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murphy-kitt · 7 months

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Tabletop - Ectoberhaunt Day 6

AO3 Link (TBA)

Tags: Angst, Blood and Injury

Angela Foley seeks out Phantom to get a deeper introspection on him than the invincible hero the media portrays him as.

Whenever Phantom appears on the television screen, Angela has to look away.

She can’t help it.

A majority of the time the news will be broadcasting a segment about the newest ghost fight, as if—as if it’s some sort of action shot for a sequence.

As if it’s not a clearly dead teenager being thrown into buildings, sliced at, shot at, on a daily basis.

Perhaps her eyes are more observant to it — being a nurse for over fifteen years, with a teenager son of a similar age to the spectre. Possibly a mix of both.

But Phantom—does he have anyone?

Just because he’s a ghost doesn’t mean he can’t have communications—of course he might choose to keep them anonymous. Amity Park’s media can be a powerful thing.

Does he have anyone to tend to his wounds? Anyone who will sit down and support him, listen to him in his lament of a rescue gone wrong? Anyone who prevents him from believing the hurtful insults that get thrown at him each day?

Something in the pit of her stomach tells her he doesn’t.

A few days later — she finds her opportunity.

She finds him in an alleyway. The ectoplasm is a seeping, neon trail across the ground, some handprints smeared on brick to where it collects in a big pool. Phantom’s slumped just behind it, curled up in a tiny ball, one hand clenched to his chest, eyes closed.

It’s not the blood-ectoplasm that alarms her, it never is. Her job has managed to render her unafflicted at even the most fatal bleeding. No.

It’s Phantom himself. Yes, she’s been aware of his childlike appearance and the media’s desensitisation to his injuries, but now it’s different. Inhaling deeply, Angela takes in his appearance. Up close, the reality hits her. Phantom is just a child.

A child that is so far out of his depth, now crumpled and tossed into an alleyway like a discarded piece of paper. As if he’s nothing. And Phantom, well, he’s none the wiser, green eyes searching the alleyway dazedly. As if this is just a common occurrence, and Angela supposes it is for him.

She watches him a bit longer. Perhaps this type of treatment even transcended to his former life, when he was alive. Maybe it’s all he’s ever known. Maybe…she’s the first person to consider him the way she does. A child in need of help. Not some sort of revelled superhero.

“Wha??” Phantom blinks though bleary eyes as he catches her in his eyesight. He grips the floor and wriggles, but fails in pulling himself back. His body turns blueish for a few brief seconds, before he hisses in pain, clutching his wound.

The ectoplasm trickles faster now.

“Please, Phantom. I’m not here to hurt you.” She reassures quickly, incase he tries another escaping act.

He blinks again, eyes flaring a poisonous green. Whether in shock or a warning, she can’t tell.

Hesitantly she steps forward, pulling her handbag from her shoulder. It’s always got an array of bandages and stitches just incase she stumbles into a situation like this. As she does, Phantom seems to wither, pulling his hand away and showing the extent of the injury. Angela can still feel the searing gaze on her, though.

But it’s all the sign she needs to get to work. Angela focuses, examining the wound up and down. Instinctively, her hand goes to Phantom’s neck, trying to feel for a pulse under the cold skin, to see if the blood loss has any affect.

“Imma ghost…” Phantom slurs, trying to push her hand away.

And Angela would be inclined to agree, if she hadn't just felt a sluggish pulse under her hand.

A ghost having a pulse? She blanches at the thought, taking out a gauze packet from her bag. With trembling hands she undoes the wrapper, pressing the fabric to his chest. And now at a further glance, the ectoplasm has specks of red.

Why does he have a pulse? Is this why he’s so…different? Is he alive? Possessing someone?

To Angela’s relief, the trickle of ectoplasm begins to settle, the gauze now steeped with green and rusty-red flecks.

“You might be a…ghost.” She says, trying to cover the hesitation, “But you still deserve help, Phantom.”

“No-one ever does.” the ghost mumbles incoherently, shifting his head sideways to look at the concrete floor. “No-one helps a ghost like me.”

