#I know the books are for middle schoolers and all that jazz | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kinglazrus · 5 years ago

Text

What You’ve Become

Phic phight 2020

Submitted by @kiinotasha: Jazz and Danny swap ages, she is the younger sibling he is the older one. All the other kids have their ages changed accordingly. (Those in Danny’s year would still be in his year)

Summary: Two years after the first ghost appears in Amity Park, Jazz Fenton sees a face she never thought she'd see again.

Word count: 12726

Jazz keeps her head down as she checks out her book. She usually avoid the public library if she can, but there are only so many psychology papers you can read online before you hit a paywall. All the good ones are locked tight on websites made for scholars, not high schoolers. The one downside of devouring ever psych text she can get her hands on for two years running is that, at a certain point, she has to leave the house to do it.

When she started at Casper High just a few months ago, she went to their library. It offered her privacy from all the prying eyes and hushed whispers, since most students didn't like spending time under the librarian's eagle eyes. But the school's selection was rather... lacking, which forced Jazz to seek out other avenues. Namely, the public library. Which shouldn't be so daunting, because she loves books and this building used to be her home away from home.

But that was two years ago. Now, when she goes to the library, it's no longer a safe haven. Now, when she walks through its doors, people see her and stare. That's the problem with Amity Park. It isn't a small town, but it's not a big city either. Everyone knows someone who knows someone else who knows you.

Which means everyone knows poor Jasmine, the last Fenton in Amity Park.

As she passes her library card over to the clerk, she catches their grim, pitying smile and quickly looks away. She fixes her gaze on the counter for the rest of the transaction. The second it's over, she takes her library card and the textbook and flees. She can feel the librarian's stare burning into her back as she leaves the building. It's hard to ignore. Marching across the parking lot, she heads for an old green Volvo, yanking open the passenger door when she reaches it. She throws herself into the seat and slams the door shut.

"Didn't have the book you wanted?" her best friend, Spike, asks from the back of the car. He doesn't look at her, instead focusing on the soles of his platform boots, picking mud out of the grooves.

Jazz slams the book down on the console.

Spike's gaze jumps up at the noise. "Oh," he says, eyes falling on the book. His expression, a default disaffected scowl, doesn't change, but he starts toying with his eyebrow ring, spinning it around. It's a subtle Jazz has become well accustomed to over the past two years.

"Fuck 'em," Spike says. He slouches forward, dropping his hand into his lap, and raises his middle finger in the library's direction.

"That would be an unsanitary and highly inappropriate response," Tucker quips from the driver's seat, fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

Jazz wrinkles her nose. "Please never say anything like that again."

"No promises." He cackles at Jazz's expression. When he looks over his shoulder to start backing out, he catches Spike's deepening scowl, and grins even wider. "Sorry, kid, I got a goth best friend, too. That kind of look doesn't work on me."

"I told you to stop calling me that," Spike says.

Tucker hums, pretending to think deeply, and bares his teeth in a teasing smile. "Nah."

"You know, he had a goth phase," Jazz whispers.

"We don't talk about that!"

Jazz keeps talking about it. She eagerly regales Spike with the time she walked into the bathroom and found Danny painstakingly doing Tucker's eyeliner. She's halfway through Tucker's first disastrous attempt at wearing platform boots when a droning alarm goes off, cutting her off mid-sentence.

Turning away from the back seat, she leans her head against her window and tips her head back, peering up at a white and black siren hanging off a streetlight.

"Aw, man." Tucker sighs and turns his blinker on, pulling over to the side of the road. The car in front of them does the same, along with a truck passing on the other side of the road. None of them can pull all the way over, because of the vehicles parked parallel up and down the street, but there's a sizeable gap right down the middle of the road.

"Think we'll see some action?" Spike asks.

"I bet it's just that box dude or something," Tucker says as he rolls down his window.

Jazz slaps her hands over her ears as the siren gets louder and elbows Tucker's shoulder. "Close the window!" she shouts.

He doesn't have to. A second later, the siren cuts out. All three passengers strain their ears, listening for any sounds of fighting. It's completely silent.

"False alarm?" Jazz suggests.

"The Guys in White don't do false alarms. Could be the box guy," Tucker says. He hoists himself halfway out the window, slapping his arm down on top of the car to keep himself balanced, and waves at the truck across from them.

The driver rolls down the window.

"Hey! My radio's busted, is there any broadcast going out right now?" Tucker calls.

The driver looks down, fiddling with something, then looks back up and shakes his head.

"Thanks!"

"See? False alarm," Jazz says. "Get back in the car."

"Jazz, you are way too young to be sounding like my mother," Tucker says, ignoring her request. He looks up and down the street, head swiveling as he scans the skies. Completely empty. "Okay, maybe you're right."

No sooner have the words left his mouth than a green blur goes shooting past, flying so fast the car rocks. Tucker yelps, losing his grip on the car, and would have toppled out the window if Jazz and Spike hadn't lunged forward to catch him. Tucker chokes as Jazz grabs the back of his shirt, his collar cutting against his windpipe. Spike snags Tucker's belt. Together, they haul the older boy back into the car.

"Okay!" Tucker says, rubbing his throat and coughing a few times. "Not the box dude!"

Pushing his glasses up his nose, he glares out his window to the truck across from them. "'No broadcast' my ass."

"You should just get the Ghost Watch app," Jazz says, already pulling out her phone. She flicks through the apps until she finds one whose icon features a ghost holding binoculars.

"Like hell I'm gonna do that. The government can already spy on my through my phone, I'm gonna make it worse by downloading one of their apps," Tucker sneers.

"If they're already watching, then why does it matter?" Spike asks.

Tucker takes a breath, then pauses. "Huh," he says.

While he struggles to come up with an answer, Jazz opens the Ghost Watch app. Sure enough, as soon as it loads, she's met with a red exclamation point. Tapping the icon, she turns her volume up and holds her phone out.

"–class four entity. Agents have been dispatched to take care of the threat. Phantom protocol is in place. Please remain in your homes or vehicles or you will face criminal charges for interfering with a G.I.W. Operation. Thank you. Attention Amity Park. We are under threat by a class four entity. Agents have been dispatched–"

Jazz mutes the broadcast and raises and eyebrow in Tucker's direction.

"Shut up," he says. "You're the one who thought it was a false alarm."

"You're the one who can't afford to fix his radio," Spike points out.

"Well, maybe, I should start charging you since I'm apparently turning into your chauffeur. I'm sure your moms would be so happy to know your abusing my kind heart."

"Sounds fake."

"Boys, stop it," Jazz snaps. "Let's just wait for this to be over so we can go home, okay?"

Spike and Tucker share a look and nod in unison.

With an annoyed huff, Jazz pulls her new textbook into her lap and cracks it open. She might as well read to pass time, there's no telling how long this will take. Sometimes the G.I.W. have the situation under control in minutes, other times the city's on lockdown for hours. Hopefully, with the Phantom protocol in effect, it'll be a short wait.

Jazz closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Don't think about it, she tells herself. She doesn’t want to get her hopes up.

"Jazz, if this is about–"

"Let me stop you right there, Tucker," Jazz says. She stares resolutely down at her book, refusing to lift her gaze. "It's not about anything. I just want to go home, okay?"

"Okay," Tucker says. She can tell he doesn't believe her. That's fine, as long as he lets it drop.

—

Danny was dead. Or he was dying. Jazz didn't know which and she didn't know how to help. She was frozen at the bottom of the stairs, every inch of her trembling, too shocked—too scared—to do anything.

Her big brother was slumped in his best friend's arms, skin blistered and bleeding. His right hand was smoking, the sleeve of his jumpsuit burnt away. A strange green substance oozed out of him, staining Tucker's sweater. He was dead. He had to be dead.

"Danny! Danny!" Tucker shouted desperately, slowly lowering Danny to the floor. He leaned over Danny's prone form, hands hovering just above his blistered body. "Shit, shit, Danny, no. Sam, what do we do?"

Jazz's gaze jumped from her brother—her burnt, broken, probably dead brother—to Sam. She had collapsed on her knees a few feet away, pressing a hand to her mouth, eyes wide and horrified. She looked like she was about to throw up, or pass out, or both.

"I–I–" Sam stuttered. It was all she managed before she turned to the side and retched all over the lab floor.

Jazz finally regained control of her limbs then. Seeing Tucker and Sam, who were older and supposed to be smarter, lost and panicking spurred her to move. She rushed across the lab, her socks slipping on the smooth tiles, and almost slid right into Sam.

"Sam, Sam, where's your phone?" Jazz asked. She couldn't believe how steady her voice sounded. Inside, she panicked. Inside, she screamed that her brother was dead, and she was scared, and why weren't their parents home, why was the portal that wasn't supposed to work suddenly on, glowing so brightly it hurt her eyes? Why, why, why?

"Sam!" Jazz shrieked when the older girl didn't respond.

Sam flinched, spitting on the floor and wiping her mouth on her arm, and turned to Jazz. "Jazz," she said. Her dark eyes flickered over to Danny, then back at Jazz, and a fresh wave of horror filled them. "Go upstairs. You should go upstairs."

"Your phone!" Jazz pleaded. She didn't have the patience to wait, instead reaching into Sam's pocket herself and snatching her phone. Jazz backed away and dialled.

"911, what's your emergency?" a smooth voice answered.

"My brother was in an accident. He's hurt, really badly, and I– I don't know if he's breathing," Jazz said.

At her words, Tucker lowered his head to Danny's chest. Everyone held still, afraid to move or even breathe. Jazz could hear the operator saying something, but his words fell on deaf ears as she waited, anxious, for Tucker to say something.

"Fuck," Tucker said. He shot upright, hands hovering over Danny's chest, then pulled back. "Sam! I don't know CPR, do you know CPR?"

Sam scrambled toward Danny, her knees slipping in his blood—why was there so much blood? She shoved Tucker aside and straddled Danny's waist, kneeling over him, and started chest compressions.

Tears welled in Jazz's eyes. She sobbed and turned away.

"Are you alright? Please answer me. I need your location to send an ambulance."

"He, he's not breathing, and his, his heart's not beating," Jazz said. She hiccupped and squeezed her eyes shut, but that didn't help. She could still hear Sam panting heavily as she tried to keep Danny's heart beating. "His friend is doing CPR."

"Okay, that's good. What's your name? How old are you?"

"I'm Jazz Fenton, I'm twelve years old. My brother is Danny, he's sixteen. We're at Fenton Works at the corner of Cordia and Lennex," Jazz recited. It was oddly calming. Nothing more than simple rote memory, but it helped. It would help Danny.

"Fentons."

"Yes?"

The line was silent. Jazz bit her lip, wondering if the operator hung up, which would be incredibly unprofessional and also probably send her into a panic. She was certain the only reason she hadn't fallen to her knees in tears right then was that, as long as she was on the phone, she was helping. She had something to do. She was making sure Danny would be okay because he was going to be okay, he had to be.

A quiet huff caught Jazz's attention. She clung to the phone with both hands, pressing it against her ears, and barely heard the operator mutter, "Of course," on the other side of the line.

Jazz didn't want to be on the phone anymore.

"An ambulance is on the way," the operator said, louder. "Stay calm until then. Is there anyone else home with you? Your parents?"

"No. Thank you, goodbye."

—

"Please stay calm and remain in your vehicle. The threat will be dealt with shortly. Please stay calm and remain in your vehicle. The threat will be dealt with shortly. Please stay calm and–"

"I hate that voice. So. Much," Spike says, glaring at the siren.

Jazz can't blame him. The siren started spewing the city-wide warning almost five minutes ago and hasn't stopped since. There hasn't been another sign of the ghost, or any G.I.W. for that matter. It doesn't exactly mean much, because they could be anywhere in the city, but it makes the so-called safety protocols seem highly unnecessary. Besides, wouldn't they be safer in a building rather than as sitting ducks in the middle of the road?

The guy in the truck must have thought so, because he ditched his vehicle almost a full minute ago and disappeared inside a bar up the street. Jazz thinks he had the right idea, minus the bar part. It's always better to be somewhere you're comfortable during an emergency, even if it only provides slight relief.

"We could just, you know, drive home," Spike suggests.

"Great idea, until we get caught in the middle of a ghost fight," Tucker says. "Then your moms would kill me."

"No. The ghosts would kill you."

"Delightful."

"My moms would obliterate your ghost."

Tucker groans in distress, but Jazz can tell he's seriously considering Spike's suggestion. He keeps lifting his hand off his leg, toward the keys, before letting it fall back to his knee. "Who thought having a ghost infested city would be so damn boring?" he asks.

"You mean you don't enjoy sharing this plane of existence with pale shades of people long dead, forced to stay on this Earth by their own anguish and tumultuous emotions?" Spike asks.

"No. No, I don't."

"I do."

"Of course, you would."

Jazz ignores the boys, flipping to the next page in her textbook. It's a fairly new branch of psychology, focused on ghosts and their mental processes. Its surprisingly thorough. A stamp on the first page marks it as a G.I.W. endorsed text. It makes her wonder how many of the ghosts they catch become study subjects. With how comprehensive the textbook is, they must have been observing ghosts for a long time.

Unbidden thoughts of the Phantom leap to the front of Jazz's mind. Her grip on the textbook tightens, nails digging into the cover.

"Okay, I'm getting out," Spike says, breaking Jazz out of her thoughts.

"No, you aren't," Tucker says.

"Yeah, I am." Spike pulls on his door handle and starts pushing the door open.

"Your arrest record," Tucker says, rolling his eyes. Halfway through the motion, he freezes. "Actually, no, get back in the car."

"Asking nicely won't make me."

"Spike! Get back in the damn car!" Tucker shouts. The alarm in his voice makes Jazz look up from her book. The next second, the street beside them explodes in a shower of concrete.

"Shit!" Spike ducks, narrowly missing being brained by a fist-sized rock. In his panic, he dives to the side rather than back inside the car.

"Seriously!" Tucker shouts. He throws his door open and leaps out, Jazz following suit on her side of the car. She squints, covering her mouth with her arm, trying to keep the dust out. As Tucker goes for Spike, Jazz watches the middle of the road. She sees something moving in the cloud of dust.

The sound of a roaring engine draws Jazz's attention to the corner of the block, just in time to see a bulky armoured truck rip around the corner. On top of the cab, a row of bright green lights flash as the truck tears down the street. It comes to a stop fifty metres from the crater. The cab doors are thrown open by two bald men in white suits. They jump out onto the road, raising sleek white and blue guns that look out of place outside a sci-fi filmset.

One of them, the taller of the two, sees Jazz and calls down the road, "Return to your vehicle or face the charges."

"But my friend!" Jazz calls back. She looks to where Spike had fallen and finds the road empty. Panic shoots through her, until she hears someone clearing their throat and drops her gaze to the sidewalk.

Tucker and Spike are huddled behind the next car down, out of sight of the G.I.W.

"Return to your vehicle, now!" the agent demands again.

Jazz obeys. As soon as she's inside with the door shut, she climbs over the console into the front seat. The cloud of dust in the middle of the street is almost gone now, the silhouette of whoever—or whatever—is inside more defined.

It looks like a regular person, but with sharper angles. A sharp chin, broad shoulders, wide chest. Before the dust can settle complete, the ghost shoots forward, too fast to see, and slams into the G.I.W. truck, the front of cab crumpling in It goes skidding across the road, tires squealing, leaving thick black lines in their wake.

It's still sliding when the ghost zooms back and slams into it again, this time from the side. The sidewall caves and the truck tips onto its side.

"Damn it, the asset!" the shorter agent shouts.

Both men open fire, but every shot misses, the ghost flying too fast for them to catch. The shorter agent curses again and grabs something from inside their suit, tossing it on the ground. The object, a small cube, hits the ground and an antenna pops out of the top. A ping, not unlike a sonar pulse, songs from the cube and a wave of blue energy cascades outwards.

When it hits the ghost's blurred form, the ghost goes flying. Jazz shouts in surprise and ducks as it soars toward her. There's a loud crash, but Tucker's car does little more than shake. Lifting her head, she sees the ghost has hit the car behind her. Her heart leaps into her throat as she searches for Tucker and Spike amongst the wreckage.

It takes her a few seconds to fine them, but they're safe and sounded, hiding in the shadows of a convenience store doorway. The sign on the door says closed, and it must be locked, so they can't slip inside out of danger, but they're hidden at least.

The crumpled car creaks. Jazz's gaze jumps back to it and she gets her first good look at the ghost. It doesn't look like any of the ghost's she's ever glimpsed. Rather than an animalistic, amorphous form, it looks like a large mechanical man. With green fire for a mullet and goatee, apparently.

"Surrender, ghost!" the taller agent yells.

"Release him!" the ghost demands in a deep, layered voice.

The G.I.W. share a look.

"Agent O," the short one says. "Release the asset."

The mechanical ghost grins. But, judging by Agent O's grim but eager expression, the ghost isn't going to like what happens. Agent O holds their wrist out and presses a button on their watch. A heavy clunk reaches Jazz's ears. Everyone's focus snaps to the overturned truck as the back door slides open. A thin blue shield wavers over the open door before snapping away.

Jazz peers into the shadows of the covered truck bed. Slowly, a figure emerges. They float through the open door, body twisting to they don't brush the sides of the van, and hovers in the air.

It's the first time Jazz has ever seen the G.I.W. secret weapon, and the key component of the Phantom protocol: Phantom themselves. They wear a baggy white jumpsuit, the G.I.W. logo emblazoned across their chest in a slightly darker off-white. Not an inch of skin is visible, a mask clamped tightly over their lower face, round goggles covering their eyes, and a loose hood pulled over their head. They hold themselves awkwardly, arms raised in front of their chest, fingers curling toward their face. Thick cuffs bind their forearms together, forcing this strange pose upon them. Similar cuffs bind their ankles.

Their head turns slowly as they scan the street, the lenses of their goggles flaring. One is blue, the other green. They stop when they face Tucker's car.

Jazz's breath hitches. She presses one against the window, her other falling to the door handle. The ghost mimics her, spreading their fingers, although their palms are turned the wrong way.

She's never seen Phantom before. She's never seen their face. But she knows exactly what she would find under that mask. She pops the door open, lowering one foot to the pavement, ignoring the danger of the ghost to her left.

"Phantom!" Agent O snaps. He presses another button his watch. The cuffs on Phantom's legs fall to the found with a thud, cracking the pavement when they hit it. His arms stay bound. Another press, another button, and a collar around Phantom's neck, hidden by their pose, sparks dangerously.

