Kinda dorky, but lovable! 35 years old she/him/them Got any questions, ask away! If you're a transphobe, TERF or ace phobic or anything like that, walk away! You will be blocked!
More @zillychu firecore Danny! (this time ft glowy ghost mushrooms just bc I felt like it) This AU is single-handedly changing my opinion on drawing long hair lmao
woke up from a dead sleep last night realizing I could make soroku flavored pitch pearl and no one could stop me
edit: you know what? I'm feral and I won't apologize. more under the cut bc this is my house
I slammed this out all at once so I apologize for the quality but I'm having EMOTIONS
so imagine. bc of the way Danny was quickly resuscitated, his ghost only barely started forming. With the excess blast of ectoplasm from the portal being created, that little whisp was given form even after Danny's soul returned to his body.
except this ghost (Phantom) slowly comes into consciousness while trapped in Danny's body. they're separate entities sharing one body, but Phantom doesn't really have a sense of self right away. he pieces together vague fragments of Danny's memory to get a basic understanding of the world, and is mostly just observing like a backseat passenger.
Phantom starts reflexively protecting Danny, his powers and instincts bleeding through when his emotions are high. Danny doesn't really transform, and his personality doesn't totally shift that much at first because Phantom’s mind isn't complex yet. but as time goes on, and Danny has tense conversations with ghosts, Phantom realizes that's what he is. he's a ghost, somehow trapped in his old body. and even now, this early on, he already feels separate. he doesn't have all the memories Danny has.
this slowly turns into horror. into rage. sorrow, mourning a life he never got and will never get to have. forever trapped behind the eyes of someone else, never able to interact with the world. Phantom's rage eventually boils over until it allows him short bursts of taking over Danny's body. it starts out small–a stray hand moving without his consent, knees locking up, ghost abilities going awry. Danny can start feeling emotions that don't belong to him. get vague impressions, almost hears a voice inside him.
and eventually, Phantom is able to fully take over. this is when Danny “transforms". at first, Danny blacks out because his consciousness isn't used to being shoved into the back seat. but eventually, he's awake for these “episodes", trapped in the back of his mind while Phantom controls his body. this only happens when ghost stuff is happening, when Phantom feels threatened enough. he's not protecting Danny, he's protecting himself. Phantom knows instinctively that if Danny dies, he dies too. he's not a normal ghost, he wouldn't be freed. he'd simply disappear.
at one point after a fight, Phantom can feel Danny struggling to take back control. and he talks to Danny for the first time, acknowledges he's there. asks how it's fair that Danny is the one that gets to exist. but Phantom is tired and weak, he slips back into the passenger seat.
over the next few days, he's able to start talking to Danny even while he's not driving. though he's not chatty, it's only when necessary. and Danny knows, can feel it across the link between them–Phantom hates him. the ghost he created is desperate to find a way to take over completely. and as time goes on, Danny realizes with horror that it might actually be possible for Phantom to do that. he grows stronger every day, can stay transformed longer, controls Danny's body with much more ease.
it's only through a chance meeting with Frostbite that Danny and Phantom fully learn what happened to them. Danny feels sympathetic towards Phantom now. this isn't a malevolent ghost, it's a person who was never given the chance to live. who's trapped. who has to watch someone else live a life they're just as deserving of.
and Phantom feels that emotion from Danny. is so shocked by it, he doesn't know how to handle it at first. it takes him a while to contemplate, to talk to other ghosts like Frostbite. until one day, Phantom realizes… he feels sympathy for Danny, too.
neither of them asked for this. both of them deserve to live. Danny didn't do anything wrong. they're both villains to each other's story. and if anything… doesn't Phantom owe his life to Danny in the first place?
