#He is the only Ghost outside of Pariah's Control now so he is kind of the only option

[bet-on-me-13]

Httyd AU

So! Ghosts are nowhere near an Unknown Threat.

In fact, Ghosts and Creatures of the Realms have been attacking the Human World, preforming Raids on Amity Park, and stealing valuable objects and human food for just as long as they have been around. And they have been around for a while.

They first came into the Human Realm centuries ago, and so far Humans have been able to adapt.

Ghost Hunters are some of the most respected members of the Community. There are many different groups of them, and of these Groups the Fenton Family has always been one of the most famous and well credited of the lot.

They have been Hunting Ghosts since the days of their Ancestor, Jackson Fenton-Nightingale, who was the first of their lineage to change from Witch Hunting to Ghost Hunting.

In the modern age, Jack Fenton and his wife Maddie Fenton are some of the most respected Hunters in Amity. They have captured and killed more Ghosts and Realms-Beasts than anybody in the History of their Family. They have pioneered the new age of Ecto-Tech, bringing better and more effective weapons to the masses. They have singlehandedly managed to contain the Ghost Threat to the State of Illinois, and Amity Park in general. They are truly some of the Greatest Heroes of the Era.

The same cannot be said for their son.

Daniel Fenton has always been, well, Lacking, when compared to his Family.

He didn't inherit his Father's natural Musculature, nor his Mothers Prowess in Martial Arts, and while he is definitely an extremely intelligent boy, he does not measure up to the Intellect that the other members of his Family often achieve.

Even his sister, Jasmine Fenton, shows more promise than he does, and she isn't even a Ghost Hunter. Instead she devoted her life to becoming a therapist who can help those who have been affected by Ghost Attacks.

But Danny? He has never really showed much promise. He is definitely eager to prove himself to his Parents, but he never manages to help out in the field. Most of the time he even makes it worse.

And for Danny? It's infuriating! He has spent all his life trying to live up to the legend of his Family, trying to become a worthy Son. But he never succeeds.

He has made Tons of Inventions to help defeat Ghosts, but they were all thrown out because they were Non-Lethal. They always said that any Ecto-Weapon worth the materials it's made out of should end the Ghost before it has a chance to escape, so capturing them without killing them would be worthless.

But he wants to prove that his efforts are not in vain, if not to his family, than to himself.

So one night, as a particularly nasty Ghost Attack is going on, he rushes outside with a Weapon of his own Design. It was a Stun Gun, designed to hit the Ghost with a Beam of Pure Paralyzing Energy that would render it Immobile for hours. It was slightly large and bulky, but it still worked. At least, theoretically it did. He hadn't had a chance to test the Stun Gun yet, hence his little adventure.

He ran to the edge of Town, and tried to find a Ghost worth capturing.

Blobs? No, they've been caught before. Catching one wouldn't earn him any praise.

Skeleton? Those are a single tier up from Blobs, and not by much at all. Definitely not.

Ecto-Pus? Maybe, but it wouldn't be too useful for learning anything since it can't speak.

Spirits? They are the manifestations of Human Emotion, stronger than most other types of Ghosts, and they are suspected to be Intelligent. That's a good choice, it would probably be the best choice.

But there was one better. An Ancient.

The Ancients were the Ghosts that had been around for Centuries, possibly Millenia. They are Ghosts that are so Old, they have developed true Intelligence. Nobody had ever managed to kill an Ancient, they were too strong. The Ancients are the most Deadly, most Powerful, most Dangerous of all Ghosts.

If Danny managed to Capture one? He would skyrocket to Fame! He would be able to sit at the Lunch Table with the A-Listers, the town would stop seeing him as a disappointment, and his Parents would be so Proud of him! They might even come out of the Lab outside of Ghost Attacks to spend time with him!

So, he sat at the edge of town, watching the Portal that had opened up about a Mile outside of the City. He needed to be ready, in case an Ancient showed up.

Hours passed, and he was getting sleepy, when it happened.

"Ancient!"

The scream of warning came from his Radio, tapped into the Ghost Watch Channel used to keep track of Ghost Movements during attacks.

He looked at the Invasion Portal, and saw it. It was Humanoid, about 7 ft Tall, wearing Dark Plated Armor, with a Flaming Green Sword at its hip. Trying to stare into it's Face felt like staring into an Abyssal Void, with 2 pinpricks of Red denoting where its Eyes would be. The same Red Eyes all Ghosts had.

"Retreat! Retreat! The Fright Knight has emerged from the Invasion Portal!" Came the warning from his Radio. In the distance to his right, he could see the few Hunters who had been keeping watch on the Portal run to the safety of the Town.

Shaking off his fear, Danny rushed to his Target.

The Fright Knight was the most Feared of the Ancients, nobody had ever survived an encounter with it. There were even Rumors that it was the Leader of the Ghost Attacks, the coordinator.

And Danny knew that his Stun Gun wouldn't be enough to beat it. Not yet anyways.

So, instead of running directly to the Fright Knight, he ran to the small Open-Air Worksite that held his Parents' most Ambitious Creation. An Artificial Ghost Portal.

Years ago, his Parents had realized something. They couldn't stop the Invasion, because the Ghosts could never be cut off at the source. The Portal they used to enter the Human Realm was always a Natural One, it always closed after a few hours, so they had no chance of entering the "Ghost Zone" without immediately getting cut off from the Human World. Thus, they couldn't exterminate the Ghosts at the Source.

But what if they had a Stable Portal?

Then, the Humans could invade the Ghost Zone instead of the Ghosts invading the Human Realm. They would get an Edge in the Centuries old War.

But the Portal didn't work yet. They had been working on it for years at this point, but they had had absolutely no luck in making it functional. As an unintended consequence however, they realized that the Portal Frame was capable of generating Large Amounts of Energy, and it soon became the towns most Powerful Power Plant. It basically powered every home in the City, and powered the Shields that were put up above the Civilain Shelters during Ghost Attacks.

And Danny needed it.

His Stun Gun wasn't powerful enough to defeat the Fright Knight yet, but if he retrofitted it to draw on the immense power of the Portal Frame, it might be enough.

He rushed into the Open-Air Pavillion thay housed his Parents Portal Frame. It was an Immense Creation, semi-circular in shape but large enough that an entire Army could be comfortably Marxhed through.

He ran right to the center of the Device, pulling open a Panel in the middle of the Floor and fiddling around with the Wires for a minute.

It only took a short while before he had the Energy of the Portal Frame retrofitted to power his Stun Gun.

He raised the Weapon, and carefully aimed at the Fright Knight, still walking towards the Town.

He pulled the Trigger. And Everything went wrong.

The Gun didn't fire. Instead, he felt a rumble come from the Machine he was standing on, as lights began to light up on the edges of the Portal Frame. Somehow, he had accidentally rigged the Portal to attempt its activation Sequence when he tried to fire his Weapon.

Obviously, the Ring of activating lights had attracted the attention of the Fright Knight, and it had begun to move in bis direction.

In a panic he tried to fix his mistake. He moved around a few more wires, and tried again, and more lights turned on. He tried again, and suddenly a high pitched sound began to play around him.

He tried one more time, and help his heart leap with joy as his gun finally began to power up. He looked up to see where the Fright Knight was, and felt his elation drop in an instant when he noticed that it had already entered the Outdoor Lab Space.

The next few seconds felt like they took hours. He felt his heart stop as the Fright Knight began to rush forward. It was about to reach him.

Then, his Gun pinged to tell him they it was ready, and he pulled the trigger.

The world around him erupted in green Light as the beam from his Stun Gun fired out with much more force than it was ever intended to handle. The Beam of Light was so wide that it completely encompassed the Towering Fright Knight's form.

But at the same time as the Gun fired, the Portal finished it's attempted activation sequence. And the World turned green for a different reason.

Danny felt billions of volts run through his Body as the Portal activated, his screams being drowned out by the sound of Reality fraying at the seams as the Portal attempted to push through it.

But ultimately the Portal failed. It turned off, just as it was about to break through to the other side. The sudden burst of energy also seemed to affect the Stun Gun, as it blew up at the same moment the Portal turned off.

Danny was launched out of the Portal Frame, landing in the center of his Parents Outdoors Lab, unconscious.

It took nearly an hour before his Parents arrived, looking to investigate the sudden Portal Activation and Explosion. Whatever had happened caused a blackout throughout the entire Town, shutting off Ghost Shields and inciting panic throughout the City, meaning they had to wait hours before they could investigate.

They found Danny laying unconscious in their Lab, and called for someone to help him as they worked on getting Power back to the Town.

When he woke up, Danny was Reprimanded for his actions that night. Nobody believed him when he said that he had beaten the Fright Knight, and since communication went down with the Power, Nobody could confirm that the Fright Knight had actually been pushed back. It was far more likely that nobody had seen it after it entered the town, and it had left with the others when the Portal began to close.

But Danny knew what had happened, so the first chance he got, he escaped out into the woods surrounding Amity Park and began searching for his Target.

It took hours of searching, but eventually he found the Fright Knight, laying on it's side in the dirt.

Danny was elated at first, he had captured am Ancient! But then he took a closer look. He didn't know why, but for some reason he felt odd about the Ghost. He felt confusion, but not his own. Relief, but coming from somewhere else. Hope, but coming from Him. The Fright Knight.

In that moment, he didn't know why, but instead of dragging him back to the City or further restraining him, Danny pulled the Knight up into a sitting position, feeling it would be more comfortable like that.

He turned around for a moment to see if anybody was around, but when he turned back he was met with a terrifying sight. The Fright Knight was standing up, towering over Danny. He looked up to see it's face, and saw that it was glaring at him with an unrestrained rage.

Danny cried out when he was pushed to the ground, landing against a Rock, looking up in terror. The Knight took out his Sword, and before Danny could cry out in fear, it plunged the Sword down.

Into the Boulder next to Danny's head.

When he finally opened his eyes, the Knight was gone, leaving only the cracked rock next to his head and a sense of lingering terror.

In that moment, Danny only felt on things register in his Mind.

Where it's eyes always Green?

...

This got a little out of hand, but I hope you liked it.

The idea is that Ghosts have been attacking the Human Realm for Centuries, raiding the Villages to steal valuables and Human Food, terrorizing the world for years.

Hunters like the Fentons managed to contain them in Illinois, more specifically Amity Park.

Danny is Hiccup in this. He is the wimpy weak little kid that nobody respects because he doesn't live up to his Family Legend.

Fright Knight is Toothless, but instead of helping Danny learn how to ride Dragon, he helps him learn to use his newly found Ghost Powers. (Because I included the Portal scene for a reason, he became a Halfa and seeks out Frighty when he realizes hat he had Ghost Powers. He's kind of the only option after all)

If you didn't guess it, Pariah Dark is the Queen Dragon. He used his power as Ghost King to control every Ghost in the Zone, forcing them to raid the Human World and bring him offerings. He isn't obsessed with taking over the world, he is obsessed with being seen as a God, and Gods need to get Offerings.

When Danny hit Frighty with the Stun Gun, he knocked the Mind Control out of him and Frighty was freed.

From then on it would follow some similar story beats to Httyd, but also different.

Maybe the other Movie's could introduce other Characters? Maybe Freakshow is Viggo from the 2nd Movie?, or Vlad is Grimmle from the 3rd Movie? The Plots could fit as well.

If you want it to be DpxDc, you could say that the JLA thought the situation in Amity was handled and didn't think they needed to assist.

When they learn how bad it actually was they are freaked out. Especially since this was a Centuries Old Conflict that has been happening since before America was even founded.

What do you think?

#Danny Phantom #Daniel Fenton #Danny Fenton #How to Train Your Dragon #Httyd #Httyd AU #How to Train Your Dragon AU #Danny is still a Halfa #Instead of learning how to ride a Dragon Danny learns how to use his Powers from Frigjt Knight #He is the only Ghost outside of Pariah's Control now so he is kind of the only option #Danny is Hiccup #Fright Knight is Toothless #Pariah Dark is the Dragon Queen #Freakshow is Viggo #Vlad is Grimmle #Maybe Ellie shows up? #She could be the long lost little sister of Danny thay Vlad kidnapped years ago instead of a Clone #She could also be a Halfa but through experimentation done by Vlad which he also did on himself #She was the Prototype which is why she is kind of Unstable #I need to stop #Maybe a part 2 or 3 in the future? #Idk #Danny's Parents are actually well respected #They are the Local Heroes #Potential Dpxdc #Dpxdc #Dp x dc #Dc x dp #Dcxdp #Dc

[obsidiancreates]

An Honest Talk

(Got to the episode where Valerie gets the ghost hunting stuff. I just want her to be happy and not Filled With Vengeful Rage so, here's this.)

Jazz sees the whole thing.

Really, Valerie isn't even good at hiding it. As soon as that Ghost Hunter shows up at that school game, Jazz figures it out. Not just because her voice is the same, but because of the insults she shouts while hanging in that basketball hoop. Sure, Jazz is in a higher grade, but she's heard that A-Lister group plenty of times in the hallways and after school.

They're real jerks. But not murderous jerks.

So she decides to do something about it. No-one attacks her baby brother. ... Well, except other ghosts. But Jazz can't always help with those.

This? No problem.

"Hey, Valerie."

Valerie jolts, yelping and almost dropping what is clearly some kind of ghost-detecting device. "Who are- ugh, aren't you Fenton's sister? What do you want?"

"To talk to you," Jazz says in her most empathetic voice. "I noticed you're having kind of a rough time."

"Why do you care?"

"Because my brother does." Cares about not being pummeled, at least. But Jazz is sure Danny hopes the best for his schoolmate, even with the attacks.

Valerie huffs. "Great, pity from the loser kids."

"Come on, it won't hurt to talk about it?"

"Talk about what? That some ghost kid and his dog ruined my life? That we're broke, and all my friends hate me for it? yeah, talking will fix everything."

Jazz sits down on a bench, and pats the seat next to her. Valerie looks away.

But then... she sighs. And sits. "I keep thinking about that five hundred dollar shirt I ruined. Maybe if e hadn't bought that, or I hadn't worn it to school, we'd be a little better off right now."

"It's not your fault."

Valerie grits her teeth. "Yeah. It's that ghost kid's."

"Ghost kid?"

"... You believe in ghosts, right? Because of your parents?"

Jazz nods. "Plus, that thing during the school game,, Kind of hard to deny."

"Heh. Yeah. ... That dog broke into the place my dad was working for. he was showing off what he did for their security, and none of it stopped the dog or the kid. And then they showed up again at the garage sale and wrecked our moving van, and the dog stole my lunch after all my friends rejected me!"

Valerie wipes her eyes, scowling. "It's not fair!"

Jazz hands her a tissue. "It's not, not at all."

"I wanna destroy that kid," Valerie growls. "Like he destroyed me."

"... Valerie... how old is he?"

"About my age, I think."

"And he's a ghost."

"Yeah. And?"

"So... how do you think a ghost kid comes to be?"

Valerie doesn't reply. But after a moment, her eyes widen a little. "Oh... no, no, but... but he's a kid. He can't be any older than me."

"Yeah," Jazz says softly. "So something horrible must have happened to him already."

Valerie looks at the device in her hands. "... But... he still ruined my life." She sounds a bit unsure now.

"Maybe he didn't mean to. I mean... imagine one day you wake up and everything is... different. Suddenly you've got no gravity, and-and no-one can see you sometimes and you're this weird thing-"

God, how scared was Danny when it happened? She's pretty sure by now that it was The Accident that did it, she can't think of anything else that explains it. What was it like for him, waking up as something different?

"It would be tough," Jazz finishes, looking at Valerie.

Valerie still won't meet her eyes, looking at the beeping device. "Then why is he following me around?"

"... Well... does he show up first, or the dog?"

Valerie thinks for a long moment. "... The dog. It's always the dog."

"So maybe he's trying to catch it."

"... I mean, I guess that could be it. But he's been fighting me!"

"And you've been fighting him."

"But-! ... Aw, geez..." Valerie deflates. "What do I do now, then? I can't... I can't keep attacking some kid who... we've barely lived, I can't just make it so that he's barely lived twice."

Jazz stands up and offers her hand. "How about we try talking to him?"

Valerie looks at her. "For real?" She's skeptical.

Jazz nods. "For real. Maybe we can clear some things up."

Valerie turns away again. And then, with a hefty sigh...

Takes Jazz's hand.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Cujo?" Danny calls out. "Cujo! We need to get you back to the Ghost Zone, buddy! Come on, where is he?"

Someone clears their throat behind him, and he yelps as he shoots up in the air.

He turns around, and sees possibly the worst thing he could see right now.

His sister, and his hunter.

"Hello, Ghost Boy!" Jazz calls out.

"Um... hi." Danny waves, still looking startled.

Jazz nudges Valerie, and Valerie huffs. "Hi," she says shortly. Jazz smile at her, though.

"I'm here to mediate a talk between you two," Jazz says, walking closer (and somewhat pulling Valerie along behind her). "I figured there might be more to this story than we all three think."

"Um, you're not- I mean, I'm a ghost, you're just... casual about this?"

Jazz nods. "My parents are well-versed with ghosts, this is nothing."

A straight-up lie. Jazz hadn't even believed in ghosts until she peeled Spectra. But maybe it's to save face for Valerie? Or maybe Jazz recognizes him as the ghost from that day.

"Anyway," Jazz says, "Valerie here has something to say."

Valerie, arms cross and back hunched angrily, glares at Danny. "Who are you, and why are you out to get me?"

Danny floats back down to the ground, standing on it now. "I'm, um... Phantom-"

Valerie gives him a disbelieving look.

"Uh, Ghost Names are uh, different! It's this whole thing. And, I'm not out to get you, I swear. It's all been terrible coincidences."

Valerie scoffs.

"Val, we're here to listen," Jazz reminds gently. "Let him explain his side of things, and then you can explain yours, and we'll come to a solution. Trust me, I read a book about this."

