#But it's also how Pariah cares about him more than himself

[leletha-jann]

This might not be an original observation, but I'm looking at Agatha's inner circle - her immediate family - and you know what all of them have in common?

Every single one of them has been so, so lonely.

Agatha, who grew up knowing she was broken, that she was fundamentally wrong in the very core of herself. And everyone else knew it too, and she was a pariah and an object of pity because of it. That she had been left behind like a burden, something useless, and been forgotten.

Krosp, who was a fugitive under a death sentence for being a "failed experiment". The King of All Cats - and the cats didn't care. Who had no one he could talk to or ask to care about him, no one he could trust without risking execution just for existing, and nowhere to go.

Gil, who thought he was no one, that no one wanted him - and who traded the first person who chose him for a name and a Spark that he then wasn't even allowed to have. That he had to keep lying to everyone about. Who wasn't allowed to be fully himself with anyone, ever. (And look at Agatha as she slides in and out of fugue state font, a difference people can hear, and think about how much control Gil had to exert, every single moment.)

Zeetha, who was a castaway in a place that didn't even believe her home existed, who couldn't prove anything except that she existed, and who was coming to believe that maybe she had made it all up. That she wasn't a warrior princess and a beloved daughter, and never had been. Just a stray with a story she'd made up, and all her legacy and skill good for little more than stage clowning.

Tarvek, who had no one he could trust, ever; who was trapped with a serial killer and a monster, lying for his life with every breath, with no way to escape a conspiracy that would spend him as a pawn or a corpse or breeding stock without a second thought, and call that family.

Violetta, who no one believed in, who was overlooked and dismissed and sent away; Tarvek counts her as the one person he did manage to protect, but Violetta knew that she'd been set aside and abandoned. Violetta doesn't even want Violetta, because what good has she ever been to anyone? Who's ever wanted her?

.

So goddamned lonely, every one of them.

.

...so yeah, I really enjoy watching Gil and Tarvek being referred to as Agatha's, as belonging to her, and watching them be content and confident in that.

But also seeing Zeetha find her joy and home and family in her exile, and Violetta flourish and be valued and happy (and tell the so-called family she's left behind to go to hell), and Krosp become a respected power in the world in his own right.

And Agatha, the last of the Heterodynes, surrounded by the family she's brought together.

[radiance1]

A King and his crown

I have just woken up, and have decided to post my fic here on Tumblr :3

===

“Dearly beloved, will you heed my words?” 

Pariah grunted. It was always like this, his crown always coming in silently and he left floundering because he was unable to notice his presence until revealed. He could sit upon his throne for however long he wished, hoarding every scrap of power he could get his hands upon, calling himself the king as much he wanted.

But it still wasn’t enough, yet he was glad all the same.

His crown felt thousands of times its weight, and his ring far too tight from where it sat upon his finger. Such things granted him power to near that of godhood, and perhaps, somewhere along the line he could indeed have been regarded as a god, but he was not so blinded by his own hubris to claim himself of the divine.

He felt hands gently be placed on his cheeks, dragging him out from the depths of his thoughts. He blinked slowly, a sign of trust he would only show to one being, and one being alone, to show they had his attention.

A small, beautiful smile graced the other’s lips, a smile he treated as the greatest of treasure, something so insignificant and fleeting, yet bearing so much beauty when seen through his eyes. 

“Beloved, will you attend to me for one last time?” He said, his tone calm and self-assured, yet still portrayed as if a question.

A choice.

“For now and forever onward, my love.” As if he would give himself a choice to say anything but that, he would not allow for anything less. To devote himself in body, mind, and soul, is the only gift he could ever hope to give to one who glowed so gently. “Part thy thoughts, and allow me to take on its burden in your place.”

He placed his own hands over his crown’s, relishing in the warmth hiding beneath the smaller limbs. Such a thing was another that he treasured so, an insignificant thing to anyone else, but one he would only allow himself to partake in with one other.

“Heed my words, oh mighty Monarch of the Seas.” His crown gently pulled his head down, an action he allowed, and gently touched his forehead with his own. “Heed them and listen well, for this is a fate that will only end with tragedy for one such as you.”

He opened his ears and listened. Listened to the future weaved by fate of his own subjects rebelling against him, a group of six sent forth from an era of his own making, who with power combined sought victory against him, how they subjugate his crown and ring that granted him such power and reduced his kingdom until it was naught but his castle and the surrounding stone and ocean.

His crown’s voice was calm, as if the future he was foretelling was merely a story of another, and not one belonging to his betrothed, and the king himself took it as such, for he had none of worry for himself.

Instead-

“And what of you, my love?”

“And what of me?” His crown’s voice was as calm as ever, yet now it held a slight hint of mirth. He gently lowered one of the hands upon his cheeks down to his lips, and departed a soft yet fleeting kiss upon their fingers.

“Will you stand strong against the future’s tide, if I were to no longer stand by your side?” Pariah opened his eyes as red met green, and silence took root in the throne room, so many thoughts left unsaid, many actions undone, every regret and desire lost yet shared within that single, fleeting look.

“I will manage.” Barely a whisper left his mouth, yet felt like the loudest of sounds when compared to the silence. Pariah hummed, his hands descending down until he could wrap his crown in a most gentle embrace and pulled him towards himself, resting his head upon his crown’s own. “You always do, my love. And yet, in all my selfishness, I had hoped you never had to.”

“You had, hadn’t you?” Arms returned his embrace, as he heard that ever-present calm waver the slightest bit, something he could never help but dislike, for it should never have to waver. He found himself running a clawed hand through his crown’s hair, gentle, as if the slightest pressure would break them beyond compare.

“Heh,” Clockwork chuckled, his form unable to hide the barest of shakes. “It’s so unfair, truly, that you would always be the one to stand so strong, and never waver, despite being the one bearing my burden.”

“It is a fate I have welcomed with open arms, my love. A fate I will guide you through until I am incapable of wading its waters no longer.” His crown’s embrace tightened, as his voice shook. “I know. I know, and I am so sorry.”

“Perish the thought, my love.” He pushed himself off his throne with a beat of his tail, a hand smoothly moving to replace his crown in a bridal carry as he left his throne room. “For it is a fate I would welcome with open arms once more, for whether past, present, or future. I will always stand by your side.”

A head was placed near his neck as an arm steadied itself over his shoulder. “Sometimes, I wish I foresaw futures where you decided to be selfish for once, and not live for me.”

“And I am glad no such future laid itself before your eyes.” He adjusted his hold to support with one arm, as the other moved to cover his crown’s eyes, as if to block out the sight of such futures. “Sleep, my love. For you will need it for trials ahead.”

“Will you be there when I awake?”

“Until I can no longer.”

The body in his hold relaxed, so much so that Pariah had to shift them around to better support his neck as he swam through his castle halls. It was filled with silence, as was the rest of his castle, there was no need for guards, as he was too powerful to need them, so there wasn’t.

Not a need for servants within his halls, for a simple magic cleaned what he used. 

The only sound that resounded within these castle walls before, was the sound of his beating heart, his thoughts, his breaths and nothing more. Until it became so, when joined by his crown, the sound of small chuckles, of laughter, of snark and sass, of conversation.

The feelings of love and acceptance that warmed the cold castle walls, the warm touches and soft kisses and gentle embraces. The small dinners that were enough for the two of them, the rare feast and dance when birthday’s pass, a thing he saw unneeded yet now brought him so much joy.

The cold, suffocating castle walls became warmer, and finally began to feel less like a self-imposed prison, and something more of a home.

He gently pushed open the door to their bedroom, and closed it just as softly once inside. Placing down his crown upon the bed and covering him with a sheet, the hand upon his eyes was finally removed to instead, brush a stray hair from their face.

“My only regret, my dear crown.” Pariah's eyesight grew blurry, and he finally allowed his weakness to fall silently. “Is that I was not strong enough to secure a future where we both were allowed peace.”

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x dc AU: Danny as the ghost king has an expanded reach for powers he’s just now learning he has. Turns out it’s just super easy for him to summon people… uh, so easy he can do it in his sleep?

Danny is an exhausted kid and clockwork making him take a whole class in the methodology and practice of summoning as a Ghost King prep course is really not what he needed. But just like every power Danny hones, he gets good at it, like, really quickly. And it’s not long before he’s able to call forward his entire court and Clockwork himself with little more focus than saying their names with intention.

Danny is getting ready for school and chatting with Jazz over FaceTime (her first college classes were all super early and he got very narrow windows to talk with her before school)- when he complains a little too seriously about Boxy.

And then low and behold, Boxy confused to be out of the thermos, appears before danny. Which… cool he could summon out of the thermos, thats a fun technology thing he needs to work on but uh… oh no. He didn’t mean to do that and now he has to hang up with Jazz, capture Boxy who is having too much fun making fun of Danny and still try to make it to class on time.

The next accidental summon isnt accidental so much as experimental- and it doesn’t work when Danny is in his human form- but apparently he can call humans through as well. Him, Sam and Tucker played the worlds worst game of hide and seek just to test it and sure enough it works. They both come through, saying there was a head rush like you might get on a rollercoaster and a full body sensation of cold creeping fingertips.

So Danny gets really, really careful about using names in battle. Code names and trying to call his rogues by nicknames helps- but Danny is in a particularly annoying battle with some pariah zealots when he says:

“I mean who do you think I am? Fucking Batman? Get out of here with your world ending villain shit-“

And before he’s done bad mouthing the horde… a Very confused and very angry Batman appears on the battlefield. Uh… oh okay he’s helping danny never mind maybe this isn’t the worst day ever.

The following interrogations should have been expected by Danny. Also the request to be sent home, which uh, danny doesn’t know how to do yet.

[redflagshipwriter]

Hot Ghouls in your area ch 6

Masterpost

Danny felt like something scraped off the pavement. Through an act of absolutely heroic willpower (and outright fear of Jazz trying to help him rebalance his workload) he made it through his morning classes.

He staggered away from campus, brain buzzing tiredly over numbers and formulas and also his accidental concubine.

Nope. He shook his head rigorously. “I need a pick me up,” Danny decided. He ignored the common sense that said ‘coffee isn't going to fix this.’ Sure. That was true. But it wouldn't hurt, would it? And he was way overdue for the first meal of the day.

He shouldered his way into a café near campus. This wasn't one of the most convenient ones or one of the trendy ones with different seeds or organic whatever baked goods on rotation.

Nah. It was dark, mostly empty, and multiple tables were along the wall with nice views of the windows and door. The only other customers he had seen in this place were 50+. Well, there had been a high school girl inside once, but she'd clearly come in because her grandmother was the owner. Danny beelined to his preferred table and unloaded his backpack onto the spare chair before he gratefully collapsed.

Ah. Dark. Quiet. He slouched onto the table a bit.

“You look tired,” said the owner.

Danny lifted his head just enough to give her a cheesy smile. “Can I get a coffee, please?” He croaked. “And- is it still lunch hours?” They stopped doing lunch at two, didn't they? Shoot. What time-

“I can do lunch,” she reassured. She scribbled something deftly onto a pad of paper. “Roast beef sandwich set?”

“I will protect you with my life,” Danny vowed.

She laughed and turned away, but he was for real for real. Danny forced himself to sit up enough to look around his surroundings. He wanted to stay awake. He had just one more class today - a 4 to 5:30 lab. Once he got through that, he could go to bed.

Huh.

