#Danny Dose does not tell him anything about what he does only the things he sees on his “ nightly walk”

[moonlight-stalker]

# 3 Mhaxdp

Danny was a twin not many believe it at the age of 5 Danny was declared Quirkless his parents stop paying attention to him several months later he was sold to people and taken somewhere Fall away he could not understand the people there but that is where he meant his twin a boy named phantom has a white hair and quirk was named ghost phantom was born in this place

When they were 10 they escaped together Danny told Phantom about Hero and said they helped everyone well they're supposed to, phantom said he would become a hero and Danny can be his partner When they figure out how to get IDs and try to get into a school they found out that people were quirkis to Danny, Danny was rejected from all kinds of schools that were decent and phantom did not want to go to school without danny they both end up doing online school

They had a plan phantom would go to school while Danny will stay in online school and be a Vigilante because they could not arrest him for Quirk use ( Phantom does not know about Danny's plan) Danny was a very good inventor and would sell his inventions to other Vigilantes and underground heroes and information that he has on Quirks about what is going on he will also use his invention for his own Vigilante

[sakuravalelp]

Don't eat anything else - DC X DP

Using this prompt

Next part

Masterpost

Danny is sure that if it wasn't for his ghost side, he would have already died from malnutrition. Vlad, the monster he is, doesn't allow him to eat any meal without human meat. It's not that he isn't allowed vegetables, fruits, and animal byproducts, but every meal has human meat somehow. Vlad watches him with piercing eyes while he eats, making sure he doesn't avoid the meat.

He's gone days without eating just to avoid it, but eventually, he does have to eat. He has eaten human meat! He wonders if this is why Dan decided to renounce his human side.

Future Vlad had told him that Dan wanted to get rid of his ghost side due to his grief, but maybe Dan thought he would feel better about eating humans if he were a complete ghost. Danny could understand that, but he now knows it wouldn't work...

The Infinite Realms are full of different species, and the act of eating another species that's able to coexist with you in a society feels just as horrendous as cannibalism. Was finding this out what drove Dan mad?

He isn't getting much nutrition when he does eat either, not with him vomiting at least half the times he does. Not that Vlad cares about that;

"Ectoplasm will take care of your body while you stubbornness dies. I do think it would be easier for you if you just stopped being ridiculous and eat."

Ectoplasm and water are the only things he has free access too, and Danny hates how grateful he is for at least having that.

As if things couldn't be worse, he's also been forced to cook the meat. When he started learning how to cook with Tucker's mom, he never, never, would have imagined he would be using his abilities for this. He has grown numb to butchering human corpses…

Corpses are a frequent view in the kitchen. He's scared one day he'll recognize the face of one of them. Vlad knows it and uses to control him, telling him that if he doesn't behave, their next meal might be Tucker or Sam. He hates to admit how docile he's grown.

He hasn't seen Tucker, Sam, or anyone since the explosion in the lab took his family. Vlad doesn't allow him to leave the mansion for anything besides galas. He has him collared like a dog to prevent him from leaving. Except, his collar is a shock bracelet charged with blood blossoms that would inject into his wrist if he tries to escape.

He thought Vlad was bluffing and tried escaping once. His whole body felt like it was burning up in flames, and he wasn't able to move for a week. Vlad told him that next time, the dose would keep him in bed for a month. He hasn't tried escaping since.

He's still talking with them through chat. He doesn't know if Vlad knows, but he doesn't think he does; he told him his phone exploded with the lab. But he can't tell them anything. How could he? How is he supposed to tell them he has cooked humans? That he has eaten humans? That he has grown somewhat numb to it? He can't, and then he feels like he can't talk about anything else that is happening.

Today, as he serves the entrance dish to the first guests Vlad has had since he took Danny in, he forces a fake smile on his face. Inside, he feels a wave of nausea and dread as intense as the first time he was forced to eat human meat. The grotesque irony of presenting this dish, knowing what it contains, twists his stomach and makes his hands tremble ever so slightly.

They don't know. They have no idea that they're being served their own species. They don't know, and Danny is the one forced to make them eat their own kind.

The appetizer is a vegetable-based soup with barely any traces of meat, but the main dish features a full human fillet. The guilt and revulsion claw at his insides, nearly choking him. He has to at least stop them from eating that. He needs to get them out of here somehow. And maybe, just maybe, it’s time to try and put a stop to everything else. He can’t let this atrocity continue.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Tim didn't feel comfortable listening to Masters talk about how good the food would be, while Masters' heir served the appetizer with the fakest smile Tim had ever seen. The teen looked so clearly uncomfortable and scared around his guardian that it was hard to resist the urge to grab the boy and leave.

Masters had praised his godson’s cooking during the gala last week, all the while keeping a hand possessively on the teen’s shoulder. Tim didn't like how controlling it seemed, nor how the grip tightened when the teen mumbled quietly about his name being Danny. It was difficult to witness the entire interaction, especially as the teen appeared to fall into a state of complete dissociation afterward.

They were already planning to investigate Masters due to the suspicious nature of all his contracts, but after the gala, they had to shift their focus to helping the teen. They were fortunate that Masters had granted them easy access to his mansion with the invitation to try Danny's cooking.

They couldn't all go to Masters's and leave Gotham behind, so at the dinner, it was just Bruce, Cass, and Tim. Jason was also in the city because he refused to stay away from an obvious abuse case, but he wasn't allowed at the dinner. He would have attacked Masters just from seeing Danny’s uncomfortable stance under his hand during their greeting.

Masters had insisted that Danny serve the food since he had made it, and now Danny stood beside him, serving him the last plate of soup. Danny stumbled for a moment, and before Tim knew it, he was bathed in soup. Tim blinked, surprised at how the soup wasn’t as hot as he had expected, given the steam rising from the other plates.

"Daniel! What the hell are you doing!?"

Vlad exclaimed, standing up from his place, and the teen beside Tim paled.

“I—I am so sorry!” Danny apologized, using napkins to help clean off the soup, his hands slightly trembling. “Did you get burned?”

"No, no, don't worry about it. I'm okay."

"It isn't okay. Daniel, you ruined Mr. Drake's clothes!"

"Sorry... Let's- I think I have clothes that could fit you... So you could change?"

Oh, so that was why his soup wasn’t hot. Danny had poured it on him deliberately; he was trying to get him alone. Despite how scared Danny looked, it seems he still clung to the hope of escaping. Tim felt a surge of relief and determination. He was glad to see that Danny was looking for a way out, and this chance could be their opportunity to devise a plan.

"Thanks, I would appreciate that." he said as he stood from his sit. He saw how Masters was opening his mouth to say something, but Tim didn't want to risk loosing the opportunity. "Please, don't worry about it Mr. Masters, accidents happen, we'll be back in a moment."

Tim locked eyes with Bruce for just a second, a barely noticeable nod telling him Bruce trusted him to do this right. He then followed Danny through the mansion’s halls and up the stairs, noting that Danny’s bedroom was on the top floor. Danny kept his arms crossed, trying to make himself appear smaller.

"I'm really sorry Mr. Drake. I should have been more careful."

"It's okay really, and please, just call me Tim."

"Oh, um, thanks, but Vlad doesn't like nicknames... would- would it be okay to use Timothy instead?"

“… Yeah, sure.” It seemed Vlad controlled the way Danny was allowed to speak. “Would you mind if I call you Danny then?” Tim asked. He had been mentally referring to him as Danny since the gala and wanted to match that with his spoken words.

Danny shrank farther into himself, and Tim was about to retract his suggestion, but then a small smile appeared on Danny's face and he turned to look at Tim.

"Yeah, I would like that." Danny said in a hushed toned, and a hint of fears in his eyes. Like he was afraid to accept the suggestion.

Tim wondered if Masters had punished Danny for mumbling his preferred name at the gala. However, before he could dwell further on the types of punishments Masters might have used, Danny's eyes widened.

"Ancients, you even have soup on your hair-"

Despite Tim’s attempts to reassure him that everything was okay, Danny continued to apologize throughout the journey to his bedroom. Lamenting how foolish it had been to let the plate slip, and how he should have known better.

Danny’s constant self-reproach made Tim question whether he had misjudged the situation. Maybe it had been a genuine mistake. In theory, it wouldn't matter, because he got to talk alone with Danny either way, but he liked thinking that Danny was reaching out for their help.

Once in Danny's bedroom, Danny beelined to his closet to give Tim a change of clothes. Tim took the opportunity to look around. Danny's room was… impersonal. It was sophisticated and extravagant, like a room that would be featured in a magazine. Tim was sure Danny hadn't decided on the decor. He was surprised to see the bedroom had a large balcony connected to it. Maybe Masters trusted it was high enough for Danny not to attempt escaping through it?

"Would this outfit work for you?"

Danny was holding a suit similar to the one Masters had worn at a previous gala. Now that Tim paid attention to Danny's outfit, he noticed that Danny's clothes today were almost a smaller version of what Masters was wearing, with just enough differences to not be immediately recognized as the same. Thinking back to last weeks gala, their outfits were also similar. To what extent was Masters controlling Danny's life?

"Um... if you don't like it I can grab another one..."

Tim blinked, realizing he had just stared silently at Danny while he offered him the clothes.

"No, sorry, got lost in thoughts, I'm okay using those."

"Okay, I'm glad. Again, sorry for..." Danny motioned to Tims clothes "You can change in my bathroom over there." He pointed to a door beside the bed. "Maybe also take a shower?" Danny got a towel from his closet and offered it to Tim.

"Yeah a shower would be good." Tim said, taking clothes and the towel and entering the bathroom.

He'll talk with Danny once he was changed into clean clothes. If only to calm Danny's guilt about the incident.

Danny's bathroom was spacious, with a jacuzzi bathtub, a separate shower, and one of those popular bidet toilets. From an outside perspective it must look like Danny has anything he could want, but Tim knows better than anyone that money doesn't guaranty a good household. It's sad knowing that any CPS agent that did decide to look into this, would be easily push away by Masters money.

Once Tim had showered and changed clothes, he prepared to go back to the bedroom to talk to Danny, but before he did, a green glow from the corner of his eye caught his attention. Tim sucked a breath when he saw what it was. A syringe with traces of Lazarus waters and blood sat beside the sink.

"Timothy? Everything okay in there? Did the clothes don't fit?"

Tim took a photo of the syringe and sent it to the group chat with the caption, "We may have to add experimentation to Danny's abuse." After taking a sample, he decided to leave the syringe behind, considering the possibility that Masters might use the same syringe more than once and notice its disappearance. He really hoped to get Danny out of there that same day, but if they couldn't, he didn't want to make things more difficult for him.

"Everything is okay! I'll be out in a second."

Tim took one last look around while picking up his dirty clothes, just in case he found anything else. When he left the bathroom, Danny was waiting for him, shifting nervously from side to side. It was time to talk to him.

"Danny, look, I wanted to talk-"

"Ah, let me take your clothes! I'll make sure to clean them and get them back to you!" Danny interrupted him, grabbing his arm and shaking his head with a pleading look.

Tim looked incredulous at Danny for a second, before he realized what was happening and mouthed. "Your bedroom is bugged." He hadn't meant it as a question but Danny had nodded anyway. It was fucked up, Danny couldn't even talk confidently in his own bedroom?

"Right, thank you Danny. I would appreciate that. Perhaps we could take the opportunity to meet again in the future."

Danny gave him the look an adult might give a naive child when talking about an unreachable fantasy, and Tim couldn't help but frown at it. Did Danny believe that even seeing them again was too out of reach?

"That would be great, I'll talk with Vlad about the possibility."

Tim was going to say something else to try to reassure Danny that they would be able to meet, but Danny just handed him two pieces of paper. One was unfolded with text on it, and the other was folded into a small square, smaller than his pinky. He read the unfolded paper first.

- Don't eat anymore of the food. Pretend to have some sort of family emergency and leave, please. Read the other paper when you're far away. -

Tim looked at Danny with questioning wide eyes, but Danny just gave him another pleading look. Tim took a deep breath and took a photo to the paper and sent it to the group chat.

"Oh common, aren't you a little old to ask your guardian about every little meet up you have?" (Would you leave with us?)

Danny gives a nervous chuckle.

"Maybe, but after my family, Vlad tends to be really protective, you know?" He said while pointing to his bracelet.

Tim hadn't noticed how tick the bracelet was before. It was metallic, with a red liquid line in the middle.

"Shock bracelet?" He mouthed.

Danny nodded and then mouthed, "if I scape, it poisons me."

Tim pales a bit at that. They had underestimated how dangerous Masters was.

He motioned to his phone and took a photo of the bracelet after Danny nodded and sent to the group chat with the caption: "Shock bracelet with the capacity of poisoning Danny. We won't be able to get him out right now."

"We should probably go back with the others now."

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Group chat

Coffee is my life: *Photo of the syringe*

Coffee is my life: We may have to add experimentation to Danny's abuse.

Death boy walking: Fuck!

Death boy walking: @ Adoption addict, we have to get the kid out of there now!

Bones? What bones?: Bruce is entertaining Masters with Cass at the moment little wing.

Bones? What bones?: I doubt he'll read this.

The blood son: There's no way that buffoon has any relation with grandfather. He's company does not follow any of the leagues morals.

Light & shadow: Maybe he found another Lazarus pit?

Light & shadow: They're supposedly naturally formed right? It shouldn't be that crazy for someone out of the league to have one.

Computer genius: It might not even be Lazarus waters. The tone is slightly off.

The blood son: It is possible that it is a different variation of dionesium.

Death boy walking: Who cares? He's injecting the kid with that thing!

Not Bruces kid: Hate to say it but the zombie is right, we can find what exactly when Danny is safe.

Coffee is my life: *Photo of paper with text*

Light & shadow: ????

Light & shadow: Is the food poisoned!?

Computer genius: Already told them through comms to not eat anymore food.

Computer genius: If the food is poison it hasn't affected them yet.

Light & shadow: Do you guys have a way to deal with the poison there?

Bones? What bones?: Don't worry Bruce doesn't go anywhere without the poison antidote kit.

Death boy walking: Of course he doesn't. The paranoid bastard.

The blood son: It isn't paranoia if the danger is real Todd.

Computer genius: I'll call Bruce in 10 to pretend a family emergency.

Death boy walking: You are NOT going without Danny!

Bones? What bones?: Any possibility on taking Danny with you @ Coffee is my life?

