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total-dxmure · 5 months

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✦ INVISIBLE STRING THEORY →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER TWO

pairings: modern!marine ellie x reader

summary: the marines didn’t ruin ellie. ellie ruined ellie. after being medically discharged she feels lost. being sent to live with joel is more of a last ditch effort to save her and less of a fun reunion for the father-daughter duo. jackson is worlds different than chicago, but the fresh air and sprawling countrysides are a welcome reprieve. ellie finds herself finding comfort in more than just the change in scenery though. after losing your girlfriend due to an accident you feel as though you’ll never find love again- but that was before meeting ellie williams. the two of you figure out that you have more in common than just the fact that she and your girlfriend were both marines though. tethered by some invisible string, the two of you meeting has to be fate. who would have known that you were the golden ticket to ellie’s recovery?

warnings: eventual smut! lots of tension building and mutual pining. ellie falls first and hard. small town girl meets a frightening, strong ex marine. TW: talk of panic attacks, ptsd episodes and death. come for the ellie smut and stay for the plot and fluff. (A/N: this chapter is just plot/character building. next chapter we're getting to the good stuff)

⬶ previous chapter | next chapter ⤅

The old farm truck rocked back and forth as you made your way up the all-too familiar dirt path, heading in the direction of the greenhouses. You’d already let the hens out to graze and feed and the last thing you had to do before dropping today’s produce off was check on the nurseries.

Johnny Cash’s southern twang hummed gently over the speakers, your well worn-in cassette tape having been the first thing you reached for this morning. The sun had risen just a few hours ago, and after a few cups of much needed coffee you were ready to go.

The caffeine had done the lord's work, having cleared your brain of any anxious background noise. You could actually function when you had tasks at hand. The second you slowed down though… well, that was a different story. You were trying hard not to imagine Abby sitting beside you in the beat-to-hell red pickup, her blonde braid tossed over her shoulder as she stuck her arm out of the window. You used to joke about her being part dog, what with her loving the wind on her face so much. You missed being able to reach out and wrap a stray strand of blonde hair around your finger, only giving it a soft tug when those blue eyes of hers looked at you with a little too much heat behind them.

So instead of looking at the empty passenger seat you busied yourself with turning up the volume, country music crackling over the shot, old speakers. You all but jumped out of the car the second you put the car in park, ready to get your hands dirty and your mind preoccupied.

You couldn’t remember how many times the two of you had snuck off to the greenhouse when your mother had gotten a little too overbearing back when she still lived in the main house with you. There wasn’t a single surface in the old rickety building that abby hadn’t fucked you on or vice versa.

You walked along the rows and rows of seedlings, looking for any sign of water rot or bug infestations. Everything was perfect, every stem and leaf a vibrant green. Tomatoes, all different kinds of summer squash, and beans of every variety; you had the gift of a green thumb. Your father was more than happy to sign his company over to you right before he passed. All five acres of his property belonged to you now, and with that every bit of responsibility had been placed upon your shoulders. You used to resent the fact that you were so young and in charge of so much. Now you were thankful for the constant work. Distractions. You hated seeing your dad’s life work being summed up as a mere distraction, but it was the only thing that got you out of bed in the morning.

Everyone in the family knew that your dad had wanted a boy when your mother’s pregnancy was first announced. It was a family business, the job having been passed down to him by his own father. Still, he had been ecstatic to show you the ropes. Rather than taking up dance or art like most other little girls your age, you spent your free time elbow deep in mud. You wore the bows and fussed over getting new outfits, but overalls were your daily uniform.

You wore a pair even today, your work boots tightly fastened to ward away any unwanted pecks from overprotective mother hens. Today was bound to be monotonous, as it always was. All you had to do was repot a few strawberry plants. Maybe if you were lucky a goat would find a hole in the gate and escape. At least it would give you something to worry about that wasn’t Abby related.

You slunk over towards the sinks, pumping soap into your dirt covered palm to wash off the dirt. You rubbed your hands together to begin lathering but froze when you realized your right hand felt bare. You brushed your thumb against your middle finger only to realize that it was just as you had feared.

Your ring. It wasn’t there.

White hot dread locked your limbs as you turned your hand over, the dainty opal missing from your middle finger. You blinked, hoping that you were just seeing things. You didn’t even turn off the sinks before racing back over to the repotting table, as if the promise ring had grown legs and would escape you. Your eyes frantically searched the table, pain shooting through your knees as you dropped down on all fours, pushing dirt and leaves aside to get a better vantage point. Nothing. It wasn’t there.

“Oh god. No! No, no, no.” You all but screamed, eyes filling with tears as you pulled yourself off.

You broke out into a nervous sweat, the blood rushing from your head. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening right now.

You didn’t care if you killed the plants, you ripped the strawberries up by their stems, shaking their roots out as you searched their new pots.

Every. Single. One.

Empty.

Abby had given you that ring just before her last deployment, promising that she would be giving you the real thing once she got back. Of course, she never did. It was single handedly the most important piece of jewelry that you had ever owned, even above your grandmother’s pearls and engagement ring. How could you be so reckless? Why hadn’t you thought to leave it in the car?

“Stupid! I’m so fucking stupid!” You screamed, tossing a clay pot on the ground in a fit of anger. It shattered behind you, exploding into a thousand tiny pieces.

You spent an hour sifting through dirt and untangling roots before you finally realized that it was a lost cause. The ring was gone. You’d wrecked the entire greenhouse in your frantic search and the strawberries were just as you expected: dead.

You slammed the door shut behind you, the old window panes shaking with the force. You had barely thrown yourself into the pickup before your body was wracked with full body sobs. White knuckling the steering wheel you leaned your head forward, completely unbothered as the horn blared.

How could you lose something so precious to you? It had been the last gift that you had ever received from Abby. The last. There was no possible way to replace something that was that special to you. Her hands had touched that ring. She’d been nervous to give it to you in the first place, anxious that two years hadn’t been enough time to give you something that sentimental. It was the meaning behind it that had you clutching at your chest, your fingernails digging into your shirt as if you could rip your heart straight out from between your ribs.

She was going to replace that ring once she got back. Give you the “real deal” once she was back home and able to have a ceremony.

But there would never be a ceremony. Never another ring. Never another Abby.

Never. Never. Never.

It felt like you were losing a piece of her, and with that came the revelation- the same one that you’ve already had a thousand times- that she was really gone. There would be no do-overs; no alternate universes where the two of you could be together. The reality of your situation sat heavy in your throat, clogging your airway.

The loss of Abby had eclipsed your heart completely, and darkness was all that was left.

You stayed in the car until your eyes had practically swelled shut and there were no more tears to shed.

The car ride back to her childhood home was completely silent, the only sound being the engine of Joel’s shiny new truck. She did her best to compliment him on the new purchase, but Ellie was sure that she didn’t sound even half as enthusiastic as she had hoped she would. She didn’t feel like being an actress today. Not when he already knew how bad she was doing. Joel had taken one look at her as she got off of the plane and frowned, grabbing her bags only after giving her a bone shattering side hug.

“Well I missed ya,” He finally spoke, causing her to jump in surprise. The sound of his baritone voice soothed her nerves over though. “I’ve really missed you annoyin’ the hell outta me at all hours of the day.”

Ellie cracked a small smile at that, leaning her head into the plush leather seat. The last time she saw Joel was when she had first been transferred to the Kindred Hospital back in Chicago, which was where she had rotted away for a full week. Her eye and face healed up quickly but her back was a different story. She’d been burned badly and had all of the nasty scars to prove it. He had stayed by her bedside for the entire week and had helped her to readjust to being back home in her apartment. The nearly debilitating pain was the only thing that had distracted her from the gravity of her situation back then.

Her therapist said it was normal to disassociate for long periods of time when the body and mind are put under so much stress. Ellie still felt like Ellie back then, but it was only because she didn’t have any real grasp on reality. It was just a few days after Joel left that she finally snapped out of it. She was one of the only five that survived. She was told that landmines were the cause of so many deaths in Iraq.

“It happens all the time out there. You didn’t know. It’s not your fault.”

She didn’t want her unit to just be another statistic. They weren’t just numbers. They were people who had loved ones at home. Loved ones that they had to leave for months and months on end. She couldn’t help but shoulder all of the blame. Ellie was the one that had led them out there in the first place. It was her fault, so why hadn’t she died right along with them? She would have considered herself lucky if she had lost her life right along with them. These were the people that she saw daily. Ellie had developed deep friendships with every member of her unit. She knew the details of all of their lives- the names of their children and loved ones back at home, what they wanted to do with their lives once they were dismissed- how could she not feel like someone had ripped her soul to shreds? How could she not constantly remind herself, every second of every goddamn day, that she was the reason.

She was a ghost. A mere shell of the person that she once was and she had no one to blame but herself.

“I didn’t know you liked me being annoying so much,” Still, she turned to Joel and cracked him a small smile. It was more for his sake and less for hers though. “I’ll make sure to turn it up a notch while I’m here.”

The older man grumbled, shaking his head slightly as he kept his eyes on the country roads in front of him. “That sounds like a threat.”

Ellie could tell that he was playing with her. They were professionals when it came to teasing each other, often to the point that people thought that they were seriously bickering. The short haired female let herself settle into the normalcy of the moment. He hadn’t mentioned anything about the accident or her mental state yet, so it was easy to pretend that things were still…okay.

So that’s exactly what she did. She began to pretend. Ellie allowed herself to be transported back in time. This was just another Tuesday. She’d get back home and sweet talk Joel into cooking her an after school snack. Then she’d go up to her room and procrastinate doing her homework so that she could reread one of her comics.

“Got anything good in here?” Ellie asked before opening up the center console. “I’m not gonna find anything nasty, am I?”

Joel’s lips pursed as he tried to fight off a smile. “Don’t go rifflin’ through my shit, kiddo.”

Her eyes snagged on a familiar purple book, and for the first time in a while something yawned to life in her chest. Joy.

“What do we have here?” She pulled out the book of puns, using it to fan herself before she cracked the bad boy open.

“Ah, don’t start.” He groaned.

She didn’t take the time to wonder why he had put the well loved book in his brand new truck. Instead of allowing herself to be overcome with endearment she flipped to a random page, her lips turning up in the first genuine smile she’d had in months.

“Where can you find a tiny coke?” She asked him, turning in her seat so that she could face him, tucking one of her converse-clad feet underneath her.

“Hey! Get your dirty shoes off of my new upholstery!” Joel reached over and gave her knee a slap.

Ellie reared back, holding the book of puns tight to her chest.

“Come on, try and guess.”

He groaned, rolling his eyes as he leaned his arm against the door.

“I don’t know… tiny town.”

Her nose wrinkled, an eyebrow quirking up at his half assed answer.

“Shitty guess, but alright.” She mumbled under her breath. “Mini-soda.”

“Hilarious.” He said sarcastically, turning onto the familiar drive.

“I think I saw you smile though.”She leaned over to give his cheek a poke, but he swiftly batted her hand away.

The truck’s all-terrain tires crunched over the gravel driveway, revealing the only real home she’d ever lived in. The house and yard looked exactly the same as it had whenever she was a teenager. She sighed out a breath of relief, not knowing how much well she would have handled any sort of severe change. Ellie opened the passenger side door before Joel had a chance to put the car in park, eager to settle in after the flight. She wanted to shower, and that surprised her a bit. A welcome surprise.

Maybe things would be better for her here.

“You didn’t turn my old room into some perverted sex dungeon while I was gone, did you?” She teased as she grabbed her tan duffel bag, easily tossing it over her shoulder as she bounded up the stairs.

He laughed as a response, following close behind her so that he could unlock the front door. She didn’t know why he even bothered. He lived in the middle of nowhere, and they rarely got visitors.

“I’ve got some guitars in there that are worth a fortune.” He’d told her the last time she’d asked.

It had been one of the few times that Ellie had snuck out of the house after curfew. She’d been unable to haul herself back into her second story window once she’d gotten back home and had been forced to sleep in the beat up old hatchback that he had bought her for her sixteenth birthday. Breakfast that morning had been… tense, to say the least.

“I didn’t touch your room… but I did get a dog, so make sure not to let her out.”

She paused at that, turning to look at him with wide eyes. There had been a strict “no animals” rule back when she lived with him. She never thought she’d see the day where Joel Miller would adopt a pet, let alone a dog.

“You got a dog?” She was still in disbelief and half expected him to fucking with her.

“Buckley is a good boy. He shits on the floor sometimes and barks all hours of morning though. It’s almost like having you home.” He teased, bumping his shoulder against hers so that he could shove his key into the lock.

The deadbolt clicked open, and low and behold there was a dog. He looked like some sort of lab mix, his pink tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth as he anxiously waited for his owner’s return. Ellie was too excited to come up with a witty response to Joel’s joke. She tossed her duffle down on the couch, quickly getting down on her knees so that she could pet the dog.

“He’s not much of a guard dog, is he?” He asked, closing the door behind him.

The second that Ellie’s hand tangled into his thick black fur he flopped down, eager for love. Ellie smirked, looking at Joel over her shoulder.

“I don’t know. He looks pretty ferocious to me.”

The sudden knock on the door had Ellie’s lips downturning, eyebrows pinching in confusion. She didn’t like the idea of company right now, and the last thing she wanted was to socialize with anyone. For a second she feared that he had called a doctor or therapist to come out to the house to see her. She wasn’t sure if she could take another “come to Jesus” meeting this week, and she was barely holding it together as is. Ellie put her hands on her knees, pushing herself up to stand before she nodded at the door.

“Company?” She simply asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Joel ignored her obvious distaste, wrenching the door open quickly before she could stop him. It sure as hell wasn’t Tommy. . . and Ellie doubted that most doctors wore overalls, even in Jackson. The sun was beginning to set on the horizon, the golden rays shone through the vast expanse of trees on the property, making it almost look like the world was on fire. The warm glow behind the beautiful stranger made her look ethereal almost, her eyes watery and cheeks flushed. At her feet was a cardboard box packed to the brim with fruits and vegetables. All at once Ellie became startlingly aware of the fact that she looked like absolute hammered shit. Her hair was a frizzy mess, her skin was paler than it had ever been before, and she was wearing an old NASA shirt and dingy sweatpants. If she noticed her disheveled appearance she didn’t show it.

The smile that she beamed in Joel’s direction didn’t quite reach her eyes, and a strange sense of understanding flickered in Ellie’s gaze as she took a few inquisitive steps forward. Ellie Williams knew what suffering was like; true suffering. Looking at her was like looking in a mirror, her well hidden misery plain as day to the auburn haired female.

“Sorry I’m so late, Mr Miller. My truck was giving me problems.” Her voice was beautiful. Melodic in a way that Ellie’s wasn’t.

Spring. . . this girl was spring incarnate.

And she was lying through her teeth.

She’d been crying. Ellie could tell. Still, Joel was already peeking his head out of the door, looking in the direction of where she had parked.

“I could take a look at it for you.” He was being dismissed with a small wave of your hand before he could even get the words fully out.

“That’s so nice of you, but I’ve got it cranking up again. It shouldn’t give me any more trouble today.” Her hair fell off of her shoulder as she leaned down to pick up the box.

Ellie moved forward without thinking, picking up the heavy box for the girl before her fingers could even grip the sides of the cardboard. “Here, let me get it.” She said, craning her neck up so that she could speak directly to the woman.

There wasn’t a single thing about you that Ellie found undesirable. In that moment she was completely certain that you were the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, even with the pain and memory that swirled behind your bright eyes. Their eyes locked, and much to Ellie’s embarrassment, she held her gaze. She watched her with the same sort of silent appreciation.

“-I think it would be good for her. What do you say?” Ellie hadn’t noticed that Joel had been talking the entire time.

The woman blinked a few times, tearing her eyes away from Ellie. “Huh? I’m sorry, do you mind repeating that?” She was nervously tucking a few strands of unruly hair behind her ear, shifting in place on the front porch.

“I was just saying that Ellie is going to be staying out here with me. I think working with you on the farm would be good for her. It would help her to get out of the house, and I know you’ve been pretty busy since it’s just you running things now.” Joel put a hand on Ellie’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Supportive. Non-judgemental. He was reminding her what would be good for her mental state right now, and having something to do with her hands would certainly help to take her mind off of things.

“O-Oh!” The girl’s lips parted in shock, her eyes flickering between the two of them. “Yeah, I don’t see why not. I get a pretty early start though, so don’t feel obligated to wake up as early as I do.”

“I’ll wake up.” Ellie said quickly, nodding her head.

Her words held a tone of desperation and it had Joel’s head whipping around in her direction. He probably wasn’t expecting her to be so supportive of his last minute idea. She couldn’t be sure if it was because she genuinely wanted to get her mind off of things or if the farm girl’s looks had anything to do with her enthusiasm. Ellie couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt drawn to someone like this. Relationships were the last thing on her mind these days.

“Can you start tomorrow?” The other girl asked, shoving her hands into her front pockets.

Adorable. She was adorable. Ellie felt her breath hitch and all she could do was nod as an answer for your question.

“Alright. . . “She began to trail off, backing up a few steps on the porch. It seemed like you were in a bit of a hurry. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow.” Ellie repeated back to her.

She leaned back, lifting the box higher up on her chest so that she could watch the woman get back into her mud stained pickup truck. She only took a step back when Joel started to close the door on her.

“So you’re actually fine with that? I didn’t think you would go for it, honestly.” Joel rubbed at his stubbled chin, flashing her a small smile of approval.

“There’s no way I want to be stuck in a house with your ass all hours of the day.” Ellie quipped, walking to the kitchen so that she could place the vegetables on the countertop.

“I think workin’ there would be good for the both of you. That poor girl has had an awful year. . . I think you’d be good for each other. She needs a friend.” Joel’s voice was somber as he followed her into the kitchen.

Ellie turned to face the older man, swallowing hard as he leaned against the doorway. He was being a bit cryptic. It seemed like he didn’t want to be the one to tell Ellie the girl’s business. Still, she was curious, and she didn’t want to be blind sided tomorrow just in case she wanted to talk about it. Ellie wasn’t usually nosey, but she had a strong urge to get to know her.

“What do you mean by that?” Ellie’s first guess was that she had to be going through some sort of divorce. Joel had mentioned the fact that she was on her own now, so coming to that conclusion was natural.

“No, nothin’ like that,” He cleared his throat before pushing off of the door frame, slowly beginning to unload the box's contents. “She lost her girlfriend and her father this year. She’s the kindest girl. . . you’d never know how much she’s sufferin’ based on how she acts.”

“Oh.” Ellie frowned, having realized that your mourning must be the reason for your sad, sad eyes. She understood how it felt to lose so many people so close together. Better than anyone, really.

“Oh.”

