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wastefulreverie · 6 months

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fixed point

“Would you like to know how much time you have left?” Clockwork asked.

Danny had never wished more that he’d died in something with pockets so he could hide his shaking hands. The endless ticking in the lair—hundreds of hands TICK TICK TICK -ing in perfect sync—had never sounded so ominous.

“I—” his voice rattled his throat, a raw thing “—I didn’t think you gave spoilers.”

With an absent spin of their staff, Clockwork shifted from adult to child and said nothing. Dread hung heavy in the air, Clockwork’s unblinking stare piercing through it all. Danny pointedly did not make eye contact. Instead focusing on the oscillating hands of the wall behind them.

He took a breath.

“Will it make it easier, knowing?”

Clockwork blinked once, face betraying nothing.

Dammit.

He wasn’t an idiot. There was really only one outcome of this conversation. Just as there had been the day he’d first pulled on his jumpsuit, walking—tripping—through the threshold. Life snuffed out of him in less than a second.

He brought his shaking hands together and met Clockwork’s even gaze.

And answered.

Thirteen days.

Seven hours.

Thirty-six minutes.

It was somehow both longer and shorter than he’d expected.

It was also a weight off his shoulders, at least in the beginning. It wouldn’t happen any earlier than the date Clockwork had recounted that night. Thirteen days of freedom. Peace. Liberation.

Because if he thought too much about the length of thirteen days, how three-hundred or so hours wasn’t enough time— it’s not fucking FAIR —he would be swallowed by the crushing anxiety that made its permanent home in his stomach.

So there was that.

He didn’t bother telling his friends. They were already all on edge, but if he could act like all was well he could ease their worries. Because ultimately they were just worried about him, and if he was fine they would be too.

He did, however, make contingency plans. Farewell videos on a USB drive taped to the underside of his bed.

He wanted Clockwork to be wrong. Some nights he laid awake, trying his damndest to find a way off this track. This self-fulfilling prophecy. But there was nothing. That moment had already passed with that stupid news broadcast that had glued him to the couch, shaking, as his parents had shouted and jeered at the screen. Dismissive. Furious. Invested.

They hadn’t noticed when he pushed himself off the couch and stumbled, shaking, to the bathroom to purge the contents of his stomach.

It was a miracle he’d only gotten a two-day suspension for slugging Wes in the face in front of the whole cafeteria. Even more so that no one had pieced it together from that.

No one saw him. But they would. When it was too late.

He couldn’t stop it. But as he didn’t acknowledge it in the waking world it wouldn’t exist. So he reserved his existential crises for when there was nothing to distract him from the looming, inevitable deadline.

He wished he could tell Mr. Lancer that whenever he was given detention that afternoon.

On the night of the twelfth day, he didn’t sleep a wink. No amount of coffee could keep his head above his desk that morning, and so, Danny spent his final hour in detention. He considered skipping. Detention was not the place for everything to come to an end.

But wouldn’t leaving—deviating from his normal routine—up the chances of putting events in motion?

Avoidance was his specialty, after all.

Jazz could write a paper on his coping tactics alone if she hadn’t already.

At nineteen minutes Mr. Lancer stopped in front of his desk. It was only him and Valerie today, and she sat somewhere three desks behind and to his left of him. Her hair was in a loose ponytail, loose yellow sleeves draped over her hands. The bags under her eyes rivaled his own, even though he was sure there hadn’t been too many ghosts in the past week or so—but then again, he’d not been the most attentive to things on the ghost front lately. It was probably his fault she was here at all.

“Mr. Fenton,” Lancer said. He forced his head to turn, a feat much more difficult than it sounded. His head felt full of lead. “Is everything alright at home?”

Danny forced himself not to cringe.

“Uh.” He ignored the sound of Valerie shifting in her seat behind him. Great. An audience. “Yes.”

“I’ve noticed you’ve been getting much less sleep of late, is all.”

Now this was a load of shit. Danny’s sleep schedule was normally trash. This current existential crisis was no more taxing than his normal night activities.

Lancer continued. “And your parents have—” he paused, eyes flitting somewhere behind him. “—in light of recent revelations, I just worry, Mr. Fenton.”

Hm.

Did he know, then?

Was this it?

Danny stared stupidly for a moment, forgetting to shut his mouth. And then shrugged.

Falling back on ignorance.

If he was honest, he hadn’t quite expected Lancer to be the one to put it together, but it also made sense.

Lancer’s mouth thinned. “I know they can be intense, especially with the scrutiny placed on our school now. No one should feel scared to come to school. Or go home,” he said, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. “This is a safe space.”

For a moment all he could hear was the drum of his heart in his chest. And then behind him, Valerie cleared her throat.

“With all due respect, Mr. Lancer,” she said, “nowhere is safe with that putrid ghost hiding among us.”

Danny didn’t turn around. Lancer’s reaction was subdued, but there was a protective fire in his eyes that confirmed Danny’s suspicions. He wondered how long ago he’d put it together.

“Ms. Gray,” Lancer said, “I see your point, but I’m just trying to ease tensions.”

Danny checked the clock.

Seventeen minutes.

Maybe he should’ve skipped detention after all.

(No escaping the inevitable. No do-overs this time.)

Valerie scoffed. “So what? We let our guard down?” he chanced a glance behind him, and Valerie’s eyes were red-rimmed—from lack of sleep or otherwise he had no idea. “Someone here is a walking weapon and we’re supposed to ignore this? Fenton at least knows he’ll be safe at home, but what about the rest of us? We don’t get to go home to ghost-hunting parents—we have to hold our own.”

Lancer nodded. “I understand. I just think that it’s very frightening for all of us, ghost hunters or not.”

Danny’s voice cracked when he spoke. “Yeah.”

Valerie’s expression softened. “I didn’t mean to make light—”

“No. No, you’re right,” he said. “It’s not safe with Phantom as a student here. Whoever he is.”

She sighed. “Danny, I don’t know what it’s like with your parents, but—”

“But what?” he cut her off. “Because they’re ghost hunters they’re automatically the safest people in the room?” He lowered his voice. “You would think that.”

She froze. “What does that mean?”

Hm. Whoops.

“People don’t know what it’s like, I guess.”

Danny turned back around. Lancer’s stare was dripping with sympathy.

Fifteen minutes.

There was a scrape of a chair, a thud of feet, and a warm hand on his shoulder. Valerie released him just as fast. When he met her eyes, they were as wide as saucers.

“D—Danny,” she said with a note of panic. “You’re cold.”

“Yeah?” he asked.

She took a step back. He hadn’t seen her this scared since they’d been stranded on Skulker’s island together. He could see the realization dawning.

“Val,” he said, knowing full well what was going through her head, “what’s wrong?”

“It’s not you,” she said, a desperate plea. “I can’t be this stupid.”

He sighed and Lancer stepped between them.

“Ms. Gray,” he said, “now let’s not jump to conclusions—”

“No!” she shook her head. “No, no, no! It doesn’t make sense. You’re—your parents hunt ghosts. Hunt Phantom.”

Danny crossed his arms.

“So do you.”

Lancer looked between them like Danny had announced that he liked eating golf balls. “What.”

Tears welled in Valerie’s eyes. “I trusted you!”

The minute hand inched forward.

Fourteen.

“You trusted me to what?”

Valerie clenched her fists. “Don’t do that! Don’t play stupid!”

“Ms. Gray—”

“I’m not playing.” Danny turned sideways in his desk, facing her head-on. “Tell me what you think I’ve done, Val.”

“Mr. Fenton—!”

“You replaced him. You replaced Danny. How long have you been pretending to be him? To be alive? How can you live with yourself, going home everyday and seeing his parents and—and—acting like you’re still—” she choked on her tears. “You terrorize this town, Phantom. I won’t let you take anything else from me, or anyone.”

Lancer’s eyes were wide. He’d never seen the man so shocked, in such foreign territory.

Valerie, on the other hand, was resolute. There was as much determination in her face as tears.

“I’m still me,” he said. “I died, but I came back. I never replaced myself, however that works. I am sorry, Val. There’s a lot that—”

“Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up! ”

“—that I didn’t mean to happen.”

Lancer slammed his hand on Danny’s desk.

“Can we all settle down!”

It all happened in a matter of seconds. The clock in his peripheral kept him tethered to the moment.

Valerie reached behind her and pulled a blaster.

A flash of red—

(The minute hand moves.

Thirteen.)

—and a burst of hot pain through his side.

He crumpled forward, his head meeting the linoleum floor with a SMACK and somewhere above him a distant shout.