Agent O points to the mechanical ghost. "Go hunt!"

—

Jazz waited out in the hallway, where her parents told her to be. She sat on a hard, plastic chair, tapping her feet on the tiled floor. It must have been freshly buffed, because when she leaned forward, she could see her reflection on the gleaming ceramic. The tiles were marbled white and pink, the colours blending together in milky swirls, and when she stared right at it, it looked like her face was covered in scars.

She lifted a hand and touched her cheek, almost expecting to feel puckered, raised skin where the marbled pink cuts across her pale face. She wondered if Danny would have scars.

"Jazzypants?"

Her head snapped up and she was surprised to see Jack, her father, standing before her. A burly man who took up nearly half the hallway, he didn't exactly have the lightest steps, but she didn't even notice him arrive. He crouched so they were eye to eye, hunching his shoulders to take up as little space as possible, and touched her hand.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Jazz glanced to the side, toward the closed double doors with the words "STAFF ONLY" plastered across them in big, bold letters. "I'm fine. Is Danny okay?" she asked.

"He's okay," Jack said. He smiled and squeezed her hand. "The doctors are still working on him, but they said he's gonna be fine."

Jazz didn't match Jack's smile. She tried, but it felt weak and flimsy, and she let it fall away. "Okay," she said quietly.

Jack's smile tightened. "Listen, there's someone here who wants to talk to you."

"Why?"

"Because of what happened. Danny's gonna be okay, but he got really hurt, and that made some people worry. So, they want to talk to you, so they know they don't have to worry."

Jazz frowned. "You don't have to talk like that. I'm not eight. Who are they?"

Jack laughed, but it was soft and humorless. "Right, you've always been so grown up. Are you okay to talk to them?"

"Yeah." Jazz nodded and pushed off her chair, standing up. She barely reached Jack's elbow.

With his hand on her back, Jack guided her out of the waiting room. They turned down a quiet hallway, farther from the hospital's entrance, and headed toward a bench set into an. It was small and private. A woman in a blazer and slacks waited there, sitting with her legs crossed and her hands folded in her lap.

The woman's hair was tied back in a ponytail, smooth against her head, but cascading into a waterfall of dark curls at the nape of her neck. Jazz touched her own hair, red and pin straight. She always wanted curly hair like that, especially after seeing pictures of her mother in college.

Jack cleared his throat as they approached. The woman looked up. She smiled warmly at Jazz, scooting down the bench as if to make room, even though it was a fairly large bench and there was lots of space. Jazz sat down on the very end, as far from the woman as she could get.

"Thank you, Mr. Fenton. I know you may want to stay, but this needs to be a private conversation, so I know you aren't influencing anything she says," the woman said.

"Right," Jack said. He gave Jazz one last pat, then turned and lumbered down the hallway.

"Hello, Jasmine," the woman said, drawing Jazz's attention back. "I'm Jamila Faizan. You can call my Jamila. I'm a social worker. Do you know what that is?"

Jazz nodded, eyeing the woman warily. She had nothing against social workers, but she heard people threaten her parents with them before. It made her uncomfortable.

"I just want to ask you a few questions about what life is like at home, okay?" Jamila asked.

"It's fine."

Jamila smiled. "Of course. It might seem that way, but your brother got really hurt in your parent's lab, and I need to make sure something like that doesn’t happen again. I just want to make sure you're safe at home."

Jazz bit her lip. She knew her home life wasn't exactly normal. How many twelve-year-olds had a lab in their basement? But they had good parents, and this was the first time anything like this had ever happened.

"How often do you go into your parents' lab?" Jamila asked.

"Not a lot. I don't like it down there that much, it's really cold."

"Do you parents ever bring you down there?"

"Sometimes, if they want to show us something interesting."

"Okay. Are you allowed down there any time?"

Jazz shifted in her seat, tucking her hands between her knees to keep from fidgeting. "Mom or dad has to be with us if we go down there," she said. She quickly added, "But I don't want to go down there, anyway, unless they want to show us something. So it's okay."

Jamila hummed. "How are you at school?"

"Good. I get all A's," Jazz said, a little thrown by the topic change.

"And your brother?"

"He doesn't really like school. I don't think it's a good learning environment for him, so he doesn't really get good grades."

"And you're happy?"

"Yes." Jazz narrowed her eyes at Jamila. "Are you trying to take us away?"

"I'm only trying to make sure you're safe, healthy, and happy," Jamila said.

"I will be once I know my brother's okay."

"I've been told he's going to pull through just fine," Jamila said, giving Jazz a placating smile.

"Then, then I don't see what the problem is. He's okay, I'm okay. It was just an accident. So, I'm going back to my parents, where I will be safe, healthy, and happy, okay? Okay." Jazz got up and walked away before Jamila could say anything else. It wasn't like the social worker could stop her.

—

The asphalt beneath Phantom cracks as they shoot through the air toward the ghost.

"Phantom, wait!" the ghost protests, holding up his hands. He jumps into the air, arcing over Phantom. A gun pops out of his shoulder and fires a green net. The net snaps out, heading right for Phantom.

Jazz doesn't even know how to begin describing what Phantom's body does to dodge the net. Only their arms and head stay solid, the rest of their body twisting, and morphing, and stretching so the next passes harmlessly through them. Their torso and legs snap back into existence as if they hadn't just melted into an amorphous cloud and Phantom continues unhindered. They slam into the mechanical ghost, wrapping one leg around the ghost's arm, the other around their neck.

Electricity crackles up Phantom's spine and shocks the ghost, making the whole suit go slack. Phantom drives the ghost into the ground, crouching over him. A low moan builds in their throat.

Jazz automatically covers her ears. She may have never seen Phantom in action before, but she's definitely heard their signature attack. And had to deal with the damage it leaves behind.

Just before the wail reaches its glass-shattering, tree-tearing, foundation-shaking crescendo, the mechanical ghost shouts, "Sorry!" and launches a mini-rocket out of his arm. It hits Phantom and explodes, blasting them straight across the street.

Jazz winces when they collide with the sidewalk, a sharp crack echoing down the street.

"Stop fighting!" The mechanical ghost holds up their hands as Phantom peels themselves off the crumbled sidewalk. "It's me, Skulker!"

Phantom answers by smacking something on the side of their mask. Green fumes start pouring out the front. Reaching up, their fingers curl around their collar, yanking it down as far as it'll go, and they thrust their head forward. Ectoplasm spews from the mast. It roars outward, a mesmerizing mix of gas and flames that seeps into the air.

As Phantom leaps forward, the ectoplasm pours over a nearby mailbox. The ectoplasm turns liquid the second it touches the mailbox, coating it in a thick slime, melting through the metal. Watching the metal bubble and ooze, Jazz swallows nervously.

She's reminded quite suddenly that Phantom is a tool for the G.I.W. The supreme weapon. The thing they throw at every passing threat. Thinking back to her textbook, she wonders how much of that information was garnered from Phantom. They would certainly make an impressive specimen, not that Jazz wants to think of them like that. But it's undeniable.

The way they move is otherworldly.

Every time Skulker dodges, Phantom's head snaps toward him, lightning fast, as ectoplasm spits from their mask. They mutate their body into grotesque shapes at a moment's notice, deforming and contorting as needed. It's hard to watch them. Not just because of the brutal display, with Skulker's protests falling on deaf ears, but because their body can't seem to settle. It's constantly moving, blurring, flickering. The only time they look completely solid is when their whole body crackles and electricity arcs off them.

Phantom's ectoplasm spews over Skulker's arm. Skulker yelps, forced to flee, and tries to shake off both the acidic sludge and his feral tail.

And Phantom really is feral. They follow, relentless, remorseless, moving like a wild animal prowling after its prey. Every attack is a pounce, a noxious cloud of ectoplasm following their every move. It's both mesmerizing and horrifying. The only word Jazz can use to properly describe them is monster.

—

Two hours after speaking with Jamila, Danny was out of surgery. Jazz was on her own when a nurse came over to deliver the news. Her parents were off with the social worker, had been for some time. The nurse was hesitant to give Jazz the news on her own, but she bullied the man with tear-filled eyes until he caved in.

Danny's surgery was a success. They fixed the rupture in his hear, stopped the bleeding, and now he was sleeping. He would be for a while because his body needed to heal, but once he woke up, he would be good as new.

The nurse waited with Jazz for her parents to return. When they came walking down the hallway, accompanied by Jamila, Jazz hopped out of her seat and ran forward to give them the good news. She faltered when she saw her parents' expressions.

Her mother's eyes were red from crying. Seeing that unsettled Jazz. She had never seen her mother cry before, and even if she didn't actually witness it now, knowing it happened threw her off balance. She knew parents cried too. They were regular people with all kinds of emotions; but, still, they weren't supposed to cry.

Jazz stopped at arm's length, watching them warily.

"Oh, sweetie." Maddie reached down and hugged Jazz.

"Mom, what's going on?"

"You're going to be staying with someone else for a little bit," she said.

Jazz pulled away. "Mom?"

"I'm sorry," Jamila interrupted, placing a hand on Jazz's shoulder. Jazz wanted to throw it off. "Maddie," Jamila continued.

"Please, call me Dr. Fenton," Jazz's mother said, a bitter smile cutting across her face.

"Dr. Fenton," Jamila amended coolly. "May I?"

Jazz felt helpless as Maddie stepped away, instantly missing her comforting presence. Jamila took her place, crouching down to Jazz's level.

"I really am sorry, but I can't let you return to Fenton Works until I know you'll really be safe there. I want you to go home with your parents, I really do, but I want to keep you out of danger more."

"I'm not in danger," Jazz insisted.

"Tonight's events prove otherwise. I was contacted by both the hospital and the dispatch operator you spoke to. It's only temporary. Until I'm sure your parents can take proper care of you. I've made arrangements with a foster home for now."

"Do you really have to do this?" Maddie asked.

"Mom," Jazz said. She reached out, searching for Maddie's hand, squeezing it until Maddie looked at her. "I'll be okay. It's just for now, right? You guys can set everything straight and then we can all go home together with Danny

"Oh, sweetie." Maddie pulled Jazz into another firm hug. "It's not right."

"But it's okay, isn't it? Ms. Faizan can do her work, and she'll see that, and everything will be fine by the time Danny wakes up." Jazz motioned for her father, who quickly joined the hug. It was tight, and warm, and Jazz never wanted to let go, but she had to after a few seconds.

Danny always went on and on about how grown up Jazz was, how she acted so much like an adult even though she was four years younger than him. If she was as mature as Danny always said, then she could do this. She could be grown up right now and be okay with all of this.

She could go with Jamila now, and later, she could go home with Danny.

—

The fight is taking too long. Despite dealing with ghosts for two years now, Jazz has never seen a real fight. If it's someone minor, a single agent is all it takes to swoop in and clean things up before anything bad happens. Mildly destructive ghosts require a few agents, who sometimes block off whole sections of the city, pushing citizens back until the problem is dealt with. Usually, this takes no more than half an hour, although the aftermath of the fight affects the city for days.

But when they send in Phantom, the fight ends before it really begins. Swift, effective, and destructive. Bringing in Phantom means bringing in the big guns.

But they're not so swift today. The minutes drag on, the ghosts caught in a stalemate. It takes Jazz far too long to notice the problem: Phantom is distracted. They keep pulling back at the last moment, holding off from delivering the finishing blow. She doesn't think it's to spare the ghost they're fighting. It's the result, but it's not the reason. Each attack aims to kill, up until the moment it doesn't.

Because Phantom's head keeps swivelling. Toward her. As soon as Jazz realizes this, she scrambles out of the car, ignoring the agents shouting at her to get back inside, and runs over to Tucker and Spike.

"What are you doing?" Tucker asks. His head jerks up and down as he looks between Jazz and the G.I.W. agents. He waves his arms emphatically at the short agent. "He's coming this way now!"

"I don't care. Tucker!" Jazz grabs Tucker by the front of his shirt and pulls him down. She shoves his head forward and points at Phantom. "Do you see it?"

Tucker's face twists in confusion, wrinkling his nose and furrowing his brow. "They're... looking at us.

"Yeah."

Phantom snarls, finally managing to get a hold on Skulker, and rips his arm out of the socket, tearing into the limb like a rabid animal. There's only wires inside, thank god.

Tucker pales. "I don't know about you, but... I don't think I want its attention."

"Tucker! He's not an it!" Jazz protests.

"Phantom is a ghost, Jazz. I'm sorry, I don't get what you're trying to say here," Tucker says.

"Don't you remember what I told you? What happened after you left?"

Tucker stares at her. A few seconds later, realization dawns on his face. "Yeah. Yeah! I do! Do you think–"

"Yeah."

"Shit."

"I know. "

"Jazz, if it is, I don't think..." Tucker trails off. He gives Jazz a pointed look as Phantom screeches and dissolves into a black cloud, reforming behind Skulker. They swing their arms down on Skulker's head, smashing him into the ground.

"What the hell are you guys talking about?" Spike asks. "All I see is a pissed off government goon heading our way."

"Phantom," Tucker and Jazz chorus. Jazz adds, "They keep looking over here."

She can't help the hope that swells in her chest. Two years. Two whole years since the ghosts came, since the G.I.W. took over, since it happened. Two years of stares and whispers behind her back.

Look at that girl, isn't it a shame what happened?

I heard they tried to shoot her too.

I bet he ran away because he couldn't stand to see her.

"So?"

"The hospital," Jazz stresses.

"Oh. Oh!" Spike glances at Jazz from the corner of his eye. "That's good, right? It means they're, you know?"

"He... if they are... if it is." Jazz fumbles over her words, but Tucker seems to understand. He gives her shoulder a reassuring pat.

He didn't run away, Jazz thinks. He didn't mean to leave her. She leans into Tucker, torn between crying out of grief or relief.

Spike taps Jazz's other shoulder. "Hey, this is super gross and touching and all, but we're fucked," he said with a jerk of his chin, motioning to the approaching agent.

—

The Miller family was nice enough. Max and Hannah treated her well. They had fostered their son, Spike, before adopting him when he was six. Jazz only saw him once her first day in the apartment, and he immediately reminded her of Sam, with his black clothes and dark makeup, but a little more punk thanks to his mohawk.

He left Jazz alone for the most part, which she was more thankful for than anything.

Max and Hannah told Jazz they would do their best for her, and that they hoped Danny would be okay, and they would give her whatever she needed to make it through this tough time. The way they talked annoyed Jazz a little. They weren't patronizing, but they acted like they knew exactly what she needed when they didn’t.

They thought she needed a soft bed, a good meal, and a comforting smile, but she really just needed her brother.

The first day at the Millers, Jazz occupied herself with her memoirs. She had been working on them the day of the accident, until the power cut out and Danny's scream filled the house, so loud it made her ears ache. She put in her headphones to drown out the residual scream in her head and got down to work.

Before... it happened, she had been writing down her significant childhood memories. The earliest ones weren't full memories, more like snatches of moments. Danny's soft hand in hers. A small hand rubbing her back after a nightmare. The glow of her star nightlight, which originally belonged to Danny, but he passed it on to her when he learned it made her sleep through the night better. She only learned this fact a few months ago, but it warmed her heart nonetheless.

The memories got stronger after that. Her first time seeing Santa, she was four, Danny was eight, and he took her across town on his own to the mall. Danny teaching her to ride a bike, because their parents were too busy in the lab. Danny making cupcakes for her birthday, because their parents were away at a convention. Danny helping her with her homework, even though he wasn't very good at it, but he still tried his best.

Jazz's pen paused. All her best memories had Danny in them. It wasn't that she had no good memories with her parents, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized they weren't really there as much as they thought they were.

"It's fine," she told herself. She pressed her pen into the page, intending to keep writing, but she couldn't stop thinking.

How many kids learned to cook at eight years old because their parents sometimes forgot to feed them? How many kids were more of a parent to their little sister than their actual parents? How many kids lived above a lab full of dangerous chemicals and volatile weaponry, and were told to clean said lab as part of their chores?

Jazz could think of at least one: Danny. Would things be the other way if she were older? Would she take Danny out on Christmas day so they didn't have to hear their parents fighting about a fat man in a red suit? Would she have been forced to grow up too fast?

She didn't want Danny to be her dad. She wanted her father to be her dad.

"Jazz?"

She jumped, hand shooting across the page, pen ripping the paper in half, tearing through her carefully penned memories and the photocopied photograph taped in the corner.

"Oh, shit, sorry. Was that important?" Spike asked. He held one of the house phones, pressing against his chest.

"Language," Jazz said softly, staring forlornly at the ruined page. The pages beneath were ruined, too, a heavy black line cutting across the first few.

"Weirdo," Spike said. "Anyway, Mom—that's Hannah—wanted me to tell you that social worker is coming on Friday so you can visit your brother."

Muffled noise comes from the phone, and Spike raises to his ear. He listened a moment, nodded, then lowered it again. "And she's sorry they can't take you sooner, but they work during visitor hours, and they don't want you walking through the city on your own," he recited.

"Why not?" Jazz asked.

Spike looked at her funny, cocking his head. "Because it isn't safe."

"Oh." Jazz would be perfectly fine with going on her own. She needed to see Danny with her own eyes, to make sure he was okay. The nurse said he was, but she had to see it for herself. She had to be certain.

Her second day with the Millers, she couldn't bring herself to work on her memoirs again, so she occupied herself with the collection of books in their office. A lot of it was literature, some classic, some poetry, some plays. Jazz gravitated toward the single shelf of textbooks, particularly the psychology. She didn't know much about the field, but something about understanding brains and how they worked fascinated her.

She stayed holed up in the office all day.

Her third day with the Millers was Friday. She waited for Jamila to pick her up and take her to the hospital. Jamila never showed up.

Her fourth day, she learned about the monster that attacked the mall, sending everyone into a panic. It glowed and couldn't be hurt by anything anyone threw at them, until Maddie and Jack showed up with the volatile weapons they made Danny clean and put the monster—ghost—down. All Jazz cared about was why no one was with Danny in case he woke up.

Her fifth day, Jazz thought, and thought, and didn't stop thinking until she couldn't stop thinking about why her parents didn't seem to care as much as they were supposed to.

On the sixth day, Jamila said she could finally see Danny tomorrow. For the first time in a week, it felt like everything would be alright.

—

Spike panics. Jazz knows he panics because he grabs her wrist and makes a break for it before the agent even reaches them.

"Spike!" Jazz stumbles, almost tripping, and tries to resist. Glancing over her shoulder, she sees the agent giving chase. Until Tucker surges after him and tackles his legs. They both go down.

