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ninadove · 1 month ago

Note

NINA TELL US ABOUT YOUR WIP THAT'S RELEVANT TO SPIDERS UNIONIZING!!! 💖💖💕💞🌺🌼🌸🌸🌼🌺

I LOVE YOU GRAY YOU PRECIOUS PRECIOUS CRICHER 💚💚💚💚

And I shall! It's one of my Sentitwink Week projects, specifically for the strikeback · red moon · once upon a time bonus prompt. It's based on one of my favourite poems, J'aime l'araignée et j'aime l'ortie (I love spiders and I love nettles) by Victor Hugo, because I've wanted to write something inspired by it for a long time!

As Chat Noir grows closer to Argos and sees how adamant he is about not using his powers, he starts to reflect on what happened to Strikeback... and remembers how much Felix has always cared about wretched creatures since they were little 🥺 The idea, of course, is to draw parallels between all of them: Adrien, Felix, Kagami, Strikeback, spiders, nettles and co — they're all one move away from being crushed, when all they want is a chance to live and love and be loved... so yes. SPIDERS UNIONISING 🕷️🕸️

Have a little extract under the cut! 💜💚

Later, he thinks of Felix.

Specifically, he thinks of an episode of their childhood, in that very same bedroom he's struggling to make his again: he'd left the window open at night, because it was so warm outside, and because he was too little to reach it on his own. The bed had been too big back then, and it's still too big now: Adrien tosses and turns, a frail little skiff on a sea of covers, and reaches for the empty spot next to him.

Felix isn't there.

Felix was never supposed to be there, not even when they were little; but not once did that stop him from slithering into his cousin's space. He's never been one for sleeping anyway, nor for standing still, nor for keeping quiet.

Thinking back to the time before — back when Uncle Colt was still alive — Adrien pictures his cousin as a rubber band bracelet: twisted, pulled taught, yet refusing to break. All it took was a moment of inattention (an opportunity, as Felix himself would call it) and he would snap back into himself — loud and furious like the crack of a whip.

Those bracelets, Adrien keeps them in one of his drawers: souvenirs from Disneyland, from a Jagged Stone concert, from a night out with his friends. When he started modelling, he was told to stop wearing them, but it doesn't mean he's ready to part with the memories yet.

Or ever.

Anyway, it all happened on a night quite like this one, windless and sticky; except not quite like this one, because Felix was there. Adrien can't remember what they'd been talking about, but he knows he was laughing, quietly, sincerely.

And then, all of a sudden, he wasn't.

“What's wrong?” Felix's face had grown serious — older, like it sometimes does. “Adrien? Are you still in command?”

He hadn't known how to respond to that, hadn't known what it meant; instead, he'd extended a finger, trembling, pointing at the creature lurking in the shadows.

A spider, crawling its way up his cousin's arm. It seems ridiculous now; but Adrien used to be tiny too.

“Oh, that?” Felix had done a double-take; then grinned, as he often did. “Don't tell me you're going to scream like a baby.”

“Don't move!” He'd whisper-shouted, biting his nails to muffle the fear. “It's going to bite you!”

“It's a house spider, not Count Dracula. Gods, you're even more of a coward than Chloé!”

Felix had shifted then, rolling his eyes; and, in an episode of insanity only rivalled by the Red Moon incident, he'd offered the eight-legged intruder his hand. Adrien had watched in horror as the thing climbed onto the little fingers, a splash of brown against the pale skin.

Felix had sat up, cupping it in his hands. Holding it as delicately as he would his bunny plushie.

“Aren't you going to kill it?”

“Why would I? It's not doing anything wrong.”

“But it can't stay here.”

“Why not? Just because it isn't pretty? That's not fair.”

“I don't want it here!” Adrien had insisted, pulling the covers up to his nose. “Take it away. Please?”

There had been a flash in Felix's eyes: something he'd never seen before, and has never seen since — at least, not directed towards him. Suddenly, his cousin had thrown the covers away, jumping bare-footed upon the too-hard floor.

“I'm going to the garden,” he'd said, back turned and shoulders tense. “And then back to my room.”

“Felix —”

“Don't,” Felix had warned, a bite on the edge of his teeth. “Good night, Adrien.”

He wonders now, as he drowns in his childhood house, if that was the night he lost him.

***

“That hurt you, didn't it?”

Felix's eyes have always felt like daggers, but the magenta makes them feel like branding irons: for the flicker of an instant, Chat Noir is convinced they will burn their way past the mask. He isn't sure what to think about that — whether he would like him to find out.

Anyway, Argos' default annoyance soon morphs into something that suits Felix better: curiosity. He tilts his head, a birdlike little gesture, and it makes Adrien's heart ache with fondness.

“When we threw Strikeback into the sun,” he precises, awkwardly. “That wasn't right. I'm sorry.”

“You didn't do anything.” This isn't an accusation, nor is it absolution: moreso Argos putting him back in his place. “Too busy choking on your own jealousy, no doubt.”

“How many times do I need to tell you? There's nothing between Ladybug and I!”

“She has a someone, you know.”

“So have I. What's your point? Boys and girls can be friends.”

“Boys and girls, yes. You and her, though? Not until Hell freezes over.”

Chat's tail flicks with annoyance — a 'perk' of his costume upgrade that truly damages his carefree exterior. He's not sure what's worse: that his cousin refuses to believe him, or that he can't seem to convince himself.

Luckily, Felix decides to return to the matter at hand.

“There's not going to be another one, you know. Not ever.”

“Sentimonster?” The fan unfolds; Chat raises his hands, placatingly. “That's fine! We're not counting on it.”

“Not yet. But it'll come, eventually.”

“Well, not from me.”

And then, muscle memory plays a trick on him: Adrien doesn't even realise what he's done until Argos, perplexed and severe, is looking down at it.

That stretched out pinky looks weird, with no one reaching for it.

“Ha… anyway.” He takes his hand back. He wants to die. “You won't have to use your power, I promise. And if the others try to ask that of you —”

“Which they will, being people.”

“— which they won't, being good people.” Felix snorts at that. “Whatever. The point is: I'd stand up for you.”

He doesn't get an answer to that. Doesn't think Felix believes him.

But neither of them leaves the rooftop, which is progress enough.

#miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #chat noir #felix graham de vanily #argos #senticousins #sentikids #strikeback mlb #nina writes #j'aime l'araignée et j'aime l'ortie 🕸️#gray 💚#cw: spiders #Obviously

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rosemallowss · 11 months ago

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some thoughts

Obviously, people have probably analyzed the hell out of this poem already, or it's incredibly obvious, but I just cannot get over the parallels between Bill Cipher and Stanley here so here are my ramblings for myself when I originally read the poem.

As we learn more of Bill's backstory, the hatred he has for Stan goes deeper, not just because Bill is upset that a "lower life form" has defeated him, but because he's deeply envious that the both of them "always dragged his family down", "couldn't outrun life's regrets", and yet only one of them got a happy ending: reunited with a family who loves him despite his mistakes, able to reverse one of his own deepest regrets, ie. pushing Ford through the portal after just getting him back. Bill likely always dragged his family down with his ability to see the third dimension, as the book and website implies that no one in Euclydia were exactly fond of his abilities, nor did they take him seriously, and they tried to quell his power. (He's basically like Viktor from The Umbrella Academy, but I digress I have not seen the new season). "One mistake, disowned, denied", their paths differ here, but Stan's mistake- ruining Ford's school project accidentally, and Bill's- massacring an entire dimension in the process of attempting to get them all to see what he sees.

We know Stanley's whole life of hiding and changing his identity. Bill goes to "reinvent, retry, reload" throughout dimensions.

"A girdle, eyepatch, fathers fez, / 'I'm a new man!' so he says,": With new info from the website, we can also guess that Bill's top hat, where he keeps the molecules of Euclydia in, once belonged to his father. They both "couldn't outrun life's regrets," and both are con mans in their own right of course, Bill is sketchy and makes deals to manipulate people. He’s a new man once he takes his dad’s top hat!

"When you've lost track of your lies / When the poison starts to rise / When the walls are closing in / When its clear you cannot win / When your actions make it worse / When they see you as a curse," sheesh, Bill is really projecting here. Even his lies are lies. It's funny how Bill really sees himself in both of the Stan twins. With Stanley he seems to project what he hates most about himself onto him in terms of mistakes, failures, and permanently altering his and his loved ones' lives forever, again showing why he despises Stan the most. Despite all of that, Stan got the life that Bill couldn't get back. With Ford, they both have a genetic abnormality, and level of genius and personality that no one else could relate to, making them both outcasts.