A ghost like him? Are there different species of ghost?

“Well, I’m here. And I want to help you, I promise.” Angela removes the gauze from the wound, trying to not show her trembling hands as she takes a needle and suture thread.

“I know.” Phantom’s gaze averts to her shyly before looking back at the concrete. “You’re a nurse.”

“W—what?” Her shock prevails as she nearly drops the needle, “How’d you know that?”

“Uh—uh.” Phantom seems to go even paler than before, his hands now more interesting than focusing on her. “You were there when I saved that girl, remember? You were in the ambulance.”

Angela does remember it, yes. The first time she’d interacted with Phantom up close, and the time she'd realised he wasn’t an invincible hero. The time she’d started looking closer.

“Is she okay?” After a short silence, Phantom sheepishly questions, “The girl?”

“Yes.” Angela nods, keen to alleviate his worry, “She was in hospital overnight and had a few grazes dressed, but she was fine.”

“That’s good.” The ghost hmms in response, flinching fully when she inserts the needle through his skin.

“Sorry. I should’ve warned you.” Angela frowns. “The needle is going through now. Tell me if you need to stop.”

“It’s fine. I’m used to it.” He brushes it off, waving a hand absentmindedly.

“How often do you stitch yourself up?” She inquires, wondering if he’ll respond. Phantom is very enigmatic, after all.

“Hmm. A lot. Don’t really have anyone else, you see?” Phantom shrugs, wincing as he does so. “I don’t want them to see how bad the injuries are so I do them myself.”

“You shouldn’t have to suffer like this.” The words spurt out without meaning to, leaving Phantom blinking owlishly at her.

”What—what do you mean?” He treads carefully, gnawing the corner of his lip.

“It might be normal to you Phantom, and don’t start with ‘I’m a ghost’, you shouldn’t be getting injuries like this, bleeding out yourself. You’re barely, what, fifteen?” “Fourteen.” He ducks his head away, “And it’s not like I’ve got a choice.”

Angela nearly drops the needle for a second time. God, only fourteen. Her son’s age. She wonders what age Phantom would be now, how long ago he died.

But he’s still got a heartbeat. She remembers the faint pulse under her fingertips. What does that mean? Is he still alive and no one knows?

The curiosity within Angela to find out this medical anomaly is dying to get free, but she bites her tongue. If Phantom wanted this known, then he would’ve told her or made the knowledge known to Amity.

In fact, something like this would probably get him in more danger, wouldn’t it? An anomaly. A rarity.

Instead, she follows the olive branch Phantom’s given her.

”Why do you feel like you don’t have a choice?” Two more stitches. She’s nearly done.

”Have you seen the other ghost hunters? The GIW?! I mightn’t get along with the other ghosts well but no one deserves that treatment. And the Fenton’s—well, the inventions are good but they hunt only a fraction of the attacks. I’m always there first.”

He's right. It pains to think, but it's true. Phantom is always there, every second of every fight. And if the pulse indicates anything, it's the possibility of a human life. A teenager sacrificing everything in his own life for Amity's safety. The mention of the other ghosts not liking him is interesting—is it due to his difference that he might be excluded in some way?

You can't think like this, Angela. Falling into the bias like others in Amity have done. See the ghosts as nothing but interesting—specimens—something to watch for entertainment. A hiss of pain stops her right in her tracks. Phantom's shoulders are hunched in further, one hand reaching for where the needle is.

Where the needle is jauntily stabbing into his skin. Amongst her internal monologue she's gotten distracted.

"It's fine-" Phantom stutters, but Angela shakes her head.

"Not it's not Phantom. I'm supposed to help you, not hurt you."

"I've heard that one before." He quips, giving a quick bark of dry laughter as he tilts his head back. "Not you. Just-people. Before.”

He's vague, and Angela doesn't blame him. The clear implications of his past life are shining right through, the rawness still clear in his put-on laughter. How many times have the quips and sarcasm actually been a coping mechanism? What if that was the cause in the death of a teenage boy?

