#i might just post this on ao3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

redwinterroses · 3 months

Text

There’s a cherry tree in the middle of the redwood forest.

False isn’t sure what to make of that. She shifts her grip on the staff in her hand, its pale glow reflecting faintly off the fresh snow. She’s come out here for resources—the vault altar is demanding logs, and these giant trees are an easy source—but the incongruous sight of an enormous, blossoming cherry tree sending pink petals wafting on the frozen wind…

She wonders if this is what fish feel like, when they see a lure.

“Hello?” she calls, her voice echoing off the trees. The world stands in permanent semi-twilight here, and the deeper shadows hide the mobs that will venture out come nightfall. A sneak of creepers is bedded down in a sweetberry bramble just on the other side of the clearing, and False tenses when the lead boar lifts his head, but he apparently doesn’t deem her worth stalking so early in the day.

There is no other reaction to her call.

False is of half a mind just to head back home and farm her own dang trees. It’s not like the vaultar is picky about the kinds of logs—she could just as easily grow up a bunch of birch and throw those in there. But that will take so much longer… not to mention she’s not sure if there are even enough saplings in her storage.

She unhooks her enchantment-glittered axe from her belt and pauses to mentally poke at her mana reserves. Plenty high. Whatever’s lingering near this tree, it can hardly be worse than what she deals with on the daily in the vaults. Overworld dangers are barely a challenge anymore.

The logic of that doesn’t change the uneasy feeling that buzzes over her skin though.

Venturing further into the clearing. False’s gaze traces up the trunk of the cherry tree, following its branches to where they terminate in lush bursts of pink and white blooms. A sweet smell drifts on the wind. She wrinkles her nose, reminded of compost piles and fermented spiders’ eyes.

The tree’s branches stretch long and low—a canopy of their own, heavy with flowers and dark, glossy leaves. The space underneath is filled with falling flowers and a fog of pollen, the air moisture-thick like a lush cave.

Lifting one hand, False catches a falling petal on her fingertip.

It sizzles as it touches her skin, stinging and buzzing like live redstone.

She hisses through her teeth, shaking her hand and letting the petal fall to the forest floor. “What the heck?”

Another petal tumbles past her face, and she watches it with narrowed eyes—right until it fizzles out of existence a few pixels above the forest floor.

“Glitch,” she mutters. “That’s… not good.”

Iskall needs to know about this—it could be a bug from one of the new updates, or it could be something deeper in the code, but either way: this glitched tree is a problem. She’s probably lucky it just stung her.

She reaches for her communicator, raising it to take a pic of the cherry tree.

“Oh, hi there, False!”

False yelps, spinning around with her axe ready to swing.

Gem is standing behind her, a wreath of cherry blossoms tangled in her hair and antlers, leaning casually on a tall staff of blooming cherry wood. Her smile is wide, and sap flows over her fingers, pale golden, dripping down her arms to leave dark spots on the faded denim of her overalls.

“Gem!” False lowers her axe. “Oh my gosh, you scared me. I didn’t know you were doing Vault Hunters.”

“Hm?” Gem raises one eyebrow, and for a moment her eyes flicker to red and then purple before settling back on green. “Oh—I’m not doing Vault Hunters, False.” Her voice is amused, almost chiding.

“Oh.” False feels unexpectedly small—which is impressive, considering she’s nearly half a block taller than Gem.

More of the glitched petals fall, resting on Gem’s hair and slowly melting into it like snowflakes. The brief moment of relief when False had seen Gem’s familiar grin is fading into something like the sensation of freefall.

“What’cha up to?” Gem asks, and her face blinks from one expression to the next like a bad video message. Her clothes are blue—no, green—no, bloodstained and grey—no, blue. They’ve always been blue.

False takes a step back.

“Uh, not much…” she glances up at the redwoods. “Just doing some… resource gathering. You know.”

“Cool!” Gem giggles, and stands up straight. False tenses, but Gem only spins around her staff and waves a hand at the glitched tree. “I didn’t realize this was an occupied server—are there many people here?”

There’s a buzzing in False’s skull, and she blinks rapidly. A muscle twitches under her eye.

“Um…”

“I guess it doesn’t really matter.” Gem lifts one hand and grabs one of the lowest branches of the cherry tree. She really should not have been able to reach that.

Swinging herself up with the lithe, effortless strength of a cat, she perches on the limb and stares down at False. The grin is gone from her face now, and she looks down at False with bright eyes.

“Etho’s not here, is he?”

False opens her mouth to answer, the words yes, of course he is, I can take you to him heavy on her lips… And with effort, she swallows them back.

They taste of sweet rot.

“Why... why doesn’t what matter?” she asks instead.

Gem stares at her for a long moment, expressionless. The flowers woven through her antlers are growing of their own accord, twining up to caress their brethren in the branches overhead.

Then she smiles broadly, flashing teeth that nearly glow white in the dappled shadows. “Oh!” she exclaims. “No reason! I’m only passing through, is all.”

“You’re not… you’re not sticking around?” False tries—and mostly fails—to sound disappointed.

“Naaaaah…” Gem stands and walks along the branch, as secure and balanced as if it were a stone floor. The flowers in her hair flow along behind her, sliding from the branches and falling like a cape down her back. “Worldhopping is easy. Staying in one spot is way harder.”

False watches the flowers move and swirl, their smooth, strange motion ensnaring her attention. The buzzing is back, too. Like bees, drunk on honey and sleepy in their hive.

“World hopping…?” she manages. “With admin commands?”

Gem’s laugh is as brilliant as a knife and as sharp as a spark. “False!” she crows. “You say the funniest things.”

False laughs. It seems appropriate. She isn’t sure why.

“Anyway,” Gem continues, fading into one patch of blossoms and reappearing on the other side of it. Her eyes are sprays of cherry flowers now. Her antlers are branches. “Anyway, cherry trees are all the same. They make it easy to get around.”

“That…” doesn’t make sense, False wants to say. But her lips are heavy, and coated in sticky sap. Maybe it doesn’t really matter.

“Oops! Behind you, False!”

Gem’s chirped warning is flaked in glee, and False turns around, as slow as if her feet are buried in soul sand.

The creepers she had seen—the entire sneak—are standing behind her, pink flowers blooming from their eyes.

“Oh no.”

The boar’s blinded head snaps toward her voice, hissing. He starts to aggro, bioluminescent streaks flashing from his snout to flanks in increasingly-swift pulses of light.

“See ya in season ten, False!” Gem cries out cheerfully.

The axe drops from False’s nerveless fingers, trailing strings of sap. She smells the inescapable stench of burning gunpowder, overlaid with rot.

“...Dangit.”

[FalseSymmetry was blown up by a creeper]

~*~

Jerking upright in her own bed, False swipes wildly at her face, trying to smear away tree sap that isn’t there.

“What the heck, Gem?” she exclaims at her empty base. Her voice falls flat, swallowed up by the sky that surrounds her builds. The clock above her head ticks impatiently, and she huffs in frustration, pushing up out of her bed. All her tools, gone—her levels, gone... and after all that she still needs those logs for the vault.

Grumbling, she starts pulling backup gear from various chests, trying to cobble together something that can get her back to the redwood grove before her items despawn—assuming they hadn’t all been obliterated by a second or third creeper explosion. She glances at the vaulter, and freezes.

It’s been completed. The crystal floats gently atop the stone pedestal, gleaming with an inner light.

And, tumbled at the base of the vaulter—abandoned, more than was needed to fill the crystal’s requirements:

Half a stack of cherry logs.

#falsesymmetry #geminitay #red said eldritch gem rights #let her be cheerful and scary too she deserves it #also there needs to be more Vault Hunter fic in the world. and more False content.#this was inspired by a post of some enormous redwood trees I saw the other day with teeny tiny people at the base of them #along with Gem's tree building -- the cherry trees in her hardcore and s9 builds #and the headcanon from hc8 and empires that she's a worldhopper #anyway this is the first thing I've really written in (over?) a year so... I'm quite happy about it.#might polish and put it on AO3 later but for now it's just for the hellsite <3 #redwinterwrites #oh also excuse for creeper/minecraft worldbuilding yaaay XD

292 notes · View notes

kakyogay · 8 months

Text

just remembered I drew this so uh yeah

aftermath of this

to not fucking die, he's connected to an outside power source. His rarefraction cell needs some repairs and the walls that surrounded it need to be purged of rot and fixed.

internal rot is removed and cut off away from vitals.

For external rot, there are patches with a stronger treatment thing. I'm thinking something spore puff related but that's cause backwards through the snow put thoughts in my brain. It's really just a stronger version of the ointment previously used for treatment. it's either this or straight up replacing it.

To conserve power, no pupils and limited movement. Water is also sent through the tube in the back to keep his systems from overheating.

the logic is lowkey bullshit but it's whatever. Making the iterators modern is much less logical than off the string aus.

also an extra couple of doodles because yes

obviously it's much more serious than this but idk writing hard

#rain world #five pebbles #seven red suns #artificer #modernerators #I drew this like 2 days ago school just made me forgor #also been playing doom so #but uh yeah #if I ever manage to write out all of what happens I might post it either here or on ao3 #I'll figure it out when I do it #and before anyone says anything no suns is not tiny in the last doodle it's a doodle and I wanted to make them look like a sad wet cat #alright gbye fo now

372 notes · View notes

cha1cedony · 10 months

Text

Oh Grant is going to be a WRECK next episode. Not only did he kill one of his best friends, but he’s going to try to kill his son too. He’s always been so scared of himself and hurting the people he loves, and this is just going to further cement the idea in his mind that he’s incurably bad and evil and dangerous and unloveable :( And he’s so skilled with a gun, and he knows it, and he has this awful internal divide between wanting to hurt and wanting to protect… and I’m so so so scared that it’s going to end with him hurting himself instead! Aaaaaa very upsetting ANYWAY!

#dndads #dndads spoilers #dungeons and daddies #dungeons and daddies spoilers #idk how else to tag this #baby’s first tumblr post! woooo #if you have The Grant Wilson Illness like myself (/lh) you might recognize me from ao3 #but i usually just lurk on here #but i just HAD to post my thoughts #so. so. so many thoughts

475 notes · View notes

spooksier · 5 months

Text

also btw that passage about media consumption as activism and the idea of "gayboring" (this post) are twin sisters to me because when you see media consumption as activism and therefore as a reflection of real life, any gritty or unsavory or "weird" aspects of any marginalized culture/community gets completely sanitized in favor of portraying an "ideal" form of that community in the eyes of consumerism (i.e.: boring and safe and non-confrontational)

#text!#might need to write a whole paper about 'gayboring' as a concept because it is....it's so prevalent rn.......#ofmd s2 and wwdits post-s2. who said that.#not to say they're bad stories just that they (in my humble onion) are using queerness to avoid actually writing plots #bc who needs plots when you have ao3 tropes lol #it's literally why i stopped advertising myself as a 'queer artist/trans artist/black artist' bc its being turned into a selling point #rather than a real life #(again in my humble onion)#sorry im working on my final research paper im in a writing mood

375 notes · View notes

starry-bi-sky · 8 months

Text

Childhood Friends Au: Danny's in Gotham Again

when the wool is off your eyes you'll stop counting sheep at night cause you'll eat your fill of them during the daytime

A few weeks after Danny’s visit to Gotham, he buys an apartment in the city. It’s this little thing, a studio apartment on the same street he grew up in. In Crime Alley. When he tells his parents, they protest heavily. They don’t think it's safe. They think he should reconsider. There were plenty of apartments and places to live somewhere else. And what about college?

