#tw mentions of blood

[starry-bi-sky]

Becoming Phantom - Clone^2 (and by extension, clone danny)

I said I would make it, and so i did! Here's a little ficlet of how danny became Phantom - the human ghost-fighting vigilante in the clone^2 and clone Danny au. Since this does include themes of dissection/vivisection, i'll put in a minor trigger warning list down below.

TW: experimentation - implied torture and vivisection/dissection of ghosts TW: Non-graphic mentions of injuries and blood

TLDR: Danny's parents have been catching ghosts ever since the portal was opened after Danny's lab accident. Danny knows this because he can hear them screaming from the basement. After finally telling his friends about it, he resolves to free the ghosts - and he does. He ends up having a conversation with one of the ghosts, and comes to the decision that he will catch ghosts before his parents do to prevent this kind of harm from happening again.

word count check: 4.9k

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

His parents caught another ghost.

Danny can tell because he can hear their screaming from the kitchen, even with the doors closed. It's horrific - the voice is doubled over itself like something out of one of Sam's demonic horror movies, and Danny's heart races like he's run a mile at the sound.

It warps and twists, and almost sounds like its saying 'please.'

He rubs his chest uncomfortably, and pushes his breakfast away from him. His appetite lost and his stomach churning with a deep sense of dread.

Across the table, Jazz notices, and her eyes narrow dangerously at his hand gripping his shirt - right over his heart. He just got out of the hospital last month, and he knows what she's thinking - they don't want to have to send him back.

"I'm fine." He blurts out immediately, dropping his hand. He's not fine, but it's because he feels ill as the lights above flicker and another terrified shriek echoes through the floorboards. He swallows, ill. "I- it's just-" his eyes flick to the door to the lab. "the lab."

Jazz's lips press into thin line, and she pushes her chair back and stands up. "I hate that they're doing this," she says, stomping towards the lab. "It's inhumane, Danny. They're people too, even if they don't look like us!"

Before the portal, Danny might've just shrugged his shoulders and not said anything. He never really cared about his parents' ghost hunting stuff, but figured that since they knew more about it, their rants about them being unfeeling were correct.

Now, though? When he's been woken up in the middle of the night by the house rattling and his ears ringing with the pained cries of one of the ghosts' in the basement? His heart beating so fast he thinks he's been transported back to the lab a month ago, lying on the floor after being electrocuted by the portal?

He's really not so sure anymore. And he thinks he's starting to agree with Jazz. This isn't right. He doesn't think so, at least.

An unsure 'hm' comes out of his throat, eyes tracking Jazz as she swings the heavy metal door open and breathes in deep. "HEY!" She yells, her voice miraculously sounding out over the ghost screaming. The screams stop. "MOM! DAD! CUT THAT OUT, YOU'RE SCARING DANNY!"

There's no sound, and Danny sighs a breath of relief. Not that it does much to slow his anxious heart, the shrieks are burned into his ears, and he's already thinking about leaving now rather than later. He can meet Tucker at his house.

His parents - his mom, actually - appears at the entrance to the lab, her hands drip bright, ectoplasm green, and there's splatters of it across the front of her suit and goggles like blood. Danny feels white in the face, and Jazz looks enraged.

Mom pulls off her goggles, frowning apologetically. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Your father and I just got carried away, we caught this one just this morning by the park." She says, as if that makes it any better. Danny's eyes are glued to the ectoplasm dripping onto the floor. "We'll wait until you get to school."

Danny wishes they wouldn't do this at all. But he just nods mutely, unable to make his lead-heavy tongue do anything. Jazz speaks for him, and whirls on mom like a tornado about to break loose. "At school? This shouldn't be happening at all - it's wrong, mom!"

Jazz has been the only one vocal about this whole thing ever since mom and dad came home with a ghost trapped in one of their nets - their thermos wasn't working - while Danny was on sick leave after he got out of the hospital. Danny still remembers the utter shock he was in after mom and dad came in dragging it behind them.

The ghost looked like a grown woman, but it - she - had the brightest blue eyes he'd ever seen, and ice-like skin. She'd been thrashing in the net, saying something in a hissy, whispering language that made static build behind his eyes. It had surprised him that he could somewhat make out what she was saying.

It had been fascinating. Up until the screaming started.

He watches Mom make a face that looks like endeared annoyance, and she turns to Jazz with a light sigh. "You're a kind girl, Jazz, but ghosts aren't human, sweetheart. We've told you this." And they have, multiple times. It's become a reoccurring argument.

"Does it matter?!" Jazz exclaims, her cheeks turning an inflamed red with indignancy. She looks appalled. "They're still in pain! You're hurting them!"

Danny silently nods, but they don't see. Jazz is glaring at mom with the burning anger of the sun and Mom just looks exasperated. "Your father and I know this already, Jazmine." Mom says, her arms crossing across her chest.

Jazz's mouth drops open.

Danny's almost does the same. The bone-chilling blood rush leaves him shivering, and his vision spots out in black, fuzzy dots for a few seconds. Maybe, he thinks, it's his heart stopping again with the cold horror.

They know this?

They know this?

And they're still doing it?

He thought he knew his parents - now he's second-guessing himself.

Jazz is just as much at a loss for words as Danny is. And then her expression shutters closed with a fury-kind of icy. "Danny," she says, still staring down their mom. "Go get your stuff, I'm driving you to school."

Normally, he hates how.. parent-y Jazz gets. She acts like a second mom, and like a helicopter one to boot. It drives him nuts on the worst of days. Right now though, he's already rising to his feet before he's even opening his mouth.

"Okay." He croaks, and beelines it up the stairs for his backpack. He doesn't look at mom when he comes back down, he doesn't think he can. He can see her still-dripping hands in the corner of his eye though.

------

"Man, you look like shit." Tucker says the moment Danny sits down in their homeroom class, he's frowning. Danny doesn't say anything to him, he just grunts and drops his head into his arms.

Sam, sitting behind Danny, leans across the aisle and smacks Tucker in the arm. He yelps in pain, and rubs the spot she hit with a glare. "He's right though," Sam says, leaning over his shoulder. "You looked like you were gonna yak over the front row when you walked in."

"It's good that you didn't," Tucker grumbles, "Dash would've killed you."

Danny, despite the shit morning, manages a smile and tilts his head so that his cheek is resting on his arm instead. "Mr. Lancer wouldn't've let him." Sam sniffs, and her fingers are in his hair already - it's been growing out for a while now. He meant to cut it but then the lab accident happened, and he was in the hospital, and then on sick leave, and -- long story short, he was growing it out.

Besides, Sam pulling it back for him was relaxing, and he feels the tension bleeding out of his shoulders already. His anxious heart slowing. "Yeah, he's been weirdly protective since the accident." He says. It was kinda nice, Dash was being forced to back off - finally, more than he was before.

"Probably because if you have a heart attack in class from Dash bullying you, he'll be liable." Tucker snorts, relaxing back into his chair. Up front, the three of them see Dash shoot them a glare from over his shoulder. He probably heard them -- and Tucker doesn't help by giving him an innocent, too-wide grin.

There's a tug, and Danny lifts his head slightly as Sam ties his hair back with whatever hairband she procured out of nowhere. And she says she's not a witch, honestly.

His smile falters, however, when Sam leans back around his shoulder with a frown still evident on her face. "Seriously though, what's up? You were really pale -- paler than normal, that is."

Danny doesn't really wanna tell them - he's kept the whole 'my parents are torturing ghosts' thing to himself ever since he first woke up to the house shaking. It wasn't any secret though that there were ghosts now actually 'infesting' Amity Park though, they'd been popping up ever since the portal turned on.

But Jazz says talking about things helps alleviate stress of what's burdening you, and Danny doesn't usually listen to her. She's his annoying older sister, of course he doesn't. But... this... wasn't really something he wanted to keep secret forever, either.

His teeth sink into his bottom lip, and he averts his eyes. It's like tearing off a band-aid, Danny, he thinks, just... blurt it out. "My parents are torturing ghosts in the basement." He says, only to immediately wince as both Sam and Tucker drop their jaws.

"What!?" They both yell in unison, and Danny ducks his head down as everyone else sitting around them turn their heads.

"Not so loud!" He hisses, peeking through his arms and glaring at the both of them. They both grimace, embarrassment dusting red across Sam's face and Tucker's darkening slightly, and duck their heads down towards him.

"Sorry, what!?" Tucker whispers back at him, his face all scrunched up in disbelief. Sam's redness has faded into pale horror and -- and yeah, yeah, Danny gets it. He feels that way too.

"They keep catching the ghosts and dissecting them." He whispers, and god, he feels sick just saying it. Tucker's face falls slack, and he looks about as ill as Danny feels. "I don't- I don't know what to do about it, I keep waking up to them screaming, and Jazz keeps getting into fights about it with them."

"Oh my god." Sam mutters, her hands pressing together and covering her mouth. Danny nods mutely, chewing on his lip.

"They know its hurting them." He adds, and its still dizzyingly terrifying to think about. He thought he knew his parents. He thought he knew them. He guesses that saying of people being multi-faceted was true. "They don't care."

Sam and Tucker both look green. Or as close to green as they can get. "That's- that's inhumane." Sam breathes, and Danny huffs sardonically - funny, that's what Jazz said this morning. That's what she keeps saying. "And there's really nothing you can do?"

"Not unless I go into the lab myself and release them," he mutters, hiding half his face in his arms. "And I haven't been back in there since I got electrocuted." His parents wouldn't allow it, and it's not like he he was chomping at the bits to go back inside anyways.

...Hm.

"I'm sorry, Danny." Tucker says, his voice low and horrified, "that's- that's awful."

Yeah. He knows.

--------

This is a bad idea. This is a bad idea. This is a bad idea.

Where was Danny you ask? Sneaking down into the lab at sometime past midnight, long after his parents have gone to bed. It's been a week since he said, sarcastically, that the only thing he could do was release the ghosts in the lab, and it hasn't left his head.

Even though he was utterly terrified as he took slow, sneaky steps down the stairs. The thought had been keeping him up at night. He could do it. He could go down into the lab and let them go. He could do something.

It's not like his parents had put a lock on the door. He hadn't even thought about it - if he thought about it, he'd back out. So when he heard his parents go to sleep that night, he waited an hour before sneaking out.

Every sound felt so loud, and his heart had raced in his ears as he creaked open the door to the lab, and closed it behind him for good measure. And his hands were shaking as he reached the bottom of the steps and stepped into the lab for the first time in two months.

And good god, did he almost regret it. There were ghosts in cages of all kinds, and ectoplasm seeping down onto the floor of their cages. They were clutching their chests, of which bled sluggishly through stitched up y-scars. They were moaning, and crying, curled up in the back like frightened animals. And there was a metal table in the center of a room that was stained green, green, green.

"Oh my god." He breathes, horror driving itself up into his throat with the churning of his gut. That's another thing he almost regrets - if only because half a dozen ghosts all snap their heads towards him, and it becomes pandemonium in an instant.

Rattling, yelling, crying, they're all screaming at him. Either to tell him to go away, to give them mercy, or to spew threats at him. It's in that same, hissy language that he's heard before. Whispery, echoing, and overlapping like multiple languages being played backwards and forwards at the same time. It gives him an immediate headache as his mind tries to comprehend and translate it.

Go away. Don't hurt us. Go away. I'll tear you apart. Leave. Leave. LEAVE.

It's all so much. Danny wants to throw himself up the stairs and back up to his room in a prey-driven instinct to flee, flee, flee. He doesn't. He covers his ears and digs his nails into his hair.

He yells. "I'M NOT LEAVING. BE QUIET!" and somehow, it silences everyone in an instant. He looks up, and everyone is staring at him, their multi-colored eyes burning into him.

Tentatively, he lowers his hands, they're shaking. He's still so scared. But courage isn't a lack of fear, its doing something despite it. He blinks back the terrified sting in his eyes, and twiddles with his hands. "I'm- I'm not here to hurt you." He stammers, "I promise. I'm not my parents."

It's silent for a long moment, and then there's an animalistic-like hiss from his left. He turns his head, and there's a ghost of a man curled up in a cage, staring him down with a thunderous look on his face. "Liar." He hisses, his voice warping in that hissy language. There are goat-like horns protruding from his head, and his eyes are yellow and slitted. He's dripping ectoplasm from his chest.

Danny swallows the bile in his throat.

And frowns. "I'm not lying." He says, and the ghost doesn't get hostile, much to his surprise. But there's a ripple of murmurs that spreads through the room like a wave at a ballgame. The ghost that spoke stares at him, then squints.

"You understand us, child?"

And - okay, Danny doesn't like the 'child' comment. He's fourteen for goodness sake, and he bristles silently like it's an insult, but he's no there to argue, he's here to help. So he swallows his pride and starts to walk towards the closed portal.

His legs are shaking, he's afraid they're gonna give out beneath him. The portal scares him, more than it did when he first saw it. But maybe that's because when he first saw it, he hadn't almost died from it.

His heart is pounding in his ears. Is it going to give out again, will he have to go to the hospital again? Despite his insistence that he's fine, Danny's heart hasn't beat right ever since the accident. He's checked. He spent an hour every night with his fingers pressed against the pulse point at his throat, at his wrist, terrified of the slow-beating he could feel thrumming against the skin.

