#phantom shuffle au

[rindomness]

Hermit rank 7.

#rin draws stuff #phantom shuffle au #persona 5 #my children . everything to me ever #akira kurusu #futaba sakura

[kawaiichibiart]

Ya know, it would be, such a shame, if a new AU for the latest PRSK April Fool's unit shuffle was made.

It'd be...so, awful of me to suggest this, tragedy.

It'd be cruel to even think about these Phantoms of the Opera falling for these bakers with a cottagecore-esque aesthetic. Thinking about them falling in love...

So deeply in love that it gives them a new life's purpose.

It'd be a shame to cut that down...

Or should I say, burn it down?

#that said and done someone probably already did this #if so i'd like a link or something (: #project sekai #project sekai colorful stage #hatsune miku colorful stage #proseka #prosekai #colorful stage #tsukasa tenma #tenma tsukasa #rui kamishiro #kamishiro rui #ruikasa #minori hanasato #hanasato minori #haruka kiritani #kiritani haruka #minoharu #toya aoyagi #aoyagi toya #akito shinonome #shinonome akito #akitoya #(:

[lets-just-daydream]

Astarion x reader soulmate AU or vampire mates PLS IM BEGGING

I HOPE YOU LIKE! I did have fun writing this 🥹

Warnings: mentions of torture, nothing graphic

Astarion was sure of few things in the tragedy that was his life. But the things he was sure of were the things that killed his spirit. Things that quashed his will to live.

After two hundred years, he was sure he would die here, under Cazador's thumb. He wasn't sure when or how, but that would happen.

After two hundred years, he was sure that there were no gods out there who would ever answer him. He stopped praying to them long ago, for they clearly didn't care about creatures like him. Creatures of the night.

After two hundred years, he was sure that he had no soulmate. No partner that was out there waiting for him. Perhaps it was wishful thinking and in fact he hoped he had no soulmate out there, that maybe they were long dead by this point if they were lucky.

He thought it cruel, the way soulmates worked and deigned a guess that Loviatar must have had something to do with the cruel design. A person can feel their soulmate’s pain. How awful. And how truly awful for any person bound to himself or his siblings.

He hadn't felt any phantom pain himself in all his years under Cazador so he remained hopeful that they were already dead. Gods know his soulmate didn't deserve it.

One day, Astarion sat in his dilapidated bunk with the heavy curtains pulled shut and a threadbare blanket over his shoulders as he worked diligently with his needle, repairing his beloved shirt for… well he'd lost count how many times he'd repaired this shirt. That's just the way it was.

As he pulled the white thread through the thinning fabric, he let out a yelp and a strained “fuck!” as he dropped the needle and his hand flew to his foot. His small toe ached as if he'd just dropped something on it or stubbed it. He frowned and looked down at it. It looked fine but gods, the pain was awful.

Any other person would know, would get that feeling that their soulmate had just hurt themselves but the possibility was so far removed from Astarion's mind. He brushed it off with an annoyed huff and picked his needle up again to continue his repairs, the pain eventually fading.

It happened again, a few weeks later. An inexplicable pain that changed the course of his sad existence. It was late, he was out. At the Elfsong Tavern, chatting up some stranger to bring back to Cazador. He wasn't really paying attention to what she was saying, but he feigned interest, nodding where appropriate and throwing in the occasional affirmation as he sipped the goblet of wine paid for by stolen coin he'd lifted from an unsuspecting drunkard.

Astarion shuffled closer to her, wanting to speed this along. His hand came up and pulled her hair back from her ear and whispered.

“What do you say we get out of here and somewhere more quiet…” His voice silken and honey smooth.

Mere words whispered and she was a red, blushing mess. He heard her heartbeat pick up and she nodded, her excitement obvious only to him. He stood from his seat and extended his hand to her and as she reached out to him, an intense pain marred his knee. Astarion doubled over and grasped at his knee, letting out a curse as he pulled his pant leg up to examine whatever injury he'd just sustained.

There was nothing there, his knee smooth and pale, slightly bruised but that wasn't out of the ordinary. He felt like he should be bleeding with a sizeable wound. He whipped his head around to see if anyone had attacked him but no one paid him any mind except his “date.”

Astarion was annoyed and confused. He lowered his pant leg again with a huff and the woman who he didn't bother to learn the name of let out a laugh. “Seems like your soulmate is out there getting into trouble.”

If Astarion had warm blood coursing through his veins, it would have gone cold.

“What?”

The woman stood, grabbing her belongings. “Your soulmate. Obviously hurt their knee since you're in pain but seem fine. Happens to all of us. I'm almost certain my soulmate got their arm chopped off last week based on the pain I felt for days and days.”

She shuddered and grimaced, rubbing her left arm. “You see anyone with a fucked up arm, come find me. Goodnight.”

And then she left. She left him in a stupor and a predicament. Firstly, it was too late to try and seek anyone else out to bring to Cazador tonight. By Astarion's estimations the sun should be rising soon and he needed to get back to the palace. The thought of arriving empty handed caused a familiar panic to rise in him at whatever torture he was certainly due for this day.

But secondly, and possibly worse if he let himself think about it too much… whatever pain he was about to go through would be inflicted onto you. His unsuspecting soulmate. If what that woman said was to be believed, anyway.

Astarion wandered back to the palace in a haze. He ping ponged between self-preservation and not letting himself get worked up over the fact that you were about to be tortured, put through some of the worst pain you could ever endure. He tried not to think about it. Tried not to be weak but he couldn't help the guilt. Even if he did manage to find you, even if you were out there, you could never want him after what you were both about to go through tonight.

Hours later, after Cazador had finished taking his wrath out on Astarion for failing to bring him a victim, he wept. He often wished for death, never prayed but he did this day, with each flog, flay torture, he wept in excess for you.

Your whole body ached. You'd been saved from falling to your demise at the very least as the nautiloid ship crashed but gods you’d still had some momentum when you hit the ground.

Pain was… quite normal for you these days and you lived most of your life in fear for when the next bout of pain was going to knock you out for several days. Whoever your soulmate was, whatever life they lead, you felt awful for them. You couldn't help but also feel a little resentment for all the torturous pain you'd been through and when you finally did meet them, you were going to demand some fucking answers. Not only did they seemingly get beaten up everyday, but the constant hunger pains you felt never went away despite how much you ate. Were they starving themselves?

For now though, you stood and took in your surroundings, dusting your clothes off and squinting as the bright sun beat down on you. You stepped through scraps of metal towards some rocky cliffs and to what looked like a path. You made it through and saw someone, a tall, pale elf standing by the cliffside, examining the damage made by the crash. His hand staked through his hair and he looked around warily until he finally laid eyes on you.

“You there!” He called out. He sounded posh and you internally rolled your eyes. “Can you help me? I have one of those… brain things cornered.”

You walked over to him and peered into the bush where he was pointing and you jumped slightly when a boar ran out from the underbrush. You let out a laugh and sigh of relief and turned back to him but before you knew what was what, a cool knife was pressed against your neck and you fell to the ground, a grunt of pain escaping yours and the elf’s lips.

His arm came around your shoulder and he held you in place as you struggled, looking up at him. “What are you doing?” You cried.

He pressed the dagger against your neck and you felt a nick of pain as he drew blood. You cried out in pain and to your surprise, so did he. You paused, confused. The stranger also paused, his body stiffening and his eyes zeroed in on your neck where his dagger met your skin.

You took this moment to your advantage and rolled out of his arms, making sure to elbow his face in the process. But as the crack of your elbow made contact with his nose, you cried out in pain and grasped at your nose, standing and looking at him in accusation.

He also stood, holding onto his nose and his neck.

He couldn't be.

Neither of you dared say a word as you clutched your faces in pain, staring. Waiting. For what, you weren't sure but the pieces started to fall into place and you slowly stepped towards him. He stiffened and leaned away from you but you grabbed his arm and pinched it, grimacing softly when, yes. You felt the same phantom pain in your own arm on the same spot. You said nothing and only stared into the stranger's red eyes.

He in turn, grabbed your arm and squeezed, stopping when it began to hurt.

This was it. This was him. This was your soulmate.

“No way,” you whispered.

The stranger turned soulmate seemed to be in a similar state of disbelief. “You're… real,” he murmured.

Whether he was pleased or upset, you weren't sure. He kept his feelings quashed. But you felt no desire to do such a thing. You'd often thought about what you would say when you finally met your soulmate and now that you were here, seeing his pale skin, his eyes with accompanying bags to match and his expression that he tried to keep impassive but you could see the fear etched onto his face your rehearsed words failed you.

Instead, you stepped forward and placed your hand on his arm comfortingly. He stiffened at the contact.

“I'm sorry,” is all you managed to whisper, your eyes wide and apologetic.

You didn't need to elaborate, he knew and you knew that he'd been put through shit, you along with him. You didn't resent him like he thought you would, you didn't accuse him or yell at him for what he'd put you through. No. You apologised to him.

He shuddered out a sigh of relief and stared at you, a small smile on his face.

“My name's Astarion.”

#red writes #astarion x reader #astarion fanfiction #astarion fic

[furiarossa]

We got to see both Jack and Vlad as half-ghosts, but how come we never got as much as a glimpse of a timeline where it's our scientist homegirl that goes ghost? It was our specific duty to rectify that!

And oh boy, while we were sketching this silly idea out we started mentally diving into the potential of this AU. We have ideas... We might put them on paper 👀

Of course we wanted to play more with her design and avoid making her looking exactly like Vlad's Plasmius except it's Maddie (like it happened to Jack Plasmius, what was the deal with that one?), so the color palette gets shuffled so it resembles more her regular palette but inverted, and she got her trademark goggles in a nice green to mimick the portal (and because it's rad)!

[Oh, and a lot more of our Danny Phantom fanarts: Here’s our tag!]

★ FurAffinity|Deviantart|Commission prices|Tapas|Pillowfort★

#danny phantom #maddie fenton #phanart #danny fantom fanart #ghost #maddy plasmius #art #my art #fanart #my fanart #colored work #traditional art #AU #danny phantom AU #2024 #my danny phantom #danny phantom maddie #maddie #plasmius gang #dr. plasmius

[ev-arrested]

You AU/crossover mfers will actually just say anything. Tell me why I saw a dedicated Phineas and Ferb AU with MULTIPLE PARTS?? If that creator’s reading this, shoutout to you because what the fuck. And whoever’s got the dick/wally/roy Tangled AU is also the goat. Love the dedication.

Like you guys just say words. “Moulin Rouge AU with Dick as Satine, Wally as Christian, Slade as the duke” HELLO??????? What are we talking about. How did we get here

I will eradicate Danny Phantom, White Collar, and Ladybug crossovers from my dash, but if someone really gets on here and says “okay here me out. Hunchback of Notre Dame: Dick as Esmeralda, Azrael as Frollo, Roy as Phoebus” I am SAT because that is INSANE inject it into my VEINS what are you even TALKING ABOUT I am OBSESSED

Someone will wake up one day and apropos of nothing just create the nichest crossover known to man because they accidentally imagined a few characters singing to the musical number on their Spotify shuffle, it’s so funny and real.

Anyway reblog with your nonsense AUs for funsies, this is a safe space don’t worry

#pardon the aggression i swear this is a positive post #batman #nightwing #dc comics #dc au #dcu #dc crossover #ev-arrested

[sixpossumsinatrenchcoat]

Natural Satellite [ch 7]

An In Stars and Time AU. In part seven, Isabeau talks to Loop. (SPOILER WARNING for the entire epilogue / "secret ending" / "two hats" / just really all conceivable spoilers! Read at your own risk!!!!!!)

You’re not going to talk to him, obviously. You’re under no obligation to chat up every idiot who comes your way. You’ll just stay in your tree and wish you were dead, like you always do when your stardust is off having manic episodes and/or interviewing genocidal maniacs. But when he shuffles up to your tree, the Fighter has the gall to say, “Um… Loop? Are you home?” (NO.) Against your better judgment, you allow him to see you. "You don’t really believe that this little tree is my home, do you?” “Nnnot... anymore?” “Aw, Fighter,” you giggle. “Did you think that stars grew on trees? I’m devastated to deprive you of such a charming misconception.”

Again, and I cannot emphasize this enough: a6se spoilers below!!!!

(And a followup PSA: with all the unsettling updates viz a viz "whoops maybe AI-training / content-scraping is coming to Tumblr too," for now I think I'm gonna stop posting entire chapters on here! I'll still post a sizeable preview, but the work in full will continue to hide out on ao3.)

In hindsight, your first mistake was letting yourself believe that things couldn’t get any worse. You should have known the Universe would take it as a challenge.

* * *

In a field a quarter-mile further south and a few hundred feet to the east, a Traveler jolts awake. They sit up on their elbows just in time to see their Fighter hurtling into view.

The Fighter beams at him. “It worked!!!!!”

“—Buh?”

(Ve~ry articulate, stardust. Why, I can’t think of a single reason why the big guy might take that the worst way he can think of!!!)

Sure enough, the Fighter sags a little. “U-Um. I meant… looping back without dying?”

“...Oh.” They’re not looking at him, just down at their own hand. Running their fingers over their palm with a vague, faraway look in their eye. For a second, you can feel phantom fingers ghost over your wrist. “Um. Sorry.”

The Fighter looks baffled. “What? No. I mean, I’m sorry. Why are you sorry?”

The Traveler just keeps staring at their palm. When the Fighter’s eyes follow theirs, he flushes all the way down his neck.

You roll your eyes. He was always sooo~ easy. Not that your silly little stardust could ever rub two brain cells together for long enough to notice.

You can’t feel them all the way on the rooftop. Maybe it’s because you never made it that far. Or maybe it’s the King’s wish, dampening yours. But you can feel them now. The pins-and-needles prickle of your palm. Warm static fizzing up your arm. You can feel the way you— the way they’re looking at their Fighter, and trying not to look, and looking anyway. You have many faults, but you’re not stupid. You can put one and one together.

“UHHH,” the Fighter blurts out, overloud. “I’m… really sorry? I just… You said I had to do something you w-wouldn’t expect and I—I guess I really really didn’t want you to stab yourself, so…”

Your eyebrows twitch. (No they don’t. You don’t have eyebrows, probably. Unless you do? How would you ever know?)

“No,” your stardust mumbles. “It’s. Um. It’s… sorry, it’s… Sorry. Um. Don’t�� worry about it?”

(…Are they stupid? He’s definitely going to worry about it.)

“Okay!!!!” the Fighter shouts. “Cool!!! Then I definitely won’t!!!”

(Uh huh.)

The Traveler shakes his head muzzily. “I—uh. I should go… do something? Else?”

“Huh?”

They gather just enough of their shattered composure to muster a glare. “If you’re going to make us fight the King every time, then I need everyone’s special skills. Or else it’s going to take forever.”