But there's still one problem. The pulse. He must be still living—to some degree. Or it's a power, a type of ghostly pulse. A ghost-human hybrid sounds ridiculous.

And if he's still living, that means he's still enduring whatever is happening to him.

"Before?" Angela's mouth goes dry. One final stitch. She ties the thread. "Before you...became a ghost?"

"Yep." Phantom clarifies, propping himself back on shaky elbows. The ectoplasm remnants have dried to his suit, leaving a crystalized waterfall of green down his chest and on the ground. "They were meant to protect me. And I know they mean well—but—but sometimes I just wish they would take one second to actually pause and look. Stop and think instead of jumping into everything. Because I'm right here—I have been for over a year." The ghost hiccups, bringing a glove to glimmering eyes, "I just wish they would look and see me."

"Your parents?" Angela feels a chill go down her spine as she asks the fomented question. Anything involving a ghost's previous life is risky, but it feels wrong to leave him dwindling in the silence.

"Mhm." The ghost nods, slowly dragging his knees to his chest. His green eyes stare off somewhere behind her, contemplating things. "Sometimes I wonder how no one’s noticed. I thought it'd be obvious at first, when I first...became Phantom. I thought they’d connect the dots. But no one ever did. And—and then I realised it was because no one had cared enough about me to bother.”

She doesn't know what to say. Can't say anything. Just sits there and lets the ghost wallow, more green tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I take it they don't know who you are?" Angela inquires, depositing the needle and remaining thread back into her bag. She cringes outwardly. Of course they don't know he's Phantom.

"No." Phantom hiccups, a small flash of a smile on his face. "I thought that'd be pretty obvious." His mood sinks again as he looks at the pavement. "I've come so so close to telling them, telling everyone. But I'm tired. I'm tired and sick of ruining my life—afterlife for this. Tired of being some sort of superhero to everyone, being shot at, injured. I can't take it. I wish I'd never walked into that stupid fucking portal."

His voice tapers off into an angered hiss at the end, but the words are still clear as day.

Portal.

Only one family in Amity had a portal. Only one family in Amity had two bumbling adults who despite being degree level qualified in ectobiology, wouldn't see a ghost if it was haunting their own house. A family which had one son, who a year ago had mysteriously become withdrawn, cold and hesitant. Who'd drawn away from his closest friends and family.

"Danny?" Angela stutters.

A shaky nod is her only reply.

—

A/N: Day 4 and 5 I’ll be writing over the weekend! :) I know this one-shot doesn’t really match the prompt but I’d ran out of prompts which I hadn’t planned something for.

#danny phantom #ectoberhaunt23 #ectober 2023 #tabletop #no one knows au #blood and injury #angela foley #day 6

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murphy-kitt · 7 months

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Black Cat - Ectober Day 3

AO3 Link (TBA)

Tags: Angst, Referenced/Implied Pet Death

After noticing a classmate struggling with the death of her cat, Danny decides to anonymously help her complete an art project.

Usually, she finds art class is a time to relax. The last period every Friday before the weekend, a time to wind down and forget the chaos of Caspar High whilst splodging paint on a canvas.

Bianca likes it this way. A routine. Half the time she’s not even focused on what she’s painting, but the teacher hasn’t flagged her up yet, so she must be doing something right.

Now it’s a new grade, a new school year. The class is still scheduled every Friday last period, so Bianca expects nothing will change.

Until it does.

In the form of one Danny Fenton.

He’s a new addition to the art class, and quite frankly, Bianca is surprised to see him. She hears plenty enough about his constant truancy to know he’s more absent from lessons than present.

But all in all, Danny seems okay from what she knows of him. Two close friends, an obsession with space, a kind-heart. Somehow normal, considering his parents come in the form of two hazmatted weirdos.

So apart from the truancy and absences, there’s nothing really that strikes Bianca as being odd. There’d been a rumour last year about him having glowing green eyes. Bianca doesn’t know where that one came from, but she figures someone probably just saw his reflection in the light of a ghost alarm and jumped to conclusions.

The black haired girl settles into her seat, watching other students file into the room. The teacher, Ms. Harper, fusses with the board before returning to her desk. Her eyes scan the class and the obvious gap beside Bianca.

