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darks-ink · 5 years ago

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Absurdism Chapter 2

I haven't done my customary read-through on this chapter, so if there are any spelling mistakes and such, please let me know so I can fix them! (at some point, hopefully later this week)

Rating: Teen/K+ (a lil swearing, because teenagers, man) Warnings: - Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort Additional Tags: Sibling Bonding, Family Bonding, Alternate Universe - Halfa Jazz AU, Jazz makes friends

Chapter 2: Host the Ghost

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“Danny?” Jazz finally responded, thrown off. It was undeniable that this was her brother in front of her, but… how was he also a ghost? She was the one who had had an accident with the Ghost Portal, and there was no way he could’ve gone through the same, since the Portal had been turned on ever since. “How are you-- What’s going on?!”

“You’re asking me?” he muttered, shifting to a more comfortable position. Jazz felt faintly jealous of how well he took to the skies, his ease up here. She could barely float in place, and here he was, moving about like he’d been doing it for years.

“Well, yeah!” She threw out her hands, dismayed. “I’ve been ruining my school record chasing ghosts all day long, and now I find out you could’ve helped! How long have you had ghost powers anyway?”

He blinked at her, clearly stunned. Then he offered her an awkward grin, raising one hand to start rubbing the back of his neck. Oh, of course, his characteristic display of nerves. “I, uh. Look, it’s… complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Jazz huffed, crossing her arms. Danny seemed genuine, sure, but maybe she didn’t know him as well as she thought. If he had been hiding ghost powers from her, for who knows how long, without her realizing…

“Okay, so, uh,” Danny said, snapping her out of her thoughts. He shifted again, his legs merging together in a ghostly tail, which twitched in… irritation, maybe? She wasn’t very good at reading the emotional tells of ghost tails. Not yet, at least. “Do you, uh, know about parallel universes?”

She rolled her eyes, chagrined. “You know I do, Danny. Mom and Dad talk about that kind of stuff all the time. Not to mention the Ghost Zone, which we know is in a different dimension.” Not that she understood why he brought it up. Unless… Unless he was implying--

“Right, right.” He bit his lip, probably thinking over his words. “So, um. I’m… from another universe, I guess? I accidentally went through a Portal in the Ghost Zone and didn’t try to go back because I thought this was home.”

Jazz stared at him, unblinking. As she remained quiet, Danny started fidgeting more and more. Plucked at the edge of his glove, tugged on the collar of his suit, swept his tail through the air.

Finally she took mercy on him, and broke the silence. “So my brother isn’t half ghost?”

“Probably not.” Danny shrugged, his vivid green eyes coming up to meet hers again. “I know I got my powers two years ago, when I was fourteen. I’m guessing that you took my place in this universe—timeline—for whatever reason.”

“I see…” She frowned at this new information. It did explain why he was so casual about his powers: he’d had them for far longer than her. But still… “So did our parents finish the Portal two years earlier, or something? If you got your powers when you were fourteen, your version of me must’ve been like… twelve.”

“Uh, no?” Danny shook his head, then quirked one eyebrow at him. “My Jazz is two years older than me. She’s eighteen now, but she was sixteen when I had the accident.” Then his eyes widened as realization struck. “Wait, are you saying that your version of me is the older sibling?”

“I mean, yeah?” She scratched her cheek, feeling increasingly thrown off by the conversation. The little experience she had with ghosts hadn’t prepared her for situations like this one at all. “So, what, we just swapped places? The younger sibling becomes the half-ghost?”

He shrugged. “Guess so… Wait, so then who was down with you when you had the accident?”

“Nobody?” she answered, tone questioning. “Why, did you have someone with you-- No, never mind, of course you did. Sam and Tucker never would’ve let you do something like that without being there to watch.”

“Heh, yeah.” He grinned, a little sheepishly. “To be honest, they were the ones who convinced me to check out the Portal in the first place. I’m kind of surprised you checked it out, to be honest.”

It had been pretty out of character for her, yeah, she could admit that. But… “Our-- My parents were just so sad, when the Portal didn’t work… Even if I didn’t believe in ghosts, I just wanted to help, you know?”

He snorted, but his smile remained, soft. “Yeah, that’s why my Jazz took them out of the house. Wanted them to get their minds off of the failed Portal. Which is also when Sam and Tucker convinced me to show it to them, and, well. I’m sure you can guess how that went.”

Then his eyes widened, like he realized something. “Wait, so does anybody know about you being half-ghost?”

“No?” Oh, but of course. If Sam and Tucker had been there during his accident, then of course they knew about Danny being half-ghost. They would’ve helped him as much as they could, with his powers and his disappearances and everything else.

Danny eyed her speculatively. His tail twitched, but she still couldn’t quite link an emotion to it. She doubted it was irritation, now. “And how long have you had your powers?”

“A little over a month.” She narrowed her eyes at him, puffing out her chest a little. Her core whirled in her chest, in sync with her burst of annoyance. Just because he had two years of experience and friends that helped him didn’t mean… whatever he was going for. “Why?”

“Assuming that everything else follows the same timeline… You’ve fought the Lunch Lady already?” He ignored her attempt at intimidation completely. Not entirely surprising, in hindsight. She probably wasn’t terribly impressive compared to some of the ghosts he must’ve met.

“Well, I didn’t fight her, but I did encounter her, yes. And Dora as well, if that means anything to you.”

He huffed out a laugh. “And you probably weren’t an idiot with Dora’s amulet like I was, so you only had to fight one ghost dragon.” Then he sobered up a little, his smile losing its humor. “But you got the Lunch Lady to leave without fighting her? That’s pretty impressive.”

Danny’s tail split into legs again, and he took a seated position, one leg crossed over the other. Leaning forward, he placed one elbow on his upper leg. “But, sooner or later, you’re gonna run into a ghost you’ll need to fight.”

“I’ve fought ghosts before!” she snapped back. Just because he had two years of experience didn’t mean he could act all high and mighty! “Just because I talked it out with Dora and the Lunch Lady doesn’t mean I can’t fight! I had to beat Dora that first time, didn’t I? And all the animal ghosts, those can’t be reasoned with either.”

“That’s… fair,” he allowed, uncrossing his legs again. Instead, he started to circle around her. “But how much control do you have? What kind of abilities?”

“I have plenty of control!” She bristled, her hair flickering more aggressively, like licking flames. Then she released a hissing breath, forcing herself to calm down again. Just because she was fourteen didn’t mean she had to act like it. “And… Just the basics, I suppose. Invisibility, intangibility, flight. My ghost sense, of course.”

He nodded, but his brow creased in a frown. At least he stopped circling her again, coming to a halt in front of her. “So it really is right after your accident.” His voice was quiet; she wasn’t sure if he had intended for her to hear it.

“So now what?” she asked instead, crossing her arms. Looking at this version of her brother that, somehow, came from a different universe. God, that sounded crazy.

Danny bit his lip, glancing away from her. Nodded to himself, like he’d made up his mind. Turning back, he looked her right in the eyes, expression determined. “How do you feel about me training you?”

She blinked, caught off-guard by the unexpected suggestion. “I-- What?”

“Well…” He shifted, suddenly looking a little awkward. “It’s just-- I had some help figuring out my powers, and I still struggled. The only person who really could’ve helped was… asking for something I couldn’t give him.” Danny took a deep breath, looking more serious than she had ever seen her brother—or any variation of him. “But I can make sure you don’t have to go through that. I have two years of experience. I can help.”

It was… an alluring offer, she could admit. And genuine too—she knew her brother well enough to tell.

“Shouldn’t you get back to your own universe, though?”

Danny grimaced. “Eh, probably. But natural portals like the one I went through are unpredictable; I have no real way of tracking them down. The Ghost Zone is called the Infinite Realms for a reason, y’know?”

“Well, I didn’t know, because I haven’t heard anyone call it that before.” She cocked her head at him, trying to get a good read on him. It didn’t quite make sense. Why wouldn’t he be trying his hardest to get back, no matter how hard it was? What about his own family? “But if tracking down a portal is so hard, then what do you plan on doing? Isn’t Amity Park in danger without you there? Or did the ghosts stop coming?”

He barked out a sudden laugh. “Oh lord, no. They’re worse than ever.” He grinned, widely and brightly, showing off his small fangs. “But Va-- Red and Danielle can take care of them. They’re both very competent ghost hunters.”

Making sure to memorize the names, especially the aborted first name for Red, she watched as Danny’s grin fell a little, his shoulders slumping down. “As for getting home… I’m assuming that Team Phantom will be able to find me. The Booo-merang tracked me down into the future, once, so…” He shrugged.

“The future?” slipped out before she could stop herself. If their worlds seemed to be following the same line, did that mean that she was going to travel to the future at some point? Dangit, now she got them distracted. She’d tried so hard to ignore the earlier names and ‘Team Phantom’, too!

Danny’s expression fell the rest of the way, his mouth going flat. “I… Yeah. Don’t worry too much about it, Jazz. It’ll be fine.”

“Uh huh.” But she would let the topic drop for now. Whatever the context was, something had happened, and it wasn’t good. Her core whirred in her chest, and she grimaced. “Ah, um. Any chance we could continue this conversation on the ground?”

“Oh, of course!” Danny grew wide-eyed, then nodded. “Lead the way, I’ll be right behind you.”

She dove, aiming for the forest a little further away. There was still a lot she needed to discuss with Danny—this Danny—and she couldn’t risk bringing him to their home if her actual brother might be there.

Her landing was a little rough, as she stumbled over her own feet and transformed back to a human the moment she hit the ground, but at least she hadn’t fallen. Danny came in easily, his white-booted feet touching down soundlessly.

Then bright light sparked from him, familiar white rings sweeping past him, leaving him perfectly human as well.

It was the ultimate proof that this really was a half-ghost version of her brother. Not that she had needed it, of course, but seeing it… Well, seeing was believing.

“Are you okay?” Danny asked, stepping closer to her with a worried expression on his face. “Sorry, I totally forgot how new you are to this stuff.”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, waving off his concern. “But-- Team Phantom, really? Not a very creative name, is it?”

Rolling his eyes, Danny stopped trying to get closer. “It’s what we decided to call ourselves, alright? We needed something better than ‘Ghost Getters’, which is what my Jazz came up with, and Sam and Tucker figured we might as well name ourselves after me. Since I’m, y’know, the actual face of the team.”

“Nobody knows they help?” That made sense, she guessed. Just because they didn’t have to worry about being recognized, because no one tries linking a ghost to a living human, didn’t mean that human helpers were protected as well. “Wait, so did you pick Phantom as your ghost name?”

“I mean, yeah?” He shrugged. “It’s a play on Fenton. Why, what did you pick?”

She grimaced. Okay, so maybe she shouldn’t have criticized him. After all, she had also picked a synonym for ghost.

“…Specter,” she finally admitted. “But at least mine doesn’t sound exactly like my actual last name! How do people not catch on to that?!”

“Oh, Jazz, you and I both know that people wouldn’t think of linking a ghost to a living person.” Danny wrapped an arm around her shoulders, clicking his tongue. “Besides, our parents are dead certain that humans can’t have ghost powers.”

“Was that a pun?” she hissed at him, wondering why she was surprised in the first place.

He laughed, distancing himself from her again. “Yeah! Come on, you gotta work on your witty banter too. It’s a critical part of battle!”

“No it’s not,” she snapped back, flaring her eyes at him. “And if you’re actually going to help me train, I hope you plan on bringing more useful advice.”

“Hey!” He pressed a hand to his chest, mock-offended. “I’m a great teacher, thank you very much. And you don’t know how often banter has served to distract my enemy so I could catch them off-guard.”

She sighed, but let it go. “Fine, as long as we’ll focus on actual half-ghost stuff too.”

“Of course we will.” Danny dropped the pretense, falling back into serious. “I know how hard it can be to be half-ghost, Jazz, especially with our family.”

“Speaking of our family… How are you planning on handling that?” She raised a brow at him. “Since I’m assuming you still need food, just like I do.”

“Oh. Right…” He made a face like he had, in fact, totally forgotten about necessities. “Uh, I don’t know. I’m not carrying a ton of money, and I can’t go wandering around town all willy-nilly because people will think I’m this Danny.”

“You hadn’t thought of that at all, huh?” she asked, unimpressed. “Really, Danny?”

“Hey, it’s not like I chose to come here!” he snapped back, his eyes flashing green briefly. “Even if I went into the Zone to look for a portal back, I still would’ve needed food or water. I can’t live off of the ambient ectoplasm like ghosts can—and neither can you, by the way.”

She sighed. “That’s fair. Alright, let’s see… How long can you stay in your ghost form?”

“Without shifting back?” Danny frowned, thoughtfully, then shrugged. “I’m not sure. Never had a reason to try, I guess. Several days, for sure, but I’ll need to eat more to make up for the extra energy I’m burning through.”

“Right. So then, how about this. Danny—my Danny—and I are both teenagers, so we’re eating a lot. We can use that to play off the disappearing of leftovers and such. I’ll make sure that there’s enough food in the fridge, so you can grab some of those. I’ll keep an eye on where my brother is, so you’ll know when it’s safe to go into the kitchen for food.”

“And, what, spend most of my day haunting the town?” Danny shook his head dismissively. “I mean, most of that will work, but the moment your parents get a ghost scanner together I’ll have to start shifting back. Otherwise I’m gonna be running away from them all day long, and I’m really not up for that.”

