#dead end imagine

[fandom-go-round]

Hello. Can I request Scattershot (G1), Hammerstrike (Robots in Disguise), Hot Rod and Dead End (both from Cyberverse) with kind-hearted and open-minded human S/O?

Scattershot:

Scattershot knows that he’s a hot head and a force to reconned with, others know it too. That’s why most people are surprised the two of you are together. You’re polar opposites; you’re always very polite to everyone and go out of your way to help. Scattershot isn’t unhelpful but it defiantly isn’t his first thought going into a situation. He does admire you for it and it’s one of the reasons he started to fall for you in the first place.

You have a habit of humming while you do things and Scattshot loves it. Folding laundry, gardening; whatever it is Scattershot does his best to be there and listen. It’s nice to have something in his life that isn’t fighting and shooting, even if he loves those things too. You’re a breath of fresh air and the thought of you makes him fight twice as hard.

For the rare moments he does want to talk about something serious, you’re there to listen. Scattershot never feels stupid when he talks to you (of course he’s not) but it also helps you’re so willing to learn about other positions. In general, you’re a pacifist and Scattershot likes to smash heads but there’s common ground to be had. He likes talking with you about anything and everything.

Hammerstrike:

Hammerstrike doesn’t like anything on land. Point blank period. At least that’s how he feels about 99% of Earth. You’re the one exception. You’re the prize gem in his collection and he’ll do anything to make you happy. No ask is too large or strange. You would never ask for anything too extravagant but that just makes you more loveable in his eyes. Please ask him to kill for you. Please?

He loves to swim with you, even if you’re not designed for the water. If you don’t know how he’ll hold you close, enjoying the way you cling to him. If you enjoy swimming he’ll ‘race’ you around, laughing and showing off with flips. The best thing to do is just float together, letting the water carry you.

As kind as you are, sometimes he wishes that you’d be firmer. Hammerstrike doesn’t want you taken advantage of and he knows humans and mechs alike can be deceiving. You’ve told him time and time again that people are good but Hammerstrike is too jaded. That doesn’t mean he wants you to stop, oh of course not. But it does mean he watches extra close when you talk to someone new for the first time. No one is going to hurt his little starfish.

Hot Rod:

Hot Rod loves to show off for you. He doesn’t really need an excuse but he feels even better if you’re watching and cheer him on. Other bots will scold him about putting you in danger but he would never do that. Stunts are only for when you’re outside and a safe distance away. If you want to ride with him he’ll speed but not much more than that unless there’s danger. He wants you safe and sound more than anything.

He can get a little jealous of how kind you are to other people, even if he knows that you don’t mean anything by it. He just likes having all of your attention all of the time; like a spoiled cat. Reassure him that he’s your favorite and he’ll calm down. He knows that you love him and it’s easy to see by the way you smile at him.

Hot Rod is a mech who has bad days and most people don’t notice. He’s full of hot air and brushes off attempts of others to ask him what’s wrong. He always caves to you though; get him alone in his hub suite and he’ll tell you everything. Let him curl up in your lap (as much as he can) and pet his helm. You always take such good care of him; he only hopes that he helps you as much as you help him.

Dead End:

He feels really lucky that you’re his significant other, even if he doesn’t think it’s going to last. You’re so sweet and kind and cute, he’s afraid one of the other Decepticons will snatch you right up. He loves to hear that he’s your favorite but please, only in your hub suite. He’d die is you said it in front of Astrotrain. You also give him a talk about not mentioning someone stealing you, it might give them ideas. Dead End agrees and only says those things inside his head now.

Dead End actually really loves planning dates, even if they stress him out. He’s never going to think they’re good enough but he likes putting effort in for you. You always love going on dates and snuggling close to him, he can’t resist making those moments happen. It can be distracting from his duties so they might be secret dates but it shows how much he really cares about you.

The only time he doesn’t automatically run from a fight is if you’re in danger. Normally he would do his best to leave but he would never abandon you. It’s led to a couple of times where he dives into the fray and actually kicks some serious butt. If you gush about how cool he was, he’ll scoff and try to minimize his actions. Dead End secretly loves it if you call him your hero but please only tell him, he does have an image to maintain after all.

[me-beef]

@strangeravatar made a great point

i was gonna focus on the spike-hotboxing-celestia aspect but i got distracted somewhere along the way and i think i forgot what joke i was trying to make

but dont you think its interesting how many guards of the exact same color/body type she's managed to accrue?? i do

ooohh you want to go look at our stickers so bad

[starry-bi-sky]

do yall ever think about bruce/batman!clone danny standing in front of his bathroom mirror after finding out he was a clone and silently tracing his face. The slope of his jaw and point of his chin. The high angle of his cheekbones and the shape of his eyes, the curve of his brow bones and the shape of his nose. The volume of his hair and the way it curls and gets fluffy when it gets too long.

His hair is black the same way a crow's wing is black. His dad's hair is black the same way a black bear's fur is black. His dad's eyes are blue like the ocean is blue. Danny's eyes are blue the same way a glacier is blue.

