#feel free to just stick around here

[rinkrats]

*brushes cobwebs off this* hi all, i’m at @suiheisen now. it’s very sporadically active and very multifandom... but it will also be full of @al-the-remix’s yzertiddies art, so :’)

[mymarifae]

i'm the birthday millie today

i'm super old now.

[fractalkiss]

object permanence

[fic] 1418 (fernando/lance), explicit, 4k words

excerpt:

Lance doesn't need a rundown on Fernando's reputation or another firsthand account of things about him that pissed Esteban off while he was at Alpine. In the winter, Lance had looked forward to coming to the factory and to engineers’ meetings. Fernando takes up plenty of space and attention in a room for a guy who's like, a head shorter, and Sebastian has two more championship titles to his name, so that's not all of it. Fernando wears shirts that fit him, hums along absently to old Spanish pop, and keeps the cocktail skewer on the right at a perfect 3 o'clock in his drink, the flex of his big-knuckled fingers slow and restless. Fernando is vocal about his faith in Lance to drive well.

read on ao3

didnt make a fic post for this so i'm archiving now

[no-brand-gays]

if i became a school idol and the other members made my image color gray i would try to take down the group from the inside

[nettleparade]

playin around in strike + csp feat himeno

[keeps-ache]

'man, little man-erio, little dude' little uwu-baby little cry baby boy small sniffler tiny terror horrid horrible horror of a child <- things i've just recently called our cat

[leejungchans]

peeks in hi

[padfootastic]

Ok sorry i have to ask another one now. Thought on regulus, canon vs the current widespread fanon version?

hehehe u don’t need to apologize at all!! these r super fun 🙈

hmmm i think it would be disingenuous to say anything other than i don’t actually have a lot of thoughts about him. in canon, i never really focused on him beyond the little screen time he occupied. there was nothing about him that made me particularly like/dislike him. he’s a blank slate, pretty much. i remember being v amused at harry thinking he’s a less attractive version of sirius lol

fanon, though…..that one’s a landmine that’s completely ruined my impression bc of how he’s characterised. it’s not that he has a personality manufactured from scratch (that’s a necessity) but that so much of it is just sirius’ traits given to him while undermining s at the same time? and also idk where/how it evolved but being sympathetic towards regulus while completely shitting on sirius??? so much talk about him ‘abandoning’ regulus or being a bad brother or being an asshole to him and it’s touted as fact and i’m just like,,,,how,,,,where did it come from,,, (or saying reg was in an abusive family situation but not giving the same grace to sirius?)

i also don’t like how his agency is completely minimised by acting like he didn’t happily become a death eater. just. idk. he has the capacity to be an interesting character right? but i’ve rarely seen him that way. i think a couple time travel fics, maybe? but it’s really hard to find a reg-sirius dynamic that works for me along with a characterisation of him that isn’t like,,,grating ykno?

i think my ideal regulus characterisation would be like—a snobby elitist dude who genuinely thinks he’s above everyone (similar to sirius but more biologically essentialist than him); he’s actually super close w sirius and idt it’s realistic but i like to imagine they kept meeting in secret and didn’t let their bond falter at all during hogwarts; super jealous of james but ultimately tries to atleast tolerate him bc he knows how important he is to sirius; happily drinks the pureblood propaganda kool aid even when sirius tries to refute it; bratty youngest sibling energy max.

these are just like,,,little things here and there and i don’t think i have a solid hold on him but yeah, this is a good starting point. fanon regulus just irritates the shit out of me ngl. gives me ‘nice guy 🥺’ vibes

Send me an ask with ‘thoughts on___’

[bigshotmot]

hey thanks new folks, appreciate the follows just to let u kno i dont post much abt transformers these days, just the occasional fanart reblog n stuff. same w people coming here after seeing my old tennis posts. mostly i just vibe im trying to get back into writing fic and stuff but im mostly focused on my original project stuff rn.

