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willowbleedsonpaper · 4 years ago

Text

Tears Of Guilt

Sirius Black x Sister!Reader (Adopted), Regulus Black x Sister!Reader

W.C. : 2490

Warnings: This is pure angst, character death.

“Sit.” ordered Walburga, her voice snapping at you when you took more than a second to get to the chair next to Regulus. You could hear the clicking of her heels on the wooden floor behind you and if you focused enough, you could hear her thoughts, the words boiling inside her head as she abruptly stopped next to you “Where is he?” she said sharply, her eyes burning holes at the top of your head as you stared blankly at the wall across from the table.

“I don’t know.” you muttered, voice dead as you kept your gaze on one specific spot, avoiding her eyes at all cost.

She scoffed lowly, her pacing behind you resuming once again “Don’t lie to me, Y/N.” she threatened “His belongings are gone, his room is empty. Where. did. he. go?” she asked, leaning her body between you and Regulus as she turned her face to you, her hand carefully caressing your cheeks before she gripped your chin and forced your face to look at her “Stop protecting Sirius or it will be worse for you my child.” she said, staring directly into your eyes as she let go of your face, red marks in both your cheeks from her tight hold.

You swallowed hard, returning your face to the portrait you used as an anchor. “I haven’t seen him in weeks, let alone talked to him.” you told her, feeling the warmth of Regulus’ hand taking hold of yours under the table, a reassuring squeeze coming from him as you kept a dead gaze in your face.

“You’re lucky your mother was a dear friend of mine.” she hissed, standing in the middle of both chairs, just inches away from your hold onto Regulus hand “If it was up to me I wouldn’t have put up with you all this years.” Tears started burning in your eyes, the rapid blinking keeping them at bay as you tighten your grip in Regulus hand.

Of course you knew where Sirius was. Until a month ago he spoke to you like you were best friends, and in a sense you were. The sister he never wanted but ended up loving more than he knew he could love someone. But not enough to take her and his brother with him, to stick together like they had promised one another. He had made his choice and now it was your turn.

“I can only assume he is with one of his friends.” you spoke after what felt like an eternity in silence, Regulus taking a hesitant glance at you and the tear that rolled down your cheek. “Probably at the Potter’s.” you mumbled, missing the grin spreading over your guardian's face as she dismissed the both of you.

“Why did you do that?” Regulus said, barely keeping his own emotions at bay as he carefully closed the door of your room.

You sat down on your bed, patting the space next to you for him to take “It’s just you and me now.” you told him, lifting your face with unshed tears in your eyes “Sirius made his choice and now we have to do the same.” you told him.

“Mom’s going to kill him.” he told you, taking a shaky breath as soon as the words left his mouth.

You only nodded, taking him into your arms as you rubbed his back enough to ease his breathing “He killed us when he left.” you murmured in his ear “Always remember to fight fire with fire, Regulus. It’s the only way you’ll survive.”

********************************************************************

It was your last year at Hogwarts. One month and you would be thrust into the life of a full time Death Eater, the mar in your left forearm marking you for eternity to a path you couldn’t escape. And neither could Regulus.

“You were always more clever than I was.” you told him, watching as he filled page after page of parchment with information, not even giving it a second thought as he knew exactly the words he needed to plasm the knowledge in the paper.

He shook his head, dipping the quill in the pot of ink as he continued his assignment, the small smile in his face going unnoticed by everyone but you “It’s nothing.” he said “You taught me well.”

Just as you were about to answer the quiet atmosphere in the common room was disrupted. Your feet instantly bringing you up as the laughs died down as they saw you standing in the middle of the room “What are you doing here, Sirius?” you asked sharply, his grin widening as he elbowed his friends.

They all laughed loudly, your eyes falling to the flasks in their hands as you slowly but surely pulled your wand from your sleeve, Regulus walking to your side in the same stance.

“You sound just like mom.” Sirius said, the words dragged by his tongue as they all erupted in laughter once more. “Finally turned into her? Are you ready to step into your role as the new matriarch of the ancient family Black?” he mocked, saluting you as he stood straight, James and Peter imitating him as your grip tightened around your wand.

“What do you want?” you asked through gritted teeth, your arm shaking with rage as you raised your wand at them.

Remus was the only one who seemed to sober up instantly, his face falling as he reached for his giggling friends “Let’s go.” he murmured, all of them turning to you at the look in his friend’s face.

You weren’t the only one with your wand up now, Regulus stepping in front of you with a firm hand raised. The look in his eyes cold as he walked towards his brother “You think it is funny?” he asked him “You managed to escape and now we’re the enemy?” he spat the words, the Marauders now ready to duel.

“It appears we all have chosen our sides.” James said, eyes trailing down to Regulus arm, his sleeves rolled up leaving his mark out in the open.

“Stay out of it, Potter!” Regulus’ hissed, not once moving his eyes from Sirius. “Your sister asked you a question. Or have you forgotten that too, Sirius?”

“No death eater is family of mine.” Sirius grumbled under his breath, his words cutting deep into your heart as you reached for Regulus, but it was little too late.

The air buzzed with energy as Regulus shot spell after spell, Sirius and James barely keeping up with him as they blocked his attacks. You watched frozen in place, only snapping out of your trance when Remus tried to intervene with Peter at his side. Flashes of light left the tips of your wands, the possibility of someone finding you slim as it was the Slytherin room in the middle of the night. Only the Marauders being stupid enough to go there at such an hour.

It was only when Regulus stumbled back that your concentration broke, a spell hitting you on the chest as you feel back. Your face shot up in rage, reaching for your wand on the carpet as you pointed directly at James “Stupefy!” you shouted, hitting him as his body flew across the room, leaving you a clear path to Sirius.

Your movements were messy, the spells rolling off your tongue naturally as you cornered him against the wall, the tip of your wand against his throat when the only sound that could be heard was your heavy breathing.

Sirius did nothing as he waited for the spell to come out of your lips, his eyes boring deeply into your wild ones as he held his breath.

“If I see you, any of you,” you yelled, motioning your head around the room “anywhere near Regulus, I won’t be so forgiving. Do you understand?” you asked.

Lowering your wand he ran straight towards James, supporting his body against yours as they made their way out of the Slytherin common room. Not once glancing back, not another word spoken as his footsteps died in the silence of the night.

“He really hates us, doesn’t he?” Regulus asked you, straightening his clothes as he rolled his sleeves down.

“I told you before.” you said, reaching for his arm “This is not who we are, but how we survive.” you took his right hand into your left one, just like the day you both received your dark mark. Together, hand in hand.

You walked inside the room where many of the close followers of the dark lord waited for you two. Dressed in your best clothing, your mother announced your arrival with a grin in her face.

Regulus had a stoic face, not an emotion breaking to the surface as he held your hand. You on the other hand were putting up a show , a proud smirk on your face as you lifted both your arms in the air, the dark marks fresh in your young skin as your new family clapped and cheered in rejoice. Two pureblood children turned to man and woman to the dark lord’s will.

No one would ever dared doubt the both of you now.

********************************************************************

It had been years of enduring and obeying the dark lord’s commands, but your work had paid off greatly. Regulus had found his weakness and was in the path of saving the wizarding world.

You couldn’t have been prouder of him, offering himself to do the job as you played your part as his alibi. You were on your way to becoming legends.

The sound of light footsteps caught your attention as you paced in the kitchen, your mother gone for the day as you “dealt” with the house. You rushed to the hall, stumbling on the furniture there as a smile was drawn on your face “Regulus?” you called, as you turned both sides “Reg?!” you called again, eyes falling lower to the floor. “Kreacher, where is Regulus?” you asked, your heart beating faster as you felt your breath get caught in your throat as he shook his head. You left out a sob, falling to your knees as you clutched your stomach.

Loud sobs and cries left your mouth as you looked up to the elf “Where is my brother?” you asked in a whisper, the tears falling freely down your cheeks.

“Kreacher did everything he could.” he told you slowly “Master Regulus is dead, Mistress.”

“No, no…” you said in between sobs, resting your back against the wall as you choked in between sobs “NO, HE’S NOT DEAD!” you screamed, hitting the floor with your fists until blood stained the wood. Your cries echoing through the empty house until they could no longer be heard.

********************************************************************

You had begged Kreacher to take you back to the place he last saw Regulus, with no luck. His loyalty to your brother more than his fear of you. That’s how you found yourself all alone, standing over an empty grave with no one but the hope that he was listening to you.

“It should have been me.” you murmured, holding your umbrella close to you as the rain became heavier “Why did I let you go on your own?” you sobbed, using the end of your sleeve to clean your tears.

It had been a month since Kreacher arrived all alone that day, one month since you had taken your belongings and left the house you had grown to call home, leaving it empty for Walburga to find. You had become the one thing you never wanted to be, the one person you promised you would never forgive. The person walking up to you with his own tears.

“Y/N.” he called, making your entire body tense before you slowly turned his way.

“Leave.” you spat, storming his way as he stumbled back at your response “Get out of my sight.” you glared daggers at him, roaming your eyes all over his body.

“He was my brother too.” he told you shakily, looking over your shoulder at the newest grave in the place.

“So now we’re family again.” you said with a sardonic look in your face “He still had the mark in his arm, so do I.” you pulled your sleeve up, thrusting your arm in his face as he closed his eyes shut. Your arm dropping like dead weight at your side, never bothering to cover it again.

“I had to get out of there.” he tried to explain “You don’t know what it was like for me.”

“You think we lived a fairy tale? The perfect life?” you asked in disbelief.

“It was easier for you.”

“Merlin, Sirius. We had to become Death Eaters, I had to take care of Regulus, He had to kill!” you shouted, pointing angrily at the grave as you looked for his eyes.

“But of course, I’m sure being a Gryffindor was a torture, running to the Potter’s and living the dream, forgetting you even had a family.”

“It wasn’t like that and you know it!” he snapped, his eyes turning to you as tears threatened to spill at any moment.

“Oh no!” you said with a breathless laugh, shaking your head as you poked his chest “You don’t get to cry for him.”

“He is more my brother than he is yours.” he said bitterly, the pain crossing your face making him regret his words instantly, but it was too late for that.

“Then where were you the past four years, Sirius?!” you screamed “Why did you leave when I told you I had a plan to get us all out of that nightmare? Huh?” you asked in tears, seeing him frozen in place and just as you had imagined all this time: without an answer.

“I thought…” he stuttered, a rare sight in him as you stood there expectant of his answer, only for his words to die down.

“You didn’t think, Sirius.” you told him with a sigh “And if you did you only thought of yourself, as usual.” you said bitterly “We could have left that place together, but you had to be your selfish self and ruin everything for Regulus. I could have left,” you said placing a hand in your chest “But I stayed for him. And you left for yourself.”

“I’m sorry.” he mumbled after a long minute of silence, a tear dropping from his lashes on his cheek.

You walked to stand beside him, leaning to his side “I want you to drown in tears of guilt.” you whispered in his ear, glancing slowly to his face. You met his eyes before your gaze fell on the tear resting against his skin. “I want you to choke on your own tears as you realize you have no right to be here.” you said, brushing your thumb over the tear rolling down his face “You don’t get to cry, Sirius.”

TAGS:

Skittles @fanficflaneuse @nebulablakemurphy @lupins-sweater @accio-rogers @gloriousrebelrunaway @slytherinprincess03 @not-today-anxiety @strawberriesonsummer @infinity1o1 @haphazardhufflepuff @deafgirltingz @summer-writes @herstory-study @peeves-a-legend

#sirius black #young sirius black #regulus black #sirius x sister!reader #regulus x sister!reader #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction

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numbaoneflaya · 3 years ago

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Can I get a list of all ur ocs?

Well anon youve done it, you made me make a list of all my major OCS in one place. I hope your happy with yourself. Under the cut for obvious reasons, may link in my blog desc later.

Modern/BTD verse!!

Jilly- Ferret beastkin little creature, was recently turned into a werewolf by vincent as well so she's running around on full moons in a wereferret wolf hybrid creature form. Chaotic and friendly and wants to be everyone's bestie. She has the most energy in the world and is very kind hearted. Banned from most Claires for stealing and from one Home Depot for climbing the shelves. Prone to living life with rose colored glasses on and seeing the best in everything/everything even when there's nothing there. Socialization is a must for her and is why being basemented/kidnapped broke her psych so quickly and developed severe stockholm. Sometimes overly talkative/enthusiastic and can scare people off. Even if she sees someone shes decided shes friends with be noticeably 'evil', will convince herself it must be for some reason/her fault and ignore it.

Ciggy- Undead punk still learning to harness his powers to interact with the world as a ghost. Was sacrificed by a cult he joined for free concert tickets and to get laid. Likes to cause problems on purpose both pre and prior death and he's not above possessing someone once he learns how to. Was called Rooster in high school before he dropped out because he's loud, obnoxious and always screaming. And also has bright red dyed hair. Looking 4 ways to become less ghosty bcs he wants to be able to help raise his infant daughter, whom he died before he could meet. Bit annoying and in your face, likes poking at bruises, his or others. Kind of a sad heart seeking attention through volume and persistence.

Mike: Vampire loser! Sells drugs and lives at raves. Was turned when she was attacked by a coked out vampire (whom she supplied the product to) and has major scarring on her face and chest. Needs a somewhat constant influx of blood so shell sometimes take victims back to her place and chain them up, slowly draining them over time. Feels bad (ish) about it tho so it is possible to survive her if you are nice and or interesting enough. Kind of desperate for a friend and for love. Is a stalker. If she likes you enough/finds you interesting, she might just appear in your house one night and start rummaging through your fridge like nothing is wrong and youve been besties for years. Its best to indulge her and be friendly, otherwise she could turn violent quickly if her feelings are hurt.

Kilaine- Regular human woman, but fucked up. Born and raised by an elite waspy society she had an interest in the human body and pain tolerance since she was young. Quickly learned that these traits were socially unacceptable in most professions, so she became a doctor. The only family she cared about was her younger sister who she lost in a car accident, where they were flipped over and trapped inside while it was afire. While her sister burned up in front of her Kilaine only lost her left arm and had major burns on her body. This tipped her descent into sadism and she is now madly obsessed with bringing her sister back no matter the cost. Rude and offstandish, clinical.

Dragon age verse!

Thurwen- My main Hero of Ferelden with a bad temper and a heart of gold. City elf from the Denerim Alienage, 18 at the start of origins. She's a reaver warrior with a lot of pent up rage which sometimes scares others when she lets it out in battle. Over the years she's grown less moody as she's had to take the role of Commander. Crude sense of humor and violent impulses, very sensitive to the plights of others and tries often to help. Never seen crying in public but only cries to herself at night- major martyr and hanged man complex.

Caz- My circle mage elf inquisitor who was an apostate before the conclave. Blood magic, but make it sneaky. Wary of strangers and new faces, always dealing with the impulse to flee/find a high vantage point. Endless curiosity about the unknown/ the forbidden/ naughty, was supposed to be made tranquil for it but she escaped. Kind of a little creature as well, lived on her own for a while as an apostate in the woods, filed her teeth down to sharp ends to make herself look more intimidating (shes 5 ft tall) and less cute (her elf ears are huge and expressive, which shes embarrassed about)

Dag and Thagna- Carta twins! Professional lyrium smugglers since birth pretty much. Raised casteless in dust town and had to work their way up the chain of command by themselves. Dag is the brother, Thagna the sister. Their father traded them to the carta for drinking money and their mom died in childbirth so they have somewhat of a codependent relationship. Both charismatic and calculating, friendly and agreeable but won't hesitate to put a dagger in your back. Hard to pin down morally or physically, squirrelly bastards.

Reila: Dalish elf who works for the inquisition/ is the inquisitor in some aus. She has an extreme fixation on elvhen history and rebuilding what they have lost. Not a people person, prefers solitude. Takes some time to warm up to shemhlen as she has a hard history with them. Good friends with Caz, who recruited her in the first place. Doesn't understand very many social cues and finds societal expectations limiting and frustrating. Fondness for halla and hooved animals, which she finds graceful.

Elder scrolls verse!

Valkya: Near seven foot nord woman whos over a thousand years old by the events of skyrim. Tall and buff, two handed warrior and compulsive hero there to bask in the spotlight save the day. She was killed at the start of the events of Elder scrolls online and had her soul ripped out and sent to coldharbor and she's just been a pain in the ass about it since then. Her body can physically die and will not regrow pieces. Her soul however will escape and teleport to the nearest source of power where her body will regrow from an aetherial plasm until its whole again. Loud and brash, friendly and jovial. Actually pretty keen especially after centuries of life but prefers to play dumb as it makes people underestimate her. Plus, she really does enjoy mud wrestling and drinking contests and acting generally like a rambunctious frat boy. Ha developed a bit of a substance problem and a problem with acting out, as after being alive so long she would turn to anything to dull the ache inside of her that never goes away.

Espira- My Dragonborn! Redguard from Hammerfell who was briefly in the Ash’abah due to killing undead while protecting her parents water farm as a child. Ran away from them after years and went to Cyrodille, then to Skyrim and was caught crossing the border. Reserved, kind and soft spoken, she's a sword and shield warrior who's committed herself to doing good in the world by helping others. Dislikes killing and anything messy but believes it is often necessary in order to protect the weak. She blacksmiths often to save money on the upkeep of her own equipment, and takes up metal jewelry working as a hobby with the excess material. Prone to trusting others too much and giving too many second chances, as shes always looking for ways to make even the most hardened criminal a second look at life.

Riley- Espiras little brother who she locked in the wardrobe during the event of the water farm attack. In preventing him from doing violence against the undead she kept him from being conscripted into the Ash’abah. He's way more chaotic than his sister, and suffers from a case of little sibling syndrome in which he will often pester/poke at people just to get a rise out of them. Still kind hearted as his sister, he tries to hide it because he believes that the world is a cruel place and the cruel survive. Despite that belief he is often still unable to force himself to be cruel/careless, only making a show of it so that others leave him alone and don't see that he's very sensitive and emotional. Deaf in one ear due to a magic mishap in his youth, he trained and enchanted his most beloved rats to live for years and sit on his shoulder, alerting him to noises he would not otherwise notice.

