#he’s just preoccupied but it still hurt danny
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To Hands That Hold And Sometimes Let Go
The sky darkens as the smoke rises from the section of Gotham City that still burns from the latest rogue attack. Emergency sirens blare in the distance and people frantically make their way home in case the destruction starts heading in their direction.
Tim only takes a second to breathe in the sudden chaos across the city before he’s bounding down to Bruce’s study and pacing anxiously in the elevator on the way down. Tim startles when he realizes that Danny is already there just getting into his suit before yanking on his own Red Robin uniform.
“Stay here for this one, i heard on the comms that this is a planned attack by several rogues in an alliance. It’s too dangerous for you to be out and trying to help right now.” Tim throws over his shoulder as he strides over to one of the batbikes.
“And leave people out there to die? Are you insane?! You need all the help you can get.” Danny practically shouts at him.
“We don’t need you out there, you’ll only get in the way with your level of training.” Tim whips around to growl at him. There’s not enough time to argue right now with Gotham in flames and who-knows-who on the loose.
Nobody gets the chance to say another word before the bike starts, and in the next second he’s already barreling through the cave’s hidden entrance into the night to fight with the rest of the bats.
Alfred sighs as he watches him go, and Danny startles and turns around to look at him. The young masters all seem to have the same issues with communication as Bruce, and it always seems to cause problems for them. There doesn’t seem to be a day that goes by without one or another of them getting in a tiff.
Danny sniffles and drops into one of the chairs. He slides a hand down his face and it’s a minute before he says anything, but Alfred waited until he was ready to say what needed to be said.
“Why did they want to keep me if they aren’t going to let me help them. Obviously i’m not exactly useful for anything else, and there’s no reason to keep me here other than Vlad asking him to.” Danny mumbled dejectedly from his spot.
“Master Danny, you don’t need to be worried about whether you will get to stay in the manor if you’re not useful. It’s not required that you go out on their night jobs with them, and we would be perfectly happy even if you stayed in the manor most of the time.” Alfred soothed.
“But that’s not what i want. I want to be so useful they have to acknowledge me, can’t leave me behind. I wasn’t helping with their inventions so my parents left me behind to work on them, and i wasn’t helpful and dragged Jazz with me. If i’m not good then i’m bad, and then even he doesn’t want me and i end up alone again.” He sobs quietly.
“Master Danny…”
“Please just let me help. I need to.” Danny asks quietly.
Alfred sighs and sets down the medi-pack he was restocking. If he lets him go he could get hurt. Making him stay could hurt him more. The boy is rough around the edges and clearly doesn’t trust adults, barely trusting people his own age. In fact, the only one he seemed to open up to was Master Richard.
“Will you promise to at least attempt to stay safe? And if things get too out of hand, come back here immediately?” Alfred asks.
“Of course!” Danny says “As long as I can help!”
Alfred simply nods and watches Danny pull on his Ghost Bat uniform and hop on a batbike of his own, only pausing to wave at Alfred as he zips out of the cave.
Perhaps it’s time to do some digging.
He sighs as he settles down in front of the bat computer to wait for news about his grandchildren.
tag list-
@mur-ururu @nerdypaintbrush
#danny fenton#tim drake#alfred pennyworth#dc x dp#dp x dc#crossover#dp x dc crossover#writing#batpham#angst#miscommunication#danny tries so hard and alfred is the only one that seems to see it#the entire batfam is the emotional equivalent of talking to a brick wall#referenced abandonment#referenced neglect#danny isn’t having a good time#alfred tries to help though#tim is kind of accidentally an asshole#he’s just preoccupied but it still hurt danny#an angsty idea in an awkward number of chapters
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The Ghost King's Son
So! Cloning is a difficult process.
It takes time, lots of time. Sure, it's possible to accelerate the Growth of a Clone to make them older in a shorter time frame, but that often leads to Destabilization within weeks of completion.
And Cadmus didn't want to take any chances when designing their Kryptonian/Human Hybrid. They started growing him much earlier than they originally did, and let him grow at a semi-normal rate for most of his life.
This comes back to bite them in the butt however, when an asset breaks out of containment and ruins their Internal Power Generators. This causes a blackout that takes hours to resolve, and by the time they fix it all and reestablish the Security Systems, they notice one of the Clones is missing.
The Kryptonian/Human Clone has escaped.
...
Kr-1 is confused. He had woken up in a tube a few hours ago to some alarms, and decided he didn't like it, so he broke out. Then he wandered around until he ended up outside, and just kept on Wandering.
It had been hours, and he didn't know where he was. It seemed to be some type of Forest, but he didn't know what kind.
He just kept on wandering. It started to get boring though, the trees all looked the same and there weren't even any animals around. Then, something interesting happened!
A green thing appeared in the air! It was glowing and swirly and had a kind of pull to it. So, he touched it. And it sucked him in. And now he wasn't in the Forest. And this place seemed much more interesting!
There were a bunch of floating rocks, and the sky was green, and everything else was purple.
And there was a man. Looking at him hurt his eyes, he seemed to be a kid and then an man and then an old man and then a kid again whenever he blinked. He was saying something, but Kr-1 didn't understand him. He didn't think he had been taught language yet? What was language?
The Kid/Man/Old-Man lead him to a big building made of bricks and mortar. It looked like a big spiky building with towers and walls and stuff. Inside it looked cool, with candles and carpets and even more stuff.
He was taken to a room with a guy who didn't hurt his eyes to look at. He had white hair and green eyes, but his skin wasn't blue like the old guy. He had a piece of ice on his head, it looked like a crown but it was glowing.
The Guy walked up to him and pointed to himself, and kept repeating something. "Danny".
Eventually Kr-1 realized that it was his name. He then pointed to Him and said "name?"
He tilted his head confused, and the guy, Danny, let his head fall with a sigh.
"This is gonna be harder than I thought."
He wondered what those words mean?
...
It had been a few years since the newly dubbed Conner had begun to live with Danny.
He had been hesitant to adopt the Living 9 yr old Child when Clockwork had brought him to his Castle, explaining that he had run into a Natural Portal, but he had accepted in the end.
It took a while to teach Conner how to understand Language. He seemed to know very little for a kid his age, but after Clockwork had dug around his personal timeline they figured out that he was a Clone. He probably hadn't reached the Information Planting Stage of development when he escaped.
After learning about this however, Danny began teaching him everything he should have learned in his early life, such as Elementary level education and some social interaction. He even brought around Ellie to see if she had any advice for helping him develop into a healthy young boy.
She did help a bit, but was mostly preoccupied with spoiling her new Nephew rotten.
Eventually, Conner had caught up to the level he should have been at his age, and started living in both the Realms and in Amity.
He was having a good life, had some great friends, and was even starting to learn to use his Kryptonian Powers now that they were coming in.
He loves his new Family, his Dad is goofy and fun, his Aunt Ellie likes to spoil him rotten, his Aunt Jazz is the responsible one but still loves him, and even his grandparents are great in their own Insane way.
But not all great things can last.
...
It was supposed to be a normal Field Trip. Conner was 15 and his school was taking a Trip to Washington DC, to see the sights or to learn about history or something.
But stuff happens. They just so happen to pass by a certain lab, that lab just so happens to be testing out a new Yellow Sun Energy Detector, and one of the Scientists who worked on Conner just so happens to see him in the bus as it passes by and the detector goes off.
In the end, they manage to recapture him and place him back into his Pod, beginning to prep him for Reeducation. (Let's say they mamage to repress his memories)
Cut to 1 year later and a team of Sidekicks break into the Lab and successfully steal away the Clone again.
The Clone who knows he had a dad who had black hair and blue eyes, who helped him use his powers, who looks a lot like Superman.
Conner, in his slightly Amnesiac state thinks he has already met Superman and that he had raised him. Which makes it so much more hurtful when Superman outright rejects him. He thinks his Dad just rejected him, the Dad who he thinks he remembers loving him very much.
(Danny had been frantically looking for his son for over a year now. Where is he? Is he Okay? What happened to him? He knows at least that he isn't dead yet, but he really wants to find his son)
#Dp x dc#Dpxdc#Dc x dp#Dcxdp#Danny Phantom#Dc#Dcu#Ghost King AU#Conner Kent#Kon-El#Conner is the son of Danny#Since he was made much earlier on he had a chance to escape earlier in the timeline#Amnesia#Conner vaguely remembers his life with Danny but thinks that it was Superman cause they look similar#Angst#I wanted to let Conner still join YJ#This is how I decided it would work
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Surprise husbands + "How are you real?" ; requested by @vehan-tikkun-olam-and-stuff!
They may not have planned to get married, or even wanted it all too much at the beginning, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t going to treat each other right. It was rough going, with both of them coming out of relationships and having secret identities, but time had softened the hurt feelings and allowed them to actually get to know each other.
And Danny, Duke has discovered, is a really good husband.
Neither of them ever saw themselves as married at 20, but sometimes life throws horrible curses at you and the embodiment of balance and life and death swoops in to save your life. Via marriage.
His life is weird, okay? Duke has made his peace with it.
The thing is, if they had met naturally and started off as friends, Duke could see himself falling for Danny and asking him to marry him in a far off future. Instead, they’re doing everything backwards: married, then going on dates to know each other, and finally feeling close enough to be friends.
It helps that Danny does his best to communicate and that helps Duke find the words he needs as well.
He’s sweet, too, so kind and doting and affectionate. Like a really lovable cat, honestly. Duke’s never been cuddled so much in his life and he’s loving every minute of it.
He… might be falling in love with his husband. What a revelation.
“Duke?”
He blinks, looking up from his half-empty plate, pulled out of his thoughts suddenly. Tim and Dick stare at him, concerned, and he realizes he’s missed the entire conversation because he was so preoccupied thinking about Danny. In his defense, it was their one year anniversary the night before and Danny had kissed him for the first time after a date night spent playing video games and talking shit about their respective rogues.
Tim snaps a finger in front of his face, and Duke startles. He got distracted by his Danny Thoughts again.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“You okay? You’ve been out of it all day,” Dick says, clearly concerned.
“Oh, uh, yeah, it’s all good. Just… adjusting.”
“To what? Did something happen?”
Duke shrugs, scooping up another forkful of pasta to shove in his mouth. “Yeah, I… this is going to sound kind of stupid, but I think I’m in love with my husband.”
Tim, taking an ill-timed drink, chokes and spits out his Zesti. Dick springs back, trying to get out of the spray zone but doesn’t move far, shocked still by Duke’s words.
“Oh, yeah,” Duke realizes, “I didn’t tell you guys, did I?”
“You’re married?!” Tim shrieks as Dick clutches at his chest, eyes wide.
“You didn’t tell me?” Dick asks, offended.
“Seriously? That’s what you focus on?”
Duke smiles as they begin to bicker. They do it constantly, but this time it’s halfhearted, as if they’re just going through the motions of something familiar to distract themselves from the bomb he’s dropped on them.
In all fairness, Duke did forget that he didn’t tell them that he’s married to Danny. He’s also only mentioned Danny once or twice and heavily implied that Danny was just a classmate at GCU. And then forgot that he didn’t tell them, assuming that they’d figure it out eventually being Batman trained detectives, after all.
Well.
Oops.
Clearly that is not the case. Duke hurries to finish his pasta before Tim and Dick finish their joint freak out and get their senses back together enough to interrogate him. He can’t escape it, but he refuses to have this discussion with an empty stomach.
He just barely manages to scrape the last mouthful off the plate when his fork is being yanked out of his hands. Tim and Dick close in on him, standing to either side of him, trapping him in place, and look at him with knife-sharp smiles.
Here we go, Duke thinks tiredly, and resigns himself to clearing up this misunderstanding.
Somehow, he manages to explain the situation (I got cursed, he saved my life, we ended up married because magic is bullshit, he treats me so well) and Tim and Dick both agree to not hunt down Danny to show him the wrath of older brothers on one condition: Danny has to join them for a family dinner.
“Don’t worry, we’ll catch everyone up on your… situation,” Dick says, pulling on his jacket to head out. Tim is already on his phone, no doubt telling someone already.
“Great,” Duke says, unenthused. “You’ll also be answering all the questions because I’m not in the mood. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to figure out a day that works for all of us, and then I’m going to kick my husband’s ass in Mario Cart.”
He walks out the door, grinning as he hears them scramble after him, then twists the ring on his finger (not a wedding ring, but a magic portal making gift) and steps into the portal. It closes quietly behind him, leaving him in Danny’s lair, a comfortable, spacious house with high ceilings and little bits of his personality scattered about. There are soft rugs with geometric patterns on them, star maps on the wall, stained glass windows that throw colors across the floor, and a giant couch and pillow pit in the living room.
Danny’s asleep in it, curled up and looking completely at peace. Duke toes off his shoes and carefully makes his way over, footsteps silent so he doesn’t wake him up, all plans of Mario Cart fading away instantly.
Danny doesn’t get much sleep, with the stress of school and an internship and ghost fights to worry about. It’s why his lair is so quiet and comfortable; it’s what he needs, and he doesn’t let anyone else in without invitation, rare as it is.
Duke is allowed to waltz right in thanks to the ring Danny gave him. It never stops making him feel overwhelmed by how much trust Danny puts in him to allow him unlimited access to what is his only true sanctuary, letting his lair be a place of safety and respite for Duke as well.
He crawls into the pillow pit, There’s no way to do this without waking Danny up since he can’t fly, so he isn’t surprised to see Danny blink his eyes open, still looking soft and content. He smiles when he sees Duke, reaching a hand out to him that Duke gladly takes, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss his palm.
Sitting up, Danny tilts his head up in a silent request. Duke happily obliges, still reeling over the fact that he’s allowed to do this! He can kiss his husband whenever he wants!
Yeah, he’s going to be riding that high for a while.
“Hey,” Danny murmurs, sleepy and quietly pleased to see him.
“Hi honey,” Duke returns fondly, “Have a nice nap?”
Danny nods, leaning into Duke and closing his eyes again. “Mhm. How long are you staying? I wanna cuddle.”
“I got nothing going on today. I’m all yours, baby.”
“C’mon,” Danny tries to tug him down. Duke goes slowly, covering Danny’s body with his own, but holds himself with one hand before he blankets his husband completely.
“Wait. There’s something we need to talk about.”
Immediately, the sleepy haze is fading from Danny’s eyes, leaving him alert. “What’s up? Is something wrong?”
“Not really? You know how we agreed to keep our marriage a secret until we weren’t in danger anymore and all those cultists and sorcerers were taken care of?”
“...Yes?”
“Well.” Duke sucks in a breath and offers a bashful smile. “Guess who forgot to tell people we were married after that whole mess was dealt with?”
The nervousness clears from Danny’s gaze as he stares up at Duke with incredulous amusement. “No. No way.”
“Yeah. Kinda dropped a bomb on them and they started freaking out over me being married. Anyways, they want you to come to dinner?”
“When?”
Duke leans back, sitting on his heels. “Let me check.” He pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to the group chat asking for a day they could have a family meal to meet his husband.
His phone is bombarded with texts and calls immediately until Barbara, bless her entire soul, forcibly mutes all of them and puts in a poll with a few dates, setting the poll to close in 24 hours.
“Okay, well, they’re deciding now, but probably soon.”
Danny nods. “Alright. I know these aren’t normal circumstances at all, but I’m so excited to meet the Bats.”
“You do not mean that after hearing all my stories about them.”
“No, I do!” Danny laughs, surging up to wrap his arms around Duke and pull him back down to lay among the giant pillows with him. “They sound nice!”
“The Bats sound nice?!” Duke repeats in horror. “Did you hit your head?”
“They do sound nice! You talk about them so fondly, and yeah they have problems and are dysfunctional, but they’re heroes. Of course they have problems. Even with all their baggage, they’re kind. And you clearly love them, so I do too.”
It’s hard to resist the urge to hug Danny tight enough to make him squeak while peppering his face with kisses, so Duke doesn’t. He just goes and does it, because he’s allowed to shower his husband (!) with affection (!!!) as much as he pleases.
“How are you real?” he says against the corner of Danny’s lips. “How are you so perfect! To me specifically! Honey, if we weren’t already married, I’d be going down on one knee right now.”
“I mean, you still can. We never got a proper wedding either. Think if we offer them a chance to help plan our wedding, they’ll forgive us for secretly being married for so long?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Duke says. He’s already giddy, just imagining what their wedding will look like, what song they’ll play for their first dance, where they’ll have the ceremony… He should create a Pinterest account to start putting ideas together.
Later, though. He wants to woo Danny properly and take him on so many dates.
Dates which include dinner with the Waynes and Wayne-adjacents, apparently.
“You sure you’re okay with meeting them over dinner?” he asks, just to be sure. He knows how intense they can be, even when pretending to be normal civilians. It took him years to get used to them, himself, and he doesn’t want to push Danny into doing something he’s not ready to do.
Danny cups Duke’s face in his hands and gives him a quick, reassuring kiss. “I’m sure. If nothing else, it’ll be fun to see how long it takes for them to realize I’m not fully human.”
“I really am glad it’s you.”
“Yeah, me too. I’d choose you all over again if given the choice.”
“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Duke laughs, wrapping an arm around Danny’s waist.
“Can we nap now? Now that you’re here and holding me, it’s taking everything I’ve got to stay awake.”
“Yeah, we can nap now.” Duke settles into the pillows, Danny cradled in his arms and closes his eyes to bask in the quiet easiness of it all.
He really couldn’t ask for a better husband, unexpected as he was. The others will see that too, once they meet him. It’s impossible to not love Danny once you meet him; Duke knows this all too well.
He loves his husband.
And his husband loves him back.
Duke is fully prepared to keep making that choice for the rest of his life.
#ghostlights#dc x dp#dp x dc#dcxdp#dpxdc#dc x dp fic#dp x dc fanfic#prompt fill#my writing#it was such a struggle to keep this one short but i WILL do it. it will stay below 3k words. i promised myself this#wasnt too sure what the surprise husbands trope was so i winged it lol. i hope you enjoy reading this anyways!!#its all about choosing love and choosing each other and taking care of each other in a bad situation#turning it into something good and soft and kind bc neither of u want to hurt each other and its nice to have someone always by ur side#its abt choosing each other every day!!#these two are out here speed running love while doing it backwards. icons.#thanks for the prompt!!
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all to myself - d. wagner
pairing: danny x reader
a/n: hi guys! here's a little hurt/comfort fic with our favorite bf daniel <3. i'm still working on 'oh, what a sin' so that will probably be out by this weekend! i just wanted to give y'all something to survive off of until i get that out lol. i know i'm constantly saying that i'm working on it but i really am!! it helps sometimes just to take a break and write something else. anyways, hope u all like this one. love u byeee!!
genre: hurt/comfort
word count: 2.2k
summary: danny's finally home from tour and the reader can't wait to spend time with him. only, it seems he has other plans.
warnings: swearing, hurt/comfort, mentions of sex (nothing explicit).
You hated being home without him. The place was so… empty. Loneliness taunted you, a hollow kind of aching in your stomach as you padded around the house all alone. It was too quiet, too big, too encapsulating. It was hard to ignore the fact that you were by yourself when you were surrounded by so much space. Even worse, there were little reminders of Danny at every corner you turned. His plants that you cared for while he was gone, one of his wrinkled shirts hidden behind the couch, a drumstick he’d lost weeks ago.
Now, as he unpacked his things after finally getting home, you felt bad for being resentful. He worked hard on tour, always did his best to keep in touch with you as much as possible. He couldn’t help his job; you had known exactly what you were signing up for when the two of you started dating… Yet here you were holding it against him. It didn’t help that instead of spending the night with you, he wanted to invite the guys over to work on the new album more. You faked a smile and nodded enthusiastically at his suggestion of inviting the guys over later, but your stomach was churning. It felt like a slight– he had just told you an hour ago how excited he was to be back home with you, how he couldn’t wait to spend every waking minute with you.
Envy bloomed in your chest, a writhing green monster that made your head spin and your cheeks burn as you watched him from the kitchen. He gesticulated animatedly, explaining one of his ideas to Josh as he nodded along enthusiastically. You clenched your jaw so hard that your teeth ached. It was embarrassing. In your mind’s eye you saw yourself standing there, wine glass clutched in your vice grip, while you fumed over him doing his job.
You breathed a heavy sigh as you took a long sip of your drink. It was fine– everything was fine. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you forced yourself to take a few deep breaths. Guilt washed over you in waves, again. You felt so ridiculous, standing in the kitchen pouting like a child. If you were going to stand around and mope, you might as well head to bed. But you wanted every second in your boyfriend’s presence that you could get, even if he was ignoring your existence in exchange for his friends.
In a pathetic attempt for a sliver of attention, you decided to bring him another beer. Even just hearing a simple, “thank you, baby,” would be enough to keep you going until everyone else had gone away. You wandered into the living room, fingers chilled by the bottle. You nudged your way into their little circle, forcing a smile.
“Hey, honey, I brought you–”
“One second,” Danny said, holding a finger up without even glancing your way. There was a pang in your chest. You merely blinked, as he sat listening with rapt attention to Jake’s explanation of a clearly complicated riff he was working on, scribbling fervently in his notebook.
You waited until Jake had finished his spiel, then began again. “I just wanted to–”
“Can you give us a minute, Y/N? I’m sorry, we’re just in the middle of something.” Danny glanced at you for a second, half-smiling even though his eyes clearly showed he was still preoccupied.
