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dcxdpdabbles · 1 month ago

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What if Skulker was Willis Todd all along? (Prompt)

Skulker is one of many ghosts who do not remember his time alive. In fact, it was odder for those formed from deceased beings to have memories, as their final moments shaped their ghost. Ember burned in a fire, but she could not remember where, when, or how that fire happened. Johnny 13 and Kitty were on a motorbike when they died, but they do not know where they had been heading or what had caused their accident.

Spectra feeds on human misery, but why that made her young and beautiful is a mystery to her. All Box Ghost could recall was the call of the cube-shaped spaces and the flashing word "Beware" before he popped up in the Realms.

Most ghosts hated not knowing, like Johnny 13, Young Blood, and Ember. This fueled their urge to run to the human world and find answers. While there, they desperately attempted to win the humans' acknowledgment.

Maybe they thought that if the living paid attention to them, they wouldn't fade away, even if none of them knew their names.

It was something Skulker never understood. He was dead. There was no changing that fact. Why would he pine for a life he could not remember and never hold? Why would he allow his eternal existence to be wasted chasing a light in an unknown darkness?

For the first few days, months, and years, time was strange in the Realms; it was aimless and meaningless. Skulker had formed as an unfinished ghost, barely avoiding being a blob ghost. He isn't sure why, and none of the very few medical specialists in the Realms understood either.

Millions of locations had doctors and medical knowledge, but most citizens of the Infinite Realms were not the kindest to outsiders. Skulker learned early on that one didn't just approach a territory for aid. Not unless you were the Ghost Child.

The only tribe that had a theory was the Far Frozen. They had allowed Skulker to consult them, but the Yetis were not exactly welcoming to Outsiders. They only spoke and aided ice-core ghosts, so even though they might have figured out what was wrong with him, the yetis had refused to conduct any treatment past some basic testing.

"You sent your Core Ectoplasm away." The large Yeti told him. They had refused to grant Skulker the honor of learning their names. He wasn't worthy enough with his barren core.

"What do you mean I sent it away?"

"Exactly that. You sent what should have helped take shape somewhere else when you were forming." The Yeti considers the charts with narrow eyes. "It looks like it was a last thought before you died. Pity, but this is what was left, and that's why you will look like this forever. You might have been powerful, but Fate had different plans."

Skulker had been trying to process that while the Yeti hummed. "Well, if anything else, we can put you to good use."

That caused his head to snap up. "What do you mean?"

"Our young need to practice hunting, and you will be the perfect target for the smallest ones." The Yeti's sharp smile was as cold as the land which it held from. "Do make the chase a good one for a being as little as you."

Skulker had barely escaped that hell hole with his Core intact. As the yeti's children howled and sneered behind him, he was suddenly hit with the thought.

The little guy is always the prey in this hellish existence. No matter how hard you try, how much you drink, gamble, or swindle, you can not rise above your station.

The words feel like a distant dream but are as real as fact.

It filled him with rage. He doesn't know where the resentment came from, but when Skulker reached the edge of the Far Frozen territory, he vowed to never be anyone else's prey again.

Skulker would be the Realm's greatest hunter, and no one would know his proper form. They would cower when they saw him, not snicker and dismiss. It took him years to build the perfect body, but he had plenty of time in the Realms.

He never allowed where his Core Ectoplasm went to cross his mind again as years passed and his prey grew more immense, dangerous, and fun to chase. Even the Ghost Child's insufferable ability to evade him did not make him think about it.

That was until the Welp ran off to another human city, and when Skulker had rightfully gone to claim his pelt, he found himself staring at a young man who held his Core Ectoplasm. There he was, walking on the street like the other humans, staring right back at the battling ghosts with an open jaw.

He was at the most in his mid-twenties, built similarly to Skulker's battle suit, but had soft blue eyes and the strangest white streak of white in his hair. He had no idea who the human was, as there was no way he was worth anything for a good hunt, but Skulker could feel his Core Ectoplasm holding the man together.

