#the chosen au name:

[lemonpoet]

Good ending AU posting :D Tele and his baby cousin (train em young, as Athena would say)

Part 2 to this specific post

PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR (general good ending au content)

[wat-zu]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁Blue hour. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

It's dangerous to go alone, here. *gives you TCO and TSC sibling bonding for the road*

If it's hard to read, just click on the alt text. Anywhizzle, peace ✌️

Also, nickname guide for the sibs

[starry-bi-sky]

Becoming Phantom - Clone^2 (and by extension, clone danny)

I said I would make it, and so i did! Here's a little ficlet of how danny became Phantom - the human ghost-fighting vigilante in the clone^2 and clone Danny au. Since this does include themes of dissection/vivisection, i'll put in a minor trigger warning list down below.

TW: experimentation - implied torture and vivisection/dissection of ghosts TW: Non-graphic mentions of injuries and blood

TLDR: Danny's parents have been catching ghosts ever since the portal was opened after Danny's lab accident. Danny knows this because he can hear them screaming from the basement. After finally telling his friends about it, he resolves to free the ghosts - and he does. He ends up having a conversation with one of the ghosts, and comes to the decision that he will catch ghosts before his parents do to prevent this kind of harm from happening again.

word count check: 4.9k

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

His parents caught another ghost.

Danny can tell because he can hear their screaming from the kitchen, even with the doors closed. It's horrific - the voice is doubled over itself like something out of one of Sam's demonic horror movies, and Danny's heart races like he's run a mile at the sound.

It warps and twists, and almost sounds like its saying 'please.'

He rubs his chest uncomfortably, and pushes his breakfast away from him. His appetite lost and his stomach churning with a deep sense of dread.

Across the table, Jazz notices, and her eyes narrow dangerously at his hand gripping his shirt - right over his heart. He just got out of the hospital last month, and he knows what she's thinking - they don't want to have to send him back.

"I'm fine." He blurts out immediately, dropping his hand. He's not fine, but it's because he feels ill as the lights above flicker and another terrified shriek echoes through the floorboards. He swallows, ill. "I- it's just-" his eyes flick to the door to the lab. "the lab."

Jazz's lips press into thin line, and she pushes her chair back and stands up. "I hate that they're doing this," she says, stomping towards the lab. "It's inhumane, Danny. They're people too, even if they don't look like us!"

Before the portal, Danny might've just shrugged his shoulders and not said anything. He never really cared about his parents' ghost hunting stuff, but figured that since they knew more about it, their rants about them being unfeeling were correct.

Now, though? When he's been woken up in the middle of the night by the house rattling and his ears ringing with the pained cries of one of the ghosts' in the basement? His heart beating so fast he thinks he's been transported back to the lab a month ago, lying on the floor after being electrocuted by the portal?

He's really not so sure anymore. And he thinks he's starting to agree with Jazz. This isn't right. He doesn't think so, at least.

An unsure 'hm' comes out of his throat, eyes tracking Jazz as she swings the heavy metal door open and breathes in deep. "HEY!" She yells, her voice miraculously sounding out over the ghost screaming. The screams stop. "MOM! DAD! CUT THAT OUT, YOU'RE SCARING DANNY!"

There's no sound, and Danny sighs a breath of relief. Not that it does much to slow his anxious heart, the shrieks are burned into his ears, and he's already thinking about leaving now rather than later. He can meet Tucker at his house.

His parents - his mom, actually - appears at the entrance to the lab, her hands drip bright, ectoplasm green, and there's splatters of it across the front of her suit and goggles like blood. Danny feels white in the face, and Jazz looks enraged.

Mom pulls off her goggles, frowning apologetically. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Your father and I just got carried away, we caught this one just this morning by the park." She says, as if that makes it any better. Danny's eyes are glued to the ectoplasm dripping onto the floor. "We'll wait until you get to school."

Danny wishes they wouldn't do this at all. But he just nods mutely, unable to make his lead-heavy tongue do anything. Jazz speaks for him, and whirls on mom like a tornado about to break loose. "At school? This shouldn't be happening at all - it's wrong, mom!"

Jazz has been the only one vocal about this whole thing ever since mom and dad came home with a ghost trapped in one of their nets - their thermos wasn't working - while Danny was on sick leave after he got out of the hospital. Danny still remembers the utter shock he was in after mom and dad came in dragging it behind them.

The ghost looked like a grown woman, but it - she - had the brightest blue eyes he'd ever seen, and ice-like skin. She'd been thrashing in the net, saying something in a hissy, whispering language that made static build behind his eyes. It had surprised him that he could somewhat make out what she was saying.

It had been fascinating. Up until the screaming started.

He watches Mom make a face that looks like endeared annoyance, and she turns to Jazz with a light sigh. "You're a kind girl, Jazz, but ghosts aren't human, sweetheart. We've told you this." And they have, multiple times. It's become a reoccurring argument.

"Does it matter?!" Jazz exclaims, her cheeks turning an inflamed red with indignancy. She looks appalled. "They're still in pain! You're hurting them!"

Danny silently nods, but they don't see. Jazz is glaring at mom with the burning anger of the sun and Mom just looks exasperated. "Your father and I know this already, Jazmine." Mom says, her arms crossing across her chest.

Jazz's mouth drops open.

Danny's almost does the same. The bone-chilling blood rush leaves him shivering, and his vision spots out in black, fuzzy dots for a few seconds. Maybe, he thinks, it's his heart stopping again with the cold horror.

They know this?

They know this?

And they're still doing it?

He thought he knew his parents - now he's second-guessing himself.