“Everyone’s what-now?”

“Their— When I help them with their problems, they—” He huffs impatiently. “It doesn’t matter. I just mean, I have things to do. Now. With the others.”

Their Fighter blinks at them. “Wait. You get friendship quests?”

“...Yes?”

“Secret quests!!!” the Fighter gasps, brightening. “What do you do with everyone??”

“That’s private.”

“Okay, fair. Well, then, what did you do with me?”

The Traveler looks away. “…Not telling.”

Well, of course they won’t. Wouldn’t want their precious Fighter just… saying his lines. Parroting the same stupid sentiments over and over till the words all lose their meaning, like a certain blinding moron who you are, of course, far too decorous to name.

“U-Um,” the Fighter mumbles. “Okay, well. If you’re gonna be busy with the others, then… I think I wanna talk to Loop.”

You nearly fall out of your tree. Fortunately, the only witness is a nearby nest of swallows, which you’ve already sworn to silence.

In the field, your stardust looks almost as surprised. “You’re—what? Just you?”

The Fighter nods.

“You and Loop?”

“...Is that okay?”

“...Yes?” You can feel their bafflement all the way from here. Or is that yours? Sometimes it’s hard to tell.

* * *

You’re not going to talk to him, obviously. He’s not the one trapping you here. That would be his precious little Traveler. You’re under no obligation to chat up every idiot who comes your way. You’ll just stay in your tree and wish you were dead, like you always do when your stardust is off having manic episodes and/or interviewing genocidal maniacs.

But when he shuffles up to your tree, the Fighter has the gall to say, “Um… Loop? Are you home?”

(NO.)

Against your better judgment, you allow him to see you. "You don’t really believe that this little tree is my home, do you?”

“Nnnot anymore?”

“Aw, Fighter~,” you giggle. “Did you think that stars grew on trees? I’m devastated to deprive you of such a charming misconception.”

“That’s not what I—!! Aw, it doesn’t matter. Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Teehee! I wouldn’t worry about that!” Only people are capable of offense, and you haven’t been a person in a long time. “What is it that you want, Fighter? Or are you just here to enjoy the pleasure of my company.”

“Um… Well, I’m also here to say hi?”

Your patience thins. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

Isa— The Fighter flinches. “Haha… I guess I just wanted to ask about, um…” He pulls a notebook out of his pocket. “You and Sif have been trying to figure this out for, like, ages, right? Ages and ages of loops.”

“Mhmmm~~”

“And you’ve been talking with them this whole time.”

“That’s right! I’ve come to know my sweet little stardust quite intimately, teehee.”

The Fighter chokes. “I. Uh. Right. So, then, do you… Have you guys figured anything out about why this is happening?”

“‘Why,’ hm? Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves? I would’ve thought you’d start with ‘how.’”

“Well, it’s all one big ouroboros, isn’t it?”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “That’s an awfully big word for a guy who can’t even confess a crush.”

His face flushes violently. Bullseye.

“Oooh, did I guess right?” you giggle, like it wasn’t abundantly obvious. “How embarrassing! You have such bad taste!”

“Hey.”

“Am I wrong, though?” You wink. “You’ve seen how they’ve been acting. Now that the show is over, they’re finally ready to show their true shades.”

The Fighter’s fists clench. Good. Time to finish him off. If you play your cards right, he’ll never want to come back.

“Say, here’s a fun game!” you say brightly. “Do you want to guess how many times he let you all die just to save a little time?”

Want to finish out this chapter? You can read the rest on AO3!

#isat spoilers #in stars and time #isafrin #isat siffrin #isat isabeau #isat loop

[jus-a-lil-mouse]

@crossoverdanuary Day 1: Prison

from @this-is-z-art-blog‘s phantom falls au.

Danny shifts, the costume he’s wearing itching through his shirt. He’s hot, sweatier than normal, and cannot believe that he’s doing this. He stomps around, the paw-shoes of the Abominable Snowman suit big enough that if he doesn’t pay attention to where he sets his feet, he’ll fall right into the metal bars of the cage he’s stuck in.

Why did Aunt Alicia even have a fake cage? And the costume? And dear God, why did Danny agree to this?

Dani opens the door to the main museum area. She sets his water bottle down near the shadowy corner of the cage. “Do you have to go before the tour comes in?” she whispers.

“No, I’m all set,” Danny whispers back. “Are you leaving soon?”

Dani grins wide. Right - that’s why he agreed to this. “Yeah! In just a minute. Thanks again for covering for me.”

“Just… Please learn how to drive the golf cart,” Danny replies. “You have to stop crashing the golf cart.”

Dani nods, but Danny knows she isn’t listening. They hear a bike bell from outside, and Dani perks up. “That’s Val! I’ll see you later. You’re the best, bro!” She gives him a thumbs up as she exits, and he weakly gives her a thumbs up back. She promised to bring back an entire pie from the Lunch Lady’s for him.

The door swings open again, and Aunt Alicia leads a tour group in. Danny shuffles his feet. He watches Alicia show off the other exhibits and seethes at all of the inaccuracies she’s spewing. The group is halfway around the room when he realizes Dash and Paulina are in the back of the group.

He gets even sweatier somehow, and turns to the door of the massive cage. The paw-shaped gloves make it impossible to grip the heavy door enough to open it. He frantically paws at it, desperate to make sure the other tweens don’t see him.

“And here you can see the ferocious yeti!” Alicia announced. Abominable snowman, Danny corrects silently. He turns around slowly. Dash’s eyes light up and Paulina disinterested stare turns cruel.

“It looks pretty small to me,” Paulina says, interrupting Aunt Alicia. “And so raggedy. Like a wimpy dork getting eaten by feather boa.”

“Yeah, I bet yetis aren’t even real,” Dash snickers. “Probably just some nerd in their fursuit.”

Danny was saved from further embarrassment by a tourist in the front. “Yetis are real,” he announces confidently. “This one is so wimpy because we’re too far north. It’s malnourished. Yetis live much further south than people expect.”

If Danny really was an abominable snowman, he’d be pulling his fur off. Yetis weren’t native to North America; their slightly smaller cousins the abominable snowmen were. But he couldn’t say anything because he was in a stupid costume. Shit, was Dash right? Is this a fursuit?

Alicia cut in, swiftly taking over the tour. Danny shuffled around and kicked at the floor. He’d show them. He’d get a real abominable snowman, using the Journal, and he’d show them all.

#danny phantom #dp #phantom falls #crossover danuary week 2024 #dp alicia #mouse squeaks

[bitbybitwrites]

Wanted to say thank you to the lovely folks who have been tagging me for Six/Seven/Several Sentence Sunday and WIP Wednesday for the past few weeks: @porcelainmortal , @annepi-blog , @daisyishedwig , @sunnysideprince , @itsmaybitheway , @nocoastposts , @getmehighonmagic , @onthewaytosomewhere , @forabeatofadrum , @iboatedhere , @wordsofhoneydew , @duchessdepolignaca03 , @taste-thewaste , @14carrotghoul , @rockitmans . . . Thank you for thinking of me! 💖💖💖

Haven't written too much lately ( damn you Real Life getting in the way as always), but here are bits from two WIP ( one Klaine and one RWRB) for you all!

1.) From my final chapter for Falling For You (Klaine Secret Santa 2023 Fic) (Psst . . cc @mynonah)

“Good lord, Cooper, “ Blaine said as he tried to walk into the living room with the tower of precariously balanced, yet beautifully wrapped boxes in his arms.  “Did you buy everything in the store?” “It is the holidays, “ Cooper announced loudly.  “And if I wish to spoil my family, then so be it.” He removed his winter coat, handing it over to Kurt.  “You may find a little something under the tree for you too, as the newest part of our jolly crew. “  Cooper winked at Kurt.  “Just think, when you two becomes official, then I can really start some fun gifts.  But if nothing else, I think you and Squirt will both have fun with what I'm giving him this year.” Kurt blushed at the thought of “officially” becoming part of this crazy Anderson-Lopez clan in the future. Blaine stared at one of the presents in his hands and then at his brother.  “Wait.  Cooper, is this gift something that should not be opened in the presence of a 6 year old?” Kurt’s eyes widened as his head whipped around to stare at Cooper, who looked like the cat who drank the proverbial cream. “Maaaaaaaaybe . .  .” Cooper sing-songed gleefully as he sauntered away towards the kitchen. “Batteries are included.” He chirped happily over his shoulder to them. Kurt and Blaine both glanced at the shiny box warily, half expecting it to start vibrating on its own at any minute. “Should . .should I ask? Do I even want to know?” Kurt whispered. Blaine sighed as he placed it down among the presents around the tree, nudging it around to the back where it was hidden well.  “No, no you do not.” he muttered.

2.) From the phantom touch of your hand (RWRB Fantasy/ cursed tattoo! AU)

No one dared approach the hooded figure who appeared in the doorway of the inn that night.  As he entered, a hush fell over the room while everyone watched the stranger shuffle across the room to sit alone at a table closest to the fire.  His eyes were ice blue, his stare hardened, and his mouth set in grim line. The visitor's clothes bore witness to many a rough day upon the road. There were mud-caked boots upon his feet as well as a worn leather jerkin and breeches upon his frame. He sat hunched under a faded cloak that looked like it was once a thing to be coveted, but was now near threadbare in patches: it’s fine metallic embroidery dulled and its rich color faded. The stranger scowled at anyone who dared look his way, a thin scar that marred his fair skin rippling along his jaw as he did so.  There was a sword strapped to his waist which gleamed bright as its razor sharp blade caught the the reflections of the flames - its presence a visible and deadly warning for all to stay far enough away. A brave small boy scurried over to deposit a bowl and some bread in front of the visitor.  The swordsman tossed the child a coin for his trouble. “Ale, sir?” the boy inquired. Henry shook his head.  He had to keep his wits about him.  There would be time enough to drown his sorrows at the bottom of a tankard.   Later.  Once he and Alex made sure this blasted curse was lifted.

Tagging ( but no pressure of course) : @kirakiwiwrites , @madas-ahatters-world , @little-escapist , @gleefuldarrencrissfan ,

@gleefulpoppet , @hkvoyage , @esilher @datshitrandom @myheartalivewrites , @madas-ahatters-world ,

@spaceorphan18 , . . and open tag for anyone else who wants to share any projects their working on. 💖💖💖

#wip wednesday #six sentence sunday #WIP #bitbybitwrites #fic: falling for you #fic: the phantom touch of your hand #klaine fanfiction #klaine fanfic #klaine fic #klaine #rwrb fanfic #rwrb fanfiction #rwrb fic #red white and royal blue #firstprince #red white and royal blue fanfiction #rwrb #kurt hummel #blaine anderson #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor

[astranauticus]

the rwd season 4 qna inspired me to start thinking about college au headcanons except a lot of these are gonna be really specific to my school and y'all are just gonna have to deal with that <3

Kyana feeds some of the school cats. she would feed all of them if she could

Dani smuggled Plug (the scrawniest black cat you've ever seen) into her dorm room illegally and somehow management hasn't caught her yet (based on a true story) (Kyana visits to see Plug all the time)

Finbar keeps an updated tier list of every canteen in the school with breakdowns of the best stalls/dishes for each

A senior from the school of engineering once said to me 'all the engineering people dress like rats cuz our classrooms don't have aircon' (context: tropics) anyway that's Dani

Kyana would probably be involved in a lot of freshman orientation events from second year onwards. she just likes talking to the new kids and giving them advice like she would be the kind of orientation group leader who'd get messages from her freshies asking about all kinds of random nonsense because she's made sure they know they can always contact her with questions

VR-LA is The Guy you go to for textbook pirating resources

(this is more of a 'wouldn't that be funny' but VR-LA is just Veerle's discord handle)

Docent is the name of VR-LA's old laptop that broke down so he gave it to Cassimere (computer engineering major he met once at a networking event) to fix except Cassimere got everything off the hard drive and then somehow managed to fuck it up Even More so he had to get a new laptop (and named it Emi)

Roy has gotten food poisoning from his dorm meal plan at least once (based on at least one true story)

The heap trio + Mandy would be those friends constantly playing majong in the dorm lounge and if all the majong tables are taken they just play in one of their dorm rooms on a towel to dampen the tile shuffling noises (it was Mandy's idea)

Every morning Dani goes to the drinks stall at her faculty and orders one iced coffee to the point where the stall owner starts preparing an iced coffee whenever they see her approach (based on my true story)

Roy would be one of those people who goes clubbing every other week and every time he tries to drag the rest of the heap trio and Egan almost always goes and Dani would go if she didn't have a good excuse but always begrudgingly. anyway Roy would always be the only one having a good time until Egan gets drunk enough to start having fun

Finbar actually uses the dorm kitchens instead of just buying canteen food and it always makes the hallways smell really good

Vhas also uses the dorm kitchen sometimes but like. one time i walked into the pantry on my floor and someone had left cut sweet potatoes and 2 eggs in an inch of water in a pan on the stove. that's Vhas

Kyana's constantly applying for overseas exchanges and international summer/winter school programmes. the world is large and she wants to see it!