[sandsucks]

I think I’m gonna take a break from posting incorrect quotes and just keep them in my drafts for the instagram page? I’ll still keep this sorta star wars though, but the quote posts are not going to be the main focus of this blog anymore

[drdemonprince]

If you’ve never been all that disobedient before, you can and should start really, really small. For example, you can wear the slightly revealing or gloriously trashy-looking garment that makes your mom roll her eyes and sigh despondently every time she sees you put it on. You will feel judged and disapproved of when you put it on, but that is fine. Your goal is to sit with the uncomfortable feelings and continue with your desired behavior anyway.  Saunter down the steps in that highlighter-yellow Garfield crop top with your chest hair flowing over the neckline, and harness as much courage as you can muster. It’s okay if you feel like a beacon of sin. Just keep it moving. Your emotions are not the target here. Your behavior is. You can feel however you are feeling in the moment so long as you keep acting like you’re free.  Do you have a favorite TV show that a partner or roommate vocally hates? Try watching that show around them without apologizing or defensively joining them in mocking the program. At first, you probably won’t be able to enjoy the show while in their presence. You’ll feel self-conscious about everything they find annoying or cringe-inducing about the show, and so focused on their reactions that you can’t relax. That’s okay. Allow those feelings of embarrassment and guilt to exist and pass through you without giving up. In time, you will be able to ignore these reactions more, and enjoy the activity.  You want to see the needle of discomfort moving down just a little, like Link’s body temperature meter in Tears of the Kingdom when he puts on a breathable outfit in a hot climate. You’re not gonna go from roiling hot to frosty cold in an instant. But after a certain point, you won’t be actively in pain anymore. Things are just gonna slowly suck less, bit by bit, until they are finally okay. That’s true of most major life adjustments, I find.  Probably the best way to develop self-advocacy skills while growing in your distress tolerance is simply by telling other people no. Do this without explanation or hedging. Nitpicky aunt wants to hear all about your dating life? “No, I don’t want to talk about that.” Unreliable ex-friend wants you to do them the tiny favor of moving their entire home gymnasium into a new third story walk-up? “No, I’m not available.” Manipulative shift supervisor wants to cajole you into sticking around for another three hours to close? “No.”  As many advice columnists smarter than me have already intoned, “no” is a complete sentence. “No” requires no explanation. “No” is not subject to debate. “No” can be repeated over and over like a broken record if a disrespectful person acts like they can’t hear it. And you can walk away at any time to make your “no” physical and impossible to argue with, when someone has proven they don’t respect your boundaries. 

you can read or listen to the full piece for free here

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

I wonder if I'm makin things better or worse for the collective bein like this. On one hand I'm not happy or makin any progress towards it, but...I can't rly even imagine that. I can't imagine a life without him. It's not that I don't want it, on some level I know it'd be better for me, but...I can't even dream about it cause I just can't imagine it at all.

On the other hand I make a great decoy. He's basically dropped all interest in Angel cause now he knows I'm the one who still wants him n loves him n can't exist without him. So at least one of us will make it out this time, I think.

[lilithland]

imagine you’re running late, trying to move some laundry, because of course as the inferior sex, you do the cooking and the cleaning

you’re almost done moving your clothes when you see your favorite sock stuck in the back of the machine, you try to stick your arm as far into the machine as possible but you still can’t reach the sock

you maneuver your body until your head and both arms are in the machine, you successfully grab your sock but when you go to pull your body out of the machine you find you are stuck

you wiggle and squirm but can’t seem to get out of the washing machine

your partner was supposed to pick you up for a date later (you had left them a little note hoping to suprise them when they got home) so you knew eventually someone would come to your rescue

20 minutes later you’re scared shitless when you hear a loud knock at your door, it can’t possibly be your partner because they have a key and it’s way too early for them to be back

you start to panic a little but try to ration that a burglar wouldn’t try to knock first before entering, you hear the loud knock again followed by your door opening