Jazz is just as much at a loss for words as Danny is. And then her expression shutters closed with a fury-kind of icy. "Danny," she says, still staring down their mom. "Go get your stuff, I'm driving you to school."

Normally, he hates how.. parent-y Jazz gets. She acts like a second mom, and like a helicopter one to boot. It drives him nuts on the worst of days. Right now though, he's already rising to his feet before he's even opening his mouth.

"Okay." He croaks, and beelines it up the stairs for his backpack. He doesn't look at mom when he comes back down, he doesn't think he can. He can see her still-dripping hands in the corner of his eye though.

------

"Man, you look like shit." Tucker says the moment Danny sits down in their homeroom class, he's frowning. Danny doesn't say anything to him, he just grunts and drops his head into his arms.

Sam, sitting behind Danny, leans across the aisle and smacks Tucker in the arm. He yelps in pain, and rubs the spot she hit with a glare. "He's right though," Sam says, leaning over his shoulder. "You looked like you were gonna yak over the front row when you walked in."

"It's good that you didn't," Tucker grumbles, "Dash would've killed you."

Danny, despite the shit morning, manages a smile and tilts his head so that his cheek is resting on his arm instead. "Mr. Lancer wouldn't've let him." Sam sniffs, and her fingers are in his hair already - it's been growing out for a while now. He meant to cut it but then the lab accident happened, and he was in the hospital, and then on sick leave, and -- long story short, he was growing it out.

Besides, Sam pulling it back for him was relaxing, and he feels the tension bleeding out of his shoulders already. His anxious heart slowing. "Yeah, he's been weirdly protective since the accident." He says. It was kinda nice, Dash was being forced to back off - finally, more than he was before.

"Probably because if you have a heart attack in class from Dash bullying you, he'll be liable." Tucker snorts, relaxing back into his chair. Up front, the three of them see Dash shoot them a glare from over his shoulder. He probably heard them -- and Tucker doesn't help by giving him an innocent, too-wide grin.

There's a tug, and Danny lifts his head slightly as Sam ties his hair back with whatever hairband she procured out of nowhere. And she says she's not a witch, honestly.

His smile falters, however, when Sam leans back around his shoulder with a frown still evident on her face. "Seriously though, what's up? You were really pale -- paler than normal, that is."

Danny doesn't really wanna tell them - he's kept the whole 'my parents are torturing ghosts' thing to himself ever since he first woke up to the house shaking. It wasn't any secret though that there were ghosts now actually 'infesting' Amity Park though, they'd been popping up ever since the portal turned on.

But Jazz says talking about things helps alleviate stress of what's burdening you, and Danny doesn't usually listen to her. She's his annoying older sister, of course he doesn't. But... this... wasn't really something he wanted to keep secret forever, either.

His teeth sink into his bottom lip, and he averts his eyes. It's like tearing off a band-aid, Danny, he thinks, just... blurt it out. "My parents are torturing ghosts in the basement." He says, only to immediately wince as both Sam and Tucker drop their jaws.

"What!?" They both yell in unison, and Danny ducks his head down as everyone else sitting around them turn their heads.

"Not so loud!" He hisses, peeking through his arms and glaring at the both of them. They both grimace, embarrassment dusting red across Sam's face and Tucker's darkening slightly, and duck their heads down towards him.

"Sorry, what!?" Tucker whispers back at him, his face all scrunched up in disbelief. Sam's redness has faded into pale horror and -- and yeah, yeah, Danny gets it. He feels that way too.

"They keep catching the ghosts and dissecting them." He whispers, and god, he feels sick just saying it. Tucker's face falls slack, and he looks about as ill as Danny feels. "I don't- I don't know what to do about it, I keep waking up to them screaming, and Jazz keeps getting into fights about it with them."

"Oh my god." Sam mutters, her hands pressing together and covering her mouth. Danny nods mutely, chewing on his lip.

"They know its hurting them." He adds, and its still dizzyingly terrifying to think about. He thought he knew his parents. He thought he knew them. He guesses that saying of people being multi-faceted was true. "They don't care."

Sam and Tucker both look green. Or as close to green as they can get. "That's- that's inhumane." Sam breathes, and Danny huffs sardonically - funny, that's what Jazz said this morning. That's what she keeps saying. "And there's really nothing you can do?"

"Not unless I go into the lab myself and release them," he mutters, hiding half his face in his arms. "And I haven't been back in there since I got electrocuted." His parents wouldn't allow it, and it's not like he he was chomping at the bits to go back inside anyways.

...Hm.

"I'm sorry, Danny." Tucker says, his voice low and horrified, "that's- that's awful."

Yeah. He knows.

--------

This is a bad idea. This is a bad idea. This is a bad idea.

Where was Danny you ask? Sneaking down into the lab at sometime past midnight, long after his parents have gone to bed. It's been a week since he said, sarcastically, that the only thing he could do was release the ghosts in the lab, and it hasn't left his head.

Even though he was utterly terrified as he took slow, sneaky steps down the stairs. The thought had been keeping him up at night. He could do it. He could go down into the lab and let them go. He could do something.

It's not like his parents had put a lock on the door. He hadn't even thought about it - if he thought about it, he'd back out. So when he heard his parents go to sleep that night, he waited an hour before sneaking out.

Every sound felt so loud, and his heart had raced in his ears as he creaked open the door to the lab, and closed it behind him for good measure. And his hands were shaking as he reached the bottom of the steps and stepped into the lab for the first time in two months.

And good god, did he almost regret it. There were ghosts in cages of all kinds, and ectoplasm seeping down onto the floor of their cages. They were clutching their chests, of which bled sluggishly through stitched up y-scars. They were moaning, and crying, curled up in the back like frightened animals. And there was a metal table in the center of a room that was stained green, green, green.