Danny doesn't doubt it. "I don't own that dog, I found him wandering around outside. I thought he was cute at first, and then he turned into the big dog that keeps haunting you."

"And why's he doing that?" she snips.

"I don't know yet." Danny rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. "I'm trying to send him back to the Ghost Zone, but he keeps coming back out! I'm starting to think it's some cliche 'unfinished business' thing. But until I can figure it out I don't know how to get rid of him. All I can do is try to minimize the damage."

"Doing a great job." Valerie rolls her eyes. "Ruining my father's business, ruining our garage sale, ruining my lunch!"

"I swear, I was trying to help! He's really, really hard to get under control! He's like five times my size!"

"And you can't grow bigger and handle it that way?" Valerie retorts.

"No! I'm only a few months into this, I-"

He cuts himself off at the look on Valerie's face. "What?"

"A few months? ... So... so I could've known you?" Horrified, is the best word for her expression.

Danny shrinks, holding his bicep and hunching a little. "Um, nevermind. I just mean I'm not super powerful."

"No, no, we're going back. Did I know you? Is this a revenge thing?"

"What? No! I already told you, I'm trying to help prevent things from getting worse! And... no. I'm a loser kid, and you're popular."

"... Was," Valerie says quietly. "... All my friends ditched me when I lost my money."

"That's awful."

Valerie nods. "I don't know why I thought they liked me for more than money, looking back. But it still hurts. Being a lonely loser is the worst."

"Tell me about it," Danny mutters. "I mean, I have friends, but sometimes some stuff just makes you feel alone no matter what."

He thinks he sees Jazz tear up at that, but he's not sure. He's distracted by Valerie letting out a sob.

"I don't have anything left," she says, voice quavering. "I don't have the popularity, I don't have money, I don't have the grades..."

"... So you turned to revenge?" Jazz's voice is soft.

Valerie sobs again, and Jazz gives her some comforting slow pats on the back. She looks at Danny, nodding at Valerie.

Danny gets the hint. "You... you could, um, make something, more?"

Valerie gives a somewhat bitter teary chuckle. "What is that supposed to mean, huh? I'm already hunting ghosts. It's... something."

"... You could try to make new friends."

"Oh sure, that's easy. I'm a social pariah."

"So am I. But even just one or two friends helps a lot."

"You got a lot of ghost buddies?"

"... Humans, actually. An if I can make friends with some high school kids as a loser and a ghost, you can make friends too. You just might have to lower your social radar a bit."

Valerie rubs her arm. "... You're really not out to get me, are you?"

"No, I'm not. I want to protect people, not hurt them."

"... I'm sorry I shot those missiles at you."

"I'm sorry I couldn't keep the dog contained."

"... I'm sorry you're a ghost so young."

Danny snuffles a little. "... Thanks." Sometimes he is, too.

Valerie looks at her hand, and then holds it out to him. "Truce? I won't mess with you. I can't promise the same about that dog if it keeps showing up, but I won't mess with you."

Danny sighs. "So you're keeping the weapons."

"Oh, you know I am. Even if I'm not hunting you, now that I know about ghosts I want to be prepared."

"I guess I understand that." Danny shakes her hand. "Truce."

Jazz grins. "See? Just needed a real, meaningful talk!"

Valerie laughs a little, wiping her eyes again. "Yeah, I guess. But... now what? Who do I blame for this?"

"Probably the boss who decided that Ghosts Suddenly Existing was your father's fault," Danny says.

Valerie's eyes harden. "Yeah. Yeah, I can go with that."

"But," Danny and Jazz say at once. They look at each other, and Jazz let's Danny speak.

"But," Danny says again, "Maybe focus on making some more friends, first. One thing about us losers, is we don't ditch someone just for money reasons."

"... I'll give it a shot." Valerie smiles a little at Danny. "With better aim than the ones I took at you."

Danny chuckles a bit.

They both wave goodbye, Jazz and Valerie leaving Danny to continue his search.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hi."

Danny, Sam, and Tucker all look up. Valerie is standing nervously with her brown paper bag of lunch. Tucker brightens up, and Sam gives a little, slightly suspicious, wave.

Danny scoots over. "Wanna sit with us?"

Valerie looks over at the A-Lister table. They're all staring, smirking, whispering.

Mocking.

She looks back at the 'losers'.

They're looking at her with... openness.

"Yeah. Sure."

She sits down, and gets out her lunch. For a minute, she just listens to them talk while she unpacks the sandwich.

"Hey, is that peanut butter and honey?" Sam asks. Valerie nods.

Sam holds up a thick roast beef sandwich. "My parents are trying to get me to eat meat again, but I'm staying vegetarian. Want to trade?"

Valerie blinks. "Uh... sure?"

They swap sandwiches. Valerie looks at the sandwich, mentally trying to figure out the carbs and calories and fat content-

She looks around the table. No-one else is analyzing their food. Or, judging hers.

She takes a bite. It's pretty good.

This... is pretty good.

She smiles, and laughs a little at a joke Danny makes.

Yeah. This is pretty good.

#danny phantom #Valerie Gray #Danny Fenton #Jazz Fenton #fanfic #my attempts at fanfic

[five-rivers]

Pennywort and Swallowtails

For @phantomphangphucker :)

Prompt:  Flynn, due to being Phantom’s aka the Ghost King’s family and part of the Zone’s society, receives a Prince title and is now getting crowned.

.

Flynn couldn’t put his finger on exactly why, but the Ghost Zone seemed different lately.  There was something in the atmosphere, almost.  It felt… lighter, maybe?  

He didn’t like it.  

After all these years in the Ghost Zone, he’d come to regard any change from the norm with suspicion.  The tendency had saved his life multiple times.  Usually, such changes were caused by a nearby and powerful ghost.  Or, on rare and terrifying occasions, a not so nearby and obscenely powerful ghost.

For example, that Pariah Dark guy he’d heard about from some of the ghosts he traded with.  Flynn sure was glad someone else had taken care of him.  Not that Flynn was much good in a fight against any ghost more powerful than that annoying one in overalls that showed up whenever Flynn so much as thought of making anything even vaguely box-shaped.

Which wasn’t that often.  Flynn had never really nailed the whole carpentry thing. Ha.  He’d never been super great at the whole square thing either. Because he wasn’t one.  Skipped school and everything.  The whole high school experience.  Ha.  

Sometimes he really cracked himself up, but only in the most depressing of ways.  

He sighed, heavily.  Maybe he should think about spending more time in his hideaway cave, under his cottage (aka his shack, it was a shack, who was he kidding).  Stock up on supplies.  Get ready to weather a storm.  Literal or metaphorical.  

But hiding out in the cave was so boring.  There wasn’t anything to do down there. Except try to design better grass shoes and to patch his increasingly ragged clothing with limited amounts of thread. He preferred being outside greatly. Even if it was just on his little floating island, messing around in his little garden, growing potatoes and blood blossoms, digging for those crystals ghosts seemed to fear and desire in equal measure.

Flynn was peripherally aware that he was supplying the ghosts he traded with the equivalent of ghost uranium (one of the few human-world things he’d picked up was a middle school science textbook), but…

Yeah.  Guy had to eat, and the Ghost Zone didn’t exactly have cops running all over the place, or the United Nations, or… yeah.  Honestly, the Ghost Zone didn’t have much of anything, at least not in these parts.  It was pretty empty around here.  

Just like Flynn’s heart.  

Ha.  

Yeah.  That was a good one.  

Eh.  Life wasn’t so bad.  He was sort-of-kind-of friends with half a dozen undead monsters of questionable morality, had his own house, most of his teeth, and copious free time.  Plus, it had been a while since the ‘rocks from nowhere’ decided to trash his roof.  Which was bad for the sport he had invented (Chucking Rocks into the Misty Void), but good for roof integrity.  And not having a concussion.  Or losing any more teeth.  

But, back to his original topic.  

Flynn glared absently at the Zone at large. Okay, yeah, something was going on. Was it Flynn’s problem? Maybe.  Was it directly Flynn’s problem?  No.  The day was otherwise clear and ‘normal’ (the term being used loosely in the Ghost Zone), so he might as well go about his day—

The sky tore open in front of him.  

Flynn recognized that.  Before he knew what he was doing, he threw himself away from the portal. The last time he’d stepped through one of those—

The thought crossed his mind that this portal might lead back to Earth, back home, back to Mom.  But he knew from his ghostly friends how unlikely it was that the portal would put him anywhere near his home physically, not to mention temporally. It might not even lead back to Earth for that matter.  

He took cover behind a boulder, cursing his blasé dismissal of potential danger.  Who knew what could come out of a portal?  At least according to the ghosts he talked to.  Hopefully, nothing came out that he couldn’t beat into submission with his ectoranium staff.  

This was going to suck so much.  

The portal disgorged three floating eyeball ghosts in voluminous robes.

(One of the other books Flynn had gotten his hands on was a dictionary.  Which he had read.  Twice. Living on a tiny floating island was boring when it wasn’t terrifying.)

Ah, heck.  He could take one ghost.  Three? Yeah.  Not a chance.  

Maybe they’d leave?  They couldn’t know for sure he was here.  With how unpredictable portals were, and all.

“Flynn Walker,” intoned the central eyeball ghost with a great deal of gravitas.  

Flynn’s body did something between a cringe and a blanch.  

He was never trusting Globithar the Lapidarist’s tall tales ever again.  He wasn’t going to give him any more discounts for them, either.  No way to control a portal his scarred left butt cheek.  

“Flynn Walker,” repeated the eyeball ghost, now with a touch of annoyance.  

“In accordance with the laws of the Infinite Realms,” said the leftmost ghost, in a higher-pitched voice, “we call you to take up your position in the Court of the King of All Ghosts as a member of his family.”

Ah, that ectocontamination Aunt Maddie had sometimes talked about had finally caught up with him, and he was hallucinating something fierce. Either that, or these ghosts thought unbelievable jokes were good bait.  They weren’t.  Flynn would know.  He’d made many unbelievable jokes.  They’d never attracted anything but groans.  

Ha.  

“This is ridiculous,” hissed the third ghost.  “He isn’t even a real ghost.”

“He’s more ghostly than Phantom’s sister,” said the second.  

“We don’t have any choice about her, though.  Can’t we simply… not tell Phantom about this Flynn? Especially if this cousin of his is so craven as to hide at a moment like this.”

Rude, but accurate.  

“He’ll find out,” said the first eyeball, tiredly. “He always finds out.  Damn Clockwork.”

This was officially too weird for Flynn.  Why were they cursing out clocks?

“Because they’re petty and don’t have anything better to do.”

Flynn may or may not have shrieked like a little girl at the voice behind him.  The uncertainty was mostly because Flynn hadn’t seen or heard a little girl since he was in the vicinity of his cousin, Jazz, which was years ago.  At least a decade.  

But he did scream.  Loudly.  Which he really should know better than to do, living in the Ghost Zone and all.  He brought his staff up defensively, too, though, so his self-preservation skills hadn’t completely shorted out.

“Clockwork!” chorused the eyeball ghosts.  

“Yes, yes,” said the ghost who’d snuck up on Flynn, flicking imaginary dust off his robe as he smoothly, and dizzyingly, shifted between ages.  “I’m sure you’re all very shocked that I’m here, after you just finished complaining about how much I know.”  He examined his fingernails.  “Now, Mr. Walker—”

“Walker?” shrieked one of the eyeballs.  

“Yes, he is related to our illustrious sheriff. As I was saying, I am here to bring you to your cousins, who have risen quite a bit in this world.”

“What.”

“It is, indeed, rather surprising,” said Clockwork. “To those who cannot see the twists and turns of fate.  Or those who are willfully blind to those twists and turns.”  He eyed the eyeballs.  

“What,” repeated Flynn, more forcefully.  

“Clockwork,” growled the lead eyeball.  

“Allow me to explain,” said Clockwork.  “Do you recall your youngest cousin, Daniel?”

“Uh,” said Flynn.  He adjusted his grip on his staff.  “Vaguely?”

“He was crowned King of All Ghosts a few weeks ago. As a member of his family and an active participant in ghost society, you are automatically a member of the court. Assuming you wish to be, of course.”

“You- You’re saying I have family here.”

“Indeed.”

“Like, Aunt Maddie?”

Something odd passed over Clockwork’s face.  “No.  Your cousins. Daniel, specifically.”

“Wait, wait, he was a baby.  Wouldn’t he only be, like, ten or something?”

“Fifteen,” corrected Clockwork.  

“How did he die?”

“You will have to ask him that,” said Clockwork.  He raised an eyebrow.  “If you would like, you can sleep on this and I will return tomorrow.”

Flynn bit his lip.  Hard.  Okay. He wasn’t dreaming.  And- And this ghost didn’t seem to be lying. What would the point of that even be, anyway?  Flynn was nothing.  He didn’t have anything they could possibly gain by lying like this.  

“I’ll go with you,” said Flynn.  

“Excellent,” said Clockwork, clapping his hands.  “Then let us away to the castle.”

.

Well.  That was certainly a castle.  Or a palace? Flynn wasn’t sure of the difference. The ghosts hadn’t lied about that, at least.  

It was a big step up from Flynn’s house.  Which, honestly, more deserved the title of hovel. Or perhaps shack.  

Or even hole, when compared to all this.  Dear god, this place was fancy.  

Flynn hunched his shoulders, feeling out of place even as Clockwork led him deeper into the massive edifice.  

Come on, Flynn, he thought furiously at himself. Some of these people aren’t even wearing skin.  You are not underdressed.  

Clockwork brought him to a normally sized (which was, incidentally, not a given in this place, which contained both huge and tiny doors) door with understated but elegant carvings.  “Here are your rooms,” said the ghost.  “You will find a selection of clothing in your size in the wardrobe, and the bathroom is fully stocked and human safe.”

“Human safe?”

“Human safe.”

That was ominous.  

“There is a bell in the room that will summon a servant should you need one.  I will collect you for dinner in three hours.  Long enough for you to relax, I should hope.”

Or long enough for him to worry himself into pieces and chew on their curtains.  

… There would be curtains, right?  This place had to be fancy enough to rate curtains.  

He opened the door.  

Lots of curtains.  Lovely.

No, really.  It had been so, so long since he’d seen curtains.  He might be crying.  

Oh, gosh, that bed looked so nice and soft.  He wanted to—

Wait, no, he was filthy.  Filthy.  Covered in years’ worth of grime.  He hadn’t had a proper bath since he’d still been living with his mom.  

Pathetic, right?

There was a human-safe bathroom in here somewhere. Beyond the snark, he was looking forward to having a human-safe bath.  He was craving a human-safe bath.  With clean water and soap.  

Could the bathroom also have toothbrushes?  Toothpaste?  Unrestrained luxury.  

The bathroom door was in the same style as the outer door, but the handle was different, lighter.  The inside was tiled and surprisingly modern.  

There was a sink.  

He played with the sink faucet for several long minutes before remembering that he’d come in to take a bath.  

He spent several minutes playing with the bathtub faucet.  

Then he got into the bathtub and experienced a half hour of combined panic (he didn’t really know how baths worked anymore, and the sensations were weird) and nirvana (the sensations were also good).

He had to keep cycling the water.  Because he made it so, so dirty.  He sank into the water, up to his chin.  

When he got out of the water, he decided his hair was a lost cause.  Because it was always a lost cause.  Only, it was even more of a lost cause now, because it was also wet and had been stripped of its usual protective layer of oils.  

There was a variety of toothbrushes and toothpastes available.  He tested them out and discovered that he would probably need the services of a dentist. A good one.  Were there ghost dentists?  There had to be ghost dentists.  They had a lot of teeth.  A lot of teeth.  Sharp, scary, teeth.  

Ugh.  His baby cousin was a ghost.  He’d probably have teeth like a shark.  When he’d last seen him, he’d hardly even had any teeth at all.  Because.  Baby. Little, tiny, baby.  

Who Flynn barely knew.  

Why did he even want Flynn?  Or was it just some weird ghost tradition thing?  

Ghosts were weird.  Anything could be possible.  

He flopped face-first onto the bed.  His bed?  His temporary and maybe permanent bed.  If he was allowed to stay here.  

Oh, gosh.  Clockwork and the eyeballs seemed to know how to make portals.  Could they make a portal back to the human world? To Earth?  

To Flynn’s proper time?

To Mom?  

He missed Mom so much, even after all this time.  

(Dad?  Not so much. He hardly remembered the man.)

He wouldn’t know until he asked, he supposed.  But asking maybe-royalty would be scary. Talking to all these powerful ghosts was scary enough by itself.  

Ehhhh, he thought he’d gotten rid of his more cowardly side by now.  He was living in the scariest place out of the world.  

Ha.  

Yeah.  

He crawled out of the bed, dragging his nice, clean self to the wardrobe.  Oh, boy. Many clothes.  He hadn’t even seen so many clothes since the last time he’d been in department store.  Incredible.  

They were so fancy, too.  He didn’t know how to choose.  

He didn’t even know how to wear half of these things. At least half of them.  

He began to tease lengths of fabric from the wardrobe and lay them on his bed.  Some of them looked cool.  And also the kind of thing that he’d destroy just by touching it.  

Except he had already touched them, and they hadn’t been destroyed yet.  Yet.

Oh, cool, there was underwear.  Wow.  It had been a while.  

.

Okay.  The bed was incredibly nice, but somehow too nice.  Like, no nap nice.  

He wanted to take a nap.  

But no nap was occurring.  

The bed was too soft.  Ugh.  This was like the thing in that one war novel he’d read when he was probably way too young to read it.  

He groaned.  He hadn’t thought that was real.  He’d thought it was an exaggeration, or just drama.  Or something.  

He crawled off onto the floor and the wonderfully plush carpet.  

Maybe he could sleep here.  

.