Coffee is my life: *Photo of bracelet*

Coffee is my life: Shock bracelet with the capacity of poisoning Danny. We won't be able to get him out right now.

Not Bruces kid: WTFWTFWTFWTFWTFWTFWTF

Not Bruces kid: Wasn't this a low stakes rescue???

Not Bruces kid: Why is this man coming up with plans in the big villain category?

Light & shadow: I'm scared of whatever "the other paper" that Danny gave Tim says.

Light & shadow: Wouldn't be surprised if Masters was connected with a trafficking ring.

Bones? What bones?: @ Death boy walking?

Bones? What bones?: You're too silent...

Bones? What bones?: Remember you won't be able to barge in without putting Danny in danger.

Death boy walking: I ALREADY KNOW THAT DICKFACE.

The blood son: Tt, don't be so surprise by the warning Todd.

The blood son: Your past actions have prove it necessary.

Death boy walking: Shut the fuck up demon brat. You're not one to talk.

... The blood son is writing ...

Light & shadow: Everyone have had their outburst of bad decisions.

Light & shadow: Can we go back to Danny?

Light & shadow: How likely do you think it is that he's a meta?

Light & shadow: Because, I think it's pretty high.

Not Bruces kid: Did you see something strange in him on the gala?

Light & shadow: No, but the bracelet are pretty similar to the meta-suppressors collars I've seen in the past.

Computer genius: I'm calling Bruce right now.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

next part

[utterlyinevitable]

Picture the scene, its Ethan not Becca, who is caught up in the senator attack. What changes from canon? Does she tell him she loves him? How does he respond? Do they get together if he survives?

And if you are feeling generous Clare too 😘

Ohhhh dramatic! and yes, i’ve done both <3

Ethan Gets Caught in the Senator Attack (w/ Becca) 

All rational thought leaves Becca. She's not a doctor the second her eyes lock with Ethan's. Most definitely isn't thinking straight as he slams the door in her face to keep the toxin from reaching her. Her eyes start to well with tears as he talks her through the situation, giving her instructions of what to do in this situation. Unspoken between them is a command to remove her emotions and suppress them. Deep breaths in and an encouraging smile from Ethan, Becca heads off with a promise of "it'll be okay".

She follows his instructions and willingly lets June take point. At every opportunity Becca feels like she needs to cry in a closet. But she can't. If Ethan is keeping himself together with life on the line, she can too.

She's hesitant to get in the hazmat suit. And she doesn't the first two times the group goes in, opting for Baz, June and Naveen to take their roles. Her place is to not worry him, so she stays just a reach away. But Ethan looks so ill through the window. He's telling everyone to worry about Danny*. He keeps flickering to her beyond the glass and she can't meet his eyes. She's guilty and can feel his intense gaze every second she's standing in his view.

When Tobias and the MK crew come to help, Becca stays behind. She makes eyes and idle conversation with a very poorly looking Ethan through the glass. He turns the conversation onto her and only wants to know how she's doing with all this.

"I'll survive," she says morbidly.

Ethan raises an eyebrow and tries to muster a sardonic smile, but it's no time for any of their bullshit remarks.

They just look at one another and neither really wants to be the one to say it so... they don't. Neither one of them offers for her to stay. Not until Ethan starts to wobble and needs to sit down.

Becca pops on the suit and enters the room she is going to have nightmares of for months to come. They sit side by side at the end of his bed, talking, and she brushes his hair off his sweaty forehead the best she can. 

Ethan brings up regrets and quick analysis of the shortfalls of his life. He doesn’t mention love or the things he won’t be able to do in the future if he doesn’t survive this. Becca asks her most burning question all wrapped in a sad little statement: “I wish we didn’t waste so much time.” Then, “If none of this traumatic crap happened with this and Kyra, would we be dating?” 

He looks at her with exhausted, teary eyes. Doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t want to lie to her. His silence is telling. “I wish -”

“I know.”  

He settles back into his pillows and tugs her back with him. They wrap their arms around each other and let tears spill. 

His voice is raspy as he admits, “I adore you, Rebecca. Completely.” 

“I know.” She looks up at him and he places his hand on the helmet, thumb miming wiping her tears away. 

She wants to tell him she loves him. It’s not the time nor the place, and nothing but heartache could come of it. 

So she settles with, “When you get out of here we’re going on a date. Capice?” 

“I’ll be there.” 

“Good.” 

They nap all wrapped up together. Becca wakes up every 5 minutes to check he’s still breathing. 

Ethan wakes up to an empty room. 

June is the one to administer the dose with Becca standing close by. Ethan doesn’t take his eyes off Becca’s the entire time. 

She stays with him while they wait for it to take effect. Pretty much the whole time he tells her she needs to sleep, asks what she’s eaten lately and when. Basically goes all over-bearing mother on her to distract them both. 

A better distraction arrived. 

Alan stood out the window absolutely wrecked. The staff got him suited up and he joined the kids in the room. 

“Dad,” Ethan stood to embrace his father. “It will be fine. I have faith in the team.”

“Yes, they’re the best in the country,” Alan says smally, mimicking all the times Ethan said that about his colleagues. 

Silence passed and Becca looked between the men. “I should go.” 

“Please, Becca, stay.” says Alan with the saddest color she’s ever seen those same blue eyes. 

She smiles, “I’ll be back to take vitals in 30. Is there anything you’d like brought up?” 

Both men shake their heads, and settle into their seats. 

Alan stays a few more hours - until Ethan starts to doze off again. He and Becca grab a bite to eat close by before he heads to Ethan’s place to take care of Jenner. They speak truths and neither dwell on the horror that would be losing Ethan. 

Less than 12 hours later, Ethan is sitting in bed reading the old newspapers Becca managed to smuggle in, when his paramour kicks the door open and saunters in without a suit. 

He hops to his feet and has a firm admonishment on his tongue about her recklessness when she exclaims, “It worked!” 

In no time at all she’s squashed into his chest and his hands are at the sides of her head as he’s holding her in place and she’s clinging to him for dear life. Ethan kisses her with reckless abandon as their tears mingle. 

Then he kisses her again. 

And she kisses him again. 

And if any of the hospital staff noticed, no one begs to mention it. 

Becca stays in the bathroom while he showers, hands him clean clothes while he dresses, walks arm in arm with him to his new room (he refused to be wheeled), and stays with him until other visitors start piling in. 

When those that weren’t working the roughest 24hours of their life started checking in Becca decided to take her leave - to keep up the appearances that they are merely work friends. But Ethan wrapped his fingers around her wrist. They locked eyes. In her gaze she said she’d be back in a few. He could see she needed some breathing room. 

When she came back bearing the best meal the kitchen staff could muster up for him, set it on his table and folded herself into the bedside chair, Ethan spoke: 

“Where are we going?” 

“Hm?” 

A genuine boyish grin began to creep up his exhausted features, “What are you going to plan for our date?” 

“It’s a surprise,” she smiles back. 

“The least you could do is give me something to dream about when I’m cooped up here.” 

“Oh I could give you something to dream about...” she tugs at her oversized sweater to show some skin. 

“Christ, Rebecca. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” 

Her laughter rings like the sweetest spring chimes through the room, right before she leans over to kiss his cheek. 

Ethan Gets Caught in the Senator Attack (w/ Clare)

Clare is calm. Collected. Not acknowledging that the person caught up in this mess is a man she has feelings for. It’s a man, a patient, she must provide with competent and diligent care. She and June work in tandem to keep everything under control. 

When Clare is sitting with him that evening sharing stories and regrets, she brings up the elephant in their friendship. 

“I never regretted it, not for a second.” 

He looks at her with something unsure and much too wide eyed for it to be the illness taking over. 

“I’m sorry I made things awkward between us by telling you. It was never my intention to reveal that secret.” She looked at her gloved hands reverently, “Guess I was tipsy and lost in the memory.” 

Ethan watches her, not saying a thing. Thankful for the honesty, really. 

“I like you, Ethan.” The words were soft. A complete vulnerable contrast to the bold statement she uttered at Donahue’s not too long ago. Clare takes a deep breath and looks him right in his darkened gaze, “I have feelings for you. Real, actual feelings.” - another inhale, but this one accompanied by a sardonic snort - “It would really suck if this is how it ended,” she motioned around the quarantined chamber. 

Ethan couldn’t help but let out a breath of air he didn’t realize he was holding. The corners of his mouth ticked upwards. 

“No amount of apologies could ever make up for how I acted. It wasn’t right. I should have trusted you instead of...” 

“Freaking the fuck out?” 

“That,” he smiles as best he could. “I do regret how I handled the situation. It had everything to do with me and not you.” 

Her raised brows told him she knew that already. 

“The truth is I... I... Oh to hell with it! I care about you, Clare. And if I let myself accept my feelings for you back then it would have saved us some time. Given us time to... That is if you wanted it to?” 

“I have been waiting for you to ask me out for weeks.” 

“You could have asked me out, you know.”

“And risk you short circuiting again?” she laughs. 

They twine their hands together as best they can with the bulky hazmat suit in the way. There’s a promise in the squeeze of their hands. 

When Ethan survives this, Clare comes into the room to give him the all clear. They embrace and both let tears slip. 

“I’m so glad you’re ok.” she mutters into his chest. 

“Me too.” 

Clare visits him only slightly more than a normal person should visit their boss and friend in the hospital. 

Weeks pass, Ethan returns to work, and things start to go back to normal. Then, one morning, when it’s just Ethan and Clare sitting in the DT Suite, he speaks: 

“What are you doing for dinner?”    

___________________

a/n: i’m slowing getting back into the swing of things, hello! hope you’ve enjoyed this au xx

@openheartheadcanons 

> complete masterlist <

Perma:

@jerzwriter  @quixoticdreamer16  @terrm9 @crazy-loca-blog  @the-pale-goddess  @schnitzelbutterfingers  @gryffindordaughterofathena  @lucy-268  @reputaytion-xiii @peonierose  @withbeautyandrage @little-flowers-on-heaven @parisa-kh  @forallthatitsworth  @maurine07

All Ethan:

@queencarb  @lsvdw-blog  @mm2305  @senseofduties  @differenttyphoonwerewolf  @a-crepusculo @shreyasrivathsa  @headoverheelsforramsey  @blossomanarchy  @rosebudde @coffeeheartaddict2 @cryomyst @rookiemartin  @ohchoices  @takemyopenheart @uneravine

[jinmukangwrites]

@damianwayneweek Day 2 (6-14): Undercover | Sibling rivalry | Damian having a nice day

Warnings: Mentions of trafficking, threats, violence, attempted kidnapping, injuries, healthy doses of angst

Note: hahahahaha once again I'm begging you all to pretend I posted this when it's still the 14th somewhere in the world. Please enjoy.

---

Damian didn't mean to get caught. Honest. As annoying as it is, he understands that there are certain parts of their nightlife that have to be handled by an adult. Going undercover, for one, is usually something that's left to Grayson. It's easier for adults to blend into some things than it is for... well... Teenagers.

Children, as Grayson would say. Even though Damian is not a child.

Not that it matters, however. Grayson, for the past week, has been putting off their normal patrols to get insider information on a recent underground trafficking scheme. Grayson has been working hard to find the people responsible for this and get on the inside to find where the victims are being kept and Damian had respected that. He's kept to the sidelines and worked on other cases that don't require so much adult delicacy.

The only issue was that tonight he ended up getting bored. There wasn't anything for him to do, and that butler wasn't giving him any useful suggestions to fill his time. He wasn't allowed to patrol alone while Grayson was undercover, but escaping through his bedroom window in a dark hoodie was simple enough.

One thing leads to another. He ended up walking into an alleyway where a man was getting rather forceful with a drunk woman. Damian was jogging forward and calling him out on the disgusting behavior before he even realized he recognized the profile of the man.

Grayson turned from the woman with wide, horrified eyes, not moving a muscle even as the woman slipped from beside him and rushed back into the bar's side door.

"Shit," is all Grayson said before more people came out from the shadows, and Damian realizes he's just stumbled upon Grayson's undercover work.

Damian, for all of his training, has no idea what to do as he's suddenly grabbed by one of the newcomers. He's just witnessed Grayson in his undercover work... attempting to kidnap a woman... and he shouldn't be here.

"The fuck did this brat come from," the man grabbing Damian sneers.

Damian reacts instinctively now, slamming his elbow back into their gut. The man wheezes and weakens his hold. Damian then ducks under a new pair of arms making a mad grab for him and is sure to trip them over onto the cement ground as they stumble past.

A beefier man charges at Damian like a bull, and he prepares to retaliate... only for Grayson to grab him by his arm and shove Damian behind his back.

"Wait," Grayson gasps, bringing his free hand up in front of him. The man stops in his tracks, as do all the others. "It's my... brother."

"Your brother?" A woman scoffs, and Grayson gives her a hard look.

A mean looking man steps forward, glaring daggers at Grayson. "What's he doin' here Malone? Thought'chu said you weren't followed."

"I'm sorry," Grayson says, sounding panicked. Damian wants to jump out from behind Grayson and give these kidnappers a piece of his mind. There can't be more than seven of them. Damian can take them with his hands tied behind his back. Grayson must sense this, because he tightens his hold on his arm. "I thought he was at home."

"Well, he wasn't," the man snarls. "And now that bitch is probably in there telling the barkeep some guy got handsy with her."

Grayson shakes his head. "She isn't. I paid off the barkeep. If we calm down, I can go back in there and finish the job. Danny here won't say anything, he knows what we have to do to survive these streets. Right, Danny?"

Damian's lips thin, but he nods. Damian doesn't know why Richard is acting all frightful right now. Has he forgotten the legacy of Damian's father that he holds? He carries the name of Batman, yet here he is looking like a frightened animal in front of these low-lives. He wants to argue and take down these imbeciles... but if there's one thing he's learned while in his ever lengthening stay in Gotham, Grayson usually has a reason for everything he does. If he thinks they need to act like they're frightened, then Damian will humor him. For now.

The man looks down from Grayson and gives Damian a narrowed look. It lasts only a moment before he looks at the bar side-door and... smirks?

He looks back at Grayson, keeping that smirk. "Alright, Malone. I'll take you up on that offer. You get the bitch, and we'll take care of Danny."

A bad feeling settles in Damian's gut. The hand on his arm tightens even more, proof that Grayson has the same bad feeling. They don't have a chance to say anything about it, however, before the man strides forward and grabs Damian by his other arm; yanking him away from Grayson and towards the big man.