Everything from his side to his cranium THROBBED and it wouldn’t fucking stop.

(He’d taken hits from Val before. This shouldn’t hurt so much. Why does this—?)

Iron pooled in his mouth.

Oh right.

Ectoplasm was thicker than blood.

Danny tried to push himself up from the floor but the world spun and his arms gave out below him and he slumped back down to the cold, hard floor.

The floor felt better.

Maybe he would…

Stay here for a while…

***

The television clicked on. A rerun of the six o’clock news.

He didn’t let Jazz turn it off.

“According to a recent report, there is speculation that our local ghost vigilante Phantom might be living among us. Care to tell us more, Lance?”

“Yes, Tiffany.” Lance Thunder’s stupid blonde hair was polished and perfect as usual and he wanted to wipe that stupid half-smile off the bastard’s face. “A ghost ID’ed as Walker —” at this, a crude picture that was mostly just a white blur appeared on the screen “— has publicly announced that our hero is a student at Casper High fooling us, flying under the radar.”

“And as far as we understand, tips from ghosts aren’t verifiable…?”

“Normally, yes, but there is evidence to suggest that—”

“This isn’t good for you,” Jazz hissed. “I know that it’s scary, but—”

“Exposure therapy,” he snapped back. “It’s gonna be the talk of the school anyway.”

She slumped back down onto the couch. “Take care of yourself.”

The door to the lab was thrown open. His parents marched through the kitchen and into the living room, perfectly eclipsing the TV.

“—telling you, Jack. The DNA scans are inconclusive at best. Their so-called ‘experts’ are out of their depths.”

“We’ll show them once and for all. If we can find out which student it’s using as cover—”

“—we’ll expose Phantom for the monster he is!”

His parents disappeared upstairs for the night, but he could still hear snippets of their vows to destroy him.

He shot Jazz a tired look. “Easier said than done.”

***

Someone was touching him.

Everything on his left burned. Far above him were LEDs and beige ceiling tiles. He wasn’t sure when he’d been rolled onto his back. But he was now, and someone was pressing down on the spot that burned burned burned—!

Blood trickled down his throat.

How many minutes had it been?

How many did he have left?

There were voices, somewhere, but everything sounded like it was underwater. Maybe it was. Drowning would be preferable to many of the other deaths he’d prepared for. Still terrible, sure, but vivisection lowered the bar considerably.

“—have you done!”

“He’s—” A girl’s voice wavered, quiet. “He’s Phantom. He’s not supposed to—to—”

Wow. Valerie had the decency to sound ashamed.

At least he could die knowing that his killer at least had a few shreds of regret.

(Is it sad that it’s more than he expected?)

“—little first aid.” The pain came in waves, and all Danny could hear was the rush of his stupid heart in his ears. “—expecting shootings in America, but not from a—”

Just as fast as it came, the world melted away. His last grasp on consciousness slipped away.

(As fast as the click of a button.)

***

Wes had a punchable face.

But hey—that’s what you get for talking to the press. The accusations were written off as pretty baseless, but the damage had been done. He got inquisitive stares now and again. After all, Wes was a joke, but his interview put Danny’s name on the list of suspects and that was enough to fuck his entire life over.

After his two-day suspension, Danny had little opportunity to survey his work. Honestly, more people asked him about how bad he fucked up Wes’s face than whether or not he was Phantom.

(From what he had seen, it was in a perpetual state of purple and that was enough to curb his anger for now.)

So. He had two days off from school.

Danny went to see Clockwork.

Long Now welcomed him with welcome arms, and he broke down into a fit of whines and gripes about how it seemed like everyone was out to get him, that everyone wanted to put his head on a pike. Everyone wanted to ferret out the wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Clockwork shared their sympathies.

“No matter what I do, I just—I’m a wreck. I think someone’s figured it out. That they know, but then I mention it to Jazz or Sam or Tucker and I’m just paranoid and I think I’m paranoid now and—” he groaned. “I don’t know what to do. I’m losing my mind.”

“You do know that it’s inevitable that the truth comes to light.”

He froze. “What.”

Clockwork shifted from senior to adult. “Your paranoia isn’t for naught. It’s a matter of time.”

No. This couldn’t be happening.

He’d figure a way out.

There had to be something.

“I thought nothing was inevitable.”

“Not nothing,” Clockwork hummed. “Often, it is nothing. But not this time.”

Their words shook him to the core. He’d suspected it, sure, but confirmation was—

“I know it isn’t fair.”

“Don’t tell me what is and isn’t fair!” Danny snapped. “Your entire life isn’t—isn’t under scrutiny for everyone. If they know that I’m me, I—”

He pressed his hands to his chest.

He would be finished.

One way or another, someone would find a way to put him on their table.

The government.

His parents.

Maybe someone else out for his blood.

(His body.)

“I can’t see what will happen past them learning the truth,” Clockwork said. “But it is a fixed point. Everything past that diverges, a thousand roads. Timelines. Possibilities. I can’t tell you what to expect. The best, the worst. I cannot offer that reassurance.”

“Oh.”

They nodded. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“I don’t want them to find out,” he said in a pathetic whine.

For a long moment, Clockwork said nothing. If not for the constant ticking of clocks, he would have thought they were frozen. But then Clockwork’s expression shifted.

And they asked:

“Would you like to know?”

***

…

……

………

Warbled voices were around him again. Different.

But this time more in focus.

“Sir, Ma’am, if you could leave the room—”

“I will NOT. That is my son, and I am not leaving until someone tells me why there is a HOLE in his chest—!”

And somewhere else, a shriek of sobs.

“We’re transporting him to the hospital, you can’t—”

“I did it,” said that same, sobbing voice. “I shot him. I shot him.”

More people were touching him and Danny didn’t like it oh god no no no —

“—get him on the stretcher—”

“—the hell DID you—”

“—Ms. Gray, you—”

“—no! I want to know why—”

“—securing him, just—”

And now time did slow.

The EMTs lifted the stretcher.

And his face lolled to the side, giving him a clear view of the clock.

The minute hand moved one last time.

Just as:

“I didn’t mean to! I didn’t—he’s Phantom, I didn’t think that it would—!” Valerie, cut off, sobbing. “I’m so sorry, Danny. If you can hear me, I’m so sorry.”

And then there was silence.

Crushing darkness.

***

If he had any last doubts that his secret was out, they were snuffed out when he woke up in the hospital to the pained faces of his parents. Jazz was in the chair to his left, hair mussed up and asleep. His parents’ eyes were red with tears. In his delirium, he also noticed Sam’s backpack discarded in the corner.

How long had—?

“Two days.”

Clockwork appeared before him in their adult form. They swung their staff, looking rather pleased with themselves. Danny then realized the occupants of the room had been frozen as long as he’d been awake.

“You’re recovering well, all considered.” Clockwork tapped a clipboard on a nearby table. “I will say, I am surprised that we took this route. It is what you might call a ‘spoiler,’ but it’s kinder than most.”

“Is it,” he said, voice hoarse.

Clockwork waited for him to finish coughing up his lungs before speaking again. “They’re handling it as best they can. I won’t say it’s great, but you’re on the way there.”

“I—what happened, again?”

And as he asked, it came rushing back.

Lancer. Valerie.

And paramedics?

Clockwork gave him a knowing smile. “Your teacher called an ambulance. In his panic, he might have let it slip that you were having a reaction because of a ghost weapon, and your parents were looped into the call.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Danny’s eyes found his frozen heart monitor, time stopped between beats. Below, his mother had tied off the top half of her HAZMAT suit and was wearing a black shirt beneath. He did notice that the contents of her weapons belt were emptied.

He turned back to Clockwork. “How did they take it?”

They shrugged. “Why don’t you ask them?”

“Wait—wait, I'm not ready.”

“How about this? I tell you how much time you have left.” They raised their staff. “Three—”

“Clockwork—”

“Two—”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Time in.”

#Danny Phantom #Danny Fenton #Valerie Gray #Clockwork #Danny Phantom Fanfiction #Fanfiction #Phicc #Phic #Danny Phantom Fic #wrwritings #angst #ectober #ectober week 2023 #ectober week #ectober 2023 #ectoberweek2023

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phandomnews · 7 months

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Sign up for Ecto-Implostion here @ecto-implosion See the prompts for Ectober week @ectoberweekofficial See all the invisobang fics and art at @invisobang See the full Ectoberhaunt prompt list @ectoberhaunt

Meet Z our artist spotlight at their art blog @this-is-z-art-blog Meet the author spotlight at their blog @thelightningstreak or at their Dark Grey blog @dp-dark-gray

#newsletter #news #dannyphantom #danny phantom #ectober #ectoberhaunt #ectober week #dark grey #halloween #october #phandom

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five-rivers · 2 years

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Ancestral 11

The elaborate tableaux and plays that would generally be planned for the Moon Masque… hadn’t been. For obvious reasons.

