Penelope Spectra is a blessing disguised as a curse.
she is sharp edges and sharp grins, soft curves disguising a wickedly dangerous intellect. she is a shadow that dances around him on faery-light feet, toys with the edges of his shattered-glass spirit until he snarls and snaps at her. but then she responds with a smile. with a hand through his hair.
she eats his misery (bet it tastes like Belgian chocolate piyavka) and swallows his spite.
she stays anyway.
Penelope Spectra is a blessing disguised as a curse.
and Vlad Masters realizes this far too late.
~*O*~
he's dead.
he's dead he's dead the bastard is finally dead!
and Vlad can't stop laughing.
blood and ectoplasm is spattered on his cheeks and every inch of his body aches because, hot damn, Maddie is a hell of a shot, and that's not good in combination with Daniel's furious assault. but it doesn't matter now because Jack fucking Fenton is dead!
there's a heart in his hand and a corpse at his feet, the man who stole his everything dead, and Vlad can't stop laughing.
he wishes he could.
(no he doesn't)
because somewhere Maddie is screaming, shrieking like a wounded animal, and Penelope is looking at him like he's the most disturbing thing she's ever seen in her afterlife, and Daniel has dropped to the ground in horror with the reflection of his father's lifeless corpse illuminated in his toxic green eyes. but he can't stop and he won't stop.
ding-dong the beast is dead, the wicked beast in the east is dead.
(no, he's not, the real beast won't stop laughing)
~*O*~
pretty Penny made a monster
(but, then again, did she really?)
~*O*~
the moon is mocking and the wind blows arctic, Halloween whispering come play with us, Vlad. . . .
you're broken and you're crying. . . .
he's shattered-glass shards of what was once a promising young man, and poison drips from bitter lips as he thinks of all the ways he's been wronged. been mocked. been fucked over and fucked with and he's so fucking sick and tired of watching everyone around him be happy when nothing in his entire goddamned life is happy.
but he wasn't valedictorian of his graduating class for nothing, and so he hones his instincts into razor-thin edges and learns to play the game of politics. of business. of diplomacy. because though he is an inventor, a mathematician, a physicist, a biologist, the sharp edges put people off.
if he knows something, he can use it.
~*O*~
listen, little one.
do you hear them?
your demons are singing.
~*O*~
heat creeps up the back of his neck until Vlad nearly drops from mid-air.
power carries sensation for those not savvy in the ways of the (freak) half-ghost. the weakest ghosts run cold, like sticking your head in a freezer on a hot day. annoying after a time, but not deadly. the stronger the ghost, the more heat they put off, and one time he met a ghost (an ancient, a beast, a monster like me) so very powerful that he felt like he was burning.
burning burning burning, flesh peeling, face dripping, get me out get me out get me OUT!
so though this is by far not the most intense sensation he's ever experienced, it's enough that it makes him stop and search. he turns. . . .
and she's beautiful.
tall and slender, red hair and pale skin and generous curves giving way to legs for days, and he's sure that her hair is swept into devil horns like his for a reason, and there's something about the curve of her nose, the shape of her jaw that shrieks succubus, and a tiny pair of fangs glint from behind peach-stained lips.
and those eyes!
not lavender, not like his Maddie's, but green like spring and green like poison and green like the envy-monster that pulses through his veins in time with his galloping heart and, fucking no, universe, you will not pull this shit right now! not when everything is coming apart (it's coming together) and he's losing his mind (he's taking back what's his) and. . . .
she asks his name and, holy shit, his brain has stopped working.
he replies.
she reciprocates – Penelope Spectra.
it feels like sinking into a sauna.
~*O*~
he wonders why she hasn't left yet.
because there are fingerprints on her neck and a split in her lip and Penelope is still here, like she doesn't want to leave. he wants her to go (pleasepleaseplease don't leave me) because he's a fucking beast. he's a beast and she's not Maddie, not his precious one, and he hurts her.
and sometimes he catches her mid-panic, hiding in the bedroom with her head in her hands and muttering to herself through great gulps of air that she doesn't actually need, and he knows exactly how that feels. it's like being caught in a bear-trap, agonizing, ripping through limbs and cracking mind-bones as the steel-claw teeth close in. run, run, little rabbit, the wolves are coming for you.
