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redrobin-detective · 3 years

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Side Effects of ghost powers

Hey all! I’m writing a DP fic called Side Effects exploring the physical and later mental/emotional impact of Danny initially getting his ghost powers. As an ICU stepdown nurse for 3 years, I wanted to view Danny’s accident through a slightly more realistic, medical lens.

Note: I had to fudge a good amount because Danny really should have fucking died and there’s no getting around that.

I do recommend you read the fic first before reading this as there’s some spoilers. Or if you don’t care you can read on. So! The two factors we are looking at regarding the accident are: ecto-contamination secondary to electrocution.

Electrocution

I was forced to downplay a lot of the severe symptoms of electrocution because, again, a bad enough shock will kill someone. My hand-wavey explanation is simply that the portal didn’t activate at a deadly voltage so he got a good shock but not enough to be fatal. I guess.

Muscle weakness/spasms: intermittent muscle spasms are common from shocks, muscles being activated by electricity and reacting to the lingering impulses. Danny’s is transient but quite annoying for a time. But his muscles are gonna be weak and achy af for days if not weeks after from the massive contractions caused by the shock and the after effects. Sensory issues: lots of things can cause nerve damage, including electrocution so Danny is experiencing some pretty severe neuropathy primarily manifesting with numbness and tingling throughout his body. His entire skin and peripheral nervous system got fried so while its mostly numb it’s also super sensitive for a bit of time causing massive pain and discomfort from your body tingling like a thousand bee stings. It’s worst in the hours after the accident but is something that never quite really goes back to normal both from the electrocution and his ghost half taking over and generally dulling his sense of touch.

Hearing/Vision loss: Like skin/nerves, your sensory organs in your eyes and ears would be affected by such a severe and allover electric shock. Danny has some blurred and occasionally double vision from his eyes not properly receiving/understanding input. Hearing loss is common following electricity given how delicate the inner ear is but I just give Danny some nasty tinnitus (ear ringing) for a bit. This inner ear problem also massively throws off his balance when he’s trying to move post accident. These factors are exacerbated by the ecto-contamination and mostly fade in the days following the accident before going away as his superhuman healing kicks in.

Heart Arrhythmia: an irregular heartbeat caused by the electrical impulses that control basal heartrate not coordinating they they should for a variety of reasons, in this case, massive electric shock. Danny would be somewhat aware of it, its not exactly painful exactly but you can just feel that your heart isn’t beating right. Secondary side effects are dizziness, chest pain, fatigue and shortness of breath. This resolves almost entirely when Danny stabilizes

Cognitive issues: Danny got his brains a little scrambled in addition to his molecules being rearranged. The first third of the story Danny is very clearly NOT thinking straight and Tucker/Sam should not have left him alone. Shocks can cause things like irrational emotional behaviors from hormone release along with memory loss and depression. He constantly waxes and wanes in mood and opinions on what to do in the story and never comes to a true decision that, damn lucky for him, worked out on its own.

Ecto-Contamination

Alright so Danny got massively shocked, sucks right but people live through that all the time. Ecto-contamination is more tricky (not only cause its made up and I had to think about what symptoms it would theoretically produce) but because the effects are more life threatening. It’s also irreversible, once he was contaminated it was only something that could be survived not cured.

So I theorized that Danny got shocked by the accident and was slowly dying of ecto-contamination and was pretty much clinically dead for a brief moment there, the death was enough for the large quantity of ectoplasm in him to immediately coalesce into a ghost (Phantom). So Danny was mostly dead but not quite, I’ve coded and brought back enough people to know it can be reversed somewhat. Danny becomes Phantom but the sudden stable formation of the ectoplasm into what its supposed to be, a ghost, caused his body to stop fighting the ectoplasm as a foreign invader and become part of the self. His core finished forming in his chest and his body started back up again, his ghost safely nestled in his once again living body as he slowly comes to grips with his actual death experience.

Nausea/Vomiting: I likened the idea of ecto-contamination to radiation poisoning, something that is essentially the antithesis to life. One of the first symptoms of radiation is n/v which is also why it’s one of the first overt symptoms Danny has. He was heavily electrocuted/irradiated and his body wants to expunge it all. As for the ectoplasm/blood he vomits, that’s the next section.

Gastrointestinal (GI) Bleed: So I was a little mean here. When one vomits up blood (or in this case ectoplasm/blood mix) it has to come from somewhere and a lot of the times it’s a GI Bleed. These are nasty, they need to be either cauterized or surgically repaired not to mention replenishing the blood lost. Fanon says that ectoplasm is at least mildly corrosive to humans so it is here, as it’s bonding to him, it’s literally eating him very slowly from the inside out which is causing a great deal of his internal pain. It’s not enough to be immediately life threatening but would kill him eventually. He developed some nasty bleeding ulcers in his stomach which let in blood and ectoplasm which were expunged. Danny’s core formed overnight and began healing the damage it had previously been causing but Dan is still gonna be vomiting excess blood/ectoplasm not to mention having black, tarry stools for at least a few days afterwards.

Hypothermia/Tremors: Hypothermia is when the body hits 95F/35C which Danny is just above at the start of the chapter. Danny initially starts shaking really bad (rigors) but as his body temperature cools further his shaking slows and eventually stops, a sure sign that the body is rapidly losing the fight to hypothermia and will likely die soon without immediate intervention. This is caused not only by the ectoplasm but his ice core shakily starting to form inside of him. Once he fully turns half ghost his hypothermia doesn’t change but it just no longer negatively affects him (I say Danny hovers naturally around 96-95F/35-33C getting much colder as Phantom at baseline. His body still can be damaged by going too cold but that’s a whole other post.)

Incoherency/Hallucinations: I mentioned in the electrocution section that Danny is more than a little addled and the contamination didn’t help in that regard. Not only is he not thinking clearly but he’s also getting a little delirious and seeing things. Common hallucinations I see are: someone in the room watching you, things crawling on the walls, creeping shadows, you’re in the wrong place. I think its a solid 50/50 as far as Danny straight up hallucinating but also becoming more aware of natural ectoplasm that hangs around in the atmosphere. (And before anyone asks, yes Clockwork did come and visit, Danny just doesn’t remember)

Pain: Being electrocuted, irradiated, being dissolved slowly on the inside is enough to cause massive amounts of pain. Danny is 14, he doesn’t understand true pain and probably underestimated how much it would hurt. Once it got bad, it was almost paralyzing so it got to the point where even when he wanted to call for help, he couldn’t move or think past the horrible pain of his every molecule slowly dying and rearranging itself.

Weakness/Fatigue: I don’t really have anything much to add for this section that hasn’t been said in the others. Just the combination of all of the above meant Danny is so incredibly weak and fatigued, this will be problematic in the days and weeks following the accident as his body heals from the stress put on it. Poor boy was probably just getting past the worst of his symptoms by the time of the Lunch lady attack one month in.

Ghost instinct: Going off the medical rant for a minute to go into another aspect of the contamination present in the story, the idea of ectoplasm adding inherent ghostiness to Danny. Its common fanon that all ghosts (through ectoplasm) have their own unique code and language that is just omnipresent and instinctive. Such a massive, body altering dose of ectoplasm saw those things start to leech into Danny even before he became half ghost. The biggest is his fear of being seen, majority of ghosts are completely invisible and don’t want to be seen by the living. As Danny’s suffering and literally dying, he can’t bring himself to confess to his loved ones for very understandable reasons but also this ghostly instinct in the back of his head telling him to hide and get away. Other instincts are a strong attraction to the portal/Ghost Zone, lowkey being able to sense living people around him and a bit of an emotional dampener when Phantom.

#danny phantom #danny phantom meta #danny not only got his skinny ass electrocuted #but also the ghost equivalent of radiation poisoning #kid is lucky af he survived #this fic took so long to write bc!!! I kept adding in more symptoms and details #and I just do not have enough words to convey how horrible Danny would have felt at the height of his contamination #poor baby #he's a little better next chapter

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five-rivers · 3 years

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Glowsticks

Sneaking in before midnight on Halloween~

This is another continuation of Exhumed.

McGee had talked to several people about the strangely popular gravestone. What he had learned made him feel sick. Literally. He wanted to throw up. First, the person buried there was the kid that had been found in the park. Second, the locals had made him into a cult figure practically overnight.

Or, at least, a tourist trap figure. These people had no shame.

On the other hand… Didn’t they say that Daily person was in charge of cults? Did Amity Park have a cult problem on top of everything else that was going on? Was the cult the problem, the root problem? If there even was an actual cult…

Cults were dangerous and took vicious advantage of legal loopholes. Maybe he should call the FBI. They were the ones that were supposed to deal with cults.