Phantom takes over less often. Danny doesn't feel hatred from him anymore. anger, yes–but not aimed at him. in fact, Phantom starts controlling their body in little ways in order to protect Danny from things that aren't even dangerous. just to avoid pain that would only affect the human tethered to him.
it isn't long before they're separated, either thanks to another ghost or Danny's parents. they're thrown apart in the middle of a horrific fight, and when Danny sees Phantom's equally shocked expression, he's terrified.
this ghost that hated him for so long–at best, Phantom would leave him defenseless. at worst, surely some part of Phantom still wants to kill him for stealing away his chance for autonomy.
and yet, when fire rains down on them, Phantom risks it all to grab Danny and get them both to safety. they're still both shaken and stunned this is even happening, but Phantom is able to nervously be like shit shit shit okay stay here don't go anywhere or I can't protect you, okay?
after the fight is over and dust settles, Phantom offers Danny his hand. they stare at each other and god if this isn't the weirdest thing. like, uh, okay, what now? they decide to go see Frostbite, who confirms that they're fully separate now. they ask if there's any chance of merging again and Frostbite assures it's impossible.
Phantom asks, even if I overshadowed Danny? or stay real close? yes, it's nothing to worry about. they leave, and back in the quiet of Danny's room, they talk. Phantom isn't sure what to do. now that opportunity is in front of him, he feels paralyzed. Danny does his best to let Phantom know that… they might be separate now, but if he ever wants help or even just a friendly ear, he's here for him.
Phantom is quiet for a while. then says maybe he just needs to rest first. he'll think about it tomorrow. they're both exhausted and injured. Phantom asks quietly… if he could rest in Danny for the night.
Danny's shocked, and–really confused. Phantom blushes and is like I don't know what my haunt is yet, I don't know where to go, but I know… you're kind of my home. now that I know I can leave whenever I want, it's not something bad anymore. I miss feeling your heart next to my core, just a little bit.
and Danny is just as surprised when Phantom overshadows him, then quietly nestles into the passenger seat again. he didn't realize how he got used to feeling Phantom with him. it's a feedback loop of contentedness, and Danny sleeps easily. (they also find out while sharing a body, Danny gets to reap the benefits of Phantom's supernatural healing)
anyway that's all I got for now thank u for coming to my ted talk
Consider: analogue horror style story where a human is recording themselves being hunted down by some kind of terrifying cryptid creature. However, it turns out that the cryptid is chasing because it's in love. The found footage horror scenario slowly shifts into this human documenting their weird fuckin experience of being 'romanced' by an uncanny monster that likes them and won't leave them alone
None of the artwork shown is traced, all art in this post is drawn by @dollopopaint . However, I did take direct reference from others artstyles for this art project. Credits of each reference is listed below.
If a creator does not wish to be mentioned in this post OR I’ve credited wrong please contact me immediately!
I know what I should draw for the eighth anniversary, but just having ideas and finding that my own level doesn't meet my own standards often leads to procrastination:(
anyway here's some alterplates doodles
It's so hard to collect all my settings for this au so maybe I won't present them or maybe I will somehow, who knows, it's not like anyone will watch it lol
The times you write about Dream is so cute, are you free to write romantic headcanons of him?
HOHOO I'm glad you like my spin on Dream! Here's some headcanons about him.
Elegant, polite, serene, refined. Early morning sunshine and clear freshwater lakes. He's a prince for sure, and he'll make you feel like royalty with the way he courts you.
He's got a way with words; his brother's an artist at heart, but he's always been a poet. He knows how to make you melt, how to weave sonnets that leave you sputtering and swooning.
(You'll know you're the one for him, because you're the only one that can leave him speechless~)
He likes nature. He doesn't often actually get to see the things that he works so hard to save from his brother. Flowers, animals, even just looking at the clouds in the sky can bring him peace - he'd be a good walking partner.
He's terrible at gardening though.
Sometimes he needs comforting. It's so hard. He's so tired. Your arms are the only place he gets any rest, anymore.
He's an excellent musician! Very adept at multiple instruments. He'll serenade you with delicate verses, if you'll only let him.
He doesn't particularly like using his abilities to make you feel positive emotions. He will, however, soothe aches and pains for you, and if you wake up in the night he'll be more than happy to dispel bad dreams and help you back to sleep.
All that being said...
... He does have something of a superiority complex. When you're literally a God, it's hard not to. He hides it very well, because he knows it's not acceptable, but it's not always easy to mask. You're his darling, the light of his life, you and him are simply 'better' than the simpletons of the other aus. Sometimes it slips through.