He woke up to a faint knocking sound and rolled sideways under cover.  What cover? Oh.  Bed.  That was the bed.  He was in the room.  In the castle.  The ghost king’s castle.  

His baby cousin’s castle.  

He was going to cry.  This was so weird.  

Embarrassed, he rolled back out from under the bed and threw on the first clothes that came to hand.  Which.  Might not have been the best of ideas.  But, hey, he was dressed now.  

He stumbled over to the door and spent several long, embarrassing seconds sleepily remembering how to open doors with this type of handle.  Eventually, though, he managed it.

Clockwork was standing there.  One of his eyebrows went up.  “Interesting choice.”

Flynn looked down.  Orange and green went fine together.  What was he talking about?  

Forget it, he wasn’t about to develop a sense of social shame after living in a hut for a decade or so.  

“Come, now.  Your cousins are expecting you.”

Flynn briefly considered ducking out, phasing through the floor and out of the castle using a tangibility trick he’d picked up a couple of years back.  At least, that would spare him from this ‘diner’ he was rapidly approaching.  

He decided not to do that.  Running away wasn’t his style.  

(Who was he kidding?  That was definitely his style.  He would have run away so, so much if he had anywhere to run to.)

(It wasn’t like he could exactly fight ghosts on even footing.  Each and every one of them had Martian Manhunter’s powerset.)

“Don’t be afraid, Flynn,” said Clockwork, looking back over his shoulder.  

“Do you, like, read minds?”

Clockwork chuckled.  “Only the future.”  He swung the large, gilded door open.  

Inside, there was a long table, set with silvery plates.  There were a small group of children beyond it.  One of them waved at him.  Was that Danny?

Flynn took a deep breath and walked forward, back to his family.  

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2021 #flynn walker #clockwork

[heavenlyeros]

All this recent lore seemingly pointing us to draw the connection between Umun’arath’s corruption and Saladin slowly falling to the darkness himself is driving me crazy. Is Xivu Arath whispering dark temptations to our favourite angry warmonger? We don’t know, but it sure seems like it. And then, of course, we have the emotional rollercoaster that Osiris has been going through. Naturally, I can’t help but look (respectfully) at these two arrogant and extremely competent men 👀 They have both spent a very long time with only themselves, and they are both acutely aware that they are good, so it’s no surprise they’ve built fortresses around themselves - and blinded themselves in the process, too. It’s been exciting and terrifying hearing these two grow to respect each other over the past few weeks, but while Crow sways Amanda to acceptance... I was not quite expecting Osiris to be swayed to Saladin’s views. He was always quite firmly in the middle, for what’s logical for the greater good if nothing else, and it makes sense, but it hurts. And that exchange where Osiris confirms his support were Saladin to split from the Vanguard and go against their wishes? Sign me the f up.

I wrote a thing about this, of course: my interpretation of what’s been going on in Osiris’ brilliant, idiotic bird brain. Warnings for angsty O14, Sagira, and general sadness. This is only how I see it (hint hint please come scream about lore with me whether you think the same or different), shaped in part by some amazing lore people in the community (check out r/destinylore and also tumblr user homosiris’ essay on Osiris if you haven’t because dayum, that’s some good shit that echoes my angsty feelings just right): 

Picture this: you wake up one day from your forever-slumber with no memory of who you were before. The little drone who appears to have brought you back - your ghost - explains that the Traveller has gifted you with Light. You have infinite questions. You might not precisely remember the world you came from, but you know it has changed. Everywhere you go is a battle: the hive, the fallen, even your own kind - war lords versus iron lords. You find out that not many were given this gift. There is no other logical option, of course, but to keep fighting these battles to protect those who cannot. You don't understand, but every day answers a new question, and you have faith that the machine god in the sky must have chosen you for a reason. Years pass, outright wars, the weight of leadership. Your questions take different shape. Reason chips away at blind faith. You realise, one day, that the only gift your people have been given is the gift of war - that the Light's gift for you was to be a warrior. Endlessly. Your questions make others uncomfortable. Eventually you are exiled. Your student, your colleagues, your friends - they don't stick up for you. But you've been bearing the gift of dying to protect others forever. You must carry on. And despite all of your doubts and all of your anger, the Traveller's shackles, your ghost, your little light - she sticks by you. She never stops supporting you. She is your dearest friend. The two of you spend what feels like an eternity in the corridors of time. Not lost, but always searching. You make echoes, countless reflections of yourself, but for centuries upon centuries the only voices you ever hear are Sagira's, and your own. No one reaches out. They did not listen before, and they will not now. You carry on fighting in your isolation, forever seeking an answer to the most frightening of questions - how do you stop the end of everything you hold dear, the annihilation of your people? The few who paid some mind to your so called "prophecies" are little more than fanatics. It lends you little credibility. You are not only an exile, you are a pariah; you are alone and that extends beyond the simulated limitlessness of the infinite forest. You would not admit to it, but you are lonely, too. Time changes you. Confined within these confluxes, doubt takes roots, and you realise your mistakes. No one ever came to apologise to you. But more painfully than that - you have no one to apologise to. Would they give you the chance, if you were to return? Would they even be there at all? Or would everything you failed to prevent have crushed them into nothingness? You must fight on. Time also makes you powerful. You were always amongst the very best, but in the forest you hone your skills into the closest thing your kind has had to godhood. If nothing else, you have faith in yourself. If no one else, you will prevail. Something changes, one day. In the blink of an eye you are lost in the inevitability of the vex's machinations. You lose Sagira, too, for her own good, maybe for good. No matter; you must fight on, you must continue in your mission before the calamity has time to sink in. But another Guardian shows up. They carry the fight where you couldn't. They bring with them Ikora, too, and she seems willing to listen. She invites you to come back - come home. But what you did get back was your little light, and a million more timelines to explore, infinite new questions, and you know there will be no place for you in the City that threw you out. You have become invincible, and with that invincibility comes the wisdom of knowing where you cannot take another blow. You have spent eternity preventing untold histories repeating outside the realm of your control. You have grown skilled at not repeating history. Amongst the people who left you behind - whom you left behind, a little voice that might not always be Sagira's nags in the back of your mind - was the one that you loved most. You would never say, you would never risk it. So when you find out that he did not abandon you at all, but has come on a crusade to get you back -- you don't know what to feel. Joy. Horror. Love. Fear. Only, you don't know what you fear most. And suddenly it feels like your whole life's work has come to exactly this moment. It is now your turn to get him back. It strikes you, all at once, the suffocating loneliness you have endured. The tether to your sanity that was your clear purpose. It terrifies you, the hurt Saint has been subjected to. It terrifies you, too, the purpose that has kept him fighting. You don't know what to make of it. But in the end, you don't have to. You don't succeed. You wouldn't ever let your countless failings eat at you, but this failure is like a dagger through your chest. It is the Guardian, once again, who recovers Saint. Time is funny and cunning like that. You know where to find him. You know you would be welcome back, too, but time has made you see open arms as little more than a cage, a trap waiting to close in on your lungs and crush them. The guilt, most of all, cannot be reasoned with. Saint is good. Saint represents every ounce of Light you wouldn't believe in but cannot help still having faith in, even after all this time. Saint would not see in you the hate that you do. You cannot put him through that. Saint deserves the world, and even in your egotistical confidence you know that you are not it. So you must fight on. For the world that Saint deserves. Sagira, of course, is as always by your side. You don't know how it happens. One moment you are a fury of light in its every shape, and the next you are alone. Truly alone. You had accepted time has finally come for you. You were ready to die. Not... not this. But you must carry on fighting. You have nothing else left. It is once again the Guardian who saves you - this time because you asked. Not to save yourself, but to avenge her. Days and weeks and months pass and all you can do is drown in the fight. You must do it for those you love, so you do not lose any more, even if they will not have you back. The fight takes a different form now, but it is still a fight. You are confined to the City. The place that exiled you, now become prison. All because you dared ask the questions that terrified them! And you paid dearly for it. You are heartbroken and tired and underneath it all you are angry - an anger that bubbles pleasantly to overtake all of the pain. You must not give in to it. You are invincible. This, too, time will heal. So you tell yourself you fight because of love. Your love for the people, your love for this prison-City, your love for Saint. You catch glimpses of people looking at you with pity and it fills you with rage. You cannot escape this anger. It keeps you fighting because you are so, so exhausted, and there is no place for you to rest your head. You have made your loneliness into a way of life. You do not need their pity. You will prevail, as you always have. Sagira might be gone, but you will learn to carry on. You always have, you will prevail. You will fight for those who are hurt - you will not fight just to hurt those who hurt you. That is how it's meant to be. And you are always right. You are the Vanguard Commander's advisor now. It feels like a mockery - the mighty phoenix, now little more than a flightless canary in a gilded cage. You remind yourself these people care about you. That after all this time, and after all of your perceived wrongs, they have taken you back. You remind yourself it is them you fight for, any way you can. It is a slow road back up now that you cannot fly, but you will make it out. You will come out soaring. Victorious. You know it is true; you are always right. You work alongside Lord Saladin. He carries the same exhaustion you are all too familiar with less gracefully than you do. You see him be consumed by countless traumas, you see him for what he is - a shellshocked veteran flailing in resemblance of fight, clinging desperately to a place he used to have in a world that has moved on. He doesn't sleep, doesn't care for himself, his living quarters are a mess. You almost pity him, but you have to stop yourself to laugh at just how similar you are. Saladin is past forgiving. Saladin is past compromise. He has let the hate consume him, make him blind - but in his anger you see him come alive with a fire you know you shall never again harness. Perhaps Saladin is right. Perhaps you were wrong. Perhaps the only way to not give up is to give in.

#destiny the game #season of the chosen #destiny 2 #lord saladin #osiris #destiny osiris #destiny #i have a lot of feelings and all of them hurt #if there is an ounce of potential for angst and pain in something you bet i will latch onto it like the hungriest monke #these two angry assholes? yes #i could have had something wholesome but no #give me the idiots #someone needs to slap some sense into them #at first i hoped osiris would slap some sense into saladin #and honestly? he is well known for playing the long game #he might not be the wisest but he is smart and a good strategist #so maybe this is all just a ploy for osiris to do exactly that #osiris has a voice line i think in presage about saint saying hello #he is not an island #he has a support group #i just really don't think he's actually accepted that whatsoever #maybe he will #or maybe he'll fuck up again he's good at that #tell a man you don't agree with him once and he will go fight literal god all by himself #anyway yes #p a i n o c l o c k

[bubblegumbeech]

What use is a Memory Compared to a Future?

Day 1 Dannymay: Memory

 He woke up slowly, feeling like an empty pool of water catching rain for the first time. His thoughts were short, tiny little things pittering and pattering around in his mind. His senses came back to him in fragments, the feeling of cold stone solid against him and surrounding his body entirely, an electric unrecognizable smell mixing with the faint scent of death and decay, then sound.

 “Pariah?” a voice said. It was a nice voice, low and deep with a touch of gravel. He liked listening to it.

 “By all means, you can stay in the sarcophagus, if you wish.”

 Was he in a sarcophagus? He cracked open one of his eyes. The other simply twitched and sent a twinge of pain across his face. It took a moment for the image before him to come into focus.

 When it did, what he saw was breathtaking.

 Ruby red eyes and smooth blue skin hidden under a deep purple cowl framing the most beautiful face he had ever seen. At least, he couldn’t imagine ever seeing a face quite as beautiful as this one. If features like this were common then he would probably greatly enjoy his existence surrounded by them.

 “Ah,” the beautiful stranger with the beautiful voice spoke, “you’re awake. I was beginning to worry.”

 The stranger’s voice was dry, and held a touch of familiarity that he filed away as important for later. It was likely that something was amiss, if the stranger knew him while      he     did not yet know himself.

 He wet his lips and tried to speak, his voice rough with disuse, “you needn’t lie.”

 It had been a lie, or at the very least, it had not been the full truth, that this stranger worried about him. It was likely a quip, a sarcastic comment meant to rile him, and Pariah felt it best to respond in kind. The last thing he would ever admit to was any kind of vulnerability, especially in front of something so seemingly perfect.

 His eyes caught on the scar that snaked its way through the stranger’s eye and along his cheek. It was the same eye that refused to open for him and he wondered if there was a connection. A history that was held out of his reach. And then he wondered exactly why he seemed to lack any memory or solid knowledge at all.

 The first step, of course, would be figuring out who he was. The next would be figuring out where he was, and then figuring out this stranger, and what relationship they might have had. Whether he needed to do something to drag this handsome stranger closer to him.

 The stranger scoffed, “I see you haven’t changed much, Pariah. Too much to expect you to believe someone might have anything resembling affection for you-“

 “Do you?” he asked, testing the name Pariah in his mind. It fit surprisingly well, clicked into place and was pleasant to hear spoken in the stranger’s deep voice.

 The stranger blinked. “Do I what?”

 Pariah stepped fully out of the sarcophagus and into the stranger’s space. “Harbor affection for me?”

 A flush spread over the stranger’s cheeks, a deep purple spilling like watercolor in the soft blue and creating a tantalizing contrast. “I hold no such thing!” he hissed, sharp fangs on display as he scowled.

 A shame. Pariah would have to make moves to change that somehow.

 He acknowledged the stranger’s discomfort and took a step back, taking the chance he had to observe in his surroundings.  It was a castle, large and mostly European. Upon further inspection, however, influences of ancient Egyptian tombs could be found in the details, and particularly the traps  . The deep red of the brick was at contrast with the slight green of the ambience around them- ectoplasm. As for where he was …

 His mind drew a blank. He could recognize the ambient ectoplasm for what it was, but could not name the location itself. How frustrating.

 “Pariah?” the stranger asked as he stepped away to more closely examine the castle’s structure.

 Pariah turned his attention back towards him, taking in the stranger’s appearance once more. Beyond the beauty and piercing red eyes, he had a clock embedded into his chest, and his legs dissolved into a wispy tail, his cloak floating gently behind him. A ghost. He was a ghost.

 From the soft thrum of the core in his chest, and the lack of any beating heart or need for air, Pariah was likely to be a ghost as well. Objectively it made sense, and when Pariah attempted to stop and think about it, there was little else he could have been.

 He wondered, if he should ask a question, would the stranger answer? Would it be best if he attempted to hide his lack of familiarity? Would admitting it plainly be equivalent to holding out a dagger with which he may be attacked? But how much could he discover without fully tipping his hand?

 The sarcophagus… Clearly he’d been sealed away in it somehow, and possibly for some time. Pariah tilted his head before turning to his companion and asking, “How long?”

 Best to keep it vague, bank on assumptions made.

 He watched as the stranger’s expression twisted, just slightly. Enough for Pariah to read the guilt, the discomfort, and he found himself wondering exactly who this was, floating in front of him almost close enough to touch but far enough to flee.

 “Longer than I can justify,” he finally answered. “In all honesty I’m surprised your core is so intact. I would have expected some kind of damage, locked away as you were.”

 Damage, yes, that was certainly likely. He turned away. Would the stranger follow if he left?

 There was really only one way to test it. He started walking towards the entrance of the castle, looking around and taking in everything he could, each puzzle piece and missing bit of knowledge. Something clicked into place. He recognized the structure, could describe the ambient ectoplasm outside the windows, and he could feel his age. He knew there was a history here that he had once been privy to. A history that was lost to him now.

 Being that he was a ghost now, it was likely that at one point he had been alive. That was how ghosts worked, right? Then again, it seemed unlikely that his companion had ever been constrained to something as fickle as mortality.

 His companion had followed him, at a distance and clearly uncomfortable with his actions, but following nonetheless. It settled something inside Pariah, a hum of affirmation in his core. Now if only he could find a way to discover his name, or at the very least a moniker by which to call him.

 “No more questions, Pariah?” Suspicion laced his words, and Pariah glanced back at him, not bothering to stop. There was too much he didn’t know, too much he could give away. “I didn’t take you for the silent treatment type.”

 “Everyone experiences things that might change them,” he offered accusation, interested in whether the barbs he planted would pierce.

 His companion flinched, small, almost imperceptible. An admittance of guilt, something that Pariah should probably hold against him. It was entirely possible that the one who released him from his sleep had been the one to force him into it in the first place.

 Was his loss of memories intended, then? Or merely a side effect? Was he refusing to admit something already well known, or keeping his companion in suspense? What an interesting dance they were in, a tug of war where Pariah had no rope to spare and no reason to admit it.

 “You seem more subdued. Seeing my face when you first awoke, I expected for you to fly into one of your rages,” his companion said, offering an accusation of his own right back.

 Strange though, flying into a rage didn’t sound like him. It seemed too sudden a thing for Pariah, a quick burst of uncontrolled emotion. Was that something he should expect from himself? He’d have thought himself in more control than that.

 But he need neither admit nor deny anything here and now, so instead he switched tracks entirely, turned towards his companion and said, “Why would I awake in a rage, when the first thing I see is as beautiful as you?”

 The other ghost sputtered, the same colorful blush splashing across his cheeks, and Pariah longed to follow it beyond where the hood hid it away. He wanted to uncover him and see his ethereal companion in his entirety, every feature unobscured and available for Pariah to peruse at his heart’s leasure. He desired to trace his fingers along every feature, to catalog them properly so that he might not forget them again, no matter how pleasant the discovery.

 “Is this some ploy to win me back into your arms?” his companion said. The ambient ectoplasm swirled around them, drenched in his emotions. Twisted, complicated things painted in thick layers of history and intimacy that Pariah was a stranger to. “Did you forget I betrayed you? That we saw your fall, orchestrated it twice over? Do you think perhaps I might trust you, when I have no reason to expect anything but bitterness and resentment from you?”

 “So you’re saying I’ve succeeded before?”

 There was a pause, a moment in time where nothing moved, and his companion stared at him, incredulous. Pariah dared not move himself. As skittish as the other ghost was, there was no reason to risk scaring him off so soon. Especially when Pariah had only just now admitted to lacking the history his companion was so clearly drowning in.