His dad has a square jaw and straight flat hair, and he tans and gets a face full of freckles when he's out in the sun for too long. Danny burns like a lobster and his face remains untouched. Danny has a sharp jaw and tall cheekbones, and Sam says when he's not smiling there's almost something regal about him. You would never call Jack Fenton "regal" when he's not smiling.

Sam says when he's not smiling he looks scary the same way a stone statue is. Jack Fenton when he's not smiling looks scary the same way that german shepherd staring at you across the street is.

Do you ever think he grew up wondering if he was adopted. Because of course, he has black hair and blue eyes like his dad. But having the same color doesn't make you someone's child.

Or, worse, things he's heard from the other kids and the other parents and even some of his teachers growing up; that he was the product of an affair. And that his dad was just too stupid to notice. And Danny would defend his parents until the day he died, because Jack Fenton wasn't an idiot and Maddie Fenton wasn't a cheater.

But doubt comes in with fickle tongue. his parents swear up and down that he is their child when he asks about either. That Danny just had his grandparents' features, but he was their son and they loved him.

But Danny doesn't look like either of his parents. His mom's eyes are blue like an aquamarine and Jazz's too. And they burn like lobsters in the sun too, but Jazz gets freckles on her face and so does Maddie. And as Danny grows up he doesn't bulk up or get stocky like his dad did, and when he hits puberty he doesn't shoot up like a tree like Jack Fenton did.

He stays small, and they say he's a late bloomer (and he is), or that he just has his mom's height. But he's fast and has good stamina, and some days it feels like he's built entirely different from his family. That the things they went through growing up just didn't apply to him. Jack and Maddie Fenton both had acne and breakouts when they hit puberty, and Jazz inherits it and he's seen the amount of skincare products she keeps on her side of the bathroom.

And then he hits puberty and breaks out maybe once or twice, but his skin stays clear for the most part and the problems and changes his dad went through just don't happen to him.

And the truth is worse than all of the lies.

How horrifying.

[technically-human]

The fastest runner

[mashedmangos]

Ive never thought abt a Duck Survives AU before and now im SOBBING just IMAGINE him reuniting w Kenny in s2

HE WOULD LOVE SARITA RIGHT OFF THE BAT CAN YOU IMAGINE HOW KENNY WOULD FEEL SEEING THEM GET ALONG

My heart cant take it im sending you my therapy bill

Hope this helps cover the cost of therapy

[yore-donatsu]

Some idiot #sketches on Ramattra and D-va bc I like them 😊 (both as silly friends and/or like a ship💜) Before some people start moaning: I love to see our great ommiac in good company and be happy ! 😚

[ontoheartache]

imagine you've just started a brand new job in a new city. your new captain seemed oddly enthusiastic about hiring you and the interview seemed more like an audition for a blind date.

you show up on your first day and notice three of your coworkers staring at you while you change. you introduce yourself and they seem nice, but the tall guy that looks suspiciously similar to your new captain is weirdly tense. you notice that he seems to only be that way towards you. this would be fine — you've experienced worse a hell of a lot farther from home than this — but he's your new partner, this is your job, and you've got a kid at home that is counting on you to make this work. so you try and you try and you try.

you're in an ambulance with your partner, and your patient has a live grenade round in his leg. you think that you should be worried — you might not ever leave this ambulance, after all — but something in the air has shifted. something between you and your partner — buck, his name is buck — is changing as the seconds pass. the round makes its way safely into the box, and the clink of metal hitting metal sounds a lot like pieces clicking into place.

you make it out of the ambulance. buck's looking at you like your face is a sunrise. you tell him he can have your back and you're surprised by how ardently you mean it. his smile is shy, bashful, when he says that maybe you could have his. you realize, slowly and suddenly, that you've just made a friend.

you don't realize until he's standing in front of you, handing you all of the answers in the form of a woman named carla, that you've just found your best friend.

you don't realize until he's standing in front of you, bloody and swaying on his feet at the sight of your son in your arms, that you've just found your son's best friend.

you don't realize until he's standing in front of you, rain soaked with mud-caked hands, that you've just found your life partner.

you don't realize until he's standing in front of you, your blood on his face and in his mouth, that you've just found the love of your life.

instead, you're standing in front of a burning ambulance. buck's eyes are a little too bright, his face softer than it's been the whole time you've known him. his smile comes easy. you look at him in the firelight and something flickers to life inside of your chest. you won't know what it is for a long time. you think, for the first time in a while, that you've got time to figure it out.

[the-mpreg-guy]

really fucking tragic that we saw dean have to live without cas after he died multiple times but cas didn’t go through a widowers arc even once

[aaronsinferno]

“they learn more about each other” “they hit a challenging place” “there is a hurdle.” “Their relationship deepens.”

[kitkat-sans]

I love starbee

do you love starbee too

if yes, kiss me

Edit: they were supposed to be doing a heart pose but i gave up.

[myanmy]

Time - Rick Grimes

I’m obsessed with Rick so much, it’s actually embarrassing.