That's not all, either.
... A lot of Dream's gentlemanly behaviours are his ways of dealing with very dark thoughts and desires. He and Nightmare are cut from the same cloth, after all. The only difference between the brothers is Nightmare chooses to indulge at the expense of others - and Dream knows that. He knows he's only a few bad deeds away from becoming his brother. He's compensating by acting extra good and kind.
Just like Nightmare, Dream is prone to jealousy and possessiveness. It's extremely hard to tell when he's jealous because he masks it with even more politeness and kindness. He already lost one person dear to him, he deeply fears losing you as well. When his smile is just that bit wider and his fingers wrap around your shoulder with just a little too much deliberateness, it might be time to go home.
He claims he never uses his emotion powers because they're draining for him. That's not the truth.
He won't tell you, but the reason he resists using them on you is he fears what he might do when he feels how easy it is to stop you from leaving him.
An HMF x OC commission from @radpunch that made me swoon ❤️ any chance to write this big lug, I'll take!!
---
It was love at first sight.
Looking out his car window was, oddly, one of the few joys he still had. It was such a strange thing to look forward to. Papyrus wouldn’t allow him to drive anymore, given the state of him, and although it frustrated him to lose his agency having a driver meant he could sit in the backseat and stare out of the tinted window.
... He was sick and tired of the way everything would stop when he entered a room. He was sick of the world that refused to forget the parts of him he wanted to forget, but at the same time, forgot the things he desperately wished to hold onto.
His eyelight rolled over the street, taking in it all. The colours, the sounds, the sights. He could almost forget what had happened to him. He got the sense of normalcy he had been missing, craving, for so long; nobody could gawk at him like they usually did, nobody even knew he was there. From the safety of that bulletproof box he could see how the normal world went on. People bustling up and down the streets, moving in and out of stores, chatting with friends or arguing with each other, laughing and yelling and living their lives.
How things used to be.
His eyelight landed on something that should’ve been another normal sight. An entirely unremarkable flower shop, sat between a cafe and small family market. It was the kind of area he and his brother would’ve collected protection from in the early days of their ‘business’. There were flowers arranged outside of the store, grey metal buckets full of bouquets set spaced across a low wooden table.
... There was a human woman tending to the flowers. Your apron was the same colour as the store’s green banner.
...
His Soul stilled inside his chest.
“... stop the car,” he said, before he even knew he was speaking.
You weren’t doing anything particularly incredible, nor noteworthy. You blended in with the rest of the people on that busy street - standing outside your shop. Watering the plants? Pruning them? He couldn’t tell from this distance.
Impressively, the driver had heard his mumbled command, shifting down a gear despite the look from the bodyguard in the passenger seat.
“Where would you like to get out, sir?”
... It was strange. But Sans missed the days when his drivers would question him. It just wasn’t the same now that nobody ever even thought of challenging his word. Sir, this isn’t where we’re stopping. Sir, Papyrus said we must be there at eight, we cannot pull over. Sir, I’m under express orders not to let you go to the bar.
Now, even the slightest sign of questioning would probably be considered stupid.
“... florist.”
Sans didn’t miss the second strange look the bodyguard gave to the driver. He would’ve felt anger at that, usually, but instead he watched intently as you headed into the shop.
The driver pulled up to the side of the road, a few cars’ distance from the entrance to the store. Sans opened the car door.
“How long will you be, sir?” the guard asked.
Sans didn’t reply; he often didn’t, these days. He merely stepped out of the car. He knew the driver would wait.
The second he exited the vehicle, Sans saw the world around him realise he was there, and react with its usual amount of terror and disgust. His presence was always a blight. People in the street immediately began to stare, freezing in their path, refusing to cross in front of the giant that had just appeared. A mother with a child who had been walking their way suddenly spotted him, and jerked her child by the arm, turning the two of them around and rushing in the other direction.
Usually, he only had to pretend that he didn’t care. But this time, he genuinely didn’t.
... He was excited.