Danny doesn’t think he’ll go to college. He isn’t sure what he wants to do, now that being an astronaut is off the table. It’d be a waste of money to go without a goal in mind, he thinks. He says he’ll take a gap year and apply at one of the community colleges funded by the Wayne Corporation, possibly. It just wasn’t in the cards right now.

“If things get tough,” He says at dinner that night, “then I can talk to the Waynes. I’m friends with the family, remember?” He ended up getting Bruce’s number in his phone again before he left, and in the process got Tim’s as well. They don’t talk much, Danny isn’t sure what to say. But he sends Tim memes whenever he comes across one and thinks he’ll like. Tim sends memes back in return.

His parents do remember. They remember. They also remember the horrified shriek that echoed through the house when Danny learned of Jason’s passing. They remember running up the stairs and bursting into their son’s room and finding him sobbing into his bed, curled up like a little kid, like he was in pain. He lost his voice that day, stuck between screaming out his grief and sobbing it.

They’re still not sure if they should let him go.

In the end, Danny wins them out, and he lets them help him search for an apartment. They take a break from their lab work to help search for cheap furniture to buy. They may have more money than when they were in Gotham, but that frugal part of you never fully goes away. They all agree that they don’t want Danny to be seen carrying in nice-looking furniture when he moves in.

He ends up with a basic furniture set, all mismatched, and in the warm summer of June, his parents rent out a u-haul and drive him down to Gotham to move in. They meet the landlord when they arrive, a skinny and frail old man with wispy white hair and a wrinkled face. He gives Danny the keys and tells him what apartment number he is, and then he leaves.

His parents help him move in. They help him carry his heavy furniture up to the second floor, where his apartment is. Danny isn’t sure if he wants them to help. His mom and dad are strong, but they are getting old, closer to their fifties now that their children are grown. His dad’s hair is slowly beginning to thin, and rather than the white eating at the sides of his head, it now streaks through his hair like salt-and-pepper. His mom’s hair is graying out too, and there are more lines in their faces than he remembers there being.

When he voices his concerns, his mom laughs spiritedly and says that they may be getting old, but they are still as spry as when they were in their twenties. Danny isn’t sure if he believes them or not. He can see his dad struggle a bit when they return to get his bed frame, and they have to take a break before they go back down for the rest of their things.

Five years ago, his dad could do this without breaking a sweat. It forces a heavy thing in the back of Danny’s throat. (He is less afraid of his own death than he is of his loved ones, and while he has always felt rocky with his parents, he still loves them more than anything else.)

Danny’s apartment is exactly as he would have expected it to be: shabby and worn through. The entire room smells like stale cigarette smoke and weed, nicotine stains the wall with poorly covered bullet holes, and stains in the carpet that are a color he can’t discern. The fridge has a broken light and when he tries to turn on the gas stove, it click-click-clicks before lighting, fire fwooshing out while the smell of gas fills the air. There’s rat droppings in the cupboards and the closet-like bathroom is just as bad.

The ghostly part of him can sense the heavy stench of death in the room; people have died in this room. People have died in every room of this building, he thinks. They have died on the streets outside and in the alleys squeezed between them. He can feel it like a heavy fog in the air.

It is painfully nostalgic, a bittersweet feeling in his chest that he grimaces to.

When the last box is placed in his apartment, his parents offer to help unpack. They are hesitant to leave and Danny knows it, although he doesn’t know if it’s from empty nest syndrome or because it's Gotham. He thinks it might be both. He is their youngest child finally leaving home to a city known for its danger.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay behind, sweetie?” His mother asks, a frown she tries to hide settled in the creases of her face. She fiddles with her hands, a nervous habit Danny has since noticed when she feels truly unsure and doesn’t need to hide it. Hesitancy looms over her like a heavy cloud.

His dad jumps in hastily, splaying his hands and smiling painfully wide to hide the glistening in his eyes. “You’re mother’s right! We can help you get everything set up, champ. I could probably do something with that stove of yours to make it faster!” He says, his voice still booming like it always does even if there’s a stumble in his words.

It makes his heart squeeze, knowing just how much they care. It was hard last summer, telling him that he was the Phantom. Terrifying, actually. They couldn’t comprehend it. He hadn’t felt his heart beat that fast in years when he stood in front of them at the kitchen table and told them he was a halfa, begging them to believe that ghosts weren’t inherently evil.

His parents were people of science, however, and after much, much shock, they slowly came to terms with it. How could they not? The evidence was right in front of them. Their son was dead-alive, alive-dead. Somewhere stuck in the between. The tears they shed that night could fill a river, moving from the kitchen to the living room as Danny explains how he died.

(When Danny tells them that he died after a week Jason did, his mom and dad look horrified. His mom covers her mouth when he adds that it was his idea to go inside it, his dad looks ashy pale, gripping his pant legs so tight that his knuckles turn white. There is a conclusion coming to their minds that he can tell they don’t like.)

(“You’ve always hated our inventions, Danny.” Mom says in a hushed voice, and Danny winces at the wording, sinking into the back of the cushions in shame. He never thought that his parents noticed. Mom quickly grabs his arm, “No, no, there’s nothing to be ashamed of Danny. We were… perhaps too careless with our inventions, too enthusiastic. You had every right to hate the things we made when they had a tendency to… to malfunction.”)

(Malfunction is a delicate way of putting it, when Danny remembers every time they had to evacuate their old apartment complex because whatever half-baked creation his parents made inevitably blew up into ash and smoke. There were soot marks permanently stained into the ceiling.)

(Her hand slides down and grabs his, and she cups it in both of her hands, squeezing tightly. He forces himself to look up, and there is a look like her heart breaking when he looks into his mother’s eyes. “You’ve always avoided the lab after we moved, Danny. And you had every right to, so why on Earth did you ever think about going into the portal?”)

(Danny struggles to come up with an adequate answer, a way to verbalize what came over him that day five years ago. The answer is there, hanging in the air like a knot in a noose. He opens his mouth, and then closes it.)

(Finally, with a tongue made of lead, he shrugs lamely and looks away. “I didn’t know there was an on button inside it.” He mumbles, and despite being the truth it feels like a lie. But that is the truth. He didn’t know there was an on button inside it. So he didn’t care what happened.)

(Something dulls in mom’s eyes, like she thought of something else that Danny hadn’t said. Her eyes shimmer, and she squeezes them shut, breathing in so deep that it shakes. And then she pulls him into a hug, a hand burying into his hair and pressing him close. “It must have hurt so much, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”)

(It is something that Danny doesn’t expect her to say, like missing the last step of the stairs. It startles him so much he laughs this short, bark of a thing. He feels his dad press against his back and wrap his big arms around them, his nose pushed into his hair.)

(Because yeah. Yeah, it did hurt. It hurt more than anything else he’s ever felt before. It had torn him apart and sewn him back together again, only to rinse and repeat. The pain was nothing he ever spoke to Sam or Tucker about, and it was something they never brought up. No, that’s not true. If they ever brought it up, Tucker would call it a zap. As if Danny only experienced a mild static shock. Like it was painless. It’s a pretty lie that Danny lets him and Sam believe.)

(His eyes sting and water immediately wobbles into his vision, coming up with such a force that he doesn’t even need to blink before it spills over. “Yeah.” He forces out, voice unexpectedly rough and cracking. “Yeah, it- it hurt. A lot.”)

He tells them about fighting the Lunch Lady a month later. He tells them about finding Jason. It comes spilling out like a waterfall. “I found him, mom.” He says, holding onto her tight while she keeps him tucked under his chin like a little kid. The secret of Jason being Robin stays hidden under his tongue, it is not his secret to tell. Not his identity to expose. He grips her tighter. “I found him, mom. Right there in the Ghost Zone, and he was my Jason. He wasn’t an echo or a— an imprint of him.”

Mom is silent; quiet and attentive, and so is dad, who rubs his large hands up and down Danny’s spine in an attempt to soothe him. It only works a little. Danny breathes in like a gasp as the urge to cry overcomes him again. He always avoids talking about Jason, his grief is like a never-healing scab that can be picked off at any time. It is ingrained into his core.

“And then I lost him.” He forces out, a sob layering under his words that he chokes on and swallows. The hand on his back stills, and he can feel mom and dad breathe in like a question. He turns his head and pushes it into mom’s shoulder. “He disappeared, mom. Just— just gone.”

“And he didn’t move on.” He says, voice snarling like teeth biting before his mom can ask, because he knows that’s what she was going to ask. It’s what Sam and Tucker asked when he came to them in tears hours after he found Jason gone. It’s what Jazz said when he finally told her about it. It’s what every one of his ghosts asked when he told them about it and begged for their help.

Danny grits his teeth and tries not to dig his nails into mom’s clothes as a fresh wave of tears run down his face. “His haunt is still there. If Jason really moved on it would have disappeared with him. That’s how it works. But it’s still in the zone, so Jason’s out there I just don’t know where.”

(Sam once asks him why Danny didn’t just move on from it a year after Jason’s disappearance. She asked him why he didn’t give it up. Danny nearly saw red, and nearly bit her head off for it. It was incomprehensible to him to just stop looking for Jason, to give up. Not when he was out in the zone somewhere. Because he had to be in the zone.)

(Danny once tried to take Jason through the portal with him, and much like what happened to Kitty, it didn’t work. Jason was too tied to the ghost zone to leave.)

(Some bonds are just unbreakable, he thinks. Bonds forged through blood and time and trust, and when you’re on the streets of Gotham, you hoard what little trust you have in someone like a dragon with its gold. It is scarcely given and fiercely kept.)

“I’ve been looking for him.” Danny whispers when talking becomes too hard for him, when it runs the risk of him crying. “When- when I’m not fighting ghosts or, or in school or with my friends, I’ve been looking for him.” He has explored the Ghost Zone in every reach he can. He has met so many people. He’s met the ghosts of aliens from planets in every corner of the galaxy. He has met gods or god-like beings and their disciples.

He’s met famous scholars and writers (he’s gotten the autographs of all of Jason’s favorite writers). He has found entire cities that have so much life in it that it's been permanently etched into the ghost zone, like a mirror version of itself.

He’s visited the ghostly vision of Gotham so many times, and he avoids the imprint of Wayne Manor like the plague. There are ghostly newspapers that he reads. There are the ghosts of Martha and Thomas Wayne in many of them.

Jason’s haunt connects to Wayne Manor, but it is also the street they grew up in. It is a small brick building with a door that leads to Jason’s room. A ghost knows when someone enters their haunt, it alerts them like a doorbell in the back of their mind. A foreign ecto-signature in a place drenched in your own.

Danny visits it every time he goes into the Ghost Zone. It’s always his first stop.

He tells his parents all of it. He tells them of the ghosts he’s met, of the places he’s seen. And when he feels brave, he tells them about Rath and the terror that his future self brings him. He keeps some details hidden, the ones that he can afford to keep without muddling up the story.

