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itshype · 1 year

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Please don’t pet me! I am working! (DC x DP)

The Service Animal Cujo notfic that I, personally requested but just like my extremely cringe Batman x Witcher fic, I have to do everything myself. I wrote this but held off during DC x DP week because I’m not participating in that. If I keep writing these, I’ll have to make a masterpost or probably whack them up on Ao3 for archive purposes at some point but for now: Here is the Space Obsessed Danny story and Here is the Kingmaker Danny story! CW for mention of panic attacks in this one!

So! Let’s get going. Danny died. He can’t stop thinking it. He was dead. He’s walking and talking now but he knows deep in his soul that everything’s different now. He was dead and somehow nothing has changed? He feels like something of his journey to hell itself should be visible in his skin – something more than the small exit scar on his left foot. Another dimension was opened through his body and his hairstyle didn’t even shift?

Sam and Tucker are just as freaked out as he is, but they aren’t nearly as frightened. The ghost powers and Halfa stigma won’t come until later, but right now Danny is having difficulty even considering the possibility of leaving the house. With Danny in such bad condition emotionally, there’s no way to cover up what happened, and Jazz takes them all to the hospital.

Now, I know in a lot of fanfics Danny has weird physiology even in human form (lower body temp, slower pulse etc) but I don’t remember any of that being canon so I’m ignoring it. And if it is canon then I am exercising my right to debone the original show like a small chicken and use it to make a flavourful stock.

So, Danny checks out with the doctors except for a weirdly tiny burn but he is having like 5 concurrent panic attacks about everything from “there’s nothing after we die”, “The electricity cooked me”, “Life has no meaning”, maybe even throw in a fun “I came back wrong”.

Hell, maybe he does have weirdly low vitals, but the rapid pulse is countering his slow heartbeat and decreased blood pressure etc. Up to you!

Danny probably ends up being sedated if he can’t calm down but by then there is a different issue. The doctors Fenton have arrived. Now, I think it’s no stretch of the imagination to say that under the wrong circumstances they would dissect Phantom if they got their hands on him but also I know they somewhat care for their children and canon has shown more than once that under good circumstances that they could accept Danny.

When his ghost sense goes off for the first time it’s pretty obvious. He’s in a hospital and instead of a tiny little whisp of silver breath; it’s like a fogbank creeping along a moor, its sea mist rolling in from the horizon of his mouth and whiting out his private hospital room. No one can see two meters in front of their own face, and it takes over a minute to fade. Sam screams out for Danny and tries to grab his hand where she knows it was but can no longer see. Tucker starts at the sound and drops his device, screeching gratingly at the clattering plastic of his PDA hitting linoleum, hard.

When the mist finally evaporates, the Fentons want to take him home immediately and run tests. They think the ghostly influence is ‘obvious’ but the 68-year-old nurse, Beatrice stands like a 5-foot-nothing wall of solid rock and won’t let them touch him. Jazz also angles herself between her parents and the door so if they did somehow manage to get their hands on Danny, they wouldn’t be able to leave without steamrolling her. Then the heartrate monitor goes wild as Danny panics about being a guinea pig for his parents’ less-than-lukewarm lab safety practices and they back off without further interruptions.

That’s the point when it hits them that everything that has happened to Danny is their fault. His accident was because of them, he’s melting down because of them, both of their children genuinely believe that they will hurt Danny just because he’s having weird ghostly side effects to almost dying in a ghost portal. One they built.

It’s a few hours later when they breach the subject of going home, of at the very least making a decision about school even if that decision is to formally take a leave of absence. Sam and Tucker’s parents had made them go home and he’s a lot calmer now but at this stage, his weird ghost powers are causing problems. It seems to the orderlies and nurses that his anxiety is getting worse because he’s turning intangible through cups and cutlery – making it look like he’s shaking so hard he can’t even hold a single cup, and is flat out refusing to eat.

Even though it’s been less than a day it looks like Danny’s shock is just getting worse. He phases through his bed right as Beatrice and his parents walk through and they think he’s hiding under there out of fear. He tries to explain, confused, and disoriented and deep in denial. Jazz shuts him up. She doesn’t know completely what’s going on, but she knows enough, and she isn’t letting 12 hours of changed behaviour force her to blindly trust her parents.

Beatrice is most concerned. It hasn’t been very long but there’s no reasonable cause for his steep and steady decline. No reason outside of something-something-ghosts.

That’s when the first few pamphlets come out about therapy animals. They require some time to be trained and the middle of nowhere Amity Park doesn’t exactly have a pool to choose from, but it’s okay to adopt a younger animal and train it themselves.

Danny looks at the pictures of the fluffy bunnies and alert-eared dogs with big, glistening eyes. Then puts them down. There’s no way an animal would be safe in his house.

That’s when the ghosts attack. Danny isn’t the only spectre with a ghost sense and these ghosts are less human due to a lack of ectoplasm. Obviously, the silver fog reappears, and, in his terror, Danny drops to the next floor of the hospital, glitching through his bed and the floor underneath it. He crashes painfully in the middle of the gift shop.

His parents reach the conclusion that due to his extreme ectoplasm contamination; he’s developed a serious allergy to ectoplasmic weaponry, including things like ectoblasts that ghosts have naturally. They’re not…the wrongest that they could be. Unfortunately, they decide that Evil Ghosts TM can sense this weakness and are trying to kill their poor baby boy. Everyone else is freaking out about ghosts being visibly proven but the Fentons knew ghosts were real with zero doubts so they’re rolling with it.

Now, due to the knowledge that he died, Danny is having difficulty worrying about other things like catching up with schoolwork, his weird new allergies/powers or even Dash.

BTW KUDOS to anyone still reading, I know this part was really long, but I really felt like I couldn’t just flim flam over the details of why Danny would need an emotional support/service animal even if it’s fictional.

First day back at school, the Lunch Lady attacks. Danny barely eeks out a win just like in canon.

His parents decide that this is because of the allergies and the ghosts being able to sense Danny’s weakness as I said above. And they take it upon themselves to root out the problem at its source, to find all the ghosts who could hurt their son and imprison them, partly for Danny’s safety and partly for study. Not even they are sure where the divide is between their two loyalties.

So, they look to their now-functioning portal.

Unfortunately, they were massively underprepared, and they don’t come back.

Jazz sees the locked lab door and leaves them to it, making dinner and making sure Danny knows she wants him to be at school.

He doesn’t go, she lets him not go.

Two days later the boredom is worse than his fear. He goes to school. Danny, Sam and Tucker enter like a single unit. Dash tries some shit and either:

Jazz emerges and smacks his head hard enough he loses vision for several seconds – long enough for her to knee him hard enough to put the continuance of the Baxter lineage into question.

Danny starts panicking again. The teachers always want to side with Dash but him openly attacking a kid who was just in the hospital who doesn’t even lift a finger in defence of himself is beyond the limits of any sane adult’s “boys will be boys”.

Doesn’t really matter, the point is that he’s not looking to fuck around any time soon now that he’s already found out. But he did in fact attack Danny.

Danny goes home. His first attempt at school following his death has failed.

Tucker, separately, goes to a garage sale to buy old electronics to use in his PDA upgrades. He buys a boxful of weird lab equipment that definitely has a microchip or two. When he opens it at Danny’s house as an effort to distract him, a small pink teddy falls out. No one notices it bounce beneath the sofa. Sam or Jazz brings up the support animal idea again but is reminded of the whole “our house is a toxic waste site” thing and backs off.

Weeks pass, Danny develops his ghost powers and Jazz realises their parents are actually missing. She submits a missing person report mentioning the switched-on portal – the lab door was locked from the inside.

So, when Danny wakes up one day and there’s a glowing green dog already with a collar and a toy he thinks “ah yes, a dog that my sibling has procured for me as we discussed many times to help me cope with my own mortality, the near-constant ghost attacks and my parents who vanished.”

So, he puts a leash on Cujo who is happily chewing on his little pink teddy and takes him off to school while Jazz is using her first free period to go bother the local cops about their parents. (Why haven’t they been taken in by child protective services? Either:

Because I said so

Jazz is 18

Jazz used her improbable psychology powers to bamboozle the social worker into leaving)

Everyone at school loves Cujo. He gets all the love and does a very good job of dragging Danny away from ghost attacks (so he can fight them!!)

Jazz doesn’t find out about Cujo until the afternoon but probably lets the whole thing lie because it’s a great solution.

This could go on for some time. Both Danny and Phantom have Cujo but as Phantom Cujo stays in his big form so there’s no connection made. Canon mostly proceeds as normal except the parents aren’t there and there’s no huge issue with Valerie.

Realistically, a fair few high schoolers are probably also on the hunt for a pet ghost dog because if Danny and Danny both have one there must be heaps going around. Danny is also worried about his parents and periodically looks for them but that isn’t the focus of this story so I won’t go into a lot of detail – just clarifying that he’s not a sociopath who finds out his parents are missing and goes “oh ok”.

This could be its own story but let’s get to the DC part now!!

Eventually the Justice League connects the two calls, one about the ghost dog and one about the parents disappearing through a portal. Maybe Valerie complains, or even fanon favourite Wes contacts the authorities about the ghost dog with no official training or certification. Either way the JLA algorithm picks up these two very strange claims from one town and send someone to investigate.

But I mean, parents vanishing from a locked room and a green dog aren’t exactly world ending stuff, so instead of sending an actual busy superhero they send one of the kid heroes.

Now a lot of people will go ahead and put Damian into this. But I don’t really care for him in a dynamic with Danny. But I have another vigilante in mind, one who is less animal crazy, but more dog focused and also has issues with being seen as an actual person.

That's right, it's Conner Kent. And his faithful alien dog Krypto. I've seen a few fics where Danny adopts him, but you know what other family member should think you're an actual person? Your significant other. This could totally be a friendship thing no problem, but I do feel like some versions of canon Connor Kent would get on great with Danny.

Without the looming, repeated threat of vivisection, I think Danny would be a lot more chill about his secret identity and would probably disclose Cujo’s origins to Superboy. Once Connor knows about Cujo (Phantom’s dog) being able to shrink, he can see Danny with the dog once and connect all the necessary dots. Because I stand by the fact that the main reason Danny’s secret ID isn’t discovered more is because there’s no reason for a dead person to have a secret identity but once the concept is introduced then it’s pretty simple. Connor can hang out with Phantom while Phantom does ghost fights because the Kryptonian can’t really contribute but he’s there for moral support.

Eventually, Danny reveals to Connor that he himself was cloned before and talks excitedly about his clone who he considers a cousin. I definitely think without the parents there that Dani would visit more even if she has an obsession with travel, wanderlust or freedom that prevents her from permanently moving in.

This knowledge makes him very upset about how he was treated by his genetic donors, and Connor decides to move in with the Fenton siblings (without really asking the Fenton siblings) and decides that he’ll commute to the watchtower/titans tower/mount justice (depending on which version of canon he’s in sorry I can’t be bothered to figure it out).

Unfortunately, on top of not asking the Fentons, he doesn’t notify or ask anyone in the caped community. So as far as any of them are concerned, Connor went on a minor mission to investigate some missing people and is now himself missing.

Just as a caveat because I don’t feel like getting into an argument today, I used the terms both “service animal” and “emotional support animal” even though in most countries these are not interchangeable legal definitions. I use it in a non-legal way here because emotionally helping Danny – especially when that emotional stress causes physical damage is a service, and also there is the potential for Cujo to help Danny in other physical ways.

Also, there is definitely room here for Dani being buds with Match. I think that'd be neat.

If I could draw, I would make art of Cujo and Krypto being besties but I cannot so just picture it for two seconds. Done? Great, thanks!

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bizbat · 8 months

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I Know a Place ~ 1

~ Spiderverse x Fem!Spider!Reader

~ Reader is shorter than Miles, Pav, and Hobie, but appearance is otherwise not mentioned

~ Possible love interest include: Miles Morales, Hobie Brown, Gwen Stacy, Pavitr Prabhakar, Earth 42 Miles, and Margo Kess.

~ Reader is a newer spider, who, after losing a fight against an anomaly that found its way into her universe, is consoled by her friends.

~ Wc: 1.9k

~ You can find more of my works here

~ Contents include: Fluff, Romance, Mostly platonic as of now, Slight angst, Comfort, Horror, Mentions of blood, Intimate non sexual touch, Slight Yearning.

Somewhere, in New York . . .

A group of teenagers clad in brightly colored spandex suits, sit in a booth at a small cafe. The cafe itself is a cozy, little hole-in-the-wall, known only to those lucky enough to live nearby. The teenagers rest their tired bodies, allowing their muscles to melt into the soft leather seats, as they're embraced by the warm aroma of nutmeg, cinnamon, vanilla, and cocoa.

The calming scents swirled in the air, providing the teenagers a much needed sense of comfort and relief. They chatted amongst themselves, some excited from the battle they had just won, some wearily listening and occasionally providing their own input. All engaging in the conversation one way or another. All except for one.

One of the teenagers sat silently staring into her drink. Her mind, like her peers, was still on the fight the had just walked away from, though unlike them, she wasn't exactly satisfied with the outcome. She tried to focus her gaze on the hot beverage clasped between her hands, and not on the dirt and blood splattered on her gloved fingers.

Everytime she closed her eyes she could still see it.

Horror starts here -

Previously . . .

He was an anomaly, a horrifying variant of the criminal Rhino. He was a massive man with stocky , tree trunk-like stubs for legs. He had huge, muscular arms, his fingers were thick nubs, a solid plate of keratin from his first knuckle to the tip of his fingers. Despite his giant stature, his bodybuilder physique, and his inhuman limbs which were covered in tough, dark grey skin, the characteristic that most caught the teenager's attention was his face. Two massive tusks sprouted from his skull, piercing his flesh, and causing dark blood to leak over his head, face and shoulders.

He was clearly in pain, screaming as he flung any and everything he could lift over his head. Cars, fire hydrants, chunks of sidewalk. Nothing was safe from him in his rampage. He spared no mercy as he threw objects towards innocent civilians. Thankfully, by the time Y/n had gotten there, most of the bystanders had already fled the scene, and the few that remained were quickly moved to safety. The teenager turned her attention back to the rhino-man as soon as the last citizen was safe and secure.

"You really do live up to the n-"

Y/n could barely get a word out before she was flung into the side of a building. She slowly rose to her elbows, her head spinning as broken glass clattered onto the ground around her. She felt something warm and wet run down on cool on her face beneath her mask. She hobbled to her feet the minute the loud, incessant pounding in her head stopped, another quip already on her lips, only to be interrupted once again by a whack to the face. She felt like she'd been hit with a wrecking ball as she flew through the air.

Horror ends here -

She crashed into the pavement, her head smacking the ground that cracked around her, before slowly rolling to a halt. She tried to push herself back up, with what felt like boneless arms. Her arms weakly trembled before collapsing beneath her weight. Fear rushed through her veins as the sound of thunderous footsteps approached her weakened body.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, her fists clenched and her breathing quickened as she braced herself, preparing her body to take more abuse. She felt dread embalm her entirely, her sweat cold on her skin, as the Rhino rose his arms above his head.

But before the Rhino could bring his clubbed fists down upon Y/n's crumpled body, the loud riff of an electric guitar rang through the air.