“maintenance”

you don’t know if you should holler for help or pray to god that they don’t enter your laundry room, you’re beyond humiliated at your predicament

luck was not on your side, you hear heavy footsteps approach you, you hear a low whistle behind you

“and what do we have here?” rumbles a deep voice

you swallow your pride, “hi, um, sorry about this, wo-would you be able to help me … please?”

large hands grab your hips, you naively think you’re about to be set free

when instead of attempting to pull you out of the machine, one hand retracts and lands a hard smack on your ass

you scream in pain and jolt a little in the machine

“what the hell is wrong with you?!” you scream trying harder to wiggle your way out

“well sweetheart, when i enter a house and find a note that says i can’t wait for all the dirty things you want to do to me and then find a hot babe with an incredible ass on display, i have to oblige and give them the fucking of a lifetime”

you still at his words, he had found the note you left for your partner, he thinks you set up this elaborate plan to have wild sex with a stranger

“no you don’t understand that was meant for my partner i am seriously stuck please help me get out” you start pleading and begging

“sure, and i’m sure you’re gonna keep screaming no and for me to stop, even while your cunt squeezes and cums on my hard cock over and over again, is that the game we’re gonna play tonight sweetheart?”

you really start to thrash inside the machine, it doesn’t matter what you say, this stranger is about to r4pe your tiny holes

he shushes you as he continues to grope your ass with his giant hands

he flips the skirt you had been wearing up over your ass, giving him a perfect view of your thong

your boobs hadn’t quite made it into the machine, he yanks your tank top down freeing your titties, smushing them against the cold machine

the cold instantly makes your nipples hard and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips

“oh is someone finally getting excited?”

the strangers rough hands pinch your nipples as you start back up your protests of no’s

he gives your titties a rough smack and you scream and jolt in the machine again

he alternates between painful pinching and rough slapping, you start crying with how rough he’s being

“doesn’t matter how much you protest princess, i know you’ll be soaked when i go check on your princess parts again”

you refuse to believe him, but when his hands stop abusing your tits and go to remove your thong, you can feel the sticky trail being pulled from you

you feel his rough fingers collecting the juices at your enterance, the embarrassment of it all makes you leak around his hand even more

he wipes your girl juice along your thighs and all over your ass, the more his fingers just barely touch your cunnie to collect more, the more you drip for him

you hate how your body is betraying you

he removes his fingers and you hear some shuffling, you emotionally try to prepare yourself to be thrusted in to

you weren’t expecting to feel a wet tongue

you werent expecting to feel a wet tongue eating out your ass

you try to squirm but in the process accidentally push back more onto his tongue

his big hands deliver a hard smack to your thighs before pinning them down and holding them in place

“i can also go in dry baby doll”

you totally still at the implication he’s going to fuck your ass

you whimper and cry more

he removes one hand from your thigh and starts to play with your inferiority hole while he continues to eat out your asshole, he alternates between rubbing your nub, a little too hard, and roughly fingering your fuck hole

you don’t know how but his rough administrations make you have cummies

you clench the fingers inside you tightly as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm

before he stands he spits a glob of saliva right on top of your asshole

seconds later he’s rubbing his hard cock up and down your slit, collecting all of your girl juices as you continue to leak

without warning he starts to slowly and painfully shove his dick into you

each inch is excruciatingly painful and his dick seems to go on forever and ever

by the time he bottoms out you think you might pass out, there has to be at least eight inches of dick in your freshly r4ped asshole

he stills for a moment and decides to abuse your body some more while you adjust to his length

he smacks your ass and your titties, runs your overstimulated clit too hard and too fast

when he’s done playing with your body he grips your hips painfully and begins to piston in and out of your ass

he sets a brutal pace from the start, roughly fucking you against the washing machine

your abused and sensitive tits sway with each thrust, causing them to smack against the machine over and over again

