#after this Phantom is invited to the pride parade

[another-shameless-fangirl]

A Real Connection

Things had been looking up since the ghosts that normally haunted Amity Park had called a truce in exchange for a relative peace in both the Zone and on earth.

Ghosts could come through the portals, both naturally occurring or otherwise, and Phantom would only "escort" them out if they caused trouble in his domain. Most knew better than to cause any real danger, but minor things like flying through the streets in the dead of night or visiting the ol' stomping grounds wasn't enough to get Phantom to appear and force anyone back into the Ghost Zone via thermos.

It was starting to become comfortable. Slowly, ghosts were just part of living in Amity Park. They wouldn't hurt you or take your things unless a particular malevolence overtook them which was actually quite rare.

During the full moon it seemed the chance of something strange happening rose, lit up and powered by the brightened night sky.

Maybe ghosts were getting too comfortable with being around people.

Maybe that was why on one of these moonlit nights, Phantom himself was seen carrying someone.

It was strange that his eyes glowed red instead of green, but there didn't seem to be an evil in them. It could be chalked up to the moon.

It was strange that the body he carried wasn't clinging to him as the hero whisked them away as if rescuing them from a ghost attack.

No, tonight was quiet and peaceful just like the sleeping Danny Fenton.

It was most certainly Fenton, unmistakably so with black hair under the silver moon light and then the neon lights of the FENTON WORKS sign. Phantom was so careful approaching the building and adjusting his grip around the teen as if he were something precious even pushing the hair from his eyes before phasing through the brick.

Bystanders swore that the ghost boy did not come back out into the night.

The next day, rumors and a blurry picture had circulated around Casper High and the only thing anyone wanted to learn at school was whether it was true.

Was Danny Fenton dating the ghost boy?

Flustered, Danny's cheeks turned pink as he was surrounded at his homeroom desk.

"I-of course not! He's a ghost!"

Ah, forbidden love. His parents hunted ghosts after all, a real life Romeo and Juliet situation.

The blush reached his ears.

"That's ridiculous!"

Ah, oh course it was.

Wink wink, nudge nudge.

The questions slowed and steeped into whispers until gym when a lesser ghost, one that wasn't strong enough to have a solid form but dense enough to radiate a certain evil, burst in and shrieked a horrific sound that echoed across the scuffed wood.

Danny Fenton was present for the roll call, but gone when Tetslaff ushered each student out the fire exits.

Phantom appeared, removed the ghost, then disappeared again. Only then did Fenton come out of hiding.

Of course.

It was so obvious.

Danny Fenton calls Phantom for help.

Fenton of course denied this.

"What? Of course not, I just had to go... To the bathroom!"

An obvious lie. Unless, as Wes screamed repeatedly, there was more to it then that... Phantom couldn't possibly have a cellphone to be called with, right?

Panic bloomed across pale features. That blush appeared again and it really was endearing as Fenton stammered.

"Actually yeah! I do call him... He just... Doesn't have a phone so I have to contact him in a different way. He can sense when I need him to come. We're connected-"

Manson shoved a hand over the boy's mouth hissing something but it was too late.

It was sweet. It was SO SWEET! Phantom could sense his beloved, sense his danger and comes immediately to save him! Fenton had such a deep connection with Phantom and it was something that the entire school could respect. After all, most people dream of finding love that strong and who were they to judge Fenton now that he'd found it with the ghost boy?

The day went on, then a week. Danny Fenton blushed and covered his face every time Phantom was mentioned.

Phantom denied their connection with a very similar blush.

Even so, there was still an air of relief when Fenton got up during a ghost attack and he got a pat on the shoulder as he passed by his classmates instead of odd looks.

Then Fenton's parents and even the Red Huntress had stopped attacking Phantom when he did his nightly patrols in favor of asking pointed questions about his intentions with the human boy.

Phantom balked but that soft smile didn't fool anyone, like he knew something they didn't.

"I would never hurt Danny Fenton."

And just like that, Amity Park found itself rocked gently with an easy sense of peace.

If a ghost and a human could love each other, then anything was possible.

Love really was an incredible thing.

For @floralflowerpower

#danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #asf writes #after this Phantom is invited to the pride parade #Phantom agrees after finding out its sponsored by the mayor and Dalv corp #They get their own float #Lighting is weird though #Phantom's eyes are red... #fake dating #Amorpho #Or if you prefer #Possessed!Danny #Pitch Pearl #I left it open on purpose #But it was inspired by Amorpho bringing Danny home one night and creating a tizzy

[beyond-the-mirror]

Music of the Night (V x Reader)

Welcome back to another chapter of Music of the Night!

From this chapter and on, this fic will continue a bit kinda like the musical and the movie albeit with a few changes on the plot. This is an AU after all, one that mainly focuses on our dear and mysterious Phantom and his relation with the Reader.

Tagging @minteyeddemon​ and @thedyingmoon​ as a special thanks for believing in this idea since before I started writing it. Hope you enjoy!

…………

Chapter 4: An Angel Ready to Take Flight

- Two years later -

“This trophy from our saviors, from our saviors from the enslaving force of Rome!”

The conductor signaled to the orchestra the start of the opera Hannibal’s Overture. Right on time, a parade of actors and actresses entered the stage from the side, marching while backup singers among them continued with the song.

“With feasting and dancing and song, tonight in celebration, we greet the victorious throng, returned to bring salvation!”

The scene flowed beautifully, the gorgeous red dresses and attires that the performers were wearing looked stunning from Trish’s place near the first row of seats. Next, the backup dancers appeared on stage, their choreography signaling the triumphant entrance of the war general Hannibal.

“The trumpets of Carthage resound! Hear, Romans, now and tremble! Hark to our step on the ground! Hear the drums, Hannibal comes!”

The soldiers and ladies of the court stepped aside to reveal the arrival of the great general, played by main tenor Ubaldo Piangi.

“Sad to return to find the land we love threatened once more by Rome's far-reaching grasp-“

“Gentlemen, gentlemen…” Interrupting Piangi’s solo, the conductor nervously tapped the stand before him, stopping the music altogether. “Monsieur Lefevre, we are in the middle of a rehearsal right now.”