Summary: You just got to Alexandria and are settling in, however Rick seems to have forgotten he has a girlfriend.

Warnings: None

Word count: 1707

Rick is the leader, Rick is the man who everyone needs help from and when you started dating him you already knew that he was a very busy man. At first it was all perfect, even after long hours of working, eventually he would come to you and you would spend the night together. When he was too tired you would cradle him in your arms and whispers comforting words in his ears, when he wasn’t too tired you two would spend a few hours loving each other, both sweating and pleasuring one another and at the end of it all, shower together while exchanging a few touches here and there. However that slowly started to change, Alexandria was a good place, a perfect place some would say, but to you it wasn’t. 

When you were out there you were forced to stay close to your group for obvious reasons, consequently spending the whole day and night with Rick. You didn’t miss the fear or the need to have to pay attention to every little noise, but you did miss Rick, you missed him a lot. Since a few days Rick has been gone a lot more than usual for a reason that you hadn’t bothered yourself to know. Slowly you started to become tired, tired of all the waiting, tired of the need of affection and while you obviously understood him being busy, you also saw how on the times that he was “free” he was talking to the new people. You had tried talking about it to him and he explained that we needed to blend in, make friends here and you didn’t completely disagree, you just wanted some godforsaken attention.

It was almost 3:00 am when you heard the front door opening, usually you would be asleep at this time, but the worry was just too much, instead you decided to close your eyes and pretend to be asleep. Soon enough you heard the door of the room opening too, you lay with your back to the door, preventing him from seeing your face. You hear the quiet steps he takes and then feel a light kiss on the top of your hair, making you almost feel bad for the plan you’re going to put to action tomorrow. 

You’re not surprised when you wake up to the side of the bed empty, at the same time that you’re angry you’re also hurt. Putting yourself together you leave the house, seeing people walking and smiling, you however didn’t do a very good job at pulling a smile on yours.

“Hey, are you alright?” Carol asks. You were so out of it that you hadn’t even noticed her walking towards you.

“Yeah…” You answered with a lot less certainty that you meant to and Carol had noticed it too, giving you a look that she knew you were lying. “No, I’m not fine.” You started walking with Carol while you explained the situation. She didn’t say a word, only listening to you renting. After walking for a few blocks you see Rick talking with Deanna, he sees you and a smile appears on his face, one that would make you melt you immediately, but you fought against it, instead looking in the other direction, ignoring him completely. 

“Oh, never saw you doing that.” Carol says, having noticed the situation.

“I’m just giving him a taste of his own medicine, let’s see how he likes it when I come home at 03:00 am in the morning.” You answer, telling yourself that you would do it no matter what.

“And where do you plan on staying until then?” She asks, somehow already imagining what you were about to say.

“At your place.” You say, this time putting a big smile on your face, trying to convince her.

“Oh no, no way. While I do love you I do not want to get caught up on this.” She says, crushing your hopes.

“Please.” You beg and she shakes her head. You sigh out of frustration, but ultimately start thinking about the other people in your group and your mind immediately goes to Maggie and Glenn.

“Why don’t you try talking with him? You know Rick, he had this need to always do everything, but he loves you, he’ll listen to you.” She says in a last attempt.

“Trust me I tried, he said he’s just trying to make friends and blend in, but while doing so I’m starting to feel forgotten. I mean, I know Rick would never cheat on me or anything like that, but coming home at 03:00 am? If tonight when I come home that late and he says nothing about it, then I’ll stop, but if as soon as I get there he starts talking shit then he’ll get what’s coming for him.” You vowed and after saying goodbye to Carol you went on with your day, making sure to take a lot longer at your tasks than you normally would, that way you avoided seeing Rick the whole day. Luckily Maggie and Glenn didn’t argue too much or asked a lot of questions when you said you needed to stay at their place until late. They went to sleep while you sat on the couch trying to focus on a book to pass time, but failing ultimately. Eventually you gave up and just laid on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Slowly you felt sleep creeping up on you, but you fought against it. You wanted to make Rick mad, not think that you had died. 

Eventually you saw the clock approaching 03:00 am and you decided that it was time. You left Maggie and Glenn’s house, making sure you closed the door slowly to not make any noise. After walking a bit in the fresh air of the night, you arrived at your house. The lights of the living room were on, letting you know that he was there. Nerves started rising and your heartbeat grew faster as you tried telling yourself to breathe and act like this was totally normal, just like he did.

When you entered the house you saw him with his head down while sitting on the couch. “Hey honey.” You voiced when he looked up at the sound of the door,

“Hey honey, is that what you have to say to me? Where were you?” He asks while standing up before walking closer to you,

“Out, solving some things.” You answered with the same words he had once.

“Do you know what time it is?” 

“Yeah, so?” You say with the most innocent voice possible, acting like you didn’t understand why he was so concerned.

Rick chuckles. “You’re not serious, are you?” 

“I don’t understand why you are so mad, I mean, you come home at this time almost every day. What is wrong with me doing it?”