(Rath is a tall, spindly thing, like a funhouse mirror version of Danny himself. He has arms that are much too long and legs that are much too tall, with skinny fingers that extend into claws.He wears his suit the same as Danny does, with it partially undone and the sleeves wrapped around his waist.)

(There is a black hole in his chest that is much bigger than Danny’s own. It takes up his chest cavity and drips the same, viscous black liquid as the tears falling from his eyes. Danny never forgets his voice; a scraping, quiet thing like he’s screamed himself hoarse. Rath has a voice like goosebumps, and it haunts Danny like a bump in the night.)

Danny speaks and speaks and speaks until he can’t think of anything else to speak of. He is tired and sad, and it feels like his heart has been ripped out and rubbed raw again. And yet, he also feels so much better. Like a long heavy weight has been taken off his chest.

Yeah, last summer was hard. His parents walked on eggshells around him, and they forced themselves to unlearn their bias of ghosts. It was more than Danny could have ever dreamed of, and when they felt ready for it, they asked him more about the ghost zone.

He smiles sadly at his dad, “I think fixing the stove can be a priority another time, dad.” He says, watching him wilt and his smile fall. Jack Fenton was always so good at making himself look like a kicked puppy. “I can handle unpacking by myself, I promise.”

His parents still look so unsure, like they want to argue. Danny watches his mom purse her lips tightly, confliction running across her face like a datastream. She takes dad’s hand, squeezing their fingers together despite the droop in her shoulders.

“Oh, alright then, I suppose.” She relents, her hand placing on Jack’s arm. “I guess we could go, we’re just going to miss you so much, Danny.”

Tears seem to have won over his dad, and Jack Fenton sniffs back before he can cry properly. “Our little boy, all grown up.” He says, voice wobbling. It makes Danny laugh, and it makes his heart pang. His smile grows impossibly wider and so much fonder. “You’ve become such a kind, wonderful young man, Danno. We’re so proud of you.”

Danny laughs again, and it cracks. “You’re gonna make me cry, dad.” (He feels a welling of guilt in his gut that he ignores — he doesn’t feel like a kind man. He doesn’t feel like a good one either. Not with what he plans to do.)

His father holds out his arms in hopefulness, “One last hug for your old man before we head out?” He asks, mustering up a smile on his face.

Danny barrels into him, nearly knocking his dad over with an oomph. He’s as tall as him now, but he still feels little in his bear hugs. With arms wrapping around his middle, Danny hugs his father tight and breathes him in one last time.

“Careful there, Danno.” He laughs, patting Danny’s back roughly. “You’ll break my ribs with that ghostly strength of yours!” But he holds on just as tight.

Out of spite, Danny bends back and lifts him off his feet, laughing when Jack tenses up and nearly scrambles out of surprise. His mom laughs with him, stepping back to give them room for the few seconds that dad is in the air.

When it’s his mom’s turn, Danny has to hunch to hug her. Something bittersweet to him as she plants a kiss on his forehead and says that he’ll always be her baby. “Even if you do have that horrid smoking habit.” She adds on with a disapproving eyebrow raise.

Danny turns red in embarrassment, and walks them back to the GAV. Gothamites of all kinds slow to stop and boggle at the monstrous, road-illegal thing that is parallel-parked next to the curbside. In the past, Danny would have died with mortification to be seen with it. Now it just makes him laugh. Before he goes back into the apartment building, he buys a newspaper from a nearby convenience store.

The first thing he does when he gets back up to his room is one: make a mental note to buy a bicycle chain lock for the door. The locks jiggle and there are splinters along the side that show signs of it being broken into in the past. The second thing he does is pull his cigarettes out of his pocket and light one.

Danny starts to unpack with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, placing the newspaper he bought onto the counter. He has a cheap loveseat that he pushes off to the side, and he moves the boxes into the kitchen. It’s a matter of organization that Danny has to think about before he does anything.

It’s as he’s pushing the sofa up against the wall facing the windows that his phone rings a familiar tune: Sam. The phone is fished out before he can think about it and when he stares down at the screen, he realizes it's a facetime call.

He presses answer and walks over to prop his phone up onto the counter. The smiling faces of Sam and Tucker greet him, rather than just Sam. Immediately, Danny grins. “Hey Danny.” Sam greets, smiling a dark-painted lazy thing. From the background it looks like they’re in Tucker’s room. Sam is in Tucker’s desk chair, and Tucker is behind her, leaning against it. “Have you moved in yet?”

Danny pulls the cigarette from his mouth and huffs, a cloud of smoke following his breath. “Yeah! It’s a shithole.” He grins lopsidedly, and his feet carry him off to the side to allow Sam and Tucker view of his apartment. He lets thirty seconds pass, allowing the both of them to really see the rest of the room. And then he steps back into frame.

Sam and Tucker both look like they’re trying not to look judgemental, like they’re trying to hide a grimace that Danny sees anyway with the small turns at the corner of their mouths. He grins wider, mirth filling his lungs. “I know, it looks awful doesn’t it?”

“It’s— it’s not so bad.” Sam says with a strain in her voice, a forced smile on her face that tries to be reassuring. Tucker nods along readily, and he looks just as unsure as Sam does. Danny stifles laughter behind his teeth.

“No, no, it looks bad,” He takes a drag of his cigarette, shaking his head. “You can say it, I won’t get offended. It’s a fucking apartment in crime alley. Of course it looks bad.”

Sam remains silent, a rearing of her stubbornness showing itself. Tucker takes a different approach, and heaves a dramatic sigh of relief, slumping like a weight. “Okay, you’re right. It looks bad.” He frowns, “Sorry, man.”

While Danny snorts, Sam sighs. “Yeah, it looks bad. What even are those stains?” She asks, and both she and Tucker lean closer in tandem to the screen, eyes squinting at the floor behind him. Danny glances at the floor, and shrugs.

“Blood, probably.” He says, and while years in Amity Park have accustomed him to a clean environment, the desensitization of Gotham still remains. Tucker and Sam both make faces and lean away, as if the stain itself was capable of passing through to them. “Yeah, there are bullet holes in the walls.”

“Are you sure it’s safe to be there?” Tucker asks, a furrow appearing between his brows. He adjusts his glasses and leans against the chair. Sam is frowning heavily, and Danny can already see her thinking up of a new way to fix the problem.

“Oh, I never said this place was safe.” Danny tells him cheerily, taking a last hit of his cigarette before placing the dead stick onto the counter. He itches for another one. Instead he walks over to the shelf his parents brought in and starts moving it. “It’s Crime Alley, Tuck. Safe isn’t even in its vocabulary.”

Tucker and Sam look like they’ve both swallowed a lemon.

“But it’s where I want to be right now.” He says, grunting quietly when the shelf is against the wall he wants it to be, near the short hallway leading to the front door. He can push it in front of it if someone tries to break in. “And Crime Alley’s apartments are the only ones I can really afford right now without mooching off my parents, and I’d rather not depend on them.”

He can hear the disapproving hesitance from where he stands. And he ignores it.

Danny walks back into frame, lifting up a box onto the counter. He hums lightly, fingers run over the tape keeping it shut. “Why do you even want to be in Gotham, Danny?” Sam asks, and she sounds genuinely perplexed. Danny stills. “I thought this place only had bad memories for you.”

His blood turns cold, and like a dime being flipped his slow heartbeat fills his ears. “It does.” He replies automatically, before he can think. Shit, shit. He knows that Sam or Tucker would ask that question, and yet he still feels unprepared for it. His heart pulses quickly against his ribcage, knocking, asking him what he’s going to tell them that isn’t the truth.

Danny stammers, “I mean— I just— I guess I felt nostalgic.” He says, and it sounds like a weak defense. He looks away, finding himself instinctively scratching his jaw. A new tick of his when he’s nervous. From the corner of his eye, he sees Sam and Tucker both narrow their eyes at him.

He cannot tell them the real reason why he’s moved back to Gotham. He can’t tell them of the little secret and vow he told himself five years ago, the one that’s been left to fester and burn like an open wound close to his core. The one that, if he thinks too much about it, sends a searing hot electricity through him, filling him from crown to toe top-full of direst wrath.

(Danny was always the angrier one in the duo of Jason and Danny. He was always the one with glass in his mouth, cutting his teeth and tongue so that he could spit blood at the world around them. His knuckles had more blood and bruises on it than skin, once upon a time. All because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He has grown from it, that fury has turned to a small simmering candle.) (But sometimes, sometimes it rears its head, and electricity will buzz under Danny’s skin. There is lightning before the thunder, the second before a fist pulled to punch lands, the spark before it becomes a blaze.)

He stumbles over his words, and then sighs long and low, drooping his head. “I… was thinking that I can’t avoid this place forever.” He says, and the best lies always have the truth in it. Because it’s not a lie, not completely. But it’s not close enough to the truth either. “And that maybe if I came back, I’d be able to do something about those bad memories. Make them better or make it hurt less.”

Like wool over their eyes, it fools Sam and Tucker. Their narrowed eyes soften, and Danny feels like a snake is in his lungs as they both adopt their own versions of gentleness on their faces. “Oh, Danny.” Sam breathes out, and the snake squeezes, “Of course, we understand.”

Tucker nods, smiling at him. “Yeah, bro, that’s really brave of you. I know it can’t be easy coming back.” He says, “Maybe you can reconnect with the Waynes again, you always thought well of Mister Wayne whenever you came back from visiting.”

Danny smiles weakly, the gesture cutting into his cheeks like a knife. Perhaps he could. He was still upset with Bruce for hiding Jason’s killer from him. But he doesn’t hate him. Maybe five years ago, he did, when the death of Jason was still fresh in his mind and freshly bleeding in his heart. Now he just doesn’t know what to think of him. He was Batman. Jason was Robin, and the Joker killed Robin.

It would need to be something he’d have to speak to Bruce about in person, he thinks, in order to resolve it. To hear his judgment on it and make an opinion from there. Danny has learned in the last five years, much to Jazz’s smug delight, that talking to people about something he was upset about did make him feel better.

The conversation slips on from there into something more light, more breathable. And while they talk, Danny unpacks. He sets up his bed in the corner of the room, adjacent to the windows, and unpacks his cheap TV and table stand. It’s directly across from the couch, in front of the windows. He puts up knicks and knacks he’s collected over the years on the shelves.

When he puts up the curtains, he notices that more than one frame jiggles loosely. Sam makes a comment on the musty stains permanently dyed into the glass, and Danny talks about getting something to fix the cracks. Gotham winters can get brutal, and even if he can withstand the cold, doesn’t mean everything else in his apartment can.

“Oh, watch this.” He says halfway through unpacking, and pulls out a stick of thick white chalk from a box. “This is something I learned from Clockwork a while back; I think he knew I was going to move to Gotham.” He grins sillily, popping into the camera frame to show them. “I wonder how?”

Sam rolls her eyes, smiling while Tucker huffs. “It’s not like he’s the Master of Time and can see all past, present, and future.” Tucker snarks.

Danny hums lightly, curt like he isn’t sure he believes Tucker, and walks to a piece of bare wall not yet blocked by furniture. He starts to draw on it. The chalk shimmers with faint ectoplasm on the wall.