Maxim's the definition of a hall phantom. you know he lives on your dorm floor because you pass him by in the hallways sometimes and literally nowhere else. sometimes you're not convinced that he actually exists

VR-LA and Maxim's friendship stems from them being from wildly different faculties (VR-LA's in STEM, Maxim's doing anthropology so arts/social sciences) but also having lots of weird interests they cant really bug anyone in their home faculties about

Elyse is in student government and every once in a while Finbar receives a series of angry texts about the newest idiocy she's had to put up with

MR-SN and AS-TR start a stargazing club together. other notable members include AS-TR's girlfriend E-DN, MR-SN's friend C-RA (the one who always volunteers to carry the heavy ass telescopes) and MR-SN's friend K-LB who he pestered into coming to fix one of the wonky scopes even though K-LB's actually in electrical engineering but he's the only engineering person MR-SN (an arts student) knows

oh and of course VR-LA joins because he genuinely just likes space (developing a crush on his club chairperson was not on his bingo card)

Kyana and E-DN were MMA sparring buddies at one point which is how she found out about the stargazing and joined immediately

honestly i can probably think of more but this post is fuckin long LMAO

#rolling with difficulty #'do not let the internet turn you into an american' i say as i make posts that can be understood by me and me only #i mean im not sorry about it this is my house #like my experiences are just gonna be extra incomprehensible because my countrys fuckin tiny so the target audience really is me and me onl #too bad! you think its hard to read my posts? i gotta live like this! #if i sound extra confrontational i got 5 hours of sleep for the whole week unfortunately so just know its all /lh more or less #really tempted to make some kind of business major joke for roy even though obviously the heap trio would all be in engineering #bc its just common knowledge in my school that business majors are the ones with the most free time to go clubbing all the damn time #and *also* theyre the faculty that dresses the best which also tracks?? #didnt really nail down specific majors for everyone (besides the obvious ones like food science for finbar and mech eng for dani) #but i kinda like the idea of cs for VR-LA because of that 'programmers are real world wizards' joke and also.. projecting #cs with focus area in AI would even make sense bc of docent and emi. if i want to make the projecting Even Worse! #also if i ever do human designs for the old crew (doubtful cuz i find drawing robots more fun than drawing humans) #look up sally hansen hypnautical nail polish bc i wanna give human AS-TR that as a nod to her original design #didnt really get into the fashion of it all bc again i live in the tropics so nobody really dresses well here #the goal is to dress to not sweat more often than it is dress to look good #hands down my favourite line in the cqna was noir's i thermoregulate through my forearms #so in the middle of summer i still wear all black and just roll up my sleeves #like thats ME. except its summer ALL YEAR ROUND #walao #asto speaks

[aftgficrec]

Hey! I love your page and getting fic recs! Do you have any fics where Neil goes or agrees to go to therapy? I’m good with Bee or someone else as the therapist too. It can be canon or an au. Thanks so much! :))

I was pleasantly surprised by how much we found for you! -A

previous recs:

‘another life to live’ here

‘Oakland’ here (completed)

‘you’ve been locked in here forever (and you just can’t say goodbye)’ here (updated)

‘If it means protecting you (I’ll pay my dues)’ here (updated)

‘Interlaced’ here (updated)

‘Regrowth,’ ‘To Be Close With You Is To Be Close With Myself,’ ‘I took a breath and took the knife,’ and ‘flashes of intimacy’ ch 4 here

‘call me in the afternoon’ here

‘The Wild Fox Den’ and ‘Roses Grow Between Bone’ here

‘(My Heart) Pierced By a Pin’ here (completed)

‘The Sun Still Rises’ here (updated)

‘day by day’ here

‘the shuffling of cards’ here

‘Ain’t it fun’ here

‘Breathe, idiot’ here

‘Healing’ series part 1 here, part 3 here (completed)

‘The Fear of Being Known’ here

‘That one party’ series and ‘keep telling me that it gets better (does it ever?)’ here

‘Affection can be shown in so many ways’ here

‘Ghost of You’ here 

‘Make This Leap (Geronimo)’ here

‘Tenuous’ here

‘There is Nothing You Can Say’ here (completed)

‘of ice blue eyes & twisted veins’ here

‘don't break the glass’ (completed) here

‘Bad Apple’ here 

‘Phantom Pains’ here

‘Therapy’ here

‘Birds of a Feather’ here (updated)

‘In which Neil had Aspergers and Andrew finds out.’ here 

‘For You I'd Bleed Myself Dry’ here (updated)

‘I Wanna Get Better’ here 

‘on the tip of my tongue (say something)’ parts 6 & 8 here

and more:

‘Ember’ here (completed)

‘leave the room (with a little dignity)’ here

‘Art Hoe’ here

‘Blame It On My Youth’ here (updated)

‘Black as is the Raven, He’ll Get a Partner’ (here)

‘Our body’ series, part 1 here, part 3 here, part 5 here

‘and all the roads will disappear’ here

‘crossed out’ here

‘Double Trouble’ series here

‘i had a dream (where you couldn't hear me screaming)’ and ‘hold me close, in fact bury me’ here 

‘Just closed eyes with nothing behind’ here

‘doubt thou the stars be fire’ here

‘SCAR TISSUE’ here

‘Lighter Fluid’ here

you may also like:

‘The Sound’ here

historians by cielalune [Rated M, 21508 Words, Complete, 2023]

He remembers when she didn’t smell of ash, but perfume. The times they’d play the radio to fill the quiet of the car, and she’d hum along. How she never missed a single exy practice, and cheered for him each time. She wasn’t all too different from Cass in the end. Just because she was dead didn’t mean she was buried. Five times Neil tries to come to closure about the person Mary Hatford was, and the one time he accepts who she came to be.

tw: heavily referenced child abuse, tw: heavily referenced rape/noncon, tw: heavily referenced csa, tw: heavily referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: sleep paralysis, tw: depressive episode, tw: flashbacks with blood & gore, tw: panic attacks, tw: dissociation, tw: victim blaming

Mommy Dearest by chronically_peach [Rated G, 915 Words, Complete, 2022]

Neil doesn’t talk about his mother much but Andrew knows it’s a touchy subject for the redhead. After a session with Betsy Neil admits he’s been thinking about his mother and allows Andrew a glimpse into who Mary Hatford really was.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Pain of a Forgotten Face series by Rose_vine [Collection, 2 complete works, Updated 2021]

Part 1: Pain of a Forgotten Face [M, 3086 Words] Neil Josten is awoken by a face in his nightmares from twelve years ago, a face he barely remembers. When he tries to brush it off and go to practice, he realizes too late that some memories refuse to let themselves be forgotten.

tw: ptsd, tw: panic attacks, tw: nightmares, tw: hallucinations, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: blood/gore

Part 2: A Hand to Hold Me Back From The Cliff [Not Rated, 2132 Words] After Neil collapses on the court from a flashback from when he was younger, Andrew convinces him to go to therapy. This is his first session with Bee, and it is only Andrew at his side that gives him the strength to walk through the door.

tw: ptsd, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

After the Beep by kanekei [Rated T, 1030 Words, Incomplete, Updated Sept 2023]

Neil works through his relationship with his dead mother by leaving her voice messages that she'll never hear. It’s healthy, Bee says. He can’t help but think having the Minyards as patients has skewed her perception of what that word means. The number you have reached is not available. Please leave your message after the beep.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced violence

The Foxes by akaashisramen [Not Rated, 3386 Words, Incomplete, Updated July 2023]

Trans Neil is on the run from his father and goes to his uncles house. His uncle promises him protection and allows him to play Exy as long as he goes to group therapy to process his mothers death.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: graphic nightmares, tw: implied/referenced torture

someday, we'll grow by nopunintended [Rated G, 2078 Words, Complete, 2021]

Andrew and Neil see Betsy for a couple's therapy session per Andrew's request.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Couples Therapy by P0tatonoah [Rated T, 2014 Words, Complete 2020]

I got a lot of comments (like 3 or 4) on my breakup fic asking for a part 2 where Neil and Andrew patch things up and live happily ever after… This is not it. But you can read it as an alternative ending if you want. 

tw: implied/referenced nonconsensual touch, tw: implied/referenced violence

NB: find P0tatonoah’s andreil break up fic ‘Home...?’ here

They sicken of the calm, they who know the storm by EdgySpaghetti [Not Rated, 3162 Words, Complete, 2023]

After storm there always comes the sun. People born into the storm, who growing up sees only black clouds and lightnings striking everywhere, just learn how to live with it, how to protect themselves from cold, wind and rain. They recognize the pattern, know that lightning will struck sooner or later and are prepared for it. What are those people to do when there is no more dark clouds? They don't know how to live in this environment, how to dress to not get too hot and how to prevent potential sunburnt. They never had to do that before. They're still expecting the lightnings.

tw: ptsd, tw: anxiety, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: anger issues

Can I finally stop running now? by gracefromspace [Rated T, 12110 Words, Complete, 2023]

Neil is intrigued by a blonde baker with piercings, two therapy cats and strong arms.

tw: heavily referenced torture, tw: flashbacks with blood/gore, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: anxiety, tw: negative self image

can't blame it on my youth by PoolToast22 [Rated G, 2650 Words, Complete, 2022]

The one where Neil Josten is Fine TM. But he's also in therapy. And today Bee decided to ask him that question.

hold on to happiness by minyarday [Rated T, 551 Words, Complete, 2020]

"self esteem had never been something Neil cared about. when you are a runaway that don't even have a place to call home, you learn to prioritize certain things and forget others" only that now he has the time to think about it

I'll Come Back To You by mostly_maudlin [Rated T, 6900 Words, Complete, 2022]

Some of the things he’s learned today feel like stories about someone else: Neil switched to playing striker at a tiny high school in Arizona. Aaron lives in Chicago with his wife. Andrew’s cousin calls Neil every Tuesday, because Andrew is too stubborn to pick up the phone himself. But other things are clear truths, even if they’re more abstract: Neil’s mother died. Andrew is safe. Neil was supposed to stay, but part of him is gone. - - - - It's about dreams, reality, trust, patience, and determination. It's about making promises and keeping them. You'll figure out the rest.

tw: car accidents, tw: major character injury, tw: implied/referenced violence

I will help you swim by unojonex [Rated E, 11699 Words, Incomplete, Updated Oct 2022]

He’s slowed down, stayed in one place for more than a few months and it's all caught up with him. In his sleep, ghosts of his past haunt him. And they have no mercy. Dreams and imagination swirl together in a confusing mix of nightmares that don't go away, even when he's awake. -- basically Neil and Andrew getting together while also dealing with a lot of trauma

tw: ptsd, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/refererenced torture, tw: heavily referenced child abuse, tw: suicide ideation, tw: graphic nightmares with blood/gore, tw: dissociation, tw: hallucinations, tw: panic attacks

But Touch My Tears with Your Lips by transjorts [Rated M, 4070 Words, Complete, AFTG Mixtape Exchange 2022]

Andrew is sitting across from him, expression neutral, fork in hand. He’d dragged the tinnes across the plate—purposefully, if Neil had to guess. Andrew has already cut the burrito up into tiny pieces and spears one morsel on the fork, lifting it to his mouth. “Hi,” Neil says. Andrew chews, very deliberately. “Do you feel better?” Neil frowns. “What?” Andrew eats another bite. “Did all that running make you feel better?” Neil sighs and glances down, noticing that his water has been refilled. He takes a sip. “No.”

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced sexual assault, tw: nightmares, tw: dissociation

let's just sit awhile by artiest [Rated M, 17291 Words, Complete. 2022]

Neil and Andrew don't have to keep fighting for their survival. They can settle now. It's hard, but they're trying. OR: During Neil's second year in Palmetto State, him and Andrew learn to take care of each other.

tw: severe mental health issues, tw: ptsd, tw: implied/referenced torture,  tw: nightmares with blood/gore, tw: flashbacks,  tw: dissociation, tw: violence, tw: homophobia, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: vomit, tw: alcohol abuse/alcholism

I could never give you peace by freshtaylorswiftduck [Rated T, 3407 Words, Complete. 2022]

Neil has both bad and good days. Today is a bad day.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: panic attacks

10 tips to stress less, without the tips by lumos_max [Rated T, 5404 Words, Complete, AFTG Exchange Fall 2020]

A lonely Neil lets his therapist bully him into checking out the clinic's support group without too much fuss, but little did he know he wouldn't be checking out the group that day, instead meeting a dramatic hunk of a man who drives a fancy car and forgets to wipe the cream off the corner of his lip. It's only fair that Neil tries to do it for him, right?

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

“God, I have my father’s eyes.” by perks_of_being_a_writer [Rated T, 673 Words, Complete, 2022]

This is based on Family Line by Conan Gray. In this short story, Neil is at a therapy appointment where he and Betsy dive into his parental issues. This covers Neil’s abuse from both parents (because, yes, Mary was abusive and a bad mother). This is Neil learning that it's not his fault his parents hurt him and accepting that he is loved.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse

"There's blood on my/your hands." by markonasurface (idwir) [Rated T, 4667 Words, Complete, 2018]

The year after his 19th birthday, the other team decides to recreate the bloody locker scene complete with a ‘Happy Birthday, Jr.’ Instead of stuffing everything down, Neil has a complete freak out and sinks into a depression.

tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: blood, tw: panic attacks, tw: ptsd, tw: major depressive episode, tw: homophobia, tw: disordered eating, tw: vomit

Nothing is Safe series by hismiley16 [Rated T/M/E, Collection, 7 complete works, Updated July 2023]

Parts 3 and 7 recced here

Part 4: Written On His Skin [Not Rated, 11344 Words] The Foxes face the Ravens for the first time since Riko's death and things go as well as expected. Andrew is mildly injured on the court and isn't there to protect Neil when the new Evermore captain comes for him after the game. The team sees more than Neil ever wanted them to, including the ghost of Nathaniel he thought he'd buried in Baltimore.

tw: vomit, tw: bullying, tw: nonconsensual touch/assault  tw: dissociation, tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced animal death, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon

The Josten Anxiety Method by orphan_account [Rated M, 1721 Words, Complete, 2022]

Neil talks to Bee about his anxiety.

tw: anxiety, tw: hallucinations, tw: dissociation, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced abuse

Looking in the Mirror Never Felt so Good by Trimorphia [Rated T, 8693 Words, Complete, 2023]

Neil Josten's journey to becoming a real person.

tw: nightmares, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced abuse

Achilles Come Down by infernalstars [Rated M, 5017 Words, Complete, 2020]

Neil Josten was a liar before he was anything else. In the nest, sometimes his choices were between lying and dying. He’d had a decent amount of self preservation that he’d chosen the former. But now, being free, the world felt so heavy. He wished he’d chosen dying.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: graphic suicide attempt, tw: self harm, tw: blood, tw: eating disorders focus, tw: ptsd, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: vomit, tw: depression 

prompt: Neil x therapy bullet fic by @sadboyayeron [Tumblr, 2020]

#fic #neil josten/andrew minyard #betsy dobson & neil josten #universe: post canon #au: high school #au: different first meeting #theme: trauma #theme: neil's past #theme: therapy #theme: emotional hurt/comfort #theme: ptsd #theme: panic attacks #theme: mental health issues #theme: dissociation #theme: healing #theme: anxiety #theme: bad day #aftg mixtape #aftg exchange #tw: graphic depictions of violence #tw: child abuse #tw: rape/noncon #tw: csa #tw: self harm #tw: torture #tw: suicide attempt #tw: eating disorders #tw: sleep paralysis #tw: hallucinations

[theherosvillain]

The Bird and the Boy - Daemon AU

(TNT)KAYF Masterpost

Takes place early on in Phantom's captivity. He and his crow daemon, Cinder, are still trying to escape.

My heart thumped wildly as I raced for the exit with Cinder flying close behind me. We were almost there, but I could hear Vale and his daemon gaining on us. The thud of footsteps and paws drew dangerously near as we approached the door. As I grabbed the door handle, Vale’s wolf daemon growled, too close, and I flinched away. But that wasn’t what stopped me.

What stopped me was the sensation of Cinder being snatched out of the air, someone else’s hands wrapped tightly around her body.

The world lurched sideways, nausea curling my stomach. When I righted myself, I saw Vale holding my daemon. His palms pinned her wings to her sides. Her beak was open in shock, and I could feel her trembling. I could feel myself trembling—with rage, with disgust, with the utter wrongness of it. “Let her go,” I hissed.

Vale regarded me calmly. He didn’t look at her—my daemon, my soul, clasped between his hands. He only looked at me. “Come with me,” he said, “and then I’ll let her go.”