Spike yanks on her arm, forcing Jazz to run faster, and drags her around the corner of the block.

"What was that?" Jazz asks. She grabs her hair. "Tucker's going to get arrested!"

"So were we! You heard what the emergency broadcast said. You know how many laws we're breaking being 'out of our vehicle?'" Spike shouts back. "All of them!"

"They aren't real laws!" And they aren't. They're a guideline of what to do in ghostly emergencies, and the G.I.W. treat every ghost like an emergency. Although, considering the destruction they had just run from, this was a real emergency.

"Funny, doesn't stop them from arresting people!"

Jazz rips her hand out of Spike's grip. "I can't leave them behind!"

Spike stops and turns. His scowl is softer, and he bites his lip, looking at Jazz with worry.

She glares back at him, refusing to move. "I can't."

"This isn't about Tucker, is it?" he asks. He doesn't need Jazz to answer. She doesn't need to give him one. He sighs, pressing a hand to his cheek, one finger spinning his eyebrow ring. After a long moment, he says, "Fine."

Jazz feels a wave of relief that has her grinning.

"Don't expect me to tackle a government agent for you, though. That's all Foley."

They turn back around, sprinting down the street. Overhead, Phantom and Skulker are still battling it out. Skulker's lagging, the plating of his suit warped and melted. The missing arm definitely doesn't help. But Phantom's not looking so good either. A few lucky shots from Skulker's plethora of hidden guns had left them burnt and bleeding.

Can it really be called bleeding? Ectoplasm, rather than blood, seeps out of Phantom's wounds, indistinguishable from the substance dripping from his mask. A wound on their torso slows them down the most, a large scorch mark stretching from the bottom of their ribcage, across their stomach, to their hip on the other side of their body.

Every time it looks like they're about to slow down, the collar on their neck sparks. Phantom hisses in pain each time and dives back into the hunt with renewed vigour.

Jazz forces herself to look away when Spike grabs her shoulder and pushes her behind the same crumpled car Skulker destroyed earlier. Pressing a finger to his lips, he motions her forward, and together they peer around the bumper and look down the street.

The agent has Tucker pinned on a nearby car. Straining her ears, Jazz can just barely hear what he's saying over the grunts and snarls of the fighting ghosts. "You're under arrest for assaulting a G.I.W. agent and interfering with a government operation."

"Come on, Mr. K, that's not cool," Tucker says.

"Agent K. And neither was assaulting me. G.I.W. operations are a matter of national security."

"It's a green blob in a metal suit, fucking chill!"

Agent K pulls out a pair of cuffs and slaps them on Tucker's wrists, keeping him pinned with a hand on his back. Agent K's focus drifts up toward the fight and scowls. Seeing his hesitance, Jazz realizes Agent K isn't going to move Tucker until the fight is done. Too much debris is flying everywhere and it's safer behind the cars than anywhere else. Agent O seems to have found cover, too, behind the overturned truck. He stands there with his gun lowered, hand poised over his watch.

Jazz looks back to Tucker. Neither he nor Agent K has noticed her and Spike yet. "Okay," she says. "I know what to do."

"No," Spike says.

"I haven't said anything yet."

"No. We're not tackling a G.I.W. agent."

Jazz gives him a pleading look, with wide eyes and a small pout.

"No, we're not tackling him!"

Jazz doesn't give him much of a choice. She charges, dashing out from behind the car.

"Son of a biiitch!" Spike shouts, sprinting past her. Agent K hears Spike and turns to face him, but none of his government training could prepare him for the pure shock value of a sickly looking punk goth kid charging at him at full speed. Spike barrels into the agent's chest, throwing him off Tucker and down to the sidewalk.

Jazz is about to throw herself on top of the pile when a loud crash and a panicked cry stops her.

"No, Phantom, no! It's me! Remember? Stop!"

She jerks back at the sound of Skulker's steadily rising voice and peeks over the car Tucker had been pinned against. Skulker lies on the ground in the middle of the road, Phantom hovering far above him. But something's off. Specifically, Skulker's head. It lies a foot away from his body, the eyes dull and expression completely blank.

"Please!"

Jazz's gaze snaps up to Phantom. In his hands, he holds something small and green, and Tucker's words come floating back to her: a blob in a metal suit. Phantom holds Skulker's real form inches from their face, clutched tightly in their hands.

"No!" Jazz cries, jumping out into the street. Everyone freezes, their heads swivelling toward her, and she falters.

"Jazz, what are you doing?" Tucker hisses.

She doesn't know. Phantom is a dangerous, powerful ghost. There's nothing she can actually do to make him stop. There's no real reason she should even try to stop him. In Amity Park, ghosts are like rabid wild animals. They come in, destroy stuff, and then they get put down. Jazz has never met someone who felt sorry for the ghosts.

But she had also never really met a ghost before. And she had never heard one scream and beg for its life as it tries to help the very thing that is going to kill it. She can't watch that. She can't just stand here and witness Phantom squeezing the life—the afterlife—out of this little ghost that says he wants to help.

Whoever this Skulker is, she can't let that happen.

Whoever Jazz suspects Phantom might be, she can't let them do it.

She can't tell if Phantom is looking at her, but she thinks they are. Even as Skulker wriggles and squirms, popping out of their grip, Phantom stays focused on her. A small smile touches Jazz's lips. In the corner of her eye, Skulker flies down to his suit, free to escape.

Jazz takes a step forward. A burly arm loops around her waist and hoists her off her feet, dragging her back.

"Hey! Stop!" Jazz squirms, feet kicking in the air, and throws her head back. She hits Agent K's chin, but he doesn't falter.

"Hey, calm down! It's not safe out here!" Agent K says, his arm tightening around her midsection.

Jazz gasps. "Let me go! You're hurting me!"

Agent K's hold immediately loosens. "Sorry. But what's with you kids, tackling people trying to help you?"

"Wait, what?" Jazz asks, confused.

Suddenly, white fills her vision. Jazz feels a burning, crackling heat, then she's falling, and Agent K her screams. She rolls on the ground, pushing herself up on her hands and knees, and looks over her shoulder.

Phantom has Agent K pinned against a convenience store window, arms pressed against his throat. Their body blurs as they move, leaning in closer. The glass cracks. With a great heave, the window shatters. Phantom sends Agent K flying through the store, flipping over rows of shelves. He crashes into a row of coolers at the back and falls to the floor.

Phantom spins around and faces Jazz. Up close, they look even more feral, ectoplasm dripping like saliva through a series of jagged slots in their mask. The lenses of their goggles are cracked, but the eyes behind them glow so brightly it hurts to look right at them.

Phantom's collar sizzles and they cry out as the shock courses through them. Turning away from Jazz, they lock onto Agent O and howls. Jazz blinks and Phantom is all the way cross the street, roaring in Agent O's face, immersing him in a haze of ectoplasm.

Agent O drops to the ground, clutching their throat.

"No," Jazz whispers, horrified.

Phantom turns back to her. They stumble forward. Jazz takes a step back. As if that's some signal, Phantom lunges toward her. Jazz screams and drops to the ground, crawling toward the sidewalk.

"Phantom, stand down!" Agent K shouts as he clambers out of the broken shop window His demand is met with a roar of ectoplasm that soars right over Jazz. She screams again, folding her arms over her head, but can't do anything against the blistering heat.

Jazz crawls faster, scrambling to her feet as soon as she's able. She heads for Tucker and Spike, both of them wearing cuffs now, but Phantom cuts in front of her. Backpedalling fast, her arms flail as she pivots and runs the other way.

A hazy mist surrounds Jazz and she shudders, a tingling chill passing through her. Phantom reforms in front of her, too close for her for her to stop in time. A green blast soaring over her shoulder saves her. It bursts against Phantom's chest and throws them back.

"Run!" Agent K shouts, training his gun oh Phantom.

Jazz doesn't question she order. She doesn't wait for Phantom to get back. She already knows they will. No matter what Agent K does, Phantom will come after her. She's their prey now.

—

Everything was not alright.

Monday night, Spike once again passed along the message that Jazz would be seeing her brother the next day, a full week after she'd seen him last. This time, Jamila actually showed up, apologizing for Wednesday, citing the chaos at the mall and the havoc it wreaked throughout the city in general. She brought with her the good news that Danny was awake, had been since Friday.

"I'm sorry no one informed you sooner. There were some complications at the hospital," Jamila had said.

Those foreboding words quelled Jazz's excitement but couldn't snuff it out completely. She would finally get to see for herself that Danny was fine. But when she got to the hospital, the nurse said she wasn't allowed to see him.

"Why not?" she asked.

"He's in for tests right now," the nurse said. She turned to Jamila and continued, as if Jazz wasn't there. "We contacted an expert. Apparently, this is something the government's dealt with before. I don't really understand it, but his parents will be seeing him soon, and Jasmine can see him after that."

That was how Jazz ended up in the waiting room, on her own, again. Jamila had gone off to find her parents and speak to them about Danny's situation, whatever that was. Everyone was treating her like she didn't need to know anything, but she was twelve! She was mature, and smart, and she could handle whatever they were keeping from her.

"It's not fair," she muttered.

"Damn right. Although I have no idea what you're actually talking about."

Jazz looked up and saw Tucker claiming the chair next to her. There was no blood on him, and for one wild moment, Jazz realized she expected to see some. It was the first time she'd seen him since the accident, and for some reason, she pictured him frozen in that moment back at the lab, clothes stained red and green.

"Uh, you good?" Tucker asked.

Jazz stared a moment longer, taking in his pale face. "Are you?"

"Ha, you caught me. I don't really like hospitals," Tucker said. He glanced around the room warily and slumped in his chair. "But I heard they were letting you see him today, so I thought. I don't know. Maybe I could sneak in."

"Who told you?"

"Spike."

Jazz blinked in surprise.

"His moms used to babysit me, and my mom watched Spike to return the favour sometimes. When I heard you were with the Millers, I kind of asked him to keep an eye on you for me," Tucker said, smiling sheepishly. "Got to make sure you're alright for Danny."

"Thanks, I guess," Jazz said. She peered closer at Tucker. More than pale, he looked tired, like he hadn't been sleeping, and it made her wonder. "What... what happened? In the lab."

Tucker shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away. "It doesn't really matter."

"I think it does."

"What difference will it make?"

"Because then I'll know."

"That won't—"

"Tucker, please." Jazz wasn't mad. She didn't cry. She didn't beg. She just looked at Tucker, feeling helpless and lost.

"Sam thought it'd be cool to go inside," Tucker muttered.

"Oh." Danny would do anything Sam asked, whether she meant him to or not. Everyone knew it.

"Yeah," Tucker said.

"She hasn't come to see him, has she?"

"She feels guilty."

Jazz didn't know how to respond to that. A small part of her was mad at Sam, but at the same time Jazz knew it wasn't completely her fault.

Silence fell between her and Tucker as she sank into her thoughts. Jazz didn't know how it was with other siblings, but Danny's best friend had always been such a staple in her life that she didn't mind being alone with him. He was almost like a second big brother, although Danny would be the undisputed best.

Tucker stayed with her until Jamila returned. She wore a wary smile and gave Tucker a questioning glance.

"I'm Danny's friend," Tucker said, answering her unasked question.

"I see. I'm sorry, but I've been told only family can see him at this time. His should be seeing him now," Jamila said.

"You're not family."

"Due to the nature of the situation, I am his medical proxy."

It was amazing how Jamila could sum everything up without actually explaining anything useful. Jazz wanted to snap at her, but she held back. After all the thinking she had done about her parents, she was no longer certain how she felt about Jamila. Maybe the woman really did want to help.

"It's fine, Tucker. You can just get Spike to tell you all about my visit," Jazz said.

"Oh, that's cold," Tucker said. He pushed himself up and stretched his arms above his head, then let them flop back down at his sides. "I guess I can leave Danny in your capable hands. Give him hell for scaring us like that."

"That's the plan."

Jazz waited until Tucker was gone before turning to Jamila and motioning for her to lead the way. Soon, all her fretting would be over. She could confirm with her own eyes that Danny wasn't still bleeding out on the floor, and maybe even get one of his comforting smiles. Maybe he would even come with her to stay at the Millers until everything got sorted out with their parents. If it got sorted out.

Before they rounded the corner into Danny's hallway, Jamila took Jazz aside and spoke to her softly.

"Something happened on Friday that the doctors can't really explain," she started. "Your brother appears healthy, but he's... different. And I just want to prepare you for that."

Determined, Jazz nodded.

Jamila looked relieved, her wide brown eyes softening, and she smiled. "Okay. Let's go see your brother."

They turned the corner. Nothing happened. Which made sense, because it was just a hallway, and the door to Danny's room was further down. But Jazz was so tense that the brightly lit hospital hallway felt out of place. A long, foreboding corridor would have been more appropriate.

Hospital staff bustled about. A couple patients were stretching their legs. Some visitors had claimed benches that were interspersed along the hall, none of them too interesting. A woman in a pretty blue dress, a man in a white suit, two teenagers with watery eyes and red noses. Jazz wondered who they were all here for.

They were halfway down the hall when a door burst open and a nurse stuck his head out.

"Security!" he shouted.

"That's not my son!"

Jamila's arm curled around Jazz's shoulders, stopping her in her tracks. The way Jamila's hold on her tightened when a security guard went rushing by told her exactly who's room that was. Her fears were confirmed when Maddie and Jack backed out of the open door, herded toward the security guard by the nurse. Danny's door closed behind them.

Jazz twisted, breaking free of Jamila's grip, and ran toward her parents.

"Mom, what's going on? What's wrong?" she asked.

Maddie turned to Jazz and her face fell, tears welling in her eyes. She was barely holding it together "Oh, honey. Danny's... Danny's gone, sweetie."

"No." That wasn't right. Jamila just said Danny was fine. What could have happened in that short time? She refused to believe it.

"No!" she repeated, louder.

Maddie reached out to her. Jazz ducked under her arm, skipping out of reach. She glanced at Jamila, the nurse, the guard, checking to see if any of them would stop her. None of them moved.

"Stop, Jazz!" Jack shouted, taking a step forward.

The security guard stopped him, getting in Jack's way and holding out his arms. "Sir, I will remove you form the building," the guard said.

"Jasmine, do not go in there," Maddie said in a scolding, motherly tone

Jazz went in. She whipped the door open, spinning around and slamming it shut. There was no lock. A quick peek through the window confirmed the guard was still holding her parents back. Satisfied they weren’t going to barge in and drag her out of there, Jazz turned.

She froze. The person sitting on the bed had a familiar head of messy hair, but it faded to white half-way through. His eyes swirled blue and green, the colours constantly shifting, pushing against each other, battling for dominance. When he raised his hand and waved, his arm blurred, trailed by an afterimage.

Bandages crawl up his right arm, wrapping stiffly around his fingers, and winding all the way up to his shoulder, stopping just before the sleeve of his blue gown. She's only seen it once, but Jazz knows there's a gauze patch on his shoulder under that sleeve. A matching patch is plastered against his neck. Thin, spidery blisters creep along his jaw, but don't go much further than that.

His face is sallow, cheeks sunken, eyes looking bruised. The blood is gone. The green goo is gone.

"Jazz!" There was a slight echo to his voice. He beamed. "About time you got here. I was starting to think you didn't care."

There was no mistaking that smile or that teasing voice. Jazz ran forward and threw her arms around his waist, burying her head against his chest.

"Danny!" Jazz cried out, already tearing up. Because it was Danny. He looked different, and he felt different—cold—but it was him.

"You are not gonna believe what's on the other side of that portal, took a lot of work to get back here–"

"Get back?"

"–but here I am!" Danny threw up his arms, grinning even wider.

Jazz noticed his teeth looked a little sharper. "What happened?" she asked.

"Oh, man, you're not gonna believe it. So, the portal turns on, right? And then everything just goes all." Danny waved his hands around. "Hold on, wait, I had it before. Everything just goes all," he snapped his fingers and electricity crackled down his arm, "like that!"

Jazz jumped away from him, staring at his arm as the electricity fizzled out.

Danny's smile slipped. "Oh. You're scared too, aren't you? Mom and Dad... they didn't take it well either."

Jazz opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, the door banged open. Startled, she whipped around and backed up until her hip bumped the side of Danny's bed. Maddie stood in the doorway, holding a silver and green gun. An ectogun, Jazz recalled. Her parents made them to fight ghosts, if they ever saw one.

"Jazz, get away from it!" Maddie said. It didn't take a genius to connect the dots.

"Mom," Jazz said.

"That's not Danny!"

"That's kind of rude," Danny muttered.

"Mom, what are you doing!" Jazz slid in front of Danny, holding out her arms the same way the security guard had.

The barrel of Maddie's gun dipped as she watched Jazz, disbelief written across her face. It looked like she was going to stop. To Jazz, it looked like Maddie was about to reconsider. Until Jazz felt Danny's hand on her shoulder. Maddie's disbelief was drowned out by a furious snarl fueled by grief and rage.

Everything happened so fast.

Danny shoved Jazz out of the way just before the bang. She tripped into a chair by his bed, smacking her head on the armrest. The world went fuzzy for a moment. There wa a shout, and a thump, and her mother started wearing. A stampede of feet come running.

When Jazz's vision cleared, she saw Maddie on the ground, pinned by the same security guard from before, reaching for her gun. No less than three new guards had Jack pinned out in the hallway. The nurse was speaking frantically into a phone. The man in the white suit tapped the nurse's shoulder, holding out his hand for the phone, jerking his chin toward the room. The nurse relinquished the phone without protest.

Jazz crawled backward, away from the chaos, and almost fell when her hand slipped on something warm and wet. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Danny on the floor, bleeding.

—

Jazz has been afraid many times in her life. When she was little, walking through the house in the dark. When she sat in the backseat of the RV while her father had the wheel. When she sat in the hospital, alone waiting to hear if Danny was alive or dead. When she realized he was gone from her life forever.

None of that compares to how she feels now. Her heart beats against her ribs, moments from bursting out of her chest. Her lungs burn and her throat feels tight and she struggles to breathe. Her senses narrow until all she can see is what's in front of her, all she can hear is Phantom inches behind her, all she can feel is the icy heat they give off, so cold it burns.

Jazz makes the mistake of looking back to check how close Phantom is. Practically nose to nose, the green and blue lenses of his goggles are all she sees. She shrieks and stumbles. Phantom reaches out to catch her, latching on to her hair, yanking her head back. She cries out again, tears springing to her eyes.