you lose track of time, only knowing the sensation of your asshole being abused

without warning you hear a guttural grunt and feel a warmth deep in your gut

the maintenance man pulls out with a plop

“don’t worry baby, i’ll make sure to get a video of your gaping asshole leaking my hot sperm into your delicious cunt”

you’re horrified at every aspect of what he just said, your stomach churning at that the thought of such a video getting uploaded to the internet

as he said, you can feel the cum leaking out of your open asshole, slowly dripping towards your inferiority hole

as the sperm starts to pool, his fingers are on you again

or rather in you, his fingers easily slide into your gaping asshole, collecting his own jizz

to your continued horror he then shoves his fingers deep into your cunt, fucking his cum into the proper fuck hole

you aren’t on any birth control

his fingers move in and out of you slowly, you’re humiliatingly wet so he has no problem getting a few in you

“should i cum in your pussy next or try to get my fist in your ass?”

[bruisedboys]

love drunk — miguel o’hara x reader

summary — while miguel deals with a drunk and clingy you, you accidentally let it slip that you love him. requested here

grumpy x sunshine!! spidergirl!reader, no pronouns used but implied fem!reader, grumpy miguel, kind of ditzy reader, drunk reader, established relationship, first ‘I love you’ trope, miguel being lovesick, fluff. so much fluff

nav

implied fem!reader 1.3k words

Miguel thinks he should never let you drink again in your whole life.

“Y/N,” he says through gritted teeth, irritated now. Actually, he was irritated ten minutes ago but was doing a better job at hiding it. “Come on. Get off me.”

You’re dead weight in his lap. He wouldn’t mind, he likes when you sit on him like this, only you’re in the middle of the bar and there are at least five Peter’s looking his way and smirking, and he can see Hobie Brown laughing at him behind his hand across the room.

“Whyyyyy?” You drawl, your lips slow and your tongue slower. You paw at his chest and give him a glare that’s about as menacing as a puppy. “You’re so mean.”

Miguel sighs heavily. He picks up his hands where they’d been hovering at your sides, unsure whether he should touch you or not when you’re like this, and gets a good grip on your hips.

“C’mon, get up,” he says. He lifts you off his lap with ease, fingers curling around your hips, and deposits you in the booth seat next to him.

To Miguel’s surprise, you don’t flop into his side or try to climb back onto him like he thought you would. Where seconds ago you were like a rag doll, you sit rigid straight.

“What?” He asks you, genuinely confused.

“Sorry,” you say quietly, frowning to yourself. “I didn’t mean that. You’re not mean.”

Miguel blinks at you. “Oh. No, that’s not why I made you get off, sweetheart. I know you don’t actually think I’m mean.”

Slowly, you brighten up like a wind up toy, springing back to life in slow motion with a big smile painting itself across your mouth, all teeth. “Oh, okay. Can I get back on you now?”

Miguel actually laughs. He’s very tempted to say yes, you can sit in his lap as long as you like. He doesn’t, mostly because you’re very obviously past your limit and you need a bed and some water. Neither of which he can get you here.

“You’re funny, cariño,” he tells you, chucking you under the chin with his knuckles. You beam up at him, eyes squinting so much they’re half closed. He indulges himself in a squeezing of your cheek before breaking the news, “No, you can’t get back on me—“ Your face falls, “—But I can take you to bed?”

Your smile comes back so quick it’s alarming, and you nod vehemently. “Yeah, please.”

Miguel manages to get you out of the Spider-Bar (nicknamed by one of the Peter’s, he can’t remember which but Miguel refuses to call it that. It’s just a section off the second floor of Headquarters where Spider-people migrate to drink.) without you tripping over your own feet. He’s discovering you’re a very clumsy, clingy drunk. That, and you really can’t hold your liquor. He’s only had a little less than you and he feels completely fine. Other than the burning in his chest, though he’s pretty sure that has more to do with you and your presence than the alcohol.