“Uhh…” Tucker’s voice cuts through, “Are you sure you should be doing that? Won’t you get in trouble for that?”

“There are bullet holes in the plaster, Tucker.” Danny retorts dryly, arching his hand to make a big circle. “I don’t think the landlord is gonna care if I get washable chalk on his walls.” Inside the circle, he inscribes the symbols of the Infinite Realms. “I don’t think he’d be able to see it anyways, he was really old.”

When he is done, Danny steps back to admire his work. It’s not bad, he thinks, for a lack of practice. He tosses the chalk off to the side, it lands on the couch and rolls back into the cushions. Ectoplasm heats under his hand, slowly glowing from his fingertips before stretching down the rest of his palm.

Danny’s fingers press against the wall, into the center of the circle. The result is immediate, ectoplasm is siphoned off his hand and into the circle. It glows, and then swirls. He steps off to the side for Sam and Tucker to watch its transformation. The circle fills with a swirling pool of ectoplasm, like a smaller version of the basement portal, and then it warps and stretches.

It fills out a rectangular shape, shifting like taffy being pulled this way and that, before settling into a solid shape. It solidifies, and instead of a wall there is a glowing purple door, warped in nature and seemingly shifting like a trick of the eyes. He can hear the gentle hum of the zone standing next to it, and can see the carving of the circle in the wood.

He gestures dramatically, grinning from ear to ear. “Ta-da~” He sings, “A door to my haunt! For whenever I feel like visiting it.” He pats the wood, making a strange thunk-thunk sound. “And then watch this.”

Danny touches the circle again, and the door twists and recedes like water going down a drain. The circle flashes bright green, and then fades into nothing on the wall, invisible to the naked eye. “I can hide it whenever I want! So if I ever invite someone over—” which he doubts, “—I won’t have to worry about them asking, ‘Hey Danny? Why is there a creepy fucking door in your studio apartment?’”

He gets a pair of laughs for his efforts, and Danny grins wider.

Sam and Tucker have to end the call when Danny is nearly done unpacking, leaving him alone with only his thoughts and the Gotham ambience outside. There were only a few boxes left, and they promise to call him tomorrow. He tells them that they better keep that promise.

The silence that follows after they leave feels somberly, as if the reality of moving in has finally set in and filled the air with its loneliness. With its change. Finally, Danny lets the strangeness of moving back to Gotham hit him when he reaches the last box, and he stops to take another smoke break to let it settle.

It feels so strange to be back in Gotham, he thinks. He’s all grown up, or almost grown up. He can vote and pay taxes, but he doesn’t feel much older than he was at fourteen. There’s a disconnect that makes him feel sad.

There are cars running outside, driving by. He can only catch glimpses of them, his apartment faces an alleyway. There are dogs barking in the distance, strays he bets. It’s already dark out, and he wonders if he looks out the window he would see the bat-signal shining through the night and staining the permanent cloud that hangs over Gotham.

Bruce would be so disappointed if he learned the reason for Danny’s return to Gotham. But Danny’s not here for him. He’s here for someone far more important. And like that, the simmering anger that has tucked itself into the furthest corners of his heart starts slipping through. His heart has teeth, ready to strike and snarl and bite.

He crushes the cigarette in his hand and throws it away. When he opens the last box, it is with hands that tremble and with a face of stone. With a delicateness he does not feel, he reaches in and pulls a corkboard from the box. On the corner frame is a small, near inconspicuous carving of another ghost rune.

Danny hangs it up on an empty space on the wall, out of sight from the window. It’s plain, and he has nothing to pin to it. He presses the small rune on the corner, pushing ectoplasm into it. Unlike the door, it does not twist and warp and shape itself into something new. Instead it bursts into green flame, eating away at the board and revealing the same thing underneath it, just in dark blue-black-purple.

Now this board, this board Danny has something to pin to it. The newspaper he bought earlier sits abandoned on the counter, and Danny unrolls it with something like viciousness in his chest. On the front page is an image of a damaged street, and above it is titled: “JOKER STRIKES AGAIN, 3 DEAD AND 27 INJURED”

Danny rips out the first page, he rips out every mention of him. His hands shake and threaten to crumple the paper as he turns back to the board, there is hot blood pounding in his ears. There is an impending sense of finally in his chest, like a setting sun giving the stage to a starless night. There is a stern set in his jaw, five years of festering rage rushing forth like a tidal wave, threatening to make his vision swim.

It would be so easy, he thinks, to go out as Phantom right now and hunt the clown down. It would only take a night. All it would take is a night, and then he could sink his hands into the Joker’s chest and rip out his heart where he stood. It would be so easy.

The thought alone forces Danny to stop as he is hit with another rush of fury, really making his head and vision swim. Thorny vines wrap around his throat, making it hard to breathe. He stares at a spot on the wall until the shaking passes.

If he wants to be discreet about this, then he can’t do it now. Even if he wants to. He doesn’t want witnesses. He doesn’t want an audience. He made a mistake, telling Red Hood about his plan. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Perhaps he wasn’t thinking at all. But he can only hope that the Hood hasn’t mentioned it to Bruce. He knows it hasn’t been long since they started working together. He hopes that the Hood has already forgotten about it.

He pins the newspaper clippings onto the black-blue-board, and stands back. It’s bare now, but it won’t be forever.

He presses the circle again, and the pinboard reverts back to its original blank state.

-----

Was I expecting to make a third part?? No. No I was not. I was also not expecting to make an entire google doc filled with summaries for short story ideas about this au that all tie into each other so that way if i DO continue this i have a skeleton pathway to follow rather than making everything up from scratch and potentially cornering myself

you can find this on ao3 or on tumblr 1 2 :)

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc crossover #childhood friends au #cw swearing #cw smoking #im calling them short stories bc if i call them chapters i might intimidate myself #fun fact every single chapter will have a crane wives lyric on it i am DETERMINED #i hope yall are subscribed to this on ao3 bc i almost didnt post this on tumblr #the fentons being good parents were a surprise to me too but also i never really planned on them being BAD parents #okay so they appear as negligent in the first post but we'll just call that a plothole #i had the idea that danny was the angrier one out of the duo earlier today and it felt like an epiphany #there's no guarantee of a next part but yk immm kinda hoping there is #on the docs the ending bullet point for this chapter was #'make it feel like a tv show where the seemingly inconspicuous and friendly character has something sinister up their sleeve'#WE know that danny's not inconspicuous in the least he's been thinking of this murder for the last five years. but nobody but red hood know #i had to come up with a in-story reason why danny doesnt kill the joker NOW but my out-of-story excuse is: there'd be no tension otherwise #its about the BUILD UP. Its about the RISING TENSION. Its about KNOWING that danny is planning to kill the Joker but you dont know WHEN #its about knowing that something is going to explode but never knowing when #i made the doc yesterday and spent my entire pluralism for educators class going thru the crane wives albums and looking up the lyrics and #matching them to the *checks doc* 18 short story prompts i have prepared #i am still missing one :((#its the tim and danny story and i have NOTHING PLANNED FOR THEM. i cant think of a thing for them to bond over :(( so i cant match a CW son #even DICK has a story and that was also a surprise #my favorite lines: He was always the one with glass in his mouth cutting his teeth and tongue so that he could spit blood at the world #aND danny slapping his door like a used car salesman and going 'now people wont ask why i have a creepy fucking door in my studio aptm :)'

237 notes · View notes

monstrousfemale · 2 years

Text

After the world finally stops threatening to end, sometime in late 1989, Steve quietly gets a tattoo across his ribs. It’s something personal and private, something he just needs etched into his skin because to not have it there would feel like a lie. He feels disconnected from himself, he feels alone, he feels like bullshit. Going into Indianapolis for the weekend and shoving the handwritten line at a tattoo artist is the most human Steve has felt in forever. The sharp pain of the needle followed by the dull ache of the healing process finally grounds him.

No one but Robin hears about this, though. And turns out outside of saving the world, now that he doesn’t swim as much, Steve doesn’t have that many excuses to take his shirt off anymore. So, the tattoo is a secret by omission, and Steve is fine with that. It’s his thing, and it doesn’t have to be exposed for it to mean as much as it does.

And it does mean a lot. It’s a mark of a new beginning, something physical to prove to Steve he is still around and kicking.

And after that, life feels livable again. He has his friends, his only real family. He is managing Family Video now, after the owner had moved out of town due to world-almost-ending experiences. He is finally settling into being someone he actually wants to be.

Most importantly, Steve keeps in touch with Eddie as much as he can. They’re hanging out on and off all the time, falling into an easy routine without either of them meaning to. And by 1990, before either of them knows what hits them, they’re fumbling in the backroom at Family Video, making out against a shelf, VHS tapes raining down on them like falling in love: fast, hard, unexpected.

It’s all a blur of finally expressing things they had been keeping hidden for too long. Sharing secrets at midnight, back and forth with the pass of a joint or two or five. And after they start, they couldn't stop even if they had wanted to. They need this good thing. And they both know too well how fast the shit hits the fan around them. So, they don’t care for taking things slow, not after years of dancing around each other. All this to say, it doesn’t take long at all for Eddie to find himself in Steve Harrington's bedroom.

He’s sitting against the headboard, watching as Steve gets rid of his clothes. He had been expecting an almost childish awkwardness from Steve, because Eddie knows he hadn't done this before, not with a man. Not that Eddie has that much experience to speak of himself, but he had come to terms with it way earlier. It doesn’t matter what he had expected though, because in truth Steve is smooth, sexy even. He removes his clothes with purpose and devastating eye contact. He gets rid of his pants, and then his shirt is coming off – finally, finally messing up that amazing head of hair of his.

Eddie almost gets too distracted by Steve's intensity to notice the tattoo. When he comes closer, though, Eddie places his hand over his ribs. Instinctively, he just has to look and see what his skin looks like against Steve's skin. And there it is, right by his fingers. Pitch black ink, already healed over, already fully Steve. The words are stark against his pale skin. I want to be adored. Eddie has the air knocked out of him.

Steve looks down, confused for a moment. "Wha-?" he starts to ask, but then his brain catches on. Steve feels self-conscious, kisses Eddie to distract him from what he'd found. He hadn't known this is how he would feel, had never felt ashamed or embarrassed of much about his appearance before. And this isn’t quite shame. But this is Steve, bared, naked, in ways that go above a state of undress.

Eddie breaks the kiss, hand splayed over Steve's chest. "Fuck, Steve. When did you get that?"

"A while back. It's nothing." It is everything. It means so much to Steve, he'd never have the words.

Eddie's eyes soften, skimming the words again and again. The smile that graces his lips is tiny, a kind little thing Steve usually only sees on his face whenever he is around the nuggets, Max or Dustin usually.

"I can make that happen," Eddie says, honesty dripping from his words. It isn’t his usual, larger than life rambling. This is Eddie seeing him, really seeing him.

"What?" Steve asks, to diffuse the tension. A self-sabotaging little jab at their clear connection, because he actually thinks he knows exactly what Eddie means.

"I can adore you, big boy," Eddie says, and his playful spark was back. He winks, pulling Steve close by the shoulders. He gets both of them on Steve's bed. Steve's chest aches.