He scoffs. “So this is what this is about? What type of game are you playing?”

“I’m not playing any game Rick, I just happen to come home late.” You kept on acting confused. 

“I thought-” He starts to yell, but lowers his voice remembering that Carl and Judith were asleep upstairs. “I thought something happened to you.”

“Now you know how I feel every night.” You muttered while walking past him, walking towards the bedroom.

He closes the door after following you into the room. “You know why I get home late.”

“I do and yet it doesn't make it any better. I understand you talking to them and doing whatever you do, but it seems like you just forgot about me. You make time for your children, which you obviously should, but what about me?” You try to fight the tears from coming to your eyes, but fail. Part of you felt childish for feeling this way, but you couldn’t help it. “When I go to sleep you’re not here and when I wake up you’re not here either, when I see you around the day you’re always talking to someone or doing something. The only way I know you even came to bed is the crumpled pillow.”

Rick sighs, running his hand through his hair, his fingers digging into the roots. “I-” He cuts himself off, looking for words. “I’ll try to do better, there’s just so much going on and I just want this to work.”

“I understand that. I want this to work too, but the rate you’re going is not going to Rick. I mean, look at you, you are tired, exhausted even. You’re the first to wake up and the last to go to sleep. You’re destroying yourself and on the way destroying this-” You say, pointing at you two.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” He pressed his hand to his eyes, looking like he was about to fall asleep right there.

“Go take a shower and then come to bed, you need rest.” You suggested and with a nod of his head he went to the bathroom. You had already taken a shower at Maggie’s luckily, so you just changed and lay down on the bed, waiting for him. Your eyes were almost closing when you heard the shower turn off. Rick walks in wearing only his boxers, his expression apologetic. While you had swore to yourself that you’d be a little tougher with him, you couldn't help but feel bad and worried by his lack of sleep. So you extend your arms and part your legs, waiting for him to crawl on top of you and bury his face into your neck like many times and that’s exactly what he does.

“I’m sorry baby.” He whispers into the crook of your neck, his breathing tingly. Instead of answering you bury your face into his still slightly wet hair and kiss him there. “Don’t worry me like that again please, I was so scared.”

“Only if you promise me too.” You answer while caressing his back.

“I promise.” He vows and you do the same. “I love you.”

You wait to hear his breathing slow, knowing that he was almost asleep. “I love you.” You whisper, falling asleep to his calm breathing and the feeling of him in your arms again.

[grimesgirll]

you and daryl are smoking out the window when rick walks in.

"what do you two think you're doin'?"

mid hit, you almost choke at the sight of the sheriff. breathing in deeply to prevent yourself from wheezing, you pass the joint to daryl as cooly as you can after that hit.

daryl grunts. "buzzkill."

"how quick on your feet are you two right now?" rick questions, blue eyes dark and annoyed.

"we're not on watch." you say in a matter-of-fact way.

"no," rick agrees, "you're not. thank god." he runs a hand through his chocolate curls hurriedly.

"glenn's got it," you assure him, offering him a smile at the same time. "you should sit with us. you don't have to have any, drink one of the beers we brought back." you gesture to the full six packs leaning against the wall, branded with the faded logo of the brewery you guys had picked clean the other day while looking for supplies.

"he doesn't know how to relax," daryl tells you with a scowl.

neither do you, you think, but you just frown and shake your head. "rick, c'mon," you croon from your seat by the window.

"yeah, and shut the door," daryl barks.

rick turns and shuts the door lightly. surprisingly, he does what you suggested and picks up a six pack, errantly dropping it by the foot of the loveseat you're cozy on. he takes up the seat next to you, dark stained bottle in hand.

you grin. this is so not how you expected things to go. usually, rick was all pissed off and disappointed about the fact that you guys were getting high of all things. beside you, he twists on the bottle cap. high and focused on his hands, you watch them struggle against the aluminum cap, tensing and unclenching. with a huff, he uses his white t-shirt to grip the bottle again to no avail. the older man looks up from his ordeal to see you absolutely engrossed in him and smirks at you.

he says your name, breaking you out of what your high ass thought was a self-contained act of voyeurism. "wanna try?" he tilts the bottle your way.

you raise an eyebrow. "if you can't get it open, i don't think i can."

rick just smiles at you, like you said something funny. "i don't want you to use your hands, doll. try your teeth." he catches your confused expression. "remember when you did it at the bonfire a few weeks ago?"

suddenly, you recall standing outside around the fire with the group and accepting a request from maggie to open a beer bottle for her with your teeth. you could never say no to her - neither would you pass up the opportunity to hang out with a buzzed maggie for the night. so you showed everyone how to use your chompers to open the bottle. looking back, rick's eyes had never left you as you slipped the neck of the bottle into your mouth to quickly twist the cap off with your teeth. a move you later told carl not to try. you didn't want to be responsible for any dental damage.

