#and whoo boy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dumb-ghost-child · 1 year

Text

Humans are weird: lifespan

Clara had known the mission was a bad idea. That guess was reinforced when the ship crashed. The other members of her little crew had died on impact, but she’d only been injured. From her guess it was just a few broken or otherwise messed up bones- annoying, yes, but not irreparable. She’d tried communicating with her crew, sending out transmissions and mentally screaming for Indigo, but nothing came to her rescue.

By some miracle, the air was breathable. The climate was on the warmer side, reminding her of the Caribbeans. It was quite nice, and if it weren’t for the three moons, binary star system, and the lavender sky, she would’ve been able to believe this was in a familiar system.

She stumbled out of the ship, swearing to herself when she saw what a wreck it was; there was no way she’d be getting back into the air with that.

Instead, she looked around. It appeared that she’d landed in a field of sorts- on the horizon she saw what appeared to be a civilization, maybe a town, and around her were tall trees that had pear-like fruits on them. A quick scan said they were edible, so she grabbed one. It was perfectly at her shoulder level, which she appreciated. The fruit was tasty, reminding her of earth’s apples or the kalrin-fruits Indigo had introduced to her.

It took a few minutes, but soon Clara had made herself a splint for her broken arm and gathered what she could from the ship’s remains.

She was about to make her way towards the town when she heard a strange chittering noise behind her. The translator didn’t pick it up, which either meant this was an undiscovered language or it was broken- it was really a 50/50 chance. Turning around, she saw a small creature, maybe reaching up to her knees, chittering at her. It seemed to be a bit scared, but still interested. It gestured for her to follow it, which she did, being led to another small town. All around her were the little creatures, rushing about, some coming up to her. They were cute, in a way, with mint-green skin, four arms, fur down their backs, six large eyes- well, she assumed they were eyes- and a bipedal walking pattern. They led her to a building with what appeared to be a collapsed roof, which only reached up to her head. Easily enough she fixed it, and the creatures seemed happy, surrounding her and making those same chittering noises, much more happy-sounding this time.

The Chiri, as Clara called them, were a fascinating civilization. They had a complex language of clicks, chirps, and assorted chittering sounds that took Clara a while to learn properly. Their planet was far faster than earth, one of earth’s weeks was the equivalent of a month for them, and an earth month was the equivalent of a year. Most Chiri only lived for a few of their years, but their lives were filled with celebration. It felt like every week Clara got invited to a new celebration- either a wedding, a coming of age, a new harvest, or even a funeral. Even though Clara took only around six months to fully recover, by that point she had become known as a Chiri guardian. She’d been on the planet for a number of their years, becoming a guardian figure. Where her ship had crashed was turned into a shrine of sorts, new towns being built around it. In exchange, Clara protected them, guided them, and shared her knowledge with them. She’d even learned their language to the point where it was as fluent as any other, even without her translator, which she was fairly certain had broken.

The Chiri had given Clara a new name that they called her, Xi-Rai’du. Most of the children knew her as Xixi.

Clara trusted her friends, they’d taken her in and healed her. They felt like family just as much as her crew on the ship did. Despite their short lives, the Chiri were a people who valued learning. They passed down stories from generation to generation, and Clara would help to remember them as well. She taught them to write, transcribing their stories.

One of the young rushed towards Clara, a little girl who had only recently become old enough to talk. “Xixi! Xixi! There you are!” The little one, her name Si’ra, reached out her four arms for Clara to lift her up, making a high-pitched noise that was roughly the same as a laugh. “The celebration was about to start without you, come! Dari and Lixai want you there!”

Clara nodded, smiling. Dari and Lixai were getting married, and Clara didn’t want to miss out. Still carrying Si’ra, Clara made her way towards the town.

All around the town were banners decorated in vibrant colors, flowers in every windowsill and a clear trail of petals leading to where the wedding would take place. Clara had always loved the Chiri’s celebrations, they were all filled with laugher, music, dancing and festivities that could go for days. As soon as Clara showed up, she was surrounded by lively music, cheers from the Chiri who’d arrived for the celebration, and the greeting of Dari and Lixai, both wearing gorgeous formal attire. Clara bowed to them, smiling as she let Si’ra down, watching her rush towards the other children to join in there game.

“Lady Xi-Rai’du, welcome.” Lixai spoke first, joy clear in all six of her eyes.

Clara shook her head, “Today isn’t a day for celebrating me, it’s for you two.” She gestured to the crowd, “They’re all here for you- so go, celebrate! You’ve earned it.”

Lixai and Dari smiled, taking Clara’s hand and leading her into the crowd.

The wedding was a joyous one, and Clara couldn’t help but feel incredibly proud of Lixai and Dari. Weddings were a major event for both humans and chiri, although the chiri certainly had a more lively celebration all the way through.

The next day, Clara went to the cave where the Chiri kept murals of all their major events. She smiled as she looked, seeing paintings of herself defending the town from wild beasts, celebrating amongst them, and even when she’d first arrived, now over a year ago.

Deep down though, she knew couldn’t stay. Her crew still needed her, and she knew the Chiri had to grow into a full civilization on their own. She was torn out of her mind though when she heard what sounded like screams outside. Sa’ri rushed in, panicked. “Xixi! Help! There are- there’s something outside!”