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thisisnotthenerd · 13 days

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god such good tactics from the bad kids in this fight.

quick level update: fig is a devotion paladin! joining the ranks with our most popular paladin subclass, among tuc ricky matsui, sunny biscotto, andhera, and viola. coincidentally she sits in the paladin chair (L1).

the bad kids have capped off at level 14; reference my last post on this for what they have here. they're going to this fight at like 3/4s of a tank; high level spells spent on healing and used in the last fight, hit die used, magic items spent.

ice feast prep: exhaustion and 1d12 damage, but cured of all poison and disease, immune to fire damage and stun, con saves with advantage, and hit point max increases by 2d10. incredible homebrew spell that complete fucks brennan in this fight. the immunity to fire lets them use the lava and environment to their advantage while making the enemies have to avoid the consequences of their own actions.

kristen getting k2 back? lovely story move. wanting a sister to share in your faith? brilliant. tactically, it gives them another full cleric who can move around the battlefield and heal while splitting attention. she has greater invisibility on and can just move around and get heals to people.

prepping fly on almost all of them means they avoid the difficult terrain and have mobility around the battlefield where they can get cover, remove line of sight, and calculate their ranges easily.

fabian killing ivy in one turn? exceptional. not just a good turn from lou but an example of what was to come from them. fabian has had one turn up in this combat and still fully removed the danger of ranger/fighter weapon attacks while drawing attention from the biggest threat.

riz casting slow with magical ambush? phenomenal. functionally took care of one of the big melee and one of the big spellcasters. mary ann did nothing, and ruben being slowed got rid of his counterspells. it made buddy waste a turn. also just fucking diving into the lava.

adaine with synaptic static? fantastic. really hitting the clump and making jace start damaged, when sorcerers are squishy to begin with. at level 20, and lets say a con modifier of +3, max he could get is 180, and realistically its closer to 120.

gorgug killing oisin in one turn and preventing him from going at all? fabulous. he's the one who could summon allies for the rat grinders--getting rid of him gets rid of that possibility.

kristen using the cover and then doing double rounds of healing from herself and k2? astounding. keeping out of sightlines for damage to hold bless. staying uncounterspellable.

fig with the enormous fireball? stupendous. sent ruben to hell, damaged mary ann, and really got all of the jaces, and broke buddy's banishment concentration

shout out to the melees: fig, fabian, and gorgug concentrated fire from porter as they took out the rat grinders. even though they all went down, they have reliable healers to get them off the ground. no holds barred. they took out the three rat grinders that are now dead.

none of them had rage tokens and they didn't get turned against their allies. they've spent this fight fully just dunking on the rat grinders, jace, and porter.

for the rat grinders: they've taken out ivy, oisin, and ruben--ivy with big ranged damage, oisin and ruben with 9th level spells and counterspells. they've bloodied all of the jaces and broken his big damage concentrations, broken buddy's concentration on banishment and damaged him, kept mary ann out of the fight pretty much until now, mostly avoided kipperlilly's sneak attacks, and riz is prepping to hit her with a spell on her turn. porter has taken some damage, but has been forced to use legendary resistances and can't get them to take him seriously.

realistically the difference between them comes from tactics. the rat grinders are being piloted by one guy who has to manage a lot of factors in this fight. they are not a team of adventurers who have read the book front to back and used it to prime advantage. they have not actually faced the monsters they farmed for xp. they likely don't have the types of magic items or feats that the bad kids have earned through their adventuring. their buffs have been knocked off one by one as the bad kids wreck house.

from a watsonian perspective they're not using basic party strategy: not protecting their wizard, not moving their melees to give the rogue sneak attack, clumping up and getting AOEed thrice to great effect, expending their big resources at the top of the fight, not using cover or other tactical advantages, giving themselves difficult terrain and having to deal with hazards the bad kids don't have, not coordinating their counterspells and other debuffs, not protecting their cleric or encouraging him to heal, and working on a ritual that they don't have all the tools for.

they're statted like power-leveled pcs, not npcs, and what do npcs have? magic items, unique abilities, and hit points. jace and porter have homebrew shit going on. the rat grinders are 20th level with the hit points of maybe 10th level characters. ivy only took 78 points of damage before going down. 2 attacks from fabian plus incidentals from fig's green flame blade. they all have glass cannon type builds except for maybe mary ann, and we haven't seen her go to work yet.

incredibly excited for the finale next week. sidenote the outfits are so fun. i might be late next week because i have a concert to go to, but still. i'll be back with xp counts and some reflection on what the rat grinders have actually done.

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r3starttt · 2 months

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PUT AWAY THE PRIDE

Summary: fucking ur bff who's in a relationship with a man, ew!

cw: hate sex. comphet abby. homophobic bf ew!!!!. dom!abby sub!reader. fingering. sissoring. pet names. (baby, pretty girl) finger sucking. prasing kink(?

an: creds to @atyourmerci for the Abby pic!!!

If you want it, you can have it. If you need it, we can make it

"Are you fucking- god abby" he'd crossed the line. That line that was invisible to you but still the thiniest for abby, until now, or so you wished because she'd go back to him once you've made your 'shoulder to cry on' function.

Abby was mad, even behind a phone you could feel how she couldn't bare him for now. You had no clue what happened just knew Abby's boyfriend had fucked it all again and she needed you, again.

The usual routine you forced yourself to not get used to but somehow became it, a routine. "Yeah, you know you can always.... just hurry" you ended the call abruptly. Otherwise, abby would not only be mad at that man, and nor you or her could take that kind of encounter currently.

You knew she was on her way already. So once more, with legs crossed on top of your coffee table, you did nothing but wait for her to arrive at your appartment. It always made you feel pathetic.

Her boyfriend despised you to say the least, from the moment you first met. And honestly you never knew why, even though you begged abby at one point to ask him herself just to not cause any trouble yourself. It didn't work.

You've had some alone encounters with him whenever Abby took you out and he had to be there. Nicely asking how his week or day had been, trying to make a small conversation with the typical 'long time no see, huh' or directly asking him - at one point, what the fuck was his problem with you. He was so stupidly manlish with his demeanor towards you it made you think if maybe abby wasn't using the proper words to describe you. Like he wasn't the problem.

On the other hand, your relationship with abby became confusing as her relationship with him grew bigger. Like it's toxicity was slowly getting to her, to you.

And not the type to ruin the friendship forever but just ruin the platonic. The one where sometimes spending time alone ends up in you drunk not moving your eyes away from her lips as she speak, or the one that makes her rest her hands somewhere on your body whenever you go out with friends. The one that ends in a weird exchange of words whenever you try to talk about it.

It was still unbearable tho. Always third-wheeling, then fighting with eyes only every time you made accidental eye contact with him, and eye fucking abby whenever he didn't pay attention to her, or you. Or feeling abby eating you alive with the eyes, just for denying it all later but not completely because you two had always been in the type of friendship where you're close with your friend to a point there's no shame about anything and you can make those type of jokes.

Jokes that somehow turned passive aggressive, not only between you two but also between abby and that men you equally despise.

"The fuck did he do now, mhm?" You sighed, resting your face on top of your shoulder, letting all your weight press over the shared couch. Drunk eyes paying detailed attention to Abby as she spoke. "I'm a fucking mess, that's all" she seemed off, something that genuinely troubled you considering how stubborn she was. "You're not, well, a... decent, nice mess" her laugh was gorgeous, it made you smile the moment you hear it. Her eyes met yours, as if you could talk with just that, a look. "Thanks"

"He's the problem. Even with that personality of yours, you've done no wrong" she pouted, it could only mean this was getting awkward for her. You couldn't care any less. "You're fucking charming abby, and it kills me youre with such person. Also, a man? Be for real" it was a joke, but that look on her face, it wasn't such simple for her. "I'm just saying, you're hot and so young and you have so much shit to live, he's holding you from that"

Abby turned around, her usual braided hair danced along her back, resting near her face. A sudden smile elicted on her face, she was about to bother you. "You think so?" You furrowed your brows, confused at what she meant "I'm hot?" She cleared herself. You just laughed, nodding while desperately trying to readjust yourself in a less compromised position, so near to her. "I know so"

"Yeah?" She left the glass with alcohol in it resting somewhere beside her. You smiled back at her, feeling her weight get overwhelming over you every second. You had to stop it. "Want more?" You didn't know bit alcohol would eventually become your one salvation from sin and fall into temptation.

Abby went home that night, just to hear him talking shit about you, and it clicked. She tried hard to give him a chance, because that meant she could have a chance as well. A chance for what? To prove she wasn't fantasizing about you in a way more than a friendship, to give all but you a taste and make her mind on what she liked and how she liked it. It failed, abruptly.

Because she lost time and wasted her persona in such men like him. And after running to you every time she couldn't bare it anymore, looking at your hands, neck, lips, eyes whenever she got drunk, after having so many late night talks with you whenever the awkwardness she felt wasn't rough enough to not keep her sober, she realized she could not run away from you, in fact, she needed you and needed to run in your direction every time. She had to give you a chance now.

That's the reason behind his hate towards you. No matter what, you'd always be her biggest priority. And god, she changed so much when she was with you, she'd transform into the girl he fell in love with, the one he lost once they actually started dating.

You had such a delightful effect on her, and he hated the idea of not being able to be the one for her.

Yet whenever he'd ask about you, abby would only say how close you two were since forever and how you wouldn't be a bother in the relationship. All of that was pure lies to keep it calm.

And those replies eventually got to you, like a day after that night you swore she wanted to kiss you. "I was drunk, doesn't mean anything" "what? You think I'll kiss you?" You wanted to dragg her back home with that man she'd found and make it clear you wouldn't let her be such an asshole. You didn't of course, both just laughed it off.

Until now, you couldn't wait for her to come and make it all clear, she was mad and it might not be the greatest idea but why should you care if she's not in the mood? You weren't the one behind that mood, not guilty of any of her shit.

Or that was the plan, because seeing the tears contained on the corner of her eyes, right about to fall and make a mess on her face. You simply couldn't.

"What did he do?" It wasn't the typical scenario. This was an unexplored rage, as if there was some sort of attraction that grew stronger as every second passed by. Maybe this was it, you thought.

Abby's red eyes met yours in such a relieved way, like she'd found something she felt eager to find. It was just you.

It caught you out of guard the way her hands travelled to the sides of your arms. " I realized I needed you"

The only thing you could come up with was a stupid 'huh'. Wandering your eyes all over her face and body. Abby had her own locked on you, probably as confused as you.

She had to. Her salty lips pressed on you, followed by the palms of her hands. You reciprocated, standing still but trusting your lips to do all the work necessary.

It's sloppy and messed, a silent fight between the silence that fills the ignored pain you're feeling and the anger she's been carrying all the way here.

It was miserable, her palms on your body, trying to find a way to bring you closer as you tried- not to step back but to prevent yourself from getting into it. Abby was only yours for a couple of hours and it was painful to have her so close to you but not having the actual chance to claim her yours.

"Fucking hate you for this" you murmured. Her eyebrows scrunched, there was such an euphoric feeling inside her, a mix of fear, confusion and anger. All for you

"Yeah?" She mocked you, resting her hands on the inside of your clothed stomach. "It could've been different"

"It will be" her lips smacked aggressively over yours again, trailing a path down your jawline.

Her fingers moved up your back, getting rid of your bra in such a pathetic way. You took her shirt off, trying to take the closest and clearest look of what you would never be able to have you you craved so much.

She laughed at it, doing the same for you. Her hands swayed all the way down your ass, gripping it with such force it burned. You let out a chocked breath, feeling her lips move on their own way down your body.

Her knee stepped in between your legs, so easily you could feel the vibration from her chuckle right in the middle your breasts. Fucking torture you've got yourself into.

She couldn't get enough but had to, running her fingers along your waist, down your cunt. Her fingers slide in between your slicked folds, slowly outside your cloathed arousal, begging for her.

Her palms slapped over it severely times, eliciting open mouth whimpers out of you, deliciously filled with her tongue against yours to shut you.

You tried to get her to stop, only receiving groans as a response. Until she got tired of it "fucking shut up and take it, be good, can't you?"

There wasn't a specific idea on her mind but take as much as possible out of you, to make a memory in honor to that gross man she ever felt the slightest of attraction to. Mocking you and him for her own pleasure, once in her whole life she thought.

Her fingers finally touched your clit, ager for it. The circles over it were so slow, you kept bucking your hips on her hands, attempting to get more friction. "Fucking stay still" abby groaned, thrusting her fingers inside you. God it felt glorious.

You voiced the most perfect whimpers for her, the way her name came out of your mouth, followed by the most prettiest pleads. It was driving her insane.

The sounds coming out of you were so obscene. Abby couldn't be in such good paradise

She made sure to curl her fingers at every thrust, speeding enough to make it painfully confusing for you.

Her lips kept busy shushing you, taking a taste of your nipples, your clavicle, every inch of your body.

"Shit- c'here" you demanded, dragging her by the jawline as the knot on your stomach grew overwhelmingly fast. She tastes better than anything you've ever had in your life, something worth the pain it'll cause you later when she's gone.

You let out a loud cry at the abruptly of her actions, leaving you empty. "Open" her middle and index finger fully covered in your wetness. You obeyed, feeling the palms of her fingers rest in your tongue, forcing you to take a taste. "Doing so good f' me, such a pretty girl"

She dragged you to the couch, the one that brought you closer that day she'd first approach to you in this way, whatever this was. The one that brought you closer when she left that day, and whe she laughed this off. Such an ironic situation.

It all brought a series of conflicting thoughts to your mind. Distracting you from such pleasure you should be enjoying.

Her hands grabbed the hooks of your jeans, dragging them down your legs. She made sure to get in charge of all the hard work, you should've notice-

Her weight was already on top of you. The way her eyes wandered all over you face, it was different. Your hands got locked by hers, breathing heavily at the sudden sight and feeling that ran through your body, that made you forget whatever was keeping your mind busy some seconds ago.

"Spread 'em open, be a good girl f'me" Abby groaned the moment she could finally get to be so close to you. Letting all of her weight rest over your body, aggressively humping in between your legs, rubbing her clit against yours.

Your ears were filled by her whimpers, groans whenever she got too overwhelmed. There was nothing you could to but let her use you for her own pleasure, not that you weren't use to it.

"Fuck baby... so good f'me, so so good" she whined, speeding her moves in between your legs. There could never be a better sight than this.

Some locks of her hair starting to stick on her forehead, the sweat covering her abs, her arms flexing to support her own way and oh, all this just for you to see. Sure he'd never seen such scenario.

She sounded so fucking pretty, on top of you, crying at how deliciously your clits rubbed together. You, on the other hand, felt like just cumming by the sight, by the idea of her body displayed like this.

Your thighs were ridiculously covered in both your and her slick, it increased at her every move, sloppy and messy, such a desperate disaster.

Your pleads and whines were completely ignored, she'd already given you what you needed and ni longer cared about whatever you felt you needed or deserved. This was about her.

Still you managed to wrap around her, feeling her drench your thighs even more as a breathless 'fuck' came out of her lips, letting go of your hands, already getting numb at her grip.

"See? Promised you it'll get better"

#dom abby anderson #Abby smut #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x chubby reader #abby anderson x black reader #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x reader #abby x masc!reader #abby x y/n #abby x fem!reader #abby x you #abby x reader #abby x black reader #abby x reader smut

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five-rivers · 6 days

Text

Funeral

“I’m sorry,” said Danny, speaking to the headstone in lieu of anything else to talk to. He certainly wasn’t going to speak to the empty and expectant grave a few feet away. “I wanted to wait. I want to wait. It’s just–” He cut himself off, curling his hands into fists. “There are so many things I haven’t seen, haven’t done. Jazz got married, you know? She’s pregnant. If I was– I could have–”

He fell silent and adjusted the collar of his overcoat, trying to keep the frigid Ghost Zone wind away from his currently human neck.

“Sam and Tucker are thinking about getting married, now that we’ve all graduated,” he said softly. “I would have liked to see that, too. And have a career. Travel. I know you wanted to do that, too. But–”

He broke off as his voice pitched weirdly, too high, too loud. Sparks jumped off his fists as his emotions rose. He flickered in and out of sight and tangibility, and his skin started to–

With an effort, he wrenched himself back together.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “This is why I have to go. I’m too unstable, and it isn’t like you. I’m not just a danger to myself.”

(A premonition: Disturbed soil, a hand reaching out, a solid body… but there was nothing there now. The ground was troubled only by slowly growing grass.)

He turned away from Dani’s grave and walked back to the mortuary shrine.

The wind kicked up again. There was ice in it.

A motto was carved above the threshold of the shrine. It read, LET THE DEAD BURY THEIR OWN DEAD. Appropriate. No one fully living would be here tonight. Sam, Tucker, and Jazz had all wanted to be, just like they had all wanted to be there for Dani, but there were rules about this kind of thing, old rules, and–

Ice feathered out from under his feet. And it wouldn’t be safe for them.

The mortuary shrine was cozy on the inside, not at all like a morgue, or an embalmer’s studio. There were some similarities, overlaps in function, but the shrine was not organized with decaying fleshy bodies in mind. The central altar, for example, was high off the ground, for ease of access by the celebrants, but it was soft, bed-like, for the sake of the one who’d lie there. The other altars were filled with other things, like candles, foods, oils and wines, salt, cloth, books, and strange implements Danny couldn’t name. All things needed for a burial.

There was other furniture, too, and the associated accouterments. Elegant ghost lanterns and a fireplace, burning with cold fire. Lovely chairs and small tables carved from bright wood. Plush footstools. Tapestries and curtains, softening the stone walls.

Three ghosts waited for him there, the proper number for a rite like this. Frostbite, his horns only inches from the ceiling. Pandora, who had taken a smaller form for the occasion. Clockwork, who looked much the same as he always did, except that he wasn’t changing forms, instead wearing a guise of solid middle age.

(Danny still had to look up at all of them. He'd managed to catch up to Jazz, but he'd never reached his father's height.)

“You are ready,” said Clockwork.

It wasn’t really a question, didn't necessarily call for a response, but Danny understood. This was his last chance to back out without any more consequences than the ones he was currently experiencing.

But those consequences were bad enough. He shuddered as intangibility and invisibility rippled through him again, and he just barely kept a grip on his more destructive powers.

“Yes,” said Danny. He looked around the shrine, nervous. He hadn't been here when Dani did this. He didn't know what came next. Not in any detail. “Should I change?”

“No,” said Pandora. “Not unless you feel the need to. The ritual will be a guide, as it was for your younger sister.”

“Then we shall begin,” said Clockwork.

Danny nodded.

Frostbite came forward fist, and leaned all the way down to kiss Danny’s forehead. “You are dead, Great One, and we will remember you.”

He stepped back, and Pandora took his place. “You are dead, little warrior, and we will send you on with honor.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead as well.

Then, Clockwork came up. He looked down at Danny for longer than the other two. “You are dead, Daniel, and the time comes for all the dead to be laid to rest.”

When Clockwork’s lips brushed against Danny’s forehead, he felt the first strands of the ritual wrap around him like silk. Still thin and tenuous enough that he could break free, but not without damage to both the weaving and himself.

Frostbite, meanwhile, had turned to one of the lesser altars. There was a small teapot chilling there, above a braiser of cold fire. Frostbite poured its contents into a large mug, then added three scoops of shimmery white powder, each from a different small pot, before stirring three times.

He held the mug out to Danny. “For your nerves.”

“Is this drugged?” asked Danny, taking the mug. He kept his tone light. Considering the parts of this Danny knew were going to happen, that was really the least of his worries.

“Drugged and poisoned,” said Frostbite. “We did research into the best way to ritually account for your continued life. This is it.”

If Danny was younger, he’d ask if it was going to kill him. He knew better, now, about how durable half-ghosts were. Memories of long-ago history lessons, of trivia, of drugged drinks and gentle, honored deaths on cold mountains ghosted through Danny’s mind. But those were children.

He raised the mug to his lips and took a drink. It tasted of chocolate, cream, and a bewildering array of spices and herbs, from capsaicin to vanilla to rosemary. There was also a bitter undertaste, and Danny would have pulled away instinctively, but as soon as he’d started the reflexive motion, Frostbite put a friendly but firm hand on the back of his head, and another on the bottom of the mug, keeping it tilted back.

