#and danny is in the middle of it all internally screaming | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starry-bi-sky · 6 months ago

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#battinson with chronically ill half dead teenager yesssssssss#I'm imagining that first night he brings danny to the cave and hes just internally panicking#like what do i do with this kid. where do i put him. i cant just leave him in the cave. im DEFINITELY not leaving him alone

FRRRR. Like @/that1badassbitch mentioned in the comments, Bruce's thoughts that entire time was just varying pitches of internal screaming. Which I am still wheezing at because yeah, preach. Bruce's pov from the moment Danny accosts him in the alley to him bringing Danny into the cave ranges from awkward panicking, genuine desperation to get this kid some help, a lot of heartbreak on the boy's behalf, and also just pure anger at his godfather.

Cuz like, who the fuck does this?? How dare he. This boy is a child. If it weren't for Danny's genuine terrified pleading, Bruce would've probably had a confrontation with Vlad. He would've lost, considering Vlad's power set and Bruce's lack of and Vlad would have gotten away with Danny. But he would've tried it. (Could've resulted in a spin-off au where Bruce, after losing to Vlad, proceeds to hunt the bastard down to save Danny.)

But yeah, I absolutely, delightfully agree that Battinson is just. internally panicking the entire time. From the rooftops, to the car, to the driving all the way to the cave -- which, after a quick google search, is apparently in an abandoned train depot in Batman (2022). Which is fascinating to me, but I digress. His internal monologue consists of cussing out Danny's godfather, trying to figure out what the poison is, a repetitive use of the word "FUCK", and him going "keep him awake keep him awake keep him aWAKE--"

But like, in a more Bruce Wayne fashion.

Danny is curled up in the passenger seat beside him and Bruce keeps intermittently checking on him every few seconds. Danny just looks like shit, man. Poor kid has a seemingly unending bloody nose, he's coughed a few times already and each time sounds like its shaking through his lungs and taking a piece out. His breathing is hollow, quietly raspy, and Danny sounds like he's gasping each time he breathes in. He's pale, clammy and sweating, but trembling, and his eyes are glazed over, unfocused, and half-lidded.

Dealer's choice here but I'm very amused but also fond of the idea that Bruce, in an attempt to do anything to soothe this kid, panic-clips off his cape and kinda just. throws it at him. Cringes, then awkwardly tries to adjust it so it's laying over him like a blanket.

It works though! Danny, through his haze, cracks a smile at him before grabbing the cape and practically curling around it. He seems to visibly relax, and Bruce silently slumps with relief that his idea worked. I also think he tries to painfully make some sort of small talk but frankly the only valid form of "small talk" he knows is interrogation. Danny's too out of it to mind though.

Bruce asks him if he knows what his godfather used to poison him.

("Blood Bl'ssom.") ("What is that?") ("A k'nda plant. Issa type o' rose.") ("Where can I find one?") ("Y'can't.") (And hear Bruce's blood chills for a moment. "What do you mean?") ("Blossoms went extinct in th- in the 1600s.") ("What? How is that possible? How'd your godfather get his hands on one?") ("Science.")

He also learns that the poison is, horrifyingly, cannibalistic, and Danny reassures him that he kinda stopped feeling the pain a few hours ago. Then he gags on nothing and spirals into an ugly coughing fit. "...Mostly." He adds on.

I have this very vivid mental image of Battinson screeching to a stop in the cave, Alfred's off to the side messing with some prototype gadgets. Bruce's side door swings open and Alfred's in the middle of snarkily asking if he's decided to get a reasonable amount of sleep tonight, only to immediately eat his tongue when Bruce beelines to the other side of the car and frantically pulls a waifish victorian kid with the tuberculosis blood cough to match out of the passenger's side.

("Dear god, what happened!?") ("His godfather poisoned him. I need towels and every medical device we have in here.")

The few photos I could find of the Battinson Cave did not imply there was a gurney in there, so Bruce uses on of the metal tables. He uses one arm to swipe off all the stuff on there onto the floor before laying Danny down.

It's. a very stressful time! That's for sure. Bruce is stuck between trying to get some form of antidote or at the very least a neutralizer to the blood blossom extract made, and also reassuring Danny that he's going to be fine. He's out of his depth.

They do get Danny stabilized though! How? Uh, I hadn't actually been able to think of how up until now, and this is just me trying to throw together an idea up on the fly. But Bruce like, manages to make some kind of 'antidote' that doesn't completely kill the blood blossom extract, but it makes the poison at least forcibly slow down.

[Forced to put a read more because this got SO LONG. oops]

"like what do i do with this kid. where do i put him. i cant just leave him in the cave. im DEFINITELY not leaving him alone" <<< is his sudden internal crisis after Danny's stabilized and passed out on the table. Giving him back to his godfather is completely off the fucking table, and Bruce can't give him up to CPS because there's a risk that he'll also return to his godfather.

He ends up, unsurprisingly to all of us, on deciding to keep Danny with him for the time being. At least until they can get his godfather behind bars. And you're right! Danny can't stay in the cave -- it's a half-furnished, rundown train depot. There's a tetanus shot waiting around each corner. It's Bruce's (reluctant) idea to take him up to the manor.

So Danny wakes up in an incredibly gothic guest bedroom, not feeling 100%, but also not feeling like total death like he did yesterday. He can still feel the blood blossom in him -- it leaves a joint and muscle soreness throughout his whole body, and when he breathes there's a weight there.

His confusion over where he woke up -- because it's very much not Vlad's place -- is overshadowed by his frank awe. You can't tell me he hasn't developed an appreciation and fondness of gothness due to his friendship with Sam. He might not be into it like Sam is, but he can appreciate the beauty when it's right in front of him.

#and hes got that awkward silent staring thing going on. Danny's trying not to die and vlads not there anymore#so hes unbothered by it really

Bruce pulled up a chair next to Danny's bed in the manor and didn't move a single inch the entire time. Just. sat there and stared to make sure the kid didn't stop breathing in the middle of the night. Probably has some facial recognition scanner going to try and figure out Danny's last name -- whether that works or not is dealer's choice frankly.

Either way, Danny turns his head to the left and nearly jumps three feet into the air when he sees Bruce and his 'stares into your soul' blue eyes. Sends him into a minor coughing fit by accident. Battinson very awkwardly and quietly apologizes. danny kinda just waves him off.

That's a whole conversation I'm not gonna go into, but to sum it up Bruce asks how Danny's feeling, and Danny tells him that he feels better, but he can still feel the blood blossom poison. So whatever he did, didn't get rid of all of it. (He's still incredibly fucking grateful nonetheless)

cue that "getting to know you" interrogation stuff.

(Danny can probably keep the full extent of his halfa status a secret from Bruce at first, but he is forced to tell Bruce about the ectoplasm running through him since it's the only reason the blood blossom toxin even works on him. Which results in him telling him a.. slightly omitted version of why he even has that in there in the first place.)

(Maybe he reveals that he was a hero in order to convince Bruce to let him out on the field rather than being just support? I've got ideas and fortunately your tags will help me delve into them)

#alfred pretends to be exasperated that bruce kidnapped a kid but honestly hes relieved#maybe being responsible for someone else will make bruce more responsible for his own health

no notes. just know that i'm wheezing at this. my friend @kingcrow01 had Alfred essentially reacting the same fucking way.

#the media would eat it up are you kidding??? the reclusive prince of gotham seen with a mysterious child???#and theyve both got that sickly pathetic wet cat look to them what with bruce constantly being injured and danny being chronically poisoned

FR! I love social media shenanigans and I love seeing it in fic (Lex Luthor's Ascent From Supervillainy To Fatherhood is a really good example of it imo), although i'm not too good at making it myself. Imagining how twitter in-universe might react to photo evidence of Danny with Bruce is going to fuel my desire for seeing people's reactions to things for ages. I am delighted to imagine that dumpster fire. The in-universe memes, guys.

Nobody has any clue what this mysterious Wayne child looks like for the longest time because Danny follows Bruce's lead and dresses in Anti-Paparazzi Recluse Fits. Mostly because he's the godchild of an equally reclusive and influential billionaire figure, and I imagine Vlad would pitch a media fit trying to find his poor, beloved godson.

Can you imagine the fucking SCANDAL if people found out that Vlad Masters' godson ran off and was currently living with recluse Gotham Prince Bruce Wayne? The tabloids would eat this shit up. It's a three-course meal that's paying their rent for the next three months. That's not even to say what Vlad might do upon finding out Danny's whereabouts.

So yeah, photo evidence of Danny only has shots of him wearing a large hoodie, one of Bruce's jackets, and a medical face mask and a hat. It doesn't hide any of the Sickly Pathetic Wet Cat look, if anything it enhances it. But you can see his bright 'staring into your soul like the oracle of delphi' blue eyes, and the black curls plastering his face, and his pale skin.

In some photos, as blurry as they are, Danny appears to be leaning into Bruce's side, seemingly using him as a support. The "antidote" (medicine?) Bruce created that first night was effective, but it wears off eventually. Before they make his medical bracelets, the both of them agree to use the antidote Bruce made to stave off the worst of the poison.

These photos are taken around the times the antidote was wearing off or had worn off, and the toxin was taking itself out of the backseat and shifting back into high gear. Despite that, Danny managed to convince Bruce to let him tag along on whatever shopping run he was on.

Someone took one of these photos and captioned it "Pathetic Wet Cat and his Sickly Pathetic Wet Kitten" and posted it on SMS. It got numbers.

Oh my god, I just thought of this but when Battinson is finally cornered by reporters asking him about Danny he does this:

he internally panics, and then with a straight face says "i don't know what you're talking about. i don't have a son." and then he Flees.

(this blows up in his face because the reporter he responded to never asked him if Danny was his son, they asked him who the boy seen with him was. Bruce is trending on twitter before he even makes it home. He's mortified. There's potential here for a scene between Bruce and Danny where they have that long-awaited 'are we family?' conversation.)

#i know everyone's focusing on danny working as a hero with batman and his relationships with dick and jason and everyone as the older siblin#but im still stuck on early days batman with a teenager to care for and how that dynamic is going to be SO DIFFERENT#than that same bruce with a 9 year old Dick. like the circumstances are so different and hes never bat-dopted a kid before this

NO BECAUSE YOU GET IT. YOU GET IIIIT! I fucking love older brother danny, however the biggest appeal of the "eldest son danny" idea is in fact how he and bruce's relationship would have to play out in order for that to happen. You could argue that Danny could be an 'older brother figure' to the Robins and still not have any familial affiliation with Batman, but the fact of the matter is, simply? I want that familial affiliation with Bruce. I want to see how that would play out, and how it would develop.

I am. a scientist prodding a little glass stirring rod at the potential family dynamic of Bruce Wayne and Danny Fenton and going, in complete wonderment and awe, "wow. fascinating. how does that work? how did you happen? what made you? how can i do it again?"

I also think there could be something fascinating over the fact that Bruce Wayne watched his parents die in front of him, while Danny's parents don't even know Danny died at all. A (once) child with dead parents, and a dead child with living parents. I think there's something to be explored there, I just haven't yet figured out what.

And yeah! a teen is completely different than an 8 year old. They're in very different developmental stages in their life, and that's not even addressing their lifestyle differences. When I made this prompt I mentally kinda just placed the death of danny's parents as having happened a few months ago. To me, it feels like enough time for Vlad's temperament to escalate from bad to worse, and for him to actually cook up that blood blossom toxin.

Danny's at a different mourning period compared to Dick, who was brought in while it wasn't even a day old. Maybe Danny hasn't had much time to mourn his family as much as he's wanted because he's been stuck in survival mode living with Vlad, and once he feels secure with Bruce he can finally tap into that grief he's been keeping on the backburner.

Lots of things to explore that can adjusted and changed as needed! Very flexible.

All in all though, I am a sucker for found family and in order for Danny to have family in Dick and the others, he needs to find it with Bruce.

#and this one has a crazy demon murder godfather and poison blood and a history of punching otherworldly apocalypse-creatures#into another dimension. no parenting book will help.

no notes here other than yeah, agreed, wheeze. The good news is that he doesn't need to be completely afraid that those otherworldly potential-apocalypse kickstarters will show up at any random point, Because, imo, Danny shut down and destroyed the portal before he could be shipped off in order to prevent anyway (cough-the GIW-cough) from accessing it. Vlad's the only one with a working portal currently and he's not as careless as the fentons are as to keep it open willy-nilly.

now the only thing he needs to worry about is the crazy demon godfather and the flora-boros blood toxin in his son's veins! whoo.

#and like yeah danny will want to help gotham and save people#but honestly? with his new limitations and no expectations from a previous robin do you think he would do it the same way?

I love this question! because honestly when I was initially expanding on this idea on my own, my initial answer was "no" due to the toxin's limitations. I had the same idea as you where Danny takes on a more 'oracle' role where he's not out in the field, but he's still helping behind the scenes. I was torn between "logically would this happen" as well as "chronically ill people aren't delicate flowers, they can do things" and a little dash of "okay but i really want nightingale out in the field"

In the end I decided that I liked the idea of Danny actually out with Bruce, and that as a result there would need to appropriate consequences and drawbacks for this decision.

#idk guys he fights ghosts because no one else can#i think he'd probably play a much more supportive role. at least at first. << you're totally right, too. And Danny's motivations for wanting to help in Gotham would have to be different than in Amity Park. Oooo this has good character growth potential.

Danny helps Amity Park out of a sense of obligation right? Like obviously it's also because he's a good person, but ultimately it kinda comes across as an obligation. He's the only one who can, so he's the one to do it, despite the fact that throughout the show he's shown to want that normal life. There's guilt there if he doesn't do anything; he has the power to stop this, so why shouldn't he?

(Oo, doesn't that sound kinda familiar? Guilt over something he ultimately has no control over, but thinks he could have?)

So! For him to choose to decide to rejoin the hero life, and not just from behind the curtain, feels like a pretty big character decision to me. Especially because now, he doesn't really have the power to help. Not like he did before.

He's sickly, essentially powerless because using his powers speeds up the toxin, and equipped only with his wits, his creativity, and whatever fighting skills he may have acquired during his time as Phantom -- and whatever martial arts prowess the author decides to have Maddie pass down to Danny.

He's not doing this because he feels like he has to, but because he wants to. I think that's pretty cool.

You reminded me that ideas can be combined too! It's dealers choice for anyone who wants to throw their hat into the ring in how Danny decides to join the frontline fight.

I'm going to kinda contradict myself here but one of my ideas for Danny going from behind-the-scenes to in-your-face-scenes is just. Batman needing backup for a fight. I'm not going to go into specifics for who he's facing, because frankly i'm not sure myself, but he needs backup.

And Danny, who likes to sit in the cave more often than not, waiting for Bruce to come back, sees this through whatever cameras are available. He's stressed out, worried for Batman's safety. This could be a good catalyst for the overarching subplot of him rejoining the hero scene as well as hey, maybe realizing that he doesn't need his powers to help people.

Danny's warring with himself about what to do. Trying to soothe his anxieties by reminding himself that Bruce is an incredible fighter and good at getting out of tight spots, telling himself it would be fine. Rebuffing the little voice in his mind saying he should help by telling it that he might make things worse. And when his subconscious tries to tell him that he can help, he rebuffs it by saying does he need to?

And there, right there, is what's been playing on repeat for however long it takes for him to become nightingale. Every night: "I can help, but do I need to?" and during this night is when he has an epiphany; "No, but I want to."

it's like the sun peaking through the clouds after weeks of gray skies. He wants to help. He can help, but not because he should or because he's able to, although that is important, but because he wants to.

So he finds where Bruce hides the face paint, smears what he think is an adequate amount on his face -- it looks almost mask like. And hunts down one of the spare utility belts -- he ends up having to wrap it around his shoulder and torso like a bandolier due to how tall Bruce is and how willowy Danny is. he already has a hoodie on, and pulls it up over his head. And fuck it, i'm calling down the Rule of Cool Law. Danny finds one of Bruce's spare capes and tears it up to make a makeshift scarf to better hide his face. He gets some other tools he needs that he knows Bruce uses, and then he's off.

(Bruce is both very shocked and very upset when Danny comes crashing through the ceiling with a faux-confident; "Hiyo, B! You're looking pretty bat-tered, so I thought I'd come in and give a helping claw!")

(Results in what I think is a very funny post-fight conversation where they have something of a hissed argument in front of the half-conscious criminals. "what are you doing here?!" "i wanted to help!" "where'd you learn to fight like this?" "mom taught me" -> which causes a fucking BUZZ in the criminal underground when word gets out.)

there's conflict. argument over bruce not wanting danny to come out to help him. Until danny eventually wins out in the end by pulling up footage of phantom on the batcomputer, revealing his previous hero status, and pure damn stubbornness. Bruce agrees but only after he updates Danny's self-defense and gets him a proper suit.

#alfred cant handle TWO wet rats getting beat up every night lol

singling this out because it's funny and you're rIGHT.

#danny innovating new and better bat gadgets. making good humanitarian use of the wayne money in ways that would make sam proud. #making sure alfred isnt the only thing standing between bruce and bruce's death at the hands of the city he loves

Danny's bambi eyes are lethal work, and Alfred's favorite employ whenever Bruce is being stubborn. Even after rejoining the active hero scene, Danny will still team up with Alfred to drag Bruce to bed or rest. Excuse you, don't make the same mistakes he did! He's the elder hero here!

Danny churns out so many anti-ghost gadgets for Bruce for the inevitable confrontation with Vlad, along with non-ecto gadgets just because he wants him safe. It becomes an unusual bonding experience for the both of them to come up with gadget ideas together and then figuring out how to make it work, and then building them together.

Vigilante equivalent of helping dad in the garage except you're both fixing the car and telling the other to grab them the 3/5th quarter-inch flathead screwdriver from the toolbox.

Danny is delighted to have someone to bounce ideas off of with, as does Bruce.

For the good old "fights are one of the ways ghosts socialize" trope: They have regular training sessions, but it's Danny who asks if they could sometimes just have some for-fun sparring sessions. Then has to very embarrassedly explain to Bruce that it's just something ghosts do with each other to socialize sometimes.

Bruce reads between the lines and sees it for what it is: play fighting. Danny's asking to play fight. There are no parenting books on taking care of a half-ghost teen, but he immediately thinks on a documentary on lions he saw a while ago and agrees.

These play fights more often than not result in Danny being tossed around like a ragdoll and loving it -- he's light as feathers and being thrown up into the air feels like he's flying again. Something he can't do anymore for obvious reasons. Plus the ghostly bonding thing.

I don't have much to add about the humanitarian use of wayne money thing, i agree. It also makes Bruce proud and could help inspire him to start getting more involved with Wayne Industries so he can start using his parents' company for humanitarian use as well.

#MAN imagine the fluff of danny learning to decipher bat grunts#if anyone has experience seeing past the crazy obsessive seemingly single minded focus of a parental figure and to the real love and care#that exists so deeply and truly under and throughout it all it'll be danny

aaaaaa, man you're so right. i was talking to crow about this but, for context, the idea was that Nightingale has a tendency to sometimes bite his opponents. And it's become something almost like a signature surprise move because he has Ghost Fangs, but the first time this happens its during some kind of gang fight between B, Gale, and a handful of goons.

However, the fight halts to surprised stop when one of the guys shrieks out; "OW, HE BIT ME!" and like a spell, everyone turns, flabbergasted, towards the guy who said it. Because what the fuck did you mean he bit you, wHY IS HE BITING.

And there, hanging off the guy's arm with all the smug self-satisfaction of a cat, is Nightingale, with his fangs still chomped down onto the guy's arm. There's a few seconds of silence, long enough for everyone to see what's going on, before Gale reorients his momentum and kicks the guy square in the jaw; knocking him out cold.

The thing that catches everyone's attention is that Nightingale drew blood. They watch, half-terrified, half-baffled, as the kid scrunches his nose up, wipes at his mouth, and makes a noise of disgust. He turns to look at Batman, who has also stopped what he's doing to stare as well.

Nightingale asks him; "Am I gonna have to get checked for this?"

Rather than deign him with a response, Batman remains silent. They stare at each other for three whole seconds, before Nightingale clicks his tongue like Batman had said something he didn't like, but expected.

"Aw, okay." Then without missing a beat, he turns and launches himself like a feral cat at the closest person next to him, and the room descends back into chaos once more.

Man, I'm just imagining them working next to each other on their own personal project, and Danny will quietly ask for Bruce's opinion on something. Bruce gives him a single grunt, and Danny's silent for a moment, contemplative, before muttering something like "huh, i guess you're right" or "oh, good idea."

Danny eventually adopts Bruce's little "hrm" quirk himself, and it slowly goes from: "hey, what do you think about this?" "hrm" "that's what I thought too" to: "..hmn?" "hm."

The ever consistent urge to make Your Blorbo The Most Specialist Character On The Block Ever is forever a plague of mine, and I'm very tempted to say that Danny is the only other kid except Cass who can do the "hm?" "hn" thing back to back with Bruce. Don't get me wrong, the other batkids can do the "Hey X thing" "hm" "okay" thing, and on some level can do the "hm" "hm" thing too, but they can't do it quite to the same extent as Danny can, and its from those years where it was just the two of them.

but yess!! I agree! Danny's got experience with that kind of obsessiveness, Bruce reminds him a lot of his parents that way and he understands it the best out of all his siblings as a result. It also means, however, that he willingly goes in to drag Bruce out of whatever obsessive rabbit hole he's fallen into, if he feels that Bruce has been too hyperfocused on something. He saw it with his parents, and it ended up killing them. He's not losing another dad because of his foolish tunnel vision.

#bruce is so much quieter than his parents but man if danny doesnt understand him. and maybe bruce comes to learn what dannys used to as well#comes to learn to speak his affection and open up so much more. to make danny feel more comfortable and welcome

AGAIN, NO NOTES. This is perfect and yes. I've got nothing to add.. okay I lied, i just needed a moment to think. Bruce isn't the most physically affectionate person, but he starts to be thanks to Danny, who is very tactile. Same thing with verbal praise, Danny hardly got any of it in school or, regretfully, at home since Jazz tended to get all the praise.

Bruce tells him "good eye" once after Danny spotted something before Bruce did, and Danny preened so brightly Bruce genuinely wondered if stars were going to appear over his head. He'd gotten his hands on video footage about Phantom that had shown him doing that exact same thing.

(oh which reminds me. The moment Danny tells Bruce about his previous hero experience as Phantom, Bruce goes on a research helldive to get his hands on everything about it. He's watched every single video showing Phantom. There were very few videos of Phantom that weren't videos of his fights, which were horrifying to watch on multiple levels.

Including but not limited to the fact that ghosts could apparently survive the most lethal of injuries, and he was never going to get the image of Phantom yanking a steel pipe out of his chest out of his head, or him pulling out a broken chunk of glass from his throat.)

(It was even worse seeing videos of Danny's parents shooting at him. That was a long, uncomfortable conversation.)

Another time Bruce is asking Danny about being a ghost, and Danny wistfully tells him that the thing he misses most is flying. Grappling through the city is the closest thing to it, but it's still fundamentally different -- and in some ways more exciting -- than flying. The closest comparison he could give is an indoor skydiving ring.

Bruce, a week later, rents out an indoor skydiving ring for the day and Danny spends hours inside the wind tunnel. He tells Bruce all about the similarities and differences in the car on the drive home, and then tells him that next time Bruce should try it too.

Just, all-in-all, seeing how these two interact and impact each other is what makes this so appealing to me. Especially with early years Batman. And I had so much fun typing all this out, thanks for the opportunity to infodump haha.

#UGH OP THIS POST TT-TT

AH YOUR TAGS <33

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.