Clara, admittedly, panicked. She picked Sa’ri up again, letting the girl lead her out. As soon as she left she saw the cause of the panic. In the sky above was a ship. Her ship.

As soon as it landed, Clara put herself between the ship and the Chiri. She faced the panicked crowd, trying to keep order. “All of you! Please, calm down. These newcomers mean no harm.”

The Chiri trusted her, more or less calming down. Clara sighed in relief, facing the ship as the bridge lowered. What she saw surprised her- another human.

It took a moment for Clara to realize they were speaking English- she’d become so used to hearing the chiri’s language of chirps and squeaks- but when she registered what they were saying she almost laughed. It was a declaration of peace, saying they were only doing a recovery mission. Apparently they’d finally gotten the distress signal Clara had sent when she first was crashing, tracing it back to her.

Clara approached the ship, Sa’ri in her arms, and faced the stranger.

“If you’re looking for the recon group that was sent out here a little over a year ago..” she sighed, “I’m all that’s left. I’ve been living on this planet for the past year, and the civilization you see have helped me. They nursed me back to health, gave me a place to stay, and trusted me.” Behind her were the people who she’d protected for what were generations to them. “My name is Clara.. but it is also Xi-Rai’du, and these are the chiri.”

The human seemed shocked, but they didn’t do anything agressive.

“The crew thought you’d died..” they muttered, “they hired me as a replacement. How are you even alive?!”

She couldn’t help but laugh, “I told you. The chiri took me in, and the planet’s atmosphere is breathable.” she put Sa’ri down, and she hugged my leg before running back to her family, as though sensing that this would be the last time she saw her. “I assume you’re here to bring me back now that you know I’m alive?”

They nodded, gesturing for Clara to follow them.

“Just give me a second,” Clara turned to face the Chiri, bowing to them and switching back to their language. “Thank you, all of you. Now I must leave.. but I will return. Reach for the stars, and perhaps we will meet in the cosmos one day.”

The chiri seemed to understand, solemnly accepting that their guardian was leaving.

“Xixi!” Sa’ri called up from the crowd, “I’ll find you again, I promise!”

She turned, nodding to the fellow human. “Bring me back onto the ship.”

Maybe, just maybe, part of the reason she’d turned was because she wanted to hide the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. But when she returned onto the ship, Clara was reminded of where she belonged, amongst her family in the stars. The chiri had been kind, but she had to go. Besides, when Indigo saw her again, xir expression just about made all of the time away worth it.

#whoo boy #this went in every direction except for the one I thought it would go in #emotional? Maybe?#humans are weird #humans are space orcs #earth is space australia #lifespan #sci fi

3K notes · View notes

flameshadowwolf · 2 years

Text

Are you a normal kid or do you develop a crush on any older guy that treats you nicely?

#I went axe throwing today #and whoo boy

0 notes

gallapple · 1 month

Text

what I imagine Alastor wanted to do the whole time in chapter 15 of Under My Skin by @whamgram

#I was going to draw more but that's for daylight time cause I am so tired #this chapter WHOO BOY #jealous alastor is my favorite favor of alastor so I am feed so well in this chapter #charlastor #radiobelle #galla art #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel fanart #fanfic fanart

520 notes · View notes

hatkuu · 6 months

Text

how to kiss - a tutorial

written for the wonderful @dellphie!! sorry this took so long ////

m! kylar x gen! reader, straight up fluff ^^

summary: ever since you first kissed kylar, he's only gotten worse at it. you're sick of him being a horrible kisser. so you decide to teach him how.

-----

"Ow!"

Kylar's kissing ability was appalling.

Either too much tongue, teeth or lip - never the perfect amount of each. It—no— he was taking a toll on your mouth, and it was beginning to show; puffy lips, constantly reddened from overuse, and ugh - Kylar somehow managed to suck all of the moisture out of them, too.

And of course, he was passionate, overbearingly so.

"J-Just let me try again! I'll do it g-good this time!"

You playfully scowl at Kylar, huffing while slathering a heavy layer of chapstick on your lips. You massage the chapstick between your lips, pressing them into a thin line while you stare, blank-faced at Kylar. He pouts back at you, pleading with those horribly persuasive, constant puppy-dog-eyes. They crinkle at the edges from the remnants of a smile, and the coniving little mouse doesn't even try to hide it. Still glistening with your saliva, Kylar's faux pout falters and morphs into a cheeky smile - a smile rarely seen by anyone but yourself. He guides your hand holding the chapstick away from your face, slotting his lips just above your own, close enough that you can feel his breath against the tingling, reddened flesh.

"Pleaaase?"

He never does it good any time.

"Fine—"

Before you can say anything else, Kylar's lips are mashed against your own. His tongue dipping in and out of your mouth in an uncoordinated, sloppy fashion. You splutter against him, pulling away and shoving him backward—away from your face. Kylar whines, leaning forward to recover the loss but you tut at him, placing a palm against the bottom half of his face.

Kylar's hands instinctively reach upward to pull your hand from his face, but they abruptly stop mid-air as he gauges your expression.