"Oh my god." He breathes, horror driving itself up into his throat with the churning of his gut. That's another thing he almost regrets - if only because half a dozen ghosts all snap their heads towards him, and it becomes pandemonium in an instant.

Rattling, yelling, crying, they're all screaming at him. Either to tell him to go away, to give them mercy, or to spew threats at him. It's in that same, hissy language that he's heard before. Whispery, echoing, and overlapping like multiple languages being played backwards and forwards at the same time. It gives him an immediate headache as his mind tries to comprehend and translate it.

Go away. Don't hurt us. Go away. I'll tear you apart. Leave. Leave. LEAVE.

It's all so much. Danny wants to throw himself up the stairs and back up to his room in a prey-driven instinct to flee, flee, flee. He doesn't. He covers his ears and digs his nails into his hair.

He yells. "I'M NOT LEAVING. BE QUIET!" and somehow, it silences everyone in an instant. He looks up, and everyone is staring at him, their multi-colored eyes burning into him.

Tentatively, he lowers his hands, they're shaking. He's still so scared. But courage isn't a lack of fear, its doing something despite it. He blinks back the terrified sting in his eyes, and twiddles with his hands. "I'm- I'm not here to hurt you." He stammers, "I promise. I'm not my parents."

It's silent for a long moment, and then there's an animalistic-like hiss from his left. He turns his head, and there's a ghost of a man curled up in a cage, staring him down with a thunderous look on his face. "Liar." He hisses, his voice warping in that hissy language. There are goat-like horns protruding from his head, and his eyes are yellow and slitted. He's dripping ectoplasm from his chest.

Danny swallows the bile in his throat.

And frowns. "I'm not lying." He says, and the ghost doesn't get hostile, much to his surprise. But there's a ripple of murmurs that spreads through the room like a wave at a ballgame. The ghost that spoke stares at him, then squints.

"You understand us, child?"

And - okay, Danny doesn't like the 'child' comment. He's fourteen for goodness sake, and he bristles silently like it's an insult, but he's no there to argue, he's here to help. So he swallows his pride and starts to walk towards the closed portal.

His legs are shaking, he's afraid they're gonna give out beneath him. The portal scares him, more than it did when he first saw it. But maybe that's because when he first saw it, he hadn't almost died from it.

His heart is pounding in his ears. Is it going to give out again, will he have to go to the hospital again? Despite his insistence that he's fine, Danny's heart hasn't beat right ever since the accident. He's checked. He spent an hour every night with his fingers pressed against the pulse point at his throat, at his wrist, terrified of the slow-beating he could feel thrumming against the skin.

Hearts aren't supposed to beat that slow - that much he knows. He's afraid he's going to drop dead if it drops any lower.

"Of course I do." He swallows, glancing back at the ghost. Everyone's eyes are on him, they burn into him, curious, wary, afraid. He's in front of the portal, in front of the keypad to open it. Shit, did dad put in a password? "Am I- am I not supposed to?"

He pauses to look at the ghost, and the man has moved to stare at him from a new angle in his cage - god he's gonna need to find the key. Mom and dad probably have it in their desk, right?

The ghost is silent. "...No. You're not." He says, and his head tilts to the side as Danny mentally translates in his head. he looks at Danny like he's trying to inspect him, like he's trying to look into him like his parents have looked into the ghost. "What is your name, child?"

"I'm not a child." He bites out, and immediately winces. Shit- he just said not to antagonize them. But the ghost doesn't look offended. In fact, he just grins a sharp, toothy grin like a shark, and raspy giggles and titters echo through the room.

...That's... probably a good sign. "Um," he continues, and turns his back to the keypad. Dad's birthday? He punches into the keys. "I'm- uh, Danny. Danny Fentom- Fanton- Fenton. My parents are- uh, the ones who took you guys." The keypad buzzes and the bar spots red. Wrong password. Dammit.

"Phantom." The ghost says, and the name crawls like a spider across the walls, sneaking up his spine and ringing in the air like the leftover taste of rain and thunder. the rest of the ghosts whisper it amongst themselves.

Danny shivers, it feels like a weight in his chest. It's Fenton, he thinks, but doesn't correct. He doesn't want to push his luck with the being that could tear him apart. "Uh, sure."

He punches in mom's birthday. Wrong. He puts in Jazz's. Wrong. "How come we haven't seen you down here, Phantom?" The ghost asks, and Danny shrugs helplessly. "You are the Danny that the unknown girl yells about?"

He tries his own birthday. Wrong. Fuck. What's the password? The tremor in his limbs worsens with his anxiety, and he tries to keep his breathing steady. What if he can't get this open? What if he can't get them out? He nearly forgets to answer the ghost, and licks his dry lips. "Um- yeah, that's me. The Danny guy." He says, turning to the cages again. "And uh, I don't come down here because my parents don't allow it."

The ghost, uh, goat-man? Tilts his head, there are whispers throughout the room that pick up. And Danny feels like the kid late to an all school assembly and now has to walk past the whole school to find a seat.

Goat-man smiles again, or bares his teeth? "You are the reason why the human doctors haven't cut into us more than they already have." And- that's- that's good? He thinks?

"That's- good, right? You- you don't want to be cut open, so it's good that I, uh, indirectly stopped it a few times?"

A round of titters goes through the room again. The man's grin widens inhumanly so, and Danny's heart spikes with fear. "Yes, it's a good thing, Phantom child." He says, "Why is it that your parents do not let you come down here?"

