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xcixmoon · 1 year

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zero - part I

this is a series!!

reminder, most of my stories are 18+ - keep in mind when reading.

ultimate masterlist

zero masterlist

note: i just recently started playing cod again (cold war era slightly brought me back) im sry if i make mistakes!! feel free to call me out if you have better knowledge than i lol

simon 'ghost' riley x reader ; lt!ghost x rookie!reader ; simon riley x reader ; simon 'ghost riley x fem!reader

warnings: strong language and violence.

THIS A 18+ BLOG.

the setting is a year into reader being in task force 141. timelines may be different than what is represented in game campaign(s) and such. i've played the campaign twice (bc im down terribly for ghost) so i will be modifying parts of the campaign as i include them in this part of the story. this part relied heavily on the campagin to build up what im working towards.

ten minute read, unedited.

"i'll do it," soap speaks up.

alejandro looked at soap, "you go in there and they'll kill you."

soap knew this but he wanted to stop a missile, he was determined to get the mission done. you knew it was a big risk to let soap go in, "i'll go with him as well." you finally spoke up.

ghost, soap, alejandro, and graves all looked at you.

"no way in hel-" graves began, "i'm not letting soap go in alone. we have a better shot at showing them that two people have good intel. especially the intel that they desire, no?" you cut him off.

ghost kept his eyes on you, "we both offer intel in exchange to meet with sin nombre." you told them.

alejandro looked over at ghost to see if he had anything to say but just met with a gaze that didnt say much, "if sin nombre is there, we pounce." soap brought their attention back.

he gave you a small nod in agreement.

"if you both go in, you'll need someone to keep eyes and ears around. ill go in as one of the guards." alejandro agreed.

ghost said nothing until, "ill take overwatch. have shadows circle the target in a helo."

graves took a look at the ground, "roger that." he finally agreed. he took a patch off his vest and handed it to you, "theyre gonna want proof. give them it."

you agreed at you took the patch, "lets gear up." graves told everyone as you all headed out to your positions.

"eyes on soap and zero?" graves asked ghost.

ghost scouted the building before noticing you both at the front gate. a guard shot his weapon towards your feet, ordering you both to get down on the ground.

"got visual." ghost commed back.

one of the guards hit soap on the back of the knee causing him to fall onto his knees - the other roughly grabbed you and pushed you on to the floor next to him.

one of the guards spoke on his walkie.

the two guards put a black bag over your heads, not being able to see a thing as they forced you both to start walking.

"they got them both now." ghost said as he kept a close eye on you both.

he noticed that the guards separated you and soap once you entered the gate entrance. you tried to whisper for soap but only to cause the guard that was directing you to shove you. "camina!" a man said in spanish.

fuckin hell.

you were shoved to take a seat somewhere. you had no clue to where you were and surprisingly no one was speaking to you yet and demanding for what you were there for.

soaps pov

the bag was yanked off his head and met with alejandro in a elevator, "alejandro?"

soap looked around to see it was only him and alejandro.

"where's zero?" he asked confused.

alejandro shook his head, "no clue, they didnt say much after taking you both in. ill try to find her once i get you where needed."

soap was confused but kept his mind on the end goal. "I want you to tell them everything like we talked about. tell them the whole truth and nothing but the truth." alejandro reminded him

"even y-" before soap could continue the elevator door opened.

zeros pov

you were left in a room for what felt like an eternity. you managed to slip off the bag from your head to see where the hell you were at least.

you were in just a plain room with you sitting right in the middle. you noticed that there were no guards around and tried to manage your way out of the ropes that were bounding your wrists together.

you tried everything you could but nothing worked.

this is going to hurt, isnt it?

you dislocated your thumb and managed to squeeze one hand out.

fuck.

you popped your thumb back into place to untie the rest of the rope that was left.

you walked up to a door and pressed your ear against it and heard no voices on the other side but it was locked. you tried to search any part of the room to break the lock but there was no luck in material to do so.

you heard commotion coming from outside the door and noticed the handle began to move. you quickly sat back in the seat and pretended to only have had moved the bag that once sat on your head.

one guard walked in after he finished yelling across the hall to whoever, "why are you here?" he asked in spanish.

you ignored him at first but noticed a keycard resting on his belt loop, "i want to talk to sin nombre." you told him.

the man looked at you crazy and said nothing in return, he turned his back to you as he started walking out the door. you took this chance to quickly wrap the rope around his neck.

you covered his mouth to suppress his struggles as he tried to fight back. you twisted his neck causing his body to go limp within seconds.

easy bastard.

you grabbed his pistol and whatever else you could use as a weapon along with the keycard and made your way out the room.

ghosts pov

ghost finally got on comms with soap after speaking with sin nombres personal sicaria.

"where's zero?" ghost asked through the ear piece.

soap gave a glance to alejandro, "no clue, L.t." soap responded.

"alejandro?" ghost asked him to speak up.

"they separated them, wasn't able to find her when soap was busy with sin nombres personal sicaria." alejandro finally confessed.

ghost looked through his scope to see if he could see you through any of the bedroom windows but no luck, "find her alejandro and soap you try to get the keycard to the penthouse." he ordered.

"understood." alejandro commed back.

this just became a sticky situation.

zeros pov

you quickly realized that you were nowhere near where you wanted to be. as you managed to try to make you way up the house, you took note what was in the house and the voices that filled the rooms. you heard men snorting as they took a big hits.

you didnt want your trail too hot so you tried to keep your distance from killing anybody. it was driving you mad that you have no comms with the rest of your team.

you found yourself in a empty room and found a safe sitting in the closet, "nice." you whispered to yourself.

a sniper rifle was sitting in it with some cash and armor.

you quickly put the armor on and the rifle along with it.

"sin nombre called for us, lets go." you heard voices speak out the door. you heard footsteps rushing as the words finished.

sin nombre is here.

you confirmed with yourself.

you scouted the hallway once more to see if any stragglers were following the group of men - the coast was clear. you took your time paying attention to the direction of the rushed footsteps and followed.

you noticed the men rushed through a door, "sin nombre..." one of the men tried to speak but sin nombre shushed them as you listened through the door.

"the packages arrive on schedule." you heard a female voice say.

sin nombre is a woman?

you couldnt make out the conversation much as it sounded like sin nombre was pacing around the room. the voice finally concluded the conversation as they turned their attention once again to the men who were told to be present.

"you idiots!" the voice yelled, "you better find whoever the hell you let escape." she warned them.

she was talking about you.

you wondered why they weren't on high alert after knowing you were missing. "the guest cannot know anything is wrong, i have enough shit to handle because you fools cant do simple tasks!" she yelled once more in spanish.

guests?

"hey!" a voice yelled from behind you in spanish. you turned to notice a man has a gun pointed at you already. you wanted to fight your way out but that would be pointless as sin nombre and her men were just inside the other room.

the men roughly grabbed you and restrained you. they took your weapons and opened the door that sin nombre was in.

"let go of me..." you cursed at the men in their native tongue.

you noticed the woman standing before you, "whats this? is this the one you idiots somehow managed to lose?" she asked. she knew the answer already but wanted her dogs to respond.

"so you're sin nombre..." you looked at her. "i wanted a meeting with you but your dogs couldn't do a simple task to give me what i wanted." you said as you tried to move your body away.

soap and alejandros pov

"ghost," alejandro spoke, "no sign of zero but we made our way to sin nombres door."

ghost cursed under his breath, "get PID."

"snake cam is set, get PID on sin nombre." alejandro told soap.

soap looked into the cam and seen that you were standing there, restrained. "fuckin' hell." soap cursed.

soap moved his attention away from the snake cam and looked at alejandro, "what is it, hermano?" he aske him.

"its zero and the woman i spoke to earlier? its valeria, she's sin nombre." he told him.

ghosts voice came through the ear piece, "did you just say zero is with sin nombre?" he wanted confirmation but graves pulled the team back to the task that was needed.

"we need sin nombre, lets wrap this up." graves told them, "we got PID on sin nombre, get her."

alejandro and soap looked at each other and understood what needed to be done.

get you out alive as well as sin nombre.

"we're moving in, you ready?" alejandro asked.

"check." said graves.

"ghost?"

"ready." said ghost.

zeros pov

you heard the doors behind you burst open and sin nombre grabbed you from her men. you tried to fight her but she held a knife to your face when you notice a helicopter was above you both.

"let me go and she lives." sin nombre told graves and his men.

you notice soap and alejandro pointing their weapons at her. her grip tightened on you, "dont!" you told them.

you know that your team would've taken the shot if given the chance but you needed her alive and unhurt. "yeah... dont." sin nombre mocked.

"put the knife down!" soap ordered her, as soap ordered her to do so she dragged the knife on your cheek causing you to bleed.

you cursed at the pain but soon heard the knife fall to the ground as it followed a tazing sound. "secure the target!" graves told soap and alejandro.

time skip to 02 november 2022

"ghost! i have the controls to the missile." you commed to him.

"how the hell did you manage to do that?" he asked you while looking at graves.

"you took too long getting your asses up here." was all you said, "i dont think i can disarm it. its too late for that." you told them.

"making our way up to you," graves responded.

you seen ghost, soap and graves rushing in the room you were standing in.

you didnt specialize in aborting missiles but you tried everything you could from the knowledge that you did have, "abort code wont work." you told graves.

graves reported to shepherd about the situation at hand, "if we cant disarm we must detonate." you heard him say.

"zero! on the controls." graves ordered you.

soap and ghost took guard of the your flank as you grabbed the controls.

"what are we going to detonate the missile on?" you asked graves.

graves shook his head as he messed with the pad, "on the oil rig. its the only chance we got!"

you looked at ghost.

ghost understood what was said with just a look and ordered alejandro and his team to clear the rig.

you followed graves' orders to cause the missile to detonate on the oil rig causing graves to throw a small celebration as you were able to stop the missile from its inital target.

"good work. get ready to get home." shepherd told you all over comms.

you gave soap a small fist bump as he raised his hand asking for one.

ghost gave you a pat on the shoulder.

you lot made your way back to transportation to head back to alejandros base. you were stuck in the middle of ghost and soap in the backseat.

soap had eventually fell asleep on the ride back and you were too uncomfortable as soap made the backseat practically his bed. you noticed that ghost was pressed against the door and moved one of his arms to rest on the head rest behind you to possibly give you more space.

you couldnt tell if he was feeling uncomfortable or if he was just being his usual quiet self as he stared off in the distance out the window but you were thankful that he tried to make space for you.

you noticed the cars ahead of you stopped near the entrance of alejandros base.

graves got out of his car and alejandro followed.

their voices were muffled, you nudged soap to wake him up to get out. "get up, johnny." ghost said before exiting the car - you followed ghost as soap was the last to exit.

"step away from the gate." said graves.

alejandro looked at graves with a questionable expression, "this is my base." alejandro told.

"im taking over," said graves - he turned to look at you, soap and ghost, "you all have been relieved. thank you for your service." he told us.

"graves?" you asked.

"i need you all to leave." he looked at you.

soap stepped in, "you're out of line, graves." he told him. graves pointed his finger at you all, "dont do something you will regret." he warned.

ghost stepped infront of you, "is that a threat?" ghost asked.

"you should know i dont make treats but promises." said graves.

you rolled your eyes at him but no one could see, "does shepherd know?!" you asked finally peaking behind from ghost.

graves looked at the ground, "it was his idea and he wishes you all well." he said.

"bullshit." you spit at the ground.

as graves continued bickering with you about shepherd and what the hell was going on ghost and soap looked at each other. this wasn't going to end well. graves has a big ego about being a big shot and being the man in charge.

"my men are inside!" finally yelled alejandro.

a smug smile appeared on graves' face, "they've been detained." he told alejandro.

all hell broke loose at those words.

before you knew it ghost stuck a knife in two men that were in front and behind you both. you pulled out your pistol to shoot the man that appeared from behind the car.

ghost looked at you as a thank you for covering him.

you heard soap groan in pain and he fell back, you tried to take a shot at graves but he managed to quickly dodge and you shot the man behind him who caused the wounding shot to soap.

"get out!" ghost yelled to soap. he was struggling from losing blood.

you were willing to stay and take the fight against the dirty bastard graves but ghost pulled you away from the scene when he confirmed that soap made it out.

"its not worth it!" yelled ghost to you.

you listened to your L.t. and followed him, just as you turned your back to focus on what was ahead of you, one of graves' men was able to get a shot on you.

a bullet wound entered from the back and was able to exit out your collarbone, "fuck!" you cursed. ghost stopped quickly to scan what was wrong and seen the wound.

"lets get somewhere safe and we'll take care of it." he reassured you.

to be continued...

please keep in mind this is a potential slow burn! smutty simon and fluffy simon will make an appearance at some point(s) in the series.

i do not own anything of call of duty or any of the characters. I rewrote some bits of the campaign to include 'zero' for structure for the rest of my story.

taglist: @splicer13vex @hugs4coya @palomaxaxaxa @ahmya-4 @nameless-ghoul @ryunniez @luvr-bunnyy @junedevil @hungrhay @keliiii @churchofrain

reblog: hello! i woke this morning and decided to check this post and noticed that somehow the story was repeated twice. (oops) but i fixed some errors in spelling and fixed the big issue!! much love.

#simon ghost riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fanfic #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #captain price #mw2 #mw2 fanfic #cod x reader #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #task force 141 #xcixseries #femreader

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blissfulip · 1 month

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—Legion

On AO3

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation

Cw: blood, self flagellation, masturbation

Words: 1.7k

[A/N: extremely blasphemous, but again, you saw the tags. Please read at your own risk! (also, let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby

Playlist made by my baby Soln <3 @ihopeinevergetsoberr

Extra ecclesiam nulla salus.