You aren't happy with him. You dropped your chapstick as soon as Kylar's teeth clacked against your own. Now, the chapstick has rolled across the room, far out of reach.

Kylar, muffled by your palm, voices his concerns.

"What?"

You glower at him, clearly annoyed.

"We kiss on my terms this time, okay?" You wipe the remnants of Kylar's tongue from your chin, face scrunching up as gossamer strings form between the back of your palm and lips. "I'll teach you the right way to kiss so I don't have to use this crap constantly." You say, pointing at the chapstick rollibg across the floor. He relaxes against your palm, eyes crinkling in a wordless smile. You can see his thought process; and before Kylar can begin licking at your palm you snatch it away with a disgusted scowl. "Don't be gross."

"...Now, sit still."

Kylar breathes shakily, leaning back and sitting motionlessly, hands firmly gripping the duvet on his single-sized mattress. Dark, split-end hair splays over his face, messy and still slightly damp from the bath you had coaxed him into taking earlier. His lips are just as swollen as your own, tinged red from his overzealous kissing. He shakily smiles at you. You return it with just as much earnest.

"Okay, so..." You trail off, cupping Kylar's cheek with one hand and holding his waist firmly with the other. "Hand positioning is very important." Kylar audibly shudders at your touch, a choked, embarrassed sound slipping from his lips even though the two of you have been together for so long. Long enough that Kylar shouldn't still blush and stutter when ever you look his way, but time doesn't stop his shyness. It probably never will.

"See? Doesn't it feel nice?"

Kylar nods, swallowing hard and tilting his head to fall deeper into your warm palm. The blackout curtains in Kylar's room leave no hints of natural light in the room. The artificial light of the six monitors on the opposite side of the room reflects his frightened eyes, the green flecks within them becoming more noticable than ever. You stare impulsively, committing them to memory as Kylar blushes a deep red, lips parted slightly as he gapes at you in shock.

Your lips break out into an affectionate, patient smile, waiting calmly until Kylar's rigid posture and shocked expression melts into comfort.

"Now do it to me."

Kylar shakily places his hands on your waist, his fingers digging into the plush flesh curiously. You can tell he's impatient. He's so close to you. So close. And all he can do is place his hands on your waist—which is nice—but he wants to feel you under your clothes, wants to touch the places that make you squirm and writhe against him and kiss you like he's supposed to—

"Kylar?" You ask, cutely tilting your head at him when you notice the far-off look in his eyes. "Your hands are really stiff, you have to loosen up! It'll feel better, promise!"

"O-Okay," He says, averting his eyes, trying his best to relax. You are his future spouse, after all. It's fine. He'll teach you things too, eventually. "I-Is this better?" He asks, hands still slightly twitching against you. His shoulders rest low now, rather than sitting high up like a scared cat's back. You smile, tracing a thumb across Kylar's cheek.

"It's better. We can move on now."

You lean forward and press a soft kiss to the corner of Kylar's lips. He sighs impatiently, lips morphing into an honest pout.

"Foreplay is very important, Kylar."

Your once still hands begin petting Kylar. He melts against you, whining loudly, unashamed of each wailed sound. A slur of begging and pleading follows, along with a noticable bulge forming behind his crossed legs. You continue your ministrations, smiling through each peck you place everywhere but his lips.

Foreplay? He thought that was only a sex thing— has he been doing this wrong the whole time? If anything, this is more teasing than foreplay. It's horrible. "W-What are you d-doing, my love?" Kylar fusses against each kiss, squirming against each soft pet you place. "Y-You're teasing me, a-and—"

"Foreplay can be words, or touches, anything that isn't kissing, Kylar."

Kylar doesn't like it. This 'foreplay'. It feels like an extension of teasing. Something cruel that you've decided to make up because you don't like his kisses.

"You're perfect, Kylar... So good to me and I'm so lucky to have you."

"H-Huh? N-No, y-you're the perfect one a-and—"

You giggle softly at his stuttering, continually mumbling praises until Kylar is fighting his most primal urges to not kiss you back.

"P-Please!"

"Shh, I haven't even showed you how to kiss yet!"

Kylar doesn't think he'll survive.

"When you kiss, you have to be passionate - you don't have to worry about that part though," Kylar beams at you, a heavy blush still starkly coating his cheeks.

"Y-Yeah?"

"Yeah, but there's other parts to kissing too."

You take your hands off of Kylar, waving them around for emphasis.

"You have to be gradual with it - you can't just shove your tongue into my mouth unannounced! And you can't just bite me out of nowhere, either!"

"O-Oh..."

"Here, I'll show you."

You carefully tilt your head until your lips slot against Kylar's. They buzz from the contact, still sensitive from Kylar's past assault. Lips melting together like butter on a hot plate, bonded together until they would eventually solidify. You could taste the overwhelming sweetness of an off-brand energy drink on his tongue and lips, sweet and lemony sour. You smile into the kiss, tongue hesitantly parting Kylar's lips for entry. You're patient. Gentle. Loving.

Kylar sighs into the kiss, lazily kissing back, careful not to intrude on your demonstration. He wants to be eager. Wants to swallow your saliva and push his own into your mouth. But he doesn't.