#fr tho. anyone reading this should look up the Battinson Wayne Manor if they don't know what it looks like. It is SO goth and i love it #its gorgeous imo #i was looking up battinson movie clip compilations last night and my favorite fucking line from him is and will always be #[“we just got you on assaulting an officer!”] “you got me on assaulting three" LIKE YOU SASSY MFER. THATS HILARIOUS DUDE #batman being a troll is my favorite thing ever and ever and eVER. im adding these tags as i go along can you tell #found family doesn't need labels but in this case im putting them on there.#flora-boros is a play on of the word 'flora' and 'ouroboros'. eyy. get it? flora because. well. the blood blossom is a flower and ouroboros #cuz the ouroboros is the self-regenerating snake eating its own tail for all of eternity. ectoplasm is the tail and the flower is the head #personally i really like the idea that danny's got some proficient martial arts skills thanks to his mom. skill may vary.#but if i were to apply it to BB. danny can hold his own pretty well but he's not anywhere near batman's level. he's creative tho.#wow this took me a long time to reply to. somehow?? danny gets a scarf because that's the design i gave nightingale and i think it fucks #this reminds me. danny purrs and has other minor ghostly stuff he does instinctively in his human form. that kinda fucks him over because #it activates or disturbs the ectoplasm in his blood. which in turn disturbs the toxin. it won't make him severely sick. things like #coughing fits are common. but so is nausea. hot flashes. fatigue. chronic pain. sometimes vomiting. the whole ugly nine yards.#smth smth there's an appeal to the tragedy between the man who never fully grew up cause of his parents' death. and the kid who #never got the chance to after his parents caused his death.#throwaway idea: after bruce is told about Danny's accident and subsequent death he later goes out and silently makes Danny a grave #he doesnt think it's fair that danny never got one. its simple and subtle bc he doesn't really wanna bring it up with danny.#im trying to think of what it would look like and. throwaway design but it's a stone tree stump where instead of just plain rings there's a #star chart carved into the flat part. it looks like just a kinda dramatic statue but behind it Bruce has a small plaque and Danny's epitaph #on it. its in the only part of the garden that's not overgrown and bruce plants flowers around it. he thinks it could work as an adequate #substitute until Danny can get a proper headstone. It's danny's favorite spot in the whole garden and he doesn't get why. he thinks its #the star chart. bruce has found danny fast asleep beside the stone tree; using the flat part as a head rest; more times than he can count #mmmm i think thats everything i've got in my head for now.

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mikami1992 · 3 years ago

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The dead son of Batman

Imagine a JL disaster situation, several heroes are already reported missing or presumed dead, the last one apparently is Batman..

and that annoys his children, especially the last one I adopted...

yep, Phantom enters all ballistic and King of the Dead mode at 100% (gigantic, that the mere presence of him is enough to instill terror in anyone)...

he ends up defeating the bad guy in turn and leaving a wasteland of destruction...

but surprise, surprise, Batman comes out in the middle of the rubble, He's alive!...

And Danny just goes back to normal and goes flying to hug him while he screams "Dad!"...

but surprise, everything that happened ends up recorded in the international news....

And what do you say:

how would the world react?

#batman #Danny Phantom #danny phantom x batman #dp x dc #dp x batman #bruce wayne is a good dad #bruce wayne #overpowered danny

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groggyvanfleet · 3 years ago

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Something In Your Mouth// J.M.K

(hi everyone! this is my first published piece so i’m so so so sorry if its bad but i literally listened to a nickelback song and got inspired to write something based on it but please let me know if you want me to continue writing and send in some requests!)

*disclaimer: smut...pure smut 18+ MINORS DNI!, alcohol is mentioned, oral f & m receiving, unprotected penetrative sex (remember folks wrap it before you tap it)

word count: 3.3k

The smell of cigarettes and whiskey filled my nostrils as the roadside bar in the middle of a random state started to become livelier. The boys had recently finished a show and had a few days before heading off to the next one to perform for their adoring fans, so they decided to see what kind of nightlife the town had to offer. Sam and Danny had found a dart board and decided to test their skills against each other even with copious amounts of shots and different drinks running through their body. How they didn’t end up hitting each other surprised me. Sitting at the bar with a group of girls who you had quickly made friends with (all with the help of tequila) I continued to down the shots they had supplied oh so graciously.

I could tell the liquor was starting to hit me as I became more confident and much sloppier. I tend to try not to drink a lot as I am, as people would say a sloppy drunk. Either from tripping over my own feet or spilling stuff on myself. I know that no matter how drunk and embarrassing I got Josh was always there to make sure I was ok but, tonight he was too preoccupied with his and Jake’s conversations they had sparked up with the random townies that would approach them. I was pulled away from my inner monologue when one of the girls started whooping and screaming at one of her friends about one of the songs that had just come across the speakers. With that the girl announced more shots as ‘this is totally her song.’ The girls all gathered around with them pulling me into the circle as well handing out the glasses and limes. Downing the clear liquid and then immediately biting into the lime I could feel some of the juice running down the side of my mouth. I scooped up the juice using my thumb as I was quickly pulled into the center of what you could call a dance floor. While being whisked away I passed Josh making quick eye contact with him while my thumb was still in my mouth. He shot me a devilish grin before returning to whatever Jake had been talking about.

Deciding not to fight the arm that pulled me into the crowd I just went along with it. Dancing to the song playing I began to sway my hips and run my hands from the base of neck and up to my hair feeling the guitar and beat of the drums to take over my body. It wasn’t a bad song, I had to admit defiantly something the boys wouldn’t listen to. Continuing my dances moves that would shock my grandmother and make her feel the need to go pray if she saw me the song soon came to end leading us girls back to the bar for more shots. How these girls' livers weren't screaming for help was beyond me. Feeling my mind become hazier as the more shots of whatever we were doing entered my mouth I could feel most of the drink landing on the sides of my mouth and chin instead of the designated location. Using my thumbs to bring the excesses up to my lips and sucking my thumb till every drop was surely gone from the appendage.

Listening to one of the girls whose name I never cared to learn tell a story about someone she worked with I felt an arm sneak around my waist and the feel of curls tickle the side of my face I could instantly tell it was Josh. “Hi ladies, I hope you’ve been treating my lovely girlfriend here well.” He said flashing his well-loved smile to them as he turned to press a kiss into my cheek. “Oh my god, this girl is such a wild one!” The leader of the friend group said with her high-pitched voice that made me internally cringe. “Oh, don’t I know that isn't that right mama?” Josh quipped back flashing a smirk before taking a swig of the beer that was in his free hand. “She looks so innocent, but I bet you're a freaky one, aren't ya.” One of the girls on my right said as she nudged my shoulder with her arm. Feeling a blush creep onto my face I shot Josh a look as I was somehow able to telepathically say to him are you serious. “Well, thank you girls for including her in your little party but, I better get her outta here and into bed. Poor girl here is gonna have a horrible hangover in the morning.” Josh said while bringing the hand that was on my hip up to rub my arm. “You two have fun.” One of the girls shot at us with a wink then returned to her friends who decided they needed to do more dancing.

Walking out of the bar I embraced the cool air that hit my face as I could still feel the heat that had set in from the implying conversation. Josh hailed a cab opening the door for me and helped me inside the car then joined me while telling the driver the address of the hotel we were staying at for the night. Shooting a quick text to the boys explaining that he had left due to me feeling tired and that I just wanted to go back to our room. Putting his phone back into his pocket he then turned to me putting a hand on my knee while leaning into whisper in my ear. “Mama, you looked so sexy out there.” He said then started to kiss down my neck while his hand slowly made its way up from where he had to its new resting place on the inner of my thigh, I could feel the pool start to form in my pants by just the actions that were conspiring. “Would've much rather had my hands running up and down your body though.” He mumbled, continuing the assault of kisses on my neck. Letting small quiet whimpers out of my mouth that only Josh could have heard as I didn’t think the cab driver would appreciate two twenty something year old's getting each other horny in the back of his cab. Josh continued his whispers of praise until we reached the hotel where he quickly paid the driver and thanked him before stepping out of the cab to help me out as well. Leading me quickly through the lobby and into the elevator he pushed the button that would take us to our floor. As soon as the elevator doors closed, he pressed his lips against mine. I could taste the bitterness of the beer he was drinking earlier as he took the chance to slip his tongue into my mouth to deepen the kiss. Using it to explore my mouth like it was the first time even though he has countless times. The kiss was hungry and fueled by desire kissing me as if it were the last time, he would ever have the chance. “God, watching you suck your thumb made me think about what other crafty little lip tricks you could do.” He said pulling away while trying to even his breathing. Leaning up I tangled my fingers into his curls at the nape of his neck I began to lightly bite and suck on all of Josh’s sweet spots. “There’s one.” I spoke while continuing to leave my marks on his neck and making my way down to his collarbones, hearing him moan slightly made me smile as I knew Josh loved when I would leave hickeys on his chest or anywhere near it. He had such a bad obsession with either leaving marks on me or vice versa. The fact he would leave marks that could be viewed by other people turned him on immensely. “Baby as much as I love what you're doing I don’t wanna have people see me fucking you in this elevator.” Josh said as he pulled me away from him. “Joshy please.” I begged looking up at him through my lashes. In prefect timing the elevator dinged and the doors opened letting us know we reached our floor Josh practically dragged me out of the confined space and down the hall to our room.

Fumbling to get his wallet out, Josh finally retrieved the keycard and slid it in the sensor to our door unlocked and he swung the door open pulling me inside and pushing me up against the door causing it to slam shut. “Josh people are trying to sleep.” I giggled out as he slipped his hand under my shirt to rub my back and he feverly kissed up and down my neck once again leaving marks in his wake. “Don't care just want you mama.” He said in between kisses. Lifting my shirt over my head and tossing it somewhere to be retrieved in the morning he began making his way down till he got to the top of my breasts pressing kisses and biting just enough to make me let out small whines and moans. I could feel him smirking against my skin at the sounds that were leaving my mouth. The man knew what he was doing, and he knew how to use his mouth to get the reactions he wanted out of me. Josh loved using his mouth on me especially when he could watch me squirm and all just because of his mouth. It gave him a sense of pride knowing that only he can make me so needy and whiny with only his mouth. Reaching his arms around me to unhook my bra and letting it fall to the ground he quickly grabbed my left breast and taking my nipple in between his lips while he massaged the right with his other hand. Letting my head fall back against the door I let out soft moans as the feeling of his mouth working my nipple and his hand grabbing and pulling at my other had the mess in my panties growing each second that passed by. “Josh, please no more teasing just want you.” I pleaded while running my fingers through his hair slightly pulling motioning to him that I wanted him to come up from his stance. Releasing my nipple from his mouth as he came up to press another heat fueled kiss to my swollen lips, he began to pull me by the waistband of my pants towards the bed, feeling the back of my legs touch the edge of the best I fell on my back on the bed slowly making my way up to the headboard. Josh made his way on top of me putting his legs on either side of mine while he began to unbutton my pants before gently pulling them down to reveal the pretty pink thong that he had bought me a few months ago as a little gift to use the next time he was home. “My baby is so pretty in pink.” He said, admiring the view for a moment before sliding off and positioning himself in between my legs. Instinctively I spread my legs open for him and peppering kisses on my inner thigh and around where he knew I would much rather have his mouth be. The feeling of his facial hair tickled me which led to giggles in between whines of desperation. “What’s so funny mama?” Josh questioned me looking up at me with a raised eyebrow. “Nothing baby, your beard just tickles.” I chirped back and smiled, letting him know he could continue. He returned the smile and gave my stomach a quick kiss before returning to his excruciating teasing. It was moments like these that made my heart flutter, even though I know in just a few moments that he would be screwing me senseless we still were able to share those moments of sweetness that just made me fall even more in love with him. How I could even fall more truly, madly, deeply in love with him was beyond me.

“Josh, please want your mouth.” I whined out, letting the desperation and frustration I was feeling coat the words. Josh let out a low laugh before reaching up to pull my underwear off my legs. Feeling the cool air of the hotel room hit my core I let out a small hiss he slowly ran a finger against my slit collecting the wetness that had made its self-known, letting out a low chuckle Josh began to lick in small strides on my slit causing me to loudly moan out before covering my mouth to silence the moans so that I don’t wake the other guests in neighboring rooms. “None of that mama, let em’ hear you. Let them hear how good I make you feel with just my mouth.” Josh mumbled against me before attaching his lips to my clit and sliding one of his digits in and began pumping at a steady pace. Feeling the pleasure his lips and fingers brought me but not enough to I started to grind against his face to get more friction. Josh laughed at me, added another finger, and began pumping in and out faster. Feeling his fingers start to hit my most sensitive spot I let out a loud and high-pitched moan bordering a scream as the feeling was so intense letting him know to continue hitting that spot at the same pace he was going. I could feel the knot in my stomach start to tighten indicating my orgasm was approaching “Fuck Joshy I'm so close don’t stop baby.” I moaned out, securing my fingers in his hair to pull his face closer to me. “Come on baby, cum for me wanna feel you cum on my fingers.” Josh said speeding up his fingers to bring me closer to the edge. Soon enough the knot snapped, and I came undone, my hips jerking away from his mouth and fingers as he kept up his pace helping me ride out the high. “Josh too much please.” I cried out as formed and made their way down my cheeks due to overstimulation. I grabbed his wrist and head trying to push him away. “Baby you look so good coming undone on my fingers. Such a good girl.” He praised me before coming up and planting a kiss on my lips, letting me taste myself on his soft, swollen lips. “You did so good mama.” He pulled away and gave both of my tear-stained cheeks a loving kiss. Finally coming down from my orgasm I whined and pulled at Josh’s shirt seeing it as unfair I was completely naked, and he was still completely dressed. “You know what to do mama.” Josh smirked and changed our positions to whereas I was now on top, and his back was against the headboard. Crawling up his legs and settling myself on his crotch I could feel his hard on press against me, making me even wetter than before. Poor boy is so hard how has he not exploded yet. Removing his shirt, I took a moment to take in his tan chest and his happy trail that led down to the waist band of his boxers. “Like what you see Y/N?” Josh remarked as apparently, he caught me staring for a bit. “Very.” I said before attaching our lips together. Our mouths moved in synchronized movements before slipping our tongues into each other's mouth. Slowly I melted into the kiss feeling as if time had stopped moving and it was just us two in our own bubble. I began to slowly grind against him, the feeling of his pants giving me the right amount of friction causing my moans and his to be muffled by the kiss. Josh was the first to pull away with him looking up at me with blown out, lustful eyes making me want to grind harder and faster against him. “Fuck me mama, as much as you look so cute right now, you'd look so much cuter with something in your mouth.” He said with panting breaths in between words. Taking his words as a sign I stopped myself and moved down to unbutton his pants and pull them down his legs along with his underwear causing his rock-hard cock to spring out and slap against his stomach. The tip was an angry red and pre cum had started to slowly drip down from head to base. I took my thumb scooping up the bead and put it into my mouth sucking till I got it all. I could see Josh’s breathing hitch at the action and eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, fuck me.” He finally breathed out. Smirking I slowly took the tip of his cock into my mouth looking up at him with innocent eyes and I began to take more of him till he hit the back of my throat. Josh let his head rest against the board behind him has he tangled his fingers into my hair gathering it up and away from my face. There was going to be knots in it in the morning, but I’ll worry about that later. Finally, after what seemed like forever, I started to bob my head up and down while hollowing out my cheeks and rubbing what I couldn’t fit with my hands. Lewd sounds and Josh’s grunts filled the silent room making me grow wetter with each sound. “You take me so well mama, like you were made just for me.” Josh cooed while using his hand that was in my hair to push my head down till my nose was pressed against his stomach, lightly gagging around him, the sound making him moan loudly “But I wanna cum with you.” He said raising my head off his cock and flipping us over with him back on top and my back pressed against the soft sheets.

Josh lifted my legs and put them over his shoulders as he lined himself up with my entrance. Giving me a look of approval, I nodded back giving him the go. He entered slowly, giving me time to adjust to his size before he started thrusting hard and deep that made my walls flutter causing him to let out a low groan. “Fuck you feel so good mama, take me so well in your pretty pussy.” Josh said through seethed teeth as he continued his brutal pace. “Just like that Joshy f-fuck I love your cock.” I moaned out as I fisted the sheets beside me. Somehow, he was able to go harder and faster leaving your brain unable to think of words moans, whimpers, and sobs being the only source of communication. The familiar knot in your stomach returned indicating that your orgasm was fast approaching. I could feel Josh’s thrusts start to become more sloppier and uneven letting me know he was close. “I'm close mama, cum with me Y/N.” Josh said as he gave one final hard and deep thrust as he came letting out a growl painting the inside of me setting off my own release causing a sob to bubble out from my throat. Josh flopped down beside me and took his hand intertwining with his as I put my head on his chest hearing his labored breathing. “You did so well baby.” He said kissing the top of my head. I murmured a thank you and let my eyes flutter close as sleep overtook my body.

“How did they even find your Instagram. I don’t even think you told them your name.” Josh said to me while helping load the bus.

“Girls can find out anything they're like FBI agents' man.” Sam said walking by.

#greta van fleet smut #josh kiszka x reader #smut #gvf smut

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lastbluetardis · 2 years ago

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Sacred New Beginnings (15/?)

Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong.

Ten x Rose AU

This Chapter: Explicit, ~6100 words

AO3 || Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 |

Their tea is drunk and they’ve spoken all the words that have to be said, so there is no reason for James to stay. And yet, he finds he doesn’t want to leave. He has missed her, and there is still that knot of anxiety ballooned behind his ribs, screaming at him that he nearly lost her forever, and surely if he leaves, she’ll disappear for good.

Rose either senses his reluctance or feels the same way, because rather than let him fumble through an awkward goodbye or suggest he leave for the night, she invites him to stay and watch a film.

“We could just… be together for a little while?”

He has never agreed to anything more quickly in his life, which is how he ends up on her couch with Rose tucked into his side, her arms around his middle, her head pillowed against his shoulder. He basks in the warmth of her body against his and can’t help but plant kisses to her hair every few minutes.

They watch a sci-fi thriller that neither of them have seen, but James’s focus is the woman curled beside him: she actually forgave him… she wants to continue seeing him, to date him. Part of him is convinced he is having an alcohol-induced hallucination, and that he’ll wake up on the floor surrounded by empty bottles, alone. It’s only by tucking his nose into her hair and breathing her in that he banishes those fears and grounds himself in the present.

She is here. She is real. They are real.

He regrets not paying closer attention to the film, because it actually is really good, from the moments he watched, but the exhaustion of the last week catches up to him, and he dozes off, at first lightly, then deeply.

He doesn’t awake until much later, when the television has gone black from inactivity. It takes him a moment to gather his senses and pull his phone from his pocket to check the time.

12:45am

He blinks dumbly at the screen until it goes dark. How the hell did he sleep on Rose’s couch for three entire hours?! Why didn’t Rose wake him? Upon glancing down at her, he gets his answer: she is as fast asleep as he was two minutes ago.

He is loath to wake her, but the arm wrapped around her is completely numb and stiff, and he’s got an awful crick in his back. As he slowly straightens and retracts his arm from around her, she stirs, shifting away from him and digging her fists into her eyes.

“Did I fall asleep?”

“Yeah. I did too. It’s past midnight. I’ll get out of your hair, let you get to bed.”

But before he can text Danny to come pick him up, Rose says, “You can stay, if you want. We’ve shared a bed before. It’s just sleeping.”

He wordlessly agrees, and follows her to her bedroom. It’s exactly what he expected from her: clothes are strewn around the floor (which she hastily picks up and shoves into an overflowing laundry basket); knickknacks and perfume bottles line the top of her dresser; and her walls are covered in decorations of photos of her friends and family. He doesn’t recognize any of the people in the photographs, but God, he wants to. He wants to know each person she loves and he wants to know where she met them and how she became friends with them.

“Sorry for the mess,” she mumbles, red-cheeked. “Didn’t expect anyone to see this.”

“It’s fine,” he promises.

They awkwardly work around each other, taking turns using the loo and freshening up. He wishes he had a toothbrush, but makes do with mouthwash. When he returns to her bedroom, she is dressed in a huge baggy t-shirt that hangs mid-thigh. His mouth goes dry to see the long, smooth expanse of her legs, gaze following the line of her body to the curve of her waist then the swell of her breasts.

“Is this all right?” she asks, as though he hadn’t slept naked beside her a few short weeks ago.

“You’re beautiful,” he blurts, delighting in the pinkening of her cheeks and the pleased smile that lights up her face.

While Rose ducks past him to use the loo, James strips down to his underpants, folds his clothes neatly, and sets them on the floor. He climbs into her queen-sized bed and basks in her scent as it cradles and caresses him from all around, calming the ever-present humming of his mind.

She joins him a moment later. At first, he lies stiffly, unsure of what to do with himself or how to position his long limbs, until he asks, “Can we have a cuddle?”

Rose chuckles quietly in the dark and replies, “I’d hoped we could.”

He breathes out a laugh and, in near-perfect synchronicity, they arrange themselves until he is spooning behind her, his arms locking her into his chest. He stifles a moan to feel so much of her body pressing into him.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispers into her neck, pressing a soft kiss there.

“So have I. I’m glad you’re here.”

He kisses her again, then murmurs, “Do you want to hang out with me tomorrow? We could… I dunno… go on a date? And maybe… I’m having dinner with my mum tomorrow night. You could… come too? If you want?”

God, he sounds like a bumbling idiot, tripping over his words to try to get a pretty girl to go out with him.

“You want me to meet your mum?” she asks, shifting slightly in his arms to glance back at him.

“Yeah, I do. And I know she’d love to meet you.”

Rose stares blankly at him, before understanding dawns on her face. “You’ve told your mum about me.”

It’s not a question, but he nods, regardless. “At first, I told her what I told the media, but she has an uncanny way of seeing through me. I told her everything about us last weekend, when I got your letter. She’s the one who told me to try to talk to you. She’ll be thrilled I actually did it. So… will you have dinner with us? Please?”

After the span of a few heartbeats, she nods. He beams and presses a kiss of thanks to her lips; she smiles into the kiss, but the angle is too awkward for her to reciprocate. When she pulls away, he thinks she’s going to settle back down and try to sleep. Instead, she pivots in his arms to face him, and goes in for another kiss, holding the back of his neck to keep him close.

Their mouths move leisurely, pushing and pulling and stoking a simmering heat low in his belly. He is keeping himself on a tight leash, lest he push for more than she is willing to give. His hands are stationary, with one splayed between her shoulder blades and the other at the small of her back. He should really put an end to this before he gets too carried away, but kissing Rose is intoxicating. How could he ever say no to these addictive kisses? How can he pull back when she is kissing him like he’s the sole focus in her world?

It’s made worse (by worse, he means so much better) when she slings her leg around his waist to pull him closer. Her shirt rides up a bit, and the semi-hardon he’s sporting brushes against the front of her knickers, pulling a soft gasp from her. He shudders, pressing closer, and a traitorous hand sneaks up the hem of her shirt to touch her bare back.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he promises as he traces abstract lines up and down her spine. “You said you wanted to just sleep.”

“I severely underestimated my restraint,” she retorts, twisting her fingers into his hair to angle his head back so she can kiss the column of his throat. He groans when she scrapes her teeth along his Adam’s apple, then licks the same patch of skin.

“I can leave,” he croaks, though that is the last fucking thing he wants in the world. “If you don’t want this…”

“I want this,” she interrupts. “I want you. Please.”

“This isn’t what I came here for,” he protests weakly, barely able to think through the raw desire flooding his senses. He has never wanted someone so badly, and his body is screaming for more, more, more. “I don’t want you to think that.”

“I’m the one who invited you to stay the night,” she counters, though she disengages her mouth from his neck. “But we can stop.”

He doesn’t respond. His body aches for her touch, his mouth longs for her kisses. But this isn’t how it was supposed to go. He isn’t supposed to fall back into her bed and have her regret it come morning when her mind isn’t addled by lust and desire.

Soft fingers touch his face, pulling gently until he is forced to meet her gaze. Her eyes are dark and her lips are red and kiss-swollen, but the sincerity in her face is genuine and it crumples his resolve.

“Don’t overthink it,” she says, stroking his cheekbone. “Do you want this?”

“Yeah. But… I didn’t come here for this.” I’m not trying to use you.

She smirks and tweaks his nose. “I figured if you had, we wouldn’t have bothered with the film and fallin’ asleep on the couch.”

A grin steals across his lips, quieting the doubts and fears that are screaming at him. She beams right back and asks, “We’re good?”

“We’re good.”

And oh, God, they’re more than good, they’re brilliant.

The moment he gives in, his body takes over. He no longer keeps his hands and hips to himself, no longer tries to keep from pushing his growing erection into her. They’re made for this, to be like this, basking in the glorious pleasure of intimacy. Together, they work her out of her shirt and knickers and him out of his pants until there is nothing left between them.

He falls into the perfect space between her thighs and lets himself re-explore every glorious inch of her. He’d thought they’d never get to have this again, and he swears he will never take anything about her for granted again. Every moment with her is a gift, and he plans on worshiping it.