Lefevre had sauntered into the stage accompanied by three other men.

“I am terribly sorry Monsieur Reyer, it’s only for a quick announcement.” Lefevre excused himself before quickly clearing his throat “Monsieur Rever, Madame Trish, ladies and gentlemen. Please if I could have your attention thank you very much.”

Making a brief pause and waiting until everyone gathered round, Lefevre continued “As you know, in a few weeks I will be retiring, it has been a great pleasure for me working alongside an extraordinaire crew such as all of you. And now, it is my pleasure to introduce you to these two gentlemen who now own our Opera House, Monsieur Richard Firmin and Monsieur Gilles Andre.”

He gestured to two of the men who stood by his side. One of them, which you presumed was Monsieur Firmin, stepped to the front and took the word. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. And we are deeply honoured to introduce our new patron, the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny.”

The third man in question was tall and with a lean figure, he had warm hazel eyes and curly blond hair. He was rather handsome and looked to be well-mannered considering his posture the entire time.

“My parents and I are honoured to support all the arts, especially Fortuna’s well renowned Opera House.”

“If you allow me Vicomte, gentlemen.” Lefevre interjected, beckoning Carlotta and Ubaldo. “Signora Carlotta Giudicelli, our current leading soprano; Signor Ubaldo Piangi, lead tenor of our fine Opera; and Monsieur Reyer, maestro in charge of our orchestra.”

“An honor Signor, Signora, Monsieur. I believe we are keeping you from your rehearsal. My apologies for the interruption everyone, you may continue with your duties.”

The three men retired to the side of the stage while Trish ordered to repeat the scene once more from the top. The premiere would be that same night and the last dress rehearsals must go according to the tight schedule programmed.

Lefevre invited the new administrators to stay and watch the performers first hand, soon enough Trish joined them so he could properly introduce her.

“Gentlemen, I proudly introduce you to Madame Trish. An unparalleled choreographer and dance captain that’s been gracing our beloved Opera for these last years.”

“An honor meeting you.” Trish responded politely before showing them the routine the dancers were currently practicing on stage. “As you can see, we take great pride in the excellence of our ballet. We primarily focus on the discipline of our ballerinas rather than their mere talent, in order to  ensure the success of our productions.”

The three man observed attentively at how the scene before them took place, impressed at the incredible skills and professionalism all the staff members showed for their work.

“Now I see why madame, especially that exceptional beauty performing over there.” Unbeknownst to you, Firmin pointed towards your dancing figure.

“(Y/N) (L/N).” Trish informed him. “A very promising ballerina Monsieur, one of the best this theatre has ever witnessed. Now please follow me gentlemen, we don’t want to stand in our performers’ way.”

As they gave the performers the space they needed, Raoul centered his bright eyes on you. He was enthralled by the swift flow of your movements, as if the choreography was basically second nature to you. The scene continued with the rest of the actors marching to the center, followed by a mechanical prop of a magnanimous war elephant.

“The trumpeting elephant sound. Hear, Romans, now and tremble, hark to their step on the ground. Hear the drums! Hannibal comes!”

A glorious crescendo filled the Opera House before the scene reached its finale. Silence took over for a few moments before the new administrators and the Vicomte clapped at the great performance they had just witnessed, not registering Carlotta’s frustrated voice as she strode towards them.

“That number was astounding! We are very excited about tonight’s gala-“

“All day! All they ever want is the dancing!” Carlotta rudely interrupted Andre “Allor… I hope you are as excited about dancing girls as your new managers, BECAUSE I WILL NOT BE SINGING! Addio a tutti!”

She stomped furiously to her personal assistants, ordering them to gather all her belongings for her. Carlotta’s sudden departure left Firmin and Andre in absolute shock, while the rest of the staff were simply unfazed by her attitude, already used to this kind of meltdowns from her.

“What can we do now?” With no other options at hand, the new owners had no choice but to follow Lefevre’s advice to this particular kind of situation “Grovel. Grovel, grovel.”

So of course, Firmin and Andre immediately took after Carlotta to stop her from leaving the stage, loudly exclaiming any possible compliment they could think of in order to appeal to her.

“Beauty!” “Principessa!” “Bella Dama!”

“Si! Si! Si!”

“Oh Goddess of Song!”

“If you excuse me, please.” Everyone turned to see the Vicomte approaching Carlotta with a rather calm and suave expression on his face “Monsieur Reyer, isn’t there a marvelous aria for Elissa in Act. 3 of Hannibal? Perhaps the signora-“

“Yes, yes, but no!” she angrily interjected “Because turns out I don’t have the right costume for Act 3 because somebody made a horrible disaster out of it! And I hate my hat!” She sobbed and lamented, very much like a spoiled diva in the eyes of the staff members. Raoul, however, remained unfazed by her sudden outburst and simply smiled warmly at her.

“I was wondering, signora, as a personal favor… would you give us the privilege of a personal performance? Unless of course, Monsieur Reyer objects.”

“No, aspette! aspette!” Taking in deep breaths, Carlotta composed herself, the Vicomte’s words having their desired effect. “If my managers command, Monsieur Reyer?”

“If my diva commands?” Reyer spoke in a mirth voice to appeal to her, which made her beam in joy.

“Yes I do!”

Reyer quickly returned to his position at the head of the orchestra, the pianist preparing himself for Elissa’s aria. Taking hold of his baton, the conductor signaled Carlotta.

“Signora?”

Carlotta first applied some throat spray and readied herself before confirming. “Maestro.”

Elissa’s aria ‘Think of Me’ was indeed an exquisite piece, only the most privileged voices could ever properly bring forth all the emotions contained in its beautiful lyrics. Carlotta Giudicelli may be an insufferable diva in the eyes of those who worked with her, but there was no denying that she had a rather wonderful voice. The entire theatre fell silent as a sign of respect to her magnificent singing, no one dared to interrupt her, no one dared to disrespect La Carlotta in such way.