There is a certain comfort in fear. When you see what awaits you at the gaping, harrowing mouth of hell, knowledge of the place you must avoid, ultimately, is power. There was a time when Viktor pitied those who did not know—those who lived despondent lives, unaware and unafraid of damnation. Recently, he had found himself wishing he knew less.

A ravening beast with a thousand bloody teeth, inside its mouth a cauldron, and in it the souls of the accursed with sin, boiling over scorching flames as legions of fiendish demons dragged in multitudes more. This image plagued Viktor’s mind without rest, be it vividly in his dreams, in the colossal fresco at the entrance of his local cathedral, or in the comical props onstage at the theater plays.

The parish clergy that had taken him in as a kid had made the mistake of noticing his outstanding intelligence and awarding him time to dedicate to studying philosophy, a privilege that many of the choir monks and lay brothers did not receive. In university, philosophy had turned into physics, and soon that turned into astronomy, which he had to keep a secret on account of the recent prohibitions put in place by Paul V’s Inquisition over the study of Copernican theories.

After he was ordained and returned to his home cathedral, this once silent yet innocent interest had turned into complete secrecy, and the fear of God that had once given him solace now tormented him. At times he considered giving up on his work; the mechanical objections of Copernican theory should not be of this much significance to him after all; there had to be something of value in what Thomas Aquinas had to say, and perhaps Agustine of Hippo had some good points. Nevertheless, it was the night sky that called to him, and even this far from it, he could not escape.

But outside the church there is no salvation , and Viktor knew that even if he was never to be condemned as a heretic in life, what awaited him in death was a flaming tomb at Epicure's side. Quod extra ecclesiam nulla salus.

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

His parish was a pious one, but Viktor would refuse to receive lithe from the members of his church. The first time he tried this, the bishop was immediately alerted, and he was secluded to live in the small room inside the chapel as a ‘punishment’ for his impertinence. Viktor did not mind; the lands he had been previously allotted were too much to care for on his own, with cleaning being especially hard once his leg would start tiring out, and the presence of the personnel of lay brothers that would follow him around made his studies impossible; thus, the contained space of the church was comfortable to live in on his own.

It had been a particularly cold morning. The week before, he had received word of the imminent visit of his diocesan bishop, and the impending possibility of his stay at any moment in the near future had tied his eyebrows into a permanent knot and his shoulders into a tense bundle of nerves since that morning.

To his dismay, the state of his works had made no decent progress, his journal being nothing more than a few numbers and three words on a painfully empty piece of parchment. He understood Latin; he had studied it at length in university, but when he took a break to read the Bible, the words on it floated around aimlessly, in a messy concoction of nothing.

“Per fidem enim ambulamus et non per speciem,” he repeated to himself in a whisper, and then closed the pages lethargically.

He read the cover of a white volume that had been lying on his desk for over a month now. He was sure he would have possibly agreed with what Foscarini had to say, so the feeling of dread he felt every time he laid eyes upon the title was mystifying to him. Though it made sense after some reflection, he was afraid.

When he read Copernicus, it felt distant, a world he was only a visitor in, but the Foscarini was a carmelite father, one of his own that was now nothing short of a persona non-grata in the eyes of the Roman Catholic Church. Viktor was afraid that what he had to say might make sense and that he might be so correct in his observations that this knowledge would drag him into the same status.

In retrospect, he should not have read it.

In fact, opening the cover was a big mistake on its own. Not even 3 pages in, the door of his room unceremoniously barged open, revealing the full figure of Father Isodore. Viktor and him never really got along; his time in the monastery as a kid was full of rule-breaking and inappropriate questions, and to Father Isidore’s dismay, insatiable curiosity remained Viktor’s fatal flaw well into his adulthood.

Not a single word was uttered as he carried his sunny disposition and rubicund complexion over to Viktor’s desk. There was no use in trying to hide what he was holding; Viktor carried the same guilty look on his face every time he did something he was not supposed to. Once a cute kid trying to hide some innocent misdeeds, his expression had grown into one of unadulterated shame and indignity in the wake of sin, and the bishop knew this all too well. The book was snatched off his hands aggressively.

“‘Epistle concerning the mobility of the earth’,” he read, “would be an interesting read if only as a piece of fiction, and perhaps in a different climate.”

“Your excellence, I eh—”

“Save it. Don’t worsen your sin by bearing false witness.”

Viktor looked down and sighed in resignation, a disappointed sadness creeping up in his throat.

“You are very much aware those texts have been forbidden, but since words seem to slide off you, I hope physical penance can remind you of your depravity,” Father Isidore said coldly as he handed Viktor the whip that usually served as no more than a piece of decoration adorning his wall. “Ten of them, and be intentional. One pater noster after each.”

“Yes, father.”

“It’s a shame; I have come to congratulate you on your work for the community. Repent. ” The emphasis on the last word punctuated his departure.

A cold feeling arose in Viktor’s stomach as he looked down at the whip, something akin to fear but also awfully comparable to excitement.

Three deep breaths are what he allowed himself; it would be better to get it over with as quickly as possible. He removed his vestments unhurriedly, only his bottoms remaining as he sluggishly kneeled by the bed, and the chilled air on his back was, in hindsight, not as bad as he thought at the moment. His hand trembled slightly when his grip on the whip tightened, and his jaw locked into a gritted grin as he sucked air in through his teeth.

The first flick of his arm was swift, like ripping away a bandage to make the pain go away as fast as your wrist could tug at it. It did not help; the feeling of the small metal beads digging into his skin was instantaneous, and it disappeared soon, but the burning that replaced it lingered.

“ Pater noster, qui es in cælis:sanctificetur nomen tuum; adveniat regnum tuum; fiat voluntas tua, sicut in cælo et in terra .”

A swarm of ants biting at the exposed skin on his back was a scorching fire.

“Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie,et dimitte nobis debita nostra, sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris; et ne nos inducas in tentationem; sed libera nos a malo.”

Then it subsided, and the slight chills on his arms were due to something else. He took his time with the second hit, languidly whipping both hands back this time to maintain the same level of strength. The aching this time was different; the burning of his skin was quenched by the few droplets of blood and sweat trickling down his spine. And there was something else—a burning feeling that was misplaced not on his back or wrists but in his lower stomach.

“Pater noster, qui es in cælis:sanctificetur nomen...” He started once again, both hands holding one another around the handle of the whip, closed in prayer as he shut his eyes tightly for concentration. This proved to be fruitless when an uncomfortable tightness in the fabric around his crotch distracted his attention away from the words he was reciting. He tried to continue with his prayer, but an ill-calculated movement tugged at the tender skin of his back, and the brief sting made the already confining feeling worsen, morphing into an odd mixture of ache and delight.

He figured out what this meant soon enough. The conflicting feeling did not originate from any sort of confusion about what he was experiencing; it came with the quandary of his two options: either keep going to conclude his penalty and follow orders, or go against those orders to avoid tainting this sacred act with his depravity.

He unlaced his trousers before going for the third whip. The aching feeling on his back was almost completely gone, replaced by a numb tingling along the wounded skin and an unbearable heat in his groin. The fourth hit was one-handed. Right hand wrapping tightly along the handle and left hand mirroring the grip around his cock as he pumped himself mechanically. When the metal hit the skin, a jolt of what felt like electricity traveled all the way down to his stomach, the member on his hand twitching in anticipation.

There was no fifth hit or anything beyond that. A final tug with a firm hand and gritted teeth culminated in his climax, hot viscosity percolating through his fingers as he rested his forehead on the edge of the bed. His chest heaved up and down as he whispered a string of prayers. Shame washed over him.

“Castigo corpus meum.” He repeated incessantly until he had enough strength in his legs to stand.

#viktor #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #arcane #arcane au #viktor au #priest au #legion #Spotify

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bonefall · 5 months

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I'm still wading through some brain fog so I'm not writing as much as I want to, currently. But I have just been absently sketching Willowpelt because she's been on my mind

I had initially been working with the "hyena" face in mind, but I've been playing around with the "villainous role" idea for Ferncloud's Parting. I mentioned it to my partner who pointed out that big, strong profiles like that are overused for "vengeful" characters.

Besides, I really love drawing that face shape anyway, so I figured I'd move away from it since it's going to be on a LOT of RiverClan cats in particular (they have longer muzzles than other Clans because they hunt in water).

I'm leaning towards "bat" now... maybe I'll retool it so it's more deer-like. Deer are totally underused as inspiration for harsh characters...

Anyway ready for some WIP material? Plus a recap of Ferncloud's Parting for all who need a refresher

(oh wow it got long. The power of girlies <3)

FERNCLOUD'S PARTING... Refresher!!

Replaces Graystripe's Vow completely, taking place just after the Impostor has been deposed and is imprisoned. Ferncloud is now the main POV, accompanied on her journey by her childhood best friend Cloudtail and the Impostor's surviving lackey, Bumblestripe.

The goal of this SE is to explore Ferncloud's relationship to her younger brother, Ashfur.

(BB canon: Ferncloud and Elderberry are the older kits of Brindleface. Ashkit was a singlet born shortly before his mother's death, raised by Fern, Elder, and their grandmother One-eye. Fireheart botched the Queen's Rights while claiming Cloudkit, but for all intents and purposes was socially his Mi... which he was not good at being. Cloudtail was Ashfur's mentor and Ferncloud's childhood friend.)

Ferncloud is asking herself the question; "What could I have done to prevent this?"

A lot of secondary questions revolve around this... Does this make her responsible for what Ashfur has done? Did she teach him anything that contributed to who he is today? Does that make her responsible?

Cloudtail is in a similar situation, as Ashfur's mentor and someone who only ever wanted to help his friend. Could HE have prevented this? He wants to find out.

Graystripe, oldest cat in ThunderClan, accompanies the little group as far as the mountain... and decides to stay there, with his golden boy, Stormfur.

Bumblestripe had come along with them all, for... a lot of complicated reasons. But the most relevant is that he had been one of the Impostor's most loyal, brutal enforcers. Berrynose was killed in a huge skirmish, and now there's just Bumblestripe left alone to shoulder his sins.

After saying goodbye to his father for what's probably the last time, getting to meet the mythical oldest brother he's been compared to his entire life, and seeing Cloud and Fern looking to visit the Old Forest Territories... Bumblestripe goes with them even further to make sure the old cats stay safe.

Like Graystripe's Vow, I'm planning to keep the split chronology. It goes back and forth between Ferncloud in the Broken Era, and Ferncloud back during the Fire Era.

The ultimate moral here, the point I want to build to, is that Cloudtail and Ferncloud did exactly what was expected of them. They raised a loyal warrior who holds the code above all. They're only responsible for Ashfur insofar as they were responsible for teaching him the same values of vengeance, violence, and distrust of outsiders as was expected... in Firestar's absence.

(Though... there's lots of other questions that I don't think FP will answer. Like, COULD they have truly stopped him? Can they ever understand WHY, if they don't currently? There's a LOT of feelings here and I don't know if all of them really have answers.)

WIP STUFF TIME

Here's new stuff, I've either not mentioned this before, or I've mentioned it in passing without actually linking it to Ferncloud's Parting.

I have a LOT of ideas here that I have to start sorting through. I think these characters are all really interesting so it's really a matter of cutting down all these little details into something more coherent.

When Ashkit is young, he's a child. There was nothing particularly outstanding about him, besides the fact he was a bit lonely and eager to please.

There's a bit of an air of "loss" when Ferncloud thinks back to Ashpaw's childhood. Elderberry and One-eye will be dying soon after the "flashback" segments, so when she goes back to the modern era, thinking about them feels bittersweet.

I also want to sneak in that Ferncloud feels jealous over Cloudtail's mateship with Brightheart lmao, because she has a crush on Brightheart. (Note, maybe tie this to Ashfur being obsessed with Squirrelflight, with Fern questioning if her jealousy rubbed off on Ashfur)

Through helping WarriorClan, Bumblestripe feels REALLY good. They don't know anything about his past, his struggles, or his failures as a person. He's just a hero to them and that feels... good.

Watching Bumblestripe be good, learning more about his issues and WHY he did what he did while following Ashfur brings Cloud and Fern some insight... but not entirely what they need. Is Ashfur just a Bumblestripe on a bigger scale? Or are they just learning more about how good of a manipulator Ashfur is? In which case... where did that ability to manipulate come from?

Fang/Honeysuckle might be Bumblestripe's half-brother. If that's the case, Bumble is... frustrated by it. MORE of his dad's complicated legacy.

Ferncloud and Cloudtail probably have some short discussions about how much is really appropriate to teach to WarriorClan... after all, they're here questioning if any part of Ashfur was THEIR fault, what if they accidentally teach them something terrible?

But at the same time, Ferncloud is the Educator of ThunderClan, and these cats can't write. The Glyph system would be very useful to them, and they're begging to learn more about Clan culture.

Putting a pin in that part, for now. Will tie back more into the conclusion that the Clan cat party ultimately reaches.

BACK IN THE PAST; Firestar is away bringing back SkyClan in Firestar's Quietus. Everything that is done is without him.

Longtail, the deputy, is blinded and a leader does not immediately rise to fill the space in ThunderClan.

And in BloodClan, their trading partner... Scourge does the same. Oops! WRONG TIME, SCOOJ!