You quickly nip Kylar's bottom lip when you pull away, cheekily smiling as he gapes at you, pressing two fingers to the graze. His face breaks out into a smile, eyes crinkling in delight as you unknowingly stake your claim on him.

Kylar stares at you, pleading. Yearning.

"Can I— Can I please k-kiss you now?"

"Okay... But remember what I taught you—"

You pause, looking at Kylar expectantly before you continue.

"—Slowly, okay?"

Kylar nods, eager to show you what he's learnt.

He falls forward into your lap, one hand cupped around the plump of your cheek, the other holding your waist. Just like you showed him. While his grip is a little tighter than it should be, it's nice. A soothing, grounding sort of feeling you'd never get from anyone else. A stark change from Kylar's usual needy tugging and snatching. His lips lazily drag across your face, leaving a snail-trail of saliva wherever his tongue traces. You squeak at the feeling, flinching back as Kylar quite literally licks your face. He hums softly, continuing his version of 'foreplay' until your squirming and whining from the grossness of it all.

He is slow. And he's doing everything but assaulting your lips, so you can't be upset with him. Kylar briefly meets your eyes. You can feel the longing within them. But it's gone quickly. Fleeting fast enough that you barely even see it. He leans close to the corner of your jaw, puffing warm air against the sensitive hairs on your neck. They tingle with each breath, goosebumps forming in anticipation.

"L-Love you so much," He mumbles hot against the shell of your ear. "So much." He pauses, pressing a soft peck just behind your ear before continuing his loving rambles, travelling down to your upper chest. "I-I won't— I won't let anyone else ever touch you l-like this," Kylar peers up at you from under your chin, green eyes being the only visible feature of his face.

"I-It's reserved for me, o-okay?"

You weakly nod, leaning into each peck he presses against your collarbones, reaching a hand to pet and scritch at the crown of his head as he kisses your body.

He quickly ends the foreplay just as soon, eager to taste your lips again.

"Only me," He mutters, slotting his lips against your own, pressing your bodies as close together as possible. The chapped texture of Kylar's lips is completely overshadowed by the gentle, fleeting presses placed against your moisturised lips. Each exhale through his nose is felt against your cupid's bow. His hands timidly pet at your body, trying to recreate a far-cry copy of what you did to him. He parts from you for a moment. "You taste so good, m-my love."

You giggle, slotting your lips back against his own, parting them just enough for Kylar to realise that you're giving him permission. He immediately thrusts his tongue into your mouth, exploring and licking at the pink flesh of your gums. He obnoxiously swallows as you squeak in surprise at the sudden entry. A muffled whine of his name slips out amidst the struggle, but Kylar, too engrossed in the delectable taste of your mouth, doesn't even flinch.

His kissing ability is far from perfect.

A bit gross, even.

But it's fine.

You're sure Kylar won't argue against you offering any further kissing lessons.

#kylar the loner #dol kylar #dol #hatkuuasks #kylar x reader #degrees of lewdity kylar #kylar #degrees of lewdity #whoo boy. its DONE. never ask me for fluff again guys it KIIIILLLSS me.#thank gosh its DONE #never ever ask for fluffy stuff like this again waaaah #kuuskylarposting

487 notes · View notes

starry-bi-sky · 2 months

Text

Stuck in the middle of a forest made of

Flesh and bones and they're all scared of

A lost little boy who has lost his heart

Fear's not enough, they have to

Tear him apart —-------

There are two things Daniel Fenton knows that his family knows as well:

He’s adopted.

He can’t remember anything else before that.

‘Adoption’ is a loose term, implying that they went through the official legal processes and troubles of adopting a child into their home willingly, and with the full intention of doing so going into it. That is not what happened. What happened is that Jasmine Fenton found a half-dead child, in strange clothing, in the middle of the woods at her Aunt Alicia’s cabin, and then she went and got her parents.

What happened is that a twelve year old Danny woke up in the same cabin, wearing clothes much too big on him that didn’t belong to him, and with very little memory of before that moment. He wakes up like a spring being set loose, sitting up so fast he scares the daylights out of Jasmine Fenton sitting next to him. He wakes up, reaching for his sleeve for something that isn’t there, and when it isn’t his mind stutters, like he’s tripped at the top of a steep hill.

When they ask him for his name, he tells them, clearing muddled thoughts from his mind; Danny. He’s twelve.

(He thinks that’s his name, at least. It sounds right; it feels right. If he thinks really hard about it, he thinks he can remember someone calling him that, utter adoration in their voice. So it must be his name.)

The Jasmine girl convinces her parents to take him home with them, and they give him the spare guest room upstairs. He has nothing to fill it with.

It’s… a strange experience, to go to a ‘new’ home when he doesn’t even remember his old one.

The official adoption process… happens. He can’t say it’s easy, or difficult. He’s oblivious for the most of it, Jasmine intends on helping him settle in and Danny can’t say he enjoys the smothering. He learns that he is stubbornly self-independent, that’s one new thing he knows about himself.

His adoption papers say ‘Daniel J. Fenton’. Danny remembers staring at the name ‘Daniel’ for a long, long moment, something curdling sour in his sternum. His name is Danny, that he knows. But it’s not Daniel. But he doesn’t know any other way of saying it, so he keeps his complaints to himself.