That was his existence, and that should have given him a proper ghost body being used as glue to a random human who wasn't even a Halfa!

Why had he sent it to him when he had died?

Skulker was so shocked that he hadn't even thought to dodge when the Ghost child threw back his mini-missiles at him. The explosion had sent him flying in the opposite direction of the man, which was just about the time the humans finally started to panic and run amok.

Skulker lost the stranger in the crowd, but now that he knew he was out there, he would stop at nothing to find answers.

(Willis Todd was not a kind man. He had been horrible to the mother of his child, to his son, and to his wife. He had been born at the rotten bottom of Gotham's social ladders, where the little guys were used and discarded like toilet paper. He tried to get himself out of it by any means but something always beat him back into place.

He grew bitter.

He loved his son and wife, but his anger could not be controlled. It was louder than his love ever could be. It always guided his hand and hurt everything around him until his son flinched whenever he entered his room, and his wife lost herself to the needles.

Still, Willis could not bring himself to let the anger go. He hated himself even more as days passed, and his rage grew bigger and bigger until he could no longer think without snapping.

He was arrested, slipped through the cracks in the system, and wrongfully marked for dead among the cells. He knew no more of his wife or son until years later when Jason's bright-eyed face appeared in the newspaper. Willis had been shocked to find out Catherine had died while he was aware and Jason had lived on the streets. Now, he was one of the sons of one of the wealthiest men alive.

Willis's anger was still there, but so was his heartbreak. There was something wrong with him. Something that would have choked and slaughtered Jason if he stuck around. So he folded the newspaper, put it back on the tabletop for another inmate to read, and swore to himself that he would never go near Jason again, even if one day he was released.

Years later, he reads a week-old paper to find out Jason had been killed in an explosion while overseas. His body was so severely damaged that Bruce Wayne had buried him in a fast funeral, and Willis hadn't even known his son was dead.

The rage had snapped.

It clouded his mind as he slammed his head over and over again on the wall until nasty cracks were heard. The blood dripping down his face and over his tongue drowned out the taste of his tears.

The guards tried to stop him, but it was too late.

His last thought before death took him was, "I would give anything to take Jason's place; if any Todd deserves to breathe again, it should be him. If I could just give him what he needed to live."

The second Willis' eyes closed miles away, Jason's snapped open within a coffin, and the gentle green glow of his skin brought the problems of a man who loved him but only as much as he could)

#dcxdpdabbles #Skulker's past #Part 1 #Anger issues #Talks of death #tw: mention of suicide #Skulker is the reason Jason came back #Willis is a terrible father but he did love his son #At some point

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soopsiedaisies · 1 year ago

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concept: some years after the end of the 100 year war the ember island players are invited by iroh and sokka to perform a play during like a,,, meeting of nations. and they come in and are instantly face to face with the avatar and their country’s literal leader, the latter of whom squints at them and goes “ah! butcherers of love amongst dragons! you got my scar on the wrong side by the way” like how do you deal with that. your fire lord admits to thinking you’re no good, but also admits to having watched the play you guys did and wrote about him and his besties in which he died horrifically at the hands of his currently imprisoned sister, because you obviously were wrong for predicting the avatar would lose. and the avatar’s like “i also didn’t die. surprise!” like you’re not 100% aware of that.

and sokka of the southern water tribe, war hero and brilliant strategist, is like “LOVE your stuff dudes” and tries not to get murdered by his sister (a master waterbender) (very deadly) (not whiny and lovelorn at all) who obviously does not agree with him. the blind (female) (small) earthbender is small and female and also highly deadly holy Shit you got that wrong. there was also a fucking kyoshi warrior you didn’t even know of. general iroh was quite on point but there’s a look in his eyes that reminds you far too much of the hardiest of soldiers returning shaken and volatile from the earth kingdom, but he serves you tea. you’re unsure whether you should drink it (and do it anyway, because the fire lord tells you to and one does not simply say No to the fire lord)

and you’re supposed to put on another play for team - fucking - avatar!! conquerors of ozai and harbingers of peace!! for their enjoyment!!! but the fire lord is glaring at you like he’s contemplating throwing you in prison for being kinda bad at acting and horrible at interpreting plays of literary significance, and it’s kinda scary, and what do you DO at that point????

