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starry-bi-sky · 4 months ago

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What would a mother not do for her child What lengths would a mother not go There's a bond that exists between mother and child With no end to how strong it can grow It's a promise for life between mother and child It begins from the moment of birth.

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She is six years old, and standing on the porch at her Auntie Alicia’s cabin. She is six years old, and holding an old rifle in her hands, standing at the railing and pointing the nozzle at a large target a couple feet away. There’s a pair of old ear muffs covering her ears. Behind her is her daddy and her sister, and Auntie Alicia. She can’t see them.

Danielle Martha Fenton is six years old, and her momma has her arms wrapped warmly around her, keeping the gun steady for her. It’s heavy and the butt digs into her shoulder uncomfortably, and she feels nothing but determined. And nervous.

Her momma was teaching her and Jazzy how to shoot, and they’re down in Arkansas to visit Auntie Alicia for her second “Divorce-iversary” as Auntie calls it. She keeps a hunting rifle in her gun safe for the rabbits that like to nibble on her garden. She mostly grows rhubarb, which goes untouched. But her carrots and greens and other veggies like to be tempting snacks for the game.

Regardless, she is six years old and learning how to shoot. Her momma and her daddy (mostly her daddy) have been banned from every shooting range outside of Amity Park in a hundred mile radius. So Auntie is the best place to learn, or so momma says.

Danny thinks it's just an excuse to see her sister, not that she's complaining. She loves visiting Auntie.

She’s already seen Jazzy do this, her momma told her before the muffs went on to shoot when ready. No use trying to fire when you’re not; you can’t afford to miss when shooting ghosts.

Danny breathes out steady, just like momma taught her, and quells her trembling little fingers. She focuses down the barrel, and pulls the trigger.

Immediately, the recoil throws her off, the side of the gun that her cheek was resting on knocks against her skin, harsh enough to bruise if it weren’t for her momma’s steady hands holding onto her. The bang of the gun startles her more than she thought it would, and her heart leaps up and runs a jackrabbit through her chest.

The gun is carefully slipped out of her hands, and Danny lets it go easily, her cheek smarting in pain and her eyes wide and following up to momma. Momma turns the safety on, and with a gentle hand, pushes against her chest. Danny takes a few steps back, and slips the ear muffs off her head.

Mommy is smiling big at her, something that Danny can’t help but replicate on her own face as her heart swells. “Did I get it, momma?” She asks, watching as she passes the gun off to Auntie Alicia, who steps over to take it.

“I’m going to go see, sweetie, but I think you did.” Momma coos, before planting both her hands on the porch railing and, in a single leap, vaults over the side and onto the grass. She’s dressed all comfortable for the summer heat, with her hair all tied back and in shorts and a tank top and nice boots. Danny’s ribs swell hopefully, and she stands on her tiptoes to watch her walk over.

“I’ll be hard-pressed to believe if you didn’t, Martha Mae,” Auntie tells her, grinning like a cat, “that was a damn good shot.”

‘Martha Mae Knight’ was Danny’s granny’s name. Auntie Alicia calls her that because of her middle name — and because, by her words, she has her momma’s weird-shaped eyebrows and piercing blue eyes. The kind that could scare a hawk into singing like a robin. It was Danny’s favorite nickname ever.

Daddy laughs brightly, the sound painful on her ears but twice as nice, and despite the distance, Momma whirls her head around to shoot Auntie a glare; “Language, Alicia. Not around my girls.” She warns. Her accent always comes through when they’re around Auntie. It’s Danny’s favorite thing to listen to.

“Do you think so, auntie?” Danny says, bright-eyed and ever-optimistic. Auntie Alicia nods fiercely as Momma finally reaches the target and searches for the bullet hole. Daddy then comes up behind her, still laughing, and claps a hand onto her shoulder so hard that it makes her knees hurt.

“Of course she did!” Dad boasts, as bright as the sun and twice as warm. He shakes Danny affectionately, wobbling her on her feet and pulling her straight into his side. She goes so willingly with a burble of giggles. “She’s got the eyes of a Fenton! And our family are darn good shots.”

Auntie eyes him up and down, her smile immediately fading off into a pressed line. “I’m sure you mean she’s got the eyes of a Knight. You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn at twenty paces, Jack Fenton.”

Jazzy holds back giggles from where she’s standing by the door, her ear muffs in hand, and Danny watches her Daddy’s dark eyes immediately narrow. Just like Auntie’s, his smile tapers off into a frown.

Before he can say anything, there’s a cheer from the yard, and they all turn to Momma clapping her hands in delight.