Any lingering grogginess from their accidental nap on the sofa is long gone, and he’s sure he could spend the next few hours getting lost in her kisses. Their mouths move lazily, without a care in the world. She threads her fingers through his hair, scratching his sensitive scalp, and smiles into his mouth whenever he moans.

He runs his hands all along her body, teasing at her breasts and between her thighs in an alternating pattern until she reaches between them to take him in hand and line him up.

“C-condom,” he grits out, shuddering at the tantalizing sensation of her wet heat.

“Got an IUD,” she replies, stroking him slowly and rubbing the tip of him through her. “But there’s some in the nightstand.”

Voices scream in his head to get a condom. She could be lying, trying to trick him into getting her pregnant so he would be forever tied to her and he would be paying her exorbitant monthly payments and…

He squeezes his eyes shut as though that will quiet his mind, and he breathes deeply to ground himself, to stay in his wonderful moment with Rose.

“I’m clean, but maybe you’d prefer to use a condom ‘til I can show you I’m not carrying anything,” she continues. “Wait, are you clean? I’m not gonna wake up with gonorrhea am I?”

This conversation is so at odds with the fact that he’s a dick-length away from being inside her that he can’t help but giggle somewhat madly until she’s cackling too. He drops his head to her collarbone as he laughs and laughs until he can hardly breathe.

“No, you won’t wake up with gonorrhea,” he wheezes. “Chlamydia is a different story though.”

She swats his arse. “Twat. Do you want a condom or not?”

“You’ve got an IUD?” he confirms.

“Had one since I was eighteen.”

He nods, and moves with her guidance to slide into her inviting heat. Sparks sizzle down his spine, setting every nerve alight with sensation. He fists his hands into her sheets as he holds himself still for her.

“You feel so good,” she sighs, scratching her nails up and down his sides. “So fucking good.”

He leans down and catches her lips in a fiery kiss that empties his mind of anything but her. She is everything, everywhere. She is as timeless as the universe, as beautiful as the stars, and he gets lost in her constellations, tracing the planes of her body with his lips and fingertips.

They move as one, flexing together, their slick skin slipping and sliding against each other. He’s lost in the sensations, the feel of being encased so wholly inside of her while her arms and legs clamp around him, as though she’s afraid he’ll stop and pull away.

She begins to quiver and quake, her breaths quickening as he arches his hips deeper, harder. Her nails dig into his back as she pulls him in with each thrust, and he knows this is it. She’s panting, moaning wordlessly as she arches her head back into the pillow, cheeks flushed, eyes shut, mouth lax…

“Fuck,” she whimpers, clenching around him in a spasm. “Fuck!”

She cries out her pleasure, looking so fucking beautiful that he knows he won’t last much longer. He bends down and kisses her throat, his saliva adding to the fine film of sweat that has beaded there. He grunts at the familiar, exhilarating pressure building low in his belly, clenching deeper and deeper.

She tangles her fingers through his hair and pulls him up for a sloppy kiss.

“You’re so good at this,” she whispers, her voice raw. “Make me feel so good.”

“Rose…” It’s all he can manage. His body takes over, setting into a perfect rhythm that has his vision whiting out and his muscles clenching in anticipation.

He groans through gritted teeth as he releases into her, tremors rocketing through him and stealing his breath. He shivers, pressing as deep as he can go to chase the high that comes in throbbing, pulsing waves.

Rose holds him through it, clinging to him just like she’d done when she’d come, and fuck if that isn’t the sexiest fucking thing in the world. He buries his face into her neck, breathing in her scent and the smell of them as he succumbs to the sensations that have overwhelmed him so thoroughly.

He isn’t sure he can recall his own name by the time the shaking stops. Unable to hold himself up, he pulls out of her and collapses beside her, curling into her to keep their bodies fused. But she strokes his hair away from his sweaty forehead and gives him a quick kiss before rolling away from him.

“No,” he mumbles, fumbling to catch her arm.

“I’ll be back,” she promises. “Gonna use the loo… I’d rather not get a UTI, ta.”

He mopes but lets her go, instead curling around her pillow to satisfy the urge to bury himself into her. She returns a moment later and slips into bed beside him. The moment she settles, he angles half of his body on top of her and catches her lips in a deep kiss. She hums into the kiss and holds him close. Hormones are still sparking through his bloodstream, making for a luxurious afterglow of pleasure.

“That was amazing,” he whispers between kisses.

“Yeah, it was. You’ve been the best lover I’ve ever had.”

He preens at that, pleased that his experience has paid off and relieved that Rose didn’t meet him ten years ago when he’d had no clue how to make sex pleasurable for a woman. There had been many uncomfortable conversations with several unsatisfied partners, and much fumbling when he asked his partners to show him what to do.

“I’m glad you think so. Wasn’t always the case.”

“We’ve all got to start somewhere,” she drawls.

James snorts, then leans in for another kiss before tucking an arm beneath Rose’s shoulders and pulling her into his side. She willingly goes, letting out a sweet little sigh as she rests her head on his chest, overtop his heart. She drapes one leg over his and an arm around his ribs, anchoring herself into him. There are so many points of contact between them, making his skin sing. Gentle, comforting warmth suffuses his entire being as they lie together in this perfect afterglow.

He can’t believe he’s here, that they are here, when, just a few short days ago, he hadn’t known if he would ever see her again. There is no doubt he is falling head-over-heels for this beautiful woman beside him, despite knowing her for only a month.

And it’s funny, how he can know so much about her yet so little. He knows that she loves books and she loves sharing literature with her students and she loves when he nips at the soft patch of skin below her ear, and yet…

“What’s your favorite color?” he blurts, because he couldn’t begin to narrow it down even if his life depended on it.

She tilts her head up to look at him, faint amusement dancing across her face. “Pink. Or red. You?”

“It rotates between blue and brown,” he answers.

“Brown? That’s a new one. Blue’s understandable—it’s soothing. But… brown?”

“Brown is warm,” he says simply. “It’s the warmth of a cup of coffee, or the heat of a long walk down a dirt path in the middle of summer, or the contrast of tree trunks in the middle of a snowstorm.”

It’s the joy of your eyes when you smile at me.

Rose flashes that same smile at him, full of wonder and discovery.

“I’d never thought of it that way,” she says, and leans up to kiss the underside of his jaw. “Least favorite color?”

“Ooh. Hmm. Not sure I’ve got one. There’s beauty in every color. Orange, I guess, if I had to pick something. It’s a very loud color. Like a traffic cone or something.”

Rose giggles into his chest, and he pinches her side, making her squeal and squirm.

“All right, clever clogs, what’s your least favorite color then?” he retorts, still pinching her lightly to keep hearing her laugh.

“I dunno,” she manages, breathless. “I only asked you ‘cos I wanted ideas.”

“Oi, that’s cheating!”

He pinches her again, and when she squirms away from him, he follows, rolling atop her. Her cheeks, which had faded back to their normal creamy color, flare pink, then crimson as he settles between her thighs. The flush spreads down her neck, looking so inviting that he can’t help but lean down and kiss the hollow of her throat. She sighs and tilts her head back, resting her palms on his back and scratching lightly.

“Did you have a favorite vacation spot as a kid?” he asks into her skin.

“We didn’t have much money when I was growin’ up, but Mum always managed to save enough to take us to a summer holiday in Wales every year. Swansea. I always looked forward to it. Even when I was a moody teenager who wanted nothing to do with my mum, I still loved those trips. They stopped when mum met her new husband, and we went to fancier places ‘cos he could afford it. Part of me misses those summer holidays.”

“Why don’t you tell her?” he asks quietly.

“And be ungrateful that Dad takes us to tropical beaches and snowy ski resorts? Nah, it’s fine. Just some nostalgia. Mum and I go away, just the two of us. We went to Spain two weeks ago, remember?”

He hums, and returns his attention to kissing her neck, careful not to leave any lingering marks.

“Did you get to take any holidays as a kid?” she asks, her throat vibrating with her words.

“Not with my mum,” he answers. “But there was a little old couple who lived across the street who had a grandson around my age, so they’d often take me on trips with them. Nowhere exciting. But every summer we went fishing or hiking or camping. Y’know, typical manly pastimes. I never left the UK unless it was a school trip.”

Rose begins laughing. “Oh, God… when I was thirteen, we had a school trip to the Louvre to go look at some posh paintings and get cultured—” James can hear the sarcasm and eye-roll in her voice, and he smiles to himself— “but me and my mate Shareen weren’t interested. We claimed we needed the loo, and we instead left the museum completely and caught a bus to a theme park instead. We managed to have fun for about an hour or so before the police found us and we had to admit we ditched a school trip. Mrs. Kissock came to collect us to bring us home; she was furious, as she’d never been to the Louvre before. Pretty sure we were forbidden to go on any school trip ‘til the next school year.”

He can’t hold back his laughter either. He looks up from her neck to meet her sparkling, dancing eyes.

“What a rebel,” he teases. “I never would’ve pegged you as a naughty student.”

“Wait ‘til you hear about the time I convinced the school choir to go on strike. ‘Kay, your turn… When did you have your first kiss?”

“Hang on!” he whines. “You can’t say that and expect us to move on. I want to hear about Rose Tyler leading a choral strike!”

“Fine, but you owe me two questions, then,” she says, then launches into the tale of how she was sick of the choir teacher playing favoritism by selecting the annual soloists from a pool of students whose parents donated the most money to the choir program. Despite there having been better talent, the teacher never considered anyone else, and so Rose had a chat with the rest of the choir one day during rehearsals and said the soloist wouldn’t sound nearly as good if the rest of the choir didn’t harmonize with her.

“It was a few weeks before the Christmas concert,” Rose says, a far-off look in her eye, “and the soloist had just been announced. A girl called Lynda, whose mum and dad donated enough money to the program to buy brand new pianos. But as we were practicing for the solo, everyone stopped. No background vocals, no harmonies, no piano. Nothing but her and her voice. It somehow got connected back to me that I instigated the whole thing so I got suspended for a couple days. The students carried on the strike for the rest of the week, and when I got back, Lynda dropped out of the soloist role. Turns out she didn’t realize she was one of the only two students who were allowed to audition for the solo.”

“Good for her for doing the right thing. Shame on that choir director though.”

“Yeah, he got sacked at the end of that school year for takin’ a share of the donations for himself.” Rose rolls her eyes. “Wanker.”

James stares at the marvelous woman beneath him, and as his mind traces her face, he imagines her as the teenager she was in the stories she’d shared. Fiery and tenacious, despite her youth. He’s seen glimpses of that woman in his short time with her, whenever she’s told him off, but not nearly enough of it. He knows he intimidates people, no matter how he tries to put them at ease; he doesn’t want that sort of rapport with his romantic partner. How can he erase the disparity between them? How can he show her that she doesn’t need to hide from him, that he wants to know all of her, experience all of her?

“One last question, then I promise it’s your turn for questions. If you were in the choir, that means you like to sing.” He tries to be casual, but inside he’s brimming with excitement. He already knows they have similar music tastes, as evidenced by the playlist they’d listened to on their drive to the Renaissance Faire, but does she, too, share in his passion for music? He suddenly aches to hear her sing, to dance with her while they belt out off-key lyrics to songs they only half-know because they’re trying to make each other laugh, and…

“Yeah, but not in front of people.” She flicks his nose and continues, “And especially not in front of world-famous singers.”

He frowns at her. “Don’t say that. Don’t use me as an excuse to not do something you love. Music is joyous and something to be shared… don’t refuse to sing because of me.”

Rose holds his gaze for a few silent seconds, then lets hers drift up to the ceiling.

“It would feel like showing Bob Ross a stick figure drawing,” she mumbles.

“Bob Ross would be the first person to praise any art anybody makes, because he lives for the joy of art. Just because you aren’t perfect at something doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it. If art and music and dancing bring you joy, do it, no matter how terrible you are at it. I’m not that good at dancing, but sometimes I can’t help myself when I’m on stage. It makes me happy.”

He moves up her body until he’s nose to nose with her. “Rooooose. Promise me you’ll keep singing even when I’m around.”

She squeezes her eyes shut tighter, but a faint smile has crossed her lips. “We’ll see. That might be a tenth-date kinda thing.”

He grins. “Then I’ll be sure to take you on six more dates tomorrow.”

Rose snorts, but she opens her eyes and, quick as a thought, leans up to peck a delicate kiss to the tip of his nose. “Now that you’ve stalled long enough, tell me about your first kiss.”

In emphasis, she plants a kiss to his lips then settles back into the pillows to listen.

“It was terrible. Very unlike kissing you.” He brushes his lips to hers once more, then pulls back to launch into the story. “I was thirteen, so was she. She was in my maths class. Jabe, her name was. She was clever and funny, and I was really smitten with her. I started walking her home after school. After a few days, we started holding hands. After a few weeks, I told her I really wanted to kiss her, and so we tried it. It was so bad I nearly ran away. I had no clue what to do, I just knew people put their lips together. I didn’t realize I could, y’know, move my lips. So I just sorta… stood there, hands at my sides, and so did she. I pulled back after about five seconds because it was so underwhelming and awkward.”

Rose begins giggling and ruffles his hair. “Oh, you poor thing.”

The thirteen-year-old boy who still exists in his memories cringes at the reminder of his first kiss, while his twenty-six-year-old self snorts. “Not my best moment. We agreed it was weird, but we tried it again to see if we could master it. We were brilliant, after all. Surely we could conquer something so mundane as kissing.”

Their second try had been marginally better, but it was only when they both realized they could move their mouths and their bodies that it became incredible. It was as if a switch had been flicked in him; he listened to his body, and wrapped his arms around her because he’d wanted to. He’d pressed himself closer because it had felt nicer. He’d angled his head to the side because it was more comfortable. She, too, had been more active, holding the back of his neck and touching his waist. Sloppily, they’d experimented with moving their lips and trying to find some sort of rhythm. It wasn’t perfect, but it was much improved.

He summarizes all of that for Rose, then falls quiet, content to trail dozens of tiny kisses along her collarbone.

“What happened to her?” she asks, sighing at the press of his mouth.

“We dated for a couple months, but like most teenage romances, it fizzled out. We stayed friends throughout most of school, but drifted apart when we went to uni. She’s an architect now. She got married two or three years ago, and had a baby not long after. When I first got famous, she messaged me to congratulate me on everything.”

“I’m glad it was an amicable breakup,” Rose muses, stroking his hair. “God knows I’ve seen enough drama in the school corridors to write a soap opera.”

James snorts. He’d experienced enough relationship drama to write a soap opera. He supposes he already does, though, just in the form of music instead.

“What was your first kiss like?” he asks.

“More of the same,” she replies. “We were both thirteen, too. I’d seen loads of kissing, either ‘cos of men my mum dated or on the telly, so I sort of knew what to do. It was all right, but he used too much tongue and insisted that’s the way girls liked it. I pretended to like it so I wouldn’t hurt his feelings. We dated for about a month. He was the school bad boy, and had gotten into trouble for starting a couple of food fights. I thought it was so cool.” She laughs and shakes her head. “The excitement of him wore off pretty fast.”

“He sounds like a real charmer,” James drawls.

Rose pinches his waist, making him squeak. “Right, you owe me another answer. What are some foods you can’t stand?”

Time means nothing as they continue to swap stories, sharing pieces of themselves in little morsels. They don’t touch upon anything too serious, electing instead to try to find the most bizarre, obscure fact to share with the other.

He shares that he hates sushi because raw, cold fish grosses him out and makes him gag. She shares that, when she was twelve, she and her mate Shareen—who James desperately wants to meet, since most of Rose’s stories seem to involve her—filched a bottle of wine from Rose’s mum’s collection to bring to a party they were sneaking out to attend, but they’d drunk the entire bottle themselves and fell asleep in Rose’s living room instead.

“Mum was so furious,” Rose recalls, laughing. “We’d nicked an expensive bottle she’d been saving for a dinner date she was having later that week.”

James tells her that he never had a pet when he was growing up, because they couldn’t afford it. Rose admits she brought home a bunch of stray cats because she couldn’t stand how skinny they all looked wandering around the estate, but she accidentally caused a flea infestation in their flat.

Laughter is a constant sound in her bedroom, sprinkled among the wet kisses they exchange and the sighs whenever they get too carried away with said kissing. James’s desire has long since been rekindled, but he would be content to do nothing more than kiss her and talk with her for the rest of the night. It is so freeing to share in this quiet, intense intimacy of storytelling. When was the last time he’d shared any of these memories with anyone? It unsettles him that he doesn’t know of a single soul who has heard what he has told Rose tonight.

“Wanna go again?” Rose murmurs into his lips when he lets out a grunt because his erection rubbed just perfectly along her hip.

“Yeah… do you?”

“’Course.”

He stops trying to keep his cock to himself (not that he was succeeding, anyway) and lets himself kiss her more deeply, more forcefully. She matches his fervor, lips moving in perfect rhythm with his.

“Wanna try a new position?” he asks when she takes him in hand. “What’s your favorite?”

“Don’t actually have one. They’re all good, as long as my partner is good. Mind if I go on top this time for a bit?”

He dutifully shifts off of her, mirroring her as he reclines back against her mound of pillows. He selfishly watches her sit up and straddle him, enjoying the bouncing of her breasts with her movements. She beautifully flushed, as he’s sure he is.

She expertly sinks down on him, sending shudders through his body as his nerve endings spark with pleasure. His sigh echoes her own, and she closes her eyes and bites her lip as she seats herself on him, taking him as deep as he can go.

“Love this,” he croaks, trying to breathe evenly and steadily, as though he is not fighting the impulse to thrust up into her for that delicious, addictive friction.

“Me too.”

Rose leans down to catch his lips in a messy, sloppy kiss that feels so fucking incredible that he holds her closer for more. She moans into his mouth, and slowly begins to move.

Neither of them are in a rush. It’s just like their first night together, the way they go from one position to another. Rose was telling the truth: she seems to be enjoying herself thoroughly, no matter how they’re joined. Through it all, their hands and lips explore each other lazily, as though they’ve got all the time in the world. It doesn’t matter that the clock on her wall tells him that it’s half past two in the morning; he wants to exist forever in this moment with Rose.

He manages to push her over the edge of ecstasy twice before he joins her, grunting and moaning into her shoulder blade as he thrusts from behind her. A small part of him regrets that he’s finishing like this, because he is desperate to feel Rose’s arms around him, holding him tightly as he releases into her, but the rest of him is too caught up in the toe-curling, mind-numbing pleasure that consumes him.

When the shaking stops, he pulls out of her and fumbles to take her into his arms. They crash inelegantly onto the mattress, but James doesn’t care because she has folded him into a close embrace as she kisses him deeply. He groans as aftershocks overwhelm him, and he could almost swear he could come again just like this. But he doesn’t—the intensity recedes after a few moments, and their kisses calm as well.

He’s exhausted and wrung out, and Rose is too. When they clean up again, this time it’s for good. They collapse beneath the sheets together, tangled in a heap of limbs because they can’t bear an inch of separation between their hormone-riddled bodies.

“You comfy?” she asks, speech slurred as though she’s already half-asleep.

“Very,” he answers. “Thank you. For tonight. For everything. For giving me another chance.”

“Mmm. Don’t blow it, mister.”

She pokes his belly menacingly, though the action is at odds with the adorable yawn that scrunches her face. He smiles and brushes a kiss to the top of each of her eyelids, then the tip of her nose, then finally her mouth.

“I won’t,” he whispers, kissing her again. “I promise.”

“Good. G’night.”

She kisses the corner of his mouth, then tucks her face into his neck and inhales deeply. It takes all of two minutes before her breathing evens out and her arms go loose around him.

He keeps her in his arms, pillowing his cheek against the top of her head as he closes his eyes. His body is heavy and his muscles are stiff from exertion, but he’s happy. For the first night in over a week, there is not one dark thought clouding his mind, and he knows he has Rose to thank for that. He knows she isn’t a magical antidote, that she won’t erase all of the dark moods from his mind; but, God, she’s a perfect balm, keeping the worst of himself from overwhelming the best of himself.

I think I’m falling in love with you. That’s what he’d told her. But if he didn’t know any better, he’d swear it has already happened.

#doctor who #ficandchips #dwfic #ten x rose #ten x rose au #james x rose #romance #au #my fic #sacred new beginnings

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tumbling-darkling · 3 years ago

Text

Miraculous Ghosts

Danny and friends visit Paris and come across trouble, as well as the cities local superheroes.

Lately, Hawkmoth has been recycling villains. There are only so many people in Paris and not everyone gets emotionally vulnerable strongly enough or long enough to be akumatized. Those that do, and commonly like Mr. Pidgeon, usually had a certain fixation that was easy to exploit. The thing was, both Marienette and Chat Noir already knew their weakness, the items that would most likely get akumatized, the whole schtick. So the battles were really fast and easy.

A new face always had to be met with caution, the lack of knowledge regarding the person was dangerous and if the pair wasn’t careful, they could end up losing the battle. And their Miraculous.

With the start of summer came tourist season, and tourists could be victims of akumatization. Which seemed to be the case within the first week. 3 villains, all new faces, but the pair had gotten lucky with the similar powers that the heroes had faced before and the three were all defeated in a timely manner.

There was a short week of nothing happening.

And then all hell broke loose.

—————————————————————

Marienette knew the start of the tourist season had begun just based on the filled streets of strange faces, sunglasses, cameras, and the use of foreign languages. This also was noticed based on how busy her parents' shop had become, and how rarely she was managing to escape outside to enjoy some of summer's freedom. The good thing was she was able to brush up on some of her English, since the tourists usually spoke the common American language and the experience was always welcome to help boost her grades in the upcoming year. Even if it was a few months away.

She’d figured out the best way to sneak off during any attacks was to ‘use the bathroom’ or ‘accidently’ make a mess and excuse herself to clean up. It had worked during the first week and she didn’t have to do anything the past week since Hawkmoth seemed to take a break. She finished serving a young pair of Americans, a tall girl with orange hair, and a lanky boy nearly the same height with raven black hair.

She had to admit, some Americans had a certain charm, but the bustle of the kitchen quickly caught her attention as she was back to serving the next person in line.

Just as Chloe waltzed in, basically knocking the american boy over as she strutted to the front of the line, causing people to cast glares in her direction. The boy hissed when he fell, the American girl offering to help him up in English as he shook his head and stood up, dusting himself off as Marienette went to deal with the walking form of pure rich privilege. “Urg, Dupain-Cheng’s dingy little cafe? Of course she works here, it just smells like burnt bread.” She huffed.

Marienette bristled, but put on her customer service smile, noticing the poor Americans victim to Chloe leaving the shop. She was hoping to offer them a replacement after dealing with Chloe but it was a little late now. “Ma’am, unless you are here to pick up an order, you will have to wait in line like everyone else.” She strained.

“Ma’am? I am Chloe Dubois! I don’t need to wait in line like some sort of peasant! Just give me whatever you didn’t make.”

Marienette had to swallow down any returning insults and put down one of their most expensive items, handing it over with a clearly strained smile, “have a nice day.”

Chloe huffed with her baked goods in hand but left as soon as she appeared, allowing Marienette some relief. Very little damage. A little annoyance but nothing worthy of an akuma-.

An explosion was heard from outside, and Marienette groaned internally.

She just had to jinx it.

—————————————————————

Ladybug dove off to the side as the villain shot out a ray of white, plasma-like energy. Adrien, fighting as Chat Noir, and his partner were having a hell of a time with this dude. He spotted the chaos on the news, the villain calling himself ‘Black Hole’ and giving his poor Lady a hard time. When he finally arrived on the scene, he wasn’t able to do much either.

The villain was basically a godly powerhouse, floating in the air, shooting burning rays of heated plasma, or even ice! Ice and plasma! Sometimes he MIXED the two beams to create an even WORSE beam! Whenever either of the heroes got close enough to land a hit, their punches and kicks would go right through him. Then he would DISAPPEAR. REAPPEARING AND LANDING ANOTHER HEAVY BLOW. He would fly around like gravity was non-existent, and these abilities didn’t stop there. Every so often, he would yank out this thermos looking thing and shoot out these wormholes. Or… possibly black holes. Calling them black holes felt wrong though… since they glowed green and swirled before disappearing after a few moments.

