Amity is a Dimensional Dump
So! Amity Park is a hub of weirdness of all sorts, mostly undead, but there are also a bunch of Multiversal oddities connected to the small town.
There are the minor anomalies. 5th Street has a bad habit of slipping into the Backrooms, Old Lady Jenkin's House sometimes has snow in summer, and of course the Night Sky had a 20% chance of swapping views to another Galaxy. Danny likes that one a lot.
But the biggest Anomaly is how many Multiversal Travellers get lost there.
They are always finding somebody wandering the streets with no idea where they are, and have to help them find their reality of origin. Other times they decide to stay for various reasons, ranging from a bad home life to being the only survivors of a Dead Universe. Half of the population if Amity was made up of the descendants of Lost Travelers, so their DNA was really a mixed bag.
Danny was flying over town when he spotted a Blur on the ground below.
He flew down to intercept, and found a boy in red and yellow panicking over his situation.
"Hey! Can I help you?" He called out.
The boy looked up, and gasped "Are you a Hero? I need help getting back to the Justice League!"
Danny chuckled, "Which one?"
The boy looked confused, "The Adult One? I guess?"
"Not what I meant, sorry. I mean, which Dimension are you from?" He clarified.
"Dimensions? What is going on!?" He shouted.
"Okay, let's calm down and restart. My name is Danny, who are you?" He introduced himself.
The boy took a deep breath, calming himself, before saying, "Okay, my name is Kid Flash, but you can just call me Wally."
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slow burn // retired // roomate !! simon "ghost"riley
- his self preservation and self control hangs by a string around you
- some fireworks after the fourth of july give him greater incentive to hate america, the sweltering heat, and the near altercation he gets into with your lecherous older neighbor in the building who puts his hand on the small of your back in the elevator. he recognizes the way you flinch, the way you nearly drop the grocery bag you insisted on carrying. the way you already react to small spaces already make you suck on bottom lip in discomfort.
simon riley has left the building and ghost emerges as he’s about to shove the old man out the elevator. in an instant you’re pulling him by the wrist, muttering that his death is coming to him already, he’s practically senile.
the rest of the week he’s in a foul mood, smoking out his bedroom window, sulking, and unable to sleep. cycling between self loathing, and an urge to protect you. he knows that you’re capable of taking care of yourself, but you shouldn’t have to always to do everything alone. yet he knows he’s not the kind of man you deserve anyhow.
- he starts calling you angel
after you leave him this note in your colorful script: “sometimes when my week goes to shit, cake for breakfast tends to sort everything out.” beside the angel cake with pale blue icing.
the dust settles after that, he knows he hasn’t scared you away.
- after your overachieving performance at work he makes your favorite meal. when you ask if it’s a family recipe his laughter is bitter. you recognize his hurt as your own, tell him you don’t answer calls from your folks either. he almost tells you about his asshole father, the grief of wanting to call tommy from beyond the grave, the absence of a mother. but, he doesn’t want to open old wounds- he’d rather be with you.
so instead he plays your favorite film on dvd because even if he’s trying to change, he hates flicking through all the streaming services on your tv. when you try to grab the dvd case with “sticky fingers” he hangs his arm over the couch out of reach. when you clamber over his body in protest, he holds his breath trying to keep his cock from expressing all his bone deep desire for you to stay on top him. you tuck a cushion under his neck and because you’re trying to kill him you ask if you can lie on top of him.
if it was anyone else he would’ve registered it to be suggestive but you’re adorable as you lie on top of him limbs spread out focused on the tv, kicking your feet during your favorite scenes.
- you fall asleep on his chest exhausted from the long hours, softly snoring, making little gasps for air as you sleep. and he can’t love you, because you deserve more than we he can offer. but you’re so sweet when your sleeping he gently twirls the ends of your hair between his forefinger and thumb. when the credits roll the music stirs you, pressing yourself into him before you realize where you are.
simon’s too drunk on you to be apologetic muttering something about how soft your hair is. you lift your head up and ask half asleep, “do you have any hair?”
he laughs enough for you to realize how out of place you must seem. you push yourself up embarrassed, wiping drool from the corner of your mouth prepared to apologize for assuming or prying, and using his body as a pillow.
because simon is falling in love with you in a way that makes him stupid, he tugs off his mask in a fluid motion.
you study his face with open eagerness. you don’t flinch, you don’t look surprised, and your eyes aren’t a filled with pity. instead you reach for his hair and hesitate until he nudges his head into your hand like cat waiting to be petted. you play with his hair, trace his jaw, and stare at his mouth.
“you’re such a pretty boy.”
you say it almost under your breath. and he feels eighteen years old with a crush. he doesn’t feel like a man hardened by the anguish he’s seen, he feels so young in your arms.
he wants to kiss you ask for for more than your mouth, ask for your heart, ask for you to stay in this apartment forever. he doesn’t. he throws you over his shoulder and you’re off balance with wanting. when he gently drops you into your bed, returns to the door and wishes you a good rest as he shuts your door you feel a little empty.
- the next morning he’s wearing his mask again watching football on the couch, muttering something to you about fresh orange waiting for you with the breakfast he made.
this is a prequel for this fic:
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