Felria: Evil vamp :/ chaotic evil dunmer necromancer. Small and devilish and likes dead bodies too much. Manipulative and cunning, she loves acting. She's a trained assassin for the dark brotherhood and is the speaker. Likes dressing up for missions and wearing disguises like its all a play. Loves toying with people more than she loves killing them, will act in ways that cause as much trauma as possible for other people just for fun and she finds the reactions interesting. Considers herself too far removed from most people's perception of morality and of her so it's hard for her to trust someone or see them as worthy of knowing her. Finds the psychology of grief and fear to be interesting and wants to study them first hand. The hero of kvatch.

Herren: Fifty something year old rat woman looking for something to keep her going. Ran away from her wealthy family in her youth when they wanted her to take charge of the household, instead became an infamous jewel thief and swashbuckler. Spent most of her life traveling and stealing and double dealing. She's smarmy and sarcastic, a serial romancer of the highest caliber. Bit of a show off and a hedonist, always looking for the next good party or new product to snort. Her family died off due to the hard times she wasn't there for and she keeps looking for bigger and bigger heists to fill her appetite as she's chronically bored and lonely, though wont accept intimacy and will scoff at it out of the belief she doesn't deserve it. Irresponsible and selfish, lonely and terrified of any sort of commitment. Fun to party with though!

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phantomphangphucker · 4 years ago

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Ectober Day 7: Hero - But It’s Not Funny

*a sequel to Realities Little Joke For Infinity* Highly recommend reading that first but it’s not exactly necessary.

Tony has a bad habit of adopting strays. Particularly the stupidly heroic kind that were too reckless and too selfless for their own good. So of course he wasn’t going to just ignore the random teen that literally saved the universe only to disappear into the future. Even if said teen was somewhat dead and the only hero left in a world and time that seriously needed more.

Tony grins as he finally gets the connection to work, making his face appear on the strange future teens laptop; or whatever tech people used in whatever time this kid’s in. Going a bit wide-eyed and wheezing when the first thing he sees is Phantom -in alien PJ’s, because of course the first thing he sees on the kid who showed up in a t-shirt and jeans to an active warzone is pjs- shrieking and jumping a foot off the ground while holding a full pot off coffee; which predictably sends the contents of said coffee pot flying into the air and splattering all over the teens face and floor.

Phantom looks to the screen slowly, with steaming coffee dripping off his chin, hair and eyelashes, “seriously?”.

At that Tony can’t help but bend over laughing. Straightening up and looking at the coffee pot, “what were you even doing walking around with a full coffee pot?”.

“Well I was going to drink it. But now it’s as empty as my wallet”, Phantom looks down at the pot and grumbles, “ya know what? Fuck it. I’m still gonna drink it”, then pointing his finger around and telekinetically making all the droplets of coffee on him and the floor float back into the pot.

Tony watches, a little disgusted, as the kid practically takes a full swing of the previously spilled coffee, shrugs, and sits down by his own screen; feet clearly pulled up onto the chair seat as well and coffee pot cradled between his knees and chest. Tony eyeballs the coffee pot, “you’re really going to drink that huh?”.

Phantom shrugs, “I know what’s on my floor”, looks down at the carpet and shrugs again while muttering, “a Zone damned biohazard of blood n’ ‘plasm that’s what. Oh!”, eyes widening a little, “and a sock with a questionable stain”, looking back to the screen, “‘s not like I can get sick anyway. I could drink this shit outta a radioactive waste barrel and be fine. Prob’ taste like shit tho”.

Tony wheezes both amused and pained, “please don’t kid”, that... that would definitely make him gag.

Phantom chuckles, “don’t intend to”.

The two sit in silence for a bit. Tony taking in the teens appearance. There’s hand-shaped bruising coating his neck, one of his fingers is clearly broken, and there’s a pencil-sized hole going clean through the other hands palm. Phantom doesn’t even seem to care about the state of his body, considering how relaxed he seems and the PJ’s. Plus, no way would Tony be carrying anything, including a full pot of coffee, with his hands in the state Phantom’s are.

Phantom yawns, Tony noticing that he’s missing more than a handful of teeth, before Phantom asks, “so...why’s the past tin can face-timing my laptop?”.

Tony puts on a smile, so it was a laptop. Neat. “future or not, I’ve adopted you as one of my brats. I remember you saying there wasn’t superheroes in your age”, waving his hand around, “no older generation to guide the newer. Well you're getting the older generation now”, shrugging and smiling more genuinely, “plus underroos won’t stop talking about you”. Understatement of the century, Peter was thrilled to meet another teen hero, and wouldn’t stop going on about what powers he might have or if he even has anyone to support him. The latter Tony cares about more.

Phantom wheezes, “whom the fuck is ‘underroos��?”, shaking his head, “so ya wanna be my mentor of sorts and help me blast my foes from the past?”.

Tony smirks and nods, this kid’s humour sure was something else, “exactly. And you met before, the kid? Peter?”. Sure it had been a few months but he couldn’t have seriously just forgotten?

Phantom tilts his head, “the red and blue teenager?”.

Tony grins, “you got it, kid”, eyeing the teen's hands again, “your hands gonna be fine?”.

Phantom waves one hand around, chugging more coffee, “eh don’t worry your metal ass about it. I heal like crazy”, stretching his feet out and resting them on the desk, “I’m just putting it off a while on my hands ‘cause the broken ribs and missing bits of spine are kinda more important ya know?”.

Tony rubs his temples, “Jesus Christ”, just how much damage can this teen sustain? That kind of injury should kill a person.

Phantom laughs, probably at Tony’s pained expression, “don’t worry about that either! Not like I can die twice! Haha!”.

Tony looks back to the screen at that, feeling a bit more serious, “yeah, Thanos said something like that. That you were dead but alive. And you confirmed it. What did he even mean?”.

Phantom purses his lips, “well I could explain but that also could mess with the time stream and could result in some weird immoral science crap”. Tony doesn’t get a chance to comment on that as Phantom turns his head to the side and whines exaggeratedly at the thin air, opening his mouth as wide as looks physically possible, maybe even past that, “tiiiiiiime dadddddddyyyyyyy, will this break the time stream? Your problem child has a proooooobleeeeeeem”.

Tony wheezes into his hands, “Christ”, and stares dumbfounded as a giant hourglass with purple sand comes out of nowhere and smacks the teen in the face, making Phantom fall out of the chair with a thud.

Phantom groans and begins laughing, righting himself and spinning the hourglass around, pointing the bottom of it at the screen, it reading ‘you’re fine’. Tony is so not reading into that, kid had someone like Strange in his corner. Phantom sits back down, lifting up the hourglass like it’s a weight, “Kay Kay Kay, so I’m a halfa right? Unique creature, that’s what I am. A fucked up little science project gone wrong, or right. Your choice. My folks screwed up in the lab and boom!”, he sticks his limbs out comically before righting himself and catching the coffee pot he effectively tossed in the air, “a whack-a-mole of electricity and a wormhole decided to stop my tiny little heart. Also restarted it too though! So it’s cool”, tilting his head, “wait... didn’t I already explain this?”.

Tony sighs, “sort of. We were in the middle of a war”.

Phantom quirks an eyebrow, “your point? That was, like, the bloody third one I’ve been in”, rolling his hand around, “first there was the High Ghost King, his fifty-thousand odd skeletons, and objects of near-unlimited power. The alternate future where an evil me single-handedly annihilated humanity, talk about traumatising having to fight yourself literally”, tilting his head, “and no clue if the plant guy with his army of mind-controlled people and plants or the sleep guy with his army of Walkers, counted as ‘wars’. And eh!”, snapping his fingers, “there was that guy I stole the Reality Gauntlet from! He took over the planet and turned people into clowns and shit. So that might be big enough to count as a war, even if it was just him versus me. But then the tornado guy caused storms all over the planet too so would that count then too?”, shrugging, “eh whatever. I’m sticking with three. Pariah would have eventually destroyed the Zone, which woulda ended the universe. Dan was actively on his way to ending all life in the universe, probably all death too. And grape guy, Thanos, was about to annihilate half the life in the universe which honestly would just end all life eventually... maybe”.

Tony stares at the kid before wheezing some more and falling backwards, “Christ”, righting himself and his chair, “there is something seriously wrong with your life. Like, seriously wrong”. Apparently the future was a freaking mess and fixing its crap was all on one random teen's shoulders. All because the kid died, which somehow gave him superpowers, and decided to make something good out of that death. Talk about unfair. And messed up. Really messed up. At least Tony had his team and they had each other, “please tell me you have some kind of support?”.

Phantom grins and nods eagerly, “got my guy in the chair techy, he destroyed a sataliget once! My rich activist goth, she sued one of my enemies into oblivion. And a ghost hunter who only sometimes tries to murder me and got a nanobot supersuit running through her veins; she can lowkey kick my ass if I hold back enough to avoid accidentally killing the living”, wagging his finger at the screen and getting really close, “us dead fucks are borderline indestructible immortals, halfas even more so”, leaning back and shrugging, “can still die, or fade it’s called for the spookies, though. Well, most can anyway. Timedaddy’s straight-up immortal. But if they died then, well, then the universe would literally implode from the time-stream collapsing”, and makes a little explosion sound and motion with his hands. Oh fuck, the kid was really just a damn kid. And from the sounds of it, his entire support was three teenagers. Ah Hell. Oh and some time being, ghost?, that just left him to his own devices.

Tony shakes his head, “you know what? That doesn’t actually make me feel any better”.

Phantom shrugs, drinks, swishes the coffee around, “don’t know what to tell you, man, my entire existence is pretty fucked up. My archenemy is my uncle, wants to adopt me, and gave me his inheritance. My girlfriend has a solid murder boner for me. My parents get giddy at the idea of dissecting me and are actually worse about that the odd time they’ve been successful. The kids’ at school think I’m their personal punching bag. The government would love to shoot me full of missiles and bombs. Pretty sure my sis is just using me for her research paper on ghost psychology or whatever. And my friendships are pretty much based on the three of us just being really weird”.

Tony groans, this kid probably needed more help and support that literally any other teen or hero. “ClockPops is great though. We play chess”,

Tony blinks, mentally pausing, “you... play chess? Seriously?”, this kid seemed to have more issues sitting still than Peter did. Tony finds it hard to believe he can sit through even half a game of chess.

Phantom nods and grins, “yup. Switched the pieces out for shot-glasses once, it was great. One of my teachers is cool too. He crossdressed and pretended to be his own sister to get me to try harder on a test; it worked better than it had any right to”.

Tony blinks and breathes, “your life”, shaking his head because it sounded like the future was just pure insanity, “well now I’m here and while I’m a bit reckless and a recovering alcoholic, I’m not insane”.

Phantom chuckles, “I’ll probably prove to be a bit much for you then. I’d have to be stupid to not think I’m not at least marginally nuts. Nowhere near frootloopy but eh”.

Tony sighs, being self-aware enough -or just not giving enough of a damn- to recognise that was both impressive and depressing. Impressively depressing. “A few of us Avengers are trained doctors and psychologists outside of being experienced heroes. So kid? You’ve got all of us. At least for verbal advice. Strange already went and basically confirmed that paying you a visit wasn’t a smart idea”.

Phantom snorts and rolls his eyes, sipping a bit more before staring down the pot at the small amount left. Speaking into the pot, “oh yeah, I can just imagine all the time problems that could cause. I’m surprised this is okay”.

Tony can’t help chuckling at the slightly silly image, though he’s not sure why the kid doesn’t just drink what’s left, savouring it maybe? “Same. Strange looked at me like he was questioning my sanity. He’s probably going to pester you about the Clock guy you keep mentioning”, grumbling to the side, “I just hope Loki will keep his trickster mitts off you”. Because fuck, they’d probably get on like fire and more fire. Which yeah, slightly horrifying mental image. Probably inevitable though. Loki was already impressed, amused, and interested by Phantom and literally everything the teen did after showing up. Seriously though, who’s first thought when fighting giant spaceships with mouths and other horrifying shit, is to turn it into bouncy balls and worms??? And a smoothie for a reward? For effectively saving the universe? Kid was a trickster, dabbled in death kind of literally, and ‘gave precisely zero fucks’. Loki would have a field day and probably be a horrid influence. Though thinking of it, Phantom might be a bad influence on Loki. Loki generally had reasons for anything beyond mild messing with people. Phantom seemed more likely to just go buck wild purely because he could. Even if he seemingly had a heart of gold and more self-sacrificial bones in his body than actual bones. Seemed like his entire world/time belittled and beat the shit out of him, and yet he gladly got dissected and lost chunks of his freaking spine for them. At least he had the power to back it up.

Tony quirks an eyebrow at mist, or something, leaving the kid’s mouth before Phantom goes wide-eyed and Tony jerks as an actual literal swear-on-every-ironsuit-and-the-entire-tower cartoonish rocket smashes apart what he’s assuming is-was a window; sending glass flying everywhere... and Phantom flying off-screen, the coffee pot going up in the air and sounding like it smashed apart on the ground.

Tony can practically hear the glare in Phantom’s voice, “hey! You spilled my damn coffee!”, while a robot blasts into the room, breaking more glass and bits of wood from the looks of it.

The robot pauses, seems to frown apologetically before shrugging, “apologies whelp, but it is no matter! You won’t need such things after I skin you!“. Tony chokes and gags a little at that. “Also-”, pointing to where Phantom probably is, “-that was practically empty”. Tony then stares as Phantom comes back in screen -looking all black and white- only for the robot to shoot a missile at him immediately, Phantom just sort of shrugs and lets the missile hit him in the face. This kid seriously really didn’t give a damn about his own well being.

And not even seconds later Peter walks in out of the blue, face lighting up as he notices the screen and probably Phantom’s very noticeable self on it, and dashes over. Obviously noticing Phantom’s current situation, “oh Phantom! Kick his butt!”.

Phantom does a silly thumbs up at the screen and immediately gets stabbed in the shoulder. Tony watches in slight disbelief at the kid looking at the knife, saying, “oh! You got a new knife! Shit is the handle engraved?!?”. And the robot actually stops and replies with a wide grin, “it was a valentines gift from Ember! Impressive right?”.

Tony and Peter both blink at the fight effectively stopping as Phantom pulls out the knife and looks it over, seeming impressed, “actually yeah”, pointing almost aggressively at the robot, “you got her something too right? You’re fucking horrible for that man”.

The robot rolls Its eyes, how metal is moving that organically Tony has no clue. “Of course whelp, those drum sticks you can sing into”. Phantom facepalms and Peter actually shakes his head in disappointment. Though Tony agrees, that was awful. But who talks with their enemy -who wants to skin them for peat's sake!- about presents?

Phantom makes a tsk tsk sound, “you dumbass, she got you a sick-ass knife and you got her a knick-knack? Seriously?”, Phantom walks off-screen, the two watching as what they’re assuming is cash flys over to the robot and Phantom returns on screen, “go by some flowers to make up for that crappy present. And for the love of everything, don’t get roses”, waving his hand around, “that’s so cliche. Go with tulips and forget-me-nots”.

The robot inspects the cash before flying off-screen, presumably back out through the window It destroyed, “I will have your pelt next time, whelp!”.

Phantom chuckles, shouting back, “sure you will, Skulkie! Ghost Zones greatest hunter”. Tony and Peter can feel the sarcasm in that. “Also! No you don’t have to ask! An engraved knife would be a wicked Christmas Truce present!”. Tony sighs when a ball or something slams into Phantom’s stomach and sends him flying off-screen.

Peter leaning towards the camera, “woah! You okay?”.

Phantom’s laughter echoes horribly, “right as rain! Mind you, it’s not actually raining”, righting himself and pulling himself up into the previously knocked over chair, “don't mind Skulker, he’s a poacher and I’m rare. Practically one of a kind actually. A poachers dream prize. His girlfriend has a mind-controlling guitar and occasionally attempts at world domination”. A ghost-shaped guitar floats on-screen, Phantom grabbing it, “she gives awesome presents though”, and gives the guitar a good couple strums.

Peter’s eyes go wide, “you can play the guitar?!?”, tilting his head and asking what is in Tony’s opinion a more important question, “wait, your enemies buy you presents?”, tilting his head back, “oh man that’s awesome”. Tony just shakes his head with a smile, teenagers.

Phantom grins and strums some more before the guitar floats off-screen, “all my enemies do”, shrugging, “for the Christmas Truce and my death-day anyway. But that’s normal. A ghost culture thing. Even the prison warden guy, whose got special torture weapons set aside just for little ol’ me, buys me some kind of present. Heck! Even the eyeballs do! And they’ve repeatedly tried to assassinate me”.

Tony blinks, “kid, that makes no sense. But I’m glad they’re at least occasionally nice to you”. Hell knows Phantom needs someone to be nice to him.

Peter tilts his head, “what even is a ‘death-day’? Sounds dark”.

“Oh nothing special, just the day I died. Like a birthday! But for death! A real dead-ringer of a holiday!”, and laughs loudly before rolling his eyes at Tony, waving his hand around, “eh, I’m kinda their king so be kinda a dick move to not give me gifts on literally the two biggest holidays”.

Peter practically shrieks, “WHAT! You’re a king! Oh that is so cool”. Tony blinks, “you did mention something about being the guardian of death and Earth”.

Phantom laughs some more and finger-guns while winking at Peter, “yup! Very important, much power”, and grins stupidly before pointing to the air above his head; a green floating crown bursting to ‘life’ with green mist or something wafting off, followed by a black cape with a flaming white collar and large flaming green skulls pinning it closed with a shadowy chain.

Peter cheers immediately, then adding, “Loki would love this!”. Tony points at him, “no. I want to keep that one as far away as possible for as long as possible”.

Phantom snickers, “I have chronic bad luck, so don’t count on that working out for you. Spidey probably has better tastes than you though, Ironass”.