He gets you into an elevator and holds you up when you slouch into his side. His arm around your hip and both of your hands clinging like vines to his free arm, tight enough to ache but he can’t bring himself to ask you to loosen your grip a little. He’d be lying if he said he doesn’t enjoy your apparent desperation to stick to him like glue.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. A gaggle of Spider-Women wait on the other side, Jess among them. The younger girls giggle amongst themselves when they see the predicament they’ve caught their haughty boss in.

“Hey, Miguel,” Jess drawls as she sidles past him, Miguel practically dragging you out of the elevator now and out of the way of the girls. “Hey, Y/N.” She grins at your inebriated state, then looks to Miguel, “Early night?”

It’s almost midnight. Miguel can’t tell if she’s teasing or not. She probably is. “Yeah.”

“Miguel’s taking me to bed,” you pipe up, a lustful tone to your sticky, slurry voice that Miguel winces at. He hadn’t meant it like that. Clearly, your drunk mind had taken it that way. He’ll be sure to set the record straight once you’re safe and alone in his room.

Jess laughs loud. “Right. Well, have fun with that.”

She’s still laughing as the elevator doors slide shut. Miguel sighs. He’s not gonna hear the end of that for at least a week. You tug on his arm and smile up at him sweetly, and he forgets all about it.

“What is it, cariño?” He hums.

“Can you carry me? My feet are sore.”

Miguel indulges you. Partly because you’d asked and he’s yet again been tasked with the challenge of saying no to you (which he fails at every time), and partly because you’re slowing him down and he really wants to get to his room before he meets anyone else. He scoops you up easily, one arm hooked beneath your thighs and the other under your back. You giggle dazedly and hook your arms around his neck tight enough that it’d hurt anyone but Miguel, burying your face in his neck, your flyaway hair tickling his skin.

By the time he gets you to his room you’re half asleep in his arms. He’d let you sleep but your suit is constricting. He deposits you on the bed in the dark and switches on the lamp. He only manages to turn on his heels before you’re grabbing his arm, warm hand wrapping around his wrist with a clumsy desperation.

“Don’t go,” you murmur, eyes half closed.

Miguel pries your hand away gently. “I’m not going anywhere. Just getting your pyjamas.”

You allow it but you make a grab for him as soon as he’s back, hands warm at his waist. He stands in front of you and undresses you out of your spidersuit, then redresses you into the pyjamas you keep in his room. You keep quiet other than the occasional hiccup and despite your amorous comment earlier you don’t try anything, even when you’re completely bare-chested and Miguel is standing over you. While he pulls your shirt over you head, your hands find his hips and grip them like somebody’s trying to take him away from you.

He gives you a glass of water which you skull back like you’re about to die of thirst. He refills the glass and when he comes back you’ve turned the light off and buried yourself under the covers. He thinks you’re asleep until he goes to put the glass on the bedside table and your hand sneaks out of the sheets, reaching for him.

“Miguel…” you murmur, fingers brushing his abdomen. You tilt your head up towards him, searching for him in the dark.

“You okay?” He asks, concerned you’re not feeling well. He hopes you’re not the kind of drunk who throws up everything they drank. Though he can’t say he’d mind looking after you even if you were.

“I’m fine,” you say softly. It’s dark and he can barely see your face but he hears your next words just fine. “Thank you for looking after me … I love you.”

Miguel is so shocked he almost drops the glass of water he’s holding. Sure, he knew you had feelings for him. He knew you care for him about as much as he does for you, which is an inordinate amount. To hear you say it is different. His fondness for you multiplies by about a million and the chasm in his chest feels, not for the first time since he met you, a little bit smaller.

He knows you probably won’t remember it in the morning, but it’s been said and his chest is aflame. He sets the cup down and then crouches next to your lovely, tired face, and cups your cheek. He presses a soft kiss to your temple, and then your lips. Your eyelashes flutter as your eyes fall shut and you smile.