My chest burned with rage. I could feel Cinder’s heart pounding against her ribs. I was sure Vale could feel it, too. “Let her go, now.”

Behind me, the wolf growled, and I bristled; I’d forgotten he was there. “You’re in no position to make demands,” said Vale. “Come with me.”

Finally, Cinder snapped out of her stupor and jabbed her beak into Vale’s fingers. He winced. For the first time, his gaze flickered down to her, to the blood trickling down his hand. He squeezed her harder, and she stopped abruptly. Then his eyes were back on me. “Well?”

Her chest constricted, and so did mine. I clenched my fists, my shoulders dropping. “Fine.”

His grip loosened, and Cinder took a deep, shuddery breath. Then he turned and started walking back the way we came. My stomach sank, but I followed behind him. His daemon brought up the rear, watching me—as though I would leave without Cinder.

All the long way back, my skin crawled with the feeling of his hands around her. I felt nauseous, off-balance. Cinder trembled the whole time, suppressing the urge to peck him again. I wanted to lash out, make him drop her. The only thing stopping me was the wolf at my heels. Normally, a daemon wouldn’t attack a human, but this wasn’t normal, either. It made me seethe with rage. This whole time, Vale had hardly laid a hand on me. What gave him the fucking audacity to touch my daemon?

Finally, Vale stopped in front of the room we’d escaped from. Finally, he held Cinder out to me and carefully deposited her into my outstretched hands. She stumbled, and I clutched her close before she could fall. Her chest was heaving. I watched Vale brush a tiny black feather from his palm. “If you continue trying to escape,” he said calmly, “I can’t promise that won’t happen again.”

Cinder’s feathers bristled. “You’re a fucking monster,” I hissed.

He looked unaffected. “I’ve given you plenty of chances to comply, Phantom. If you continue fighting me, there will be consequences.”

It was pointless to argue with him. Still, my teeth clenched as I shuffled into the cell and let him lock the door behind me.

I sat heavily on the cot, relief mixing with anger. I unzipped my hoodie to let Cinder burrow inside. She shuddered as I stroked her feathers, trying to get the gross, skin-crawling feeling off of them. “Fuck,” she muttered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“I’m not letting that happen again,” I whispered.

She pressed her head up into my chin. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“No, it wasn’t,” I agreed. “But it’s not happening again.”

She sighed. “We’ll find another way out. Soon.”

I nodded. Soon. Because if Vale was willing to do that, just to keep me here, I didn’t want to know what else might happen if we didn’t get out.

*

Once Phantom was locked away again, Vale left briskly, trying to walk off the unsettled feeling in his chest. He felt like he needed to wash his hands. Of course, he reminded himself, he’d only done what he had to do. Restraining the daemon was necessary to keep Phantom in line, and if the boy kept refusing to cooperate, he would do it again.

Still, that didn’t mean Vale liked breaking the taboo like that. It happened all the time in this line of work, but Vale rarely did it himself. It felt too … intimate. The memory of the bird’s frantic heartbeat against his fingers made him wince inwardly.

Jax padded along by his side. “I could have gotten the bird,” he murmured. His tone was neutral, but there was a question in it. Vale had felt his daemon’s surprise when he’d grabbed Phantom’s daemon, but neither of them had shown it.

“You couldn’t have,” said Vale. “You’re too big. You would have hurt her.” Jax hadn’t been in the right position to reach her, either; he’d been closer to Phantom. Vale glanced down at him. “You could have gotten the boy.”

Jax bristled. “It wasn’t necessary,” he said impassively.

Vale curled a hand into Jax’s thick, dark fur. “If it ever is,” Vale murmured, “I’m sure you’ll make the right decision.” He didn’t have to remind Jax how important it was to keep Phantom in the headquarters and under control. At the moment, the boy was unpredictable, but he could prove to be a valuable asset if Vale trained him right. If he escaped now, there wouldn’t be any second chances—it would only prove to him that Vale could be defied, and that was a dangerous assumption for him to make.

Jax’s shoulders relaxed. “Of course.” But Vale could still feel the seed of tension in him—he didn’t want to touch another human any more than Vale wanted to touch another daemon.

But Vale let it slide, for now. He trusted Jax. And, anyway, for all his defiance, Phantom was a smart boy. He’d settle in sooner or later. Vale was certain of it.

#original writing #original fiction #wip #daemon au #captivity #(try not to) kill all your friends #oc: axton vale #oc: the phantom prince #i feel like this au says so much about their characters #idk if i'm gonna write more of it but i've been thinking about this particular scene for MONTHS

[rindomness]

animating in csp rules actually

#persona 5 #rin draws stuff #phantom shuffle au #ive been having fun. new toys

[mercurypyrite]

vargas camp 2 AU where yuu’s acting is a bit more convincing bc all they can think about is how utterly vulnerable they feel.

they’re learning to hate these woods — first it was the monster in the mines, all bitter iron and slithering ink; then the horned shadow snatching students into the dark, its growls echoing off the trees, and another monster (a phantom, they know that now) in the mines, only distinguishable from the first by the color of its shirt; and now-

now they’re being hunted again.

and yuu knows it’s fake, they’re in on it, but-

well. they’re in on it now.

they weren’t, during the sports camp. and earlier, in the mines with ace and deuce and grim, there was nothing to be in on — only fear and desperation and a cobbled-together plan.

(how familiar.)

(…they really do dislike these woods, no matter how beautiful they are in the daylight.)

and those memories cling.

they’re brave but not fearless, calm but not unrattled — but they have a goal to accomplish.

so when they find their friends, they don’t focus on the hate.

they focus on the fear.

and they’re a good actor, and the half-false fear wells up in them, and they let it. they let their eyes sting, let their voice shake.

it was too dark to see very much…

they don’t look at grim. they don’t hesitate.

…but the monster, it- it attacked the coach.

trey’s hand rests on their shoulder. they don’t look at him, either. they think of how it felt to run — trees blurring in their vision, grim at their heels and a monster at their back, only the threadbare safety net of their plan and their friends’ cooperation to catch them if they faltered — and they shudder, leaning into the touch.

we should get to camp. safety in numbers.

they make it to the campsite without incident, giving vague answers to pointed questions. eventually students start vanishing again, and yuu tries not to flinch at the familiarity of it, shuffling subtly closer to trey.

the fires go out. the beast shows himself.

there’s only six of them left: trey, azul, jade, vil, grim, and yuu. so they run, they plan, they wrangle vargas into the lake in an unknowing (but less muddy) echo of the sports camp.

yuu thinks, relievedly, that it’s over.

and then the second monster snatches grim — and vargas, but yuu’s mostly concerned about grim — and yuu speedruns the stages of grief while simultaneously teetering on the edge of a panic attack because it reminds them so much of s.t.y.x., what if they lose grim again, what if they can’t get him back-

coach vargas didn’t say a word about this.

suddenly, the fear is once again all too real.

(they hate these fucking woods.)

#py writes #twst #twst au #vargas camp #twst yuu #twst grim #ashton vargas #angst #vargas camp spoilers

[quietblueriver]

A little bit more of the Avatrice BTVS AU, the result of some truly masterful procrastination. Picks up immediately after the first bit.

Now with more that can be found here.

-

She takes the hand offered, because she’s angry but she’s not stupid, and Ava hauls her up, wrapping an arm around her waist and grabbing Beatrice’s wrist over her shoulder to help stabilize her.

There’s chaos behind them, cries of pain and anger, and a somehow still-expanding fire, unimpeded by the lack of fuel and the concrete floor.

As if reading her mind, Ava offers, with a smirk that Beatrice still sees in her dreams, “Never underestimate the power of a little magically enhanced Molotov cocktail.”

A scream draws closer and the smirk disappears, deceptively strong arms hold Beatrice tighter as Ava turns her head to evaluate the source of the noise. View obscured by Ava's body, Beatrice can barely make out what appears to be a demon-sized ball of flame hurtling toward them.

Ava shuffles them just slightly to the left, concerned eyes darting briefly to Beatrice’s knee, and then sticks a foot out, casually. The demon stumbles and sprawls before them, writhing as the flames spread down its body. Whether it’s the Lilliad or its features have been so distorted by the flame that it now looks like the Lilliad, she isn’t sure.

Ava pays it no mind, adjusting her arms around Beatrice and moving them forward. Her eyes water, a natural but embarrassing side effect of the searing pain that races through her leg every time she puts weight on it, and she tries to wipe them surreptitiously on her sleeve.

She grits her teeth and doesn’t complain, but after a few steps, Ava says, under her breath, “Fuck it.” Louder, as her arms shift on Beatrice’s body, “Sorry, Bea, but we’re on the clock.”

And suddenly she’s in Ava’s arms, bridal style, her hands clasped behind Ava’s neck on instinct. She’s quick but careful, a skillful adjustment of her hold to take pressure off of Beatrice’s knee, and then they’re moving, really moving, for the exit.

The spreading flames make the closest door risky, so Ava takes them further, soundtrack of shrieking demons following them past shelving and pallets and abandoned shipping crates to the next door. With a last glance toward the still raging fire, Ava turns her body so that her back can press the metal bar that gets them back into the world.

She doesn’t stop once they’re there, moving them quickly and quietly through back alleys until they reach a shipping container near the water, a beat-up black Jeep Wrangler parked just beside it. Ava pulls open the rear door and lays Beatrice down carefully on the surprisingly clean interior, the only real evidence of Ava an empty bag of her favorite sour candy torn wide open, little granules of sugar spilled across the flooring. There’s an artificial fruit smell that lingers, too faint for anyone without heightened senses to notice, but, of course, Beatrice does.

Her mind, traitorous, focuses in on the scent and it’s a flutter of her eyelids and a small jump to the library, Ava sitting in a chair balanced precariously on two legs as she leans back with her feet on the table, bold in Superion’s absence. She’s making her way through yet another bag of candy, holding a bright worm in her hand in offering to Beatrice, who is seated next to her, all four legs of her chair planted firmly on the ground and still somehow feeling entirely unstable.

“C’mon, Bea. You know you want one.”

She doesn’t, but she wants Ava, so she takes the worm in exchange for the smile she knows it will get her. She hates it already, the gritty, gummy texture in her hand, but Ava is delighted that she’s playing along, face alight as she watches Beatrice take a bite of the neon green sweet, and Beatrice knows she’ll eat another, if Ava asks.

Her tongue touches the roof of her mouth, cheeks sucking in at the shock of the phantom flavor, and she forces herself out of the memory. There’s plastic flooring under the palms of her hands and pain in her leg, a wet spot on her ribcage where one of the demons must have nicked her. She aches in new places, her body settling enough to alert her to the rest of her injuries.

She keeps her eyes closed for a moment, gathering herself, and then she feels them. Ava’s hands. Her eyes fly open but Ava is distracted, corners of her lips pulled down and eyes intently focused on Beatrice’s body. She’d crawled in after her, and she’s on her knees now, leaning over Beatrice as she runs her fingers and hands in a pattern Beatrice knows well. It’s one she’d taught, one she’d used on Ava many, many times, panic and fear coursing through her.

She should pull back, yell at her, send her away and curl in on herself for a few hours until her wounds heal enough that she can walk comfortably to Superion’s.

Instead, she lets Ava conduct her examination, warm hands gentle and efficient, and keeps telling herself it isn’t exactly what she wants. An indulgence. Because she’s weak for her. She always has been.

-

The car is quiet, Ava driving more carefully than Beatrice has ever seen her. She glances over occasionally, fingers flexing on the steering wheel, but she has yet to say anything beyond confirming that she should take Beatrice to Superion’s house. They hit a red light and Ava puts on the blinker and looks over, again, but this time she bites her lip and waits until Beatrice meets her eyes. She raises an eyebrow. She won’t be doing any of the work here.

“Bea, I…”

She hears the creak of the leather on the wheel under Ava’s grip. Careful, she wants to say. She doesn’t.

The light turns, and Ava sighs, focusing back on the road and taking them left, toward Superion.

She kills the engine a block away from Superion’s and Beatrice unbuckles, testing her leg against the floorboard and wincing. Bad, but she can walk on it now, even if she shouldn’t. She’s got her hand on the handle of the door when she realizes that Ava has made no move to come with her, both hands still on the wheel and eyes focused on the road in front of her.

“Are you coming?” Ava startles, and when she looks at Beatrice, she knows, immediately, the answer to her question. Big, brown eyes, guilty and pleading, a lip between her teeth.

“Bea…”

The bite of candy apple on her tongue. She won’t play this game anymore. She swings the door open and braces herself mentally for the pain of the walk to come.

“Right. Of course you’re not.” There are tears in Ava’s eyes, but she says nothing, and Beatrice wipes at her own eyes roughly, scoffs. “Goodbye, Ava.”

She pretends not to hear the sob that escapes before the slam of the door and forces herself to move quickly enough that when Superion asks, she can blame her own tears on the pain.

#warrior nun #avatrice #sister beatrice #ava silva #warrior nun fic #btvs au

[miscmonstro]

The Uno Reverse Adoption Saga (formerly No Title Yet) 6

what's this? a title?? on MY fic?????

First: Chapter 1

Previous: Chapter 5

Next: Chapter 7

Halfa!Trio Au crossover with Batman

Current Characters: Sam Manson, Tucker Foley, Danny Fenton, Jason Todd

Summary: Forced to attend a gala by her parents as she is every year, Sam Manson was resigned to suffer through the stifling three-night gala until something pulled at her core. The something turned out to be a someone. Just who is Jason Todd and can the trio gain enough of his trust to help him before his struggling proto-core collapses?

👻 {Chapter 6 Below!)

Jason was pissed. 

To be fair, pissed off could describe him at any given point, though the trio didn’t know that.

“So you just decided ‘hey, rain’ll work’,” he glowered. 

The four were in the attic. They’d returned the hostages and the crasher to the main floor for the paramedics and police to find respectively and then withdrawn to temporarily camp out. After a brief introduction of Tucker as Ghouley they glossed over Sam’s name, moving the conversation every which way before Jason had all but demanded to know how exactly they’d worked around the situation.

“Yeah,” Tucker shrugged. “And it did work, didn’t it?” 

Jason muttered curses to himself and with their enhanced hearing, the phantoms heard every word. Danny mentally shuffled at the colorful vocabulary and Sam’s snicker echoed in their heads. They weren’t quite used to it because even if they could curse in their minds, they could not speak those words aloud. Curses were used sparingly. It was even more unusual to hear from someone else; back home, no one could swear.

Jason didn’t respond to Tucker’s statement and the frown on what was visible of his face under the mask deepened. “That was reckless. And where is Manes? Four kids isn’t better than three.”

“Uh oh,” Danny thought. Tucker made a mental shooing motion at Sam.

“She’s coming here,” he said. 