Danny stares, and swallows again, dry. The back of his neck tingles, and he tastes electricity on his tongue. "I had an accident down here, um, nearly two months ago." His eyes flick to the cable cord where the portal was plugged in, and his heart flutters with the images of green that got burned behind his eyes. He looks away. "The portal, it, ah, electrocuted me. I was in the hospital because it nearly killed me."

"It did kill you." The ghost says immediately, and terror fills up in Danny like water flooding a room. What? What? What? He was alive. His heart was beating, he was alive. "But only for a moment. You've been touched by death, Phantom."

That was so fucking ominous. And terrifying. And terrifyingly ominous. And also really horrifying. Danny does a swift pirouette and turns back to the keypad. Time to figure out the passcode and not think about that, ever again, actually.

"Wow." He rasps, his mind numb as he punches in a random code of numbers and gets a red screen. "How reassuring. Tell death I want a refund." He gets laughter again, and his shoulders scrunch up to his ears.

"It is the reason you can understand us, then." The ghost says behind him. "We are not speaking your language child - rather, you are speaking ours."

Again. Fucking ominous. Danny furrows his brows and stares hard at the keypad - if he was dad, and he wanted to put a password lock on his lifetime achievement in something that was easy to remember and equally important, what would it be?

Oh. Right.

He bites back a groan - how obvious. Danny's an idiot. Or maybe just so scared witless that his brain isn't working right. "Fudge." He grumbles, and punches it into the keypad. It dings green.

Of - fucking - course. Danny rolls his eyes.

He hears a hiss, and Danny rapidly scuttles back as the massive blast doors twisted open like something out of a scifi movie - he'd be geeking out if he wasn't aware of his own rapid heartbeat. Like a gun charging up, an unearthly green glow appears at the back of the tunnel an d then rapidly moves towards him, growing larger and larger.

Danny flinches, half-convinced its going to hit him. He was going to be vaporized, and he brings up his arms to protect himself. But nothing happens, and he peeks open an eye that he closed when the ghost from before murmurs for him to open them.

The portal is - is, well. Indescribable. It fills the dark room with its glow, swirling like a those weird, shimmering liquid dyes put into martini glasses in those aesthetic gifs on the internet. And the light it casts on the walls shimmers and moves like the aurora borealis.

Danny is speechless. It's... oddly beautiful. And terrifying. There's a whole new world in that dimension - if he steps through he won't be on earth anymore.

And... his parents wanted to eradicate the people on the other side of it?

He whirls on foot, his back to the portal - a thing that fills him with dread. his shaking - its worse. Danny almost thinks his feet will give out. "Do - do any of you know where mom and dad keep the keys to the cages?" He asks, but he's already stalking towards the desk on the other side of the room.

The people in the cages grow restless, and they've been silent for the most part - but with the portal open, and him going to find the keys, they'd begun to grow talkative. They were moving more in the cages, talking to each other, excitement filling the air with so much hope Danny could feel it resonating between his ribs.

A new voice, quiet and feminine, speaks up on the opposite side of the goat-man's cage. She's closer to the desk, and she has also been cut open. There are black tears staining her face, and her shock white hair floats like she's underwater. Immediately, on instinct, Danny's head supplies him with a word.

Banshee.

"In the bottom drawer, Phantom." She whispers, her voice lilting and melodic. Her pitch black eyes follow him across the room. "I've seen them put it there after putting us back into our cages."

He nods mutely, and again feels horrified by their treatment from his parents. His pace quickens to the desk, and just as the banshee woman said, there are keys in the bottom drawer sitting on top of a bunch of research papers that have a suspicious green stain on them.

Danny ignores the stain and grabs the keys, holding them up as he closes the drawer. When he turns back to the cages, all eyes are on him. "Um," he rasps, "I found the key." Who do I free first?

His eyes land on the banshee woman first, she's the closest to the desk. And in an arc he follows the lineup to the other side side of the room. He moves to the banshee woman's cage first, and she perks up as he kneels down to the door.

"I'll- I'll go in a circle, first." He announces, fingers fumbling with the key as he inserts it into the hole. The banshee woman had her fingers - clawed and knife-like, capable of tearing out his throat in an instant - around the bars of her confinement. She was staring at him intently.

He hesitates, and looks up. Her eyes are pitch black, he noticed this before, but this close its like its threatening to suck him in and send him swirling through a blackhole. "If- if I free you," he stammers, licking his lips, "will you attack me?"

The banshee woman bares her razor teeth at him, and reaches through the bars to touch his face. It takes all Danny's restraint not to flinch as her nails drag down his cheek softly. "No," she says, "you're freeing us, Phantom. We will not attack you."

Danny.. will just have to take her word for it. He nods, and with a sharp twist of his wrist unlocks the cage with one hand, and flings open the door with the other. In an instant, the banshee dives forward -- Danny thinks she's lunging at him, and flinches violently.

She goes through him instead, leaving him with a bone-deep chill and a heartbeat in his ears. He turns, and sees her dive through the portal like a swimmer diving into a pool.

There is silence throughout the room. And then everyone else begins to clamor once again, just like when Danny first walked in. Danny hurries to hush them - he said he was going around the room! He'll free them, but be quiet, or you'll wake his parents!

He rushes for the next cage, and one by one opens each and every cage. There are cheers, and thank yous, and cries of gratitude. He has to help the weaker ghosts out of their cage and limp them towards the portal. His shirt and hands are stained green with their blood.

(When he goes back up to his room later, he throws it off and throws it away. He can't stand the sight of it, and he scrubs his hands until they're raw.)

It's a lot for Danny to not burst into tears, or to throw up. Until finally he reaches goat-man's cage, and releases him. He is one of the ghosts too weak to fly on their own, and so Danny lets him lean against him and helps him to the portal.