(A premonition: Other hands hovered nearby, ready to assist if Danny resisted. He could feel them. One over his nose, another stroking his throat, taking advantage of the remaining reflexes of his human body. But they weren’t there. Not yet.)

The rites, now started, would not be so easily refused.

Danny drank deeply, finding a strange sort of enjoyment in the extended physical contact. He’d been avoiding touch ever since a nasty scare with his ice powers and Sam’s skin. There had been close calls before that, too, with his newer, more esoteric powers, but until then…

Frostbite tilted Danny’s head all the way back, ensuring the last few drops of the drink fell past Danny’s lips, then pulled the mug away. Danny licked his teeth and lips, and swallowed one more time. He didn’t feel anything yet.

“What next?” he asked, wincing at the edge of power behind the question. He should probably just. Not talk. Especially not with drugs in his system.

“After a death, the first step is to clean and prepare the body,” said Pandora.

Of course. Danny nodded. The mortuary shrine… wobbled.

Frostbite swept Danny up into his arms - which would have been more embarrassing if Frostbite wasn’t huge - and carried him to one of the lesser altars. It was smooth-surfaced and the neighboring, even smaller altars had bars, bottles, jars, basins of water, and washcloths, all arranged to stand at precise angles from one another. He was laid down on the altar, and Frostbite and Clockwork started to undress him.

At first, Danny tried to help, peeling out of his overcoat and sweater quickly. But then, his movements seemed to… blur. His mind was still sharp, as far as he could tell, but his limbs were becoming clumsy, slow.

It was Clockwork who untied his boots, and Frostbite who unbuttoned Danny’s shirt. By the time they got to his underthings, it felt like there was a barrier between him and his body. Not anything solid, he could still move, still react, but something muffling, slowing. Frostbite laid him down so that he was flat on his back on the lesser altar. Clockwork started going through Danny’s hand with a wet, lightly perfumed, comb. Frostbite, meanwhile, took out a set of dentists tools and eased Danny’s jaw open with one claw.

Across the room, at the main altar, Pandora laid layer after layer of cloth. Some of them were patterned, others plain. Some were thick with embroidery, others were gossamer thin. Some were edged with beads or woven with gold, others looked tattered, as if they’d been previously used for something else, the scrupulously cleaned.

Clockwork, done with Danny’s hair for the moment, moved on to his feet. It was hard to describe the intimacy of being cleaned like this by someone else. By someone he knew. He wasn’t a patient, Clockwork wasn’t a nurse. He wasn’t an infant, and Clockwork wasn’t his parent. But this was an act of care and love, offered without judgment. It was also embarrassingly efficient and thorough. When a body was cleaned, prepared for internment, it wasn't just the normal surfaces that were cleaned, but areas generally considered private.

As Clockwork moved upwards, the powers that churned along the surface of Danny’s skin quieted. They did not go silent - they never did, these days - but they were no longer so maddeningly active.

Finished with Danny's mouth (which now felt much more clean than it ever did after the dentist's) Frostbite moved on to his nails, clipping and cleaning them, smoothing rough edges and cuticles. Danny tried to be helpful with this, to at least hold his hands in the right way, but the effects of the drugs were progressing. His movements were slowing, growing smaller.

He should be panicking. The loss of control, at least, should bother him, given the constant vigilance his rapidly growing powerset required. But, as a human, his emotions were still principally dependent on physical systems and chemical reactions. His heartbeat was slow, and growing slower.

They turned him over to work on his back, and Danny half-dozed, eyes barely open, as they diligently scrubbed him clean.

Then, he was on his back again, anointed with oils and perfumes, smokes and incense wafted over him. Something wet drew a line from his lips to his groin.

Danny's heart twitched to a stop.

Blue-white rings flared from his core in an instant, painfully arresting the moment of death, then swept out to Danny's extremities. He flinched, twisting on the table, onto his side, suddenly able to move again. Everything was too bright, too loud, too close, too present. He covered his face with his arms.

The panic he’d missed earlier was in full force now, shining bright and pure and crystalline in the way only ghostly emotions could. He was in danger. He was dangerous. He could feel his powers coiling, ready to strike, whether it be his will or against it. He fought them, and paid the price, bones and skin going soft, their fine, detailed structures destabilizing, running like wax, like the flesh of a caterpillar in a cocoon.

A hand scooped through his sticky, melting flesh and pressed a cool, hard, surface to his lips. He drank. It was the same thing Frostbite had given him before, but without the bitterness. With every gulp, the ritual spun onwards, strands thickening, multiplying. By the time he was finished drinking, his skin was sticky and damp, but solid again underneath that.

“No poison this time?” he asked.

“Just because you cannot taste it does not mean it isn’t there,” said Frostbite. “Do you know what separates a medicine from a poison?”

“Dosage?” hazarded Danny. Jazz was an MD. He’d picked up a few things.

All three of the older ghosts chuckled. Frostbite went as far as to ruffle his hair.

“He does learn,” said Clockwork, unzipping Danny’s jumpsuit (it had grown with him) and gently pushing aside Danny’s hands when he moved to help.

Whatever was in the second drink, if there was anything at all, it didn’t act nearly as quickly as the first. He could feel so much more, his sense of touch unblunted. It made the process of Frostbite, Clockwork, and Pandora undressing him all that much more, especially when they chided him (ever so gently) for trying to help them, for doing anything but lying there like a corpse.

(Deja vu: Rituals as old as humanity, reaching back, reaching forward. The preparation of the dead, laying them to rest. The duty of the family, to clean and prepare, to stand watch, sit vigil, to March the wake, to mourn, to celebrate. The dead did not move to help. They did not move at all.)

They washed the spaces between his toes and fingers, his teeth, the backs of his eyelids, the insides of his ears, every nook and cranny they had cleaned when he was in human form was cleaned again. The stickiness from his earlier destabilization was wiped away, replaced with a dry, fresh feeling. Invisibility and intangibility stopped wisping across his skin, too tightly bound by the ritual to be used even by accident.

The perfumes they used now were different, they tickled at his brain and core both, summoning feelings of nostalgia, regret, longing, grief, quiet, peace. They traced symbols in them, in languages Danny didn’t know but could feel the meanings of, of linear past and spreading future, of the pinpoint present, of decay and rot, of the loosening of muscles, of the blurring of boundaries, of reconstruction, of change, of stability, of things remade, of things caught in time forever.

Frostbite picked him up and brought him to the main altar. It was soft, piled high with cloth. They felt cool and silky on Danny’s bare skin and there was a pillow under his head. Absently, he ran his palm back and forth across the top cloth. Or, no, not quite the top one. The main one he was touching was large, large enough to hang off the altar and pool on the ground, but there was a smaller strip of embroidered cloth, almost like a long belt or ribbon, at the height of his biceps.

There was, he noted, another such ribbon under his ankles, and another under his knees. He wondered what they were for.

He didn’t have to wonder for long. Clockwork picked up the long ends of the ribbon and wound it around his ankles in a complicated fashion. The twists and turns showed off the intricacy of the abstract embroidery. He finished it off with a knot that disappeared under the rest of the ribbon.

The strings of the ritual gathered faster, wound thicker, tighter, with a physical anchor.

Clockwork moved on to the ribbon at Danny’s ankles. The weaving was slightly different, but had the same effect.

He expected the one under his arms to go the same way. But instead Pandora, Frostbite, and Clockwork gathered flowers from another altar. They were all black and white, so it took Danny a moment to recognize them. Lilies, roses, marigolds, carnations, asphodel, nettle, nightshade, poppies, lycoris. Flowers for death, for funerals, for mourning.

Clockwork wrapped Danny’s hands around the bouquet, and pressed the ring finger of his left hand against a rose thorn. A drop of blood welled up. Blood, not ectoplasm. Danny stared, surprised. But he didn’t get to stare long. Clockwork produced another ribbon, and wrapped it around the flowers and Danny’s wrists.

Then, he picked up the other ribbon under Danny and tied it around his upper arms and elbows before tucking the ends into the ribbon around Danny’s wrists.

It all felt very secure.

Under normal circumstances, Danny would have been able to escape such flimsy restraints in a hummingbird’s heartbeat. But it wasn’t just the ribbons that held him. He could still escape, yes, but it would take a great deal of effort.

He twitched his shoulder, just to check that he could. The motion was slow, heavy, and smaller than he expected.

Pandora put a stilling hand on his shoulder and held a coin up in front of his face. It was large and silver, inscribed with symbols from languages both long dead and never alive. Danny wondered if they had made it just for this occasion.

“A last chance,” said Pandora.

His last chance to back out, is what she meant. To say something. He could do it. He could stop the ritual and suffer the consequences. He could be a danger to everyone around him for the rest of his existence, however long or short that was.

He gave Pandora the tiniest shake of his head. She smiled and pressed the coin against his lips. He opened his mouth, just enough to take the coin. It fit comfortably on his tongue, in between his teeth but not jostling against them. If it wasn’t custom made and sized, it might as well have been. It tasted metallic and sweet, as if, given enough time, it would dissolve on his tongue.

Pandora took out one more embroidered ribbon and wrapped it around his jaw and the top of his head, holding his mouth closed. There was enough tension in the ribbon to press, but not enough for its edges to dig into tender flesh. Taken together, the coin and ribbon made an effective gag.

His wail was now bound just as effectively as his intangibility and invisibility, as effectively as his tongue and voice. For the first time since the incompatibility between his powers and his body became clear, the stress of keeping his wail under control was lifted away.

(A possibility, unraveled: Danny standing at the center of a crater made with his own voice. No, kneeling. No, weeping, curled on the ground, head touching dirt and fractured concrete. He knew those buildings, teetering on the edges of new cliffs. He knew them.)

This was the right decision.

The three older ghosts busied themselves at the other, smaller altars briefly, allowing Danny to collect himself and sink deeper into that sense of relaxation. The wail wasn’t the only thing that had been taken off his shoulder. All his other voice-based powers were similarly locked away, and he hadn’t even noticed losing his shapeshifting, but he couldn’t touch that, either.

When Pandora stepped back into his field of view, she was holding a mask. A death mask, more specifically, styled after Danny’s own face. Frostbite, next to her, held a small, square cloth, like a handkerchief and a small bottle.

Clockwork reached out and touched Danny’s face, briefly tracing each of his features. His lips, his nose, his eyebrows. He slid his fingers down, pressing Danny’s eyelids closed. The motion was gentle, but held a strange sort of finality.

Danny found that he could not open his eyes.

Fabric, soft and smooth, whisper thin, covered his face and was adjusted, straightened. Something fragrant dampened it from above, near his nose. More perfume. He inhaled. Exhaled. Stopped.

Stopped.

Before he could have any more thoughts about not being able to breathe, the death mask was pressed into place. The weight of it pressed the thin shroud over his face snugly into his skin. It made his other limitations - his eyes, his breath, his general immobility - more acceptable, somehow.

Other talismans were placed on his skin or tucked into the ribbons. Some, he could identify by touch. The ticklish barbs of a feather. The cold roundness of another, smaller coin. The familiarity of his childhood stuffed bear. Others, his powers identified for him. The sparkling wonder of a lunar meteorite. The shiver of a carved piece of ghost ice. The thrumming power and glory of a vial of ectoplasm shed by a god Danny had fought and defeated. He hadn’t known they’d kept that.

But other things were too strange to identify by touch alone. He could make guesses. Maybe that was a flower petal, maybe this other thing was a coil of string, and while he was sure that last was paper, he couldn’t say what was on it.

With every token placed, another one of his powers was called up and locked away, like bound by like. His awareness of the stars winking out as the meteorite was placed was sad. The powers he’d ‘earned’ from that god being placed firmly out of his reach, however, was only a relief.

He was verging on helplessness, now. Helpless, but unburdened.

Clockwork started to speak. None of the words were recognizable, but Danny knew the feeling of a prayer. This one was old. Old old. Old even by the standards of ancient ghosts. They hummed briefly in his bones before settling in them like lead weights. Or golden ones.

The edges of the sheet he was lying on were lifted up and folded over him, then tucked under him. Wound around him. It was a winding sheet. Of course. Of course. The next cloth, too, was pulled up and over him, the motion a little more brisk now that the tokens were held in place by the first sheet. Then, the next. Cerecloth and cerements.

Danny twitched a little, at first, at certain unexpected touches, but when the third wrapping added its comforting, soothing pressure he was reduced (or, perhaps, elevated) to a state of perfect limpness.

They added more tokens between the third layer and the fourth, but Danny couldn’t even begin to guess what they were. They were too muffled by layers of silk - those layers being both the literal layers of cloth and the figurative layers of the ritual.

Clockwork’s prayers were getting harder to hear, but Danny felt like he could recognize some of them, now. Snippets of Akkadian, Egyptian, Greek, Latin, a word or two off the Oracle Bones. Prayers for the dead, for their revenge and their remembrance, for their reverence and their reward, for their repose and their return.

He was wrapped again and again, until the pressure, the gentle rocking motion necessary to wrap him, and the nearly unintelligible rhythm of Clockwork’s prayers threatened to lull him to sleep.

He could hear snatches of Esperanto, now, and English.

“... rest, and rest in peace… until waking… to hope… blessing in memory…”

Some parts of it felt familiar. Others were strange, so strange, but he was bound so securely, now, that he almost felt as if he was floating.

“... iron and wood, we entrust this most precious… an embrace… the hallowed graves… deliver and defend…”

No, he was floating, sort of. He’d been lifted up, sheets and all, and now he was being moved sideways. Sideways, and now down, down, into a snug cavity. Was he bordered by flowers? Pillows? Both? He couldn’t tell.

“... into silk… like dust by sunlight into gold… changed… after a long day, to sleep…”

A faint weight draped over him, a final sheet covering him. He felt, with a strange sense that lay deeper than instinct, further down and closer to his heart and soul, that Pandora, Frostbite, and Clockwork had drawn closer, that they were kneeling beside his casket or coffin, heads bowed.

“Now we lay thee down to sleep,” whispered Clockwork, words startlingly clear despite his voice being harder to hear than ever, “we pray thy grave thy soul to keep, until thou choose the form thou take, and the hour thou shall wake.”

“And should thou never wake,” whispered - someone. It was getting harder to tell the muffled voices apart. “We shall mourn for thy sake.”

Very slowly, the force pushing in and down on Danny increased, deliciously. It was almost enough.

(Danny didn’t know where that thought had come from.)

A loud thump shuddered through Danny. Another. They were nailing him in. Another restraint. Another limitation. Another step towards the cumulation of the ritual. Almost. Almost.

Thirteen nails sealed Danny into the coffin.

(He had been snug before. Now, he wasn’t sure he could have moved even if the ritual hadn’t removed the ability from him.)

(All his powers were bound. There was no more sense of responsibility keeping him awake. His body was cocooned in every way possible. There was no more fear about destabilizing and melting. None of his choices would change what would happen to him next. Only a curiosity about what it would feel like to be buried kept him from succumbing to his soul-deep exhaustion then and there.)

Vaguely, ever-so-vaguely, Danny could feel his coffin lifted, moved. He knew where he was going. Out of the mortuary shrine, across the lawn, down the rows and rows of graves, and to one grave in particular. He’d wanted to be buried next to family, and Dani was his only family available.

They stopped. He was lowered. Down. Down. Stopped again.

A chill stole over Danny, like the cool side of a pillow, but all over his body, as if it meant to draw out the last of the warmth of life from his ectoplasm. Restful.

The dirt came down in sifted shovelfuls, like rain on a roof, like distant thunder. And– he did have more powers, either so subtle he didn’t notice them as such or as of yet undiscovered. These were buried as thoroughly as the others.

Up and up the dirt piled, until he could barely feel it as it came down. Until all that was left was the weighty, solid thump of a headstone coming down.

Then there was nothing. Nothing but silence, stillness, silk… and sleep.

Danny woke with the comfortable confusion of someone who had gotten their blanket wrapped around them unevenly while they slept. Slow, unhurried, well-rested, but just slightly less cozy than expected.

He shifted, mumbling and rolling over. No, that wasn’t any good. He made a face. There was something on his face. He reached up to wipe it off, and the sheets wrapped around him tore like cobwebs.

That roused him further. This… he did not think this was his bed. It was his, but not his bed.

He wiped something thin and crackly off his face and inhaled deeply. Dust. Salt. Dust, salt, and something like decay, but sharper, fresher, cleaner.

He breathed, remembering. His mouth tasted like silver and sugar. His hands quested outward, seeking, seeking, until he found the edges of the space he was in.

This was his grave. His coffin.

It was bigger than he’d imagined.

His eyes opened to a darkness relieved only by his own faint glow. The many sheets he had been wrapped in had been reduced to fragile scraps, except a very few that remained stubbornly wrapped around his shoulders. His mask was a thin shell. The flowers were desiccated, colorless strands and flakes. The pillows were flat and torn, showing the wooden sides of the coffin in places. The only token he could see and identify was the plush and pristine form of Neil Bearstrong. He gathered the toy close, pressing him against his chest.

He’d made it. He was awake, aware, and apparently stable, when before he’d been bracing himself for death. He breathed out, breathed in. His breath caught in his throat, and he giggled.

Did that mean Dani had made it, too?

He rolled onto his back and put a hand against the lid of the coffin. It looked strange there. Disproportionate. But of course it did. His body had just finished reformatting itself into a stable form. Frostbite had told him that he’d probably look different, maybe even radically different. Clockwork had even confirmed that medical opinion, from a temporal perspective.

Positives: his hand was a recognizably human hand. He was awake.

He didn’t dare turn human - if he even could - until he had Frostbite and the others look him over. He wouldn’t be able to phase through the Ghost Zone’s soil. Teleportation was inadvisable while he was this disoriented. So were portals. And most powers, really.

He’d have to dig his way out.

Bracing himself, making sure his limbs were free of restraint, he drew back his fist to punch the lid. The dirt would come in fast, and he wasn’t sure how deep he was. Six feet was traditional, of course, but it was also traditional for the dead to stay that way. So.

The lid flew upward under the force of his strike, all the dirt overhead bending away. He grabbed the edges of the hole and pulled down, widening it enough for him to claw his way out without warping his body. He… wasn’t quite ready for that, after the whole melting thing.

He burrowed upward, feeling like something between a worm and a badger, batting away dirt, crawling, squirming, reaching upward. Despite his best efforts, some of the winding sheets came with him, clinging, slowing his passage. Still, his hand hit free air. Grass tickled at his fingers. He set his palm down on the ground, and pulled.

The dirt did not want to let him go. It pulled back, its embrace offering an eternal peace, but Danny was firm, eager to go, to see, to live. He pushed himself up, and out, then lay, panting, on the ground.

That had been… more tiring than expected, actually.

Someone propped him up, large hands bringing him into a sitting position. “Daniel,” said Clockwork. A loose and oddly cut robe was wrapped around him.

“Mm,” said Danny, his voice cracking.

A cup was raised to his lips. He drank greedily, the sweet, floral liquid soothing his dry throat.

“Shall we get you cleaned up?” asked Pandora, another hand, laid on the center of his back.

“Can you walk?” asked Frostbite. “Or fly?”

“Yes,” said Danny, hoarsely. He reached up to put his hand on Clockwork’s shoulder. It took some to get it there. It was further away than he’d thought.