He took a deep breath, pulling himself together. No. This was his case. His job. He didn’t know that there was a cult involved, not yet. Besides, it didn’t matter if they were religious so long as they were breaking the law. Yeah.

“Are you okay?”

McGee almost jumped out of his skin, his hand twitching towards his firearm before he realized that the person who snuck up on him was a kid. The kid from earlier, to be precise.

The boy’s eyes narrowed. “Were you about to pull a gun on me?” he asked.

“No,” said McGee.

The boy blinked, suspicion still evident on his face. “You’ve got to be more careful with guns,” he said. “There’s no reason to go for one just because someone surprised you.”

McGee didn’t grace that with a response. “What are you doing here, anyway? Weren’t you across town, earlier?”

“Yeah. So were you,” said the boy. Danny. His name was Danny Fenton. “Why are you here?”

“I asked first.”

“You shouldn’t ask questions you aren’t willing to answer yourself.”

What the hell was up with this kid? “I’m just trying to get a better feel for the town.”

“Hm,” said Danny. “I help out here at the cemetery, sometimes. Got to lay all those ghosts to rest, you know?”

“Don’t you think that’s a little much?” snapped McGee. “Death isn’t supposed to be a roadside attraction.”

“Oh, don’t worry. We take death very seriously around here,” assured Danny. “But seriously. I do help out. The caretaker lets me take that stuff away when it gets to be too much.” He nodded at the blank headstone and all the offerings around it. “Mom likes the flowers. Jazz is making a collage of some of the cards. You know. Stuff like that.” He shrugged, angling himself away from McGee. “Someone left a tiny copy of the Tempest once. In one of those teeny tiny books. Post. It had that one passage from Ariel’s Song decorated. It was nice. I liked it.”

“What?”

“Ariel’s Song. Full fathom five thy father lies;/Of his bones are coral made;/Those are pearls that were his eyes;/Nothing of him that doth fade,/But doth suffer a sea-change/Into something rich and strange. Shakespeare. I think it’s supposed to be a commentary on ghosts, but the guy in the play isn’t actually dead, people just think he is. So, I’m not really sure how to take it. You’re a detective, right? What do you think?”

McGee stared at the teenager. The kid who was buried there was his age. “This isn’t a joke,” said McGee. “A person is dead.”

Danny tilted his head. “I’m not joking?”

“How are you even connected to all of this?” McGee waved his hand, frustrated.

“I just told you how I’m connected to the cemetery. If you mean the town… Well, I do live here.”

“Why do Patterson and Collins know you?”

“I know everyone,” said Danny. He started backing away. “You should go get something to eat soon, if you don’t want to be late.” He turned and disappeared in the crowd.

What the hell.

McGee did not go to get food. He went back to the station. He had some questions to ask Cameron Daily, and he got the impression that the man was the kind of person to practically live at work.

When he opened the door, though, he had to stop.

“What is this?” he asked, loudly.

“Glowsticks,” said one of the secretaries. “You have seen them before, right?”

“Yes, but why?”

As much as the police department had been infested with Christmas decorations before, it was now covered with glowsticks of all varieties.

The secretary shrugged. “You’ll find out. And, no, this isn’t hazing.” She broke a new glowstick with a snap.

“Right,” said McGee. “Where’s Daily?”

“Cameron Daily is in the computer bay,” said the secretary, pointing.

“Thanks,” grunted McGee, once again wondering why there was a separate computer bay when everyone had their own desks, computers, and, in some cases, additional laptops.

Screw it, he might as well ask.

“Hey, Daily.”

“Mm?”

“Why’s there a separate computer bay?”

“Oh, it’s shielded,” said Daily.

“Shielded.”

“Yep. No signals, and the Fentons did some pretty neat stuff to the walls. Bunch of, ehm, nasty hackers. We learned our lesson, eventually.”

“The Fentons.”

“Yeah. And Foley did the firewalls.”

“They’re the ones who did the computer filing system.”

“Uhuh. Kids are geniuses. The parents aren’t too shoddy, either.”

“The—” No. There was no way. “Are they the same Fentons that hunt ghosts?”

“Yeah. You wouldn’t think it to look at them, but apparently they live off of their patents. Made a bunch of fiddly little things that every other mass production factory in the country uses. Also, they own a toilet paper company. Not my favorite brand, but it isn’t the worst, honestly. Kind of wish we’d buy it here, but, no, we get that gross single ply. I swear, that stuff should be classified as a crime against humanity.”

“You let the ghost hunters deal with your computer security.”

“Oh, I know that tone. You met them, huh?”

“Just the kid.”

Daily looked up at McGee over the computer. “What?”

“I only met the kid. Danny.”

Slowly, Daily uncurled from his hunch in front of the computer. The man was taller than McGee thought.

“Then what’s your issue? Danny’s a good kid.”

A good kid whose parents were allowed to run roughshod over the town, who was allowed to steal from graveyards, and knew all of the police officers. For some reason.

“I heard you’re in charge of monitoring the cult?”

Daily snorted. “You make it sound like there’s just one.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, after all the ghosts, most religions had to modernize, you know?”

Oh, god, this was part of the tourist trap. Or the tourist trap was part of this. Did they recruit from people who actually believed this nonsense?

“There’s more than one cult?”

“Yep.”

“Sounds like quite a job.”

“Eh. I’m mostly just keeping track of their online activity.”

“So, how are the Fentons involved?”

“They aren’t. They’re pretty areligious, overall. Danny’s been almost kidnapped a few times, though.”

“What?”

“Kidnapped. By a cult.”

“Cults. Gotta remember the plural, man. Cults.” Daily was hunching again. “But, hey, if you’re interested in the subject, I can give you a thorough run-through of this new group that started up last week. Their philosophy is wild. I can’t even tell you—”

“Hey. You’re early,” said Patterson, leaning through the door, her braid swinging. “Great. Have you eaten?”

“Yes,” lied McGee.

“Get better at lying,” said Patterson. “Come on, let’s go.”

Patterson and Collins weren’t the only ones there. In fact, there were more people in the station than there had been that morning. All with glowsticks. Said glowsticks were being loaded into unmarked cars while office staff and police officers whispered back and forth.

“Did you get the green stuff?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. Gave me more than enough.” Glowing green milk jugs were loaded into a car. The car McGee would be riding in with Collins and Patterson.

‘Green stuff.’ Was this some kind of bizarre drug smuggling ring? McGee had fallen behind in drug slang, if so. ‘Green stuff.’ Were they lacing it with glowstick fluid?

Never before had he felt so lost on a case. Amity Park was messed up.

“You’ve got the howlers hooked up?” asked Collins.

“I asked Daily to do it this morning.”

“But did he do it?”

“I mean, it looks like it. Are the howlers really that important?”

McGee had no idea what was going on.

The cars all started off in a group. Their car was the last to leave and soon peeled off to trundle slowly down back roads.

“You probably have questions,” said Collins.

“You could say that,” said McGee.

“You’ve been a good sport about them,” observed Collins.

“So,” said McGee, drawing out the word. “What is this about?”

Patterson swallowed a laugh. “Ever hear of the Men in Black?”

“Look, I’m humoring the ghosts. Conspiracy theories are where I draw the line.”

“Keep telling yourself that. Maybe it’ll stick. Anyway, here in Amity Park, we deal with their less intelligent cousins. The Guys in White!”

“That’s not their actual name,” said Collins, glancing back over his shoulder. “But, well, their appearance fits.”

“Alright, let’s say I believe you. What does this have to do with the jugs of glowstick fluid in the trunk?”

“Oh, that’s not glowstick fluid,” said Patterson. “It’s waste from the reactor that powers the town.”

“Don’t worry,” said Collins, hastily, the car swerving somewhat. “It’s completely harmless! Not radioactive at all!”

“That’s not what—” started Patterson.

“You absolutely will not get cancer from it!”

McGee raised a hand. “You have nuclear reactor fluid in the trunk?”

“It isn’t nuclear reaction fluid,” protested Patterson. “It’s—"

“Back on track,” interrupted Collins.

“Yeah. Anyway. It’ll trip the Guys in White’s sensors—”

“Eventually,” Collins grumbled.

“—so we can lead them on a chase.”

“And… why do we want to do this?”

“Because it’s a quiet month,” said Patterson. “Don’t want the Guys to get antsy.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means what it means. You’ll see in January.”

McGee looked between his two ‘partners.’ “Are you trying to get me to quit?”

“Because you’re a spy for the county?” asked Patterson. “Oh, no, never.”

Before McGee could process that statement, the car’s radio crackled to life.

