#EctoberWeek2020

[a-flower-lover]

Ectober 2020 Day 1: Fog/Splatter

Hope this late isn't too late to participate lol

[dragonsdomain]

Danny as a young child once conducted an experiment (more or less on purpose,) exploring the effects of gravity on a vial of ectoplasm. It yielded fascinating results.

[q-gorgeous]

Redrum

fanfiction

continuation of this

i know im late but i had no idea what to do for this hhhh

Tapping could be heard as the creature wearing Maddie’s face stared at the portal where the two boys had disappeared. 

“Tsk tsk.” It said. “Such a shame that he had to get away.”

Turning away from the portal, it approached a storage cabinet and opened it, rummaging around. The sound of metal sliding against metal could be heard as it pulled out a glowing dagger. It kept digging around until it found a syringe and pulled that out as well. 

“Really, he is just making it harder on himself. Pity.”

It began mixing together a concoction, the sickly green glow illuminating the gray of her skin. 

“He would have spared his family the horror of knowing what he is. Would have spared them from the same fate he’ll have.”

It filled the syringe, studying it to make sure it had the right amount before pressing a button on the wall in front of her.

“Jazz, sweetie, can you come down to the lab plese?”

A few moments later heavy steps could be heard coming down the stairs, chains dragging across the floor. Jazz made her way through the door and walked up to Maddie. Her glowing red eyes met Maddie’s pitch black. 

“I need you to run an errand to the human world for me. Take these.” The thing handed the dagger and syringe to Jazz. “I found another copy of your brother and I need to dispose of his kind.”

Jazz’s face near imperceptibly changed, her eyebrows drew down just a fraction but her face remained empty and stoic. 

The creature began removing the chains from Jazz’s wrists and ankles. “Imagine how much fun you’ll have! The human realm! Surely you’ll find yourself a snack this time?”

Jazz’s face still never changed, she stared blankly at Maddie.

“Good.” The thing patted Jazz’s cheek. “Now go find that portal in the woods and go find your brother and his family.”

Jazz turned and began heading up the stairs, silent now that she was no longer bound by chains. Maddie smiled a sharp and toothy smile and turned back to her work bench to begin preparing for her guests. 

“It is such a shame that he’ll have to witness the murder of his family before I dispose of him.” She smiled brightly. “Though it is his own fault, really, for making this more difficult that it needed to be.”

The creature started humming as it cleaned and prepared the tools it would need once Jazz got back. 

She failed to notice the way that Jazz clenched her fists around the objects in her hands just outside the doorway, before walking resolutely up the stairs.

[phantoms14]

Here’s my art for ectober day 31: cloak! And for comparison I included my art for Rewind because I purposefully made them correspond xD

It’s basically an alternate design for our boi Danny in the future (and also he’s king of the ghost zone because I love that au)

[sailor-toni]

Day 3 of Ectober: rewind

Mmmmm This looked cooler in my head.

[13thdoodle]

[ DP Phantasy AU ] Ectober day 7 : Cloak / Plague

....

With pale ghostly cloak,

stained with gore and smoke,

Armor dark as blackened night,

rivaled only by his heart marked by blight,

With each step he took, death follows suit

Crimson eyes filled with wrath,

All that remains is a blood lined path..

"That's not how the rhyme goes!"

"Yes it is! That's what Jazz told me!"

"No it's not! It's green eyes and red sword!"

"What? No! its red eyes and green sword everyont knows that!"

".... i thought it was blue eyes.."

"Psshh no green eyes are waayy cooler!"

Tfw u end up being the spoopy thing ur sister tells u as bedtime story 😔

Bzbzjs Happy Halloween!! I tried to do the whole rhyme for drawing but brain just do not vibe so here we go qwq Hope you like it qwq

Edit : jdjdbdbxkzz i forgot to say @zrllosyn helped me made the rhyme an actual coherent one jxbxbd

[mystyrust]

Ectober day 7 Day 7: plague / cloak Amity Park in quarantine. Embarrassing Zoom messages, playing Among Us, tweets, and texts. a social media fic that would look super rad if you read it on your phone (and i would feel super rad if you read and commented on it 👉👈) In which I attempted to create not 1, but two custom themes for ao3. creating custom themes is not terribly difficult. formatting it for AO3? That’s an entirely different beast. 