That is until a snapping sound made everyone’s hearts drop, and the next thing they all knew, a heavy curtain was falling down right towards her.

“Signora!”

Panicked screams resonated through the stage. Raoul managed to pull Carlotta right out of danger’s way, her ample dress, however, ultimately made them both topple down due to the weight of its many layers of fabric. Many rushed immediately to help both the Vicomte and mostly the lead soprano, who was trapped beneath the heavy curtain.

“Oi Buquet! What in heaven and hell happened over there?!” Nico screamed furiously at Mr. Buquet, the man in charge of operating the changing scenery at the fly floors. “You are lucky nobody got killed for this!”

“It wasn’t me Nico, I swear! I-I remained in my position all the time, Lord Sparda knows I wasn’t near that curtain.” Buquet stuttered nervously, the poor man fearing the possibility of losing his job over this accident.

Adjusting her glasses, Nico walked around trying to look if someone else had been up at the fly floors tampering at the ropes, but couldn’t find nobody.

“What are you talking about? There’s no one else there.”

“Do you think… it could have been the Phantom?” Buquet murmured almost inaudibly.

“Please Buquet, don’t be ridiculous! Seems that I’ll have to examine the grid, the least I want now is a broken pulley or something.” She was sure Buquet hadn’t been responsible for the incident, for everyone knew he was a very hardworking and trustworthy person. So the only possible explanations Nico could think about were either one of the pulleys got damaged and broke down, or the rope wasn’t secured properly.

Meanwhile, the situation on the stage wasn’t looking pleasant at all.

“We are deeply sorry for this signora, I’m sure this kind of stuff tends to happen from time to time.” Andre tried his best, and failed, to calm down a ver altered Carlotta.

“Two years! For two whole years this kind of stuff has been happening! And has anybody done something to stop them? NO! So until you manage to stop this incidents, I refuse to set a foot in this Opera!”

As she stomped out of the theatre followed by her hurrying assistants, everyone could feel in their hearts that unlike her previous outbursts, she was not coming back this time. And now the question lingering in their minds was: What were they going to do now?

…………

The performers were gathered at the green room, already out of their costumes and in casual attire instead. All staff members were told to leave the stage so Trish, Lefevre and the new owners could discuss on how to proceed and find an imminent solution as soon as possible.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to cancel.” Firmin lamented as he wiped the sweat off his forehead. “We have lost our main star and there’s no way we can find another soprano for tonight’s premiere.”

“Calm down Richard. There must be a substitute, an understudy-“

“Understudy? With all due respect Monsieur Andre, but there’s no understudy for La Carlotta!” interjected Reyer who was visibly nervous about this turn of events.

Tension and concern filled the entire Opera, and as much as the Vicomte and Trish tried their best to control the situation at hand, still no plausible solution had been found yet. Firmin and Andre were mainly worried about the imminent decision of returning all the earnings, the Opera was having a full house that night after all and that could mean a terrible economic loss for the company.

You were currently sitting on the floor hidden behind one of the side curtains of the stage. Curiosity had completely taken over you and now you were secretly trying to listen to the discussion taking place on the stage. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop so rudely, but you were terribly worried and couldn’t help it. All the efforts of your friends, of the people you now considered pretty much your family. If a substitute is not found by tonight, then it all would be in vain.

“My nightingale, my angel of music…” a familiar voice filled your ears “Why are you worried? What is filling your heart with sorrow?”

You could feel his presence right behind you, but you dared not look back out of respect. The Phantom always kept his identity a secret, the least you could do to repay everything he taught you, was respecting his decision not to be seen.

“Our lead soprano is gone… if we don’t find someone, anyone, then…” you trailed off, fighting to keep your tears from falling. “Everyone has worked so hard for this production, I don’t want their efforts to be in vain…”

He remained silent.

A warm breath grazed your ear, making shivers run down your spine.

“I believe you are ready then…”

“Phantom? …What do you mean?”

“… I believe in you, my angel. Go forth, and bless the world with your divine voice.”

The presence behind you was gone.

“Phantom? Wait!” You turned around, but he was already gone.

Did he mean���? No, there was no way you could do this. You may have improved a lot since your first lesson with him, but were you truly ready to perform before a real audience? A full house? What if you get the lyrics wrong? What if you get nervous and stutter during a musical number? No, you couldn’t do this.

But the Phantom… he believed in you. The Opera, your friends… they needed you.

… Your father… he… he always believed in you.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly got on your feet.

…………

“Please excuse me everyone.”

Eyes turned to you, the discussion coming to a pause.

“(Y/N) is something wrong? You look worried about something.” Trish walked to you, concerned after noticing the few tears in the corner of your eyes which you quickly wiped away.

“Please, allow me to do it.”  the words came out of your lips in an almost inaudible whisper.

The others on the stage looked at each other in confusion. “Miss, you don’t mean…”

There was no turning back. With great strength in your eyes, you voiced your request with confidence. “If it’s not too much of a bother, please allow me to play as Elissa.”

Everyone’s eyes widened in surprise. Andre turned to Firmin “But she’s just a dancer, there’s no way she can do it.”

“(Y/N) do you have any idea of what this entails?” Trish was looking at you incredulously, genuine concern in her eyes. “This is the main role we are talking about, not just anybody can perform it correctly.”

“I know the choreography as well as the lyrics. I can assure you I’ll be able to do it.”

With a sigh leaving her lungs, Trish turned to Reyer. “Maestro would you kindly call your pianist over? Allow her to sing the Act. 3 aria and we shall see if she’s fit for the role.”

“Right away, Madame.”

As the pianist rushed to the orchestra pit, the Vicomte beckoned you to the front of the stage.

“Over here Miss, don’t be shy. For the moment let’s just hear the beginning of the aria, understood?”

You nodded. As Reyer and the pianist got ready, you closed your eyes and remembered the faith your family always had in you, your father’s words, and the teachings of the Phantom.

And so, the first notes to the aria sounded.

“Think of me, think of me fondly

When we've said goodbye

Remember me, once in a while

Please promise me you'll try

When you find that once again you long

To take your heart back and be free

If you ever find a moment

Spare a thought for me.”