Grayson shoots them a murderous glare, but doesn't come to Damian's aid as the big man tightens both of his hands on Damian's biceps. His pointer fingers press just under his shoulders, and he swears his pinkies wrap close to Damian's elbows.

"Go on," the talkative man says, jerking his head to the door, showing his rotting teeth in a grin. "Get the bitch."

Grayson shoots a look Damian's way, then nods. "Okay," he says placidly. "Okay." He turns his back and starts towards the door.

Then, the man looks at another in their group and nods his head. The man's cheeks rise like a Cheshire cat before he starts towards Grayson, raising a fist.

"Grayson! Look out!" Damian shouts. Grayson, for his part, reacts immediately. He ducks under the blow and side steps his attacker.

However, that's all Damian sees before the man that has him in his grasp changes position quite suddenly so that Damian is practically hanging in his grasp—an arm the size of a log wrapped around his neck. Damian's hands fly to the arm and he attempts to kick his feet for purchase. His air is already cut off, and he curses himself for getting in a situation like this.

He stills, however, when something cold and metal is pressed against his head by the man's free hand. Through blurry eyes and choking gasps, he notices Grayson has gone still too.

"I knew you were fishy," the man from before cackled. "Grayson? That your real name?"

Grayson glares, but doesn't move.

"Here's what's gonna happen, you're gon let us do whatever we want wit'cha, and maybe we'll let the kid live after."

And just like that, Grayson is at the receiving end of a savage blow to his jaw from another member of the group. Grayson stumbles and clutches his jaw, but he doesn't fight back even as another jumps in and throws their own punch. Damian can already see blood dripping down his cheek from a cut in the skin.

He's hit again, and he continues to not fight back. Damian knows he'll take the beating, even though he can easily take them down. He won't risk the gun pressed against Damian's head. He won't risk the arm wrapped so right around Damian's neck it feels like he's breathing through a coffee straw.

A particularly savage punch has Grayson falling to the floor, scraping his hands, elbows, and knees on the rough and suspiciously wet asphalt. Damian growls and digs his nails into the arms of his captor, but they tighten the grip threateningly and his struggles are forced to come to a stop.

Pathetic. Idiotic. Childish. This is Damian's fault. Every blow that hits Grayson's body as punches are replaced by kicks might as well be dealt by Damian himself.

He argues with Grayson. Calls him out on not acting how his father would. He calls him incompetent, insignificant, idiotic... but some time these past few weeks the bite he means to carry with those words have turned fond.

He... He likes Grayson. He's the first person to show Damian unconditional kindness... other than his own mother. While being stuck here with him rather than his own father had, at first, been miserable and annoying... it's turned out to be... fun. For the first time in his life, he almost feels like a normal kid with Grayson here to lead him along the way.

Damian wonders at night if that's what his mother intended. Why she hasn't taken him back yet.

He doesn't mind it. He likes the time that he spends with Grayson now, even if he would never admit it. And here he is, helpless and unarmed as Grayson is being beaten to a bloody pulp all because Damian couldn't listen to instructions and snuck out when he shouldn't have.

For a moment, pure terror fills Damian's veins that he's most likely going to witness the death of Grayson tonight. If he tries to fight his captor, he'll get a bullet in his brain. If Grayson decides to fight back, then Damian would die anyways. Grayson wouldn't do that. He would rather die himself.

Another blow hits Grayson's body, and he lays on the ground and groans, unmoving for a worrying few seconds.

Then, the bar door slams open and the woman from before runs out with fire in her dark eyes. No one has a chance to do anything before she kicks the main guy in the jaw, sending him down to the floor with more force than any woman... or man... should have.

Damian doesn't question it. The rest of them are distracted by her sudden entrance, and Damian uses that to his advantage. He throws his hands up and grabs at his captor's distracted face and claws at his eyes. The man yowls and drops Damian, leaving Damian completely free to make his own attack. He easily disarms him and jumps onto his back, wrapping his own arms around the man's neck and squeezing as tightly as he can.

It's all over in a matter of seconds. The man falls unconscious in Damian's grasp, and the woman finishes taking out the others.

She was in on this whole thing too, Damian realizes as she rushes towards Grayson's still form and grabs his arm.

Grayson blinking slowly at her through already bruising eyes and whispering "Donna..." is all the proof Damian needs to confirm his suspicion.

"I got you, boy wonder," Donna says fondly. She helps him to his feet and wraps his arm firmly around her shoulders, helping him stand. She looks at Damian. "You got a way to get us out of here, squirt? The cops are gonna be on their way any minute."

"What-" Damian starts, then pauses. Shame fills his gut. "What about the mission?"

"It's fine," Grayson says with a pained strain in his voice. "They're low in the chain. Won't be missed in prison. Can't give much away. I'll-" he cuts off to gasp as Donna shifts her hold on him. "I'll just try again later."

Damian nods, but the guilt doesn't leave. He looks away from Grayson and Donna to pull out his phone and request Pennyworth send the Batmobile to their position.

The entire way back to the manor is filled with tense silence, broken only by Grayson's hissed curses and groans as Donna helps give immediate first aid to the worst of the bruises and cuts.

Damian... he messed up. He disobeyed Richard and ruined the mission. This woman, Donna, is a better companion to Grayson than Damian ever was. Or will be. They get along. She's kind. She was trusted enough by Grayson to bring her in on his solo mission, and she clearly trusted him enough to go along with it and let herself be captured.

Grayson will never trust him as much as her. He's... He's fucked it all up. He won't want Damian around anymore. He'll want to send him back to the League, and if his mother and grandfather don't take him then his suit and the name of Robin must surely now be forfeit.

Drake will take back the suit, and Damian will forever be left behind by the man he thought... He hoped...

Sitting by his bedside after assisting Pennyworth in dressing Grayson's wounds... he mulls these thoughts over in his head. Grayson is fast asleep, and Donna has retreated upstairs for a shower and dinner by Pennyworth's insistence.

Then, as he's considering leaving so he's not the first thing Grayson sees when he wakes up, a hand grabs hold onto his.

"Don't blame yourself," Grayson whispers, blinking through his puffed up and exhausted eyes. Damian wonders how long he's been sitting here with his thoughts and when Grayson started to awaken without him noticing. "You have the same look in your eyes... That B always did..."

Heat flairs behind Damian's eyelids. He bursts. "But this is my fault. If I hadn't gone out- if I had listened-"

Suddenly, his hand is jerked, and Damian is dragged onto the cot and into Grayson's arms. He attempts to fight the hold, but Grayson holds tight despite his injuries.

"Mistakes happen," Grayson says, "they always do. I will never give up on you, Dames. No matter how many you make. Trust me on that."

He sounds so very much in pain, but he's relentless in his hold. All Damian can do is stop his struggling and lay in Grayson's grasp. His brain studies the words said to him, and his heart wants to believe him. Guilt pools to his throat and he opens his mouth to let it out before he can stop himself.

"I'm sorry," he chokes. He doesn't know when he started to return the hold Grayson had him in. His hands are bunched in the material of Grayson's shirt.

Grayson shushes him. "It's okay," he says. "What's done is done, and we've learned. We're okay. I got you."

And perhaps it's the moment of weakness, but Damian can't help but believe him.

[momentofmemory]

Rating: T  Word Count: 1,111 Characters: Scott McCall & Danny Mahealani Relevant Tags: Canon-Typical Horror, Surprise Ending Author’s Note: Set post-canon, written for & inspired by @spikeface.

The Devil You (Didn’t) Know

Scott’s the only one in the clinic when the bell over the door rings.

It’s late—far later than the hours posted on the outside window would allow for—and Scott could’ve sworn he’d turned the closed sign around. But then, that’s rarely stopped a worried pet owner before.

He places the last few doses of insulin in the cabinet and raises his voice over the dogs in the backroom, who’ve suddenly decided to start howling. “Just a minute!”

“Take your time, man.”

Despite not having heard it in at least a couple years, Scott instantly recognizes the stranger’s voice. “Danny?” 

He passes through the doorway just in time to see his former classmate break into an ear-to-ear grin, which he finds himself instantly mirroring.

“In the flesh,” Danny says, rain water dripping from the black leather of his jacket.

He hasn’t seen Danny since the last day of junior year. Ethan told him they’d broken up, but hadn’t said much about why, and then Danny transferred out to Devenford over the summer without a glance back.

He looks… good.

Really good.

“Hey,” Scott says, a little dumbly. “You’re—hi?”

“I try not to be when I’m driving, no,” Danny says.

Scott snorts, and some of the tension breaks—on his part, anyway. Danny seems surprisingly laidback for someone coming to the vet on the far side of ten at night, but then, that level of deliberate disinterest tracks with old times, too.

“Right, sorry.” Scott clears his throat, nodding towards the crate in Danny’s hand. “I’m guessing this isn’t just a social visit?”

“Not just,” he says, smiling again. “Mind if I come back?”

“Um—”

The gate’s already open, as Deaton’s always careful to not close it when Scott’s left to lock up, and Danny glides through it before Scott can finish.

“—Sure?”

Danny walks past him to the examination room with a surprising level of confidence, considering Scott’s almost positive Danny’s never come in before.

It’s almost—

Scott shakes his head at the thought.

There’s nothing weird about a client wanting their pet looked at immediately, and it’s not like the clinic’s that hard to navigate.

Besides, it’s Danny.

“I should probably warn you,” Scott says, following Danny over to the table, “Dr. Deaton isn’t in right now, and I’ve still got seven years of schooling left. I may not be able to help.”

Danny just laughs. “I’ve no doubt you’ll be exactly what I need.”

Then he sets the carrier onto the table with a force that startles Scott.

“Meet Loki,” Danny says, swinging the door open and pulling out a small, all-black satin rabbit.

Loki barely twitches, eyes locked straight ahead.

“Hey, little guy,” Scott murmurs, carefully monitoring his own chemosignals to keep from spooking the creature further. He glances at Danny. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Something freaked him out on the drive here.” Danny’s hands massage the fur at the nape of Loki’s neck, though it doesn’t seem to help. “He got his front paw stuck in the sides of the cage and messed it up pretty bad.”

Scott frowns as Danny sets it on the table. The rabbit’s definitely scared, but both paws rest firmly against the metal, instead of raised like he’d have expected.

“Which paw did you say—”

Danny’s hands fall away from its fur and ice-sharp fear instantly explodes in the creature’s scent.

Scott sucks in a breath, gripping the table at the strength of it.

Danny’s eyes flick upwards. “Everything all right?”

He’s still smiling.

Scott doesn’t know how that’s possible. Not when the fear from a rabbit feels intense enough to trap his lungs in vise.

“Yeah,” he grinds out. He forces his fingers to uncurl from around the table’s edge. “Sorry, I don’t—it’s fine.”

“Well, gotta say you don’t look it—I thought I was the one that’s supposed to be freaking out right about now,” Danny jokes.

The best Scott can muster is a half-smile, because it’s not just fear he’s sensing.

It’s terror.

Surely this can’t just be about him?

“Don’t worry about it,” he finally says.”You said, um—something startled it?”

“Yeah, it was weird,” Danny says, casually moving out of the way as Scott starts Loki’s physical examination. “It’s like as soon as we passed into Beacon Hills, he just went insane.”

That didn’t bode well.

“You didn’t see anything… I don’t know. Weird?”

“It’s Beacon Hills. Something’s always weird.”

Scott grimaces at that.

The terror in the rabbit still hasn’t eased up, but Scott’s at least growing accustomed to it as he runs his fingers gently over the trembling animal. He frowns. He can’t seem to get any read on the animal except for the baseline emotion.

“I don’t know how you’ve managed it, honestly,” Danny continues. “Everything was so… intense when I left. All those people that got killed—I don’t know if they ever found out why.”

Scott doesn’t really want to talk about that. “Yeah, it—it was a lot.”

“Oh—oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“No, it’s fine. It—was a while ago.”

“Sure.”

Danny falls silent, which really just gives Scott more room to grow confused by the rabbit’s condition. His front right paw does feel like something might be broken—there’s a slight give—but Loki isn’t guarding it the way he’d expect.

Like there’s no pain at all.

“So what’s going on with you these days?” Danny says, interrupting his thoughts. “I guess you’re in school if you said something about a vet degree, but you dating anyone?”

“Um—I’m not sure that’s—”

“Oh, I bet you’re with that new girl you liked. What was her name… Yukimura?”

Scott flinches. “Yeah. Kira.”

Danny snaps his fingers. “That’s the one.”

More things he really, really doesn’t want to talk about. “She, uh. She actually had to go away. For a bit. She had—some health issues.”

He doesn’t know why he’s telling Danny this.

He doesn’t know why he gets a sudden wave of pleasure from Danny, either.

“That’s too bad,” Danny says. “You guys seemed to make a really good team.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. Just thinking about the past.”

The unease Scott’s tried to ignore rushes to the forefront, and he places his hand deep in the rabbit’s fur and pulls.

Not a single tendril comes out.

“I think Loki’s had enough of that.”

Scott’s eyes fly up just as Danny’s hand clamps down on his shoulder, twisting him with an unnatural strength until his back is shoved up against the table.

Pinning him there.

Danny’s other hand clasps around the side of Scott’s neck. “Me, on the other hand? I could never have enough.”

Scott chokes. “You.”

The nogitsune smiles.

[phantomphangphucker]

A King For Tonight’s Fentertainment - Chap. 1: In Pixie Dust We Do Not Trust

Summary:  Most kings homes are inside their kingdoms, but that is exactly where Danny doesn’t want his. But, as per usual, the GIW have to mess everything up

Danny groans as he looks out the Casper High classroom window, groaning again as he places his chin on his hand. Glaring out at the white jet in the sky, “now what are those GIW idiots flying around for?”. Danny squints at what appears to be sparkling blue powder coming out of, or off of?, the jet, “oh fuck, goddamnit”, groaning exaggeratedly and muttering under his breath, “why couldn’t it have just been Skulkie or Boxy instead?”, as he raises his hand.

“You can’t go to the bathroom, Mr. Fenton. But I’m sure you’ll leave anyway”.

Danny smirks as he stands but promptly has to grip the edge of the desk as the whole damn building shakes. Muttering, “oh great, it’s something fast-acting. Wonderful. Love it. Absolutely perfect. Couldn’t have asked for anything better. Fuck my very existence”. Meanwhile, the rest of the class erupts into screaming as the building continues to shake.