"You think you left the past behind / But trust me / I'm still on your mind." By the way, if Bill was still in his mind while his memories were getting erased, and Stan is getting those memories back, that implies that Bill can reform whole again, right? But anyway, these last few lines don't seem to apply to Stan as much as it does to Bill. His dead universe is always on his mind no matter what. Bill's story is so fascinating to me. He's been my favorite villain since I was eleven, so to expand upon him feels awesome. Book of Bill coming out has made me feel like a giddy little kid again who was screaming when she found out that there was a secret flashing of an image once the GF intro ended.

Stanley Pines, the conman clown,

Always dragged his family down.

One mistake, disowned, denied,

Only thing to do was hide.

One way out: the open road.

Reinvent, retry, reload.

A girdle, eyepatch, fathers fez,

"I'm a new man!" so he says

Couldn't outrun life's regrets,

Just kept placing bigger bets.

Changed his haircut, switched hotels-

Truth is just whatever sells.

When you've lost track of your lies,

When the poison starts to rise,

When the walls are closing in,

When its clear you cannot win,

When your actions make it worse,

When they see you as a curse,

Give the wheel one last spin,

Take your chips and go all in,

And Lucky Stan- the roll's on black,

He got his life and family back.

His big break, it finally came,

Redemption from a life of shame.

You really think you won the day.

You packed your bags and sailed away.

You think you left the past behind.

But trust me

I'm still on your mind.

#gravity falls #bill cipher #the book of bill #stanford pines #stanley pines #dipper pines #mabel pines #billford

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bardic-tales · 3 months ago

Text

Part One | Part Two

4.3.2025 - Headcanons - Permanent Memories.

As shown in Lifestyle Black, a short story in On the Way to A Smile, Sephiroth’s descent into the Lifestream was supposed to mark his rebirth by a complete shedding of past attachments and weaknesses.

In Fantasy Worlds Collide, among the first things he would attempt to erase was his love for Bianca, as emotions contradicted his pursuit of absolute control and self-reinvention. However, Bianca’s presence within him refused to be purged, persisting in ways that defied even the vast, consuming nature of the Lifestream. This struggle between forgetting and remembering transforms his love into something far more dangerous, an obsession that reshapes his perception of their destiny.

This article delves into the psychological and metaphysical implications of Sephiroth’s failed erasure of Bianca, exploring how their connection not only survives but strengthens. Ultimately, it binds them together in a cycle neither can escape.

Possible Triggering Topics: obsession, psychological manipulation, toxic relationships, emotional dependency, loss of identity, mind control, and forced captivity.

Sephiroth’s descent into the Lifestream was meant to be a rebirth, a chance to shed the remnants of his past and forge a new existence free from weakness. Among the memories he chose to purge, Bianca was the first, as his love for her contradicted his vision of absolute control. Emotions, after all, were a liability, an unpredictable force that interfered with his Grand Plan. Yet, unlike the other fragments of his past that he willingly let dissolve, such as his memories of his boyhood, Bianca’s presence resisted erasure, persisting within him despite his efforts to forget.

No matter how many times he tried to cast her aside, the Red Thread of Fate and their deep soul-bond ensured that traces of her remained. Pain, longing, and flashes of their shared history lingered, defying the Lifestream’s pull, as their connection was forged before Gaia or the Lifestream was created. The more Sephiroth fought against these memories, the more they took root in his subconscious, forcing him to confront a truth he could not ignore. Bianca was an inextricable part of his existence.

This realization did not weaken him, however; instead, it fueled his obsession. If she remained despite his best efforts to remove her, then she must be essential, more than just a lover. She must be destiny, and so, like he is apt to do, he adjusted.

This directly parallels his connection to Cloud but in a starkly different way. While Cloud serves as a tether through hatred and opposition, Bianca is a stabilizing force that ensures Sephiroth remains whole. Cloud represents a destructive cycle. He is a reminder of past failures and unfinished battles, whereas Bianca symbolizes something eternal. She is an undeniable truth about his identity that even the Lifestream cannot erase. This contrast only deepens Sephiroth’s fixation on her, as she becomes the one thing that ties him to his sense of self beyond vengeance. Bianca and Cloud become tethers to him: a way that he will continue to exist, as his memory will live on.

Inevitably, this subconscious pull leads him to seek her out. If forgetting her was impossible, then possessing her became the only alternative. His dreamscape becomes the battleground where he attempts to reclaim her, drawing her into a shared space where she cannot escape his presence. At first, Bianca resists, fleeing from his promises and manipulations, but Sephiroth is relentless. The more he asserts his control, the more he believes that their connection is not just fate. It is a part of the foundation of his rebirth, a truth that he and she must realized.

In a way, Bianca transcends the role of a mere lover or past companion. She becomes a fundamental piece of Sephiroth’s identity, one that neither the Lifestream nor time itself can erase. While Cloud inadvertently anchors Sephiroth through conflict, Bianca’s presence actively shapes his path. It ensures that even in the depths of madness and amnesia, he will always find his way back to her. What began as an attempt to forget ultimately transforms into an obsession. This obsession binds them together in a cycle that neither of them can escape.

@themaradwrites @craftyhal

@megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap @seastarblue

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon

#character: sephiroth #sephiroth #ship: sephica #otp: bianca / sephiroth #sephiroth x oc #oc x canon #ff vii oc #characters: fwc: ff #cd: headcanons #headcanon: fwc: ff #headcanon: relationships #bardic tales #bardic-tales #au: canon divergent #oc: bianca moore

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kanaria-a · 2 days ago

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❝We learned that the bizarre and opposite dancing veils are inverted❞

in which, you die an untimely death and your lover must go back in time to save you…

The rain never reached the stars. Acheron stood at the precipice of the ruined station, her coat billowing in the solar winds, her blade heavy at her back, though it had not tasted blood in hours. The silence was absolute. Around her, the wreckage of what once shimmered with life now floated like drifting bones, remnants of a battlefield that had not earned the dignity of remembrance. Her eyes—violet, unblinking—searched through the dust and debris for a presence she could no longer feel. Not even the echoes remained. The Emanators of Nihility had fallen. Their names, once carved into the darkness like scars, had been erased by her hand. She had delivered judgment, as was her purpose, her function, her duty. But as the last of them fell, bleeding starlight and vitriol, a stillness unlike any she had ever known crept into the hollow behind her sternum. Where once she had heard your voice, she heard only the cold. You had not died in battle. No, such a death would have been clean, tragic, but comprehensible. Instead, your end had been orchestrated, deliberate—a sacrifice demanded by fate, not chosen. One she had arrived too late to stop. You had been her light. Not in the way poets waxed about stars and lovers, but in the way that mattered—quiet moments between fights, your fingers brushing her gloved hand, grounding her in the now. You who called her by name, not her title. You who saw her not as executioner, but as someone who could still be redeemed. Acheron dropped to one knee amidst the broken floor plating, her hand finding the shattered communicator you had always carried. It sparked once, then fell still. As if it, too, had died reaching for her. Her fingers tightened around it. The ache that bloomed in her chest was not unfamiliar—it had lingered since the moment she found your body, still warm, cradled in silence among the wreckage of her absence. She had killed the one who ordered your death. Slowly. Efficiently. It had not brought peace. Nothing would. The stars had turned their backs. The paths had gone silent. Even the Galaxy Rangers, once loosely allied with her crusade, had scattered like insects before a storm. Only she remained, a ghost in the void. But not aimless. Not anymore. There were places not mapped on any stellar chart—realms behind time, behind cause and consequence, stitched into the folds of forgotten realities. The Nameless knew of such places. The Trailblazers whispered about them in campfire stories. Acheron had never entertained myth. Until now. The one she sought was not a man, nor a woman, but something far older. A being who resided in the Hollow Archive, where memories decayed into whispers and time unraveled like a dying star. They called him the Chrono-Seer. “You come for what has already passed,” he said when she entered, his voice not echoing, but occurring in parallel. “I come to unmake what should not have been,” Acheron replied. Her blade remained sheathed. For once, her wrath was not drawn. “You would trade blood for time? Even you, Nihility’s heir, know that the price will be steep.” “I will pay it,” she said, without hesitation. The Chrono-Seer regarded her, or perhaps the idea of her, with something akin to sadness. “You will not return the same.” “I do not wish to.” There were no incantations, no flashing lights. Only a single question: “Where do you want to begin?” She awoke in the alley behind your quarters on Aeon Delta-9, two days before the attack. Her body did not jolt. There was no panic, no disorientation. Only the silent understanding that she had been pulled back from the edge of oblivion. The wind carried the scent of oil and ozone, and somewhere in the distance, you were alive. Alive. She stood, every muscle burning with the memory of a future that no longer existed, and began to walk. She found you in the courtyard, arguing with a vendor over a box of defective hover-lanterns. Your voice—so familiar it threatened to unmake her—rose in mock frustration. “I’m not asking for a miracle, just lanterns that don’t explode!”