Planning to retire, Scourge announces an event called The Frenzy. He will choose the next leader from whoever accomplishes the biggest achievement in the given timeframe. This is how BloodClan passes on leadership.

He gives his chosen heir, Claw, their first Frenzy Achievement-- the fang of a dog from his own collar. Anyone who wishes to take power instead must accomplish a feat even bigger than what had allowed SCOURGE to take power in the first place; Killing a dog.

Fury is a challenger. She does NOT want Scourge's chosen heir, Claw, to lead BloodClan next. Claw will continue the trading and friendliness towards Clan cats, which Fury wants to end.

ENTER WILLOWPELT

Willowpelt ALSO wants this trading with BloodClan to stop. She feels it's gone too far.

BloodClan killed her mate-- Whitestorm. Firestar might have been willing to just throw his life away for this, but she's NOT.

She's recovering from a boar bite, currently, but it's scarring up nicely... and she's willing to pretend she's injured a little longer if it shakes suspicion off her.

She doesn't WANT to be allies with Fury, but if her goal is to bring BloodClan back into isolation... then, Willowpelt will do it.

And Fury promises her something else; Revenge. Scourge is the reason why Whitestorm died, and together, they can ruin his plans and make him watch as his peaceful little power transfer crumbles into ash.

GOOD SETUP IMO but I still need to work out what nefarious deed they'll do, exactly. All I know is that Fury will betray Willowpelt at the height of it. Maybe something about taking over Barley's barn. Maybe Elderberry gets killed.

But, I have one very strong feeling in mind; Ferncloud probably ends up killing Fury while Ashpaw watches or even helps.

Hmm... maybe Graystripe (becomes deputy as soon as Firestar gets back for handling this crisis so well) ordered them to let Fury go.

But Ferncloud looked at Fury, and decided that Willowpelt was right about one thing. Most BloodClan cats cannot be trusted.

The code does not apply equally to outsiders.

Maybe I WILL have Fury end up killing Elderberry in some way, and then give Ferncloud and Ashpaw a conversation about it. "Those who don't live by the code will not be protected by it. And we must protect our Clan... even if Graystripe doesn't realize it."

I could make it clear that Fury is not a threat at that point, having been beaten in some way and Claw ascending to BloodClan leadership. OR I could have left it open-ended, like, maybe Fury would be a future problem, maybe not. Not sure yet.

Willowpelt of course will also need to experience some consequences for this... unleeeess, I have Graystripe let her off really easy exactly because she's Clanborn, which even Cloudtail is frustrated about, maybe even coining the term "Codebreaker" as an insult under his breath.

In any case, Ferncloud never told Cloudtail about how she secretly killed Fury. It's too juicy to have her reveal it to him in the modern day, explaining that it IS her fault, she DID teach him the wrong thing.

Hmm... I'm talking myself into it. Though I did also like the original vibe that Ashfur's tyranny was kind of unknowable, trying to make sense out of a senseless thing he did. I think it feels a lot more interesting for Ferncloud to have been hiding this for literal years, and now feeling like she has to "pay the world back" for what she did.

Maybe even build towards something metal about Fury's grave. Hmm... maybe to hide the murder, she buried her in Elderberry's freshly dug one, since no one would notice the soil had been recently disturbed as it was JUST dug.

Buried my sister and my secret victim in the same grave. ~Just Girlie Things~

Cloudtail sitting here, War Criminal to the right and Secret Murderer to the left like "can i ever be around normal people. like, just once"

Jokes aside... Cloudtail needs to point out something very important. Ferncloud regretted what she did, and she never did what Ashfur is doing. She never sought power, when Firestar came back she's lived a long life without ever once undermining him, and even her beliefs have softened over time.

She was a Traditionalist back then, but is Fire Alone now. After everything. The destruction of the forest, loss of her kits, WindClan rebellion, reveal of Squirrelflight and Leafpool's secret...

She's helped to raise every new generation as the Educator. And yet, Ashfur, the Impostor, is unique.

And look at Bumblestripe... being Graystripe's son didn't stop him from being the Impostor's lackey.

We all make our choices. HE made his. You made your own.

But... I don't feel like Ferncloud can entirely accept that as an answer either. There would be a very forlorn sort of feeling here. Yes, we all make our own choices-- but we influence each other. For better and for worse. And she refuses to avoid responsibility for that.

Maybe in that moment I'll have her make the choice to return home, and BE the one who becomes the Light in the Mist to face Ashfur in the Dark Forest. Seems to be coming together.

#better bones au #Ferncloud's Parting #I really did not expect it to get that long I just wanted to talk about Antagonist Willowpelt lmaoo #BB!Willowpelt #BB!Ferncloud #BB!TBC

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super-paper · 3 months

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I feel like Toga and All for One have many similarities, but I am unable to articulate as to why I feel this way.

I think it's safe to say that AFO is an intentional foil to Himiko, Tenko, and Touya at this point! I've discussed how he shares body motifs with all three of them before, but his backstory more or less cemented that he's supposed to be read as "the worst possible extreme and the worst possible conclusion" to each of the trio's respective origins and overall stories.

As for how Himiko and AFO foil each other, specifically:

Cannibalism as a metaphor for Not cannibalism

Let's get the obvious point outta the way first, lol.

AFO and Himiko are both established as children that society wasn't prepared or willing to care for-- AFO was born during the advent of quirks where "paranormal" children like him were treated as diseased and shunned (or worse) by the rest of society, while Himiko was born during an "era of peace" where civilians are expected to maintain said peace through endlessly conformity and complacency-- outside of pro-heroism, civilians are essentially expected to role-play as though they've returned to "normalcy" (i.e. pre-quirk society) and the fear of being labeled as "abnormal" (despite living in a post-paranormal society) drives them to shun those who can't easily conform.

Both AFO and Himiko's "first sin" involves the "consumption of their fellow humans," which they both commit when they are too young to fully understand what they're doing-- and both acts of consumption were initially tied to their attempts to fulfill a basic human "need" that wasn't being provided for. Himiko drank the blood of a friend whose smile she envied after years of having her own smile called "creepy," AFO was a starving newborn whose mother couldn't provide him milk or protection and whose cries were ultimately ignored by everyone else. When Himiko takes someone's blood and "becomes someone else", she finally feels good "about herself". When AFO takes his mom's quirk and uses it to drink her blood, he no longer feels hungry and no longer has any reason to cry out for help/attention. Thus, AFO & Himiko ultimately learn and internalize that in order to fulfill their own neglected needs, they need to take from others.

Something something re: "the catharsis that comes with finally """"embracing your true nature'"""" so you can finally become what your family always feared you'd be (POV: you are 14 years old and utterly doomed by the narrative) (and so is the main object of your ""affection"") (puberty is a bitch ain't it!)" something something

To Himiko, the consumption of others becomes a way to "become somebody else"-- someone the world will treat more kindly than they treat "Toga Himiko." She feels the urge to completely drain the blood of anyone who has the life and relationships that she desperately wants for herself. Before that, drinking blood was simply her way of expressing admiration/affection and fell under the banner of MHA's definition of "pure love" (i.e. love as imitation). Himiko showed no inclination towards completely draining the blood of those she loves until her psychotic break with Saito, and she is notably able to restrain her supposed "urges" around the LOV despite loving them deeply. The "urge to drain those she loves completely" isn't actually tied to her quirk, but to her desire to "become someone else."

To AFO, the consumption of others became yet another way to rob them of their autonomy-- by taking away "a part of them" and forcibly turning it into a part himself in the most base, unsettling, and crude way possible. Before that, his consumption of others was simply driven by his instinct to survive. AFO's "urge to take" is tied to the preconception that no one will provide for him or look at him UNLESS he is taking something from them-- like Himiko, his quirk merely makes it easier for him to act on urges that don't actually stem from the quirk itself. AFO's warped perception of other people balloons wildly out of control by the time he reaches his teens, and finally cumulates in him ""eating"" the glowing baby out of jealousy:

*Kills someone over their follower count* Man, AFO is nvr gonna beat the "was a tiktok e-girl in his previous life" allegations

AFO and Himiko both "consume" other people out of jealousy and a desire to make up for what they feel they lack as individuals-- but an important distinction between the two of them, I feel, is that Himiko's consumption of others is ultimately driven by her desire to connect with other people while AFO's consumption is instead based on fear + mistrust of others. It's the difference between "Consumption as wanting to become a part of someone and become a part of the world they live in (+ consumption as a way to become a part of the world by living vicariously through someone else)" and "consumption as forcibly making someone a part of you and forcibly taking away their connection to the world."

Speaking of "consuming someone who has traits you envy in an attempt to make those traits your own" *pointedly looks at AFO's dynamic with Tomura* ...........yearp.

It's only after Himiko's human needs are finally addressed by Ochako, that Himiko learns the desire to "give" rather than take. I feel that this is probably one of the core take aways of the series while more or less being the "end goal" of the OFAFO plot-- "endless giving without ever taking" (All Might becoming the number one hero at the steep price of himself and Izuku almost destroying himself in the process of trying to emulate All Might) and "endless taking without ever giving" (AFO full stop, as well as society itself towards both the heroes and villains) are both extremes that only cause more people to get hurt. There has to be reciprocity. It has to be "One for All -AND- All for One." Give -AND- Take.

Side note: Himiko's favorite food being pomegranates also strikes me as ironic when you remember that Hori is gigantic mythology nerd-- In both art and mythology, it's not uncommon for pomegranates to be used as a visual for "flesh" and for their consumption to be used as a stand in for cannibalism. In greek mythology, pomegranates are known as the "fruit of the dead", and are believed to have originated from the blood of Adonis. There is also the legend of Persephone, who was cursed to remain within the underworld for six months each year as the price for consuming six pomegranate seeds while in hell.

The Buddhist legend of Hairiti/Kishimojin also stands out for framing pomegranates as a "cure" for cannibalism, by offering them to man-eating demons in lieu of flesh:

As for AFO-- it's been pointed out by several different people that he shares several parallels with the greek titan, Cronus, who is most famous for having devoured his own children whole.

With that in mind, I feel like the act of consuming blood has an almost mythological edge to it for these two (outside the obvious reality-based social stigma of it lol)-- the act of "eating" others, regardless of intent, is what condemned both AFO and Himiko to hell. But Himiko is offered a way out of that hell and ultimately finds salvation in allowing herself to be "consumed" in turn, while AFO just doubles down on eating every rando beefcake he can get his hands on while giggling like a school girl (and yet, when the chance to eat Toshi finally presents itself, he totally fails to capitalize on it. mfer can't even "cannibalism as a metaphor freaky gay sex with your dramaturgical foil" right smh 😤).

As an aside, when I say "people generally read into MHA too literally and expect entirely too literal conclusions for what is largely a fantastical story about abuse/trauma/coping mechanisms," how MHA depicts ""cannibalism"" through Himiko is actually one of the examples that comes to mind lol. So many people think that death or jail is the only appropriate conclusion for Himiko's character because it's the "only realistic conclusion" like they aren't reading a story where people have tape dispensers for arms lmfao.

OMNOMNOM-- (On Mouths)

Not much to elaborate on here, mouths (and smiles) are AFO and Himiko's shared body motif in MHA's narrative. AFO's mouth is his only distinguishable facial feature during Parts 1 & 2, Himiko's smile/mouth is her defining feature and how others perceive it is a source of trauma for her. Her villain outfit is notable in how it covers her mouth/hides her smile while also resembling AFO's act 1 mask:

*squish*

During the final war, Himiko puts her mask on and hides her mouth immediately after being rejected by Izuku. This is symbolic of a lot of different things, but mostly, it drives home how she is no longer interested in talking things out and has "fully embraced being a villain." Ochako understands what's at stake and spends the rest of the fight trying to "take the mask back off"-- she understands there is something behind Himiko's villain mask that she needs to save.

Meanwhile, Toshi smashes past AFO's mask during Kamino and finds there is simply nothing underneath it-- reinforcing the idea that AFO has made "being a villain" his entire identity and that there is nothing worth saving behind his mask. However, Toshi was also the one who "smashed" AFO's facial features away in the first place. AFO definitely deserved getting his head popped, but in the context of MHA as a whole, I feel like AFO and Toshi's dynamic only highlights the overall tragedy of the hero/villain system and why it's a good thing that the new generation is starting to challenge it.

It is worth mentioning that mouths are frequently used to mask and dehumanize within the context of MHA's narrative, but this isn't something exclusive to AFO and Himiko ('sup Toshi) (''sup Tomura).

(I don't actually have anything else to add here lol)

Demon Child, Demon Lord

AFO and Himiko also stand out in how they're both framed as having been "born bad"-- Himiko by her parents, AFO by himself and the narration. Discerning readers already know that this is a crock of shit.

Child for One sees the Demon Lord being surrounded by people who provide for him out of fear while he's stuck living in isolation and squalor with Yoichi, and decides the only appropriate reaction to this is to make a children's comic book his entire personality (he's just like me fr)-- He embraces the idea of becoming a demon and shedding off his humanity, and immediately starts self-styling himself off a generic biz-caz corporate shmuck (lmfao).

Unlike AFO, Himiko resists the label of "demon" as much as she can-- she styles herself as "a cute high school girl" despite being a middle school drop out because she realizes the world will treat her a little more kindly this way (but only a little). Himiko longs to be seen as human, but is made to feel like a monster instead.

What I find interesting is that AFO himself outright admits that he lacked the ego/awareness necessary to "consciously" take Yoichi's quirk when they were children-- yet, both he and the narration continuously frame the siphoning of his mother's life, quirk, and Yoichi's nutrients as though they were intentional, malicious acts. AFO leans into this framing and builds his whole identity around it until that framing is finally pulled away from him literal seconds before his death.