"Shut up," he says, because he doesn’t know how to accept something like this. Doesn’t know how to process that anyone would care, that anyone would pay attention.

Eddie rolls his eyes at him, flips them on the bed so he can straddle Steve's hips. Eddie traces the ink on his skin like it is precious. He kisses Steve hard, kisses his love into his lips, pushes it into his mouth like he does his tongue.

"I do adore you," Eddie says later, after they're both tired and spent and sated. After sex has made things fuzzier. It feels so simple now. It is so true.

"Eddie," Steve starts, ready to tell Eddie about all the ways in which he, Steve, is fucked up. Instead: "Thank you."

"Hey, I got you."

And Eddie does, he really does.

#steddie #steve x eddie #eddiesteve #steveeddie #eddie x steve #steve eddie #eddie steve #idk what this is #it just came to me in a fever #enjoy i guess hopefully #ficlet #might eventually crosspost this to AO3 #but i wanna post my real fic first #monstrius writing #monstrous bigboy

2K notes · View notes

gentil-minou · 6 months

Text

Wei Ying living on the street and still celebrates his birthday because it's a month after mid autumn festival and Mama taught him how to count the days before she and Baba left…

But little A-Ying still celebrates! He makes sure to prepare every year!

(Now an expanded oneshot on Ao3 here)

This year, A-Ying prepares by keeping the mantou a kind shopkeeper gave him a week ago! He wraps it up in the cleanest cloth he can find and tucks it away in his super secret hiding place.

(It's an abandoned shed on the outskirts of the village that A-Ying sometimes shelters in)

(He can't keep the mantou in his robes otherwise the dogs will find him…the shed is safer. There are even holes in the roof to let the moonlight in!)

(He can never stay for too long, though. Baba said they would meet him at the inn so he has to go back so they can find him!)

A-Ying likes birthdays! He likes the singing and clapping and smiling, the laughter that bounces off the walls.

He likes the feeling of celebrating one person, showing them how special they are! He likes that everyone has a day that's just for them!!

A-Ying is very good at singing, so even though he's the only one singing and clapping it's still a fun day! His laughter isn't as loud as Mama's, and there's no one to smile with him, but that's okay! A-Ying likes celebrating anyway!

It's a day just for him!

This year on his birthday, A-Ying finds a nice big tree not to far from the shed, a little bit a ways from the market in the village. From this far away he can still hear the street vendors cry out to each, and he can pretend they're calling to him too.

He's gotten reaaaaally good at climbing this year, so he goes up and up and up all the way to the second branch. He perches on his throne, watching the subjects of his domain move from one spot to the next, unaware of the child giggling at their antics.

Every one of those blobs has a story, and A-Ying likes to imagine them in his head.

That mother with her daughter is shopping for a new treasure to add to their collection.

Those two men whispering together are plotting a dastardly escape from the bad guys!

The stern, intimidating cultivator in glowing white robes is preparing to save them all.

The two brothers are sneaking off on their own, seeking adventures beyond his wildest dreams.

A-Ying smiles to himself at his game. It's fun, and he likes it.

He balances the cloth bundle gingerly on his lap, leaning as securely as he can on the tree whole trying to hook a leg around the branch for safety. He unwraps the dusty grey cloth, revealing the white dough of his prized mantou.

It's not as fresh and soft as he remembered it, and the steam is all gone, but it's still his mantou!!! He doesn't even know what's in the filling, but he bets it will be delicious!

He prepares to take a bite when A-Ying hears a soft rustling of leaves and quiet sniffles.

He hooks an arm around the tree, mantou secure in his other, and peers around to see who's managed to find his hiding spot.

It's one of the brothers from earlier, the little one with hair only up to his shoulders. His face is scrunched up and angry looking, but his eyes are sad.

The boy looks around, seeming confused and…lost? The long sleeves of his pure white robes catch on sharp brambles and thickets, and he exhales sharply when they pull him back and trapped him.

The boy sends the bush a withering glare, and is about to pull his arm free.

"Wait!" A-Ying calls out before he can think otherwise. "Don't just pull!"

The boy startles and jerks back, though he keeps his arm perfectly still. Sharp eyes dart around looking for the source of the sound, before glancing up and locking onto A-Ying.

Gold. Molten like the sun above them. For a second the tree no longer feels solid beneath A-Ying.

He shakes the feeling away and tucks his mantou back into his robes, and jumps down to land in front of the boy.

His knees scream, not used to such a tall height.

He hides a wince but the boy is too taken aback to even notice in the first place, reeling away from A-Ying, looking terrified and furious.

It's so fun, A-Ying can't help the giggles from escaping as he exclaims, "Hi!"

The boy says nothing but he doesn't move, arm still caught.

"If you tug your arm out like that, you're going to rip your pretty robes!" A-Ying tells the boy, his eyes drawn to the shiny pale blue thread that winds through the white fabric in the shape of misty clouds. He almost reaches out to touch it, stopping himself at the last second.

He lifts one of his tattered sleeves, gesturing to one of its many tears. "Look, see? This is what happens when you pull too hard! It makes a hole and sometimes it cuts skin and hurts a lot."

Sure enough, the hole reveals a tiny angry red scar from when A-Ying ripped it.

The boy lets out a quiet hiss, and his expression changes to one of commiseration. He lifts his hand, letting the sleeve drop to show A-Ying a small cut on the back of his hand.

"Ouch!" A-Ying exclaims, even though the cut looks like it's been healed for a long time. "That looks bad too! Did you get hurt already? Where? Anywhere else?"

A-Ying doesn't have any soothing salve, but he can maybe wrap the white cloth around the boy’s injuries? Or maybe find a nice adult?

Luckily the boy shakes his head and speaks for the first time. "No. Ge's sword…"

The boy trails off, staring at the ground as he draws lines in the dirt. The tips of his ears bloom pink where they peek from between ebony strands of hair.

A-Ying blinks before catching on, the mirth filling him with warmth. He throws his head back in joyous laughter that grows at the boy's pretty pout.

He wipes the tears from his eyes as he asks, "You played with your brother's sword didn't you, without asking first."

The boy nods once brusquely, still stubbornly pouting at the ground. It makes A-Ying want to laugh again and he bounces with the feeling.

"Where is your brother? I saw you two earlier when I…" This time, A-Ying trails off his words catching in his throat. Heat floods his cheeks for some reason, and he suddenly feels too shy to let the boy know he'd been watching him earlier.

How odd.

The boy, however, doesn't seem to pay attention as his head darts up and devastation spreads across his face. "Ge…" he starts, his lower lip wobbling. "I can not find Ge."

His voice comes out a bit hoarse, like he's been crying. And now that A-Ying has a better angle, he can see the tears resting in the corner of the boy's eyes where he must have cried earlier.

The boy is lost…away from his family. Unsure of where they went and when he'll see them.

The thought sits heavy and hard im A-Ying's head, and his face goes blank.

But not for too long, as he lets the feeling pass over him like a wave the way Baba showed him when he was little. He takes a deep breath, and takes another step closer to the boy.

The boy gives him a wary look, but with his arm still caught there's no way for him to escape.

A-Ying gently takes his arm, keeping his movements light and easy to shake off. He gets a better look at where a branch as snagged on the boy's robes, a sharp pointy end of the stick caught on a loose thread. Then, A-Ying grabs the stick and slowly pulls it out, taking care not to loosen and more threads.

When the boy's robes are finally free, with only a few easy to fix loose threads, A-Ying hops back and presents the boy's arm with a flourish.

"There! All fixed! See, isn't that better than a nasty hole?"

The boy inspects the damage, a judicial eye moving up and down the length of his sleeve, clinical in its assessment. A-Ying has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at the boy's serious expression.

Finally satisfied, the boy drops his arm and regards A-Ying with the same serious expression.

Again, the ground feels a little less solid beneath A-Ying's feet, like he's about to float away.

"Thank you," the boy says, gaze intense and making A-Ying twitch.

"It's not problem at all, no need for thanks! I'm happy to help! Now, let's find your brother."

He grabs the boys hand and begins to walk, when the boy pulls him back, as if still caught in the brambles. "You wish to help?" he asks, that same confused expression from earlier on his face.

"Of course! Everyone needs to find their family! It's a given!"

This time when he tugs on the boys hand, warm where his palm sildes against A-Ying's cool skin, the boy follows.

"Besides," A-Ying continues, focusing on the path ahead of them for anymore wayward branches, "When you help someone on your birthday, you get extra blessings!"

"It is your birthday?" the boy asks from wear he walks behind A-Ying.

"Yup! And my mama says we have to share our blessings with everyone on our birthday, so we can live well!"

"…Where is your mama?"

The boy's voice is quiet, like he almost regrets asking.

But that's not why A-Ying stops walking, frozen on the path.

He's tried very hard not to think about it too much this past year…but where is his mama?

Usually when he feels a gloomy cloud anchor itself to him, A-Ying ignores it and finds something fun or interesting to do. And right now, the fun and interesting thing is the pretty boy at his side with ears that turn pink and a huffy, pouty mouth.

So A-Ying focuses on that. He's very good at changing the subject.

The village market isn't too far away, but A-Ying fills the time with boisterous chatter, asking the boy about his pretty forehead ribbon and showing him the red ribbon Mama gave him ears ago, tied securely to his wrist.

He asks the boy a lot of things, but he doesn't seem like to like talking all that much.

But! He's a wonderful listener! He makes all these cute head movements and his eyes give away his feelings even when he tries so hard to keep them off the rest of his face. He nods at the right times and doesn't become bored ever!

It's been a long time since A-Ying had someone so fun to talk to, and he gets distracted telling the boy a scary story about once when he hid in a tree away from fierce and angry dogs.

In what must be uncharacteristic for the boy, he tugs on A-Ying's hand and interrupts him.

"Your birthday," he says, in that soft voice of his. A-Ying likes it a lot. "How are you celebrating it?"

A-Ying tilts his head, confused. He'd thought the answer was obvious.

"Like this, of course!" He waves their joined hands then let's them swing back and forth.

The boy frowns, deep lines forming between his brows where all his secrets must hide.

A-Ying presses the tip of his finger against those line, smoothing them out.

"No frowning on my birthday!!! It's not allowed! Only smiles!"

The boy's face turns neutral again, but the intensity in his gaze remains.

A-Ying puts on an affected pout and bends a little bit so he can peer up at the boy, though he's a bit shorter than A-Ying "Come on… give me a smile. Please? As my gift?"

All traces of a frown vanish completely and the boy wears a resolute look while his ears turn pink.

His face scrunches in concentration and slowly changes

He lifts one corner of his mouth higher than the other, a lopsided forced smile that shows a little bit of teeth. It's stiff and doesn't quite reach his eyes, but it's the cutest smile A-Ying's ever seen!

He bursts into laughter that rings around in a song, squeezing the boys hand for stability even as he almost falls over.

He can't remember the last time he was so happy.

"That's the best gift I've ever gotten! A perfect birthday smile!"

The edges of the boy's smile softens even more beautifully..

Drums beat against A-Ying's ribcage and he lifts his free hand to rest against his chest, willing the heat to dissipate from his cheeks.

He's on a mission after all, and with this gift to spurn him on he continues searching around the crowded market in search of white robes.