He was smaller than he had been. Not entirely unexpected. Returning to one’s appearance at death was, apparently, one of the more common ways for this to go. But had he really been this small at fourteen?

They did not go to the mortuary shrine, but made their uncertain way to the other shrine in the graveyard: the revival shrine. The structure was much the same inside and outside, but it had only one altar. The rest of the space was reserved for a bath, bed, and mirrors.

Pandora guided him to a chair in front of one of the mirrors. Danny stared. He wasn’t much to look at right now, but what he could see of his body…

It hadn’t been a winding sheet dragging at him as he’d crawled through the dirt. It had been wings. He shrugged the loose robe off his shoulders to see them better. They were patterned with white and black, star and moon shapes on a dark background. He had antennae. Long, soft, feathery looking things curving up and back from his temples.

Clockwork brought a damp cloth to his face and, slowly, began to clean away the dirt.

“Surprised?” asked Clockwork.

“Are you?”

Clockwork chuckled.

“Did Dani– Is Dani–?”

“She woke seventeen years ago,” said Clockwork. “She is quite smug about technically being older than you in terms of lived experience.”

“She would be,” said Danny.

He pulled away from Clockwork’s ministrations to get another look at the mirror. He had about the same proportions he did when he was a teenager, and his hair was as white as it ever was in ghost form, but it sparkled, as if someone had dusted it with silver glitter. His antennae matched the color pretty well, too. Star-shaped freckles littered his cheeks, and when he tilted his head this way and that… There was an effect like a hologram, depending on the light, of a dark or glimmering domino mask around his eyes.

And, beneath that, his basic features, the structures of his bones… They looked about the same as they had when he was young. Except… softer, somehow. More neutral. The change, as subtle as it was, gave him a genderless mien.

(The idea of that trend continuing elsewhere on his body didn’t bother him nearly as much as he would have expected before this.)

He wondered what he would look like in human form. But… later. Later.

For now, Pandora was running a tiny brush though the delicate hairs of his antennae, removing irritating bits of soil and grass.

“In fact,” said Pandora, “I would wager that she will be smug about physically appearing older than you.”

“She looks older than me, too?” asked Danny. “That’s hardly fair.”

“That is the way of things, I’m afraid. She hadn’t truly died until she was buried.”

“But she’s okay?”

“She’s doing very well, last I saw her,” said Frostbite.

“And Jazz? Sam and Tucker?”

“All fine,” said Clockwork. “They visit you frequently.”

Pandora did something complicated with telekinesis that pulled most of the dirt from Danny’s skin and left him feeling distinctly fluffed. The fuzz along the bases and upper edges of his wings stood on end. He shook himself all over, then plucked the washcloth from Clockwork’s hands so he could clean behind his ears and in-between his toes.

“Clothes?” asked Clockwork.

“Cut for wings?” challenged Danny.

“Of course.”

#danny phantom #dannymay #dannymay 2024 #dannymay 2024 day 21: funeral

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pelova4president · 1 month

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Focus II

Salma Paralluelo x Reader

focus I

summary~ You move on, she doesn’t. spoiler, you don’t really move on.

your new normal was everything but fulfilling. This pointlessness cycle of living was eating you alive.

Driving to training, kicking a ball for a few hours and eating with teammates that didn’t even trust you with the ball. You didn’t have a place in the starting line-up anymore and everyone ignored you. You were becoming invisible, a nobody.

Days were especially hard when you were free. You didn’t go outside and no one was contacting you. You felt loneliness on a whole new level. When you had broken up with Salma, there were still people around you but now you’d scared them off. They didn’t know what to do with you anymore.

Real Madrid has been your home for far too long, and somewhere you knew that. Deep down knew you needed an extreme change. But you held on to this ideal idea with a firm grip.

Real Madrid wasn’t your home anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time now. And the team made that clear when they sat you down.

“Look, we just think you need a different challenge, a fresh start.” Olga said, a warm smile on her lips. “It’ll be better for you.” Misa rubbed your back soothingly.

You rolled you eyes at that and scoffed. “It’ll be better for us all.” Misa corrected herself this time. You heard agreement across the room. Clearly they had wanted this for a while now.

You were already out of their lives in their heads, they just needed you completely gone. Out of sight out of mind.

So you moved, it wasn’t like you had a choice in this. Man City was running low on defenders and payed the biggest transfer fee. From your sunny Spain to the rainy Manchester weather.

Stepping out of that warm sticky plane you felt your warm sweat turning your heated body cold. Refreshing. You needed to see this new chapter as a new beginning, another chance.

When Salma heard you left Real she was puzzled. No way you would’ve left your dream club just like that, with no fight. And what she had expected was confirmed.

The striker heard Lucy and Ona talk about the transfer. “Why did she leave? She loved Real with her whole heart, that was her home.” Lucy asked.

Ona sighed, “We all know it wasn’t going her way there, she was stuck. I think she might’ve just left because there wasn’t anyone to keep her here anymore, in Spain.” she explained.

It was silent for a moment before Lucy spoke again. “She was head over heals for her, wasn’t she.”

“I know, she still is. I spoke to Olga earlier, she said that she just wasn’t functioning anymore. She had to leave Spain.” the Spaniard said quietly.

Salma wasn’t aware of this. Why would you break up with her if you still loved her?

She wanted to talk to you. Tell you that she had wanted to keep your relationship more private, out of the spotlights. That she wanted you just for herself. But then you cut her off, you told her it was over. That you were done.

The days in Manchester went by just the same. It was hard and tough. Atleast you knew your team back in Spain, you barely know anyone here.

Salma kept being on your mind, it was hard to forget her. How could anyone forget her. She had a sparkle you hadn’t seen in anyone before. She lit up any room when she walked in and brought out the best in you.

So instead of hurting and torturing yourself any more you focused. Your mind was set. Football was it. Manchester City had an amazing season and you were ready to destroy the Champions League. This was your year.

And you held yourself onto that. You got through the groupstages. Ajax, Wolfsburg and Juventus were all beaten.

The first leg of the Quarter-Finals away had ended up in a 1-2 for your team. And at home you won with 3-0 against Bayern.

This meant a Semi Final against the prize holders, FC Barcelona Femení.

And somehow Salma was still wondering through your mind. She was still there and you were giving up on forgetting her, so you ignored her. Every single sign of her.

Salma wasn’t though. She had you in her mind for the last few weeks. The striker wanted to know what was going on. Why did you leave her. What did you see. What did you think. She just wanted to know.

Salma knew you weren’t going to answer if she called, so she didn’t. She wanted you to see her, to hear her.

That’s how you found her, drenched infront of your doorstep. A cocky smirk finding it’s place on her face.

“Couldn’t you just move to a warmer country.” she laughed.

The smile you had on before you opened the door had dropped. “Or just don’t go to England.” you said, tone flat. When Salma didn’t respond you sighed and rolled your eyes. “Well, see you tomorrow i guess.” you told her before closing your door.

“-wait. Mi amor, wait.” Salma reacted.

“Don’t call me ‘mi amor’. I’m not your love, Ona is.” you said coldly.

Salma’s face fell. “Wait.. what- she isn’t.” Your eyebrows furrowed at that. “Ona isn’t my girlfriend. Where did you hear th- no..” your lovers face was puzzled, she was thinking. “Mi vida, is that why you broke this off. You thought i cheated on you?” she asked you with a broken voice.

“Salma, it was all over the news. You texted me, you wanted to break up.” you told her.

“Amor i didn’t want to break up. I just wanted you. I wanted to keep our relationship out of the spotlight, to keep it to ourselves. I just wanted you.” Her voice had completely broken down to a soft whisper. “I wanted you just to myself.” she stepped towards you.

“Salma, i- i don’t know.” you sighed.

“Please, i just want to see you.” Salma breathed.

You let her in. There wasn’t much you had to say to her. She said she didn’t cheat and you had to take her on her word.

Maybe it was the hope in you. Or the desperation. But you believed her. You wanted to believe her, so so badly.

And when the game came around the next day, Salma had already disappeared. The morning flew by and you were sat in the dressingroom. The music was playing through the room and there were players dancing, singing, braiding hair and drawing, whatever kept them cool.

You checked your shoes, like always. Put your hair in a bun, like normal. You walked through the tunnel, like you had done all of your games. You looked at your opponent, as usual. You were playing a game against Barcelona, against the best, against Salma, like you had done a million times.

The game was hard, honestly any game was at this level. But the feelings were your biggest concern. This didn’t end well last time.

You got your confidence back when you passed a ball to Casparij, who gave a deep one back. You made a run for goal and shot. The ball flew through the air, and even with the best efforts of Paños, it went in. In the corner of your eye you saw the ball crossing the white line.

Your teammates ran towards you and you were attacked from all sides. It was chaos and it was the most at home you’ve felt since you joined the blue club.

But the game wasn’t over, Barça wasn’t done.

Aitana made a dangerous tackle, passed to ball to Graham. Caroline was unstoppable, everyone knew it. When she dribbled past a City defender and made a cross it was over. The ball landed perfectly onto the right foot of Paralluelo and into Keating’s goal.

She celebrated like she had done many times before, but only on El Clásico’s. She kissed her wrist, for you.

“Nunca hemos terminado, mi vida.” Salma winked.

A/N my next fic will be domestic because i love little love families 🤭 who should i write for?

#woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #barca femeni #man city women #salma paralluelo x reader #salma paralluelo #ona batlle #barca women #barca femini x reader

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onejellyfishplease · 6 months

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BEHOLD! my new TMNT iteration!

tmnt: Strained Eyes

In this iteration, much like rottmnt, all of the turtles have super powers. however, there is a little catch. while the rottmnt turtle's powers suit their soul, Strained Eye's turtles... don't.

(please ignore the fact that Mikey doesnt really look like a spotted pond turtle, i came up with the design first and had to find a turtle species second)

So! Mikeys powers basically allow him to cause every thing he touches to rot/decompose/desintergrate. he does have some control, but not reliably.

And though he is a good cook, there is a 50/50 chance that you will end up eating mouldy/rotten food. but all the other times it will be delicious.

he (obviously) has insecurities about touch, he is very aware that he could very easily kill someone with just one touch.

he can also grow mushrooms on command -he can also grow them on his shell which freaks out his brothers a lot.

also hes not actually blind in one eye! its mostly just cosmetic.

Up next we have Donnie! compared to Mieky hes a very brightly coloured boy!

his power is illusions! they can be incredibly lifelike. the problem is, These illusions can be permanent if Donnie doesnt dispel them, and sometimes are summoned only by his subconscious. So Donnie can struggle with figuring out if something is real or not.

The only senses his illusions cannot mimic are touch and smell (and taste) so he is usually extremely tactile, holding onto his brothers to assure himself that theyre real and not just a projection of his mind. he covers a lot of stuff in his lab (and his brothers) with strong smelling perfumes as well.

application wise- he uses his powers in tandem with his machines to make incredibly realistic looking androids. example: robot cat that looks like real cat. robot dragon that looks like REAL dragon, etc etc. he can also use them to appear human and turn invisible. (he can expand this to all his brothers) but he still hasnt gotten down the art of human expressions, so when ever he appears human he looks quite uncanny when he talks.

It's Leo!!

now Leo is ~battery powered~ his powers basically allow him to absorb energy straight from the source, such as absorbing the electricity off of an electric wire, or even sucking the energy from a person. or eating batteries.

an unfortunate side affect (depending on how you look at it) is that Leo doesnt need to sleep. ever. as long as he keeps absorbing energy then he's completely fine! and the more electricity/energy he absorbs the faster/stronger he gets! he also thinks faster! coming up with excellent strategies on the fly!

however- the same is true of the other way around, when Leo runs out of energy (which he does often- hes VERY bad at judging how much he has left) he will start to get more lethargic, his cognitive funtions will slow down and his short term memory will start to degrade.

If he completly runs out of energy his heart stops and he dies.

but dont worry! you just need to zap him with more energy and hell get right back up again (Donnie has a defibrillator just for Leo). though its best not to leave him in that state for long. because like that he is still functionally a dead body.

And finally we have Raph!

Raph breaths fire. a very simple power, in fact he can even hold his breath for hours apon end and his skin is extremely tough! theres basically no side effects too!

Hes so lucky compared to his brothers, having a power that suits him perfectly and doesnt mess him up in the head.

because of this, Raph has kinda moulded himself into the hyper aggressive mom friend, making sure they dont all run themselves into the ground because of the drawbacks to their powers.

he still has anger issues too <3

#they are drenched in trauma #i have so many plans of these guys #i wanna give them more trauma #Strained Eyes au #tmnt #tmnt donnie #tmnt mikey #tmnt leo #tmnt raph

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im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 1 year

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Danny thought the guy Tucker had dragged over to talk tech with was cute but there was something...off about him. He seemed nervous but not in a "a ghost is about to attack way" but in the subtle ways he checked the exits every so often or the way he made his body language purposely relaxed.

Sam would say he's just being paranoid since Tim Drake was the adopted son of a billionaire (and independently wealthy too) and Danny did not trust billionaires or wealthy people in general. Danny still felt something was off.

Seeing as Tucker and Tim were hitting it off he decided to leave them to it and continued to manage his own stall at the glorified science fair Bruce Wayne was sponsoring. Billionaire or not he really wanted that scholarship to Gotham University. He had pulled out the best designs he could make such as a fully functional portal gun, some variation of wrist rays that did different things and were disguised as normal watches, force field shield generators designed into bracelets, and even a modified version of of the fenton thermos that instead of working on ghosts it worked on physical matter such as chairs and other items...and it wasn't disguised as a soup container!

He preemptively put a note on it that it wasn't safe or designed for the containment or travel of organic beings.

He had some other things too, but these seemed to be the ones Tim were the most fascinated with. He asked a lot of questions to Tucker who happily chatted with him about the tech up until he asked a question Tucker didn't know the answer to and he turned to ask Danny.

Danny answered without looking up from the metal boots he was working on. They were going to allow the user to jump to great heights and deliver electrified high powered kicks. Tim then asked if Tucker wasn't the one who made these.

Tucker laughed and told him it was all Danny and jokingly mentioned that Dannys parents were evil mad scientists, hence his move to Gotham. Tim looked...alarmed. Danny pointed his screw driver at Tucker in warning, "What Tuck means is that I wanted to get away from the stigma of my parents being criminals, which is why telling everybody is counterproductive."

Tucker sheepishly apologized and admitted he had gotten carried away. Danny didn't think Bruce Wayne would disqualify him for having crappy parents but hes been treated pretty badly for less. Tim made an excuse to leave which Danny took as a bad sign. Crap. But he still had some confidence seeing as his inventions had caught the attention of Tim and kept it for so long. That had to mean something right?

---

Phantom knew that Gotham was "Batmans" territory and he didn't like others interfering on his turf but there was something so unnerving about Tim. He needed to find out more. He may have only been in this dimension for a few months but something smelling fishy had the same meaning in all the dimensions he's come across before.

So when he phased into Tim Drakes apartment under the cover of invisibility and found the cold case files of several murdered individuals going back the last two years alarm bells started to ring in his head. Last he checked Tim was in no way affiliated with the GPD and shouldn't have access to these. Then he noticed he had jewelry matching what one of the victims was wearing in thier photo. The same antique necklace that was noted to be missing from the victims body in the report. Upon further investigation Tim also seemed to have the murder weapons for a few of the crimes as well.

Wtf.

Tim Drake was a serial killer.

---

Tim stared at the batcomputer. He now had no doubt that "Daniel Nightengale" was some form of alias. It was a well crafted one he could give him that but after days of meticulous digging he found an inconsistency. Following that led to another and another until he finally had enough to unravel the lie.

Unfortunately it didn't give him a single clue towards the truth, at least not that he could see.

Yet.

All the same, Tucker didn't seem to realize the situation he was in. It was clear Daniel was dangerous if the gear he had at the presentation was anything to go by. Some of that stuff could give Bruce a run for his money.

Tim was sure Danny was up to something and would strike soon. Mad scientists usually have some sort of goal in mind after all.

---

This kicks off a period were Danny and Tim keep trying to stalk one another both in and out of costume. Both of them making flimsy excuses to escape one another- Tim because he's needed as Robin/Red Robin and Danny because he doesn't want to be murdered or outed as a "meta"

Jason finds out about both of thier suspensions by stalking them both as civilians and laughs until he cries. He then throws fuel on the fire by planting "evidence" that would point to Danny being evil/a serial killer such as hacking into dannys laptop while Tim is "visiting" Dannys apartment while he's away and making the screen show partial blueprints labeled "Death Ray Plans" only for the computer to crash when Tim tries to click on it, thus erasing everything.

He messes with Danny in a similar way, planting fake bloodsplatter in Tim's kitchen around the sink and watching the metas horrified face via Tims security cameras that he hacked into before later breaking in to clean it back up before his little brother got home.

Jason doesn't think he's ever had this much fun.

#two heros think the other is a serial killer #fanfiction prompts #prompts #dp x dc #danny phantom #danny fenton #tim drake #red robin #yum #robin #batman #robin iii #jason todd #red hood #robin ii #this was funnier in my head #the other bats find out about Tim stalking this guy and are like: oh he has a crush #dispite him vehemently denying it #most of the bats are like: yeah if my parents were well known supervillians id probably change my name and move towns too #Tim: You dont get it #Tim proceeds to show what little proof he has only to get a pat on the back and told he should just ask him out like a normal person #Jason is having the time of his life #i was originally going to have the cameras and fake bloodsplatter around the tub before i realised that was creepy in a different way #oops #tw: blood #tw: serial killer #i had fun with this #im still smiling like a loon as a type out the tags #long post

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angryrantsofdomesticity · 2 years

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The Science behind Erasure

-it's actually ingenious!!

SO recently I wondered....if Aizawa does hero work after hours...does that mean he also has increased night vision?? Because it wouldn't makes sense for a hero who relies on his eyes to work at a time when he can't see....right?

(this led me on a scientific deep dive because I am a huge nerd.)

As we know, Aizawa's eyes light up (red) when he activates his quirk. It just so happens, red doesn't glare like other colors of light do. This means red light makes night vision easier. Why? Because your pupils don't need to re-adjust between the light source & the dark around you! This reduces eye strain & keeps your field of vision clear & consistent at night, while still illuminating your path!

Simultaneously, red light is difficult to see at a distance so it'll help keep your position safe from possible attackers. This is why military flash lights are usually red!

So YES!... Aizawa's quirk can improve his night vision... By acting like a red flashlight! But that's not all!

Then I started thinking of HOW his quirk works...He stares at someone, his eyes glow red, his hair floats...and somehow the enemy's power stops working??

As we know, Erasure deactivates the enemy's quirk gene. This happens when Aizawa glares at them. But HOW can he deactivate a gene by only seeing the outside of the body? Especially since Erasure doesn't erase physical mutations??

Turns out, red light has a longer wave length than other colors, allowing it to penetrate the body more easily! In fact red & Infrared light (invisible to humans) is often used in medical imaging to detect things like veins and blood vessels beneath the skin.

Simply put Aizawa's quirk penetrates the body kind of like an x-ray. The reason we can see his eyes light up, and NOT the target being illuminated( like the picture on the left below)?? It's because he likely also emits red light that crosses over into infrared spectrum. So the red light that actually enters the body is invisible to the naked eye.

However real x-rays fall on the opposite side of the light spectrum under Ultra violet light. They not only enter but pass through their target, So to be clear Aizawa probably does not have x-ray vision. You may have also heard of Infrared in terms of night vision goggles. Aizawa likely does not have thermal/night vision either. His eyes only EMIT visible red light which allows him to see better in the dark & Infrared which enters the body.