#atla #avatar: the last airbender #i’d die #ember island players #aang #sokka #katara #zuko #toph beifong #suki #general iroh

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zvtara-was-never-canon · 4 months ago

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After taking some time to consider the insane reactions some Zutara fans have been having about the Roku book, I've changed my mind. It's not just that zutarians like Zuko (or at least the idea of him) and treat Katara as the exotic trophy-wife he deserves for redeeming himself - they're Fire Nation dickriders that want to use the ship to go "See? The Fire Nation was right all along!"

That's why they act like Aang, the scared 12-year-old, is to blame for the war, instead of Sozin, the guy that chose to start that shit.

That's why they're obsessed with acting like Katara's tribe is as sexist as the North, then pretend the Fire Nation is a feminist utopia. Why they act like it being the more industrialized nation means it isn't "stuck in the past" like her tribe and thus Katara would admire it, meanwhile that insdustrilization is literally being used to kill the whole world, AND even harming the Fire Nation itselt - something Katara felt so strongly about, she went full eco-terrorism mode.

That's why they want to crucify Aang for completely misreading the moment on Ember Island and kissing Katara, but say nothing about Iroh very deliberately taking advantage of the fact that June was paralyzed to cuddle up with her because he KNEW he'd get slapped otherwise. Why they call Katara "a broodmare for airbenders" for having three children with Aang, yet are constantly writing about her being Zuko's Fire Lady (often in AUs in which she starts off as his actual slave), having his children, and potentially obsessing over the quality of Zuko's genes and how their interracial marriage will potentially fix any "bad genes that skipped his generation".

That's why they're "mad" that the new Roku book "romanticizes the air-nomads too much" and "doesn't call them out on their intolerance" (because saying people shouldn't murder each other is the same a genocide somehow) yet treat Legacy of the Fire Nation as a great book even though it made Katara say Iroh, the guy that was helping Zuko torment her and her friends for months and that was a war general helping his father commit GENOCIDE, "was always doing the right thing, no matter which side he was on."

Hell, a ton of them believe that "Good Grandpa Azulon" bullshit. They think the guy that ordered Zuko's death, by the hands of his own father no less, was a loving grandpa that adored his grandson - after all, he favored Iroh over Ozai! Clearly that's a wise, kind man! Please ignore the fact that most of the attrocities of the war, including the raid that killed Kya, happened while he was in power.

They really are just so fucking desperate to go "The villains were secretly right! The Fire Nation IS superior, there were just some bad apples that needed to be dealt with! That's why Katara would fall for Zuko once she stopped seeing them as this 'elusive' threat that is totally not super real and specific!" that at any second now they're probably gonna complain about all the "everything changed with the Fire Nation attacked" memes or start making theories that the air-nomads totally DID have an army, Aang just thinks they were innocent pacifists that were randomly ambushed because HE was fed propaganda.

#anti zutara

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contentloadingandstuff · 18 days ago

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Rip And Tear - Xilonen & Chasca x Male!Doom!Reader

A/N: Alright, here's something inspired by Doom. It doesn't include specific references, and is based on the human version of Doomguy (pre DOOM 2016). If you like it and want to see more of this idea, the asks are open. Enjoy! CW: Violence, established relationship, some made up lore to flesh out the Reader. I'm honestly not sure what genre this is.