(Jack Fenton boisterously claps his hand on Danny’s shoulder and jerks him around, grinning wide as he welcomes him into the Fenton Family. Danny’s mind blanches at the touch on his shoulder, an instinct snapping like the maw of a snake, telling him to cut off the man’s fingers for daring to touch him.)

(He keeps the thought to himself, tension rising up his shoulders the longer Jack Fenton’s heavy hand stays on him.)

They found Danny in the summer. It’s a perfect coincidence, Maddie Fenton says before she goes back into her lab with Jack Fenton. She says it’s enough time to allow Danny to adjust; that they’ll enroll him into the school year in the fall. Then she stuffs a canister of ectoplasm onto the top shelf, and disappears like the ghosts she studies back down the stairs.

(There’s something eerily familiar about the ectoplasm sitting in the fridge, something unsettlingly so. Danny knows what that stuff is, but he doesn’t know where. When the house is empty, he takes a can from the fridge and inspects it.)

Jazz wants him to leave the house. Danny doesn’t want to step foot outside of the FentonWorks building until he has something that quells the feeling of vulnerability he gets whenever he does. He tried to once, and he felt exposed. Unsafe.

He turned back around and went inside.

—-------

Where do we go

When the river's running slow

Where do we run

When the cats kill one by one

—------

One day, when the house is empty — or, as empty as it can be; the Fenton parents down in the lab, and jazz out with friends. Danny is making a sandwich, and he caves into the urge to flip the knife in his hands between his fingers. A childish impulse, but one he falls for nonetheless. It comes to him easily, like second nature, in fact. The slip of the blade between his fingers is seamless, flowing with an ease like water running down the wall.

He’s almost startled by it; his body holds memories that his mind does not. Muscles that know which way to move and twist, limbs that know how to hold and how to throw. He continues twirling it, fascinated, as if he were a scientist discovering a new species of animal.

It’s not for a handful of minutes when a new thought hits him; an impulsive thought that pops in the back of his mind like a firecracker; Danny moves without thinking.

He turns, and throws the knife. The pull of his shoulder, the flick of his elbow, is familiar like a hug. He knows when to let go, and the blade flies through the air in impressive speed, embedding itself into the wall with a hearty, loud thunk. Sinking into the drywall like butter.

Danny stares at it in shock, he feels relieved — about what? — before he feels the guilt. He scrambles across the kitchen to pull it out, heart racing in his chest at being caught, and prays no one notices the hole it left behind.

(He runs up the stairs before anyone can find him, food forgotten, and hides the knife beneath his mattress like a guilty murder weapon.)

After that, he leaves the house more. It’s more out of fear of being caught than the desire to leave. But Danny is quickly learning that among all things, he is someone who was dangerous, before he lost his memory. Even with his mind in fractures, he is still dangerous.

He’s not sure how to feel about that — he thinks he should be scared. He feels a little proud, instead.

—------

Hazel beneath our claws

While we wait for cerulean to cry

Unsettled ticks run through time

Enough for the hunt to go awry

—-----

There’s another thing he learns about himself. That he knows about since he woke up. He knows that he left someone behind. He doesn’t know who, but he knows they must have been close; he’s always looking down and finding himself surprised when the only shadow he sees is his own.

He thinks that he must have sung to them a lot; he finds himself humming familiar melodies when he’s lost in thought. Lullabies lingering at the tip of his tongue, an instinct to turn and sing them to someone beside him. He can’t remember the lyrics, but his mouth does, it tries to get him to say them when he’s not thinking. He can’t.

Danny’s found himself humming under his breath more times than he can count, trying to recall whatever it is his mind is trying to claw forward.

(“That’s a pretty song, Danny.” Jazz tells him at breakfast one day, Danny screws his mouth shut. He hadn’t realized he was humming. “What is it?”)

(Something mean and possessive rears its head on instinct, uncoiling like a snake from its ball. His shoulders hunch defensively, he bites his cheek to prevent himself from baring his teeth. He doesn’t know what song it is, but it’s not for her. “I don’t know.”)

He misses his person. Dearly. He knows, the longer he is without them, that they must have been close. Otherwise, he wouldn’t feel like he’s missing a chunk from himself. He wouldn’t be turning to someone who's not there; reaching for a hand that’s missing, birdsong on his tongue, a story to tell.

A dream haunts him one night. Warm and familiar, he’s holding onto someone smaller than him, they’re tucked into his side like a puzzle piece. He’s humming one of his songs that is always playing in the back of his mind, an unfinished tale of a harpy and a hare. Danny can’t remember their face, not all of it. He remembers green eyes, hair dark like his own, skin brown like his.

He loves them more than anything else in the world, a fact he knows down to his soul. He loves them so much it fills his heart with sunlight. Danny squeezes them tight, nuzzling into their hair; he makes them laugh. Then, he proudly boasts something. That when he takes something of their father’s, that his person — a sibling? That feels right — will be… the word fades from Danny’s mind before he can make sense of it.