Phantom jerks away from her, releasing her hair, and raises their hands to their face. They start moaning. Jazz takes off, the ominous wail building behind her. Clapping her hands over her ears, she tries to shut it out. The distraught cry grows louder and louder until the ground shakes, and windows rattle, and a wave of green energy blasts Jazz off her feet.

She soars through the air, screaming, arms wrapping around her head. She hits the ground hard and curls into a ball. Phantoms wail tears into her, a painfully familiar cry of pain amplified a hundred times over, fueled by the power of ectoplasm.

Her ears ring long after it ends, so loud that she doesn’t even realize Phantom's stopped until she notices the ground isn't shaking anymore. She rolls onto her back and lifts her head. Phantom stumbles toward her, clutching their still-bleeding wounds. Gas pours from their mask, ectoplasm erupting from the slits every time they breathe.

Fear keeps her pinned. The only thing Jazz can do is weep, her heart slowly cracking as Phantom edges closer, vicious and unrelenting, not a single shred of humanity with them.

"Please stop!" Jazz wails. "This isn't you! Just stop. See me! Stop being so stupid!"

Phantom's breath rattles as they loom over her.

Jazz screams, "Danny!"

—

Jazz waited until two a.m. before slipping out of her hospital room. A nurse had given her slippers before final rounds, so she wasn't walking barefoot, but they made a loud slapping noise if she didn't walk carefully enough. She stuck close to the wall, one hand on the plastic rail that stretched down the length of the hallway.

Danny was only one room over, but it would only take a second for a nurse to walk around the corner, see Jazz up and about, and usher her back into her room. She slipped through Danny's door, quiet as possible, and tiptoed over to his bed. There was a new swathe of bandages on his left forearm, to go with his growling collection.

Maddie had missed hitting anything vital, but whatever was in her gun sent Danny into a seizure. The police came and took Jack and Maddie away after that, and Danny's doctor admitted Jazz with a concussion. She was only meant to be there one night, and she didn't want to spend it alone.

Grabbing one of the chairs, she dragged it toward Danny's bed, one inch at a time. It made a high-pitched squeak every time she pulled it forward. Nobody came barging in, despite the loud noise, and soon enough she had the fhair right where she wanted it.

She was about to sit down when Danny opened his eyes.

"You could have just picked it up," he said.

"You were awake! Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because it was funny."

Jazz crossed her arms and turned her back to him.

"Aw, come on, I'm sorry. Turn around."

She did, albeit reluctantly, and found Danny had kicked the covers off and shuffled over to the edge of the bed.

"Come on," he said.

"I'm not eight."

"Congratulations. Come on."

Jazz rolled her eyes and climbed in. Using Danny's arm as a pillow, she settled next to him, just like when they were little and she used to come to him after having a bad dream. They would stare up at the stars on his ceiling while he pointed out constellations to her.

There were no stars to point out now but sitting next to him still brought comfort. Danny was all she ever had, and he was all she would ever need.

"Are we gonna be okay?" she asked.

"Totally." Jazz could hear Danny's smile in his weird, new, echoing voice. "I talked to Jamila earlier. She told me about the Millers."

"Are you coming there too?"

"Yeah. Jamila's already made the arrangements. You and me? We're gonna be okay as long as we're together." Danny wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "You should head back to your room before someone finds you missing. I'll be right here if you need me."

Jazz nodded, sliding out of the bed. Danny gives her one last smile before she left. On the way back to her room, she paused. The hallway wasn't empty anymore. Someone stood at the very end of it, watching her. It was the man in the white suit.

Jazz waited to see if he would do something. He only stared. Breaking their little stand-off first, she lowered her head and slipped through her door, rushing over to her bed. Pulling the covers up over her head, she curled on her side. It didn't take her long to relax, though, Danny's last comforting words echoing in her head. She drifted off with a smile on her face, thinking of how much better things would be from here on out.

When Jazz woke up in the morning, Danny was gone.

—

Phantom's stopped.

Afraid to move, Jazz holds herself perfectly still for a few long seconds, but no attack comes. She opens her eyes and looks up.

Phantom looms over her, seething. Ectoplasm drips from their mask like toxic drool. Their breathing is ragged, shoulders rising and falling with each pant. They don't even have the strength to holds his arms up so the cuffs don't strain his elbows. Their whole body shakes.

A glob ectoplasm drops to the ground by Jazz's foot, a few specks splashing against her ankle. It burns. She flinches, scrambling back, but Phantom doesn't move. Warily, she pushes herself up onto her knees. When Phantom doesn't react, she gets on her feet, slowly rising out of a crouch. Phantom just stands there.

She should be running. She should take advantage of this reprieve and whatever caused it and get the hell out of there. Over Phantom's shoulder, she spies Spike, Tucker, and Agent K running down the street. They're waving their arms and yelling, probably telling her to get away while she can.

She moves closer to Phantom. Reaching out, she grabs their hood and pulls it down. Their hair is mostly white, but at the roots, there's the thinnest line of black. Now that she's close, she sees how the mask digs into his cheeks and goes for that next. It probably hurts.

It takes her a moment to find the locking mechanism. It rests at the nape of their neck, a simple latch without a key. Cruelly simplistic. She has to get in close to reach up and around their head, and Phantom flinches when her arms circle them.

She freezes, expecting them to attack, or leap away, but they don't. She flicks the latch. The mask doesn't fall away as she though it would, but it's looser now. Carefully, she pries the mask open and pulls it off. It resists, for a moment, so stuck to Phantom's face, but eventually gives. She tosses it away as soon as it's off and can barely hold in her gasp.

A deep imprint cuts across Phantom's cheeks and nose. Ectoplasm smears the lower half of Phantom's face, blisters surrounding their lips. She didn't think a ghost's own ectoplasm could hurt them but looking at how thin the slots in the mask are, it probably takes a lot of pressure to push it all out.

Jazz touches Phantom's cheek, her thumb tracing their jaw, wiping away some of the ectoplasm to reveal a series of thin red lines branching across their skin.

Phantom's shaking has stopped, but Jazz's hands tremble as she reaches for their goggles. She pushes them up to their forehead. The eyes that stare back at her are wild, pupils stretched wide. They look right through her, uncomprehending, but she recognizes them instantly. One has a little more green, the other more blue, but both colours swirl in each iris.

Jazz squeezes her eyes shut. She can't hold back her tears any longer, pressing her head against Phantom's shoulder. She wraps her arms around her brother's neck and sobs.

#phic phight #phic phight 2020 #danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #phanfic #jazz fenton #ageswap au #tumblroneshots

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moviemunchies · 3 years ago

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It was very popular in the fandom to hate these movies, and despite Rick Riordan’s supposed ambivalence upon the first film’s release, he’s come out fairly strongly in recent years about how much he hates these movies. Which was a weird turnabout, if you ask me.

Also I don’t think these movies are that bad. If anything, they are, at worst, mediocre.

So.

We’re talking about the business of adaptation, so let’s take it from the top: Percy Jackson and the Olympians is a five-book series by Rick Riordan aimed at middle school kids about a preteen who discovers that he’s a demigod in modern day America, because the Greek gods move around based on the ‘heart of Western Civilization’ or whichever country is the dominant power in the West. Or something. The series in its earlier installments is pretty reminiscent of the Harry Potter series, just with demigods instead of wizards, and a camp instead of Hogwarts, and cabins instead of houses, and all of that jazz.

[Although I will fight people who argue that Annabeth is just a copied and pasted Hermione. Their similarities are… they are female main characters that are smart. Yeah, I see the influence, but from the get-go she’s her own character with a different role in the story.]

By the third book in the series I hold that it really stuck out as a more original work, distinct from the obvious influence of Harry Potter. The series is also really, really good? What makes it stick out as one of the best children’s book serieses that I’ve ever seen is that it applies the archetypes of Greek mythology to modern day to show how these archetypes still exist in modern day. Ares manifesting as a biker isn’t for a cheap gag--although it is amusing--it’s to show that the kind of personality he displayed in mythology still fits in a stereotype that exists in American culture today. It’s a notably deep and precise take on mythology that many other authors, of children’s and adult’s fiction, really don’t get, and I’d argue that even Riordan himself drops the ball

The movie… does not do this. The Greek gods and places are in modern day America for reasons that are never actually explained, and as far as we know they just do their own thing because they feel like it. In fact many things that are clear in the book aren’t explained in the movie. And I get that an adaptation can’t include everything, especially lengthy exposition, but it probably only would have taken a couple of lines to say something like, “The Big Three made an oath to not sire anymore demigod children because they were too powerful.”

So what you get instead of a well-thought-out movie starring preteens about how ancient archetypes are still part of the culture of the United States, we get a movie of attempted witty one-liners that relies on fairly standard pop cultural depictions of Greek mythology rather. Look, I said this movie wasn’t that bad, but it sure as heck isn’t smart. In fact, it’s pretty dumb. The bulk of the movie is them trying to find these three pearls to use to escape the Underworld, one for each of them, when the three of them are planning a rescue mission for a fourth. And then get surprised that they have to make a choice on who to leave behind.

Also something I loved about the book was the way that Hades is played closer to the myths rather than the supervillain that popular culture tends to make him? An interpretation that this movie just...ignores and makes him appear as a Balrog-like demon because that’s what audiences expect, right?

In short, the books have wit, cleverness, and a deep understanding of the source material underneath its middle school humor and drama, and the movie completely lacks that. The characters aren’t very smart, the Plot isn’t that tight, and the jokes are a lot more in your face. I think it’s pretty obvious that this movie was an attempt to try to make the story aimed at teenagers rather than the book’s audience of middle-schoolers--with the more in-your-face pop culture references, the aged up characters, and the sense of humor skewing a bit older than what Riordan was going for.

[The in-your-face pop culture references, sadly, is something that Riordan ended up falling back on much more heavily in his later books. But that’s another essay.]

Mind you, this movie is also miles ahead of the older version of the script that leaked on the Internet. The only saving grace of that one is that Kronos actually gets hinted at as a future Big Bad. Much of that script made it into the finished movie, but many of the worst bits, like the suggestion that Poseidon and Athena’s rivalry is due to unresolved sexual tension, were excised in the final product. And thank goodness for that.

If you’re a hardcore fan of the book, you probably will not like this movie. Most fans did not. I didn’t mind because I was at the point in my life where I never had much expectation for book-to-movie adaptations. If you haven’t read the books, or you can detach yourself from expecting a good adaptation, you’ll probably think it’s an enjoyable but not very memorable movie.

#The Lightning Thief #PJO #Movie Munchies #Percy Jackson

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spainkitty · 4 years ago

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hello! when you get this ask, list 5 things that make you happy and pass this on to the last 10 people that reblogged/liked something on your blog. : )

Ah! This is cute~ I haven't had one of these in literal years! Thanks, Jazz😆

1. Books. I know sooo original. but books, especially fantasy, will always make me happy.

2. *Current love: Dinluke. Absolutely obsessed with Din Djarin x Luke Skywalker rn. Hyperfixation ftw (also Pedro Pascal. he just lights up my life, what a good DaddyTM)

3. Describing my DND sessions with my bestie @ketolic She gets suitably excited for all the dumb shit we do.🤣🤣

4. When my cat lays on my lap. She doesn't like being held very much, and the other cat is her own kitten. So baby cat goes to mama cat for affection. but now, after THREE LONG YEARS, mama cat comes to me and lays claim to my lap. She lays claim so hard that I tried to get up to answer the door and she just hung on like my legs were a ride in the amusement park. Cat: like, b*tch, stop moving IM COMFORTABLE. Me: *sobbing*imloveyou but my dinner is at the door

5. Tricking my middle schoolers into thinking there's a test and watching the panic fill their eyes. Then their utter exasperation when I cackle.

5b. My first graders gifting me with little bits of precious trash, like tiny Chinese birds. Yes, thank you, Small Child, I do love these stick-on "gems" and leftover colored feathers from art class. Thank you, Small Bird Child.

#kitty babbles #jazzforthecaptain #askbox meme #thank you for the fun!#lol

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captainkippen · 5 years ago

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prompt tiiiimeeee shovel talk shovel talk shovel talk i need the ghc+jonah talking to tj abt being nice to cy and rOLE REVERSAL the basketball boys telling cyrus what a softie tj actually is and to be nice to him 🥺

Four Times TJ Got Given The Shovel Talk + The One Time Cyrus Did Instead

Buffy and Jonah

In hindsight, TJ probably should have seen it coming the first time. It had been three weeks since he summoned up the courage to tell Cyrus how he felt at Andi’s party (the most terrifying moment of his life) and all their friends had been suspiciously quiet about it. At first he’d assumed maybe Cyrus hadn’t gotten around to telling them yet, even though that seemed unlikely in the face of his love for gossip, and when it became apparent that they did know he just assumed they didn’t care enough to bother him about it.

Oh, how wrong he was.

Jonah and Buffy cornered him in the music store one afternoon, waiting until Cyrus was sufficiently distracted picking up the box of guitar picks he’d sent clattering to the ground by accident just a few moments before.

“He really likes you, you know that right?” Buffy asked, pretending to peruse a box of records. “Cyrus, I mean.”

Jonah loomed behind her looking like he didn’t quite know what he was doing there, just shrugging in response when TJ shot him a bemused look.

“Yeah. I got that,” Said TJ. “I like him too.”

“Good.”

After a moment of silence, TJ assumed it was safe to turn back to the Back In Black vinyl he’d been looking at. He’d only just flipped it over when Buffy cleared her throat again, and forced himself to hold back a sigh.

“If you hurt him, nobody will ever find your body once I’m through with you.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I’m serious.”

“She is,” Jonah agreed firmly.

“Yeah, I got that too,” TJ said. “Look, I’m not going to hurt him. I like him, like I said. I don’t know why he’s with me - you and I both know he could do better, but he is with me. And I’m not gonna risk screwing that up for anything.”

Buffy rocked back on her heels, evaluating him carefully in a way that left him feeling like he’d just been x-rayed with her eyes. It was unsettling. Finally, she gave a satisfied nod and looked back to the boxes.

“Do you think my mom would like any of these?”

TJ grinned and began listing recommendations.

Andi

The second time, he felt totally justified in being blindsided. He was new to this dating thing, but TJ was pretty sure the shovel talk was meant to be a one time thing. Apparently Cyrus’ friends hadn’t got the memo.

“Cyrus is a really good person,” Andi said, making TJ jump as he closed the refrigerator door to find her lurking behind it.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” He replied, trying to calm his rocketing pulse.

She was sneaky -- too sneaky. He hadn’t even heard her coming. It was a Saturday, one that they should have been spending out having a frisbee game in the park, but the rain had come in heavy the night before and washed that idea away fast. Instead they had settled for a ping-pong tournament at Cyrus’ house. The whole group was there, which TJ already found intimidating enough. He wanted them all to like him. Thankfully, they all seemed to be just as competitive at the game as he was and he’d felt himself slipping into place alongside them all just before he’d slipped out to grab a soda. It was nice, that feeling of camaraderie. Nice to have friends whose competition was more teasing and fun than built on impressing others like Reed and Kira’s always had been.

Andi looked unimpressed. “I could do worse than give you a heart attack, but I won’t. As long as you don’t hurt him. If you make him cry I will destroy you.”

His eyes widened involuntarily. Andi wasn’t particularly big or threatening and she’d never had the same feistiness that Buffy had, but her tone meant business. He believed she could destroy him if she wanted to. Her parents would probably help -- they loved Cyrus almost as much as they loved their daughter.

“Okay,” he said, unsure of what else to do.

It was a little frightening how quickly her face went from deadly serious to sunshine and rainbows.

“Cool, can you grab me a Dr Pepper? It’s way too hot downstairs.”

Amber

The third time was unexpected because TJ hadn’t even realised that Cyrus knew Amber, let alone was friends with her.

Amber and TJ had floated in and out of one another’s peripheries for most of their school careers - friendship circles overlapping and all that jazz. He didn’t know her well, but they’d talked a few times. She seemed cool, if a bit intense. He’d never thought of her as scary before. Well, not until now.

“So you’re dating Cyrus,” she said, sitting down across from him as he waited for Cyrus at The Spoon. They had a full day of stuff planned starting with Baby Taters and ending with the movies. He’d been looking forward to it all week.

“Uh…” Was all he could say in response, but that didn’t seem to matter.

“I don��t really get why,” Amber continued on like a steamroller. “‘Cause he’s a giant dork and everyone knows you’re like… kind of a dick. Completely opposite ends of the spectrum, but even though he’s a dork, he’s really cool. And he was nice to me even though I was kind of a dick too, and he had no reason to be. So if you’re mean to him I will kick you in the balls so hard you have to get surgery. Okay?”

TJ just nodded, still trying to process what was happening.

“Awesome,” Amber said brightly, standing up with a smile as if she hadn’t just threatened him with physical violence. “So can I get you anything to eat?”

“...Baby Taters?”

She tapped her notepad. “Coming right up.”

How many times was this going to happen? Surely there weren’t any friends left to threaten him, he thought to himself. But then the little bell over the door tinkled and Cyrus walked in, and TJ forgot about everything other than his smile.

Marty

It was going to happen at least four times, apparently. TJ was getting sort of tired of the shovel talk now. It had been funny at first, but it was getting old.

“Look, I get it, okay?” He huffed despairingly at Marty. “I’m not good enough for him, you’ll beat me up if I hurt him, yadda yadda yadda.”

They were in the middle of a pickup game of basketball in the park -- he’d been pleasantly surprised when Marty invited him along. They hadn’t spoken often, and usually when they did it was in a group of other people, but when they’d been at the movies last week Marty had brought up that they needed another player and asked TJ to join without even missing a beat. It had given him a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest (not that he’d admit that to anybody out loud), and Cyrus had smiled so brightly about it that TJ was sure he hadn’t known Marty was going to ask either.

“No dude, that’s not what I was gonna say,” Marty laughed as he stole the ball back from TJ. “I don’t think you’re not good enough for him. Jonah told us how you apologised to him and stuff, and you guys are always together. You obviously really like each other. He talks about you like all the time.”

Oh. Well, that was sort of nice he guessed. At least someone didn’t think he was a terrible choice of boyfriend for Cyrus.

“I was just gonna say be nice to him, okay? ‘Cause I think Buffy might break your face if you don’t, and it would suck to be down a player again.”

TJ snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

Marty grinned. “Sick. Hey, you wanna get milkshakes after this?”

And if that was the conversation that kicked off a life-long friendship between the two of them? Well, that was nobody’s business but their own.

