Stuck in the middle of a forest made of
Flesh and bones and they're all scared of
A lost little boy who has lost his heart
Fear's not enough, they have to
Tear him apart
—-------
There are two things Daniel Fenton knows that his family knows as well:
He’s adopted.
He can’t remember anything else before that.
‘Adoption’ is a loose term, implying that they went through the official legal processes and troubles of adopting a child into their home willingly, and with the full intention of doing so going into it. That is not what happened. What happened is that Jasmine Fenton found a half-dead child, in strange clothing, in the middle of the woods at her Aunt Alicia’s cabin, and then she went and got her parents.
What happened is that a twelve year old Danny woke up in the same cabin, wearing clothes much too big on him that didn’t belong to him, and with very little memory of before that moment. He wakes up like a spring being set loose, sitting up so fast he scares the daylights out of Jasmine Fenton sitting next to him. He wakes up, reaching for his sleeve for something that isn’t there, and when it isn’t his mind stutters, like he’s tripped at the top of a steep hill.
When they ask him for his name, he tells them, clearing muddled thoughts from his mind; Danny. He’s twelve.
(He thinks that’s his name, at least. It sounds right; it feels right. If he thinks really hard about it, he thinks he can remember someone calling him that, utter adoration in their voice. So it must be his name.)
The Jasmine girl convinces her parents to take him home with them, and they give him the spare guest room upstairs. He has nothing to fill it with.
It’s… a strange experience, to go to a ‘new’ home when he doesn’t even remember his old one.
The official adoption process… happens. He can’t say it’s easy, or difficult. He’s oblivious for the most of it, Jasmine intends on helping him settle in and Danny can’t say he enjoys the smothering. He learns that he is stubbornly self-independent, that’s one new thing he knows about himself.
His adoption papers say ‘Daniel J. Fenton’. Danny remembers staring at the name ‘Daniel’ for a long, long moment, something curdling sour in his sternum. His name is Danny, that he knows. But it’s not Daniel. But he doesn’t know any other way of saying it, so he keeps his complaints to himself.
(Jack Fenton boisterously claps his hand on Danny’s shoulder and jerks him around, grinning wide as he welcomes him into the Fenton Family. Danny’s mind blanches at the touch on his shoulder, an instinct snapping like the maw of a snake, telling him to cut off the man’s fingers for daring to touch him.)
(He keeps the thought to himself, tension rising up his shoulders the longer Jack Fenton’s heavy hand stays on him.)
They found Danny in the summer. It’s a perfect coincidence, Maddie Fenton says before she goes back into her lab with Jack Fenton. She says it’s enough time to allow Danny to adjust; that they’ll enroll him into the school year in the fall. Then she stuffs a canister of ectoplasm onto the top shelf, and disappears like the ghosts she studies back down the stairs.
(There’s something eerily familiar about the ectoplasm sitting in the fridge, something unsettlingly so. Danny knows what that stuff is, but he doesn’t know where. When the house is empty, he takes a can from the fridge and inspects it.)
Jazz wants him to leave the house. Danny doesn’t want to step foot outside of the FentonWorks building until he has something that quells the feeling of vulnerability he gets whenever he does. He tried to once, and he felt exposed. Unsafe.
He turned back around and went inside.
—-------
Where do we go
When the river's running slow
Where do we run
When the cats kill one by one
—------
One day, when the house is empty — or, as empty as it can be; the Fenton parents down in the lab, and jazz out with friends. Danny is making a sandwich, and he caves into the urge to flip the knife in his hands between his fingers. A childish impulse, but one he falls for nonetheless. It comes to him easily, like second nature, in fact. The slip of the blade between his fingers is seamless, flowing with an ease like water running down the wall.
He’s almost startled by it; his body holds memories that his mind does not. Muscles that know which way to move and twist, limbs that know how to hold and how to throw. He continues twirling it, fascinated, as if he were a scientist discovering a new species of animal.
It’s not for a handful of minutes when a new thought hits him; an impulsive thought that pops in the back of his mind like a firecracker; Danny moves without thinking.
He turns, and throws the knife. The pull of his shoulder, the flick of his elbow, is familiar like a hug. He knows when to let go, and the blade flies through the air in impressive speed, embedding itself into the wall with a hearty, loud thunk. Sinking into the drywall like butter.
