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theplanetprince · 3 years ago

Text

Schrodinger's Adolescent || Ch. 17

Fic: A03 || FFN

Fandom: Danny Phantom

Rating: Teens and Up

Word Count as of update: 117.5k~

Relationships: Dash Baxter/Danny Fenton, Sam Manson/Tucker Foley, Ember Mcclain/Ghostwriter

Characters: Danny Fenton, Dash Baxter, Sam Manson, Tucked Foley, Cujo, Johnny 13, Ghostwriter, Sidney Poindexter, Mr Lancer

Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Slow to Update, Canon Rewrite, Post-Reality Trip, High School Setting, Fake Dating (Kinda), Unrequited Love, It’s requited but they’re dumbasses, one-sided attraction, fluff, I know the content warning is extensive, but I promise there’s fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, Danny Fenton has PTSD

Content Warnings: VIOLENCE, DESCRIPTIONS OF CHOKING, STALKING, MENTIONS OF SUBSTANCE ABUSE, SELF HARM IDEATION

Chapter Summary: Ghostwriter has trouble proving his worth beyond finding new and inventive ways to complain about the situation. Oh, well, at least he has that in common with Danny, who appears to be acting more shifty than usual.

Author’s notes: Behold! A fight scene! I'm awfully sorry these chapters took so long to produce but I made up for that by giving you two stuffed into one! Please give me feedback, I'm gonna die without validation. -Voorhees 🥊

[Reblogs > Likes… Thx]

The scarlet dawn had barely broken past the thin clouds. The moon was still lingering in the sky—a claw of white against the blackness. The sounds of helicopters were distant but still… there. No birds were chirping. Only the blades of choppers disturb the air at a low altitude. They were under a vigilant microscope if the repetitive Amity Park radio cycle was to be believed. Martial law had been enacted until someone produced the Ghost Boy. Danny Fenton.

How could anyone sleep with their secret identity having been broadcasted live over national television, you may ask? The truth is you don't. You don't choose to rest. Your body refuses to acknowledge the cruel reality it occupies, and exhaustion weighs you down until you can't move.

Danny slept in what he could only assume was the master bedroom of Dash's vacation condo. He was sandwiched between his best friends. He slept on top of the thin sheets. The weight of Tucker and Sam kept him there… it kept him alive. Sam's bristly split ends dug into his neck. She kept her arms crossed, but her head tucked down, down towards Fenton's chest. Meanwhile, Tucker's arm and leg flung across Danny’s body while his head lulled towards the nightstand where his glasses rested. Call it closeness or what, but it was comforting. They hadn't done this since what? Ever?

It wasn’t the entanglement of limbs that caused Danny to stir this early in the morning. If he had it his way, he would sleep like this and never wake up. This heaviness that clouded his senses was warm, and blurry, and so, so safe. No, faintly, he could hear the stereo in the kitchen.

Leave it to the Baxters to have one of the state-of-the-art speaker systems available on the content, but the kids were too tired to be in awe of such frivolities. It played a smooth mo-town number with such clarity; it was like having a live band playing in the next room over. The horn in the song blared—

“I said, Shotgun!

Shoot 'em 'fore they run now…

Do the jerk, baby,

Do the dirty now—

Hey!

Put on your red dress,

And then you go downtown now.

I said, Buy yourself a shotgun now.

We're going to break it down, baby, now.

We're going to load it up baby now.

Oh, can you shoot 'em 'fore they run now?”

He sat up. His head throbbing, and ears still ringing with the terror from yesterday. And those goddamn chopper blades. At first, Danny was convinced the song was just in his head, like how most things were. He thought if he kept his eyes closed, everything would just go back to normal. Whatever normal was for a Fenton.

Though, there was no such luck.

Danny phased himself out of Tucker’s loose grasp, shimmying to the foot of the mattress. His feet found the floor shakily. Dash’s hoodie sat way, way too big on his thin body and ended by his knees. Pain shot through his legs from the epicenter of his heels. Agony mapped across his nerves from the waist down. It seemed his body was still holding a grudge. Waddling to the door frame, Danny lurched forward and grasped it for support, dragging the rest of his body along. It was always the aftermath that hurt infinitely worse. Holding back a whine, he took a sharp inhale and elected to keep muscling through it.

The sound of his soles it the cool wood floor in an uneven gait. Was he limping? Could this be qualified as a limp? Perhaps. But he wasn’t a doctor.

When balancing his weight from leg to leg felt like a herculean task— Danny’s shoulders parried between the narrow corridor walls. His arm landed on the table that held a clutter of papers and tchotchkes to gather dust. Danny just wanted to decay in peace like everything else in this tomb. The Baxters seemed to have the approach to excess the same way the Egyptians did. They wanted to be buried with their belongings. In some sense, the Baxters had to believe they could take it with them. After all, if they couldn’t, then what was all this for?

Hobbling to the corner, Danny was hesitant to just enter the foyer. Wrapping his torso around the entrance, he leaned. Eyes still hazy with sleep, he squinted past the burning in his retinas from the sunlight that fluttered through the sheer white linen curtains. Had they left the terrace door open? Unlikely.

His gaze followed naturally to the island with provided a small window to the kitchen. The song was still thundering with the brassiness of a big band.

Thick rubber work boots stamped along the tile. Crossing the kitchen from the cabinet to the island to the fridge.

Almost like they were dancing.

The shape passed in front of the opening again, and Danny did his best to focus on the details this time. From the shoulders down and backlit by the emerging sunrise—

Red.

“Shotgun!”

“Shoot 'em 'fore he run now!

Do the jerk, baby,

Do the jerk now, hey!

Put on your high-heeled shoes,

I said we're goin' down here, and I listen to 'em play the blues…”

Oh, no.

Danny quickly darted behind the wall again.

It was Valerie Grey. Of course. Of course, it was Valerie Grey.

How the hell did she find them? Did one of the A-listers squeal? Did Dash tell her?

The air swelled with the bitter smell of brewed coffee.

The ‘How’ didn’t seem to matter. What remained was a threat that he was in no physical condition to handle.

Palms slick with a tidal wave of sweat, Danny scrambled back.

CREAAAAK.

His hastiness would be his downfall one of these days.

The music faded out. A raspy and familiar voice floated on the waft of coffee and morning, “Hey.”

In an almost automatic response, the freshman stuttered out, “H-hey…”

A chair was pushed out, the legs scraping against the floor. Then a second.

Val sighed and brought down a mug, “Do you want some?”

“Sure,” Danny replied, tension still poisoning his every muscle. He was arched and stiff, ready for whatever may come next.

Another ceramic cup clattered against the cupboard shelving as the ghost hunter set it on the splotchy black and neutral tone counter. The machine beeped quietly, and she prepared her mug first. Not much cream, not much sugar.

“So…” Fenton began, “How is this gonna work?”

“I’m still figurin’ that out,” She said in a taciturn fashion. From here, it sounded like she had the hint of a smile. Val was always an enigma.

Her boots beat against the tile again. A drop of sweat bulleted from Danny’s forehead and traced down the contours of his skull.

Val’s aim wasn’t to spook her prey. No, that would be a rookie’s mistake. She was just simply preparing the table.

“Even death row inmates are entitled to visitors, ” Grey quipped.

He didn’t laugh.

Approaching the table, he remained cautious as light on his feet as he could manage in his haggard state.

Through her visor, Val followed his movements. She watched him slink in and take the chair across from her. Steam rose off the mugs and twirled around their breath. As soon as it appeared Danny got comfortable in the elegantly carved wooden seat, she slid the cup over. He caught it.

Val’s aura felt like a piping hot black coffee, trapped behind the rapidly warming ceramic skin. That mug would hurt your hands with its temper. You weren’t surprised by the sting in your palms, but you held on regardless. You were careful not to tip it over.

He took a sip. It was bold and startling. Equal parts are refreshing. He took another, tightening his brow. It didn’t occur to him how dry his throat really was.

The coffee was still scalding hot— but it didn’t seem to bother the dead teen much.

Val eyed him. The expression under her hood must’ve contorted into intrigue or scrutiny for his very existence. Her lips peeled apart with a noticeable sound as she found her words. Looking at Danny, the first thing she could say was, “... In hindsight, this should have been obvious.”

“You’d think.” Fenton gave her a defeated glance, the deep bags around his eyes were nearly purple. There was no victory to be found here.

Crossing her legs at the thigh, she bounced her foot as if mulling over something, “You’ve caused quite the fuss.” Her tongue clicked, “Y’know that, right?”

That much had been made clear. His silence was deafening. Danny stared at his reflection against her visor. He didn’t recognize himself.

This would be no fun for either of them if he didn’t play along.

“So…” Grey traced her finger around the lip of her mug, “You’re probably wondering how I found you?”

“...No.” The ghost boy answered defiantly, “It seems that the powers that be would rather throw me every curveball possible than provide answers. I don’t think it matters if I know or not how you managed to track me down.”

“I guess.” She replied sullenly. Val shifted her focus to a bowl she brought down. She set down a cardboard box in front of him, “You hungry?”

“Starving.” The word came out quiet and cutting.

Starving. It seemed since his half-life began, he was always hungry. He had become this cavernous pit that couldn’t be sated. It seemed he wasn’t hungry for food.

They shared dry cereal in two bowls with their coffee. Valerie took down her hood to reveal a mess of coiled hair that was expertly maintained and held back by the world’s strongest elastic ties. Fatigue wore her face differently, she was intense and focused. Her spoon skirted the surface of her bowl with clicking metallic beats.

They said nothing for a long time.

Those helicopters were relentless and taunting. They could go anywhere in the world, but instead, they were here of all places. Amity Park is a place with no exits. People who were born here often never leave. People who end up here by happenstance don’t seem to make it that far either.

Both Val and Danny were doomed.

“So, are you gonna slap the cuffs on me or what? Or does it bring you joy to draw this out, Val?” Danny calmly brought a spoonful of dry oats to his mouth.

She repeated, “I’m still tryin’ to figure that out.” With one hand, she laid out her first option, “Vlad Masters is willing to pay a lot of money for you, the stipulation being— You: alive.” with her opposite hand, she unfolded her second choice, “The Guys in White were less… magnanimous.”

Val’s eyes fell to her shoes.

“You’re debating on killing me?”

“That’s the thing,” Val chuckled awkwardly, “I don’t know if you’re alive or dead.” She shrugged, “I don’t know if I could kill you.”

Danny caught a small laugh at that, “Yeah, I guess I’ve never thought about it that way. It’s tough to give the ultimatum when neither one really fits.”

He shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth, “But you’re not a killer, Val.”

She made a face at this, cocking her head to the side, “You’re confident about that?”

“Val… I know you’ve had a gun on me this whole time. I’m not stupid.” Danny was exasperated and pushed his food around, “You could’ve taken a shot any time you’d like. You haven’t because you’re still trying to find an excuse to let me go.” Once more emphatically, the ghost boy stated, “You’re not a killer.”

The sour expression on her features only deepened.

Fenton held up his hands in surrender, the sleeves of his hoodie falling to his elbows unceremoniously, “Now’s your chance to prove me wrong. I’m too tired to fight you, Val. It's only gonna be a matter of time before someone else turns me in for the reward— so, why not now ?”

Rooting through the front pocket of the sweatshirt, he slapped down a strip of photos taken from the instant printing machine at the mall. Danny took his chewed rat claw of a nail and pointed to the subjects in the frame, “This girl is not a killer!”

Silence fell around them again.

Danny bounced back into his chair.

The bounty hunter picked up the photographs. Her gloved thumb caressed each of the subjects in the strip. Val could be stoic, but she had become entirely unreadable. She was flooded with emotions, too many to be precise. Gaze shifting to each of her friends that she had abandoned so long ago, she softened. Danny was right. This girl wasn’t a killer.

This girl’s biggest worry was college. Her issues were parallel parking and student council drama. This girl didn’t have two jobs to balance with her extracurriculars. This girl hadn’t heard breath of the name "Vlad Masters." This girl had a house and a yard she hoped to inherit. She had a future.

Against her will, the film in her fist crumpled. She had smashed it into a ball of nothingness. Twisted with her rage.

Yeah, Danny was right. This girl wasn’t a killer. She’d never dream of hurting anyone. She recoiled at loud noises. She was a vegetarian in middle school. She planted trees on the weekend with her volunteer group. Val ran a hand through her hair along her curls. Her eyes were swimming with unwelcome tears—

Danny Fenton made the killer.

She pitched the ball of film against the wall and stood up with a slam. Val had hoisted up the table, promptly sending it to the ground and out of her way.

Before Danny had a fraction of a second to respond, her hands had already wrapped their way around his windpipe. And she squeezed…

Thinking back on it now, it was impressive that she got him out of the chair and pinned him against the wall with such ease. The back of his head made such a loud crack against the drywall he couldn’t tell if it was the bone or not. But suppose that didn’t matter.

“Don’t make this decision too easy for me, phantom,” Val hissed.

“In a way, it’s kind of full circle, huh? You ruin my life; I end yours—” Her grip tightened.

It wasn’t the lack of oxygen that would do him in, Danny was sure of it— but he’d rather not have a ruptured neck. He really liked talking. Fenton writhed against her grasp, choking for his voice, ”R-Ruin? How—?”

Howling wildly with laughter, Grey’s tears caught her mascara and left thick tracks down her cheeks, “You and goddamn family are nothing but a plague. You’ve done nothing except break everything you touch! Everyone who comes within reach is infected!”

What was she talking about?

“Me, Sam, Tucker, Dash, the Westons, Vlad— Everybody in Amity Park!”

A blackness crawled along his sight, distorting her grinning face—

“You ruin everything, yet you’re the only left standing? And for what? What does that earn you?”

Danny tapped her wrists with his sleeve-covered hands. Trying to wiggle what little distance he could. She was smart to attack him with her suit on— couldn’t phase through it.

“Here you are, not a hair out of place.” Val demanded, not from Danny but from whatever higher power was willing to give her an answer, “What’s so special about you?!”

She repeated, hushed— “What’s so special about you, huh?”

Truthfully, he wished he could tell her why. Danny wanted to tell her everything she wanted to hear, so she could stop looking at him like that. It pained him to look at her like this. This isn’t how he wanted to end things. Danny wanted to say whatever he could to ease her mind. He wasn’t anything special— stubborn, maybe.

His eyes were—his eyes were bulging out his sockets. He could feel it. Danny croaked out, “V…al… plea…se.”

The hunter’s eyes remained fixed on the ghost boy’s neck. Her goals were unclear, but whatever she was doing was effective in shutting him up. What was her plan? Squeeze until she severed his spinal cord, effectively draining all life from him? Cut his jugular open to see what was inside? What was for damn sure is that she had enough of being haunted!

Glancing up, Val saw blue eyes and a black hoodie. In an instant, she was transported to last Christmas. She spent her winter break with her friends because her dad was away on business. It was the same story every holiday season. Loneliness filled her heart. Dash was in a similar boat. The quarterback was wearing this exact hoodie. She recognized the bleach stains around the collar from where she dotted it with the brush because Baxter made her laugh too hard. Val was his go-to for bleaching his hair; his hands shook too much. Paulina would come over with leftovers from whatever grandiose meal her family made… saying they wouldn’t even notice she was gone. The memories were hazy, nearly colorless, and desaturated. They were on a muted loop in her brain, but she could taste the peppermint and hot chocolate that burnt her tongue. The hoodie still reeked of bonfire smoke.

Some things couldn’t be washed out.

Releasing, Danny dropped to the floor like a stone. His boney knees hit the hard floor.

Val clasped her hands together as if trying to talk herself out of repeating the mistake. She held her fists to her forehead, sticky with perspiration. Chest heaving, her body, racked with shudders. It was like the air itself had become too thin, like she was isolated on a mountain of her own making, screaming for help that would never arrive.

Why’d you stop? Fenton nearly blurted out— but no legible noise would come out.

“You have to live… ” Val exhaled and strolled to the balcony door. Narrowly throwing the glass panel off its metal track, “You have to live with what you did to me. To us.”

Her arms fell to her sides, and her hands squeezed together again, aching for the hold on his neck. The bounty hunter placed her palms flat on the glass, “You know what you did. And You want punishment. I’m not under anyone’s orders.”

Replacing her crimson hood, she gathered her hoverboard, “I’m not going to give you the satisfaction.”

Danny was sure his ears were in the next room over. The ringing returned, and the thundering of his undead heart swirled with his adrenaline. The only thing he could see was spots and color. No details. The ghost boy folded in on himself and remained on the floor long after Valerie left.

Fenton didn’t know it, but somehow, Dash Baxter had saved him twice.

“Shit. Shit. Shit .” The wind whipped his ivory-white hair out of his face at Mach-speed.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Why did he do that?!

Why did he say all those things?!

The Phantom kept chanting his mantra. Tree branches meant nothing as he bulleted by as an invisible entity— the only visible evidence that something was indeed traveling around the forest canopy was the snapping of twigs and the intense gust. Without a shred of doubt, he knew that was his fastest getaway yet.

Oh, he just wanted to go home and lock himself in his room— that was beyond embarrassing! How could he lose control like that?! He wanted to crawl into a shallow hole and just die.

Ghostwriter was right where Danny left him. The hiking trail behind the pond in the central valley. The Phantom came in for a rough landing. Narrowly taking out the spindly author in the process.

Ghostwriter glared down at his junior, “What’s— what’s happening with your face?”

Hunched over his knees, Danny held out his hand, “Give me my earpiece.”

“It would kill you to say—”

“STEPHEN!”

Without any more commentary, Ghostwriter tossed the device by flicking it from his thumb.

The Phantom snatched it out of the air and ordered, "We have to get out of here."

Jazz spoke up through the crackling noise on the other end of the line, "Well, it sounds like someone had an eventful pee."

"Huh?" Danny exclaimed sharply.

"I just got done telling you're approaching Dash's neighborhood, and then you suddenly yelled 'I have to take a leak!' in a way that wasn't too loud and too much information—"

The ghost boy shook his head, "Right, sorry. I'm back now. Uh, continue your thought, Jazz."

"Right." The elder Fenton tutted, "I've managed to use a sample of Johnny's hair to break down his ecto signature. I've managed to track down his frequency to the park."

"Should I be concerned about why you have a sample of Johnathan's hair?" It suddenly occurred to Ghostwriter that he was in the presence of ghost hunters—highly incompetent ghost hunters, but still.

"Uh, long story short," Jazz hit a few keys on her keyboard, "We, kind of, sort of, dated."

The author squinted at this, "Yikes."

"Yeah, anyway, it turns out he was trying to use my body as a vessel for his real girlfriend."

"Mega Yikes," Danny restated.

Jazz informed while double-clicking a spot on the map to zoom into, "I broke up with him, in case you were wondering."

Ghostwriter wasn't. But if the game was hating Johnny Thirteen— play ball. He ran a hand through his goatee, "Uh, You go… girl."

Paying the older specter a glance, Danny didn't say a word. But his eyes held an unwavering disappointment.

"Sorry, I'll try not to do that again." Ghostwriter mumbled.

Jasmine's voice squeaked through the speaker, "Alright, just keep walking down this trail. I'm sure you'll run into something eventually."

Still tight in the chest and reeling from the encounter with Dash in his room— Danny wasn't exactly prepared to run into something else.

Dash looked at him like he'd seen a monster.

He wasn't all here. He never was. Parts of him were in that room back there; some were still at that table with Val. On that stage at that end of year televised concert. Some of him was still in that basement; hand posed over the start button of the Fenton Portal.

Danny had done his best to patch up those holes in his chipping armor. But it felt like one of those nights where he couldn't predict what would happen next. Apprehension was blinding him. It was thick like a fog. What was he going to do tomorrow? How was he going to explain that ? What about any of that was marginally okay?

Stay away. Just stay away from him. Focus on your job, soldier.

It sounded easy enough on paper. Just stay away from Dash. Fenton's solutions started off reasonable, like ditching their shared classes together, and then bloomed into full-on teen dramatics like moving to a new content and starting fresh with a new identity.

What made it difficult was that the guy followed him around like a beat dog, searching for any shred of kindness. How could you stay away?

What is wrong with me?

Danny kept his mouth shut as his mind screamed at him to get a grip. He was brought back to reality by his sister's voice.

Both ghosts passed through the park, occasionally stopping to interrogate something suspicious about their surroundings. More than once, Stephen cowered behind Danny at the sight of a goose.

There was something to be said about what was wrong with The Phantom, it wasn't nearly as funny as whatever was wrong with The Ghostwriter.

The lights along the crunchy gravel path flickered with each panicked breath Stephen took. He wasn't lying. He was a quick study. The Ghostwriter was visible… not totally in color. It was like his voice and body were out of sync, like an imported karate movie from the seventies. It was hard to fathom in a purely scientific language. Danny hypothesized that Ghostwriter was on the lowest setting possible, like a dimmer switch. He would shudder in and out of focus. When he seemed particularly riled up, his colors would saturate and nearly burst off his body with a harsh glow.

Sidney often occupied that uncanny valley between corporeal and not. Often just honed in on one person's energy to make himself visible to that one person. As if setting a frequency on a radio. It was about finding the right channel, so their forms weren't just incompressible masses. Though Sidney had numerous years of experience walking the Casper High halls and getting a feel for his surroundings to get his presence just right.

It was clear Stephen was floundering with no real goal other than to be tangible and interact with things larger than a headphone. He looked winded, just walking a few feet. It was hard to buy from his getup and general constitution that he was alive during the Reagan era and not the Victorian age. Everything about him shouted, 'I'm a nebbish lad over-encumbered with diseases and frailties. Look at me faint!'

They walked.

And walked.

Danny's footsteps were the only thing keeping back tidal waves of horrid and intrusive thoughts. A lot were just violent colors flashing across his mind's eye. Just when it felt like he reigned in his twitching and impulsiveness—

A hand pressed onto his chest, stopping him, but just barely. Ghostwriter's claws dug into the elastic fabric of Danny's jumpsuit. It was a warning—a nearly paternal gesture.

He didn't say anything. He just narrowed his eyes. His pupils constricted to two tiny shards. The author's blade-like ears began to move. They folded out and adjusted to the noise of late-night joggers.

The Phantom didn't know they could do that. His attention was split between studying Ghostwriter's reaction and the thing in front of them.

"What's happening?" Jasmine was concerned by the lack of activity on her end.

With a shrug and more honesty than he put forth all night, Danny said, "I don't know…"

Eventually, the siblings got their answer. The Ghostwriter nodded his head towards a bush barred with downed branches, "Up ahead."

Caution snaked his way into Danny's voice, "Do you think he's there?"

"Aren't you supposed to be the brave little flatliner?" Stephen hissed, his forked tongue flailing against his serrated teeth. He was out for blood. It was clear he wanted to do some damage regardless if he had the ability or not. The Ghostwriter snapped, "Go check."

Danny reflexively bubbled his right hand in ecto-energy, "Stop calling me that."

The Phantom made his approach. Slow. Methodical. He took giant sliding steps, careful not to disturb anything around him. Taking down a branch revealed the silver rims of Johnny Thirteen's motorcycle.

Bingo.

The two spirits stilled.

Dropping the branch, the teen took a moment to blow some stray hair from his face, “Hey, you’re basically a walking dictionary, right? What’s the longest word I could carve into this thing with my house keys—?”

“Don’t get overzealous. He could come back at any moment.” The ghostwriter buried his fists into his navy cardigan and pulled something out, “It’s best that we stake out this location and wait for him to return with the element of surprise.”

The object in his claws was metallic and bounced the moonlight back into Danny’s eyes—

“What’re you doing?”

Stephen unscrewed the cap on his ornately engraved flask. The design on the front and back was of the sigil of his manor, the lion, with its jaw open in a roar. He threw his head back— gulping down. Eventually, the would-be author shuddered, “I’m not making the mistake of dying sober twice.”

Danny exclaimed under his breath in wonderment. Ghosts can get drunk. Who knew.

However, his sister was less impressed.

“This is why mom put a shield on the liquor cabinet…”

Just as soon as Stephen downed the flask, it refilled again. His limp hand fell a little with the weight of the liquid. Wiping his mouth with his knitted sleeve, the ghostwriter’s grey skin became darker. His eyes became round and void like a crater on the moon.

“Wow, you almost look relaxed,” The younger shook his senior specter lightly. Stephen’s body sluggishly followed under Danny’s hand.

A loud thud hit the gravel behind them. Disturbing the rocks and dust unfurled into a massive plume. A black shape dropped like a deadweight from the trees, nearly on top of the two spirits. It was fast like a bullet, sending pine needles and cones scattered to the brutal night wind.

The apparitions popped in and out in sync with the bursting of several bulbs down the trail. They evaded the projectile with ease, though they were still expecting retaliation. Without hesitation, the ghost boy prepared his fists ready to fire a warning shot until he saw the faintest flash of ginger hair in between the camera shutter and blinding white snapshot.

Fuck. The Phantom exhaled. Can this night stop scaring me?

It was just Weston.

#fic #phic #danny phantom #dp #swagger bishie #teddy ghost #dandash #enemies to lovers #angst #Danny Fenton #dash baxter

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multimilfs · 4 years ago

Text

Eda Clawthorne x Fem!Witch Reader: Bad Blood

Summary: You’d only agreed to this charade for Luz’s sake. But you should have known Odalia wouldn’t make this easy for you.

AO3

A/N: An anon sent in the message of “Even though we don’t know much about her, Odalia (Amity’s mom) being the one who cursed reader. When reader hears that one of Luz’s friend in a Blight, she tries to be supportive, but is worried for Luz’s safety when she, Eda and Reader are invited to dinner at the Blight’s Manor as guests. Just imagine the tension between the 4 adults, two of which have bad blood against each other (Odalia and Reader), one being overprotective (Eda), and one trying to keep the peace (Alador, Amity’s father).”

My dearest anon, I hope you enjoy this. It got a bit away from me, I must admit. I loved writing it though.

Warnings(s): Body Horror Mention, Mild Swearing

It was taking every bit of your willpower not to launch yourself across the table. The only thing holding you back was knowing how much it would upset Luz. That’s why you’d even accepted this dinner invitation anyway.

Learning that one of Luz’s friends was a Blight had been… upsetting, to say the least. But you hadn’t said anything. Nobody knew that Odalia had been the one to curse you - not even Eda. She hadn’t been there when it happened. Nobody had. It’d just been the two of you, making it oh-so-easy for Odalia to place that curse on you without anyone knowing.

When Eda found out you’d been cursed, it broke her heart, but it also ignited something in her. She’d been so angry that her skin buzzed with electricity. And she had wanted to take care of it, to start what you knew would be an intense fight. She would have won, but you’d just wanted it all to go away. So you told Eda that you didn’t know who cursed you.

Eda had believed you without a second thought. It made you feel horrible. You didn’t want to lie to her about this, but you hadn’t wanted to deal with anything else. And you never expected that it would ever really come up again.

Boy, had you been wrong.

Since Luz had no idea what Odalia had done to you, she’d been extremely excited when the Blight’s extended an invitation to you and Eda. Something about ‘wanting to formally meet Luz’s guardians’ or something like that. The thought of being in the same room as Odalia had parylyzed you, but you couldn’t say no to Luz. It would break your heart to wipe the smile from her face. So you’d accepted.

Now you found yourself sitting across from a devious-looking Odalia Blight, trying so very hard not to let your content mask slip. If she knew that she was getting to you, it would make the rest of dinner even worse.

“So tell me, Y/N, what is it you do now?” Odalia asked, her tone dripping with faux sweetness.

“Eda and I run a stand at the market. We also sell potions.” You said stiffly.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Luz and Eda both look at you. You knew your tone was strained and much colder than normal, but you couldn’t help it. It wasn’t exactly easy creating polite conversation with the person who’d ruined your life. And you desperately hoped that Odalia wouldn’t make any comment about it. You didn’t want Eda and Luz to know. Not now, at least. Not when Luz was sitting at her friend’s dinner table.

“How… quaint,” The woman said with barely hidden disdain, “I must say, that was never the path I expected you to take. You were always going on about grand plans when we were in school.”

“Yes, well, circumstances change. If memory serves me correctly, you also had grand plans. Something about joining the Emperor’s Coven? But Lilith beat you out. Such a pity.”

You could tell it affected her by the way her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed. The whole room was silent, watching the tense exchange with confused glances. Eda put a calming hand on your arm, but you shrugged it off. You couldn’t bear to let anyone touch you right now. Odalia would see it as a weakness. And you could never show weakness in front of her. Not now, not ever.

Focusing on keeping a level head, you missed the hurt that blossomed briefly on Eda’s face. You’d never done something like that before. Luz and Amity were sharing startled glances as well. They had no idea what the heck was going on.

“Does anyone need more tea?” Alador cut in, trying to cut back on the tension in the room. For his sake and for the sake of the children.

“No, thank you, dear,” Odalia said with a sharp smile in his direction, though her eyes never left yours, “How about you, Y/N, would you like more tea?”

“No, thank you, Odalia. I appreciate the offer.”

“Oh, that’s right, you probably require a more… specialized blend, don’t you? To take care of your pesky little ailment.”

There was a twisted sort of glee in her eyes. She knew that of all the things that would get you to crack, it would be a jab about your curse. It was no secret that she was proud of herself for cursing you. For ruining your life, so that you couldn’t fight back. So that you’d be nothing compared to her.

You pressed your nails into your palm. Hard. This is for Luz, you reminded yourself, don’t ruin this for her. Leveling out your breathing, you gave a strained smile. It probably looked more like a grimace. The look in her eyes was bringing back memories you’d forced yourself to forget. It was the same way she’d looked when she’d chanted those words. Those words that had made you into what you are.

A messed up excuse for a witch, your mind sneered at you. You tried to ignore it. You still hadn’t responded to Odalia’s question.

“I do. How… kind of you to remember.” You forced out, but you knew you’d made a mistake the second you said it. Odalia’s mouth curled into an evil smirk and you couldn’t do anything to stop the words that left her mouth.

“Why of course. A witch never forgets her finest work.”

It was so silent you could’ve heard a pin drop.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you felt Eda look at you. You knew that she knew. That you’d lied to her all this time. That when she vowed to find out who did this to you, you’d known the entire time. But you’d kept it all from her.

At the other end of the table, you heard Alador breathe in sharply. Amity and Luz had both let out startled gasps. If you were to open your eyes, you were sure you’d see them both looking at you. You couldn’t force yourself to look at any of them. Luz would look at you with that sad, pitying look you’d promised yourself to never be on the receiving end of. You were one of her guardians, being strong for her sake was all you’d wanted. She didn’t need someone else to worry about. And Eda, oh Titan, Eda - she’d be furious and disappointed. You had promised to always be honest with her and then you’d kept this.

A deep, startling anger built in the pit of your stomach. You opened your eyes, glaring directly into Odalia’s. She had done this. She’d ruined your life and couldn’t help herself from gloating about it.

“I shouldn’t be surprised. You practically got off on it the first time.” You spit at her, letting your content mask drop. There was no point in keeping it up anymore.

“I still do.” She grinned. You felt like your blood was boiling inside your veins.

“How messed up are you that ruining someone else's life is that satisfying? Though it makes sense, you were never talented at anything else. Lilith tells me it is still a running joke for all of them - Your very public failure to qualify for the Coven. How embarrassing.” You said, allowing yourself a cruel chuckle.

That wiped the smile off of her face.

“You worthless little-”

“Would anyone like a biscuit?” Alador asked, sounding frantic.

“Shut up, Alador!” The both of you yelled, glaring at the startled looking man.

There was a split second of stillness, where your eyes locked on Odalia’s, and you wondered if it was a good idea. But anger overwhelmed your rational thought. So with a sneer, you conjured a particularly nasty ball of fire and threw it right at her face.

She nearly failed to dodge it, her eyes wide. You were never the type to fight back or strike first. In school, you took everything she dished out, until you’d stood up to her. And the both of you knew how that one ended.

“Is that the best you’ve got, Y/L/N?” She taunted.

Then all hell broke loose.

You don’t know what spells you’d both thrown around, but there had been a lot of them. One of you had pushed the other occupants at the table behind a protective field. You may hate each other, but you didn’t want anyone else in the room to get hurt.

Throwing a particularly nasty blast at the other woman, your heart dropped as you felt the itchiness under your skin. You hadn’t taken your elixir today. Feathers were scratching under your flesh, trying to force their way out. To force the transformation.

You couldn’t let that happen, but you had no way of stopping it. The elixir was back at the Owl House and you were using a lot of magic to even block Odalia’s attacks. You put as much energy as you could spare into keeping yourself from transforming. Tears were leaving your eyes as you held it back, trying to breathe through it. If you lost control, you’d probably end up ripping Odalia’s head off. That was the last thing anyone needed - even if she did deserve it.

“What’s wrong, Y/N, can’t keep up?” The woman teased, though she was breathing heavily, sweat dripping from her brow. She was slowing down too.

“In your drea-” Your statement was cut off as a tuft of feathers shot through your skin, forcing a pained noise from your mouth. It felt like your arm was being cut open in a million places. The tears leaking out of your eyes felt like a dam had broken.

Through the blurred vision your tears created, you saw Odalia’s eyes widen slightly, before a satisfied look settled on her features. You were not in fighting condition anymore and she’d relish winning against you. She raised her hand and you closed your eyes against the spell, throwing a hand up, hoping that something would stop the spell.

There was a loud cracking noise as it made contact with something, but it didn’t send a jolt through you like it should have. Looking up, Eda was standing next to you, a bright yellow barrier standing between the two of you and your opponent.

“You did this.” She growled out, eyes full of fire as she looked down on Odalia, “All this time, it was you. You hurt her.”

With the hand that wasn’t holding the barrier steady, Eda pushed a spell away from herself. It moved through the air faster than the speed of light, knocking Odalia into the wall behind her. There was a loud, echoing thud as she made contact. Silence followed.

“Yes,” Odalia forced out between panting breaths, “I did. And you know what? I would do it again. Every ounce of pain she got, she deserves. She is nothing but an over-confident witchling in a witch’s body. She should have known better than to challenge me in the first place!”

Eda’s eyes were stone cold. You’d never seen her so full of anger and hatred before. It would have been attractive if you weren’t in so much pain. You watched as Eda’s magic moved, keeping Odalia bound to the wall, as your girlfriend moved forward.

