My Headcanon for Liminals
I've been having a lot of fun posting headcanons, and I'm starting to realize just how many I've built up over the years, so here's another one.
So I've stated before that part of the reason why Danny and Vlad are so different is because Danny was inside of a portal when it turned on whereas Vlad just got a face full of energized Ectoplasm and other assorted nastiness. The still human and already ghostly halves of Danny fused into a cohesive whole in order to survive the opening of the portal and continued supporting eachother. Vlad's human half forcibly integrated his resistant ghost half as it formed in an effort to survive. Rather than a cohesive whole, Vlad is two dischordant halves.
That said, I do not consider Vlad's state the default result of humans being exposed to ectoplasm.
Part of it is because the exposure was violent and his human body was so incredibly unwell that it made sense for the part of him with less emotional attachment to it to want to escape. This illness did not stem directly from the ectoplasm. We know this much because other people exposed to ectoplasm did not get ecto-acne, and figuring out the involvement of the cola was what allowed the Fentons to cure it.
Part of it is because Vlad has a superiority complex. This means that, in any given state, Vlad considers his current way of being superior. As a human, Vlad considers humanity superior. As a ghost, Vlad considers ghosts superior. This leads to a whole lot of clash between the parts of his psyche which each consider the other half to be lesser. Combine this with the fact that each half despises the illness and associates the illness with the other half, and you get a whole lot of internal toxicity.
For the average person with ectoplasm exposure, there wouldn't be so much of a clash. They would take on some ghostly traits (more and more over time, with continued exposure) and maybe start doing some prep-work for ghosthood, but they wouldn't be trying to leave their human lives early. They probably won't have insane healing factors like Danny, but they won't be tearing themselves apart like Vlad either.
They're preparing for the afterlife, but they wouldn't be so eager to discard the human life they are still living. If you've ever had a favorite hoodie that you wore all the time until you loved it to pieces and it came apart at the seams, that's kind of the feeling. It's not the end of the world when you can't wear it anymore; you can wear other jackets when you're cold, but you want to hold onto it for as long as you can.
The more someone is exposed to ectoplasm (in terms of both frequency and amount), the more ghostly they will become over time.
A random person who just happens to live in Amity Park on the opposite side of town from Fenton Works and and was somehow never at the sight of a ghost fight, will probably just experience a slightly increased awareness of ghost-related stuff and perhaps a slightly smoother transition when their time comes.
Other kids at Casper high, who attend school with Danny every day and get caught up in ghost attacks sometimes will probably start to form the wispy beginings of their ghostly self. Sometimes you just catch a glimpse of what sort of ghost they are going to be. They may also develop some slight powers while still alive.
You look at Paulina carefully shaping and lacquering her nails into something both beautiful and dangerous, and for a split second you just know that, someday, she's going to be all claws and glittering scales and passionate pursuit of her goals. She will transcend the human form and shape herself into a work of art of her own design and a powerhouse none can deny. Then she turns to her friend and giggles over a funny story, and the moment passes; she's just another kid steadily making her way to adulthood.
She's just another kid until some jerk at the mall oggles her a little too blatantly and her jewelry flashes brighter than the lighting should allow, blinding him so that he trips into a fountain, and Paulina smugly watches him sputter before turning to walk away with a satisfied spring in her step.
Sam and Tucker, Who hang out with Danny every day and frequently explore the ghost zone with him, will start forming more of the foundation of their ghostly selves and probably develop more powers sooner. They are more likely to develop to a point of being able to take on a ghostly form while still alive.
Typically, a halfa formed through extreme, prolonged exposure like this would have a bit of separation between their human and ghostly halves, but without much discord between the two. However, with Sam and Tucker spending so much time around Danny during their formative period (and having so much less contact with any other ghost than with him), it's entirely possible that they would subconsciously learn the integrated system approach, in much the same way people pick up habits of speech from the people around them.
66 notes
·
View notes
Celebrimbor
He's like one of fandom's faves, but y'all know what's my favourite thing about this guy?
He's an only child
Y'all know how in our society there is this weird narration about how when you're an only child then it automatically makes you selfish, inconsiderate, vain, self-absorbed and other stuff like this? As if having siblings was magically making people more decent/caring?
And then there is Celebrimbor who is an antithesis of that. Who grows up to be a so much better person than his dad (who had 6 siblings)
I love the way the least problematic fëanorian is also the one who doesn't have any siblings. It's just nice to see yourself represented in positive way from time to time, y'know. It brings a certain kind of comfort.
I don't want to make it too long, but let me just say that Celebrimbor is the only child representation that I am here for.
20 notes
·
View notes
beginnings of a bodyguard soap after the gunshot. Thinking about this soap as being a lot more unhinged in a violent way asides from his coping mechanisms. Toxic yaoi realness. Unedited and unscottifed, pre reader too.
I’m not really trying to portray it super realistically so that’s a disclaimer too. He’s just got Serious mentoil ishewes. Little nsfw
The call is a relief, straight from heaven. It’s six months after he ditched rehab, the itch under his skin only intensifying every soft, friendly smile the nurses gave him. The exercises they made him do did nothing to quell the familiar ache in his fingers, the need to feel a weapon at his hip, the aching lack of adrenaline piecing together an explosive with his goddamn team at his hip and an objective up ahead and just to the left.