Danny stares at it in shock, he feels relieved — about what? — before he feels the guilt. He scrambles across the kitchen to pull it out, heart racing in his chest at being caught, and prays no one notices the hole it left behind.
(He runs up the stairs before anyone can find him, food forgotten, and hides the knife beneath his mattress like a guilty murder weapon.)
After that, he leaves the house more. It’s more out of fear of being caught than the desire to leave. But Danny is quickly learning that among all things, he is someone who was dangerous, before he lost his memory. Even with his mind in fractures, he is still dangerous.
He’s not sure how to feel about that — he thinks he should be scared. He feels a little proud, instead.
—------
Hazel beneath our claws
While we wait for cerulean to cry
Unsettled ticks run through time
Enough for the hunt to go awry
—-----
There’s another thing he learns about himself. That he knows about since he woke up. He knows that he left someone behind. He doesn’t know who, but he knows they must have been close; he’s always looking down and finding himself surprised when the only shadow he sees is his own.
He thinks that he must have sung to them a lot; he finds himself humming familiar melodies when he’s lost in thought. Lullabies lingering at the tip of his tongue, an instinct to turn and sing them to someone beside him. He can’t remember the lyrics, but his mouth does, it tries to get him to say them when he’s not thinking. He can’t.
Danny’s found himself humming under his breath more times than he can count, trying to recall whatever it is his mind is trying to claw forward.
(“That’s a pretty song, Danny.” Jazz tells him at breakfast one day, Danny screws his mouth shut. He hadn’t realized he was humming. “What is it?”)
(Something mean and possessive rears its head on instinct, uncoiling like a snake from its ball. His shoulders hunch defensively, he bites his cheek to prevent himself from baring his teeth. He doesn’t know what song it is, but it’s not for her. “I don’t know.”)
He misses his person. Dearly. He knows, the longer he is without them, that they must have been close. Otherwise, he wouldn’t feel like he’s missing a chunk from himself. He wouldn’t be turning to someone who's not there; reaching for a hand that’s missing, birdsong on his tongue, a story to tell.
A dream haunts him one night. Warm and familiar, he’s holding onto someone smaller than him, they’re tucked into his side like a puzzle piece. He’s humming one of his songs that is always playing in the back of his mind, an unfinished tale of a harpy and a hare. Danny can’t remember their face, not all of it. He remembers green eyes, hair dark like his own, skin brown like his.
He loves them more than anything else in the world, a fact he knows down to his soul. He loves them so much it fills his heart with sunlight. Danny squeezes them tight, nuzzling into their hair; he makes them laugh. Then, he proudly boasts something. That when he takes something of their father’s, that his person — a sibling? That feels right — will be… the word fades from Danny’s mind before he can make sense of it.
His person hugs him tight, his… brother? And their mother — a woman whose face he can’t remember either, but who he loves like a limb nonetheless — appears, smiling. Her hands reach for them both, voice calling them, ‘her sons’. There’s ticking in the distance, it sounds like the fastening of chains.
Danny wakes up cold, tears streaming down his face. The details of the dream already fading from his mind like the cold pull of a corpse.
—-------
Harpy hare
Where have you buried all your children?
Tell me so I say
—-------
When school starts that Fall, Danny joins the sixth grade class, and quickly learns more things about himself. One of those things being that he’s smarter than the rest of his grade, whatever education he had before, it was better than the one he’s getting now.
Everyone knows he’s adopted right off the bat. He tells them when the teacher forces himself to introduce himself, but it’s not like they needed him to tell them for them to know; he never existed in their little world before now, and the Fentons are pale as they come. Danny is not.
He befriends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley; they ask him about the scars fading up and down his arms, they ask him about the scar carved diagonal across his face.
Danny, as politely as he can, tells them he doesn’t remember. He thought kindness would come second nature to him, his dream burned into his mind where he hugged his brother so sweetly. Apparently, his sweetness is only second nature to people he considers his own.
(It becomes even more apparent when Dash Baxter tries to bully him later that day, and Danny ruffles like an eagle threatened. His mind whispers, hissy and agitated, sinking like a shadow at his shoulder, several different ways Danny could kill him for talking to him like that, and fifteen more ways he could cripple him.)