Miguel waits til he’s sure you’re asleep to say it back — vulnerability’s never really been his strong suit. He tucks hair away from your face, feeling a bit drunk himself. Just not from anything he drank. “I love you too, mi amor.”

[peaktora]

𝐂 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘 ˚◞♡ ⃗ satoru gojo

𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊ your husband is unbearably clingy.

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ┊0.9k words. no pronouns used or specified gender for the reader. intended lowercase. established relationship (#married).

a/n. — i’m warning u guys right now that this is not proofread 😭 .. i literally just typed this up rq and posted it bc it’s been too long since i’ve last posted something on here

p.s. the prompt was in my notes from a longgg time ago, but i believe it’s from @/creativepromptsforwriting .. if not please lmk !!

"c'mere, hold my hand," satoru pleads for what has to be the third time. he pouts at you, who’s sitting on the countertop.

your brows furrow as you look up from your phone, "but, you're washing the dishes?”

he twists the faucet handle, and a steady stream of water flows down. after a brief glance at you, he places the plate beneath the water and says, "i know how to multitask, baby."

clinginess is defined as “the tendency to stay near someone for emotional support, protection, ect.” but there has to be another term for what satoru is, because you can't give any of those things while holding his hand right now.

you let out a deep breath and turn off your phone, watching as the screen fades to black. "satoru, there's no way i'm sticking my hand in that dirty dishwater," you say, sliding your phone into your pocket.

he practically shoves the plate into the drying rack. "i can't believe this," he huffs. "we literally had vows."

“what are y—“

“we had vows that said you’d love me in sickness and in health.”

"well…are you sick?" you ask, crossing your arms across your chest.

he pauses his task of washing dishes, leaving them untouched. leaning over the sink, he rests his arms against its edge. he steals a furtive glance at you, only to find your gaze locked onto him. with a hint of hesitation, he softly mumbles, "no..." before you can respond, he interrupts, "but i’m in health, and the vows said that you have to love and cherish me in this state too."

you lean back, searching your mind for what the alternative of holding his hand would be. because in no world would you hold his hand in dishwasher. then, it hits you. "for now, would a hug make you feel better?"

he answers your question with a hum, and you can't believe he's debating whether or not to accept your offer after all that drama over holding hands in dishwater. even so, he adds, "i'll have to give it some thought."

two can play that game.

“it’s okay,” you say, gracefully hopping down from the counter. a smirk spreads across your face. “i could just go—sit on the couch?” slowly, you start to walk in his direction and make your way over to the living room.

he doesn’t say anything, letting you do as you please. it’s not until you start to pass by him, that you get the reaction you wanted.

or atleast, somewhat similar to what you wanted.

"on second thought—" he exclaims, and the dishwater swirls around him as he turns around, his hands still wet and dripping.

you cringe as small puddles gather on the tiles. "hey—" but he interrupts you as he reaches out to grab your wrist. “ew—I—what the hell?”

you instinctively try to pull back, but he slips his wet hand in yours; sealing your fate.

“satoru—”

“what happened to nicknames?”

“satoru.”

"’m not sure who that is. i go by a lot of names, but not that one. lets go down the list, yeah?” he clears his throat. “i go by "babe, baby, swe—"

"you should consider adding "gojo" to that list."

"now, when have you ever called me gojo?”

"right now, in exactly ten seconds.” your husband gasps, hanging his mouth open. “satoru go—"

“woah woah woah—what’d i do to deserve this treatment?”

“you put your dirty dishwater hand in mine.” you jerk your hand back, struggling to escape free of his grip.

his grip tightens on your hand, “if you’re feeling like not loving me today then just say that.”

“hey—don’t discredit me. i offered you a hug and you said you had to “think” about it.”