Obvious reasons being that said planning was what the family had been about to do when most of their older members were killed. Moon Masque continuing in any capacity was nothing more than an attempt to ensure that all requirements for the trials were fulfilled.

Opinions on whether or not that was necessary varied.

"Mom," said Danny, leaning backwards over the arm of the chair he was sprawled in, "if you're really that worried about it, and hate the idea of it that much, we could just… not go."

Gwensyvyr, standing just behind Maddie, made the near universal hand gesture for are you crazy?

Danny scowled at her. As far as he'd been able to determine, there wasn't anything actually vital or fundamental about the Moon Masque.

Now, Danny did plan to sneak out to it, regardless. So much of the family together would be a tempting target for the murderer (or murderers).

Maddie sighed. "I might not see eye-to-eye with my cousins, but I'm not going to abandon them to some murderous ghost."

Right. Sometimes it was easy to forget, but he had learned his morals from his parents.

"That's right! Especially with us being the ghost wrangling experts! No one better to protect everyone and show that ghost what-for!"

… ghost-related biases notwithstanding.

"Why are you so sure it's a ghost in the first place?" asked Jazz, resting her elbows on the back of the couch. "Humans commit murder, too."

"Of that many people all at once, with no method immediately apparent? Don't be ridiculous–"

"Of course it isn't a ghost," said Iris, entering the sitting room with a pronounced frown on her face. George followed in her wake, holding an open book in front of him.

"Why, because ghosts are so well known for their benevolence? Nearly all cultures agree–"

"No," interrupted Iris. “Because ghosts don’t exist.”

“Pardon,” said Maddie, “what?”

“I mean,” said Iris, sitting down on the couch. “There have been so many studies, so many tests and experiments, and how many ghosts have people found? None. It’s a scam,” she finished, staring directly at Maddie.

“Haha,” said George. “Yeah, evidence of absence isn’t absence of– No, wait, I’m saying that backwards. Absence of evidence isn’t evidence of absence.” He nodded and sat down next to iris.

“Huh,” said Jack, emerging from the little side room whose original intent had been to serve as a butler’s nook but which currently contained a large amount of coffee-making paraphernalia. “I thought all you people believed in ghosts! Got an awful wrong idea about them, though.”

Jazz bit down on her lower lip. “Dad,” she said, finally.

“What? It’s true! Now, who wants some FUDGE espresso? It’s a Fenton family specialty!”

Danny had never heard of FUDGE espresso before. Then again, both his parents had seemed rather sleep deprived lately. Not that Danny was doing much better in that department, what with being constantly haunted.

Your ancestors (hopefully your ancestors - it’d be even weirder for unrelated ghosts to be doing this) silently staring at you while you lie in bed is not conducive to peaceful sleep.

Oh, well. Danny was used to it.

“I don’t drink coffee,” said Iris. “Caffeine is a drug.”

“A delicious and legal one! If you guys don’t drink coffee, then why’s all this back here?” He hooked a thumb towards the nook.

“Martin,” said George, shortly.

There was a moment of silence, broken only by Jack sipping his espresso.

“Have you heard from Cousin Alicia?” asked Iris.

“Not yet,” said Maddie. “But Alicia has always been… very independent. She’s– She’s probably fine. Running would-be bodyguards all around Spitoon and all that.”

“Spitoon?” asked George.

“The name of the town,” said Maddie.

More silence.

“So, what have you two been doing?” asked Maddie. “How have you been… holding up?”

“Fine,” said Iris, hands clasped tightly in her lap, back entirely straight.

“We’ve been working on finishing our premed requirements,” offered George. “We’re taking online courses to fill in the gap, since we’ll probably be out for the rest of the semester.”

“Oh,” said Maddie, “that’s nice. Are you planning to become surgeons, general practitioners…?”

“Pharmacologists,” said Iris. “Medicine is Avlynys’s biggest export, and we want to contribute.”

Not said, but heavily implied: the Fentons weren’t contributing.

“What about you, Danny, Jazz?” asked George. “You two must be thinking about what you’re going to study in college.”

“I was also thinking about going into the medical field, but I hadn’t decided which part,” said Jazz, picking at one of the couch’s seams.

“We could make it a thing- a family thing, then,” said George, attempting a smile. It didn’t quite fit on his face. It dropped quickly into something more contemplative as his gaze shifted to Danny.

Danny fidgeted. “I haven’t decided yet,” he said.

“Maybe you could go into security,” said Iris.

“What?”

“You noticed the poison.”

“I was just lucky to be paranoid and right,” said Danny.

“Hm,” said Iris. “Lucky.”

Danny turned his flinch into forward momentum and stood up. “Speaking of schoolwork, I’ve got some things to take care of.”

He fled.

The costumes for the Masque were simple, and the same for both sexes. A white domino mask and layered white robes over black clothing.

Wearing this in the woods in the middle of the night was going to make them look like cultists.

Still, it was better than past costumes. Danny looked at the album Jazz had unearthed from somewhere, and the elaborate, almost Venetian, and completely anonymous masks that had been popular at previous events.

No, that wouldn’t be good to wear now, when recognizing each other, and keeping out others, was so important.

There was also, of course, the ritual knife. Six inches of steel forged with traditional - and traditionally secret - techniques. Members of the royal family, unlike everyone else who would be attending, were expected to be armed and dangerous. Danny rather expected that Matthew would also be bringing a gun, and that his parents would have ecto-weaponry, even beyond Spector Deflectors (that Danny absolutely wasn’t wearing, even if it would ‘be invisible under the robes’).

Danny put away the album, and started to figure out how much of his first aid kit he could carry under his robes.

Part of the original idea of the Moon Masque - overgrown as it was by decades and sometimes centuries of cross-cultural exchange and superstition - was that it gave citizens the opportunity to speak directly to the nobility without fear of being recognized, censored, or punished.

That, of course, wasn’t happening this time. Not physically, in any case. What was being done instead was a sort of anonymous social media mailbox that would be randomly drawn from at different points during the Masque for the royal family to read and respond to.

The elder generation seemed positive it would be a hit.

The younger generation was equally sure it would simultaneously be a hit and a disaster.

Danny, for his part, eyed the cameras dubiously. Matthew had made the members of the press who were attending undergo even more rigorous checks than at the aborted coronation, but they made Danny feel uncomfortable anyway. He knew that the papers, in absence of other information, even their English names, were calling him and Jazz ‘the mysterious young Lord Dannyl Ymaz’ and ‘the mysterious young Lady Yazmyn Roz,’ and, well, speculating a lot.

The woes of being a public figure. He probably had another wikipedia page at this point, to match his Phantom one. He’d been too shy to check.

Beyond the cameras… The Masque was sparsely populated by Assembly members, members of the College of Heroes, Avlynys’s few non-royal nobles, and security personnel.

They really did have to be pulling people from the police force to staff these things. That was the only explanation.

Simple decorations - lengths of white cloth, mirrors, and lights - hung from the trees. There were small tables and chairs, also white, set up wherever there was enough room. The largest clearing was set up for dancing. Music played over high-quality speakers. There was no food, due to concerns about another poisoning attempt.

It was all sort of surreal. The sort of environment that made everyone look like ghosts. Except the ghosts, who, for the most part, were wearing regular clothes.

Matthew and Irene were making a good show of dancing, although they were the only ones. Joanna and Eugene were also dancing together, but… it honestly couldn’t be called good. Jack was bouncing on the sidelines, looking like nothing so much as a giant, jiggly marshmallow, while Maddie stood watch, arms crossed.

Everyone else was… around, Danny supposed. The identical costumes actually made everyone much harder to recognize from a distance than expected.

Danny skirted the fringes of the party, trying to keep an eye on everyone while staying out of the cameras’ line of sight. Nothing seemed out of place, despite the eerie atmosphere, but… Danny couldn’t help but be on guard.

Rather, he had to be on guard. He wasn’t going to let any more of his family be hurt. No matter how ridiculous they were being about ghosts, traditions, language, or loyalty.