He accidentally made eye contact with a young guy holding up a book. Danny lifted a single wave and then looked away awkwardly.

‘Wait a second.’

Danny did a double take.

Yes. Yes, that fucker was holding up a copy of a book from the library in Pariah's keep. It had ghost writing on it.

The guy slowly, pointedly lifted an eyebrow. He was- he was hot and huge and Danny had seen him lift like 200 lbs of books like they were nothing at all.

Danny flushed bright red and buried his face in his hands.

Okay. Okay, so that was Jason's face. How had he found Danny??? That was absurd. …Was it a threat? It felt kinda threatening. Was he in like, danger? Danny pulled his hands away from his face and squinted as subtly as he could at his hellion of a ghost spouse. What kind of sick mind game was it to lurk along his daily route and passive aggressively remind him that he should be working on their divorce?

Worse than that. This was the fastest anyone had ever found his personal identity. Fear and confusion trawled around his gut. How? Literally how? Danny raced back through his memory of their conversation and kicked himself over every misstep he could remember. Clearly, Jason had been prodding him for enough information to trick him into doxxing himself. It was a betrayal, honestly.

Wait. The burner phone. Danny didn't know how, but Jason must have been able to track it. It was a trick.

Danny gave him a nasty look when he figured that out.

Jason pretended to be absorbed in his book. The bastard!

Danny got tenser and tenser, the tendons in his hand flexing into visibility on top of the table.

He felt guilty about not dropping everything and then resentful that apparently Jason wanted him to. He had other things to do, okay? His school life was important.

“Here's your coffee.”

“Thanks,” Danny said automatically, and moved his hands to free up space for the cup and little container of cream. He immediately spooned in sugar and dumped in all the cream. He was way too grateful for something to do with his hands. He breathed in steam and then took a careful sip. It was a good chance to steal another glance at Jason through his lashes.

Jason was still pretending not to pay attention to him.

What was his deal?

His plate came. Danny ate mashed potatoes and gravied meat with more viciousness than usual, casting dark looks at Jason over the vividly orange carrots he speared into his mouth.

The sugar, caffeine, and confused anger hit his nervous system and converted itself helpfully into energy. Danny buzzed with energy. He was going to tell Jason to back off, he decided. The guy still hadn't moved other than to sip at what had to be ice cold tea by now.

“Do you have a problem?” Jason drawled. For the first time, he shut the book and fixed his green eyes directly on Danny.

“I was wondering what your problem is, actually,” Danny shot back. He gave a pointed look to the book. “Real funny bringing that out in public.” His gaze tracked back up to make eye contact and then his brain stuttered.

Holy cow. That was an ecto sheen on his eyes.

‘... I've already contaminated him?’

“It's just a book,” Jason said, voice full of fake confusion. As if he hadn't brought it there to make a point!

Yeah, okay. Danny scoffed. “Whatever, asshole,” he dismissed. He dug money out of his wallet and slapped it on the table to cover his lunch. He barely remembered to grab his backpack through the haze of anger. “I'm sure I'll see you soon.” He took the time to aim an ugly face at Jason on the way out, pulling his lower eyelids down and sticking out his tongue. He barreled out the door while Jason was still sputtering in his fake ass shock.

Boo! That jerk!

[bet-on-me-13]

Reincarnation AU but it's not Danny

So! In basically every single Reincarnation AU I've seen, it's always Danny who gets reincarnated as a DC character. Sometimes it's Jazz, other times it's his Friends, but it never really strays from them. And I think we've been ignoring some people...

The Ancients! Danny is always reincarnated as a "Vacation" from his Ghost King Duties, so why not give the same courtesy to the other Ancients?

Specifically, Fright Knight.

Fright Knight has been a loyal servant and Knight of his Master for Millenia. Ever since he first formed as the Autumn Spirit, the Embodiment of Fear, the Fright Knight, he had declared his Servitude to the Ghost King, whomever it may be at the time. And he stayed in that position, through the passing of the Crown, through the Violent Coups, through every single Ghost King who had taken to the mantle. He was their Loyal Knight. Never Wavering. Never leaving their side.

Until Pariah Dark, but that situation was different. No previous King had even tried to take the human world before.

Thankfully, Pariah had only taken the Throne for a mere 5000 years, so he had not had to put up with him for long, and much of that time was with him stuck in his Coffin. That was the first time Fright Knight had ever left his Masters Side.

Then, that insolent Halfa he had met before came into the picture and Fright Knight had a new master.

King Phantom was...different.

Perhaps it was his remaining Humanity poking through? Or was it was the influence of the Human Realm that he still regularly visited? Or maybe he was simply just a Good Person, and there was no deeper meaning behind it?

Either way, Fright Knight noticed that he cared for his subjects in a far deeper manner than any previous king had. He had personal connections with as many Ghosts as he could, and often called the Ghosts he ruled his, Friends. It warmed his Long Frozen Core to see a King valuing his Subjects as much as he did.

He did not realize that the kindness Phantom extended to his people, also extended to himself.

One day, Phantom had been discussing his Human Life with some of his friends. Not his First Life, but his most recent Vacation. Over the Eons since he had taken the Throne, Phantom had been encouraged to take a Vacation every once in a while. It was not healthy for a Ghost to work non-stop like he did, especially for a Halfa.

It was not an uncommon practice in the Realms, many would take a break from the Endlessness of Death to embrace Life once more through Reincarnation. Although, many were too weak to retain their memories upon their second Forming. Mostly, it was Ancients or Kings who would use this as a Vacation, rather than a New Beginning.

There came a break in the conversation, and King Phantom turned his attention to his Knight. "Frighty, when was the last time you Reincarnated? Pandora did so recently, and it got me thinking."

"I have not taken leave of my post for thr Eons since my Forming, My Lord" Replied the Knight with Pride.

"What? You haven't taken a Break since you formed!? Frighty! That's not Healthy!" Exclaimed his King.

This lead to a whole conversation about how unhealthy his lifestyle was, which was another quirk of his Master. He cared for his Sunjects beyond their happiness.

"Fright Knight, as your King and as your Friend, I implore you to take a Vacation. It doesn't have to be forever, just a simple Human Lifespan, but please take a break, for your own Good."

And how could he refuse a request like that? One based in the kindness that his Majesty always showed his Subjects.

It took a few more years to finally iron out the plan for his Vacation, but what are a few years in the face of Eternity?

Finally, it came time to take his leave to the Mortal Realm, and to Life itself.

"Farewell, my Leige." Bowed Fright Knight, "I thank you for this opportunity."

"There's no need to thank me. Now go, and have fun, My Dark Knight."

...

That day, in Gotham General Hospital, a baby was born.

"What will you name him?" Asked the Doctor.

"I think I'll call him..." Began the need Mother, "...Bruce. Bruce Wayne."

[luca-the-star-child]

This is mostly crack but anyways...

Another AU where Danny is the ghost king! ..right?

Pariah Dark proclamed himself the ghost king, not because he was crowned, or because the zone choose him or whatever

"Ghost King" is just a title! He is powerful enough to defeat the Ancients! (when they are alone ofc) Ghost are scared of him! He's not actually the king of the ghosts (just don't say that to his face)

Do you know how hard it would be to choose a ghost to represent ALL of the Infinite Realms?? Is called "Infinite" for a reason! The Observants alredy have a hell of a time trying to get ghost to listen to them!

So when Phantom defeated Pariah! He didn't become the ghost king by right of conquest or whatever, so people didn't care about that (they were happy for pariah dark being gone again of course, he was an asshole!)

So everyone is happy, the evil is defeated, friendship are made and all that jazz (HA!)

Everything is calm now! ..right?

Well the ghosts - the one familiar with phantom at least, most of the others don't care about it to much - decide to prank him

"Hey you know what would be really funny?"

Anyway the gjsot go on their way to prank Phantom, they are giving their best! They are all dramatic bitches! It would be impossible for someone whos not a ghost to not believe it!!

"Phantom you are the ghost king now! Fix our problems xoxo"

"w..what did you say?"

Anyway Danny believes their lie, and the ghosts surprised that Phatom believed them, decide to take advantage.

So Danny goes and...does a really good job! He fixing personal problems, ending fights between groups and ghost, fixing literal political problems in the Zone! He is 100x more tired now of course, but he helping people, he is protecting them! He is the ghost king now! He has to do his job, its probally his fault that this is happening anyway

The ghosts now have another problem in their hands

Having to tell Phantom that this was all a joke, that putting all these problems on his back, calling it his job to fix it, was all a prank!

The don't know what to do! The effectively put a 2 year old on an made up throne! And its worse because the 2 year old is doing an hell of job! He making the Zone a better place!

(They are also just a bit scared of telling him, he defeated Pariah Dark, one of the strongest ghost on the Zone, and two Ancients! How is he so powerful alredy???)

So...what do some of the other ghosts who do know Danny but didn't participate in the prank

Clockwork? They are seeing all of this and thinks its the funniest shit ever, and they see that this mishappen leads to a bright timelime, so he is not interveining, just giving advice here and there

The observants are all having a collective mental breakdown, how can a CHILD do their job way better than then????

Frostbite and Far Frozen? The are overjoyed! The know that this Ghost King stuff is not actually real, but they are happy that Phantom is some of the most powerful ghost now! Would you like to hear more about him? Our lord and savior Phant- wait where are you going? They are not a cult! He swears! Please come back here-

Back on the living realm, team Phantom (which is just Tucker and Sam now, Jazz went to college, and Danny didn't want to worry her) also believe the lie! The ghost sounded very truthfull! Why would the lie about this anyway? The dance number was very convincing after all!

But they are very worried about Danny, he somehow managed to become even more overworked! So they are trying to help him as always...

Okay so, sumary:

Danny thinks he is the "Ghost King" because of a prank by his ghost frenemies and does a way to good job at it (despiste being, technically, a ghost toddler)

The ghost now don't know how to tell him the truth because it will be very awkard

Clockwork finds this funny, the Observants and sobbing, Far Frozen is a cult happy for Phantom, Team Phantom are confuses and worried, Danny is on the verge of his limit, but he never seens to tip over line because his obsession is being fullfilled (in a very stressfull way)

[ive-been-timebombed]

CHAPTER FOUR

Big emotional moments here.

Oh Danny knew he screwed up the moment he appeared back in his throne The line that went out the door was gone also. Most likely the ghosts sensed the emotions Danny projected onto his haunt and the ghosts scattered not wanting to deal with the nervous and scared ghost king.

He wasn’t thinking when he disappeared at the loud crash! He left his son in a mess! Oh no! But his kid wasn’t scared when he left. So the glass breaking was normal? Oh how he wished he could go back and time and take care of the kid.. but he couldn’t no matter how much he begged Clockwork he knew that. Not to say he didn’t try.. Clockwork didn’t even let him watch his kid grow up.

Danny should visit his baby later. When the helmet thing is off. He can take care of the core problem as he does so. His baby doesn’t know who he was. He didn’t leave a picture or anything with Catherine but the kid did mention something about a picture.. maybe he should go as human? So the kid doesn’t realize he’s the same ghost! Perfect idea!

________

Jason was furiously typing on the laptop. He was searching all he could about ‘The Ghost King’ ‘Phantom’. The only thing coming up was Pariah Dark and a autocorrect to Fenton when he typed a bit too fast.

The link that came up with Fenton said something with ghost so he clicked it. That led him into a black hole of information that just seemed biased. He read all the articles published by the scientists. Then in 2006 they started mentioning a ghost.. a certain ghost that Jason was just looking for.