Being "human" to Himiko means going back to a time where she was loved and accepted unconditionally. Being "human" to AFO means going back to being that screaming infant who no one would look at.

Like it or not, everyone is human in the end little dude.

Other Miscellaneous Similarities:

This one doesn't require much explanation-- through prioritizing their own needs above all else, AFO and Himiko both dehumanize other people the same way other people dehumanize them. Himiko is still a child, however-- and she is ultimately saved by her desire to be accepted and form genuine connections with others. Her final fight with Ochako is as much about getting Himiko to see Ochako as "human" as it is Ochako acknowledging Himiko's humanity. Once again, it's all about reciprocity/give-and-take.

""join our family and let me raise you! :D *hard cut to a burning orphanage*" AFO being genuinely puzzled that ppl aren't jumping at the chance to raised by him is my favorite running gag in mha.

Both AFO and Himiko also have a habit of being.... inappropriately intimate with other people, often to the point where whatever "relationship" they have with others exists almost entirely in their own head. Himiko calls Tsuyu by her first name and gets told to cut it out because this is a privilege Tsuyu reserves for her friends, and Himiko immediately interprets this as Tsuyu offering to be friends. AFO calls his worshippers his "friends" and his cult "his family" and asks that his young victims call him "uncle" like he's a kindly family friend and not the dude who is blackmailing them into betraying all their friends.

Also, neva 4get.....

To think AFO could have also had fun yuri times if he had just stopped being a dickhead for five seconds. Tragic. 😔

(/j)

#sophie.txt #mha.txt #all for one #toga himiko #thank you for the ask!#threw in some stealth ochako-toshi parallels for good measure bc tbh it makes AFOmight as a ship even funnier #just two guys who fumbled each other so hard it changed the trajectory of the whole story lmfao 😭

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mirixmoya · 4 days

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hello friends welcome to GRADING TORTURED POET SOCIETY SONGS BASED ON HOW EASILY I COULD TURN THEM INTO A HAYFFIE FIC (PART ONE) i hope u enjoy.

(for those interested but also my own future reference when i eventual do turn them into hayffie fics hehe)

i. fortnight: 5/10. potential post-war effie reflecting on their pre-canon and during-canon situationship. the "i love you / it's ruining my life" vibe is very Them but i'd have to write my way around all the wife lines.

ii. the tortured poets department: 8/10. good early-to-mid-situationship hayffie. good moments for haymitch trauma angst stuff. "who's gonna hold you like me?" is them. the wedding ring line could be just them messing around while drunk one night during games season; it's when effie realizes it's Real.

iii. my boy only breaks his favourite toys: 9/10. excellent endish situationship hayffie vibes, 74th + 75th era. has good lines for effie as doll / toy / trinket (ha) imagery. also good imagery for effie and haymitch both being pieces in The Games. also "he runs because he loves me" and "he was my best friend" and "there was danger in the heat of my touch" ... need i go on?

iv. down bad: 7/10. good for their relationship between the end of the war and when effie actually moves to twelve. "how dare you think it's romantic / leaving me safe and stranded" literally them. also lots of good stuff for effie's post-war isolation in the capitol.

v. so long, london: 3/10. has the potential for a (book-verse) post-war angst fic where effie and haymitch try their absolute hardest but ultimately have too much trauma + damage to make it work. idk if i wanna do that tho.

vi. but daddy i love him: 9/10. excellent song for pre-canon hayffie all around. effie's relationship to her womanhood / escorting in the capitol? check. effie's inner conflict over her feelings for haymitch vs. her capitolborn beliefs? check. "dutiful daughter, all my plans were laid" but oh no haymitch ruined them! we cheered! joking that she's having haymitch's baby to her parents just to piss them off... very effie behaviour. excellent song for that Haymitch Is Unlike The Capitol Dandies Effie's Been Raised To Love theme that i like. "i know he's crazy but he's the one".

vii. fresh out the slammer: 7/10. good song for smack in the middle of their situationship. winter vs. summer parallels. effie's seasons without haymitch vs. games season. restriction with her capitol bfs vs. freedom with haymitch. "all those nights he kept me going". the end is good for a post-war hayffie happiness moment.

viii. florida!!!: 8/10. really good song for a Effie's Relationship With The Capitol fic. the isolation, the beauty covering ugliness, etc. "this city reeks of driving myself crazy". "at least the dolls are beautiful" that's literally about the escorts. "you home's really only the town you'll get arrested in" okayyy book-verse effie angst.

ix. guilty as sin?: 10/10. HORNY HAYFFIE ANTHEM. i need to get back in my writing proper smut era i fear. so so much material for haymitch worshiping at the altar of effie's hips and thighs. a song for people who believe that like a good 65% of their relationship is based on the fact that they're both incredibly hot and they both love having incredible sex. true love tbh.

x. who's afraid of little old me?: 9/10. excellent fic for the Effie's Relationship With Her Escort Career stuff that i love. "so tell me everything is not about me / but what if it is?" self centered queen! the general backstage horrors of escorting. "i was tame, i was gentle, till the circus life made me mean" ... "you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me" ... "i am what i am cause you trained me" .... yeah.

xi. i can fix him (no really i can): 4/10. potential for a very very early situationship hayffie. general haymitch being a traumatized mess and effie trying her very hardest to help vibes.

xii. loml: 6/10. the first half is excellent for post-war hayffie coming back together. "who's gonna stop us from waltzing back into rekindled flames" yeahhh. but the second half ... the "you're the loss of my life" vibe ... could fit into the (book-verse) No Matter How Hard They Try They're Too Traumatized To Make It Work narrative but idk.

xiii. i can do it with a broken heart: 10/10. THE PERFECT SONG for 75th era effie being the perfect escort despite the fact that the world is falling away beneath her feet. "I cry a lot but I am so productive! It's an art!" is sooooo her. "i'm so obsessed with him but he avoids me like a plague" is haymitch avoiding her in an attempt to save her from Rebel Stuff but effie knows their relationship is only becoming more serious. she's miserable! she's hitting her marks! eyes bright! chins up! smiles on! everyone she loves might die! it's fine!

xiv. the smallest man who ever lived: 1/10. not a hayffie song at all. BUT potential effie + seneca relationship study fic?? mayhaps???

xv. alchemy: 7/10. good song for book-verse post-war post-torture effie going to haymitch in twelve. she's ditching the capitol, she's going back to her man! who are they to fight the alchemy? how could they ever deny it? his heart is reserved for her. the soulmastism! (not that they would ever admit that lmao)

xvi. clara bow: 10/10. ANOTHER PERFECT EFFIE CHARACTER STUDY SONG! the rose imagery? snow's impact on her life. "this town is fake, but you're the real thing". effie's relationship with the capitol / escorting / womanhood / fame / youth / patriarchy / etc. "flesh and blood amongst war machines" literally the escorts amongst The Games. "hell on earth is to be heavenly" + "promise to be dazzling". sexualization has liberated effie (given her a career, money, freedom) but at what cost? it's also her gilded cage.

anyway. thank u for coming to my extensive ted talk.

#effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #hayffie #haymitch x effie #the tortured poets department #(effie's version)#just my thoughts #im soooo normal about them #jk my brain is rotted

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villains-with-benefits · 2 years

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Yeah I'm more convinced these two are related now than ever.

Everyone complaining AFO looks plain or just like Some Guy, I would like to bring to your attention that literally the only other person who's been described that way is Deku, who is legit what you get when you put a 'classic comic book character' AFO and a 'cute green anime mom' Inko into a centrifuge until it spits out a modern shounen protagonist.

If you look at the art style throughout BNHA, all the characters from the Dawn of Quirks are drawn much more like those in traditional superhero comics, with more realistic proportions and details in the face especially. In all the flashbacks it's also very gritty, lots of harsh shadows and dense urban environments. This is a direct contrast to the current era where multiple generations of Quirks and mutations have made everyone a lot more 'cartoony/anime' in how they're drawn, that shows how much society has changed but also how much the image of that society has been cleaned up (thank you creepy totalitarian censorship!). Even the backgrounds and environments are brighter.

Or at least, they are up until shit really hits the fan with AFO, the PLF and the war arc, culminating in Deku's own runaway arc where he's drawn with all that same shadowy, much more detailed proportions and darkness. He's even directly paralleled with Batman in how he's a dark vigilante in a scary mask hunting down villains in dense, urban environment experiencing a lot of crime and civil unrest.

Considering how Horikoshi has mentioned multiple times how much OG Marvel and DC comics have inspired him that's 100% intentional, and you could even make the argument that the art style taking this dark and gritty turn is a direct result of AFO (someone from back when the world was just like that) bringing all that darkness from the past up to the surface which their sanitized hero society had tried to eradicate.

So yeah, AFO keeps being visually paralleled with Deku because they're the ultimate symbols of the sins of the past and the hope for the future respectively, or because he is absolutely his dad. Or both.

#bnha spoilers #bnha 363 #afo #dfo #deku #all for one #one for all #dad for one

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k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9 · 1 month

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Ozzy Osbourne - Believer

#Ozzy Osbourne #Live USA #Believer #Vol. 1 #Format:#CD Unofficial Release w/ Booklet #Released:#1991 #Genre: Heavy Metal #Classic rock #80's #1986 #The Ultimate sin era #Tracks 6 to 9 and 11 : Recorded live in Kansas City MO USA 1986 #Lyrical themes: War Fantasy Madness Society Love #UK

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classicmarvelera · 23 days

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The Evolution of Ghost Rider: A Journey through the Stern-DeMatteis Era

In the vast and ever-expanding universe of Marvel Comics, certain runs stand out as transformative moments for characters, reshaping their narratives and defining their identities. One such epochal period occurred within the Ghost Rider series, spanning from issue number 68 to the poignant conclusion in issue 81. What began as Roger Stern's stewardship transitioned seamlessly into J.M. DeMatteis' tenure, crafting a storyline that not only delved into the depths of Johnny Blaze's tortured soul but also elevated Mephisto to the status of his arch-nemesis. As the flames of vengeance intertwined with the intricacies of demonology, readers were treated to a saga that not only expanded the mythos of Ghost Rider but also explored the complexities of morality and redemption

The Genesis of Change: Roger Stern's Reign

Roger Stern's takeover of Ghost Rider marked a significant turning point in the character's mythology. Issue 68 served as a catalyst, introducing subtle yet profound alterations to Johnny Blaze's origin story. By retconning Satan's role and replacing it with Mephisto, Stern not only streamlined the narrative but also established a more intricate dynamic between the Spirit of Vengeance and his eternal foe. This shift laid the groundwork for future explorations into the depths of Johnny's torment and the insidious influence of Mephisto's machinations

Throughout Stern's tenure, themes of redemption and the eternal struggle between good and evil permeated each issue. Johnny Blaze's internal conflict was brought to the forefront, as he grappled with the consequences of his Faustian bargain and sought to atone for his sins through acts of heroism. Stern's masterful storytelling, coupled with the dynamic artwork of Bob Budiansky, brought a sense of gravitas to each panel, immersing readers in a world where the boundaries between light and darkness blurred

The Ascension of Mephisto: J.M. DeMatteis' Magnum Opus

As Stern's run drew to a close, J.M. DeMatteis took up the mantle, guiding Ghost Rider through his final trials and tribulations. Issue 81, aptly titled 'The End of Ghost Rider,' served as a poignant conclusion to this chapter of Johnny Blaze's journey, offering closure while paving the way for future narratives. DeMatteis' writing brought a sense of depth and introspection to the series, delving into the psyche of both hero and villain alike

One of the most significant contributions of DeMatteis' tenure was the elevation of Mephisto from mere antagonist to Johnny Blaze's ultimate nemesis. Through intricate storytelling and nuanced characterization, Mephisto emerged as a formidable adversary, a dark mirror to Johnny's tortured soul. Theirs became a battle not only of strength but of willpower and resilience, with each confrontation pushing both characters to their limits

The Redemption of Zarathos: Unraveling the Demon's Past

Central to the Stern-DeMatteis era was the exploration of Zarathos, the demonic entity bound to Johnny Blaze's fate. As the series progressed, glimpses of Zarathos' tragic past emerged, shedding light on the origins of the Spirit of Vengeance and his eternal quest for redemption. Through intricate storytelling and subtle foreshadowing, Stern and DeMatteis wove a tapestry of intrigue and mystery, unraveling the layers of Zarathos' identity while deepening the connection between host and spirit

By delving into Zarathos' backstory, the series added depth and complexity to the character, transforming him from a mere instrument of vengeance into a figure of tragic heroism. His struggles became emblematic of the eternal battle between light and darkness, as he grappled with his own nature while striving to protect those he cared for. In the end, Zarathos' journey mirrored Johnny Blaze's own quest for redemption, forging a bond that transcended the confines of flesh and blood

A Legacy of Flame and Shadow

The Stern-DeMatteis era of Ghost Rider stands as a testament to the transformative power of storytelling within the realm of comics. Through meticulous characterization, intricate plotting, and dynamic artwork, the series breathed new life into the mythos of Ghost Rider, reshaping the character's identity for generations to come. From the retconning of Johnny Blaze's origin to the elevation of Mephisto as his arch-nemesis, each issue served as a building block in a narrative tapestry that explored the depths of human emotion and the eternal struggle between good and evil

As fans look back on this seminal era, they are reminded not only of the trials and tribulations of Johnny Blaze and Mephisto but also of the enduring legacy of Ghost Rider as a character. Through flame and shadow, redemption and damnation, the Spirit of Vengeance endures, a beacon of hope in a world consumed by darkness. And though the fires may wane and the shadows may lengthen, the spirit of Ghost Rider lives on, eternal and unyielding, a testament to the power of storytelling to transcend the boundaries of time and space

Buy Marvel Masterworks: Ghost Rider Vol. 6

#ghost rider #johnny blaze #roger stern #j. m. dematteis #bob budiansky #marvel comics #bronze age comics #jim shooter

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Nuclear Fusion ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Fright Knight, Vlad, and Danny learn what it means to make a life-altering decision. Decisions that may change the tide of battle without them even knowing. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If there was anything granted to him through his servitude that the Fright Knight loathed, it was his command over the thrall armies.