you nod and take the bottle from his hands, sitting up in the loveseat. daryl watches, joint in hand, from the other side of the window while you take the bottle into your mouth and the cap at angle just between your molars. you feel two pairs of eyes on you as you struggle for a moment, the cap not coming loose as easily as you'd thought it would. usually, you could just maneuver it a bit for the cap to pop off, but now you're wondering if this cap is just too old, and you consider giving up. that is until suddenly, you angle your teeth just the right way and the cap comes free. it falls into your palm and you wipe the neck of the bottle off with your shirt for rick, just in case any of your spit got on it.

you try to hand the bottle back to him but rick shakes his head. "no," he gestures back to you. "i think after all that, you deserve the first sip."

who are you to say no?

you bring the bottle to your lips and drink, rick's gaze still on you. you consider chugging the entire thing but first of all, that would be rude and second of all, you're not at college anymore. wiping your mouth with the sleeve of your henley, you pass the bottle back to rick who takes a long, ginger sip as you free your hair from your ponytail and settle deeper into the loveseat.

you remember daryl's there when he offers you the halfway done joint. you want to turn it down but suddenly you're craving more. as the skunky smoke fills the air and drains out the window, you start to even crave a beer. you wouldn't mind getting crossed right now; getting a good mix of buzzed and stoned like in your college days back before the world went to shit. it was a nice way to relax, and it wasn't like you were neglecting your responsibilities.

after that hit, you're zoning out more and more. you had set up the cd player with a lynyrd skynyrd album daryl'd found in a record store with you. they weren't your favorite rock artists, but you guys could've been listening to worse bands in the apocalypse after all. you loosely follow the lyrics of one of their songs while daryl finishes off the joint.

"where'd you even get that?" rick asks, breaking the silence.

"you know some places you would get shot for asking that, 'fore all this?" daryl had told you when you'd asked him that.

"house down the road." daryl answers between puffs. "looks like they were tryna' get ahead of that medical shit."

you snicker. the story was true but without seeing those folks, you really didn't know what kind of operation they had going on. the way daryl phrased it though was a nice way to phrase it to a cop. better than we just found it.

"and you'd smoke it without knowing where it came from?" rick inquires, hand wrapped around the dark bottle.

"we know where it came from," you speak up from in between them. "it came from that house's backyard."

he repeats what he asked daryl.

"there could be anthrax in your beer."

that's when you realize you're super high.

rick doesn't have the opportunity to be confused because he's laughing and suddenly you're giggling in his face. he doesn't take it as an accident when you lean forward and fall into his lap on the loveseat. in fact, he takes the opportunity to lift your chin up, saying, "silly girl," and flipping you over to sit on his lap.

"wanna finish my beer, baby?" he offers it to you, holding it up to your lips.

"i don't need it," you reply but your words are cut off when the bottle breaches your lips anyway and you gulp down the drink. beer wasn't your favorite beverage but, in the apocalypse, beggars really couldn't be choosers. he takes the empty bottle from you and sets it on the end table before leaning back up to connect your lips.

you lean into the kiss as he pulls you closer in his lap. the satisfying pressure on your ass from his squeezing has you hazy minded and wishing he would speed up now that you realize what's happening.

then you remember daryl, the one who you'd originally been hanging out with. you hadn't even planned on seeing rick tonight.

you look up from rick towards the auburn-haired man who was ashing the joint out the window. you frown. isn't that what the ash tray on the windowsill is for? you give him a look that says come here and he walks towards the loveseat, sharing a look with rick that has the men positioning you in their favorite way.

you move willingly; they pull you, pliant and eager to please - eager to just do what someone else says and relax. the joint was supposed to help you shut off your brain after a long day but now you can only think about being pressed in between the two pent up men on the loveseat with you. rick has your bottoms off now and is two fingers deep inside of you when you start helping daryl undo his jeans.

"you feelin' ready or do you need more, baby?" your leader asks you, lips bruising your shoulder.

you shake your head. "i don't need any more fingers." you clarify. "wanna feel your big cock inside of me," you blurt out. usually, it takes you a bit to warm up and they're the ones who talk filthy but tonight you're feeling a little less inhibited.

he raises an eyebrow with condescension. "sure you can handle it, doll? last time i thought i broke you."

you snort. "i think the proper word is reset."

you feel a low rumble from rick's chest and he gently lifts your hips to remove his fingers and lower you onto his cock. you whine at the blunt intrusion but the more you grind your hips down into him, the better it feels, especially once you find a good rhythm. you're pretty sure rick's dick is way bigger than it should be but that doesn't stop you from letting him stuff you whenever you two get the chance to sneak away. it was even more rare to find the time for all three of you to be together like this. speaking of, daryl is standing on your side, dick in hand now that it's been freed from the confine of his pants, looking down at you with darkened eyes.