“They are rage, brutal, without mercy. But you… You will be worse. Rip and tear, until it is done.” - Xbalanque, The First Pyro Archon

“In the first age, in the first battle, when the shadows first lengthened, one stood. Burned by the embers of war, his soul blistered by the fires of Abyss and tainted beyond ascension, he chose the path of perpetual torment. In his ravenous hatred he found no peace; and with boiling blood he scoured the Abyssal Void seeking vengeance against the dark lords who had wronged him. He bore the ancient name of Natlan, and those that tasted the bite of his sword named him Askari. Though his body fell, consumed by the eternal fires of conflict, he rages on through each that bears his name.” - Tablet of Tona, Third Cycle, Passage CLXXIV

Xilonen

Every time the nation of Pyro goes to war, a new Askari is selected from the tribes by the unified will of all six Wayob. The legends say that this man, worthy of carrying the name, will not seek it or desire it, but will bear it until his role is done. He shall never grow old, they say, as he will meet a glorious death. Then, his successor will be selected should the need arise.

As for Xilonen? She is not happy with it, by any meaning of the word. Of course it is her husband that happens to be the tormented, death-destined slayer. That’s just how life is going to treat her, huh?

First it was the massive abyssal invasion, one unlike any other in the previous century. She was one of the first to be evacuated from the Children of the Echoes, as her skills - no matter her combat prowess - were too valuable to put on the line. As such, she spent most of the conflict in the Stadium’s forge, crafting weapons at inhuman speeds for the ever dwindling defenders. The moments when she was allowed to leave its safety were anything but a break, as were her nights. She tossed and turned restlessly in the empty bed, worrying about you. Her family was safe, but you were not. There was no news of your fate. But Xilonen never assumed you were dead - you were strong, yes, you couldn’t have died so easily. If she only wasn’t so crucial to everything! She swore, looking out the window towards her overran home, that she would turn the world upside down to find you when it was all over. But fate had other plans.

The war wasn’t over yet when she was taking a breather near the entrance, subconsciously scanning for any familiar faces amongst the constant inwards flow of ragged, scared refugees. At some point, the crowd started parting to make way for someone. Curious, Xilonen peeked out - only to see you. You, her beloved, her second half, covered in black blood and corrupted goo. Head to toe in armor unfamiliar to her, in one hand you carried your helmet and in the other, much to her horror… the obsidian shard with ASKR inscribed in runes.

She froze. This was not happening. It took an entire day and a terrible hangover afterwards to come to terms with what just occurred. In one moment, you were fine. You were back. In the very next second, you were dead. Your fate was sealed by the name you were given. No matter how hard she would try, you wouldn’t be able to grow old with her. Before a single hair grayed on your head, you would scamper off to some dank hole and throw yourself at some gross monster just to die and leave her a broken-hearted widow, and your children fatherless orphans. For the first time in a long while, Xilonen was at a loss for words. The only things she could do, after countless rounds and hours of anger at the gods, she could only curl up and cry.

Once the emotions passed, and alongside with them the war, the mood was bittersweet when she embraced you. You were alright. You wouldn’t die just yet. Then, she promised that no matter what the world was to throw at you, you wouldn’t shed a drop of blood until the prophecy demanded it of you. And she intends to hold that word to this very day.

Now that the war is over, Xilonen is your primary arms dealer. No matter how tired she is, she puts even a little work into a new weapon or a new equipment piece for you every day. She has the freedom to do so, as Mauvika is obliged to foot the bill for the Warrior’s needs. Xilonen made sure to analyse your armor, finding that it was the same exact set worn by one of the ancient Askari - his spirit led you to it, no doubt about that. Though it’s mostly alien to her, a remnant of draconic technology of old, she does try to not only fix it, but improve it as well. So far, she is quite successful. Whenever you go out, expect to have your equipment fixed up, cleaned, sharpened and polished to perfection.

Even if you find that too much, Xilonen will turn your refusal down. It’s not only her job as the Name Forger to care for the Askari’s gear, but she is also obliged to look out for you as your wife. It’s the least she can do for you.