“Even cursed, she is more of a witch than you will ever dream of,” Eda snarled, nose to nose with the woman, who suddenly looked very scared, “I won’t do any of the things I want to do to you. I won’t lower myself to your level. But remember this one thing, Odalia Blight - if you touch her again, I won’t hesitate to ruin whatever shred of a life you have.”

Odalia’s eyes were wide as she stayed pressed to the wall, parylyzed with fear. With a roll of her eyes, Eda cast a sleep spell, using magic to lower the sleeping woman to the ground. Suddenly realizing something, she turned. You were kneeling on the floor, still doing everything you could to hold back the transformation.

“Luz, my bag!” She said, kneeling next to you, pulling you into her, “You’re going to be okay, sweetheart, just hold on for me.”

The pain was excruciating and you wanted nothing more than to give in. To let yourself transform. But you forced yourself to focus on Eda. How she held you, whispering in your ear so softly, placing little kisses on your head. Your senses were quickly full of nothing but Eda.

You registered a slight shuffling to your side, before Eda tilted your head back, pouring the elixir down your throat. It tasted horrible, but the relief that followed was worth it. The feathers disappeared. And so did that horrible, itchy feeling underneath your skin. You suddenly realized just how exhausted you were, slumping into Eda.

“We need to get her home.” Eda whispered to Luz, who nodded, glancing worriedly at you. She’d never seen you like this. And she didn’t want to ever again.

Taking a look around the room, Eda winced at the mess you and Odalia had made. The table had been sliced in half, the walls were singed. It was not great.

“Send us the bill, kid.” Eda said, ruffling a stunned Amity’s hair as she walked you out of the room, Luz following behind quickly.

You didn’t remember much after that, except for the feeling of Eda’s arms wrapped around you. It was the same feeling that you were enveloped in when you woke up. Blinking the exhaustion from your eyes, you looked directly at Eda’s face. She was watching you wake up with a semi-guarded expression. It was then that you remembered all of what had occurred.

“E-Eda,” You croaked, your throat parched, “I’m s-sorry.”

It wasn’t enough. You knew that. In your current state though, it was all you could offer her. She seemed to understand that, letting out a sigh and pulling you into her arms.

“I know,” Eda whispered into your hair, “It hurts, but I think I understand.”

“No, you don’t.”

She shifted, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow. Her expression wasn’t annoyed or angry, though. But expectant. As if saying ‘well, then explain it to me.’

“You know how Odalia was at Hexside,” You said softly, avoiding her eyes, “She was unrelenting, but I never wanted you to worry, you know? You were dealing with your own issues. So I told myself that I could handle it all myself. But I… I was wrong. She got the best of me. I didn’t want to admit that I was… that I was weak and couldn’t take care of myself.”

The silence that followed your admission wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t reassuring either. So much was unspoken. You knew that she was hurt you’d kept the truth from her, but you needed her right now, and she wasn’t going to abandon you.

“You’re not weak,” Eda said finally, after letting your admission sit in the air for a while, “I hear you and I understand why you did it. But we promised that we’d be honest with one another. We… We’re okay, but this is something I will need time with, okay?”

You nodded against her chest. You would never expect her to forgive you just because. It had been damaging to the trust of your relationship. The two of you would be okay, it would just take some time. You were more than alright with that.

“I’m proud of you though. You kicked her ass.” Eda said. You could hear her grin, prompting one of your own.

“I did, didn’t I?”

“Hell yeah. It was kinda hot, too.”

You couldn’t hold it in, letting out loud laughter. Eda was smiling down at you, fondness written all over her features. Unable to help yourself, you leaned forward, placing a sweet kiss on her lips. A kiss she didn’t hesitate to return. And being mindful of your depleted strength for now, that was as far as it went.

“How is Luz? I didn’t mess things up too royally, did I?” You asked after a while.

“Odalia was going to forbid Amity from spending time with her, but Alador talked her down. So she’s okay. A little shaken up about everything though. I think I heard her planning breakfast with King, as a little ‘pick me up’ for you.”

“She doesn’t have to do that..”

“She knows, but it makes her happy. The kid really cares about you, you know?” Eda said softly, running a soothing hand up and down your back.

“I know. We’re really lucky that we found such a great human.” You agreed with a smile.

The exhaustion that had been temporarily pushed back, was slowly overwhelming you again. Your eyes began to droop as Eda drew soothing shapes on your back with her fingers.

“I love you, Y/N.” She whispered into your hair.

“I love you too, Eda.” You yawned.

You knew that tomorrow you would need to work on fixing things, on making it right again. But for now you were content to fall asleep in the arms of your love. That made all the difference in the world.

#edalyn clawthorne #eda x reader #the owl house #eda clawthorne #the owl house x reader #eda the owl lady #eda clawthorne imagine #the owl house imagine #luz noceda #amity blight #odalia and alador blight #wlw #wlw imagine #eda clawthorne x fem reader #oct2020 #multimilfswritings

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bookshelf-imagines · 4 years ago

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Chasing Light | Part I

Pairing/Fandom: Lumity/ToH

Summary: It’s chapter one! You figure that out <3

Warnings: None that I know of

Notes: Ages are up! Luz is 17, Amity is 16 (almost 17), Gus is 15, and Willow is also 16 <3 PART II || PART III || PART IV || PART V || PART VI || PART VII

“Amity, get in here!”

“Yes, mother?”

“What did I tell you about calling me that?”

“...Is there something you need,” she grimaced, “Mistress?”

“Better. We are to receive news from the emperor later today. Be on your best behavior, and remember,”

“You’re not my daughter.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Come on, Luz! This is the last one we have to deliver.” A young courier rushed, he was a boy barely taller than a longsword. He had not hit a growth spurt yet, but his legs sure did move quickly.

“Coming, Gus! Man, this armor is so much easier to move around in.” The woman behind him replied. Fingers fidgeted with the strap of her sword, tightening it so she could catch up to her companion.

The two were an ordinary yet rare pair - couriers weren’t typically accompanied by a Roman legionnaire, nonetheless a Centurion, but Gus was a close friend of Luz’s.

“Here we are.”

Knock, knock, knock.

Gus pulled out a scroll while Luz assumed a position behind him, scanning the unfamiliar area.

The door swung open and revealed two tall, prestigious-looking figures. Fake smiles were plastered on their eager faces as they awaited the news.

“Greetings, Mr. Alador and Mrs. Odalia Blight. This is a message from the emperor that calls all senators back to the city. You will be granted a dwelling for you and your family with provided service and will remain there until further notice. It is imperative that you depart at the provided time so arrangements will already be made. The rest of the information is contained within here.” Gus finished and handed the scroll he was carrying to them. Alador, the senator, took the scroll from him and scanned its contents, affirming with a nod.

“Thank you, you may go.” Odalia shoved her husband back inside but was stopped by a voice.

“Excuse me.” Luz vocalized.

A look of worry overcame Mrs. Blight but was hastily masked with confusion.

“Is there a problem?”

“That girl over there, the one in the field.” Luz pointed, “What’s her name?”

“Her? Oh dear, she’s just a slave.”

“I’m sorry, but that isn’t what I asked. What is her name?”

Odalia sighed.

“Her name is Amity, but I assure you, she’s no one.”

Luz bowed her head and turned on her heel, ushering for Gus to follow. Once they were out of earshot, the owners of the villa broke out in conversation.

“They cannot know she is ours.” Odalia whispered.

“They will not, dear. I assure you.” Alador drearily responded.

“Might I remind you of what will happen to her if you slip up?”

“No, dear, you needn’t do that. We...only have one daughter.”

“Good. Now, make yourself useful. This manor won’t run itself.”

With that, Odalia sauntered away, leaving her husband to slump his shoulders and sigh in defeat. He only has one daughter, not two.