A ghost scanner? Yes, that would throw off their plans… “Do you know what that’ll look like? The ghost scanner, I mean?”

“Yeah? Unless they’ll change its design in this world. Why?” He frowned at her.

“Well, why don’t we just… sabotage it?” She shrugged at his incredulous look. “I’m not saying we destroy it completely! But if we can stop it from picking up on you—on us, both of us—that would make life a lot easier, right?”

Danny paused, as if considering it. Slowly, he nodded. “Yeah, no, you’re right. That thing was always a pain, anyway, since it picked read me as a ghost even in human form.”

“Okay, so that’s food.” She raised a fist, uncurling a single finger. “You can grab drinks the same way, and if you carry a bottle you can just have water with you…” A second finger joined the first. With her other hand, she started tapping on it as she thought.

“And sleep?” Danny asked, dryly. “I don’t need as much sleep if I stay in my ghost form a lot, but I’ll still need some. Unless you can me to lose consciousness and shift back mid-air.”

“You can… nap in my room while I’m away?” She made a face. It wasn’t a great option—she didn’t like the idea of Danny being in her room without supervision—but she didn’t know any better ideas. “It’s not ideal, but my parents will be in the lab all day anyway.”

“Ugh.” He wiped a hand over his face, but nodded his approval anyway. “So I’m gonna be living a nocturnal life for the time being. Great. Brilliant.”

Oh, that was right. Forcibly shifting him into a different sleeping pattern would probably cause trouble, wouldn’t it? “Is that okay? We can build up to it slowly, if you want. That should make the transition easier on you, or on your body, at least?”

Danny flapped a hand. “It’s fine, never mind. I barely sleep during the night, since the ghosts keep attacking. Most of my sleep I get while napping in class, anyway.”

“I can’t imagine that that does your grades any good.” She narrowed her eyes at him. Danny’s grades were never the greatest, anyway—he could coast on by without much effort, so he preferred to focus on other stuff—and she knew her grades had already taken a hit from the regular hunting.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said dismissively. “There’s nothing I can do to change it, and definitely not now, while I’m here. No point in worrying about it.”

“That’s not a very good way of coping,” she chastised. But, fine, she supposed she might as well drop the topic. “But alright. I gotta head home before anyone gets worried. What about you?”

He hummed, taking a moment to think it over. “I think that I’m gonna fly about a little, explore the city. See what kind of differences there are between our versions of Amity Park.” He raised a hand when she opened her mouth. “I’ll stay invisible, don’t worry. I’m not gonna be the one to tip off Amity Park to the existence of ghosts.”

“Okay,” she said, slowly, “good. Make sure to drop by somewhere tonight, so I can help you grab leftovers.”

“Yeah, alright.” Light flashed in the clearing as Danny shifted back to his ghost form. He met her eyes again, and now that she was looking more closely, she realized his eyes were the exact color of ectoplasm. Eerie. “And Jazz… thanks. For going through the effort of arranging things for me behind your parents’ backs.”

“Of course.” She smiled at him, trying to press as much warmth into the expression as she could. “Thank you, too, for helping me with the half-ghost stuff.”

Danny huffed, shaking his head. “What else would I do? You’re my sister, Jazz, even if you’re not my Jazz. Stay out of trouble, and I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

“Only if you do the same.” She watched as he floated up, smooth and effortlessly. “See you tonight, Danny!”

He raised one hand in a wave goodbye, then suddenly shot off.

Show-off.

#danny phantom #fanfic #phanfic #dp fanfic #fanfiction #phanfiction #dp fanfiction #danny fenton #jazz fenton #jazz phantom #dark writes #absurdism #im die

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goliath-de-senfina-sango · 5 years ago

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HAPPY NEW DECADE MY DUDES! IT IS WODENSDAY AND I BRING YOU GHOSTS!

Nerds chat, big sisters are consulted, ghosts are fought, magick is performed

“You know, Danny, one day you have to do something that isn’t mind-blowingly awesome,” Tucker said. “One of these days it’ll happen. You’ll say something plain and boring, not ‘I’ve been to the moon’ or ‘I found the ghost that was haunting my locker and made fast friends with him’.” Tucker didn’t really mean that of course, he wasn’t sure Danny was capable of doing something that wasn’t impressive. Then again that might’ve just been because Tucker thought everything Danny did was impressive. They were flying over Amity Park on hoverboards controlled by their gloves, all because of Danny.

“Tucker, please,” Danny scoffed, “It’s not that what I say will be something dull and normal, it’ll just be what our new normal is pretty soon.” Danny had his hood up, somehow, and didn’t both wearing his helmet. Unlike Tucker, he didn’t actually need it to keep safe in the air. He wove around Tucker in circles before diving for the park, a cheer on his lips. Tuck dove after him, and soon enough a monochrome figure came into view, blurry at the edges but his face matched his yearbook photo easily enough. The two skidded to a stop and hopped off their boards - which took more effort than was convenient, he’d have to figure out a way to fix that - and Danny held up a hand for a high five. Sidney flinched back a bit and Tuck cleared his throat.

“Danny, high fives were invented around the ’70s. Sidney is from the 50s.” Tucker slapped Danny’s hand to demonstrate and grinned. “It’s just a greeting, like a handshake but faster. Hi, I’m Tucker Foley.” He held out his hand and Sidney stared at him. “I’m the furthest thing from a bully.”

“Tucker is the geekiest guy in the world.” Tucker stepped on Danny’s foot for that, grinning at the yelp he received. “That’s a compliment you dork!”

“Sidney Poindexter,” he finally shook Tucker’s hand, and smiled.

“So, Sidney, how’s it been, finally being back on Earth?” Leave it to Danny to ask the awkward question.

Sidney just lit up like a christmas tree though and spread his arms out to gesture at the park. “It’s been amazing! Everyone looks so different and all the cars are so much faster and sleeker than before - colorful too! I’ve never seen so many different kinds of people just hanging out with each other! Though there’s a lot I don’t understand, and I guess that’s just how the future is supposed to feel but goly these rectangles people are tapping on seem to do a lot .”

“Yeah, different time periods make for pretty different experiences,” Danny mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Speaking of experiences, what’s it like on the other side?” On one hand Tucker wanted to smack Danny with his hat for that, but on the other he understood wanting to know. They weren’t exactly about to go through the portal to find out and get lost.

“Oh. Well uh, for a while I was just floating around in the green void, passing through doors and islands and buildings and even other ghosts. According to some Will O Wisps I wasn’t really a ghost yet, just a soul that got stuck in the Infinite Realms.” Danny had pulled out his journal, looking at Sidney intently and Tucker knew the look on his face. Danny was hyperfocused by now. “That’s what it’s called, by the way, the Infinite Realms. Cause it goes on forever n ever and apparently anybody from everywhere can end up there. It felt like I was in there for years before enough of the uh…”

“Ectoplasm?” Danny held up a hand and with visible concentration silvery green light jumped between his fingers and wrapped around them like a blanket.

Sidney snapped his fingers. “Yeah, ectoplasm! Enough of it bonded to me that I could touch things around me again, which was swell! It was pretty scary too, though, cause anything can become a ghost…”

“Huh… like dragons, and jersey devils and chupacabras?” Tucker snorted at Danny, rolling his eyes.

“What, have you met bigfoot?”

“No, but I did meet the Fiskerton Phantom, and a komodo dragon that can turn invisible.”

“Like I said, scary stuff. But uh, ghosts can make these things, places, called Sanctuaries where they can be safe, which is what most of the islands and stuff in the Realms are. And I managed to make one, and I was safe from most of the more dangerous ghosts out there! But… that safety didn’t really last.”

“Did you go through a portal and end up trapped in your mirror somehow?” Sidney flickered like static and laughed, a hollow sound that made Tucker shiver and his skin crawl.

“Oh wouldn’t that’ve been better? No, I messed up. I hadn’t listened to the ghost with the blue dress and blonde hair that told me how making a sanctuary works - or I guess I didn’t ask enough questions about it.” Sidney’s eyes flickered red and Tucker felt a tug in his hand, looking down to see his helmet was glowing green. “It was based on my memories . The most recent ones too, so I ended up in my own Casper High with a bunch of… I dunno, echoes or shadows of the bullies from my life and by the time I realized what had gone wrong I couldn’t get out.” Sidney wrapped his arms around himself and Tucker was absolutely about to lose hold of his helmet.

“Sidney, would you like a hug? Cause you sound like you need a hug.” Danny spread his arms wide open for Sidney, and over the din of insults and jeers and horrible laughter that Tucker could hear from Poindexter, he could hear the ebb and crash of waves on a beach coming from Danny. Sidney blinked, looking up at Danny with wide eyes and for a few moments he didn’t do anything. Then he nodded and was being pulled into the inescapable warmth of Danny’s hug.

“Dang, that sounds like a job for Jazz. She can use her super psychology powers to help you out.” Tucker set down his helmet, which was no longer about to fly away, and pulled the Fenton Finder™ out of his jacket - which Tucker had figured out how to add a porta pocket to while he was building the tangibility modulator. When he looked up, Sidney was far more solid looking and Danny was staring at him like he’d handed him the moon and said it was his. “What?”

“Tucker Foley, you absolute genius! ” Danny’s arm swung out and Tucker was dragged into the hug.

“Okay, I absolutely am a genius, but what did I say?”

“Sidney, I have an older sister named Jazz - who you cannot tell about my ghost half by the way, that’s a big secret - and like, a hug is good for a lot of things but having someone to talk to is way better!”

Sidney squirmed in the embrace and phased out of it, leaving Tucker to his fate of being pressed against his best friend like a teddy bear. “I uh. I dunno about that. Last time I had someone to talk to it was the guidance counselor and that uh. Well let’s just say my death was more than just bullies being too rough.”

Oh, Tucker did not like that at all. “I promise you, Jazz is 500 times better than that. She’d never hurt anyone that needs her help like that.”

Sidney still looked sceptical but Danny let go of Tucker and lowered his voice to something soft and sure. “Sidney, Jazz is my big sister. She’s literally always trying to make sure I’m feeling as good as is humanly possible in the face of all the weirdness our parents have put us through. When I was 7 and she was 9 the christmas turkey came to life and she fought it off because I was too small to fight at all and then she taught me what she knew about martial arts. There’s not a thing in the world I wouldn’t trust Jazz with, and you should trust her too. But, I can’t make you trust her and I still have to ask her if she’ll do it.”

Sidney took a breath, fully opaque for once, and gave Danny a shaky thumbs up. “Sure.”

“Awesome as that is,” Tucker said, raising the Fenton Finder. “I need to scan you so we can make sure that the security system doesn’t shoot you if something bad happens in the school.”

If there was any one chore that Jazz would happily dump on her little brother were he there for her to give it to him, it was moving boxes of scrapped experiments to the shed. Danny very clearly needed the exercise and Jazz didn’t, and it was tedious. She was a good older sister, she deserved a bit of pettiness. Besides, it meant that she could only give Spike half of her attention as he complained about his little brother cryptid hunting. “Tell Wes that even if he’s right, he shouldn’t endanger the cryptids by trying to show them off to humanity. If you appeal to his empathy he’ll probably either actually stop, or at least stop coming to you about it so that you don’t try and guilt him for what he’s doing.”

“Wouldn’t expect that kind of manipulation from you, Jazz. Is that what you do to get your brat to be quiet for five seconds?”

“First of all, I’m studying psychology Spike. I know how people work.” She set down a box of broken tools and failed devices that would only see the light of day as melted down and repurposed scrap in some other experiment. “Secondly, how dare you insinuate I don’t find Danny’s info dumps about space interesting. It’s adorable and he’s very informative.”

“Uh, rude? I’m not cute, in the slightest.” Jazz turned to see Danny pouting in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m a total badass.”

“Badasses can carry all this scrap from the lab to the shed, shorty.”

“Heck, aren’t you clever? Like, the best at thinking up any response to anything. You know, I uh. I have something you might not have the perfect answer for.” Danny’s hands were stuffed in his pockets now and his shoulders were hunched. This was important.

“Spike, I’ll talk to you later. Remember, morality!” Jazz hung up and ruffled Danny’s hair, grinning at the pout he gave her. “So?”

“So,” he said back, rocking on his heels. “You don’t like, agree with Mom and Dad about ghosts, right?”

“Well, it’s kind of hard to disagree they exist when I shot one off of you, little brother. I’d be pretty bad at the scientific method if I ignored proof right in front of my eyes.”

Danny huffed a laugh and shook his head. “No no, I mean like… what they think of ghosts. You don’t think they’re all ‘evil’ for being ghosts, right?”

Jazz rolled her eyes. “Danny there’s no such thing as evil. I may have been… less than correct about ghosts existing but I do know that Mom and Dad know nothing about psychology.” She watched some of the tension in Danny’s posture die down and poked his stomach. “Why?”

“Right,” he said and took a breath. “So, if I were to show you, hypothetically, someone in need of therapy who may or may not be a bit deceased-”

“Can someone only be a bit deceased but otherwise ok?”

“You’d be surprised,” he huffed. “Enough that it’s obvious anyway? Would you, hypothetically, be able to help?”