Sans made his way over to the flower shop, ignoring all the tiny people that flitted away from him. His Soul was... beating. It was beating, thudding against his ribcage.
He opened the door, ducking slightly under the frame. A tiny bell chimed.
... It was such a quaint little store. Clearly strapped for space, every corner was occupied with pretty things; while one wall was dedicated to shelves full of decorative pots and bottles of flower feed, the rest of the store was bursting with different kinds of blossoms, arranged in all kinds of creative ways. Every taste was catered to - elegant bouquets of dark paddle-leaves and pale lilies, stringy minimalist green stalks dotted with clusters of tiny blossoms, extravagant bunches of pink that more resembled floral fireworks than anything natural. A blackboard displayed bouquet prices, with sweet little illustrations of the various bridal styles available. *Please note that out-of-season flowers might be more expensive!
And at the far end, behind the counter... by far the prettiest thing in the whole room.
You.
Whatever had happened to him in the car, it happened again. His chest was tight, his head was swimming. His Soul felt heavy, and hot, he was certain it had manifested itself inside his ribcage - it felt as if it was twice its usual size. Everything was brighter, more saturated.
You did look at his head crack when he entered. Everyone did. You glanced up from the bouquet you were organising, a classic bunch of perfectly red roses; but your eyes quickly skirted away from the injury, aware that you were staring, and probably not wanting to be rude. It was more politeness than most bothered to afford him.
... Then you smiled at him.
He literally felt his Soul pulse. All his breath escaped him at the same time. You were smiling? At him? People didn’t smile at him anymore, not genuinely. Their smiles were sly and patronising when they assumed he was stupid, or desperate and weak when they were a cornered animal doing their best to appear nonchalant in the face of a predator.
This smile... your smile...
“Hi sir,” you said, in a voice like a lullaby. “what can I get for you?”
What could you get for him? He hadn’t even started thinking about that. He had just seen you across the road, and followed you like a lost dog. His eyelight scanned the shelves; he couldn’t say he’d ever been into a florist before, nor that he knew how to order a bouquet.
“... what’s...” For the first time in a long time, he was really really trying to get his words right. He was willing to put in the effort. “... your name?”
“Dove. You?”
It took him a moment to remember his own name.
“sans.”
Everything about you was soft. You had little lines around your smile that he wanted to trace with his claws. “It’s nice to meet you. Is there anything you’re looking for?”
you. “... just flowers.”
To his surprise, you giggled. It was a small sound, but it shot through him like lightning.
“Of course. My bad.”
“... was lookin’ for... somethin’ pretty.” He stared across the room at you, emboldened by your laugh. “... think i already found it, though.”
You went pink, and looked down at the counter.
Sans was...
... Well, he was shocked.
When was the last time his attention had incited anything except absolute terror? Regardless of gender, even just a glance from would make people shudder and cower, retreating into themselves. But here you were, blushing at his first attempt at flirting in what must’ve been years. He almost didn’t know what to do with himself.
... He couldn’t remember a single instance, after his injury, where he genuinely wanted someone. He had a vague aesthetic interest in a member of a rival gang, once, but she’d been so frightened by him staring at her that he quickly gave that up. He hadn’t felt these kinds of feelings in a long time.
... In fact... now that he was looking at you and your lovely nose and lips, he couldn’t remember a single instance before his injury when he felt this strongly about someone. His younger self had been a playboy who chased anything pretty and distracting.
He’d never felt these warm, intense, fluttery sensations before.
It felt like love.
“What’s the occasion?” you asked him. “For the flowers, I mean.”
He approached the counter. “... a gift.”
“Are there any particular flowers or colours you have in mind?”
“... which... flowers do you like?”
Your blush hadn’t gone away. Was he just seeing things because he was desperate, or were you leaning on the counter like that to be flirtatious? “Oh... I know it’s stereotypical to say as a florist, but I can’t pick a favourite. I like so many of them.”
His eyelight lingered on your neck. He didn’t want to make assumptions and scare you off. But at the same time, he wanted so much. “how come?”
