#feels a little rushed… (_ _;)

[inkskinned]

there are a lot of posts out there that are positive and healthy coping mechanisms for handling the holidays. this is not one of them :)

i think there's like. going to be times in your life you will be stuck in a social situation that you cannot escape from gracefully. i do not know why the internet doesn't believe these times exist. it's not always just that your physical safety is at risk - sometimes it's legit like "i just don't currently have the energy or time to put in the effort of responding to this." sometimes it's a coworker you hate so much. sometimes it's just like, fine, you know? like you know you can handle your aunt when she's cheerily horrible, but if you actually set a boundary around her, it's going to be weeks of fallout with your father.

i don't know why people think the answer is always just "cut them out!" or "don't let them get away with that!" because ... the real world is tricky and complicated. i think kind of a lot of us have an internal "radiation poisoning" meter for certain people. like - i'm talking about the ones who are absolutely giving you gradual ick damage. like, you can handle them, but you'll be exhausted.

and yes. you absolutely should listen to your therapist and the good posts about handling others and set good boundaries and take care of yourself. prioritize peace.

HOWEVER :) ...... since im often in a situation with a Gradual Sense of Ick person i cannot just "cut out" of my life (without losing someone else precious to me) - i have sort of developed the most. maladaptive form of mischief possible. because like, if i'm going to have to listen to this shit again, i like to have a little bit of private fun with it.

now! again, i am physically safe, just mentally drained by this man. you should only do this with people you are not in danger with. which leads me to my suggestions for when your Unfortunate Acquaintance shows up and says oh everyone pay attention to me.

my favorite word is "maybe!" said as brightly and happily as possible. whenever the Horrible Person starts in on a topic you do not want to go further with, particularly if they make a claim that you know to be inaccurate, do not respond to it. you and i have both tried to actually argue with this person, and it hasn't gone well, because this person just wants the drama of an argument. however, "maybe!" gives them literally nothing to go on. it is incredibly disarming. they are used to people having some response. they know they can't prove what they're saying, and maybe! treats them like the child they are. it dismisses them in the politest way possible.

i like to say maybe! and then, in their stunned silence, immediately change the subject. this is because i have adhd and i will have something unrelated to talk about, but if you can't think of topics fast enough, i recommend just pointing to something and saying, "isn't that lovely?" because fuck you let's bring in some positivity.

by the way. that second trick - of pointing to something and stating an opinion about it? - that just works on its own, like, 70% of the time. i picked it up from teaching preschoolers. it's an intentional "redirect". it stops children crying and it also stops grown adults from finishing their explanation on why women belong in kitchens. dual wielding!

keep it silly for yourself. i absolutely do not care if people think i'm fucking stupid (it's more fun if they do) and as a result i will purposefully misunderstand things just to see how long it takes them to realize i've completely removed them from the subject at hand. when they say "women aren't funny" i get to be like. "which women." "all women." "all women in america?" "no in the world." "like the mole people? the people in the world?" "what? no. like, alive." "oh are we not counting the mole people?" "what the fuck are you talking about." "you don't believe in the mole people?"

similarly, i play a personal game called "one up me." my Evil Acquaintance literally knows this game exists (my family & friends caught onto it and now also play it) and it always fucking gets him. i don't know why. you have to be willing to be a little free-spirited on this one, though. the trick is that when they make one of those horrible little bigoted or annoying comments they are always making, you need to go one unit weirder. not more intense, mind you - just more weird. "you don't look good in that dress." "yeah, actually, my other dress was covered in squid ink due to a mishap at the soup store." "you shouldn't wear such revealing clothes." "wait, what? oh shit. sorry, your son tears off strips when no one is looking and eats them. i swear it was longer before we left the building."

the point of "one up me" is to completely upend this person's narrative. we both know this person likes setting up situations where you cannot "win" and then they really like telling other people how badly you handled it. in a usual situation, if you respond "please don't say something that rude", you're a bitch. but if you let it happen, you're letting yourself be debased. they are not usually expecting door number three: unflappably odd. because what are they going to say when they're telling everyone how badly you behaved? "she said my son eats her dresses" ".... okay?"