His person hugs him tight, his… brother? And their mother — a woman whose face he can’t remember either, but who he loves like a limb nonetheless — appears, smiling. Her hands reach for them both, voice calling them, ‘her sons’. There’s ticking in the distance, it sounds like the fastening of chains.

Danny wakes up cold, tears streaming down his face. The details of the dream already fading from his mind like the cold pull of a corpse.

—-------

Harpy hare

Where have you buried all your children?

Tell me so I say

—-------

When school starts that Fall, Danny joins the sixth grade class, and quickly learns more things about himself. One of those things being that he’s smarter than the rest of his grade, whatever education he had before, it was better than the one he’s getting now.

Everyone knows he’s adopted right off the bat. He tells them when the teacher forces himself to introduce himself, but it’s not like they needed him to tell them for them to know; he never existed in their little world before now, and the Fentons are pale as they come. Danny is not.

He befriends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley; they ask him about the scars fading up and down his arms, they ask him about the scar carved diagonal across his face.

Danny, as politely as he can, tells them he doesn’t remember. He thought kindness would come second nature to him, his dream burned into his mind where he hugged his brother so sweetly. Apparently, his sweetness is only second nature to people he considers his own.

(It becomes even more apparent when Dash Baxter tries to bully him later that day, and Danny ruffles like an eagle threatened. His mind whispers, hissy and agitated, sinking like a shadow at his shoulder, several different ways Danny could kill him for talking to him like that, and fifteen more ways he could cripple him.)

(Danny ignores those thoughts, up until Dash Baxter tries to grab him. Then he breaks his nose on the wood of his desk. It’s easy how quickly the rest of his grade sinks him down to the status of social pariah.)

(At least Sam and Tucker still talk to him after that. When Danny goes to the principal’s office later, he wisely doesn’t mention the worse things he could’ve done than break Dash Baxter’s nose.)

—--------------

It clicks and it clatters in corners and borders

And they will never

Hear me here listen to croons and a calling

I'll tell them all the

Story, the sun, and the swallow, her sorrow

Singing me the tale of the Harpy and the Hare

—-------

More dreams come, of course they do. Each one halfway to forgotten whenever he wakes up, ticking faint in his ears. He is many different ages. He is young, shorter than a table. He is older, holding onto his little brother. He is singing in almost every single one. He is singing to his brother.

Danny can barely remember the lyrics, he’s begun leaving a journal by his bedside so that it’s the first thing he can write down when he wakes up. He’s a storyteller, he learns. He feels like a historian, trying to piece together a culture long dead and forgotten.

His most vivid dream-like memory is not a happy one, and for once he’s almost relieved he barely recalls it. He is somewhere that isn’t home, but his mother and brother are there. He is dressed in black, blades keen in his hands.

They are atop a moving train. They are fleeing something. His brother is struggling to keep up, he is small, and young. It’s beautifully sunny, they are somewhere green and lovely.

It is a fast dream.

His brother stumbles on something, and Danny, fast as a whip, snatches him by the back of his shirt and hoists him up to his feet before he can fall. “Watch your feet, habibi.” He murmurs low, a hand on his back. It’s hard to hear, there is wind in their ears.

His brother, face obscured in all but his eyes, which are green as emeralds, nods.

The dream blurs, but Danny falls behind. His foot catches on air — impossible, it should’ve been, at least. He never trips. — and he lands against the roof with a thud and a grunt. His mother and brother stop, and turn for him.

The train hits a turn before Danny can get up, and he shouldn’t have, something pulls on him, he swears, but he slips. He can’t find the purchase to pull himself up, cold fear hits him as his nails scrape against the metal.

His mother and brother’s horrified faces are the last thing he sees before he disappears off the side of the train.

(The ticking is at its loudest when he wakes up, pounding against his inner skull. He only manages to write down ‘train fall’ in his journal, before he’s flipping over to press his head into his pillow to get the pain to stop.)

—---

She can't keep them all safe

They will die and be afraid

Mother, tell me so I say

(Mother, tell me so I say)

—-------

When Danny is fourteen he is still humming songs he can’t remember, his mind still in a broken puzzle. But his room is now decorated with stars and plants in every corner. He has a guitar he keeps in the corner of his room, and he plays the lullabies in his head on the strings over and over again.

The ectoplasm in the fridge still unsettles him, still reminds him of a past he can’t recall. The knife beneath his mattress has returned to the kitchen — he doesn’t need it. He found a box in the attic last year, it had his name on it, and inside he found familiar, strange clothes, and more weapons than he thought was possible to carry on one person.

(Even without knowing that the Fentons prefer guns to blades, Danny knows, instinctively, that they were his weapons. He was — was? Is — a dangerous person. He takes the box down to his room to sort through. The weapons all fit into his callused hands almost perfectly — the grooves worn to fit his palm. They’re just a little small.)

(He tentatively takes a small blade with him to school one day, and feels much more comfortable with it sheathed beneath his shirt. He’s kept it on him ever since, like he’s reunited a lost limb to himself.)