Jason raised a skeptical brow and Danny hurriedly offered to make a copy and shift to look like Sam. Sam shot him down; he still wasn’t great at duplication. They didn’t need to explain why Manes dissolved into a puddle of goop.

“She’ll be here soon and if not, we’ll go look for her,” Sam settled on bullshitting. Really, while she and Danny went ‘looking’ for Manes she’d switch back to human and voila, cover complete. 

“You four have no idea what danger you’re in. Dead or not whatever, you can make your own choices, but it’s irresponsible to shove Manes into this,” Jason said sternly. “And it’s not your job to clean up other people’s messes.”

Not their mess? Maybe that had been true, once upon a time, and they had struggled and even quitted the hero thing at different points over the years. But it was always a Fenton mess, with the offending portal in their basement, and Sam and Tucker’s for daring Danny to do the deed of accidentally turning it on in the first place. They were the cause, so protecting Amity had been their responsibility by default. But now? Danny was the King of the Infinite Realms. All ghosts were his responsibility and far be it for Sam and Tucker to abandon him now. It was unthinkable. So it was their mess, always had been, and now always would be. 

“Why wouldn’t Manes help?” Sam scoffed. She swore she was going to punch him, baby ghost or not, if he spouted some nonsense about her being a girl.

“She’s a fucking human kid? And shouldn’t be risking injury like that?” he spat incredulously. “There’s no reason for a teenage girl to be cleaning up the Bat’s messes.”

“Hey! We’re also teenagers,” protested Danny, “and if we can do it, so can she.” 

“And how long have you been dead?” Jason shot back rudely. “You could be forty for all I know.”

Danny felt a spike of annoyance. 

“Ghosts don’t work like that,” Tucker huffed. He stared at Jason, mentally debating what they could, and should, share with him.

Jason was getting increasingly worked up. “Look, you might be teens, sure. Fine. The problem is that there wasn’t anything that could’ve hurt you, but that’s not true for humans.”

Sam, surprisingly impressed, remarked, “That’s actually really thoughtful. Pretty useless sentiment though.”

“I don’t think he knows that,” Tucker sighed, floating downwards and settling on an old boxy chest. 

Well, they weren’t going to tell him they were halfa.

“You’re clearly not familiar with the situation, but all humans who know about us and aren’t hunting us are automatically subject to be hunted,” Sam said, taking a different angle that would still explain her human side’s involvement. “Did you read the acts? The association and ecto-entity aid clauses? Just by knowing us and not wanting us to be tortured thousands of people’s untimely deaths can be swept under the rug. It doesn’t matter if Manes helps us directly or not, she and everyone like her are targets.” 

The only reason those parts of the acts were not enforced was because as much as they wanted to, the GIW couldn’t handle all of Amity. They didn’t have the manpower.

The angry frown shifted to a more troubled and less hostile expression. “I- just why?” Jason asked, seemingly at a loss. “Why would that many people risk themselves? Their families? There has to be more to this.”

“Ghosts aren’t all bad and people know it,” Tucker explained gently. “Some of these people have friends and family who’ve come back, some just don’t think it’s right. But truthfully, a lot of people are just too ecto-contaminated to qualify as regular humans anymore. According to the acts.”

“So Manes is in danger one way or another,” Jason muttered.

Jason was oddly fixated on Manes, but he was also just suspicious all around. “And most people agree they need ghosts to protect them from bigger threats,” Danny added cheekily. He figured he’d capitalize on the suspicion and distract him.

“Be back in a bit, we’re going to find Manes,” Sam blurted when she realized what he had, that Jason’s eyes kept flickering over to the ladder. She phased through the floor and Danny followed reluctantly a moment later. 

Jason eyed where they’d gone through the floor before asking Tucker warily, “Bigger threats? The hell does that mean?”

Tucker flicked Danny’s presence for leaving him to answer the new line of questioning, then thought back to all the strange things they’d been thrown headfirst into and the different ways they’d learned to handle them lest they sink. “Threats that make artificial rain look reasonable.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything,” Jason growled. 

“Dude I don’t know,” Tucker exhaled exasperatedly, though he knew all too well. “Think, like, eternal sleep, mass mind control, evil plants destroying cities, that kind of thing.” 

With a dismissive scoff the younger ghost said, “Sounds like JL stuff. I would’ve heard of that.” 

Tucker hesitated, momentarily forgetting what JL was before nodding. “Ah, them. Yeah, the events are pretty isolated. A lot of people are interested in keeping this mess under wraps.” Vlad, himself and the Phantoms, the GIW, and most recently, Technus had all inputted their unique brands of high end cyber security, cloaking Amity in a veil that was nigh impenetrable to outsiders. “Even then, the League can never come near ghost hotspots.”

“Ominous,” Sam laughed.

“The vaguer I am, the more questions he asks, the more time you have to look busy,” Tucker replied with the air of ‘I’m doing you a favor’. 

Jason, perhaps emboldened by the absence of the other two, snapped, “But that doesn’t explain anything! Why can’t they? Preventing the destruction of cities is exactly what they’re for!”

“Dude, ghosts,” Tucker emphasized. “The acts aside, ghosts have an ability called overshadowing. It lets us possess people. Do you want to deal with a possessed Wonder Woman? The correct answer is no. Nobody does.”

Jason crossed his arms and studied Tucker. He breathed in and out once, and then twice. 

“So Manes said the GIW operate more to the west,” he mused, quite a bit calmer. “Where exactly should I avoid?”

“Illinois and Wisconsin for sure, Iowa is a so-so depending on the season. Consider it ‘visit at your own risk’. There’s also a hotspot in Oregon that they haven’t quite picked up on yet but a lot of people are worried that it’s only a matter of time,” Tucker rattled off, the maps of GIW activity zipping through his mind letting him answer easily. “The only exception is Amity Park. Ghosts are really common there and it’s where the GIW got started, but it’s also where they have the least amount of success.” 

“Amity Park?” Jason tilted his head. There was a spark of curiosity in him, the kind that made you want to know everything.

“Never search that up,” Tucker advised, knowing intimately all the triggers that search would trip. “I can get you a map if you’re interested in relocating.” 

“I think it’s been long enough,” Tucker thought.

“No thanks,” Jason backtracked quickly. “I’m happy in Gotham.”

Sam, on the ladder, switched back into her human form and climbed up the top few rungs. 

“Hey guys,” she said. 

Jason rose from the box he’d been sitting on and looked her over with keen eyes. “Did you get injured?” he asked with worry.

“No I- gah!”

Sam’s hold on the ladder slackened and Tucker shot over to grab her. If not for him and Danny, who’d been invisible just below her, she would’ve fallen. 

The fear was back. 

“Sam you have to switch back,” Danny thought quickly. It hadn’t become overwhelming yet but even in the few seconds that she was human it had grown at an alarming rate. Soon, like before, it would spiral out of control.

Sam wanted to but Jason was right there.

“Come on Sam, we’ll figure it out later. Change back. It’s not worth it,” Tucker insisted. Danny had reservations but he shoved them aside. He could deal with Jason if necessary.

“Going ghost!” Sam gasped. The rings enveloped her and once again the fear abated.

“Oh thank the Ancients!” Tucker said.

“Gah,” she groused. “What’s wrong with me?”

“I think you have some explaining to do.”

Three heads swiveled towards Jason.

They really didn’t have to- Sam’s knee jerk reaction was to scowl and say they didn’t owe him jack but… he felt so unwillingly fragile in a way that made him feel like failure, likely unused to situations where he didn’t have an upper hand. That made him fidgety and angry and the little bit of his guard that had fallen rose back up and doubled in height. Tucker winced. They didn’t want to intimidate him. With a sigh Sam made up her mind- what he’d seen was pretty damning anyway. 

Danny shifted back to visibility seeing as the gig was up. “Oh come on! We didn’t last two hours,” he complained.

“I’m a halfa,” Sam admitted slowly. “And there are only five of us in existence. So I’d appreciate it if you kept that to yourself.”

“Wait, so what’s wrong?” Danny carefully asked out loud. If there was one secret more well kept than the existence of halfa, it was the existence of their mental connection.

Sam grimaced. “I got hit with that fear stuff. It’s totally shut down my human side.”

Jason wasn’t that easy to divert. “Wait no, back up. Halfa? Explain.”

“Halfas are just that, half human, half ghost, and a well kept secret from the living,” Tucker said, eyeing Jason meaningfully. “Only two humans know.”

Sam, feeling bitter that she’d messed up again tonight muttered sourly, “I can flip between the living and dead. That’s unique to halfa.”

Jazz had known almost from the beginning- she’d figured it out early on and had committed to their corner ever since. Valarie was less accidental; the trio had decided to come clean for the sake of communication after too many close calls and while it had caused a few bumps in the beginning, overall their teamwork with the Red Huntress had improved. Even then, she’d known about Vlad and Dani so the concept of halfa was one she was already familiar with.

“So what am I then?” Jason asked. “I’m human but with a… core.” He was trying to mask his anxiousness at the question but said core was broadcasting his emotions loud and clear.

“We don’t know,” Danny said bluntly. 

“But we know someone who might,” Tucker added. “Have you ever wanted to visit the Ghost Zone?” 

“We know a doctor or two,” Sam elaborated. “You know, ghost doctors.”

Jason’s core fluctuated with irritation and a helplessness that was quickly converted into anger. “Great. Fantastic. So you don’t know what I am. Well I do and guess what? It’s called a zombie, kids.”

Danny shook his head. “You’re not a zombie, we’ve seen those.”

“What kind of undead are you then?” Jason questioned, staring pointedly at Tucker as he fiddled absently with his PDA. 

“Er,” Danny said, looking at his partners.

“He’s kinda one of us,” Tucker said, though he really wasn’t an ecto-entity. Still, with the way they were classed by the acts, there was no difference between them.

“He might find out from another ghost anyway,” Sam acknowledged. 

“We’re all halfas, actually. Team Phantom, at your service!” Danny turned back to Jason with an exaggerated bow.

Jason had been cycling through different reactions yet seemed to circle back to anger frequently. A greater intensity rattled him at the new information, converting everything else into utter rage. “Ok back the fuck up. You’re all teenagers?” His words were drenched in dismay.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Danny retorted confidently. In his mind all the headlines declaring them menaces and calling their intentions into doubt flashed by. Tucker gave him a mental hug. “He doesn’t know Danny, he doesn’t get it.”

“Yes, an adult kid,” Sam grumbled. “How innocent and unawares.”

“You three threw yourselves into a dangerous situation for no goddamn reason.” 

The deceptively quiet statement was razor-sharp and overwhelmed with reverberating sentiments full of pain.

This was, for some reason, quite personal to him. 

‘Upset child,’ their internal alarms rang, ‘do something!’

“We know about unnecessary risks,” Danny said at length. 

“We just mistook the liminal guy for a ghost,” Sam nodded.

“And ghosts are our responsibility,” Tucker finished. “We wouldn’t have stepped in otherwise. Like you said before, the locals had it under control.”

Jason grit his teeth and then deflated, taking a deep breath. “And you have no one else who could’ve done it? There’s no ghost police? You kids don’t have any mentors?” 

“Naw, we’re self taught,” Tucker said proudly. That was the wrong thing to say as Jason’s emotions constricted into a tight ball of frustration and fury.

“We had to step up. No one else would or could,” Danny explained gloomily. It wasn’t like they had wanted to do this. That made the already heavy emotions in Jason’s core even denser. 

“Gah. Okay, different topic. How am I supposed to get rid of the fear stuff? I can’t exactly go to a hospital,” Sam asked, changing the topic to something that would hopefully distract the pit of volatile emotion that was growing inside of Jason.

Jason jumped on the issue presented to him, more than happy for the distraction. “Usually there’s an antidote. This is a new variant so it might take a few weeks before an updated antidote is made.”

“Crud,” Danny cursed.

Sam sighed.

“We can say your grandmother took you to the officials and tell your grandmother you avoided the attack or something,” suggested Tucker.

Just as he finished Jason offered, “I could get Bruce to pay for a private physician.”

“Too risky,” Sam dismissed. “Our vitals are different. Besides, there are rumors that he funds the bats and the last thing we want to do is get near them.”

“Hm,” Jason hummed. He seemed to settle on something,resolving to do some unknown thing, before he spoke again. “Lesson one kids, lying. I’ll take the money and move it to make it look like a physician was involved. That way the story holds up. You ideally want three to four layers but in this case, two isn’t a bad place to start.”

“Won’t your dad mind?” worried Tucker.

With a smirk Jason said, “Not at all.”

“Great? But what do you want in return?” Sam asked suspiciously. 

“Just tell me how to get to the ghost doctor and we’ll call it even,” Jason proposed.

“Oh. Right, well, that’s a whole other can of worms.”

👻 {Boo!)

“So to recap. Living age means nothing. Ghosts age like trees. You three are independent adults. I’m a ghost orphan because hell if anyone knows. Nobody will care about that and if I go to the Zone, of which there are only two reliable ways to get there and they’re both in Amity, I’ll get mobbed and forcefully adopted and never see earth again. Did I miss anything?”

“No, that’s about it,” Tucker said too cheerfully. 

Jason rubbed his eyes and leaned back against the box he’d sat in front of when the trio had first launched into their long winded explanation. 

“I can adopt you. It’s… probably the best option anyway,” Danny offered hopefully, the very tip of his spectral tail twitching. “Ghosts won’t try to be malicious but they will forget how humans work. As a halfa there’s no risk of that from me and I’m really strong.”

“We. We’re a packaged deal,” Sam stubbornly interjected. 

“Oh boy,” Tucker exhaled. “Guys we’re not ready for this and there’s no way he’s going to agree-“

“Maybe. What does ghost adoption entail?”

Danny was more than happy to answer.

“We’d be your ghost guardians so we’d check up on you. We’d also do health stuff like cycle ectoplasm through your proto-core since it can’t pump on its own yet. And bonding stuff, you know, like play fighting. Ghosts love play fighting,” he jumped to explain. There was a powerpoint with the information and a mini Jazz in his head as he went through it. “But since we have human parts still we can watch movies and stuff, that should also work. Your emotions might get a little off balance since that happens as a core grows and we’d eat the extra. Also-“

“Hang on, eat my core? That thing might be the only reason I’m alive!” interrupted Jason with a recoil. 

At the startled anger-fear that he felt Danny rushed to explain but Tucker, who was more composed, spoke first. “That wasn’t what he meant. By eating the extra stuff around your core we’re trying to stabilize it. Ectoplasm is linked to emotion and too much of anything is bad. You can’t feel one emotion all the time but if you tend toward a specific emotion, you might generate too much of one kind of ectoplasm. Think of it like pruning the dead stems off a plant. It doesn’t hurt at all and helps keep a plant, or core in this case, balanced and healthy.”