Danny immediately pricks her ears up, and would’ve darn near rushed over to the railing if it weren’t for her Daddy’s hand on her shoulder. She yells instead, excitement thrumming like a hummingbird against her ribs, “Did I hit it, momma?!”

Momma beams at her with all the pride in the world, “You sure did, Danny!” And she turns to press her finger against the target, right on the inside red ring of the battered old bag. “Right here, sweet girl!”

There are cheers from all around, and Danny’s heart bursts inside her lungs with shiny, sunshine glee. She puffs her chest out big, and smiles so wide it hurts the cheek where the gun smacked her. Her Daddy shakes again, squeezing her tight against his side in a hug that Danny happily reciprocates.

“What’d I tell you, Martha Mae?” Auntie tells with a big wink and a wide grin, the gun still gripped tight in her hands as Momma makes her way back over. “You got a Knight’s eye.”

When Momma makes it back over the railing, she hugs Danny tight and praises her shot. Danny looks her in the eyes and chases the feeling, and asks to shoot again.

#danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc #cw gun #cw gun mention #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dpxdc au #dp x dc au #martha knight au #female danny fenton #fem danny fenton #danny is martha wayne au #got a little something something written for this au. the dichotomy of the happy memory and the fact that she's being taught this to shoot #ghosts. the innocence of a child and the reality of the situation :]. as well as danny's steadily disillusion from her parents as she grows #fun fact! this memory is based off one of my own when my dad was teaching us how to shoot so we could (eventually) go hunting with him.#i was around danny's age i think. a little bit younger maybe. so a lot of this stuff -- like Maddie helping her hold it up and them #wearing earmuffs and Danny immediately getting the gun taken away after she shoots and danny herself backing up are all based off #what i could remember. albeit the only difference here is Alicia holding the gun and Jack and Jazz standing behind Danny. in my own memorie #iirc we were all supposed to stand inside when it wasnt our turn. but we also didnt have enough earmuffs for everyone to stand outside.#slaps danny's head like the roof of a car: you can fit SO much trauma in this kid. enjoy her joy while it lasts :]#smth smth the idea that the fenton parents weren't bad at first but instead became a steady decline once they got into building the portal #smth about how danny knows somewhere that they could improve because they were good before. but they aren't and she wonders #who they love more: their daughters. or ghosts? (the answer is their daughters but danny finds this out in a way she doesnt expect)#that beginning song lyric is from “after all” by christine ebersole btw. its danny's theme song for the au.#i thank god every day for being a daycare teacher because the word 'daddy' has been CLEANSED for mEEEEEEEEEEE

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residentrookie · 19 hours ago

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NFU

a messy exes/right person, wrong time jegulus microfic inspired by the song NFU by del water gap for my bb @static-radio-ao3 as my thank u for the introduction :))

“Hello?”

“Regulus,” a hoarse voice rasps on the other end of the phone, drawing out the syllables of his name. Rough and low and… drunk. Extremely fucking drunk, by the sound of it.

Regulus stiffens. “James. Are you-- you’re drunk calling me. Again.”

“Very astute. You’re always so astute, Reg.”

He checks the clock on his nightstand with bleary eyes. 3:30 AM. God. Not this again.

“I thought we talked about this,” he sighs, sitting up and rubbing a hand over his eyes.

“We don’t talk much these days,” James points out rationally. “I think I would have remembered.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. Not fucking likely.

“Since you were in a similar state the last time we had this conversation, I’m not surprised you don’t remember. Just so we’re clear that doesn’t make it okay, James. This is— you have to stop doing this.”

By ‘this’ Regulus means getting wasted and calling him when James is too far gone to talk himself out of the idea. And, if Regulus were smart, he would stop picking up when James’ name flashes across his screen.

“Like I said. Astute.”

Drunk James is his worst nightmare, truly. Drunk James is a walking, talking reminder of everything he doesn’t have anymore, everything he will never have again. When he calls, lacking crucial social skills like self-control and any modicum of a filter, Regulus is forced to be the rational one, reminding them both that this boundary exists for a reason. A very good reason.

“Okay. Well I’m glad— it’s good that we talked about this. But this is— this has to be the last time. I’m hanging up now, okay?”

James continues as if he never spoke. “How’s your um— your boyfriend doing?”

Immediately no.

“I’m not talking about this with you—” Regulus attempts to shut him down, but James is nothing if not obstinate.

“You’re still dating the guy with the dumb fucking name, right?”

James knows full well that he is. Sirius would have informed him otherwise. He just wants to hear Regulus say it because he’s fucking sick and twisted. Naturally, Regulus can’t give him the satisfaction, so he avoids the question.