Danny doesn’t have a name for his person, his little brother, nor does he have a name for his beloved mother. He’s haunted by dreams every few weeks, many of them repeating. He’s ingrained the words he can remember to memory, and the ones he doesn’t, he writes down in his journal. His little brother; Danny calls him a bird, he can’t figure out what kind. His little bird of some kind; when Danny takes something from their father — what, he can’t remember what — then his little brother will be a little bird.

(He doesn’t have a name for his brother, yet, but he’s calling his birdie in his head. It’s better than nothing.)

—------

Seeker, do you ever come to wonder

If what you're looking for is within where you hold

Will you leave a trail for them to follow a path

You'll soon forget

Home

—---------

When he’s fourteen, Danny dies. It does nothing to fix his fractured memories, much to his consternation. It just confirms something he already knows; that he was someone dangerous, and that he still is.

When the shock of death has worn off, Danny inspects his ghost in the metal reflection of the closest table. It’s blurry, hard to see, but shock green eyes pierce back at him, green like the portal. Lazarus, Danny’s mind whispers, and he blinks rapidly.

‘Lazarus,’ he mouths to himself. It’s familiar. Sam shows him with her phone what he looks like, joking that he looks like an assassin. Danny doesn’t think she’s that too far off.

He doesn’t tell her that. He tucks the thought away with the rest of his secrets, and fiddles with the hood gathering at his neck, attached to a cape with torn edges swinging down to his ankles. He pulls it over his shock white hair. It shadows over his face impossibly so, until all you can see are his green-green eyes peering out like a wolf hiding in the brush.

He ends up calling himself Phantom.

(Maybe now he can start putting lyrics to his lullabies; his memories may not have returned, locked away with the sound of a clock, but the dead can talk. One of them may just have answers.)

----------

Home is where we are

Home is where you are

Home is where I am

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

Dedicated to @gascansposts for being the one who introduced me to the band Yaelokre, and thus being the whole reason I was inspired to write this in the first place >:] Those lyrics at the line breaks are all from their album Hayfields.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #danyal al ghul au #amnesiac danyal al ghul au #songs in order of the album: the hartebeest / harpy hare / and the hound / neath the grove is a heart #musician danny has my heart and soul #yes this danyal IS an alternative danny from the other au. an au where things were a little better :) but still sucks #implied good mom talia al ghul #danyal is a momma's boy send tweet #dpxdc ficlet #dpxdc prompts #dp x dc au #dp x dc fanfic #danyal is sTILL five years older than damian in this au #no beta no edits we die like danny fenton #poc danny fentons #i didnt know where to end this :(( i was gonna go on but i blanked. i thought about going into his relationships with his rogues and so on.#but that felt too much like trying to just increase the word count rather than actually writing?? if that makes sense #ugh im gonna have forgotten to include things and im gonna be kicking myself later #morally ambiguous danny whoo! we love to see it #since this was just for fun it doesnt really go into it all that much other than like. it happens. and that danny realizes he's dangerous #phantom in a hazmat suit? nah phantom looking like an assassin >:].#danyal al ghul with damian and his mom: 🥰🌸✨#danyal al ghul with everyone else: 👹🔪#am i heavily implying that clockwork had smth to do with Danyal’s amnesia and appearance by the cabin? 👀 maybe #not enough danyal al ghul aus where him being an assassin actually. has some kind of affect on him

371 notes · View notes

beeg-bark · 5 months

Text

god the feeling of being held by someone but in a threatening possessive way, feeling their claws scrape down your face, a reminder that there is nothing but malice behind their gentleness and at any moment they could tear you to shreads

#asexual kink #dogbone #fear kink #monster kink #one of my partners brought her nail rings today #AND WHOO BOY #hhhhhhhhgg #VERY PRETTY WOMEN WITH CLAWS YOU AGREE YES??

21 notes · View notes

wizardyandcheesesammich · 8 months

Text

Insane on the head about current lore

Phil deserved to explode.

He deserved to scream and shout and rage because, holy shit, both of his kids have been missing for a month and he doesn't even know if they are alive.

He has been trying his absolute best to say calm, to stay afloat and to be dependable. But he's also falling apart when no one is looking.

He deserved to explode at the man (his own son?) who left a child in his care for months on end with no return date to speak of.

Wilbur spent 8 days with Tallulah.

Phil protected her, raised her, cared for her, held her as she cried, cherished every conversation and loved her as his own for 6 months.

That's his daughter, too.

That's his daughter.

((This is not to hate on cubito wilbur, from his pov and with the info available to him it makes sense to act as he does, but phil's side of this whole situation is just devastating. There is no good guy or bad guy here, it's just a family going through the unimaginable.))

#Friendly reminder that this is all about cubitos #ccs are basically actors playing characters so let's all be chill and enjoy the show #that out of the way whoo boy who else was getting properly emotional about THAT interaction #qsmp #qsmp philza #qsmp wilbur #qsmp tallulah #q!wilbur #q!philza #q!tallulah

484 notes · View notes

matttheratkingart · 4 months

Text

My coworker refer to this as Seductive Clown Piracy and it’s the highest praise I could have gotten tbh

Print here

Inspo cover under cut:

#shuggy #buggy the clown #red haired shanks #one piece #this was. whoo boy. more than I could handle #had ideas for more covers but oof on that lol

362 notes · View notes

that-sweet-jester · 2 years

Text

Just a bunch of bad guys

A little background below ⬇⬇⬇

HA I TRICKED YOU, it's not little, it's a lot!