She can’t help you on your quest, as most of it is secretly planned by Mauvika so the information remains clandestine, and she absolutely cannot match you in combat. Xilonen is a good fighter, as every name bearer in Natlan, but you are several grades above her. Hell, you could even go head to head with Mauvika should the need arise - after all, one of the Askaris is famous for killing a Pyro Archon when he turned malevolent and embarked on a path of oppression. She saw you wield both blade and gun with repulsive efficiency…

Repulsive, as Xilonen dislikes gore. Yes, she is aware that it lies amongst the methods of Askari, and yes, she knows that it is very efficient at routing monsters, but it’s so spine chilling to watch you rip your enemies apart. She read about the terrible strength of your predecessors, she saw the murals, but nothing could compare to the sight and the sheer brutal efficiency of your massacres. Because that is the only word to describe most of your encounters with both monsters and humans. After a few brief moments, all that is left of them is a pile of mangled bodies and the sickening stench of iron in the air.

Luckily, she sees it quite rarely. Nobody sane in Natlan dares to stand in your way - after all, no man or woman would like to have their head skewered with their broken radius, so it's clueless and arrogant Fatui that end up on the wrong end of your weapon. Hilichurls, especially stronger ones, are often too limited in their minds to appreciate just what will happen to them if they come too close to you.

Xilonen thanks Xbalanque each day that your Ancient Name does not corrupt your mind. With just how coldly ruthless you are in combat, you would think an Askari unable to feel or love. But you are still the same man she fell for - just with a tougher look and more blood on his hands.

Your wife feels incredibly safe in your arms. She knows that you would never raise a hand on somebody undeserving of retribution. Your divine muscles, gained thanks to the supernatural power of the Name, makes you a perfect pillow. Be ready to be her headrest - Xilonen has limited time with you, and she aims to make the most of it. She already started preparing a children’s room for your heirs. It’s best to start as soon as possible so they get many fond memories with their father before he inevitably gives his life for her, them and all of Natlan.

Chasca

Her role as a peacekeeper didn’t really exist as a separate profession in the ancient times. Most of it was done by the chiefs and their loyal entourage of warriors, but when the population grew and the tribes expanded into more complex structures, that wasn’t sufficient. In recent years, it has been even harder to maintain order as a long period of peace, and the absence of an Askari to be wary of, brough the people of Natlan further apart from each other. But not anymore.

It happened in the middle of the invasion. Buildings of the Flower Feather Clan were burning with unnatural, purple flames. Dark ooze was leaking from several Abyss portals, constantly spewing new monsters. Her fellow defenders were fighting bravely, but at that point corrosion and simple, human exhaustion started to set it. She watched as they dwindled in number, falling to blows of clubs and axes, others being torn to pieces by jagged, corrupted fangs of Rifthounds. You have long vanished from her sight, and in the midst of combat, she assumed you died as well, and realized that she was soon to follow. In her mind, it was the end. The end of her tribe, her family and herself. Her human parents, Chuychu, you, maybe even Chimpu and Coya.

Her ammunition ran out, and it was down to just her Vision. Exhaustion was slowly robbing her of strength to fight on. A lapse in concentration and she found herself knocked to the ground by a corroded Mitachurl. It raised its axe, ready to kill her. But then, a roar - no, a battle cry, coming from the skies. Both she and the monster looked up, its last sight being the underside of your boot. Chasca watched as it came crashing down, its head splattering against the wooden platform under the force of your attack. You were bleeding, wounded, wielding the remnants of your weapon like a short knife. But on your face was an expression of hate. Rage. Combat fury that she hasn’t seen either in a human or a saurian. Hilichurls approached you, only to be met with a barrage of cuts, fists and knees. You broke one’s arm like it was a twig, breaking its face alongside its mask on your fist. Another was cut open, the broken blade passing through muscle and bone as if it was butter. One was unfortunate to stumble after a kick; you stomped on its leg and, holding onto the monster’s shoulder, pulled the head alongside the spine out of its body like it was a weed. Chasca could only watch as the foes were killed, one by one in a torrent of blood and guts. Eventually, they just… broke. They fled, leaving you standing alone amidst the bodies of your comrades and whatever was left of theirs.