He only has one daughter, right?

~~~~~~~~~~

Gus raised his hands to the sky and stretched. “Another day down. What do you want to do now, Luz?”

Luz was focused on the ground as they continued walking, obviously not paying attention.

“Luz?” The courier waved a hand in front of his friend’s face, causing her to look up.

“Huh?”

“I asked what you wanted to do?” Guz reiterated but knew she still wasn’t paying attention.

“You, uh...You go hang out with Willow. I’ll catch up.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep!” Luz assured, turning around and running back down the hill. “I’ll catch up!!” She threw a wave and kept going.

Gus simply smiled and continued on his way back to town, knowing what the legionnaire was going to do. Luz might be smart, but outside of battle her actions were predictable. Well, mostly. Okay, just to her friends, but they knew her! And just like Gus thought, she went back to see that girl.

Luz slowed her movements to a walk when the villa came into view, not wanting to alert anyone of her presence. She once again scanned the area but did not see many people. Following the tree line, Luz watched for whom she wanted to locate.

Suddenly, she was pulled into the thicket, a leg securing her own left leg and her scabbard, while an arm wrapped itself around her right bicep and throat, securing her in a loose chokehold. Luz’s hands perched themselves on the forearm wrapped around her throat but made no action of fighting back, knowing that whomever was behind her did not wish for lethality.

“Why did you ask for my name?” The captor brazenly demanded.

Luz shrugged. “You’re very pretty.”

“Wha...what?” The hold loosened further and Luz took full advantage of it, flipping the person behind her over her shoulders and securing them on the forest floor by straddling their waist and pinning their arms to the side.

“And much prettier up close.” Luz smiled goofily and then got up, stretching out her right hand.

Although her hand was refused, she continued to address the flustered mess in front of her.

“Amity, right?”

Amity brushed herself off and crossed her arms in front of her.

“Why would a…” Amity tilted her head to see the insignia on Luz’s sleeve, “...centurion of all people, be bothering with someone like me?”

“I told you- I think you’re pretty.”

“Ye-yeah, we went over that.” She took a step back. “What do you want with a slave?” Her gaze fell to the floor and her body shifted to the side as she spat out the last word, her walls being raised higher than before.

“Wait, you’re-”

“Luz?” A voice sounded.

While Luz lit up, Amity became worried. They both recognized that voice, and one of them wasn’t on good terms with the owner.

“Go. You shouldn’t be seen with me.”

Luz’s face dropped as she reluctantly stepped away, apologizing with her eyes.

“Gus! Willow!”

“Luz! Why...were you in the forest?” Willow queried, raising a brow.

“Oh, um…” The centurion started, “No reason.”

She hated lying, especially to her friends. It’s not like she wanted to, and it’s not like she cared about her reputation, so why did she lie?

“Are you sure? Gus told me-”

“Yep! All good, we’re going now. Bye, trees!” Luz gently grabbed both of her friends by their wrists and began dragging them back to the hill, leaving behind the only one that wanted to escape.

When the trio departed, Amity released a shaky breath and slid against a tree. She knew that voice better than she knew her own - it was that of her childhood best friend. It was the one she had to leave behind. The one she unwillingly and irreparably hurt.

“I’m so sorry, Willow.”

A twig snapped and Amity’s hair was yanked from behind, forcing her to her feet with a small yelp. A sinister laugh disrupted the peace of the forest as a spine-chilling whisper echoed in her ear.

“Oh, I’ll make you sorry, dear.”

#lumity #toh #the owl house #lumity fic #amity blight #luz noceda #gus porter #willow park #my fics #alador blight #odalia blight #roman au #fanfiction #toh fic

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marithlizard · 4 years ago

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First impressions of RWBY v8 finale, “The Final Word”

Finale time! uh. That is NOT a content warning I was expecting.

A suicide prevention hotline message? When I said Qrow might jump, I wasn't *serious*. Mostly. Damn it, there isn't a single character I want to die that way, villain or no. This is upsetting and I haven't even started watching yet.

GDI Rooster Teeth you better not have had that kind of end in mind for Qrow all along. I imagine everyone else saying something similar about their favorites. (My tentative guesses right now are Cinder or Harriet, but there are so many plausible awful possibilities.)

Dissolving whale, looking like the biggest murmuration of birds ever. So we're skipping back in time a bit. Something flickers in the ashes. Salem starting to reform? I can't tell.

GO WINTER don't you dare die here either. Ironwood's actually pleading his case with her, as he hasn't deigned to with anyone else. It's not a convincing argument, but he cares what she thinks of him enough to try.

Penny looking like a brilliant dragonfly, darting around with her swords like wings.

Just how far can that Grimm arm extend?

Jaune my boy! You remembered mission priority! You've grown so much since the fall of Beacon, when you forgot all about calling Glynda for help in favor of melodramatically smashing your phone. This is a horrible situation, but you've got a job to do and you know what it is.

...Maybe you should just stop trying to sound like Mignogna, Liebrecht. Right now you just sound like you've got a painful sore throat.

Harriet finally looks unsure of herself.

One last flicker of luck...was it real? I dunno. But Qrow certainly believes it.

Watts, what did you just do? I thought the bomb was already on a countdown. Did you stop it, or start one? And am I going to be right about where you want it to go off?

Ruby vs Neo round two! They've both improved a lot. Interfering with her umbrella is still a good tactic, though.

And YEET she goes through the portal to Vacuo! One threat deferred to next season. (I highly doubt she'll get there and start slaughtering refugees, she has no reason to. She'll fade into the background and regroup.)

- wait, how'd she do that?? The portals are one-way! Was that an illusion of herself that got yeeted? Someone explain this.

oh carp, Ruby's unarmed now.

30-second countdown. Harriet is right, that's not enough to escape. You were about to blow up thousands of civilians out of spite, woman - Vine, what are you going to do? You can't possibly shield a thing like that, how could you get it out of range?

You ARE going to shield. Huh. Qrow doesn't have a word to say - they never knew each other more than slightly, and there's no time to fumble with phrases, but he could've said "thank you" or "sorry".

I didn't think that would work, but heroic sacrifice gives you a lot of power points, we all know that from anime and superhero movies.

Yeek, they're really teasing this fall thing.

YEEK did not expect that.

YEEK

Knowing it was going to happen takes a lot of the shock out of it, but still. And *Penny* doesn't have any meta knowledge.

Jaune goes off mission, but despite what I said earlier, I can't fault him - Cinder's holding two relics! Ooh, and he and Nora don't know the portals are one-way yet. They weren't even present when Weiss announced the specs.

Oop, what's going on with the arm? She's had it under control for a long time, is it just coincidence that it would rebel now?

"She's back". OH.

Oh, that's disturbing. Almost as much as the bug she used on Amber. Cinder doesn't need proxies to Grimmsuck the power out of someone anymore.

oh no Penny - that isn't going to WORK is it?

oh, no, no, no, Penny

You can't ask that of Jaune. You just can't.

You did.

Aw man, now i'm crying.

I mean, that's seriously badass, and all, but - but -

Those frost birds are beautiful!

And that makes four.

That was Salem screaming, wasn't it? I can only imagine how loud it sounded outside of gatespace.

Why are the portals disappearing? Cinder didn't use the staff, she's just holding it. Did RWBY specify an end condition when they designed them?

Five! Did not expect that.

Could really use some Vacuo cavalry about now.

Or, y'know, a Maiden. That'll do.

Cinder, lying as rapidly as possible. She blames the loss of Ruby and the lamp's last question on others. Will Salem buy it?

She will!

They're just going to ignore Ironwood. Seems fitting. Why even bother?

Oh. Cinder *wasn't* lying about that part. She did use the staff, and that's why the portals disappeared. Can't really bring myself to mind much. (Especially since the portals being gone means they can't follow the survivors.) But I would’ve liked to see her talking to Ambrosius.

And Ironwood is left alone on a crashing Atlas.

Qrow, Robyn, Elm, Harriet, and Marrow overlook the rubble.

Oh, no....Qrow's getting the news through an earpiece, I don't know who from. I think we're all glad not to be able to hear him.

A flood? Pretty, but where'd the water come from?

Annnnnnnd that's a wrap. For Atlas and Mantle.

While the credits are playing, let me take stock. Where is everyone?

RIP: Ironwood, Penny, Watts, Vine.

The ruins of Atlas: Qrow, Robyn, Elm, Marrow, Harriet, Pietro, Maria, Salem, Cinder.

Vacuo: Nora, Ren, Oscar and Oz, Emerald, Winter, Willow, Whitley, Klein, and an unknown number of refugees. And Mercury and Tyrian and CVFY and SSSN. And presumably FNKI. And the rest of the Happy Huntresses, what was that about slimming down the cast?

Fallen: RWBY, Neo, Jaune.

(who *did* give Qrow the news? Maybe no one, and he’s just calling and not hearing any response. I’ll go with that, it’s less awful. He can hope they made it to Vacuo and are simply out of range.)

Post-credit scene! Water. Ocean of magic water. Beach. Jungle, with giant shells. Crescent Rose is waiting for Ruby. A very big tree. And that's it.

I'm...not really sure what I think, overall. Ironwood just seemed to fizzle out into irrelevance, and while I'm sure a lot of people will find that appropriate, none of it is what I would've hoped for his character arc. Penny's fate was moving and unexpected. (In contrast to her first death, they took care not to show her body or what Jaune had to do to her. They didn't want this to be gruesome.) Amity, Maria and Pietro just seemed to get totally forgotten. Watts didn't seem to have a plan for the bomb after all besides idle malice.

RWBYJNeo will be fine, but the others are going to spend the volume believing almost all their friends are dead. That's just brutally depressing. It does not put me in the mood for wacky Alice-in-Wonderland adventures. (Time travel or somesuch that shows us more about Oz and/or STRQ, that I'd still love to see.)

We didn't get despairing suicides, we got heroic sacrifices, and not wasted ones either. That part's okay with me.

Mmph. Mostly I think I feel numb. How about the rest of you?

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby v8 spoilers #rwby volume 8 spoilers #rwby v8c14

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darks-ink · 5 years ago

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Parasite

Prompt: Plasmius is an evil ghost that has possessed Vlad since his accident. Vlad fights back as much as he can – silently apologizing to overshadowed businessmen while they share a mind, diverting malicious attention away from Jack and Maddie, and holding back against Danny long enough for him to learn Plasmius’ weaknesses – but he won’t be able to on much longer Prompt by: @sapphireswimming Word count: 4,056 Genre: Angst with happy ending

Content warning: possession, loss of control, powerlessness, self-sacrifice, dark themes

[AO3] [FFN] [more Phic Phight fics]

---

Plasmius, Vlad was sure, was the world’s punishment for any and all bad thoughts he had ever had. It was the harshest wake-up call imaginable… and unimaginable. Because, honestly, who could ever believe such a thing?

With the power of hindsight, Vlad had come to know, and acknowledge, that he’d been an awful human being. In college, he had constantly shunned Jack’s kindness, every attempt at friendship despite Vlad’s prickly responses. And Maddie… Oh, Maddie. He had refused to accept her interest in Jack, sure that he just had to convince her that Vlad was the better choice.

He’d been toxic, from top to bottom. That, Vlad was sure of.

It was not all that surprising, then, that this flaw of personality drew in equally toxic ghosts. Or, one ghost, specifically. A type of spectral parasite, which latched onto Vlad during the accident with the Proto Portal.

Vlad had not been in a good place, back then. He’d been in pain, horribly mutilated. Had been going through an experience no one else knew of, could sympathize or help with.

And all of that had been so much, that Vlad honestly hadn’t even realize that part of it wasn’t his newfound part ghost nature. Part of it had been a parasite, possessing him.

It had started slow. Had whispered bad thoughts into Vlad’s ear, its core pressed against Vlad’s until they were impossible to tell apart.

Had they ever truly been separate? Vlad didn’t know. Maybe not. Maybe he had only ever become half-ghost because a full ghost had possessed him.

Because that was what this was. Possession. Most people think that there is no difference between overshadowing and possession, but there is. It was just that most ghosts wouldn’t lower themselves to possession. There was no point to it, really, for most ghosts. It would allow them a foothold in the human world, yes, but it came with severe weakening. With a constant struggle to overpower the human they mingled with.

Plasmius had gotten lucky. He’d gotten his claws on Vlad just when he’d been sick, and weak, and ecto-contaminated.

And Plasmius had dug his talons in until Vlad couldn’t throw the ghost off anymore. Plasmius had integrated himself so neatly into Vlad’s very anatomy that removing him would surely kill the both of them.

The ghost had waited until Vlad was at his weakest, most inclined to listen to the venomous thoughts in his head, and then lunged. Had hard-handedly torn the steering wheel out of Vlad’s hands, pushing him into the crevices of his own mind, his own body.

At first, Vlad had let him. Plasmius wasn’t held back by any of Vlad’s weakness, his sickness, his lack of control. Plasmius wielded their ghost powers like an expert—because he was, really, an expert. Plasmius settled the ectoplasm and the flesh into their right forms, into a perfect mixture of the two, until their body was no longer wracked by sickness.

Plasmius dreamt of the things that Vlad wanted. Of getting riches, of getting revenge on those who hurt them, of getting the love they deserve.

Sometimes, Vlad wondered if he had influenced Plasmius right back. If he had carved the ghost’s mind into the same patterns as his own. Most times, however, he decided it didn’t matter. They had long surpassed the part where Vlad could influence Plasmius.

Freed from the hold of the hospital, of their sickness and weakness, Vlad had rejoiced. With Plasmius’ help, even his skin cleared up, scars fading away like nothing had ever even happened.

He’d asked, foolishly, what he could do for Plasmius to repay him for services rendered.

And Plasmius had laughed, in their shared mind space. Had cackled, sharp and vicious and unkind in every way.

“You won’t do anything, anymore,” Plasmius had told him. And after that, Vlad couldn’t remember anything.

The memories got muddled, then. Plasmius had torn control away from Vlad entirely. The only things he knew was what the ghost had accidentally slipped through into their shared space.

It was something about the way the ghost was constructed, Vlad thought. He could have his thoughts to his own, and speak to Plasmius only when he wanted to, but the ghost could not. All of Plasmius’ thoughts were direct, and easy to read.

They were the only thing Vlad knew, most of the time. He had no input from his body, from their shared body. Nothing from outside. Nothing but Plasmius’ thoughts.

So, over the years, Vlad had had a lot of time to think, and to reflect. To realize his many mistakes. To vow to do better.

Occasionally, Vlad was joined in the mind space by another mind. The first time it had startled him, but he knew what had caused it. Plasmius desired money, because money was power in the human world. But Plasmius was no businessman, had no financial smarts.

Instead, the ghost used the thing he did know: his ghostly abilities. Plasmius overshadowed businessman after businessman, forcing them to give their possessions, their riches and businesses, to Vlad. Or, more accurately, to Plasmius in Vlad’s body.

And, every time Plasmius overshadowed someone, the poor soul would gain temporary access to their mind space.

At first, Vlad apologized to every person Plasmius overshadowed. The businessmen, especially, he silently apologized to. Silently, because he didn’t want to draw Plasmius’ anger, his ire. The ghost probably couldn’t do him any harm, but the same could not be said of the people he overshadowed.

Later on, after Vlad realized what Plasmius was planning for their future, he started asking people to stop them. To stop him. He apologized first, of course, but then pressed on to point fingers at Plasmius. Begged people to please, please, inform authorities of Vlad Masters, dangerous half-ghost.

Plasmius had to be stopped, even if that came as the cost of Vlad’s life.

Nothing ever came of it. He didn’t know why. Didn’t know what to change so he could just convince someone.

Vlad Masters became a rich man. The proud owner of a Wisconsin mansion, decked out liberally in green and gold and Packers memorabilia. Plasmius, apparently, had decided that the Packers were an interest they shared.

Plasmius’ eyes started wandering back to the rest of his list of goals. Of acquiring Maddie’s love, of doing away with Jack.

And Vlad… Vlad thought back of all the scared businessmen that Plasmius had hurt. Of Maddie’s lovely smiles, and of Jack’s overly jubilant attempts at friendship.

He steered Plasmius away. To the best of his abilities, of course. He threw up distractions, made suggestions for Plasmius to pursue.

Two decades, he made it last. Two decades of holding off Plasmius, before the ghost finally decided it was time to chase down Jack and Maddie.

Twenty years was a long life, Vlad had consoled himself. And he peeked in on Plasmius’ vicious plans, and suggested, meekly, a college reunion.

The invites were sent out in Vlad’s name, of course. Two of them went to a little town by the name of Amity Park, addressed to Jack and Maddie Fenton. Plasmius had been beyond anger, but Vlad…

Vlad was glad. He was happy that those two had found support and love in each other. That they hadn’t been driven apart by his own accident.

Plasmius was still gunning for Jack, Vlad knew. Was sending all matter of ghosts after the man, yet none of them had succeeded. The few that dared to return to the mansion explained that another ghost had stopped them.

This, Vlad realized, was driving Plasmius crazy. The ghost decided, apparently, that he would just do the job himself.

See, Vlad had steered Plasmius towards a college reunion in the hopes that the ghost wouldn’t be crazy enough to murder Jack Fenton with so many witnesses. Now, he had started to worry that that might not be the case.

He had still been busy wondering if Jack and Maddie had held onto their interest in ghost hunting when Plasmius got agitated all over again. The ghost that had thwarted Plasmius’ attempts at killing Jack in Amity had come along.

Danny Phantom. The half-ghost son of Jack and Maddie Fenton.

Plasmius had tacked another goal onto his to-do list. To kill Jack, to acquire Maddie’s love, and to destroy Danny.

“Why not recruit him?” Vlad had asked, foolishly. “Isn’t he like us/you?”

This, apparently, had been the wrong thing to say. Plasmius had gotten even more agitated.

As it turned out, little Danny Fenton-Phantom was an actual half-ghost. They were a thing of legend, something that no one thought could exist. Plasmius had designed their shared body with this in mind. No one would be able to tell that Vlad was possessed, because they would be unaware of what was normal for a half-ghost like them.

Danny, however, would know. Or would lead others to know.

So the boy had to be destroyed, lest anyone else figure out what was wrong with Vlad.

And Vlad had looked at this teenager, this boy barely fourteen years old, and prayed for forgiveness for what he was about to do.

He had started pushing. Prodding Plasmius into lashing out, into making more and more vicious plans, in revealing his hand. And, simultaneously, in coaxing Danny to find their weaknesses. Steering the boy into knowing what Plasmius could do, and how to take him down.

Danny had to know that Vlad Masters—Vlad Plasmius, apparently—was trying to kill him. All Vlad needed for him was to get too fed up, go too far.

To end it. Before Plasmius could do worse.

---

Plasmius had another plan to take out Danny. Daniel, the ghost insisted on calling him. Plasmius had never been very good at respecting other people’s desires.

Vlad no longer wondered where that came from, either.

But his strength was waning. His ability to influence Plasmius lessened and lessened.

Which is why they were in the Fentons’ lab, now. They were fighting, Vlad thought, but he had no way to really know. Plasmius had locked him out of his own body twenty years ago, and had never let up.

So when Vlad suddenly thudded against a hard floor, cold against his bare hands, staring up at a blue face with blank red eyes and fangs, well.

He might’ve screamed.

A bolt of green knocked the ghost away from him, and it—he, something in Vlad’s mind told him this was Plasmius—snarled.

“Oh no you don’t!” a youthful voice yelled. Vlad didn’t look at the source, too busy taking in the ghost that had inhabited his body for all those years.

Pallid blue skin, only visible on the face and part of the neck. The eyes were entirely red, with no way to distinguish sclera from iris from pupil. Black hair, swept strangely in the shape of horns, and a matching black goatee. Pointed ears, and overlong fangs, which the ghost bared at either Vlad or whoever had yelled.

The clothing was a strange mix of vampire-like and lab clothes. Mostly white, the shirt tunic-like but with a tight shiny collar and gloves. A big cape, though, flaring out and red on the inside.

Plasmius snarled again, and Vlad could see, now, that his fingers were sharp like claws.

“Alright, that’s enough out of you,” the voice behind Vlad decided, and another bolt of green blasted against Plasmius.

Naturally, this only riled the ghost up more. He pushed himself up, lunging forward at Vlad.

A blue vortex caught him before he made it all the way, and the ghost was sucked up. Vlad followed the stream, repressing his surprise at the fact that his body let him, and saw…

Well, it must be Danny Fenton-Phantom. Just a boy, dressed in a black jumpsuit that reminded Vlad of the ones Jack always liked so much. Messy hair, an unnatural white, and glowing green eyes.

“Seriously, Vlad, what’s wrong with this guy?” Danny asked him, shaking the device that Plasmius had been sucked into. “I thought that taking you through the Ghost Catcher would help me understand you better, but this just made me more confused.”

Vlad blinked at him. “The… huh?”

“The Ghost Catcher,” Danny repeated, like that was the only part that could’ve confused Vlad. He gestured next to him, at a giant dreamcatcher-like invention. Its net glowed an eerie ectoplasmic green.

Yeah, that looked like something Jack might put together.

“What did… How did…?”

“You are seriously out of it,” Danny commented, frowning at him. “Your ghost half was all snarly, so I figured you were the smart half, but now I’m starting to doubt that.”

Danny had separated them, somehow. For twenty years, Vlad had thought that that would be impossible. From the moment Plasmius rewrote his body to be half human and half ghost, he thought it would’ve killed them both.

“How?” he asked again. He had to know. Could they destroy Plasmius, did he have the time—the strength—to do it himself?

“The Ghost Catcher.” Danny shook his head, watched as Vlad pushed himself into a sitting position. “It takes all the ectoplasm out of your system. When I went through it I got two distinct personalities, so I figured I would try it with you, but…”

Danny trailed off, then shrugged. “You’re not as mean as before, though, so I guess your feral half took that.”

“It was always his to begin with,” Vlad scoffed. He tried standing up, but wobbled precariously. Danny caught him by the arm before he fell, though.

“Well, yeah, I guess most of your anger came from the accident that made you a half-ghost, but—”

“No,” Vlad interrupted him. “The accident didn’t make me half-ghost. He did.”

Danny rolled his eyes, dropping Vlad’s arm. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You always blame my dad for it.”

“That’s not what I was saying at all.” Vlad shook his head, but let his eyes wander back to the… what did Danny call it? The Ghost Catcher? “The accident with the Proto Portal didn’t make me half-ghost either. Not directly, at least. I’ve got myself to blame at least as much as your parents.”

“Oh, uh.” Danny blinked at him, apparently surprised at the admission. “I mean, I guess that the Portal gave you Ecto Acne, and then that made you—”

“Plasmius made me half-ghost.” Vlad tore his eyes off of the miraculous invention, back towards Danny. Back towards the device in his hand that held Plasmius. “We need to destroy him, before he gets out.”

“Woah, woah.” Danny held up his hands. “That’s a little extreme, isn’t it? I mean, my two halves didn’t like each other that much either, but—”

“You don’t get it, Danny!” Vlad snapped. His heart thumped in his chest, blood roaring through his ears. Sensations he’d missed for twenty years while Plasmius paraded his body around. “You’re a real half-ghost. I never was. I was human, and Plasmius was the ghost who possessed me. Why do you think he wanted you gone so badly?”

The boy stared at him, so still that Vlad wondered if he still had to breathe in his ghost form.

“You… called me Danny,” he finally said, quietly.

Vlad resisted the urge to throw his hands in the air. “Yes,” he snapped, then stamped down his anger as well. He could be angry later, when Plasmius was gone for good.

“Yes,” he repeated, more calmly. “I’ve been referring to you as Danny the whole time, since you’ve said that that was your name. I… I have had a lot of time to think. To realize the mistakes I’ve made in my life.” To repent, he thought, but didn’t say. To realize that he’d been so terrible that no one saw the difference between him and Plasmius.

“I… I don’t know if you can live without your ghost half,” Danny said, eventually, reluctantly. “If you’ve been half-ghost for twenty years, like Plasmius always said…”

“I don’t care. If I die… so be it.” Vlad ran a hand through his hair, startled to find it tied back into a ponytail. At least Plasmius had kept their hair long, he supposed. “He has been puppeteering my body for twenty years, Danny. The only things I knew for twenty years were his thoughts, and his thoughts only. I had no control, could only make suggestions, and he’s been getting harder and harder to influence as time moved on.”

“That’s why he always held back.” Danny’s eyes grew wide. “I wondered about that. Why you—he, whatever—never used the full power of twenty years of experience. You held him back.”

Vlad nodded. “I wanted you to figure out his weaknesses. To grow strong enough to… to put an end to it.”

“You wanted me to kill you. Both of you,” Danny realized, his voice dropping.

“It would’ve been a bad thing to put on you,” Vlad agreed. “But the alternative would’ve been worse. Plasmius… he couldn’t be stopped. For twenty years, I derailed him into focusing on wealth, on acquiring power, but he finally set himself on his original goals. He would’ve killed Jack, would’ve found a way, no matter how despicable, to make Maddie his own. When he found you, a real half-ghost, he added your destruction to your list. And once he had achieved all those goals?” Vlad scoffed. “It would’ve been awful. Plasmius has no compassion, no caring.”

“So you wanted me to kill you? To put blood on the hands of a fourteen year old?”

“Better to hurt one teenager than to kill dozens. Or more, perhaps.” Vlad shook his head. “Even if it was the wrong thing to do, it doesn’t matter anymore. You’ve found a solution to split him off without shedding any blood. Now we just need to destroy him, permanently.”

Danny’s hands tightened around the tube-like device. “I— I can’t. I’m not gonna kill some ghost just based on— I can’t just kill some ghost.”

“Then give me some kind of invention from your parents and I’ll do it myself.” Vlad drew back his shoulders. “He needs to be gone, Danny. I’ve lost twenty years of my life to him. He has hurt countless people, and would hurt far more. Will hurt many more, if you let him out.”

The boy shook his head. “I can’t let that happen. He can stay in the Thermos.”

“Sooner or later he’ll break out of that,” Vlad insisted. He couldn’t… couldn’t risk that. Never again. “Or someone will release him.”

“I’ll bury it.” Danny met Vlad’s gaze. Stubborn to no end. Not very surprising, Vlad supposed, knowing the boy’s parents. Both Jack and Maddie were not known for giving up.

“It’ll get dug up.” Vlad stared at Danny, tried to will him into understanding. “Danny. I know you don’t like this. It’s a cruel thing to ask of a boy your age. To ask of anyone, really. Give me the… the Thermos, and your parents and I can take care of it. They’re still ghost hunters, aren’t they?”

“I…” He bit his lip, looking down at the Thermos in his hands. “I… I don’t think that that’s a good idea. They think that all ghosts are like that. This will just be— be proof that I don’t want them to have. They’ll think that all half-ghosts are like that.”

“That I’m like that” went unsaid, but Vlad heard it anyway.

“They don’t have to know that Plasmius possessed me all this time,” Vlad insisted. He needed the ghost destroyed. It had to happen, no matter what. “I just need him gone, Danny. I need to know that he will never hurt anyone ever again.”

“I just… I can’t let that happen.” Danny shook his head, slowly moving his arm until the Thermos clipped onto his belt. “He’ll add to my parents’ proof of how bad ghosts are, and even if I let you three deal with him… What’s stopping him from just possessing you again? Or one of my parents?”

Danny shook his head again, the movement sharper, jerkier. “I… I’ve dealt with bad ghosts like him before. That one, I left locked in a Thermos at Clockwork’s tower. I’ll do that with Plasmius too.”

“In the Ghost Zone?” It was not ideal, but… the Thermos would not decay in the Zone, and no ghost would be crazy enough to mess with such a device. And even if Plasmius broke out, it would take forever for him to get back.

“Yeah. Is that a good compromise?”

Vlad nodded, reluctantly. “As good as we’ll get, I think.” He paused, looking around the lab. “Excuse me for asking another thing of you, Danny, but… I’m afraid that I have no explanation for your parents as to why I’m in their lab.”

“Right, yeah.” He shot Vlad a suspicious look. “This isn’t a plot to steal the Thermos from me, is it?”

“I promise to you, it is not.” He placed a hand against his chest and realized, belatedly, that he was wearing a suit. Since when did he wear suits? What was Plasmius thinking? “Bind my hands if you must.”

“Alright, no need to go so far.” Danny rolled his eyes, walking closer to Vlad. “If I get you to the street, will you manage from there?”

Vlad patted his pocket, feeling a hard shape. He took it out to reveal…

“You have a phone, good.” Danny nodded. “You can call for a cab and take your private plane back to Wisconsin, or however you got here. How did you get here?”

“Bold of you to presume I know.” Vlad sighed, placing the phone back into his pocket. “I might just… take a walk, first. It has been a long time since I could.”

Danny threw him a heavy look. “Yeah. Of course. I won’t stop you.”

“And I…” Vlad paused. “I would like to reacquaint myself with your parents. I know that, between my behavior in my youth, and Plasmius’ behavior in more recent times, I don’t deserve that, but… I have learned my lesson a long time ago.”

This, Danny needed time to process. “You’re… not after my mom anymore?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Vlad assured him. “When Plasmius sent out the invites, I caught wind of their marriage. I was… very glad. It was wrong of me to ever continue to pursue Maddie, when she clearly had no interest in me.”

“Then you’re welcome back, I guess.” Danny reached for him, and Vlad let him. Let the boy wrap his cool hands around Vlad’s arms. “I’ll let Jazz know not to get too harsh on you, but I can’t do anything for my mom.”

“Ah. Yes, a Maddie scorned is a Maddie to fear.” Vlad nodded understandingly. “Jack… Jack, I am sorry to say, I never appreciated as I should’ve. I would be glad to accept his offer of friendship this time around.”

Danny lifted him with ease, like gravity suddenly stopped having an effect on Vlad. “Yes, I… I am sure that Dad would love that. And if you try, Mom will see that, too. It’ll be…”

“I’ll do my best,” Vlad promised, after Danny had remained silent.

The boy nodded, then lifted up further. Phased them straight through the ceiling, which led them into the upstairs living room, and then through the wall. Carried Vlad a little further, until they were out of sight from the house.

“I’ll let you wander around first, then.” Danny put him down, surprisingly gently. “Come by whenever you’re ready, Vladdie.”

Vlad smiled back at Danny, feeling something warm and hopeful bloom in his chest. “I will, my boy. And… thank you. For your help with all this. For allowing me to finally be my own person, away from Plasmius. I didn’t— didn’t think it would ever happen.”

“Glad to be of service, then.” Danny bowed, deep, but rose with a smile on his face. “I’ll get this Thermos hidden away somewhere where no one will find it for the next eternity. Have a nice day, Vlad!”

“Yes, you too, Danny Phantom.” Vlad felt the corner of his mouth twitch up. Danny waved, then promptly disappeared from sight.

Vlad waited for another moment. Felt the mild wind breeze past him, tug on his long hair and his suit jacket.

It was good to be alive.

#phic phight #phic phight 2020 #phic phight 20 #danny phantom #dp fanfic #phanfic #phanfiction #dp fanfiction #vlad masters #vlad plasmius #danny fenton #dark writes #me? living up to my name? writing angst? shocking

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ayamari-no-goshi · 4 years ago

Text

Eidolon 1 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary: AU: What started off as the result of a simple act of rebellion ends up causing his life to spin out of control. How will young Danny cope with the results as well as a past that has a strange habit of coming back to haunt him.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, kidnapping, and various other things

Parings: hints of Danny/Sam much later on

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr.

1. Prelude

It was getting worse. In a last attempt for some stability, he desperately grasped at one of his bed posts as another convulsion coursed through his body. That pain that accompanied it was even more intense than it was the previous time.

It was the pain that had him clinging in a desperate plea to not be consumed by its fire. With each convulsion, the fire burned hotter and more forcefully, slowly replacing the living with the dead.

Another shudder rocked his body, causing him to collapse. He was now fully aware that the fire had spread to his lungs. As he took his last breaths before they seized completely, he reached out in one last attempt to find something that might explain what he had done to deserve such a terrible fate…

…

Winston Wolfe was definitely angry. As a man with military training, he usually was very good at keeping his emotions under control. However, with the current situation, there was little his training could do. Something of his had gone missing, and he was tearing his house apart trying to find some clue as to where it could have gone.

As he searched his house encountering little luck, he muttered Russian curses at himself and the missing 'object' in question for being so idiotic. He had left the house for a few hours in order to see if he could get some sort of information about a call that he was expecting, and, in that time, it appears that the object had managed to slip out of the house, again.

"Daniel!" he shouted in a tone that was mixed with anger and exasperation. For, the object that was missing was actually Winston's teenage charge, Daniel.

This had not been the first time that the boy had decided to sneak out of the house. In fact, this sort of thing was beginning to become rather frequent. It was definitely irritating to the former military man, since it was a clear disregard of his orders. However, once he found the boy, he knew that it was going to be difficult for him to remain angry with him for too long. The boy was his son, even if there was no true relation between them.

Besides, he really could not blame the boy for sneaking out of the house. He had been in Winston's care for several years and had been home schooled for most of it. And, frequently, he had not been allowed out of the house much, mostly due to Winston's own fears and his sense of duty. He had tried on his own to take care of the boy, after giving his word that he would do everything in his power to protect him. Even though Amity Park was a relatively safe place to live, one could never be too careful.

A gnawing fear as well as anger coursed through him each time the boy escaped, even though he knew this was just part of normal teenage rebellion. What normal child would be content to stay inside all the time? However, Winston had begun to get harsher with the boy, once he was located. It was becoming a bit too regular for his liking. Who knew what an almost-fifteen-year-old boy might get himself into?

Also, even though the boy was usually not too hard to find, another thing that had begun to worry Winston was what had become the boy's favorite place to go. It was strange. One would think that he would go to a place where he could meet other kids his own age, since it was clear at times that he was lonely. Yet, he never seemed to go where there were any, choosing instead to claim the local graveyard as his favorite haunt.

The first time he found the boy there, he thought the boy might be looking for some sign of his parents, who had disappeared when he was an infant, although it quickly became apparent that was not the case. Daniel never seemed to be looking at the headstones when he found him. Instead, he had either been wondering rather aimlessly or peacefully sitting on one of the benches. There had been times that he had mistaken the boy's form for that of a shadow or even a ghost, not that he would ever admit that. Something about that quite graveyard seemed to take away the boy's human presence.

That, perhaps, was the most unsettling part of all of this.

Winston ran his hand through his still dark hair in frustration. The boy was definitely not in the house. After grabbing his coat, he marched out of the small house in the direction of where he was sure the boy had gone. Unsettling as Daniel's choice might be, at least he tended to be predictable.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He figured that he should probably head home, but that really didn't concern him too much at the moment. It was a nice day, and he really didn't get a chance to be outside for prolonged periods. Even if he did get in trouble, it was worth it.

The house was nice, but it really never changed. Sure, items, like furniture and clothes, came and went, but the house itself never changed, and that made it boring. That sense of boredom never seemed to come to him, at least quickly, when he was outside. From day to day, the scenery seemed to change. It was one of the things that enjoyed the most, along with the feeling of freedom.

Though he could not purchase anything, due to the lack of money, he felt as if he was able to do just about anything while he was outside. Yet, he never really felt any real urge to 'go crazy', as others might. It was enough just to wonder and to watch.

Something he never quite understood was his desire to wonder in locations where there were not many people. Every time he thought about it though, he just figured that Winston's warnings of staying away from strangers… well, most people in general, was so ingrained into his mind that it just happened subconsciously. Winston, however, did not like his normal choice of haunts, which he always thought was a bit strange.

When he first stumbled across the town's graveyard, he thought that perhaps he might find something about his parents. He knew that it probably would not amount to much since he had absolutely no information about them (Winston would often keep his mouth shut when the topic was breached), but he had gone anyways. And, it was that initial search that had peaked his interest.

Dates and epitaphs gave him clues about the lives of those who had come before him. The carvings, statues, and mausoleums showed him a macabre sense of beauty that could not really be found elsewhere. That art also would make him think about the possibilities of what might be out there. Many of the statues often depicted angels or religious figures, which often seemed to, in a sense, keep watch over the sacred grounds. At times, it even seemed like they were protectors as he occasionally felt as if there was something unseen lurking in the shadows of the trees. Although he knew there was nothing there, that feeling never seemed to be there when he was near one of the statues.

He suddenly stopped walking and turned towards his left. That feeling, the one of being watched, was back. His eyes narrowed as he glanced around. Nothing seemed to be there, but it was definitely more pronounced and uncomfortable than usual.

Although he really did not want to head back home just yet, that feeling made him too nervous to stay. It was better to play it safe, so he began to head back towards the entrance.

He tried to keep himself calm as he moved. Something was definitely not right. That feeling, whatever it was, seemed to be following him. Something seemed to move at the corner of his vision, causing him to stop. Was it just a squirrel or something? Or was it something else? It seemed a little too big to be just an animal…

"Hey, there he is!"

He was so startled that he could have sworn he jumped at least three feet in the air. He turned to the source of voice and was somewhat surprised to see two kids, about his age, coming towards him. The first was a girl with dark hair and clothes. The sounds of her heavy boots and accent chains seemed overly loud to him as she ran over. The second was a dark skinned boy wearing classes and a red beret. Although he was following the girl, it was clear that he was being cautious in his approach.

"Um… can I help you?" he asked cautiously as he watched them.

The girl ignored him for a moment as she turned to the other boy. "See Tucker, I told you he wasn't a ghost!"

"Oh yeah? I'm not too convinced of that. I've heard of legends were ghosts look so real that you can't tell they're not human," the boy, Tucker, said as he adjusted his glasses. He seemed to be examining him, which he found even more unnerving than the presence, which conveniently seemed to be gone. "Besides, how come the only place anyone's ever seen him is here?"

He glanced at the two strangers. Ghost? Him? What in the world where they talking about? "Excuse me," he interrupted irritably, "but am I missing something?"

The girl gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry about that. There's a rumor going around our school that a ghost has been seen here. They say that it's the ghost of a teenage boy with dark hair and light eyes. He's usually seen wearing jeans and a t-shirt."

"And, that fits you to a T, sorry to say," Tucker finished. It was clear that he was still not convinced that his status was that of 'among the living'.

"Tucker!" the girl snapped as she glared at him. "Just because you've never seen him before, it doesn't mean that he's a ghost!"

"Okay, Sam, than tell me why the only place he's been seen is in the graveyard. Or, better yet, why we found him here." Tucker's voice was almost as challenging. Almost. In truth, it seemed like he was hiding the fact that he was somewhat scared of the girl's temper.

"Can you stop treating me like I can't hear you?" he asked, not betraying the fact that he was somewhat amused by their argument. "Look, I am not a ghost. I've just gotten in the habit of taking walks here…" He frowned as he tried to find the right words to explain why. "It's…" he foundered for the word. "Peaceful… here…?" He wanted to kick himself. That sounded like he was so unsure of himself.

Tucker's eyes narrowed as he considered the answer. "Okay, if that's true, then why haven't I seen you before? You don't go to our school."

"Have you ever thought that maybe he just moved here and that his parents are setting all of that up?" Sam demanded.

"Parent," he corrected quietly, which caused both of them to stare at him, making him a bit nervous. "I only have one parent…"

"Right… So, did you just move here then?"

"No… From what I understand, we've been here since I was little. And," he added before Tucker could interrupt, "I've been home schooled the entire time."

"Okay, that's almost believable." He sighed as Tucker continued, "But that still doesn't explain why none of us have ever seen you before."