Her eyes remained closed, as bright yellows, purples, and blues flashed across the sky in blinding geometric shapes. Y/n's stiff body ironically relaxed at the sound of fighting and music, her body and mind fully exhausted. She only began to open her eyes when she heard a familiar voice softly calling her name, gently coaxing her to rise to her feet.

Currently . . .

Y/n sat near the window, strictly gazing into the mug between her hands. She had been so focused on her own moping she hadn't noticed the conversation around her had begun to lull.

"Y/n, you alright there, bruv?"

Her head snapped up, her attention suddenly placed on the british man seated across from her.

"Huh!?" Y/n's gaze drifted to the other teenagers sitting with her, unintentionally now the center of their attention. "What do you mean? I'm fine. I'm okay."

The teenagers around her exchanged glances before turning back to her. "Y'know, it's okay if you aren't okay, though," Gwen, the blonde sitting beside her replied, her voice had been the one to pull Y/n from her pained stupor. Gwen gently placed her cup of hot cocoa onto the table in front of her, before lightly stroking Y/n's forearm with her thumb.

"I know, I'm okay. Really. . . I am." Y/n dropped her gaze back to the hot, sweet smelling beverage in her hands. The cafe the teenagers took refuge in had some of the best food and drinks any of the spider's had ever had. It was a family business, run by an older couple and tended to by their granddaughter. It had been a place of comfort for Y/n since she had come across it while chasing a pickpocket down an alley.

Unconvinced, the rest of the teens sat quietly. "Is it about the fight cause if it is you got nothing to worry about" said miles, a chocolatey ring on his top lip. "When I was 'bout a month into being Spider-man, I had to fight Scorpion." Miles shook his head. "Lost so bad, it was on the news. My mom heard about it."

"Really?" Hobie questioned, taking a bite of his pastry, "That bad, huh", he followed earning a glare from Miles.

"Oh please, that's nothing! When I first became Spider-Woman, I got absolutely wrecked by Doc Oc! I got publically laughed at for two weeks!" Countered Gwen, her hands moving as she spoke. "I couldn't go out without hearing someone laugh about it."

Hobie chuckled, causing Gwen to toss a large marshmallow in his direction, "And what of you, Pav?"

"First of all, what about you, Hobie? You've never lost a fight?" Said Pavitr, flustered at the sudden attention. "Oi we'll get there when we get there, yeah? Your turn."

Pavitr sat back in the booth, his hand raised to his chin as he thought of his most embarrassing loss. "One time I . . . got . . . a got a bloody nose through my mask?"

"Yeah, but did you lose?" Asked Miles.

". . .no. But it was on TV!" Pavitr raised both hands in defence after earning a playful groan from the whole table, "Of course not", and "No surprise there" flying from his friend's mouths. "I'm sure mine will happen sooner or later!" Pav turned to face Hobie once again. "Okay, okay, your turn, Hobie. Tell us your most embarrassing story." Hobie sniffed, leaning back and putting his arms behind his head. "What's there to talk about, mate? I never lose."

"Right." It was the first thing Y/n had said with a smile on her face. Hobie glanced over at her, a soft smile replacing the frown she wore earlier. Hobie straightened in his seat, "Well-I mean- I-This one time right," Y/n laughed at his sudden disposition, "I was just off holiday, y'know, so of course I'm gonna be a bit rusty, a little out of it, y'know," the table began to giggle at his frantic excuses.

"But yeah, I'd just come off holiday, I start to swing around, warm up, got my blood flowing again, out of nowhere, this-this airship comes flying my way, absolutely massive, comes outta nowhere," "Oh it came at you, did it?" Pavitr asked between laughs. "Yeah," Hobie claimed, a faux irritation coating his words "It came at me, Pav man, you even listening? So it comes at me," he continued.

"I'm looking down, hundreds of adoring fans below, all lookin' back up at me, my senses kick in, little too late, yeah, but they do," Miles wheezes at Hobie's erratic retelling, his fist lightly pounding the table, as gwen writhes in her seat with her head thrown back. Y/n and Pavitr exchange glances with tears in their eyes whenever Hobie stumbles over his words or repeats himself.

"I look up at just the right time for the universe to take it out on me, i guess, and then WHAM! I smack into the aircraft, face first, all my fans still watching me as I plumet to certain death, just laughing, like I don't protect them everyday from the cold, greedy hands of a power-abusing, capitalistic, autocratic, and bigoted nightmare!"

By now every teen at the table is in hysterics, laughing so loud the table shakes with all their food and drink. Hobie and Miles have taken the slapping each others arms, as they cackle at Hobie, as Gwen has visible tears pouring down her face.

After being yelled at for being to loud and calming down, the group sits in a pleasant silence. Y/n sighed, yeah, today could've gone better for her, but in the end, she was thankful she had the kind of friends willing to embarass themselves to make her feel better. "Thank you, guys," Y/n mumbled out, a happy yet somber expression on her face, as they began to meander out of the cafe. "For tonight, and for . . . earlier."

"Aye, no problem, Y/n," Miles said, slipping an arm over her shoulder and looking into her eyes, a warm grin spread across his dimpled cheeks. "Any time." Pavitr gently stroked her knuckles with his thumb as he held her hand. The teens took off in the direction of Y/n's home, joking all the way. They saw her safely to her door.

Noticing the time, Gwen turned to Y/n and wrapped her arms tightly around her shoulders. "I'm sorry, I gotta get going," she saldy muttered as she squeezed Y/n. She pulled slightly from their embrace. "But I'll see you tomorrow?" Gwen stared into her face for confirmation, a playful smirk rising to her face as her cheeks heated up. "Bye Gwen, I'll see you tomorrow." Y/n felt her own cheeks grow warm, a little dismayed when Gwen fully pulled her arms from her.

Pavitr swallowed her form in his own muscular arms from behind, resting his cheek on her head. "I have to leave too," He groaned. Y/n giggled as he complained, a playfully sad look on his face. "I'll see you tomorrow too, Pav." Y/n laughed again as Hobie had to physically pull Pavitr away from her, before squeezing her shoulder himself and winking as he stepped through the portal.

Miles was the last to leave, he always was. He wanted to make sure Y/n was okay, having been no stranger to messing up himself. "You good?" Y/n sighed again, but this time it was filled with much less sorrow. She looked up at Miles and felt a warm smile rise to her lips. "I'm good Miles . . . Thank you. Really." Miles shrugged his shoulders as he beamed at Y/n before hugging her goodbye like the others. He lingered, just a bit, before letting his arms slip from her shoulders.

Miles stepped towards the portal, turning to grin at Y/n for the last time that night.

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gumnut-logic · 3 months

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Óen (Part 1)

Okay, I've been egged on repeatedly by the wonderful @idontknowreallywhy to have a go at this, but I'm a little nervous cos I've never written any HTTYD fanfic ever and am a bit short on the canon in my head, so be kind as I make up a pile of stuff as I go along.

This is a Thunderbirds Are Go and How to Train Your Dragon crossover and I'm chewing fingernails..

Many thanks to both @onereyofstarlight and @idontknowreallywhy for their support in this insanity.

This little bit is just set up so don't expect much, but I hope you enjoy it. My apologies to Toothless.

-o-o-o-

Hiccup Haddock III was an idiot.

Toothless, the midnight black night fury he was currently clinging to, no doubt agreed.

“I’m sorry, bud, you were right. We should have gone back earlier.” The words were whipped from his mouth by the raging winds, but as always, Toothless heard him regardless.

A deep rumble in the dragon’s throat, vibrating against Hiccup’s thighs, indicated agreement on all fronts.

Hiccup should have known better. He’d seen the signs of changing weather but had ignored them, convincing himself they had a few moments longer. Unfortunately, said weather had disagreed and whipped up one of those sudden storms that had Berk locked down and huddled away.

Except Hiccup and Toothless were in the middle of the ocean with no protection.

He grit his teeth against the wind, desperately attempting to help Toothless manage their flight. At first, he had tried for home, his dragon friend whacking him with an ear flap in annoyance…always listen to your dragon…but the conditions had changed so abruptly for the worse, that now it was a case of desperately trying to keep aloft and not slammed into the ocean.

They had tried for height, Toothless as always knowing exactly how high they were, in an attempt to get above the storm. But the thunderheads went on forever and they reached as high as Hiccup could go - Toothless could always go higher, but he didn’t seem inclined to do it carrying a frozen friend on his back.

Toothless snarled and then attempted speed, trying to get out of the squall. But Thor had other ideas and along with several lightning strikes that had Hiccup’s hair standing on end, despite the wind and now the sleet, it soon became a struggle to stay in the sky at all, much less attain any directional speed.

And now they were in trouble.

Astrid was going to kill him if he managed to ever see her again.

Dad…

Dad, as always was the reason he was out here in the first place. Just another day where father and son just couldn’t see eye to eye. Another day that found Hiccup fleeing on Toothless and no doubt Stoick the Vast ranting in the smithy with Gobber.

Ice bit into his skin.

Beneath him, Toothless growled in alarm as they were suddenly swept sideways and down.

“Toothless!”

His friend’s wings struggled against the gale, but were snapped back, his growl turning into a wail of pain.

The wind took them and Hiccup could do little but cling to Toothless as they were swept into a dark and violent maelstrom.

-o-o-o-

It was all sensation after that. Toothless fighting beneath him. Pain. Freezing everything.

Screaming darkness.

This was it. His own stupidity, not listening to his dragon, and forever being fearful of his father and the future. It all had finally done him in.

Hiccup the Idiot.

Saved Berk, but was too stupid to save himself.

A sudden yank upwards against the wind startled him. But before he could react something grabbed him.

What?!

He was lifted from Toothless. A tug as his safety line pulled then fell slack as if snapped. No!

NO!

He struggled but it was too dark and whatever had him, had a solid grip. “Toothless!”

The wind raged but he wasn’t falling. He attempted to fight himself free, but his arms were pinned to his sides and he couldn’t…

“Toothless!”

The wind whipped the name from his mouth.

Toothless was gone. He had to be. His dragon couldn’t fly without him. His thoughts swirled like the wind battering his senses and he clenched his eyes shut in grief. Toothless!

“You’re going to be okay.”

The words were heavily accented and heard mostly through whatever he was held against, and he only heard them because the winds were dying.

The winds were dying.

Hiccup flung his eyes open. He was flying. But not on Toothless. His heart lurched.

He was on another dragon, black and silver danced beneath a dark grey sky. In the distance the sun managed to peek through over a bunch of islands fading into the grey sea.

“Toothless!”

“Óen has your dragon. Don’t be worried.” There was such surety in that voice, Hiccup had to believe.

“Who?”

“Scott o’ Clan O’Treasaigh and Óen. We’re here to rescue you.”

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #how to train your dragon #httyd #crossover #thunderbirds fanfiction #httyd fanfiction #nuttyfic #I haven't written outside of Thunderbirds fandom in over a decade #a little terrified?#of many things #but there has been some research #and a pile of thought to get this to work

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justrandomfanfictionskh · 1 year

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DPxDC one shot

(Jazz has run away with Danny to Gotham, where she meats a kindred spirit. Inspired by the fact that Dick Greyson and Jazz are in very similar situations!!) ao3

Jazz took a deep breath as she stared blankly at the mess of papers in front of her. Who knew kidnapping, her brother would require this much paper work? Usually she'd be able to knock out things like this in thirty minutes or less. Bureaucratic paper work was almost a game for her in that way. But that was before she had to lie. The fact was that even if their parents even noticed they were gone, and wanted Danny back, Jazz didn't want them anywhere near her or her brother. In fact the only people she was comfortable with letting anywhere near them were Tucker and Sam. That was it. Everyone else needed to stay at least a hundred miles away, or else she was going to whack them with the creep stick. But just because they weren't wanted in Amity by more than two people, didn't mean that people wouldn't start looking for them. Vlad and the GIW were only a few names that came to mind. So if she was going to keep Danny safe, then they needed to disappear.

Hence why Jazmine Williams was fighting a migraine at a dingy folding card table, while Daniel Williams was sleeping in a sleeping bag on a sagging outdated couch. She had saved up roughly $10,000 from tutoring, baby sitting, and part time jobs. It was now all in a roll of cash she had hidden in her sleeping bag. It would last them a year if she budgeted, but she needed a job if she was going to send Danny to school. She needed legal custody of Danny, if she was going to send him to school. She was 19, she was allowed to adopt her brother. But she needed a lot of fake documents to even prove that they even existed, much less that she was a proper guardian. Fake documents, that would cost money.

She sighed and leaned back as Danny mumbled in his sleep. Part of her wondered if all of that would even matter. After all, this was Gotham, and Danny was 16, and he was brilliant. He could get his GED, easily. His grades might have been slipping from the pressures of being a super hero ghost, but that only proved that with the proper time and support he would be a genius! They were a family of geniuses, and Danny was no exception. "Bastard geniuses," she muttered, scowling at the thought of their "parents." She pushed the thought, of Danny graduating early out of her mind. She would not pressure him the way their parents had. Besides, Danny needed a strong, supporting social life. He needed friends that were not over a thousand miles away. He needed a community that would not spurn him because of his psychological disposition, and persecute him for his physical condition.

"Well," she thought lazily as she attempted to organize the papers for the fifth time that night, "It's summer, so I won't have to worry about that for a while. What I need to focus on now is getting a job, and where I can find some forged adoption papers. Perhaps--"

Danny's scream ripped through the apartment. The papers flew into the air as Jazz rushed to side. Danny was flickering between intangibility and solidity, as he thrashed and screamed for it to stop. She didn't know what he wanted to stop, but it wouldn't. Jazz screamed his name, grabbing his shoulders when he was tangible. She felt hot tears falling down her face, as she begged for him to wake up. At last, after what seemed to be forever, Danny's eyes flew open. The glowed a toxic green, as he took deep breaths. Jazz took him through the now all too familiar process forcing air into her half-dead brother's lungs, as he slowly returned to the present. Did he know that the exercise was as much for her as it was for him? That she needed to remember to breath, just as much as he did? Did he know the surge of panic and pain that filled her every time his night terrors revealed some new horror he had experience?

If he knew he didn't say anything as he simply followed, Jaz's instructions. She rubbed his arms in time with their breaths. She needed to remember he was there, that he was solid, and present. She needed to remember that even though he had died, he was still alive right in front of her. "It's ok," she whispered. "It's ok Danny. I'm here. You're safe now. It's all going to be ok."

Danny nodded numbly as his eyes bled back to blue. "I know," he muttered, "I know." He looked her in the face, and reached up his hand tentatively. She sat confused for a moment, until he wiped tears from her cheeks. When had she started crying? She took in her own shuddering breath as Danny stared at the tears in confusion, as if he couldn't comprehend anyone crying for him. She pulled him into a bear hug, as tight as she could manage. He needed to feel how much she cared. He needed to know how much she loved him.

She waited until he was hugging her back. She said nothing. He said nothing. Neither of them moved, until Danny started shaking. "I died Jazz. I...I am dead...I'm a walking corpse." She said nothing as she felt the hot tears fall down his face. What could she say to that? None of her psychology books had prepared her for this! So she sat, and she listened, not daring to say a word as he muttered his dream into her shoulder. Her eyes widened as she realized what he was saying. He had just relived his death...in his dream. He had fallen asleep thinking of his ghost dog, and suddenly, he was back there, in the lad, dying and living at the same time, as ectoplasm seeped into his blood, and electricity had ruptured every nerve in his body. Jazz didn't think she could hold her brother any tighter, but she did. And she let her own silent tears fall as she wept for her brother. He had lived. But he had died.