Tony shakes his head with a smile, “you like making up names for people huh?”.

Phantom grins meanly, “it pisses people off. Which makes them easier to hit”, and holds up a fist, smacking a hand on his bicep.

Tony can’t help but laugh at that, “you got a point kid!”, though that was stupid reckless, and effectively confirmed him being tricky. One of Tony’s tech toys starts beeping so she moves to check it out. Peter taking his place in the chair. Glancing back at Tony before looking back to the screen, “hey I’ve got a question, teen to teen. What’s being a hero to you? Why do you do it? It just... it seems like your only suffering for it. Waaaaay more than normal. And not making stuff much better for it”.

Phantom hums, spinning around in the chair, “a hero's not afraid to give their life, and anything worth doing is worth getting hurt for. I do it so others will not suffer. That is all. It doesn’t matter if things change or not. If there’s still unnecessary violence and pain, then it is still a hero's place to grab their fists around it and pulverise it to Hell and back. So long as cruelty exists I will be there to stand against it. With a smile on my face and a laugh in my heart and Core. Because there is no greater joy, no greater choice, no greater path, than self-sacrifice for the sake of another. Regardless who they are, what they are. Good or bad. Young or old. And whether they support you, or not”, Phantom nods, puts his hands behind his head, cape bunching up, and looks to the side, “and maybe someday things will change. I doubt it, but who knows. But if things do, if that kind of future is on the horizon, then I think I’ll rest. Until then, I’ll be here. Doing what I do and suffering immeasurably for it. Until the world doesn’t need ‘heroes’ anymore. Till it doesn’t need me anymore”, looking back at the screen, Tony having walked back over slowly though the kid doesn’t pay him any mind, “so I guess, being a hero to me is being the embodiment of a brighter future. To absorb the suffering of the world”, sticking a finger up, “like a paper towel!”. Tony chokes at that a little; though the kids' sudden seriousness and introspection was just as startling as last time.

Tony shakes his head, “you make it sound like you’re immortal, kid. Also, that’s what a team’s for, to help share the load. The burden. Sure your ideals are noble and probably needed, but you can’t help anyone if you destroy yourself”.

Phantom smiles but something about it seems almost... sad. “In a way, I am. A ghost can not die and a human can not fade. A ghost ceases to exist when they fade and a human when they die. Yet I can do neither. So that raises the question, what is ‘death’ for a halfa? An idea? An ideal? A reality? Or just pointless conjecture. And besides, for a ghost to fade they must satiate their Obsession. Be satisfied with the fulfilment of their existence”, pointing to his chest, “and my Obsession? Protection. To protect is a physical and mental need for me. And it will never be satisfied till there’s nothing left needing protection. And it is thus that I will always be here”, shrugging and chuckling, “likely anyway”.

Tony blinks, that... that changed a lot actually. It also explained a lot. This wasn’t some kid playing hero, or even an experienced hero just doing what’s right and their job. This wasn’t someone stuck in a bad way and doing what needed to be done purely because no one else could. This wasn’t someone trying to do good to make up for their sorted past. This was someone wise beyond their years, with little to no regard for themselves, and a living -half-living- embodiment of the word ‘hero’. Watching the teen turn his head at someone -likely his mom- shouting that supper was ready. There was a rocket-powered fistfight minutes ago and his parents’ didn’t even check on him. Christ that was depressing. But it also made him want to help this kid out all the more.

Phantom turns back to the screen, “whelp that’s my queue then I guess. And let me guess? This-” gesturing at the screen, “-is gonna become a thing? Which totally cool, little warning next time. And keep this mind, walking the straight and narrow takes more time than I got. I will steal, mildly harm, trick, and lie, as I see fit”.

Tony rolls his eyes, he’d expect no different from a kid basically left up to their own devices, “we’re all guilty of that, kid”. Phantom just laughs as the screen goes dark.

Tony leans back, well fuck, he wasn’t prepared for the kid to have shit that bad. And the King situation definitely threw him through a loop. He’ll have to talk to Thor -not Loki, dear God not Loki- about that. Being a hero and a king.

Regardless, they’re gonna help the weird spooky future kid out. And Peter absolutely liked Phantom, which hopefully wouldn’t be a bad thing. Hopefully. (And it wasn’t, if you ignored Peter carrying out more than a few pranks on Phantom’s behalf).

End.

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lesbian-lorkhan · 4 years ago

Text

How Far

How far would she go for Serana ?

Zahyla asked herself.

She asked herself as she rushed to Serana’s house, clutching a dagger so tightly her knuckles turned white. Shokul and Kovan were right behind her, maybe to guarantee she would get herself killed, maybe to stop her from going too far.

Zahyla wasn’t a fighter. She would get in some trouble along with her friends from time to time. All the times she had had to fight, because someone threatened her, or because that person was getting under her skin, or worse- someone was threatening Serana- all those times her fighting was a hurt and run situation. No time to punch, or kick, or deal well thought blows. No, everytime Zahyla fought, she ran straight to her opponent, clinging to their necks, scratching their faces, biting their ears. And then fuck off. Fuck off fast enough that they wouldn’t be able to strike back.

Now, now was different. Now Zahyla barged into Serana’s house, a feeling that something was wrong. She didn’t know what. She hadn’t known how to explain to Shokul and Kovan that something was very, very wrong. But that didn’t stop her. Jode and Jone protect her, because she would take on Lord Harkon if needed.

Nothing could have stopped Zahyla as she ran down the house’s corridor, straight for Serana’s room.

There was a single person in the entire house, it seemed, a poor guard just in front of the door. A vampire, Zahyla made a mental note as she charged.

He had no time to react. Her grip on the dagger was imperfect and her vision was painted red by rage, but nothing, not even a Daedric Prince, could have stopped Zahyla from throwing herself into the guard.

He had no time to react, as she thrusted the blade where she imagined would be his heart. Would that kill a vampire ? She had no idea. So, just to make sure, she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. With a strength she didn’t even know she had, Zahyla smashed his head against the floor, struggling to keep him down, pinning his arms with her knees.

She smashed it again, watching as he struggled less. Again. And again. And again, and again, and again, and again.

She smashed his head against the floor non-stop. Consumed by rage, she only stopped when a pool of blood formed around them. Her hands were painted crimson. So was her part. And it splattered against her shirt. Against the walls.

Vampires could bleed, it seemed.

Zahyla let go of the dead man, not bothering to clean her hands as she kicked the door handle until it gave in. She didn’t bother to clean her hands, as she found Serana crying, curled up on her bed. She didn’t bother to clean her hands as she rushed to her side, holding her close and tight.

How far would she go for Serana ?

She knew ,now, that she would go as far as killing someone.

Zahyla had never killed in her life til that day, but, as she found out, she would kill for Serana.

How far would she go for Serana ?

Zahyla knew now that she would, alone, fight a Daedric Prince, the very one who had caused Serana so much suffering.

The Vestige wanted to tell herself that she was doing this for everyone. That she was fighting for all of Tamriel, so the Planemeld couldn’t be completed. That she was fighting for the Five Companions, for the Dominion, for the Thieves Guild, for Shokul and Kovan, for everyone that was counting on her to stop the Prince of Schemes.

But she knew, she knew that she wasn’t doing it for some noble reason, she wasn’t fighting for the reason a hero would be fighting for.

No, she was fighting because since the night she barged into Serana’s room after having killed for the first time, Zahyla had held her dear friend for innumerous nights as nightmares made her wake screaming. Zahyla was fighting, because everytime Serana cried, screamed and struggled, her blood boiled with rage at Harkon, at Valeria- and at Molag Bal.

Zahyla knew, as she clutched her staff, gaze locked on the form of the Daedric Prince, how far she would go for Serana.

She charged, a fear inducing scream leaving her mouth as went straight for the Prince. She ducked from his blow, jumped on his back, and held the staff against his neck, choking the Prince with all her strength. Zahyla knew he wouldn’t simply die from this. She knew the fight would be very long and would still be very much alive after this was over.

However, Zahyla also knew that herself was immortal too. The Vestige wouldn’t simply die. She would succumb, her body would reform from Azure Plasm, and she would come back after him again. For every time she died and reformed, she would be back to banish or kill Molag Bal again, forcing him into the painful and slow process of reforming from the same matter as her.

How far would Zahyla go for Serana ?

Well.

She would go as far as fighting against a dangerous Daedric Prince, and making it her life mission to turn his eternal existence into hell.

She would go as far as searching all of Tamriel for years. From the second to fourth era, she never really stopped looking. Everytime vampires were mentioned, she would be there. From Greymoor in 2E, to Morthal in 4E, to finally the Dawnguard. For Lorkhaj’s sake, Zahyla couldn’t stand Isran, but the Danguard was her only current lead on finding Serana after thousands of years.

How far would Serana go for Zahyla ?

The vampire asked herself. She had no hope of waking up while Zahyla was still alive. She knew her friend as a Vestige. But what if she was asleep for so long it changed ? What if she was asleep for so long, death had finally managed to claim Zahyla’s stubborn soul, dragging her kicking and screaming to the afterlife.

Serana would never have expected to wake up thousands of years later, only to be held before her knees could even hit the ground. Held by Zahyla, who stared at her with tears in her eyes, her head shaved and two horns coming out of her head.

How far would Serana go ?

She would go as far as clutching a dagger on her hand until her already pale knuckles turned even paler, staring down at her father. And as Harkon makes a move to kill Zahyla- and oh, how could he ? How could a simple vampire lord manage to kill the Vestige, the Dovahkiin, the person who saved the world so many times back in the second era, who fought Molag Bal, who stopped other Daedric Princes, who helped Martin Septim stop Dagon. How could he even kill her ? He couldn't, but all Serana could think was that Zahyla was in danger, and nothing, not even her father would separate them again. They were finally together, and this time it was forever.

So she would cross a line. She would cross the line and snarl, let her hands turn into claws, let her face become beastlike and wings sprout from her back, using that cursed form her father forced into her, to slit his throat from ear to ear, so he wouldn’t lay a single finger on Zahyla.

Serana would go as far as killing her own father in a moment of rage because he dared to threaten Zahyla.

How far would Zahyla go for Serana ?

She didn’t know for sure.

As she ran her fingers through Serana’s soft black hair, Zahyla thought of all they had gone through. A kiss to her forehead, another to her nose, and their lips met.

She had lost count of how many years they had known each other. But she knew that today would mark the 45th year of their lives as a couple. And still, every kiss was as special as the first.

Zahyla killed people, daedra and monsters. She fought Daedric Princes, saved the world, and became incredibly powerful. She searched for years for a way to make sure Serana’s soul would never be in reach of Molag Bal’s disgusting claws.

She created her own little realm of Oblivion. A peaceful place to rest between adventures. She had ascended to somewhere between a Daedric Prince and an Aedra. Zahyla had, after much time, found a way to keep her beloved’s soul out of Coldharbour.

Zahyla had no idea how far she would go for Serana, her best friend and love of her life. For every time she asked herself that question, she would find out she would go even further than before.

#zahyla aldmeri #serana #dovahkiin x serana #dragonborn x serana #fanfic #Skyrim #tes #elder scrolls

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mirkysconcubinefiction · 4 years ago

Text

Quietly Jaded

Pairing: Omega!Peter/Alpha!Kingpin -- Omega!Peter\Avengers.

Summary: Peter Parker is an Omega masquerading as a Beta. A story of student loans, Avengers wanting Spiderman, Avengers wanting Peter Parker for his Omega status, and Peter just done with them. He doesn't need them - he already has an Alpha. Not the best Alpha but... Well... Fuck.

Tags: Major AU, ABO world, Heats/Ruts, Drug Abuse, Dark Personalities, College Peter, Dubious Consent, more added later.

Part 1

Peter hadn't always been the silent type. It grew on him with time. Losing friends, losing family, it was just easier to not talk than to talk - besides school there wasn't much to talk about.

Not like he could discuss being Spiderman?

With college dreams came college debt and even with grants and scholarships, student loans kept a roof over his head and food in his stomach.

Legally no one had to know his gender. He didn't act like most Omegas or Alphas so many people presumed he was a beta which wasn't a bother.

Betas were a safe median.

If Peter Parker was a Beta then so was Spiderman.

Hero's or vigilante's of justice weren't titles Omegas carried. Not that they were incapable but mostly the world was a shitty place and he was safer as a Beta than Omega.

No worries of being snatched.

No worries of his degree somehow being mishandled.

No worries of being treated like a damsel in need of a minder. Modern America, as progressive as any first world country, was still archaic in nature to a Omegas ability to cope outside of a Pack or Alphas knot.

It started as a curiosity or so that's how Peter saw it as. The Avengers paying attention to him was... Unneeded but the geek in him was intrigued.

First was Tony Stark aka Iron Man who appeared from nowhere one cool Autumn evening. It was a quiet night, the witching hour, a time where nothing really happened in the never quiet city. Sitting on a swing made from his webs he was eating a sandwich from his favorite bodega. The grandmother of seven never took no for an answer after he had saved her life and that of her children several times over the years and had even knitted him a scarf once.

Peter still had that scarf.

Mask pulled up to sit along the ridge of his nose he had sat staring out into the world with a gargoyle above him for company.

"You're softer than I pegged you for."

His senses didn't tingle and that alone kept him there, hanging like a booger from an impossibly high building, and taking a much deserved bite from his sandwich. A cuban torta with extra adobo.

"So. Kid. Got a name?"

Silence.

Peter chewed and ignored the floating man whose stare went from curious to frustrated.

"It's rude to not speak when spoken to."

Shoving the last of his food into his mouth Peter wiped the crumbs from his chin, pulled down his mask, and with a thumbs up, ripped an end of his webbed swing.

Plummeting like a bowling ball down... Down... And with a well-aimed (practiced) web swung himself away from sight. Iron Man wouldn't find him, not when Peter knew of a well hidden niche that he could slip into and not be seen or leave a heat signature.

Something that Iron Man was trying to do and Peter was grateful for his sensitive ears.

Next was Captain America. Decked out in his uniform and shield. It was a pretty wicked shield and one that Peter had caught before it could hit the cyborg that was destroying a nameless street of the city.

Spiderman ignored the shouts of 'traitor' and the arrows that followed him but Peter was more than a flexible arachnid. He was quite familiar with this street. It was the street that housed a shit ton of kids.

Kids that had loved it when he opened the fire hydrants or handed out frozen pops because Peter loved kids.

Not because he was an Omega.

Hell no.

He just loved kids. Kids loved him and thought he was cool.

Using the shield to block the occasional laser blast - because of course lasers - Peter lead the cyborg away. His webs helped to drag the thing and keep it from swinging wildly but Peter was more than bendy, more than, web's, he was strength and endurance.

While the others had stopped trying to kill him - yes those were kill shots - Peter managed to drag the hefty piece of machinery away. Feet digging into the concrete, one hand fisting a bundle of his webs as the other held close to a shield that left his hand tingly.

From the sewers a mass of crab like machines took the Avengers attention and as he finally reached an open area of an eight lane street Peter didn't panic when the cyborg finally broke free. The webbing shredding and as he fell from the slack Peter turned and tucked himself behind the shield in time for a powerful beam to hit the Vibranium and drag him backwards from the force.

Even in the face of death he thought it was cool. So cool.

This wasn't his first time facing a cyborg. A giant imitation of a man decked out in weaponry with a human brain attached in its center. Cyborgs bled green and their eyes were yellow pinpoints of awareness.

Cool but creepy.

Very creepy.

With one hand he sent out a web, latched onto a bus and swung it towards the cyborg that put all its attention to the massive vehicle, using each arm to fire laser beams - still so cool - missing Captain America's shield that hit where the brain sat.

Right side, 8 inches from the center, shield at a 70° angle.

A stream of green blood - plasm - and brain matter coated the streets. The shield hit the ground at a roll and lodged into the side of a brick building. A hair's breadth away from the man who had aimed arrows at his head.

Peter was sad that he missed. Not that he couldn't have killed the man but Spiderman had an image to keep up and he was sure kids were peaking through blinds.

If Hawkeye stared at the shield with wide-eyed 'what the fuck', Peter accepted that as payment.

Asshole.

Had Peter been... Well... Nicer... He would have thrown himself back into the fray helping the Avengers finish iff the crab robots except Peter wasn't that nice and he wasn't that forgiving.

Padding to the twitching machinery Peter took a moment to web himself a mat on the ground and take apart the cyborg. He was quick, knowing exactly what he wanted and where to find it, bundling it in his own web Peter pulled up the edges and folded the edges together and without a backwards glance he left.

Fuck the Avengers.

As Spiderman Peter had the nasty habit in bumping into random heros with hero size complexes and it got to the point where he just waved at the several who tried to stalk him.

They weren't as stealthy as they thought they were.

As Peter Parker there was no Avengers just debt and homework. The two worlds very rarely collided. Peter Parker was a nobody... Well... He was on the Deans List and top 12% of the university when it cam to grades even if his attendance was far from stellar.

Thankfully he had made a friend with a doctor who wrote really nice perfectly excusable doctor notes.

He had done the math. It would be a 2.8% chance he would catch the eyes of anyone Hero related. Nothing he did as a regular schmoe would catch anyone's attention.

Really.

Honestly.

Of course he never fraction in his own Parker Luck.

Fuck his Parker Luck and Fuck his inability to think properly after a near 27 hours of no sleep and a lab all to himself. At 1am he had the building to himself and the key card to prove it!

At 1 am and still wide-eyed with a brain that wouldn't shut off, Peter shouldn't have been allowed near anything that contained chemicals besides H2O. Instead he had 2 walls dedicated to his scribbles with a rainbow of color - thank you crayola - a pyramid of Styrofoam microwaveable ramen and a teetering tower of hot pocket boxes, and a keurig.

He had an unlimited - well half a box left - of hot chocolate to tide him over and a bag of mini marshmallows to keep the shakes away as he worked on his thesis. Technically his thesis was typed, edited, and awaiting a last read through BUT he was stuck.