A not quite natural flutter of white caught Danny’s eye, and he spun to see Gwensyvyr, and, behind her, Vivian, with a long-suffering expression on her face. Gwensyvyr had used her… Could Danny call it shapeshifting when she only used it to change her clothing? Anyway, she was dressed in the same clothing as the living, which would probably do wonders for public perception of his sanity if he mistook her for someone else.

She smiled and made finger guns at him. Because of course that’s what she’d picked up over the centuries. Finger guns.

Other than that, though, she looked as uneasy as he felt.

A bell tone rang through the woods, making Danny jolt. He was going to destroy his neck at this rate.

Reluctantly, he walked back to the central clearing, where the news crew had set up. The interviewer, a black woman with red-dyed hair, beamed at the family, then at the cameras. “Hello,” she said, “and welcome, everyone, to the first round of questions with sy Hys Dyryse! With us, we have Regent Matthew and Lady Irene, their children, Iris and George, Lady Sophia and her children, Lewis and Leo, Princess Joanna and her son, Eugene, and Princess Madeline, her husband Jack, and their children Jasmine and Daniel. Say hi, everyone!”

Danny waved desultorily.

“Thank you,” said the interviewer. “Now, every half hour of the Masque, we are going to have a question and answer session! If you have a question for the members of sy Hys Dyryse, please send it to our website, listed at the bottom of the screen.” She raised a finger and pointed down. “And onto our first questions!”

The interviewer accepted a tablet from one of the producers, and her face instantly froze into something that couldn’t more clearly indicate ‘this has swearing in it’ if she’d written it on her face in sharpie.

“Ahem,” she said, after a too-long pause. “The first question is, what is your…” a pause to edit out a word, “stance on gay marriage?”

“On- I’m sorry, what?” asked Matthew. “Is that- Is that a joke?”

The producer who had handed off the tablet made a slightly dismayed face. Danny couldn’t help but wince as well. This was… not off to a good start.

“Did an Englishman write that? Do we have the English writing in? No, you wouldn’t know,” said Matthew, making a short, dismissive gesture. “Marriage is a religious affair. The institution isn’t recognized by the government of Avlynys in any official capacity. People can do what they want with their free time. Why should I care who is married?”

Joanna, Danny noticed, sent Matthew a mildly affronted look at that.

The next three questions (‘Princess Yazmyn, are you single?’ ‘What is your quest?’ and ‘Can your country answer for the damages done by offshore oil drilling?’) didn’t go much better. As the interviewer retreated, Danny heard her asking the producers if they could limit the website availability to people actually in the country and, possibly, put on a profanity filter.

Danny felt like he was retreating, too. But he needed a moment to gather himself. He leaned against a tree and closed his eyes.

His moment was interrupted first by a spectral hand on his arm, and then by the cold chill of his ghost sense. Gwensyvyr had her hand on his arm, and was staring back towards the central clearing. If his ghost sense was going off, that meant there was someone here who wasn’t before. Someone stronger than the dozens of silent spirits that had haunted him since the plane landed.

He reached inside his robes, fingers finding the hilt of the ritual knife.

And then there was a scream. A shout. A “No!” and the sharp zing! of an ectoblast and a grunt of pain.

Danny sprinted back to the clearing, and, oh, if anyone wanted a tableau–

There was Maddie, there was Jack, blasters in hand. There was Matthew, standing in front of them, arms outstretched, a greenish, smoking singe on his shoulder. Behind him, Sophia, who was, in turn, shielding–

Vivian?

No, definitely not Vivian. Vivian was standing next to Danny, looking absolutely horrified, Gwensyvyr gripping her arm with teeth bared and sharp, eyes glowing fiercely.

The cameras were watching.

“Move, Matthew!” said Maddie. “I know what you think, but that’s not Vivian!”

Matthew barred his teeth, looking, for a moment, remarkably like his ancestress. “Can you not accept the proof of your own ey–”

“She’s right!” shouted Danny. “That’s not Vivian!”

Matthew’s gaze snapped to Danny, widening in shock, and he started to twist, taking a step to the side and away, but the thing wearing Vivian’s face was moving, too. A long, narrow knife flicked first across Sophia’s face, then dove for Matthew’s side.

Danny threw his knife, then wished he hadn’t a split second later. Something physical like that would just pass through–

But it didn’t. The thing was hit in the lower chest and wrenched sideways, its knife skittering across Matthew’s shoulder blade. Dark green dripped from its wound.

It looked up at Danny with sharp red eyes, face warped into something unrecognizable, then melted, ectoplasm sublimating in seconds. Danny’s knife hit the ground with a ringing sound.

“Ancestors!” hissed Matthew.

Sophia started to wail.

#danny phantom #ectoberweek22 #ectober week 2022 day 4: scream #ectober #ectober week #ancestral fic

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ghostly-penumbra · 1 year

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Ectober 2022. Day Thirty-one

Folk Tales

Ao3 FFN

Summary: A pair of hunters listen to some nonsense.

- - -

Sam looked up from his salad and met Dean's eyes across the table. They had heard right and were now in a new trail.

"No, man, I'm being serious! The ghost wolf of Amity is real, I saw it with my own eyes!" A college guy told his friends with frantic energy two tables down from where they were eating.

They were in a small dinner next to the highway in Fuckin' Nowhere, Wisconsin, —Fitchburg, Sam corrected him—, and they (Sam) had done their research on the area before taking out the vampires’ nest yesterday.

“Oh, please, Chase. Everyone knows Amity Park is a tourist trap. You probably saw some kid in a fursuit.”

Dean snorted with a considering smile, whilst Sam grimaced in embarrassment.

(They wouldn’t be talking about how they knew what a fursuit was. Ever.)

“Yeah, sure, a seven foot tall kid with claws as large as my head and fangs as big as my di-”

“Dylan, you were with Chase this weekend. Did ya see some bigass werewolf?” The oldest-sounding dude asked.

“Nope, I was fucking wasted, and so was he! Idiot here just got pranked by a hot chick that got tired of his shit-flirting and took him to the woods.”

The group hollered with laughter whilst Sam and Dean shared another glance, this one more questioning.

“Well, believe what you want, I know what I saw! That thing was a werewolf, and a ghost too! That’s what they call it, anyway.”

“Alright, dumbass, answer me this: if you saw this ‘ghost wolf of Amity’, then hy did no one else see it? And for that matter, why are you still alive?”

Sam and Dean both raised their eyebrows. Good question.

“Sorry, what was that? I can’t hear you.”

“Because- because it extended its metal claws and opened a portal and left- stop laughing! That’s what happened!”

“Shane,” said Dylan between laughter, “you’re a bad drunk, man.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Some folk tales really were just drunk tales.

#Danny Phantom #Wulf #Supernatural #SuperPhantom #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #ectoberweek2022 #ectober week 2022 #ectober week #ectober #ectober 2022 #day thirty-one #folk tales

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bongo-clash · 2 years

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Peacock Au Part 3

(Part One & Two here!!!)

Continuation of the Eldritch Danny DPxDC fic!!!! This is Kind Of the final chapter but Bones has also been making my brain go So Wild with other ideas so!!! Big chance they'll be more parts at some point (probably after Ectober week if I do!!)

Either Way Here It Is

(Fic under cut!!) (+ Part 4 Here)

Constantine makes the executive decision not to explain anything to Batman until the other League members are gathered in the watchtower meeting room. Maybe not his best choice, evidenced for the most part by the seething glare the vigilante is shooting him from his place at the head of the table, but still, John really doesn’t want to have to talk about this any more than he has to. It’s already going to be a pain in his side as is.

It doesn’t take long for the rest to appear through the zeta tubes. Superman and Wonder Woman predictably arriving first of the lot, followed by Zatanna, the Flash, and then Green Lantern. Once they’re all settled and he figures this is all the people that’ll be showing up today, he deigns to begin speaking. He might’ve appreciated a bit of a higher attendance rate, but he’ll take it.

“Alright, you lot,” He starts, just as the Green Lantern opens his mouth, likely to ask what this whole meeting is for. “I believe we’ve got a little bit of a situation on our hands.”

“Situation how, Constantine.” Batman asks, eyes narrowed behind the cowl, the furthest thing from a question.

Constantine sighs deeply, fingers fidgeting in his coat pocket for a cigarette even if he knows he can’t smoke in the watchtower (maybe he could just hold one…). In lieu of looking the man in the face, however, he addresses everyone else in the room. “Well, see, the Bat here had a Pit forming in his territory, and he decided it’d be a bloody brilliant idea to call me for help instead of literally anyone else. The good news is the Pit’s gone. The bad news is I’m pretty sure the thing that got rid of it is worse.”

