#phantom: time to dig a deeper hole

[dinsbeskar]

In the Dark of the Night (Sauron/F!Reader)

Reader is long starved of her lover, after centuries apart, these are the fantasies that plague her in the night

Prequel: Wicked Game // Sequel: Evil Will Find Her

AO3 Link

Warnings: smut! 18+, female masturbation (reader), unprotected P in V sex, Sauron likes eating you out apparently?? Begging, praise kink, biting (only a little), kinda rough sex?? Lots of yearning, he absolutely adores you

A/N: I wrote this at 3am instead of sleeping, it is very much a "bashed it out and now I'm running away" type of fic. Is he there or isn't he?? Idk, it's up to you!! I imagined him as Annatar in this, but you're welcome to imagine any face you fancy, he is a shapeshifter after all!

There is an unending, seeking void in Middle Earth. You know it well, for it resides deep in your own being, hungry and desperate and vicious like a starved dog. It hadn't always plagued you, but after an age without your lover at your side, the void has filled the aching hole in your heart, tendrils of heavy nothing reaching out into the gloom of your bedchamber and threatening to engulf you whole.

It is in the black of night, when the darkest sky is overhead before dawn begins to break, that the void fills you the most. Sobbing has long ceased to ease your emptiness, so you lie in your feather bed, high in the elven city, and think of him, your lover's phantom figure nestled into you, fingers tracing your sides while whispers of sweet nothings pass between you. At least for a moment, you are not alone. Sometimes you swear you can hear him plain as day, your mind soothing your aching heart with memories of his scent pricking your nose as if he were right there beside you, holding you close as he used to, centuries ago. It is with those memories, those fantasies, that you think of him and touch yourself as he loved to, hand between your thighs, dancing across your chest, on your lips, needy for more.

He was quick to anger, and his wrath was nigh unchallenged, but never had you suffered it. The most gentle words and soft touches were reserved for you alone, revered and exalted in his bed, protected from the carnage his master had wrought on your kind. His soft hair grazing your face as he held himself over your trembling form, caressing every inch of you for the thousandth time as if it were the first.

You feel him next to you, on top of you, surrounding you, the smoky metallic smell of the forge permeating your bedsheets as if he'd spent these long, lonely centuries ravishing you. Your hand moves faster as you near your peak, biting back the deep moan in your throat as you picture him at the apex of your thighs, wicked tongue bringing you closer to your pleasure, tugging at your swollen clit and delving into your wet folds.

"All this for me?" You feel his smile against your mound as real as the pillow under your head. "My good girl, so ready for me, always so willing and waiting and wanting..."

His murmurs are lost to even your sensitive ears as he resumes his task, long fingers digging into your thighs so deliciously, nails dragging on your soft skin as you pull him closer, deeper, knowing he'd only beg if you refused him. Not that you ever would, at least not in jest, as you had many times before, just to see his hungry gaze grow dark and desperate. The games you used to play.

You slide a finger inside yourself, then another, always feeling him and only him, hearing him tease you as you whine for his cock.

"Good girls beg for it, my love. Are you my good girl?" You keen at his words and nod your head frantically, his fingers tracing your slit, dipping in and out at his pleasure, as he holds your gaze and fuels the fire pooling deep in your abdomen.

"Please... only yours, only for you..." Your words tumble from your lips, as a wolfish grin spreads across his handsome face.

His hands knead your flesh as he grasps your thighs to pull them apart, reverently taking in your dishevelled state, your blown pupils and swollen lips a masterpiece even Eru himself could not have imagined. His perfect creation, soft and pliant and oh so needy for him; any semblance of self control is lost as he takes his cock in hand and drives deep inside you with one thrust.

He steals every breath from your body with ravenous kisses that leave you clawing at his back, filthy wet sounds filling the air as he ruts into you, claiming every moan and whimper as a victory to his cause. You cry out his name, his real name, chanting it like a prayer, as he purrs in your ear. He pulls you apart with every touch, fingers raking through your hair, cursing in Black Speech as his orgasm approaches.

"I want to hear you, love, I need to hear you as I make you mine," he growls in your ear, low and deep, reverberating through you as he buries himself within you as if he means to never resurface.

You're only too happy to oblige, your moans unleashed from your throat as you no longer attempt to stay quiet, uncaring if anyone should hear you now. His name falls from your lips over and over as you plead for your release.

"I will make you my Queen, my love, and all Middle Earth will worship at your feet as I do," he praises you, his promises falling on deaf ears as you edge closer to what you crave.

He bites at the soft skin of your throat, licking the sheen of sweat that has collected thanks to his efforts, like a man starved of water at a desert oasis. The stretch of his cock inside you is almost too much but you take it so well for him, and he is a loving lord after all, one must be rewarded.

With one hand behind your head supporting his weight, his other hand travels from your swollen nipple downwards to your clit, circling the nub before pressing and stroking just as he has so many times before. He picks up the pace and slams his hips into yours, almost brutal in his all-consuming lust for his Queen.

You see stars and the world falls away, your walls clenching around him as he collapses onto you, the two of you entwined in body and enjoined in soul as you dissolve into pleasure, the spring that had so deliciously coiled deep in your belly finally releases, and he kisses you so sweetly you forget your own name.

As the first rays of sunlight peek through your window, you gasp, the spell broken. The bedsheets are rumpled and your fingers are wet, but the warm body that had encompassed your own only moments ago had vanished into the ether. The scent of the forge lingered long after in your nostrils, filling your heart once more with longing that could not be satisfied with one night's pleasure.

The yearning of the void was always present, and its black embrace was oh so tempting.

[hearthtrob]

Kissing Me Softly

( Phantom x Swiss )

° soft sex

° drooling Phantom, laughing and hiccuping too

° soft dom Swiss

° small transition from soft to rough sex (mostly soft, depends how you look at it)

“Swiss-“ Phantom gasped, a soft laugh bubbling up from his throat as the other ghoul tilted his head back, covering his neck in feather kisses, sucking, and biting. He whined, biting his bottom lip as Swiss continued the light assault on his neck, letting out a giggle when the ghoul kissed him on his stomach

( continue reading, or go to ao3 )

“Swiss-“ Phantom gasped, a soft laugh bubbling up from his throat as the other ghoul tilted his head back, covering his neck in feather kisses, sucking, and biting. He whined, biting his bottom lip as Swiss continued the light assault on his neck, letting out a giggle when the ghoul kissed him on his stomach.

Swiss bit Phantom on his shoulder, rubbing gentle rhythmic circles onto his stomach, pulling his legs over his shoulders, slowly grinding against Phantom, trailing kisses and bites down the sides of his neck to his chest. He licked a stride up the side of Phantom’s neck, gently biting again.

"Tickles!" Phantom laughs, and Swiss hums in response, bringing his free hand to Phantom’s neck, putting slight pressure against it, and making the other let out a whine. Phantom bit his bottom lip, letting out another laugh, when Swiss let go of his neck, pulling down his pants.

“Good boy,” Swiss whispered into his ear, nibbling on the love and giving it a small kiss, his hand running over Phantom’s chest, teasing his nipple, and grinding against his bottom half. Phantom hiccupped, letting out a laugh again at it and biting his hand in a futile attempt to quiet himself.

Swiss’ hand trailed down the smaller ghoul's chest, his hand reaching towards his entrance. Phantom closed his eyes, bracing himself for the intrusion. "Swiss, I—"

Before he could finish speaking, the other ghoul pushed forward, Swiss’s two fingers breaching his tight ring of muscle. A sharp, intense pleasure shot through him, making him arch his back involuntarily. His cock throbbed against his abdomen, leaking pre-cum onto the sheets.

"Relax, baby," he cooed, his voice husky with desire. "Just let me prepare you." Swiss’s fingers moved in and out of him slowly.

“Good boy..” He purred, pressing against certain parts, curling his fingers up, and watching as Phantom hiccuped, letting out small little laughs and soft whines—a silent request that he was begging for more.

Phantom groaned, his hips moving involuntarily against his hand. "Please," he moaned, almost immediately followed by a hiccup and a small giggle. He focused on breathing deeply, trying to relax his muscles as Swiss continued to stretch him open. His cock twitched in anticipation, leaking more of his blood onto the sheets.

He whimpered softly, his face flushed with shame and arousal. "Please—," he managed to choke out, his voice cracking with desire. He hiccuped again, tilting his head back on the pillow that rested under his head.

Swiss chuckled, changing his at first slow, sensual pace to a relentless assault on his tight hole, faster this time, pushing the two fingers deeper than before. Each thrust caused waves of pleasure to course through him, making him writhe and moan in ecstasy, making the ghoul drool from his mouth, trying to speak only to be cut off by another hiccup.

After a few more thrusts, Swiss pulled his fingers out, jerking his cock for a moment, letting it chub farther, before placing himself at Phantom’s entrance. He held the other ghoul’s wrist, slowly pushing inside of him and biting the inside of his cheek.

Phantom cried out in pure bliss, his body tensing up around Swiss’s member. The burn quickly turned into a mix of pain and pleasure as he continued to stretch him open, inch by inch. He gripped the sheets tightly, his claws digging into the fabric, leaving small marks on the material. Swiss watched the others' faces, slowly rolling his hips to test the waters, waiting until Phantom pushed against him or gave him a sign to move.

"More," he begged, his voice hoarse from need. "Please, please—“ 

“Such a pretty boy, so good for me,” Swiss said, releasing Bug’s wrist and instead holding his waist, moving his body down as he moved upwards, relishing in the slapping noise that echoed through the room, a grin on his face as he listened to the smaller ghoul let out moans and whines.

Phantom's mind was spinning; his world was reduced to the overwhelming sensations coursing through his body. He couldn't form coherent thoughts beyond the need for more. He hiccuped again, letting out a loud whine when Swiss pinched his nipples, giving both of the swollen buds teasing licks and bites. 

"N-No—I mean, please—" Phantom struggled to breathe, his voice cracking under the onslaught, drool running down his chin, and his eyes rolling back. "More- please don't stop." Swiss chuckled, sucking on the ghouls nipples, one of his hands placed on Phantom's hip while the other held his wrist in place.

“Can you cum for me?” Swiss asked, kissing over Bug's chest, sucking and biting all over it, marking him up. Swiss kissed his chin, licking up the drool falling from the other’s mouth.

Phantom’s mind blurred, and his body convulsed in orgasmic bliss as he lost control of himself. His cock erupted, spraying thick, hot semen all over his stomach and chest, painting them both with evidence of their shared ecstasy. 

"Fuck—." He panted between gasps for air, his body shaking with the intensity of his climax. His hole clamped tightly around Swiss’s member.

Swiss kissed him, gently interring their mouths for a second, biting Phantom’s bottom lip, before pulling away and sliding his cock out of the other as well. Phantom let out a whine, his mouth opening to say something, but Swiss shushed him, shaking his head.

��You did so good, baby bat." He hummed, kissing Bug's shoulders, running his hand over his chest, running a hand through his hair, gently kissing over his chest, nuzzling their noses together.

Phantom lay there, spent and exhausted but still high on post-orgasmic bliss. His body ached in the best possible way, covered in his own cum.

"That was.. That was really good," he confessed between kisses, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Swiss smiled down at him, his eyes filled with love and satisfaction. "I love you, doll," he whispered, running his fingers through the other's sweaty hair. "Now, why don't we clean up together?"

reblog and leave kudos!

I apologize for any spelling and or grammar errors!

[sentientgolfball]

Swisstomrora. Because twitter. You know. 👀

You know something in my brain said mean Aurora and that's what happened here I can't and won't explain myself

Have 2k words of Aurora being mean and using Phantom to wreck Swiss

MDNI

My requests are open !

Swiss’ first mistake was thinking he had any control over his situation. He thought he had the two new summons fighting and fawning over him. He thought he could drag it out, rile them up a bit before giving them a few lessons about their new vessels. 

“This is really all you have to offer?” Aurora had rolled her eyes like he wasn’t buried deep inside her. 

What Swiss hadn’t planned for was Phantom and Aurora reading him like an open book and deciding to turn the tables on him. Deciding to lean into his little game, but giving him nothing until he came begging to them. He hadn’t planned for knowing glances and twisted grins shared between the two. 

“Come here Tommy, why don’t you show him?” Aurora had said with a huff after Swiss let out a devastated sob. 

Swiss’ second mistake happened shortly after. He was made to sit and watch as Phantom fucked her the right way. How could he not make the mistake of touching himself when it was the first time all night he got to hear the pretty little noises that spilled from her lips. How could he not fuck up the one rule he was given when Phantom oh so eagerly did everything she said without a second thought. 

And that’s how he got to his current position. On his knees, hands tied tightly behind his back with Aurora and Phantom standing in front of him. The way they were looking at him with a mix of amusement and hunger was enough to make him blow his load. Well it would’ve been if not for the ring Rora slipped onto him after she caught him. Phantom turns and looks at her. 

“Can I play with him now Rory?” 

“You can do whatever you want with him, not like he was doing anything for me.” 

Swiss lets out a desperate whine when she turns on her heel towards the bed.

“Wait princess please fuck please I’ll—“

“You’ll what? Be good for me? What’s wrong, do you not want Phantom?” 

Phantom looks at Swiss with narrowed eyes and a fang filled grin waiting for his answer. Swiss is just coherent enough to know it’s a trap. Everything they do together is a trap. He knows no matter what he says he’s going to dig himself a deeper hole. He opens and closes his mouth with every different response that runs through his head before he decides shutting up is his best option. Aurora smiles stalking over to him. She takes his face between her hands and gives him a quick kiss with a teasing tongue. 

“Tell you what” she says only pulling away a few inches “if you can prove you can be good I won’t leave you like this all night.”

Swiss nods fast “Whatever you want princess just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” 

She glances at Phantom “Make him cum and maybe you’ll get a second chance. How’s that sound?” 

Even he could hear how pathetic he sounded when all he could muster was a low whine in response. Aurora just giggled as she walked away leaving Swiss in Phantom’s claws. 

“Aren't you gonna untie me princess?” 

“Oh! No!” She flops onto her bed pulling out her phone. 

Swiss’ ears droop as Phantom crouches into view. 

“Come on, I thought you were supposed to be good at this. Do you really need your hands.” Aurora says exasperated looking up from the screen. 

Swiss doesn’t get a chance to respond as Phantom sits on his lap taking him in one go. Swiss chokes on his words letting out a strangled moan. Phantom's head flops forward, mouthing at his shoulder and neck. 

“You heard her, make me cum.” Phantom sits heavy on him, muscles jumping with the urge to not rock himself on Swiss’ cock. Aurora wanted Swiss to work for it and that’s exactly what Aurora would get. When he doesn’t immediately make a move Phantom clenches around him. Swiss snaps out of his stupor, tearing his gaze away from Aurora completely ignoring the scene on the floor. He growls low, setting his jaw as he makes an attempt to roll his hips up into Phantom. 

He sets his hands on Swiss’ shoulders, claws digging in when he finally sets a pace that has Phantom stifling little whimpers and pants. They could try to break him all they want but he still has the talent. Phantom hates to admit it as he feels Swiss hitting that spot deep inside him with each upward jerk of his hips despite the awkward angle. 

He wants to tease. He wants to praise. He wants to do or say anything but all Phantom could focus on was the swell of heat building in his lower back. If he was being honest with himself he was panicking just a bit. He didn’t want to disappoint Rora, not after the weeks of fucking each other to the fantasies of this moment. He tries to focus on the scratch of Swiss’ stubble, the creak of the floor, anything to drag this out. He chokes on air when he feels the tip of Swiss’ tail snake around to brush at his clit. He spares a glance up and oh was that a mistake. That cocky grin has returned to Swiss’ face and it makes Phantom light up with shame.

Too much. It’s too much oh fuck. He lets a ripple of quintessence loose from his body to stave off the mounting pressure. 

“How is that fair?” Swiss huffs exhausted from the effort of fucking Phantom on his knees. 

“Since when do you play fair?” He laughs and squeezes around him. 

“If that’s how you want it then so be it.” 

Swiss bucks his hips upward with as much force as he can muster causing Phantom to let out a whorish noise. When his tail slips back to circle his clit Swiss lets his own quintessence flare to life. It’s not much compared to a full fledged quint ghoul, but the added sensation makes Phantom’s head spin. He can feel everything Swiss is feeling. He can feel every thrust echoed back through their connection. He can feel himself clench hard around Swiss like it was his own damn dick. He can feel how wet he is. He can feel how tight he is. 

Shit. He's too close. He can’t hold it back anymore. Not when he can feel Swiss’ own magic pushing against his with every swipe of his tail. Oh fuck. Too soon it’s too soon–

“Oh hey Lus!” Aurora's voice makes the two ghouls stop. 

They both turn to look at her, phone up to her pointed ear. She makes eye contact with Swiss and smiles. 

“What am I doing?” She winks at him “Nothing important. What’s up?” 

Phantom bites into Swiss’ shoulder to stop himself when he feels his cock kick inside him. 

“Oh I’d love to come over!” 

Swiss rapidly shakes his head “Princess. Aurora. Please you said you’d give me another chance please—“ 

Phantom cuts him off by shoving his tongue down throat, holding him loosely around the neck. 

