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storyofmychoices · 4 months

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The Princess of Parnassus and The Trophy Husband

[Mal Volari x Daenarya Blades 1 + Beyond] [Mal’s Orphanage]

[Mal Volari x Daenarya Blades 2 AU]

Pairings: Mal Volari x Daenarya (F!OC), with mentions of Iliana

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow 2 (post finale)

Word Count: ~1,000

Rating/Warnings: General, no warnings (for maybe the first time ever)

Synopsis: Daenarya and Mal enjoy a much needed relaxing afternoon while contemplating what comes next.

Thank you to the absolutely amazing @cashweasel for this perfect art. I've been holding onto it for months now waiting for a story worthy of it. Once this idea popped into my head, it felt like the right time. (A second version of the art can be found below the story)

A moment of peace,

finally.

That's what they deserved.

No more danger, no more life-altering choices, no more world-ending destruction. No more dealing with the aftermath.

The Realm had been saved, again—technically two realms this time.

More portals had been opened to allow for easier crossing between both realms. New guidance and orders were established. All was progressing toward a new future.

And, in a brief lull between it all, Iliana was born—their greatest gift.

Daenarya drew in a deep breath, savoring the gentle caress of the breeze as it wove through her hair. She hadn't seen rest since... well, since before all of it. Before her daughter. Before the new agreement between sides. Before the war between the realms. Before she had been taken. Before the Dreadlord. Before she'd met her found family. Before Kade had been taken. Before Mal Volari strutted into her life. How long ago that seemed.

So much had changed. So much was still changing, but one thing that hadn't changed in quite a while was him and how she felt about him.

The afternoon sun bathed the field in its soft, golden embrace, illuminating the sea of windflowers gently swaying. Above them, the air filled with the melodic song of birds flitting amongst the grasses. Daenarya smiled at the beautiful symphony around her.

Her nimble fingers wove delicate blooms together, putting the final touches on the crown she was crafting for Mal, mirroring his efforts for her.

"A crown fitting for a princess," Mal teased, showcasing his completed creation. It was a brilliant assortment of wildflower blossoms expertly entwined into an elegant crown.

"I'm not sure about the princess part—" she shook her head playfully. "—but it's beautiful."

"May I?" He held it out to her.

"Of course." She dipped her head forward, allowing him to place the beautiful display upon her head. A gentle smile spread across her features as she let her hand linger over his for a moment.

"Shall I send word that you are ready to reclaim the Parnassus name and embrace your kingdom?" Mal inquired, his gaze fixed on her, his smile matching that of her own.

"You're never going to let me forget that, are you?" Daenarya rolled her eyes. She ran her fingers through the silky grass beside her, her thoughts wandering for a moment. "We don't even know how directly I'm related. I'm sure there are many other descendants equally entitled by blood, if not more so."

"None of them are as qualified though," Mal interrupted. "Kit, you've saved the damn realm, twice, and ensured a truce between Light and Shadows. Gods know if anyone deserved it, it'd be you."

She reached over, tracing the lines of his jaw before cradling his face. "I'm not starting a monarchy, Mal."

He pouted beneath her tender touch. "You're really going to take this from me?"

She couldn't stifle her laughter. "Take what from you?"

"My chance to be a trophy husband!" He declared proudly with a mischievous grin. "You're letting all of this go to waste." He gestured over his particularly exquisite features.

"Husband?" Her brow piqued at the word.

"I just mean—" His confidence faltered a moment, his fingers running sheepishly through his long hair. "You're right, this isn't about me... it's about you and if you'll use Parnassus as your surname now that you know about it, kingdom or not."

"I don't think it's right for me." Her thoughtful eyes met his, contemplating the weight of such a decision. "I've never had a last name before... I wasn't important enough to need one. I'm just Daenarya of Riverbend."

"You're so much more than that," Mal marveled. "You might be the most important person in all the realms."

"Might be?" She teased.

"Well, I like to think I helped a little," Mal insisted. "Even Elfboy did something, but don't tell him I said that."

"What about for you?"

"What about me?"

"How important am I?"

"Fishing for a compliment?" His gaze narrowed on her.

She chewed her lower lip, shrugging lightly, "mayyybeee."

He chuckled softly, "Kit... Daenarya, you're the most important person to me. I never dreamed I could find someone like you. Someone who—" He shook his head, his smile spreading wide. "Someone who I'd gladly risk my life for, over and over again, with no promise of treasure or reward, except that of keeping you safe and experiencing all life has to offer with you."

Daenarya leaned forward, quieting his words with a kiss. "I love you, Mal Volari."

"I love you so damn much…Daenarya of Riverbend, or whatever name you choose," he offered as she rested her forehead against his, savoring their closeness.

"I know," she whispered. "So…I might have an idea for a last name."

"Really?" He pulled back slightly, curious to hear what she was thinking.

A glint of amusement danced in her eyes. "What about…Volari?"

Mal's brow furrowed for a moment, confusion flickering across his features.

"I thought we might share it, you and I." Daenarya watched him closely, waiting for him to understand. “Iliana, too.”

Realization dawned upon Mal as her words sank in. "Are you proposing to me?"

"So what if I am?"

"Shouldn't I be the one proposing?" Mal teased lightly, though his heart pounded with anticipation.

Daenarya's laughter echoed across the serene landscape. "No, I think this is right for us."

"I don't know, Kit," he attempted to feign indecision, his fingers stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I always imagined when I got proposed to it would be this big grand gesture, and there would be a massive diamond involved."

"No diamond, Mal the Magnificent, but perhaps I can offer you another token of my appreciation." Daenarya shifted beside him, holding out the flower crown she had created for him. "Mal Volari, the Magnificent one, would you do me the honor of becoming my trophy husband, kingdom or no kingdom?"

He couldn't stop his joyous laughter. "With an offer that good, how could I say no?"

Daenarya no sooner placed the crown on his head than he pulled her into his arms, showering her with all the love and affection she deserved. There was no one he would rather spend forever with than her—Daenarya of Riverbend, soon to be Daenarya Volari. (But had she asked, he'd be Mal of Riverbend or whatever name she chose because being with her was the only constant he ever needed.)

I had this silly little idea and I hope you enjoy it. I figured since Mal is struggling to propose to Daenarya in my "Prime" aka book one universe, I thought it would be Daenarya proposing in this one.

Oh, and one more thing before you go.... the lovely Lou was amazing enough to give me 2 versions of this art. I initially asked for Short Haired Mal since Book Two would be introducing him, but I got cold feet and wanted my long-haired Mal, too, so Lou allowed me both versions. Though, if ever there was a good looking short haired Mal this is the one 😍

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bluerosefox · 2 years

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Danyal, Danny, Phantom.

Part 1 (Where the idea came from, very bare bones)

Okay wow, wasn’t expecting so many people wanting a part 2 tbh, also thank you for the follows as well (although IDK why you’d want to follow me, I’m random and rarely post sometimes.)

So before I get into this part 2, I just wanna make a few things clear.

I’m still new to DC/Batman most I know if from the animated series and I haven't seen it in ages, I have been able to get bits and pieces here and there though.

ANYONE is welcomed to use these ideas/concepts, just let me know, send me it, allow me to read it please. If anyone wants to draw some the ideas too that’ll be amazing, just let me know! I wanna see!

Also, I might, keyword MIGHT, actually write this idea into a story too, idk yet maybe. its been years since I wrote an actual fic tbh so I’m a little rusty. (You can actually see I used more of my writing style on this one compared to the last one tbh)

Also the reason I split these idea/concept into parts is the fact I tend to ramble and I knew if I wrote it on part 1 it would had gotten so long so here’s a fresh page with the rest of the ideas...

So the reason why I had this idea is because I read some fics where Ra’s always knows about Danny being either the Ghost King or a Halfa, or can fight him cause he has knowledge, I wanted a story where even Ra’s can be surprised and realizes there will ALWAYS be a ‘bigger’ fish even for that old ‘immortal’ (especially if Danny is Ra’s “failure of a heir.”)

Sorry this took a while, I wrote Part 1 at the end of me being sick by Covid, had to catch up on a few RL things, and legit a few days later my AC unit upstairs broke during a CA heatwave and it was pure HECK being in my room.

Danny is a little out of character but this is how I feel he'll be like with a year of being the Ghost King could be, along with the fact he has help from his friends and ghost friends as well. He's learned how to rule and has grown.

Oh be prepared, this is what happens when I’m allowed to ramble on ideas. This... This got rambly. (You should had seen this and part 3 together, it was so rambly)

So, a few things to note about Danny before we begin.

His name was is Danyal al Ghul (Wayne) Daniel “Danny” Fenton.

He was also known as (Ghost Boy, Ghost Child, Ghost Punk, Halfa) Danny Phantom

He also had other names as well such as The Great One, or Savoir of the Ghost Zone

But... for the last year he has been known as...

Ruler of the Infinite Realm, His Royal Highness King Phantom. Or as he would rather be simply referred to as (when he’s forced to have/use a title)...

The Ghost King.

...King Phantom also worked.

Simple yes, but Danny preferred it. (Again only when he’s forced to use a title, which sadly since being crowned the new King is most of the time now and only those close to him still call him Danny or at the very least Daniel (coughClockworkcough).

SO.... Its had been a year since Danny had been crowned the new Ghost King, sure he was still a teen and it was honestly very hard in the beginning. Learning the ins and outs of the royal courts, setting up his inner court (aka those he trusted), dealing with entitled nobles, and how to handle the the weight of the crown he now wore but he knew he didn't have to face it by himself. Well not all of it, there was a few things he did on his own in order to prove he's a fair King, but Danny honestly loved it when he could get together with his inner circle (more like family) and discuss the recent news of the Infinite Realm (which Danny learned was the actual name of the Ghost Zone, he long since switched to using that name over the one his parents coined), problems needing to be addressed, and upcoming important festivals or days (Danny knew of the Holiday Truce but he didn't know of any other Ghost holidays/festivals until his ghost friends explained them to him) along with a number of his Kingly duties. This was just barely touching the surface of what Danny had to do nearly daily and again it took a while but he eventually was getting the hang of being a King.

Funny enough one of those duties turned out to be healing the oozing scars the old Ghost King left on the Mortal Realm during his reign... because those scars eventually became the Lazarus Pits and had they been causing harm in the Mortal Realm.

By the Ancients, the Lazarus Pits.

That was something Danny hadn't been expecting to hear so soon after regaining his memories from before living with the Fenton’s. And when Clockwork explained it to him, a small smirk on the always age changing beings face, that all the Pits would eventually dry up thus they would no longer be able to revive the dead once Danny started healing them...

Danny had laughed when he had been told this information.

He laughed until he had started to cry. He had even laughed so hard he changed back from his ghost form to his living one and then back again because he lost breath from his laughter. (It actually concerned his friends, Dani and Jazz when this happened tbh) It took a while but when Danny’s laughter finally trailed into hiccups, light coughs, and deep breaths, Clockwork merely floated over and asked with all-knowing smirk on his face “Quite done Daniel?”

You see the reason why this was funny to Danny was the fact that he was finally getting revenge on his ex-grandfather for... well for everything. And he was going to enjoy ruining Ra’s al Ghul treasured little Lazarus Pits with pure glee. The amount of pure joy he felt knowing this even surpassed his feelings for when he’s able to mess up Vlad’s evil plans for the month.

As mentioned before, Danny had no memories upon waking up in a hospital after nearly losing his life from wounds no child should ever have on their bodies. It wasn’t until the night after his crowning that as he dreamed of his past, it was in these dreams he had finally remembered everything. When he had woken up he had instantly went flying to Clockwork’s lair to speak with the time keeper, especially when he had remembered the last thing he had saw before waking up in the hospital.

[“Why?” that was all Danny would ask when seeing the ageless ghost, not bothering to say hello or even small talk like they normally would do, if he had been his living form he would had been breathing heavily from the speed he flown to get there.

“It hadn’t been your time, your Highness.” was the only reply before the ticking of clocks in the room filled the silence between them.]

He had been Danyal al Ghul, the second heir to the Demon Head Ra’s al Ghul, the League of Assassins leader and his grandfather, son of Talia al Ghul, and twin brother to first heir Damian al Ghul.

Talia, his mother, was a stoic woman. A true Assassin. Beautiful yet deadly. Someone Danyal could see now who would do anything to stay in power if he was to be honest with himself. But she did love him and Damian in her own way, only showing them this parental love when they were alone, away from servants and other assassin’s eyes. Some of his fondest memories of the woman had been her cupping his face and speaking softly of how much he looked like her “Beloved”, their father. His eyes, and hair (and his 'soft' heart) were the only things he knew about his father, the only thing he has been allowed to know.

Damian, his twin brother, both of them mostly sharing the same face with small differences and build at the time, his other half, the one that he had came into this world together had, was, is the one Danyal would die for. And he did. His brother was the prefect heir, the prefect budding assassin in the eyes of the others in Nanda Parbat. Much like their mother he tended to try to hide his emotions behind an emotionless mask, he always carried himself stronger than Danyal would, despite them both being five years old they had been born into this life and learned very quickly how to survive that place. But behind closed doors the two would often talk in whispers, of the what ifs of their lives, how their day was, etc etc. Danyal’s fondest memories of his brother was them sneaking out to watch the stars late at night and making a promise to always face any problem together as they held hands and lightly tapped each with their fingers.

His grandfather, Ra’s however was a ruthless and cold man. An ‘immortal’ due to the Lazarus Pits that always brought him back to life, and he had always hated Danyal. No matter what Danyal would do it was always a failure to his grandfather, it didn’t matter if he tried his hardest to be a ‘perfect’ little assassin like his brother, everything he did in the older man’s eyes was a mistake. Any mistakes Danyal did was often met with punishment and pain. He had no fond memories of the man, only a deep seeded mutual dislike if anything.