"Will you be okay?" He asks once they are at the threshold, the portal hums softly this close to it. Almost like its trying to beckon Danny inside, like a siren song. Danny ignores it. "Will everyone else?"

"We will heal, Phantom." Goatman says, holding a hand to his chest. He looks tired, this close, and Danny can feel him looking at him, even without any pupils to show it. "Once back inside the Infinite Realms our bodies will heal on its own."

Danny nods silently, and his frown begins to wobble. The stress he's been under is finally starting to take its toll, and he is emotionally exhausted. There is still a lingering taste of fear in the air that doesn't belong to him - but the ghosts that have left. "I'm sorry." He croaks, his voice cracking. "I didn't - I didn't think you guys were human. I'm sorry."

The ghost's expression softens, but he still looks stern. "We aren't human." he says, and Danny frowns, confused. The ghost continues, and reaches out a long finger to tap against Danny's chest, where his heart is. "But do not think for a moment that humanity can be measured by the sound of a heartbeat, child. We are just as humane as you living can be, and we are just as sentient and sapient as you. Do not forget that, and you will not become your parents."

There's nothing for Danny to say to that, except nod once again. His tongue is heavy in his mouth, made of lead. "This will happen again," he continues, and his eyes prick, "they're gonna keep catching ghosts and bringing them down here." And hurting them.

Goatman nods curtly, and raises an eyebrow at Danny. "What will you do to stop them, Phantom?" He asks, "You could keep releasing them after they have been already caught, but that will not stop the pain they face under the hands of your parents."

He's right. He's right. And if Danny keeps releasing them afterwards, his parents will grow suspicious. They'll start sticking around trying to catch whoever is freeing the ghosts. And Danny doesn't want to face what will happen if his parents realize that he's the one freeing ghosts.

His eyes flicker rapidly around the room, trying to think of a solution - what could he do? What can he do?

His eyes land on the thermos sitting on the table.

"I... I could catch ghosts?" He says, unsure, and looks back to the ghost. He nods, beckoning for Danny to continue. "I can catch them in the thermos before my parents do, and then release them back to the Zone."

"That will work." The ghost says, "The thermos doesn't hurt to be in, it's merely cramped. Will you follow through on this?"

"Yes."

The ghost smiles at him a third and final time, his teeth glinting in the green portal light. "Then good luck, Danny Phantom."

He lets go, and disappears into the portal.

[zi1arts]

an AVA/AVM cultivation au in which TDL and TCO are sect leaders and the rest of the color gang are their disciples :3

and a mysterious ghost..?

feel free to ask about the au if you’re interested :D

next

[karmesean]

Hey if you're taking asks at all, what happened to Dark in your runaways AU?

yo! i really like taking asks yes :)

and, about Dark

he's currently MIA

next runaway au post

previous runaway au post

first runaway au post

[navy-leader]

Decided to call this AU Heaven's Underpass so thatll b the tag i use 2 include these designs in 👍

[leo-actually-draws-things]

Some friend groups never truely separate

(Back to 83 au)

[achaotichuman]

Okay yes, Tamlin's mom being a young girl sold in marriage to the High Lord because they happened to be mates, and she purposefully turned a blind eye to what he did because she couldn't help in any regard if she tried anyway.

But have you considered she was a Valkyrie General from Vallahan who fought in the long standing rebellion against the Black Queen, and formed an alliance with Tamlin's father (Elvin) but when the Valkyries were cut down, she was nearly killed (just barely saved by Elvin, because the mating bond clicked into place and his magic flowing through gave her the power to stay alive for him to find her) but in the end she lost the ability to walk.

Leaving her vulnurable and helpless to Elvin's will as the power of High Lord without the overarching threat of the Black Queen slowly corrupted him???

Have you thought of her being crippled with survivors guilt and longing for the days of the wind in her hair, when Kings would bow their heads and with a wave of her hand, armies would move mountains at her command???

Have you thought of how the shame and humilation of being unable to even protect her own children leaves her in an even darker place??? HAVE YOU THOUGHT OF THAT-

[zishu-arts]

I HAD A REVELATION

in which victim is mike, chosen is CC, and everyone else is also here

asks are open about this au :3

[bonefall]

hmm for where you’re going to go with moonpaw if they end up to be a nightsun kid (since i saw you mention the possibility of them being a sunfinch baby in that case in tags)… maybe you could pull a bb!squilf & spark situation and have sunbeam be moonpaws mentor? especially since iirc it was mentioned sunbeam really wanted to be a mentor in one of the earlier books of asc. im also a fan of moonpaw sunfinch baby though and the arc isn’t even out yet so. hrmmm

If I end up altering Nightheart's placement in any way (I REALLY want to put him in RiverClan) and Moonpaw is revealed as a canonical NightSun baby, 100% Finchlight is going to be her other parent.

Finchy kind of has an energy to me that she would end up with kids young, be a good and fun-loving sort of mom, and then in her older years give those adult children advice about enjoying their youth. The prodigy who CAN do it all, doesn't regret it one bit, but quietly matures into someone who wishes she'd been able to find more freedom during her life.

(And, with the kindness of time and distance, it's something she comes to appreciate about her brother. She wishes she'd broken more rules, back then.)

Surprisingly, if SunFinch DOES become endgame for BB!ASC, Finchlight would be the Mi and Sunbeam would be the Ba. I feel like Squirrelflight and Ivypool both have their eyes on Sunbeam and her potential, they're both trying to provide her opportunities to get her to be a significant warrior within the Clan.

So the unambitious Sunbeam finds herself working on her "career" while Finchlight, who has seen herself as the upcoming inheritor of Firestar's legacy since the day she joined her mother in the Impostor's exile, is enjoying the simple challenges of primary parenthood.