Silence.

“M-Magnifique! Absolutely magnificent!”

With wide eyes and clapping hands, you were congratulated by the everyone in front of you.

“(Y/N) that was wonderful!” Trish added in utter surprise “Now why hadn’t you mentioned you could sing like that before, darling?”

“To be honest, I’ve never sung professionally before. But I’ve been receiving lessons for a while and seeing our current predicament well… I decided to at least give it a try.”

“And what an extraordinaire performance that was.” Raoul walked to you and joined Trish at her side. “Miss (Y/N), due to our current circumstances and your impressive demonstration, we are proud to inform you that you may play Elissa in tonight’s premiere. We believe you will be able to deliver a breathtaking performance tonight.”

You could feel your eyes water again at their words. All those days you practiced, they were finally bearing fruit.

“Then I promise I won’t fail you.”

Trish gave you a warm smile. “Alright then, the show must go on and there’s no time to lose. Come (Y/N), we must rehearse your lines and musical numbers.”

A shadowed figure in the long abandoned Box Four smiled down at what was happening on stage before retreating. After all, the Phantom had a very important gala to attend that night, and there was no way he would miss his beloved angel performing on her debut.

…………

As Nico finally reached the grid high above the stage, she took out her flashlight and started inspecting the pulley of the fallen curtain. To her surprise, however, the device was in top-notch condition. Nothing broken, rusty or unstable

“Huh? Well that’s weird.” She had also previously checked the rope. It had no signs to have been cut or damaged either, so the only logical explanation left was that whoever was in charge of tying and securing the ropes made a terrible job, either that or… someone untied it and let the curtain fall on purpose. Then again, she couldn’t find anyone else on the fly floors other than Buquet, and he was too far away to have done it.

“Argh… I’ve already told them over and over again to check their damn ropes.” She muttered to herself before getting out of the grid.

…………

After one last conversation with Firmin and Andre, Lefevre decided to retire for the day. However, there was something else he had to take care to before leaving the building. He reached for the inner pocket of his coat, pulling a sealed black envelope with no name or address written on it, its only prominent characteristic was a lilac wax seal on the back.

Lefevre stared at the envelope for a few moments before putting it back in his pocket and proceeding with his task. Entering the green room, he spotted Trish and (Y/N) going over Elissa’s lines.

“Excuse me Madame Trish, may I talk to you for a few seconds. I’m afraid it’s a very important matter.”

She stood up and after instructing (Y/N) to keep practicing her lines, she followed him out of the room.

“What happened Monsieur Lefevre? Did something happen?”

He gulped audibly before answering. “Trish. You have worked in this theatre for a couple of years now, enough for me to realize how valuable and loyal you are for the company that I basically nurtured for most of my life. Which is why I trust you fully to complete the task that I’m about to give you. Please listen carefully what I’m about to tell you, and please, promise me you’ll handle this with complete and absolute discretion.”

Lefevre reached for his inner pocket once again and handed her the mysterious black envelope.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand Monsieur. What is inside this letter?” She inquired worryingly.

Lefevre inhaled deeply before continuing in a whispered voice “Inside this envelope there are exactly 1,800 euros. At the end of every month, you must place that exact amount of euros in a black envelope like this one. I keep them in the third drawer of my desk, as well as some lilac sealing wax and a seal stamp with a design like the one in this envelope. Then, you must take the money to Box Four and slide it under the curtain. That box must remain unavailable for the public always. It is imperative that nobody, absolutely nobody, sees you when delivering the money.”

“What? But who is this money for?”

Sweat started forming on Lefevre’s forehead, and when he remained quiet, it only worsened Trish’s concerns.

“Just… promise me that you will do it. And please… don’t ask anymore questions to me or anybody else.”

She hesitated. She had no idea of what was it that got Lefevre so nervous, and then there was the fact that he was willing to pay an unknown person such an important amount of money every month.

There was something quite sketchy behind all of this. And yet, she somehow trusted Lefevre.

“Fine… I just hope this won’t get me in any trouble in the future.”

“Don’t worry, I promise you this is the only thing you have to do. Thanks for everything Madame Trish.”

And with those words, Lefevre left the Opera.

Trish examined the envelope in her hands and turned it around. Her eyes centered on the mysterious lilac wax seal, or more importantly, the peculiar design of the stamp.

A single yet elegant ‘V’ decorating its center.

#devil may cry #phantom of the opera au #dmc v #v x reader #v x you #self-insert #fanfiction #fanfic

[astridianmayfly]

Up and Vanished [1/?]

Chapter 1: The Vanishing of Will Byers Danny Fenton

0 minutes

12:00 am

Red eyes open lazily, squinting with a grin. His voice is all malevolence.

It̴̀'͠͠s̷̛͜ ̧̕͢t̕im͢e.

They nod in response, scattering.

Is is time, and They have a job to do.

2 minutes

12:02 am

It’s dark outside, but it’s been like that for awhile. Daylight savings really is a bitch. Maybe Danny didn’t have an issue with not being able to see; he never told Sam and Tucker all that much about the semantics of his ghostliness.

Somehow Tucker assumes that the whole “halfa” thing makes a person less susceptible to the elements.

It’s the dark that makes Tucker trip on his way out the back door, not the alcohol. He wasn’t really in a drinking mood tonight--at best, he’s a bit tipsy. Even if he’d been wasted, the freezing air was enough to shock anyone into sobriety. ‘Cept Danny maybe, who seemed to wear long sleeves exclusively to not raise any eyebrows and never complained of the cold. Tucker thinks it has something to do with that refrigerator power of his. 

And speaking of Danny, where did he go? On the back steps of the bar, Tucker scans the back lot. Nothing. He dials Danny. A buzzing sensation takes root at the back of his head, in tune with the ringing and ringing and ringing on the other line.

“Hey, you’ve reached Danny Fenton! Can’t take your call right now, but I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, byyyeee!!”