And it was with this hatred for Danyal, that had caused Ra’s to summon both his grandchildren one night to the combat room and demanded for them both to fight for heir ship. A fight that would end in one of them dying, something all of them in room knew it would lead to. A fight two five years did not want to do but had no choice. Not even Talia’s disbelieving single protest to the fight could not stop Ra’s command.

As the Demon Head, his word was law.

In the end, Danyal couldn’t wouldn’t harm his brother (his grandfather always hated how ‘soft’ his heart was, "to much like his father" was often said with a tsk). They were both only five years old, they were brought into the world together, they told secrets behind closed doors and whispered dreams under the endless sea of stars they would sneak out to see, they would lightly tap messages with their fingers when the other would have bad days and didn’t wish to speak about it but wanted some sort of comfort.

He wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t harm his brother but Damian... Danyal knew Damian would follow the order to fight despite not wanting to as well, Damian always followed orders with little to no fuss unlike Danyal who always second guessed with whys and questions, Danyal also knew Damian would believe he would fight back in defense at least...

But he didn’t.

Some of the few things he remembered was Damian’s eyes widen in horror, his mother’s uncaring mask and body twitch for a moment, and his grandfather ‘tsking’ at him before he fell onto the cold stone floor. After that his memory became hard to remember, foggy but he knew of this.The pain he felt hurt and he tried so hard to stay alive for a few moments more, he could barely hear anything over his own harsh and deep breathing, his body felt heavy and his hands felt wet from the blood seeping out around him. Danyal could barely hear his grandfather’s voice, and could barely make out Ra’s leaving while his mother guided Damian out of the room, she did not look back and Damian moved like a puppet on a string being pulled away. Danyal barely registered hands lifting him up and carrying him out of the room, his vision slowly fading as he was carried in the dimly lit halls of his ‘home’. His memory became very spotty after that, barely noticing he had been left outside the compound to die and as he took in a harsh breath in an attempt to get air, he could hear two words as clear as day.

“Time Out.” and the only sound following those two words was the ticking of clocks while the last thing he saw was the always changing form of a ageless being.

After that Danyal would be found outside of a random hospital in America, far from his place of birth, far from his mother and brother, barely hanging as doctors rushed to save this five year olds life. He would awake weeks later, with no memories of his own to speak of, and then one night a strange star plush/pillow would be gifted to him with the name Daniel on it. He would be bounced around foster home to foster home after he was cleared to leave the hospital and the cops had no leads on who or where he came from.

Daniel would eventually meet Jazz at the park and later her parents and worm his way into their hearts, he would later be adopted by them and live a somewhat normal life (as one can be with ghost hunting parents but at least he got Jazz as an older sister, even with Jack and Maddie’s rather unhealthy... obsession with ghosts he knew they loved him)

Ra’s failed second heir was no more, his name and life no longer mentioned in Nanda Parbat, Danyal al Ghul (Wayne) was by all intents and purpose dead to the man and to the League.

Now Daniel “Danny” Fenton lived in his place...

Up until that fateful day when he was fourteen, after that he was only half alive and once again became someone kind of new. A halfa this time. Danny Phantom.

And who would had guessed (not Ra’s that's for sure), he later would become The Ghost King, the Ruler of the Infinite Realm.

So imagine Danny’s surprise when as he had left his house for school one morning, he may be a King but hey he still needed his education according to Jazz (and Clockwork), when he had been ambushed and attacked by some assassins from the League and knocked out... (Shush his own assassin training was rusty and he hadn’t had time to practice them too much, his last major battle had been that all out brawl a week before his coronation with him vs his enemies, fun times. He also rarely got kidnapped since his crowning, half awake due to his Kingly duties and studying for Mr. Lancer’s 70% final grade test (Fun fact I had an actual teacher who did this) that Friday and honestly Danny wasn’t expecting assassins from the League to show up since the whole being pretty much declared dead to them thing)

Only to later slowly wake up on the familiar rough stone ground in Nanda Parbat (the smell, the sounds, the stonework. He often saw them in his dreams and memories but knew it was real this time) his hands bound and his body aching from laying motionless on the hard ground for a while. He put on a confused look on his face as he slowly rose and groaned in pain as he subtly took a moment to look around.

Thank the Ancients Danny still knew how to fake an injury, and play dumb/confused from his time tricking some of the his more annoying ex-enemies? (Skulker, Walker, etc.) even though it had been a year since he last had to do so with them (besides Vlad, he’s still his enemy no matter what and still seemed really salty Danny was a King now and was treated like an outcast by most ghosts, none wanting to be the opposite side of their King so hey perks). It had been a good way to make them drop their guards if they thought Danny was still at his ‘weakest’ when they caught him by surprise. It still pretty funny when Vlad tries though, this act always catches that fruitloop off-guard no matter how many times.

It was a Lazarus Pit room judging by the smell/feel of it at first and later confirmed when he noticed the green toxic ooze nearby. Ugh just being on this side of the Realm and sensing that stuff was disgusting, it wasn’t as bad in the Infinite Realm due to the fresh and clean ectoplasm around it masking most of the bad smell but boy did it reek on this side.

Danny blinked a few times to sell his acting, whispering a confused “Where am I?” under his breath, and looked around before his eyes landed on someone in front of him and flinched back a bit, no acting needed this time.

Ra’s was in the room sitting on a throne chair staring at him with that ever burning hateful glare yet Danny could see another emotion, an emotion he was very used to Vlad having on his fruitloop face. His ex-grandfather had a plan and it was gonna be painful or annoying for Danny to deal with, he knew it...

And...AND was that knocked out Batman and Robin also tied up in chains and guarded by few assassins in the room as well?! WHY IS THAT A THING?!

-x-x-

Heyyyyy so... umm I decided to split it into another part cause it was getting mega long again when all together and I was like roughly halfway done with it and just... I wanted to write out so much, also Tumblr almost made me loose the WIP of this many many times so I’m being careful. Good news almost done with it (and it won’t take as long as this part did promise)

This is basically Danny’s side of things of being King, his inner thoughts, his past relationships with the al Ghul’s, and snippets how he had grown into his King self tbh. Probably didn't need to do this but as an old school writer I wanted to make a base so to speak. The best and fun part is up next. and to prove it, here’s the title and a sneak peek for it.

Summoning a King (Or alternatively: It was at this moment, Ra’s knew he F’d up.)

Yeah as said before it took ALL of Danny’s training not laugh in hysterics. Oh the irony. Sacrificing the Ghost King... to summon the Ghost King.... Danny honestly wanted to say something, the words on his lips being a sarcastic “You sure that's gonna work out for you, you moldy old fruitloop?” but Danny bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from doing so.

TAGLIST:

Also I’m starting a tag list so if anyone wants on it for the next part please let me know asap so I can add you.

[EDIT: Taglist now closed until next update! Sorry!]

@sxnkisses @thenerdycupcake @sealover89 @remydumb @moonscat @fuck-you-too-world @hecate-hollow @ae-vixrose

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astatia-ghast · 4 months

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The King's Quest

At last! Finally, it has come -- my 2023 Holiday Truce gift for @hailsatanacab!

You're a trooper. I'm sure it drove you crazy to wait all this time. I wanted to give you a preview on Christmas Day to tie you over, but it took too long for me to settle on how I wanted to fill this prompt. I hope you'll forgive me for the wait!

The prompt I chose is this one: "To ascend to the throne, Danny must complete a quest. This is great, because Danny doesn't want the throne! Screw the quest — Danny's hanging out with his friends and going to school like the normal boy he is! …Unfortunately, fate has other ideas. No matter what he does or how badly he tries to do the opposite, Danny just keeps fumbling his way into winning the crown."

It was a great challenge for me because while I have spent plenty of time daydreaming about the ghost king AU, I don't typically read or write fanfiction about it. This prompt helped me exit my comfort zone while still letting me work with the characters and tone I love.

Before I began to work on this, I spent a lot of time lurking on your blog to figure out what kind of fanfiction you like, and I must say, you seem like a pretty cool person. I'm glad I was paired with you!

And of course, a big thanks to @phandomholidaytruce for making this whole thing happen! It was my first time participating, and it was a delightful way to end the year.

Alright, enough thanks! On to the fic!

Read on AO3

---

"I never wanted you to find out this way."

Danny leans frozen over a basin still shimmering with the ripples of a just-disturbed future. His eyes are wide, heart pounding, vision tunneling, knuckles white around the rim.

There's no way he saw what he just saw. There's no way.

Behind him, Clockwork watches in silence. He had left the room for only a moment, and Danny had taken the opportunity to sate a curiosity that he now knows should never have been sated. He had stuck his face in the basin, and he had seen a future — a future of him.

"This is my future?"

"It is one of them."

Danny turns around. His eyes are still wide and his body shaking, but Clockwork's words are like a steadying stone he can latch on to. "So it doesn't have to be this way?"

Clockwork's lips grow thin. He rests his staff by the door he had just entered, slowly and measuredly, as if stalling for time. Even once his hands are free, the silence grows longer still; long enough for him to shift into a toddler and then an elder and then an adult again before any word breaks the stillness of the tower.

At last, he speaks. "The truth is, the clock started ticking the moment you deposed Pariah Dark. It is one future of many, but its passing has already been etched in stone."

As if in emphasis, a clock strikes eleven somewhere deep within the tower.

"You will become King."

Ectoplasmically-white petals falling from the sky. Ghostly crowds cheering. A cape. A crown. A parade. A coronation.

Daniel Jack Fenton, King of the Infinite Realms.

Even now, the tower seems to sing to him — regally, mockingly. He wonders if those ripples in the basin are cascading through the timeline, setting in place the bars that will one day imprison him.

"No. I can't be a king." A bead of sweat trails down his temple, tickling him as it goes. "I can barely deal with my life as it is. And no ghost is going to listen to me — all they want to do is attack me. I want to go to school and play video games and at least try to get into NASA. I don't want to be a king."

Clockwork's lips draw even thinner still. In the silence that follows, his gaze falls to one of his many watches, which he begins to twist idly with one hand.

"I remember many things," he says with a hushed rumble. "Pariah Dark was a great king, until he was not."

His gaze grows unfocused. The hand on his watch goes to his face, where it slowly traces his scar. Danny has never seen him do that before.

"I remember the destruction he wrought. I remember looking him in the eyes as he was shut inside his tomb."

His hand falls to his side as his gaze meets Danny's once more.

"You are more than triple the man he ever was. You would make a great king."

Danny's hands go to his head, where his fingers thread through his hair. He takes a step backward in some subconscious attempt to get away from Clockwork and this — this lie, but he runs into the basin still shimmering behind him. Its pedestal rocks dangerously, and Danny wants to scream enough for his Ghostly Wail to take over and shatter the wretched thing into pieces.

But instead of screaming, a fire bursts into life within him. He meets Clockwork's gaze afresh with blazing eyes. "No. I'm not going to become King. You're going to have to find a new future, because that one is not coming true."

Clockwork's expression turns into something like pity. It's enough to quiet the fire for a beat — just a beat, though. "Danny." He drifts forward until the two of them are within reaching distance. He lifts his hands as if to place them on Danny's shoulders, but then he seems to reconsider it and clasps them in front of himself instead. "The Realms have been heralding your arrival since the dawn of my work. You are going to become King."

Danny says nothing. The fire crackles in protest, but it doesn't know what to burn.

Clockwork sighs. He raises one of those hands he dropped before, and at last, it makes contact with Danny's shoulder. "If it helps, it's not going to happen right away. There is a quest you must complete before you take the throne. You can—"

"A quest?" Danny's eyebrows fly up. He latches onto this thread like a rope draped over a cliffside.

"Yes, a quest. Before any monarch can ascend, they must—"

A bark of laughter escapes Danny's throat, and then a font of mad cackling bubbles up behind it. He cackles like a man unhinged, having found the simple yet ingenious solution to all his woes.

Clockwork's eyebrows knit together. "Danny—"

"Don't you get it?!" he jeers. "If I don't know what the quest is, I can't become King!"

Clockwork grows stern. He says his name again — "Danny" — and this time it's clear he wants him to quit laughing and sit down and listen, but Danny isn't having it. He's already lifting himself up into the air and away.

"Start checking your futures, Clockwork, because you missed one! I'm not becoming King!"

Clockwork reaches out as if to restrain him, but the fire finally explodes. Danny violently pushes him away with ectoplasmically-charged hands, keeping one ectoblast at the ready for good measure.

"Stay. Away." His voice is charged in a way that it has rarely ever been before. An otherworldly chill dampens the room. Clockwork is far too powerful a ghost to be affected by it, but if any human had been in this room, they would be screaming.

Clockwork gets the message. He watches with trepidation as Danny flies away.

---

Danny returns to Amity Park determined to slide right back into his normal life and pretend like that moment in the tower never happened. To forget about what he saw — petals, a cape, a crown — is impossible, but hell if he's not going to try his hardest to stay as far away as possible from anything even remotely king-like.

And so he does. He goes to school, fights ghosts, gets bad grades, listens to his parents' mad-scientist ramblings, plays video games, sleeps over at Sam and Tucker's houses, and generally lives exactly the life he'd rather live.

And he doesn't visit Clockwork in all that time, either. It pains him, as he enjoys Clockwork's company a lot and had even become something of an apprentice to him, but he can't risk subjecting himself to some well-intentioned lecture about the virtues of being King.

…Plus, he did kind of assault him and run away. Clockwork probably isn't very happy with him. But apologies would have to wait — for some future in which he isn't King.

School. Ghost fights. Bad grades. Mad-scientist ramblings. Video games. Sleepovers.

Life goes on.