(Danny ignores those thoughts, up until Dash Baxter tries to grab him. Then he breaks his nose on the wood of his desk. It’s easy how quickly the rest of his grade sinks him down to the status of social pariah.)
(At least Sam and Tucker still talk to him after that. When Danny goes to the principal’s office later, he wisely doesn’t mention the worse things he could’ve done than break Dash Baxter’s nose.)
—--------------
It clicks and it clatters in corners and borders
And they will never
Hear me here listen to croons and a calling
I'll tell them all the
Story, the sun, and the swallow, her sorrow
Singing me the tale of the Harpy and the Hare
—-------
More dreams come, of course they do. Each one halfway to forgotten whenever he wakes up, ticking faint in his ears. He is many different ages. He is young, shorter than a table. He is older, holding onto his little brother. He is singing in almost every single one. He is singing to his brother.
Danny can barely remember the lyrics, he’s begun leaving a journal by his bedside so that it’s the first thing he can write down when he wakes up. He’s a storyteller, he learns. He feels like a historian, trying to piece together a culture long dead and forgotten.
His most vivid dream-like memory is not a happy one, and for once he’s almost relieved he barely recalls it. He is somewhere that isn’t home, but his mother and brother are there. He is dressed in black, blades keen in his hands.
They are atop a moving train. They are fleeing something. His brother is struggling to keep up, he is small, and young. It’s beautifully sunny, they are somewhere green and lovely.
It is a fast dream.
His brother stumbles on something, and Danny, fast as a whip, snatches him by the back of his shirt and hoists him up to his feet before he can fall. “Watch your feet, habibi.” He murmurs low, a hand on his back. It’s hard to hear, there is wind in their ears.
His brother, face obscured in all but his eyes, which are green as emeralds, nods.
The dream blurs, but Danny falls behind. His foot catches on air — impossible, it should’ve been, at least. He never trips. — and he lands against the roof with a thud and a grunt. His mother and brother stop, and turn for him.
The train hits a turn before Danny can get up, and he shouldn’t have, something pulls on him, he swears, but he slips. He can’t find the purchase to pull himself up, cold fear hits him as his nails scrape against the metal.
His mother and brother’s horrified faces are the last thing he sees before he disappears off the side of the train.
(The ticking is at its loudest when he wakes up, pounding against his inner skull. He only manages to write down ‘train fall’ in his journal, before he’s flipping over to press his head into his pillow to get the pain to stop.)
—---
She can't keep them all safe
They will die and be afraid
Mother, tell me so I say
(Mother, tell me so I say)
—-------
When Danny is fourteen he is still humming songs he can’t remember, his mind still in a broken puzzle. But his room is now decorated with stars and plants in every corner. He has a guitar he keeps in the corner of his room, and he plays the lullabies in his head on the strings over and over again.
The ectoplasm in the fridge still unsettles him, still reminds him of a past he can’t recall. The knife beneath his mattress has returned to the kitchen — he doesn’t need it. He found a box in the attic last year, it had his name on it, and inside he found familiar, strange clothes, and more weapons than he thought was possible to carry on one person.
(Even without knowing that the Fentons prefer guns to blades, Danny knows, instinctively, that they were his weapons. He was — was? Is — a dangerous person. He takes the box down to his room to sort through. The weapons all fit into his callused hands almost perfectly — the grooves worn to fit his palm. They’re just a little small.)
(He tentatively takes a small blade with him to school one day, and feels much more comfortable with it sheathed beneath his shirt. He’s kept it on him ever since, like he’s reunited a lost limb to himself.)
Danny doesn’t have a name for his person, his little brother, nor does he have a name for his beloved mother. He’s haunted by dreams every few weeks, many of them repeating. He’s ingrained the words he can remember to memory, and the ones he doesn’t, he writes down in his journal. His little brother; Danny calls him a bird, he can’t figure out what kind. His little bird of some kind; when Danny takes something from their father — what, he can’t remember what — then his little brother will be a little bird.
(He doesn’t have a name for his brother, yet, but he’s calling his birdie in his head. It’s better than nothing.)
—------
Seeker, do you ever come to wonder
If what you're looking for is within where you hold
Will you leave a trail for them to follow a path
You'll soon forget
Home
—---------
When he’s fourteen, Danny dies. It does nothing to fix his fractured memories, much to his consternation. It just confirms something he already knows; that he was someone dangerous, and that he still is.