A few of them make faces, since if Constantine’s involved then this is definitely a magic problem, and none of them are fans of magic problems- Superman looks like he’s trying not to twitch. “Can you describe it?”

“Not properly, no. Big, bright, bit of a space theme going on? Had these horrible things on them, kept changing between eyes and mouths and hands- used those to reach out and get rid of the Lazarus Pit, ‘far as I could see. They knew I was doing it for the Big Bat even though I never said a word about it, and from what I understand, they wanted a favour for sorting it out. I don’t know what they want it for.”

Batman’s face is unreadable, but there’s a scrutiny there that permeates the air around him. “So you discovered the existence of a powerful, unknown entity, and not only did you deign to summon it into our world, but you then proceeded to make a deal with it as well, completely unaware of the potential consequences.”

“In my defence,” Constantine retorts. “This is entirely your fault for getting me involved. I’ve no clue why you thought coming to me was a solid plan in the first place.”

There’s a storm brewing beneath that bat mask, but Wonder Woman intercepts before it can descend into a full-blown argument. “Now is no time to be assigning blame, we need a plan. Do you know of any way we can attain more information on this being, Constantine?”

“Not the foggiest,” He replies simply. “The only thing the book said was that it could help with the Pits. When I asked the damn thing what it was, it just gave me a riddle and, quite frankly, I wasn’t going to push it. So unless Zatanna has anything, I’ve got nothing.”

The whole table turns to look at Zatanna. She has a contemplative look on her face, pausing for the moment presumably to run through the information in her head. “Well, there’s a lot of entities around whose existences centre on keeping the balance between realms or concepts, but this is the first I’ve heard about anything like this. The closest thing I could think of is maybe Pariah Dark, since he’s known to have a connection to the Lazarus Pits, but he’s been out of commission for centuries now, and he’s never been depicted at all the way you described…”

“…And I know for a fact that his summoning ritual requires a blood sacrifice, and this thing didn’t want blood.” Constantine finishes.

Zatanna makes a sour face, seeming to understand his implications, and the remaining non-magic members of the JL look appropriately disturbed. He thinks the worst thing about it for them is probably that there’s no real way to plan this out. They’ve got no power list, no strengths, no weaknesses, they don’t even really know what the entity is beyond its relation to the Lazarus Pits and even that’s an area of questionability, because the Pits are damn confusing on their own. If this thing shows up on them now, they’re screwed.

And just as the thought crosses his mind, there’s a tangible shift in the watchtower atmosphere, like the air’s thinning and closing in on itself at the same time. He looks at Zatanna with matching confusion, praying to gods he’s never met and that don’t like him that he hasn’t just managed to jinx himself in the worst way possible.

“Do you feel that?” He says, and it doesn’t look like it’s only the other magic user in the room that does, because a fair few of the remaining League are pulling expressions Constantine really doesn’t like. Please, please say he hasn’t jinxed himself.

There’s a sound like whale song and whistling as something comes up through the floor, and there’s not enough languages on Earth or beyond to encapsulate how many swears John wants to say right now.

But it’s not the entity.

Or at least, it doesn’t look like the entity, even if it certainly feels like it. It kind of looks like a teenager, of all the awful things. They have flare-white hair, bright, sheepish green eyes, and they’re wearing what Constantine thinks is a hazmat suit but doesn’t know enough about hazardous material protection to say for certain. No alarms going off, no doors opening or shutting, no signals at all; just a weird breeze, and the few seconds of warning that gives before the being appeared. That’s worrying. The way the League doesn’t even say anything is more so.

“Hi,” They start, after what feels like an eternity of silence, and oh boy, they really do sound about twelve. Constantine doesn’t know how to deal with children, let alone ones that can just phase into the most secure superhero base in Earth’s orbit. This is awful. “Okay, so, I feel like we got off on the wrong foot yesterday, so I just wanted to, y’know, rectify my first impression? Uh, sorry if I came across sort of… weird.”

Everyone looks at the glowing kid. Everyone looks at each other. No one knows what to say. Flash decides to be the one to break the silence with a cough. “That’s great, kid! Uh… who are you, though?”

“Oh!” They startle. “Right. Me and Constantine met yesterday- I think I kind of scared him? It was by accident, though, I promise! I’d just had a long day, y’know? I didn’t know I was gonna get summoned and I wasn’t thinking so everything just kind of happened.”

No way.

No. No way in Hell.

“You are not that thing I summoned yesterday.”

And he knows, he knows entities like that tend to have forms more palatable for mortal eyes, but after seeing that yesterday, his brain just cannot for the life of it connect it to this. This child floating mid-air in a base he shouldn’t be able to access, with big huge earnest eyes and a painfully youthful face. One that seems to have reached a realisation.

“Ah,” He says, smile just a little bit wry. “Fair enough, I did look kinda different then. Just- here, this should look a little more familiar?”

It’s not a full shift. He doesn’t contort into the same mind-searing thing that Constantine had had to bear yesterday- but his eyes scatter into neon spots across his face, nose and mouth left intact, the neck of his jumpsuit folds into the creases of an open eye, and those peacock-membrane-whatevers fall into fruition on his back, drifting like a cape or like spines. And just to top it all off, there’s a dinky little crown floating above his head, decorated with icicles and whispers of mist.

It’s not a full shift, but Constantine’s never going to forget those damn cosmic peacock feathers. No mistaking it: that’s the entity. Forget yesterday, this is the worst day of his life.

“What the Hell is happening right now.” Green Lantern flatlines, face dulled into non-understanding. Constantine thinks he feels the same way but worse.

He takes a deep, cleansing breath, and tries not to scream. “You’re the one who sorted the Pit problem out?”

“Uh, yep, that’s me.”

“Okay, great! Fantastic. Can you tell me what the Hell that whole deal was?”

What’s left of the maybe teenager’s face drops somewhat, and a gloved hand reaches up to rub at the back of what’s left of his neck. “Ha, right, yeah sorry.” He mumbles, and Constantine kind of feels bad, but he’s also still kind of suffering from the adrenaline high of meeting the guy yesterday, so he guesses they’re even now.

“So, I mean, I don’t usually look like that? It is my true form or whatever, but I’m not really… I don’t hang about in it too often. Gives people the heebie jeebies, y’know? I don’t want to scare people out of nowhere, especially not for a first meeting! But I was about to go to sleep last night when you summoned me, and I wanted to shift my form a little just to be more formal about the whole thing, but I guess I let the whole thing go by accident, and I didn’t realise at all until I got home. And if I was in that form by accident- I usually go with ghostspeak during summonings ‘cause it’s easier in that way and there’s usually translation sigils embedded in the circle- but if I was in that form by accident, then I was probably using a different dialect to the one I thought I was, so if I sounded kind of off, then that’s why. Again, really sorry about that. This was totally not how I wanted my first impression with the Justice League to go. You’re all really cool, y’know? I wanted to get off on the right foot and not the ‘let’s fight each other’ foot.”

Constantine blinks, opens his mouth, closes his mouth, and then blinks again. He’s sure there’s a reasonable response to this that can be expressed in a sentence somewhere, but right now he’s too enamoured with how utterly absurd this is. He genuinely, honestly does not know what’s worse: that this kid can turn into that, or that he can turn into that and it’s so natural he doesn’t even notice.

Still, as consistent as the sun sets, Batman’s the first one to break the stupor, interjecting with narrowed eyes. “How do we know you’re not a threat to us? We don’t even know who you are.”

“Uh,” The kid splutters. “I didn’t introduce myself. My name’s Danny.”

“Danny.” Batman replies flatly.

“It’s a nice name!” Danny, apparently, defends, looking about as stupefied as someone can without eyes on their face. The dinky little crown drifts after him when he moves his head. “And, um, I don’t know how to prove I’m not a threat? I mean, I closed up that Lazarus Pit for you, if that counts as being helpful in a non-threatening way?”

If anything, Constantine would think that makes someone more threatening. “You said you wanted a favour for it, that you were going to ‘find your recompense’.”

“No I didn’t?” Danny says incredulously, before he pauses and his lips part in an O. “Right, translation error, duh. I uh, didn’t actually say that, that’s just how the sigils took it I think. You don’t owe me anything. It might be nice to get some help if I’m ever in a bind or something, but we didn’t make a deal or a pact or anything, you just asked for help, so I helped.

His brain completely shuts down, blue-screen style. This isn’t how this type of thing goes. There’s no way this is that easy. “You seriously don’t want anything.”