---

Sometime after Danny defeats Undergrowth, Sam drags him along to the Amity Park Botanic Gardens. Well, "drags" is a strong word — he's grateful for any excuse to hang out with Sam — but still, the thought of visiting a botanic garden and admiring plants in the wake of Undergrowth's reign of terror is insane. He expresses as much, but Sam insists that that's all the more reason to visit, as both of them need to unravel their new Pavlovian fear of perfectly innocent plant life.

Plus, apparently admissions are way down — surprise, surprise — and Sam wants to help them out before the dip in finances forces them to shutter. Fair enough.

She tried to get Tucker to come along too, but there was zero chance of getting him through the doors even before Undergrowth gifted the whole city with a healthy dose of botanophobia. So that fine day finds the two of them alone in the Gardens' newly-opened orchid exhibit, Danny antsily resisting the temptation to reach out and hold her hand.

Under the canopy lush with tropical leaves, it's hard not to feel cocooned — in a way that feels remarkably warm and safe. Everywhere they look, orchids peer back, bright and colorful with every color of the rainbow. There are big orchids and small orchids, potted orchids hanging from the limbs of towering trees, orchids that look like pinecones, orchids that look like neat tufts of fur, orchids with stripes and orchids with whiskers.

To Sam's very great credit, the exhibit is astounding, and even his shriveled, technology-loving heart can't help but marvel and be thankful that she convinced him to come here.

In time, he finds himself growing drowsy. It's like the peace and beauty of the place is infectious, to the point where his heart rate seems to slow. Eventually, he turns to Sam and asks, "Would you like to lay down?"

She agrees, and the two of them pick one of the few spots in the exhibit not overtaken by stone pathways or lush vegetation. They spend a few minutes chatting about something or other, but in time, they lapse into a peaceful silence, and Danny begins to space out.

He stares up at the canopy. The sunlight, so radiant and soft, seems to sparkle as it filters through the roof of the greenhouse and the tropical leaves below. Somewhere, a stream gurgles.

And there is a song. It takes a moment for him to realize that he's hearing it, but once he does, it's unquestionably there. It's distant and peaceful, echoing, like standing outside the door of a lofty cathedral while a choir sings inside. Sluggishly, he looks around, and as his lazy eyes focus on the beautiful strands of a white orchid, he is suddenly positive that the song is coming from them. From the orchids. From all the plants in the greenhouse, and perhaps even beyond. He doesn't know how he knows, but he knows.

He falls into a trance, enjoying the song, until suddenly, there is a sharp poke on his shoulder. He sluggishly turns his head to see Sam, who has clearly been trying to get his attention.

"Earth to ghost boy. Anyone home?"

Danny blinks a few times, but his eyes are reluctant to focus. He feels like he just surfaced from a dream. "Sorry. I was just… It's nice in here."

Sam chuckles. "You're really enjoying yourself, huh? Way more than I thought you would."

Danny chuckles too. "Yeah. You were right. I'm glad you convinced me to come here."

Now that his mind is clearing up, it slowly begins to dawn on him how utterly bizarre the last several minutes were. Plants? Singing to him? Surely he's just imagining things — he wants to believe that's the case — but no. Somehow, he's sure. Those plants were singing to him.

Maybe a touch of Undergrowth's power is still in them, like some sort of ectoplasmic residue? That's the only explanation he can think of, and it makes sense, since these very same plants were undoubtedly enthralled by the ghost just a few weeks ago. But why were they singing?

He decides not to tell Sam. He doesn't know why, but it just feels like something he should keep to himself, and not just because it sounds crazy. So he files it under "ghost thing" and leaves it at that.

It's not until he's watching a video in history class a few days later that he realizes that the song sounded an awful lot like a coronation song.

---

Something similar happens after he defeats Nocturn. Three sleepless nights after he sends the ghost back to the Ghost Zone, he's finally too tired to care whether or not he will show up in his dreams again the moment he closes his eyes.

As he slips into the twilight zone between wakefulness and sleep, ensconced in a darkness broken by one particularly annoying street light, his dreams turn into something… odd.

Before him, he sees seven creatures like Nocturn — tall, dark and starry, like the night sky made manifest. He slips into a ready position, poised to either fight or run, but instead of attacking, they bring their palms together and bow, all seven in unison. And then there is at once a horde of similar creatures behind them, stretching as far as the eye can see, bringing their palms together and bowing in turn.

He wakes in a cold sweat. No. There's no way. There's no way this king thing is still following him. That couldn't be real.

He spends the next day convincing himself it was just a dream, but really, he knows better.

---

The moments keep piling up. When he defeats Vortex, the clouds seem to part for him wherever he goes. When he returns Pandora's box, an ornate jewelry box mysteriously appears on his desk, which, when opened, reveals cavernous, physics-defying depths. Danny grows increasingly concerned that the ghosts have waived his quest and are pledging their fealty to him anyway.

When Clockwork appears in his bedroom one night, nearly a full year since their fight in his tower, Danny is no longer nervous to see him. Actually, he's quite relieved, since at this point, the only thing he's concerned about is getting answers.

"Would you like to have a chat?" Clockwork asks with a smile that almost seems sheepish.

It's a non-question, of course; Danny goes readily, and he's sure that Clockwork knew that he would.

Entering the tower is almost like coming home. A calm quiet; ticking; cavernous rooms cast in shadow — the whole place seems to envelop him in a hug, and briefly, Danny feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes. The past several months have been stressful. He regrets the way he treated Clockwork the last time he was here, and he regrets that he didn't have the maturity to return much earlier.

But Clockwork is ever calm and welcoming, and Danny finds thankfulness shooing away the regret in his heart. What a remarkable person Clockwork is.

The two of them stop in the same room with the basin, whose waters stand completely still. At first, Danny thinks Clockwork is going to encourage him to revisit his future, but instead, he opens a cabinet standing against the opposite wall. As he reaches inside, he says, "I have something for you."

Danny waits, more than a little curious and struggling to resist the urge to see if his coronation is still in the basin. When Clockwork turns around, he's carrying a necklace — not unlike the medallions he uses to take people out of time, but much more ornate. Gently and in silence, he drapes the necklace around Danny's neck. Once it settles, he rests his palms against Danny's chest, in a way that makes Danny think something weighty is about to come.

Their eyes meet. "You recall what I said before, yes? That there is a quest you must complete?"

"Yes."

Clockwork smooths out the wrinkles on Danny's shoulders, and then his hands just stay there. "There is a reason I tried to restrain you. By refusing to learn the quest, you expedited its completion."

Everything in Danny goes cold.

"The quest was to either defeat or receive the approval of all seven of the Ancients: Pariah Dark, Frostbite, Undergrowth, Nocturn, Vortex, Pandora and myself. And you have done so for all of them — including me."

A rushing sound fills Danny's ears.

"You have had my approval since even before Pariah Dark was granted the throne. So with the bestowing of Pandora's gift, you have become King."

The necklace feels heavy around Danny's neck — a necklace he now realizes is a coronation gift.

"I am sorry, Danny. But I stand by what I said before: you will make a great king."

Clockwork pulls him in for a hug, and Danny goes willingly. His wailing fills the tower.

Somewhere deep inside, a clock strikes twelve.

---

Ectoplasmically-white petals falling from the sky. Ghostly crowds cheering. A cape. A crown. A parade. A coronation.

Danny's knuckles go white around his scepter, just as they did around the basin all those months ago.

Daniel Jack Fenton, King of the Infinite Realms.

---

(Yes, I may have warped the timeline of Season 3 just a little bit. Clockwork will be waiting in the lobby to take your complaints! :þ)

#Danny Phantom #Phandom Truce 2023 #The King’s Quest #fanfiction #phanphiction #Danny Fenton #Clockwork #Lost Time #ghost king #Astatia Writing #It feels so good to use the “Astatia Writing” tag again. <3

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jayalaw · 5 months

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Fanfic: If Death Note Happened in Discworld And Vimes Went Up Against Kira

@forthegothicheroine, thank you for this idea!

Let's be real, Terry wouldn't have pitted someone like Kira against Samuel Vimes because Kira and Death Note came out in the 2000s. We also don't have that many stories with supernatural killers that go after the guilty.

But let's suppose what the Discworld novel would be...

Death finds himself working overtime. He gets annoyed when seeing random criminal getting offed, because it is more than usual. There are the usual plagues and wars and holiday depressions, but this doesn't fit the pattern. He knows that no plague causes just a heart attack. The hourglasses are rattling in his realm. It is a disturbance.

Meanwhile the Thieves Guild and Assassins Guild send representatives to the Watch. They're here under truce. Someone has been killing off their licensed thieves and killers. The Assassins don't have proof, but only the "criminals" of the city have been targeted, the ones with licenses. Somehow the unlicensed ones and those that can hide in the Seam get away with their crimes. It is something political.

Vimes asks the obvious question: why not go to Vetinari? He handles the politics in the city. Because Vetinari would say it is a police matter. Someone is violating the law by committing murder, and refusing to answer for it. They can't figure out how, and know it's not the wizards at Unseen University doing experiments because it's not their style. Wizards are chaotic and frivolous. This is too orderly, too...cold.

The guilds are scared. The heads wouldn't admit it, but Carrot, who is sitting in on the meeting, can sense it. He and Vimes note twitchy fingers that would rather be penciling in burglary dates or shooting targets. The guild heads are not scared of death itself, but that someone wants them all dead, and they don't know the reason. There has to be a reason.

Vimes considers everyone in the Watch, and who may be best for the task force that he promises will investigate these deaths. He knows that magic exists; heck, they have a zombie on the Watch. Death also has had many near-Vimes experiences with the commander. Something is going on. If this is someone killing criminals, without letting them stand trial or respecting the laws that he fought to respect, it is someone that has no Inner Watchman. Vimes knows how easy it is to slip into justifying killing of the innocent. He has to uphold the Guarding Dark.

Reg Shoe becomes head of the task force. Vimes reasons that if the killer decides to go for the cops, they can't kill someone who is already dead. Reg is an intimidating face, someone who has long refused to die. When the Times show up for a quote, Vimes uncharacteristically tells them that he will be leading the task force to investigate these killings. It's not a lie; he is the leader of the Watch, and he is in charge of Reg Shoe. Vimes also orders that Igor is put on the Task Force.

Light Yagami in this world would be from another town, one where he has seen the dark side of broken justice systems. His father is the commander, who has maintained a consistent order. While Light wants to join his father on the side of the law, he does have a penchant for magic. So he attends Unseen University, on a scholarship that he earned with his studies. Classmates notice that he fills his dormitory with apples, more than a person can eat. He has a single, so no roommate can wonder why he's not sharing his cider experiments.

Ankh-Morpork is Light's testing grounds. In this version, he is smart enough to not kill that many criminals on his home turf. Sure there were a few. After all, he didn't know if he was forfeiting his immortal soul. But now he knows that no one can trace the campaign back to him, ever. Plus, the common thieves and vandals are barely older than him. It doesn't feel sporting to go after petty theft when that person may still turn their life around.

Susan is teaching at finishing school. She also reads the Times during her breaks. The newspaper has taken to reporting on arrests and society figures. She notices the large amounts of death reported. Susan's lip curls as she reads about heart attack after heart attack. Her grandfather will not be pleased. Sure enough, the raven and Death of Rats knock at the door. Death has Binky at the moment, so no horse rides for Susan this time.

She is very vexed by this. The more that Susan uses her powers, the less human she becomes. But she senses a malice to these murders.

Albert and Susan reconvene in Death's realm. With Death working overtime, he's barely had time to visit. Susan notices some haphazard cat beds. Albert explains that Death has been building stuff again, and thinking about pulling kittens out of time, so they will stay young and loved. Susan makes a mental note to visit more often, so that Grandfather is less lonely.

What could be causing the theories? An instrument of a shinigami, Albert believes. Shinigami, or death "gods" as Albert explains, are only a concept. Some cultures do worship the dead, and they believe in gods to make them less scared of it. In the case of shinigami, they are meant to represent the fears that some people have of death, that it's a terrifying thing. If a wizard believes in a shinigami, then they come to life. And they may be able to work together, if a shinigami gives a wizard his tools. That would be quite a dangerous bargain.

Susan remembers when someone stole Death's sword and tried stabbing her through the stomach. She shivers. Grandfather would never give such a powerful weapon to a mortal. There's no telling what they would do with it. Even when she borrowed Binky or used the sword, she was always very careful.

Albert tells Susan that Death needs her in Ankh-Morpork. He needs human eyes on the ground, to find the shinigami and his tools. Susan protests that she has a job, and kids to watch. It's not like the world is ending. Albert indicates the rattling hourglasses. Maybe the world isn't ending, but it will suffer some cracks in reality. Susan returns to her job, pondering. She hopes that Grandfather is okay.

This isn't a world of modern technology. Light has no access to television news or radio that would tell him who is a killer and who isn't. His father had been experimenting with adding photographs to arrest warrants. Photography is such a remarkable technology, one that allows you to see faces, even from a great distance away. And with newspapers, you can attach names to faces.

In Ankh-Morpork, Ryuk tells Light about the shinigami eyes. He can find anyone's name and face. All he has to do is give up half his years on the Disc. Light smirks and says that he isn't giving up half his life when he plans to be ruling this Disc, with rules that will make life better for the commoners and enforce proper justice rather than compromises. Besides, he doesn't have to know who everyone is, just who is in jail or accused. The Thieves Guild has an open record, with names, and the Times likes to keep photos of them. He also knows that wizards are good at scrying and seer work. Light manages to make a crystal ball that allows him to watch over the city. He may not have names yet, but he does have faces. One name and face led to him getting the ledgers of the thieves in the Guild, as well as the assassins. It's a waiting game, in-between his studies and new job. Plus, Ryuk's love for apples keeps him on a leash. He has promised to kill Light last, when the game is over. Light has to keep entertaining him, but also knows when to withhold apples.