Jazz rolled that over in her head a bit. Danny had found a ghost that disproved their parents’ hypothesis - or prejudiced stereotype, a toss-up if any - and felt they needed psychiatric help but didn’t trust any Amity doctor not to call the Fentons or try to charge the dead a fee. That or he was fucking with her, but Danny was bad at hiding his distress and the longer she stayed silent the more he fidgeted.

“So whose ghost are you asking me to help out? I’m not Mom and Dad but I do have every right to worry about a stranger you’re inviting into your life.” Danny sighed and relaxed more than he had in a while around her. Jazz couldn’t help but smile, even as she was crushed in a hug. “Lungs.”

“You’ll be fine and his name is Sidney Poindexter.” Danny squeezed her one more time before letting go. “According to Tucker, he’s the guy who used to have my current locker.”

“You have a haunted locker at school… why am I not surprised?” Jazz shook her head, covering her face with her hand. “Sidney Poindexter, that kid who reportedly suffered the most bullying in the history of the school and … ok, wow, he really would need therapy if he were to hypothetically come back to the land of the living. I wonder where I might find him?” Danny didn’t need to hear any of the less pleasant details of that story unless Sidney chose to tell him.

“No clue. When I finish coming up with that hypothetical part of the situation I’ll tell you.” Danny fired her a pair of finger guns and backed away slowly, somehow not tripping over his own feet like the last time she saw him do that. “Later Spazz.”

“Remember not to smear your weird UV paint all over your jacket, Picasso.”

“THOSE WERE NOT SMEARS, IT WAS ART,” he said, and Jazz held onto the door while she laughed.

“I’m worried about Danny.” Jazz had to wait until lunch and sped through eating just to find him, but she’d tracked down Vice-Principal Lancer and he agreed to walk and talk. “He’s been through a lot lately, what with tests and bring hunted by a robot like an animal and social pressures and I know it’s getting to him.”

Lancer arched a brow and sighed at her as they turned a corner. “Have you tried talking, Jazz? It’s the staple of human survival, communication, and all kinds of relationships.”

“I’d talk with him if I could, Mr.Lancer, but I’m his older sister and I’m afraid Danny’s reaching a point in his life where you keep things from your family while you try and figure it out on your own to be more independent.” If Jazz noticed Lancer giving her a pointed look, he hadn’t verbally acknowledged her glasshouse so she could throw as many stones as she so pleased. They stopped and Lancer fished out a ring of keys. “He wouldn’t talk to me about this, probably wouldn’t even listen when I try and tell him to open up to someone. Also, why are we heading into the guidance counselor’s office? Have you gotten a license in that as well?” It was a joke among the upperclassmen that Lancer was at least vaguely equipped to substitute teach literally every class in their underfunded school.

Lance snorted and flipped through keys. “No, Jazz, we’ve actually finally managed to grab a guidance counselor. You know I can’t do everything around here.”

“You most certainly seem to.”

“Be that as it may, Jazz, he may listen to me and I’ll try talking to him but have you considered this all is- Great Gatsby!” Jazz turned away from Lancer to see what startled him and felt every muscle in her body lock up in shock. The room was a mess, burn marks reminiscent of Dad’s latest weapon going off randomly at home littered the walls, the desk was flipped upside down and acrid smoke met her nostrils nearly choking her. Or maybe she had simply stopped breathing when her eyes landed on the figure in the center of the room, green light radiating from their form in all directions casting eerie shadows everywhere and wide green lights bright as torches shone from underneath a cloud of white and above a mass of black and white material. They pulled a black hood up over their curly white hair and a masculine voice hissed out a quiet, forceful and slightly reverberating, “ Shit. ”

Holding up his hands, the figure’s eyes dimmed slightly and Jazz could make out bright blue skin tinged with a bit of green. “Now I know what this looks like, but I promise there’s a perfectly logical explanation.”

“You’re a ghost.” Jazz wasn’t asking a question, her voice pitched up in a desire to be horribly wrong more than curiosity.

“Lab Safety is important.” The green light flickered, a blue face made indistinct by the light show and the shadows of the hood visibly cringed and Lancer gasped in horror in front of her. “I know that maks this illogical by default.”

“That depends,” Jazz said slowly while reaching into her pocket and fishing for a small tube of what would look like lipstick to anyone else, “on why you trashed the room. This does look pretty-”

“Jasmine what are you doing!?” Lancer hissed, and while Jazz was certain he meant the talking in general, the light in the boy’s eyes shifted toward her hand. He sucked in a superfluous breath and vanished from sight while Jazz let off a litany of swears in her head.

“I was trying to get some information from him, Mr. Lancer. He had an explanation apparently and I wanted to hear it.” Jazz dropped the lipstick tube back into her pocket and crossed her arms. “Didn’t you just tell me that communication is important?”

“Important as it is, Jasmine,” Lancer said with what Jazz recognized as a lecturing tone and decided that she already didn’t like what he had to say. “That was a ghost and I do believe the experts - your parents - have advised us all to avoid grabbing the attention of a ghost unless we want to become one.” Of all the times for anyone to actually acknowledge her parents’ work and knowledge and it was now?

“With all due respect, Vice Principal Lancer, I think that of all things to listen to my parents about for once, their biased prejudice against all things ghost is hardly the one to believe. If everyone that died was malicious then the second they got a way into the living world we’d be overrun and there wouldn’t be a living world anymore.” Gesturing to herself and a staring Lancer she drawled, “I’d say we’re proof that my parents are wrong.”

While Lancer tried visibly to come up with an intelligent response to that, Jazz flicked on the lights and gave the room a closer look than she had before. Walking around she noticed the tiniest drops of ectoplasm lingering near where the burn marks were, and just under the desk. Pulling out a vial or three and some cotton swabs, Jazz put away a few samples to check over later. Even if she didn’t want to so much as acknowledge that her parents were right about ghosts existing, or fight them, she wasn’t going to bury her head in the sand and ignore all the evidence that said she needed to either get someone else to do something or do it herself. What’s one more thing to steal my sleep away?

She turned to a puzzled Lancer and cleared her throat. “It looks to me like a fight was happening here. A teenaged boy venting his anger over being d-” Breathe and don’t think about it. “In his particular situation would go somewhere he probably won’t get caught, not a school with a security system made specifically to shoot until he’s a bubbling pile of green sludge upon activation. I wish I knew what he was fighting and why but unfortunately he saw me reaching for a weapon and bolted.”

“Reaching for a weapon, Jazz?” Heaving a sigh she met the arched brow on Lancer’s face with a very practiced look she gave teachers that tried to paint her as being wrong about something.

“Principal Ishiyama said that we can use them in emergency situations and while I hardly share my parents’ opinion that all ghosts are malevolent mindless creatures, a teenager made of thoughts and emotions that just finished fighting isn’t someone I want to talk to without an option to defend myself. I’m safe around other human beings because I practice several martial arts, not because everyone is harmless.”

“That’s rather… pragmatic of you, Jazz.” Lancer let out a breath and the tension left his shoulders. He clasped a hand on her shoulder and Jazz was lead out of the destroyed room. “I personally feel that you need to speak with someone about all of this as much as Daniel does. After all, it is happening to you too.”

“I appreciate your worry, Mr. Lancer, but it’s not necessary.” Jazz smiled at the man. “As much as I’m sure this guidance counselor will be great for the other students, I have someone I can talk to already.”

“That’s good, Jazz. Still, if you need any help I’m certain that Ms. Spectra will be happy to give it to you.”

"She saw me. She saw me in a busted up room with my hands glowing, and I shit you not, she reached for a weapon." Danny paced in Tucker's room with his hood down and hands wildly gesticulating. “Now she and Mr. Lancer probably think I’m some destructive monster. There’s no way I could’ve made a worse impression.”

“Well,” Sidney said from his spot reclined in the air and watching Tucker play God of War, “when I first met you I thought you were bullying someone.”

“Plus,” Tucker chirped as he attempted, fruitlessly, to fight a Valkyrie, “you could’ve accidentally shot them. Much worse impression.” Kratos died on screen and Tucker growled to himself, lifting his controller to toss it and dropping it with a grimace instead. “That thing really fucked up my arm, huh?”

Danny sucked in a breath and held up a hand, pulling out bands of silver and green light from his center, gathering it above his palm as best as he could. It flickered and slipped out of his grasp every few seconds, like trying to hold water in a barely cupped hand. “I could try healing you?”

“Danny,” Sam drawled while putting down her book, “are you sure you know how to do that? It looks like your ectoplasm is glitching through you instead of listening to you.” Danny observed his arm, focusing on the first plane of existence as hard as he could, and huffed a sigh in agreement that it did look like a patch of glitchy green and white around his hand. “Hold out your hand, and Tucker hold out your arm for me.” The boys obliged and Sam held out a hand of her own, eyes closed, and pinched the ectoplasm haphazardly flowing around Danny’s hand. Danny’s eyes widened as she pulled the silvery light out of him and into her own aura, a few words being muttered in Hebrew as it flowed through her body to the other hand, and into Tucker’s arm. When the light faded, Danny felt tired and hungry, while Tucker looked far more relaxed than he had in a while. “Viola.”

Tucker looked from his arm to Sam and back several times, flexing and stretching the appendage. “Sam, I cannot emphasize this enough, holy shit. ” Sam grinned smugly at them while Danny, Tucker, and Sidney all stared at her in awe. “How did you do that?”

“I put forth some effort and actually looked into this ghost stuff from an angle that wasn’t the Fentons’ research. That lead to magick, which leads us to this.” Sam held up her book Magick: the Life Blood of the Earth. “I had a feeling that using Danny’s ectoplasm might warrant immediate effects, especially since he was focusing on trying to heal Tucker.”

“Right,” Danny drawled. “Next time ask me first? I feel hungry enough to eat a whole pig right now.”

“Mom ha-

“But with like, vegetables and stuff because I value my health.” Tucker stuck out his tongue and Danny laughed.

“Tucker, do you have a flashlight?” Everyone turned to look at Sidney and Tucker shrugged, pulling a miniature flashlight out of his pocket and handing it over. Sidney turned it on and pointed it at Danny’s face. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Care to share that idea with the class, Sidney?” Tucker picked up his controller and chuckled as he started up the fight anew. “Is Danny supposed to photosynthesize?”

“Basically, yes!” Danny blinked a few times and tilted his head. “Ghosts are all made of ectoplasm, which drains pretty much anything of energy around it like a plant taking in sunlight, but some ghosts use particular forms of energy to sustain themselves, and when you were trying to heal Tucker everything got all dark, so I thought you might run better on light than just on the heat in the room. Better for your body if your ghost half isn’t sucking all the life-sustaining heat from it, right?” Everyone stared at Sidney for a long beat, trying to process what he’d said. Danny held out his hand and pinched the beams of light coming toward him. After a moment of consideration, he imagined himself drinking the light and the flashlight immediately went dark as it flowed into his hand. “See?”

“Sidney, you’re a genius!” Danny pulled Sidney into a hug and beamed. Then he started pulling on the strands of light racing through the air that he was sure no one else could see, absorbing what he was certain were the higher frequency gamma and uv lights around him. In moments the room looked the way it had before he’d gained his new Sight and for a moment Danny felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin. When he looked around the room however, he couldn’t help the pang of sadness that came with the lack of all those beautiful colors that only he (and Sidney he supposed) had been able to see. “I think I’ll save doing that for when I’m desperate, but that’s awesome to know!”

“So not only are you ghosts, but you’re also plants.” Tucker snorted. “No wonder Sam likes you so much.” Sam bopped him on the head with her book as he picked up his controller and he made an offending noise, which everyone ignored.

“Speaking of ghosts, I think I’ve just figured out a way for you to kill two birds with one stone, Danny! If we go on patrol with the Fenton Finder™ to find the blob ghost that tried to kill us and catch it before it hurts anyone, we can capture an aggressive ghost and show the public - and your family - that ghosts aren’t all evil.”

Danny frowned, watching Tucker get his butt handed to him by Kara on screen for the 28th time, and considered that. The shapeshifter was definitely going to hurt someone if they didn’t do anything about it and Danny knew his folks would jump on any amount proof that ghosts were all evil, likely to claim that this second malevolent spirit was a clear pattern of spiritual behavior. They didn’t need more help sowing anti-ghost sentiments among whoever thought they weren’t entirely crazy, and he didn’t need more harassment from the asshats who thought they were and that he probably was by extension. Ugh. “Tuck, where are you on figuring out who the guy is?”

“Did you seriously think I could find out who this sentient blob of green slime with fangs and glowing red eyes that apparently shapeshifts is supposed to be? With what, ghoulgle?” Sidney chuckled and Sam laughed, shaking her head. “I’m a genius, obviously, but I’m not a wizard, Danny.” Danny’s shoulders slumped and he sighed. “Unless..”

“Unless?” Sidney and Danny echoed. Tucker looked at Sam’s book and so did the other boys, the idea sparked in their minds.

“Danny and Sidney combined aren’t going to have enough power to help me see through space and time to find out who this shapeshifter was. If we really wanna know, we’ll have to catch them and ask them through the thermos.”

“Alright, that’s fair.” Tucker lost in the game once more and turned the HorrorStation off. “Y’know what, sure. Let’s go hunt a ghost. I’m up for a fight we can actually win. Sidney, you in?”

“I-uh I’ll leave the fighting to you guys. I’m gonna give this youtube thing a try and see what I can learn.” He smiled and waved them off, and the trio shrugged, heading down the trap door to Tucker’s room and waving his parents goodbye.

