#Spectral Plane

[fataltheartist]

"Despite everything, it's still you, even like this."

[see-arcane]

An AU where Ellen catches Carmilla's attention instead of Orlok's could be interesting. Lonely girl who's mom is dead living in an isolated manor; now that sounds familiar doesn't it?

Perhaps in some ways more insidiously Mircalla actually bothering to pose as some sort of "spirit of comfort" instead of pretty much immediately dropping the act seems likely.

I could see it! But then that still leaves the question dangling of whether Mircalla/Carmilla will be as attached to Ellen as she comes to be with Laura, or if Ellen would go the way of other girls who caught Millie's eye and simply get dead about it sooner rather than later :c

[ratcoon]

Melina wondering why Torrent would choose such a young tarnished and Daenerys the horse girl just adores him.

Also she gets flashbacks to Quaithe every time Melina appears.

[anocana]

black metal 🎶 counter-attack!

black metal is one of my favorite genres. screams and tremolos just rub my brain the right way for whatever reason, i love them outside of black metal too (tho i can be picky with vocals especially). plus it's the faggiest subgenre of extreme metal - how many death metal bands would name a song some shit like "Tears of a Melancholic Vampyre"? it's got a lot of theatrical elements, and I tend to judge black metal albums by their overall vibe along with the music.

before i get into the recs, famously and unfortunately, a lot of people in black metal suck in a lot of ways. i generally don't worry too much about this because i'm pirating most of it anyway, but i've checked these ones out and as far as i can tell, none of them suck in any especially bad ways. with that out of the way here are some favorites of mine:

Spectral Wound - Frigid and Spellbound - melodic but uncompromising black metal that sticks within the classic vein, particularly influenced by Gorgoroth and the Finnish scene. one of the few black metal bands with good lyrics, inspirations including Walter Benjamin, Ingmar Bergman, Giorgio Agamben, and Kate Bush. this song is their catchiest, with some really good melodic riffs. no left theorists show up directly within its lyrics, which are instead about the beauty of a frozen river, and a Grindr hookup ("Come to me anon/Deranged and defiled/Twisting in dark passions/Of the cruel nauseous hours").

Mortuary Drape - Not Still Born (The Unborn Plane) - founded in the late 80s, this Italian band is one of the best of the "first wave" of black metal, from when it was all sort of a soup of black/death/whatever. they're influenced by occult rock and their sound predates the Norwegian codification of the standard black metal style, so they're light on the blast beats, tremolo riffs, and Satanism and heavy on the bass, necromancy, and occultism. though not nearly as influential as Bathory or Celtic Frost, they've inspired a decent few bands in their own right. this one's about getting reincarnated.

Yaotl Mictlan - Nada Verde Crece Aquí - one of the first songs that got me into the genre, and still a favorite. melodic folk/black metal which makes good use of some indigenous flutes, not a lot of blast beats. lyrics are derived from one of the Nahuatl flower-songs of Nezahuacoyotl, about the impermanence of all things on earth.

Paysage d'Hiver - Welt Aus Eis - the most common word used to describe Paysage d'Hiver is "cold". it's stark and minimal, riding the line between atmospheric and ambient, and barely produced: i once saw someone complaining about being able to distinguish the instruments on a newer album of theirs (or should I say his? it's a one-man project). these days, i get it. everything in this song blends together into an entrancing whole, only broken by snatches of croaking and cackling carried on a freezing wind, and (twice) a beautifully dissonant violin. the lyrics are never comprehensible or transcribed, but conceptually it's about winter and a mysterious spiritual journey, as all their songs are.

Deafheaven - Dream House - You already know this song. It's really good! Takes some of the musical elements of black metal, reconfigures others (more complex drumming, different sorts of melodies in the riffs), and completely changes the aesthetics while still keeping a coherent vibe overall.

Odz Manouk - To Feast on Celestial Bodies - the (one-man) band's name is Armenian for "Snake Child", from a folk tale about a royal couple whose baby was born a serpent. hypnotic dissonant riffs, harsh but clear vocals (with an interesting sort of singing at times), production that's neither too raw nor too clean. super cool song title also. if you go deeper into their music, the split with Tuukaria is not to be missed.

Negative Plane - Angels of Veiled Bone - one of the bands inspired by Mortuary Drape, they take the occult sound and bring it closer to modern black metal while adding a ton of reverb for atmosphere. the vocalist is really good at putting emphasis on the right points in the lyrics, which makes the vocals much more memorable than the average amorphous harsh vox. members' side projects Funereal Presence and Occultation are also excellent.

Iron Firmament - Keepeater - the production on this EP is so bad that the drums mostly just sound like a strobing effect on the rest of the instruments, which is honestly really cool. they've got some more EPs which lose that effect for better or worse. this song is - as you might expect - about covering the sky with iron plates, and a giant serpent that eats castles. i can't make out enough lyrics to tell how those two themes are related.

Gevurah - Dies Irae Lacrimosa - Gevurah are insanely pretentious "orthodox" Satanists (they worship Satan as a literal god, not a symbol of human will or whatever). their theology is some sort of Gnostic anti-cosmic occult shit, which as it turns out makes for really fucking sick black metal. the drums are doing a lot here but the real highlight to me is the boiling tremolo riff that starts a minute in (and gets brought back later with a vengeance). there's one part when it's just the vocalist shouting in a Quebec accent that pushes the cheese factor a bit too far, but the rest is really great.

[monstersholygrail]

Ghost bf craves more than anything to taste the nectar that gushes from your folds whenever he brings you to orgasm. The fact that he can’t ingest anything that’s not on his physical plane slowly brings him to feel as if he is dying all over again. Your essence so close and yet unreachable.

He refuses to give up, pumping load after load into your sloppy wet cunt. He grits his teeth, staring at the wet sheets under you in envy. The way they so easily soak up your glorious release. He doesn’t stop as he fucks his cock into you, watching you arch off the bed like a woman possessed.

His hand makes contact with your clit and you jolt, pleasurable goosebumps trailing down your legs. Your body seizes, exploding around his ghost cock just as he releases another hefty load inside of you.

Your bf doesn’t hesitate to slip out of you, leaving you to hiss at the faint stinging sensation. Your pussy fluttering closed now that his invisible length left you. His hands push against your soft thighs and you see them spreading wider in what appears to be all on their own.

A moan rips out of you, a much smaller pressure gliding between your puffy lips. Your ghost bf laps at your pussy, his spirit aching for just one taste of your sweetness.

“Wait…” you croak out, legs shaking. This being the umpteenth time he’s repeated this cycle, giving you an idea what of what he wants and is not getting.

When you don’t feel what you assume is his tongue a moment later, you weakly rise onto your elbows. Despite being spent, pleasure swirls in your gut as you watch his spectral-cum ooze out of you.

Reaching down you whimper at the sparks of over sensitivity as you move your fingers through your folds in small circles, mixing your release with his. Your breathing picks up, the sight more erotic than you can admit. But you can feel yourself growing wetter and you can only imagine your bfs smug expression.

“That should work, right?” You ask into your seemingly empty bedroom, not expecting an answer as always.

A moment later you feel that pressure return, a gasp escaping your lips. Your bf slowly licks at your combined cum. His own musk crashes into his tastebuds and for a moment that’s all he tastes. But then, as if the door to the afterlife has finally been opened he tastes the most heavenly flavor as it coats his tongue.

Ghost bf moans, the sound moving through the wind and sending a shiver up your spine. You chuckle lightly but you quickly choke on it as your bf returns full force, happily slobbering up every last drop of cum he can find. His cock already prepped to do this all again.

[demonic0angel]

DP x DC: Alfred dies, and becomes a ghost. Being a responsible sort, he has Batman call up the expert in ghosts, Danny Phantom to help explain his new condition.

Phantom politely clapped his hands. "Welp. You're a 100% certified ghost!"

Batman stared. "... I'm sorry, what?"

Phantom gestured to Alfred, who was glowing green and floating as he set out the tea and teacups.

Phantom received one with a quiet thanks and he took a sip of the tea with obvious enjoyment. "He's a ghost. You said he died, right? He must have had such a strong obsession that it tethered him to the mortal plane. His core is pretty well-developed, most likely because he experienced so many moments of death and spent so much time around the dead. It also helps that Gotham City is prone to spirits and ghosts, especially since Lady Gotham likes you and your family so much. All of it means that because Alfred died here, around you guys, he became a ghost."

The amount of information Phantom gave almost made Batman's head spin.

"So... what now? Do we need to do anything?"

Phantom smiled and dipped his head before shaking it. He turned to Alfred. "I'll write you a permit and some time in the next two weeks, you should go to the Ghost Zone to ask for an audience with the King. Usually, ghosts aren't allowed in the mortal realm, but since you're only to stay in the Wayne Manor, I'll allow it as a favor to Batman. Still, it's best that you at least make it official for easier paperwork."

Alfred nodded curtly, rubbing his spectral fingers together.

Batman visibly softened and looked at Phantom with a grateful look. "Thank you."

Phantom smiled. "No problem! Thank you for taking care of my siblings."