The Times in the meantime is reporting on the murders, or as they're calling it, the "Hearts Epidemic". William De Worde is also seeking student correspondents from Unseen University. When Light Yagami volunteers, and shows interest in learning photography, it seems like a miracle. Light is charming, diligent and hardworking. His columns about the Unseen University happenings please all parties by hinting at the experiments going on, and discussing student life. The young journalist also knows his football. He reports accurate sports and stats.

William gets wind of the Watch's theory that this is some supernatural killer. He asks for ideas from the newsroom about what moniker to give this killer, for an image that strikes both fear and fascination. Light keeps quiet, as the other journalists toss around ideas. They mention the killer may be a human, dwarf, elf, or even an Igor. Every Igor and Igorina worth their salt has experience working with the dead. Gaspode comes in with information; because Light cannot believe that a dog can talk despite having a shinigami next to him in the room, Gaspode senses all is not right.

When Moida is chosen, from the Seam pronunciation of "Murder," Light very much wants to wince. He would have chosen something far more grandiose. But he is the new columnist, and it's better for no one to notice him. He also knows that the Watch has been asked to look for this series of killings, and investigate.

Light has no plans to kill Samuel Vimes. The man is a father, with a loving wife and a young toddler. Plus, both father and son are named Sam Vimes, according to the society papers. He doesn't want to kill the child by accident when writing the name in the notebook. Light has some standards.

Ryuk pouts; Light is no fun. Light stands fast, however. Children are off-limits. and he has other ways to entertain the shinigami.

Vimes is not pleased that this killer has been given a name or profile. He had just mentioned it was a task force. The Times always exaggerates, because they want people to buy stories. Still, it could be worse, and Moida gives the illusion that the killer may be from the Seam. Vimes considers if a poor person would be killing this many thieves and assassins; he dismisses the thought because the thieves leave the poor people alone, and no assassins go after those in the Seam. Still, it's a red fish, like in the books Young Sam has gotten into recently. Red fishes always point the reader in the wrong direction.

Carrot sometimes checks in on Death as a witness. This time, he brings some material for the cat tree, scratchy material that will entertain furballs no matter how it's mangled. No one asks questions when he approaches the hospital's terminal wing with a carpet that has seen better days. Death may have mentioned his latest creative project the last time that Carrot talked with Death about another case, about the murder of a witch in the Seam. Carrot had remembered to bring Death's favorite blend of tea that time. Death is technically not supposed to offer this testimony. But he likes tea, and he is perturbed by this many deaths by heart attack.

The game is on, to find this killer. Susan reads the news, and patrols the cities at night when she isn't teaching her kids, watching for thieves that suddenly drop dead. Light wishes to find out who in the Watch is investigating, and takes whatever information that William can squirrel out of Vimes. Vimes insists that he is the one in charge, and doesn't want a wizard near the station when William asks if the Unseen University is going to provide their input on the case. Deputizing the Librarian was a one-time necessity.

Reg and Igor find the pattern: all of the criminals who were killed were on record. They were on the ledgers, and the assassin and thief in charge of each ledger are also dead. They didn't die of heart attacks, though; the assassin in question had slipped in a rain puddle and broke his neck. The thief had tried a burglary and got trapped by a suffocating chimney.

The coppers consider this. It doesn't add up; assassins are trained to be careful. No thief employed by the guild would get caught in a broken chimney. Whoever is doing these killings is smart, and dangerous. They also aren't limited to heart attacks.

It has to be magic. And there are few witches in Ankh-Morpork, with none having a body count. Their suspect is at Unseen University. Most likely a student from this year, because the killings only started with the term.

Now we can't go into every particular shenanigan that Terry would write here. Or this fic would never end. But a game of cat-and-mouse would start, as Carrot also makes inquiries at the university, and he is willing to talk to the press when needed. Moida alas cannot infiltrate the task force, even if he asked his dad for help. Sam Vimes does not believe in connections to get on the force, unless he has absolutely no choice. This time he has a choice. Light has to rely on his scrying since Ryuk refuses to help. Apple bribes and blackmail do not push Ryuk that far.

It comes out that Moida can't kill more than a few members of the watch; Carrot has a dwarf name and a human name, and Moida only knows his human name. Plus, Carrot and his family often misspell their last name. All of those spellings -- and none-- are correct. There are only so many variations that Moida can try to write. If only he knew that Discworld narrative causality protected Carrot. The same goes for Reg Shoe and Igor-- Reg's heart has long since stopped a while ago. And trying to kill an Igor, when they are all named Igor? Good luck with that. The Death Note has no effect on any of tPlan Bhree men.

Moida goes for Plan B: the werewolf. Everyone is certain it is that watchman Nobby Nobbs. Werewolves are easy to manipulate with the power of scent and suggestion. So he writes Nobby Nobbs's name in the notebook, imagining a great beast that will do his bidding. If all goes well, the werewolf will get the names of the folk on the task force who are mortal with only one name, and all the information that the Watch has on Moida. Then the beast will rampage through the city, and has to get shot.

Moida is smart, but he got the wrong person. And the Death Note cannot make impossible deaths happen.

When Nobby collapses on patrol, Susan notices because she is also patrolling. She realizes that there is magic, and manipulates time to try and save Nobby's heart. It doesn't work, and Grandfather appears. It's time for Nobby Nobbs's reaping.

"It's not fair!" Susan bursts out. "He was just...walking! Doing his duty!" Why would the murderer go after him?"

"That's what I want to know," Nobby Nobbs says, scratching his head. "Not saying I have a strong heart, but it's supposed to be stronger stuff than this."

Susan sees the magic trail on the body. It's faint, but it leads her to Gaspode. Gaspode tells the strange lady that if she has a good meal for him, he will be a good boy and tell her what he has noticed. She asked what he thinks of children's biscuits. He loves them, especially warmed by the fire.

The Watch is morose without Nobby Nobs; coppers expected to die saving people, or putting out fires. Vimes arranges a pension for Nobbs's girlfriend, and his family. Reg makes sure to tend the man's funeral. Now it's personal; Moida went after one of them.

There is also one unfortunate side effect of getting rid of the Thieves Guild: burglary increases, almost as it to spite Light's idea of justice. Less trained assassins who were unable to train with the guild are trying their hands at botched killing. The Watch has to work hard to protect the innocent, and to ensure Vimes has time to spend with young Sam. Ryuk can't help but rub it in that Light's campaign for a world with more order and less crime has only caused more chaos, that he is spreading fear that he cannot control. Light insists that it's part of his plan. It's not like Ryuk has noticed anyone following him, like when Ryuk spotted the dog Gaspode begging Light for treats. Light did feed the dog but told him to clear off; he had studies.

Gaspode is a dog of his word; he leads Susan to where the magic scent trail ends, at an Unseen University's dormitory. The biscuit crumbs on his snout, he confides that he smells the same magic at the Times. Confused, Susan thinks that no journalist at the times is skilled in magic and the vampire there likes photography more. Gaspode mentions that a wizard student joined the staff, before he goes to play with some drunken students that are delighted on seeing a "puppy".

Ryuk spots Susan first. She realizes what he is, but cannot see his weapon, and they are both invisible. He presses a finger to his lips, indicating Light studying at his desk. Susan considers, for Nobby Nobbs. She can sense the magic rushing out of him, the ones that is making the hourglasses rattle. Susan swears she can see the bolts dancing through the air, past the windows. More deaths, more criminals dying by heart attack.

Bingo; Susan has found their killer, and his shinigami. But she doesn't know the weapon or how to confiscate it. Even if this boy left for classes, he could take the weapon with him, no matter how she searched his dormitory. Ryuk could easily rat her out; she knows that look of mischief. He has been letting all this chaos happen, with no remorse. Grandfather was never that careless.

Susan sighs. She will have to miss classes again tomorrow. Albert will know about shinigami weapons, in Death's realm.

Of course, Susan is not the only informant who has spotted these issues; Gaspode has not returned to the Times yet. He reports his findings to Angua, while asking if she's still going to marry Carrot. Angua shoos him away but considers.

Angua and Vimes debate: they have the word of one informant, and no murder weapon or motive. From what Vimes can see in university transcripts and the Times, Light is a bright young man. He seems genuinely concerned with the welfare of others. They could try arresting him, but the proof is not strong enough. If they are wrong, the Watch will have betrayed its code.

Vimes decides on his riskiest plan: invite Light to the Watch house and properly interview him for being a copper on the Task Force as he wished. Identify him for any tells, and see if Angua can smell the magic on him, or the Moida murder trails. It could be really dangerous, having a killer right in that space.

Sybil fortunately has a more sensible option: meet with Light for tea in a public place. She can watch Young Sam, and her husband won't be risking the Watch's lives. The Patrician has a particular teahouse where he likes to go with Mr. Fusspot. They love dogs there.

Light is so surprised that Vimes has changed his mind, and considers the Watch is onto him. It was bad luck that the Death Note didn't work on the werewolf. He has a pocket-watch where he keeps pages of the Death Note. Ryuk may snigger that he's willing to kill a child, but Light has other plans.

Angua is the perfect watchdog for Vimes, lying down for a seeming nap under the table. She notes the pocketwatch doesn't match those of typical wizards, and her ears do not hear any ticking. Perhaps that is the weapon. Light clutches it.

Susan is also there; Gaspode had come to inform her, in exchange for biscuits, where the boy would be the next day. She needed to know, after she and Albert concocted a plan.

The chaos emerges when Vimes asks Light what his father thinks of Moida. Soichiro Yagami, according to Light, believes that Moida is a spoiled teenager, affluent who does not care about other people. He has been disgusted by the sheer amount of death. Light knows that this lie will hold because it is based in truth. He also has plans for an alibi: more deaths during this outing, spread out into the Seam. Only a few names from scrying, but they would be enough.

Vimes admits that the loss of Nobby Nobbs has been hard. Moida went after a good man, and for seemingly no reason. Light seethes internally, thinking how a good man was against his campaign for true justice. But he asks what Vimes thinks of Moida.

The Commander doesn't have to wait; he chooses his words. He says that he has seen good men die for the wrong reasons, and bad men live to an old age. But when you have the power to kill someone that cannot fight back, and you slaughter them anyway, you are evil. No inner watchman can save you.

Angua does not bite, even in werewolf form. But when Light under the table slips paper out of the pocketwatch, she doesn't have to think, just grab it with her teeth and pull. She hears laughter and witnesses the shinigami, as well as the stern woman who appears in the tea shop screaming "Albert, NOW!"

Somehow, they all end up in Death's realm. Death is there, looking at the hourglasses. Albert has finished the summoning ritual, the reverse of the one that he used to summon Death.

"THIS IS UNFORTUNATE," Death says, looking at Light. "YOU HAVE BEEN CAUSING ME A LOT OF TROUBLE."

Ryuk cackles and Light glares back.

"I'm doing you a favor," he says. "I'm making a world based on justice."

Angua has the pocketwatch in her teeth, the proof. She doesn't dare change back. The shinigami is eyeing her with fascination. She can now smell him.

"A world where criminals fear an early death is not justice; it creates a reign of terror," Susan says. "You had the power of someone's life in your hands, and chose to take it, over and over again. Like a child frying ants with a piece of glass."

"Your father would be disappointed in you," Vimes remarks, thinking of Young Sam. He will have to do all he can to ensure his son never becomes a killer. Sam is still in his poo phase, so that had to be a good sign.

Light of course has another trump card: his other notebook pages, that he has hidden on his person. He attempts to write in them, for Sam Vimes. He knows that name, and he will finally kill this man. What does it matter if he kills the child with the father? Soichiro would understand, this need for a new world. His father would want one that dominates justice.

This time he doesn't make it that far; Susan whacks him with the haphazard cat tree that had ladders floating in the middle. The scratchy carpet leaves marks on Light's face.

"I WORKED VERY HARD ON THAT TREE," Death declares.

"I can tell," Susan panted. "It still is holding up when knocking down a killer."

Light has carpet fibers stuck in his cheeks. He cannot believe that he got taken down by a cat tree. Susan confiscates the rest of the notebook pages. She observes them, the names written, and figures it out.

"Even if you had written something down, it wouldn't have worked," Susan says. "You can't die in Death's realm. That's why Albert and I brought him here."

"We need those, Miss Death," Vimes says. "It's evidence."

"I'm not Death," Susan says. "He is."

"Then what are you?"

"I'm family. But you should touch these pages."

When Vimes does, he sees the shinigami. He blinks and stares at Ryuk, who waves.

"The shinigami," Albert says.

"A GOD OF DEATH THAT IS FEARED," Death explains.

There is probably going to be some argument about who has jurisdiction over Moida and Ryuk, and Death calling out Ryuk for abusing his powers. He says that death is meant to be a part of life, and manipulating those events out of boredom is very beyond the pale. Ryuk says that he is no different from other shinigami, and that he has never had to pay consequences for his behavior. Death reminds Ryuk that shinigami, unlike other manifestations of death, can also cease to exist if they break rules about how to save humans. And he has Ryuk's hourglass in his hand.

Vimes insists that the death god and Light need to be booked. They have proof that he killed the guild members and those that held their ledgers. Death retorts that they are too dangerous to go back to the Disc. Light has tasted the power of a god. And they have not just violated mortal laws but also established rules of their world. Light may try to grab an extra scythe or hold hourglasses hostage to save himself, but Susan and Albert take care of him.

Somehow it ends with Light and Ryuk being trapped in their hourglasses, and Vimes reluctantly makes Death a deputized member of the Watch, since Death can be everywhere, while acknowledging that Light will face justice outside of Ankh-Morpork's jurisdiction. They have a larger pocket space so it's not inhumane, but they are prisons. Ryuk can no longer have his fun and is dealing with boredom, while Light has time to think about the consequences of his actions. The Unseen University accepts his involuntary withdrawal, because expulsions are rare and embarrassing for all parties involved. Vimes can think about if he wants to break the news to Soichiro, from one copper to another.