While Sam and Tucker took their hoverboards to the air, Danny found the nearest alleyway and made sure no one was there to see him. He took in the sight of the vivid indigo surrounding him and reached inside for the ectoplasmic green and pearlescent white inside of him, watching it unfurl over his body in a flash and carve away at the ties between him and the Earth. He lifted off the ground and shook himself, sure that he’d never get used to it, before flying up to where Tucker and Sam were waiting for him with the Fenton Finder™ already out and his ectosignature blocked from it. At his insistence, they decided to search together in a group since splitting up was for the idiots getting picked off in a horror movie. Danny let himself slip into the space between spaces, where the background light of the world was blue and violet refusing to blend properly into indigo but just as intense as the indigo had been, if not more.

After an hour of searching, Danny saw a green dot at the edge of his full-body vision and the radar picked up on an ectosignature. They all dove toward the music store where people were beginning to run while screaming their heads off, and Danny dove through the illusion people called a wall foot first, slamming into the shapeshifter mid snarl. “Whoa there, flubber!” Danny ducked a swipe of claws and smirked. “I know jello can dance if you play loud enough music in front of it, but I didn’t know you wanted to. Screaming isn’t music unless it’s a Metallica song, man.”

Tucker and Sam burst through the doors and Sam opened fire, striking the blob while charging it like the crazy person she was. It lunged at her, knocking over a shelf on its way, and Sam barely avoided a bladed arm cutting her head off, though her leg was nicked and she fell to the ground with a litany of swears that Danny couldn't understand. Tucker shot the arm as it retracted into the shapeshifter and Danny dove between the angry monster and his best friend just in time for a fist the size of both of them to knock them into another shelf full of CDs. “Damn, we just fixed my arm and now my back is fucked up, Tucker groaned as he and Danny stood. Danny saw red.

Light and heat and power gathered above Danny’s palm like a raging river into a whirlpool, while Sam shouted insults at the shapeshifter. “Did anyone order a snot rocket?” His blast connected, knocking Discount Venom back into the help desk. An arm whipped out and caught Danny by his leg, slamming him into the ground and dragging him toward the ghost, bumping his already pounding head against every surface it could on the way.

“Aren’t you just the cleverest little bloodthirsty mutant?” Well, they finally heard it’s high masculine voice and Danny already hated the sound of it. “I actually felt that, you little freak.”

“If you think I’m the freak here, then you haven’t looked in the mirror lately,” Danny spat. “I know it’s hard, but you have to acknowledge that some people have actual bodies.”

“Such a sharp wit to go with those sharp teeth, too! Oh, but don’t worry, ghost kid, being a ghost isn’t what makes you so violent, clearly.” Danny heard the whine of an ecto pistol and sucked in a gasp as he was chucked into the air at the same time that a blast was fired. PAIN . “Just ask your little murderer! That’s twice she killed you now, isn’t it? You really should let the other kid get a shot if you can, would-be witch.” The blob’s voice grew distant and muffled as pain filled everything inside of Danny, and while he didn’t remember returning to human form, he knew that it was blood on his back, not ectoplasm. His vision went dark, indigo, then blues and purple, then everything was a beautiful and impossible Lilac, and he could see and hear the stars calling out to him. He reached out and accepted their pull away from the pain in his body.

#Danny Phantom #Tucker Foley #Danny Fenton #Sidney Poindexter #Jazz Fenton #Sam Manson #bertrand #fanfiction #fanfic #Phanfiction #Phanfic #fanphiction #fanphic #PhanPhiction #PhanPhic #Monstrous Chosen Spellslingers #MCS #Rexy Writes

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regrettablewritings · 6 years ago

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Arthur Curry x Shy!Reader HC

A/N: Uhh... Heehee...Hi. I’m not gonna pussyfoot, this thing is way overdue. But for anyone who vaguely remembers, I had an anniversary fanfic raffle thingy back in January and ... yeah this is the result. Many, much, and eternal kudos to @this-red-in-my-ledger for their infinite patience with me and my perfectionist brain, tendency to overthink, weird motivation schedules, and school and work schedule, etc. Words cannot express how flustered I am at how late this is. I hope its length proves to be able to compensate at least 5% of what you’d hoped for. ...Though if it’s too long (and it most definitely is), please regard me as a fool who never learns. Once again, thank you so much for your patience, you are an absolute doll!!!

Despite being a man mostly shrouded in mystery, Arthur Curry was not exactly what some may refer to as “demure.” Aloof, maybe. Cynical, definitely. Reluctant to interact with others without an arguable consequence, most assured. But absolutely none of this is out of shyness. In fact, it’d probably an actual fact to claim that Arthur had nary a shy molecule in his entire being.

A man of his size and appearance could never afford the characteristic of being shy, not ever. But a man of his background had insecurities to spare. Specifically, those stemming from a sense that he didn’t quite belong with either world he had been linked to the moment his human father managed to conceive a child with an Atlantean queen.

Making matters worse is the unspoken sense of duty he has towards either realm, with assuring that both remain as safe as possible from both one another and outsiders sticking their noses where they ought not to.

This lack of belonging gave way to a rebellious attitude, one that led the man to apparently decide that if he wasn’t going to be provided an allegiance to begin with, as most people do, then he wouldn’t accept any unless he gave them the okay. It was just better this way: To push away than to pull or be pulled in. It was very liberating, having that sort of control over his own circumstances . . . Or so Arthur professed.

Nevertheless, Arthur took advantage of the devil-may-care reputation (or perhaps lack thereof, given his inability to stick to one place for too long). He owned that sense of disconnect and renamed it freedom. And he would own that freedom: He would take what he wanted within reason, party up if the circumstances were right, and leave with the tide.

. . . And then there was you.

You were also on the more closed off side, but for very different reasons. You didn’t have the same insecurities brought on by a lack of fitting in as Arthur had: You were just flat out shy.

However, you were nothing if not also dutiful and hard-working. That was what made you ideal in the eyes of one Lucius Fox, whose trust in you was enough for him to recommend you to Bruce Wayne’s services as his more publicized assistant. Though, in your own self-deprecating words, you were more like a glorified babysitter of sorts: When Alfred couldn’t accompany Bruce for certain travels, you came in handy to assure that there was always some form of backup.

(“He would attempt to survive off a diet of alcohol and perhaps occasionally a steak if he could,” Alfred scoffed once. “Maybe chased with only two hours’ worth of sleep, perhaps.”)

With Bruce’s newfound interest in finding the metahumans featured in Lex’s files, your presence was needed now more than ever

You admittedly had your hesitancies and were more than allowed to voice them but at this point, you knew it was mostly hopeless: You hadn’t been with Bruce for too, too long, but you had at least known him long enough to know that once his mind was made, it would take the combined force of a Kryptonian and Amazonian to actually move it.

And so here you were, out in an isolated village in Iceland, the wind slapping your face sore while your ass pained from riding on a pony across the rugged terrain. Your loyalty knew some bounds; unfortunately, these weren’t quite the bounds that would send your loyalties running. (Plus, the job paid well.)

It was this follow-you-to-the-ends-of-my-loyalty mindset that made you follow Bruce down, down, down into what you surmised might have served as the village’s gathering hall. All eyes were on you and Bruce, of course, as the two of you were outsiders in a hamlet that couldn’t have had a population expanding beyond perhaps seventy – and that was you being generous.

You were really hoping that some of that generosity would be extended to you, though: Their eyes bore into you with mixtures of curiosity and suspicion. You didn’t blame them for it, but it certainly did nothing for you dislike of having so much attention casted upon you.

You felt almost ashamed as you stuck to Bruce as a duckling does to whatever they’ve imprinted upon. You only let up once a decent enough crowd had gathered, and Bruce attempted to speak with the denizens about the metahuman he’d come to potentially acquire the assistance of.

And that was how you first laid eyes on Arthur Curry. Not that you had much of a choice: He was taller than even Bruce for one thing. And if that weren’t enough, his naturally-tanned skin and glorious dark-and-sandy locks surely stood out against the small sea of pale faces topped with mostly blond hair.

It also didn’t hurt the situation (or your eyes) that that this man was certainly quite attractive even at a distance. Ruggedly handsome, but not in the same way some might consider your employer.

This man had a look about him that said he could easily swig Jack in one hand and swing fists in the other without breaking a sweat. (However, if his body was anything like you imagined it must be beneath that clumpy sweater and dingy coat, you wouldn’t have minded seeing a little perspiration on him.)

These features proved to be key in your determining that this striking man differed from the rest.

Unfortunately, so could your boss. This, along with his smart mouth, let to the long-haired beauty of a man promptly grabbing your boss by the collar and slamming him into a wall, an aura of primal aggression radiating from him all the way to the back of the room where you stood.

In short, your first introduction to Arthur Curry was far less than ideal. You were downright intimidated by this man more than you already were by default of your own timid nature. When the two men left the hall to discuss the matter, you made sure to keep your distance. You knew Bruce could more than take care of himself alone, but you couldn’t trust this new guy for jack shit after that scuffle.

“That your assistant?” Arthur questioned, glancing back at you. Your distance did nothing to hide your tensing at his sudden regard. Bruce sighed, exasperation coating the visible puff of air. “…Yes,” he responded gruffly. Arthur nodded with approval. “Nice…” he murmured before looking back at Bruce. “She single?” Bruce’s eyes narrowed with exasperation as they rolled in their sockets. He wasn’t sure which annoyed him more: That Arthur was clearly trying to remain off topic, or that he was doing so by using you (and with such a lackadaisical manner, no less). “Can we please focus on the matter?”

Yes, but to less than ideal results.

You stood there, gobsmacked as you watched the tan man begin to strip down. At first, your thoughts encircled around the insanity of it all: You were in the ice-blistering realm of Scandinavia during a particularly freezing bout, this lunatic was about to catch a death of cold!

As you were beginning to question further Bruce’s credibility for attempting to recruit such an idiot, however, Arthur removed his shirt – and your tune was peeled away along with it.

With the way you felt your cheeks burning, you no longer noticed the biting cold. His body was far more than what you’d initially imagined it to be. But perhaps more startling than his finely-cut physique were his eyes: Like the ghosts of sunken ships, illuminated by the sheer will to survive. You’d never seen anything like them, and you highly doubt you ever would again.

They flickered in your direction once more, for a split second, before returning to Bruce. “You’re out of your mind, Bruce Wayne,” Arthur ridiculed, and his sights went back to you. You felt your heart leap ever so slightly as you watched him aim a nod at your person. He then flipped back into the water before torpedoing elsewhere, away for your boss’s ludicrous proposal.

That would’ve been the last you’d have seen of Arthur Curry, had it not been for Steppenwolf’s less than pleasant surprise visit to Atlantis.

The next time you saw Arthur, he wasn’t nearly as undressed as the last time you’d seen him. You experienced a very short-lived flicker of disappointment, overthrown by the concern with the reason as to why he’d even taken up the previously rejected offer of joining the team.

Also . . . Whatever he was wearing did look quite impressive on him. Almost draconian, yet doubtlessly born in the sea. Much like the man himself.

And, once again, Arthur was quite aware of your stares at him whenever you entered the area. When you came to the Batcave to serve Bruce and “his new friends” drinks or to bring down any equipment as requested by Alfred, you would always somehow manage to spar Arthur a glance.

Unfortunately, not much was exchanged beyond a simple “thank you” or “excuse me.” Even on Arthur’s end, he could barely get a flirtation in before he’d be ushered elsewhere or snapped at about losing focus by your employer. And you? Expecting your coyness to be put aside for one second just to speak to somebody of his stature was an order taller than the man himself. (Plus there was the whole “he’s only here because Steppenwolf got the Mother Boxes and was preparing to bring about the Earth’s reckoning” but, you know, what can you do?)

Which was a shame: From what you were able to conclude from what few and often distant interactions you’d had or were able to observe, Arthur wasn’t as bad of a guy as he’d made himself out to be back in Iceland.

Back in the village, he was cold and gruff, exuding an air that said he was constantly ready to knock somebody’s teeth in over the smallest slight no matter how unintentional. But here? More laidback, still somewhat intimidating, but in the same way as a fellow who hung out at the local tattoo parlor and made small talk with the artists and customers but otherwise caused no real trouble.

Plus, his wiseass comments toward Bruce even managed to crack a smile out of you – something which he made note of and couldn’t help but muster pride from.

All things considered, the pleasant relief that he wasn’t as bad as you’d thought managed to relax the nerves you’d accumulated since you first laid eyes on him. It almost made you forget that you were on the verge of the end of the world. Almost.

Things were being received surprisingly well on Arthur’s end, also.

While you admittedly weren’t the type he usually found himself drawn to (which must be noted was essentially closer to a female version of himself), your more introverted nature still had its charms.

For what it was worth, he initially read your timid nature as one of a “stone-cold bitch” in the most respectful sense: The image of the aloof, perpetually unimpressed career woman who took no shit from her male coworkers (or, in this case, employers), and who always had an acerbic comment waiting to drip off her tongue if pushed beyond a limit she had personally set. Basically, his expectation of you in your “natural habitat” had been formulated through what he’d seen on TV or in movies.

Regardless of whether you truly did have anything to snap with, however, this proved to not be case exactly.