“I hate that I know that,” Tucker said miserably, thinking of the plant example he’d just used. Sam gloated.

Jason turned that over for a moment before he sighed. “Alright. What else?”

“One last thing. Once- if we do this our cores will start generating stuff for you to eat too. It’s kinda like baby food for ghostlings,” Danny said with a grin at Jason’s perturbed expression.

“Don’t you kids need it? For your own cores or whatever?” Jason questioned with a frown.

Sam almost snorted. “Adult ghosts, remember?”

“And you don’t have to answer now, the offer’s always open,” Tucker placated at the sudden weariness from Jason. “You got lucky with the timing actually- the Christmas Truce is going to happen soon and nobody is allowed to fight during the truce. If you really don’t want to be adopted you could go to the Zone to see the doctors on Christmas.”

“They’ll totally follow you until the truce is up though,” Sam cautioned. 

“I can lose them,” Jason declared without a hint of hesitation. “I’m going during the truce.”

Danny sucked in a breath. It was hard to ignore the fact that there was what amounted to a sick, starving child in front of him and he couldn’t do anything about it. It was nauseating. To say he was disappointed Jason opted against adoption would be a gross understatement.

“We don’t know for sure yet,” Tucker said, though it rang hollow. Even without a more experienced eye they could all tell that his core was in a delicate state from proximity alone.

Still, Tucker had done the right thing in giving Jason the options. Meeting the medical yetis during the truce, however, ushered in a new set of problems.

“The party is at my lair this year,” Danny reminded them. “I kinda halfa be there.”

“This isn’t the time for puns,” Sam hissed. 

“He’s right though. As the new king he can’t exactly skip out again,” Tucker sighed without any remorse. He was looking forward to it and had been since last year. “Also Danny, you already used that one tonight.”

Danny elected to ignore the critique of his puns. “But it kinda works out, right? The yetis will be there. We have time to set up doctor’s equipment. We just have to ask if they’d be willing to help,” he pointed out.

“And if you ask they’ll say yes,” Sam thought. 

Danny felt conflicted after that comment. He didn’t make them do anything but if he so much as mentioned something in passing, they would go out of their way to do it.

“It won’t take all night,” consoled Tucker. “They’ll get to party with everyone else.”

“Alright, works for us,” Sam said aloud. “On Christmas we’ll take you to the Zone.”

👻 {Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.)

Taglist time! If you want to be added, just say so!

@depressed-bitchy-demon @dp-marvel94 @birbtails @mr-lancers-english-class @miraculousandmore @iglowinggemma28 @manapeer @azzysflowergarden @notwhat-i-seemtobe @whobee7 @trippingovermyfeet @stormhaven257 @imsociallyanxiousgetoverit @passivedecept @lovetheryu @ever-after-aaa @mysteriousooze @wegetitethan @cyber-geist @t-nayira @wisteriavines @starscreamlover

Next: Chapter 7

#Halfa trio pretty much from DarkNympha's Third Time fanfic #danny phantom #dp x dc #dp x dc fanfic #sam manson #tucker foley #danny fenton #jason todd #Halfa!trio Au #fanfiction #miscmonstro writings #always open to feedback #cries in no beta reader #jason seeing three vigilante teens: oh no #the trio seeing a stubborn lil ghost about to frickin keel over: oh no

[imagine-darksiders]

Fish Out of Water

Five Nights at Freddy’s - Security Breach

Daycare Attendant X Reader

Giant mer au. 

Summary: What you're looking at is...

Well, quite frankly, it's impossible.

There's a face hanging above you, Lovecraftian in proportion – taller and wider than you are long, with features about as adjacent to a human's as one could possibly get.

For the first few seconds, you remain frozen to your spot, unblinking, half expecting the grinning visage to fade away as sobriety takes you back into its safe, sense-making embrace.A pair of milky, white eyes peer down at you, hanging in the expanse of yellowing skin, like twin pools of alabaster paint.

 You'd hesitate to even call them eyes, but then, the damn things b l i n k.

Tags/Warnings: Mermay 2022, Giant Mermen, Amputee Reader, Amputation, Medical Trauma, Depression, Grief and Mourning, Ableism, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Minor Character Death, Car Accidents, G/T, Giant/Tiny, Explicit Language, Loss of Leg, Mental Health Issues

----

It still hurts sometimes. The leg.

Well, what constitutes for the echo of a leg.

'Phantom limb pain,' your physician informed you, 'Unsettling to be sure, but common and usually harmless.'

Harmless. You vividly recall tasting the bile on your tongue, and how you'd barely managed to withhold a bitter scoff as you sat there in that green, plastic chair whilst the spot below your right hipbone pinched and twisted around the ghosts of nerves that used to occupy the now empty space.

Physiotherapy was... disheartening.

Things you once took for granted, like standing up, suddenly became insurmountable tasks in their own right.

As the weeks dragged by, you acclimatised to the basic, clunky prosthetic limb provided to you by the hospital, and the whole while, your bitterness only grew until at last, after twelve, gruelling weeks fraught with despair, rage and terrible, numbing apathy, you were discharged from physio and hobbled right into a veritable slew of legal procedures.

Your paternal aunt had driven you back to the big, empty house on the outskirts of your home town - the house that had belonged to your parents not four, short months ago.

After just a few meetings with their solicitor and a signature or two... or three... the house was promptly handed over to you, along with a generous chunk of their estate.

A leg wasn't the only thing that drunk driver took from you on that warm, summer evening...

Still, you held no ill-will for the poor bastard. In the end, he too had paid the ultimate price.

You heard his funeral was a lonely affair.

The one you managed to put together for your parents was about as fine as you could make it.

Closed-casket, despite best efforts from the morticians. You don't think your mother would have wanted people to see her when she wasn't at her best, after all.

The hall was filled with businessmen and opportunists alike – former clients of your father's – all attending under the guise of 'friends,' and all terribly interested to know what the young heiress plans to do with the family business now that dear, old mum and dad have shuffled off this mortal coil.

The only real family who came was your Aunt, Lucy.

God bless her stamina, she had fielded the untimely questions in your stead. You were quiet for the most part, read a few words here and there, nothing particularly moving, but judging by the amount of people not-so-subtly checking the time on their Rolexes, short and sweet was probably the favourable route to go down.

In the months that followed, you underwent a metamorphosis of sorts, swiftly shifting from socialite to recluse.

Predominantly, it was the comments that rattled you; words whispered around corners after you hobbled by on your crutches, or murmurs you caught wind of over in the next aisle at the supermarket by gossipers who thought that a missing leg somehow equated to terrible hearing.

'Poor dear,' you heard on the daily.

'Such a shame.'

'Glad that wasn't me though...'

But perhaps the worst? 'Used to be quite the catch. All that money. But who wants to look after that for the rest of their life, eh?'

'Could hire a carer for her?'

Suddenly, you'd turned from a promising, young asset to everyone's missed opportunity.

Your parents lives had revolved around money. Their friends' lives revolved around money.

The revelation that in the eyes of the people, your value had decreased significantly with the loss of your leg was a laughable bagatelle... Until it wasn't. Until the remarks came too frequently and for too long. That stiff upper lip you'd inherited from your mother slowly began to wobble, and the walls your father had taught you to build were slowly chipping away, brick by brick. With every pitying glance, every morning that you woke up and peeled back the covers, every time you failed to distribute your weight properly and ended up taking a spill on a crowded street, you withdrew further and further into yourself, into the house, into the wine cellar.

Bitter and festering in a miasma of grief, you helped yourself to the reserves, down there in the dark with nobody but the spiders for company.

A bottle of 1959 Dom Perignon? Hideous aftertaste, but it helped with that phantom pain in your leg and the one in your heart.

And that was your wretched, little life, for several months following the end of your physiotherapy.

Eventually though, as is often the case with wittering aunts who don't know how to mind their own business, Lucy staged a one-woman intervention, all but hauling you out of the house by the arm and dumping you unceremoniously into her Aston. Damnable woman was a personal trainer. And a bloody good one at that. But it wasn't an exercise regime that was on her agenda for you.

“Darling, it's like watching a scorpion sting itself to death!” she exclaimed in that dramatic way that glamorous aunts often do, her scarf flying about in the wind as she sped aimlessly down the country lanes with the roof of the car retracted, “Of all my nieces and nephews, you always were my favourite.”

A bold-faced lie, but you'd appreciated her effort at the time.

“But you're ever so sensitive too, dear!”

Sensitive. A codeword used to describe the outcast who took more of an interest in artistic pursuits than seek to follow in the family business or other entrepreneurial exploits.

“It's a charming little cottage, your grandfather used to frequent with the gents from his fishing days.”

You realised right then and there what she was about to suggest. But you didn't offer up any protest. Not that there'd be much point. Your aunt had inherited the bullheadedness of her own mother, and once her mind is made up, there's little that can sway her focus, short of a chemical explosion.

“You know, Karen Blixen wasn't far off the mark when she wrote-”

“-The Deluge at Norderney,” you'd finished in a mutter, watching the neatly-trimmed verges flash by, there and gone in a moment...

“Well remembered!”

How could you possibly forget it? Any time Aunt Lucy heard of an ailment in the family, she'd come around, armed not with a packet of paracetamol or a cold compress, but with her favourite quote.

A pause ensued, and then the line you anticipated fell off her painted lips. “I know a cure for everything: Salt water.”

You had to endure her expectant gaze burning into you from the corner of her eye until you'd sighed, resigned yourself to your fate, and played along. “Salt water?”

Her response was instantaneous. “Yes! In one way or the other. Sweat, tears, or the salt sea.”

She'd half turned to peer over at you then, her fathomless eyes hidden behind those cat-eye sunglasses she always wore, even in the dead of winter when the sun was just a distant memory. You'd clenched your hands into the leather seats, hating that her focus wasn't on the road. Hating the whole car ride in general, really.

“I think.. a bit of time away by the sea would do you some real good, my dear.”

'But what good could an ocean do?' you wondered in dismissive silence. Certainly, it's true that the salt can help dry out cuts and abrasions and help the skin's tissue grow more effectively, but can it raise the dead? Can the properties of the sea rebuild a broken body, if not a broken soul? What almighty magic could the ocean offer someone for whom magic has been dead for a long, long time?

But then... what could you have possibly done in the way of protesting your Aunt's suggestion?

It was nigh impossible to win an argument against Aunt Lucy, even when you were at your most spirited. What hope did you have then, to argue against her with half your wit intact and a dark cloud hanging over you like smog from a factory's chimney?

“All right, Auntie,” you'd conceded, because to say 'No,' would be less sensible than waving a red flag in the face of a charging bull.

At last, her eyes had returned to the road and you relaxed minutely in the seat.

“Splendid, darling! Splendid! Oh, Daddy would be so happy to see the old place lived in again.”

The look of triumph on her face had eased some of your reservations. She liked to help, even if she did employ the battering-ram approach a little too often.

“I'll take you back to the house-”

You wager she'd have just kept driving until you agreed with her either way.

“-Derek can drive you down to the coast. He's been meaning to take the old Ghost out for a nice, long burn...”

Ah, Derek – the latest accessory that Lucy tended to dangle off her arm like a shiny bauble.

Volunteered for chauffeur duty, he'd pulled up into the driveway of your house just two days later in his pristine, white Royce.

And with a backpack stuffed with a few changes of clothes, your sketchbook and watercolours and of course, your clunky prosthetic, you'd settled tentatively in the passenger seat, offered him a polite word of thanks, and began your journey to the sea.

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

There are scarce few things in nature, you reason, that come quite so close to rivalling the splendour of a sunset over water.

You're perched precariously upon the precipice of a tall, chalk cliff, barely a hundred paces or so from the back door of your grandfather's rundown, ramshackle cottage that could use a coat or two of fresh paint to liven it up... maybe a fumigation... an exorcism...

Your legs – 'leg,' you remind yourself sharply – dangles over the edge of the cliff, heel kicking idly against the soft chalk beneath you.

Way down below, the sea swells and retreats gently from the rocks, back and forth and back and forth, wave followed by wave followed by wave.

'Aunt Lucy was right,' you huff with begrudging fondness. The bucolic sight is soothing, to a degree.

But there's only so much a nice view can do to relax the mind.

“God, that's pretty,” you drawl aloud to nobody but the open air before taking a long swig from the beer clutched in your hand. Three empty bottles are strewn about in the grass somewhere behind you whereas to your right, the prosthetic leg sits, unattached but constantly in your peripheral vision like a detested symbol of your missing piece – never coming close to the real thing, but trying its best to mimic a functioning limb.

You don't even notice that you've curled your lips into a sneer until the false is in your free hand and you're glowering hatefully down at the ugly, clumsy thing.

You couldn't really say what possessed you to start talking to it. If your parents were here, they'd roll their eyes and tell you to stop behaving like a child. They used to say similar things if they overheard you talking to your toys when you were very small.

'Only people who don't have any friends talk to inanimate objects,' your mother announced one day, peering down her nose at you, 'For goodness sake, don't let anyone hear you. People will think you're simple.'

You've kept your promise, at least. Even now, there's nobody around to hear you grumble matter-of-factly at your own, replacement leg.

“Everyone stares at you, you know.”

The leg, of course, doesn't respond.

“Tch.” Scoffing, you bring the beer to your lips again and grimace at the taste. “It's probably because they know you're just gonna break down in a couple of months, anyway. Then, they'll toss you in the landfill with all the... the other useless junk...”

In your misty haze, you'd swear that hateful leg gives you a condescending look.

“Fuck. You,” you seethe venomously, soft as a whisper but quivering like a leaf in gale-force winds.

It's perhaps the first show of real, raw emotion you've released since the funeral.

Fitting then, that it's here, when you're finally, truly alone, nobody but screaming gulls for company that you feel safe enough to let the proverbial walls come crashing down to the ground. The first flood of tears are a surprise and if it weren't for the way your vision blurs and warps, you'd accredit the moisture on your face to the waves that hurl sea-spray against the rocks far below you.

There are no silent stares out here, nor briefly stolen glances or excessive sympathy from well-meaning do-gooders.

Cheap beer from a petrol station mixed with grief and an unhealthy dose of repressed animosity for your situation make for one hell of an emotional cocktail.

Reeling the prosthetic leg back over your head, you turn to face the golden sunset, pinks bleeding like watercolour into reds and yellows as if some, great artist brought out his paints and decided to create a fleeting masterpiece that will only disappear in a few, short hours.

Then, with a shout borne of alcohol-driven acrimony, you thoughtlessly pitch the false leg forwards, hurling it clear over the side of the cliff and watching it soar through the air for several, glorious moments before inevitably, gravity does its job and the prosthetic begins to descend, down, down and down again, all the way to the ocean.

'.... Plop.'

… The resulting splash is wildly unsatisfactory.