So while Aizawa's glowing red eyes may at first seem like a meaningless, but cool, feature of his quirk, it's really the tell into how erasure works!

However, glowing red eyes only tell us how aizawa's quirk REACHES the gene, not how he switches it off! So how does he do it?? With an electromagnetic field! The light spectrum is a small part of the larger electromagnetic spectrum & the only part of it visible to the human eye!

So, how do y'all know I'm not just making this up?

Because his hair floats!

What's the most familiar electromagnetic force humans encounter on a daily basis?--- STATIC ELECTRICITY! When aizawa switches on his quirk he essentially becomes a cat being rubbed with a balloon! The carbon nanofibers in his capture weapon conduct static electricity so that floats too!

Aizawa's Erasure works by emitting an electromagnetic field, which like the infrared light, penetrates the body of his target! Now that we know how his quirk reaches the inside of the body, the question is how does it disrupt the quirk function?

As it turns out, electricity can be fired at DNA to switch Genes on and off in real life! So Erasure specifically targets the quirk gene and immobilizes it temporarily with electricity!!!! That's crazy!!!

Since we know Aizawa can't erase the quirks of heteromorphic types it's safe to assume it's because physical mutations effect more than one gene & Erasure specifically targets a single quirk gene.

If Erasure got into the hands of AFO it could easily mean the end of the world, or any one who apposes AFO for that matter. Sure AFO could use Erasure as Aizawa does, but he could also scientifically manipulate it to target genes OTHER than the quirk gene. Meaning he could kill you, or even make your body fall apart, with just a look.

Congrats you made to the end! You now have a PHD is Shota Aizawa.

#shota aizawa #bnha analysis #eraserhead #erasure #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #mha analysis #science #boku no hero academia analysis #eraserhead bnha #aizawa #aizawa shota #bnha meta #bnha manga #bnha anime #mr aizawa #bnha memes #bnha

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weixuldo · 7 months

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Allow me// ch 12

Vader x Reader

a/n: IM BACK AGAIN lolll HAPPY HALLOWEEN GUYS!!! this one is getting into the territory of the vader comics- so just to update u: the timeline is after empire strikes back, so vader has met luke by now…. i hope u enjoy! and thanks for the support:)

Time to meet the Emperor

warnings: cursing, light t0rture, angst, harm, cannon typical violence

_____________________

The room was thick with palpable tension; Vader cringed with every step he took on the way to the Emperor’ throne.

The sides of the room were lined with the emperor’s red guards, storm troopers, and other officials; today was definitely the day he was going to be made an example of.

“Good evening, Master” he bowed to the cloaked figure in front of him.

“Greetings Apprentice” he responded with that gravely voice Vader hated.

“What matters have I been called to discuss?” Vader asked, slowly rising.

Palpatine didn't immediately answer, instead he slowly rose from his throne and began to pace.

“The sith know that fear leads to anger…”

Vader felt his stomach drop, he hated hearing that.

“Anger leads to hate…”

Bright yellow eyes twitched under his helmet’s lenses.

“And hate leads to strength…but you, my friend.” Papainte finally stopped in front of him

“…Have simply wallowed in grief. You need to start all over again…”

Vader shifted his weight slightly as he felt a change in the force.

“...With fear!” Palpatine growled with a disturbing smile as electricity shot from his withered fingertips.

Vader stepped back and ignited the red saber that was always by his side.

“At Least you are not too far gone that you forget to defend yourself” his master mocked.

“Why? Why do you attack me master?” he asked, worriedly.

“You were to turn Skywalker to the dark side” another in the room added.

Vader was too engaged with his master, he couldn't quite tell who was speaking.

“Instead you let him escape. You were summoned to report to your emperor, but instead you left on a personal mission.”

Vader clenched his jaw as he felt the emperor’s electricity overpowering him.

“You discovered a group of rebels led by a handmaiden on senator Amidala, whom you should have slaughtered, instead you let her escape.”

These men would never understand him. They would never try to either.

“At best failure, at worst…treason”

The emperor halted in electrocuting his apprentice and spoke with a smile, “and what do we do with traitors?”

“We kill them”.

Before he could answer Palpatine lifted him off of his feet with a powerful force chokehold.

Vader knew this wasn’t going to end well, even so he struggled against the emperor’s grasp as he clawed at the invisible hold around his throat.

“But how can this be? You were the chosen one, were you not?” Palpatine asked mockingly as Vader convulsed at the electricity his master shot through his body.

“Destined to bring balance to the force!” Palpatine exclaimed.

He felt every piercing volt of electricity that coursed through his tired veins; he couldn’t hold on much longer.

“You are but a tool, Lord Vader… one that can be discarded once it no longer functions” his words pierced right through Vader's stone cold heart. He was nothing.

“You…you lied.” Vader managed to grit through his teeth.

“T-told me padme- told me I..” he struggled as Palpatine tightened his grip.

The emperor monologued for a moment, but Vader couldn’t make out exactly what he said.

“Let me teach you that fear again… maybe that will bring you back to power” he said with a sinister smile.

Vader screamed as searing pain shot throughout his broken body. Palpatine had just crushed three of his prosthetic limbs as well as striking his chest box so his life support began to short circuit. He fell to the floor with a hard thud and howled in pain. He was at the mercy of his master.

As he processed what had just happened, he realized his helmet had cracked as well; through the crack his pale, damaged skin and the piercing yellow of his left eye was now visible to any who dare look upon him.

Palpatine emerged from the smoke and steam coming from the broken suit, “You must find yourself again, old friend. You must relearn the primary power above all else…”

Vader winced as the loose wires from his ports scraped the floor.

“or you must die”

___________________________

The intense heat of the gaseous planet suffocated Vader's senses as he faded in and out of consciousness while a pair of troopers dragged him across the rocky shores by the stumps of his arms. After Palpatine damaged his suit, the life support system was being faulty and the lack of oxygen was affecting the sith, but he was well aware of where he was… Mustafar.

what a cruel destination.

His shoulders ached from the weight of his body and his legs were being raked over the hot coals of the shore. Soon he was harshly thrown down the slope heading towards the river of lava. A painfully familiar scene.

He groaned in agony as his sore body rolled down the incline, resting him in a nearly identical spot he had been years before. His chest began to heave and lungs tightened as the traumatizing memories fled back to his broken mind.

“The last time you were broken…I found you…and I rebuilt you” Palpatine’s sinister voice hackled as Vader suffered.

The sith attempted to speak but the painfully familiar burn of Mustafar’s molten flames licked at his damaged stumps. He threw his head back against the hard shore and cried out; his left arm desperately grasping at the gravel beneath him.

“This time…” Palpatine began.

How could one be so cruel?

“You must rebuild yourself” he smiled maniacally, before pulling Vader’s saber from his belt, “without this”.

Vader was left with the haunting view of the people who were supposed to be on his side, once more leaving him to burn on the scorching shores of the gaseous planet.

how he longed for death.

***

a/n: sorry this one is kinda short, but i kinda love how it turned out :) i have more coming soon and thanks again for sticking around!!

taglist: @vadersassistant @sxoulohvn @khaleesihavilliard @kashasenpai @darling-murdock @beautifulbearpolice @salvatoresister1 @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @blueninjablade3 @jujuba096 @missmannequin @jellydodger @mirastark @wyvernthekriger @duckyhowls @monada43 @lauriidoesstuff @vienettacream @ray-rook @itswhatever06 @ilovenielperry

#darth vader #darth vader x reader #anakin x reader #sw darth vader #vader #anakin #darth vader fic #star wars #star wars x reader #anakin x you #allow me #starwars hcs #star wars x you #sw x reader #star wars x y/n #darth vader x y/n #darth vader x you #darth vader fanfic

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inneedofsupervision · 6 months

Text

Suit Up

Summary: Spiderman, aka Peter Parker, is now officially teaming with the Avengers. Working alongside his childhood heroes should be like a dream come true. But sometimes Peter feels like he's still fighting on his own. Luckily, he can always count on his friends to have his back when he's just Peter Parker and not a superhero. (This might become a series or get several chapters)

Read on Ao3

"Sir, Mr. Parker just arrived at the tower."

Tony wipes off the grease from his hands before throwing the rag on the table. His eyes linger on his project before he glances towards the clock.

"Tell the kid to come down to the lab, Friday."

"Of course, Sir."

It doesn't take long before the door to the lab slides open, giving entrance to a slightly panting Peter Parker. Tony raises an eyebrow at the teen whose checks are dusted in a soft red, catching the sheepish grin the boy throws his way. He watches the teen pushing the hair out of his eyes, the usually soft curls weighted down by the water caught in between.

"Sorry for being late, Mr. Stark. I got your message while waiting for the bus, but because of the snow, it was about to come later than planned, so I decided to walk-"

"Hold on, Parker. Are you telling me you walked the whole way from your school to the tower in this weather?"

The sheepish grin is back on the kid's face as he rubs his neck, owing at least the decency to look slightly guilty. Tony crosses his arms over his chest as he frowns at the teen.

"Uhm, actually, I ran because I would have been late walking, and I want to save the web fluid for the case of an emergency. Not that meeting you isn't just as important, Mr. Stark, Sir. I mean-"

Peter quickly closes his mouth as Mr. Stark holds up a hand, successfully interrupting the teen's word vomit. Sometimes, Tony wasn't sure if the kid talked this much because his nerves were running wild or if it was his default setting. During their fights, Spiderman had gotten told off more than once to keep quiet, while other times, you wouldn't hear a tone from the spider until the mission was over. The kid would give them a curt goodbye and disappear the next moment, earning silent respect from their two trained spies at his ability to disappear into thin air. It leaves him wondering if he was the only one having a hard time reading the kid or if it's just a teenager thing.

"I've got a meeting in twenty minutes, Parker, and surprise-surprise, despite all the rumors, I do not enjoy getting dragged by the collar through the building to get shooed into a conference room full of wannabe businessmen. As much as I dread that meeting, there is no way around it, so let's get this over quickly."

Tony turns around and strides through the lab, knowing by the sound of shuffling from behind that the kid has caught on and is following him. They stop at the desk, and Tony takes the sleek metal briefcase waiting on top. He hands it over to the kid, who reaches for it only to stare at him with an invisible question mark hovering over his head as Mr. Stark doesn't let go of the briefcase.

"This is your new suit, Parker. It got an upgrade in about every aspect since your old one cannot be called a suit, in any way. More of a glorified onesie, if you will. We can discuss the upgrades another time, or you figure them out by using it. Anyway, I have to go now, and I won't let you stay here on your own so shoo shoo Parker, get out of here."

"Oh wow, thank you, Mr. Stark, Sir! I'm going to take good care of it. Is it okay if I look into the upgrades or-", Tony grabs the kid and turns him around, hands not leaving his shoulders as he pushes the teen towards the door.

"Do whatever you want, just for the love of god, use the heater function if you go out patrolling in this weather. One popsicle hero on the team is enough."

"There is a heater function? That's awesome! How does it wor-"

"Sorry kid, but our bonding time is over. It's a pity, maybe I see you in a week. Happy can drive you home."

"That's not necessary, Mr. Stark, Sir. Thank you..."

Peter's words of gratitude fall on deaf ears as Mrs. Potts rounds the corner, and before Peter can mutter a goodbye, he is already standing alone on the floor.

____________________________

Ned looks up from his laptop when someone knocks against his window. He quickly jumps up from his stool in the corner of his room and walks over to the window. It is already dark outside, but the white eyes of the Spiderman mask seem to glow in the dark. He steps to the side, and Spiderman climbs into the room with practiced ease, softly letting himself fall onto the floor.

"Is that the new suit? The one built by Tony Stark?!"

Ned's eyes grow wide in awe as he takes in the unfamiliar high quality of his friend's superhero suit. Spiderman grasps the edge of his mask and pulls it over his head. Soft curls fall onto Peters's forehead. He beams at his best friend, who stares at him with amazement, taking in the new design of the suit.

"Isn't it freaking awesome?" asks Peter with a grin that reaches up to his with excitement sparkling eyes.

"Peter, it looks so badass! I can't believe my best friend is wearing a suit built by Tony fucking Stark!"

Peter laughs at that, spreading his arms out and showing his friend the suit from all sides. He lets Ned inspect his gloves and the upgraded web shooters up close, both fanboy as much and as loud as they want, as Ned's parents aren't home for the weekend.

"You have to tell me everything about the suit!"

Ned is back sitting on his chair, facing Peter, who sits cross-legged on Ned's bed. Peter's expression turns sober, the sparkle of excitement dying in his eyes. That did not go unnoticed by his friend. Peter seems uneasy as he looks down at his lap, avoiding the expectant expression Ned is giving him.

"Oh, well- Mr. Stark didn't have much time to tell me about the upgrades he installed." Peter forces his lips into a smile, not wanting to tear down the good mood.

He pulls himself together and glances up at his friend, trying to sound cheerful.

"But the heater function is awesome."

Ned caught on instantly that something was going on Peter didn't want to talk about. He didn't get fooled by the pained smile Peter tried to convince him with, but he decided to humor his friend for now. Glancing back at the teen on his bed, who was absentmindedly rubbing at the fabric of the mask between his fingers, Ned got an idea, quickly changing the topic.

"Didn't you say Mr. Stark said you have permission to look into the upgrades without him?"

Peter pursed his lips as he gave it a short thought. "I'm not sure if Mr. Stark was serious or just mentioning it in the spur of the moment, to be honest."

"But that means he hasn't forbidden you to look into it, right?"

The two teens share a glance before they spring up from their positions.

"I go get the soda."

"I get the snacks."

Not two minutes later, the two teens hover over Ned's computer, staring in awe at the information put into Peter's new suit. Peter has his arms probed at the backrest of Ned's chair, glancing at his friend's fingers flying over the keys as he searches up everything the two deem interesting.

"Holy cow, Mr. Stark is a genius," whispers Ned in astonishment at the code displayed before him. Peter was about to answer when something caught his eye. He puts a hand on Ned's shoulder, getting his friend's attention.

"Hey Ned, can you open this protocol please?"

"Sure, gimme a second."

Peter frowns as Ned unlocks the protocol and gives them access to a folder of what seems to be a safety protocol.

"Protocol "Baby Steps.", read Ned out loud with a snort, but Peter didn't feel like laughing as his frown only deepened.

"Did Mr. Stark seriously put a tracker into the suit?"

"Hmm?"

Ned tilts his head, wondering what his friend is on about before his eyes fall onto the part of the protocol that causes his best friend to pull an unamused face. Peter was right. The information tells them there has to be a tracking device installed into the suit that would go off in case of an emergency or if Mr. Stark requests it.

"Can you turn the tracker off?"

Ned turns in his chair, raising an eyebrow at the request. He was about to ask if Peter was sure, but when he caught the expression on his face, Ned nodded. He turns back around, fingers already moving, before he opens his mouth.

"I'll override the code. No one bats an eye if it seems Mr. Stark changed the protocol, right?" He doesn't try to sound smug, but he felt kind of badass, overriding a code by Tony Stark. He wasn't sure how long the change would go unnoticed, but he could understand his friend feeling weird for wearing a tracker and no one telling him about it. Maybe it didn't justify his actions, but for Ned's conscience, the reasoning was good enough.

"Ned, you are the best guy in a chair one can ask for. Thank you, seriously."

"Anything to help Peter Parker and Spiderman," Ned turns slightly to give a mock salute and hits enter, setting the changed protocol into place.

"Now we have to see where Spiderman is lurking around," he jokes.

Peter huffed a laugh and shoved Ned lightly on the shoulder as he watched his friend check if the code worked.

"Spiderman doesn't lurk. He waits to step in when someone needs help." Peter doesn't sound mad, more amused than anything, as he corrects his friend.

"Waiting, lurking, isn't that all kinda the same thing?" asks Ned with a grin as they watch a map of Queens pulling up.

"Would you look at that? According to the coordinates, Spiderman is lurking around at home."

"Stop with the lurking already," says Peter with a laugh before walking back to the bed, letting himself fall face-first into the mattress. Ned closes the protocol, checking extra if there are any traces left that someone had put their hands on Tony Stark's work before closing the file. His computer display turns into standby as he turns around, facing his friend, watching him burying his face into his pillow. Silence falls over the room. It got broken by a sigh, source the body plastered on the bed, but Ned caught the sound nonetheless. Something troubled Peter, and Ned was sure it had to do with the tracker in his Spiderman suit.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"There is nothing to talk about, Ned," comes a muffled answer. Ned rolls his eyes at the response, deciding to drop the topic. Knowing Peter's stubbornness, the other wouldn't talk about it even if Ned started bugging him. His friend would only get irritated, and Ned didn't want to make Peter feel worse.

Pursing his lips while watching Peter lying on his bed, Ned tried coming up with a plan to get his friend's mood up again. Maybe he was acting selfish, but Ned wasn't keen on holding a sleepover with a moping Peter, sulking on his bed the whole afternoon. This entire thing was supposed to be fun, dammit.

"Hey, do you mind if I take a closer look at the suit? You can stay lying down there."

"Sure. Do whatever you want."

Peter doesn't bother moving as the bed dips where his friends sit on the edge.

"The colors and the fabric look expensive, dude. Not gonna lie, Captain America's outfit seems kinda tacky next to this thing."

A huffed laugh comes from where Peter had smushed his face into the pillow. Ned hears Peter muttering "tacky" under his breath, shoulders shaking in silent laughter before relaxing back into the bed. Ned breaks out into a grin, patting himself on the shoulder for getting Peter to laugh

"For real, the suit is incredible. How do you think the heater works, though?"

Ned counts it as a win when Peter pulls up the effort to lift his head to answer.

"Not sure. I mean,- I have an idea, but I couldn't confirm it. I planned to ask Mr. Stark, but there was no time. Giving it a second thought, I bet he wouldn't bother explaining even if he had some minutes."

The last words come out dulled as Peter buries his face back into the pillow, even deeper than before

Huh.

Ned sat there with eyebrows shot up in surprise. Peter had sounded so cheerful earlier, telling about his meeting with Mr. Stark. He wouldn't have guessed from his behavior that there was something else, something that had to do with Mr. Stark personally, that was bothering his friend.

"Well, if you know how it works, you have to tell me, got it?" Peter takes one of his arms and lifts it, showing Ned a thumbs up before going back to hugging the pillow. Taking Peter's willingness to respond, Ned continues thinking of topics that could pull his friend out of his bad mood. Getting him to talk was probably his best option.

"The fabric is quite thin. Does the heater work with that?" Ned was pretty sure that with a suit built by Tony Stark, there would be no issues, but he had to talk about something, and he was kind of running out of ideas. But Peter didn't seem to mind talking about the suit, so Ned goes with it.

"I had been patrolling for two hours before coming here. It had worked just fine."

"I wonder how the isolation operates. Do you think I could feel if you use the heater function if I touched the suit?"

"Maybe? I haven't thought about that. Wait a moment."

Peter lifts his head, glancing around before spotting his mask at the other end of the bed. "It should work like this too," he says, putting on the mask before taking it back off, having successfully activated the feature.

"It starts heating up now," he informs Ned before flopping down again.