“Quiet down! Quiet down! A Cask Of Amontillado! Remain in your seats!”, Mr. Lancer points at Danny, “sit down! Standing is certainly less safe!”. While the rest of the class do indeed sit down on the floor, most hugging the walls, Danny’s too busy staring out the window as the sky slowly bleeds to a toxic glowing green. Groaning, “oh extra fuck me. Something tells me I’d rather snort Nasty sauce than deal with this. Goddamnit”.

While Danny’s off muttering to himself, Valerie slips and crashes into the classroom door, falling inside the classroom. Muttering to herself, “shit, there’s a teacher here. How the fuck am I supposed to-”. Mr. Lancer cuts off her mutterings, “Ms. Gray! Why aren’t you with your class!”. Valerie groans and reluctantly crawls into the classroom as Mr. Lancer aggressively motions for her to come in and sit down.

Danny can’t help but snicker at her misfortune, as he slides down the wall to sit down, muttering, “well at least both teenage superhero idiots are stuck by the suffering that is American Highschool”. Danny flops to lay down on the ground while most of his classmates' whimper. Deciding to lighten the mood, Danny chuckles, “I’m too old for this shit”.

Lester gapes at him, “you’re the same age as us? And do you just not care? We’re going to fucking die-”. Dash cuts him off, “oh like some wimpy wind is going to take me down!”.

Danny snickers, “naw, all you need is a shrink gun”.

“What was that Fentonio?”.

“A quip, witty banter, snide remark; you know, a joke”.

“Daniel, considering the situation we find ourselves in, I don’t think now’s the time to be baiting your peers!”.

Danny chuckles as the shaking stops partway through Mr. Lancer's words. Smirking from the floor, “I think the situation you’re complaining about isn’t a situation, in this situation”, pointing out the window, “but another situation has, clearly, been greenlit”.

Valerie glares at the ceiling, “Danny what the hell does that even me-”, cutting herself off as she looks where Danny’s pointing, “oh, oh fuck. Is that?”, looking down at Danny’s face, “that’s the Ghost Zone, isn’t it?”. Danny nods with a frown while Dash pipes up again, “wow Fentlowaskey, what did your screwed up parents screw up now?”. While Paulina’s crying about Phantom saving them, Danny rolls his eyes and sits up, “this daily dose of ghostly suffering is brought to you by the colour white”.

Mr. Lancer gets up, cracking his knees and back as he does, before helping students get up. Talking at Danny as he helps up Nathan, “and how would you know that, Mr. Fenton?”. Danny jabs his thumb at the window, “white jet spewing blue glitter, the STI of the craft world just assfucked us into the Ghost Zone”.

Dash whimpers and looks out the window, attempting to not appear as scared as he actually is, “b-but they could have just made the s-sky green right? We’re not, like, actually in the Ghost Zone?!”.

Danny frowns as he stands, batting away Mr. Lancers offered hand, “seems we are. But it’s not like this is the f-”. Dash cuts Danny off, crying out, “oh god we’re dead! I can’t be dead! I’m too awesome!”. Danny just stares at the freaking out jock for a second, while the rest of the class slowly starts to panic more.

Danny facepalms, not wanting everyone to utterly lose their shit any further, “Dash, you are not dead, we are not dead. We’ve been over this once before. In the Ghost Zone doesn’t equal dead. We’ve been here before, remember?”. Dash stops and lets his arms flop down to his sides, “oh...right”. This seems to settle down most of the other students, with a couple even starting to snicker at the jock.

Danny shuffles his feet, looking to find a way to get away, “soooo. I'mma just gonna go get my parents”. Valerie snaps her head towards him, “oh yeah! I, um, I’ll go with! Make sure Danny doesn’t get sidetracked or whatever”. Danny rolls his eyes but smirks, knowing full well what she’s doing, but he only gets two steps before Mr. Lancer grabs both him and Valerie. Mr. Lancer shakes his head at the two of them, “oh no, I’m certain the Fenton’s are well aware of Amity’s current predicament. So as is required in these situations, we will be staying together. As a class. And make our way into the parking lot”. The entirety of the class groans, but none louder than Danny; who full-on tilts his head back and sags his body, in an overacted show of annoyance and exasperation.

Mr. Lancer doesn’t let go of their wrists as he does a headcount, fully aware of the twos tendency to run off; even when doing so should be impossible, with Danny particularly.

Eventually, all of Casper High is gathered outside and most are gaping at the sky. Valerie glares daggers at it, blatantly annoyed. While Danny is relaxed and sitting on the grass, Mr. Lancer standing next to him. Danny chuckles at Valerie, “what? Trying to glare it to Death?”.

“It’s already dead, Danny. But if glaring would make it go away, I’d find a way to glare harder”.

“Now that I’d like to see. Not sure glaring harder is possible. But if you developed eye death rays then your glare would be literally deadly”, Danny just smirks as she glares at him before opening his mouth again, “anyway...standing around ain’t doing shit sooooo...”. Danny gets up and attempts to bolt off, promptly getting caught by Ms. Teslaff, “awwww, come on...”.

“Thank you Ms. Teslaff”, Mr. Lancer walks up and pretty well drags Danny back, “I’m pretty sure this one doesn’t know how to stay for more than twenty minutes”. Danny grumbles, “I’m not a dog”.

Dash sneers, “you’re about as well trained as one”.

“Dash...that, that doesn’t even make sense. Dogs are known for being well trained or trainable. No fucker’s training me to obey their shit”, Danny smirks at Dash, “but props for pretending to have enough brain cells to be witty. You still get an F though”.

“Fuck you Fentone”.

The relative peace and calm that Danny had effectively settled over everyone by being a cheeky little shit, gets disturbed by a crash and following explosion. Resulting in tons of screaming students and adults. Danny sighs, “oh for fucks sake”, before grumbling into his hand, “you’d think by now everyone would be used to explosions and shit. But no, they still lose their shit”. Danny then can’t help but bark out a laugh. As two lightly smoking GIW agents come running, from the direction of a billowing pillar of smoke. Danny stands up and smirks at the men, “what? Did you think damning our town to death wasn’t enough of a burn so you burned yourselves for good measure?”.

“We’ll have you know, that, we had found a way to rid this town of all its ecto-entities”, the wheezing agent glances around, “this, wasn’t supposed to happen though”.

Danny laughs, “wow, big surprise, real shocker, absolutely bewildering. Who would have thought the GIW would screw up with something ghostly?”.

Valerie mutters, “everyone”, before pointing at and snapping at the two agents, “why do you guys have to mess up every single thing you do? Like, look at this mess? What did you even hope to accomplish?”, shaking her head aggressively and attempting to stomp up to the men but getting stopped by Mr. Lancer. Valerie snaps at them again while trying to shake off Mr. Lancer, “what did you idiots even do? How the hell do you send an entire town into the freaking Ghost Zone?!?”.

Danny chuckles at Valerie, though frowns at the agents, “it has happened before though. So this isn’t exactly a first”. Valerie snaps her head around to him, “a ghost did that, that’s different. Ghosts fuck shit up by their very nature”. Danny rolls his eyes while the second agent responds, “we were attempting to rid this place of such nuisances, using ecto particle homing dust”. The first agent nods, “designed to send anything ecto back to the Ghost Zone”.

Danny groans before laughing at their sheer stupidity, “you mean to say, you used something that teleports anything ghostly into the Ghost Zone...on a town...that is...coated and bathed and infused and embedded, with ectoplasm”, laughing again, “of course the entire fucking place went to the dead side!”.

Both agents glare at him, before one speaks up, “you’re the Fenton boy, aren’t you?”, that agent shakes his head, “it only teleports things with sentient ectoplasm and things contaminated by latent ectoplasm. Not free-floating ectoplasm. General ecto-contaminated things and people shouldn’t have been affected!”.

Danny’s not sure if it would have been better if it only affected him, but this does make a ton more sense now. Seeing as Amity Park was a ghostly lair, his ghostly lair, and thus coated and filled with his latent ectoplasm. Raising an eyebrow and pointing at the men, “so ghosts, ghost items, and ghost lairs? Are you twats incapable of basic research? Maybe you should add some gray to your colour schemes, might encourage the development of some gray matter up in those bigoted heads of yours”.

“Of course that’s what it targets! That doesn’t explai-”. Danny cuts the agent off, “holy fuck, what rank are you two? I’d like to know just what level of stupid I’m dealing with here, that way I know how slowly I have to speak”.

“Daniel, that’s quite enough. While I’m aware your family, and thusly you, are highly ecto-knowledgeable; harassing government agents, who could help us, isn’t productive”, Mr. Lancer speaks while Danny rolls his eyes at him.

Both agents cross their arms, “agents L and G. We’re both beta class. Now if you have any information paramount to our situation, you’d be advised to give it to those of us who can make use of such knowledge”.

Danny sneers at them and gestures mockingly, “what? You? You couldn’t use the back half of a barn to herd braindead sheep, none the less actually fix this shit”, Danny waves off their glares, “but with that low rank that means that at least you’re not too stupid, and you’re young. So you couldn’t have been indoctrinated for too long. Anyway,”, Danny puts one hand on his hip and gestures to their surroundings and other people, “Amity Park, its buildings, its people, its pets, its damn air. All of it is coated and ecto-contaminated by latent ectoplasm and free-floating ectoplasm...This whole town is a ghostly lair, you dolts”.

Everyone gapes at Danny while Valerie whirls around and shouts incredulously, “WHAT!?!”. Mr. Lancer sputters, “are-are you quite certain about this Daniel?”. Danny nods while both agents shout, “that is hardly possible! Child! Ghosts can’t sustain themselves on earth! None the less establish an earth-based lair!”.

“You’re not wr-”, Danny gets cut off by a massive dragon ghost flat-out landing directly behind the two agents, causing both of them to jump into the air in shock. The ghost dragon lashes out its tail, batting both men into a wall. Danny groans, “great, idiots onto dragons. Lovely”.

While the ghost dragon breathes purple flames into the air at random Valerie jerks her head around, trying to figure out if anyone has any way to defend or fight; thoroughly annoyed when no one does and watching everyone fleeing or hiding all over the place. Well except some people who are frozen in place...and Danny, who’s just groaning loudly at the sky. Muttering to herself, “and like always I’m the only one close to capable”. Danny smirks, having easily heard her, “ouch, must you insult me so? I’ll have you know I am capable, of some things”.

After the ghost dragon slams down Its tail a little too close for comfort to the collection of humans, and starts slamming Its wings into buildings and the ground at random, the remaining humans begin to huddle together; with Mr. Lancer practically dragging Danny along. Valerie manages to tuck and roll out of the converging humans; while Danny goes wide-eyed, realising she intends to go full Red up in this shit. Blinking rapidly while multiple people gasp, as Valerie summons out her suit. She mutters all the while, “secrets aren't worth death”, smirking under her helmet, “besides, it’s not like I’ve got anything to be ashamed of”, before gliding off to battle the ghost dragon.

Danny mutters, “fucking props to you, you crazy huntress”, before glancing at the GIW men. Tickled pink that they’re unconscious, and pretty sure Red is equally as pleased by that.

Everyone else, meanwhile, freaks out.

“WHAT THE FUCK!”.

“VALERIE!”.

“MS. GRAY! Do you have any idea how dangerous what you’ve been doing is!”.

“HOLY SHIT! My classmates a freaking ghost hunter!”.

“That’s hot....”.

Danny can’t help but sputter and cough at that last one he hears, muttering to himself as he sits on the ground lazily, “I mean, the guy’s not wrong”, while Red’s blasting off ecto-shots, Danny taps on his chin, “probably says something about me that my attempted murder is an attractive quality in someone. There’s probably a kink for that or some shit”, chuckling, “I’ll have to ask Tuck about that, creepy womanising fucker always knows bout that shit”.

Danny can’t help the slight proud smile as Red captures the ghost dragon in her own thermos, before he looks out to the surrounding Ghost Zone. Grumbling, “this many humans, gonna attract more ghosties”. Danny groans before planting his hands into the grass, in between his crossed legs. As discretely as he can, Danny pushes and manipulates his latent ectoplasm in the environment and the Ghost Zone’s ectoplasm to slowly form a ghost shield around the town. The forming shield, unsurprisingly, doesn’t go unnoticed; promptly causing more freakouts.  

“OH GOD!”.

“WHAT THE FUCK!...AGAIN!”.

“Are we being attacked?!?!!”.

“GREAT GATSBY!”.

Red’s staring up and mutters, “that...that’s just a ghost shield...”, just as Maddie comes running over to the group. Mr. Lancer was about to be soothed by Vale-The Red Huntresses words, until he caught sight of Maddie’s deeply concerned face. Maddie shouts, “that’s not a hunter made shield! Don’t be fooled!”. Danny mutters at the ground and his hands, “well fuck, there goes one explanation”.

Maddie runs up to the principal, “is everyone here? Everyone safe? Danny?”. The principal looks around quickly before nodding, eliciting a relieved sigh from Maddie before she spins around to face the group, “alright everyone! Just stay together while us Fenton’s figure out who, or more likely what, is making the shield and why! You all just wait for your families!”.

While Danny grumbles about being offhandedly called a ‘what’. Dash sneers, “does that include every Fenton. Cause I certainly ain’t putting any faith in a wimp”. Danny would glare but he easily hears a few people mutter about how they’d take Danny over Jack any day. So it’s rather hard for Danny to actually be annoyed. Danny sneers right back, “the only one you put faith in, is yourself. And last I recall, you’ve been screaming like a little bitch”, Dash glares at him while Danny chuckles, “while I’m quite content. Not a worry to be found. Everything’s fucked, but that’s expected at this point. Everything’s always fucked”.

In truth Danny was fucking worried, his entire lair and all his humans were in the fucking Ghost Zone! And not intentionally. And punching the lights out of the ones responsible was both useless and pointless. Danny mutters, “seeing as their lights currently are ou- oh? Okay, never mind”, Danny groans and facepalms painfully hard as the two agents stagger upright.

Maddie points at them, having had her attention drawn to them because of their movement, “this is your doing, isn’t it?”. Danny stands up, unsure whether she’s talking about the shield or the fact that they’re in the Ghost Zone. But deciding that he’d rather have the attention off his shield, and the dumb fucks really were responsible for the Ghost Zone issue. Danny turns to her and speaks, “for the in Zone shit? Yup, we’ve already established that. Not particularly helpful info unless you’re just looking to mock them though”. Maddie nods curtly at Danny before turning to glare at the GIW men.