“You can’t think Regulus is a perfectly normal name and then turn around and shit on a guy for being named Kingsley.”

James scoffs on the other end of the phone. “I can shit on him as much as I want. Fucking hate that fucker.”

“You’ve never met him. You can’t hate someone you’ve never even met.”

“Sirius hates him.”

“Sirius doesn’t hate him—” Sirius just wishes he was you.

“Mhm. Told me so. Said he’s a little bitch who can’t hold his liquor.”

Now it’s Regulus’ turn to scoff. “This coming from you right now? You sound so fucked up, I doubt you can even see straight. Not that you could before, but—”

“I’m not fucked up,” James insists, then says calmly, “I just missed the way that you talk.”

This. This was why they had to stop. In his worst moments, Regulus loathes the fact that Sober James all but ignores him most of the time, only bothering to text him on important holidays or birthdays. That is, until he’s reminded that Drunk James wants to ruin him— completely and thoroughly— by the casual cruelty of speaking his mind and expecting Regulus to go on peacefully with his life as if he didn’t just upend it entirely.

“James…” he starts shakily.

“Shit, that sounded stupid. This was,” James hiccups, “not my best idea, I fear. Rash. Extremely rash feeling.”

“What, drunk calling your ex? Yeah, I would say it’s one of your worst.”

James is quiet for a moment. “You kill me, you know? I-I hate talking to you.”

Rage wells up in Regulus’ throat so fast he nearly chokes on it. “You called me—”

“God, you sound good. You always sound sexy when you’re angry, did you know that? Rougher… hotter. All red in the face and your neck…I can almost see it, if I squint.” James pauses, presumably squinting like a drunken idiot. “Maybe that’s why I called you— to make you angry. To hear you be angry at me again. Stupid fucking thing to miss, isn’t it?”

Yet again, Regulus is at a loss.

“You— I’m— God, you’re a real fucking bastard, you know that? Do you have any idea how excruciating it is to talk to you when you’re like this?”

But James ignores him, saying ruefully, “Sirius told me, he always tells me, he says, ‘Don’t do it, James. You always regret it, you always yell at me the next day for letting you call him,’ but he can’t stop me,” a childish giggle bursts from him. “I’m too fast. Much, much faster than him, just for the record. He’s never once beat me in a foot race, and if he says he has he’s a big, fat fucking liar—”

“James, I sincerely don’t give a fuck about that— be honest, did you run away from him at the bar?”

Drunk James will do that. He’s a runner. Well, not when Regulus was around to keep him on a tight leash, but it seems that without him, James is turning back to some of his worst habits.

The line goes quiet. Then, “A little bit.”

“It’s a yes or no question, James.”

“Mm.” He seems to think on it. “Yes, then.”

Regulus tosses his hand in the air, forgetting James can’t see him. “Go back and find him!”

“Don’t want to,” James sniffs. “Tryin to make my mistakes in peace.”

“You— I’m hanging up and calling Sirius.”

“No, no don’t!” James yells into the receiver, making Regulus wince and pull his phone away from his ear. James’ voice is much quieter when he speaks again.

“Don’t, I have to say— I wanted to tell you. I have to tell you that I’m sorry, Regulus. I’m so fucking sorry.”

A pit of dread forms in his stomach. James sounds wretched. He sounds like how Regulus feels when he thinks too long about how far they’ve drifted apart, how little they speak to each other anymore. For one infinitesimal second, Regulus gets the satisfaction of knowing that he’s not alone in this specific shade of misery— dark blue and bottomless. And then he reminds himself that he’s sober and his ex-boyfriend is drunk and they shouldn’t even be fucking talking right now if they knows what’s good for them.

“James, look, you’re drunk, you’re emotional—”

“‘S not what I’m apologizing for.”

“What, then?”

“Everything. All of it. I never—I wanted…”

Don’t say it, Regulus begs silently. Please don’t say what I—

“I still love you,” James breathes out. “I love you so much I can’t breathe around it.”

Regulus lets his eyes sink closed, firmly shuttering the tears forming in his eyes. He can’t let himself say it back. He can’t. If he does…

“James…” Regulus lets himself savor the sound of his name on his tongue. Then says softly, “It’s okay.”

They both know it’s not.

______________________________

James looks down at the number on his phone. Blinks, just to make sure he isn’t imagining… but, no, he isn’t making it up. He picks up his phone, his apprehension growing.

“Regulus?” he asks, unsure.

A snort sounds on the other line. “Hm, fffancy seeing you here.”