“cause holding your hand ‘s better.”

you sigh, “after you’re done with the dishes, you can hold my hand as long as you want.“

he lets out a soft, thoughtful hum—the same hum that got you both into this situation in the first place. at the same time you shake your head, a mischievous twinkle appears in his eyes, and a smile twists onto the edges of his lips. "deal" he says, shaking your hand. “but before-“

you tsk, making him drop his excuse.

“wh—“

"the quicker these dishes get done, the quicker you’ll be able to hold my hand. so get on with it—go," you playfully command, and his grip loosens in response. seizing the opportunity, you slide your hand out of his grasp. you look down at it, seeing bits of food that’ve stuck to your palm. gross.

you walk over to the sink, feeling the cool water flow over your hand, washing away the food and dirt that clung to your skin. as you stand there, you hear satoru's voice grumbling from behind, "i hate doing dishes,” and you can’t help but snort.

before you know it, you feel his presence close behind you, his body pressing against yours. his arms encircle you, creating a cozy pocket of space between the counter and his body. satoru leans over your shoulder, gets a sponge from the soapy water, and starts washing a bowl. you simply lean back and look at his features.

the sight almost makes you want to stay in his arms forever. that is, until you realize the predicament you're in.

“you did not,” you whine. you desperately try to break free from the cage he’s trapped you in, but your attempts prove more and more pointless.

"oh, yes, i did," he declares with a smile. “what did you say earlier?" he clears his throat before proceeding. "the faster these dishes are done, the sooner you'll be able to hold my hand," he says, mockingly imitating your tone. "so, the faster these dishes are done, the sooner you can leave and do anything you want."

you sulk and moan while you reluctantly grab a dish and a spare sponge from the sink. “i hate you.”

“i love you more.”

[zillychu]

I’ve gotten a WAVE of asks about this AU, so I decided to flesh it out some more and answer some of those questions!

I’ll probably polish this extended summary up at some point and submit it to AO3. But for now, here’s a rundown of my thoughts–please feel free to send more questions! I’ll update this post if I get any more. But if you’re someone who wanted to write fic for it, don’t worry, you don’t need to take my headcanons as gospel. It’s a pretty basic AU honestly lol

Summary:

The portal accident results in a violent explosion that wipes out the whole block, and condemns all of Amity Park. Danny haunts the city for 100 years, before Sam and Tucker find him. 

Setup:

In the 1920’s, 19-year-old Danny went into the incomplete portal on his own, hoping to help out his parents. Ripping the portal open through unnatural means created a huge burst of energy that resulted in a massive explosion. A good portion of the Amity Park population died, many were injured, and the ones on the fringes relocated–Amity was quickly deemed too dangerous due to the excess ectoplasm in the area that attracted ghosts. 

While the disaster was in Amity, the fallout was seen around the globe. Before, natural portals were rare, short-lived, and rarely allowed ghosts to fully slip into our realm (the most severe cases being on par with poltergeists that most people didn’t believe in). Now, natural portals pop open frequently around the world, large enough to allow the entirety of a ghost into the physical plane. They’re more common the closer you get to Amity, but they happen enough elsewhere that this change was something of a small apocalypse before people settled back down and found out how to combat at least some of their new, permanent neighbors. 

Danny is unaware that he’s only half-dead, believing he’s a full ghost. He ends up sticking around Amity, unintentionally making it his haunt. His grief and guilt over causing the death of his loved ones (and many others) makes him isolate and avoid human contact. Though he has, at times, scared nosy people away from the city in a mix of territorial instinct–and to get them to leave before a less friendly ghost finds them. 

Ghosts are much more of an uncontested danger in this AU. Lesser ghosts are practically mindless, and while stronger ghosts are capable of reason, their interests are limited. They’re highly territorial, possessive, and often destructive. Most worrisome is that they also like to snack on the life force of anything alive. No one is sure what dictates a ghost’s propensity to attack or hunt the living for their life force since ghosts don’t exactly experience hunger. At least, not the way we do. If a human is rescued before their life force is fully drained, they can make a full recovery–though humanity has still not yet found what this “life force" is. 