[enigmaris]

In which Danny has to save the Avengers, but he only has one memeber of his new team to help him do it.

Ectober Day 7! Wowzers I did all seven days. The prompt was Plague/Cloak.

[horrendoushag]

Ectober day 7: Cloak/Plague

Oh my gosh I can’t believe it’s over. Uh. So. From what little research I’ve done, Medieval-ish princes wore cloaks with their kingdom’s crest on the back. The cloaks also had intricately detailed lining. Danny’s here isn’t terribly intricate, but at least it exists haha

[moipale]

That Old Sickness

Written for Ectober Week 2020 Day 7: Cloak/Plague. Can be found crossposted on AO3 here.

You can reach me on this blog or on my main @faedemon!

You’ve always known that not all deaths are kind. In fact, kind deaths are far and few between, and yours was hardly an exception—it hurt, when you died. You can still feel the ghost of it.

But I’ll give you that it’s easy to forget. The denizens of the Zone are so loud, so fiery and open, that it’s easy to forget where they came from. Easy to forget your own awful becoming: that bright, live-wire coffin’s nail. Do you remember you screamed through it? Do you remember that your friends screamed, too?

You come across the island some two years into your afterlife. You’ve learned a lot by now, past those early months of attacking on sight, no ghostly knowledge to your name but for how to defend yourself. You’ve cemented for yourself a place in the Ghost Zone, have made Amity Park your lair. You are free to explore the Zone’s endlessness, and—in flight from the increasing responsibilities of your living life—you do.

The island, the Plague Town, is much like Dora’s kingdom in that it is a place frozen in time. The people hardly realize they are dead, and though they acknowledge your presence, they stay desperately clear of you. You are foreign blood. You, to them, are a carrier of the Plague.

You guess that they have been here long enough that their old reality has begun to break down. You see some of them walk listlessly about with welts on their skin, or oozing boils, or a creeping mold. Others cough what sounds like death rattles, and yet others seem so pale you might see through them. One man bleeds from his eyes. A young girl spews dark bile from her nose and mouth.

You don’t allow your boots to touch down, but you don’t leave immediately—it’s a sick (ha-ha) sort of fascination that keeps your eyes locked on those shuffling figures, who seem to do nothing but glare distrustfully at one another and wander about, not going anywhere, not looking for anything.

Your body aches, suddenly, and you pull a glove off to trace the scars that taper off on the back of your hand. That old Lichtenberg figure crawls down your limbs and over your back and up your neck and onto your face, and it seems to burn, to pulsate, and you can feel your death in the echo of it.

Dora’s people had a simple problem. These people, this Plague Town, you can do nothing for.

You leave behind the rot.

[this-is-z-art-blog]

Ectober Week 2020 // Day 7

↳ Plague

[tuna-moon-draws]

Ectober week: Vampire Plague

[mr-lancers-english-class]

Ectober Day Seven! Cloaks!

ao3

Thank you all so much for reading!!!!

One of the longest-running debates between Danny, Sam, and Tucker was on the best use for a cloak. Danny was of the strong opinion that cloaks were for vampires to dramatically throw around as they leapt into the shadows. Sam was adamant that cloaks were for mysterious beings who might help you with your problems, for a price. Tucker was insistent cloaks were for witches who were dedicated to the aesthetic.

The entrance of ghosts into their world view did nothing to settle the debate, save that Danny was rather suddenly against the idea of vampires being the primary cloak-wearers.

[croakingart]

Day 7- Plague/Cloak

Day 7- Plague/Cloack

I wanted to go a little more gruesome with this prompt. I remember there was an old Spanish myth of wolves being the harbinger of plagues and bad luck...or was that France

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Week Cloak/Plague - Sihlenta’s Curse

Prequel to One Of The Herb, highly recommend reading that first. What was the life Sihlenta left to seek out a town where both the living and the dead practically coexisted? And better yet, why?