And then, as if sensing her, you turned. It took you a heartbeat to smile. Acheron saw it. That small flicker of joy, immediate and unfiltered, meant for her and her alone. “You’re early,” you said, already crossing the distance between you. She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her hand rose of its own accord and pressed gently to your cheek, her thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. You tilted your head, surprised but not alarmed. “Hey,” you murmured, voice low. “Did something happen?” Acheron lowered her hand. “Not yet.” She stayed close. Never letting you out of sight. You teased her for the sudden attention, but you didn’t question it. You never had. You trusted her, perhaps too easily, too completely. You held her hand while watching the city lights, spoke to her of plans for the next cycle—your research, your goals, your silly idea for a floating garden atop the research lab. You spoke as if time was infinite. But Acheron knew better. The assassin would arrive on the second day. Disguised as a technician. Poison in his veins, and void-tech laced into his palm. A single touch. That was all it took last time. But not this time. She followed him before he ever reached the lab, cornered him in a service tunnel beneath the maintenance ring. No hesitation. No monologue. Her blade whispered through the air, and he fell without ever seeing her face. Still, unease lingered. The events of that day were too easily altered. Too clean. It felt wrong. That night, you found her watching the stars alone. "You’ve been quiet,” you said, sitting beside her. “I know that look. You think the worst is still coming.” She turned her gaze to you, and her voice, when it came, was softer than you’d ever heard it. “I’ve already lost you once.” You blinked. “What?” Acheron looked down at her gloved hands. “There was a version of this future. One where I failed. One where I came too late.” Your lips parted, but she reached forward and held your face, firm but gentle. “I cannot lose you again.” Something in you shifted. The humor fled your eyes, and in its place came understanding. “I’m here,” you whispered. “I’m still here.” She kissed you that night. Not as a warrior. Not as a weapon. But as a woman who had walked through ruin to hold you again. She never saw the second assassin. The timeline had shifted. Someone else had been sent. You collapsed in her arms during a routine inspection, blood already staining your uniform. Acheron had turned only seconds too late. The attacker vanished into the shadows, leaving no trace but a wound that should not have been possible. “No,” she whispered, cradling you as you struggled to breathe. You smiled up at her through the pain. “You tried,” you rasped. “You tried so hard…” “Don’t,” she said, voice trembling for the first time in years. “Don’t speak like that.” But you lifted a shaking hand and cupped her cheek. “I got to see you again,” you said, and there were tears in your eyes. “That’s enough.” Acheron clutched you tighter, her vision blurred. “It will never be enough.” You exhaled. And you were gone. She returned to the Hollow Archive drenched in silence. The Chrono-Seer did not greet her. He only looked, and in that look, she read the truth. “You knew this would happen,” she said, voice hollow. “Time resists correction,” he replied. “What is fated will bend to preserve itself.” Acheron fell to her knees. “Then I will break fate.” The Chrono-Seer was quiet for a long time. “There is a place beyond even my reach,” he said finally. “A fracture not of time, but of possibility. If you enter it, you may lose all that you are. Even your memories of them. But… it is the only path that has not yet been sealed.” Acheron stood. “If there is a version of the universe where they live, I will find it.” The blade at her back pulsed once. She did not say goodbye. And as she stepped into the fracture—into a realm without stars, without time, without certainty—she carried only one truth with her: You had been worth breaking the universe for. There was no beginning in the fracture. No sky. No light. No time.

Only a vast, shifting expanse of possibility, where what could have been drifted like stardust and every step rewrote the path behind. Here, reality folded inward. The past breathed beside the future. Memory unraveled in whispers. Acheron walked alone, her coat trailing through the void like a shadow born of thought. She did not ask questions. There were no answers here, only choices. And she had already made hers. She remembered your face—not clearly, not with precision, but with feeling. It flickered behind her eyes with every echo she passed. In some, you lived. In some, you perished before you had even met. In others, she did not exist at all. Possibility was cruel. It taunted her with fragments. She saw a version of herself standing beside you in sunlight, your hands stained with soil from a garden you’d grown together. She saw another, broken and scarred, holding your body beneath a sky of burning stars. She reached for neither. Acheron did not want a version of you. She wanted you. The you who had looked up at her with eyes full of trust. The one she had kissed beneath Aeon Delta-9’s glass towers. The one who had died whispering, “That’s enough.” She walked through the storm of fate until it began to resist her. The fracture was not infinite—it was alive, and it had begun to understand her purpose. "You seek to force a hand unmeant to be held," said a voice, not from ahead or behind, but all around. Acheron did not answer. "You were made to end," the voice continued. "Not to preserve. This path is not yours." Still she walked. The world twisted. The paths closed. She felt her memories peel away like ash on the wind. First, your voice. Then your laugh. Then your name. But not the feeling. Never the feeling. She collapsed in a field of shattered moons. Her blade pulsed once, dimly. And then she heard it. A voice. Muffled, distant, but real. "Hey… are you alright?" She raised her head. You stood a few meters away, holding a faintly glowing lantern, expression tinged with concern. You wore an unfamiliar uniform, a civilian’s badge on your belt. No weapon. No station insignia. You did not know her. You were alive. The weight of that nearly broke her. "You're bleeding," you said, taking a cautious step forward. "Are you lost?" She tried to speak, but her voice cracked. Your presence was overwhelming—so familiar, so impossibly fragile. "I—" Her throat closed. "I don't know." You knelt beside her, pulling a small canister from your bag. A medical sealant. Simple, effective. You worked silently, gently, as if you had done this a hundred times. “There,” you said after a moment, your hand brushing hers. “That should help a little. What’s your name?” Acheron stared. She should have lied. She should have remained silent, preserved the illusion, protected you. But she could not. “Acheron.” You blinked. Then smiled. “Unusual. I like it.” Days passed. This world was peaceful. You lived in a floating settlement built among the roots of ancient satellites, tending to overgrown archives, preserving dying languages. You laughed often, but softly. Lived quietly, but not alone. You introduced her to a strange fruit that turned bitter if sliced too quickly, then sweeter than honey if peeled with patience. She memorized the way you moved, the cadence of your voice, the way your lips curved when you were thinking too hard. You asked few questions. She answered even fewer. But every time she looked at you, her heart ached with a name you hadn’t yet given her permission to say again. On the thirteenth day, you found her staring out over the edge of the settlement, watching the stars blink in unnatural sequence. “You’re leaving,” you said. She did not deny it. “I shouldn’t be here,” she murmured. “Not in this version.” You came to stand beside her, arms folded. “But you are.” She turned to you then. And for the first time since arriving, you looked back with something unspoken in your eyes. “I feel like I’ve known you,” you whispered, “somewhere.” Her breath caught. You stepped closer.

“There’s this weight in your gaze,” you said, softer now. “Like you’ve lost something so many times you’re afraid to hold it again.” Acheron closed her eyes. “You died,” she said, voice breaking. “I watched you die. Again and again. And I keep finding you, and I keep losing you, and I—” Her hand clenched. “I can’t do it anymore.” You touched her hand. “I don’t remember that,” you said. “But I believe you.” She opened her eyes. Yours were wet with tears not yet fallen. “I believe you,” you repeated, stronger now. “And I don’t want you to go.” The stars shifted. Somewhere deep within the fracture, something screamed. The world began to come apart the next morning. It began with static. Birds frozen midflight. Trees blinking in and out of frame. The fracture was rejecting her presence—rejecting the anomaly. Rejecting you. Acheron stood in the center of the archive square as people vanished around her like candleflames snuffed by wind. Only you remained, confused, frightened—but reaching for her anyway. “What’s happening?!” She caught you as the sky cracked open and bled silver. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I stayed too long.” “No!” you clutched her coat. “You don’t get to vanish again!” “This world—this version—it can’t hold both of us,” she said. “Not like this.” You trembled. “Then what’s the point of finding me again?!” She took your face in her hands. “The point was you. I needed to see you once more. To know that somewhere, in some possibility, you lived.” Tears spilled freely down your cheeks. “Then take me with you,” you whispered. “I can’t. It would tear you apart.” You pressed your forehead to hers. “I’d rather break with you than be whole without you.” And then—impossibly—she heard it. A shift. A sliver of choice. The fracture could be sealed. Not by force. Not by violence. But by acceptance. By anchoring herself—not to vengeance, but to hope. The Chrono-Seer had never told her this. Perhaps he did not know. Perhaps… it had never happened before. Acheron gripped your hand and pulled you into her arms. “Then hold on,” she said, as the world began to reknit around you. The stars inverted. Reality collapsed into a singular pulse. And then—Light. She awoke on the deck of her ship. The stars outside were calm. Your head rested on her shoulder. You stirred, slowly, blinking against the light. “Was it… a dream?” you murmured. She looked at you. And she remembered everything. “No,” she said. You looked up at her, and your smile—real, present, whole—was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Acheron exhaled, the tremble of years breaking like ice. “I found you,” she whispered. You leaned against her. “You never lost me.” Far beyond, the fracture sealed in silence. A choice made. A fate rewritten. And for the first time in lifetimes, Acheron allowed herself to believe: This time… she had won.

