homeboystrider reblogged your post: I’ve just read the two most cruel fanfictions in...
im sorry you had to go through both of those consecutively. should i direct you towards another huge sob fest? (x)
Okay so I'm not asleep it's way too early
I actually only started to read DP fics yesterday, because that's when I actively joined the phandom, so I haven't read it yet, thanks. I'll start it tomorrow, Idk if I could handle it right now. Seems pretty I dunno if it's the right term but for the lack of a better one good judging by the description.
i kind of gave up with the huge reference post so I feel bad that I didn't respond to either rxu or strider but *shrugs shoulders* just look through the pitch pearl tag/use the search function on fanfiction. there's also this post from the pitch pearl blog that is v helpful if you're just starting out with reading stuff
Gore warning. This is a scrap of scene for a fic that's currently waaay back on the back shelf. I'd love to write it someday...
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The ground seemed to sway and roll under Dash’s feet as he sprinted through the woods. He hefted his companion higher on his shoulder. For a kid, the scrawny guy was really light. But for a ghost, he was freakin’ heavy. The shift in position made Dash even more aware of the icy dampness soaking through the sleeve and side of his letterman jacket. Later he would be very ticked off that his favorite jacked was ruined, stained a permanent, violent green. Right now he was too worried about his hero.
It was stupid. Ghosts were already dead, right? But when Dash thought of the gaping hole in Phantom’s side, the the white gleam of ribs he’d seen through shredded skin, flesh, and jumpsuit, that wet, whistling sound that had been air seeping through the wound with every breath Phantom took...
Dash shuddered, glad that the makeshift bandage now covered the worst of it. Even if Phantom couldn’t really die, this was bad. Really bad. Even worse, that thing was still out there.
Dash forced his legs to go a little faster. He’d somehow scared it off the first time. That was it for him--he didn’t do ghosts. It was the one thing he would ever really admit to being afraid of. Mostly because anyone with half a brain in Amity Park would do the same thing--scream and run. And Dash most definitely had half a brain.
Ember McClain sucked in a breath of soggy air and held it purposefully in her lungs.
Yes, It streamed past her lips, chilled and reeking of death, perfect.
Dark, turbulent clouds bled into each other, melting into a gray-black mess of thick, saturated fog. The mist touched down on the pavement, beading into tiny droplets of moisture along the metal rails and canopied rooftops of the little apartment-lined street. Ember didn't care much for the gloom and doom of the weather, but another poignant smell rode the air.
Freedom, and anarchy.
Skulker was right--ghost watch was at an all-time low.
When she bothered to look, deigned to investigate the curvature of snapped tulips or the sooty carbon streaks crisscrossing trees, she could easily see the shadow of the ghost attacks. When she shut her eyes, the bright after-image of ectoplasmic residue burned into her lids, snaking along the streets, eating through walls, edging around corners, suspended in the dark, deathly silence of the street.
"Oh this should be fun," she purred, and she ran her sharp nails along the tightest string in her guitar, digging the pad of her finger into the fret and strumming out a deafening screech of high-pitched notes.
The leaves on trees rustled and fell, soaking into the muddy ground as brown stained their earnest green.
"Shame I can't warm up more--Been a while since I got this baby working." Her fingers streaked over the strings, a cacophony of ecto-laced sound waves shaking building by their bases and scrambling the minds of those unfortunate enough to have never left town.
"Hey Ember!"
Her hand paused, fingers poised to pluck out another discordant note, but she didn't move, letting a broad smile eat up her lips instead.
"I was hoping we'd have a chance to catch up, Kid."
Ember toyed with the instrument in her hand, her electric blue eyes locking onto her target in delight. He hovered just beneath the cloud cover, his body cloaked in a dark mist, his shadow throwing blackness on the ground. A cape distorted the imprint on the pavement, making the shadow flicker with the wind; his hair, too, danced in the crosswinds.
The boy dropped from the air, and Ember suppressed a laugh as her eyes flitted over the boy's new design. He'd grown much paler, his skin an icy blue, and did his hair up in a tower of flames above his head. Deep red irises, deathly serious, glared her down.
"Morning, Kid. So where's that dipsticky girlfriend you like to tote around?" Ember giggled. "Don't tell me you guys split up."
His eyes flickered back and forth between hers, his fist closing around a congealing ball of green.
"And what's with the hair?" She snorted quickly, running her eager fingers over the neck of her guitar. "Don't tell me I've made another fan."
"She's dead."
Her finger slipped on the string, letting off a wobbly, untuned whine.
"Who is?"
"Everyone is. They all--haha--they're all dead!"
"Who are they?"
"BOOM! ALL O' THEM!"
Ember backed off, realizing that the pulsing beat of power that hounded against her ears wasn't from her own guitar--it was wafting from the boy. Phantom. It shook the air with intensity, culminating into a fire that rattled the streets.
"Kid, maybe you outta sit down or something? You're kinda...kinda off."
"Sam Tucker Jazz Mom Dad Lancer. It's funny, you know? Whatdoyacallit?--Hindsight. It's all so funny in hindsight."
"What happened to the ghost hunting, kid? If you're still around, why aren't you hunting us?"
"Who says I'm not?"
"You used to flood us with two dozen ghosts a day that you kicked back to the zone. Lately it's been zilch. Are you hunting us or not?"
"God I wish I'd known earlier--"
"I asked you a question."
"Christ. I don't send your goddamned ghosts back anymore." Phantom slapped a palm to his face, a low, rumbling chuckle in his throat. "God I wish I'd known earlier how fun the kill was."
The rumbling power growled louder, riding the air, dislodging raindrops from the clouds. A damp bead hit Ember's face, snapping her back to her senses.
"They're dead then? Your family?"
"And me."
"And y--? No, you're not. You're just screwy--tell me what happened."
BAM, another wave hit her. It threw her senses into overdrive.
"I don't need your stupid pity."
"I didn't--"
"Know what I'd rather do?"
Ember swallowed quietly.
"I'd much rather rip your throat out," the boy purred.
The look in his eyes--dark, piercing, and focused. Ember's stomach dropped from under her; he was serious.
It wasn't her decision. She was gone. Gone. Backwards and through the house and down to the dessicated Fenton's basement. It looked rotted, experiments thrown around haphazardly, accruing dust, growing mold, whining with low battery warnings.
She hadn't noticed any of it on the way in, and on the way out, she didn't bring herself to care. The portal fizzled softly, swirling bright green, welcoming as she dove head first in, her head cast over her shoulder every second.