“We’ve got a class-3 northbound on Orion at 35 miles per hour. Ectosignature suggests an amorphiform ghost—”

“Hah!” shouted Patterson. “That’s us! Punch it!” She twisted the dial on the radio as Collins slammed his foot into the accelerator. “Bogey to Redrum! We’ve got followers!”

“Copy, Bogey, this is Redrum. We need a few more minutes to set up. Can you stay out of sight?”

“The hell?”

The radio crackled. “Forgot you had the new guy! Don’t shake him up too much, okay? Over.”

“Copy. Collins you catch that?”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’m taking Pan and Laurel. The holiday tour.”

“Ooh, good choice.” Patterson held up the radio again. “Yeah, we can manage. Over.”

Collins went faster. For the next several minutes McGee occupied himself with not throwing up. He succeeded. Barely.

“Bogey, this Cam,” said the voice of Daily, “followers are gaining. They’re on Brassica, just passing High Street. Triggered the speed cameras. Over.”

“How many and what type? Over.”

“Three gliders. Don’t think they’ve spotted you yet, though. Over.”

Gliders? Who did these people think they were kidding?

“Copy, over,” said Patterson. “Not like those guys care about speeders, though,” she muttered. McGee could barely hear her over the beating of his own heart.

“Sharp right, brace yourselves,” said Collins, split seconds before matching action to words.

“Redrum to bogey, we’re moving out now, over.”

“Copy. We’re on our way. Over. Head to the park, Collins.”

“Gotcha.”

It didn’t seem possible, but Collins somehow pushed the car to go even faster. Then, just as quickly as the whole ridiculous thing had begun, the car skidded to a halt in a parking lot. Seeing his chance, McGee clawed at the door handle and dragged himself out onto the pavement.

Collins and Patterson, meanwhile, were pulling the almost-certainly-toxic waste out of the trunk and launching it into the glowstick-filled woods with—

“Is that a bazooka?” demanded McGee, so far past his wit’s end that he couldn’t even see it anymore.

“Nah, just a modified T-shirt canon,” said Patterson, stowing the object away again. “Fentonworks special.”

“I don’t believe you,” said McGee.

Three – Three things – McGee did not want to call them gliders – raced overhead, jets roaring and wind whistling. They came to a stop approximately where the ‘reactor waste’ had fallen.

“What the hell?” whispered McGee, passionately.

“Come on,” said Collins. “Time for us to go.”

“Yeah, better to spectate from afar,” agreed Patterson.

“I agree,” said a third voice.

“Oh, Danny,” said Patterson. “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

The boy walked into McGee’s field of view and glanced down at him before shrugging. “Couldn’t sleep.” He looked up, at the park. “Thanks for this.”

“Had to get them to blow this month’s budget somehow,” said Collins. “But, really, we should all go before the fireworks start.”

Danny sighed. “Hope they don’t blow up the fountain again. It just got fixed.”

“Same,” said Patterson.

“Well, see you later.”

“Yep, we’ve got that wellness check tomorrow,” said Collins. “You don’t have any excuse to forget, this time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said the teen, waving over his shoulder as he walked straight into the dark.

“What,” said McGee.

“That’s just Danny for you,” said Collins. “Great kid. Super creepy.”

“Yeah.”

“How’d he even know we’re here?” asked McGee, trying to keep his voice even.

“He did give us that eeeeehhhhhhh—reactor waste,” said Patterson. “Come on, get up, we’ve got to—”

A small explosion sounded from the park.

“Seriously. I don’t want to have to pick you up.”

“I’d wind up doing most of the lifting,” grumbled Collins, who was sliding into the driver’s seat.

Patterson put her hands on her hips. “Excuse you?”

There was another, larger explosion. McGee climbed back into the car.

As they drove, he realized that no one had made fun of his name. Not even once.

Amity Park was weird.

#danny phantom #ectober #ectober 2020 #ectober week #ectober week 2020 #day 6

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phantomphangphucker · 4 years

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DannyMay Day 23: Lightning - It’s Stormy Work

Having gym outside in the sun is just asking for trouble really; especially when Fenton’s practically attracts trouble.

They had been running, outside because why the Zone would Amity be sane and have people inside during rainy crappy weather. Though fine, the new gym teacher was a lot nicer than Testlauf ever was, and drastically less insane too. Even if it was a bit weird having a teacher who seemed to care about each of their personal fitness over just having a fit class in general. Meaning he actually was trying to spend time with each student and give them personal pointers. Only a few problems with that for Danny, the teacher didn’t know him and his weird at all, Danny’s body didn’t even abide by normal physique so any advice was much less useful, and finally, Danny was actively pretending to be less fit than he was. That last one was the one being a problem right now, Danny’s gym cloths covered him head to toe but definitely didn’t hide his muscles as well as his normal thick baggy clothing did. At least they covered the scars though. That was something.

“Come on Danny, I know you can run faster than this”, Camp Bell very pointedly looks down at Danny’s legs and to his -definitely not heaving- chest, purely for emphasis. Most people would look at the tall thick tube socks and assume that’s what was giving any level of definition to his lower legs, but he wasn’t quite that oblivious. And occasionally the loose oversized gym shorts made it clear they weren’t covering skinny twig legs. The weirdest thing was the kid acting like he was slightly tired when he clearly wasn’t. He just wasn’t trying and seemed lazy instead. Camp would get it, some people just don’t give a damn about fitness. But Danny clearly did. If Camp had to guess, he’d say the kid was more fit than most of the sports kids. And it wasn’t even the kind of fit he usually saw on teens, even ones that did workout a lot. And he handled the slick muddy terrain like it wasn’t even wet at all. While everyone else’s feet would at least occasionally slip or stagger; Danny’s just never did.

Danny grunts, trying to seem like he’s doing everything in his power to ignore the teacher, “don’t wanna”, then looking up, like most of the class, at the bang of thunder and flash across the sky. Danny mentally noting how they weren’t very far apart at all, so the lightning was pretty close by actually. It honestly made him feel a little nice and comfy inside.

Ever since the whole Vortex thing, he had a bit of a liking for storms. And of course the ghost in him just liked the chaos storms could cause by nature, as well. Course, he preferred a snowstorm over thunder and lightning. Totally his ice Cores fault for that particular preference. Lightning always did make him feel energised though, and tingly. That, he firmly blamed on the whole died by electrocution thing. Feeling the hairs on his body frizz out a little at another flash of lightning, muscles and bones vibrating with the thunder. Flexing a little -which yeah, he probably shouldn’t do- at just kind of wanting to genuinely run, or preferably fly, through the electrified air.

Camp shakes his head, “why not? The entire point of this class is to give you kids a chance for some quality guided exercise and of course sports. You clearly do look after your body, so why not take advantage of having someone knowledgable around?”. Pausing and stopping to stand with pretty much the rest of the class at actually seeing lightning strike the ground. Alright, maybe it would be best to move back inside at this point. Dodging lightning bolts was not a form of exercise. At least not a good safe one. Side-eyeing the black-haired teen, seeing the muscles around his neck tensing slightly. Camp would question if maybe the boy was bothered even possibly frightened of the weather, that would explain the reserved running, if it weren’t for the slight smile and rather happy twinkling in his eyes.

Camp shakes his head and steps away to be more in the centre of the running teens, cupping his hands over his mouth, “alright eveyone! We’ll be heading back in for a quick round of dodgeball!”, mentally chuckling overhearing a few groans. Everyone either loved or hated dodgeball, but it was good for them to experience. Less rigid than typical sports and fostered either resourceful sneakiness or confidence.

Danny sighs, sure he usually intentionally let himself get hit/knocked out but it rubbed his ghostly ego the wrong way and the jocks always threw with the intent to hurt rather than win. Grumbling, “oh just kill me now”. Then, as if the universe was attempting to answer his annoyance, he promptly gets struck by lightning square in the chest and thrown back into the muddy grass. Danny for his part just shouts, “oh shit!”, and groans on the ground, “I didn’t mean that literally”.

Meanwhile, everyone else either screamed/squealed or were openly gapping. Camp is frankly shocked at hearing someone mutter, sounding almost bored, “oh, it’s just Fenton. Of course it’s Fenton. Why wouldn’t it be? Who cares”. While he runs over to the downed teen. Who just waves him off with a hand from the ground.

“I’m fine. I’m good. I’m okay. Holy Shit”. Danny’s just think on ‘Oh so this is how being electrocuted feels’ considering he didn’t actually remember feeling the electricity from his death. He sure as shit remembers the feeling of a portal opening up on/in him though. Even if that/this probably isn’t how being struck by freaking lightning feels to a normal person. Considering he can feel the ectoplasm in him basically absorbed the charge and is more or less vibrating like mad. He so does not want to sit still right now.