No Danny Fenton, not yet. Or maybe never.

After five minutes of taking register and waiting, Ms. Harper claps her hands together, fracturing the casual chatter in the class to silence.

“Right class. Second art class of the year. You had last week to get settled back in, but now we’re going to put our heads down and focus properly on our new project, okay?” She pauses, diverting a gaze to the window, “Even with the ghost attacks.”

She presses a button on her keyboard, the title of the screen shown in large bold letters.

Bianca’s veins turn to ice. She’s never had a problem with the project topics they do, Caspar High always make them vague and adaptable—a way of ‘thinking outside the box’. Instantly her mind is drawn to what subject she’ll do, maybe a good thing, but she can’t bring herself to even think about it.

”Our topic this semester will be about animals. Take this any way you wish. Pets, your favourite animals, our school mascot if you so wish. You can paint, sculpture, draw…anything.”

Pets. Bianca has a cat. Or had. She still remembers him well, for the fact he only died over the summer break.

She could take it out the easy way, avoid all the emotional stress of it and draw something simple, like a bird from her backyard or the likes. But deep down, she knows she can’t. Some stupid sense of betrayal if she doesn’t make this project about her cat—one final goodbye.

And whilst her mind is a flurry of thoughts, Danny Fenton bursts into the classroom, barely exerted, blue (green?) eyes blown wide with panic.

”Sorryimlateihadtobathroombreak.” He pants out in one stumbled breath, heaving himself up on the stool next to her.

”Well…” Ms. Harper blinks, taken aback, “I appreciate your presence nonetheless, Mr Fenton.”

”Thank god, not another detention.” Bianca barely registers Danny mumbling under his breath. Ms Harper is a pretty lenient teacher when it comes to attendance, as long as you hang work in on the deadlines.

”We’re doing a project about animals.” Bianca murmurs without thinking, as Danny glances at her.

”Thanks.” He blinks, seemingly taken aback, “At least I won’t be clueless now.”

With Danny now in the know about the project, Bianca turns her thoughts back to what she’ll do. It has to be Obi, no matter what.

Perhaps a watercolour? She’s always wanted to do more practice with them. Or stick to what she knows and go with the basic pencils and paper?

Hands over her face, Bianca wracks her brains for ideas. She can still remember the scheming little imp of a cat, with his incessant meowing and clinginess—yet she loved him all the same. Affectionate, playful.

She fails to notice Danny narrowing his eyes in concern beside her.

—

The lessons go on, and Bianca finds herself spiralling into a plethora of burnout and exhaustion. These lessons are supposed to be a reprieve, but how can they be when nearly all of her work ends up crumpled on the floor? She winces, ashamed as paper crinkles under the table.

“Brilliant progress from everyone!” Ms. Harper announces at the front of the class, clapping her hands together as she continues to weave through the tables. Tables of students all doing work except for hers, all focused diligently on their work at hand.

Except for her. Maybe Ms. Harper thinks she’s responsible enough to be left alone and trusted to do work–probably why Bianca was seated next to Danny Fenton in the first place. He’s not here either, but she’s frankly glad of his absence. At least it means she can stew in isolation without judgemental eyes.

Come on, Bianca. It’s just a stupid pencil sketch. She looks at the paper on the table, the black pencil lying askew. She’d thought by using her favourite pencils and paper it would make the experience of committing to the project more bearable. The two sheets of crumpled paper say otherwise.

Just a stupid sketch. She starts with the ears, the fur on the edge of the face. A triangular nose, the small curve of a mouth, the muzzle.

And then the eyes. The drawing looks like something–a decent formation of a cat.

But its the eyes. She can never get them right.

Start again. Bianca scrunches the paper in her palm, dropping it on the floor and kicking it under the table in one quick motion.

“Sorry!” the blurted apology she’s become used to echoes the room, with the patter of strangely light footsteps as Danny Fenton plonks his bag on the table with a metallic clank.