"It's not my fault that I have an over-protective parent! It's gotten so bad recently that I've practically had to sneak out of the house in order to get a change of scenery. Do you have any idea what it's like to stare at the same thing day after day with no real variety? It's boring!" He took a breath before he continued his tirade. "And, I'm sorry that you've never seen me before! It's not like I've been given the chance to get to actually introduce myself to anyone. In truth, I think that you two, people who thought I might be a ghost, are the first people my age I've spoken to for… Jeez, I don't even know how long. You might even be the first."

His expression was challenging as he waited for one of them to speak again. Although he was a bit angry, at the same time, he felt oddly relieved. It was nice being able to vent and have someone listen.

It was Sam who spoke first. "Wow, that's pretty rough…. Well, it won't solve your problems at home, but how about we show you around town? Oh, and by the way, I'm Sam." She nudged the boy beside her, "And this scaredy cat is Tucker."

"Sam! What are you doing? He's going to attack us… or something!"

"Tucker, will you give it a rest already?" She then rolled her eyes and held out her hand. "Well, are you interested?"

He looked at her hesitantly before he shook her hand. "I'm Danny… And, that sounds kinda nice. I'm already in trouble, so I might as well do it thoroughly." He was then distracted by Tucker, who seemed to be examining him closely. "What is your problem?"

"Y-you can actually touch her!" he stammered before he decided to touch Danny's arm.

"Uh, yeah. I thought that we had already established that I'm not a ghost."

Tucker nervously adjusted his glasses. "I was just trying to make sure. You can never be too careful." He tried to keep his embarrassment out of his voice by passing it off as if it was really nothing.

With a grin, Danny glanced over at Sam, "Do you think he's finally convinced?"

"No, but give him an hour." She seemed just as amused. "We should be able to get it through his thick skull by then."

"Hey! I resent that!"

"And what are you going to do about it, huh?" Although it was clear that Tucker had wanted to say something, he thought against it, which pleased Sam. "I thought so." She then grabbed hold of both of the boys and started dragging them towards the entrance. "Come on! We don't have all day!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Winston was really starting to get worried. He had already looked in Danny's normal haunt and found absolutely no sign of the boy. This was definitely not good. He couldn't contact the authorities to help find the boy for various reasons (first and for most was that Danny hadn't been missing for more than twenty-four hours), and he really didn't have anyone else that he could turn to for assistance.

He knew that the boy would probably come home on his own in a few hours, but he would rather know where he was. There was something about this particular day… a sort of uneasy feeling in the air. He really wasn't a person who believed in premonitions, but something told him that he should pay attention to this particular one.

As he hurried down one of the main streets, he thought about the situation at hand. Amity Park was supposedly safe from the kind of attacks that had cost Danny his parents, but after being in the service, he had learned that no place was completely safe. Could that thing really be in the area? No, that was a ridiculous thought. It hadn't been seen in years. Possibly someone had killed it by now….

He shook his head as he continued his trek, there were more concerning issues at hand, like trying to find that boy. Where the heck was he?

A familiar voice and figure distracted him from his thoughts. Winston had looked up just in time to watch his young charge round a corner. What was strange was that he was not alone. Unless he was mistaken, Danny was actually accompanied by someone. That was not good. What if he said something? That could put today's work out the window! Without a second thought he started sprinting after them.

Luckily for him, the kids had decided to stop for some reason about midway down the street. From a distance, it seemed like the two kids who were with them were pointing out something to him. Maybe they were just showing him around… He would have to get the full story from Danny later since it appeared that they were about to start moving again.

"DANIEL!" he shouted putting as much anger as he could muster while being winded into it. The shout had the desired effect as Danny turned around and stared at him with a classic 'deer in the headlights' look. He knew he was in trouble.

Thankfully, the kids did not decide to run as he approached him. Perhaps that was Danny's doing. "Young man, could you explain to me what you were thinking?" he demanded once he fully caught his breath. "You are supposed to be at home, and, yet, you're here. Care to explain?"

For a moment, Danny seemed absolutely lost for words, so he just floundered around for a moment. Surprisingly, the girl beside him answered for him. "He's been stuck at home! What do you expect him to do?" From her challenging tone, it was clear that she wasn't intimidated by him in the least.

"Sam, please, don't get involved," Danny told her while looking at the ground.

That comment just seemed to make her angrier. "Don't I? Danny, grow some backbone! You said earlier that you want to be out more! You have a right to be free! He can't take that away from you!"

"Actually, since I am his guardian, I have the full right to limit that freedom." Winston then sighed as he ran his hand through his hair. "Danny, we'll talk about this more when we get home. Let's head back."

"Oh, now you act all nice to him."

Danny then placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay. Just let it drop. I'll… hopefully see you again." He then glanced over at the other boy who had decided to remain silent during this. "Do you still think I'm a ghost?"

The boy smiled at him. "Nah. You're just a guy who needs to work a little on his sex appeal, if you know what I mean."

"Really? And you can judge this how?"

The boy grinned arrogantly. "Don't you know who you're talking to? Tucker Foley. That's T.F. for too fine. All the ladies love me!"

Sam snickered. "Yeah, all the ones in your dreams."

"Hey!"

Danny just laughed as he watched the two of them continue. Winston was actually surprised by them. He was pretty sure that this was the first time that Danny had met either of them, but it seemed like they were already good friends. That was going to cause a little bit of a problem with the situation he had to face once he got Danny home, but he could probably work around that… somehow.

....................................................

Notes: This was inspired by the story, "Home is Where the Heart is" on ff.net, and the song "Say you'll haunt me," by Stone Sour.

Winston Wolfe is the creation of my friend Hornswaggler. I have her permission to use him.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp #dp au #danny phantom au #my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #fantasy #supernatural #sam manson #tucker foley #vlad plasmius #Eidolon

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minbbydoll · 5 years ago

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Dauntless - 전 정국 (002)

↳ Pairing : Yandere Dauntless born!Jungkook x Divergent!Reader

↳ Genres : Angst, smut, action, fluff, adventure

↳ Summary : There are five factions; Abnegation/Selflessness, Erudite/Intelligence, Dauntless/Bravery, Amity/Peacefulness, and Candor/Honesty. These five factions are the way of life, everything you’ve only ever known but what happens when the test fails you and you get caught in a web of lies. Trust the test they say, it’ll be okay they say, what happens when it’s not okay.

↳ Word count : 2.4k

↳ Warnings : Just kook losing his shit(just a tiny bit), mentions of blood(just barely), might offend Koreans ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (everything is offensive nowadays), a little bit of a panic/anxiety attack, kook being a little sweetie (if you squint)

"[Name]!” You turned to look at who called you and it was Jungkook, he smiled at you and walked towards you. “I was waiting for you.” You looked down smiling, “You were waiting for me?” Jungkook nodded and clasped your hand before looking into your eyes, “Of course I’d wait for you, I’d do anything for you, anything.” The meaning he held behind those words was something far beyond your imagination. “Anyway, what’d you get for your faction?” He let go of your hand and leaned in closer to you while whisper-chanting dauntless. You shook your head, “Amity.” He looked down and pouted, “Does that mean I have to learn more about amity?” You shook your head again, “You’ll find out at the choosing ceremony.” He playfully smacked your shoulder, “What if I go before you and choose wrong.” You playfully shrugged, “Don’t know, just pray you don’t or just pray you choose right.” He put a hand over his heart pretending to be offended, “Bold of you to assume I pray.” “Bold of you to assume that I pray.” He laughed at your repeat and slung an arm over your shoulder. “You wanna see something?” You looked up at him and nodded, “Yeah count me in.” - “Woah, this is so cool!” Jungkook shrugged and placed a bowl of chips on the table in front of you. “I thought all the game boys were destroyed during the war.” Jungkook took a chip and placed it in his mouth, “It’s been in my family for awhile so…want some?” He offered the bowl of chips to you, “Oh I don’t eat chips.” Jungkook’s jaw dropped, “Never?!” You shook your head no, “Oh my god, you know what, you better love and appreciate me because I’ll probably have to give up chips for you. You’ll never find a man to ever do that.” You snorted while focusing on a Disney princess game that was in the game boy, “Okay, I’ll let you have that one.” All of abnegation has never eaten chips before, so it wouldn’t be that hard to find someone like that but you’d let him have that one. “Come on, try one.” You paused the game and shifted your head towards him. He held out a chip for you while smiling. “No, I can’t.” Jungkook pouted, “Come on do it for me, you’ve got to be brave and do this, you’re not going to represent abnegation soon anyway.” “Stop trying to find out what I’m going to prefer.” Because I don’t even know myself. Jungkook shrugged, “It was worth a try.” He sighed dejected before opening his mouth and putting the chip in, only to have you steal it from him and eat it instead. “Plus, don’t try to predict me; I’m unpredictable.” Jungkook clapped, “That’s my girl, how was your first chip?” You licked your lips, “It was…new, spicy, and good.” “Good? I’ll take it.” You unconsciously looked at the clock and at the floor then did a double take, “Sorry Jungkook, I’ve got to go back home.” Jungkook looked at you with wide eyes, “But this is your home, why would you want to go back to abnegation?” You paused, “Because my family lives there with me, I can’t stay here Jungkook.”You got up from the couch and stretched your arms, Jungkook thought for a little before deciding you probably want to say bye to your family, who would he be to deny you such a sweet request, he nodded. “Okay fine, let me walk you home.” You unlocked his front door, “No, it’s okay.”He clutched your wrist and hauled you out the door, “It wasn’t a question, I’m walking you home.” - “Bye [Name].” Jungkook gave you a hug and watched you walk into your house before turning around and walking back. He stopped as he saw a modest family, a happy mom and dad and two adorable children. “I swear [Name], we’ll have that no matter what I have to do.” - “[Name], where were you, why’d you take so long?” You put down a plate in front of your mom, “I was puzzled by the faction I got so I took a walk.”Your mom observed you suspiciously,“What was your test result, both of you.” “I got abnegation.” You mother and father nodded before turning to you, “I got amity.”You looked down at your food,“Are you sure?” You nodded, “But I’m most likely not going to choose amity.” Your family nodded and resumed your humble ordinary meal consisting of the traditional chicken, canned green peas, and a slice of brown bread. - How did you get amity [Name]?”You turned to Jinyoung, “I don’t know it just happened, finish washing the dishes so I can dry them.” He nodded, “That’s weird because you’re definitely not abnegation but you’re definitely not amity.” You lightly hit Jinyoung’s chest, “I can be both if I want to.” Jinyoung snorted, “You can be one not both, besides it doesn’t matter you have to choose at the ceremony and you have to stick to it.” Jinyoung could note how your content mood seemed to dampen, and he turned towards you seriously, “Listen [Name] I love you and so I’m only going to say this once, I know you care for our family but do what you desire. I know you’re confused, but this is one choice you can’t change, when you go up there don’t think, just choose.” “Jinyoung, what about mom and dad, what about you?” Jinyoung wiped his hands concealed with suds off with a towel and lightly touched your shoulder, “Hey don’t worry about us sis, no matter what we choose they’ll still love us, blood before faction.” You nodded, “Come on, let’s finish.” - You and Jinyoung were walking close together as you both stepped into the large choosing ceremony hall, your heart rate was erratic and your hands were shaking from nervousness. Jinyoung gripped your hand and smiled at you before gesturing his head towards the abnegation section where everyone else was. You couldn’t help your field of vision going to stop at the dauntless section, and your eyes instantly found his like he was already monitoring you. You gave him a slight wave and smile before turning back to Jinyoung and walking to where both your parents sat. “Psst!” Jungkook turned to his friend Jimin, “What do you want Jimin?” Jimin’s eyebrows furrowed, “Firstly that’s hyung to you asshole and secondly who was that girl?” Jungkook frowned, was Jimin looking at you, why would he look at you, did he love you too? Before Jungkook could answer Jimin; Park Shin-hye from erudite cleared her throat before starting her speech. “Welcome everyone to the choosing ceremony, where you will become full members of our society, where you will trust yourself, and know yourself, this system is what keeps us alive, what keeps us going so everyone please trust in the system but not only the system, trust yourself.” Shin-hye walked more towards the center, “The future belongs to those who know where they belong, the future belongs to those that are certain they know who they are.” Shin-hye stepped back and abnegation’s Kim Sunggyu stepped forward, “Everyone when we leave this room we will all be full members of our society, we will know where we belong and we will lead happy lives, remember forever and always, faction before blood!” Everyone in the room yelled out the same phrase they’ve known since forever, your knee couldn’t stop bouncing from nervousness as you listened to names being called out. “Kim Namjoon!” Your eyes followed said boy as he walked up confidently and clutched the knife before choosing the faction he was born in; erudite. For people like him it was easy, Namjoon is an intelligent person above all else, he knows that being intelligent is who he is and that he couldn’t last a second in a place like amity. “Erudite!” “Park Jinyoung!” Your brother gave you a faint smile before getting up and walking towards the center, Jinyoung closed his eyes before taking a deep breath. Jinyoung had to make a choice, a choice that could significantly influence yours, a choice that he can’t take back, Jinyoung sliced his skin before holding his hand over erudite. Your heart dropped into your stomach as you heard Sunggyu call out erudite, if you choose the faction you want your parents will both be left alone. A single shaky breath came out of you as you tried to calm down your up coming anxiety attack, you couldn’t have one right now. Could you really be so selfish as to choose another faction, could you really leave your parents alone, your parents both looked at you shocked you bit your lip as you felt tears well up in your eyes, you couldn’t choose another faction now, not after witnessing the devastation, humiliation, and broken look in both their eyes. “Park [Name]!” You held your heart as you tried to stand on trembling legs, the fact that crowds aren’t your strong point doesn’t help at all. Once you finally made it, up there, you picked up the knife and held it up above your open palm. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you, it felt like they were judging you, like they were taking about how cruel you were for wanting to leave your parents, you cut into your skin and squeezed your palm to get a drop of blood. You held your hand over abnegation, surely you couldn’t leave your parents, you couldn’t bring them the shame of having both of their children defect but in that moment you saw your blood almost go into abnegation’s bowl you heard something, , someone; Jinyoung to be exact. “I know you care for our family but do what you want. I know you’re confused but this is one choice you can’t change, when you go up there don’t think just choose.” Jinyoung’s voice stuck in your head don’t think just choose, don’t think just choose. You hastily moved your hand to dauntless’ bowl just as your blood drop fell, the smoke hit your hand as you slowly retracted, your choice has been made and nothing can change it. “Dauntless!” You don’t know why but you turned to look at your parents just for a second, just one more second because deep down you know you’ll never see them again. You regret it because the last time you looked at them, they looked at you with hope and love but this time you could see the disappointment your father’s eyes held as he hugged your sobbing mother tightly. The pressure of living in Korea was just so difficult sometimes, you’ve heard of stories that teens only had to worry about grades and family business things before the war but now you have the added on pressure of choosing a faction, a place were you belong. It was even worse that you weren’t fully Korean; you were expected to be more because you were some kind of half-breed. Sure abnegation is supposed to be selfless but old habits are hard to break.

Most of the Koreans that survived the war were hard, unforgiving, and just utterly terrible and unfortunately they past it on, there was a lot of secret shame and disgust for those who chose to deflect from their home faction.

Even though they don’t say it all, the higher ups want everyone to stay in the faction they were born in. They don’t want anyone to travel out of their home faction, what if they become divergent, then they’re harder to control.

The loud cheering of dauntless filled your ears and that's what snapped you out of your upset state. You gave a stoic smile as some dauntless girls and boys cheered around you welcoming you to their home faction. Jungkook made sure to hover over you and not let any hands go near you.

Jungkook grasped your hand and moved you to sit down next to him as the hype of welcoming you calmed down. You nervously fidgeted with your thumbs and eyes teared up, sure you were happy that you were finally in dauntless but you still couldn't get your parents' look out of your eyes.

Jungkook intertwined his hand in yours immediately sensing your distress, "What's wrong baby?” The name given made your heart flutter, it made you feel a bit better having his comfort somehow with your trust issues you easily trust someone you barely know.

“My mom and dad— t-they hate me, don’t they?” Jungkook swore he could feel his heart break at your voice crack and watery eyes, “No, no, of course not honey, they’re just upset that they can’t keep you to themselves anymore. I know I would be so devastated if I couldn’t see you again,” Jungkook’s grip on your hand tightened at the thought of not being able to see you again.

He wants to hurt your parents, hurt them for making you sad, hurt them for making him think such indescribable thoughts, how could they make you cry, how could they hurt you like that? Jungkook balled the hand that wasn’t holding you into a fist, he should punch and punch and punch and punch until your parents are begging for him to stop.

He wants them to beg on their knees and cry out, he wants their blood to be spread all over the floor as they admit to the horrid sins they committed, the unforgiving sin of making you cry.

You wince as Jungkook’s hold on your hand gets unbearable, he looks so angry, you’re glad he cares so much, nobody’s ever cared so much about you sad enough to admit not even your parents.

You allow him to squeeze your hand as he slowly calms down, “I’m sorry [Name], I promise you’re safe with me, I’ll protect you, I promise.”

@alyxandraz

#Dauntless #jungkook x reader #divergent #bts #bts jk #jeon jungkook #namjoon #jimin

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phantomphangphucker · 6 years ago

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Goo And A Letterman Jacket - Phic Phight

Prompt Creator: @all-hail-trash-prince Prompt: Danny gets stuck in human form, but can still use his ghost powers. Now he has to find a way to disguise himself while still protecting his town. Summary: Danny finally has to cosplay as himself while trying and failing to seem like a regular human.

No warnings apply. Let Danny say fuck

“Oh hey would you look at that. Isn’t this just dandy. I absolutely love it. Just fabulous”, Danny grumbles as he repeatedly tries and fails to transform into Phantom while staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Eventually tossing his hands up he opts to head back to his room.

Grumbling as he goes to fetch his hey-look-it’s-Phantom emergency box. Complete with a well-made jumpsuit, white wig, green contacts and sunglasses. “Honestly, I’m amazed it took 4 years for this bullshit to happen”, he doesn’t even bother trying it all on, knowing full well it all already fits. He tried it all on as soon as he got it all. “My glow is the only thing I can’t replicate, but of all the things why would anyone notice that”, he slips his replica jumpsuit on and then puts his regular clothing over top. Green wife beater, black military pants, black leather jacket and white doc martins. He opts for full black gloves rather than his usual fingerless gloves, to hide his white jumpsuit gloves. Looking himself over in the bedroom mirror, “yeah this'll do”. He shoves the wig and sunglasses in his bag, “it’s not like I can speed put on contacts so just my sunglasses will have to do for any emergency changing”. With that he hops down the stairs to have a quick breakfast before heading to school. On his bus ride there, because it’s just not worth the risk or effort to “change”, he thinks back on how this utter crap came to be.

—flashback—

“Why don’t you give it a rest boxy? This is what? The eighth time today? Do I really have to keep shipping you off?”, Danny sighs as he shoots yet another ectoblast at The Box Ghost. “NEVER GHOST BOY! FOR MY FEARSOME MIGHT SHALL HAUNT YOU ALL!”, The Box Ghost shouts as he throws three boxes at Danny, which Danny easily dodges. Floating sideways, Danny sighs into his hand as he uncaps his thermos, “you need a time out”, as he sucks The Box Ghost in yet again. Not even two seconds after tucking his thermos away he gets coated in green goo. “What in the-”, he gets cut off by Jack excitedly yelling. “Look Mads! I got him!”, Maddie runs up and hugs him before speaking while Danny mutters “Oh fuck”.

“Congrats honey! Now that filthy ectoplasmic scum can’t bother Amity any more! It won’t even be able to leave the GZ!”, Danny barely hears the end of Maddie’s praising of Jack as he just fucking runs; realising he’s turned back to Fenton unintentionally. He dashes inside a bathroom praying to all high hells that the goo covered his appearance, “holy shit, thank Phantom”. Danny pants as he starts wiping off all the goo. “Well either this doesn’t work or its not supposed to hurt. Which is hella weird for my parents”, shaking his head, he gives himself a pat-down making sure nothing looks wrong. “Ok...other than suddenly transforming, nothing is off. Like at all”, sticking his head out the bathroom, he looks around before ducking into an alley. Peaking around the corner he sees his parents following the trail of goo muttering all the while.

“I just don’t get it Jack, the ghost boy should have dissolved from that?”

“And I’m sure all the calculations were right! Maybe that one really is different from all the others?”

“That’s the only explanation we’ve got, for now”

Danny watches his mother shake her head as the couple head back to the RV, “they were tying to dissolve me?”. Blinking a couple times he gives himself another pat down, this time looking for even a hint of melting. “Well I guess I’ll chalk this up to the wonders of being a halfa, for now”, he opts to just walk home because he really doesn’t want to risk any possible melting.

He’s feeling pretty darn good by the time he gets home, so he decides fuck it and tries transforming in his room. Watching himself in the bedroom mirror and still looking completely human, “well fuck me sideways. Fuck me up and down, side to side, and against a wall”. Shaking his head, “well hopefully I can sleep this off, maybe I just need to recharge”. With that he flops down for a nights, hopefully peaceful, rest.

—return to the present—

He’s done his reminiscing by the time he’s at school. Walking up to his locker he sees both Sam and Tucker waiting for him, “well hello guys, isn’t today just fucking peachy”. Sam raises her eyebrow while Tucker snickers, “what happened to you dude? Waking on the wrong side of the GZ? Skulker steal your favourite blankets?”. Sam smirks, “Lunchlady steal all your cereal, again?”. Danny groans and slams his head into his locker before opening it, muttering all the while, “I fucking wish, I got doused in goo stuff and now”. Danny finishes his statement by pulling his shirt collar down enough for them to see his replica suit. “Dude, what? That’s got to be the backup, otherwise you’re are scary fast with hair dye. So what you can’t change? Dude that bites”, Danny groans even louder as he nods, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, after showing them the wig and glasses inside, since he needs to keep it with him for now.

Sam sighs, “well do you even know if you can still use any of your frying Pan stuff?”. Danny shrugs and rubs his neck awkwardly, “I guess that would be a good idea to check but my thermos is fine. So if I got to then I got to”. Sam shakes her head, “just use a damn wrist ray you idiot. Where’d the goo even come from?”. Danny groans again as they start heading to class, “parents, who else? Apparently, it was supposed to dissolve ghosts. Stuff didn’t even sting”. Danny looks around quickly and decides to just shoot Kwan’s laces with an ectobeam. After looking quite content with himself he blows imaginary smoke off his fingertip at Sam, who rolls her eyes at him before snickering, “well look at the bright side then Danny, at least you can still use your powers”. Danny smacks a hand on his chest in annoyance, “Yeah well now I have to go around pulling a damn superman if shit happens during the day”. Tucker scoffs at him and glares judgingly, “dude, learn your superheroes. I’m pretty sure you’ll be putting on, not taking off a pair of glasses”. Danny rolls his eyes as he takes his seat in front of Tucker, “fine, Spider-Man, happy?”. Tucker gives a smug nod as Mr. Lancer walks in. While Danny mutters under his breath, “Oh go eat grass, Tuck”.

It doesn’t take Danny long to realise there’s a bit of a problem, well more of a problem than there already was. As he’s noticing that he keeps having to force himself not to straight up float above his chair, instead of staying sitting in it. By the time first class is over he’s heard basically nothing in lue of focusing on not being a floaty boy and outing himself, which he failed at multiple times but went unnoticed. “So uh, I think this is even more of straight up piss and litter than I thought”, Danny groans to Sam and Tucker. “You aren’t going to just straight up suddenly change in class are you?”, Sam is more genuinely worried now. Danny shakes his head, “I don’t think so but I actually had to force myself not to float. Like how it is when I am frying Pan”. Tucker slaps Danny on the chest, “dude, maybe that shit like gave you full access as screaming Fan”. Danny glares at Tucker, “I fucking hope not Tuck, using shit is way too easy and basically second nature as frying Pan. It’ll be almost as bad as when I first got this shit but with more floating and at full strength”. Sam groans but also snickers a bit, “well hopefully everyone’s just as oblivious as 4 years ago”. As Tucker and Danny sits down for their second class, Danny mutters, “with my luck? Fuck that”.

Again, Danny spends most of the class focusing on not floating and being in general paranoid that his eyes might change colour. He, however, doesn’t get to do this through third class, as his ghost sense goes off half way through. “Oh fuck me, this is just fucking perfect. If this is boxy I will end him”, Danny mutters to himself as he just straight up walks out of class. He stopped bothering putting his hand up or asking to go, 2 years ago; he’d just leave whenever. Much to the annoyance of teachers but they knew he would leave anyway, so this was less of a distraction for the people who actually wanted to be there. Lancer was the only one who even still bothered to write down his sudden leaving, tardies or skipped classes, as he was the only who didn’t consider Danny a lost cause.

Once out of class Danny books it to the bathroom and speed changes, ripping off his clothing and phasing them into the ceiling. Yanking on the glasses and wig, he easily floats through the ceiling. Looking around he finds its Technus, “alright, I guess you’re my outlet for aggression on this fucking fine day”. Technus can see that Danny is not in the best mood but also notices his lack of glow, “ha! Ghost child you are weakened! You do not posses your healthy glow! But I Technus! Suffer no such weakness! For I-”, Technus is cut off as Danny just punches him in the face. “Hot tip techy, I’m never weak!”, Danny jeers as he ectoblasts apart the old computer Technus is holding, which he's sure is a discarded one from the library. Technus looks at his hands sadly before shouting, “it is no matter ghost child! For I will-”. Getting cut off again as he didn’t even see Danny float up to him and shoot him point blank. “You really should use your eyes”, Danny sighs as he sucks in Technus.

Danny shakes the thermos as he floats back into the bathroom, “well thank Phantom that was fast, and look at that! Totally god damn empty bathroom, nice”. Danny gets his stuff and changes back, but opts to just sit in the bathroom since there’s only 5 minutes left of class. He decides it’s probably best to test each of his not super destructive powers, to make sure they all work and to what level. “And that’s body manipulation. Well I’m not sure if I should be pleased or annoyed. All my powers seem to be functioning at full Phantom strength”, rubbing his eyes, “which while great for ghost fights, is not great for seeming like a normal fucking human”. Groaning he gets up and walks to the mirror just before the bell rings. Focusing his eyes, he tried to make them green with no luck, “well damn, still stuck with glasses it seems”. Tossing his hands up he phases out the bathroom door, stops and blinks, “Oh fuck”. Looking around he quickly determines no one saw shit and heads to his fourth class before lunch.

By fourth class, he’s feeling rather wiped, “so I’ve learned trying to force myself to be fucking regular while all frying Pan is not god damn fun”. Tucker chuckles as Danny slams his head against the table, “pretty sure you’re screaming Fan dude”. Which earns him an ectobeam to the knee, as Danny mutters into the table, “outside of looks, no I am not, might as well be frying Pan dressed up as screaming Fan”. Danny then snickers into the table, “I’m literally cosplaying myself, in two different ways”.

“Well if it isn’t Fentit? What you need your mommy to sing you a bedtime story so you can have a little nap?”, Dash comes up jeering, but Danny is just not having it so he doesn’t even bother lifting his head up as he flips Dash off. “Wow, you really do need a nap. Maybe this’ll help”, Dash goes to drop a textbook on Danny’s head but Danny straight up grabs Dash’s arm and strong man flings him over the table. All the while never even lifting his head up or moving anything other than one arm/hand, “I didn’t break him right?”. Sam and Tucker pat him on the shoulders, “all you broke was his ego. Which honestly should be shattered at this point”. Tucker nods, agreeing with Sam, “yeah with the number of times you’ve completely owned him, you’d think he’d give up”. Tucker looks down at Dash as he gets up and grumbles. As Dash walks away Danny can hear him bitterly mutter, “Why doesn’t freak turd just try out for football already”.

Thankfully, there isn’t anymore ghost that day as the final bell sounds. Meeting Sam and Tucker by his locker, “so let me guess, you want both of us to come over, help you figure out what slimed you and how to undo it?”. Danny slowly turns his head and gives Sam an over the top no-fucking-shit face. As Star approaches the trio, “ok, I don’t know what your deal is but the boys egos are too far up their asses so I’m just going to ask you”, the trio waits as Star stops inspecting her nails and puts a hand on on her hip before continuing. “Football try-outs are tomorrow, you are clearly packing muscle so be there, kay?”, Danny blinks a few times before responding. “Uh I ain’t much of a sports guy and do you seriously think I know the first thing about that”, Star shrugs as she walks off. Waving and looking over her shoulder, “just be there, doesn’t matter if you don’t know shit”. Once she’s out of sight Danny tilts his head back and groans, “Oh come on, I get it, but come on”. Tucker snickers as he pats his flat but not muscular stomach, “ah the joys of not being completely fucking ripped”. Sam smiles somewhat sympathetic, “I’m amazed it took them so long, you’re over 7 foot and a literal wall of muscle that knows no fear”. Danny throws his hands up, “except one fear! The fear of being caught, which will be kind of hard to avoid if I fucking break someone in a damn game!”. Sam and Tucker can’t help but laugh at their friends distress as they leave school.

They are treated by Maddie as soon as they get to Danny’s, “well hello kids! Always a pleasure to have you over. You’ll have to mind the mess though, we’re trying to figure out why the Fenton gooster didn’t work”. The three nod as they step over a couple screwdrivers on the floor. “Uh so since there’s such a mess what is it this time?”, Danny asks as he recognises the odd rooster-shaped gun as the one that shot him. He’s gotten a lot better over the years to make it a point to know what anything new is. “Well it was supposed to dissolve ghosts, sweetie. Make it so they can’t hold a physical form and thus can’t leave the GZ. But that didn’t seem to happen with Phantom”, Maddie shakes her head confused before continuing, “but don’t you worry sweetie we’ll find away to keep those scum from coming here”.

Danny gives an awkward nod as the three go to his bedroom, “well shit, no way I can get my hands on it or it’s plans if they’re working on it”. Tucker taps his chin thoughtfully as Sam turns on the tv loud enough that they won’t be overheard, “well I think it’s safe to say you can’t be frying Pan because your ectoform or ghost form can’t physically manifest. Which is probably causing all your frying Pan ectoplasm to be more intermingled or whatever in you”. Danny groans as he flops on his bed, “which hopefully only comes with the negative side effect of having complete access to my ghost everything while still being screaming Fan”. Sam nods a bit worried, “it’s probably best you don’t stay like this for long. Who knows what else could happen from you being all half dissolved”. Danny nods as the three set to work trying to figure out how to get either the plans or the gun.

Eventually, they settle on getting them to chase Phantom and hoping they leave everything else behind, like they usually do when caught up in the hunt. “Whelp, this will either be really stupid or you guys have an hour”, with that Danny gets changed, contacts included, and flies out the wall. Making a point to fly right past the kitchen window, “look Mads he can even still fly! Maybe if we trap him we can figure out why?”, Maddie shrugs as she followers her excitable husband out the door. Even Sam and Tucker hear her mutter, “I’m pretty sure he’s uncatchable, untraceable and possibly immune to every anti-ghost thing at this point”. The two wait all of five minutes before racing over to the gun and plans, looking them over with feverish haste. Doesn’t take Tucker long to smirk, “well this won’t actually be all that hard though Danny is going to be pretty peeved”. Sam looks up from the gun she is intentionally rigging to not work, “let me guess, he’s stuck for a while?”.

Tucker nods just as Danny phases up through the floor, “you two better have shit because for once in my life I have the unfortunate pleasure of sports in the morning. And sleep is a thing, so?”. Tucker and Sam make quick work of putting everything back as they found it and bolting upstairs with Danny as Tucker talks, “it’s fixable dude, probably take me an hour at best. Just need a few things from the lab but dude, it’s gonna take sometime to put your ghostliness back together”. Danny groans has he grabs Tucker and phases them into the lab, “well explain and grab shit. How long we talking?”. Tucker quickly moves around the room gathering random things, hoping to be out of here before the Fenton’s come home, “three days, then you’ll be all Phantom again. Well not all, just half; your norm. Till then”, Tucker gestures at the floating Danny dressed up as Phantom, “this”. Danny groans again as he phases Tucker back upstairs. Tucker’s already half done what looks like a cocktail drink by the time the Fenton’s get back.

Tucker has to hide the thing when Maddie comes up and offers them some cookies, “I know you kids are nearly grown but everyone has room for cookies and you two should really head home soon”. The three all thank Maddie as she leaves. The cookies are pretty much all gone by the time Tucker is done, “dude, shits done man. Can’t tell if it tastes good though, so fucking cheers man”. Danny groans as he basically just shoots it, “yeah that was not horrible but I’d rather not. Really I’d rather not with all this”. Sam snickers, “ah the life of a halfa who won’t man up and tell his family”. Earning a glare from Danny as they say their goodbyes, “and Danny dude, you know we will be there. Watching you likely scare some freshmen and break something”. Danny just grumbles as he heads to bed.

Danny gets exactly an hour and a half of sleep before his ghosts sense wakes him up. “Oh for fucks sake”, Danny mutters as he throws on his wig and glasses, flying out the window.

It is once again, Technus, “dude why?”. Technus spreads his arms out as he summons a swarm of electronic dogs to attack Danny. “Well this is just roof”, Danny spins sideways and then promptly gets his glasses knocked off by a dog. He just sadly watches them fall and get crushed by the wave of dogs, “well shit, dog shit”. By the time Danny has dealt with Technus, again, he’s missing bits of his hair on top of the ruined glasses. Flying lazily into his bed, he doesn’t even bother with pjs.

The first thing Danny does in the morning is check over his powers and try to transform, “Yup, still the same utter bullshit. I lowkey want to fucking die”. Grumbling all the while he puts on basically the same thing as yesterday, having never even taken off his duplicate jumpsuit. “I’m going to have to hide all this shit in the locker room ceiling, pretty sure trying to wear a jumpsuit under gym clothes would be grade A dumb”, Danny shakes his head and hopes that like usual there are no ghosts early morning. Heading downstairs for a quick waffle, Jack spots him, “well you’re up early son, reason?”. Danny shrugs as he puts in the waffles to cook, “pretty much got forced into football tryouts because I’m just too nice to say no when asked, apparently”. Jack beams and pats Danny on the back, “well I can’t say I’m surprised, you’re built for it. I also can’t say I know how you became so muscular”. Danny chuckles, sticking the waffles in his mouth as he leaves; leaving Jack to contemplate Danny’s fitness alone.

Tucker and Sam are two of many people sitting in the stands watching hopefuls and one not-so-hopeful tryout. Danny promptly changes out of his jumpsuit and puts everything into the ceiling; changing into shorts, black under armour leggings, runners and keeping his green wife beater on. Danny knows he’ll get some surprises looks because no ever really sees him uncovered at all, “I’d look fucking stupid if I went out in a fucking leather jacket”.

Unsurprisingly Danny is the tallest and most filled out guy there, he also does indeed get stared at. Overhearing Dash, who’s scouting the talent, “well damn he actually showed and Christ he’s more muscular then I thought. I’ll have to tell Kwan to thank Star”. The coach yells for everyone to shut up and listen, “all right you scraps of meat, to be frank we need anyone who is capable of actually doing anything and taking hit. So if you aren’t practically dead you’re on the team”. Danny can’t help but snicker and mutter, “I came here half dead”. The coach smirks, “then maybe you’ll take hits better”, then turning to everyone she points behind her and shouts, “now run 40-yards!”. Danny is mildly surprised at it being such a short distance but he can’t say he really cares, “the only reason I’m even putting any effort here is cause it’s my last year and I was asked more or less nicely”. Though he is practically chanting “don’t do anything ghostly”, in his head the entire time. Surprising no one really, except some freshmen, Danny finishes first and doesn’t even look like he’s ran anything at all. As he stands there and gives a lazy yawn, while stretching his arms out a bit. Dash can’t help but stare at the arms that had just yesterday flipped over a damn table, “I seriously want to know how the fuck that happened”.

The test for athletic ability and agility go pretty much the same, Danny doing everything with ease and feeling almost kind of sad at how easy it is. If anything he’s found focusing on not just straight up flying his way over obstacles to be harder. By the time they get to hitting and throwing ability, half have been cut. Danny can’t help but mutter, “ok this is sad, I’m not even striving to get accepted and these guys who are, can’t do shit”. Danny is then reminded how damn good the coaches hearing is, as she replies to him, “yup, it’s the same every year. But if I remember correctly, you used to be one of the worst”. Danny blinks, a little surprised to get a response and praise, before shrugging, “have you seen my dad? I got his height but not his diet”. The coach slams him on the back, “nonsense! You don’t get muscles from genetics! Whatever it is you do, keep doing it”. Danny smirks at this, knowing full well he never will stop. While the coach goes back to addressing the whole, much smaller, group, “all right pipsqueaks and people with actual potential! Time to see if you take a hit or actual throw shit!”. Danny is honestly nervous for this because he’s almost certain he’ll break something or someone. “Now because we have shit for money, you get no tackle bots. So you’ll just be tackling into each other, if you’re going to die leave school property”, which again makes Danny snicker. “Little too late for that”.

Thankfully for the other students, the coach isn’t a complete sadist and pairs Danny up against the other largest guy there. Danny feels rather sorry for the guy because if he can take rockets to the face and hundred foot falls into cement, there’s really not anything this eleventh grader can do. Danny, however, feels less sorry when the ass opens his mouth, “you’re that freak Fenton kid, what you going to do? Ball your eyes out as soon as someone slaps you? Muscle don’t mean shit when taking a hit”. Danny officially feels like being a bit of an ass to this guy so he lifts up his shirt, revealing the peppering of scars on his torso; “pal, I’ll be impressed if I feel the impact at all”. Even Dash manages to catch a glimpse of some of the scarring, “does Fenton fight or some shit? Because seriously, how the fuck did that happen”. As the coach blows her whistle, Danny has to physically restrain himself from straight punching the guy or shooting him, as he charges at Danny. Danny charges back only seconds after, since he’s more focused on not blowing the kids head off than charging. Unsurprisingly, the other dude gets promptly slammed into the ground. Danny blinks a little, he’s not used to opponents going down so easily, turning around, “seriously? That’s it? Okay...”.

The now embarrassed guy attempts to punch Danny in the stomach to at least save a little face, “dude, do you want fucking pain or something?”. Is all Danny has to say as the guy promptly yanks his hand backs and shakes it out from the impact, which Danny didn’t even flinch from. A couple other guys around start laughing but the coach gets an idea, she wants to see just what this once punny kid could take. “I want all of you to tackle Fenton, if you make him go down you’re on the team”, with that everyone’s eyes light up as they turn on Danny. Danny though a little off guard isn’t really bothered, he’s pretty sure a bunch of High-schoolers is easier than a bunch of ghosts. He’s completely right, as he lifts the last guy still trying, up with his peck and flings him off. Rubbing his neck, “Uh, yeah, sorry, not happening”. Tucker and Sam laugh their asses off from the benches, pretty well positive that Danny’s idea of human levels of strength is completely skewed.