This is my apology for being gone for almost a year..🫩

#mx kanaria-vespa #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #acheron #acheron x reader #hsr acheron #hsr acheron x reader #acheron x fem reader #hsr x gender neutral reader #gn reader #hsr au

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mollywog · 6 months ago

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i feel so demanding so you can ignore this one but

Any more snippets from Sinister Innocence will heal me (holds out a shaking hand like a beggar)

Hear me out here… could we (as a fandom) collaborate here? Everyone pick a few bullets and write it then string it together to make a full fic?!

Think it over…

In the mean time, enjoy my quick outline and check out Peeta and Sylvia thanks to @thesunpersists!!

One final warning: if this reads like someone who doesn’t understand the legal system (or anything for that matter) it’s because I don’t. If you can suspend your disbelief enough, continue on!

Katniss is half watching the tv as the news reports the search for a pair of campers on the Appalachian trail. It isn’t until the picture flashed on the screen that she realizes she knows one of the missing campers - Peeta Mellark -> They’d gone to school together though they were never close. He’d shown her kindness after her fathers death and she’d admired from afar through school.

After a few days, Peeta is discovered dehydrated, deathly ill with blood poisoning, but alive. He looses a leg, but recovers. - Sylvia nor her body are recovered.

Fast forward a year later, out of the blue Peeta Mellark is back in the news when he’s arrested for the death of Sylvia Fox despite the lack of body.

Katniss brings the case to Haymitch, a Senior partner at her firm, and urges him to take it. She expects more of a battle, but Haymitch agrees right away. He theorizes that this is an attempt to divert attention away from Sylvia’s grandfather’s company’s (Snow Industries) recent chemical spill. DA Seneca Crane’s is up for re-election and Haymitch is certain Snow bribed him into pressing charges to garner public sympathy.

Peeta is released on bail on house arrest into Haymitch’s custody

The tabloids bring up his family’s ‘mysterious’ death from a fire when he was 17. Sylvia had been having an affair and they suggest he found out and planned the camping trip accident to cover the murder. Some anonymous sources say she was scared of him. They paint him as a charming manipulator.

Peeta tells Haymitch and Katniss that it’s really Sylvia who was the manipulator, taking after her grandfather, but he won’t let them paint her in a negative light. He won’t stoop to their level or play their games anymore. - Katniss doesn’t understand and she and Peeta butt heads over this decision

Haymitch tells her it doesn’t matter whether he’s guilty or not, they just need to make sure the jury acquits, but Katniss needs to know the truth. He’s still the kind boy from her memories if not more subdued and she’s desperate to reconcile him to the man the tabloids are sensationalizing. Katniss is always at Haymitch’s working the case and so the three spend a lot of time together. Peeta stress bakes and the he wins over the firm one pastry at a time (Peeta bakes, Haymitch drinks, Katniss hunts… for the truth.) they grow together

Peeta will testify in his own defense, he has nothing to hide, But when it comes to preparing for cross, Peeta requests to work with Haymitch alone and Katniss is hurt and confused.

After a new damning piece of evidence comes to light, Katniss confronts Peeta. She needs to know the truth. He asks if she would believe him if he said he was innocent. When she doesn’t answer quickly enough he says it doesn’t matter anyway because the truth isn’t important; people will believe what they want to believe regardless of the truth. He’ll spend his life damned either in or out of jail (make it parallel the I need you beach kiss?) She kisses him to stop him from spiraling and things escalate quickly (Haymitch isn’t home lol)

Peeta Mellark is acquitted of the murder of Sylvia Fox.