if you can, form an allyship with someone whomst you can tagteam with. where they can pick up on your weird "soup store" story and run with it.

the following phrase is amazing and can be deployed for any situation: "oh, be nice :) it's the holidays!" i do not know why this works as often as it does. i'll say it for the most random shit. i think this is bc most of the time these people know they're being impolite, they just like to fight.

godbless. when in doubt, remember that you could always start stealing their pens.

the whole point of this is - if you can't escape. maybe see how long you can just be. like. a horrible little menace.

[killakalx]

17+ content, blank blogs dnf

jealous bsf!dick grayson but atp y’all are fwb. orgasm denial (both of y’all get off dw), begging, maybe manipulation on reader’s part? if you squint??, mild marking kink, poorly proofread

if you manage to make your best friend jealous? he's plotting to deprive you of your orgasm the next time you run to him. i swear it. balls deep, legs folded to your chest, clutching your face so hard your cheeks squish and make you sound all dumb on his cock when you beg. “aw, was he makin you beg like this too? did he have you crying on his cock?” and the thrusts get agonizingly slow, agonizingly deep, just to see how far he can make your eyes roll.

every time your breath hitches and the only sounds you can make are those silent whimpers while your pussy flutters around his cock, he’s burying himself inside you and simply grinding. just enough to keep you on edge. no where near enough to let you fall over the edge. he’ll edge himself if it means turning you into a pathetic and whimpering mess, bucking your hips against the force of his holding you down, but he’s not giving you the pleasure you visit him for until he sees tears swelling under those pretty lashes.

“I should leave you just like this,” he’s contemplating, though he doesn’t really mean it. the petty in him wants to get back at you, make you get a taste of what you’d go through without him, but it’s an empty threat. “‘s that what you want? just use you to get off and send you to what’s-his-name for that O you want so bad?”

when your whimpering gains a bit of coherency, letting him make out the sorry’s and please’s that tumble from your lips, he’s back to the first pace. right back to square one, groaning against your neck before slapping your cheeks a few times, encouraging you to keep eye contact. “yeah, what’s his name, baby? who’re you running to every time you need this cunt fucked right?”

“‘s you, dick,” you weakly nod in his grasp, gasping when he reinforces the grip around your jaw. “you fuck me so good, dick, please. god- please, dick. ‘m sorry...” dick groans and pushes your face away, as if retreating to the crook of your neck once he’s fucked the apology out of you.

“that’s right,” he emphasizes with a fake tone of realization, sloppy open-mouthed kisses littering your collarbone. you can tell he wants to mark you up, teeth grazing your skin and almost nipping at you like a puppy— and you’re closer than you’ve ever been this whole night, so it’s not slipping away again.

“‘m sorry, dick,” you whine into his ear again, long nails scratching the hair above his neck and holding on to the mess of raven black. “he won’t touch me again, promise.” you’re so desperate that you swear to him he’s the only one to make you feel like this, and the fact that it’s the truth is obvious to both of you, as sex dazed as you both are. his resolve falters when you tighten around his cock, and you figure that the low whine you draw out is a result of your words.

“mark me up,” you babble when the coil in your tummy comes back, “you can let them know. fill me up, let them know ‘m yours, dickie, please-“

and right now, dick wants nothing more than to do just that.

“shh- shit,” he groans in defeat, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass and hip. his cock twitches inside you as he huffs, “y’know I can’t- I can’t do that, doll.”

“you can-“ you cry, rolling your hips to get him impossibly deeper inside you as you moan. “‘m on the pill, dick. i want it.”

truthfully, you’re certain this is a bad idea in the long run, but in a moment of desperation and no immediate threat of your life falling apart, it doesn’t matter.

his free hand opts for covering your mouth instead of holding your jaw, muffling the temptations of your tongue to keep his sanity. needless to say, you’ve convinced him, given the pretty bruises bloom along your collarbone and chest before he could even make the conscious decision to do so. all he needed was that last bit to finally give you that blissful pleasure you’d chased for what feels like five hours.

the scene’s overwhelmingly intimate when he rides out your high with you, long and intense as you cling to his entire body. and he’s no better; he’s worse, if anything. his hand pulls you closer by the small of your back, deep moans filling your ears between words of him scolding you and that damned mouth as he fills you to the brim with his cock and cum.