“Well... there’s a lot of folklore behind flowers. Pretty much all flowers have certain meanings.” You kept fiddling with the roses, changing the position of blooms. “The Victorians were really into it, they got super specific, even down to which hand you gave flowers with. Nobody really cares about that kind of thing nowadays, they just want the bouquets to look good. Which is fair enough. But every time I find out the hidden meaning of a flower, I think about how someone long ago must’ve loved that flower enough to give it so much meaning. And I get all emotional.”
You looked up at him, your eyes glistening in the light. He dug his thumb into the side of his index finger to stop himself from reaching out and caressing your face.
“... Y’know, it does make me laugh, sometimes, when people pick rude flowers without knowing their meaning.” You looked up at him from under your eyelashes. “They have no idea they’re sending a bouquet that would’ve meant ‘I don’t trust you, and I’m extremely disappointed with you’.”
He couldn’t help but smile when you smiled. That... was kinda funny. Papyrus would like this sort of thing.
“what kinda messages... can you send?”
“Almost anything.” You moved the roses to the side. “I can’t say I know many off the top of my head. Romantic love, platonic love, wisdom, bravery. There’s a lot for love. My favourites are the mean ones, though, because it’s so funny to me - orange lilies used to mean hatred. Could you imagine getting orange lilies delivered to your door?”
... He chuckled. He could listen to you talk forever.
“... could i...” he hummed. “... get somethin’... with a meaning?”
Your whole face lit up. You beautiful thing.
“Of course! I don’t think I’ve ever actually gotten to make a bouquet that uses flower language." You were beaming. "What message were you thinking of?”
He looked right into your lovely, shiny eyes. “love at first sight.”
... He could see exactly how your mind worked, in that moment. There was an instant of surprise, then a glimmer of flattery and embarrassment, it came with another flash of warmth across your face that only deepened the colour in your cheeks. He could tell you were immediately trying to pull yourself back, convincing yourself he couldn’t mean you, reigning in the sudden feelings.
“Whoever it’s for must be very lucky.” You tucked some hair behind your ear. If only you knew. “Hold on, just let me grab my flower language book.”
You rushed over to a shelf. As you did, he looked down to double check that his Soul wasn’t shining through his clothes.
“Here.” You came back quickly, holding the book in question, already leafing through it. It was a faded beige, with beautifully illustrated blossoms on the front, encased in an embossed golden border. “This should help.”
He wanted to purr. You were so cute. Moving around with so much excitement, he liked when you were excited.
“There’s a few, I think. You’re in luck, we have these in stock.” He wasn’t paying attention to the book, he was just looking at you. “Thornless roses - gloxinia too. This one says that lilac roses are good to represent first love. We could make some really nice arrangements with these shapes and colours.”
just keep talking, was all he could think. talk to me forever...
Eventually, you looked up at him, still smiling. He had to physically fight the urge to just pick you up and walk out the door. “What size were you thinking?”
“... whatever... you think... looks best.” He wanted you to have fun with it. “... money’s... no object.”
“I think something medium would be good for these flowers. Anything bigger and it'll just look silly. Any particular styles?”
“... somethin’ romantic.”
You gently giggled. He guessed that that wasn’t a proper bouquet style. Usually, when people laughed at him, he felt the urge to cave in their skull... but when you laughed at him, he laughed too, a soft chuckle escaping his massive chest. His mind was racing to figure out why you laughed, so he could make you do it again.
“i like your laugh,” he said, before he could stop himself.
“... I like yours, too.” Your voice was sweet. Almost... coy?
He was daring to hope that, despite his gruesome injury, you liked him too.
... The store bell let out a little chime.
Sans turned around. And, much to his immediate aggravation, he saw his guard standing at the entrance.
“Hello.” Your voice was very different to the one you were just using with him. Far more customer service, far more ‘normal’. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
The guard ignored you, looking to Sans. “Sir, you...”
Sans’ glare must’ve said shut the fuck up fluently enough to make the man close his mouth again.
don’t you dare. don’t you fucking dare ruin this for me.