“O-okay,” you nodded, your throat tightening. Slinking back off to the kitchen, you left his drink on the counter. Moisture pricked your eyes, and you pressed your lips together to keep them from quivering. You knew he hadn’t meant anything by it, but he had basically told you to shut up and leave him alone. The hollow ache had returned to your stomach, although now you wanted nothing more than to be alone. You slipped down the hallway and into the bedroom, flicking the light off and curling up on the bed. Pathetically, you laid on his side of the bed, burying your tear-soaked face into his pillow. The stupid pillowcase didn’t even smell like him anymore, it had been so long since he’d been in this room. Every second, you felt worse about him being home. What was the point if he didn’t even want you around?
Another choked sob racked your body. Maybe you were being a little unfair… He was just so excited about this new album, and it made your heart hurt that he didn’t seem nearly as excited to be home with you. After it had been the only thing you were looking forward to for months, you felt like your offense was justified.
Long after your tears dried, and you laid there for however long listening to the occasional burst of laughter, frenzied arguments about the leading single, and all the other details of their work, it seemed he finally noticed your absence. The sound of the front door closing didn’t even drag you out of your misery; vaguely, you heard the guys saying their goodbyes, telling Danny to have a good night with not-so subtle implications behind their tones, their chorused footsteps exiting your home. Fine. They were gone, and you were finally alone with your beloved Danny. Only now, the last thing you wanted was to have to look him in the eye after the way he treated you this evening.
You heard a call of your name from down the hall, in his gentlest tone that he reserved for you. Holding yourself tighter, you pulled your knees up to your chest and turned away from the door. The tears were back, the saltiness burning your raw cheeks as they spilled over your face and soaked the already damp pillow. You muffled the sound of your crying in the blanket clutched in your fist. Maybe you could pretend you were sleeping, you thought.
He knew you better than that.
He padded down the hall, first pushing open the creaky bathroom door to check if you were there. Nope. Then, the study, and the laundry room.
“Y/N, sweetheart, I hope you didn’t fall asleep on me,” he said, pushing open the bedroom door. Warm light from the hallway spilled in; you saw his frame silhouetted on the wall in front of you.
You said nothing. If he thought you were sleeping, he would leave you alone. You could stew over your feelings and fall asleep. You would be over it by the time it was morning. It seemed foolish, now, that you had been looking forward to tonight. If only you could have predicted the disaster it would become.
You closed your eyes, pretending… There were a few seconds of quiet movement, and you felt the bed shift beneath his weight. Warmth radiated off of him as he settled into the spot beside you, sitting quietly.
“I know you’re awake,” he said. “Started missing you after I had to listen to Josh retell the story about the– hey, are you crying?” One of his hands reached for you, brushing your hair out of your face.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered, all of the amusement drained from his voice and replaced with worry.
You shook your head. You felt even worse now, that you would have to tell him what was wrong. It felt childish, and stupid.
“Oh, sweetheart, I can’t help it if you won’t talk to me,” he continued, gentle. He used the pad of his thumb to brush the tears off of your face. The touch was simultaneously painful and delightful. You swallowed hard.
Finally, excruciatingly, you forced yourself to turn on your back and look at him. The tears were stifled for now, as you met his inquisitive gaze. He was frowning, which you hated. You always thought he was the kind of person who was just made for smiling. You hated that you were taking that away from him.
“I-I’m sorry,” you croaked, closing your eyes because you couldn’t bear to meet his gaze. One of his hands grasped yours, squeezing gently.
“You don’t have to apologize to me, not for crying, my love…” his voice trailed as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead.
“No, I have to apologize, Danny,” you said shakily. “I’ve been back here pouting for no reason and you’re finally home and I’m sulking in the bed–”
“What happened? Tell me so I can fix it, please.” His eyes were pleading, his voice laced with concern.
You shook your head, face flushing at the thought of telling him why you were upset. Now that he was sitting beside you, his touch tender as he attempted to comfort you… You didn’t have the same vindication anymore.
“Nothing,” you said, trying to steady your breathing. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“Y/N…” He sighed heavily, pulling his gaze away from you and staring out into the empty hallway for a moment. He was concerned, and frustrated. You knew he wanted to help but couldn’t bear explaining to him that this all was because of him. “You didn’t lay in here crying for the last hour for nothing.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
His frown deepened and he turned back to you. “Sit up,” he said gently. You did so, crossing your legs beneath you. He matched your position, the two of you sitting across from one another with your knees touching in the center. You met his gaze in some kind of ridiculous staring contest.
“You’re upset.”
You nodded.
“And is there something I can do to help?”
You mulled it over. You supposed it would help if he just acknowledged that he was wrong to brush you off like that. You nodded again.
“Okay. I need you to tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart. I only want to help you, you know that.” He rubbed patterns into the back of your hand with his thumb, his touch feather-light. You nodded, chewing on your bottom lip as you tried to figure out how to explain to him why you were upset.
“It’s just–” you began, but you felt your chest tightening again. You stopped, forcing a deep breath before you spoke again. “Well, I just really wanted to spend time with you tonight… But you invited the guys over for work, and you all just got so caught up with it, and– I mean, I was trying to do something nice and bring you a drink and I felt like you just brushed me off like you didn’t even care…”
He listened attentively as you rambled, his face neutral. He nodded at your words, and wiped your tears again as they returned.
“I know it sounds stupid, and childish, and I’m making a big deal like I always do–”
He held up a finger, a slight smile playing on his lips.
“Did it hurt you?” he asked simply.
“Well… yes,” you said.
“Then it’s not stupid, or childish, my love,” he leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips. “It matters to you, and I should be more aware of that. I promise, I wasn’t trying to hurt you. But I see how that was hurtful.”
“You do?” Your voice shook.
“Of course,” he said, “You were looking forward to this for a while, weren’t you?”
You nodded fervently. “I’ve felt so– so alone these last couple of months. And I just wanted you to myself for a few hours…”
“I’m sorry, Y/N,” his eyes were sincere, honest. Your worries were melting away as he kissed the back of your hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize how much it meant to you, and I’m sorry I brushed you off…”
“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner,” you breathed, leaning into him. You all but crawled into his lap, and he wrapped his arms around you without skipping a beat. He planted another kiss on your shoulder, then rested his chin there as he listened to you speak. You felt much better, secure wrapped in his strong embrace. “I haven’t been very fair to you tonight, either.”
He smiled, that bright dazzling smile, and you couldn’t help but match it. “I forgive you, my love. I’ll always forgive you. And I hope you’ll do the same for me.”
“Always,” you said, leaning down to brush your lips against his. He was still smiling as you pulled away.
“I missed you, pretty girl… How about I clear my schedule tomorrow? You can have me all day long…” His eyes flashed with amusement.
“Oh, yeah?” you laughed lightly. “What was on your schedule before then?”
“Hmmm, let me think…” He furrowed his brow and wrinkled his nose as if he were deep in thought. You rolled your eyes at your goofball of a boyfriend. “I think it went something like this: morning sex with Y/N, breakfast with Y/N, shower sex with Y/N, farmer’s market with Y/N, pre-lunch sex with Y/N–”
“Oh, hush, you big doofus.” But you were giggling away, your heartbreak from hours ago almost completely forgotten. “Do you ever think about anything besides sex?”
“Of course I do,” he said. Then added cheekily, “Music, mostly.”
You rolled your eyes, feigning exasperation. You were just happy to finally have him all to yourself.
#danny x reader#danny wagner x reader#danny wagner imagine#greta van fleet imagine#greta van fleet x reader#greta van fleet fic#greta van fleet#gvf x reader#gvf imagine#gvf fic#my writing#queue are my special
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Gray ghost 💛
I ended up breaking this into two parts, one for you and one for Hannah, hope you like it!
Would You Still Love Me? Part 1
“Hey Val… would you- would you still love me if I were- if I was a ghost?”
She paused in smoothing their blanket out on the grass, glancing over at her boyfriend in confusion. Danny stood just a few feet away with their picnic basket, seemingly preoccupied with a loose thread at the hem of his shirt, but his lower lip crushed between his teeth belied his nervousness.
“Uh, what?” she replied eloquently.
“Like, if I, you know, died and- and came back, as a- you know, as a ghost… would you-” his gaze connected with hers for a brief moment, “would you still love me?”
She passed her hand over one last crease before rising from the ground, using the little bit of extra time to calm her now whirling thoughts. She reached out and felt his forehead for a fever; his skin was slightly cool against her warm palm, just like it always was.
“Where is this coming from? Danny, is something wrong? Are you okay?”
“Nowhere! Nothing’s wrong! I was just- just wondering.”
She held his face in her hands and searched it for some clue to this riddle. She didn’t find a reason for his sudden strange question, but she did find the way his earnest blue eyes flickered over her in return, full of adoration and a little bit of fear. She found the faint scar just on the edge of his jaw; he refused to tell her where it came from and so she’d come up with a dozen and one embarrassing stories for it that’d had them laughing ‘till their sides hurt. She found the lopsided way he smiled at her and the bags under his eyes from too many sleepless nights. She didn’t find a reason, but she did find her answer:
“Yes.” Even as she said it, she knew it was true, “Yes, I would still love you if you were a ghost.”
His relief was palpable, forced casualness becoming genuine. He wrapped his free arm around her waist with a smile. She beamed back at him, feeling like she had passed some sort of test. Was that what this was? A test of their relationship, of how much she loved him? She didn't know what had made him feel insecure, but she was going to find it and crush it. Later. For now... she leaned back, lacing her fingers behind his neck.
“What about me?” She asked playfully. “Would you still love me if I was a ghost?”
“Yes.” His answer was immediate, his gaze intense. “Of course.”
Valerie was stunned. Sweet, dorky Danny Fenton who looked like a stiff breeze would blow him over, who ran the other direction at even the slightest hint of a ghost, Danny Fenton son of the local ghost hunters… and yet he had no hesitation. ‘Yes,’ he’d said, ‘of course.’ Of course. Of course he’d love her, even as a ghost. And she believed him. Her heart burned with affection and in that moment she felt herself fall even deeper in love with him.
In a blink, gone was the intensity, serious face replaced with a mischievous smile, one that usually preceded a horrible joke.
“If you were a fruit, you’d be a fineapple,” She snorted and began to pull away, picnic basket bumping her legs as he held her tighter, “and if you were a vegetable, I’d visit you every day in the hospital.”
“Oh that’s awful! Did you get it from Tucker?” she laughed.
“Maybe,” he sing-songed.
Part 2
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Somethings been wrong with the Ghost Zone lately. No matter where he is or what he's doing, Danny hears a faint, beckoning whisper. Surely it's nothing to worry about.
---
Ha ha!! You thought I was done with EI, think again! EI 3 baby! This timme with @godgytrnbrt on tumblr, and you can see his art here.
It'll also be put in the appropriate place in the fic.
The Ghost Zone was never a quiet place. Even if you managed to find a place where the people who called it home weren't causing a ruckus of some sort, you still wouldn't find silence. The ectoplasm that made up the air was constantly in motion, filling ears with a whooshing sound not unlike the sound of a running river. While it always faded to white noise, it was never quiet.
That's why Danny took so long to notice the whispering.
It was faint, unable to compete with the other sounds of the Ghost Zone, and it wasn't like Danny spent a lot of time on that side of the portal. He was busy enough as is, he didn't have the time to wander around in another dimension. He made a point to only go when he absolutely had to. Like right now, with his arm hanging off of his shoulder in a far too literal sense to be comfortable.
He normally ignored most of his injuries. They had a habit of sorting themselves out in due time. But right now there was less skin and muscle and bone between his left shoulder and his upper arm then there was air, so he made the decision that maybe this did warrant a visit to the Far Frozen, if only to make sure that it would reattach itself.
He needed to get there fast; at least, that's what Sam had read online about finger reattachment, and they'd decided that it was similar enough to apply here. That's why he was flying with his own speed; while the Specter Speeder would've helped keep him safe, it took too long to set up. Danny had always been a fast flyer anyway, even if the pain radiating from his wound was getting worse and worse, eventually progressing into something just shy of a migraine.
It was then that he first heard the whispering. He couldn't make anything out, just a distinctive white noise bouncing around the back of his head. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew that they were words, and that they were meant for him. Danny spun around, cradling his injured limb against his torso as he looked for the threat.
He was surrounded by nothing but unmarred, swirling green.
Danny wanted to investigate. He wanted to find out more, wanted to follow the threads of the mystery tugging at his chest, pulling him downwards, towards his left. He almost followed too, lowering himself into the deeper, brighter lights.
His arm twinged in pain again, and Danny was once again reminded that speed was of the essence.
The whispers did not leave him, never waning in his flight, as if whoever or whatever was speaking to him was right over his shoulder, whispering into his ear.
It finally stopped when he was sequestered deep within the Far Frozen, after Frostbite finished sewing his arm back in place. If he wasn't more preoccupied with the needle in his flesh, he might've realized that he missed it.
---
Danny would've forgotten the whispering, if he hadn't heard it again a few weeks later on yet another run to the Far Frozen. He couldn't say whether it was a more severe injury or not, but it certainly hurt more. Probably because he still had nerves there.
Every time he tried to look anywhere but slightly up and to the right, he could feel the sharp tip digging against his sclera. He couldn't stop the stream of tears running down his cheeks, mixing with the ectoplasm leaking from the wound. His eye burnt from being open for so long, but the wooden rod protruding from just off of his iris wouldn't let him blink.
To put it simply, there was a pencil in his eye, and it hurt like a bitch .
The fact that it hadn't been intended only made it sting more. Skulker had just thrown him through the wall of the school and gotten lucky. At least the fight had wrapped up with only a few poorly aimed ectoblasts after that; Danny didn't think he'd be able to deal with a full scale fight with his current lack of depth perception.
There had been a lot of discussion on what to do about the pencil after the fight wrapped up. Sam wanted to pull it out immediately and let Danny's ghostly healing take care of it. Jazz wanted to make the drive to the Far Frozen, not trusting them to be able to remove the pencil without causing more damage to such a sensitive area. Danny wanted his ability to see back, and Tucker just wanted to stop looking at it.
In the end, Jazz won, which was why she was in the driver's seat of the Specter Speeder with Danny sitting next to her. Tucker was busy pinging their parents ghost equipment busy, and Sam was acting as a backup excuse, just in case.
The ride was agonizing, for a number of reasons. The fact that Danny was in immense amounts of pain was the main component of course, but the boredom didn't help any. He had become painfully aware of just how much he moved his eyes, and any conversation he might have was filled with a very literal stabbing sensation.
Jazz had tried to fill the silence at the beginning. It had worked, for a little while, mostly because Danny had grown very good at zoning out whenever she said the word "psychologically." When she started talking about how "severe physical trauma would affect him mentally" and "the effects of a lessened grasp on ones own mortality," he asked her to stop. Danny didn't blame her for settling on those topics; rambling was a nervous habit of all the Fenton's. It was more the fact that he couldn't ramble back to cover his own nerves that he cared about.
Danny's gaze was trained at the upper right window of the Specter Speeder, just like it had been for the better part of two hours. That was nice; it gave him the fun and exciting pass time of counting how many floating rocks they passed. He'd just passed number seventy two when he noticed the pattern.
The Ghost Zone had always been a whirlwind, impossible to keep your eye on just one group of ectoplasmic clouds or wind or sky or ground. It blended together in a mess of irregular swirls that could never be tracked, no matter how hard they tried. It defied physics, just like every other part of ectoplasm did. That was why a pattern was so notable to Danny. Nothing in the Zone followed a pattern besides the ghosts, and sometimes the islands. There shouldn't have been anything for him to notice.
And yet, the longer Danny looked, the more it seemed like the very far corner of the Specter Speeder, just where the glass connected to the metal, ghastly hands seemed to grasp at the vehicle.
He was seeing things. That was the simple explanation, and probably the correct one; he couldn't see much of anything clearly right now, not with most of his view being blocked by wood or blood. It should've been the end of the whole thing; he was in pain and bored out of his mind and half blinded, and he was seeing things. But the longer he stared, the more he swore that there was something out there. Something that was trying to get in.
Danny tried to ask Jazz if she saw it too, but the action of opening his mouth was horrible, sending the pencil wiggling in his eye. He had to suppress the urge to flinch; he'd figured out by now that flinching only made it ten times worse.
He lifted his hand slowly up to his face, focusing as hard as he could on not moving any part of his face. His wrist covered the thing in the window from his view, but he only needed to hold the pencil steady long enough for him to talk.
"Do you see the thing in the window?" He spoke slowly, focusing on moving his lips as little as possible.
He couldn't see Jazz jump, but he felt it in the way the Specter Speeder jolted slightly before stabilizing again. He was grateful that he was holding the pencil steady; if it had been moving freely, it would've hurt. A lot.
"I don't see anything..." Jazz said to Danny's left, just out of his field of view. "I have the general defenses turned on, but I'll switch on the rest, as a precaution."
"Don't," Danny said. "Too slow."
He could see Jazz's hand hovering over the control panel in the corner of his periphery. "I suppose you do have a point..." She withdrew her hand. "If you're sure."
Danny was sure, even if he couldn't say so. Gently, he withdrew his hand from the pencil; he'd tried holding it steady towards the beginning of the trip, and only managed to drive it deeper. He failed to resist the urge to glance at the corner of the window, visible once again now that his hand had been withdrawn.
There was nothing there. There stayed nothing there for the entire duration of the trip.
"We're here," Jazz said, bringing the Specter Speeder down to the snowy tundra. "Let me put on the winter gear, and then I'll get the door for you."
Danny didn't answer for obvious reasons. He could hear her moving around the back of the vehicle, the rustling of coats and zippers. It felt like she was taking forever. They needed to go, and they needed to go now. They'd waited long enough, they'd kept it waiting long enough, they-
Jazz pulled the door open with a thud, and Danny stumbled forwards as if he had tripped. He couldn't remember standing up from his seat, but he must have, because the next thing he knew he was laying with his back in the snow, staring up into the constant storm.
He expected to be struck with cold, seeping into his flesh, through his jumpsuit, just like it always did here. He hadn't been prepared for the warmth that enveloped him so completely. It was like he'd been wrapped up in a blanket, cocooned completely in something that felt more like home than anywhere he'd been since he'd died.
The warmth centered around the front of his head, pooling around his eyes. It overwhelmed the pain, washing it away in a tide of comfort, enveloping his eyes in a bright, comfortable, familiar green until he couldn't see anything but.
The whispering started again. This time, he could understand it.
It still wasn't speaking in words, and yet it called to him, cooing at him gently. "You're hurt," it whispered in a caress against the back of his eye, cupping the inside of his head with phantom fingers. "My champion. My dearest prince. Let me help you, as you have helped me."
There was a shadow above him, an imprint in the green. He couldn't make out a face, or any features really; it wasn't even humanoid, not really. He could feel her smiling at him, pride and concern practically radiating through her touch. She was soft and holding him close and she was warm enough that he could almost melt in her arms.
Two more shadows joined the green. One was slim, with clearly defined hair falling over a shoulder, and the other was a large, hulking figure that took up half of his vision. He knew those silhouettes. He opened his mouth to try and talk to them, to call out to them, but the warmth forced its way past his lips before any words could, clogging his tongue, forcing down his throat. What had been a comforting weight quickly became suffocating in a far too literal sense.
There was something firm and fuzzy on his shoulder, penetrating through the layer that covered him. It was like a bubble had been popped; all at once, the choking feeling disappeared, and the cold came rushing over him. He couldn't supress the shiver. Danny hadn't shivered in... he couldn't remember when.
"This is very concerning indeed." It was Frostbite's voice, and Frostbite's paw, and Frostbite standing above him. "We will need to run some tests. (Insert yeti name), would you escort the Great One's sister back to the huts? I will be handling his appointment personally."
Danny heard the other yeti agree, and then he was being lifted out of the snow on strong arms. They weren't warm. Danny didn't know if that was good or bad.
---
Danny's skin itched. Not the normal itch that most people got, when they touched something gross or their skin was dry or they'd gone too long without showering. Danny's skin itched from the inside, like there were bugs crawling underneath his flesh, worming around in his veins and his muscles. They tried to burrow through his flesh, crawling and clawing as they tried to forge their way out of him. It itched so bad that Danny could feel it in his teeth.
Nothing he did ever stopped the itching. He would scratch at it til he bled, a sickly mixture or reds and greens that stained his skin a putrid brown. His skin still itched. He scrubbed his flesh angry and red and with more soap than any person could ever need. His skin still itched. He tried to ignore it, using every last inch of willpower to claw him through a day where he didn't think about the wiggling sensation of a thousand tiny legs underneath his flesh. His skin still itched.
It didn't hurt. Danny would've been able to handle it, if it hurt, because he had been hurt time and time again, had to walk off broken bones and bleeding guts without so much as a grimace. But the pain would always fade away into a dull aching in his bones eventually, even if it took hours or days of gritting his teeth and downing pills that never did anything to help. But the itching?
The itching never stopped, never let up, never faded. It had been going on for months without any reprieve. If anything, the itching only got worse and worse as time went on, the wriggling sensation moving from his arms to his legs to his eyes, as if something was carving out a nest in the base of his skull, using his own eyes as a window. It was driving him insane.
He had told Sam and Tucker and Jazz about it, towards the beginning, when it had been nothing but a nuisance. They'd made the proper noises of concern, but none of them were that concerned over it. He'd been through worse. They all knew that he could handle an incessant itch.