FENTON WORKS

All the information and weapons you need about ghosts! We are happy to say we have figured out what exactly what ghosts are! This site is made by the Fenton Family.

(Picture of a family of 4. A bigger man than Jason himself in bright orange. A fit woman in blue with ginger hair. The older teen with ginger hair like her mother and a cyan headband. Then a younger teen with black hair like the father and frankly skinny considering his parents.)

Click here to read more

Click here to buy things

Click here to contact us

Jason learned a lot of information about Phantom and the Fentons.. Jason now just needed to find a way to summon the ghost once again and make him talk. The ghost seemed nice and not destroy the world just because he could type of being. Then again Jason wasn’t the most.. sane? Normal? Person to ask about what is normal and not normal. He would ask Dick but he was still likely drugged and concussed. He didn’t want to deal with that. Not to mention Dick also wasn’t normal.

___________

“What the ancients..” Danny muttered looking at himself in the mirror. He transformed back to his human form not even a hour ago and he’s already regretting it. He still looked like his 20 year old self. He didn’t age a day from when he first transformed. The clothes were even the same he left in.. he could only pin point a few differences on his body. Like the more ghostly attributes. The pointer ears, sharper teeth, and paler skin.

Danny knew he should’ve shifted between forms more but it just didn’t seem right without the kid next to him..

—————

“Daaaa! Deeee!” A child’s yelling pierced the air followed by a loud crash then a giggle.

“I’m coming! I’m old- okay. Accept it while you still can.” A young man’s voice came followed by a black hair with white on the back young adult. The man had icy blue eyes and a scar on his bottom lip. The child the man was talking to looked like him.

The child had curly black hair not a hint of white unlike his father. Darker blue eyes that seemed to shine when he saw his father. Chubby cheeks and stubby fingers. The kid was wearing a shirt that had the words ‘I’m just outta this world. Floating by the stars’ surrounded by stars. Along with jean pants and a gray jacket. The shoes stuck out due to the bright yellow color of the rain boots.

“Oh don’t give me that look.. I know I’m only 20! You make me feel 50 years older than I am. Specially with all your sass.” Danny put his hands on his hips and looked down at the kid.

“Aunt Cathy say it comes from you.” Jason put his hands on his hips and looked up at the kid.

“I know it did. I can’t blame anyone else but myself and it’s horrible.” Danny huffed sticking his tongue out at the child which was followed by the kid doing the same to the young adult.

Suddenly the mood changed and Danny’s expression changed into a more somber one. He couched down and looked at the kid.

“Jason, you know how I sometimes leave you with you Aunt Cathy?” Danny felt horrible. His core hurt and he wanted to hug the child and not let go.

“Yeah? But Daddy always comes back so I ain’t scared!” Jason grinned moving forward and putting both hands on the adults face.

“Jason what I say about the hands and other peoples faces?” Danny brought his hands to the kids and pulled the hands off his face but didn’t let go of the kids hands.

“Not to do it.. but don’t worry! I only do it to you!” Jason hopped on his feet unable to stay still like any child.

“Okay, you’re such a bully.” Danny deadpanned, “This is serious Jason, I don’t think I’m coming back this time.”

“What? No. Daddy you gotta come back. You can’t leave .” Jason looked up at his father not really understanding the situation .

“I don’t want to kid but I want you safe and I’m not that.” Danny pulled his son into a hug burying his face into the curly mess that was on top of Jason’s head. He stood up picking up the toddler his arms surrounding the other in a tight hug.

Danny knew it was stupid to say this while he still had the child. He should’ve just left the kid at Catherine’s and not return. But then he thought about the kid getting all ready to come back to him waiting at the door with his to big backpack only for him not to return. He didn’t want that for the kid. He didn’t want his kid to be sitting in front of the door sad because he couldn’t understand what was happening and why his father wasn’t there. He wanted just a bit longer with his child.. even if it was in tears.

————

Jason was sure he had the right man. The scar was exactly the same. It was a line on the bottom right lip the that split into two at the bottom. He didn’t know what to think of the being.. his father? From what his Ma told him. Catherine not Shelia. His father was a good man. A bit too sarcastic for his own good but it also made him funny. He had weird ways of saying things. Never used a saying right or just made it his own. He had a slight lisp and had an accent. Couldn’t cook to save his life and hated toast. Hurt himself with stupid things but was incredibly smart. Could turn a microwave into a gun in a hour alone.

Jason wondered if he got some of those qualities.? Before he died and turned into a monster. Dick always said he had a lisp and used some words wrong. Like fruit loop and ancients.. apparently he used one as an insult and the other as a replacement for some words.

@boopjuice

[cursedzucchini]

Prompt/idea #6

Y'all what if when Danny's not feeling that good (is very injured/didn't eat anything/sleep deprived) he instead of fainting just... Turns into his 14 yo self.

That wasn't such a problem at the begginjng bc he was short king and well, he didn't change that much.

But now? When he's in college (basically always on the verge of fainting from exhaustion/hunger/dehydration/whatever unholy thing he consumed to stay awake and functioning) in Gotham? When he's 24, and yeah, maybe he didn't grow that much in height, but he lost the baby fat. His face didn't look so hopeful, and innocent and he gained quite few scars.

So yeah, changing into his 14yo self wasn't the greatest by itself. But add the trauma Danny has when looking at himself in the mirror, and overall being in the wrong body (thinking about what younger him didn't know, like u can add angst Abt canon stuff, like Vlad was a fucking creep, pariah dark, or add vivisection and Dani dying or whatever).

So Danny was being extra careful about taking care of himself (he thought, like a liar). And maybe that day he forgot breakfast, lost his pocket money, his card declined, he couldn't sleep because of reccuring nightmares and the only edible (that's questionable tho) thing in his bag was some somehow wrong ectoplasm he stole from some guy few weeks ago (and Danny needed to ask the him where tf did he manage to find such a disgusting ecto. Like not even his parents manage to fuck it up that badly).

So when on his way home, some fucking asshole jumped him, of course he was going to freak the fuck out.

...if knocking the guy out counts as freaking out. And showing some of his more ghostly features out (read show the asshole the indescribable horrors of balancing life and death for eternity and no time at all).

And that somehow tipped Danny over the top. So now he's sitting there, in his now way too big clothes next to the knocked out (hopefully) clown, drawing dumb pictures on his face, waiting for Jazz to pick him up and maybe help him dispose of the body.

(bonus points if the batfam saw this go down and are now so fucking confused how tf did some twink™ knocked out the fucking joker in one punch, and than transformed into a fuckibg child????? B, no, put the adoption papers down-!)

(bonus bonus points if 14 yo Danny looks exactly like 14yo Jason, and they (especially Jason) just see young Jason sitting next to dead? Joker w a crowbar, drawing dicks on his face)

(also the reason why Danny doesn't know who joker is, is bc every time someone started talking Abt joker or the clown he assumed he was something like batman, and wasn't interested in learning anything Abt anything clown themed)

[satisaranea]

the hunger games, for all its adroit, nuanced storytelling about capitalism and how it crushes those under it by the heel, oppression, war, death, cruelty, love, and the means of power and how those equipped with it do wrong, — even after seeing how it burns a hole in society, also gives you room to root for and care for a minority that is not often thought about, and is continually showcased in media as one of the most villainized types addiction. alcoholism.

through collin's portrayal of haymitch, she paints a picture of a man who we'd supposedly find lazy, writhing in his pathetic nature at the hands of — what? we don't learn right away. haymitch is sharply presented as the only living victor of district 12, the maudlin, roguish pariah who is consistently deluged in the throes of inebriation. his entrance is unattractive and far from pretty as his drunken way leads him to babble what we think is incoherency, the mouth of a drunk is an unsmart one — until we get, “she's got spunk! more than you! more than you!” and he's pointing at the capitol's cameras. katniss says here,

“Is he addressing the audience or is he so drunk he might actually be taunting the Capitol?”

this right here is our first clue on haymitch being in the rebellion, and of his intelligence. many would think of this as a throwaway line, but for what comes later? it is significantly important. moving through the story, haymitch as a mentor is harsh, sharp-tongued and equally hard-fisted after katniss and peeta end up having to near-attack him in order to earn his mentorship.

realizing their potential, a sliver of his story is already told. swayed simply by action, and not pleas, haymitch (as katniss eventually says,) was likely a mentor who dedicated himself to seeing his tributes’ success, each time with no avail. what we as a reader, and katniss as a narrator is yet to find out until catching fire, that it's one of the most correct statements about himself. disproving the lazy, dissmissive stereotypes, almost immediately does haymitch jump into action in order to benefit katniss and peeta, sobering up enough to keep clear minded (which is already a feat under the influence,) and giving genuine, life-saving advice.

their win is due to the advantage of the year — stylists with an eye of precision in which create a glowing impression of the tributes, but it also all comes down to haymitch's compliance as a mentor, and how his ability to get sponsors is doubled in comparison to former years. he is the first to have 2 tributes, after 46 passed in prior years during his consistent solo mentoring, equally win the hunger games within the same year, although displeased to put them through that suffering.

haymitch’s flaws don't just stem from his addiction, they do come as a result of trauma. closed-off and stoic, he objects himself to a life of depravity — both coming from his victory during the premise of the 50th hunger games and second quarter quell, or even a long while after. able to piece together the way he not only outsmarted the likes of 47 people in arena where the odds were double, haymitch's surface layer peels off to show the claw marks in which his life experiences have wounded him with, which only becomes apparent due to the third quarter quell and his fellow victors, including katniss and peeta returning to the arena. his depravity comes from constant grief, constant losses, constant failure.

[tynearshot]

Sai and Sebastian’s Past Relationships Part 1

Hi all! I just wanted to Give Sebastian and Sai more flavor and take you into their past relationships. Here’s Seb’s.

TW: Abusive relationships, bullying, censored slurs, sex, drugs and alcohol, family tension.

Sebastian:

Age 15.

It’s hard being a queer kid already, but being a queer kid in the boonies feels like living ten years in the past. Seb and the Pelican town kids didn’t have a highschool in their town, so they commuted via bus pretty far out. By this time, Seb was sure he was bisexual but didn’t dare explore that. He was already bullied: Skinny, vaguely non-white, Antisocial, mixed family and had his hair long, leaving room for all kinds of “you look like a girl” and f slurs. So, he was often found hiding out under the bleachers, where he met his first “boyfriend”. In quotes because this boyfriend was very much not out and would often throw out “I’m not into guys, I’m just into you”. The rising Gridball varsity player (not Alex He’s a couple years younger than Seb in my HC) and the pariah. A cute pair, set up to fail.

This “boyfriend” also would often stroke Sebastian’s hair and comment that he’d ‘make a very pretty girl’ or ‘I wish you were a girl so we could be open’. Sebastian never cared that he was called feminine, but he hated hearing that from his boyfriend. He hated feeling “wrong” to someone he cared about, but at least it was something, he often reasoned.