The villain's outfit was a change of pace too. It was impossible to figure out his age since he was completely covered in a thick fabric material that reminded him of space suits. Yet looked a lot less bulky than actual space suits, thin yet sturdy metal covered his forearms, and formed a backpack that was attached by a wide metal collar that spread to his collarbone and slightly covered his shoulders, as well as a metal strap that wrapped around right under his chest. A plated, metal belt circled his waist with a clip for the green black hole thermos, and thigh high boots with a similar fabric to his suit covered most of his legs, thick plastic looking platform soles attached at the feet. Black bands wrapped around the ankles of the boots. A helmet covered his entire face, a metal frame covering the bottom half like a muzzle while the top was a tinted glass dome following the shape of his head, the inside of it entirely black except for the eerie glow of a single, left eye. The helmet had a tube on the back of the helmet that connected to his backpack, but neither he or Ladybug could figure out if it was essential or for decoration. His entire colouring was monotone, much bleaker than their previous villains. His suit was black, the boots, forearm cuffs, belt, backpack and collar were all a middle shade of grey, the only flash of colour being the glow of the single toxic green eye amongst the darkness of the helmet.

The dude was disturbing. He didn’t make any sound, in fact he seemed to ABSORB the sound around him. Like they were in space.

Paris was getting destroyed more and more by the second and the two didn’t know what to do. The Lady’s lucky charm turned into a thermos, which she didn’t have a clue how to use in the situation in front of them. Maybe it was a hint? A clue about soup? Or getting the villains thermos?

The problem with the last idea was that neither he or Ladybug could TOUCH this villain. And each of them were getting worse and worse for wear by the second. He could tell Ladybug was getting ready to get some sort of help, but who could make something untouchable… touchable? Chat even tried to use cataclysm on the villain's thermos while Ladybug had distracted him, but he twisted at the last moments and grabbed Chat's hand, draining cataclysm before he tossed him aside like it was nothing.

Another blast of plasma sent the two tumbling away from each other, and then a blast of ice caught Chat off guard. Cold shot up his arm as his muscles convulsed, a scream caught in his throat as the ice trapped his arm in such a tight and sturdy prison. He twisted to try and use his free arm to claw the other out of the ice, a shadow in the corner of his vision causing him to twist and jolt in surprise as the villain stood right in front of him. The glowing green eye was cold as it bore into him, and the villain grew closer and closer, drifting off the ground and absorbing every noise around him, the air around them dropping to freezing temperatures. Chats breath formed in front of him as gasps, panic clear in the quick breaths, fear intensifying as the only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat and blood roaring through his veins.

The villain's hand shot out and grabbed his free one- the one with his miraculous.

Chat heard Ladybug cry out as the villain gripped onto the ring, a quick glance showing she too was trapped.

That she was next.

Chat tried to keep his fingers curled, but he was battered and weak, and the villain hadn’t even broken a sweat during their fight. Prying open his fingers was easy, the ring vulnerable. This was it. He used cataclysm too soon and now he was powerless. He couldn’t escape. He couldn’t save anyone. He was a failure. This was the end of Paris.

They lost.

—————————————————————

Fucking. Vlad.

This entire trip had Danny on edge and it was all because of Vlad.

At first, he thought maybe, for once, Vlad wasn’t being a piece of shit when offering the family a fully paid trip to France for two weeks. He was suspicious. He probably just wanted the family out of town to do some shady shit. But a two week trip to France wasn’t the WORST thing a man could do. Especially in comparison to kidnapping and cloning.

But then his parents got sick. A common flu. Right before the trip. And they wanted Jazz and him to experience Paris. Then Vlad offered to be a chaperone.

It was all a play to get Danny alone for two weeks and try and manipulate him.

He did manage to get Tucker and Sam to tag along, something about friends being his family and the two unused tickets his parents left behind. But Vlad knew how to separate the group. How to corner Danny at the worst moments and whisper annoying remarks in his ear as he tried to get away.

He survived a week. He only had one more week to go. Tucker and Sam were off checking out some places for lunch while Jazz and Danny went to pick up sweets for everyone to share after their meal.

Vlad was off doing who knew what so Danny had put him to the back of his mind.

The cafe they found was… well it smelled incredible. There were so many baked goods on display and the air was filled with the warm and sweet smell of the goodies. He let Jazz do most of the talking, she wanted to practice her French and Danny had recently discovered that being dubbed the ghost king meant that now he had a natural grasp on all verbal languages, including the dead ones. This meant his speech in French was almost flawless, and his understanding was like he was listening to someone speak English. He couldn’t read other languages though, just speak them. He was told though by a few locals he had an odd accent. It wasn’t an american one, just… odd.

So Jazz ordered the treats and the pair was headed out to meet Danny’s friends.

Then some blonde girl with way too much make-up basically knocked him to the ground, not even sending him a glance that indicated she knew what she did. It was annoying, but he dealt with bullies on a daily basis back at Amity Park. Well… used to. But he knew better than to waste any thought on some jerk like her. He sadly looked at the ruined cat paw shaped cookies, the icing ruined and the cookies crushed under his weight when he fell.

Standing up with the help of Jazz, they left the shop as Danny insisted on finding somewhere to wash off the icing stuck to his shirt. He liked this shirt too… he hoped it wouldn’t stain too badly. It was better than ectoplasm at least, that stuff needed to be burned out, there was no such thing as washing out ectoplasm.

Jazz asked to help, but Danny brushed her off, telling her he could easily clean himself off by himself.

And then Vlad chose that moment to corner him.

—————————————————————

“Hello Daniel.”

Danny splashed water wildly as he spun around to glare at the older Halfa, hissing out an ‘Ancients!’ in surprise. “What the hell, Vlad?” He spat, “sneaking up on a kid in the bathroom? I should just call the police and tell them about all that stalking you like to do.”

“Aren’t you tired of this childish game?” He hummed.

“Not really, seeing as I’m a child and I love games,” Danny sneered.

“I’m older, more experienced, and stronger. I am also patient, little badger. And it’s easy to wear you down. By the end of this trip, you are going to be begging to be my-.”

“Son? Pet? Little slave that does everything you ask? Sorry, Vladdy, but I ain’t the type to listen to crazy fruit loops. How about you go enjoy the company of your French rich friends like that Agreste dude instead of stalking me and trying to get with my mom and kill my dad. Might do you some good to make more friends than just your cat.”

“Oh Daniel, you throw your petty insults but I know ways to break you even further. You know, a lot of accidents happen in Paris. Terrible things.”

Danny felt his eyes flash as he spun on his heel, “listen to me, if you even consider-!”

“Not to mention your brand new ghostly responsibilities as… the ghost king? Imagine that. A child as the king. You don’t even know everything about ghosts.”

“Neither do you!” Danny spat.

“Oh but I know so much more. And I could easily teach you-.”

“Just shut up!”

“When you mess up, when the ghost zone begins to fall apart, you will wish you took my offer, but I may not be as forgiving when that happens.”

“I said shut up!”

“And we both know the moment the ghost zone falls apart, so will this world. All because a boy became king and didn’t take help he was so graciously offered.”

“SHUT THE HELL UP!”

Something inside him shifted, and Danny suddenly felt his mind cloud, a deep voice echoed his mind.

“A cruel man harassing a young teen that wants nothing to do with him. A shame when someone can’t take a hint.

Black Hole. I am Hawkmoth. I can give you the power to show this old man that he never should consider looking in your direction ever again.

All I ask is for Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculous. Do this for me, and Vlad Masters will never be an issue for you ever again.”

Danny’s clouded mind and building rage smirked at the offer, his voice echoing as he glanced up at Vlad who was giving him a confused look. “Yes, Hawkmoth.”

Darkness engulfed him and then his memory began to fail him.

—————————————————————

A boomerang slammed into Black Hole’s head, causing it to jerk to the side and a small crack formed on the glass that was hit. The metal boomerang dropped to the ground and Black Hole slowly looked down at it as a robotic voice cried out from it, “ghost detected!” And then a recorded voice spouted out, “take that, spook!”

Black Hole’s head slightly tilted at the noise it made, a hand subconsciously rubbing the crack it left behind. Then he twisted his gaze back to Chat Noir, going back to taking the hero’s miraculous.

Then a shout came from behind Black Hole and Chat caught the eyes of a teenage girl yelling and holding a bat over her head. Black Hole twisted, his body turning that transparent look whenever Chat or Ladybug had tried to hit him before, and Chat knew that it was useless. “No! Stop! Get out of here-!” He screamed at the citizen, but stopped when the bat connected with the villain's head and sent him flying into a wall.

Chat was at a loss for words for once in his life, watching the villain slowly pry himself from the wall from being hit by a baseball bat when he and Lady couldn’t land a single hit. He looked back at the citizen and shrieked as she raised the bat above her head and swung down at him, flinching and squeezing his eyes shut. She hit something, causing it to shatter and then- his hand was free!

He opened his eyes and looked at his hand in awe and then back at the girl, “who the heck are you?”

She huffed, dropping the bat casually on her shoulder, “Sam Manson. Friend of the idiot that didn’t do his research before taking a trip here. I’m surprised this didn’t happen earlier.”

Chat blinked, “you- you know that’s your friend? And knew this would happen?”

Sam shrugged, “the booo-merang is never wrong. And yeah, my friend there is not exactly the most emotionally stable person on the planet. Sorry it took us a while to get here. You guys really do move fast.”

Chat just opened and closed his mouth a few times, then yelled as she suddenly swung the bat again and smacked the villain in the gut as he got close during their exchange, knocking him sideways but not down like the first time. Black Hole turned again, making a snarling sound before he was blasted by some sort of green ray and sent flying sideways, rolling along the pavement before smashing into a car. Another teen jogged over with Ladybug behind him, dropping his hands to his knees as he wheezed, “I have ran… way too much for this to be considered a vacation.”

“M’Lady-, what is going on?” Chat asked.

“This is Tucker, and his friend Sam, and they know how to help,” Ladybug quickly explained, glancing back at Black Hole. “We need to draw his attention and get that thermos off of him, then Sam and Tucker can use this,” she held up the thermos from her lucky charm, “and we can get his akuma.”

“Akuma is in the thermos, knock it off,” Chat summarized. He heard his miraculous beeping, a sign he was close to his limit.

“Let’s end this fast.”

—————————————————————

Ladybug held the booo-merang in one hand as the two teens and Chat drew Black Hole’s attention, the teens equipped with weapons that seemed to get past some of Black Holes abilities.

She narrowed her gaze, waiting for the perfect moment, then threw the weapon, watching it arch in the air then knock the thermos off of the villain's waist. The thermos clattered to the ground and drew his attention, he quickly twisted and dove to try and retrieve it, which was when a bright beam erupted from the polka dot thermos Ladybug had given the teens. The beam caught the villain's legs and he was tugged back, his form pulling towards it like taffy as he twisted and a horrid scream of anger burst from him. He tried to escape it, flailing and reaching for anything to hang on to, but in a matter of seconds he was pulled into the canister and Sam slammed the lid shut. The screaming stopped and Ladybug made her way over to Black Hole’s thermos, stomping on it and crushing it, releasing the Akuma hidden inside. With a flick of her wrist her lucky charm turned back into its original form, dumping Black Hole onto the street, then the butterfly was caught and purified, and another click of her miraculous, she let the little bug flutter away harmlessly. With a shout, ‘Miraculous Ladybug!’, everything around them was engulfed in black and red as the damages were undone around them.

At last, the villain's form was released of Hawkmoth's influence and it left a lanky teen laying on the street. He slowly sat up with a groan and a hand to his head and she then realized it was the same teen as from the shop. So once again, this was Chloe’s fault. She turned her attention to the two teens that helped her, noticing Chat let out a hasty farewell and thanks and disappeared around a corner. “Thank you, both of you. Without your help… well, without your help we may have lost that battle. But how in the world did you do that?”

“What the fuck just happened?” The teen groaned, “I feel like the booo-merang smacked me in the head like… fifty times.”

“That’s because I may have smacked you a few times with the fenton creep stick,” Sam shrugged as she helped her friend up who gave her wide eyes in return.

“You fucking what?”

Tucker took a step forward to answer Ladybug’s question, “let's just say back in our town, we have very specific supervillains that have abilities that make it hard for regular attacks to land. So we have specialized gear. Sam and I did a bit of research before heading here and figured if any of us got Akumatized, we may reflect some of those traits.”

“I… see…” Ladybug hummed, “and where did you say you were all from?” The three cast a few glances between each other, but before any of them could answer, her miraculous beeped angrily as she quickly realized she was out of time. “Thank you again for your help, if we could meet again to exchange some of that tech to make sure this never happens again-,” she quickly tried to set up a meet up before Sam held up a hand.

“This won’t happen again. A lot of what happened here is very unique to Amity, so once we finish our vacation, you won’t see this kind of thing ever again.”

Ladybug only had more questions but the angry beeping only forced her to nod and bid a quick farewell before getting out of sight to let Tiki take a rest. Marienette held out a few macaroons for Tiki as her thoughts swirled in her head. The questions about the odd American trio and how they knew how to deal with a villain as unique as Black Hole.

She may be able to corner them later. They did say they had to ‘finish their vacation.’

And in the meantime, it was time to do some research on this place called ‘Amity’.

—————————————————————

Danny didn’t remember a lot of what happened while he was the villain, Black Hole. It was like a dream, he kinda remembered the feeling, vague details, but nothing specific.

What he wished he remembered was whatever he did to Vlad. He must have done something because his memories cut out right after Vlad harassed him in the bathroom and after the event, the froot loop avoided him during the entire trip. Even refused to make eye contact!

What he would give just for a few seconds of that memory! Or for someone to have recorded it!

For now though he got to reap the rewards, flashing his eyes green when Vlad would glance over and causing the man to flinch. Oh man, he was going to abuse this newfound intimidation ability till the bitter end.

163 notes · View notes

five-rivers · 4 years ago

Text

Hobbies

Phic phight! @idiot-cheesehead-archenemy

A series of vignettes about Danny having various hobbies.

(Master the Orb)

Danny exhaled slowly as the ice built up between his hands. Each new layer glittered in the ghostlight cast by the overhead ambient ectoplasm, embedding complex patterns in the overall piece as new layers built up over it.

“Very good, Great One,” rumbled Frostbite behind his shoulder. “Your control has improved immensely.”

Danny inhaled equally slowly, examining his work so far but not adding to it quite yet. “I don’t know. It looks a little lopsided.”

“Mmm, it looks fine to me. Especially for such an early attempt.”

Danny sighed, exhaling the ice he had built up with his breath. “So, it is lopsided.”

“Consider it practice,” said Frostbite, encouragingly. “It takes time to master art of any kind.”

“Humans do ice sculpture, too,” mumbled Danny. “They get really good, too. I’ve seen pictures. And videos. They don’t even have ice powers.” He rubbed his thumb over the surface, smoothing over a slightly rougher patch.

“That may be true,” said Frostbite, “but, again, you just started, Great One. You have only had your powers for a little while. Give yourself some support.”

Danny shrugged. “I guess it isn’t something my life depends on, so I can relax about it.” He built up another layer of ice. “This is oddly therapeutic, and I don’t say therapeutic lightly. You know Jazz.”

“I do indeed,” said Frostbite, somewhat ruefully, head half-bowed.

Jazz could be a force of nature, even more so than ice powers.

He held the ice orb up to the light. It caught on the patterns he had placed there. Fractals were the easiest. He was hoping that if he got better, he’d be able to make real sculptures with patterns in them, instead of just orbs.

But, first, he had to master the orb. Just like how when drawing you had to do circles first. Circle. Orb.

Ooorb. Yep.

The controlled application of ice. The evenness of the internal patterns. The solidity, density, and durability.

His orb was… not very orblike, despite what Frostbite said. Frostbite probably thought he was making so flat on purpose.

Yeah. He was terrible at this.

He was having fun, though.

(Furnace)

“You’re taking up glass blowing?” asked Tucker, surprised.

“Yeah? Is there a problem?” asked Danny, reaching over to stop his friend from accidentally drawing a line of orange sharpie across his poster on the themes in Macbeth.

“No!” said Tucker, quickly. “But, like, why? It just seems… unlike you.”

“Exactly,” said Danny, nodding sharply. “It has absolutely nothing to do with my powers and nothing to do with my family. Plus, I had a coupon.”

“For glass blowing?”

“It was a groupon,” said Danny. “For making Christmas tree ornaments. I’m going to do it with Jazz.”

“But, Danny,” said Sam, looking over from where she was working on her own poster about Twelfth Night, “glass blowing, uh, involves a lot of heat.”

“Sure?”

“Danny, you have an ice core.”

“Ah,” said Danny. “Well. I’ve got to use that groupon. If it doesn’t work out, it’s only the once, right?”

“Oh my gosh,” said Danny, wringing sweat out of his t-shirt. “That was awesome!” He giggled to himself and peaked into the annealer again. “So awesome!”

“Uh huh,” said Jazz. Her attempts had been… rather less successful than Danny’s, partially because she was trying so hard to make them perfect. But she had managed a few little baubles, nonetheless. “I think these’ll all be good for the tree. Assuming we get one.”

“And it isn’t set on fire.”

“Oh, yeah, that was a bad year.”

He squeaked open the annealer again, only closing it when the instructor lightly scolded him. “They’re so terrible and lopsided,” said Danny.

“Hey,” said Jazz. “Mine are fine.”

“I know! I was talking about mine.”

“Ah, okay then. I agree.”

“You aren’t supposed to agree.”

“What, you want me to lie? And after you said it first?”

“No,” said Danny. “But you could be nicer about it.”

“I’m your sister, what do you expect?”

(Lung Capacity)

Danny let the last note trail off to complete silence. He stared apprehensively at the assembled student body. Curse Mr. Lancer’s extra credit talent show assignment. Any minute now, they’d start laughing at him.

What was he thinking? He’d just watched a few YouTube tutorials on breath control, and he thought he could come up here and sing in front of people? He was a moron, and—

Sam and Tucker started cheering wildly, followed rapidly by everyone else in the gym.

Okay. What?

Sam and Tucker, following impulses known only to overexcited teenagers, swarmed up the stage and attacking Danny.

“Why didn’t you tell us you could sing like that?” demanded Sam.

“When did you learn?” asked Tucker, doing his level best to noogie Danny. “Why did you learn?”

“I wanted to improve my, you know, wail,” muttered Danny, “and all the breath control YouTube videos either had to do with diving or singing, so…” He did a little head wiggle to illustrate his point and also dislodge Tucker.

“I just can’t believe you kept this a secret from us,” said Sam.

Danny snorted and took a sort of half bow before attempting to leave the stage. “My dudes, I am basically made of secrets.”

“Encore!” screamed someone who clearly hated him.

“Oh, no,” said Danny, bracing himself against Sam and Tucker who were pushing him back into the middle of the stage. “No encore. I don’t do encores.”

But now people were chanting. Chanting.

“Come on, Danny,” said Tucker. “Just once!”

“Yeah, these are your fifteen minutes of fame!”

“I had those already! ��Multiple times!”

“That was Poindexter.”

“And now it can be you.”

Danny reluctantly took the microphone back off the stand.

(Letterhead)

The ink was thick, almost creamy, and paint-like. It was the ectoplasm mix, which also gave it a rich, rosy glow.

Danny was practicing ghost calligraphy. Well, one particular subset of ghost calligraphy, one which put special emphasis on the color of the letters as well as how they fit together.

It was a totally useless hobby. But it was… not exactly calming. No. He’d gotten way too angry about poorly formed arcs and crooked lines a couple of times. So. Yeah. Not calming. But… meditative. Meditative. And there was something satisfying about seeing the finished product.

Plus, if he framed his better finished work, they made for good presents for weirdo ghosts.

“You misspelled this,” drawled Ghost Writer.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Keuwii only has one kei.”

“This is only one kei.”

“What’s this, then?”

“It’s a flourish.”

“A flourish.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Everyone’s a critic. If you don’t want it—”

“I didn’t say that.”

Danny raised an eyebrow.

Ghost Writer made a show of rolling his eyes. “Very well. Do you have one for my half-brother Randy. Perhaps one that says something along the lines of ‘idiot?’”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

(Babies on Fire)

“Danny,” said Jazz. “What are you doing up at three in the morning with a lighter? And… yarn? Is that yarn?”

“Dad wanted me to learn how to sew,” said Danny, “but I don’t like needles, not the sharp ones, anyway.”

“You get stitches every other week,” pointed out Jazz.

“Exactly,” said Danny, gesturing with the lighter. “So, I decided to look into, you know, knitting. And I was on knitting websites, and having, you know, a pretty good time with that, but then I found out about the babies.”

“The babies.”

“The babies,” said Danny, seriously. “And the blankets that are on fire. It depends on the yarn, you see. If the yarn is the wrong kind of yarn, if it catches on fire, the blanket can melt onto the baby. It’s terrible. Just terrible.”

“I kind of think that if the blanket is on fire you have bigger problems,” said Jazz. She took a step closer to her obviously insane younger brother. “Are you… testing the yarn?”

“I have to, Jazz. It’s for the babies.”

“Alright,” said Jazz. “You are going to limit it to just the yarn in our house, right?”

“But we don’t have any babies.”

“Okay, that didn’t answer my question, but, like…” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Since we don’t have any babies here, why are you testing the yarn?”

“Because we might have babies here in the future,” said Danny. “Or I might knit something and give it to someone as a gift and then they give it to their baby. Oh my gosh, I’d feel so guilty.”

“I’d be more worried about the toxic waste in our basement,” said Jazz, which was exactly the wrong thing to say to a sleep-deprived half-ghost on the edge of an Obsession-fueled breakdown. Danny vanished in a blur, trailing yarn behind him. Jazz, who had only gotten up for a glass of water, cursed under her breath.

(Before the Ball)

“I’m so, so sorry, Dora,” said Danny, holding back something adjacent to laughter.

Dora laughed, more openly. “It is fine, Sir Phantom. Even now, you are better than my brother.”

“Am I really? Your brother? Who was raised to do this?”

“Well,” said Dora, letting go and stepping back out of the range of Danny’s feet. Which were, evidently, both left feet. “No, I’m afraid, but it is amusing to say, isn’t it?” She pressed her fingers to her lips, suppressing more laughter.

“Yeah, it is,” admitted Danny.

“In any case, you are far more graceful concerning your mistakes than he ever was. More gallant. A better representative of chivalry altogether.” She patted the shoulders of his shirt.

“Thanks,” said Danny. “Do you think that I’ll be, uh, ready in time for the party?”

“It’s more than a party,” said Dora. “You’re being officially knighted. You’ll be a peer of the realm.”

“Aha,” said Danny. “Yeah. I don’t… what? Really? That’s a thing?”

“You thought I was joking?”

“No,” said Danny, drawing out the word. He had, in fact, thought she was joking and only accepted her offer to teach him how to dance because he thought it sounded like fun and like it might take his mind off his problems. “Of course not. So. Dancing. Important. For first impressions?”

“Everyone already knows you, Phantom,” said the knight assigned as Dora’s bodyguard. “But dancing is surprisingly useful for swordplay. Which you need all the help you can get at.”

“You said I was getting better.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re good.”

“Ouch.”

(Time)

“I don’t have time for a hobby,” complained Danny through the Fenton Phones. “Maybe if the ghosts let up a bit—” He zapped one of said ghosts.

“Danny, are you fighting ghosts right now?”

“Yeah. That’s my point.”

“Oh my god, get off the phone.”

“No way! This is the only time I can call you, what with all of your classes.”

“Danny…” said Jazz, clearly exasperated. He took advantage of the lull in the conversation to blast a few more ghosts.

“I’m fine Jazz.”

“You are not fine. You are, like, ten thousand miles away from fine. When was the last time you even slept through the night?”

“Eh,” said Danny. “Recently?”

“You need to take more time for yourself.”

Danny sighed and captured the last ghost. “Maybe catching ghosts is my hobby.”

“Catching ghosts is your self-imposed penance for doing something that isn’t even your fault. Not a hobby.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll talk to you on Wednesday, same time.”

“Danny, don’t—”

He hung up.

“Ugh,” said Danny. “I guess I need to find a hobby. Have to find time to find a hobby.”

“Perhaps I could be of help.”

“Ah!” Danny jolted forward, dropping his phone.

Clockwork gestured with one hand, and the phone dropped back into Danny’s hands from above.

“Ohhh my ghost, why are you here?”

“You were just talking about finding time. And now I’m here.”

“Good timing, I guess?”

“Only the best,” said Clockwork, evenly. “But we were speaking of hobbies. Might I suggest ice sculpture? Your friends in the Far Frozen would be more than happy to teach you...”