A-Ying hears a rumbling sound behind him. It's so similar to a dog's growl his shoulders stiffen automatically as he tenses and whimpers.

The rumbling continues and he squeezes the boy's hand preparing to run away, when the boy speaks softly to him.

"…Sorry…I did not eat.."

The fear exits A-Ying's body in a long deep exhale and he turns around to see the boy's cheeks have pinked as his hands clutch his stomach, where the grumbling sound continues.

He gives the boy a friendly smile and drags him to an alleyway just off the side street.

There, A-Ying removes his prize mantou and presents it the way a street performer might, holding his prize high in the sky.

"Ta-da! My birthday mantou! We can share!"

The mantou is difficult to split in half when it's this stale, but he manages and holds half out to the boy.

The boy hesitates before he takes the mantou, glancing between it and A-Ying as if looking for some reassurance.

A-Ying nods eagerly, gesturing for him to take a bite and lifts his half up to his lips in preparation.

The boy bites down. He stops. He chews. He stops.

His face takes on an entirely new expression that A-Ying finds utterly fascinating. He looks like he's both grateful and also wants to cry.

Strange. Maybe A-Ying's birthday mantou is extra delicious!

A-Ying takes a bite.

Immediately, he spits the morsel out onto the dusty path, trying to get rid of what must have been rotting filling encased in a dough that was too stale and hard enough to break teeth.

He looks up at the boy in horror. "No! Quick, spit it out! Spit it out before you get sick!"

Though alarmed, the boy follows, somehow showing it's possible to daintily spit into the palm in his hand and tossing the remains away.

A-Ying grimaces at the taste still lingering in his mouth. He's eaten a lot of questionable things in the past year, but he's used to it.

He'll wash his mouth out in the stream and then hope he'll find something to wash out the taste.

But he feels horrible that the boy had to eat that...He doesn't seem like the type to ever eat something so gross.

"Sorry," he whispers. He tugs on messy strands of his hair, wishing they could hide him from view.

The boy gives him a searching look, golden eyes wide.

"…No need for sorry," he replies simply. His face shifts into one of determination and this time the boy is the one to take A-Ying's hand and guide him through the market streets.

The boy stops in front of one of the bigger food stalls. The ones that sell skewered meat along with mantou and pancakes and all sorts of yummy treats. A-Ying knows this stall well because it's always very busy and sometimes people will order too much and toss their food out.

Keeping a firm hold of A-Ying's with one hand, the boy uses his other to reach into his pocket and pull out a cloth purse. The money inside clinks together and A-Ying can't help but be stunned. It's the most money A-Ying has ever seen!

He watches the boys fist close tight around his hands and follows as the boy marches towards the stall with stiff upright shoulders. He stands before the market stall, it's kind elderly proprietress smiling gently at him.

And he freezes.

A-Ying blinks and waits, wondering if the boy made a mistake perhaps.

He squeezes his hand, hoping to reassure him.

It does the trick, rousing the boy from his shock as he points at various items, gathering an assortment of meat, fresh mantou, and even sugary youtiao!

The stall's owner gives him a bemused look as she hands over everything as the boy pays for it. It's a lot, more than the boy is able to carry as he tries to pay at the same time.

A-Ying didn't think he seemed like that big of an eater, but maybe he was wrong!

The smell of warm, fresh food right in front of him makes his mouth water, and he smacks his lips together.

Finished with paying, the boy turns away with his haul. He looks behind him, as if to make sure A-Ying is following.

A-Ying runs after him, happy to follow him anywhere.

They stop at a bench a little ways away from the main thoroughfare where it's less crowded and market fades into background noise.

The boy pulls a clean white cloth from his sleeves and places it on the bench between him and A-Ying, then arranges the food with care.

One of A-Ying's legs bounces up and down uncontrollably, but he waits as patiently as he can manage.

At last, the boy nods, satisfied, and sends A-Ying a pointed look.

A-Ying blinks and points at himself. "Wait. Me first?" he asks.

The boy nods and hands a steaming mantou filled with savory meat filling whose smell nearly forms a cloud around them.

"It's your birthday," the boy says, like it should be obvious that this stranger bought A-Ying food without any thought. "This is for you."

A-Ying gasps, all the air in his lungs leaving him as he surveys the spread around him. Blood rushes to his cheeks, and he lifts his cold hands to press against them.

"This is all…for me?"

"Mn. Happy Birthday."

A-Ying beams his biggest, brightest toothy grin, watching the boy blink back at him as his ear turn that adorable pink again.

He happily takes the proffered mantou and bites down, savoring the burst of warmth and flavor that skitters across his tongue. He moans, and eats with zealous.

He hasn't had anything like this in so long! It's even better than he imagined!

Once he finishes the mantou, he takes a skewer of meat in one hand and a small pancake in the other and eats them in turn, alternating between bites. His body wiggles back and forth in a happy dance.

He's halfway through his second skewer when he notices the boy hasn't taken a bite of anything at all, even though he was the one who was hungry in the first place.

A cry of dismay escapes his throat. He hands the boy a bun filled with sweet red bean paste, waiting for the boy to start eating before resuming himself. Once the boy has taken a few small bites, A-Ying smiles once more and move on to the youtiao.

He tries to tell the boy about the time he found an entire bin filled with leftover dough and how he'd tried to eat it, but the boy gives him a reprimanding look.

"No talking while eat."

"Pfft, that's no fun. And besides, it's my birthday! Surely there are special rules for birthdays!"

The boy's expression turns skeptical, but A-Ying takes it to mean he's right after all and carries on.

By the time they've finished his birthday feast, the sun is begin its descent beneath the horizon, pinks and oranges mingling with blue skies above. The blue reminds A-Ying of the boy's robes, and he wonders if it always will. If even years later, he'll look up and think of him.

He hopes it will.

For now, he plops down from the bench, dusting his hands clean of crumbs as the boy carefully folds the cloth napkin and tucks it into his sleeves. A-Ying spares a moment to wonder what else he hides in those sleeves, before he gets back to the task at hand.

He needs to get this boy back to his family.

Surprisingly, no one has been shouting or racing around looking for him. A-Ying had assumed sticking by the market would be their best, but now he's feeling less so.

Sure enough, when he asks the boy, he tells him actually his family had been all the way on the other side of the town, far away from the market!

"Why didn't you say that earlier!?" A-Ying exclaims, already tugging the boy away.

The boy doesn't answer, his ears pink as he watches the ground. But the corner of his lips quirk up in a sly smile.

He hears that drumming noise against his chest again at the sight, and he almost feels dizzy with it. He ignores the feeling, and together the race across town before darkness falls.

Almost as soon as they turn the corner, A-Ying spots them. The mean looking cultivator from earlier, and next to him the white robed brother A-Ying had seen earlier.

The older brother looks close to tears, while the cultivator paces back and forth pulling on his beard like he's about to rip it out.

But it's all okay, because A-Ying did it. He helped find the boy's home.

He whirls around, hoping to see the relief on the boy's face, but instead the boy is watching A-Ying, something sad and even more lost pooling in that serious stare of his.

"Look, see," A-Ying says, though his tone isn't as cheery as he'd hoped. "We found them."

The boy nods, but he doesn't look at his family at all. His eyes are fixed on A-Ying.

Of all the things he could say, A-Ying doesn't expect the boy to ask him, "...Did you have a good birthday?"

A-Ying grins, warm and bright and cheeks straining to keep all the joy inside.

"Yes! It was the best birthday ever!" He pulls the boy into a hug, uncaring of his dirty robes now that he has such a wonderful friend! "Now go, your family is probably worried sick!"

The boy slowly withdraws with one hand still holding A-Ying's tattered sleeve.

"You too. Birthdays should be spent with family," the boy intones.

A-Ying doesn't answer, but he gives the boy a small, reassuring smile and sends him off. The boy walks briskly to his family at first, then breaks out into a run when his brother notices him.

He watches the tearful, happy reunion for a bit, a feeling full from more than just a filling meal. It settles happily in his chest, warm and content.

Then he turns around and heads back to his shed. By the time the boy looks back, searching for him, A-Ying is long gone.

Halfway back, as A-Ying pats his tummy and watches the lights in the houses turn on one by one giving the town a lovely glow, he realizes he never got the boy's name.

It's okay, he thinks. He has a strange feeling one day he will get to spend another birthday with the boy.

fin.

(link to threadfic here)

#happy birthday to the bestest boy #me: just something short and sweet for a-xian's bday #also me: writes 4k instead #how does this keep happening #i might just post this on ao3 as it is #it's still oct 31st where i live soooooo #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #wangxian #wei wuxian #wei ying #lan wangji #bushy writing #mdzs musings #xiantober

188 notes · View notes

phantomtwitch · 9 months

Text

For angstfest! I'm a little late, but here's one for a No One Knows AU.

They’re already moving as soon as he’s gone.

Tucker grabs Danny’s legs while Sam picks up Danny beneath his arms and shoulders. He’s long past the point of being embarrassed about Sam being stronger than him, and they have to move fast as they drag Danny’s body into an empty classroom nearby. He mutters curses under his breath as the heavy classroom door bounces off his side, and Sam huffs and rolls her eyes. “Drama queen,” she accuses, and he sticks his tongue out at her as they carry Danny’s body the rest of the way inside and the door shuts with a too-loud slam behind them.

But they’re not worried about the noise attracting attention. Most of the students are staying within their own classrooms, ignoring whatever odd sounds they might hear as the ghost alarm goes off in the background. The harsh, blinking lights cast odd shadows on Danny’s face, making Tucker queasy for a minute as they prop his body up against the wall below the whiteboard.

“How long?” he asks, panting heavily and trying to catch his breath.

“Two minutes and forty-five seconds,” she says with a grin as she sits down next to him. “Pretty sure that’s a new record.”

“Nah, we did it in two minutes and thirty-eight seconds last month, remember?” he says as he sits down beside her and starts to unpack his backpack. The defibrillator is buried at the bottom, tucked beneath his things. It’s the smallest one they could find that’s still effective, even if they’re not exactly using it for its intended purpose, and Sam carries another just in case. For a normal person, it wouldn’t be possible to restart their heart and lungs with an electric shock, despite what the movies claim, but for Danny? Electricity is the only thing that works, the only thing that will bind his spirit back to his corpse as it infuses and activates the ectoplasm flooding his blood stream.

The Fentons could no doubt provide a scientific explanation as to why and how it works, but to Tucker, it’s an odd kind of magic, of horrifying necromancy as they forcibly, painfully force the electricity to run through him again, so similar to the accident that caused this problem in the first place. It’s only by chance that they know it works, having tried the defibrillator hanging on the lab wall in the basement after he came out of the portal and his body fell to the ground as his ghost hovered over it in shock. He didn’t give it much thought the first time. Tucker merely assumed the movies were right and that they restarted Danny’s heart. It wasn’t until later that they learned the truth.

With practiced ease he pulls Danny’s old NASA t-shirt off, and then scowls as he notices that Danny’s wearing a new necklace with a constellation on it that Tucker probably should know the name of after being Danny’s friend for so many years but doesn’t. “Great. More stuff to take off. Wonder who gave it to him,” he grumbles, twisting it around in his fingers until he finds the clasp and removes it. He checks him over for any more metal and finds none. “How long now?”