"Awesome. Do you mind-,"

"You've got permission to touch the suit, Ned." interrupts Peter the other with a chuckle. Ned grins, not needing to be told twice. At first, he only traced along the pattern, giving the suit time to warm up. He notices that Peter is lying completely relaxed next to him, reminding Ned of the cats at his aunt's place that grows sleepy whenever they lay down on the heater during the colder seasons. The comparison let his lip quirk up slightly.

He lightly presses his palm onto the middle of Peter's back, waiting to see if he can feel anything. To his surprise, he couldn't feel any warmth at all. With Peter's old suit, you could feel the body heat radiating through the fabric. Stark's suit, on the other hand, was substantially better isolated. Ned tried different places, laying his palm on Peter's calf, his lower back, and near his neck, but the suit felt the same. Not giving it a thought, Ned puts his hands against Peter's sides, but still the same result. The only difference is Peter's reaction. Ned feels muscles tensing under his fingertips, causing him to glance down. Peter's whole body had tensed up at the hands placed against his sides, just under his ribs. A knowing smile creeps onto Ned's face, and suddenly, he has the perfect plan to get Peter to stop moping like a four-year-old. Ned pulls his hands away, observing how Peter melts into the mattress again, before placing his hands onto Peter's ribs, which were unprotected since the latter was still clinging onto the pillow like a koala. Peter's body grows stiff as if frozen in place, only to twitch as Ned squeezes once, digging his fingers between his ribs.

Ned grins at the tale-telling redness that crawls over his friend's neck up to the tips of his ears, matching the redness of his new suit. From the small part of Peter's face that is not pressing into his pillow in an attempt to hide, Ned can tell that Peter's face got colored in a bright blush, one whose origin didn't come from the digging of his fingers into Peter's ribs but from sheer embarrassment.

"Do you think it helps if I press down onto the suit?"

Peter nearly jumps out of his skin when Ned's hands suddenly are on his shoulders, staying near his neck. His eyes widen in surprise at the unexpected touch, wondering what was going on, when a pair of thumbs press down next to his shoulder blades. This time, Peter feels like jumping out of his skin. The movement of Ned's thumbs sent a shock through his whole body. He had never thought his back could be ticklish, but Ned's thumbs dug right into a spot that caused his body to tense up.

"What got you so twitchy, Peter?" Ned presses down again, grinning as Peter continues to squirm.

"Nehed, stohohp it. It fehehels weird." Peter scrunches his shoulders up, trying to get rid of the finger that stays persistent on the mission to poke into his back.

"It feels weird? Is the heater malfunction?" asks Ned, tilting his head in mock surprise even though Peter couldn't see him. "I can't feel anything, is it working?"

He presses down again, laughing lightly when Peters's whole body bucked at the ministration against his back. A surprised gasp escaped the teen, who was still trying to get away from the touch, but that turned out to be rather difficult, as Peter refused to let go of the pillow in his arms but also not willing to roll onto his back, knowing he would regret it.

"I dohohn't know. It juhuhust feels weihihird. AHh!" Ned grins and shakes his head at how stubborn Peter could be but plays along anyway. It was too much fun messing with Peter when he got determined like this.

"Hmm. Maybe something is wrong with your back? You should get that checked out, man."

Peter catches his breath as Ned stops tormenting him, only to let out a rather loud squeak when a finger pokes right under his left shoulder blade. "That felt weird too? How about this?"

Ned begins to poke various places on Peter's back, lips curling upwards, whenever Peter jumps out of his skin he comes along another "weird feeling" spot.

"I hate to say that, Peter, but you seem to have gotten a serious problem with your back. According to what you said, it feels weird all over." while speaking, Ned softly grabs Peter's sides just above his hips and begins digging his thumbs into Peter's lower back. The reaction came instantly. Peters's arms tense around the pillow as he presses his face even deeper into the fabric, giggles pouring out of him like water running out of a bucket with a hole.

"Nehehehed, stohop, oh my goohohohd plehehehase."

"Oh, sorry, Peter. Did that feel weird, too?"

"It tihhihihickles!"

"What, it tickles? Does that mean it had tickled before, too? When I did this?" Ned poked the place between Peter's shoulder blades again, causing the latter to shriek and do a whole body twitch before breaking into another desperate giggle fit.

"Why didn't you mention that at the beginning? I was genuinely worried about you here. But it turns out you are just ticklish," teased Ned before running his fingers lightly down Peters's back, causing the latter to try to avoid the touch by pressing himself deeper into the mattress, a maneuver that turns out to be completely useless.

"You suhuhuhuhuck!"

"Is that your way of saying thank you for being concerned for your well-being? Maybe you should work on your way of showing gratitude. You know what? Let's work on that right now while we are at it. What do you think, Peter?"

Ned stood and climbed down from the bed as he was talking. He notices Peter lying on the bed, busy taking deep breaths with his ears still colored pink and facing the wall to hide from his friend. Ned rolls his eyes, amusement causing his lips to form a grin. Peter made it too easy for him. It takes not more than a squeeze of his side, and the teen rolls onto his back to avoid the tickling, playing right into Ned's hands. Quite literally. Ned's amusement only rises when Peter takes the pillow with him, holding it tightly over his face and avoiding looking at Ned at all costs, too embarrassed to show his face. If he had put the pillow down, he might have done something to hinder Ned from jumping onto him, causing Peter to groan at the sudden weight on him before he found himself pinned, but now with his back pressed into the bed. Ned glances down at his friend, who does not attempt to move, desperately holding onto the pillow like a lifeline.

"Peter?"

"What?" comes the muffled question from under the pillow.

"It's kinda unpolite to not look at someone while talking to them."

"Well, sucks to be you, I guess."

Ned raises an eyebrow at that.

"I have been nice until now, you know. But now you are just asking for it."

He watches the arms tightening around the pillow, fingers burying into the fabric in silent anticipation. Ned shakes his head with a grin on his face.

"Where should I start?" muses Ned as he voices his thoughts. His hand hovers over Peter's stomach, which lies entirely unprotected in front of him. He let out a hum, acting like he had to think fiercely, while lowering his hand, noticing how Peter's body started to stiffen, shaking under his fingers before they could even make contact with the suit. He looks up to see Peter's fingers digging even deeper into the pillow when he finally understands why Peter is reacting so strongly without needing to see what he is doing. Ned retracts his hand and lowers it next to Peter's sides, not touching but barely hovering over them. A twitch runs through the body under him as Ned's hands shoot back to his tummy but still not touching. A whimper mixed with panicked giggles broke from Peter's lips, and Ned couldn't help but laugh at the sound.

"I'm not even touching you, what's wrong? Don't tell me you can feel this with your spidey sense." Ned let his hand shoot forward again, halting his movement just before his fingers could dig in between the spaces of Peter's ribs. His action follows a muffled shriek and a whole body shudder, confirming his suspicion without needing a verbal answer.

"Oh my god, please just get over with it. This is so bahahad," comes the weak protest from under the pillow. Ned's grin grew even wider at that.

"Now you are begging me to tickle you? That's unexpected but kinda adorable."

Without warning, Ned's hands go down, fingers digging into Peter's stomach. Peter's arms tighten the hold of the pillow, his grip tensing in an instant as he feels his friend's fingers moving all over his midriff, causing him to squeak, unable to hold it in and instantly breaking out into laughter. Ned didn't give him a chance to get familiar with any of the touches, switching places and testing his reactions, although years of knowing each other gave him all the knowledge of how to turn Peter into a laughing mess. The feeling of fingernails gliding over the suit that clings to his skin leaves a maddening tingly sensation in their trace, and Peter finds himself unable to stop the high-pitched giggles escaping him. He squirms under the ministrations on his middle, but Ned merely follows his movement, never letting up to knead, scribble, and squeeze away as he pleases.

When the fingers wander downwards, staying right under his belly button, and the touch changes into teasingly light strokes that cause goosebumps running over his arms, Peter tries curling in on himself on instinct, legs hitting against Ned's back.

"Hey, no kicking allowed," with these words, Ned reaches out and tickles the back of Peter's knee, causing the latter to throw his legs back down with a squeal.

"Ready to let go of the pillow, Peter?"

"Nohoho!"

Ned lets out an overly dramatic sigh.

"Peter, you are making this not easier. I tried to refrain from taking such drastic matters against my best friend. But you leave me no other choice."

He shoves his hands under Peter's underarms, resulting in the teen's body buckling under the touch. Peter's arms shoot down to block Ned's fingers from moving, revealing his face. Ned glances down at the sight of his furiously blushing friend, hair a mess from all the moving around and laughter pouring out of him.

"There he is. Now let go of my pillow. I'm afraid you are about to rip a hole in it."

Ned doesn't know how Peter manages to, but the laughing and squirming teen wore a guilty expression and let go of the pillow almost ruefully, causing it to fall onto the floor.

"Thank you, Peter. Now it's gotten dirty."

Ned shakes his head, giving Peter a playfully stern look as he digs deeper into his underarms, wriggling his fingers in a way he knew Peter couldn't stand.

"Ahahahah, I'm sohohohorry!"

"Yeah yeah, of course you are. By the way, you should ask Mr. Stark if he can give the suit another run-over. Either you are very ticklish, or the suit doesn't offer as much protection as it should." Despite laughing his head off, Peter was quick to protest.

"The suhuhiht is just fihiHIHNE!"

To make a point, Ned went back to Peter's stomach, attacking it with kneading fingers. Peter gives a surprised shout at the sudden attack before pressing his head back into the bed, legs kicking out behind Ned as he loses himself into another high-pitched giggle fit.

"So you're admitting that you are insanely ticklish?"

"Youhuhu are suhuhuhch an ahahass."

Ned shrugs his shoulders and grabs behind him, starting to squeeze the place just above Peter's right knee, sending ticklish shocks through Peter's leg, leaving him twitching under him. Deciding that he is done tormenting Peter's knee, Ned went back to paying attention to his upper body, poking at every place that Peter couldn't cover quickly enough.

"I've been wondering, for someone skilled enough to singlehandedly beat up the Winter Solider and Falcon, you are not putting up much of a fight, man."

"I dohohohon't wahant to huhuhrt you!"

Peter regrets his words as soon as he catches a glimpse of the smug grin Ned is wearing while hovering over him.

"You don't want to hurt me?" Ned repeats, hands stilling their movement. He watches the teen under him calm down a little. A bit red around the face, Peter glances up at him while still about to catch his breath.

"You're kinda squishy, and I'm afraid I'm going to break your fingers, or something."

Peter realizes by the display of pure smugness taking over his best friend's face that he just dug his own grave and yeeted himself into it. Willingly.

"Are you telling me I can tickle you however I want, and you won't fight back because I'm, I quote, squishy? Cause that just now sounded like an open invitation to wreck you with tickles, and you not planning to do anything to stop it."

Before Peter can take back his words, Ned pins his arm above his head with one hand while the other hovers over Peter's stomach. Nervous anticipation takes over his whole body as his eyes pinned on the hand, ready to strike at any moment. The smirk Ned is wearing sends a shiver down his spine, and a nervous giggle slips out as Peter knows what is about to happen.

"Any last words, Parker?"

Peter swallows, his lips twitching into a nervous smile.

"Let me live?"

_______________

"Sir, according to the newly installed safety protocol, I must inform you of a significant rise in Mr. Parker's vital signs. The suits measured a fastly increasing heart rate."

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose, trying not to get irritated by what he just heard.

"I told Parker to call if there is an emergency. Did he ask anyone for backup?"

"None of the Avengers have gotten a request for backup, Sir."

The man takes a sip of his stale coffee, rolling his eyes.

"Call the kid, Friday. And show me a display of his current vitals."

As Friday has stated, the kid's vitals are going wild in front of his eyes. Hate rate and oxygen level showed clear signs of Parker's body being highly stressed.

"Mr. Parker cannot answer your call, Sir."

"Why?"

Tony squints at the numbers shown in front of him. The kid couldn't be unconscious with those vitals. He should be very much awake by the amount of adrenaline pumping through his body, enhanced metabolism or not.

"Mr. Parker doesn't seem to be wearing his mask, Sir."

"Now that's surprising," Tony mutters under his breath as a frown takes over his face.

The kid has always been sensitive to his secret identity. Looking at Parker's stress level with the knowledge of him wearing the suit without his mask leaves Tony with more than one question about what kind of situation the spider-kid got into.

"Friday, track down his location."

"Tracking failed, Sir."

"Is the suit damaged?"

"No damage detected, Sir. Tracking is not possible through an override of the safety protocol."

"Why haven't I been informed about this?"

"The system states the code got overridden about four hours and thirty-six minutes ago by you, Sir."

Tony clicks his tongue, knowing full well that he hasn't been overriding anything as he had been in that annoying meeting. Maybe he underestimated the intelligence of the kid.

"That little smartass. Friday, connect me with Spiderman's suit and activate the microphone. I want to be sure at least I won't have to scrape the kid's dead body off from a random alley."

"Understood, Sir. Presenting live audio of Mr. Parker's suit."

Tony didn't know what exactly he had been expecting. Gunshots? An explosion? Someone threatening to gut Spiderman and Parker snarking back while sounding like he was about to keel over? Maybe something like that. What Stark had not expected were the childlike and a tad panicked-sounding giggles filling up the lab. Knowing that Friday doesn't make mistakes and that this had to be the audio from Spiderman's suit, Tony couldn't help but stand in his lab, feeling a little flabbergasted.

"What am I listening to, Friday?"

"It appears Mr. Parker is laughing, Sir."

He rolls his eyes at the obvious answer, letting a hand run over his face, feeling too tired for whatever the heck this was.

"This is not an emergency, Friday."

"According to the protocol, you are to be informed about any medical anomalies or potential emergencies, Sir." Despite being slightly annoyed over the false alarm, an amused smile dances on his lips. Glancing at the vitals again, Friday had a point. The kid is currently under extreme stress. But not the kind he would have expected.

"I swear I'm dying, Ned. Don't do it, seriously. Nehehed, pleahahase dohohon't. I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna dihie- AHH NOHOHOHOHO! NOHOHOHOHOT THAHAHAT! STAHAP!"

Tony chuckles at the audio. Giving it a second thought, this does sound like a special kind of emergency the kid was dealing with. He catches himself smirking at the sound of a shriek followed by more pleading and hysterical laughter filling the lab, the owner of the voice none over than Peter Parker. He wasn't sure if he ever heard the kid laugh before. Maybe a sarcastic chuckle from Spiderman as he webs some gangsters upside down against a lamppost. But this now was a completely different story. It was the sound of the kid laughing carefree, entirely unguarded, and Tony caught himself slightly adored at the giggling, wondering how the kid must look while laughing his head off like that.

__________________________

"Maybe I should tell Mr. Stark about this?" teases Ned as he is about to go for Peter's ribs when he gets pushed back rather strongly.

"No! Ned, you cannot do that!"

He is taken aback by the panic in Peter's voice, glancing down at his wrists caught between his friend's hands. He realizes quickly that the hold made him immobile, the opposite display of strength Peter had shown just moments ago when he had been weakly batting his hands away.

"What? Do you think the Avengers will use it against you? Scared of getting tickled by your idols?" Ned jokes in a purposely light manner. He furrows his brows as he watches his friend worrying his bottom lip, avoiding eye contact with him, and it strikes Ned that there seems to be a more complex issue they need to discuss. He leans forward, head tilted slightly to the side as he tries to get a look at his best friend's face.

"Peter, what's wrong?"

"It's stupid."

Peter still avoids looking at him. His words are a murmur, barely audible.

"Come on, Peter. Not everyone has superhearing."

Ned patiently waits until Peter heaves out a small, shaky sigh.

"I said it's stupid, Ned."

"What about it is stupid? You being ticklish? There is nothing wrong-"

"They are going to think it's childish."

Peter answers a little louder than deemed necessary before he looks surprised by his outburst, eyes blown wide and instantly flooded with regret. He quickly mutters a breathy sorry, hands releasing the grip around Ned's wrists. Ned furrows his brows as he takes in the kicked-puppy look his friend is wearing.

"Did they ever tell you you are childish?"

Peter's eyes finally meet his, clearly taken back by the question. He stumbles over his words in an attempt to answer, the rambling giving away his nervousness.

"N-No, they didn't. But maybe they think I am." Peter runs a hand through his already messed-up curly locks, chocolate-colored eyes meeting Ned's before he continues.

"I'm not sure, Ned. Mr. Stark calls me kid sometimes, but it doesn't feel like he means it to sound condescending. But at the next moment, someone asks if I have done my homework yet or if I need help with school, and I don't know if they are serious or are just making fun of me for being a high schooler. What do I even answer? "Sure, Mr. Hawkeye, Sir, I could use some help with my history report. Do you think I should ask Captain America if he can explain how the times were before he got turned into a popsicle?"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Ned couldn't help but snort at Peters's words. His reaction causes Peter's lip to twitch upwards just a teeny bit. At least the sass was still there.

"I would pay money to see you asking him that, just saying." Ned grins when Peter gives a little chuckle. His fingers play with the hem of the mask, running over the newly produced fabric before he glances up at his friend, back to carrying a sober expression.

"I'm afraid they won't take me seriously. A sixteen-year-old high schooler playing superhero, trying to act mature between all those adults. But then it turns out he can't stay serious when someone pokes him. How can I expect them to think of me as one of their partners when everyone knows Spiderman can't stand getting tickled? It just sounds dumb, and I feel dumb-"

"Wow, hold your horses, Mr. Parker."

Peter's eyebrows rise when Ned puts a hand over his mouth, successfully shutting him up. Ned feels conflicted. He had been aware that Peter doesn't tell if he's not feeling all too well right away. He knew about his friend habitually swallowing down whatever plagues his mind and bringing it up when he felt like he was just about to break and that this situation right now was one of those moments where he had to be here for him.

"For someone so smart, you just said a lot of dumb stuff, man."

Ned's lips break into a little grin when Peter rolls his eyes at him and crosses his arms over his chest without attempting to push his hand away. He is willing to listen.

"First of all, you aren't playing a superhero, Peter. You are one. Spiderman is a hero. No matter if he helps someone get home safely at four a.m. or if he fights alongside the Avengers to save the world from weird aliens who try to eat our brains." Ned can feel Peter's lips curling into an amused smile under his palm, feeling encouraged to continue.

"Just between us, as much as I'm a fanboy of the Avengers, we both know Spiderman is the coolest hero." He is met with another round of eye-rolling and laughs it off.

"Don't get silently sarcastic with me, dude. How can you not be a fan of Spiderman? Super-strength, enhanced senses, stick to walls, and has the best punchlines. It's hard to top that, even if you are called Iron Man. I think you are not giving yourself enough credit, to be honest. As you said, you are sixteen and a high schooler. Someone who has to go to school and do his homework. Someone who takes time for his aunt and friends and is always willing to help. Never mind if he's being Peter Parker or Spiderman. You are probably handling just as much, if not more, than the Avengers. You should be proud of yourself."

Sensing Peter wants to say something, Ned takes his hand away. Peter takes a deep breath, giving him a playful look.

"Thank you. I thought I was about to pass out." He chuckles as Ned shoves him against the shoulder with a grin.

"It's not long since we worked together as a team, and I guess I'm just anxious about them thinking of Spiderman as weak." He is back to glancing at the mask in his hold, clenching it slightly in his fingers. Ned waits patiently for his friend to continue. Peter takes a deep breath. "I haven't told you this before, but I'm not hanging out with them after missions. We go debriefing, and I usually go patrolling or home. They invite me to go out or do something together, but that means I have to take off the suit, and I just-"

"You are afraid they won't take Spiderman seriously after getting to know Peter Parker," finishes Ned, his friend's sentence, who struggled after stumbling over his words. Peter shoots him a grateful look for having caught on, visibly having a hard time.