The Basketball Team

The terrifying thing about jocks, Cyrus thought, was that they travelled in packs. It didn’t seem to matter where you went in the world, if there was one athlete lurking about, then ten more were sure to follow. It was intimidating. Especially when they decided to focus their full scrutiny on you. They had a habit of surrounding you when you least expected it.

This is what happened about a month into the new school year. It had been going alright so far. Better, at least, than Cyrus had thought the first few weeks of freshman year was going to go. It was nerve racking; it didn’t matter that he was one of them now, high schoolers would always be terrifying. Considering this, he felt justified in saying it was only natural that he’d drop his books and let out a little shriek after turning around from his locker to find half of the basketball team around him.

“I don’t have any money!” He said, shielding his face. It was all very cliche.

One of the boys laughed, but it was not a cruel laugh.

“Relax bro, we’re not trying to mug you. We just wanted a chat.”

Slowly, Cyrus lowered his arms. The guy seemed genuine, in fact Cyrus even recognised him. He wasn’t sure of his name, but he’d seen him hanging around the hallways with TJ some mornings before class. He might’ve even said hi to him at some point, who knew?

“Um, okay?”

“TJ says you guys are together.”

Oh God.

“Yes?”

“Cool. We just wanted to say we’ve got your back, just so you know. If anybody gives you any trouble you should let us know and we’ll handle it.”

The boys nodded collectively. Cyrus wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

“That said,” The boy continued, leaning in dangerously. “If you hurt TJ we will fuck you up. Got it?”

“Got it,” Cyrus said weakly.

The boy leaned back again and beamed, then bent down and picked up Cyrus’ textbook for him and handed it back with a jolly pat to his shoulder. “Cool. We’re gonna go get some food at The Spoon after class. You wanna come?”

Together

When Cyrus told TJ about it later, TJ laughed so hard he got a stitch. When he’d finally recovered and sat up, he tangled their fingers together and leaned in to give Cyrus a soft kiss on the forehead.

“I’m really happy when I’m with you,” he said.

Cyrus leaned his head back on his shoulder and smiled a blissful smile. “Me too.”

And just like that, they knew they would never hurt one another.

#tyrus #andi mack #my writing #tj kippen #cyrus goodman #Anonymous

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dwtspd · 6 years ago

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DWTS 27 Week 5 - Disney Night!

This is always a good one production wise.

Oh my god Jordan is singing!!! For a moment I thought I accidentally played DWTSJr instead of regular DWTS.

Alexis and Alan - Pocahontas Foxtrot Nice dance, Alexis’ softness was a plus here. Some parts of the dance looked a little frantic but I think it is more the music. Not the couple I’d peg for a showmance, but now that you think about it they are the only ones they can use to push such a storyline. Wish they wouldn’t just keep talking about Pocahontas as a romance story though, it wasn’t the most sensitive. 10-9-10 T29 hmmm, this didn’t feel like tens though. I would have given solid nines.

Juan Pablo and Cheryl - Beauty and the Beast Viennese Waltz Finally, I’ve been waiting for someone to use this song for this style. Juan Pablo looks the part. Man, his drawings are good. That was good, except when they were on the table. Maybe it felt unstable or Juan Pablo was scared of falling off, but he suddenly seemed very cautious. Then they finally got down and the dance got back into full swing. Juan Pablo kept on time and he managed to make his feet look decently pointed in those boots. 10-9-10 T29 really Len? Just because they didn’t do a fleckle (freckle?) on the table??

Demarcus and Lindsay - Hercules Charleston Uhhh I dunno why the judges are playing this up. It wasn’t terrible, but it was a little rough. Those swivel feet at the start weren’t convincing, but once they got off the steps, Demarcus kept on time and never missed a step, which is even harder given his size and the length of his legs. I almost didn’t recognise Lindsay. His kicks could have been sharper. OH MY GOD THE DOUBLE WINDMILL LIFTS ARE BACK. AND THERE ARE DOUBLE OF THEM. 9-8-9 T26 I would give straight 8s.

Evanna and Keo - Tangled Jazz This was gooooood choreography from Keo. Musicality was good. Evanna and Keo were so in sync and all the transitions were seamless. I get what Len means that it wasn’t “spectacular”, like it was just simple and sweet but no wow factor. I think simple and sweet suits Evanna, and the Rapunzel theme though. 8-8-8 T24 WTF...this deserved at least nines.

Joe and Jenna - Ralph Breaks the Internet Jive Ooh this is a nice song. So, Joe. I mean, he actually danced this time. Not that the standard left by last week was very high. He went off time so many times. It was also a lot of Jenna dancing around Joe (not as bad as some other dances we’ve seen though). I admire Jenna for making Joe MOVE, but it looked more like a high school dance that wanted to look a little jivey than an actual jive. And Joe was the many random high schoolers who just couldn’t get on the dance. 6-5-6 T17

Not entirely sure what to make of the upcoming Nutcracker movie, but the song Fall on Me was nice.

Mary Lou and Sasha - Mulan Contemporary This dance was weird. Like, Mary Lou did okay, but the choreography and the movement didn’t always fit the feel of the song. Sasha my dude, I love you and your tumbling, but a punch tuck somersault isn’t really a contemporary thing... Mary Lou hit a couple of bumps during her transitions and NO LEN that was NOT fluid. At least she didn’t look as clunky as last week. But I dunno why they are trying to hype her up so much. 9-8-8 T25 Not a nine for me.

John and Emma - Jungle Book Quickstep Whoa it was impressive how light John looked on his feet. He feel slightly behind time several times, but he completed every move. For all his fears, I thought John looked better during the fast parts, and the slow parts exposed him a little as he lost his frame a little. His best dance yet! 8-8-8 T24

Bobby and Sharna - Little Mermaid Waltz Good work, Bobby. He didn’t let his missteps faze him. He lost his posture from time to time, but it was a very good effort, no gimmicks or funny improv. Bobby is a wild guy, but he knows when to tone down while stepping up. 7-7-7 T21 I think he could have gotten one eight. Just one.

Milo and Witney - Incredibles Quickstep I realised that if Witney and Milo swapped hair colors, they would be perfect for Violet and Dash. Milo FINALLY gets a good spot. Music was a tad weird but Witney MADE IT WORK. For a moment I thought they would make it through that middle break without breaking hold. Besides a couple of bars where Milo looked a little too jumpy, he was very smooth and very clean. Great content! 9-8-10 T27 Bruno’s face gave it away haha.

Jeopardy: Demarcus and Alexis

No one eliminated in the spirit of Disney. Last week’s votes and this week’s scores will carry over to next week, which is HALLOWEEN WEEK. You know what this means? SASHA’S PRANK VIDEOS.

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thewaitisogre · 6 years ago

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WEEK 5 RECAP: Disney Night October 22, 2018

And we have arrived to the two-hour Walt Disney World infomercial that is Disney night. Every dance went as such. This week stars were asked to pour their troubles onto their pros and the cure always being a trip to Walt Disney World. After copious B-Roll of the couple riding the attraction they were asked to promote, a vague lesson is learned, like don’t sweat the small stuff, and the lesson is expressed in the dance. Some couples were not taken to Walt Disney World because they’re old, I assume. Tonight’s musical guests were Andrea Bocelli with his hunky son Matteo Bocelli and Jordan Fisher featuring the Juniors pros because they need to pad out these two hours with something. In between dances we were treated to commercial bumpers featuring the stars interacting with CGI Disney characters and it reminded me of that Grum sketch from “Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job!”

Dances

Alexis | foxtrot | 10 9 10

A feelsy foxtrot to “Just Around The Riverbend” from Pocahontas. But do Alexis’ dance skills even matter anymore? In the package Alexis went on about their infomercial date at Disney and a producer asked Alexis if she is developing feelings for Alan, ensuing in Alexis getting all flustered like a pre-schooler. Every season has that couple you ship and this season it’s been Alexis and Alan from the start. As long as they keep giving us plot we will keep voting for them.

Juan Pablo | Viennese waltz | 10 9 10

Juan Pablo executed a Viennese waltz very well. It was fast paced, there was some table two-step, and even fight choreography. I was impressed. I complained in the past about not knowing who he is and learning he used to draw helped us get to know him better.

Demarcus | charleston | 9 8 9

Demarcus and Lindsay had it rough this week. First, they didn’t get to go to Disney and then Lindsay’s shoe strap broke at the start of the dance. My favorite parts were Lindsay’s no fucks given attitude in those lifts and her auburn wig. I would’ve loved that charleston to look a little more wild.

Evanna | Jazz | 8 8 8

Are Evanna and Keo hitting a slump? At this point in the competition I expected Evanna to make that breakthrough in her story line. The whole story about her wanting redemption for being rejected from dance schools hasn’t been mentioned in weeks. Instead we are getting packages where Evanna and Keo mope about their scores. Evanna is a good dancer, but we need more to be on board with her.

Joe | jive | 6 5 6

Joe and Jenna’s package is all about justifying how much Joe deserves to be in a competition because he is trying so hard and this competition is about trying! “Anything I do I want to be taken seriously,” says Joe in the package after wetting himself under a shower head to “I’m Too Sexy” by Right Said Fred. Joe should get real and confess that Tinashe was more deserving and that he’s lucky to be here. At least I would appreciate his honesty.

Mary Lou | contemporary | 9 8 8

Mary Lou continues to strip her insecurities by sharing her story. She is obviously given “Reflection” from Mulan. The dance culminated in tears and it’s exactly what my soul needed after Joe’s dance.

John | quickstep | 8 8 8

John is given “I Want To Be Like You” from The Jungle Book, which prompts John to share a story about how when he was little his Jungle Book record got bent in the sun. I’m sure that connection was totally accidental! I’ve noticed everyone had a connection to the song they danced to except for Joe because Joe is the middle child of the competition so he gets the scraps.

Bobby | waltz | 7 7 7

Bobby’s partner Sharna chose “Part Of Your World” from The Little Mermaid because she has never had the chance to dance to it until now. I don’t mind the focus being shifted to Sharna and it’s good strategy. Bobby is dangling Sharna in front of us like a baby being distracted with car keys and it’s working.

Milo | quickstep | 9 8 10

I forgot how young 17 truly is until Milo and Witney went to Disney and Witney talked about Milo like if he were a sick child on a Make A Wish trip while Milo hugged a man dressed as the dad in The Incredibles.

No Tom Bergeron quip or Len Goodman zinger because family friendly and the magic of Disney and that crap.

In Jeopardy

Demarcus, Alexis

Elimination

No elimination. Yay! Which means there will be a double elimination soon. No!

Observations

Judging by the poster of Jimmy Kimmel holding dollar bills in Demarcus and Lindsay’s rehearsal room in looks like Jimmy has predicted his winners lol

I can’t with all the Disney B-roll. It makes me crave a turkey leg

Watching that oh oh oh Ozempic diabetes medicine commercial is making diabetic

I’m Bruno cackling when Carrie Ann said Joe’s dance was loaded with content

“Joe, IF you’re back next week” Len coming with the shade

Andrea Bocceli sang “I close my eyes and I’m seeing you everywhere.” No wonder he can’t see. He’s doing it wrong.

John gasping for air on the floor after his quickstep like a cat coughing out a hair ball

Click here for more Dancing With The Stars recaps.

#dancing with the stars #recap

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prevdustinhendrsn · 6 years ago

Text

The Palace

the party goes protesting | part 26 of Stories From Summer | 5.1k | AO3

a/n: here’s my contribution to SFS!! I really enjoyed writing this and also reading everyone else’s incredible stories. a lot of ya’ll changed urls so I tried to find the new ones as best I could. huge kudos to @mikeweezers for organizing this whole shebang; thank you Jazz!

June, 1985

“What the hell is this?” Dustin half shouts at Keith, the arcade employee who always seems to have a bag of chips with him.

“They’re tearing it down,” Keith says, his blue arcade shirt replaced with a Night Ranger one.

Max stares in disbelief at the SET FOR REMOVAL sign plastered over the chained door of the Palace Arcade. She’s known the arcade for all of eight months, yet the place was a safe haven for her, somewhere for her to go and zone out when life got to be too much. And if she’s feeling this devastated about it, she can only imagine how the rest of the party feels.

“Yeah, but why?” Lucas asks.

“Mayor Kline decided this ground would be better as a library.”

“But Hawkins already has a library!” Dustin protests.

“Yeah, and what about us?!” Mike adds. “We’re practically bankrolling this place!”

“Sorry, loser. The demolition is in a couple days - nothing I can do.” With that, Keith walks off, leaving the six of them staring dismayed at their second home.

“Shithead!” Dustin bellows after him.

“Unbelievable,” Max says, scuffing at the grass with her boot.

“Unbelievable,” Eleven agrees. Max glances sideways at her, wondering if she actually knows what the word means. Max is sure she does (she isn’t stupid) but lately she had taken to imitating some of the things Max said or did in an effort to adjust and be a normal teenager. It doesn’t bother Max as much as she thought it would.

“We can’t just let it close,” Will says.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Max drawls.

“What do we do, then?” Lucas asks.

They stand in silence until an idea slowly starts to form in Max’s mind.

“In California, in Bellflower a couple years ago �� they were going to close the pool,” she starts. A smile crosses her face as the memory of California and her home resurfaces. “They were going to get rid of it to make room for a car wash. But nobody wanted it to close, so a group of high schoolers literally chained themselves to the fence and stayed there for three days straight.”

“Did they win?” Dustin asks.

“Um – no. But they only had a few people. There’s six of us, and all the middle schoolers will want to help, right?”

Will shrugs. “Maybe. Isn’t this sort of illegal though?”

Mike snorts. “Who cares about illegal, Hopper’s sleeping with Will’s mom so he has to let us do what we want.”

There’s a loud laugh from Dustin and Lucas and a mild complaint from Will, but otherwise they don’t disagree. Max looks at El, who has stayed silent, eyes glued to the clouds in the sky.

“El? You in?” she asks.

El’s head snaps down and she nods fervently like she’s been paying attention all along. “Yes! Yes, I want to help.”

Max looks around at them, grinning, glad to have a purpose. “Looks like we’ve got a plan, guys.”

Preparing everything for their thirty-six-hour stakeout takes several days and more arguments than Max anticipated. Convincing Hopper and Joyce to let El and Will stay out (and chain themselves to the doors of an arcade, no less) is a feat that Max feels rather proud of having accomplished. Sure, it takes some coercion and maybe a white lie or two about how Steve, a responsible adult, is definitely, totally going to be there the whole time, but they get through eventually.

“Okay, now we have to get the chains,” Mike says as the party huddles around the table in his swelteringly hot basement on the second day of their planning. “And someone needs to tell Steve to either stay with us or stay away from Joyce and the Chief.”

“We might want some food, too,” Max says. “Maybe some sleeping bags?”

“I can’t believe we’re actually going through with this,” Will groans. El shrugs, clearly just happy to be allowed out of the cabin for a whole night.

“And we need the rest of the kids from the middle school,” Lucas adds, ignoring Will’s complaint.

“Alright, Dustin and Will, you guys go round up as many kids as you can find – from the pool, the library, their houses, whatever. Me and El will get the chains and the locks and the snacks and all that. Lucas, Max, you go talk to Steve.” Mike steps back after he finishes doling out instructions and Max has to admire how well he leads their group. “Everyone clear?”

They all voice their assent and slowly filter out the back door, splitting up. Max jumps on her skateboard and easily keeps pace with Lucas on his bike as they head down the street towards Steve’s house.

“This was a good idea, Max,” Lucas says offhandedly. Max smiles, brushing the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. This June could give California a run for its money, she thinks.

“Thanks. I just – I really love that arcade, and I know you guys do too.”

“Yeah...I just don’t know how much Steve loves it.”

“You want to what?” Steve shouts after they hastily explain their plan. Max rolls her eyes impatiently.

“What we’re doing doesn’t really matter. We just need you to avoid Hopper and Joyce on Wednesday and Thursday, okay?”

“You’re seriously going to chain yourselves to a building while they demolish it?”

“They’re not going to demolish it because we’re going to stop them,” Lucas says.

“You guys are insane.”

Max shrugs. “The mayor’s obviously not going to help, so someone’s gotta do it.” Steve stares at them for a long time before finally letting out the heaviest sigh in existence.

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll stay out of Joyce’s and Hopper’s way. But that doesn’t mean I condone this, dumbasses.”

The six of them spend the next day rallying kids. Will draws up a flier and after Jonathan helps them print a hundred copies of it, they divvy the pages up between them and run around town in pairs, handing them out and explaining their cause. By evening they’ve got a good majority of the middle school and even some high schools promising to come. Max collapses into her bed that night completely worn out. She falls asleep instantly, a bit of copier ink still smudged across her cheek.

Max is the last to show up at the Palace on Wednesday afternoon. Everyone else is already there, fifty or so kids scattered across the front porch, slowly getting chained to the support poles and handrails by her friends. She quickly locates Lucas and dashes up to him as he slides two links of chain through a padlock.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.”

“Hey, Zoomer. Don’t worry, we’re almost done. Our protest officially starts in fifteen minutes.” Lucas nods towards the front doors, where Eleven is sat underneath the fat red SET FOR REMOVAL sign. Max gives Lucas a quick kiss on the cheek and heads over to El.

“El! You ready?”

El nods solemnly, her nose a fantastic shade of sunburn red. “Ready.”

Max takes a length of chain from one of the many piles stacked around them and locks her skateboard to a handrail. Then she sits down next to El, and after a few minutes, the rest of the party joins her.

“You sure you guys want to do this?” Will asks nervously, taking a seat next to Mike. On Mike’s other side is El, then Max, then Lucas and Dustin.

“Absolutely,” Dustin says. “We’re going to take that bastard mayor down.”

“But chains?”

“It makes a statement,” Mike says.

“Where did you get all these chains anyways, Mike?” Max asks, eyeing the nearest length suspiciously.

“Nancy. She had loads leftover from ’83.”

Two minutes to noon, Mike gets to his feet and locks all of them up to the handles and beams around the front doors, handing each kid the key to their padlock. Max tries to make herself comfortable, but she’s already accepted that, between the heavy chains wrapped around her torso and legs and the concrete beneath her, it’s not going to be a pleasant thirty-six hours. Thankfully Mike leaves everyone’s arms free, and each kid has a bag of snacks with them. Most of the kids said they’d be going home for the night, but that doesn’t matter much to Max – it’s in the morning when the numbers will matter most.

Mike sits down and, with the help of El and Will, chains himself in. He glances at his watch with a smile. “It’s noon. We’re starting.”

