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Do I want a Possessed By a Ghost plot on Thistle's blog or do I want to make a Possessed by Ghost duo oc?

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Not to workshop ANOTHER sibling oc but--

sibling dynamic where they're mortal enemies and polar opposites but both each other's sole intellectual matches. they genuinely want to kill each other, they legit hate one another. there is nothing but bad blood between them and yet it's sort of like a fucked up sherlock/moriarty deal (minus the homoeroticism OBVIOUSLY LMAO) where they kind of need one another and serve as each other's purpose and the moment some third party or outside force threatens them, they turn into a temporary ally.

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SOME PACK RAMBLINGS && GENERAL BACKSTORY.

Peter is a lone wolf and lacks a formal pack and doesn't seem very interested in integrating into one. As I've mentioned, he is a born werewolf and comes from a werewolf family line that was actually once a pretty considerably large pack and bloodline.

Whether the universe poises werewolves as out and public or still under the radar, the slow death of the family remains the same: a considerable pack gradually dwindling in numbers until it was completely disbanded with Peter technically being the last of the bloodline.

THE PACK

Peter's parents were both one of many siblings. Despite this, Peter's generation was considerably small-— yielding just five children including Peter between six siblings on his mother's side and four on his father's. A combination of an unstable economy, of uncertain times for shifter-kind, and an overall straying from traditions and a lesser focus on furthering and preserving the line contributed to this.

A SERIES OF UNFORTUNATE EVENTS

Tragedy struck the pack in bursts as if picking them off slowly. From Peter's birth up until his pre-teens, the family was rife with loss. A house fire a few months after his birth took the lives of one of his aunts, her partner, and her two children. Another aunt drowned a month later on a vacation trip. A heart attack took an uncle by the time Peter was one. It was at seven that Peter lost his own parents to a car accident. Tragic accidents, mental health, unfortunate mishaps, and even murder consumed members of the family one by one until it was just Peter and a single great uncle and his wife left by the time he had dipped into young adulthood.

MAKING THE CALL

At some point, the small pack had taken in two outsiders: two young brothers aged 12 and 15. It was shortly after this that his great uncle passed due to age and the pack was in need of another formal leader. The two outsiders were too young and Peter, still young himself, was unwilling. So, he made the call to disband. The two siblings were sent off to a sister pack that had longstanding ties with the family and he spent his time caring for the remaining elder until she too passed a year later.

LONE WOLF

Peter has been on his own for nearly fifteen years now and seems content. He doesn't speak of his family or his pack aside from casual mentions and there is no indication to just how tragedy-stricken his family was. There is a tired melancholy to Peter but also an absolute and total sense of peace and balance. The only real hint to such a history might be how he carries himself. There is peace and there is a confident steadiness to him, but with that comes a certain sort of world-weariness. Sometimes Peter seems twice his age, like he should be some grandpa elder wolf instead of someone just nearly dipping into forty.

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Maybe Peter was getting too old for werewolf politics. Maybe he'd just never cared for them to begin with. There was the biological awareness, that prickling at his skin that warned him that there was another of them standing before him. But beyond that? Peter wasn't moved. Jude had given him no indication of being a threat, so why would he treat him as such? What good was there in wasting energy puffing out his chest or snapping teeth at a nonexistent threat?

The werewolf made no attempt at verbalizing this, at trying to calm the restlessness he himself could feel sitting heavily in the air; he liked to think his demeanor spoke well enough for him. Peter didn't bite unless bitten, he minded his own unless forced to mind otherwise. He was a tired and easy-going lone wolf and most typically gave him his space.

Besides, he had more important matter to tend to. Namely? A mangled leg thanks to some ancient bear trap he'd wandered into despite being sure he'd paced just about every inch of those woods; Peter had been surprised the rusted contraption had even still triggered.

He had been gradually healing during his slow limp back towards his home and the mangled wound had thankfully eased into something more manageable. In all honesty? Still worthy of a hospital visit. The wolf had to wonder what had drawn the other in first: the general scent of another shifter or the scent of blood.