He was so close to creating the perfect drug that he was vibrating with a desperate energy as his friends - the machines scattered around the room - worked to show him if his calculations were correct or he had to start again.

Staring at the board Peter needed to distract himself from the whirring and beeping. Headphones in place he jump started his bluetooth and filled the silence with his google playlist set to play his thumbs up.

As it was so late and he was alone in the building Peter didn't think singing along to his playlist would be a big deal. Being an Omega he had few quirks that were... Questionable.

Omega's were notorious for their allurement beyond their scent. Many were artists, creators of music, rhythm, designers, they were architects, chefs, Omegas were once considered Sirens and Muses of the God's... While Peter could sketch and recite the periodic table backwards and forwards he could sing.

There was something about his voice that could draw attention or put someone to sleep if he so wished. A lullaby sung softly and with his will alone he could hush a colicky baby in minutes much to the relief of the parents he had babysit for.

Peter blamed Toni Braxton.

Peter blamed the open windows to the lab.

Peter blamed the chaos that happened less than a mile away from the University and the Hulk that somehow broke away from the group and all but bulldozed himself to the lonely building off set from the rest of the school.

Peter blamed... Well... He blamed Tony Stark for being a nosy douche of a man and tuning into the voice singing a very heartfelt rendition of un-break my heart.

Outside the lab Tony watches as the Hulk shifts back to being just Bruce and the man is swaying, "Omega."

Tony's gaze swivel down to where Bruce is laid out on the ground, dazed. "What?" Had he heard the man right.

"Hulk..." It was difficult to speak so soon after a change but Bruce managed one more word, "Omega." And it didn't take much to put two and two together and Tony moved until he was hovering by the only window lit out of the building.

Hair a mess, clothes askew, ass perched on the a desk, sat a young man staring at a dry erase board and hands moved with each dip and rise. The boy was moving, a dry eraser in one hand and a purple marker in another as he wrote a different scribble.

Tony was smart, brilliant even, but even if he squinted he couldn't make out what was written. There was numbers with familiar sequences but even JARVIS who had scanned the room was at a lost and suggested the scribbles were a code.

Quiet filled the room and he took that moment to shush his team and soon another song had the younger man humming, head nodding to a beat.

"Send away for a priceless gift One not subtle, one not on the list Send away for a perfect world One not simply, so absurd In these times of doing what you're told

Keep these feelings, no one knows

What ever happened to the young man's heart? Swallowed by pain, as he slowly fell apart..."

Maybe he was just tired but Peter didn't feel the eyes watching him. There was no warning from his spider senses just a quiet madness as he darted through the room. The keurig churning out hot chocolates and fueling the madness of no sleep and rainbow scribbles.

A.M. comes with bright lights and failure.

It was tempting to swipe the board clean but Peter was passed out under the only desk that would block out the sun with his lumpy backpack as a pillow.

It's an awkward way to sleep but Peter isn't picky. He's slept in worse conditions, even upside down once, and he had a 48 hour hold on that particular lab.

The click of the door unlocking doesn't wake him. The tap of heeled leather Oxford shoes doesn't wake him as said shoes stroll through the room until they pause right where he was sleeping.

Eye's hidden by sunglasses worth more than all the textbooks he was sleeping on, Peter didn't notice the frown on the man's face or the flurry of texts the man was sending before he crouched and woke Peter with a gentle nudge.

What did wake Peter was his alarm on his phone. A far too loud alarm that startled him enough he jerked awake, banging an elbow and his head on the desk. Swearing a storm, mind addled by sleep, Peter fumbled for his phone and dropped it.

Blinking at the pair of dress shoes, Peter held his breadth as he looked up... And up... Into familiar brown eyes. "Who the fuck are you?"

An eyebrow arched, "Everyone knows who I am."

No. Spiderman knew Tony Stark. Peter Parker could care less. "Are you lost?"

"Nope." The man rocked on his heels, eyes gazing around. "Came to see you. Interesting finding someone like you here of all places."

Peter frowned, "I'm not squatting. I wouldn't be the first person catching a nap trying create something big."

"Big hu?" His hands slipped into his slack pockets, "the hot pockets are shit for your metabolism by the way."

"They're cheap and I'm broke. I'm guessing you wouldn't understand the concept of broke." Peter tried to lay back down and cover his eyes with his arm, legs folded.

"Yet with no full-time job you somehow have managed to chip away at your student loans. I'm impressed."

A warning buzz settles over him and Peter keeps himself as nonchalant as he can unwilling to give the Alpha the show of panic that he felt. "This is a school of side hustles. Take your pick and leave."

A moment passes in quiet but Tony doesn't leave. Why would he? "Quite rude." The man murmurs, "Is that anyway to..."

"Leave before I call security." Peter interrupts, "You're a strange old man alone in a room with a sleeping student, only perverts stay where they're not wanted."

"Pervert? Pervert!"

"Yes. Pervert." Arm dropping away Peter made a point to glare into the yellowish hue of the glasses. "I've asked you to leave and you refuse. You are not my professor or the janitor. This is my lab and either you picked the lock or bribed someone and I'll be sure to tell the Dean that a creepy old man was allowed into his building to harass a student."

"Actually this is my lab. I own this building." Tony expected some form of recognition instead he got snark.

"Did you piss on the wall or write your name on it like a petulant child?"

It's not often that Tony finds himself without words but his lips part in surprise before. He lets out a whoosh of air shakes his head. "For an Omega you're a mouthy little thing."

The quiet is met with Peter blinking and Tony waiting. If Peter was smart he would have immediately denied any accusation or stood in righteous anger... Instead the younger man laughed. "That..." Peter folded his hands on his stomach and grinned, "is quite a compliment thank you." Tony frowned and Peter batted his eyelashes. "I'm pretty enough to pass for an Omega has to be the nicest thing anyone has said to me this semester."

"Just this semester?" Tony couldn't help but ask.

"Yep."

The quiet stretched far longer than was comfortable and Tony sighed, "I have a proposition for you."

"No."

His carefully constructed speech and patience flew out the window as he was interrupted, "No?"

"No." Peter repeated, slowly. "N. O." He spelled out just in case.

"No? You can't tell me no."

"I can, I did, and I don't care." Peter frowned before he unfolded himself and crawled out from under the desk and brushed the dust off his wrinkled two-day old clothes, "Alphas who can't accept a no and argue over the word are a danger to society." Tony wasn't sure how someone that wasn't eye level could make him feel small.

"Do you know who I am?" The kid arched a brow, took a step back, and eyes him from the tips of his shoes to his perfectly coiffed hair.

"Yes." Tony preened, "You're a misogynistic ass hole who thinks you can walk into my lab unannounced and get away with harassing a student and bringing up genders as if the position of my scent glands justifies your casual dismissal of my constitutional rights. You can't belittle or coerce me into agreeing to anything you have to say based on your purse strings or that you imply ownership on a building that was built from multiple donations. If I was an Omega I have every right to kick you in the nuts and get away with scratching your eyes out."

Tony's lips pressed into a firm irritated line.

"Seeing as I'm not I'll just settle for telling you to get the fuck out of my lab or I will scream murder. I'm a beta on beta kinda guy, so keep your paws off my no-no spots."

It was unexpected, Tony twitched as Peter's hands touched him - shoved him really - right out the door. Tony would never admit to sputtering or tripping over his own feet as he was pushed out the lab and the door firmly locked behind him.

Confused and slightly embarrassed he adjusted his blazer and nonchalantly walked away. I'm a beta on beta kinda guy... the words are like oil and water, his skin tingles where the younger man's hand roamed, the heat that made that primal part of his brain rear up and whisper Omega.

Spiderman was an escape.

There was times when he could swing away his worries with dizzying feats of near deaths, the adrenaline rush doing more for him than any drug on the market.

There was times, like that morning, when he would climb to the highest point, tuck himself into a corner, and hide. He was a millennial with a safe space and it was the safest space to exist in N.Y.

Just him and the pigeons.

Times like this he wondered how far he could fall without instinct there to make him survive and carry on another day?

Curling in on himself he hugged his knees tight to himself and let the tears fall. It wasn't often that he cried but when he did it was usually quiet and when he was alone. No one could see him weak, no one could see him break, no one could... A trumpet broke his depressive silence. An unexpected noise at an impossible height except it was a drone.

The four propellers were whisper quiet and a white flag waved in the wind.

"Fuck." Summed it up.

A 3d hologram appeared and it was the image of Princes Leia kept him sitting, curious, vs jumping off the ledge. "Hello itsy bittsy spider."

Peter narrowed his eye's and flicked out a web, the drone was quick to swerve.

"You're cordially invited to attend a gathering..." Diving off the building was a better option than listening to Tony Stark invite him to a Tea Party as if they were friends. You don't forgive people who tried to kill you.

Especially if they didn't apologise.

Especially if they stalked you.

Since being bitten by a radioactive spider like some weird comic book character, Peter had gone through physical and mental changes. Presenting as an Omega had come later, in fact his first spike of heat happened during a particular difficult battle with none other than Kingpin himself.

It had been a gory fight with Peter having to plow through layers of underlings from normal everyday thugs to enhanced goons that were blood thirsty to get the bounty Kingpin had put on his head.

It was a hefty bounty too.

Just enough where Peter contemplated killing himself off for profit. Kingpin had been his usual boastful self and holding a weapon that was more sci-fi than the usual glock.

They had stood in a penthouse that had made him hyper aware he was dripping blood on the cream-colored carpet and the beautiful statues were judging him.

Kingpin had a spiel like all super villains and Peter had listened as his mind raked over how he would survive this encounter when the A.C. kicked on. Cool filtered air pushed from the vents, Peter had shivered as it passed over his heated flesh that peaked from the patches of bare skin, it had taken moments for that devilish curl of the Kingpin's lips to unfurl and something else come forth.

Kingpin was a force of human nature. Built by weights and sheer spite. He was aggression, darkness, he was the devil amongst demons, he was a pendulum that swung between the dark side of the underworld and the light side of a family man.

Most importantly.

Kingpin was an Alpha.

An Alpha tied to a Beta and a son.

Dark blue eyes shifted, bleeding red before the massive bulk of a man lifted the gun and fired a single shot. The sizzle of the blast prickled the side of his face as the beam shot over his shoulder and the thump of a body falling told him that his spider senses were off.

Peter had studied many things but Omegean Biology wasn't one of them. He knew the fundamentals like many but the liquid fire that pooled at the base of his spine and slithered its way up left him standing rigid and an ache between his legs had him hissing.

Peter didn't remember closing his eyes, he didn't hear Kingpin move, his senses were so out-of-order he flinched when a large hand settled atop his head. "Shhh." Peter felt himself tugged into Kingpins girth, it had made him tremble and a whine had escaped him.

Later. Much later. Peter would learn that the man who was intent on killing him had cuddled him on an impossibly massive bed, the Alpha crooning, hands that could bend steel caressed him like a lover would, and for three days helped him through his first heat.

"Call me Wilson. Wilson Fisk."

Awareness had come in doses. The feel of soft cotton against his bare skin, the slick between his thighs, the ache somewhere deep and personal, classical music played in the background drowning the hitch in his chest, relief had been a burst of gratitude as shaky fingers touched the familiar texture of his torn mask.

The stretchy fabric cover his nose an encircled his cheeks and curved along his brow, seemingly glued to his skin. Hair, ears, lips, and chin were as exposed as the rest of him.

Before Peter could sit up a hand came from no where and settled on his chest, thumb and finger digging into his collarbone as he was pushed back into the mattress.

Pliant.

Weak.

A mess.

Kingpin was a solid presence he hadn't noticed until that moment. Hard naked lines with impossibly wide shoulders and solid smooth skin with not a hint of hair except for two perfectly sculpted eyebrows that furrowed in contemplation. "Where do we go from here Spiderman?"

It had been when that hand slipped and encircled his throat did Peter feel his body involuntarily move. Legs splaying openly and back arching as a familiar haze of arousal overwhelmed the need to run.

Wilson was an exceptional lover. His first Alpha, his first Knot, Peter never expected to be the Mistress of his arche nemesis, he didn't expect to have heats that were bursts of short frequent intervals, he didn't expect the open invitation to spend it with the Alpha, and he didn't expect the absolute possessiveness of Wilson or just how much control an Alpha like Wilson had over an Omega like Peter.

"Save the world but you will not interfere with my organization and you will be my most prized possession."

It was a story twisted by biology, twisted by the illogical logic of an emotion one could say was love if you squint, and the reason Spiderman dressed as a different character jumped from the side lines and into traffic, using his strength to flip a car that was chasing the Kingpin.

It rankled something deep that the urge to protect made him feel like a villain and the mocking laughter of Kingpin getting away hit him hard.

Fighting The Avengers to keep the Alpha alive had never been part of the plan, watching the chase from a random store front window, hearing the helicopters, it was a spur of the moment decision to steal a face bandana with a skull smile and a pair of polarized wide swimming goggles.

Running fast and hard he didn't use his webs and instead focused on his natural talent and that primal urge to protect the knot-head responsible to keep him blissed out for his next upcoming heat.

Toe to toe with Captain America and the Winter Soldier was... Thrilling. As Spiderman there was an awareness of maintaining his cool but as a stranger with a cheap mask and flannel shirt Peter could catch the Winter shoulders��Vibranium arm and force the man to the ground before kicking Captain America's shield and tossing the pompous soldier away like a rag doll.

Peter's body moves on auto pilot as he flips backwards and moves with grace and fluidity as a mess of weaponry aim for him. Between Iron Man's blasts, Hawkeyes arrows, Black Widows bullets, Peter feels like he's dancing on the edge of death and it leaves him feeling hot and aroused.

Slipping beneath an abandoned truck he sticks his hand on the underside and with hard pushes against the asphalt he uses the truck to plow through what traffic is left and holding his breadth Peter pushed up with his leg and the truck flipped, the roof smashing on the ground and catching sparks.

Letting out a whoop, his flannel shirt wafting in the air he grinned behind the mask as he surfed for a stretch of time before coming to a halt and with Iron Man trailing him Peter ran.

Hard.

Fast.

Through the city.

Forcing the Avengers to chase him and not Kingpin.

More later...

*Part 2*

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ajourneythroughtime · 5 years ago

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Stories also display repeating patterns because, when expertly made, they reflect the same ideas, themes and events. But because the patterns in story are far more abstract than the visual patterns of a fractal, to see them you have to take a deep dive into the core techniqes of the storytelller. The best storytelling has a unique quality.

The stories we love almost always share this quality.

They are fractal.

Fractals are one of the wonders of mathematics.

When you chart certain equations they produce beatiful patterns. And a quality of those patterns is that they have infinite dimensions.

You keep zooming in and in and in to a fractal, and find the same patterns repeating again and again and again.

“If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is: Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.” - William Blake's poem The Marriage of Heaven and Hell:

The fractal displays this pattern because it is generated from basic rules.

Creators of all kinds have a love / hate relationship with structure. Some equate structure with formula and reject it. Others see structure as the shortcut to success and let it overwhelm them. The truth, as with most things, is likely somewhere in between.

“Burn me with Fire. Drown Me In Rain.”

I use this basic principle to measure structure. STRUCTURE IS BIGGER THAN WE ARE. If I set out to make a car, or a cathedral, or an iPhone app, or a novel, or a movie, these things all have a structure. A structure that has been evolved over time, by creators far wiser and more skilled than I.

In martial arts there is a maxim: Learn the form. Master the form. Break the form. Untrained writers often rush to break the form. They see the work of a master, like Ray Bradbury perhaps, who broke the short story form in many marvelous ways, and assume the key to success is the act of breaking. But they ignore the years of hard work Bradbury first put into learning and mastering the form.

Stories seem to exist in a bewildering variety of forms. The 3 Act structure defined by Aristotle is arguably the most widely known.

Modern stageplays often adopt a 4 act structure, while Oscar winning movies like The Godfather spread over five acts. Short stories are commonly based on an Epiphany structure.

But all of these structures share that same single quality.

They are fractal.

Infinite Crisis

Stories within stories.

Here’s another way into the fractal nature of story. All stories are made of stories, and are part of bigger stories. If you pick up an issue of Wonder Woman, or watch the Gal Gadot fronted movie, you’re seeing just one story within that character’s overarching story. If you watch Lawrence of Arabia, and know a little history, you realise you’re watching just one small part of the story of World War One.

(Side Note Link: The Machine At Play - Blade Runner - Sword & The Stone - Lion & The Lamb - Dare we Continue?) History Repeating Itself

As storytellers, we make decisions about the boundaries of the story we’re going to tell. Game of Thrones is the story of one power struggle for Westeros. But it’s the beautiful weaving of the history that came before, and the smaller stories within the grand struggle, that make George R R Martin’s epic so intriguing to so many.

Whether you call them acts, scenes, sequences and beats…

…or parts, chapters, paragraps and sentences…

…or story arcs, issues, pages and frames…

…all stories exist are within other stories, and hold other stories within them.

“To see a world in a grain of sand. And a heaven in a wild flower. Hold infinity in the palm of your hand. And eternity in an hour.”

youtube

Can you see an epic tale in every single sentence of your story? Here is one of the single best questions you can ask to raise your storytelling to a higher level. How does this single scene, or chapter, or frame, or sentence, reflect the whole of the story? And how does this trilogy of novels, or 10 hour television series, or epic poem, relate to the smallest story it contains?

The Supercomputer That Could Map the Human Brain

Bobby Kasthuri has a problem.

In an effort to understand, on the finest level, what makes us human, he’s set out to create a complete map of the human brain : to chart where every neuron connects to every other neuron. The problem is, the brain has more connections than the Milky Way has stars. Just one millionth of the organ contains more information than all the written works in the Library of Congress. A map of the brain would represent the single largest dataset ever collected about anything in the history of the world.

Making that map seems like a task that could consume not just one lifetime , but dozens. Yet in just three years, it might just be possible.