Haymitch and Katniss go on to take on Snow Industries for purposely causing the chemical spill - it was cheaper to pay the fines than to properly dispose of their waste. With the windfall Katniss leaves the law firm. She and Peeta elope and he takes her name so they can live in relative obscurity where no one knows them.

~~~ the end… or is it?

A few year later Sylvia Fox’s body his recovered. Just bones at this point but they’re black - an indicator of poisoning. No further investigation is conducted. Double Jeopardy keeps Peeta from ever being tried again and the police assume their man got off scotch free… what do you think?

#thank you for the ask!!#oolhan #ask #everlark fanfiction #feel free to send suggestions #or start shouting out the snippets you’ll write #lol #🩶🩶🩶#Everlark fanfiction concept

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nosenipped · 1 month ago

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˖　　❚ 　❄️　　answered　⟋　accepting　　✱　⁔

＊　ׅ　　PROMPTED　　━━　　❝ i was warned about you . ❞　　￤　　゛@maimedaffair , rapunzel .　　¨　　◌

𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭. frost had perched there often enough, slouched like an afterthought 'gainst the wind—slicked stone of the tower's balcony, no more obtrusive than a singular flake of snow. he might as well blend right in with the protruding stones this odd structure's built with. ( always the observer, but never the observed﹔ a wisp, a whisper, nothing more than a simple winter memory. ) so, when she'd finally turn to face him, looked right at him, he feigns a glance behind their shoulder, before feeling the chill of being seen rake down their spine. she shouldn't be able to do this, she hadn't before.

“ i was warned about you, ” her voice not particularly steady, yet not frightened. stemmed from an acute parable of caution, yet betrayed by the curious sparks flitting off the edges of those emeralds, woven in the face behind the accusatory frying pan. he simply stares, blankly. at the frying pan, and then, to the hand that connects. she's coiled with something tentative, something affirmed / assured resting onto her shoulders. it (...) intimidated him, slightly. even so, he allows this interaction to simply begin with a short laugh.

a smile cuts through winter's embodied, frostbitten &. filled with wonders paralleled to her own. and, woven intricately within was mischief, crooked along the edges of chapped lips &. elvish ears. somewhat wicked, yet with a trustworthy look of evermore all at once. one shoulder rolls back in an exaggerated shrug, as if they'd been caught mid—nap. “ about snow ? ” questioned, bright &. lilting mock surprised wrapped effortlessly in airy sarcasm. their weightless form shifts deliberately, letting the hooked end of twiner tap 'gainst tone. the sound was subtle, yet it's crack sharp enough to dispel silence. a little theatrical, fractals webbed over the balcony, following the misty trail of cold inward, gently curling around blonde tresses & . adamantly frosting the edges of a nearby flowerpot til' the petals hissed in protest.

not enough to harm, but just enough to jolt. just enough to startle her, and create a spark. jack frost enjoyed sparks.

“ i've overheard, ” they said lightly, floes glinting silvered slits 'neath the moon's gaze. “ somethin' 'bout dangerous men, with silvered tongues &. sharp teeth, ” he flashes her a toothy, snaggletoothed grin. “ i've got both ━━━ but you're still standin' here, unharmed. ” their head cants, considering her poised &. defensive. there was something (...) golden about her, even in her fear, something bright within that he didn't dare touch, nor did she ever unearth. he'd heard her voice traveling over canopies & . rushing falls. across the snowbanks, and into his emptied corners of the skies. “ it's nice to finally put a face to the voice ! ” he chirrups, unabashed by how it may seem﹔ a bit too intrusive. “ hi, my name is jack frost. the men your mother tells you about may bite, but i, for one, only do so much as nip. ”

#꒷　maimedaffair．#꒷　maimedaffair⠀⠀*̳⠀⠀rapunzel．#⁎⠀◌　closed⠀◝⠀threads． 🌨️#��　☃️　゛snowfallen　»　𝙸𝙲．#᜴﹒ 🍃　willow's mailbox，answered．#˛　king of wild things　▸　canon verse．#⟡⠀ ˚ 　queued　̧　mischief 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦．♡

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edutainer2022 · 2 years ago

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This turned out sadder, than I expected. Oh well... Virgil gets to contemplate Renaissance art as Scott finds a baby in the earthquake debris. John makes a brief, bit meaningful appearance. There be angst and melancholy, and lots of Earth and Sky love.

CW: mention of earthquake and destruction; mention of a minor character death in an earthquake

BABY BLUES

Their tech would undoubtedly blur the image for security purposes, but Virgil made a point to commit the sight to memory. It didn't get more awe-inspiring or symbolic than a figure in blue, ascending into the air from the smoking pile of rubble and ashes, a small bundle cradled in a sure arm, against the backdrop of a cloudless sky, the blazing sun providing a natural halo around the stunning visage. It made Virgil think back to the stained glass windows and frescoes he got see for the first time in Rome, dragging his grumpy brothers around and pulling every favor and blackmail chip to see more of what Renaissance had to offer to an aspiring artist.

Scott landed next to Virgil, killing the jetpack, and the bundle in his arms made its presence known with a wail, breaking the spell. A baby! The sole survivor, apparently, of that building collapse in an earthquake. A baby boy, to be precise. He made it, thanks to his mother throwing herself over the crib. The crashed ceiling didn't leave her any chance. Rendered quiet in the face of an abject tragedy, that hit them all close to home, Virgil concentrated on assessing the baby for possible injuries and smoke inhalation. That was a bit of a problem as Scott was yet to relinquish the hold of the child. Parallel to Virgil's ministrations he knew John or Eos would be already running the database checks for any relatives, hopefully a father or grandparents. The first sweep came up empty fairly quickly - the owner of the demolished house was never married nor had any close relatives listed. The baby boy's birth certificate registered no information on the father, but did give them a name - Jeffrey. Jeff. Talk about symbolism.

Miraculously, the medscan flashed nothing more aggravating than yellow - baby Jeffrey escaped the ordeal relatively unscathed. Still, they had to get the child to Two's infirmary and then to a nearest hospital STAT. Babies were extremely fragile, especially in a danger zone like this. Virgil reached to transfer the now somewhat quietened baby to his hold, but, to his surprise Scott wouldn't let go. He shifted the small weight to one arm and with a flick of one hand slaved One to TB2 controls to fly in formation, turning on his heel and marching to the green bird, a baffled Virgil in tow.

Virgil busied himself with fixing a tiniest oxygen cannula on the fussing boy, as Scott materialized once again with a blanket and a bottle of formula, picking the baby up. They kept all kinds of supplies in Two, for all kinds of rescuees, of course, still Virgil found himself pausing in surprise again. Scott waved him away to pilot, his focus completely on the now happily munching little Jeffrey. Virgil turned one more time before leaving for the cockpit, catching Scott features soften and glow the way he only remembered the biggest brother look at a much younger Alan.

Virgil's heart constricted at the weight of everything their brother gave up, was still giving up every minute of every day, to be what they all and the whole world around needed of him. Part of his mind wandered into the forbidden territory of calculating if they could successfully baby-proof the villa. Or maybe not so forbidden? They had the resources and the manpower of responsible adults (well, almost) at home now, right? It takes a village, they say. Well, they did have a small taskforce of people completely dedicated to making sure Scott got every ounce of happiness and fulfillment he deserved, regardless of his take on the matter. It could work. Safely in the cockpit, Virgil pinged John over an isolated channel.

Baby Jeffrey was placed in the pediatric ward for an overnight quarantine and observation. Virgil hung out nearby, as Scott stayed, transfixed, by the huge bay window, overlooking the rows of tiny beds. Two would need to leave soon to pick up Gordon and Alan in their pods - the earthquake mission was almost wrapped up - but there was still time. He certainly didn't want to startle or hurry Scott away. Not now.

A cry down the hospital hallway disrupted the quiet reverie. Both Virgil and Scott turned their heads in the direction of the sound as a young man, not much older than Scott, practically flung himself at the IR Commander and sobbed. Virgil's first instinct was to regroup for danger, but there was no menace in the stranger's fierce hug - only relief, gratitude and sadness. The man couldn't seem to stop weeping on Scott's shoulder, a jumble of frantic thankyous and I'msorries muffled by the IR uniform. The man was baby Jeffrey's father. John was exceptionally good at data analytics and cross-reference. A part of Virgil, he wasn't particularly proud of in that moment, wished he weren't. But it was just as well. They had a huge spat with a then fiancée and broke up - she never got to tell him they were expecting. John examined the data through the late mother's social media and financial records, ran the numbers and identified the man in the neighborhood, thankfully, unaffected by the earthquake. The guy was shaken by the grave news, but extatic to meet his son and adamant to step up. Which he did immediately, rushing to the hospital and pouring out all the emotional turmoil to the leader of IR who saved his baby. Virgil nudged Scott away by the elbow, gently, as Jeffrey's Dad took over the vigil by the ward. Where he belonged.

Gordon reported they were ready for the pick-up, and generally ready to leave that particular disaster behind them, but Virgil still lingered where Two and One were parked in the field. Scott was yet to say anything after they left the hospital and was staring up at the sky. It was the kind of wistful gaze that usually filled Virgil with dread - as if Scott was not all there, missing something up, amidst the endless blue, as opposed to staying on sturdy earth with them. Virgil summoned all the courage he could and ventured to speak first:

- You can have that, you know? - he nodded in the general direction of the hospital, the baby they left behind. Virgil found his conviction strengthen, as he spoke. - You CAN. If you want to, you can start a family. We'll all help!

Any adoption agency would fall over themselves if Scott Tracy as much as blinked their way. And any child could not be luckier to have Scott Tracy for a father. If Virgil ever believed in anything, that was their biggest brother was born to be a Dad. He only wished the biggest brother in question shared that faith.

Scott shook his head slightly, in cadence with some unvoiced thoughts, his eyes not leaving the skies:

- I shouldn't. I should've known better.