Vlad hates looking at her face sometimes, hates listening to her pretty voice spew truths (lieslieslieslies) that he has no interest in hearing and warp the way he's developed his precious mental view, and sometimes he just fucking
snaps
and before he knows it, he's blasted her through a couple of walls, he's pinned her down to the floor, hands around her throat (go for the jugular), he's bashed her across the face with hands encased in ectoplasm. they scream and they fight and they're beasts out for blood.
it's a sick sick game they play, the demon and the witch.
and then he takes a good long look, listens as she groans, and everything in him wants to fucking die because, holy shit, who just does this?!
so he gathers her to him like a precious thing (she is) and babbles out apologies that run over one another, wipes away the ectoplasm dribbling over her lips and chin, and he draws her a bath. washes her hair with the rosemary-mint shampoo she loves so much and kisses the edges of her bruised temples, tears burning like hellfire in his eyes.
wraps her in soft sheets and holds her close (she's the perfect size to cuddle) and buries his face where she can't see it and promises to be better.
(he's been studying how emotiphage metabolism works, knows how to spot the sudden liquid relaxation of her muscles, knows how to keep her there)
(he watches the way she gets sleepy, cuddles closer to him, and strokes his hand through her hair, feels the emotions pulse harder, and resolves he will not lose her)
except it happens again.
and again. . .
and again. . .
~*O*~
Daniel Fenton has become the secondary bane of his existence, and Vlad Masters doesn't know exactly how he feels about that.
because Daniel is a genuinely good kid and he tries so very hard to keep his friends and his mother (he won't even think about Jack) safe from the ghosts who have named him enemy. but he's also the spawn of Jack motherfucking Fenton, with the same hair and the same self-righteous attitude and his Boy Scout morals make him want to vomit. there isn't much of Maddie to really be found in Daniel.
(not true he has her nose and her chin and her smile)
but Vlad Masters is nothing if not generous (yeah right) so he offers the boy everything he could ever dream. a tutor. a mansion for a home. a worthy father, who would give him anything his heart desired and try his best to remain unobtrusive and love his mother more than anyone ever. . .
except. . .
in the back of his mind there is always Penelope. pretty little piyavka with her venom green eyes and wicked sharp tongue, the only person who's managed to beat him in a game of chess since before the accident (Maddie never had the patience) and sometimes he wonders if he's walking the line between love and obsession.
(you've long since passed that line)
and he's lost track of his thoughts.
Daniel.
yes, that's it, he was thinking about Daniel and how the little badger functions. how will he react when Jack is finally dead? will he celebrate? see the error in rejecting his affections?
no, he thinks not.
because even though Daniel is a genuinely good kid, he's stubborn as his mother and twice as set in his morals, and Vlad thinks that he might have to kill Daniel at the same time as his father. and though he will not hesitate in shoving his hand through Jack Fenton's chest, the thought of killing Daniel, a fourteen-year-old child who has already fucking died in an accident caused by his own parents' ineptitude, makes him anxious. and nauseous. and disgusted with himself.
the feeling only grows when he meets Daniel during the Pariah Dark incident and the boy asks him "what did you do to Spectra, you fucking fruit-loop?!" and for a moment he's confused, but then he remembers Penelope's failed plan to stabilize her body and panic flood his chest. because he remembers the fight the night before, his hands around her throat and her shriek when he slapped her with ectoplasm surrounding his fist.
and Daniel lashes out at the expression on his face and spews such venomous slurs that it momentarily takes him aback because, really, Penny feeds on misery so why is Daniel so angry? but as he listens, he gets angrier, angrier, angrier, until he fucking loses it and beats the boy to unconsciousness.
(Daniel doesn't remember)
(Vlad tells him that it was the Fright Knight and the next night, the boy takes down the ghost king)
~*O*~
tock.
tick.
the clock is moving backwards.
~*O*~
he waits exactly three weeks before Vlad Masters allows Penelope into his bed.
while she is beautiful and she is cunning and she is so damn smart, he thinks that sometimes the emotiphage forgets her reputation proceeds her. the thrill of the chase eliminates common sense. and she is over-eager, lost in his toxic pull, so he lets her think she's manipulating him.