Hearts aren't supposed to beat that slow - that much he knows. He's afraid he's going to drop dead if it drops any lower.

"Of course I do." He swallows, glancing back at the ghost. Everyone's eyes are on him, they burn into him, curious, wary, afraid. He's in front of the portal, in front of the keypad to open it. Shit, did dad put in a password? "Am I- am I not supposed to?"

He pauses to look at the ghost, and the man has moved to stare at him from a new angle in his cage - god he's gonna need to find the key. Mom and dad probably have it in their desk, right?

The ghost is silent. "...No. You're not." He says, and his head tilts to the side as Danny mentally translates in his head. he looks at Danny like he's trying to inspect him, like he's trying to look into him like his parents have looked into the ghost. "What is your name, child?"

"I'm not a child." He bites out, and immediately winces. Shit- he just said not to antagonize them. But the ghost doesn't look offended. In fact, he just grins a sharp, toothy grin like a shark, and raspy giggles and titters echo through the room.

...That's... probably a good sign. "Um," he continues, and turns his back to the keypad. Dad's birthday? He punches into the keys. "I'm- uh, Danny. Danny Fentom- Fanton- Fenton. My parents are- uh, the ones who took you guys." The keypad buzzes and the bar spots red. Wrong password. Dammit.

"Phantom." The ghost says, and the name crawls like a spider across the walls, sneaking up his spine and ringing in the air like the leftover taste of rain and thunder. the rest of the ghosts whisper it amongst themselves.

Danny shivers, it feels like a weight in his chest. It's Fenton, he thinks, but doesn't correct. He doesn't want to push his luck with the being that could tear him apart. "Uh, sure."

He punches in mom's birthday. Wrong. He puts in Jazz's. Wrong. "How come we haven't seen you down here, Phantom?" The ghost asks, and Danny shrugs helplessly. "You are the Danny that the unknown girl yells about?"

He tries his own birthday. Wrong. Fuck. What's the password? The tremor in his limbs worsens with his anxiety, and he tries to keep his breathing steady. What if he can't get this open? What if he can't get them out? He nearly forgets to answer the ghost, and licks his dry lips. "Um- yeah, that's me. The Danny guy." He says, turning to the cages again. "And uh, I don't come down here because my parents don't allow it."

The ghost, uh, goat-man? Tilts his head, there are whispers throughout the room that pick up. And Danny feels like the kid late to an all school assembly and now has to walk past the whole school to find a seat.

Goat-man smiles again, or bares his teeth? "You are the reason why the human doctors haven't cut into us more than they already have." And- that's- that's good? He thinks?

"That's- good, right? You- you don't want to be cut open, so it's good that I, uh, indirectly stopped it a few times?"

A round of titters goes through the room again. The man's grin widens inhumanly so, and Danny's heart spikes with fear. "Yes, it's a good thing, Phantom child." He says, "Why is it that your parents do not let you come down here?"

Danny stares, and swallows again, dry. The back of his neck tingles, and he tastes electricity on his tongue. "I had an accident down here, um, nearly two months ago." His eyes flick to the cable cord where the portal was plugged in, and his heart flutters with the images of green that got burned behind his eyes. He looks away. "The portal, it, ah, electrocuted me. I was in the hospital because it nearly killed me."

"It did kill you." The ghost says immediately, and terror fills up in Danny like water flooding a room. What? What? What? He was alive. His heart was beating, he was alive. "But only for a moment. You've been touched by death, Phantom."

That was so fucking ominous. And terrifying. And terrifyingly ominous. And also really horrifying. Danny does a swift pirouette and turns back to the keypad. Time to figure out the passcode and not think about that, ever again, actually.

"Wow." He rasps, his mind numb as he punches in a random code of numbers and gets a red screen. "How reassuring. Tell death I want a refund." He gets laughter again, and his shoulders scrunch up to his ears.

"It is the reason you can understand us, then." The ghost says behind him. "We are not speaking your language child - rather, you are speaking ours."

Again. Fucking ominous. Danny furrows his brows and stares hard at the keypad - if he was dad, and he wanted to put a password lock on his lifetime achievement in something that was easy to remember and equally important, what would it be?

Oh. Right.

He bites back a groan - how obvious. Danny's an idiot. Or maybe just so scared witless that his brain isn't working right. "Fudge." He grumbles, and punches it into the keypad. It dings green.

Of - fucking - course. Danny rolls his eyes.

He hears a hiss, and Danny rapidly scuttles back as the massive blast doors twisted open like something out of a scifi movie - he'd be geeking out if he wasn't aware of his own rapid heartbeat. Like a gun charging up, an unearthly green glow appears at the back of the tunnel an d then rapidly moves towards him, growing larger and larger.

Danny flinches, half-convinced its going to hit him. He was going to be vaporized, and he brings up his arms to protect himself. But nothing happens, and he peeks open an eye that he closed when the ghost from before murmurs for him to open them.

The portal is - is, well. Indescribable. It fills the dark room with its glow, swirling like a those weird, shimmering liquid dyes put into martini glasses in those aesthetic gifs on the internet. And the light it casts on the walls shimmers and moves like the aurora borealis.

Danny is speechless. It's... oddly beautiful. And terrifying. There's a whole new world in that dimension - if he steps through he won't be on earth anymore.

And... his parents wanted to eradicate the people on the other side of it?

He whirls on foot, his back to the portal - a thing that fills him with dread. his shaking - its worse. Danny almost thinks his feet will give out. "Do - do any of you know where mom and dad keep the keys to the cages?" He asks, but he's already stalking towards the desk on the other side of the room.

The people in the cages grow restless, and they've been silent for the most part - but with the portal open, and him going to find the keys, they'd begun to grow talkative. They were moving more in the cages, talking to each other, excitement filling the air with so much hope Danny could feel it resonating between his ribs.

A new voice, quiet and feminine, speaks up on the opposite side of the goat-man's cage. She's closer to the desk, and she has also been cut open. There are black tears staining her face, and her shock white hair floats like she's underwater. Immediately, on instinct, Danny's head supplies him with a word.

Banshee.

"In the bottom drawer, Phantom." She whispers, her voice lilting and melodic. Her pitch black eyes follow him across the room. "I've seen them put it there after putting us back into our cages."

He nods mutely, and again feels horrified by their treatment from his parents. His pace quickens to the desk, and just as the banshee woman said, there are keys in the bottom drawer sitting on top of a bunch of research papers that have a suspicious green stain on them.

Danny ignores the stain and grabs the keys, holding them up as he closes the drawer. When he turns back to the cages, all eyes are on him. "Um," he rasps, "I found the key." Who do I free first?

His eyes land on the banshee woman first, she's the closest to the desk. And in an arc he follows the lineup to the other side side of the room. He moves to the banshee woman's cage first, and she perks up as he kneels down to the door.

"I'll- I'll go in a circle, first." He announces, fingers fumbling with the key as he inserts it into the hole. The banshee woman had her fingers - clawed and knife-like, capable of tearing out his throat in an instant - around the bars of her confinement. She was staring at him intently.

He hesitates, and looks up. Her eyes are pitch black, he noticed this before, but this close its like its threatening to suck him in and send him swirling through a blackhole. "If- if I free you," he stammers, licking his lips, "will you attack me?"

The banshee woman bares her razor teeth at him, and reaches through the bars to touch his face. It takes all Danny's restraint not to flinch as her nails drag down his cheek softly. "No," she says, "you're freeing us, Phantom. We will not attack you."

Danny.. will just have to take her word for it. He nods, and with a sharp twist of his wrist unlocks the cage with one hand, and flings open the door with the other. In an instant, the banshee dives forward -- Danny thinks she's lunging at him, and flinches violently.

She goes through him instead, leaving him with a bone-deep chill and a heartbeat in his ears. He turns, and sees her dive through the portal like a swimmer diving into a pool.

There is silence throughout the room. And then everyone else begins to clamor once again, just like when Danny first walked in. Danny hurries to hush them - he said he was going around the room! He'll free them, but be quiet, or you'll wake his parents!

He rushes for the next cage, and one by one opens each and every cage. There are cheers, and thank yous, and cries of gratitude. He has to help the weaker ghosts out of their cage and limp them towards the portal. His shirt and hands are stained green with their blood.

(When he goes back up to his room later, he throws it off and throws it away. He can't stand the sight of it, and he scrubs his hands until they're raw.)

It's a lot for Danny to not burst into tears, or to throw up. Until finally he reaches goat-man's cage, and releases him. He is one of the ghosts too weak to fly on their own, and so Danny lets him lean against him and helps him to the portal.

"Will you be okay?" He asks once they are at the threshold, the portal hums softly this close to it. Almost like its trying to beckon Danny inside, like a siren song. Danny ignores it. "Will everyone else?"

"We will heal, Phantom." Goatman says, holding a hand to his chest. He looks tired, this close, and Danny can feel him looking at him, even without any pupils to show it. "Once back inside the Infinite Realms our bodies will heal on its own."

Danny nods silently, and his frown begins to wobble. The stress he's been under is finally starting to take its toll, and he is emotionally exhausted. There is still a lingering taste of fear in the air that doesn't belong to him - but the ghosts that have left. "I'm sorry." He croaks, his voice cracking. "I didn't - I didn't think you guys were human. I'm sorry."

The ghost's expression softens, but he still looks stern. "We aren't human." he says, and Danny frowns, confused. The ghost continues, and reaches out a long finger to tap against Danny's chest, where his heart is. "But do not think for a moment that humanity can be measured by the sound of a heartbeat, child. We are just as humane as you living can be, and we are just as sentient and sapient as you. Do not forget that, and you will not become your parents."

There's nothing for Danny to say to that, except nod once again. His tongue is heavy in his mouth, made of lead. "This will happen again," he continues, and his eyes prick, "they're gonna keep catching ghosts and bringing them down here." And hurting them.

Goatman nods curtly, and raises an eyebrow at Danny. "What will you do to stop them, Phantom?" He asks, "You could keep releasing them after they have been already caught, but that will not stop the pain they face under the hands of your parents."

He's right. He's right. And if Danny keeps releasing them afterwards, his parents will grow suspicious. They'll start sticking around trying to catch whoever is freeing the ghosts. And Danny doesn't want to face what will happen if his parents realize that he's the one freeing ghosts.

His eyes flicker rapidly around the room, trying to think of a solution - what could he do? What can he do?

His eyes land on the thermos sitting on the table.

"I... I could catch ghosts?" He says, unsure, and looks back to the ghost. He nods, beckoning for Danny to continue. "I can catch them in the thermos before my parents do, and then release them back to the Zone."

"That will work." The ghost says, "The thermos doesn't hurt to be in, it's merely cramped. Will you follow through on this?"

"Yes."

The ghost smiles at him a third and final time, his teeth glinting in the green portal light. "Then good luck, Danny Phantom."

He lets go, and disappears into the portal.

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #tw mentions of blood #dpdc #clone^2 #tw mentions of experimentation #dp dc #dpxdc ficlet #dpxdc au #dp x dc au #danny fenton is a clone #danny fenton is not the ghost king #danny: my name is danny fentom - fenton #ghost: hello danny phantom #i thought that was a clever way for danny to get his 'phantom' vigilante name. although if that hadnt happened he still would've chosen #phantom as his vigilante name. it just would've happened differently. danny being terrified of the ghosts but still going through with #freeing them anyways #will rpobably reblog later with a continuation of him actually deciding to sneak out as phantom. but thats a hard maybe. #its a danny phantom fic so its kinda expected for them to be OSME kind of horror elements to it. thats the best part! #i left a few details out like how the portal light made danny's hair look white from a certain angle from where the light was hitting it #alerting all ghosts but danny that danny has been affected by the infinite realms in some way and was not as human as he seemed. #altho that was obvious by the fact that he could understand ghostspeak when no living being should be able to #ghost: dont judge humanity by the sound of a heartbeat #i had another tag i was gonna put here - what was it??? will add later if. i remember #NOW I REMEMBER #parental ambuigity from the fenton parents. are they good are they bad? up to interpretation

[finntheehumaneater]

⭐️Radio Star⭐️ (part 2)

(Part one) (part three)

(TW: brief mentions of blood and Self-Harm)

Vickie was late. Very late. And Steve wasn’t one to jump to conclusions (okay, maybe he was) but he was pretty sure she wasn’t coming. Robin was slouched over in the chair, her head in her hands, the cat—which Eddie had come over to tell her it’s name (Ozzy) earlier—was curled up in her lap. Steve knew she was crying by the way her shoulders shook slightly and her fingers were all curled up, but he didn’t say anything because there were more people in the shop now and he didn’t want to embarrass her.

“This is just great,” She muttered, her voice strangled. “This is just fucking great.”

“Language.” Steve said back, and she looked all fuzzy now, making him have to squint hard to see her. He was getting worse, but he wasn’t going to admit that. Her head moved up and he opened his eyes again, looking away. 

“Steve —“

“I’ll be fine in a few minutes, just—give me a second.” He whispered, standing up and grabbing onto the chair. He needed another drink. 

There was a line this time, and he bumped into a few people on the way there, which made his insides twist into knots, because fuck, maybe Robin was right? Maybe he did need glasses, and he’d just have to suck it up and deal with it.