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

Dick Greyson groaned in confusion and panic as he stared at the wall of books in front of him. "How many parenting books are there?" he muttered as he began perusing, more than a little overwhelmed. There were at least a thousand books dedicated just to infants. There were even more dedicated to toddlers. He scoffed at a book labeled, "Do it like Batman: How to ensure your child survives the streets of Gotham" He took a picture of it, so that he, Jason, and Tim could laugh about it later. Bruce hadn't been the worst parent. He was kind, supportive, and genuinely seemed to care about all of them. But Dick was certain that the Dark Night had never set foot in this section of the book store. And now...he was missing, and Dick was filling the role he never wanted to fill, and stepping into a position he never expected to be in. He was Batman. And to top it all off, he was Damian's legal guardian.

Dick shook his head as he finally found the parenting teenagers section. It was significantly smaller than all of the other sections, and at first dick thought that might be helpful...It wasn't. He wondered if this was how Bruce felt, when he had taken him in. Did he feel this underprepared? This out of his depth? This overwhelmed with the responsibility of the mental, emotional, and physical well being of an angry, traumatized, and potentially deadly teenager? God! he really wish Bruce had any parenting books in the manner. Still, he had turned out ok right? Right?

He groaned as he began reading the titles of the books in front of him. What even was Gotham? So your teen idolizes a Rouge: On a scale from Catwoman to Joker how worried should you be about your teenager's rebellion? Right beside, So your teen idolizes Batman: Should you be worried about them becoming the next Robin? And of course there was, Gangs and Teens: How to keep your rebellious teen out of a gang. Also right beside, Teens and Gangs: How to direct your rebellious teen to right kind of gang. "Ok, but what about when your traumatized, emotionally stunted little brother swings a sword at everything that moves?" Dick muttered.

A soft chuckle drew his attention to the person standing next to him. She was tall, with long vibrant red hair that could rival Barbra's. The young woman seemed to be around his age and had a soft smile as she glanced at him with pale blue eyes. But there was a sadness in those eyes, and an exhaustion in that smile that Dick was only far to familiar with. The exhaustion of being to little prepared for a responsibility that you were just to young for. The young woman seemed to share his sense of familiarity, because her smile brightened a touch when she said, "Sorry, I didn't mean to eaves drop."

"No, it's alright," Dick said cheerfully. "I have a feeling you get it."

"Brother, check," the young said, "Traumatized, check. Emotionally stunted, probably, but he's getting better. Sword, no. But expressing his rage through wanton violence, check!"

Dick laughed, "Maybe we should start a club. A...'We only have our brothers but their little shits who can't stay out of danger club?'"

The young woman laughed so brightly, it made Dick's growing smile feel just a touch more genuine. "That's my Danny! I'm Jazz by the way."

"Dick, and yes I know, it's a childhood nickname."

"Short for Richard," Jazz nodded her understanding, "Well try having the nickname 'Jazz!'"

Dick thought about it and unbidden a thousand corny jokes popped into his mind. "Oh yeah, I can see where that could get annoying. Would you prefer me to call you..."

"Jasmine, and no. I only go by Jasmine in professional settings."

"Fair enough," Dick said turning back to the bookshelf, "So, any idea which of these we should get."

"Hm," Jazz hummed, as she selected one with a raised eyebrow. "I doubt, Your Rebellious Teen: What to do when your teen goes to Crime Alley for "Supplies" applies to either of us."

Dick laughed, "I think the only reason, Damian would go to Crime Alley is to kill some one...you know maybe I should take that one."

"I wouldn't," Jazz said reading the back, completely unfazed by his brother potentially killing someone, "It looks like this book uses outdated stereotypes to categorize healthy teenage angst into wanton criminal behavior, and suggests strenuous disciplinary action that would only reinforce our brothers' negative behavior and exacerbate their psychological trauma, rather than laying out strategies that will promote healthy living, and an emotionally safe environment in which they can express themselves in a healthy, stable, and safe manner until they come to terms with the true emotional source of their destructive behaviors." She looked up, and saw Dick blink at her, opened mouth in awe. "What?"

"Are you sure you shouldn't be writing these books instead of reading them?"

Jazz laughed and blushed, "I've always had a fascination with psychology. Mainly because my parents are certifiably insane, but it's always good to get an experts opinion, no matter how much you've studied. Besides my studies in psychology have always been focused on the development of the brain, and mental illnesses, not trauma." Here she sighed and stared at the wall of books wistfully, "If only I knew."

"Yeah," Dick said taking in the overwhelming selection declaring everything that could he could do wrong with dubious advice. "Me too."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Jazz said softly. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and Dick felt her study him. She was demure, and unobtrusive, but sincere with a tough core.

He grinned at her brightly, "You are going to make a great therapist. No, don't deny it. I can already tell. And yes I would love to talk about it. I love talking about my brother, all of them. But not here...uh...coffee?"

Jazz smiled brightly again and his heart skipped a little. "Coffee sounds great! Let me get you my number."

"Right," said Dick pulling out his phone, "And uh, if you want to talk about it..."

He let the question go unasked, as she froze. And Dick understood. She was like Alfred. Always kind, always willing to help. Always ready to listen and support, but never allowing others to help and support her. He briefly wondered if this was the first time anyone had asked her if she needed to talk things through. After all, if her brother was traumatized, chances were, so was she. In the end, Dick was glad he had asked, because she looked up at him with the brightest smile, and said, "Yeah, that would be nice! Thank you, Dick!"

They exchanged numbers, and continued to talk about nothing and everything. And when Dick finally said good-bye with three books that Jazz deemed worthy of their attention, he felt a lot lighter than he had in a long while.

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

Damian stood scowling beside Greyson as they looked over the city. He refused to call Greyson Batman in his head, because he was just so bad at it. Yes, his brother was an acceptable warrior, leader, and he had Damian's utmost respect for a great many things. But he smiled. Batman does not smile. And he joked, and ruffled his hair. Batman was a terror to the hearts of the guilty! He did not joke! Still, there was no one else, mainly because everyone else refused. Damian didn't know if they just refused to work with him, or if they just didn't want the moniker. Whatever their qualms, Greyson didn't have them. So Damian was forced to put up with a smiling, joking, affectionate Batman, when he needed to be cold, serious, and intimidating. At least until he was older. Then he could claim the moniker and Greyson could go back to...whatever it was that Greyson did.

Damian huffed, and Greyson took that as a request to speak, "You alright kiddo?"

"I am fine," Damian scowled trying not to reach up and scratch his mask.

"Well, it seems to be a quiet night. We can always, head in early and watch a movie..."

"Tt, crime never sleeps, Batman, and is rarely distracted by such frivolity. One would think that after all this time, you would have learned at least that much."

He watched Greyson stiffen, sigh, and then relax. He smiled at the younger boy gently and said, "You're right Robin, we have a responsibility to uphold. And I apologize if my suggestion was crossing a personal boundary. In the future, I will suggest a more appropriate time in advance, so that neither of us are uncomfortable or unprepared."

Robin narrowed his eyes suspiciously before saying, "Have you been reading those useless parenting books again?"

"What? No!"

"You have haven't you?"

"I just want to do this right."

"You're not my father!"

"No, I am not, but I am your guardian. Which means it is my responsibility to take care of you."

"I don't need you to take care of me! I do fine on my own!"

"I'm not denying that Robin. You are the most capable young man I know. And your ablitites are impressive, but I still have a duty of care, not only as your guardian, but as your brother--"

"And you're still talking to that useless psychologist."

"She's not useless, and she's a friend."

"She's a meddling---" CRUNCH.

Batman and Robin spun to see a teenaged boy, in what appeared to be a formfitting black and white hazmat suite with a flaming D imprinted on the chest, floating in midair. But he wasn't just floating, he was lounging as if he was on a couch, and...he was eating popcorn? He stared at them with unblinking, glowing toxic green eyes under shaggy white hair with no expression. Slowly, deliberately and without making a sound, the boy reached down and took a handful of popcorn and crunched it in the most obnoxious way imaginable. The two vigilantes stared at the boy in stunned shock, until the boy cleared his throat and said, "Oh, don't mind me. You can keep talking. This is very interesting!"

"Who are you?" Greyson demanded, and Damian had to admit, when he actually tried, his brother made a pretty convincing Batman. Unfortunately the strange floating boy had just seen him out of character and was therefore not intimidated in the slightest. A fact that was increasingly evident when he straightened and said,

"Oh, I'm just your average superhero ghost kid! Nothing to worry about, please go back to your conversation, it sounded really important, please don't let me interrupt." He then twisted, so that it seemed like he was laying on his stomach, feet in the air. He then gave them both a Cheshire grin, as he took another mouthful of popcorn.

Damian felt his face flush with anger as he marched up to the boy gripping his sword. "We are not your entertainment vermin! Now be gone!"

"Are you sure?" the boy said smirking, "Cause you sure are entertaining! Short stack."

Damian growled, but stopped as Greyson lay a hand on his shoulder. "Robin, stand down. And you, who are you and what do you want?"

The boy cleared his throat and twisted so that he was standing. "We'll get to who I am in a minute. But I just wanted to come and introduce myself. You see, I'm just a simple ghost boy trying to make my way in the world..."

"Ghost?" Batman asked concerned, but the glowing teen ignored him.

"And I floated into Gotham and thought, you know this would be a great place to haunt. The aesthetic is perfect, and the amount of ecto-energy you got here is incredible. The walls between the realms must be pretty thin, huh!"

Batman and Robin exchanged confused looks, but neither dropped their guard. "Are you saying you're dead?" Batman said, sightly horrified.

"Yep!" the Ghost Boy said casually, "And I'm going to be sticking around for awhile, so you guys better get used to me. And maybe a few of my ghost friends who like to spar from time to time."

Damian scowled. He didn't understand half of the words this "Ghost" was saying, but everything about him had his muscles tensed, and his hairs standing on end. He didn't look dead, or translucent, like Boston, but there was something very clearly other worldly about him. He glowed the same toxic green as his eyes. His features were just a little too angular, even his ears. His teeth were just a little too jagged. And his hair...it was pure snowy with that shone and floated around him in him as if her were under water. It was as if gravity didn't apply to him...as if this world didn't apply to him. Damian's hand gripped his sword ready to fight this creature when he growled, "What's your name?"

The Ghost smiled, but before he could say anything, someone yelled "DANNY!"

"Uh oh," the ghost said in terror and flew to hide behind Batman. Suddenly a tall young woman marched onto the roof. Damian recognized her immediately as Greyson's "friend" who he had coffee with once a week. Except in all of the security videos he had watched, she appeared calm, kind, and harmless. Now she was raging with a furry that made even Damian step back as she stalked up them.

"Danny!" she barked, "Stop hiding behind Batman, now! You are in so much trouble young man!"

The Ghost Boy, Danny, came out sheepishly rubbing his neck and he said, "Uh, hey Jazz."

"Don't 'hey Jazz' me, you are in so much trouble! How many times have I told you not to go out at night?! Huh! What if the GIW learns where you are? Or Vlad? Or worse, our parents?! And what did I say about bothering the Bats?!"

"Don't bother the Bats," Danny said glumly.

"Don't bother the Bats!" Jazz exclaimed. "Yet here you are!"

"But Jazz--" Danny whined. "I'm so board! I still haven't mastered portals yet, so I can't go to the Ghost Zone without Clock Work, but all he wants to do is have me study! And I can't fly around during the day, and you won't let me fly at night, and I like flying! And I just want to have some fun!"

Jazz sighed, as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Danny," she said, "I love you, and I know it's hard. This whole thing is," she waved her hand in the air to express just how crazy, whatever this "thing" was. She was holding what appeared to be a high tech boomerang, that had Damian squinting, before she continued, "But Danny, we have to be carful! And there is a better way to introduce yourself to the vigilantes than...I'm sorry how did he introduce himself?"

Greyson opened his mouth, but it was Damian who said, "He was spying on our private conversation while ingesting popcorn."

"Snitch!" Danny yelled, and the same time Jazz exclaimed with a gasp,

"Danny! You know better! I am so sorry Batman, my brother is...well I love him, but he tends to get carried away sometimes. I'm sure you understand."

"I do actually," Greyson said, and Damian scowled. He had dropped the Batman persona in the presence of his "friend," the careless idiot. "But I have some questions. Danny here said he is a ghost doesn't that mean...?"

Jazz sighed as pained exhaustion crossed over her face, "It's rather complicated, but in essence, yes, my brother is dead. And he enjoys using his ghost powers to drive me insane when he should be in the Ghost Zone with Clock Work, and/or Frost Bite."

"But Jazz!"

"You have a responsibility Danny! And Clock Work has been more than patient. Now apologize to Batman and Robin for spying and get your ass to the Ghost Zone, unless you want to help me do taxes then..."

"Fine," Danny groaned, "I apologize for spying and bothering you...And also for my pain in the ass sister who can't take a joke! Bye!"

And with that, Danny vanished, prompting an angry shriek from the redhead. She then began fiddling with her boomerang muttering things Damian wasn't sure he wanted to hear. Finally Greyson cleared his throat and said, "Um excuse me Miss. but I have a great many questions about...this and---"

"Hm," Jazz said looking up at him. "Yes of course, here's my card. I know the old Batman had a no-metas policy, but I'm hoping you and I can come to an arangment."

"What makes you think there's an old Batman?'

Damian scoffed, and Jazz shot him an amused look. "You're body language, and physicality are both very different. But setting that aside, that I really hope we can come to an understanding. We don't have many places to go, and my brother needs friends who are like him...or at least friends who can grasp his situation...I can explain better later, for now I have to track him down and make sure, he's not causing too much trouble. It was nice to meet both of you!"

And with that she disappeared down the fire escape, leaving the two vigilantes in confused and stunned silence as they attempted to process what had just happened. Finally Damian spoke, "I am not befriending that hooligan."

"Yes, you are."

"Just because you are sexually attracted to his sister---"

"Excuse me?"

"Does not mean that I will in any way get along with that ruffian."

"Just introduce him to the others, I'm sure Bart will like him."

Damian's eye's widened in horror, "I am not introducing him to Allen!"

"We'll see," Dick grinned, as he grappled over to the next building.

Three weeks later, in Teen Titan's Tower, Danny Phantom, Impulse, Cyborg, Beast Boy, Super Boy, and Robin could be seen cleaning up copious amounts of glitter and ectoplasm, as Starfire banned all prank wars for all of eternity. Robin didn't know how he got roped in to being involved in the nonsense, but he was sure that it was Danny's fault. He was also sure that their team had thoroughly defeated Allen's team, and since prank wars were now banned, their victory would be eternal.

#danny phantom #dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #jazzxdick #dick and damian #jazz and danny #oneshot #fanfic

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diazsdimples · 3 months

Text

Several Sentence Sunday

Tagged by @steadfastsaturnsrings @hippolotamus @cal-daisies-and-briars @exhuastedpigeon @disasterbuckdiaz @wildlife4life @daffi-990 and @wikiangela thank you friends!!!