Batman blinked. What siblings?

Before he could ask, Phantom blipped out of existence.

Batman stared at the spot where he used to be before he turned to Alfred. "... do we know what siblings he's talking about?"

Alfred nodded. "I have an idea."

Batman waited for an answer. There was none. Alfred continued to set up the refreshments for Bruce, who sighed and took a scone.

Well, he supposed he'd have to ask his children for answers.

[the-griffons-saddlebag]

💎 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗺! Spectral Shroud
Wondrous item, very rare (requires attunement) ___ This semitransparent robe fades to wispy tatters along its hem. Its folds shimmer with prismatic colors, which are muted by the robe’s translucence. While wearing it, you have advantage on Dexterity (Stealth) checks you make in dim light or darkness and on any saving throw you make against being frightened. The robe has a veiled hood that looks like a lace skull. Pulling the hood up or down requires an action. Leaving the hood up for more than a moment instills in you an eerie feeling of being watched. While wearing the robe with its hood up, you gain the following benefits. * 𝘿𝙖𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙍𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚. You have resistance to nonmagical bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing damage. * 𝙀𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙎𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩. You can see 30 feet into the Ethereal Plane when you are on the Material Plane, and vice versa. * 𝙁𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙑𝙞𝙨𝙖𝙜𝙚. Whenever a creature that can see you makes a melee attack against you for the first time on a turn, it must first succeed on a DC 16 Wisdom saving throw or become frightened of you until the start of its next turn. * 𝙂𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙁𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩. You have a flying speed of 20 feet and can hover. * 𝙄𝙣𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙈𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩. You can move through other creatures and objects as if they were difficult terrain. You take 1d10 force damage if you end your turn inside an object. 𝙎𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚. The “spectral shroud” is a sentient chaotic neutral item with an Intelligence of 10, a Wisdom of 16, and a Charisma of 17. It has hearing and darkvision out to a range of 60 feet. The item can speak, read, and understand Common, and can communicate with its wearer telepathically. Its voice is wispy and hollow. While you are attuned to it, the shroud also understands every language you know. 𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙖����𝙞𝙩𝙮. The shroud’s sentience is thanks to a ghost that’s been bound to it. It was once a friendly spirit, but time has long since eroded its patience for social niceties. The shroud believes it needs to be buried in hallowed ground for its soul to be released and put to rest... ...Continued in the IG Comments! ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for as little as $3 a month!

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Ideas: Magical & Mystic Locations

Abyssal Depths: The deepest, darkest, and most treacherous part of the abyss.

Ancient Observatory: A centuries-old observatory with mystical stargazing abilities.

Astral Observatory: A tower where seers gaze into the astral plane.

Celestial Gauntlet: A place connecting different celestial realms.

Celestial Realm: A realm bathed in divine light and inhabited by celestial beings.

Clockwork Village: A community where clockwork automatons coexist with magic.

Cloud Castle: A fortress floating amidst the clouds, home to skyward adventurers.

Cloud City: A metropolis suspended in the clouds accessible by airships.

Cosmic Wormhole: A portal to the far reaches of the cosmos and beyond.

Crystal Caves: A labyrinthine system of caves adorned with luminescent crystals.

Crystal Coast: A stunning coastline adorned with iridescent gemstones.

Crystal Spire: A towering spire made of crystalline material.

Crystalline Caverns: A series of interconnected caverns adorned with shining crystals.

Cursed Swamp: A creepy swamp home to cursed beings.

Dark Abyss: A seemingly bottomless chasm shrouded in darkness.

Dragon's Lair: A cavernous home to a colossal, slumbering dragon.

Dragon's Nest: A safe haven for dragon eggs and their young.

Dragon's Roost: A mountaintop lair where dragons dwell and guard their hoard.

Dream Realm: A surreal realm where dreams come to life.

Dreamcatcher Grove: A grove where dreamcatchers capture and store dreams.

Dreamcatcher Trees: Trees where dreamcatchers grow, capturing the dreams of the forest.

Dwarven Mines: Underground tunnels where dwarves mine precious gemstones.

Elemental Plane: A realm where the elements take on sentient forms and powers.

Elemental Portal: A convergence point for elemental forces and magic.

Elemental Sanctuary: A sanctuary where elemental beings find refuge.

Elven Enclave: A secluded and mystical enclave of elven culture.

Elven Kingdom: An elegant realm ruled by noble and immortal elves.

Enchanted Forest: A sprawling woodland where trees whisper ancient secrets.

Enchanted Garden: A flourishing garden filled with magical, sentient plants.

Enchanted Tides: A coastal area where the tides are influenced by magic.

Enchanted Treetops: Canopy of an enchanted forest where treetop dwellings are built.

Enchanted Waterfall: A waterfall with the power to purify and heal.

Eternal Garden: A garden where time has no effect.

Ethereal Castle: A castle that materializes and dematerializes in the ethereal plane.

Fairy Ring: A circle of mushrooms where fairies gather to dance and celebrate.

Fairy Village: A charming settlement inhabited by tiny, mischievous fairies.

Fire Elemental Forge: A forge where fire elementals craft fiery weapons.

Firefly Forest: A forest where fireflies light up the night with their glow.

Floating Islands: A realm of floating landmasses suspended in the sky.

Floating Gardens: Gardens suspended in the sky, nurtured by air and magic.

Forbidden Tomb: A tomb filled with ancient curses, traps, and treasures.

Forgotten Ruins: Crumbling remains of a once-great civilization.

Ghost Ship: A spectral vessel crewed by ghostly sailors sailing eternally.

Gnome Workshop: A bustling factory where gnomes invent fantastical gadgets.

Gnomish Workshop: A lively workshop where gnomes tinker with fantastic inventions.

Goblin Kingdom: A mischievous kingdom ruled by cunning goblin royalty.

Goblin Market: A chaotic bazaar run by cunning goblins selling magical wares.

Goblin Tunnels: A network of underground tunnels and caverns inhabited by goblins.

Haunted Castle: A spectral fortress filled with restless, ghostly inhabitants.

Haunted Manor: A mansion haunted by restless spirits and poltergeists.

Haunted Marsh: A desolate and ghostly marshland.

Haunted Sea Passage: A narrow sea passage known for its eerie, haunting sounds.

Hidden Valley: A secluded valley with a serene and mystical ambiance.

Hidden Waterfall: A secluded cascade concealed behind a shimmering veil of illusion.

Hidden Waterways: Subterranean rivers and water passages hidden from sight.

Ice Palace: A palace made of ice and snow.

Isle of Echoes: An island known for echoing whispers and eerie sounds.

Labyrinth: A maze filled with twists, turns, and perplexing puzzles.

Lost Oasis: An oasis hidden deep within a desert, holding hidden wonders.

Lost Shipwreck: The remnants of a ship lost to time, holding forgotten treasures.

Lost Temple: An ancient temple concealed in a dense jungle, holding untold treasures.

Magic Bazaar: A marketplace overflowing with enchanted trinkets and artifacts.

Magical Market: A bustling market where magical goods and creatures are sold.

Mermaid Lagoon: A vibrant underwater lagoon inhabited by merfolk.

Monolith Structure: A monolithic black structure with mysterious powers.

Moonlit Grotto: A subterranean cavern bathed in the ethereal light of the moon.

Moonstone Quarry: A quarry where precious moonstones are harvested.

Mysterious Well: A well said to reveal glimpses of the past and future to those who peer into it.

Mystic Library: A vast repository of otherworldly knowledge guarded by sentient books.

Mythical Mountain: A towering peak said to be the home of mythical creatures.

Nightmare Realm: A nightmarish dimension where fears and terrors manifest.

Pirate Cove: A hidden haven for swashbuckling pirates and their treasure.

Rainbow Bridge: A radiant arch connecting different realms.

Serene Glade: A serene glade where the boundary between realms is thin.

Shadowy Forest: A forest cloaked in eternal night and inhabited by shadowy creatures.

Shifting Sands Dunes: A desert where the sands are in constant motion, hiding ancient relics.

Sorcerer's Tower: A towering structure where a powerful sorcerer resides.

Space Nexus: A place in the stars where all galaxies converge.

Spirit Sanctuary: A haven where spirits of the departed find peace and rest.

Starfall Lake: A serene lake under a constant meteor shower.

Stargazing Grove: A tranquil grove illuminated by the light of countless stars.

Stargazing Ridge: A ridge that experiences frequent meteor showers.

Steampunk Airship: A fantastical flying vessel powered by steam and gears.

Steampunk City: A technologically advanced city with a Victorian aesthetic.

Sunken Ruins: The remnants of a once-mighty civilization beneath the sea.

Timeless Realm: A place where time stands still, frozen in eternal beauty.

Time-Warp Tavern: A tavern where time travelers gather to swap tales.

Troll Bridge: A bridge guarded by trolls, demanding a toll from travelers.

Underwater City: An illuminated metropolis beneath the ocean's depths.

Underworld: A realm ruled by dark deities and inhabited by the deceased.

Underworld Abyss: A chasm leading to the deepest, darkest depths of the underworld.