“Hm? Oh sorry it’s nothing. Like I said I’d love to come over but not right now. Maybe in a few?” 

She giggles standing up and walking over to where Swiss and Phantom are on the floor. She brings the phone to Swiss’ ear. His eyes go wide at whatever Cumulus says to him on the other end, but the way his hips twitch up against Phantom is enough for her to guess. She pulls the phone back when his eyes roll back in his head. 

“Bye Lussy! Love you!” She ends the call and throws the phone into a nearby chair. She runs a hand through Phantom’s hair earning a high-pitched whine. 

“You seriously still haven’t been able to make him cum? Are you even trying? Or are you just talk?” 

She catches Phantom’s eye for a moment leaning down to give him a kiss. She runs her hands down his body cupping his pretty little tits. She squeezes, rolling his nipples between her fingers. He grinds down hard on Swiss, letting the heat build back up. Swiss throws his head forward latching onto Phantom’s neck, rocking his hips, moving the tip of his tail in time with his thrusts against his clit. Phantom threads one hand through Swiss’ hair pulling hard while the other reaches behind him to hold the back of Aurora’s head. She licks a stripe up his jaw to his ear giving it a little nip. She whispers something to him that he doesn’t process over the feeling of Swiss fucking him still sending ripples of his own quintessence through his body. It doesn’t take much for him to clench hard around Swiss’ dick, mouth dropping open in a silent scream. 

He takes a moment to catch his breath, calm his twitching legs before Aurora is helping him up and off Swiss. She leans him back into the nest of blankets and pillows on the floor next to them, cooing soft praises the whole time. Swiss shakes with anticipation when he feels her approach. 

Nothing. 

She walks right past him back towards her bed not even looking at him. 

“Princess” He begs. 

She stops and turns towards him with an eyebrow raised. 

“What?” 

“I did exactly what you said. Don’t I get a second chance please.” 

She laughs at him, stalking back over. 

“You didn’t do shit. I had to come finish the job for you since you were so incapable.” 

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until she bends and licks the tears off his cheek. 

“What’s wrong? Truth too much for you to handle?” She sighs “Fine. But this is your last chance, Swissy.” 

She extends her claws and cuts through his bindings in one swipe. His cock kicks against his thighs when he sees her lick blood off her claws before she slips the ring off him. He doesn’t have time to stretch out the stiffness in his arms before Aurora grabs his wrist, sucking on where her claws caught his skin. 

“You got one shot, don’t blow it” Phantom calls from where he’s curled up watching the two. 

Swiss doesn’t need anymore than that. He can’t take anymore. He’s painfully hard and desperate to prove himself, to finally get her attention. He crashes his lips into hers, crowding her back towards her bed. She doesn’t give any resistance, not that she could even if she wanted to, given how massive Swiss is compared to her. She lets him practically throw her onto the mattress, coming to rest between her legs. 

He drags his fangs over her neck, down her chest stopping to suck his own marks over top of the ones left by Phantom. He wastes no time with prep. He needs to hear the same praise that was reserved for Phantom directed at him. He bites and sucks at her nipple as he lines the head of his cock up with her entrance. He grips her hips as he pushes into her with one long thrust. 

Aurora breathes heavily through her nose, biting off the moan bubbling in her chest. He drops one of his hands to rub small circles into her clit as he starts a slow pace. 

“That’s all you got” she huffs “Phantom fucked me better with a strap.” 

Swiss whines low, quickly picking up speed filling the room with obscene wet sounds and skin slapping against skin. He grabs her leg, hooking it over his shoulder to bury himself deeper. She gasps with the suddenness of it gripping onto his arm tight. He grins and she sneers. 

He presses a kiss to her neck and something burns within her. When she sees a purple hue has taken over Swiss’ eyes she knows exactly what he’s trying to do. She tries to push against him with her own quintessence but she barely has anything. All it does is fuel the amount he’s pulsing into her. She feels like every nerve is dialed up to ten. He’s only been in her for a few minutes and it already feels like too much. 

Too much. Payback. 

Swiss laughs, suddenly the previous tears and pleas forgotten “You still have to learn the rules of the game Princess.” 

She doesn’t respond. She can’t respond. All she can focus on is how sensitive she suddenly is. Still, she has to get the last word.

“Where” she pants “where was this an hour ago…when I could barely feel a thing.” 

He grunts and shoves his tongue past her lips. She moans and Swiss loses it. He gets three good thrusts in before he bows in on himself shooting hot and heavy into her letting out a string of curses. 

Aurora flashes her fangs “Lus is going to be so mad at you.” 

He pulls out of her, immediately replacing his cock with his tongue. Her claws tear through the sheets with the effort of not arching into him. He eagerly swipes his forked tongue through her, cleaning his spend out of her before dragging it up to her clit. Her hands shoot to his hair, pulling hard as he fucks her over the edge with his tongue. She wraps her hands around his horns, pulling him in closer when she feels that rubber band finally snap cumming hard against his face. 

When he sits back his face is shiny with a mix of spit and slick. He swipes his tongue over his lips, cleaning himself off. 

“I win” he presses a kiss to her thigh. 

“As if” she chuffs.

“Sorry Rory but I think he did win this one” Phantom pads over with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders to jump into the bed with them. 

“Hey you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“We’ll get him next time…” he mumbles, worming his way in between the two purring. 

Swiss smiles running a hand through his hair scratching lightly between his horns. Aurora places a kiss on his forehead. 

“Wanna go take a bath princess?” Swiss asks when he hears soft snores come from Phantom. 

“In a minute” she reaches over and laces her hands with his, pulling it up to press kisses to his knuckles. 

“I love you Swiss.” 

“Love you too princess.”

Phantom whines and twitches in his sleep. They both laugh quietly. 

“Love you too, bug.”

[luffyrose]

Dc x Dp Blurb #3

It's late, I'm tired and on my phone so it's weird writing here but I must share this one instantly.

So, I saw a Trans Danny AND Trans Jazz thing earlier and I lost it. The idea that they both are is so good to me, and I have so much angst for it.

Just, neither of their parents even REMEMBER that they're trans. Like Danny's their son, Jazz is their daughter....but only because they know they have one daughter one son and clearly that was correct, not because they remember they're both trans. Acceptance through negligence basically.

Also side note but totally an au where the kids at school know and are like "Hell yeah you go!" About the trans stuff. Dash will push Danny into a locker but if he hears someone deadname his nerd friend he's taking a note from the ghosts and breaking shit.

Now the crossover aspect that's been invading my brain. Danny is visiting Gotham temporarily for something and is just like not hiding that he's trans, he's got a lol pin of the flag on his bag. Class trip with the Fentons being some of the supervisors, they came along to see if Batman was a ghost, and Danny us just very tired at this point. He's king of the realms, come to a midpoint with his 'rogues' after realizing it was more a ghost thing than a hate thing for 99% of them, and finally become friends with most of his class even if Dash still liked to mess with him.

Walking through the museum they're touring with Lancer, and a class from the local high school, Danny ends up near the edge of his classmates group next to the other school group. They're not avoiding one another but also not really talking, but this one kid just goes, "nice flag pin," before showing off the bisexual and polyamorous ones they have.

It's Tim. Because he saw the flag and went :O friend time. And also no one he talked to was with the group he was in, so he'd rather talk to this stranger who probably won't treat him differently since he doesn't know him.

The two talk as they are going, some of the other Casper high students chiming in since hey if a kid is nice to their weirdest classmate they're pretty okay in the books. (50/50 if the class know Danny is Phantom but they totally know he's different from all the osha violations in his house and most of them are so worried after really paying attention after they became friends).

Randomly Jack and Maddie come out of nowhere and grab Danny talking about something to do with ghosts, much to the apparent tiredness and even slight distaste on their kid's face, which they didn't even notice. Tim is unsure what is happening but seeing the dislike on the whole class's faces and some worried looks Danny got he's now wanting to go all detective on him because hey Danny's fun to talk to! Totally not because he's very very gay-

So after they leave, he causally tries to learn more about the two and why the class seemed to hate them, even why Danny himself didn't seem to want to be anywhere near his parents. Of course he tries to be subtle.

"So you're parents seem pretty accepting of you being trans, that's good!"

Maybe not so subtle, in his defense, he hasn't slept recently. Danny tried to smile at it though but completely failed, just giving up and slouching as he shrugged.

"More like they don't even remember."

So now Tim is concerned and confused, but much to his luck, the tour is over and the Casper students are leaving. He's worried about his new friend, even if they exchanged numbers, so he goes down a rabbit hole. Not only does he find suspicious stuff about this small town that was heavily deleted from many things, but he finds that Danny has a sibling. It's evident to him they're also trans from the few pictures before and after but the sibling's name isn't anywhere to be seen so he tries to dig deeper.

He pauses before going further down though to respond to some of Danny's messages. But his sleep deprived brain decided 'let's just ask'. So he asks a bit of questions about Danny. Like what's his town like? Any other family? Are they fine with you being trans, because he'll totally beat anyone who's not, etc. Danny answers them and in turn asks about the Waynes, mainly because Danny is not entirely convinced Bruce himself isn't weird like Vlad, but he does acknowledge that he's at least not evil.

Eventually Danny offhandedly mentions Jazz is trans to, and Tim being the detective he is is like "huh..." and asks if his parents were accepting of Jazz too. It's a while before he responds but Danny just says;

"They don't remember we are trans...so no problems or anything with it..."

Tim doesn't get the chance to say anything about it as Danny asks about something about him being poly and what his dad and siblings thought. Of course he replied but his mind was also reeling from the fact that Danny's parents literally don't pay attention to their kids enough to not realize both kids are trans.

They keep in touch and Tim puts investigating on the back burner some since while kinds neglectful they seem to be decent enough parents.

He regrets that though as Danny doesn't message him for nearly a month. It worries him enough to put that investigation back to the forefront. Of course he finds osha violation city in the Fenton's house, as well as the actual paranormal activity happening. What concerns him the most is that apparently the town hero, a ghost boy, is missing...from around the same time Danny stopped messaging.

It's a week into trying to find Danny that he gets a message from his number, except it's not Danny. It's Jazz. She asks Tim if Danny had gone to him, she was trying everyone since no one knew where he was. This sparks a big ol search.

Danny meanwhile ended up with a hero (any but Clark or Bats cuz we want some rarer family dynamic, the good juice) after crash landing, most literally, right by em. The hero, I'm thinking Hal or Barry idk, is too busy trying to help this random powerful teenager who was bleeding way too too much to not have some regeneration ability.

After some drama of trying to find Danny, and Jazz, Tucker, Sam, and Tim knowing identities(Danny's included) because Tucker accidentally hacked around and found out, hero parent of Danny shows up with said boy closely in tow to a meeting after their surprise break from league work and Tim just jumps up and doesn't even remember that Danny doesn't know his identity.

Danny panics initially but quickly realizes it's Tim and finally gets back in contact with Jazz and all of his friends/classmates who had most definitely stormed a GIW lab in his absence. The league is confused and it's a whole mess before Danny trauma dumps on em and Tim as RR just admits this all started because he saw the trans pin.

My brain is rambling too much for this now, but basically lotta trauma, the league appalled and Danny getting a good family after everything is settled. His classmates so visit him and Tim, Kon, and him date because I feel like Danny would meet him, learn he's a clone (after being very gay for a moment) and just be like "heck yeah, my younger sister is a clone" which also caused more panic but like gay trio.

I'm gonna go sleep now, enjoy the angst and randomness this blurb is-

Remember these are free to take and do whatever you please with them, it's just random ideas/thoughts that I have but don't plan to do anything with for the foreseeable future!

[nabtime]

Our Empty Graves XIV

Fandom: Danny Phantom / Batman: Under the Red Hood

Pairings: Danny Fenton/Jason Todd (Dead on Main)

Rating: Mature

Tags: batfamily, hazmat AU, Nobody Knows AU, Mute!Phantom, potential ghost king danny, slow burn?, DC means Disregard Canon, AU means AU nothing is exactly the same, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, more than canon typical violence, danny is a Halfa and also a Fetch, no beta we die like basically everyone

Summary: They say that Red Hood has a loyal mutt. The man rules his territory in Crime Alley with an iron fist and a guard dog at his side. They say that Hood calls him Fetch, sometimes Fetcher. No one's ever heard him speak. Anyone who's ever seen him says he looks like an experiment gone wrong, that Hood picked him up somewhere unspeakable. They say he'll do anything Red Hood asks of him and he'll do it well. That he's strong and fast and probably inhuman. The girls say he's sweet; quiet but charming in his own way. Rival gangs say he's vicious; that he'd sooner rip your throat out than let you go.

Jason just wants to help him.

Chapter 14: i wanna build my house inside your heart (and make you love your scars)

Chapter Summary: Bruce isn't happy with his research, Danny has a crisis over hands, and Tim is determined to help despite the consequences.

Chapter Notes: title from Bravado by Yoke Lore // Betaed by Garden from the BatPham server!! Links: AO3 // Chapter 1 // Chapter 13 // Chapter 15 // Spotify // Art!

Bruce went over the research again. And again and again. He was hoping he’d find something different after the sixteenth read through, but it never changed. What Tim found… he didn’t like it.

He’d been antsy this past week. Terrified about what it meant that Red Hood hadn’t been seen on the streets since the explosion at the docks. The explosion that Bruce had seen his son previous Robin horrifically injured by. That he’d been too late to rescue him from. Again. The one where he’d seen an Unknown, the one Jason worked with, standing at the edge and watching the flames.

So he dove into the research Tim had been able to dig up from the Drs. Fenton and tried to ignore everything else. Tried to ignore the guilt at leaving Tim alone to his own devices in the mean time when he’d only just returned from the Titans. Tried to ignore the admonishing looks Alfred sent him every additional day he stayed holed up in the Cave. Instead he sunk deeper and deeper into a haze of reading paper after paper, and rereading paper after paper. And, what little of it he could find in the first place, was all pointing in a direction he hated.

The Fentons… were odd scientists. To say the least. And he really was saying the least. But their research, without an outside source to better verify it, was sound. Thorough. Horrifying.

Ghosts, or ectoplasmic entities, were non-sentient. Non-sapient. They were impressions of emotions left after death. Unfeeling. Unthinking. Driven by nothing but the deceased’s final thoughts and emotions. Often violent ones. Thoughts of revenge, of regret, of nothing but the pain surrounding their death.

Monsters seeking nothing but to spread the pain that had been imprinted upon them. And territorial. If both Fetcher and Jason were nothing but ghosts, did that make the fire a fight for the right to haunt Park Row? A dispute that- that Jason lost?

He knew they could be harmed. Could be hunted. That much the Fenton’s research made clear. They could be captured and studied and released back into some vague mention of a Ghost Zone. Supposedly the place where they originated.

That part wasn’t very clear. They spoke of ripping a tear in the fabric of the universe, of punching a hole into some flipside dimension that was something of an Afterlife. They seemed to hinge all their research on it. What they called the Ghost Portal. There was no record of it existing, no patent for its schematics. No proof that they’d succeeded. Yet, a chunk of their research acted as they had. As if it went without saying that the “ghosts” they studied emerged from the portal they’d successfully built.

Like they’d scrubbed that particular piece of research from existence. A lot of it was struck through. Much of it was missing. There were holes everywhere.

It didn’t help that after a certain point, it all disappeared. What he could find himself had to be recovered from deleted files. And then there was no trace of anything . It all just cut off. Abruptly and coincidentally in line with their signing on with an unknown government agency.

Dr. Maddie Fenton’s last published paper- one that had been erased, mind you- had been about their study of a smaller blob of a ghost. What happened when they cut into it, what happened when they brought it from inside the Zone to out (and that in itself was curious, did they have a lab inside the Zone?), and what happened when they injected it with different forms of ectoplasm. She’d made notes to indicate they planned to do more but that had been the last piece of research. Months ago. He’d been unable to find anything else after they signed with the mysterious GIW.

He’d gone back, then.

They had papers from college, barely acknowledged and never published. Papers they turned in in tandem with one Vladimir Masters, of all people. His school records at the University- disappeared after a certain point. He didn’t graduate early. He didn’t transfer. He didn’t withdraw. There were mentions of something, or more, the shape around that something. Records of the school repairing the classroom the three had done most of their research in. Vague condolences in the school paper. Professors continually marking Masters absent after a certain point in the semester but never docking points for it. But nothing further. No hospital records. No information on what happened; what caused the classroom to need repairs and what caused Masters’ continued absence.

His best guess was an experiment gone wrong. But he didn’t know.

The amount of things he didn’t know with this case was driving him to the brink. It was giving him hives.

He couldn’t find record of where the Fentons lived. He knew they lived in a town named Amity Park, they’d mentioned the place often enough in their research- touting it to be the most haunted town in America. But he couldn’t find it. No map could place it. No government database had it cataloged. No post office had an address for it.

Amity Park didn’t exist. Older maps, scanned in and therefore not originally digital, placed it somewhere in Illinois. So it did exist. Theoretically. Elmerton, supposedly its sister city, refused to acknowledge it, despite the fact that half of Elmerton itself had been blown off the map- everything going up in flames if it was anywhere in the radius of what was supposed to be Amity. Social media made no mention of it.