Alright, this was just supposed to be an attempt at character design of my own after I read bunch of Superhero AUs, but I got carried away and created some lore :')

-WILBUR-

Full Name: Both him and Techno had been adopted by Philza at young age and took up his last name, but wanted to keep something of their own. Hence, both have their nicknames "Soot" and "Blade" (not last names, they don't know what they were).

Alias: I wanted to base all names of the Syndicate on Greek mythology, however I had hard time finding something for Wilbur. I came close to calling him Apollo, but most of the things attributed to this god, aside being the patron of music, just didn't align with what I had in mind for him. Thus, ta da, "very original" Siren. Even tho, it's not really a name name - "lured sailors to their death with a bewitching song" just fits too well.

Powers: Hypnotic voice was an obvious choice, but I wanted all of them to have two main abilities. Thus, after long search I stumbled upon enhanced hearing, and hear me out. Wilbur wears mask over his eyes (he can see through it) but it gives the illusion that one of his senses is gone, and what they say when one sense is taken away? Another one amplifies >:D And I just think that someone whose powers are based on sound would be more sensitive to it. It's not like he has super hearing for miles away, he can just hear well what someone is whispering like few meters away form him :p

OK THAT'S IT. I think that's the most I've ever written on this site. To anyone who've read the whole thing: ily <333 thank for reading my rambling and sorry for any grammatical errors, English is not my first language and I was too lazy to do a spell check.

-TECHNO-

Full name: Explained before. I'm sorry, but I just can't separate those names from them, there is no Techno without Blade.

Alias: Now I spent a lot of time on this one, bc I just couldn't settle on anything. First I thought about Ares, for being the patron of blood lust and warfare, but just, it didn't work that much for me, I just think there should be more meaning behind the name. Then I searched more, I stumbled on Polemos and some other I can't remember and finally settled on Perses.

PERSES was the Titan god of destruction. He was the father of Hekate, goddess of witchcraft, by the Titanis Asteria ("Starry One"). Perses' name means "the Destroyer" or "the Ravager" from the Greek words persô and perthô. Hesiod inexplicably describes him as "preeminent among all men in wisdom"

And I just think this one's perfect. God of destruction? nice. "The Ravager"? Techno loved mc ravagers and I just can't pass this coincidence. "Preeminent among all men in wisdom"? Man's crazy smart, also as I'll explain more in a moment, Techno knows things he shouldn't really know, and he's almost always ahead of everyone, so, check. Also, my fav goddess aside form Persephone is Hecate so, additional point.

Powers: Enhanced durability is pretty explanatory. Mans could be thrown through a building and only his hair would get messy, maybe a bruise here and there and a lot of complaining, but that's it. You need someone equally powerful to bring him down. NOW, hyper awarness, man oh man, so I NEEDED to include the voices somehow. And I never saw them as something negative in his case. Of course, during combat, they start to demand bloodshed and make him sometimes loose control or result in sensory overload. BUT most of all, thanks to them he knows things - names of people or locations he never seen before, where the punch is coming at him from, answers to weird questions, who stole his food, and why is it always Wilbur, etc etc. So, yeah I thought that writing it down as hyper awarness, might work.

Additional info: His eyes are always red, but his sclera changes color to black when he's out on a mission or fighting, basically when the voices become louder the eyes become more intense in color. As civilian he wears red glasses most of the time to somehow mask the real color.

-PHILZA-

Full Name: You have no idea how much I wanted to write him down as Philza Mine Craft.

Alias: So, I also struggled to find a name for him. I was battling between Thanatos or simply calling him The Angel of Death. But then I was struck and everything became clear. I love fanfics where Phil was a hero before he saw how bad the system is and decides to become the "bad guy" who's actually kinda good, but does bad things sometimes. So, why not use it. In my version, before he became a villain, he was known as Angel, the Hero Committee wasn't as fully developed, so the heros still could stay anonymous, that's why even now they don't know his real identity. After he left he decided to take up new alias and therefore Thanatos was born. Person with black wings associated with Death, also now has a scythe??? Fits perfectly. And that's how people from calling him Angel started calling him The Angel of Death.

Powers: He has the ability to hide his wings and manifest them whenever he wants. I thought about making them just permanent, but I think it's just cooler when suddenly you see a character spring out a pair of big wings out of their back out of nowhere for the shock effect. (no i wasn't just too lazy to draw them, what are you talking about)

Avian telephaty - I also just couldn't not include the Chat. Wherever you see a cloud of crows you know the Angel of Death is nearby. He can communicate with any bird that is a raven, crow or rook. They're his eyes and ears.

Now, I can't leave without giving some credit to the writers that inspired me:

The Oath of Hippocrates by Melatonin_High

tommyinnit's clinic for supervillains by bonesandthebees (bonesandcacti)

Welcome Home Theseus by SoulfirePhoenix

All of them are on Ao3 and are super cool, so give them a read <3

Also, I'm planning on drawing Vigilante Benchtrio but we'll see how much that'll take me xd

3K notes · View notes