Springing up onto his feet and shaking out his arms, giving the slightly gapping teacher a wide smile, “whelp, now I’ve got something else to add to my list”.

Camp blinks and shakes his head, grabbing the boy’s shoulder, “what? Boy, you were just struck by lightning”.

A red-haired teen gets his attention by waving her hand dismissively, “Danny’s always gettin’ hurt. He’s got some weird contamination thingy though, so it absorbs the blows or whatever”.

Camp blinks at that, what? He had heard that the Fenton’s were a bit strange and had heard more than a few rumours that Danny specifically was quite strange. But some kind of condition or ‘contamination’ that could let him get hurt and just be... fine? That seemed ludicrous. Looking to one of the sporty boys, who adds in, “yeah, freak got like, stabbed or something last week. He was fine in, like, minutes”.

Camp just blinks as a few others start adding in their two cents, seemingly uncaring about the poor weather now that they weren’t running in it.

“Oh and remember when his arm got set on fire? He didn’t even seem to notice”.

“Pretty sure Dash made him eat poison once and legit nothing happened. Guy was pissed”.

“Course nothing did, the freaks house is a poison”.

“And hasn’t he been stabbed, like, a lot though? Lightning is a definitely new one”.

Emile nods, “oh yeah, has to be”. Everyone looking to Danny then, Camp included. Making the teacher actually note now how the teen's shirt was burnt up before everyone gapes at another boot of lightning striking Danny and sending him shooting sideways and back onto the ground.

Danny groans, “well, it’s definitely not a new one now”, and pushes himself up, shaking mud off his hands dramatically and grumbling, “also, I’m not a fucking lightning rod”.

Camp blinks, “language”, and shakes himself off to shoo people inside. The last thing he wanted was someone else getting struck. Before grabbing Danny’s shoulder again, how could this kid seriously be okay? “Are you actually alright? What do they mean by ‘contaminated’? And- woah”, cutting himself off a little at Danny basically peeling off the charred burnt shirt. The boys' undershirt’s even burnt up a fair bit and frankly smells rather nasty. But that all gets him a glimpse at what Danny’s actually got going on. Camp’s pretty sure he’s never seen someone with an actual seriously defined six-pack. Then there’s the ridiculous amount of scarring.

Danny blinks at Mr. Bell and moves his definitely obliterated shirt to cover up his burnt undershirt a little, “I’m good and dandy, let’s just go let people hurt each other with rubber balls. And it’s an ecto-contamination thing. Totally unique and totally got it handled. Don’t worry about me and mine”. Snapping his head around at more thunder and light flashing, “yup, no worries here. Prefer not to do that again though soooo”, and gestures to the school building. He actually wouldn’t mind too much, but he definitely feels a bit like the damn energiser bunny and would rather not just stand still.

Camp watches the teen go and frowns a little bit. Officially pretty sure Danny’s fitness was acquired in dangerous ways. Not much he can really do and it’s not like he actually knew any of his students well yet. He still wants to tell the boy to go to the nurse, at the very least. Shaking his head and heading inside, glaring at the sky before closing the gym door.

He’s honestly not too surprised the teens have already grabbed the balls, divided into teams -definitely unfair teams though-, and started. Camp missing his chance to send Danny off as the boy grabs a spare gym shirt and joins the team with precisely zero jocks. Watching him grin almost maliciously and rub his hands together. Camp raises his eyebrows, pretty sure he saw literal sparks in the teens' palms. Did Danny quite literally absorb the lightning? Watching him grab up a ball and whip it across the room, one of the jocks yelping, “you shocked me!”, making everyone pause before Camp watches absolute Hell break loose. With everyone basically clamouring for Danny to hit them but also trying to avoid being hit. Camp mumbles, “alright, so this town is actually rather insane”.

Danny just smirks and rubs his hands on another ball, this was fun and he didn’t even really have to throw the balls hard or try to avoid thrown balls. After zapping Todd, there was no way anyone was going to actually try knocking him out. Everyone wanting the added novelty and craziness of electrified balls, because Amity was wild and used to danger. Danny was just liking the chaos of it. Bouncing around and ruffling up one of the smaller geeks hair, snickering at it puffing up with static. Though he does notice Mr. Bell mouthing ‘nurse after’ at him. Which fine, that was a reasonable request. Even if said nurse would take one look at him, realises he’s, well, him, and shoo him off without even checking him over. He’s pretty sure the nurse thinks he’s immortal or something.

Danny rolls his eyes good-naturedly at the teacher and grabs up another ball; snickering at the sparking, which fine, he just might be adding just a teeny tiny bit of ecto-electricity too for funsies.

End.

#dannymay #dannymay 2020 #dannymay2020 #phandom #danny fenton #casperhigh students #lightning #electrocution #fan fic #phan phic #my wirting #short #have a fic suck my dick #phantomphangphucker #gothmoth #thetribalmoth #Danny Phantom

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s-c-r-i-p-s-i · 4 years

Text

Cruel to be Kind

[Dead by Baelight’s Kinktober // Day 3, 17, and 24 : Knifeplay, Bond, Basement]

🖤 🖤 🖤

“You gonna tell me what we’re doing here, or…?”

“I mean I could,” Danny conceded, casually throwing up his hand in a sort of shrug gesture that Frank was positive was specifically manufactured to show off his knife and the fact that he was holding it, steel glinting menacingly in the unnaturally red light of the basement.

“But that would ruin the surprise.”

🖤 🖤 🖤 Pairing: Ghostface (Danny Johnson) x Legion (Frank Morrison)

Rating: Explicit

CW: homophobia, non-con/dub-con, knifeplay, bondage, smut, canon-typical violence

Word Count: 2,828

“Well, well, well. What do we have here…”

Incredulous, Frank squinted at the man through the pinhole slits of his mask, lip curling over his teeth. “I - You’re literally the one that did this. You haven’t even left the room.”

Ghostface had torn him away from the lodge and tied him to this fucking chair in the basement - and Frank had been helpless to stop it, because even with all their God-given gifts from the Entity, Danny was still stronger than him.

All the others had fucked off, Joey in a Trial somewhere, and Jules and Sooz were… doing their thing. (God help anyone who fucked with ‘girl’s night, that shit was sacred.)

The minute he’d been left alone, that fucker swooped in like he’d been waiting - shit, maybe he had been. Creepy bastard.

And now he had the audacity to act like he’d just stumbled on him here? For - what - dramatic effect?

The man deflated exaggeratedly, his head flopping to the side like his neck suddenly just couldn’t support it anymore. “Don’t be a party pooper, Frank.” He sighed, somehow managing to make even disappointment reek of dishonesty and condescension. Nothing about that guy was real. Not a goddamn thing.

Releasing a nostril-flaring, profoundly annoyed breath out from his nose, Frank bunched his hands into fists so tight his fingers cracked and tried testing out his restraints behind his back. He wasn’t terribly surprised to find the ropes completely unyielding, but it still shot an ample dose of pure, uncut panic right into the mainline. Not that he’d ever fucking show it. Frank didn’t even want to think about the level of sadistic glee Danny would bag from that. A whole metric fuckton, he was sure. “You gonna tell me what we’re doing here, or…?”

Frank did not like it there. It was the place where the veil - if there was such a thing - between the realm and the Entity was the thinnest. The place where her whispers were the loudest. It gave him the creeps. Of fucking course Ghostface would feel right at home there.

“But that would ruin the surprise.”

“Which is?” There was a beat of silence, just long enough for Frank to realize what a stupid fucking question that was.

“…I’m starting to think you don’t grasp the concept of ‘surprise.’ That’s fine.” He said, hooking his knife underneath Frank’s hood and knocking it off his head, gently tracing the flat of the blade along the side of his neck. It was cold against his skin, and he had to reign in a shiver. “I never did pick ‘em for their brains.”

Pick… who? Frank wondered. His victims? “If you kill me I’ll just come back,” Frank scoffed a little too quickly, sounding nervous even to him. Dying fucking hurt. And it’s not like it happened all that often for him to have built up some kind of tolerance to it - if that was even a thing. “What’s the point in that?”

“Very astute, Frank,” Danny cooed, quietly flipping the blade so that the sharp side was just grazing Frank’s neck. “But…” He continued, leaned back and quiet, like he was distractedly admiring the sight. “I think that overlooks an awfully big part of the whole appeal. Don’t get me wrong; I’ll admit, that little caveat can be a little… dissatisfying at times. But I’ve never killed people just because I want them to stop existing. That’s boring.”

If he weren’t literally being held at knifepoint, Frank would have let his head fall back with a groan. Did he ask for a fucking monologue? Was that why he tied him up? So he’d be a captive audience to his bullshit?

“No,” Danny continued, “Sometimes… You just want to watch ‘em bleed.”