A young girl sits at the side of a bed, her feet up on the seat of her chair and a bundle of strange herbs giving off a visible aroma cradled between her legs and stomach. Her faintly green-tinted lips are turned down in a frown as her purple/green streaked eyes watch the lady on the bed with both sadness and understanding. The lady on the bed breathes slow and deep, barely conscious and with her head tilted towards the girl and her herbs; breathing in the aromas. Her once fierce orange hair that sticks out from under her bird mask is now an ashy brown with only hints of its former colour; it makes her look so very old even though she is only thirty-two years of age.

The young girl’s hair is tipping brown as well. They both know that is not a good sign, but neither calls any attention to it. The older because she lacks the strength to have That Conversation again. The younger because she knows what she has to do and she doesn’t want to do it. Not now. Not ever even. She shouldn’t have to. The land was strong. The herbs grew well. The dead visited often. But there were facts both knew, that the current situation was proof of.

It wasn’t enough.

The Deaths Aura given off by the spirits, muses and banshees that came to enjoy the smells and flavours of their grown herbs, was simply too weak and they didn’t come often enough. Not for her family. Not for mother. Not for Oma. Not for her. She was young but it wasn’t truly enough.

Both women turn their heads when the beads covering the doorway make soft clinks and chimes as they’re pushed aside. An older woman walking in quietly on bare feet. She was in her late forties but any would think she was nearer to seventy due to the gray-streaked orange hair and worn skin. She had the hands and feet of someone who spent their time tending to plants and preparing herbs entirely by hand. Though her cloak and bird mask disguise her age and gender. She approaches the bedside, grabbing up the lady’s wrist and dangling a small berry over top. Her sad smile pulling at aged skin can be felt even if it can’t be seen, “my apologies my sweet one, it would seem your skin is no longer receptive. There is little any, living or dead, can do now”.

“I suspected as much. It is what it is”.

Both adults turn to the young girl. The bedridden women speaking softly yet almost chastising, “Sihlenta”.

The girl puts her chin on her knees, “I know”. She knows that traditionally she’s not old enough. That she hasn’t learned how to plant Spleemi the right way yet. Or how to mix Deaths Nip in a way the dead found the most pleasing. But her mother wanted to be around, wanted to watch and support her. Support her on the day that would be the last that anyone would see her bare face. When she got her mask and cloak, that all those of her heritage wore. She can’t remember what her mother's face looked like, and she’d never seen her Oma’s.

Looking to her Oma, she’s not surprised to see her holding up a folded cloak. She knows not doing this would only hurt her mother, her mother that likely didn’t even have an hour of life left in her. So she nods softly, putting the bundle of herbs onto the wicker table next to her mother's bed and the place she’ll probably die. Standing and looking up to her Oma, “I... know I’m not truly ready or that I even really want to but”, she fiddles with the browning tips of her hair, “it’s what must be. The way we are”.

The older woman nods softly herself, “Letomanes is an unkind fate, my little one. I am walking proof we can live a life, but it is hardly one lived gently or free of suffering”. The young girl nods back and lowers her head, she could already feel the ache beginning in her joints; aches that she knows will spread through her bones over time. That breathing will one day make her ribs ache. That her teeth will burn and ache at any food with even the slightest of a rough texture. That she won’t be able to sleep comfortably as her spine, arms, and ribs will scream over the pressure.

The older woman does not need to see the youngers face to see her sadness. So often did people forget their bodies showed their insides as much as their faces did. Unfolding the cloak and draping around the young girl’s shoulders, “sih~anne~tïïa, though young and still blooming, here you are home and millions of flower petals fall covering your footprints before you. However, your time of youth is at its end, changing with the season's sway. To change and not fade away. To make sure that you shall not be lost. For you we welcome with rain-soaked cloth”, buttoning the cloak closed.