The armies had existed as long as him, if not longer. Not all rulers he’d served had used them, but they were always available as a tool for whomever sat on the throne. Of course, ultimate authority over the thralls rested with the throne, but the Fright Knight too was an extension of the throne and its will. Thus, the authority over the armies came inherent with his existence.

The thralls were little more than mindless drones. Enemies of the throne damned to an existence of suffering in servitude. Only the king - or a direct agent of the king - could inflict such a punishment.

For centuries, the Fright Knight had no qualms over this. It was simply the way it worked. He held little sympathy for the souls condemned to service in the army. After all, if they were an enemy of the throne, they were an enemy of his. And the punishment was to be reserved only for the vilest of fiends. The ones truly deserving of such a fate.

Then came the reign of Pariah Dark.

The tyrant king was ruthless. As he ravaged realms, he too ravaged the lives of those in the realms. No one was immune to the Endless Death, as it had become to be known. Innocent and guilty alike, souls were reaped into the armies in droves.

Many of which the Fright Knight had been forced to reap himself.

And so as he walked through the halls of the Keep, as he passed by legion after legion of thralls amassing themselves into formation, he was forced to relive the sins that dirtied his hands. The sins that dirtied his existence. He was forced to look into the eyes of those he’d condemned, to gaze into the reflection of the perversion of his role.

Yes. He would forever loathe this command. This reminder of dark eras.

Still, he stood tall. Maintained his composure. Each skeletal figure saluted him as he strode by.

But he didn’t look too closely.

All too soon, he stood at the large, looming doors to the throne room. They had not been touched since the last battle here. Half-blown off their hinges, threatening to fall at any moment.

He took it as an invitation.

The sting in his core grew sharper and sharper with each step he took towards the dais. The air became hotter, buzzing with something harsh and volatile. For years now, he’d been known as the Spirit of Fear, and legends about him told of his inability to experience the plague that he wrought upon others.

As his eyes landed on the woken king, though, something he could only describe as the poisoned grip of fear coiled around his core.

Pariah Dark still looked exactly as he had that fateful day, when the Ancient Masters had come to end the king’s tyranny. The only evidence that time had passed at all was the wound to his eye, scarred over, disfiguring the king’s face even more than it already was.

That and the missing Crown of Fire.

He tried not to linger on that thought.

The Fright Knight dropped to his knee at the foot of the dais. “My lord,” he mumbled. “You’re awake.”

Pariah’s ossified face always cracked ominously when he grinned, and it did so now. “You seem surprised. Do you honestly doubt my power?”

The Fright Knight’s eyes widened and his core skipped a beat. “No, no.” He kept his head bowed to hide the panic written across his faceless expression. “Never. I am your loyal servant. I could never doubt you. My existence is devoted to you and you alone. ”

The words felt as though they dirtied his mouth as they passed through his lips.

A sharp tug pulled at his core. Not enough to be painful, but enough to make itself known. The one that had been whispering to him of hope and better things yet to come.

He did his best to ignore it.

Pariah’s lone eye glinted in the firelight as he studied the Fright Knight closely. “I should have you reaped by your own blade for your dishonesty,” he mused aloud.

The Fright Knight’s core lurched dangerously. “Dishonesty?”

What the king did next caught him off guard. The only warning was the dangerous glint in his single eye. Faster than he could register, Pariah roared and lunged for him. The Fright Knight could only grunt pathetically as he was pinned to the ground and stripped of his weapon in mere seconds.

Red fire exploded to life in the torches that still remained on the walls. The stinging heat grew to oppressive levels, and distantly, the Fright Knight wondered if he could be cooked to his End inside his metal armor.

That poisonous grip of fear twisted painfully around his core as the king leered down at him.

“You dare kneel at my feet when your core commits this treason?” he bellowed. Rubble rained down from the damaged ceiling. “You cannot fool me! I know there is another who demands your attention!”

The knight’s core seemed to leap into his throat. “M-my lord, I beg of you, I do not understand…”

“But you do!” Pariah swung the Soul Shredder up in a deadly arc, its green blade gleaming ominously in the red firelight. Before he could beg for mercy, the Fright Knight found himself staring down the tip of his sword, hovering right above his core.

He dared not move. Not with a ruthless creature positioned right above his life force.

“You feel him, don’t you?” Pariah whispered, leaning down close to the Fright Knight’s face. “He calls to you. He has taken a hold in your core and he refuses to let go. He wishes to take advantage of your loyalty, so that you may betray me…”

Never before had the knight felt threatened by his liege. Any of them. To the kings and queens he’d served, he was among their most valuable assets. Even before his first defeat, Lord Pariah had always respected his knight’s position. Replacement - or worse - had never been on the table between them.

Despite that respect, though, it didn’t change Pariah’s nature. The king had always been brutal and cruel, but he’d remained composed and calculative as he wrought his terror. He did not attack needlessly. Though he didn’t care to hold back his power, instead choosing to have it constantly on display, there was always a reason for his exercise of power, even if it was excessive.

The ghost above him, poised and ready to strike him down at the slightest of wrong moves, was not that same king. A wild recklessness had come over him; something rash, something savage glinted in his lone eye. Nothing at all like the cold calculation the Fright Knight had come to be used to during his reign. No, this was a fiery, heedless passion unlike anything the knight had ever seen before.

That alone caused his core to double its speed.

“Please, sire,” he managed to choke out, “who are you speaking of? My core cannot discern these things…”

The king’s face creaked again as it turned thunderous. “One who thinks he can take what is rightfully mine,” he spat. “A foolish child who has decided to lay claim to my throne.”

It took a great deal of willpower to maintain his composure upon hearing those words.

So. It was true.

Pariah straightened himself. “No matter. He is but a pathetic bug I will crush under my foot. He will never take what is mine.”

“But… my lord, Kilaris…”

The heat of the king’s wrath hit the Fright Knight like a brick wall. “I am the Heart’s master!” he roared. The tip of the Soul Shredder screeched as it dragged along the Fright Knight’s breastplate. “It bends to my will and mine alone! Those wretched Ancients thought they were so clever to hide it? Pah! They were fools!”

“I-I don’t understand…”

“But you will!” Pariah snarled. Angry red sparks sizzled around his grip on the sword. “You will! You, and anyone else who dares think the Heart belongs to anyone but me! You will see! I do not bow to Kilaris; it bends to me. I am the true master of Kilaris, and I will not be locked away again!”

With a roar of fury that shook the room and caused the Fright Knight’s ears to start ringing, Pariah threw the Soul Shredder to the side and lunged towards the Sarcophagus. Power, raw and unbridled, exploded into life around his hands - no, around the king’s entire form. The Ring of Rage grew impossibly bright, fueled by the emotion for which it was named.

If the heat of the king’s temper had been unbearable before, it was nothing short of suffocating now. Every fiber of the Fright Knight’s core screamed at him to flee, to escape the aura that filled the room, infecting everything in it.

Including himself.

And yet he found himself frozen in place, only able to prop himself up on his elbow to watch in abject horror as the king unleashed the full force of his power upon the prison that had kept him subdued for so long.

The red energy paled and grew brighter, quickly growing to a blinding level. Like a star on the edge of burning itself to death, shining brilliantly in a last stunning display, the top of the dais exploded into nothing but light.

The Fright Knight threw up an arm and turned away before he could be blinded, but somehow, the light still managed to sear into his eyes. The king’s power was all-consuming. As if his was the only power that is, was, and ever would be.

And though whitenoise drowned his ears, from within the epicenter of the star, an anguished cry pierced the Fright Knight to his core.

Just as quickly as it had begun, it ended. The light and the energy receded, and the ringing in his ears faded. No longer frozen in shock, he scrambled upright and looked to the dais. Pariah stood there, huffing and puffing with red sparks still dancing between his fingers and in his mane of matted hair.

The Sarcophagus was nowhere in sight. As if it had vanished.

No, not vanished, the Fright Knight realized as he narrowed his eyes. As his gaze swept over the surrounding area, he could see tiny shrapnels of painted wood littering the room, radiating from where the Sarcophagus once stood.

A tainted chill raced down the Fright Knight’s spine. Not vanished indeed.

Obliterated.

The prison the Ancients had once believed to be indestructible had been razed to little more than dust and debris by the prisoner it sought to contain.

The king turned towards the Fright Knight, only enough so that the latter could see that same savage glint in his eye. “And so I will ask you again,” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet, “do you doubt my power?”

The unspoken threat, especially combined with the display before him, was not lost on the Fright Knight. He’d served under Pariah Dark long enough to understand the hidden implications of his words. Slowly, he sank back onto his knee.

“Never, my lord.”

The words sent a pang through his core.

“Good.” The king descended the stairs, and the Fright Knight couldn’t tell if the room was shuddering from the sheer force of his steps or from something else. “Then perhaps you can answer another question for me, dear knight. My Crown - where is it?”

The Fright Knight had to bow his head again to hide his widened eyes. The poisonous grip of fear once again wrapped itself around his core, squeezing it tightly. He knew the answer to the king’s query - or rather, he at least knew who had last taken it. He’d been there, after all.

He needed to answer. He had to. The sharp, painful tug in his core dictated so. The mad king and his threats dictated so.

And yet…

The other pull was still there. Fainter, trying desperately to poke through the powerful hot grip, but there.

It called to him, just as Pariah had surmised. It whispered to his core, beckoning him away from the tyrant’s orders. Those same promises of hope and peace wrapped around him, lessening the pain of Pariah’s pull.

The Fright Knight knew what he wanted. He knew which call he wished to follow. For thousands of years, until the reign of Pariah, he’d been allowed to exist peacefully. He’d been allowed to live out his loyal service without needing to concern himself about his fate or the fate of the Infinite Realms.

He longed to return to that.

The question was, would his core allow it?

Yes, it whispered.

“I… I don’t know,” he said quietly. “The child deposed me before I could see where it had gone.”

He had to keep his head bent low and wrangle all of his self-control not to cry out in response to the wrenching, hot pain in his core the moment the words left his mouth.

And yet a different part of his core felt brighter, lighter than it had in centuries.

Pariah studied him closely. Kneeling there, under the king’s gaze, sent the Fright Knight’s fighting instincts into a tizzy, but he forced himself to remain still and submissive.

He’d given in to the temptation once now. He didn’t know if he had it in him to do it again.

The king hummed. “The boy certainly doesn’t have it. I would be able to tell if he did. And yet I can’t feel its location…”

“Then what will you do, my lord?”

Pariah ran his thumb over the Ring of Rage. Even with his head bowed, the Fright Knight could see how it still radiated power. It too gave off an aura of instability, just like its owner.

The realization nagged at the back of the knight’s mind, trying to warn him of something, but he forced it down. He could not afford to lose focus right now.

“We will march at once,” Pariah finally announced. “If I cannot detect the Crown, then neither can the child. With or without it, getting rid of him will be… child’s play.” He snorted at his own play on words. “Once he is out of the way, finding my Crown will be simple enough.”

The Fright Knight was careful not to let his shoulders sag with relief. That was a response he was far more used to hearing from Pariah. Even if that wild recklessness still permeated the hot, thick air, the familiarity was welcome. “Of course, sire.”

The king raised his mace to point over the knight’s head. “Take your command of the legions,” he ordered. “I will make way for them.”

“Make way to march where, Your Highness?”

Pariah’s single eye flared. “To the child’s pathetic human village. If he is too cowardly to face me again, then we shall draw him out. He will have no choice but to meet me if he wishes to protect his territory. It is there that I will reclaim what he has dared to try and take from me.”

“And… once you have… reclaimed the throne?”

“Oh, dear knight,” the king crooned, bending down to hover over the Fright Knight. “Isn’t it obvious? We will put an end to this. To those who dare think they can have power over me. I will show them the true master of Kilaris.”

The order sent the two pulls in the Fright Knight’s core into conflict with each other, but he swallowed it down. “It will be done, my lord.”

Hastily, he rose from his kneeled position, retrieved the Soul Shredder from where it had been thrown, and retreated from the throne room. Nightmare was waiting for him outside. The thralls would follow him with little more than a simple instruction. With the portal Pariah would create, they would descend on the human city in less than an hour’s time.

He sighed. No doubt the child would rise to meet the king’s challenge again.

Though he knew what the inevitable outcome would be, deep in his core, as the entire Keep gave an undeniable shudder, he silently prayed for the boy King. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Crown of Fire had once been the extremely literal crown jewel of Vlad’s collection. Of all the ghostly artifacts he’d hunted down and gathered over the past twenty-some years, the Crown was easily the most legendary of them all. He couldn’t help but puff his chest with the accomplishment.