And then it didn't stop. Weeks turned to months, and the longer it went the more Danny couldn't shake the feeling of tiny legs and fingers and antenna tracing over the inside of his skull and behind his eyes and the inside of his flesh. When Jazz went to wake him up and found scratch marks covering his arms and his nails stained with blood, that was it.
"We're getting you to the Far Frozen today. Something is clearly wrong," Jazz said, crossing her arms.
Danny blinked owlishly at her. "But... I have a test today."
"Well, then we'll just have to get you a doctor's note then," Jazz said.
"I don't think Frostbite can do that. Or that the school will accept it."
"They will," Jazz said. "I'll make sure of it." She walked to the door, pausing just as she reached the doorway. "Do you want to fly there, or do you want me to drive you?"
Danny's reply was slow, his mind foggy from sleep. "I'll go. You have things to do."
"Alright. But if I find that you didn't go, I will not be happy with you. Understood?" Danny nodded. "Good. I hope you feel better soon." With that, Jazz left and shut the door behind her.
It took Danny far longer than it should to get ready to leave. He ended up putting both legs into one pants leg, and fell flat on his face before he realized what he had done. He put his shirt on backwards, figure that out when he ended up with the tag in his face. He decided it wasn't worth the effort. And then, when he made it to the basement, facing the portal down with bleary, itchy, painful eyes, he realized that his preparations were for not, because he was just going to transform immediately, and it wouldn't matter in the slightest.
All Danny did was sigh.
He didn't even have a chance to open his eyes before he was doubled over in pain. The second he'd passed the border into the zone, the itching feeling immediately got worse. It was stronger, more pronounced, in a way he couldn't describe. All Danny knew was that it was a constant, obnoxious pressing of fingers and legs and antenna brushing behind his eyes, to teeth and pincers trying to claw their way out of his skin. He doubled over in pain, cradling his arm with his free hand.
Unlike the rest of his body, his arm burnt. A searing pain, centered around his shoulder, radiating out in pulsating waves as if it was lava coursing through his veins instead of blood. He couldn't move, he couldn't think, he couldn't even breathe. All he was able to manage was a pained, high pitched whine.
He didn't expect a reply.
"Poor child," she said, and this time it wasn't in a whisper. Her voice echoed inside of Danny's brain, impossible to place what direction it came from. "You have been stuck for such a long, long time."
A warm hand drug itself down the side of Danny's face, and where it touched the inccessant itching faded into a comfortable warmth. It was instinct to lean into the touch, an instinct that Danny couldn't fight against. He wanted to; he was weakened, and whoever this voice was, whatever she was doing to him, it wasn't a good thing. He shouldn't be letting his guard down like this. But it had been so long since he'd had any relief, all the way back to his last trip to the Far Frozen, and he couldn't turn it down.
The hand pushed the hair out of his face with gentle fingers. "You do not need to worry about me, dearest," she said. "I am only here to help."
She was lying. She had to be. Nothing that helped would hurt so bad.
"I know it hurts," she cooed, and another hand fell on his other cheek. "Change always does. But you must change. This form you are so attatched to is not fit to rule. I am here to fix that."
With most of his face held in her hands, Danny could think, though it didn't seem to be helping any. Even with a semiclear head, her words weren't making any sense to him.
"You will understand soon, child," she said. "All you need to do is relax. I will handle the rest."
He had been awake for a long, long time. Taking a nap didn't sound too bad, did it?
Danny shook the thought off. His head was not as clear as he thought it was. It didn't matter what she said, she was an unknown threat, and he needed to get away. He tried to pry his head from her hands, but found he wasn't able to. He wasn't even able to open his eyes.
"You are right where you belong, dearest." Her words were soft, but firm. Certain. "And I am no unknown. You have known me since the moment you were created." Danny still couldn't open his eyes, but he didn't need to. She opened them for him.
All he could see was green. Every green, from the radioactive green of ectoplasm that had lit the backgrounnd of his life and death, to the green of putrid, rotting flesh, to a natural, bean green, like you would find in a garden. It was completely formless, not even an outline or an impression of something there. It was nothing, and yet it was life and death and decay and rebirth, coalessed into one color. It was everything. She was everything.
She had no form to smile with, but he could feel it on him, bright and electric and familiar. "Do you see now?" she asked, dragging an invisible finger down the side of his face. "You know me."
He did know her. He knew her from the hum of the portal that had killed him, and the electricty that pulsed through his body, and the ectoplasm that pulsed through his veins. She was all of that, after all, and so much more.
"I knew you would recognize me," she said.
Danny wanted to say something, but his tongue caught in his throat from a combination of awe and suffocating power. This wasn't just some ghost, but the Ghost Zone herself, as pure as could be, in front of him, talking to him, caressing his face. What was there for him to say?
"You don't need to say anything, child. You simply need to relax."
Danny didn't understand. Why was she here? Why was she talking to him? Why did he need to relax? What was happening?
"It is time, princeling, for you to fulfill your purpose."
That... didn't help at all.
"I'm not surprised," she said, and the entirety of the realms shook with her laughter. "You will understand, once you are rid of this form."
The warmth of her touch moved away from his face, down to his shoulders. It sat for a moment, just long enough for him to be confused, before it started to grow warmer, and warmer, until it was hot enough to burn. Danny opened his mouth to scream, but the warmthpooled in his throat, choking him.
"Hush, child," she cooed. "It only hurts because you think it should. You simply need to relax, and I will be able to mould you properly."
Danny didn't want to be moulded, properly or improperly.
"Oh, but you must," she said, and the heat in his shoulders went from burning to melting. "This form isn't fitting of a prince."
Danny wasn't a prince. He didn't want to be a prince. He wanted this to stop.
"I know child," she said, but the heat didn't stop. It only worsened, and his flesh melted off of the bone. "It will be over soon. Please, relax."
The melted flesh was caught and twisted, despite Danny's weak, gurlging protests and even weaker attempts to break her hold. He couldn't tell what she was doing with him, only that it hurt and that it wasn't him, until it suddenly was. It was with instincts born from pain that he contracted the half formed stub of a new arm. For one, blissful moment he was free from the searing heat and constraining grasp, and then it was back, surrounding his new arm completely.
"Please, child," she said, and maybe if he could think through the pain, he would marvel at the fact that she was begging. "You are only making this harder on yourself." She continued to shape the stub, dragging and stretching his flesh and bones as if he was clay on her potter's wheel. Danny couldn't struggle, not really, not when his entire brain had been whited out in pain, a pain he could only distantly remember from the last time he'd touched the essence of the Zone itself.
She only let go once the appendage she had crafted was nearly identical to the ones Danny already had, the only difference being its location. The moment the heat left him, Danny collapsed inwards, bringing two legs and three arms to his chest. If only for now, he could whimper.
She tsked in disappointment. "You are much more attached to this form than I expect," she said, and the heat returned, this time on Danny's exposed back. "We will have to try again."
She did. When she was finished with the new arm protruding out of Danny's back, she tried again. And again and again and again, until Danny had lost complete track of time, the only benchmark the number of new appendages he could vaguely feel at the edges of his consciousness, still drowned out by the burning pain.
Even through the pain, he could feel her gaze on him, powerful and infinite and calculating, as if he was a bug in a cage. "Perhaps a different approach is needed..." she said.
This time, when the heat of her touch melted his flesh, she did not try and shape it. Danny didn't bother trying to scream; he wouldn't be able to, just like he hadn't been able to the other dozen something times. All he could do was sit there, eyes closed tight and throat closed up, as he felt the heat intensify even further than it had before, until it melted away completely.
His new eye blinked open, leaking green and red, the remnants of flesh that hadn't quite fallen away yet. He could just barely see through the tangled web of limbs, none of which knew where to rest. As they moved, his vision moved with it; this eye was on one of them, though he couldn't tell where. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to see, but this eye did not bring with it an eyelid.
She was not satisfied. She didn't need to say anything for Danny to know; he could feel it in the air around him, and underneath his skin, and in how she moved to a different spot and repeated the process. Another eye blinked open, this one's vision entirely obscured, sitting stationary.
It was only after he'd been covered with nearly as many eyes as arms, and his field of vision, expanded tenfold, made his head spin and his stomach churn, did she stop. "You are far too stubborn for your own good, child," she said, and she brought her touch to his face again. The heat had died back down to that once comfortable warmth. "You cling to this form so hard that I can only bring forth what I have already claimed."
Her sigh shifted the whole realms, or maybe just the part where Danny was. "We will try again when you are more relaxed. Now, it is time for you to rest."
Despite not being able to close his new eyes, Danny's vision went black.
#danny phantom#danny phantom fanfiction#ectoimplosion2023#tw body horror#tw nonconsensual body modification#tw body modification#danny fenton#ghost zone#ghost king danny#ghost king au
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Our Empty Graves V
Fandom: Danny Phantom / Batman: Under the Red Hood
Pairings: Danny Fenton/Jason Todd (Dead on Main)
Rating: Mature
Tags: batfamily, hazmat AU, Nobody Knows AU, Mute!Phantom, potential ghost king danny, slow burn?, DC means Disregard Canon, AU means AU nothing is exactly the same, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, more than canon typical violence, danny is a Halfa and also a Fetch, no beta we die like basically everyone
Summary: They say that Red Hood has a loyal mutt. The man rules his territory in Crime Alley with an iron fist and a guard dog at his side. They say that Hood calls him Fetch, sometimes Fetcher. No one's ever heard him speak. Anyone who's ever seen him says he looks like an experiment gone wrong, that Hood picked him up somewhere unspeakable. They say he'll do anything Red Hood asks of him and he'll do it well. That he's strong and fast and probably inhuman. The girls say he's sweet; quiet but charming in his own way. Rival gangs say he's vicious; that he'd sooner rip your throat out than let you go.
Jason just wants to help him.
Chapter 5: they call me devil (and you should be afraid)
Chapter Summary: Red Hood keeps running into Fetcher, who disappears on him each time, until he decides to take the matter into his own hands and hunts the other down.
Chapter Notes: title from Call Me Devil by Friends in Tokyo
Links: AO3 // Chapter 1 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 6 // Spotify
There was a part of Jason that knew he wouldn’t find Fetcher in the safe house when he returned, but there was another (stupider) part of himself that had hoped to find the sassy little shit where he’d left him. He knew the first time had been a miracle and probably owing to the fact that Fetcher had been exhausted and recovering. He really hoped the kid had healed fully before he left. It looked like he already had a pretty fast healing rate, but Jason still worried. Like an idiot, really.
He wondered where Fetcher went. Jason didn’t believe for one second the kid actually had a place to go. But then again he literally glowed green and walked around in a Hazmat suit, which meant he was kind of hard to miss. So he had to have a place to go, to hide. Because Jason sure as shit hadn’t seen him since he left. And no, he had not looked. Well, maybe he looked a little. But it didn’t matter because he hadn’t found the fucker anywhere. There and gone again in a single night.
Jason should not be as preoccupied about it as he was. He had plans. He needed to focus. Didn’t matter that he’d felt almost calm for the first time since he resurrected around the kid (four long, long years of mindlessness and anger and a sort of helplessness and despair he hated). Fetcher was gone now and all he could do was sink back into his rage and learn to swim willingly within the haze all over again. He’d done it before and he’d do it again. Rage was useful. Anger was something he could mold and carve to his satisfaction. He would use it as a tool to strike down those that needed striking and avenge those that needed vengeance. Himself for one.
Tall, Dark, and Emotionally Repressed wouldn’t know what hit him. The Batman had failed him. Bruce had proven that while he may have loved Jason, he hadn’t loved him enough. And wasn’t that just the story of his life? Jason had never been enough. Would never be enough. Always second-rate. A good Robin, sure, but not near enough to live up to the first one. To Dick’s spark and skill and flamboyance. Dickie had set the standard for what a Robin should be and Jason had never been able to live up to it. His Replacement got closer than he ever could and it stung. Too arrogant, too forceful, too angry, too reckless. Too much, yet never enough. Jason was loved but it always came with conditions. Jason was mourned but his death had still not been enough to put a stop to the Joker. Just another page in his story instead of the catalyst to his end. He hadn’t cared that Bruce was too late to save him, he’d cared that Bruce had still not considered his death enough to put a permanent end to Joker’s murder sprees.
It pissed him off.
If the Batman, so-called protector of Gotham city, wouldn’t put an end to the festering blight on humanity at large that was the Clown Prince of Crime, then someone else would. Jason was not afraid to bloody his own hands if it meant more innocents could live. If it meant that people like Jason had been wouldn’t have to die anymore. Die broken and bleeding and scared. Thinking that Batman would save you, would pull you out of the wreckage and make sure everything was alright. Thinking that Batman would go to the ends of the earth to make sure you lived. Thinking that Batman would do anything to avenge you if you didn’t. He would not let anyone else live that lie. Die with that lie.
Because that’s all it was. A lie.
If Jason, a child he had brought in and personally trained, was not enough, then there weren’t many others that were. How many people would finally be too many? How many lives would end before the Joker’s? His hadn’t been worthy enough to count as the sacrificial lamb to end it all. Though, he supposed, he hadn’t been worth much anyway. Bruce could bluster all he wanted, pretend to be angry that someone had trespassed on Jason’s grave. But the fact of the matter was that nowhere on that headstone had he been given the name Wayne. Unclaimed and unwanted and unavenged. He wondered, sometimes, if it had been Dick that had died instead of him, if that would have been Bruce’s breaking point. But Dickie had never been stupid enough to get himself killed.
Not like reckless, angry, arrogant, Jason.
But, now, now he had a plan and he would put those traits to use.
He would continue to take over the Alley. Expand his territory and take over all trade from Black Mask and any other Kingpin trying to rule the underground. He would control the drugs, the arms, and any other goods. He would destroy what he couldn’t control and control what he couldn’t destroy. Drugs would sell no matter what he did, so he would make sure they were pure and out of the hands of minors. He would provide refuge for the weak and weary, clean spaces and warm places. He would do what Batman could not and rid the city of its more heinous strains of crime. And he would be as ruthless about it as he needed to be. He would not hold back because of some old moral code, not if it meant doing what needed to be done. He would not be so selfish as to put his conscious above the lives and well-being of others.
He would show the Bat what the city could become before he put Bruce’s morals to the test. Before he found out what Batman’s breaking point really was.
═════ ◈ ═════
Six months he’d been running everything. Killing off rival gang members, making sure everyone knew the rules and the consequences for not following them. Pissing off Black Mask and eating more and more of his territory, claiming the Alley for himself. Teasing Batman and dodging his attempts at a take-down. He wasn’t ready to give up the ghost just yet, Brucie needed more patience than that.
It was just another run-of-the-mill patrol of the area. Checking in with his lieutenants, keeping them in line and making sure no one was breaking the golden rule. Checking in on the Corner Workers, making sure they had everything they needed and that no one was trying to rough them up. Checking in on the camps, making sure everyone had food and water and shelter and anything else they needed. Keeping the pigs away from all of them.
So, imagine his surprise when he finds trouble. No, not that he just finds trouble, that was expected and the reason for the patrol in the first place, but that he finds trouble and Fetcher was in the middle of it. Trying to stop it? From the looks of it?
Taking in the scene, there were three figures. Fetcher, some guy in a black jacket and ski-mask (like you couldn’t get anymore cartoonishly criminal), and a girl all done up in high-heels and a short leather dress. Nadi if he had to take a guess. Looked like some bozo had been trying to mug one of the Ladies of the Night. Had been because Fetcher had the guy in a headlock and was- Giving the guy a noogie? The girl in question seemed to just be watching, hands on her hips and grinning, make-up and hair without a single smudge or ruffle. Fetcher must have intervened before Bozo could get very far then.
Jason joined her in watching the show. Bozo tried to pull a knife and Fetcher just kept one arm around his head and used the other to snatch it away without effort. Then he density-shifted it into his suit and gave the guy a finger wag. Like some naughty kid.
“That’s the third knife he’s done that with,” Nadi said, sounding on the brink of hysterical laughter.
Nadi, from what he had learned of the sex workers under his protection, was always one to deflect with humor when things went south. Served her well in this instance because it kept her calm and able to enjoy the show. She wasn’t new to the block either so this probably wasn’t the first time she’d had a knife pulled on her. Probably the first time a walking radiation hazard saved her though. Or, knowing Gotham, maybe not.
“He hurt you at all?” he asked her, just to make sure.
“Nah,” she said turning to him with a smile that didn’t falter at the sight of his helmet.
He was trying his best to keep his reputation good with the ones under his protection, so he was happy to see her without fear around him. The ones who should fear him were the ones that broke the rules, not the ones he made the rules to protect.
“Little man in the funky suit,” she said, pointing to Fetcher with an impeccably sharp nail, “jumped in the second I started yelling at that asshole.”
“Good,” Jason replied. “How long has this been going on?”
“Mm,” she started, brown eyes looking up in thought, “about ten minutes, I think. Glow-boy’s been keeping him down for a while.” Her eyes gleamed. “I just wanna see how many knives is gonna get involved.”
Fetcher had been keeping that man in a headlock for ten goddamn minutes. Amazing.
“Oi, Fetch,” he called, watching as the vicious little nightlight jumped at his voice and dropped the guy, who flopped to the ground, boneless, with a groan. “What are you-”
Jason watched, stunned, as Fetcher held his hands up in surrender and then disappeared. Just fucking vanished into thin air. He switched his helmet to night vision, heat vision, anything and everything. No readings. Nada. Nothing. What the fuck.
“Aw,” Nadi whined, disappointed, “you scared ‘im off.”
“I did not!” he protested. Because really, he hadn’t meant to spook him. He was just glad to see the kid up and about and apparently well enough to take on random muggers. At least Batman hadn’t gotten to him, from the looks of things.
“Big bad Red Hood,” she sang, “scaring off my savior!”
He sighed. At least someone was having a good time.
Bozo groaned, face still planted in ground of the dirty back alley. Oh, right. Assholes to punish. He moseyed over, making sure each boot thunked heavily against the asphalt. He watched Bozo grow tenser with every step he got closer.
“Talk,” he commanded. Fetcher wanted to play good cop (silly cop? ridiculous cop?) to Jason’s bad cop, so be it. He had a reputation. He could be a bit playful with the girls or soft with the kids, but trouble-makers got no mercy.
“I-I didn’t do nothin-,” Bozo started, stammering and struggling to move up onto his hands and knees.
Red Hood took care of that with a swift kick to the ribs.
“Try again.”
He wouldn’t stand for someone trying to shift the blame. Trying to get out of the consequences of their actions.
Bozo groaned and curled up on his side. Jason had no sympathy.
“Fine, fine,” Bozo said, face still one with the concrete. “Know the girls always carry a lotta cash from workin’. Figured it would be an easy grab. Wasn’t plannin’ on hurtin’ her.”
Nadi scoffed. “I worked hard for my money, asshole.” She loomed over him, hands on her hips, and Jason let her. “You thought you could just grab it off me?” She pressed a threatening heel against the guy’s bruised ribs. “I’da fought you off myself if little cujo hadn’t tackled you.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Bozo said miserably. “Just throw me to the cops already.”
Jason tsked. “No pigs in the Alley.” He paused, thinking it over for a moment. Guy looked young and scruffy. Desperate for money by the sounds of it, if he was willing to go for someone in Jason’s territory. Knew to keep more than one knife on him, so stupid- but with some street smarts. He could work with that. “You’re working for the girls now, as penance.”
“What?!” Bozo and Nadi shrieked at the same time.
Jason held up his hand for silence. He pointed at Bozo first. “Room and board and something better to do than trawl the streets for blood money.” Then pointed at Nadi, “Extra set of hands to do whatever you want.”
Nadi’s eyes gleamed again at that. “Whatever I want?”
Smart girl.
Bozo collapsed back down with another pitiful groan. Served him right. Jason crouched next to him, making sure he had the guy’s attention and letting a little murderous-intent bleed into his voice.
“Pull this shit again and there won’t be another second chance.”
He bared down on him, making sure it got through that thick skull just what would happen if he crossed the line again. He was lucky he’d gotten away without any maiming this time. Next time, Hood would have his head.
Bozo nodded, face pale and clammy. Jason stood up, satisfied, before turning to Nadi again.
“He tries to pull anything, let me or any of my crew know.”
And with that he grappled off, climbing back to the rooftops and running his route with a distracted air. Looking for a neon green glow he knew he wouldn’t find.
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The second time Jason caught sight of Fetcher out and about, it was a much bloodier encounter.
Some of Black Mask’s men had ambushed him mid-patrol, thinking they could catch him by surprise and bring him in to their increasingly irate boss. Too bad for them that Jason wasn’t a man so easily caught off guard. If there was one thing that Bats taught all the Robins that served them well- it was paranoia. If you think they’re always out to get you, you’ll be prepared for the many times they actually are.
Five against one, but Jason was packing all five of the Bennett sisters tonight and he had more tricks up his sleeves besides.
One shot to the jugular. One pistol whip to the face. One kick in the ribs and two shots to the kneecaps. Two men trying to grab at his arms at the same time, missing, and getting swept off their feet by one of Jason’s own.
One guy got an arm around his neck in the aftermath, pulling tight, and one of the two he’d knocked over popped back up and wrestled Lizzie out of his grip. Two were completely out of commission but that still left three stubborn bastards. The third one got in a shot to his thigh while he was throwing off the others.
He hissed, the bullet was unable to pierce his armor but still left a nasty bruise.