The young girl looks up and makes herself smile faintly, turning to her mother as her Oma passes a birds mask to her and helps her to sit up. The mother cups her cheeks and rubs her thumbs across those cheeks, “shëa~lent, keep your dew-berry eyes and unripened apple lips. I am the shadow behind you offering you this helping hand, though bless you not be the next maiden in row. My flower may be dead, but I’ll scatter my petals down your road to hope it never ends. I’ll love you and I hope you’ll understand. Oh sweet as honey, your garden will grow even if there is where I’ll never go. Answer with laughter and may ye be free under birds wing”.

“I don’t want you to go”.

“I know, and for that I apologise”, she slips the birds mask over the younger girl’s face, clasping it around the back of her head. Both mother and Oma grabbing one side of the cloak's hood to pull it up, covering the young girl’s fox orange hair.

Not half an hour later Oma and daughter watch as the woman’s ribs rattle and her eyes leak green. Both moving to help her lay back down, the younger moving clumsily under the heavy cloak. All three feel comforted and eased slightly as a young beautiful muse floats in dancing on the air. Humming softly and moving to grab the bedridden woman’s hands. The eldest laughs lightly, “it would seem the muses have claimed you. You are to be a muse, my dear Remiana”. None of the women pay any mind to the aromas of the herbs in their masks beaks reacting to the presence of one of the dead.

“I think I’m quite fine with that”.

The muse hums and giggles, sounding like small bells on the wind. Moving her face into the face/mask of the young girl, “I’m here, don’t you fear. Little one. But rumours on the wind I bring, they sing of a mortal town to become of two worlds. Life and death with hands enjoined. Brave it will you?”, and tilts her head.

The eldest laughs slightly, “ah”, looking to the youngest, “any trip is far beyond what I can take. But you, our little one, that is a path you could take”.

The muse hums yet again, crossing her legs and moving to cradle the bedridden woman’s head in her lap, “Amity Park we hear it called, though not yet a place that dead love, things will change in time we hear”.

The young girl frowns a little but says nothing, everyone looking to the bed at rattled wheezing. Both women grabbing Remiana’s hands as she shudders. The muse humming and patting at her hair. Her breathing in shakily, “I valued, nothing more, more than, you two”. Both women pat her hands, doing their best to ignore the choking sounds.

-

A young girl sits in a garden of flowers, cloak bunched up and a bird mask reminiscent of a plague doctors with setting sunlight highlighting its angles. A much older woman walking barefoot up behind her, wind blowing her cloak in the air faintly, “so, what are you going to do, little mystic who weaves”.

The young girl looks up at the sky, watching the light gray clouds moving across it, both women ignoring the scent of death wafting off the house behind them. She plucks off a small white bell-shaped flower absently, a Grave Seer, before standing. “I will find it, this land of life and death, and maybe then...”, turning her head to look back to the elder woman, “maybe then I’ll be free”.

The elder woman nods, walking up and handing her a pouch. Putting a hand on the younger girl’s masks beak, “then may these keep you well, and may we meet again under the cherry trees after a time long from now. Practice plenty and do not turn your nose up at any bonds you may find”.

The young girl nods, hugging her Oma before turning away and taking off running. She knows her time will be short, but she’s got a town to find. A place ripe with the dead that will chase away her aches and pains. To save her from the fate of her heritage. Even if to here she’ll likely never return, you can’t return to the past. So she’ll move on with life and live, and then... then she’ll never hesitate again. Gently she hopes that if the answer she’s looking for exists where she wanders then the world will let her see it bloom. Not knowing yet the years it will take to arrive nor the young half-dead boy she’ll find in a town that straddles the line of life and death just as much as one muse, and many others she’ll meet along the way, said it did.

End.

[ave-aria]

Maddie: Alright. We have to get ready. Jack, do you have the experimental ghost poison we synthesized in the lab?

Jack: The poison?

Jack: Oh! Right. The poison.

Jack: The poison for Phantom.

Jack: The poison chosen specifically to waste Phantom.

Jack: Phantom's poison.

Maddie: ...

Jack: ...

Jack: ...that poison?

Maddie: YES, that poison!

Jack: [flips bottle of blood blossom extract] got it right here.