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2021

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queenofhearts7378 · 4 years ago

Text

Constellations Ch. 2

(Yes it finally has a title. Yes this is ending up multi chaptered. Yes there’s another part I’m writing. Yes I already have an outline for a vague plot....Yes I’m still blaming @ladylynse for this XD)

Prev. Chapter - Next Chapter

Danny was very much unprepared and underdressed for the time when some wizards fell out of his fireplace.

He paused in the doorway, spoon still in his mouth and cheeks full of cereal, as his brother stood up and brushed the soot off him with a displeased nose scrunch.

Danny swallowed. "And you couldn't just use the door?"

Honestly they're lucky his parents had left to chase down the Box Ghost earlier. Otherwise they'd be covered in a lot more than soot and ash.

Danny couldn't help the snort that escaped at the mental picture of Draco covered in ectoplasm and boiling in rage.

Draco narrowed his eyes, seeming to pick up that Danny was making fun of him. "Using the Floo was quicker."

"....quicker than walking through the door."

"It's a wizard thing you wouldn't understand." Draco snapped back, his go to response whenever he couldn't argue against Danny's logic at the moment.

"Uh huh. Anyways what are you doing here?" Danny asked, "You aren't supposed to be here for another two weeks."

Which was time previously planned for Draco to prepare for his summer in America while Danny finished school. Spend the two weeks after Hogwarts let out recuperating and making public appearances with his parents, then spend the rest of the summer with the Fentons.

Actually now that Danny was looking, it seemed Draco had come straight from school. His hair was lacking half its gel, he was still wearing his green tie, and his robes were a very boring black as opposed to the various greys and blues he flaunted around in the previous summer.

“Denebola, pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.” Drawled the man standing behind Draco.

“Hello creepy man that I have never met before,” Danny said, echoing his tone.

Draco choked on air as the discount Kylo Ren sneered at him.

“This is Professor Snape Danny.” A familiar please-don’t-say-anything-that-will-get-us-in-trouble tone coloring Draco’s words. “My godfather.”

Oh the potion guy. Danny remembers Draco talking about him now. He was friends with Draco’s parents, which didn’t really impress Danny that much as all of the Malfoy’s friends seemed to be really rich snobs or really racist. Mostly both.

But he was Draco’s godfather, the reason he got into potions, his favorite professor and someone Draco would willingly go to get advice from. So, Danny decided to reserve judgement till he met him. Well….he met him.

Danny looked Draco dead in the eyes, “My apologies.”

Draco closed his eyes in mortification, which made Danny grin internally. They were really getting the hang of the whole ‘speaking without talking to each other twin thing’.

Professor Snape just scowled at him. “Where are the….muggles?" Disdain dripped off his words, instantly making Danny defensive. He had heard enough at Malfoy Manor about disgraceful, savage muggles from Lucius. Even Draco had echoed his father till Danny dragged him kicking and screaming into being a slightly decent person.

"My parents," Danny said, stressing the word, "Are working right now."

Okay maybe they were just being their usual trigger happy selves and running after Boxy, but there was no way he was telling Professor Snape that without it leading to an hour long discussion about ghosts. And Danny did not have time for that. He shoved a giant spoonful of cereal in his mouth as he met Professor Snape's eyes and-huh.

Draco never told Danny his godfather could read minds. He could feel the light brushes of a foreign mind attempting to gleam information from his surface thoughts. Danny didn't know if it was his wizard ancestry or halfa weirdness that made him sensitive to this kind of stuff. Either way, it was useful in keeping his secrets in his head from privacy invading school teachers.

Danny glowered at Snape and immediately thought of Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give You Up music video.

The two of them stared at each other for a minute, making Draco more and more anxious as no one said anything.

Finally Snape broke contact, "Where should his things go?"

Danny tried very hard not to smirk after winning that staring contest, "You can just leave them here, we'll get them later."

With one last displeased sneer, Snape turned to Draco. "I'm needed back at Hogwarts. I trust you are in good hands."

Draco nodded, still looking tense and anxious as hell.

Snape walked back to the fireplace. He paused next to Draco, "Take care of yourself Draco."

Draco softened under his glare, "I will Professor. Thank you."

Snape nodded and shot one more glare at Danny, who still had Rick Astley echoing in his head, before vanishing into the fireplace in a swirl of green fire.

Draco turned back to Danny and said, "You stress me out."

Danny snorted before walking back into the kitchen to put his bowl in the sink. Draco followed after him, looking at all the kitchen appliances with a barely hidden curious look.

"Something else we have in common."

"What are you wearing?" He asked with a nose scrunched in displeasure.

Danny shot him a look, "My pajamas, cause I just woke up. I haven't finished getting ready for school. You should probably change too."

"Why?"

Danny started for the stairs, Draco still following at his heels. "You can't wear robes to public school. I think you can fit in my jeans."

"What?!" Draco screeched, halting at the bottom of the stairs, "I'm not going to muggle school with you!"

"It's either that or stay here by yourself for hours." Danny said as he paused outside his room. Draco scrambled up after him. "Cause my parents won't be home for a couple more hours, after which you'll be alone with them till I get home."

Danny smirked at him, "My parents are going to be thrilled to see you, can you really handle their enthusiasm all by yourself?"

Draco could barely stand Danny showing various forms of physical affection, as proven last summer when Danny would throw an arm around Draco's shoulders and almost get hexed. And Ancients forbid Danny try to hug him. Draco might actually lose the wand and just punch him. Danny had spent most of their correspondence over the school year prepping Draco for the Fenton welcome wagon so he wouldn't hiss like a cat when he gets hugged. Okay, and maybe Danny just wanted to see his overdramatic brother's face as he is subjected to his parent's bear hugs.

Draco scowled at him, "Fine. But I'm not wearing any jeans."

Draco stomped into Danny's room and slammed the door in his face. He heard the lock click as it was shut.

"Hey! I still gotta get dressed!" Danny banged on the door, "C'mon Drake it's still my room!"

Danny groaned before walking over to the bathroom. He phased through the wall and landed on the fire escape. It took a few minutes, but he eventually maneuvered to his window and slipped in.

Draco had dug into Danny's closet and pulled out the most dressy tux Danny owned and was in the middle of putting it on.

"You are not wearing that."

Draco scowled at him, "It’s bad enough I'm lowering myself by going with you-”

“Lowering yourself?”

“-But,” he said loudly, “I absolutely refuse to wear common muggle wear. If I’m going to this school, I will not look anything less than my absolute best.”

Danny stared at him. “Drake you will be thrown into the dumpster if you wear that to my school. Let me just-”

Danny jumped on him, trying to remove the suit jacket from a struggling Draco. Draco shouted and tried to twist away, only for Danny to pull it over his head. Once Draco was out of sight, and swearing loudly at him, Danny subtly used his intangibility to yank it off him. And if he happened to remove all of Draco’s hair gel that he used to keep his hair slicked back….well, that would have gotten him thrown in a dumpster as well.

Danny tried not to laugh as Draco glared at him, his hair fluffed up and looking vaguely like an angry kitten.

"Do you know how long it takes me to fix my hair? I have to completely redo it now! And how'd you get that off me?" He pointed at the jacket Danny was throwing back in his closet.

Danny grinned at him, "Magic."

Draco gave him a flat look.

"Anyway we've got to go, otherwise I'm gonna be late again, and get detention again, and you'll be forced to either walk home by yourself or stay at school with me."

Somehow Danny had managed to get dressed and drag Draco out the door with him, texting Sam and Tucker his plans to walk so they could meet up on the way.

"What is that?" Draco leaned over to squint at the phone in Danny's hand.

"My phone. I told you about it last summer."

Draco hummed, "I thought it was broken?"

"Yeah, cause your magic blew it up. My parents fixed it." Danny shoved his phone back in his pocket like Draco was about to blow it up again. "Now what happened?"

Draco shot him a glance, before letting his eyes flicker around them. "I did try to tell you muggle 'technology' and magic doesn't always go together."

"Drake, you know that's not what I mean." He said softly.

Draco was silent, his jaw clenched and his hands shaking before he shoved them in his pockets.

They walked in silence for a while.

"You'll get hurt."

Danny looked at him.

"I…." Draco sighed, "I've never…."

Danny waited silently for him to get the words out on his own, knowing that pushing him will only make him clam up.

"You aren't like us. And I don't mean that in any bad way!" He said quickly when he saw Danny's face. "But you know what my parents are like, and their friends are so much worse, and you're the first person I've ever had to worry about. I just want you to be safe."

Oh Ancients, that was a lot to unpack there.

Danny had known something had happened during school. The two of them spent the school year exchanging letters, both of them wanting to stay in contact. Danny would tell him about his school, and his parents' antics, and explain random muggle technology to get Draco prepared for his summer with the Fentons.

Meanwhile, Draco had complained at length about Potter and a tournament and Potter being insufferable about a tournament. There was a furious letter about being turned into a ferret and how Potter and his friends keep bringing it up. Draco sent him about three feet of parchment around Christmas just making fun of Potter at a dance and how horrible he was. There was a lot about some famous Quidditch guy and then a lot about Potter’s friend stealing the famous Quidditch guy.

Draco complained about Potter a lot, okay?

But Draco never sent him a letter about the tournament results or if Potter got eaten by a bog witch or whatever it was he was hoping for the last task. He just showed up, two weeks early and clearly shaken about whatever it was that happened.

That isn’t a good sign at all. And Danny had eavesdropped enough last summer to get a decent idea as to what was going on.

“This is….this is about him isn’t it?”

Draco flinched, which was enough answer for him. Danny let out a breath.

“We can-we can talk about this later. I care about you too Drake, and I know your family is neck deep in this mess.” Danny bumped his shoulder, “You’re safe here, that’s why Narcissa sent you here right?”

Draco leaned against his brother’s shoulder, eyes still flitting across the street and his jaw clenched. “Yeah. We’re safe here.”

#queen will write #dp twin au #harry potter #draco malfoy #danny phantom #danny fenton #crossover #constellations fic #oh boy here we go #....this is coming out a little angsty #hmmm....that was not supposed to happen #i know five-rivers is writing a fic too #but we seem to be going different directions with it #they're bringing danny to the wizarding world #i'm shoving malfoy at the muggle one #oh i haven't even got to the part where he actually goes to the school #*rubs my hands maniacally*#this is gonna be fun

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thatrandomsarahchick · 2 years ago

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I want more fics where Danny runs away not out of fear but out of embarrassment.

They find out on accident by themselves and start to panic before Jazz existing what's going on. They need some time to grieve and get past the fact that they sort of killed their own son and didn't even notice. They invent a first hunting trip and go away for a few days to process and decide how to proceed.

Danny has noticed them being extra cuddly and weird lately, but they've not been down in the lab and the portal has stayed locked - he hasn't had this much sleep in months - he assumes they're just being grossly in love and trying to have a subtle date weekend.

The problems start when they get back.

Danny's in a rush to get to Tucker's house. They're planning on actually studying before gaming tonight, but the second his parents walk in the door, he's swept into a massive bear hug. Dad doesn't let go for ages, and only does because mum wants a turn. Then they tell him he has to cancel his putting, because it's family night! He wants to sneak out, but Jazz is looking so hopeful that he can't bring himself to leave.

The next time he's out as Phantom, he's just caught Boxy again when he hears his parents' gav come screaming down the road. He's about to leave when he notices something weird about it - the side door has been repainted.

Phantom's face is painted on the side of the van, in the middle of a heart. What.

Dads voice booms out - loud enough that he doesn't even need a megaphone. "we're sorry, Phantom, we believe you're a hero now!"

What.

Are they pretending to be overshadowed? Is this their latest way to turn his few supporters against him? He's so confused, and he flees the scene.

Danny waits until they get home for family dinner, which is something they've been doing lately, to ask them what the hell is going on. Unfortunately, Jack and Maddie have decided that their going to wait for him to tell them about his status as a halfa, so the explanation he gets is rather lacking. They say they 'did some soul searching' and 'reviewed their previous bias' and have come to the conclusion that they were wrong about everything except ghost biology.

Double what.

This goes on for weeks, with the Fenton parents' attitude change consistently being the main topic of conversation throughout town and Danny leaving every single conversation completely baffled. Eventually, Maddie realises that their way is doing more harm than good, and they sit down with Danny to let him know that they Know.

Once they have finished reviewing all of their old work, they get worse. They start chasing down ghosts to question them instead of to hurt them. Ghosts are now coming to him to complain. Even Boxy got sick of them after the first hour of their questioning the limitations of his Obsession over boxes.

They're now embarrassing him on both sides of the portal - it's hard to be taken seriously when your parents follow you around to be your personal cheer squad. The only bonus is how quickly they were able to dismantle the GIW. It turns out that admitting you were wrong to the broader scientific community when they already doubted your theories can do a lot towards discrediting pseudo-legal government organisations. The President would become an international laughing stock if he didn't take immediate action.

By the time Danny hits senior year, he's pulled his grade average up high enough that he can get into a decent University.

He thinks Metropolis University is a good choice. Not only is it far enough away that hopefully he can escape his embarrassing parents, but a new hero has just emerged there who's a real-life alien! How cool is that!

Jazz is already away at Starling City University, and his parents have only been out there once since they moved her into her dorm.

Unfortunately for Danny, life just likes to use him as a punching bag. It's almost the end of his first semester at university when he hears whispers of a new villain duo easily taking down Superman.

He hasn't been seen as Phantom yet, but for this he's ready to announce himself to the city. He races back to his down, completely missing the site of his parent's van illegally parked across 3 spaces. He ignores all the whispering students and the media van that screeches into the parking lot alongside the cops. Whatever his fellow students have done is irrelevant to him right now.

It isn't until he bursts into his dorm room, ready to drop off his expensive school books and transform that it all finally clicks. Lying there on his bed, trussed up like a pig in glowing green rope, is Superman. His dad is standing and holding the other end of the rope, beaming at him, while his mum starts fussing over his health.

His parents were the new villains. His parents kidnapped Superman. Using Ectoranium laced rope.

He can feel the weakness setting in from the Ectoranium in the air as he continues to stand there, but he can also see how badly it is affecting Superman.

Completely ignoring his mum for the moment, he turns to his dad: "Dad, that the rope off. Take it off now, hide it, take it away! Take IT AWAY!" He ends up screaming, as he collapses on the ground. His parents finally realise that something is wrong, and he can see the moment it clicks in his dad's eyes - they'd forgotten that Ectoranium was practically Poison to ghosts.

Dad clicks a button, and the rope automatically retracts, hidden inside an arm brace. He looks so sad, but Danny doesn't have the brain power for that right now. He crawls over to the bed to check on Superman, who seems to be recovering quicker than he is. He is mumbling "I'm so sorry" under his breath, on repeat, without even realising it. He only stops when he feels a warm hand on his shoulder.

Looking up, he can see Superman looking down at him in wonder. "You're like me. I'm not alone." It's then he realises that - holy shit, Superman is in my bed! And their is a police barricade being set up outside, his parents have been labelled as villains!

After explaining what's happening to the man, he agrees to sort out everything on the condition that Danny meets him on top of the Daily Planet later. Danny, of course, agrees and watches as his parents walk Superman out of the building. By the time they've reached the front entrance, they're laughing like old friends.

Superman explains it as a prank gone wrong by some well-meaning friends, and since there wasn't actually any structural damage done, the police let them off with a warning so long as the Fenton parents stay out of Metropolis until further notice.

Mum and dad pack up their van, which Danny is waiting invisibly inside, and say their goodbyes as they drive off. Once they're far enough away, they let Danny out, and he flies off to meet Superman. Wanting to keep as many secrets as possible until they get to know each other better, he flies there in his human form.

He decides to give Jazz a heads-up phone call while he's waiting for the hero to arrive. They're heading there next to see if the new vigilante is human or not.

why are all the dp x dc fics about danny running away from his parents? no hate meant to abusive!jack/maddie enjoyers, but you guys do know that's fanon, right? canon jack and maddie are...complicated, but they do care for their kids and vice versa

anyway, give me a fenton family road trip to gotham. give me jack and maddie trying to capture the batman because they think hes a ghost. give me the fenton couple becoming buddies with the rogues gallery because they count as mad scientists

bruce, of course, learns about them trying to hunt danny and immediately tries to adopt him, but danny doesnt want to be adopted. he thinks his parents are fine (and he defenitely doesnt trust another creepy rich guy who wants to adopt him)

batman: "but theyre trying to hunt you?"

danny: "i know, but whats a family dynamic without trying to kill each other every once in a while?"

red hood: "he has a point"

tim "made up a fake uncle to avoid getting adopted" drake is the only one who understands danny's reluctance to be adopted and helps him escape from bruce. meanwhile, jack has no idea that bruce dislikes him and thinks theyve become best friends

#misunderstandings #i love the misunderstandings trope so much #dpxdc #dp x dc #danny phantom #batman #batpham #dc #crossover #superman #ectoranium is Kryptonite

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totallyexhausted · 3 years ago

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So, I am re-watching Danny Phantom and the idea of Lancer caring for an ill Danny crossed my mind after I read all the ones I could find. I also toyed with Danny’s powers; him being able to change, obviously, but also seance and see dead spirits (and ghosts; leaving spirits and ghosts as separate entities) walking around. Basically, I upped the rating on Danny Phantom and combined Klaus Hargreeves powers with Danny’s own abilities.

Also, I’ll say, and maybe it’s the song I’m listening to, or the fact that I was reworking Greenberg and Coach from TW, but I got the picture of Danny showing up at Lancer’s door, high off his ass mumbling about Sam, Ghosts, and other teenager things.

…………………………………..

Lance Lancer had never seen a kid so sick, nor did he remember his own son ever being this ill. Danny groaned loudly, curling further into himself, his arms tightly protecting his stomach as his nails dug bloody indents on his forearms. He was shivering, his ghost sense going off every few minutes, creating a barely visible burst of cold air biting back against his sweaty flesh. He clenched his eyes shut as he tried to forget about the spirits flooding the room. As he tried to forget their voices, their screams, their hands brushing over him as they pleaded for him to look. As they begged for him to help.

Lancer bit his bottom lip as he pressed his hand harder against the 17-year-old’s shaking front shoulder, his other trying to work through some of the knots plaguing the boy’s shoulder blades. He shouldn’t have this many tight muscles, this much stress forced in his back at his age… and the fact that Danny seemed to curl tighter into himself, straining his muscles further every time he took a slow, shallow breath, worried the English teacher more.

The teenager groaned again, clenching his eyes shut tighter as he swallowed quickly, letting out a shaky breath. He stilled, hoping his lack of movement would help ease the nausea stampeding through his body and after taking several slow breaths, he relaxed. He hated being sick… not that anyone loved puking their guts out for hours, let alone in someone else’s home, but his ghost sense always made him on-edge, unable to sleep peacefully or unwind. Every spark of Ghost-breath as Tucker called it, sent violent shivers through him making it harder for his body to heat or cool properly.

The last time Danny remembered being this sick was a few days after the Accident. He’d been on a famous “Fenton Family Vacation,” which was just code for some lame ghost-convention his parents attended every year, forcing their two kids to cram in the RV for a 12-hour car trip to some middle-class hotel. Usually, Jazz and Danny occupied their time exploring the city or making fun of the people who attended the convention. But since the Accident a few days before, for Danny, the family vacation turned into 3-days of complete feverish hell as his body tried to figure out how to survive with only half an immune system, half the person he used to be.

There wasn’t much to remember from that experience except cold showers, endless puking, aimless wondering in some sauna-type hotel as Danny tried running from himself, and the vague memory of leaning against his father several times as his mother coaxed him to take whatever foul-tasting liquid she wanted him to drink. Whether or not his parents actually attended the convention, or if Jazz had explored the same boring city, Danny couldn’t remember. But he remembered his parents arguing, his sister cradling him to her chest on the bathroom floor, and at some point, crouching under the bathroom counter as he forced himself small, trying to hide from the green-eyed, white-haired kid in the mirror or the bloody, contorted people following him. Since then, sickness never came easy despite his immune system being half-dead or ghosted or whatever it was Tucker had told him.

The 17-year-old pressed his face against the comforter, lessening the pain shooting through his temples as the thought of puking again slowly began to evade, and his head welcomed the soft cool fabric cushioning the migraine eating away at his jawline. He was lying at the edge of the bed, curled into what had to be a pathetic sweaty ball, his knees pulled halfway to his chest as he braced his arms across his stomach. This was hell. It had to be. Because only some sick fuck would make him miserable, feverishly grasping what little reality he could hold onto, and so nauseous he couldn’t move, away from his parents with only Mr. Lancer as his only comfort. It was some kind of sick joke.

Danny’s stomach churned, and he swallowed hard, his hands clammy against his overheated skin, trying to will whatever else he could possibly still have in his stomach, back down. He stilled again, breathing shallowly through his nose, feeling his stomach relax slightly. He sighed internally, praying to God he was done puking as heat lit through his veins, and Danny lurched, retching loudly as he shut his eyes, willing for everything to stop. He had no strength left to hold himself up; his mind fuzzy and everything hard to piece together through sweaty nauseating moments. He whimpered as he lurched again, retching as bitter acidic bile spewed from his mouth, running down his chin, and the 17-year-old coughed harshly, tightening his grip across his stomach, and clenching his eyes shut as he struggled to breathe through the rest of it.

He felt something wipe across his chin and mouth, his stomach lurching further at the thought of the humiliation of being so exhausted and sick he couldn’t even be bothered to wipe any of his vomit away from him. Danny whimpered loudly, letting foul saliva pool from his mouth as his stomach heaved, hanging his head off the edge of the bed over what he had been hoping for the past two hours was a wastebasket… but considering Lancer had rapidly become more concerned with other ailments such as the teenager’s temperature or the tight muscles straining in his shoulders and back, the 17-year-old was willing to bet the dark wooden floor wasn’t pretty. He’d also been too scared to look, not wanting the guilt of Lancer having to clean up his vomit added onto the guilt and humiliation he already felt.

“Alright. Easy, Daniel. It’s alright… just let it all up. It’s alright,” Lancer said as softly as he could. He was pretty sure the kid was mostly delirious by now, his fever spiking as sweat layered on top of him, soaked through damp clothes and sheets that were plastered to the teenager’s pale skin. He couldn’t even hold himself up anymore, his face pressed against the edge of the bed while Lancer kept a firm grasp on his shoulder so the kid wouldn’t topple off.

Lancer pressed the disregarded and mostly warm rag from the nightstand against the teenager’s face; forehead, cheeks, neck, trying his best to mop up as much sweat as he could, trying to cool Danny off as much as he could without physically carrying him into the bathroom and forcing him under a cold shower. It wasn’t ideal, and Lancer knew from previous experience with his own son, it wouldn’t be pretty; but considering Lancer was currently in charge of the poor kid, he was willing to do whatever was necessary. He’d just never seen a kid so sick.

Lightening flashed outside as a branch scrapped against the glass windowpane, thunder clashing loudly as rain continued to beat against the old house. The small leak in the roof audible in the kitchen as tiny droplets fell against some crappy tin figurines his wife failed to take in the divorce. Lancer had always hated them… but he didn’t have the heart to toss them… or admit to himself that those stupid scrap metal trinkets were his last thread he had tied to her. His last hope that maybe she’d come back. But it’d been 12 years… and she wasn’t coming back. Neither was Charlie.

Danny coughed harshly, flinching as something cool touched the back of his neck, brushing sweaty sticky hair matted to his neck from his burning flesh. He felt like he was on fire. No, worse… his core was always cold, freezing almost; so, his temperature was lower than any other humans. So, the fire eating away at his muscles and memories, was excruciating.

He coughed again, wheezing slightly as his heart skipped. He had to be breathing faster than normal… hell, he was breathing faster than normal. Air sucked through achy lungs and forced out through a dry mouth as his heart tried keeping up the pace. He swallowed, pulling his knees further to his chest, shivering again as his ghost sense went off, and he opened his eyes slightly, wincing as the dark room spun in a multitude of blacks, browns, and dark purples. Red mixed against almost translucent flesh as faces inched closer, and Danny’s stomach lurched, hard, as his eyes met the contorted and split face of a middle-aged man in coveralls.

The teenager choked, swallowing loudly as his stomach cramped again, barely feeling Lancer’s hands trying desperately to work out the clenched muscles in his back. Blood dripped from the man’s face; his appearance split into two as his smile dropped in opposite directions. Normally, Danny could ignore it; ignore them… but it was worse when he was vulnerable. He couldn’t block them out. And to be completely honest, the past couple of months hadn’t been easy on him.