This snippet is still in the editing phases and is subject to change but have a tsunami! The timeline is jumping all over the show when I write this but I've been ITCHING to write the tsunami for so long so here goes! Snippet below the cut because she's a long one

Buck reaches the toy stall just as the wave breaches the front of the pier, engulfing the spot where they’d been sitting moments earlier. He all but throws Christopher and Lily into the stall and instructs them to hold tight to each other before turning to Carrie.

She’s fallen behind and he can see her chest heaving as she pants, her small body struggling to push itself the final few steps. There’s a loud roaring in his ears, from the approaching wave or from the insurmountable panic that’s threatening to overtake him as he watches his daughter try outrun a fucking tsunami, he's not sure.

“Carrie, run!!” Buck screams, reaching out his hand to her. He wants to run to her so badly, to scoop her into his arms and protect her forever but he can’t leave Lily and Christopher and she’s so close. Her little fingertips close around his hand and he yanks her towards him, depositing her on the floor next to her sister and Christopher. Buck vaults over the wall of the toy stall, capturing one final glimpse of the churning water rushing towards them. The wood of the pier splinters and cracks as it’s torn to shreds by the unrelenting current and Buck watches in horror as people, small enough to look like Lego figures, get consumed by the water.

“Daddy I’m scared!” Lily cries, reaching out and grasping onto Buck’s shirt as he tucks himself into the corner of the stall, back to the shelves. He draws all three children close, holding onto them for dear life. Carrie clings to Buck’s arm hard, her hold tight enough to leave a bruise. He hopes it does, it’ll be something to remind him of her if they don’t all make it out.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you, just hang on tight,” he reassures the kids, hoping he sounds a lot more confident than he feels. The rushing is getting louder and the floor beneath them is vibrating like mad. Buck kisses Lily’s head, then Carrie’s, the Christopher’s.

“It’s okay,” he repeats. “I’ve got you, I love you, it’s gonna be okay, we’re gonna be –“

All the air escapes Buck’s lungs as the wave slams into the stall, knocking into them like a freight train.

Everything around him is swirling, gloomy, water, the current tossing him from side to side. The only thing in his brain is “protect the kids, protect the kids” and he clings tight to the small bundles in his arms as he kicks madly, trying to reach the surface.

The water picks him up and tosses him against a solid object, a building maybe? His arms instinctively open as his back folds around the contours of the object and he whacks his head. Dazed and confused, Buck paddles hard, clawing and fighting his way to the shimmering light above him.

He’s focused purely on survival as his lungs scream at him that he needs air, now. There had been something so important he needed to do just before the wave hit but he can’t remember what it was. Had he been holding something? Everything is foggy. All he knows is if he doesn’t breathe now, he’s gonna pass out.

The first breath of oxygen as Buck’s head breaks the surface is like being reborn, the beautiful air flooding his lungs and he gasps it in over and over, like a starving man eating for the first time in years. He can dimly see a string of lights above him and he grabs onto them, gripping tightly as the water rushes around him, trying to pull him away. With each gasp of air, his brain slowly comes back online, synapses firing a million times a minute.

Buck tries to remember how he got here. The back of his head throbs hard and he realises he must have hit it, accounting for the sudden confusion. He wracks his brain, thinking back on the morning. Eddie had been at his house that morning, he can’t quite remember why, he remembers eating waffles for breakfast, and then he’d ended up here? It suddenly clicks. Lily had wanted to show Christopher the big stuffed bear she’d been wanting to win for ages, and it wasn’t until all 3 kids had turned to him, eyes big and pleading, that Buck had relented and driven the kids to the pier.

A thrill of fear shoots through Buck, his blood turning to ice, as he suddenly remembers. The kids. He looks around madly, trying to see anything through the white, bubbling foam of the water but it’s no use. He can’t see them.

They’re gone.

No pressure tagging @theotherbuckley @housewifebuck @thewolvesof1998 @fionaswhvre @eddie---diaz @fruitandbubbles @nmcggg @watchyourbuck @rainbow-nerdss @callmenewbie @evanbegins @fortheloveofbuddie @spagheddiediaz @bucksbackwardcap @smilingbuckley @spotsandsocks @buckbuckgoose @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming

#I will be adding bits to this #my brain is just cotton wool rn #but say goodbye to the children!!!#(I'm kidding)#or am I #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 abc #911 buddie #911verse #911 fanfic #911

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foster-the-world · 15 days

Text

Hard

Things have been hard with baby boy. Three weeks ago he had a really bad week at school (3K) - after doing well all year. Amongst other really unregulated behaviors he scratched his friend - twice. One time at pickup and one time at daycare. The kids Dad called and screamed at me. All I could do was apologize over and over while he yelled at me. Baby boy plays rough but is not normally aggressive. Over a year ago (at 2.5) he bit his friend one time. We made a big deal out of it and he never did it again.

We pulled him out of school short term to figure out a plan. Also not sending him to daycare anymore. The boys parent said he could not go if baby boy was there. Daycare said they would not kick him out (we are close with them after many years) but we didn't want the boy to suffer when he was the one who got hurt. We will get after school care for the rest of the year. At this point its only two more months.

No idea why he was out of whack. Maybe daylight savings time but he was still sleeping a lot??? My Mom flew in to help - Thank God. He's an angel for her and she's a baby/kid whisperer. I had a really hard time with it - random crying. Spiraling with future worries in a really unhelpful way. I'm not generally much of a crier but I also went out of whack. I suspect there was some residual bad/helpless feelings left over from foster care mixed in there.

He seemed to understand scratching his friend was bad. He asked if he could write an I'm sorry card for his friend. His friend was over it within minutes. The Dad clearly was not.

Despite fighting all year for services this kicked my butt into further gear. Managed to get the SEIT (masters degree special ed teacher) that we've been pushing for all year. Ten hours a week one on one while in class. She seems good. I'm guessing she's a recent graduate - but that's fine. Right now we've only been sending him for the two hours she is with him. Next week we will add in another two hours. Then a full day. He's very happy at home with my Mom. She's staying for a month.

Keeping him home has all been our choice. His teacher never wanted him out of class. I just didn't want to risk him doing it again when we didn't know why he was acting like that. He's normally wild but not like this. At the time it felt like keeping him home was keeping him safe. Since going back he's been behaving fine at school. So fingers cross it was just a bad week. This all happened to coincide with his second development pediatrician appointment where he got a official ADHD diagnosis. Also coincided with the response to our special ed due process hearing. We won. We can now pay an enhanced rate to find providers and got over 100 hours of back pay hours. With his ADHD diagnosis came a recommendation for parent training. Got lucky and found someone who seems solid. Starting Monday night. Its virtual and after the kids are in bed. I'm excited for that. It gives me hope there is a "right" way to help him. Of course, its not covered by insurance even though its the recommended treatment for kids under six. Put him in a social skills class- also not covered by insurance (=blah). I don't think it will help but figure he may enjoy it. I believe (and research shows) kids this young can't learn how to act when they are upset at a time they are not upset. But also believe it can't hurt. At this point we are trying all of the things. He finally has OT, PT and speech - all outside of school hours but that's okay. As I suspected the speech person said she has not noticed any problems. We will probably stop that soon enough. His dev ped said we can medicate. She says research shows it helps but also higher chance of side effects when it starts at a young age. I'm very pro medication but not interested in starting until he is old enough to properly verbalize how the they make him feel. If he always acted how he was during his bad week that would be a different story. Right now meds aren't worth the risk.

Thinking we will put him in a integrated class next year. I was hesitant but this experience made me change my mind. We are touring two schools in May. One said they'd probably have a summer spot. They will bus him - which I heard is terrible and unreliable but will see how it goes.

I love him so much. I want a crystal ball that tells me how to help him. Anyone have one of those?

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sarah-sandwich · 1 year

Note

for the tag game Put in the work 👀

Former nasa au my beloved <333

When I first thought this up, I thought Harley working at NASA would be the main setting of the story, but then I was like hE ShOuLD bE a sINgLe FaThER like this detail wouldn't disrupt the entire structure I had planned lmao

The first half goes back and forth between past (having his daughter, Hazel, working at NASA, meeting Spider-Man via twitter, etc.) and present (moving to NYC after getting laid off, trying to connect with teenage Hazel, and meeting Peter). Then the timeline syncs up and it's all in the present. Which worked out surprisingly well! I was worried about how to get in everything about Hazel and NASA without having to write another mammoth 100k+ story 😅

I'm SO CLOSE to finishing this. Most of the ending is already written, I just need to connect the scenes and clean them up. There are like... MAYBE 2 and a half scenes that still need to be written. MAYBE. It's mostly transitions.

Unfortunately my dumb brain is like,,,, close enough! Let's call it a day gentlemen.

Anyway, have an excerpt!

Ten Years Old

Frozen on the couch, Harley watches the television in horror as Spider-Man prances all over the launchpad and the rocket Harley spent the past several years painstakingly designing, constructing, and testing. He worked his ass off just to get his designs on the board.

His ideas. His rocket.

“I’ll kill him.”

“Don’t worry, daddy. Spidey’s gonna lock him up.”

Hazel is standing on the cushion beside him hopping from foot to foot, enraptured by the chase. He should make her leave the room in case something traumatizing happens, but he can’t look away, he can barely breathe as years of rigorous work teeter on the edge of destruction.

Spider-Man shoots a web onto one of the solid rocket boosters and Harley grits his teeth as he swings around and plants a foot in the face of some dude on a hoverboard wearing an obnoxious orange hazmat suit.

He looks like an Among Us character. Completely ridiculous. Not a threat. Certainly not worth risking his rocket.

“No, baby,” he says calmly, “I’m going to kill Spider-Man.”

“Dad!” Hazel whacks his shoulder. “He’s the good guy!”

“He’s going to ruin everything.”

Harley doesn’t care why a New York vigilante is in Florida. He doesn’t care what the bad guy’s beef is or what he was going to do. If Spider-Man ruins his shot at space, he’s dead.

Long years of sacrificing his time to study, work, and attend class, the extra hours he put in every night after putting Hazel to bed to ensure he’d be good enough to be put on the rocket crew as a fresh-faced college graduate, the stress born from teetering on the edge of poverty—if anything happens to that rocket, it’s all up in smoke. Time he’ll never get back. All that effort, wasted.

The moment Spider-Man swung onto the launchpad chasing hoverboard guy, the big wigs in charge called off the launch. Now it’s a matter of waiting to see if his rocket will survive the encounter. If his rocket survives unscathed, they can reschedule, but if it gets so much as dinged, NASA is going to want to do a full inspection to make sure it’s still in perfect condition, and if it falls…

Well, if it falls Harley is going to have to do something extremely unpleasant to New York’s favorite web spinner.

The camera zooms out as Spider-Man springs away from something hoverboard guy threw. The something, a tiny black dot, smacks into the fin of Harley’s rocket. Then it detonates in a ball of fire and a burst of thick black smoke.

Hazel screams. The rocket tips. His heart stalls in his chest.

Then he’s on his feet, hands in his hair, and Hazel is yelling and jumping up and down on the couch, yanking on his arm as the rocket tips and tips and falls…

…and Spider-Man catches it.

There is a moment, a suspension in time, where Spider-Man holds an 8.5 million pound rocket over his head. A moment where Harley’s heart and lungs cease and everything goes still. He loses awareness of Hazel’s nails clawing into his arm and her voice, shrill and vibrant, in his ear.

For a moment, there is only Spider-Man, the dark smoke billowing around his calves, and the rocket held over his head. Two RS-25 engines rest on the ground and the rest of the build towers over him, tiny as a bug below it, and he holds it.

Then the launch vehicle stage adapter breaks loose and the entire top half of the rocket cracks off and hits the ground with enough force to shake the camera. It cracks like an egg.

Harley buries his face in his hands and sinks into the couch with a miserable moan. The TV drones on while a small hand rubs comforting circles on his back, but he can’t watch anymore.

“He got him, daddy,” Hazel says less than a minute after Harley’s rocket shattered without ever getting the chance to fly. “Spidey caught the bad guy.”

Yippee.

#parkner #ask games #sharing excerpts from this fic is such a challenge #there are several twitter and text exchanges that i just can't format on tumblr *profound sigh* oh well #anyway i love this fic with my whole heart #sure would like to finish it someday #put in the work #sswrites

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petri808 · 6 months

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Day 12 @flufftober “fire & ice” Tianshan royalty AU. It’s rushed I know I’m sorry 😢 I’m trying to catch up on stories.

Being pushed away, makes the heart want. Call it curiosity or intrigue. Maybe it’s because Mo Guan Shan has what he lacks, but whatever the reason, He Tian is a moth drawn to the sullen red-headed flame.

And speaking of Mo Guan Shan, it’s once again the time of year for him to travel from his home in Akaitora Kingdom to their ally and neighboring Kuroiryuu Kingdom. It’s his duty to discuss the quarter-annual harvest prices for trade and dread certainly looms, like a dense fog rolling over the mountain passes. It literally sends shivers down his spine to think about their second prince He Tian and how much he deplores dealing with the man’s flashy and extravagant personality. How is he supposed to deal with someone who’s diametric to him in personality, appearance, and capabilities, let alone comes from a class above. It doesn’t matter how he truly feels… He’s just a royal servant and He Tian is a highly coveted prince. Everyone knows and has seen them bickering over the years, especially now as adults, but the palace servants chalk it up to being like siblings in rivalry.

So far, so good, Mo Guan Shan remarks internally as he’s completing his meeting with Emperor He Cheng. There’s been no sign of He Tian, never popped into the meeting like he normally would or made his presence known. Both kingdoms harvests are going well due a perfect amount of rain and lack of severe storms which set the trade prices at a reasonable rate for the citizenry. It’s time to head back home to report on their trade deal. But as Mo Guan Shan rounds the last corner before stepping out onto the palaces promenade that leads to the front gates, low and behold, he’s stopped cold at hearing his name from a voice he instantly recognizes.

“No, no, no,” Mo Guan Shan waves his hand without looking back at the source, “I’m leaving already, my meeting is complete.”

“Awww, Mo Mo,” He Tian whines and grabs Mo Guan Shan by the shoulder to keep him from leaving. “You don’t have to leave so soon.”

Mo Guan Shan instantly whips around, whacking He Tian’s hand from his shoulder. “Back off! I don’t have time to play like you do!”

“Oww!” He Tian nurses his hand and wrist. “Dick! That hurt!”

“That’s the point,” Mo Guan Shan spits back as he starts walking away again to avoid further trouble. “Take the hint.”

“Ugh! Why are you such a cold prick! What are you afraid of?!” He Tian screams at the retreating man’s back. “This is why you’re still a virgin!You’re gonna die a lonely old man at this rate never having fucked or been fucked!” He lets out a sarcastic laugh, “maybe that’s what you need! Mo Mo, should I drag you to a prostitute so you wont be a virgin anymore? Maybe you won’t be so crotchety if yo—”

Before He Tian can finish the sentence a solid fist lands squarely on his left jaw, sending him flying backwards to the ground. There’s no time to spare as Mo Guan Shan drops and straddles the man and starts landing more blows. One after the other as the shocked He Tian can only raise his arms and defend against further damage. He’s screaming at the man to stop with apologies intermingled with curses.

“You fucking slut!” Mo Guan Shan roars in his defense. “You’re the one who’s gonna die alone cause you treat everyone like a fucking toy for your pleasure!”