He looked into the GIW instead. And found nothing of use. He was a fair hand at hacking, but not near the level of Tim or Barbara. He loathed the thought of asking either of them for help on this, but he couldn’t crack their codes, could barely even find them at all. Their firewall was like nothing he’d ever seen before. Maybe it would make a good distraction for Tim. All he found on his own were a few vague mentions of an Anti-Ecto Act. A warning about an entity at large but with no description.

There was something more going on here. Something he very much didn’t like. But it would have to wait. He’d have to see the town in person at some point, maybe let Tim or Dick investigate. Dick had been pestering him about what was going on recently, maybe he could distract him with this. It would take him out of town and Bruce could even convince him to take Tim with him. That way he’d be alone for what was going to have to happen next.

They didn’t need to be here in Gotham when he went after Jason. Or, the thing that was what was left of Jason.

His ghost.

The mindless, twisted version of his second Robin- hellbent on revenge against the one that killed him and the one that failed to save him.

It would explain how he came back when even Ra’s didn’t know for sure. And if he’d had a dip in the Lazarus Pit it would explain even more. He knew from the research that ghosts could be tangible, frighteningly solid and destructive. And he suspected from the descriptions of ectoplasm that Lazarus Water was just another form of it. Making him stronger. The twisted after-shocks of the emotions he’d died with stronger. What Ra’s had brought back wasn’t Jason. Just a ghost- but worse.

It made Bruce feel entirely guilty. And sick. He’d only just accepted that Jason had returned. That he was alive. That he hated, rightfully hated, Bruce for what happened. But now? Jason might not be back at all and he’d have to learn to accept that all over again. Grieve all over again. Bury him all over again.

(He had yet to check the coffin. Yet to check the grave. If he’d had the thought to look inside, he might have changed his mind about it all at finding it empty.)

═════ ◈ ═════

Danny shifted nervously, acutely aware of how he balanced on Hood’s thighs ( and man, did he have thighs for days ), and waited for some sort of reaction. He was unsure as it was about being able to heal Hood’s hands, he didn’t need anxiety about the man’s reaction on top of it all. He’d offered because he couldn’t stand to see the look of resignation, of helplessness, of pain on Red’s face when he talked about them. Like he thought their loss was inevitable. Like he thought it was his own fault they’d taken so much damage- that losing them, their function, was his punishment. Like he wanted to forget the pain of gaining those wounds altogether, the fear and desperation surrounding their creation, but kept pressing on the bruises anyway because that’s what he thought he deserved.

And Danny couldn’t stand to allow that look on his face remain for a second longer. His own hands were frigid and monstrous and soaked in blood. The hands of a dead man- brittle and cold and far too clumsy for something as sacred as healing. But they were all he had and damn if he wasn’t going to use them for Hood- to hold something gently for once.

The problem here was that he had… made a pretty bold claim. Saying he could fix Red’s hands.

There wasn’t a guarantee that manipulating his organic ectoplasm into becoming the regenerative type- assuming he could even manage that outside of the ecto-rich environment of Amity- and applying it to his hands in order to boost the healing process would work. It might not even do anything. Or it might just backfire. But… Hood was also some sort of ectocontaminated undead being- far more human than Danny would ever manage to be, sure- but still a guy that had ectoplasm running through him, which meant far better chances at absorbing the Good Goo. Yes, sure, the ectoplasm was some weird rancid variation of the combative stuff that he really needed to figure out how to fix, too.

But still.

He’d managed with the people of Amity, he could manage with Hood. It didn’t matter that these were completely different situations. Didn’t matter that the artificial liminals of Amity Park had been contaminated with pure ectoplasm. That when he’d healed them it was usually on instinct, sloppy and desperate, and usually with the regenerative ecto already on hand from his own wounds. Didn’t matter that he didn’t have the first clue on how the poisoned ectoplasm within Red would react to the healing. All that mattered was that Red had just looked so damn sad about it all and Danny had something that could help. So he would. He’d do anything.

Hood still hadn’t said anything.

He lowered the board, erased it, and started writing anew.

I don’t know if it’ll work. It might even make them worse. But there’s a chance- a small one- that I can patch them up. I don’t know what I’m doing here though so it’s pretty risky.

He flipped it over and waited again. He watched Hood’s eyes trace along the words, reading them agonizingly slowly. His turquoise stare was intense when his eyes flicked up and met Danny’s own.

Red leaned forward, intent, and said, “Do it.”

Danny huffed soundlessly in disbelief. He whacked Hood in the chest lightly with the whiteboard and then tapped at his own temple and made a sharp, sweeping gesture with his palm up. Think about it first, idiot.

“I don’t have to think about it!” Hood insisted forcefully before his tone turned plaintive. “Fetcher, Spooks, Jellyfish- you don’t understand. I don’t care about the risks. Hell, I don’t care if you fail- but if there’s a chance that you can fix my hands; fix them now- I’m going to take it.”

Danny sat the whiteboard between them for the moment and crossed his arms, regarding the pleading face of his boss, friend, savior . He hadn’t expected a reaction as... vehement as this. He’d expected skepticism. Expected a careful measure of consideration, suspicion even. Or… honestly, a flat out rejection. Not… this.

“I need to get back out there, Jelly,” Hood whispered, leaning in so their noses were inches apart and Danny could see the intensity in his eyes up close. “I need to help my people. Save the Alley. I-,” he paused and looked away, a bitterness showing in his gritted teeth. “I have to get back to my plan. I can’t do that without my hands. Not without taking too much time. The people of the Alley don’t have the luxury of waiting for me to relearn everything from scratch. Black Mask is getting bold. Messing with kryptonite . I need to know what he plans to do with it. I need to get back out there now .”

Danny did not like the desperation there. The slightly frenzied gleam to his eyes. He could also tell that there was something unspoken underneath his words. That there was something more to this “plan” that Hood wasn’t telling him. Something, probably, that had to do with why he got his hands butchered in the first place. I have to strike now, he could almost hear, they already know who I am and I can’t wait any longer when the answers I need are so close. Red was thinking so hard it felt like he was projecting them into the little air between them.

Danny, already thinking this was a bad idea, grew more uncertain. This felt reckless, too rash in respect to Red’s health. Like they were playing with fire and Hood almost wanted to get burned.

But he couldn’t go back on it now. Couldn’t stand to see Hood disappointed in him, in his hands, in himself. Couldn’t endure seeing Hood in so much pain again.

His shoulders sagged in a soundless sigh. He straightened his back and gave a determined nod. He would do this. For Red. And just pray to whatever Ancients were feeling merciful right then.

Gently, he held the other man’s hands between them, slowly unwinding them from their bandages. He’d helped change them before, the motion soothing and familiar. Something about the ritual of it all both mundane and divine. Watching as white fabric revealed mottled flesh. Bruises and lacerations breathing in fresh air again. He watched them shake- ever so slightly- as he traced with a feather-light touch along the crooked fingers, the dips and lines of the palms, the bony jut of the knuckles. He bent his head and placed a reverent kiss- the barest brush of lips against skin, to a bruise that painted the meat of his thumb a dark yellow-brown. Hood watched, gaze fixed, remaining silent the entire time save for a single hitched breath.

Carefully, he lowered those precious hands and then leaned back for some space ( neither one of them saying anything about the fact that he hadn’t moved from Red’s lap this entire time ) before reaching into his chest and pulling out a knife. A special knife. An athame magicked to rend through spectral flesh. Which is why he kept it sheathed in its protective case and hidden nice and safe in his chest. Didn’t need any assholes getting hold of it. It’d been a bitch and a half to wrestle it away from Plasmius in the first place.

“Why the fuck do you have that in there?” Hood questioned, words spilling out of his mouth and looking surprised but unrepentant with them.

Danny shrugged, holding the knife aloft carelessly. Convenience. I have more.

“What-,” he sputtered, “How many do you have?! Where did you get them?! Are those from when we were patrolling? Have you been keeping them in there this whole time?!”

Danny flicked his wrist, waving off the man’s question, and used the incredulity as a distraction so Red wouldn’t stop him from what came next. To potentially heal Hood’s hands, he needed regenerative ectoplasm. The only way to get it without finding a way into the Realms, was to make it himself. He couldn’t just do that on demand, though. He was sure there were some ghosts that had that ability out there, but he’d never met them and he was sure they probably wouldn’t be willing to share their methods with him.

So, knife time. Athame time. Whatever.

He sliced along his palm, a dull green blood rising to the surface. He pulled a rag from his chest as well, cursing himself for not thinking this through and grabbing it before this. He felt Red lurch under him, thighs bucking up in an aborted move to stop him.

“Fetch,” the other growled, tone a warning. “What the fuck.”

He rolled his eyes. The fact that Hood had stayed still after his knee-jerk reaction told him that the other had figured out what he was up to. The grumbling was just because he didn’t like the method or the execution. He shook his head a bit. Big baby.

He put the rag to his palm and let it soak up the initial flow. The darker green ecto was useless to him, it was just the stuff he was made of peeling away from itself because of the blade’s magic. It let the regenerative ectoplasm bubble up from beneath in order to try and heal the wound. He mopped it up and used the athame to hold the wound open, waiting for the color to turn. Once it was a vibrant, toxic green he dropped the rag and let the “ectoblood” drip and coat his hands.

He looked up and almost laughed at Red’s disgusted look. Yeah, it was pretty gross, but there wasn’t much of a better way to go about it. That he knew of, at least. He wiggled his fingers towards Red’s face mockingly and repressed a laugh at the other’s returning scowl.

“Don’t make it weird,” he said with a grumpy protest.

Danny rolled his eyes. In what world would this not be weird? They’re both undead and Danny has to bleed all over him. They’re beyond weird at that point.

He gave the other no warning before picking up Red’s hands and holding them between his own bloody ones. He really, really wished he knew a better way to do this. Wished he knew what he was doing at all in the first place. But this was as good as it got, fumbling around in the dark and just praying anything would work.

He held Red’s hands as gently as possible while still making sure his ectoblood coated all of his injuries, his bruises and breaks. He would envelop the other in everything he had, surround him with his soul and sooth away all of his aches and pains.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, focusing on his core. He thought about healing, about mending, about soothing, and pouring his very being into fixing every break and every bruise. He could feel the ectoblood warm up under his fingers, glow brightening as it bent to his will. He could hear Hood hiss as it all seeped into his skin and dug into his bones, the heat of it intensifying as the ecto went to work.

It’d been a hell of a time learning how to do this for the Amity Parkers back home, especially when they would run and scream at the sight of him. Thankfully he hadn’t usually needed the athame to help, he was just already injured from one fight or another when he’d check on the bystanders. They hadn’t really liked it either when he’d bleed on them, but they always stopped screaming at him once their wounds sealed back up. He hadn’t even meant to do that the first time, he’d just been so panicked when he’d found Sam buried under rubble after an attack. He’d been freshly dead; his first year as Phantom. He didn’t think she even remembered what happened, but he did.

When his ectoplasm had sunk deeply enough into every part of Red’s broken hands, he could start to feel the extent of his injuries. The old breaks, the chronic damage, the new fractures and lacerations. And carefully, so carefully, he willed the ectoblood to stitch every one of them up.

He… struggled. More than usual.

He’d tried to heal someone without ecto-contamination once; an out-of-towner that’d been visiting family and had been caught up in an attack at the wrong time. Buried under rubble that most natives knew to avoid. They’d reacted a little bit like this. A rejection of the ectoplasm, where the human body recoiled and tried to destroy the foreign substance. Where it reacted so violently that the body started attacking itself in order to be rid of it. Their wound had already been fatal, his interference had at least made it quick. That didn’t stop him from feeling guilty afterwards, feeling the weight of their death on his shoulders and their blood and viscera on his hands.

Red’s body wasn’t reacting... quite so violently. But it wasn’t reacting like it should either. The ecto was oozing into his bones and binding the breaks together, but it wasn’t sticking, for lack of a better word. It was healing him, but it also wasn’t. Like wrapping a band-aid around a cut that needed stitches. Better than nothing and not necessarily useless, but not enough to fix it completely either. Something was stopping it from doing its job. Like there was a layer of ectoplasm already there, fighting it off- not taking kindly to the foreign ecto-signature. Danny didn’t like that one bit. He didn’t even know where to begin to address that, let alone fix it.

The heat of the ecto was starting to become too much to handle, a sign that it had done all that it could. But Danny tried to push it just a little bit further. Just enough to maybe get it to hold.

He and Red both hissed when the ecto bubbled and burned them. Danny dropped his grip and immediately blew a cooling breath over Hood’s hands in order to get the temperature down and cement the ectoplasm in place. What he didn’t expect was for it to make a makeshift icy shell. That was new. He knew that if he concentrated he could make the cold of his ghost sense come forward, but it’d never done that before. He couldn’t complain, though, because this way it would keep all the ecto in until it could properly adhere and do its job.

“Huh,” Red said, staring down at his frost-encased hands, turning them this way and that and watching the dusky sunlight streaming in through the window glint off the thin layer of ice as he moved them.

Danny nodded, wiping down his own hands with the rag and mopping up any excess ectoplasm. He’d already irrevocably stained the couch so he wasn’t worried too much about dripping any on the upholstery, he just didn’t want to leave a mess. He skimmed the rag over the cut he’d made on his palm, the wound already stitching itself together now that he was done using his ectoblood to heal. He didn’t really understand how it worked, but he knew, instinctively, that ectoplasm was ruled by feeling and intention . So if he was willing the cut to stay open and using his blood to heal, the ectoplasm would obey. Most of the time. It wasn’t an exact science, by any means.

He watched Red warily, hoping the man knew better than to immediately try to use his hands for anything while they still had the ice around them. He didn’t have much faith in that. Red had a horrible track record for recklessness.

He slumped his shoulders in a small and silent sigh and pulled out his whiteboard again. Better make sure Red knew what he was dealing with. That, while he’d pieced him back together- he could still fall right back apart. That Danny might have just failed him after all if it turns out the ecto didn’t stick. He felt a terrible lurch of guilt at the thought.

They’re still really fragile. Don’t push too hard. Something was wrong when I tried to heal them and I think it might be the Bad Goo you have going on. What I did might be temporary.

He watched, squirming, as Hood read over the words, waiting for the anger that was sure to follow when he realized that Danny had lied to him. Danny had told Hood that he could fix his hands, that he could absolutely heal him. And he’d failed. Sure, the bones might still stick together and he might have managed to actually do something there. But it wasn’t enough. It was half-assed and slipshod. Just like everything else he’d tried to accomplish in his life. Imperfect to the point of catastrophe. He might have even ruined any progress his hands may have naturally had.

At this point, if Red lost the use of his hands after this, it would be all his fault .

“Fetcher,” Hood whispered, voice full of an awe that made Danny flinch. He startled at the cold feeling of ice against his skin as Hood gently cupped his cheeks and tilted his head up so their gazes could meet. “ Thank you. ”

He keened, the sound emanating from deep within his core; a small and pathetic sound. Hood grinned at him but he backed away, swaying back from his reach and getting perilously close to falling off the other’s lap. He picked up the whiteboard again. Red didn’t understand. He didn’t deserve his thanks. Didn’t deserve any sort of awe. He needed to make him understand.

It didn’t work like it should have! If you break them again the damage might be worse! Don’t thank me for fucking up!

He was near to tears when he flipped the board over.

“Jellyfish,” Hood said sternly, the sharp tone making Danny flinch again. “If I break my hands again, that’s on me . Not you. You told me from the beginning it could backfire.”

The frost on Hood’s hands was beginning to melt, allowing him to flex his fingers and clasp Danny’s chin with a better grip, tugging him back towards the inferno that was Red’s chest. He planted his hands against Red’s pecs ( and he would not think about that ) in an effort to keep some distance between them and from just melting against him. He felt far too guilty for cuddles. No matter how much he really, really wanted them.

Hood sighed, releasing Danny’s chin when he refused to make eye-contact- instead staring at the whiteboard that was resting on his thighs.

“You and I both know that the damage done to me was extreme,” he said, voice measured and tired and Danny still refused to look up. “That if something went wrong with my recovery, I might have needed to have one or both of my hands amputated.” Danny winced, but he kept going. “Especially since I can’t see a specialist. I don’t care that you couldn’t heal them all the way, the fact that you were able to do anything for them at all is a miracle to me.”

He finally looked up, making tentative eye contact and getting caught by the look of conviction on Hood’s face. He really thought that Danny had done something profoundly good for him. That he hadn’t just fucked up his hands monumentally. He looked at them where they laid on Danny’s thighs, holding him in place with a gentle grip.

They were still mottled with bruises, yellow and deep purple splashed in contrast to tan skin turned sickly pale from being covered for so long. Angry red scars stretched across their surface in jagged lines, crisscrossing each other with no rhyme or reason. He could feel them shaking, ever so slightly. They were still broken, still fragile. But they were also still there. Still functional. Still whole.

Danny, reluctantly, gave in. He knew how stubborn Red was. There would be no convincing him otherwise about Danny’s mistakes.