"wanna finish me off, baby?" he mocks and you roll your eyes, opening your mouth for him as rick bucks into you.

he gladly accepts and just like that, you can feel rick smirking as he fucks into you, barely letting you hold on as he drags your hips up and down. he hijacked your smoke session and it ended just the way he wanted. typical.

even more typical when he makes you switch positions so he can finish in your mouth, not taking his eyes off you while daryl lines himself up with your sopping entrance. rick couldn't help but twitch in your mouth watching how you reacted to daryl's cock in your freshly pounded pussy. his face tenses as he nears his orgasm, hands in your soft tousled hair while you take him in your throat so well. he's ready to just let go, he knows you can handle it, after all he knows you can get off more than a bottle cap with your mouth.

[rainebownerd]

You guys he was being so plain because he knew!!!! He knew that if he went all out all the time like Aabriya, we wouldn't survive it

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: before the nightingale sings

---------

for my batdad blood blossom au, the one where Vlad poisoned Danny with blood blossom extract and Danny ran away from him and ended up tumbling into the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman :). A quick oneshot telling the tale of the tragic deaths of the Fentons

TW: Major Character Death Warning

-------

Not all deaths are created equal.

That is a valuable lesson in life to learn. One that Danny learns when he is eleven years old, standing in the pit of his parents’ creation; the culmination of their life’s work. The portal to the other side, the realm of the dead. To the infinite. 

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, in a hazmat suit that sags on him, and boots that clunk when he walks because the only ones that fit are his mom’s, and even those are too big. In gloves that he has to clench his fists in because otherwise they fall off. In goggles that slide down his nose even when he’s tightened them the farthest they can go. 

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, choking on giggles that harmonize with the laughter of his friends’ who stand at the mouth of the tunnel. Sam’s holding a polaroid in her hand. They’re just being kids. 

They’re not laughing when Danny’s hand hits the safety lock — the one with faulty wiring, the only one in the tunnel. The only one he could possibly hit. They’re not laughing when the portal buzzes to life, and the lights inside switch on row by row as the generator begins to rumble and hum. 

They’re not laughing when Danny dies. They’re screaming. They’re not screaming when he comes back.

Not all deaths are created equal.  

Some are poetic, beautiful. The satisfying close of a book as it comes to an end, of the hardback thumping soft against the pages like the sound of a door closing. A train run its course.

Some are violent; unsatisfying; unfair. The unexpected shattering of an egg as it rolls off the countertop when nobody is looking, the unmistakable crack as it falls to the floor. It is abrupt and messy. 

But most are just… unremarkable. Unintentional. Clumsy. 

Danny’s family dies one night in late January. He is thirteen years old, barely a month away from fourteen. It is unforeseen. It is preventable. It happens. 

It happens like this: 

Their water heater breaks one Monday in January. It’s old, sitting in the garage, and has dealt with nearly sixteen years of Fenton-grade chaos and shenanigans. Of parents tossing scraps and junk into the garage as brief storage to come back to later. Of illegal tune-ups on their vehicles that result in something exploding. Of little children running around and knocking things over, playing with poles and sticks they find on the ground, on the shelves. Of being lived and used.  

Something had to give. 

Jack Fenton notices it immediately when he comes upstairs that very afternoon — his children at school, his wife downstairs — to grab something from the garage. The very same scrap and used material they store like squirrels to use later. 

He stops what he’s doing to fix it.  

It wasn’t supposed to be permanent. 

Despite what many believe, Jack Fenton is not the idiot people make him out to be. He knows what he’s good at, he knows what he’s not. He knows he can be passionate and obsessive and single-minded about things. He knows that he is a scientist, an inventor; an engineer. 

He knows that he is not a plumber. That fixing water heaters is not something he knows how to do, not safely. And he loves his family. What he does is only meant to be temporary — a fix meant to only last a few days until they can call someone in who can fix it for them. 

So Jack Fenton futzes with the water heater, gives it a temporary stitch to last a short while, and reminds himself to call a plumber later that day to come in and fix it. He turns and leaves the garage with the part he came for —  a sheet of metal for his wife to melt down — and disappears back downstairs. 

He does not make that call; it slips from his mind. 

It is not his fault. 

One day passes, then two, then suddenly it is Thursday. The water heater has still not been fixed, the water heater has been forgotten. It is nobody’s fault.  

Danny asks his parents at breakfast if he can stay over at Tucker’s house for the night. Just one night. They’re going to study for their math test and then play video games until midnight, but he only tells his parents that first half. 

He’s been doing well in school. Really well — better than he has in a while. There’s been a delightful lull in ghost appearances for the last few weeks. The living don’t know why, but Danny does. The Winter Truce always calms the dead down for a while, something about how the Zone cleanses itself twice a mortal year and that fresh wave of ecto clears out the old and brings in the new. 

This year Danny got to participate. He’s feeling the effects of it too, and he’s been sleeping consistently well for the first time since the accident. 

It’ll never happen again. 

His parents agree under the condition that he doesn’t stay up late, and Danny harmlessly lies through his teeth and agrees. He goes and throws overnight clothes into his school backpack, and when he leaves for school with Jazz his parents are already departed into the lab. 

The last conversation he has with his sister is in her car on the drive to school. Inane, mindless conversation to fill the air and pass the time. Jazz comments on how relaxed he’s been lately; Danny tells her about the Winter Truce. She listens in rapt attention. 