 “You don’t… remember?” he asked, his voice soft. Pariah tilted his head, an admittance in itself, and watched as a kaleidoscope of emotions seemed to play upon the other. It was fascinating, to watch the scowl melt away and be so easily replaced with increasingly more complicated emotions. Hope, anxiety, distrust.

 It was intoxicating.

 Pariah had him before, in his previous life, and lost him. He’d have to be sure, this time, not to let go.

 “...Your name.” It could have been a question, or a statement. Pariah answered either way, easily offering the name he had inferred. Judging by the way his companion’s face crumpled though, he hadn’t been entirely correct. “It’s Pariah Dark.”

 Ah, yes that sounded more complete. A full name for what was once a complete identity, not the tattered shreds held together that Pariah was now. He nodded and his companion nodded back, guilt quickly overtaking his features.

 Well that wouldn’t do. Out of all the expressions he’d seen so far that was certainly the least attractive. The coy smirk from earlier, or the flustered blush, those suited him better by far. Pariah stepped closer and spoke softly, “I’d rather know yours, I think, so that I needn’t call you handsome stranger in my head.”

 The blush came back easily and Pariah smiled, reaching a hand to tug away the damned hood blocking his view. A gloved hand grabbed his wrist, stopping him, and Pariah stilled at the contact. He purred, touch starved in his long captivity, and the other ghost looked up, caught, his eyes wide and startled.

 Pariah lifted a brow, his question unanswered, and his companion released his arm and backed away, out of reach. He didn’t let the disappointment show, simply followed with his eyes. They tracked every movement, every shift of his shoulders, the ticking of his clocks. It was some time before he was able to answer at all.

 “Clockwork. My name is Clockwork.” He frowned, clearly hurt but unwilling to show it. “Are you telling me you don’t know who I am?”

 That wasn’t accurate, Pariah mused, it wasn’t so much that he did not know who Clockwork was, but rather that Pariah could not remember him.

 “I know who you are,” he argued. That was, if anything, what he knew most assuredly. It was there, etched into Pariah’s core and written plain as day upon Clockwork’s features.

 “Oh?”

 “You’re mine.”

#Danny Phantom #Pariah/Clockwork #Dark ages dp #dark ages #clockwork #pariah dark #bee's writing #dannymay2021 #dannymay

[seancamerons]

so last nights episode shed some light on somethings and here's some of my thoughts on last nights cruel summer.

mallory could be just as obsessed with kate as jeannette was but for different reasons.

where jeanette seems idolize or want to emulate elements from kate's life, despite knowing nothing about her life - mallory clearly has some issues with kate from the beginning when she said, "i used to really dislike you" the first time her and kate talked after therapy why tho? because she's either jealous that from the outside she's got it all even a pony at her birthday or she dislikes and its everything that mallory hates because she doesn't have that.

plus once kate became 'different' or 'dark' or renting horror films and stuff is when mallory took an interest in her. it seems like corrupting kate and further driving the wedge between her mom and herself jeanette seems to like that, just something to note.

sidenote - i don't really like how kate's mom treats kate at all tbh

i'm curious as to why mallory used to dislike kate. idk perhaps they used to be friends (attended a birthday party with the pony) and then something happened either middle school or a fallout the complexities of popularity or whatever it was and then when kate went thru everything she went thru mallory felt sort of like 'this girl needs a friend' and since she was abandoned.

mallory and kate's friendship however does have me thinking at times it could be a genuine thing but mallory seems to take a lot of swings at kate's mom who i really don't think is a nice person but sometimes moms know when someone isn't completely 100% genuine, i mean look at cindy and jeanette's situation. cindy knew jeanette isn't completely honest with things.

but when kate has a hard time with mom somehow always mallory is there for her. mallory might not be the easiest person to get along with she's a bit dominant and bossy and out there but sometimes people have the wrong idea about people before they become friends. sometimes the best friends come from people's first impressions being negative to being a friend down the line.

could her dislike for kate be as simple as having been rich daughter of a football player when mallory it's been mentioned has a strained relationship with mom and dad isnt in the picture. seeing kate fight her parents vicariously could bring her comfort because she's driving that wedge to where they're more alike as friends.

last nights ep it also shed some light on kate's stepfather who we don't know all that much about. he feels kate's mom takes complete control of situations and he mentioned that they wouldn't work if kate's mom keeps leaving him out in a way, bc when he married her he also considers kate part of his family and kate's mom joy likes to say he's not her father or discounts because he's not biologically her dad he has no say. he seems to be the only person on kate's side where her mom is using weird tactics such as being the one who printed liar letter but he also thinks it could be good for her to see marcia bailey's show.

i think a part of the reason kate was hesitant to go on is because there's a lot of holes in her story if she went to his place willingly she wasn't abducted but she was taken as a prisoner because eventually she wanted to leave but martin had a lot of power in the situation because he was grooming her to trust him. so then she revealed that kate was seen by jeannette and she named her on national tv causing the case against her. i don't want to say kate brought it upon herself but kate has been victimized by martin but maybe she's trying to deflect that she initally came to martin for help or safety from her mom but he manipulated the situation for his benefit.

this show seems explores the different degrees of obsession from martin's type of obsession the most dangerous of all, then mallory's hateful or vengeance obsession perhaps or attachment to kate, and lastly jeanette's admiration and emulating her and hopes to maybe even befriend kate only to be thrown under the bus and becoming a social pariah.

in kate's absence jeanette changed and while we don't know what happened between her vincent and mallory before this happened unless she ghosted them for the two bobspy twins and kate's boyfriend, but kate also changed too in the aftermath once she returned and even in capitivity.

in 1993, kate was a genuine person. she saw the good in people and now it seesm like kate has established herself most victimized of all but it's not her under the microscope it's jeanette. it's kind of tragic. jeanette is so hated she can't leave her house, did the punishment fit the crime? i don't think jeanette deserves the hatred she's recieving. the harassments the death threats none of that. kate told marcia bailey (and the world) something to deflect that there is a huge discrepancy in her story and it likely has to do with kate not being kidnapped but going to the house willingly. </sorry this is so long

#cruel summer #thoughts from last night #freeform #television #thoughts/speculation

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Day 4: Illusions - A Fairy Tale Town

Danny always needed to become Phantom, for everyone’s sake. And the Observants knew this well, so they made sure he would be exactly what they needed and wanted.

The Observants remember the day clearly, the day a human child opened a portal into their realm. Subsequently dying instantly, yet only halfway. The very fabric of the Ghost Realm had shook with shock and the boys' screams had filled every inch of the Realm. The hole that was torn sucked in ectoplasm like a massive black hole, bombarding the boy with ectoplasmic energy. Creating the world's second halfa and the start of a heroes career, protecting his human town and the humans in it.

...Or that’s how the story goes, what everyone believes to be true. And that’s what they have to believe, for the town’s sake, for Phantom’s sake, for the Realms sake.

And most of the story is indeed true. They boy truly was a halfa, and a hero. But what the Observants covered up, made sure not even Phantom knew, was that the portal he created had pulled in so much ectoplasmic energy that it had enveloped and killed the entire town. In an instant pulling the whole place into the Ghost Realm. Every single human, animal, plant, and insect becoming ghosts due to the massive shock of pure ectoplasmic energy. It had thrown the geography of the Realm askew and created a massive new pocket in the Realm.

But they had seen this coming, knew it would happen. So they had prepared, made sure the area where the town would merge into their Realm, was closed off and empty. Dubbing it the Barren Lands, and warding other ghosts away from the place. When the town finally did appear, the portal the boy activated became the only access point between the Barren Lands and the rest of the Ghost Realm.

ClockWork had come to them then, knowing this was going to happen as well as they did. ClockWork had done their job, freezing the town in time. Ensuring not a single of Amity’s ghosts ever actually saw or realised they were ghosts. While the Observants did their duty. Casting glamours on everyone and everything, returning it to how it looked before death. Sealing away any powers, hiding the ecto-signatures, making their ectoplasm mimic human blood and organs, heartbeats, pulses, brainwaves. They did this for everything and everyone, except the young halfa. Who by his very impossible nature, would be too unstable to dare mess with. But it was far more than that.

The Observants knew, had seen, who he’d become. Phantom, the High King of ghosts. The most powerful, but irrevocably merciful, ghost to ever exist. The trials and errors he needed to experience. And the sad truth was, he couldn’t experience those without being a hero and protector to his ‘humans’.

Because in truth, there was nothing truly wrong with letting the entire town exist in its natural ghostly state. The Realm was more than used to adjusting to massive influxes and geography changes. Especially with the prep work having been done. But then Phantom wouldn’t grow to be who and what he needed to be. What they needed him to be. What both Realms needed him to be.

He wouldn’t have grown the be adored as a hero and protector. He wouldn’t have learned how to hide and lie. He wouldn’t have learned how to battle and provide first aid. He wouldn’t have been given all the hardships. He wouldn’t have learned to deal with hunters. He wouldn’t have had to fight battles alone or believe that everything relied on him. Because, in the end, everything did rely on him becoming Phantom. Not just another ghost. Without all the lessons he wouldn’t be Phantom. He’d just be Danny the halfa, as average as any full ghost outside of his biology. If the town’s folk knew they were ghosts, that the whole town was dead, and thusly knew Danny was a halfa. He would have been much more of an outcast and he never would have felt like a wolf surrounded by sheep.

So they built an illusion for him, his own private world in the form of a small town and it’s people. Procured something for him to protect, something to keep him tied to his humanity. A little habitat to hide away in, and to hide himself from. A stage for him to struggle on, with an audience intentionally made unable to help much. Because heroes are built-in storybooks, fabricated by writers always looking to the future for the best end result. And suffering heroes make for the strongest ones.

They made sure this illusion worked in all directions as well, not wanting to risk any ghosts finding the truth or knowing what they had done. As far as the rest of the Ghost Realm knew, Amity was a human town in the Mortal Realm filled with humans and their one halfa protector.

So the boy went about his half-life none the wiser. Learning, growing and being guided into who he would become. And they all made a decision, that the boy was to never ever know. That the blame of killing off the whole town instead of just himself would destroy him. Being indirectly responsible for just six deaths was enough to break him. So this being discovered could not be allowed.

That, however, had left them with a problem. The ghosts made ‘human’ would eventually have to ‘die’. Of course, if any of them ‘died’ non-natural deaths that would be bad for the development of the future High King. So they had allowed the ‘humans’ to retrain a ghosts heightened durability. Able to handle legs getting crushed in lockers without sustaining broken bones. Buildings coming down on them with nothing but scratches. Ensuring everyone would ‘die’ of old age or sickness. At which point an Observant would take the ghost to be relocated into the Ghost Realm proper. Never telling them of the fact that they had actually been dead for a while. Not only would telling them the truth risk the town and Phantom finding out. But informing someone they’ve been dead for a while and were forced not to know it, well that was a level of cruelty they’d rather not stoop to.

Of course, there were other issues, humans liked to travel and logically some of the ‘humans’ would move out of town. Which is why they made it so that any of the Amity ghosts would be subtly transported to the Mortal Realm if they went far enough out of Amity’s/the Barren Lands territory. They would inevitably mistake the need to return to the Ghost Realms ectoplasm rich environment for homesickness. Returning to Amity either periodically or permanently. By the same logic, humans could easily visit the town, never knowing they were actually in the Ghost Realm.

But one thing the Observants couldn’t truly do away with was that all ghosts had ghostly nature, it was unavoidable. Resulting in all of the Amity ‘humans’ being strange and intense to actual humans. The Amity people seemed to pass this off as the ‘charm of small-town people’ and ‘being so used to ghost attacks has made us too weird for the rest of the world to handle’. They never came off weird to each other, since ghost nature wasn’t strange to other ghosts. Also insuring that no one noticed any of Phantom’s ghostly behaviour. Sure that was also partly because the Observants had placed a glamour over their eyes, making them unable to make the visual connection between Phantom and Fenton and never noticing his transformations or power usage. Only those that Phantom himself deeply wished to know stood a chance of ever finding out, under normal rules of reality anyway. Of course, if Danny actually saw anyone seeing him transform then they would indeed see it, since logically they should. But overall, his secret was perfectly protected regardless of how obvious it generally was.

There had been some problems of course. Most notably because the town was very much Phantom’s lair, meaning he had a level of control over it that he simply would not have if Amity was still alive and not part of the Ghost Realm. But as expected, Phantom passed it off as one of the weird aspects of being a halfa. And since he knew he shouldn’t have much control over a human town, his body subconsciously suppressed altering the town or its inhabitants. Effectively reinforcing the illusion. Just one of the many aspects of Phantom that was just endlessly helpful.

There had been plenty of close calls, Pariah and Freakshow being the worst. But thankfully both had caused too much chaos for anyone to realise that some of the things that were happening, shouldn’t be. They knew that would be the case but they still worried, still fretted that their elaborate game, the story they had weaved for the young boy, would come apart at the seams. But these were also the most vital things he needed to experience. Needed to see acceptance from his family, needed to fight back against his own mind being controlled by outside forces, needed to earn the right to rule. So it had to happen and they had to watch, filled with trepidation all the while.

Eventually, they grew rather comfortable to leave the town and Phantom to his devices, feeling content and comfortable in the growing prince and his fairytale storybook lair. Where everyone and everything wore the mask of life, with only him being left untouched and true to what he really was.

ClockWork, meanwhile, waits for the day when Daniel’s power will inevitably surpass that of even the Observants as a collective whole. When their fabricated reality can’t touch him anymore. He’ll be strong enough to handle the blow by then and the truth is something he deserves. Now the Observants don’t know, of course not, they would try to stop it if they did. Since Daniel’s most likely future actively and explicitly involved him not finding out. But there were far more where he did find out and ClockWork had no issues manipulating and altering things here and there to ensure he would find out the truth. Just when he was ready.

Which is why ClockWork had let Daniel go back in time, to ‘fix’ Vlad’s ectoacne without any kind of real instructions. It had altered what the Observants could see of Daniel’s future and it secured his path. When they had found out how his future had changed, they had tried to force ClockWork’s hand. To not let Phantom go into the past, only for them the be shown that Daniel’s two friends would die subsequently. Which definitely could not be allowed to happen. Of course, ClockWork could have simply told Daniel to just observe not interfere. But there was no way ClockWork was going to let the Observants in on that information.

But for now, ClockWork will guide and teach Daniel. Prepare him for his future and provide the level of support and understanding only a near endlessly powerful Ancient ghost could provide. While Daniel went through the pages of his story, to rise at the end as not only a hero but a king of kings. Eventually shattering the illusions and stepping into reality in full, pulling Amity along with him. It’s ghosts granted their true forms and earned abilities, given their rightful place as the closest and direct subjects of the High King of Ghost.  

End.

#Danny Phantom #phandom #ectober #ectober 2019 #fanfic #danny fenton #Observants #clockwork #theory #illusions #illusion #Danny's life is a lie #everyone's life is a lie #major character death #everyone's dead #Amity's a ghost town literally #moulding heroes #manipulative observants #manipulation #light angst #have a fic suck my dick #phantomphangphucker #my writing #short

[mutantsrisingrpg]

Congratulations, NOEL! You’ve been accepted as DEIMOS.

Noel, when writing Derek’s skeleton I envisioned someone that was constantly stuck between being alone and reaching out those around them - and you captured that perfectly. Your Derek is someone that knows who he is and knows how to keep everyone at arms length, and yet he still needs contact with others. I was hooked on your app from the very first word and had to read it twice because I couldn’t believe what life you brought to him. I’m beyond excited to see both you and him on the dash! 

Welcome to Mutants Rising! Please read the checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

Out of Character Information: 

NAME/ALIAS: Noel

PRONOUNS: She/her they/them 

AGE: 24

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: CST / GMT-6 I’m usually on 2-4 times a week depending on the time of year/school/work.

In Character Information:

DESIRED ROLE: Derek Park (Deimos)

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cismale, he/him

DETAILS & ANALYSIS: 

OVERVIEW

To me, Derek is interesting because he embodies one of the most human fears: that we are somehow born irreparably, intrinsically wrong. Broken. Cursed with a peach-pit of wickedness from day one that will always steer us away from what is right and good and lovely. For Derek, he’s just unlucky enough that the combination of his home environment and specific power only seem to prove his worst fears true: that everything good he may touch will come away worse for having known him. That he is, at a most basic level, a creature of destruction.

POWERS

Derek is a man possessed by a force that knows no satiety. Fire is, in its simplest form, a thing made to consume. Forever hungry. He has to be careful, controlled, or risk being consumed along with everything else. In practice, this looks like stony silence. Covered skin, an aversion to touch. An arched eyebrow without comment, or a single dog’s-bark of laughter. No drinking, no drugs-- only cigarettes to take the edge off, a controlled burn. Sarcasm, a dark, dry wit, a small smirk and a glance away. A very, very tight circle of trust, and a body that is always on the edge of something, ready for fight or flight.

THE JOB

He slips into interrogation naturally. Regardless of whatever he might have once liked to believe about himself, he has a knack for knowing where to press to hurt people the most. To extract what he needs. He takes people apart efficiently and effectively, and at least he can take pride in that. There’s an elegance to someone doing the job they are most suited for. If he must do something so ugly, at least he does it well.

The other half of the job is prevention. The right rumors, the right image-- good PR. That’s why he wears what he does (dark, black, leather), why he started smoking (though it’s not the reason he kept at it.) He’s a silhouette in the darkness, a shadow at the back of the pack, at the edge of the club, little visible apart from the glinting eyes, the trail of smoke left in his wake. It’s taken him the better part of a decade, establishing himself as someone you’ll be lucky to never meet. Privately, he considers this his best work, all the work he kept from happening. The ghost over your shoulder, asking: are you sure you want to do that?