A sharp, stinging pain biting through his neck had Frank suddenly sitting up a little straighter, muscles clenching at that zing that shot through him.

That son of a bitch actually cut him!

“Fuck. Off.” Frank grit out.

“No, I don’t think I will.”

Frank grunted at the weight of the other man suddenly dropping himself into his open lap, no warning or discretion, just plopping down and straddling him like he owned the place. Once Frank got over the initial shock he immediately tried to jerk away in protest. Shit, Danny was surprisingly dense for someone so short. Heavy. “What the fuck are you eating, guy?! Get the hell off me, you fucking… fag.”

Another beat of silence that seemed intentionally timed to make him start regretting it. Not that he needed any time to regret it. Saying it always made him feel fucking gross. But he’d rather just bullheadedly… keep on keeping on than actually acknowledge that weird ass feeling.

“Hm.” Danny lifted Franks mask, sliding it up and off his face to rest on top of his head. “That’s an awful nasty word for someone who regularly fools around with another guy, himself, don’t you think?”

It didn’t even feel like it was supposed to be a stinger, it felt like he was just… asking. Taking off his mask like this was some kind of personal aside, just your friendly neighborhood Ghostface, checking in. It only pissed Frank off more, clenching his teeth tightly before finally responding.

“That’s fucking different. I’m not gay.” Most of the time that he was with Joey… that way - which was the only thing he could possibly be alluding to - it was all of them. Together. Threesomes or foursomes or whatever weren’t gay. It was hardly ever just the two of them; sometimes he had Joey blow him or something but that was it. And even if they did do shit - that was Legion. It was different. Danny wouldn’t understand. (How could he? He didn’t have anyone or anything.)

“Call it what you want, handsome.”

Frank’s lips couldn’t help but tug in two different directions at that little nickname, like he didn’t know whether he wanted to scowl or laugh. The middle ground was an embarrassing, wobbly, stupid little smirk that he just couldn’t seem to wipe off his face.

Mercifully, Danny didn’t call any attention to it. Returning the knife to his neck - on the opposite side now, Danny dragged it around to catch just under Frank’s chin, forcing his face up. Frank put on a tough face, jaw clenched, chin jut resolutely, eyes full of defiance, but he was hanging off every word and the bastard knew it. It was just - he was taking that little barb suspiciously well, and part of him was kind of just waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to plunge the knife straight through his throat.

Instead, he leaned in and said “…But a spade’s a spade.” Then… he just eased off. Removed the knife. Pulled back.

And just when Frank thought he could take a breather -

“So you like dick!” Ghostface announced like it was one half of a headline, and far too loudly for comfort.

Frank visibly startled at the emotional whiplash, blinking back shock and incredulously glancing around the basement for witnesses even though he knew it was just the two of them. His mouth hung open, tongue buzzing with some acidic, half baked response that he never managed to get out.

“Big deal, that’s nothing to be ashamed of! And- not that it did before- but what the hell makes you think that kind of thing matters here? What are you scared of? The survivors? The Entity? You think big momma in the sky is gonna fucking… Spank you? She doesn’t care.” Danny huffed, clearly amused.

“I don’t-…” Frank sighed, gaze averted. He was tired of arguing, and hoped the note of… genuity? Would make him fucking drop it.

Fat chance.

In retrospect, maybe he should have just gone down kicking and screaming.

His attempt to deny everything was swiftly interrupted by a breathy laugh that Frank was disgusted to discover he actually found kind of cute. Until he promptly ruined it.

“Sorry - what was that? I can’t hear you over the fucking boner that’s been brewing ever since I sat down. You know your dick kinda jumps whenever I hold the knife to your throat?” Danny shook his head, chuckling. “No offense - but I think whether or not you’re gay is the least of your problems, you adorable little sicko.”

Furious, indignant heat shot up to the surface, Frank’s face becoming utterly inflamed as he burst out the first thing that came to mind. “F-fuck you!”

Okay - it wasn’t a particular intelligent, or even good response, but what the hell else could he say? If he was free, he’d just start talking with his fists, (or his boots, or his teeth) but there wasn’t shit he could do. Not that he wasn’t champing at the bit to try, struggling against the restraints so hard the friction was starting to make his wrists feel raw.

“No…” Frank could just hear the shitty smile in his voice as he put the knife away. “That’s not how it’s gonna go. You can blow me though!” Danny decided cheerfully, hopping off his lap and resting his hands on his hips, looking down at him expectantly. He had to be joking - he had to. But he didn’t even budge.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?! I’m not going to-”

“Sorry,” Danny gestured dismissively, as if he could just wave away the opposition, “Let me be more clear.” He told him, the smile gone from his voice as he spoke slowly, with a dangerous precision. It was such a severe tonal shift that Frank actually stopped struggling just to listen.

“You’re going to blow me. And if I feel any fucking teeth, I’m going to kill you, and every one of your friends.”

He felt the jolt in his core, but didn’t quite connect the dots that his body had reacted until he heard Danny snort, and realized that - not only was he right about his dick twitching, but Danny was playing him like a fucking fiddle. That wasn’t a threat, it was dirty talk. And he fell right for it.

Frank had to admit, the logistics of how he was going to do this while tied up weren’t exactly at the forefront of his mind as Danny began pushing the opening of his coat aside and tinkering with his pants.

And maybe he should have been more concerned, but asking would have been too close to - he didn’t know, acceptance? And he was still stubbornly clinging to the idea that he didn’t want this, despite the evidence on full display to God, the Entity, and whatever the fuck else was out there, no amount of twisting around doing anything whatsoever to conceal the painfully obvious bulge in his pants.

What he was thinking, was how it was kind of fucked up that the first real flash of skin he’d ever seen of the guy was his dick. That was like glory hole levels of dirty; it should have squicked him out that he had no idea what the guy looked like underneath that mask, should have had bile crawling up his throat, but it didn’t. He had a lot of pretty clear expectations in his mind about how he should have been feeling at that moment. But maybe Danny was right, maybe he was more fucked up than he thought. Because all he could feel was hunger.

Frank would be hard pressed to call another man’s cock pretty, okay - but it kind of was. He was paler than he was expecting, and he wasn’t sure why, he’d probably seen pictures of him at one point or another, international sensation that he was, but fuck if he ever paid any attention to the news. But he was from Utah or some shit, and Frank didn’t know all that much about the US but he guessed it made sense that he was whitebread whitebread. It just made it incredibly obvious how flushed it was, so very, very pink. It might have been funny, if it weren’t intimidatingly massive. Kind of lean - Frank could definitely say he was thicker, and yes, he was immediately mentally comparing like it was some kind of competition - but long. Sleek. With a glint of metal at the tip - that was unexpected.

“That’s right,” Danny hummed, gloved hand stroking himself to grip at the base, cock head swelling as he flexed it. He was fucking incorrigible, the cheeky bastard. “Keep staring. You’re really selling me on the heterosexuality.”

Fuck - that’s right, his mask was off. His eyeline, and his every goddamn expression completely out in the open. He was pretty sure he was still scowling - that was just the default - but he wasn’t sure it was terribly convincing.

“Someday, Frankie, you’ll realize what a gift this is,” He continued, faux-wistfully as he stalked forwards and grabbed the posts on either side of the chair back. For someone who wasn’t all that tall, he was awfully good at looming. Commanding attention, like he was the only thing in Frank’s entire field of vision.

The chair started to slowly tip forward, back legs lifting off the floor. Frank’s stomach lurched, and he immediately barked out in protests. “Hey!”

“Really - you should be thanking me,” Danny ignored him, steering the chairposts, dragging them down, down, down, tipping him further and further forward.

Frank felt like his heart was going to fall through his ass, if he didn’t go into cardiac arrest, first. Danny’s cock was practically in his face now, but all his lizard brain could think about was how he was going to fall flat on his fucking face, his arms frantically struggling to break free from behind his back so he could catch himself.

He couldn’t possibly be intending to…

“No teeth,” He warned, before pulling Frank down onto his cock by the chairposts, driving him down until he was forced to take him into his mouth. Danny sighed in relief at the warm, wet heat, guiding him down, unbothered by the choked sound of panic muffled around his cock as a particularly sharp falling sensation shot through Frank’s gut.

“Taking your choice away is the best thing that could happen to you.”

Oh, if looks could kill. Frank’s eyes were filled with hate, tears pricking at the corners as his nose finally bumped against Danny’s pelvis. The mask was looking down at him, unchanging expression mocking while he fought just to breathe, noisily and erratically shuddering through his nose, the intrusion down his throat making it feel like he was perpetually choking on top of perpetually falling.