She tells him that she’s glad to see him so well-rested. She thinks her little brother’s been growing up too fast these days. She thinks he’s been too tense. Too caught up with the spinning of the world around him that he forgets about himself sometimes. 

When they reach school, before Danny can get out of the car, Jazz looks to her little brother and says; “I love you.” 

Her little brother’s cheeks turn an embarrassed shade of red. He makes a scrunched up, grossed-out face, but can’t hide the smile pulling across it. “Don’t be a sap, Jazz. I’ll see you later.” He tells her, yanking his hood up over his head. She hears the bashful, ‘love you too’ before he walks away. 

That is the last conversation she ever has with her brother. 

Thursday is unremarkable, passing by in its normality as it always does. There’s one, maybe two ghost sightings; shades lurking around in curious infancy that are easily spooked away by the presence of a greater being. Danny doesn’t even have to go ghost. 

Thursday evening is even less so. Danny goes to Tucker’s house — Sam has a prior arrangement with her slam poetry club — and the two of them study for an hour before they toss their textbooks aside and reach for the game console. 

Danny sleeps in Tucker’s room with one of the extra blankets on his bed, curled across the room in one of the bean bag chairs. It shouldn’t be comfortable, but to Danny it is. He sleeps throughout the night, the portal shut down by his parents before they’d gone to bed. 

Early Friday morning, before the sun has even risen yet, before it’s even so much as a concept to grace the horizon, the water heater breaks again. It was supposed to be fixed. 

Carbon monoxide is a silent killer. Odorless and scentless, it kills within minutes. It fills the house like a shadow casting over the ground, creeping into the rooms. 

Danny’s family die in their sleep; painless and unaware. 

It’s not Jack Fenton’s fault. He didn’t mean to.  

Nobody wakes up with their alarms. 

Danny wakes up to Tucker Foley’s alarm on Friday morning, and he turns his head intangible and shoves it into the beanbag chair like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand. Tucker gets up before him, and throws a pillow at him as he reaches for the alarm. 

There’s laughter, messing around. The both of them get dressed, and Danny has breakfast with the Foleys that morning. He takes the bus to school with Tucker, and they meet Sam by their lockers. 

To him, everything is as normal as it should be. There are no ghosts for him to fight right now, school is as school does, and he’s on top of all his schoolwork. 

He does not see Jazz at all that morning, he doesn’t notice. Their schedules are so different, their routes on different paths, that it’s not uncommon for Danny to not see Jazz until he gets home some days. That’s if there’s no ghost attacks. 

At lunch, he gets approached by her friends. Worried creases between their brows, they ask him if he’s seen Jazz. She hasn’t shown up to any of her classes. She’s not answering their texts. It’s unprecedented of her; unheard of. 

Danny doesn’t admit to the concern that swells in his gut when they tell him this. He shrugs at them, and says he hasn’t seen her either. But it was probably nothing to worry about; she might just be sick and sleeping it off. 

He offers to text her and let them know if he gets a response, and that seems to ease her friends enough that they shuffle away in uncertainty. He keeps his word, and does exactly that. He pulls out his phone and opens her contact, and shoots her a message.

‘Where are you?’ 

He doesn’t get a response back, Danny is left on sent. He puts his phone in his pocket, and with a sense of unease creeping in the back of his mind, goes on with his day. He gets no response by the time the final bell rings; and he tries not to be worried. 

The house is quiet when he opens the door. Unusually quiet. He drops his backpack to the floor, it lands with a hearty thunk, and begins to take off his jacket. “Mom! Dad!” He yells. He hangs it up, and slips his shoes from his feet. “Jazz skipped school today!”

A laughable untruth that would get his sister all riled up normally; she should be able to hear him from the front door if she was in her room. The house just stays dead silent. 

He can’t even hear the usual banging and crashing from the lab. His unease returns. He reaches for the intercom that leads directly down to the basement, and presses the button to turn it on. A burst of static, and then he speaks;

“Mom? Dad?” 

Danny lets go, and waits for a response. He gets none back. That never happens, not when the house is this quiet. Not when he knows they should’ve heard him. 

Something sickly and fearful borns in the pit of his stomach, and begins to snake upward. He heads for the lab. The cool metal of the door is familiar in the grooves of his hand, and he doesn’t even need to think about the code as he punches it in;  he simply lets muscle memory guide him. It’s been the same since he was little. 

The door hisses as the pressure is released, and he swings the door open. He takes the stairs down two at a time. Something is wrong. His parents aren’t answering him. His feet pound against the metal. 

“Mom? Dad?” He calls again, more worried, more frantic. More scared. His voice echoes down the stairwell, and he reaches the bottom before it’s fully faded. The lab is empty. The portal is still shut down. 

It was four in the afternoon, they should still be down here. 

Danny races back upstairs, fear-raised nausea coiling in his throat. “This isn’t funny you guys!” He yells when he reaches the top, shoving open the door with more force than necessary. His head swims, his voice cracked. 