Vetinari isn't surprised by all this. There is always an upstart that thinks they can rule better than him. The Assassins and Thieves Guild start to rebuild, though it is going to be a while before all the burglaries and botched assassinations die down. And as Susan put it in Death's realm, Light may claim that he is a god, but he is a boy, like boys who fry ants and wasps with glass. She meets many children like him in her governess and schooling days.

Everyone is still mourning Nobby Nobbs. He was a good copper. Angua visits his grave, apologizing for making him a target. Reg tends the grave.

So Light would get his ass kicked on the Disc, while causing lasting consequences. But he doesn't die, as he feared. He and Ryuk face something much worse: an eternity of boredom, while knowing someone is watching them.

#discworld #death note #discworld fanfic #samuel vimes #angua von uberwald #susan sto helit #Discworld Death #Light Yagami #Ryuk #fandom #Discworld Albert

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thosehallowedhalls · 2 months

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Birthday

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow

Pairing: Mal Volari x Autumn Nightbloom (F!Elf!MC)

Rating: Teen

Word count: 698

Summary: Mal doesn't want any fuss for his birthday. Autumn begs to differ.

A/N: For @dutifullynuttywitch. Happy birthday, my friend! May it be full of joy, love, and Mal x Autumn goodness.

Submission for @choicesmonthlychallenge (prompt: flowers). @choicesficwriterscreations

Autumn carefully adds the finishing touches to the cake, making sure to spread the frosting evenly. She’s no Wren and Vivi, that's for sure, but she’s proud of how it turned out. At the very least, she made sure to use sugar this time.

But she needs to hurry. She takes off her apron and combs her fingers through her hair, trying to make herself presentable. Mal will be here any minute now – Tyril can only bait him into an argument for so long before he gets suspicious.

He didn’t even tell her it was his birthday, she thinks with a heavy heart. She only knows because Wren pulled her aside last night and told her.

“He won’t say anything,” she whispered. “He claims it’s because he doesn’t want to make a fuss, but in truth it’s because he doesn’t think anyone will care. After our mother died, I was the only one who ever did.”

Autumn’s heart aches at the visual of little Mal, alone and unwanted, with only his sister to remember his birthday. But no more. Between their friends and the children, her Mal will never again have cause to question whether he’s worth celebrating.

She arranges vases of wildflowers, straightens the garlands of daisies and sunflowers, and makes sure that there’s enough ale, elven wine, and fresh fruit juice. Then she waits. It doesn’t take long before she hears the stomping of feet. For all that he’s a master of stealth, Mal moves like a drunk hippo when he’s relaxed at home.

He blinks when he sees her standing by the cake. “Wh-what is this?”

“Surprise!” On cue, their friends and the kids jump out of their respective hiding places. Even Imtura puts in a decent amount of enthusiasm, although Autumn takes note of the twitch of her eye.

“Happy birthday, Mal.” Autumn approaches him and lays a tender kiss on his lips. “Ready to celebrate?”

“But…” He looks around. “How did you…”

“Wren.”

He cuts his sister a look. “Must you be so meddlesome?”

“What are little sisters for?”

“For torturing their devastatingly handsome brothers, apparently.”

“Eh.” Wren makes a so-so gesture. “Moderately handsome at best.”

He turns to Autumn. “Kit?”

“Much as I hate to feed his ego further, Wren, I have to agree with Mal.”

“He is handsome, love,” Vivi says apologetically.

Wren gasps. “Betrayal!”

“Truce, please?” Autumn requests.

Both Mal and Wren let out identical gasps of dismay. “But where’s the fun in that?”

“I give up,” she decides. “Fight if you must. I’ll go make sure our guests are having a good time.”

Before she leaves, Mal snags her hand. “Thank you, kit,” he says simply, but the naked emotion in his eyes tells her how much this means to him.

That look is still there when he finds her later, a glass of ale in his hand and a goofy, more than slightly inebriated grin on his face. “You didn’t have to do this, y’know.”

Although she knows full well what he’s talking about, she plays dumb.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Autumn, I didn’t become a reaper on brute force alone. Give me some credit. I know this is your doing.”

“And if it is?”

“I know how busy we’ve all been after merging the two realms.” Leaving the glass on the table, he puts his hands in his pockets. “You didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”

Autumn lays her hands on his cheeks. “Yes, I did. That’s what you do when you love someone. You take every excuse you can think of to celebrate them.” She presses a lingering kiss to his lips. “And I’m so very, very glad you’re here to celebrate in the first place.”

He clears his throat, uncomfortable with the charged emotion of the moment. “Well, clearly. I’m the shining star of your world.”

She doesn’t grin back. “Yes. You are.”

“Autumn…” His eyes glinting, he cups her cheek. “Gods above and beyond, I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.”

“We can get into the many reasons later. For now, we have a party to enjoy. And for the record? It’s the first of many.”

#mal x autumn #mal volari x mc #blades of light and shadow

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ecto-stone · 1 year

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Friend From the Other Side AU?? or FFOS!AU for short

Is created originally as a One shot comic “ Biology Lesson” Base on the Idea of What if Vlad is a Teen and a Ghost that turn half Human ,the total opposite from Danny Human to Ghost.

Latter grow into a full AU as it some how gain a lots of attention.And as a result of it rapid unplanned growth it share alots of it lore with it brother AU My Blood. So thing like

-Hivemind Demons Spectra, Unworld Dimension, what is Elsewhereness,The Dark Dragon Family Drama, Evil Observants, ect ... ect ..Advance Rework of DP original power system is expected.

Main Protag

Danny (Daniel) James Fenton Age: 14 (when turn Halfa) , 15 (when AU story started) Height: 167 cm Personality: Shy and Quiet, stoic a bit of a Loner, but Quite Bold as Phantom

Core Element: Ice Soul Element: Water-Air Alias: Phantom, Inviso Bill, The White Haired One (by the Yeti), Ghost Boy. Backstory After the Portal didn’t activate. Mr and Mrs Fenton cut the power to the portal and go back to check the blue print and the calculation to see what could possibly be wrong. Mean while Danny and his friend who is over for a Sleep over ,coming down to the basement for some nice mad science theme photo shoot. Each of them coming down through the portal ladder to take a pic, Sam, Tucker, But when it Danny turn he jump down mid ladder to a loud thunk to look cool.

But then the portal Suddenly glow Bright, sound of electric hissing and buzzing through air, turn out Synth Ecto Plasm is a great Energy storage substant. There was a big Flash, and young Danny stuck in the portal hole unable to escape in time suffer the full blash.

Time of the accident Amity Park, Fenton House hold, 2:25 AM, 30/8/20xx Danny fall into a 4 month coma afterward, result in his social life get ruin. As his accident get on the new and while the fenton parent blame Sam for the Idea, Sam parent threatened to sue the Fenton for threatening their children life by letting them come into a Dangerous lab unspervised.

Result in Sam is Ban from ever coming close to the Fenton again. While the Foley stay quiet and avoid the issue entirely. After woken up from the coma, Danny start developing Ghost Power. And starting his work as a Ghost Hunter as he found out the portal open caused the entire town to suffer from a horrible ghost infestation.

Phantom first sighting is on May 5

CO-Protagonist

Vladimir Judy Plasmius/Fenton/Masters. Age: 13 (in ghost year when turn halfa), 14 (when AU started) Height: 159 cm Personality: Sassy,Mischevious and hyper, with a hint of abandonment issue

Core Element: Fire --evo-->Electric Soul Element: Earth --evo--> Metal Alias: Little Wisconsin Ghost, Plasmius, Fated Dark One (by the Observant council) Backstory After the great ghost and human war that ended back in the 20s with a truce thank to Agent W (Will Walker). The Portal and the GIW agency is dissolve. Until recently.

Time of the accident Wisconsin, GIW Omega Base, 2:25 AM, 30/8/20xx Portal Status: Destroyed Casualty: 143 Capture subject: P1-A5-M1115 Power rating: Extremely Dangerous (X) Tranfer to containment Base Delta 5 on Dec 12 Current Status: Escape (self contain) Recent Sighting: Dairy King Castle, May7 Amity park, July 13.

How they meet: Behind a Wisconsin Denny as Danny is on a Family visiting trip. As Danny encounter a rouge ghost and assume Vlad to be the rouge ghost Only to get his Ass toss like a Salad by this Feral looking Ghost that just eat trash straight from a dumster. To which Danny later offer a burger as a peace treaty and a deal to help capture the rouge ghost. Vlad later followed Danny back to Amity Park to play role as an annoyance, before actually teaming up to aid in ghost hunting to get more Snack from Danny per deal.

What the story about?

It’s about the forming friendship of two unded boi from two different world.

and their Adventure in Both Realm.

#Friend from the other side AU ??#this prob left you with more question then awnswer

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digitaldoeslmk · 7 months

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Hi hi, i wonder if red son's parents (DBK and PIF) are gonna stop thying to conquer the world and mayyyybe try to pass more time with red son as family? maybe something happening to red son that made them go for him to assure he is safe or maybe they realized that, after all the time it happened, isn't it better try to fix their relationship with their son? or no hope for that? Also, how is the relationship between MK, Mei, Nesha and Red son?

well..... eventually, but it will take time. they have plenty of reason to hold on to their stubbornness and not change, but it's thanks to MK and the gang that they see how much they are hurting Red Son and by extension themselves with refusing to just, learn to let go and start over.

by the S1 finale, Red Son has a very emotional moment when his father is rescued, which is the first step for DBK and PIF to realize just how far things have gone. by S3 they help the gang to gather allies and support to face LBD and Macaque, and once that's done, they've pretty much resigned to just taking care of their own mountain home and renounce attempts to undermine Wukong's truce.

they are still hardasses and not as emotionally vulnerable as the rest of the gang, but tbh Red Son wouldn't want them to be. He just wants his parents' affection and care, just as they are, and that much they can do. At the end of the day, they are a family who love each other deeply; canonically PIF was ready to fight Wukong to the death in revenge for taking Red Son from her, same for DBK! they wouldn't do that if Red Son was disposable to them.

As for the group!! Red Son is an incredibly chill and direct guy; centuries of cultivating the dharma does that to ya xD he has his moments of flared temper and impatience, and he definitely is a bit dramatic, but nothing like we see in the show. overall him, MK and Mei get along quite well, the two energetic gremlins making him climb up the walls but affectionately xD

Nezha is technically Red Son's brother by bond; Muzha is also Guanyin's disciple of an older generation (by JTTW timeline), who is Nezha's second brother. they've met and interacted plenty of times in the celestial realm, and whenever Nezha had duties in the mortal realm, he often found the time to visit Red Son. Nezha cares about him since he knows he has a tendency to overstretch himself, but overall Nezha is still a hellraiser of a deity; if he can get along with MK and Mei at all, it's because Nezha primed him for a lot of bullshit lmao

Nezha, Mei and MK get along like a house on fire. Nezha knows them by name before the whole Monkie Kid business cus they prayed and left offerings to him so often, begging him to grant them some rare items on loot boxes and gacha games. so getting to know the two in the flesh is an amusing experience! Mei particularly prayed to Nezha for safety on her races and motorcycle joyrides, and they talk wheels a lot.

Nezha and Red Son are still celestial agents, and they can wear the serious face when they have to, but MK and Mei get to see that these two are pretty down-to-earth guys for deities.

#lmk au #by the book au

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inhuman-obey-me · 1 year

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Congrats for 2.7k followers!! You guys are the best in writing, I always come back and reread a LOTT from your master list! For the request, can I have "🖤 - You fell in love with the evil that you bare" with Levi?? Don't care if mc is included-- I wish y'all a great day and take caree ^v^

This is like 8 months late and we're so so sorry for the very long wait!! But thank you so much for the sweet words -- that really means a lot and we're so happy people still enjoy our writing!! ; /// ; ❤️

"You fell in love with the evil that you bare." - Leviathan

“I never wanted to come to this awful place to begin with!”

Leviathan’s eyes open with a start, his heart racing and breath shallow. Slowly, his surroundings come into focus – the soft blue glow highlighting the rim of the bathtub he was nestled in, the dim light flowing through his jellyfish fixtures, the posters and figures on the wall and shelves in view. He was in his room, in the present day – not in the past, like in his dream. With a sigh, he heaves himself up and folds himself over a side of his porcelain bed, watching Henry 2.0 swimming in the vast aquarium mere feet away.

It had been ages since he had dreamt of the Great Celestial War or of their fall, which often were strange distortions of his own memory. Tonight it seemed his subconscious decided to remind him of a time soon after their fall, a time where Leviathan was full of anguish and despair at becoming a demon – the very beings he had before fought so valiantly against, had led the entire Celestial Army to defeat until a truce of peace had been declared. His life up until that point he had had the hatred for demons so firmly instilled in him, and even with movements towards tolerance and his own rebellion against the Celestial Realm’s ways, centuries of hate could not be so easily unlearned.

Avatar of Envy, he soon was titled. Strange to think that the envy had rooted its way in his heart even before the war. With peace declared, he had lost his purpose – what was a General to do if there was no point in preparing troops for battle? No strategies to devise? He was rendered useless, his position defunct. How he envied the others who still seemed to have some purpose, some worth – no one ever said he might as well be gone, but why would they? It was clear as the bright celestial sky.

But then he was asked to join Lucifer in his battle against the Celestial Realm, against their Father. And he joined, because he too had realized the unfairness of it all, not just of the punishment dealt to their sister who had just acted on love but to all the other strange cracks that their Father tried to hide or excuse. So he joined, because it was the right thing to do and oh he could be useful again!

And then they failed.

He failed.

As he fell, as white wings and halo were traded for a serpentine tail and branching horns and scales, he felt that envy burn brightly. It consumed him, it enraged him, it sickened him. The ugliest parts of him now spilled from him and oh how he hated it! Hated what he had become with every fiber of his being – and so he hid himself away, fearing to even look in the mirror and see eyes of raging envy look back at him.