He let his shoulders drop and gave in to the warmth that was beneath his fingertips, head curling into the now familiar crook of Red’s neck. At least this way he wouldn’t feel so guilty about not being able to face him fully.

Chilled fingers carefully wound themselves within his hair, gently threading through the foggy mass that was slowly growing past his shoulders. He was trying his damnedest to repress a purr at the feeling. Why the hell were ghosts so much like cats in the first place? It didn’t make any sense at all and he resented the purr that was building in his core without his permission. He hated how easily it gave him away.

“I’ll take another week,” Hood murmured, voice a pleasant rumble Danny could feel more than hear with how he was pressed against the other’s throat. “I’ll stay in and be careful with my hands for another week. And then I’ll be extra careful with them when it’s back to business, okay? Does that sound alright to you, Ghost Doc?”

He huffed and gave a small nod, lightly pushing at Red’s shoulders at the same time. He shuffled around and maneuvered the both of them, Hood just bemusedly going along with his manhandling, until they were lounging back on the couch again. He didn’t want to think about it anymore, didn’t want to feel about it anymore either. A nap was what he wanted; to sink into blissful unconsciousness, and if it meant cuddling on the couch with Red? So be it.

He could feel the slight shake of a laugh in Hood’s chest once they’d fully settled. “If you wanted to sleep with me that badly, Fetch, you could have just asked.”

Danny lazily brushed an intangible hand through Hood’s stomach and relished in the startled yelp it elicited.

Asshole.

═════ ◈ ═════

Something was bothering Bruce about the case, the one that Tim wasn’t allowed to look at. He knew this because Bruce kept looking for something, looking so relentlessly that he didn’t notice the times that Tim would sneak down to the cave to check on him. It’d been another week. Two weeks since he’d come back from confronting Ra’s and two weeks since Tim had shown him the similarities in hazmat suits.

And he knew that his case with Fetcher was connected with Bruce’s case with Red Hood. Fetcher and Red Hood worked together. But this seemed… worse. More intricately entwined. Bruce, who had offloaded the Fetcher case to Tim in the first place, took over both and booted him from the cave.

Not that that would stop him. Never had before.

No, Tim was going to help whether Bruce liked it or not. It’d been hell and back to get Alfred to agree, but he’d come up with a plan to get B out of the cave and himself down in it so he could get a closer look at the Bat-computer. Alfred was all for anything that would get B to take a nap for once in his life, he just didn’t like that Tim was going behind B’s back.

But Tim was determined.

He was going to find whatever the hell B was looking for and he was going to prove his worth again. If Jason was back- if one of the Robins that he’d looked up to so much was back- the one that he’d replaced… He’d have all that much more to prove. To show both Bruce and his predecessor that he was capable. Bruce had barely acknowledged him when he’d gotten back and he knew Jason wasn’t likely to even care who he was, let alone how good at his job he was. But Tim wasn’t one for complacency either, even when no one else paid any attention. That wasn’t anything new, anyway.

So. Tim drugged Bruce’s cookies.

B trusted Alfred, and usually he would be right to trust Alfred. But he should know not to underestimate Tim. Or Alfred when he was really truly worried about B. So, with Alfred’s supervision- if not express permission, he drugged the cookies. And Bruce took a nap.

He was going to be pissed when he woke up, but Tim was hoping to temper his ire by finding stuff and solving part of his case for him. Also, it’s not like Tim was doing anything new, not when Bruce had pulled the same drugged cookie trick on Tim. Multiple times. So, really, Tim was just using the lessons Bruce had taught him. Turnabout was fair play or whatever the hell. Tim may or may not have needed a nap himself.

So after shoving B onto the couch they kept in the cave specifically for situations like this, he cracked his knuckles and got to work.

And fuck was it work. After finding what Bruce had been toiling over the most, going back to over and over and over again, he hit the same wall that must have been driving B insane. He didn’t know who the hell the GIW were, but their firewall was like nothing else he’d ever seen. It was like it was alive . At least he knew why Bruce was so frustrated now, if whatever he was looking for was locked behind it, he’d be pissed too.

If Tim didn’t know that Bruce was going to be out for a solid twelve hours, he’d be worried. Fighting the firewall of some unknown government agency (if they were even actually with the government) was not what Tim thought would be one of the hardest won achievements of his career as Robin, and yet. It didn’t work the way code was supposed to work. It moved and shifted in a way that it most definitely should not.

At one point he could swear it growled at him.

Numbers would change value right before his eyes. The line of code he was working on would disappear. The more he worked the less it made sense. He thought he would have to give up (but he couldn’t, he couldn’t ) before it all snapped into place. The code suddenly seemed less like a wall and more like a cage. He couldn’t explain how he knew this when nothing had actually changed while he hacked, but he did. The growling grew in volume, like a guard dog snapping warning bites. And the more he worked, the more he realized- whatever was protecting the database wasn’t just protecting it. The servers the GIW worked on- they were insulated. Isolated.

Whatever caged the GIW database grew more frantic the more he dug in. Working faster to patch what holes he poked rather than attack him and kick him out. Like it was worried more about what was inside getting out , than him finding his way in.

It took him ten hours. And he could swear he heard screaming when he finally broke through.

The heavy weight of an admonishing hand on his shoulder let him know his time was up in that regard as well. But he’d gotten through at least. Even if he felt sick in the aftermath of it all (that scream).

Bruce didn’t say anything, just stared up at the files upon files now available for them to rifle through. Gently, he pushed Tim out of the chair and took a seat himself, pausing only long enough to give Tim a hair ruffle- the only sign of affection or acknowledgment he’d gotten from Batman lately, before setting to work and clicking away.

Tim- Tim left the cave without another word, feeling oddly guilty and bereft. He couldn't figure out why.

[walnutcookie]

please write a ramble abt how fucked up roguefort is /nf

Ong . On it boss. Salutes

i love playing around with the concept that they have two faces: phantom bleu and their secret identity (who i just call roquefort). we know that phantom bleu is all an act because 1) i mean it makes sense nobody can just Live like that 24/7 but MRE IMPROTTNTLU 2) we see little bits and pieces of them through their little Urk! s and the time where waljut is like HEY REVEAL YOUR TRUE IDENTITY like Girl. tthe little hints to their lore and. Oua

none of this is confirmed its more just my fanon interpretation of them but Girl they are so fucked up . I have a whole timeline built for them of like how phantom bleu came to be and stuff but i dont wanna talk about it here because i wanna turn it into a comic/animation and let people theorize before i talk abt it HZBZKSB BUT LIKE. Girl. Theyve always had shit self confidence (probably their shitty parents are to blame for that) but after phantom bleu came along it got so much worse. probably the only reason why theyre Actually in a decent state of physical health is because they need to be able to do their heists . cause otherwise theyd probably neglect themself (either because they dont want to care for themself or they forget to do things). theyve put phantom bleu on such a pedestal, the only way that people will actually love them, that they think their own life is Meaningless

like. god. This fake character theyve created, this one big play theyve put on, people actually love them for it. and girl theyre dying to have that attention. as time passes they love roguefort cookie more and more, at the same time despising themself. what good are they? theyre useless. they take up space in their cousin cheesecakes mansion. they dont even pay rent (well not through actual money) they just take up space. they dont have an actual job. they dont have friends, cheesecake is their only real family (their other family being a grumpy cat and a sentient cape L)

they hate themself soo much its insane . they avoid getting too close to people for the pure reason that if someone finds out what theyre really like then everything is over. the mystery is all gone, theyre revealed to be a lazy good for nothing waste of space whos only good at playing pretend and watching lala land. thats what scares them the most, out of everything else. thats what keeps them up at night. so they close themself off ! avoid giving out personal information, hide every emotion with a mischievous smirk.

during phantom raven theyre at their highest (and at the same time close to their lowest.) they love roguefort cookie because everyone else loves them, and hating roquefort because nobody loves them. and then eventually realize . this is not love! nobody really loves them. theyre getting attention for the character they play, and that will never change. theyll forever be a nobody, recognized only for their talent, never for who they are.

then after their watch is auctioned off, they snap. they cant crawl out of this hole theyve dug, but maybe if they dig deeper theyll reach the other side? their only goal is to turn back time, back to before their family died, so maybe they can please them this time and theyll have someone to love them (Their parents are assholes btw theyll nevr be satisfied with roque)

roquefort is a puppet. theyve created a monster thats come to life, and its taken over their body. they could stop at any time, of course, but that means theyd be losing their only source of attention. so they keep doing it, even if it feels more like a chore at this point because They just dont know what else to do theyve lost control and phantom bleu is too big of a name to stop now

but i give them a happy ending in my fanon becquse i would Cry every time i think about them otherwise HZVZKHWF

[charlesangels03]

A letter for Hirohiko Araki, a renowned manga artist.

Dear Hirohiko Araki-sensei, First, I would like to introduce myself. I am Elijah Gabriel C. Perez, a huge fan of your work, Jojo's Bizarre Adventure and I am writing this letter to you as gratitude for bringing Jojo to the world. I stumbled upon your work when I was 13 years old on Animax when the the anime adaptation of Part 1: Phantom Blood and Part 2: Battle Tendency aired on the channel at around 11 PM in a Saturday night. At first, there was a lot of things I was confused of. Hamon? Stands? Pillar Men? Not to mention that many memes in fact came from this entire franchise that has been spanning for more than 30 years????! But anyway, I was hooked, really, really hooked, and I have my eyes peeled on the for at least 3 hours. Meaning, I have watched 6 episodes since 11 PM and I caught sleep at around 2 AM. Ever since then, I started watching the anime every 11 PM on Saturdays and I fell on love on its uniqueness from other animes. I fell down the rabbit hole eventually. Months later, I started to read the manga of Part 5: Vento Aureo (Golden Wind) because at the time the anime adaptation of it was just starting. So, I had time to immerse myself in the manga and experience it in all of its glory before the arcs are fully covered in the anime. And my God, I was blown away sensei. Your detailed artstyle using pen and nibs blew me away that each of your characters look like Renaissance statues and the way they pose, oh my, they look so fabulous like runway models. Each hatched line in their form looks so perfect and dynamic. What also amazed me is how your writing also is different from other anime and manga, and it took Western media influences. But besides al of that, when I finished Part 5, I was satisfied and willing to dig deeper into your entire catalogue of works which served as a huge source of inspiration in my art and development as an artist. Fast-forward to today, you have a new part published in your series, Part 9: The Jojolands. I started reading the first 6 chapters and although, the concepts introduced there started to become more complicated especially the "principle of mechanism" but I'm hoping that I'll understand it as the story progresses. Besides that, I am really hoping for the all of the characters' development especially with one of the characters, Dragona Joestar (who presents themself as a woman, however their pronouns are he/him) to really start have their own metamorphosis. Another is that, the main protagonist, Jodio Joestar (the younger brother of Dragona) is somehow boring, besides being reckless and exhibiting antisocial behaviors or that's just his personality. But, please don't let that discourage you sensei, I have high hopes for Part 9, knowing that this is the last part of Jojo's Bizarre Adventure. With all of that said, I am anticipating for Jojolands to become fully flesh out and be the ultimate representation of the magnificence and grandeur of your art and life as a mangaka. May you have more power, Araki-sensei! May you always continue to make art and may your art continue to speak to people from around the world.

Much love from the Philippines, Elijah Gabriel C. Perez

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Elijah's 3rd Week Blogging Entry: Literacy Photo taken from Author's Note of Jojolion Volume 22 Source of photo: https://jojo.fandom.com/wiki/Author%27s_Note_(JoJolion)

[the-silver-peahen-residence]

Hey Terry, are you sure their was not one time Shdwkyz lost himself or what would have happened if he did wait too long when his 'hunger' took over?

Terry was eating some cupcakes he got from the store when he stops hearing the question to blush red. "Wait..w..what!? That's private! I'm not telling you anything alright?" He said to the anon but he just glares already not liking them getting nosy.

"Besides, why are you wanting to know that?" he said even if he didn't know till that one time.

~~~~~~~~~

"Ahhhh ahhhhhh nuggahhhh ahhhh ahhhhh ohhh fuck...f...fuck fuck...ssssss mmmmmmm....."

Terry didn't know the result of Shdwkyz holding back for a long long time that it would make him snap. That and he didn't even tell him. Well, it happened to him and it ended in something he was not expecting.

Weak loud moans were heard in a bedroom followed with grunts and groans from Terry. He was on his back, thrusting up while groaning. He was looking at his boyfriend the Phantom Slasher a.k.a. Shdwkyz losing himself. He was minding his own business hunting down criminals for a while that he forgot about his urges again that the venom snake lets it all out in full swing. Now Shdwkyz was a heated weak mess.

"Ahhhhh ahhhhhhh nuhhgggggg..." He threw his head back screaming out in pleasure as he was slamming his own hips down, pushing his length deeper into his hole. "Ahhhhh ahhhhh ahhhhh ohhh ahhhhhh,...AH!!" he shuts his eyes but his body ached drooling with glowing lustful eyes.

"T..Terry..Terry please h..harder! F..fuck me harder!!" he begs looking up but he feels Terry sit up still slamming him down as he cries out out in a lustful tone. His arms wrap around his shoulders while his head was in between his shoulders.

He could hear Sai's heated weak voice while feeling him get tighter as he bucks up. His eyes were hidden still but his lips parted with drool running down his chin shaking.

"H..Harder..p..please h..harder....f..fuck me till you b..break me..please..I want you to.." That's when Terry slams up making Shdwkyz claw his back twitching from the rougher treatment.

~~~~~~~

"So yeah, you shouldn't be so nosy to ask such private things." He warns.

~~~~~~~

His boyfriend kept slamming his hips down with the clapping of skin just for Sai to scream out when Terry was taking him even rougher. His hands squeezing his waist while he was gasping out. "Ahhhhhhh m...mmmmm!!!!!! Ahhhhhhhhh Nhhnnnn!!!"

His lips parted open but Terry could seen some of his face even in the dim lighting of this room. His body was coated in some sweat, his lower part of his face was only seen thanks to the dark along with his snake fangs.

"Ahhhhh ahhhhhh ssssss ahhhhhh...ahhhhhhh Ah! Ha!" He feels Terry suddenly go harder that he cries out when Terry lays him back but feels Sai's hands on his back to claw his skin when he was suddenly jackhammering into him. His screams were quick while throwing his head back now digging his nails into Batman's back.

"Ahhhh y..yes fuck me! F..fuck mmmmmmmm please fuck me like your b...breeding me!!" He begs but their was tears in his eyes while Terry kept pounding away while Shdwkyz was out of it.

~~~~~~~~

Batman said nothing but looks away from the grey anon.

[living-on-borrowed-time]

Oh boy this got out of hand way faster than I anticipated. Also fair warning I’m posting this from mobile so I have no clue how the formatting is going to turn out. Plus, shout out to @hadrian-pendragons for being amazing and helping me organise my thoughts <3

—————

Watching Phantom Fade is one of the most agonising things Bruce thinks he’s ever forced himself to witness.

The stillness. The total lack of movement. The way that sound and light seem to warp around him ever so slightly. The discomforting way the ghost child’s vibrancy seems to leak from him and ooze into the world around him, eventually dissipating like soft clouds of smoke from a burning stick of incense.

The way there’s nothing for him to fight here.

Constantine’s subduedly awed comment marking the significance of Phantom’s presence still, despite it all, does not help ease his guilt and frustration with…

With everything.

His dwindling hope that things might get better cutting at him like fractured glass sinking deeper into him with each passing second.

He had checked the records in the Watchtower, digging through their archived call data, when they had finally sequestered Phantom into a crudely rigged up ghost containment cell from a cleared out conference room on the Watchtower. The results weren’t pretty; in fact, they were more than damning. Then when Phantom laughed them off with that broken, hollow laughter and reminded them that the Anti-Ecto Laws existed, Bruce was so angry with himself he could barely keep himself present for the rest of the… conversation. If one could really call it that.

Bruce had first caught wind of the hidden laws not too long after they were enacted, and dismissed them due to their irrelevance to the at-the-time near-apocalyptic crisis, and left the matter be- having only briefly skimmed a published paper or two on the matter, authored by doctors Madeline and Jack Fenton. It had seemed absurd, in the moment after reading a few paragraphs here and there, that any of the ‘scientific research’ referenced and expanded on was feasibly plausible without the resources and researchers that any other organisation like Star Labs could have. So for these two scientists to have “punctured a hole through dimensions to gain access to a place known as the Ghost Zone” was beyond anything he could allow himself to seriously believe. Therefore there was some kind of nut job in the government that he would have to keep an eye on, and that’d be that.

Clearly he had been beyond incorrect in his assumptions, and now 70,000 people had died, with one more on his way to never be able to meet them in whatever came after a second death, according to Constantine. One near twice dead child that he could not allow himself to walk away from to Fade alone.

A petty penance, his own self-flagellation in the wake of a protector spirit’s Haunt being blown off the map and entire family killed.

Just as Bruce is about to check the time, there’s a slight blur, and something appears in the room with them, on Phantom’s side of the glass. Something that shouldn’t be possible, seeing as that entire half of the room is completely sealed off and the larger wall at the back of it only greets space on the other side.