It's not the path either one imagined they'd be on a few moons ago, but it feels right for the people they've grown into.

[thewandererh]

🐏Counting Sleep

| { [ ( a post-coma cccclinic short story ) ] } |

for character references, visit here

please do not tag this as a ship

_…~^*^~…_ _…~^*^~…_ _…~^*^~…_

big, white, heavy eyes

beaming straight into my skull

my ribs start to burn

gasping awake as if empty, a heartbeat rages in his ribs. it’s dark. everything’s so dark.

hands fumble for the bedside lamp while eyes dash about the darkness. any shape perceived as a threat. light bursts from the lamp to reveal a pile of laundry and a coat on the door hook. the relief is overwhelming.

noa wheezes, leaning back before falling to the pillow. a hand at his forehead with the other at his chest. he’s calming down now. breathing proper again. eyes daring to close.

those big, white, and heavy eyes flick into existence behind his eyelids. shivering breaths and tremors overtake his entire figure. the nightmare lingered prominent in his mind, overbearing and overwhelming. any attempt to close his eyes or block it out was met with those masked eyes.

it wasn’t apart of leo now. but that thing—that thing still haunted him. it hurt so much. why did it still hurt so much??

panic and anxiety coursed through his pulse. he hugged himself tight in the sheets. but repressing the visage with pressure was no use. the thick blanket now encompassing him blocked out the lamp’s light. tears crawled into and out of his eyes as air became sparse under the blanket.

he couldn’t do this by himself.

noa unveiled himself to the world, gaze tearing across the dark corners of his room. simon’s desk was bare and tidy, and the night stood silent except for his panic. noa took a deep breath and thought. moments passed. enveloped in twisting anxiety while trying to calm it. although paying attention to it felt worse. he couldn’t help bringing his knees close to him as his entire body shivered. systems shellshocked. the fabric of his drapey pjs promised comfort: the blue with leopard spots felt mangled but fluffy. noa’s eyes lit up when resolve strummed his core. conclusion. a big inhale got him moving again. a decision to go and made in the moment.

the floor was cold under thick socks. neat and sturdy. beamed with smooth wood. panic screamed doubt under every movement. painfully holding him back. yet he got up.

noa made it to the door alive. gripping the steel reflecting his lamp’s light with sweaty palms. turning it flung open to reveal a dark hallway. a lump of fear nearly blocked his throat. yet he pushed on. tunnel visioned and unsure of his every step—this could be his grave. the strumming resolve dimmed inside him, and the next step faltered.

down the hall. to the left. former study. dove’s room.

each further stride could only be taken with the thought of the pale purple walls. the blankets of fluff dove encased themself in. how they held his hand while noa told them all a story. wetness pierced his vision again but he steadied himself with a breath.

everything lasted forever in the darkness pressing in on his body. suffocating beyond end. he functionally stumbled to the door, croaking it open with swiftness. the creak made him flinch.

a gasp resounded in further darkness revealed by the door. a scared and tired sound. then silence. forced silence made when the hunted percieves a threat.

/d-don’t worry. it’s me, w-whole. noa. hi. i-…sorry. c-can i…?/

dove sighed thankfully, shifting in their bed before patting a spot in the darkness. had they already been awake? noa picked his way across the room, begging his eyes to adjust faster. shapes glared from every corner, yet he remained pulled toward the bed. something sharp met his knee and he gasped through his teeth. dove held out a hand and noa took it. he let it guide him to the bed. sighing with a quiver, he shook and massaged his aching knee. dove reached for it but noa flinched aback. they reflected the flinch, headwings subtly puffing. startled. confused. frightened?

/i-i….i…..i’m sorry. i th-think it was the…tablesomething./

noa sighed, frazzled. he let dove feel his knee.

/no blood. i-i just…i had a nightmare. i…/

the lump in his throat choked him up at last. rivers bled from his face like hungry snakes.

dove shifted, then held him.

moment after moment. precious seconds of comfort.

reassurance gathered as they rocked from side to side.

massaging and warming. releasing tension.

finding relief in the finality of peace.

hearing dove breathe comforted him. he settled and sighed. sleepy.

it was too dark to sign anything, and words couldn’t escape noa’s throat without bringing on tears. so no one spoke. it stayed silent, peaceful, calm, and serene.

dove pulled back from the backrub, gently smiling while wiping a tear away from noa’s face. dove then scooted and patted the bed beside them, offering him to stay and perhaps (platonically) snuggle. a shiver snuck up noa’s spine in the cold darkness, and he succumbed to the idea of comfort.

noa lay weakly, and dove tucked him in. pulling a blanket from the basket and using their fingertips to tuck it under his sides. effectively burritoing him. dove rummaged around for a loose sleeping eyemask, and handed it to noa. he took it and sighed, looking at it with adjusted eyes. it was soft and sheep-like, with a closed-eyes decal and sheep ears on the front. brought him a smile as he put it on.

the world fuzzed out. not seeing felt so…peaceful. something stepped off of his chest and shoulders as comforting darkness slid over his eyes. no more veiny red. no more piercing masked eyes. it was so soft.

noa found dove’s hand when they’d settled in, wings and hair drooping across the pillows. heartbeats steady and tired. exhausted by the fuss panic and confusion brought. a throat burning with the aftermath of agony, another ineffective but and soundless. two hands within the other’s grasp. physically separate, but unified with comfort. dove shuffled into sleep. noa pensively pondered the cause for this twilight anxiety.