Kasthuri, a neuroscientist at Argonne National Laboratory, is one of many scientists whose research will use a new supercomputer the lab is building, which is scheduled to be deployed by 2021. The computer, called Aurora 21 , will run one quintillion operations in parallel—a billion billion calculations—putting it on par with the processing power of the human brain. For the U.S., which has lagged behind China in an intensifying supercomputing race since 2013, this milestone—exascale computing power—is both a national status symbol and a scientific game-changer.

Agent "one who acts," "effective, powerful," "to set in motion, drive forward; to do, perform; keep in movement" (from PIE root *ag- "to drive, draw out or forth, move") "deputy, representative" "spy, secret agent"

discern "perceive or recognize the difference or distinction between (two or more things);" "distinguish (an object) with the eyes, see distinctly, behold;" also "perceive rationally, understand;" "to separate, set apart, divide, distribute; distinguish, perceive," from dis- "off, away"

The name Aurora is a girl's name of Latin origin meaning "dawn". Aurora, the poetic name of the Roman goddess of sunrise whose tears turned into the morning dew, and of (Disney's) Sleeping Beauty, would be sure to make any little girl feel like a princess.

a natural electrical phenomenon

Plasma "form, shape" (earlier plasm) Greek plasma "something molded or created," hence "image, figure; counterfeit, forgery; formed style, affectation," from root *pele- (2) "flat; to spread." "liquid part of blood"

(Click here to see the list of *pele- root forms. Much time is recommended in this open field of potential and connectivity)

Plasm "mold or matrix, cast;" see plasma. Meaning "living matter of a cell"

Aurora has two siblings, a brother (Sol, the sun) and a sister (Luna, the moon)

Gen(isis) Pact

Orion & The Magi

So, this is what it means to be a-live!

True-Man

VR Minecraft is more Real than Real Life

AI will be as biased as the humans that programmed it

youtube

Confirmed: We Really are ‘Star Stuff’

It might be that we are afraid of opening ourSelves to Our infinitely contradicting nature and essence of Infinite Chaos. Fear not, the Journey leads you Home.

youtube

Enter The Cave

#quantum core

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wolfjustdraws · 6 years ago

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“Death’s in Life” - Skull

Lockwood and Co. Series

Summary: he came back

Warning: idiocy and foul language.

——Skull——

Life.

What is the meaning of life? Is there something that makes us keep going? Are we destined to achieve our goals set in lifetime, to the greatness that we all imagine for ourselves? Is that what truly provokes us to move on in life from our failures and makes try to be better at what we do? Do we have to be better? When are we done perfecting ourselves for this world then? Is it the world’s bidding that we become the best we can? How can the world measures our goodwill against the acts of others? Is there truly a way to become the best?

And Death.

How does the world determine when should death come to us? When have we completed our journeys through the tangible world and are we then truly ready to become part of the great beyond? Does our consent matter not to the moment when it finally happens?

But now that it has happened, must I remain quiet and undisturbed, spending my time trying to comprehend what goes on in the intangible mind of the greater forces, or can I go back to the world of the living and annoy the hell out of that small, angry, rather hip-full and dumb-love-struck teenage girl that always stuffed me under her bed?

Obviously, I chose the latter.

Why would I ever choose to try and spend my time imitating Marissa Fittes’ decisions when I can annoy the hell, heaven and earth out of that little ball of bitterness! There’s no better way of spending the afterlife, or ethereal-being time, than bothering Lucy! Speaking of which…

How long has it been since I last woke up? Last I remember was being in the Fittes building, Marissa and her pathetic, cheap excuse of a Type Three, Ezekiel (he doesn’t even look like a ghost!), then, darling not-so-little Lockwood came on his white stallion and silver armor, hair waving in the air and little birds chirping melodically around him, ready to save the day! At least that’s how I’m sure Lucy saw it. Then she broke my jar, Marissa went ballistic and wanted to blow up the entire building, so I pushed Lucy and Lockwood out of the room…and everything went black.

Was I back in the Other Side? I couldn’t see anything, not even that murky, always-nighttime version of London I saw whenever I was there so obviously this isn’t the Other Side. Then what was it- Oh wait, do I have my eyes closed?

I don’t have eyes, that’s for sure, but…maybe that was it. So, I opened my eyes, and-

This is certainly an angle of this room I hadn’t seen before. It took me a tiny moment to adjust my eyes to the sudden brightness around me. There was a window on the wall beside me, so I looked out. It isn’t nighttime here…and the sky doesn’t look murky and gray…

I looked around the room. It was a small room, with old wooden walls, frostbitten and rather rotten-looking, but that isn’t new. There were two doors, one that had stairs that led down to the second floor of this now-wretched house, and the other that led to a tiny, beggarly bathroom. A single bed with iron headboard stood on the wall opposite to me, and thank God cause I can feel the iron from here, itching on my ectoplasm-

Itching on my ectoplasm? Since when does that headboard itches me? In all the years I’ve been on this room, or any room of this house, I have never felt anything on my plasm. Actually, its been years since I’ve felt something other than the wall of my jar…

I looked down and- oh heavens, is that my body?! Its been years since I last say any part of my body! I look just like when I died; my baggy and dirty clothes, the cuts and bruises on my arms, the blood on the neck and chest of my shirt…I raised my hands and touched my face. It sure had been long since I felt myself like this…my long nose, high cheekbones, sharp jaw and my hair, sticky with blood that had run down the sides of my head and was now stuck/dry there. My perfect, beautiful self, finally in my hands again.

With one more look around the room I noticed the small layer of dust that had gathered in it. I frowned and ‘stood’ up. Actually, I was floating, my feet just bits above the wooden ground of the room. Another angle I hadn’t seen of this room before, but that was due to the fact that, since ghosts look like they did in life, I was as tall I once was, meaning taller than Lucy ever held my skull, which was currently sitting on the windowsill, charred on the back and with small cracks on the front. My poor skull-

The door of the room burst open and suddenly I was surrounded by three pointy and ectoplasm-tingling sticks.

“Lucy, are you sure we aren’t repeating the Annie Ward incident-”

“For the last time Anthony, I don’t bring sources into my room anymore!”

“Then why is there a ghost in here, Luce?!”

“I don’t know George! I haven’t been up here much!”

I looked between the three squabbling figures before me, my spectral essence and ectoplasm growing fretful at the emotionally-charged quarrel.

“No time to discuss this; Lucy, look for the source, George and I will keep it at bay” The smallest figure turned and gazed around the room, the other two, more masculine and taller figures still waving the itchy sticks at me.

“Its not doing anything” One of the boys said. Wow, Cubbins wasn’t as tall as I thought he’d be! And, dear heavens, has he lost a bit of weight? He doesn’t look as fat as the last time I saw him, but he was generally the same; still ugly jumpers that were full of stains and wrinkles, baggy jeans that (somehow) highlight his ass, round spectacles and that awful sandy mop he called hair that lived on his head.

“Luce, how are we doing with that source?” The other, Lockwood of course, called back. He was also pretty much how I remembered him; streetlamp-tall, cadaverous hands and practically non-existent hips with his overly long coat, princess hair, old-fashioned (grandpa) style of clothes and dainty moves like he was some sort of doe. Perhaps he was a bit taller than before, but I couldn’t be sure how much.

“I can’t sense anything!” Lucy growled as she looked around the tiny room. She was just as I remembered her, though I dare say her hips looked a bit wider than the last time I saw her. All the more material to annoy her with! “and I’m not getting any echoes!”

In my slight moment of recognition, Lockwood’s rapier caught my arm, sizzling it with its nasty iron-ness. Right, that was it! I let out a deep, broken and ghoulish screech that made Lucy forget all about her search and her rapier, letting it fall against the ground and cover her ears with her hands. Lockwood and George stepped away from me, hit with the psychical charge of my roar. With a simple gesture of my hand, all the rapiers flew out of the room and clattered their way down the stairs, the door closing.

“Get your filthy rapiers away from me and my ectoplasm, you- savages!” I squawked indignantly, compressed against the wall and trying to get my plasm to stop throbbing “can’t a noble and honest ghost raise from the grave and the Great Beyond in holy peace now-nights?! This is a perfect example of Skullism! You agents judge us ghosts the same before you even let us howl our merry welcome out of death and snuff us out!”

All I got in return for my outburst was surprised faces of the three teenagers “…skull?!”

“No, Ariff’s new delivery boy- of course its me! What other ghost did you thought?! I ought to lift this entire house off its foundations and throw it around the neighborhood! Like a baby toy! Or a stupid leaf on the wind! See if anyone talks about Aikemere’s poltergeist after that!”

“Wait, you- how are you here?” Lucy uncovered her ears, walking towards George and Lockwood.

“What do you mean ‘how are you here’, the same way all ghosts come back!”

“Buts its barely six pm” she gestured to the window, her face along with Lockwood’s and George’s perplexed as they eyed me up and down “the sun isn’t down, how are you here?”

“Hey, tell Cubbins my eyes are up here” I grumbled, floating closer to them. They all took a couple of steps back, probably realizing that they didn’t have any sort of protection from me. A small and unearthly sense of pride swelled inside of me, making my plasmic body feel like it was glowing; I wasn’t inside my jar, and there wasn’t any sort of silver powder or iron chain surrounding me or my source. I was a free ghost, free to go out through the streets and to actually talk and not get stuffed under a pillow, or get a towel over me, or any lever pulled shut. I could howl if I wanted and no one could stop me from doing it, or haunting a house, even from Ghost Touching someone- “and I don’t know how I’m here, its the first time my source has been out to the sun and not inside the jar”

Lucy’s usual frown deepened “first time? Aren’t you 150 years old?”

“Well, before Fittes got me inside that jar, I spent my days in a sewer, it was always dark and mucky down there”

“So you could be active all the time, couldn’t you?”

“Technically I could, but I wasn’t active all the time, its not like there was much to do there”

“Right…” She looked over to Lockwood and George, now frowning in concern “so you’re back, and…you’re out of the jar”

“Geez, no need to jump of excitement, Lucy” I rolled my eyes, moving over to the window. They stepped away “don’t think my ghostly self can take that much emotion without going delirious”

“Sorry…its just…well, you just threw our rapiers out of the room-”

“He hurt me with that thing!”

“What?”

“Lockwood! He scraped me with it! That hurts!” I huffed crisply, holding my arm where my plasm was still sizzling quietly “in case you agents might not remember, iron hurts ghosts”

“Ah, right, well…” she looked at Lockwood and repeated to him what I said, skipping my threats to lift the house and throw it around. Why would she do that, I still don’t get why she always cuts all I said and leaves only a few things? The threat was important!

“I’m not apologizing for defending us from a ghost, Lucy”

“He’s not going to hurt us, Anthony”

“He could, his out of his jar now”

“The skull was out of his jar before, when we were with Marissa and he didn’t hurt us then” she crossed her arms over her chest “He saved us, Anthony, and you know it”

“‘Anthony’? Are we going by first names now?” I leant down, closer to her. Lockwood took her by her arm and pulled her back, stepping halfway before her “ooh, I see how it is”

Lucy blushed furiously.

“I thought I'd never see it happen” I could feel her temper raising; it was like putting coal on a fire in the pit of a vapor-machine, or a steam train, and having the flames produce more steam, making the train work faster. The scorching of my ectoplasm diminished.

“That’s not your business” She huffed.

“Oh no, Lucy, its totally my business, I thought we had something special here! I saved your life! But no, I do it and I disappear for a few hours, days perhaps, and what’s the first thing you do? You go and look for someone else to comfort you when I was the one that has been doing so for years!”

“Wait, days? You’ve been gone for months!”

“…time sure is weird when you’re death”

She only rose an eyebrow at me and told what I said to the other two. I keep forgetting they’re here with us, isn’t it rude to have someone else listening to your conversation? I suppose in this case its listening to half the conversation and then a repeat of what I said, but my point stands. Rude as hell.

“Alright, but, where were you? Like I said, you were gone for months, were you in the Other Side?”

“I don’t know. How am I supposed to know if I just thought I was gone for a few hours”

“Well, you must know something! How can you have spent months there and not know anything about it?!”

“I don’t know, I’m not psychic or gypsy! I can’t look into the Great Beyond or a crystal ball and tell you your future! I’m a ghost!”

“A Type Three ghost!”

“And you suppose that just because I’m a Type Three I suddenly, magically know the meaning of Life and Death and all their secrets? Its just like when I was in the jar, I don’t know those things!”

“Fine!” She looked back at George, scowling angrily “He knows nothing!”

“Nothing?” He rose his barely-there eyebrow at her (they’re blond and his skin is like milk, you can’t actually see them, its like his got no eyebrows at all!).

“That’s what he said”

“And by the way, you should control your temper a bit more” I danced one of my fingers above my lips, peeking out my tongue between them “A ghost like me can only resist so much temptation”

“You’re disgusting”

“You know you’ve missed me!”

“Right, and now we have to find a way to prevent any Ghost Touching incidents-”

“If I wanted to Ghost Touch you I would have done so the moment I threw your rapiers out” I leant even closer to her, making her and Lockwood and George step back once more, their backs getting against the far wall, which wasn’t that far actually, this room is ridiculously small “besides, I would’t have saved you and Lockwood from the explosion if I wanted you two dead, would I? There would be no point in that”

“…I suppose”

“exactly” I backed towards the wall again, allowing them room to breath again. I watched them from my corner as they discussed some more ‘security measures’ to keep me from ‘accidentally' Touching anything now that my jar couldn’t keep hold my reigns anymore, but in the end they decided to give me a chance and trust I would behave myself, much to Lockwood’s obvious annoyance (reckon Lucy will pay him a private visit later to content him).

Still, I stayed up in the attic, even after they went down, looking out the window. I was a ghost, a Type Three ghost for reasons I didn’t comprehend, I could do much worse than a poltergeist ever could even when fed with the wildest bouts of rage. If what Marissa had once said to me was right, I might some day be able to find an answer to the big questions of the world, but for what? Looking for those answers wasn’t half as fun as poking on Lucy’s side! No knowledge could bring a soul as me any comfort about our lives. I wouldn’t change my choice for my afterlife for any knowledge.

#lockwood and co #the whispering skull #Lucy and the skull #the skull #skull in a jar #I actually forgot I could post this

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debitumnaturae · 6 years ago

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💖

💖- A memory that made them feel special

It’s the little things really.

Dwayne has done so much for D since they met. Literally cleaned the shit off his backside, carried him, fed him, taught him about their marriage thrice over. A huge, mounting debt of gratitude that D wasn’t sure he’d ever repay.

But it’s the smallest gesture that relaxes every tendon, every bone, quiets the voices that steadily scream, ever-growing, ever-demanding.

It’s late at night, and D has been sitting far too long in his big, comfortable chair in his study. He’s staring at a beaker, blinking slowly in his efforts to stay awake. What is he experimenting with other than pure plasm? Trying to condense it, turn it into a potion that would grant him the same ability to heal as Dwayne. The potion changes from a greenish-blue to a much more pure aqua. The change is so subtle that when D finally notices, it’s starting to smoke.

He stands and reaches out in one motion, sending the beaker and the bunsen burner over the edge of his desk. “No!” He can’t catch the beaker, instead falling over the desk himself in some Looney Tunes-esque turn of events that ended with a face full of glass and boiling plasm.

It hurt, badly.

Dwayne had been reading on his phone when this entire thing occurred. Four seconds, he would say later, that’s all it took for D to try and kill himself again with a rogue experiment. Too quick for the dozing god to save him.

But there was plenty of time after for care. Settled on the edge of their giant tub, D flinched as Dwayne patiently pulled the glass from his puffy, stained face, joking about anything and everything to distract from the pain. A warm washcloth, lightly steaming thanks to magic, wiped away the blood and plasm, and D leaned into it, falling forward again.

This time, Dwayne caught him, hugged him, and brought him into a kiss.

#ask meme #godshonest

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thatonepikminperson · 6 months ago

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Pom, Oil Wraith (Mixed Wraith AU)

The Oil Wraith is a mix of the Water Wraith and the Plasm Wraith. It has the oily look and body shape as the Water Wraith, (Only certain parts of the body on a human disguise are oily, such as the hair or limbs) and they have the hole, shapeshifting ability, and obsessive tendencies of the Plasm Wraith. They do have an exclusive trait, which is these odd tentacle arm things they have on our Wraith form. Oh yeah, also, the Oil Wraith is super allergic to water. No joke, just four glasses of water would kill them.

Depending on the personalities of the Water and Plasm Wraiths, they might fight from time to time. If the two created a combined consciousness, and they fight, the consciousness is kicked out of control and one or both of them take over. If it gets too unstable, or the Core is broken in half, then the two Wraiths will split up, leaving behind their Oil Wraith form.

All Oil Wraiths are heavily affected by Lumiknolls.

(More art and Story/lore below!)

Pom himself does a pretty good job at not messing up the disguise. His personality is much more harsh and serious than his normal counterpart, but it's just to protect himself from people. He's made up of the two aforementioned wraiths, Water and Plasm, which do have names. The Water Wraith is named the Survivalist, and as the name suggests, it wants to protect Pom from anything that could harm him, and does what it can to maintain the act he has to put on. The Plasm is called the Lover, and they are the one who makes Pom fall in love with Aero. It wants to protect their Beloved, which is a term used by Plasm Wraiths to call dibz on a creature. The two combined together creates Pom, a man who is very careful and cautious, but is extremely loving of Aero

Oh, yeah, backstory time. Pom himself was raised in a family of Wraiths (That I will post pictures of later) and was generally abused in. He wanted to see the stars and find people, but when he did, most were afraid of him. So he just watched from a distance. One day, what would have been his father in the main timeline crashes and dies on the planet, and Pom takes the opportunity. Using a bit of blood from the man and a yearbook Pom found on the pod (The guy was a teacher), he created his current disguise. He based it off of the hottest guy Pom could find in the yearbook, who just so happened to be young Yonny. So he fled back to Ohri, and got adopted by what would have been his mother, who in this AU, is much nicer to him. Then, years later once Pom knows what he's doing, he goes to Karut, meets his new friend Nova and finds Aero. He falls in love instantly and becomes obsessed with keeping Aero safe, so much so that he joins the Rescue Corps to keep following Aero around, which ends up with him and his Beloved (A term used by Plasm Wraiths to say that the prey is theirs and no touchy) to return to his home planet.