When he finally got to the front, everything was all just shapes and colors, and his ears were ringing, and fuck he felt dizzy, his head spinning. Everything was quiet and fuzzy, and there was someone in front of him talking, but it was quiet and distorted.

He placed his hands on the counter and felt himself slump over slightly, his breaths feeling heavy in his chest, quick and hard. There was a hand on his shoulder and he felt himself flinch away, but it was like he was floating outside of his body, looking down at himself, and all he could see were hazy blurry shapes. It was like he wasn’t ever there.

Then the hand was back and he leaned into it, despite himself, and the thing stuttered slightly, before he felt another one at his elbow, and he was being shuffled forward. “Robin?” He muttered, trying to lift his head up fully, but he felt like falling to the floor and just fucking melting. Why was there always something wrong with him? 

The person said something back, but their hands were rough and their fingers were long and thin, and some parts felt cold and hard against him, so it probably wasn’t Robin. He felt the back of his knees bump into a chair and he sat down blindly, his eyes squeezed shut so that he would stop nearly throwing up from the spinning colors and lights. He nearly fell over sideways, but the hands hauled him back up and into the chair properly, and then there was another set of hands on him, softer and more gripping then the first pair. That was probably Robin. He felt bad for the other person—the poor stranger who had to help him stumble over to his table while he put all of his weight on them and barely moved his feet.

After a few moments of peace, Robin’s hands wrapped around him and his face pressed against her shoulder, her hair in his face. It smelled like the conditioner he used. That’s what he got for leaving it in the shower instead of putting it back in the cabinet.

“You used my shampoo,” He mumbled, trying to push himself away from her, because she really shouldn’t have to be dealing with this on top of feeling shitty about Vickie not showing, but she held him firmly against her chest and scoffed out a laugh, her voice more clear and recognizable since she was practically speaking into his ear. 

“That’s what you’re worried about right now, Dingus?” She muttered, her fingers twisting and tugging anxiously at the hair on the back of his neck, and it was probably ruining the look—since he had spent an hour doing it, even though it wasn’t his date—but it was fine. As long as it stopped her from pinching bruises into her arms, he could deal with having slightly messed up hair—even if that thought made his skin crawl.

It took a while, but eventually the world stopped spinning, and maybe it was Robin’s constant panicked rambling that was helping ground him, as she went on and on about how this wasn’t really that bad compared to the time that a friend from when she was younger passed out at a basketball court and lost her vision and hearing for two weeks, and she still needs glasses and hearing aids even now, and—

“Robin,” He said, pushing himself up and rubbing his eyes, the room finally holding still long enough for him to focus on her face for a moment or two before he closed his eyes again. “I’m okay now. And I’m sorry that happened to Kayla, but I'm okay. It won’t happen to me.”

He hated hearing her talk like that, because that’s how she rambled when she was scared, and it reminded him of those hours sitting alone in the dark and bleeding, asking her to just talk to me to try and stop her from sobbing, because she was going to get dehydrated soon and he didn’t know the next time they were going to get water. Or food. And she did talk—about everything and anything. She told him that her favorite color was yellow, and that she really liked sharks, and that maybe if they ever got out and he still wanted to be friends he could drive her to her favorite aquarium in Indy—because she also confessed that she had never gotten her license—so that she could show him her favorite tank with the stingrays in it.

They hadn’t gone yet, but they had tried a few times. It always ended with one of them freaking out—because they were still kids, and not even grown-ass people are good at dealing with traumatic memories. Okay, they were both 20, but still. That was young. To young to have gone through the shit that they had fucking been through. They both had scars, and neither of them liked to talk about it. Even after two years of being told that they would “heal” over time, the marks were still there, white-hot and dark and dripping blood down their arms and their chests and their legs. 

Sometimes Steve would re-open them, but he didn’t do that very much anymore—not after Robin had found out why he still bled, knew all along but just didn’t know how to ask, and had told him to let her know when he got that bad again.

“—eve? Steven?” Robin was tapping his cheek gently with her fingers. “Did you OD over there?” She was trying to make a joke, but there was concern in her voice.

“I’m…no, no. Just thinking,” He said, laughing lightly, but there was no humor behind it. “I’m alright.”

“You keep saying that, but you’re not. Don’t lie to me,” She whispered, taking his hand in hers and squeezing gently, the lone ring on her middle finger cold against him. Was that what he had felt? But then why did the hands feel so rough? Calloused? Maybe it was all in his head. Everything seemed to be, these days.

“I am. I’m okay, Bobby,” He lies again, looking around once he can finally see everything normally again. His eyes meet Eddie’s over the counter, who looks concerned, but drops the face once he notices Steve looking at him—just giving him a shrug and a blank expression before turning to smile at the young woman at the front of the counter who’s ordering.

Steve doesn’t know why that stings in his chest, but it does—something sharp and aching as he watched Eddie flirt with the girl. So he does that with all of his customers. It wasn’t a special thing. Not that he wanted it to be, of course, he totally doesn’t care about this.

He and Robin just sit there for a while, her fingers tracing lines over his palm as she talks quietly about something that he’s not really comprehending fully. She had told him he should rest for a bit so that he won’t crash the car when they drive home. She still hasn’t gotten her license yet.

After a half-an-hour, Robin was still talking, and Steve wanted nothing more than to just go home and sleep, even though it wasn’t really that late in the day yet, but then someone off to his side cleared his throat. Robin shut up and he looked over at—oh. Eddie.

“Hey.” Steve said, his voice breaking slightly from being quiet for so long, but he didn’t really feel embarrassed about it. He had a lot to be embarrassed about right now, really. His hair was a mess, and his eyes were tired and his skin was too pale with the scars on his arms poking out from underneath the sleeves of his shirt.

“Hey,” Eddie whispered back, looking down. “I just…how are you feeling?” He looked hesitant, and his cheeks were flushed.

“Fine,” Steve muttered, words short and clipped—like he was angry, but he wasn’t. “I’m fine. Sorry you had to see that. I’m just—tired.”

“Thanks,” Eddie mutters, almost absentmindedly, and Steve felt himself flinch slightly, because fuck, that was meant to be polite and not an actually fucking apology. Did Eddie really mind that much? Maybe Steve really was just a fucking inconvenience.

Eddie’s head snapped up and his cheeks went even more red. “Shit, I—sorry, sorry. It’s fine. It’s okay, I—you’re pretty light, so it really wasn’t any trouble,” He was rambling now, and as upset as Steve was in the moment, it was kind of adorable (fuck, he really needed to stop thinking shit like that). “Again, I—I tend to not think before I speak, so. Yeah.” His voice got quiet at the end, and he did really look apologetic about it, so Steve straightened up and shrugged, giving him a short, small smile.

“It’s fine, man. Don’t worry about it. I get it.” He glanced over at Robin, confused about the comment on him being light. Robin paused for a moment, and then gave him a confused look back, which he took to mean, why are you looking at me?

Steve sighed and looked back at Eddie. “We should go,” and then shot a pointed look at Robin, who shot him a mocking one back, looking slightly disappointed—for what, he wasn’t sure—and then helped him up. He could walk fine on his own, now, but she still hovered near him as he grabbed her green knit sweater with the little yellow star in the front that she must have taken off earlier.

Robin snatched it back from him and cradled it to her chest. “Don’t touch my stuff.”

Steve only rolled his eyes and said a quick goodbye to Eddie before walking out of the building as fast as he could without tripping or bumping into something. He was fumbling with the car keys when he heard Eddie tell Robin that they were welcome back any time, to which she replied, “Oh, yes, I will be coming back for Ozzy.” Before patting Eddie’s shoulder and following after Steve.

Once they were both in the car, he started it and sighed.

Robin was glaring out the window for the entire ride home, and Steve had no idea why. He turned the music on, and she slapped his hand away, turning it off again.

“Why didn’t you get his number?” She snapped, now glaring at him instead of off into space.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Robs. Just let me focus on driving.” He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his hands shaking slightly as he kept his eyes on the road. “I know you’re upset about Vickie, but you don’t have to take it out on me. We can watch that shark documentary you like when we get home and I’ll make you some tea, okay?”

“Fine,” she mumbled, ducking her head down slightly as she tried to pull her sweater over herself around the seatbelt. He ended up stopping on the side of the road so that she could unbuckle and do it before they kept driving home.

Pinterest board!

(If you want updates on this, and don’t want to be tagged, you can follow the tag “Radio Star by Finn” or just follow my blog ⭐️)

Hallo! Thanks for being patient with this bit!! I honestly don’t know how long I made you guys wait, because I have a horrible concept of time, but to me it feels like forever—and for you guys it might have only been a day or two. But regardless! IF YOU SAW ANY MISTAKES, NO YOU DIDN’T. I DON’T HAVE A BETA FOR THIS I JUST WRITE AND POST.

if you would like to be tagged, let me know in the comments! Also, feel free to also comment you thoughts, or send me an ask, because I really like answering things!

I hope you guys enjoyed this ⭐️

Taglist:

@strangersteddierthings @an-atlas-or-other @aol19 @randombibitch @eddie-munsons-lunchbox @stillfullofshit @steventhusiast @estrellami-1 @jaytriesstuff

if I missed anyone, please let me know and I’ll add you to the google doc with the taglist!!!!

also, people who I think might be interested (let me know if you don’t want me to tag you):

@absolutegremlin (I think you reglogged part one of this? Either way I meant to tag you in the first part lmao, sorry about that…)

@itsthestrangestthings (I think you followed me on your sideblog…? Maybe? But I didn’t want to tag that and have it not actually be you, so. Yeah.)

#Radio Star by Finn #THIS WAS FUN TO WRITE #I was listening to Leith Ross by Ethel Cain the whole time and asdfghjkl #I had a great time #TW mentions of blood #TW mentions of SH #Robin Buckley #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #Steve Harrington fan fiction #Robin Buckley fanfiction #Steve Harrington fan fic #Robin buckely facfic #Eddie Munson fanfic #steve harrrington fic #Eddie Munson fic #Robin Buckley fic #platonic stobin #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #my writing #my fic

[spectral-pup]

There are two kind of shifts I have

I am wild, I am untamed and feral. Any attempts to understand my mind are completely futile as I run free and dance alongside the invisible currents of nature itself with full freedom despite your foolish attempts to cage me. No matter how hard you try, not matter what you try, I will be free. There is no stopping me, and any attempts will result with my fangs and claws being stained with blood.

Awrrafwrafrar am a silly creatur :3 mmm yuh belly rubsss hehe roll in mud!!!

#tw mentions of blood #therian #therians #therianthropy #therian community #therian stuff #therian things #alterhuman #alterhuman community #nonhuman #caninekin

[steveshairychest]

It happened in the blink of an eye.

One minute, Steve is treading carefully through the upside down by Robin's side, the next he's pinned to a tree by something, or rather someone, and it takes Steve a long moment to recognise him; black eyes, scarred skin and blood matted hair making him almost unrecognisedable.

"E-Eddie?!" Steve's voice cracks as he frantically takes in the man in front of him, takes in the large fangs and bloody ripped clothes. But there's not an ounce of recognition on Eddie's face as he drags a sharp nail along Steve's cheekbone.

"Eddie can't help you now." His smile is sharp and blood red as he reaches down and pulls out a sword longer than Steve's own arm.

Everyone starts screaming when Eddie laughs and holds the blade to Steve's throat, Robin's gut-wrenching cries for Eddie to stop are almost as loud as Steve's pulse, which hammers loudly in his ears. Someone, Steve can't see who, steps closer to help him, but Eddie tuts and pushes the blade harder against Steve's throat. "No one moves."

The blade is covered in so much blood and gore, and when Eddie presses closer to Steve, their noses almost brushing, the sharp blade nicks Steve's throat and causes him to hiss in pain. Eddie's eyes track the single droplet of blood that spills from the cut, and with a strained groan, he pushes himself away from Steve.

There's something different about him when he cries out for Steve to run, something more human like, something more like Eddie.

Any trace of that humanity vanishes the second Steve starts to run.

#just a ramble #need eddie with a big ass sword rn #kas eddie #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #st4 vol2 #steveddie #tw mentions of blood

[iamnotthere-idonotdie]

dream of me

part five: interlude

…………………………………………………………………………………….

…………………………………………………………………………………….

synopsis: reader is dealing with the trauma of being kidnapped by the joker, they go to an event with bruce

content: bruce wayne x reader, no smut, mention of blood, beginning describes a frightening nightmare and causes a panic attack for protagonist, mention of traumatic events that characters went through (kidnapped, tortured, nearly killed), ptsd symptoms

a/n: this chapter is shorter than my last ones i think so i’m kind of treating it as an interlude into the next phase of this story. i also wanted to play with alfred’s character a bit too so i tried to incorporate him more. i couldn’t think of much else to write for this part so this is where i’m leaving it, but there will be more parts to come. sorry for ooc things for bruce and alfred, as well as if some of this isn’t canon, and of course i apologize for inevitable typos.

