So this idea involves Liminal/Halfa!Jason x Danny, and the fairly common dc x dp trope of the Lazarus pits being actually corrupted ectoplasm. It probably starts off with Jason and Danny not being in a relationship yet but are developing feelings or currently are crushing on each other.
In whatever circumstances, Jason and Danny meet. They talk, get to know each other, stay in touch, and eventually start developing feelings for each other. Neither really suspect anything is off with the other. Jason might notice that he feels calmer around Danny while Danny might suspect that something feels off with Jason but neither really look into it too deeply.
It’s only when the two kiss (probably after admitting their feelings) that Jason just abruptly turns around and starts throwing up on the pavement. Like, a lot.
It takes a few seconds for Danny to realize that “Oh Ancients, that’s corrupted ectoplasm”, but then just stares in shock and horror as his brain proceeds to go error 404 because how in the Ancients did Jason get exposed to this much corrupted ectoplasm and still be functioning??
And meanwhile Jason’s confused, mortified, and freaking out because he had just kissed Danny and now has spent the past few minutes vomiting on the sidewalk.
This is around the point where my main idea ends, and this could be changed or interpreted as anyone would see fit, but what I had in mind is that Jason tries to apologize, Danny eventually reboots and starts explaining things, and from there the two start talking things out and decide where that leaves them.
okay fic authors what will it be the ao3 tag that best describes this kind of fics: so I really like the fics where the pairing is not dating, they are like best friends -kinda?- but yet they act like they are dating (calling each other babe, fluff so much fluff, being so affectionate with each other) and they are just obvious and keep acting like that but they are just best friends (and their surroundings are like un can yall figure it out cause its starting to get sickening)
also if you know some buddie fic like this please share the link💘🥺💘🥺
Jim has feels, but they aren’t the good kind. ~1,000 words
“Just ignore me, Spock,” Jim said, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. “It’s nothing.”
For a long moment, there was silence between them as they stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the transparent wall. The stars on the other side provided the only light in the empty observation deck, making the empty room seem larger than it was, as if it were suspended alone in space. Typically, the setting relaxed Jim, but today the feeling under his skin refused to settle, his hands gripping and releasing the bar in front of him.
“Captain.” It was just one word, but Jim could hear the meaning behind it and he shook his head—he should have known his First Officer wouldn’t drop the subject so easily. Whoever said that Vulcans didn’t have hearts or emotions had never seen Spock.
Jim let out a long sigh, one that started in his chest and seemed to extend all the way down to his toes. He leaned forward on the bar, his gaze still fixed on the stars just beyond his reach. “It’s not anything that will affect the ship,” he promised, although he had known Spock long enough by now to know that the Vulcan cared about him beyond his ability to captain the Enterprise. Sure enough, Spock moved a half-step closer, one of his hands settling onto the bar two dozen centimeters or so from Jim’s.
“But it is affecting you.”
A half-hearted chuckle slipped from his lips. “Yeah.”
Another silence, and then, “I am willing to listen, if you desire to speak.” It was such a simple offer, but Jim couldn’t help the way his chest seemed to warm a little at it. The chill that had settled over his bones quickly chased the feeling away, however, and he sighed again.
“It isn’t logical,” he warned, turning his head just enough to see the calm determination that had settled over his friend’s features. Spock didn’t reply except to nod. Jim knew the Vulcan could feel his eyes on him, but he kept his gaze on the darkness in front of them, allowing Jim to speak at his own pace.
“I’ve just been wondering what the point of it all is,” he admitted after a long minute, turning back to the window. “I know we do important work for the Federation and we help a lot of the worlds we come in contact with, but sometimes it just feels so…empty.” His hands tightened around the bar. “We do so much good, but there’s always something to balance it, some tragedy or another that strikes as soon as we start to pat ourselves on the back.”
“You worry for the future,” Spock said lowly, his quiet voice an anchor in the blackness, just as he had always been. Still, a few words didn’t immediately chase the cold away.
“Yes and no. We just escaped the clutches of another hyper-intelligent enemy less than twelve hours ago, and when I was sitting in the chair, I knew every decision I made could get us all killed. But it was easy. It’s always easy. I ride the adrenaline, and I make the tough calls, and we move on with our mission.” He shook his head. “Sorry, Spock. I’m not making any sense.”
Spock seemed to think for a moment, although his gaze never moved from the blackness in front of them. “Do you believe your…discomfort is an adrenaline ‘crash’?”
Jim smiled at the warm concern he heard in the Vulcan’s voice. Spock’s mind, he knew, was probably running through all of the solutions he knew to combat the situation. He slid the hand closest to Spock’s over a few centimeters.
“Some of it probably is,” Jim admitted, “but I don’t think that’s everything. Anxiety, maybe, command stress, lack of decent sleep.” He fell silent as his mind flashed back to his days in the Academy when he had run on anxiety, coffee, and hysteria. He shook his head once, a sharp motion that shook the claws of his memories from his mind.
“It settles under my skin,” he said quietly. “Like something crawled in and is sitting between my skin and the rest of me. Sometimes, I don’t even notice that it’s there, and sometimes it’s the only thing I can feel.” He shrugged. “It’ll go away soon enough, and I’ll be back to my normal self.”
For the first time since he had stepped up next to Jim, Spock turned to him, dark eyes shimmering with something that Jim didn’t have the energy or confidence to identify. “These feelings are a part of you, Jim,” he stated. “Please do not feel as if you need to disguise them in my presence if you do not wish to.”
Jim didn’t have a good response to that, so he simply ducked his head in thanks. Another silence fell, but this time, some of the cold that had sunk into Jim’s skin seemed to melt away, and he felt the tension in his shoulders relax.