“I mean, an autograph might be nice. My friend thinks you and batman are cool.”

“You don’t think the rest of us are cool?” Flash complains, because that’s exactly what he’s supposed to be getting out of this conversation and not how utterly insane it is.

Danny, the kid that’s going to be giving him nightmares and is already giving him migraines, has the audacity to look embarrassed. “I think you’re cool; obviously you’re all cool, you’re the Justice League! My friend’s just into the edgier members, I guess? She’s goth.”

“Oh? So who’s your favourite?” Why is no one acknowledging that the incomprehensible cosmic horror just called him edgy. Why are they just moving past this.

“…Martian Manhunter and Green Lantern. I really like space.”

Yeah, no shit, he’s made of it.

Constantine genuinely wants to pass out. He wants Batman to get him over the head with a batarang; he wants Superman to tap him on the forehead and give him a concussion, just- anything not to be here right now. This might not even be the weirdest thing that’s happened to him, but he’s hating every minute of it. This kid’s talking and existing like it’s nothing but even as the conversation begins to border on casual the atmosphere is still thick, nearly physical with the chill and the chiming of bells and the way something shifts every time those peacock feathers waver behind him.

Right now, John really, truly does not care if this entity’s playing some kind of twisted long con to trick them into sacrificing their souls or something equally as horrifying. He just wants to go home and forget anything ever happened. “So, you’re not a malicious entity.” Constantine states finally, putting an end to any further back-and-forth that he’d managed to tune out.

“I promise you I’m not.” Danny replies seriously, even as his features shift back to something more human-looking that only seems like it’s trying and failing to hide something bigger underneath it now.

Constantine puts his hands in his pockets, and turns straight to the door. “Brilliant news. I’m leaving now. I hope we never have to see each other again.” The League and that kid can do whatever they want, but Constantine swears on everything he holds sacred that he’s not touching any of it with a ten-foot pole. He never wants to have to deal with anything like this again, and he is never agreeing to do Batman another favour.

#sorry it's late!!! I've had a Weird™ few days #Also sorry if it reads a bit funky or anything I tried my best #I really want to do more for this au though so hopefully I'll be posting about it again in November after Ectober week!!#Maybe even for that DPxDC event!!#dp fic #dp fanfic #danny phantom fic #danny phantom fanfiction #dpxdc #ghost king danny #(Implied)#eldritch danny #danny phantom #john constantine #Bongo's Aus!!!#Bongo's Writing!!!#peacock au

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sykloni · 1 year

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Ectober 2022

30. Shiver

#danny phantom #ectoberweek2022 #ectober #(Just Danny freezing himself from the inside)#(I was planning on doing the whole week traditional art but oh well)

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drawnale · 1 year

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Day 30 Shiver

Cold boy.

#danny phantom #ectoberhaunt 2022 #ectoberhaunt22 #ectoberweek2022 #ectober week 2022 #day 30 #shiver #fanart #artist on tumblr #my art #danny fenton

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nyk-is-always-lurking · 6 months

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Dora my beloved

#ectoberhaunt23 #eh magic #Day 24 #Dora #princess dorathea #nyk did art #yippee #hip hip #I’m done!#I might do ectober week #but in my own time #but burnt out rn #:(#usually I would power through but I’m busy #with irl stuff #ughhhh

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jus-a-lil-mouse · 7 months

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In the small sleepy town of Roswell, Illinois, lights flicker off as the day comes to a quiet end. And yet - a hero arrives to save us all. A guardian angel begins her fight against a formidable adversary. A wayward son finally returns home. A grocery store owner takes a final inventory before closing shop. And a young vagabond prepares to reconnect with friend and foe alike. And above them all, high up in the clear Illinois night, inhuman lights begin flickering on.

A small companion piece to @this-is-z-art-blog ‘s Ectober2023 piece for Oct 6! More information/character details below.

Valliant: Valerie’s character! I picture her weapons being discs with a sharp blade on the edge, and she can use them for melee attacks or “throw” them for ranged ones. They come back to her when thrown, unless they are caught or get stuck in something. She is the Chosen of a group called the Red Hunters, who protect the world from alien invasion. And definitely DON’T secretly intend to take over the world using fear rhetoric/anti-alien propaganda.

Simcha: Sam’s character! ‘Simcha’ (meaning ‘joy’) is Z’s headcanon for Sam’s Hebrew name, and the character is a Jewish angel. Driven towards and created for a singular purpose, her mission is to hunt the Red Hunters and stop them from taking over. However, she doesn’t want to harm their Chosen, believing that there is still time to dissuade her from this path.

Trey: Tucker’s character! A handsome man with a mysterious past. Except for his childhood - that was spent here, in Roswell, where he grew up with his best friend Donnie. When Trey left after high school to try and discover the origin and mysteries of the lights above town, he stayed in touch only with his dear friend. And when things in Roswell started getting weird, Donnie called him home again.

Donnie: Danny’s character! A local man. The owner of the town’s grocery store and a friend to all, Donnie grew up here and plans to stay here all his life. Like most people, he claims the lights are stars and airplanes, and focuses on living his normal life. Eventually he can’t ignore the strange, extraterrestrial happenings - especially after nearly being abducted - and when things start getting even weirder? He knows exactly who to call.

Dahlia: Danielle’s character! A wandering lone wolf-type person, they’ve been adventuring all across the continent. Sometimes taking seasonal jobs for a bit of cash - and sometimes just taking what they need - they do what they can to help people. A dear friend of Valliant, and a former apprentice of Trey’s, they can’t wait to get to Roswell and meet up with two of their favorite people for a good alien-blasting.

Jazz: Is GMing! Swiftly deciding this was NOT the group to run a ghostly game for, she pivoted to aliens, knowing that Danny would enjoy the outer space of it all. Her younger brother and his friends are all teens with Problems, and this is the closest she can get to taking them to therapy. Her campaign involves the group slowly learning that aliens aren’t dangerous, but quite friendly and curious, and needing to go against the Powers That Be to aid them.

#danny phantom #dp #ectober 2023 #ectoberhaunt23 #monster of the week #motw #motw x dp #character sheets #valliant the chosen #simcha the divine #trey the expert #donnie the mundane #dahlia the spell-slinger #jazz the gm

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leporidaisical · 2 years

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Ectoberhaunt day 4 - Box/Staff

[ID: A digital portrait of Freakshow from Danny Phantom, a human in a long coat, top hat and bow tie, stood facing the viewer and leaning on his cane, which glows, casting him in a harsh red light and deep shadows. There is a black and white hypnotic swirl in the background. End ID.]

@ectoberhaunt

#danny phantom #dp freakshow #ectoberhaunt22 #eh chaos #day 4 #staff #eye contact tw #eye strain #mind control mention #my art #tagging the ectober blog bc apparently blogs have to be a certain age before they start showing up in tags #which makes sense i guess #but. :(#no idea how long ill have to wait before i show up in tags either #a day? a few days? a week? a month? no clue #just ''a little while''#maybe this one will show up #heck if i know #Edit: ayy i just checked - im in the tags now. must be 24h then

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ecto-mochi · 6 months

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Ectober Day 1 - Will-o-wisps

Words: 630ish

Don't follow the will-o-wisps.

They appear every year in Amity Park, right on October 1st. Like starlight, flickering in the rough autumn breeze. Floating on rooftop's edges, in damp alleyways, congregating in the darkness of the nasty burger's back lot.

Don't follow the will-o-wisps. The teens say you can hear them whispering, that if you look too closely at one's flame you can glimpse the blinding, oxygenated burn of a life lived so brutally fast that there wasn't enough tinder left to keep it going.

The brighter the flame, the harder they fall. The highschoolers put them in glass mason jars and shake them around like fireflies. Hold a piece of cardboard close, too close, until it begins to smoke a dark chemical green, the smell of rusting copper filling the air.

The adults never try to stop them - not until it’s all burning down. Before anyone knows better there’s nothing left but cinder and debris on the scorched and ashen ground. Another family in ruins, the most recent headline reads. Overnight, the obituary has gained yet another unfamiliar face.