Violently, he hates Makarov. He thought he couldn’t have hated the man more but Soap teaches himself of new lows he can sink to, when his wrath simmers and rots in the hot wet recesses of his shattered, ragged mind. There’s a new beast slithering under his skin, it’s been prodding at his head, his bones, tugging his mind into misty, red places. He woke up differently after the surgery, sharpened and dulled. A shattered blade, dangerously useless,some faulty weapon that’s as liable to hurt himself than to hurt others.
Ghost appears after he leaves rehab.
He hadn’t heard a single word from the bastard, enigmatic as always. He had spent nights wishing, aching for the man as he’s dragged out to pathetically lean on a walker and do breathing exercises. His gloves fist in Johnny’s hair was soothing before, the way he tugged and twisted his excitability into fuzzy calm and beat obedience down into his bones like something he craved. Soap sat up at nights thinking about what Ghost could do with him now and he raved, bit and hissed at the utter lack of him in his life. He glared at shadows, tore up his pillows with his teeth and thought wildly about tracking him down, following old paths to find Price because where Price was Ghost followed and taking a gun to both of their heads.
Ghost turns up at his door like some stray animal, sauntering in like he owns it. Soap nearly attacks him before he’s tugged, harshly, off balance, still swimming and struggling to aim with his new lack of depth perception. Ghost reminds him sharply that he, by proxy, does own the place and he’s not at all happy about how slovenly Soap has been living, how he’s let the rot in his head spread. Ghost is worse than rehab, harsher, tough on Soap as he forces him to exercise. It’s exactly what he needs and he spits at him and thanks him like he’s at church. He vanishes again, after, coming and going as he pleases.
Soap only finds it more unbearable. Days are unending now, when he struggled to feed himself he at least had an adversary to claw at, even if it was himself. Now he has dull days of standing in his kitchen and staring at nothing, working basic labor jobs just to bleed the energy out of his body so he doesn’t smash every mirror in his house and set the block on fire. He wants to knock his house down, tear it apart, but he’s afraid they’ll just be another identical one standing behind it, matryoshka dolls.
Before the gunshot, sometimes he’d scout bars. Find uptight arseholes, snipe at them royally. Drag them into short grapples, arm wrestles, just get them kicked out laughing.
He goes to a bar and he leaves the alleyway beside it with his knuckles aching, one misaligned. His hands are bloody and he taps the shoulder of some waif flowing out of the bar, who startles, staring at him with wide eyes like he’s some creature. He instructs her to call the police and vanishes, not a thought in his mind to pause and see if the bleeding lump he left behind is still breathing or not.
Ghost shows up two nights later and chokes him, shoves his dick down Soap’s throat and fucks him with two fingers, unerringly hitting his prostate until he’s crying into his pillow. He’s gone when the sun rises and there’s a sketchbook in his place. He snaps all the pencils in the house in half, but after an hour he’s apologetically, shamefully, standing in a Walmart buying a pack of colored ones. Ghost doesn’t miss, doesn’t stay a second longer than he needs to brand himself into Soap’s life. Flashes of guidance, tugging of the leash. It soothes him and then rankles him in turns and Soap turns this around and around in his head and can’t quite understand it. He doesn’t understand a lot about himself lately.
The call comes six months after he ditches, after four visits from Ghost. It’s Price and he nearly drops the phone.
Ghost ticks him off on his good days. He loved him, loves him, but even before Johnny had felt that inicessent drive to ruffle his feathers, to drag his attention onto him with sharp words and disobedience.
Price’s tone is calm, even, like he’s issuing a mission just like normal and Soap is rapt. He nods along to half of the call before he even remembers to listen to any of it. Price is telling him Ghost has been in touch, which doesn’t need to be said, talking about Soap’s recovery. He thinks about the sketchbook in his nightstand, pages of blood and gore and guns and sunrises and sheep and flowers, page of one, page of the next, like some kind of fucked up flip book. Sane, insane, sane, insane, violent, calm, violent, it’s a jeopardy wheel spinning inside his head.
9 notes
·
View notes
Actually thinking a little bit about how Angel Crowley was a little dismissive of Aziraphale when they met (not that I blame him, he had the stars to focus on), but in a way that sometimes makes me wonder if Aziraphale has always felt like he was beneath Crowley, and that's why he pushes that he's an angel still because he feels its the only area that he can compete with Crowley (because you know Heaven is all about ranking, its ingrained in him). So when he was offered to go to Heaven, to have Crowley at his side as his second, he felt...special? Like he was important, for once more important than anyone else, not only in Heaven, but with Crowley he finally had something that could help him feel competent, like he was capable, too.
I wonder if the rejection hurts even more because Aziraphale looked up to Crowley when he was an angel. I mean, you can't deny he was in awe, and maybe he's afraid that Crowley isn't so much against Heaven, but against being Aziraphale's number two.
Because Aziraphale is so used to seeing himself as unworthy, as lesser. And yes, this is so miminally important compared to the bulk of their miscommunication, but I just can't help but wonder if somewhere in the back of Aziraphale's mind, he's always seen himself as lesser compared to Crowley. Maybe that's why he constantly reminded Crowley that he was a demon, maybe that's why he told Crowley "you'd be my number 2", and maybe that's part of why it stung so hard when Crowley scoffed at the very idea of it.
29 notes
·
View notes