Danny’s chuckling at the glaring match until he spots Red, staring and gaping at him, out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head and raising an eyebrow, slightly concerned because fuck knows why she’s staring, “uh? What’s with the face? Did ya break a brain cell or have you realised I’m still a looker”. Dash snorts, “the only thing worth looking at you for, Fentit, is to better aim my fist at your face”. While Red sputters incoherently and waves her hands erratically at Danny.

Nearly everyone jumps as two ectopusses slam into the shield before flying off dazed. Red jerks and shakes her head, taking a step towards Danny; hardly believing what she’s seeing, “Danny you...you’re...this is”, glaring at him, “you’re doing this, it’s you. The shield, it’s you”.

Danny responds nervously, “uh, pretty sure I’m not a shield”, muttering to himself, “though I wind up being one too damn often”. A good portion of the group is shooting both of them worried and confused glances while Red shakes her head, “no. No, you’re making it. Made it? Whatever. What the fuck Danny?”.

Maddie finally pays attention to them now, “oh don’t be silly, humans can’t do that. Even one lone ghost couldn’t create a shield of this size”. Danny snorts but covers it up with a cough, since he knows she’s flat-out wrong. Pretty well all powerful ghosts could, it was just rather difficult and usually pointless. So why bother?

Red points at Danny and then taps on her helmet, a strange new visor visible, “I could, can, see it. The free-floating, er latent, ectoplasm. Around you. It’s wafting off you and swirling all around you, over you”, Red looks up at the shield while Danny twitches and mentally begs for her to shut up. Red continues speaking, still looking up, “it’s tied to and feeding into the shield. You’re doing it”. Red looks back at him, “and that’s not the onl-”.

Maddie cuts off Red as she speed walks cautiously towards Danny, who stands up quickly and holds his hands up in a surrendering motion, “sweetie? What does she mean? Surely you couldn’t be doing this?”, snapping her head around to Red, “let me see. The visor, let me see”. Red’s too stunned to refuse and slowly walks up, handing the extra attachment over to Maddie as she gapes at, the clearly awkward and uncomfortable, Danny.

[five-rivers]

I scribbled a little ficlet because your phight post was hilarious

Maddie dropped the piece of paper onto the workbench. Jack frowned at the distraction, turning away from his microscope and picking it up. “What is it?” he asked, smoothing out the buckled edge where it had been torn from a notebook. She stayed quiet as he read, clasping her hands to hide their trembling as her husband’s face bloomed in horrific realisation.

“It was in Danny’s sock drawer,” she said once he had had time to read it. Jack continued to stare at the paper, eyes moving up and down as though reading it several times. She waited until he finally looked up. “What do you think it means?”

Jack shifted on his stool, pushing it away from the bench. The legs screeched along the tiles, and he gingerly handed the paper back to her. The smile was gone from his eyes. “Mads-”

She clenched her fingers around the list, its crinkling oddly satisfying. “I know,” she snapped, the pity in his tone too much for her to keep listening to. “But why does he still need human things? Why can he even look human?”

Jack was sagging, shoulders low and hands loose and empty. It mirrored the hopelessness in his expression. “I don’t know,” he said, voice hollow, “but he’s a ghost.”

The words slammed into her, and Maddie felt herself begin to shake her head. “It doesn’t make sense,” she choked, a sob forcing its way through her lips. She clenched the paper tighter. “It’s impossible.”

Jack reached for her, and Maddie folded into him. “I’m a terrible mother!” she wailed, pressing her face into his chest while he stroked her hair.

Jack made small shushing noises, his arms safe and firm around her. He was shaking as well, sniffing as he tucked his chin over her head.

Neither of them spoke as their world rocked. Maddie felt like everything had been torn away from her, her only link to the truth clutched in her hand. She pulled away from Jack and wiped her nose on her sleeve, uncurling the paper and looking at it again. “He… He’s hidden stuff in the walls,” she said, the words thick and nasal. “Things that would be incriminating?”

Jack pulled an ectoblaster from its holster at his hip. His mouth was a grim slash, eyes darker than Maddie had ever seen them. “I’ll start in his room,” he said, brushing past her and heading towards the stairs.

“Mind the house support beams,” Maddie called after him, re-reading the list yet again with a frown. It was definitely her son’s handwriting, far sloppier than usual. The paper was smudged and words had been crossed out and re-written, and down near the bottom of the sheet there were the telltale signs of teardrops.

The house shook with the sound of an explosion, fine streams of dust trickling from seams in the ceiling. If they were wrong about all of this, Danny was going to be furious when he came home to find one of his bedroom walls in splinters.

Jack’s feet were heavy above her, and he strode down the lab’s stairs a moment later. In his hands were two things that sent panic shooting through her veins. She stuffed the paper into her pocket and took the items from him, trying not the overreact. She ran her fingers over an old cassette tape from when they had actually had a security system, before it had broken to the point of being irreparable. It had happened shortly after the portal started working, and they had always blamed invading ghosts.

The other item was a plain notebook, with a note scribbled on the front in black marker. The handwriting matched the list in her pocket – Diary. Don’t read!

She looked up at Jack. “This was it?”

He shook his head. The pain in his expression had dulled, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “There was a pile of blasters,” he said, “and some ectoplasm containers, along with a first aid kit and the broken Ghost Gabber.”

She hefted the tape in her hand, feeling the weight. It was as though everything rested on this one little thing. “Does the old VCR still work?”

Jack nodded. “I used it the other day to watch those old research tapes again,” he said, heading over so a small television in the corner of the lab.

Maddie followed him, passing the tape back and chewing on her lip as Jack slipped it into the empty slot.

It was time to find out what was really wrong with their son.

——

And then after they figure it out they decide that instead of confronting Danny about it they try to make true all of the things on the list that they can but pretend to remain clueless. They even put the list back in his sock drawer, fresh laundry carefully placed on top.

So finding the things in the wall? “Oh Danny, did you know that we caught a ghost hiding stuff inside the structure of our house? You’d better watch for that haha, you wouldn’t want them to put YOU there!”

Jack waits in the bathroom, deliberately standing in the empty shower with the curtain drawn closed when he knows that Phantom has just finished a fight. Soon enough Danny flies in and transforms, and Jack simply pushes back the curtain as his son jumps clear into the air for a moment in fright. “Hiya son, could you help me hunt these ectospiders? I saw some in here this morning.” Danny nopes out of there so fast…

They install security cameras EVERYWHERE and make sure Danny sees them doing it. He keeps sabotaging them. They keep fixing them. He doesn’t know how they haven’t seen him transform yet. (Hint: they have…)

They still haven’t figured out the ‘Technus’ thing, whatever that is, so Jack just named their new security cemeras The Fenton Technus System TM. Danny is super confused.

Maddie catches Phantom in a net at least once a week. She rigs them where she knows Danny will be, but is always SO clumsy that she 'accidentally’ lets him loose whenever she tries to move him to better containment. (Danny might just be starting to get suspicious)

Maddie photoshops pictures of Phantom doing normal things, like eating cereal or lying on their couch where Danny likes to rest. She says it’s to help them be more aware of the possibility of ghosts around them. Danny starts losing sleep because he can’t figure out what the hell is going on.

Jack finds Wes’ Fenton/Phantom conspiracy page and deliberately leaves it up on the family computer’s screen. Danny isn’t seen for almost three days after that. For some reason, Phantom suddenly becomes very camera-shy.

The ghost list in Danny’s diary mentioned that Cujo was a ghost dog, so the Fentons decide to adopt a shelter puppy (for ghost hunting purposes, of course). Maddie names it Cujo, a wicked glint in her eye as Danny’s face goes so pale that she thinks he might faint.

They can’t do much about the Guys in White, and they really don’t want to risk anything terrible happening to their son (whose 'ghost’ is seeming more and more skittish and less and less threatening every day), so Maddie and Jack dress up in white suits one day and talk at the dinner table about how they’re hopefully going to be joining the greatest ghost hunting organisation ever! (Danny has no clue that they’re talking about his team)

One morning, when Danny doesn’t look as exhausted as he usually does, Maddie tells him that she saw Phantom walk through their front door and up the stairs the previous evening. She apparently didn’t have a gun with her, and she’d been so shocked that by the time she reacted, the ghost was already gone. (Danny remembers how quiet she was when he got home the night before. He swallows his spoon as the realisation hits him. He has no idea that it didn’t actually happen.)

The next one is a bit more difficult, but Maddie and Jack doggedly follow Phantom every night for a week while he patrols the town. One night he literally turns back into their son in front of them, but they were standing off to the side, so when they blow it off like nothing happened he just assumed that they didn’t see him.

Jack calls Vlad one day, wailing about why he didn’t TELL him?!?! (He’s talking about Vlad not joining them for Christmas. Danny thinks it’s something else entirely.)

Every time Danny gets the hiccups, Jack presses a button that sets off the house’s ghost alarms. When Danny looks away at the commotion he uses a new little spray gun to blast a bit of dry ice over the surface of whatever Danny had been facing, covering it in a thin layer of frost. The wild terror in Danny’s eyes is almost funny, but Maddie thinks that maybe they’ve taken this whole joke a bit too far.

Jack keeps saying that all ghosts are edible and that Maddie should grind them up and use them to make fudge because of ectoplasm’s viscosity. She pretends to actually try it. Cue Danny trying to save them from what he perceives as sheer stupidity. (He steals the entire platter of fudge when Jack tries to have a slice and yells at his parents for almost giving themselves a lethal dose of ectoplasm poisoning. Later that night Phantom is seen sitting on top of the Ops Center eating the fudge, and looking very confused when it’s obviously not glowing in the middle.)

They say that they’ve made a helmet that can read ghosts’ thoughts. Jack jams a normal motorcycle helmet from the shed onto Danny’s head before the poor guy can escape, and asks with a frown why Danny is thinking about Phantom.

It’s been a month, and Danny’s starting to show cracks. It wasn’t what they’d intended to happen, but he’s visibly stressed all the time and jumps at every noise. They decide it’s finally enough, so one day when he gets home from school, they pretend he’s invisible for ten minutes. Jack almost blows it by acting like he can’t hear his son either, but Maddie has a fake panic episode and clutches her 'invisible’ son close to her with big 'sobs’ until Jack can stop quietly laughing into his gloves. It’s sort of like a prank video that Danny had once showed them, but he really begins to freak out, and Maddie finally can’t stop herself from laughing. Danny’s so confused and stressed, and his eyes and freckles have started to glow really brightly with emotion, and it’s that strangeness of glowing freckles that finally tips everything over the edge. They tell him between bursts of laughter what’s been going on for the past month, and Danny isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry as everything finally makes sense.

@lexiepiper Thank you for writing this!  It made me laugh, too.  I’m blogging this because I think that everyone and the ghosts that don’t live in their houses should be able to see it too.

[anthropwashere]

we are all walking each other home

AO3 || FFN

(This is the silliest thing I’ve ever written. I don’t need to tag this body horror or gore or nothin’. I used the humor genre on FFN! Hope you guys like a good dose of the kids just goofin’ through another Fenton tech fiasco. Fic title comes from Mother Mother's "Family," because these kids are so good and I love them to bits.)

=

Tucker’s only on question three of his algebra homework and already wants to go back to grinding out a few more levels on Doomed in lieu of finishing when his phone goes off. The 8-bit Ghostbusters theme means it’s Danny, which hopefully means a fun—albeit potentially life-threatening—distraction. He’ll take what he can get.

He tosses his pencil down, flippin his phone open with a flourish. “Tucker Foley speaking. If it’s the Box Ghost again I want a divorce. Also, all my DVDs you keep hoarding. It’s been like three months since you borrowed—”

“ICAN’TCHANGEBACK!”

He blinks, takes a second to mentally untangle the panicked syllables—garbled even more so by the ear-prickling fuzz that means Danny’s in ghost mode. “Uh. Have you tried thinking happy thoughts?”

“TUCKER!”

“Okay, okay. Loop me in, ecto one. What happened, where are you, do I need to come charging in to rescue you triumphantly at the last second, et cetera.”

A painful crackle of static makes him pull the phone away from his ear. Sounded like Danny breathed an exasperated and loud sigh into the speaker. Rude much? “No, I don’t need RESCUING. I’m home, alone. Jazz and my parents are at that conference-luncheon thing for gifted academics or whatever—“

“Which you’re still not jealous about.”

“—shut up, bigger problems—“

Tucker rolls his eyes, leaning back in his computer chair. “Uh-huh.”

“ANYWAY. I promised my dad I’d clean the lab but I kinda spaced out, so I went ghost to speed things up but I accidentally knocked some stuff off the junk table and when I picked it all up one of their gizmos shocked me and now I can’t change back and they’re gonna be home any minute now and I don’t know what to do—“

“Whoa, stop, slow down. It’s cool.”

“It’s REALLY not.”

“Sure it is. Text Jazz, tell her there’s a ghost emergency at the house, make sure she stalls your folks any way she can. I’ll be over ASAP to look at whatever you zapped yourself with, see if I can’t find the undo button you’re too spazzed to notice. You call Sam yet?”

“No. Her mom dragged her to that thing at the country club today, remember?”

Oh, right. She’s probably dying for any excuse to get out of small talk hell, but this doesn’t sound like something that warrants busting out Plan E. “Alright, just you and me then. See you in fifteen. Don’t just float there and panic ‘til I get there, dude. Finish cleaning the lab or something.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“You’re not, like, blistering or turning weird colors and not telling me, right?”

“What? No. I’m just stuck. It feels kinda weird when I try and change back, but that’s it.”

“Okay, just checking.” He hums. “Sounds like some kind of anti-Specter Deflector.”

“Sure felt like it. It looks like a friggin’ Bop-It though.”

Tucker snorts as he slams his algebra textbook shut, getting to his feet. “Your parents are gonna get so sued when their ghost hunting tech goes mainstream.”

“You mean my dad is. He does most of the original designs. My mom’s just the one who makes ‘em work.”

“Like I said, so sued.”

“If I touch this and a recording of your dad goes off ordering me to ‘flick it,’ I will die and I will haunt you.”

Danny, hovering the usual two-and-some-unnecessary-feet off the ground, rolls his eyes. “Gross. It’s not gonna say anything. At least, it didn’t when I touched it.”

“Maybe you didn’t flick it right.”

“Gross. I’m pretty sure the original Bop It didn’t have a ‘flick it’ option anyway.”