They had… a pretty traumatic break up. Rumors went around that the two hung out (they did much more than that, including being each other’s first in a lot of ways). And the grid ball team confronted Sebastian accusing him of trying to corrupt their grid ball star with his “f***** germs”. And who was there to back the bullies up and keep silent but Seb’s boyfriend. Pushed down, roughed up verbally and physically, Seb confronted his boyfriend privately: “why didn’t you stick up for me, why would you let them do that, don’t you know you’re bi too?! I thought you loved me”… Seb wanted to say all this. But instead went “If you ever try to talk to me, call me or even look at me ever again, I’ll let everyone who the real fucking f***** is…”

One of Seb’s lowest points. One day while crying he felt his hair in his hand and remembered how his boyfriend stroked the left side of his head. Disgusted, he promptly gave himself an asymmetrical haircut. Luckily he had Sam around to cheer him up with some goofs and Abby around to clown him, but trim/clean up his new haircut. A rough first love, but a first love all the same.

Age 18

Sebastian was tired of the “what will you do now?” “Don’t you know you’re wasting your potential?” questions he was getting from his Mom and stepdad. In a fit of emotions, he packed a bag and rode to the edges of ZuZu city. The night he arrived, he was so full of feelings and just wanted to be numb. Drinking, clubs, drugs, parties, sex with strangers, all things he wasn’t ready for. He couldn’t be the good kid his parents wanted and he couldn’t be a “delinquent” either. So who was he? It all came down as he crumpled into a ball on some random stoop. The stoop happened to be that of his next partner, Grad student, Hae-Jin.

Hae-Jin invited Seb in, and let him stay to figure himself out. And with Seb at his most vulnerable, it was a quick and passionate week long courtship. Hae-Jin was good to him. They even convinced him to go back home and try and reconcile with his family (that’s a story for another time). They then were long distance for a year and he’d go and visit them as much as he could afford the gas to. But as time went on, the relationship soured. Seb began to feel like a secret again. And he kinda was. Hae-Jin was 24 and offhandedly would mention “My friends’ll call me a cradle robber.” Seb began to resent that. “They had a problem with my age but not with sleeping with me?”

At the same time, Hae-Jin would often pressure Seb to move in. It got worse when Har-Jin would accuse Seb of being “immature” and “indecisive” about them moving in together. Sebastian began to feel like he had less and less agency in this relationship. How was that any different than what was going on at home? He thought Hae-Jin cared for him, that they belonged with each other. But he felt more and more that Hae-Jin just wanted to “have him.” No better than a pet.

Hae-Jin gave him an ultimatum “Stay with me or go back to the middle of nowhere”. He chose to go back, in his mind, better the devil you know.

Age 23 and Up

Seb wasn’t really interested in dating after Hae-Jin. He focused on programming, his bike, and trying to stay sane as he rots away in his basement. Maybe every blue moon on one of his long bike rides, he’d make out with some stranger outside a gas station, bike shop just to… I don’t know, feel something. But that got tiring. He was tired. Tired of feeling like he had no say in anything he wanted. He had none at home, in past romances. At that point, he didn’t even know if he wanted anything.

Enter : Sai Peachtree

Thanks if you read this far!✨ I’ll be writing Sai’s soon!

[lilianade-comics]

Did you ever have any more ideas for the AU where Dani was wandering around the ghost zone looking for Danny and had spellbound Vlad into helping? It was such a good inspiration for daydreams, for me, especially how Dani and Vlad interacted while she slowly grew on him. Probably because he’d be deep in denial to the point he wouldn’t notice why he was becoming more comfortable around her and not bothering to be as snappish, other than thinking he was just tired.

How do you think they’d reunite after the incident where Vlad frames himself to find Dani? I can’t imagine Dani would never want to see him again, so she might try to sneak back to places where she was with him, or summon him in secret. Vlad, once getting over the surprise she still wants to talk and what remained of his ego, might have no problem with interacting with Dani as long as she kept it private. And would Dani eventually want to reintroduce Vlad and Danny once she becomes more open with him? It seems like she might, to have a more honest relationship with her brother. To which Vlad would Definitely Not agree, his reputation could not survive it getting around that he actually was attached to this girl. That’s something they might butt heads about.

I think that after they separate, that's when Pariah Dark ramps up the conflict as the main villain (I don't really have many details fleshed out for the wider plot of the AU beyond Dani's personal quest, but I imagine that Pariah probably likes to eat the living people unfortunate enough to find themselves in the ghost realm, or the ones he can get his hands on at least, as Vlad mentioned is a thing that sometimes happens in that AU comic I did.)

Because Pariah's no doubt gotten wind of the whole "living girl is actively running around his kingdom looking for That Little Pest Danny Phantom and has also apparently magically bound his most Aggravating Rival" situation, he's out looking for Dani. I think Vlad winds up getting apprehended after leaving Dani to Danny (he can't catch a break in this AU) and after getting confronted by the Ghost King himself Vlad no doubt vehemently denies ever having gotten himself bound by a child, and he swears up and down that there is NO living girl in the realm, and clearly Pariah needs to invest in better spies, etc.

Through circumstances not fully fleshed out yet, this likely ends up turning into a "Vlad wrestles with his conscience and his ego and finally gives up and escapes Pariah & returns to Dani in an attempt to persuade her to leave the ghost realm before the Ghost King eats her" kind of deal. Because Vlad cares about her! Which is highly unusual for him and he doesn't really like it! Having feelings is stressing him out!

Vlad definitely tries to do this secretly, but Dani gets her brother involved anyway. The context of how Vlad and Dani are actually friendly with each other takes a lot of explaining. (Danny probably laughs for about thirty straight minutes when his sister recounts the magic binding part of the story. Vlad looks ready to throttle him but doesn't, miraculously.)

Danny and Vlad argue viciously over the whole thing, for obvious reasons. Danny is probably against Dani leaving; he's dealt with Pariah before and he's confident his crew can protect her. (Danny probably knows of some really good hiding places where she'd be safe, after all, he was never eaten by Pariah so clearly they have a chance!) He's mostly accepted that Dani is his long lost sister at this point, and he's not about to lose her so suddenly. Vlad is NOT amused, mostly because he's rapidly succumbing to parental brain rot and the children are refusing to listen to him. His whole reputation is actively crumbling around him, lol.

Again, details are all incomplete right now, but the vibes, you know? Vlad is a proud, lonely warlord who thirsts for power and attention and now he's been reduced to worrying about some dumb little girl who he "hates." She humiliated and bound him and he should be excited that Pariah is plotting to cook her on a spit. Instead, he's stuck allying himself with a bunch of fool teenagers who he also hates, all in a wild attempt to keep her safe. Rest in Peace, Vlad, because you're not coming back from this one with that reputation intact!

[radiance1]

Ghost Prince Danny who has been adopted by Pariah Dark, known tyrant of the Infinite Realms that has hated and tried to wage war with humanity for eons before being put to sleep.

Then, there is Raven. Daughter of Trigon.

Danny was just going through some kind of royalty training, that he didn't want nor cared for, when they dropped a bomb on him.

Apparently, Amity Park and the rest of the world he knew exists in some kind of weird pocket dimension that was surrounded by the Infinity Realms.

It went like this:

Infinite Realms > Unworld > His world > Unworld > Infinite Realms > basically everything else.

Which was pretty shocking information to be told straight up.

Anywho, he then decided to go and visit his father (Pariah Dark not Jack Fenton) because it was a way to get out of his studies, he's very thankful that Clockwork stepped in and allowed him to go.

Only before reversing his clock and changing him into a kid, of course, and Danny was like "Why???" and Clockwork refused to explain further than his signature calm, all-knowing smile.

So, he arrives in the dimension and then decides to withhold his visit for now because he wants to explore. He finds this dimension to be very different to his, there's magic for one thing, superheroes and villains for another, and actual proof of aliens.

Safe to say, he's gonna be withholding that visit for a while to explore and check out the differences.

Then he gets summoned, and uh, he didn't know that could happen but it did. Then some heroes pull up, fight the cultists, and then look at him a bit weirdly because they were expecting the Ghost King aka Pariah Dark.

He's his son.

Which, apparently, makes them even more apprehensive than they were a while ago. Something about being the son of a tyrant who was known for enslaving worlds or whatever.

Then, he meets Raven.

Meeting her was pretty.... awkward? He thinks? Cause it seemed like she wanted to say something but didn't know how to say it?

Then, while he was sitting around (because apparently, he was being kept an eye on by the Teen Titans) by himself just zoning out, she sat down next to him, and started to talk about her own father and how he was also a known tyrant and enslaver of worlds, and she was apparently the key to the destruction of this world and stuff.

But she didn't have to be something like that, that she could choose her own fate and be good, and so could Danny.

Danny, is, well. Stunned. Then started crying.

He then realized that his it's been a while since he blinked, and that's probably why he's crying. But Raven doesn't know that and assumed she caused this and is trying to get him to calm down and Danny is already calm he swears-

Looking like someone under 10 probably didn't help, neither was trying to wipe his tears away and claim that he was fine but hey! He was trying his best alright-

(Meanwhile, the Ghost tyrant and enslaving of worlds in question: Farmer with quite the ghostly (and kingly) secret. Yes this was an au that was mixed in with Farmer Pariah, because I like that au and this hc is one of my favorites for Pariah, along with him having an intense love for horses :D)

[bigfemboyenergy]

woah!!!! again?!?

remember that one post i made with a gf/dp crossover in which the ghost zone actually CONTAINS the mindscape? dont lie, i know you dont

i just remembered how cool that felt to me so !! im thinkin i might write a bit (just., gotta find it)

original prompt post: https://www.tumblr.com/bigfemboyenergy/749856656479879168/ok-ok-this-will-be-the-last-time-i-promise?source=share

Bill laughs as the kid stares straight through the hole he just shot through Bill’s bowtie. “I’m immortal here, kid! It’ll take more than that to kill me!” Immediately, the human changes his stance, as if preparing for some sort of violent response. Bill doesn’t even bother to so much as flick him as he says, “Whoa, whoa kid! How much trauma have you dealt with?” He openly laughs, his strange voice filling the odd, infinite space.

The boy adjusts his posture, tensing up a bit, as he seems to prepare a blast from his hand. To this, Bill stops laughing and continues to act fairly casual. “You know, you’re quite the sight for sore eye! I haven’t seen anyone in this realm outside of myself before!” He watches the human get a little less tense, before tensing up again, as if waiting for some surprise attack. “Look here, kid. I’m not in a fighting mood,” Bill starts, with a laugh. It’s obvious he’s being a little more serious, before he quickly returns to his overly odd cackle, “No matter how much you seem to be!”

Danny can’t help but suspect the thing. He can’t tell what it is, especially since it has no ghost-like aspects outside of its regeneration. After all, a yellow equilateral triangle with one giant eye, a bowtie, a cane, and a fashionable hat doesn’t seem..quite normal to become, for those who’ve passed. It irks him to see something so strange and oddly, uncomfortably threatening, within his domain. Danny can’t help but feel protective over his realm, as the Ruler of the Infinite Realms, a title he gained since his defeat of Pariah Dark. His obsession with protecting others also doesn’t help.

But Danny really knows something’s up. He’s never even heard of such an odd being in the Realms before, something he doesn’t expect despite its vastness. With a deep breath that he doesn’t quite need to take, he finally speaks to the creature: “What even are you?” Danny doesn’t even care to sugarcoat his words. This being surely hasn’t done so with its own, so why not be so straightforward?

The beast’s singular eye almost illustrates the emotion of grinning. Danny only notices now, but the creature almost pulses as it seems to speak, with no mouth in sight. “I’m a dream demon, isn’t it obvious? The name’s Bill Cipher, make sure you don’t forget it!” It asks, a clearly rhetorical, purely joking, question, before continuing. “From a world in which direction, dimension, and disaster have no meaning! Where 2D is the new 3D, and life is near worthless!” Danny watches as the thing calling itself a ‘dream demon’ bursts into a fit of laughter, it seeming to find everything very entertaining. He must say, he isn’t satisfied with the being’s answer. It just seems to leave even more questions.