“Bianca, your poor artwork!” Ms. Harper is suddenly by her side (probably to antagonise Danny), picking up the crumpled illustration of her cat, flattening it on the table, “Why was it on the floor?”

Because I didn't like it? Because I can’t bear to draw my cat? She hesitates. Ms. Harper is one of those art teachers that if a student says their art is bad, will go on a tangent about different skill levels and to have more self belief. And whilst Bianca doesn’t mind these tangents, it’s not something she’s willing to deal with.

“Uh–” She tugs at her sleeves, trying to find an excuse.

“Ms. Harper, I need help catching up!” As if the timing wasn’t any better, Danny slams his hands on the table, sparing a glance at her crumpled artwork before sheepishly grinning at the teacher. “I don’t have a clue what’s going on.”

“And you would do if you attended our lessons.” Bianca feels the tension ease off her chest as Ms. Harper goes to Danny’s side of the table, lecturing him about attendance. But there’s still the risk of her coming back to interrogate her.

A final stare at the incomplete cat, Bianca kicks her small collection of other discarded works out from under the table. Discreetly, she hugs the crumpled papers to her chest, swiftly walking down the side of the classroom as to keep out of everyone’s way, towards the bin. Without a second thought she tosses them in and migrates to the sink where all the paints are stored.

Time to start again.

She "starts again" but never completes.

Each time desperately trying a new method, hoping something will eventually allow her to look upon a picture with satisfaction.

Watercolour. Acrylics, Oils.

Stippling. Scribbling. Cross-hatching.

She even tries printing off photos of Obi and gluing them in some sort of scrapbook style-but that ends up failed.

Thirteen illustrations of eyeless cats. All of them failures to capture any resemblance to the cat she knew.

Bianca tosses another drawing in the bin--it's routine at this point, when something makes her shudder down to her bones.

"This will be your last lesson to work on this." Ms. Harper announces, dousing her in horror. And then Bianca sees what she hasn't noticed in weeks, too focused on her own disaster.

Artwork, everywhere. Big canvases splashed with colour, some multiple small ones, black and white sketches. drawings filling up each table.

And her table is empty of anything. So is Danny's side. She's not sure what he's doing, but he seems to habit the bench next to the sink a lot, mixing trays of paints. So she assumes he must have a project. Perhaps next door-it'd explain why she never sees the trays of paint, or why he never brings them over to their table. If it's not that, he's absent, getting told off, or sitting with a weirdly concerned and reflective look on his face.

"Great." To her surprise, Danny approaches the table, his tray of paint balanced in one hand.

"Aren't you going to work on your project? Next door?" She asks before she can help herself.

"My project?" Danny blurts, confusion glowing in his eyes before he shakes his head. "Oh right, yeah. My...project...next door." He gestures generally, "I'm going to work on it at home tonight. Don't think I can focus on it at this place."

"I don't think Fentonworks would exactly be much easier." She raises a brow.

"Yeah." Danny huffs a laugh, "But it's nearly done. and, well, I hope she likes it."

"Ms. Harper will love anything you hand in at this point, even a plain sheet of paper."

"Ms. Harper...yeah..." He nods, his voice trailing off in silence as he grabs the paint tray. A paint tray which until now, Bianca didn't realise are all the same shades of neon green. it kind of looks like normal acrylic paint mixed with gelatine. Why does he need just one colour?

And when Bianca looks up, she swears she can the same colour glimmering in Danny's eyes.

All of last years rumours come flooding back to her mind. but she pushes them aside, more focused on the very impending deadline of the project. Submission by Monday morning. So she's got two days.

As the rest of the class departs, some reluctant to and wanting to work on their piece, Bianca sidles back to the bin to pick out her most recent thrown away creation. She clings to the edge of the bin, rummaging around the tissues and paper scraps. It's not there. A twinge of confusion enters her, and Bianca turns her head to scan over Ms. Harper's desk at a distance.

There's no crumple of paper. So where is it? She double, triple checks the bin again. But it's not there.

"Have you lost something?" A student she doesn't know of approaches her, some scraps in his hands. He looks concerned.