…………………………………………………………………………………….

the concrete is cold and hard. the light above your head is harsh and hurts your eyes. the rope is tight around your wrist and ankles. you scream for help but the only sound that comes out is a raspy wheeze. you sense a figure behind you. it’s him. you feel his dark presence looming over you as he slowly circles you and stops right in front. he leans in toward your face and smiles. he starts to laugh, but it grows louder and more high pitched until you’re sure your ears are bleeding from the demonic screeching. his eyes start to turn black and his teeth grow sharper until they’re practically just hundreds of needles coming out of his blood red gums. his smile stretches across his face wider and wider until his head is almost split in half. his hands reach for your throat and you try to scream again, to no avail. this is how you die.

your eyes burst open and your cheeks are wet from tears. as you sit up and try to catch your breath, you feel bruce’s hands wrapping around your shoulders.

“hey, hey it was a dream, it was a nightmare. it’s okay, i’m here. you’re here, not there. breathe in with me… and breathe out. breathe in… and out. in… and out. in… out…”

you finally start to steady your heart rate. the tears continue flowing, but you’ve just about caught your breath now. bruce gently wipes the tears off your cheeks and cradles your face with his hands.

“do you want to talk about it?”

you just shake your head. you can’t bring yourself to describe it out loud. it was beyond a nightmare. it was a memory. a horrible, disgusting, warped memory.

“okay, i understand. just keep breathing with me. here,” he grabs your hand and sets it on his bare chest. “feel that. feel me. i’m here.”

you look up into his eyes and see concern, hurt, sympathy, love. you hope he sees love from your eyes too.

it’s been four weeks now since the incident. since you were kidnapped, tortured, nearly killed. and everyday has been a different form of struggle. bruce has helped, but even he has his limitations. and his own struggles as well. being the batman brings about a different level anxiety, especially now that you know. every time he goes out, every night he puts the suit and mask on, your chest tightens and your hands shake until he returns.

and your hands are still shaking now as you continue trying to calm down. bruce puts his arms around you again and holds you close to him. you two just sit there for a while, in silence, with him holding you and the tears flowing. this isn’t the first time you’ve been pulled out of sleep by a memory of what happened, and you know it won’t be the last. nearly every time you close your eyes, your slumber is ripped from your clutches. you never manage to find it again. you’re not even going to try tonight. you and bruce just lay back down, his arms still cradling your body in a warm embrace. neither of you find sleep again, as the glow of morning peaks through the curtains. you just want to stay there in bed, with bruce, for as long as you can. with him you actually find some peace. your mind actually finds some quiet comfort. you wish you could be here all day with him.

you haven’t gone back to work since. bruce has gone in a few times in these weeks, but he tries to handle as much as he can at home. still, he’s been avoiding this event later today for a while and won’t admit that he really does need to go to it. it’s to announce a new free lunch program for all gotham schools, something he’s been hoping to do for long time. he needs to go. you finally break the long silence as you think more about it.

“what time is the event today?”

bruce sighs. “it starts at 4 o’clock.”

you glance over at the clock on the nightstand, its numbers glowing to show that he has about 7 hours until he needs to be there.

“i don’t think i’m going to go.”

you turn to him with furrowed brows.

“you have to go.”

“i don’t feel right leaving you. and i wouldn’t want to ask you to come, i know you don’t want to.”

you don’t want to, but you will if it means he does.

“i can go.”

“no, you don’t need to. i don’t want…”

“what?”

“i don’t want you to go if it’ll be too hard for you.”

“why would it be too hard for me?”

“it’s… it’s only been a few weeks. and there’ll be a lot of people there, reporters and the like. and they’ll all probably want to ask you questions about what happened. i don’t want you to have to go through that, to talk about things you don’t want to talk about. i just want you to be okay.”

“…i will be okay.”

bruce just sighs. the truth is… you’re not sure if you will be. and you know what he’s saying. though your body has healed, your mind hasn’t. and that many people, that many questions…

“still, i’ve barely left the house in days. i’m going through a lot and i know you are too, but i’m not as fragile as you think i am. i’m just… still working on putting myself back together.”

bruce leans in and kisses you.

“i know, i just want you to be alright.”

“i will be.”

“just… you need to promise me that if anything happens and you need to leave, you tell me, and we’ll go.”

“i promise.”

you kiss again and turn back over. you and bruce continue to lie there under the covers, staring through the crack in the curtains and out the window at the continuously brightening sky.

after a while you start to hear bruce’s snores behind you. you let him sleep for hours, knowing he had a late night and could use the rest. he finally wakes and the two of you make your way downstairs. alfred has already made lunch and you smell coffee brewing. it’s later than when you usually drink it, but you need the caffeine after last night. you sit at the kitchen table with bruce and quietly chat about the food, the weather, the event in a few hours. it’s nice conversation, but you can feel a tension between you and you know he’s still concerned about it. he just doesn’t want to press it any further. a small part of you wishes that he would. that he’d talk to you more about it. that you wouldn’t be forced into small talk. he finishes his meal quickly and goes downstairs to the basement where he says he needs to work on some things before the event. you know he just wants to be alone, so you don’t follow. alfred stands at the sink cleaning the dishes.

“so, you’ll be going to the event today as well then?” he turns to look at you with a concerned look.

“yes, i could use the social interaction, i think.”

“it may be good to get out a bit. i think it’d be good for bruce as well. he’s never liked going to things of this nature, but you being there helps him quite a bit.”

“he’s just concerned i won’t be okay. i know i might get overwhelmed, but i don’t think he understands how much i worry about him too.”

“i worry as well.”

you pause for a moment and think more about bruce, about his life at night and how concerned you constantly are now for him.

“how do you do it, alfred? how do you go every night knowing he’s out there in danger? it’s only been a few weeks since i’ve known and i don’t think i’ve slept a full night.”

you know it’s also because the night terrors that you haven’t been able to rest, but the added stressor of bruce being the batman has definitely taken its toll on your sleep schedule.

“i just have to trust that he’s capable of staying as safe as he can. and, to be truthful, i haven’t had a full night’s sleep in years.”

“yeah… i know he’s capable. i’ve seen how well he can take care of himself. but…”

“i know, dear. however, i am glad he has someone else to be concerned about it.”

you smile a bit at that.

“i don’t want to air out his dirty laundry, but i have seen how he had been with others. and… he never looked at them the way he looks at you.” you lock eyes with alfred and he gives you a smile. “he has someone to fight for now.”

you look down at the table, and you can’t help but feel a warmth in your chest.

“he loves you. probably more than he’s loved anybody. and i think this feeling is new for him.”

“it’s new for me too. i’ve never felt more safe, more at peace with someone before. as stressful as this life is.”

alfred chuckles.

“yes, it’s quite a lot to take in, i’m sure. i know it was for me.”

“what was it like when he first told you he was going to do this?”

“it took quite a while for me to get comfortable with it, and i’m still not sure i am. as i said, i trust he is capable, but… he’s still my boy. when he lost his parents and even before, he was my boy. of course i worry and i hope he’s not being reckless. but, because of you, he has something to live for. you being in his life definitely brings me more comfort. maybe i’ll one day be able to sleep a full night.”

you feel tears in your eyes and realize that as much as you may mean to bruce, you would be lost without him. and you were.

“when i left, when i moved to california for those few months, i very quickly learned that i need him. i need him to survive.”

alfred looks at you with tears in his eyes as well.

“you need each other.”

you exchange smiles.

“he’s been there for me, despite his own struggles and pain, he’s been there for me. every restless night, every painful memory… every moment he’s been there since what happened. i don’t know how i’d be able to heal without him. but the worst part is i know he blames himself for it.”

“he blamed himself for his parents as well. but he’s a fighter. every day he’s fought, and now he fights for you.”

“he fights for you too, alfred. you’ve always been there, in his corner.”

“i try to be.”

“you are. i hope you know how much you mean to him, and to me as well.”

alfred slowly turns off the faucet and comes to sit at the seat next to you. he holds your hands in his and smiles.

“bruce and i were alone for so long… you are a part of this little family now.”

a tear rolls down your cheek and you hug him.

“thank you, alfred.” you sniffle and he chuckles a bit. “you know, you remind me a lot of my father.”

he laughs lightly again and wipes the tear off your cheek.

“i’m just so glad you found us.”

this little family. as small as it may seem, it has been an astronomical time being a part of it. everything has changed so drastically, so quickly. it’s been the most grueling and most intense experience as you’ve stepped into a reality you didn’t even know existed, let alone bargained for. but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. because while it has been beyond difficult, it’s been the most rewarding and beautiful life you’ve conjured with both of them. with this new little family, you’ve found hope, peace, and love you never thought you’d be able to have. and you know if you left you’d never find it again.

a hole was in your chest that you didn’t know needed filling. a key was placed in a door you didn’t know was keeping everything you needed out. a warmth was brought into your life when all you’d known was the frigid cold of pain. and though pain will continue to come, you now have a fighting chance against it.

you head back upstairs and begin your preparations for the event. you still have a few hours, but you need to ensure you’ll be okay to go. you shower, select an outfit, and then just sit at the window, sipping coffee, and mentally preparing yourself for what’s to come. bruce comes in too from downstairs and showers as well. as you two begin getting dressed, him tying his tie and you buttoning your shirt, you feel yourself getting more and more relaxed for the event. with bruce there, by your side, you know you’ll be okay.

“ready?” bruce asks as he takes your hand.

“ready.”

he walks you downstairs and to the car where alfred is already waiting to drive you. the ride is long and quiet with bruce still holding your hand.

and though the camera flashes and the reporters’ incessant yelling for you and bruce overwhelm you, bruce is there. always there, holding your hand. you make your way across the room with him to the stage where he’ll give his speech, and he steps up to the podium to announce the new program. his way with words is inspiring and confident and the raucous applause isn’t a surprise to you when he completes his speech. before he can come back down to you again, a reporter shoves a microphone in your face.

“can you give us a statement on what happened to you? what was it like being kidnapped by the joker? how did the batman get to you so fast? where did—“

“that’s enough.” bruce steps in between you and the reporter. “we won’t be speaking about that tonight.”

“but if i could just get a quick statement—“

“i said that’s enough.” bruce’s tone is forceful and he looks at the reporter with anger in his eyes.

the man with the microphone reluctantly walks away and bruce turns to you.

“are you okay?” his eyes still show anger and concern.

“yeah i… i just didn’t know what to say to him.”

“you don’t have to say anything to anyone. we’re leaving.”

“we don’t have to go…”

“no, there’ll be more like him who won’t take no for an answer as easily.” he grabs your hand and leads you out of the hall and to the car. you and bruce get in and alfred takes you home. although you were really doing fine, you’re glad to be back in the quiet living room as bruce lights a fire and alfred makes you tea.

“thank you, for being there for me. i wouldn’t have been able to get through that without your support.” you sip the hot tea as bruce sits down next to you.

“i wouldn’t have been able to do it without you either.” he gives you a kiss and you curl up next to him on the sofa. these moments are the ones that bring you peace. comfort. when everything around you is chaotic and capable of breaking you at any time, bruce is there to put the pieces back in place. and you hope to god he always will be. you were more honest with alfred today than you even realized: you truly do need him to survive.

after a while, the fire gets less bright, the tea in your cup has run out, and your eyelids begin to get heavier. bruce notices your tiredness and helps guide you upstairs to bed, where he lies with you for a while until he needs to leave. he gives you one more kiss goodbye before heading downstairs where he’ll put on his cowl and take his bike out for patrol. when he steps out of the room and shuts the door, you let yourself close your eyes and try to find sleep. before you can even realize you’re growing deeper and deeper into slumber, you’re asleep. and, somehow, you stay asleep until morning. it’s the first night in weeks you’ve slept through and you can’t help but feel a small sense of relief that maybe things are falling back into place as they should. that maybe your broken pieces are finally starting to mend again. bruce notices this accomplishment as well.

“did you sleep through the whole night? you didn’t have any nightmares while i was here.”

“yeah, i did. no nightmares.”

bruce holds your face in his hand and kisses you gently. as his lips touch yours, you can’t help but reminisce about how you met. it’s amazing how much things have changed since then. what started as a partnership between colleagues quickly evolved into relationship between two people in love. you didn’t know that when you were making that first pitch in that small conference room that you’d be embarking on a journey that few can say they’ve ventured. this kind of love is rare, and you know that. which is why it’s so important to you that you keep it. you ran away once before, and you’ll be dammed if you try and let go of bruce again. he’s your light, your comfort, your everything. despite his stressful and dangerous life, despite everything that’s happened since being with him, you somehow feel an overwhelming and irrefutable peace when he’s near.

an abyss sat ahead of you, an abyss that beckoned for you to jump into. an abyss that scared you, and still does. and yet, you dove into it head first. and as you continue to fall deeper into it, you know now that it is a rabbit hole, leading into a wonderland of love and family that you never even dreamt of. and you’ll do everything you can to forever stay there.

…………………………………………………………………………………….

…………………………………………………………………………………….

tags: @christianbalefanatic

…………………………………………………………………………………….

…………………………………………………………………………………….

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #batman #batman x reader #fanfic #alfred pennyworth #my writing #pictures from pinterest #my fic #dc #dc comics #the joker #tw #tw mention of death #tw mentions of blood #tw mention of needles #tw mental health #tw trauma

[cyanwyrmy]

Just saw your post about Eddie being afraid to do his T shot, and it reminded me of a fic I wrote on AO3.