The span of time may have seemed like forever to the two combatants, but in reality is is maybe 45 seconds to a minute before the palace guards are on scene and pulling the men apart. Even they are surprised at this sudden burst of anger from Mo Guan Shan or the level of taunts He Tian has leveled too. The guards hold the men apart from each other until the emperor He Cheng arrives.

“What in the bloody hell is going on with you two?!” He Cheng snaps at the men. “Since when did things get so bad?!”

“He’s the one who hit me first!” He Tian screams.

“Fucker you deserve it for the things you called me!” Mo Guan Shan retorts.

“Enough!” He Cheng roars. “Both of you are behaving like children! It’s time to grow up! You’re not kids anymore!” He points at the guards. “Lock them up in He Tian’s suites! Make sure guards are posted, they are not allowed to leave,” he then turns to glare at the two men, “until you’ve squashed this feud!”

“What!!” The word is echoed from He Tian and Mo Guan Shan simultaneously. “You can’t—”

“I can’t what?” He Cheng glares back, effectively shutting them up. “I’m certain emperor Jian Yi would agree with me. You boys should be childhood friends not enemies! So until you sort out your grievances, you’ll be confined here! That’s an order!”

The second the door slams behind them, Mo Guan Shan and He Tian instantly face off for round two.

“This is your fault!” Mo Guan Shan snaps. “If you just left me the fuck alone we wouldn’t be in this situation!”

“Me?! You’re the one who got all bent out of shape over a damn joke!” He Tian throws back. “If you know I’m teasing you could’ve just kept on walking away!”

Mo Guan Shan takes a step forward. “Beat a dog enough you’re gonna get bit!”

To retort, He Tian takes a step forward too until they’re a foot away from each other. “How is teasing the same as me beating you??!! That’s a ridiculous analogy!”

Mo Guan Shan shoves He Tian away. “Just leave me alone!” He snaps again and walks away to the balcony.

“Oi! Don’t you walk away from me!” He Tian screams but doesn’t follow just yet. “Why do you hate me so damn much?!” He Tian is the second prince. His much older brother He Cheng is the Emperor, risen to the throne once their father passed away. As the second prince, He Tian has no real duties required of him beyond the occasional diplomacy and spends much of his days being a charming, social butterfly and self-proclaimed brat of the palace. He’s received the finest schooling, but it’s hard to imagine otherwise when he acts like such an idiot.

Without turning around, Mo Guan Shan simply stares out at the landscape beyond the room, answering in a frustrated sigh. “I don’t hate you. Tian.” He rests his arms on the balcony railing, exhausted from the psychological strain. “I just get tired of you teasing me every time you see me.”

“I’m not trying to make you mad…”

“Then why keep doing it when it obviously pisses me off?!”

What do you do when your crush won’t give you the time of day? You love them. You hate them. You hate that you love them, and for as long as you can remember in your 22 years in this life, you are the fire to their icy personality. “Well…” He Tian mumbles. “I have my reasons…”

That gets Mo Guan Shan’s attention. He turns to face the prince, crossing his arms and leveling a look of exasperation. “Explain. Right. Now.”

Growing up, there was rarely anyone around for He Tian to play with. So, perhaps it is loneliness that has causes him to act this way, constantly seeking attention, good or bad. At least, this is one theory someone has come up with. The one person his age and only person still in his life since childhood— Mo Guan Shan, the first cousin of the current emperor Jian Yi. While they grew up, there were times when visiting each other’s kingdoms they’d be made to play with each other, but Mo Guan Shan is cold, shy, yet thoughtful, and loyal to his cousin. Now as an adult, the man is a diplomat for his cousin, sent to his and other kingdoms for trade negotiations or other official duties. He Tian always tries to engage with Guan Shan when he’s around, but is usually rebuffed because ‘duty calls.’ He Tian turns away to hide the brewing embarrassment and reddish hue building on his face. “I can’t and risk making you even more angry.”

“I doubt you could make me anymore angry…”

After a lifetime staring at each other to see who will back off first, “Fine then!” He Tian throws his hands up in defeat. “It’s dumb, yeah, I know, but I do it to get your attention!” His arms flail in emphasis. “I’ll do anything because I miss you!— because ever since we were kids I’ve been in fucking love with you, and it’s the only way you’ll talk to me!” He Tian turns his back to Mo Guan Shan, holding his arms crossed tightly against his chest, and looking away, closing his eyes to hide the tears trickling down his cheeks. It takes a concerted effort to hide the cracking pain in his voice. “Well, secrets out so, I’ll leave you alone from now on since that’s what you want.”

“Dumbass.” He Tian feels a pressure against his back and arms encircling him from behind. “I just don’t understand you sometimes,” words whispered close to his ear. “Because it’s my secret too.” He Tian sucks in a breath at those words. Did he just hear Mo Guan Shan correctly?

“That makes us both dumbasses,” He Tian retorts through a choking sniffle when the air he holds in releases. “You didn’t need to be such a dick to me all these years.” He feels free now that they’ve aired their true feelings and ready to resume his normal behaviors.

“And you didn’t need to tease me so much,” Mo Guan Shan jests back, “flaunting relationships and acting all high and mighty.”

He Tian peels Mo Guan Shan’s arms off him and turns around to face the man. “For the record, I never slept with anyone ‘cause I want you to be my first.” He grabs the man’s cheeks, pulls in, and steals a sudden kiss, purring, “Whad’ya say Mo Mo?”

#flufftober 2023 #tianshan #mo guan shan #he tian #19 days #old xian #tianshan fan fic #royalty au #tianshan drabble #unedited #petri808

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rosefinch07 · 6 months

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Red Blood and Blue Rivers (Jason Todd/Jaime Reyes) crossposted on ao3

The ao3 vers

Summary: Blue Beetle crash lands in Gotham, Red Hood is the one to find him.

Jaime screamed as he lost control of his flight, Khaji Da rattling off alert after alert while he tried desperately to get back onto solid ground. He twisted in the air and attempted to grab onto a water tower, the metal denting as he barely missed getting a grip on it.

Khaji Da suddenly took control of his body, the sting of the wind against him dulled.

"What the actual fuck Khaji!" He yelled, startled. "Bájame! Bájame, God-damn-it!" Jaime couldn't even thrash, Khaji going overboard in protective protocols.

Jaime, we are drawing near a suitable landing point. It is in Gotham City, New Jersey. Is that satisfactory?

"Sure! Whatever! Just please put me down?!" He clenched his eyes shut and distantly felt his body crash into grass.

He was unnaturally tensed up until Khaji released him. It was only then that he fully sagged, breathing heavily. His suit was suffocating around him.

Jaime, The Red Hood is approaching. Shall we utilize attack measures?

No. No fighting.

Jaime Reyes–

Let. Him. He could already hear the mulch.

Jaime opened his eyes when the crunch of mulch turned into boots on grass. Red Hood's emotionless helmet tilted down at him.

"The fuck you're doing here, Bug Boy?" His voice changer made the words sound rough.

Jaime laughed it off, the Blue Beetle face shield making it seem as if it was a disembodied voice much like Hood. His suit was still stiff, only a slight give when breathing.

"Powers are out of whack, give me a sec." He made to get up on his own but wobbled, making an absolute fool of himself.

Hood grabbed his hand and pulled him up, pins and needles echoing throughout Jaime's body. He still wasn't stable and his head banged against Red Hood's shoulder, causing him to groan helplessly.

"I am so sorry. I don't have full control of my body back yet." Jaime explained, flexing his hands until the pins and needles left. Hood held him up by his upper arms.

"Just tell me when I should drop you." Hood's monotone voice ordered.

When he got his body back under his control and Khaji let the suit become flexible again, he stepped back with a quick mutter.

"Thanks." Jaime breathed.

Hood tilted his head.

"What the hell happened?"

He shrugged, heeding the warning burst of panic that Khaji sent through his brain. Hood didn't need to know shit.

"Like I said, powers on the fritz." Jaime took another step back and tested out his elytra again.

The muscles attached to them obeyed and let him hover, though due to the amount of energy lost, he couldn't keep it up for long.

Hood, clearly thinking that he was running away, grabbed his wrist and forced him down. Jaime stumbled back into Red Hood's arms, stammering.

Allow me to maim The Red Hood.

It took everything in him to keep Khaji from materializing a weapon and impaling the guy who was the one thing between him and eating dirt.

Absolutely not.

Hood was a hard man of armor and muscle. His arms supported Jaime and his gloved hands were on his hips.

"You are literally shaking." Hood stated. "You are not going to wherever-the-fuck Texas when you probably can't make it two blocks."

Khaji confirmed it.

Jaime chuckled, slightly bitter and knowing he was getting defensive.

"What? Like you care?"

Hood shook his head, his fingers digging into the Blue Beetle suit's upper arms as he started walking. Jaime was forced to follow.

"Fuck off, you impressed the big Bat because you had no perceived casualties in your first major fight. I'm doing my duty." He defended, sharply turning them onto a street.

Jaime winced.

The crucifixes under the suit said different, the extra one hanging down further than his own that felt cold against his chest said different.

It had been a few months and yet the loss stung so severely it was as if it had happened only hours before.

"One. One casualty." He corrected absently, rubbing a hand at his chest. "I had to bury him."

Jaime tried falling into step with Hood but kept falling behind.

Hood seemed to let out a sympathetic hum, but it turned into a garbled mess so he didn't know for sure.

"Sucks, first casualty always hits the hardest." Before he knew it, they were going up the steps of an apartment building. Hood led them into an unit and locked the door behind them. "Want to talk about it?" He seemed to go softer at those words, but it might have been his imagination.

Jaime bit his cheek.

Given that it was Papi, hell no.

"I would rather not." He admitted, ignoring how antsy Khaji became. It was as if it was pacing around and gnawing at the bars of an enclosure.

Even just saying what he'd said so far soothed him slightly, but he didn't want to prove the telehealth therapist right.

"Anyways, I really do need to get going. I can find my own way." He shrugged off Hood's hands and stood on his own, taking a step or two back to create space.

Hood just rocked back onto his heels, casual as anything.

"Suit yourself."

Suspicion crept in and he stepped towards the door. Five steps in and he couldn't go further without falling.

"Coño." He grumbled. "I shouldn't need you to play caretaker for me."

Hood picked him up and plopped him onto the couch, Jaime plus whatever Khaji weighed not seeming to effect him. The headiness of the effortless show of strength caused him to swallow around a dry throat. He sat up on the couch.

"Well, I am." Hood took off his helmet to reveal a domino mask and a handsome face. Was that white streak in his bangs dyed? "I'll get us something to drink, I'm parched and you might be too." His actual voice was scratchy with cigarettes, though young, like him.

He examined Hood's scarred lips and cheeks, shifting a bit so he could watch as he walked to the kitchen.

Jaime, you are showing signs of what you humans call "infatuation." I recommend "shooting your shot."

It took everything in him to not react to its words.

What happened to wanting to kill the broader guy where he stood?

The Red Hood is showing signs connected to a trait you would call being trustworthy. I am monitoring nonetheless.

Cool.

Cool, cool, cool...

Was he really planning on flirting with the crime lord?

He could practically hear Milagro laugh at him for being a disaster bi.

Jaime couldn't even lie to himself and say that it was tactical flirting, there was no rhyme or reason to it.

Hood came back and handed him water while sipping from a beer can. Jaime debated for all of two seconds before letting the mask pull down to his neck. He sipped at his water.

There was a certain risk to it. In trusting someone he just met with his face.

"Thank you, Hood."

Hood studied his face before a smirk tugged at his lips and at that scar on his cupid's bow before it disappeared behind the can again.

Jaime's heart practically stopped at his next words.

"No problem, Pretty Boy."

He pushed his hair back from his face, running a hand through it just so he had something to focus on in order to not get all flustered.

"You're not that bad to look at yourself, Hermoso." Jaime shot back, winking.

Hood chuckled, sitting next to him. His gloves were still on, Khaji noted for him.

"Would've thought you'd be more southern sounding, given Texas and all." Red Hood stated, an amused smile to his lips.

Jaime waved his own covered hand.

"I know how to control it. Spanish sounds plain weird with a Texan accent so I just don't use the accent all that much. I mean, I don't really get the accent since I'm not that far south but I do know when to use it." He moved his tongue in his mouth to get the proper placement for it. "Si estuviera hablando así todo el día, mi familia tendría mi cabeza en una pica!" Jaime laughed at how he sounded. It was like he was some kid who was learning Spanish in classes, slow and not as quick as he was used to because of the southern drawl.

Hood laughed with him, knocking their shoulders together.

"You're right. Though, no creo que tu familia pueda derribarte como yo podría hacerlo."

Jaime flushed, his cheeks going hot.

"Is that a challenge I hear?" Had all of the boldness he could muster.

Hood tilted Jaime's chin up, looking down at him. His mouth twisted into something more appraising.

"Maybe. Do you want a beat down?"

Khaji was a constant pulse in his head. It caused ripples to form along the suit's surface.

Jaime Reyes, do not dare.

Fine, he wouldn't get Red Hood to pin him down and make him helpless. A guy can't have any fun around here.

He shrugged, overly aware of the shivers that Hood's hand on his chin was creating down his spine.

"We can schedule a time and place for it." Jaime gestured to the apartment. "Wouldn't want to wreck your shit."

Hood chuckled, leaning close to his face. He could see the fine mesh on white out lenses of the domino, the stubble on his cheeks. The beer on his breath smelled malty.

"What if you rocked it?" He whispered, his voice breathy and suggestive like everything else out of his mouth and Jaime broke.

His head pounded with Khaji's alarm as he turned to lean up. It was foolish, he didn't care.

Their lips met in a brush before he pressed closer and tongue was involved. Red Hood tasted just as he smelled: of ash, beer, chocolate, and tar.

It was bad. It was foul. It was everything.

Khaji went blissfully quiet and Jaime pulled Hood on top of him, tangling his hands into his dark hair. The Blue Beetle suit and the Red Hood costume were too bulky to be up against each other comfortably, but they did what they could.

Jaime pulled back to gasp breathlessly and Hood tried to chase his lips for a second. His back met the couch cushions. The larger man put one foot on the ground and his knee on the couch and loomed over him, his mouth set in a spit-slick grin. It was downright predatory.

He started to lean down to kiss him again when an unfamiliar notification sound echoed through the apartment. Hood groaned, dropping his head in frustration.

"Hood-" Jaime started, sitting up when he got off the couch.

He just grabbed his phone and texted someone, fury in every line of his body. He messed with the mask some, odd movements scratching at the side. Hood eventually relaxed, coming back to hover over him again.

"Yeah, Angel Face?" He wiped a string of saliva off Jaime's chin with his thumb.

Jaime forgot what he was about to say, so he just swallowed and went to the next best thing.

"What was that about?"

Hood hummed and rubbed circles distractingly at the corner of Jaime's mouth.

"Just someone sticking their head in something that doesn't concern them."

He pressed a hungry kiss against Jaime so he couldn't answer and he responded in kind, grunting into it as Hood moved his head how he wished. His stubble scratched against his face, a curious sensation. He was already getting used to the ash and tar after-taste.

The loss of control made his head spin and he grasped at broad shoulders.

It was as if he was being consumed.