Danny lets himself relax as the demon questions him right back; “Who, rather than what, are you, kid?”

Bill watches the human closely with his eye, waiting for an inevitable response, whether with words or actions. It’s rather exciting to practically hear the gears in the boy’s brain turning as he thinks deeply. Within a minute or so, the kid responds, “Phantom. People call me Phantom.” Bill nods, in a way that his unusual body will let him. Everything about the boy only seems to get more interesting. “Say, what business do you have here, Phantom?” Bill questions, with a smirk-like look in his eye.

Phantom gives Bill a calculating look. “I am the ruler of these realms, actually.” This greatly surprises Bill, who rotates his cane in his hand thoughtfully. “Well, who’d have thunk it! Why, kid, you’re quite the little mystery!” He laughs, his voice once again resonating through the infinite space.

It seems like the two are in for a ride- one of the “emotional rollercoaster” type.

[taratronhex]

How Do You Feel, Senator?

“Senator.”

The only sound in the room. In the universe, that voice. He knew that voice. Through the pain of the void, through the darkness that had been light, horribly blinding through the agony that was the universe, he knew that voice.

He did not remember the first time he had ever heard it, but he did recall the first time he had heard it in recent memory. Amid the screams and pleas for mercy that he knew were his own, but that voice cut through them easily.

“You ask for mercy, Senator? You, who have done so much? So much evil, and foolishness, so much distress and pain to our glorious world? After everything you have done, everything you have been warned about, you ask for mercy?”

His mind was fogged from the pain, despite the stims. More than once, perhaps, if he ached his mind, which felt emptier (which made no sense. It was his head they had replaced, and his hands, not his mind, but his mind felt emptier. It had to be the pain.) he could remember each stab of each stimulant: once in his head, between his optics (where they had been. The one brilliance he had seen since the universe went dark had not been from two optic sensors, but one central one. Depth perception was possible still but off, as if the rooms he knew all his life were now askew.), four in his chest cavity, and one per upper arm. Those had been the last ones, the stimulant once warm with the first injections, now cold, as if the changes of his body, of the universe, had made other changes.

But he did know that he had asked. Begged, really. Screamed for mercy, not for himself, at least at first. But going with the guards to the Institute, knowing where he was going, his last words.

Remember me as I was.

Sentinel’s guards. He had seen them over the course of his life, but they were overall interchangeable; the one thing that did not change was their nature and loyalty. The cuffs had not been very tight, and none of them had said a word, other than some mumbled laughs he supposed were to make him panic. But he knew what was coming.

At least he had thought he had known. But it would not be, he knew, so bad. It would be agony, but he had survived pain before. He knew he would be a pariah, but that was also not new. After it was over, those who had stood by him at his zenith of power would still, if worthy, stand by him. He did not much care for the rest, but he knew some of them, like Orion Pax, would be worthy. Might even, fools they, be trying to mount a rescue. But he had gone, he had surrendered, he had known what was coming.

At times it was not reassuring to be wrong.

His Academy was not fully in ruins at the time he was marched in to the Institute; at the time he had, foolishly, had some hope of a rescue still. It was the kind of thing Pax would try. It was not until he made a light comment about always wanting to visit the Institute that one of the new guards had laughed, saying this was an Institute; it amused the Council to let the world believe there was one. There were far more.

He had known what was coming. But the removal of his hands, so prized, and his head (and how vain he was, he had tried to make another light joke if he could choose his optic color not to clash with his new head. Had it been then, or before then, how long ago had Proteus decided his real fate?) was known. The first beatings from the guards, overseen by Proteus, watching on high, as his prized paint job was scorched, his body crushed and whipped before being strapped to an operating table, and he had not begged for mercy then.

It was not until the live feed played that he had, words stumbling and broken as he plead, and screamed, begging while knowing it was fruitless, it was useless, seeing his beloved Academy being burnt down. He did not see Orion Pax there, but he saw others. His carefully picked teachers and aides and assistants on their knees, hands open and empty of weapons, most of them mad with fear as the executioners blew their faces away. Students trying to escape the burning building from doors welded shut, from windows shattered open, and most were gunned down where they struggled and screamed as they were burned alive.

“Every form has a function. Every form has a purpose. Your behavior is unbecoming of a senator, and for this, for your crimes against Cybertron and her people, you must be punished.” Had Proteus said that, or Sentinel? It did not matter anymore.

He had heard another word during the rest of it, the live dismantling of his body, the rebuilding that started at his pedes and worked up, and then stopped for his neck, his head. The pain perhaps increased with the stims; he could not know, only that the silences of it were brief. At some point his vocal cords were sliced; when they were repaired, he nearly broke them again from the pressure.

Empurata. That word he knew. That word was burned in his spark, in his wrists where the restraints barely held him down from his frantic struggles during the first cuts. That was intentional too. But there was another word.

Shadowplay.

It was just a word, of course, but it had been Proteus who told him with a voice dripping in malice. Personality adjustment. Change management. “Your function will not be impaired. Your unbecoming conduct will be only a memory.”

The most ambitious cerebral engineering attempt ever made.

Proteus had patted him on the shoulder with those words. “Consider yourself lucky, senator.”

Proteus had forced his optic open then; with the stim jammed into his arm then, Proteus’ face was all the senator could see, framed by a glowing halo, a series of lights all over the operating room ceiling. “Lesser Councilmechs wanted you dead. But I see your function as important. You are a senator, but burdened with dissidence. You begged for mercy for so many days, you have finally reached the peak of it.”

The second stim jammed into his other arm; he had no mouth, no vocal cords, to scream as he felt the pressure of another scalpel in his circuitry, and still Proteus spoke in his calm voice. His optics, his voice, filled the senator’s world.

“Your emotional outbursts will plague Cybertron, and you, no longer. You will never have an emotional response to anything ever again.”

He did not count the snips as he felt them, as he felt each twist, each turn blink from existence with each careful cut of the blade, and then the darkness collapsed over his optic again, his last knowing sight was of Proteus leaning back, and a handful of bloody circuits in his hands.

“Perhaps I should let you keep these with your blasted head.” That had been the last thing the senator had heard before the screws pierced his audios, as the operators finished the adjustments on his new faceless head.

“Senator. Are you awake? ….prep a stim, medic.”

“I am awake. There is no need.” He had not known he could or would speak, or what he would say, until the words broke free. It was his voice. His audios, distorted as they were, felt it was his voice. The first time hearing it now, flat and even and cold, should have alarmed him. But he was beyond such things now; he had felt each of those emotions die.

“Good.” Proteus’ own voice was twisted in humor. “Release the restraints, medic. Senator, get up.”

He felt his optic flicker on, the room a dizzying off gray as the support on him fell aside; for one moment he felt he would simply fall to the floor, the pain of the universe would break on the floor so easily, but instead one cumbersome pede reached, clunking hard on the ground, then the second, and despite the gray of the room, he looked up; color slowly faded in, but there was no pleasure in it.

Most of the medic bots had been put aside now, but there was a great deal of offal about still, much of the armor streaked with mech blood, but under it was visible white still, vaguely blue in parts. His old armor. His dead body.

“How do you feel, senator?” Said to his side, and he turned his body, wary and realizing he had near doubled in size in his torso, and he looked at Proteus, his single yellow optic light blinking. “How do you feel, senator.”

The words rose up in him, but he had no mouth to bite them back. I don’t feel. That’s the point, isn’t it?

“Functional.”

“Then we have an audience to see. It has been a few days, senator. I knew you were made of strong stuff, but we still almost lost you.” The doors opened via guards, who stared at him, but Proteus moved past them as if they were not there. “You must be presented to Cybertron, Senator Shockwave. A reminder that every form has a function. And that no one is above the will of the Council.”

He followed him down the hallway he had been dragged, carried, beaten, days ago. Days ago. Had it really been days? He believed it could be. Each step sent jagged pain up his legs, through his torso, the sounds echoing in his head, already aching.

“Stop.” Proteus turned to face him, a smile of victory, of real pleasure the senator had not seen before, making him look, for the moment, almost friendly. “You must be starving. Here.”

He pulled an energon cube from subspace: the color was an astute and deep purple. The senator had only seen energon like this before; this was the Council’s private sustenance. The flavor and richness was said to be so potent a low-class bot’s systems could never handle it.

“It’s quite vintage,” said the Council bot with relish, the cube glowing in his fingertips, a prize gem. “Been cultivated for the past thousand years, you will never taste anything quite like it.” And as if he realized the bot before him lacked a face, lacked a mouth, he looked, for a moment, almost abashed, before the laughter began, and he sipped from the cube himself, leading back on their way. “It’s a waste on you, senator, I should have given this to you in between the loss of your hands and head. A final taste of cruelty before my mercy. Your feeding tube has been installed. You will survive on standard energon, and you will have a long functional life ahead of you, senator. I am only sorry it took us so long to show you the light.”

The senator nodded, his voice box still sore; he was not sure he could speak again without choking in his throat. He followed Proteus out to a display balcony, the video screens around them showing for miles and miles across the planet, the watching crowds below, as he was presented, the functional Senator Shockwave.

He watched, every joint in his body crying in agony, every inch of his armor feeling aflame, and said nothing to the hush of the crowds.

But he realized soon that even his inner thoughts had been a lie. He did not feel. That was not the point. He did function, and that was the point, but as he studied the back of Proteus, he realized the rest: there was an urge to rip his head off. It was an illogical urge, one he easily quelled, but once the very idea of such violence would have unnerved him. Would have horrified him. The freedom to realize that was gone, the stammering desperation not to incite violence, to protect, the liberation mixed with logic. He had tried emotion and failed in bringing down the Council. He had had scant seconds to realize what the shadowplay would do, had felt his emotions burn and fade as his Academy, his students, his friends had burned. There was no grief left for them. Grief was without function.

The Council had taken his personality, had clipped his emotion and vanity and self. All that was left was merciless logic, and as he studied the back of the Council bot, as his gaze pierced coldly over the planet, the freedom of it all made his knees lock. Proteus and Sentinel had enjoyed his baseless desperate screams of mercy. He would not enjoy theirs; he would put them in their graves without the grandstanding.

How do you feel, Senator?

With purpose. With logic. With revenge.

[rin-hanarin]

Randomly thinking Inquisitor and pavellan thoughts and getting sad, don't mind me.

My Inquisitor was this young straight out of the woods guy who was a bit isolated by virtue of being trained as the next Keeper of his clan and because of his interest in human culture. Clan Lavellan said to be very forthcoming and diplomatic with humans, so they send their second most invested person to the Conclave, only for said person to end up in the middle of building a largely human religious organisation.

He's not ready for it, older and more experienced people guide him every step of the way, and he's trying to answer everyone's expectations because he's earnest like that, pouring his soul into all of it because of the greater threat, and also because maybe it will help his people somehow, maybe having power might change how others treat the Dalish. Even though they might not even welcome him back as the "Inquisitor" who's been marching human armies to places and letting them spread "the word of Andraste", whether that was his intention or not. He spends time among all sorts of humans: nobles, chantry folk, or just regular people fleeing from mages-templars conflict, the venatori, red templars, whatever else, and then he visits ruins in the Dales with its broken bits and pieces of the elven history taken by humans, and then he just doesn't understand where he belongs anymore, where his future is supposed to be.