One of the guys shakes his head at the built as hell Fenton kid, “pal, you could crush a man’s head and never notice it”. Danny rubs his neck and shrugs, “you’re not wrong”. Dash comes up all excited and friendly for once, “Why the hell have you been holding out on us, Fenton?”. Danny just glares, “because you guys are dicks? And never asked? Sports ain’t my thing anyways”. The coach shakes her head, “even if you couldn’t throw for shit you’d be worth having to protect those who can throw and to tackle the enemy”. Danny just shrugs, “you’re not wrong but, like, I’ll be more focused on not breaking someone than winning”. Dash rolls his eyes, “that would just teach them not to mess with you? Why wouldn’t you exert that kind of power?”. Earning a harsh glare from Danny, “because I’m not like you and I’m actually a good guy”. Dash just grunts at this as the coach snaps for everyone to start throwing balls.

When it’s Danny’s turn he has to focus on throwing the ball and not an ectoblast, he does end up ectoburning the ball though, “well shit, hopefully no one questions that”. No one actually does and with that everything is wrapped up and Danny, surprising no one, makes the cut.

Danny joins up with Sam and Tucker for class as he waves bye to what is essentially his teammates now. “So I’m definitely still fucked up, but no one seemed to catch the burnt ball so whatever. Not my fucking problem anymore, now I’m going to get changed before my luck runs out”, the two snicker at him as he heads to the lockers.

Danny manages to get his shit and change uninterrupted, but as he’s going to leave Kwan suddenly appears, “dude, that was sick! We’re so going to pummel literally everyone! Anyways, we already made you a jacket because we’re not as stupid as Dash seems”. Danny shakes his head as Kwan leaves, though realising he froze some of the ground when Kwan came out of nowhere, “really? Oh, come on”. Danny quickly melts the ice before heading out and at the sight of the jacket he’s caring, Sam and Tucker’s snickering returns.

Danny just rolls his eyes at them but knows full well it would be insulting to not wear the thing. So he does change into it when no ones looking, “this looks fucking weird on me, I am impressed it actually fits though”. Sam smacks his arm, “well don’t set it on fire too soon, I doubt they want to replace it every week”.

First class goes pretty well the same until one of the football players that didn’t watch tryouts thinks Danny’s jacket wasn’t earned, “why you wearing that freak? Think you’ll get accepted just by wearing one?”. Danny just glares down at the boy from his seat, “something tells me you weren’t there, if you really want the story just talk to Kwan. He gave me the jacket”. The dude clearly doesn’t believe him and actually goes to grab Danny, which he reacts to on instinct. Grabbing the guys arm and yanking him to the ground, ectoburning the guys jacket and his own gloves in the process. This gets the teachers attention as she snaps for both of them to sit down. Danny mutters to himself, “huh, didn’t get in trouble. Power of the jacket I guess...god that is so elitists”. However, that was not why, as Danny soon finds out.

As soon as class is over the teacher asks to talk to him, Danny mutters as he walks up, “well fuck me”. The teacher looks Danny straight in the eyes and asks, “care to explain what was up with your eyes?”. Danny just blinks a couple times, “Uh what?”. The teacher shakes his head, “they were green and glowing. I know there’s some crazy shit at your house so I’ll assume that’s why. But I’d like an actual answer”. Danny blinks again and mutters “oh fuck, of all the shit times for something to come back to my more or less normal” in his head, “hotdogs literally come to life sometimes, so you pretty well said the explanation. Ectocontamination just shows more if someone’s angry or startled”. The teacher simply nods and waves Danny off. Third period doesn’t go much better as he accidentally freezes and explodes a bunch of test tubes. Resulting in multiple girls screaming and running out, a couple of dudes yelp. “Mr. Fenton, I would prefer if only ghosts caused explosions, not my students too”, at which Danny just rubs his neck sheepishly. After that he completely misses the rest of school as he has to pull another emergency Phantom switch.

“Seriously Skulker, what is that? An overgrown hacksaw?”, Danny shakes his head at the unusual and kind of disappointing weapon. Skulker grins as he makes a move for Danny but Danny easily bats away the weapon, however Skulker promptly knocks him on the side of the head. Knocking his wig off which Danny madly scrambles for, “dude, not the hair. For once I actually give a shit about it”. Skulker just stares at him and tilts his head to the side, “ok I know you have not been wearing a wig for the past years, so what?”. Danny shrugs, “parents trying to dissolve ghosts again. So now I get the fun of cosplaying my fucking self. Horray for me!”. Skulker shakes his head and continues his assault, which has gained some onlookers; namely the Fenton’s.

“How in the hell? It looks as if he was completely unaffected?”, Jack shakes his head but Maddie slaps his arms excitedly. “No Jack! He’s not glowing! And he’s wearing sunglasses! We must have done something! No clue what though”, Maddie shakes her as she prepares the second model of the gun. “I would really like to know why all our stuff stops working right after using it on Phantom too. It’s really annoying to have to start building duplicates”, Maddie shakes her head while her husband smiles. “At least we know this one works! Tested it on some of those ectopusses!”, he finishes speaking just as Skulker and Danny both get drenched.

“OH COME THE FUCK ON!”, Danny snaps angrily at the goo before shouting at Skulker. “Don’t get this shit on you! You fucking tin man! Thermos now!”, Skulker promptly just follows Danny’s orders because he’s learned to tell when Danny’s not fucking around. “You’re parents are a problem ghost child!”, Skulker yells as Danny sucks him in. Danny stares down at his confused parents, who really just want to know why nothing works on him, he then throws his hands up in the air angrily as he goes to sulk in a tree.

“Fuck my entire existence, fuck my life and fuck my death”, after Danny knows Tucker will be home he flies straight into the boy’s bedroom, arms crossed.

“Sweet fucking Plasmius dude!”, Tucker yelps as he jumps off his bed and then throws a towel at the goo-covered Danny. “Care to take. One fucking guess what this is Tuck? Just one fucking guess?”, Danny just lets the towel smack into his face not even attempting to catch it. Tucker just sighs and digs up a second batch of the cocktail, “looks like your parents have finally learned the rules of making goddamn backups”. Danny just mutters as he cleans himself off, “this is the worst joke of my half-life”. Tucker chuckles as Danny flies home, knowing full well the wig and costume will have to be washed all night.

As soon as Danny gets home he goes straight to the bath and tosses everything in, “thank Phantom I got the expensive kind, this shit I can actually clean”. Lifting the cleaned off suit he shakes his head at it, “it’s been two days and this thing is already shredded, how the fuck is it going to last three more fucking days”. With a new appreciation for his real suits natural healing, Danny promptly goes to bed.

Danny’s morning starts out pretty good, he’s well rested and all dressed. As Danny goes to have breakfast, however, his dad barges in with the once again fixed Fenton gooster. “Why does that look like a rooster anyways?”, Danny can’t help but be curious. His dad shrugs, “that’s just what happened son, no need to question creative genius”. With that Jack slams the device on the table causing it to accidentally go off and coat Danny, once again, in goo. Danny sits there with his mouth open about to take a bit of his sandwich, he slowly closes his mouth and puts the sandwich gently on his plate. Danny starts out speaking slowly and calmly, “dad, I mean this with all love and affection. But, could you, stop, FUCKING SPRAYING ME WITH GOO!”, Danny’s sudden angry shout makes Jack jump. Jack blinks at Danny as Danny slowly pulls out his phone, who’s more focused on not crushing it than Jack’s reaction, “hey Tuck, do you, by chance, HAVE A THIRD FUCKING ONE!”. Jack again jumps, not used to ever seeing anger from his son unless it’s Christmas.

Danny snaps his phone closed slowly, wipes off his sandwich and eats it while glaring daggers at the rooster-shaped gun. Jack stands there watching his clearly pissed off son angrily eat a sandwich, not even bothering to wipe off the goo. “Uh, could I maybe clean your jacket and shirt off? Also, it’s uh, awesome you made the team”, Danny glares harder at the gun, and puts down what’s left of his sandwich. “Fuck it, sure thing, just don’t fucking spray me with goo, fuck me, just like fuck all of me”, Danny just straight up makes his stuff intangible falling off onto the floor, with his clean but ripped replica jumpsuit clearly visible. Danny doesn’t even acknowledge his stunned dad, as he angrily finishes his sandwich. Getting up slowly he puts his plate in the dishwasher, slowly turning to his dad who’s starting to come out of shock, “welcome to the joke of the century”.

End.

#phic phight #phic phight 19 #Danny Phantom #phantom #fan fic #phan phic #danny fenton #Tucker Foley #sam manson #kwan #star #dash baxter #phantomphangphucker #have a fic suck my dick #team human #jack fenton #Maddie Fenton

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helloorandomfandom · 7 years ago

Text

Little Doves find love in the strangest ways

Eric x reader

Words: 1944

I’m cruising down flop street but I’m still feeling sweet.

*GIFS NOT MINE*

Also let me know if you want other characters. LEAVE SOME REQUESTS!

Y/n. That was the name you were now living with. That was the name you decided to stick with as soon as you hit the net. You had been asked and that was your decision. Your first day in Dauntless was well daunting. Making friends was easy being from Amity. Kill them with kindness was basically your motto. You had joined a pretty houmous and lively clique that gladly welcomed you. The first night with the faction transfers was one of your favourites. Most of the group got tattoos but you opted for a personalized necklace. One charm had your name on a vinyl record made of gold and another said ‘Amity’ on a tree. You loved music and you left Amity. That was the first day. Everything after that got exceptionally harder.

Physical training wasn’t horrible but you also weren’t a ‘champion’. I guess doing some heavy, weight work in Amity helped with your muscle mass. One week you did phenomenally but the next you were setup to fight Peter and lets say, a few bruises and one excruciatingly painful headache made you lose the Amity spring in your step. Losing that fight brought your rank down a debatable amount. Deciding to not cause a ruckus you kept your mouth shut and dealt with it. The decrease did however deplete your motivation leaving you with a few lazy punches or easy blocks causing you to earn a couple of bruises.

“Dove, in the ring!” Four’s voice shouted.

Dove was the nickname you got being one of the few Amity transfers. It was Will’s doing because doves are a symbol of purity and peace, and so are you according to him. Your bare feet padded across the cool smooth concrete and onto the springy mat. You cocked your head to the side, wordlessly asking who you would be fighting.

“Al, jump in.”

Oh come on. Al was obviously no match for you, he was to soft. Although according to others so were you. Eric gave the signal and you began to dance around the ring, arms up with Al.

“Today initiates!” Eric’s voice demanded sounding obviously bored.

You let out a sigh and stepped forward. Lifting you leg up and twisting your body you roundhouse kicked Al in the face knocking him out cold.

As you reached down and picked up his unconscious body you let out the word

“Sorry.”

The weight was semi-relieved as another person helped you with the unconscious boy.

“Don’t apologise initiate.”

Eric.

“Sorry.”

This made you mentally facepalm.

“Oh my God, Sorry!”

Eric’s steel blue eyes glared at you as the two of you walked the halls to the infirmary.

“Holy shit Y/n stop it!” You scolded yourself.

You tiny outburst of embarrassment seemed humourous to Eric who let out a chuckle.

“Don’t laugh at me! It’s not my fault, I blame the bread!”

“Oh little Dove, how innocent you are.” Eric teased, still laughing a little.

Al was dropped into a hospital bed and you made your way back to the training center. Partnering up with Will, you practiced some basic skills involving blocking, jabs and throat hits.

“All right get out!” Eric shouted.

Everyone began to shuffle out the room including you.

“Dove, stay back!”

“UGH!” You groaned clearly annoyed.

Everyone you passed gave you sympathetic looks or a quick ‘good luck’.

“What do you require, Sir?”

“Well I was going to offer you help but with that attitude I don’t think so.”

“Oh great! So I can go and shower now? I really need to.” You jumped from foot to foot towards the door. Peeking your head round the corner you smiled. “Oh Eric? I may be from Amity but you won’t find me begging.” You winked and swiftly made your way back to the dorm room retiring to bed after a much needed shower.

The next week or so Eric kept holding you back, giving you useless jobs to do.

“We don’t even use these knives Eric. Why do I have to sharpen them?”

“Because little innocent Dove, I’m exposing your pure self to dangerous items.” Eric teased.

“Oh my-! I’ve had it with you! I’M NOT INNOCENT!” Your rageful outburst took over your body and the next thing you knew you had hurled a knife straight into Eric’s shoulder. “Oh for fucks sake!” The adrenaline coursing through your veins gave you enough courage to grab Eric by the hand and drag him through the halls to his apartment.

“Code?”

“Do I even want to know why you know where I live?” Eric questioned punching in his code.

The door slid open sending a cool breeze over you. “For your information, I wish to know my way around thank you. Apparently I’m already gullible enough as is.”

Eric chuckled which caused a muffled groan.

“Hey, you pushed my buttons that what you deserve.”

“Touché”

Silence fell over the apartment and you dragged Eric into his bathroom. Frantically searching for his first-aid kit you seized the bright red bag and unzipped it. The contents exploded and you found exactly what you needed.

“Brace yourself.” You said wrapping your fingers around the knife’s handle.

Eric grabbed the bench and you yanked the blade from his skin. He let out a string of mangled groans expressing his agony.

“Shirt.” You guestured.

“Is this an excuse to see me shirtless, not so innocent, little Dove?” Eric flirted.

“It’s either I fix this or you get infected, because we both know you’re too stubborn to tell the nurse an initiate stabbed you.”

Eric rolled his eyes and lifted his shirt over his head with minimal staining to his shoulder. You were awestruck at his Greek God physique. Holy shit, this man is fit. His six pack basically shines like the sun and it’s so hard not to look away. But you do, opting to unscrew the lid on some antiseptic liquid to keep from drooling. Pouring some onto a wad of spare gauze you warned the Dauntless leader again.

“This is gonna sting like a bitch.”

“I think I can hand-”

Eric cut himself off with a sharp intake of breath as you pressed the soaked gauze onto his bleeding wound. The shocking action caused his hands to latch onto the nearest thing. Your hips. Your cheeks flushed as your y/e/c eyes met his steel blue ones, causing him to smirk.

“You’ve got a nice set of love handles here Dove.”

“Well your pretty bold aren’t you, Sir?” You replied using the gauze to wipe the excess blood.

Putting the wad in the trash, you fiddled with the needle struggling to thread it. After about the fifth attempt the thread went through and you secured a knot onto the end. You rested your hand onto Eric’s protruding bicep and pierced his skin dragging it back in and out repeatedly. Once the wound was closed you cut the thread and taped down a fresh pad of gauze overtop to keep it clean. You cleaned up the bench in silence then reopened the cupboard and grabbed some aspirin. Popping two pills out the bottle you handed them to Eric who took them and without saying anything retreated to the kitchen. You put the bottle and kit back, closing the door and exiting the bathroom.

Walking towards the door you pushed the button and it slid open. “Where are you going Initiate?” “To hopefully get some privacy for a shower.” “Here.” Eric walked over to his dresser and grabbed a plain black t-shirt throwing it to you. “Care to join?” You teased. Eric scoffed and you dashed into the bathroom.

Once the warm water hit your skin,you were a moaning mess. The steam clouded the glass and you completed your usual routine. Parting with the heat, you dried off and slipped Eric’s shirt over your head. The shirt sat mid-thigh and complemented your curves. You braided your hair into a simple plait and let it fall to one side. Exiting the bathroom the smell of cheesy goodness filled your nostrils.

“Why are your showers so much better? It’s not fair.”

“Because Dove, we are privileged from passing initiation.” He responded handing you a bowl of Mac n cheese.

“You’re starting to grow on me Coulter. I’m not sure if I should be afraid or intrigued.”

Eric moved closer towards you. Putting his bowl on the bench, the action which you repeated. Eric’s boots made two short steps towards you ending up face to face with you. His minty breath casted a cool breeze to fall on your lips. You swiftly looked down at the black combat boots encasing your feet, that was until you felt the soft touch of Eric’s fingers under your chin pushing it upwards. Your gaze met his and you flirtatiously blinked smiling a little towards him.

“Both.”

And with that Eric closed the gap between you, connecting at the lips, eyes closed. The kiss was slow and filled with passion. You deepened the kiss by turning you head to the side and lifting your hand to hold Eric’s neck. The sound of your heartbeat heavy in your ears balanced out the apartment’s silence as Eric’s crisp breath calmed you. Your tense muscles relaxed as Eric placed a hand on your hip and the other on your cheek. He began to walk, backing you into the kitchen bench you were lifted up and onto the frigid marble countertop. Eric stepped between you legs that wrapped themselves around his still bare torso. You wrapped your arms around his neck and began to tug at his hair. Eric let out a low groan and you broke away from his addictive lips letting out a small giggle.

“Enjoying yourself Coulter?” You giggled again.

“Little Dove, whatever should I do with you?”

“Hmm…this.”

You leaned forwards and pressed a lasting kiss to Eric’s lips before teasingly pulling away and resting your forehead against his.

“I should go.” You whispered disappointed.

Eric pulled away and helped you down from the counter. You gave him a chaste kiss and swiftly walked to the door. You looked over your shoulder and quipped.

“Keep that shoulder clean, yeah?”

You left the apartment and quickly returned to the dorm room hoping not to get flooded with questions.

Your eyes peeked through the crowd of various hair colours in search of the scoreboard. Your name was situated on the third rung meaning not only did you pass initiation you made it to top three. Tris, one of your close friends, sat at the top taking her well earned spot as overall ‘winner’.

“Top three initiate. Well deserved.” The rugged voice of your secret boyfriend whispered into you ear.

“Thank you Sir.”

You reached your arms up and held the back of his head, running your fingers through his hair.

“You’re mine now.” He grumbled and you tilted your head to meet him.

“I suppose so.” You whispered against his lips.

“HEY EVERYONE! I FOUND OUT WHY ERIC WAS BEING NICER!”

Everyone in the room quickly shut up and stared at the pair of you.

“WILL! I SWEAR TO SATAN I’LL KI-”

Eric’s lips captured your words and disolved them into the kiss. The once silent Pit erupted in cheers and wolf whistles egging you on. When you broke apart, the crowd cheered even louder and a few people you knew, including Tris who knowingly hated Eric, congratulated you. The Pit died down only to spike back up at the loud music blasted through large speakers and the party officially began.

“It’s this Dove’s time to fly!” You shouted running off into the crowd of dancing Dauntless.

And fly you did.

Tagged:

@clockworkballerina @shinigamiathene @jaiboomer11 @lacy-love @sophiesworld1992 @home-of-the-lonely-writer @pathybo @that1girloverthere @buried-in-books @lunaschild2016 @nijiru @kalliewinchester-queenofhell @kgurew

#eric coulter #eric #eric coulter imagine #eric coulter x reader #eric coulter x amity #divergent imagine #divergent #i miss divergent #divergent imagines #eric x y/n #flop #this will flop #eric x reader

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flightyrock · 7 years ago

Text

Laundry Day

Summary: It’s laundry day for a certain pair of half ghosts. But when Vlad digs deeper than he should, he finds more than dirty laundry, testing the bonds between father and son.

A shameless fluff fic in which Vlad is too hard on himself (as usual), Daniel does his best to reassure him, and Vlad proves he is father of the year material.

Featuring: accidental naps, hugs galore, and rambling internal monologues.

Characters: Vlad Masters, Daniel Masters

Tags and Warnings: Father/son relationships, Backstory, Emotional fluff/pain, Really Long Flashbacks, invasion of privacy, miscommunication, allusions to suicide, hopelessness, fake science, grey ethics, fake medical jargon, dehumanization, Vlad’s special brand of angst, mild body horror, clichéd tropes, happy ending, cuteness

If you’re concerned, feel free to PM me and I will be more than happy to provide a detailed summary or tell you what parts to avoid. All of the iffy ones, save for the emotional hurt/comfort, only last for a few paragraphs. Most of them are contained in the flashbacks, which are in italics. But on a whole, it’s father/son fluff and feels. Be safe!

Word Count: ~10,500

I’ll also make this available on AO3 for your viewing pleasure, since I know some people (myself included) prefer that format better. But tumblr makes it easier to share, so that won’t be linked for awhile; I’m thinking a week?

Some notes before we dive in, since this is the first fic I’ve written in this particular universe, so there are a few (read: a lot) of things I need to cover. Explanation and story under the cut!

Update: This isn’t posting right, so I’m going to remove the links for now. If this works, I’ll make a separate post with the links.

This fic takes place in what I’ve nicknamed the “Perfect Son AU,” an alternate universe to Danny Phantom where Vlad successfully created a clone, which he named Daniel. It’s a working title, and someone else might have already come up with something better, but I’m running with it for now.

I did not create Daniel; he was originally introduced as an unnamed character along with a possible future version of Vlad in Butch Hartman’s second “Danny Phantom: 10 Years Later video.” All we’re told is that he’s a mixed clone of Danny and Vlad.

Of course, this premise has tons of potential, and several artists have created content for him. I fell head over heels for @schnivel‘s interpretation; the designs and characterization are just incredible, and gave me that creative itch. I live for that cute picture of Vlad and Daniel at a Packer’s game. There are also a bunch of doodles, and the tags provide fun details, hinting at character dynamics and firmly establishing Daniel’s presence in-universe. The rest of his art is awesome, too; it’s incredibly expressive (facial expressions and body language are always SPOT ON), and he has some really neat OCs, so be sure to check him out!

Schnivel also took the time to chat with me, and answered many of my questions regarding Daniel’s characterization. Thank you so much!

I discovered that other artists loved this version of the character as well, and during one of schnivel’s discussions with prom during one of @promsien‘s streams, she had the fun idea that Vlad knits Daniel sweaters, and heaven help anyone who ruins one of those.

Needless to say, this (and other details surrounding the fallout) gave me…ideas. This incident is only hinted at in this fic, which started out as a cute 1500 word fluff piece I thought up on the bus back to school after Thanksgiving break. But then plot and angst snuck in, and the characters just weren’t quite right, so four rewrites, 9000 words, and about two months later, here we are; the longest piece I’ve ever written.

Keep in mind that this is just my interpretation of schnivel’s canon, based on details from several sources, so the events described here may or may not have occurred; essentially, it’s a fanfic of schnivel’s AU.

This story takes place after about a year after Daniel’s creation, in the transition period between schnivel’s 16 y/o and post puberty designs. While not necessary to enjoy the story, I strongly recommend taking a look at these before you begin reading; you won’t be sorry. Some other quick details to keep in mind:

1. Daniel is still in high school, and is enrolled in Casper High.

2. Daniel =/= Danny

3. Yes, Daniel knows Danny and they do not get along.

4. Vlad and Daniel live together, and share a healthy (and frequently adorable) father/son relationship. They get along incredibly well most of the time, and genuinely care about each other. Vlad is finally happy (mostly), and it’s my favorite thing ever. Do me a favor and do not tag this as ship, please and thank you.

5. Danny is not in this fic, but he is referenced a couple of times; once, confusingly, as Daniel. (I’m sorry; blame Vlad.) It’s not mentioned in this fic, but he doesn’t call Danny “Daniel” anymore, for obvious reasons.

Alright, enough notes! I’ve rambled long enough! Kudos to you for reading this far; I do think the context is necessary to fully appreciate this story, so if you skimmed, I completely understand, but I urge you to check out the five-point list and links [sorry guys, removed these to see if they were the problem] above. And remember to check out @schnivel and @promsien. Thanks, guys! So, without further ado, enjoy!

“Daniel, laundry!”

The amiable call echoed off the interior walls of a luxurious but tasteful mansion overlooking Amity Park; walls that had changed extensively in the past year. Previously, the nondescript barriers existed out of necessity, stabilizing the considerable load of the structure and dividing too much space into too many cold, empty rooms.

One wall in particular, located between the entry and the main staircase, changed dramatically, and now proudly announced to visitors that two shared the space, and quite happily at that.

An eclectic selection of frames housing amateur photographs were mounted artfully in a quantity bordering on excessive. From this, an outsider could reasonably assume that the curator was either an overly-enthusiastic hobbyist or a new parent.

In this case, both assumptions would be correct. Indeed, most of the photos focused on a single boy, specifically, a teenager, sporting unique, striped locks and a smile.

But this wasn’t your average, awkward, get-me-out-of-here, oh-my-god-are-we-still-not-done-taking-pictures-yet kind of smile that most teenagers plastered on instinctively to escape the camera: No, this was a genuine, candid expression of happiness that would make any photographer worth their salt dissolve into blissful tears. It would have been hard to believe the boy was truly a teenager, if not for the distinctive, almost puppy-like proportions that suggested there was still growing left to do.

He was occasionally joined by an older gentleman wearing a smile of his own; more guarded, but no less genuine. In these photos, the boy veritably beamed at the camera or the man himself, expression all the brighter in his company, leaving no doubt just who was responsible for cultivating such joy. Likewise, the boy coaxed the man out of his shell, steadily transforming a shyly quirked corner of the mouth into a joyful grin as the series progressed.

The gentleman in question was currently strolling around the house, dressed casually in socks, slacks, and a button-down. His sleeves were neatly rolled above the elbows, exposing muscular forearms that strained to maintain an awkward hold on the large basket of casual wear. His burden couldn’t have been too cumbersome, however, as he took a moment to admire the photo wall, as he always did.

He shifted the basket, clamping it against his left hip with the same arm, freeing his right to compulsively straighten an already perfectly-aligned portrait of the boy, providing an excuse to linger.

It was one of his favorites; a candid shot he had snagged during one of their first snows together. He was quite proud of it. Daniel kneeled on the plush window seat, dwarfed by the dual floor-to-ceiling windows. His features were alight with childlike wonder and the soft, winter sun, breath fogging the glass as he peered out of the pane, entranced by dancing flakes. Vlad’s eyes grew misty, recalling cold, damp clothes, laughter, and hot chocolate His shoulders softened a touch, mouth pulling upward fondly.

The reverie was broken by an uncomfortable burn in his forearms as the basket slipped slowly downwards under gravity’s influence, prompting him to readjust his hold and resume his search.

It was that time of year again; the relentless heatwave had broken at last. Residents of Amity Park gave a collective sigh of relief, enjoying cool days and brisk evenings just shy of uncomfortable as summer gave way to autumn. Full suits were no longer suffocating. And football season was in full swing.

In short, life couldn’t be better. There was something invigorating about the crisp, cool air that accompanied the changing seasons, putting Vlad in the rare mood to do some tidying. Housework was a small pleasure he had rediscovered recently; busy hands left the mind free for reflection, something that Vlad wasn’t as eager to avoid these days. The reason for this? Well…

“Daniel!” he called again, perplexed by the continued lack of response from his young charge. No, his son, he reminded himself, distracted for a moment by the thrill of excitement and anxiety that still shot through him at that thought. Against all odds, he was a father.

He savored the feeling as he searched, peeking around the corner to the living room on a whim, and bit back another call. Warm affection swelled in his chest at the rare and, admittedly, adorable sight.

His son, Daniel, was sprawled lengthwise across the couch, out like a light. Sleep had hit him hard and fast; the awkward position of his limbs was telling, and looked anything but comfortable.

A socked foot was braced on the floor while its twin was slung over the couch’s far arm, still trapped in a sneaker, laces tangled from an abandoned attempt at removal. One arm hung limply to the side, while the other was likely going numb, trapped against the back and beneath the Maddies, who were taking full advantage of their human’s compromised position.

The opportunistic felines were curled up on the half-ghost’s broad chest, passive-aggressively close to one another, soaking up the warmth. Like many cats, they managed to radiate smug bliss even from the depths of slumber, much to Vlad’s amusement.

He really couldn’t blame them. Naps for Daniel were a rare occurrence, after all; the boy rarely slowed down long enough.

But Vlad had almost forgotten what else autumn meant; school was once again in full swing. A ridiculous amount of coursework accompanied Daniel’s ambitious class load, pushing the limits of an already-taxing daily schedule.

In addition to coursework, he participated in several extracurricular activities, made time for friends, and dedicated himself to a rigorous training and tutoring regimen of Vlad’s own design. No wonder the boy was exhausted.

Not that he had so much as hinted at fatigue, eager to prove himself.

Vlad mentally shook his head, pride mixing with fond exasperation. He had, admittedly, forgotten just how difficult it was to be a teenager (though he thinks he can be excused for this oversight given that it’s been over twenty years since then; twenty long years). He vaguely recalled expectations to tackle a workload any self-respecting, paid employee would strike over.

Daniel, like many teenagers, did that and more with only a fraction of useable energy at his disposal at any given time, resources diverted to accommodate the emotional and physical stress the body underwent as it matured. Puberty had hit Daniel late and with a vengeance. The boy had been shooting up like a weed lately, the gap between his cuff and ankle widening at an alarming rate (not surprising given the state of the pantry at the end of any given week; the teen had to be burning through massive amounts of energy in the process).

As his coach, Vlad had noticed he was struggling physically; his center of balance shifted so rapidly he just couldn’t keep up. Daniel’s frustration was all but tangible at times, face heating with anger and humiliation when he fumbled through warm-ups and drills that had once been simple. Recently, more often than not, he left their practice sessions drained and irritable, shower doing little to dispel a dark mood that carried over into their evening lessons.

Vlad wondered if he was sleeping enough.

Judging from his current state alone, the poor boy needed all the rest he could get. Vlad quelled a rush of remorse for pushing him so hard, reminding himself that Daniel had set the pace.

Insisted, really. He was normally eager, almost desperate, to improve, diving into training with a single-minded intensity that rivaled Vlad’s own. Daniel had protested furiously when Vlad had suggested they take it a bit easier during the school year, pushing himself even harder.

Vlad chuckled fondly; Daniel was his son, after all. But perhaps he could persuade him to revise their schedule to an every other day kind of thing; in hindsight, it was a bit ambitious to have lessons and physical training on the same day…

Musing about schedules, he set the basket aside and approached, debating whether the merits of repositioning gangly limbs into a more comfortable position outweighed the risk of waking the boy.

No, better to let him rest. He was young, after all; he probably wouldn’t suffer from the stiff neck Vlad wouldn’t admit to getting if he slept at the demonstrated awkward though, admittedly, impressive angle. (His neck definitely did not twinge in sympathy. He wasn’t old.)

He settled for carefully prying off the remaining shoe before unfurling a fuzzy throw that hung over the back of the couch, settling it gently over long legs, careful not to disturb the felines. They, of course, would have no such qualms about waking Daniel in their subsequent bid for freedom should they be trapped beneath the heavy fabric.

His fond gaze migrated upward upon completion of his task, settling on Daniel’s face, relaxed in slumber. It was a rare treat to observe his son in such a peaceful state, and he was somewhat tempted to take a picture (too bad his camera was in his room).

Daniel looked so young this way. The man’s eyebrows bunched, oddly nostalgic as he took in the boy’s strengthening features, an early sign that he wouldn’t be one for much longer. Soon, soft lines would vanish completely, giving way to the strong jaw and defined cheeks that were already taking shape.

He would miss these days. Vlad felt an irrational surge of longing and loss, feeling absurdly cheated out of the early years, of a tiny Daniel smiling at him, of endless questions and childlike wonder (which was absolutely insane, considering he didn’t even like children. There was a reason he’d decided to create a teenaged clone). But if that was the case, Vlad supposed he wouldn’t be the Daniel he knew now. It was probably for the best.

He sighed, and ran a gentle hand through thick stripped locks, marveling at the silky softness as it slid through his fingers. It really was getting long, Vlad thought idly, scratching lightly across the scalp, delighted when the crease between Daniel’s eyes smoothed, and he sunk deeper into sleep with a content sigh.

Vlad lingered for a moment before withdrawing reluctantly, gathering up the basket again with a sigh of his own. A nap would do the boy good, he reminded himself, so he’d best leave Daniel to it.

Of course, this meant he was back to square one with the laundry. He was looking for Daniel in the first place to gather his dirty clothes so Vlad could start a load or two before dinner.

Well, perhaps he could still do that. He could always take a detour into the boy’s room himself. He was certain Daniel wouldn’t mind the intrusion; after all, he was simply retrieving laundry, so he wouldn’t be there long.

Decision made, he turned back, pausing to empty his basket in the laundry room before ascending the stairs once again to the wing that housed their personal quarters, hesitating for a moment before cracking open the door and entering Daniel’s room.

It was strange, being here without the room’s main occupant. He felt a bit like an intruder. The space was shockingly well-kempt for belonging to a teenager, not that he was surprised; Daniel was hardly your average teenager.

As expected, his dirty laundry was in the hamper, and Vlad wasted no time in sorting through it.

Something was off, though. Vlad lived with his son, so of course he noticed that Daniel had started sweater season as soon as he no longer ran the risk of suffering heat stroke. That meant there should be about two weeks’ worth of ripening knitwear, as none had been sent out recently. But there were none to be found in the hamper, and, despite the fibers’ natural resistance to sweat and grime, it was certainly time for a wash.

Most, if not all, of Daniel’s sweaters were handmade, knitted by Vlad himself, so required special care. He supposed Daniel could be keeping such garments separate in a display of caution. Conscientious, as always.

Not that it was necessary; Vlad only hired the best, and, of course, always ran a brief inspection of the sorted garments before they were taken to the proper cleaning facilities. Details meant everything in his line of work, and his appearance was one of many he monitored personally. Sure, he was a billionaire, and could afford purchase a new wardrobe any time he wished, but it hadn’t always been this way. He was taught to take pride in his possessions, and waste was unthinkable; far be it for him to neglect his roots.

Shaking himself out of his musings (he certainly was distracted today), he got back to the task at hand; finding the sweaters. He supposed he could simply wait and ask Daniel during their evening session, but leaving the job half-done would bother him.

Vlad was a completionist to a fault, and knew that if he put this off, he ran the risk of losing his productive mood. Not to mention the thought of the laundry sitting half-finished would torture him all evening; it would have been better to have not started at all. And he wouldn’t wake the boy. But this also toed the line of invasion of privacy.

He weighed his options, and decided that a taking a brief look couldn’t hurt; he was already here, after all. In such a neat space, there weren’t exactly an abundance of hiding places.

He checked the walk-in closet first. A thorough search left him baffled by the complete lack of sweaters, dirty or otherwise. He had checked the drawers (meticulously folded), hangers (formal wear was sorted by degree of formality then color), and even the floor (his shoes were lined up so perfectly he put showrooms to shame).

Daniel clearly treasured his possessions, and Vlad felt a rush of pride. His son kept his space in perfect order, and everything had a logical place. Except for the sweaters, it would seem. Which didn’t make any sense.

His frustration grew as he continued to pace the room and failed to find a single one. He was running out of ideas, and was uncomfortable at the thought of exploring much further. On a whim, he ducked his head under the bed, admittedly feeling a bit foolish; this was one of the oldest clichés in the book.

But his eyes were immediately drawn to a large cedar chest, a copy of the one he himself used for keepsakes. He had forgotten the boy had one as well; Daniel had been delighted with the gift, especially when Vlad had shown him the contents of its twin in his private study.

Vlad slid the heavy container out, running a hand across the sanded, weighty lid, hesitating for only a moment before giving in to his curiosity and lifting it before he could change his mind.

Sure enough, here were Daniel’s sweaters. He let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. Mystery solved. The quantity bordered on insane, way more than he remembered making, Vlad observed somewhat sheepishly. What could he say? He was a stress knitter.

But he was particularly fascinated with the way the garments were packed. Despite the large quantity, each sweater was folded with a degree of precision that spoke wordless volumes of care. Handmade garments often had quirks; small flaws that made each piece unique, making it nearly impossible to pack them away neatly. Daniel had somehow managed it by treating each sweater as an individual, modifying his folding technique slightly to ensure optimal fit. Even the dirty ones were carefully folded, and placed on the smaller, right-hand side of the central divider. It made his closet look sloppy in comparison.

Reluctant to ruin what was clearly several hours of work, Vlad carefully flipped through layers of sweaters, separated with tissue paper, the garments growing smaller as he descended. He was sure most of these didn’t have a hope of fitting Daniel any longer.

One stood out from the others, though. It rested at the very bottom of the heavy chest, and was individually wrapped, obscured by many layers of delicate tissue and tied loosely with string. This deviation from the established system sparked Vlad’s curiosity further, overriding common sense, and before he knew it, he was carefully removing the wrappings.

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this.

He drew in a sharp breath, unnerved, and delicately traced the ragged edge of a black-rimmed tear with shaking fingers, transfixed. It extended downward from right shoulder to sternum in a great slice, like it had been severed with a hot knife.

Bafflingly, someone had also gone to great lengths to attempt repair; the edges were joined with neat, if pointless, stitches. Only the lack of patching material revealed that this was a rush job. Admirable effort, but an exercise in futility nonetheless; nothing could hope to fix the charred edges.

The garment was utterly ruined. No wonder Daniel kept this one covered so well; it likely brought back unpleasant memories, but the boy clearly didn’t have the heart to get rid of it.

Upon closer inspection, Vlad realized he recognized this sweater. The vague unease grew into a feeling far more unpleasant.

It was the first one he’d ever made for Daniel, not that he’d known that at the time. It had been started with his own dimensions in mind, but modified on a whim; gold and green, stitched together with hands bathed in the eerie green glow of the incubation chamber.

He had been a different person then, twisted by hatred and blinded by his obsession with the Fentons.

Each stitch had been formed in bitter anger, to keep him grounded, patient. Clicking needles helped to cover up the maddening hiss of the central air system and the relentless beep of monitoring equipment.

He knew at his core that this would be the last plot, his last attempt to take what was rightfully his; should he fail yet again, the fallout would be devastating. He would be unable to stop himself from giving up, from descending irrevocably into madness. Because at the end of the day, hate was all he had, his only constant along with his pride. But hatred took energy, and he was tired. So tired.

Lips curled in disgust as he ran the clumsily-constructed fabric sitting in his lap through his fingers, reliving the turmoil through the record of amateurish mistakes that littered the garment. Each pucker and twist, invisible to the untrained eye, glared at him accusingly, reminding him of sins he could never atone for. Made him sick with guilt as they whispered to him, reminded him of a time when Daniel had been merely an “it” and “the clone,” a tool he had every intention to use for revenge.

He was practically living in the dim, sterile, underground room, on standby to respond in a moment should the clone destabilize again. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept in his own bed (he kept a cot down here), gotten more than two consecutive hours of sleep, or eaten something more substantial than the occasional protein bar. He carefully refrained from imagining the state of the companies he was neglecting.

But this stage of the project was too unpredictable to leave unattended, the clone’s outline in the cloudy fluid filling the tube bobbing peacefully up and down, blissfully unaware that its existence could end in an instant. But he wouldn’t let that happen. He would have his prize. With a completely obedient half ghost by his side, he would rule. He had taken no chances, had combined a stolen sample of the Fenton boy’s DNA with his own. It was his ultimate weapon. No one would be able to stop him. No one could keep him from his rightful place.

But throughout human history, it is in moments like these that astounding things can happen. Picture a person building a perfect pyramid, finally reaching the absolute top, standing on that tiny, sharp pinnacle, at the very highest they can go.

It is when we are at this peak, feel the most unstoppable, have the firmest foundation, are the most confident in our convictions, that the smallest breeze can topple us over and force us to rethink the foundations of our self-constructed realities as we fall, force us to shift our reality; rebuild, or cease to exist.