“Many, including myself at times, claim that Vulcans do not have emotions,” Spock said, and this time there was a hint of hesitance in his words, so unlike the quiet confidence he always seemed to radiate. “This is, with the exception of those who have completed Kholinar, not true. When a child is taught to meditate, one of the first skills they learn is how to identify their emotions. A person cannot face that which they do not understand.”
The sound of Spock’s voice, deep and rich, served to chase away the last of the cold, and Jim unconsciously leaned toward his friend.
“You are remarkably in touch with your emotions and the emotions of others, Jim. It is part of what makes you such a competent commander. If you wish, however, I could teach you to meditate in the Vulcan fashion, not to repress your emotions, but to help you confront, understand, and—when desired—dismiss them.” The offer was made with that same hint of hesitance that Jim had heard when Spock had first started to speak, and he couldn’t help the soft smile that pulled at his lips.
“I might take you up on that offer, Mister Spock,” he said, turning back to the Vulcan. Spock nodded, the movement only a few centimeters in either direction and then shifted his gaze once more to the space that stretched out endlessly before them.
By the time they left the observation deck half an hour later, Jim no longer felt the undefinable something crawling under his skin. Instead, a warm kind of satisfaction had taken its place. The switch wasn’t permanent, but that was okay, because the next time it returned, Spock would be at his side once again. People said that the life of a starship captain was a lonely one, but Jim was beginning to suspect that it didn’t have to be.
marie is still pushing her way past the fog of sleep when she realizes that matthias's voice is a bit louder than she would have expected. her face feels warm and when she begins to sit up, she realizes–– she spent the journey asleep on matthias's shoulder. "oh, saints," she mumbles, sitting up quickly, "i'm sorry, i didn't realize..." a sigh. "i hope i didn't make the journey too uncomfortable for you." he'd certainly served as quite the pillow; marie had slept soundly through the night, something she now felt quite guilty for.
James looked at Cris on the stage, he sat by the stage to whisper, "what the hell Cris?"
It was something he had been doing since uni. Even when he no longer needed the money, Cris found it fun to be on stage, to have people looking at him for his body instead of just his mind. For a boy who grew up lanky and awkward, it was a heady feeling. However, when he noticed James in the audience, he froze briefly, terrified what he might say after this was over. What was James even doing there. Cris rolled his shoulders back and continued on, deciding to deal with James later, when he wasn't performing. He knew there would be questions. Lots of questions.
Dean used to be a deep sleeper. He didn’t know when that had changed -- probably in Purgatory, if he really thought about it -- but it didn’t take much to jerk him awake anymore.
It was a motel room much like any other, with light slanting through the gap in the blackout curtain and the too-bright green LED on the smoke alarm stabbing his eyes after the darkness behind his eyelids. Blinking hard, Dean pushed himself up on one elbow, casting sleep-heavy eyes about the room to discover what had awoken him, if it was a threat, and if it was, if he had time to pee first.
Everything seemed to be in order at first glance, but then the dark shape caught at the corner of his eye and he sat up completely in alarm before the recognition circuits kicked in.
“Cas?” he asked, his voice low and groggy.
“I’m fine.” Cas’s voice, on the other hand, was merely quiet, barely enough to carry across the narrow space between Dean’s queen-size bed and Cas’s rollaway. The dark shape shifted in a movement much like someone hugging their knees more tightly to their chest, and the rollaway bed creaked in response. “Go back to sleep.”
Not a threat. Time to pee.
Mind marginally clearer after his sojourn to the bathroom, Dean paused as he pulled aside his covers. Cas was still sitting up, forehead pressed against his knees, absolutely still and silent. The sheet and cheap velour blanket had come untucked from the bottom of the rollaway bed - possibly because, even as the shortest of the three of them, Cas was slightly too tall for the bed. Or maybe because he’d been thrashing in his sleep. Or some combination of the two.
Dean could hear Cas taking a slow, deep breath. Very controlled. The breath of someone trying desperately to calm down, to slow a racing heart, to calm the clamoring tumult that adrenaline had made of their body.
He had already rounded the bottom of his bed before Dean realized that he was moving. The rollaway tilted alarmingly as Dean lowered himself onto it, and Cas’s shoulders twitched in surprise, though he didn’t raise his head.
“Nightmare?” Dean asked softly.
Cas nodded, not lifting his forehead from his knees.
Hesitantly, Dean raised his hand and placed it on Cas’s back. It seemed like the thing to do, even if Dean wasn’t sure why. Cas flinched away from the touch at first before leaning into it, warm pressure against Dean’s hand that rose and lowered with Cas’s breathing.
He could have said anything. I feel you, man. Or, that sucks. Or he could have ventured into dangerous chick-flick territory with tell me about it.
He didn’t. The need to break the silence burned the roof of his mouth, but he kept it shut. His outstretched arm began to ache, but he didn’t move it, just kept resting his hand lightly against Cas’s back.
It was Cas who spoke first, rolling his shoulders back as he unclenched his hands from around his shins, stretching his legs. “Thank you.”
Dean could feel the muscles coiling beneath Cas’s skin, the shoulder blades sliding. He didn’t want to move his hand. He made a fist and punched Cas’s shoulder gently before standing, his palm still warm, fingers curled against it as though to save the warmth for something later.
His own sheets still held some of his body heat as he slid between them, but even after punching his pillow into a more satisfying shape, he lay awake for a long time, until he heard Cas’s breathing grow slow and regular. Only then did his eyelids grow heavy and his hand uncurl, the feel of Cas’s back against his palm escaping into the silent moments before dawn.
I swear, if I hear one more girlish giggle from behind those doors I am kicking you out. I don't care that you will have no where to go because Marius has Cosette over. It's not like they're going to do anything.-Sent 9:32 pmIt won't be a quiet affair either. I will end your reputation.-Sent 9:32 pm