Virgil took a sharp breath for a vehement contradiction, but the wrist-com blinked blue - John was inquiring their ETA to the original danger zone.

Scott looked back down on him with a rueful smile, that threw all Virgil's panic stations into red alert:

- Go, pick up the Tinies, Virgie. Go!

For the second time that day he was reminded of the art in Rome, when looking at his brother - the serene bliss and detachment of martyrs and saints, captured in marble.

- Aren't you coming, Scotty? Let's go home. Please! Please!

Virgil found his voice cracking into a plea, small and scared, as his hands moved to clasp, almost spasm, around his brother's. He wasn't above adding the biggest, teary puppy eyes to a litany of begging, in an irrational hope of compelling Scott to follow the cue. If they could just go home now, it would be alright. It will all be alright from there.

Scott returned the gentle squeeze of the hands and shifted his eyes back to the sky:

- It's okay, Virgil. I'll stay at Gran Roca tonight. I need to talk to Mom.

***

Fifty two thousand miles above John mused, not for the first time, that Open Comms was, by far, the best of their protocols - that, and the compatibility of all their crafts with all their properties - as he gave Eos instructions to reposition Five over the family estate and to prepare the space elevator for a trip down. Noone was wallowing and mourning a self-professed lost chance at fatherhood alone tonight.

#thunderbirds are go #scott tracy #scott tracy needs a hug #thunderbirds 2015 #my fic #virgil tracy #virgil tracy needs a hug #john tracy needs a hug #methinks i have astronomy #scott tracy is skirting the empty nest syndrome #scott tracy needs his dad #earth and sky

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dailycharacteroption · 1 year ago

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Races Among the Stars 9: Samsaran

We’ve covered samsarans before on the blog in their First Edition Pathfinder form, but much like the perpetually reincarnating people, things have come full-circle with us covering their Starfinder version (at least until we start doing 2nd Edition ancestries and the upcoming Starfinder 2E’s take on them, again, paralleling the endless loop of reincarnation)

But this also closes the loop in a different way as well, as this is the last of the Pathfinder throwbacks that were introduced to the game in Starfinder Alien Character Deck, which was little more than useful flash cards for remembering the traits of various species, either for forgetful players or perhaps more usefully as a way to help a GM quickly switch out the species of pre-generated statblocks on the fly.

Either way, all of those aforementioned species also got reprinted in both Interstellar Species and in Starfinder Enhanced, adding some actual lore to how those species actually fit into the galaxy of the far future, which is nice. (Does anyone remember when the general consensus for where kobolds were was “They all vanished/died with Golarion”? Easily the most boring possible answer and I’m glad they quashed that with some interesting if borderline retcon meta-joke new lore.

Buuuut we’re getting of topic, let’s talk about samsarans!

True to their name, which is based on the concept of the endless cycle of life, death, and rebirth in Hindu and Buddhist traditions, samsarans were a clade of humans born into a cycle of constant reincarnation, often starting out born as ordinary humans to samsaran parents that give them up to normal human adoptive parents, only for them to reincarnate as samsarans the first time they die, and so on and so forth.

Unlike other species and souls that choose reincarnation in the afterlife, samsarans retain a lof of memories from their past lives, though they are often hazy and incomplete, like vivid dreams to their new incarnation. Even with such gaps, however, that knowledge gives them access to information and skills they wouldn’t normally possess, and helps them infer who they used to be, and how to incorporate the wisdom gleaned from those memories into their daily lives and towards a greater state of enlightenment in preparation for the next life. (Which, ironically, is kinda the opposite of what one normally WANTS to do when one subscribes to the idea of the real-life idea of samsara, but that’s neither here nor there).

Now, you may have noticed that earlier I described that samsarans “were” a clade of humans. That wasn’t a slip of the keyboard on my part, because now that samsarans are no longer bound necessarily to one specific world, their pact with Pharasma has changed slightly. Now, samsarans can be born on any world… and to any sapient species, though without homebrewing, these rare non-human samsarans have the same statistics as others of their kind, though with homebrew, well, that just opens up all sorts of new doors, doesn’t it?

Samsarans, unsurprisingly, appear to be humans (or members of their parent species) with pale skin and hair in shades of white, blue, or purple, as well as clear blood and seemingly pupilless eyes.

While there were once enclaves of samsarans that used divination to locate newly-reborn samsarans and bring them into the fold, such things are much more rare now in a far future where one’s already-rare species is spread out across the galaxy. As such, modern samsarans are more likely to simply adopt their parent culture, though samsaran culture still exists in the form of writings and recordings, both publicly available and hidden away that the young can seek out for guidance and a sense of cultural identity with the rest of their kind.

Of course, the advent of multimedia and VI means that this can also be rather disconcerting. Imagine if your past self created a VI or even AI simulacrum of themselves and hid it away for a future reincarnation. Imagine meeting someone that is both you and also not you and the same time. Probably would take a bit to get used to, though on the other hand, Vlogs and extensive digital memoirs from a past can help a young samsaran better connect with those memories, and possibly go about continuing the goals of their past self, which some samsarans do.

Samsarans bear the wisdom and cunning of multiple past lives, but their bodies are somewhat frail (probably all that lack of hemoglobin).

However, they are especially resilient to magical and supernatural effects that target their lifeforce directly, and they’re surprisingly good at bouncing back from injury and disease even if the initial infection tends to knock them on rears.

Their curious eyes also also surprisingly good at absorbing light in dark conditions, letting them see better in limited light.

Samsarans also have a bit of inherent magic, able to breach language barrier one-way, stabilize the dying, and share their memories with others.

Additionally, their memories from past lives include some practical skills as well, though the exact specifics vary between individuals, as their old souls latch onto different things from their past lives.

Much like the thyrs of yesterday’s entry, samsarans are well-equipped for a myriad of smart-guy classes and builds, with mystics being a natural fit due to their half-divine, half-occult schtick meshing well with samsarans theme-wise. However, technomancers, mechanics, biohackers, skill-based envoys and operatives are also good picks. Precog and witchwarper also share some lovely themes with samsarans with their focus on possible paths in life and such. Meanwhile, like thyrs, they also struggle a bit with melee combat, though for different reasons, since it’s constitution they lack instead of strength. As such, combat-oriented samsarans prefer ranged soldiers, solarians, and evolutionists, while nanocytes and vanguards are a bit of a harder sell, albeit not impossible. Despite their frailty, samsarans can do a lot to overcome that weakness and be very effective no matter what class they choose to take.

And that does it for this week! Tune in Monday for another week of archetypes and character options!

#starfinder #race #samsaran #Alien Character Deck #Starfinder Enhanced

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dp-marvel94 · 2 years ago

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(Not) Alone - Chapter 7

Summary: Consumed with worry and scared after watching Dani almost die, Danny begs her to come home with him and meet Jazz. He wants to see her safe and happy and taken care of more than anything. An important reveal also weighs heavy on him – Dani isn’t the only living clone… and the other is him. He needs to tell her the truth; maybe that will convince her to agree to the idea of telling his parents. And she'll stay in Amity Park with him, where he'll never have to worry if she's safe ever again.

Meanwhile, Dani has mixed feelings. Still reeling from the loss of her clone siblings, Danny’s unexpected worry and care make her uncomfortable. And her own guilt… she hurt him and helped get him kidnapped twice. How can he care about a mistake like her? But having clean clothes and a bed is wonderful. And things aren’t as simple as she thinks.

Will Dani accept the help she needs and let herself be loved? Or will she push Danny and Jazz away and run again?

Word Count: 4,451

First-> Previous -> Next

Also on AO3 and Fanfiction.net

Danielle hadn’t left yet. The thought was a small comfort as Danny swung after dark, the younger clone humming contentedly beside him. It had been almost a week and despite his fears that first day, Dani hadn’t left. Instead, she’d grown more comfortable, most of the tension of that first night washing away.

Jazz and him had worked hard to give her a fun time. They’d looked for opportunities to bond, to get to know the younger girl better. And they had; the younger clone’s laughter rang like music in his ears. Her bright smiles warmed his heart. And her growing comfort with him and even with Jazz…. He couldn’t help but be hopeful, the feeling blooming in his core. And yet…

He and Dani hadn’t talked about any of it. Not their argument that first morning, the horrible things she’d said about herself and the hurtful accusations lobbed at him. Nor his not-entirely-intentional clone-fusion reveal – even if she did repeatedly, almost exclusively, call him Dami now. Nor their lost siblings.

Danielle was clearly so happy to have him here as one of her clone brothers. She was so relieved to be stable and safe, with fresh food, clean clothes, and a bed. She’d been so excited to have fun with him…. Danny didn’t want to spoil it.

But they needed to talk about it, as much as Danny didn't want to bring it up. He dreaded the painful conversation. Part of him wished that Dani would bring it up instead. That she would talk about all that was bothering her, all the thoughts and memories hurting her. The loss of their other siblings weighed heavy on him and he was sure they were on her mind too. But she hadn’t said anything.

No, that was his responsibility. His job as the older sibling to broach the hard topics. He couldn’t place that burden on his little sister. And he wouldn’t. He refused to.

But first… they were at a playground. They needed to have a little fun.

Danny jumped out of the swing. He rose higher for just a moment, falling in an arc. Then…. he just stayed in the air, buoyed by his natural ghostly weightlessness. “Wanna see how fast we can get the merry-go-round going?”