There was slight hesitation, as though Peter wanted to argue against the man's offer for first-aid. This was something he could take care of on his own, sure. And he had been readily prepared to do just that. But, he knew it made more sense to take the extended offer for assistance. Anyone could be a lone wolf, but you only survived as one when you knew when just you wasn't enough. Besides, he was sure his feline companion would have been none too happy to see him wandering back through the door in such a state.

❝ Couldn't feel worse than what did this. But I'll hear you out, I suppose. Go get your kit, stranger. ❞

Peter sighed, masked his own slightly labored breathing with it and gave a nod as if to dismiss the man. He then carefully hobbled over to a nearby stump and sat down heavily, wincing and gritting teeth in a subtle but hardly hidden show of pain.

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also ill do it this weekend but this is such a lowkey ass blog im gonna make some of those itty bitty skinny color post dividers for the muses and call it a daaaaaaaaaay

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I like the idea that Louie was touched by the hivemind creature and that he wasn't devoured and integrated but he was still exposed to some connection.

It doesn't influence his behavior or control him, but he probably hears it a lot. I think he hears it loudest around water. Like even something as simple as the bath or a running sink, etc,,, this poor man.

It speaks to him in a variety of voices, most consisting of the individuals that died in the sinking oil rig as they make up the majority of its mass currently. It is a hivemind in the sense it's absorbed the consciousnesses of those it's devoured and has a physical form that's some goopy globby amalgamation of the remnants of their corpses and its own biomass. But in general it's not really a lovecraftian creature in terms of scale. It's relatively small and consists of about??? maybe 30-40 individuals? Like still a Big Boy but it's deep sea level and so it's not something you're gonna find unless you're waaaaay down there.

Truth be told, the hivemind (i'll come up with a name eventually lol) isn't all-consuming or looking to devour everything. It actually does want to be left alone and undisturbed. I think its constant torment of Louie isn't even it trying to lure him back, it's just really driving home the point that he was lucky to get away and if he disturbs it again, it will take him. Maybe it also kind of uses him as a tool to keep others away? Like calls him to stop explorations or whatever like 'Hey bestie, we're going to kill all these people if you don't get them to fuck off :))))'

I think the creature itself aside, Louie probably just has more or less ghosts in his head too. When the hive isn't speaking a specific message to him through some voice of a fallen, the fallen themselves probably speak to him because he's.... technically outside the hive but still in it enough to communicate? So you gotta think: these poor souls whose consciousness kinda just float around when they aren't specifically being used as a mouth piece or whatever,,,, i can imagine they'd be chatty.

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STILL WAKES THE DEEP: SIREN'S REST ✦ dev. The Chinese Room

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That time again where Arachno makes loads of vague-concept OCs

INSERT NAME HERE. 26. Medium. she/they

Premise: I can't stop making tragic siblings!! That awkward moment when your grief for your dead brother is so great you end up unlocking some medium ability bullshit and you strongarm your way through it to try and get good enough to actively seek him out if he's still on this plane of existence. Makes a living by getting spirits to pay her to help them with their unfinished business. Not in it for the love of the game or because she cares, she's just here to find her brother. Themes of: siblings bonds transcending life and death, staring at the void and having it look back and telling it to get out of your way, if you're good at something never do it for free.

INSERT NAME. 40. Lawyer? she/her

Premise: Country girl escapes to the city to pursue justice after a childhood of injustice. Loses a case involving abused children. Spirals. Moves back to a small town to get away from it all, soul search, heal, etc. Themes of taking the dog out of the fight but not being able to take the fight out of the dog. Stockholm syndrome with The System and the slow but violent abandonment of it in favor of vigilante justice. 'The devil works hard but I work harder.'