When the shock of death has worn off, Danny inspects his ghost in the metal reflection of the closest table. It’s blurry, hard to see, but shock green eyes pierce back at him, green like the portal. Lazarus, Danny’s mind whispers, and he blinks rapidly.
‘Lazarus,’ he mouths to himself. It’s familiar. Sam shows him with her phone what he looks like, joking that he looks like an assassin. Danny doesn’t think she’s that too far off.
He doesn’t tell her that. He tucks the thought away with the rest of his secrets, and fiddles with the hood gathering at his neck, attached to a cape with torn edges swinging down to his ankles. He pulls it over his shock white hair. It shadows over his face impossibly so, until all you can see are his green-green eyes peering out like a wolf hiding in the brush.
He ends up calling himself Phantom.
(Maybe now he can start putting lyrics to his lullabies; his memories may not have returned, locked away with the sound of a clock, but the dead can talk. One of them may just have answers.)
----------
Home is where we are
Home is where you are
Home is where I am
-----------------
Dedicated to @gascansposts for being the one who introduced me to the band Yaelokre, and thus being the whole reason I was inspired to write this in the first place >:] Those lyrics at the line breaks are all from their album Hayfields.
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Boothill x Reader Headcanons ➸
- These are >gender neutral< Boothill X Reader Headcanons !
- OOC as we don’t know much about him yet !
- The hyperfixation simply got so bad that I felt inclined to write these to blow off some steam, so these headcanons are just for fun and not meant to be taken seriously !
WARNING: There is a NSFW portion! So if you are a minor or uncomfortable with sexual topics, do not read the labeled NSFW section.
+ some SFW headcanons have more mature themes.
𓄒 ✸ →→→⛤←←← ✸ 𓄒
✪ * He’s such an ass about his sharp teeth, he will >playfully< threaten to bite you when he’s feeling bored. He’d snap at you for fun, or lean in close and open his mouth as if he’s going to bite you. You’re allowed to lightly whack him for it, he thinks it’s funny.
✪ * If he does manage to get his teeth on your skin he’d nibble you lightly and quickly/consistently in one spot. He’d make cliche gnawing noises while doing it too, he’s a fucking DORK.
✪ * His mouth tastes like metal from his insistent bullet consumption ☹️ do not tongue kiss him for too long (or at all) bc it WILL suck! Unless if you're into it of course (have fun with the shrapnel).
✪ * If you were to hold his face with both of your hands it would soft-lock him at first. He wouldn’t be able to move from his position at all, but he can certainly make facial expressions and speak to you. After a minute or two he’d be able to move fully and decide if he wants you to continue holding him like that (he typically does). Also, it’s a good way to calm him down!!
✪ * Oh you KNOW he’d be real handsy with you if you’re comfortable with it. He respects your boundaries of course, if you tell him not to he won’t, but if you ARE okay with him heavily touching you then expect his hands to be everywhere. Your head, face, shoulders, hips, waist, back and thighs are not safe from his grasp. You get “Boothill bonus points” if you initiate the touching by making him put his hands on you.
✪ * Also, once you’re in his arms he is not letting you go. You’re either hugging/cuddling him back or you’re stuck there in Boothill arm jail for a while.
✪ * Running his fingers through your hair or giving you head rubs is his passion, he likes when you play with his hair as well! In a private setting will let you style it however you want.
✪ * He is a big ol’ sucker for kisses and face nuzzling, giving and receiving. Kissing on the lips is definitely saved for more intimate ordeals, but he will kiss your cheeks, neck and shoulder a million times in one sitting. And you best believe he will rub every surface of his face against yours (or other parts of your body). It’s the only part of him where he’s made of flesh after all!
✪ * You cannot escape his plethora of pet names/nicknames that he has for you, especially ones that will get big reactions out of you. For example, if “darlin” makes you blush or get all shy, he’ll call you that all the time! Or if you find “cutie” to be cringeworthy, he WILL embarrass you with it as much as he can! As long as you’re comfortable with it ofc.
✪ * ^^ He’ll love any nickname you give him, even if it’s incredibly stupid or annoying. He’ll just be happy that you’re willing to play along with him. He’ll definitely appreciate more serious and affectionate nicknames though.