the nightmare’s memory was recalled from his head. it was…a feeling. overfilled to the point of waking him up. that…thing. that entity of perfect existence still haunted him. that idealism. that torment. that want to never worry about his health again. it was reasonable, really. a manifestation of struggle and self-loathing. a hate bent to unstitch his sinew. tear him open. noa understood where it came from: a cavity in his body that held onto the past, and the sights that came with it. the stuckness and fear. the mistrust and toxicity.

that wasn’t who leo was anymore. leo had been burdened by the anxiety that noa manifested within him. gave to him. projected. noa had separated himself from his feelings so wholly that it grew beyond his control. become something and someone else entirely. yet when the universe of emotions in his head tested him, he perservered. he recovered. he was better now—they all were. he understood himself. challenges like that can be overcome. and if he could jump that strange, near-supernatural horror hurdle, then who knows what he couldn’t do.

noa finally fell asleep tucked in by dove and weakly grasping their hand. calmly counting breath like sheep.

[cyncerity]

new story for a new au sometime this week hopefully

it’s already over 7k words and it’s almost done, just need to proofread it >:)

here are some doodles in anticipation:

[wat-zu]

Dysfunctional family au— showdown aftermath, one week later

[d8tl55c]

chosen watches the Cursor fly away. this time, it doesn't disappear at the top of... whatever must have happened during the fight. maybe from His perspective, the window was very small. that would explain the scale... and anyway, now, it must be fullscreen.

can ALAN see the whole world from out there?

the Cursor flies up, up, up, up, up and away to the little hole chosen poked in the IP address shell. hopefully ALAN won't be mad about that.

little colorful dots climb off of the Cursor, and hop back through the Wi-Fi tunnel.

then the Cursor starts to get bigger. whuh?

no, wait, it's getting closer.

shit. is He mad?????

chosen watches it fly back down, with that strange halting acceleration. going, going, GOING, and slow slow slowing. it takes only three swipes to return to sea level.

the Cursor hovers next to them. they feel themself being watched, but this time they can't watch back; only infer His perspective, from the angle of ALAN's sole limb in the digital world.

they can't help but turn to look where ALAN sees from anyway. empty air. creepy. but turning again, they see the Cursor wiggling gently. a little wave. disturbingly cute.

ALAN scoots the Cursor upward. brings it down. up, and down. up. up?

it takes a second to translate. of course, they can't hear each other, so they both have to infer from context clues.

"Do you want to come with?"

before they can think, they're already shaking their head. "no," i can't.

the Cursor scoots down, hiding much of itself below the cliff they're standing on, only the tip peeking over. somehow it still translates.

sheepishly, "please?"

it could mean several other things. "why not?" or, "okay," or, "im sorry." it could be another invitation to step on, and return to that sanctuary (PRISON PRISON PRISON PRISON PRISON PRISON) over the clouds. chosen doesn't know. they shake their head.

they shake their head, quick, several times.

they refuse it all.

they turn away from ALAN, and jump into the air, arms splayed in a maneuver they've done thousands of times before.

the fire doesn't catch right in their hands. it sputters, blasts too hard on one and not the other, and then shuts off completely.

they've been stupid, just now, and overestimated themself.

they're going to hit the water spinning out of control.

.

and then, they're not.

the Cursor has them by the back.

fear shoots through exhausted limbs. it flows, as it always does, from their core to their head to their fingers, and this time they...

...let it wash through them. excess stress chemicals stopper and fade. nothing is left behind.

the Cursor sets them so, so gently on their feet. they want to crumple and take a nap right now in the dirt, but they desperately don't want to offend His kindness.

still, their body is not cooperative at present, and it loses it for just enough time to trip their balance.

the Cursor is there again for them to lean on.

chosen is blindsided by anger.

why is He still here? shouldn't He be playing with His new pets??

chosen pushes off from the Cursor, hard, so they land a short distance away at the edge of the cliff ledge. they sit in the dirt, pull their knees in tight, and refuse to look at it any more.

waves sploosh against the rocks, one after the other.

the bay is a relatively calm offshoot of the local sea. too rough for normal swimmers; the perfect private spot for a pair of HI-PWR hollowheads.

green flashbangs fire in their memory. they squeeze their eyes shut, then open them, afraid of seeing something worse left alone with their imagination.

one after the other, waves sploosh against the rocks.

chosen peeks over their shoulder.

the Cursor is still there.

it doesn't fit into the landscape at all. it hovers with a distinct anxiety, too nervous to move a single pixel, yet aching to do something. as chosen looks back, it shifts a little closer- then quickly moves back to its original spot. the picture of, "nonthreatening." on another day, chosen would laugh at it.

they wave their hand in a repetitive motion. "shoo! go home."

the Cursor returns to peeking over the top of the ledge. it doesn't budge.

"GO HOME!" chosen gestures more sharply at the sky to the tunnel that leads to that place where no one would know where they'd gone and they might be (not not not not not not) safe. they feel nothing.

then He does something different. it's the same up, down, up, down gesture, but this time at an angle. chosen traces it along the cliffside, right to... the top. it's-

He's offering a ride to the top.

not all the way up to His domain.

just a lift to stable ground.

just to help.

a little nothing something.

just for them.

all thoughts leave their brain.

whatever this is, is

unfathomable.

they nod, once, outside of themself. why not?

the Cursor darts to attention- remembers itself- and moves in, slowly.

chosen gathers enough wits to stop it before it can click their back again.

to their relief, it complies.

they climb aboard its upper slope.

each movement is precisely calculated to hide signs of weakness.

it's warm to the touch on the black surfaces, like a rock under the sun. it's............