Dustin grins. “This is gonna be worth every minute.”

“I’m having second thoughts,” Dustin moans. Max sighs, almost ready to voice her agreement. She’s never been so sweaty and bored in her life. So far, it’s been about as eventful as watching the news with her mom.

“Guys, come on, it’s only been three hours,” Will says.

“Only three?” Lucas asks in disbelief. They all let out a groan.

They munch on their snacks and pass around the one comic book that Will brought as the time slips by, each minute seemingly longer than the last. They unchain themselves every hour to stretch and use the bathroom in the (wonderfully air-conditioned) gas station across the street. They don’t encounter any police officers, thanks to Hopper, but several mothers throw dirty looks their way - not that it bothers Max (there’s very little that bothers Max). She’d flip them off if she could get away with it.

“I spy…something orange,” Mike says, bringing Max’s attention back to their game of I Spy. Desperate times, desperate measures.

“Is it my hair?” she says.

“Damn. Your turn.”

Max casts her eyes about the scene around them, finally landing on a green car pulling into the parking lot. “I spy something green.”

“Dustin’s booger? God, Dustin, get that out of here,” Lucas groans, pressing into Max’s side in an attempt to evade the product of Dustin’s nose. Dustin winces and digs a tissue out of his backpack.

“Is it that kid’s shirt, Max?” Will asks, pointing to his right. Max shakes her head. Eleven raises a hand and points directly the the car. Max lifts an eyebrow.

“Yeah, actually, it is the car. Your turn, El.”

“No, look.”

Max follows El’s line of sight. Jonathan Byers and Nancy Wheeler have just stepped out of the car and are currently walking towards them, a dozen grocery bags in their hands. She leans across El to swat Mike and Will. “Hey, sibling alert.”

Nancy and Jonathan carefully step between the piles of kids to reach Max and the others. Nancy surveys them with a small smile. “Going strong, I guess?”

“Something like that,” Mike answers distractedly, poking at the plastic sacks. “What’s in the bags?”

Nancy drops them next to him and El helps pass several down the line. “Fuel. I figured Mom didn’t give you anything good.”

Jonathan nudges Will’s shin with his foot. “Mom really letting you stay out all night, huh?”

“Yeah, can you believe it? But why are you in her car?”

“Steve’s working on mine.”

From the far end, Dustin lets out a cheer. Max looks over to see that he’s discovered a massive bucket of Red Vines in one of the bags. “Nancy, you’re my hero,” he says, biting off the top halves of four Vines at once.

Nancy looks at him bemusedly. “Yeah, well, just try not to get killed by a wrecking ball tomorrow, okay?”

“Hey,” Mike says, grabbing Jonathan’s attention. “If you see your mom or Hopper, tell them Steve’s with us.”

Jonathan’s eyebrows furrow. “But he isn’t.”

“Well, they think he is, so just –“

Nancy rolls her eyes and grabs Jonathan’s hand. “We got it. We’ll cover for you. Good luck, guys.”

As they head back to their car and pull away, Max leans forward, gesturing for the Vines bucket. “Dude, share the love.”

The sun finally decides to set, which is both a relief and a misery as it cools the air and brings out the mosquitoes. Some high school girl pulls out a can of bug spray but by the time it makes its rounds to Max, it’s empty. She leans against the door and tilts her head to the deep purple sky. It doesn’t look anything like California sunsets. Here the colors are paler, less intense, more blended together, but it’s still beautiful in its own way, she decides.

She had expected all their buzz to die down with the sun, but if anything it’s the exact opposite. Everyone is ramped up on Twinkies and soda, excited that they’re spending a night outside home. It’s something about the exhilarating feeling of defiance and Max can’t deny she’s enjoying herself. El finds several packages of glowsticks inside one of Nancy’s grocery bags and goes absolutely ballistic when Will cracks one and it lights up bright pink. There’s all different kinds – sticks, necklaces, bracelets – in all different colors and enough for every kid there to have plenty. They start a take two and pass it down chain and by the time Max’s watch reads 11pm, the sky is black and the arcade’s exterior is lit up with kids laughing and talking in glowing neon colors.

“I wish we could get up and dance,” El says wistfully.

“To what music?” Will asks.

They’re all silent for a moment, and then a grin lights up Dustin’s face. “I know a song.”

Max whips around to look at him. “Dustin, I swear to god, if this is another one of your dumbass camp songs –“

“Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer! You take one down, pass it around, ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall!”

The song comes out of Dustin’s mouth at max volume and immediately hooks the rest of the kids in. Max’s protests are only half-hearted – not a minute later the entire lot is singing along at the top of their lungs, swaying in their spots on the concrete, waving their glowsticks in the air, and Lucas is elbowing her, grinning at her, and she finally breaks and bellows along with them.

“Ninety-six bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-six bottles of beer! You take one down, pass it around, ninety-five bottles of beer on the wall! Ninety-five bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-five bottles of beer…”

Max croaks out at thirty-two bottles. Most of the kids die out between forty and twenty; in the end it’s a yelling contest between Mike and a junior boy that Max can’t even see. They both make it to the end and receive an outstanding applause from everyone.

“It’s midnight, is anyone going home?” Will asks once they’ve calmed down and recovered their breath. Max’s high from the combined sugar, glowsticks, and singing has finally worn off – she’s exhausted.

“None of us are, right?” Dustin asks, referring to the party.

“No, but I know some of the other kids wanted to go or weren’t allowed to stay.”

Mike lets out the bathroom-break whistle and there’s a loud jangling as everyone pulls out their keys to unlock themselves. Max gets to her feet and stretches her arms above her head as high as they’ll go.

“Mike, maybe we could forget the chains for the night?” El suggests, examining the deep red grooves left on her legs by the links.

“If I gotta pee, I don’t wanna wake everyone up to do it,” Lucas agrees. Mike shrugs.

“Yeah, sure. We can put them back on in the morning.” He turns to address the rest of the group. “Hey, it’s midnight – whoever wants to go home can now, just make sure you’re here at nine tomorrow!”

“Bathroom?” Will says, dropping the last of his chains on the ground.

“God, yes,” comes the party’s reply.

When they return from the gas station, the arcade is empty. Completely, entirely empty, the only sign of their protest being the piles of chains, candy wrappers, and glowsticks scattered around the place. Max gapes at the scene.

“Are you serious?” she asks of no one in particular.

“I can’t believe every single one of them left,” Lucas says.

With a shared sigh they move forward through the desolate remains, picking up all the trash and collecting the still-lit glowsticks in a bag. Dustin and El drag all of the chains into a massive pile in a corner and Mike dumps all the locks and keys into his backpack. When Max asks how he plans on matching each key and lock later on, he just shrugs tiredly. She gets it – they’re all feeling a mild sense of defeat.

“It’s just tonight,” El says reassuringly. “They’ll come back tomorrow.” They’re all too tired to argue.

Max collapses back into her spot, shoving her pillow under her head and crawling into the sleeping bag she brought. She hasn’t used it in ages; it still has the smell of Yosemite, from back when she and her dad would go camping every other weekend. The memory is bittersweet and she pushes it aside.

Her friends settle around her in their own sleeping bags. It isn’t comfortable by any means but she has Lucas right next to her and telekinetic El on her other side, and she forces herself to think of it as a group sleepover with concrete instead of carpet. The dull warmth of the night slowly washes over them, strengthening the sound of the loud cicadas that never seem to cease and the occasional noise from down the street that makes Max startle from her sleepy haze.

After a few minutes, she reaches out to find Lucas’ hand. He’s right there, his soft breath brushing her cheek. “Hey, Zoomer,” he whispers.

“Stalker,” she says with a sleepy smile, even though she knows he can’t see it.

“You tired?”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

They lay there in silence, all of Max’s slowly fading consciousness focused on Lucas’ warm hand in hers. Sleep…sleep…sleep…sleep…

“Is she snoring?”

Dustin’s outburst breaks sleep’s hold on everyone and there’s a collective groan. “Screw you, Henderson,” Max mumbles, just to top it off.

“Yes, Dustin, she’s snoring, alright?” Mike says defensively. “She does that. It’s cute. Leave her alone.”

A moment later there’s a loud snore from El and a barely-suppressed laugh from everyone.

“Can we get back to sleep now?” Mike says impatiently. Dustin huffs from Lucas’ other side.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, whatever.”

Max jolts awake, extremely disoriented. What the hell? She brings her watch to her eyes, wincing at the harsh light: 3:15am. Why am I awake?

She quietly sits up. The night slowly comes into view as her eyes adjust to the light provided by the streetlamps. Nothing looks out of place – all her friends are in line beside her, the streets are empty. Everything is quiet, save for El’s and Dustin’s (ironic) snores.

She’s about to shrug it off and go back to sleep when a rustling reaches her ears. She whips around to face the forest behind the arcade, straining to see anything in the darkness. There it is again – the crunch of leaves somewhere in the forest. Normal, sure, if there was wind. Which there isn’t,she thinks, dread gnawing a hole in her stomach. The noise in the forest gets louder, closer, accompanied now with the snapping of twigs. She still can’t see a damn thing.

A jagged, painful scene arises in her mind’s eye – the metallic scent of blood, the screeching of monsters outside, the intense, sharp fear that shuts down all motor functions. Not now, Mayfield. Get it together. This isn’t ‘84. With a tight swallow she pushes away the memory and shakes El. “Hey, El. El, get up.”

El is up and alert in a split second. “Yes?”

“I think there’s something out there,” Max whispers.

They both stare at the tree line, waiting with their hearts pounding in their chests. El makes a move to stand up, but at that moment, something darts out of the trees. Something small, fast, and most definitely cat-shaped.

Max slumps back against the doors with a heavy sigh. “Just a cat.”

“Are you sure?” El says, eyes following the cat’s path down the street.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

El shrugs like it’s no big deal, settling back down in her cocoon of blankets. Max stares at the spot across the street where the cat disappeared, waiting for her heart to return to its normal rate. After a minute she pulls her sleeping bag up around her then grabs her pillow and shoves it behind her head; laying down isn’t an option for her rattled nerves anymore.

“Are you okay?” El whispers. Max looks down at her – all she can see are her eyes.

“Yeah. Fine.”

“I know what you were thinking.”

Max winces. “Kinda hard not to think anything else these days.”

“You can talk to me,” El says softly, sincerely.

“I know. I’m just – I’m working through it.”

“When it gets bad, Hopper tells me to take it one day at a time.”

Max nods and takes a deep breath, closing her eyes. “One day at a time."

El’s hand finds its way into Max’s and she squeezes it reassuringly. “Goodnight, Max.”

“Night, El.”

And Max drifts off quicker than she thought she would.

“Oh my god, my neck, my neck, my goddamn neck, my head’s going to be stuck this way for life.” Max slowly and painfully turns her head side to side, cringing at how bad the crick is. Her complaints wake up Mike, who lets out an even longer string of curses at his own neck troubles. Max looks around for her pillow – there it is, wedged between her thigh and Lucas’ head, having fallen in the middle of the night. With a sigh she leans forward to snatch it back, elbowing Lucas in the process. “Shit, sorry –“

Lucas responds with a grunt and doesn’t move a muscle.

The sun has barely crested the horizon yet Max can already feel the heat of the day creeping up on them. The town is still sleeping, the only open places being the bakery and the gas station. She shifts to lie down on top of her sleeping bag and dozes in and out for a while. Around eight-thirty she’s finally dragged to her feet by both the party and her bladder.

Mike lets out a yawn as he pulls a sleepy El up. “Bathroom and breakfast,” he says. They nod and make their way to the gas station, taking turns in the bathroom. After a stop in the bakery for two dozen donuts and some juices, they collapse back in their spots at the arcade, eating in silence as the sun begins its arc across the sky.

The kids start to trickle in at nine. By ten, everyone from yesterday is back, their sleeping gear has been shoved to the side, and Mike has all of them chained up again.

“We don’t back down, alright guys?” he says to the group at large. “We’re saving this arcade whether they like it or not.”

There’s a roar of approval from the kids and then Mike sits back down and locks himself up.

“Anyone know when the demolition is supposed to happen?” Dustin asks, licking his fingers clean of donut sugar.

“Ten-thirty, I think,” Mike answers. Max looks at him skeptically – the truth is, none of them really know how this is going to go. At the very best, they win their protest without argument. At the most likely, they win with quite a bit of argument. At the worst, they get thrown in jail, and at the very worst, they get killed by the demolition equipment (which Max knows is highly improbable, but after the events of ’84, she can’t help herself).

“We’ll win,” El says, as if reading Max’s mind. “I can feel it.”

It doesn’t do much to reassure any of them.

Soon enough, the construction company trucks pull into the empty parking lot and a dozen workers in orange helmets spill out. Their expressions of confusion clearly indicate they weren’t expecting resistance (it’s Hawkins – who is?). Max sits up a little straighter and glares right at them.

“You kids know you can’t be here, right?” the pot-bellied Man In Charge says.

“Actually, we can,” Max answers. “We have the right to protest.”

“Girl, I’ve got a job to do.”

“We don’t care,” Mike fires back. “Tell your boss we aren’t going anywhere.”

The Man In Charge lets out a heavy sigh and turns back to his crew. “Someone drive back to the building to tell the boss we’ve got a holdup.”

Max grins – it’s progress. The demolition crew piles back into their air-conditioned trucks to wait while one of their team is sent off to bring backup. The sun is relentless, bearing down on them like a hundred-pound weight of heat. Max pulls her hair into a ponytail and drains another one of the water bottles that Nancy brought them.

“Where’s the wrecking ball?” Will asks.

“I don’t think they can bring it until they have visual confirmation of the site,” Lucas says.

“Maybe they won’t bring it at all if we can stop them,” El adds hopefully.

Fifteen minutes later the company truck pulls back in. Three people climb out – the worker, the head of the company, and Mayor Kline himself. Max almost laughs – old man Mayor in an ill-fitting black suit doesn’t look like much of a threat to her. All of the kids swivel to glower at him, radiating defiance.

“What’s going on here?” he says jovially as he approaches them.

“We’re protesting the destruction of the Palace Arcade,” Mike declares.

“You’re – well, yes, I can see that. But the papers have already been signed, son. There’s nothing I can do.”

“Looks like we’re at a stalemate, then,” Max says smugly. “Because we want this arcade to stay just as much as you want it to go.”

There’s a shout of agreement from the kids around them. Mayor Kline looks more annoyed than angry, but just as he opens his mouth to say something else, another car pulls into the lot, drawing everyone’s attention.

It’s the Chief’s station wagon. The entire party’s breath catches in their throat as Hopper gets out and leisurely heads towards them. Is he here to stop us or help us? Max wonders.

“Sheriff!” Mayor Kline says by way of greeting. “Do you know about this?”

Hopper side-eyes the mayor. “It’s Chief. And yeah, I did.” Hopper turns his gaze to El. “Steve’s here, huh?”

El turns bright red at being caught in their lie. “Sorry.”

Hopper just shakes his head amusedly and pulls off his sunglasses, turning to Kline. “You’re really gonna tear this place down for another library?”

Kline stares at him, clearly taken aback by whose side he’s on. “I mean – nobody even goes to this arcade anymore –“

“That’s bullshit!” Dustin yells. Lucas slaps him and Hopper gives him a you better shut the hell up right now or I’m not helping you glare.

Will tries a calmer approach than Dustin. “Mayor, everyone comes here all the time. It’s one of the best places in Hawkins, right guys?” There’s a loud chorus of agreement and Will gives a winning smile. “We love it here.”

“See, Larry? They love it here,” Hopper says, lowering his voice so that Max has to strain to hear. “Look. I know what you’re getting out of this deal, even if you’ve bullshitted the county board into thinking it’s out of the goodness of your heart. ”

Max’s jaw drops as Kline’s eyes widen and his hands start fidgeting with his tie. “I don’t – I mean – it’s not – I really don’t understand what you’re trying to say, Sher – Chief.”

Hopper smirks. “Yeah, I think you do. And I don’t think the board would be too eager to support your reelection campaign next month if they knew how big a cut you’d be taking from this.”

Mayor Kline gapes at him. “Are you blackmailing me?” Hopper raises his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

“All I’m saying is that it’s probably in your best interest to leave this place standing.”

Max is triple-taking. She looks at the rest of her friends, just to make sure she’s not imagining things – they’re shell-shocked too, frozen in place at this turn of events.

Kline is absolutely speechless. His eyes dart from Hopper to the construction crew to the arcade and back, sweat beading on his forehead – though Max thinks that could just be from the heat. She doesn’t even know if anyone’s breathing anymore.

Finally, Kline heaves a sigh and turns to the truck. He pulls a few sheets of paper out through the window and returns to Hopper. “Looks like you win this one, kids.” He resignedly tears the demolition contract in half and the entire lot erupts in shouts and cheers as the pieces flutter to the ground.

“We did it!” Dustin yells, reaching out to hug whoever he can. Max grins as she hugs Lucas with one arm and attempts to get out of her chains with the other. They finally get themselves untangled and rush through the crowd towards Hopper. Mayor Kline is nowhere to be found.

“Thank you so much, Hopper,” Mike says breathlessly. “I don’t think we could’ve won that without you.”

“El told me how important this was to you guys,” Hopper answers with a smile. “And I knew Kline had something shady going on.”

“How could you be positive, though?” Lucas asks.

“Had some help.” Hopper points to his station wagon and they all turn to see Nancy Wheeler, junior clerk at the city hall, standing by the door with a grin on her face. Max internally smacks herself – of course it was Nancy. She makes a mental note to thank her later.

Max pushes through the kids to yank the red SET FOR REMOVAL sign off the front doors. She holds it high above her head and with a loud cheer, throws it to the ground. “We saved the Palace!”

Thus begins the thundering chant of “We saved the Palace!” from every soul and Lucas appears from the crowd, grinning like the sun.

“Good job, Mayfield.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” Max says. “I did it so I could keep on kicking your ass at Dig Dug.”

Lucas scoffs and grabs her wrist to pull her close. “Just you wait. I’m getting better.”

“Sure you are.”