"The Eye of the Needle Stares Back" I think it's called. It's about Frank taking their own T shot as Eddie being supportive while it happens. Rather cute if I do say so myself.

I didn't wanna add it to your post because I didn't want it to come off as self promoting but I thought you might genuinely enjoy giving it a once over. Asdfghjkl

Well friend, allow me to promote your fic!

I giggled through the whole story because of just how relatable it was. I could only do my own shots for a short while before I simply couldn’t over come the mental barrier. So I’m very proud of Frank!

Thank for sharing!

#welcome home #eddie dear #frank frankly #fanfic #tw fear of needles #tw needle #tw syringe #tw mentions of blood #frank frankly trans #thanks anon!

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Just Another Night at Sparky's

(Disclaimer: Ness/WaiterPat and Jack/Cabbie!Cory are not my creations. I gave Jack his name because he wasn't given one in the movie. Now, one of the characters you'll be seeing here technically belongs to me, but I don't really consider him a full fanego.)

(I was already planning to write for Ness and Jack, but after I learned how Mark was originally intended to play the role of that first security guard who died, I decided to adopt that abandoned character. Go here for headcanons and a more thorough explanation.)

(Certain plot-points in this story were inspired by @flawlessstriker and @insane4fandoms! These two are very talented artists, and I'm not sure I would've thought of such clever/funny easter eggs if I hadn't seen some of their own work, so please go check out their blogs and show them some love!)

(Trigger Warnings: food and drink, eating/drinking, implied trauma, mentions of past violence, mentions of blood, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.) 

In Ness’ personal experience, the people who dined at Sparky’s could be divided into three sections on a metaphorical pie chart. 

Twenty-four percent of customers were. . .just a little off. Not like that was necessarily a bad thing, mind you. Working in the restaurant business meant having to interact with lots of people each and every day. At some point, you’d learn to pick up on certain things that were odd in the way you couldn’t quite put your finger on (or, perhaps you just knew deep down that you didn’t want to). 

Ness strolled out of the kitchen and into the seating area, expertly balancing a tray on one hand. He approached a couple of bespectacled young women in one corner of the diner. 

Their visits to Sparky’s were a bit sporadic, but they never failed to claim that one booth in the corner that no-one else ever sat at no matter how crowded the joint was. The backpacks they always hauled along were positioned further up the booth’s seat cushions, half-open and nearly overspilling with various books. 

They always used indoor voices, but he could still pick up bits and pieces of their conversation whenever he was near. 

Tonight was no different:

“—he’ll be hungrier than usual,” murmured the one on the left, who boasted short, wavy hair that had been dyed a dark shade of violet. It complimented her shirt, which read ADOPT A FAMILIAR at the top. Pictures of creepy-looking critters were displayed beneath the message, orange-eyed and outlined by blue against the black fabric. “And he’ll need a live one this time.”

“Ooh,” replied the one on the right, who sported a yellow shirt with the screen-printed likeness of some obscure, spikey-haired cartoon character near the collar. A blonde ponytail spilled out from the back of her ball cap. “Who’s it gonna be? The lady whose eyes were found in that jar last month?”

“Nah, she’ll be in some psych ward. Too far-gone to keep on the playing board, y’know?” A sly grin etched its way across Urban Fantasy Nerd’s features. “I was actually wondering if you’d like to choose. Your guy is making the delivery, after all.”

“Ah, that’s right!” Cartoon-Fan snickered in a way that was just a teensy bit unhinged. “I can already see him slipping on some of the blood."

“Third time’s a charm?” Ness asked as he halted, carefully setting this duo’s Usual on the table. 

(Two milkshakes: one chocolate, the other strawberry. Yeah, it was kind of basic, but he wasn’t too much of a judgemental guy. Besides, Sparky’s shakes were a much safer option than the lilac-colored drinks that chicken shack around the corner had started selling. And Ness didn’t just carry that opinion because of his employment. During one of his typical night-walks, he’d passed an alley just in time to see said purple beverage oozing through said chicken shack’s windows. The strong, sugary smell wafting off it had reminded him of prion disease.)

The girls both paused. Though they smiled up at him and offered quiet “Thank-yous,” as they moved their respective, sticker-covered laptops out of the way, visible confusion mixed itself into their gratitude. 

“For the university’s creative writing contest, I mean,” Ness elaborated. “There were articles in the paper about the last two, and I saw your pictures in the list of winners. Congratulations, by the way.”

“. . .Oh,” Urban Fantasy Nerd answered, exchanging careful glances with her friend. “Yeah. Writing. Let’s go with that.”

“If anyone asks, we were also writing here two months ago,” Cartoon-Fan added with a conspiratory wink. “On Friday, between five-thirty and nine o’clock.” 

Ness chuckled, raising one hand to pull an invisible zipper over his lips. “You’ve got it. Enjoy.”

As he retraced his steps to organize some stuff behind the coffee counter, a little voice in the back of his theater-trained head wondered if the girls’ tones had been joking enough. Unlike many times before, he pushed that voice aside.

On one hand, missing person cases did always seem to pop up on the news channels a few days after the two students stopped by to enjoy milkshakes while typing away and occasionally turning the screens of their laptops toward one another. 

On the other hand. . .well, those cases were always located states and states away, typically near more seaside areas. None of them had been anywhere close to Utah. (Not yet, at least.)

Besides, even if those girls were somehow connected to more sinister things than their coursework, they were still very nice. Good tippers, too. Nowhere near the worst patrons Ness had served in his time.

The strange customers almost always seemed to come in pairs.

Like the duo of twenty-somethings from last week. One sported ginger hair and a She/They button pinned to their  jacket. The soot-stains on said jacket had been very obvious, as were the burn scars on their palms, but she’d still been a delight to make smalltalk with.

The other, a pale young man, had been much more quiet, but still friendly. He’d kept peering through the window at (what was presumably) his or his friend’s car, shakily fidgeting with the headphones around his neck, so it’d taken some time for Ness to realize that his eyes were just as reflective as mirrors.

(For the duration of their stay, the jukebox over by the counter had spat out songs that most certainly weren’t on its index cards. Fine, that might’ve caught Ness a bit off-guard at first, but he still knew to appreciate variety.)

Or the two men who’d come in a few months ago, wearing battered navy-blue bomber jackets and thousand-yard-stares. The one with a dyed-red fauxhawk had screamed and practically leapt out of his skin when Ness came over with menus and his usual greeting, but he’d apologized soon enough. After giving Ness a thorough look-over, that is.

His companion, a similarly dark-eyed man with a larynx that could only be found on seasoned musicians, had muttered, “Don’t mind him. We’ve just. . .had a bit of a rough trip.” His voice hadn’t been unkind, but he’d kept glancing at Ness whenever he thought he wasn’t looking. 

Well, perhaps that particular pair had broken the trend a bit. Because a few hours after they’d paid for their food and left, a lone traveler had come in.

His bloodshot eyes—which Ness could’ve sworn were orange instead of brown—had never stopped bulging, never stopped darting this way and that above his rictus of a smile. When he wasn’t speaking, he’d hum or murmur things with a shakiness that was typically found in rabid dogs.

He’d asked for way more coffee refills than could ever be considered healthy, as well as if Ness had seen anyone fitting the descriptions of Red-Haired-Screamer and Wary-Possible-Musician. Ness, following his instincts, had said no, to which the loner started simply shaking his head and grinning with a mouthful of teeth that looked a smidge too sharp.

Or the scruffy man who'd started coming in for breakfast every other week with his young sister in tow. He was living proof that you could recognize someone without officially knowing them. After all, it was pretty damn easy for Ness to remember almost making eye-contact with him, barely moving out of reach of his flashlight’s beam in time, and then having the seconds feel like hours as he watched him shake his head and mutter to himself about seeing things. 

It wasn’t like that’d been Ness’ first little midnight rendezvous around Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzaria. Just like how that particular man wasn’t the first security guard who’d gotten dangerously close to spotting him during his unofficial, self-driven investigations.

For the record, Ness knew that said investigations weren’t legal—especially not if you counted some of the things he’d. . .borrowed from the old animatronic jamboree restaurant—but he’d made his peace with that.

He hadn’t been sneaking around there to deal drugs or partake in any himself.

He wasn’t exactly chasing the adrenaline that always came with an evening full of ducking around corners and trying to ignore how loud his shoes sounded against linoleum floors when he rushed to find anything he could feasibly hide behind, underneath, or inside of.

He never meant any harm when it came to snooping.

It was just a simple case of having a little too much curiosity.

Thankfully, Security Guard #13 still had yet to show up at Ness’ place with some accompanying cops, so it seemed he didn’t recognize Ness as anything other than a humble waiter. (Or, if he did actually recognize Ness from that night, then he was miraculously chill enough to not bring it up and get him in trouble.)

The very first time they’d paid Sparky’s a visit, it would’ve been impossible to ignore the distinct smell that had been wafting off of Security Guard #13. It’d had a bite to it; like machine oil mixed with something much more. . .organic.

From that bleak look Ness had seen in his eyes, Security Guard #13 was most certainly NOT what anyone could call unbothered, but he was still polite. Plus, Kid Sister was the type who just deserved all the crayons in the world, what with the little masterpieces she’d decorated the paper menus with.

So, yeah. There was a genuine difference between oddball customers and customers that made you lose some of your faith in humanity. 

People who asked for trout to be blended into their yogurt parfait or for their donuts to be topped with slices of pickles that had gathered fuzz from their mysterious journeys at the back of the refrigerator were still easier to handle than people who threw temper tantrums because they didn’t get a refill in under thirty seconds. 

Back to the pie-chart—another forty-six percent of customers were perfectly decent and standard.

Plenty of the locals had a soft spot for this joint; Ness had lost count of all the times he’d been told that the pancakes served here were some of the best on planet Earth. Yeah, praise like that technically wasn’t directed at him, but the cooks were great people to work with, so it still made him happy to relay said praise to them. 

He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t awkward for someone to confusedly ask if they’d already seen him working at the bar on the other side of town. Even so, that once-a-month occurrence always left him amused rather than annoyed. If anything, it attested to that particular customer’s observation skills. 

Sure, he and Sans were identical twins—the fact that their uncle had mixed them up on several different occasions when they were little was still a running joke in the family. But it’d been years since Sans had decided to remedy that via a skeleton face-mask and a dark blue leather jacket, and he’d made a habit to don both aforementioned garments each day ever since then. (Ness was still in partial disbelief that the manager at Grillby’s was cool enough to let Sans wear them over his uniform.)

Just as many of Sans’ customers apparently ended up mistaking him for Ness. Sans got a nice little kick out of that, of course. He hadn’t just been born with a comedic heart—it truly seemed every bone in his body was a funny one. Some people would argue that he just delivered puns upon more puns upon even more puns, but Ness knew his brother better than that. 

After all, Sans had been the one to train him to deal with the last category of customers: the thirty percent of entitled neanderthals who thought treating staff as less than human would somehow magically make their miserable lives more interesting. 

“Food work is all about balance,” Sans had explained sometime after he and Ness had grown tall enough to take plates and cups from a counter without having to stand on their tip-toes. “You’ve gotta be nice and still let people know that you won’t take their crap. If they’re civil, then you’re helpful. But if they’re rude. . .” Sans had paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “. . .then you have a little fun.” 

Ness had always been a pretty fast learner. It’d taken a week or so of practice, yeah, but with his twin’s help, he’d developed a tongue sharp enough to rival any butcher knife in the kitchen.

“You use a lot of big words for a waiter,” snorted a wannabe business bigshot with a wrinkled clip-on tie and a way, waaaaaay over-gelled hairdo that spoke volumes of desperation. 

Ness, who’d been explaining the differences between certain ingredients and flavor-enhancing chemicals because Hair Gel’s girlfriend had asked a fair question about the smoothies on the menu, barely batted an eyelid when he came back with, “And you smell a lot like hotdog water for someone who apparently doesn’t work with food.”

“This was the WORST thing I’ve ever put in my mouth!” Exclaimed a woman with an unidentifiable crust caked around the corners of her eyes and an ill-fitting shirt that was advertising some essential oil brand.

“I highly doubt that,” Ness mentioned, raising an eyebrow as he took the plate (which was suspiciously much emptier than when he’d first brought it out) from her table, “but whatever you say. . .”

“Oh! Thank you!” A tiny boy who couldn’t have been older than seven chirped, bouncing in his seat when Ness placed a sundae down in front of him.

Ness had been about to reply, but the boy’s mother—a lady who was trying very hard to look posh (but not succeeding very well due her asymmetrical haircut, as well as all the little green marks around the jewelry she was practically drowning in)—cut him off. 

“You don’t need to thank him, sweetheart,” she’d instructed, reaching across the table to corral her son. “That’s his job.”

That one had, admittedly, forced Ness to take a deep breath and appeal to his higher self for a few seconds.  Despite this, he’d still made sure to look that Karen dead in the eyes when he observed, “I’m not sure what your problem is, ma’am. But it must be hard for you to pronounce.”

(At least the boy didn’t seem to be too influenced; his bright eyes were nothing but apologetic when Ness came back with the check.)