Before she could even speak a word, you hoisted her by her collar and, without a word, carried her to the chief’s hut where survivors were gathered. When she came to her senses, she didn’t ask any questions - it wasn’t the time for that. Both of you led whatever was left of the tribe to the Stadium. Only on the way back did Chasca notice that it wasn’t a broken sword you were wielding. It was an obsidian sigil mounted on a handle. A sigil with nothing else but the letters ASKR carved into the obsidian. Once you got to your destination, you wandered off and she saw you again only after the invasion

You weren’t there to comfort her when Chuychu succumbed to corrosion. She knew, however, that you couldn’t. Your new name, just like hers, came with duties that had to be attended to.

Who would have thought that Chasca would be the one to witness the cursed name, the mark of the beast, be granted to a chosen Warrior? And her husband no less? That was one of the only two good things to come out of the invasion. The latter being that, even if it’s a bit cynical to admit, only one of her loved ones died. There were many among the tribe who lost everyone they held dear. But you were still here, stronger and… cooler than ever.

Every Askari has similar traits of character, you being no exception. Calm, laconic in speech and dutiful… How could she have not expected you to be this generation’s Warrior? Perhaps it was the part of her that hoped you wouldn’t be marked for death. But alas, the will of the Wayob comes from their wisdom and strives for the good of all Natlan - it would be selfish to try and resist it.

On top of that, you didn’t seem opposed to your new destiny. You wore the armor and wielded the weapons with a grim determination and hatred boiling in your veins as you tore your enemies into pieces. While you weren’t eager to voluntarily put yourself in danger before, now you were the first to go in, and soon your given name became a synonym for victory. The remaining nests of the Abyss and the monsters lurking around dark corners were stomped into the mud, the survivors too scared of you to come out and threaten the people ever again. Then, riding on your Qucusaurus, you took to the ruins of Ochkanatlan to clean the corrosion. Although the Traveler got to the dragon first, you still had lots of things to kill.

And when all was said and done, you looked around at all the bodies and scoffed, for there were no more monster necks to snap, no more skulls to pulverise under your boots. So you returned home.

Chasca was with you all the way. Temporarily, there was a smaller need to keep the peace since everybody was still united and wary of a possible counterattack. She observed as you purged the monsters, and couldn’t tear her eyes away from you. The way an Askari fought was described in legends, but the retellings were nothing when compared to seeing you in the flesh. You were fearless. You brushed off any injury they could inflict on you, your body quickly regenerating as soon as you wet your blade with another monster’s blood. Your newly enhanced size and musculature let you snap necks and crush heads with spine-chilling ease. She is more than perfectly aware of why you fight this way - fear is the only way to get through to the primal minds of the monstrosities you fight. And it is effective, for they fear only one thing - you.

While she was very intimidating before, it’s an entirely different matter now. Just a mention of her getting involved creates an instant link to you in the minds of the troublemakers. If they pull her into this, she could definitely ask you for a hand and render them into nothing but ground meat. And although you don’t usually fight humans, she saw you drive back Fatui and similar criminals before. And the rest of Natlan has heard about it too. Now very few dare to rob caravans or poach saurians, fearing that they might land in the center of your attention. And nobody wants that.

Even if you made her role a bit less necessary, you do make up for it by being an absolute piece of cinema. Chasca could watch you train and fight for hours on end, seeing every muscle flex as you deliver well-earned retribution.

And when there are no monsters in urgent need of a proper beatdown, she can… enjoy your strength in greater detail, so to speak. But you don’t mind that, do you?

Thanks for reading!

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