INSERT NAME. 65. Career criminal? he/him

Sole survivor of a pretty notorious crime gang from a few decades back. Their last heist turned sour because of an elaborate scheme set to rat them out. It succeeded and they were caught up in some government sting bullshit. Two of the members died in a gunfight the day of, another is still in prison for life, and he managed to escape due simply to him belonging to the strongest crime family at the time. Now that his laying low period is up, he's looking to figure out just who set their group up two decades ago and get revenge. Themes of: Sunken cost fallacy, crime family nepotism, old dog learning new tricks, am I getting revenge for you or for me?

HAPPY LASTNAMEHERE. 30. Friend rental service worker. she/any

Based off (them / x) and (her) as well as Sm*ling Friends.

Need cheering up? Need some tough love? Happy is happy to help! She looks like a ray of sunshine and rainbows but is anything but. Happy really has no business being in this business and it's a wonder she was hired on by her eccentric and strange boss. Her methods are unconventional at best and harsh at worst. Themes of: forgoing the spoonful of sugar before the medicine.

NAME HERE. 38. Writer / Seer? Prophet? he/they

Managed to do what every writer dreams to do and started making money off his book series, even had a movie made of the first one. It wasn't until he was almost through with the rough draft of his latest novel when he watched it unfurl in real time in the real world. Raised the questions of if he was insane, if he was causing what he wrote, if he was predicting the future. Scared shitless, he ceased writing and spiraled. Was already a hermit, now more so. Isolation, drugs to cope, the whole shebang. Themes of wielding powers unknown, of an artist slowly dying because he cannot create his art because he fears it to be harmful.

NAME HERE. 34. Journalist / ex-assassin. him/him

A rare story of someone who got out of the business alive and got out young with the intent of going clean and above board. Was provided an Out in a very J*hn Wick type of way-— that is to say, people aren't happy about it and he keeps getting dragged back in. Themes of: The Clrk Kent trope, leading a double life but only one can win in the end, how far are you willing to go for freedom? When an uncomfortable life is a comfortable one. Killing bad people is fun so do you actually want to stop?

NAME HERE. 27. Oddity artist. they/she

Nature lover, people tolerant. They live out on their own but not quite off the grid. Dream is to keep a homestead and have a lot of animals and grow their own food, etc. For now travels quite a bit as a traveling artist to a variety of cons and expos selling her shadow boxes and other animal remains crafts alongside fur felting and needlepoint pet portraits. Soft-spoken and introverted but steadfast and firm when needed. Themes of: waste not want not, celebrating life after death through art, typical nature lover.

NAME HERE. 42. Doll artist. he/him

Shitty home put him on a shitty path. Had it good for awhile with his grandma but things went downhill again after she passed. Went to prison for just under a decade for an armed robbery with a buddy at the time. Picked up a passion for stitching and sewing during his sentence, discovered he had an artistic touch. Grandma had a thing with porcelain dolls, he attempted to try making them in an attempt to chase happier memories and find something to do with his time once he got out. Eventually got good enough to start his own business and make a living off it. Primarily makes custom doll clothing but also focuses on custom assembling and painting porcelain dolls. Just now starting to branch into more modern forms like BJD painting and barbie/monster high/etc customizing.

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If the situation wasn't so charged, he'd have found the hands in his short hair comforting. Lounged on some couch, a head in a lap-— he scrunched his face some and chanced to glance down at his bare chest.

❝ I took a nap. I don't like nappin' in shirts. ❞ The 'duh' was heavily implied. ❝ Oh. These are yours? That why they're more like capris? ❞ he was overexaggerating just be even more of an ass.

His gaze had flickered to lips now, torn away only at the mention of loitering. ❝ Hey, y'don't know if I got a reason to be here or not. Besides... dunno how any of what you just said has to do with me cheating. I'm innocent. ❞

The grin that follows the reaper's statement could only be described as wolfish. While security is necessary in day to day, there's no doubt he grew up scrappy. It's in the set of his shoulders and how he moves. A feline grace more apt for a fighting ring, but all the more alluring on a world stage. "Don't have a clue what you mean." He's practically raking his fingers through dark hair, pressed so close.