"Uh, no. Sorry." Bianca recoils back, pulling her sleeves around her hands.

"It's alright. " The student gives her a reassuring smile, depositing the scraps in the bin.

But she's far from reassured. Ms. Harper doesn't have her scrapped pieces. She definitely put them in the bin. They're not on the table.

The only conclusion is that another student has taken them out of the bin.

—

She can feel her nerves simmering away as she sits in her chair, glancing around the room at students with things in their hands. Their projects, presumably.

And her? She’s got nothing but herself and a backpack so flat that it’s clear there’s nothing in it.

Ms. Harper makes her way around the room, talking and inspecting each students work with either affirmation or encouragement. One thing is clear though, is that everyone has handed in something.

Danny Fenton still isn’t here, Bianca briefly observed, but she doesn’t care. She’s too worried.

Her heart plummets and her heart feels clammy as Ms. Harper comes over to her desk, paper and pen in hand.

”Thank you for handing your project in before the lesson started, Bianca. I can understand such a personal project you would want discussed infront of classmates. We can talk about it later, if you would like.”

What? Bianca feels her mouth go dry. She blinks.

What project? She hasn’t submitted anything. And certainly not before the lesson either.

”Are you alright?” Ms. Harper preens, her brow narrowing in worry.

”Oh—yes. Yes I’m fine.” She covers her confusion with an awkward cough. The art teacher gives her a small nod.

”Danny Fenton. I don’t suppose you have a project to hand in?” Ms. Harper questions as Danny trails in the room, a sheepish expression already upon his face.

“I—uh.” Danny stumbles, in what clearly is a lie.

Bianca saw him. Saw him mixing the paints by the sink, the weird green gelantin substance. He’d been doing something.

”I was helping someone else…” Danny trails off, his face flushing in what Bianca swears is a light shade of green, not pink, “I didn’t get the time to do mine.”

”Very honourable of you, Mr Fenton.” Ms. Harper drawls, her usual dissatisfaction at not being handed a project arising. “I’ll give you a week long extension for the sake of it, alright?”

”Yes Ms. Harper.” Danny nods, shuffling up to the table.

The lesson scatters on with Bianca’s nerves fizzling by the second, her confusion growing. It doesn’t make sense. She hasn’t submitted anything.

The bin was empty. She recalls. Someone has to have taken it. Someone…took her project and made one in her name? Why? Who?

From the sideways glances she’s getting from Danny Fenton, her confusion must be visible on her face, so she tries to push it aside until the lesson ends.

Students flood out the room, eager to leave, but Bianca remains put. Fingers clenched to the side of the table. Feet tapping the tiles.

”Well, it’s certainly not the first time someone has submitted their project before the lesson starts.” Ms. Harper begins as she steps from the room next door the room Danny had been working in , a large sheet of cardboard in her arms. Carefully, the art teacher flips it over and places it on the table infront of her.

Obi’s fluorescent eyes stare back. All her drawings, watercolours, pastels, sketches of her cat smoothed out onto the cardboard, no longer absent of life. The likeness of his expression is astounding—the same mischievous glimmer that she’d failed to capture.

So who had? And how?

Bianca’s breath catches in her throat.

“Are you alright?” Ms. Harper begins, “You look like you’ve never seen it before.”

”I, this it…” Bianca stutters, but she can’t form the words.

”I understand.” Ms. Harper gives her a reassuring smile, “You’re so caught up in completing the project that you never get to stop and really look and reflect on what you’ve created.”

”Yes.” Is all she can say, “I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

Which is true, in a way. She didn’t have the guts to complete the project.

”I can clearly tell this project is very personal to you, possibly a struggle.” Ms. Harper preens over the art. “You love your cat very dearly.”

Yes. Obi had been loved, and she missed him more than anything.

”Loved him. He—Obi. That’s what he was called.” Bianca says, and stares into the neon green eyes.

The neon green eyes.

The same shade of green Danny Fenton had used to complete her project.

—

A/N: And this is the one-shot that kicks off ectober! A bit more of a self-indulgent fic here, it was based off the emotions I felt when I gave away my cat Obi for adoption. He was a void cat (and very cheeky) so I thought, why not immortalise him in my writing for the Halloween season?