And yet, there’s a floating humanoid in there, with an appearance similar to Phantom in uniform, but in physique startlingly different. The being pays him no mind, crouching down and laying a hand on Phantom’s back—somehow—with a sigh. “Is this the way you wanna go out, kid?”

Something about Phantom’s entire form twitches- no, spasms, and Bruce is shocked into standing. Before he can get a word out edgewise, however, Phantom finally speaks for the first time in hours.

“Either End me or fuck off, Dan.”

There’s an echoing, ringing static accompanying his words which wasn’t there the last time he had spared words for anyone in the Watchtower.

‘Dan’ hums. “Kind of pathetic to End someone who’s already Fading.”

“Then fuck off.”

“Can’t do that squirt.”

“Why are you even here? Come to gloat?” The more Phantom talks, the more Bruce is coming to realise that perhaps listening to the boy like this, with his unnatural and degrading vocalisations, is going to melt his mind.

“As if I could gloat,” Dan sighs and shifts, leaning back against the same wall that Phantom is facing, still entirely unmoving. “I only had… them die. You lost everyone and had your entire haunt fucking nuked, yet you still didn’t do like me. I’m—unfortunately—sure that means you win, pipsqueak. So, I’m asking, is this how you want to Go?”

There is blessed silence for a long moment, and Bruce’s vision has gotten fuzzy. Apparently, both Phantom and this Dan character’s speech is actively detrimental to his health and potential continued existence.

He can’t gather the wits he needs to make himself leave.

Phantom’s voice, distorted as it is, has a distinctly wet aspect to it now, as if he were crying while swimming underwater. “Shit way to prove a point. And it’s not like a measurement of how pathetic a person in front of you is has stopped you before.”

There’s… something concerning about that, but Bruce’s mind is a bit too mushy to really grasp what and why those words are so worrisome.

Dan’s deep voice is lowered and gentled the next he speaks. “Apparently your influence has more of a lasting affect than we’d thought. I’ve had a bit of a change of heart.”

“What are you really here for, Dan.”

“Well, since you won’t answer my question, I guess I’ll rephrase for you. I’m here to make you an offer.”

That’s the last he hears before a pair of strong arms yank him out of the room and everything goes black.

————

Dan has mixed feeling about this whole… ordeal.

Being released from soup-themed prison by Clockwork a good while ago came with a lot of conditions. Conditions he had agreed to, because near constant isolation was definitely getting to him the longer it went on. Considering he was in the master of time’s domain didn’t help, it just meant that no matter what amount of time he was alone to ‘think over his actions’ according to Danny… well, any span of time alone could have been only two minutes or two years, and he had no way of knowing one way or the other.

Of course he took conditional escape over that psychological hell.

Now, years later to him, he watches with Clockwork as his alternate self’s life comes crashing down around him. It’s… much worse than Dan’s ever was, and he starts to wonder why the Ancient beside him hasn’t wiped this timeline from existence yet. Is he waiting to show Dan a different way to go insane? Did the old bastard free him as he did so that he could make Dan take down a Danny gone dark since the Timekeeper couldn’t bring himself to do it?

No matter the reasoning, Dan can’t help but be mildly impressed at the restraint this version of Danny has to losing everything and then barely a few days later hearing someone talk about it like that? He would have just squished the offender like an ant. Though, he can appreciate the chaos and irony of possessing and puppetting a person who doesn’t believe either of those things can be done. And a speedster at that. Comedic, considering where the guy thinks he’s getting his power from.

“So was there a point to calling me here to watch this, or are you just getting your old man kicks out of being a vague and cryptic asshole again?”

Clockwork hums in what might be a laugh but has equal chances of being some ponderous noise. “This is the main timeline.”

Dan pauses at that, and swallows roughly. Amity hasn’t been his haunt in a long time, but it was once, and witnessing it be destroyed even like this doesn’t make it any easier to stomach. “And you’re not doing anything about it?” He watches, now unable to look away from the viewing mirror, as the magician Constantine manages to pin Danny in a spirit trap, effectively letting the speedster run out and stopping Danny in place like running into a wall of glass.

“Perhaps I could. But many of those timelines have poorer endings than even this. I have explained before that your timeline occurred because the Observants wanted to End Danny before he could gain more power and consider overthrowing them. You served as a warning to them, as well as a lesson to Phantom that the stakes aren’t always what they first appear. Obviously, there’s more to it than that, but it is what’s relevant currently. Look.”

Dan ignores the repetitive lecture of the purpose of his failed timeline, you hear it once you’ve heard it about a million times, and watches in confusion when Danny doesn’t try to fight containment and transfer to the Watchtower. He can’t see what Clockwork wants him to notice here, and Danny’s longterm plan here seems like biding his time to get optimised revenge to him. He’s already given his usual fighting buddies free reign to cause havoc and get into shenanigans wherever they like, seems like a divide and conquer strategy which is subtler then he has gone with but it’s not a bad one to lead with.

Until his alternate self dives off the script that Dan thought he was following.

“What do you want.” Danny sounds unsettlingly… empty. “To harvest my core? End my existence? Pick me apart? Send me to the GIW so they can see what makes me tick? All of the above?”

If he hadn’t sounded like he had given up, Dan would have thought that his following lecture on the law outlawing his very existence in the United States was a very good psychological attack. Use the truth to it’s most brutal extent, and make your enemies squirm and break themselves over it.

Then, “sounds like a you problem.”

And, “I don’t care.”

It dawns on him that Danny is genuinely Fading when the boy willingly brings up his own death to total strangers. Truth or not, that is almost never a good sign. His core creaks as he absently listens to the magician lay out in simple terms what’s happening to Danny and what all he lost. Haunt, community, loved ones, kin.

Fuck.

“Clockwork, you have to be joking. What kind of timeline can have this as an acceptable event?” He gestures to the scene playing out in front of them. “Amity’s obliteration is Ending Danny and all of those deaths only strengthened the Fenton portal. Danny is the only one with the ability to manually close it at this point, and if he’s gone then not only does it create a permanent location for the Realms to be accessed from, but bigger and badder entities are going to catch word that it’s undefended and the bleed over is going to destabilise everything. How is this even remotely better than my timeline?”

Clockwork, as ever, continues to look entirely impassive. “There is too much to explain, and you have previously stated your loathing of having the knowledge of timelines placed directly into your mind, so I will refrain from doing so. However, if you really think this is so impossible of a maintainable future, then consider that your sulking does nothing for any of us.”

“What,” he says sarcastically even as he tries to curb his anger’s sharply rising, “you want me to break the rules so that you can punish me to take your irritation out on me?”

“Even if I did,” the bastard replies evenly, “I’m afraid I am much too busy trying to keep this timeline stable to act on it for a long while yet.”

Dan scoffs, anger building at the dismissive tone and even some on behalf of the steadily Fading Danny of this timeline. “Fuck you, you’re not even doing anything,” he snarls and storms out before he can attempt to do something he will regret being locked up in isolation again for.

He leaves, and therefore can’t see when Clockwork smiles ever so slightly, a sad but triumphant expression. “No, I’m not. I’ve done all that’s needed for you to take care of it.”

——

Dan doesn’t even bother being subtle about stealing an artefact from Long Now and getting through the ‘containment’ half of the set up the Justice Failures have Danny in. Now that he’s here in person he can feel how close the boy is to falling apart at the seams. The only thing making it take so long are his ties to humanity as a halfa, and once his core is far enough gone his human body will be the only thing left. Not quite dead, but never to be truly alive ever again.

Danny wouldn’t last long, were his consciousness to somehow remain intact after that kind of trauma.

With a soft sigh, Dan kneels down and rests a hand on Danny’s back. “Is this the way you wanna go out, kid?”

The reply is both flatter than he was hoping for, and more horrifying for the way he can hear the way it scrapes across Danny’s fracturing core to produce. “Either End me or fuck off, Dan.”

Not even a response to his being free from the soup container huh? Yikes, he’d been hoping that maybe his presence would get Danny’s attention as a threat to attempt to wrangle. He’s further to Fading then Dan had initially thought.

He hums, barely trying to mask his concern considering that Danny probably can’t even pick out subtle differences in conversation with where he’s at right now. “Kind of pathetic to End someone who’s already Fading.”

“Then fuck off.”

“Can’t do that, squirt.”

“Why are you even here? Come to gloat?”

Oh, kid. “As if I could gloat.” He sighs and shifts so he can sit with his back to the wall that Danny is facing. “I only had… them die. You lost everyone and had your entire haunt fucking nuked, yet you still didn’t do like me. I’m—somewhat unfortunately—sure that means you win, pipsqueak. So, I’m asking, is this how you want to Go?”

There’s a long, drawn out silence from Danny that Dan doesn’t even consider breaking, so he sits with him and tries to think what the hell he’s even doing here. He wants to help, but what help can he be to someone he tried very hard to kill in the past and has zero good report with? Telling the kid about the portal issue isn’t going to help any, and now that he thinks about it he might be able to close it, having been Danny once. That has nothing to do with what he’s doing here though, so mentioning the 70,000 deaths now super powering the Fenton portal is definitively out.

Dan is probably strong enough to force Danny’s core to stabilise for long enough to get him to Frostbite? But if Danny just wants it all to be over then… maybe it’d be kinder to End him before his core shatters and he’s trapped in a body that hates existing.

Ancients, that’s so fucked up. He used to want to kill Danny. Want to End him for having everything he no longer did and for reminding him of everything he was before shit hit the fan. And now the thought of doing so as a mercy? It’s- he’ll do it. If that’s what Danny wants then he’ll do it, but Dan can’t imagine doing anything but hating himself for the rest of his existence. Hells, what could possibly make any of that better? As a ghost, what would Danny possibly accept from Dan that could make his Fading or Ending any better?

He… he could get revenge. Claim penance from those who never listened long enough to heed pleas for help. That is something he knows he can do. Could probably do it before Clockwork notices. Well, eh. Maybe. Probably not. And even if the ass decides that his doing so isn’t for the “good of the timeline,” then Dan will at least have the memories of justly killing half the Justice League on Danny’s behalf.

Okay. Yeah that’s something he can offer.

Though… Danny as a halfa is pretty malleable, Fading or not. Maybe-

“Shit way to prove a point,” Danny’s voice cuts though the subdued quiet, even as it wobbles with a shrieking kind of agony and he speaks bitterly apathetic. “And it’s not like a measurement of how pathetic a person in front of you is has stopped you before.”

That’s not an unfair assumption on Danny’s part. He has no idea how humbling an experience it’s been, having a modicum of freedom in exchange for conditions that he cannot break or else risk being alone in his own mind again. Having so little to do that watching this kid’s life like a drama on tv was more interesting than getting up to anything in Long Now. That watching him go about life made Dan remember almost nostalgically what it had been like to be Danny and alive, and dealing with school and parents who barely gave a shit about him unless he was in trouble at school, and fighting ghosts because they kept fucking with his haunt and wouldn’t leave on their own.

Made him remember the time before Vlad had Dan back when he was still Danny malleable and willing to give up who he was and became part of who he is now.

So, it’s true. Dan used to be a person who did not give a shit who he killed when they were in his way, even just as a minor inconvenience. But he’s not that anymore. He’s not the same as he was before he became Dan, but he isn’t who that embodiment of grief fuelled rage and destruction that came after either. Not quite.

“Apparently,” his voice is softer than he had intended, since he hadn’t actually meant for his voice to soften with nostalgia or change at all, really, “your influence has more of a lasting affect than we’d thought. I’ve had a bit of a change of heart.”

“What are you really here for, Dan.”

Yeah, he wasn’t expecting Danny to believe him anyway. Maybe it’s time to change his approach.

“Well, since you won’t answer my question, I guess I’ll rephrase for you. I’m here to make you an offer.”

That gets the barest touch of real emotion he’s seen so far from Danny today. “You have an offer?” His dulled incredulity and active choice to turn on his back and look up at Dan nearly has him falling back through the wall behind him. “What are you now, some kind of crossroad demon?”

He chokes on a snort shocked out of him. “Nah, that’d be pretty funny though you have to admit. A crossroads demon.” He cackles. Shit, when did he stop being that funny without trying? Lost opportunities everywhere. He blames Vlad’s influence. “Man, imagine the downgrade from abomination incomplete-halfa to that. I’d never hear the end of it.” He huffs. “But that’s not the point. I’ve got four options off the top of my head here for you, pipsqueak. You listening?”

“Sure,” Danny closes his eyes, voice sounding worse than ever. “Whatever you want, crossroad demon.”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Alright, now I’ll repeat this as many times as you need, but I don’t know how much time you’ve got left like this so try not to tune me out.

“You can pick as many or as few of these ideas as you want. It’s your Fading, and I’m not going to step on your grave like that if you’re not asking me to. The catch is that you do have to choose what you want here. Following me so far?” Hopefully if he brushes over the point that Danny’s own deadline supersedes his incredibly flimsy threat, then he’ll forget about it or ideally not even notice it.

“Get to the point, Dan.”

Well, he’ll take that as a yes to his question. Who knows if noticed the motivational lie to choose at least something. Now for the hard part.

“The first is that I End you right here, right now. Mercy for you from me, after all that time you spent trying to get me to give it a try. A little ironic, I guess, but there you have it.

“The second is that I claim penance for you.”

“Penance.” One of Danny’s eyes squints open to look at him warily when he interrupts. “What’s that even supposed to mean?” A tiny flicker of liveliness. That’s a good sign.

“I was getting there, shortstack. I means I kill everyone who did you wrong and got you to Fade like this. I hunt the failure league, the GIW, hell I’ll fuck up the observants again for you. Give me a laundry list and I’ll get even for you on your behalf.”

Danny jerks his head back and opens his other eye to get a better look at him. “You mean that?”

“Absolutely, kid,” he growls out. “Honestly unless you ask me not to? I’ll be doing it anyway.”

“Oh,” Danny says quietly, voice steadier than it was a few moments ago, interestingly enough. Though still pretty painfully awful to listen to.

Dan gives him a few moments before continuing like they didn’t get emotional just then. “Third, I brute force your core back to stability long enough to get you to Frostbite. Allegedly. Honestly that one’s kind of fifty-fifty on whether or not I can pull it off.”

He pauses there, not really sure how to phrase his last idea. Danny catches his hesitance almost immediately.

“Changing your mind on option four? Or on patching me back together like some kind of zombie till you can threaten Frostbite.” He rasps.

“No, not anything like that. A zombie? Really? Patching up your core like a field medic does not make you suddenly a ghost zombie.” He sighs, not able to release the tension in his mind over the fourth option. He lets his head tilt back until it taps the wall quietly to stare at the ceiling. “I… don’t know that either of us will like it, but I guess…”

“Spit it out already, Dan. I’m living on borrowed time here remember?”

Right.

“The fourth option is I assimilate you.”

After being ignored by the Justice League for years and thought of as a scam Phantom finally faces an opponent he didn't win against and his city is destroyed, killing everyone. The monster is heavily wounded by Phantom however as it was a brutal fight for both of them

Danny is heartbroken and in shock while the Justice League face off against this threat and also lose. Eventually they get thier second wind and rematch it and kill the thing, but just barely.

Later a small memorial was held for Amity Park and Phantom was enraged at how small it was. 70,000 people died and this was it? Most of the people hear weren't even mourners. They were press and fake ghost enthusiasts trying to catch internet points for thier viewer count. He hears some redhead say that the people of Amity were scammers and this whole ghost thing was fake. With tears in his eyes he screams, not as Fenton but as Phantom, "I'm fake?!" He grabbed the man by his throat and flew a few feet into the air, "You think I'm fake?! Here! Let's see how fake I am!" His words were dripping venom as he possessed the man and laughed as he used him as a puppet, attacking the people around him with ectoblasts and sending them running away screaming.

Bruce Wayne watched on as some unknown Elderich entity possessed Wally West and began attacking people. So Amity Parks pleas for help as well as the pleas from thier supposedly fake superhero were not just part of an elaborate tourist trap.

Green lantern had some explaining to do. Hopefully it wasn't too late to salvage the situation and save this child.

It was.

[sometimesiwritethings]

Invisible Roommate | Part 2

🌑pairing | yandere Felix x gn!reader 🌘genre | dark romance, smut 🌗word count | 1.8k 🌖includes | obsession, stalking, non-consensual somnophilia

🌕blurb | It didn’t feel real – it couldn’t be real. But somehow you knew you weren’t alone in your room. Whoever had crawled into your bed last night was still here. He was in your closet. Hiding, waiting.

👾warning | This fic contains unhealthy mentalities and relationship dynamics that are never rectified. There is no redemption arc; there are no heroes. Please read responsibly.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue

You’re halfway between a dream and reality when you noticed how hot you felt, the sheets clinging to your skin. Something about that struck you as strange. It had been chilly in your apartment when you'd gone to bed in nothing but your underwear. So why did you feel a layer of sweat coating your skin?

You tried to wet your lips but couldn't; your mouth was dry and foul tasting, as though someone had stuffed your cheeks with cotton. There was a heavy cramping in your legs, probably from the strange angle you fell asleep in. Your limbs refused to listen when you tried to stretch them out, held in place by some unseen force.