(she is)
he matches her step for step and the game of chess begins.
he is a master of the snarl, the snap – move the pawns to protect the king. but she is a genius of the coo, the sigh, the cold cruel breathe of reality that rejuvenates her face – flaunt the knight, likely readying the queen for a surprise attack.
and he lives alone in a castle in the middle of nowhere wisconsin, no company save her and corporate flunkies, with their sweaty bald heads and their eyes that leer at long legs as Penelope brings him leftovers for lunch.
he doesn't want this woman, this witch, this bitch. he wants Maddie, wants blue hazmat suits and chestnut hair and purple eyes.
but he is still a man.
and he notices the extra buttons undone on her blouse, notices how she flashes her legs in short mini-skirts and winks at him over her sunglasses. and his heart races and his rage increases because, dammit, this was not supposed to be happening to him. he will allow her into his bed, yes, but that's only because she could prove useful, not because he wants her!
it is one night in december as they're drinking whiskey sours in the parlor and she laughs, high-pitched and awkward and disgustingly adorable, that he snaps.
he's not exactly gifted at kissing, but his hands are skilled enough, and he follows the cues that Penelope gives him as he slides them up her waist and along her ribcage. tracks the happy little sighs and the gasps when he squeezes her breasts.
it's sloppy and messy, but Penelope allows him control, and that's enough for him because fuck the Chinese proverb that says control is an illusion.
she lets him pound her into the goose-feather mattress until sweat slicks along his back and his veins glow with the heat of his core, lets him gnaw at her throat and pin her hands above her head when she scratches too hard. let's him snarl and snap and fuck until everything is a blur of heat and pleasure. and even though he doesn't have Maddie yet, he can have Penelope now.
so when he finishes, he bites down hard on the sloping line of her left shoulder and savors the ectoplasm running sweet over his tongue.
(he knows what it means to be Bit, feels the venom leave his fangs, but at this point he doesn't care.)
(the next time they fuck, she reciprocates with a savage bite to his clavicle and the scar she leaves is livid purple)
(as she drifts off to sleep, he smiles.)
~*O*~
there is one day that they do not fight, and it is the day that Vlad Masters realizes he's fucked.
he wakes in an exceptional mood with Penny snuggled under his arm, no alarm to jar him away from sweet dreams (Jack's corpse on the floor, Maddie in his arms, fire fire fire) and the sunlight outside is crisp with early spring. he doesn't feel the need to move. so he doesn't.
not until Penelope stirs, rolls over and presses a lazy kiss to the hollow of his throat with a raspy, "good morning."
and his breakfast plans dissolve into a vicious bout of love-making that leaves them both shaking and clutching at each other, followed by a shared shower that leaves them both smelling of bergamot and lemongrass. he tries not to trace the bruises dotting her back like a roadmap of rage and holds her close under the spray.
(ignoring it doesn't make it go away)
they're eating a late lunch when Penelope comes up with the idea of going to the county fair, and it's so preposterous that it stirs Vlad from his brooding momentarily. like she's trying to keep him from falling into a deeper depression. which makes no fucking sense, and he opens his mouth to say as much, but there's something in her eyes.
green green green like poison, like new life, and they're pleading at him, begging for him to take the opportunity, and fuck it all, he can't say no.
so he smiles at her, kisses her on the top of the head in silent agreement, and the sheer relief on her face is enough make him grin, even as she drags him into a flight that leaves his hair a fucking rat's nest and her top twisted.
the fair is small and quaint, much like the ones from his childhood, and Penelope seems to take immense pleasure in the fact that he can't beat the fucking ring-toss to save his life. nearly fifty dollars and many colorful swears later (mothers take your children from me) he presents her a fluffy plush of some sort, an adorable blue monster that she pointed out as they walked by. and the smile that she offers him is gentle and luminescent all at once and it makes his heart flutter in his chest.
later she smears cotton candy in his beard, and he retaliates by gnawing on her cheek, arms wrapped tight around her small waist.
it isn't until they're heading out that an older woman stops him, a carnival worker with dark hair and a weathered face that reminds him of his mother's. she presents him with a polaroid, him gnawing on a pretty peach cheek and Penny laughing hysterically, blue cotton candy and plush crushed between them.
"keep it, child. it isn't often that i see two so very in love."
he thanks her quietly, aware that Penelope is waiting just outside the carnival gates, and carefully places the photo in a jacket pocket.
tonight, he will place the photo in a frame and rest it on his bedside table. it's his new favorite picture.
(the next day they get into a knock-down drag-out that leaves Penelope in a crumpled heap, ectoplasm oozing from a fresh plasma burn on her ribs and him with a black eye and a split lip)
(he locks himself in the lab for hours after she leaves, screams and screams until his throat is raw because she left him and he's so fucking stupid and vows to never let her leave again once she returns)
(he's fucked)
~*O*~
one for sorrow. . .
two for mirth. . .
three for a funeral. . .