Tucker picks the wandlike device up, careful of the frayed wires dangling out of its spherical hilt. It’s done up in the usual slick neon green and polished chrome of Fenton tech, surprisingly free of any Jack Fenton-themed stickers. Mrs. F has definitely had her hands on this, which means it’s at least halfway functional.

Color scheme aside, it really does look like a friggin’ Bop It. Hasbro will have words with the family Fenton if whatever-this-is ever goes out with the rest of the gear they pass around Amity Park like slightly corrosive candy. He turns it over, watching it catch the lurid light of the open Ghost Portal. “What’s this bit s’posed to be then?”

“Uh. ‘Pull it,’ I think.”

Tucker snorts. “Oh, because that’s so much better. You try either to set it off?”

Danny loops a little closer, fluid and boneless in the movement even though he keeps his legs as-is. He always reminds Tucker of betta fish when he’s ghost mode, for some reason. Must be the aura; it makes  him blurry no matter how you look at him. “No, like I said, I bumped the table and a bunch of stuff fell off. All I did was pick it up.”

“You touch the wires?”

“I dunno, maybe? It shocked me as soon as I touched it.”

“Hmm.” And that’s the trouble with Fenton tech; it’s all brand new. They’re building better mouse traps for mice that can walk through walls, disappear, and fly. Danny’s parents have to get crazy with their designs. “Any idea what it’s supposed to do?”

“No. I only pay attention when they give their inventions names.”

“So what you’re saying is you’re useless.”

Danny throws his hands up irritably. “I’m the one who’s stuck here.”

“Yeah, yeah. What’s the word from Jazz?”

“She convinced my parents to pick up dinner, so that’s bought some time.” He fidgets, nervous. It always makes Tucker’s eyes feel funny when Danny does that in his periphery. “The Specter Deflector lasts twelve hours.”

“We don’t know if this’ll last as long. Even if it does, you’ll still be good before school tomorrow.”

That mollifies him a little, at least enough to stop with the honest-to-god hand wringing for a minute. “Y’think so?”

He shrugs. Sure, he thinks so. He also thinks it could be a half dozen other things, none half so reassuring. “I could try zapping you again, see if it undoes whatever’s keeping you from changing back?”

Danny winces. “Pass.”

Figured not. He gives the device a few cautious pokes and twists to see if he can make it do anything. He gets some humming, a flush of neon green light down the circuitry patterned across it, a few painful sparks off the wires. Danny skirts back nervously when it does that. It must’ve really hurt when it zapped him, because when he’s ghost mode he can shrug off a frankly scary amount of damage no problem. He looks okay, at least. Tucker did a lot of reading up on electrical shock after the accident—not like much of it’d be applicable to a half-ghost, probably, but he can’t help but sympathize a little when Danny shies away from anything that might shock him.

After a couple minutes he gives up. If it’s supposed to do anything specific he can’t get the thing to do it. Maybe zapping Danny used up too much juice? “Jazz can ask what this one does for you without looking suspicious, yeah?”

“Are you kidding? They love it when we ask questions.” Danny drops to the ground with a sigh; as usual, it looks like gravity’s reluctant to notice him. His hair floats a little, his limbs lag like he’s underwater. Betta fish, man. “Guess I don’t have any choice but to hope they tell her something good, huh?”

Tucker flashes him a grin, tossing the Fenton Bop-It back on the junk table. “That, and help me with the algebra homework?”

They retreat up to Danny’s room, but no algebra textbooks are cracked open. They just end up talking, half semi-serious conversation about patrol schedules and what-if scenarios, half gushing over the upcoming terrible Sci-Fi channel marathon this weekend, and the next thing they know the front door bangs open. Mr. F’s voice booms out Danny’s name. Danny goes deer-in-the-headlights stiff floating half a foot above his bed. Tucker grabs him by the ankle and swings him toward the wall, hissing, “Hide!”

Danny blinks owlishly. “Uh. Right!” He phases through a NASA poster and Tucker hears the bathroom door shut just a few seconds before footsteps come pounding up the stairs. Jazz bursts into the bedroom breathlessly, eyes falling on Tucker. He points at the wall and she nods, relieved.

“Come on,” she says. “I figured you were going to spend the night. There’s enough takeout for you too.”

“Cool, thanks.”

It’s about fifteen minutes of the usual awkward pantomime. Oh, Danny’s taking a shower because he got splashed with a little ectoplasm cleaning up the basement, nothing serious, ha ha ha! I’d be happy to take a plate up to him since we’ve got a lot of homework still, but oh, could you come downstairs with me real quick, Jazz? Danny wanted me to grab a folder and I just don’t like poking around down there by myself, you know? Thanks again, Mister and Missus F! You’re the best!

Down the basement stairs he slumps, exhausted. He hates lying. He hates how good he’s getting at it more.

Jazz shoots him a worried glance, all raised eyebrows and puckered mouth. He starts talking before she can pull that teen psychiatrist schtick on him. “We couldn’t figure out what the thing that zapped him is or how to undo what it did. I think it’s just low on power, but I dunno if it’s even got an ‘undo’ button yet.”

She winces. “Junk table?”

“Yup.”

“Oh, great. Just show me which one it was and I’ll see what I can get out of our parents.”

He shows her the Fenton Bop-It, tells her what he’d tried and what Danny did to get stuck, then grabs an empty manilla folder out of a filing cabinet for appearance’s sake and runs back upstairs. It’s a juggling act of weighed-down dinner plates and Coke cans to get back up to Danny’s room, but he manages.

“I come bearing sweet and sour chicken,” he says, kicking at Danny’s door. It creaks open a second later, a suffuse white glow spilling out into the unlit hall. He siddles in, kicks the door shut behind him, and has to lean up against it when Danny’s suddenly about two inches from his face.

“Well?”

“Personal bubble, dude. Take your plate before I drop it. And relax, alright? They just got home. Jazz hasn’t even had a chance to ask about it yet.”

Danny huffs but floats back a little, pulling his Coke and plate out of Tucker’s hands. “Thanks.”

“Uh-huh.” Tucker takes Danny’s desk, leaving Danny to float on over to the trunk at the foot of his bed. It takes a little doing, but Tucker gets him to eat. Of course, some of Danny’s reluctance is because he’s ghost mode; something about it makes everything taste funny, apparently. “Like Pop Rocks,” he’d said once, when Sam had tried to get him to explain what he meant. All snap and crackle no matter what he tried eating or drinking, with practically no actual taste to go with it. Shame, because the Fentons had gone to the really good Chinese place on Singer Street.

They stack their empty plates and finally knuckle down to do homework. Knowing Mr. F, it’s going to take an hour-long lecture before Jazz has any luck finding out something useful about the Bop-It. Danny gripes about trying to write with gloves on a few times ‘til Tucker sighs and points out the obvious thing to do, which is to take them off.

“Oh,” Danny says, sheepish.

Bless him, but NASA’s gonna have their work cut out if they actually decide to take his half-ghost butt.

It’s after six by the time Jazz finally staggers back upstairs, looking a little wall-eyed but otherwise not so bad off after a Jack Fenton Lecture. She shuts the door and sags against it, shooting Danny an apologetic look. “Well it’s not bad news,” she starts.

“Oh, that’s comforting,” Danny says.

“They’re working on a way to stall ghost powers out permanently—“

“How is that not bad news?!”

“Because that thing is just a prototype! They haven’t had any success yet on the little ghosts they’ve tested it on.”

Danny drops his notebook and pencil to float to his feet, gesturing sharply at himself. “Well it seemed to work pretty good on me!”

“I know!” Jazz winces, lowering her voice. “I know. Are any of your other powers affected?”

“Um. I don’t think so?”

“Ghost basics seem fine,” Tucker notes, pointing at him with his pencil. “Flying, intangibility, and invisibility are all the little ghosts are good for anyway.”

“Huh.” Danny flickers out of sight, reappears looking thoughtfully at his bare hands. “Yeah, that’s all fine.”

Jazz manages to look relieved and smug at the same time. Tucker would never say it aloud on pain of death, but it makes her look just like Mrs. F. “That’s what I thought. They’ve only tested it on little guys, nothing strong enough to take on a humanoid form like Spectra or Technus. Those ghosts, well, they don’t change like you, obviously, but they have changed how they look, right?”

“Right,” Danny says uncertainly.

“So maybe that’s as far as Mom and Dad have gotten with this thing and they just haven’t realized it because they haven’t tested it on a strong enough ghost.”

Seems like a sound enough leap in logic to Tucker. “Did they mention a theoretical timer on this power short, or is Danny gonna have to have a very belated parent-ghost son talk on the wrong end of an ectogun?”

Danny shoots him a dirty look. What? It’s a fair question.

“Theoretically? Twenty-four hours. In practice? And on something bigger than a cat?” She shrugs. “No idea.”

Danny groans. “How is that not bad news?”

“They’re positive any power short wouldn’t be permanent?” Jazz offers with a weak smile. “Plus I got Dad excited to work on it some more, and I suggested it might be a good idea to include a reverse switch. Y’know, as a precaution?”

“Well, okay, that’ll be good if they ever zap me with it in the future, but that doesn’t exactly help me now.”

“Sounds to me like you’re gonna come down with a twenty-four hour flu,” Tucker says.

“No way,” Danny and Jazz say at the same time.

“Our parents are total spazzes about getting sick,” Jazz adds. “They’d be all over him.”

“Yeah, that, and I’ve got a makeup history test I can’t miss,” Danny says. “This is the last chance Mr. Caulfield will give me to make it up.”

“You can’t go to school like this,” Tucker says, half-laughing.

“I have to. I’m this close to failing the class and it’s almost the end of the semester.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were struggling so much in history?” Jazz asks, reaching up to rest a hand on his elbow. He fidgets up out of her reach.

“I told you about English,” he mutters, not looking at her. He drags bare fingers through his hair—it flows rather than falls back into his glowing eyes. “I have to go to school. We’ve gotta find a way to fix this.”

Sam texts them both about an hour after that, all caps locked grievance about silver spoons and sleazy old men gloating over the size of their yachts. Normally it’d be funny, but the three of them have been brainstorming and all they’ve come up with is a whole lot of nothin’. Their biggest hope—well, not Danny’s, but options the kid does not have—had been the Specter Deflector. It had shocked Danny as good as ever, but left him just as ghostly as before. Didn’t even short out any powers, far as Danny’s tested. Weird.

Danny scowls at his phone, tapping out a reply. It pops up on Tucker’s phone a moment later. Got zapped by another invention. Come over if you can get away

Tucker adds, for clarification, He’s not hurt and it’s nothing crazy. School’s gonna be a problem tho

Sam texts back that she’ll be over as quick as she can and leaves it at that. Jazz leans back on her hands on Danny’s bed, watching him circle the ceiling.

“Homework,” she reminds him.

“Bigger problems,” he grumbles.

“Putting off homework all semester messed your grades up enough that you can’t take a dive on one test.”

His eyes flash, two neon green flares that sting to look at head-on. “Fighting ghosts all semester messed my grades up enough that I can’t take a dive on one test.”

They’ve been coming back to this in-between trying to figure out if any other Fenton gadgets might help. Goody-good straight-A Jazz and troubled teen might-actually-fail-to-graduate-at-this-rate Danny both have excellent points. Ghosts take priority, definitely, yeah, they all agree on that. But Danny’s a slacker too, happy for any excuse to procrastinate. Still, Jazz is kind of choosing a bad time to rub that in his face.

Tucker is staying firmly out of it. He likes his eardrums intact, thanks very much. He lets them bicker, thinking. If they can’t fix this in time for school tomorrow and it doesn’t wear off in time either, option C is… what? Somehow smuggle a ghost kid into a high school that sees ghost attacks on the regular and hope nobody notices?

Pfft. If Danny had the same tricky shapeshifter powers as Spectra, maybe. Even if he did, it sounds like the Fenton Bop It would’ve probably shorted it out anyway. They’d have to bury him in like three hoodies and an aviator hat—ha, and a big pair of aviators to match—

“And what are you laughing at?”

He half-heartedly hides his grin behind one hand as they both glare daggers at him. “Nothin’. Just, pictured trying to sneak you into school in a terrible disguise.”

Danny scoffs, but Jazz’s frown turns downright considering. She hums, tapping her chin. “You know, that might be your best option.”

“What? Jazz.” He drops down to land beside her, gesturing at himself with a wide sweep of both arms. “This isn’t exactly subtle. Putting on normal clothes isn’t gonna get me far, and how exactly would you explain Phantom trying to steal my place at school for a day?”

“Ghosts do all kinds of strange things to alleviate boredom when they’re on this side of the Portal. It’s not like anyone knows much about them, right?” She grins. Tucker would definitely never tell her, but it makes her look just like Mr. F. It’s uncanny. “Besides, if you do get caught, you could just fake-scare the class, vanish for however long it might take to fix this mess, and then pretend Phantom kidnapped you or something.”

“No way! I’m not setting myself up as a villain! People finally stopped screaming more when I show up to fight the ghost of the week—“

“Day,” Tucker corrects.

“—whatever!” He folds his arms over his chest. He still looks weird without the gloves on; it makes it easier to tell there’s a green undertone to his skin when there’s more of it to see.

“You might not get found out,” Jazz points out. “If we’re smart about it, you probably won’t.”

“Probably,” Danny parrots. “Real comforting.”

“I don’t see you coming up with anything better, dude,” Tucker says.

“Not you too. Come on, I’m glowing.”

“You can barely tell under fluorescent lights.”

“My hair—“

“Nothing a beanie-hoodie combo couldn’t hide.”

“My eyes—“

He sticks up a pair of finger guns and winks. “Sunglasses.”

“We aren’t allowed to wear sunglasses in class,” Danny reminds him through gritted teeth.

“Optometrist,” Jazz pipes up. “Do you have anything important first period?”

Danny shrugs, wary. Tucker doesn’t blame him. Jazz and her Ghost Getter ideas tend to backfire on him nine times out of ten. “I don’t think so?”

“Well, skip first period and show up late to second wearing sunglasses. When anybody asks you to take them off just say you got your eyes dilated and your optometrist told you to keep your eyes covered the rest of the day.”

“That’d work,” Tucker says. “You ever get your eyes dilated? It sucks. Totally believable to wear sunglasses instead of those dumb roll-up things.”