The relative silence was shattered by the jingling call of that little bell suspended over the front entrance. Ness blinked, his train of thought screeching to a halt. He glanced over in the door’s direction, grinning at a familiar sight. 

Another regular; one that Ness got to have actual conversations with on nights like tonight. 

Mason glanced around at all the empty tables, brushing back his nearly shoulder-length raven hair and quickly getting the hint that he could just seat himself.

A golden retriever trotted beside him, connected to a leash in his hand via a pink vest that’d been fastened around her shoulders and belly. It was adorned by black velcro straps that read THERAPY DOG in a bold white font. The forest-green sherpa hoodie Mason always seemed to wear was only about half as fluffy as her fur.

Ness ducked into the kitchen. No more than three seconds had passed before the last cook on duty for tonight—a lanky blonde guy who was perhaps the most unapologetically flamboyant foodie you could ever have the honor of knowing—called, “Order Up! Your buddies’ Usuals, fresh from that babbling kiddie pool of oil.”

Dylan set a triad of dishes onto a waiting platter: the first held a stack of waffles (much like Sparky’s pancakes, their recipe was a secret that his very own grandmother had entrusted him with) and fried chicken tenders. The second supported a small mound of bacon. The third was adorned by a couple club sandwiches with a side of mozzarella sticks.  

“Thanks, man. Right on time,” Ness called back as he hefted the platter up, balancing it on the anterior region of his forearm like he'd been taught so long ago, and traipsed back out. The door swung to and fro behind him as he headed over to Booth Five. 

Though she wasn’t actually in the booth, Checkers was still right by her owner’s side, sitting in a way that could almost remind you of those lion statues guarding the entrance to a Chinese temple. She spotted Ness before Mason did. Her ears perked up, tail starting to wag. Her tongue lapped in and out of her mouth like a party favor as she smiled in that way only dogs could.

Mason, who’d been gazing through the window and fidgeting with his hoodie’s drawstrings, ever-so-slightly flinched as Ness began setting the plates down on the table with a chorus of small clunks. He blinked at the food, as if suddenly remembering the weekly tradition he’d made here.

“How do you always do that?” Mason asked as he turned his head toward Ness, a small smile etching its way across his features. 

“Magic,” Ness answered. “Careful, it’s hot.”

He carried the now empty tray back over to the counter. There, his hands became a blur as he snatched up the coffee pot and produced a trio of mugs. After stirring memorized amounts of cream and sugar into the fresh brew, he returned to the table, setting two of the beverages beside the plates.

Ness hovered, his own cup of smoldering caffeine in hand, and glanced around the restaurant. Aside from Mason and those two writers in the corner (who, as Ness had learned, took generous amounts of time with the shakes they always ordered), Sparky’s was empty tonight. 

With that in mind, Ness dragged a chair away from one of the other tables, positioning it at the end of the booth. Yeah, he could’ve just sat on the opposite side of Mason, but that part of the booth was typically reserved for another one of his friends.

Subtle relief washed over Ness’ knees as he took a seat; he’d been standing and walking pretty much all day.

Mason plucked a strip of bacon from one of the plates, checking to make sure that it was nice and warm without threatening to burn the palette. He then lightly tossed it over to Checkers, who snapped it out of the air almost like a frog catching flies. She lowered her head as the treat crunched between her teeth.

“How’ve things been?” Ness inquired, taking a sip of his coffee. “The theater’s gotten busy, yeah?”

Mason nodded as he took a fork and knife into his hands, cutting a piece off of one of the waffles and dipping it into the complimentary cup of syrup. “Yeah, it really has. Feels like whenever one movie runs its course and is taken off our roster, two more pop up in its place. Especially now that Scream 3 is finally on the market."

“. . .Oh, that’s right! It is!” Ness ever-so-slightly jumped in his seat. After enjoying the first two movies, he’d been meaning to give the latest installment a look. But so far, whether it was Sparky’s being slammed on the more favorable days or Royal Edgar’s Cinema being too crowded for his liking, things had just kept getting in the way.

Acting on instinct, Ness fished a pencil from one of his waist-apron’s pockets. At first, said pencil might not have seemed like anything special. But then you saw Fabio: a priceless treasure shaped like a rubber chicken’s head covering up the eraser. Ness started spinning the pencil between his fingers, causing Fabio to wiggle as though it was alive.

“Have you seen it already? Is it good? I have so many ideas about where the story could pick up from—”

“Hey, hey. Slow down," Mason remarked with some clear exasperation. “I haven't, but I am scheduled to project its last showing sometime next week. . .” He took a bite out of one of the chicken tenders, humming thoughtfully as he chewed. He must’ve seen the glint in Ness’ eyes, because he offered a sly smirk and lowered his voice as he continued.

“Tell you what: I’ll find a way to sneak you into the projection booth. That way, we can check it out together when the day comes.” 

“Really? You’d do that for me?” Ness asked, jokingly clutching his mug in both hands and bringing it close to his heart. 

“Sure. It’s really not too different from the customers smuggling their own snacks past the ticket desk,” Mason shrugged, though his mischievous demeanor briefly turned deadpan. “So long as you don’t play detective the entire time. My boss would rip me a new one if I just paused the movie every five minutes to let you brainstorm and talk.”

Ness scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It wouldn’t be every five minutes.”

Mason raised an eyebrow. “You’re right; it’d probably be every two minutes.” He forked up another bite of the waffles, firmly ignoring the offended waiter noises. 

“Oh, and don’t try to guilt-trip me out of my food, either. I’ve already got one moocher to deal with.” Mason scratched Checkers’ ears, to which she responded via tilting her head to the side, an undeniable trace of smugness in the warmth of her amber eyes.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Ness pronounced, his voice dripping with much more sarcasm than usual, “but fine. I can work with that.” 

“Uh-huh. You’d better,” Mason snorted, reaching over to shake hands with his friend as though the two of them were lawyers who’d just settled on some sleazy business arrangement. 

Mason was a complex person. Everyone had issues, and he was no exception to that. Not like he was at all open about said issues, but once you got to know him, you’d start to see them. (Plus, that just seemed a lot nicer than describing him as a swarm of issues shaped like a man.) He was the type to constantly shift in his seat, to give most people the side-eye, to get lost in his thoughts and grimace at nothing until he snapped himself out of it. 

At least he seemed content working at the theater. Even with the spark of horror that never seemed to leave his eyes, Mason was clearly a creative bastard. Sometimes he’d bring notebooks in and take breaks from his meal to fill their pages with paragraphs or sketches. He really did seem to have the potential for acting, maybe even directing. If his critiques and commentary on the movies he had to watch from the projection booth were anything to go by, then the projects he could possibly work on would be nothing short of awesome. 

He’d actually been one of Freddy’s past security guards. Ironically enough, he and Ness hadn’t met there. Not that Ness minded, since A. if that’d been the case, there probably would’ve been way more confused screaming than there usually was at Sparky’s, and B. considering the fact that Mason’s employment had apparently lasted a whopping one singular night. . . 

Ness still didn’t know the full story, and he could tell pressing Mason for info wouldn’t end well. But with the few snippets Jack had carefully enlightened him with. . .well—

Speak of the devil. 

The front door’s bell only had about half a second to chime yet again, almost drowned out by rapid footsteps.

“You’re late,” Ness jokingly chastised as he caught dark brown skin and black hair in his peripheral vision. He shifted in his chair, moving his legs to make some room under the table as another one of his regular-friends hurried over to claim Booth Five’s empty seat. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sue me,” Jack retorted, instantly propping his elbows on the table to knead at his forehead. It took a few long seconds for him to notice how one of his favorite dishes had apparently been waiting for him. He squinted at the food, then at Ness. “. . .I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to make it tonight?”

“And yet, here you are,” Ness replied, the definition of coy with how his shoulders popped up and down again. 

Jack might’ve wanted to ask more questions, but Mason cut him off. “Look, I don’t get it either. He doesn’t know, but he just knows.”

Jack considered this, then tilted his head to convey the type of acceptance that only came when you couldn’t really question things that probably should be questioned because you already had too many things to focus on. 

“Thanks, dude,” he murmured, nodding to Ness as he plucked one of the mozzarella sticks from his plate.

Ness nodded back, taking a few more gulps of coffee. “No problem.”

Jack paused mid-bite, eyes darting over to the brew that’d been poured for him. He scrutinized it, then raised the mug up and started chugging like a champ. 

The display made Ness glad that he’d taken the time to experiment with coffee so long ago. There was no doubting how he could now calculate exactly how much time it took for coffee to go cold. Yeah, this particular serving had been fresh out of the pot a few minutes ago, but by now it had to be at optimal temperature. Neither scalding nor tepid: just nice and warm. 

After about a moment, Jack pulled the now empty mug away from his face, taking a deep breath as he set it back down on the table.

“Rough day?” Ness inquired, specific parts of his brain starting to tick. 

Something seemed off. 

It wasn’t like he had any room to talk about slight bean juice addictions. And he certainly couldn’t blame Jack for a dependency (especially since he’d even shown some undeniable intrigue at Ness’ argument that coffee was a type of soup). Sure, Jack wasn’t narcoleptic, but when a day-and-night operating cabbie didn’t have access to some perks, things just wouldn’t go well for him or his passengers. 

But whenever Jack popped in for a bite and a chat, it was easy to assume that he’d be heading home and going to bed right after his meal. Right now, however, his demeanor was anything but tired. His shoulders were rigid. His eyes were more or less threatening to pop right out of their sockets. In fact, he almost seemed to be weighing the options of never sleeping again. 

Jack chewed his lip as he glanced in the waiter’s direction. He slowly nodded. “. . .You could say that.”

Ness exchanged glances with Mason, who had obviously seen the signs for himself. As did Checkers, since she quietly maneuvered around Ness’ chair to rest her head on Jack’s lap, peering up at him with an almost human-like air of understanding. Jack didn’t hesitate to pet the shiny fur along the dog’s neck, to which her tail started wagging but she otherwise remained still.

“What happened?” Mason asked, sitting up a little straighter. “If the vibes you’re giving off got her attention, then it must be something serious.”

Jack grimaced, closing his eyes with what seemed to be more force than necessary, taking a few long seconds to rub at their lids. 

“Did you see any rabbit-shaped things out by the dumpster? I think they only come around once a month or so, but I always feel strange if I look at them.” The words glided out of Ness’ mouth and into the air before he could think. 

Self-induced humiliation wrapped its awful, clammy hands around his ribcage as two confused glances were aimed in his direction.

“. . .What?” Jack and Mason blurted in near-perfect unison.

“What?” Ness echoed, blinking as his voice instantaneously grew a smidge louder than before. He rushed to plaster his typical, happy-go-lucky demeanor back onto his face, hoping that pretending he hadn’t spoken at all would convince his friends that he actually hadn’t. 

Not only did his latest sentence sound weird as all hell, but it’d also been downplayed as all hell. Because when Ness had said strange, what he’d really meant was the pounding, churning, pummeling agony that should only ever be present in your stomach after you’ve accidentally swallowed a few dozen live rats that just so happen to be whacked out on cocaine for whatever godforsaken reason. 

And while he wasn’t a perfect angel, Ness would never wish that particular pain on anyone else. So, the fewer people who knew about the floppy-eared cryptids (which Ness could’ve sworn looked like they’d been covered in mucus) that were apparently engrossed in  gang warfare with the local raccoons, the better. 

“Ah, did you get a bad passenger today?” Ness coughed. Jack had to deal with as many entitled idiots as Ness, if not even more. Hell, taking turns venting about that stuff was something they’d initially bonded over.

He peered through the window next to the booth—Jack’s cab was parked close enough to see that there wasn’t anything to indicate an accident. Not a life-threateningly serious one, at least. 

“Not exactly,” Jack replied, following his gaze. Where Ness’ eyes were curious, Jack’s were currently anxious and mistrusting. That was another red flag: Jack may not have treated his taxi like it was his baby, but he still took pretty good care of it. “Just a few more weirdos.” 

Mason hummed, tilting his head. “How weird specifically?” He’d heard plenty of Jack’s tales from the road; as he called on Jack for rides somewhat often, he’d even ended up being part of those tales. 

Jack knitted his brows, fidgeted in place. “You don't want to know."

“. . .Then why did you make it sound so damn vague?” Mason retorted, now dripping with incredulousness. “The less specific details are, then the more they’re gonna nag at someone’s brain.”

“He’s got a point,” Ness agreed, lightly tapping Fabio’s pencil against his mug. 

“Like that’s my fault,” Jack snorted. “Most people wouldn’t believe me if I told them.”

Ness offered an encouraging smile. “Good thing we’re not most people, then.”

Mason nodded. “Damn right. C’mon, Jack; are you really saying something could top the crackhead I had to share the backseat with last month?” 

“Yes, I am,” Jack whisper-shouted through gritted teeth, “because it was a bear!” 

Silence (save for the soft click-clack of keyboards from the corner of the diner, that is).

Jack pursed his lips, looking equal parts exasperated and worried. He sighed yet again, reaching up to press his fingers against his temples.

“. . .What kind of bear was it?” Ness eventually tried. 

Mason, who’d previously been squinting while his mouth opened and closed with no words coming out, turned his head to face Ness with such speed and force that he might’ve actually given himself whiplash. “That’s the first thing you focus on?!”