But then, ever-so-slowly, Leviathan acclimated to his new demonic nature. To be named an Avatar was one of great pride and importance in the Devildom, the very manifestation of the sin. It was who he was, and he even was named the Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy (though he questioned the need with established peace). He would act on his temptations, on selfishness, on more violent and cruel impulses that would have shocked his former self. He began to find joy in raking his claws through an offending demon, joy in absorbing himself utterly and completely in his passions, joy in his power.

There was a strange freedom to it all, one he was not afforded in the Celestial Realm. A freedom that had been for so long seen as evil by those more sanctimonious.

Leviathan was by one of his shelves now, his hands having found one of his novels that he now absentmindedly flipped through, thumb brushing the edges of pages until it caught on one. He glanced down at the page, and he caught sight of a line: “You fell in love with the evil that you bare.”

Had he fallen in love with it? Or had he merely accepted it, and had found his moments of exhilaration through it all? The freedom, that embodiment of sin that was his to claim.

He placed the book back, dropping into his chair to boot his latest game up. A wry, hopeless smirk crossed his lips as he watched the 2d demon slayer dance across the screen.

What did it matter? It was pointless to think too long on the question, because the answer wouldn’t change a thing.

He let himself fade into another world once more.

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tieflingsfingers · 25 days

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Counterfeit Evereskan Jewel

What and who: Conflict/angst but also humor/fluff. Thomasin and Astarion argue. Wyll and Karlach eat big soup. Rugan says thanks. Summary: The gang gains access to the Zhent hideout in thanks and Thomasin finds the experience uncomfortably familiar to her own life in hideouts. Astarion gets asked about his lack of reflection and fights with Thomasin over using tadpoles for their gain. Karlach and Wyll are just thrilled to eat soup and hear about the little blue tiefling archer that could. Warning/Content: More in the realm of character study, so a lot about two elves that are bad at feelings. OC lore on unsafe homesteads, past friends, and moral values. Reimagining of mirror scene with Astarion and the Zhent chest side quest. Part of series. Word Count: 4,443 Ao3 Link

Sometimes Thomasin would reminisce on the days where acorns were shot from trees, armed with fresh picked stones. Visions of her childhood friends and how they were always competing for the best aim. Arguing over who’s stone could be shot the furthest. A childhood consisting of scraped knees and grass stains in unexpected places, as if she had rolled around hills for an entire afternoon. They laughed and played and fended off bullies with their makeshift weapons. Made uncreative jabs at rude neighbors and came home to tarts baked with whichever fruit was in season.

Even as an adult, the memory always sat dormant in her mind. If only battles she faced now could be resolved with a homemade slingshot. Ravenous creatures and unsympathetic villains had no chance, balance crumbling when acorns made impact against their flesh.

In the face of gnolls and bloodied pack mentality, Thomasin and her companions made swift work of their gnashing threats. Through blades and verbal summoning, bruises and knicks by teeth and claw. Not one daring to let their guard down until sounds of those trapped within a cavern’s vast open mouth came out in triumphant exhaustion. An older man and his young lackey stuck their necks out like cautious deer, boots caked in a thin layer of ash from their molotov cocktails.

The older man had charismatic confidence, despite the sweat and dirt on his brow, and introduced himself as “Rugan”. He sang their praises in a gruff calm and explained how much bloodshed had occurred along the Risen Road. His squadron was thrashed, but the cargo chest he carried had to return to his boss posthaste and by any means necessary. A foot propped atop the chest's lid as if keeping its contents inside.

Thomasin stood whilst they group talked, Karlach and Wyll standing their ground. Their exchange never veering into threats or suspicion, but rather the casual agreement of a truce. Two groups meeting together in a poor circumstance, keeping blades sheathed. Rugan laughed in pity at the demise of his partners and thanked them for his survival. He granted Karlach, and the others by extension, a password to enter his den. A meeting to be paid by his boss. The half-elf forced herself to chime in here and there, at least to establish her presence.

There was familiarity and an ingratiating urge that made Thomasin eventually speak up. As if it was critical to acknowledge the transaction taking place, struggling between her own dominance and passivity. Despite the casual nature of his voice, the habit of exuding strength in front of these types of men crept its way to the forefront. His features were rugged and expression one of self-assuredness. The deep creased worry lines of someone used to dire straits, like how she imagined the precocious tiefling children may end up. This didn’t feel dangerous, but guessing was no way to stay alive.

Rugan gathered his bearings with his lackey and the two carried their treasure down a trail out west. As they disappeared into the distance, the group gathered up and weighed out the odds. Although, it didn't take long to convince one another to head in the same direction. The promise of gifts when fighting tooth and nail was more than deserved.

And so, the entire walk to the Zhentarim’s den, they each threw ideas about the sacred chest's contents. An endless chain of solid gold and platinum. A book of unspeakable evils. The head of an important leader or three. An explosive rattling around, waiting to be opened. A pair of silken gloves with Rugan's grandmother’s name stitched down the side. Or maybe Rugan's name? It was the most entertained Astarion had been in days.

Thomasin, however, found herself silent mostly.

The half-elf wracked her brain for old verbiage. The obscure slang traded amongst smugglers and their confidants. Wondering how far those words may have traveled and whether modernity of only a decade and a half could be enough to evolve such language. If sailors were popular in those parts and if her knowledge of the sea would be of any use.

She thought about how the air pressure changed underground and if it’d remind her of old places she once called home. If the microscopic change against her skin would feel cozy. If she would remember the constant self-awareness of living in those quarters, questioning whether she was saying the right things or giving the wrong people eye contact. If the amount of space she occupied in those enclosed caverns was considerate of the space she was allotted.

Although, after they arrived, speaking with the Zhentarim came much more natural to her than expected. Groups of this size were strategic in hiding. Behind the burnt remains of a tavern, through its untouched wine cellars, and finally situated through a mundane wardrobe hiding the tunnel access to their hideout. With Rugan’s word, his boss Zarys gave her good graces for helping them out, even if she wasn’t as thrilled they had any knowledge of cargo in existence.

These dynamics were easy. Thomasin wasn’t to give too much information and speak with a tone that was both bold yet docile. Answering in absolutes and short form reassurance. The respect all pirates, mercenaries, smugglers, and morally grey organizations carried with them. The ability to pack every syllable with secrecy. The masculine edge and the underlying fear all involved felt but would never dare vocalize.

Blessings were upon them though, as the visit was short and sweet. The cargo they toted had no name, but warranted an entire underground system of smokepowder being prepared. It was best to wipe it from their curiosity. It would all be wiped from the hideout in a white hot flash anyhow. This meant there was enough time to speak to traders offering their curated wares before crawling up to the top soil unscathed. The smell of ground powdered flammables coated their nostrils.

Although, before leaving the tavern, they sifted through its charred wooden corpse for anything of use. The hollow shell of a once bustling interior, but they kicked through soot and damage until reaching the open expanse of a kitchen. To their surprise, a bounty of foods were left if you pushed aside what had become charcoal. Wyll packed up stiff loaves of bread and jarred jams in his bag. Excitement tinged his voice, although he supressed it slightly to keep his usual composure. This was only to be matched by Karlach’s unhindered rejoicing. Potatoes still intact, flakey herbs, and a burlap sack of greens. Serviceable cuts of thin meat still hanging by hooks, now dried by the smoke.

Thomasin grabbed numerous small pouches and filled them with what grains, nuts, and seeds were left unsinged in half-empty barrels. A tedious task, but welcomed after the amount of mental energy she exerted moments before.

She’d peek over at Astarion every so often and flinch at the noise of wine bottles clinking against another. He’d began to rifle through the wall of wine racks, pocketing multiple in his backpack and ensuring Thomasin knew his opinion and taste of each one. Whether he had tasted them before or if the label was simply too ugly to bother. It did make her laugh.

On foot, they lugged their heavy bags through crumbling bridges and sparsely inhabited pastures towards the location of the goblin camps. Although, after the fight they endured, it was difficult to not pine after a cooked meal and the luxury of cleaning up in a nearby stream. Their weary feet got them far, but they decided to house themselves in an abandoned cavern. Fire and tents to be assembled inside and a basket of laundry taken to the thin stream outside.

Each fell into the roles they naturally settled into. Wyll made meal preparations and watched over the bubbling tin pot hanging over a fire. He’d banter with Karlach as she set up her tent and picked up the slack where Astarion often left off, securing the others’ and tying them down. The extra work gave her time to discuss methods of killing beasts in Wyll’s travels and hypotheticals concerning how many oxen she could carry on her back. If oxen were friendly enough to befriend and if she could get a pet oxen of her own.

Astarion favored his role as more nebulous. Floating from task to task, lazing where he could and proving his worth to the group when he felt necessary. Sometimes, he’d join Thomasin at whatever watering hole they settled near and helped her do laundry. He couldn’t identify what could be eaten in the wild, but he knew of every way to rid of stains and reinvigorate worn clothes. What types of vinegar and salt ate away at blood. Which unremarkable weeds growing in the cracks of city walkways could be boiled to dye cloth to its original shade. How to re-use the carcass of citrus fruit and cheap spices as bleaching agents.

Thomasin sat at the water’s edge, her legs stuck out to let its cold temperatures soothe her muscles and acclimate in hopes of washing away the day’s dirt atop her skin. She appreciated his company. The evenings they both showed their grit, pants folded up their calves and hands busy at work. It often spawned the best nonsense that came out of Astarion’s mouth. An outlandish revenge plot here, a cocky opinion there, all sprinkled with pet names.

She got a hint of normalcy and imagined he enjoyed feeling heard, even if they never discussed past intimacies beyond a reference and a wink. It was like flyers on notice boards. A prolific event on display, but each day’s trials and tribulations covering it with more and more flyers atop it. A stack of papers so thick that unpinning them to rifle through felt more like a hassle.

At some point, she noticed a lull in his conversation and peered up from her duties. Inches from his face, the elf was scrubbing away at a blood stain on his shirt. He dug the bristles of an old brush into its woven hemp and thumbed at the stain, rubbing the rind of a lemon into its cream colored sleeve. His body was hunched and she traced along the scars on his back with her eyes. Following the raised surface of his scar tissue and highlights reflected from the low setting sun.

The half-elf recalled a night he returned from a particular hunt with fondness. The night he came back in drunken splendor and high off being satiated, if not stuffed to the brim with blood. Watching the man stumble back into camp and plop down before the fire as if he wasn’t unusual in its giddiness. They all couldn’t help but be amused by his wobbling state, far worse than he had ever been, despite his frequent wine consumption. It was one of the few times he’d ever been so candid to them. At least, in such a messy way. But, the bear had lost, he had won, and they asked him for every juicy detail.

His moments of opening up were often spontaneous and sporadic. Either coming out with a nonchalant attitude or bursting from his lips, as if toiling over memories all day. Whenever the latter occurred, his frustrations and anger often overrode the ability to ask for fine details. Rants ended up diverting into passionate complaints, away from the original story at hand. They’d all learned he was processing things at his own pace though. His friends saw the tangents seemed cathartic enough to let into the air.

He wore quirks she was used to at this point. His cursed symptoms became background noise that they tended to, like any other ailment or injury, caring for and considering out of instinct. However, Thomasin noted the bizarre sight in the water. Her brain pointed out oddities now and again, like an internal alarm alerting her body of an uncanny valley.

“Do you miss it?” she asked. It was the first time she’d uttered anything in the last few minutes. Most thoughts hadn’t caught up to her mouth though and she realized she should elaborate. “Your reflection.”

He blinked, noting the way his shirt’s reflection hung on the water’s surface like a ghostly figure, before looking back at her.

“My reflection? The ability to indulge in petty vanity? Of course,” he answered, although his words peppered with confusion. “Why?”

“Just curious.”

“I haven’t seen this face since its eyes turned red and it grew fangs,” he answered in an earnest yet stony way, going back to scrubbing at his button up shirt. “A reason you should always take advantage of mirrors and your beauty, love.”

It was true. He often mentioned her visage in passing mirrors. Complimenting parts of her as if her reflection was another being that needed to be admired that instant. As if the length of her hair or curves of her thighs would disappear if not recognized.

“What color were your eyes before?” she asked.

Astarion looked over at Thomasin's reflection, filling the gap of his thoughts with casual titters and hums. It was an easy enough question. Everyone knew those fine little details that made them who they were. Until he realized, he couldn't access the memory. No doors to be unlocked or anecdotes to fawn over. It made his expression drop into mild worry.

“I don’t know… I don’t remember, it seems.” He paused, brows furrowing at the epiphany, as if now contending with new untapped grief. The elf went into re-wiring his brain. A huff of air sighed through his nose as if letting go of anything unpleasant. Eyeline retreating back to where they sat, mentally searching for crumbs of idealism. Something that could soothe without a doubt.

“But, that’s why we should take advantage of the tadpoles. Think about it," he said.

He twisted to gesture at her, as if pitching a plan. Open hands pointing at the air around him, his feet in running water, and then the sun’s beams on his skin. His mere existence outside the bounds of Baldur’s Gate’s proximity.

“I’ve become conveniently lost and feel the warmth of a sunny day on my skin for the first time in centuries. Centuries. ” He repeated it, astounded by the sounds and sheer audacity coming out his mouth. “Unbound from Cazador’s grasp. Can you imagine the power we haven’t tapped into yet? I could destroy the man and wield the power to reclaim what’s mine. My reflection. Everything.”

Thomasin chewed at her lip. She wasn't a stranger to his outbursts of passion and revenge fantasies. She understood the desire for revenge. She could even empathize with that desire of a grandiose finale and closure. His ideas all ended in the strive for power, however. Control. Fantasies with motivation, but never quite grounded in its diverging possibilities.