#pikmin #pikmin 4 #art #oc pikmin #oc #wraith au #pikmin wraith #pikmin wraith au #It's Oil Wraith time baby #LET'S GOOOOO #Mixed Wraith AU #you know what? SCREW IT #I'MA JUST HASHTAG IT #Oil Wraith #mixed wraith au

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phantomrose96 · 7 years ago

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Souls Follow After

Half an hour late--here’s my Christmas Truce fic for @bloodblossomtea, who requested something based on an old fic of mine, Minds Follow!

So, here’s the companion piece to Minds Follow: Souls Follow After

The death of Daniel Fenton had been called a lot of things.

“Tragic” ranked among the most common, near-tied with “heroic” and “untimely” and “heart-breaking.” Every new media account blended the themes, calling Daniel soft-spoken and meek and kind, unpopular and unnoticed and bullied, culminating into a sacrifice all the more tragic, all the more heroic, all the more heart-breaking when he gave his life for the sake of his classmates.

Vlad Masters had stopped listening to the media accounts.

He saw it differently, in a light the papers and newscasters and forums didn’t capture.

It had been a betrayal.

Daniel had cut their game short.

He’d thrown his life away with no regard for what it meant to those around him, no thought spared for how many of Vlad’s plans came crumbling down, long-term intentions and near-solidified future snipped short.

Vlad raged, and Vlad grieved. He mourned for his son who’d died, his child in everything but blood, and he destroyed his lab in an outpouring of rage for the manner in which Daniel had gone out. It had been that one most irritating trait, that one so distinctly un-Vlad-like quality that Vlad so despised, that Daniel so reveled in—that self-sacrifice for others. It had been as though Daniel’s final words were “I’m nothing like you Vlad,” and as though he had died before Vlad could offer so much as a single word in rebuttal.

Vlad called in with his condolences to Maddie, as any politician and any bachelor would, but he did not expect anything to come of this. That family of him, Maddie, and Daniel no longer existed, and that resentment of his spilled over to Maddie. She’d raised her son to be like this. She shared the blame.

Vlad did not attend the funeral. It was the right choice. He wouldn’t have wanted to be present when Danny turned up anyway.

Because unlike everyone else, Vlad Masters was not interested in giving Danny a second chance. When his ghost form appeared at his own funeral, disoriented but still so charmingly Danny, everyone had been so quick to forgive. Joyful, tearful, thankful relief greeted him from a gathering of loved ones and admirers who had believed him truly dead. Vlad alone wasn’t so quick to forgive.

He’d considered it. In the mangled twist of emotions gripping his heart, sipping wine in a living room so far away and removed from Amity Park, he thought about revoking his grudge. Maybe he would still pursue what had been rightfully his. That family and that half-ghost—…whole-ghost son. But the more Vlad considered it, the more he seethed against the pieces that Daniel had irrevocably tainted.

Daniel had thrown away his half-ghost identity, that single uniting tether between him and Vlad, setting them apart as the two isolated individuals who could ever hope to understand each other. Daniel had revoked that. And he’d imprinted himself on society as that thing Vlad so despised—a “hero.” The childish kind. The comic book kind. The kind that threw their life away for high school nobodies, useless sniveling pathetic teenagers who’d only ever mocked him.

And, perhaps the thing that Vlad detested the most about the whole situation—Daniel was now holding all the cards. He made this clear to Vlad with an irritatingly smug phone call a few days prior, because now Danny’s identity was common knowledge, and so now Vlad’s identity was held hostage. Danny offered to keep Vlad’s identity secret under the condition that 1) Vlad stayed away from Amity Park. 2) Vlad no longer targeted his dad. 3) Vlad forked over $10,000 to Danny, for the hell of it.

The $10,000 was nothing. It was the blow against his pride that stopped the words in Vlad’s throat. He hated it all, but more than anything, he hated being held by the neck.

So he did what made most sense. He moved on.

Vlad wouldn’t say he lost. That wasn’t in his vocabulary. Instead, Daniel just wasn’t worth his time anymore. He was an idiot, a traitor, a fool, and worst of all a ghost. Not a half ghost. Just a ghost, a ball of proto-plasm, a construct of filthy spiritual energy. He had no claim to his humanity anymore, so he had no claim to Vlad’s interest.

Vlad buried himself in projects far more important. Vlad’s networking through the ghost zone expanded. Plans to successfully acquire Pariah Dark’s powers formed from the ether. His A.I.s advanced, a Maddie who understood him intimately, and now a Daniel who would never betray him. They’d rule at his side, timeless and ageless, important features since Vlad intended to procure the immortality that came with the Crown of Fire.

Money bought power, and experts, and silence. His laboratory evolved into a labyrinth of cutting-edge breakthroughs and ghost weaponry the likes of which no one had seen, the likes of which Maddie and Jack Fenton could only dream of. As the years passed, the contact that Jack made with Vlad slowed to a trickle, and stopped all-together. Vlad left all of Jack’s messages unopened and unread. He wanted nothing more to do with the Fentons, as he understood finally the truth of the matter: they had only held him back. He never needed Daniel, dead now. Nor Maddie, dead to him now. Nor Jack, who was simply not worth the energy to make dead.

The A.I.s developed. They understood him. They valued him. They called him “Dear” and “Dad.” The Maddie A.I. occupied the bed with him at night, gentle light and soft buzzing warming the room. The Daniel A.I. Vlad altered over time. He removed the most Jack-like features from the boy’s face—that wide nose and flat jaw, those blue eyes, that idiotic stubbornness—telltale in the crease of his brow and quirk of the eyebrow. Vlad took them away. He swapped them for features recognizable in himself.

They were Maddie and Daniel Masters. Ten years on, the name “Fenton” hardly crossed Vlad’s mind.

…

When the phone rang, it was a number instantly recognizable. It was embedded in Vlad’s memory from years back.

On a whim, Vlad answered.

“Hello.”

“Vlad?’

Vlad trailed his hand along the arm of his recliner, sweeping around it and sitting down, legs crossed, leaning into the phone. “Oh if it isn’t Maddie Fenton. What a pleasant surprise hasn’t it been ages? How are you? To what do I owe this distinct pleasure, my old flame?”

A beat of silence followed.

“Hi Vlad… Yeah it’s um. It’s been a while. I’m fine. But it’s um, it’s Danny…”

Vlad investigated his manicured nails. There was such an organic nuance to Maddie Fenton’s voice, something he hadn’t quite perfected in Maddie Masters. It was almost nostalgic to hear that again, so…lacking in adoration for him. He’d train the Maddie A.I. on this voice recording. Maybe he could barter to get Daniel on the line as well.

“Oh how is the young lad? Last I saw him he was only a teenager. When, ten years back? How time flies. Has he married that little goth friend of his yet?”

“…No, Vlad. Danny’s not—It’s um… it’s more complicated than that.”

Vlad bounced his foot. That was right, Maddie used to over-enunciate the first syllable of her words, pitching up. He’d tweak Maddie Masters’s speech program to incorporate it.

“Complicated how, my darling?”

“It’s something about his ghost form… He’s been acting strange. Slowly. For a while Jack and I thought he was maybe um, just coping with losing his friends to college.”

“Has he attended college?”

“No.”

Vlad faltered at this, jaw tensing. His foot stilled, and an old tinge of anger licked just beneath his ribcage.

“I see. He’s given up all aspirations of the future to stay home and play hero. Typical of him. It’s rather cute.”

“Yes but… no, Vlad. God um… I thought Jack told you.”

“Jack?” Vlad eased. The Fentons weren’t his problem anymore. He’d answered the phone out of simple nostalgia. Vlad kicked the recliner footrest up. “I haven’t heard from old Jacky in years. How is he?”

“Jack… No he’s messaged you. He—it—never mind. Danny. Something’s off with him—been off with him. Ghost theory. Well it—he—sorry, Vlad. I thought you knew most of this from Jack.”

“Knew what?”

“I’ll—” Through the phone, Vlad heard the sound of a door shutting. “I’ll start over. Danny’s not been himself. Slowly. Since the incident. He can’t leave the town, and he’s been…” Static crackled through. “Jack and I have theories. It would be easier to explain in person. Samples and tests. But, explanations don’t fix anything. We’re at a loss. You’re the only other expert who maybe. I know you don’t owe us any favors, but if you could just—somewhere in your soul find it to… We still live in the same house Vlad. We aren’t going anywhere. If you could come by, and maybe just, see if you can find something we can’t.”

Vlad pursed his lips. He’d been growing rather bored lately, and Wisconsin winter had been growing cold.

“Ooh, sorry Maddie Dear. I’m quite the busy man these days. It’s just not feasible.”

“I’ll have dinner with you.” The phoneline crackled again, the shifting of hands. “I talked it over with Jack. I know what sort of man you are Vlad. I still am your friend Vlad… even if I don’t trust all of the person you’ve grown into.”

Vlad let a smile pass over his lips. “You’re assuming that I haven’t moved on from you.”

“Vlad, please…? For Danny, if not for me.”

Vlad stood, and stretched, and mulled the offer over in his head. He quirked an eyebrow, and nodded only to himself as he realized, if nothing else, it was a perfect opportunity to record Maddie’s mannerisms in person. And his A.I. deserved only the best training data.

“Alright Maddie. I’ll see what works with my schedule, and I’ll let you know.”

…

Jack had grayed. Maddie herself was not far behind. Vlad eyed her thinning hair and bag-creased eyes with a twinge of smugness. Maddie Masters retained her youth.

“Hey there, V-man, safe trip…? Um, do you still go by V-man?”

Vlad set his suitcase down, and he shook Jack’s outstretched hand. “I never went by V-man.”

“Oh, haha.” Jack looked away after a moment, hand moving to the back of his neck. He was just as hefty as he’d been ten years back, orange-clad and aging. His small eyes were watery, veined with crows feet. Laugh lines ridged through his cheeks, set above peppery stubble. He’d lost something. His buoyant energy had vanished. “Been a while, yeah? Um, y’know I’ve sent some messages to ya here and there. They must’ve gotten lost in your spam filter, huh?”

“Oh, must have.”

Vlad broke off conversation, and he stepped over the Fenton threshold to Maddie, who he pulled into an all-consuming hug. He let it linger, smelling her scent, tracing the contours of her back. As much as he preferred his Maddie A.I., he had not yet figured out scent and touch. Future models, he planned, would have a physical body.

Finally, Maddie pushed away.

“It’s nice to see you Vlad… Thanks for finding the time to come out here.”

“Oh it’s all my pleasure,” Vlad answered, his eyes roving over Maddie, drinking her in. She’d aged too, once-smooth skin scrunching with wrinkles, cheeks more pallid, more sallow than the rosy ones he’d fallen in love with. Her eyes were tired, and Vlad was so glad that Maddie Masters was eternally pleased to see him.

Vlad broke away from her. “Now, I was thinking Italian for dinner. Or, if you would prefer, an upscale Hibachi restaurant. Money is no object, my dear.”

Maddie studied him, eyes wide, words chosen carefully. “Danny. He’s in the basement.

“Oh right, the little badger. It’s such a shame to hear he’s been feeling off.”

“I sent you a document,” Maddie continued. She stepped closer to the basement, eyes lingering behind on Vlad, as if pleading him to follow. “It’s all of what Jack and I have theorized so far. Experimental procedures and results. Have you read it yet?”

Vlad waved her off. “My apologies. I haven’t found the time. I am very busy these days. I’m sure you can get me up to speed.” He followed, arms folded behind his back, attention set on the basement. Maddie walked next to him, visibly tense.

“He hasn’t left the basement in a few days now,” Maddie continued.

“I think he’ll change his tune when he sees me.”

Maddie remained silent. She set a hand to the basement door, easing it open cautiously. Vlad paused behind her, stealing glances. She’d lost weight, instantly obvious in comparison to the Maddie A.I., who’d been a flawless duplicate of Maddie Fenton ten years back. Vlad pondered absently on how much Daniel may or may not have changed. Certainly something mental had changed—it was what he’d been called in for. But the state of Daniel Fenton had no bearing on Daniel Masters, so it mattered to Vlad little.

Vlad followed Maddie down the creaking stairs, and ten years’ worth of petty, vengeful thoughts filtered through his mind. It may have been his last chance to make Daniel owe up to the grief he brought into Vlad’s life.

The lights were off, the portal open. Vlad blinked as he noticed the gleam, starkly emerald and blindingly bright, swirling through darkness, casting a swath of light that sent shadows dancing across the wall. Someone small stood just in front of the blaze—floated, rather. Tail flickering listlessly, gloves trailing worn patterns into the dusty portal edge, eyes hypnotized in the gleam.

Maddie folded her arms in against her stomach, taking a step back as Vlad overtook her, a twisting discomfort swamping through his mind.

“Daniel? Haven’t aged much my boy, have you?”

Vlad paused. Danny did not move. His tail flicked, his hands traced, his eyes remained consumed in the brightness before him.

“Daniel.”

No response. Vlad pressed forward. He stood beside Danny, right hand raised to shield his eyes from the brightness of the portal. His brow furrowed, investigating the glassy nothing that seemed to exist behind Danny’s eyes.

He turned to Maddie. “Certain ghosts possess hypnotic powers. He could potentially—”

Maddie shook her head, resigned. “Jack and I ruled that out already. It’s not hypnosis. This was gradual…”

Heavy footsteps creaked down the first few stairs. Vlad glanced, finding Jack hovering just as the door to the stairwell.

Vlad ignored him, fixing his attention back on Danny. “So it’s something to do with his ghost core then?”

Danny’s eyes sparked, shoulders dropping, head perking. He twisted to face Vlad, a single, sudden, jerking movement. “Ghost?”

Vlad stared. The spark in Danny’s eyes seemed to be little more than an echo, glassy glazed and empty, like a recording. Like a reflection. Like a memory, rather than a person in and of himself.

“Is that what you’re doing Daniel? You’re hunting ghosts?”

“Where?” Danny asked, firecracker-like excitement. His tail flicked, and he floated closer to Vlad, until mere inches separated them. Vlad stepped back. Danny’s breath froze over.

It was as though the gun fired. Danny pounced, throwing himself against the portal with the fervor of an animal at feeding time. His gloves skimmed the swirling surface, tracing ripples through the portal as his aura flared like fire around him.

“Show yourself!” Danny shouted. “How’s about an ectoblast that fires off at mach 3? If the blast doesn’t wreck you, the shockwave will!”

“That’s all he responds to,” Maddie said quietly. “Ghost.” She moved beside Vlad, putting a hand out to rest on Danny’s shoulder. The boy studied it quizzically, rolling his shoulder to free himself. Maddie let her hand drop without resistance. “We think it’s—”

“An obsession.”

“…Yeah,” Maddie conceded.

Vlad rubbed his forehead a moment, thoughts sober. His smug giddiness drained away, replaced with something dense in his chest. “Why though?”

Maddie leaned a shoulder against the portal. “We have… a couple theories. It’s maybe a flaw in…what he is. That ghost-human hybrid… It made something about him unstable.”

Vlad chewed his lip, feeling out a twinge of power beneath his palm. “No. I don’t believe that theory. What else?”

“…A ghost sickness, perhaps…”

Vlad shook his head.

“No.” He offered no further elaboration. The Fentons were not entitled to his research.

Maddie’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Jack doesn’t like this theory, but I’m—it’s what I’m most convinced of.” She moved forward again, and trailed her hand along Danny’s cheek. He’d calmed down once more, only hazily aware of his surroundings, eyes fixated on the portal. “I think it’s… maybe that Danny wasn’t meant to come back. And it was this obsession that brought him back. He died saving people. It’s what his ghost half knows to do. Fight the ghosts. Save the town.”

Maddie lowered her hand to Danny’s shoulder once more, turning him to face her. He turned, but he did not look at her. His eyes saw through her. Scanning. Eternally searching. She leaned in and kissed his forehead, lingering against him, eyes shut to forget.

When she leaned back, she continued. “It was his obsession that came back, that’s his ghostly fuel, and the rest of him just came along, the parts that were supposed to be dead. We didn’t notice. We didn’t do anything. Those pieces can’t live in the human world. …And they rotted away. And they left behind just what a ghost is… just an echo.”

Vlad backed away.

“Something doesn’t make sense. So many ghosts still have their identity. This is different.”

“If Mads is right, then… it’s our fault,” Jack answered, easing down a few more steps. “He had other things keeping his spirit alive, back when he was in school and had his friends and his sister. He had a job even, once. But those things… Danny graduated, and his friends went to college, and he just kinda… He lost those other things that mighta been keeping him healthy… Danny can’t leave—it’s this radius—some kind of barrier that keeps him a certain distance from the portal. And it just kept shrinking. It—we were trying to make it easy on him. He was losing so much. So when he doubled-down on ghost-hunting… I was excited. We let him… We let him just… boil down to an obsession…”

Vlad hesitated. “Maddie, Jack, would you two kindly leave the basement for a few minutes? I’d like to speak to Daniel.”

“Why?” Maddie asked.

“Just something I would like to test.”

“What, though?”

“Do you want my help or not?”

“Yes but—”

“Then leave. I won’t harm him. It’ll be quick.”

Reluctantly, Maddie backed away. She retreated to the steps, climbing until Jack set a heavy hand to her shoulder and guided her out. Vlad heard the door click shut behind him.

“Now then.” Vlad squared his feet, breathing deep, allowing a sudden lash of power to envelop his body. It swept over him, chilling, invigorating, sparking like electricity. Aura swamped him, skin turning pale sickly blue, eyes red, fangs glistening, cape sweeping out behind him. Vlad rolled his shoulders, and he cracked his neck.

“Ghost.”