“I really don’t think—” Danny starts, but Jazz cuts him off with a flap of her hands as she crosses the room to stand right up in his personal bubble. He tries to lean away but she leans right along with him, grabbing his chin between finger and thumb. “Augh, Jazz! What—”

“The biggest problem is going to be your skin, I think,” she says. “You’re just too green like this.”

He swats her hand away. “You can thank all the ectoplasm in me for that. This plan sucks. It won’t work, not in a million years.”

“Well not with that attitude,” Jazz replies, cheerfully undeterred. She skirts around Danny over to his bed to snatch up his phone.

“What are you doing? Don’t touch my phone—!”

She smoothly dodges his lunge, elbowing him in the gut with that sibling kung-fu Tucker’s only ever seen on TV and here at Fenton Works. With Danny in ghost mode she may as well have tickled him with a feather, but she makes her point. He floats back with a huff.

“Jazz.”

“I have an idea, but I don’t have the right supplies for it. Sam should though.”

“That’s not terrifying or anything,” Tucker mutters as she texts out something and sends it. He’s not privy to whatever supplies she’s talking about; she’s switched out of the group chat. He and Danny share a worried look as his phone pings a reply text that makes Jazz’s eyes light up.

Sam’s grin gleefully tap dances the knife’s edge between conspiratorial and downright supervillainous. She’s got her spider backpack on one shoulder, an overnight bag on the other, and what looks like a Goth’s version of a tackle box in hand. “Well Jazz, I have to say I wasn’t sure about this plan at first, but it had a chance to grow on me on the ride over.”

“I thought you’d enjoy this,” Jazz replies. She’s changed into her pajamas and put her hair up in a ponytail. In one hand she’s got a mint green leather bag with black polka dots on it. The other hand is hidden behind her back. Gosh, that’s ominous.

Danny’s the one that’s got both girls looking at him like they just might sink their nails into him and never let go. He, rightfully so, looks nervous as hell. Tucker’s done the smart thing and made himself as small and unobtrusive a target in the corner as he can. Alas, poor Danny, he knew him well. Algebra will be his new best friend.

“Uh,” Danny tries feebly, “What idea is that, exactly?”

Sam and Jazz brandish tackle box and polka dot bag in tandem. “Makeover party.”

Small and unobtrusive, small and unobtrusive, Foley, for your own safety do not laugh—

Danny’s voice cracks. “Excuse me?”

“You heard us, ghost boy,” Sam says with relish. “You wanna take that history test so bad? We gotta make you look convincingly human. Thus: makeover party.”

Danny bounces into the air, legs melting down to an intangible tail so no one can make a grab for his ankles. “Oh no, no no no, absolutely not. I’ll take the failing grade.”

As answer, Jazz reveals what she’d kept hidden behind her back: an uncapped Fenton Thermos. “Daaaanny,” she sings, sugar sweet, “Don’t make me uuuuse this.”

Tucker buries his face in his beret to smother his laughter.

“You’re awful,” Danny tells her. “The worst sister ever.”

“Perhaps,” Jazz agrees smoothly, “but I’m your sister, and I’m older. So get down here and let us at least try to make you look passably human? The worst that happens is it doesn’t work, you wash your face off, and we think of a new plan.”

Danny curls up more tightly in one corner of the ceiling, like a grumpy black and white snake. “No, the worst that happens is you giving Sam prime blackmail material.”

Sam shakes her tackle box. Mysterious things rattle inside. “It’s the 21st century, Danny. Boys are allowed to wear makeup now.”

“Oh yeah? I think I’ll take my chances strolling into class as just Phantom over looking like one of those creepy guys you hang out with at the Skulk ‘n’ Lurk. Shut up, Tucker.”

Tucker waves one hand apologetically, wheezing on the floor. He’s going to sprain something at this rate and the girls haven’t even busted out the concealer yet. If Sam doesn’t take pictures he will, best friend solidarity be damned. Both girls ignore him.

It takes a little more cajoling and threatening, but Sam and Jazz win in the end. Danny sulks all the way to the bathroom to change into some pjs (phasing through the wall again to avoid his parents). He comes back with his jumpsuit and boots in his arms and a mutinous expression on his face, and Tucker’s glad it’s not just him that stares.

Danny’s eyes flare. “What?”

“Nothing,” Tucker says quickly, because he has a healthy sense of self-preservation and respect for the stupid amount of super strength and speed Danny’s got in ghost mode.

“It’s just weird to see Phantom look so casual,” Sam drawls, because her favorite thing in the world is to push a guy’s buttons when he’s already down, apparently.

But okay, yeah, it is weird. The white glow off Danny’s skin doesn’t quite spread to his ratty space camp shirt and gray sleep pants. It’s an older shirt from a couple years back so even though he always gets them oversized it fits him well now. He stands differently when he’s ghost mode, straight-backed and chest out instead of his usual slouch, and this is the first time Tucker’s seen just how fit all that ghost fighting’s made him. Or maybe he’s only this fit in ghost mode? Tucker could swear Danny’s forearms aren’t quite so defined usually.

Danny’s glower could irradiate milk. His jumpsuit, when he tosses it aside to join his gloves and abandoned homework, splashes its own weird white glow on the carpet. “I’m so glad you’re enjoying this.”

Sam just grins, gesturing him over to where she and Jazz have laid out their supplies on his desk. Jazz wheeled in her own office chair while he was changing and Sam’s taken Danny’s, so with one final grumble he picks up the wooden trunk from the foot of his bed with the same ease Tucker might pick up an empty cardboard box, setting it between them. He plops down with a defeated hunch like a man kneeling before a guillotine. Overkill maybe, but Tucker’s not sure he’d be wearing a different expression if it were him facing the makeover party.

“If you don’t stop laughing,” Danny growls through gritted teeth, leaving the threat unfinished to let Tucker fill in the blank however he likes.

“Oh don’t worry, Tucker’s going to be too busy to laugh,” Sam says cheerfully, flashing him a wide smile that’s much more terrifying than anything Danny can cook up. “He’s going to be doing your homework.”

“Aw, what? Sam—!”

“And mine,” she adds. “Don’t worry though, I’ve only got algebra left.”

Danny laughs.

Tucker keeps his nose to the grindstone no matter what embarrassed squawking Danny makes. If he looks up he will laugh, and then he will die. And that would be an extremely uncool way to go. Worth it, maybe? No, no, Danny’s room is right above the Ghost Portal. He doesn’t want to find out if simple proximity to an inter-dimensional hole in reality would bring him back as a ghost if he died close enough to it. Look what standing in it did to Danny.

“Mascara?”

He bites his cheek and resolutely does not look up. Ah yes, x equals eleven, definitely.

“Your eyelashes turn white too. C’mon, hold still.”

“Don’t put that thing near my eyes, holy crap—“

“I said hold still!”

...What did x equal again?

Eleven. Right. Probably.

Tucker copies out the work and answer in Danny’s and Sam’s notebooks. He’s gotten about as good at copying their handwriting as he has at lying to authority figures. He’s still not sure how he feels about that little skill either, but hey, he’s almost too distracted to hear Danny whine.

Sooner than he expected he hears Jazz say, “I think that’s pretty good for a first try, don’t you?”

He looks up, furtive. Danny’s back is to him so he’s only got the girls’ expressions to go by. Jazz looks pleased, while Sam’s tapping her chin as she scrutinizes whatever-it-is they’ve done to him. “It’s a little plain,” she says.

“Plain is good,” Danny says fervently. “Please leave it at plain, this already feels really weird.”

“We are aiming for normal teenage boy,” Jazz reminds her.

Sam tosses something into her tackle box. “I know, but it feels like a wasted opportunity to not Goth him up for fun.”

“Blackmail material,” Tucker sings under his breath.

Sam laughs, Danny hunches deeper into himself, and Jazz gestures Tucker over. “Is he still too obvious?”

Prepared to say yes, of course he is because he’s a GHOST, Tucker finds himself briefly speechless once he does get a look at Danny’s face. “...Huh.”

“What does that mean?” Danny demands anxiously. Sam, grinning like a well-fed cat, slaps a hand on his hunched shoulder.

“It means tomorrow’s gonna be a breeze. You might want to bust out some last minute review notes.”

Tucker steps back, snags Danny’s sunglasses off the dresser, and shoves them onto Danny’s face. He leans left, then right, then hums. “Got some spillover on the laser sights that are gonna be a problem.”

“I’ve got a pair of wraparound sunglasses he can borrow,” Jazz says.

“Huh. Problem solved.”

Fed up with the lot of them, Danny jumps into the air and phases through the wall into the bathroom to inspect their work. Jazz and Sam sweep tubes and compacts and who-knows what else into their respective makeup bags.

“Thanks again for going along with this,” Jazz says.

“Are you kidding? I’ve been trying to get Danny to let me experiment on him for ages. The things I could do with that green undertone….” She trails off, a little wistful, a lot ominous. Today is clearly not the last time Sam’s going to experiment. Tucker drains the last of his Coke as a toast to the paces Danny’s spooky ooky undertone is going to be put through.

“He looked normal,” Tucker says.

“That’s the point,” Jazz says.

“No, but he looked normal. Like, normal-normal. How’d you do that?”

“A magician never reveals her secrets,” Sam cuts in, waggling her fingers. “I could make you look like a ghost if you were up for wearing colored contact lenses.”

“Pass.” Still, whatever they’d done had even magicked away that funny blur to Danny’s features that always made Tucker want to clean his glasses. A pair of shades, a hat and hoodie, and Danny’d look like any other sophomore. Hell, he’d probably fit in more than he does usually; Danny keeps forgetting to pretend to notice the fall weather rolling in.

Tucker puts his empty can on the dresser to give them a little golf clap. “I gotta say, I’m impressed. If Danny can keep his cool for eight hours he might actually make it through the school day without getting caught.”

Sam scoffs. “That’s a tall order.”

Jazz hums. “I’m not sure what he’ll do if there’s a ghost attack. He can’t exactly wear his jumpsuit under regular clothes.”

Tucker snorts. Yeah, a polyurethane hazmat suit is a little harder to hide than good ol’ fashioned superhero spandex.

“He’ll just have to take it with him,” Sam says, but she reaches down to pick up one of Danny’s gloves with her lips pursed. “If it keeps glowing like this it’ll be hard to hide any time he has to get something out of his bag.”

“I can put it in this,” Danny says as he phases out of his closet. It’s a testament to how often he rejoins a conversation like this that none of them jump. He’s got a Dumpty Humpty drawstring bag in hand, shaking out the various bits and bobs that had already been in it.

“Oh, so now he wants to contribute to the plan?” Sam and Jazz share a victorious look. It really does not bode well for anybody, how well they’re suddenly getting along.

Danny huffs. “I didn’t think this’d actually look believable,” he says, gesturing at his face. “How the hell did you do it?”

“Don’t bother, dude, already tried. Lips is zipped.” Tucker kind of can’t help but stare as Danny lands beside him. As long as he sticks to fluorescent lights, Tucker’s just about positive no one will be able to tell the difference.

Jazz reaches out, grabbing Danny’s hand to stare at it intently. By this point Danny seems to have given up squirming as a bad job, though he does look nervous. “What now?”

“Your hands are almost as obvious as your face. Do you have any fingerless gloves?”

“No.”

“Nothing a pair of scissors can’t fix,” Sam says with a matching snip-snip of her fingers.

“Why fingerless?”

Jazz, twisting his fingers in weird directions, raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to spend the whole day trying to write with bulky gloves on?”

Tucker, best friend that he is, just manages not to laugh. It’s a near thing. Danny, as always, doesn’t appreciate his efforts.

“I think we should do your nails too,” Jazz says, finally letting him go. Danny slumps, goes to pinch the bridge of his nose, and gets his hand grabbed again for trying.

“Ah ah ah,” Sam teases, “No rubbing.”

There’s a dirty joke that could be made here, about two idiots who both ought to be failing biology for how badly they’re missing each other’s signals and how determined they are to ignore what’s—who’s—standing right in front of them, but Tucker stays quiet. He’s not an idiot. Dirty jokes only end in tears and blackmail.

“It feels weird,” Danny grumbles. “You’re only painting my nails if you paint Tucker’s first.”

“It’s not my secret identity on the line here,” Tucker points out. “Twenty bucks or I walk.”

Sam bites her lip trying not to laugh.

In the end Tucker’s twenty bucks richer and sporting nails done in a fetching combination of raspberry and lime. They all end up with a bit of lime polish—who could resist an inside joke like that?—though Danny’s the only one that gets glitter. Tucker makes a solemn promise to never cross Jazz; she can be downright nefarious when she wants to.

“Just watch,” Sam says as they do a last cleanup now that their nails have all dried. “You’re gonna wake up at four in the morning for some stupid ghost attack and be able to change back.”

“Don’t,” Danny groans. “You’ve jinxed me now.”

“Go wash your face off,” Jazz says. “Tucker, can you take your guys’ plates down? We’ve had a real problem with ghost ants lately; they’re like bloodhounds for crumbs.”

“Sure thing.” Anything to avoid the argument that’s gonna follow Danny being told he’s going to have to get his face all done up again first thing in the morning. He shuts the bedroom door, balancing empty plates and soda cans in one hand (muffling Jazz’s “It’ll smear if we leave it on!”), and makes his way down to the kitchen. Mr. F is there washing out his coffee mug for the night; he beams when Tucker enters.

“Heya Tuckerino. You kids havin’ fun up there?”

“A blast.” He grins, showing off his nails.

Mr. F chuckles, holding out one big hand to accept the plates. “Was there a homework break before you did your toes to match?”

“No pedis tonight, unfortunately, but our homework’s all done.”

“Good, good.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“Trash needs taking out, if you’re offering.”

“Sure thing.”

“There’s a good lad.” Mr. F’s eyes wrinkle when he smiles fondly. He’s a beard shy of looking like Santa Claus. Or Hagrid. Somebody big and jovial and kind who wouldn’t hurt a fly—so long as it wasn’t a ghost fly, anyway. It’s a shame Danny’s so leery of telling his parents about the accident. Tucker gets it, really he does, but it’s still a shame. He grabs the trash bag and the recycling too, since it’s nearly full.

“Have a good night, Mr. F.”

“Don’t stay up too late curling each other’s hair now!”

“Oh please, and let Jazz ruin a ‘do this good?”

Mr. F’s laughter follows him out the door.