“Now you don’t have to worry your pretty little head about it, or what it means about you,” Danny continued blissfully, rocking the chair back and forth, guiding him up and down on his cock like he was nothing more than a fleshlight. Frank’s frantic heaving was starting to sound wet, snot loosening down his nose as he desperately snivelled for air.

And yet despite it all, he could still feel that dull hum in his core. Muted, slightly, by the glut of overstimulation everywhere else, but there nonetheless, and constant. Begging for just a little of that attention to be directed there.

“You can always just say it was my fault. That I made you.”

Frank could hardly track what he was saying, but that feeling in the bottom of his stomach was starting to get sharper, an urgent fullness that was becoming more and more demanding by the second.

“And you’ll never have to learn-” Danny interrupted himself with a short grunt, and Frank could feel his cock twitch in the back of his throat, “Or grow or self-reflect. Aren’t I nice?” He pulled out, and the sound Frank made as he gasped for air wasn’t pretty, snapping the thick threads of spit still connecting them.

Danny kept him suspended there, one-handedly holding up the chair while the other lowered to pump at his spit drenched erection. “Thank me.” He growled.

“F-fuck you.” Frank managed to choke out, feeling pretty proud of himself until warmth splattered across his face, and hot mortification rushed to the surface. But apparently not even the embarrassment of Danny cumming on his face was enough to tamp down his want, arousal flaring parallel.

“Hm.”

Suddenly he was thrown back, chair clattering and pain shooting through his arms as he collided with the floor.

“Surprise,” Danny’s voice floated down to him, colder than he’d ever heard it as Frank’s vision struggled to come together in one picture.

Two Danny’s hovering over him. Two knives glinting menacingly in the unnaturally red light of the basement.

“Maybe you should have thanked me.” 🖤 🖤 🖤

Thank you for reading!!!

🖤 🖤 🖤

Notes:

For Pugge, without whom, the DBB server - and this fic - would probably not exist. 💖

Thank you to Rea for being my beta for this one, and the whole DBB server for encouraging this humble degen 🥺 Update: OMG thank you to @ApolloPale for taking inspiration from dis humble oneshot and drawing this piece! Which is now the Header!

This piece was written for Day 3, 17, and 24 of the 🔞 Dead by Baelight 🔞 Discord server’s Kinktober. Anyone over 18 is welcome to join here.

#dead by daylight #dbd #dbd ghostface #ghostface #danny johnson #jed olsen #dbd legion #frank morrison #scripsi #my writing #oneshot

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bigskydreaming · 4 years

Note

What kind of house/apt do adult successful Scanny have?

I think it would be something smallish and unassuming on the outside, very approachable. Maybe even like, a townhome or a duplex or something like that, depending on what city Scott ultimately settles in with whatever pack he builds up around him there vs whomever stays in Beacon Hills.

I don’t have any specific headcanons for where Scott relocates to, its just very important to me that he does, because like. He deserves to get far, far away from Beacon Hills. There are too many bad memories there. Its where he died. Its where Allison died, Boyd, Erica. Like, all the bad things that linger with Scott came from Beacon Hills and that damn evil attention-seeking tree stump, and all the good things that linger with Scott are one hundred percent the product of his own actions and the relationships he fostered with the people that became important to him.

There’s nothing in Beacon Hills that gives Scott anything he doesn’t already have by this point, no reason for him to stay other than his mother, who can literally just move as well. But not with Chris Argent. On account of like, well he died too. It was very sad and tragic, I don’t want to talk about it. Tears were shed, its all still really fresh and raw, we should probably just move on. Its what he would want. Probably. Also who cares, ding dong he’s dead and Melissa’s married to some nice doctor who’s never pulled a gun on her son, as well as possessing other qualities that meet somewhat higher standards, I’m sure.

Anyway. We were talking about Scott saying hasta la vista baby to Beacon Hills followed then by a slow motion dramatic walkaway shot before he gets on his motorcycle, adjusts his mirrors, revs the throttle all action movie star-esque, and also sexily - look, they’re not always automatically the same thing - and then he drives away forever from that toxic cesspit of a homicidal zipcode where square footage is calculated in terms of dead bodies. Leaving behind all the like, million and one reasons for him to say Bye Beacon Hills, see you never, try not to become a central locus for evil, but also, I don’t care if you do, it is hashtag NotMyResponsibilityAnymore. But also, I mean. It never was. Just FYI.

And then he flips the town off and accelerates off into the sunset while the town eats his dust, and admittedly Scott isn’t really the type to throw around middle fingers even where deserved, but fuck it, I’m projecting onto him and its my headcanon and I say that pile of excrement in real estate form needs to be flipped off and also, like. Its just an aesthetic thing. For the visuals. Its the whole dramatic end scene, roll credits, “I came, I saw and I blew shit up and now I’m off to reunite with my love interest and have vigorous victory sex” vibe. You get it.

So they relocate somewhere, wherever that is. I honestly don’t care, so long as its nice and doesn’t murder them or inflict gratuitous bodily harm every week and the nearest Satanic foliage is at least two statelines away. Preferably with a thriving supernatural community where Scott and his pack can all feel welcome and like they belong, rather than outsiders eternally hiding in plain sight among potential enemies. Like, somewhere where their neighbors are all vampires and Fae and other supernaturals, but only so long as like, the only reason they ever come over is to borrow a cup of sugar. Never to betray them to randomly resurrected enemies or guilt trip them into solving someone else’s centuries old and completely pointless grudgematch of Unnecessary Drama and Also Doom.

And wherever it is, the pack have their own dwellings and much needed privacy. Far enough apart that even supernatural hearing and smell don’t have them all playing Peeping Tom whether they like it or not, every time a couple wants to get frisky, but close enough together that they’re all still together, and know that more pack, more community, is always just a short walk away.

Scott and Danny’s place is some sort of small but cozy townhome or duplex or something like that, as I said. Scott’s always very aware of his presence and reputation and the power he both commands and also is afforded by peoples’ embellished expectations regarding him. So it was really important to Scott, and thus important to Danny, that their home be unpretentious. Inviting and approachable and not ‘above’ anyone else, or trying to be. Somewhere that when you got to their street and checked the address if you’re new in town and looking for an audience with True Alpha Scott McCall, you stop and do a double take and almost have to revise whatever preconceptions you have, or at least put them on hold, because like…this is where the famous True Alpha lives? Its so…ordinary.

But that’s the point after all….because the more he was looked at as standing apart from all others, the more ‘ordinary’ became the only thing Scott’s really ever aspired to be.

So its not poor, by any means. They do well for themselves, the whole pack, like you said, Scott and Danny are successful in this future. They have jobs that afford them both a sense of purpose and fulfillment of longheld interests, as well as the potential for discovering more, rather than getting locked into things that grow stale overtime as they outgrow fantasy careers that seemed more validating when they were kids dreaming of the future.

Also their jobs, whatever they might be, make them at least successful enough that it allows them both a large degree of autonomy. They can pick their own schedules, more or less. They have finances, but none that will be massively disrupted or stress-inducing if Scott has to take time off for a couple weeks to help a neighboring pack relocate somewhere new after they flee from hunters. Something where Scott’s never forced to choose between his job and keeping him and his pack financially afloat, versus someone needing his help and it not immediately apparent how long that might take resolve. The dream is stability and comfort, and enough personal agency for Scott in how and where he gets both of those, that he never feels like he’s letting down either his pack or innocents asking for his help, because the demands of his job or finances make him feel like it has to be one or the other, he can’t possibly do both.

Ideally, that flexible schedule means that when Scott isn’t helping others, something he now does by choice and simply because he wants to and he can, not because he’s made to feel he has to, like its his responsibility and his alone, because certain boundary-blind best friends have decided they want to play Peter Parker but are gonna need Scott to step up and play the actual Spider-Man part and lend his power even when someone else gets to decide for him when its his responsibility. Oopsie, I tripped and fell and my Bitter Resentment and Still Not Over It slipped out. Oh no. How terrible. Much woe.

Ahem. Anyway. As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted by myself, Scott’s flexible schedule means that when he’s not using it to help others, he has enough left over that he can afford (and justify to himself) using it for himself and his own personal enjoyment and interests, actually prioritize and commit to his own self-care, because a healthy, happy Alpha is a healthy, happy Pack. Someone said that once, probably. Probably not Hobbes. Definitely heard that somewhere though. Trust me, I’m a doctor.

So with the aid of this newfangled invention produced by cutting edge technology, this quote unquote “Free Time…” Scott explores other interests. His own. Le gasp, le shocking, le about the fuck time. He explores the novelty of being able to even have hobbies, because depressingly (why am I like this, science side of tumblr), there was once a time when Scott stopped bothering trying to figure out what all he was interested in, because he kinda assumed he’d be long dead before it ever had a chance to matter.