It is the small things that shake us to the core, that have the power to change us forever.

Be it stroke of luck, fate, divine intervention or pure coincidence, one such moment occurred in that sterile lab when a rare set of circumstances coincided. The fluid ensconcing the clone ran clear for several minutes, reflex prompted new eyes to flutter open, and Vlad happened to look up.

And looked into a familiar set of blue eyes that he hadn’t seen anywhere other than a mirror since his mother had passed away all those years ago (he had searched for her desperately after he learned the nature of his transformation, to no avail). They may have been obscured by fluid, but the shape and shade were unmistakable; they were her eyes. His eyes. Staring unseeingly back at him.

It was…disturbing, to say the least. Blame it on sleep deprivation if you will, but he felt his mother’s eyes cut right through him, accusingly, judging him for his behavior in her absence. Forcing himself to do something he had done his very best to avoid, in a way only she ever could.

So Vlad Masters took an honest look at himself for the first time in several decades.

And he wept, because he knew that she didn’t like what she saw, was disappointed in him. He had known this, on some level; it was why he had been putting off this realization for years. But, he was surprised to find that she wasn’t disappointed he had fallen so far; no, because she knew and he knew now, too, that he had fallen. Which meant that he was capable of picking himself back up and hadn’t. He had chosen not to, had chosen temporary comfort over the harder but healthier path. But he could do better. He would do better. If not for her than for himself.

And on that paradigm shift, he rebuilt his world. The eyes closed.

And Vlad, with fresh eyes, truly looked into the face of the being he created for the first time. But dread overtook him when he realized he wasn’t seeing the face of a clone. No, instead, he was looking into the face of a child.

It took him back to the first time he had met young Daniel at the college reunion, blindsided by an irrational rush of paternal pride and unspeakable longing to get to know this boy, realizing that he wasn’t, didn’t have to be alone anymore. (How wrong he was).

That familiar, fierce longing again surged to the surface, become part of his world once again. A desire he had buried long ago when the hopelessness simply became too much to bear.

All he had ever wanted was someone to love.

He thanked everything he could think of that he hadn’t started the programming, that is, the brainwashing, yet. And he wouldn’t. He’d keep the basic learning protocols, so the boy could communicate, have basic knowledge about the world, but nothing else. If he wanted a son, he’d earn his trust and affection the old-fashioned way. The right way.

But he was forgetting something. New hope warred with sick dread. But why? What threatened his happiness now? Because this being he created wasn’t a tool, this was a child. His child. So still. So fragile.

The realization opened the floodgates, and he fought to keep the rush of panic at bay. What had he done!?

Once again, in a display of arrogance and ignorance, he had put someone at risk. He already cared too much about the boy, was once again on the verge of losing everything. Because the child, Daniel, was dangerously unstable. He could die.

Vlad couldn’t let that happen.

For the first time in years, he was truly terrified of the consequences of failure. Because he wasn’t used to consequences. In an instant, the project had evolved into a horrible tightrope walk between life and death. He hoped the anxiety wouldn’t kill him first.

It was touch and go for a small eternity. Vlad lost sleep, hair, and his lunch to far more close calls than he cared to recall. He was certain he aged about twenty years that month, trapped in a micro-hell of his own design; he still had nightmares about that innocent face devolving into ectoplasm, but awake, screaming in agony from the confines of the tube at a pitch that made his hair stand on end…

Vlad mentally shook himself. No. He thought about this quite enough at night, no sense in dwelling on it during waking hours as well.

Preoccupied with the stressful task of keeping Daniel alive, sleeping in the lab even after the boy had stabilized out of sheer paranoia, he realized he was woefully unprepared to care for a child; embarrassingly so. He panicked when Daniel emerged from the tube, realizing he hadn’t given a thought about basic needs. Like clothing, for example.

His “newborn” was freezing; his small frame shook uncontrollably in the thin sterile gown as he was propped upright on a cot so Vlad could monitor his vitals, a pile of medical blankets doing little to combat the chill. The boy was in tears; uncomfortable and confused, agoraphobic and overwhelmed by this strange new world, so Vlad had grabbed the completed sweater instinctively and helped the boy into it, hoping the warm weight would ground him, rambling about inconsequential things to distract from the alarming machines as he worked to reattach feeds and wires.

He cringed; in hindsight, he had risked further overstimulation that way, and the outcome could have been disastrous. His palms still grew slick with cold sweat, and his blood pressure skyrocketed whenever he thought about everything that could have gone wrong, all the mistakes he had made in those early days. He cursed his stupidity.

Vlad shook off his self-disgust in favor of gathering up the old sweaters, having forgotten his original task, otherwise occupied with the chaos of his memories. They didn’t fit Daniel any longer, so there really wasn’t any sense in keeping them.

It was embarrassing how amateurish they looked now. They were an unwelcome reminder of a time when he was at an absolute low. He just wanted them gone. Especially that first one. The marred fabric seemed to mock him. Yes, better to dispose of it, and bury the anxiety and fear that came with it.

He gathered his legs under him with mild difficulty, surprised to discover he was a bit stiff—he had been kneeling on the floor longer than he thought—and glanced up at the doorway.

Only to lock eyes with Daniel, who stood, gaping, in the doorway, hand frozen in an abandoned attempt to straighten tousled locks. Tension radiated from his too-still frame, and wide eyes flickered from confusion to shock to panic.

Vlad froze as well, uneasy; he had never seen this look in the boy’s eyes before, and never cared to again. Sick dread pooled heavily in his stomach as all other thoughts evaporated; he knew without a doubt that something was very wrong.

“Dad,” Daniel whispered, hand dropping abruptly. “What are you doing with those?”

His gaze lowered, fixed on the pile of sweaters in Vlad’s arms. Vlad looked down as well, and blinked, bemused by the sudden lack of sweaters there.

Daniel hugged the garments to his chest tenderly, like a young child would cuddle a favorite stuffed toy for reassurance after a scare. In moments like these, Vlad was reminded of how new to the world the boy really was; it was too easy to forget when he wore the skin of a teenager.

A familiar, irrational stab of loss joined the budding guilt and self-loathing; that strange yearning for early years that never occurred.

Nostalgia must be a theme today, he thought idly.

Reason returned as he watched Daniel drop carefully to his knees a deliberate distance away to begin refolding the stack. Vlad’s inquisitive and concerned gaze was studiously avoided as the boy focused entirely on the task at hand.

Careful hands guided handmade fabric into precise creases reverently, deep blue eyes gleaming with a look of concentration so intense, it might have been comical under different circumstances. If he didn’t recognize the carefully constructed front for what it was.

Upset was an understatement; and despite an admirable effort, Daniel was unable to conceal the slight tremble that made his hands clumsy and slow, an obvious tell that only intensified the harder he tried to hide it.

Overall, he gave the impression of one who had survived a close shave. As the shock slowly abated, Vlad’s mental alarm bells became more insistent. This reaction was a bit extreme, even for someone experiencing the emotional fragility that was part and parcel of an unplanned nap. Something wasn’t quite right; he was missing some crucial detail.

“Daniel, what…” Vlad trailed off, at a loss, hands reaching toward the boy helplessly, then falling short, uncertain. “What did I—”

“You were going to get rid of them, weren’t you.”

It wasn’t a question. The words were tight, clipped. His eyes remained fixed studiously downward, even though it was obvious that he wasn’t truly looking at the abandoned sweater in front of him, fists clenched in an a futile attempt to suppress trembling fingers.

Daniel abruptly rocked back on his heels and wiped roughly at his face, shattering the invisible barrier between them, allowing Vlad to finally take action. He scrambled in his haste to close the gap.

He gathered the boy clumsily into his arms, and Daniel practically melted into the firm embrace before returning it fiercely, clinging to him in turn. A striped head filled his peripheral vision, resting its comfortable weight on his shoulder, and soaked the light fabric covering it in warm wetness.

It was unclear how long they remained that way, respecting an unspoken agreement to set aside the circumstances for awhile in favor of comforting another; indulging in the unique security that came from holding a kindred spirit close.

After a while, Daniel pulled away reluctantly, sniffling wetly and wiping halfheartedly at his nose. Vlad produced a fresh handkerchief and settled into a cross-legged position, facing the teen, waiting patiently for him to collect himself while he gathered his own thoughts.

“I apologize, Daniel,” he began, slowly, when the sniffles had eased, and the boy settled into a similar position, rolling edges of soft fabric anxiously between his fingers as he met Vlad’s gaze.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I know that I am at fault here, but I do admit that I’m not entirely sure what exactly I did to cause you this much distress. Regardless, I should not have been in your room or searched through your things without your express permission. I knew better, but I did it anyway. I invaded your privacy, and for that, I am sorry.”

Daniel maintained eye contact, reddened and puffy appearance doing nothing to diminish the sincerity evident in their depths.

“I forgive you.”

There was no hesitation. The honest declaration mowed through Vlad’s emotional barriers, and his vision blurred as identical blue eyes prickled with tears of their own.

He bit his lip. His mistakes had long entrapped him, clinging fast and weighing him down. Experience taught him that, once made, he would never be rid of them. This knowledge, this fear, were iron shackles. It was his curse. But this boy…

Never before had he known such forgiveness.

Daniel absolutely hated to see his dad cry. There was just something fundamentally wrong about seeing someone you cared about in distress. So he was quick to reassure, hoping to fend off the flood and the inevitable interrogation.

“There’s really no harm done. They’re all here, they’re safe.”

Honestly, this assurance was just as much for himself. Of course, he would have forgiven Vlad regardless of the outcome; his dad was way more important to him than keepsakes, but this had come completely out of left field.

He had always been so careful, and seeing his collection spread across the floor had been the last thing he had expected after trudging upstairs to finish his homework before training, cursing himself bitterly for falling asleep.

He had really only meant to rest his eyes for a second or two, having gone distractingly cross-eyed while undoing his laces, falling instead into the deep kind of sleep that left one feeling fuzzy-headed and irritable upon waking instead of rested.

Daniel looked over at his favorite sweater, the one he had taken the most care to preserve. As always, fury at the damage was tempered with fond warmth. He flushed lightly, briefly recalling the circumstances of its repair.

His dad, who had since pulled himself together, followed his line of sight, brows drawing together in confusion, focused on the blackened article.

“Why keep these? Most are much too small, and this one,” he pulled the garment closer, “is damaged beyond repair.”

Daniel’s hands twitched instinctively, ready to come to the rescue at any moment.

Honestly? The thought of getting rid of them had never even crossed his mind, so he hadn’t. And he felt much too strongly about the garments to ever consider it.

But his dad was looking at him expectantly, obviously waiting for an answer. He had no idea how to put his jumbled thoughts and feelings on the matter into words, so he called upon the time-tested art of stalling.

“But you made them for me,” he settled on a basic truth, trying to buy a bit of time as he scrambled, struggling to string his thoughts into a pattern his dad would accept.

“I can make more, you know,” Vlad pointed out reasonably. “There’s no sense holding on to something that’s outlived its usefulness. At this point, they’re just clutter—”

“They’re important to me!” Daniel snapped, and Vlad blanched, drawing back in shock.

Daniel’s eyes widened, immediately regretting his outburst.

He didn’t mean to yell at his father! But that statement hit distressingly close to home. It was like Vlad wasn’t talking about the sweaters at all. For a moment, his nightmares were playing out before his eyes…

He forcefully shoved his insecurities to the back of his mind in favor of running damage control; he had hurt his dad, and he looked on guiltily as his father struggled to school his features into a neutral position.

“I’m sorry, Dad!” Daniel rushed to explain, mentally kicking himself for his tone.

“I would never get rid of these. I just can’t. You spent so much time on them, and it makes me feel cared for, kind of important, you know?”

He traced the hem of the special one, eyes softening as his face heated up, but he was determined to get this out before he could talk himself out of it. “Not to mention they’re basically portable hugs. You’re with me all day this way.”

He hadn’t exactly wanted to give quite that much away. But if he had to choose between his pride and his dad, his dad would win every time. It was the truth, after all, and he knew he had made the right choice when his dad’s eyes softened, and he was swallowed in his embrace once again.

Daniel had learned a long time ago that his father’s hugs went beyond the physical; they were part of an extensive nonverbal language, expressing what words simply could not.

Because he maintained a stern public image, a necessity in his line of work, most people didn’t realize that his father was a very emotional man. Daniel had seen how often he was misunderstood and slighted by his peers (to Daniel’s fury) because they never experienced this.

For someone who claimed to have little experience in the area of affection, he sure didn’t act like it. Daniel still had no idea how he managed it, how exactly he coordinated the variations of timing and pressure into such clear but complex expressions. This time, Vlad was conveying relief, awe, gratitude, and as always, more than anything, love.

The guilt intensified, sitting heavy and low in his stomach. He didn’t deserve this. He’s such a hypocrite, furious when others fail to appreciate his father, but hasn’t he done the same thing? Vlad cared so much, almost too much, about other people; he would do anything for the ones he loved, for Daniel. Anything. And yet, Daniel was upset because he had tried to declutter.

Of course, Daniel is fully aware that this isn’t exactly the reason he’s upset, but he’s very careful to avoid the thought. Now is not the time to think about this. It’s much easier to tell himself he’s simply sentimental. Nothing else.

Vlad’s grip tightens almost imperceptibly, seeking reassurance, and Daniel pushed aside the painful train of thought, eager to provide it.

He returned the embrace fiercely; he loves his dad more than anything, and he was determined to convey this. He knows he can’t hold a candle to Vlad’s raw skill in this area, but that doesn’t stop him from trying.

He must have succeeded to some degree, because he feels his dad relax a bit. Daniel sighed, settling his head once again onto a broad shoulder, still a bit damp from earlier, and takes the opportunity to burn this moment into his memory, to add it to his collection.

He savored the slight tickle of grey locks on his upper check, sprung loose from their ties; the pleasant burn of cologne mixed with a scent that was simply Vlad drying his sinuses and coating the back of his tongue; the unnatural heat radiating through his silky shirt, warm and comfortable. For a small eternity, he knows nothing but safety, comfort, and love, and basks in the feeling.

They eventually break apart and, once again, take a moment to collect themselves before Vlad looks again to Daniel’s favorite sweater.

“What happened?” he ventured, concerned by the implication that someone had attacked his son in human form (and rightfully so), but reluctant to upset Daniel further.

Daniel gathered it up with a sigh, reluctant to delve into complicated memories again. He began to refold the garment, grateful for the excuse to avoid eye contact as he, fumbled for an answer that would satisfy his father, struck with an annoying sense of déjà vu.

“I took care of it. Doesn’t exactly fix this, though.”

Vlad sighed; he knew that truth all too well.

They kneeled there awkwardly for a moment, neither entirely what to do, caught in that strange limbo that followed any major argument; that period where you tell yourself everything’s okay now, but you know deep down that it’s a lie. Because the cycle of injury, apology, and forgiveness isn’t some magic fix, and no relationship pops back to how it was before even though the issue has been resolved. Things weren’t really okay yet, and they probably wouldn’t be for a little while.

Honestly, the invasion of privacy didn’t sting nearly as much as his own insecurities; he’d move on. But would Vlad?

Daniel glanced surreptitiously his father. Vlad was an expert at the practiced neutral face, but Daniel knew better; his poor father would be beating himself up about this for days.

Sure, he was still a bit shaken, but nothing had happened. Vlad was just too hard on himself. He had been a mess for weeks that time he had broken Daniel’s nose after opening a door too quickly, despite the fact it had healed without a scare in a matter of days. He had hated the way his father had tiptoed around him, hated that tortured look in his eyes as the incident no doubt looped in his mind, on repeat; over and over again.

If only there was a way to reassure his dad that he still had Daniel’s trust, a way to break through his uncertainly. He played with a loose hem pensively, cursing the circumstances that had led Vlad to rummage through his sweater box in the first place…

Sweaters. It was so obvious.

He gathered up the unwearable sweaters into a neat pile again. He was embarrassed by how reluctant he was to go through with this, but if he had to choose between his dad’s happiness and sweaters that didn’t even fit anymore, well…

There really wasn’t a choice at all.

He got to his feet, and hefted the pile (there really were a lot of them), depositing them in his father’s arms. He smiled wryly as his dad looked down at the pile, bewildered, before raising his gaze and quirking an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Take them.”

Vlad blinked, lips parted slightly to respond, before they shut again. He glanced to the side, brows furrowed in concentration as he tried to reconcile the large volume of mixed messages he had received that afternoon.

“What?” he asked, settling on the explanation that, somehow, he had simply misheard.

“Take them.” Daniel maintained firm eye contact, staring into blue pools identical to his own. “You were right, they don’t even fit me anymore.”

“But, Daniel, those are yours,” Vlad sputtered, intelligently.

Daniel smiled softly.

“They were. But now I want you to have them.”

Vlad looked helplessly at the pile, as if it held the answer to the puzzle that was currently throwing him for a loop.

“But why, Daniel? You told me you love those sweaters.”

He left his father on the floor and walked to the door, grabbing his backpack on the way. He’d do some homework at the kitchen table for a while, give his dad some time alone to process. He paused in the doorway, a melancholy smile pulling at his lips as he gave his answer over his shoulder.

“I do. But I love you more.”

><><

This particular project normally would have taken months; Vlad had it done in one. But not because he had rushed; no, he made absolutely certain it was perfect. Nothing less for Daniel. He didn’t sleep much anyways.

Daniel’s demonstration had the intended effect; knowing he still had his son’s trust even after his mistake meant the world to him.

It had been a shock, at first. He hadn’t known what to think when the boy handed his treasured pile of clothing over with barely an explanation. It had been more difficult than he’d like to admit, allowing his son to walk away after sharing such a sentiment, leaving him on the floor to collect his thoughts. But after the shock (finally) wore off, the implications of the gesture warmed him to the core.

(He also was trying his best not to dwell on the implication that someone attacked Daniel. His son. In human form, no less. Because if he thought about that for too long, it took him to a dark place. He trusted Daniel. He did. But surely it hadn’t been out of line to investigate the incident himself, not that he found anything, to his frustration.)

By the time training had begun that evening, Daniel appeared to have forgotten all about the incident. To the untrained eye, that is. Vlad had to give credit where credit was due; he had admirable focus during training and finished all his homework, but he’d caught a glimpse of him with the cedar chest out again later that evening on his way to bed; reorganizing.

Vlad truly had no idea the boy was so fond of the sweaters. He could have kicked himself. He thought he knew his son so well; how had he missed something so important to him? Sure, he always beamed and hugged him whenever Vlad presented him with a new one (which may have contributed to the vast number now that he thinks about it, hmm…) but then again, Daniel always thanked him for gifts, equally delighted be it a motorbike or a new toothbrush.

In hindsight, though, the favoritism for knitwear was obvious, in the way his eyes would light up just that much brighter, how he’d wear it the very next day. And his words…

They’re basically portable hugs. You’re with me all day this way.

He had replayed this exchange countless times over the past month, the warmth in his chest just as strong as day one. Never before had he known such happiness. Such love.

His eyes prickled a bit. It was strange kind of responsibility, to have such a significant role in the happiness of someone else. He both cherished and feared it in equal measure, terrified he would wake up one day, and he’d realize he’d imagined this whole thing. Or worse, that he would drive Daniel away himself one day, just like every other important person in his life. He’d be alone again.

For years, he chased a mirage of this feeling, feeding his obsession with a woman who would never return his affections, and later, her son. At some point, he had given up, resigned himself to a lifetime of loneliness and swore revenge instead. He had cursed his failures, then.

Now, he thanked whatever power was responsible for those failures; any “victory” he may have achieved during that time, which now felt like lifetimes ago, would have been a mockery of the affection he craved, a mere taste that would have eventually driven him mad with longing. Daniel had freely given him what he’d never dreamed could exist. And it meant the world to him.

He didn’t deserve Daniel. But for some unknown reason, he had decided to stay. He was the first person who had chosen Vlad above all others, and Vlad longed to show him how much he meant to him.

He would continue to make the boy sweaters. Socks. Hats. Scarves. Heck, he’d learn how to sew properly and make all his clothes, if it meant this much to him. But one step at a time.

On that note, Vlad put the finishing touches on the piece, feeling the strange mixture of melancholy and satisfaction he experienced whenever he completed a long-term project.

And to his delight, it turned out much better than he had hoped. He had conducted extensive research regarding design and technique; it was pretty far out of his comfort zone, and he only had one chance to get it right. But it was worth it. Anything for Daniel.

He took a moment to appreciate the fruits of his labor before packing it away with the utmost care.

Everything had to be perfect.

><><

Something was up. Daniel’s eyes narrowed as he watched his dad make breakfast. The change was subtle. Only someone who saw the man on a daily basis would notice the difference; he was almost twitchy, movements sharp and almost harried as he fixed Daniel’s plate.

His Dad placed the food in front of him with a quiet “good morning” and a tired smile. Daniel noted the bruises under his eyes were darker than usual. Daniel thanked him before focusing on his plate, inhaling sharply at its contents.

Pancakes. In fun shapes.

Oh no. It was worse than he thought.

He kept stealing glances at his dad as he ate, watched him worry at the handle of his coffee mug and pick at his own pancakes. Daniel hated to leave him like this, but really, there wasn’t anything to be done when Vlad was in one of these moods. And his dad wouldn’t want him to miss school.

If he lingered a bit during his goodbye hug, his dad didn’t comment. Just bid him to have a good day, like usual.

Daniel tried to go about his day as he normally did, but was unable to shake the concern for his father. They texted as per their habit during his lunch break, in between laughing with his friends, but Vlad seemed a bit…distracted, he supposed.

(His friends could have told him that Vlad wasn’t the only one, but, like all good friends, they didn’t comment, opting instead to respect his privacy, confident that he would talk when and if he wanted to.)

Needless to say, Daniel wasn’t entirely sure what to expect when he crossed the Masters’ threshold that afternoon, hanging his jacket on the rack and shouldering his backpack, anxious to check on his father.

“Dad, I’m home!”

No answer.

He deposited his keys in the dish, and moved through the entryway, calling twice more, trying not to worry when he was met with silence.

While uncommon, it wasn’t unheard of for Daniel to get home before Vlad. But with the mood his dad was in that day, he was on edge. Normally, he would text Daniel when he was working late.

Daniel sighed, running his fingers lightly along the wall of pictures as he made his way down the hall and up the staircase, deciding to distract himself with a bit of schoolwork while he waited for his dad to get back. He hoped he was alright.

Daniel deposited his backpack beside his desk, taking a moment to kick off his shoes before pulling out his phone to text his dad, making his way over to sit on his bed, glancing up to check the height (his muscle memory wasn’t the most reliable these days; he was running into furniture and walls so often that his dad often joked about childproofing) only to stop short. There was already something sitting there.

It was a box of medium size, just short of being too large to hold comfortably with two hands, wrapped simply but neatly in white paper. Resting on top was a light green envelope, with his name inked in gold in a familiar hand.

He furrowed his brows, perplexed, and set aside his phone to pick up the envelope. Unless he was very much mistaken, this was a present from his dad. Strange.

Not that surprise presents were an unusual occurrence; on the contrary, his dad loved giving him gifts, much more than Daniel enjoyed receiving them. The quantity had been truly ridiculous at first. It took a while for him to convince his father to relax, admitting that while he appreciated the thought and attention, he felt guilty that he was unable to reciprocate. So they had compromised, agreeing to save gifting for special occasions.

Of course, Vlad pushed the boundaries of this rule, but it made him so happy to do nice things for Daniel that the teenager didn’t have the heart to call him out. As long as he didn’t go overboard, Daniel had decided he could live with the occasional surprise.

He picked at the flap of the heavy paper envelope.

But, unlike any other time his dad gave him a gift, he wasn’t here. Daniel knew from experience that the real fun of gift-giving came from watching the recipient’s reaction.

And his dad’s absence was clearly intentional. Vlad was a master of presentation; the private location combined with the open and inviting position of the box and envelope was not coincidental. Not to mention his unusual absence from the house at large. And no audience meant no pressure, no need to control his reactions with the feelings of other in mind, free to be himself.

Which meant it was a gift intended for Daniel and Daniel alone. He was touched. And intrigued.

He finally managed to get a thumb under the tight seal, prying the glue apart slowly, careful to leave the envelope intact. He pulled out a sheet of simple off-white stationary, revealing a message in his father’s distinctive hand.

Daniel chuckled a bit; for someone so detail-oriented, his handwriting was atrocious. He sat down, and began to read.

Dear Daniel,

I apologize for violating your privacy and your trust about a month ago. I have no excuse. I allowed my curiosity to overrule my common sense and overstepped your boundaries. Worse, I used this knowledge to impose my will when it was neither wanted nor necessary, failing to respect your space, and by extension, you. I am sorry, Daniel, for this, and any similar past missteps that I failed to recognize.

I cannot promise you that something similar will not happen again; I promise to try my best, but as much as I pretend otherwise, truly, I have no idea what I’m doing. You are the first person I have shared a space with in over twenty years, and those past examples did not end well. Despite my best efforts to the contrary, I successfully drove away everyone close to me. I hurt people. I’d like to think that I’m a bit wiser now, but I know that’s not entirely true.

To be completely honest, I’m terrified, Daniel. You are my only son. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I hurt you as well. And I did hurt you, that day. Others have left for far less.

Imagine my surprise when you forgave me so easily. I simply couldn’t believe that it could be that easy. You know that I trust you, Daniel, but you have to understand that years of evidence to the contrary are not so easily ignored.

And then you decided to prove that there were no hard feelings; you gave the subject of my betrayal back to me, as a sign of good faith. Your prized possessions. Given freely.

I suspect you don’t have any idea clue how truly special you are. So selfless, so kind. If I hadn’t had such an involved role in your creation, I never would have believed that you were my child.

So thank you, Daniel. Thank you for being you.

Daniel blinked back tears, taken aback by the forthright nature of the letter. It was just so honest, so Vlad that he wasn’t sure if he should shake his head or cry. Honestly, he was a bit disappointed; he had thought that his show of trust with the old sweaters had been enough to assure him of Daniel’s sincerity, and relieve him of guilt.

He loved the man, but it killed him how stubborn he could be. He didn’t need to apologize again; Daniel had been tired that day, and overreacted, reading farther into the situation than he should have. They were just a bunch of old sweaters. This was his dad. Why couldn’t his dad see that?

He decided to move on, rubbing at his eyes, unable to suppress a snort at the next line:

Now, because I know you, I’m certain that unlike every other teenager in existence, you read the card first. So do me a favor, please; open up the box before you read the rest.

He shook his head. No one knew him like his dad. He’d worry about the implications of his predictability later.

For now, he took the box into his lap; it had heft, but wasn’t heavy, per se. He turned the package over, searching for the seams, and methodically pried tape away from the wrappings, careful not to tear the paper, savoring the anticipation.

He set the paper aside, and grasped the lid of the oversized white cardboard clothing box, prying it away from the bottom half, and brushed aside green and yellow tissue paper. His hands began to shake.

He was greeted with something familiar, yet new. He traced the old knit pattern, yarn soft from wear, but freshly laundered. He tried a couple of times to lift the bulky block of fabric from the box, but it was packed tight, and he was unable to find purchase. So he gave up and turned the box over onto the sheets instead, then unfolded its contents, eager to see the piece in its entirety. He gaped.

They were all here. All of his old sweaters, the ones that he had given to Vlad that day. The ones that he reluctantly put aside one by one when he could no longer slip into their warm embrace. He had mourned the loss of the memories that went with each one, resigned to enjoy them as mere keepsakes.

He didn’t regret giving them to his dad, but he had missed them.

Here they were, but not as they were; the torsos had been divested of the sleeves and divided in half down the sides, former front and back forming large patches that were sewn methodically onto an oversized sheet of ultra-soft fabric. Parts of the sleeves had been repurposed into artful borders to separate individual sweaters. The construction had been stuffed lightly, and formed a type of quilt.

Overall, the effect was stunning, striking a perfect balance between respect for the past and celebration of a new era.

As far as he could tell, every salvageable part of his collection had a place.

In the middle, framed like a piece of art, was the front of his favorite sweater. His first one, complete with mar and repair job. He traced his friend’s handiwork reverently, taking a moment to reflect before taking action.

He arranged the quilt on top of his comforter, admiring the personal touch it brought to his space. He itched to burrow under it immediately, but he knew better; there was no way he’d be able to avoid falling asleep right now if he was that warm.

It was, without question, the most thoughtful gift he had ever received. So much time and care had been poured into this. He had no idea how his dad had managed to organize the diverse collection into the aesthetically-pleasing and functional piece of art resting on his bed. He felt a rush of concern for his dad. When had he found time to sleep this month?

With a jolt, Daniel remembered that he still had half a letter to read.

He bit his bottom lip, conflicted, and decided to take a calculated risk; he burrowed socked feet under the quilt and shimmied down to his hips, sighing in delight. The warm weight was unbelievably comfortable, and his feeling of nostalgia only intensified with contact. He had missed this. His dad’s voice colored the rest of the text.

Life is full of change. I often did my best to resist it, believing it could bring only pain. You have taught me that this isn’t always the case. Change can bring pain, but it often brings benefits as well. Especially when it brings about growth.

Take your sweaters for example. You were, and still are, incredibly fond of them, despite the fit becoming uncomfortable as you outgrew them. To continue to grow unhindered, you had to take the small sweaters off.

You’ll continue to grow in many different ways. I look forward to seeing who you will become.

But you will find that you will outgrow more than old sweaters in the course of your life. Mindsets, routines, places. At some point, you’ll realize that they’re no longer as comfortable as you remember, but moving on can be hard.

When you reach the point of no return, Daniel, you must promise me you won’t linger. Trying to fit into that “old sweater” again, as tempting as it is, will only bring you pain.

I regret to say I speak from experience. I was stuck, for many years, trying to fit into my own “sweater,” denying the restriction because it was all I had. I was stuck, longing to change my circumstances, but unwilling to release my hold on the “then” and embrace the “now.”

It was painful, to say the least. I wallowed in anger for years, refusing to share blame, placing it fully on the shoulders of my friends, pushing them away. Then I wondered why I was always unhappy and alone, with only my dark thoughts to keep me company.

I was still that person when you came along. No hope, intent on using you as a tool for revenge and conquest. But you were greater than I ever dreamed, far more than I could ever hope: A person. My son.

It terrified me; you were too good for this world, too good for me. And I was ashamed, thought myself unworthy to be your father, terrified I’d ruin you. That I’d fail you.

Please don’t make my mistakes. Make your own. Grow. Live.

Let this quilt remind you that it’s okay to remember the past, but not to dwell on it. With some imagination, your memories can grow with you. The past has its place, but life can only continue when you let go.

You taught me this, Daniel. Let me return the favor.

And no matter what else in your life may change, you can rest easy with the knowledge that I will always be here for you, for as long as you’ll have me.

I am so proud of you, son. I can’t wait to see what kind of man you’ll become.

I love you.

-Vlad

An ugly mix of tears and snot streamed unchecked down Daniel’s face, dripping off his chin onto his shirt, arms carefully outstretched to preserve the letter.

Sure, parts were a bit embarrassing. And sad. But while his dad expressed his love often enough verbally, it was a different experience altogether see it in writing. It felt more authentic, somehow. Perhaps it was the deliberation that was required to record such a sentiment on paper; completely separate from the heat of the moment. Sincere.

Today had been a roller coaster of emotion, from pancakes to quilts; he was exhausted.

When he first slid under the blanket, he had thought he’d never want to get up, reminded of his dad’s embrace. But now, he found himself longing for nothing less than the real thing, confident he knew where his dad had been hiding under the circumstances.

In his haste, he elected to phase out from under the quilt, pausing only to set the letter carefully on his desk before phasing through several walls into Vlad’s private study.

Sure enough, there he was. Daniel barely registered that the man was staring blankly, hunched over an old photo album before it was lost from sight as he released the transformation and buried him in a hug from behind, over his shoulders and the desk chair.

Vlad tensed at first, so lost in thought that he hadn’t heard the boy come in.

“Thank you,” Daniel whispered.

Vlad relaxed, closing the book before turning around with a tentative smile.

Daniel let go, and Vlad stood so he could hug his son properly.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! I hope you had just as much fun as I did writing it! I’m pretty new to writing fiction (I normally write research papers), so I’d appreciate any feedback you’d be willing to give me. Feel free to point out any mistakes or oversights! Overall, I’m really happy with how this turned out. I guess fifth times’ the charm and all that. I was concerned about the pacing being too slow, so I’m curious to see what you guys think.

I’m also open to requests! Feel free to hit me up. I have a few more shorts planned in this universe, namely, the story of how Daniel’s favorite sweater was damaged and an, admittedly, crack-ish short where Vlad and Daniel react to the sketch that started it all (Vlad commissions a family portrait, but has mixed feelings about the result); but after that, nothing’s planned, but I do have a couple of vague ideas.

Thanks for reading!

#flightyfiction #danny phantom #fanfiction #vlad masters #daniel masters #au #this got really long #oops #long post #tumblr didnt like it the first time #i hope its fixed #update: progress has been made but it still doesnt show up in search #maybe its the links #i might try a link-less version later #here it is #if this fixes it ill post the links seperately #technical difficulties

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taenqueray · 7 years ago

Text

how many nights does it take to count the stars; taehyung

pairing: alien!fem reader x taehyung (requested)

words: 2.2k

summary: “i was sent here to abduct you and have your memory wiped because you’re putting my world in danger, but i just can’t bring myself to do it because the smile on your face when you talk about the stars is so pretty that i couldn’t bear to get rid of it.”

title from: infinity; one direction

warnings: none, to be honest. the astrology is incorrect but please don’t come for me. also, i am willing to use this as proof that i can’t write one shots to save my life cause this is awful okay here we go

"Oh, you like the stars too?"

That was how it had started- Granted, it was easier than ____ had been expecting. The boy- Taehyung, she recalled he had said his name was, had been the one to approach her, and with no suspicions as to why she was sitting on a hill in the middle of the countryside at two in the morning, too. Humans were unbelievably naive- Or maybe that was just this boy, she couldn't tell. She'd never come in contact with one before.

"Yes. Yes, I do." She'd never once looked up, he'd not a clue what Taehyung even looked like. Quite frankly, she wasn't sure if she wanted to. Humans were horrifying, and humans put her entire species at risk of being discovered every day. And as someone who valued her privacy, and when put into perspective, her life in the grand scheme of things, humans were the epitome of everything she despised. And that was why Taehyung must forget everything.

Taehyung pretty much always watched the stars; Even from when he was little, he'd look up at the sky and look at his limited view of the night due to city smog, racing the faded constellations with his finger- some that existed, and some that he had just made up. Naturally, that caused him to spend most of the nights of his teen years and upwards studying them; studying constellations and planets and alignments- He studied them, yes, but that was not what intrigued him most about the sky. It was the fact that it was infinite, that it stretched out further than anyone could ever see, the fact that there were corners of his own universe and even ones beyond that no one would ever see because the technology was simply just not advanced enough to even scratch the surface of what could possibly out there. It was the fact that he found it absolutely, completely baffling that people could even consider that nothing existed up there. He knew, and believed, that there was definitely something up there- It was impossible that there wasn't. He didn't believe in 'aliens'- Or rather, he didn't believe in the comic book concept of them; green skin and bulging bug eyes that had a language that sounded like static - He believed in an advanced society of beautifully complicated people that lived just as humans did, but just on another planet, closer to the stars. He'd brought the idea to so many people, spent so many hours of his life researching into it and trying to convince them that there was something up there- that made him dangerous, and that was why ____ needed him gone. Or at the very least, she needed all his knowledge and theories of everything gone.

All ____ wanted was peace. Peace, privacy, and the ability to live her life on her own planet without being in a state of constant disrupt, and she already knew this would not be achievable if humans came into play. They just never seemed to be able to be content with anything with anything that they had and didn't seem to even want to try to understand anything they deemed out of the ordinary; instead of making amity, they presented everything with violence and hostility- Something she just didn't want anywhere near her.

"Do you ever just wonder-" ____ kept her head firmly fixed on the sky above her to divert her attention from Taehyung talking. "What it would be like to live on another planet?"

"No, not much. Why would you say that?"

"Because, well... There's so many. So, so many, and yet we're limited to only one? Think about what it would be like up there, it's all so much prettier..."

"What makes you think that?" She watched Taehyung's hand uproot the grass, ripping apart the small blades with his fingers as he talked. "What if it's just exactly the same?"

"Then I'd just never find out." He wiped his hand on his jeans and then pointed at the sky. "You see that? That slightly blue spec there?"

"Where?"

"Right there." The act of Taehyung grasping her hand and holding it up to where he had been initially pointing was enough to make her jerk her head up from the shock at the sudden contact. "You see?" For the first time in the whole of the ten minutes they'd sat down, they looked each other in the eye; And quite frankly, the experience wasn't quite as horrifying as she had been anticipating it would be. "That's my favorite one."