BIO: 

(TW drugs, violence)

Touch has always been tied to pain for Derek. The first thing he touched on this Earth he hurt, and the first thing that touched him immediately recoiled. Him, a fresh, swaddled baby, handed to his mother to be pressed, cheek to cheek— and then the shriek, so out of place in what should have been a beautiful moment, and that unmotherly, wrenching instinct to push the painful thing away. A nurse had to step in before his mother could drop him to the floor, likely saving his life in the process. It was mortifying, Derek’s father looking at his mother like he’d never seen her before, the crease on the doctor’s brow. 

And then there was the evidence, left on his mother’s face: a burn mark in the shape of a newborn’s cheek. Tiny eyelashes like red, welted spider legs. 

Derek was supposed to be the miracle baby, their first son, but there was so much undeniably wrong about him. They could overlook that first burn— a freak accident— but there was another wrongness that infiltrated everything he did, everything he was. He moved through the world oddly, more like a wizened street cat than a child, always scowling too much for his age. Always somewhere far away in his own head, unreachable. Enigmatic. Hard to love.

Apart from that first incident, his powers didn’t manifest in earnest until his teen years, but when they did there was no stopping it. Derek became all too familiar with the smell of melting plastic, burning hair, and hot metal. He grew an aversion to paper, nail polish remover, and anything that took batteries or gasoline, anything explosive. Worst, though, was how his powers affected those around him. Even a small bump of arm to side in passing was enough to leave a welt, the hiss of burning skin and singed hair becoming all too familiar. Derek learned to pull his body in like a sail. He moved around on cautious, light feet, as if everywhere his skin touched the world hurt him. He stopped sleeping, for fear of what his body would do in his dreams.

It was an impossible way to live, and of course it had to come to a head sometime. One Fall night, he woke up surrounded by blinding light, and a weird taste in his mouth. At first, he thought he was seeing an angel. It was just so bright. A few delirious moments later and he realised what was happening. What he was.

The glowing coal at the center of a house fire.

No one was physically harmed, but in every other way his family was ruined. Everything had to change. The family of a high-level mutant couldn’t move through life like normal people. Government representatives visited to lay out the ground rules of their new lives, all the restrictions they were to follow at threat of having him taken away. In the years following, Derek could never decide whether his parent’s submission to these new rules was driven by some last vestige of parental love they had for him, or over the fear of what having him sent away would do to their reputation. Not that they had much of that left, anyway. In their small community they were pariahs, the reckless family putting everyone around them at risk, harboring that boy of theirs.

At home, Derek’s powers were a confirmation of every bad thought and reservation his parents had ever had about him. He was a death-trap burden, a dangerous changeling child with unknown motivations. He switched to homeschooling, was only allowed in certain parts of the house at certain hours, and almost never went outside. Within the house itself he was surveilled, his every movement controlled and judged against the possible harm he might cause. But nothing he did could ever be enough to win their trust, their approval. It changed how he saw himself, being treated like a liability. He’d spent his life being told what he was, and now he was starting to believe them.

So he decided: if he must be a bomb always about to go off, he might as well do something with it. Might as well become the weapon everyone treated him as. Might as well make a living out of it. He was deteriorating, trapped up in his fire-proofed room, always alone. 

A cursed life was better than no life at all.

So he left home and learned to control his powers. He found people who appreciated the worst parts of himself, and paid him well for it. He discovered a talent for interrogation, intimidation, a naturally threatening smile. By his early twenties, nothing he was doing could be called legal. A few years after that, and he’d made a real name for himself as someone who would go further than the others. Dangerous enough that even his employers were afraid of him. Eventually, only the worst would hire him. Looks normal enough, but don’t believe it. He’s fucking crazy. The tougher the employer, the tougher the work, but by that point he had stopped caring. The consequences weren’t real, the threats were just words. Enemies were just people he’d have to deal with later.

Amsterdam was his breaking point. Derek had switched to freelancing for a while, broken off from all alliances after a boss tried to two-time him. He was unaffiliated, impartial, just helping bad guys hurt bad guys. Still, this was his riskiest gig. He’d never gone international before, a Level 5 mutant with fake papers on a commercial airline-- it was enough to give any number of governmental agencies reason to take him out on sight. But he was bored, numb, bored, numb. Coming up to 30 years old and sick of the Chicago scene. So he’d tried something new.

The boss there was something else, a real talker, beautiful, had gotten under his skin in a way few ever had. He should have left when the boss had asked about taking out a hit-- it had always been a sore subject for him. That’s not my job, dead people can’t talk, I’m not fucking paid enough to kill people. (There was no amount of money could be paid to kill people.) 

But the man was just so charming. Derek relaxed an inch, and they took a mile. It was just one drink. He didn’t even taste the ketamine. When he woke up, his mouth tasted like copper, and barbeque smoke. The sweet, musky smell of burning spinal fluid. Three were dead, the boss was laughing, and his return flight was in under an hour. 

When he got back, he had a missed call from Damien Matthews, with a different kind of job for him. A job with rules, structure. Protection. He’d heard about the Jems and all the noise they’d been making about Mutant Rights and he didn’t really care about that shit, but he took the job immediately. He needed the discipline, a boss, someone to reel him back in from where he’d strayed too far from his himself, almost at the cost of his humanity. The Jems saved him, and while he may be somewhat ambivalent to their cause, his loyalty to Damien is unflinching. The Jems need him, but he needs them more.

EXPANDED CONNECTIONS:

LUCA MENDOZA: Luca is even more dangerous than Derek is and-- somehow-- that makes them the only person he feels completely safe around. Fact is, Luca’s position and power make them uniquely suited to shield his weakest spots, as: 1) When they’re together their power is a shared one, nullifying the risk of Derek hurting them by accident, and 2) no hitman is going to judge an interrogator for their occupation. The outcomes of their jobs may be different, but they’re two sides of the same coin. Their friendship is uncomplicated, enabling, and chaotic, but also somehow comfortable in a way Derek is unaccustomed to.

ISABEL ACOSTA: Oh, the angst. Derek never, ever thought he’d be in the position he is with Isabel, has fought that sort of connection his whole life. And if it were anyone other than Isabel, he’d be able to continue that way. Isabel is the best and the worst thing to happen to him. Look, is there anything better than two people learning to lower their boundaries and let someone in? Being so unable to stay away from the other that they can’t help but become knowable, to be seen as they are, terrible and ugly and complicated and beautiful? And then to know what it feels like to be loved not in spite of your flaws, but because of everything you’ve done to overcome them? Ohh my god.

EXTRA: 

Ideas for future plots/connections:

I’d love to plot something with a character who could have known him pre-Jems, when he was a real piece of work. 

In general, I’m really interested in how all the different powers within the groups interact with the powers of those around them! I.e., what the hell would happen if he met Dione? Would they just cancel each other out? Or be extra dangerous to each other?

For a decade and a half, he lived without really caring about the consequences, and he made lots of enemies along the way. I’d be interested to see some effects of this coming to fruition. Past alliances broken, a history of betrayal or always ending up on the wrong side of the table.

He has a lot of easily pushed buttons. This could go very poorly for the wrong person, someone stubbornly curious or just amused by the thought of getting under his skin.

Also I’m excited to see how the Isabel Situation puts a strain on his loyalty to the Jems, and his relationships within the gang.

General HC’s

He’s a vegetarian. Yes, most of the Jems find this hilarious, someone whose job is to hurt people being not wanting to eat cute little animals. In reality, it’s more an aversion to the idea of cooked meat. Particularly the smell. You can guess why.

Derek is still bad at keeping his phone on him. It’s a holdover from growing up avoiding electronics, anything that might easily explode. At this point in life he just finds it kind of irritating. He doesn’t like the idea of being easily reachable.

He’s bisexual.

He still has nightmares about burning houses, familiar faces flickering amongst the flames, frozen in silent screams. He has lived alone since he left home as a teen, and he plans to do so for the rest of his life.

I could go on and on but this is already way too long. Thank you guys for taking the time to read through this!

ANYTHING ELSE: Nope :)

#accepted #accepted: deimos

[smellofparchment-blog]

The Pariahs: Chapter 2 - The Ghosts of Greengrass Manor

Story Title - The Pariahs (ffn link)

Story Description - "You always hated your parents' purist crap." "Not for the right reasons." - At the end of the war, they are the only ones left to blame; unfortunately, this is not their cross to bear. The Malfoys and Greengrasses are not used to being the outcasts of a society, but in this new Wizarding World, the law concerning former Death Eaters and their families is clear: eat or be eaten.

Story Rating - teen (T)

Story Characters - Draco Malfoy, Astoria Greengrass, Daphne Greengrass, Keegan Shacklebolt (OMC), Fiona Greengrass (OFC), Archibald Greengrass (OMC), Narcissa Black, Lucius Malfoy, Kristopher Shacklebolt I (OMC), Zhara Shacklebolt (OFC), Audrey Weasley, Percy Weasley

Story Pairings - Draco/Astoria, Keegan/Daphne

Chapter - 2) The Ghosts of Greengrass Manor

If there was one thing that Daphne still liked about Greengrass Manor, it was the silence. Some would find it eerie, unsettling, creepy, the list goes on. For the eldest Greengrass girl, though, it was peaceful and productive. She was not a chaotic person - the best working environment for Daphne Greengrass was minimalistic and deathly silent.

On that particular day, Daphne was examining a supposedly magical geode rock that was given to her as a training assignment. When Daphne had first chosen a career as a Curse-Breaker, Draco had looked at her as if she had just grown a third eye. However, it truly was the perfect job for her. While her love for jewels and gems often got dismissed as girly and pretentious, the truth was far more complex. It wasn't just the beauty that Daphne admired - it was the history. Every artefact, no matter how ruined or beautiful, had a story to tell. The magic that concealed that story was even more interesting. Being a Curse-Breaker meant that unravelling that story and that magic was her job.

Daphne gently rotated the rock that she was holding with her tweezers as she ever so slightly adjusted the magnification and focus on her magnifying spectacles. If she could get the perfect focus, perhaps she could see -

"Ah, there you are, Daphne!"

Daphne jumped in her seat, startled at the shrill voice and let out an exasperated sigh as she glanced through her spectacles and noticed they were once again out of focus. Bloody brilliant, Daphne thought to herself as she gently set down the geode and removed her spectacles.

Turning her head to glance up at her mother, she said with a bored tone, "What is it now?"

Fiona Greengrass was a beautiful woman, but her beauty had been worn down by the war. Her honey blonde hair that once shone in the sunlight now seemed dull and graying, and while her skin may have once been described as porcelain, it was no more pallid. The wrinkles of worry on her forehead and around her eyes were more prominent now, especially as she confusedly moved her gaze between the geode and her daughter.

"What on earth is that, Daphne?" Fiona asked, her tone clearly expressing her bewilderment.

"An assignment for training," Daphne replied with a shrug.

"Ah, right, you're still in that silly Curse-Breaker phase," Fiona said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

You cannot hex your mother, a voice in Daphne's head reminded. You can move out, though. Taking a deep breath, she instead asked, "Is that why you came over here?"

"No, no, of course not," Fiona replied in a cheery tone. She sat down across from her daughter as she continued, "I need your help with a little project."

"Project?"

"Er, dinner party."

Daphne rolled her eyes and shook her head at her mother. Of course, the woman wanted to host a dinner party, of all things. "I hate to remind you of this," Daphne started, "but with what money? You don't work, Astoria's in school, and if you think I'm contributing to this nonsense from my meagre trainee salary then you are in for the shock of your life."

Once upon a time, Daphne would have been utterly terrified to speak to either of her parents like that. Now, though, things were different. There was no longer any fear hanging over her head. Her parents had been on the losing side of a war, her father's trial was finally coming to a conclusion, she had done her part and given her names, and now she was steadily on the path to her own career. All Daphne wanted now was as much distance as possible from the traditions that her name stood for.

"Oh, honestly Daphne, you can be so full of yourself," Fiona bit back with a roll of her eyes. "I only want your help in the planning process. You know, a little mother-daughter project."

The skepticism was evident on Daphne's face. "All right, what kind of dinner party is this?" she asked.

"It's to... make amends, of sorts - you know?"

Ah, there it is. Daphne let out a bitter laugh and shook her head. "You're really something, you know that?" she muttered.

"Daphne, listen to me: we have nothing," Fiona said sternly. "The Ministry looks at us like scum - us! And because of how close we were with the Malfoys and you and Astoria fighting against the Dark Lord, even our peers hate us. We need to do damage control, love."

This was the sort of thing that Fiona Greengrass considered a national crisis. Everyone hates us - even the mudbloods! It drove Daphne mad. She would be the first to admit that, at first, she had done anything and everything to defy her parents' pureblood ideals simply because of her father's abusive nature. As she got older, though, Daphne truly started to understand how tiring it all was. And for what? A few fake friends that would all rather save their own arses anyways? It was honestly pitiful.

Still, she lived in the Greengrass Manor - for now - and the least she could do for her distraught mother was humour her in some way.

"What did you have in mind?" Daphne asked tiredly.

"Well, I've been thinking that it really would be useful to have a nice mix of families," Fiona started with an innocent shrug. The skeptical look reappeared on Daphne's face, "you know - old friends and new friends. And it just came to me - you have quite a good relationship with a certain well-liked pureblood family."

"Oh, so you just want me to get the Shacklebolts here - not to actually spend time with you," Daphne stated, the bitterness very evident in her tone.

"Oh, come off it, love," Fiona said dismissively, "it would be a huge favour to me."

Just like everything else I do, Daphne thought to herself. Still, if there was one useful thing she learned growing up in a pureblood family, it was to keep your thoughts to yourself.

"Fine - it'll be easier than dealing with your cold shoulder, anyways."

Daphne fidgeted with her hands as she suppressed a shiver - a response to the cold winter wind blowing in her face as she waited just outside the doors of Greengrass Manor. Her mother had put her on door duty for her long-awaited dinner party. Who better than the Greengrass daughter that was both famous and infamous for defying her parents' ways? Truly, let's parade her on the street while shouting 'shame!' at the top of our lungs.

Daphne was, possibly, a tad bitter about the whole arrangement.

Her demeanour softened just slightly as she spotted three very familiar faces approaching the steps of Greengrass Manor: Draco, Lucius, and Narcissa. Lucius and Narcissa weakly returned her smile, while Draco stepped forward and hugged Daphne.

"Fiona's got you playing hostess for this charade, has she?" he asked with a laugh.

"Draco, be polite," Narcissa chided mildly.

"It's quite all right - he's not far off," Daphne said to Narcissa. "I've still gotta wait out here so I'll see you lot inside."

"Don't cause too much trouble," Draco joked as he gave her a nudge and walked past her.

"No promises!" Daphne replied cheekily.

It took a few more minutes of waiting in the cold for the last of the party guests to make their way to the manor. Daphne's features spread into an unbreakable grin as soon as she recognized Keegan, his parents - Kristopher and Zhara - closely following behind him.

The Shacklebolts and Greengrasses had always gotten along decently well - until Voldemort came back, of course. After that, her father had gone and ruined practically every relationship their family had had with anyone remotely normal. Still, when Zhara had planned Keegan a surprise party to celebrate the end of his Obliviator training a couple of years back, the Greengrasses had been added to the guest list. That had been the day that their flirtatious adventure had started.

Unfortunately, a month after that, the Minsitry had fallen to Voldemort. Keegan and his younger sister, Audrey, had joined the Order and Daphne... well, she did what every other Slytherin did: returned to Hogwarts and tried to act like everything was fine. Except for Daphne, it really hadn't been fine.

In any case, at the end of it all, Daphne had been surprised to find Keegan right where she had left him - figuratively speaking, of course. They had tried their best to pick up where they had left off, but still kept things under wraps. With her father still on trial and his Death Eater aunt, Kelsey Rowle, at large, it was best to keep their relationship hidden. Then, one day, Kelsey had been captured and next thing Daphne knew, Keegan was standing on the steps of Greengrass Manor saying she deserved more.

Well, who was she to argue with that logic?

Once they had told their families about their relationship, the reactions were more or less as expected. Fiona had been shocked that her daughter was dating a pureblood, even if he was from a blood traitor family. Kristopher and Zhara had easily taken a liking to her on account of actually being able to hold an intelligent conversation about something other than floral arrangements - which was apparently the most they expected from traditional pureblood women. Regardless of everyone else's reactions, Daphne was certain of one thing: her life was finally looking up.

"You're looking quite lovely," Keegan remarked as he approached Daphne with a smile.

He bent his neck to give her a short kiss just as his parents approached. "Kristopher, Zhara - I'm so glad you could make it," Daphne greeted politely. "Mum will really be delighted to see you."

"Oh, I'm sure she will be," Zhara replied, her smile somewhat contrived. She clearly wasn't a fan of the whole arrangement and, frankly, Daphne agreed.

"We'll see you two inside," Kristopher suggested as he gently ushered his wife inside.

"So, no Audrey?" Daphne asked curiously. She wasn't all too surprised. Audrey Shacklebolt was often regarded as peculiarly headstrong and proud for a Slytherin - until she would dupe you in some clever way and shamelessly remind you why she was sorted into the house of the snakes in the first place. Like their mother, Keegan's younger sister was amazingly talented at exuding authority.

"No, she made it pretty clear that she wasn't coming if Percy wasn't invited," Keegan replied. "In fact, her exact words were 'I don't want any of her shitty discriminatory wine if she can't even stand the thought of a Weasley in her own home.'"

"Well, I tried my best, but you know how Mum is," Daphne said with a shrug. Her mother had been adamant that the purpose of this dinner party was to make amends with old friends, not befriend 'pacifist blood traitors.' Sometimes, Daphne wondered if the whole war had somehow been erased from her mother's memory.