He quickly noticed that your quiet, withdrawn attitude wasn’t one of disinterest as he assumed anyone working for the likes of Bruce Wayne would be in possession of. In fact, on the contrary, you seemed quite interested in the matters at hand. He could see it in the little things: The ways you might lean in somewhat whenever Bruce brought up a diagram or whenever Victor brought forward new information; the occasion where you would tap Bruce’s shoulder, prompting him to lean towards you so that you might show him whatever it was you had pulled up on a tablet that might service the cause; that glimmer in your eyes that Arthur had managed to catch sight of during the very, very few moments he was just close enough and you simultaneously dared to look up at him.

The first time he’d seen it, he thought it might have been a fluke or the trick of lighting. Maybe he’d mistaken it for a desperation to leave, call the rest of the night off, and spend what may be your last night of existence binging Netflix and pizza at home.

But the second time he’d caught it, Arthur knew what he saw: Dedication, a yearning to be a part of this to a bigger extent than what you already were. But on that note . . .

He did also capture some nerves in your glances: Ones that, in spite of your eagerness to help, also seemed to want you to hide behind a one-way mirror and pitch in without the possibility of sounding clueless or out of line. In short: You weren’t this stone-cold bitch who would, without hesitation, necessarily break a man’s balls beneath her heels – you were just a bashful ball of nerves, and not in the nervy sense of being emboldened enough to look him dead in the eyes!

Not at all the type he usually found himself looking at. In fact, it was the brash, almost bullyish part of him that was beginning to coax him into teasing you a little bit, maybe riling you up.

And yet . . . He liked for someone of such an introverted manner, you seemed to have a lot more going on than what he’d initially thought. Almost like an oyster, if he could be pardoned for the clumsy comparison.

After witnessing the smiles you would occasionally share with Diana, the ever-present, underlying flame of determination that flickered as you helped to prepare the team for what was to come . . . Arthur Curry couldn’t help but wonder what more there was to you. What lay deep in your depths, beneath the seemingly one-note surface?

Plus, let’s be real: he had totally been checking out your ass every chance he got. The weather-proof gear he’d seen you in back in Iceland did absolutely no justice to your figure. He was quite pleased with what lay beneath all those goose down wears.

As you watched the team depart for Russia, you couldn’t help but feel your stomach drop into a low, dirty pit. There was no guarantee that anything would work into anyone’s favor, but you forced yourself to keep a calm countenance as you followed Alfred back into the labs. There was no use in worrying; all you could do was hope for the best. In the meantime, it would do some good to help monitor Bruce’s mechanisms.

Still, you found yourself considering the weight in your stomach, that sickening twist that twanged almost nauseatingly when you regarded what its source was: The regret of not having actually spoken more extensively with Arthur.

You found it weird that you were feeling so much over someone you’d barely met. Sure, the version of him that had been here not even a full hour earlier was a complete upgrade from the one you’d met less than a week ago. But still, it seemed odd of you to put that much weight in not having talked with the nearly complete stranger.

“Well,” a voice in your head thought, “isn’t that more reason to have gotten to know him better?”

You blinked at the intrusive thought.

You were unable to stop your thought process from forming its next declaration: “If they survive this, I’m going to overcome this shyness and actually freaking attempt to talk more with Arthur Curry.”

Meanwhile, on the Flying Fox, Arthur Curry was glowering: Diana had left that stupid lasso laying all will-nilly, and he’d been its unfortunate victim. At this point, he’d made an ass of himself by light-way insulting all the males onboard, flirting with its one member of the fairer sex, and then going back to Bruce to say, “ – and you know what? I don’t wanna die! I’m young, there’s shit that I wanna do – like Bruce’s hot assistant.” Bruce’s eyes hardened, befuddled at the crudeness. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself. “Don’t gimme that look, I know you’ve seen her. Look, man, if I survive this, I’m asking her out, sorry that you missed your shot but – ”

By the time he’d realized the extent of what he’d said, the damage had been done. He scowled as he tossed the Amazon the Lasso of Hestia and threatened Barry to keep his silence of the series of revelations before storming off, face burning. He trusted the other three members to hold some semblance of maturity on the matter and never bring any aspects of it back up.

He’d put too much faith into the one who was the most mature of them all.

“I look forward to you keeping your promise,” Diana smiled, almost tauntingly.

Arthur Curry sat onboard the flying transport. Against all odds, they had won, and now they were en route to Gotham, where he’d left his more comfortable clothes, where a nice, hot shower was, where a place to crash (courtesy of Bruce’s hotel connections) was, and where –

His pale eyes widened in spite of their owner’s exhaustion. Shit. Shit.

Gotham was also where you were: single, shy, giving off no hints as to whether you were ready to mingle, much less with the likes of him.

Your heart was beating so fast, you thought you were about to vomit it up. Sure, you’d told yourself you were going to attempt to talk with Arthur if he got back. But if you were being honest, you were sort of hoping it’d be after a buffer of time where he would be recuperating from the battle and you would be prepping yourself to actually speak with the rugged man. That, and you were really thrown off by the fact that not ten minutes after he’d gotten off the Flying Fox, he had marched straight up to you. He hadn’t even changed out of his war gear, arguably adding to his threatening appearance.

And yet, everything he said and the manner with which he said them seemed to work against his daunting form.

“I uh…I honestly didn’t think this would wind up happening. To be honest,” he coughed, hand scratching at the back of his wavy locks. He was even less like the man you’d met in Scandinavia than before.

“Uh . . . Listen.” He steadied his eyes on you, causing you to tense somewhat visibly. “I know we haven’t . . .” he lazily gestured his hand in a rolling motion “—talked. Formally, I mean. But I kinda made a promise sorta thing and . . . Okay, look, I think you’re really hot in a sorta sexy secretary kinda way but also I think it’s kinda cute that you always wanna help and all and sorry for being fresh but you’ve also got this real sweet caboose on ya and I just – ”

He froze. You weren’t sure if it was because you possibly had a rejecting expression (really, all you knew about your face right now was that it was blazing with blush and that your eyes were wider than usual), or if he’d considered the possibility that he’d gone too far with the blunt statement about your ass. However, as he glanced down and grimaced, you found your answer: There, wrapped around his lower thigh just enough for impact, was a shining lasso, the rest of which trailed away from the two of you. Its end was found, wrapped around the hands of one grinning Diana.

Well shit.

After forcing himself to calm down from the huffiness left from removing the lasso, Arthur cut to the chase: “So anyway, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to get a drink with me? Or something?” At that last bit, you could’ve sworn you could make out a very specific type of infliction. It was a very familiar one to you because it had been the same kind that plagued you your entire life: One of shyness.

Arthur noticed it as well and inwardly cringed. His alpha male persona? Ruined by the slip of a tone.

But for you? It was just what you needed to feel encouraged to look into those strange eyes of his and actually respond.

“Well…,” you began, if not a bit quiet and trembly (after all, you weren’t completely removed of your nerves), “I’m not sure if a bar is exactly the greatest first place to get to know one another.” You quickly added ad you watched his shoulders begin t slump, “Buuuuttt…maybe I could have a certain somebody pull a few strings; get us a nice place to ourselves?”

Two things then happened that pleased either party: Your eyes replicated that twinkle of interest that had him intrigued before; and he smiled a genuine smile. It was a very nice one, if you said so yourself.

Nobody honestly expected the relationship to go entirely too well, save for Diana. Arthur is brash and gung-ho and while the team now knows he’s capable of a softer side, his demands that they never bring it up again honestly make them hesitant to trust in his ability to show that part of himself to you.

Your shyness, coupled with your sensitivity, mean that he’s going to have to at least try and tone it down a bit; you’re at a 4 or 5 at best! – and he’s at an 11 when you need him closer to maybe a 7.

Bruce, against his initial intentions, sort of goes into Papa Wolf mode where he lightly threatens to mess Arthur up if he puts you out of your comfort zone

What can we say? Bruce has some paternal traits kicking around in him.

Still, he prepares himself for the worst when the day finally comes. To his surprise, however you don’t call him in hysterics, ranting about what a jackass his unrulier teammate is. You don’t call off the next day due to a rage-drinking-induced hangover, or even from one caused by you feeling pressured to keep taking shots.

Instead, you arrive at work practically glowing.

To everyone’s surprise, Arthur isn’t too bad of a boyfriend for you.

Okay, he’s actually just flat out not a bad boyfriend period.

His intense demeanor makes it so that nobody dares mess with you when you go for walks downtown; his sense of humor surprisingly tickles you, and he finds yours to be appealing in its own right. He knows you struggle with speaking to others, even if you need help, so he has no problem with stepping in and making sure that you get what you need and that nobody takes advantage of your demure mannerisms.

Plus, to everyone’s surprise (including his own), he likes talking with you. That interest in your unintentional enigma never went away: he wants to crack you open, see what pearls of intrigue lay within you that you don’t generally bring to surface for everyone. He feels honored to be the one with the most potential to see all of it.

(Though, to be brutally honest, he’s still going to tease you about certain aspects of yours. Maybe lightheartedly, but nevertheless with frequent vengeance. Calling him Fishcakes tends to get him to back off for a little bit, though.)

Unfortunately, due to his commitments (as a hero, as a ruler, etc), he can’t always be there. But he tries his damndest to make it up to you whenever he’s back in town.

Dates between the two of you are kinda compromised.

Arthur isn’t used to having a long-term relationship, so dates with actual meaning are a bit wobbly for him. Honestly, given his history, a “date” usually meant going to a bar, him and the girl he’s with getting hammered, and getting frisky.

Maybe they’d try it again another time, but nothing serious ever came of it because it was made from nothing serious.

Bars – at least the dives he’s used to – aren’t necessarily your scene, though. So he has to get a little creative.

He’s learned to swallow his insults aimed at museums and bookstores because if it means seeing you smile, then it ain’t all that bad, is it?

You’re still gonna buy him, like, three cheeseburgers after this, though, make no mistake.

Besides, picnics in the park have their pros: For one, it gives him an excuse to put his head in your lap and demand you scratch his scalp for a bit while he takes it easy,

The two of you don’t really go to the aquarium, though; it makes him feel a little anxious to see all these aquatic creatures contained.

Plus, he’s heard what some of them are thinking and it’s generally not good

He enjoys taking you to places with “good water.” As in “nowhere near the shithole that is Gotham or the arguably polished turd that is Metropolis.”

If you’re up to it, he’ll happily create a pocket of air for the two of you and speed the both of you to clearer ocean waters. (Don’t worry, he’ll hold you nice and tight, nothing to worry about.)

If this man can get a date with you at a beach, he’s one happy fellow. He’s totally in his element and is in the perfect environment where he can show off not only his body, but his abilities.

Even if you just want to keep it simple and build sandcastles or collect seashells, he’s going to find ways of showing off: He’ll manipulate the tide a smidge to keep it from coming in and ruining your hard work, or he’ll request his aquatic friends to make scooch some pretty shells or any available sea glass close enough to the shoreline that the tide will do the rest.

You may roll your eyes at this, but you do eventually thank him for it after every time. After all, you now possess a mighty fine bowl full of gorgeous shells and soft, rounded pieces of green glass because of his efforts.

He enjoys trying to find ways to get you to open up a bit more.

It’s not that he finds your shyness annoying or necessarily a hindrance, far from it: he enjoys that your modesty sort of creates a series of slides for him to try and pull back, creating layers upon layers of new things to learn and love about you.

But, as mentioned before, he can’t always be there: He doesn’t like the idea of you becoming too reliant on his boisterous behavior and getting taken advantage of during one of the instances where he isn’t present.

“M’kay, so you’re at a bar – ” “Lies, slander, libel, misinterpretation of character – ” “Fine,” he says through gritted teeth. “You’re at the ice cream parlor – shut it, you had your chance – and some, I dunno, punk who frequents the sodie fountain comes up to you and starts causing you trouble. What do we do?” “Tell him to please leave me be, I’m trying to enjoy my sundae.” “Mhm, or?” “If he’s persistent, call management.” “Good, and what else?” “Well, jeez, Arthur, do you want me to break a milkshake glass on the counter and use it as a shiv!?” “Noooooo: You could always say, ‘Piss off or else my big, scary boyfriend’s gonna come and shove a piranha down your dick.’” “What the – I’m not saying that!” “Not now, you’re not, but by the end of our training, you’ll be saying all kinds of tough guy and gal things!”

It’s . . . a work in progress.

He loves it when you blush. Even if you have dark skin, he’s picked up on cues that hint that your face is on fire.

He’s more observant than he lets in on, but trust me: he knows how to read you after getting to know you. He can see that way you smile or that certain way your eyes may flicker or whatever may have you and instantly know that roses are blooming in your cheeks.

“Aaaawww, is Babygirl feelin’ sheepish?” “Shut up, you big fool.”

Now, when it comes to the more . . . physical side of the relationship, he struggles with taking it slow

Not to knock on you, but Arthur’s rather used to women throwing themselves at him. Hell, he’s had at least two women wrap their legs around his waist in the same evening he’d taken them out on their first (and often only) date.

It’s because he’s used to, well, bolder types of women.

Honestly, he struggles for a good while: He’s not going to force you to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with, not ever, but he’d be lying if he said it was easy to not think about smashing his lips against yours and pinning you to a wall (preferably around Bruce’s place) and mark you up with hickies and possibly other, more personal things.

However, this change of pacing in a relationship, coupled with the fact that this is his first long-term one, does the man good: It teaches him more patience and consideration.