“goddamn you,” he grunts, though he isn’t particularly upset. there’s plenty of questions he has now that his head is clear; most notably whether or not you two are still friends. he decides leaves it in the back of his head once he sees your lashes flutter from exhaustion, though. “do I need to pick something up?”

still dazed and out of breath, your laugh is barely audible, simply shaking your head and letting your head fall back into pillows. “I told you I’m on the pill.” he hums in realization that the fact was lost in the heat of it all, muttering a fake apology for the hickeys and going out of his way to ignore the way he leaks out of your puffy folds when he pulls out. ❧

[aychama]

You guys know how it’s said that cats purr heals? Yea…

[qalrey]

my fluttershy redesign x3

[ewwww-what]

Nobody is as excited about the preview as I am. I have paragraphs.

[wimble-thimble]

oh my gourd i forgot it was halloween. enjoy a late post

[mobius-m-mobius]

Existence is chaos. Nothing makes any sense, so we try to make some sense of it. And I'm just lucky that the chaos I emerged into gave me all this... My own glorious purpose.

Lokius + Season One (insp)

[tenisperfection]

An underrated thing about the bachelor party scene where Tommy hugs Buck before going to work is Buck's small little "yeah, okay" when Tommy promises him that he'll try his damnedest to make it to the wedding. It is such a small moment but maybe because of his history of love interests putting work over him as well as his own abandonment issues, there is a part of Buck that doesn't look like he believes Tommy, that takes it as what someone says when they leave and don't come back or intend to come back, even when Buck waits and waits (I'm going to be right here when you come back, okay?). So the fact that Tommy literally ran from the fire to the hospital, still in his turnouts and covered in soot, all because he promised Buck he would try his best to show up and he meant it? I love that for Buck. I love the look on his face as he reads Tommy's text, because this might be new but it is good for him to finally feel like a priority in a romantic relationship in ways he's not experienced before.

[northernfireart]

you guys ask and i provide:]

[puppyeared]

id fumble him so bad

[dykesevika]

thinking about Jinx having to tell Sevika about Isha :(

[jelly-fish-wishes]

ACT 1

ACT 2

ACT 3 - 1 <<< 9 / 10 / 11

Survived a nasty cold just to post this! And BOY OH BOY LOOK WHO IT IS!

Can’t wait to finally end a long awaited joke from ACT 1 xD

Oh man these updates are getting longer every time, eh?

I’m gonna start animating…something…ahead of time…

[megumiluvv]

I Went on a Date With My Brother’s Babysitter

Finally!! The date you’ve all been waiting for (I hope)!! Please ignore any grammar errors, I spent forever on it and I’ll try to fix it as I read over it. (I reread my stuff a lot to make sure I like it still).

There will be more of this au!! Don't worry about this ending just because they went on a date! I still have plenty of fluff prompts and ideas from you guys if you send them in!!

Masterlist

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Choso is a nervous wreck. He can’t even fathom how he managed this, getting you and just you for the day. No uncle, no Yuji, not even Gojo. He dresses casual and waits outside your door, knowing you’re just as nervous as he is.

You change outfits plenty times before just settling on something casual but still nice since you’ll be going to the aquarium and probably somewhere cozy to eat.

Choso waits outside your door and his brain short circuits from how you look. It may be something you’ve worn many times in front of him before, but you’re always stunning in his eyes.

“Sorry if it looks bad, I changed like, twenty times…” You blush and push your hair to behind your ear.

“No, no, you look… you look perfect…” Choso trails off, feeling a little embarrassed by his own casual clothing.

“Thanks… You do too… Goshhh, why is this so awkwardddd?” You blush and rub your warm cheeks.