Underworld Citadel: A citadel deep within the underworld, home to dark powers.

Unicorn Meadows: Fields where graceful unicorns roam freely.

Vampire Castle: A foreboding castle inhabited by ancient vampire lords.

Whispering Pines: A tranquil forest where the pine trees whisper secrets.

Witch's Cauldron Room: A room with a bubbling cauldron said to grant potent magical brews.

Witch's Cottage: A crooked, mysterious dwelling surrounded by enchanted herbs.

Witch's Labyrinth: A twisting maze filled with magical traps and challenges.

Wizard's Academy: A prestigious school of magic where wizards are trained.

Wonderland: A surreal landscape filled with whimsical and absurd wonders.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[sthilarions]

Bear with me here because I’m thinking this idea through as I type it and also this is rather gory/borderline body horror so scroll away if that bothers you

Runes/enchantments/spells written on Edwin’s ribs - but there’s no magic way to make them appear there, they have to be actually manually engraved

Edwin’s pain tolerance/history of being torn apart in much worse ways means he thinks this is totally fine. Just apply a little iron to get him solid (and in possession of internal organs such as a skeleton), get the necessary tool, peel -

It’s right around the word “peel” that Charles stops staring in horror and starts throwing things, and Edwin never gets to the genius part of the plan, which is that once the iron is off, his ribs go back to being not-really-real, just part of his spectral after-image, as it were, which means it’s impossible for anyone to break the enchantment without destroying him entirely, as it’s now part of his soul.

The problem is, though, that Edwin can’t get the angle to do the engraving himself. (At least, that’s Edwin’s problem. Charles seems to have some other one.)

The matter is dropped for multiple decades, until after Port Townsend.

Because the enchantment Edwin wanted, you see, was a planar binding curse. Locks the enchanted item - in this case, Edwin - onto the earthly plane, so it can’t be taken whether by choice or force to any other… such as, for example, Hell.

And now Charles has seen Hell; and he knows what Edwin meant, when he said Hell was far worse than getting a bit of body art; and it’s getting rapidly harder for him to disagree.

[anonymous-existences]

Prolouge : Spectral Mysteries

Summary:

Danny Fenton gets adopted by Pariah Dark and Clockwork now Renamed as Perseus Penrose Dark-Nightingale and Cassius Christopher Nightingale along with Dan Phantom, Jazz Fenton and Danielle Dani Phantom after the GIW and Fenton Parents tried to hunt and almost successfully vivisect Danny.

As they had Danny in containment and his Vivisection wound stapled for the temporary meantime, Clockwork saves Danny and meddles with the timeline to forge files of their fake existence in the mortal plane.

Moving to Gotham was their only choice for reasons that the GIW cannot willy milly go around trying to hunt them down especially in a place where they're an easy victim of crime.

Danny slowly adapts to Gotham, setting a haunt for himself to feel even more safer and accidentally becoming an Information Broker in the streets known as "Spectre" or "Specter" depends on who spells it and who says it.

Notes:

Ages For the Dark/Nightingales

Pariah Dark : ???

Clockwork : ???

Dan Phantom : 25

Jazz Fenton : 20

Danny Fenton : 17

Danielle Dani Phantom : 8

Ages for the Batfam:

Bruce Wayne: 48

Dick Grayson : 28

Jason Todd : 23

Tim Drake-Wayne : 20

Cassandra Cain : 20

Stephanie Brown : 20

Duke Thomas : 18

Damian Wayne : 16

Have fun reading!

"Gotham, huh?" Danny breathed as he looked out the window of the SUV they're using to travel, Danny stared at the jagged skyline, a stark contrast to Amity Park's gentle hills. Danny took a deep breathe and buried himself further into his hoodie, Jazz pulling him close to her chest, "I know it was hard leaving and abandoning your Haunt... I'm sorry it had to become that way..." Jazz whispered softly to Danny who relaxed his body in his chest.

Dan was sleeping with his arms crossed protectively on his chest and Elle in his lap playing Minecraft on an Ipad swaying her legs softly and rhythmically as she started humming peacefully, Dan's cap was covering his face hiding any expression he might be making under his cap. Danny glanced out the window as they neared Gotham City, it's more than just a city. It was a behemoth, gothic structures and the air itself feeling heavy and different.

Danny tightened his hoodie further feeling the change of atmosphere as they entered Gotham City. Pariah Dark now Perseus Penrose Dark-Nightingale, Furrowed his brows as he took in the change. Dan took off his cap by tilting his head down and opening his eyes, "We're here Huh?" Dan muttered, pulling Elle closer to him to keep her from feeling too uncomfortable with the new change.

The air was heavy with what they deem as Rancid Ectoplasmic Vibes, Danny didn't like it but he slowly acclimated with the other ghosts, Pariah was the quickest to recover as he's already used to it and Dan being the second to do so. Jazz helped Danny calm down by keeping him close to her chest and whispering sweet soft words of reassurement. She was the only one who wasn't as affected by the change because of her full humanity, Although liminal she was not affected.

Danny gasped softly as he calmed down, he looked over out the windows seeing the towering skyscrapers and buildings that contrasted the gentle atmosphere of Amity Park, their windows like cold and unblinking observing eyes which inhabits strangers.

Soon they arrived at what Clockwork has claimed his "Mortal Haunt", It was a building that contains a clock shop inside a Book Shop, it felt warm as Danny entered the building. Upstairs were their personal home, already ready with security alarms that works around them and personal bedrooms each of their own with one with a large bed which would be Pariah and Clockwork's room.

It was somewhere around Crime Alley or Park Row as rich people likes to call the area, in a more secluded street where Ectoplasm in the air is more ambient and easier to filtrate into clean ectoplasm in the area. Pariah made sure that their home was very secured as he didn't want to risk anyone slipping in or breaking in.

Dan helped with the unpacking and arranging the items and baggage of their new home, helping Danny with arranging as he sulked in his now fluffed up bed inside a bedroom that was specifically decorated for him. The bedroom he now inhabits being that of space themed as he always liked, NASA posters he pinned on the walls and his organized personal items by a desk. It was just like his original Room in Amity Park, just more organized and a bigger space.

As soon as he finished organizing his things he immediately buried himself in his fluffy fur like bed, burying himself under the weighted blanket. "You need the Air conditioner on Bud?" Dan leaned on Danny's doorframe, arm's crossed but holding a cup of Warm Cocoa in his hand and a plate of cookies. "Yes please..." Danny muttered near weakly as he stayed under the weighted blankets, Dan could only chuckle and turned up the cold temperature for Danny and placed his treats and cocoa in the desk.

"We'll leave you alone but you better eat dinner later, jazz will bust in your room if you skip." Dan knocked on the wall before leaving and Danny just hummed as he heard the door shut. Danny slowly pulled out his phone to text his friends.

—Amity Ghostlings—

Inviso-Bill: Hey, I'm in Gotham now :|

PharaohIncarnation: I already miss you Danny :((

EcoTerrorism: Stop being overdramatic tuck, Danny's safer now. We should celebrate he finally got out!! >:))

PharaohIncarnation: Shut up, you're crying right now >:(( don't say you're not sad!

Danny: I miss you all already too :). Dan let me rest, I'm gonna see you both later, promise.

RedHuntress: Keep safe Danny, I'll keep Amity in check for you since you're not here. Be well.

Danny: :))

—Amity Ghostlings—

Danny sighed as he stared at his screen, he opens his gallery and started scrolling through photos of him and his friends and His classmates which is a rare picture but still nostalgic nontheless.. It's only been a week since he's escape Maddie and Jack Fenton, He's sure the GIW is still looking for them willing to hunt them down without mercy.

Danny felt cold tears rolling down his cheeks slightly dampening the furry fabric of his bed, he sniffled. If only he hadn't needed to leave he wouldn't have, He didn't want to leave but he had no choice. Atleast now he can start a new life and experience normalcy again, even if his family isn't so normal now.

He clutched his hand to his chest, burying himself and curling up under the weighted blanket as the room's air conditioning continued to make the room colder. "I wish I didn't have to leave.." he mutters softly wiping the tears that broke through and rolled down his cheeks.

— — — —

3 months passed and Danny had to attend school again, Dan got a job as a mechanic and Perseus and Cassius(Pariah and Clockwork) stayed at the shop, Jazz was continuing her online classes and Elle was in her own elementary school.

Dan was driving the Motorbike Pariah got him as a gift just recently, he was driving Danny and Ellie to school quite fashionably, "Behave Alright Elle?" Dan helps Elle down from the front of the bike, she giggled and nodded before running inside the school. Danny smiled, "Anyone who bullies her will get my fist to their face." He blurted out with a smile.

"Agreed." Dan nodding along with Danny, "anyways, C'mon now, Helmet back on. Safety First in Gotham." Dan reminds Danny as he fixed his own helmet, Danny fixing his helmet straps and holding onto Dan as they drove to Danny's new Highschool. It was overwhelming, he felt alone and scared of new people.