The wisps don't hurt when you touch them; not at first. But they leave a hollow scar, one that lingers in the depths of your soul and burns away at your hope and being until only ashes remain. The parents never see that, and the kids never seem to care. After all, they aren’t truly following the wisps, and who are they to heed that old and superstitious warning? So they play games in the brief reprieve of a passing period, on the floors of dirty bathrooms and after-school clubs. Who can stare at the flame the longest? Are you brave enough to slowly unscrew the lid and lift it up and away, as far as you can go before the wisp jolts and you slam it down with all your might? How hard must you try to be strong and fearless? Is it ever enough? Can you see the wisp lightly tapping against the glass, how it taps and taps and taps and taps until finally

crack

and now it's too late. The rooftop is empty and the alleyways are full and wet and reek of gunsmoke and iron.

Don't follow them, it’s really just that easy! The high school puts up posters that tell the kids just the same, in bright friendly fonts that wield fearful statistics and overblown facts. Use (buy) a Fenton will-destroyer, it'll keep the wisps away for good! Talk to a friend (a trusted adult) if you see one, they'll know how to handle it, handle you. This doesn’t stop the kids; who collect them nonetheless. How many can you fit in that little glass jar? Cram them together like pills in a bottle, keep them on your bedside table for whatever silly little story you've decided to fear.

(But don’t keep too many - or else the school will call a meeting. They’ll see you for what you are, you damned delinquent. They’ll look your parents in the eyes and tell them how problematic you are, how much help you need.

You don’t need help, though. Right?)

The next day, the entire school is called to the auditorium. They all file in, exchanging gossip, cramming themselves down into poorly padded theater chairs. Above the careless chatter of the students, a teacher begins to speak. Another fire. Another child lost to the wisps. They meant so much to us, we must keep their friends and parents in our hearts. Make sure to tell us if you see a wisp, if you hear it calling. You’ll be safe with us, with whatever choices we make for you. Just don’t burn down and it’ll all be okay.

So yes, don’t follow the will-o-wisps - and to think - today is only October 3rd!

#danny phantom #ectober 2023 #let's pretend this isn't late for ectober week AND that I haven't not posted in over a year and that I had time to edit thoroughly #lmao #but hey! I wrote :3 anyways see you all either this winter or uh. next year oof

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jhdanes · 6 months

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@ectoberweekofficial day 25: the souls are calling, will you join them #Will-o'-wisps

#ectober week 2023 #ectoberweek23 #danny phantom #will o the wisp #ghost #macabre #fanart #art #digital art #my art #myart

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five-rivers · 1 year

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Ancestral 12

As a heads-up, this will probably be the last chapter of Ancestral for a while, as I will be attempting NaNoWriMo this year, and this ends on a cliffhanger.

The sudden dissolution of 'Vivian' and Sophia's howl seemed to be enough to finally spur security into action. Danny could understand why they didn't act, and in some respects he was glad they didn't, because it would have been even odds what side they would have jumped in on, but still.

Maybe he would have been less exasperated if an angry-looking group of them hadn't started to box him in. What? Did they still think that had been Vivian after it attacked both Sophia and Matthew with a knife?

"What are you doing?" asked a harried Mr. Kynbaz, interrupting what was probably going to be an interesting fight. "You were supposed to take him to the rest of the family. Danny, Matthew wants to speak with you before he gets sent to the hospital."

"Right," said Danny, going to his side. "What about Mom and Dad?"

Maddie and Jack had been separated from Matthew and Sophia, and, more notably, the vehicles the rest of the family had been hustled off to.

"They did shoot at Matthew with live ammunition."

"Yes," said Danny as they walked, "and I threw a knife in his general direction. What's the difference?"

"You didn't miss."

“That can’t be it.”

Mr. Kynbaz glanced down at him, then took to scanning the surroundings again. “Regent Matthew trusted you. When you said it wasn’t Vivian, he moved. He didn’t even trust Princess Madeline that much.”

Well, yeah. Matthew knew Maddie’s opinion on ghosts. Of course he wouldn’t trust her on anything about them.

Except… most people would assume Danny and Jazz were the same way, wouldn’t they? Matthew knew better, because he’d been spying on them, but other people? Not so much. He worried at the bottom of his lip. That would be… complicated. It was already complicated.

On the same subject, there really wasn’t a lot to distinguish… whoever had been wearing Vivian’s face from a regular ghost. So maybe there were more people who’d assume that was Vivian’s ghost and that she was… really mad at her mother and Matthew for some reason.

Hopefully, most people would realize that didn’t make sense. Mad enough to pull a knife on them. Did Vivian know how to use knives? She probably had some combat training; Danny wasn’t sure how codified into the law it was, but the royal family had a thing about being able to fight…

Security around Matthew parted and let Danny walk by.

There was something strange about the air. A sort of electric weight. Danny breathed in, deeply. He couldn’t smell any ozone.

“Dannyl,” said Matthew, eyes flicking up and to the side.

Danny followed his gaze. Cameras. Danny hadn’t realized Matthew had let them get so close. “Regyn Mathyw,” Danny replied, having to take a moment to remember the proper term for regent. What was Matthew planning? Belatedly, he tacked on a tiny bow.

He was very bad at this.

Matthew held out his hand, and Danny took it, hoping he was reading the signals right. It’d really suck if Matthew had been going for some other gesture.

“Keswyn,” said Matthew, then he looked at the cameras. “We knywet…” We know that there are many questions, and some of them are ours as well. Even so, let us answer a few before we must depart. It is clear, now, that in our midst was a false face, come to beguile us and sow discord. Even so, I was fooled, and who could trust the council of those who raise weapons against a loved face, when they in turn have proved false before? But we are blessed in this, that we knew we had been blessed with–

Danny tensed, realizing what was about to happen, and Matthew paused, looking only slightly apologetic.

“We knywet that or kynekyn…” We knew that our family had been blessed with a true syvyr.

Damnit.

Needless to say, everyone wanted to ask Matthew and Danny questions after that. He didn’t particularly feel like answering them. Matthew answered some before the medics finally insisted on taking him away.

Danny returned to Basym Hyws over half an hour after everyone else, in a different car. Armored, of course.

“...viously some kind of propaganda stunt,” said the woman on the British news program playing on the TV in the media room in Basym Hyws as Danny walked into the room. All eyes turned to him, then away, back to the screen. “I don’t know what the state of education in Avlynys is, but for Matthew Doris to try something like this, it must be atrocious.”

“Sweet Jesus’s Ghost,” muttered Iris. “Try that one out when you can pronounce our last name right, British hag. I know dockworkers better educated than you.”

“Taking a look at their social media,” said one of the other person on the screen, “it appears that many Avlynians believe that Prince Daniel–”

“Oh my gosh, why are they calling me that?” asked Danny. “Don’t they have title attenuation over there, too?”

“Hush,” said Jazz, tossing a pillow at him.

“--slew a creature out of local folklore, something called an ‘evil face.’”

There was a collective groan.

“I can’t believe the international press is judging our family over this,” said Iris. “They caught that– that thing on camera.” She stilled, then twisted to stare at Danny, who was picking his way through the chairs to the seat next to Jazz. “Do you know what it was?”

“Uh,” said Danny, “other than a–” He stumbled over terminology for a second. Most people here would consider ghost to mean dead person, which wasn’t always the case. “--spirit,” he finished with a shrug.

“How’d you know it wasn’t Vivian?” asked Leo. He looked, and sounded, like he’d been crying.

“Um,” said Danny, floundering. He’d never had so many people aware of his powers before. It was uncomfortable. He didn’t know how much to say or not say. “Because I’d seen Vivian. Earlier. That wasn’t her.”

“You saw her?” asked Lewis with a sharp intake of breath. “Is she here now?”

“No,” said Danny, “she went with your mom to the hospital.”

“Did she say anything?”

“No,” said Danny. “They can’t– None of them can really talk.”

“There’s more than–”

“H-hey,” said George, running worry beads through his fingers. “Are we– Are we really believing all this now? This is kind of… No offense, but this is all kind of… wild, isn’t it?”

“Are we doubting the proof of our own eyes now?” asked Iris. There was a slight waver in her voice.

“Mass hysteria is a thing.”

“Yeah, for the nocebo effect and dancing mania. Not for your dead cousin showing up and starting to stab people while your lunatic cousins shoot sci-fi laser guns and your baby cousin turns out to be psychic. That’s not mass hysteria, that’s a– a full blown break with reality. I’m not sure that’s even psychosis anymore, George!” At this point, Iris was on her feet, screaming, looming over her twin.

“Iris,” said Jazz, “are you–”

“I’m not okay! God! Dad almost died again, and you’re going to pretend we hallucinated it?” She whirled and stabbed a finger at Danny. “You! Did Vivian tell you who killed her? Was it that spirit? What about the poison?”

