cooking the rabbits down by the church.”

“I hate everyone.” You point out, bracing yourself against the cold air outdoors. There’s a metal peg hanging from the back porch, which you affix the rope onto, allowing the rabbit to dangle from its feet.

You can hear Carl has stopped behind you, leaning against the back door. “Besides, I think I wanna stay in. Still feelin’ kinda rough.” You say with a shrug.

It’s like a fish on a hook, where Carl can’t resist clinging to every little word you say. “Still? Do you need to see a doctor?” He suggests, worry in his tone.

Trying to ease his concern, you let go of the rabbit, giving Carl your full attention. “I don’t think so. I’m sure it’s nothing. A cold.”

Carl takes this as permission to dig deeper, wanting to find the root of this issue. He approaches, one hand settling on your hip, the other feeling your forehead. Though your temperature feels fine, he still remarks, “You don’t look like you have a cold.”

“Okay, genius. When did you get your degree?” You quip, the snappy attitude earning you an unamused glare, though it only takes a second before Carl is kissing your forehead, where his hand was.

It irritates you to no end that he’s so forgiving. But over time, Carl has learnt that you get defensive easily, expressed in irritated remarks that can turn borderline cruel. It’s his sign that something is wrong, but he needs to back off for the time being.

“I’ll skin the rabbit. You can lie down.” He suggests.

Your eyes narrow into a glare, not liking the insinuation that you can’t handle it. Though, you’re unable to be properly angry, knowing that he is trying to help. “Thank you.” You end up whispering in agreement, setting aside your pride for the time being.

With that aside, you decided to go and clean up from the hunt. There were little bloodstains on your jacket, so you left it hanging in the laundry for now, intending to deal with it later. Your boots were left at the door, and you quickly walked into the bedroom, intending to wiggle out of the snowy clothes.

Your hair was slightly damp, scalp a little sore from having it tied up all day. So, you padded into the bathroom, hoping to have a hot shower. But the second you looked in the mirror, you remembered what Negan had suggested. Albeit jokingly, but he still said it.

It was like a cruel history repeating itself. Being pregnant was a death sentance, in your eyes. Your own mother had died of birth complications, and that was before the apocalypse. That’s not to mention Lori.

Just the idea made you feel sick again. Scrounging through the bathroom cabinet, you found the beat-up packaging of a pregnancy test you’d stashed after finding it on a run. Just looking at it, all decorated in pink, made you feel worse.

You left it on the counter, hoping a shower would clear your head.

It didn’t.

The test was taunting you, staring at you through the foggy frosted glass of the shower. As much as you hated the notion, it wouldn’t leave your mind unless you got it over with. It was time to bite the bullet.

Still soaking wet from the shower, you fumbled with the box, hands shaking as you read the instructions. Whilst you peed into the little cup, you thought back to all the times you’d been intimate with Carl. The pair of you were relatively safe. But, maybe… maybe there’d been a few times you slipped up.

God, Negan was right. The pair of you were animals. It was like a late puberty, you couldn’t help it, you wanted to jump him at every opportunity. And now, this was your punishment.

A positive pregnancy test.

More like an execution date.

You spend a good ten minutes sitting on the bathroom floor, this indescribable weight on your chest. It gets heavier as time goes by, and you convince yourself that you may actually be unable to breathe if this continues.

Pulling on some clothes, you slowly inch from the bathroom, hair and skin still wet, though that doesn’t matter anymore. You can’t tell Carl, but at the same time, you need to.

You come to a stop at the back of the house, and before you can open the door, you notice Judith through the window. She’s sitting on the porch, talking with Carl as he attempts to skin the rabbit. His technique isn’t very good, but she doesn’t know any better. You hadn’t heard her come in, too busy wallowing in your own panic.

She stands, accepting a knife that Carl offers her, attempting to mimic his actions and take a chunk of fur off the rabbit. Judith struggles, not having the right angle, causing an uneven slice through the rabbits thigh.

Finally, you give in, pushing the door open. “You two are gonna butcher my rabbit.”

Judith turns to you, an eager smile on her face. She offers the knife, handle up like she’d been taught, “Show me?”

Though you accept the knife, Carl interjects, “She’s just had a shower, Jude.” He points out.

“It’s fine,” You assure them, rolling up the sleeves of your pyjama shirt despite the biting cold, “I’ll wash off with the hose. Now watch me, both of you.”