And since the Fentons’ research died along with them, there aren’t many tools available to the public to protect them from ghosts. Most homes have standard ghost shields and some weapons are available on the market, but certified ghost hunters are required to take care of anything more powerful than your average spook. 

Sam and Tucker met in high school, and are now rooming together for college very close to the Amity border. Rent is surprisingly cheap when you’re a stone’s throw away from a condemned area crawling with ghosts. Sam is the one who drags Tucker along with her fascination over finding out more about the city, and its largely mysterious demise. Sam is aware of the danger, but feels ghosts have a place in this world just like everything else, and does exercise caution–like one would while foraging in the woods with a known tiger population. 

What she and Tucker weren’t expecting was to run into a ghost that felt almost human. One that hasn't hurt them, not for lack of trying–while being powerful enough to walk past ghost shields without so much as a flinch. The long white hair is familiar in the whispers of the ectobiologist community, but there’s no way it could be the rumored ghost king Phantom, right?

About Danny:

He has very long hair, claws, and black sclera. His hazmat suit is more torn and ragged, with exposed hands and feet that fade into a burnt black.

His hair tends to float a lot on its own. It can start morphing into fire under duress. 

He does still technically have gloves and boots, they've just charred and melted into his skin towards the ends. He can't take them off in his ghost form. His hands and feet have a leathery texture that's tougher than the rest of his skin.

The white of his hazmat suit is both supposed to look like flames, and also a battered look representing his more violent, explosive death.

Overall, he appears rather listless and sad, with an unnerving air of danger around him–even for a ghost. 

Danny’s “ghost sense” comes out as white smoke.

He does breathe black smoke at times, usually when agitated. 

He's already fought and defeated Pariah Dark by the time Sam and Tucker find him, technically making him the Ghost King. This is heavily speculated by ghost experts, despite there being no real proof beyond a massive battle that scarred Illinois. He has not donned the Ring or the Crown, and captured sentient ghosts are hesitant to answer questions surrounding him. Danny basically has the throne but doesn’t do anything with it, and finds it meaningless enough to routinely forget he has the title. He only fought Pariah because he knew otherwise, humanity would have perished. A lot of ghosts are scared of him because he's so hard to figure out, and he's strong. 

Danny is usually very quiet and speaks softly, because his lungs were damaged in the blaze that half-killed him. He's technically healed since becoming a ghost, so it's more of a compulsion due to the traumatic memory. That, and he’s just… very forlorn and distant, shy around humans who don’t seem to understand how dangerous it is to keep hanging around him.

His memories pre-accident are extremely fuzzy. He knows the very basics of who he was, but specifics have been muffled due to trauma and isolation. He routinely forgets human habits, etiquette, etc. and tends to act more like a full ghost with some odd quirks. 

He does try to scare Sam and Tucker off numerous times. Unfortunately for him, they realized they shouldn't have been able to escape a ghost that strong–but they did, because he let them. 

Sam and Tucker think he's mute at first! He doesn't speak a word to them until several encounters later, when he fumbles his whole scary act and saves them from another ghost. 

He’s still half-ghost, though he doesn’t figure this out until Sam and Tucker come along trying to unravel the mysteries behind the Amity catastrophe. Physically and emotionally, he’s been stuck for 100 years–so his human form is still 19. It’s unclear at this point if he can age normally like a human as long as he stays in human form, or if he’s immortal. 

Danny's family did not turn into ghosts, though he sometimes worries he'll find them in the afterlife as shells of their former selves. He doesn't know if it's better or worse that he's not sure he'd recognize them. 

(Danny also still has some living family. Take a guess.)

Yes, he knows how to Wail. Understandably, he very rarely uses it. You do not want to witness this.

Danny :) is not immune :) from the allure of eating a human's life force :)))