“... Do you two need to speak in private?” You had probably lived in this city long enough to know when it was time to make yourself scarce. “It’s fine, I can go make the bouquet while you talk.”
... He nodded.
“... sorry. s’cuse me.”
You disappeared away, into the back of the store.
...
He turned to the guard. He could feel his eyelight starting to burn, sharpening and filling with aggressive magic.
“what.”
The guard visibly shrank into himself. Sans didn’t even want guards, he didn’t fucking need them, he could more than handle himself. But Papyrus was still shaken from the incident to this day, and wouldn’t let him anywhere without at least one armed guard.
“S-sir, we’re... we’ll be late,” he said.
Sans didn’t care. The clowns he was meeting with would wait for him like nervous children, no matter how long he took to arrive. As the moments ticked by, the guard just withered more and more under Sans’ stare.
...
He eventually sighed, through his nasal cavity. Being around you had softened his mood significantly. He didn't even feel like breaking anything.
“i’ll tell... pap... you tried to rush me.”
... A wave of relief passed over the guard’s face. Though Sans was the one most feared, Papyrus’ wrath was still nothing to sneeze at.
“Here!” Your voice snapped him back to attention. He turned around, just in time to see you set an arrangement down on the counter. “What do you think? I’m happy to make adjustments.”
... It was lovely. Really lovely. He leaned in to get a closer look. He knew what lilacs and roses looked like, but he couldn’t say he’d ever seen a gloxinia before; they resembled open roses, lipstick red petals with ruffled white edges. Gloxinia and bunches of lilacs were interspersed by small lavender-hued closed rosebuds... minuscule baby’s breath flowers had been added too, on their thin stalks, floating over it all like stars.
“... s’perfect,” he murmured. You immediately smiled wider. Who would’ve known he’d grow a fondness for flowers?
He took out his wallet, rummaging until he had enough bills. It didn’t take long. He pushed them across the counter to you, and you graciously picked them up.
“Do you mind me asking who the lucky someone is?” you asked, starting to count what he’d given.
... Sans pushed the flowers across the counter a little, over to you.
“gotta go.” he murmured. “... late.”
...
You looked up at him, blankly. It was such a cute expression on your pretty face. Again, he was restraining the urge to purr, it would just be too inappropriate to do in public. Especially with someone else right behind him. Maybe if the two of you were alone...
“Huh?”
He turned, nodding to the guard, who made his way over to the door and opened it for him. As much as he wished he could just skip the meeting and stay there in that shop with you forever, he did have business to attend to.
You sounded flustered, behind him. “W-wait. You gave me too much,”
Sans waved over his shoulder at you.
The walk back to the car was a blur. His soul was still thundering. He genuinely wasn’t looking at the people around him, he didn’t care what they thought. All he cared about was what you thought.
All he was thinking about was the different ways he could make you his.
The mental story that keeps popping up for Swapfell Past is when Black and Alphy are both still tiny lil'tots and just learning lots of things...
Cue Papyrus is starting to hang out with a really bad influenced friend; Said friend comes over, Papyrus has to watch the kids and the friend starts teaching them curse words. Alphy's smart enough to give him glares and ignore him- Black, not so much...
In fact, with the intentions and the fact any negative feels are what Black was designed for to do; He craves it... Reason why he has such a bad baby/toddler stage. So, like to think his cursing habit at such a young age started with that bad friend and...
I got the image of Papyrus legit trying to get his new friend to stop; Said friend says 'fuck off' or something, lil'Black copies said friend; big Daddy Li comes in, just catching that last sentence and he is pissed...
I see Papyrus like 'oh shit' and friend goes; 'oh, mega shit... uh, ima head out?' And maybe something that makes both boys run. Papyrus trips over his own feet and he's like; 'why am i runnin'?! i can port--' and friend latches onto him like 'then fuckin' port us!!' and Pap's like; 'no!! get off, it doesn't work like tha'!' Or something, when really he's not strong enough to do two people, lolol.
Idk, this has just been on my brain for a while now and I keep chuckling. Maybe if Papyrus and friend started doing drugs together in their house, then maybe... So much going on in my brain, man.
dededos
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