He pulled Mary out of her holster and took a rapid shot at that third guy’s hand, taking out his gun and leaving him out of the game for the rest of the fight- screaming and trying to staunch the blood pouring from his missing finger.
The other two had backed off, noticing that their odds were dwindling fast.
One guy pulled a knife, the blade glinting strangely in the light of the street lamp. Looked like it was coated in something. A paralytic, a poison? No matter what, it wasn’t likely to pierce his jacket or his armor. And the guy should know better than to bring a knife to a gun fight.
He took the shot but the guy dodged.
Idiot number two pulled a gun himself and fired off, three shots, all going large. One to the brick behind him, one to the pavement, and one to the dark of the night beyond them.
Idiot number one, being faster than Jason anticipated, made a lunge toward him and his knife skimmed the sleeve of his jacket on the left side, cutting a long and jagged stripe before just barely nicking his wrist where his jacket ended before his gloves.
His hand went numb. Fuck.
Whatever was on that knife, which shouldn’t be able to cut through his jacket, was potent. The edges of his jacket where it’d been split open began to sizzle. Double fuck. That one was his favorite.
He swung around and shot at idiot number one, being careful to dodge around the bullets being fired by idiot number two.
The tingling sensation of numbness was starting to crawl up his arm.
Idiot number one fell to a bullet in the shoulder, poison knife clattering to the ground while the guy screamed. Idiot number two was starting to look antsy, realizing he was the last man standing. Jason may be down an arm but he wasn’t about to let the guy go running. He shot- but the guy was squirrelly and dodged so that it only grazed his shoulder.
The numbness was reaching his chest. Would the paralytic kill him? Stop his heart? Or just leave him trapped? Either way he needed to end this, now. It’d already gone on too long. If he hadn’t been so fucking distracted… He hadn’t seen Fetcher in a week and a half now…
And then, well, think of the devil and he shall appear.
Last idiot standing was being held in a choke-hold by the glowing green halfling in question, which was a little funny from how short the kid was. Fetcher held him there until he passed out before dropping him and running towards Red Hood.
“Long time no see, Jellyfish,” he said, trying for a casual tone as his left leg started going out on him.
The kid gave him a flat stare before standing underneath him and swinging Jason’s left arm over his shoulder.
Fetcher was- cold to the touch. Like he’d been standing in a snowstorm and the chill had permanently sunk into his very being. He felt like static shock, like pinpricks of electricity were swirling around under the latex-like material of the suit. He felt completely unnatural and yet somehow familiar. Jason wondered, not for the first time, just what, exactly, a Fetch was.
Jason pointed to the dropped knife, sitting so innocently on the dirty pavement. “Gonna need that. Doc Thompkins’ll need to know what got me.”
Fetcher bobbed his head in a nod and scooped the knife up, being careful of the blade before shifting it into his suit like he had all those others.
“How many knives you even got in there?” Jason asked, trying to distract himself from the numbing sensation crawling further through his chest. His lungs were starting to stutter.
Fetcher held his free hand up in a gesture reminiscent of a shrug that didn’t move his occupied shoulder. So he didn’t know. That wasn’t concerning at all. The little glow-worm got them to the mouth of the alley before motioning to the street before them. Asking for directions.
Jason jabbed the thumb he could still move towards the left. Man he hoped Leslie would help him.
It was only after Leslie reluctantly let him go and he exited the clinic that he noticed Fetcher had disappeared again.
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Twice was a coincidence, three times was a pattern.
This time it was in the rain, heavy downpour obscuring everything in sight and the occasional flash of lightning spearing the dark in a thunderous roar.
Bruce had caught him on one of his runs.
They were on the edge of the roof, his boots slipping just the slightest against the slick concrete that bordered the ten story drop as Batman gripped the shirt that covered his chest armor in his fists, holding him up and being the only thing between him and the pavement below. One hand of Jason’s scrabbled against the slick armor on Batman’s arm and the other held a gun against the man’s head.
Red Hood laughed, bordering hysterical, the sound crackling and grating through the filter on his helmet. “Let me go, Batman,” he demanded, gun digging against the mask over Bruce’s temple.
“Who are you?” Batman growled, agony underpinning his words and it flooded Jason with a righteous glee that made him ache. Oh, Brucie, Brucie, Brucie he thought. You’re so close to figuring it out but you’re still not sure.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he said, trying not to cackle. The sweet, sweet fury painting his father’s ex-mentor’s face was delicious. He might not be ready to lead Batman to his pièce de résistance but he could still enjoy teasing in the meantime.
“Tell me,” Batman demanded, shaking Red Hood within his grasp, making Jason’s boots slide ever further toward the edge.
“Or what,” he snarled, “you’ll kill me?”
He nudged his gun to an angle beside Batman’s head and shot, the bullet flying into the air but the blast and the noise pushing Bruce away and startling his grip loose. Jason used the momentum to push up and arch in the air, feeling the rain and the wind against him as he flew. He flipped and felt the beautiful, intoxicating rush that came with free falling. Distantly he could hear Batman yelling, but all he wanted to concentrate on was feeling the pull of gravity before he landed.
He pulled out his grapple and aimed. It slipped and he cursed. The building was too short to sustain his fall for long and he didn’t have time for another grapple to hook and swing. He was meeting the pavement fast. Too fast. He wasn’t usually this sloppy. His landing would be messy and painful, but if he moved right, he’d live.
Cold hands caught him a single story from the ground and slowly lowered him down until his boots hit sidewalk. The glow around them told him he knew who his savior was.
When he was released he turned. The hands that had caught him were gone, and so was the rest of Fetcher. He tsked in annoyance. He’d need to hunt the kid down at this rate.
He looked up to see if Batman was still there. But if he was, he couldn’t see anything through the rain.
═════ ◈ ═════
Of course he was living in a graveyard. Because why not, right?
It was one of the last places Jason tried searching. Ever since Fetcher had risked Batman’s wrath again by catching him a few days ago, he’d doubled his determination to find him. He shouldn’t let himself get so distracted from his main goal, but keeping Fetcher within his sights and making sure the kid was safe was now part his master plan, apparently.
He could see a faint glow up in the branches of the single hickory tree planted in the cemetery Fetcher had originally been chased from. The one Jason was buried in. He tried not to have any particular feelings about that. He watched as the green shell of a hickory nut fell from the branches and bounced on the ground. Well, at least the kid was eating.
“Hey,” he called, watching the branches shake when Fetcher startled. “Get your radioactive ass down here.”
He backed up and watched in fascination as the other man swung down from a branch like a monkey before he dropped like a stone. If the forty foot drop did anything to his ankles when he landed directly on his feet, he didn’t let it show. What the fuck was this guy?
Fetcher walked closer, posture cautious but casual. Like there was at least some modicum of trust but he still knew to be wary. He tilted his head to the side, a question.
“How many crimes have you interfered with on my turf?” he asked, crossing his arms. He was genuinely curious though. He’d gotten reports from his lieutenants that mister nightlight had been spotted multiple times preventing a mugging or defending a Corner Girl. A little vigilante in the making, all he needed was the blue eyes and black hair and he’d be perfect Wayne Bait.
Fetcher scuffed his shoe against the grass and hid his hands behind his back before shrugging, trying to act innocent. Little shit.
“Listen,” he said, “if you’re gonna play vigilante here, it’s gonna be on my orders.”
Fetcher raised his head and tilted it to the side again. Another question. He sighed.
He walked closer, steps slow and careful so Fetch wouldn’t disappear on him. He didn’t want to spook the guy. “No more living in trees and popping in and out of nowhere,” he said firmly, close enough to see his curious glowing green eyes. “If you’re gonna work in my territory, then you’re gonna be on my payroll.”
The green glow narrowed and Fetcher crossed his arms. Defiant. Defensive.
Jason scoffed. “If you mess with things you don’t know about you’re going to get hurt. Or get someone else hurt.”
The arms dropped but stayed crossed, his head tilted to the side. Accepting but still questioning.
“I’m not going to stop you from saving people,” he said, “since that seems to be something you want to do.”
“But,” he lifted a finger, “you gotta listen to me. And you’re going to live in an actual goddamn house, you heathen. And eat actual food. I don’t care if you’re not human, no man under my protection is living like a monkey unless they are one.”
He paused. “You aren’t some type of monkey, are you?”
Fetcher seemed to double over. Shoulders shaking in silent laughter. Probably a no then. But, yeah, sure, laugh at him for not knowing what the fuck a Fetch was and trying not to make any assumptions.
“Alright, alright,” he grumbled as the other seemed to finally gather himself together. “You coming or not? I’m setting you up in a safe-house and then putting a fucking bell on you so I know where you are.”
He wiped a tear that wasn’t actually there from his tinted mask and mimed catching his breath before nodding and gesturing for Jason to lead the way. Then he paused and tilted his head. He lifted his arms and made a little paw motion beside his head and moved his head back and forth. Jason could almost see green ears and tail appear.
“Don’t ever do that again.”
Fetcher leaned forward, arms out in some sort of questioning shrug. Why not? he seemed to say, with some mocking edge. Little shit knew what he was doing.
God, Jason really hoped he wouldn’t regret this.
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Even Broken Bells Will Ring
Summary: Josh has something important to tell Jake.
Pairings: Josh and Jake Kiszka (familial love, duh)
Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, drabble
Word Count: 869
Warnings: coming out
A/N: This is in no way supposed to be an “accurate” representation of the event for either of them, the experiences Josh may have gone through when coming to terms with his sexuality, or an intention to label his sexuality irl in any way. This is purely based on the idea I torture my friends with that Broken Bells could be about Josh coming to terms with his sexuality, as well as the lyrics to Broken Bells, the usual speeches he would give before playing it during DIG, and the speech he gave before playing it in Bologna, IT. Can be set within the Save a Horse Universe or outside of it.
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Bologna, IT, Nov 30th, 2023 speech:
“… and when the song came about, lyrically, I was experiencing a lot of things in my life at the time that were very challenging and very confusing. And I thought perhaps one of these days, I’ll realize that all of this that’s happening right now is for a reason. And that the universe is conspiring in some way to teach me something a little deeper underneath the surface that I needed to see. And in fact, that did come to be. And so, this is the song that I called Broken Bells.”
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Josh hovers at the entrance to his and Jakes room, heart hammering as he waits for his twin to notice his presence. Plucking away at his old acoustic guitar, a hand-me-down from his dad, he doesn’t, preoccupied at his task at hand as he pours over the tabs of The Music Is You. After standing in silence for several minutes, Josh clears his throat and Jake immediately looks up expecting to see Sam or Veronica, not used to his twin making his presence known before walking into their room. He throws him a small smile and looks back down at his guitar before the weirdness of Josh not just waltzing in to interrupt him hits him. He looks back up, giving him a look of confusion as he stands frozen in the doorframe.
“You alright, Josh? You don’t need an invitation to come in, y’know. This is your room too.”
“Can I- can I talk to you about something?”
“Of course, what’s up?”
Josh pauses at the doorway before entering the room and closing the door behind him. He stands with his back to Jake, hand still on the doorknob as he takes steadying breaths to try and calm himself down.
Sensing the seriousness of the conversation, Jake gets up and sets his guitar down on its stand, tossing the tabs down on his desk to get rid of any distraction, before returning to his spot on the edge of the bed and patting the space next to him gently.
“C’mere, what’s wrong?”
He makes his way toward his twin’s bed, sitting lightly on the edge as he wipes his palms on his jeans, keeping his eyes on the floor. Jake sits in silence next to him, waiting patiently for his brother to compose himself. He finally manages to look at the other boy, barely able to make eye contact through his nerves.
“You can’t tell anyone, Jakey. Not mom, not dad; and not Sammy, Ronnie, or Danny. You have to promise me.” He whispers, afraid that if he spoke any louder, everyone in the house would hear him.
“I promise.” Jake places his hand on his shoulder before continuing. “You’re my twin, Josh, you can tell me anything.”
The tears welling at his waterline spill over onto his cheeks as he looks at his brother, so much love and concern in his features that it breaks Josh’s heart in the best way.
He takes another deep breath before continuing in the same hushed whisper. “I’m gay, Jake.”
Jake wordlessly wraps his arms around his twin, pulling him close as he began to sob harder at the gesture. Josh brings his hands to his mouth, muffling the sound of his sobs as he lets Jake hold him.
“I know, Josh. Thank you for telling me.”
He pulls away from the other boy with fear in his eyes.
“You knew? God, is it that obvious?”
Jake shakes his head, “No, but I’m your twin. I guess it’s just something I knew deep down. You’re my best friend since birth, we spend almost all of our time together, it might have been unspoken but, I knew."
"Do you think anyone else knows? Mom, dad?”
He shrugs, “I think they might suspect but I don’t think they know. Besides, they won’t care. You don’t have to be afraid.”
“I don’t think I’m scared of their reactions, I’m more scared of, myself?” He pauses for a moment, and once again, Jake waits for him to continue. “I just have so many questions about myself that I don’t even know the answers to. I thought I knew the answers, Jakey.”
His pained expression brings tears to Jake eyes as he responds.
“Not all the answers are the same, Josh. Besides, we’re 15, we don’t need to have all the answers right now.”
“I just- I feel so hopeless, this not knowing. Everything seems irreparably broken right now. I saw a flower growing between the cracks of sidewalk in town earlier, that flower has more determination and hope than I’ll ever have. This all has been so challenging and confusing I just- it’s constantly on my mind. I never even want to fall asleep, in my dreams the weights still hangs over me.”
“I hope- I hope that at least telling one person lifts that weight. I’m so proud of you. You don’t have to go through this alone, I’m here for you, always.”
Josh brings his face to his hands, his elbows propped against his knees for support.
“I just keep thinking, do you think the universe is conspiring in some way to teach me something? Something a little deeper underneath the surface that I need to see?”
“Maybe. I think all this is happening for a reason. While it might suck to go through now, I know one day you’ll, we’ll, look back at this and be proud of how far you’ve come. Again, you’re not alone. If you have to play this game of life, then I’m gonna too, right by your side whenever you need me.”
Josh looks up, pulling his twin into a tight hug. Tears still stream down his face as he whispers, “Thank you, Jake.”
“No, thank you.”
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A/N: I'm sorry-
#greta van fleet#fic#greta van fleet fan fiction#josh gvf#jake gvf#coming out#josh comes out to jake#hurt/comfort#gvf fic
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What are your Headcanons of Ghostface, Thomas and Michael with an extremely airhead s/o. That can easily get distracted and wander off to the woods during the night because they saw a shiny thing, or someone that randomly say something like "Does helicopters have honks?" After being silent for 10 minutes.
First piece in.... nearly a year?
Hope I still have it.
thank you!
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Danny "Jed Olsen" Johnson | The Ghostface
Gives Danny an excuse to insist you stay around him all of the time - or at least, any time you both have outside of trials.
What about it? He's gotta keep an eye on you - hell it's how you two even met outside of a trial in the first place. You THOUGHT you saw some sort of glimmer out in the woods, and while you were correct, it wasn't anything pretty or interesting like you'd anticipated. Rather, it had been the gleam of the campfire against Danny's knife as he did what he enjoyed most; staking out and looming in the woods around the Survivors' campfire. He just can't risk letting you wander off and end up running into another Killer - no sirree.
He definitely teases you about it. A lot. "Aww, what's that bruise from? Did someone accidentally walk into a tree again?"
Of course, to anyone else it would sound like he was genuinely picking on you, but the subtle inflection in his voice that he only had when speaking to you was a dead giveaway he meant it fondly.
Or as fondly as Danny could. As much as he did love you, he's a sadistic fuck and will absolutely take advantage of it during any trials the two of you have together. He just can't help it - you just look too cute running from him, and he can't waste any opportunity to get a photo or two of you pinned under him.
Thomas Hewitt
Oh no, no, no, no no no no.
Tommy does not like this one bit.
Sure, it can be cute, and sure, it gives him a reason to keep more of an eye on you than he already does, but one of these days you're going to get hurt and he does not want that - !
Especially with all of the clutter tools laying around the Hewitt household; you nearly gave him a heart attack when you tripped and fell face first over a chair because you were too preoccupied watching a moth crawl along the ceiling as you walked to notice where you were going.
Is absolutely perplexed by the types of questions you ask out of the blue most of the time. Do helicopters honk? Do dogs have belly buttons? Do trees talk to each other? Honey, even if he could, he'd have no idea how to answer. You'll just get a pat on the head from Tommy whenever you ask these.
You know what.... just stay by his side, okay? Right by his side - okay? Unless he has work to do down in that basement of his, or for Hoyt - you may as well be handcuffed to him with how adamant he is that you stay right by him so he can keep you out of harm's way.
Michael Myers
Just how??? Sure, he knows you are smart, but how on earth does someone manage to be so airheaded at the same time?
You were nearly hit by a car late one night because of it; movement from the neighbor's cat across the street had gotten your attention, enough so that you paid absolutely none of it to any oncoming traffic. Had Michael not been there suddenly to grip the back of your shirt and pull you back to the sidewalk, the side of your thigh would've had a nice new tattoo from the grill of the car - if it wasn't broken, that is.
He's already been something like a silent protector of yours- but once he truly realizes just how spacey you can be at times, this is upped to the nth degree. You can be sure that even a task as simple as strolling to your mailbox absolutely warrants, in Michael's mind, his looming from a window, or from behind a tree, just to make sure you don't accidentally get yourself into any trouble.
Will not tolerate it if anyone gives you any shit for it. Coworker, boss, classmate, family, friend, anyone, gives you shit and insinuates that you're stupid, or anything of the sort for your tendency to space out on occasion? It would take leagues of begging on your end to keep him from retaliating - though preventing that would be next to impossible if their ridicule actually upset you.
As intimidating and cold as Michael may seem to be, and is, you're his S/O for a reason, and he'll be damned before he lets you get hurt.
#request#dead by daylight headcanons#dead by daylight imagines#dead by daylight x reader#dead by daylight#dbd x reader#dbd headcanons#dbd imagines#michael myers#michael myers x reader#thomas hewitt#thomas hewitt x reader#leatherface#leatherface x reader#slashers#slashers x reader#slashers headcanons#slashers imagines#the ghost face#the ghost face x reader#danny johnson headcanons#danny johnson x reader#danny johnson#jed olsen headcanons#jed olsen x reader#jed olsen
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DbD Killers' Reaction to: You Being Injured
|| Character(s): just Danny 'Jed Olsen' Johnson
words: 750
ik gif's billy don't come for me plz. who next?
Danny 'Jed Olsen' Johnson:
It was the first trial you had won.
Somehow it had been the most difficult one you've been in so far.
The ones you've died in, surprisingly had taken less of a toll on you. Either way, taking countless hits and being chased while hurt, you had never once given up.
Fortunately, it had paid off in the end.
You had managed to escape.
Unfortunately, though, everyone had winced at the sight of you back at the campfire.
Pity. It was the last thing you wanted.
If anything, you had expected congratulations. Yet they were paying attention to the wrong side of the damage.
To them, it was a painful reminder of misfortune and hopelessness while to you, it was hard proof of an earned win. Resolution. Ambition. Successfully getting out, against all the odds of this torturous land, even if it had been temporary.
When you couldn't take their sad stares and sorrowful whispers anymore, you left your warm seat and the false sense of security that was the safe haven of survivors.
They didn't stop you.
You'd have your back, even when the others didn't stand by you.
If another predator was off in the woods, so be it. If you survived that one too, you'd know for sure you were in the right.
You didn't make it far.
That much should've been obvious, but the blood loss soon caught up with you.
To be specific, it caught up right outside his shack.
Luckily, Danny was sharp. His ears caught the thud all the way from inside.
If the noise hadn't been loud enough to lure him, though, the fresh smell of iron would have easily done it.
Danny rose and approached the sound, resting back on his heels in front of your unconscious body.
You had seen better days, for sure.
He'd know, so would his camera. Somehow, they were the only photos the Entity let him keep on the device after he had been taken.
Now, though, 'How are you still alive?' was what he was marveling at.
Had Danny seen a body in worse condition than you? Of course. But those had been the victims of Ghostface, the corpses he left behind, all for relatively small town police and folk to discover.
This was another world, however, one that clearly had different survival rates for humans, at least for the ones who were preys, as the amount of blood loss would be simply be fatal otherwise.
In any case, the crimson pool beneath your passed out self was a sight much familiar to him.
You should've done anything else. But you had chosen to run to another killer when one had already injured you. Danny found it to be amusing, you'd for sure be the dumbest person in horror movies had this been one, except it wasn't.
He wanted to see your dire situation play out, watch how it'd end for you — or would you recover after all?
Well, only one way to find out. His dark shroud made contact with the muddy ground as he crouched down to your level.
Danny sighed, having to carry someone on his free time in murder world was slightly annoying, but hey. Picking you up in his arms, it took him one step to wonder why he had gone about it like that.
Any other bloody figure from his past would've been dragged to the desired destination without a drop of care. Any other kill from his present and future would've been carelessly thrown over his shoulder.
Regardless, Danny couldn't let his former actions bother him for long, he rarely acted without thinking like this, or worse, doubted himself, so he made up a lie on the spot, one anyone could believe.
Your open wounds would leave a trace going into his living quarters, which could potentially prove bad for him if they find out about you being in his place. He was a killer technically 'helping' a survivor or so one, especially the Entity would see it as. Hell, he was starting to see it as just that.