Danny turned with an instantaneous flicker. His eyes were consumed in fire, deliriously giddy and yet hardly present. He fired off a blast that Vlad absorbed into his shield.

“Daniel, we’re going to have a little chat about this.”

Danny lunged, firing off round after round of ectoblast. Vlad dodged and blocked with ease, spinning and catching Danny by the neck. The boy choked, sputtered somewhat, and then squirmed under Vlad’s grip. Vlad turned, and slammed him against the portal edge.

“Listen, Daniel. It’s Vlad. Vlad Masters. Vlad Plasmius. If there’s an ounce of the real you left in this shell you’ll recognize that name. Tell me you recognize the name!”

Danny’s struggling eased. He stared back instead, eyes filmy and neon. He blinked, brows twisting in pained concentration, his face just as young and boyish as the last day Vlad had seen him a decade before.

Danny set a hand against Vlad’s chokehold, inquisitive, stressed, the tiniest spark of thoughts trying to form behind glazed nothing.

Then Danny squeezed, and Vlad’s fingers cracked, and Vlad howled, dropping Daniel to the floor.

“Thought you had me, didn’t you ghost? How’s about an ectoblast that fires off at mach 3? If the blast doesn’t wreck you, the shockwave will!”

“Daniel, stop.” Vlad closed in. “It’s bad enough you died. It’s bad enough you betrayed me. It’s absolutely unacceptable that you tarnish your own dignity in this way. Is this how you’d like me to remember you, oh Hero of Amity Park? Like this?”

Danny raised his hand. Green energy gathered in his palm. “Hey ghost, how’s about an ectoblast that fires off at mach 3?”

Vlad snarled, and then he screamed, and he let off a single shot of violet energy that struck Danny dead center. The boy flew back, cracking against the lab wall. And the rage welling in Vlad’s chest—the anger of betrayal, of loss, of grief, of insult to the boy he’d once called his son—all vanished in a sudden new ice front. Some other all-consuming feeling that climbed his throat and snuffed the fire in his chest.

After having given up so many years ago, he realized with a jolt that, perhaps, he was staring at his own future after all. Not the one with Daniel dressed in a tailored tuxedo, and Maddie in a ballgown by his side, as guests made of the world’s most affluential people flocked to the Masters’ mansion for Vlad and Maddie’s engagement party.

This was a different future, one of empty feral eyes and one-liners, repeated on record, until all identity had sapped away. Vlad stared at Danny’s bruised ghost form, and he understood instantly. Daniel’s transition to full ghosthood hadn’t been a measure to separate himself to Vlad. Rather, Daniel had just gone ahead first. He died and found the future that, someday, may be the fate awaiting Vlad. Empty eyes and repeated one-liners about, what exactly? His A.I.s? Maddie? Danny himself?

Vlad gave one last look at the green nothing staring back at him. And then the lab door burst open. And Vlad vanished through the wall.

…

Maddie had reached out to Vlad three more times since then. The first time had been the very same day, leaving a heart-felt apology for whatever had provoked Danny to attack Vlad like that, and begging that he not give up on helping. There was still hope. She was still available for dinner.

The next time she called came a decade later, the day that Maddie’s sister died. Maddie left a message, rambling and incoherent, broken mutterings seeking reassurance. She’d been leaning on her sister for support all these years, and breast cancer had taken her away. She had no one left to tell the things that hurt Jack too much to hear about. Danny hadn’t spoken in years. Jazz almost never called home. Maddie had these dreams, recurring nightmares, that she went to the basement and found Jazz there too, empty eyes on the portal, gone. She wanted to shut the portal down. She wanted nothing more to do with it. She was afraid that Danny might vanish all together if she did that.

She left this all in a message. Vlad did not pick up.

The third phone call came after seven more years. She was calling because Jack had died, peacefully, in his sleep. He felt no pain. He did not suffer. It was just her now, her and Danny, in the house. And Maddie could not sleep at night. Not without Jack’s snoring beside her, not without his warmth. Not with the sound of the portal humming through the night. And then she trailed off, silent, voicemail recording nothing but the shallow sound of her breath. Vlad had not answered. Maddie put the phone down.

Perhaps she did it because she had no one to stop her. Maddie pulled the RV out of the garage, and she kicked the engine to life, and she drove. It took two days, hardly sleeping, hardly stopping, just the nav and the hum of the engine around her. It was easier not to think like this, easier to believe none of it had happened.

When Maddie pulled up to the Masters’ mansion, she took out the key she’d stuffed in her pocket, a decades-old relic, given to her back when Vlad still craved her company—“if she should so ever get tired of that bumbling fool she married.”

Maddie let herself in, and the mansion was dark. She flicked on light after light, calling out Vlad’s name, scanning the walls with wary eyes. A thin layer of dust coated the windows, the book shelves, the sills, the light switches that Maddie flicked. Looming granite archways felt hollow, abandoned, like the dark catacombs of a cave, untouched. The living room was icily cold, a window left cracked, water damage staining down the length of wall beneath it. The wind blew, and the window howled. Maddie kept on.

She came to the library, and she pulled out dusty book after dusty book. She knew Vlad Masters well enough to know he had a lab hidden away somewhere—that an empty house did not necessarily mean he was not in it. And she knew Vlad Masters well enough to know he would hide it away in the most grandiose way possible.

One of the statues clicked under her touch, cold and copper-headed, and the nearby wall opened up to a stairwell below.

Maddie followed it, shivering with the temperature drop. Her breath curled in front of her, crystalized. She hunched her shoulders in and braced herself. Marble stairs carried her footsteps with resounding echoes, clacking forward, consumed in the dark nothing ahead of her.

At the bottom, the floor leveled out, and another few steps brought her around the corner, where everything she expected met her eye. Crackling equipment stretched floor to ceiling, strung up with wires and flashing warning colors. The air turned sharp and citrusy, poorly ventilated. Maddie walked, heels clacking, carrying her through rooms of lab tables lined with beakers whose contents had solidified to the bottom, incubation tubes large enough to house humans and lit from the inside, monitors flickering with jagged static images. The citrus smell turned to rot as she came upon the last room.

“Vlad?”

Maddie looked around her, peering through darkness.

“Vlad?” her own voice echoed back.

Maddie spun, and found herself staring into her reflection. Though it wasn’t her reflection exactly—it was a younger Maddie, eyes bright and untroubled, hair curled, jumpsuit unzipped just a fraction down the front. This reflection batted her eyes. “Are you ready to snuggle, Vlad?”

Maddie let out a strangled gasp and kicked back. She knocked against a table, and grabbed it to steady herself.

“Dad?”

When Maddie turned, it was as though chains had tightened around her heart. Danny watched her from the other side of the room—her Danny—human Danny—his hair dark and his head quirked, blinking quizzically. “Are you home yet, Dad? I was hoping you could show me how to use my powers.”

“Do you like them?”

Maddie gave a third startle, ducking forward and clutching at her chest with a pained gasp. She looked up, eyes wide, certain she’d grown too old for surprises like these.

She squinted, recognition bubbling beneath the fear. It was a familiar form, glistening fangs, pallid blue skin, piercing red eyes.

“It’s you! The Wisconsin Ghost. You’re still here?”

“Please. Call me Plasmius.”

“Are you home yet, Dad? I was hoping you could show me how to use my powers.”

Maddie pushed herself away from the table. “You’re still around.”

“Indeed I am. Does that surprise you?” the ghost asked. He quirked an eyebrow and stepped closer. A fiery acid-green crown sat atop his head, casting a light ghoulish and sickly across his face.

Maddie didn’t answer. It wasn’t worth dwelling on anymore.

“I’m looking for Vlad.”

“Vlad dear, I baked you a pie. Let’s cuddle up.”

Maddie flinched, but managed to ignore her own voice. Another side-long glance revealed that her look alike flickered and wavered, her form cold blue and transparent. The fake Maddie smiled, and it was a look full of love.

“Why are you looking for Vlad?” Plasmius answered. He inspected his manicured nails, a ring as bright as his crown nestled on one finger.

“I don’t have anyone else to turn to anymore,” Maddie answered. She watched the Danny hologram from the corner of her eye. There was emotion in his eyes. It twisted Maddie’s heart to recognize it.

“Maybe consider making a few new friends then. Vlad isn’t really around much to be your emotional shoulder to cry on.”

“Where is he?”

“Preoccupied, at the moment. He’s absolutely crushed with work.”

“Dad, are you home yet?”

Maddie shut her eyes. She breathed deep. Jack. Oh god, Jack…

Her nose curled, on the air, something rotten drifted. Under different circumstances, Maddie might have fought away the thought that crossed her mind. Lately though, she’d been dealing with enough grief to believe it.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Maddie looked up, inspecting the emotionless nothing in the Wisconsin Ghost’s eyes. “…Did you kill him?”

“Oh… in a sense, I suppose.” The ghost shrugged, and he flashed a fanged smile. He jerked his head toward the corner of the lab. “A nasty accident, but for the best I might say. Don’t dig too far through the fallen machinery over there, you might not like what you find rotting beneath.”

Maddie shivered. She didn’t let it show on her face.

“Are you saying it was a lab accident?”

“I’m afraid so. I’d almost be embarrassed—crushed to death beneath some poorly-anchored machinery.”

“And why are you here?”

Plasmius’s face split into an awful grin. He reveled in the moment. “Did you really think young Daniel was the only half-ghost among us?”

Maddie’s heart pounded, pieces clicking. Icy dread washed through her core, shriveling up a part of her that she thought had been too wrung-out to feel anymore. She gripped a hand to the table, and lowered herself slowly.

“…God.” It was a name she’d heard him shout to the portal, time and time again. Plasmius. Images of the 20 year reunion party flashed through her mind. Incidents of Phantom and Plasmius gripped in battle. This cruel, twisted, awful creature, from a world made of cruel and twisted and awful creatures. The last man she had come to for help. “I really have no one then…? Is that really you Vlad?”

“I’m sorry to say it is.” He swept his hand across his body, dark under the sparse lighting, lit by the flaming crown on his head. “In the not-quite-flesh.”

“Are you going to go in the same way too?” Maddie asked quietly. She glanced around the lab, fizzled and dying and abandoned equipment.

“Hey Dad, do you have some time to play football later?”

“The same was as Daniel? No, dear Maddie, I will not.” Vlad gestured behind him, capturing the distant shimmer of a portal tucked away in the very back end of the lab. “I’m only here for a brief visit. My alarm system tripped so I figured it would only be polite of me to come say hello to you after all these years. And to pass along my gratitude.”

Maddie stared at him, losing the will to properly care. Whatever happened to him, or to her at this point, it hardly mattered, not with the way everything had slipped away around her. She fixed her eyes on the Danny hologram once more. He waved. Maddie did not wave back.

“Visiting Daniel was a bit of a wake up call, my dear. I ran some choice experiments after that visit, and your theory was spot on. Daniel gave into his obsession, trying to exist in the human world as a ghost, and he let the rest of himself rot away.”

Maddie glanced to him. Vlad spread his arms wide, cape billowing out. The crown threw shadows against the wall.

“When I woke up from my accident, just a ghost form torn out of a body that had been crushed unrecognizable beneath a two-ton monitor—well, I knew what I needed to do.” He stepped forward, pausing just in front of Maddie and crouching to her level. Vlad gave a fanged smile and tilted his head. “I did exactly what could have saved young Daniel.”

Maddie’s head jerked up. The thought sent something writhing through her, a discomfort like suffocating guilt. “We could have saved him?”

“Most assuredly. It worked for me.” Vlad stood again. “I cut all ties with my obsession.” And he turned, and walked a path over shattered remnants of equipment and fizzling cable. “I cut all ties with you.”

“Were you…really that obsessed with me…?”

“I was consumed with you,” Vlad answered, spinning back, lashing out, his form towering and ghastly to behold. He reeled himself in, and smiled once more. “With you and Daniel both, with the family we would made. My desperation drove me to make a family of my own.”

“How’s about that pie, dear?”

Maddie locked eyes with herself, an expression untroubled, frozen, echoing someone she might have been. Maddie breathed out, her breath in crystals.

“But, I did what had to be done. I stopped caring. These A.I.s? They’ve been frozen here for fifteen years. So has this whole lab. They’re nothing to me—they don’t think, they don’t feel, they’re heartless, empty worthless. I don’t care for them. And I don’t care for you. And I don’t care for Daniel rotting in your lab. I don’t care for anyone really but myself. I’ve beaten my obsession. I get to live my afterlife on my own terms.”

“…You’re a monster,” Maddie whispered in response.

“No.” Vlad retreated, his feet beating a path toward the portal at the far end of the room. He turned once more, eyes locked on Maddie, and he tapped a single finger against the crown on his head. “I’m the king of monsters.”

He vanished, whisked from sight into the swirling matrix of the portal, and it closed down behind him. It threw the lab into utter darkness, pricked only by the glimmering hollow light of the A.I.’s left behind in the lab.

“Hey Mom, when Dad gets home, can we all watch a movie as a family?”

Maddie sunk low to the ground. She crumpled forward, and buried her head in her arms.

“Yes Daniel, your father would love that.”

Maddie did not move. She hardly breathed, because she refused to cry again so soon. She steeled herself, and lost herself to the dark nothing around her.

“Good. I miss him.”

#Danny Phantom #dp fanfiction #bloodblossomtea #dark fic #dp #christmas truce 2017

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theonyxpath · 7 years ago

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Travis sends this:

Cling to the world of the living as much as you like. Haunt your loved ones. Claw your way back into your own corpse. Beware of ghosts bearing masks, and steer clear of the exorcists and ghost-breakers. No matter what you do, the Underworld is waiting. Waiting for your Anchors to crumble, for your kin to forget you, or for the Reapers to take you. And when it welcomes you into its cold embrace, when you feel your very essence being leeched into the damp stone, you’ll know that old saying only gets it half right: Death is patient, but it is not kind.

The Lands of the Dead

Scholarly Bound and academically-inclined necromancers have catalogued the Underworld for as long as human society has explored it. While deep cultural variations and subtle elemental distinctions exist depending on the author, most divide the Underworld into several distinct areas:

The low places or cenotes, areas of Twilight that contain an Avernian Gate and are keenly attuned to the energies of death. On the other side of the Gates lies…

…the Upper Reaches, or the liminal stage between the living world and the…

Lower Mysteries, where the dead congregate in their hermitages, shantytowns, and even the great River Cities, which sit on the shores of the…

…Rivers of the Dead, a vast series of waterways that contain small gatherings of ghosts plagued by Reapers, and that cut through the Lower Mysteries, with harbors that abut…

…the Dead Dominions, or dry areas of the Underworld subject to peculiar Old Laws that grow more numerous the deeper you go, enforced by and subject to the rule of their Kerberoi, lords of their dead realms. Yet all Rivers lead to…

…the Ocean of Fragments.

On the dead side, Avernian Gates shine with a dim and coruscating light, scattering rays across forgotten tunnels like beams of sunlight broken by the ocean’s surface. Brackish water seeps and flows from cracks in the Gates, even if they lead to the hottest parts of Death Valley or Gilf Kebir. This same water flows out of an opened Gate in a torrent strong enough to knock the unwary off their feet, heralding a new ghost’s arrival. The dead are not sucked into Gates, but blown through, pushed to equalize the pressure of existence. They fall to the floor of the Depths sodden, another piece of detritus amidst a vast field of dead debris.

Castoffs

The living are not the only things that die. Valued knick-knacks, treasured possessions, even real estate prized by a community: they all burn, decay, and are lost. They persist in Twilight for a time, but without Anchors, these sad castoffs are blown into any nearby Gate whenever it opens. Detritus floats ever downstream, breaking into fragments and moving through the Upper Reaches at a glacial pace. Yet they are still charged with Essence, and ghosts, deprived of Anchors themselves, cannot help but be reminded of how much they’ve lost with the first bite of a rotten teddy bear or the crunch of a soiled wedding photo on ephemeral teeth.

Chthonians

Billions of ghosts have entered the deep below, eking out an existence in the upper reaches, then the Dominions, before succumbing to accident, somehow passing on, or entering a River (or the Ocean they flow to) and being destroyed. The human species is the Underworld’s great tide of immigrants.

The Underworld has natives.

Superficially, a Chthonian resembles a ghost. It has a body formed of ephemera, and its supernatural abilities resemble those ghosts learn to develop over time. Although many ancient ghosts and Kerberoi stray in form from their human origins, they’re usually still humanoid. Chthonians look like admixtures of upsetting images of death, carrion, and decay; e.g. yards-long maggots with distorted human faces, chitinous beetle-shells covering a core of congealing blood. Their mindsets are so inscrutable as to be alien. Most Chthonians don’t respond to ghosts at all, or “talk” in waves of pain and flies buzzing. The few Chthonians whom ghosts have bargained with appeared to view the interaction to be like scratching an itch.

A Chthonian’s touch tears Essence away from a ghost, so ghosts give them a wide berth. Sin-Eaters record tales of Chthonians destroying whole Dominions — not for any sin, but simply because the domain was in their way. On the other hand, many Chthonians are coated in Plasm, which drips and congeals in pools as they pass. Some ghosts follow in their wake, collecting Plasm, worshipping them as avatars of the Chthonic Gods (the Chthonians don’t notice) or trying to follow them. Eventually, these pilgrimages come to an end at a River. Chthonians are immune to dissolution from entering the Rivers, and appear to use them as migration routes. Ghosts who journey as deep as the Ocean of Fragments tell stories of gigantic, never-alive things, to the Chthonians as the Kerberoi are to ghosts, swimming beneath the still waves.

Life After Death

Let’s not dress it up in pretty language: The Underworld eats ghosts. Daily, bit by bit, it leeches them away, draining them of Essence. Once that bulwark is gone, the Underworld absorbs the dead, literally sucking them into the walls and floors of the cavern, until nothing is left except perhaps a fold of rock that resembles a face in profile, or a stalagmite with five finger-like protrusions.