He and Sam had broken up before they ever began dating. Tucker had maintained under the radar both boyfriends and girlfriends while helping his childhood crush, Valerie, pick off the ghosts Danny had missed. They were still close, the three of them; but Sam had been more distant, avoiding plans with Danny when it was just the two of them… and deep down the teenager knew it was his fault. Everything was.

The 17-year-old bit his lip, blood coating his tongue as he buried his nails further against his flesh. Sam had almost died. She had been willing to sacrifice everything for Danny… and that was something Danny would never have been able to live with. He had fucked up. He had tried to help… and she had almost died. The faint tan scars still visible against her neckline, shining as a reminder in the sunlight and under the florescent lighting in the chemistry lab. Since then, she’d been doing her best to avoid Danny, and Danny let her. He couldn’t face her. He didn’t know how.

That had been months ago, but it still flooded the teenager’s mind every time he glanced in her direction. Every time their hands touched in chemistry… every time she forced a watered-down excuse past purple lipstick. The sigh. That sigh. She had been scared of him that night. He saw it. The fear plagued across her face. The horror. And Danny didn’t blame her because he scared himself nowadays too.

He felt colder than he had been in his youth, emotions concrete against things that troubled his peers. His demeanor seemed further away as he toppled over the puny shadow of his early years. He wasn’t a pushover; Dash didn’t come near him anymore… but he was still outcasted, marked freakshow as newer threats and tougher bullies appeared. Sam had borne witness to things Tucker knew nothing about; she had seen a darker side of Danny that the teenager tried so damn hard to hide. But it was getting harder… the spirits were bleeding through more and more, scratching his mind and haunting him with nightmares that kept the 17-year-old up most nights. Nothing was a comfort anymore. Not even his friends. Not even his sister.

The teenager’s stomach lurched again, and he felt cooper flood his mouth as he bit his lip harder, forcing his eyes shut, cutting off the images around him as the spirits continued to scream. He breathed through his nose slowly, feeling Lancer’s hand grip his fingers as he tried to pry the teenager’s grip baring against his sweaty flesh.

“Wuthering Heights, Daniel!” Lancer breathed, still trying to force Danny’s fingers away from his arm as the small bloody marks from his nails became visible. Despite visibly shaking, and his breathing coming in teeth-chattering waves, Lancer was surprised Danny’s grip remained resilient. Likewise, when Danny had grabbed his wrist in the hallway earlier, when Lancer had startled the teenager, his icy-blue eyes daggered towards him, watching the older man’s actions, his fingers tight and threatening around his wrist… Lancer had been taken aback by the teenager’s strength. Just like now.

The English teacher sighed, giving up and pressing his hand against the 17-year-old’s shoulder once more as Danny lurched, coughing harshly. Concern and sympathy ate away at Lancer’s expression; his own actions feeling clumsy and foreign as he tried to soothe the teenager as much as he could. As much as he remembered. But he hadn’t comforted his own son in almost 12 years… and Danny had become much more distant and independent over the past three. So, the comfort Lancer used to try and reassure the kid, felt awkward, just as the sickened pain written across the teenager’s pale face, looked wrong.

The lights flickered above, and Lancer glanced up, hoping he wasn’t going to lose power as that would add to his already worrying list of problems. Lightening cracked again, a tree in the front yard visible momentarily as a branch fell against the window, rain threatening to break glass, and the distant sound of a tornado signal blaring through Amity Park.

Danny whimpered loudly, clenching his eyes as voices cut through his skull, pounding against the pain enveloped in his forehead and cheekbones, trailing down his jawline and neck. The bed spun despite the teenager being curled into a tight motionless ball, sweat falling from his hairline as the smell of body odor reached his nostrils, and the 17-year-old gagged.

Lancer pressed a reassuring hand against the teenager’s shoulder, murmuring he’d be right back before rising, grabbing the lukewarm rag from the nightstand, and trashcan from beside the bed as he made his way towards the kitchen. After replacing the trash bag and running the rag through cold water, Lancer sighed loudly, pressing his hands against the counter as he watched water droplets forming through the small hole in his ceiling and ping against the metal statues harbored on the bar.

He huffed again, running a tired hand over his bald head as he stared at his reflection in the dark window. The electricity shut off as the lights flickered before the microwave beeped loudly as the powerlines fought against the storm. He didn’t need this. And if there was any type of superior being looking out for him, they’d keep the lights on. At least, Lancer would have one thing going for him then.

He sighed again, glancing towards the direction of his guestroom then back towards his reflection. It was nearing 5am, and despite the sun aimed to rise in an hour, Lancer doubted it would bleed through the storm that had showed no signs of letting up. He wished it would, wished the skies would clear… wished flights would take off because that meant Danny’s parents and sister could fly home. They’d be able to take better care their son… they’d know what to do. Lancer didn’t. He hadn’t been a dad in years… he hadn’t looked after someone in years…

Danny had been miserable all day, this had become evident to Lancer in 4th period as he berated the teenager for once again sleeping in his class. His cocky, sarcastic attitude pushing the English teacher to his limit as he awarded the 17-year-old with another days’ detention. But it hadn’t been until later that Lancer began to notice things he should have seen to begin with. The dark circles, pale complexion, the bloody nose, and red tint painted across sharp cheekbones; his voice, cracked and sudden, as Danny retorted sarcasm aimed to hurt… his stare gazing past whatever Lancer had been teaching, staring at nothing but looking at everything.

Lancer shook his head as he glanced down at the red coffee cup and abandoned bowl of cereal lying in the sink. This had not been in his Wednesday evening plans… then again, there was no way in hell Lancer was going to let the teenager go home to an empty house. Lord knows what could have happened, and the fact that Danny’s temperature had spiked in the night, confirmed any doubts the older man had of letting the kid stay with him until his parent’s plane landed, which had been grounded until tomorrow evening, at best.

The older man glanced back towards his reflection, catching sight of the radar flashing across the television in his living room, silently. The storm was huge, coming from the Gulf, pressure building from the North and East as it moved slowly over Amity Park. And it was only expected to get worse which was ironically befitting. Lancer had played with the idea of taking Danny to the Emergency Room several times within the past few hours; the only thing stopping him was the question of what was more dangerous: Danny’s illness or the storm?

Jack Fenton had argued while on the phone with Lancer that he had half a mind to rent a car and drive back, despite it being a 20-hour drive back to upstate New York. But much to the English teacher’s amusement, Mr. Fenton’s plan had been shot down from his wife in the background, asking Lancer the condition of her son. Danny’s sister groaning loudly in the background, yelling something about embarrassment. But that had been yesterday evening…

And now. Danny couldn’t keep anything down, not even the miniscule amounts of water Lancer had encouraged him to take to prevent dehydration. His fever had spiked from 102 yesterday to 104.8 through the night, and most of the hardened demeanor Lancer had come to expect from his pupil over the years, was vanquished within a matter of hours. The tough, fuck-you-attitude Danny had adapted, was replaced with the youthfulness of his age. Only 17. He was still a kid; scared, alone, and whether he wanted to admit it, trying his best not to cause his teacher any further inconveniences than he already had. And despite Lancer finding the teenager’s attempts admirable, he found himself at a loss of trying to convince not only the teenager, but himself, that he only wanted to help, to make the kid feel better. But Lancer was so far out of his parental element, and he’d never seen a kid so sick before.

It hadn’t taken long once Lancer had settled down for the night, warming his hands against a mug of tea, quietly watching the news, for things to take a turn. Danny had been rather quiet during the drive to Lancer’s house, slumped in the passenger side, forehead pressed against frosted glass and still mumbling in disagreement with whoever thought he needed a babysitter every couple of minutes. The 17-year-old had attempted to convince Lancer he was fine, that he felt better since puking in detention, and his parents were overreacting. And despite sloppily scribbling through his homework, half of which the older man was certain Danny hadn’t even bothered to read, the teenager remained sullen, flushed, barely touching the sandwich Lancer had offered.

After some time spent brooding in a chair at the kitchen table, Danny had apparently concluded his English teacher wasn’t going to take him home anytime soon. He seemed more compliant then, taking up to inspecting Lancer’s memorabilia instead, trying his best to leave everything exactly as he’d found it. The older man had admired how careful the 17-year-old had been when picking up photos or knickknacks, casting weird what-the-hell-is-this glances towards his teacher as he explored.

Something sounded to his right, and Lancer blinked, running another hand over his head as he cleared his mind. Most of the things taking up refuge in the old house were objects ghosted with the memories of previous family, previous love, a previous life. He had never had the heart to take them down… it was creepily comforting.

Lancer sighed, reaching for the water-soaked rag puddling on the counter as something moved in the corner of his eye causing the older man to jump. He turned, facing the 17-year-old leaning heavily against the wooden arch of the hallway, shaking as he pressed a hand firmly against the wall for support, the rest of his lanky form hunched.

“Great Gatsby, Fenton! What are you doing up?” Lancer advanced, his tone slightly harsher than intended causing the older man to grimace. The teenager looked fairly close to passing out, a hand on his stomach firmly, the other grasped at flat wallpaper. Sweat trailing down his flushed face, forming in droplets at the kid’s chin before melting into his sweat-soaked shirt. Red set high across the bridge of his nose, painting his cheeks as he opened his mouth to speak before closing it, confusion setting across his features.

Lancer made a move towards the teenager as Danny stepped back, his eyes wide as they observed the older man cautiously. The English teacher raised an eyebrow, taking another step forward, a sick feeling sitting in the pit of his stomach as the teenager recoiled once more. Lancer cursed softly, pushing his hand towards the 17-year-old slowly, his voice low and calm as Danny reeled back. Lancer hesitated, “I’m not going to hurt you, Daniel.”

Danny pressed against the wall as Lancer took another step forward, leaning a shoulder against the wall, his eyebrows furrowing together as he tried to focus on the swimming interior around him. He couldn’t breathe, the air around him sucked from tired lungs, voices piercing through his head as he raised a shaky hand to his ear, wincing loudly as the spirits around him grew louder. He clenched his eyes shut, feeling his body struggle against the wall supporting him as he jerked away, wincing again as questions pelted him, begging, pleading for his help, for him to look. Look. Look! Just look at what had happened to them!

“Daniel?” Lancer questioned quickly, stepping forward again as the teenager gasped loudly, forcing a hand against his left ear as blood began dripping slowly from his nose, his shoulder slamming against the ugly wallpaper, “Daniel? Danny! Hey!”

The 17-year-old felt something brush against his wrist, and he forced his eyes open against the harsh lights flickering above him. Everything was hot, confusing, mashed together in a nauseating off-kilter vibrancy that hurt; his legs refusing to support him, lungs unwilling to take air as panic took over as he tried to clear his head, as he tried to remember where the hell he was.

He grimaced, sliding against the wall as his legs fought to keep him upright. He felt wrong. Everything felt wrong, weird, gone. He swallowed, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, fear crossing his face as he pulled back, red sticky liquid coating his fingertips. Tears threatened to spill as he tried to catch his breath. This was his fault. Everything. And now he had blood on his hands. Sam’s blood.

Piercing cut through as Danny pressed a shoulder to his ear, crying out as the man in coveralls laughed, reaching towards him. Danny dropped to his knees, his fingers trembling as they slid down the wallpaper, forcing a picture of a little boy in a baseball uniform to the ground; the glass breaking around it as it smashed against the wood flooring. Tears clouded his vision as he glanced towards the photo, the blonde-haired kid morphing, mirroring Danny’s own reflection through splintered glass.

“No,” The 17-year-old choked, pulling the photo from the floor, glass splinters slicing his trembling fingers as the kid’s gap-tooth smile distorted. He couldn’t breathe; suffocating fear eating away at him as he realized he was gone. The kid in the photo was gone. Taken, dead, his soul split, lifeless as the portal had taken everything from him. He had died, leaving behind grief and broken disappointment. His friend’s hurt, bleeding out on the side of the road as Danny struggled to hold onto any humanity he had. As he struggled to save those he should have left long ago.

Blood dotted the photo, the boy’s face hidden by crimson, and Danny wiped his hand under his nose again, smearing blood across his face. The innocent boy in the photo was gone; he had killed himself in the Accident, left behind by evil contentment and a nightmarish reality that he’d never been good enough. He was broken, built in a sweetness that no longer existed, a black gaping hole where his soul was, under aching ribs, sweaty skin and a tormented, fucked up version of himself. A black pit of beautiful disappointment. An unlovable thing. He had become something unlovable, the portal killing the good and resurrecting the bad, and even that wasn’t worth much. He wasn’t worth much.

Danny gagged harshly, crumpling the photo in his hands as the leftover glass pressed into his palm. The floor swaying under his body as he grasped the wall for any support he could find. He wanted to go back; to be his parent’s innocent little boy again, to forget about the shitstorm around him, forget about the portal, forget about those he’d hurt, the blood he’d shed. But that was unfixable. He was. And unforgivable. He’d hurt Sam; hurt others, the blood of death splattered on what was left of himself, his human self. And in the end, he was the cause of everything; the collector of souls, the Grim Reaper labelled by Freakshow years ago. The bringer of death.

Lancer took another cautious step forward, crunching down before reaching once more towards the teenager as Danny crumpled sideways, slamming against the wall beside him. The older man faltered. Sweat glistened against the 17-year-old’s face as he gulped for air, his breathing harsh and sporadic as he pressed a trembling hand against his chest, eyes towards Lancer, clearly alarmed by his own breathing. He coughed roughly, doubling over as he caught his breath, and Lancer reached towards the kid, his fingers brushing against the sweat-soaked cotton fabric clinging to Danny’s shoulders.

The 17-year-old flinched, shoving his English teacher away from him harshly, wincing again as he pressed his shoulder to his left ear. He fell backwards, his knees failing him as he slammed against the wall, his head smacking against the small hall table. Darkness swallowed him momentarily, his hands shaking as the photo was crumpled tighter in his hands, letting out a strangled cry as the spirits towered over him, their eyes white, pupils missing as they shouted his name.

The electricity failed as the teenager recoiled violently, and Lancer swore the kid’s cold-blue eyes flashed green before the lights flickered back on, the light in the living room broke, glass shattering to the ground as Danny flinched, gripping one of the iron legs of the hall table, tightly. He eyed Lancer, his knuckles white against black, his forehead pressed against the cold metal, his breathing labored as he pulled his knees towards him in an effort to make his lanky form small.

The 17-year-old coughed, the sound hurting his chest, forcing his headache to crawl, spreading across his shoulders. He grasped at the metal leg of the table, yearning for more cold than the iron rod was willing to give as he sucked in breath after breath. He couldn’t think anymore, the heat had taken everything from him, had taken his core, leaving him with a spinning floor, voices flooding in dizzying waves, and the horrifying notion he was surrounded by death. He had died… the portal had stolen half of him, and now, the nightmares screaming at him, had killed whatever he had left. And the photo crushed in his hand was all he had of forgotten innocence.

Phantom had taken everything. And no one knew. No one understood. The beating, aching heart pounding in his chest was a lie. He was soulless; Phantom was soulless. Welcoming the darkness that swallowed the person Danny once was. And everything else, everything he did, was insignificant. His life was insignificant, a short dull buzz, a flicker. Just shit that happened and none of it meant anything. It was the flick on his lighter as he tried cupping his trembling hands against the wind, trying to spark one of the cigarettes he’d stolen from his father; the light fading, barely there; lighting what has killing him. Because no one wanted Danny Fenton. He was just a mask of stupid disappointment, broken and haunted by his past, damaged by unlovable fear. A shell of a person; a shell of a kid with nothing else to offer the world except the blood he was willing to spill. And then, life moved on.

Something pressed against his wrist, and the teenager yanked it back quickly, clawing at the back of his neck with both hands as he pressed his forehead against his knees, trembling as he tried blocking out all of them. Tried blocking out the tormented and lost souls swallowing him. He clawed again at the back of his neck, pressing his head between his sweaty arms as he rocked on his heels.

Something wet splashed against his joggers, barely noticeable against the heat plaguing him as the 17-year-old coughed. He clenched his arms over his ears as he realized he was crying, hard. He felt sick, wrong, the ghost sense no longer going off because he had nothing else left to give. Tears sliding down overheated flesh, meshing against black cotton as loud pleas left his mouth, the taste of blood sitting on his tongue. Something grabbed his arm, and Danny choked, “Please go away. Please go away. Go away. Go away. Go away...”

His parents would be disappointed. His sister would be a wreck. If they knew. Knew he had killed himself years ago; that the innocence that he once had, was gone; eaten away by the things his parents aimed to hurt. Danny Fenton had surrounded himself in a hypocritical tranquility; believing nothing past the Ghost Zone yet praying to God every night that there was a way out, a way away from himself, from Phantom. Because despite the good he’d done, bad followed him further, bathing his body in the blood of those around him. Sam’s screams, her tears, the fear she felt as Danny shred the last remaining hope of becoming more than the ghost killing him.

Some people deserved to die, and yet, he was the exception. An unkillable thing because the Accident had done that for him; and no amount of pills, cuts, stupid mistakes, or blood could take that from him. A cosmic joke of isolated soulless bullshit. The 17-year-old dug his nails harder into the back of his neck, coughing on the blood in the back of his throat as it smeared further down his chin. Tears mixed with the monster he’d become, crushing his heart as the reality of himself, the fact that no amount of water could wash away the pain he’d caused others, was coated in blood on halfa hands. An unholy thing.

Someone laughed, and Danny flinched, digging harder as something sticky coated his fingertips. The spirits were louder, yelling for him, scratching his skin as they tried forcing him to look; to look at their pain, to look at what had happened to them, at what he had done to them. The 17-year-old gagged as the scent of blood, dirt, and rotting flesh overpowered him. This was his fault. Their lives. Their souls. Death had collected those around him, pulling their individualities from themselves as the teenager tried to hang onto his. Danny was drowning in death, spirits shredding him, ghosts pulling him apart molecule-by-molecule as he constructed more damage than his parents ever could.

Air fell between his lips as his lungs refused to take any more. He couldn’t do this anymore. He needed his friends, his family- but they didn’t need him. They needed Phantom. Leaving Fenton as nothing more than a liability, a liar with cops and parents, a part-time substance abuser as he tried killing what everyone needed. Danny refused to move, pressing his body as hard as he could against the wall as spirits crowded him, ripping skin from his body, screaming for him to look at the damage around him, the lives he had taken.

The grip tightened on his arm, clawing at bruised skin as his world morphed and the ground hovered below him. He was pulled up, his body slamming against the spirits pulling towards him, no longer able to cooperate himself. He gagged loudly as he forced his eyes open, meeting the upside-down bloodied split face of the man in coveralls, an elderly woman praying in the corner, the back of her head blown off revealing dark grey matter.

Danny heaved as some of the grey matter fell from the woman’s white hair to her rosary, liquid meshing against him as the man in coveralls slapped another man, his head decapitating slightly, spewing blood across his vision. The teenager groaned as he glanced towards a German couple screaming at each other in the hall, the wall moving as hot fingers braced against the memories etched in the wood paneling and ugly wallpaper. He whimpered as he locked eyes with a small boy reading in the corner; the boy glanced up from his book and waved towards Danny as the 17-year-old wheezed.

Words passed his ears, muttered and useless as the pleas continued to pierce his mind. Red tears of pain he’d caused, spirits forcing him to look; their bodies distorted and warped as they screamed for the souls he had taken. The ones that had left him, a bloody and tormented ending of human life. His death was coming fast, Danny knew. He could feel it. A sudden drop-off from connection, any humanity left, falling moment-by-moment, a punctuating ending happening so involuntary fast as those would soon realize the monster he had become; realize the death he had collected. Danny retched weakly as the man in coveralls forced his head together, pain screaming from his mouth as lips that no longer wanted to meet, met, and hatred ate away at his features before the heat that fell from the 17-year-old washed over them, their bodies disappearing in the flames.

Danny gagged as the smell of menthol and stale sweat filled his nostrils, his head falling back further as a heartbeat echoed around him. Sweat trailing upward as blood fell back down in a disheveled passion, choking any air left, and the teenager’s body gave out. His eyes connected with the flames engulfing the man in coveralls, his disgust bleeding from his eyes as his face separated again before he disappeared in the fire. Danny whispered, “I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry I couldn’t save anyone…”

His vision failed as he continued floating through those he couldn’t protect… and death swallowed what was left.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Danny had fallen asleep, and relief settled across Lancer’s features as he took another slow sip of his tea, leaning further back in the couch. The teenager had been pretty quiet, but his looks and constant moving had become a distraction to the older man as he tried re-reading Pride and Prejudice. It’d been a long time since there’d been a kid in his home, and Lancer had forgotten how annoying they could be despite wrangling them during class as he desperately tried to pour some type of education into his students.

Lancer set his book down, glancing towards the television as the weatherman showed another map of the storm outside, the pictures flashing silently across the screen as Lancer hit mute. He sighed as rain began to pelt against the roof, the shutters on his windows slamming against the old brick harshly, and thunder echoing around a few other houses in the neighborhood as wind threatened to tear down the old house. It was going to be a long night if the storm kept up and the damage was probably going to cost him a fortune considering his salary wasn’t worth a lot these days.

The teenager coughed, and Lancer turned to see the kid curled at the other end of the couch. His head resting on the armrest at an awkward angle, his knees drawn to his chest as he refused to take any more space than needed, as he tried to force as much distance between himself and his teacher as possible. He shivered slightly, and Lancer wondered whether he should have told his charge to take the guestroom or given him a blanket… or checked for fever. After all, the 17-year-old had been trying to convince the teacher he was fine over the last few hours, but something about him, something about his demeanor told Lancer otherwise.

Lancer sighed again, setting his mug on the coffee table, eyeing the pile of books crammed into the rickety wooden shelf as it slanted forward. He needed to fix it, to buy another one before it fell, or before the weight of the books forced it down. He swallowed loudly as his eyes met the ripped, yellowed copy of Catcher in the Rye, dust coating it as it lay on the top shelf, untouched and abandoned for years. Despite all the books Lancer had reread, all the books he spent his nights enveloped in, that one, that book, he refused to touch… refused to move, to think about, to reread. Memories sat in its pages, crushed between folded pieces of paper from being read over and over, and that was something Lancer didn’t want to revisit, to think about, to remember.

Danny shifted uncomfortably, and the English teacher leaned back again, pulling his book from his lap once more, opening to the page he’d left off on. Considering it was closing in on midnight, Lancer debated heading to bed, but he hadn’t reread Jane Austen in a while. And besides, with the storm raging outside, and a kid he would feel guilty about waking, the older man considered waiting to see if he would need to dig the flashlights from the back of his silverware drawer before making any further decisions.

The ceiling fan sputtered slightly as the lights flickered, and Lancer grit his teeth as the teenager shivered again, his teeth chattered momentarily. Lancer sighed. The situation was uncomfortable needless to say; but Lancer had been a teacher and dad long enough to know that kids were good at hiding things… especially Daniel as he always had some excuse for his tardiness, his absences… his injuries. And a simple cold could turn quickly because most of the students at Casper High were walking petri dishes. Besides, Lancer and Danny’s parents agreed it was best, if the teenager were to become ill, to be surrounded by someone who could look after him or take responsibility for him if he were taken to the hospital seeing as he was still a minor and given the circumstances.

So yeah, the situation was uncomfortable; and Lancer knew that pissed Danny off. But the Fenton’s had gone with Jasmine to visit several Universities, refusing to let their only daughter attend if they couldn’t ensure the campuses were safe from ghosts. An amusing and almost stupid idea but considering Amity Park had seen its fair share of ghosts, not ridiculous. Besides Lancer could understand the Fenton’s concern, their protectiveness over their children as he once had felt it too. He knew what it was like to want to hide your kids from the evil in the world… to protect them, to hurt anything that hurt them, to give them everything. But that was gone now.

The lights flickered again as the screen door slammed against the side of the house. Wind howling outside as the news channel flashed a weather advisory warning across the screen, and Lancer exhaled, setting his book down, and leaning further against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest, closing his eyes. It’d been a long day… like most. Lancer spent a good portion of his time trying to keep a classroom of 17-year-olds from laughing over the cringing dramaticism of The Mysteries of Udolpho. Considering most of the books he taught were classic romanticism or gothic, the English teacher understood he was faced with a level of immaturity from his students. After all, it was hard for 17-year-olds to fully grasp the concept of metaphorical and real monsters of society.