God, that same damn voicemail. Tucker helped him make it when they were twelve and Danny’d just gotten a cell, sitting on the floor of Danny’s space-decorated bedroom. Danny had yet to replace his prepubescent message with something a little more mature. 

Tucker’s been hearing it a little too often lately. 

He turns to meet Valerie back in the bar; it’s about time that they headed home. He looks up to the sky, where he can usually catch a glimpse of his best friend streaking across the stars like he belongs among them.

There is just blackness, blackness, blackness.

48 minutes

12:48 am

Here once more.

 He can’t say he is surprised.

“Here” is a bleeding red hellscape. To try and catalog the contents of this ...dimension would send a straightlace into a bout of paranoia. He does his best to remember the details for the next time he arrives.

When he walks the path, it has a distinct give. With every step, his foot sinks, like the ground is made of goo. Lifting his foot again, the substance dissolves. Glowing eyes narrow beneath the disgusting soil substance. The tufts of (what looks like) grass resemble vermillion cactus spines that poke and prod at his ankles. 

He exhales, unsure. Half-dead and wholly cursed. This must be his natural home.

Continuing along this path reveals dirt made of burnt poppy petals, cadmium stems like tense fingers point through the ground. Rusty mist sets to his left and right. 

There is nowhere else to look but up. Up in space there is only the ugly underside of roots that trail from the above. A reminder that he belongs six feet under. Even when he forces his lungs to fill and his heart to beat. 

A bone-crunching echoes across the Unworld, shocking him out of his stupor: It is Them.

Each time he wakes here, it is to watch Their arrival. He dreads the dreams.

They scuttle across the plateau, distant but distinct. They glide like snakes. They are only silhouettes. The extent of Their power is an unknown. 

He does not like variables.

This time, They hurry. Their pace is quick. 

He stares.

Squinting reveals a shape among Them, someone (or something) he has never seen before in the Unworld. They carry this new figure with both care and disregard--he knows they are a valuable hostage.

Before he can make further observations, there’s a flash of ectoplasmic green.

One of Them figure turns to face him, their face bearing a single eldritch bloody eye, horrifyingly incomprehensible--

--And Vladimir Masters wakes with a start, shivering, dripping in cold sweat. 

Well, he thinks, this could be a problem. 

50 minutes

12:50 am

Tucker hums to himself, pulling back his covers and flopping onto his bed. It was late for most, but it was an early night by Team Phantom’s standards. All-nighters weren’t foreign to Sam, Tucker, and of course Danny. Who had a super annoying tendency to never ask for help when his ghost sense woke him to a really bad Big Bad in vicinity. It was for that reason that Tucker had asked for a Fenton ghost tracking device--calibrated to recognize severe drops in temperature and surges of ectoplasmic energy. Danny agreed when Tucker mentioned it was for his own safety. Which, as a reckless teenager, Tucker couldn’t care less about-- it was so Tucker could show up in the event of an after-hours ghost attack. He knew Danny needed help, even when he didn’t want to admit it.

“I don’t want you guys getting hurt.” 

What a load of crap.

Tucker drags himself from his bed to turn off the light. He wishes that we was the genius protagonist of a Disney Channel original movie. Then he’d have a Rube Goldberg machine to do it for him. 

Diving into bed, Tucker thinks of the night’s events. It had gone pretty well! Ignoring the fact that Danny had flown off mysteriously, Tucker feels like he’d really hit it off with Valerie. She had stopped her shoot-and- ask-questions-never approach with Phantom and they’d formed a sort of truce. Sam was still mildly distrusting of her, but didn’t oppose Tucker and Danny inviting her… well, everywhere. And Tucker was glad for it--he really enjoyed her company. He knows Danny’s secret stands between the group really connecting. Tucker would never pressure his friend into an uncomfortable situation, but honestly? They all would make a great team.

For once, it feels like he isn’t the third wheel. He loves both Danny and Sam, but their constant pining and undefined relationship made it hard to be caught in the middle. With Valerie….

...it was just nice to have a friend, that’s all.

Tucker closes his eyes. There’s just something at the back of his head. A feeling. Like he’s forgotten something important.

52 minutes

12:52 am

Somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico, Sam Manson startles awake with the sense that something is irrevocably wrong. 

She slips out of what should be a cruise-ship cot but is instead a lavish four-poster bed. There were some benefits to her dad’s manic investing, after all. Although she’ll never be caught dead admitting it.

Unlocking her bedside balcony, she steps out onto in and inhales the lukewarm air. Sam doesn’t smoke, but feels like this moment calls for red lips dragging a cigarette. Ah, aesthetics. 

There’s nothing for miles out here; the blank ocean churns expectantly. When Sam looks at the sky, she thinks of Danny. She’s spent enough time with his dorky self to pinpoint exactly 32 constellations. Danny could do all 88. 

Black clouds cover the stars. Sam retreats inside, her stomach filling with dread she can’t explain.

102 minutes

1:42 am

Late-night kitchen escapades involve black coffee and pacing, lots of pacing. Maddie prides herself on her ability to function without much sleep. Those nights when their lab results demanded further analysis and passion kept her awake better than caffeine ever could.

Maddie is draped across a backwards facing chair, staring at the glowing microwave clock. 1:42 am. Danny has not returned. She looks to the darkened hallway. Up the stairs, Jack snores. At least one of them can sleep--Maddie’s skin is crawling with unease. Should she be angry? Should she be scared? 

If Danny were his do-gooder sister, Maddie would’ve called the cops the minute he missed the midnight mark. But Danny ...wasn't Jazz, and he never really seemed to give a you-know-what about the fact that he constantly disregarded his curfew (and every other rule). Being home by midnight was much more generous than most of Maddie’s friends allowed their seventeen year-olds. 

Maddie considers calling around. Danny was out with friends tonight-- Tucker and that Valerie girl he’d started to hang around with. Making a scene was the least of her concerns (she was known for parading around town in a turquoise jumpsuit), but Maddie didn’t want to wake her friends given the late hour.

She keeps pacing.

He’ll come home. He always does, eventually.

That wasn’t a good solution for the current predicament. Danny could be in serious trouble, and she would regret being passive. 