"Your tits are out on a quaint Tuesday afternoon and you're wearing my gray sweats big boy. How else?" Blue meets blue and he's momentarily struck by the morbidity of it all. There's a song about this, surely.

"Rockstar, courtesan, master of tricks...Take your pick." The dimple in his cheek is prominent as he registers the invitation. "Oh I should huh? Since you came all this way to loiter."

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❝ Don't act like you couldn't put me back on my ass if you wanted to. Backed you into a corner. Gimme a break. ❞ still, he did shift subtly as if to quietly check to make sure Mars actually did have room to wriggle free if he wanted to.

❝ How do I cheat? I play fair. I gotta. Servant of the natural balance, remember? ❞ said almost with a pout. His grin spread lazily as Mars loops hands around the back of his neck and pulled him in. A lazy grin and darkened eyes. If anyone was obvious about their want, it was Jax.

❝ Oh yeah? You're a rockstar. I'd hope that wouldn't the best trick up your sleeve. More of a... kinetic learner though. Should probably show me what y'mean. ❞

There's something comically unhinged with this picture, a man touched by death and the relentlessly curious reaper determined to learn him for the sake of it. "You've backed me into a corner." It's wry and wet, but not as if he's uncomfortable. Growing up in the metal scene meant getting comfortable with many things and very quickly. First one? Fluids. Second? Fighting.

Despite the fact Jax has three to four inches on him in height, the frontman is hardly cowed. "Why would I bother? You cheat." 

Fingers drift up and lace just at the nape of the reaper's neck, tugging him down so they're almost level. "Then again? You're also woefully underprepared. Remember that trick with my tongue?" A slow grin follows as he murmurs a few centimeters from a mocking mouth. "Barely an appetizer." 

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me forgetting anyone follows this blog still while i get ready to write freaky nasty threads

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Jax was removed from the living but he didn't hold contempt for it or a cold naturalness for it like plenty reapers did. No, the assistant was fascinated by it. At least, the bits that could be fascinated by him in turn. Unfortunately or not for Mars, that really was just him. 

The man grinned something fierce around his gum as fingers meant to grip were taken between teeth instead. ❝ Me? Provoke? I dunno, Mars. Seems kinda like you're the one doing the provoking right now. ❞ he dared to press fingers in deeper only to remove them and swipe the spit along the man's lips, leaving them glistening. 

❝ Hey man, I didn't know we were playing a game. You'll have to outline the rules for me if you're that dead set on winning. ❞

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Jax was midway through a sip when eyes landed upon 'his' belt buckle. The assistant at first feigned confusion-— this lasted all of a singular beat and a half before he was swallowing down the soda and grinning against the mouth of the bottle.

❝ You got a death wish or something? Bit cliché, isn't it? The whole metal band vibe. Chasing the afterlife. Isn't that like florals in spring? ❞ but who was he to judge in that department? He did indeed look like Hot Topic in its heyday. 

The soda was swirled some, Jax watching the contents form a small and steady tornado of liquid. ❝ I guess I could. Kinda lonely though. Too edgy for even me but... my life's kinda already like a game. Nothing really cool about zombies when I see ghosts everyday. ❞

Jax didn't let that one marinate for long and was already shrugging at the offer. ❝ If you're buying, sure. Kind of a waste between you n' me-— like it though. Food, I mean. ❞ sushi and company? Fuck it, sure.

The tall fucker slouched too much in his seat to the point he looked infuriatingly relaxed. He spread his legs just a bit and gestured for the belt buckle. ❝ You want it back or...? ❞

Skepticism is a luxury that Mars Vega can't quite cash a check for. Not this far in at least. Blue eyes settle boldly on the outlandishly tall specter, and he's racked by the sheer absurdity of the statement. First of all? The fucker looks like he just stepped out of a Marilyn Manson music video circa 98'. Secondly? A squint as he registers a familiar Chrome Hearts belt buckle when his gaze draws low. "I see you've been helping yourself to my closet too." 