The other portion of his day was spent grading poorly written essays over whatever topic he had sought to assign his students for the week. Honestly, Lancer had come to the conclusion that the only capable student in his class, after Jasmine Fenton had graduated two years prior, was Tucker Foley. If only his intelligence would rub off on Daniel, Lancer would have very little to worry about. Clearly, the teenager was capable of decent grades as Lancer had always been surprised when Fenton passed an exam or book report. But he seemed more concerned in his peers, in his life outside academics, to give his grades the attention they needed. He wasn’t stupid, Lancer knew that… and considering he came from a family thriving on higher IQ’s than half the city, the English teacher was sure that if Danny put even a little effort in his studies, he’d have no problem climbing to number one in his graduating class just as Jazz had.

But Jasmine Fenton had been competitive; aiming for greatness through academics and challenging those who threatened her perfect GPA. Daniel, however, competed with his teachers, refusing their help as he challenged them, challenged Lancer on a daily basis. Danny’s comments and cockiness had become a problem in his classroom; his antics or clownishness, difficult, as he proved how very little he cared about his grades. And despite his attitude problem, the older man was almost certain the teenager suffered from ADHD, which would explain his inability to focus most of the time and his forgetfulness.

Today had been no different. And Lancer had given the 17-year-old several chances to correct his behavior, letting his less-than-quiet remarks slide under the radar as he continued teaching. But with the constant bickering between him and Tucker, the annoyed whispers from Sam, falling from his seat twice, and the inability to explain what page the class was even reading from, Lancer had had enough. He’d tried to push back, pointing his ruler in Daniel’s direction and explaining there was an idiot at the end of it; but this resulted in the teenager’s sarcastic question of which end? After the laughter had died down, Lancer retorted that the 17-year-old could find out in detention.

Normally, detention was Lancer’s chance to unwind; to bask in the quiet as he encouraged his students to take the time to go over their studies. But today had been different. Not only had the lights gone out more than twice during his 3-hour prison sentence, but Danny had seemed different than earlier that day. Distracted, his eyes out of focus, shivering, and his quiet, slumped demeanor. Usually, the 17-year-old was pouting, refusing to do any real work, or trying to rally those who shared detention with him. But today he just sat there, quietly tracing some type of drawing on his textbook with his finger, his head resting against his desk.

Lancer had let it go for a while… after all, it was beginning to become obvious something was wrong. But into the 2nd hour, the complete lack of motivation, had become annoying, eating away at the older man’s patience. The other students in the classroom had taken Danny’s character as an invitation to abandon their own work for better things such as texting, making paper planes, or horseplay. Through the 17-year-old’s melodramatic and pitiful attitude, Lancer was losing control of his classroom. That had been when things had taken a turn, going from long to endless.

The older man had risen, scowling the other students into compliance as he made his way towards the cause of his current problem. Lancer scoffed when the teenager didn’t even bother reacting to his presence, but continued tracing over the outline of Thomas Jefferson on his torn-up history textbook. And it hadn’t been until Lancer had slammed his copy of Northanger Abbey on the 17-year-old’s desk that Danny reacted.

He jumped, flinging his book from the desk as he jerked towards Lancer, a look of horror crossing his face as he straightened slightly. The older man crossed his arms, a stern look casted down as he raised an eyebrow while the teenager scrambled to grab his textbook from the floor, flipping to a random chapter. Lancer stood there for several minutes, ensuring Daniel was at least pretending to read the words in front of him, and to enforce his authority as the superior in the classroom to his other students. This didn’t last long.

Once he had situated himself back at his desk, opening his book to the last page he’d read, Danny had raised his hand. Lancer raised his head towards his pupil but ignored him and continued reading. After a few minutes, the teenager put his hand down but forced it in the air a few moments later. Again, the English teacher refused to acknowledge his student’s attempt to leave detention. Normally, Danny would give up and ride out the rest of his punishment, partially compliant. Lancer had learned this during the kid’s Sophomore year; refusing to acknowledge or give the teenager permission for whatever excuse he had, was the only way to ensure he completed detention without further incident.

Lancer watched from his peripheral as the 17-year-old dropped his hand, sighing loudly as he continued scanning the words in his barely passible history book; Lancer smiled slightly. Some quiet had passed, relaxing the mood in the room as the older man felt himself beginning to unwind from the day once again. A few seconds later, however, there had been a noise, and the older man had glanced up to see Daniel rushing from the room, his book once again smacked against the tiled floor. The remaining students had jumped, conversing amongst themselves as their eyes watched the open-door slam against the wall.

Lancer grit his teeth, a scowl crossing his face as he calmly rose, placing his book on his desk before glaring towards the remaining students. They straightened, returning to their tasks as the older man exited the classroom, closing the door gently as he traced over the small indent in the wall from the door handle slamming against it. He shook his head as he glared back inside the classroom to his students watching him before looking busy as the wooden door clicked shut.

Out of all his antics, Danny had never defied Lancer enough to leave. And something in his gut told the English teacher this was either a new low from the teenager or an incident that needed attending to. Lancer had hoped all that was needed was a harsh conversation and another week of detention, but as he rounded the corner past the lockers, the root of the 17-year-old’s behavior became evident.

The older man closed his eyes briefly, sighing loudly as he ran a hand over his bald head and made his way towards the kid. Danny was hunched over one of the trashcans in the hallway, retching loudly as his arms trembled slightly, threatening to bring him down from his own weight. He had expected the unpleasant smell of half-digested food, but what Lancer hadn’t expected was the warmth radiating off the teenager as he reached out to grasp his shoulder. Both him, and the 17-year-old gasped, and Lancer stumbled back slightly as Danny pushed him away, slumping against the wall as he slid to the floor.

Danny had landed with a small smack, and he groaned as he eyed his teacher before closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall. He mumbled something that sounded like a half-assed apology as Lancer inspected his character. Pale, sweaty features set in a flushed undertone as pink ate at his cheekbones. The English teacher ran another hand over his head as he glanced towards his classroom, then back towards his pupil, before turning and advancing towards the class.

After explaining that he felt like cutting detention short due to the storm clouds forming outside, Lancer had gathered his belongings, slinging Danny’s tattered backpack over his shoulder as he crossed through the halls towards the teenager still slumped against the wall, pitifully. He knelt down, reaching a hand out to rouse the 17-year-old, his fingers brushing against his hairline as he made an attempt to check his temperature before the kid jumped. He grasped Lancer’s wrist, pulling it from him harshly, his fingers tight enough around his arm that the older man could feel Danny’s fingernails digging into his flesh.

The teenager’s eyes were locked on his English teacher; the warm blue turning cold and hard as a menacing look crossed his face. Lancer had opened his mouth to speak but closed it a second later as Danny tightened his grip. He’d been surprised by the amount of strength the kid possessed seeing as he always seemed lanky, awkward, and weak. And the threat crossing the 17-year-old’s face sent chills down Lancer’s spine as Danny blinked, releasing his grip before apologizing quickly.

The older man stilled, his eyes glancing over his student as the kid refused to make eye-contact with him. Lancer sighed, offering the teenager a ride home, only to find out that his parents had been out of town for the past few days and weren’t due back until later that evening. And after a very awkward but short conversation with the Fenton’s and finding out their flight had been cancelled due to the oncoming weather, Lancer was driving a pissed off teenager to his own house until his parents returned. Thus, claiming an uncomfortable situation which neither Daniel nor Lancer liked much. But the older man wasn’t a monster… and if a night of letting Danny occupy his guestroom until he was convinced the 17-year-old was fine was what it took, then the English teacher would bare through it.

Lancer sighed again, letting his mind drift as he felt his body relaxing, sleep creeping towards him. Outside, the wind ate away at the chimes and shutters surrounding the house, lightening sparking against powerlines as the lights wavered in and out. Thunder roared overhead, creating a low rumble through the old house as the imminent threat of a tornado loomed in the horizon. But silence engulfed the English teacher as the thought of just resting for a few minutes evaded his tired mind…

It hadn’t been the flinch that woke Lancer, but the loud crash of things falling. Panic clouded his mind as the thought of a tree crashing through the front windows washed over him as he jumped up, cursing loudly. He glanced towards the windows quickly to find them intact and instead turned his attention in front of him as another sound hit him. Heaving.

“Lord of the Flies!” Lancer remarked as he turned his attention towards the sound. The coffee table had been overturned, laying on its side, its belongings littering the floor. And the rickety bookshelf the older man had been wary of earlier, had fallen slightly; its shelves no longer apart of it as the books wedged between non-existent space had crashed to the floor, surrounding Danny as he struggled to breath.

Lancer made his way around the overturned table, crouching down next to the kid as he gagged again, vomit coating his sweatshirt, puddling on the floor below as sweat trickled down his temple. The older man put a steady hand on the teenager’s shoulder, running his hand between his shoulder blades as the muscles in the 17-year-old’s back spasmed between heaves. Lancer let out a slow breath, his voice low and calm, “Alright. It’s alright, Daniel. You’re alright, just get it up. It’s alright…”

The teenager tensed, breathing through his nose lowly as he spit foul-tasting salvia from his mouth, and concentrated on settling his stomach. He felt disgusting, sweaty and embarrassed. He could feel vomit squished between his fingers, and the fact that he had just emptied the contents of his stomach on his English teacher’s floor, mortifying. But considering he had forgotten he wasn’t home, and in attempt to seek out the bathroom, tripped over the coffee table, not only taking it and its belongings down, but falling against the bookshelf, bringing a pile of books crashing to the floor with him, was more humiliating than the acidic puddle in front of him.

Danny closed his eyes briefly, breathing slowly as he leaned back on his knees, scrapping a hand against his mouth and chin. He turned his head towards his teacher but refused to make eye contact because he was afraid of the expression on the older man’s face. The 17-year-old groaned inwardly, setting a hand on his stomach as he let the short silence pass over them; the television cutting off then flicking back on a second later.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Lancer asked softly as he glanced around at the state of his living room. Surely, the shelves or books had fallen on top of the kid when he fell, and given the state of the coffee table, Lancer was betting the kid had tripped over it or something. The splintered shelves could have cut him, or his foot could have gotten caught on the ledge, and injury wasn’t something the older man really wanted to add to his list of problems right now.

Danny was quiet for a while, making brief eye contact with Lancer before looking back towards the floor. He swallowed loudly against the hiccups forcing themselves up his throat and hunched his posture further. He looked downright miserable which didn’t help Lancer’s current situation. The 17-year-old swallowed again before muttering quietly, “Sorry, I’ll help you clean up… I’m sorry about all the mess.”

Lancer sighed, relief washing over him as the kid finally spoke. He ran a hand over his head as he bowed his head, trying to get the teenager to look him in the face, “That doesn’t answer my question, Mr. Fenton. Are you hurt?”

Danny froze for a few seconds before meeting the teacher’s gaze slowly. He shook his head, his body twitching slightly as hiccups still resonated through his chest. Lancer nodded, glancing over the kid quickly, looking for any visible injuries but finding none, and ran his hands over his knees before standing, exhaling loudly.

The wind howled outside, and the branches on the tree outside knocked against the window forcefully as Lancer glanced towards the clock hanging on the wall. It was around 2am, which answered two questions: Was he to be expected at school tomorrow and was he going to get any sleep tonight. The 17-year-old coughed gently, and the older man turned his attention back towards the teenager.

“Well,” Lancer started carefully, “Let’s get things cleaned up.”

Danny cast his gaze back towards the floor as he moved to pick up one of the books next to him. Lancer crouched down again, pulling the book from the kid’s grasp, “What are you doing, Daniel?’

The teenager glanced up slowly, “You said to clean-”

Lancer shook his head, cutting the kid off, “The state of my living room doesn’t concern me right now, Mr. Fenton. You, however, do. Despite what you and your friends may think of me, I’m not heartless.”

Danny’s expression shifted as the older man grasped the kid’s arm, pulling him to his feet. He put a hand on the teenager’s shoulder as he swayed slightly, an eyebrow raised as a silent question flashed across the teacher’s face. The 17-year-old swallowed and gave Lancer a weak nod before crossing his arms over his stomach gently, stepping around the chaos as he followed Lancer into the hallway.

He shivered harshly as his ghost sense went off, and his eyes danced over the photos nailed against the ugly wallpaper in the hallway. Pictures of family- of times no one at Casper High knew of; a different side of the English teacher never shown. Danny lingered on the photo of a young boy with blonde hair, a huge gap-toothed smile swallowing his face as he held his ice cream cone towards the photographer. Confusion crossed the teenager’s face as he glanced over some of the other photos, the blonde kid present in almost all of them… and a pretty woman in a few others, posing next to the kid. As far as everyone knew, Lancer didn’t have kids, and he wasn’t married.

His ghost sense went off again, and Danny shivered as he paused momentarily, the photos around him blurring together, spinning into a colorful mess as dizzying fatigue washed over him, his limbs shaking as they fought to bring him down. He made a slight noise as he glanced towards the end of the hall, towards a small boy hiding behind a half-closed door; his green eyes huge and alarmed as he watched the teenager. Danny swallowed, Lancer’s questions floating over him as the boy peered further out the door, motioning for the 17-year-old to follow.

The teenager made an attempt to move, the hallway spinning as the pictures on the wall melted together in an array of sickening colors, and Danny blinked slowly as several spirits began to crowd around him, blood forced from gruesome wounds. A sharp noise escaped his mouth as he glanced back towards the boy, only to find the doorway empty, the door fully open now. Chills washed over him as his knees gave out, and his ghost sense sparked again.

Someone grasped at him, a hand gripping his arm while another snaked over his torse, pulling him back on his feet. Black filtered through Danny’s vision momentarily as his body went limp before he groaned, looking towards his left as Lancer adjusted his grip on his torso, asking something Danny couldn’t grasp. The teenager’s feet dragged against the wooden floor as he struggled to gain his footing, but his legs felt clumsy and foreign. He felt like shit, weird, split into two, leaning heavily against his teacher as the older man led him slowly down the hall, towards the room that’d been previously occupied by a scared little boy.

The 17-year-old hadn’t realized he’d been deposited on a bed until everything stopped moving. The room swaying slightly but no longer spinning in a multitude of nauseating colors. Heat pressed against his body as he glanced over the side of the bed towards the boy he’d seen earlier, hiding behind the rocking chair in the corner. His eyes fixed on the teenager as cold air pushed past Danny’s lips, and he shivered again, turning towards the ceiling fan as his shoes were slipped off his feet, followed by his socks.

He groaned as Lancer pulled his hoodie over his head gently, forcing his arms from the sleeves, leaving him shivering against the warmth dotting against his skin. He was freezing. His ghost sense going off every few minutes, causing his body to ice, goosebumps breaking out over his arms as warmth rushed through him a second later. He blinked slowly, feeling something press against his forehead, and he squinted towards Lancer leaning over him.

“We need to get that fever down, Daniel,” He whispered, running his hands through the kid’s messy black hair. Danny groaned, tuning out his teacher’s movements as he turned back towards the boy hiding behind the chair, hoping that this was as worse as his night got…

……………………………………………………

Heat. Heat blistered against tired flesh and limbs that refused to move… and warmth. Warmth pressed against bruised flesh gently, killing the heat sweating against him, weighing him down in thick blankets. Warmth poured over him, comforting him, drowning the confusion and panic etched in his veins, and Danny suddenly found himself calling to his childhood memories.

“M-mom?” He whispered, his voice barely audible as it scratched past his throat, rough and raw. He swallowed harshly, trying to force his eyes open but finding the task difficult. His body felt heavy, weak, tired… he felt like he had gone several rounds with Skulker… or someone worse.

“Shh, don’t talk, Daniel,” Someone said softly, and Danny blinked slowly, squinting against the dim lights swaying next to him. He shivered as shadows danced around him, and he groaned loudly as he tried pushing himself up. Strong warm hands pressed against his chest, keeping him in place as any strength the teenager had, left him momentarily.

Warmth threatened to pull him under again, and Danny swallowed, his head lolling to his right as he forced his eyes to stay open against flickering, dancing lights. Something pressed against his temple, his cheek, his neck, dampening the fire momentarily wherever the warmth touched, lingering against his skin just long enough to cool the sweat clammed against his body.

Danny coughed harshly as he opened his eyes sluggishly, unaware he had closed them, and he glanced around disoriented, his neck aching from the little effort he put into turning it. His vision wavered slightly, and the 17-year-old groaned as he made another feeble attempt to move only to be stilled by calm hands.

“Just relax, Daniel. Otherwise, I might be obliged to add to your weeks’ worth of detention,” Someone chuckled softly, and Danny forced his eyes open again, “Mr. L’ncer?”

The 17-year-old winced as his voice met his ears, weak and small; the syllables barely leaving his mouth as his tongue felt heavy against his teeth. He swallowed, his mouth feeling cottony and thick as his eyes lazily met his English teacher’s face hovering above him; a stern expression settled on tired features.

The teenager groaned loudly, closing his eyes briefly as the room began to spin, leaning his head back as he listened to the silence surrounding him. A quiet popping echoing around him, and Danny squinted, noticing several candles sitting on the counter and next to him, their flames flickering wildly. Confusion crossed his face as Lancer leaned further over him, “The power went out a while ago, so I had to improvise as I couldn’t find any batteries for the flashlight.”

The older man held up the flashlight, shaking it gently as confusion continued to sit on the 17-year-old’s face. He blinked slowly as he tried to piece together everything. But it was hot. And he felt weird, sick, his mind a muddled mess of exhaustion; his headache still pounding behind his eyes. He tried moving again, sitting up slightly before being pushed back down gently as Lancer sighed, “I swear, Mr. Fenton, do you ever listen?”

Danny swallowed, doing his best to understand his surroundings. He sighed loudly, letting his head fall behind him as he slowly connected the dots. He was in a bathroom. More importantly, he was lying in a warm bath, shivering against the heat beaded on his skin. And more embarrassingly, Lancer was soaking washcloths in the water, pressing them against his face, wiping down the sweat that was forming on Danny’s body. It took him longer than he liked to realize his shirt was gone, gentle fingers pressing lightly against his torso, covering every inch of heat that surrounded the bruised and scarred flesh. Whether or not he was wearing further clothing wasn’t something Danny tried to think about, and if he had the energy, he would have protested this level of comfort. This level of embarrassment. This level of weakness. But he felt too tired, too sick, and too hot to care.

Something moved in his peripheral, and Danny peered at the end of the tub to find the boy from earlier sitting on the edge, his gaze still watching the teenager. He bent down slightly, his blonde hair covering his face as he touched the water before jerking his hand back and shivering. Warmth hit him as Lancer washed over his chest, and the 17-year-old squinted, his eyes still watching the boy, refusing to let his exhaustion overpower him.

The boy disappeared momentarily before returning to his spot at the edge of the bathtub, a rubber duck in his hand. He set it in the water gently, pushing it in Danny’s direction before smiling widely, his two front teeth gapped, three missing from the bottom. The 17-year-old stirred, pressing against Lancer’s hands as his eyebrows furrowed together, and he yelled, “Hey!”

The boy jumped from the ledge, fear setting on his face as Danny struggled against his teacher’s grasp. His ghost sense went off, goosebumps breaking out over his naked skin as the boy disappeared, and the teenager let out a strangled cry as he shoved Lancer’s hands away, leaning over the edge, water splashing to the floor as he scanned the hallway for the boy. The 17-year-old gripped the slippery ledge of the tub as he scrambled to pull himself up, water slapping against the ground loudly.

Lancer gripped the kid’s shoulders, forcing him back down as alarm crossed his face. He held the teenager down as the candles flickered, water soaking into his khakis as the 17-year-old continued to thrash. The older man let out a quick breath as he tried grabbing the kid’s attention, “Daniel! Danny!”

The teenager stilled, his gaze moving from the hallway towards his teacher as his nickname left Lancer’s mouth. The older man sighed softly as he felt the kid’s body relax, his grip loosening on the bathtub as the teacher eased him back down. The alarm that crossed Danny’s face earlier, vanishing as confusion set in, his head smacking once again against the back of the bathtub as exhaustion ate away at his features.

He exhaled loudly as Lancer pressed a washcloth against his forehead, leaving it there for several minutes before repeating the action. Danny swallowed softly, closing his eyes against the dimly-lit room as his teacher cleared his throat, “I’m sorry about the circumstances, Daniel. But your temperature spiked again causing you to pass out, and I had no other way of bringing it down quicker. I know it’s uncomfortable. My son freaked too.”

Danny turned towards his teacher’s voice but kept his eyes closed as his mind spun violently. He furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to understand the information, as he tried to recall the pictures on the wall in the hallway. He coughed, sweat dripping from his hair plastered against his face, “The kid…”

“In the photos. Yeah,” Lancer sighed, wiping across the teenager’s chest again before pressing another rag against his forehead, “He passed some time ago… a car accident.”

The 17-year-old’s eyes opened slightly as he met his teacher’s sad smile before his focus lazily danced towards the hallway. The boy stood there, leaning against the doorway as he fumbled with the zipper on the bottom of his blue jacket, worry flashing across his face as he met Danny’s gaze. The teenager swallowed again, closing his eyes as he turned his head away from the door, sweat rolling down his cheeks as it dripped from his chin.

“Hey…” He muttered softly as he tried calling the boy closer, as he tried to connect the dots. He felt like shit. Even after being extremely sick after the Accident, he didn’t remember it feeling like this. Then again, that had been 3 years ago… and Danny hadn’t really been sick since. But maybe that had to do more with Phantom. Maybe he’d left… leaving the 17-year-old as a barely alive thing. Maybe this was his immune system dying, the other half giving out as it had struggled to survive with half function over the years. Maybe this was the portal killing the other part of him, claiming what it had started.

Danny’s teeth chattered loudly as he shivered against the warmth, “I shou-should call my parents…”

“I assure you they’re fine, Mr. Fenton,” Lancer said calmly, rewetting a washcloth and pressing it against the teenager’s neck, “They’re just concerned, trying to find a quicker way back to New York… unfortunately, the storm is making that difficult.”

The 17-year-old swallowed slowly, confusion washing over him before swallowing again. He coughed, his throat raw and his mouth dry like sandpaper, feeling his mind slipping, the reality he could understand becoming harder and harder to grasp. Everything was muddled, fuzzy, hard to comprehend.

“I- I should call them,” He muttered softly, “Apologize for killing myself… they’re going to be-be so- disappointed in me…”

Lancer froze, alarm flooding through him as he choked. He watched the confusion on Danny’s face melt, his features relaxing slightly as moments passed. The older man turned the teenager’s face towards him, shaking his shoulder gently as he let out a sharp breath, “What? Mr. Fenton- what! What does that mean? Daniel? Daniel- Danny!”

The kid whimpered but other than that, showed no sign that he had even heard Lancer’s questions. The English teacher took a few slow breaths, closing his eyes as he forced the panic back down. Perhaps he had misheard… or the 17-year-old’s temperature was getting to him. Hallucinations and muddled speech were common, so perhaps, that’s all it was. Thoughts of a delusional and feverish mind.

Then again, Danny’s attitude had shifted over the years as he still maintained his cocky and sarcastic demeanor… but darker things lurked over him. Lancer knew the kid smoked from time-to-time, and he had heard from a few rumors that Fenton had become no stranger to weed or alcohol. Then again, the aspect of rebellion was fairly common in teenagers, and Lancer couldn’t see the Fenton’s letting their son get away with anything too serious. But perhaps they didn’t know… perhaps they didn’t know about their son’s newer habits. Or the fights. The grades. The attitude problem. The bruises or scars. Perhaps Danny was hiding his true self from them just as he was from his peers.

But it wasn’t Lancer’s place. Not exactly. Sure, he cared for the kid, as he did for many of his pupils. But Jack and Maddie had become neighborly to him after the loss of his son, and the divorce. They expected Lancer to keep Jasmine and Daniel on the straight-and-narrow when they entered high school… which Jazz was no problem… but Danny. Danny was a different story.

Every direction Lancer took, the 17-year-old steered in the opposite direction. And it seemed even worse the last couple of months. Lancer knew something had happened between Fenton and Manson… and Danny seemed really broken up about it. After all, he had overheard Foley’s comment that the two had begun dating… among other things. And rumors were they’d been caught in the Janitor’s closet several weeks prior… But for the past few months, both Danny and Sam could barely sit next to each other, let alone look at each other. And most of the flirting Lancer had come to expect from the two, was replaced with cold stares, harsh short comments, and feeble excuses as to why they couldn’t work together.