~*O*~
it's after he finishes his latest weapon that he finds Penelope has cried herself to sleep, curled around the plush monster like it will somehow protect her from him, and Vlad crushes his hands against something other than her body.
dammit, she is his and no one else's and the fact that he can't do something as simple as make her happy makes him want to eviscerate the fucking cat. because the plan is going smoothly, dominoes falling into place, but he isn't so sure that he will be able to have Maddie anymore. because though he realized that getting Bit involved a certain degree of emotional attachment, he didn't realize it would fucking do this. it's like he can't breathe without knowing where Penelope is. can't think without questioning what she's doing, how she's doing, are they going to fight, is he going to hurt her?
and Vlad Masters does not enjoy losing control over anything in his life, so this feels like the ultimate betrayal, so most of the time he takes it out on her for reciprocating the initial connection. which makes no logical sense, but we've long since passed the point of logic, haven't we? the biologist in him finds the concept fascinating. the mental and emotional connection of two intelligent beings - two beings with intellects higher than average, at that - should not link so strongly to a physical act.
but the proof is in the livid purple scars they both bear.
(this isn't healthy they're too dark too codependent and this is so fucking bad)
so once he cleans the splinters out of his fists, Vlad joins Penelope in bed and marvels over how she automatically rolls into him. how her body shifts to accommodate his presence without conscious thought.
there's blood on the sheets from his hands, ectoplasm leaking from a cracked scab on her lips.
(he wonders if there's a way for him to translate this connection to a human subject)
Penelope tucks her head under his chin, smiles and mutters, "love you" in her sleep.
(Maddie could still be yours)
and Vlad's core leaps in his chest in time with his pulse and he cups the back of her head to hold her tighter.
(they both can be)
~*O*~
there's a monster that looks like Daniel loose in the zone.
the others call him Phantom, as though the elimination of a familiar personal name is enough to distinguish between the Daniel of the present and the warped-mirror version of himself that exists outside of time. it isn't, really, because there's something deep in Vlad's gut that tells him there is more to this story. there is more to this version of the self-righteous teenage ghost boy than the tragic tale of a family lost that Clockwork has woven. he is too powerful, too skilled.
(too vicious too cruel too you)
so as Penelope naps one day, Vlad slips out through the portal and goes on a hunt, Pariah's Keep being the logical first-step in a quest for a maniacal future-Fenton.
he finds what he is looking for, a tall man with broad shoulders and a shock of long, flaming white hair. green-tinted skin and red eyes, and the familiar black-on-white insignia of his rival is mocking on the chest of someone as jaggedly broken as this one seems to be. Vlad watches, invisible, for a time. tries to piece together what exactly the plan seemed to be other than chaos and wanton destruction. but the lug just fucking stands there, staring up at the sarcophagus and the Fright Knight's pumpkin with a sort of inscrutable expression that puts Vlad's diplomacy senses on edge.
"i know you're there, cheese-head. no point in hiding."
the boy's voice is deep and rasping, and something about the menace in his tone puts Vlad's teeth on edge.
but he returns to the visible spectrum with a smirk and retorts, "who said anything about hiding, dear boy? i'm merely observing from afar."
those eyes bore a hole through his metaphorical soul as the boy-monster snarls, "you're still a fucking coward, Plasmius."
something deep in Vlad shrieks, recoils, and suddenly he understands. his stomach drops to his knees, blue skin just a touch paler, fangs bore and dripping venom in their panic. because, of course Daniel could only become a true monster with a lot of fucking help. because this Daniel isn't just Daniel. he is also him, all the bitterness and the anger and the vicious thirst for revenge that just refuses to let him go.
"how?"
the Daniel-Vlad monster snorts. "you're the genius, fruit loop. figure it out."
then his expression turns darker, more sinister. "i ran into Penny earlier. and i swear to fuck, if you kill her this time, i'll hunt your sorry carcass to the ends of hell and back. i did it on accident in my time."
"i don't think you'll do it on accident."
and the accusation burns, like rage and regret and hellfire and Vlad shrieks at the future version of the boy he so desperately wants to be his son (wants to kill).
before he can summon an ectoblast, Clockwork whisks the paradoxical beast away and Vlad is left to rage alone.
(that night he breaks both his fist and Penelope's arm and he for a split second he wonders if the boy had meant what he said)
~*O*~
four for a birth. . .