"We could only be so lucky." He clasps his hands momentarily in mock prayer before easing over to a fully stocked pantry. Call him a connoisseur of weird snacks for all his travels. "You hungry? I was thinking of ordering sushi." Even polite society dictates treating Death to cuisine. 

Lips press into a firm line as he bites down the urge to comment. There are only so many hits before one incurs divine retribution, and considering his track record? It'd be wise to lay low. On the other hand? It's like Lurch the Majordomo fucked a hot-topic store buck nasty right in the middle of his kitchen. "Why don't you just develop a crippling video game addiction like the rest of the first world?" 

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cont. x / @echolaliia

Leave it Jax to pester someone on their night off on his night off. Well, it probably wasn't a full night. At least a few hours -—and maybe not for lack of work but because his boss had needed a break from HIM. 

❝ You rockstars love that aesthetic. Expensive cheap. Delicate balance between that and being on some poser shit. ❞ Jax reaches for the soda as if he isn't some unannounced guest and they were two long time buddies just yukking it up.

❝ Watch it, pal. Maybe I'm here for your ass. ❞ he points a finger lazily in Mars' direction, drops it in a heap into his lap as he lifts the soda to his lips. He liked that he could still taste things, enjoy them. There was nothing to gain from it though and the dead still had to limit their intake of human food just as humans weren't exactly advised to partake in the foods of the dead.

❝ Got a few hours off. Bored. Don't have a lot of friends, would you believe it? Even less people alive who can see me in all my glory. ❞ his deadpan delivery leaves no room to assume he is at all serious about the 'glory' part. He gestures to himself regardless, all monochrome and pierced and looking like just about any baby goth's fashion dream.

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BARBARIAN (2022) dir. Zach Cregger

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BILL SKARSGÅRD as ERIC DRAVEN in THE CROW (2024)

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Jax Beldane , cis male, 35.

A glorified personal assistant to a death reaper. Everyone who dies gets a stint as a reaper depending on some unknown and unspoken determining factors. Not everyone has to go through dedicated training though...

Jax is dead. Maybe. He assumes he is because everyone else who does this job is. He can't remember dying but his boss says that's for the best and that maybe it was so traumatic it got wiped on the way over the border between life and death. Thing is, he doesn't really remember living either. Regardless, there's work to be done and he's always on the clock.

Death is a constant and the whole process chugs along like a well-oiled bureaucratic machine. Jax isn't a reaper but an assistant to one. He shows up as the muscle and extra pair of hands should his reaper find themselves with a large scale death event or a stubborn soul. He shows up to the near-death situations that his reaper just doesn't have the time to stand around and wait for. He does the legwork, the paperwork, everything that would stop a reaper from maximizing their time actually handling souls

Jax typically is only seen if he wants to be by mortals unless they're supernatural creatures or those touched by death. When he is visible, he tends to have a sort of 'work' uniform. It's very 'Just a dude' vibe and he hates it.

Personality wise, he's got some seriously dry wit. He's incredibly sarcastic and isn't the type to help you out if you can't pick up on it. He struggles with the hierarchical format of his job and hates doing shit just because he's told to, he likes there to be reasons and explanations. He's petty and stubborn but is also just a lonely dude. His entire life (un-life?) is just work, work. It's isolating as the closest thing he has to a friend is his boss who is usually too busy for more than a few exchanged lines of banter.

The Boss, "M"

Jax doesn't know his boss' name, just calls her "M" or any handful of titles (boss, sir, ma'am, chief, etc). He's got no idea how long she's been a reaper (or how many souls she's got left on her ledger) but with how easy she makes it all look, he assumes it's been awhile.

She doesn't typically have a need for her glamour (right) as she's seen even less than Jax is. Only creatures directly touched by death or related to it (near-death experience mortals, vampires, demons, angels, etc) can see her unless she intentionally reveals herself. She shares his dry wit and then some. Her seasoned vet status makes her come off as incredibly apathetic and almost like she's running on automatic sometimes; Jax isn't even sure if she knows what actual emotions are.