So, what to do?

She knows she can’t just wait here.

A flash of metal catches her eye. An ecto-weapon. 

Time to kill two birds with one stone. 

She shoulders the Fenton foamer, a thermos, and leaves the safety of her house. 

129 minutes

2:09 am

“What, no ‘I, Technus, master of all things cyber!’ speech today?”

Technus dodges the ectoblasts from the human easily. He’s one of the ghost child’s friends, the one who always has a PDA within arm’s length. Technus may start thinking of the boy as a convenience: his devices made for a cozy hideout when Technus was devising a plot for WORLD DOMINATION!

Technus scoffs as the child pulls out their go-to thermos. Avoiding the beam of light, he says, “Technus 3.0 does not announce his plans, or his power! Technus 3.0 prefers to operate, as they say, ‘under the radar!’” He allows his form to grow electric with energy as the child sends another ectoblast whizzing past his ear.

Technus sends volts charging towards the boy, who narrowly misses the attack. The bolt hits a nearby lamppost, which explodes into a shower of sparks and plunges the city block into darkness. 

PDA child is oblivious to the outage. Green smoke trailing from his wrist-shooter, he narrows his eyes. “Cut the crap, Technus, we know upgrades manifest in your physical form.“Tell me why you’re here—“He aims the device on his wrist at Technus—“or I’ll make you.”

What a strange demand. But Technus understands his caution. After all, Technus regularly threatens the power grid. 

“Truly, child, I don’t know why I’m here! I just am! I, Technus, am—“

The boy lowers his weapon to facepalm. “What does that even mean? You ghosts always have an agenda.”

Technus responds by taking advantage of his lack of defense, firing his own-made lightning. The shot lands, skimming the boy’s forearm. 

Yelping in pain, the PDA boy rears his offense, this time brandishing a thermos. “Not—a good enough excuse to be wreaking havoc, so it’s into the thermos for you,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

Something unseen grabs ahold of Technus’ mind for a moment. It grabs the corners of his mouth and pulls until Technus is grinning a painful smile. 

“Where’s the ghost child, kid?”

Before the PDA child has time to consider this, and Technus can rid his mind of the imposter, he is engulfed in a familiar burst of white. 

134 minutes

2:14 am

“Tucker?”

Mrs. Fenton catches sight of him after she caps her Technus-filled thermos. Where did she come from? 

Tucker panics. He has been caught literally red-handed-- armed with a wrist-ray and a Fenton thermos at two in the morning. 

He expects her to comment on his apparent thievery, but she doesn’t seem interested in dissecting his crimes. Mrs. F seems to be looking around Tucker, as if expecting another ghost. 

He looks at her face, and she is as white as a sheet.

“Danny isn’t with you?”

Tucker blanches. What? 

“He isn’t...he didn’t come home?”

Mrs. F puts a gloved hand over her mouth. 

Tucker is more insistent the second time. “Ms. Fenton, did Danny not come home?” 

Her eyes are shining when she slowly shakes her head. 

“No. Danny…Danny’s gone.”

--- minutes

Outside of Time

You hover in your tower, form shifting between young and old, old and young. Despite the changes to your figure, a somber expression remains.

You watch the scenes of the day unfold-- the events occurred, occurring, to occur. 

Everything is as it should be.

#danny phantom #phandom #my writing #fanfiction #blease I hope you like this I worked so hard #lol

[theclaravoyant]

also okay - if you're ever wanting to write more in the trans!fitz universe, i'd absolutely love to see a fic where someone on the team learns what 'nonbinary' is and decides they might be nb, and come talk to fitz about it! :) and maybe talk about fitz's experiences being trans and his view of gender and stuff like that

AN ~ awesome prompt! It was a lot of fun exploring nonbinary-ness and different experiences of gender (which is probably why this almost hit 2K!). 

Disclaimer: I’m a cis woman, but I based what Fitz talks about on experiences of several trans and non binary people (from these sources as well as past research, friends, tumblr posts, etc.). I hope I have done the topic some justice!

For those not familiar with my trans!fitz universe, this fic takes place in the Bridget!verse where Fitz transitioned (FTM) from a young age. He is out only to a few select people as trans, and prefers it that way, although this fic also allows for him to be more out re: his sexuality (which is not specified in this fic, but implied to be non-straight).

As for who he’s talking to… I know they’re not part of “the team” exactly but I couldn’t resist using this opportunity to write about everyone’s favourite nb lesbian, Agent Piper!

Anyway, without further ado-

Read on AO3 (~2000wd)

Piper

Pride season was an opportunity for a splash of colour in the increasingly gloomy lives of Shield’s now-underground team. The younger Agents especially filled the base with life and vibrancy while the older ones, for whom Pride was much if not more a commemoration than a festivity, provided strength and fortitude, serving as living reminders of a whole range of struggles that could affect an Agent, and a whole range of ways of being a survivor. Pride was a light in the darkness not unlike the end of year holiday season, if directed at a smaller cohort.

Tonight, many of the Agents were preparing to drive out to a Pride Parade in a nearby city, and were donning all manner of bright colours and some of them even preparing spectacular outfits for a night on the town. Daisy had on a hot-pink sundress with platform sandals and chunky jewellery in blue, purple and silver. Jemma went for a look that somehow managed to be more subdued, in a bright canary-yellow t-shirt and black jeans, with a pink bandana tied around her neck. Fitz was stuck in his room trying to figure out what to wear that was different, but that didn’t scream a Pride flag vomited all over me, when he heard a knock at the door.

“Oh, thank God,” he sighed. “Jemma, I-“

Fitz cut himself off when he pulled the door open and saw not Jemma, but the shorter, stockier, also somewhat-bewildered-looking Agent Piper waiting for him. She was still wearing fatigues, not yet prepared for the evening’s outing, and her expression was a little too serious for Fitz’s liking.

“Um. Hi,” Fitz greeted after a moment. “Can I help you? Is something going on?”

He stuck his head further into the hallway, but Piper shook her head before he could work himself into too much of a panic.