✪ * Expect him to put his cowboy hat on you, he thinks you look SO cute in it. He’ll also joke that it suits you so much that he’s willing to buy you your own cowboy hat, but it’s unlikely that he would! He much prefers seeing HIS hat on you.
✪ * You could probably charge your electronic devices through the different ports of his body, but you can’t do it for free. You owe him a kiss or a cuddle AT LEAST!!! Perhaps he’ll let you charge your devices while cuddling, he just has to be careful so he doesn’t accidentally crush your electronics.
✪ * If you are 21 and older and you enjoy drinking, expect going on dates that involve casually drinking together. He’d take you out to bars or keep alcohol at home that you guys can crack it open whenever you feel like it.
𓄒 ✸ →→→⛤←←← ✸ 𓄒
NSFW HEADCANONS
Content involves - Boothill using faux genitalia, Boothill being a switch, reader riding, reader giving/receiving head, reader being marked, reader receiving body kisses, reader being groped and having Boothills hands and fingers on or inside the readers genitals, reader and Boothill being restrained/tied up, Scenarios where Boothill does and doesn’t feel pleasure, light mentions of body worship and aftercare, light mentions of reader possibly being a masochist and into degradation.
Some of these headcanons have scenarios that follow patterns like this.
- Boothill is into X, but if you’re not into X then he will do Y.
- If you let him/if you’re into it, Boothill will do X. Boothill will let you do X to him as well.
▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
✪ * He has swappable genital attachments/inserts. For example; an attachable penis or an insertable vaginal/anal canal (the robopenis and robussy is real).
✪ * He wants you to ride him SO BAD. He’ll do all the work if he has to, he just needs you to be straddling him. He also gets a TON satisfaction from giving you head, it’s his favorite form of foreplay.
✪ * ^^ However, if you’re not into riding he will certainly be a bottom for you or top you in whatever way you desire. And if you’re not into receiving head from him, he’ll do whatever you want. He just wants to make sure you’re happy!
✪ * ^^^^ He LOVES to please you, as he most likely doesn’t feel much pleasure or ANY pleasure at all. He’ll certainly let you give him head if it gets you off, even if he can’t feel it.
✪ * If you let him, he is most definitely going to mark you up. If you don’t have at least ONE bite mark or ONE hickey after sex then there’s something wrong with him. Check his temperature.
✪ * He’d probably tease your neck and shoulders the most when it comes to biting/marking. Not only does he want them to be visible, he also wants to be marking areas that are sensitive! If you’re feeling bold he’ll mark up your thighs too, outer and inner. He’ll take any excuse to have his head in between your legs.
✪ * Like I said before, he’s a big ol’ sucker for kisses! Any exposed skin of yours will be kissed. He WILL plant kisses down your entire naked body.
✪ * His insistent handsiness gets WORSE during sex, he loves exploring your body with his hands and groping your thighs, breasts, ass, hips and waist. The sight of his robotic hands/fingers on or inside your genitals makes him go nuts.
✪ * He probably has nicknames for you that are explicitly stated during sex, or they’d be used outside of sex to rile you up.
✪ * if you’re into it, he’d love to restrain you. His favorite medium of restraint is rope, your wrists are the ropes main victim. He will also use his hands to restrain you, expect being held by your wrists and shoulders, or being kept still by him gripping your hair and having his hand around your neck. He doesn’t mind being restrained by you via similar methods.
✪ * Now if you want to imagine him being able to feel pleasure, he’d lean HEAVILY towards being dominant. Even if he’s a bottom in some of these scenarios, he would want to have control of what happens to him. Obviously he’d let you have your way once in a while, but he’d be a little selfish about the fact that he can ACTUALLY FEEL SOMETHING below his neck. Cut him some slack!
✪ * I’d imagine he’s quite vocal, regardless if he can or can’t feel pleasure. I don’t think he’d be whiny per se, but he’ll certainly let out huffs, groans or moans.
✪ * He’d worship your body to the max during sex, or he’d give you plenty of aftercare if you’re into being handled roughly or degraded.
✪ * You’d have to be patient with him if you’re into him REALLY hurting you or being mean to you during sex, he’d worry too much and be extremely cautious at first.
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