Keegan nodded knowingly, laughing a bit. His eyes suddenly shifted to the side of her neck and he raised his hand to gently touch the scar that stood out on Daphne's pale skin with a light frown on his face. "No Glamour Charms today?" he asked as he met her eyes.

He knew all too well how horrible her father was. Bruises on her arms, scars on her back, face reddened in the shape of a hand... the list of ways that Archibald Greengrass' anger could manifest was endless. The scars Daphne had received from her father over the years were always her biggest insecurity and she hid them as much as she could, but Keegan had always been comforting about them. He would say they were the scars of a survivor, not a victim.

"Mum wants to make amends," Daphne started, "what better way to do that than with honesty. Took a bit of convincing, but Astoria isn't using any either."

"Good," Keegan said with a nod and a reassuring smile on his face, "you have nothing worth hiding, Daphne."

Daphne smiled back at him. "All right, let's head inside before Mum starts sputtering some nonsense about my innocence," she joked as she linked her arm with his.

Keegan laughed and muttered, "A little late for that, isn't it?"

Daphne lightly smacked his arm but couldn't stop the laughter from escaping her or the red creeping up her neck as the made their way through Greengrass Manor. The sound of classical music only got louder, until they finally reached the spacious sitting area where their house elf, Silas, was eagerly scurrying around and serving drinks. Fiona was laughing about something trivial with Wilma Crabbe, while Xavier Nott silently sat in an armchair as he sipped at his wine. Everyone else was dispersed throughout the room making small talk, and as for Draco...

Daphne sighed as she set her eyes on her friend. He was practically frozen his place, unmoving. At first, she thought he was having yet another one of his ridiculous, fatalistic episodes - and of all bloody times to do so - until she realized how steadily fixated his gaze was.

"Do you see what I see?" Daphne quietly asked Keegan.

Keegan shifted his gaze to Draco, watching the younger man carefully, until realization clouded his face. "Oh, that's interesting," he whispered.

"I think I'll go talk to him," Daphne decided.

"Daph, don't meddle," Keegan warned, giving her a knowing look.

"Me, meddle? Never."

Alas, she was quite the meddler.

At first, it had almost irritated Draco how right Daphne had been. He was being fatalistic, and truly a horrible friend. More than that, though, he was being a self-centred prick. It never really mattered to him if other people thought that of him, but Daphne... well, she was supposed to be his one true confidant. If she couldn't trust him, then he must have truly fucked up.

After Daphne's warning to get his life together and stop moping around, Draco had done just that. He had cleaned up and started helping out with the Malfoy Manor's financials - meagre as they were - as well as taking a job at a shop in Knockturn Alley. It was all for the time being, anyways. At the end of the day, Draco was hoping for something a bit more professional.

The major upside, though to getting his life together had been winning back Daphne's friendship. They were finally back to their light joking and good-natured gossip. When Daphne had told him about her mother's ridiculous dinner party idea, they had taken turns imitating her reaction to different party guests. Draco had figured that, once the dinner party actually came around, they would be doing something very similar in a corner with the added bonus of some elderflower wine.

Unfortunately, Draco's vision had dissipated as soon as he had laid eyes on her.

He had been in the poshly decorated sitting area for scarcely a minute when his eyes saw a flash of nearly pitch black hair and his ears perked at the sound of an elegant laugh. Turning his head, mostly out of curiosity, Draco found himself freezing in place as his eyes landed on Astoria Greengrass.

Astoria had always been a bit aggravating to Draco. He vaguely recalled her trying to force herself into the games and secrets that him and Daphne would have when they were kids. Her trademark while at Hogwarts had been frizzy hair pulled back into pigtails with green ribbon and a childlike, wide-eyed stare. She had been two years his junior and a hardly noticeable thorn on his side.

But then, in that very moment, he hardly recognized her.

Her dark hair was sleek and smooth, hanging loose in waves down her back. Her warm brown eyes drew him in as she laughed. Astoria Greengrass was no longer the annoying, childish, little sister of his best friend. No, as far as he could tell, she may as well have been a woman that ruled her own empire.

Draco could fill the inner turmoil of being attracted to his best friend's sister already begin.

A hand clasping onto his shoulder brusquely snapped Draco out of his dreamy staring at Astoria. He turned to see who had startled him and felt himself tense up as his eyes met Daphne's.

"Daydreaming?" she asked. Her tone sounded innocent but he could see the knowing glint in her eyes.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Draco replied cooly.

"Oh, so you won't mind if I just call Astoria over and - "

"Daphne, for the love of Merlin, this stays between us."

A victorious smile on her face, Daphne let out a sigh and removed her hand from Draco's shoulder. "Don't get your hopes up, Draco," she warned.

"Why's that?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Because she's here with her new boyfriend."

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Draco turned his gaze to Astoria once more and this time found that someone else had joined her. He recognized the boy - Sebastian Daley, a Slytherin in Astoria's year. Draco felt a mix of disappointment and hatred surge in him as he watched Astoria's supposed boyfriend snake an arm around her waist and kiss her cheek.

"Look - I'd be surprised if he's 'the one' or anything like that," Daphne started, "but please promise me you won't push him out of a window or something. This is my sister we're talking about."

Draco turned his head to look at Daphne once again and forced a soft chuckle. "I promise, don't worry," he said. "Guess I should take care of myself first, anyways."

Daphne gently patted him on the pack, a kind smile on her face. If she was being perfectly honest, the Draco she had known before the war would have been absolutely perfect for Astoria. Pureblood idealism aside, he had always been a perfect gentleman and had had quite the knack for the kind of sweet romantic gestures that Astoria lived for. Now, though, things were different, and Daphne had thought Draco had put it quite well - better to take care of himself before involving anyone else.

Their brief moment of comfort was, unfortunately, rudely interrupted in that moment by the sound of a disgusting splat. With frowns on their faces, everyone looked around the room, searching for the source of the sound. Again, splat. This time, everyone saw the gooey substance dripping down one of the windows.

"What in Merlin's name is that?" Draco asked as he nodded toward the window.

Daphne felt a displeased glare forming on her face. "Eggs," she muttered darkly. "Someone's egging my fucking house."

Turning her head, Daphne found her mother's eyes and curtly said, "I'll handle this," before turning on her heel and briskly walking out of the room.

She faintly heard Keegan's voice say, "I'll go after her," before hearing the sound of his footsteps running to catch up with her.

As soon as he had fallen into step with her, Daphne coldly said, "I can take care of this, I don't need a supervisor."

"I know, but if you need me, I'm here," Keegan replied as Daphne pushed open the front doors to the manor.

Daphne came to a stop once they reached the gates and turned to look at Keegan. She could see the worry very clear on his face and smiled at him. "Look, I know what I'm doing - trust me," she said quietly.

Keegan simply nodded, and that was all Daphne needed.

Turning to face the gates, Daphne took out her wand and cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself. Then, she stepped forward and every so slowly pushed open the front gates of the manor. As the gate opened wider, she could see the perpetrators - three young-looking boys - freeze as their wide eyes fixated on the gate. There was newfound fear in their gazes, because from where they were standing, the gate was opening all on its own. They looked to be about second or third years, so it didn't take long for Daphne to formulate the perfect plan.

Daphne walked towards them quietly and went behind them. She leaned forward, her mouth close to one of the boys' ear, as she hoarsely whispered, "You've upset the ghosts of the manor, boy."

All three boys yelped, jumping forward at her voice. "Where are you? Who are you?" he shouted, panic etched on his face.

Daphne mustered a rather comical cackle. "I am the oldest Greengrass ghost, and now that you've defiled my home, I will haunt you for the rest of your days!"

With that, the three boys shrieked loudly and ran off. Daphne watched them round the corner before taking her wand out and removing the Disillusionment Charm. She crossed her arms, a proud smirk on her face as Keegan stepped through the gates and walked towards her. He looked down at her with an amused grin.

"You really are quite crazy, you know that?" he asked jokingly.

"Oh, you know you like it," Daphne replied with a sly smile.

"Well, I guess I can't deny that," Keegan admitted with a shrug, his hands moving to Daphne's waist. "This place is wearing you out, isn't it?" he asked quietly as he met her eyes.

Daphne slowly nodded, the smile on her face transforming into a look of worry. "I'm the only one that works - and I'd hardly call Curse-Breaker training a steady income," she said quietly, "and Mum just drives me mad, but I guess... family legacy is family legacy, even for me."

"What if..." Keegan started slowly as he pulled Daphne closer to him, "I happened to have a spare key to my place with your name on it."

"You want me to move in with you?" Daphne asked, a surprised look dawning on her face.

"Sure - but on the condition that the ghosts stay here," he replied cheekily.

"I... I have to think on it, if that's all right," Daphne replied slowly. Her gaze shifted to the manor as she quietly added, "It may seem silly but the idea of leaving this place for good... it kind of scares me."

"Of course that's all right," Keegan replied softly. He gently grabbed hold of her hand. "Shall we head back inside then, ghost of Greengrass Manor?"

"Her full name is Lucretia Octavia Greengrass, mind you, and she says yes."

#*pariahs #*writing posts #*draco malfoy #*astoria greengrass #*daphne greengrass #*keegan shacklebolt #*draco x astoria #*keegan x daphne #draco malfoy #astoria greengrass #astoria malfoy #daphne greengrass #shacklebolt #greengrass #malfoy #slytherin #hogwarts #fanfiction #harry potter #hp fanfiction

[featherwriter]

Fandom: Destiny Point of View: 3rd Person Past Tense, Female Warlock Characters: Sylvanni Duv (Female Awoken Warlock Guardian), Brother Vance, Osiris Rating: SFW Chapters: 1 - Complete Words: 4,426 Warnings: Spoilers for Destiny 2 story campaign

Read On AO3 // Read on FF.net

Life begins to return to normalcy in the Last City after Ghaul’s invasion. When a fellow Warlock offers to purchase a bowl of noodles as a gesture of thanks for the City’s savior, what begins as a simple meal quickly becomes far more complicated, as tangled acquaintances from the distant past emerge and a Guardian’s will is forced to face the truth of her heart.

“Lady Restorer, please, may I buy you a meal?”

Sylvanni had to force herself not to grimace at the title as she looked up from the menu the waitress had just handed her over the counter. Ever since the City had been retaken, she’d started becoming a bit of a celebrity as Guardians and citizens alike heard the story of what she’d done. There were many impressive achievements over the course of her long second life, but none had netted her the same level of notoriety as defeating Ghaul.

They called her things in the streets now. Restorer. Light-bringer. Champion of the Traveler. Some of the more passionate had started using the epithet Red Breaker.

She still found the notoriety uncomfortable.

Still the man who’d walked up to the counter beside her had a kind air about him, someone grateful for her service to the City who wished to give a small token of his gratitude. He was a Warlock, like herself, if his robes were any indication. They were well-made, of a solid black with gold trim, hung with draping fabric and tied with cords.

He waved for her to enter the little shop before him, which she hesitated to do, as she’d originally planned to sit outside at the window counter. Still, he was buying her meal, and perhaps it would be nice to sit in an actual padded seat indoors rather than on a tall stool. He held the beads covering the doorway aside and she ducked into the depths of the little steam-shrouded shop, making for one of the booths.

“It’s very kind of you to do this,” she said as she slid into the booth.

He sat down across from her, having acquired a menu of his own along the way. “Please. It’s an honor after everything you’ve done for us.”

Sylvanni offered an empty smile at the compliment, placid and polite, because that was what one was supposed to do when a stranger said something nice. After weeks of attention, however, she was truly beginning to miss her anonymity. She could play the part of the heroic yet humble champion if that was what people needed her to be, but the mantle was too heavy and the mask of it chafed in its insincerity.

A part of her wished she could just go back to being herself, just Sylvanni Duv. Another part of her cruelly reminded her that she hadn’t really known who that was anyway.

The waitress stopped by to take their order, an Exo with forest green plating in a short sundress. Conscious of the fact that she wouldn’t be paying, Sylvanni ordered one of the less expensive noodle bowls, beef with scallions and spicy broth. Guardian hot, the kind that required Light-based healing to not damage one’s mouth. A good dose of spice always helped clear her head.

Her companion’s generosity continued, as he ordered not only noodles with chicken in a sweet peanut and kiwicumber sauce, but also a plate of steamed buns, no coriander leaves, presumably for them to share. As the waitress left, Sylvanni frowned as the order pulled up old memories.

He noticed. “I’m sorry, is that okay? I should have asked.”

“It’s fine,” she said, waving off his concern. “I just used to know someone who ordered buns the same way. Made me think of them.”

He folded his arms across the table in a relaxed posture. “I appreciate the chance to speak with you. I have heard stories of how you brought the Light back, each one more stunning than the last.”

“To be honest,” she said, nodding in thanks as the waitress brought glasses of water for the table, “I just held the gun. The Traveler brought itself back. Or perhaps something Ghaul did restored it.”

He chuckled. “Forgive me if I don't thank him with a bowl of ramen.”

That pulled a smile from her. “Were you in the City during the fall?”

“No, though we felt it all the same. I thought it was the end of everything, losing the Light like that.”

“I know the feeling.” Sylvanni looked out through the curtain of beads, watching people pass outside. “He was right there when mine was taken. Ghaul, I mean. Zavala sent me to disable the flagship's shields from the inside and I was standing on the top deck as the cage constricted around the Traveler for the first time. Ghaul and his retinue just watched as I crumpled in pain, as my Ghost fell to the ground with a hollow clink.”

Her dining companion seemed content to let her continue, and so she let her mind drift back to the terror and pain of those moments, putting herself back in the thick of remembrance. There was something meditative about it, experiencing the emotions from a distance.

“He seemed so dismissive, so utterly unthreatened by me as he walked up and kicked me across the deck. I barely felt it, even though I'm sure he broke bones. The pain of that just seemed so insignificant compared to the agony of having my Light ripped away from me.

“He said I needed to be reacquainted with the fear of death, then planted a massive foot against my helmet and shoved me over the side. I assume the last bits of Light I had saved me from the fall, because I woke up broken and beaten in the ground.”

The other Warlock nodded along. “It’s brave of you to have gone back to face him again after something like that.”

Sylvanni pursed her lips. “I’m not certain I would call it brave, exactly. It was simply something that needed to be done, and I had Light, so I was the one to do it.”

“Very humble of you,” he said, shaking his head. “He mentioned that and yet…”

“Wait,” Sylvanni said, frowning. “Who mentioned something?”

He was spared from answering her by the return of the waitress with their food, two steaming bowls and the plate of soft buns. Sylvanni eyed him, her intuition starting to make her suspicious, something familiar pricking her instincts.

Before she could say something, he nodded his head toward her slowly, an approximation of a bow. “It’s been an honor speaking with you, Lady Restorer. I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

“You sound like you’re leaving,” she said, narrowing her eyes. Something golden flashed on his finger, a signet ring of a sun inside an eye that she hadn’t noticed before. “Hold up, I do know you! I’ve seen you in the Reef. You–”

“Thank you, Brother Vance,” a smooth voice said behind her, “I can take over from here. Would you watch the street for us? I’d hate unexpected company.”

Sylvanni’s blood ran cold.

She wanted to scream, to run, to fight, to do something, but she was so stunned she found she couldn’t move. Once Vanguard, now exiled pariah, Osiris himself patted Vance on the shoulder as the cultist stood and slid into the booth seat across from her. He had picked up the chopsticks and was lifting the first bite of noodles to his mouth, watching her all the while, before she managed to find her voice.

The hissed snarl of words that finally escaped her would have impressed the Fallen. “What the hell are you doing here?”

His mouth quirked slightly, trying not to smile. “Hello, Sylvanni.”

He seemed utterly unperturbed, sitting in the middle of the City he had been explicitly forbidden to return to. Then again, he’d always had a way of seeming in control in any situation. It had made him a good leader during his time in the Tower, a handsome charismatic who drew followers like moths to a flame.

The problem had been, of course, where he’d chosen to lead them.

She was surprised—though she shouldn’t have been—how unchanged he seemed from his years of exile. For a moment, it was like no time had passed. They could have been back more than a century ago, with him, still the Vanguard, meeting up to talk about her research into the Ahamkara, or telling her about latest project he’d been working on. His smile was still kind, his sun-dark skin smooth, eyes as black and fathomless as the void. A dangerous kind of beauty.

“How did you get into the City?” she demanded.

He shook his head, tsking softly. “Such an uninteresting question. There are many Guardians returning to see the Traveler reborn. It’s a simple thing to stow away.”

He, like Vance, did not wear the customary bright yellow robes of his order, but was instead clad in similar nondescript black with golden trim. Perhaps it would have made him noticeable to wear his own colors, but there were many among the Guardians who flaunted the gifts they’d won in his Trials, those who carried gifts from Osiris’ followers as a trophy without truly understanding what they meant.

“The Traveler’s rebirth didn’t lift your exile,” she said coldly. “The Vanguard will come down on you if they discover you here.”

“Ah, the Vanguard are so fond of ignorance,” he said, twirling another tangle of noodles around his sticks. “It would be cruel of me to disabuse them of it. They cast me out because I wished for knowledge. I must assume then, that they prefer things left unknown.”

Sylvanni’s brow drew to a hard line. “You were exiled because you threw away lives and resources at a time when they could not be spared and you know that. You let your selfish curiosity get in the way of doing what needed to be done.”

“‘Selfish curiosity?’ What an interesting oxymoron.” He watched her with that gaze that seemed to understand too much, to be able to see things better left hidden. Beneath it however, his smile was fond. “Dear Sylvanni. Ever dutiful. You have not changed.”

“Unfortunately,” she said flatly, “I must say the same of you.”

He picked up one of the buns, holding it towards her before taking a bite. “You should have some. They're very good.”

She ignored him. “What are you doing, Osiris? Sneaking into the City? Sending messages through the Vex networks?”

“I might point out that you were also in that Vex network.”