Ness made a shaky lame gesture. “It’s a fair question! What’re you focusing on?” (He wasn’t wrong. There was a lot of variety among bears, after all. And a bear that lived in the woods and had huge claws and could outeat, outrun, outswim, and probably even outdrink the average person would be a lot more to handle than one of the bears that had attended the latest local Pride parade.) 

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you,” Mason declared, returning his attention to Jack, “look significantly less mauled than most people who get close to bears! Seriously, how is your face still connected to your skull?!” 

“I didn’t mea—!” Jack was about to go on the defensive, but stopped short. “What, were you expecting me to get ripped to shreds tonight? So damn sorry if I didn’t get the memo!”

“No! Of course not!” Mason contended. “Look, you can’t just say you had a run-in with a bear and leave it at that!”

Jack threw his hands up. “Well, I told you you didn’t want to know!”

“How the hell can we not NEED to know now?” Ness pointed out. Though he was growing just as confused as Mason, he tried to keep his voice even.

Jack gave him an exhausted look before craning his neck to rest his head against the booth’s seat, staring at the ceiling. 

“It was a huge robot,” he finally clarified. “Looked like it’d been at the bottom of a scrap heap for years; I’d guess it was older than my dad. But its eye glowed blue like the machines inside it were still working. It made the car shake—I’m honestly surprised the back tires never gave out. And God damn, the smell. . .rust and blood and mucus, I swear!”

Now it was Mason’s turn to go rigid. A tidal wave of emotion seemed to sweep through his features; first surprise, then recognition, and then dread. He placed a hand on the nearest corner of the table as if to steady himself. 

“It was wearing a black top hat and bowtie, wasn’t it?” He murmured. It sounded much more like a statement than a question, and the way his tone had become so hollow didn’t help.

Jack lowered his head, clearly unsure whether or not to make eye-contact as he nodded. 

“Sounds like the way Freddy was designed. . .” Ness mused without quite meaning to. 

Memories of the huge sign that had been built to loom over the old pizzeria’s front entrance flooded into his head. The blinking lights that bordered the establishment’s title and seemed to chase each other around and around and around. The life-sized cutout of the one and only Freddy Fazbear himself, using one paw to adjust his bowtie and the other to wave, seemingly beckoning customers to wander inside. 

Those memories dissolved as Ness winced and glanced back at Mason, who was now reaching up with a shaking hand to grasp at his hoodie’s collar, tugging it to cover up the top of an old, deep scar that dragged along the skin of his neck. Ness shuffled in his seat, trying not to stare at how quickly the color drained from his friend’s face. 

Checkers was back by Mason’s side in an instant, bracing her paws against the seat as she licked at his face. Mason blinked, a huge shudder rippling through his chest as he hugged his pet.

A few minutes dragged by, feeling like an hour apiece and jeering at the trio as they went.

“So.” Mason finally announced, still keeping his gentle-yet-obviously-desperate hold on Checkers. “Let me get this straight: that. . .that thing got into your cab like it paid rent just a few hours ago?” 

Jack pursed his lips, nodding again. “There was a kid with it, too. A little girl. She didn’t even seem scared at all. The whole ride, she was smiling and hugging the bear’s arm—”

“Wait, you actually drove it somewhere?!” Mason demanded.

Jack sputtered. “What other choice did I have?!”

“I mean, that’s kind of literally his job,” Ness mentioned. 

True, he was grappling with the fact that he and his friends had apparently been transported into some cheap bizzarofiction novel. And yet, somehow, this wasn’t even the craziest story that’d been relayed to him from a customer. He peered down at Fabio as though it was about to start contributing to this conversation. “Where did you take them?”

Jack raised an eyebrow at Ness (which he guessed couldn’t be helped. Ness already had an idea, but it was rude to just assume, wasn’t it?). “Where else? That old pizza joint you’ve been trying to write an encyclopedia on.”

Mason was about to say something else, but stopped short in favor of turning his shock toward Ness.

Ness raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “Look, I know you don’t like that place, but just remember that I don’t question what you do with your free-time.”

“That’s right. And even if you did, you wouldn’t have to, because I don’t spend my free-time poking around the fourth Circle of Hell!” Mason snarked. 

“I won’t lie and say it’s not creepy,” Ness admitted, unable to stop a chill from racing down his spine at the memory of the restaurant’s grimy wall posters, the draft that always seemed to be in the air over there, the disturbingly sour tang of what he’d hoped was just ancient pizza sauce, “but that still seems pretty harsh.”

Mason gawked, fragments of words leaking through his teeth.

“If we’re looking at the bigger picture,” Jack coughed, probably attempting to steer Mason away from a potential stroke, “then nothing really happened tonight. The bear didn’t even make a peep the whole time. I didn’t get hurt, and that girl didn’t get hurt. She even left a handful of change when we got to the restaurant.”

Ness squinted and tilted his head at that. As far as he knew, the rules Jack applied to his cab were pretty lax and basic, but he’d always been firm on never taking money from lone child passengers.

Then again, if the child passenger in question was traveling with a huge robotic animal that apparently had enough sentience to use a taxi in the first place, it was probably best to just go along with whatever happened and leave the sanity-questioning session for later.

Jack fiddled with the zipper on his jacket. “. . .That actually wasn’t even the worst part of tonight’s shift.”

Mason leaned back against the leather seat, looking very much lightheaded. His eyes bulged from their sockets as he furiously motioned for his friend to elaborate. 

Jack hesitated before explaining, “Well, once the girl and the bear were out, I decided to just call it a day. After I got far enough away from the pizzeria, I parked by one of the downtown curbs and switched the car’s sign to Off Duty. I was trying to get a catnap in—”

“It’s a miracle you could even try to sleep after that damn bear basically held you hostage,” Mason interjected.

“—when someone knocked on the window. I told ‘em to read the sign and come find me later, but they opened up the door and got in anyway. So, I was about to kick them out and. . .” Jack trailed off, shaking his shoulders as though a few dozen cockroaches had spontaneously taken up nest in his jacket.  

“And. . .?” Ness echoed, the curiosity-concern cocktail in his mind getting stronger.

“And there was some tiny doll in my passenger seat,” Jack concluded. “Looked creepy as hell.”

Ness hummed in consideration. “Sounds like it could just be a weird prank? The teens in that area are always following strange trends.”

Jack nervously shook his head. “I couldn’t see anyone outside the cab. It only took a few seconds for me to look; there’s no way anyone could move fast enough to hide after they put the doll in.”

“A tiny doll. . ?” Mason’s brow furrowed in thought for a couple seconds, then promptly returned to its collision course for Mars. He leaned over the table. “Did it have bug-eyes and buck teeth? Was it wearing one of those stupid propeller hats and holding a red-and-yellow striped balloon?”

Jack’s face contorted in confusion as he nodded. “. . .That pretty much sums it up.”

Though his expression was still grim, Mason’s fear quickly metamorphosed into some good ol’ fashioned aggravation. “That’s the bastard,” he seethed, knuckles turning white. 

Jack blinked, perplexity slowly overtaking his latest case of heebie-jeebies. “Wait, you’ve seen that thing before?”

“I have, unfortunately.” Mason grimaced. An odd type of adrenaline etched its way across his face. “Is it still in the cab?”

Jack nodded again. “I didn’t want to risk touching it.”The words were barely out of his mouth when Mason rose from the booth and stalked outside through Sparky’s front entrance. Checkers trotted after him, the tiredness of an actual nurse flickering in her eyes.

Ness and Jack basically had frontrow seats to observe their friend approaching Jack’s cab, ripping the passenger-side door open and fishing something out before slamming it closed again.

With that, Mason raced to the edge of the parking lot and proceeded to dropkick what had to be the mysterious balloon-toting doll out of sight.

Despite his shock, part of Ness still felt relieved that Mason hadn’t simply deposited it into the dumpster. Just in case those awful rabbit-looking things happened to be paying a visit tonight. . .

@sammys-magical-au @that-bat @th3w00ds @bee-the-matpat-simp @touyubesposts @crazy-obsessed-enby @i-used-to-wear-the-fedora @holyawesomestitches @s-e-v-e-n-24 @sotogalmo @ciphershadow @deethedustyassdumbass @theechoingmadness @its-a-goddamn-ass-race @zam-witch @box-goat @redd-byrd @icantmakeupagoodname @pleasedontmind-the-emerald @transparentghosty @vegaslvrr @itzqueers-blog @wannabeavocaloidmystery @shivr0ygf @ciara-clycone @not-made-of-actual-rye @m0on-shro0m @imafruitbowl @azure-trash @il0v3mus1cals @v1r-x @kafkaisnotdead @junaslagoon @alicethemenace @ilovenikkisixx @m00nlight-mexican @w0rd3855 @head-without-a-fucking-brain. @unkn0wn-nys @not-made-of-actual-rye @101k-t101 @theonlykala @dividel @riff-is-on-a-fucking-crisis @roselily2006 @max-afton @abe-the-detective-blog @floating-above-sea-level @madhare051

#my writing #my stories #fnaf movie #fnaf movie spoilers #ness the waiter #waiterpat/ness #matpat #egopats #matthew patrick #jack the cabbie #cabbie!cory/jack #coryxkenshin #kenshinegos #cory williams #mason kingsley/nightguard!mark #mark's abandoned-nightguard-cameo-character #markiplier #mark fischbach #tw food/drink #tw eating/drinking #tw implied trauma #tw mentions of blood #tw mentions of past violence

[anaxibiaclark]

"Son of Bitch!" Was the first thing Steve hears as he enters the Munson household. Inaudible spitting and sputtering follows as he closes the front door behind him.

"Hey, Munson!" Steve calls, as he makes his way down the hall towards Eddie's room.

He still found it shocking that Sam's people gave Wayne a two bedroom home outside of Hawkins as a "sorry your nephew almost got killed by other worldly creatures," in order to keep things on the down low from the public. They were also willing to pay for all of Eddie's medical expenses, which was a blessing, especially since Eddie had numerous surgeries to repair the damage that was done by the Demobats.

As Steve approaches Eddie's bedroom, he can finally make out the cacophony of words that are spilling from the other boy's mouth. Followed by a sharp intake of breath, along with a pained groan, then silence.

"Eddie?" Steve calls again, turning into the doorway. Slight panic catches in his lungs when he spots a trail of blood that leads into the attached bathroom. His strides become more elongated, avoiding the blood.

"You..." Steve stutters out a breath when he sees Eddie sitting on the edge of the tub holding a bloody hand to his left side. "Jesus, Eds. What happened?" Steve asks, crouching in front of Eddie.

"I think I popped a couple of stitches." Eddie says weakly. "I must have moved wrong and the bolster pulled away from the graft."

"Let me see."

Eddie sits up as he moves his hand away from his side.

"Wow," Steve gives a slight grimace. "That is a lot of blood."

"No shit Sherlock." Eddie grits out after another wave of pain hits.

Steve's eyebrows pinch together as he stands.

"Sorry man," Eddie expels a shaky breath. "I'm really exhausted and so fucking uncomfortable right now."

Steve shakes his head. "Don't apologize dude." He takes a look around the bathroom. "Do you have any washcloths lying around that you don't mind getting bloody?"

"Yeah," Eddie answers slowly. "In the linen closet down the hall, top shelf."

Steve squeezes Eddie's shoulder. "I'll grab a couple to get you cleaned up, just sit tight Munson."

"I'll be waiting with baited breath."

"Glad to hear your sarcasm is still intact." Steve sing songs, making his way back to the hall.

-

After a few minutes, Steve returns with washcloths and first aid kit in hand. He parks himself on the toilet seat, placing the first aid kit on the floor. "Will it cause too much pain if you scoot a little closer to me?" Steve asks, pivoting towards the sink to turn on the tap. He places the cloth under the flow of warm water, wringing out the excess.

Steve can hear the swish of sleep shorts, as Eddie slides along the tubs edge. "Woah," he turns just in time to catch Eddie by the arm, before he can topple over. "I got ya." He says, setting the damp cloth back in the sink.

"Thanks," Eddie croaks, doing his best to reposition himself.

"Here," Steve says, placing Eddie's hand on his shoulder. "Hold onto me for balance. Grab my shirt if you have to."

"Don't blame me if your shirt gets ruined."

"A stretched collar is the least of my worries." Steve responds, feeling his collar get a little tighter at the back of his neck. "Uh, so, I'm gonna need you to lift your arm so I can remove the bandage."

"You sure you know what you're doing?" Eddie asks skeptically.

"I watched the nurse change your bandages plenty of times. I think I can handle it." Steve says with confidence.

He studies Eddie's left side, watching as blood slowly soaks into the waistband of his shorts. "Except..."

"Except. What. Harrington?" Annoyance can be heard in Eddie's voice.

"Except, you were comatose the entire time."

Eddie groans. "Do what you gotta do, man. I don't want to go back to the hospital. I'm so done with that place."

"Well, your bandage has soaked through, maybe the removal won't be too bad."

"Just do it." Eddie grits out.

Steve gets an easy grip on the bandage and pulls. He feels Eddie embedding his nails into his shoulder, even after the bandage comes away without snagging skin.