"Danny, I know you're scared but you'll be fine. You should probably take off the earrings and wear the bracelet dampener instead tho." Danny pointed out and Danny frantically took off his earrings and only wore the small star themed ones and a bracelet. Dan drove off not before giving Danny a pat in the head.

This was it, Danny's start of a new School-life. "Let's hope it's not shitty this time..." He breathed out staring at the school before entering the gates and going in.

— — — —

Danny has concluded after a week of being in the school that it wasn't too bad, Somehow he got a friend named Damian and Jon on the first day of school as Damian immediately stood up as soon as the teacher asked if there's anyone who would like to tour him around the school.

"Daniel, May I know where you acquired this hoodie of yours?" Damian asked raising an eyebrow feeling the fabric between his fingers, "My Other Dad made it for me!" Danny smiled, Danny likes the way he said 'Daniel' it had an accent and sounded like 'Danyal' which was totally sexier than Plain old Daniel. 'Your Father sewed this himself?" Damian looked surprised.

"Yep! Clockwork's apparently good at sewing unexpectedly enough, maybe next week I can take you to meet them!" Danny exclaimed happily and Damian nodded, his brows furrowing in determination. "Very well then Daniel, I shall make a good impression on your Fathers." Damian cleared his throat. "How bout you Jon? My big brother Dan makes the best Food!" Danny nudged his shoulder to Jon.

Jon grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. "Oh yeah? Well, my dad makes the best apple pie in Smallville. You can't beat that!" He nudged Danny back, a lighthearted challenge in his tone. "Maybe you can teach Dan how to make a mean apple pie too, then we'll have a real cook-off!" Jon raises his chin high and proud.

Danny smiled, he liked his new friends, he liked this new school. Although he misses his friends in Amity Park now he had a sense of normalcy in his life unlike before.

— — — —

"Danny, I heard there's a bit of a uhm.... What do you humans call it..?" Clockwork started as Dan prepared Dinner, "Break, a School Break Clockwork." Jazz continued and Clockwork hummed. "yes yes that, a school break because of someone named Joker and Scarecrow currently on the loose. Why don't you accompany Dan to the Mechanic's place within your 2 weeks of School Break? Besides your classes with that is only online after all!" Clockwork exclaims with a smile.

"I can't tell if you're being sincere or you're planning something." Danny whispered honestly, "a bit of both~! But it's still good for you to be out and about, Besides school isn't the only thing there in life so you might meet some new friends or companions over there in his workplace!" Clockwork's smile was wider, a much more mischievous smile.

Danny thought about it for a moment, observing Clockwork's body language even if he knew he wouldn't be able to catch anything odd within the Man's Exterior expression. Danny sighed and nodded, "Fine, I'll go. I'll be bored here all day anyways." Danny states as he took a bite of Dan's cooking.

"That's good Danny, so why don't you tell us more about your new friends at school? Who was it again?" Jazz started the conversation to lighten up the mood much more than before. Danny perked up and smiled, "Damian and Jon. They're my new best friends at school, Sam and Tucker got to meet them in Minecraft when Jon convinced him to buy the game and play." Danny chuckled.

"Mhm, that's good Baby Ghost." Pariah just nodded, "I approve of your choice of friends, a Cat and a Pup they are and you are the mediator, a perfect trio." He continued whilst eating, "I suppose they ARE like a cat and a Puppy. A fierce yet cuddly Cat and a golden retriever puppy." Danny just shrugged. "Damian Is very nice tho, he helps me a lot with the subjects, especially literature and English, we hang out a lot at the burger joint called Bat-Burger." Danny continued with a smile plastered on his face.

"When can I meet them Template?" Elle tilts her head cutely, just like a kitten with it's adorable kitten eyes. "Once I get them to visit here, Dan, Damian is Vegetarian so no meat. I mean I'm also Partially Vegetarian and all but like no meat at all if you know what I mean." Danny continued eating glancing over to Dan who nodded and hummed, too tired to come up with an actual response.

"I'll make sure 'Dad' and 'Father' here doesn't freak them out once they do visit." Jazz giggled and Danny smiled, "Yes please, make sure Pariah and Clockwork actually act Human enough—" Danny sighs thinking of all the ways the visit could go wrong. Clockwork promptly stops him from his anxious overthinking by placing his hand on Danny's shoulder.

Danny looks over to Clockwork who was still just eating his food, despite not needing it they appreciate Dan's delicious cooking, "Although we can't promise anything, I will make sure that we won't mess up too much." Clockwork pats Danny's hand and Danny nodded, his gaze softening at Clockwork's sympathy.

'Danny took a deep breathe, maybe life won't be so bad in Gotham after all.' he thinks positively, nodding along his thoughts with a warm and gentle smile.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ Prolouge End ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

:)) Teaser? Yes absolutely. I love it. My friends also love it! Which is good! I'm gonna start alternatively posting for the other fics soon enough to get it consistently updating, unfortunately right now I'm just VERY very busy. But hey I still write I suppose!

I took the Information Broker Danny Fenton Idea from @hello-eden from this post of theirs:

https://www.tumblr.com/hello-eden/761631700474347520/information-broker-danny?source=share

Also @bianca-hooks123 as someone who wanted to get tagged I think

Masterlist :33

[lexsssu]

Beast (Dion Agriche)

TAGS: Dion/Dragoness!reader, pining, pervy thoughts, breeding, oneshot Ao3 ver. | Ko-fi | Commissions (OPEN)

This place felt…sad.

The towering manse was objectively magnificent and yet an air of gloom seemed to envelop the very air that passed through the exquisite halls. Though perhaps it could be attributed to the unmistakable metallic scent that hung heavily within almost every corner of the estate. 

Whether it was the main courtyard, the gardens, or from deeper within, the darkness that settled over the entire structure was like a shroud of death that beckoned victims to fall into the sweet embrace of oblivion. It’s only through luck however, that they can either meet a swift end or a drawn out and miserable one. 

Judging from the melancholic or downright pained expressions upon the ghostly specters that roamed the area, it’s safe to say that this was a place of great suffering and tragedy. None of the actual living occupants could see them, most especially that man whose soul harbored an impressive amount of corruption for a human. No matter how many angry spirits clung to him in hopes of dragging his soul straight out of his body in order to enact their just revenge, each death done or ordered by his hand only seemed to further the taint. 

It’s almost as if he drew power from the lives he’d stolen.

He wasn’t the only one who attracted the attention of the restless souls. The man’s children who tried to follow in his footsteps also had a trail of bodies before them even before they could be called adults. Even one of his wives, a seemingly spritely woman with doll-like features, took lives as easily as getting rid of unpleasant pests.

In conclusion, this family is as cursed as the land they had stained with rivers of blood over the years.  

Much to your surprise however, not every Agriche shared a penchant for senseless murder. One of the eldest living daughters (Roxana) only had a single ghost following her and even then, the ghostly image of the teen boy didn’t seem to want to tear her limb from limb like all the others. Rather, he followed after her much like a puppy who only wanted to keep up with her pace. Sadly, the blonde never seemed to take notice of the boy who bore remarkably similar features with her even as he tried to reach his hand out to touch her. 

For she lives within the plane of the living, while he now resided in between life and death, unable to move on due to regrets or some other unfinished business you didn’t know of.  

The question is…are you content with staying as a mere observer?

The blonde youth perks up the moment he realizes you can see him, sheer relief brimming from every pore within his spectral body when you speak your first words to him. He is rich with the secrets Lante Agriche fights tooth and nail to prevent from ever seeing the light of day. 

A lonely boy becomes lonely no more and a displaced dragoness finds that becoming lost wasn’t too bad when you have good company around you.

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

Dion doesn’t dream.

Considering the amount of blood that stained his rough hands, it is better that he only descends into nothingness whenever he rests his eyes, for one could only imagine what horrors lay in wait to torment him for all the atrocities he’d committed. He’s not afraid of the ghosts of his victims, but rather finds it useless to think of flames that had already been snuffed out when they could no longer influence the living in any way.

But then something changes.

He feels a soft, warm touch that gently traces the length of his nose, cups the sharp angles of his face, and even delves into his dark locks. Though his eyes remain closed, his own subconscious supplies him with the image of hands much smaller than his own large ones that poked and prodded at him without fear. 

While he would have caught the appendages and mayhaps stuck a knife into anyone who decided to lay their hands upon him, Dion knows that this could only be a dream because who would even dare to caress him so gingerly in the middle of night within the Agriche’s own manor? If anything, he finds his dreamself to commit to memory the feeling of such a gentle touch being bestowed upon him, because rationally he knows that he has no need for softness. In the confines of his own subconscious however, he supposes that he can allow himself this at the very least.

When he wakes up at the crack of dawn, it is to open windows with its blinds fluttering as the morning breeze makes its way to his room, bringing with it not just the familiar scent of iron that seemed to permanently surround the place he’d grown up in. 

Though he cares not for flowers specifically, he does have knowledge on their practical uses such as poisons and the like. He also prefers knowing the native flora and fauna of the hunting grounds he’d be thrown into in order to get a better grasp of the terrain.

Blooming honeysuckles make his brows furrowed in confusion despite his stone-cold exterior, confused as to how and why such a scent overpowered the ever present iron tang in the air. 