However, Inquisitor knows a person who calls himself a pariah and wears that as a title, while also caring deeply for a home that made it very clear that he doesn't belong there. Dorian knows who he is and what he cares about, and it's so deeply admirable for a young man who is afraid to not belong anywhere anymore that he finds comfort in him, an unlikely connection with someone... who also just happens to belong to a nation that took everything that was left of the elves and twisted it into their own.

Inquisitor's "sins" against his own people keep piling up, and then the Exalted Council is established, and everything built in two years is crumbling down, including Inquisition and the Inquisitor himself. You can trust no one in the organisation you cultivated, you can't trust ashes or your history your people struggled to protect, you are being killed by the very mark that made you into a straight up messianic figure, and someone who made you feel accepted tells you that he chooses his duty to his homeland over you.

You should understand the duty to your people best, shouldn't you? Yet you are left with bits and pieces of false misinterpreted history, with an adversary claiming that everything your people know and take pride in is wrong, with your vastly human organisation falling apart, and you might've made peace with this being your new home away from your clan, but now you don't belong anywhere anymore, and someone you thought understands you more than anyone leaves for good.

You didn't die to the mark, but standing in the ruins of everything you've ever cared about kind of makes you wish you did.

[bubblegumbeech]

We Interrupt Your Scheduled Programming.

Nocturn and Clockworks friendship stands on a sturdy foundation built on gray morals and dark secrets, trust formed through mischief and misdirections—as well as frequently helping each other out of situations of various kinds. Unfortunately for both of them, Clockworks latest problem has become a rescue mission scenario

For @ravenatural (Enjoy my beloved.)

AO3

“You’re joking.”

“If I am, it’s in poor taste.”

Nocturne was leaning back in his chair—a comfortable amalgamation of pillowy soft aspirations for the cushions with a sturdy frame of hope holding it together underneath. His chin was balanced on the palm of his hand, one sharp nail tapping impatiently on the wood of his mask.

“How long do I have?” he asked, giving up on any attempt at gauging the urgency in his brother's demeanor.

Clockwork was aloof as ever, despite the circumstance he had just described. “Not long. But I cannot stay—”

“Naturally.”

“As the result is fundamentally up to your decisions.” Clockwork tipped his head slightly, the mischief in his eyes no more hidden than the bitter twist of his lips.

Yes, the result would be up to Nocturne, but he had no doubt at all that it would also be to Clockwork’s taste. And while the thought of playing into the bastard's hands went against every fiber of his being, dating back to when they were more concept in their mother’s shadow than full entities themselves… the thought of missing out on such an interesting opportunity left a sour taste in his mouth.

Oh well.

He’d have to be one step ahead next time. Pride was such a killjoy in situations such as these. Perhaps if great and powerful ghosts, such as the likes of Pariah Dark or Erinyes, had a looser grip on their pride, they too might have found themselves less acquainted with repeated defeat.

“So you’ll do it?” Clockwork asked, knowing full well what Nocturne’s answer would be.

What a bother this whole thing was bound to be. “Of course, as annoying as you are, I hardly want to lose my favorite brother.” Nocturne leaned to the side, balancing his chin in the back of a loosely curled fist. “Well, at least of the ones left.”

There wasn’t even an exasperated eyeroll. Things must truly be dire.

“It’s… dangerous,” Clockwork warned, quite uncharacteristically.

Nocturne barked out a laugh. “Oh you know me, I won’t be getting involved directly.”

“Of course.” If Nocturne hadn’t known better he’d say Clockwork sounded relieved.

What a worrying thought. Perhaps his new young charge had made him overly cautious, in a way Clockwork never had been in his youth.

“You do know you will owe me quite the favor?”

“...Of course.”

Nocturne sighed and stood from his chair as Clockwork disappeared into nothingness. It truly was going to be a tedious task. Well, it didn’t necessarily have to be as tedious as Nocturne was going to make it, but he was not nearly as fond of consequences as his brother and would at least try and prevent them wherever possible.

Especially given his strange reticence.

It would have been easier, of course, if Clockwork had given him any kind of deadline. Nocturne was half tempted to take his time, leave his brother waiting and suffering both before swooping in just to prove a point.

But if anyone was well versed in petty retribution for petty transgressions it was the Master of Time.

He readied himself to leave his Lair, sealing his mask properly over his features and styling his hair so that it blended seamlessly with the rest of the endless night sky he garbed himself in.

Once he was presentable, he started to think about what exactly it was he was going to do. If he wanted to keep true to his word, that he would be careful (and hopefully unseen) there would need to be a not insignificant amount of planning.

The Clockwork that had visited him just now was from four rotations past—and had seen the possibility of the future Nocturne currently occupied.

It was the current Clockwork that needed his help.

Well, at the very least he needed something resembling help. Though it was more in the line of holding up a painting as Clockwork nailed it into the wall. Nocturne would hardly be necessary, but he’d help keep everything straight.

First… was a trip to Clockwork’s Lair. If his visitor was to be believed, Long Now would be abandoned, but Nocturne should still be able to gather at least a few clues.

His brother may be a cryptic bastard, but even he would let down his guard in his own home.

Nocturne stepped over the threshold—the lair accepted his presence easily with the bond between them as strong and often reaffirmed as it was.

There was something though, leading him away from one of the wings of the tower. Nocturne mostly ignored it. He wasn’t here for his brother’s secrets, or to break his trust. And if his Lair had something it did not want Nocturne to see, he would simply not see it.

Besides, he was here for a reason.

He mostly needed to know how long Clockwork had been gone. The time, frozen on the main screen in Clockwork’s viewing room, hinted that it had been only a moment since he’d been taken. Almost a breath between his captors dragging him away and Nocturne stepping foot inside.

It was a wonder he missed them.

Nocturne kicked away some of the mess that had been left in the struggle. Leave it to his brother to time things so perfectly.

Did it not occur to the bastard that Nocturne’s presence might have prevented this outcome entirely!?

He tapped at the edge of his mask, taking another look around before leaving to explore some of the other rooms.

Clockwork’s Lair was… strangely organized, outside of the viewing room where the recent struggle had destroyed almost everything short of the screens themselves.

He had never known Clockwork to be organized. It was…

Well, Nocturne was hardly going to start digging. His goal this time was his brother’s favor—not his displeasure. It would be just his luck if Clockwork decided whatever secrets he might uncover would count to even their score.

Next stop was setting the scene.

As powerful as Nocturne was, he didn’t particularly like his chances against the mass of Eyes That Minded Everyone’s Business But Their Own. But he did have a few tricks he could use to thin their ranks.

Perhaps he could use this as an opportunity. After all, Clockwork wasn’t the only one who enjoyed a good scheme. And he had learned many of his tricks from Nocturne himself.

He stopped by Clockwork’s kitchen, grabbing some of the supplies he had left behind on one of his previous visits. There was a surprising amount of Coraleander Tea left, but Nocturne did not dare attempt to partake.

It was Clockwork’s favorite and he had been lamenting for the past few centuries that there were too few gardeners left patient enough to cultivate it.

Instead, he made a simple glass of Sweet Dreams and allowed it to try and evoke some modicum of creativity.

There were very few ways to create a distraction catastrophic enough that it would actually get Those Who Watch But Rarely Act to… well, act.

He could start a rebellion in some of their territories, but it would take time. And upon reaching out his tendrils to read the underlying thoughts and desires of the District of Jurisdiction or the Dictator’s Ship, he found them amidst rebellion already—and planning revolt.

Observants and Sympathizers were already stalking the streets (and the passageways) to keep their disobedient subjects in line and under Control.

It certainly made Nocturne’s job easier. He sent a silent ‘thank you’ to whomever paved the way and nearly severed the Collective in half.

Even if it was… conveniently timed.

With such a large-scale operation already clearly underway and under someone’s control, Nocturne could make some more pointed attacks to start spreading what was left even thinner.

Yes, rather than trying for the tedious task of collecting the masses, he’d grab a few powerful ghosts that could get the Watching Eyes moving. It was more his style besides, and significantly less effort.

Convincing one or two… or three ghosts to do something was as simple as reading their nature and granting them a genie’s wish. Convincing an entire Realm… well, that took something far more dangerous than simple power.

Nocturne slipped away, his first target already in mind.

Of course, thoughts of powerful, dangerous ghosts and slow rising revolutions and revolts—only one ghost truly came to mind.

Pariah’s right hand. He certainly had no love lost for the bastards that had attacked Nocturne’s brother. Not since Pariah had turned against them during his first reign, and especially not in the eons after as they chased after him only to seal him away over and over again.

It was a simple matter to seek out Fright Knight’s specific flavor of fear and where it left its trails in the greater subconscious. Even simpler still, to use it to find where exactly the spirit was last seen.

It didn’t take long.

Fright Knight was spending his time, as he often did since his unfortunate curse, in a pumpkin. If Nocturne read it correctly, the pumpkin he was currently sealed inside had been left floating—lost in the thinner regions of the drowned quarter, just outside one of the smaller civilizations.

Nocturne was not personally a fan of visiting that particular region. Call it a character flaw, but he preferred the soft sweetness of happy dreams over the heavy cloying taste of fear and nightmares.

And if the deep inspired anything at all, it was fear of the unknown.

Either way, it was easier to travel in a different form through the thick ectoplasmic mimicry of ocean water. It was only mildly annoying to keep his mask fixed in place, but his hair ran completely wild and out of his control.

He wrapped his coat around him, twisting it into the vague shape of a selkie’s tail before relaxing and letting himself merge back into it. The entire visage was rather romantic, an ink colored night sky in the shape of an ocean dweller.

This particular trip would have to be quick—there was no way of knowing which of his siblings might catch him like this, and it was not something he wanted to risk for long.

They had disgustingly long memories, after all.

The search would be tedious, and Nocturne found himself fighting with an unfamiliar bitterness—oh how convenient it would be to have an ability like Sojourn’s in moments like this? Even Clockwork would know where the exact thing he was looking for awaited him.

This was exactly why Nocturne was very rarely one to get out and ‘join the fun.’

Oh well. They say to play to your strengths.

Nocturne let himself sink, just slightly, into the subconscious thread of thought all around him. Plucking at the different strings, until he found one so saturated in fear it was positively dripping with it.

Ah… he opened his eyes and swam towards the feeling—pulling at the string to guide him as if it were Ariadne’s and the open ocean around him a twisted labyrinth. It led him, successfully, to a young mermaid-like ghost that had found the floating pumpkin accidentally.

They did not dare get close to it, their subconscious thick with stories of the Spirit of Halloween and his Dimension of Fear. They had made at least three or four laps around some internalized perimeter, curious but wary. Unwilling to take their eyes off of it but even more unwilling to swim closer.

Nocturne paid the spirit no mind and simply collected the pumpkin, sword and all.

He began to swim away, thoughts clouded by future plans and possibilities.

The mermaid reached out, claws just barely missing the edges of Nocturne’s cloak. He did not know if they were trying to stop him—it did not matter. He had what he came for.

He kept Fright Knight sealed as they traveled towards Verification City, the Observants’ controlled little pet metropolis where their rules were law and weak orderly-obsessed ghosts collected like hive insects.

It was important as a display of their authority, and Nocturne had no doubt they would deploy a number of their slimy little congregants to try and ‘protect’ it. Especially when, as far as Nocturne had managed to observe, it was one of the few Realms left to them not showing open Revolt.