“You don’t ask ghosts how they died,” said Danny, vaguely disturbed, inching away. “That’s dangerous.”

“Did you find out, then?”

Danny raised his hands defensively. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do?”

“Try. Harder.” Iris spun and stalked out of the room. There was the sound of a door slamming and something glass breaking.

“I’ll go talk to her,” said George, quickly getting up.

“And,” said the TV, which hadn’t been turned off, “get this. The Fentons are ghost hunters.”

“Seriously?”

“One hundred percent. Jack Fenton is actually descended from a witch hunting family that made a name for themselves in the sixteen hundreds.”

“Wow, a whole family of crazy murderers. They’re letting these people run a country?”

Danny stared up at the ceiling, begging for patience. “Why are we even watching this?”

“Intel,” said Eugene. “Pays to be informed. And it’s the most watched foreign news program in the country.”

“Great,” said Danny. “Where’s your Mom?”

“Sleeping,” said Eugene. “Tonight was a bit much for her. What about your parents? Jazz was really nervous about that. And you, of course.”

“I wasn’t nervous,” said Jazz, who indeed appeared to be rather relaxed, compared to how tense she sometimes got. “Just concerned. But Mr. Kynbaz kept me updated about you.”

Danny sighed. “They’re at the security checkpoint down the hill. Apparently firing weapons at the acting head of state is frowned upon in this country. Matthew has to get some paperwork together to officially pardon them or something.”

“But you did see them?”

“Yeah,” said Danny. He didn’t like them being so far away, but he’d be downright anxious if he hadn’t seen them there.

“Good,” said Jazz, relaxing… Well. Not the rest of the way, but a hair more. “I’m exhausted.”

“Yeah,” said Danny. He rubbed his eyes. The night might have been a disaster, but no one had died and everyone was accounted for.

Except for Aunt Alicia, but she might just be refusing to come before her harvest was put up or something like that. Or maybe the people they sent couldn’t find Spitoon. The town was barely larger than a postage stamp.

“The whole thing reads like something out of a fantasy novel. The estranged prince no one knew about until this year saves the king and is knighted.”

“Is that what syvyr means? It’s untranslated on most of the sites.”

“More or less,” asserted the idiot they’d gotten on the show.

“Okay,” said Danny. “I’ve already had enough of this. I’m going to bed, too.”

Everyone’s phones cheeped or rang or beeped. Danny pulled his out of an inner pocket and opened the text he’d just received. It had been forwarded from Matthew’s phone, as he was apparently out of commission. It was from one of the security teams in America.

Located Princess Alicia in St. Southern Hospital. Staff claims she’s been in a coma since mid-January. Please advise.

#danny phantom #ectober week #ectober week 2022 day 7: folk tales #ectoberweek22 #ancestral fic

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ghostly-penumbra · 2 years

Text

Ectober Werk 2022. Day Twenty-five

"Forest"

He thinks about the body in the woods sometimes.

Hard to forget where you are buried.

Ao3 FFN

Summary: The Amity Park forest is haunted, in many and varied ways.

Warning: Implied death, murder, drug usage and sexual situations among minors.

- - -

The Amity Park forest is haunted, you need only hear the screams coming from the thick darkness of it.

If you pass by in the night, you will hear the howling of the animals deep within yourself, hollowing you from the inside out until you're shaking like an autumn leaf, about to fall off from the tree that is your life.

Whatever you do, don't follow the laughter. Don't follow the melodious singing and the hollers of youthful joy, because if children can be cruel, teenagers more so, and they wait for you to lower your guard and think them your friends.

Do not harm the fauna here, it is protected by s̶͈̹̭͉͚̬̯̠̰̳̮̫̪̞̐́͂̃́̓́̇́̈́͛͜͠͠ȏ̶̘͔̺m̷̡̛̘̮̙̜̹͕͈̖̲̟̍́͆͐͑̾ȅ̸̱̽̒̒̆̍̎̇o̷̟͙̟̖͂̔͛̿͌͛̐̀̑͒͊̀̑̒͐ń̴̠̊͆̈́̒́̒͋̏e̶̩̹̱͓̱̽̒͒͛ else. There is only one hunter here, and if you try to take his post, you will find you have become the prey.

If you see the pale boy with the white hair and the green eyes, and he asks for help, help him. He will take you through the thickness, and know exactly where to turn, when to duck, how to step around the obstacles on your path. Soon, you will start seeing the light filter through the treetops, making the dust dance in the air around you.

D̶̛͙̹͇̹̈́̓̌̏͑͛̇̊͘̚͝͝ǫ̶̢̝̳̳̼̥̱͈̣͕́͑̈́͛̉ ̵̨̧̫̼̖̩̝̦̌̉̎̀̍̒́̿͋̿͋̊̍n̴̥̹̝̯̣̪̹̺̣̞͈̽͂̈̓́̀̓̏̅̚͜͠͝o̶̖̽̔̾̀̽̀̆͐̌̀͗͠t̴̳̦̰̜͐̈́̎̈́̀̈́͘͝ ̴̫̦̤̬̹͔̺͆͋ḽ̵̨̮̦̘̤̗̹͆͜ͅͅǒ̴̞̲̳́̓̇̏̕͘ö̷̡̮̤̯̝̝̭̪̪̪͕̥́̏̏́̐̓̅̄͋̈́̈͘̚͜͜͝k̷̼̜̭͎̈͛͂͋̕̕ ̷̬̘̥̟̹̫̭͕̞̬̱̮̝́͌̔̉͒̊̈́̌̓ḇ̴̢̢̻̝̦͖̩̙̯̝̌́͂́͑̈́̎̅̍̃́̓͜͝ȩ̷̨̨̯̗͈̠͖̜̘͎͈̳̫̗̈͗́̀̈͛̃́̀͠y̵͇̠̰̬͍̓̂ǫ̵͇̥͉̜̮̭̖̲̔̐͐̿̏͘n̶̢̰̩̙̦͕̖͇͇̋̓͆̍̓͐͐̈́̕͜ͅd̷̛͕̰̤̞̩͛̉̈̾̎̃̆̀͛͝͠ ̵̩͓̜̭̹̲̪̝̤̲̼̦͗̆̎̊̄͠ͅͅţ̷̡̫͚̱͓̦̬̞̦̥̦̮̫̆ḧ̵̦̠̻͈̦̮́̍̇̑̓͝ë̵͚͕̫̎̀̑̕ṃ̶̡̬͙̺̹̤̬̯̹̓̎̈̋͐͊͗̔̐̌̓͝.̸̨̯̦͈̝̖̜̺̲̾́̃̈̎̄̄͋̐̈́̅͘̚͜ͅ

The boy will take you to the clearing, with joyous birds singing, beautiful blue flowers blooming at your feet, and the sound of the running river nearby. The boy will smile and take you by your hand as you look, speechless, at his unmoving form three feet under you. His hair will be black as the feathers of the ravens singing around you, and his eyes the pale blue of the sky above your head, beyond the treetops where you m̸̋��̪͈͉̙͖̟͔͗̽̓͒̆̋͆̓u̵̡̱͉͌̀̽́̅̃s̸̢̨̠̫̦̣̪̜͛̄͠ṱ̶̨̳͍͖̯̪͈́̿̽́̒̅͗̒̈́͘͜ņ̸̗̲̯̱̼̺̤͉͎͋͂͗̒̋̈́̒͂͘'̸̨̘̲͚̊̍̍̄̃̉̈́́̽̚͘͝t̵̡̤̭͖̹͍̰̞̻͕̝̃̒̒̌́̂͠ look —though some are reminded more of ice, like the one running down your spine when you look into those dead eyes—, but it will be him and you will know it. And as you look upon his half-buried corpse, the boy will push you into the second hole, which he dug himself for you.

You will lie there, unmoving, wordlessly watching him throw shovel after shovel of dirt on you; you won't complain, you won't say a thing, because dead men tell no tales.

You didn't heed my advice, you howled with the wolves and the wild dogs, you laughed and took delight in the carnal and the drugs as you sang your throat raw, you hunted and were hunted in turn so as to know what is like to be predator and be prey.

The boy cried for you and took you to your grave, but don't worry, for he is kind; far kinder than I was with him, and the one before me was in turn. He will bury you properly, and put the blue iris that grows in the clearing atop your grave, and speak on how you will be missed. There won't be need for coins in your eyes, neither of you had any after you followed the laughter of the manic youth, but he will make sure you cross the river nonetheless.

You may rest in peace, as do I, even as the boy stays back, trapped in the forest.

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