"I see." ____ watched as Taehyung continued to talk about the stars, albeit confused, and although she was reluctant to even admit to herself, slightly interested in his views on things. She'd always thought, always, that humans were simple creatures with not much in their head, that only lived based on temptation and didn't have anything worth listening to, but the way he phrased things was absolutely fascinating. Fascinating meant he was clever, and clever meant dangerous- More dangerous than she had thought, or at least, that was what she had been told to think. He just kept talking, talking on and on and on as the sky turned different shades of marbled ebony and royal blue amidst faded wisps of gray and distant constellations, talking about how he changed the names of the stars whenever he talked about them because, in his head, the official names sounded too serious and formal, and how he liked to create his own star maps because he felt like there weren't enough already existing. He talked about what he referred to as aliens but then went on to say he hated the word and only used it because it was the universally accepted word for whatever the beings were, exactly- It was quite funny, to hear his thought process on it. ____ wasn't sure what was funnier, the fact that Taehyung thought that there would be flying cars on the other planets, or that he had trusted someone he'd known for literal minutes with all of this. If it had been any other person, they probably would have deemed him crazy.

The longer she spent under the stars, the less urgent the idea that she would have to wipe Taehyung's memory became in her mind. She'd practically forgotten it altogether, as he continued to watch the other make animated conversation about his theories- he himself called them facts, but they weren't that. Not yet. It was quite alarming, if you looked at it from another perspective, that ____ hadn't even batted an eyelid or even thought about worrying when Taehyung had mentioned other planets and things living on them, that she hadn't even cared when everything he had said was way too close to being considerably accurate. It was as if she'd forgotten she was talking to a human being at all.

Because when she looked at Taehyung, he didn't see a dumb, empty headed, violence driven fool like she had assumed. She looked at him, and she saw someone with their whole life ahead of them, a life that they dedicated on researching the stars and whatever was beyond because it made him happy. She saw a boy who loved nothing more than going out at night and speculating about the world that he scientifically had no proof existed, but loved to think about because it seemed so much brighter than the world he was living in. She saw a boy a pretty smile and pretty eyes that were as bright as the stars that he so loved to talk about, with pretty, faded lilac hair that fell over his eyes and waved slightly because of the moisture in the air. She saw a boy that couldn't possibly be a monster.

And yes, she knew it was nothing but shallow that it was this that had swayed him, but the look on Taehyung's face was too damn happy whenever he was talking for her to even consider getting rid of it. Who was she, to come down here and make him forget all the things that made him happy?

"And then there's this one- I used to call this one Jimin's Triangle, but I don't really see him around much anymore. He stopped coming every night because he said that I talked too much nonsense. I don't talk nonsense, do I?" For a brief moment, the happiness slipped from his eyes, but it was short lived.

"Of course you don't," ____ said softly. "Everything you say makes perfect sense." Taehyung replied with a grateful smile, mouthing the words 'thank you'. "Y'know, I believe in them too. Aliens, or whatever you like call them, just like you do. I don't think it's nonsense."

"Wait, you do?"

"Of course I do! One thing, though- I don't think they have flying cars. I think it's just the same as this planet, just with a whole lot less pollution. And fighting. I think it's a lot calmer. I don't think they want to be bothered. I think the only reason they haven't come down to earth is that it's too violent, and they don't understand it." Somehow, the discussion seemed to just make Taehyung even happier, and that just made things even harder.

It was ridiculous, how she had gotten as attached as she had, in the space that she had spent. Pathetic, almost. She could practically feel how much resentment him from an hour ago would be feeling about him now.

"Y'know, I think you're right. Maybe that's the reason they never reply to my messages."

"You send messages?"

"Of course, how else are they suppose to know that there are other forms of life on other planets!"

"You're really something, as anyone ever told you that?" Taehyung looked like he was thinking about it, his nose unconsciously scrunching a little.

"Lots of people." He yawned slightly. "I'm not really sure if they meant is a good thing, though. I'm pretty sure they didn't mean it as a compliment. Like I said, I just speak nonsense to them. I might as well be an alien, or whatever, with the way they look at me when I talk- But who cares, right?" ____ was one hundred and ten percent sure that she was going to get whiplash from how fast Taehyung's moods changed. "I've got you now, right? So long as you stick around, that is."

A sudden weight of guilt settled on her chest because she knew that she couldn't stick around. No matter how pretty the boy with faded lilac hair and stars in his eyes was, she liked home. And Taehyung, the practical stranger who sat next to her with his hands dangerously close to her own and was yawning profusely at this point - it was two in the morning, what could you expect- was not home.

"I can see you here tomorrow, right? Same time, the same place? It's getting cold- And I'm kind of tired."

It was at that moment, ____ realized that she still had something to do while she was on planet Earth. It was also then, that she realized she didn't want to.

"Huh? Oh yeah, of course." She bit his lip and looked down at the ground, which was so empty and plain in comparison to the sky, and she decided she knew what the best thing to do was.

"Great! Y'know, you're probably my only real friend right now- I mean, other than Jimin, but like I said, he doesn't really come round much anymore-” Taehyung paused, waiting for her to answer, but by the time he had turned back around, ____ had gone. "Hello? Where did you go?" The longer he looked around at the vast expansions of empty hills and grass with no signs of the girl from before in sight, the less real his conversation with her seemed. He turned around, checking for one last time, before just muttering to himself, "Am I really that lonely that I imagined an entire conversation with an imaginary person in my head?" He tutted, turning on his heels and walking back home, the image of ____ completely faded from his mind as he looked back up at the stars- And that was just as ____ had planned it to happen.

As expected, when she returned to her own planet, Namjoon had a few things to say to her.

"I thought we said you were to wipe his memory? He's dangerous, remember?" ____ almost laughed at the words 'dangerous' and 'Taehyung' being used in close proximity to each other. "Why are you smiling? Have you lost your mind?"

"Humans are dumb, right? They don't believe a word he says. Take it from me, we're fine. Besides, he doesn’t remember a thing about me. I erased all that, I’m not stupid.” Something about that made her a little sad, not that she was going to admit it.

"Something tells me there's more to it than that." Also as expected, Namjoon was going to accept anything but the full story, the full truth. Not even if he already had the half of it that answers his question. "What happened?"

"Well..." Namjoon looked at her expectantly, one eyebrow raised, and she just decided to outright tell him exactly why she couldn't bring herself to do it. "He just looked so happy, okay?" Namjoon shook his head and sighed, putting a hand on ____’s shoulder. He chuckled slightly, still shaking his head, but it seemed more amused than angry or annoyed, at this point.

"You're really something, you know that?" The words reminded her of the exact ones she had spoken to Taehyung just minutes ago, and they made her smile. Once again, pathetic, because she knew that Namjoon was ridiculing her for being as smitten as she was, and yet she still responded the way he did.

"All the best people are."

i wrote this as taekook originally ( i find it easier to write that way -idk why either), so if you want me to post that version just let me know :)

i have writers block and this is absolutely awful but the request has been in my inbox for such a long time so i tried to get it out.. i hope it’s okay for you, love :)

here’s my masterlist, in case you weren’t completely deterred by this and wanted to check out some of my other stuff :)

thanks for reading!

-tash 💕

#bts #bts fluff #taehyung #taehyung fluff #this is just fluff #bts au #i hate doing tags ugh #taehyung au #bts reacts #bts reactions #bts reader insert #taehyung reader insert #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts oneshots #bts v #bts taehyung

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theplanetprince · 3 years ago

Text

Amity Park Anomalies || Ch.2

Fic: AO3 | FFN

Fandom: Danny Phantom

Characters/Relationships: Wesley Weston, Dash Baxter, Sidney Poindexter

Fic Summary: Local paranormal Skeptic Wesley Weston aka Atlasdunked and paranormal enthusiast Dash Baxter aka Hisdudefriday discuss and explore the issues plaguing their town. Amity Park is a hotbed for supernatural activity, and who’s to say that’s all there is? We follow two amateur investigators trying to uncover the monsters under your bed, and the things that go bump in the night. They answer the questions you’re too afraid to ask.

Chapter Summary: Things are heating up with a debate on the existence of the classified government organization, The Guys in White. Fueled by mountain dew and bad decisions they’ve decided to continue their endeavor to prove that ghosts are real. Content warnings: Hypnosis? Unethical police procedure? Ratbag teens being ratbag teens

“What if I told you there was a branch of the government specifically designed to vanish and reappear like the very things that they hunt? Gone but never forgotten. Anywho recall them are left haunted by the hazy and distant memories of their experience. A brave few have offered their testimonials to the internet and a few in their ranks have leaked documents to their known existence. The Guys in White were propagated by myth and internet folklore. Let’s separate fact from fiction. The myth from reality."

A deep gravelly voice like that found in Hammer-House horror growled, “Welcome back fellow creatures of the night—”

“Oh my god! Chill out, Captain Cornball.” Wes was practically cringing, writhing in second-hand embarrassment.

Abruptly falling into laughter, Dash coughed, “Aw, dude! You made— made me lose it!”

“Thank god.” The basketball player rested a hand on his chest, in faux relief. Wes then explained, “For those of you at home, I know it might be hard to imagine. If you were to see Captain Cornball in his staggering six-one broad-shouldered excellence you would think that he would sound like y’know— a man. Instead, you have—”

“Helium-tank-Hank,” Dash interjected.

Bumping the mike while gesticulating, Wes offered, “Hey, hey— In Justin’s defense, the coach called you that first.”

“Welcome back everyone,” Dash’s leading man smile was interlaced with his opener, “We missed you.”

“He doesn’t speak for me.” Wes chuckled, swatting the quarterback’s shoulder.

“I’m His-dude-Friday!”

“I’m Atlas-dunked.”

“And this is…”

Simultaneously the pair declared, “Amity Park Anomalies!”

They tried to keep from laughing and ruining the live stream, though they were fourteen-year-old boys who had a case of mountain dew under their desk— how composed do you expect them to be with that much sugar?

Before Dash could speak, Wes fired off with a drumroll, “So, what nonsense do you have for us today?”

Dash retrieved his school folder, the purple one was now designated as the official Amity Park Anomalies research compendium. Also doubled to hold all of his math homework that conveniently went ‘missing.’

“Oh, it’s gettin’ real, folks, he has a dossier now,” Wes smirked, resting his chin on his fist.

“Don’t make me laugh! I’m serious,” The king jock could be heard trying to stifle the rest of his giggling.

Wes being the youngest brother out of three didn’t exactly take orders well. The shooting-guard pulled up at his nostrils, and used his other hand to fish-hook his lower lip, using his first two fingers to yank at the corners of his mouth. Exposing his lower teeth and gums.

Dash bit his cheek to keep it cool, “You’re so unprofessional—”

“Thank you,” Weston released his face, “it’s the ADHD. Or as I like to call it my high definition personality."

"Okay, stop me if you've heard this one before," Dash scooted forward to the edge of his rolling chair, "Husband and wife ghost hunting duo—"

"No!" A loud monotonous groan nearly blew out the speakers, "Please, tell me we're NOT covering the Fentons?"

Baxter wore a large smirk affixed to his face as he quietly said, "No."

"...No?" The basketball player was a touch shocked by that. The Fentons were something of an Amity Park staple. A sideshow that sort of took on a life of its own.

Rather optimistically, Dash assured him, "No. This is a very different husband and wife ghost hunting duo. The Wickets. Edna and Louis Wicket."

Wes thinned his mouth at this.

"Oh,” Dash registered his ignorance of the topic. He sucked in his teeth like he had made a mistake, speaking lightly, “Right, you don’t go outside."

Pert offended, Wes, slouched— his elbows hitting the desk, "Point. Find it soon, Baxter."

Jeez, he sounded like Mr Lancer. He raised his hands in sheepish surrender, “Okay, okay—”

Dash found his notes again and searched for his jumping-off point, “The Wickets were the leading experts in the paranormal in the seventies, and up until their deaths. They helped found the non-scientific study of demonology. They had about a few dozen case-calls in Amity Park through the eighties.”

“Oh, so, these were, like, competent insane people? They’re like—” His cohost chuckled, “the Fentons but on Prozac?”

Shrugging the interruption off Baxter continued, “The Wickets were supposedly the second generation of the spiritualist movement. They were relatively reserved compared to their peers which lent more authenticity to their findings. This didn’t mean they stayed completely out of the spotlight. The Wickets were infamously called into court trying to justify a man who was allegedly possessed while murdering his landlord.”

“I mean you don’t need to be possessed to want to kill a landlord,” Wes said under his breath. There was a moment of silence followed by Weston gasping— slapping the other’s arm, “Wait— Wait— Wait, I think I have heard about these two nutbars. They were the ones who had the defective baby doll that, like, spat fire and caused car crashes, right?”

Dash clicked his tongue, “Genevieve: A cursed BananaBread doll.”

“My mom had one of those.” Wes exhaled humorously from his nose, “Though I imagine instead of smelling like banana bread, Genevieve smelled like— what? The souls of the damned?”

With some reluctance, the quarterback admitted, “Actually, it was sulfur.”

“Is that right?” Punctuating this non-question, Weston cracked open his fourth soda of the evening. He tutted, “The movies always made that seem scarier.”

“Either way, we’re not gonna go too far into the Wicket’s closet of skeletons. We’re going to be talking about Edna’s testimonial about her encounter with the Guys in White.”

Cicadas outside the bedroom window could be heard, as well as the delicate humming from the lamps around the desk.

“No comments, or quips?”

“It’s very polite of you to give me the opportunity, but you can’t rely on me to carry your show for you, dude.”

“Not the phrasing I would use, but… sure.” Dash retrieved another series of printed-out notes, “The first Guy in White sighting dates back to nineteen-forty-seven in Ohio. A man claimed to have been hearing voices while taking his boat out on the water. At eight am as the sun was rising, as he was coming to, he claimed to have seen a woman in a nightgown floating above the water just off the bow. After the man had tried and failed to court the local newspaper into the story. He came home one afternoon to meet a man in a three-piece white suit and black gloves. The man in white produced a black business card with a seal of cadeus embossed on it. According to him he blurred the photo until the woman was rendered to an incomprehensible orb, and warned him to never speak of the incident again.”

“So,” The shooting-guard pursed his lips, “When you say nightgown…”

“Dude, I don’t know.” Bewildered by the devious expression on Wes’ face, Dash futilely shrugged, “Probably something era-appropriate?”

“I’m just curious. There isn't a lot of detail with this story and I'm just trying to paint a picture." Wesley picked at the fuzz on the mike's windsock.

“Let’s just say it’s floor-length because as I said the photo was blurred to hell and back.” Dash folded back a page and pinned it back with his thumb and index finger. He twisted his wrist against the desk slightly to show the image in question. It was grainy and had texture on the film. “Are you slut-shaming the spirit right now?”

“You don't even believe in ghosts! I— Let's just move on."

"That wasn't a denial."

"It's Ohio! It's freaking cold there! I'm just saying a conservative flannel nightgown seems reasonable."

There was a beat of silence again as Wes watched Dash flush with irritation. The shooting-guard figured if it was that easy to push the elite Dash Baxter's buttons, it would be cake scaring the crap out of him. Weston toyed with the cord attached to the desktop, "And she could be a sexy orb, for all we know. I'm sure there are some… eligible ghost ax-murderers for her."

"Wes."

"Like on the orb scale, this is a high six, solid seven material. This is a good orb."

" Jesus Christ ." Baxter's eyebrows furrowed in exasperation, he pinched his tear ducts— snatching back the papers and photo from Wesley. Just say it’s bad evidence and move on.

The quarterback would need something more convincing to prove that ghosts are real. Though really, it was like Wes was denying reality. The guy always seemed to be missing or sick whenever ghost stuff happened at school. Wes’ immune system was a complete joke! The day the meat monster attacked? Conveniently Wes had food poisoning from his trip abroad the week prior when those ewwie-gooey octopus and screechy bats kept trying to eat the debate team. Or that sketchy-ass counselor lady… She still gave Dash the hives. Wes’ dad thought the idea of mandatory school counselor sessions when he already had a psychiatrist was unnecessary.

Unconsciously Dash spoke through his hands which now rested on his face, “Wait is it octopus or octopi if it’s plural?”

“Weren’t you in the middle of a rant?” The basketball player was starting to worry about the guy, all those horror movies were making him a total space case. His brains were atrophying before their very eyes.

“Right! Right, thanks. So the important thing about the Guys in White is that they only talk to those who have paranormal experiences or people who research them. The Guys in White always seem to present themselves as a part of a larger organization. From this encounter in forty-seven, we skip to nineteen-sixty-seven. Richard Robinson told the authorities that after his car got into a collision with a ghost taxi, in Lafayette Indiana. On impact the other vehicle vanished and so did the other driver. Robinson managed to get away unscathed and with the driver’s glasses. Though as he was returning to his home, he was met with two agents in— you guessed it! White! The agents demanded the immediate return of the glasses. When Robinson refused, they threatened his daughter. Saying, and I quote,”

Coughing, Dash lowered his voice to what he thought an adult would sound like, “Your daughter has a recital coming up, right? If those glasses do not come back into the government’s possession your girl may not be dancing for long. If you don’t want child services here, first thing in the morning. Then you’d better hand over the glasses.”

“Robinson never saw the men again after turning over the glasses, and only came forward with his experience after his daughter moved away.”

Weston sighed with the faintest breath of disappointment in his tone, “So obviously, we can’t take anything he says seriously. His testimony is completely invalid!”

“Aw, is someone bummed?”

“No way,” Wes blew a raspberry, “I’m just saying you’re gonna have to try harder than that Baxter. It sounds like the guy was drunk and hit a tree, and then didn’t want to admit it.”

“Okay— how about this?” Dash combed through his papers to pull up another grainy photograph on film, though instead of being a black sea, this image was an urban cityscape. In the alcove of a building next to a column, a large white bald man was in the shadows reading a newspaper. His eyes were shrouded with pitch-black sunglasses giving no illusion that the man had any kind of soul to gaze into. The quarterback tapped the paper, “Nineteen-sixty-eight, a woman in New York claimed to have been stalked by a man in a white suit after reporting her previous dwelling as haunted. Her apartment where she had been living with her fiance had then been ransacked. She managed to sneak pictures of this agent. This image matches all known descriptions of Guys in White.”

Frowning at this Wes studied the image carefully, he laughed from his nose, “It also matches all known douche-bags. Seriously, sunglasses at night, and a fedora? The dude could’ve been a pimp. Correlation is not causation.”

There was a beat. With that vacant look behind Dash’s eyes.

Big words hurt Dash.

Wes clarified his opinion, “Just because she saw a man in white doesn’t mean he broke into her apartment. Plenty of other people could have done that.”

"I knew that." Dash deflated, "You could try to suspend your disbelief a little bit."

“T--then what are we doing here?” Wes explosively blustered, the pen in his hand bouncing off the desk. He repeated, “What are we doing here? You have your little stories, and I have my stone-cold logic.”

“Didn’t you stick your knife in the microwave because your butter was cold?”

“It was Lancer’s microwave, but that’s hardly relevant.” His cohost dismissed with a wave, collecting his pen from the floor.

“I think I’ve built enough suspense here. Let’s get to the real reason why we’re here. Edna after her husband’s death last year, two-thousand-n-one, was visited specifically by a man in a white suit. She readily identified as the man in the suit as an operative of the organization called the Gentlemen in White. She also identified the organization by another name, the Milk Men—”

There was a loud thunk, of the back of Wes’ head hitting the underside of the desk.

“Are you okay? Wes, oh my god!”

The mighty Atlas seethed, “I-I-I’m good— I’m great!” The pain briefly subsided as the smile on his face only grew, “But you’re totally making that up. They’re not called the Milk Men.”

“According to Edna, that’s how the man identified the organization.” Dash rustled the paper, “The Milk Men. She also claimed he didn’t tell her this verbally, she had received this information through a telekinetic interception. In her words, they had something called ‘a battle of the minds.’”

“... You’ve lost me, Baxter. You’ve completely lost me.”

“You draw the line at telekinetic interception?”

“Were there mind lasers?” Asking excitedly, Wesley reached across the desk to see the rest. He impatiently, pounded on the table with his fist, “Please let the record show that there were mind lasers in the battle of the minds?”

Shoving the basketball player back to his side of the desk— Dash narrowed his eyes at his notes, “That’s what it says, Edna confronted the man in a battle of the minds, but she was so frail by that point in time that she lost. The agent then ‘stole’ her husband’s research and a few cursed artifacts that she had been cataloging. She identified her attacker and died several days later after this man broke into her home without a warrant. Her son attests that his mother may have been slightly agitated because she hadn’t been taking her medication.”

Snapping his fingers, Wes haughtily declared, “Competent insane people! You can go a long way just pretending you know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Edna and her son, Jeff, have conflicting testimonials of that day. Edna says that Jeff was there but he had been hypnotized by a… coin?” Eyes flitting back and forth with disbelief, Dash muddled through the rest of his notes, “The agent had made her son look at a coin for a few minutes and he completely forgot about the encounter. Jeff claims that he found his mother collapsed in Louis’ study, there was no break-in, and there was no one else there. He was very sure that the door was locked because he had the key for it.”

Wes rubbed his head, resting his face on Dash’s keyboard, “Do I even really need to say why this is insane? She’s claiming that Milk Men came, performed some close-up magic on her son, and stole her life’s work. You can understand why I am…” Wes sucked in his lower lip causing his chin to wrinkle, “Suspicious.”

Sitting up, he adjusted the mike towards himself, “But hey, if being great at close-up magic is all that’s required my brother Kyle would be a great candidate for the dudes in white. Can I give a shout-out? Is that, like, allowed?”

“Sure?” Dash adjusted the tautness of his headset, unsure if the pressure, the copious amounts of sugar he just ingested, or the ginger mess in the next chair over was to blame for his sudden migraine. Digging his fingers into the skin above his temple, Dash leaned back in his chair for a moment.

Leaning in extremely close to the mike, about a nose distance away. The basketball player put forth a very solemn and stoic expression, “... Fuck you, Kyle .”

With such a small and serious voice worming its way into his ears, Dash’s chest compressed like a shotgun with a sudden breathless laugh, “Jesus—”

“ Dad bought you megablocks instead of legooooos .”

“Kyle also went to magic camp, and you didn’t.” Dash collapsed his notes onto his chest, with a deep and tired breath.

Twisting around in his rolling chair, Wes tugged on the jock’s sleeve. Yanking him towards the equipment, wanting to hear the end of the story. Chuckling Wes identified the fugue-like state his cohost was in, “Whoa, sugar crash.”

Pawing under the table between their chairs, Weston retrieved another can. He cracked it open, with an impish smile, “Have another soda; you’ll hate me later.”

Getting his second wind with a sip, Dash lightly slapped himself to realign his focus. Grunting, he stretched his jaw, “Okay so— yeah while this initially sounds like ramblings of an old ghost hunter past her prime, but on record, she’s self-identified as a clairvoyant and had for many years. She had written numerous books about her exploits in a spiritual world much like our own called the ‘elsewhereness.’ Edna and her husband Louis had also compiled a comprehensive list about the hierarchy of ghosts.”

“According to the theories, all ghosts are derived from the original seven deadly sins, so there are seven different types of ghosts. The default residents of the spiritual plane are known as Shades.”

“It always seems to come back to seven, huh.”

“At the bottom of the list, we have Omens. They manifest as coincidences, deja vu, bad luck, suspicious animals, oddities in nature. While this might seem like a weak one— the idea behind these ghosts is less about what they can physically do to you, and what they can do to you mentally. Omens act to weaken your mental fortitude. Powerful omens can alter reality around their desired target.”

“Next we have Poltergeists. These assholes can supposedly take control of inanimate objects, harvesting electrical pulses and manipulating radio frequencies. In tandem with other ghost powers, Poltergeists are known for being loud— legit their name directly translates as ‘noisy ghost’. These ghosts typically have the most of their personality intact for better or worse.”

“After Poltergeists, we have Wraiths who are the manifestations of rage are extremely goal orientated. They’re commonly associated with violent hauntings, scratches, burns, bruises. They seem to be attracted to rage, so some of you should check your aggro thoughts.”

“Ghouls are a logical progression. They can manipulate the physical environment and impose their will onto others.”

“Shadows feed on their hosts until nothing remains.”

Dash yawned, looking at the red numbers shutter on his digital clock, “Then finally we have Familiars, typically they hone in on a single target, in attempts to assimilate themselves into the living world.”

“What do you mean ��finally’?” Wes cocked a brow, “That’s only six? Like Omens that’s sloth, Poltergeists that’s greed, Wraiths are wrath, Ghouls are pride, Shadows are gluttony, Familiars are envy. You’re forgetting lust.”

“... I don’t wanna say it on air,” Bashfully Dash scratched his ear.

Wes elbowed the quarterback in the ribs several times, “Bro— do it.”

Shaking his head with a tiny scowl on his face, Baxter eventually repeated from his notes, “Succubi.”

“AH!” Triumphantly spinning in a tight circle, Wes exclaimed, “I knew that one!”

“Of course you did.”

“Does that scale say anything about Phantoms and where they fall?”

Dash awkwardly chuckled, “Oh— uh… nah. I mean this scale is more of like, a loose guideline for where some spirits fall. I don’t think the Phantom actually fits anywhere on this scale… maybe he’s like an angel or something? It doesn’t really…” he wrung his hands together, “Accommodate for protective spirits.”

“Pride seems likely. Maybe he’s a ghoul?” Wes hypothesized before he glared at his reflection in the dimmed computer monitor, “Not that I think he’s real, but from what you said about him he seems like a real showboat.”

Fidgeting with a hangnail Baxter stayed quiet for a moment, “...Yeah, a showboat.” He dryly swallowed, “Er… anyway. A few months ago an anonymous user online with the handle Milk-Underscore-Monster-zero-zero, on the r-slash-amity-horrors forum, leaked a very similar chart complete with illustrations by Louis Wicket with what appear to be amended notes censoring some of the information. Claiming that they were a Gentlemen in White operative. They leaked the file to ensure people knew the signs of the hauntings in Amity Park.”

Face falling, Weston deadpanned, “... Baxter I don’t want to be that guy to break it to you, but people lie on the internet.”

“I’m just saying it’s a weird coincidence,” Dash flipped to the last page of his notes, “Some closing notes: Men in White operatives can be identified by their sunglasses and three-piece white suit with black tie and matching gloves. They’re relatively hairless, the only skin they leave exposed being their scalps and lower face. The texture of their skin has been debated from being extremely leathery and dry to upsettingly plastic. It is unknown if the agents are trained in psychological torture or have esp-like abilities, though what is clear is that they don’t need a warrant to break into your home to confiscate your ghostly findings.”

“Do they have a number? Like a tipline? Or a place to register complaints about annoying ghost hunters?” Grinning the shooting-guard added, “Asking for a friend.”

“Hey,” Dash flicked him, “if you report the Fentons the Fentons might report us, and then we’d be black-bagged in a government van.”

“Nah.” Shirking away, Wes poked his cohost in the cheek, “You’d be black-bagged in a government van, you’re a ghost hunter— I’m simply a known associate.”

“I’m not a ghost hunter… I just think they’re… cool,” The quarterback then posed an unexpected question, “So if I went missing, you’d look for me?”

Wesley scanned his acquaintance up and down. Amused. Throwing a fake punch, his knuckles resting on Dash’s cheekbone, “If I’m not busy— sure. I’d look for you.”

Beneath Wes’ fist, he could feel Baxter’s smile inching its way on the quarterback’s face, “and that’s our time, everyone. Thanks for joining us. Sleep tight. I’m His-dude-Friday.”

“I’m Atlas-dunked.”

“We’ll see you next time Amity Park.” Simultaneously the pair signed off. Taking a moment to hydrate themselves with their energy drinks, they didn’t feel the need to say anything else. Stretching out, they muttered back and forth that it was too late for Weston to go home.

The bedroll was a bit of a headache to find in the dark attic. Dash removed the spare blankets from the hall closet, but when he came back to his room Wes had already passed out on the floor, spread eagle. Snoring away.

#wes weston #dash baxter #guys in white #danny phantom #phic #fic #txt

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beautifulramblingbrains · 8 years ago

Text

Bound By Blood - Chapter 10

Pairing: Eric/OC *Sarah* Fandom: Divergent Rating: M - Graphic content warning. Red flags.

She’s bound by the love for her family. And he won’t rest till he finds the face to his ghosts.

A/N: Please don’t hate me too much. ;) Thank you to everyone and @murmelinchen for putting up with me! There is one chapter and a small half that involves a time-jump, left. Enjoy!

Tags: @dauntlessmetalmom @equalstrashflavoredtrash @badassbaker @red-diary @pathybo @insertamazingwords @feminamortem @halefiresurvivor @suchlonelymuchsoul @elaacreditava @lauraaan182 @synnocence @jcause @glittergiirlgg @frecklefaceb @mimigemrose @sparklemichele @beltz2016 @ariwolff14 @queensoybean @impalalala6799 @tomarisela @original46 @tigpooh67 @alida90 @beastcoastbitchez @seriskye @summerealexander

It was the third time Four had witnessed Wayne leaving the compound behind the prying eyes of his camera screens within the last day and a half. Each time, the direction he took before disappearing altogether from sight was the typical way towards Erudite. But that was merely a guess right now. However, he was well aware he was, in fact, going to Erudite having followed him on a previous occasion and he'd bet anything that it was exactly where he was headed right now.

"Subtle, dipshit," Four mumbles to himself.

Four scribbles down the time and date down to the exact seconds the computer tells him so he could review the shots later on.

There was a more tedious and possibly life-threatening task he was going to have to deal with soon. And that would be informing Eric.

Sarah had woken up without Eric sharing her bed. She headed straight for a shower on sore limbs, feeling filthy after their particularly eventful night together. She had let the flow of the shower consume her, brushing her finger against her lips while she reminisced, a slight smile tugging at her mouth.

In her mindsight, she saw Eric kissing her, still felt his body, the ragged breaths, his smell. More specifically, she hears herself gasp and feels the grip of his hand on her shoulder. And while they ravaged her mind, she wouldn't have changed a thing.

Dressed appropriately, she has yet to do her hair when the door to the cabin is opened. In its place stands Eric, holding Jack close to his chest with his heavily decorated forearms showing from his sleeveless jacket. Their eyes lock and she grasps the material of her skirt before running to him. He puts his arm out just in time to catch her on his side, careful of Jack as he holds them both.

She kisses him with urgency, pulling on his neck and biting his lip when he smiles against her mouth. "Sarah… sweetheart…" he tries, mirth playing on voice and Jack coos happily.

"No," she lets out in a whisper.

Eric chuckles. "No what?" But it seems he's still trying to hold back his laughter.

"No... serious," she manages to mumble. "I want to stay here. With you... with Jack." Sarah pulls his mouth back to hers. "No duties." The whine in her voice was evident with the pout she tries to conceal.

Eric shakes his head, scoffing. "Mmm, but we're not alone…"

Sarah stops instantly, eyes widening, then whips her head over his shoulder to Mary and Mark. "Oh…" Mary waves slightly and Mark is gazing away, rubbing the back of his neck before greeting her. Slowly dropping down to her feet, she's riddled with embarrassment. "Sorry."

With panicked hands, she begins pulling her hair back and heads into the room to tie her hair up. Jack yells out and Eric bounces him, following her, completely amused with her awkwardness. "You know, I'm not shy," he mumbles, leering at her.

"Don't," she snaps back, cheeks still pink and unable to look at him. "You should have said something."

"Why? Everybody knows I screw you."

Sarah peers behind him in anxiety that the others can hear, but they stand by the door, chatting to each other in whispers. When she feels the coast is clear, she frowns at him. "You're a rude man, you know that?"

Eric is almost gyrating in his own personal glory. "You like it when I'm rude, Sarah." He stands tall and imposing when she reaches out for Jack, making sure she has to feel his body through his open jacket in their exchange. Without saying anything more on the subject, he grabs the back of her neck, pulling her towards him. He looks intently over her face, then Jack's, and kisses her quickly. The sincerity within his touch is there, and for a minute her heart skips a beat.

"Stay with Mark and Mary for the rest of the day. Johanna has informed me she has come to a decision. I'm due in five minutes."

Sarah's eyes widen in surprise and her smile is hopeful. "Do you think she has accepted; that she agrees?"

"She wants to. But I hear there are festivities tonight, so if that's a clue as any…" He trails off, looking over his shoulder then back to her while rolling his lip between his teeth. "Will you wear your hair down for me?"

His question comes as a shock to her, and she doesn't particularly know how to reply. "What? Later on?"

"Yeah."

Her cheeks burn again with nowhere else to look as she holds their baby. "But, that's against the rules."

"We've probably broken every fucking rule so far, what's the difference in another? You know I don't care about rules when it comes to…" He hesitates and Sarah holds her breath. "...it."

Even though he doesn't say it, he half grimaces, and she knew for a fact he meant her. Her mouth forms a weak smile and they both look to the floor at the same time. "You better get going then."

He moves as if he was about to touch her, then stops, shrouding himself with an untraceable expression. "Mark," he calls, not bothering to turn his head till after a heartbeat passes between them. When her stomach just begins to sink, Eric reaches out to Jack's hand, playing with his fingers and brushing against her collarbone. She finds herself ghosting towards him, just skimming her hand against the hem of his jacket until he moves away. Eric barks some sort of order and pushes himself through Mary and Mark's closeness, heading down the dirt track that leads up to their cabin without looking back.

It's okay though because she knew Eric Coulter well enough now to know that that was a huge effort on his part. All she had to do next was to face Mark and Mary for the rest of the evening.

But it doesn't help when Mark asks her, "Did you get a good sleep?" with a sly smirk while Mary nudges him with her elbow. "Ow."

Mark's busy chatting with a group of Dauntless that have been situated at Amity for the patrols. Sarah guesses he knows them by the way they joke and gestures between them.

She finds him rather attractive considering Eric had captured her tastes. He had a genuine smile that was natural and innocent while Eric's was always somewhat... forced.

She can't help but glance at Mary pushing herself back and forth slowly on a tree-tied swing, unabashedly staring at him. Around them, the Amity people sat in groups on log seats with small fires while music played and a woman sang in the distance. It cast a tranquil feel, almost dreamy, and it felt strange to what they were used to. However, the Dauntless don't seem too fussed, used to this obvious event when Johanna probably made any decision. Any excuse for a party.

Jack begins to fuss, grabbing her attention, so she lays him in her arms, stroking his face as she dotingly rocks him side to side. "He's a nice guy. Good-looking, too." Sarah bites her lip on her awful attempt at prying.

"I really like him," Mary says but she sounds sad, pushing herself back to swing higher.

Sarah frowns at her sister. "Is there something wrong?"

"How is a typical stiff and a Dauntless patrolman ever going to get a shot at being together. It's unheard of and it's not like he's got authority that he can throw around…" She looks at Sarah hurriedly. "I didn't mean that horribly."

"I know."

"It will never work between us."

"At the moment, the only person I hear doubting and saying that, is you."

Mary stops swinging. "Because it's true."

"Have you told him how you feel? What you think?"

"We spoke last night. And to be fair it didn't help." She smiles. "It was…" She sighs, throwing her legs out to swing again. "Amazing. We just spoke for hours on the cabin steps and then he insisted I go to bed while he kept watch. I fear that I won't see him tonight if Eric puts him on duty…" She's abrupt, suddenly stopping and walking over to Sarah, sitting beside her. "If I have Jack-"

"I can't let you do that. I've missed him." Sarah leans to kiss Jack's head. "My beautiful baby boy."

"But when will I get the chance to look after Jack again? Or be with Mark, or even have you in such close proximity when you go back to Dauntless?" Mary asks. "It's stupid, but with Jack with me, I felt like I had a purpose. I felt like I was helping you."

Sarah smiles. "Being here with me right now, you are helping me."

"It's the first time in a long time that I've seen you happy."

"I am happy. I wish we could stay like this, but you know we can't. It's not reality."

"It made me realize how much I want my own children."

Mary's omission startles Sarah and a small smile forms on her lips. "A certain man wouldn't happen to have you thinking like this?"

"He loves Jack. And he said he was in love with...me."

Sarah shakes her head. "Mary, no. You know what happened last time. I don't want you rushing into anything-"

"I believe he means it, Sarah. I really do. But it's me putting a halt to everything. He doesn't make me say or do anything I don't want to. He's honest. Polite. I feel safe with him." Mark waves over at the two of them exaggeratedly while they both only wave hesitantly. He must sense they're talking about him as he says his goodbyes quickly and begins heading their way. "Let's change the conversation."

"Agreed."

Mark is a whirlwind of clumsiness and being openly awkward. He falls between Mary and Sarah on the grass, breathing heavily and takes off his cap to hit it on his knee. "What you girls doing?"

Sarah smirks at his lack of awareness to people's space, pulling her skirt out from underneath him. "Talking about you."

"Oh, yeah? What are you saying?"

When she sees Mary threatening her by slicing her neck, Sarah tries to stern her face. "We were just wondering about the people you know here. How you know them."

"Two of them are older and know my sister. The other lot just by hanging around in Dauntless." He frowns harshly in front of him, cracking a smile that's enhanced with the moonlight shortly after. "What the-"

Sarah follows his eyeline and sees Amity dancing, just as the vocals raise and the music echoes. "Do Amity drink?"

"The peace serum I think… Among other things."

"And you know this…" Sarah begins but his cheeky grin was enough to answer her question.

"Part of training we have to spend a week here." For some reason she feels heavy, thinking about Eric's reply back in the truck about Amity. She wondered if any of the girls were around now. She unconsciously grips Jack tighter as the insecurity infects her but dares not say anything. Mary didn't need to even think along those lines either. But luckily he continues, "We have to go to each faction to get a feel for it. Amity is always the longest. It's further away."

"...I didn't know." Sarah briefly wonders if she should have deflected to Amity. She could easily see herself fitting in here. It was a fact though that most Abnegation deflections were to Amity, and at the time she didn't want to be another statistic.

A crunch behind them has them all startle towards Eric's darkened figure looming over them. "Do you know how long I've been fucking looking for you?" he grumbles and Mark's the first to stand, then Mary. But Sarah doesn't, not wanting to disturb Jack. "Luckily for you, Mark, I bumped into the patrol who had just spoken to you." Eric's face clearly portrays he was just about to lose his shit.

"Sorry, sir. I didn't think-"

"Clearly not." Eric pockets his hands. Now Sarah tries to move, uncrossing her legs. It was best they get back for Jack anyway.

Mark jerks towards her under Eric's limelight, helping her stand. "Do you want me to escort your wife back?" he asks.

"Wife?" Eric coughs the word out, his mouth hanging open in utter disbelief.

Sarah grabs Mark's arm, speaking quickly. "Oh no, Mark. Me and Eric, we are not-"

Mark scoffs. "Really? That's unheard of! Abnegation doesn't believe in children before marriage, so I just assumed… Mary didn't explain, said it was hard..." Mark stutters and Sarah digs her fingers into his arm harder. Trust him to put his foot in it, and to continue to do so like verbal diarrhea.

Eric steps closer, tilting his head. "What are you trying to say, Mark?"

Mark thinks Eric's joking and laughs at first but it slowly rockets down when he realizes Eric is the least bit amused. "I just thought it was funny that-" His face drops. "Nothing. Nothing, sir."

"Spit it out!" he snarls, his nostrils flaring while his jaws tick in agitation.

Mark gulps. "I just thought it would be funny that you'd still allow her to technically be classed as 'single', that was all."

A deft silence falls and Sarah looks to the ground. "Get the fuck out of here." Eric's words are final and he indicates to Mary also, glowering at them both. They are quick to remove themselves.