The next time he pulled back for air (seriously, how much lung compacity did Hood have?), his breaths were shaky and his fingers itched to pull Hood's mask off so he could mimic Jaime's own bare face. Hood started mouthing at the bare space below his jaw and Jaime drew the Blue Beetle suit lower, to his shoulders.

Jaime, do you trust this man with you bare? Khaji checked in, the closest thing to concern coloring the mechanical voice. At the rate you are going, he will see me or see the chains you fight to keep intact within twenty more minutes.

Fuck, it was right.

He tugged at Hood's hair so he disconnected from his neck. He looked up at him inquisitively, a slight frown to his lips at being interrupted.

"No- No biting below shoulders, no action below the belt."

Jaime could live with visible hickies. He just didn't want the intimacy of a naked chest, of his back and torso on display. It was too much.

Red Hood nodded, his lips tugging up.

"Thanks, noted." He said, as if it was nothing. "I'm not good with being restrained by my arms."

Jaime made a confirming noise.

"Cool."

He twirled Hood's hair between his fingers and took a moment to slow down. Hood leaned into the rythmic motion.

Jaime pressed a kiss to his lips and Hood pushed him to lay down again, keeping their lips together.

"After our fight, would you like to go to dinner with me?" He murmured into Jaime's mouth. He finally felt the scarring.

"What about our identities?" Jaime blinked through the haze.

Hood winced.

"Oracle found out your identity from tapping into the mask camera at a very... bad time. They told me before I could stop them." He seemed apologetic.

Khaji jolted into action before he could stop it, making the suit close around his panicked face and blades peek out of his arms.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I can't control this." He forced the blades back and calmed Khaji down enough to get his face uncovered again.

Hood leaned back, giving Jaime space before taking the domino off.

Green eyes flecked with blue greeted him, the pupils blown a bit.

"My name is Jason Todd, nice to smooch ya' Jaime Reyes." Hood- Jason tilted his head teasingly.

Jaime rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"You're good at it, Jason."

He didn't know what else to say and Jason just chuckled.

"You're pretty good at it too, Jaime."

Jaime intertwined their fingers and looked up at him.

"I would love to go to dinner with you."

SPANISH TRANSLATIONS

Bájame- put me down

Coño- fuck

Hermoso- handsome

Si estuviera hablando así todo el día, mi familia tendría mi cabeza en una pica- If I was talking like that all day, my family would have my head on a pike

no creo que tu familia pueda derribarte como yo podría hacerlo- I don't think your family can take you down quite like I could

#jaime x jason #gunbug #jason todd #jaime reyes #jaime reyes x jason todd #blue beetle #jason x jaime #rose finch fic rambles

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zipperzoo · 2 years

Text

FIGHT TO MAKE IT UP

The Batman (2022) bruce wayne x f!reader

Word count: - 2.4k Masterlist / AO3 / Playlist

Themes: Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Crime Family, Thriller, Noire, Heist, Action, Comedy, Crime.

Chapter seven:

Sometimes I am an animal, sometimes I am human. I help science but its often in silence.

Exhausted and long drawn breaths of pants echoed throughout the subway’s abandoned tunnels. Bruce had Sausages draped over his shoulders, dragging his feet down the steps. Grunting to keep the man up right.

Bruce had laid low at the circus and when the opportunity arose he dragged Sausages to a random car, hot wired it then drove straight to one of the many subway entrances that all lead to his desired destination. His hideout.

As much as he wanted to help there was only so much he could do as Bruce. He didn't have his gadgets, his suited armour. His mask. Not to mention the manic laughing and screaming citizens who crashed passed him and the horrendous scenes of sinful animalistic behaviour was too much.

His best bet was to grab Sausages, a person who had a large amount of gas in their system that Bruce could run some tests on. Although Bruce himself had a hefty amount in him that made the whole journey back an adventure- he couldn't test on himself alone. He needed multiple tests and subjects to come to a solid conclusion and this was the best he could do with what he had.

It had nothing to do with his promise to Y/N. At least that’s what he kept telling himself.

With no fear of the unconscious man gaining consciousness suddenly during this journey, Bruce mindlessly moved on autopilot, moving through the dark catacombs of Gotham.

Bruce had practically kidnapped Sausages and yet doing immoral and questionable actions for a case was no strange feat for Bruce, he was willing to do whatever was necessary or the best option at the time. He’ll face the consequences later when the real issues have been handled.

Sausages grumbled, uncomfortable with his feet hitting the brick stairs one step at a time into the descent further down the abandoned stairwells. Bruce responded by just throwing his weight up a little to get a better hold of him.

Finally arriving at the entrance of the hideout, the slightest noise of a groan that escaped Sausages aroused the bats that lay dormant in the crevices. Flying out and screeching as they scatter. With that Bruce let Sausages flop to the floor to stretch and roll his neck and shoulders which had grown stiff from carrying Sausages limp form.

The cold atmosphere was harsh and unwelcoming, just like how Bruce had always enjoyed it. The rejection of the place of any human life is what drew him in every time.

Shrugging off his coat, he Stepped over Sausages to then make his way over to his monitors, clawing out a lens from his red raw eyes while doing so. He had worn his contact lens the entire time. This meant he had footage of the entire scene in the tent with Penguin and Doctor Crane.

Footage of Y/N.

He didn't quite understand why that along with the men of interest in a growing case that was brewing in Gotham, Y/N came to mind.

Whether he liked it or not, he was tied to her now. With her best friend (he assumed) lying limp on his floor, her holding hostage his mother’s treasured necklace and their rather unique meeting that was sure to stick out as a core memory.

Another noise croaked out of the man on the floor. Bruce glanced at Sausages from the side. Before tapping away at his computer, pulling up the footage of the evening and night so far.

He recapped it when he was at the Auction, to when Sausages had kidnapped him. It was embarrassing to dwell on. Watching footage of the man sticking a gun to Bruce’s hip to then shove a tea cozy over his head then a whack to the head into a door frame upon leaving the building. By the sounds of the Sausages cursing, Bruce took a shot in the dark that knocking Bruce out was an accident.

Somehow that man on the floor, drooling all over the delicately designed but aged tiles had managed to get the upper hand of Bruce Wayne.

Fasting forward on the footage, Bruce had reached the very moment he first met Y/N, from when he was laid like a pig with an apple in its mouth in the trunk of her car.

It didn't want to admit it, she was haunting his mind. Pausing, Bruce stared at her. He recalled their fight, how he had her pinned up, the fire in her stare- it was inspiring.

The elevator rattled its way down. Its steel structure scraped and scratched its way down echoing its descent throughout the entire abandoned subway. The erratic sounds pushed Bruce into action. Pressing play then pushing himself away from his desk to make his way to where he kept all his gear.

“Bruce? My heavens- Bruce, Half of the god dayum GCPD is out looking for you!” Alfred had almost practically fallen out of the elevator upon seeing Bruce hunched over, stuffing his bag with plated armour.

Bruce didn't bother moving to look. Alfred frowning noticed the monitors were flickering. shuffling closer to closely inspect what he was seeing- he was now seeing the two he had seen in the tower earlier that night through Bruce’s eyes.

“Good, It’ll give Bruce an alibi while I investigate. Batman is needed tonight.” Just as the words left him he held his mask in his hands, staring down at the hollow eyes before shoving it into his rucksack.

With a heavy sign, Alfred challenged Bruce. “Talking in third person now hm? Bruce, do you have any idea how worried I was?”

Making his way over to his desk, Bruce pulled out a small compact circular case with black eye paint. Monitoring the screen he shoved on his drifter attire, building layers at a time as Alfred pressed on.

“For now Bruce is either missing or being held ransom.” Bruce uttered cryptically while finally smudging his eye makeup on with his finger tips.

“That's another thing. Don't you want to talk about what happened? At the charity auction?” Alfred sounded more and more like a concerned parent and it was without a doubt stung a little with the context of the pearls.

When finishing with the makeup, Bruce paused the footage just as the young child- Dick Grayson was on the screen. Placing his hands on his desk, shifting his head slightly towards Alfred. “My mother’s Pearls?” He turned, now fully facing Alfred. “You want to talk about why my mother’s pearls were going to be at the auction.”

Alfred saw the child. He looked uncannily like Bruce when he was younger, before the incident that is. Full of life in those blue eyes, slick black hair and a desire to help. “They weren't going to be auctioned. Their presence was supposed to be encouraging. I wouldn't do that, not to Martha, Thomas or you.” Alfred spoke softer, more reassuring. Bruce sounded hurt, and Alfred had unknowingly hurt Bruce. He needed to make amends or at the very least let him know his true intentions. “Bruce after everything with the Riddler, the exposure and smear campaign placed on your father. This measure was the best I could conjure up.”

“The best you could conjure up.” Bruce scoffed.

“What do you suggest I do? You shut yourself in here working away on more gadgets for your alter ego and you keep beating yourself up about the flood and the murders-”

“I missed a vital clue and it led to the downfall of the city.”

“Bruce.” Alfred took a deep breath. “You're just one man. You have to forgive yourself.”

Moving away, Bruce bared his back to Alfred. “It doesn't matter now anyway. I know where they are.” He pulled out a large device with a needle at the end from a draw on his desk.

“Where they are?- Are you referring to the pearls?”

Leaving the device on the desk, Bruce with heavy stomps made his way to Sausages who laid on the floor. “They are safe with someone who I have no choice but to trust for now.”

“Someone you have no ch- Bruce is that a long winded way of saying you’ve made an ally with those who is holding your mothers possessions hostage at the current time?”

Rolling Sausages, he let out a hollow and pained grunt. Bruce leaned down and pulled him up to then drape him once again over his shoulders. Alfred made an attempt to jump forward to help but Bruce held out his hand to then point at his cane.

“Bruce…” Alfred muttered. He didn't respond. “Bruce.” He spoke again but much louder, demanding attention. Bruce instead leaned closer to his monitor. “Bruce, where did you get that man from?”

“Did you hurt yourself?” Bruce interrupted, dropping Sausage's limp body onto a chair, to then tie him up in with zip ties. “Don’t ignore me Bruce, What are you doing with that man?”

“I need blood samples.- Alfred, What happened to you?”

“Huh…” Alfred wished to push further, but he knew better than to. Once Bruce was focused on something It was hard to break him out of that. The last time Alfred saw him locked into something and acting drastically was with the Riddler. “I was shot.”

Time was a flat circle. Alfred had a feeling history was repeating itself, this time Bruce was taking more drastic measures such as taking test subjects. Kidnapping civilians.

Bruce glanced at his knee then back up at his face. “Do you know who exactly did that?” This time Bruce sounded more attentive and slightly concerned.

“A very skittish girl. Her accomplice called her princess.” Bruce let out a sigh, shaking his head softly. Y/N. “Funny enough, she apologized for it just as she darted out of the room, leaving me there on the floor.”

That caught Bruce’s attention. He stared long and hard at Sausages. “She apologized?”

“I actually pitied the girl, and I was the one on the floor with two bullets in my knee.”

Bruce let slip a slight chuckle, he coughed to cover it up. “Are you going to be okay?”

“More or less so. Bruce just be clear with me. What happened at the auction?”

Bruce opened his mouth to explain, to then be interrupted by Sausage's noises of him waking up. Tossing his head to the side, Bruce threw up his hood, casting a dark shadow that only revealed the lower part of his face.

Alfred silenced, watching Bruce dart to his desk, snatching up the device to then make his way to Sausages.

Blinking awake, Sausages only caught a figure moving dangerously close to him and then suddenly grabbed his head from the side and shoved it into the headrest. Practically pinning him down.

The action shot up adrenaline through Sausages. While pinning him down, Bruce injected the device through Sausage's forearm which was strapped down to the armrest. Pain ran through Sausages nerve system as he awoke up forcefully letting out a screeching cry. Squirming in his chair, Sausages started yelling and cried while doing so.

Bruce’s single arm alone was enough to hold him down without even breaking a sweat. It terrified Sausages, he couldn't see his face but the more Sausages moved the harder Bruce pushed down onto him.

Inflowed a lot of blood into the device until it beeped. Bruce yanked it out of his arm leaving a nasty gash. Half delirious from the drug and gas in Sausages system but also from just suddenly being in distress in a strange environment by a strange dark figure he was getting snot and sticky tears all over Bruce's gloved hand. Alfred was horrified at what he was witnessing.

The device flashed percentages in his hand as the red liquid was changing colours- it was performing tests with the blood. Bruce pulled out another device similar. Inhaling a sharp breath Bruce then stabbed himself with it in his forearm. Gritting his teeth as he abstracted his blood.

“Wh-” The moment a singular sound escaped Alfred, Bruce waved his hand out without turning away from his desk, he simply pointed to Sausages who was rapidly looking around the abandoned subway while panting through his mouth.

“Where the fuck am I…” Sausages pulled faces of confusion and disgust. “Man is this a fucking lair- a frat house basement?!?” Sausages dizzy and struggling to stay conscious as his face paled.

No response from Bruce as he delicately pulled the needle out of his arm. Shoving the devices into a smaller chunky machine that was plugged up to his monitor, ice cold fog escaped it as he slammed shut the door.

“What did you do to me? Hey! HEY! WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?” Sausages yelled out towards Bruce who was hunched over at his station, tapping away at his keyboard.

The large machine began to shake and rattle while Bruce pulled up the program on the screen, Alfred saw the numbers and calculations form. He wasn’t even aware Bruce had developed this.

“Listen, I don’t know anything!” Alfred carefully watched the man plead. Taking note of his broken nose and dirt stained clothes. Past the grime and evidence of a rough night Alfred knew this man. He was the one having a complicated fight with the guard who was attached to the suitcase. His eyes widened in realization.

Bruce reached over and pulled his rucksack with his armour over his shoulder. While doing so he quickly put in the contact lens, blinking away the burning sensation.

“You're not leaving, we aren't done talking!” Alfred spoke up sternly.

Bruce hesitated but reluctantly got onto his motorbike and turned to Alfred. “No. We aren't.” Pulling up his bandana to cover his nose and mouth shooting a hard stare towards Alfred while revving up the engine.

“There someone else here?” Sausages called out, squinting- generally trying to get his baring. “A fellow brit?- Oi! David Attenborough! Where's my friend? Have you seen her? Is she here?” He shuffled in his chair, rapidly looking around in distress. “Princess!?”

Without even saying a goodbye, Bruce drove out of the subway, diving through the tunnels, leaving Alfred there with Sausages and the computer which both were making erratic noises.

Wavering, Alfred hobbled over to the computer, zoning out Sausages yells and insults. Watching the monitors diligently while the results pend from the blood samples Bruce brutally took from his hostage and himself, reflecting the red onto Alfred’s face as he felt the tension. Flashing on the monitors where the following: Subject A has presence of Psilocybe cubensis (C12H17N2O4P). Both subjects have Nitrous Oxide (N2O), Signs of rapid depletion of vitamin B 12 and also traces of Datura within blood samples.

Along with the words Datura was an image of a beautiful flower, one that looked like a teardrop of a pearl.

#Robert Pattinson #Battinson #batman x reader #Battinson x reader #fanfiction #battinson x reader #bruce wayne x reader

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wafflebloggies · 10 months

Text

22. a better purpose

back

“You were saying?” said the new Mark.