She closes the distance between them and their kiss echoes all the triumph and celebration around them. Somewhere over the fireworks in her head, Mike declares they all deserve celebratory ice cream, and when Lucas pulls away and beams at her with more pride and love than she’s ever seen, she’s never felt more like a winner.

tagging the whole sfs gang

@mikeweezers / @el-and-hop / @summer-in-hawkins / @martiegalwrites / @partwayhappy / @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold / @cstlebyrs / @janeswheeler / @formerlyjannafaye / @jane-el-hopper / @themikewheelers / @elizabthturner / @the-proud-princess / @itcouldbendoritcouldbreak / @scottsclarke / @the-most-beautiful-broom / @hannahberrie / @dancingskygreen / @mileven-and-contemplation / @eddieksgazebos / @mikeswheelers / @moodyandmoonyeyed / @jopper-chopper / @earlgreyteagirl / @janehoppers / @michael-hearteyes-wheeler / @stevemossington / @thezoomermax / @writer-lia

#what a task this was #i'm so glad to finally put it out #i wish i was able to come up with a better name for it tho #sfs #the party #stranger things fanfic #anna puts words together #stranger things

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formlesscopycat · 7 years ago

Text

If Nothing Lasts Forever

A Kuroko no Basuke fanfic. For AoKise day 2018.

Pairing: Aomine x Kise

Rating: T

Summary: Aomine’s plan for tonight is as easy just as it is simple: come down on one knee with a ring and get the boyfriend to say yes. Because after all that they’ve been through as a couple, where else could they be heading?

But just as he thinks that nothing could go wrong, well, he realizes in a rather awkward way that Kise had been right when he said this a few years back: "Nothing goes as planned in life, anyway."

Read on AO3

If nothing lasts forever, will you be my nothing?

-Anonymous

It has been agreed between Aomine and Kise that the 7th of May will be their ‘Together-Forever’ Couple Day.

Of course, it was Kise’s idea to have it celebrated every year, though Aomine finds it too childish and silly to be bothered by this made-up occasion. Yet he gives in to Kise’s wishes anyway, however preposterous he thinks this whole idea is, because he asserts that he’s the more loving and understanding boyfriend in this relationship. Aomine will fight tooth and nail with anyone who disagrees with that.

So Kise points out that this day will be something that’s exclusively theirs, not like Valentine’s or White Day where every couple on the planet will be fussing about. Naturally, it’ the 7th of May that he chooses, because he says it’ll be too easy to remember, the date simply being the numbers on their high school jerseys. He insists it’ll be a kind of homage to the sweet, innocent love that blossomed during their youth, specifically, during their high school days—that phase in their lives where they have lots of fond memories of: their first kiss, first real date, first bed scene, etc., etc.

And so, it became a yearly tradition that started a little after they decided to move in together under one roof. At the onset, they managed to spend their ‘couple day’ away from the hustle and bustle of Tokyo, somewhere distinctly peaceful and remote, but then, their careers have made it a lot less easier to take a day off so lately, they just end up spending the night at the comfort of their home sweet home. Kise always takes the cooking duties, they have dinner, they exchange gifts, they rewatch NBA games while having dessert then finally, they cap the night with a one-on-one match (the kind that involves a lot of moaning and grinding on their king-sized bed). Last year, they ended up doing it in the kitchen for lack of better judgement (probably because of the whiskey), and at its aftermath is a disgustingly terrible mess they’d rather not remember. Feeling more like animals after, both promised never to taint the kitchen again.

In all this, Aomine’s boyfriend assures him that he does not need to trouble himself so much over it—just a little ‘we’ time every year, a little celebration much like anniversaries for married couples, an opportunity to look back and look forward, while they’re taking their sweet time deciding what they really want for themselves.

In Aomine’s case, he’s always known what he wanted. It’s just like in a game of ball in which winning is the only acceptable outcome. And just like aiming a shot at the basket, everything comes down to the precision of timing.

All things considered, his gut feeling finally tells him that the right time has come.

So tonight, on their ‘Together-Forever Couple Day’, Aomine decides to break away from the usual tradition and go for something spectacular.

Tonight, it’ll be one for the books because Aomine will finally ask Kise, the love of his life, to marry him. Because where else could they be heading? He’s been head-over-heels in love with the blond since they were just sweaty, boisterous middle-schoolers and Aomine is 200 percent sure Kise feels the same way, if not, even more smitten by his boyfriend charms. True, they’re practically married now and quite satisfied with the way things are but Aomine, unbeknownst to many, is a man who puts value in life-long commitments. Yet more than anything, he is committed to go out of his way for his idiot of a boyfriend, who’s always up for whatever that’s romantic and cheesy and dorky, like walking down the aisle in front of close family and friends.

Funnily enough, he’s okay with all these stuff, too, as long as Kise is happy. With these thoughts, Aomine chuckles to himself, realizing how this relationship—this living together side by side, the looking out for each other--has dramatically changed his views over time.

There’s no elaborate plan in his head actually, no flowery speech prepared. He’ll just casually ask if Kise wants to get married, simple as that. After all, Kise understands that he’s not into cheap, sappy talks. Aomine imagines popping the question a little after dinner, the light of candles dancing on Kise’s amber eyes. Or maybe he’ll do it while they cuddle at the balcony under the starry skies. Yeah, he thinks Kise will surely love his second idea better.

Before he drives home from the police station, Aomine checks his phone in case there are some last minute requests from the blond. There’s a message with a single word on it: CAKE!

“Copy that, babe.” Aomine tells himself. Kise’s favorite sugar-free, gluten-free blueberry cheesecake has already been delivered by Murasakibara himself at the police station so Aomine can go straight home after his shift.

Before starting the car’s ignition, Aomine pulls out the ring that has been tucked in his pant pocket all day for one last look.

An easy grin spreads across his face. He’s feeling victorious already.

When Aomine enters their apartment, his mouth waters over the aroma of teriyaki rib eye steak. He finds Kise still in his apron, tending to the dinner table. Aomine is immediately on Kise’s side, puts the cake box on the table and wraps his tanned arms around his boyfriend’s waist, pulling him in for a quick kiss. Super delicious, he thinks mischievously.

“You’re quite early,” Kise hums, licking his bottom lip. “My truffle kamameshi isn’t ready yet.”

Aomine throws a sidelong glance at the dinner table that’s already teeming with food. “More to come? Looks like you’ve already cooked for the entire neighborhood,” he comments.

“That’s because I don’t want you starving in any way.” Kise explains, cupping his boyfriend’s face with both hands. He leans in for another kiss, which Aomine eagerly obliges.

“Alright, then... mmm,” Aomine tells him in between smooches. “I’ll shower first.”

“Great idea… mmm,” Kise agrees while he catches his breath, but he feels the pull of Aomine’s strong arms around him, locking him tight against the taller man’s chest.

“Why don’t you just join me in the bath?” Aomine suggested, his voice dropping into a seductive whisper, hinting that he’s not quite satisfied with a simple make-out session.

With that, Kise finds the resolve to pull away. “I’d love to, but I don’t want our food to be ruined. Other guilty pleasures can wait.” He winks at his boyfriend then takes a step back.

Damn this blond for always teasing him to death, Aomine’s inner self whines.

“Fine,” Aomine says, rolling his eyes as Kise shoos him away with a cheeky grin.

After he comes back from the shower casually dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans, Aomine notices that the ambiance is completely different from before; Kise is seriously outdoing himself tonight. Tiny candles lit the room, light and shadows dancing everywhere. There’s soft jazz music playing in the background and the smell of food a while back has been banished from the air by a gentle, flowery scent. It’s a fancy restaurant feel instead of just a simple dinner at their home and Aomine cheers inwardly for it seems like the stars are just perfectly aligning in his favor.

And there he is, his soon-to-be fiancé, one elbow on the table, one hand cradling his chin. A dreamy look is plastered on his model face, his bright, amber eyes stalking Aomine’s every move.

“What blondie, looks like you’re stripping me naked with your eyes. You could just ask and I’ll gladly drop all these fabric for you.” Aomine makes a gesture to raise his shirt which is just enough to show his well-toned abs.

“Quit making me wait and get your cute butt over here already.” Kise beckons him on to a nearby chair.

A staring contest commences between them as Kise pulls himself to sit up straighter, amber eyes gauging Aomine with intense curiosity.

“Daiki-cchi,” Kise purrs, his face breaking out into a rosy flush which Aomine finds too cute, but would rather not say out loud.

Just as the corners of his mouth turn up, Kise reaches out to hold onto one of Aomine’s hands.

“Daiki-cchi,” he fumbles and blushes some more, long eye lashes fluttering evocatively at the man in front of him.

“…There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask of you for a long, long time…” Kise begins, his hand tightening its grip on Aomine’s.

“We’ve been together for ages and I just can’t imagine myself living without you… and I know we’re fine just as we are right now…”

Both of Aomine’s eyebrows shoot upwards. If this speech is heading towards where he think it’s heading, he’s gonna stab himself with a chopstick.

“You’re the sole reason I wake up to every morning, you motivate me to believe in us, to always become a better version of myself for you…”

Holy fuck.

“You always light the fire in me, you are the joy of my life and I just want to share to the world how deep and limitless my love for you is…”

What is this idiot saying? Why is he doing this?

Kise must have noticed the strange expression on Aomine’s face that he momentarily stopped to ask, “Daiki-cchi, what’s wrong?”

“Ha---what?”

“You’re spacing out.”

“What? No! I just find this too awkward.”

“Awkward?”

“Oh shit,” Aomine mutters under his breath, quickly pulling back his hand to palm his face. So this is why the idiot is looking at him funny all evening, Aomine realizes, as he breaks eye contact with Kise. Unable to hold on much longer, he bursts out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Kise appears baffled.

In between fits of laughter, his mind strategizes on how to better explain the situation to Kise. This sudden development in their couple day throws Aomine off-guard, his thoughts, a train wreck of ideas; while too busy collecting his thoughts, he doesn’t notice how Kise’s jaw had tensed, the pair of charming amber eyes ogling him all evening now narrowing into dangerous slits.

As he recovers, Aomine blurts out with a shake of his head, “I just can’t believe this… Ryouta, are you gonna ask me to marry you just now?”

There is a pause, the inescapable calm before the storm. And Aomine is much too clueless to realize that it’s the stopgap before all hell breaks loose.

“How dare you!” Kise’s sharp, biting tone sounds like it can draw blood any moment.

“Er--what?”

Too angry and disappointed at his boyfriend’s reaction, Kise abruptly stands up that his chair fell backwards. He snarls, “And stop saying what, what, what like a fucking broken record!”

Before Aomine can realize what’s happening, Kise had grabbed something from his pocket—a small blue velvet box—and hurls it hard onto Aomine’s face, one of its corners hitting him squarely on the forehead before it lands to the floor.

“Ouch!” Aomine yelps in pain.

Chest suddenly all too heavy, Kise lets out a deep breath but it doesn’t stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks at once. He’s rehearsed this speech in front of the mirror for so many times, he’s sure he can recite it in his sleep, and yet, this stupid idiot just laughs it all off in his face. Since he bought the ring a couple of months ago, his daydreams have always been filled with Aomine finally saying yes. In Kise’s vision, it’s always full of fireworks and singing choir of cherubs. He’s pictured a bit of crying, but only of happy tears. More than anything, he’s always believed that he knew Aomine too well, that the two of them are always looking at the same direction, longing for the same things.

Never, in his wildest visions, had Kise imagined Aomine turning him down and humiliating him like this.

“Yes, Ahomine! And I totally regret now that I even thought of it! You’re such an ass!” Kise explodes, hands balled into tight fists at his sides.

"Ryouta, this is not--"

"Will you just stop interrupting me for once?!"

Aomine is rendered silent.

“You could’ve just told me gently that it’s not what you want and I’ll understand.” Kise’s voice trembles as he speaks. Hearing himself say it out loud in admission sends all of his hopes and dreams burning into ashes.

Shell-shocked to react and sort his emotions too soon, the next few moments came to Aomine in a blur, the only thing that registers is the slamming of the door as Kise locked himself in their bedroom.

How everything came down from good to bad to worse within a matter of minutes is beyond Aomine, and he still reels from the impact of what just happened as he pounds hard on the bedroom door.

“Open this stupid door and let me explain!”

No answer.

“Ryouta!”

Still no response.

Aomine calls again, softly this time. “Let me talk to you. Please.” If only the door could speak, it would surely be complaining now.

With a heavy sigh, Aomine gives up. Based on experience, it’s always for the better if he just allow Kise to blow off steam before they get into the talk. Besides, he could use the time to contemplate his next move, think about what he’s supposed to say and salvage what’s left of this evening.

As he goes back to the empty dining room, Aomine sees the small box on the floor and not very far from it, is the engagement ring Kise was supposed to give him. He picks the ring up, thumbs through it and can’t help but admire the design that Kise has chosen: tiny infinity symbols held by two sleek parallel bands circle around the ring’s golden surface. Aomine puts it on his left ring finger and his heart squeezes. If only he can turn back time and undo his stupid antics.

I just want to share to the world how deep and limitless my love for you is…

Kise’s words pound on Aomine’s head, taking him back to the first time he’s laid his eyes on the blond during their Teiko days. Aomine remembers the sudden attraction, the inexplicable pull he felt for Kise, as the model walks around the school, glazed-eye with boredom (which Aomine initially mistakes as an air of superiority), students fawning over him wherever corner he goes. And Aomine can’t believe he’s waited for a full academic year to pass by before he does something to catch Kise’s attention by hitting the back of the model’s head with a ball. Back then, Aomine thought it was just some stupid crush. He’s certain he’d eventually outgrow it in high school since they’re not attending the same academy anymore, but as the cliché goes, absence just makes the heart grow fonder. And the journey from there to now has always been paved with ups and downs, thorns and roses, but they somehow made it through. They just fucking complement each other beyond their understanding and it’s what makes them stronger as a couple.

Aomine ponders these and feels that the ball is in his court now to straighten things up between him and Kise. After all, the night is young and who says he can’t pull up a sweet surprise of his own? He’s the better boyfriend after all, and the only one who can beat him is…

He remembers something before he goes to search for the spare key to their bedroom.

The lock clicks. Aomine swings the door open and finds Kise sitting on the edge of the bed, his back turned on him.

“Go away, I don’t want to talk!” Kise snaps without turning around, the edge on his voice still as sharp as a Samurai sword.

Aomine pads across the room and sits close beside Kise, but he dared not touch him just yet. After a few seconds, he breathes out, “I’m sorry.”

Kise’s eyes and nose were red from crying when he turns to face Aomine; instantly, the latter feels guilt chew on his guts.

“Don’t be. And you don’t have to tell me now that you want us to get married just because you feel guilty. I can take it. At least, you’re being honest with me.”

“But I still want us to get married,” Aomine replies.

“C’mon,” Kise scoffs, with a roll of his eyes. “Too late now.”

To Kise’s surprise, Aomine hands him a battered notebook that’s already been opened to a particular page.

“What’s this?” Kise inquires, screwing up his face as he peers down on the object that Aomine puts in his hands.

“My journal back in middle school.” Aomine explains, a blush spreading on his tanned cheeks. “Read it. Right here.” He points to a particular section of the already yellowed page.

Kise knows that Aomine has this strange habit of documenting his life in a journal. Though he’s dying to snoop on his stuff, Kise never touches them, out of respect for his partner, and he never knew that Aomine is still keeping his old journals in their house. Grudgingly, he skims through the page and reads.

June 22, xxxx

I got an F in Chemistry. Of course, I’m not surprised. Who needs chemical bonds in their life, anyway?

---

Kise makes first string in just two weeks and keeps pestering me for a one-on-one everyday. The baka thinks he can win against me but I put him in his rightful place. All the damn time. Today, I said no, just so I could see him whine. He’s actually cute when he’s begging, putting on those stupid pout and puppy eyes.

Someday, I hope I won’t beg him just as hard, when I ask him to finally marry me or something.

---

All thought processes suddenly derailed, Kise’s jaw drops to the floor. Putting the journal aside, he turns to Aomine and sees him quite red on the face, his dark blue eyes, intent and unwavering upon him.

“It’s what I’ve always wanted, too.” Aomine says.

Not a word but an audible gasp had escaped from Kise’s lips as Aomine drops to the floor on one knee right in front of him.

“I hope you don’t have a change of heart about wanting to marry me because if you do, I won’t accept it. I’ll ask and beg and pester you until you say yes.”

Aomine pulls out the white-gold ring, adorned with three tiny blue diamonds, that he’s especially picked out for his boyfriend for this exact moment.

“Marry me, Kise Ryouta.”

“You’re proposing to me, too, Daiki-cchi?” Kise’s amber eyes widen in disbelief, his gaze shifting from the ring to the blue orbs in Aomine’s eyes.

Aomine confirms this with a nod. “I know it’s crazy…but yes, it’s part of my plans tonight.”

Slowly, slowly it sinks in. Kise has long since given up hope that Aomine will ever ask and right now, his brain still screams surreal despite seeing Aomine down on one knee, holding out an actual ring. An exhilarating wave of excitement overwhelms Kise and it feels as if time stopped and the world has tilted over its axis. Finally hearing the words he’s been dying to hear his whole life, all of Kise goes still, save only for the erratic beating of his heart.

His boyfriend peers at him expectantly. “Are you gonna say yes or are you gonna say yes?”

A smile with the light of a thousand stars brightens up Kise’s face as he exclaims, “Yes! Yes, of course, I’ll marry you, Ahomine!”

On cue, Aomine takes Kise’s left hand and gently slides the engagement ring into his slender finger. A satisfied smile pulls up on the corners of Aomine’s mouth as he sees that it’s a perfect fit. His heart skips a beat, too, when he looks up and catches the priceless expression on his fiancé’s beautiful face, blushing and tearful and smiling.

“Oh my god!” Kise squeals, cupping his face with both hands, as he notices the other ring already in place around Aomine’s finger. “This is so unbelievable!”

“Yeah, beats me.” Aomine chortles, as he raises his own hand to let Kise have a closer look.

“But I should be the groom, I asked you first.”

“Huh? I remembered you throwing the ring, but I didn’t recall you asking. I was told, I’m an ass, though.”

“Shut it, Aho, that was all your fault!”

With his trademark smirk, Aomine stands up and wraps Kise in a tight embrace, pushing the blond down against the bed, right underneath him. And like he usually does, Aomine closes his eyes just as he closes the gap between his and Kise’s lips, feeling the moment, feeling his heart make a sprint, like it wishes to burst at the seams. He deepens the kiss, slowly, with increasing pressure, as he feels Kise’s fingers curl on a fistful of hair at the back of his head, the other hand, warm and soothing just below his jawline.

When they pulled apart breathless, Aomine finds it a glorious sight, Kise’s face all flushed and full of joy, and this brings so much warmth to his heart as well.

“I love you so much, Ahomine.” And Kise’s voice as he says this is a rich melody in Aomine’s ears.