Whatever catharsis you hoped to gain from ridding yourself of the embodiment of your disability doesn't come. In its place, you feel the telltale pang of regret shoot through your stomach, growing more acidic after you recall leaving your crutches back at the cottage...

“... You. Idiot!” you reprimand yourself, pinching the bridge of your nose and exhaling roughly through it.

The grass comes up to meet you as you flop over backwards with a heavy thud and fling an arm across your eyes, allowing the tears to spill from their confines and ooze in tiny rivulets down your cheeks and into your hair.

The beer bottles lay forgotten at the side of your head.

For several minutes, you content yourself to simply lay here on the cliff's perilous edge, knowing that eventually, you're going to have to drag yourself back up the dirt path on your belly, all the way to your grandfather's cottage where you'll need to make arrangements for a new prosthetic, not to mention compensate the hospital for the one you've just chucked into the sea like a toddler throwing her toys out of the pram.

Maybe your parents were right.

Maybe it is high time you grew up...

Sealing your eyes tightly shut, as if that would stop the tears from spilling, you remove your arm and stare up at the insides of your eyelids instead.

You could have sworn you'd already hit rock bottom when you woke up in the hospital bed to the news that your parents hadn't survived the crash, only to instantly learn that you'd lost a leg as well.

But somehow, this moment feels slightly more apt for the term.

Alone, misshapen, friendless and an orphan to boot, drinking beers and projecting onto a plastic leg?

This is bedrock. And it's your own, damn hand that's wrapped around the shovel that brought you here.

Way down below you, there's the sound of a particularly large wave crashing against the rocks. A few moments pass by in blissful solitude before the meagre light permeating your eyelids dims considerably.

You wonder, briefly, if the sun has at last dipped low enough on the horizon to bring about the coming night, or perhaps a cloud has simply moved in front of it.

The whispering wind sighs in your ears and whisks away your hitching breaths.

You ought to have known that peace is a fleeting thing, much like a sunset.

All of a sudden, you're jolted to attention by a loud clatter on your right that pulls a gasp from your lips and you fling your head sideways and lurch upright, eyes peeling open to land upon -

“What.. in the world?”

Reaching out with a shaky hand, you run the tips of your fingers along the hard, plastic casing of your very own, runaway prosthetic.

But... didn't you just...?

You cast a bewildered glance at the beer bottles nearby. Three utterly dry, one only half empty, spilling what remains of its contents into the soil.

… Right then and there, you absolve that alcohol probably isn't a healthy coping mechanism.

Still, at least now you don't have to drag yourself back to the cottage.

You aren't prepared to feel and hear the ground shudder underneath you, nor for the sky to tear asunder as if a growl of thunder had just boomed overhead.

“What the... Hell-!?” Your words die on the tip of your tongue as you finally decide to look up, and up, and further up still, until your neck is craned all the way back and your mouth drops open, incapable of stringing together a single, coherent sentence.

What you're looking at is...

Well, quite frankly, it's impossible.

There's a face hanging above you, Lovecraftian in proportion – taller and wider than you are long, with features about as adjacent to a human's as one could possibly get.

For the first few seconds, you remain frozen to your spot, unblinking, half expecting the grinning visage to fade away as sobriety takes you back into its safe, sense-making embrace.

A pair of milk-white eyes peer down at you, hanging in the expanse of pale, yellow skin, like twin pools of alabaster paint. You'd hesitate to even call them eyes, but then, the damn things blink.

Snapped back into your more sensible instincts, you recoil in horror as filmy eyelids sweep horizontally across the beast's sclera, serving as sobering proof that the thing you're staring at is indeed alive.

Throwing out your hands, you begin to scrabble backwards over the grass, kicking uselessly with one leg and at last, you suck down a lungful of air and unleash a scream so piercing, the gigantic face flinches back.

With the distance inadvertently created, you become all too cognizant of the fact that whatever this is, it is so much more than just a disembodied face.

Frantic, you catch a glimpse of its mouth that opens like a fissure splitting across barren ground, stretching impossibly wide until each corner nears the very edge of its round, flat visage.

Perhaps it should have come as a relief to you that in the place of nightmarish fangs as you expected, there instead sit a solid line of bristly, baleen plates, not unlike those you'd see in the mouth of a humpback or a bowhead. But a lack of conventional teeth does absolutely nothing to soothe the abject terror threatening to drown you under its icy waters.

“Ho-ohly shit!” is all you can muster, briefly giving up the mad, backwards scramble in favour of trying to get your legs underneath you, forgetting for one, crucial moment, that you have to stop referring to your legs in the plural...

You're too busy staring agog at the slender, sinewy torso rising up from beyond the edge of the cliff to realise that while one foot plants firmly on the grass, the other cannot, and as you attempt to heave yourself upright, you place far too much weight in the wrong hip and end up toppling over onto your side with a grunt of pain.

All at once, the sounds rumbling out of the behemoth raise in pitch. You peel your squinted eyes open again, only to shriek when you see the gargantuan mountain of an entity looming down towards you, that wide, terrible mouth emitting a long string of clicks and clucks that reverberate deep inside your chest.

Pointed, prehensile fins encircle its head and flop backwards to lay flat against its skull at the sound of your scream as the behemoth draws closer – too close for your liking.

“No! Stop! Get AWAY!” you yelp, torn between flight, fight and freeze.

What the Hell kind of cosmic being saw fit to end your life in such an unorthodox manner? It hardly seems fair.

You came out here to escape your troubles, not find newer, bigger ones.

'Nothing ever happens in that lazy corner of the country,' your aunts words cheerfully resound in your ear.

'Auntie...' You send her a quick and spiteful thought. 'You've got a really fucked up idea of nothing!'

Something huge, soft and wet prods at your intact calf and you let out another, desperate bleat, rolling instinctively onto your stomach and bringing your arms up to protect the back of your neck. Futile, perhaps, but this situation is hardly one that wildlife experts cover in their autobiographies.

Keeping the top of your spine covered against jaws that size seems fruitless in retrospect, but it's all you can think to do.

You aren't sure what's worse though - Having to keep the beast in your line of sight or not being able to see what's coming.

Cheek pressed uncomfortably to the grass, you crack open one eye and risk a glance up and behind you, only to instantly wish you hadn't.

Whatever the Hell you've come across seems to be fixated on your remaining leg, which is coincidentally the moment you discover that it has hands.

Four fingers and a thumb on each – eerily like that of a human's – but interspersed by a vibrant, orange membrane.

A webbed hand.

... Definitely aquatic then.

One of its appendages thumps resoundingly on the ground ahead of you whilst the other hovers curiously above your leg. Then, a single forefinger that looks to be even longer than you are extends forwards, nudging gently against your exposed limb, eliciting a flinch and a whimper from you in kind.

'What are you doing?' you pose to it in your mind, 'Checking how lean the meat is?! Go. Away!'

Rather than adhere to your pitifully shrill, internal demand, the creature brings its face in close again, causing sea water to drop from its fins and sprinkle down all over you like a rain shower.

With your heart in your throat, you watch it study your leg for another, arduous minute.

Then, the quiet is dashed like waves on the cliff face when its monumental, blank-eyed stare swings around to lock with your gaze, its mouth splitting into a fluttery, but unmistakable grin.

The sight steals what's left of the air in your lungs.

'It's smiling? How is it smiling?' Smiling would have to mean it's feeling an emotion of some kind. But... what if this isn't a smile? What if this is merely how the creature bares its teeth?

Without so much as a lick of warning, the beast suddenly leans down, parting its mouth with a warble that only prompts a far less sonorous cry to leap clumsily off your lips.

You fly into motion just a second too late, dragging yourself forwards along the ground on your elbows... for all of a few, measly feet.

A solid line of strange teeth close gently around the collar of your old, woollen cardigan and before you even have another chance to shout, you're hoisted up off the ground, yanking fistfuls of grass out in your desperation to remain adhered to the earth.

“No!” you gasp, swinging helplessly from the crooning monstrosity's teeth as it peels itself backwards off the side of the cliff and begins to slide down into the deep, blue waters below you.

“This can't be happening!” you repeat to yourself over and over again, “This is not happening!”

Things like this simply don't occur. You have to be dreaming. Perhaps you've fallen asleep on the cliff and this is all just a big, terrible, beer-induced nightmare.

The world around you turns into a dizzying blur of colours, shapes and motion as your captor heaves itself backwards, dropping further and further back down over the edge of the cliff until you're no longer looking down at the ground, but rather the churning sea that sits in wait, far, far below your kicking leg.

If it drops you from this height, the water will rise up to meet you like a slab of concrete. You won't stand a chance.

It's only in response to the disastrous height that you stop struggling and your limbs lock into place as though they've been encased in cement.

Rhythmic puffs of hot, rancid air flow continuously from the creature's maw and envelop your senses in breaths that stink of fish and seaweed. Paralysed as you are by terror, you can't help but gag at the stench.

Once you get your first, proper glimpse of the beast carrying you, icy tendrils of dread slither around your neck until it seems you can't even take in enough air to properly scream.

A rawboned, yellow torso tapers off about halfway down the cliff and seamlessly blends with a long, fleshy tail that disappears into the waters below. You can't tell whether the shimmering scales are simply reflecting the last, dying embers of the sunset, or if they're really that vibrant meld of reds and oranges, highlighted here and there by swirling patterns of the most indescribable gold that would have turned Midas himself envious.

Gradually, as the creature lowers itself down from the cliff to join the rest of its body in the ocean, you're struck quite fiercely that it might have finally happened.

You may have actually lost your mind this time.

There is no rational way to explain why you're being accosted by a giant, ethereal mermaid. Now that really is crazy.

The water all around the beast suffers a massive displacement when it drops its upper body in amongst the waves, bringing its face – and by extension, you – just above the water's surface.

“Wh-what are you doing!?” you splutter at what you're hoping and praying is just a vivd figment of your imagination brought on by trauma, grief and alcohol. Maybe those beers had been laced with something, after all.

In apparent response to your squeaked question, the creature hums behind your head, sending your teeth clattering against one another before it promptly peels its teeth out of your cardigan and allows you to drop the last few feet into the water with a startled yelp.

Salty liquid instantly rushes up your nose and floods into your mouth as you choose the worst possible moment to cry out.

For several, disorienting seconds, you continue to sink further below the surface, the cold of the water shocking you into stillness despite being dragged down by your thick, woolly cardigan.

Though your eyes sting already from the salt in the water, you force your lids to separate and peer through the slowly dissipating bubbles at the murky depths beyond them.

There is something inherently human to feel such paralyzing dread that comes with being in an open body of water alongside a predator. You discover that dread all at once when your vision is filled with that enormous, round face looming just metres in front of you in the water, its eyes squinted nearly all the way shut thanks to the smile that stretches its cheeks to their limits.

Together, the pair of you hang there in the vast, fathomless ocean, gazes inextricably locked, perfect strangers from entirely different worlds.

Behind the monster, its immense tail zips sporadically through the water in unpredictable motions that remind you an awful lot like a cat twitching its tail.

Is that what this is? Are you just the mouse being toyed with before a giant sinks its teeth into your vulnerable neck?

The creature's smile begins to wane the longer you float there until its entire head abruptly spins inquisitively to one side.

It's only now that you finally start to feel the burning discomfort enveloping your lungs, and all of a sudden, an entirely different kind of panic sets in.

You haven't yet been swimming, not since you lost your leg. You never learned how to get by in deep water with a missing limb! And your heavy cardigan is already so water-logged, doing its utmost to drag you further towards the seabed in spite of the salt trying to keep you afloat.

All coherent thought is torn right out of you and replaced with the very rational instinct to seek out the closest route to safe, breathable air.

In an explosion of limbs, you start to kick and flail like a mad thing, reaching out with laden arms to pull at the water around you whilst your one, remaining leg jabs frantically out beneath you.

Sunlight on the surface is quickly fading, but some still filters through like gold dust, too far away to reach, and the precious little air you'd sucked down starts to leak out from between your sealed lips and nostrils in small bursts.

In your frenetic scramble for the surface, you miss the way the beast balks at your behaviour, parting its teeth and releasing a confused warble into the ocean, as if the hulking thing can't work out which swimming technique you're aiming for.

The helpless display must perturb it however, because the next thing you know, a soft, malleable snout is nudging underneath your thigh, coaxing you gently up a little faster. In response, your whole body tries to lurch away from its probing face, but the beast easily keeps up, guiding you to the surface with careful bunts and pushes from its flattened nose. You don't even register that it's incremental to your journey upwards until your head finally breaks through into the open air and you gasp raggedly, spluttering, floundering to put some distance between you and the monster.

Below the waterline, your unusual acquaintance gives your leg another, scrutinising stare, glugging thoughtfully to itself before its eyes light up and it turns its massive bulk around in the water, shooting off with just a single beat of its immense, billowing flukes.

You feel something large pass underneath you, disturbing the water, but you're too busy fighting off your cardigan to pay it much mind. With a final yank, you peel your arms out of the heavy fabric and leave the article behind in your wake, dooming it to the bottom of the ocean where it had tried to drag you not moments ago.

That finished, you swivel yourself clumsily about in the water until you spy your next objective: the cliff walls. You hardly care that the waves are hurling themselves up on the jagged rocks, you only care to get something solid under your foot as soon as possible and get out of the sea.

Spitting another mouthful of salty water, you begin your slow, arduous paddle towards the cliffs.

Time and again, your head dips under the waves and you have to kick and claw your way furiously upwards again, knowing that you're only going to tire yourself out if you don't keep moving in as straight a line as you can manage.

With every passing second, you wholly expect to feel the teeth of the almighty beast chomp down around your ankle and drag you into the drink once more.

As you start to draw within spitting distance of the rocks, you feel the strength behind the waves really pick up as they surge behind you with terrifying force.

Safety is so, tantalisingly close, if you could just keep -

- A watery howl reverberates through the sea around you.

Your assailant hasn't given up the chase, it seems.

Just as you'd feared, you feel those teeth upon you. But it doesn't aim for your leg, or any other of your dangling extremities. Instead, with unbefitting dexterity, that enormous head emerges from the water behind you and it slips its teeth around the elastic waistband of your trousers, lifting you slowly out of the water.

“Woah! Hey!” you squawk, attempting to squirm out of the undignified position while the beast swings its great, finned head around, carrying you away from the rocks at the bottom of the cliff.

So, it didn't appreciate your attempt at escape. Well, what on Earth did it expect?

Dangling above the waves once more, you notice a shape moving to the surface and realise, with a jolt of panic, that it's the creature's hand, rising through the water to rest just below the surface, palm facing the darkening sky. It plops you down on your stomach in amidst those webbed fingers and draws its head back, waiting for you to spin haphazardly onto your back before it aims a gentle frown at you, teeth clacking together in apparent agitation.

It's all you can do to gape up at its face.

If you didn't know any better, you could almost imagine that you're being scolded by this behemoth of the deep.