“Four minutes,” says Sam, and he nods. They worry one day it’ll be too long, that there will be no forcibly stitching his soul and body back together, that all will remain is a ghost and the body of a boy who’s been dead for longer than anyone knows. The longest Danny’s ever gone is thirty-three minutes, yet they were still able to bring him back that day even as it seemed to take longer than usual. But there’s no one they can ask for help or advice, no one that’s dealt with this before besides them and Jazz, and none of them trust the Fenton parents enough to not shoot their own son in the face if they learn the truth. Because so far, at least, when Danny’s back he is alive again. He’s grown a few inches since this started a year ago. He’s been forced to get his usual haircuts, to trim his nails when they get too long. His heart beats within his chest, and he breathes and smiles and laughs like there’s nothing different, nothing wrong, and absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about him.

They shift Danny again, laying him down flat on the floor on his back as Tucker kneels down beside him and sets up the defibrillator and sticks the pads to Danny’s chest. There’s nothing they can do until he returns, so they wait, Tucker drumming his fingers against the side of his leg as Sam continues to glance at her watch every few seconds. “Did you hear that they’re remaking the first Nightmerica movie?” he asks, looking for any distraction he can.

“Ughh, yeah,” she groans. “Which completely misses the point of why it’s so good in the first place. I don’t want a modern version with modern effects. I want cheesy 80s costumes and music and horror and the chance to cheer as stuck-up cheerleaders get murdered. I mean I guess there’s a chance they’ll keep the original charm, but I doubt it.”

“Yeah, there’s already rumors that they’re casting, like, Scarlett Johanson as Nightmerica,” adds Tucker. “Doesn’t really bode well.”

“Seriously? If she gets cast, I’m just going to nope right out, pretend it doesn’t exist, and hope everyone else does the same,” she says, and then goosebumps erupt across their skin as the temperature in the room drops precipitously as Phantom enters the classroom, phasing through the wall.

He looks rougher than usual as ectoplasm drips from his arms and chest, deep claw marks gouging through the thin black and white hazmat suit he wears even now. His eyes are consumed with green light, his hair floating over his head and flickering like sparks, and there’s a faint hint of white beneath the dark suit, of the shape of bones even as Phantom is nothing but ectoplasm. “Rough fight?” he asks.

There’s heavy static behind each word. Talking to him like this is almost useless. They can’t understand the ghost speech, the odd echoes and noise and whirring, and trying to teach Danny sign language or morse code or any other method of communication when he’s whole again is worthless, none of the knowledge transferring to his ghostly self, the wall between his two halves too solid for even Phantom to phase through. They don’t know why Phantom is one of the only ghosts that can’t speak without the noise and distortion, that can’t make his words understood, but it’s a truth that’s held fast for as long as Danny’s been like this.

But Tucker’s gotten better at reading his unnatural body language, the way he twists upside down and curls his tail around himself as his sharp, pointed teeth flash. “Sorry, man,” he says. “I wish you didn’t have to do this.”

They don't know why he feels compelled to fight the other ghosts. They don't even know what triggers the transformation, even as they've come to recognize the warning signs, like the odd vacant stare that sets in, the way Danny’s hackles almost seem to rise as he silently snarls. And it's not as if Danny can tell them.

Phantom whispers something in response, the words still lost in the static, and then he floats over to himself, putting a hand over his own corpse, because as hard as it is for Tucker to think of it that way, he knows, on some level, that’s what Danny's body is without Phantom. There’s no life in it, no presence, no spirit. It’s merely flesh, an empty vessel, and he shudders to think what could happen if another ghost found him like this, if he might be able to possess him somehow.

"We're at nine minutes," says Sam, and Phantom lets out something like a sigh as he floats back into the corpse. Danny's eyes snap open, green and glowing, and they move quickly.

Unlike the one in the lab that was old and lacked the safety features of most modern AEDs, they had to make a few modifications to this one to get it to work. A modern defibrillator won't let someone shock a body with no heartbeat. Messing with the tech felt dicey, but they couldn't find any other methods to safely deliver a shock to him that wouldn't risk their own safety, too.

The pads are already placed, and he pushes the button, biting his lip as he waits. It delivers the first shock, but aside from a twitch in his shoulders and a confirmation from the AED, there's little to no sign it happened.

A hiss of soft static, and Tucker understands the meaning despite the noise, a bitter plea for them to do it again. It takes three shocks before they see it, the strange white light around his midsection, and Tucker turns off the AED as he and Sam scramble a few steps back.

The light spreads, eventually too bright for them to bear the sight of it as little arcs of electricity dance along Danny's skin, and when it finally stops he's sitting up, staring vacantly. The daze won't last, but they take this moment to put away the defibrillator, removing the pads from his chest. Tucker puts the necklace back on, his fingers shaking as he snaps the clasp together. Much as he tries to act like this doesn’t bother him anymore, he can’t contain his relief at seeing Danny sitting up again, his chest slowly moving with each breath, his pulse steady beneath his wrist and neck.

They've just pulled his shirt on when he blinks, and Danny looks down at his hands, wincing as he touches his chest. "I feel like I got run over by the GAV," he groans, and Tucker forces himself to chuckle.

"You might as well have. You hit the floor hard when you fainted," says Tucker. The injuries are never there, but some phantom pain always seems to remain as his ghost heals. "I'm sorry we never manage to catch you, man. I know it’s gotta hurt."

"It's fine," mumbles Danny. "How long was I out?"

"About ten minutes," says Sam. She doesn’t point out that they time this, now, down to the second. It’s not as if timing it changes anything, but it makes them feel better when they revive Danny in under twenty minutes. More than that and they start to worry. Tucker’s still not sure how Danny doesn’t have any brain damage at this point from the lack of oxygen.

Danny hums, flexing his fingers for a minute as the ghost alarm shuts down. "I . . . Doesn't it seem like this is getting worse? I can't even remember seeing a ghost. I . . . I never can."

"You know this messes with your memory–"

"Yeah, but that makes this seem more like I'm having seizures or something, not fainting. And it's always one of you or Jazz when I wake up, which seems weird, maybe? I just . . . Maybe we should tell my parents," he whispers, and Tucker's heart aches.

"I don't think that's a good idea–" begins Sam, but he cuts her off.

"--why not?" He looks between the two of them, scowling, his fists now clenched. "What aren't you telling me?"

He and Sam exchange a long look. It always comes to this eventually, yet despite their best efforts, it's pointless. Some part of Danny refuses to hear the truth, to acknowledge that he died or at least half-died in the portal, and within an hour he always forgets they even discussed this at all. They don't know why. They've proven over and over again that they accept him and love him despite how he’s changed. But the wall is still too solid to break through.

They should explain it to Danny again anyway. Tucker knows that. But he's so tired of repeating himself, and he knows Sam is, too. Jazz says his psyche needs more time to process and accept the truth, but it's been a year with no sign of things changing.

Sam eventually sighs, forcing the words out. She's always been the strongest of the three of them in more ways than one. "A year ago, you had an accident. You were hurt badly, and we saved you, but–"

The door swings open suddenly, and he sees Mr. Lancer there, the relief evident on his face. "Lord of the Flies! Is everyone okay?" he asks as he takes in the sight of the three of them on the floor. At least the AED is back in Tucker's bag and out of sight, since Tucker doubts Mr. Lancer would be willing to ignore what that might signify if he saw it.

"We're fine," says Sam. "We thought we heard the ghost and hid. I'm sorry we worried you."

"Somehow that always seems to happen with the three of you," he says with a frown, clearly questioning it, but thankfully he doesn't push it further. "But I’m glad that you’re safe, at least, and now that the ghost is gone you three need to get to class."

"Okay." They stand up, and Tucker can see the worry and distrust as Danny clenches his jaw and refuses to look at them as he heads out into the hallway. But that’s not the worst part. No, it’s knowing that by the time lunch rolls around, Danny won’t remember his suspicions or his fears. They’ll be pushed down, slowly hidden beneath the protective part of his mind that refuses to let him know the truth, and instead of questioning why he constantly faints whenever there’s a ghost, why he has strange aches and pains, and why he often sets off his parents’ equipment even when he’s human again, he’ll talk to them about the latest video games and movies and gossip and homework.

He desperately wants his friend to know the truth. It hurts, even as he knows they’re not lying to Danny about what’s happening, that they’ve tried to explain it before. And despite how naturally taking care of his body comes to him and Sam now, despite knowing the signs that herald Phantom’s emergence, Tucker knows they can’t keep this a secret forever. Inevitably, they won’t be there one day, they’ll miss an obvious sign, or someone like Lancer will walk in a little too soon. And once they learn the truth, he and Sam and Jazz know that Danny will be taken from them as he’s locked away in a lab by the GIW or his parents and becomes some gruesome science experiment, tortured as he can’t even remember the reason why.

More and more Tucker’s beginning to think they’re running out of time. They need to find a way. They need to get Danny to understand who and what he is so he can protect himself, because Tucker’s not sure how much longer he can keep up the lie, too.

EDIT: I wrote a Part Two, it's here.

#danny phantom #angstfest2023 #my writing #no one knows au #just this time it's Danny who's clueless #corpse au #electric core au #if you squint #probably medical inaccuracies #very mild gore #tucker pov #again #i might do a second part for this for the everyone knows au bit #but i'm not sure yet #i might cross post this to ao3 after editing it more too

237 notes · View notes

reddamselette · 9 days

Text

“Do you ever dream about me?” Jason pressed the red button on the machine, startled as he watched the claw lower itself into the sea of stuffed animals and plushies. He exhaled softly, turning to face Leo who had been leaning against the machine with his head resting against the glass, arms and ankles crossed, silently observing.

Jason reached into his pocket, digging out another few coins to insert it. His hand wrapped around the joystick, brows furrowed in concentration with squinted eyes carefully calculating the distance of the curved metals to the stitched fabric. “Where’s this coming from?”

Leo shrugged lazily, his eyes roaming Jason’s face. “I’m just curious. I think a lot, you know.”

Jason pressed the button once he was sure, silently praying and hoping for the ridiculous claw to grab the animal he had his eyes on since they stepped into the arcade hours ago. He straightened, the entire body perfectly inside the claw, the arms and legs dangling and just as it brought it to the left to drop it into the basket, it fell.

Leo snickered and pushed himself off the machine to stand beside Jason, taking a few coins he’d been mindlessly fidgeting and inserted it into the slot. Jason’s lips parted in awe as Leo effortlessly managed to grab the dark blue and brown teddy bear, his eyes following the rigged machine as it dropped it into the basket.

Leo bent down to retrieve it and tossed it into the air victoriously. It landed perfectly in the spaces between his thumbs and forefinger, presenting it to Jason with a grin. “Now that you got it, let’s head to the food court. I’m starving.”

I could kiss you right now, Jason thought but he didn’t say so. Only nodding as he swallowed thickly with a dry throat and followed after him.

part two

#valgrace #jason grace #leo valdez #heroes of olympus #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo #hoo #fic #my writing #i was thinking abt them at the arcade #this is actually from like a oneshot i was starting #but i haven’t finished yet #a lot of songs give me ideas i’m ngl #valgrace just fits everything i listen to #i might continue this actually #or finish it and then post it on ao3

69 notes · View notes

ao3screenshotss · 28 days

Text

why be heartbroken when you can just be hard?