He even begins to enjoy the softer, sweeter things that he’d previously scoffed at as being “too vanilla”, such as kisses to the forehead or hand-holding.

Still, he does get strong makeout hankerings. (If you appease him, he’s more than grateful every time.)

That being said, if and/or when you do start to feel a bit braver about venturing further into the realm of intimacy, you still may possess some insecurities.

You’re no fool – you know what sort of man you have on your hands. You don’t need to look to the sides or behind you when the two of you walk somewhere to know that he’s being checked out by at least three people. He’s practically a demigod species-wise, and still remarkably attractive from the viewpoint of him being a normal human.

Even though you try not to, you can’t help but let some worries slip through the cracks: Maybe you’re just an appetizer to hold him over until he lands his sights on a more “fulfilling” meal; maybe you’re too plain for him (you know that that’s what goes through the minds of many gawkers); maybe you should show more skin . . .

But worry not: Cliché as it may sound, Arthur very much likes you the way you are. If you’re comfortable with you, then he’s comfortable with you. In fact, it makes him admire you even harder because it shows you’ve managed to do something he still struggles with: Being comfortable with his own self.

He finds it very sexy when you think you look nice in an outfit or when you take even the tiniest step out of your comfort zone to try a new look or accessory, and will honestly struggle all the more with keeping his hands or lips to himself.

But once you give him the okay, he’s all over that: Hands squeezing that ass he loves so much, kisses below the neck, utterances of flirtations ranging from PG to downright dirty.

If you gather up the guts to move even further or just flat out hit a homerun, it becomes a guidebook in itself.

Protip: One of the sexiest things you can do? Simply where one of his shirts, which is oversized on you thanks to his massive height. It doesn’t have to be wet, but it sure isn’t a problem in his eyes.

Cuddles. The boy is a slut for cuddles no matter what he tells you. Arthur may not necessarily be touch-starved, but he’s definitely bankrupt on accumulated touches of affection. His loner attitude always made it difficult for him to receive that sort of thing, especially since nobody he went out with was ever in the picture for too long. So when it hits him that in this relationship, such a thing is not only possible but welcome, he can’t help but feel a well of excitement brewing within him.

You in his lap, you by his side, you with your head on his chest, traditional spooning, you with your head on his lap or vice-versa, him lying down with you on his back, him sitting on the floor between your legs or the opposite, his loves it all!

The problem is, he won’t even admit this to you. But he tries to be sneaky about getting what he wants.

“What’s the matter?” “Hm? Nothing.” “Really? You look sad; you need me to cuddle you?” “What? I mean, it’d be nice but I’m not really –” He sighs, as if exasperated, “Can’t be helped; c’mere.” You aren’t given much time to object as you find yourself being collected into his warm, muscular embrace.

Sometimes, however . . . he slips up. And by that, I mean he’ll “happen” to slip into bed or onto the couch next to you in a way that presents himself as the little spoon.

Actually, of all the ways he likes to cuddle, jetpacking may be his favorite. Unfortunately, unless you think enough about it, you’d probably not notice it until later in the relationship due to how rarely he lets it happen. But it makes perfect sense otherwise: He’s so used to everybody having expectations for him. He’s so used to feeling obligated to do all these things for worlds he doesn’t necessarily feel the strongest connection with. Going off of that, there was the life-long sense of not being completely bound to either existence, creating insecurities galore.

Sure, he’s started to take the steps in the right direction but it’s still very hard, especially since those steps are accompanied with the extra weight of him now being a member of something bigger: An appointed rule of Atlantis, a balance-keeper between the land and the sea, a member of an actual team . . .

You don’t need to be told that it’s frustrating. You truly do commend him for taking it as well as he is.

But obviously, it takes its toll on the guy more often than he’d let his teammates in on, so it often times falls on you to help him cope.

Interestingly, this honestly seems to be the most he lets you do. Or rather, the most that even needs to be done at all.

But the fact of the matter is, you’ve come to love this position as well.

Because it allows you to feel like the brave and strong one in the relationship, just like how you suspect Arthur must feel much of the time. The way Arthur constantly wants you to feel, not so that he doesn’t have to try as hard at being a boyfriend to a person so different from him, but because he wants the best for you and doesn’t want the world to hurt you or make you feel out of place for who you are. Of course, he doesn’t want you to change, but he does want you to recognize the inner-strength you have, the inner-strength he sometimes worries you forget about amidst your worries and own frustrations.

But for the meantime, this will do: With your big, brash aquatic boyfriend allowing himself to feel delicate, and your usually quiet and shy self, feeling brave and protective.

It surprisingly works, this weird little world the two of you have created together. You both find that you fit into it together quite perfectly.

#once again sorry that this is god forsakenly late!!!#you're my...AAAANNGEELLLLLLLL!!!!#arthur curry x reader #aquaman x reader #arthur curry imagine #arthur curry imagines #aquaman imagine #aquaman imagines #dceu imagine #dceu imagines #justice league imagine #justice league imagines #arthur curry headcanons #regrettablewritings

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dumbledearme · 6 years ago

Text

chapter seven—fools rush in

read Child of Land and Sea here

Act I — Storm At Sea

Part VII — Wise men say only fools rush in. Shall I stay? Would it be a sin?

Not everything was lost. They used the infinite LotusCash card to pay for a ride from Vegas to Los Angeles. The driver left them at the beach in Santa Monica with no clue of what to do next.

Then Andy had another one of her ideas.

It blew her mind to think that her own father, the one she had never met, the one that had abandoned her, the one that was a freakin' god, controlled the seas. Two thirds of the Earth's surface was covered in water. How could someone be that powerful?

Well, time to have a taste of it.

She walked into the sea.

"Andy?" Anthony called, a note of amusement in his voice. "What are you doing?" She didn't answer and kept on walking. "You know how polluted that water is? There's all kinds of toxic—"

That's when her head went under. At first, Andy held her breath, afraid of what would happen. It wasn't easy to willingly inhale water. When she couldn't take it anymore, she gasped. Sure enough, she could breathe normally.

Now came the complicated part.

Andy focused in the lack of memories she had of her dad. It was hard; there wasn't a smile, a caress or even a familiar smell. But there was the sea around her. The waves. The salt. All the things that made him the sea god. This is who he is, she realized.

"Please," she pleaded. "Please, help me." She closed her eyes and waited. When she opened them, the ghost woman was there.

"Andy Jackson," she said.

"Who are you?" Andy had to ask.

"I'm a Nereid, a spirit of the sea. It has been many years since a child of the sea has been born. We have watched you with great interest."

"Why doesn't he speak to me? You know, personally?"

"Do not judge the Lord of the Sea too harshly," the Nereid said. "He stands at the brink of an unwanted war. He has much to occupy his time. Besides, he is forbidden to help you directly. The gods may not show such favoritism."

"Even to their own children?"

"Especially to them. The gods can work by indirect influence only. That is why I give you a warning, and a gift." She held out her hand. Three white pearls flashed in her palm. "I know you journey to Hades' realm. Few mortals have ever done this and survived: Orpheus, who had great music skill; Hercules, who had great strength; Houdini, who could escape even the depths of Tartarus. Do you have these talents?"

"With a little effort, I can burp the entire alphabet."

The Nereid narrowed her eyes. "You possess gifts you have only begun to know. The oracle has foretold a great and terrible future for you, should you survive to adulthood. Poseidon would not have you die before your time. Therefore, take these, and when you are in need, smash a pearl at your feet."

"What will happen?"

"Depends on the need. But remember: what belongs to the sea will always return to the sea."

"Alright. What about the warning?"

Her eyes flickered. "Go with what your heart tells you, or you will lose all. Hades feeds on doubt and hopelessness. He will trick you if he can. He never willingly lets people leave his realm. Keep faith. And good luck, Andromeda."

Getting there wasn't that hard. They convinced the security guard to let them pass. His name was Charon. He put them on the boat and complained all the way that he was underpaid. The boat went on, crossing a dark, oily river, swirling with bones, dead fish, and other strange things.

Anthony said it was the River Styx. He said it was polluted with dreams, hopes, wishes that never came true. Thinking of that and of all the dead people around her, Andy started to panic. She wasn't supposed to be here. She took Anthony's hand, needing reassurance that somebody else was alive.

Then, of course, there was the dog. The giant three headed dog really wanted to eat them. Andy didn't think they would pass that. But Anthony somehow managed to control Cerberus. Bossing him around, really. He was so bossy even the gigantic hellhound did as he wanted! The dog couldn't wait to do what he said, to be pet, to be given attention.

It was unbelievable.

"No," Anthony told her. "That was obedience school."

After a while, Andy came to the realization that the dead weren't scary—they were just sad. Most of them were doomed to a waiting line. A lot of them were condemned to the Fields of Punishment. Only very few went to Elysium.

Suddenly, Grover yelped. His sneakers sprouted wings and his legs shot forward dragging him away. "Maia!" he yelled, but that didn't work.

Andy and Anthony ran after him.

"Untie the shoes," Anthony shouted. But he couldn't. He was being taken to a dark tunnel that got darker and colder the further they went. Fortunately, Grover hit the wall and one of the sneakers fell; he lost speed. Anthony caught up to him and helped him take off the other shoe.

They all collapsed, exhausted.

Anthony glanced at the end of the tunnel. "This is the entrance to Tartarus," he said softly.

"We have to get out of here," cried Grover. They ran the other way a little too slowly because Andy's backpack was weighing her down. Something seemed to be trying to inhale them.

Finally, they got out of the tunnel. "What was that?"

Andy glanced at Anthony; he was obviously nursing an idea, but he chose not to share. "Let's keep going," he said. "Grover, can you walk?"

"Yeah, sure," he swallowed. "I never liked those shoes anyway."

They kept going until the found the garden. It was strange and dangerous. All around them there was poisonous mushrooms and shrubs, and weird luminous plants grew without sunlight. Right at the center, there was an orchard of pomegranate trees.

"The garden of Persephone," said Anthony, who seemed to know everything about everything. "Don't touch anything." Sure enough, the smell of the pomegranates was overwhelming. Andy really wanted to have one.

They walked up the steps of the palace. Andy's backpack weighed a ton now.

Hades was the third god she got to meet, but the first one who struck her as godlike. His skin was albino white, his hair shoulder-length and jet black. He was wearing black silk robes and a crown of braided gold. Immediately, Andy felt like he should be the one giving the orders. He knew more than she did. He was smarter, more powerful, more graceful, more—

Snap out of it!, she told herself.

"You are brave to come here, little one," he said; his voice sounded bored. "After what you have done to me, very brave indeed. Or very foolish."

Andy stepped forward. "Lord Hades, I come with two requests."

He raised an eyebrow. There were shadows moving around him. "What am I? A genie? You arrogant child. You have taken enough."

"I've taken nothing," she said, defensively. The throne room shook and Andy almost lost her balance.

Hades bellowed, "You think I want war, godling?"

"Well, you did take the master bolt."

"LIES!" More rumbling. Hades rose from his throne. "Your father may fool Zeus, but I am not stupid. I see his plan."

"Excuse me?"

"You were the thief on the winter solstice," he accused. "Your father thought to keep you his dirty little secret. You took the master bolt and my helm. Had I not sent my Fury to discover you at that school, Poseidon might have succeeded in hiding his scheme to start a war. But now you have been forced into the open."

"Lord Hades," called Anthony and Andy could almost see the gears turning inside his head. "Your helm of darkness is missing, too?"

"Do not play innocent with me, son of Athena. You and the satyr have been helping the girl—coming here to threaten me in Poseidon's name, no doubt—to bring me an ultimatum. Does Poseidon think I can be blackmailed into supporting him?"

"Sir—"

"I have said nothing of the helm's disappearance," Hades snarled, "because I had no illusions that anyone on Olympus would offer me the slightest justice, the slightest help. I searched for you myself, and when it was clear you were coming to me, I did not stop you. Return my helm now, godling, or I will stop death. I will open the earth and have the dead pour back into the world. I will make your lands a nightmare. And you—Andromeda Jackson—your skeleton will lead my army out of—"

"You're crazy," Andy snapped. "You're absolutely insane."

Hades seemed too shocked about the accusation to speak.

"You've been sending monsters after me because you think I stole something from you? Never occurred to you, I suppose, to prove that I had such item. Of course, Zeus did the same thing, didn't he? You are all out of your minds!"

"RETURN MY PROPERTY!" He demanded.

"I DON'T HAVE IT!" she yelled back at him. "I don't have your stupid helm. I don't have the master bolt. I didn't do anything wrong, so stop trying to kill me!"

Hades glanced at her, curiosity in his eyes. "I have not tried to kill you. I wanted you alive. I only ever sent the Furies to capture you. As for not having the helm and the bolt..." Hades grinned wickedly. "Open your pack."

A horrible feeling struck Andy. She let the pack fall from her shoulders and it hit the ground with a bang. Andy unzipped it and there it was it: the lightning bolt.

"Andy!" exclaimed Anthony.

"You heroes are always the same," Hades said. "Your pride makes you foolish, thinking you could bring such a weapon before me. I did not ask for Zeus' master bolt, but since it is here, you will yield it to me. Also, my helm."

Andy was feeling a kind of anger she had never experienced before. She wanted to go around punching gods in the face. They—all of them!—had played her. They were using her.

"This is wrong," she shook her head. "This is a mistake."