But by the power invested in me by Fuck You, Jeff Davis, in this future, none of that comes to pass. So free time and personal passions for Scott. He has them, in abundance. So like. He gardens, for sure. That’s why I specified a duplex or townhouse instead of an apartment in a complex or building….they live somewhere where they at least have their own garden or yard. Scott designs and implements it personally, something like his own personal Zen garden on a scale commensurate with What He Deserves. He goes outside whenever he’s starting to feel stressed about some obligation or commitment or another, and just….plays.

That’s what it is to him. He just plants things. Prunes things. Adds fountains or bird feeders or statuary, little personalized touches here and there that make his own personal territory uniquely his and his alone. Gardening in his yard is His Time in His Space, and all the pack know better than to interrupt him when he’s out in his yard working away, unless its an absolute emergency.

Danny enforces this with an iron fist and an ability to tank your credit score and spread all your most embarrassing pictures internet-wide with just a single keystroke. And Danny is the enforcer Scott doesn’t have to be. People forget that everyone loves Danny….but in no small part due to his usual proximity to Jackson. Next to Jackson, everyone looks like an angel. But Danny, on his own? Can be mean. Will be mean, if you touch or hurt or threaten or even just inconvenience his man, because like, who the fuck do you think you are and also it doesn’t even matter because he just replaced your whole identity online and if you’re nice and apologize and kiss ass without Scott ever having to know What You Almost Did, maybe Danny will have mercy on you and actually let you know what your new identity is, so you can use it to like, make a new life with the details he made up to replace your old personal info that no longer gets you anywhere.

Danny - that’s Miss Nasty if you mess with his husband - is chaotic neutral with an exception for “this is my list of special people. Touch any of them and my alignment is Chaotic Evil for however long as until I have personally escorted you to your Doom and physically kicked you into a bottomless pit where you will suffer for eternity.”

But then he smiles and charms everyone into only remembering lol oh yeah, everybody likes Danny, so that once again, everyone forgets that’s at least partially self-preservation because if you don’t love Danny and everyone Danny loves, like, you’re dumb and also screwed. Why are you bad at making good choices.

Don’t feel bad though. Danny’s very good at making people forget this part, t least until the next time he reminds people of that little piece of trivia. Have you seen him smile? Its like that flashing bulb thing Will Smith uses in Men in Black to make people forget what they just saw or were doing. Except without any supervision and/or morality because fuck your ethics, its Danny’s bewitching smile, he’ll use it however he wants. Get your own.

(The thing is, any best friend of Jackson has to have at least a little capacity for Evil. Danny just hides it well, thanks to the cloaking camouflage of Actually Having a Soul in Addition, and like, being a people person who actually understands how people work and how not to alienate them by being a total uncaring jackass 24/7. Its a fine line, except its really not, and Danny is very talented at all things and possesses an abundance of charm. Plus he’s just hot, and like. Let’s face it. That always helps. I mean, definitely never hurts).

The end result of all this tangent-having, is that Scott has enough him time and enough of a barrier from people constantly distracting him, that the exterior of Scott and Danny’s place, for all its otherwise ordinary appearance, Scott has over time turned into his own personal slice of paradise, and is exactly what that looks like to him.

See, the thing about Scott is no matter how hard he tries to be ordinary and value being just like everyone else and get lost in the crowd…..he never will quite manage it, because Scott just isn’t like anyone else. He’s good, in a way that too few people even aspire to be, because so many people just think its not possible. Especially not after having lived through the kinds of traumas Scott has, been dealt an especially unlucky hand. But Scott manages it anyway, in spite of everything, spiting every thing that tries to make him be anything lesser….and because of that, he’ll always stand at least a little apart from the crowd, be a little distinct from the rest, impossible to ever fully be lost or muted by any crowd of any size.

And the little slice of the world Scott makes just his and Danny’s, no one else’s. He doesn’t even need to share it with his pack without it being any less inviting to his pack for all that. It reflects this understated aspect of Scott, this impossible to quantify essence of him that he himself is too unassuming to ever fully realize is there, and everyone else just accepts without questioning…because they’ve learned by now when you’re given a gift, just accept it and appreciate it.

So in structure and layout, their home is nothing special, but amidst a neighborhood of similar structures, it pops all the same. It draws the eye without dominating your vision. It makes you want to look at it, want to come closer, want to be around it, much like the man who designed it. Who made it, cares for it, and never neglects it or takes it for granted. Its always green, year round, and filled with a variety of flowers that come from all over the world but can all complement each other and coexist without endangering any of the neighboring plants. None of them overgrowing the garden or in any way being at any of the other plants’ expense.

They’re like Scott’s pack in that way….of all shapes and sizes, coming from all around the world, of all kinds of types, not even just limited to werewolves. All beautiful, all unique, all existing in harmony. Even though Scott’s never shared this with anyone else, in his mind, each flower or plant he adds to his garden represents one specific member of his pack. Its Theirs, its what he associates with them. In this way, they’re all represented, it reminds him whatever conflict arises internally, its nothing they can’t ultimately all work out without compromising any single individual. And with each plant needing its own special attention and time devoted to cultivating it and caring for it, they serve as proxies for the pack members they represent.

Due to this, Scott can tell himself with just a glance at his garden - reassure himself, whenever his self-doubts get the better of him and he starts to beat himself up for not being there enough for someone or neglecting someone or not doing better - but with his garden, just going outside and checking it over can remind Scott that he’s not neglecting anyone. Because every time he tends to the plant that represents a pack member, Scott reflects on that pack member as he does so. Just going over what they’ve been up to, mentally checking in on them, casting about to see if he’s noticed any sign something’s been bothering them, making sure to spend one on one time with them.

He can’t tend to a plant without associating it with their linked pack member….and in this way, as long as he can look around and take in with a glance the sight of his garden, all carefully tended to, no plant neglected, all watered and pruned and harmonious and appreciated….and it serves as a visual reminder with which to reassure himself….he’s not forgetting anyone, overlooking anyone. Nobody’s being neglected, he’s always thinking about his pack and keeping their best interests at heart and if any problems do pop to mind while he’s tending to one of his plants or flowers, of course that would be the first thing he’d make a plan to go check in on and address personally, once he’s making his rounds later and having a little face time and conversation with his various packmates.

Of all the flowers and various plant types in his garden, there’s only one fruit….a single eye catching and lovingly attended orange tree. That’s Danny. They’re his favorite, and orange is his favorite color. There’s just something unique about it. Especially in the midst of so much green.

The flowers nearest the front door and around the external structures of the building, a pillar underneath the small, roofed-in entrance way, perhaps, a gate at the front of the property, next to the driveway, maybe a trellis along the wall just next to the door…..the flowers adorning and framing the entrance to their home are a carefully arranged spray of seven different hues.

A literal rainbow, advertising this House and All Who Live Here Be Gaaaaaaay.

Scott’s always had a sly, understated sense of humor. Mischievous, but not usually at anyone’s expense, and subtle enough that most people don’t tend to credit him with having much of a sense of humor. He does though….he’s just never needed words to express it.

Advertising himself and his personal pride with a literal year round rainbow that’s still subtle enough that most people don’t clue into its layered meaning or implications without being told. Later in life, stable and safe and more centered, Scott gets a pretty big kick out of how often people fail to see what’s right in front of them. Him living his best life on his own terms and not even being shy about it….and if other people can’t connect the dots on their own….its a pity, Scott muses with a mostly internalized laugh, that most people are just in too big a hurry or too eager to take things at face value to truly see what their surroundings look like and are full of.

Danny gets the joke, and thinks its hilarious how few other people figure it out. But that’s mostly just because Danny can be kind of a dick. He’s sorry not sorry. Its not his fault people are dumb. RIP to 90% of humanity, but he has braincells.

He and Scott complement each other well.

Similarly, just as Scott’s personal space is outdoors, natural, and helps him feel part of the world, feel part of nature, connected to it and in harmony with the natural order of things and not something completely separate….Danny’s personal space is indoors, the extra room converted entirely into his personal office or Batcave. Filled with monitors and screens and hard drives, a Hacker’s Paradise that keeps Danny plugged into the grid, manmade tools and his own cultivated expertise giving him the world at his fingertips. Any needed information or a satellite view of something happening with allies on the other side of the world is just a few clicks of a mouse away.

He’s also got every video game console known to man, because Danny’s Me Time is kicking ass on whatever game the latest redditor or twitterbaiting bigot to catch his ire is high-ranking on.