... nice.

when they're settled, ALAN moves the Cursor up the slightest bit - maybe ten pixels. "Ready?"

the way He treats them like such a fragile thing is starting to feel weird.

chosen grips the Cursor and spits a small burst of fire towards the loose rocks. "get a move on!"

and so, He does. He pilots the Cursor (smoothly, carefully) up over the cliff, then down, settling it as close to the grass as it can go without touching.

chosen slides off the slope.

the Cursor recoils back into the air. it hangs there, motionless, anxious again.

or maybe they're projecting.

whatever.

waves sploosh against the rocks, far below, quieter now. it's so quiet away from the trees. exposed. they should probably get out of here.

chosen stands on the cliffside.

the Cursor hovers in the air.

...

their peripheral vision detects it rapidly changing shape, and draws their head to follow the motion.

the Cursor is flipping between different Flash tools; Box, Hand, Line, Transform. it stops at, Text.

then ALAN types something into a floating text box.

[Im sorry]

so that is what he was trying to say earlier.

or maybe it wasn't, and this is only what he's trying to say, now.

or maybe

maybe chosen is far too tired for any of this.

they're tired, and they hurt, everywhere, and of course dark had to be late to lunch AGAIN for his stupid fucking secret surprise project, so chosen had to go fetch him, and now-

-is that-?

they reach up, and pluck ALAN's apology out of the sky.

the Cursor twitches, but doesn't intervene, as they tear it into its individual charset characters, piece by piece, and lay them in the grass.

when they're finished, they pick up the 's,' and stuff it in their mouth.

it's Times New fucking Roman.

a shot of savoury-sweet explodes on their tongue in singular taste, the way only charset can.

they eat both 'r's and the 'o' before slowing down.

the 'm' and 'I' are fine, but it's the 'y' that gives them pause.

they snap off its tail, and are left with a 'v.' TNR is nicely modular like that.

the 'v,' they hold up to ALAN (still lurking overhead).

the Cursor wiggles incomprehensibly.

chosen waves the 'v,' pointing at it for extra emphasis.

He scrolls back to the Text Tool, and chosen nods.

He summons a second 'v.'

chosen grabs it. now they have two 'v's: this is the moment of truth.

chosen holds up both of them, one next to the other, so they look like a-

ALAN types a 'w' into the text box.

chosen nods rapidly!

they toss the 'v's to the side.

then, they gesture at the 'w' - without taking it - and widen their hands, vertically.

it's quiet while ALAN thinks, in that unknown dimension outside of the screen.

He deletes the 'w,' and types a 'W' - and not just one, either. He summons a whole mess of them, overflowing onto several new lines of the text box!

chosen leaps at the wall of charset as though afraid it's a mirage. they crash through, landing in a pile of the things, and seize a 'W' from the air.

they bite from the left-hand leg where the ascender is thickest.

it's unspeakably delicious. it's been too long since they've had their favorite food. they've had a terrible morning, and a horrible afternoon, and it's all over and done with and noo- and ALAN brought them TNR again-

right now, He's copying ever more 'W's, pasting batches in the text box and chipping them off with the Cursor. it looks like manufacturing hard candy. chosen wants to laugh again.

they also want to cry, really, really hard.

later.

chosen chews their 'W' and hopes pathetic weeping isn't rendered on ALAN's screen.

and the Cursor works away, chipping, chipping, chipping, until a real pile forms in the clearing by the cliff over the bay.

...

eventually, the authorities will rise from their asses and come investigate the source of the explosion. the burnt trench leading directly from the brand new caldera to this cliffside, where a conspicuous amount charset is piled would be a dead giveaway of something going on. chosen will stash it somewhere under the trees or something, later. they don't care right now.

ALAN does.

[Will you be okay?]

it's odd.

chosen plucks out the extra 'W,' tosses it in their pile, and simply knocks down the rest so only, [okay] remains.

the Cursor sways gently. He deletes his message, then re-types, [okay.]

...

[If you need anything you can use The]- He halts, and carefully deletes the capital T.

[you can use the console again. To reach me.]

chosen nods, not knowing how.

[okay]

...

there's nothing left to say.

ALAN switches back to the Cursor.

chosen stands up from the grass.

He moves to leave.

they stay still.

He moves a little further, then stops.

wiggles.

waving goodbye.

waiting for their response.

what a strange creature.

chosen waves back, this time. so He'll go away.

[johnslittlespoon]

ch1 of the leaving!bikeriders au done. fuck

[puppetmaster13u]

*points* I, am in the mood to write small Cryptid!Batfamily (they’re straight up not human) prompts. Like, what role each Batfamily member is to Gotham.

Sadly, for the life of me, I can’t think of any ideas of what to write.

If you’re willing to share some ideas- I am sitting here with wide open eyes and ears.

Oh man, I have so many ideas. But for now I suppose I shall stick to just one lol

SO, cryptid batfam, originally human according to everyone. Perhaps even known to be human (even if falsely) before some sort of thing happened. Perhaps that something being when a certain robin died. Even if they cannot die. There’s so many rumors and whispers through Gotham about the bats. Some claim them to be demons, other angels, and yet more say they’re Gotham’s own children. Ones she’ll never let go and never let death take permanently. 

Everyone knows about limbs that the guardians make mimic capes, truly wings or fins or something else. They whisper of people who sacrificed their everything to Gotham, who died and couldn’t stay that way. That begged not Gods or Deities, but begged to Gotham Itself. 

Everyone knows the city is a vicious mistress, but she’s not always needlessly cruel. 

There are many tales of how the bats came to be, some spread more than others, so much that the true origin has long since been buried. Perhaps it is done purposely, pointed whispers from fanged teeth as white eyes watch quietly. Perhaps it was done accidentally, a simple joke taken as fact.