His little sister followed with a grin, jumping out of her own swing and twirling in the air. “Yes!” She zipped to the metal circle and plopped down in the middle. “You’ve gotta push me first!”

The boy laughed. “Alright.” Leaning down, closer to her ear. “It’s more fun if gravity actually affects you.”

With a flash, the girl turned human. “Spin me! Spin me! Spin me!” She chanted.

Danny obliged. Grabbing one of the metal handles, he flew parallel to the ground in a circle.

“Faster! Faster!” Danielle cheered

Danny zoomed fast, his aura blurring with the motion.

The girl laid down, her face towards the sky. She giggled, her chest heaving with the noise.

And Danny reveled in the sound. He flew faster and faster. He could keep this up for hours. Dani’s head tilted, sparklingly blue eyes meeting his green, though upside-down. Cross-eyed, dizzy with laughter…. And just plain dizzy.

Eventually, the ghost boy stopped flying. Letting go of the merry-go-round, he watched it spin to a stop.

In the middle, his sister panted. “That… was…awesome!” Another giggle burst forth. She tried to sit up, only to flop back down. “So dizzy.” She took another minute to equilibrate. Then with a flash, she transformed…. “Your turn!”

Danny took his turn on the merry-go-round, laying in the middle in human form while the younger girl spun it by flying in a circle. It was a blast, being able to ride it like this. Normally, Sam, Tucker, or Jazz got this treat, with him pushing the circle. And the one time he’d managed to summon a duplicate…. It wasn’t as fun, having to use half his attention to keep the other him from poofing. But this… this was perfect.

After his turn, Danielle turned human again and together, they enjoyed all that the playground had to offer. They raced down the slides. Swung on the monkey bars. Even made sandcastles in the sandbox. But the swings… the swings were the best.

“I bet I can go higher than you!” Danielle boosted.

“No, you can’t.” The boy countered.

“Yes, I can!” Pumping her legs, the girl soared higher.

Her brother chased her, laughing.

“I’m going to go so high, I’ll swing all the way around!”

Danielle gave it her best try, she did. But…. “Wa…Woah!” The chain creaked.

A bolt of panic. Too high!

Eyes wide, the girl wobbled. “D…Dami!” She fell.

“Dani! Float!” The boy reached.

Dani’s eyes flashed green, a ring of light sparking at her waist. Trying to transform, to float but… instead… “Umph!” She landed on her stomach, splayed in the mulch.

Danny’s eyes popped wide, jumping himself. Luckily for him, his core reacted. Weightlessness overtook him, slowing his fall. Gently, the boy landed on his feet. He ran to the prone girl.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” His heart pounded in his chest, full of fear. “Let me see your hands. Did you skin your knees?”

“I’m fine.” Dani rolled over with a grumble. “Not a scratch.” She sat up.

His eyes searched frantically. Sure enough… there were no bruises, no blood. A breathy sigh. “You’re alright.” He squatted, hands on her shoulders. “Shit. I should have been more careful. Stupid. I let myself get too excited. I knew… I knew that could be dangerous.”

The girl huffed but she didn't shake out of his hold. “You worry too much, you mother duck.”

Danny laughed, rolling his eyes at the jab. Then… a stab of guilt. Why was he being such a mother hen? She’d only fallen out of the swing; he’d done the same thing a dozen times as a kid. And she had ghost powers, like him. Clearly, her human body was a bit sturdier than was typical. That or she did manage to use flight to slow herself, just not as successfully as he had. She was fine. Maybe he did worry too much….

Shaking the thought away, the ghost boy straightened. “I think that’s enough fun for tonight.” He offered the younger girl a hand up. “Besides. I’ve got something to show you.”

Danielle raised a brow in question, taking the hand. “What is it?”

“A surprise.” Danny said evenly. He took a few steps away, towards the trees lining one side of the playground. Then he looked back, a heaviness in his eyes. “It’s uh… this is actually the reason I wanted to go to the park tonight.”

The girl stiffened slightly, as if sensing something in his words, his tone. But she didn’t ask anything else. Instead… trust shone in her eyes. “Lead the way.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny led her through the small wood, their path lit by the two ghosts’ spectral glows. Over branches, tree-roots, small boulders.

His heart twisted, nervous energy growing. He needed to show her this. Really, it was well overdue. But… how would she react? His core ached at the thought. Bearing all that pain, all the grief again. This was sure to lead to a heavy conversation. And with his seemingly bubbly little sister no less… Some of that happiness had to be a facade, a mask to pretend everything was alright; Danny was sadly familiar with doing the very same thing. The longer he let the mask stay on, the greater the damage was. And the more painful it was to remove. He needed to get Dani to talk to him….

But would it just make everything worse?

The boy shook his head. No. He’d made up his mind… or rather, Jazz had verbally poked him with her big concerned eyes, until he agreed that, yes, he needed to talk to Dani about things.

A less than ten-minute walk later and the pair arrived. A tall sugar maple stretched above them, its wide branches heavy with leaves. This. This was their destination. And sitting at the base….

“Here we are.” Danny kneeled, brushing away the dirt, leaves, and…. wilted flowers.

Quietly, the girl lowered herself to her knees. “What’s this?” Her brows furrowed, eyes fixed on the pile of four stones.

Danny didn’t reply for a long moment, his insides twisting. This was it, the moment of truth. He swallowed, already feeling the grief rising in his throat. “We, Jazz and me…. we made this for our brothers.”

Beside him, Danielle stiffened. “Our… brothers?” Her voice was deceptively, forcefully even.

Slowly, he pulled four candles out of his bag. “It was Jazz’s idea, to make a little grave. A memorial to… remember them.” He placed the tall, white columns around the rocks. “After I told her and my friends about them… and about you. I… it was hard. I was… I was so upset. I kept thinking about them and you. I had nightmares, couldn’t sleep. Jazz… she said I should talk about them. We should make something to remember them. So we lit candles, left flowers and I talked, told them about everything I could remember.”

Danny paused, a moment to let the words sink in. Dani remained still, her fists balled in front of her. Her lips sat in a hard line but… they twitched. A hint of mist lingered in her eyes.

The brother shifted closer, gently wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Do you want to say anything?”

The girl swallowed. Her voice came out so quiet…. “The rocks… what are they for?”

Danny gave a nod. Slowly, reverently, he picked up each one. “There’s one for each of us.” First the largest, irregularly shaped and covered with bumps. “This one’s for Muscles.” Second, a rough textured stone, as white as bone. “For Bones.” A third, smooth, round, and solid black. “Daniel.”

Each name was a crack to Dani’s facade, pain blooming across her face. Finally, on the last, a tear leaked. “Daniel.” She whined.

“There's one for each of them.” Danny said softly. “It’s… I know it’s not much but it’s the least they deserve and…” His own eyes watered with tears. “I love those three so much and I miss them. And I’m sure… I know you do too.”

Her face crumbled. “I…I do. I do. I miss… I miss them so much…” The last word broke, finally a torrent of tears. She rocked softly and Danny wrapped his arms around her. The girl buried her hand in his chest.

Together, for the second time since they’d been reunited, the two half ghosts cried. They wept. They held each other. Their one surviving clone sibling in their arms…. the only comfort for their crushing shared grief.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dani knelt at the grave and cried in her brother’s arms. She bawled. She wept because, because… Dami being there did not erase that their other brothers were gone. They were gone. Bones, Muscles, and Daniel were gone…. And they weren’t coming back.

She’d tried to push the knowledge away. Dami was here. He hadn’t left her. He’d found her again. And she was so happy. She loved him so much. But his presence didn’t wash away, blot away, erase that… that they were the only two left.

Everything they did this week…. Her heart kept trying to remind her. She wished her other brothers had been there too. But they weren’t. And it wasn’t fair….

Dani cried in her brother’s arms, her mind replaying these thoughts until she could hardly breathe. She sobbed, listening to the other half ghost cry until….

She pulled back, her eyes fixing on the little memorial. The pile of stones, one for each brother. Muscles, Bones, Daniel. She grabbed each one, whining their names. And…

There was a fourth one. “That one’s…one’s for me, isn’t it?” She sniffled out.

His words that first morning…. Since you left at Vlad’s, I had no idea if you were alive or… or dead.” He tripped over the word. “You could have destabilized anywhere, and I would have never known what happened to you. I thought… I thought you were dead.”

“You… you thought I was dead too. Because I ran away. I ran away and I didn’t come back.” Guilt twisted. He’d… he’d told her all that. He’d bared his heart to her. And… and she’d just yelled at him. “I knew you were here but… I thought you didn’t care. Or…Or…” New tears welled, the girl wiping at her face. “You pitied me. I’m… I’m just a stupid copy. A mi.. mistake for you to take care of. You wouldn’t… you wouldn’t want me. And I don’t deserve it, not after… after…” She panted, choking on her words. (Unable to say what she’d really done, why she really didn’t deserve….) “But I was wrong. You were here and I left you. I left you too and...”

“No. No.” He shook his head, eyes wide and desperate. “That.. that one’s not for you. I…I knew you were out there somewhere. You had to be and…”

He sniffled and Dani hugged him again, her head tucked under his chin.

Danny shook his head. “I always… I always cared, Dani. I always wanted you here. Don’t you ever think that I don’t. And… and you don’t deserve it?!” His voice pitched up, something in their hug shifting. “How could you think that? You do deserve it. You deserve to be loved. I love you so much. Jazz loves you so much and… and….”

He cried and Dani whimpered apologies. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She buried her head in his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have… have said that. I know you care about me. But I was being stupid and… and I’m sorry. I’m sorry.“ She’d said so many mean things. She’d caused him so much pain…

Again, slowly, the tears slowed. Breathing evened out, heart rates calmed. The pair gently pulled apart.

The boy’s hands (smaller?) gripped her face, eye to eye. “You don’t have to apologize for that. Ever. I get it. Believe me, I get it.” The words were so earnest. “Sometimes your brain tries to tell you lies. Like you don’t deserve to be loved. Or no one wants you; no one cares. But those aren’t true, okay?” He lowered his hands.

“Okay.” The girl said quietly, wiping her eyes.