Curiouser and curiouser.

Dion remains oblivious to the shared laughter between a woman with ivory in her hair and a boy whose eyes reflected the deep, bright expanse of the open sky as they watched him stick his head out of his windows to locate the origin of the oddity.

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

“YOU...”

“...Me?”

Dion feels his body practically burning from the inside-out, his heart beating several miles per minute as he finally gets a good look of the poltergeist that haunts his nights. He remembers the tender touches you press against his skin, the warm caresses that leave him gasping for breath and his loins aching for sweet release by the time he’s released from your clutches once dawn has broken. 

He does not need your sweetness.

He has no use for your gentleness.

And yet he craves it.

He has never desired anything. 

He has never felt so strongly about anything other than the swish of his blade, the gurgling of his victims, and the blood splattered against the ground as another mark of his martial prowess.

And yet you drove him to become more of a feral beast than he ever was as he now wished for nothing else other than to possess your whole being just as you possessed him without even meaning to.

“...are MINE”

Your surprised squeak is music to his ears, the flush on your cheeks pleasing the beast that sought to have you pressed down on the ground and taken ruthlessly, flooding your fertile womb with his virile seed...

.

.

.

To be continued(?)

[funeral]

[The tradition concerning the double in folklore] is based on the belief that an essential part of an individual, be it his psyche, soul, astral, spectral form or other asomatic or etheric element, may become dissociated, wholly or in part, from his body, and lead an independent temporary existence. [ . . . ] The double may appear in the shape of a ghost, wraith, or other apparition; it may be captured in a reflection, or live on as a shadow; it may possess the body of another living person.

The double...may appear in the form of a misty and transparent replica of the person, but may sometimes be as solid and substantial as if he were in the flesh. The apparition is called a ghost if the person himself is dead, and a wraith if he is still alive. Equally mystifying is the comparatively rare phenomenon of autophany, or seeing one's own wraith, usually taken to be a warning of death.

Benjamin Walker, Beyond the Body: The Human Double and the Astral Planes

[hyacinthandmoss]

What the Dead Don‘t Take (18+)

Summary: You are Eclipsera. They call you a ghost. A myth. Some say you’re lady death. But you know better; you’re what comes when death hesitates. You move through shadow with a body built for ruin and reverence — soft, full, impossible to ignore. You are older than grief. More tender than mercy. So when you found Frank Castle dying, you didn’t take him. You let him stay. Because something in him flickered like a flame refusing to die. And you, well, you’ve always been drawn to fire.

Pairing: Frank Castle x AFAB!Reader (PLUS SIZE/FAT READER). Reader is described with fat body imagery.

Warnings: Minors DNI! SOFT SMUT (18+), canon-typical violence, injury, grief/loss, trauma responses, gentle angst with eventual tenderness, haunted softness, emotionally bruised Frank being tender.

A/N: hi, my dearest petals! thank you for wandering into this little story. i hope something soft in it finds you. Eclipsera is an OC i’ve been developing for some time, but for this story, i decided to share her through a reader-insert so you could feel what it’s like to bloom in her skin. if you’d like to see more of her, perhaps in a longer fic or as her full self in the punisher universe, let me know! your thoughts are like little wildflowers: small, beautiful, & always welcome.

🪻🍃🌾💫📖

New York pulsed with life, but you walked in the spaces between. The spectral realm hummed quietly beneath the city’s surface, a thin, silver thread woven through the neon chaos and cigarette smoke, through the clamor of horns and human grief. Few could see it. Fewer still could walk it. But you, you had always belonged to the quiet places where grief lingered, and breath faded.

They called you a myth. A ghost. A curse. Eclipsera. Lady Death herself.

You drifted down cracked sidewalks with no destination. Your steps made no sound on the pavement. Your soft, thick thighs brushed with every silent stride beneath a dress that clung to your body like it knew exactly what it protected. Your full hips swayed with purpose, your heavy form moving with grace that defied expectation. You could feel every soul humming beneath their skin. The living, wrapped tight in their breath and fear. The dying, fraying at the edges. The dead, watching with hollowed eyes, waiting to be remembered or forgotten. As you passed, your fingers brushed against a brick wall, and it told you a story. A fight. A bloodstain. A promise never kept. But you kept walking. Tonight felt heavier than usual. Like the city itself was holding its breath.

You paused beneath a flickering streetlamp in Alphabet City, head tilted slightly, lips parted like you were listening to something no one else could hear. And then you felt it. A tremor. Not in the ground, but in the thread,  the weave between life and death. Someone was slipping, and it wasn’t peaceful or quiet. It felt… stubborn. Violent. Refusing.

Your eyes narrowed, irises dark as soil, glowing faintly at the edges. Whoever it was… they didn’t want to die. Or maybe they shouldn’t. You turned toward the pull. The spectral plane rippled around you, doors opening where none existed, and then you stepped into the alley where fate had come to collect Frank Castle. Or so you thought. 

The alley stank of blood and ozone and something sharp beneath it… gunpowder, maybe. 

He was lying at the end of the alley. Half-slumped against the wall. One leg twisted unnaturally. Blood slicked across his chest like ink. It was the kind of wound you knew that mortals didn’t come back from. Yet he wasn’t dead. And more than that, he was fighting it.

The thread of his life was unraveling fast, frayed and stubborn, and snapping back every time death tried to reel him in. It was wild and violent. And so very loud in your mind. You moved toward him slowly, your long dress whispering beneath you like smoke.

He noticed you. His hand twitched toward the weapon at his side, but it slipped, useless in his grasp.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” you said softly, voice curling into the air like incense. You knelt beside him, close enough for the tips of your fingers to catch the heat of his skin, close enough to feel him tethered, like he refused to let go, not out of fear, but purpose. Your gaze traveled across the ruin of his body, then up to meet his eyes.

“You’re dying,” you said simply.

He coughed, low and wet, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” he rasped. “No shit.”

Your lips curled, faint and amused. “But it’s not taking,” you murmured. You tilted your head, studying him like a riddle you couldn’t quite solve. “You’ve eluded death’s embrace before.”

Frank Castle squinted up at you, breathing ragged. “What the hell… are you?”

You leaned in slowly, your hand lifting to brush a knuckle along the line of his jaw. The touch was light and careful. Far too intimate for a battlefield. Your fingers trailed down his neck, tracing the line of a scar that wasn’t from tonight.

“The infamous Punisher,” you murmured, your voice low and rich, like smoke curling in velvet. A faint smile tugged at your lips. It wasn’t mockery but recognition. “You’re quite the legend in the spectral realm.” You reached out, and the tips of your fingers ghosted along his cheek light as breath, but he felt it in his spine. “Always dancing on the blade,” you whispered. “Always flirting with death, and yet, somehow, you never let it take you.” Your eyes searched his,  not just looking but reading.

All Frank could see were your eyes that were ancient, knowing, and endless. His eyes narrowed, blood drying on his cheek. He gave a breathless, humorless laugh. Well, more of a grunt, really.

“Yeah?” he rasped. “You here to hand out metaphors or finish the job?” His tone was sharp and raw, the kind of edge you get when you’ve seen too much, bled too long, and don’t trust a damn thing that whispers in the dark.

You blinked slowly like his sarcasm was a language you spoke fluently. “Still fighting,” you murmured. “Even now.”

“Not fightin’,” he muttered, jaw tight. “Just don’t take kindly to cryptic shit when I’m leaking out on concrete.”

That earned him the ghost of a smile.

He hated that it made you look beautiful.

You moved closer, your knees brushing against his thigh, and leaned in close enough for your breath to graze his ear. “Then let me be clear, Frank Castle,” you whispered, and he felt his name curl down his spine like a brand. “You shouldn’t be dying. Not tonight. Not like this.”

He exhaled a shaky breath. “Yeah?” he rasped. “And what the hell makes you the expert?”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. Your eyes shimmered in the dark like wet obsidian catching moonlight. There was no threat in them. Just knowledge. Weight.

“I’ve walked beside Death since the first star fell,” you said quietly. “I’ve stood where time ends, and silence begins.”

“And when Death falters—when Death doubts—I’m the one who decides who stays.” Your words hung in the space between you, ancient, undeniable, echoing somewhere deeper than just his ears.

Frank didn’t see you move.

In a sudden, fleeting moment, you were inches away from him, your warm breath teasing his ear while your fingers danced like whispers along the sharp line of his jaw. The next instant, the gritty alleyway vanished completely. The cold, unforgiving concrete beneath your feet, the vivid splashes of blood staining the pavement, and the distant wail of sirens—everything was erased. An eerie stillness enveloped you both in their place as if time had paused. 

Frank found himself in a shadowy realm, cloaked in tranquility and dimly lit by the flickering glow of candles casting soft, wavering shadows. It felt like an enchanted rooftop lounge, a hidden oasis suspended between memory and myth, as though this sanctuary had been plucked from his subconscious, a quiet refuge from the chaos that once surrounded him. Here, the world’s weight seemed to lift, offering a moment of respite. 