It was as if complete dominance was the one thing stopping him from fulfilling his perfect life. Perhaps it was. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to encourage it.

“Power corrupts. You don’t want to become the same man you’ve despised for years.”

Astarion scoffed, waving a dismissive hand at her like an unimpressed elder. “Corruption comes without fail, regardless of power. Don’t be naive. You think as though I’d not put my command over thrall to good use?” He pondered the delights of his reign, losing his train of thought to daydreams. “Cooling me with grand silk fans and mixing my goblet of blood to my liking. Sending folks to death for not bringing the exact Evereskan jeweled cuffs I asked for. ”

“That would make you happiest?”

“Of course. It’s what everyone wishes, even if they don’t admit it to themselves. Gods…” he sighed, looking at her, the smudge of distaste on his face as he reminded himself she would never grasp him. How overthrowing the beast squashing his light under a manicured thumb was the one answer. His brain tingled under a wash of dysregulation. He knew this struggle well, although that wasn’t something he could identify with words at the time. The need to be nice to her for his survival without consideration of his own feelings.

The elf had to speak his mind. The emotions were justified, monstrous, causing deep resentment of his past to overflow with each sentence.

“Don’t try to guilt me. I would be moronic to squander this opportunity. My problems would cease to exist if I was in control, but why would I expect you to be able to even fathom why it’s so important? Vampirism has created a homestead within me just as the tadpole has staked its claim in my skull. When do I get to reap the rewards of whatever decrepit undeath lies where my heart once was? Riddle me that, little half -elf.”

Thomasin’s brows scrunched into a grimace, more incredulous than anything.

“Considering we know nothing about these stowaways means it could do eons more damage than what’s already been done to you. That doesn’t freak you out?”

“What? The powers above finally doing something for once and you want me to just give up? Why don’t we just hole up in a little cottage somewhere until this all blows over? Precious.”

His voice was riddled with contempt, giving glimpses of how he must’ve bantered with the other spawn in his home.

Her heartbeat began to pick up as he twisted her words. Unfed anger broiled within her, lips parting to speak, unsure if an apology or retort would be what exited them. Although his vigilance was as alive as hers. She figured her uncertainty read clear as he cut her off before she could respond.

He had never spoken to her like that.��

“I won’t be taking advice from a youth. In fact, what color my eyes once were is none of my business nor is it yours. No need to dwell on lost causes and what was.”

Astarion rose from his spot in the grass and set his shirt aside on a flat rock facing the sun. His fingers wiggled and stretched out as if they, too, were strained like the muscles in his shoulders and neck. A gulp perforated the intensity of his voice, although its hostility still lurked beneath.

“I’m going to go read in peace while the light is still out. At least occupy this damned thing in my head while I pass the time we have such an abundance of.”

Thomasin stared down at the water’s surface, not bothering to combat with her own vitriol. By the gods, did she want to. Call him names and accuse him of acting haughty and indignant when he got riled up. Let him know his groveling wouldn’t help anyone. The tension in her body kept it in though, knowing it could show him that she may have been, in fact, scared.

By the time her breathing stilled and the quietness of his absence floated about, the half-elf picked herself up. She threw the wet clothes in a wicker basket. A pluck at their clothesline from a neighboring tree to relocate it inside the cave with the others, ensuring to grab his shirt on her way back. There would be more heartache if his garment were swept away by the night’s winds or wandering thieves.

Thomasin arrived by the fire as Wyll and Karlach snacked on crackers and made their own merriment. Although they knew of the tension brewing between the elf and half-elf, watching from a distance and the dramatics at the stream’s edge. When Thomasin greeted them with a frazzled demeanor, their postures straightened and Wyll was ready with a bowl in hand.

“Don’t mind Astarion… or take it personally. Whatever happened, don’t worry,” Karlach said in an attempt to comfort, even if she knew little detail. “Sit, have dinner with us. We were talking about Wyll’s big fancy dad.”

Wyll nodded along and leaned forward to take the pot’s lid off, letting steam and aroma fill their proximity. It swirled and melded with the cool air flowing into the cave’s mouth. Warm broth with floating specks of green and presumed beef flowed into a wooden bowl by the ladle.

“Ah, it’s nothing that hasn’t been told before. A duke’s son is still a son. I am a simple man,” he said, brushing off the unimportant concept of hierarchies. “I was just telling her about fencing classes I took as a teenager and how I’m still surprised when that muscle memory springs into action.”

Karlach abided by their distribution system. A bowl, once full, passed down the line, and replaced with another empty to be filled. The tiefling’s hand kicked up the bubbles in the broth as she handed her dinner. A handful of wheat crackers were set atop Thomasin’s thigh.

“I guess there’s some good tips to be had in all of that prancing around,” Karlach said, knowing Wyll had been precautious in timing his sip as to not burn himself.

The playful teasing made Wyll laugh on cue. Head tilted aside, catching himself and coughing in fear bits of green onion would spill from his mouth. “Hey, hey, hey. Even the most beautiful of sports can be deadly with quick precision and an open mind.” He gestured to Thomasin. “No different than battle through crafted melodies.”

“Ay, maybe you’ve got the right idea. When did you learn how to use a bow anyways? I’ve seen you strike down foes with that thing all willy nilly… Or is that magic stuff too?” Karlach asked and took a spoonful, slurping up her scalding dinner into an equally scalding mouth.

Thomasin chuckled at their antics as she finally began to feed herself after such a long day.

“No, not magic. I always had good aim as a kid and when I got older, I hung around all sorts of sketchy folks, a little like the Zhent. Illka taught me, the best sharpshooter in the organization’s whole siege of archers- unbelievable sight to see her always outdo the men she worked for.”

Although she disguised the exhale as a means of cooling her meal, she tried to let go of anxieties tensing her shoulders. Looking back at her early adulthood could often feel like a blur. Criminal activities she only partially witnessed, people she only partially knew. Yet, a syndicate could feel like a cluster of mushrooms. An underground connection of nonverbal communication, leeching off one another and dependent on those cues. Inconspicuous once the soil was pat down and the outside world knew nothing of it.

Although, if there was anything to look back with sentimental nostalgia, it was Illka. Someone always attached to Thomasin’s hip, in a way that was both protective and needy at the same time. A woman, only a few years younger, whose alcohol intake soaked in her system when hyperfocus wasn’t needed. Warm swigs and blushing cheeks that softened her friend, turning her into a youth hoping pretty women liked her.

These were the tales that let Thomasin relax and continue.

“A little blue tiefling, head always shaved, something snarky always coming out of her mouth. One of the funniest, most gutsy ladies I ever knew. We were close like sisters and she always told me I needed more ways to defend myself.”

“Sisters? Family is found everywhere! That’s adorable, ain’t it? If I put an apple on my head, would you be able to knock it clean off?” Another big heap of soup into the red tieflings mouth.

“Gods, maybe. Give me a shot of rum, shield your face, and I’ll see if I still have it in me.” Both hands rose to mimic a metaphorical bow, pulling back her spoon to let imaginary tension plunge it forward. Her hazel eye, the one still useful for its vision, closed tight and only the flick of two fingers signaled she had let the string of her phantom bow go. Her shoulders, then, slackened, sighing fondly. “Although if she knew who I’d grown into, she’d tell me I’ve gone soft now, probably. Once I got into the city, I only used it on rare occasions to hunt for food.”

“Huh. Maybe Astarion is jealous you’re a better hunter than him. Lil’ pointy guy can’t have competition.”

Thomasin was hesitant to laugh, still replaying his words in her head, but forced herself to push them aside and join the comradery. She bit off half of a cracker soaked in soup, the warm broth enveloping her stomach. Little by little, her nausea subsided. Friendly company was her favorite cure as was conversation. Wherever it wandered, she followed. Discussions of favorite books or confessing how her temper seemed to clash with Astarion.

Reassurance and the mental escapism of exchanging fictional stories. Tall tales of those in power in Baldur’s gate as if bold truths. The renowned magistrate with ninety tressyms in his home, all named after exotic fruits. The famed prison chief with a proclivity for lingerie under his uniform. Gortash’s drawer packed with unsent letters, penned to brothel workers whom he had undertipped and yet fallen head over heels for. Anything to get the three to clutch their stomachs in laughter.

That night, Thomasin snuck back into her tent with a mellow calm of knowing she had friends. Genuine connections. Food in her stomach and as much health that could be afforded. What wasn’t always as guaranteed, however, was sleep. Gnawing thoughts raced in her mind, causing short bouts of rest disrupted by tossing and turning. Nights where her tent felt more like an enclosure or terrarium, like she was being contained more than safe.

Per usual, she opted to use the excuse for a walk. In only a long night shirt and her woolen tights, Thomasin crept from her bed and walked along the cavern’s cold flat foundation. The cavern they found refuge in wasn’t massive, although its interior proved roomier than it looked on the outside. Curving walls and pitfalls where the ground gave out to darkness. Stout tunnels with rock that jut out from its walls like misshapen staircases. Craters along the roof sparse, but light still peeked in from a barrel-sized hole.

The climb was easy enough, pushing her tired body upward with the reward of stargazing. Scooting herself along short edges and crawling until she reached a ledge and could stand up. Although, as much as the sky beamed in, another had caught her by surprise. He was only a few feet ahead, sitting with his legs crossed, and hadn’t noticed her presence. In the moonlight, all alone, a white-haired elf stared wistfully into the sky through the small porthole.

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tcfactory · 4 months

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You know, I planned In Tune to be much shorter than it already is, but I have a whole Event with MBJ planned when he's completely nonverbal for most if not all of it that I'm on the fence about including because I don't want to bloat the fic too much.

On the other hand, it would be kind of the payoff for something I set up earlier and it could be another MBJ PoV chapter. Also maybe a proper introduction to Mobei Er and her girlfriend? Where else would a demon couple run away to when they have to pretend that one of them is dead than the human realm?

...also a possible not-quite reconciliation with LGJ and MBJ, because I have Ideas about what a mess their family relations are - in this case, MBE is centuries older than both LGJ and MBJ, while LGJ is only like 10 or so years older than MBJ. MBE and LGJ are relatively close to each other, on account of being mixed with warm-blooded demons (MBE's mother was a plant spirit and LGJ's a wind demon from Kyushu) and having control over the southernmost (and thus warmest) parts of the Mobei territories. So MBE could negotiate a truce between them, as a form of thank you for MBJ leaving her alive.

#shut up tc

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nelkcats · 8 months

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Phantom Fever

When Danny left Amity he was pretty sure it would be a quick trip. He wasn't expecting a few days' visit to Gotham to check some annoying "co-workers" of Vlad's, a gala and a serious case of fever.

Being fair, Danny didn't know that ghosts could get sick, or how much damage this could do. His powers went completely haywire, activating and deactivating in the middle of the street, and it was only thanks to Vlad that he was able to come up with an excuse or two.

Vlad obviously didn't expect him to get sick either, if his disgusted face was anything to go by. The two had a truce of sorts but it was obvious they were only on friendly terms thanks to Jack Fenton.

Danny didn't feel like locking himself in a room and drinking soup. He wanted to call Frostbite, but he was too far away from the Realms, and the halfa refused to let Vlad check on him.

So he ended up on the streets of Gotham, spreading early winter and ice stalagmites in his wake. It was just luck that Vlad found him before the bats, who were obviously interested in the new development. Danny wondered how he was supposed to attend the gala in those conditions.

#dpxdc #Danny has a fever #this breaks his hold on his powers #and basically throws them out of control #That's why Gotham ended up as Frozen in a matter of minutes #Danny didn't notice #he was busier raving in fever #Danny refuses to go to any hospital #or let Vlad check it #his trust in him remains in doubt #dp x dc #dc x dp #Vlad will make him attend the gala anyway #and Danny will probably freeze the room #The bats thought that the eternal and unbreakable ice was the work of Freeze #but Freeze is looking for the origin #Danny just wants his favorite Doctor Yeti

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charcoalhawk · 2 months

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Be still my beating heart

My second back up truce gift! This is for @timelessdp, so sorry this took so long!

I used this prompt: Phantom wasn’t Danny before the portal accident. He was Amity, younger Brother of Pariah Dark.

I had a ton of fun with this, and I hope to revisit this au at some point to explore more.

Warnings: brief description of injury

“Amity, it is ready.”

The faint sound of ticking alerts Amity to who entered his chambers before smoke whips out of frozen lungs.

“Thank you, Clockwork. With the sarcophagus finished we can finally look towards ending this.”

The Sarcophagus is their last chance, and even then its going to be a long shot. Amity’s brother is strong, but they have all the Ancients and Clockwork on their side.

“Are you sure it will actually work?”

Amity looks to one of his oldest friends, sees the anxiety they’re trying so hard to hide.

“It has to. Pariah has already caused so much destruction and misery across the infinite realms, if we don’t stop him now nothing will.”

Clockworks frown twists as he shifts rapidly between his three forms.

“I admire your confidence Amity, but-”

“I have full faith in your abilities, Timemaster, we will win.”

________________

They lose, badly.

Amity had known his brother was strong, Pariah Dark hadn’t gotten the moniker of ‘butcher’ when they had been alive for nothing. But this, several of the Ancients have been destroyed entirely, and Clockwork had been struck so horribly in the face that Amity thinks he might loose that eye.

Their attack had failed on every level. Pariah had clearly known they were coming, and once the fighting had started any sense of cohesion had left them, every ghost fighting only for itself.

The sword sinks deeper into Amity’s chest. The blade had nearly split his core in two, as is it’s held together by barely a thread.

“Kneel, brother.”

Pariah's voice is like thunder, demanding respect and attention from all.

“Never.”

His own voice quivers like a leaf in a storm even as he fights to look his brother in the eye.