So Nocturne set the pumpkin down, the delicately carved swan facing the lights of the city, and drew the sword. Then, as the storm raged, summoning its captive in a blaze of terrifying glory, Nocturne took the sword and threw it into the middle of the Market Square. It pierced into the ground and buried itself—even the power of Pariah’s Knight would struggle a moment to dig it from the ground.

A moment enough to sow the chaos Nocturne desired.

He felt the gaze of the Watchers turn towards them the next moment and hid quickly in the shadows of the curious and confused residents. It was easy to hide amongst the sudden commotion, but Nocturne was careful nonetheless. Fright Knight was truly, as his name implied, a ghost to be feared.

Nocturne, like any other spirit, had dreams he did not wish to visit, even if it would be but a brief struggle. (Nocturne’s own Realm was so very similar to the power of Fright Knight’s sword after all. And Nocturne was much, much older.) So he kept his distance and slipped away, the buzzing hive-like thoughts of the Observants growing closer as they deployed yet another battalion to keep their precious Order.

Tedious.

He’d only gotten one done so far, and it had been a terrible amount of work.

Nocturne let himself take a proper breath once he was away from it all. His hair was still wet, dripping onto his neck and shoulders. The feeling was uncomfortable at best, and even as he combed his claws through his hair to untangle it—wetness clung stubbornly.

Well. He shook his head. There was someone he could visit that might help.

The trick was finding out where Vortex had last rampaged.

That should be easier than finding Fright Knight, as Vortex’s rampages were often calamities of their own—leaving destruction and victims in equal measure.

But theory was often simple until reality introduced itself.

He followed the muted screams to the nearest disaster but found it a wasted trip. This one, despite Nocturne’s hopes, had been entirely natural. (As natural as something in the Infinite Realms could possibly be.)

The Voidcano had erupted recently, leaving many ghosts damaged, disfigured, or trapped. But there was no sign of meddling from Vortex.

If his wayward little brother had ever been here at all, it was long enough ago to be useless. And certainly had nothing to do with the thick frosting of tragedy that coated the entire Realm.

Nocturne tapped his nail rhythmically against the wooden edge of his mask, trying to think. It had been mostly quiet in the Realms recently…other than some passing rumors Nocturne didn’t really bother to pay attention to.

Ghosts would always be fond of ghost stories after all.

It would be easy, he lamented once again, if Sojourn had not disappeared. He was by far the most friendly and easygoing of their siblings. Nocturne wouldn’t need to bend over backwards or sell his soul to get help doing things like finding where Vortex decided to hide or hunting down a single pumpkin.

He cast another glance out, only to find the repercussions of the Voidcano’s recent eruption acting as a blanket to smother all similar thoughts. Nocturne would have to leave the vicinity if he wanted to seek out another disaster of this magnitude.

Quiet was what he needed now. So naturally, his next stop was outside of Ghost Writer’s library. If only to get a moment of peace before trying to dive once more into the collective unconscious.

“I don’t suppose you’re looking for a book?” Another young ghost broke his concentration. This one was slightly more familiar to Nocturne, if only because she had the clear mark of his Sister stitched delicately around her core. A niece of his then.

“No, just a moment of respite, Spiderling.”

Her expression twisted slightly at the nickname, and Nocturne could taste a small, mostly suppressed, wave of bitterness before she smiled and said, “Then if you don’t mind…?”

Nocturne raised an eyebrow.

“You’re blocking the door.”

Ah. He turned behind him—the door had shifted from just beside him to immediately behind him. Either acting to try and invite him in, or simply attracted to Nocturne’s own connection to creativity and thought.

He turned back to the girl and stepped aside. “So I am.”

Waiting until she stepped through the doorway, Nocturne turned to ask, “What is someone like you doing at a library?”

Misery’s children were hardly known for being studious, and this girl’s obsession was hardly scholarly either. Books, in the Infinite Realms, often came at quite the price, and few were willing to risk paying for little to no reason.

There was a moment Nocturne thought he might be ignored. Misery’s children often had spines of steel, even among ghosts stronger than them. But it was still irritating—

“I need the history…” the girl said. “I need to know why—”

Nocturne felt a wave of grief hit then. Something had happened to this child—no, to someone this child cared for. He almost reached out, if only to offer sweet dreams. But that wouldn’t help, not when she had already given herself a task in her grief and when Nocturne was busy with a task of his own.

Instead he read her obsession, cultivating flowers (How sweet. How soft.) and created a Blinking Bloom to gift her. It would do nothing for her loss, but when—if— she decided to sleep, it would bring her dreams of the softest and kindest caliber.

She took it, suspicious but obedient, and turned away to continue walking into the library.

Nocturne did not watch her form disappear behind the haphazard stacks and poorly managed shelves of books. He had his own task, so that he might avoid feeling grief of his own. It was truly so terribly sour, one of the worst flavors he’d ever had to suffer.

And one he’d not like to suffer again.

The respite had been helpful though, as he was able to quickly find exactly what it was he was looking for. The grief he felt from the young Spiderling was a clue: many of the tragedies he felt in the collective unconscious held tenuous connections to it (were either grieving the same loss, or losses indistinguishable from hers), and once he filtered it out, there was only really one massive trail of disaster left.

Vortex was outside of the Acropolis of Athens and Nocturne was just in time to stop him before he decided to get into a fight with Pandora.

All this travel was really starting to catch up to him. He took a moment, upon finding his little brother, before trying to say anything. But the ticking clock in the back of his mind reminded him there was a time limit. Even if he was not personally savvy to it.

He floated closer and reached out a hand.

“Not that I would begrudge you picking fights normally—” Nocturne sidestepped a flash of lightning as Vortex turned around, instincts striking when his senses failed to pick up a possible threat.

The attack was vicious, instinctual, and cruel. Something that had become a recent hallmark of Vortex’s travels. It left Nocturne discontent, still, to see their youngest so taken apart.

“Nocturne?” His little brother looked surprised, even through his half-madness. He stopped his attack, but the ambient ectoplasm around them was still charged with static. “Why are you—?”

It was a calculated risk, what was he willing to give Vortex versus what he might be able to collect from Clockwork. Though, even without the reward of having his most troublesome sibling owe him a favor, he would not like to see this particular fate played out.

Not again.

“There’s some trouble with the Observants.”

Vortex stiffened, his form fizzling into a chaotic mess, already fuzzy edges growing fuzzier and undefined. When was the last time Nocturne had seen Vortex as he was meant to be seen? Instead of the indistinct and haywired lines of plasma and lightning that he had managed to shape himself into?

“I…” Frustration bled into the ambient ectoplasm around them, curdled and spoiled by fear.

Nocturne picked through it, searching for a reason, a balance he could strike… Ah. There it was.

“I will protect you,” he said, using his power to sooth his little brother’s fears, “and you can take out some of your anger, your frustration.” Perhaps it would be cathartic.

Red eyes turned to him, interested but not convinced.

“I am laying other traps, of course. I wouldn’t ask you to fight against the mass of the Collective on your own.” He took off his mask, shaving a sliver of the wood from it and folding it into a ring. He placed it on what was left of Vortex’s left ear and watched as it burrowed deeper, growing small roots to take hold. “It’s risk free brother. Go crazy.”

Vortex reached up to the gift he had been given, unwilling to dislodge it. “Did you lose a bet?”

Nocturne laughed. “Yes. You could say that.”

His smile was vicious as he explained the circumstances that had led them here, and before long Vortex had one to match.

There wasn’t even a moment to blink before Vortex had sped off towards the Observants’ Center for Detention and Confinement. It was in the opposite direction from their precious Metropolis at Verification City and would do well to split their forces.

Once more, Nocturne had spent far too much time and energy on what would only amount to a simple distraction. He was beginning to think this endeavor would not be worth the favor owed.

At least his hair had dried.

Now… to split the Observants’ attention once more.

There were only so many things they could keep watch over (despite their name), and Nocturne knew one little thing in particular that would make an excellent distraction.

Along with a small, harmless, bit of payback towards Clockwork for dragging him into this.

Well, if he didn’t want the child involved, he should have said so directly, right?

Nocturne replaced his mask and began his journey back. One more stop before the finale, and then he could leave all of this traveling to Sojourn. Wherever he was.

He made his way to the outskirts, where the Barrens had settled.

The permanent portal the child’s mortal parents had created was still there—a garish and painful looking wound torn into the fabric of the Infinite Realms.

Nocturne wasn’t here for the portal itself though; he needed what lay sleeping on the other side.

The boy was indeed asleep in his bed, thankfully. (Nocturne hadn’t been sure that he would be—he was often kept awake beyond what was reasonable. Whether it be due to his obsession or teenage whims was a matter for Clockwork and not of any particular interest to Nocturne.)

He used a touch of sand to weave—not a dream, per se—but a suggestion. He needed the boy to do this unsuspiciously if he was going to do this. Daniel had already met and been in conflict with him. He knew at least the bare breadth of Nocturne’s power and if he showed his hand in any way in this dream, the boy would seek out him rather than those Nocturne needed him to distract.

Besides, the last thing Nocturne wanted was the Observants’ interest reaching toward him just because he was a little lazy . Clockwork pushed his luck with his mischief and hands-on interventions. Nocturne preferred a position behind the curtain so to say. Pushing things along in the shadows to enjoy the performance and the audience while being party to neither.

Idea implanted, Nocturne slipped away—only to be stopped at the portal by a mortal girl.

It was the Halfa’s sister, long red hair unmanaged as if she had crawled straight from bed to place herself annoyingly in his path. She was holding a weapon. One of the ones that actually worked, and that Nocturne was certain the two adults had not managed to complete before it had been hidden away and out of their reach.

“What did you do to Danny?”

Quite the protective older sister she was. It reminded him of his own sister—though he doubted Misery Vex would resort to threats over implementation. She was always a ghost of action like that.

Nocturne was in a hurry though, and as fun as it might have been to play a little longer with the foolishly brave little mortal… he had his own brother to save. So he sent her into a dream with a wave of his hand. In less than the time it took to blink, he watched as she fell into a pile of tangled limbs on the ground. It was easy enough after that to step over her and through the portal to get back into the Infinite Realms.

Now, he could have washed his hands of it here, gone back to his own Lair to relax and watch what happened next…

But he had promised to help, and so that was what he was going to do.

The journey to the Observants’ Main Observatory was just as tedious as the rest of the errands he’d had to run since his brother’s unwelcome visit. Keeping out of sight, and in the shadows (and occasionally hiding entirely in the subconscious of another ghost) so that he himself did not attract attention and become another distraction for the Ever Watching, was a miserable way to travel.

And one he would not have chosen had he been given much of a choice in the matter at all. As it was, the Observatory was quite well situated in one of the more popular Realms, and Nocturne was not as unknown as he would have desired since Pariah’s fall.

There was only so much of himself he could scrape from another ghost’s thoughts and memories after all. He existed half in and half outside of a collective subconscious—everyone knew some piece of him in some way. It was only when they could match that piece to a face that it became troublesome.

He fiddled with the fit of his mask, making sure it settled properly and hid his features.

His arrival at the Observatory was quiet, thank Chaos, and there were none who noticed. Though, as he looked around, it also seemed there were quite close to none left to notice anyways.