"I trust them to have my back when we fight together, but them knowing about this," Peter stops to gesture vaguely at his own body, but Ned understood what his friend was trying to tell him, "I think I'm not comfortable with them knowing about it. Oh god, all of this is so silly. I'm overreacting, aren't I?"

Peter bends forward, elbows leaning on his knees as he buries his head in his hands with a groan, the tips of his ears dusted in a light red.

Ned gives him a thoughtful look.

"I doubt anyone in their right mind would call someone who catches driving vehicles with his bare hands and getting away without a scratch weak. But it might help if you look at it from a different perspective. It's not Spiderman who is ticklish. It's Peter Parker who is too intelligent and sassy for his own good. Spiderman won't mess up a mission because of this. If the Avengers think a sixteen-year-old beanpole like you is stupid or childish because he breaks into a giggle fit if someone squeezes his side, then they can straight up start calling themselves the world's mighties douchebags."

"Do you want me to relay that message to them the next time we meet?" asks Peter as he glances up at his friend, a grateful smile playing on his lips.

"Only if you want me dead."

"Nah, Spiderman needs his Guy in a chair too much to let him get kicked in the ass by the Avengers."

"Wow, I feel so loved," Ned rolls his eyes but wears a gin on his face, undermining the sarcasm.

Peter laughs at Ned's expression before he puts a hand on Ned's knee, catching his attention. He gives him a bright smile.

"Thank you, Ned."

Peter doesn't have to elaborate further for Ned to understand what he is getting at as a similar smile to Peter's appears on his face.

"Don't sweat it, dude. That's what friends are for."

_______________________

"Friday, turn the audio off."

"Of course, Sir."

Tony glances at the ceiling before downing the rest of his coffee.

"Friday put together a list of bonding activities that won't bore the heck out of me but are interesting to a sixteen-year-old, that is too smart for his good. I want this done in twenty minutes."

"Certainly, Sir."

"We also need a "No Masks During Briefings- Protocol" .Wait, scratch that. I want a "No Masks-l In The Tower-Protocol". Show it to me before sending it to the rest of the team."

"Of course, Sir. Will this be all?"

Tony purses his lips.

"This is all, Friday. For now."

#ticklish peter parker #tickle fanfic #peter parker #spiderman #tony stark #ned leeds #tickling #marvel #marvel tickle fic #ticklish! peter parker #ticklish #ticklish spiderman

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jq37 · 18 days

Text

The Report Card – Fantasy High Junior Year Ep 18

Oisin’s Family Reunion

Welcome back to Fantasy High where it’s election night and there’s a storm a-brewin. Last we left off, pretty much every student at Aguefort (plus Ragh, Jawbone, and a hidden Eugenia Shadow) was at Seacaster Manor which Riz realized was tactically unwise right as Seacaster Manor was suddenly ripped from its foundations into the sky.

Luckily, Seacaster Manor is still a working pirate ship with a ton of functioning canons, plus a ton of shields and other protective mojo put up by Aelwyn. Unfortunately, there’s a lot to worry about here:

Kristen is a shoe-in to win the election BUT that’s only if they can get everyone to vote and get the votes to school in time. This is complicated by the fact that–

Everyone will freak out if they realize what’s happening and if they freak out, they won’t vote.

There’s a lot to be freaked out about, the first of which is that those ping pong balls Oisin left were a sort of homing beacon that’s drawing the attention of the NIghtmare King. When Kristen looks outside, she can see the storm has taken on the visage of the Nightmare King and it’s like they’re in his hand, being wound up to be thrown for a fastball. Total party foul.

Seacaster Manor is a boat, but not an airship and it doesn’t have flight capabilities because Oisin got Adaine’s Mephits to break the Cloud Rider Engine during that first house party months ago. This is a problem both because they need to Not Crash but also ideally they need to be able to steer to get the ballots to the school.

Complicating things even further, they have another nasty present from Oisin to contend with–a whole horde of dragons, including big grandma blue herself!

So, yeah! Tons to contend with in this episode. Some good news though: In the center of town, they can see a shock of red lightning go up into the sky and then fizzle. The Rat Grinders are performing their little Porter promotion ceremony but it’s not working because they don’t have Ankarna’s name. Equally good news, Fig’s steed now had a name courtesy of Murph: Gerard Neigh!

The Bad Kids leap into action, both doing damage control on the party and controlling heaps of damage directed at the dragons gunning for them. Fig (who is actually in Wanda form right now so idk how this is working exactly lol) convinces everyone that this is just a sick music video that’s being filmed at the party while Gorgug and Sprek (aviation Goblin) get the Cloud Rider Engine running. Adaine is predictably SO excited to get to help with the canons (along with helping Fig) and Fabian gets people to vote. He also gets his surprise tattoo from Eugenia. Riz is using his insane action economy (boosted by Haste) to run those cannons like he’s in the navy. And Kristen (with help from K2) is keeping everyone up as they are buffeted by winds, physical attacks, and dragon breath weapons.

Though this is a wild episode, not much happens plot wise so here are some standout moments:

Gorgug is still living in crit city and putting anyone who doubted his multiclass to shame.

Fig has Adaine strap GoPros on vultures to film this fake music video which she will probably turn into a real music video at some point. Maximum Legend Behavior.

Adaine, in one of her coolest moments ever, blasts a dragon with a cannon then runs to the deck and one shots a blue dragon by punching its lights out. Defeating enemies by hitting them with her fists and shooting them with guns. The Adaine school of wizardry.

At one point Kipperlilly, Jace, and Oisin Invisibly jump onto the deck from grandma’s back (which Adaine and Gorgug can see because of various magical effects, though they pretend like they can’t). Gorgug has to make two Wis Saves and he rolls 22 on both. Seemingly nothing happens and they use a Rune of Recall to teleport away. The Bad Kids figure that they were trying to mind read Gorgug to get Ankarna’s actual name. 22 is pretty high but we don’t know if it actually worked or not.

Riz gets to add yet ANOTHER ancient dragon to his kill list as he cannonballs Oisin’s grandma out of the sky. Yikes my man. You’re probably out of the will now.

At a certain point of the fight, Baxter the griffon shows up to meet then WITHOUT Sandra Lynn riding him which is *concerning* but we don’t get more info than that in this ep. Best case scenario, Sandra Lynn just sent him solo to help because she was busy with things on the ground but still wanted to send air support. Worst case scenario–we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

The last big thing that happens in this ep is the moment that broke Brennan and, I’m gonna be honest, as silly as it is it feels like business as usual from Ally to me (though I do understand why it would break a man--several years into the careful crafting of his world--who has been filming for 9 straight hours in a warehouse in Los Angeles). Kristen tries to make a Divine Intervention roll and fails. Then K2 tries to make a Divine Intervention roll–which she does by looking into the clouds and saying, “Blimey” in Ally’s atrocious British accent and THAT one succeeds. This is compounded by the fact that Brennan said that if this works, K2 will be vaporized and Ally randomly adding in that K2 is pregnant with Fabian’s child (which Lou both vehemently vetoes and also plays along with to mess with Brennan)

Brennan fully leaves the dome (Zac takes over for a few minutes) and then storms back in and declares that as weird Wizard clones, simulacrum are just made of stem cells and always test positive for pregnancy because of that. Then, he tells everyone to just wipe the past ten minutes from their mind so he can have some semblance of order for the end of the episode.

The successful Divine Intervention brings Cass back to herself for a moment and Seacaster Manor flies into the maw of cloud Cass. They appear back in Elmville but everything is now an eerie red and lightning strikes fill the sky. Looks like another end of the year apocalypse! If Riz doesn’t get into college after this the school board is gonna have to fight *me*.

Detention

Eugenia Shadow for Giving Fabian a Secret Tattoo of a Ghost With Hairy Legs Showing Hole

Obviously I wanna give it to Oisin for siccing his grandma on his entire school and taunting my girl Adaine but she didn’t give him the time of day so neither will I. Instead, I’m giving it to Eugenia for the insane moving tattoo that Fabian will have to corral back into his otherwise lovely clock tattoo every day. Bonkers behavior.

Honor Roll

Gorgug for Flying a House Full of Students With No Training and No Casualties

And he wasn’t sure he could do it. Way to step up Gorgug!!!

Rat Grinder Notes

We still don’t have specifics on what actually happened to Lucy and how the Rat Grinders got involved with this mess in the first place. We have some guesses but nothing concrete and some options definitely make them more sympathetic than others.

Tossing a house with ALL YOUR CLASSMATES INSIDE OF IT is such an unhinged move. I don’t know how nuanced Brennan meant for the Rat Grinders to be but man it’s hard to want anything for them besides a swift ass kicking followed by jail when they’re pulling shit like this AND we’re not getting anything mitigating to make us feel bad for them (ie: Aelwyn’s shitty home life or Ragh being manipulated by Dayne). Fascinated to know if they’re in a state where they can be “snapped out” of it or if they’re basically lucid but with heightened emotions (in the same vein of, “The shitty things you do and say when drunk are still your fault/responsibility).

My updated list on how much I wanna see these kids get embarrassed in this fight are Oisin and Kipperlilly at the top followed by Ivy. Mary Ann I truly have no opinion on. Ruben I am warmer on than the rest but that’s admittedly because Fig has put time into investigating him and it’s entirely possible the rest of the RG’s would seem more sympathetic if the BK’s dug more into them. And then Buddy dead last because he’s pretty clearly a pawn here. Like he has other stuff to work through but the current apocalypse is not his fault and he doesn’t deserve to be lumped in with the rest of them. In fairness, Porter (+Jace) deserves to get smacked down more than any of them as the adult mastermind behind this but that’s not the list I was making.

Random Thoughts

This is a side thing but I love that Aelwyn spent a ton of high level spell slots warding up Seacaster Manor. (She also made Fabian a cursed coin that would summon the gold tornado from Freshman Year if broken but he never used it.) She’s helping!

Lmao at Murph being called in as the expert on honoring the cock and just being resigned to cock(ed dice) inspection.

It was casually mentioned that Bucky might believe in Cass a bit which I'm mentioning in case it comes up later.

I love Brennan letting Gorgug use his Great Weapons Fighting feature while using the boat as a weapon. That’s such a shenanigan and Zac wasn’t even asking for it.

I bet the Rat Grinders targeted Gorgug for the name/mind reading thing because they thought he was the dumbest one in the group. Newsflash! He’s been smart this whole time! Greatest Wizard of our Age!

Being all, “Other kids at this school have it easier than me and it’s not fair,” and then having your trust fund baby friend send his ancient dragon grandma to attack everyone at your school so you can win an election is such loser behavior.

Sending dragons to attack the kids who killed a dragon their first year of school and have just gotten cooler and more powerful since then seems like a profoundly shortsighted decision. Why not put their loved ones in danger like in Family in Flames if you want them out of the way? Like, they’re gonna be SO MUCH more mad at you when they inevitably come for you but it might actually slow them down whereas this did not at all.

I imagine this is going to be a Promocalypse-esque situation where despite this being a school of adventurers, the Bad Kids aren’t gonna get much help from the rest of the student body but I hope they can at least get some cleric heals or pearls of power something before they have to go into this next fight because yeesh.

I hope Adaine remembers that Oisin has a thing to steal control of summons because she’s been getting into summons heavily this season.

I’m really curious to know how this fight will play out. Like if it will have a heavy RP element or not. Because if the Bad Kids had bonded with the RG’s in any way (besides the weird obsession w/ Mary Ann and whatever the hell is going on with “Wanda” and Ruben lol) I could see there being a lot of persuasion roles to try and get them to stop what they were doing. But as the story stands, this is coming off of the back of the Rat Grinders sending DRAGONS to THROW THE HOUSE THEY WERE IN. If I were them I would NOT be like, “Let’s talk it out.” I’m like, “OK cool, they can’t be reasoned with,” and casting my most devastating spell at the highest level. Of course, I much prefer combat eps when they have RP but I don’t know that the story so far has been conducive to that. We’ll see!

#Dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #d20 #d20 spoilers #fantasy high #fantasy high spoilers #fhjy #fhjy spoilers #spoilers #the report card

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lisbeth-kk · 6 months

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Sherlock fandom.

Where he goes, I follow

The first day of December arrives, not with the desired drizzle of snow, but rain, and lots of it. As the day passes a thick fog sneaks upon the city and standing by the window, I can’t even see the building across the street. The fog is almost like a living creature where it envelopes every house. I bet I could cut it with a knife.

I sigh when I realise, I must go out to chase a probably invisible criminal through the streets, behind the madman who is now standing impatiently waiting for me to get properly dressed for a night out.

A night out with the world’s only consulting detective, is a bit different to what most people think of when they hear the phrase. What it specifically means is to dress warm enough so you’re not freezing your balls off, with layers that aren’t making your moves stiff and uncoordinated but leaves you sufficiently agile to run freely and tackle any culprit daring to put said madman in danger. You must also be willing to follow him wherever he leads you, even if you’re sceptical and should know better.

In short, I live by two rules on these nightly shenanigans: One - until he’s proven wrong, Sherlock Holmes is always right, and two – wherever he goes, I follow.

***

“Come on, John! I know a shortcut,” Sherlock bellows and makes a sharp turn down a narrow alley.

How he can even spot it in its nebulous state, is beyond me. I curse his long legs and sprint after him, trying to stay as close as possible so as not to lose sight of him. It doesn’t help matters that it’s late afternoon and no daylight either. The streetlights are few in this area, and several of them aren’t even functioning.

I hear someone yelp in surprise, and Sherlock’s strangled voice calls my name. A fear I haven’t felt since Afghanistan, rise in me by the sound, but it’s soon replaced with ice-cold rage. I reach for my gun and when I see an unfamiliar male figure strangling Sherlock, I press the gun to his temple.

“Drop it,” I say in a voice all the men who have served under me would know better than to argue with.

When the culprit loosens his grip on Sherlock and tries to shove him against me to run off again, my instincts take over. I can’t see much, only shadows even this close, but my battle training surfaces, and I rotate on my right heel and gives him a blow to the back of his head with my gun. He slides down beside Sherlock and my inner doctor emerges immediately, the other man forgotten.

“Sherlock, can you hear me?” I ask, my voice steady and clear.

My hands search his face, head, arms and torso before he answers.

“Did you get him?”

His voice is hoarse after the pressure to his throat. I roll my eyes, which he probably can’t see, but my answer should give him a clue.

“Of course, I got him, you git! Or else you wouldn’t have this conversation with me right now.”

When I realise what the last sentence actually means, the adrenaline that’s surged through my body for the last hours, suddenly fades and in its wake a stab-like pain sets in my chest.

I could’ve lost him!

That thought is scarier than any villain we’ve ever encountered thus far. My silence seems to worry my best friend.

“John?” he inquires softly. “What’s the matter?”

He knows me too well, but I’m tired of pretending and the eeriness of the weather gets blamed as well when I answer him, hoping that he won’t be appalled by my sentiment.

“I could’ve lost you, Sherlock,” I whisper. “And I just can’t deal with that thought.”

Sherlock shifts and struggles to take off his right glove. Before I can scold him for such an absurd manoeuvre, his warm palm cups my cheek.

“You won’t,” he murmurs.

I place my hand over his and bends down to look into his remarkable eyes.

“Promise me,” I say earnestly although I know it’s futile.

No one can make such a promise and keep it. But of course, Sherlock is above all that and promises me anyway.

“I promise, John Now, let’s go home and I’ll start convincing you,” Sherlock says huskily, his voice full of something new. Something I need to unravel.

Sally and Greg arrive minutes later, and Sherlock stands close to me when he explains what’s happened, before he takes my hand and leads me out of the sinister passage to flag down a cab.

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @phoenix27884 @a-victorian-girl @safedistancefrombeingsmart @peanitbear @gregorovitchworld @helloliriels @raina-at @sabsi221b

#flash fic friday #sherlock fandom #john watson #sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #johnlock #nebulous roads

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buckleysjareau · 2 months

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i took the medicine, but i’m up in the middle of the night again

Here’s the thing, Buck has always been an anxious person.

An exploration of Buck’s anxiety, accepting help no matter how scary it is, and how the 118 come to help him in their own ways.

READ ON AO3 HERE

Here’s the thing, Buck has always been an anxious person.

Underneath his big, extroverted personality was someone who was constantly overthinking every little thing he said and felt. His mind was constantly a mess of why did I just say that, what did that look mean, where’s the closest exit in case something bad happens and can I sit there?

In high school, when he just could not get himself to focus no matter how hard he tried, those thoughts would slowly get louder and louder and louder until they completely overtook him, drowning out everything else around him until all he could hear and feel was his heart trying to beat through his ribcage. He never seemed to remember how he got to be sitting on the bathroom floor, only ever being able to recall thinking I need to get out, get out, abort.

That call definitely got his parents’ attention.

“You’re skipping class now? It’s that football team, isn’t it? What’s next, selling drugs?”

Maddie finds him that night on his bedroom floor struggling to breathe. She helps sit him up, pushes his head between his knees and tells him to match her breathing. When he’s finally able to breathe in sync with her, he tearfully begs her to tell him what is wrong with him and why this keeps happening.

Having a name to what he was experiencing should have made him feel better, but it doesn’t. Having panic attacks is just another reason on a whole list of reasons why his parents can’t love him.

He doesn’t tell them about his panic attacks and begs Maddie not to tell them either. He makes her pinky swear that it stays between them.

It only happens one more time before he graduates.

He gets accepted into Penn State on an athletic scholarship and finally escapes the suffocating expectations of living with his parents.

He quickly learns that even though he’s not under their roof physically, he still feels stuck there. It’s like his body is at Penn State but his mind never left Hershey.

It’s like he never left.

The overwhelming feeling of having to be perfect or hurt to keep someone’s attention. The constant pit in his stomach and the dread that follows him wherever he goes. The only time he feels even remotely like a functioning human being is when he’s too drunk to forget he has anything else to worry about.

The drinking affects his studies, and his poor studies affects his athletic scholarship, and he’s forced to move back to a place where he has to get himself hurt in order to not feel invisible.

A screaming match with his parents ends with his first panic attack since high school. It’s truly like he never left.

He enrolls in community college just to have something to do so he’s not stuck inside that hell all day. He meets people his second week there and soon enough, his partying habit is back in full force. His parents are beyond angry every time he returns in the middle of the night, but when he doesn’t come home at all for days at a time, they don’t notice his absence. Much like it was when he was growing up.

He uses the tuition money on modifications for his motorcycle and bankrolls a few of frat parties. He’s not surprised when he’s kicked out of that school, but he was definitely sick with anxiety. His parents were going to kill him.

He’s thinking that as a car pulls out and he has no time to brake before he’s crashing right into the car.

The medics bring him to Presbyterian to get checked out, but as soon as they discharge him he gets a ride to his only other option, his safe space, to his sister.

When she turns him away with sad eyes, he has to swallow back his panic. It’s not Maddie’s fault he’s a fuck up. She shouldn’t have to deal with his bad decisions.

He just about manages to stave off a panic attack by the time he needs to face his parents. Then Maddie shows up with a ticket out of here in the form of her Jeep and he feels the weight ease off of his chest.

He’s mad, and he’s hurt, so fucking hurt, when Maddie stands him up with no more than a note but it doesn’t stop him. He leaves in Maddie’s Jeep without her steady, supportive energy next to him. He sits with it for a while and then he starts living.