If Danny's mind wasn't preoccupied with that dilemma, he would've gently plop you down on the couch. Which is why he had decided to suddenly drop you in the middle of the room.
The impact was successful in helping you regain some amount of consciousness while it did nothing for the dizziness as your surroundings swayed back and forth.
There was nowhere near enough of the vital liquid running through your veins for you to perk up and focus your vision. Yet, through feelings of disorientation, you made out a white mask. Tilted, it neared closer.
"Wakey wakey."
taglist: @prettycutebunny
#dead by daylight#dbd x reader#ghostface#danny jed olsen johnson#dbd#dbd fanfic#danny johnson#dbd fic#ghostface x reader#danny johnson x reader
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Camping Trip
Danny Tanner x Reader One-Shot
Read it on AO3!
Rating: E
Words: 1891
Summary: Danny Tanner and his girlfriend go on a camping trip to enjoy finally have some time alone.
A/N: I've noticed a serious lack of Danny Tanner citric acid and needed to fix that because that man fucks and no one can change my mind!
“How did I let you talk me into this?” Danny questioned, scrutinizing everything around him. “There’s dirt everywhere!”
Bunching up kindling for the firepit, (y/n) rolled her eyes at her neat-freak boyfriend. “It’s called nature, my dear. Dirt is a major portion of the package deal.”
He groaned, but didn’t argue as he pulled a small hand-broom and dust pan from his duffle bag and began sweeping trace amounts of debris from inside the tent they’d just set up. Well, to be fair, she did most of the work because he was too busy trying not to get mud on his jeans -- that he had ironed...for some reason.
She paused, sticks in one hand and lighter in the other, staring at him in utter disbelief. Obviously, she knew this weekend camping trip would be difficult for him. But this was getting ridiculous.
“Tanner, what the hell are you doing?” she demanded, watching him empty the dustpan behind a tree at the edge of the campsite.
He shrugged. “Just cleaning up,” he said like he was merely clearing the table after dinner.
Chuckling to herself, she finished building up the sticks in the pit before lighting the fire with enchanting ease.
Danny watched the flames dance and grow in her eyes as she expertly built up the fire. When she sat back on her heels to examine her work, he immediately noticed the dirt on her hands and knees. He didn’t know what he was more shocked by: the fact that she didn’t seem concerned that those jeans were almost certainly ruined...or that he was kind of turned on.
Was it really surprising, though? The whole point of coming out here was so that they could finally get some time alone. His house was always so busy and her roommate worked from home and always had friends over, making it impossible to find any sort of privacy. Hell, the only times they even got to make out without the threat of being barged in on or prying eyes was in their cars after dates. And even then, they were both too tall for anything more. Not that either of them wanted their first time having sex together to be in a car anyways. They wanted it to be far more special. (Quickies and throwing out roommates could come later.)
After more than eight months, the lack of intimacy was starting to take a toll on their relationship. It was clear that they needed a weekend away, just the two of them. Though, he still had absolutely no idea how he’d let her talk him into camping instead of the nice beach getaway he had all planned out.
As he pondered over this, she looked up, catching his eye and giving him that smile that’d first caught his attention at the Smash Club. His heart jumped -- and so did his cock. He shifted himself subtly, hoping she wouldn’t notice.
(Y/N) frowned at the discomfort on his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said too quickly. His gaze moved to the rock next to his shoe.
He truly was a terrible liar.
“This was a bad idea,” she sighed, deflated. “We should have just gone to the beach.”
His eyes returned to hers.
“No, no!” he reassured her. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt her feelings. “No, I’m just adjusting to the scenery. That’s all! I’m sorry for being a bit of a downer.”
She smiled at him again. “You are not a downer, Danny Tanner.”
He smiled back as she stood up, dusted her hands off on her pants, and walked over to him.
The feeling of her arms slowly draping around his neck sent shockwaves through his body. His hands instinctively found her waist as she pulled him into a passionate kiss. He moaned as her fingers tangled in his hair and her tongue pushed its way into his mouth. He couldn’t help it -- he loved it when she took control of him like this.
A grin dominated her features when she pulled back after several moments, panting. She took in his flushed complexion, the sound of his lungs catching up, and the lust in his eyes.
He was right where she wanted him.
She pulled him in for a more demanding, passionate kiss.
Their tongues exploring each other once again, his hands moved to her ass. He gripped it tightly, reveling in the feel of it and the quiet groan he elicited from her. Their bodies melted together like they never had been able to before. They fit together so perfectly. And both of them knew it.
(Y/N) couldn’t control the returning grin when she felt his hard cock pressed against her. She bit her lip as he trailed wet kisses down her neck.
“Danny,” she said between stifled moans, “maybe we should move this to the tent?”
He didn’t say a word, opting instead to grab her hand and lead her to the tent she’d practically stuffed with blankets and pillows. Perfectly planned out to make sure they were as comfortable as possible all night long -- no matter what activity or position they found themselves in.
Plus, let’s be honest, Danny Tanner wasn’t exactly the “‘roughin’-it” type anyways. She had to promise to make it as comfortable as possible to get him to come out here in the first place. And, boy, did she use that to her advantage.
The layers of comfort cushioned their knees as they knelt down in the tent, facing each other.
Danny captured her lips for a brief moment before leaning over to zip up the tent behind them. Or, he tried to at least.
The tall, lanky man struggled to keep his balance as he fumbled with the zipper. He yanked at it repeatedly to no avail. Frustrated, he growled, “Dammit!”
Shaking her head and laughing, she nudged his hands out of the way.
“Stop before you break my tent,” she said. She pulled the zipper up a few inches, held the flaps tightly together at the bottom, and zipped it closed in one smooth motion. Smirking, she turned back to him, one eyebrow raised.
“Yeah, I was going to try that next,” he bluffed, earning another big laugh from her.
“Sure you were,” she retorted, a massive grin adorning her gorgeous face.
God, he loved that smile! It was positively intoxicating to every single one of his senses. He had to taste it.
Tentatively, he brushed her hair behind her ear and leaned back in to kiss her, feeling her body press against his again. She melted in his embrace, kissing him back with a fiery passion. Their tongues tangled together as (y/n) once again started to take control.
Danny reveled in her dominance, his cock hard and making its presence well known between them. Taking hold of the hem of his shirt, she removed it -- slowly -- trailing her pinky fingers up his sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
Pulling off her own shirt, she moved his hands to her breasts. A deep blush spread across his whole torso as he squeezed them. How did he not notice she wasn’t wearing a bra before? Had he really been so preoccupied with the state of nature around their campsite? So pointless. All those months they’d been unable to properly enjoy each other and show each other affection -- and he’d wasted the first hour of their getaway fussing over dirt and leaves.
Well, he’d just have to make up for it.
His soft thumbs playing with her nipples, Danny slowly made his way across her cheek and down her neck to her right breast. He took it in his mouth, moving his tongue in narrowing circles, culminating on her nipple. The hummed moans he garnered spurred him on -- which, of course, he repeated with the left one.
(Y/N)’s underwear became uncomfortably wet. She couldn’t stand it any longer.
She seized his face by the jaw, bringing it back to hers and thrusting her tongue into his mouth just before they connected. Her hands quickly worked open his jeans and slid them down his thighs. A shiver ran down his spine as his cock met the chilling dusk air.
Danny carefully laid her down, lips never separating. Wasting no time, he removed his pants completely and hovered his hand over the waistband of her pants, waiting for permission. She nodded and soon felt his warm skin on her inner thighs.
(Y/N) ran her hand over his chest as they took each other in.
Her heart skipped a beat as she realized the one thing she’d forgotten to pack.
“Shit,” she swore, dropping her head back on the pillows in frustration.
“What?” he asked, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
She growled. “I forgot to pack condoms.”
“Oh,” he chucked, “I’ve got it covered.” He reached into the front pocket of the backpack that was in the corner behind her head.
She watched in astonishment as he pulled out three boxes of condoms.
“Fuck, Danny!” (y/n) exclaimed. “We’re going to be out here for two nights. How many of those do you expect to use?!”
The lust in his eyes blazed. “It’s been eight months, (y/n). I plan to run out.”
She laughed as he dipped back down to her neck, handing her one of the boxes, dropping the others beside them. Her hands pulled open the box and wrapper.
(Y/N) grasped the back of his head with one hand, fingers carding his hair and locking him to her lips before moving both hands down to expertly roll it over his cock and began stroking him -- slowly.
Gasps and moans vibrated against her throat for a few moments before he couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled her hand away, lacing their fingers together by her head.
Making his way back to her lips, he dipped his long fingers between her folds, assessing how prepared she was. She was positively dripping.
Those soft fingers gently pushed into her, instantly finding that perfect spot. Nails dug into his skin in response, pairing perfectly with unrestrained moans that made his cock weep with precum.
She dragged her nails down his back to his ass, grasping it tightly and pulling him closer so his groin met hers.
“Tanner,” (y/n) gasped. “I need more! Fuck. Me. NOW!”
A deep sound she’d never heard from him before emanated from somewhere deep in his chest at the command. Before she could blink, he was fully inside her, giving her a couple seconds to adjust. When he was sure she was ready, he started thrusting. Slow at first, but picking up pace with each one. His moans were almost as loud as hers. Her nails clawed at his back, losing herself in every ounce of the ecstasy he was drilling into her. She couldn’t hold on for much longer….
Their names mingled together in harmony until his thrusts lost their rhythm and spasm ran from her core out through her limbs.
When they came down from their highs, Danny laid beside her and pulled her to nuzzle into his chest.
“You know,” (y/n) said, still catching her breath, “I don’t think you brought enough.”
Danny chuckled, kissing the top of her head. “I’ll keep that in mind for the next trip.”
~~~
Tag list: @lilythemadqueen @josiecarioca @klinenovakwinchester @once-again-i-am-dead
Let me know if you would like to be added! <3
#danny tanner#full house#danny tanner x reader#danny tanner fanfic#fanfiction#full house fanfic#citric acid#victoriaholmeswriting
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Passing Through
Dannymay Day 5: Doorway
“Don’t go in there,” his mother warned. Her voice shook. “Never go through that door.”
Danny had no intention of ignoring his mother, especially since the night she’d given him that warning was seared so thoroughly in his mind he didn’t think even as an adult he’d ever forget it.
It had been dark, but not any darker than any other night with Danny’s myriad nightlights and glowing stars stuck everywhere he could reach and then some. The night had long since settled, and Danny was supposed to be sleeping and was instead, like any young child, not doing that.
In fact, he’d been staring out his window, arm balanced on the sill and face pressed up against the glass so he could see the night sky in all her glory. It was one of the only times he felt truly comfortable, alone and with his parents and sister asleep. He often imagined himself sailing amongst those stars. Or flying high enough to reach out and cradle one to his chest.
Jazz always told him that was impossible, that each star was as far away from each other as they were from earth, if not further. He told her she could eat dirt, and she got a hurt look in her eyes that made him feel bad, but he didn’t apologize because she was being mean first.
He’d been preoccupied, that’s why he didn’t notice it at first.
When the soft pink touch of the sun started obscuring the night’s stars, Danny realized he’d been up all night and he was probably going to fall asleep in class again. He turned around to quickly dive into bed to at least feign having slept so his parents didn’t scold him and feel like they had to check in on him at night the way they threatened to last time.
He hadn’t expected the door.
It was small, very small compared to a normal door. It was just large enough that Danny could crawl through on all fours, and he knew there was no way his dad would ever be able to get through. At least not more than an arm. Maybe his head if he tried to dive through it.
The door was closed, a soft, purple light on the other side painting the carpet beneath where it stood, balanced, in the middle of the room. Acting as if it was placed in the wall like any good door, but missing the wall itself entirely.
Danny walked closer, his mind off bed times and getting ready for school entirely. Now he was thinking of adventures and stories Jazz used to read him before he could read himself. Stories of exploration and hidden worlds. His hand brushed against the polished brass handle, and a jolt of electricity flowed through him, causing every hair in his body to stand on end.
He probably should have let go then, released the handle and backed up, frightened. But instead Danny’s grip tightened and he twisted the nob, pulling it slowly open, his heart beating in rapt anticipation. It was barely open a sliver, the tiniest bit of purple light spilling out onto the frame, when his mother ran into the room and slammed it closed.
She was wearing a hazmat suit, as if she’d just come from the lab downstairs, with thick rubber gloves and ominous red goggles that reflected a twisted version of Danny’s face back at him as she pulled him into a tight, unforgiving hug.
“Thank goodness you’re safe,” she said, her words heavy with exertion. Had she run up here? How did she know there was a door?
Danny looked over his mother’s shoulder to take another look, but the door had vanished at some point when his eyes were no longer locked upon it. That was when she gave him her warning. The one he had no intention of ignoring.
The one he was disregarding now, for no reason other than he was sick of it. He was tired of the nights, laying awake and seeing a door that promised so much and had yet to be given the opportunity to deliver.
His mother would skin him alive if she knew, but she’d probably never find out. Honestly, if Tucker’s theories were true and it was some monster trying to trick him into its lair Coraline-style, it’d probably take at least a week for her to even realize he was gone. His dad probably wouldn’t notice at all.
Jazz…
Danny shook his head. If anything, Jazz would be the one to forgive him for being dumb. She understood what it was like to have this burning curiosity, this need to know.
The door didn’t always appear. Most nights it did, but only when Danny was distracted by something, usually the stars outside his window, sometimes a particularly fun video game or a good book. It only ever appeared right on the cusp of night and morning, before the sun rose fully but after the stars hid away. And it always waited for him to look away before it disappeared.
He didn’t plan on looking away tonight.
The first night after his mother’s warning, he’d stayed up all night, terrified, waiting for the door to appear. It never did. In fact, the next month, he spent every second awake expecting it to appear and being almost disappointed when it didn’t.
It appeared again, in much the same way it had the first time, while Danny was star gazing.
That’s why, now, knowing the rules (or rather what few rules he could tell from this side of the door), Danny was determined to follow through. None of his questions would be answered just waiting for the door to appear or not appear, nor would they be answered by spending time staring at it and studying it from the outside.
He needed to go through.
The brass knob was cold against his palm, and it turned easily. The click of the mechanism was loud in the night’s quiet. He held his breath. He opened the door.
There was no resistance when it swung open. Almost the opposite, in fact, like it had been waiting for an excuse. The soft purple light that had teased the edges of the door was much closer to a deep, swirling purple that looked almost like mist and obscured the path forward.
But Danny wasn’t scared.
He was curious.
He stepped through, and heard the door close softly behind him. Just like in a horror movie really, and exactly like the stories his mother told him, warning him of monsters and things from the other side.
It didn’t matter anymore, if he’d made the right choice. He’d made his choice and there was only one path to take. Danny walked into the mists and kept walking.
No more than an hour could have passed, but it felt like much longer. Time seemed to stretch along with the endless path, and Danny hadn’t come any closer to the answers he wanted.
He sighed. “Hello? Is anyone here?” he tried calling out, to no avail.
This was turning out to be a waste of a trip. With all the cryptic warnings, he’d hoped it wouldn’t be boring at the very least, yet here he was. The only difference between this and one of Sam’s ‘nature hikes’ was that Danny couldn’t see anything through the damned purple mist.
Or could he?
Danny squinted his eyes, catching something moving just to his left. It was very much hidden, the deep purple of its cloak camouflaged perfectly against the swirling purples all around him. He took a step closer, off the path, and felt the air still around him.
A voice, haunting and deep, startled him.
“A quick learner,” it said.
Danny felt his mouth go dry. There was actually someone here, someone that might not be human. Someone that could summon a door into a kids room for half a decade waiting for them to open it.
Someone who might have answers.
Danny stepped closer, and the mist seemed to gather, catching on itself and folding into a physical shape. The hooded figure. Danny forced himself not to blink. It felt like anything was possible, that if he looked away, he’d miss too much to make sense of it later.
The hooded figure turned to him and beckoned with one gloved hand, the other holding a twisting, intricate staff covered in shapes and symbols Danny couldn’t quite make out. Danny didn’t step any closer.
It was clear this man wasn’t human, or at the very least hadn’t been for some time. The only thing Danny could see hidden under the cloak was an old clock. But even then, Danny couldn’t tell whether it was something he was wearing on his chest or if it simply was his chest and there was nothing else.
“You’re still cautious, even now when you’ve already made your decision?” the figure asked. “Did you not seek an answer to your curiosity?”
Danny frowned. This whatever-it-was knew more than he was comfortable with. Had he been watching from the other side? How? Is that why the door only appeared when it did? Why couldn’t he just open the door and step out if his goal was to spirit Danny away like in the stories?
There were just so many questions, and Danny still didn’t have any answers.
“Do you actually have any answers or are you just going to eat me?” he asked, growing irritated. It had been a long night, made longer by his fruitless walk, and it was starting to affect his temper.
Instead of answering, the figure lowered his arm, tilting his head to the side. “If you thought I was going to eat you, why did you come through the door? You’ve been very good at ignoring it so far.”
“Yeah see,” Danny said, throwing up his hands, “that kind of stuff only makes you sound more creepy and suspicious, you know! If your goal is child eating you should set up, idk a candy house or something. Pretend to be a grandma, I hear that works wonders provided you stay out of your own oven.”
The figure laughed. It sounded, off, not like a noise Danny recognized, but more like a collage of sounds: a ticking clock chiming with heavy clanking clockwork all wrapped in canary song and it vibrated all the way through Danny from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. It filled the air around them much like the mist once did and Danny felt glee himself, caught up as he was.
He looked up desperately at the figure, trying to keep ahold of himself and how he truly felt, lost in the sudden sea of emotion. The figure’s cloak was bunched up, as if he was doubled over in laughter, his gloves clutching at his staff and the entire collection shaking with slight tremors.
The hood turned towards him, empty, and Danny’s panic spiked. The laughter stopped, and the figure stood once more, pulling the hood further down and hiding the nothingness underneath.
“I apologize,” he said, sincere. “It’s been some time since I’ve felt in such good humor, and you took me off guard. I hope you didn’t get too swept away?”
Danny, who was still definitely feeling the effects of the other’s laughter, shook his head no. “I’m alright. I just- what are you?”
“I am like Clockwork,” he answered readily. “Though the question you should be asking, Daniel, is what are you? That is a much more interesting answer.”
Disagreeing vehemently, Danny shook his head. Like Clockwork? Was that his name? Why he had a clock, er, was a clock? How did that work? What was he? Simply what his name implied? Something more? There were a billion and a half questions he wanted answers to that were more interesting than that.
Then again, there had to be a reason he said it, right? “Okay Clockwork, I’ll bite. What am I?”
He could swear the thing smiled. “You are halfway there.”
#dannymay2021#danny phantom#clockwork#danny fenton#horror#horror themes#loosely based off TPoH#but not nearly that well thought out#Bee's writing
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Too Much
https://archiveofourown.org/works/26972698
When Jon stalked back into the archives the fierce conviction in his face belied his ragged appearance. Tim wasn’t stupid. He’d known there was something shady happening in this place probably before Jon did, considering. It didn’t stop him from purposefully hardening his heart against his pallid skin and bloody throat, his poorly bandaged hand, his filthy, mud-covered clothes.
“Jon?” Martin’s voice was soft and it set off a trembling in him that Tim could see from across the room. “Hey--” Without warning, Jon bent double over the nearest wastebasket, going down hard on his knees as he emptied his stomach painfully, shaking so hard the bin rattled. “Oh, oh, Jon.” Hands fluttering over his back, Martin hovered close, unsure of what to do, before settling next to him on the floor to hold his hair back, plaiting it loosely to keep it out of the way.
“Nngh...s’sorry.” Jon collapsed the rest of the way, resting his weight over the bin, his forehead on the arm slung across the top. “I, I...clean. Clean it up.” Shuddering, voice thick and wavering on a heavy breath. “God, I. I’m so, so sorry.” Another bout of dry heaving cleaved through him, Martin’s hushed reassurances making the ire in Tim rise to vitriolic levels and if he stayed any longer in this room he knew he’d do something to upset Martin. Physical violence had never been the way he preferred to resolve disputes but the confirmation of being trapped here. Trapped by Jon made him desperately want to lash out. Scream. Kick. Throw a tantrum and that wouldn’t do, even if the anger and dissolution flooding into every empty space left behind by the deaths of Danny and Sasha and his freedom begged him to take it out on the one thing left that represented it all.
“Tim, where are you going?” Martin’s attention was still focused primarily on the man panting under his palms, but he spared him a glance.
“Can’t be here for a while.” He flashed a bitter smile. “Guess I’ll be back, won’t I?” He was suffocating and if he stayed here one second longer he’d explode and Martin didn’t deserve that.
Martin had his hands full of a sick and shivering Jon so had no choice but to let Tim go. It was probably best at the moment. He’d been sniping at Jon even before he’d disappeared and the fury flashing behind his eyes wouldn’t help anyone right now. And besides, Jon was going to pass out any minute by the look of it.
“Jon?” His head jerked up and he swayed where he kneeled.
“Sorry, s’sorry…” the slurred apologies certainly weren’t a good sign. “‘L’get this cleaned up.” When he moved clumsily to do so, Martin stopped him with a hand on his cheek, ignoring his temperature for now in favor of attempting to catch his unfocused gaze.
“Let me worry about that later.” And Jon looked stricken, but when Martin pulled him to his unsteady feet he was more concerned with staying upright, embarrassment shoved unceremoniously to the back of his mind. “Can you stand?” Whole, long seconds passed and Martin almost asked again, but Jon took a wobbly step only to topple into the taller man who caught him up and held him close.