James blinks again. “...We’re talking over the phone.”

He doesn’t have to see Regulus to know that he’s just waved James’ words away with a flippant hand. “Metaphorically, then.”

It’s been weeks since the last time they spoke. James remembers very little of that ill-conceived conversation, except of course for the part where he said the one thing he promised himself he would never say again because his brain hates him. It’s played on a loop in his head everyday since, his ragged, sincere words and Regulus’ noncommittal response to them.

It’s okay, he had said.

It was anything but okay. They both knew that.

He had been doing so well, had been training himself to think of other things besides his ex boyfriend and his ex boyfriend’s new boyfriend and what the two of them were getting up to together, all the fun things they were probably doing while James was just focused on getting through his day. On getting to the next one. The next. The next the next the next the next the next—

“You don’t have ‘nything to say? Hm?” Regulus’ words slur. Unusual for him. Regulus was always so in control of himself.

James frowns. “Are you okay? You sound—”

“Drunk? Well, that’s because I am. Royally, massively fucking toasted. Thought I’d return the favor and call you for once. ‘S your lucky day.”

“Oh. I guess— I deserve that.”

“I’ll say. Taste of your own medicine. Drink up, Potter.”

James huffs a humorless laugh. “You must be drunk if you’re calling me ‘Potter’. You never call me that.”

“Never say never, Potter,” he spits out meanly. “It’s never a good idea to say never, remember? Remember how not good of an idea it is to use the word never? My therapist, she says I need to stop talking in absolutes. Never and always. Never say never, I learned that from her. Shame you didn’t, too.”

James sinks into a kitchen chair, burying his face in his free hand, rubbing out the headache growing in his left temple. “You were right,” he admits. “This is excruciating.”

This conversation is making him feel awful for every single time he’s dialed Regulus drunk, the barrier between his thoughts and his words nowhere to be found. Regulus was right. He deserved a taste of his own medicine. He deserved this for every single second Regulus had to keep his cool on the other line while James was busy fucking them up a little more than they already had been.

“Like remember when you said we’d never break up? Or when you said you’d always love me? Hilarious. Really, really funny stuff.”

Regulus’ voice is liquid rage, red hot and acidic. James swears it’s burning him through the phone.

He sighs. “Regulus. Can we not?”

“No, no, we should talk about it. It’s been long enough. We can be rational adults and have a damn conversation. Here, you know what, I’ll even go first. I wanted you to come with me, you know. I should have asked you. To come with me.”

James feels his heart stutter in his chest at those words. “You did ask me to come with you,” he murmurs.

Regulus was waiting for that, like a snake rearing to strike. “Wait. Yessss, that’s right. I asked you to come with me and you said no! Now I remember. You said fucking no.”

James clenches his jaw, his own anger slowly rising up the column of his throat. “I didn’t say no. I asked for some time to decide if I wanted to upend my life and move across the country, which is a pretty sane response to a question of that fucking magnitude. You’re the one who decided my hesitation meant I didn’t love you.”

“Well, it sure didn’t feel like you loved me when you let me leave.”

“Let you—?!” James cuts off, knowing he’ll blow a gasket if he doesn’t calm himself. “Regulus,” he starts, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but no one lets you do anything! You do whatever you please and damn the consequences! I just never— I didn’t want to be one of those consequences.”

Regulus, to no one’s shock, does not attempt to calm himself. In fact, James fears he’s only stoked the flames.

“You are hands down the most infuriating human being on the face of the goddamn planet! Of course you’re blaming me! Of course, like you were just an innocent bystander while I went about ruining our relationship! Like you had nothing to do with it! You had no part in it, no, not perfect James Potter, never him! I cannot believe— I just— it’s all so— fuck!”

His voice breaks on the word and then the rest of him breaks too. His tears sound painful, like they’re fighting they’re way out of Regulus’ body with each sob. He cries loudly and messily and James can’t pretend like the sound doesn’t break his heart all over again.

“Regulus?” He makes his voice gentle. Soothing. “Hey, don’t cry. Listen, you’re drunk. Why don’t we try talking when you’ve sobered up?”

“No, James,” he sobs, gasping for breath. “You don’t understand. I fucked up. I fucked up.”

James sits up straighter, alarmed.

“Are you okay? Are you safe? What’s going on—”

Regulus sniffles. “No, I’m— I’m at my place. I’m fine. It’s just… it’s Kingsley.”

James’ mind goes still in a way that should scare him but doesn’t. “Did he hurt you?” He doesn’t bother keeping the cool rage out of his voice.

“No!” Regulus nearly shouts. “No.. the opposite, actually. I hurt him. Badly.”