“Maybe because we said it’s a date…?”

“Right, right…” You sigh and shut your apartment door, locking it carefully behind you.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

The two of you walk out of the complex and head to the aquarium since you (somehow) live nearby, and the weather is nice. As you’re crossing the street, you subconsciously hold his hand, used to doing so during your outings with Yuji. Choso doesn’t say anything about it, instead enjoying the feel of your hand in his.

You show up to the aquarium and Choso pays for the two of you. You enter and instantly drag him to the jellyfish.

“I love these! Oh! And sharks!” You smile excitedly and look around the room of jellyfish.

Choso smiles at your wonder and excitement, showing you the touch tank that you gasp at and carefully touch the tops of the jellyfish.

“They feel funny. I bet Yuji would love it here.”

“He’s more of a zoo kid instead of aquarium.” Choso smiles and watches you fondly. “But he would probably like the tiger sharks.”

“Because they have tiger in the name?”

“Partially.” Choso laughs with you.

“What’s your favorite sea creature?” You ask Choso.

“That’s a tough choice, between sea otters, angelfish, and whale sharks. I also like jellyfish too.”

“Oh gosh, those are all such cute choices!” You smile. “And some angelfish have those stripes like the one across your nose.”

Your voice has a teasing lilt as you trace the tattoo across his nose. His cheeks flush a bit and you giggle.

“Y’know, I never asked where you got the tattoo.”

“It was a rebellious thing against my parents.”

“Really? You had a rebellious phase?”

“It was a long time ago, it’s embarrassing…”

“Come onnn, you gotta tell me someday!” You smile. “How old were you when you got it?”

“It was a before Yuji was born, I think I was 17? Paid in cash and everything.”

“Really? It still looks so fresh.”

“Whatever. I was arguing with my parents and staying with my uncle, he said he knew a guy and took me. He loved the look on my parents’ faces when I came home.”

You smile at the thought of Sukuna instigating something like that, knowing it totally fits the man.

“Your uncle does have a lot of tattoos, makes sense he’d know a guy.”

“Yeah, I kind of regret it, though. Hard to get a job with visible tattoos sometimes. But I think I have enough jobs as is.”

“That’s true. You really work hard for Yuji.” You look up at him with admiration.

He hums in agreement and looks over at an exhibit that has otters. Choso takes your hand and pulls you along.

The otter goes around its little tank, a soft thud each time it pushes off the glass to move to the slide. Choso watches with a small smile on his face and your eyes notice the way his crinkle like when he’s watching Yuji do something. Cute… You think to yourself.

He finally speaks up after a few minutes. “Let’s go pet the stingrays.”

You perk up and follow him, smiling softly as you get to the touch tank. Choso rolls up his sleeves, his forearms having muscle from the various jobs he’s had. You stare for a second too long and he notices, smiling a little and guiding your hand into the water.

The water is nice, and you feel the strange sensation of the yellow stingray’s back on your two fingers, carefully avoiding the stinger and not pressing onto the creature at all. There are some smaller creatures that can also be touched, zebra shark being your favorite in the pool.

Choso watches your face as you watch the fish just swim across people’s hands. Your eyes trail after each animal for a few seconds before moving to the next, a small smile quirking into your lips. He smiles to himself, he could look at you for hours.

The two of you dry off your arms and use the free hand sanitizer. Choso then leads you to the shark tank and you watch the animals, taking pictures and videos (respecting the rules set for photography), and speaking quietly like the sign says in the tank.

“I love love love these sharks.” You whisper.

Choso grins and watches you look around the tank, the way your eyebrows furrow for just a second when kids walk in and talk loudly. But when you realize it’s just a kid, you no longer frown and just smile at the kids’ marvels at the sharks.

Choso watches everyone filter through as you quietly talk about what you need to do this week and other plans.

“I’m practically free tomorrow, that’ll be my housekeeping day, I guess, vacuum, might rearrange… Gojo works Thursday, so I have to watch Megumi. If Yuji wants to come over and have a playdate, I can do that.”