An army of skeletons appeared circling Andy, Anthony and Grover.

"There's no mistake," said Hades. "I know why you hesitate. I know what you want. You came for her." And then she was there, frozen in a shower of gold, just as she was when the Minotaur took her. "Yes. I knew, Andromeda Jackson, that you would come to me. Now make your choice. I know you have pearls with you. But do you realize they each only protects a single person? Take your mother and pick one of your friends to leave behind. Go on. Choose. Or give me the bolt and the helm and I'll let you all go."

"Andy," Grover said from behind her. "Leave me here. You can't give him the bolt. Take your mom and go. I'm a satyr. We don't have souls like humans. He can't torment me forever."

"No," said Anthony. "I'll stay. You'll get your searcher's license. Get out of here. I'll cover you. I'll go down fighting."

"I'm staying," argued Grover.

"No. I am."

Andy turned to face them and handed each a pearl. Her heart felt like it was being split in two. "Andy—"

"I will find your helm," she told Hades before smashing the pearl. She could only hope the others had done the same. While she was being transported, Andy made a vow to save her mother. She would come back for her. She wouldn't fail like the prophecy said. She would save what mattered most in the end.

They were back at the beach. Andy looked out at the sea, but she wasn't really seeing it. She couldn't breath. She felt her body shaking, the tears streaming down her face. She couldn't fight it. She couldn't deal with it. Was she having a panic attack?

Suddenly, he was there. Anthony wrapped his arms around her and Andy sobbed against his shoulder. She sobbed out the fear, the sadness and the anger. She let it all out. She sobbed until there was nothing left. Then she straightened up and looked over Anthony's shoulder.

Ares was standing a few feet away, seeming genuinely pleased to see her or to see her crying. "You were supposed to be dead."

Andy marched toward him. "You stole the helm and the master bolt."

He grinned. "Not personally. You're not the only hero who can run errands."

"Who?"

"Don't matter. The point is: you need to die in the Underworld. Old Seaweed will be mad at Hades for killing you. Corpse Breath will have Zeus' master bolt, so Zeus'll be mad at him. And Hades is still looking for this..." from his pocket he took out a ski cap that before their eyes transformed into a war helmet. "Pretty soon, there'll be war."

"But they're your family," said Anthony.

Ares shrugged. "Best kind of war. Always the bloodiest. Nothing like watching your relatives fight."

"Why didn't you keep the master bolt to yourself?" Andy asked. Ares got a twitch in his jaw. He seemed to be listening to a voice inside his head.

"I didn't... I... Because... A power like that..." His face cleared. "I didn't want the trouble."

"You're lying," she said. "It wasn't your idea."

"Of course it was."

"You didn't order the theft. Someone else sent a hero to steal the two items. Then, when Zeus sent you to hunt him down, you caught the thief. But you didn't turn him over to Zeus. Something convinced you to let him go. The thing... That thing in the pit is ordering you around!"

"I am the god of war! I take orders from no one! I don't have dreams!"

Andy raised an eyebrow. "I never said you did."

Ares looked agitated, but he tried to cover with a smirk. "I will kill you now, kid. Nothing personal." He snapped his fingers and a wild boar appeared.

"Fight me yourself, you coward."

He laughed, but there was an edge to it. "Your only talent is running. So don't push me."

"Andy, looked out!" Anthony shouted as the boar charged. But Andy had had enough of that. She was done. It was time to put an end to it.

She uncapped the pen and knelt on the sand. The boar was there within seconds and she impaled him with the sword. The beast disappeared in smoke.

Andy stood. "Are you going to fight me now?"

Ares' face was purple with rage. "Watch, kid. I could turn you into—"

"Do it, then. Do your absolute worst."

"You are asking for it." A sword appeared in his hand.

"Andy," Anthony called. "He's a god."

"No. He's a coward."

"I've been fighting for eternity, kid. My strength is unlimited and I cannot die. What have you got?"

"A smaller ego," she said. "If I win, the helm and the bolt are mine." Andy attacked. Ares was quick. He twisted and slashed and forced Andy into the ocean. He knocked the blade out of her hands and slapped her across the face. Andy lost balanced and fell.

She was seeing double, but she got up as the water healed her. Her senses were working overtime. She could see where he was tensing. She could tell which way he would strike. Andy picked Riptide and deflected when he attacked.

She felt the rhythm of the sea. She felt its power. She felt her dad.

She sent the tide over him and attacked at the same time. He turned in time to raise his sword but the water disoriented him. Andy changed direction, lunged to the side, and stabbed Riptide straight down into the water, sending the point through the god's heel.

The roar that followed made Hades' earthquake look like a minor event.

The expression on his face was beyond hatred. It was pain, shock, complete disbelief that he'd been wounded. He limped toward Andy, cursing, but something stopped him. He lowered his sword.

"You have made an enemy, godling," he told her. "You have sealed your fate. Every time you raise your blade in battle, every time you hope for success, you will feel my curse. Beware, Andromeda Jackson." His body began to glow.

"Andy, don't look!" Anthony shouted. Andy turned the moment the god revealed his true immortal form.

The light died. He was gone, but the Furies were there.

"We've watched the whole thing," hissed Mrs. Dodds.

"Return this to Hades," Andy said throwing the helmet at her. Mrs. Dodds hesitated, then disappeared.

Then Grover and Anthony were there beside her, watching her in amazement.

"Andy..." Grover said. "That was so incredibly..."

"Awesome."

"So awesome," Grover agreed.

But Andy didn't feel awesome. She just felt empty. Exhausted. There was nothing left.

"We have to go back to New York. Tonight."

"That's impossible," Anthony said. "Unless we—"

"Fly, yes."

Anthony stared at her. "Chiron warned you not to. Zeus will strike you out of the sky and—"

"No, he won't. Because he wants this back, doesn't he?" Andy pointed at the backpack and smiled.

#andromeda #fem percy jackson #dfcrosas #fanfic #genderbend #andromeda jackson #storm at sea #child of land and sea #andony

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currentlylurking · 7 years ago

Note

Character Development Questions Hard Mode 1-45 for Infinite?

holy fucking shit

Anon I love you you’re my good bud LET’S DO THIS

I assume you mean SOS Text / Future!Infinite so minor spoilers

1. Does your character have siblings orfamily members in their age group? Which one are they closest with?

He’s not close to his blood relatives, but he has a group of people he works with. They consider themselves a family, and are all physically in their 20s. Out of all of them, he’s arguably the closest to his boss, Hafia. She gets the most nicknames.

2. What is/was your character’srelationship with their mother like?

He’s been told that he loved her very much and would do anything for her.

3. What is/was your character’srelationship with their father like?

He’s been told that he loved him very much and that he learned so much from him.

4. Has your character ever witnessedsomething that fundamentally changed them? If so, does anyone else know?

He’s only like ~20 years into his timeline during SOS Text, so not yet lmao.

(Years down the road, he’ll watch the Observants remove a ghost’s core and vow to do whatever it takes to make sure that doesn’t happen to him- already established events in his timeline be damned)

5. On an average day, what can be foundin your character’s pockets?

well

A shitton of yarn. He doesn’t know where it’s coming from, but lord almighty it’s everywhere.

several rolls of leopard print duct tape.

like, 3 boxes worth of fun-sized snickers

Sharpies in various colours, but quite a few black ones

some cool looking rocks - one’s shaped vaguely like the outline of a cat!

a bag of Honey Nut Cheerios, long since smashed to pieces

business cards with his name written in English, Esperanto, German, Modern Ghost, and Ancient Ghost that proclaim him to be a ‘world-class piece of shit’

paper airplanes, in various stages of completion

the plug and cord from an old toaster (the rest wouldn’t fit)

like, 7 decks of playing cards

Polaroids of his best friend doing stupid shit- ie, that time he got frustrated while trying to build a house of cards and brought out the super glue

ribbons, tied in various knots

a set of lock picks

a hamster ball for his pet mouse Finnegan R. Cheddar

Occasionally, Finnegan R. Cheddar

various attempts to use the yarn to make beanies, all of them bad

a book of card tricks

the ‘Bees?’ card from a Cards Against Humanity game

A plastic egg

Various items he has pickpocketed from people - photos, wallets, keys

packages of hot chocolate with little tiny marshmallows

stupid trinkets he’s made from wire, most of them bad

Polaroids of cute dogs

a list of every Observant name he knows and a shitty nickname for each of them

free-range glitter, which sticks to almost everything (it’s also eatable, mostly)

Various pieces of nicely made bread

a keychain with a volcano on it that ‘erupts’ when you press a button

a cellphone in kind of shitty condition with cool apps and pretty impressive highscore on flappy bird

And finally;

a much, much older iPhone with a severely cracked screen and an adapter that allows it to charge itself with ambient ectoplasm. He doesn’t know the password, and the lockscreen’s background is a giant middle finger.

6. Does your character have recurringthemes in their dreams?

A lot of his dreams involve either fog or a game of tug-of-war. Also bread, but that’s just because he really likes bread lmao

7. Does your character have recurringthemes in their nightmares?

Rejection. He’s terrified of what will happen when nobody wants him anymore.

(Later, he’ll see what the Observants are capable of- and on bad nights he’ll lose his friends and family by their hands over and over again)

8. Has your character ever fired a gun?If so, what was their first target?

Yep, it was an ectogun aimed at a ghost- really, when his story takes place in the world of Danny Phantom, what else would it be?

(Later, he’ll learn to use a real gun, and will hate every second it’s in his hand)

9. Is your character’s currentsocioeconomic status different than it was when they were growing up?

Currently, he’s much better off than he was when he was growing up. Which is funny, considering that he’s dead.

10.Does your character feel morecomfortable with more clothing, or with less clothing?

More clothing; he LOVES turtlenecks, but has been told that they ‘make him look like an absolute fucking nerd.’

11.In what situation was your characterthe most afraid they’ve ever been?

The first time Infinite entered the human realm, he found himself in a ruined Timeline where he was nearly killed by people who said they knew him. Hafia rescued him, and healed him up, but refused to explain. Infinite had to find answers for himself, and those answers horrified him.

12.In what situation was your characterthe most calm they’ve ever been?

The first time he met the Observants, his family quietly panicked. Infinite, however, offered his right hand for a shake and introduced himself.

He was wearing a hand buzzer.

The Observants automatically started looking for an excuse to murder him.

13.Is your character bothered by thesight of blood? If so, in what way?

His family was worried he would be, but he’s not particularly. He’s wary of it, though; human blood severely burns ghosts like him.

14.Does your character remember names orfaces easier?

Mostly faces, since he has a tendency to give people shitty nicknames.

15.Is your character preoccupied withmoney or material possession? Why or why not?

Not really. Hafia or his honourary sister, Tempest, could easily get him whatever material thing he desired, and they also have a room filled with various currencies from the past ~300 years. material things aren’t really a concern for Infinite.

16.Which does your character idealizemost: happiness or success?

Success. He’s convinced that as long as he can succeed, he’ll be happy. They world just likes to make that difficult for him.

17.What was your character’s favoritetoy as a child?

He’s been told it was a build-a-bear dog dressed a shirt covered with pumpkins.

18.Is your character more likely toadmire wisdom, or ambition in others?

Ambition, definitely. He’s more interested in people who are out there getting what they want; they’re usually more interesting, anyway.

19.What is your character’s biggestrelationship flaw? Has this flaw destroyed relationships for them before?

It’s a good thing this question says ‘biggest’ because Infinite Hour is SHIT at interacting with people and I could write a short essay on that fact alone.

He likes to test the boundaries; he insults, annoys, and otherwise harasses the people he meets until they snap at him. And he does this constantly, because a lot of people he knows refuse to snap at him. To Infinite, that’s just infuriating- so when he does eventually meet people he can push to their breaking point, well, he likes to have fun with it.

He’s ruined a lot of relationships like this, but for the most part he never saw the people he’d hurt again anyways.

(‘most part,’ I saw, as Clockwork, Pariah, the Observants, and half the cast of SOS Text glare at Infinite from a distance)

20.In what ways does your charactercompare themselves to others? Do they do this for the sake of self-validation,or self-criticism?

At the current point in his timeline, Infinite doesn’t really compare himself to others- the times that he does, it’s accompanied by a scoff and a reference to how he could do it so much better

21.If something tragic or negativehappens to your character, do they believe they may have caused or deserved it,or are they quick to blame others?

Most of the time something bad happens, he doesn’t care until it directly effects him. Then, it’s self-blame all the way.

(Later, he’ll get better at not caring, and passing the blame onto other people and even convincing them that he’s innocent. But the little voice in the back of his mind reminding him that he did this will never fully stop)

22.What does your character like inother people?

He likes people who are upfront and truthful, who are strong make an effort to go after their goals. People who don’t just sit by, who speak their mind, have a good sense of humor, and are smart. But mainly, he likes people who like him for who he is, not for what they’re heard.

23.What does your character dislike inother people?

Stupidity, whether that’s people who are stupidly brave or just not as smart as Infinite ‘over complicated is just another word for smart’ Hour. People who suck up and bend over backwards to be accepted by everyone, or who don’t know when to give up or make excuses for their inaction. But most importantly, he dislikes people who act like he’s a big deal- but only because of one story he’s heard, over and over, where’s he painted as a saint and sacrifices himself for a reason that has never once made sense to him.

24.How quick is your character to trustsomeone else?