From what you're gathering, the rocks are out of bounds.

“I.. I don't -... Please!” you blurt out, scrubbing at your face and smearing tears across your stinging cheeks, “Please, just let me go! I don't know what you want from me!”

You let your shout bounce off the cliff walls and watch how the beast's fins quiver in response to the noise, flaring with interest as it stares down at you in silence for a moment longer before it.... appears to heave a great, big sigh through its teeth, head sinking down to you once again, jaws peeling apart.

“No!” Cowering backwards against its curled fingers, you raise an arm to aimlessly protect your face, only to yelp in alarm as something tumbles out of the creature's mouth and lands with a wet 'slap' in its palm beside you.

When you chance a glimpse, you have to do a double-take.

It's... a fish? A half-alive trout, by the looks of it.

You can't help but stare openly down at it, your brows slowly drawing closer together as the slippery, silver fish gasps for breath in the too-shallow water gathered in your captor's palm.

Speaking of whom.. Above you, it lets out a croon, low and deep as it grins, seeming all too pleased with itself for some reason and casting expectant glances between you and its catch.

… What in the world does it expect you to do with this?

The silent question goes unanswered when the poor trout suddenly flops sideways and slaps its tail against your ankle.

“OH! EW! Ew, ew – heugh!” Grimacing, you nudge the fish away with the toe of your shoe, pushing it towards the edge of the gigantic palm. But just then, the behemoth holding you huffs a loud breath through its flaring nostrils and you snap your head up to eye it warily as it bends down to crowd into your space once again, forcing you to press your spine back even further into the cage of fingers surrounding you.

The fish had been halfway to freedom when it's suddenly plucked up between large but nimble teeth and, to your utter dismay, dropped right into your lap.

This time, your squeal of protest is much more emphatic and you shove the fish off your leg, squeezing yourself away from the face hovering in front of you, tilted to one side, as if you're the one confusing it.

Undeterred in its unknowable quest however, the giant hums anxiously and gathers the rejected fish in its teeth once more.

With a single chomp, the seemingly benign baleen that had once held you captive slices clean through the fish's body, leaving the head of the poor animal to fall uselessly onto the creature's palm once again, dead, unseeing eyes staring up at you where you sit with your hand clasped around your mouth, expression contorting into one of abject horror.

Tears begin falling in earnest now and your chest heaves in and out with each, shuddering breath you take.

With the other half of the fish still dangling by the tail from its teeth, the beast brings its head in close to you again and you blurt a cry of outright horror as it tries to press its mouthful to your lips.

Of course, you react as any sane person would to having a raw, dead fish-end so close to your tongue and nose.

You slap both hands over your mouth, squeeze your eyes shut and shriek out a muffled, “FUCK OFF!”

It responds by attempting to shove the 'gift' more insistently against your fingers, all manner of clicks and whinges spilling out of its bobbing throat.

Horrified that this is all feeling far just a little too real for you now, you turn sideways to try and escape, burying yourself into its clammy fingers and trembling around sobs that wrack you from head to toe and cause your chest to burn with the effort.

The last of the sun's rays finally disappear below the horizon, slowly turning the ocean around you a sinister and inky black. If you ever make it out of this alive, you don't you'll ever go near a body of water again...

Lost to your delirium, you don't notice the shift in the air and the breeze falling still... But your captor certainly does...

It can feel the vibrations shudder through the water, growing stronger with each passing second, and it can hear that deep, sonorous hum that travels along the waves like the roll of faraway thunder.

Disheartened by your refusal to eat, the behemoth reluctantly withdraws, swallowing the fish in a single gulp. No use letting good food go to waste. Then, it raises its head and turns its gaze out to sea, emitting a lilted croon in response to whatever had called it away from the tiny creature in its palm.

You finally notice that you're no longer being hounded by a dead fish and risk a glance up at the giant's face, surprised – and a little relieved – to find that its attention has turned elsewhere. But that relief is short-lived when you start to ponder over what has captured its focus.

Sniffling, you twist yourself around at the waist to stare out between the gaps in its fingers, even daring to put a hand on the membrane and pull it down a little to see.

And what you see turns the blood in your veins thick and cold and draws all the life out of your cheeks.

You'd thought the beast holding you was terrifying, but it pales in comparison to the monstrous entity rising like a monolith out of the deep before your very eyes, sweeping its gargantuan body through the waters towards you, silent and fluid as a ghost.

If the beast cupping you in its palm embodies daylight, then this gruesome atrocity must be its midnight counterpart. Polar opposites, but terrifyingly alike.

Where your captor's fins are bright and eye-catching, the creature looming towards you out of the darkness has a sail of the deepest indigo stretching from the top of its head down to the small of its pale, white back. It's face too is round as the moon, but the eyes...

You can't suppress a vivid shiver at the sight of those terrible eyes...

Like two, black tar pits that could swallow any light that tried to permeate them, save for the pinprick glow of two scarlet pupils hovering at the centre of each socket, somehow defying that very rule.

Below the waves, you notice dark, swishing shapes pulling the giant along, vast tentacles, eight of them, each one the length of a football field and roughly the width of a redwood tree and flecked with silvery speckles that resemble a galaxy blanketed with stars.

'Good god,' your mind supplies, 'It's part-fucking-cephalopod.'

The huge tendrils draw the newcomer up close to its fellow leviathan and it drifts to a graceful stop, blood-red pupils flicking down to you before returning to the other beast holding you hostage.

And then, it bares its teeth.

You barely manage to stifle a whimper.

Row upon row of sharp, jagged fangs jut from the top and bottom of its elongated mouth, gleaming in the pale moonlight that shines down from overhead as it hisses at its brethren, causing you to wonder if they're even affiliated at all.

Is it about to attack? It certainly doesn't look too happy from your angle?

But the beast holding you doesn't seem to be concerned, and instead, it suddenly lifts you up towards the other's face, eliciting a series of, 'No, no no's' that stream incessantly from your lips when you find yourself staring straight into that fang-filled mouth.

The new creature takes a second to peer down at you, its pupils glowing brighter with something akin to interest. It's a Hell of a thing to have that gaze searing into you, studying you, dissecting you with its blazing eyes.

... There's intelligence in those eyes...

In the next second, you flinch as it suddenly shakes its head from side to side and snaps its teeth at its softer counterpart, grumbling low in its throat and getting a click or two in response. To your untrained ears, they appear to be having a conversation of sorts, although what a pair of creatures like these two have to discuss, you don't even want to hazard a guess.

The smaller, brighter one ducks its head at a particularly sharp rattle from the larger beast, yet it still huffs out a response and lifts its other, unoccupied hand to place a slender finger against your leg.

Reflexively, you snatch your limb away from the touch and try to tuck it underneath yourself.

Ruby-red eyes drill holes into you as it falls eerily quiet, only the waves rocking gently against its hide make any sound. Then, after chuffing shortly at its opposite, the darker one holds out its enormous, webbed hand, crooking its fingers as if to tell the other beast, 'Hand it over.'

You're awfully certain that the 'it' in question refers to you. If it boils down to a choice between the two, you'd prefer to be killed by the beast without glowing, red eyes and a mouthful of shark teeth.

In response, your captor's orange fins flatten miserably against its head and it draws you close to its chest, but after receiving a withering glare, it concedes to hold you out once more, presenting you like a dainty morsel to the far scarier juggernaut, who wastes no time in extending its arm towards you.

No matter how much you might fear the beast to your back, there's no way in Hell you want to be anywhere near the one in front of you. You truly are stuck fast between a rock and a hard place.

Sinewy fingers, each tipped by claws as long as your hand, quickly eat up the distance between you and the newcomer. Gulping like that dying fish, you try to shove yourself backwards across the water-slicked palm beneath you, and you'd likely have taken a tumble right over the side if the approaching hand hadn't suddenly struck like a viper, propelling forwards and wrapping around you at a startling speed that knocks a wheeze out of your lungs.

“-Ack! DON'T!” you holler, but it's already far too late.

Like serpents, the fingers wind around your torso and leg, yet they leave your arms free, and you waste no time in trying to scrabble furiously against the solid bands of muscle constricting all around you.

“Get your hands... off me!” you demand shrilly, bristling like a cornered kitten and sounding about as intimidating as one too. The entity, however, hardly seems bothered as it lifts you close to its face and tips its hand, fingers unfurling until you find yourself sitting in the cup of its palm, where it swiftly places its thumb across your stomach, holding you still, content to ignore the feeble shoves you give to the heavy appendage.

To the rear of your odd trio, the yellow creature is croaking and mumbling through pursed lips, wringing its gigantic hands as if something has made it anxious, yet it draws close up behind its counterpart and keeps its eyes glued to the side of your face as you remain helplessly in the secure yet surprisingly cautious grasp.

The new beast doesn't squeeze you to a pulp, doesn't try to stuff you between those fangs or wrap one of its tentacles around your neck to choke the life of of you... Instead, after peering down at you for a few, awful moments, it turns about in the water and begins moving, not further out to sea, but towards the cliffs you'd come from. You barely have time to process this strange turn of events before you're suddenly tilted in its palm and brought up against a cool, clammy chest, pinned there by dextrous fingers as the beast stretches four of its prehensile tentacles up towards the top of the cliff. 

Incapable of escape, you watch in horrified fascination as the suckers on each limb adhere themselves to the walls and it begins to climb, hauling itself up and over the edge with you still clutched to its pasty chest.

You vividly hear the sound of glass smashing as its tentacle lands of top of the discarded beer bottles, but aside from twitching its frills at the sound, the behemoth doesn't outwardly react.

With slow, loping movements, it begins to pulls itself along the ground using its tentacles, perturbing you even further with the knowledge that it can traverse both land and sea.

Near-enough silent, its limbs swish through the grass and carry you up the slope, right to the back door of your temporary domicile.

By now, you've essentially given up attempting to make sense of the goings-on around you and resolve to simply remain still and limp in the creature's grasp, hoping for the best, but definitely expecting the worst.

Yet, as if the two entities haven't surprised you enough, you're further stupefied when the one holding you lets out a resonant hum and lowers you to the ground just in front of the back steps, by the door. It doesn't let go of you though, keeping you securely fastened underneath its thumb for several seconds, ample time for your initial captor to heave itself over the clifftop and drag its cumbersome body up to the cottage as well, chirruping as it catches sight of you again.

It's no surprise that the tentacled beast had an easier time lugging itself over the ground thanks to all its additional limbs.

With safety beckoning only a few feet behind you, you attempt to struggle against the thumb once more, but you soon go rigid as the creature of midnight blue lowers itself down onto its elbows, sending a quake through the ground when it makes contact with the Earth.

Holding your eye – because really, how are you supposed to turn your back on something that large and horrifying – it slowly extends its neck towards you, the wicked teeth inside its mouth prying themselves apart.

The sudden reminder of those very real threats hits you like a sack of bricks and you start to fight against its hold in earnest, batting at its thumb with clenched fists and choking out a desperate plea, “Oh, god! Please don't!”

Vivid memories of that dead-eyed fish spring up unbidden in your mind's eye.

You... don't want to die. Not like this, at least.

Your parents were ripped away from you against their will, through no fault of their own.

You never realised how badly you want to be in charge of your own fate until now. The very thought of being chewed on as nothing more than a snack for this wretched, undiscovered sea monster turns your heart to lead.

Through bulging eyes, you can do nothing but watch on, morbidly transfixed as a slimy, pitch-dark tongue creeps out from between the creature's barbed teeth and begins to slither towards you, prompting a string of curses to dribble off your lips.

Stuck with nowhere to go and almost seeing double from the panic fizzing in your brain, you clamp your eyes shut and dig your fingernails into its fleshy thumb, waiting with bated breath...

A sudden, unexpectedly damp sensation swipes against the bottom of your damaged thigh and you splutter out a gasp, flinging your eyes open to see the grotesque tongue ghosting over the scarred tissue that mars the bottom of your stump.

Pulling a face, you give the fraction of a limb a twitch and jerk your opposite leg across to kick feebly at the creature's encroaching tongue.

“Hey! Stop that!” The reprimand hardly comes out as anything more substantial than a meek whimper, but the creature does draw its tongue back behind its teeth with a huff. You have no idea what kind of bacteria live in that saliva, but an infection is the very last thing you need right now.

The beast pulls itself away and you're filled with an almost insurmountable urge to weep with relief when it finally, finally peels its thumb from your stomach and begins to tilt its palm forwards, allowing you to slip off onto the back step on your rear, gaping up in shock as it pulls its hand away again.

Free at last but still aghast at the thought of turning your back on not one, but two, aquatic deities, you shuffle backwards up the step until your spine hits the door behind you with a loud 'clunk,' rattling it inside its flimsy frame.

One of the darker beast's tentacles begins to approach and you snap your head in its direction, wondering if you could get to the key beneath the mat and unlock the door before the twisting appendage reaches you... but once again, it seems your apprehension is unfounded. A small flash of white catches your attention, half hidden by narrow coils, and as you stare, the beast raises the limb a little closer to you, then drops its captured item by your foot, slowly retracting the tentacle once its deed is done.

You blink owlishly down at the object.

It's your prosthetic leg.

“I...” But words more compounded than single-syllable vowels fail you.

Why would they return this? You'd almost forgotten all about your missing limb, deeming it comparatively mundane when seen next to a pair of colossal, otherworldly beings.

Movement, again, this time a flash of yellow and orange has you raising your eyes just in time to see the ichthyic creature all but shove its counterpart out of the way in its haste to stoop down and thrust its face out towards you, and before you even have the wit to lift your arms in some sort of meagre defence, it's enormous, red tongue darts out and slaps wetly against your chest, dragging a rough line up over your throat, face and hair and leaving a delightful trail of slobber behind as a parting gift.

The urge to vomit becomes increasingly difficult to ignore. It wasn't so long ago you watched that mouth devour the lower half of a trout, bones and all. Spluttering incoherently, you raise your hands and swipe the creature's saliva out of your eyes, shooting it an exasperated glance that goes utterly ignored.

With a roll of luminous, red eyes, the paler of the two grabs the smaller beast by its wrist and begins the arduous task of dragging it down towards the edge of the cliff.

Before they leave however, your initial captor offers you one last, longing glance, then it turns to let itself get tugged along by the other creature, and with a quick swish of tentacles and flukes, the two of them vanish over the side and leave you wonderfully, blessedly alone on the back step, wondering whether to call the police, animal services, or the nearest mental health unit.

#Fnaf #Security Breach #Sunnydrop/reader #Sun/Reader #Moondrop/reader #Daycare attendant #Daycare attendant x reader #Mermay 2022 #merman #mer au #giant merman #Reader #amputee reader #amputation #medical trauma #depression #grief and mourning #ableism #alcohol #alcoholism #minor character death #car accidents #g/t #giant/tiny #language #mental health issues