You teach the siblings how to properly skin a rabbit, explaining little tips and answering all of Judith’s questions. Though you’d come here to break some terrible news, you somehow find yourself feeling a little better. Watching Carl try and teach Judith something was heartwarming, and you wondered if he’d be this attentive with his own child.

That, and making Judith an aunt would be a gift in itself.

Later that night, you walk Judith back to her house, where Michonne was already waiting for her. She seemed relieved to know Judith was with you and Carl, given the girl had a tendency to investigate into some of the darker cracks of Alexandria.

There was still that one, heavy piece of information weighing on your mind. Though, it seemed to get lighter and lighter as time went on. When it came time to sleep, you were comfortably nestled against Carl’s side, your head resting on his shoulder.

The words were right there, on the tip of your tongue. It would be so easy to blurt out, yet you felt like doing some preemptive damage control.

“Would you ever wanna have kids?” You ask in a whisper, almost completely inaudible.

Given the circumstances, Carl finds the inquiry pretty strange. He shifts a little, laying on his side, so that you’re forced to face him.

“Maybe.” He says, though he sounds a little unsure of himself.

But maybe isn’t a no.

You stay silent for a moment, unsure of how to proceed now that you’ve gotten your answer. The silence causes Carl to grow curious, curious as to what has sparked this sudden interest.

“Do you?” He asks, looking you right in the eye, which makes you squirm a little.

Everything points towards your admission, but you can’t force the words from your mouth. So you just lay there, watching him, looking a little pent up and almost slightly guilty.

Fortunately, Carl isn’t stupid. He’s quite attentive, actually, especially when it comes to your health.

That, and he’d already found the empty test box in the bathroom, crumpled into the wastebin.

“C’mon.” He whispers, pulling you back into him, arms wrapped around your form. His hand makes its way into your hair, fingers twirling in the strands, keeping your head pressed firmly against his chest.

Carl swallows the lump in his throat, similarly unable to address the issue at hand. But maybe you’d rather he didn’t. “I love you, okay?” He ends up whispering, words uttered against the crown of your head.

You muster a little nod, shifting to worm your arms around his torso. You mirror his tone, quiet and hoarse, though that weight is finally beginning to disappear.

“I love you, too.”

[scp230kinnie]

Hi im so glad I found someone still writes for hunter😭Could you do a hunter x goth reader or if you don’t feel like writing that I will take any hunter content literally😭❤️‍🩹

JSJSHSJS YES OKAY IM GONNA DO HEADCANONS JUST CUZ I DONT FEEL LIKE WRITING A LONG THING

Hunter Sylvester x Goth reader Headcanons

No warnings aside from being cringe and not proofread🙏 mostly gn!

⚠️ I AM NOT A GOTH PERSON so please feel free to let me know if I get anything wrong😭

Have fun reading

At first he really doesn’t like goth music 😭

He says it’s not metal enough for him or something

He learns to accept your music taste, knowing he’s not gonna change anything

He does try to get you to expand your music taste a bit

(By giving you metal recommendations)

IMAGINE GOING OUT IN FULL TRAD GOTH WHILE HE DOES CORPSE PAINT AWW

Lowkey he would to do corpse paint on you, and he would maybe be willing to let you do trad goth on him in return

He’s not a fan of the style himself, but he thinks you look absolutely freaking majestic

You always catch him staring at you or watching you do makeup

He shows you off to all his (3) friends for sure

“This is my amazing gf/bf 💪”

He will learn about the subcultures and stuff just for you

On the days you don’t do full read goth and just do like regular eyeliner or something, he’ll be all goofy like “who the fuck is this chick😦”

Shit bro he will buy you whatever clothes and accessories you want (with his dads card duh)

He will also (try to) help you do your hair

He doesn’t have any “goth” clothes, seeing as he’s a metalhead, but same goes for my last set of Hunter hcs, he will give you his hoodies and maybe his band shirts if you wanted

Painting each others nails🫶

He’s not good at it but damn right he’s gonna try

I just KNOW if you painted his nails he’d fuck it up instantly. Like it’ll still be drying and he’ll already smudge it in like 5 minutes

If you dye your hair, (light haired alternative people know😔) he will probably try to help

He has really low patience with it tho

If you have really thick or long hair he will straight up just give up

Idk how many times I’ve said it but he WILL try to learn your favourite songs on guitar

Back at it with the “serenading” thing but it’s just him flexing his skills

When ur not around he will try on your jewelry just to see how it looks

Will steal your rings if they fit him

Same thing with earrings

I’m like 90% sure he canonically has his ears pierced so if you have nice earrings he will take them and wear them with pride

I am not goth, once again. But I am some kind of alternative, and I know that a lot of these people have like spikes that they put on clothes and stuff

So he would definitely want you to do that with some of his stuff

That’s all I can think of for now 😇 keep them coming guys

[shininas-ideals]

hi there!! i just wanted to ask what makes ppl in the fandom ship kunichuu?? im new to the fandom and fairly curious lol

Hi hi!