“Mhm, I don’t work tomorrow or Thursday, so I could help. Yuji comes home Thursday morning.”

“Awesome.” You smile.

You go through the rest of the aquarium, stopping by the sharks again before looking through the gift shop.

“Ooh! Yuji would love this!” You smile and show Choso a tiger shark plushie. “And we can get him a book on sea creatures since he can read now.”

Choso smiles and grabs a few things you’d like and buys them before you can see, keeping them a surprise for holidays or your birthday.

It’s now time for dinner. Choso leads you to a cozy restaurant, and you browse the menu for anything that looks good.

“Don’t worry, I have the perfect order for you.” Choso grins.

“Oh? And what is this perfect order?”

Choso points out the most delicious looking thing on the menu and you salivate a little.

“That looks literally perfect.”

“I knew you’d like it. Tastes better than it looks too.”

“Really?”

He nods and you guys go about dinner, talking a little more romantically now that you’re out of casual topics.

“Have you had a date before?” You poke at your food which, indeed, tasted better than it looked.

“Went on a couple in high school, nothing serious. Super casual hookups too, but rare since I was more focused on my brothers.”Choso shrugs. “You?”

“Same.”

He hums and eats a few more bites before you speak up again.

“Is this a casual thing?”

Choso looks up at you, noting the uncertainty in your eyes and voice. He feels his chest tighten a little and sets his fork down.

“…honestly? No. Ever since I met you, I’ve kind of known that I felt more than casual things for you. You’re so kind to Yuji and anyone you meet, you’re funny, not to mention drop dead gorgeous-” He starts to ramble before you cut him off and blush.

“Okay, I get it, charmer…”

“…Sorry, I got carried away. It’s just- I’ve felt this way for so long, I don’t know what to do. I’ve never felt like this for anyone.”

It’s now Choso’s turn to look at you with uncertainty. He just poured his heart out and you’re just silently staring as he speaks.

“…So you really like me?”

“…Yeah.”

“…I have too. For a while, I think.”

The air now feels a bit lighter for Choso. “That’s… that’s great, I’m glad…”

You smile a little, relieved your feelings were returned. They have been this whole time.

“Honestly, everyone around us keeps thinking we’re dating, it kind of felt like we were.” Choso laughs.

“I know, right?” You laugh too. “Gojo keeps asking if you’ve asked me out yet, then turns it to a little ‘oh maybe I’ll do it first’ thing. I can’t ever tell if he’s trying to make you jealous or if he really means it.”

“Yeah, he gets on my nerves though.”

Choso pays for the dinner and tips the nice waitress you two had, and you hold his hand again as you walk back home in the dark.

“Nice night. Quiet.” Choso muses.

“Mhm.”

“Tonight was nice.”

“Yeah, it was.” You look like you want to say more.

Choso notices that. “What is it?”

“…What… are we?”

Oh. He realized that you both didn’t really put a label on it. Sure, you had admitted your feelings, but you never really acted on it.

“What… do you want us to be…?”

“…” You lean closer to him and he blushes at the sudden proximity.

“…Do you… wanna date? Like actually label it?” He asks, suddenly unsure.

“…Yeah.” You whisper.

Choso lets out a soft breath. “Me too…”

The two of you stare at each other, really close to each other’s faces.

“…I’d kiss you but I don’t think I’d be able to stop.” He whispers.

“…You said Yuji’s not back til Thursday…”

He grins a little at the innuendo and guides you inside his apartment.

“Then let’s savor it, yeah?”

〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎ ❀ 〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎

Taglist (ask to join anytime): @samaraxmorgan @cherriee-ee @auor4 @chaotic-ish @meowsannie

@mediokerrv @flooftoof @dazaisfavgf

[tapakah0]

Hello here, sweet Eheghemh,mhmmmm I do good ehwhehe

[kate-apologist]

hey disney what the fuck do you mean ncuti's second season will also only have 8 episodes and a christmas special i'm holding a fucking gun to your head

[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.