She grimaced, feeling her confusion over this whole situation turn her stomach. “No, no, this is wrong. I shouldn’t be sitting here talking to you. You shouldn’t be here at all. I should call the Tower Garrison and have you arrested for breaking exile.”

“Over a bowl of noodles? I wasn’t aware a meal was such a threat to City security.” He gestured toward her bowl again more insistently. “Please, it’s just dinner. I promise I won’t topple the infrastructure of the Tower or stage any violent revolutions from this noodle shop.”

With a terse sigh, she relented, picking up her own chopsticks while glaring at him. “You're mad. But fine. One meal. Then you leave again.”

“Very well.” He seemed saddened by her hostility towards him, as if somehow he’d expected she’d be pleased to see him. “You’re quick to quote the Vanguard’s rhetoric against me, but I cannot believe these things you say. We worked together for decades. Look me in the eye and tell me you think I’m the madman they claim.”

She did meet his eyes, but she couldn’t quite say it. There had always been something powerfully manic to Osiris, but never unhinged. He believed everything he did deeply and ignored logic and common sense in pursuit of his goals, but the true threat that Osiris posed was not insanity, but rather a dangerous level of sanity.

It wasn’t that he was manipulative, per se. It was simply that he understood people in a way that gave him the ability to make them listen. He connected with others in a way that made them feel important, that validated their thoughts and insecurities. He could speak with such passion that one couldn’t help but start to see things his way.

That was something far more perilous than a lunatic.

“Fine,” she admitted. “I don’t believe you’ve lost your mind, no. But you insult me if you believe I’m simply parroting the Vanguard. My words and thoughts are my own, no one else’s. You are many of the things that they say.”

The bun grasped in his chopsticks threatened to fly free as he gestured with that hand. “What threat do I pose to the Vanguard? I’ve attacked no one. I make no actions against the Tower. Guardians who choose to follow me do so freely, because they’re tired of getting missions and targets instead of answers and truth. They understand that there is knowledge worth seeking beyond what you find at behind the trigger of a gun. They’re tired of feeling more like a weapon than a person.”

“No one’s saying that knowledge is bad,” she said, after finishing a bite of her own meal. The burning in her mouth was a mild counterpart to the burning frustration within. “There are things that are more important than answers! There are duties you failed to fulfill as Vanguard because you put your questions above everything else. And there are things out there, like your precious Vex, that are too dangerous to be used! The damage you’ll cause far outweighs any meager benefit you might glean from it!”

A thought began to coalesce, like a matrix of data lattice branching from thin air. The more she spoke the more she realized what this was reminding her of. Osiris opened his mouth to respond, but she continued on, not letting him have a word in edgewise.

“You’re… Osiris, you are an Ahamkara to the Tower. You and your cult are that mysterious, distant thing that lures in the unwary with the promise of granting wishes and giving the answers everyone’s always wanted. You are a temptation, a seduction–” His eyebrow raised at her word choice and she instantly regretted it. “–a siren call that steals away needed fighters from the front lines. That is why you’re a threat. Because of that, you must be stopped, just like the Ahamkara were.”

He mulled that over for a long pause, not denying her accusations, but neither did he concede to them. Finally, he gave her a long, steady look. “Do you still question? Wonder? I remember a newly-raised scholar, desperate to learn, fascinated by the world and its secrets. What happened to the woman I knew, that relentless seeker? What have they done to her?”

“She grew up, Osiris. She realized there were things more important than secrets. She stopped questioning and started doing because there were things that needed to be done.”

He shook his head slowly. “You may have convinced others here that you are this hollow creature of orders and laws that you pretend to be, but I don’t believe you. You and I are birds of a feather, cut of the same cloth. You think like I do. You question, and the questions haunt you, demanding satisfaction. You always have always been as I am, and you always will be. You cannot deny your nature, Sylvanni.”

The words stung with a truth she’d long tried to deny about herself. That was the problem with Osiris: he’d always known her far too well.

“Perhaps you’re right and I am like you, deep down,” she quietly admitted, looking down at her bowl because it was easier to face than his eyes. “The difference between us, Osiris, is that I’ve learned that wandering curiosity is a weakness, something I shouldn’t indulge.”

His voice dropped quietly, as he slid a knife of words through her armor and plunged it deep into insecurity. “Don’t you still wonder if we’re real? Don’t you still question if we are people chosen or things created? Aren’t you worried that your obedience is because It created you to obey?”

She stiffened, every existential doubt she’d suffered clawing at her, begging for acknowledgement, seeking to tear her apart. Her thoughts attacked her in the dark, empty hours of the night when there was nothing to distract her from them. And he knew, because he was right, of course. She was the same, deep down.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, gritting her teeth, as though doubt were something she could kill with force of will alone. “It doesn’t matter if I’m a real person or a clever weapon. It doesn’t matter if my obedience isn’t a choice when the orders given are to protect people.”

She swept a hand toward that beaded curtain and the City beyond, still looking anywhere but at him. “That, out there, is what matters. Saving lives, stopping our enemies, keeping the City safe. Nothing else. Not what I want, or what I feel. Not who I am or the things I still wonder. I will be whatever the City needs me to be. If all the Traveler needs is a weapon, then a weapon I shall be. Caring about anything else is indulgent selfishness. If my heart seeks to pull me astray with questions, doubts, wishes or dreams, I will smother it until its insubordination is silenced.”

He understood what she meant, and that was the worst part. He knew that when she spoke of her traitorous heart that the halcyon past between was the thing it longed for most. He knew that his allure was so much more than simply his ideals. He knew and he sat there and looked at her with that sad gaze that she couldn’t meet, lest his eyes convince her of what her heart could not.

He leaned forward—the table narrow enough between them to allow closeness—and it was a motion that she felt, more than saw, with her head still down.

“Sylvanni Duv, I believe you may be the greatest tragedy of my exile. To see a mind such as yours, locked away in blank, unquestioning service to them, to It, is a failure for which I must blame myself. You deserve to think, to feel, to question, and to dream, and no one should have taken that from you. Not the Vanguard, not the Traveler, not even you yourself.”

Before she’d sat down at this table she would have sworn that she was stone from her skin to her core, her insecurities locked away deep where they couldn’t sabotage her. But now Osiris was shattering her walls, her prohibitions, her self. He’d done it centuries ago and he was doing it now. Never malicious, never manipulative, but so intensely earnest the words couldn’t help but be compelling. He won souls because he made you see things his way.

It was why she’d been both heartbroken and relieved to see him leave the Tower in exile, hundreds of years ago: He was the most dangerous temptation she had, the thing she desired most to have and be and trust, and the thing which she could never allow herself to have. His pursuit of his own ideas had nearly broken the Tower. She had sworn to herself that she would be stronger, that she would never become what he was.

Never let him turn her into the thing he’d longed for her to be.

And she knew, if she gave him an inch now, she’d give him everything.

Her confused nausea became a tangible weight in her stomach, and though she’d never had claustrophobia, she suddenly felt as though the walls of the shop were closing in on all sides. She needed to be away. It didn’t matter where, so long as it wasn’t here.

She stood, suddenly, banging her hip on the table in her haste to free herself from the booth, speaking with an almost frantic desperation. “I can’t… Osiris, I can’t do this. I can’t just pretend everything hasn’t happened. I have to… You shouldn’t have come. This was a mistake, and I’m leaving. I should have left the moment you appeared.”

She took only two steps before his hand wrapped around her left arm like a second bond, holding her in place.

“Sylvanni, wait. Please.”

She could have pulled free, kept going, run to the side of the railing and flung herself over just to feel the wind in her face and hope she would wake up from the resurrection and find that none of this had been real. But she hesitated, and damned herself instead.

“I didn’t tell you why I came,” he said softly. “You asked why I was here, and I didn’t answer. Allow me that much at least.”

His fingers might have been tongues of fire, flames eating through her sleeve, for the heat they brought to her skin. She could feel each finger individually. The whorls of his fingerprints would be burned into her skin, she was certain of it. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to break away.

She looked back, hating herself for it.

He was so beautiful in sincerity. “The Light. When it was suddenly ripped from us, I feared it could be the end. Yet you returned it. Every Guardian is indebted to you for it.”

She shook her head, confused that he would come so far for something so simple. “What?”

“I came to thank you, Sylvanni Duv, for saving us all.”

Their eyes met and she felt the moment upon her, her chance to pull away, to run and flee back to safety.

That moment passed.

Osiris pulled her gently forward and pressed his lips to hers. And she let him. She stood in that moment and kissed him, hearing the person she’d tried to be screaming in her head. He tasted of sunlight and salt, and as his grip on her arm relaxed, his other hand moved to cup the back of her head, keeping her close.

It was horrible, and it was bliss. The former Sylvanni, a silly girl from centuries ago with silly ideas about her handsome Vanguard, was resurrected within her again, just briefly, when that naive optimist should have been long dead. The current Sylvanni, the the logical pragmatist she’d built herself to become, wailed in silent agony that she was tearing down everything she’d worked so hard to achieve. Decades of discipline, destroyed in one moment of emotional weakness.

But Traveler’s scars, how long had it been since anyone held her?

For a few precious heartbeats, right and wrong fell away and she simply let herself feel something, let her breath mingle with his, let her thoughts twirl aimlessly around nothing but the pleasure of the moment itself and nothing further than that. Duty, consequences, within that embrace, those foundational pillars of her life had no purchase on her and she floated on the ecstasy of it all.

Reality though, was far too weighty to be held at bay by something so fragile as a kiss.

The pragmatist won the fight in her mind, the idealist struck down and locked away once more where she could cause no further damage. Just as quickly as the wonder of the moment had consumed her, crippling guilt washed over it, drowning everything. The nausea returned once more, now arm in arm with a new companion: disappointment in herself, that she’d succumbed so easily.

She broke away, the taste of him souring already, and pushed herself back, suddenly desperate for space between them. “Osiris, I can’t… This was…” The steel mask began to slide back into place, the walls repairing, traitorous emotions executed for their treason. “This was a mistake. You coming here. Me not leaving the moment I saw you.” Her heartbeat still pounded in her ears. “Nothing but a string of mistakes.”

He didn’t seem hurt by the words, though there was that twinge of sadness in his eyes again. He’d expected this, though he’d hoped for something different. She turned away, intending to leave before she could fall any further—before he could drag her further down—but this time he caught her hand instead.

“Wait, before you go,” he said calmly, pressing something small and metalic against her palm. “Take this. A symbol of my favor. That any of my order who see it will know you are to given every courtesy.”

She gritted her teeth, not trusting herself to look back at him again. “I don’t want your favor. Keep it.”

“Please,” he said, stepping close to her again. “For my peace of mind if nothing else.” With his hand wrapped around hers, he folded her fingers around the little object. “It’s a gift.”

She snatched her hand from his, clenching it to a fist around the coin as she kept her back to him. “Leave the City, Osiris. Within the hour. Do not return.”

A sad puff of a laugh escaped him, an amused resignation. “As you command, Lady Restorer. The journey begins with doubt, but ends with solace.”

“Leave.”

“It was good to see you again. Our paths will cross again soon,” he said, still so casual about it all. “I’m looking forward to it. I think I’m going to need your help, though it’s always hard to tell with things like this. Vex minds are, ah, how was it put? ‘Not quite as intuitive as you might think.’ But, then again, that’s what makes these things interesting, isn’t it?”

Sylvanni froze as she recognized the phrase—Cayde’s words—from a conversation Osiris shouldn’t have known about. Meeting again? She spun, a demand for an answer already on her lips.

There was nothing there but empty air.

The table looked lonesome. Two bowls, still slightly steaming, a plate of buns, half eaten, and a glimmer credit in the middle as payment. She stood, stunned. There hadn’t even been a sound as he vanished, no telltale shimmer of a transmat field. A thought occurred to her, and she pushed her way to the front of the shop, emerging into the street. Vance, too, was nowhere to be found.

Guardians and civilians parted around her as Sylvanni stood in the midst of it, a stone around which the currents broke. The world continued on but she stood still, trying to make sense of what had happened, what it had meant. What it had revealed about who she really was.

No answers came, only further questions. The endless, dangerous questions, distractions that she couldn’t ever fully banish. She’d gotten so good at keeping those in check, ignoring their call over the years.

Now she felt lost within them once more. Of course, she thought, that was what he wanted, wasnt’ it? Osiris always gets what he wants.

Always.

#Destiny #Destiny fanfiction #Osiris #Destiny 2 #Destiny the Game #Destiny 2 spoilers #Sylvanni Duv #My Fanfic #Sorry that this is not a Recompense update #but apparently it's Shiptember #and that means I'm going to write relationship drama over ramen #The DLC is going to come in here and wreck my headcanons #but I don't care #I'm having self-indulgent fun

[monotype-on-phantom]

We have now had at least one episode dedicated to developing the relationships between each duo combination of Team Phantom, and I think this is as good a time as any to gush about why this is one of my favorite trios in anything.

I’ll just cover each combination in order and then talk about all three of them, because I love these kids and could talk about them all day.

What You Want is the first episode to actually put one of the main characters off to the side and focus on developing the relationship between two of them. Sam spends the entire episode with a cold, so Danny and Tucker are pretty much on their own, and we get a lot of insight into how they view each other.

The two of them have been close friends for a very long time, and they share everything. Sure, they might not always get along the best, but usually, these two are like partners in crime. Whether it’s talking about girls, watching some dumb action flick, or fighting ghosts, the two of them are pretty much joined at the hip even more than either of them and Sam. Which makes sense. They’re bros.

The number of times they annoy Sam is hilarious. Sure, Danny can be pretty serious sometimes, and even Tucker can be when he needs to, but they’ll also have eating competitions on either side of Sam. They’ll gush about cute girls together. They’ll stay up late playing online games. The majority of their relationship is just dumb guy stuff, which is great. They don’t need to hide things from each other and can be dweebs all they want together.

The next episode like this that we get is Fanning the Flames, where Tucker’s completely sucked in by Ember’s spell, leaving Danny and Sam to try and fight her alone.

Danny and Sam are kind of the more logical two of the trio. Danny can be a goof, but when Tucker’s in mega goof mode, Danny and Sam can roll their eyes at him together. On the other hand, they’re also a lot more melodramatic than Tucker. He’s someone who’s quick to bounce back from being depressed or hurt or even feeling guilty. If he’s in the wrong, he apologizes and learns from it. If he’s not, he’ll usually let things roll off his back in time because he’s got a lot of confidence in himself.

Sam and Danny can be pretty emotional. Danny especially lets what other people say and do get to him and blames himself for a lot of things, while Sam’s usually someone to get more angry and yell when things upset her. Tucker and Danny work things out quickly, but when these two get in a rough patch, they need to talk things out a bit more.

While Danny’s not necessarily out of commission in 13, he’s focused more on his sister, which leaves Tucker and Sam to bond, and it’s one of my favorite episodes for both of them.

In a lot of ways, Sam and Tucker are opposites. She’s a vegetarian, he’s a meat eater. She’s into recycling, he’s into technology. He likes fashionable girls, she’s all about being an individual. He’s usually an optimist, Sam takes pride in reveling in darkness and complains a lot.

That said, they do compliment each other really well. They’re both pretty confident, but have their insecurities, though they usually keep more quiet about those than Danny does. They’re the ones who really stand out, despite actually being normal kids without any superpowers.

They actually know each other really well. Sam’s there to support Tucker when he’s having a bit of an identity crisis or when he’s dealing with his phobias. Tucker’s there to tease her and help her kick back easier like in Attack of the Killer Garage Sale and any time he teases her about her crush on Danny.

When Danny’s in trouble, these two are the ones that have to work together to bust him out, even though they’re so different. And they make an awesome team. They’re actually usually pretty in sync. Kindred Spirits is a good example, where they know exactly what to do in order to go pick up Danny from being kidnapped and dragged across the country.

And speaking of which, Sam and Tucker are amazing? You wanna talk best friends, let’s talk best friends.

Danny has been thrown into a world he never asked to be a part of. Countless ghosts and humans want him dead for just existing. He’s attacked without provocation, kidnapped multiple times, tortured and almost killed more than once, and he puts the responsibility of defending his town from constant ghost invasions solely on himself and beats himself up if he can’t do a perfect job.

These two don’t need to deal with any of that, but they do. They always do. There is one episode in the entire series where they don’t appear. Aside from that, they’re always there, and when Danny can’t deal with something alone, he can always count on them to show up. Thrown into ghost jail? They come get him. Brainwashed by an evil ringmaster with no problems murdering to get away with his crimes? They come get him. Kidnapped by a vengeful billionaire and dragged into the middle of nowhere? They come get him.

Not only that, but at any time, he can call them and ask for help. Tucker’s always prepared to deal with security cameras or hack into something to help take down a ghost. Sam has no qualms with grabbing a weapon and learning to use it on the fly or charging into battle blindly to protect her friends. Episode one has them carry a sleeping Danny all the way home from school to get him safely into bed.

They’re not perfect, but they’re kids. They do the best they can to support Danny no matter what, and they’ll gladly put themselves in danger for him.

And on the flip side, nobody can tell me Danny doesn’t love and appreciate them with all his heart.

In a lot of ways, they’re Danny’s greatest weakness. He’s strong and stubborn, but there are no lengths he won’t go to for these two. Sometimes, they’re all he has. They’re the only ones he can count on. In fact, they’re often the only ones he will rely on. He can be overprotective and self sacrificing to a fault, and he often won’t even think of asking anyone for help with tough situations outside of Sam and Tucker. They’re the ones he trusts the most. They’re the only ones who know his secret initially, and they’re always covering for him. He can rely on them at any instant.

That doesn’t mean he’s not going to do everything he can to keep them safe, though. He has less of an idea what he’s doing than even these two, yet he’s the one with the superpowers, so he’ll always throw himself between them and danger. (Any episode that claims otherwise is lying.)