This had been exactly why the plan had been to surprise and overwhelm Pariah, Amity had known in the depths of his core that they wouldn’t be able to beat his brother on an even playing field.

Pariah gestures with hand not wielding the sword, sweeping over the ruined battlefield.

“Look at what your foolishness had wrought, brother. Your ally’s lay decimated around you, and now you have forced me to expedite my plans.”

In an instant the sword is abruptly removed from Amity’s chest cavity, replaced by his brother's hand, using the gaping wound as a steady grip to heave Amity up.

“I should kill you here, traitor. But you will serve me much better by acting as an example.”

The next few seconds are a blur as Pariah strides past his decimated enemies, dragging Amity along like one would a reluctant dog.

It takes Amity a second too long to realize whats happening, but by then it is already too late.

Pariah shoves Amity’s broken body into the Sarcophagus, smile gleaming of the horrified shouts of Amity’s allies.

“I, Pariah Dark, conqueror of all the infinite realms, hereby banish you to earth. May you lay forever stranded as your core rots.”

Amity’s last sight before the door seals is his brother’s eyes, filled with hatred as he is shunted from his home.

He can feel when they pass the threshold and he hits earth-

His core screams, but he is trapped in the same sarcophagus he meant to damn his brother to. Trapped all alone on earth, far from the infinite realms.

His only hope is that the Ancients and clockwork are able to rally and capture Pariah before he destroys everything, but even as his core calls out, nothing answers.

___________________

The next few hundred years past in a disconnected haze.

History tells Amity after the first millennium totally isolated from the infinite reals he should have ceased to exist, but somehow his core has not completely destabilized. In fact, it had healed almost entirely from the grievous wound his brother had inflicted on him.

His only theory is that when Pariah tore a hole in the infinite realms to banish him to earth he had not been able to close the portal entirely behind him. So ectoplasm had been able to leak out in a high enough concentration to slowly heal him.

His body stays trapped, but he finds he is able to reach out with his core to take in the world around him.

It appears that while he had been slumbering humans had build an entire town up around where he is buried.

As more years pass he continues to observe this small town, which he is delighted to discover had somehow named itself Amity Park. he grows attached to the people, watching them grow and learn. And he welcomes every soul buried in his graveyard.

Occasionally a rouge ghost makes its way to earth, drawn to Amity’s home by the ectoplasm leaking from the portal remnants. Luckily as his core repaired itself Amity is able to establish this town as his domain, and even without his full power its laughably easy to scare off any ghosts looking to haunt his town.

Eventually he notices a curious development. Two of his people, so-called scientists who have a fascination with ghosts, begin to tinker extensively with the ambient ecto energy that permeates the town. The Fenton’s, they call themselves.

Amity leaves them to it, something he will come to regret for the rest of his afterlife.

It takes him too long to realize that the elder Fenton’s have built ome kind of machine directly over the tear until Amity’s word suddenly becomes alive.

In an instant he feels a spark alight him anew, fells the power from the infinite realms surge out, looking, begging for a response.

In all his excitement Amity almost misses it, but under the clamor of the realms he hears the faint cry.

At the epicenter of the rip in reality lies a human. The youngest Fenton, whos dreams of space remind Amity when he first explored the realms as a ghostling.

It seems whatever machine the elder fentons have created is attempting to re-tear a hole into the infinite realms, and this little one is in the epicenter. He can feel the buzz of ectoplasm all around and inside the boy, overwhelming his new infant core.

Amity reaches out with his own core to try and stabilize this new ghost, but the sheer power of the portal pulls him inward instead.

He is compressed, the fully developed core of a millenniums old ghost shoved into the body of an infant human child.

He screams. They scream. The infinite realms screams with them.

When he is next aware Amity is collapsed on a cold metal surface. But that isn't right.

The sarcophagus is designed to hold his core in suspension. Amity has not felt anything in millenniums.

“Danny?”

The voice is weak and distorted to Amity’s ears, but something deep inside him surges to life at the sound of that voice.

“I’m fi-ine Sam,” he says without thinking. But he shouldn’t know who this small human child is, shouldn’t recognize this lab and the equipment scattered haphazardly about.

His core yearns for the infinite realms, but under the familiar hum he feels something else. Utterly entwined with his core, is a human heart. Somehow the two organs work together seamlessly to pump both ectoplasm and blood through his veins.

Amity can think of a million curses, a thousand ways to damn the earth he is now trapped on, but all that comes out is a single, heart-and-core-felt,

“Fuck.”

#danny phantom #phandom truce 2023 #danny fenton #Amity Dark #this was soooo much fun #cw injury

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kitkatpadywaks · 1 year

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Tensions

Part 5 of La Mechancete De La Vie.

Warnings: Matthew Is Scared Of Her. She Confronts Lucienne About The Librarian's Dislike of Her. They Come To A Truce. Life Is Angry At Dream. Lucienne Teases Life And Fears For Her Existence. Profanity. She Gives Insight (literally) Into Her Powers To Clear The Air With Dream. Their Relationship Is Forbidden, But They Don't Care. He Briefly Fears For Hob.

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: I haven't got much to say except thank you for the continued support for this series.

And I decided to separate the original version of this chapter into 2 parts- so it flows better.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Life doesn't see much of Dream after she settles in his chambers. She doesn't want to push, knowing he's struggling with his affections conflicting with his sister's warnings about her. Something she understands is difficult. The opinion of his beloved sibling is rather harsh when it comes to Life. So she lets him stew, waiting for him to want to know if everything Death said is true.

She's glad of the time, to be honest. It gives her room to sort out some things that have been bothering her, like her situation with Lucienne, who seems to think she knows something about her if the librarian's nervousness at her approach was anything to go by.

Life whistles a repetitive tune as she wonders about the many rows of bookshelves, her nails lightly dragging across the spines of the books as she gets closer to Lucienne, a nervous cawing reaching her ears, suggesting Matthew knows she's on her way as well.

"I've always wondered, do I have a book here?"

Lucienne jumps, not realising Life walked up behind her. "Not as far as I can tell."

Life hums, walking, so she's in front of Lucienne's desk and standing next to the chair Matthew is perched on, "Hello, Matthew. I don't believe I've made your acquaintance. I'm Life."

Caw! "It's nice to meet you, uh, My Lady." The raven inclines his head, "Oh, uh, sorry, the boss is calling."

Life smiles, amused, as the raven flies away, "He's not a very good liar, is he?"

"How do you know he's lying?"

"I see everything, Lucienne." Life stares at her, making the librarian shift nervously on the spot before her posture straightens, and she stares Life defiantly in the eyes.

"Everything?"

Life tilts her head, "You don't like me. Why?"

"So not everything." Lucienne raises an eyebrow at her, her expression slightly smug.

Life resists the urge to roll her eyes. No, she didn't know for sure, but she had a feeling it had to do with her reputation. And her relationship with Dream, who she senses entering the library. "I wanted you to tell me yourself."

Lucienne scoffs, "You're dangerous. A threat to the realm. I don't know what kind of spell you have Lord Morpheus under, but I know what you are."

Life chuckles, feeling Dream stop in his tracks, "Oh, do you? You'd be the first. As for being a threat. Yes, I am, but not to Dream or his realm."

"You expect me to believe you? After everything you've done?"

"Everything I've done?" Life chuckles at that, suddenly understanding where her animosity might originate from, "Okay, I'll ask you this. Did Dream have anything to do with Death's betrayal and my imprisonment?"

Lucienne shakes her head, incredulous, "No, he didn't know you existed. But what has..."

"Then you need not worry. About Dream, his realm, or his subjects." Life feels Dream's eyes flicker intensely between her and the royal librarian.

"How can I not worry!? You murdered over thirty people!"

There it is. Life chuckles, not letting on that she knows Dream is there, "Did I? How did I do that exactly?"

Lucienne scoffs, "You took their lives before it was their time."

"And who told you that? Death?"

The uncomfortable look on her face confirms it, Life seeing a brief flash from Lucienne's memory of her talking with Death.

"Who do you think decides that, Lucienne? Death? Please." Life scoffs, "I decide when every living thing enters existence, and I decide when they leave it. Like I have always done. Anyone who tells you any different either doesn't know a thing or is lying to you."

Life stares at the librarian as she takes in the information, Lucienne not knowing what to think as no one truly knows how Life's powers work, not even Death, the only being ever to be close to her.

"I still don't like you," Lucienne states firmly.

"That's your choice."

The Dream Lord doesn't talk to her after she leaves the library, not that she expected him to, but she's still disappointed by his avoidance. Borderline angry.

Life sighs as she flicks through a book Lucienne recommended she read, the librarian's attempt to simultaneously conciliate her and help her catch up on what happened in the world while she was gone.

Lucienne chuckles at her annoyance, causing Life to shoot her a half-assed glare.

"I'm glad my turmoil is amusing for you." Life leans back in her chair to better see Lucienne sitting at her desk.

"My apologies, my Lady."

Life glares at her harder, "We both know I'm far from your Lady."

"Is that what is bothering you?" Lucienne teases her, her emotions spiking with fear at possibly taking it too far with Life, as it was only a few days after their initial confrontation.

Life rolls her eyes, leaning forwards in her chair to ignore Lucienne, who stands and walks over to her, disregarding Life's attempt to get out of admitting her situation with Dream is what's bothering her.

"It bothers him too, you know."

Life hums.

"You should talk to him," Lucienne stares at Life as she ignores the librarian, "he'll continue to avoid you if you don't."

"Where is he?" Life huffs, believing Lucienne as she's known Dream longer.

Lucienne smirks, "Throne room."

Life silently enters the throne room, briefly stopping to watch Dream as he sits on his throne, flicking through a large book. "Dream..." She calls out softly, not wanting to startle him.

His eyes flicker to her before looking back at the book, "Life. Are you well?"

"Yes, I'm well." She nods, walking until she's at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for him to acknowledge her properly.

He nods, keeping his eyes on the book despite none of the words on the pages registering, practically a blur.

Life narrows her eyes at the Endless as he pretends to ignore her, partially amused as she knows her presence distracts him from his task. Life walks up the stairs, her steps silent, so Dream is unaware of her approach.

"You're starting to piss me off, Dream." She snaps at him.

Dream jumps when she takes the book from his hands and looks up at her in slight alarm. He responds automatically, his instincts jumping to ease her anger. "My apologies."

"Oh, fuck off." Life huffs, crossing her arms.

Dream watches her as she takes deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. He stands from his throne and grabs her arms to uncross them, his touch delicate and warm against her skin as he takes her hands.

"You said we still needed to talk. But then you ignored me. Why?"

"I do not have a sufficient answer. I can only say my fear got the best of me."

Life looks at him sadly, "You're scared of me?"

"No." He shakes his head, his thumbs rubbing her hands in comfort, "I feared that what Death told me was true. And I would be forced to never see you again because of it. I do not think I could let you go."

Life smiles at him, "I suppose the truth is scary if you only know half of it."

"You killed those people."

"That's not how my powers work."

Dream frowns at her, confused and slightly frustrated at the lack of answers. "Then how do they work?"

Life tilts her head, her mind spinning as she tries to find the words to describe her powers- she doubts that even if she did find them, they wouldn't do them justice as they could be complicated even at the best of times, especially without pre-existing knowledge.

"I could show you." Life steps closer to Dream. "It would be easier if you could see what I see." Her lips brush against his.

"It is forbidden." He breathes, nervous at her proximity. One of his hands rises to cup her jaw.

Life smiles and presses her lips firmly against his. Her arms wrap around his shoulders as he reciprocates. And she lets her power flow.

Dream's entire being shudders when he feels it, letting her power enter his body and flood his veins as he pulls her closer and their kiss deepens.

Life pulls away, stopping herself from getting carried away. "Open your eyes. Open your eyes and see."

He does as she says, gasping as he takes in everything.

She watches Dream look around in wonder, his eyes glowing white with her power.

"This is how you see everything?"

Life nods, looking around with him. Taking in how everything leads back to her, even in The Dreaming, where she sees the millions of strings flow through Dream, connecting him to his realm and his creations through his powers.

Dream looks at her- and at the pure white string attached to her, different from every other, which is of some colour variation.

"If you concentrate on a single string, you can see the billions of threads that make it up, each one for a different thing in that entity's existence. And if I want to, I can manipulate it."

"And the people you killed?"

"As I said with Lucienne, I am the only one who decides when someone dies. And I am the only one who can see and choose who exists. That is my purpose, as it has always been and will always be."

Dream nods, excepting that answer. "Did your imprisonment change how everything works?"

"Yes, it messed up a lot of things in the world. There are a lot more immortals than there should be who unknowingly took advantage of my absence."

Dream frowns, concerned, "I was under the assumption Death chose who was immortal?"

"No. Death's powers reach out, and I approve the change." She smiles reassuringly at Dream, "Your friend, Hob, was the last one officially made immortal by me."

He deflates in relief, glad that Hob would remain as he is. "Are you going to tell my sister this?"

"If she lets me." Life sighs, "You're sister seems to be quite content thinking I'm a monster."

"She fears what she doesn't understand."

"Like you did."

Dream smiles sheepishly, causing Life to chuckle before reaching to connect their lips, the Endless sighing blissfully into the kiss, then pouting when she disconnects them.

"Are you able to cease your duties to accompany me?"

"Where?" He watches her chew on her lip, a nervousness he hasn't seen before on her face.

"To talk to Death."

Dream looks at her, surprised, "You're going to talk to my sister? And you want me to come with you?"

Life nods, "Will you come with me?"

"Yes." He gives her a small smile, "But why?"

"Well, Death and I are long overdue for a chat. And I'm sure there are some things we will discuss that you should hear."

Dream nods, appreciating how open she is and wants to be, promising himself that he will be the same with her, no matter how difficult it is for him. "When do we leave?"

She gives him a minuscule smirk, "Now."

Thank you for reading.

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