Frank slumped against a stone pillar, sucking in a shocked breath. “What the f—” He tried to move, but his body protested with sharp, searing pain.

“Easy,” you murmured, already kneeling before him again. “You’re safe here. No one can reach you.”

His hand twitched toward where his weapon should’ve been, but you were already reaching for him, not to disarm, but to touch. Your fingers hovered just over the gash in his abdomen, glowing faintly with that same silvery light he’d seen in your eyes.

“You’ve carried pain for so long, Frank Castle,” you whispered. “Some of it isn’t yours anymore. Let me take it.”

He should’ve pushed you away. Should’ve told you to go to hell. But all he said was, “You better know what the hell you’re doin’.”

A quiet smile curved your lips. “I do.” You placed your palm against his wound, and the moment your skin touched his, the pain evaporated like smoke. Not numbed but gone.

His head dropped back with a groan, breath catching in his throat. Frank’s eyes flicked open, wild and wide. “You’re not human.”

“No.” Your hand slid up, palm pressed against his chest, right over his heart.

He caught your wrist, grip weak but wanting. His breathing was shallow and uneven. “I don’t know what this is,” he growled, “but if you’re gonna kill me, stop playin’ with your food.”

“I told you,” you whispered, your mouth almost brushing his, “You don’t die tonight.”

His chest rose and fell under your hand, slower now but tight, like he was holding something back.

“You’re not real,” he said, voice gravel-thick, sharp around the edges. “You’re somethin’ else. Somethin’ fucked.”

You tilted your head, unbothered, your eyes glowing faint and eerie in the low light.

“I’m exactly what you needed,” you said softly.

His laugh was short and bitter, and he breathed more than sound. “Yeah? You think I need someone floatin’ outta nowhere, messin’ with my head?”

“I didn’t touch your head,” you murmured, inching closer. Your palm pressed over his heart, now deliberate, heavy.

His jaw tensed. That stare didn’t budge.

“And what is it you want, huh?” he snapped. “You already patched me up. You ain’t robbin’ me. You ain’t killin’ me. So what the hell is this?”

You leaned in, slow and smooth, just close enough that he could feel the warmth of your lips, which were just out of reach.

“Maybe I’m curious,” you whispered. “About the man Death hesitated to take.”

Frank’s breath hitched. Just slightly. But you caught it. He grabbed your wrist again.  Fast, firm, but not cruel. “You don’t get to play games,” he growled. “Not with me.”

“I’m not playing.”

“You’re somethin’, all right,” he muttered, his eyes locked to you by mouth now like he was daring himself not to move.

Your smile was curved and quiet and dangerous.

Frank still hadn’t released your wrist. His grip was firm but hesitant, a mix of control and uncertainty.

You could feel it. The way his pulse jumped under your touch. The way he was watching your mouth instead of your eyes now. “You keep staring like that,” you murmured, “and I’m going to start thinking you want something.”

He let out a sharp, low breath, part laugh, part don’t push me. “You talk like you know me,” he muttered, voice rough like sandpaper, “but you don’t.”

You didn’t pull back. Just let the silence stretch between you two like tension on a wire. “I know how your heartbeat changes when I touch you,” you said, your hand pressing a little harder to his chest. “I know you’ve been bleeding for years… and not all of it on the outside.” 

Frank’s jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt. “I don’t need you figuring me out,” he snapped. “I sure as hell don’t need you crawling inside my head.”

“I’m not in your head,” you whispered, dragging your lips just barely across the shell of his ear. “I’m under your skin.”

And there it was… the moment of inhale. A quiet pause where he froze as if you’d struck something raw. “Careful,” he growled. “You don’t know what you’re pokin’ at.”

You smiled. “Oh, Frank. I do.”

Frank hadn’t blinked in what felt like years. His hand was still on your wrist, knuckles white from restraint. “You think you got me figured out?” he rasped.

Your eyes flicked to his. Not mocking. Not soft. Just… knowing. “I don’t need to figure you out,” you said. “I feel you.”

You shifted just enough that your thick thighs brushed against his. Enough to make him flinch like he’d been burned. “You ache,” you whispered, your lips ghosting the line of his jaw. “You carry your guilt like armor, and you wear your grief like a weapon.”

His eyes fluttered closed for a second, jaw flexing tight.

You let your nose trail down the side of his throat, never kissing, just hovering. Your voice dropped even lower, barely a breath, “But you want,” you said, “so much.”

Frank’s grip on your wrist tightened not to stop you, but like it was the only thing tethering him to control. His breath was ragged now, chest rising beneath your touch like it took effort just to breathe.

And still, you didn’t touch him any more than that. “You wanna keep pretendin’ you’re not feeling this?” You murmured, your lips now just above his.

His eyes opened, dark and furious, but not because he hated it. But because you were right. He held your stare like he was hanging by a thread.

“…You don’t shut up,” he growled. “You’re gonna find out what happens when I do stop pretending.”

And still, you didn’t pull back.

“Then stop,” you whispered. “I dare you.”

Frank didn’t move.

“I wonder,” you whispered, “if you’d even know how to touch someone without it feeling like violence.”

That made his breath catch a sharp inhalation that came unexpectedly, like a jagged shard of ice piercing through him. 

“I wonder,” you continued, your voice a purr against his ear, “if you even remember what softness feels like.”

His fingers coiled around your wrist with a pressure that suggested he was holding himself back, not out of rage, but sheer restraint. “You don’t know me,” he hissed, each word dripping with intensity.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again.“I know enough,” you said. “I know you crave closeness, but punish yourself every time it gets near. I know your body doesn’t understand tenderness anymore. Only tension. Only grit. Only the moments before something breaks.”You let your lips brush the scar above his collarbone, the lightest, cruelest whisper of touch.“I could break you,” you whispered. “Gently.”

He flinched but barely. But you felt it.

“I should push you off me,” he bit out. His voice shook with everything he wasn’t doing.

“You should,” you said, resting your forehead against his. “So why haven’t you?”

The silence that followed was thick and electric. He was breathing harder now. Chest rising fast under your palm. His jaw clenched so tight it trembled. Every part of him screamed with want and refusal, but he didn’t move. You did. Your lips brushed his once, soft as breath, just enough to touch without giving him anything more. And when you pulled away again, that damn smile was still there.

“You gonna make me stop?” you whispered, voice low, challenging.

His jaw flexed. That vein in his neck ticked. His breath was ragged now, his chest rising and falling like he was trying to hold himself back from devouring you. And then he moved. Frank’s hand came up fast, curling around the back of your neck, pulling you down hard and sure, like he’d finally decided he wasn’t letting you tease him into madness anymore. His lips met yours with a kind of heat that wasn’t gentle. It was raw like he’d been waiting all night for permission, and you’d just handed it to him on a silver blade.

You barely had time to gasp before his other hand slid down to your waist, gripping tight, anchoring you to him like he needed to feel your full weight on his body. You felt the low groan rumbling in his chest. He exhaled into your mouth like he hadn’t breathed until now. The kiss had cracked something open. Now, it was burning, and there was no pulling back. Frank’s hands stayed on you, one still cradling the back of your neck, the other sliding lower, fingers digging into the generous curve of your hip like he needed your solidness to keep from slipping away. Like the fullness beneath his palm was the only thing anchoring him to this moment.

Your breath hitched as he pulled you entirely into his lap, your thighs parting to straddle him, plush and warm as they bracketed his hips. Your softness spilled against him, belly pressing into his abdomen, breasts brushing his chest, and his breath caught like the sight of you had knocked the air out of him. The contact lit a fire between you two, sharp and immediate. There was no hesitation, no question. He needed you like this. All of you. Not something delicate to be handled but something whole to be held.

His eyes scanned your face as if he couldn’t believe what he saw. You were so close but still otherworldly. That faint glow beneath your skin. That calm in your eyes. “You good?” he rasped, his voice low, rough, frayed at the edges.

You nodded, your hand slipping into his hair, your body moving against his with a slow, deliberate grind that made him grunt, his hands clutching harder at your sides.

“Better than good,” you whispered, lips grazing his ear. “I want you.”

His mouth found yours again, rougher now. Not cruel, just hungry.

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, dragging it up over healing muscle and scar. You moved with a kind of sacred slowness. It wasn’t hesitant but reverent. Like you understood what it meant for him to let someone this close.

He hissed when your hands ghosted over his stomach, but not from pain.

“I should be the one asking if you’re okay.” You said against his mouth, your voice low and velvet.

Frank’s hand slid under your dress, calloused fingers dragging slowly up the curve of your back to touch and feel. The softness there was warm, genuine, solid beneath his palm. His fingertips brushed over the dip of your waist, then higher, following the gentle slope of your plush back until he cradled you fully, pulling you into him.

“I’m alive,” he muttered. “Pretty sure that’s your fault.”

You smiled against his lips.

“Then let me show you what it means to live.”

Frank pulled you even closer, his hands sliding down to grip your ass, fingers sinking into the soft flesh like he couldn’t believe you were real. “Shit,” he muttered, pressing his face into your neck. “You’re—fuck, you’re perfect.”