“And I do, too, Ryoutaho” he responds, as he trails Kise’s neck with tiny butterfly kisses, eliciting a moan from the blond.

Just then, they both hear Aomine’s stomach growl in hunger.

“Ah,” Aomine says, as he tries to veer away from the embarrassing interruption, “I need to eat first before I eat you.”

Kise giggles. “Agree. Guilty pleasures can wait.”

And with that, Kise lets Aomine pull him back up from the bed, towards the dining room where a feast has been eagerly waiting for them all night.

-END-

#aokise #aomine x kise #aoki #kise ryouta #aomine daiki #kuroko no basket #fanfic #my fanfiction #aomine writes his autobiography #aokiseday2018 #happy aoki day to us #im a disgusting ball of cheese so just shoot me

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themonkeycabal · 7 years ago

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FAM! Please tell us - when is the next Great Installment of WRLWA coming out?? We've still got Ultron and Civil War, with Panther and Infinity War just around the corner. The is tied with my favourite fic series ever, and I've been dying for some updates. Any hints??

Hey fam, I hear you like updates.

Next story is Ultron and the Date, and here’s the first chapter for you (I’m not sure when there will be more, sorry, but I’m getting there):

Darcy liked London. It was old and new, and big and small, and all that contradictory jazz. But, somehow the contradictions just made the city feel human scale to her; like it wasn’t some monolithic mass of stone and steel. New York was still a little overwhelming sometimes. Though, she did come from the land of vast Southern California sprawl — not exactly the coziest or friendliest of human habitats. But, that was really beside the point.

At the moment, what she liked most about London was that it was thousands of miles away from family drama.

The Seattle branch of the tree were in a tizzy. People, it seemed, were miffed. Possibly even vexed.

Calling home had become a real and deep regret, and Darcy was trying not to listen, but her mother was pressing on.

“Marcia isn’t bending. She says it has to be at that resort; she and her fiancé have some deal with the owners. Your grandmother is pitching a fit.”

“Oh no. It’s the end of the world. How terrible,” Darcy murmured and kicked her feet out, lounging back on an uncomfortable bench overlooking the Thames.

It was a nice day. The sun was out and the air was nearly warm. Warm for London, she supposed. But, definitely better than New York sticky. So, yes, it was a nice day. Perfect to get outside and do outside things.

She and Jane arrived in the city two days earlier. And today, while Jane and her mother were bonding over academic journals and fighting over Jane’s wardrobe and how she basically still mostly shopped at Goodwill, Darcy fled the apartment to wander around a little. It was a fine time to reacquaint herself with the area, get her bearings, and give her own mother a call. Such a mistake.

“I know, I know,” Rebecca Lewis continued. “But, she’ll make the trip hell for all of us if somebody doesn’t appease her. According to Jo, it’s nearly war as it is. Uncle Larry’s on Marcia’s side, aunt Ruth’s on mom’s. It could get ugly. So, have you RSVP’d for Marcia’s wedding yet? That might win us back a point.”

“Are you kidding?” Darcy rolled her eyes to the sky and gripped her phone a little tighter, like she could throttle the drama out of it.

Francine Perlman was not a grandmother given to displays of warmth or cheeriness or whatever grandmothers are supposed to be like. She wasn’t a sweet, round, little granny who smelled like spices and made cookies. She was a thin, brittle woman, in both stature and personality. Sour and never pleased, and doubly never pleased with Darcy.

Darcy and her grandmother didn’t get along, and hadn’t since, as far as Darcy knew, the day she was born. Francine was never cruel, never outright rude, but there was a definite chill towards Darcy that her other cousins didn’t seem to get. And it wasn’t just because of that one time Darcy set her grandmother’s dining table on fire. That was an accident, and Francine was unpleasant before that anyway.

The mystery of Darcy’s biological father — because Rebecca refused to tell and no amount of persuasion or scorn was ever enough to get her to spill, because Darcy’s mom was badass, thank you very much — was the biggest sore spot for the woman. Francine once made the mistake of referring to Darcy as a bastard in her great-grandmother Perlman’s hearing. It was a flipping shame that Darcy’d been too young to appreciate or remember the look on Francine’s face at a dressing down from her own mother. Seeing that again would totally be worth the pain of time traveling. Maybe.

Anyway, Darcy didn’t think that her presence would tilt the scales towards familial peace with Francine.

“Do I have to?” she asked in a tone that most definitely wasn’t a ‘whine’.

Rebecca was silent for a moment, probably steadying herself to deal with a whining daughter, and then she let out a long breath. “No, you don’t have to, but it would be really great if you did.”

Darcy felt her nose wrinkle with distaste and annoyance. She didn’t want to go, it was a pain in the ass, she liked to absolutely avoid the family drama, and being stuck in a mountain resort with the whole Perlman clan sounded like the opening to a horror movie. Unfortunately, she knew, without a doubt, that she’d cave and RSVP and whatnot. But, she was going to make her mother work for it.

“A destination wedding to the middle of the Cascades, in October,” she said, trying to make her voice as dry and bland as Coulson’s when he was being pointedly sarcastic.

“It’s only a couple hours from Seattle. And it’ll be beautiful. I looked the resort up, it’s really nice. Remodeled last year with a huge new spa. Amazing views. And it’ll be autumn. You like autumn.”

Darcy did like autumn. It was her favorite season when she was at Culver, and now that she lived in New York she’d gone all tourist-stupid in love with dramatic fall colors. The seasons really didn’t change like that in San Dimas. They had hot season, and not hot season, and mudslide season, and holy-shit-everything’s-on-fire season. But not autumn so much.

Still, she had to protest a little bit. “It’ll be cold and rainy.” Rubbing at her forehead, annoyed tension threatening to cause a headache, Darcy glared at not-at-all-cold-and-rainy London. But, it wasn’t London’s fault, and she patted the bench beside her in apology.

“I always pictured Marcia as a June bride cliche,” Darcy continued after a moment. “And maybe at one of the fancy resorts on one of those islands out there. Like Duck Island, or whatever it’s called. Moose Island? Whatever. Just, wouldn’t have figured a mountain lodge in October. For real, did she hit her head recently?”

“There’s not a Duck Island,” Rebecca sighed.

“I feel confident there’s a Duck Island somewhere. But that’s not the point,” Darcy protested. “I’m serious. This is wildly out of character. Should we be worried? Has she joined a cult? Is she doing drugs? What does aunt Jo say about all this?”

“Jo is very excited for her daughter’s wedding,” her mother replied dryly. “I would be, too. In fact, I have extensive plans and when—”

“Don’t push me,” Darcy sniffed. “Oh! Could she be Hydra? Or her fiancé? What do we know about him? Has anybody run a background on this guy? Maybe this is a trap. Darn, looks like I’ll have to pass. For national security reasons, you understand. I am a very important asset.”

Her mother made a low, growling grumble sound. “You’re something, that’s for sure.”

“So rude.” Darcy pouted and petulantly knocked the toes of her shoes together while slouching down on the bench like a put-upon grade-schooler.

“Anyway,” Rebecca said, raising her voice above her daughter’s attempt to change the subject into absurdity. “Marcia and Ben negotiated an event deal on the rooms, but only if you book by August 10th. There was a plus one with your invitation, so maybe you’d rather get a suite?”

“Meh.”

“You could bring Steve,” she said with a leading and kind of pleading tone in her voice. Her mother was never going to give up her star-spangled dreams for her daughter, was she? “I think he might be able to charm even my mom.”

“Poor Steve, what did he do to deserve being sent on the Francine charm mission? It’s practically a suicide run.” Darcy snickered. “Besides, I think bringing Captain America would kind of upstage the bride, and I thought that was the biggest possible wedding faux pas of them all.”

“How about Tony?” It seemed like her mother was as desperate for a distraction as Darcy was herself. She must be, to suggest that. Tony would be a bored in ten minutes and disaster would follow. Bad enough Darcy anticipated being bored in twenty minutes. Nobody deserved two bored Starks at their wedding. Not even Marcia.

Darcy laughed out loud. “Speaking of upstaging. Though, you know, I bet he absolutely could charm Francine. Again, I don’t think Marcia would appreciate it and it would be our teen years all over again with the screaming and the door slamming and the brawl in the dining room.”

“And the paint bomb?”

Darcy shifted on the bench and winced. Technically she was still grounded from that incident, since, as she recalled, the terms of punishment were 'until you’re thirty, young lady!’. “I’ll leave the paint bomb at home.”

“Ah-ha!” Rebecca crowed. “Progress! Look at you, ready to let go of the kid arguments with your cousin, at long last. And peace falls across the land.”

Darcy snorted and felt a little aggravated because teenaged Marcia was the actual worst. Bossy, bitchy, snooty, and prissy. So, it’s not like the war had been Darcy’s fault. Nope, not at all. “Right, did you or did you not have an argument with aunt Jo last year about how she hogged the bathroom when you were kids? Like, actually yelling at each other.”

“Well, we were finally resolving that issue,” Rebecca told her. “Sometimes it takes a while. And anyway, I’m not judging, I’m just glad. Marcia has asked me twice if you’re coming. She’s waiting for your RSVP. She really wants you to be there.”

“To show off how together her life is while I’m still interning,” Darcy grumbled. She swore she heard Jane shout 'assistant’ in her head.

“Maybe, or maybe she genuinely wants to share the day with you. She’s not the same person she was when she was fifteen, and neither are you. Give her a chance.”

Blowing out a long breath, Darcy stuck her tongue out at her absent cousin and told her mom, “I don’t know. I’m up to my ears in things; I’m not sure if I’m in the mood for a destination wedding and Marcia’s Marcia-ness.”

“Okay, look at it this way,” Rebecca argued back doggedly, “why don’t you try to mend fences, you make the effort? And then if she’s an obnoxious diva, show-off, it’ll just make her look petty and you’ll look like the bigger person. You win.”

“That’s so manipulative, mom,” Darcy said admiringly.

“I know. Give it a shot. Or bring Tony. But, I’d really like you to be there.” And that was that. That was the firm mom-voice. That was the tone of a woman who would no longer accept 'no’. She’d try and make it palatable for Darcy, but the jig was up. “So would your dad. And your brother. And aunt Jo, and uncle Hugh. That’s five people you actually like. And your great uncle Larry, who will pull a quarter from behind your ear, because who doesn’t love that trick? Right? Come on.”

Darcy scoffed and kicked at a tuft of grass by her feet. “I’m 25, I doubt uncle Larry will try the coin trick.”

“I’m 48 and he tried it on me when I saw him two months ago at his granddaughter’s bat mitzvah. Just think, free money.”

“That’s a pretty big inducement for me. You know me too well.”

“Besides, who cares how together her life is? Good for her, I say. And, you know and I know that you’re not just an intern.”

“Oh sigh, mom, sigh,” Darcy told her with a touch of melodrama. Why did she think it was a good idea to call her mom?

“Are you cracking?” Rebecca asked. “I think you’re cracking. If you agree to crack, I won’t pull out guilt.”

“Fine,” Darcy moaned. God, not guilt. “Consider me cracked.”

Rebecca was good enough not to laugh or cackle or otherwise express her triumphant glee. “So, plus one ideas? Clint?”

“Clint’s a good option,” Darcy agreed readily enough. It was a sort of topic change that was at least more entertaining to think about than Marcia or her grandmother. “He’s fun, probably won’t be able to charm Francine, but he knows how to make an escape. And God knows he’s game for almost anything, no matter how awkward. And nothing screams awkward quite like a Perlman family civil war in the middle of the forest.”

“He’ll be a hit at passive-aggressive cocktail hour,” Rebecca laughed. “Any update since the proposal? We could make it a double wedding.”

“The joke proposal. No, mom.”

“Too bad. He’s cute.”

“He’s also got a weird thing with a hot Russian assassin,” Darcy pointed out with a little laugh. “So, Clint is firmly friend material.”

“Yeah, I remember. I like Natasha; I wouldn’t mind seeing her again. She’d be a nice plus one. Though, she and your grandmother would probably try to freeze each other to death with icy stares. But,” Rebecca’s voice dropped, quieting in a way that suggested a secret — a delicious secret, “what about Bucky Barnes? I hear things. I hear that maybe you’re going on a date.”

Darcy was silent for a moment, chilly surprise slipping down her spine. That was an unexpected conversational turn. One she wasn’t sure she was prepared for. “Who told you that?”

“Steve.”

That sounded bad. That sounded awkward. Her mom and Steve were chatting buddies? She’d never survive the nagging. “When are you talking to Steve?”

“Darcy, you leave your phone all over the place. Half the time when I call you, I end up talking to somebody else. They all pick up. I talk to Norse gods and secret agents more often than I talk to my daughter.” Rebecca made a frustrated sound and then let her breath out slowly before saying, “You can tell me these things, you do know that, right?”

Her mother had a point. She’d been desperate to talk to people about Bucky for a while, and she’d talked a little bit to Jane, a little bit to Phil, but for some reason she never thought of her mom. That felt kind of unfair. Some things were a little awkward for a mom talk, but not her weird mixed up head about Bucky.

“It’s just been a little overwhelming, is all,” she said, trying to explain to herself and her mom. “Like, everything that’s happened lately. I wasn’t not telling you, I just have a billion things going on.”

“Are you going to tell me now?”

“Sure. I mean, yeah, that would be good.” Darcy blew out a long breath and nodded once to herself. “Apparently we’re going dancing. I don’t know when; that’s his deal, but he said while I’m in London. He’s supposed to visit in a couple weeks. Anyway, he got crazy stoned like five months ago — inadvertently stoned, I mean; he’s not a stoner — and he asked me dancing and I thought it was just because he was, you know—”

“Stoned?” Rebecca guessed, maybe almost kind of laughing. Darcy ignored that.

“Yes! But then he asked when he wasn’t high. And I said yes. But, then I was like, is he asking because like I’m the only girl he knows? Which is the truth. Or because he actually likes me. I mean, I know he likes me, because we’re building a bar together and it was his idea. And we go to breakfast together sometimes, but in a friend way, not a romantical way.” She took a breath before jumping into the next run-on sentence.

“But, before we figured out the dancing thing, it was kidnappings and arrests — did I say arrests? It wasn’t a real arrest, and it was like five hours tops and I laughed at them the whole time because they had no legal leg to stand on so it was mostly annoying to everybody involved — and attacks on the tower and property acquisitions and unexpected bequests and … so many things! So, we haven’t gone dancing yet. Is it a date? I don’t know. I think he wants it to be.”

“Do you?”

“ … Maybe? Okay, I totally brought jewelry to London, okay? I haven’t bought a dress yet, but that’s just because I haven’t had time. I plan on going out this weekend, and actually, I should say, that Jane and I plan on going out this weekend, and there’s no way in hell she’d let me out of it, even if I wanted, but I don’t want out, so it’s fine. I’m sure we’ll have fun and she’ll make sure I get something suitable for kicking up my heels with a greatest generation assassin. So, I’m taking it seriously and I want to go dancing with him, and I’m just—”

“Oh sweetie,” her mom finally couldn’t pretend she wasn’t laughing.

“Don’t 'oh sweetie’ me,” Darcy grumbled and then paused. “Wow, I really do sound like Pepper sometimes.”

“I’m sure your father loves that.”

“Yeah, he always says it with this panicked look on his face.” It all made so much sense now. Anyway. “So, yes, I guess I’m going on a date.”

“Can I offer a piece of advice?”

Darcy hesitated for a moment, but, that was what she wanted, wasn’t it? “Go for it.”

“Just have fun. Don’t make it bigger than it has to be.”

Not helpful. “That’s what Phil and Jane said.”

“You told the Director before you told me?” Her mom sounded hurt and like this might be something she’d hold over Darcy’s head for the rest of forever unless Darcy could head it off.

“Bucky’s my partner!” she exclaimed, throwing one hand up in the air and startling a passing jogger, who ran away faster in response. “There are protocols and crap. I told Phil after Bucky asked me out the first time, because it seemed like I was supposed to and also I didn’t know what to do. He just said to work on our partnership, and he basically wasn’t going to tell me what to do with Bucky one way or the other. Technically Bucky’s an outside contractor, so it doesn’t exactly violate frat regs. Which, by the way, Howard was an asshole.”

“Howard? Your grandfather Howard?” Rebecca asked, no doubt confused at the abrupt change in topic. “What does he have to do with it?”

“He named a sub-clause in the fraternization regs — the one covering partners — after me.”

“I thought you two got along?”

“We did. I loved the heck out of him. But, he was still an asshole.”

Her mom sighed and chastised lightly, “Don’t call your grandfather an asshole.”

“Why not? He’s dead; he can’t hear me. And if he can, he knows what he did. And he’s probably laughing. Asshole.”

Rebecca was silent for a moment and then changed to a brighter tone and tried to get the conversation back onto a more productive track. “So, what are your plans? For London, I mean. How long will you be there?”

“I’m shooting for a month,” Darcy told her. “I have to find Jane a new assistant, but I also kind of have to get back to New York.”

“And have you told Jane yet?”

Darcy’s procrastination on this issue was widely known. To everybody but Jane. She bit her lip and cleared her throat.

“Darcy, sooner rather than later,” her mom said in mom-voice. “You need to let her have time to adjust and you need to have time to hand off to a new assistant. You can’t just —”

“I know,” Darcy interrupted with a growl — though she was more irritated at herself. “I know, okay. Yes, I know. I will do that. But, let’s just, you know, get settled for a few days. I mean, we only just got here and her mom’s going to Spain or whatever at the end of the week, so they’re hanging for a while, and that doesn’t seem like the right time to interrupt. So, like, after that. When we’re settled in a little bit and I see what I have to work with, potential replacement-wise.”

“Alright, alright. You’re an adult, I know you can make the right decision.”

Narrowing her eyes, Darcy asked, “That wasn’t a compliment, was it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rebecca said in a blithe tone. “I’m going to let you go; your dad and I are going out to dinner with your grandparents. I love you, baby.”

“Love you, too. Sometimes.”

Rebecca laughed. “Oh, and call your brother. You know he goes to Argentina in a couple weeks and he said he hasn’t heard from you lately.”

“Ugh. Fine. Go do dinner things.”

“And I want to hear all about the date.”

“Bye mom,” Darcy said loudly, hoping to forcefully yet not rudely end the call.

Rebecca laughed some more. “Oh fine, goodbye. Have fun!”

eta: sorry! forgot to fix the italic tags. Also, thank you!

#my fic #fic update #darcy lewis #run verse #Anonymous

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