Depends on the situation and what he knows about him. The first time he met Clockwork, Infinite had heard hundreds of stories about how amazing he was and was practically in love. Clockwork wanted nothing to do with him.

(Later, he’ll bounce across the multiverse, and assume that if he could trust someone in one world he can trust them in the next. He will be wrong, and pay for it.)

25.How quick is your character tosuspect someone else? Does this change if they are close with that person?

If all the signs point to them, he’ll put it together pretty quickly. If experience has shown that they’re not someone he should trust, he’ll be more willing to challenge them about it. Otherwise, and especially if he’s close to them, he’ll keep any suspicions locked away in the back of his mind.

26.How does your character behave aroundchildren?

He doesn’t particularly interact with children, but he finds them amusing. He’ll go along with their games, for the most part. However, if it’s a child version of his family or friends, he puts his best foot forwards. If it’s a child version of his boss (who he’s encountered numerous times), he’ll act like the perfect person and tell her to ‘remember that for later.’

27.How does your character normally dealwith confrontation?

By running the fuck away lmao.

Infinite can fight if he needs to, sure- but if it isn’t something he can handle easily, he is gone.

28.How quick or slow is your characterto resort to physical violence in a confrontation?

If he doesn’t have a choice, he’ll fight, but he normally keeps his distance. He’ll stick to stuff he can shoot or throw, and stall for time until someone else can come up with a plan.

29.What did your character dream ofbeing or doing as a child? Did that dream come true?

He’s been told that he really wanted to be an astronaut. He ended up in space once while teleporting about; it gave him a pretty bad headache and Hafia had to come rescue him.

30.What does your character findrepulsive or disgusting?

Most typically gross things. Anything that came out of a human body, anything decomposing, open wounds (bonus points if someone puts something in it), thing like that.

31.Describe a scenario in which yourcharacter feels most comfortable.

trick question; he’s permanently low-key uncomfortable.

He’s traveling through time, and comes across a group of people. He travels with them, they all playfully annoy each other, they share food and stories, they thwart the Observants or some other group with too much power, and they take him to see something amazing. He takes a picture and later retells the tale to his best friend, who replies with a story from before Infinite died. He hears the story about how his past-self embarrassed himself and smiles, knowing that it sounds exactly like something his current self would do.

32.Describe a scenario in which yourcharacter feels most uncomfortable.

Every moment of his afterlife lmao.

He’s in a heavily populated area, dressed up fancily and his hair is down. One member of his family is always nearby to make sure he behaves. People like him, and they let him know. Constantly. They call him a hero, and talk about every good thing he did before he died. He insults them under his breath, but his family makes sure they don’t hear. The Observants are nearby, waiting for him to make a mistake that they can use. Someone insults his best friend, and he has no choice but to smile and nod.

33.In the face of criticism, is yourcharacter defensive, self-deprecating, or willing to improve?

Defensive. He takes criticism as a personal attack, and gets upset with that.

If it’s criticism about how much of an ass he is, however, he doesn’t care for the most part. He’s enjoying himself, isn’t that what’s really important?

34.Is your character more likely to keeptrying a solution/method that didn’t work the first time, or immediately moveon to a different solution/method?

He’ll stick to one method until he knows for certain it isn’t working.

35.How does your character behave aroundpeople they like?

With his friends and family, there’s a lot of playful insults and stupid jokes. He makes a lot of puns. He’ll tell stories, give them nicknames, take pictures when they’re not looking, and listen to what they have to stay. He’ll push their boundaries, but will never cross the line.

With random people he happens to meet and be interested by, there’s still a lot of teasing and bad jokes. But he’ll show off his powers and skills, and talk a lot about practically nothing. He’ll play up the parts of himself he thinks they’d like, and toes the line whenever he can to see what’ll make them snap.

36.How does your character behave aroundpeople they dislike?

When around people he dislikes (particularly the Observants) he will let them know. He doesn’t take anything they say or do seriously, and mocks them constantly. He undermines any authority they have, and constantly annoys them in small ways (ie, moving everything of the Observants’ he could get his hands on a couple inches to the left after threatening to move it to the right). He’ll also casually steal from them.

37.Is your character more concerned withdefending their honor, or protecting their status?

Tough call. When you’re bouncing around a world and constantly meeting people you don’t know, status loses it’s meaning. But Infinite’s not super honorable; he’ll try to protect his image, sure, but when the going gets tough he gets going.

He has a reputation of being this insanely powerful and confusing being, though, and he does do his best to keep that in place.

38.Is your character more likely toremove a problem/threat, or remove themselves from a problem/threat?

Remove himself lmao. Infinite encounters a serious problem and you’ll have to give him five good reasons why he shouldn’t just peace out.

(‘people you genuinely like are involved but won’t like you if you don’t act’ and ‘according to what we know about this point in time you do this’ are both worth all 5 slots)

39.Has your character ever been bittenby an animal? How were they affected (or unaffected)?

He’s been bitten by a dog before, but that didn’t stop him from petting it. In his defense, it was a very fluffy puppy.

40.How does your character treat peoplein service jobs?

He’s perfectly kind to them. If he’s going to be mean to them, he’ll do it because of their personality, not their job. He has standards.

41.Does your character feel that theydeserve to have what they want, whether it be material or abstract, or do theyfeel they must earn it first?

Oh, he deserves it. He deserves to live, to see the world’s coolest shit, and for people to like him for who he is now. If you say otherwise, he doesn’t like you.

42.Has your character ever had aparental figure who was not related to them?

His family is more or less stuck in the ‘siblings’ zone, and nobody gets more than ‘severe mom friend’ parental.

43.Has your character ever had adependent figure who was not related to them?

Nope. He’d be such a bad influence, could you imagine?

(Later, his family will expand as they take in a pair of teenagers- one of which who has the same powers as him. And he’ll try, he really will, but in the end the others will serve as guardians far better than he ever could)

(But even later, as he travels the multiverse, he’ll find people over and over who look up to him. People who depend on him. People who love him. And he’ll be terrified, but he’ll fight for them)

44.How easy or difficult is it for yourcharacter to say “I love you?” Can they say it without meaning it?

what’s this? Infinite ‘constantly fucks with people’ Hour, saying I love you insincerely? Ridiculous. Impossible. He would never.

Infinite isn’t exactly someone who uses the word ‘love’ while talking to other people. If it’s about an object, or a really nice cup of coffee, he’ll tell the world that he loves it. But his friends? His family? He’d only say he loved them if they were about to die, and all he could do was run.

45.What does your character believe willhappen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them?

He thinks nothing happens after the death of a ghost, and there isn’t a single thing in the world that terrifies him more than that.

#Danny Phantom #S.O.S. Text #Lurking's OC Army #Thank you Anon! <3 this was fun!!#currently talking #Anonymous

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oistrong · 6 years ago

Text

Depressing Post: My thoughts on Suicide Lately.

DISCLAIMER

First let me say I in no way endorse suicide. However I will not judge someone for struggling with depression, or suicidal tendencies, or ideation. As I do myself.

During recent rough times in my life, or "dark times in the kingdom" as I like to refer to them. It occurs to me that Suicide in the disabled community is not a topic that is discussed much. Although suicide, depression and death is a topic most try to reframe from speaking of in general. I do notice it is talked about more frequently in other communities. Teens and young adults, war veterans, the gay community, the list goes on. And although they are all validated in being talked about I wonder why I've never seen any articles on depression and the suicide rate in the disabled and handicap community in books, news or social media.

I myself have had several different personal accounts with suicide. Both having a family member being a victim of it. And several attempts myself. So I've been on both ends. I personally think more people should stop calling it selfish and try to understand it. I think we've done somewhat better at trying to understand how the mind works when it comes to depression and things like suicide and hopefully we've had more compassion to trying to pull people out of that darkness other than telling them cheer up or build a thicker skin. But even with all the research I don't think many people Understand the depression someone with a disability goes through and why they might contemplate suicide. So here's why I do. As taboo as it may be to talk about.. Maybe it will help people to better understand others who do.

For one, people who may be disabled sometimes have a bigger personality where their physical attributes lack. So it can be hard to see past that to the depressing side. I know I myself try to use it as a guard. And the times that I don't I'm accused of being passive aggressive. Saying I'm fine but letting it known that I'm not. So either way its a lose lose situation. So without judgement let me bring you into the dark corners of my mind. I invite you into my dark times of my kingdom. Do remember I said without judgement because keep in mind. Writing is also an outlet for my depression. And at this point I'm looking for anything that helps. Also in hopes that may be I will find someone who can relate, understand or at least educate others.

So here it goes.

Being in your 20s can be a confusing depressing time as it is. Learning to adult on your own. Working out relationships. Taking on the big world. Finding who you are. In my opinion you're supposed to feel a bit lost. But that isn't to say it can't be to much to bare at times. That alone is hard. But eventually those things do get better. You grow up. Learn to tackle life. Get a routine going. Find your purpose, maybe go to school. Maybe get married. Do whatever. If you really think about it, its up to you. As cliché as it sounds it DOES get better. But imagine being in a body that makes it so it CAN'T get better. Being trapped within your own personal prison. Designed so that not only are you developmentally slower at gaining your independence than your peers. But once you just reach the point that your satisfied with. Your body snaps you back to square one. And will do that for the rest of your life. A chronic diagnosis of repeating steps with no progress. While everyone you see is living life before your eyes. As if you're a ghost stuck in an infinite time loop. The only time you don't feel like that lost ghost is when you feel like the alien that doesn't belong. Now imagine the pain of that added with the physical pain of broken bones (or whatever chronic pain) multiple surgeries numerous drugs draining your body with no result. That's only the first part. Imagine barely being able to trust anyone. Because half the people you're around want your medication and the other half treat you like you're addicted. When you just want to live without them. Imagine all the low life addicts that come with someone who gets medication non stop. Imagine being looked at as a personal supplier rather your aware of it or not. Imagine not being able to trust yourself to let the right people in, but you know you have to let someone in. Because everyone needs someone. But you know you need someone more than anyone else. Imagine hating yourself every day because you need someone. Hating yourself because you can't just be dependent on yourself. Imagine fights with friends and significant others even family members one minute over them wanting you to let them in. Then the next over you being to much to care for. Imagine how deeply that hurts even After the apologies when you Trust them to not look at you as "to much" over the way you were born and then they break that trust. Imagine having "professionals" come in and "take care of you" if that's what you can call it. Complete strangers each day come in and help you do day to day activities and still complain about it even when they get paid and half ass their job. Because even to strangers your a burden. Imagine strangers having to see you naked and help you. Be in your home. Imagine how invading that can be. Now imagine people wanting you to be completely ok with that. Imagine every insecurity you have times a thousand. Imagine working out all you want all the diets, make up, even surgeries and never being able to change who you are. All the surgeries in the world couldn't take away my chair. Or make me normal. Imagine knowing as much as people try to say being normal doesn't matter. You know and see that it does. Imagine trying to push that to the back of your mind. Imagine seeing tv commercials, social media adds and everything else include every one to show diversity except someone who looks like you so you feel completely alone everywhere you look you're the only one who is like you. Imagine people seeing your chair and automatically talking to you like your 5 years old or like you're stupid until you start to believe it too. Imagine feeling so small at times it feels like the world can consume you at any moment. And sometimes you want to let it. Imagine people telling you you're such an "inspiration" without ever really knowing the struggles you face. Thinking you wake up ok with everything you go through because you were born that way.

Now imagine all of this... All put together plus normal day to day problems. And knowing there's never any way to fix it. Maybe day to day problems will get better. But none of the things I've listed will get better. I will forever be trapped within this body. Waking up in pain every day to go through all of these battles each day while fighting the war in my head that they create each day until I struggle through pain and insomnia to go to sleep. Also known as Painsomnia. When I do actually get to sleep its the only place I don't hurt. I don't know about all these problems. So is it so crazy that people like me contemplate suicide? Sleeping forever.

I myself am not Christian. But if the Christian and other faiths are right. And we do watch over our loved ones in the past life. How will it be so different than my life now? Watching everyone I know live their life while I'm a ghost sitting by. Only difference now is no one misses me and I'm always in pain and don't sleep much. At least then I would finally sleep and be out of pain. I personally don't believe in going to hell for suicide. I know that's a controversial subject. For one I don't really believe in a hell. I think we either assend to a high realm in the universe and eventually our souls find our ways back depending on our karma after we've found peace. Or we stay roaming earth. Either way feeling nothing, no pain being set free of this body freeing everyone of the burden that is me... sounds like a deal I'd take.

I'm a big Michael Jackson fan. One of the last things he said/requested to his doctor was that he just wanted to sleep. He to struggled from a lot of physical pain. And undoubtedly emotional pain from his past and possibly present life at the time. And all he wanted to do was sleep. To escape. And although I in NO WAY endorse suicide. I can't say I blame him.

So maybe it sounds like complaining. Maybe that's why people don't talk about their problems. Because if they did it would take more than just a 5 minute conversation. Or more than just a talk with a counselor. It would need to be with a loved one. But any thing past five minutes and we feel more like a burden than we already do if we're not immediately feeling better. But these are life long problems. Maybe not every problem is so specific to the person you know. But keep in mind these are problems built up for a while. Be patient when someone confides in you. If you have a disabled friend look past their disability into their mind and see how they see life. Not as an inspiration. But really talk to them. They might need it.

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