~*O*~
there is a warden in the zone and Vlad Masters hates him with a passion.
because Walker is more than just an epic pain in the ass. he's an epic pain in the ass with enough sway to cause legitimate problems, one who can removes pawns from the chessboard without warning. who can throw a wrench in the plan and laugh as Vlad wracks his brain to come up with a new solution. and even though Vlad can appreciate the warden's compulsive need for order in a place as chaos-riddled as the zone, he will not tolerate the blatant disregard that Walker pays him.
(not to mention that Walker has been watching Penny with hard eyes and no he will not take her)
it isn't until the warden incarcerates literally every one of his ghost-pawns that Vlad realizes this is a bigger problem than was previously noted. he's so close to victory, can taste Jack's blood on his tongue, and Walker could ruin it all. could rip the red-stained carpet from beneath his feet.
so Vlad pays the warden's guards a beating, releases everyone from their cells and sets out to find the epic pain in his ass.
only he finds Walker sitting calmly at his desk, not seething and shouting in that texas drawl he's so known for, and something like anxiety wriggles in the back of his mind. so Vlad remains wary, on his guard, and bares his fangs in a snarl that makes the warden's lip curl (holy shit his fangs are bigger) in disgust. it's a stare-down, the shootout at the ghost zone corral, except there are no bullets and no witty Doc Holiday. just a twisted half-ghost and a bristling specter.
"ya'll get it outta yer system? 'cause i don't particularly like dealin' with moody teenagers disguised as men."
(the rage hisses kill him kill him kill him)
a smile curves Vlad's lips. "i was merely curious, warden. you detained my men without justifiable cause. i wanted two things: my pawns returned and answers as to why they were incarcerated."
"i locked those assholes up because they were makin' a nuisance of themselves. and i wanted to talk to you."
the green of Walker's eyes suddenly seems cold, and a shiver flies up Vlad's spine at the look. "whatever could you wish to discuss with me? i was under the impression our disdain was mutual."
a sudden blast of ectoplasm catches him in the left shoulder, burns away the top of his suit, and Vlad snarls in rage. but then he catches a glimpse of the expression on Walker's face, the dark look of fury and in-credulousness, and glances down to where the other man's eyes have zeroed in. it's the scar, deep purple and livid against the skin of his clavicle. and Vlad understands. and it makes him want to bash something in, pound away at that stupid fucking face until ectoplasm slicks his knuckles and the body beneath him finally stops twitching.
"what the butter biscuits was that for?!"
Walker grinds his jaw so hard that Vlad is shocked his teeth don't shatter. "i had my boys pick up your girl last week. do ya have any idea what you're doin' to her?"
he freezes.
the rage burns and the demons scream.
(kill him kill him killhimkillhimkillhim)
"you touched Penelope?!"
Walker stands and meets his snarl tooth for tooth, green eyes like an ectoplasmic tundra, and the warden roars, "i ain't the one beatin' her! ya'll Bit one another! how could you just. . . ?!"
the warden trails off, evidently too angry to speak, and the understanding grows deeper. blood drips to the floor where Vlad has his fists and jaw clenched. "you know nothing. don't ever touch what's mine again, warden. or it won't just be your men i eviscerate."
(he's going to take her, going to take her away)
that night when Vlad gets home, he presents Penelope with a bouquet of her favorite flowers and kisses her on the forehead, holds her close and whispers that he loves her. smiles when she clutches tighter and pounces him and traces the edges of dark-purple bruises along the graceful span of her back.
(no one will take her away)
~*O*~
somewhere in the distance Penny is screaming and the world is spinning, and holy fuck his chest hurts.
Maddie always was a hell of a shot.
there's a gaping hole in his chest, ribs shattered and muscle torn, and his lungs can't pull in air because they're fucking wrecked. but he's trying dammit, because Penny is crying and screaming, babbling out apologies and assurances that he's going to be fine, don't worry baby, I've got you, it's going to be okay. except it's not going to be okay. he's smart enough to know this, and through the searing pain he notices that Penelope's hands are too small to staunch the bleeding.
she's crying.
dammit, he made her cry again.
he reaches up and cups her cheek. "i . . . l-love. . . y-"
there isn't enough air in his lungs to finish and Penelope tells him as much, clutches him tighter and rocks him like a child. the world is going fuzzy but he can still see her eyes. bright green and shimmering emerald with tears and, oh shit, he didn't mean for this to happen. he had everything he needed and he fucked it all away and now he's going to die with the sound of Penelope's shrieks ringing in his ears.
i love you.
and he means it.
~*O*~
A/N:
My hand slipped. . . .