Ironically, Danny needs saving a lot more than these two do over the course of the show, but that’s often because Danny won’t let them deal with the most dangerous parts of his ghost fighting life. Reign Storm? Danny wouldn’t even let them near Pariah Dark. My Brother’s Keeper? He wigs out when Bertrand tries to attack them instead of him. Control Freaks? Sam being in danger is one of the only things that can snap him out of Freakshow’s control.

He’s not perfect, buuut I refuse to acknowledge a lot of the episodes where he acts like a jerk as canon, and like Sam and Tucker, he’s 14. He does his best to balance his life as a kid and his life as a superhero, for their sakes as much as his. Heck, the whole reason he split himself in Identity Crisis was to give them the fun weekend he promised them and still be able to protect people from Technus. Even though they said they didn’t mind helping him, he doesn’t want them to always have to deal with his ghost hunting crap.

I know I ramble about these guys a lot, but there’s just so much love and support between them. They’ve known each other since second grade at least, and they’re still sticking together through the years and through countless life and death situations. As much as I dislike parts of Elmer’s 10 years later videos, it really warms my heart to see that these kids are still sticking together after all that time. Not a lot of kids I know have ever had friends like these. They’re family, just as much as or maybe even more so than their biological ones. Even if they fight or make mistakes, they’re always there for each other in the end. And I love them all so much.

#i will protect these children with my life #i hope they all have happy lives together and get married #platonically #and maybe romantically #as long as they're together i'm perfectly happy #danny phantom #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #cast #plot #not gonna bother with the episodes there are too many

[tumblunni]

AAAAARRRRGH tfw u somehow sabotage your own idea by getting a new idea thats too good ???????????????????????? God, I had an idea for a villain for a thing and then I ended up reinterpreting a what if that character was actually a troubled misunderstood normal person who’s just like a red herring for the real villain EXCPET NOW I HAVE NO CLUE WHO THE REAL VILLAIN IS goddammit my undeveloped plotline just got even more undeveloped

long talks & stuff below th cut:

Okay, so this is kinda for that vague idea I had of the ‘spider legman story’, as its ended up being codenamed thanks to a friend XD

A sort of mystery dating sim thingie where u play as A Grody Farmin’ Man Who Luv Growin Dem Onions, and you have your best friend PTSD Sufferer Knight Bishie Man whom u Kinda Have A Larj Crush On and generally just relateable anxiety characters hav cyoot smoochies BUT THEN mr love interest man mysteriously vanishes one day assumed dead, with nobody giving a shit except you, cos he was a social pariah and you end up in an arranged marriage to a woman you don’t love and even worse you now have to deal with what may or may not be his ghost hauntin u or may be one of the demons from the forest masquerading using his face or even both or hey! maybe he’s just! totally fine! and alive! Ha.. ha.. ha..

So yeah you would be romancing or not romancing mr possibly an evil ghost and it may or may not go well and you might instead come to terms with his death and move on to dating another one of various love interests, which are not very developed yet only idea i have so far is a johnny bravo esque doofus travelling merchant guy who ended up kinda being a pure force of all that is good in the world one of his endings I’ve planned out would have him sacrificing his life to ressurect main love interest guy, even though it means losing you. and, well, losing his life. but you’re the more important part and you should be happy with ghost husbandu! that would be like the bad ending if you have equal relationship bars with both characters. everyone else gets some sort of regular cheating scene and he gets IMMA GONNA THROW MYSELF INTO THE CAULDRON OF THE DEAD TO PAY THE TOLL I dont have him very developed though except that he’s gonna be Very Buff and he’s kinda the only character who’s an outsider to the complex dark dynamics of this village, and kinda represents protagonist’s hopes of someday seeing the world and also he’d be a bff wingman character on everyone else’s route if you dont return his crush. he is just a very pure and kind man! who crushes logs with his bare hands!

ANYWAY THATS NOT THE CHARACTER I WAS STRUGGLING WITH, LOL

the big problem I had is that the original villain for this thing back when I dreamed it up three years ago was gonna be the lady in the arranged marriage like she’s basically gaston and she killed off your rival love interest so she could force you into this loveless marriage blablabla and he came back as a demon ghost thing to save you cos she was gonna kill you too after the marriage to steal ur inheritance and stuff

BUT BUT BUTBUTBUT then I ended up thinking about how the character could be way less boring and awful if it was Moral Complexity Instead

so she’s developed into like... She’s still kind of an egotistical rich jerkass princess who bullied mr love interest guy and wants you to marry her even though she knows you dont love her BUT she’s also suffering just as much as you are I just had the really depressing mental image of her staring at her reflection in the river and contemplating suicide. thinking about how everyone treats her as if she only has any value if she’s beautiful, and she’s looked at her reflection a million times trying to see what they seem to see. everyone thinks she gets more beautiful with every part of herself she sacrifices to please them, but its like she can see herself rotting away and everyone tells her it isnt there.. She’s only so determined to get you to marry her because she’s being treated by her family like her entire purpose for being born was to marry a stranger she hates and bring them money and status. And she feels like she’s a failure because she cant force you to love her, and she can’t force herself to love you either, but she still HAS to find ANY way to make you do it anyway because everyone is acting like she’s run out of time already... So all her egotistical mannerisms are just her trying to hide that she hates herself, and she’s just as terrified of this marriage as you are. She’s just like a future image of what you’d become if you also gave up on escaping your parents’s expectations...

also I think it’d be an extra level of sad nuance if she actually used to be one of your childhood friends, alongside main love interest ghost guy and then suddenly she wasnt allowed to talk to you anymore, and her parents started pushing her even more into the perfect wife role and you two never knew about any of this, and you just ended up resenting her for suddenly breaking friends with you, and its all hella complicated and confusing so her route would be like the one non-romantic one in the game you just rekindle your friendship with her and help her find a reason to live again, and manage to escape the arranged marriage that’s ruined both of your lives

and possibly there’d be at least one optional scene where she could end up meeting the ghost and getting to say goodbye to him in a super teary way cos like, you spend a lot of the game assuming that she was the one who assassinated him, and that she hated him for being your love rival when really she was never able to love you at all, she just felt she was forced to conjure feelings out of thin air and doom the both of you to an unhappy marriage ‘for the sake of the lineage’ and deep down she still saw her ‘rival’ as the friend she once had, and felt awful about having to be a jackass to him so her parents wouldnt punish her for consorting with commoners so she was crying just as much as you when he dissappeared, and realising he might be dead is what causes her suicide attempt (especially cos she also finds out that you loved him all along...) so there needs to be a lil addendum to this ending that even though you didnt go thru his route and you didnt romance anyone, ghosty guy still passes on peacefully after getting to see you reconcile with your former best friend or maybe if the game could not follow the typical route structure, then it could be possible to befriend a character and romance someone else during the same playthru? golden ending where the trio is reunited again! even if the inevitability of death must still cast them asunder once more! (tho I do have ideas for one super super super tricky ultimate ending for ghost guy where you’re somehow able to stay together. beyond just the bad ending route where you die, lol)

ANYWAY so now i have no clue who actually killed ghost guy I feel it’d probably be too predictable to make it one of the evil parents or something Unless like.. change the framing and have them be presented as benevolebt npcs throughtout the whole game? like, cos the protagonist is friggin brainwashed and depressed and going along with this awful arranged marriage plan, he sees them as if this is what normal loving parents are meant to be like. so they’re still here being horrible and controlling but the game never gives you any choices to disobey them until the very end, when all their secret crimes are revealed! maybe even have the mom or something be like the tutorial npc and she’s always giving really bad advice that sends you down the bad routes. TRUST NO-ONE. NEGGING IS A VIABLE STRATEGY. EXPRESSING YOUR PERSONALITY IS WASTING TIME U CAN USE 2 PREPARE FOR THE MARRIAGE.

lots of thoughts! very few answers! alas!

#spider smoochies game #so basically she's like renge

[tony-dnd-adventure-logs]

Grimm Hellmaw’s Adventure Logs - Grimm’s Backstory

Hello friend,

    My name is Grimm Hellmaw, and after recent experiences, a friend I hold dear to me suggested I document my experiences in case... well... I don’t get up from the next beating I take.  I take a lot of risks when fighting alongside my friends, and let’s just say that my recklessness has my girl worried about me not coming back to her.  That story will come, of course, but I figure I should start from the beginning so y’all can get to know me more, and I get to reflect on some of the highlights of my recklessness for posterity’s sake.

    I don’t have a lot of memories from my early days.  My mother was the streets of Glimmer’s Grove, and my father was the constant hunger I had to fight day in and day out.  There aren’t any specific memories that stick out, but there’s this general feeling of despair that comes up when I try to think back on my childhood.  People were awful.  Whether it was me being a dreg of society, me being a half-orc, or me being a sore sight for the eyes of the bourgeois of the city, I never had any favorable interactions with the townsfolk of Glimmer’s Grove.  It’s alright, though.  Even if these people didn’t think I would amount to much, I wanted to prove them wrong with selflessness and my earnest smile.  I wanted to be able to protect and win over the very people that wouldn’t think twice about a useless street urchin such as me.  The people of Glimmer’s Grove may not deserve me, but I want to be THE example of that old saying “don’t judge a book by its cover.”

    In my young adult days, I ran into a man that changed my life.  Tibalt Grey would normally be looked upon as an unassuming man, but if you got a good look at him, you would see this wild, yet contained look in his eyes.  This offputting observance aside, he was one of the kindest souls I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting in my life.  He saw me in my tattered clothing, but was one of the first people to approach me and treat me like something more than the dirt beneath his boots.  I don’t know what made him so comfortable with me, but he started talking to me about how he’s the last living member of the Grey Syndicate, a crime family that I had only heard stories of in the deepest, darkest alleyways of Glimmer’s Grove.  I would see some of the toughest, battle-worn men cower at the mention of this group, and I would see some of the seediest, nastiest criminals speak of them fondly.  While public reactions varied, there was a consensus that they would land on: the Grey Syndicate is not what it used to be.  Talking with Grey, it couldn’t be any more obvious.  He was a warm, gentle heart that was willing to talk openly with a social pariah such as myself, and take genuine interest in me.  

He asked me about life, what my dreams are, and he also enjoyed interjecting with an odd fact or two about ghosts.  I’m normally a guarded person, so while I tried to resist as well as I could, he ended up prying out of me my dream of protecting the people that would sooner spit at my existence than treat me as the living being that I am.  Upon hearing that, he started to talk about how he wanted to right the wrongs his family committed during the height of the Grey Syndicate’s rule on the shadows of Glimmer’s Grove, and since he could see a similar light and fervor in me, he wanted to take me in and provide me with room and board at the cost of going through some special training to assist him in his path of redemption.

I have to be completely honest, I didn’t even think about what that training would entail.  After living on the streets for all my life, I would have given up everything for a roof over my head, and regular meals.  Little did I know at the time, Grey’s well-intentioned training would send me through literal hell.

Old man Grey’s fascination with ghosts stems from the training that he has been through.  His family, while a successful crime syndicate, was also a long line of Blood Hunters that specialized in all things ghosts.  You wouldn’t believe how he spent his free time.  He’d take me to the sick wards of Glimmer’s Grove, help tend to the people there, offering up all kinds of money, goods and relief that he could to the healthier people, and observe the soon to be extinguished lives of the sick and elderly.  I’ve been numb to death since I would see it on the streets regularly, but the kind of death you see in these wards is different.  Lives being claimed early by disease, elderly people that say they’ve experienced all that life has to give, but have that dread and and a look of yearning in their eyes, it’s sick, really.  Death on the streets equates to either falling down on your luck, or crossing paths with the wrong person.  The people in these sick wards, for one reason or another, are dying too soon, and have no control over when and how they die.

Alongside the regular trips to the sick wards, Grey taught me a lot of what I needed to know to become a Blood Hunter.  He taught me how to fight, and about all the different kinds of Blood Hunters that walk the earth.  I’ve always been a quick and adaptable learner, since I’ve needed to think on my feet to survive.  He was pleasantly surprised with my progress, and I quickly became established enough to start to figure out what direction I would take in my path of the Hunter.  I abhorred the trips to the sick ward, and while I was pretty decent with my alchemic studies, I figured if I wanted to truly deal with the evils I will face, I needed to become what I hate the most.

I spent days on end researching the fiends of the world.  Grey, knowing I will not be following the same path he and his family have been following for generations, let me stay home on his trips to the sick wards, letting me have free reign of his library.  I tore through those books, trying to find a worthy source for my new powers, and upon reading one of the last untouched books in his library, I came across one of the Lords of Hell, Belial.  It’s amazing, really.  One of the Lords of Hell, whose name stems from the word “worthlessness”, came to me in one of the last books I haven’t read.  The Lord of Pain, causing me pain by taking so damn long to even reveal himself to me.  It was a match made in, I want to say heaven, but really, hell.  

To create this pact with Belial, I needed Grey’s help.  When I approached him with this, he was reluctant at first, but knowing I wouldn’t be able to realize my full potential, he assisted me with reaching out to Belial.  He led me to a void of space, where I called out to Belial.  It was a surreal experience, communicating with one of the Lords of Hell.  He was amused in finding a surly half-orc, looking nothing like others that seek pacts with him, commanding his attention.  Off of amusement with this, and a rather graphic comment on my… erm… appearance, he wanted to hear what I had to say.  Knowing that he is the Lord of pain and suffering, I spun a tale about how I come from nothing, knowing nothing but the pain and suffering of the streets I raised myself on, and I mixed in a lie about how I wanted to cause this same kind of suffering to the people that ignored the streets.  Upon hearing that lie, Belial went from being amused to upset in a blink of an eye.  He saw through that lie and chastised me for my arrogance.  That aside, he decided that he didn’t care what I would use his powers for.  He agreed to the pact, but there was an additional cost that came with it.  He gave me an insatiable lust, and demanded that I feel the pain that I cause, condemning me to only use blunt weaponry as my rites for calling his powers.  With my pact complete, Grey and I went back to the mansion to continue my training.

Grey went into uncharted territory as he helped me train with my newfound abilities.  He’s known a couple Blood Hunters that cross into Warlock territory, but he didn’t really know what to do with me.  He did the best he could with the resources he had, but I had to do a lot of self study to catch myself up to speed on this whole Warlock business.  Grey’s library had a few books on the subject, but I had to take to the streets again to find some local clerics of Belial to help me understand what I’m capable of.  They were a lot easier to convince than Belial, of course, so they helped me hone my newfound abilities, and… well… quench a certain thirst that has started to eat at my conscience.

Once I had a better handle on my abilities, and my newfound drive to bump uglies with just about anyone I came across, Grey started getting me in contact with various groups around Glimmer’s Grove to start hunting some of the local evils.  I’m not one to brag, but my adaptability and desire to learn helped me excel with these groups, leading to even taking down a manticore with Elena, an Aasimar that’s not only kickass with a blade, but someone I’m still adventuring with today.  There will be more on that coming up, but there’s still a bit more I need to wrap up here before I get this journal caught up to the present day.

One night, after coming home from another successful hunt, I came home to the Grey estate, noticing that something felt off.  Old man Grey normally greets me on my return, but I walked in to a quiet mansion.  I immediately ripped through the mansion, trying to find Grey.  Outside of the difference in my welcome home, he’s not normally a quiet guy.  He likes to read aloud, and he’s got a rather noisy way of existence that wasn’t present that night.  After looking for an hour, I found him collapsed in the library, clutching at his chest.  I’ve seen and now caused a lot of death in my life, so I knew he was knocking on death’s door, but a mass genocide of the world as I know it wouldn’t have prepared me for what I was about to experience. 

I immediately elevated his upper body and tried to get him talking and normalized, but there wasn’t anything I could do for him.  I tried to talk to him about my hunt that night, and keep the conversation light, but I think Grey could tell that I was starting to get frantic and shushed me.  He told me that he didn’t have much time left, and was upset that he wasn’t able to see me through my full training, but that he had an old friend at the Adventurer’s Academy that would be able to help me continue my training.  With that being said, he said that he was thankful that I was in his life, and passed in my arms. 

I was absolutely torn up with Grey’s passing.  I thought I’ve had to deal with a lot of pain and suffering in my life, but having one of the only people I care about passing in my arms tore me apart.  I swear I could feel Belial smiling at the misfortune I experienced that night.  I’ll spare you the details on my grieving, since it was an ugly experience all around, but I’ll tell you that I did promise on his dead body that I would uphold his life’s work, and go tell his friend at the Academy about his passing.

There’s really not much to say about what happened after that.  I donated the Grey estate to the sick wards of Glimmer’s Grove with no intention of coming back to his mansion.  The memories of my life in the estate are painful, even to this day.  When your source of happiness and fulfillment in life is gone, and that’s all you have to remember it by, there’s no reason to keep it around.  I needed to keep myself moving forward, especially since I need to continue Grey’s work, and find his old friend at the Academy.  With no reason to stay in Glimmer’s Grove, I made my way to the Adventurer’s Academy, where I’ve caught myself in a whole, new mess.

I’m getting tired, so I think I’m going to keep it at this, for now.  Stephanie is knocking at my door now, and I would like to spend some time with her after getting my ass handed to me today.  Oh yeah, I guess I should clarify: Stephanie Nitro is the girl, and the friend I mentioned previously.  I don’t know who the hell is going to stumble across these logs, and even though I know who she is, if these logs end up in someone’s hands, they should at least know what’s going on.  I could write about her for days, honestly, but I’ll save my gushing for a later entry in this journal.  Also, about that whole “insatiable lust” thing I mentioned earlier, let’s just say that my self control has improved greatly from those days.  Things are sweet with her right now, and even though my loins are feeling something fierce, I want to keep it sweet.  She’s a good girl, and she deserves as much, especially after what my… uh… friends I quess?  After what my friends and I ended up doing to her family.

Once again, more on that later, but for now, I’m going to enjoy a nice evening with my girl.

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