“Nothing, it’s all good out here, I was actually wondering if I could – maybe – have a private conversation with you.”

“Okay. Sure.” Still a little unsettled, Fitz invited Piper into his and Jemma’s room. He waved a hand apologetically at the suit-jackets, feather boa, dresses, heels, and button-ups that had sprawled across the room during their preparations, but Piper seemed content to ignore them even as her eyes cast about the room a little, not quite sure how to broach the subject she’d come here to speak about.

“Sorry,” she said eventually, bringing her eyes back to Fitz as she seemed to remember she was prying in a private space. “It’s just, I know you’re not really out with it and I didn’t want to be creepy. I wanted to talk about… gender. I’ve been thinking about some stuff and Jemma sort of mentioned that you might be someone who knows something about it. If you’re not comfortable with talking to me you can send me on my way and I won’t breathe a word of it – I know how it is – but it’d be really cool if you could help me out, man.”

Fitz shrugged. “It’s alright.”

“You sure?”

“Sure.” He smiled. “Happy to help out if I can.”

“Awesome.” Piper sighed, and a lot of the tension left her body. For want of a better place to plant herself, she perched on the corner of a desk.

Fitz sat nearby, in a clear space at the edge of the bed, and waited for Piper to gather her thoughts. He hoped she wouldn’t ask too much about him. Then again, he hoped she would. If it would help. If it would maybe mean he was sharing something of himself with someone who might get it in a way that the others didn’t. He wondered what she would ask. What was questioning even like? What was it like not to wake up and know? Of course, he’d been through his own questioning period, but most of that had been forced upon him, particularly by his father’s efforts to reshape him. Inside Piper’s head, Fitz knew, there could be a whole different set of sensations going on. Legitimate questions. Questions in which politics and oppression only played a part. Questions that could be daunting, and probably moreso to a thirty-year-old mind than to a seven-year-old, who didn’t yet understand so much about the weight of the world.

“Want me to start?” Fitz offered. Piper groaned.

“God, please.”

“Do you think you’re a man?”

Piper recoiled from the suggestion, but quickly recovered.

“Sorry. But no. I don’t think so – it feels wrong. It’s just that… I’m not really sure I’m a woman either. Does that make sense? Is that possible? I mean, I’ve always been a bit of a tomboy but like… recently, it feels different somehow. It’s difficult to describe. Maybe I’m just being weird, but to be honest, it’s kind of freaking me out. I thought I’d already done the whole identity-crisis thing, you know?”

Fitz laughed a little. He could relate.

“There’s no need for a crisis. You’ll figure it out eventually. And believe me, I get the double-take. Identity is an ever-changing beast.”

“How was it for you, though?” Piper wondered. “The gender thing I mean. How did you know?”

“I don’t think I can really help you with that one, unfortunately. I’m one of those people who just always, sort of, knew. I’ve known since I was a kid. I don’t really know why. Some of it was the obvious I guess. I played with model trains and cars instead of dolls. I hated wearing dresses. Tried to cut off all my hair with scissors. I wanted a pee-pee.” He snorted. “Seven-year-old me didn’t really get into the philosophy of it all, but there must be something to it, because… well, let’s just say I went through some things that would have chased it out of me if that were possible.”

Piper nodded solemnly.

“Not all the confusion is bad though,” Fitz continued. “My mum raised me, mostly, and she did it without a lot of that masculine bravado bullshit. She taught me to be gentle, sensitive, forgiving… sometimes it felt like I was less of a guy because of that kind of stuff, and the teasing didn’t help, but in the end it gave me faith in my identity. Mum always told me there should be more guys like me. That it shouldn’t be left to the girls to be the soft ones.“

“I like your mom,” Piper put in.

“Me too.” Fitz smiled. “And honestly I think having someone who believed in me like that made it all so much easier, even though she didn’t get it entirely. She started calling me by the right pronouns – you know, he and him and all that - and even gave me a different name. Helped me transition in lots of other ways, too. I couldn’t have done it without her.”

“Oh, I don’t want to transition, either,” Piper clarified. “I’m happy with my body just the way it is. Is that – I mean, does that mean anything?”

“Not really,” Fitz explained. “I mean, for me it did. I had… I had dysphoria in a big way. Phantom body parts. Huge discomfort about my dead name and pronouns. Not every trans person gets that. Some have it the other way, actually. Euphoria, it’s called. They just feel more happy when they express as their gender, or when they’re referred to by some other name or pronouns or, you know, gendered words, even if they’re not particularly unhappy with their assigned ones.”

“See, that sounds more like me,” Piper agreed. “But can you be, like, gender-neutral trans? Or is that a different thing, I don’t know. But can you?”

“You mean like nonbinary?” Fitz suggested. “Some people think of it as trans and some don’t, but yeah, sure. It’s a thing.”

“It means you’re like, somewhere between a boy and a girl, right?” Piper speculated. “Like on the spectrum.”

“Basically,” Fitz agreed. “I mean, for some people it’s more complicated than that, and just like with sexual orientation there’s a whole bunch of subsets. Some people like the spectrum, some people go with a third non-spectrum gender, some people even prefer no gender at all. It’s up to you. I can’t really tell you which one to pick, unfortunately – I mean as far as I’m aware, we as a scientific community still don’t know what gender even is yet – but if you’re feeling like nonbinary’s an option for you, try it out. There’s no harm in a label if you’re safe and happy with it. And even if it doesn’t work out, it’s not like you’re getting in anyone’s way.”

“Really?” Piper checked. “You think I should go for it?”

Fitz held his hands up, palms out. “You don’t need my permission.”

“Can I keep my name?”

“Sure, if you’re happy with it.”

“What about that pronoun stuff?”

“Well, if it bothers you when people call you she/her, tell them so. If not, you can keep them and still be non-binary. It depends on you. If you’re looking for a more neutral pronoun, ‘they’ is getting pretty popular, relatively. There are some more obscure ones around, so Google it maybe, but if it’s not a strong point of contention for you, or none of the others really speak to you, you could try they/theirs.”