The other half ghost nodded, serious but just as tender as before. “You are good enough. You’re not stupid. You are not a mistake. And you deserve to be loved and to get help when you need it. Don’t let anyone, not even yourself, tell you otherwise.” He smiled softly. “You’ve gotta keep reminding yourself what’s true. And I promise, I’ll be here to help you with that too.”

What was true…. It was hard, so hard to believe what he’d just said. She’d spent so much time alone, having only herself to depend on. And not… not having her brothers by her side. They’d all suffered together. Vlad had never loved them; they were only useless, inferior copies to him. Mistakes. Damian knew all that; he understood.

(But… what she said at the store today. He was Danny too and she’d hurt him. She’d betrayed him…)

She shook her head, pushing the thought down. No, he was her brother. He loved her. He wanted to help her.

“Okay. I’ll try.” The girl finally answered. “It’s… it’s hard. It’s like… I know it in my head. I trust you. I wanna believe you but…” She vaguely motioned to her chest. “My feelings are all mixed up in here.”

Dami smiled without mirth. “Welcome to being alive. It’s like that sometimes.”

“Yeah.” Her own humorless laugh. She pulled back, gaze fixed down guiltly. “Still… I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier. I shouldn’t have….have said you just pitied me. Or that you’re not my brother.” Her eyes flickered, from her lap to the leaf covered ground to his white-clad boot beside her. “I know that’s not true now. You’re my brother and you do care about me.”

But she hadn’t known that then. She’d been furious, thinking he was Danny trying to take the place of her lost siblings. That wasn’t true though; he was one of her clone brothers. And…. he was Danny too.

The thought suddenly crashed in her head, a truth she’d been trying to avoid thinking about. A dozen emotions crowded her heart- guilt, dread, fear, sadness, hope, confusion, longing.

“Dani. It’s really okay.” That familiar, caring voice. “You really don’t have to apologize. I get it.” He’d already forgiven her, despite what she’d said (She didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve it)….

An uneasy feeling in her heart, her gaze still flickered, anywhere but his eyes. A tall tree, wilted flowers, acorns laying across the path. That small pile of stones. One for Muscles, one for Bones, one for Daniel, and….

“Who’s the fourth stone for?” The question felt heavy on her tongue.

“What?” The boy blinked, as if startled by the question.

“The fourth stone.” She bit her lip. “You said it wasn’t for me so who….”

The question lingered in the air for a long moment. Then… “It’s for me.” He swallowed. “That one’s for me.”

For him…. Dani’s heart sank like a stone at the words. “Why?” She hardly dared to ask.

A pause, the body beside her tensed. Then he sat up more fully. “Just after the fusion was… hard. So freaking hard. I had these two different sets of memories. The fire and the shrinking powers were totally out of control and… I was angry. So freaking angry this happened to me. I was scared too. I didn’t really know what was going on. It’s like…” He sucked in a breath. “I woke up one day and I was a completely different person.” A shake of the head. “No, that’s not really right either.” His knees pulled to his chest. “It’s like… I wasn’t really Danny anymore and I wasn’t Tiny either. But I was. I was both of them. I didn’t know who I really was. Or who I was supposed to be. Was I supposed to just be Danny? But I couldn’t be. Sometimes, I felt like I was two different people, not just one person. But I’m still, somehow, just me…” He trailed off.

Dani looked up, eyes falling on his face. The distant green eyes, furrowed brow….

The girl swallowed. “But still… why the rock?”

His eyes closed. “I needed to mourn myself, Dani. I’m not…” He sighed. “I’m not the person I was before. The fusion happened and I’m not the person, er… the people I would have been if it hadn’t. I’m not really Danny… And I’m not really Dami either.”

This… this was what had been filling her mind with dread before. What she’d… what she’d been choosing to ignore.

Dani looked into the neon green eyes, eyes that she had known so well. They looked like Tiny’s. She could picture them, shining up at her with admiration. That expression was so different now. The thought made her heart ache, grief and anger stabbing at her. She missed the quiet companionship, the simple curiosity. Her core ached. That quiet little brother, he was… he was…. (gone).

And yet…

“Sorry.” His hand gently rested on her arm. “I know that probably doesn’t make a lot of sense. It’s heavy but you deserve to hear it.”

And yet… Dani had spent a week with his boy. They’d joked and played. He’d taught her things, bought her presents, made her meals. And…his arms hugging her earlier, the gentle voice muttering comforts in her ears…..

“I’m different from before.” He continued, eyes growing wider, more insistent. “Danny and Dami are both part of me but I’m not really either of them. I’m my own person. Their legacy, that’s how I explained it to Jazz. But I’m still your brother.”

He wasn’t the brother she had known but…

“I know I’m not the Tiny you remember but-”

“I love you.” She interrupted, finally meeting his eyes. He was different but she still knew him. She knew he loved her. And… “I love you.” The insistent, purposeful words.

Her brother’s mouth snapped shut, his forehead wrinkling. But before he could voice question (or doubt)....

“I didn’t really get what you were talking about earlier, the first time you explained stuff. Or maybe I was ignoring it.” Dani shook her head, frowning at herself. “But I get it more now. I know you’re different.” There was no accusation there, nor disappointment . “And I love you.” Just tender acceptance.

Dami’s…. Danny’s expression relaxed, a tentative hope. “You really… mean that?”

“You’re my brother, no matter what.” The girl nodded, eyes wide and earnest. “Of course I love you.”

Still, there was just a hint of doubt there, lingering in his gaze.

“I spent the whole week with you.” Dani continued. “Yeah, I saw how you’re different now. You’re barely like how Tiny was at Vlad’s. And the Danny part….” She bit her lip, more unsure. She’d called him Danny Phantom at the mall, seen him act the hero in ghost fights, seen his love of the stars. And yet….

The girl blinked, a realization hitting her. “I spent a lotta time with you now, but…” Before she’d come here, before the fusion even…. “I never really knew you, Danny you, before.” There was almost… relief in that idea. “Before that day at Vlad's, when I helped kidnap him… you…” That look of betrayal flashed in her mind but she pushed it down. “I didn’t know you. Vlad told me things but… I didn’t really know you.”

Her brow furrowed, stewing on the idea. The other half ghosts’ brow did too, bunched up in confused contemplation. And yet… he didn’t say anything. Dani felt her heart squeeze, affectionate. He was being so patient, letting her quietly put her thoughts together.

Finally….

“What I think I’m trying to say is… I never really knew Danny-you before. I knew Tiny and you’re really different from him. But…” She leaned, her shoulder bumping his. “I’ve been getting to know you. And I don’t know what parts are from Danny and which are Dami. But I know you’re fun to play with. You’re a good listener. You give the best hugs. You made me breakfast this morning and let me wear your old clothes. You care about me. You love me and….” Her arms wrapped around his back. “I love you too. All of you.”

“Oh, Danielle…..” The words shone with affection, the boy wrapping his own arms around her.

“I love being your baby sister, Danny.”

And that was the last thing. She’d been calling him Dami all week, her clone brother’s chosen name. But he was also called Danny. By his older sister, his friends. That was the name taped to his door, on the trophies in his room, written in the tags of his old clothes. He was Danny and he was Dami.

Dani didn’t understand how he could be both of them, but also somehow neither. Also somehow his own person, someone new. But she did know whoever he was, this person holding her… his name was Dami and it was Danny and he was her big brother. He was her big brother. She was his little sister and she loved him.

“I’m so happy to hear that.” Danny said, softly, lovingly. “I love being your big brother too.”

After a long moment, the pair pulled back. The boy smiled. “I’m really relieved to hear all that.” His hand rubbed the back of his neck, a tad sheepish. “I was afraid I was going to have to really push the idea sooner rather than later.” He lowered his hand, more earnest. “But I really wanted to give you time to come around on your own.

For a moment, Dani felt a flash of guilt but… “Thank you for giving me time.” She sighed. “This… everything’s been a lot since I came here. Some of it’s been hard, having to face things. But thanks for talking to me and… “ She looked at the pile of stones. “Thanks for taking me here.”

“You deserved to get to see it too.” The arm still wrapped around her back squeezed. “Crying for our brothers is no fun but I’m glad we were here together for it.”

Wordlessly, Dani met his eyes. She nodded. “I’m happy we’re both here too.”

With his own nod, Danny reached for his bag. “Do you want to light the candles? I’ve got a lighter in here-” He cut himself off, looking back at her. He blinked, brow furrowed. “You’re the same height as me.” His gaze flickered to his hands. “Did I shrink again?”

The bemused reaction chipped at the sadness encircling Dani’s core. “Yeah. I guess neither of us noticed?”

Her eyes traveled up and down him. Sure enough, he was shorter, seemingly the same height as her, hence them being eye to eye when sitting. Their proportions and ages still were different though. Dani was as baby-faced as ever while her brother still looked sixteen, strengthening jaw, gangly limbs stretched by his growth spurt, and all. Closer to her four feet and eight inches, compared to his former five feet ten inches. (Out of curiosity, Jazz had measured each of them this week.)

“How did neither of us notice!?” He raised a brow.

Dani raised her own brow, then shrugged. “We were kinda distracted.” She smiled softly, a hint of humor entering her voice. “I think I like you being me-sized.”

The boy rolled his eyes. “Guess I won’t shift back yet, then.”

“You better not.” She faux-threatened, eyes narrowed.

In all seriousness though, there was something special about sitting side by side with him, truly eye to eye. It made her happy to see him use his size-changing power again. That was something truly of Tiny. And his comment, about the power being all out of wack right after the fusion….

Earlier, he’d talked about all the complicated things he felt right after coming back from Vlad’s. Feeling out of place, like he didn’t know who he was…. And now, sitting eye to eye, the reminder tugged at her heart. He understood how she felt, what it was to not know who you were, who you were supposed to be, who you wanted to be.

The thought made her sad again, her eyes drawn to the flickering flame of the first lit candle.

“Do you want to say something about our brothers?” Danny quietly asked.

“Yeah. I… I do.”

#Danny Phantom #my fic #(Not) Alone #invisobang 2023 #Invisobang

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