Normally, Nocturne would have started his search in the bowels of the Observants’ shared Lair—Digging through a twisting labyrinth of under tunnels and cellars and working his way up to the highest tower—but it turned out there was no need.

Someone had already made short work of large swaths of the Observatory: the under tunnels and the dungeons were ripped apart and filled with shattered cores and spatters of ectoplasm along with the occasional unconscious (and badly damaged) spirit.

Nocturne was reminded, rather bitterly, of a certain familiar someone’s handiwork and forced himself to continue to ignore it. He was here for exactly one reason and one reason alone.

That reason was trouble enough without adding an investigation.

His brother would be where he felt the buzzing collective of the Observants’ minds, as disgusting as they were.

In their hubris, the pathetic things—at least the ones left behind—had crowded into the central hall where they had Clockwork paralyzed and on display on top of an altar in the middle of the room. He was surrounded on all sides, Observants packed like sardines in a tin can with the bloodlust of piranhas.

How absolutely disgusting. Nocturne didn’t step fully into the room, not yet.

The shadows hid him easily, though there was little point to it. Those Who Watched and Rarely Acted were quite focused on their macabre task. Voyeurs, the lot of them.

Clockwork’s chest had been carved open. Some form of magic keeping it parted as the edges bubbled, the gaping wound fighting back against reaching hands and sharp scalpels as if it were attempting to close—to heal—and failing. His core, a vibrant shining light that even Nocturne had difficulty looking directly at, thrummed at a slower beat than what was generally considered healthy (though Nocturne wasn’t sure if things like thrum-rates were nearly as important to the time-keeper’s functions.)

One of the Observants held something in its hand, a small scalpel-like device, and was using it to slowly chip away at the exposed core; but every severed sliver fell like drops of rain through its hands. Nocturne felt something akin to nausea at the sight—how long would it take to heal a wound like that? Was it… was that how they had damaged Vortex that time long ago?

Would the Clockwork he saved be the same one that asked for his help? Was this enough to damage him permanently, or was Nocturne in time to prevent the worst of it?

Newly anxious, Nocturne studied the room. He hadn’t run into anyone in the halls or corridors when he first snuck in—though he did watch entire battalions worth leave the Observatory before he had made his move to enter. It was like watching bees flee a Queenless hive once word had reached them of the different little gifts Nocturne had gone out of his way to prepare.

Apparently the Fright Knight had destroyed the the entire Market Square and started rampaging around some of the Communal Plots once he manage to dig his sword back out from where Nocturne had planted it. Vortex was wreaking havoc the likes of which he was generally known to wreak, and the young Halfa was ‘asking questions’ those who Watched would never answer… and was getting increasingly, dangerously, irritated as well.

All in all it was all going very well to plan, and Nocturne had nothing to worry about so long as he wasn’t too late. And knowing Clockwork, that was unlikely to be the case.

Clockwork, when he was awake, would probably be angry Nocturne had involved his young charge. He had been very overprotective since the adoption, and Nocturne remembered just what had happened to Undergrowth when he admitted to trying to jumpstart the boy’s juvenile core-formation.

It wasn’t pleasant for anyone.

Nocturne stepped back, deeper into the shadows when he noticed one of the younger Observants cast its gaze about the room. It then raised a hand and volunteered itself for some macabre task or another, one of the others handing it pliers and a clamp.

Disgusting.

Tedious.

Annoying.

It felt stuffy, in his chest, some ugly foul-tasting emotion building in the void he called his core. He did not like seeing his brother like this, trapped-frozen-taken apart by those weaker than him for the sake of their curiosity–no.

This wasn’t about curiosity at all. Nocturne could taste it, saturated in the ambient ectoplasm around them. There was a thin thread of curiosity, sure, from the younger, more newly formed Observants mostly. But what the atmosphere was heavy and suffocating with, was the Watchers’ desire for complete, uncontested control .

It was a pipe-dream. One they had long since attempted to wage war over.

They did not like that power reigned supreme in the Infinite Realms. They did not like that their collective was so pathetically weak, that any attempt to control those Ancient Enough To Have Come Before was merely laughed off as the paltry inconvenience it was.

Nocturne felt his scar itch.

They had long been a tedious thorn—painful and irritating but unable to truly hinder.

Maybe that was why the sight before him, of his kin—Ancient and Powerful—torn apart as if on an operating table, left his chest smoldering.

It didn’t really matter…

No, it shouldn’t really matter.

Nocturne had already long decided on his next course of action. He stepped forward, and let loose the writhing dark hidden in his Core to surround him. A growing, thriving mass of night-dark tendrils slithered into the auditorium, slinking between green transparent tails and trailing capes.

The exclamations started quickly after.

Like a song, building to crescendo.

It began with startled confusion. Questions like, “What?” and “Where did these come from?”

Then it was indignation. “Who dares?!”

That was when Nocturne smiled behind his mask. He was in the middle of it all now, having walked towards the center stage where his brother laid while his tendrils covered the rest of the chamber.

The Observants who had just been elbow deep in Clockwork’s chest were stumbling back, tripping over tendrils. Some even tried to fly away. He did not let them.

“You—?!”

Nocturne ripped the last Observant away from his brother’s body and turned to address the class.

“There’s a lesson to be learned here,” he said smoothly, stealing his sister’s favorite words. “Allow me to teach you.”

It took less than a thought for every single entity inside the chamber to be absorbed entirely. They would not stay long—it was a struggle even for Nocturne to keep such a large collective contained in this way, and he was grateful he had thinned it as thoroughly as he had.

Once the room was quiet, he turned to the frozen fool laid out like a sacrifice before him.

There was nothing obvious holding him there, and Nocturne pinched the wooden bridge between the carved eyes of his mask. Tedious. This entire thing was dreadfully tedious.

Would it truly have been such a disservice to have given Nocturne some infinitesimal clue beyond: “The Watchers have grown beyond themselves and I fear I shall be the first they seek to reap.”

He reached down, careful not to brush against his brother’s exposed core. He was uncharacteristically cold to the touch—and Nocturne drew his hand back quickly.

Had the Observants truly been capable… It seemed so unrealistic. A possibility that even Clockwork would have written off as a fraying thread in the tapestry of timelines he weaved.

But the proof was before him.

What could have had their sister so distracted? That these pathetic wastes of ectoplasm could get their hands on one of her heartstrings?

He sighed.

There was little that could be done in this exact moment other than freeing Clockwork from the constraints and allowing his time to tick once more. The utter freeze of his features was likely more due to his own abilities backfiring against him than the restraint itself.

Nocturne just needed to find where these pathetic wastes of ectoplasm had sewn the thread. He followed the chill of it with the edge of his nail, unwilling to touch it properly until he found where it stitched into the back of his brother’s left retina.

He held back a flinch. His brother had sown this for himself, and was reaping the rewards of his rebellious nature.

Still. Nocturne’s hands remained gentle and steady as he began to unweave some of the knots tied into the Heartstring.

His mind wandered as his hands went about their work, thinking back to what actions his brother had taken to end up here, vulnerable in a way he had very rarely allowed.

There had been secrets, beyond the hints and clues scattered around Long Now and the Infinite Realms that led to a correspondence Nocturne had no desire to know anything about.

But there had always been secrets. Clockwork did not think it necessary to tell anyone the in depth details of the possible futures and long forgotten pasts that stretched out around him.

Not anymore than Nocturne found it necessary to share the thoughts of those around him when they themselves did not dare.

Thoughts meant nothing against actions—and possible futures meant nothing against the choices of the present.

That said…

There was little Nocturne could think of that would have set the Observants into such a desperate fervor. Such that they would storm the Realm of an Ancient and steal him away to dissect in an attempt to collect his power for their own.

The simple fact they had even achieved this much was frankly ridiculous.

And those rebellions—did this have something to do with that?

It was hardly Clockwork’s Modus operandi—he preferred cryptic one on one intervention. Dominoes lined up perfectly to fall into the picture he desired.

But he knew one ghost that was very very good at building a following. Especially a violent one.

And if he was the one pulling the strings, it made sense that Clockwork would be the one to take the fall.

Nocturne shook his head, shaking the thought clear before it blinded him. It would do no good to assume, and more rumination on the thought would only blind him with fury.

He focused once more on the task at hand.

The work was long and tedious—even before he was interrupted.

The whine of an ecto-gun alerted him to her presence, well before he tuned in to the familiar waft of her dreams, muted by her conscious mind. He stopped, but did not turn around. Not yet.

“And what are you going to do with that little thing?” He asked, feigning a disinterested and absolutely not at all irritated countenance.

“I just wanted to get your attention.” The girl’s voice was casual, but with a sharp, thin edge to it that had Nocturne looking up from his work.

She was standing a few feet away—far enough that a human would have to lunge to attack and she would have time to pull the trigger.

A sign she had been well trained, but that her training was limited to fighting humans. Or at least, the training she focused on was against humans.

He turned back to his brother, sure that she would not shoot him until he was finished.

The gun was a bluff. There was no internal struggle between the options nor a pre-made decision to fire at a given moment. Only a loud, static-like anxiety that he might not take kindly to her threat and retaliate against her instead.

Luckily for her, he had more important things to do.

“You chose a bad time,” Nocturne said with a forced casualness that did not betray the strain he felt with his brother’s sight in his very hands. “My attention is rather split at the moment.”

“I can tell.” Her voice wavered for a moment before hardening again. “You missed a few of those creepy little green guys watching the main entryway. I got them, though. You're welcome.”

“...Thank you.” He returned to his task. The gun she was holding was unlikely to damage him permanently, even if she fired at him now distracted as he was. But even if it were to do so… Well, it was certainly going to be something to hold over his brother’s head once they got out of this mess.

Ignoring her didn’t get him shot at, thankfully. But it did invite her to continue her line of questioning. “What did you do to Danny last night?”

There was a knot, tangled just beneath what would have been a major artery had Clockwork been human. It made Nocturne wonder just what methods the spineless green blobs were using to restrain him.

Ghosts usually went with non-traditional bondage—almost all of them could manipulate their form at will after all—but as with all magics, there was strength in grounding tools and tasks to reality. Though Nocturne would have expected them to use pressure points or even acupuncture or Qi points to restrain a ghost.

Instead they threaded it through major arteries… that did not exist. Were they trying to give him a weakness to exploit later on? It was worrisome, but they had not gotten far enough to bury the thread properly.

Luckily Clockwork had asked for Nocturne’s help. He would have awoken on his own—a thread this thin would not be able to keep his power contained, especially not when it was cannibalizing him like this—but the Observants would have also long accomplished their task and…

It gave Nocturne an idea. He thread an additional suggestion into the nightmare he had weaved for the Collective he currently had contained.

The mortal girl growled in frustration.

She was in front of him, close enough to touch—no—she was touching. Clockwork. Her hand had phased partially underneath his skin and she slowly and carefully began removing the Heartstring that had been threaded and tied so thoroughly through his body.

Nocturne watched closely, an analytical eye on her movements just in case she decided she wasn’t actually going to help. He was frustrated enough that the Observants had taken his brother as some kind of experiment. He would not stand for some mortal taking him as a hostage.

His vigilance was wasted though. She simply and perfunctorily slipped the entire thread out and set it aside in a matter of seconds before turning back to Nocturne.

“Is your attention still split?” she asked with a sharp smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Nocturne gathered his sister’s Heartstring from where the girl had set it. With his luck, he’d get distracted and forget it, or something else could happen and leave it once again in the hands of those who would seek to abuse power that was not their own.