“You’re right, that does sound better,” Piper agreed, a smile breaking out across her face at last. “Thanks so much, Fitz, honestly. I feel like I’ve lined up so many things in my brain right now.”

“My pleasure.” Fitz found himself beaming too, unexpectedly broadly. He kicked his legs in glee. “Glad I could help.”

“Wait.” Piper interrupted, her tone heavier again all of a sudden and, if Fitz was not mistaken, tainted with dread. “Can I still be a lesbian, then?”

Fitz’s excitement faded a little too. With the weight Piper put on it, he could tell, this part of her identity was important to her. Painstakingly so. Handling it with care was essential, and yet, he had to walk blindly into it and do the best he could.

“Well, I don’t know,” he offered truthfully. “If someone else, if another lesbian, came to you with something like this, what would you say, d’you think?”

Piper’s eyes searched the floor, the carpet, the nose of Fitz’s dress shoes poking out from under one of Jemma’s discarded dresses. She took a deep breath.

“Well, I’m sure as hell not a man. And even if I’m not a woman exactly, I still feel pretty close to it. I’d like to think I’m enough of a woman to be a lesbian still.”

“Then there you have it, I guess. Maybe talk to the girls, they might have more to say about it, but I think that’s fair enough.”

“Cool.” Piper nodded once, and then twice more for good measure as she let it all settle in. Her eyes trailed the mess that was FitzSimmons’ room and, as the mess in her own head cleared away, she remembered why it was all there.

“Shit, we’d better get ready, hey?” she reminded Fitz. He escorted her to the door, as best he could through the widespread pig-sty.

“Again, thanks so much for the talk,” Piper continued. “It was really great. Really helpful. If you don’t mind though, can we keep it on the DL for now? Sprinkle a couple ‘they’s here and there if you could, but the other stuff, I’m still easing into it.”

“No worries,” Fitz promised. “And you know, my stuff –“

“Lock and key,” Piper promised in return. “See you tonight.”

“See you there.”

#leo fitz #agent piper #aospositivitynet #aosfic #bsquadbrigade #aosficnet2 #happy pride! #piper #piper vasquez #trans!fitz #prompt me stuff #clara's fic tag #buckysbears #aos fic

[listing-to-port]

Seven early ghost stories

1. There was an anxious soul who was perpetually early throughout his life. One day he crossed a level crossing early and was tragically squished. After that point his ghost became earlier and earlier. In fact, having no physical temporal constraints to stop it, it began arriving for hauntings before it was invited; and then, before its previous haunting; and finally it began haunting during the same time period that it had been alive. Forty years previously, at the end of its haunting days, it haunted itself as a child. You can never be too early, you know, it whispered. The boy nodded; here was clearly an important message.

2. Every night at midnight a procession of ghostly foxes paraded across the billiard room of the ruined manor. They took great care over the procession. It was both scary and fascinating. They even polished their ghostly teeth beforehand. Unfortunately, the manor's clock was quite wrong; which is unsurprising, because it was a ghost clock and there was nobody there but foxes to wind it. So the foxes had actually been parading across the billiard room at three in the afternoon, when they were quite invisible and there were no psychogeographers there to watch them in any case. In their defence, to ghosts the sun and moon are of roughly equal intensity.

3. There were also some ghosts that did not receive the invitation for halloween. Who knows why? In theory all ghosts are invited, but perhaps they had given the wrong address. They were annoyed at being excluded and decided instead to crash the party. But as well as having the wrong address they also had a calendar several thousand years out of date - they had found it in a cave somewhere, it was rather decorative - and so they crashed halloween several months in advance. All that they could find to haunt was a green pumpkin sitting in the sun at the corner of a pumpkin field. For a brief period of time it became the world’s most haunted pumpkin. Then it was sold to a soup company and became haunted soup.

4. A ghost story once arrived at its final home early as well. It was supposed to be on page fifty. But it arrived on page twenty-seven and found another story occupying what it thought was its space. The two stories fought. There were scraped-off letters all over the page; it was terrifying. Add to that the disturbing blank on page fifty and the book became fully ninety percent more scary. It was so scary that copies of the book scared each other and as a result they could not be placed together on a bookshelf. It was so scary that when it read itself it would faint and fall to the floor. Eventually it was remaindered and became a ghost book. This is the book that other ghost books tell stories about when they are alone in the library at night.

5. There was a ghost that was supposed to follow its murderer around, whispering you know what you did in her ear at idle moments; the standard sort of revenge arrangement. But it set out an hour early and ended up following someone else's delivery rounds instead. The person who it was following now had just passed an important exam and she experienced a surge of supernatural pride and hope at the ghost's whispered message. The ghost, too, found delivering a positive message was unexpectedly pleasing. It abandoned its original haunt and took instead to hanging around the corridors of imposing institutions, whispering you can do the thing to people who looked apprehensive.

6. Cats have nine lives, which means that some cats are followed around by fully eight ghost cats, all in a gradually-fading line. That is if all the ghosts are punctual. There are, however, some cats who have a tendency to go missing, turn up at odd hours, hide under the bed and so on. And the ghosts of these cats keep odd hours as well. In this case sometimes the ghosts end up superimposed over each other, creating something that is almost more cat than ghost. In the case that all eight ghost cats superimpose, the resulting phantom is cattish enough to hoick up spectral hairballs, which will hang about near the ceiling haunting spiderwebs long after the original cat has lost its final life and led its ghosts off to some other place entirely.

7. The monsters were always early. They had to be; there was limited space under the bed. Once it filled up, any late monsters would have to sleep out in the front garden under the glare of the sodium lights where monster-hunters could see them, and even if they were not neutralised they would forever after become ever so slightly grayish-orange. Under the bed, in contrast, was warm and safe. The earliest monsters liked to claim their spot as soon as they had gathered food in the morning. But all of them lived in fear of the day when to bed was hoovered under. It did not happen very often. Nevertheless, from time to time the bed emptied out and the hoover was filled with monsters and then there were monsters in the bin. And monsters come out of the bin even greyer than they come out of sodium light, and more tired.

#lists #ghosts #stories #early #halloween #monsters