Terrific. Another night of sleep paralysis.

The tea was supposed to stop this from happening. Or at least, it was supposed to stop you from waking up to it happening. A coworker had recommended the blend of tea, swearing it would help you sleep through the night. And it did help. For nearly a month, the tea kept you sound asleep until your alarm clock startled you out of bed.

But tonight, you'd broke your usual cycle and drank a mug of hot chocolate instead. It was nice being able to sleep through the nights, but recently the tea made your mind foggy in the mornings. And then there were the dreams.

Dreams of being wrapped up in strong limbs. Dreams of gentle touches, stroking across your hip, up your arms, ghosting over your cheeks. Dreams of feeling warm and safe and cared for, which only made it that much harder to wake up alone in your cold, empty bed every morning.

So tonight you skipped the tea in hopes that would stop the dreams.

It hadn’t. If anything, it only made the dreams worse. Even now, paralyzed between sleep and wakefulness, you could still remember the incessantly hot touches of your phantom companion. Maybe that was why your body felt so feverish. A muffled whimper escaped your slack lips and your hips jerked upwards in search of relief that will never come.

“You still want more?”

Your eyes snapped open, darting wildly in search of the phantom voice. It sounded deep, undeniably masculine, somewhat amused despite the rough way it spoke.

There was no shadowy figure lurking in the corners of the room, no terrifying demon hidden within your open closet. No one who could have spoken. Had it been a part of your sleep paralysis? A remnant of your dreams that felt unnervingly real while you were trapped on the edge of consciousness?

Then you felt it. The harsh grip that held your thighs open, fingers digging into the soft meat of your skin with enough force to bruise.

You barely had the strength to look down, terrified by what sort of creature might have crawled out of your nightmares and into your bed. The covers hid the true nature of your intruder. But you could still make out the shape of another body – a human body – slotted in between your legs underneath the sheets.

“No more after this one, yeah? Wouldn’t want you getting spoiled.”

Something wet and hot pressed against your hole. A lightning bolt of pleasure and pain shot up your spine, your back arching off the mattress even as the tight grip held your hips in place. The sensation forces you to moan when you want to scream, the sound weak and muffled in your own ears.

The invisible assailant buried his face deeper between your thighs. He wasted no time in using his tongue to expertly manipulate your body. It was unfair. You discovered the use of your arms, but you can do nothing other than claw at the mattress as a white-hot orgasm is ripped from your body against your will.

 When your shuddering thighs are finally released, you clench them weakly as your midnight intruder sat up on his knees. The sheets protecting him began to fall away and you quickly clenched your eyes shut. You still weren’t convinced if this was real or just a night terror, and you weren’t ready to face the truth.

Despite the painful orgasm – how many times did he force you to cum already for it to feel that powerful? – the intruder hadn't hurt you. So you fought against every fight or flight instinct screaming inside your head. You kept your body limp to make him think you were still asleep.

His hips shifted up until you feel something hard pressed against your spit drenched hole. The blood in your veins turns to ice. That’s going inside me. I’m going to get speared open by my nightmares.

Instead of forcing his way in, you felt his cock slip up so the shaft was pressed against the wet mess between your thighs. He began to rut against you like that, chasing his own release. You let out pitiful whimpers from the extra stimulation to your already sensitive core, but it was undoubtedly easier to withstand than getting fucked outright.

Thankfully it only took a minute before his thrusts began to stutter in their animalistic pace. Hot spurts of release streak across your stomach as the low phantom voice moaned your name.

He’s done. He got what he wanted; now he’ll leave and I can go back to sleep.

He collapsed next to your shivering form, pressing up against you despite both your bodies being drenched in sweat. You could barely keep from trembling when he grabbed your chin to yank something out of your mouth. A makeshift gag. Most likely the pair of underwear you had fallen asleep in and woken up without.

“You did so good for me tonight,” he whispered against your ear. His fingers dipped into the mess he left on your stomach, rubbing it into your skin. “My sleeping beauty.”

A part of you longed to jolt up in bed, attack him, run, do anything but lay there next to a nightmare personified. But then he shifted next to you, wrapping you up in his arms with one leg thrown over your thighs, and it felt so familiar.

It was the same embrace from your dreams. The one that protected you each night, the one you woke up longing for every morning. It didn’t make sense, and you were too overwhelmed to make sense of it all. Tears welled in your eyes and you sucked in a shaky breath, your body tensed with the effort it took to hold in your sobs.

"Oh no, are you having another nightmare?" You tried not to flinch as he wiped your tears away with his thumb. How does he not realize that he is the nightmare? One hand cradled your head to his chest so the rapid pace of his heartbeat filled your ears. "Shh, it's okay. You're not alone anymore. I'll protect you." The gentle reassurances confused you; why was your nightmare comforting you? Against your better judgement, your muscles relaxed as the phantom continued his gentle touches.

Maybe it was a dream after all...

You woke up the next morning nearly an hour before your alarm was set to go off. You felt rested and alert despite the flood of memories from last night’s dream. Or had it truly been a nightmare? It was hard to tell anymore.

After making sure you were alone in bed, you flung off the covers and frowned down at yourself. Your underwear was missing, and the flesh between your thighs was slick and tender to the touch. But that didn’t mean anything. Maybe you'd stripped in your sleep to touch yourself along to your dreams.

A quick glance around your room showed everything to be in order as well. The curtains were still drawn, yesterday's clothes strewn across your floor, the closet door firmly shut.

Since you'd started drinking that new tea, you started noticing little inconsistencies in your life. It was nothing major: books that ended up in a new order on your shelves, extra food wrappers in the trash, or the fact that your shampoo and body wash emptied too quick. Nothing you really bothered to pay much attention to.

But now each incident carried a new weight as you distinctly remembered the closet door had been wide open last night.

It didn’t feel real – it couldn’t be real. But somehow you knew you weren’t alone in your room. Whoever had crawled into your bed last night was still here. He was in your closet. Hiding, waiting.

A thousand questions flitted through your mind. There was so much you didn’t know about who he was, what he wanted, or how he got into your apartment in the first place. And none of it truly mattered so much as the question of how do you make him leave?

An absurd solution came to mind. You were already on your feet, crossing the room and knocking against the closet door before you could second guess yourself.

 “Um, hi,” you stumbled lamely. How exactly was one supposed to start a conversation with a stalker living in their closet? “I was awake. Last night.”

There was nothing but silence from inside the closet. You didn’t dare open the door to see if he was listening. “I’m not upset. It felt, nice, having you here,” you continued, surprising yourself to realize it wasn’t a lie. But that hardly meant anything considering the circumstances.

“I think we should meet tonight. Like, properly. We could sit down and I can finally get to know my, um. My roommate.” You sounded like a lunatic talking to your closet. What if it really was a dream?

“But I want some time to prepare. To get the apartment tidied. And get dressed up. So I’m gonna need my closet back for a bit. I was thinking, maybe, you could give me a few hours? To get everything ready.”

You shut your eyes and rested your forehead against the closet door, desperate for an answer. You thought maybe you could hear someone shuffling between your clothes, but that could just as easily be your imagination. Right?

“I’m going to take a shower now,” you whispered. “Wash off, well, the mess you made. You can wait until I’m in the bathroom to leave if you’re still shy.”

It took the last of your strength to pry yourself away from the closet and walk out of your room. You slipped into the bathroom, careful to lock the door behind you in case the person in your closet decided to follow you instead of leaving. There was nothing but silence from the rest of your apartment.

“Just a dream,” you muttered as you turned on the shower. “It had to be a dream.”

You stepped under the warm water and began to scrub away tacky, dried sweat from your skin. It felt especially thick across your stomach, but you didn’t let your mind linger on why.

Not until you heard the front door of your apartment creak open and then firmly shut once more.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue

A/N: It's just gonna keep getting darker from here on out, y'all. You've been warned...

Please like and reblog if you've enjoyed the story so far, and consider following me to be notified when the next part drops~

[queen-ofsunflowers]

Five bucks says that junpei will mention the Kyoto incident while drunk one time. Wonder what the investigation team and Phantom thieves will react to that?

Actually, I think the closest that the Phantom Thieves come to learning about what happened in the hot springs in Kyoto was in the original draft for Strikers when I have Minato and Ryoji tagging along.

I'm not exactly sure how to put what happened, but I do have the scene saved still from when I wrote it down, that’s gonna be under the cut. All you need to know is that it leads to some Zenkichi bullying.

Anyway, I’m not sure at this point if the Phantom Thieves will learn about what nearly happened in Kyoto for S.E.E.S. But if the latter learns about what happened to the former, Minato’s going to fall out of his seat laughing about it.

(Note: this is shortly after the Sapporo Jail, as everyone’s driving to Kyoto so Zenkichi can meet with Akane.)

Minato: We and Kyoto have a... history. Let's leave it at that.

Ann: ...you guys are banned from entering Kyoto, are you?

Ryoji/Minato: No.

Ryoji: Just... memories, that's all. We went there for our class trip in high school.

Minato: Yeah. You wanna explain or should I?

Ryoji: It was a few weeks after Minato and I got together. All we wanted was to spend some time with each other because we were always around the others -- the people we live in the dorms with -- didn't exactly know yet. However, circumstances led us to sneaking around even more up until the point where we got caught in the hot springs--

Minato: They do NOT need to know that part!

Ryoji: It's important to the context of the story!

Goro: I'd rather not hear about your high school sex stories.

Minato: It is NOT like that! That's not what happened! We got caught--!

Zenkichi: ...Wait. Wait, wait. Wait! Arisato, Mochizuki, you two are--?! (A beat, some of the Thieves start chuckling.)

Minato: Yes, Inukichi. The gays do exist. Just like your so-called monsters and magic.

Ryoji: Ignore his sarcasm. But yes, we are dating. Have been for seven years now. Why? What did you think we were?

Zenkichi: Amamiya called you his COUSINS.

Ren: Biologically speaking, the only one I'm related to is Minato. He and Ryoji have been dating for so long, that my family has just sorta adopted him into ours. I've been calling him my cousin too since I think... sixth grade?

Ryoji: Just about.

Zenkichi: You introduced Arisato as your PARTNER.

Ryoji: Yes. That's usually what you would call your significant other. At least in our case.

Zenkichi: No, when you said he was your partner, I just-- ...*sigh* You know what? Nevermind, I'm just digging myself into a deeper hole!

Futaba: If it makes you feel any better, Zenkichi, no one here is straight so you missed the mark on all of that!

Zenkichi: It does not!

[dragonrebelrose]

I don’t expect any happy endings for any characters anymore except the ones they deem “worthy” these days, and for them that means the sUnShiNe tRiO and...no one else...

I love these tags:  

#what’s funny is that there’s bad Star Wars content#like the Martez Sister arc and the pod race in Phantom Menace…which are both just…lame at best#but they aren’t explosions that damage other parts of the story#it’s hard to watch Return of the Jedi without remembering Rian Johnson’s character assassination of Luke in The Last Jedi#you can skip the episode where Trace Martez panics and dumps the spice they’re supposed to deliver#but you can’t patch Luke’s character back together#at least the Prequel Trilogy had enough course correction with Revenge of Sith and Clone Wars#so that whiny Anakin in Attack of the Clones blends into possessive angstlord Anakin by the time we get to Mustafar#the Sequels stomped SO HARD on so much of the beloved OT that no number of series set in the interval and make amends#*sigh*#I can live with all that and try to pretend that the ST doesn’t exist#but if they kill Sabine and/or Ezra? that might kill my enthusiasm for Star Wars…because it’s become absurd and predictable#from a storytelling perspective at least#or at least I’ll just crawl back to Rebels and act like the Mandoverse never happened

I totally agree. I hate the Martez sister arc so much because we already got a story like that where Ahsoka helps out a pair of sisters in the Ahsoka novel, which I read years ago and felt like TCW episodes with Rafa and Trace were just way too similar that it put a bad taste in my mouth. And I haven’t gone back to rewatch those episodes at all so I completely forgot that Rafa freaked and spilled their spice shipment, that’s how bland and boring they are.

I didn’t completely hate what they were going for with Luke at first, but boy do I hate how they just kept digging themselves into a deeper hole for him in TROS. So in TLJ he tosses his old saber away because he wants nothing to do with it or with the Force anymore, okay, I get it, that’s fine. But then they literally have him say “That’s not how you treat something like this” (can’t remember the exact line) like BRO you TOSSED it away last movie and now you revere it as some sort of sacred object? Yeah it’s because the writers were backtracking WAY too much and all of a sudden they want to bow down and worship all of this random stuff. Again, it left a bad taste in my mouth. In fact, that nonsense gave me whiplash it was so apparent what they were doing.

It’s funny, I really dislike the prequels but I adore TCW because they actually did TRY with those stories and yeah, like you said, they slowly fixed and blended prequel Anakin into Angstlord Anakin. It flowed much better.

But yep, I agree with you that if they kill Sabine and/or Ezra...I just really don’t know if I can or even should return to Star Wars. They already killed Ben Solo and I already vowed to distance myself to Star Wars after that but thankfully we did get SOME decent shows and stories so it kept me going, but things just look bleaker by the day. And if the Ahsoka show flops in every way, not to mention killing Sabine and/or Ezra, then yeah there’s truly nothing left for me to enjoy in Star Wars.

Lucasfilm: Literally every single romance or almost-romance we’ve ever written in the Star Wars universe has ended in tragedy.

Lucasfilm: Han/Leia? Split up after their son went off the deep end. They eventually died broken and alone.

Lucasfilm: Anidala? No match for Palpatine’s plotting, Anakin’s attachment issues, and Padmé’s Sadness.

Lucasfilm: Obitine? Jyn/Cassian? Reylo?Tragedy! Tragedy! Tragedy!

Lucasfilm: At least we gave you Kanera. Aren’t they just so sweet and devoted and —— oh, whoops! More tragedy!

Ezra: I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

Sabine, drawing her blasters: They can pry you from my cold, dead hands.

Ezra: Please don’t tempt them.

[thebadgerclan]

Twice the Fun

Pairing: Severus Snape x reader

Requested by Anonymous

Summary: Severus’ new potion gives twice the fun...

Smut!

A/N: It was kinda hard to get the cloning potion aspect right, so I hope it’s not too confusing

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” you asked, warily eyeing the vial in your husband’s hand.  “I am,” he replied, stepping closer to you.  “I’ve tested it extensively, and it’s completely safe.  And if you decide you don’t want to continue, I have the antidote right here.”  Severus had perfected a cloning potion that would make an exact duplicate of the drinker.  He claimed that the clone would have complete sentience, looking and acting like a mirror image.

After a moment, you nodded, and Severus smiled.  “I’ll make you feel so good, darling.  Or should I say, we will?”  You scoffed at the bad joke, but sighed when Severus pressed his lips to yours.  You melted in his arms, arousal building steadily in your belly.  The prospect of having two of your husband fucking you was insanely arousing, and already, your pussy was dripping.  Severus broke the kiss, and an instant later, there were two sets of lips on you.

It was the oddest thing Severus had ever experienced.  He was still himself; he still felt his body, still felt you in his arms, still saw you with his own eyes, but at the same time, he was standing behind you.  He saw himself kissing you, he felt himself standing behind you, and he felt his cock throbbing, both on his own body and on the clone’s.  In a word: it felt indescribable.  It was as if his mind was split in two: one half in his true body, the other in the clone’s.

The desire for the clone to move forward hadn’t even formed when he did, pressing his lips to your neck.  You gasped, turning in Severus’s, the real Severus, arms to look behind you.  “Merlin, this is weird,” you whispered, but you couldn’t deny the need you felt.  “Is this alright?” Severus asked, and you nodded.  “More than alright,” you replied, and experimentally, you turned and pressed a kiss to clone-Severus’ lips.  It felt like a phantom sensation, like you were breathing over Severus’ lips.  Clone-Severus put his hands on your hips, and Severus felt the ghost of the warmth of your skin on his palms.

“Shall we move to the bed?” Severus asked, and you nodded.  “Yes, please.”  Severus hummed, taking your hand and leading you to the bed, sitting against the headboard, opening his arms to you.  Clone-Severus followed suit, sitting at your side when you sat in Severus’ lap.  His will influenced the clone’s actions, hardly requiring a thought on Severus’ part.  “What do you want, my love?” Severus asked, kissing you again.  Clone-Severus came to sit directly behind you, trailing his hands over your bare skin.  The two of you had stripped bare before Severus had taken the potion, which left the clone naked as well.

“I want both of you,” you said, already breathless.  “I want both cocks inside of me.”  Both Severus and Clone-Severus moaned, which made you moan.  “Alright, sweetheart.  But which of us do you want in your tight little cunt?”  “You, Sev,” you replied, but realized that might be a bit vague.  “The real you”  “Of course, darling.”  Severus maneuvered you so you were lying in his lap sideways, head near his left shoulder.  Clone-Severus moved from the bed, digging through the bedside table and pulling out the lubricant.  “Tell me stop and I will,” Severus said, and you nodded.  “I will, I promise.”