Granted, it had been the Ring of Rage he’d truly managed to track down. The Crown…

Well, surely it was an accomplishment of its own to swipe it from underneath the noses of a few dozen ghosts, including the servant to the throne and the Crown.

Unfortunately for him, the legends had proven true; the Crown was virtually powerless without its other half. Even more frustrating was the fact that when he held it, he could feel the power within, yearning to break free and be used. Victory was, quite literally, within his grasp, yet it still eluded him.

And so Vlad had resolved to eventually figure out a way to break the Ring free from the Sarcophagus, preferably without waking the tyrant king this time around. It was for the better, anyway. There were a number of other plans he wanted to see to fruition before he attempted again. Plans like finally obtaining the son he’d always wanted.

It would be lovely, after all, if he could get Daniel to do the hard work for him again. It would be even lovelier if he did it of his own free will.

Thus, the Crown had sat tucked away in his safe in Colorado for well over a year now. Somewhere where no human could stumble across it and no ghost would dare look, lest they incur his wrath. Oh, he never forgot about it, of course. Once a month or so, he’d give into the temptation and take it out, just to hold it. Feel that power thrumming in the metal. Dream about what that power would finally do for him. How it was made for him. How he’d finally reach his destiny once he had it.

In the blink of an eye and a tiny spill though, all those dreams shattered.

The Crown of Fire was not on fire anymore. Quite the opposite, really. Vlad had tried to pick it up a number of times only to be met with a piercing cold, like dry ice. Getting it out of the safe and onto a towel that he could carry without being frostbitten had taken some tricky telekinetic maneuvering. Even through the thick fabric of the towel, the Crown’s new temperature threatened to freeze his hands.

It wasn’t the change in appearance and temperature that formed a pit in Vlad’s stomach, though. It was the fact that he could not feel that power thrumming any longer. Not through the towel at least. Surely it still had to be there, contained in the metal, but without a way to touch it himself, he had no way of verifying that the power remained.

The thought of losing that power was utterly terrifying.

And there was the matter of Daniel’s ectoplasm, too. It could not be salvaged; the tiny amount that the Crown did not evaporate would be negligible for any of his intended uses, not to mention tainted through exposure.

Two of his most valuable assets. Rendered useless to him. Through such a tiny mistake at that.

Vlad wanted to scream. Or fly out into the mountain forest and take his rage out on the trees. Or march right up to Daniel and demand another sample and, more importantly, an explanation.

Vlad wasn’t a moron. Unlike Jack, he could see the pieces in front of him and put two and two together. The Crown hadn’t changed on its own, after all.

Daniel’s ectoplasm had triggered it.

And that just opened up a whole slew of problems, didn’t it?

As Vlad sat at his desk, glaring at his once crown jewel, now nothing more than a frozen paperweight, the realization slowly came to him. In bits and pieces at first, then in a trickle, then in a sickening flood that, for once in his life, left him stunned, unable to figure out a plan to move forward.

The boy’s ectoplasm wasn’t the problem. The problem was Daniel himself. Even more than causing this new slew of problems, Daniel was the source of every problem and setback Vlad had experienced over the past two years.

It all made sense. Too much sense. The boy was at the root of everything. Daniel had ruined his plan at the reunion. Daniel had turned Danielle against him and destroyed the perfect clone he’d fought so hard for. Daniel had managed to make him look like a cowardly fool while he himself won impossible battle after impossible battle. Every plan Vlad created, Danny Phantom would inevitably find a way to ruin.

And it was Daniel awakening these foreign, unnerving feelings within him. The caring. The concern. The fondness.

It made his core burn.

The answer was simple of course. Get rid of the boy, and all those problems would go away. Vlad would be free to finally do away with Jack, win Maddie, and take control of the power that he rightfully deserved. No one would dare stand against him, and those that tried could be squashed as easily as an ant.

And getting rid of Daniel wouldn’t be difficult either. It was true that his power was developing at far higher rates than Vlad’s had (if his projections were right, it was very possible that the boy’s raw power already matched his own, and that was its own difficult pill to swallow), but both of them knew very well that he held himself back. Even in his most difficult battles, Daniel never unleashed his full potential. Maybe he’d come close, but the boy’s fears and morals would always hinder him.

Vlad had no such qualms. He would not hesitate to unleash his full potential. Danny would not be able to meet him.

It was tantalizing, the thought of finally ridding himself of this teenaged thorn in his side. Something deep in his core, a carnal urge, itched to return to Amity Park right now and end things.

It would be so simple. So easy…

Yet every time Vlad stood, ready to follow through on these intentions, the image of that little vial of ectoplasm burned through his mind. The image of the boy huddled helplessly on the floor of his parent’s lab. The image of the spark of fear in his eyes at the threat of a force like the GIW.

The haunting echoes of that question that had shaken Vlad’s world.

“You actually want to help me?”

Even more haunting, the answer that had been right on the tip of his tongue. The answer he’d almost spoken aloud in a moment of weakness.

Those memories, those foreign feelings he despised so much, froze him as thoroughly as the Crown.

Vlad Masters was not an indecisive man. Every move he made was precise, thought-out, and, most importantly, resolute. Very rarely did he find himself regretting his decisions; he had developed a knack for analyzing his options and carefully selecting the best choice. Life was his chessboard, and he was the chessmaster.

And yet for the first time in more than twenty years, he was struck with the realization of just how exhausting playing the chessmaster could be.

The accident had forced him into that role. Pushed into such a precarious position, with his life on the line if he made even the slightest mistake, he’d been forced to learn quickly. Learn how to manipulate the doctors into finally releasing him from the hospital, learn how to slip himself seamlessly into the world of business, learn how to use his humanity to his advantage when establishing his ghostly name. Chess wasn’t solely about choices, after all, it was about strategy.

But constant strategy, constantly having to calculate his own moves as well as any possible moves of the other players, constantly having to be on guard for anything that could trip him up… It was tiring. Far more tiring than he cared to admit.

And maybe, just maybe, that exhaustion was beginning to creep up on him. Maybe it was why he couldn’t force himself to make a decision about what to do with Daniel.

Maybe it was why he didn’t want to make that decision.

There was something painfully ironic about it all. Spending all this time building himself and his mastery only to be knocked down into despondency by a clueless child.

Ridding himself of Daniel was the only way. It had to be. Once he was able to see his plans and dreams through, he’d be able to rest finally. He’d be able to be happy. He just needed to get rid of this one last obstacle in the way of his happiness.

But would it be enough? Would he be able to live peacefully without the crown jewel of his plans, this boy who would finally make the pain and suffering worth it?

Vlad’s fingers curled into a fist. No. That dream was long gone. Even if he couldn’t finish off the child, he knew that Daniel was just as strong-willed as his father and just as stubborn as his mother. Once the boy set his mind to something, very few things would deter him from it. And he had decided long ago that he would never let himself be won over by Vlad.

If Vlad couldn’t have Daniel…

Then it only left one choice.

He stood up, nearly knocking his chair over. Dark rings swept over him, leaving Plasmius in their wake. He phased through the floor, through the ground level, and straight into his underground lab. His flight didn’t let up until he floated in front of his safe.

His face remained stony as he went through the lengthy process of verifying his identity for it to open up. Retina scan, ectoplasm sample, blood sample… Throughout it all, barely a thought crossed his mind. Only a staticky whitenoise echoed in his head, numbing him to nearly everything else.

(Maybe, deep down, some part of him knew if he tried to think, tried to clear his head and evaluate things, he’d suffer a far worse pain than losing his crown jewel.)

He wrenched the door open, almost tearing it off its hinges thanks to his ghostly strength. He didn’t reach for the sword, nor the manilla folder with his emergency documents. His hand skipped right over the Skeleton Key. Every weapon and every tool in the safe was ignored in favor of a little square of film, its papery edges beginning to yellow from age.

The smiling face of his twenty-year-old self blurred as he ran a thumb over the faces of Jack and Maddie, beaming as widely as him. The proto-portal sat on the lab table behind them, inactive, waiting to spark to life.

Waiting to take its victim.

The memory of that day haunted Vlad for more than twenty years. In the months after the accident, he’d wake up in the hospital, drenched in a cold sweat, blinding green light and screams of pain stubbornly refusing to get out of his head. It had taken five years to cut down the number of times he was forced to relive the nightmare, and a full ten years to keep it from his sleep entirely. Even still, more than two decades later, he could not keep it from his mind.

And worse than the pain, worse than the terror and the fear, was the memory of just how thrilled he’d been that day.

Yes, by that point in their undergrad, he’d started to become increasingly jealous of just how close Jack and Maddie were, but even that couldn’t put a damper on the excitement of their accomplishment. It was going to be groundbreaking, and he’d been just as proud of their work as Jack and Maddie had been. Just as ready to show it off.

They had done that. Together. The three of them.

It had been the last time he remembered being happy. Being truly happy. Being free of the anguish and bitterness that had plagued him for so long now.

Something dripped and splattered onto the young Vlad’s smiling face.

Though his ghost form didn’t require him to breathe, he inhaled anyway. Those days, the days he’d spent with Jack and Maddie, working and goofing off and just enjoying their company, they were long gone. Nothing more than painful nostalgia.

A painful reminder of what once had been.

A painful reminder of what he could’ve had.

And as he exhaled, pink flames erupted in his hands. The paper edges of the Polaroid caught fire easily, and in just a matter of moments, those three smiling faces were reduced to nothing more than ash in his palm.

Unceremoniously, his hand dropped to his side, spilling the ashes on the floor.

There would be no going back. Not anymore.

Not after he did what he knew he had to do. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ A doorbell rang.

Danny blinked. Whatever stir of power had been churning within him fizzled out. Thoughts about kings and hearts and cosmic powers left in one fell swoop. His brain, apparently overworked and exhausted from the whiplash of the day, seemed to decide it only had the energy to focus on this new distraction. So really, the next question out of his mouth shouldn’t have been such a surprise.

“Did someone order pizza?”

Sam stared at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m crazy stressed right now, in case you haven’t noticed. Let me be a little stupid.”

The doorbell rang again, more insistently. Kala rubbed at his temples. “What is that infernal noise?” he growled.

“Oh!” Babel slammed down his container of yogurt. “I forgot I installed that thing! You’d think the Sumerians would learn to respect a ghost’s haunt after a few thousand years, but noooo, apparently you gotta put something there to keep them from waltzin’ on in. I don’t care what Enkidu did this time, if you walk in on me and my bath again, you can kiss my -”

“Enough!” Kala barked as the doorbell rang a third time. Danny was fairly certain that if the guy had had veins, several would’ve popped by now. “Just… answer it.”

Babel gave him a mock salute before zipping to the door that looked like a manhole. Danny’s brow furrowed when, instead of heaving it out of the way, Babel stuck their head in through the side, and the door rippled like a curtain.

He was really beginning to understand why Babel was the Ancient Master of Chaos.

Before Babel could say anything or open the door (curtain?) fully, a gray blur rocketed into the chamber. Tucker barely had time to dive out of the way as it careened past him and straight into the wall, crumpling in a heap on the floor.

Danny figured his brain was still short-circuiting or something, because the gray blur-turned-parital-pancake was one of the last people he’d ever expect to see in the Ancients’ Chamber. “Poindexter?”

Sydney winced as he began untangling his limbs from one another. “Oo, that - that smarts,” he muttered.

A clap of thunder resounded against the stone walls, causing Danny and his friends to flinch. “What is the meaning of this?” Kala bellowed. “Has the sanctity of this chamber ceased to exist?”

“I-I apologize, Master Kala,” Sydney said. He managed to pick himself off the ground and zip to float before the table, in front of Danny. “Believe me, normally I wouldn’t, but this - it’s an emergency! This is bad, this is really bad…”

“Easy, young one,” Frostbite soothed, though Danny found himself wondering if it was really all that soothing coming from an eight-foot-tall yeti monster ghost. “What is the emergency?”

Kala opened his mouth, presumably to try and yell Sydney out of the room, or whatever he did to get rid of unwanted guests, but Pandora held out two of her hands. “At least hear him out,” she said, gentle yet firm. “He would not have sought us out if it wasn’t important.”

“Exactly!” Sydney began wringing his hands. “I thought it wasn’t real at first, I-I thought I was just imagining it, but I knew it couldn’t be my imagination, I heard it! And I saw it too! And - and my shade! It changed! I didn’t even know it could do that, it never changes -”

“Your shade changed?” Zunje interrupted. “That’s… impossible. Shades and echoes are just that; they’re not capable of changing.”

“I know what I saw! It - I was in trig class! And then everyone just vanished, and when I looked outside -” If possible, Sydney’s face grew an even paler gray.

Danny’s blood ran cold.

( - a big, gaping rip of pure darkness emerging against the already-dark horizon of the Ghost Zone - )

“You saw it,” he finished, his fingers feeling numb. It wasn’t a question. The memory wasn’t his, but it was still burned into his mind anyway.

Sydney turned, as if he hadn’t realized Danny had been there the whole time. “Phantom!” Before Danny could stop him, Sydney had darted to him and latched onto his arms. The sharp, tangy taste of the ghost’s terror filled Danny’s mouth. “Oh, sweet jeepers, you’re here! You have to stop it! Him! Y-you -”

“What is it?” Kala asked, frustration still tinging his voice.

“I still wanna know what you meant when you said ‘he’s’ looking for the Crown,” Tucker added weakly.

Pandora’s eyes widened. “Do you mean…?”