- ao3 commenter

#ao3 comments #not trying to take away from ao3commentoftheday i love them very much!!#just found it funny and i might start posting these when i find them i’ll see #also might remove the last line so it just looks like i said it it would be so funny #me :)

74 notes · View notes

one-idea · 2 months

Text

Shanks raising ASL part 7

First - Previous - Next

One they get back to the Red force Shanks finds Benn waiting on the deck. Ace had passed out on the way back and was sleeping in Shanks arms. Benn looked the two over smirking at his captain. “Finally got through to the little fighter eh.” He whispered to his Captain. He knew how much the boys had come to mean to his captain, knew that they were part of the crew now. Part of their family. But he wasn’t going to pass up the chance to tease Shanks over his grumpiest son.

Shanks looked down at the little boy he was carrying in his arms. “In more ways than you can imagine.” He whispered back. Then he turned his attention back to Benn. “Where-”

“Where else.” Benn cut him off jerking his head towards the captain’s quarters. He knew exactly who his captain was asking after.

Shanks smiles at his first mate before making his way to his cabin, leaving Benn behind on watch. It was a bit of a juggle to get the door open and not let go of Ace but he managed. Once inside he was greeted by the sight of Mihawk sitting up on a chair next to the bed. In his bed lay Luffy and Sabo all tangled up in the blankets and each other. Mihawk turned to met his eye as he came in, nodding his head down to Ace in a silent question. ‘Is everything taken care of?’

“He’ll be okay for now.” Shanks reassured the unsaid worries. He walked over and gently laid Ace down next to Luffy. Watching as the three boys rearranged themselves subconsciously. Sabo throwing an arm over Luffy to grab hold of Ace, while Luffy snuggled into his returned brother. Ace turned to meet them. Wrapping himself around Luffy and fisting a hand into Sabo’s shirt. “But there’s a lot I need to tell you.”

The two men talked quietly, carful not to wake the boys. Mihawk tried to remain impassive but even he was shocked by the reveal of Ace’s parents.

“How can we protect them Mi? Luffy being Garp’s grandson was already going to take some maneuvering, but Ace? If this gets out the Marines will never leave him alone.” Shanks was sitting on the edge of the bed looking down at his boys, his hand gently running trough Ace’s hair. How could the world be so cruel? That Ace would be hunted down for no actions of his own.

“Then we never let them know.” Mihawk stated smoothly. “We keep the circle small. Only those we trust completely will know. The problem will be once he’s out there on his own, will he keep it a secret?” Mihawk paused. Thinking over an idea. One he loathed but might protect his family.

“I don’t want him to have to lie about who he is. Especially not from his Namaka. I don’t want to make him feel ashamed of who he is, or that he’s worth less because of his parents.” Shanks turned to face his partner. “They were good people Mi. My captain was a great man, Ace shouldn’t have to hide.”

“But he does.” Mihawk knew Shanks had a soft spot for his old Captain. His loyalty ran deep, and Shanks couldn’t stand the lies the Marines had spread about his old crew. But sentiment wasn’t going to keep Ace and his brother safe. It was fine to let the boy know the truth of his parents. On this boat he could be Gol D. Ace and know the man his father was. But the rest of the world couldn’t know.

“To the rest of the world he needs to be Portagas D. Ace adopted son of Red Hair Shanks. Nothing else. Even that last name would be a risk if so many of the Rodger pirates weren’t already wiped out.” He saw the small flinch his lover gave at the reminder of his lost family members. Mihawk didn’t want to hurt him, but for now they to be pragmatic. “We hide him by tying him to you. He’s just some kid you picked up in the East Blue. Nothing more.”

There was silence between them as they both thought over the future. Shanks turned his head to look back down at the boys.

“You said me.” Shanks voice was soft, grabbing Mihawk’s attention.

“Clarify.” He requested, he wasn’t sure where Shanks’ head was at right now.

“You said ‘we hid him by tying him to me’ so I take it you’re not staying.” Shanks had always know that this would come to an end. But Mihawks extended stay with the crew in the East Blue. The time they had spent on Dawn Island with the boys. Seeing Mihawk with his boys, it had allowed Shanks to deceive himself into thinking that maybe this time Mihawk would stay.

He had offered a place on the crew to Mihawk many times, but he understood the call of the sea, the need for freedom. And it had never stopped him from loving Mihawk, as long as Mihawk returned to him, it would never stop him. But that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt every time Mihawk left. It didn’t mean he wanted Mihawk to leave.

Mihawk sighed. It was an old conversation. Shanks always gave him the option to stay but had long stopped out right asking for him to stay. He was always welcomed on the Red force but it was never home. When he was working his way to the top he had to be able to travel quickly. To hunt down his next opponent. To win his title. Now that he had it, challengers need to be able to find him. Constantly moving was counterproductive to that. Plus he would only hinder Shanks’s own goals. If people kept coming to challenge him, then Shanks and the crew, and now the boys, would be put in the cross fire. And that’s not to mention the influx of marines that would hunt them if they were publicly together. No better to keep them separate.

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. That he doesn’t want to keep Shanks and the boys safe. That he doesn’t love them….. He’s going to take that stupid offer.

“No. I won’t be.” Mihawk replied keeping a carful watch of his partners movement. How Shanks’s shoulders dropped just a bit and how he wasn’t looking at him. “In fact there’s another offer I’ll be taking.”

Shanks whipped around to look at him. “And just who else’s crew will you be joining?” This was a slap to the face. He thought Mihawk didn’t join his crew because he didn’t want a captain, but maybe he just didn’t want him.

“I’m not joining any crew.” Mihawk dismissed the concern. He never wanted a captain but if he were to have one, he’d pick Shanks. His lover should have no doubts or worries over that. “The Marines have made me an offer.”

“You can’t trust them.” Shanks felt his heart drop. It was his captain all over again. Mihawk would put his trust in the Marines and they would stab him in the back instantly. He couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t lose someone else he loved to the marines. “Whatever they promised you, whatever deal they offer is a lie. You can’t trust them.”

“I know that.” Mihawk would be more irritated with Shanks if there wasn’t a breathing reminder of everything Shanks lost sleeping on their bed right now. His lover had had a long stressful night already and he probably should have saved this conversation for another night. But oh well. “They’re creating a ‘Warlord’ system. A group of pirates who can operate however they please without interference from the marines. In exchange we have to help them deal with certain problems.”

He watched as several emotion flicker over Shanks face. “I don’t like it. And I can’t imagine you enjoying being under their thumb.” Shanks couldn’t understand why Mihawk would even consider agreeing to this proposal.

“Oh I won’t. I wasn’t originally planning on taking up the offer. But I can refuse to help them. If they ever sent me after you or the boys I would refuse, or a least fake my efforts, depending on the situation.” Mihawk agreed with Shanks explaining his reasoning.

“Won’t they come after you if you refuse them.” Shanks questioned his lover’s logic.

“Of course but I’m not taking this position for my own safety.” Mihawk explained. Though his explanation left more questions than it answered for Shanks.

“Then why take it in the first place?” Shanks questioned. Starting to get frustrated. He did not want any of his loved ones near the Marines.

“Come now Shanks, you’re smarter than this.” Mihawk waited for his lover to put all the pieces together. He wasn’t good at expressing emotions. He far preferred actions than words. Luckily Shanks always seemed to know his true intentions behind his actions. He had no doubt Shanks would understand him once he thought it over.

Shanks paused thinking things through. “If you take this they won’t hunt you, and you can do what you please….”

“Meaning they won’t be paying to close of attention to who I’m around. They also are giving us the option of making our own home based on islands in the Grandline.” Mihawk expanded in the privileges given to him by the world government if he took up their offer.

“You hate staying in one place for to long so why…” Shanks was still putting the pieces together.

“Because it would give you a safe place for the boys.” Mihawk finally laid the last card on the table. “You’re a big name Red Hair, but you’re no emperor yet.” Mihawk had no doubt that Shanks would reach that level. He was well on his way there. “But until you make yourself and your crew untouchable….”

“The marines could come after us and the boys.” Shanks finished looking between the sleeping children and his lover.

“So if there was an island the marines couldn’t touch where you and your crew could restock or stay out of sight.” Mihawk continues the thought his lover started.

Shanks bit his lip as he thought over his lovers plan. “That would be helpful. But not at the cost of-”

“My freedom?” Mihawk went right to the heart of the issue. “You’re right if that was the only benefit it wouldn’t be worth it. Which is why I wasn’t going to take it. Until tonight.” Mihawk turned his attention from Shanks for the first time in this conversation. His eyes locking on Ace. “After all, if the world government ever learned about the existence of the pirate king’s son who would they send after him? Marines or Pirates?” He locked his eyes back on Shanks’ wide ones. Understanding finally filling his lover’s gaze. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a heads up on what they know?”

Shanks couldn’t believe was Mihawk was offering. This was an advantage they wouldn’t get again. But still. “I can’t ask you to do this Mi.”

“You’re not.” Mihawk cut him off firmly. “It’s my decision. Besides it’s not forever. You’re close to being an emperor. You and the boys will be untouchable then. The government won’t send me after you. That gives me 7-8 years to build up trust with the fools. By then Ace and Sabo will probably set sail, and I’ll be in a position to make sure the government isn’t giving Ace any attention he doesn’t earn.” Mihawk smirked at the end. Sure that all three boys will create quite the stir when they leave the nest.

Shanks thought about it. He still hated the idea. The idea of Mihawk being so close to the government, the people who killed his captain, put him on edge. “I still don’t like it.”

“I know.” The two made eye contact once more. Mihawk held out his hand and Shanks reached out to hold it. Mihawk used his grip to pull Shanks over to him, Shanks willingly followed moving from the bed to his lovers lap.

“Can it wait? I’m close to being an emperor. Maybe that will be enough protection on its own?” Shanks knew it was a good plan but he just couldn’t agree to it.

Mihawk sighed wrapping his arms around Shanks. “It can wait for a little while longer. But I’ll have to answer soon. The offer won’t be there forever.” Mihawk already knew his choice. If it would give him an advantage at protecting those he cared for he could deal with being the Marines delivery boy. A few years were nothing in the grand scheme of things. But he would concede tonight. Shanks wasn’t ready to agree, he’s had a long and emotional night. They had time to talk about it again. Once the boys were more settled and Shanks had time to think over the offer. He was a brilliant strategist after all. Mihawk had no doubts he would come to the same conclusion Mihawk had.

But for now he held his lover close as they watched over their sleeping boys.

They had time.

Or the did until a bandit decided to show up at Party bar the next morning.

This kinda got away from me. I’ve always been fascinated over why Mihawk decided to become a Warlord. So here are some of his thoughts behind it in this Au.

#one piece #monkey d. luffy #portagas d. ace #fire fist ace #one piece ace #dracule mihawk #shanks is luffy’s dad okay.#shanks #revolutionary sabo #mishanks #heavy on the Mishanks this time around.#this has become more a story then an idea.#I might have to clean up the first few post and just put in on AO3 #asl brothers #asl trio

119 notes · View notes