I'm fairly new to the fandom myself as I only watched the anime last year! but to answer the ask, idk I guess something in me just clicked

The idea of Kunikida and Chuuya interacting came to my head in that helicopter scene, where the PM saved the ADA from the Hunting Dogs (you can imagine my disappointment when they didn't so much as aknowledge their existence). When I saw them in the same space together I thought "huh, would you look at that, the two partners Dazai has had... I bet they got a lot of venting they can get over with a good drink"

Continue under the cut!

I've already made a post with my main points for how their dynamic would work, but just to expand on that (and bc I love talking about them):

• Like I said, they can have a funny lil moment to breathe and just complain about the living hell that is dealing with Osamu daily

• As an aftermath of their characters being created to bounce off of Dazai's antics, they have quite a bit of similarities between them that they can both help enhance mutually; like being hardheaded, both being excepcional physical fighters, both wearing their heart on a sleeve, both being destined to be the next big honcho of their respective organizations, both doing things that would be considered contradictory to their line of work, and many little details more

• I've also begun to think of many, many alternative scenarios where these two can make for an interesting plot, mostly, like I said, a post canon/future part where they've both inherited they positions as boss of the PM and president of the ADA respectively, making for many meetings that develop into a sorta kinship on their moral code as leaders of two important groups: as Chuuya, being a high rank of a criminal organization, doesn't actively enjoy killing and sees his men as the living humans that they are; and Kunikida isn't opposed at all to bend the country's rules and do some shady stuff if it's for the greater good of the people

So it's mostly just potential and parallels between their two stores that keep me wishing for at least a conversation that lets them see a bit further from the surface of their personalities and the rolls they play in the BSD world

Or it's just that I love Kunikida and I don't see the appeal in romantic Soukoku lol

Plus they have the potential to make a compelling duo that gets Dazai absolutely jealous and makes him lose his shit, cuz sure, he can take them one on one, but with both of them partnered up against him? Yeah, no shot

And can you imagine a fight scene between them? No Arahabaki, no abilities, just pure hands, mano a mano

[panlight]

This might be a bit of a TW but what do you think happens to a person’s insides after becoming a vampire? The films made the vamps break apart like porcelain dolls and I don’t remember if Bree’s book ever mentioned that? Do you think a vampire’s guts are like geodes being cracked open? Or are they solid all the way through? (It’s crazy that a vampire saga has very little gore in it.)

The movies definitely played into the "statue" thing. If I recall from some behind the scene commentary, part of it was that it allowed them to get away with things like decapitations and keep a PG-13 rating to treat them like statues that just broke off in chunks and didn't really have any "insides." They were able to get around some limitations on violence and gore that way. They also did stuff like them 'cracking' as an injury which I don't think was in the books at all.

As for what vampires in book!canon look like on the inside . . . we don't really get much. I personally don't think they are solid, mostly from vague descriptions about how venom and the blood they drink moves through their bodies. I think something like the circulatory system with veins and arteries and capillaries remain. She specifically talks about how fluids contribute to physical arousal in a similar way as blood does in humans. So there's some sort of fluid moving around . . . somehow.

I sort of imagine it in my own head as all the organs and stuff is still there it's just harder and empty/hollow. They can still move and bend and stretch so it can't be like THAT solid but it would seem solid compared to a human body I guess. They still breathe but they don't need to; seems to me the lungs can still expand but there's no blood to oxygenate. The bladder and intestines are there but empty and useless. I think SM has said the blood is just sort of 'absorbed' rather than digested, flowing through the old veins. That's why vampires can look flushed after feeding. HOW it all moves around without a beating heart to circulate IDK. Tiny muscle contractions? ~Magic?

And it could be that the vampires themselves don't really know. Their skin is so hard and impenetrable that it makes it difficult for them to study themselves. What would a vampire autopsy even look like? Would it be someone who had been decapitated and the head was burned but the rest of the body remained intact? The medical imaging equipment couldn't see through Renesmee's amniotic sac (I think that's what it was?) so I doubt it can see through vampire skin.