You rolled your hips again, slower this time, and he shuddered. The friction, the heat, the way your full thighs tightened around him, grounding him, was too much. And still not enough.

“Say it again,” he breathed, “Say you want me.”

“I want you,” you gritted out. “I want all of you.”

You reached between your bodies, tugging his pants open, your fingers brushing the thick length of him through his briefs. His hips bucked instinctively, and you smiled.

“You’re hard for someone who was bleeding out a few minutes ago,” you teased.

His eyes locked on yours, dark and hungry. “I survived for this.”

And when you pulled him free and guided him into you, slow, aching, deliberate,  Frank groaned, his hands flying to your hips, head falling back, eyes squeezed shut.

“Fuck,” he panted. “You feel so good.”

You took him slowly, deliberately, your body stretching around him, taking every inch until your thighs were tight against his and your belly pressed to his chest. And he loved it. The way your softness wrapped around him. The way your curves moved with every grind of your hips. The way you held him deep and tight and didn’t let go.

You gasped into his mouth as he hauled you closer, the strength in his arms coiling around your soft, generous frame like a storm about to break. You could feel it: the barely leashed restraint, the way his fingers dug into the plush at your waist,  not harsh, but like he was trying to memorize you with his hands. Like if he didn’t hold you, he’d fall apart completely. He moved slowly at first, afraid he’d miss something if he rushed.

“Fuck,” he breathed like it hurt to say. “You’re… fucking unreal.”

Your back arched into him, full breasts pressing to his chest, your body moving with practiced confidence and heat. “You’re the one surviving gunshots in alleys,” you whispered, breathless. “Who’s the unreal one now?”

He huffed a laugh low against your collarbone, his stubble grazing your skin. “Don’t flatter me,” he muttered. “I’ll start thinkin’ I deserve this.”

Your fingers slid into his hair, curling just enough to pull him back to your mouth. “You do,” you said into his lips, hot and certain. “You do.”

His hands roamed everywhere like he couldn’t decide what part of you he loved most; the soft curve of your belly that met his with every roll of your hips, the weight of your breasts in his palms, the way your thighs wrapped around him like they’d never let go. His mouth was greedy, his touch bordering on desperation, like if he didn’t touch all of you right now, he’d lose the chance.

You moved against him in slow, deliberate rolls, letting your softness press into all the places he was hard and trembling. It made him hiss through clenched teeth, his hips jerking up to meet yours. His grip bruised in the best way, big hands sinking into your ass, dragging you tighter. Your nails raked down his back, your teeth sinking into his neck just to hear that growl he gave only to you. You moved like you were made for this. For him.

Frank’s back hit the cold stone floor, breath still ragged, muscles twitching from restraint and adrenaline. He looked up at you wild-eyed, sweat-drenched, like he wasn’t sure if this was real or some fever dream born out of blood loss and craving.

And then you straddled him, slow, fluid, deliberate. Your full, plush thighs settled across his hips, weight grounding him in the here and now. Your curves spilled over him, heat radiating off your body like a furnace, and he felt all of it. 

“I want to see you,” you whispered, voice warm against his lips. “Really, see you.”

His hands came up, palms wide and rough, ghosting over the thick swell of your thighs, up to your hips, where he squeezed slowly. 

“Yeah?” he rasped.

You nodded, breath shallow, heart open. “Let me lie back,” you said, the words trembling with something more profound. “Let me pull you in.”

You weren’t just asking to change positions. You wanted to look at him. all of him. To see the pain he’d carried for years, carved into every line of his body, and to try,  in the only way you knew how to take it from him.

You laid back slowly, your thick thighs parting for him, plush and warm as they cradled his hips. Your soft belly rose and fell beneath your breath, your chest flushed, your arms already reaching for him.

Let me do this, you thought. Let me hold him. Heal him. Let him know what it feels like to be touched without pain.

Frank followed by bracing himself over you, his body already shuddering from how much he felt. But when he sank back inside you, slow and deep, your body stretching to retake him, something shifted. You felt it. Not just the heat of him but the ache beginning to unwind inside his body. The pain was lifting like fog from muscle and bone. Your hands came to his face, cupping it as his eyes met yours.

See me, you thought. You arched up to meet him, the fullness of your body moving with his hips rising, softness pressing against scar and sinew, and through it all, your gaze never left his. You watched him fall apart and come back together. And Frank was breathless, gasping, forehead pressed to yours,  didn’t speak. 

At first, Frank didn’t notice. He was too caught up in the heat of you. But then… Something shifted.

Initially, it was subtle. He noticed the familiar throb in his ribs was absent. The burn from the old bullet wound in his shoulder was also gone. The chronic tightness in his hip, which flared every time it rained, had disappeared. He felt no pulling in the scar beneath his side where the stitches had never quite healed properly. His brow furrowed as his breath caught, not from pain but from the surprising absence of it.

“Wait,” he breathed, voice gravel-rough as his hands came up to cradle your waist, steadying you. “What—what is this?”

You looked up at him. “What do you feel?”

His chest rose and fell, sweat still clinging to him, but he blinked, confused. Almost disoriented. “It’s gone,” he rasped. “The ache in my leg, my side—fuck, even the shoulder—how the hell…”

“I’m just giving back what the world took,” your lips ghosting the corner of his mouth. Your voice was quiet, but it echoed in him louder than gunfire, sharper than grief. And it hit him somewhere he didn’t have armor for.

Frank stared down at you, breath caught in his chest, his body still deep inside yours, warm and held and seen. His jaw clenched like he was trying to swallow something he couldn’t name. For a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. He just looked at you like he didn’t know what to do with the kind of softness you were giving him. Then, slowly, his head dipped. His forehead touched yours first, skin to skin like he was grounding himself there. His eyes shut. His breath shuddered out against your lips. Then he kissed you. His hand slid up to cradle your cheek, calloused thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. “You didn’t have to do this,” he murmured against your mouth, voice raw and quiet. “You didn’t owe me shit.”

You looked up at him, your hand slipping to the back of his neck, fingertips curling in his short hair.

“I know,” you whispered. “But I wanted to.”

Frank’s eyes opened, dark, stormy, wrecked. And then he kissed you again, Harder this time Like he couldn’t take it. Something broke loose inside him, and the only way he knew how to thank you was to fall apart in your mouth.  He pressed into you again, slow and deep, and he gasped, not just from pleasure but from the feeling of something old releasing. And damn, it did feel like that. Like his body had been clenched for years, bracing against agony, and you were finally teaching it how to let go. Every thrust felt like light cracking through scar tissue. Every moan from your lips burned something clean inside his bones. His fingers curled into the fat of your hips, holding you tight, grounding himself in the weight of you. The kind of rhythm that didn’t just fuck — it felt.

“Don’t hold back,” you whispered. “I want to feel everything.”

And that broke something loose in him.

Frank began to move — slow at first, grinding into you with those deep, intentional thrusts that made your body sing.

You gasped, back arching, your soft stomach pressing into his as your fingers clawed down his back.

And his face was right there the whole time. Mouth parted. Brows drawn in concentration. Eyes locked on yours like he didn’t dare blink.

Your legs locked around his waist, pulling him in deeper, your body moving with his, all softness and heat and control. Every part of you welcomed him. Every inch made him fall. The slap of skin, the stuttered breath, the slick sound of him driving into you again and again was everything.

Frank’s hands slid under the curve of your back, dragging you up against him like he couldn’t get close enough. His hips snapped forward again and again, deeper, harder. “You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he groaned against your jaw. “You feel like—fuck—like you were made for me.”

“Then take me,” you cried, voice ragged. “I’m yours.  Just don’t stop.”

And he didn’t. He drove into you with everything he had left, mouth trailing down your throat, across your shoulder, anywhere his lips could reach. The tension was unbearable, the way your bodies fit, your weight beneath him, the softness cradling every thrust. He was so close. His rhythm faltered. He stuttered in your arms.

You cupped his jaw, thumb brushing over the stubble at the corner of his mouth. “Let go, Frank,” you whispered. “I want to watch you.”

And that was it. He snapped. His hips jerked, a low, broken groan tearing from his throat as he came hard, face buried in your neck, body shaking above you.

You followed right after,  tightening around him, dragging your nails down his back as your cry filled the space between you, raw and wrecked and so fucking real. When the tremors faded,  when all that was left was your breath and the thud of his heart against yours, Frank didn’t move. He stayed inside you, chest pressed to your full breasts, body still tangled with yours like he couldn’t bear to let go. One hand slipped into your hair. The other rested over your heart like he couldn’t believe it was still beating.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ ruin me.” he rasped, utterly spent.

You smiled against his cheek, soft and proud, brushing your lips over the sweat-damp skin there.

“Good,” you whispered. “Maybe now I can put you back together.”

His body was still shaking. Not from exertion and not from pain, but from the kind of release that stripped him bare and left no armor, no weapons, just Frank. Just a man coming undone in the arms of someone who held him like he was more than the violence behind his name.