But Danny didn’t process any of their words. A ringing filled his ears as Sydney continued to babble at him. “Wait, I’m not - stop him? I…”

The memories of being in the Keep welled up in the back of his head, threatening to assault him again. Swallowing thickly, he forced them back into that compartment he’d created for them long ago, the one Jazz scolded him for utilizing more often than he should.

The fear from those memories still boiled stubbornly in his gut.

It is nothing you haven’t done before.

That had been different. He’d been so much more naive back then, holding on to the foolish hope that he’d win the day and return home safe and sound and the experience would eventually fade into the collective memory of the hundreds of fights he’d had before. He’d had the extra power offered to him by the Ecto-Skeleton, and he’d had the back-up of a good chunk of his rogues gallery.

He’d had the godsend of whoever had come and turned that key and saved his life.

He was shaking his head before he even realized it. “I can’t,” he whispered. “I’m not…”

Do not let your fear win, little Prince. You are stronger than that. You are stronger than him.

He really wished he could believe that.

Sydney’s eyes widened. “No, you have to! Or - or he’s gonna rip apart the Zone! I saw it!”

“Who are you talking about?” Kala demanded.

Sydney spun around, looking at the Ancients like they had all grown three heads. “Isn’t it obvious?” he shouted, his voice continuing to raise in pitch. “It’s him! The king! King Pariah!”

A stunned silence filled the room, but only briefly. “Stars above,” Zunje whispered. “That’s what you meant when you said he’s looking for the Crown.”

“He’s out?” Kala’s voice had grown much, much quieter. The shock written across his face didn’t help Danny’s nerves in the slightest.

Pandora’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. How is that possible?”

For a sickening moment, the thought that someone had intentionally released Pariah flitted across Danny’s mind.

You know better. The answers have been given to you.

“He broke out,” he said quietly as the realization came to him. “It’s - he took advantage of the Heart trying to break free. It must have broken the Sarcophagus, whatever the Heart was trying to do.”

“Because it got separated!” Sam snapped her fingers. “That’s what you were trying to say! When you took the Crown from him when you fought him and put him back into the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep with the Ring, it separated the Heart.”

“And that’s why it’s been ripping the worlds apart!” Zunje added. Strangely, she seemed to be vibrating from excitement. “It’s trying to put itself back together! It all fits in with one another!”

“Awesome,” Danny muttered. “So all this really is my fault.” Only Sydney was close enough to hear him. He shot Danny a confused look, but didn’t press the matter.

Nonsense. You did what you had to do. You made the best choice.

“But when we separated the Ring and Crown before, it didn’t result in… this.” Pandora gestured vaguely with one of her hands. “Why now then?”

“Oh!” Babel flung a forkful of yogurt behind him as they jolted in realization. “We kept them close before! The Ring was like, right next to that thing. We was real careful to keep it that way. So if King Grumpy has the Ring -”

“Then the Crown must have been removed from the throne room after Phantom’s battle,” Kala finished.

For the umpteenth time that day, every eye in the room turned on Danny. He wanted to rip his hair out.

If he really was supposed to be king, then his first rule was going to be that people couldn’t keep staring at him like this.

Too late, he realized the unspoken question they were asking with their eyes. “I… don’t know where it is,” he said, shaking his head helplessly. “I was barely conscious enough to realize someone had turned the key. I didn’t wake up until I was back home.”

Another beat of silence filled the room. “Well, that’s… sort of good, right?” Tucker asked slowly. “‘Cause even if we don’t know where it is, he doesn’t know where it is either. And we don’t want him to get it, yeah?”

“Yes, but according to the Great One, he is looking for it.” Frostbite put a paw to his chin and studied Danny. “How do you know he is searching for it?”

Danny hesitated. Again, the truth was there on the tip of his tongue, but something kept him from telling it to everyone. The hot sting in his core had ebbed away some throughout the conversation, probably thanks to some combination of his new cloak and distraction, but now that it had come up again, albeit indirectly, he could feel it gripping his core again, threatening to send him into delirium again.

The idea of revealing that Pariah was in his core to such a degree sent a twist of nausea through his stomach. He wouldn’t put it past Kala to assume Pariah was trying to take control of him or something.

And there was also the fact that acknowledging the connection out loud meant acknowledging… everything. Namely the whole king thing. That was something he really didn’t want to get into. At all.

“I mean… I just kind of figured,” he finally said, averting his gaze. “If he doesn’t have it, he’s gonna want to find it, you know?”

“We cannot allow that to happen.” Kala stood, the shroud of clouds around him growing larger and showier. “He must not be allowed to have full access to Kilaris again.”

“Sooo…” Babel drawled, “how do we keep him from getting the Crown without keeping Kilaris separated and making the worlds go all kablooey? I mean, I’d be down to see that happen, but maybe with silly string and not, you know. Destruction.”

Danny looked up and inadvertently met Kala’s eyes. He wanted to look away immediately, but there was something in the Ancient’s eyes that kept him there. There was a certain kind of resignation in them, one that permeated the air and sat on Danny’s tongue, heavy and bittersweet. He could practically see the gears in Kala’s head turning, coming to the same conclusion he was quickly coming to, much to his distress.

You cannot run from who you are meant to be, little Prince.

The Heart’s words stole Danny’s breath away. Perhaps it had intended for them to be comforting, but they were anything but that. They were an omen, a harbinger of pain and sorrow.

I don’t want this, he thought helplessly. Please, just… choose someone else.

It is not that simple. You were born for this, little Prince. This is your destiny.

Definitely not the answer he wanted to hear.

Still, Danny ignored the Heart. If it wasn’t going to cooperate, then he could deal with that later. Much later, preferably. Instead, he stared hard into Kala’s eyes, wondering if he could spontaneously develop telepathy solely to beg Kala to keep to his opinion, the one they had found mutual agreement in. The one that - rightfully - decided that Danny could not, should not be named king.

Kala closed his eyes. “To keep him from accessing Kilaris any longer, someone else must control that access.” When he opened them again, he kept Danny’s line of sight. Much to Danny’s dismay, there was a silent apology buried within the stormy clouds. “If… if Kilaris is reaching out to another, then that bond must be realized. And it would seem that we have been fortunate enough to find Kilaris’ new chosen.”

No hit that Danny had ever taken felt like the one delivered by Kala’s words.

Pandora cast a smile laced with smugness at Kala before turning her attention back to Danny. “I for one cannot think of a better candidate for the Heart.”

“Wow,” Tucker breathed. “So. The king thing really is happening, huh?”

“King thing?” Sydney looked back and forth between Danny and Tucker, then his mouth dropped open, and he pointed at Danny. “Wait, you’re -”

“The Crown must be found first,” Pele grunted. Danny had almost forgotten she was there, she had been silently observing for so long. “There is no bond without the full Heart.”

“So we find it first,” Zunje said with a shrug. “Easy peasy.”

“And then what? Pariah’s still got a hold on the Ring,” Babel pointed out.

“It will have to be taken from him.” Kala’s voice echoed with gravity. His eyes met Danny’s yet again. “He will never surrender it willingly. He will have to be fought.”

The ringing returned in Danny’s ears. The memory of his life being drained before his eyes filled his head. The hot grip around his core sparked to life again.

“Wait, wait, timeout.” Sam stepped forward. “Why does it have to be Danny? Why can’t you guys fight him? Like what are you gonna do if Pariah ends up…” Sour fear zipped across Danny’s taste buds.

In spite of the terror brought on by the memories and Pariah in his core, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. She gripped him with only a force Sam Manson could muster.

Zunje laughed, much to Danny’s surprise and irritation. “Well he’s not gonna be alone!” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We’ll help of course. But we can only do so much. You have to be the one to seize the power.” She threw a pointed look at Danny. “You’ve already got a bit of a connection to Kilaris going it sounds like, so it should take right away. Even if one of us managed to get it away from him, there’s every chance he could take it back. As long as you don’t have full control, he’s still got that window. So… yeah, it kind of needs to be you.”

“Which is why the Crown must be found first,” Kala said. “You will need it with you so you can promptly assert your throne and depose Pariah.”

A chill ran down Danny’s spine hearing the phrase “your throne.” Not the pleasant kind of chill, either.

Do not worry, little Prince. You will make a fine King. You were made for this.

That wasn’t what was putting him off, though the Heart’s insistence that this was his destiny, as if it had been decided the moment he was born, did little to make him feel better. If anything, it made him feel worse.

Then do not think of it as a rulership. Think of it as fulfilling the mission you chose for yourself. Think of it as fulfilling the role you’ve always sought to serve.

That made Danny stop. Another memory from the time of Pariah’s siege of Amity Park resurfaced, this one before the battle had even begun.

(“Dude, you can’t blame yourself for this. It’s not your fault.”)

(“Maybe not. But it is my responsibility.”)

His eyes fell to Sydney, who was staring up at him with the kind of admiration a kid would have for their idol. He could still remember the tangy taste of the ghost’s fear, of his alarm at witnessing his world being threatened and unwillingly altered.

Sydney had come to find the Ancients and warn them, but he’d found Danny too, and he’d begged Danny for help. Even with six of the most powerful ghosts in existence in the room, he’d focused in on Danny.

Because that’s what Danny did. That’s what he’d figured out about what his powers could be used for, way back when he first fought the Lunch Lady.

Danny helped. Simple as that.

Sydney needed help right now. The Ancients needed help right now. His friends and family needed help right now. Two worlds, his worlds needed help right now.

The Heart needed help right now.

Do what you have to do.

Danny exhaled shakily. “Okay.” He nodded. “Okay.” He straightened his back and shoulders. “Alright.”

Sam still held his hand. She and Tucker both looked at him, much like they had more than a year ago as he’d prepared to go fight an impossible battle.

“You don’t have to do this,” Sam whispered.

“We can find another way,” Tucker added.

Danny smiled sadly. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.” He took a deep breath. “This is what I have to do.”

Sam and Tucker glanced at each other. Danny nearly jumped out of his boots when Tucker slapped a hand onto his shoulder.

“This is what we have to do,” he said, squeezing Danny’s shoulder. “You’re nuts if you think we’re gonna let you do this alone again.”

In spite of himself, Danny’s heart swelled, and for one blissful moment, the hot grip on his core disappeared.

Kala cleared his throat, startling the three friends. “If you are done having your… moment,” he said, as if he couldn’t comprehend what had just transpired between them, “we must choose a plan of action.”

“I thought we already had a plan.” Babel tucked their fork behind their ear. “Find the Crown, bop King Grumpy, and bada bing, bada boom, we gots ourselves a new king.”

“I don’t know where it is, though,” Danny said again. “It could be anywhere.”

Zunje hummed. “True, but you might be able to use the connection you already have with the Heart to find it. It’s like we said, Kilaris wants to be whole again, and you’re kind of a big part of that now. It’s gonna be naturally attracted to you, or it’s gonna attract you to it. If you concentrate hard enough, you should be able to follow that pull, so to speak.” She rolled her tongue in her mouth. “Theoretically, anyway. This is kind of a unique situation, but hey! You’re a pretty unique champion so there’s that!”

“That… doesn’t really inspire much confidence.”

“It’s worth a try,” Pandora said. “It’s our only lead at the moment. Unless if you can remember anything about where it could’ve gone, or who could’ve possibly taken it.”

Danny opened his mouth to reiterate that no, he’d been a little too busy dying to notice anything, but he was interrupted by a sudden twist in his core. The hot grip yanked on it, wrenched it out of sync with his heart. His hand flew up to his sternum, and the inside of his cloak began to light up again as his core instinctively began to try and generate more cold to ward off the intrusion.

( - legion of skeleton soldiers marching relentlessly through the Badlands - )

( - being ripped open and pouring through and - )

( - glint of a glowing green sword - )

( - girl with flaming red hair jumping in front of a man, wielding a gun whining to life - )

He gasped and doubled over as the foreign images assaulted him yet again. Sam and Tucker were instantly on him, shouting his name and asking what was happening. He wanted to answer, but the grip had such a strong hold on him, he felt as if his vocal cords were on fire.

And then, striking fear through his Heart…

I am a man of my word, little Prince, the tyrant king’s voice sneered mockingly. If you wish to take what is rightfully mine, then I will take what is yours and raze it to the ground.

“No…” he managed to choke out. “Not…”

Pariah laughed in his core. Pathetic child. Hiding away like a coward, leaving his little village vulnerable and helpless…

( - forking through the sky, a deep blackness peering from beyond the jagged tears - )

Danny heaved a broken, soundless cry. He reached deep within himself, trying to prod his core back into place, desperately calling upon the fond images that had given him peace just a short bit ago. This time, however, those images were marred by the nagging anxiety in the back of his mind, showing him his town in fear and chaos.

That is what will become of your precious humans if you do not face me, the king told him. The choice is yours, little Prince. Stand and meet your pitiful end like the brave little boy you claim to be, or watch me lay waste to everything and everyone you hold dear. Either way, I will reign victorious.

No. No, he couldn’t let that happen. Not to Amity. Not to the Realms. He couldn’t.

He wouldn’t let that happen. Not on his watch.

Deep in his core, underneath the scalding sting of Pariah, something bubbled to life. It was small, weak, like the sun trying to break through the clouds on a gray day. But it was there.

And there was something invigorating about it. Far from the crippling hot grip trying to master his core. It pulsed, slowly and faintly, but it fit right next to his heart like a perfect match, and it began to radiate out. His head spun with wooziness, but it wasn’t disorienting like it had been before. This was different.

Something caught his eye. Though his head felt like dead weight and his vision had an alarming blur to it, he managed to lift his head. His eyes were drawn not to his friends, not to the Ancients, but to the torches spaced out along the walls of the chamber. Their strange, multicolored flames flickered and danced in a hypnotic pattern.