He set a foot on the curve of Antonio’s back and pulled on the splintered chunk of sign, yanking it partway out with a gloopy cracking sound that drew a quiet moan from Antonio as he slipped forwards. The hands that clutched the wood looked human enough, a little too sharp around the fingers, black to the elbows with soot and goop.

For something that had been at the epicentre of a not-insignificant explosion, he looked pretty good, which was to say, he looked bloody awful.

His clothes were shredded by shrapnel and fire and there was a weird formlessness beneath his shirt like the slack hollowness of a scarecrow’s, fuller on one side than the other, as if whatever was underneath was still putting itself back together. Although he had the right number of legs and they were still holding him up just fine, something about the way he moved was reminiscent of the dog, how it had kept going after the loss of most of its head, picking itself up and thrashing onwards to find something to hurt.

Although he still looked like Mark, in the same way that the facade of a building can still stand and look like the thing it was initially built to be, betraying little, when the true structure behind it is a fallen, mangled mess, the mask of humanity was shattered, struggling. The eyes were there, wild, terrible in their unfocused venom, the teeth were certainly there, but if you looked for too long there was some confusion about what shape they were supposed to be, how they all could possibly fit. He raised his hand, or at least one of the two things that had mostly decided to carry on being hand-adjacent for now, smacked out a small fire in the fabric of his shoulder, and swiped black spittle from the corner of his mouth.

“It’s over,” he parroted, grinning. “Is it, Mark? Is it over?” He took a couple of quick steps, and Mark retreated, warily, stumbling a little as he backed off the path and into the rockery. “You really think you just get to scurry off into the sunset with sunshine-and-rainbows-ever-after like he probably told you? We both know Knuckles here isn’t exactly the brain trust, but you? C’mon, you’re making us both look dumb.”

“Kinda... smug,” said Antonio, quietly, behind him, “for the guy… blew up the house.”

He pawed with stupid unresponsive fingers at the sharp length of barnwood running him through, but only managed to get a hand slackly on it, like somebody at the tiller of a very unwieldy boat. He could feel the heat of the flames, baking into his back. He was leaking, slowly, onto the front path, a little black pool forming around his knees on the stones. Firelight danced in it, every glossy splatter rimmed in sharp orange-yellow-white light. He couldn’t get a lot of volume into his voice, not with such a hole in the middle of him, but the thing that still looked passably like Mark heard him, regardless, and turned.

“Oh, now you’ve got something to say, bestie? Something to contribute?”

He might have seen some reflection, or glimmer of surprise, in Antonio’s eyes, or he might have been clued in by the crunch of stones even under the roar of the fire, but he was a little too late, and had only just started to turn when Mark’s backpack, by this point a singed beat-up behemoth stuffed with cables, papers, the laptop, and most-everything-else picked up along the way, whacked him across the back of the head with a solid thud.

Mark’s glasses went skittering off over the path, and before the new Mark could even straighten, there was a truncated scream as Mark arrived, swinging the pack like it was a pendulum he had very little control over (which was very likely the case.) The new Mark staggered as the heavy thing drove into his middle, letting go of the shattered sign, but as Mark swung again at his face he caught the pack on his arm and swatted it away, then caught Mark by the scruff of the neck and simply shoved him over, hard. Mark landed heavily, smacked the side of his head on the stones, and recoiled in pain, apparently half-dazed.

“Stay,” snarled the new Mark, stabbing a blackened finger at his double like Mark was a disobedient pet. Antonio tried to stand, but the new Mark was already striding back towards him, and wrapping a cold wet twitching hand around his, he twisted, driving the makeshift spear deeper back through, curdling the words in his mouth into a harsh agonized groan.

“You really want to go there?” he said, as if he hadn’t even been interrupted. “You want to talk about whose fault this is? You want to talk about how they didn’t even need the real you, not enough to have you replace him?” The new Mark grinned. “Huge surprise, I guess they weren’t really hurting for bleeding-heart, mediocre edit-monkeys. The only reason they decided to send you here to watch him was your stupid name, did you know that? And you couldn’t even do that properly. You let him squirrel the spore away right under your nose, you nearly let him escape… I mean, wow, were you ever not a complete joke?”

He stuck out a stretched, dripping hand, gesturing starkly to the entire self-evident comedy act that was Antonio, in esse. “And then, right when you could’ve been some use, right when there might’ve been some point to you… something I guess just goes pchooo in that big ol’ melon of yours, and you go running off to help Sonic-boy over there get away from us, like that’s a thing. Like that’s ever,” he ground the long shank of charred wood in further for emphasis, “going, to be a thing.”

He let go of the creaking spar of barnwood and crouched, ignoring Mark for the moment, pressing a dirty and blackened finger directly into the centre of Antonio’s brow. Antonio could feel the heat coursing through it, the furious strung-out energy as the thing, with so much spent on regrowth after such a catastrophic injury, with so much pent-up malice trying to force itself out just as he tried to force it in, struggled to set itself back on an even keel, struggled between the way it was meant to be and the shape that, without noticing, it had bent itself into. Antonio knew exactly how it felt because he had been trying to do the exact same thing for weeks, and had felt the pain and confusion and the loss, the broken marooned fear of it if not the anger, the way it felt to be pulled two ways at once. He would have felt sorry, if he hadn’t been so worried for Mark- for himself- for them both.

“Nobody gets away, can you grasp that now or do I need to carve it into your forehead?” The new Mark twisted his finger, pulled away in disgust. “All you managed to do was jank stuff up for me. Now there’s no spore, there’s no Muse, there’s no channel, and maybe you think you did something clever, but he made a deal, he still belongs to Mother, and she doesn’t let go of her stuff that easily, does she? Just ask his stupid friend. And I don’t care what happens to him, I don’t care what happens to you, but I’ll be- hecked,” he spat, jabbing down, “if I’m gonna let either of you two clownshoes screw this up for ME-”

He broke off, catching himself a little too late, his hands jerking as if they would have stopped his own mouth, and he looked sharply down at Antonio. At the slow smile, sharpened by pain and wooziness, spreading across Antonio’s face.

“So… it is about you,” he murmured. The new Mark’s awful grin faltered, at last, his eyes widening even further in outrage, and maybe a tiny bit of panic.

“What? No, I-”

“What you want, what you need…”

“Don’t you dare-”

“It’s okay,” said Antonio, gently. “It’s not bad... it happened to me, too. I know… I know how it feels.”

“Oh, no,” said the new Mark, and there was something new in his voice, fury mixed now with something like fear that made it worse, squeezed it into something more vicious, like a snake trapped in a tight corner. “No. No, you don’t. The things I’ve done,” he said, slowly, bearing down harder with every emphasis, “since you left, the things I’ve had to do, to fix the stuff you did, because that pathetic little…” He struggled, the warped overlong shape of his mouth working in frustration, then gave up on any stronger epithet and vented his feelings with another twist of the barnwood into Antonio’s guts, a deep cracking squelch.

“… little DOINK, broke you…” He stopped, a horrible triumphant light dawning in his face.

“I’m telling.” He let go, standing, hands curling at his sides. His eyes, without the humanizing shield of Mark’s glasses, were narrowed to mad slits, and his lips were flecked with black spit and drawn back from his teeth in something that not even the most credulous person would have called a smile. “I’m telling Mother. Everything. And you, buddy, you’re the lucky one. You know that, right? Yeah, I don’t even know what they’re gonna do to him-”

There was the difference. It was there, in that grin, in the way that even though there was barely an inch’s space between them, the distance felt huge, unfathomable. Antonio felt slowly towards the idea, in a quiet peaceful place inside that felt a long way away from the blistering heat at his back and the pain driving through his middle. He couldn’t have spoken it, even if he’d had the breath. He just knew it, in a small halting way that had very little to do with his own perception of himself, or his conscious understanding, such as it was, of the new Mark. Here was a thing that, finding itself thinking, thought of itself first. Finding itself going wrong, finding itself on a path which meant losing everything it knew and had certainty and confidence in, it had no greater thought than wanting, needing, to win against everything in its way. And the last thing that it wanted to think, to ever admit, was that it had gone wrong at all.

With an effort that felt like it took everything left inside of him, Antonio got both hands on the wood lodged deeply in his chest and pulled. The sharp spar came out slowly, with a sucking noise, the writing illegible under the black goop dripping along its length. His hand dropped, the wood held in a vague reflexive grip, clattering against the hot stones.

“Oh, now what?” snapped the new Mark, impatiently, and that was maybe the last thing he ever said, before Antonio grabbed him by the front of his burned, ragged black shirt, and threw him bodily backwards, towards the front window of the burning house.

If he’d been able to find his feet, grab something, he might have been able to stop himself, even then. Antonio didn’t give him the chance. He followed right behind his own throw like a linebacker with a deathwish, hurtling forwards and tackling him with all his weight and the rest of his strength, carrying them both through the blazing wallflowers, the cross-hatched canopy of fire that used to be the trellis, the window, in an explosion of glass and heat, right back into the flames.

He landed on top of the new Mark in the scorching heat, felt him twist underneath him and try to rise.

As fresh air rushed into the room, the fire took on new life. Gouts of enthusiastic flame ran up the walls, obliterating the last traces of the grey-black streaks staining the vents, running down. Fire flooded up and across the remaining shell of the ceiling in a boiling sheet, snatching upwards for the sky. Antonio found himself fighting to stay still, holding the new Mark down with all of his failing strength, as the thing that should have been his best friend fought to get loose.

Should have. For the little that would have meant, to either of them. The new Mark bucked and tore at him and a hand that was as strong as a vulture’s claw found the wet hurting place in his middle and jabbed deep.

Antonio was tired, badly hurt. He was starting to feel as if his relief that he hadn’t just popped from damage or outrage to the fabric of the thing that he was, might have been a little premature. On the other hand, he could feel the rage and desperation of his opponent, a fire of another kind entirely way out of control and out to destroy, without thought or care, anything in its way, and that was a reason enough in itself to keep himself together. Without him in the way, all this fury, this fraying destructive force wound up like a savage spring without anything to tell it where to aim, would fall squarely on the only remaining target.

The new Mark struck out again, gripping cruelly right where the tear in Antonio’s shirt was plastered to him with wet blackness, but Antonio only had to hang on, and as the new Mark tried to claw at him he grabbed at something that fell across his body and rolled and drove down, blindly, with a heavy resistance under his hands and a thick, unpleasant squelch.

He fell back, rolled away, exhausted to his last resource. The boards were fever-hot against his back. By his side, the new Mark stared blindly up at the shattered ceiling, inky claws seizing in place, curling around the sharp barnwood spar jutting up through his chest, spearing him through.

Be Joyful Always,

The words blurred, slid away. The world seemed unwilling to focus properly, on this sight or any other. Antonio felt as if he had no right to force it, if it didn’t want to, and with a sense of numb and weary relief he let his head drop back against the hot floor- very nearly where he’d fallen, weeks ago, from a much higher place than this- and let the world go dark.

Antonio opened his human eyes.

He looked up and through the shattered roof and the long twisting shrouds of smoke he saw the sky, deep clear black, and the stars. They glittered and winked as the smoke ebbed against them, sometimes weakening their light and sometimes blotting it from his view, but it didn’t mean they weren’t there. Even with the fire creeping closer, the smoke rising thicker, spiralling and blooming in columns from the wreckage around him, they were there.

He felt peaceful, his mind quiet, as simple and uncluttered as the night sky with each far-distant point of light bright and clear and free. He lay still, and for a moment or two he felt as if even the heat and the pain didn’t matter as much as being able to just be still down here, and look up at the stars, and not have to do anything else, nothing else hard and painful and wrong every way, everywhere. He could just lie here and ignore the flames, let them do their thing. Sooner or later…

The stars moved.

He wondered if he’d imagined it, if maybe it was a trick of the smoke and the heat warping the air as it rose, until it happened again. Now, he felt a slow scraping dragging against his back, his shirt riding up against the gritty baking floor, and he realised the stars were not moving, but he was.

Not very much, at least not much in one go, but in a series of short, bumpy bursts…

Antonio blinked, slowly. His eyes stung, wetness was drying and crusted down the sides of his face and his cheeks. The stars and the broken doorframe in his view moved again, maybe two feet, and now he could feel a certain centre of gravity, a definite anchor to the way he was moving or being moved, that it was something to do with his ankles or feet or something in that area, that there was a deal of activity going on down there, and-

And, as his head bumped over the front step and clattered against the stones of the front path, as cool air touched his face and chilled against the streaks of his tears, he realised that the struggling, moving shape was Mark.

Mark, having a very difficult time of it, scrabbling and slipping, pausing here and there to cough up what sounded like half a lung, yanking with gritted teeth and digging his heels (one-shoe-one-sock) into anything he could find purchase against, way too close to the rising flames and letting that worrisome fact matter just as much as anything else ever mattered to Mark when his mind was made up, had dragged him by slow painful awkward feet and inches, right out of the house.

Antonio tried to sit up. His middle twanged at him, but he managed to find the breath to speak.

“Hey, Mark...”

Mark started, his grip slipping on Antonio’s legs in his surprise, nearly pitching himself backwards. He popped back into Antonio’s view like a jack-in-the-box, and he looked incredibly startled to see him awake and talking, but- as Antonio recognized with a small, warm glow of feeling- he didn’t look upset about it. Not at all.

It was a good time to be reminded about the glow, Antonio thought. Even now, there was still something left for him to do.

As Mark reached down to pull him up, Antonio took his hands and, with a gentle inwards reach he felt through and caught and unwound the final traces of the Muse’s light clinging to the edges of Mark’s being, the last traces of the infection seeded so recently and still hiding in the mantle of that bright blue-white light, and drew it into himself. It came easily, his fingers tracing themselves momentarily from the tips upwards with darker, sharper lines along each crease and vein.

Mark’s face contracted for a moment in an involuntary little wince as he felt the traces of it leave him, and then it was over. He said nothing, pausing only to wipe his nose on the back of his hand (not making either cleaner by the effort) then reaching out again, to help Antonio to his feet.

The street was a wide black river, scattered with chunks of plaster, bits of rubble and tile. The phenomenal heat receded behind them, from a baking glow that stung at the skin and drew sweat just by standing in it to a fierce warmth on their backs, as they made it across the no-man’s-land of asphalt and sidewalk and stumbled to a halt, a little way up the gentle rise of Mrs. Hernandez’s lawn. Once at a standstill, Mark slipped down into an untidy sitting position, legs sprawled, and leaned back on his elbows, breathing in huge gasps of clean air. Antonio sat himself gingerly down beside him, right shoulder to Mark’s left, holding his middle.

The night air was blessedly cool and fresh. Far beyond the sounds of the fire, beneath the crackle of splitting wood and the occasional crash and tumble of masonry, Antonio could hear the distant wail of sirens.

“I’m, uh... I’m sorry about your house,” he said.

“I’m not,” said Mark, with feeling.

After a while, he sat up. Side by side on the lawn, they sat quiet for a while and watched the fire, the air shimmering in the heat, sparks whirling to the sky.

“It should’ve been me,” said Mark. Antonio looked at him, surprised, as he made an attempt to clean his glasses and slowly poked them back onto his nose. He saw that Mark was looking deep into the flames, into the white-yellow heart of the wreckage, squinting against the glare as if he would face it down, just like he’d faced down everything else, until it broke or he did. “For every-” He broke off. “I promised myself. I fed it, I let it use me, I let it get out of control, I-”

He stopped, looked down. “It was never in control. When I realized that, I- I swore I’d be the one to kill it.”