Then Severus’ lips were on yours, and oh Merlin, Clone-Severus’ lips were on your cunt, licking and sucking, tongue flicking your clit.  A slicked finger prodded at your ass, and you tensed a bit before relaxing, letting the digit in.  Clone-Severus’ ministrations not only served to relax you and allow him to prep you, but combined with Severus’ lips on yours, it also was drawing you closer and closer to the edge.  “Sev,” you moaned, Severus’ hands on your face, your neck, your breasts, everywhere.

“Yes, sweetheart?”  “I can do another.”  Clone-Severus reacted at once pushing a second finger into you alongside the first.  You arched you back, moaning against Severus’ lips.  “Merlin, you’re beautiful,” Severus said.  “Letting me fuck both your pretty holes.”  A third finger entered you, and you cried out.  Clone-Severus sucked hard on your clit, and that pushed you over the edge, rolling your hips as you came, moaning against Severus’ lips.

“Are you ready, darling?” your husband asked, stroking your side.  “Yes, Sev, please!”  Clone-Severus slowly retracted his fingers, casting a cleaning charm on them.  Both Severus and Clone-Severus positioned you how they wanted you; facing Severus, straddling his hips, with Clone-Severus sitting behind you, his legs framing yours.  “Alright,” Severus said, holding your hips, while Clone-Severus did the same.  “We’ll take your ass first.”

Clone-Severus took his cock in hand, hissing at the contact, and lined himself up at your rear entrance.  “Easy now, love,” he said, the first words he’d spoken, and you nodded, slowly and gently lowering yourself down.  Your body resisted, but after a moment, he entered you, making your eyes go wide and a moan leave your mouth.  “Alright?” Severus asked, and you nodded.  “Y-yeah,” you said, tentatively bouncing your hips, letting yourself adjust to the feeling of being filled in such a way.

Severus felt just a fraction of Clone-Severus’ pleasure, nowhere near enough to truly stimulate him, but enough to tease.  A few minutes later, you grabbed at Severus’ shoulder, slowing your hips.  “I need you, please Sev!”  Severus cooed, pressing a deep kiss to your lips.  “And you have me,” he said, lining himself up with your soaked pussy.  He thrust up into you, making you scream with pleasure.  Severus could feel his clone’s cock inside you, and he moaned, as did the clone.

The room was filled with the sound of three moans, the slight creaking of the bed.  You’d never felt so full, so completely and utterly full.  The pleasure was otherworldly, Severus’ cock was ramming your g-spot with every thrust, Clone-Severus’ cock providing a delicious stretch that you knew would be the stuff of fantasy for the rest of your life.  Clone-Severus attached his lips to your neck, sucking a mark onto the left side of your throat, while Severus sucked a mark onto the right.

Your head was fogged with lust and want, head lolling back onto Clone-Severus’ shoulder.  Your legs were trembling from the strain of riding two cocks, and Severus gripped them and bounced your hips for you.  After a moment, Clone-Severus did the same, bearing the entirety of your weight, doing all the work for you.  Clone-Severus brought a hand around to rub your clit, and you moaned loudly, stars popping before your eyes.

You were moments away from coming, and you could only hope Severus was too.  And as he always did, Severus sensed that you were close, and he bounced your hips faster.  “I want you to come,” he rasped, close himself by the sound of it.  “Come on my cock, come for me.”  Clone-Severus moaned his assent, and you felt both cocks twitch within you.  Only four bounces of your hips later, you were coming, twitching in their hold, moaning Severus’ name, his lips on yours.  A moment later, he and Clone-Severus came in sync, both moaning guttaraly.  

You felt their come inside you, and you sighed, leaning forward into Severus’ chest.  Slowly, Clone-Severus pulled out of you, and you whined at the loss.  Severus pulled out of you as well, settling you comfortably in his lap, kissing your forehead.  He took the antidote from the nightstand, downing the vial.  Clone-Severus winked out of existence like he never existed, and Severus turned his attention to you.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, flicking his wand and casting the cleaning and contraceptives.  “Merlin’s fucking tits, that was fucking amazing.”  Severus smiled, kissing you deeply.  “Was it?”  “Yeah.  I never thought… just wow.  Wow, Sev.”  “I know, I feel the same.  That was insanely sexy.  Watching you bounce on my cock, shit.”  You nodded, snuggling deeper into his embrace.  “But I think I prefer having sex with just one of you.”  Severus nodded, feeling the same deep down.  “We’ll save it for special occasions, then.  Twice the fun?”  You laughed, nodding.  “Twice the fun,” you agreed.

[tripleaxeldiaz]

nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy

read on ao3

Eddie’s fine. Really. He’s got a fresh scar on his right shoulder, a twin to his other one, and a couple more medical bills to pay off, but other than that, everything is good.

Why shouldn’t it be? Things could be worse — he could’ve lost his arm, could’ve been shot in the spine instead, could’ve not survived the trip to the hospital. But he did — he’s healed, he’s still breathing, and he’s ready to get back to work on Monday, to stop staring at the inside of his house and get back to the life he’d finally started to feel settled in. There’s a twinge in his chest every time he thinks about actually being back out in the field, but it’s just nerves, a small worry at getting back into the swing of things. He knows the team and how well they work together, so he’s sure one rope rescue with Buck is all it’ll take to feel normal again.

He’s fine. Or almost fine. Really, he is. He doesn’t let the tremble in his hands or the ice in his gut tell him otherwise.

~~~~~~~~~~

It doesn’t really register, the first time it happens. There’s a glint of light in his periphery, and for a second, his arms go numb. It’s just a second, though — he sees the flash again, sunlight shining off an axe Ravi is packing onto the truck, and he moves on, doesn’t think about it again.

The next time, the wind whips by his ear a little too fast after a call at the pier, and he turns around so quickly he cracks his neck, the thought of bulletbulletbullet ricocheting in his head. It gets him a concerned look from Bobby and reminds him that he never called that therapist his doctor mentioned at his last visit, but he elects to deal with it later and moves on.

Things keep happening, but they’re all small, insignificant — someone laughing too loudly at dinner, the feel of hot asphalt under his hands as he reaches under the ambulance for a runaway bandage roll, a phantom jolt of pain in his shoulder when someone accidentally jostles him running to the truck.

Tiny things, meaningless, not even worth remembering.

He’ll get used to them, eventually. He’s been healing, isolated from the real world for months now, it’s going to be a bit of a shock to his system and his senses.

He doesn’t call the therapist.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck’s happy. Genuinely happy, in an open, honest way that Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen. His laughs are still loud but they’re freer, unrestrained, and his smile is bright enough to light whatever room he’s in. It makes something sing in Eddie’s chest, especially when all that wattage gets directed at him. If he’s honest, the music’s been there for a while, it just took lying in his own blood, reaching toward the only thing that felt like safety, for him to finally put a name on the song that’s been playing.

Talk about shitty timing.

Because Buck’s with Taylor now, and as much as he still doesn’t care for her, she’s helping with Buck’s new attitude too. He sees the soft smiles that linger after a text from her, and he only gives himself a minute to wish it were for him instead before reminding himself how much of a miracle those smiles are at all.

If he had watched Buck get shot, been splattered with his blood, been soaked with it as he tried to stop it from leaking out of his chest, he’s not sure he would’ve had any kind of happiness to spare.

So he adds this feeling, this particularly green beast twisting in his chest, to the list of things that he’s just going to have to get used to, and moves on. Buck is still in his and Chris’ life, still at their house more than his own, still the center of both of their worlds, and that’s enough. 

It has to be.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Wow, Eddie, you look like shit.”

He glares at Chimney as best he can, but he’s too tired for it to hold any heat. “Good morning to you too, Chim.”

Hen sits next to him at the table where he’s nursing his second mug of coffee of the day, downing the first one before driving Chris to school. She presses the back of her hand to his forehead, and he tries not to melt into the touch too much.

“You don’t feel warm,” she says, “but you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

He shrugs, staring down at his coffee. “Just haven’t been sleeping well.”

That may be an understatement. Not sleeping well implies sleeping at all, which Eddie’s not sure he’s been able to do in the past few days. It was easy enough when he first got home, still on pain meds that made his eyelids constantly heavy. And when Chris crawled into his bed the night after his sling came off, quiet but sniffling and burrowing into his side, it was a relief to gather him up close, a hand stroking through his hair as they both drifted off, clinging to each other. It was good for both of them, necessary to remind them both that Eddie is still here, but Chris went to his own room on Monday night instead of Eddie’s, and Eddie refused to take that choice away from him. 

So he’s been alone, in a too dark room with a too big bed and a too loud brain that only shows him flashes of light and blood and fear whenever he does try to close his eyes.

Just another thing he has to get used to.

He sees Chim and Hen exchange a look and hopes to God they don’t press it. He’s beyond frayed, his state of exhaustion warring with his almost constant state of hypervigilance, and he’s not sure if he’d snap or cry or both if they try to ask him any more questions. Either way, that’s not how he wants them or anyone else to see him, especially not at work. At work, he’s Mr. Cool, always level headed, always in the game, always on top of it. Despite the jumpiness, despite the sense of dread that seems to be a permanent fixture under his skin, he’s been able to keep that attitude going, even getting lost in it sometimes, feeling like the Eddie of four months ago again. If that starts to unravel, who knows what other parts of him will fall apart with it?

Luckily, they seem to get the hint, a pat on the back and a squeeze on the shoulder as they leave the loft to restock the ambulance. But even once they’re gone and he’s alone in the quiet of the loft again, Eddie feels exposed. Fragile. Vulnerable. Teetering on the edge of an abyss he can’t afford to fall into. And he hates it, because this isn’t him. He’s the protector, the provider, the guy who’s survived getting shot twice now, and as much as he encourages Chris to be open and emotional, it still feels wrong to him, like something too close to failure. He knows, rationally, that talking about the mess in his head would probably help, but it would also feel like a loss. Like this one-sided war he’s been fighting was all for nothing.

He hears Buck before he sees him, his unmistakable bounding up the stairs echoing through the whole loft. Just that sound, just the knowledge that Buck is about to be in his vicinity, is enough to yank Eddie back from the edge. He’s not settled or calm or better, but he’s not worse. These days, that’s all he can really ask for.

Buck takes Hen’s vacant seat, stealing a sip of coffee and chattering about a traveling art exhibit he thinks they should take Chris to. Eddie feels the vice on his ribs loosen, letting Buck’s voice and enthusiasm wash over him, pushing him back to center. He doesn’t quite make it, not when Buck stops talking mid-sentence, brow furrowed and looking so intensely at Eddie he can probably see right through him

“You look tired,” Buck says. 

Tired isn’t a strong enough word. But he smirks half heartedly instead, willing a little bit of his confidence back to get the subject changed sooner. “And here I thought I looked good today.”

“No, you always—“ Buck clears his throat and shakes his head, “You just look like you could use a nap. Are you okay?”

And for the first time since he woke up in the hospital with a new hole in his body and extra demons in his head, Eddie doesn’t want to say he’s fine. In the face of earnest blue eyes and worry lines, he doesn’t want to lie, and that’s exactly what an I’m fine would be, no matter how much he’s been trying to ignore it. He doesn’t want to downplay and pretend that it’s nothing, because it’s Buck. Buck who has seen him lower than he’s ever let anyone see, who slept on his couch so he was never too far away from him or Chris, who knows when Eddie needs to be pulled or pushed or pressed or none of the above. 

He doesn’t want to just say he’s fine, because he’s not.

The courage to say so finally fills him, just in time for Buck’s phone to light up, Taylor’s name flashing across the screen on two messages. Buck doesn’t even glance at his phone before flipping it face down and pushing it to the side, but it’s too late — Eddie feels his walls going back up, any bravery leaving to make room for the reminder that Buck is in a good place and Eddie will do anything to keep him there. He’ll take another bullet, he’ll keep every emotion under lock and key, he’ll carve his own damn heart out of his chest if he has to. He cannot — will not — be the reason that smile that’s become so natural on Buck’s face dims by even a watt. 

The crease in between Buck’s brow has only gotten deeper the longer Eddie hasn’t answered, so he musters up the most genuine smile he can. “I’m okay, Buck. I promise.” The lie cuts through his throat like broken glass.

Buck squints at him, scooting forward until his knees are digging into Eddie’s thigh. “You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?”

“Of course,” he says, another lie, more salt in the wounds he’s already given himself. Buck’s quiet for a few long moments, studying Eddie’s face, and Eddie prays that he doesn’t crack, that Buck doesn’t keep pressing. By some miracle, he doesn’t, just rests a hand on Eddie’s knee and squeezes before heading to the pantry for a snack.

The vice is back as soon as he’s out of sight, and Eddie’s list of things he has to learn to live with is starting to feel a little too long.

~~~~~~~~~~

Healing isn’t linear. It’s something he’s heard from every doctor he’s seen, every therapist he’s been assigned to, something he’s experienced first hand, physically and emotionally. So when he wakes up one morning feeling rested, energetic, and normal, he’s wary. He doesn’t want to focus on it, afraid he’ll scare this fragile feeling away, but he also wants to soak in it as much as he can. Wants to remember the easy laughs with the team and the night of board games with Chris and Buck when he’s inevitably surrounded by darkness again tomorrow.

He falls asleep and he doesn’t dream and he wakes up and feels...normal. Again. Same thing the morning after, and the morning after that. For a whole week, he doesn’t wake up with the taste of blood in his mouth or a soreness in his shoulder. He hears birds and sees the sun peaking in and feels something dangerously close to good. The wariness is still there, but every day it gets pushed a little farther back in his mind, making it a little easier to believe that while this feeling might not last, maybe it won’t be as dark when the clouds roll back in.

He’s wrong. 

The restlessness comes back with a vengeance — a thrumming in his blood that won’t let him sleep, that amplifies every sound to sharp snaps that remind him too much of the gunfire he’s been trying to forget, putting him constantly on edge again. There’s a heaviness too, making it hard to breathe, hard to move, even though staying in one place for too long feels like putting a target on his back for the monsters that have made a home in his head.

He tries to keep his cool, tries to keep the facade up, but it’s hard to keep your balance on a frayed tightrope.

Bobby notices the shift right away.

It doesn’t help that even the quiet thump of the oven closing makes Eddie flinch where he’s sitting at the kitchen counter. He had hoped that watching Bobby make breakfast would calm him, remind him of the countless hours he’s spent in Abuela’s kitchen doing the very same thing, but it doesn’t. He’s still jittery, worse than he can remember being, and everything just feels like too much. 

Bobby sets a to-go container down in front of him, and Eddie flinches (and curses himself) again. He looks up, confused, and is met with Bobby’s I’m about to tell you to do something and you are not allowed to say no look. Usually it’s Buck on the receiving end of that one.

He tries for a deflection. “Are we going somewhere, Cap?”

The look stays in place. “We are not. You are. There’s enough in there for you and Chris, take it home and don’t let me see you here for the next 48 hours.”

“There’s still three hours left of shift.”

Bobby pushes the container closer. “Go home, Diaz. Be with your kid. We’ll talk when you get back. And if you won’t talk to me, we’ll find someone you will talk to.”

Normally, he’d fight back. Raise his hackles, insist he doesn’t need any special treatment or intervention. But he feels like his insides have been scooped out and replaced with lead and cement and he’s tired. He barely has enough left in him to keep himself upright.

He slowly picks up the container and gets up to leave. Bobby calls his name as he gets to the top of the stairs.

“We’re here for you,” he says. “You’ve been through too much to be handling this on your own. Just let us know how we can help.”

I would if I could, but I don’t even know where to start. 