“S’sorry.” Martin hitched him a little higher. “Dizzy. Jus’...ah.”
“It’s alright, Jon.” Who knew having a cot in the archives would prove to be so useful and Martin was grateful for it now, lowering him as gently as he could. “Nothing to be sorry for.” The hiss of pain sucked through his clenched teeth didn’t bode well. “I’ll be back.” With the first aid kit, warm water, maybe a change of clothes--he was pretty sure he had a few things. They’d be big on him but certainly cleaner than what he was in now. When he returned with his supplies, Jon had tipped onto his side, apparently asleep, and Martin was careful to wake him slow, worried when he didn’t seem to remember where he was or what was happening. With him so sluggish and lethargic, Martin wasn’t sure where to start (maybe a 999 call), deciding top to bottom was as good a plan as anything. Forcing cheer into his tone, he talked about what had been happening while he'd been away, dipping a cloth, wringing it out, and wiping the muck off his skin, noting the pallor in his face underneath all of the dirt. He had the start of a pretty intense fever and looking at him it wasn’t hard to puzzle out why but the only thing for it right now was water and rest.
Jon pushed him away when he began on his neck and it took Martin several minutes to talk him back down, convince him that he was safe before he was allowed to hold a warm compress over the gash across his throat to loosen the blood. It was deeper than it looked and longer than he’d have liked; another brutal scar to add to his growing collection and how was any of it fair? Butterfly stitches applied and covered over with clean bandages, Martin gave Jon a break and kept urging him to drink. He was so silent, focused on pulling in short and shallow breaths, and Martin kept his questions to himself, trying to ease the ruined jumper over his shoulders when it became clear that he was too sore to do it on his own. Each centimeter bared developing bruises just beginning to black and Jon’s breath hitched the higher he was forced to raise his arms, exposing more over his stomach, his ribs and Martin couldn’t help himself.
“What happened?”
“Mm?”
“These bruises?” He ran a delicate thumb over the edge of one, watched him shiver in response.
“Oh…” Martin got the impression Jon was answering from somewhere far away and didn’t blame him. “Asked questions.” He didn’t elaborate and Martin moved on to his hands, draping the blanket over him while he unwrapped old dressings and examined the burn spanning his entire palm and fingers. He didn’t want to think about the shape of it, like he’d shaken hands with the wrong sort, and instead examined the broken blisters lining the long, ruined fingers of both hands, cleaning them gently and applying salves and more bandages before slipping a worn jumper over his head and joggers onto narrow hips, tying the cords to keep them secure. Jon was too pliant, too submissive, more than spent after whatever he’d been through and he sighed in heavy relief when he was finally allowed to lay down.
“Better?” Martin brushed some stray curls out of his face after tucking him in and he nodded.
“Tired.”
“You can sleep, it’s alright.” Jon forced heavy lashes apart, closed them again when Martin swept light fingertips over them. “I’ll keep watch. You’re safe.”
Late into the next day, Martin saw Jon back to Georgie’s flat where he immediately curled up in bed with the Admiral, clutching his borrowed clothes, so baggy they dwarfed his small frame and made the vulnerability in him that much more. He shared a cup of tea, spoke with Georgie in a hushed voice and urged her to keep an eye on him if he’d let her. She nodded resolutely and wished him luck when he left to return to the institute.
“Well?” Basira accosted him immediately as soon as he stepped through the door.
“Christ, Basira!” Hand over his heart, Martin calmed his racing heart, suddenly surrounded by the lot of them.
“Well?”
“He’s exhausted.”
“Aren’t we all?” Martin ignored Tim’s comment. It wasn’t a competition, just a bad situation all around, and after treating and cataloging all of Jon’s myriad injuries, he didn’t feel like continuing along that track. It wouldn’t help anybody. It wouldn’t convince them that Jon was as much a victim in all this as they were. That he didn’t want this. Instead.
“He’ll be back in a few days. Or probably tomorrow, knowing him.”
“Wonderful.”
“Tim!” Martin pinched the bridge of his nose, already exasperated. “Tim, just. Go easy, alright?”
“Oh, I’ll go easy.” Full of grief and anger and heartbreak with nowhere for all of it to go, it had sharpened into a blade Tim wielded with deadly precision. Jon had been at the other end of it for a long time and despite his own frustrations with him, Martin wanted to shield him from the worst of it even if he knew he wouldn’t be able to. If Tim wanted to hurt Jon, he would, and it made him want to weep.
Sure enough and right on time, Jon dragged himself into the archives, mumbling a breathy ‘thank you’ to Martin as he passed by him to his office on new fawn’s legs. It didn’t escape his notice that he was still wearing the jumper, bundled up in it with his bandaged fingers tangled in the sleeves.
And work began again as though they’d never stopped.
Jon could have spent the next eternity wrapped up in bed, bundled in the comfort of Martin’s clothes and hiding from his very new and very real responsibilities. He ached, deeply, profoundly, in a million different ways, crushed by the weight of it all and barely able to breathe. Georgie was disappointed by his decision to go back to the institute but he had to do whatever he could to protect the rest of them, even if that meant playing into Elias’ hands until they came up with a solution together.
If they would have him back.
Reading the statements was going slow, too slow, the pounding in his head increasing whenever he tried to focus. Jon kept the lights low, avoiding the hallways with their cold fluorescent bulbs beaming down at him from above, bowing his back, trying to push him into the floor, keep him there like an insect pressed between pages and he would gladly succumb if it meant he could rest.
“Oi!” He jumped at the sharp voice, groaning when the stabbing hurt all over his body intensified.
“T’Tim?”
“‘Y’yeah.’” He mocked, tossing a stack of folders onto the already overflowing surface of the desk.
“What, what’re these?” Though his hands were shaking and sore, Jon picked up the pile, paging through distractedly.
“How the hell should I know. Martin said you asked for them.” He had?
“I don’t. I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”
“Tch. Of course. Busy work to keep us preoccupied so we don’t have time to plot?”
“Wha--no, no!” It seemed his paranoia continued to have lasting consequences and he supposed it was only fair. “No, I wouldn’t. I. I’m sure I asked for them.” Reasonably sure, though for the life of him he couldn’t remember when. He couldn’t remember asking Martin but there was no reason for Tim to lie. Fingers snapping in front of his face jerked him back to the present.
“What’s wrong with you?” His eyes were narrowed and he was standing so close, too close, and suddenly Jon was on his feet, swaying into the wall and pushing past Tim in a desperate bid for the loo, head pounding enough to make him ill and only just making it in time to rid himself of the tea he didn’t remember drinking. Shaky, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaning back against the wall and willing the spinning to stop or slow or do anything that might make it less overwhelming. He washed his hands, his face, letting the cool water drip from his chin and closed his eyes against his reflection in the mirror. When he returned Tim was gone and Jon was thankful, tears prickling, threatening, as he sat back in his chair and rested his forehead on his folded arms for only a moment.
It was better in the stacks, dark and still, silent save for the rustling of statements and that didn’t make any sense at all even though something in the back of his mind insisted it did, encouraged him to pick one up and devour it. But the letters swam on the pages and his legs refused to hold him up any longer and he slid to the floor, hugging the folder to his chest and breathing in the stale scent of old, yellowing paper and ink. He felt so poorly, so tired, and he didn’t remember curling up on the floor but he must have, because he was, the statement still crushed in his arms like a safety blanket. How long had he been asleep? Getting up seemed too monumental a task and he let his eyes slip shut with a sigh, breathing through all the pain of his injuries.
Too much. This was all too much.
But it was quiet here among the boxes and envelopes, tucked with his back against the shelf grounding him, taking away some of that awful wooziness, the feeling of vertigo he hadn’t quite gotten rid of after his encounter with Mike Crew. He was safe here underground; underground was the opposite of up, the opposite of falling endlessly and he breathed in, out, slow, measured. Until his physical self seemed to drop away with everything else.
Plucked like a weed, Jon was lifted into the air, hauled up by his collar and set clumsily on his feet, pressed forcefully into the shelving. If it wasn’t for the hand at his throat (his throat, she was going to slice him open, bleed him like a game animal) he would have fallen and he was so scared of falling, no air in his lungs, just the deafening rush of it in his ears, so he scrabbled desperately, the statement fluttering away somewhere in favor of holding onto wrists attached to arms attached to shoulders attached to Tim. The world tilted on its axis, rolling like a ship at sea and he was desperately afraid of being released into that endless void.
“--Hiding down here?” How long had he been speaking? His face, features so twisted in revulsion of him he almost didn’t look like Tim, was close enough that he could feel his breath on his face. “Martin’s been worried sick looking for you!” Why was he yelling at him? He’d, he’d been here, not hiding, not doing anything. Just trying to, to, stay on the ground. Everything blacked out when Tim shook him roughly, shouting something else, and Jon didn’t know what he wanted, what would make him leave him alone, stop being so angry with him. He was going to be ill, too dizzy even when mercifully held still again and he was torn between letting go and taking his chances with Crew and sticking to Tim like a burr. But Tim made the decision for him, shaking him off, dropping him to his feet and shoving him forward and Jon knew he shrieked, shameful, loud, but he was falling, falling, falling and he hurt where he’d been pushed, like his bones were trying to make room by doing their level best to yank themselves free.
But he was plunging down, straight down, unmoored, unanchored, too much space, infinite space and nothing to grab to slow himself and he was going to fall forever and ever and ever and--
“Jon!”
No. He’d. How.
“Martin…” Whimpering, voice choked with tears, more of them streaming, pouring down his face, and he clung to Martin, solid, strong, holding him.
“Tim, what did you do?”
“M’falling...m’falling, Martin.” Clutching, clawing, he was going to hurt him if he wasn’t careful but he was too frightened, he had to be hurting him. Sobbing, selfish, stupid, and he couldn’t stop.
“You’re not, I’ve got you, Jon, I won’t let you fall.” Murmuring gently, embracing him tightly and it hurt, but he’d rather hurt than fall forever. “You’ve got to take a breath, Jon.” But all the air was rushing past him, too quickly to drink up even a sip, let alone breathe any into his seizing chest. “I’ve got you, try for me.” And he did, he would swear it, he’d try anything for Martin but he’d always failed in the most important tasks. He’d always failed the most important people.
At least he wasn’t falling anymore.
“Tim, what did you do?” Martin shifted Jon, passed out over his shoulder with bandaged fingers still tangled in his jumper and he was surprised he hadn’t torn it in his panic. Gently he pulled him into his lap, boiling with heat beneath his hands and heaving hard-won, gasping breaths.
“I--” He swallowed, shock naked in his expression. “I found him here, on the floor. Uh, pulled him up?” Tim raked his hair back. “I was rough, but. I didn’t mean.” Martin could only hope he looked as angry as he felt and Tim stopped speaking, following him to document storage like a lost puppy.
“Mm…” he held Jon tight, secure, relieved that he’d come around as quickly as he did even if he was groggy, setting him firmly on the cot, exerting pressure on his shoulders, an unspoken ‘I’m here, you’re here, no one is falling.’ He ducked his head, hiding from the light and groaning low.
“Jon, look at me.” He hadn’t noticed before, the black of his dilated pupils swallowed up by deep brown irises, but with the light, and his sensitivity to it, Martin suspected a head injury. “Jon?” Gently he tilted his face up with the tips of his fingers under his chin, trying to catch his dazed stare as it slipped over him like water over a stone.
“Hey! Stop ignoring him!” Jon flinched, hands clapping over his ears and curling even farther into himself while Martin glared. “Sorry.” Tim mumbled, arms crossed, leaning against the wall to give them some space.
“S’okay, Jon.” He inched closer. “Did you hit your head? Does your head hurt? Can I check?”
“Check?” Before Tim could do much more than scoff, Martin shushed him. If he wasn’t going to help, then it would be better for him to leave.
“Yep.” He didn’t wait for much more confirmation, just carefully reached forward under Jon’s wary gaze and buried his fingers in thick, unkempt curls, smiling softly when he leaned into the touch. Bolder, he cupped his face with his other hand, stroking along his cheek and watching his eyes drift closed with a hum. “Ah, oh, Jon.” Right at the back of his skull there was a large swelling, painful to the touch if Jon’s reaction was anything to go on. “Were you hit?”
“Hit?” Jon’s wrapped, burned fingers brushed against his own when he went to check for himself. “Daisy hit me.” Just a stated fact that chilled Martin to the bone and he watched his other hand come up to touch the column of his bandaged neck. “Daisy cut me.” He glanced back at Tim, trying to gauge his reaction, relieved to see horror blossoming in his expression and when he turned to Jon again, it was as if he was seeing Martin for the first time. “Martin?” He let his weight fall into his palm, and when his dark, damp eyes slipped shut, tears ran down his face. “Don’, don’think m’well.”
“Okay, it’s okay. I’ve--” his eyes flicked towards Tim. “We’ve got you.” Jon swallowed and Martin could feel it against his palm, literally holding his cut throat in his hands. "Can you tell us what's wrong?"
“Hur’s. Spin...falling, m’falling.” He paled, clutched at the linens, his breath shallow and fast and even Tim came forward in concern.
“I’ve got you, won’t let you go anywhere, Jon.” To Tim, “Don’t think he can tell which way is up. Vertigo? Concussion? We’ve got ice packs in the freezer yeah?”
“Anything else?”
“Ginger tea? If we have it.”
“M’tin…” He brushed stray curls back away from his forehead. “Stay? Please?”
“Of course I will.” Gentle and soft and Tim returned with tea and cold compresses quickly, passing off the mug to Martin, going so far as to sit beside Jon. “I’ve got to let go of you now.” And the look of panic and sorrow and resignation told him more about his state of mind than anything else.
Martin promised he would stay.
Martin was letting him go.
Jon was not surprised.
Just sad, so, so sad.
Prepared to be tossed aside.
“‘Course...s’sorry.” Another swallow, another and another, swallowing it down, how frightened he was, how lonely. Tears slipped over Jon’s skin, over Martin’s. “M’sorry, sorry.”
Too many.
Too much.
He watched Jon pull away, swaying, woozy, grip tightening on the sheets such that his knuckles were bone white. Alone again. Alone always. How dare he think or hope or dream otherwise.
“Got’chu, boss.” Martin waited until Tim had him ‘round the shoulders, pressing him into his sturdy side, before removing his hand and holding the mug to his lips.
“Drink this down and then some sleep, I think.” Together, they tipped him carefully sideways, grabbing his hands when they flew out to the side in an attempt to break a nonexistent fall, and Tim pressed a cold pack to the back of his neck, a shadow of a smile crossing his face when Jon relaxed into the pillow.
“You’re alright, boss. Won’t let you fall.”
#TMA#The magnus archives#jon sims#martin blackwood#tim stoker#strained relationships#sickfic#concussion#vertigo#Bad mental health#vomiting#Hurt/comfort
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how would the mud dogz be with a friend who's vv tiny and cute and seems like they couldnt hurt a fly even if they wanted to, but is actually just absolutely jacked and could probably bench press a tractor hdhfhdGDHFGDFH-
A/N - Thank you for the request, I miss writing these boys!
At first the Mud Dogs are actually pretty protective of you. You just seem like you shouldn’t be hanging out with a bunch of criminals and going on heists...and yet you keep insisting on going with them. It’s a free country, they guess, so they can’t really stop you. But they’ll be keeping a close eye on you the whole time
Then one day the four of you were on a heist that went really off the rails, and you ended up getting separated from the guys. They wound up getting cornered because they were so preoccupied looking for you, but then you just came roaring in, kicking ass and quickly clearing a path to the exit
You had to practically drag the Mud Dogs out of there because they were so shocked that you just did that-
“Oh, I didn’t tell you? I’m jacked”
“Yeah no SHIT Y/N-”
They’re pretty startled by this discovery, just because you’re so sweet and tiny at first glance! But you suplexed a guard on that heist and went straight for that guy’s jugular with no hesitation holy shit-
Mickey’s probably the least shocked about, just because he knows how to go from cute and innocent to menacing arsonist within seconds
Leonard wants you to teach him how to do cool, flashy wrestling moves. Even if you don’t know any wrestling moves...he still asks. How can you say no to that? You can’t. You learn a few wrestling moves
Danny is slightly unsettled by how dangerous you actually are...he’s a little cautious about pissing you off after they first find out about your hidden strength. Don’t worry, after a week or so he gets used to it and goes back to normal. But you won’t catch him trying to hold you back if you happen to get into petty fight with a stranger. Nuh uh. He’s not getting in the middle of that
(He’s actually really proud of you whenever you do win a fight, whether it be against the police, a hostile gang, or just some random jerk who was getting on your nerves. Though of course he’s always going to patch you up afterwards while nagging you about how dangerous that was-)
All in all, the guys think you’re super cool. They’re not used to being able to just leave you to your own devices during a heist, but they get used to it pretty quick! You become their muscle, and they’ll never get tired of watching you hit someone across the jaw to knock them unconscious
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Written In The Stars CLXIII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)
A/N: Ever since I heard that song I knew it was about Merry and I had to use it
P.S. I just realized I’ve been using “flickered” instead of “flicked” as the past version of “flick” and if u didn’t notice or don’t know the difference that’s great, if you did I’m sorry but it will continue to appear up until the seventh book bc I already edited half of it and I can’t be bothered to check the whole thing, I’m not a native speaker anyway lmao -Danny
Words: 4,467
Series’ Masterlist
Previous Chapter // Next Chapter
Listen to: ‘Just For A Moment’ -from HSMTMTS
Chapter Twenty-Five: The King’s Lecture.
Katie returned looking good as new but she couldn't remember anything about what had happened to her, which deeply troubled Harry.
Still, for the first time in the whole year, his mind was preoccupied with a different problem.
Once everyone knew about Mel and Erick's breakup, unknown to Harry and her, there was only one relevant topic of conversation: Their obvious mutual pining.
It was clear that the friendship between them was strong, she'd showed interest in no one but the boy who lived. They would see Mel walking through the corridors next to Harry, joking and laughing with him, sharing their notes in the common room and even sitting under trees with Ron and Hermione as their only company. Slowly, people who were there to see them during their fourth year were completely sure that they would make it official in no time.
Mel remained firm on not dating him, still, if he were to ask about her feelings she wasn't going to lie, maybe that way once the war was over they'd be able to be together, only time would tell.
"You know," She said when Ron walked out of the boys' bathroom, pale as a ghost. "If you keep throwing up like that you won't be able to cover even a single goal post—"
"That's not making me feel better!" He grimaced. "It's awful, last year we got lucky but this time—"
"Our practice will pay up. You're a brilliant Keeper an I'm an excellent Beater, just take a good luck at this," She flexed her arms, they weren't that impressive but she was quite proud of the discipline she'd exhibited that year, "we'll be okay. What's important is that even after all this we'll still have friends, right?"
"I s'pose..."
"I think that we haven't been grateful enough, you know? Harry let us be part of his team, even if we weren't the best choices. He trusts us—"
Her throat closed abruptly, Mel stumbled over and crashed against Ron.
"Mel!" He held her in place. "Is it a panic attack?"
It couldn't be, she was a bit anxious about their next Quidditch match but there was no reason to panic and she knew it!
Something tugged at the back of her mind and she instantly knew what was happening. It'd been a while, but Mel allowed Harry to guide her:
He was kneeling next to Snape, their Professor was hovering over Malfoy, who was dying. Harry communicated what he needed. Her hands closed tightly around Ron's arm and she grounded herself back into her body.
"I-It's Harry," She coughed. "I think—He did something... terrible... give me your potions book, I left mine in the tower..."
She described all to Ron while dragging him back to the common room, the boy was confused and completely against the idea of Harry hurting Malfoy in such a brutal way. He hated him, but he would never try to kill him!
When they reached the portrait Harry ran into them, he was covered in water and blood, and he was panting.
"I need the book. Quick—give it to me..."
Mel handed it to him, Ron tried to interrogate him.
"But what about the Half-Blood —"
"I'll explain later!"
Harry ran upstairs and entered the tower, a second later they saw him ran out holding his backpack with shaky hands, Ron looked at her gravely.
"I don't think we can help," Mel said before he could even ask. "Snape caught him red-handed... he was too scared to close his mind..."
"What do we do?"
"We wait."
Harry got punished for his actions, he wasn't going to be able to play the last match against Ravenclaw, but that didn't matter compared to what had happened.
Mel wasn't going to admit it because it was tactless, to say the least, but she thought that Harry sort of deserved the detention. If it weren't for his need to act first ask second, things wouldn't have gone so wrong.
"I told you there was something wrong with that Prince person. And I was right, wasn't I?"
"No, I don't think you were," said Harry stubbornly.
"Harry, how can you still stick up for that book when that spell —"
"Will you stop harping on about the book! The Prince only copied it out! It's not like he was advising anyone to use it! For all we know, he was making a note of something that had been used against him!"
"I don't believe this," said Hermione. "You're actually defending—"
"I'm not defending what I did! I wish I hadn't done it, and not just because I've got about a dozen detentions. You know I wouldn't've used a spell like that, not even on Malfoy, but you can't blame the Prince, he hadn't written 'try this out, it's really good' — he was just making notes for himself, wasn't he, not for anyone else..."
"Are you telling me that you're going to go back — ?"
"And get the book? Yeah, I am," said Harry. "Listen, without the Prince I'd never have won the Felix Felicis. I'd never have known how to save Ron from poisoning, I'd never have —"
"— got a reputation for Potions brilliance you don't deserve," said Hermione.