“You were,” said Antonio. “Okay, so there were a few extra steps, but... like I told you, none of this would have happened if it hadn’t been for you just… bein’ you, Mark.”

If Mark believed him, if he felt the truth of what Antonio was telling him, was perhaps a question for another time. Right now, it was enough that he heard him, and that he listened. He looked away, down into his lap, the eyes behind the cracked glasses half-closed and bright, and nodded- a tiny, involuntary motion.

The sirens were becoming quite loud, now. Figures moved in the porches and driveways along the road, as the other inhabitants of Coral Drive started to pick up the courage to come and investigate. Antonio could see one or two flickering little rectangles of phone screens, held up at a distance, aimed towards the house. Somewhere behind them, in the safety of her front porch, Elaine Hernandez was standing wrapped up in a fluffy housecoat like a little moth in a paisley cocoon, her big glasses reflecting the flames as she stared across the street in horror, a hand to her mouth. She had not yet seen the two of them, two dark unremarkable shapes perched quietly on the grass bank. Nobody had.

Antonio took his hands away from his stomach and cursorily examined the fast-filling wound under his shirt, picked a couple of small chunks of debris out of his hair and flicked them away. He felt worn nearly to nothing, full of aches under his skin in all the places where his body was patiently setting about repairing itself for the nth time, but as far as he could tell it all felt mostly stable. He was no expert, but he felt as if he would probably stay put.

“What happens now?” he asked, quietly. He didn’t know exactly who he was asking- the universe, the fabric of his own tired body, himself- but Mark was there, and it was Mark who answered.

“I don’t know.” He was moving his palm back and forth against the cool grass by his side, letting the blades flatten and bounce up around his fingers. He closed his eyes for a moment, turning his face to the breeze, and Antonio saw the trace of a faint smile lifting, lightening his exhausted, soot-streaked face. The night-wind rose in a gentle eddy across the lawn, against their backs, towards the flames, bringing the sound of the sirens closer, rising with the scent of the oncoming rain.

“I guess... we’ll find out.”

Antonio looked up. Just hearing Mark say these words felt like the ending of something, the last coda of a song that had begun such a long time ago that he could barely remember how it had started, let alone how he’d known it by heart, way back when. He didn’t know what it meant, that it was over, only that right now it felt like nothing tied him to the warped and unkind mechanisms that had made him and set him going down the path they’d ground out for him. He supposed that it had been unimaginable to them, just as it had been to him, that he might find a path for himself.

And the idea might be terrifying, but as the breeze rose and blew the smoke thin against the stars so that they glowed like a bright comforter around the moon, he thought it might be a joyous thing, too. No human was born with a purpose, after all, and a lot of them seemed to do okay, be okay, find a meaning even in the face of the pain and the horror in their worlds, make a difference despite their fragile places among the vast turning wheels of things that neither knew or cared about how content or happy or kind they might be.

If they could figure it out, he was confident that he could, too.

Antonio closed his eyes- all of them, even the ones inside- and smiled.

#dftm #don't feed the muse #muse arg #alex bale #mark mayhew #antonio geist #fake mark #fark #my writing

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lordelmelloi2 · 1 year

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LET THE VIOLENCE BEGIN

Why you should beat each with a baseball bat: ROSE

Wants to be beaten with a baseball bat at least once every week due to his job (PAIN IS LIBERATING)

Huge masochist anyways. And also Waver will yell at you AND him and that would be funny

Called your fruity cocktail that you like "stupid" and "gay" last week

BATIN

Just look at him (please be nice to batin)

He's like a looney tunes character it won't hurt him don't worry. Another recurring star of "Mastersona Jackass" that's always getting put into tubes and squeezed like toothpaste and all sorts of shit

Must be punished for ketchup crimes

HENRY

Might absorb the damage also like a looney tunes character

Experiment to see which mouth screams the loudest where you hit

It would be funny, man. Come on. Recurring star in "Mastersona Jackass"

CYRA

If you attempt to attack her, Dantes will show up, so it'll be a quick ticket to see him and say hi (there's benefits to everything!)

Possibly could make a squeaky toy noise if you land a hit

Will fight you back for sure, so if you're interested in a solid PvP this is your best bet

CEN

Can you even hit Cen? What if the huge gaping hole in their face absorbs the baseball bat? What if it absorbs you?

More of an experimental venture than anything else

Maybe if you get the baseball bat back out of the vortex it'll be shaped in some cool metal or wood sculpture art.

ZANNA

Is evidently very ready to fight, for fun or for serious

You might be able to turn them into a dragon with a good whack (theoretically speaking)

Zanna going "WEH" is funny

VANILLA

Why are you hitting Vanilla with a baseball bat. What's wrong with you. What did Vanilla ever do wrong

The epic sadist option

To be honest, Vanilla volunteered herself for this, so have you ever considered maybe Vanilla WANTS to be hit with a baseball bat?

#mastersona #fgo #this is so stupid but . Let the games begin

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grimmisdumb · 25 days

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Crowlore

Crowley Everscar was born in 1903, July 7th, Manchester, England. He was born in a normal household, nothing special, not poor, not rich. He had an older brother by 2 years, Joseph Everscar, A mother and a dad, Margaret and Richard Everscar. As a kid he was mocked for having gray hair at a young age. Crowley dismissed this as he simply didn’t mind it. But one thing he was good at, he was good at making jokes, being funny, and an overall charismatic guy. As the years went by, Crowley gained more and more fame for his unique style of comedy. And on the other hand, his brother just spiraled into an endless cycle of self hatred and depression due to untreated mental health issues that no one was aware of. By the time Crowley had turned 18, he had built up a solid career, aiding his family. But he started to notice something, his parents started to get a bit more abusive in tone to Joseph, berating him because he wasn’t as successful as Crowley, this upset Crowley and he kept telling his parents to stop, and they said they would. But they never did. One day as Crowley was making food in the kitchen, he heard extreme yelling and a hitting noise. Crowley ran to the room the sound came from carrying a knife, and found his father beating Joseph. In this moment, Crowley snapped, launching himself at the father, stabbing him 4 times in the gut before jamming in the top of his skull. Joseph was sitting in the corner watching it happen. The mom rushed into the commotion, and all she sees is Crowley, yanking a blade out of his dads skull while covered in blood. She is petrified by this and tries to tip toe, but the creek of the floorboards alerted Crowley, and all he said was “Wanna die happily ever after with him?” before he started to chase her down. Joseph, still in the corner, heard the dying screams of his mother and the manic yet painful laughter of Crowley. But then suddenly, all the noise stopped. Crowley, steps into the room where Joseph sits. Crowley, covered head to toe in blood, says to him “Run away, change your name and seek therapy, we’ll meet again soon” before walking away and going to the washroom and taking a shower. Joseph ran away shortly after Crowley went to the shower. A couple years go by and Crowley has since moved to a rather large house in London, learned to play a vast variety of instruments, mostly Piano. He had adopted a new religion called “Thelema” which believed in power in the afterlife. But as a secret “side gig” after killing his parents, he took an enjoyment to the act of murder. He sneaks out at night and kills one or two people and buries the bodies in the woods like he did to his parents. He has also since struck a deal with a producer, a man named Kyle O’Brien, an American producer from New York. He has a larger than life personality and takes credit for everything. Crowley didn’t like this man, but he has very good tolerance so he just hid his feelings about this man. O’Brien constantly took credit for everything Crowley did, as for he was the most popular entertainer in London at the time. But again, as the years went on, Crowley started to get a little sloppy with disposing of bodies, so much so that on May 19th, 1929 at the age of 27, a bounty was placed on Crowley’s head for the murder of 31 civilians,16 men, 14 women and 1 child. O’Brien and some of his goons went on a merciless spree to find him, as O’Brien wanted him dead for the money that was on his head, that was 40,000 Pounds.They eventually found running around in the forest he buried his victims in. After they found him he started to run, which led to a 3 hour manhunt where one of O’Brien’s goons got killed. Eventually one of them whacked Crowley over the head with a shovel knocking him out. Crowley woke up in a wooden coffin, before feeling a falling sensation before hitting the ground. Soon after O’Brien and his men started to bury him, when they were done, the dirt collapsed in on the coffin and a bit of wood broke, decapitating him, killing him instantly.

After a short while of nothing, Crowley woke up, in a red, hot and gloomy environment. His first assumption was that he was in hell, in which he was right. After a little of just roaming around, he meets face to face with Satan himself, who greeted him, telling him he was a massive fan of his work when he was alive. One of the coldest killers there was. Crowley did nothing but stare into his soul, making Satan feel uneasy, as he’s used to people pleading for mercy, but this was new. Crowley asked “Is there a mirror down here?” Satan points south west, when Crowley got to the mirror, he saw that his height had greatly increased, and he had been turned into a crow. He chuckled to himself, because he found it funny that his name was Crowley and he turned into a humanoid crow. He spent some time in hell just wandering he realized he had more power than the average mortal soul, maybe the whole Thelema thing was working after all. After a year or two, he decided to play a game with Satan, a game of Russian Roulette. In which Satan provided Heavenly bullets, which can kill beings of a higher dimension than humans. Crowley loaded one out of six chambers in the revolver, pointed it at his own head, pulled the trigger “Click-” but nothing happened. He handed it to Satan, and he pointed it and his head and pulled it. A loud bang is heard, and Satan is no more. Crowley, picks up the bloody gun and loads all six chambers. before finding a book in Satan's collection of spell books, and finds one about how to open portals to Heaven. He studied it, and finally opened a portal to Heaven, where he went on a killing spree, murdering the already dead souls again and massacring Heaven-born. Before God descends to stop him in his tracks, and lands in front of him. This is when he pulls out the Revolver, pumping 4 shots in the stomach of God, and 2 in the head. God is damned, and Crowley is left to take the place of the lord, and take the power.

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slytherinqueen123 · 10 months

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a riddle, a malfoy, a zabini and a y/l/n

“riddikulus!”

i share a glance with blaise and mattheo before we blurt out in perfect unison, “this class is ridiculous!”

i double over laughing at the face malfoy makes, a hideous composition of anger and spite, with a little inkling of sarcasm.

“ha ha, very funny, you three. shut up about it. it’s been three years, it’s not even funny.” he says, rolling his eyes.

mattheo starts. “well, you see mister malfoy-”

“-we can’t really stop now.” blaise finishes.

malfoy makes another face. i lean back in my chair and toss a pen in the air. it narrowly avoids clashing the light, which earns me a steely glare from professor flitwick.

“sorry sir, i’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again!” i call, before turning to the boys and scoffing. “more like i’ll make sure it does.”

mattheo gives me a look. “that’s ridiculous.”

“this class is ridiculous!” blaise and i yell again, both collapsing in hysterics as malfoy makes to whack us.

“what? your iconic now, dray, you can’t deny it!” i shriek, dodging another hand flying in my direction and taking the opportunity to pin him back with a solid punch to the arm. he rubs the site of his injury and gets up.

“stuff you idiots. i’ve got better people to talk to than three loose canons who bully innocent-”

“ferrets?” i finish. he glares at us and struts over to pansy and her gaggle of princesses.

i sigh and lean back.

“how long till he comes back this time?” mattheo asks, watching draco sky away from the crowd of girls clambering for his attention.

blaise takes a moment to think before we all lock eyes.

“literally an hour.”

“like, till tonight.”

“not very long.”

we all know he’ll be back in no time. after all, he’s our best mate. we’re best mates.

• • •

a riddle, a malfoy, a zabini and a y/l/n. honestly, i don’t know why it didn’t happen sooner.

we met when theo, draco and blaise where 7, and i was 6. fancy purebloods throw parties all the time, and it just so happened we where all there at once.

being the tiny only daughter of my father, and him thinking i’m a fragile princess, i’d been dumped in a random room a hallway away from the party.

i’d tried everything. break out, scream, cry, beg, plead and even jump a window, but to no avail. i’d given up. exhausted from my failed mission, i’d flopped on a couch and waited for someone, anyone, to let me out.

i was sick of my dress, i was sick of my hair, i was sick of my loneliness and i was about to kick that door down myself, find my father and fight him.

i was practically asleep. uncountable rounds of exhaustion, anger and energy had worn me out, and i was staring at the ceiling wondering if i could smash the chandelier and whether or not it would attract enough attention if i acted dead. until i heard the tell tale creaking of the oversized door trapping me in, opening.

i was up in a flash, barreling towards that door, ready to beat up whoever had taken so long to get me.

“WHY HAS IT TAKEN YOU SO LONG? I’M PRACTICALLY DECEAS-” i was cut off by a hand covering my mouth, shoving me back into the room and slamming the door shut. i was mad, but scared too.

who had grabbed me?

i followed the hands arm and was met with a pair of dark brown eyes staring back at me, glassy and nursing a bloody cut halfway up his nose.

“can you help me?” the boy in the suit said. i stared back at him, confused. “i-”

“merlin, mattheo, that’s y/l/n’s daughter!” another voice said, emerging from behind bloody nose boy. he had rich dark skin and a puff of tight black curls.

“are you his daughter, girl?” the next voice belonged to a boy with pale skin and platinum blonde curtains. all three where wearing suits, each without ties.

“yeah. i’m his daughter, y/n. who the hell are you? and why’d you trap me back in here, you douchebags!” i shrieked, realisation dawning that they’d gotten me stuck back in my opulent prison.

“mattheo riddle.” bloody nose boy offered, smiling slightly under a mess of curls.

“blaise zabini, miss y/n.” curly hair said, giving me a slight nod and bow.

“malfoy. draco malfoy.” ghost man added.

i grinned. “cool. y’all wanna be friends? i’m kinda lonely, and i’m only six. not gonna lie, you’s don’t look like you’ve got all that many friends either.”

blaise shrugged. “just my dads bosses employees kids. i don’t know what they do. there’s a lot of them though. i hate parkinson, though. she’s annoying.”

draco shoved him. “oi, leave her alone. she’s not that bad.”

“you only say that because you’re in love with her, malfoy. no one in their right mind likes pansy parkinson.” mattheo shivered and spat her name like a curse.

i laughed. blaise turned around from his little fight with malfoy.

“she’s pretty. and smart. she looks fun. you can be friends with me, if you want.” he stuck his hand out and i shook it.

“you seem gutsy, miss y/n. i’m down if you are.” mattheo added. i nodded and smiled. “course’ i am.”

we all turned to malfoy. he was trying to smooth his shirt and didn’t notice us all staring. “what?”

mattheo knocked him on the head, still holding his bloody nose. “do you even listen to anyone but your old dad? do you wanna be friends with y/n or not, dumby!”

he looks me up and down. i do the same. “deal.”

i grin. “cool. then we’re friends.”

blaise shakes his head. “not just friends.”

“oh yeah?” draco asks.

“naw. best friends.” mattheo finishes.

• • •

that’s how it’s been ever since.

a riddle, a malfoy, a zabini and a y/l/n.

and that’s how it’s gonna stay.

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #mattheo x y/n #blaise zabini #draco lucius malfoy #draco x y/n #rich kids rp #pureblood boyfriend #boys #pretty girls #y/n x character #y/n y/l/n

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