He still feels anxiety but it’s not consuming him the way it used to. He can do things and it wouldn’t matter because he’d be off in a new city in a few weeks anyway.

—

LA was good for him. The fire academy was good for him.

It was good for Buck.

His first four months as a probie were a little rough, but after his wake up call that came in the form of him getting fired, being fortunate enough to have a second chance, and meeting Abby, it all seemed to settle down again.

Bobby, Hen, and Chimney seemed to fully accept them into their little family and what a concept that was; he had a family.

A family who didn’t look through him as if he was invisible.

They saw him.

Which is why Hen can see through his half-assed ‘I’m fine' when his anxiety is too much to push away, he presumes.

A lot has happened within two weeks and it all seemed to be piling up, one thing after the other and Buck could feel himself slowly losing the tight grip he thought he had on his anxiety.

Abby stops responding completely. Their communication slowly dwindled down to nothing, a short phone call once a day, a text here and there, an update every time she went to a different country, and then nothing. He couldn’t help but obsess over what he could have done wrong. The dread that he somehow messed up, that he wasn’t enough to yet another person, keeps him up at night. He explains away the circles under his eyes by complaining about Abby’s loud neighbors. He thinks they believe him.

Then Eddie Diaz joins and the team treats him like he hasn’t just graduated from the fire academy. It took four months for the team to trust that he knew what he was doing, and it’s Diaz’s first day and they let him lead. He can’t stop from spiraling over the fear that the team won’t think he’s as good as Eddie and that’s all it will take to replace him. He reverts to old habits and lashes out. Fortunately for himself and everyone around them, Buck gets over it after he bonds with him over a live grenade but it does nothing to alleviate his anxiety.

In the middle of all of that, Maddie comes back. The sister he hasn’t talked to in three years. While he’s so relieved to see her, it brings up feelings he had buried deep down. He finds out why he hasn’t heard from her in three years and he has to try with everything in him not to have his first panic attack in years and make it about himself. Because it wasn’t about him.

Then the earthquake happens and he almost loses Hen.

All of the anxiety from the past two weeks starts to bubble over and it becomes harder to hide. He picks at his cuticles until they bleed and finds it hard to stop bouncing his leg even, even — especially — after a sleep deprived Chimney tells him to knock it off when they’re on the way to a call.

Hen notices, of course she does. She hands him a band aid, gesturing towards the cuticle around his thumb starting to drip blood at the look of confusion. He tells her he’s fine with the most convincing smile he could muster.

She lets him think she believes him for the first half of the shift, but after a particularly difficult rescue that leaves Buck shaking and carefully counting his breaths so as to not hyperventilate, she pushes.

He’s pacing back and forth, tugging at his hair with a grip so tight that his curls are messily on show, when Hen finds him.

She’s leaning against the door to the bunk room when he finally sees her. He’s startled enough to lose count on his breathing and that’s all it takes to slip into panic attack territory. His breaths immediately get faster as he tries to force out a lie.

Hen clocked it right away. “Don’t you dare tell me you’re fine right now, Buck. Talk to me.”

“I–I, uh, I ca–” As if that’s easy. “I–”

Hen seems to take pity on him as he starts to hyperventilate.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to talk. Just breathe for me, okay? Can you do that?”

“I can’t b-breathe, I c–”

“Yes you can, Buck. You just gotta slow it down. Just let me count and you follow, okay?”

Buck nods.

—

Hen gets him through that panic attack. He begs her to not tell Bobby about his weakness and no amount of reassurance that it wasn’t a weakness made him back down.

After that, it’s never talked about again.

Not until he finally decides to go therapy and Dr. Copeland suggests that he try medication for his anxiety.

An actual diagnosis. That his therapist highly recommends getting medicated for.

He’s stuck on that fact for days after that session and even Eddie has a hard time getting through to him. He keeps this diagnosis and his contemplation to himself.

Until his parents come to LA and blow up his life.

He has a panic attack in Chimney’s passenger seat and happens to spill his guts in the midst of it.

“There’s nothing shameful about taking medication, Buck. You take medications to improve your physical health, why is it so different when it comes to your mental health?” He gives Buck a pointed look. “And look, after everything this week, a mental breakdown or a panic attack was definitely due but you said yourself, it’s getting to be a frequent thing and it’s affecting your physical health now too. What’s stopping you from at least trying it out?”

“What if it doesn’t help? What if I’m too messed up for medication to cure me?”

What if all he is is just his anxiety and nothing he does will be able to fix it? What if living with this is his big punishment for not being able to save his brother? What if this is all he is and all he ever will be?

“Daniel dying is not your fault, Buck.” Chimney starts off, making Buck realize his spiral was spoken out loud. “And the anxiety you feel? That’s not who you are and that’s not all you’ll ever be. You’re Buck, a damn good firefighter and an even better friend. You deserve to get help, man. Accept it.”

As if accepting help is truly that easy.

“Thanks, Chim.” He mumbles instead.

—

All the medication does is make him more anxious. He feels like he’s going out of his mind and finds himself regretting letting Chimney talk him into getting help.

“That’s not who you are and that’s not all you’ll ever be.”

Doesn’t seem like it to him. Not as he’s on the verge of a panic attack even after taking the medication that would supposedly help him feel less anxious.

He’s halfway through his shift and it’s just past family dinner. He definitely doesn’t want to jinx it but the shift has been relatively not busy so far, however he feels the anxiety of a call gone wrong layered on top of a sense of dread that something will actually go wrong.

His eyes hover over Eddie sitting across from him, book in hand, seemingly immersed in what he’s reading. He tries to pull comfort just from seeing him, knowing that he’s okay, but images of Eddie on asphalt surrounded by a pool of his own blood flash behind his eyes. Blinking rapidly, he tries to pull his attention somewhere else and lands on Bobby at the sink, not paying attention to the glasses he’s washing, instead choosing to look over at Hen and Chimney who are laughing at something Buck couldn’t hear over the sound of his racing heart. All he can focus on is the knife Bobby is so carelessly washing off and what if it slips and hits something serious? What if something can go so horribly wrong just from washing dishes? It’s not the first time something’s happened like that. He can’t lose Bobby because of a simple slip of a knife he was washing. He can’t lose him at all–

He’s pulled out of his spiral by a sting of pain. He looks down at his hands to see his cuticles practically torn to shreds. His anxiety has never made him pick at them as much as it has right then and he’s on medication so obviously the problem was him, he’s not fixable. The anxiety is all he is. The medication isn’t helping. This really was just a perpetual punishment for not being able to save his brother. He’s always going to–

Buck stands abruptly, catching the attention of his team. The only excuse he can think of to not worry them is gotta pee, brb.

He’s too focused on getting somewhere safe he doesn’t have time to cringe at the lame excuse.

The second he’s down the stairs, he stops. He can’t go into the bunk room knowing Harmer is still in there, taking a nap before he loses the opportunity to. He thinks maybe the back of the engine, but someone would hear that door shut and realize he was lying. The only option he found was Bobby’s office.

The second the door is shut, Buck’s body seems to give out from under him and slumps down the side of Bobby’s desk and is powerless to the panic that takes over him.

By the time he’s not actively having a panic attack, he has no idea how much time had actually passed while he was curled in on himself. What he does know is that he feels completely spent and devastated that there was no fixing him. He was broken, cursed to a life full of sometimes debilitating anxiety.

The sob that leaves his throat is completely involuntary and he can’t seem to stop it. He tries to keep his cries quiet so as to not bring attention to Bobby’s office, but little did he know there was already someone right outside.

“Buck?”

He freezes at the concerned voice of his Captain. He can’t find it in himself to find a response so he says nothing at all.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?” Bobby’s voice is closer now and when Buck looks up, their eyes meet and all Buck can do is shake his head as more tears gather in his eyes.

“I’m not fixable.”

“What are you talking about?” The concern is radiating off of him.

He feels guilty, extremely guilty, for making Bobby feel like this, so much like when he told Chimney all of those weeks ago, he spills his guts.

He’s surprised to find out he feels a little lighter than he felt before and he lets himself accept the comfort of his Captain.

“You’re not broken, kid. We’ll figure it out.”

For the first time, he starts to believe maybe he wasn’t broken.

—

Bobby was a godsend when it came to his anxiety after that.

That morning, after they were done shift, Buck followed Bobby back to his and they came up with a plan and he was filled with hope for the first when it came to his anxiety.

Bobby convinced him to give the medication a little more time to even out before he gives up on it. He’d continue taking it and whenever his anxiety got to be too much, he’d text Bobby or let him know and they would work through it together.

The plan was really utilized the first couple of weeks after he continued his medication. So much so that Eddie started to ask questions. He can only assume that the only reason Chimney and Hen weren’t asking questions was because they already figured out what was going on.

The only answer Eddie ever got from both Buck and Bobby was that there was something Bobby was helping him. Though Bobby tried to convince Buck to confide in him as well, the fact that Bobby even knew was mortifying enough.

Eventually, the meds started to work and he started to level out and things were easier from there on out. Of course, the anxiety still got the best of him after high intensity moments. It was especially bad after Eddie had been shot, released, and recovered. He was still constantly anxious whenever it came to Eddie, but he’s aware that it would have been a lot worse if he wasn’t on them.

The grounding techniques his therapist and Bobby taught him gave him the knowledge on how to help Eddie with his. Even seeing someone else having a panic attack was enough to make him anxious, especially Eddie, but he was able to keep himself calm and help Eddie with his own.

Everything eventually settled down with Maddie and Chimney back in Los Angeles, and Eddie back at work. He often found himself calm and collected more times than not, and that’s enough for him to let himself get comfortable again.

Maybe he let himself get too comfortable.

First Bobby doesn’t consider him for interim captain, and then Len dies in front of him in the middle of telling him the secret to happiness, and then something that should make him feel good like helping someone out to have the one thing they want more than anything only makes him spiral more. He says yes, but then everything in the universe makes it seem like it’s giving him a sign not to do it. He finally makes it but now everyone knows, not just Hen. Bobby finds Wendell, and seeing someone he finds strength in so disconnected makes something hurt in his chest. Kameron and Connor are pregnant and he feels happy for them, he really does but there’s something there that Buck can’t seem to shake.

And then his parents come. Albert brings Chimney’s dad and step mom.

It all starts to feel a little too much to deal with.

He distracts himself by cooking and tries to get Bobby out of his head as well by asking him for advice on what he was missing. It makes Bobby laugh which makes him feel a little bit better.

The anxiety gets a little too much during dinner at Maddie’s when everyone starts fighting about him. It’s at this moment that he realizes with everything going on, the fact that he had to refill his prescription two days prior slipped his mind. He’d taken his last pill three days ago and completely forgot to call in a refill.

He slips out when Maddie comes in with Jee and goes through a grounding exercise. He thinks about calling Bobby but the exercise itself is enough to calm him down enough to reassure himself that it’s okay that he forgot, he’ll just call it in the next day and pick it up before work.

Except that doesn’t happen. He oversleeps and he rushes to work and man, someone must have said the Q word because they barely had a break. By the time he has any time at all to call in the refill, the pharmacy is already closed.

Then they’re called to an apartment fire. Everything feels okay. No sense of dread. Chimney and him start up banter and then he’s up the ladder. Everything is fine.

And then he dies.

For three minutes, apparently. He wakes up in a world that is so much like the one always wanted growing up. Until it isn’t anymore.

Maddie’s with Doug. Bobby is dead.

He doesn’t want to be stuck there any longer.

When he comes to, all he feels is relief to see his sister. His parents are standing over him next to his doctor crying, but all he can focus on is Maddie.

And then he sees Bobby alive and well. That’s enough to calm his racing heart for the moment and everything feels okay.

Until he’s home. His parents went back to Pennsylvania, not before buying him the most uncomfortable couch in existence. He’s carted to doctor appointments after doctor appointments, test after test, and still has no answer on if he’s medically cleared to go back to work. He feels dread about going back to work.

While he appreciates Maddie and everyone’s visits, he’s starting to go a little crazy.

He caves after Sudoku and heads over to Eddie’s.

Eddie’s place is always peaceful. It feels more like home than his own loft.

“Hey!”

Buck steps in as Eddie moves aside to let him. “Please don’t ask me how I am.”

“Kay.” He breathed, amused. “Want a beer?”

“Ah, probably more than one.”

Eddie chuckles, walking away as Buck gets himself comfortable and closes his eyes. “Guess all that company wore ya out.”

And that’s the last thing Buck hears before the exhaustion takes over.

When his eyes flutter open, he notices he’s at Eddie’s house and it’s night time. That’s enough to ground him and make him realize that this was real life, that he wasn’t back in that reality.

There’s something about the way he’s feeling that makes him feel particularly fragile though.

So fragile he almost breaks when Eddie finally asks him how he is.

When Eddie reminds him that he died, and that he’s going to feel a lot of different ways about it, it’s said in a way of comfort but the dread that comes back through his entire system seems to have the opposite effect.

“I found the best way to process it is to allow yourself to feel it.”

“But you, uh, you do eventually right? You process it.” He hopes he’ll get reassurance from his answer.

“Everyday you open your eyes in the morning you feel a little less surprised the world is still there.”

Buck is silent after that. He can’t understand why after all of this reassurance that he would eventually be okay, he can only feel this dread. Something is wrong.

It only hits him as he’s settling back in on the couch, Eddie next to him this time, that Bobby never answered his text from the afternoon.

He texts him again and then settles back as Eddie puts on the TV as a distraction. He’s so grateful for how well Eddie can read him at that moment. Simple, quiet company was what he needed after an entire two days of people coming to constantly check on him.

The distraction worked for a little while, but Buck notices that Bobby still hasn’t texted him back.

Hey Bobby, how are you?

Delivered.

Surprised you weren’t involved in Operation Drive Buck up a wall with visits. Haha

Delivered.

Hey Bobby, haven’t heard from you today. Is everything okay?

Delivered.

Fear floods Buck’s entire body as he begins to spiral about why Bobby wasn’t answering. He was positive he wasn’t back in that coma dream because he was at Eddie’s and it was night time but his mind couldn’t help but spiral there anyway.

Is he back? Is Bobby actually dead and he’s not actually at Eddie’s and it’s all just some weird elaborate dream inside of a dream? Is he out of the coma dream and there is actually something wrong with Bobby? What if the people that killed Wendell killed him, too? His call went straight to voicemail. He’s dead. Bobby’s dead in this life now, too. Why isn’t he texting him back? He always texts him back. Athena hasn’t answered either. What if they’re both dead? He can’t do this without Bobby. He’s panicking right now and Bobby isn’t alive to help him through it this time. Bobby—

“Buck!”

His eyes snap open to find Eddie sitting in front of him on the table and feels a hand on his. He can’t breathe again. His body is shutting down. Did he run out of time? He was stuck in this hell forever. He ran out of time.

“Buck, just keep your eyes on me. It’s okay, I promise, everything is okay.”

“Bobby–”

“Is okay. I’m not so sure about you right now though, so just try to breathe through it with me.”

“No, no, he died. He was dead. He isn’t answering me like he usually does. Something’s wrong.”

Buck felt like he was dying. He’s not so sure that he isn’t. It’s like he’s back there.

“Okay, okay, it’s okay. Hey, Buck, what’s your favorite flavor of Jell-O?”

Through everything, that makes Buck pause. What?

“What are– what are you–”

Dear God, this was the worst panic attack he’s had in a while. Why the fuck is he asking about–

“St–strawberry.” He chokes out.

“Okay, okay, good choice. Buck, I want you to close your eyes for me again, okay? Can you do that?” He shuts his eyes. He’ll do anything to stop this feeling. “I want you to think about your feet, okay, and feel them turn into soft, strawberry Jell-O.”

His eyes snap open. “Eddie–”

“Just trust me. Can you do that?”

He nods and closes his eyes again. Trusting Eddie was as easy as breathing…ya know, when he’s not having a massive panic attack.

“Think about your feet turning into soft, strawberry Jell-O.”

So he does. He doesn’t understand but he does. “You feel that?”

“Yeah.” He chokes out.

“Good, good. You’re doing so good for me, Buck. Now let that Jell-O go up your calves… now up to your thighs, up to your pelvis, and stomach.”

Buck can feel him lighten the grip he didn’t even know he had on Eddie’s shirt. Breathing starts to get easier.

“Your whole body is turning into squishy, bouncy Jell-O.”

Buck huffs out a small laugh at how ridiculous it sounds but thanks God that it’s working.

“Now let it run to your chest, your arms, your head…”

He takes in a deep breath and opens his eyes to meet Eddie’s. He’s smiling softly at him, pride in his eyes along with relief.

“You are one giant Buck Jell-O mold.”

That has Buck’s entire body relaxing, body collapsing forward into Eddie’s chest and keeps breathing.

It’s quiet for a little bit until Buck’s phone buzzes on the table next to Eddie. His head shoots up and grabs his phone with enough speed and force to almost knock Eddie off the table.

Bobby

Sorry I missed your texts, kid. It’s been a crazy day. How about I stop by with breakfast in the morning if you’re feeling up to it.

Buck lets out another cry at the sight of Bobby’s message. He ignores the look on Eddie’s face that means they’re going to talk about what just happened and focuses on texting Bobby back.

You know I’m always up for your cooking, Cap. Glad you’re okay :)

After he puts his phone down, he looks back up at Eddie and sighs. “Guess you wanna know what that was all about, huh?”

“I’ll admit I’m concerned but I’m not gonna make you talk if you’re not ready. That was a pretty bad panic attack, I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

Buck huffs. “Yeah, probably one of worst ones I’ve had since–”

Oh.

“Since?”

He never refilled his prescription.

“Since Bobby convinced me to stay on the medication they gave me for my anxiety.”

The anxiety he tried like crazy to hide from Eddie.

“Oh.” Eddie doesn’t seem surprised. “Can I ask what caused it this time?”

His voice is so soft and understanding that Buck can’t hide what happened in his coma dream any longer.

“Bobby was dead in my coma dream.” He starts to pick at his cuticles as anxiety starts to flood his system once more. Eddie doesn’t allow that to continue though, taking both of his hands in his and rubbing circles into the tops of his hands. “I have to text him every time I wake up so that I know I’m still here and not in the reality where he’s not alive.”

He hates that he can start to feel himself start to panic again. He feels like if he’d remembered to refill his medication that it wouldn’t be this bad. So, so stupid.

“You’re not stupid. It’s been a hectic couple of weeks, anyone could forget to refill a prescription with everything that’s happened to you.” He needs to stop spiraling out loud and not realizing it.

“The psychiatrist warned me to not go off of these cold turkey. Said something like this could happen if it did.”

He bows his head in shame for the tears that well up in his eyes once again. God, he’s a mess.

“Not a mess.” Eddie states. Shit. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to get some real rest in a real bed and then in the morning, we’ll go to the pharmacy and get a refill of your meds.”

“What if I have to start all over again, Eddie? It took me nearly a month to stop having panic attacks because of how anxious they made me at first. I can’t do this again, I can’t.”

The grip on Buck’s hand tightened just the slightest and brought him back from another spiral.

“Then we’ll deal with it together. I told you, I’ve got your back. It’s going to be okay.”

And all Buck can do is trust that it would be okay.

Eddie has his back. Bobby is okay.

He will be okay.

#evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #911 on abc #fanfiction #my fics #my writing #first fic i have finished in 2 years #be nice #emotional hurt/comfort

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