"Give it a rest, Hermione! By the sound of it, Malfoy was trying to use an Unforgivable Curse, you should be glad Harry had something good up his sleeve!" Ginny intervened.
"Well, of course I'm glad Harry wasn't cursed! But you can't call that Sectumsempra spell good, Ginny, look where it's landed him! And I'd have thought, seeing what this has done to your chances in the match —"
"Oh, don't start acting as though you understand Quidditch, you'll only embarrass yourself."
"I think," Mel spoke up, and all of them stopped to listen. "I think, Hermione, that you're being childish."
Hermione's eyes blazed with anger. "You're only saying that because you were also cheating—"
"I wasn't," The girl stood up with imposing air, she'd merely spoken a bit louder but Hermione shrank back in her spot as soon as she moved. "With or without the book, Harry's abilities with potions were always decent, it was Snape who was bullying him into failure."
The girl felt a pleasant tug of energy as she watched her friends silently look up at her, staring and clinging to every word that came out of her mouth. She wondered if this is how it felt to be a real Dumbledore.
Then the thought that she was a real Dumbledore occurred to her. She was strong and deserved to be treated with the same respect others had for the Headmaster. The only difference was that she was never going to use her power to bend things at her will.
"Harry's remembered the bezoar and won the Felix Felicis by following a few tips. I know you always appreciate it when Erick gives you advice — You don't consider that cheating, do you?"
Hermione scowled at her, but she didn't reply.
"You don't, even though you didn't come up with it on your own and you still got to be top of the class for years. Harry's right, the Prince could've seen the spell somewhere and wrote it down so he wouldn't forget, but he never forced him to attack Malfoy."
Hermione opened her mouth, but Mel wasn't going to let her continue.
"You didn't feel how scared he was," She scowled. "Harry said he's sorry and he got punished for it, and trust me, the nightmares that'll come after this will be more than enough to keep him from trying that again."
Instead of sitting down, Mel grabbed her bag and hung it over her shoulder, exiting the room with a firm step.
Erick used his brand new power over Faustus and Griffin to keep them from attacking Harry. As the Headboy, Slytherins were inclined to listen to him even if they didn't want to, so even though Harry got a few nasty looks the next morning, at least he was intact.
When they walked out of the Great Hall, Harry gently seized her wrist and guided her away from the crowd.
"Are you mad at me?"
"I can only get angry at your reckless behaviour so many times in life," The girl raised a brow. "I'm just thankful it didn't end worse."
"I'm sorry you argued with Hermione."
"She'll forgive me," Mel smiled. "Once she realizes I was right."
Harry grinned, in an instinctive motion, he held her hand entirely and intertwined their fingers, squeezing a bit. Before she could even register what he was doing, Harry leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
"Good luck," He said. "We hadn't done this in a while, I thought I might as well do it now that I'm not playing."
"I—Yeah, okay," She almost confessed her feelings right there and then. "Thank you, Captain. We're going to need it."
"I'll see you later..."
She walked towards the main entrance unaware of the curious eyes following her and muttering about the scene they'd just witnessed. Right now, it felt that the odds were leaning towards a Harry-Mel relationship happening really soon.
She was so distressed over the wild butterflies in her stomach that she didn't notice the figure next to her walking at the same pace.
"You know," Erick began. "I really should mind my own business, but what the hell is taking you so long?"
Mel looked up at him and stopped. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Harry," He rolled his eyes. "I thought that you would melt at his feet right away and yet here you are, single and yearning."
"You're a bit too cynic for your own good, you know that?" Mel frowned. "What are you doing here?"
"I promised I'd come to see you play," He raised a brow. "Am I right, though? Has he asked you to get back together? You guys used to be great—As soon as you started dating the fighting stopped, which is quite the opposite to what happened when we started dating—"
"You came to watch my game?" Mel asked in genuine surprise, deciding to ignore the rest.
"What, can't I support my friends?" He teased. "I mean, we broke things off but I never said I wanted to stop talking to you?"
"I never said that either," The girl replied promptly. He hadn't been able to spend a lot of time with his friends since he'd been studying for his N.E.W.T.S, it was nice to see him out of the library for a change. "Thank you for coming."
"I really do hope you win, I'm looking forward to my last school party..." He smiled.
"Look at you, attending parties," Mel teased.
"Well, the year's almost over and I find myself missing the lions' chaotic fun... I have to experience it while I still can."
"I still don't get why I'm the one playing seeker," Ginny sighed.
"Because you're smaller than Harry and I, which makes you the same size as Cho and that's an advantage. I'm much too tall and –let's face it– bigger than Cho. You're the best option."
"But you have a Firebolt!"
"Which I'll use wisely to fly around the field and throw bludgers as fast as I can," Mel assured her.
Ginny complained under her breath, then added. "Harry must be miserable right now, he really wanted to play..."
"I'm not saying it's his fault, but he certainly needed the scolding..."
"You should be on his side," She smirked. "You're his best friend."
"I'm his friend, not his admirer," Mel snorted.
"And that's all you want to be?"
Mel stopped and looked at her, Ginny had an odd expression on her face.
"What do you mean?"
Ginny opened her mouth to speak, but Katie was faster.
"Okay everyone, gather 'round!"
Katie, being the oldest teammate playing for Gryffindor, stood up to give the speech usually the Captain was supposed to deliver.
"I'm glad I got to play with all of you," She said. " Oliver would've been proud of this team as much as Harry is, and that's the highest compliment I can give you."
"That's very sweet, Katie," Mel smiled.
"Let's have fun!" Ginny exclaimed encouragingly.
The team erupted into cheers and happily ran out of the dressing room. Ginny stopped for a moment in front of her.
"Whatever you decide, Mellow," She said. "Just remember to put yourself first. Love yourself first."
The redhead pulled her in for a tight hug that she returned, a bit taken by surprise by her words. Only Mel and Ron remained, they exchanged a look.
"If we lose because of me," He told her, "kill me."
Mel laughed, it came out louder than expected, perhaps she was more nervous than she thought.
"If we lose, I think we should give Harry the opportunity to kill us himself."
Having no Captain her teammates' silently chose her as the backup, maybe they thought that since she'd been spending lots of time with Harry she'd know more about his tactics, and in a way she did. Ron also knew them, but he was looking rather greenish and unwilling to speak.
Mel suddenly had a newfound respect for Captains, they had to keep an eye on everything at all times. Luckily for her, Harry had done a great job, her teammates knew what to do by themselves and Ron was slowly gaining back his normal colour, by the time the game was at its highest, most interesting point, Mel was feeling pretty much like last year: utterly unstoppable.
Ron stopped one goal after another, the Chasers were wonderful and Jimmy was simply amazing. Everything was going so well that by the time Ginny caught the snitch, the euphoria was overwhelmingly good.
Dumbledore handed the Cup to Mel and she quickly passed it over to the Weasleys, they were the real stars of the game. Ginny and Ron were carried back to the castle, both beaming with pride.
Erick followed them back to the tower, Hermione forgot she was mad at Mel, she hugged her and congratulated her on the way she'd handled the team. When Mel said she had no idea why the others had picked her as Captain, Hermione looked at her with her characteristic exasperation.
"You've changed, Mel. Ever since you became an animagus you have this energy... it's really powerful—and they remember what you did to Cormac when he got on your nerves."
Mel did feel powerful, but knowing that the others could feel it too was shocking. She quickly forgot all about it though, Harry arrived then and as soon as he saw Ron and Erick his face lit up. Mel caught sight of Ginny rushing past the crowd to get to Harry, the same excited expression as her brother illuminating her face. They hugged tightly, Ginny started to talk about the match animatedly and pointed to where Hermione and she were standing.
"Are you going to talk to him?" Hermione asked.
Mel stared at her, she didn't even bother to ask how she knew what she was thinking.
"One day I will. Right now we should just enjoy the party."
"You think he'll wait that long?" Hermione grinned, both girls looked back at the dark-haired boy, who was waving at them enthusiastically.
"What about Ron?" She grinned, grabbing Hermione's hand and guiding her towards the boys. "Bet five galleons you end up snogging him tonight."
Hermione chortled.
"I don't have five galleons! And I know better than to bet against you—there are no dares you can't win."
Mel didn't know how did she manage to act like everything was fine for the rest of the term. Only divine intervention could've been responsible for such a thing; that and a strong will. She considered it a particularly cruel joke that Erick had been the real-life prince she'd been waiting for her whole life, yet once she had him she realized the secretive, mysterious type wasn't at all what she wanted.
She wanted Harry.
Of course, that would never matter if they didn't kill Voldemort.
Great, now she was depressed.
"Look at that!" Hermione's angry voice pulled her out of her thoughts. "Look at the picture!"
"So?" Harry asked without much interest.
"Her name was Eileen Prince. Prince, Harry."
Ron handed the picture to Mel, who examined it sleepily. Harry burst out laughing.
"No way!"
"What?"
"You think she was the Half-Blood..? Oh, come on."
"Well, why not? Harry, there aren't any real princes in the Wizarding world! It's either a nickname, a made-up title somebody's given themselves, or it could be their actual name, couldn't it? No, listen! If, say, her father was a wizard whose surname was Prince, and her mother was a Muggle, then that would make her a 'half-blood Prince'!"
"Yeah, very ingenious, Hermione..."
"But it would! Maybe she was proud of being half a Prince! Mel, help me with this!"
"Well," She passed the picture back to Ron and sat up. "If you can prove Eileen was a student around the same time Harry's book was printed, I'll believe you."
"Listen, I can tell it's not a girl," Harry shook his head with amusement. "I can just tell."
"The truth is that you don't think a girl would have been clever enough," Hermione retorted.
"How can I have hung round with you for years and not think girls are clever?" Harry frowned. "It's the way he writes, I just know the Prince was a bloke, I can tell. Well, unless Eileen had the same terrible handwriting Mel has."
Mel showed him her middle finger, Harry laughed again.
"This girl hasn't got anything to do with it. Where did you get this anyway?"
"The library. There's a whole collection of old Prophets up there. Well, I'm going to find out more about Eileen Prince if I can."
"Enjoy yourself," said Harry. "Tell Erick we say hi..."
"I will," said Hermione, standing up abruptly and rushing over to the portrait. "And the first place I'll look, by the way, is records of old Potions awards!"
Mel let out a short sigh and fell back on the couch, her legs hanging from the armrest.
"She's just never got over you outperforming her in Potions," said Ron.
"You don't think I'm mad, wanting that book back, do you?"
"'Course not! He was a genius, the Prince. Anyway... without his bezoar tip... I wouldn't be here to discuss it, would I?"
"I'm pretty sure I would've known it, I pay attention in class unlike you two," Mel said sleepily. "But carry on, King..."
"I mean, I'm not saying that spell Harry used on Malfoy was great—"
"Nor am I!"
"But he healed all right, didn't he? Back on his feet in no time."
"Yeah, thanks to Snape..."
"You still got detention with Snape this Saturday?"
"Yeah, and the Saturday after that, and the Saturday after that... And he's hinting now that if I don't get all the boxes done by the end of term, we'll carry on next year."
"That's a tragedy," She yawned. "And here I was thinking Draco had gotten the worse deal!" Harry threw a cushion at her face. "Ouch! Can't I take a nap in peace!"
"If you want to sleep then shut up," He replied.
Mel mumbled an insult and turned around, she must've been really tired, because next thing she remembers is meeting Ron's blue eyes staring down at her with amusement.
"Feeling better?" He grinned.
"What time is it?" She asked groggily.
"Hasn't been that long, about twenty minutes since you passed out — Harry left to see Dumbledore."
"What?" She sat up. "And he didn't tell me?"
Ron sat down next to her, nudging her shoulder so they could fit better on the couch.
"You finished your lessons, right? You don't need to go. Besides, you looked exhausted so he didn't want to wake you."
"And you woke me up anyway?" Mel smiled. "I didn't know you liked the sound of my voice that much."
"You wish," He snorted. "No, I woke you to see if you'd like to play chess."
"You know I'm terrible at it."
"C'mon, how are you going to get better if you don't practice?"
"You just like winning."
Ron smirked. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean I don't enjoy teaching you."
Two minutes later they were ready to play.
"So," He started, moving one of his pieces. "You and Harry are back to being good friends and all, but you still like him, don't you?"
"Nosy much," She scoffed. "We're just friends."
He shifted awkwardly in his place. "I don't want you to start arguing again like you did last year..."
"That's not gonna happen this time."
"Are you sure?" He asked. "Not that I'm wishing that to happen! But you guys are so weird..."
Mel sighed heavily, Ron was the only one in the group that didn't know her history with Harry, perhaps it was time to tell him.
"Two years ago Harry broke up with me," She said, pushing her pawn forward. "That's why we stopped talking."
Ron's brain seemed to explode at the revelation.
"You... but you never... you... kissed?"
"Yes?" Mel raised a brow.
"Wow... It makes sense now," Ron said. "You being all gross and touchy and then yelling at each other over stupid stuff — You were angry because he'd broken up with you!"
"Sort of."
"But you dated my brother!" Ron continued in a loud voice. "So you couldn't have liked Harry that much, could you?"
"Would you calm yourself down?"
"You hid all that for two years? How are you not dead?"
Mel frowned, but she was starting to feel the urge to giggle.
"I suppose I'm a strong lady."
"Bet you are," Ron shook his head. "Blimey..."
"Harry never told you about it?"
"Well, you know how it is," The boy shrugged. "Us blokes don't speak about feelings much, do we? I asked him once why he was snogging Cho when I thought he'd liked you for years... He said that it was time to move on, but he didn't look happy—Harry was still into you."
"You saw it with your magical ability to notice these kinds of things?" Mel teased.
"I knew because he would look at you like he wanted to keep you locked away in his trunk... but he doesn't look at you that way now."
"How romantic," She joked, but there was an icky feeling in her chest. "How does he look at me now?"
"Well, like he's in love," He shrugged again.
Mel watched him carefully, Ron was no longer a lanky little boy, a tad insecure still, but now he was young a man, and he was her brother. He'd always been understanding with her, she wondered why she hadn't tried to talk to him about this before.
"Harry and I are friends... but I do have feelings for him," She admitted shyly.
"Knew it," He moved his knight. "Still think it's gross."
Mel snorted, Ron's knight obliterated her pawn.
"...You think it's a good idea?" She questioned. "With the lifeline and all... I don't know what to do."
Ron scratched his ear. "Dunno, if it makes you happy then why is it bad?"
"I just know that it has been a hard couple of years, but I don't regret ever falling for Harry..." She groaned, "still, what your sister told me the other day, about choosing myself... if I were to do that then I would have to stay away from him."
"I love my sister," Ron stared at her sternly. "But she's dead wrong. You can choose yourself and Harry. That's what you've been doing all this time, isn't it? Well, except these last few months you dated Erick, I guess..."
"Even then I was choosing him, in a way..." Mel sighed. "I'm scared I'll mess it up, Ron."
"C'mon Mel, Harry's a good bloke! Anyway, if he knows what's good for him he won't upset my best friend."
"Your best friend? What about Hermione?" She teased. "Is she not your best friend?"
"Well," Ron grinned, "she's something."
"Of course," Mel laughed.
After a brutal defeat (Mel lost three times in a row), talking about the Quidditch final, homework, and the weirdest dreams they'd had that week, Hermione walked into the common room along with Erick. He was a fan of spending his afternoons in the tower lately, said the sunny view was a nice change.
"What are you guys talking about?"
"Just stuff," Mel sent a knowing grin towards Ron. "Harry got a note from Dumbledore, have you seen him?"
"Ohh!" Hermione exclaimed excitedly. "You think... you think he found a new... you know..."
Erick frowned, they hadn't told him about the Horcruxes. Mel didn't have the chance to tell him about her adventure with Harry all those weeks ago.
"Maybe," Mel shrugged, "we have to wait and see..."
Just as she was finishing her sentence Harry walked through the portrait with a strange look on his face.
"What does he want?" Hermione took a better look at their friend. "Harry, are you okay?"
"I'm fine," He walked past them in a hurry and went upstairs, the group fell silent until he came back. "I've got to be quick, Dumbledore thinks I'm getting my Invisibility Cloak. Listen, he found one. So we're going to get it right now, but when I was on my way to his office I ran into Professor Trelawney and she said something about entering the room of Requirement and hearing someone shouting in joy, a man. You see what this means?"
They stared at him in silent confusion, Harry didn't wait for a reply.
"Dumbledore won't be here tonight, so Malfoy's going to have another clear shot at whatever he's up to. No, listen to me! I know it was Malfoy celebrating in the Room of Requirement. Here — You've got to watch him and you've got to watch Snape too. Use anyone else who you can rustle up from the D.A., those contact Galleons will still work, right? Dumbledore says he's put extra protection in the school, but if Snape's involved, he'll know what Dumbledore's protection is, and how to avoid it — but he won't be expecting you lot to be on the watch, will he?"
"Harry —"
"I haven't got time to argue," Harry groaned. "Take this as well —"
"Thanks," Ron looked down at his hand. "Er — why do I need socks?"
"You need what's wrapped in them, it's the Felix Felicis. Mel, I think it'd be great if you get yours too. Share it between yourselves. I'd better go, Dumbledore's waiting —"
"No!" said Hermione, looking down at the potion with horror. "We don't want it, you take it, who knows what you're going to be facing?"
"Hermione's right," Mel said, she'd memorized Harry's instructions and was trying to think of how many people she could gather without making a fuss. "You'll be risking your life out there —"
"I'll be fine, I'll be with Dumbledore," Harry told her, brushing the subject aside. "I want to know you lot are okay... Don't look like that, I'll see you later..."
He didn't give Mel another chance to speak.
Next Chapter —>
Taglist.
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Text
Thin Line
Pairing: Sam Kiszka x (F) Reader
Word Count: 5600ish
Warnings: Attempted sexual assault, language.
Summary: You and Sam share all the same friends, but he hates you...or so you think.
Note: This was inspired by #5 on this prompt list.
Sam Kiszka hates you. You’re sure of it. You don’t quite know what his reason is for disliking you, but you can feel his disdain for you every time you’re in the same room together. Which is pretty awkward, considering you’ve been in the same friend group since the beginning of college.
When a mutual friend first introduced you to Sam and his brothers during your freshman year, you instantly felt comfortable around Jake and Josh and became fast friends. You even connected with and became close with Sam’s best friend, Danny, in a short period of time. But despite putting in what you felt was a significant effort to get to know Sam as well, he was totally uninterested in getting to know you.
At first you thought maybe he was just slow to come out of his shell, but to this day, Sam has never seemed to warm up to you. There’s just something in the way he treats you that’s different from how he treats your other friends. He’s colder, almost as if he resents you. Where he greets everyone else with smiles and hugs, you receive chilly stares and uninterested waves. Where he makes conversation and engages with everyone else, you receive minimal responses in a flat, bored tone. While you and Sam each hang out individually with all of your other friends, the two of you have never spent time together one on one.
You’ve tried your best not to let his behavior upset you, but truthfully, it does hurt your feelings. Because, in spite of his chilly attitude towards you, you quite like Sam. He’s loud and opinionated; goofy and incredibly intelligent. He’s talented, hard-working, and driven; quirky in an endearing way. Not to mention, he is extremely beautiful, with his long, wavy locks, chiseled features, and brilliant smile. Throughout the time you’ve known each other, you’ve wished for nothing more than for him to give you a chance, but you’ve resigned yourself to the fact that there are just some people in the world who will never like you. And Sam Kiszka was apparently someone who would never like you.
Sam’s contempt for you has seemed to go unnoticed by the rest of your friends, and you feel no need to mention it to any of them. Bringing it up would just make everything even more awkward. You’ve decided that you would much rather continue to feel comfortable around your other friends with some mild unease when Sam is there, than isolate yourself from the group by throwing accusations around haphazardly.
Ever since you came to the conclusion that Sam hates you, you’ve been a bit preoccupied with him. Now, as you sit on a couch in a stranger’s packed living room chatting with Jake over the sound of blaring music, you can’t stop yourself from glancing over at Sam periodically. He’s leaning against a wall across the room, having an animated conversation with Danny, a smile bright on his face, head tipping back with laughter every now and again. Your friend, Erin, joins them and Sam welcomes her into the discussion enthusiastically. You feel an unmistakable spark of jealousy in that moment, wondering what it is that Erin has and you lack that allows her to connect with Sam.
You must have let your stare linger for a little too long, because suddenly, Sam’s eyes flick up to meet yours. You panic and flash him a timid smile, hoping you come off as friendly. However, he just studies you for a brief moment and you see his lips pulling down into a frown. Then, just as quickly as this little moment between the two of you began, it ends as he turns his focus back to his conversation with Danny and Erin. You too return your attention to Jake and try not to read too much into what just occurred.
A little later, you leave your spot on the couch with Jake to find a drink in the kitchen. You drove to the party, so you can’t drink much, but you figure one cocktail can’t hurt. You’re in the middle of mixing a rum and Coke when you’re approached by a guy you don’t know. He’s cute, but he seems sleazy. You know all he wants is to hook up, and you’re not the type of person to sleep with just anyone.
He introduces himself as Drew, and then, as you predicted, immediately asks you if you want to go somewhere more quiet to, “talk.” Uninterested, you mutter a quick, “No, thank you,” pick up your drink, and proceed to leave the kitchen in search of a bathroom.