You were still beneath him, legs loose around his waist, your complete, soft body molding to his like you were made to hold him this way. One of your hands rested at the nape of his neck, fingers slipping through sweat-damp hair. The other traced slow, lazy circles into his broad back, grounding him.

Neither of you spoke.

Frank’s face stayed tucked against your shoulder, the bridge of his nose brushing your throat, his lips ghosting your collarbone every time he exhaled.

You didn’t rush him. You just let him exist, let him feel.

And when he finally shifted, just enough to roll onto his side and bring you with him, he moved slowly, carefully, like he didn’t want to let go of a single inch of you.

Your soft curves pressed into his chest, your thighs resting across his own, belly warm against him. He wrapped a thick arm around your middle and settled one wide, calloused hand along the curve of your spine,  his fingers spreading across your back like he needed the contact to breathe.

He held you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the world. His voice came quiet, rough, uncertain.

“…Don’t usually do this.”

You smiled into his chest, your cheek pillowing against his shoulder’s slope.

“You don’t say.”

He let out a breath, dry and rasping, half-laugh, half-weariness.

“I mean the… stayin’. The—after.”

You tilted your face up, brushing your fingers gently along the stubble on his jaw, your soft body still folded perfectly against his. “I know.”

He was quiet for a long time. “You ain’t like anyone I’ve ever met.”

“I should hope not,” you murmured, voice a gentle tease. “I’ve been walking this world for a very long time.”

Frank’s eyes opened, and he looked at you like you weren’t just someone in his arms but someone who had found something in him that even he had forgotten was still there.

“…Why me?”

You let your hand slide up, resting over the steady thrum of his heart. “Because when death reached for you,” you whispered, “you told it to fuck off.”

That pulled a laugh from him; it was hoarse and real, the kind that hit deep and warm. He dipped his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead without thinking. “And here I thought I was subtle.”

You leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth, soft and sure, then rested your forehead on his. “You burn so bright, Frank Castle. Even when you’re ready to fall apart.”

He didn’t answer. He pulled you tighter, one arm looping around your soft body, the other curling into your hair like he couldn’t let go.

And slowly, Frank Castle slept for the first time in longer than he could remember.

No tremors. No gasps in the dark. No blood-soaked dreams clawing their way up his throat. Just real, deep, unbroken sleep.

You let your palm hover over his side where the old wound used to throb in his sleep and felt only warmth. Only peace.

He’d never know what you’d taken from him. But you knew. And you’d do it again.

As quietly as you came, you stepped through the veil, the spectral realm folding open like silk. When the world reformed around you, you stood in the shadows of his hideout, a dark, cold, hidden room.

You laid him down gently, careful not to stir him, his body still heavy with sleep. A comforter pulled up to his waist. The scar on his shoulder is now smooth. The tension in his brow was gone.

You stood there for a long moment. Watching, Listening.

You didn’t want to leave. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But you knew what this was, What you were. He was meant to live. And you… You weren’t meant to stay.

You leaned down, your hair spilling forward, brushing his cheek as you pressed a soft, slow kiss to his lips. His breath caught just slightly, but he didn’t wake.

“Try not to get yourself killed. Not so soon, anyway.” You touched his face once more, just a brush of fingers down his jaw. 

You were gone before the sun rose.

Frank didn’t know your name. But he’d spend the rest of his life trying to find it, to find you.

[honourablejester]

I love the sentences you get with science fantasy. Just. The things you get to say.

I’m reading Starfinder’s Ports of Call sourcebook (1e), which has part of a chapter describing the galaxy the setting is set in. At the centre of said galaxy is a titanic black hole nicknamed Old Rovagug (after the vanished god of destruction) which supplies the gravity needed to hold the galaxy together. And we get this spectacular sentence, a result of the fact that Starfinder is a science fantasy setting using D&D style planes of existence:

“Like most black holes, Old Rovagug tears open millions of momentary rifts to the Negative Energy Plane every second, allowing creatures like spectral undead, gargoyle-like sceaduinars and titanic darvakkas to escape into the surrounding space. These interlopers rampage across any worlds they can reach before the oppressiveness of reality inevitably disintegrates them.”

… Like most black holes. Like most black holes, Old Rovagug tears millions of holes into the plane of death on the regular, allowing undead to escape into nearby space until the raw weight of reality reabsorbs them. As, you know. Black holes do. Apparently.

This is followed by:

“Unlike most black holes, Old Rovagug radiates light-year-wide entropic tendrils. Seeming to ignore material physics, these tendrils extend and roil outward like solar flares for thousands of years before fading and being replaced by new projections. Like black holes, they aren’t directly visible, instead being observed only by the empty spaces they leave behind—most often along the accretion disk, earning them the name Whiskers of the Sun-Eater for how they radiate from the lightless center of the galaxy.”

This black hole also radiates reality-shredding thousand-year-long entropic flares. Most black holes don’t do that. It’s just this one.

I just. I love the things you get to say. Most black holes, you know. They summon spectral undead. Didn’t you know that about them?

[fuckyeahisawthat]

@spectraling I feel like you have blown my third eye wide open with the idea of the Hexcore taking on some of Viktor's personality and attributes. Like. The idea of Viktor creating a thing that shares his goals, that genuinely wants to help him help people, at a time when he's starting to feel like maybe Jayce doesn't share that goal with him anymore? I think he's doing it all subconsciously but. Creating a thing that's a reflection of his own mind, an echo instead of another truly autonomous human that can challenge him when he starts going off the rails? An endless feedback loop of yes-and, supporting and encouraging him but also enabling his own blind spots and increasingly extreme ideas?

But also. Creating something that's not just using him for its own ends but that genuinely cares for him, that comforts him, that loves him?? (Except that love is a terrifying unstoppable force. Love that wants to crawl inside you and consume you. Love that says we'll die if we are parted from each other. Separating us will be like ripping a hole in your own body. But maybe there is something he recognizes about that kind of love.)

All that is SO much more interesting than Magic Orb Evil. It fits so much better with the themes and parallels of the show. "I only wanted to help." The darkness of love. Devotion that enables someone's worst impulses. It's so much more twisted and tragic and in keeping with the tone of the show than the idea of the Hexcore just controlling him or manipulating him for its own ends. It's Viktor all the way down and also he's created this thing that has a will of its own and there will be unintended consequences.

It makes a lot of the Sky stuff snap into place for me too, if you think that Sky is a manifestation of the Hexcore. I still think she works equally well as an expression of Viktor's connection to his humanity, which he finally allows to burn away during his final transformation. And tbh I prefer symbolism that's open to multiple interpretations. But things like Sky reminding Viktor that "all systems have limits" make a lot more sense if you think of Sky as an avatar of a Hexcore that genuinely cares about him, that's protective (if maybe also a little bit possessive.) Because frankly, this doesn't sound like something Viktor would say to himself. Nor does it sound like something that a Hexcore bent simply on relentlessly consuming everything in its path would encourage him to believe. It sounds like something his PARTNER would say.

(There is a whole other post to be made about Viktor and Sky in the astral plane and how astral plane Viktor is much more free with both giving and accepting touch than we ever see him in the physical realm, and astral Sky is MUCH more touchy with Viktor than the real Sky ever was: clasping his hands, sitting draped against his back. Something something inventing a ghost to soothe the gaping wound of loneliness inside you by accepting casual intimacy in your mind palace where no one can see. ANYWAY.)

The idea of the Hexcore being willing to protect him at the expense of others also fits with one of my pet headcanons, which is that the reason everybody in the commune reacted like that when Viktor got shot is that the Hexcore reflexively took a giant schlorp of everybody's life force, in a desperate attempt to keep Viktor and/or itself (is there a difference at this point?) alive.

Even the line about the "recursive impulse," which I've seen a lot of interpretations of but we never really know what it means. What if it's because the Hexcore is already a little bit Viktor and now it's inside him and that's just a hella confusing sensation to describe, like staring into a hall of mirrors?

But most of all I love this because holy fuck it is SO MUCH SADDER than any other interpretation I have seen. HE MADE HIMSELF A PARTNER. HE MADE HIMSELF THE PARTNER HE THOUGHT HE DIDN'T HAVE!!! WHEN JAYCE WAS RIGHT THERE THE WHOLE TIME!!!! Augh jesus hexcore christ I'm eating glass about it.

[ttrpg-smash-pass-vs]

On the left is the demilich! When a lich loses its soul cage but doesn't die, its body eventually crumbles. It falls into involuntary hibernation unless disturbed while its mind wanders the planes, as its magic and items infuse with its form. When disturbed and it snaps back to life! they can make clouds of debris, cast any spells from any item they've absorbed over thier life (get creative), and have innate magic to fly, teleport, and manipulate or launch items. and that spectral hand they can summon can lift 19 pounds, so actually has some force behind it. Note however, they do eat souls. So watch out for that.

On the right is the Elananx! These person-sized fey felines smell like smoldering leaves in a bonfire and have an affinity with forest fires. Can even turn into clouds of burning embers, and thier bite can ignite things! They're sadists who like to toy with thier prey. They also get along great with others who share thier predilection for prey, often joining in hunts with redcaps and other Elananx for friendly competition.