He checks the garage, the car is still there. 

“Mom!? Dad!” His voice bellows out throughout the first floor, loud enough that it bounces back at him and rings against his ears. He’s never raised his voice this much — mom would scold him if she heard him. But she doesn’t show up. “Jazmine!” 

Finally, he goes upstairs, and he can’t tell if what he’s feeling is anger or terror. Something is very, very wrong. 

He swings the door of his parents’ rooms open first, and there they are, with the lights still off and the curtains still drawn. As if they hadn’t left their bed all day. Some of Danny’s fear lifts from his shoulders just by the sight of them, but he’s still trembling. Something is still wrong — the room smells… off. Not good, not bad. Just… off. 

He swallows dryly, his throat still thick, and steps into the room. “Mom, dad?” They do not stir. “Didn’t you guys hear me yelling?” 

There is only room static. Danny’s heart shrivels in his chest with a tenfold return of terror, he feels ill. He remembers, just now, that they’re not heavy sleepers, and his dad should be snoring like a freight house. 

Danny reaches their bedside in seconds, hand outstretching for the covers, “Momma? Dad?”

Not all deaths are created equal. 

But many of them are accidental. Unmeditated. Shocking.

Danny Fenton finds his family dead in his childhood home. He runs to his neighbors in hysterics, inconsolable, in tears. Nine-one-one is called, but there is nothing that can be done. They were dead for hours by the time Daniel Fenton returned home. 

He sits on the front steps of the neighbor’s house beside FentonWorks, his jeans slowly becoming wet from the snow that was unable to be scraped off, and watches the paramedics cart out his family beneath white sheets. There are police cars blocking off the street, yellow tape blocking off his house, red-blue lights lighting up the block, an ambulance on the scene. He is wrapped in a shock blanket, and he is missing his jacket and his shoes. His tears are freezing onto his face, he can’t feel the chill. 

Not all deaths are created equal

But all of them are unforgettable. 

[telanadasvhenan]

Slaps my lavellan this bad boy can fit so many abandonment issues

edit: uploaded the right picture lol

[vaguely-concerned]

I have so many thoughts I (ironically) can't put into words yet about the use of heightened and ritualized poetic language and phrases in connection to magic in Nevarra (or possibly within the mourn watch?). they don't default to an ancient language for it like tevinter predictably seem to, and while they do have a whole scholarly language for the academic side of it -- when they're actually casting it and interacting with the dead, they speak in common but through poetry and metaphor in ways we haven't seen any other culture do. maybe the avvar, as the closest, just in a different literary tradition. they speak to the dead, but in a living language. ingellvar rook gets a bit defensive and even reproachful during emmrich's recruitment quest when the other companion makes some sort of comment to question it. 'it's watcher tradition! >:('

'Open your hearts to the final day, companion of all the ages'. even a rook who doesn't take the almost religious element of the role of watcher as seriously knows that one by heart no matter what you make them say during walking the graves. when myrna in so many words says that the necropolis is still rook's home, the way they agree with her is simply to quote 'A home in life, a berth in death...' and her smoothly finishing the thought with 'a house of many mansions'. there are several times with emmrich where rook answers something he says just by quoting from some watcher text they both clearly know well. (if you do this to weasel out of answering when he asks if you're afraid of dying, he is understandably peeved you're quoting watcher 101 stuff at him, and rook clearly knows exactly what they're doing.) this shared base of literature -- and more than that a kind of oral tradition, it sounds like? it's just What You Say when you do certain things, do you think half of this is even written down anywhere? this shared inheritance of language making for a feeling of belonging and continuity is beautiful and moving in a way but also. a bit cold and distant, all mind and no body connection. which I feel might be a running theme around the necropolis haha they mainly seem to have interest in bodies once life has vacated them, they don't give that much thought to what makes it feel good to be in one while you're here. we can only imagine the psychological effects of growing up a crypt baby in this particular cultural milieu.

you know what it reminds me of a little bit in places, actually? the way the qun uses language and set phrases to convey layers of meaning. the qunari are an oddly poetic bunch. and I think there's also something here about like... cultures whose religious side are more about philosophy and the language used than an idea of the divine as such. yeah nevarra is technically andrastian, at least on the surface, probably largely for reasons of 'ugh it would be SO inconvenient to have an exalted march called on us :/ some of us have real shit to get on with you know this body isn't going to mummify itself. sure tell orlais we'll join their dumb club or whatever'. but within and beneath that the syncretism with and survival of much older traditions are still so obviously (and double ironically!) alive. how much does your average watcher believe in god, and how much and how immediately do they believe in the grand necropolis, and in their duty to what has been, what is and what will come after them -- the quest for knowledge? memento mori ass culture to the point of absent-mindedly forgetting about everything else including god (affectionate). maybe the maker exists, but he's just not that relevant down here. he may take the souls, but we still tend the graves. render unto the chantry what's the chantry's, and unto the watcher what is theirs!!! really is the whole thing huh