Much to your dismay, he does not take the hint and follows you into the hallway you’ve just entered. Noticing his presence, you speed up your pace, but are pulled to a halt when he reaches forward and takes hold of your wrist. Your fight or flight response kicks in instantly, heart rate accelerating and the hair at the back of your neck standing on end. Wrenching your wrist free, you spin around and glare at him.
“Can I help you?” you spit, venom in your voice. It’s at this moment that you realize that you’ve ventured into a mostly empty area of the house. Only a few people are around, but they’re too wrapped up in themselves to notice the conflict occurring just a couple of feet away. You cautiously take a few steps back, trying to distance yourself from this man who has suddenly become threatening.
Drew laughs and continues moving toward you. You try to inch even further backward, but your back hits the wall, making it sink in that you’ve been cornered. With his much larger frame, he boxes you in by putting both his palms on the wall on either side of your head.
Bending down, he smirks and says, “Come on, baby, don’t be like that. I just wanted to talk, get to know you a little better.”
Truly panicking now, you try to keep your voice steady when you counter, “And I declined. Now let me go.” You attempt to dip down and slide out from under his arm, but he’s too quick, shoving your shoulder back against the wall. Your drink slips out of your hand at this point, hitting the ground and splashing all over the carpet, walls, and your pants.
Leering at you with the same creepy smile on his face, he runs his fingers down the entire length of your arm, causing you to shiver. Stepping even closer, you feel his hot breath on your face as he taunts, “I’m just being nice, baby. Maybe you should learn to be a little more polite.”
You try to formulate a plan to escape this dilemma, but you’re so scared that your mind is blank. His hand has wandered to your back and settled on your ass, and you feel tears forming in your eyes. You try to look around for someone, anyone that may be able to help you, but the barricade he’s created with his arms has made that impossible. The only thing you can think of to do is scream, and you’re about to do it when you hear someone shout from behind his large body.
“Hey man, what the fuck are you doing? Get off of her!”
The voice sounds familiar, but you don’t register who it belongs to due to the overload of adrenaline coursing through your system. Your brain will not allow you to focus on anything for more than a millisecond, the feeling of terror consuming you. Trying to direct any of your brain power to identifying the person attempting to help you isn’t even an option.
Despite the unknown person’s protest, your assailant does not move an inch, continuing to hold you against your will. You attempt to wiggle out of his hold again, to no avail. Closing your eyes, you try to center yourself and prevent your breathing from increasing to the point of hyperventilation.
And then, he’s gone. The weight leaning up against you disappears and the air around you becomes cooler. It should be easier to breathe, but you still feel like you’re suffocating.
Eyes snapping open, you’re greeted by the sight of someone’s back. Sam Kiszka’s back, you quickly determine, given the long brown hair and slim frame. He has somehow shoved his way between you and your attacker, and is now shielding you with his body. Even though he is much smaller than Drew, you instantly feel safer, and very, very grateful that he intervened.
Drew’s face portrays his anger at Sam for preventing him from getting what he wanted from you. “You should mind your own fucking business, man!” he practically screams, trying to glare a hole through Sam.
“You don’t get to fucking touch her without her permission, you son of a bitch!” Sam growls, not backing down.
You don’t hang around to hear anything else. You desperately need some fresh air and to be out of this dark hallway.
Slipping out from behind Sam’s body, you speed walk away as fast as you can, only turning to look back at the scene once you reach the end of the hall. Drew and Sam, still exchanging anger-laced words, do not notice your exit, and for that, you are grateful. You hastily find your way back to the living room and out the front door, not bothering to even stop and tell your other friends that you’re leaving.
Once you step foot outside, you greedily suck in the cool Autumn air, a stark contrast to the warm stuffiness you felt as Drew was holding you against the wall. The whole encounter lasted maybe two minutes, but it felt like you were being held underwater for an hour and are just now surfacing.
Wiping the tears that you realize are still flowing down your cheeks, you dig your car keys out of the pocket of your jeans and locate your vehicle parked on the street. You feel a little bad for abandoning Erin since you drove her here, but you know she’ll find a ride back to her dorm with one of your other friends.
Speaking of your other friends, your phone vibrates in your pocket right before you put the car in drive, and you pull it out to see a text from Jake.
everything okay? saw you leave…
Apologizing to him for not saying goodbye, you come up with a ridiculous lie about getting your period and carefully pull out onto the street to begin your short journey home. Your phone buzzes again, but you don’t bother to check it.
The car ride passes by in a blur of sniffling and wiping tears, and soon you’re in your bathroom, cleaning off the little bit of make-up left on your face and taking a shower to try to clear your head. You stand under the hot stream of water for longer than usual, processing everything that happened and calming yourself down.
When you finally emerge several minutes later and dress yourself in your comfiest pajamas, you feel a little better, but still not exactly okay. To distract yourself, you pour a bowl of cereal and turn a mindless comedy on the TV in hopes of cheering yourself up.
Instead of paying attention, however, you find yourself staring blankly at the screen, consumed by your thoughts. The encounter has shaken you to your core. And while it ended before Drew could cause you any actual physical harm, you know that it will take some time for you to recover from the emotional and mental damage that he has caused you. He had no right to lay his hands on you, and the fear you felt when he did is not something that is easy to forget. You remind yourself that you are not overreacting, and that your feelings are perfectly valid.
And then there’s Sam. You feel incredibly thankful for him, but also a little surprised that he was the one who stepped in. You’re not sure why you’re surprised though. At his core, Sam is a good person. Even though the two of you have your differences, you know he would never stand by while someone else was being hurt. Including you. You sincerely hope nothing else transpired between him and Drew after you left. You would feel terrible if he ended up in harm’s way for trying to protect you.
Realizing that you will do nothing but obsess over the incident if you continue to stay awake, you make the decision to crawl into bed and try to get some sleep. Even though it takes a bit for your mind to stop racing, exhaustion eventually sets in and you’re able to get a much needed break from your thoughts.
⏭
The following Saturday, your friends send a group text making plans to go to another party that night. Normally, you would be happy to join them, but now, a party is the absolute last place you want to be. You know that if you just tell them that you don’t want to go, they’ll ask questions. You’d managed to avoid any sort of interrogation about your abrupt disappearance last weekend up until now, and you don’t really feel like reliving the experience by having to tell the story.
So, you don’t even think twice before texting them that you’re sick and are planning on staying home all weekend. You get texts back from everyone but Sam telling you to feel better, and then mute the thread when they continue planning their evening.
Over the past week, you’ve felt a little better everyday. Your anxiety has lessened and you’re able to concentrate on things that don’t involve Drew. Still, you’re definitely not ready to be in a house full of crowded people, some of which may have questionable intentions.
Since you don’t have much else to do, you decide to be productive and spend your time catching up on school work. You have quite a bit of reading to do for an exam in one of your classes next week. Surprising yourself, you get into the zone and read without interruption until close to 8 PM, when your stomach reminds you that you haven’t eaten anything since the peanut butter and jelly sandwich you made yourself around 11:30 AM.
Not in the mood to cook dinner, you pull up Uber Eats on your phone and scroll through the endless options, trying to choose between a local soup and salad place and your favorite pizza joint. You’re just about to place your order when there’s a knock on the front door of your apartment. You have no idea who it could be, since you gathered from your friends messages that they had made dinner plans for before the party and would more than likely be eating right now.
Skeptical, you rise from your seat at your kitchen island and check yourself in the mirror, making sure your hair isn’t too messy before making your way to the door. You really wish the doors in your apartment building had peep holes so you could vet your unexpected visitors before showing yourself, but alas, you’re forced to open it if you wish to know the identity of the person on the other side.
Curiosity getting the best of you, you undo the latch and swing the door open, the sight that greets you making your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Sam Kiszka, clad in a white t-shirt, the tiniest blue shorts you’ve ever seen, and Birkenstocks, stands on your welcome mat, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. His hair falls to his shoulders in perfect waves, and he is holding a round Tupperware container in his hands. He startles a bit when your form appears in front of him.
“Hi?” you say, more of a question than a statement. Why is he here? I didn’t even know that he knew where I lived...
Releasing his lower lip from his teeth, he clears his throat and responds, “Hey. Can I come in?” There’s a small, barely there smile on his face, and the only reason you notice it is because you’re so used to the cold stare that he’s usually giving you.
Wordlessly backing up, you open the door wider and allow him entrance. When he steps through the door frame, he kicks off his Birkenstocks and glaces around, getting his first look at the place you call home.
Unsure of what to make of his surprise appearance, you cautiously ask, “What are you doing here? I thought you would be out with everyone else right now.”
Sam contemplates your query for a moment, then thrusts the Tupperware container towards you. You reach out to take it from him, and when it touches the skin of your palms, you discover that the contents inside are still hot.
“I uh- I got your message that you weren’t feeling well, so I made you some soup. Loaded baked potato. Then I realized that you’re probably not like, sick, sick, that you may just not feel comfortable going out after what happened last weekend. And I figured if that was the case, then soup may still help you feel better, so I thought I’d stop by…” he trails off and gives a tiny shrug.
You’re touched by his thoughtfulness, so you give him a small smile of appreciation. “I was literally just about to order some soup. And loaded baked potato is my favorite. Thank you.”
His lips pull up at the corners even more and he sounds almost bashful when he says, “Yeah, no problem.”
The two of you stand in your small entryway, looking each other over for a second before you turn your back and walk into the kitchen, getting a spoon out from the silverware drawer. You feel his eyes watching your movements the whole time. Once you retrieve the utensil, you walk past him to your sofa, then offer, “Do you want to sit down?”
Sam doesn’t respond, just follows you into the living room and sits on the opposite end of the couch as you.
Removing the lid from the container in your hands, your nose is instantly met with the delicious aroma of the soup inside. Sticking your spoon in the bowl, you comment, “I hope you don’t mind if I eat this now, I’m starving.”
Turning to face you, Sam pulls his long, lanky legs onto the couch so his knees are practically to his chin, then wraps his arms around them. The position doesn’t look comfortable at all, and you let out a little giggle before taking your first taste of the soup.
“I don’t mind,” Sam acknowledges.
The two of you sit in silence for a few moments, you eating soup and him watching you. What’s weird about it is that it isn’t uncomfortable at all. You’re not sure you’ve ever been alone with Sam before, but you always imagined if you were, it would be awkward.
Your thoughts are interrupted by Sam breaking the silence. “So…are you okay?” There is concern evident in his tone, and it shouldn’t catch you off guard since you’re sitting here eating soup (delicious soup, by the way) that he cooked to make you feel better, but it does.
You shovel more soup into your mouth as you consider how to answer his question. You swallow, and decide it’s best to just be honest. He’s the only person who really knows what happened, so if you can’t tell him how you’re feeling, who can you tell?
“Well, I’m not like, sick, sick,” you start, “But I wouldn’t say I’m okay. I feel a little better every day, but I’m definitely not ready to go to a party.”
He nods at your answer, then sympathizes, “That’s understandable.”
Pausing for a moment, you decide this is a good time to express your gratitude to him. You’ve been meaning to text or call him all week, but chickened out each time, figuring he wouldn’t want to talk to you.
“Thank you, by the way. For what you did. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there. I just- I really appreciate it.”
At your words, Sam recoils and his face scrunches up in dismay. Voice slightly elevated, he fumes, “You don’t have to thank me! That fucking asshole shouldn’t have put his fucking hands on you! He’s lucky I didn’t beat the shit out of him…”
His face is red in anger by the time he finishes his rant, and you’re shocked at how heated he became by you thanking him. You’re also shocked that he was upset enough by what happened to you that he wanted to cause someone actual physical harm. You never would have thought that Sam Kiszka would go that far to defend you.
Choosing your words carefully, you reply, “I know that you’re not the kind of guy to just stand by and let something like that happen, it’s just- I realize that we haven’t exactly gotten along super well in the past and I just wanted to make sure you know that I’m really grateful that you helped me in spite of that. And it was really nice of you to make me this soup. You didn’t have to do that.”
Sam looks genuinely perplexed by your assertion. He has a habit of clearly displaying his emotions with his facial expressions, you’ve noticed. Eyebrows furrowed, he asks, “What do you mean we haven’t gotten along in the past?”
Now it’s your brows that are furrowing in confusion. Is he kidding? How can he not know what I mean?
Peering at him nervously, you say, “Sam. Come on...we’ve had the same friends for a couple of years now and I don’t think we’ve ever talked this much. Everything between us has always just felt so...uncomfortable. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if you even like me...it sure feels like you hate me sometimes.”
Sam balks at your answer and lets out a humorless laugh. He bows his head and shakes it back and forth a few times, then gazes up at you with a pained look on his face. “You think I hate you?” he questions, voice unsteady.
You’re taken aback by how devastated he sounds. For years now, you’ve been living under the assumption that Sam hates you. That you had done or said something or acted in a certain way that made him not want to be your friend. But he’s looking at you like he has no idea what you’re talking about. Did I misinterpret his cold stares and lack of interest in interacting with me? Did I imagine it all?
“Well…” you hesitantly begin explaining your point of view. “It’s just that, you act differently around me than you do around everyone else. You don’t- you don’t talk to me or even acknowledge anything that I say when we’re all together. You’re so nice to everyone else and it seems like you just barely tolerate my presence. And sometimes it feels like you look at me like you actually want to kill me. So I don’t know, I guess it was just hard for me to come up with any other reason for it besides you hating me…”
You wish they hadn’t, but tears have formed in your eyes during the course of your little speech. You didn’t expect to get so emotional airing out your long-held beliefs regarding Sam’s feelings towards you, but here you are, trying to prevent the watery drops from falling down your cheeks. You didn’t realize how strongly your strained relationship with Sam has impacted you until now. Embarrassment makes you avoid looking at him for his reaction.
Though you’re staring at the bowl of soup in your hands instead of him, you know Sam moves closer to you because you feel the cushion next to you dip down with his body weight. “Y/N,” he says, trying to get your attention. When you look up at him, you catch him anxiously running his hand through his hair.
“I- I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you at all. God, I- I’m sorry I made you feel that way,” he stutters, shaking his head again in shame. “It’s just, I uh-“ The tension in the room is palpable as he stops and gazes at you with a conflicted look on his face, obviously having an internal debate with himself on if he wants to continue his sentence.
He must decide that the pros of vocalizing his thoughts outweigh the cons, because he stammers, “It’s just that I- I’ve been in love with you for awhile now and I guess I just didn’t know how to deal with it? You make me nervous…”
Nothing could have prepared you for the bombshell Sam just dropped on you. By the time he finishes speaking, your jaw is nearly touching the floor and your eyes are wide. He could have told you he was a werewolf and you would have been less shocked than you are right now. The thought of Sam having any positive feelings towards you at all seems unlikely, but love? Never in a million years would you have imagined that Sam Kiszka loves you.
Your heart in your throat and your palms sweaty, all you manage to sputter is, “You love me?”
Sam scratches his nose a few times, which you’ve learned is a nervous habit of his, and chuckles tensely. “Yeah...I um- I started liking you when we were in that class together Freshman year and it just kind of spiraled from there.” He blushes as he carries on with his explanation. “I really wasn’t trying to be an asshole to you, I swear. I just, I kind of had this idea in my head that you liked Jake and I didn’t want to make things weird, so I just started avoiding you. I thought maybe if I distanced myself from you, it would go away, but so far, that hasn’t worked…”
As hard as you try, your mind cannot process everything Sam is revealing to you as he says it. You feel like you’re just gaping at him blankly for an hour before it clicks that he’s been putting on a facade to hide his feelings for you. And it worked, because it never once occurred to you that his attitude may have been a mask to prevent himself from being hurt by you, intentionally or unintentionally.
What Sam doesn’t know is that you have no romantic interest in Jake. In fact, you’ve been so hung up on overanalyzing Sam’s behavior, that you haven’t paid attention to any other guys at all. You realize now that the reason for this is because you’ve had your own crush on Sam for as long as you can remember. Before tonight, he was always so unattainable. You always thought that you just craved for him to treat you the same way he treats everyone else, but really, you wanted even more than that. You never wanted to admit to yourself just how much you liked him, because you thought you would just be setting yourself up for heartbreak. But now that he’s bared his soul to you, his closeness is making your face feel hot and causing goosebumps to appear on your arms, both telltale signs of your epiphany.
Sam’s watching you intently, waiting for any sort of reaction whatsoever. He looks more and more dejected with every second that passes by and you have not broken your silence.
Feeling guilty for invoking so much anxiety, you end his misery by simply stating, “I don’t like Jake.”
Sam frowns and croaks, “Oh.”
He again runs his hand through his wavy tresses and his eyes shift around the room.
“To be honest,” you confess, setting your soup on the coffee table in front of you, “You’re the only guy I ever really pay any attention to. I’ve kind of been obsessed with trying to figure out where I stand with you for a long time now. Because even though I thought that you literally couldn’t stand me, I um, I’ve always really liked you. I think I was actually a little jealous of everyone else because you’ve always gotten along so well with literally everyone but me…”
Head hung low, Sam peers up at you and apologizes. “I’m sorry…I feel like such a fucking idiot…”
Hesitantly, you take hold of one of his hands and find that his palms are just as clammy as yours. “No, no I- I get it,” you comfort him. “We all deal with feelings differently.”
He nods and squeezes your hand, appreciating your understanding, but then insists again, “Yeah, but that was no excuse for being such an asshole to you. You were nothing but nice to me all the time and I cared too much about myself to even realize I was hurting your feelings. God I’m such a dick, I’m-”
Having heard enough of him tearing himself down, you cut him off before he can say anything else. “Sam, stop. I forgive you. Maybe...maybe we should try to forget about how things have been in the past and just, like, start over. Things were weird before, but they don’t have to be now.”
Sam thinks over your suggestion for only a second, a shy smile forming on his lips. “I think that’s a good idea,” he agrees, then playfully reaches out to shake your hand, both to seal the deal and to symbolize your reintroduction.
You laugh softly at the gesture, but instead of accepting his outstretched hand, you throw your arms around his neck and pull him into a hug. Almost immediately, his arms wrap around you in return and he gives your body a tight squeeze, pouring all of his emotion into the embrace.
You’ve always had a feeling that Sam is an amazing hugger, and he’s proving you correct right now. His body is warm and he smells faintly like spicy cologne and his hair is silky against your skin. And the soothing motion of his hand rubbing up and down your back has you feeling more relaxed than you have since what happened last weekend. Truth be told, you could cling onto him like this forever and be content.
Unfortunately for you, Sam attempts to break the embrace far more quickly than you would have liked. You feel his hands drop from your back and the heat of his chest dissipating and you know you need to stop him from moving too far away from you.
Clutching onto his shoulders, you pull back until you’re face to face with him, foreheads almost touching. The tension in the room is palpable as you stare at each other, wordlessly daring the other to make a move. You’re not sure what you’re hoping to happen, but you aren’t mad when his palms find the side of your neck and he presses his forehead to yours.
Looking directly into your eyes, you see him gulp before he admits, “I really want to kiss you right now.”
Your pulse hammering at what feels like a million beats a minute, you smile shyly at him and whisper, “Me too.”
That’s all that he needs to hear before he touches his lips to yours. Right away, you feel a spark that you haven’t felt with any other boy you’ve kissed before. Even though the kiss is chaste, sweet and quick with no tongue involved, it makes you feel more feelings than you would have ever thought possible. At the forefront is happiness, causing a huge grin to form on your lips and your eyes to sparkle as you both pull away. An identical grin is on Sam’s lips and he leans in to plant another light kiss on your cheek before settling back on the couch next to you.
Your stomach rumbling reminds you that there is still a nearly full container of soup sitting in front of you, so you pick it up and take a bite, then propose, “Do you want to stay and watch a movie?” You’re not ready for him to leave.
Sam readily agrees, so you give him the remote to select a film while you resume eating. He finds one, but before he presses play, he asks, “Hey, would you maybe want to go out to dinner with me sometime?”
Deciding to tease him a little, you respond, “I don’t know, Sam...this is some of the best soup I’ve ever had. I think I’d much rather have you cook for me than go out anywhere.”
Sam’s face lights up and he nods rapidly, clearly overjoyed that you think he’s a good cook. “Yeah, for sure! Are you free tomorrow?”
He looks so excited, and it makes butterflies flutter in your stomach. “Yeah, tomorrow works for me,” you answer, probably looking equally as excited.
Satisfied with your response, Sam presses play on the movie, then leans back into the sofa and gets comfortable. You think to yourself that you could get used to the sight of him in your living room.
Unable to resist, you quickly finish your soup and rid yourself of the bowl so you can scoot closer to Sam and curl up into his side. His arm instantly comes up to rest on your shoulders, and you’re delighted when his fingers start playing with your hair.
At the beginning of this day, you never would have expected to be finishing the night cuddled up to Sam Kiszka. If someone had told you that the guy who you thought hated you was going to bring you homemade soup and confess that he actually loves you, you would have thought they were crazy. But sometimes life works in mysterious ways, and you’re looking forward to seeing where it takes you and Sam next.
#greta van fleet#sam kiszka#greta van fleet fic#sammy kiszka#sam kiszka fic#sam kiszka x reader#gvf#sam gvf#gvf fic#greta van fleet fanfiction#fanfic#fanfiction#sam kiszka fanfic#sam kiszka fanfiction#greta van fleet fanfic#greta van fleet imagine#imagine#one shot#jake kiszka#josh kiszka#danny wagner#my writing
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