Sarah can't help but think Mark was right. Whether it be that small insecurity creeping back from earlier that made it feel worse, she would rather turn on her back on Eric in this moment then face him. To be fair, she had never thought about it till now.

"Johanna agreed." His voice is gruff behind her, the sound of his boots scuffing the ground as he gets closer.

"That's great." He swoops in on her exposed neck, linking his arms around her waist to pull her back against him, but she is tense, almost trying to shrug off his advance. "Can we head back? I'm tired."

Eric snorts through his nose, most likely aware of her shift in mood, however, doesn't remark on it. "Did Mark put Jack's things at our place?"

"Yes." The music is joyful, filtering through the terrain but Sarah feels the complete opposite. Maybe she was just tired? On that thought, she forces herself to turn and smile at him but Eric isn't fooled.

In the darkness of the Dauntless hallways, Four bides his time, arms crossed and leaning against a wall in the shadows. The corners of his lips lift when he sees Wayne officially allowing himself back into the compound with his card. After all this time, it seemed the guards also liked to mess with the man. Perhaps it had something to do with his complete ass arrogance he was so cocksure of and used on the people around him. A complete asshole in many ways, but he didn't have time to linger on it.

Wayne was so easily predictable that Four knows he would come this way. He would go to the security room, across the chasm bridge in order to wipe footage if it was too revealing or check the database of any reports on his movements.

He watches Wayne pushing back the longest part of his hair on top of his head, smiling to himself as he unsuspectedly heads in his direction.

With as much force as he can muster, Four grabs Wayne's jacket, blocking the right hook that flies out in surprise. Pushing him up against the wall, he pins him there and watches as his face changes to try and fool him.

"Where have you been, Wayne?" Four slams him back against the rock for good measure. "Did you have a nice day out? Was the weather good?"

"Mr. Sassypants has a chip on his shoulder today." Wayne spits through his teeth, still leering. "Be careful, you're putting proof to what people say about you batting for the other side." Four growls in response and Wayne laughs at him. "Touched a nerve?"

"How was Jeanine?"

Wayne hesitates for a moment, then licks his bottom lip and grins arrogantly. "I'm now aware that she likes anal."

"When Eric is back, he is the first to know about your secret liaisons. You know that, right?" Four hisses out through clenched teeth.

"Feisty for a guy without a brave bone in his body. Your refusal of Leadership is a real bother..."

Four scoffs, loosening his grip somewhat, tired of Wayne's constant avoidance. All of a sudden, every inch of control flutters away - he jerks Wayne from the wall, kicking out his bad leg and pushes his head over the edge of the chasm. "Shut up! What's the story behind mine and Clair's involvement?"

"I have no idea…" Wayne grunts out from underneath him.

Four places his knuckles on Wayne's throat. "I was lied to!"

Wayne snorts and glares up at him. "By who?"

"My only involvement was helping Sarah from the premises. Why do I feel differently now with Clair's sudden change in behavior?" He puts a knee into Wayne's stomach, slowly applying pressure. "Why do I feel there is more to it than that?"

"Clair?!" Wayne tries to control the desperation in his voice and winces as Four leans his full weight on him.

"Clair won't speak to me; acts as if nothing has changed. Then I hear factionless have dauntless weapons. It's one of two people, Wayne."

"Oh, that weren't you?" Wayne arches an eyebrow and pouts mockingly.

That does it for Four. He grabs Wayne's hand, snapping back his fingers. Wayne grunts out in pain as Four leans over him to hiss, "If I find out my name has been used in anything but what I thought was the right thing to do, there's going to be a problem."

"I would love to see you run crying to Eric's sorry, weak ass. I don't think he'd take it well that beloved little Four knew of the 'big plan'. I bet he'd be really pissed... Who gives a fuck that you weren't aware of your involvement? You were involved, whether knowingly or not."

"But you were…" Spit flies from his mouth in his agitation but he doesn't care. "You were aware."

"I wanted my position back! No Stiff was going to take that away from me, screaming wolf the moment I came on to her. She should've been honored."

Four's grin is wide. He pulls out an audio recorder and waggles it in Wayne's face. His eyes widen before Four knees him in the groin and he gets up to leave.

The creak from the small wooden porch has Eric turning his head quickly over his shoulder. When Sarah comes to a stop beside him, her hands entwined in front of her, he turns back around.

"What are you doing?" Her question is innocent and her soft voice so soothing that he could almost think that he'd imagined it in his head.

"Taking a breather." His reply is short, but not ill-tempered. In fact, in this moment there wasn't anything particularly bothering him. He had air in his lungs, the sound of crickets chirping along with the discreet music echoing from the nearby Amity dome. The open room they were staying in didn't need him loitering around as Sarah settled Jack into his temporary cot, so he had found an alternative option.

Sarah's smiling to herself. "Is that so?"

His eyes glide over her, more specifically to her hair and frowns. "You didn't wear your hair down for me." Sarah fumbles a hand to the back of her head, pulling out her hairband and flattening the crimped waves. "That was an order. I don't like being disobeyed."

"I can't disobey if I genuinely forget, Eric. Tying it up is like second nature to me, just like breathing." Her slight fingers keep twirling through a strand of hair long after they needed to. She also keeps her eyes down to the floor, making her appear smaller, just reaching his shoulder.

"Second nature should be listening to me," he grumbles, trying to keep a stern face, although looking at her sheepish demeanor almost made his lips quirk upwards.

"That sounds rather demanding."

"Yeah, but you've got a little kink going on with the subject of demands, Sarah," he mumbles with a wolfish grin and nudges her softly.

There is the slightest flicker in her brow before she turns her head, gazing at the pocket of his jacket. "When are you going to stop teasing me?"

She addresses the issue almost shyly, and that's what intrigues him. "When you stop biting." She moves away from him, about to leave when he suddenly grabs her, causing her to gasp. "Where are you going?"

"To bed."

He pulls her against him and instinctively she reaches up to drape her arms on his shoulders. His hands come to rest on her hips, and only then he realizes that she is swaying slightly from side to side.

Yes, he could hear the music too, still droning on in the distance. He never favored music, especially when it was so goddamn awful. Eric never liked dancing, but he purses his lips, deigning her the pleasure of the moment.

"Eric, I don't want to change Jack's name…" Sarah closes her eyes, slipping one hand down his chest and he is about to tell her some home truths until she continues on. "I don't want him to unless-"

"Don't, Sarah. I know what you are going to say and I'm going to have to disappoint you and I don't want to do that right now."

"What are you afraid of?"

"Afraid?" he asks incredulously. "Nothing. I can't-"

She breaks away from him. "Is it really that problematic for you? I love-"

"Finishing that sentence is stupid."

"I love you," Sarah says despite his warning. "You know I do. We have a child together. We are happy together when your insecurities are distracted. Jack is happy!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Both their voices raise and he can't help himself and the step he takes forward, causing her to flinch. "Insecurities?"

"You always build a wall between us to fit in with your perfect depiction of a Dauntless Leader..." she trails off, suddenly unsure of her words, comforting herself by crossing her arms and hugging herself tightly. "Are you ashamed?" she asks with great caution.

"You're losing me now? I am insecure and ashamed?" He runs a hand down his face, trying to keep himself under control. But it snaps in an instant - he rushes forward, grips her arms and shakes her. "Perhaps I'm insecure because you took my fucking memory from me despite you telling me how much you loved me. Perhaps I am ashamed that I allowed you to get so close to me that you were able to do that!"

Her rosy lips tremble and she stares up at him with large eyes, holding up her hands, palms facing him in an attempt to calm him down. Slowly she lowers her hands to touch his arms, the pads of her fingers stroking gently on his skin. "...And I think you know why I did it."

"I would never hurt Jack!" He moves quickly to grip her neck, pulling her forward. "I will never hurt you." He tries to convince her by emphasizing the words, focusing his eyes on hers. "But I need time, Sarah."

Tears stream down her face, she's crying, pathetically and Eric hated crying.

"Are you ever going to be able to forgive me?" She sniffs, trying to turn her head to hide her tears but he keeps his grip tight. "Or are you always going to throw it back in my face?"

"We both need time. Are you listening to me? Can you hear what I'm saying?" Sarah scrunches her nose up and nods at him. "Good. I don't want to hear any more of it."

However, all Eric can think of now is how much he hated seeing her usually bright face appearing so dismal and he mentally rolls his eyes. There was always going to be the issue of falling back into the same old sparring match of the past, no matter how good their future looked at times. All because he was a creature of habit.

Inhaling deeply, he huffs out, lifting her hand to the side. "Are we going to dance or what, then?"

Her plump cheeks shine with tears, but she lights up, almost sobbing a "Yes" in relieving humor.

It's awkward and clumsy at first, swaying too slow for the drifting beat. He spins her when she laughs, pulling her against him midway and her back hits his chest. Clearing the stuck hairs on her dry tears, he pulls the length of it to the side, sucking the pale skin of her neck gently - just like he had wanted to do earlier, but now it felt right.

"You're perfect," he whispers the only words that crossed his mind in that moment. Nothing else seemed more appropriate.

Wayne sits hunched over on his grubby couch, pushing his fingers harshly into his skin while replaying the moment with Four over and over again.

He'd messaged Jeanine, tried to ring her multiple times and she hadn't answered. Wayne was well aware that when Eric got back from his trip, Four was going to be the first to find him. He'd play the audio to him and beg him for mercy all while exposing Wayne's every crime, which for some reason he still didn't know about.

A slow grumble leaves his throat on the thought. The pressure was building inside his mind and he couldn't think straight anymore. His heart pounded constantly, palpitating at the sheer idea of Eric finding out.

His phone rings on the littered coffee table, and when he rushes to reach out to it, he knocks over the half-drunk bottle of whiskey that had kept his interest for the past hour in his desperation. But he doesn't pick it up, he just lets it glug out onto the thin carpet to match the other unknown stains around him.

"Jeanine!" His voice breaks somewhat in a tipsy slur. He clears his throat, waiting for her reply.

"Everything's compromised, Wayne, I'm aware of that. It's time to act now. But first, we need that recording."

"Fuck the recording! I've gotta get out of here. I can't stay here."

"Retrieve the recording and I'll help you disappear."

"Does it really matter?" Wayne is already on his feet, gathering his most precious items - which wasn't a lot. "I'm done."

"You have a day until Eric's return, so my informants tell me. I want that recording disposed of immediately, otherwise, you are on your own."

In his frustration, he grips his hair and starts pacing up and down. "What does it matter? I get the recording, Four can still blab anyway. He might even have other things on me. I don't know what that loner freak has been doing-"

"Clair is my cousin. Her involvement does not need to be exposed and if what you say is true, that Four guesses Clair had been allowing-"

"Excuse me if I'm wrong, ma'am, but that ain't really a hard guess. Who else can log into Eric's computer? Who else can loiter without appearing suspicious - who sees all, hears all..."

"Get rid of the damn recording! Get rid of Four! I don't care how you do it!"

Wayne stops pacing and pouts. "Awh, Jeanine, the pressure getting to ya? Not starting to feel bad for the people you got involved now, do you?"

There's a long pause and he can hear Jeanine breathe deeply. "What you said about Sarah... I can make everything worthwhile."

Wayne hovers his tongue on his lip in thought. "Keep talking."

"When Eric comes for me - which he will, he will not have Sarah with him. Get rid of the brat. I'll deal with Eric. And then you can bring Sarah here. We can...infiltrate her memories. Replace them… with you."

Wayne starts laughing. "Deal with Eric!" His voice is almost hysterical.

"You have nothing to lose either way. If anything you have everything to gain."

Wayne sterns his face, consciously drifting over to his kitchen counter full with papers and other random shit he couldn't be bothered to clean up. Here, he uncovers a copy of Sarah's pass photo, letting his nicotine stained fingers run across her face.

"Four must be dealt with, Wayne. Even in Eric's absence, he still has the power to cripple everything we have been working for. It only takes a group to doubt and it will destroy our ulterior motive. The future needs us."

The thought of one leading faction doesn't seem that bad when he'd be in with the winning crowd. He could have a good position within society, with a woman he'd been craving since he stopped denying the knowledge to himself. "Alright."

Sarah is laying on top of Eric, her head supported by her arms on his stomach while he relaxes back. She plays with the ridges of his muscles as he talks with sleep still on the edge of his voice. She doesn't find the topic of tactical weapons very interesting, but she listens anyway.

Jack yawns in his temporary cot, already fed, changed, played with between Eric and her in bed and already settling for a mid-morning nap. Sarah could happily join him.

"You need to learn how to shoot a gun," Eric suddenly suggests, the conversation having taken a unique turn.

She looks up at him now and he's only staring at the ceiling, putting his arms behind his head. "I don't think so."

"Why not? It's beneficial and it would be stupid to leave you uninformed or ill-equipped."

She smiles to herself before she speaks. "Why would I need to when I have you to protect me?" Eric shifts underneath her, peering over to Jack while the kid begins to snore.

"Are you questioning my knowledge, Sarah?" Her pleasant drift of daydreaming on top of him is interrupted by a wandering hand of his down her side.

"No. I wouldn't dare."

"Get your pretty little ass up here and say that."

"Eric…" she complains while he pulls her up more towards him and shifts lower till he could look her in the face. He ventures up her nightdress, pulling up to her mid-back till eventually, he whips it over her head. She's conscious of her body, till he leans up to her breast, taking the nipple into his mouth while he squeezes and directs her ass on top of his groin. "We can't…"

"He's none the wiser. He's sleeping through us talking." Eric doesn't pause, gathering her hair and wrapping it around his hand to bring her head forward. He tastes like the coffee they had delivered with their breakfast. She didn't favor coffee, but it tastes good on him.

Sarah pulls the sheets up till they completely cover them, though she suspected Eric's feet would be poking out. He glides up her ribcage and it elicits a giggle, the side of Eric's mouth quirking up while he watches her. She bites her lip while gazing down at him and rolls her hips, pushing her nails into his chest.

Eric's too impatient, he reaches down to his dick, rubbing his tip against her core. Slowly but surely, inch by inch, she sinks down on top of him, relishing in the way his mouth parts and his breathing increases. She rocks steadily forward, taking her time, and being incredibly quiet.

Sarah finds this more sensual than before. Even though his eyes did wander down her body, they would quickly snap back to meets hers. He wasn't grinning or smirking, nor seemed elsewhere in his thoughts but exactly here, with her.

Eric groans when she leans down to him and she traces a thumb across his bottom lip. He grips her hips but other than that, he leaves her in control. It felt as though it was his way of allowing her to make love to him. To show him how.

Going back to Dauntless was inevitable. But she took her time, going slow for once. After all, they needed time.

Four wrapped up his shift at the control room. If he was honest with himself, sitting behind a computer screen for hours on end wasn't his forte. He was actually kind of looking forward to the initiates coming in the next few months so he had something mentally and physically challenging to do.

Not that the whole situation on the inside of Dauntless wasn't bothering him into personal madness.

He'd kept the audio on a small USB on him at all times, not daring to leave it unaccompanied in his apartment. He knew Wayne well enough that if he put his mind to something he was surely capable.

From the transmissions in the control room, he knows that Eric was due back late that evening, which meant he wasn't going to be able to catch-up with him until the morning. But he had time.

On that thought he rolls his shoulders, relieving the ache before taking the stairs. The sooner he got back, the sooner he could shut himself away and not worry about anything until the morning.

Four hesitates for a fraction of a second, glancing down the hallway. His anxiety was higher than usual; his mind playing games with him most of the day. Typing in his code, he takes one sweep of his apartment. Noting that nothing had changed and the lack of presence, he shrugs off his jacket and kicks his boots to the side.

He almost feels he should've eaten down in the mess hall, the thought of cooking was tiresome - he just wanted a shower and then go to sleep, and worry about what comes next in the morning. However, his stomach detested unreasonably. He takes a smoothie he'd made yesterday, the only quick drink he could find, downing half before rummaging for something more substantial. A previously tubbed stew would do the trick. Easily heatable on the hob, full of the good stuff.

Four checks his phone one last time, setting it on the counter behind him then prepares to cook. At first, it's the heaviness of his eyes that frustrates him, he rubs them for good measure while finishing off his drink and stirring his stew simmering in the pan. But then the sudden spinning in his head, his arms tingling with a strange weakness, turns the cogs in his mind.

He can't make the two steps towards his phone before collapsing, his hand still up and reaching towards the counter. He tries to shout out - to who, no one particular. It was just sheer panic racing through him now.

Rolling onto his back, his arm smacks on the laminate floor and he stares up at the ceiling, only able to hear the lock on his door swirl open. It seems like a long moment till he hears boots stomping towards him, struggling to see beyond his own nose.

"Well, well, well...the formidable Four…" Wayne slants over to lean on the counter, right next to Four's phone. Slowly the one-eyed man peers down at it, picking it up and waving it at him. "This seems like, kind of a familiar scenario we got going on here." Four tries his hardest to speak, to resist, but has no control over his body at all. If anything, only his breathing increases. "No point, bucko. You'll be paralyzed for a good hour now. I felt bad though, and allowed you to be able to hear and see me…" Wayne smirks, lifting up his eyepatch to reveal a lumpy scar from a sewn eyelid. "...See and hear what I am going to do to you." He sucks on his lip, making a kissing sound. "I'll make it quick, I promise. I ain't got a lotta time."

He crouches down, sneering in Four's face. "Did it give you thrills ass-fucking me with your idea of recording me admitting my offenses? Getting one up on Eric's top right-hand man? ...Me and Eric are friends for a reason, pal. We have a lot of similarities." His grin is wide, showing all his teeth. "Soon, we'll have the same woman, too. I'm going to fucking ruin it."

Four rages on the inside but he can't even move his toes.

"You enjoyed your smoothie, then?" Wayne's hand dives into Four's pant pockets, taking out a set of keys, security pass, and the USB. He holds up to him. "Good thing you're a simple man, huh? Could've been here all day earlier, tarring your gear." Wayne doesn't meet his eye, instead, he looks up to the highest cupboards next to them, and stands. From above, he removes a small camera which Four guesses is wired to his phone to make sure he'd officially been drugged. Wayne pockets it, along with everything else he's found.

Next, he turns off the flame of the cooker, the stew having been spitting for a minute on the high heat Four was trying to use to hurry up the process. He knocks all the gas handles on the oven, the hissing evident into the room. "For effect…" Wayne wiggles his nose at Four. "Okay, think we're good."

Four can't yell as Wayne dips down to him, picks up his limp body with effort and heads over to the bed in the open living area. He places him on the bed, taking his time to adjust him. "We could've been friends." He pouts mockingly, then snorts, flinging a leg over Four and straddles him.

Four wanted to scream, kick out and murder the bastard atop of him. All he could smell was a radiating linger of booze and stale cigarettes mixed with an acrid sweat and something else he'd rather not fathom coming from Wayne. Nothing on Four's body moved as much as he tried to force himself. Even blinking was long and took a lot of effort, his breathing unnaturally slow now.

"I want to know if what all the people say about you is true." He bounces up and down on top of him. "Whether you do take it. But...I'm real sorry, I'm just not into all that." It's his final words, everything happening too quickly for him to comprehend.

Four did see Wayne's hand slip inside his jacket but nothing else as a cool, ripping sensation in his stomach begins to burn till he feels the warmth spread and pool underneath him. He couldn't even yell in pain. In his mind, he just tells himself to breathe.

"Shh," Wayne soothes, putting a finger to his own mouth, leaning heavier on top of him. "It's okay, I got this," he whispers, pushing deeper then yanking the knife out. He holds it up to Four like he was displaying it. "Huh, fatal wound. Probably sliced your small intestine and severed your colon - mere guess, though." He chuckles. "But I don't want to leave this half-assed. Wouldn't be fair." He pushes the knife back in one more time, then eases it down into Four, twisting it.

But it doesn't matter now. The coldness of his limbs is fading, a shriveled grainy sight of the ceiling above him, and he feels as though he could just float away in an overwhelming sleep. He doesn't want Wayne to be the last thing he sees. But he wishes Wayne gets what's coming for him, his last and most coherent thought while slowly, his world fades to a shade of blinding white, then black, then…

It's at dinner that Eric received a phone call at the table. It was a relaxed meal before they were due to leave in an hour. But everything had taken a dramatic change.

Sarah watches Eric pace up and down outside the open glass doors. It's a long call and she can sometimes hear his voice booming, tensing up every time.

Mary sits next to her, a hand on Jack in Sarah's arms in comfort as they watched. "What's going on?" Mary whispers and Sarah wonders if she felt the surging sickness of dread running through her as well.

"I don't know. Whatever it is, it's not good." Her gaze drifts to the guards hovering around Eric, keeping their distance but ready for any orders. Everything about Eric's face is twisted, his cheeks tinged with pink in anger, eyes squinted and his shoulders are braced. She was sure at any minute that he was going to explode. Even the Amity would glance around them, some looking at her in curiosity.

Suddenly Eric ends the call, liasoning with his guards quickly, then heading back inside. Every part of the genuinely relaxed Eric was gone, he had his Leader guise in full participation. "Mark!" Eric barks, walking up to their group. "I want you to take Sarah and Jack to Abnegation with you." By the time he had reached Sarah, he tries to pull her from the table. "Stay inside. Don't leave until I tell you to."

Eric's too rough and Sarah can't untangle herself quick enough and keep Jack steady all at the same time. "Eric! Stop!" He doesn't listen, putting a hand on her back and pushes her out of the large room and through the doors outside, almost marching them.

"Pack your things. You're leaving." Eric commands, barely looking at her, talking mainly to Mark. "You take my truck. Don't stop for anybody. Keys are in the cab."

"Eric, wait!" Sarah tries again with him almost dragging her. She digs her heels in, pulling away. "What is going on!?"

"It doesn't matter. Go."

"No!"

Eric stares her down but she doesn't budge, so he relents. "There's been a fire. A breach of security. Now go."

"What do you mean? What do you think this is? Do you think this is...Jeanine?" Her eyebrows raise as she talks fearfully. "Do you think she is behind this?"

"I haven't got a doubt that this is something to do with her." He looks over his shoulder, moving closer to her. Lowering his voice, he frowns at her. "Four is dead. He's a highly ranked personnel and it's sent Dauntless into chaos. It's the beginning of what Jeanine wanted, for Dauntless to question their authority. I just didn't think she'd be brave enough to pull a stunt like that just yet."

The news shocked her, emotions burning in her chest for her to tell the truth. "Eric, there is something I haven't told you…"

His eyes widen only slightly, and he drifts back, away from her. "Is this going to piss me off?"

"Yes." Jack lets out a whimper, fidgeting against her in his blankets.

"Do I need to hear it right now?"

"It's relevant." She moves closer to touch his arm. "Four was the one that helped me escape from Dauntless."

"The Stiff?!" he exclaims, his jaw dropping.

"He knew Wayne was bad. He protected me. He was a good man."

"Luckily for him, he's already dead…" Eric sneers in utter fury.

"No, that's not all of it. Wayne...his eye...you did that. You did that when you found out Wayne was coming on to me...when he tried to kiss me. And you banished him from Leadership. You stripped him of everything."

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me this sooner, Sarah!?"

"Because-" she stutters, panicking to say everything so it made it sense as tears slip down her cheeks. "I thought you wouldn't believe me! Wayne told me you wouldn't believe me over him!" She whimpers as if she was being reprimanded by her parents, bouncing from one leg to the other. "I was scared!"

Eric nods his head multiple times, staring at her in deep thought while grinding his teeth. Taking her by complete surprise, he does the one thing she wasn't expecting - he cups the back of her head, pulling her against him. Jack whines between them and Eric kisses her hair, then whispers, "Do you think you're capable of convincing Abnegation to abolish Jeanine?"

"It won't be hard." She tilts her head to look up at him.

"Candor is fifty-fifty. I'm going ahead with or without them. Too much is at stake."

"You're going for Jeanine now, aren't you?" The mere thought was terrifying to her and she knew Eric was going to kill her. Jeanine was possibly more dangerous than she'd ever thought; she had the ownership to Eric's serum and god knows what else.

"Yes."

They peel away from each other, and Sarah does up a button on his jacket with great concern just so she could touch him that little bit longer. "Please be careful. Come home to your family in one piece."

Eric nods but he doesn't pledge himself, kissing her and Jack instead, though his mouth was turned down. And suddenly Mark is leading her away from where Eric stood, stoic while watching them with pocketed hands. She didn't even notice there were people around them. She didn't even hear the truck.

Mark aids Sarah up into the cab in her trance-like state. Not taking her eyes off of Eric, she only feels Mary place a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

#bound by blood #chapter 10 #beautifulramblingbrains #eric and sarah #eric coulter #eric divergent fanfiction #fanfiction #eric #jai courtney #divergent #insurgent

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darks-ink · 6 years ago

Text

Disinterred CH.9

Chapter 9: But Now I Tell A Single Truth

“I really am sorry,” he reiterated, moving slightly closer to her, as if he wanted to console her. “For all it matters, I really do appreciate you coming to me to talk, instead of, I dunno. Trying to shoot the information out of me.”

(click here for author notes/previous chapters/fic summary/content warnings/mirror links to AO3 and FFnet)

It was a stupid idea. A profoundly, incredibly, unbelievably stupid idea.

But Valerie had always been a little too reckless. A little too quick to act. It was one of those traits that made her a good ghost hunter, to be able to act quickly and without hesitation.

Nevertheless, going out looking for Phantom was a stupid idea. Sure, the ghost always insisted that he was a good ghost, that he didn’t want to fight her. And the whole situation with the body that the police found in the woods was just too bizarre, had caught her attention even before the rumors that had captivated Casper High.

But, even if it likely involved ghosts, and even if Phantom knew anything about it… How likely was it that the ghost would talk to her about it?

Hell, the ghost only ever seemed to show up to fight other ghosts, and usually fled the moment he saw her. How was she even going to talk with him in the first place? Let alone bring up sketchy topics like this one? She could just imagine flying up to him while he was distracted, approaching him before going “hey, you know anything about that dead body in the woods?” Nah, he would probably just think that she was blaming him.

Which, to be fair, she probably would’ve. She still wasn’t sure about Phantom, about his goals and methods. But it seemed that the body predated Phantom’s stay in the city, and while he could have killed that person before anyone had ever seen him… It didn’t seem like his MO.

Besides, if Phantom was secretly a killer, well. He probably would’ve killed more people since then, no? Especially now, while the majority of Amity celebrated him as a hero who can do no wrong. Hell, he could probably blame it on another ghost and most people would believe him.

So no, Valerie didn’t think Phantom was responsible for this. But still, it likely involved ghosts, so Phantom might know more. At the very least, he might’ve gotten curious and spied on the police. He certainly could’ve done so more easily than Valerie, thanks to his innate ability to turn invisible.

Which had led to her current plan of finding Phantom and talking with him. Which was more easily said than done. Really, she should’ve realized so sooner, but, well. She wasn’t always the best at planning ahead.

Finally, however, a stroke of good luck happened upon her. Her ghostly scanner went off, alerting her to a fairly weak ghost nearby. And then, almost immediately, a second ghost appeared right next to the first. Valerie had already turned her hoverboard into the right direction before she checked the signatures of the ghosts. Her scanner told her what she had already expected: the Box Ghost and Phantom.

She sped over there, making it just in time to see Phantom cap his thermos and hook it on his belt. She forcibly relaxed her posture, to make herself look less threatening. And then she called over to him.

“Hey, Phantom!”

The ghost started, whirling around faster than humanly possible. When he saw her, he tensed up. Against her expectations, however, he made no move to leave. Instead, he quirked an eyebrow at her. “Hey Red… No weapons today?”

“Nah,” she answered, leaning back a little in the hopes of looking casual. If he saw her nerves and struck… Well, her new suit might respond to her thoughts, but summoning a weapon still takes time. “Actually, I was hoping that we could… talk?”

“Huh?” was his eloquent response, as Phantom dropped his tense posture again. His eyes had gone big, mouth hanging open slightly. Really, a picture-perfect depiction of bafflement. “Really? After 2 years of non-stop hunting, you want to talk? About what, exactly?”

“About that corpse the police found in the woods. I’m pretty sure it’s got something to do with ghosts, which means that you probably know more about it, no?”

Phantom tensed up again, slightly. He crossed his arms over his chest, eyes guarded. Uh oh, looks like she messed up somehow. Did he think she was blaming him?

“And you’re what, blaming me?” Yep, he definitely thought she was blaming him.

“No,” she said, voice straining as she tried to keep herself from snapping at him. “But you do know a lot about ghosts. More than me, at least, and probably more than the Fentons.”

“Oh,” was all he offered in return. His glare had softened slightly, more calculative and thoughtful now. “I guess you have a good point there. And you’re right.”

“About?” She was right! Her hunch was correct! She wasn’t quite sure what about, yet, but she would find out. For now, she would take this win.

“Well, about both of those things, I guess.” Phantom shrugged at her. “I do know more about ghosts than anyone else in this town. But I meant that you were right about suspecting a ghostly element.”

Valerie grinned, not that Phantom could see it while she was wearing her helmet. This whole thing was going way better than planned! “So, was a ghost responsible?”

“Uh, well,” Phantom spluttered, before snapping his mouth shut. He shifted around a little, and Valerie tensed up, expecting him to suddenly shoot off.

But then Phantom settled down again, raising his hand to scratch the back of his neck. “I kinda… can’t tell you?”

“What?” Valerie snapped. Was this ghost for real? “Why not?”

“I, uh. I told the police everything I knew about the situation, helped them out a little, you know? So I’m not allowed to talk about the uh, the whole thing.” He was still rubbing the back of his neck, a green blush creeping up. Oh lord, he was serious about this? Must be, because you can’t fake embarrassment like that, not even as a ghost.

“So… there’s nothing you can tell me?” She fought to keep the longing out of her voice, but couldn’t stop the frustration from seeping through instead. She was so close!

“No. Sorry, Red.” And he looked genuinely sorry, damn him! He dropped the hand again, giving her a sheepish smile instead. Unbelievable! The bastard always found a way to make her life hell, without even trying!

But she couldn’t deny that he had a point, if he wasn’t lying about this. And he didn’t seem to be, despite ghosts being prone to doing so.

So she sighed. “That’s fine, I guess. Can’t be helped.”

“For all the good it did me,” she grumbled, but she had to admit, Phantom had a point. It had been pretty nice to just… talk with him. And he really was right, he likely knew more about ghosts than she did. Knowledge she could use to hunt other ghosts, more dangerous ghosts.

But he was still a random element, a potential danger just lurking around. She couldn’t trust him.

“I’ll see you around, Phantom. Don’t cause any trouble.” She pointed at her eyes and then him, a movement clearly recognizable as the ‘I’m watching you’ gesture, despite the fact that she was wearing a helmet. And then she turned around and flew off.

So, she hadn’t learned everything that she had hoped to. But now she did know that ghosts were involved. And that, in turn, gave the rumors of Casper High just that bit of proof that they needed.

She didn’t want the rumors to be true, of course. Danny Fenton was a sweet boy. Hell, she had even dated him for a while!

But the rumors weren’t based on nothing. There was already a surprising amount of proof gathered, and, well. Valerie had the means of confirming the rumor. No matter how little she wanted it to be true.

And sure, there were things that didn’t make sense about it. After all, Danny’s parents were ghost hunters! Surely they couldn’t have a ghost for a son?

But, well. The Fentons aren’t great ghost hunters, at all. So she wouldn’t be surprised to learn that they had a ghost living under their roof without ever knowing.

So, no, there was nothing concrete to strike the rumor down. Nothing to prove it wrong. So Valerie had to figure it out herself. Find the evidence she needed.

Now she just had to wait until the right moment to strike.

And, that Monday, Valerie saw the opportunity she was waiting for. It was lunch, the hallways were deserted, and she had just returned from a ghost fight. She wasn’t expecting to run into anybody, let alone the guy that she was hoping to talk to.

But there he was, alone in the hallways. Danny Fenton, for once without Sam or Tucker by his side.

It was not only the perfect opportunity, but one that she wouldn’t get again. Sure, she wasn’t sure why Danny was alone in the corridors of the school, without his friends by his side, but it didn’t matter. She had more important questions to answer.

She pulled out a ghost scanner, an old one from her first suit. It might not be quite as good as her current one, but it wasn’t recognizable as belonging to the Red Huntress. And, while it might not be able to read ecto-signatures, she just needed to tell if Danny was a ghost or not.

Twisting the dial to the highest sensitivity, she saw a dot light up on the display. Located right where Danny was standing.

She straightened out her posture, squaring her shoulders in an attempt to make her look more confident than she felt. And then she stepped forward, approaching the boy she liked. The one person she still considered a close friend.

The boy that had probably been a ghost the whole time.

“Hey, Danny!”

The boy in question jerked, visibly startled by the sudden call. With a loud thump the backpack in his hands dropped to the floor, a metallic clang emitting from it.

When he turned around and saw Valerie, he relaxed again, a relieved grin on his face. “Oh, hey Val. Wasn’t, uh, expecting to see anyone here.”

“Yeah, same,” she admitted. The ghost scanner was pressed against her leg, its display hidden from the boy in front of her. “Kinda convenient, though. I kinda… needed to talk to you.”

“Oh?” God, he looked so innocent, with those big blue eyes. Even if he was a ghost, and he probably was, she couldn’t imagine him hurting anyone. “What about?”

Uh oh, she hadn’t thought of a good way to bring up this topic… Dammit, Valerie, she cursed herself, should’ve thought ahead for once. When will you learn?

“It’s… about those rumors going around.”

“Oh, those,” he grumbled, as he crouched to pick up his backpack. “Surely you don’t believe stupid rumors like that? I mean, can you imagine that? Me, a ghost?” He barked out a laugh, sharp and cutting.

Valerie hummed in response. “Kinda do, actually.”

Danny stiffened, still crouched. Then he turned to look at her, a frown on his face. “Really? Why?”

“Well,” she started, as she turned the ghost scanner in her hand so that Danny could see its display. “This is kinda convincing.”

The boy grabbed it out of her hand, and she let him. Danny looked it over for a moment. Then he sighed, shoulders drooping. “Guess I should’ve known that you would figure it out.”

“So… You are?” She paused, before speaking again. “A ghost, I mean?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, finally standing up again, backpack in his hands. “Since the start of freshman year.”

She knew already, of course. But to hear him admitting it… It made it more real, somehow. And it didn’t help that this was someone she knew.

Because, sure, ghosts are dead people. Everyone knows that. But you don’t really think about it, not as a ghost hunter. Then they’re just enemies, powerful beings from a different dimension.

Not this kid that you’ve known for years. Who still lives with his parents. Who went out of his way to befriend you, after you lost your old ‘friends’.

“So, now what?” Danny asked, and Valerie snapped back to reality.

“What do you mean?” she asked, eloquently. Smooth, Valerie, she chided herself.

Danny rolled his eyes, swinging his backpack around so it hung off of his shoulder. “What comes now? What are you going to do next?” He offered her the ghost scanner.

Valerie frowned at him, taking the gadget back. “You mean… because of our friendship? You’re worried that I won’t be friends anymore?”

He snorted. “Honestly, Val, you ending our friendship is one of the least scary things you could do to me.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, before her thoughts ground to a halt. Wait a minute, what did he mean by that? Because, sure, he was right. As a ghost hunter, she was always carrying around ghost hunting equipment, including weapons.

But he didn’t know that, did he?

He must’ve correctly read her expression, because he shrugged and offered her a sheepish grin. “Yes, I know about your ghost hunting. Have known pretty much from the start.”

“What- How?” she bit out. Her suit started buzzing in the back of her head, ready to form to protect her.

Danny, however, simply raised his hand and started rubbing the back of his neck. God, how could he still look so innocent? “You kinda ran into me and Sam in the park, when you first started. We recognized your voice.”

He was right. She remembered that. She had encountered Phantom in the park, playing with that stupid dog of his. She had chased him, but he had thrown her off, and instead she came across Danny and Sam kissing in the bushes. She couldn’t remember what, exactly, she had said to them. But she knew for a fact that she had spoken to them.

God dammit, how was she this much of an idiot? Spoiling her secret identity so easily, and not even knowing about it? Because if Danny and Sam both knew, then surely Tucker did as well.

She grunted, angrily, resisting the urge to punch the wall she was standing next to.

A cold hand landed on her shoulder, and instinct drove her to swing a punch into its direction.

Danny flinched back, but her fist swung clean through him. The feeling was bizarre, but one she recognized.

He had turned intangible. Like a ghost.

Because he was a ghost. God dammit, more proof she didn’t need. Didn’t want.

“Hey, calm down. Please?” Danny had his hands raised, as if trying to calm down a wild animal. The thought was kinda ironic to Valerie, that the ‘dangerous’ ghost was trying to calm down the ghost hunter.

She chuckled at the thought, and Danny offered her a hesitant grin in return.

“Sorry,” she finally managed, loosely folding her arms over each other. “I kinda… freaked out on you, didn’t I?”

“Eh,” he simply answered, shrugging. “That’s okay. Totally to be expected, considered the circumstances.” Then he looked her over, a somewhat guilty glint in his eyes. “Are you okay now?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I think so. I just… I tried so hard to keep it secret, y’know? And now I find out that you’ve know this whole time. You, and Sam and Tucker… And who knows who else too?”

“Ah.” He grimaced. “I know how much that sucks, yeah. But, if it makes you feel any better, we haven’t told anybody. Sam, Tucker, and I, that is. And I don’t think anybody else knows.” He winked at her. “They’re not too great at discovering really obvious secrets around here.”

She snorted, allowing herself to calm down. He was right. If the people of Amity Park couldn’t figure out that Danny was a ghost, then surely they didn’t know that she was the Red Huntress.

And as for Danny… Well, he might be a ghost, but he didn’t seem to be an evil one. Despite everyone always saying that every ghost was evil… She just couldn’t imagine it from Danny.

And yes, sure, he lied. To her, and to everybody else. But he kept her secret too, without her even knowing about it. Hell, he had even dated her, despite knowing that she was a ghost hunter.

No, Danny hadn’t done anything wrong. As overwhelming as this all was, as much as she needed time to process everything… She knew that much, at least.

“Danny...” she started, before trailing off. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Danny, thanks for telling me. I- It must’ve been hard to tell me.”

He made a face, but nodded. “Yeah, kinda. Which is why I put it off until I couldn’t deny it anymore.”

She hummed her agreement. “I’m… gonna need time to- to process this. To work through it.” He flinched, and she quickly added, “But I’m not upset! It’s just… a little much, you know?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I get it. I’ll leave you alone so you can think.” He turned around to walk away, but then stopped. He looked at her again. “But, Valerie. If you ever need to talk, or something… You know where to find me, yeah?”

And then he trotted off, and Valerie was left in the hallway alone with her thoughts.

#danny phantom #phanfic #phanfiction #dp fanficti #dp fanfic #danny fenton #valerie gray #dark writes #disinterred #what are the chances that this will get buried in the pocalyse? eh #today is update day one way or another

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