Something sounded behind him, and the English teacher jerked, turning his head quickly towards the hall, squinting against the flame’s shadow dancing over the dark doorway. He scanned the empty area before closing his eyes briefly, breathing slowly through his nose, allowing his thoughts to calm as thunder roared overhead. Most nights Lancer could swear his house was haunted. Haunted by the memories of his past, the memories of his wife, his son… the life he missed every day. But that was ridiculous. An idealization deluded from the minds of Jack and Maddie Fenton… and nothing more.

The lights flicked several times as one of the lightbulbs above the bathroom counter popped, before burning out. The TV in the living room spluttering to life, news blasted through old speakers loudly before silence and darkness once again evaded the small house. Lancer sighed, running a hand over his head, listening to the rain pelt against the roof. Despite it being close to 10am, the storm hadn’t ceased… in fact, it seemed worse with every passing hour which was ironically befitting given Lancer’s current situation, and Danny’s condition.

The English teacher sighed loudly, wringing another washcloth out before pressing gently against the teenager’s forehead, cheeks, and neck as lightening cracked against the house. The 17-year-old whimpered softly, his eyebrows drawing together momentarily before Lancer shushed him, forcing another rag against his forehead lightly. Despite trying his best to bring the kid’s fever down, the older man was more than certain he was doing little to cause a significant change in the teenager’s temperature. Or at least it felt like that.

When the 17-year-old had passed out in the hallway, collapsing against Lancer the second he was pulled from the floor, going limp in his arms as the older man tried his best to hold Danny as gently as he could, Lancer had been at a loss. But when the lights spazzed, the shutter door slamming against the entryway and the power gave out, Lancer was close to both panicked tears and self-consumed anger.

He’d been angry over the situation. Over the power going out, the storm wreaking havoc outside and forcing flights to ground. Angry with his own useless attempts to soothe the teenager he thought he could care for. Angry he hadn’t taken Danny to the Emergency Room earlier and angry, that in spite of everything, the teenager seemed to be getting worse rather than better. Panic had eaten away worry and concern, leaving fear racing through thoughts riddled with questions; his own parental instincts, despite having died long ago, blaring as every sound, every cough, every whimper, and every unconscious groan that whispered from the 17-year-old’s mouth, sent Lancer’s senses on high alert.

Something that had scared Lancer more than he could account for was the fact that the 17-year-old was crying, hard, and his temperature. The moment he was near, the heat melting off Danny was deeply concerning, sweat plastered down pale flesh, dripping in puddles down his face and soaked through hand-me-down clothes Lancer had given him earlier. The teenager had been on the verge of hyperventilating when Lancer pressed his hand against his forehead, worry and panic lacing his tired mind as Danny cried harder, pleading with fevered hallucinations to leave and forgive him.

The thought of which was worse, the storm or Danny’s illness, no longer a debate but a firm decided answer that should have been sought long ago. But Lancer wasn’t sure if he would be able to find his keys in the dark, the rain pounding sideways against the windows as it threatened to break glass… and even though it was early morning now, the sun having rose two hours prior, it was still black as hell outside. Lancer’s own attempts to calm the teenager were futile. He was out of his element… so beyond his own familiarity, and he had forgotten how to soothe his own child. Lancer needed help, he needed another adult, and Danny needed a parent, but the older man hadn’t been a parent in a long time…

…………………………………………………………………………………….

He wasn’t a hero. Because a hero wouldn’t do this. A hero couldn’t. And Danny Fenton was no hero. He’d shed blood through Phantom hands, ghosted in hellish torment as he sat, throne to bodies and souls collected at his feet. Human hands forever red with mortal lives, halfa instincts more dead than alive as Fenton became a facade for Phantom. A mask. A plaything. A puppet of normality and bitter resentment as Phantom was forced to live in a barely alive flesh suit. And now, only now, was the teenager hit with the realization that he was no hero. He’d never been.

He’d been a boy. Stupid and ignorant in childish idealization, playing make-believe, costumed in his parent’s clothes, pretending to be something more. Something better. But he wasn’t. He was joke. A harsh cosmic occurrence of puny humanity and preemptive temperament of selfish actions. Cocooned in the tranquility of his youth as he tried to convince himself that he was more than the blood dripping from halfa hands, that he was the savior of death instead of the bringer. But he’d been stupid. Weak. Pathetic. Insignificant. A joke.

Danny Fenton was a joke of unlovable fear and horrible outcomes. Death followed him. Shadowed by terrible posture and cold features. Sam had fallen for the wrong boy. Had loved the wrong boy. Fenton wasn’t a hero. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t save her… fuck, he couldn’t save anyone. He was just a stupid kid with stupid luck. A false identity born to humanity, mirrored from the reality of Phantom, a messenger, a front for what had killed him years ago. Fake bravery. Fake chivalry. Everything fake.

Ectoplasm oozed down his temple, sliding past his left cheekbone, gathering at his chin as sweat and dirt fell past, splattering against ashen snow and green puddles of forgotten souls. Blood pooling from open wounds, forced between busted knuckles and broken fingers as red stained white. Danny choked, his fingers pressing tighter across Sam’s neck as blood gushed from wounds he couldn’t close… from a death he couldn’t stop. From a love he couldn’t lose.

The purple haloed around Sam no longer vibrant or visible through dark crimson, eaten away by the innocence of her youth, and the immorality dripping from Danny. He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t a good guy… and Phantom? Phantom couldn’t save her. Phantom couldn’t save anyone. Ever. But Phantom wouldn’t have done this… he couldn’t. Fenton had.

Fingers slipping from flesh, Sam’s necklace pulled from her neck as Danny fought for a better grip, forcing the broken bones in his right hand to bend, to curve, to keep blood from puddling around him… to fix this. But he couldn’t. There wasn’t a way to fix it. A way to fix death. To restore what was lost. What he had taken. What he had always taken. Over and over and over again.

And now, because he wasn’t willing to live without Phantom, Fenton had destroyed the one thing he loved more than anything. The one girl he loved more than anyone. The one girl willing to fight for him instead of Phantom. But that had been a mistake. Sam loving him had been a mistake. He and Sam had been a mistake. An intimate beautiful mistake.

Danny wasn’t the same person she’d fallen in love with. He wasn’t the same person he used to be. He was different. Darker. Quieter. Colder. He was awkward in his own shadow, uncomfortable in a foreign skin as he allowed Phantom more and more control. Danny Fenton was a waste. Danny Phantom wasn’t. He was the thing people needed. But Phantom wasn’t the one Sam had loved. He wasn’t the one she trusted. He wasn’t the one she tried so desperately to save… He wasn’t the one who had killed her.

The fight was over the second it’d begun. Box Ghost had slipped through the Ghost Zone, followed by Skulker and Johnny; the three musketeers of complete failure as they threatened to destroy the state of New York. But Danny had barely broken a sweat. Ghosts were easier now; less challenging than in his youth, repetitive and old, and most of the time, the teenager had bigger things to worry about. Like Spirits. The Veil. The Spirit World. And Vlad. There was always Vlad fucking Masters. A pain in the Fenton family ass… not that Jack would ever admit it.

Snow had started littering the ground in heavy flurries by the time Vlad appeared. Danny had sat on the park bench for hours, waiting for the stupid pointy-haired bastard to make an appearance; after all, Danny had gotten his message the night before when he was pulled into the Veil. He always got the message while in the Veil. He wasn’t welcome. He was never welcomed. And the Spirits collected within made sure he knew it, made sure he stayed long enough to understand the damage he had caused, the lives he had fucked, and the lives he had taken. Many in the Spirit World knew him, but he knew very little about them.

Despite knowing almost everything about the Ghost Zone, the teenager knew almost nothing about the Spirit World. About summoning. The Veil. The Spirits. He only knew how to tune them out, but the older he got, the more his power grew, the harder it was to keep them in check. Too many times had he been caught in public, or with his parents, or his sister, talking, ranting, yelling or even fighting Spirits that refused to leave. He couldn’t block them out. Their voices, cries in the dark, hands pulled through murky water towards his body as he dreamed, screams echoed through restless thoughts. They were getting harder to ignore… harder to kill.

Drugs didn’t really work anymore, barely a dull buzz of quiet whispers, and other outlets were laughable options. Weed made it hard to focus between Fenton and Phantom, his abilities harder to control… and the Spirits had barely left. Ecstasy was great, the screams a distant thought, the Spirits warping into smokes of green, yellow and red; but Phantom disappeared too, refusing to appear for several days after. And Acid… Acid just made the teenager more jittery, more paranoid, more on-edge than he already was.

Vlad had taught him a few tricks to keep the Spirits quiet enough to function before he died. He’d promised to teach Danny more, but his death made that almost impossible. Unlike the Ghost Zone, the Spirit World lacked a supernatural possession; rather turning anyone such as Vlad, normal and human- barely able to summon Danny through the Veil to talk. And Danny? Danny’s powers were pretty much useless inside the Veil, humanity coursed through fragile bones, muscle, and skin as blood beat through a half-alive thing. The teenager could barely summon, barely survive a night in the Veil, of being pulled through, forced out-of-body through airless lungs and the stillness of a barely beating heart.

In the Spirit World, the teenager was human. So very human. And so very vulnerable. A War progressed through the Veil, the Spirits capable of darker, more sinister realities than Ghosts such as Skulker or Freakshow could ever procure. A world of Death. True Death. The promises of the Ghost Zone vanquished through shreds of paper-thin souls of victims to the War. Death in the Spirit World meant no Ghost Zone after. No other World beyond. No connection or tie back to humanity. To the Human World. Nothing. Just black. Just…

The 17-year-old’s ghost sense had been going off for hours; his teeth chattering as he pulled the thin green jacket closer, cursing Vlad for taking his sweet time. To any untrained individual, the teenager appeared to be alone… but Danny was never alone. Not anymore. His shove through the Veil on his 16th had killed any isolation or solitude he had. They were always there. Always watching. Always with him.

The teenager grit his teeth as he smacked his head against the bench behind him, staring towards the grey sky as white dust fell in clumps, blanketing Amity Park… and most likely, the rest of New York. The weather had been unpredictable lately; a chaotic shitshow of indescribable patterns, something his father chalked up to some weird readings in the Ghost Zone. Despite never really seeing a ghost, his parents still obsessed over them, inching closer and closer to diving into the portal with each passing week. But Danny, Danny wished he’d never have to see another fucking ghost in his life.

More and more of the transparent bastards had been slipping through the portal lately. Part of that was Danny’s fault. The other, unknown. Valerie had helped pick up the slack, along with the Fenton Duo, but the teenager had more important things to worry about like Spirits. The harder they were to ignore, the more of them appeared… and they could touch him. Hurt him. Kill him… the scars plastered against his right ribs should be evident enough to speak to their danger. He’d barely survived his first trip through the Veil, and Vlad kept pulling him fucking through… mainly because summoning wasn’t something the 17-year-old had mastered yet. And with Vlad dead, Danny doubted if he’d ever actually be able to master summoning… leaving no hope for resurrection.

Something kicked against the teenager’s red converse, and Danny shot up quickly, expecting Vlad to be standing over him. A smile crawled across his face as his eyes met Sam, her black hoodie blowing viciously against the winter air, small specks of white clinging to the fabric. She kicked his foot again, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear, “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Danny smirked, forcing his hands in his pocket, his right hand clamped around the red lighter he had stolen from his dad’s secret stash. Whether or not Jack Fenton had noticed a few of his smokes were missing, the teenager would never know. After all, if his father ended up confronting him about it, then that meant Jack would also have to come clean to Maddie about smoking… something he supposedly gave up a few years after Danny was born.

Sam slumped down next to him, her shoulder hitting his as Danny turned towards her, smiling. Sam rolled her eyes, her purple lipstick twisting into a grin as she leaned her head against his shoulder. She sighed, “So, I take it Vlad hasn’t shown?”

The 17-year-old shook his head, before clearing his throat, “No.”

“That’s pretty unusual for him, isn’t it?” She asked, pulling her head up as wind forced her hood down, short black hair flying chaotically. She glanced in Danny’s direction as he flicked some snow off his jeans. He hadn’t really thought about Vald’s behavior- about his pretty punctual habits, but now that it was mentioned, it was rather worrisome the older man hadn’t shown yet. Especially given he seemed rather paranoid the night before. But surely, the older man would have said if he was in danger.

Danny shrugged his shoulders, meeting Sam’s gaze, biting his bottom lip. Pieces of ice clung to her hair, freckled across her face, and the 17-year-old hesitated, before brushing his thumb across her cheek carefully, wiping away some of the fallen snow. He paused, his fingers pressing gently against her jawline, following the curve softly before Sam pressed her hand over his. Danny froze, warmth flooding his face as he refused to advert his gaze.

Sam had been weird lately. She’d been acting weird… almost feminine… which was weird for both Tucker and Danny as they had always seen her as one of the guys. But between a few awkward non-date dates, a few fake-out make-outs, and being caught half-naked in the Janitor’s Closet a few weeks prior when Danny had phased through the wrong room after a fight; Danny was finding it harder to act normal around her. And then there was the Annual Winter Dance last month which neither Sam nor Danny refused to acknowledge, involving some sloppy drinking, heated kissing, and one awkward morning after at the Fenton household as Danny tried sneaking Sam from his room only to be caught by his sister.

Since then, Sam had become more… Well, it was hard to explain because Danny was pretty sure he’d become more of it too. Every moment he was around her, it seemed like he had reverted back to his weird, awkward, clumsy demeanor. He couldn’t talk around her anymore, let alone act normal anymore. His ghost sense unpredictable, his powers uncontrollable as his body forgot how to be him around her. He couldn’t eat or sleep and paying what little attention he normally did in class, unbearable. He couldn’t get Sam out of his head. Her purple lipstick. Her laugh. Her hands clasped around his. Her mouth… Her. And it was driving him insane.

Mentioning it to anyone was out of the question. Tucker had them married in 9th grade. His parents were too hyperactive and weird to be able to deal with their only son dating- let alone his sister’s recollection of her very awkward first date that involved more of Jack Fenton than Danny wanted to picture. And Jazz? Jazz had freaked when she had caught Danny and Sam together the morning after the Annual Winter Dance, forcing both teenagers to attend a lecture involving responsible actions, so asking Jazz for advice was out of the question. Honestly, Danny had found some console in Vlad, but that bastard’s advice was wishy-washy and outdated.

Sam’s fingers brushed over the rough scars on his hand before she trailed up his arm. Her hand hesitating on his shoulder before cupping the back of his neck, her fingers tussling his hair softly. The wind whooshed past, snow raining over them as Sam met the 17-year-old’s gaze, a small smirk painted across purple lips. Danny shivered slightly, brushing his thumb over her cheek again, “I-”

“Shut up,” Sam cut him off, pulling herself from the bench as she pressed her lips against his, pushing the 17-year-old back slowly as he dropped his hand from her cheek, trailing down her shoulder slowly, arm, back. He inhaled loudly, a hand pressed against the small of Sam’s back, the other pressing her closer to him as she kissed him again, one of her hand’s slipping underneath his shirt. Cold fingers pressed against the warmth on his back. Black nails scrapping gently over scarred flesh, fingers through black hair, and Danny’s hands dragging her closer. Sam was driving him insane… but maybe this time, they could acknowledge it… maybe this time, he could tell her how he really felt.

Maybe this time he could tell her he couldn’t get her out of his mind. That he couldn’t concentrate around her, he couldn’t get that night at the dance out of his mind… that she made everything better, made everything okay. He needed her like he needed air. She was a reminder that he was still alive, that he was still human, that he was still more than Phantom. Because she seemed to want him more than Phantom… She liked him. Not Phantom. And that- that was all Danny ever wanted from someone. From her…

Her nails scrapped harder against his back as Sam straddled him; her hair flying in the wind, covering her face, smacking against Danny’s face comfortingly. His hands gentle as they trailed down the rest of her back, her thighs, holding her steady against him. Her lips forceful against his, nails marked against skin, her heart pounding against his. She breathed deeply, “Danny…”

“Well, isn’t this nice,” Someone sneered. Danny pushed Sam off him gently, jumping to his feet as he pressed Sam behind him, his stance protective as he met the stranger’s gaze. The 17-year-old watched as a woman stepped forward, a smirk on her face as she pushed some of her long blonde hair behind her ear. She eyed the 17-year-old, sizing him up as she walked around the small bench. She scoffed, “They said the halfa was young, but I never would have thought this young… Tell me, handsome, do you even know how to tie your own shoes?”

Danny tensed, “Do you want to find out?”

The woman laughed loudly, circling them once more before standing a few feet from him, “Oh, and that wit. I bet you’re a troublemaker, uh?”

She crossed her arms, straightening her posture until she was eyelevel with him. Her skin almost translucent against the white ground, blood dotting against her neck where a necklace should have been. Her bright pink and blue jumpsuit standing out against the snow, fitting the ideal clothing for an 80’s teenager… her blonde hair in half-buns, purple triangle earrings dangling from her ears. She laughed again, shaking her head, her red lipstick twisting slightly as she peered towards Sam.

Sam had risen from the bench, pulling her hoody back over head as her hair still fought against the wind. She forced the sleeves past her hands, her fingers intertwining gently with Danny’s as the 17-year-old stepped forward, “Where’s Vlad?”

The woman cocked her head, her smile offsetting as she held up her hand, inspecting her chipped blue fingernails, “I wouldn’t worry about Grandpa anymore. He’s been taken care of.”

The teenager swallowed, dropping his hand from Sam’s as he took another step forward, his hands burning slightly as Phantom threatened to appear. Danny swallowed, “What did you do to him?”

The woman laughed again, shoving her hands on her hips as she faced the 17-year-old again, “You’ve become quite the gossip in the Veil. Did you know that? Everyone talks about the halfa; the teenage boy with a hitlist bigger than… well… for decency, think of someone historically bad. The merciless angel. The bringer of death. The red. You could say you’ve become very popular amongst Spirits… and to hear, the little ghost boy could be harmed,” She paused, clasping her hands together as a smile painted her face, “Well, that was like Christmas morning.”

Sam reached for Danny’s shoulder, her fingers gracing over the fabric of his hoodie as he stepped forward again, “What did you do with Vlad?”

The woman smirked, “Me? No, honey, I’ve done nothing. See, I don’t really care for the creepy-uncle-lotion-in-the-basket types. You, however, are much more interesting. Much more powerful than Vlad would be… I can feel it. Radiating off you like the wind around you. It’s beautiful… And we can hurt you. We can touch you. Something those pathetic airbags in the Ghost Zone could only dream of. And believe me, pretty boy, there are many in the Veil eager to show you their real power. Eager to walk this Earth again… all we need is the blood of the halfa.”

“Fuck you!” Sam yelled, stepping in front of the 17-year-old, her finger’s gripping Danny’s wrist. Sam took a step forward, her stance tense, her hood down as wind washed over her. Snow beading in black hair, melting down her face as hatred flashed across her features. Her grip tightened around the teenager’s wrist, protectively; and Danny swallowed softly as he realized she wasn’t about to let go.

The woman stepped forward slowly, smirking again as she chuckled, “Call off your guard-dog, Daniel. I have no intention of killing you today… besides, in order for us to be reborn, you have to come to us willingly. Which I give you… a year before you enter the Veil for the last time.”

Danny scoffed, “Unlikely.”

He shivered as he met the woman’s gaze, her smile hiding something that scared the teenager more than the threat. An understanding… knowing. She knew what went through his mind. What he thought about, how he thought about himself… The way she looked at him, the way she smirked towards him, sneering… she knew. About the drugs. The blood. About the recklessness. She knew what stimmed through a tired mind in the nightmarish reality of Fenton from Phantom. She had to know… but the only way she would, would be- Vlad.

Danny glanced down for a second, swallowing loudly. Him and Vlad had had their differences, but they seemed to work it out over the years… so would Vlad really tell people about him? Would he really betray his secrets to other people, well, Spirits? The teenager had confided in him over the years. Not about everything… but about himself, about how he had come to hate Phantom. How he had become forced to live with Phantom’s pain and torment. How he felt, as the years past, and he let Phantom have more power, he could feel reality crumpling around him. Crumpling in, and slipping through his fingers, through the cracks created by Phantom, opened and birthed through the Ghost Zone and Spirit World. How it felt like he was being drained… that his humanity was dying. Would Vlad really betray him like that? After all this time?

The woman scoffed again, “Perhaps. But I’m willing to help you out… give you another nudge in the right direction.”

Confusion crossed the 17-year-old’s face as he stepped forward again, only a few feet from the woman as she crossed her arms, raising her head. She shook her head slowly, “I can see you’re confused, so I’ll make it simple for your stupid hormonal teenage brain.”

There was a flash, and Danny dropped harshly, his hands and arms burning as he felt the shift starting to take over. Phantom gaining control as the Fenton canister, forgotten on the park bench, exploded loudly, and the teenager pressed his burning hands against the snow. Cold braced against his fingers as he looked up, wiping away some green ectoplasm that litter across his body, blood dripping down his chin slowly from a cut on his upper lip. His eyes flashed green as he let Phantom gain control, his body burning slightly as he shifted, the aching pain that plagued him, gone as Phantom took over.

Within a second, he had the woman pinned against the tree, a smirk twisting against his lips as she struggled pathetically. He huffed, his tone cocky as he tightened his grip, “You missed.”

The woman hesitated before laughing loudly, snapping her fingers as Phantom reverted back, forcing Fenton through translucent skin as he was shoved back into his teenage body. Sweaty fatigue washed over him as she kicked his leg, slamming him against the ground harshly, pinning him against the snow. The 17-year-old squirmed, trying to coax Phantom out, trying to shift but finding the task difficult, his fingers tingling and sparking green but refusing to change.

The woman snorted, grasping his hand in hers, smiling down at him as her blonde hair brushed over his chest. She pressed her fingers between his, humming softly before jerking her hand back, bending Danny’s fingers as she clawed at his palm, bones cracking, causing the teenager to scream loudly as he fought against her. After a few seconds, she let go as wind rushed past them, and she pressed her chest against his, stroking his hair back gently. She bent down further, her lips brushing against his ear, “I wasn’t aiming for you, honey.”

The 17-year-old twisted; his head jerked towards Sam as he tried forcing the woman from him. Blood splattered against the snow as Sam fell, her face pressing against the ice, her hand, bloodied and shaky, as she reached in Danny’s direction. The teenager cried loudly as Sam’s hand dropped in the snow, her body going limp as red bled through white. The woman pressed her fingers against the 17-year-old’s cheek as he screamed again; his hands and arms burning as heat clawed through his chest. Sam opened her mouth, purple lips parted but no words came, only tears trailing down pale flesh before green eyes shut.

The woman laughed softly, digging her nails painfully into Danny’s cheek and chin, prying his eyes away from Sam and towards her. Rage ate away at his features, his skin scorching against Phantom as green began to steam off him, his eyes flashing bright green before darkening as his eyes met hers. The woman tightened her grip as green smoke continued to envelope them; a smirk plastered to skin pulled back too tightly as she pressed her clammy forehead against his, gently. She took a deep breath as Danny struggled against her, his skin itching as black ectoplasm began to drip from his nose and ears, running down his face before smacking against the ground. Cold soaking through his clothes as his skin began to burn away, green fading to black, and black sparks radiating from his fingertips as the woman pressed her lips against his.

The teenager jerked away, his gaze meeting Sam’s stilled face. Her features silent, and Danny choked again as he yelled her name, fighting against the woman’s grasp again. Her nails dug once more into his flesh, pulling his face back towards her as black tears fell down his cheeks in thick trails. She thumbed some away slowly before licking the liquid from her thumb and smirking, pressing her chest once again against his.

“Such power. Such a waste,” She bent down further, her lips pressing against his temple, “Two down… See you in a year, lover.”

Pain seared across his chest, and the 17-year-old screamed as her hand pressed over his heart, burning against flesh as the greenish black swallowing him, ceased. His eyes flashed back to blue as he choked, grasping towards her hand before realizing she was gone. His hand pressing over the bloody handprint stained against his shirt as the pain slowly began to evade, and he twisted around, stumbling to his feet as he forced himself towards Sam….

#in the mood to watch danny phantom #danny phantom #fandom life #i need some fanfiction in my life right now #sick Danny #I was told to stop writing this and create a book out of this lol #posted on archive #lancer taking care of Danny #kb

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