He just nods, hopes his face looks some degree of reassuring, and heads to the locker room.

~~~~~~~~~~

The way Chris’ face lights up when he sees Eddie waiting for him in the front office is enough to thaw the ice in his chest for a minute. He can hear the exact octave his mother’s voice would reach if she heard about him pulling Chris out of school for “no good reason”, but he also could not give less of a shit.

He feels a little bit more like a person with Chris in the backseat. That’s a good enough reason for him.

They set up camp in the park near their house, Bobby’s food and extra snacks Eddie picked up spread out between them, and Chris fills Eddie in on all the things he missed while he was working. He tries to focus on everything — Chris’ excitement about his upcoming science fair, the Sour Patch Watermelon sugar stuck to the tip of his nose, the way his hands move with his words. Eddie feels better, more settled, just getting to bask in the sun and in Chris like this, but he still feels heavy, like every move he makes has him fighting against gravity, threatening to pull him into the dirt. 

There’s a crack from the playground in front of them, and Eddie’s blood turns to ice. He’s halfway to standing before he sees it’s just some kids snapping sticks in half to build some kind of log cabin. He lets out a slow breath as he sits back down and wills his heartbeat back to normal.

Chris is staring at him, eyes intense and brow furrowed, very similar to someone else they know.

Shit.

As soon as he’s settled, Chris moves to sit in the criss-cross of his legs. He’s a little too on the lanky side for this anymore, but Eddie’s absolutely not going to complain. Chris twists until he’s looking Eddie in the eye. Eddie does his best not to look away.

Chris rests a hand on his cheek. “It’s okay if you’re feeling bad,” he says. “You can talk to me about it, if you want.”

The crack comes from Eddie’s own heart this time. His kid has been through so much in 10 short years, and it’s only made him wiser than he should be, compassionate and understanding and open, ready to be there for anyone without a second thought. He’s good in every sense of the word, and Eddie’s in awe of the fact that he, somehow, has something to do with that. And the last thing he wants to do is lie to his son, but he just...can’t. Talk about it. Not now. Not yet. Not in a way that will keep Chris this good.

He has no way of articulating all that, so he just wraps his arms around Chris’ middle and squeezes him close.

“I know, buddy. Thank you. I’ll be okay, and we’ll talk soon.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not everything.

It seems to be enough for Chris, though. He nods and pats Eddie’s face before reaching into his backpack and pulling out a library book. “Well, I’m gonna read to you until you feel better, just like you do for me.”

It’s the first real smile Eddie’s cracked in months. He kisses the top of Chris’ head, settling his chin there as Chris leans back into his chest.

“Sounds like a good plan to me.”

They sit there for a while longer, Chris reads to him about Percy and Annabeth and Grover, and Eddie, inexplicably, feels a little bit lighter.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck’s Jeep is parked outside when they get home, and Chris practically breaks down the door to greet him. It looks like he’s gone all out, too — Chinese food on the table, the promise of cookies and cream ice cream in the fridge, and a list of movies that Chris ecstatically agrees with as Buck lists them off. Chris hurries off to change and clean up for dinner, and Eddie moves to start opening plastic lids and cardboard containers. 

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” he says. He leaves out just having you with us is enough.

Buck waves him off. “Anything for you two.”

He could leave it at that, keep up the comfortable silence as they move around the kitchen in tandem, but there’s a nagging memory that he has to ask about or he’ll never stop thinking about it.

“Didn’t you have a date with Taylor tonight?”

Buck tenses ever so slightly, a container of dumplings shifting in his hand. “Cancelled,” he says with a shrug.

Eddie knows there’s more, but Chris comes back before he can ask, and it doesn’t feel like a conversation they can have in front of a 10 year old. So they eat, and fall into the familiar banter between the three of them, and for half an hour, Eddie can be present. He can forget the last six months and the weight still hanging off of him and live in this moment, with the two most important people in his life, and pretend that this is all there is. Just these two and their joy and warmth that wraps around him tight enough to make him feel alive again, if only for a little while.

Two bowls of ice cream and one and a half movies later, Chris is dead to the world. Buck carries him to bed and Eddie tries to ignore the new ache that’s sprung up of the course of the evening, the one that wants and pulls towards Buck like a magnet. The one that almost purrs when Buck settles back on the couch so close they’re touching from ankle to (good) shoulder, contentedness washing over the living room as they find a rerun of The Shawshank Redemption playing on cable. It’s not perfect, there’s still a roiling in his blood that won’t seem to leave him alone, but he feels better than he has in God knows when.

Buck shifts closer to Eddie, eyes glowing in the light of the TV, and Eddie never wants him to leave. “Thanks for coming tonight. I— Chris and I both really needed this, I think.”

“I told you, anything for you two. Always.”

He ignores the way his stomach flips and tries to focus on the movie. He gets about five minutes of peace before another thought comes back, still nagging him, mixing with his anxiety enough to actually force him to say something.

He aims for cool and casual. “So, you and Taylor...everything okay?”

Buck gives him a very long, almost challenging look before turning off the TV. Seems he missed that casual mark. “I should be asking you the same thing.” “Very funny.”

“I’m not trying to be. I’m really worried about you, Eds.”

“This isn’t my first time getting shot, I know how to handle it.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as bitter as it does, but he can’t bring himself to care, either. He doesn’t have the energy to keep a filter up anymore.

“Eddie, I’m serious.”

“I’m fine, Buck,” he says sharply, and he’s surprised his teeth haven’t fallen out of his head yet with how hard he’s lying through them. He hates that he’s lying to Buck at all, but those smiles he’s gotten used to have been fewer and farther between recently, and he knows it’s his fault. He might feel like his own seams are coming apart, but he’ll be damned if he rips Buck open too, even if it means pushing him away from his mess. “You’ve got a life and a girlfriend to worry about, I’ll figure everything out on my own.” 

“I don’t.”

“What?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend. We broke up.”

Eddie pauses, curses the faint hope that sparks in his chest. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been a little distracted by someone else for the past few months. It didn’t feel fair to her to keep it going.”

He gives him another long look, and Eddie might be a little dense when it comes to things like this, but that look breaks through loud and clear. This is it. This is real. This is everything he’s wanted for the past six months — and probably longer than that — but now that it’s happening, it doesn’t feel right. Buck was happy, free, finally settled into his own skin, and it’s all gone now because of Eddie and his stupid, broken everything. He knows he won’t be able to give Buck everything he needs, at least right now, but Buck needs to know that too. “Buck—”

“Nope,” he says with a firm shake of his head. “I know you’re gonna try and blame yourself for this somehow, but…don’t. It was bound to happen anyway. Because you’re right, I do have a life, but it’s you two. You and Chris. That’s all I need it to be. That’s all I want it to be. And I hate that it took so long for me to figure out, that it took you getting shot, but we’re here now.” His eyes shutter a bit as he looks down at his hands. “At least, I hope we are.”

And there it is. So simple, so easy, for Buck to admit this huge thing that Eddie thought he was dancing around on his own. The ease reminds Eddie, through his fog of sadness and anger and every other bleak feeling that’s been controlling him, that that’s what makes them work so well together. Honesty. Being able to show all their ugly, mismatched inside parts to each other and still find the beauty, the ways to help, the ways to hold each other together when they need it the most.

And Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever needed to be held together more than he does right now.

“Ask me,” he whispers, the sound seeming to echo around the room.

“Ask you what?”

“Ask me if I’m okay.”

Buck shuffles on the couch until they’re facing each other, takes both of Eddie’s hands in his. 

“Eddie,” he says softly, “are you okay?”

The world blurs as the tears he’s been fighting finally break free, but he feels strong. Brave. Like he can do anything now that Buck’s holding his hand.

“No,” he says, a crack in his voice but the conviction behind it still firm. “No, I’m not okay.”

The floodgates open, and he lets everything wash over him, all the things he’s been holding back, forcing away in the hopes that they’d just disappear one day. He’s floating and sinking and lost in the waves of it all, but strong arms wrap around him and pull him close, and there’s relief. Not a lot, not enough, but it’s there, for the first time since he woke up in the hospital. He feels safe here, with Buck wiping away his tears and pressing kisses along his hairline. He honestly forgot what safety felt like, was sure he’d never feel anything like it again. But he knew it that day he was bleeding out on the street, and he knows it now — it feels like Buck’s sweatshirt and smells like his aftershave and sounds like whispers of it’s okay and I’ve got you.

It all subsides, eventually, but Buck still holds him close, presses their foreheads together so there’s nothing else Eddie can focus on. His eyes are piercing, bright like Eddie only usually sees when Buck has a plan that refuses to be derailed.

“Let me help, Eddie,” he says, punctuated with a kiss on Eddie’s cheek. “I know you think you can do this yourself, but you don’t have to. I don’t want you to. Let me help you carry it.”

His voice left with the rush of everything, so all Eddie can do is nod before sinking back into Buck, into relief. Even that simple motion, the silent acknowledgement that he’s not alone anymore, is enough to let small seeds of hope sink into him and take root. They’re still weak, still unfamiliar, but they’re here, waiting to grow. 

And Eddie knows, with a certainty that he forgot he was capable of, that Buck will be here to help tend to them, no matter how long it takes for them to blossom.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Eddie wakes up the next morning, he still feels weighed down. There’s still an edge, an unease low in his gut, anxiety still crawling through his veins.

He’s not okay. But he looks over and sees Buck — breathing even, arm thrown over Eddie’s stomach, keeping him close — and the ever-present darkness fades from an angry black to melancholy grey. Not perfect, not even close, but better.

He’s not okay. He hasn’t been for a while. But now, finally, he feels like he will be.

[dannyphantom-justiceleauge]

This may be a minor gripe but something that has kind of bothered me about discussions and depictions of Dan is how often people seem to forget that Dan isn't just an older evil Danny, he's a combination of Danny and Vlad's ghost sides. Like people always talk about him like Danny threw away his humanity and turned evil but that's not even true. Sure, we can say that Dan is the result of Danny's action but that's a little unfair. (1/2)

(2/2) Him cheating on a test, coincidentally putting his loved one's in a position where they could be killed, is absolutely not his fault. Letting Vlad take away his ghost powers with a strange contraption might not have been the smartest move, but we are talking about a grieving CHILD here, of course he isn't going to make the best decisions. If anything Vlad's the one to blame here, and even then, it's not like he could predict what happened

---

you aren't wrong, my friend. it really isn't entirely danny's fault and the whole 'if you cheat on a test, you'll loose everything you love' moral is confused at best. i think as fandom we find it more interesting to look at danny's potential evil and moral struggle with himself. so simplifying it to be dan is a worse case scenario of danny makes the conflict less abstract.

particularly because when it comes to self blame danny isn't going to go easy on himself just because it was excusable mistakes.

i think another talking point should be how danny is the target of the time assassination more than vlad is, even though vlad is part of the evil whole. you could argue that danny is the catalyst of his friends death and vlad inventing the claw things. but vlad invented the claw things. maybe because his human side survived and acted relatively harmless from then on? or maybe it's because the observants based on the available evidence recognized danny as more of a threat. i think that fits actually, for all vlad tried to be an evil mastermind, his achievements outside of terrorizing a teenager and theft isn't particularly impressive. danny was the one who got shit done. all his fights he finished one way or another and i could see how that would bleed into dan defeating everyone.

the real question is how to we fix this. ideally we could shape this idea so it's less confused, though i do honestly find the dynamic of half danny, half vlad interesting. if for not other reason. than two half ghosts make a whole. actually that's something else to be said about dan. his self-loathing is what led him to killing his human half, another negative aspect coming from danny.

i wonder if we could frame it like fusion, from su. obviously dan isn't stable or healthy, or based on love. he's most comparable to malichite. but with less internal debate. dan took the best and worst of both of them. danny's determination, danny's fighting ability, danny's anger, danny's sarcasm, vlad's anger, vlads lack of morals, vlads schemes, vlad's control. heck, vlads desire to rule the world. i don't think we ever got that from danny.

maybe if vlad was more involved in the fight with dan it could have been used as an opportunity to compare and contrast their characters. to go we're not so different you and i. danny gets to recognize that he has that dark potential. vlad gets to be humbled by the fact that what he wants isn't good for anyone, especially himself. and to be fair, we do see some of that humbling with future vlad, but none of that character growth is given to present vlad, so, really it's just another vehicle for danny angst. it also depends on what you want to do with vlad though. he's a fascinating character and could be given redemption under the right circumstances or be a character who has the opportunity for redemption but chooses not to be redeemed every time.

that fits him and makes him both a more pathetic and despicable villain. it's hard to pity someone who ignores the opportunities to heal and grow.

as for danny, he becomes far more aware of the consequences his actions, especially his selfish and cruel ones can have. because that potential was always there. he has a history of abusing his powers. perhaps for this specific incident him abusing his powers can be something less understandable than almost cheating on a test that he couldn't study for through no fault of his own. (maybe i just have flexible morals?). maybe it could be something more character relevant, like he did something particularly vlad like, maybe he set up a prank at the nasty burger to get dash but it set off the explosion that killed his family. or maybe he did something particularly cruel and manipulative. there are better catalysts than a test. either way he recognized that he should never go that far again and strive to avoid being actively cruel.

he also has the opportunity to recognize that vlad does have a human half, even the one he's fighting everyday. he can face some conflict in it's not entirely clear what trait belongs to vlad and what trait belongs to him. he can empathize with vlad and he can recognize that situations aren't always in black in white. those who fly the highest, fall the hardest, after all.

it can be a growing experience. and while making it solely a danny goes bad and learns not to do evil kind of story. maybe we could cut vlad from the equation and just have danny face himself, full evil refection. i think exploring both vlad and danny through this fusion is far more interesting. especially because we can build on what's revealed about vlad in these episodes, in later ones. danny sees a future where vlad chills and that maybe his vlad could get their. later he see vlads past and what he lost to become who he is.

and then there's vlads turning point episodes. i don't know when motherly instinct took place but maddie fully recognizing he's a bastard and rejection him, was a turning point for his sanity, and danny helped it along. then we have danny rejecting him repeatedly, then we the clone episode, which we can all agree was a desperate move on his part, that danny once again thwarted. and we can all agree that this was the cannon turning point for his character where he stopped fighting for a family and started trying to be danny's villain. in that episode, i think danny could potentially pity vlad enough to try and reach out. he's not going to justify what vlad did and he's not going to apologize for stopping him. he went too far. he hurt danny and dani, he crossed a moral line that can't be justified even with his desperation. but if he changes...

he lost this time but if he changes, maybe they'll reach the point where they're ready to accept him.

i think the same thing could be said about his relationship with jack and maddie. if he changes, if he reaches out. if acts like less of a crazy fruitloop, his friends would be there for him. jack is still trying to be there for him, even if he's being oblivious about vlad's faults. vlads the one driving wedges into his relationships and pushing everyone away.

and that's so freaking human and understandable.it would be such a cool thing to explore with his character.

i could also see a potential arc where after valerie finds out vlad and masters are the same person she tries to get close to him, both to sus out how evil he is and to understand him as a halfa. afterall danny got her to acknowledge dani as human enough, the same would apply to vlad/plasmius, right? only he's a bad person and the more she uncovers about vlad masters the man, the more she realizes it's not the ghost half that's evil. but this is a double edged sword because, vlad is getting attached to her and encouraging her to be more evil. he's encouraging her to go darker and darker in her fight against ghosts and her fight specifically against phantom. to the point where she finally draws the line and says, i'm not doing that! boom exploring the moral ambiguity of her character and getting her to take a hard stance on her morals, because there's a line too far for her.

and boom a further breakdown of vlads character because he finally had someone outside the fentons to redeem him. she could have helped pull him out of the hole he'd been digging himself into. she wanted to help him. he got attached to her, but he and his bad decisions decided to dig himself deeper instead. so once again he's 'abandoned and betrayed'.

from that point, i think it'd be time for him to finally face jack head on. not through manipulative schemes. not through veiled threats and insults. but the full confrontation of 'i always hated you. you ruined my life. you're the reason i lost everything'. which is really just his own self loathing speaking. and jack... empathetic jack can see that vlad desperately wants help. and jack would offer it to him. jack would try to hug it out and apologize and give vlad the love and friendship vlad's been fighting to steal this whole time.

and vlad would reject it.

he'd probably lash out a jack and go into a full breakdown/world destroying attack. could finally put the stolen crown to use and try declaring himself king and embracing his megalomaniac thing and actually be a threat this time. and THAT would be our series finally. everyone teaming up to fight 'king vlad'. danny probably finding out that he's technically king because he beat pariah dark but the matter being a bit confused because he had help. val and danny trying to find the ring of rage or at least find someone who can make one. secrets are out. i imagine vlad, upon revealing himself to jack would out danny to make danny as sad and alone as him. except nope, his family still loves him and val has had the character development to come around to him. (she's still gonna punch danny for lying for so long.) the ghosts will come and help because no one wants another tyrannical kind and vlads obviously off his rocker.

ah, the could have beens

anyway, i didn't mean for this to become a full vlad character analysis and rewrite when we were supposed to be talking about dan, but hey, i'm a simple creature. i like good writing, and i have to rewrite things myself, so be it. - Hestia

[elwinged]

okay. so listen. in december 2020 i wasn't in a good place. i'd just gone through very stressful exams, my longtime crush had just rejected me, and someone i trusted had just stabbed me in the back. mentally, i wasn't doing well. you could say i was in a hole, and actively digging myself deeper. i put on a mask, and tried to be happy.

julie and the phantoms turned my life around. i don't want to know what would've happened if i'd continued down that spiral. but i remember watching the first episode of jatp and feeling my heart just fill with happiness for the first time in a long time.

julie, luke, alex & reggie gave me so much more. in 2021, i came out as bi and ace, and my confidence & courage shot up 10x. julie and the phantoms has done so much for me, guys, and i know it's done so much for you as well.

and while i can semi-understand the reasoning behind its cancellation (as @pearlcaddy​ said in her post), i'm not going down without a fucking fight.

i've heard by word of mouth that several streaming services are looking into picking up jatp, and this post by @garc-i-a​ gives some reasoning, so:

here's a petition that has almost 150,000 signatures as of 06/01/22. here's a hulu petition that's one of the highest on hulu's page and has above 1000 votes. linked in the comments are the emails of hulu, disney and hbo max's support teams, as well as the possible emails for most of the top executives at hulu.

i don't know what else to do but sign these petitions and email these corporations. if anyone has anything more that they can do, please drop a reply in the comments or in your reblog.

and please, please reblog. i don't care if your blog has 10 followers or 10,000- every reblog counts. every person matters.

so fight. please.

NO UNFINISHED BUSINESS.