And if he also happens to use his gameplay as an opportunity to backdoor into said Wankstain’s systems and do whatever needs doing to make his life and those of all his enabling social circle’s a living hell and a lesson in empathy that comes too late cuz nobody has any for them because they suck and are Satan….

Well. Sucks to be them, and also, what kind of moron makes enemies while online gaming without first erecting even a nominal defense against Superior Intellects who might feel like retaliating against his jokes, that aren’t really jokes so much as the synaptic misfiring of racist braincells and proof that sometimes, evolution shits out a turd?

“That sounds like victim blaming,” Scott notes in an absent kind of tone when watching over his husband’s shoulder one day. Not really judgmental so much as just something to say.

“You say victim blaming, I say pest control,” Danny hums unapologetically. “Sides, can’t be victim blamed if you’re not a victim, and you can’t be a victim if you’re really just a human-shaped mistake who has no redeeming qualities, an online presence that’s the virtual equivalent of bad BO with no medical cause for an excuse, and a social media history that makes a strong case for your best possible contribution to society being a qualifier for a Darwin Award. Would you blame a cockroach for getting itself stepped on by stepping out into the light? I mean, you could, I guess. Just doesn’t seem terribly productive if you ask me.”

“Why do you hate cockroaches? They’re living creatures who never did anything to you, why would hurt them by comparing one to this guy?” Scott asks, because that’s really the more important part of the conversation.

“Dunno,” Danny shrugs. “I’m sure I could find some way to blame it on childhood trauma if you really need an answer.”

“No, just wondering if you’re gonna be done in time for dinner. I’m making tortellini.”

“I’ll be done in ten minutes, I swear. And ready to eat like a metaphor that’s more appropriate to you. Righteous vengeance really works up an appetite.”

“Uh-huh. Just out of curiosity, who exactly are you righteously avenging at the moment?”

“Humanity? Good taste? God, who couldn’t possibly have foreseen this free will thing would go so very wrong? That poor defunct condom that tried its best but in the end, just wasn’t up to the task of keeping this shithead from being unleashed unto the Earth? I dunno. Do I have to pick just one?”

Not really. As stated, Scott’s not actually judging anymore than Danny’s trying to hide this from him. They’re both in total agreement about the kind of people Danny cyber-vigilantes. They just have different approaches about how they should be handled. Scott, while not violent by choice for the most part, does tend to favor the direct approach. He just feels its right that a person know why exactly he thinks they’re a terrible person who deserves what they get. So he tends more towards the approach of: punch a bigot in the face, wait for a second for a whiff of remorse or sign someone might be suddenly reevaluating life choices, because he’s Scott and hope springs eternal, but when no such revelation comes, just shrugging and walking away. Oh well. He tried. Sorta. Well, kinda.

Danny, in contrast, prefers to go for the jugular and leave no hint of who or what might have been behind the all-encompassing full frontal assault that hits every online trace of his target’s miserable and miserly existence. It keeps them paranoid and this keeps him sated. Plus, his stance is when they don’t know what exactly earned them an enemy of his caliber, it forces them to reflect or at least call to mind every thing they can think of doing wrong to someone that might result in that someone hating them this much.

The ironic thing of course is Danny doesn’t even really hate them, because that implies a level of giving a shit he can’t ever quite seem to muster. He mostly just thinks they suck and should suffer for that. And he gets bored a lot.

Look, his husband and fellow werewolves are off saving the world every other week and being all kinds of kick-ass and action adventure movie-star types in the process. A guy sitting behind at home all the time has to get his jollies somehow. Also, he’s compiled a very engaging soundtrack to accompany his personal heroic undertakings, and it does wonderful things for his self image. Danny’s all about that self-care.

Plus, the first time he and Scott had something of a disagreement on their approaches, Danny unapologetically stated that loving him meant loving his vindictive side, because he personally was quite fond of it and thought it was really something of a Look. Also, making that Look into a Thing might be something of a dealbreaker for him, because he really didn’t want to undersell his capacity to be petty, and how little shame he felt about having said capacity. His essential life philosophy boils down to sometimes people just suck and somebody needs to say so. Maybe by draining their bank account and redirecting the funds to an ironically relevant charity.

“Fine,” Scott had conceded with a sigh. “Just be careful about making enemies like this, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

(That was really his only real concern all along. He’s a Nurturing Nelly. Scott can’t help but be a worry wart when his husband roams the internet highways under a masked IP address, taking on bandits and bigots all willy nilly, with not a bit of concern for himself. Its their biggest common ground, and Danny doesn’t have claws or a killer bite to protect himself with. A bite fetish, maybe, but that’s not quite the same thing, and also neither here nor there, and also also, he would like to plead the fifth while reminding you he can access and pull up your full porn-browsing history if you’d like to press that line of conversation further. Pervert).

Anyway, alls well that ends well, and thus Danny couldn’t help but be charmed at the reminder that his hubby is a man with clear priorities and his biggest is always gonna be the safety of his loved ones. Aww, sweetums.

“Aww, sweetums,” he said, just to see Scott squirm, because the more unexpected the endearment, the more Scott doesn’t know how to take it. And a squirmy Scott is an adorable Scott, Danny has always felt, and he is a man who appreciates his eye candy, as well as a go-getter who knows what he likes and goes and gets it, even if that means playing dirty. Especially if that means playing dirty. Danny likes dirty.

After all, dirty men need to shower, and showering together conserves water, and having sex while showering together is just a solid application of having eyes, a hot husband, and a healthy libido. It just makes good sense. He’s goal-oriented and a linear thinker, what do you want, leave him alone. He’s valid and you’re just jealous.

Still, exotic endearment applied, he’d then followed up with:

“How dare you accuse me of being so bad at the thing that I am most skilled at that you imply I’m even capable of ever leaving digital tracks like a total N00b. What do I look like to you? A 4chan poster who just figured out how to spoof their GPS for the first time?”

Danny rolled his eyes, exaggerating his wounded pride. It was the principle of the matter, and he was very principled. Sometimes. Kinda. If principles mean whimsy and whimsy means shh, don’t interrupt me, I’m doing bad things to bad people and this is very important work that must be savored or you really don’t get the full oomph of the revenge-gasm. Yes, he said revenge-gasm and he meant it. No he will not elaborate. Imagination is free.

“Ten points from Gryffindor for your low opinion of me, your valued and valuable life partner. Also, no sex for you, until…..okay maybe that’s too far. You seem like you’ve learned your lesson.”

“You’re too merciful,” Scott had said drily.

“Nobody’s perfect,” Danny had said lackadaisically. “Also, not to disrespect your tortellini-making expertise, but any chance we can put a pin in dinner until after we go have wild, passionate sex? This pending revenge-gasm is making me horny and I really hate to waste a good head of moral crusading.”

“That was a terrible pun.”

“I have never made a pun in my life, how dare you, my sense of humor is sophisticated. I’m not a peasant, Scott. And where did we land on the sex.”

“Didn’t we just do it this morning?”

“I have needs, Scott.”

“You’re insatiable.”

“And water is wet. I don’t see the relevance. Also, if you don’t want me jumping you 24/7, you have no business being so hot. Its your own damn fault, deal with it.”

“There you go with the victim-blaming again.”

“I’ll do five Hail Marys after I finish doing sinful things to you and racking up another five. Its more efficient to tackle them all at once.”

“Not sure that’s how that works, babe.”

“Eh, guess I’ll just go to hell then. Still worth it. Still your fault. Oh look, I’m naked all of a sudden, how did that happen?”

Scott sighs. “What am I going to do with you?”

“R is for Ravish me, if you’re really looking for suggestions. I can probably do the whole alphabet if you need. Or just do me. Whichever.”

Scott cut off further melodramatic peacocking with a kiss.

Things proceeded to a total media black out from there. Further voyeuristic attempts at seeing the Alpha and his mate get down, get down, would necessitate the invocation of the cautionary tale of the last pack member to not properly respect the sanctity of the inner sanctum of the Vindictive Master of Digital Identities and Other Important Details. His name is Chester, middle initial A., surname with a phonetic similarity to certain orifices. That wasn’t always his name, but it was once Danny got done with him, and that was only after Scott gave him the Pointed Stare of One Who Will Look More Benevolently On Those Who Demonstrate Both Mercy and Restraint.

Tis very much a tale of woe, as Chester is 6′5″, 260 lbs of visually intimidating werewolf muscle, and facial features that when accompanied by choice words and phrases, rather does call to mind certain similarities to certain orifices.

Like I said. Danny is very good at what he does. And everybody loves Danny.

….Aside from all other motivating reasons, its just a good idea in general.

Y’know.

Practically speaking.

#scanny #future fic not fic #idk #look call it whatever you want just dont quote me #like I ever know how to describe half the stuff that comes out of my head #lol as ifffff

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