Here’s cat tax:

#danny phantom #ectoberhaunt23 #ectober 2023 #black cat #day 3 #eh science #original characters

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murphy-kitt · 8 months

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Under The Rose - Chapter 2

—

Without another word, Quinn begins walking across the field. Daniel’s chest tightens at the familiarity.

Because in Quinn’s place, he can easily imagine himself trailing across that field, picking himself up after a run in with Rory.

Something isn’t right. No matter how well Quinn deflects it, he’s seen it all before. He’s been there. The stammering lies, covering up bruises, the pretence that everything’s perfectly normal.

He’s already experienced it once.

And there’s no way in hell he’s letting it happen again.

—

#original work #original characters #daniel tibwell #thomas quinn #under the rose

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murphy-kitt · 8 months

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Forest Fires - Chapter 2 (Misunderstanding AU)

—

And when it came down to telling his parents, apart from the ghost hunting, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. His parents, Mom especially, were so relieved at his survival, that he felt guilty at admitting that half of him was gone.

So he didn’t. And that’s how he’s ended up here supposedly, with his Mom thinking he’s someone else as Phantom…a brother, perhaps? It’s still confusing.

So if he can relieve that stress from his Mom for just one second, allow her to believe Phantom is who she thinks, then it’ll be worth it.

—

#danny phantom #misunderstanding au #danny fenton #jazz fenton #maddie fenton #jack fenton #danny is not making good decisions oh dear

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murphy-kitt · 8 months

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Under The Rose - Chapter 1

—

Winter, 1981. Fourteen year old Daniel Tibwell is found dead in a treehouse by his father. His death is ruled an accident.

Meanwhile, Daniel’s best friend Thomas Quinn is grieving and struggling to cope with his negligent homelife. He and Daniel were supposed to run away together. Now that chance of escape is gone.

Convinced that foul play was at hand, Judith Tibwell decides to find out what happened to her brother that day. Judith seeks Quinn out, hoping they will be able to unravel the tragedy plaguing them both. Only the village of Glosro hides secrets—secrets that cannot easily be revealed.

—

So I’ve finally built up the courage to share one of my own works—a murder mystery set in early 1980s England. It’s only one chapter as of now but I’m really proud of how it’s turned out so far!

Murphy <3

#original work #under the rose #murder mystery #1980s setting #original characters #daniel tibwell #thomas quinn #hal williams #judith tibwell

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murphy-kitt · 8 months

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—

Wes grimaces. Hesitance is clear in his stare as he adjusts the sleeves of his flannel. “I think I’ve got no choice really, to tell you.”

There’s a bitter taste in Valerie’s mouth as she reluctantly nods. The clock is ticking. If they hold it off any longer then there won’t be any chance at all. Internally she doesn’t want to know, and doesn’t want Wes to tell.

But Phantom’s afterlife is at stake right now.

And a life, dead or not, is more valuable than loyalty.

—

WC: 4939

This absolute rollercoaster of a chapter is finally up. So happy to have it done! Enjoy 😁

#danny phantom #no one knows au #corpse au #danny fenton #lie like a tombstone yet secrets will bloom

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murphy-kitt · 8 months

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Hopefully I should get a new chapter of lie like a tombstone up by tonight! I didn’t meet my hoped deadline of 20th Aug but at least it’s getting done. 😁

#danny phantom #corpse au #no one knows au #lie like a tombstone yet secrets will bloom

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murphy-kitt · 9 months

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YOU. YOUR FUCKING FANFICTION. FOR DANNY PHANTOM. (LIE LIKE A TOMBSTONE (YET SECRETS WILL STILL BLOOM)) GHAUSEHRFAIUSEFIHASEUI IUTS ITS SO GOOD! ITS SO GOOD!I'M FURIOUS! I'M ANGRY! I'M COMING FOR YOU ITS WONDERFUL!! ITSABSOLUTELY AMAIZNG! SCREAMING IRL IT WAS A JOY TO READ!!