His brow furrowed as, to his wonder, they began to grow. It wasn’t anything flashy or big, just a little height, a little more volume. The different colors, the same six colors lighting up each of the Ancient’s seats, twisted and curled into one another. Danny wondered if his vision was getting even more blurry.

That was until the flames in the torch he was focused in on spun around each other and the colors bled into a brilliant white light. The colors were still there, on the outer edges, forming something of a halo around the white light and giving it a pearlescent, holographic effect.

With a start, he realized he’d seen this exact light before. It felt like a lifetime ago, but it had only been earlier that morning. The first time he felt the pull on his core. He’d seen it then. It had been distant and muted, not like the light now, but it was undeniably the same light.

The feeling in his core, the frail yet invigorating pulse of energy reached for the light.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was vaguely aware of Pariah’s energy lashing out within him, roaring in harmony with the king’s voice, trying to stop this new force.

He cannot take this from you, little Prince. This is yours. Do you see that now?

Danny reached for the light.

“Danny?”

Sam’s voice was muddy, but it was enough to make him blink in surprise. When his vision refocused, the torches looked the same as they had since he’d first stepped into the chamber, the multicolor flames still dancing their dance. Both the pulse of energy and Pariah’s stinging hold receded, back into the background. Distantly, he could still feel them pushing against each other.

He pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead. All these cosmic forces or whatever they were, why did they have to use his core like a playground? It was growing old very quickly.

“Here. Allow me.” Kalliope, who had not spoken a word since promising to help Danny, knelt in front of him. She laid a hand on his shoulder, and her calming aura immediately began seeping into him.

Still somewhat dazed, he looked at his two friends in turn. “Did you see that?”

Tucker frowned. “What? Was it another one of those earthquake thingies?”

“No, I -” Danny stopped himself. How did he even explain what he saw? He hadn’t been able to explain it earlier that morning; he didn’t exactly have the words now either.

And would they even believe him? Sam and Tucker probably would, eventually, but the ghosts in the room? Arguably, they should have been the ones more likely to believe him, but something in his gut told him they’d have a difficult time buying into it. Especially if the weird look Kala was giving him was anything to go by.

Slowly, he shook his head. “Never mind. I - It was just… my imagination. Or something.”

“But something happened.” Sam’s stubborn concern left a diluted, citrusy taste in his mouth. “Was it the Heart again?”

Whatever comfort Danny might have found in the strange light crashed back into distress. As much as it made him sick to admit, he’d somehow momentarily forgotten about what had triggered such a reaction in the first place.

He glanced up to the table of Ancients. Kala still regarded him with a strange look. Babel had taken to stuffing handfuls of yogurt in their mouth like popcorn. Pandora and Frostbite looked like they were afraid he’d keel over again. Concern sparkled in Zunje’s eyes too, but there was an undeniable intrigue there too. Pele even seemed to show the slightest hint of surprise.

Why did they have to stare at him like that?

“It’s… it was Pariah,” he finally muttered. “He’s moving. Fast.”

“Where to?” Kala asked, right as Pandora said, “How do you know?”

The king’s threats echoed in Danny’s head, and he swallowed thickly. “He’s going to Amity Park. He’s - he’s trying to…”

Sam and Tucker’s eyes widened in horror. “Wait, like right now?” Tucker squeaked. “We gotta get back there!”

“A strange choice,” Pele mused, folding her hands under her chin. “Why attack a human city first?”

A lump formed in Danny’s throat. “Because it’s my city. He’s trying to get to me.”

There was a beat of silence before Sam stood up, pulling Danny with her. “Well what are we doing sitting around here then? We have to go stop him!”

“Whoa, whoa, wait.” Zunje set her tablet on the table. “What about the Crown? We still gotta get that if we’re gonna want any shot at taking him down!”

“That’s fine! You guys go get it then!” The panic of knowing his city, his people were in danger was beginning to set in Danny’s stomach. “It’ll be fine, I’ll go hold him off until you get it.”

His friends immediately squawked in protest, and Zunje shook her head. “None of us can find it alone,” she said, and Danny could hear some of the desperation in her own voice. “You’re the only one who has a chance of finding it right now. It’s like I said, you’re the one who already has that connection.”

“I don’t have time to go flying all over the Realms trying to find a stupid crown! People’s lives are kind of at stake here!”

“Then we will go protect them,” Pandora said, standing. “They are just as much your people as anyone in the Realms. If they are yours, then we are in service of them as well.”

Well, he wasn’t a huge fan of what she was implying there… Neither was Kala, if his puckered expression was anything to go by.

Still, the Ancient stood as well. The clouds in his cloak had turned dark and heavy, like they were threatening to start pouring rain at any moment. The grip on his staff was tight and tense. “If we go defend this city of yours,” he began, arching an eyebrow, “then you must go find the Crown. Quickly.”

Danny hesitated. It made sense, he knew that logically, but the protective, heroic instincts he’d unwillingly built over the last two years were screaming to ignore everything with the Crown and go straight to Amity Park. Trying to rein in those instincts felt next to impossible.

Tucker’s brow furrowed in sympathy. “We can go with you, dude. You don’t have to do it alone.”

“Or,” Sam chimed in, not missing a beat, “we can go to Amity Park too. Make sure everyone is safe for you.”

While he hated the idea of the two of them putting themselves in the line of fire, he couldn’t deny how much he trusted them. These two had been by his side since he’d stepped out of that portal. Despite the arguments and the sleepless nights and the persistent danger, they too were just as determined as him to keep their city safe.

If he couldn’t be there himself, then he could only think of two people he trusted to go in his stead.

Danny took a deep breath and, before they could say anything else, wrapped his arms around Sam and Tucker, burying his face in their shoulders as they returned the hug. “I love you guys.”

“We love you too, you big dork.” He pretended to not hear the watery waver in Sam’s voice.

To be fair, his own eyes were pretty misty as well.

When he pulled away, his core and heart swelled with affection for them once more. Somehow, he knew they already knew what he wanted them to do, and the fact that they were fearlessly willing to do that - do that for him - just made him want to cry even more. In a good way, of course. A manly sort of cry. Obviously.

“Just… make sure everyone is safe,” he finally muttered, his voice hitching.

“Of course we will.”

“We need to move quickly.” Danny’s head snapped up as Kala spoke. “If he is moving as fast as you claim, then there is no time to waste.”

“Right. Yeah.” He wiped his nose. “Find an uber-powerful piece of jewelry. How hard can it be?”

“I’ll come with you.” Zunje was already stuffing her tablet into a shoulder bag. “Maybe I can help you track its energies. That’s kind of my thing, after all.” She grinned sheepishly. “I’m real good with books. Not so much my fists. Or weapons. Or any kind of fighting at all, really.”

“I’m afraid I am not much of a warrior either,” Kalliope said. “I would only be a hindrance. Perhaps I can help warn others. Evacuate the areas that will be within his reach.”

“I’ll do that too!” Sydney said quickly, as if he wanted to volunteer himself before anyone could ask him to fight. Danny really couldn’t blame the guy.

“Alright then.” Danny exhaled. Though the hot grip was still there in his core, he could still feel that new pulse of energy, as if it had been a part of his core all along.

Perhaps it has, little Prince.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. I doubt that, he thought back.

Babel clapped their hands together. “Sweet! This is gonna be a blast! I have a killer road trip playlist, you guys aren’t gonna want to miss this!”

If the pained groans of the other Ancients were anything to go by, Danny figured he’d definitely gotten the better end of the deal. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The rip was already beginning to close.

The moment Valerie had noticed it return, she had made a beeline for the back door. Getting around her coworkers emerging from the kitchen into the dining room to catch a glimpse of it had been a hassle, and she didn’t understand why they had waited until the fourth or fifth time the rift appeared to start gawking.

Then again, she didn’t understand why she had waited so long to take action herself.

Irving Burns had tried to reassure everyone that Phantom would be along to take care of it the second time it forked through the sky. Maybe some part of her wanted to believe that. Maybe just once she wanted to just ignore it and let Phantom do his thing so that she didn’t have to. Ghost hunting would always be her passion, of course, but even she recognized when it came to other supernatural problems, like rifts in the sky, she was way out of her league.

Half the time it usually seemed like Phantom was out of his league too, but at least he had a bit more of an understanding than she did. Not that she really trusted him of course, but he’d probably know more about these rips, why they kept appearing and disappearing, staying for longer each time.

Maybe he’d know why there seemed to be a void behind the rips, one with a darkness that was more than just darkness. Like… a black hole. All-consuming.

Terrifying.

By this time around, though, it was clear Phantom wouldn’t be showing any time soon. And if Phantom wasn’t going to step up and do something, the Huntress would. Terror or no.

But it had taken her too long to get outside. As the door slammed shut behind her, she could see it already closing, beginning to flicker in and out of existence.

No time to waste. She didn’t bother to check to make sure no one followed her. Everyone inside was too preoccupied with staring out the front windows.

Calling up her suit took little more than a simple thought. The nanotech whirled around her in a flurry of red and black, molding to her like she’d been born to wear it.

Part of her liked to think she really had been born to wear it. Like this was her purpose. One that called to her, fulfilled her, made her feel like she was truly making a difference in the world.

(Another part of her wondered if this was really it, though. Hunt after hunt, ghost after ghost. She wondered if she’d ever get the chance to do something more.)

The second her suit was done forming around her, her hoverboard shimmered into existence. Just as she took off, though, the rip flickered once, twice, then closed fully and disappeared.

Her teeth ground together, and she resisted the urge to punch the dumpster next to her. “Damn it.”

“See? I told you!”

The sudden shout startled Valerie, breaking her concentration and causing her board to fizzle out just like the rip had. She whipped her head to the mouth of the alley as her heart skipped three beats. Her stomach sank even lower when she recognized the two people standing there.

“Weston?” she said before she could stop herself. “What are you -”

Wes didn’t even seem to hear her. His eyes shone with triumph as he grinned widely. “I knew it, I knew it!” he shouted, pumping his fists in the air. He turned to his compatriot, looking more smug than ever. “And you didn’t believe me!”

Jazz Fenton pinched the bridge of her nose. “I never said I didn’t believe you. I said I wanted to make absolute certain first before we went barging in.”

Valerie’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “Wha- I don’t…”

Jazz shot her a sympathetic smile. “Sorry about this, Valerie. I wouldn’t have done this under normal circumstances, but…” Her eyes flicked up to the sky. “These aren’t normal circumstances.”

“I’m not -!”

“Save it, Gray!” Wes jabbed a finger at her. “We saw you! You can’t deny it!”

“Listen.” Anger burned through her blood, vaporizing her hesitancy and surprise. Maybe it was an overreaction, but Wes Weston had always been a thorn in her side, constantly spouting off his crazy theories and acting as if he was better than everyone because of it. That smug attitude drove her up a wall.

Not to mention the fact that he was, for some reason, completely obsessed with Danny. Fenton, Phantom, or otherwise. Not that she really believed him, of course.

But something about it still got to her.

“Hey! Knock it off!” Jazz scolded. “This isn’t the time for this! You can… gloat or whatever later.” She returned her gaze to Valerie, her intense blue eyes making Valerie feel as if she was frozen where she stood. “I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, but we could really use your help.”

Valerie hesitated. Frustration - at Wes for being so him, at Phantom for failing to show up and do the job he so loved to insist he had, at herself for being stupid enough to change before sweeping the area - still boiled in her, clouding her judgment. She wanted nothing more than to wipe that smirk off Wes’ face, tell Jazz to buzz off, and go figure out what on earth was happening to her town so that she could go home and take a long nap.

Really, she was only a few seconds away from doing just that when she caught the glimmer in Jazz’s eyes. Yes, there was the look of a true older sister there, wrangling both Valerie and Wes into behaving, but there was something else. Something Valerie couldn’t remember ever seeing in someone like Jazz.

Fear. And not the neurotic anxiousness Jazz Fenton was known for. This worry ran deep, enough to manifest in her eyes and in the crinkles of skin around them.

That glimmer was enough to cool the anger in Valerie and remind her that there were priorities.

Reluctantly, she folded her arms across her chest. “And why do you think I can help you?”

Jazz inhaled, and for a moment, the glimmer of fear shone even brighter. “There’s only one person who can probably truly fix this,” she said slowly. “The only problem is I have no idea where he is. My few methods of finding him have failed. That’s where you come in.”

Nausea formed a pit in Valerie’s stomach. She had a vague idea about where Jazz was going, and she dreaded it. “Who are you looking for?”

Wes rolled his eyes. “Oh my God, can you two stop beating around the bush already? Isn’t it obvious, Gray?”

Valerie, being the bigger person she was, sneered at him. He stuck his tongue out at her.

“Enough!” Jazz closed her eyes and inhaled again, shakily. Valerie was struck with the notion that the older girl was too used to this, too used to having to be the one person in the room with her head on straight. Between her scatter-brained parents and her sweet but horribly clumsy and disorganized brother, she probably had far too much experience with it.

Valerie closed her eyes. “Who are you looking for, Jazz?” she repeated, even as the nausea churned faster and faster.

Why did she have the feeling she knew exactly who they were looking for?

When she opened her eyes, Jazz was still staring straight at her. “My brother,” she said, much to Valerie’s shock. “And you’re the only one who can hunt him down.”

Someone on the street screamed.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #vlad masters #fright knight #valerie gray #hannah writes #supernova #not tagging every character not sorry #danny phantom fanfic #fanfic

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