James closes his eyes and takes a deep, slow breath. “Look… I’m sorry you’re upset but I really don’t want to listen to your lover’s spat—”

“I said your name last night,” Regulus whispers.

“You—what?”

Regulus doesn’t hold himself back. “He fucked me and I said your name. When I came. Yelled it, actually. No way to hide it. James and Kingsley don’t sound remotely similar.”

And that— well. James has lost the ability for rational thought. “Oh,” he manages.

“Yeah, oh,” Regulus mimics him harshly. “He stormed out and we haven’t talked since. And I think— I think he’s going to break up with me now. He should break up with me. It’s— what I did is unforgivable.”

No matter how hard he tries, James can’t think of a single thing to say to this information. Naturally, Regulus won’t let that stand.

“James? Are you gonna say something?”

“What do you want me to say?” he asks weakly.

“Say you’re sorry!” Regulus shouts. “Say you’re sorry for drunk calling me all the fucking time, for reminding me that you exist, for reminding me I still fucking love—”

He cuts off, but not quite quickly enough. James still heard everything he didn’t say.

“I am sorry,” he says, voice rough. “I’m really, really sorry, Reg.”

He hears the hitch in Regulus’ breath. If he closes his eyes he can see Regulus before him, see the pain take up residence on his beautiful face, the way he scrunches his nose when he cries, his eyes going stark red, his cheeks staining themselves pink.

He can see Regulus so clearly in his mind. But he didn’t see what was coming next.

“I-I just want to be with you again,” Regulus cries softly. “I want to be with you, baby. I’ll move back, I’ll quit my program, I’ll move in with you like you wanted, I’ll do anything— but I can’t live like this anymore, James, I can’t, I can’t—”

James’ own tears slide down his cheeks silently, falling off the cliff-edge of his chin.

“Regulus,” he says as firmly as he can manage. “Stop it. Please. You didn’t move away on a whim, okay? You’re in an amazing program. You love Chicago, you love the city and the river walk and the Art Institute and that bookshop across from Grant Park—”

“You can’t— I didn’t tell you about any of—”

“I pay attention. I know you love it. And I love where I live. I love my job here.” He forces the next words to leave his mouth, even though they taste like poison. “We’re… in the right places for ourselves. I have to believe that.”

This doesn’t satisfy Regulus. The most twisted part of him is glad about that.

“Why don’t you get it, James? I can’t be in the right place if I’m not with you. The right place doesn’t exist if we aren’t in it together.”

James squeezes his eyes shut tightly. Regulus can’t know how badly this is hurting him. He can’t know that James feels like dying every day they spend apart, that James has applied for over ten jobs in Chicago just to hear nothing back, has looked at apartments in Regulus’ neighborhood enough times he’s saved the site to his favorites bar. Even when Regulus was dating someone else. Even after Regulus had moved on from him.

He's looked at it from so many angles, tried to reconfigure it so many times in his mind, and nothing made sense for them. One of them would always be giving up something, making sacrifices for the other, letting the resentment build.

Even thought Regulus is saying everything he’s been wanting to hear for an entire year...

He’s drunk. He’s drunk and he doesn’t know what he’s saying. Doesn’t know what he wants.

“We’re happy, Regulus,” James tells him stiffly. “We’re both happy.”

Maybe if he keeps repeating it, he’ll finally start to believe it.

“If this is what happiness feels like,” Regulus snarls, “then I don’t want to be fucking happy.”

No. And James doesn’t either.

“You’ll feel differently in the morning. I promise.”

Regulus laughs without humor. “I’ll still want you in the morning. Being sober doesn’t change that. It just lets me hold on to a shred of my dignity and not call you to tell you about it. But it doesn’t change a damn thing. You have to know that.”

He’s drunk, James reminds himself. He’s just drunk.

“Goodnight, Regulus,” he chokes out.

“I still love you, James.”

“It’s okay, Reg. It’ll be okay.”

They both know it won’t be.

#hahahahaha #cooked this up on the drive home (listening to NFU ofc) and knew i would be sitting myself down to write it #yeah i'm gnawing on the right person wrong time trope for these two #the idea that they love each other but might not belong together #mmmm yep. yep hurts SO good.#lyrics from NFU i would be REMISS not to mention include: i'm not fucked up i just miss the way that you talk #and i still love you you say it's okay #but it's not #YEAHHHHHH YUUUUUUP #this is for mil bc she opened my eyes to dwg #and also i love her <3 #jegulus #jeggy #jegulus microfic #james potter #regulus black #james potter x regulus black

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