I know I’m late to respond but thank you so much <333

Hopefully I will have a new chapter out by the end of the week. I haven’t started writing it but it’s all planned n stuff and I’m raring to go!!

#asks #lie like a tombstone yet secrets will bloom

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murphy-kitt · 9 months

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Yoooo! Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💚

Thank you to @darthfrodophantom for also tagging me in another post! :)

I have 69 (nice) works on AO3 so there was quite a lot to go through.

1. red in tooth and claw (that’s your fatal flaw)

Summary: Everyone finds out Wes was right in the worst way possible.

Reason: This was the first fic I wrote in phicphight ‘22, my first year of participating for the event. I remember loving writing this in the moment and beginning to flesh out Wes’ character in my style. It was the first time he had a main POV in my fics. It definitely took me out my comfort zone as I had to take Wes, someone who wants his discoveries to be known, and reduce him to this subdued bystander facing the realisation that although he did want to reveal Danny, he never thought it through or considered the impacts.

2. lie like a tombstone (yet secrets will bloom)

Summary: Valerie finds a body in the park thanks to some ghostly flowers, and she never would’ve guessed that it belonged to Phantom. Only, the context around his death sounds.. concerning. Because he died alone. And no one ever reported him missing. But that just barely scratches the surface of Phantom’s secrets.

Reason: This fic is so self indulgent it’s actually ridiculous. 35k+ (and ongoing) words of a corpse au and no one knows au mashup with me trying to keep the mystery up as long as possible. I’ve been working on it for two years now, it’s seen me through college, and who knows how long forever more. I appreciate this fic a lot, because it’s a massive motivator for me to keep writing and reminds me that I am capable of longfics outside of one-shots. The Val and Wes team up was unexpected when it began but honestly one of my fav combinations of characters to write. Of course it’s also a big favourite because it’s a corpse au ❤️🤌.

3. Mask

Summary: Danny never really took a minute to consider what he looked like in Phantom form. He didn’t need to, not really. It wasn’t as if he was scared of what was under the mask. No, not at all.

Reason: another self indulgent fic. It was Ectober 2021 and I saw this prompt and went “yup it’s danno has a HAZMAT hood time”. I loved writing the reveal scene in this the most, when the Fentons and Val realise that Phantom is just this kid with no evil intent (best genre of fics imo). Also the opportunity for a sequel is prevalent—although I’m unsure if I’ll go ahead with that. I put a lot of work trying to get the build up and reveal done smoothly.

4. Forest Fires

Summary: 1967. Nine-year-old Madeleine Walker watched her older brother Daniel Walker die in a lab accident. Years on, she’s certain that Danny Phantom is the ghost of her dead brother. But she’ll never know now, having thrown away the opportunity in a fleeting moment of anger. Meanwhile, a confused Danny sets out to uncover what happened to the uncle he didn’t even know existed. Only the truth is much more than just a simple lab accident.

Reason: although only one chapter and two prequel one-shots at the minute, this AU/series is something I’m very proud of. I’ve planned a lot out for it and I can’t wait to get all the mysteries set and unravelling. Maddie’s portrayal of character I feel satisfied with considering the turmoil over her brother and having to deal with Danny’s changing behaviour. Excited to get this one going again. Also love it because I get to include my OCs 😁.

5. beyond false pretences (we search in plain sight)

Summary: Danny Fenton disappeared without a trace. Soon after, his family followed. Five years on, Sam Manson is determined to figure out why.

Reason: This was my third phicphight fic in 2022 (I seemed to have really liked my fics that event 😆) and I saw the prompt and ran with it. I particularly love writing mystery and suspense so this was very fun to do. Unfortunately it’s not finished but I like what I’ve done so far. I loved putting the easter-eggs within the fic and seeing if readers could spot them. And it was great fun to see people theorising on what they thought had happened to Danny.

I’m going to tag: @jadenoryuu @kawaiijohn @dp-marvel94 @jackdaw-sprite @cleanlenins

#danny phantom #tag games #corpse au #no one knows au #danny fenton #fic rec

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