So how do the dead survive this place? Many, simply put, don’t. It’s difficult, but not impossible, to acquire Essence in the Underworld, and the clever, the lucky, and the ruthless can carve out a niche for themselves.

Hermits

You’ll find some ghosts living in hermitages on the shores of the tributary streams of the Underworld, carefully fishing the waters for castoffs. Any given tributary doesn’t see much in the way of castoffs, but one or two ghosts, committed to an ascetic lifestyle, can just about survive. Travelers beware: in the lean times, when it’s a choice between slow, agonizing dissolution and devouring a wanderer for his Essence, the unthinkable becomes very thinkable indeed.

River Citizens

Other ghosts take the opposite tack, seeking safety in numbers and mutual protection. At the confluence of the Rivers, where castoffs from hundreds or even thousands of streams come together, you’ll find the great River Cities: ramshackle strongholds of the free dead. Most are built from the detritus that slides down into the Rivers, giving them a patchwork appearance. A rare few have residents that possessed some degree of supernatural might capable of reshaping the Underworld, and are built up like favelas or banlieus. Most can be seen from the Upper Reaches — cliffs in the tunnels give glimpses of these communities, lighted by thousands of scavenged lanterns that never go out and reflect off the glittering Rivers in the never-ending night. But take care: far more River Cities are ruled by local strongmen who brook no challenge to their authority than by autonomous collectives for the benefit of all. Human nature is human nature, after all.

Dominions

If panning for torn photographs and half-melted GI Joes or living cheek-by- jowl with the hungry dead in a River City don’t appeal to you, there are always the Deep Dominions. These strange pockets of the Lower Mysteries have their own rules, and their own guardians. Within a Dominion, a ghost who abides by the Old Laws is safe from the leeching effect of the Underworld. A ghost who breaks the Old Laws… well, they have more immediate concerns. But mind yourself: Dominions don’t last forever. Oh, this one’s been around a century or so, and that one is described in the scriptures of Mourner krewes going back three millennia, but eventually, every Dominion will crack asunder and plunge into the Ocean of Fragments, leaving behind nothing but a sinkhole and a shattered gate.

Two Ways Out

Absent someone from the land of the living pulling an Orpheus, there are really only two ways out of the Underworld. The first is to drink deep from one of the Rivers, filling yourself with its poisonous power to become a geist, bound to a specific form of death rather than an Anchor. Even then, the geist has to actually find an Avernian Gate and wait for it to open from the other side — plenty of geists still roam the Underworld, looking for their way out.

The second way out is to become a Reaper. But we’ve already talked about that.

Whether total destruction — by diving into the Ocean of Fragments, the toxic touch of a Chthonian, or ectophagia — is a third way out (and different in any meaningful way from being consumed by the Underworld) is hotly debated in esoteric circles.

Wish You Were Here

Sin-Eaters have any number of reasons to go to the Underworld. First and foremost, it’s where ghosts are, and a Sin-Eater who ignores half the world’s ghosts is a poor Sin-Eater indeed. Every krewe archetype has its own reasons for taking the plunge, from the Mourners who chronicle the stories of the forgotten dead to the Necropolitans who love nothing more than jailbreaking as many shades as possible. Being that the Underworld is the source of Haunts, it’s also where you have to go when you want to learn a new one. But perhaps the biggest reason is simply this: if you want to change the Underworld, you have to understand it first.

Next Time

Ceremonies or playable ghosts?

#Onyx Path Publishing

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phantomphangphucker · 5 years ago

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DannyMay Day 25: Break - What’s The (Brain) Matter With You?

Danny gets graphically injured, freaks out his class, and possibly changes the definition of ‘dead’; all in one unassuming English class.

Why does bad shit always have to happen in English class? Knowing Danny’s luck it was probably because Lancer was the one teacher that still actively paid attention to him and cared. What was actually surprising is that this time it had nothing to do with ghosts. Well okay, it did have to do with ectoplasm and it was partially Danny’s fault and he was a ghost. So ghosts were sorta involved. Kinda. Not really though.

Now see the reason the explosion was partly Danny’s fault was because of a particular very explosive reaction certain chemicals have with ectoplasm; and Danny was dumb enough to just assume there wasn’t enough ‘plasm in him to be an issue. Course his dumbass was wrong. Figures. That was his kind of luck after all.

It was also technically his health teacher’s fault though, wanting to do that ‘lets take samples of our blood and look at it’ class project. Which yes, had made Danny more than a little worried, since his blood has some strange shit. But apparently the class rule was you could only look at your own, so it was whatever. He still destroyed his slides though. But of course the science class had to share a biohazards and chemical waste trash bin. Of course. And of course there had to be enough of his ‘plasm to react with things violently but belatedly. And of course whatever they did with the waste bins happened to be located right below his English classroom. And finally, of course, said explosive reaction had to happen directly below him and absolutely with enough force to kill someone.

Considering how the explosion had torn a hole through the floor, launched him with a yelp into the ceiling, blown his desk and chair to smithereens, blew out half the classroom windows, put another hole through the ceiling, and that’s without mentioning any injuries. Which, in predictable fashion, Danny was the only one with serious injuries. Sure, Danny preferred it that way. All things considered. But still. No one liked broken bones, or getting impaled, or cracking their fucking skull open. Fucking Ancients. Danny’s pretty sure he had actually seen brain matter go flying into a wall. And by broken bones, he mean so mostly his neck; which is at totally the wrong angle right now. Oh and his arm, which might actually be missing. And honestly, he’s pretty sure, like, all his spine is super fucked up. Couple toes for sure. Maybe his jaw too. Also can’t currently see out of one eye, so there’s that.

Danny wheezes slightly from the ground, spitting out bits of debris or dust or whatever out of his mouth. He’s not even going to bother with finishing mental self-assessment. Because fuck his organs are a mess and he is absolutely just making a pool of blood right now. He should probably cut that out before passes out or something. Maybe. He’s not sure if he even can pass out from blood loss nowadays.

He’s definitely glad for the ringing in his ears to cut it the Hell out. Even if that gives him the very unpleasant reminder that his is currently surrounded by people, people he knows at that.

Needless to say, everyone’s freaking the Hell out.

Lancer’s doing his best to keep the class calm or at the very least calm enough for him to be able to check that everyone’s alright; while the dust and bits of debris settled enough to actually see. “Alright everyone! Please come over to the door slowly and let me check you over. Then head outside”.

The teens, predictably, do not go slowly. Most practically rushing over to him, but thankfully the first few seem fine and are more than eager to get out of the room.

Lancer gets halfway through his class when the dust settles enough for him to notice the absolute carnage in the back of the class. The hole in the ceiling letting in extra light and practically highlighting the blood splatter. Lancer abandons his task at spotting a mangled pale arm speared on a piece of the broken window glass. Gaping at blood dripping to the floor with a chunk of white and red fabric from the severed end.

Everyone following Lancer with their eyes as he basically shouts, “Daniel!”, and moves as fast as his overweight and old body will let him, to the back of the classroom. Mentally trying to ignore the blood and even bits of flesh while fanning away dust. Fanning more away after finding and grabbing a red and white shoe, feeling frankly stunned but also deeply relieved at hearing a, “hey ow, that’s, like, definitely broken”, at least the teen wasn’t dead.

Lancer promptly exclaiming, “Chicken Soup For The Soul!”, and scrambling to back away, followed by a bunch of shrieking and gagging sounds from the rest of the class, when Daniel pushes himself up on one arm and is missing half his head and face; said head is also rolling around his shoulders limply.

Lancer finding his voice and sputtering, “h-how?”, because this was impossible.

Daniel just grabs a piece of shrapnel, that likely was once a chair leg, and just wraps it around his neck; effectively making a hard brace and forcing his head to stay upright and blinks his one eye at Lancer. “Uh, could use some help here”, when no one moves and just openly gapes at him (or in Jesse’s case, throws up), Daniel just leans on his one arm, “that’s alright, I got this”, and grabs a corner of a desk to start yanking himself to stand up with a bit of grunting. Everyone watching his back making some seriously strange movements.

Lancer shakes himself off when Daniel repeatedly falls on his ass after letting go of the desk, his back basically crumpling in on itself every time, grumbling, “Ah dammit”. Lancer actually physically shakes his head and moves to grab Daniel and hoist him up to be laying on an intact desk away from the hole in the ground and glass shards scattered around. Daniel grumbling some more, “the goal wasn’t to just lay down somewhere else”.

Lancer swallows, “Daniel, I don’t think you can stand right now”.

Kwan just loses it at this, “how the fuck are you even alive. You’re missing your face!?!”.

Lancer has to seriously resist gagging himself at Daniel patting at his face, even touching exposed bone and shredded muscle, “oh shit, so that’s why I’m missing an eye. Huh. Fancy that”. Then sticks his one arm out, “someone hand me a pole and strips of fabric”. Brittney doing exactly that with very shaky hands.

Lancer just numbly moves to hold the teen up by his armpits, pointedly ignoring all the blood getting smeared on him in the process; just how much blood could one body hold??? While Daniel makes the motions of attempting to tie the pole to his back. Three other students jerkily moving to help him, two with tears in their eyes and clearly trying not to just break down.

Lancer joins everyone else in openly gaping some more when Daniel actually stands up, kicks a bit of debris and mumbles, “oh yeah, totally broke a few toes”.

Lancer clears his throat and grabs Daniel’s arm, “Daniel, how are you- you need you stay sitting”.

Daniel blinks, moves the arm with surprising strength and scratches the inside of his head, “uh, but I’d like to have something back where it belongs. I don’t know ‘bout you, but not having a brain makes it kinda hard to think”.

Quite a few people mutter, “what the fuck”. And Lancer can’t help but agree, he’s not even going to chastise them for swearing.

While Daniel wobble walks back over near the hole, Lancer muttering disbelievingly, “careful”. Daniel predictably just waves him off over his shoulder and makes his way to the window.

Quite a few more people gag or mutter, “this is disgusting”, but clearly keep watching anyway; while Daniel rips his arm off the chunk of glass, blood splattering down from it, and shoves it in his mouth. Even Lancer has a seriously hard time not throwing up at that. While Daniel starts searching around and picking up pale red chunks off the ground.

Everyone’s dead silent while Daniel makes his way to a desk near them while cradling the fleshy bits in his attached arm, which Lancer’s has now realised are probably chunks of brain matter. The teen flops into a desk and spits the arm onto the desk top, causing more gagging sounds from the class, as it flops around with notably limp fingers.

Lancer blinks, “Daniel... what are you doing?”, shaking his head while Daniel starts shoving bits of the Probable brain matter inside his head using the missing part of his head as an easy entry hole. Lancer doesn’t have any words for any of this and shakily fishes into his pocket, “right, I should probably call an ambulance”. He should have done that a while ago. But this was- Daniel should be dead.

Lancer actually jumps a little from Daniel snapping his head around using his hand, since his neck is clearly broken, “I'd rather you not do that. In all honestly”, one of the brain chunks flying out of his head due to the speed with which he turned his head to splatter against the wall. Daniel turns his head to look at it, then back at the class, “uh, anyone wanna get that?”.

Todd walks over to the piece while maintaining very disbelievingly eye contact with the teen and picks it up using his jacket sleeve, awkwardly saying, “here”, as he hands the bit over.

Daniel grunts like the guy had just picked up his pencil, “thanks, ‘preciate it”, and dust it off before just stuffing back into his head.

Lancer swallows and looks from his phone to Daniel, “uh, I think I should call. Why shouldn’t I? Daniel -Call Of The Wild- you are missing your arm and half your head”.

Daniel shrugs, “your point being? Me and hospitals have a rocky relationship. Meaning a nonexistent one. I’m kinda too weird for ‘em”.

Kwan parrots, “‘kinda’”.

Daniel nods, “yup”, and freaking pops the ‘p’.

Dale sticks his hands out to the side, “do you feel like expanding on that? Like, seriously”.

Lancer nods, “again, why shouldn't I call?”. If Lancer has to make some form of a guess, it would have to be something to do with the fact that Daniel shouldn’t be alive right now.

Daniel just haphazardly shoves the rest of the chunks in his head, which looks to be reforming parts of his skull and even flesh. War Of The World’s, this was beyond strange and frankly, incredibly disgusting.

Daniel responds while literally holding the chunks of brain in place with his hand, “well, I mean, they kinda would freak over my vitals and my blood’s some strange shit”, looking down to his arm and nodding at it, “someone wanna hold this up fer me, rather get that reattached before it gets all melty”.

Todd jerks to pick it up and continues giving a disbelieving look at Daniel but with a slight questioning look added in. Daniel rolls his eyes, “just hold the ends together, dude”. Todd glares but does as he’s told. Everyone gapes and Lancer drops his phone on the floor, watching as the flesh, muscle and blood from the two ends start meshing back together and bubbling; his fingers even start twitching.

Lancer swallows and clears his throat, this kind of healing? wasn’t even possible. People can’t reattach limbs. Lancer’s pretty sure no creature can do that actually. “Daniel, that explains nothing. You shouldn’t even have vitals right now. You should be dead”.

Daniel glances his eye around and shrugs a little, “well, uh, cats outta the bag I guess”, then looks Lancer right in the eyes, which Lancer has to try very hard not to gag over because the teens eye socket is reforming grotesquely, “don’t gotta worry ‘bout me dying, cause I’m kinda already dead”.

Lancer joins the class in sputtering, “what???”.

Kwan squeaks, “so you’re a freaking zombie?”, looking more than a little freaked.

Daniel tilts his head and chuckles, “no. Close though, I guess”, Daniel physically turns his head with his hand to look around, “anyone seen an eye by chance? Takes a lot more energy to reform than reattach”.

Lancer blinks, arms limp at his sides, “no one has been looking, Daniel”.

Daniel shrugs, “fair enough. Probably crushed anyway”, shrugging again, “least I got my brain stuff”, chuckling, “you know how much energy it is to put a brain back together, the human body is so complicated”.

Lancer gives a very awkward, “yeah. It is”.

Jesse tentatively pokes the boy when he uses the reattached arm/hand to pat at the reformed skull and skin, hair starting to seemingly regrow off of it. Jesse asking, “so, about the dead thing?”.

Daniel blinks, “yeah?”, continuing when everyone glares at him, including Lancer, “it’s been, like, two years. It’s not my fault you never noticed. I’ve got some ‘plasm that keeps me going”.

Lancer blinks, “as in ectoplasm?”, shaking his head and scrunching up his eyebrows. Come to think of it, Daniel had been weird ever since that electrical accident that kept him from attending school for a bit. “That electrocution?”.

Daniel nods and points at him, smiling; which is seriously off-putting, since this situation and topic does not call for smiling. “That’s the one! Totally didn’t survive that shit. I mean, it was what? four billion volts? Pretty sure it’s impossible to survive that”, shrugging, “but I had some ‘plasm to keep me goin’, so here I am. I’m not complaining. Though yeah, this is supremely fucking painful. So if anyone’s got, like, some narcotics, that’d be great”.

Lancer walks a bit stiffly to his desk and pulls out a bottle, “it’s... not much, but I have some Advil”. Daniel just shrugs and takes it, removing the bent metal chair leg from his neck after and bending his neck around. Lancer shakes his head, “‘four billion’ that's Four times the amount in a bolt of lightning”.

Daniel nods, “sounds about right”. Earning more gapping from the class.

Everyone looks up then as the class over bell goes off, then looks to Lancer. Who immediately says, “everyone’s free to go home”, looking specifically at Daniel, “and you can just stay right there till you’re done...this”, shaking his head, “are you seriously going to be alright? And you are... dead?”.

Daniel nods, “yup. Just need a bit to rearrange my spine and some organs. Kinda probably soup on the inside”, shrugging, “but uh, I guess be happy that was me who got all mangled and broken. Anyone else and you be dealing with a corpse. Well, a non-responsive corpse anyway. I’m not really sure if I count as a corpse or not”.

Dale mutter, “oh my Zone. This seriously messed up”.

Daniel chuckles, “yeah, welcome to my existence. It’s usually pretty messed up. Shoulda seen the first time I got decapitated. That was wild. Don’t recommend”.

Quite a few people gag and mutter about going home. Which seems to amuse the teen, based on the smirking. Lancer shakes his head, “I think I don’t really want to know”.

All the people still left turn their heads to the door when Tucker appears, points at Daniel, laughs, and says, “dude, your hair is fucked up”.

Daniel chuckles, “yeah, kinda lost my head for a bit there”. Lancer’s just going to assume Daniel’s friends know about his... dead state, since Tucker just chuckles and shrugs.

Tucker points to the hole, “someone mixed your blood with some of those reactive chemicals, by the way. You really can’t help destroying shit, can you?”.

Daniel smirks, “no”.

Todd’s blinks any Daniel, “your blood’s explosive?”.

Daniel just shrugs, “can be, under the right circumstances. There’s kinda ‘plasm mixed in it, and that shit is super reactive. Not to mention corrosive, and toxic, and ecto-radioactive. My blood’s like, technically pretty dangerous stuff”.

Dale tilts his head, “so that’s why you didn’t really want to do the blood examination thing”.

Daniel nods readily, “exactly, guess I really shouldn’t have. Really blew up in my face there”. Then unties the metal pole from his back, gets up, and stretches out. Looking down at his heavily bloodied clothing, “well, I doubt the school would be okay with me walking around in this”.

Tucker waves him off and walks over, stepping over debris like it’s nothing, “eh whatever, fuck ‘em”, and grabs Daniel to pull him out of the classroom.

Lancer calls after them numbly, “just go home”. The boys unsurprisingly shrug, the rest of Lancer’s students leaving shortly after. Leaving Lancer looking around his destroy classroom disbelievingly. Eyes settling on the blood splattered everywhere. Daniel’s blood... which he literally just said was basically an extreme hazard.

Well there’s nothing for it, moving to grab up a mop and bucket, and getting to work. Having to seriously force down bile and trying to not think about any of this; but considering the little specks of green he can make out here and there, Daniel wasn’t lying.

End.

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