Eddie expels a shuddering breath.

"You doing okay?" Steve asks, discarding the soiled bandage. He then reaches for the dry cloth draped across his thigh.

He watches color return to Eddie's face as he nods. "Didn't hurt like I thought it would."

Steve hummes in response, then presses the cloth firmly to Eddie's bolster applying pressure to stop the bleeding. He can feel Eddie suck in a breath of air.

"Son of a bitch!" Is spat out shakily, then Eddie adds. "Warn a guy before you do something like that.

"Sorry," Steve says sheepishly. "I wanted to stanch the bleeding before it got worse."

"Just," Eddie takes another slow breath. "Be careful will ya."

Silence fills the room for a brief moment. Steve still applying gentle pressure to Eddie's side.

"You know, I've been thinking." Steve says quietly.

"Uh oh," Eddie responds, a small smile gracing his face. "That's not a good sign."

"Shut up, Asshole."

Eddie snickers, then cringes when his laughter causes pain to shoot down his side. "Don't make me laugh, man."

"Then stop being an Asshole."

"But it's so much fun to poke the bear."

"You're just as bad as Henderson." Steve responds with a shake of his head.

"Then, don't make is so easy." Steve can hear the smile in Eddie's voice.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Companionable silence falls between them again. Steve continuing firm pressure on Eddie's side, which will be for another eight minutes he realizes as he looks down at his watch.

"So?" Eddie breaks the delicate silence between them. "What were you thinking about?"

"Oh!" Steve perks up a bit. "A tattoo idea for you," he shrugs. "When all of this heals."

"A tattoo, huh?" Eddie responds voice a little shaky, resting his head on Steve's opposite shoulder.

"Yeah," Steve smiles, looking down at the shaggy crop of hair. "You'll probably think it's cheesy as hell and it definitely wouldn't fit the existing theme, but..."

"You gonna keep me waiting, big boy?" Eddie asks, a slight muffle to his voice. "Or..."

Steve interrupts Eddie before he can continue. "There's this mythological bird that Dustin keeps talking about. The bird's feathers are like fire and it's practically immortal." He notices a slight change in Eddie's breathing, as if it's matching his own rapid heartbeat.

He pauses for a moment, looking at the back of Eddie's head again. "Hey?" He asks quietly. "You okay?"

Eddie nods, his forehead digging into Steve's shoulder. "I'm good, Harrington. You can continue with your description of this bird."

A smile spreads across Steve's face, happy to hear Eddie's still interested. "So, from what I understand, when this bird reaches the end of its life, I guess it bursts into flames and from its own ashes its reborn." Steve pauses for a brief moment. "I think that's how Henderson explained it."

Eddie's quiet, breathing becoming more normal. "Why do you think a Phoenix would be a good fit?" He asks, turning his face towards Steve.

Steve shrugs, feeling Eddie's breath tickling his neck. "You've literally been through hell and back, dude.

Being accused of murder because some Asshole was pissed that a child got the best of him years ago and getting sucked into the bullshit that is the Upside Down." He expels a humorless laugh. "You were dead when we found Dustin cradling your body. I don't know how we managed it, but we got your heart going again and somehow I got your ass through that fucking gate." Steve is on a role now and doesn't stop. "Must have been adrenaline because I carried you to the Winnebago from your trailer and then into the hospital when we arrived."

Steve takes a deep breath. "It took fucking Hopper, coming back from the dead, to clear your damn name and even then you were literally trapped in your own fucking head for weeks. Thank God Eleven got her powers back, who knows what would've happened if Vecna got his claws into you."

Steve shrugs again, watching Eddie's head lift with the motion. "I don't know, man." He continues. "We've all been through some shit, but you and Max have taken the brunt of it this time around."

Eddie still has his head resting on Steve's shoulder. He watches as the other boy's back rises and falls with every breath. "You came back from something that would have broken me." Steve admits, breaking the silence this time. "If that doesn't scream rising from the ashes, then I don't know what does."

Steve watches as Eddie lifts his head, their eyes meet, almost like Eddie is trying to find the lie hidden within. No lie can be found, Steve is certain of that. He's had that damn bird crowding his head for weeks now, ever since Dustin first started spouting facts about it. A Phoenix would be the perfect fit to cover his friend's battle scars.

All thought vanishes from his mind when he feels chapped lips press against his. He makes a surprised sound that lodges in the back of his throat.

Eddie pauses at the sound and slowly pulls away. Panic washes over his face. "Shit, Steve." He says, slightly breathless. "I'm so sorry, man. I..."

Steve grabs Eddie by the nape of the neck and crashes their lips together, deepening the kiss. A pained whimper comes from Eddie as he realizes that he still has firm pressure placed against the bolster attached to Eddie's side.

They both pull away from the kiss at the same time. Steve looks down, relieved to find that fresh blood isn't seeping from the cloth pressed against Eddie's skin.

"Sorry," Steve sighs. "I wasn't thinking straight."

Eddie snorts out a laugh and cringes. "What did I just say, Harrington?"

Steve chuckles, "not what I was aiming for, but-"

A smile spreads across Eddie's face. He leans forward to brush a kiss over soft lips, then rests his forehead against Steve's.

"What now?"

"Well," Eddie draws out the word. "How about you get me patched up first, and then we can talk about what comes next."

"Right," Steve says sheepishly. "Let's get you cleaned up." He presses a kiss to Eddie's forehead before sitting upright again. "Your not bleeding anymore so that's a good sign. I'm gonna go grab a fresh washcloth."

Steve helps Eddie regain his balance on the edge of the tub before standing. He looks around the bathroom frantically trying to remember where he grabbed the washcloths from before.

"Linen closet, top shelf, hallway." Eddie supplies, knowing exactly what Steve was looking for.

"Right," Steve says slightly flustered. "I'll be right back."

Before he heads out the bathroom, Steve plants another kiss to Eddie's forehead.

#tw blood #tw mentions of blood #this has been stuck in my hand #and in my drafts for weeks now #sorry for how long of a hc this turned out to be #i had an idea #and it ran away from me #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie headcanon #after the piggyback #not sure if i did these boys justice #but #i gave them their first kiss #steddie ficlet #which probably should have been on ao3

[grim-has-issues]

when you urge for blood, what do you expect?

do you think that it will wash over you with a refreshing coolness akin to a baptism? cleansing your rage and thirst for violence.

when you yearn to see the viscera of those who have wronged you, when your apathy rises to the top of your throat like bile, do you think the rip and tear of flesh will satisfy that craving?

let me tell you what blood really is. rather what it is not.

it is not refreshing. it is not cooling. it is not sweet as ambrosia.

it is warm and viscous. it sticks to your hands like the juice to a pomegranate. it stains your clothes with an impossible blemish. yet there still holds the possibility to cleanse the fabric. unfortunately, there lies no cure for your soul.

it is not sweet. it is a salt with an iron tang that stains your tongue. the flavor is of minerals and it retreats just as quickly as it settled.

it is fleeting. it does not settle the ache in your bones for retribution. it drys quicker than water and stays longer than stone.

blood is what connects us. but blood is not what you seek when the urge to maim, stab, and strangle arise.

it is justice

and only you can make it for yourself

#an ode to #i dont know who #to me #writing #peom #prose #prose poetry #prose poem #poetry #writers and poets #typical blood romantic #tw mentions of blood #tw violent imagery #religious imagery

[beatingdrumspouringwine]

Dimorphos

As Zagreus were You born Your first birth, O heavenly Dimorphos, And You gained knowledge in the halls of Hades, Knowing that which dwelled deep within. The paths of the Underworld were entrenched in Your mind, The secrets of Your Mother were whispered to You, And You befriended all the terrifying beings who dwell below, Securing a golden place for Your followers. As Zagreus did You die, Holy God torn to pieces by the Titans, Both a child and a man at once. You bore the pains that we bear as mortals, You knew the pains that we know as mortals, As You felt the white-hot pain, Searing Your body as Your limbs were torn apart, And as You lay there, bloody on the ground. As Dionysos were You born Your second birth, Grown within fair Semele, Whose family mocked her, Though she grew pregnant from a God. Her ashes adorned Your infant face, Before Heavenly Zeus sewed You into His thigh, Himself becoming both Mother and Father. When born You wandered the world, a maddened God, The din of joy and war followed wherever You wandered, And when finally Your footsteps came home to Olympos, Your madness died, its control over you loosened, And You became the madness. Hail, Dimorphos, Two-formed God whose glory we ever sing!

#dionysos #dionysus #dionysian #hellenic gods #hellenic pagan #hellenic polytheism #hellenic polytheist #hellenism #dionysus deity #dionysos deity #tw blood #tw violence #tw mentions of blood #tw mentions of violence #i'm sorry i'm not super familiar with using tws but figured they were somewhat needed here

[wishtale-blogs]

:)

Picking at myself be I cannnn

Why can’t I stop???

It hurts and I hate blood so why do I do this to myself???

#wish vents #tw vent #tw mentions of blood #tw picking

[cottoncandyandsunsets]

I hc that Gunther will commission Marlon to do random quests for different artifacts but refuses to go with because he gets squeamish with blood 

#sdv marlon #sdv gunther #sdv incorrect quotes #stardew valley incorrect quotes #stardew marlon #stardew gunther #tw mentions of blood

[satirredraws]

I don't speak little, but I have only said things that mattered A handful of times. The rest is filler talk, A concoction of what I think would fit best.

Those few times I've spit out the words, Bloodied and grody, they've scratched my throat, carrying skin and cobwebs, Pieces of bone, tracing a path almost untouched, Like a tractor destroying an old, old forest, Dragging tree and trunk.

And the listener took the bone-barb, Held it to my neck, asked, "What is this? Why? Why is this? Why are you?"

And the watcher stared at the drool, Like one stares at a rabid dog, And ran away, and Asked me to clean it.

But they were good, for the worse came from the ones Who saw, closed their eyes, Just a minute too late, And walked away, looked away, Away, away, So I licked it off the floor, Swallowed it back again, Put it away, away.

I wait with childlike, doglike hope That someone, someday will rip it out of my chest Where it has accumulated, taken root, And look at it, dip their hands into it, Look into my burning eyes and dirty face and say, "I see you, And I love you despite."

#poem #poetry #caninepoetry #dogpoetry #tw mentions of blood #vent poetry #art #tw spit

[elpida]

‼️(eden)

Eden had been completely sparked out. She'd been working herself to exhaustion at the new bakery, getting it set up and then opening had been so busy. It was a good thing, good for business but it really did tire her out today. Falling asleep was usually hard for her but for once she looked so incredibly peaceful... until she wasn't. She started to wriggle in the early hours of the morning, a mumble here and a mumble there until her hands were gripping the sheets and pulling them. She woke up in a sudden jolt, her body upright, her legs thrashing to kick and her hands shaking, her entire body was shaking and she had truly screamed. Not just a shout but the type where it sounded like her lungs squeezed in a heartache so strong that it crushed her. She was staring at her hands, rubbing them on the sheets, on herself, like there was something on them.

She'd said it before, she found Ben, she held him.. she'd been the one left stained in her Brothers blood and that was something that would never leave her. "No no no no-" she fretted, she barely breathed for this choked cry. She didn't think about how Taylor was there beside her, she didn't even realise she was fully awake, it all felt like being stuck in the nightmare that was holding her Brother and then he was gone.. he was just gone and all Eden had left, was bloodstained hands.

#eden answers #MY POOR BABYYYY #eden&taylor #tw blood #tw mentions of blood

[steveshairychest]

Having thoughts about Eddie waking up in the upside down not quite sure who he is or what he's supposed to be doing. He wanders around with this unquenchable desire to kill everything and to not leave a single scrap behind. He doesn't remember his life before all the killing, doesn’t remember how to be anything but a feral creature loose in the upside down.

By the time the party finds and 'rescues' him (they had to knock him out), his clothes are completely ruined and his hair is matted with blood, dirt and gore; it's so bad they have to tie him to a chair and messily cut out the matted clumps of hair while Eddie hisses and tries to bite them. That's when they first notice the large, pointed teeth, and as they cut away layers of gore covered hair, they find pointed ears too.

And when Eddie slowly starts to come back to himself, when he eventually starts to recognise the faces around him, smile instead of snarl at Steve and speak instead of growl, he looks in the mirror and tugs at his very messily cut hair.

"What the fuck happened?" He squawks and spins around to face Steve, who is brushing his teeth.

"You ate several demogorgans without tying up your hair."

#IDK WHAT THIS IS BUT HIYAH THROWS IT AT YOU #i just want short haired eddie #steddie #eddie munson #kas eddie munson #tw mentions of blood #stranger things #st4 vol2

[crownprincessoftherusalkas]

Draculaura's a vegan vampire who faints at the sight of meat or mention of blood, Clawdeen isn't a rampaging bloodthirsty maneater, and Cleo de Nile isn't a desiccated corpse, but Frankie Stein is still made of other people's body parts and Ghoulia (and other zombies) still eat brains, so where is the line drawn?

#Monster High #Draculaura #Clawdeen Wolf #Cleo de Nile #Frankie Stein #Ghoulia Yelps #Tw mentions of blood #Tw mentions of body parts #Tw mention of corpse