=

(The "Loop me in, ecto one," line is a riff on Dean Koontz's Odd Thomas series. The movie didn't come out until 2013 but c'mon, a series about a young guy who only wants a normal life but has to deal with ghosts all the time? You know one of the kids found the first book somewhere and had a real good laugh.)

[all-the-love-harold]

It’s a Sign of the Times - Part #1

April 7th 2017

8am

You were at your kitchen counter with a cup of green tea and bowl of fruit listening to the radio one breakfast show waiting for Sign of the Times to debut. You’d heard the song a thousand times before, but this is the first time the world would hear it you. You’d been the first person he played it for, in the car on the way to your flat after you’d picked him up from the airport when he’d arrived home from Jamaica.  You knew he was proud of it, but you also knew that he was nervous to release it.

When One Direction started their hiatus in December 2015, Harry spent most of his time hiding away in your flat, trying his best not to be found. You didn’t mind, you met him when you moved to London in 2013 and he had been your best friend ever since. You always loved when he stayed, it made your flat feel much less lonely. Even now, 18 months later he stayed at your flat more than he did his own.

“Good Moring” you heard Nick’s voice echo through your radio and stopped eating, you were feeling second hand nerves for Harry.

“Good Morning” Harry’s voice sounded around the room,

“I feel a bit sick about this, you are no longer, we would say this sentence, Harry from One Direction, you are now, Harry Styles Solo artist. How does that feel? And how does it feel now knowing that this is like day one, of a really important you know new chapter in your life?”

“It’s a bit weird, I feel like I’ve been hibernating in the studio for so long” he certainly had, you couldn’t count on one hand how many days you would find him in the studio, playing around with different edits of his songs, trying to get everything perfect for the release.

“It’s a good song isn’t it?”

“It’s the song I’m most proud of writing I think”

“It feels like a smack in the face”

“Thanks, I like to smack in the face”

“It’s like I’m here and this is what I sound like, it’s massive and it sounds really good in here”

“It sounds good in here when you do the high bits”

You heard your phone buzzing across the counter and got up to answer it turning the radio down on the way over. You saw Harry’s face light up the screen and swiped to answer.

“Hiya Solo artist Harry Styles”

You heard him chuckle on the other end “Did you hear it?”

“Course I did, wouldn’t miss it for the world H, sounds good on the radio”

“Surprised you’re up this early on your day off”

“Heyy, I only got the day off for you, and if you’re going to be a prick about it I’ll go into work, they always need extra hands”

“No no, you need the time off, you better be coming to the release party tonight”

“Again, I wouldn’t miss it for the world”

“Good, because I have a friend that I’d like you to meet”

“Hmmm, I’m listening” You’d been single for over a year now, and Harry was determined to find you a boyfriend

“His name’s Danny, and he’s ruggedly handsome, trust me, you don’t want to say no to this one Y/N”

“You said that last time and look how that turned out”

“Yeah, sorry about that, old Jimmy was not my finest choice”

“I don’t think he’s anyone’s finest choice”

“Probably not, but Danny, Danny’s a great guy, you should definitely give him a chance”

“I’m interested, if he’s as ruggedly handsome as you say”

“Wonderful, I’ll come over soon and we’ll find you something to wear”

True to his word, about an hour later there was a knock on your door and Harry was stood there, two cups of coffee in his hand and a beanie on his head.  Handing you a cup as he walked in, placing himself on the couch. He let out a load groan and put his feet up on the coffee table

“Make yourself at home then” you stared at him “Just because you’re a solo artist now, doesn’t mean you can put your feet on my coffee table.” He took his feet off the table and handed his phone to you

“It keeps ringing, and I don’t know what to say when people tell me it’s a good song”

“What do you want me to do with it?” you held the phone in your hand, and it started to ring again, looking at the screen, you saw that it was Des that was calling

“It’s your Dad, you should probably answer this one” he rolled his eyes, but he took the call while you went to your room to get changed out of your pyjamas. He was on the phone for a while, by the time he had finished you had curled your hair and done your make up, nothing special for today, just a little bit of concealer to cover your dark circles, you’d put a full face on tonight for the party.

“Well don’t you look nice” Harry said walking into the bathroom and looking at you in the mirror

“My best friend released his first single today, wanted to look nice to celebrate” you turned and smiled “How’s your Dad?”

“Very Proud apparently” He said, picking up your can of hairspray and inspecting it

“Of course, he is H, everyone is” you put your make brush back in its jar and turned to Harry “Should we go and get some lunch?”

“Absolutely” he nodded, “My shout”

“I hope so” you walked out of the bathroom and grabbed your handbag off your bed “Did you drive here?”

“Yeah,” he took his keys out of his pocket and showed them to you “car’s parked a block away though, didn’t want anyone to know I was coming here today.”

You put your jacket on while Harry pulled his beanie over his head and put his hoodie up, he didn’t want to be seen until later that night. You both walked to his car staying a few feet away from each other, you’d been spotted together before and immediately fans and media outlets assumed you were dating, which didn’t help with either of your dating lives.  Harry drove to your usual café and parked around the back, so the car wouldn’t be seen. When you walked in he greeted everyone that worked there with a handshake, like he always did. You took your seats in the back of the café and as you were looking at the menu, you heard the familiar sound of your friend Alison’s voice.

“It’s my two favourite people” she beamed walking over to your table

“Ali!” Harry smiled, getting up to give her a hug, “What are you doing here on a Friday?” Ali was one your friends from uni, she was always energetic and great fun in small doses but that was all you could take. She worked for an accounting firm on weekdays and occasionally picked up a shift at the café to save some extra money.

“Just getting my lunch to take back to the office” she pointed at the counter where one of the staff was making her fresh sandwich, “Heard you on the radio this morning, H, it’s a great song, I’ve had it on repeat in the office all morning”

“Thanks Ali, means a lot” he nodded modestly

Ali turned to you and told you about the rumour she heard about one of your classmates getting a job in her building and you told her that you were having your day off to celebrate with Harry. Your relationship with Harry had always confused Ali, she could never understand how it had never been anymore than a friendship, the chemistry that you shared with Harry matched that of the best couples that you knew, but there was no way either of you wanted anything more than a friendship. Ali had always pushed you to make a move, but to you, Harry would always be the boy that you met in an airport the day you landed in London, that let you live in his house while your flat was being fumigated, and that wouldn’t change.

“Ali” the waiter called, “Sandwich is ready.’ She turned and walked to the counter taking her sandwich and thanking her friend.

“I’ll see you two tonight” she waved as she walked by your table.

“Stop staring at her ass Harry” you glared at him

“Sorry” he cleared his throat “You know I’ve always had a thing for her”

“You’ve never hidden it well”

“She’s single right?” he asked taking a sip of his water

“Yeah, you finally going to make a move?”

“Maybe” he shrugged.

When you both finished eating your lunch, Harry paid, and you made your way out the back door to his car, which was parked at the other end of the parking lot. As you walked, you spotted a member of the paparazzi. Harry was a few feet in front of you, so you ducked your head so that they couldn’t see your face, and pulled your phone out to text Harry 

“Paps in the corner, behind the bushes, they’ve probably already snapped a few pics” 

You saw him take his phone out and looked towards the bushes sending you a reply 

“Go out the front of the cafe, I’ll pick you up from there” 

You felt your phone buzz and you subtly turned around, checking your bag, so that they would think you left something inside. You went in and told the manager that the paparazzi were sitting out the back, before heading out the front door, and waiting for Harry to round the corner.  A few minutes later his car appeared and pulled up to the kerb so that you could get in.

“So much for staying hidden today H”

“As long as they didn’t get you in the photos, we’ll be safe, don’t want Danny to get the wrong idea” he laughed, not worried about the pictures.

You arrived back at your building, and opened the door to your apartment, hanging your handbag on it’s hook while Harry took his beanie off and went straight to your bedroom.

“What are you up to?” you yelled after him

“Finding you something to wear tonight” he called back, while he opened your wardrobe. You followed him and sat on your bed, watching him go through your things.

“Style me Styles” you giggled

He pulled a bronze lace dress out of the wardrobe “This is nice” he nodded “I’ve never seen it before”

“I bought it to wear to a work Christmas party last year, but I decided not to go”

“Let’s put in in the maybe pile for tonight” he turned back to your wardrobe, flicking through the rack, pulling out a similar looking pink dress and holding out to look at it properly “These are almost the same dress Y/N”

“They are not! This one” you held up the bronze dress “shows more cleavage, and that one” you pointed to the one Harry was holding “is all pretty and lacy and I just couldn’t stop myself from buying it”

He nodded, placing the pink dress on the bed next to the other one and returning to the wardrobe. A few moments later, he pulled out another pink dress “This one matches the album cover” he handed it to you

“No one’s seen the album cover yet, so the point would be lost on everyone except you”

“It would boost my ego though” he shrugged

“Fine” you said standing up off the bed “I’ll try it on, and the others too” you unbuttoned your jeans and took them off as he passed you the first dress, unhooking your bra you laid the dress down and unzipped the back. Harry was watching intently as you stepped into the dress, wriggling a little to get it past your bum. “Zip me please” you turned your back towards Harry and he zipped up the dress.

“Danny’s a lucky guy” he said, looking at you in the dress

You looked in the mirror, not liking how the dress fit around your chest “It would look better if I had cleavage to expose”

“You’ve got great tits though, that makes up for the lack of cleavage”

“Harry!” you giggled and threw your bra at him

“It’s true!” he laughed catching the bra. You tried the rest of the dresses on, and settled on the bronze one because it was the most comfortable.

“Alright” he said turning to your shoe closet “Shoes”

“Black ones I think H”

He waded through your shoes, pulling out dozens of black pairs, almost all identical, growing more frustrated as the more you said no. Finally, he pulled out a pair of black stilettos that laced up at the ankles.

“Yes!” you said, “Those ones”

“Wonderful” he said standing and flopping down onto the bed “I’m exhausted now”

You laughed and laid right next to him “Me too, I woke up early to listen to some crappy song that was coming out today”

“Hmm” he sighed contently “Me too”

It didn’t take long for the two of you to drift off to sleep. Harry could sleep anywhere, and you really were exhausted, this was your first day off work in a while and it was nice to catch up on some sleep.

***

You woke up an hour later when you could no longer feel Harry’s hot breathe on your neck. Rubbing your eyes, still a little hazy from your nap you stood up and walked into the kitchen, finding Harry near the doorway, putting his shoes on.

“Where are you off to?” you yawned

“Home, I’ve got to get…” he stopped talking while he looked for his other sock

“Away?” you giggled

“Ready” he chucked at your reference to his song. He pulled the laces tight on his shoe and stood up, making his way over to you “I hope I didn’t wake you up love”

“It’s alright, I need to get ready too”

He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead “See you 9, text me when you get there” he turned the door handle and gave you a stern look.

You nodded “Bye H.”

He walked out the door, closing it gently behind him, making sure his beanie was on enough to cover his hair, he went outside and made his way quickly to his car. London traffic was always busy on a Friday and what would normally be a ten-minute drive took forty and he was running late to meet his stylist. He speed into the driveway, pulling the handbrake and jumping out of his car. When he got inside he checked his phone, finding that his stylist was also running late. He let out a sign of relief and sat on the couch in the sitting room resting his head on a cushion, taking a moment to breathe before the night got hectic. He couldn’t take his mind of Alison, the way she walked into that café with a sense of importance and spoke so sweetly about his song. He’d always been intrigued by her, but today he just couldn’t get her out of his head. The buzzer rang about ten minutes after Harry sat down, and pulled him out of his daze.

“Heyyy, it’s stylist Harry!” he exclaimed into the intercom

“Heyyy, It’s Harry Styles!” Harry Lambert countered back. Harry buzzed him into the gate and opened the front door to greet him. Lambert hopped out of his car, opening the door to the back seat, and taking out Harry’s suit.

“Shoes are on the other side H, can you grab them?”

“Sure thing” Harry walked around to the side of the car and grabbed out Gucci box that contained a new pair of shoes for him to wear tonight.

***

Harry sat in his chauffeur driven car, dressed in an all black suit, with nails painted black to match. Tonight, was his night, to celebrate his hard work and to launch his solo career with all the people that made it possible, but it was also your night. It had been a long time since you had the chance to go out and properly enjoy yourself and Harry knew how much you needed this tonight. His friend Danny, who had helped with the set design for the album artwork, was, as he had told you this morning, ruggedly handsome, but not good enough for you. In Harry’s eyes you deserved the world, and some one that could give you that, but he knew you weren’t ready for anything serious, so he settled for setting you up with guys he thought would at least treat you like an angel.  

The car pulled up and Harry jumped out, thanking the driver ducking his head as he moved towards the building to avoid being seen by any paps that may have received word of the launch party. He was met at the door by his manager Jeff, who shook his hand “Congratulations mate, you’ve got a number one single”

Harry’s eyes widen at the news “What? No way?”

“It’s not official yet, until next Friday, but it’s looking good”

You and Alison had arrived together about ten minutes before Harry did, immediately heading for the bar and grabbing a drink each.

“Bartender’s cute” Ali said taking a sip of her drink

“Go for it Al” you winked, “I’ve got my eye on someone else tonight”

“Do you?” she asked, surprise evident in her voice “and who is this knight in shining amour and why aren’t you talking to him”

You giggled, finishing off your drink “Sorry, Harry has his eyes on someone for me” you held up your glass “shall we get another?”

The room was buzzing with excitement and you spotted Harry by the door talking to his manager, as you made your way towards the bar, you left Ali to flirt with the bartender, knowing that he would shut her down quickly and hoping that she would turn to Harry for comfort.

“Mr Harry Styles” you said when you were close enough to him for him to hear you

“Miss Y/N Y/L/N” he smiled as you made your way over to him

“You look handsome tonight” you said as you hugged him

“You look quite nice yourself, who picked that dress for you?” he winked, and you nudged him playfully

“Some loser” you smiled

“Some loser that will probably have a number one single”

You looked at him in amazement “You could have opened with that” he shrugged in response “congratulations H, I’m a very proud friend”

“Let’s go and get a drink, Danny’s at the bar” he winked at you and you both turned heading towards the bar.

“So is Ali” you winked

“The usual plan then?”

“Yeah, but neither of us is to leave before speeches tonight, that would look bad on your part”

“It would” he agreed as you reached the bar. He introduced you to Danny and he really was as ruggedly handsome as Harry had suggested. He was tall, with messy brown, not unlike Harry’s, and stubble that hid his sharp jawline. His eyes were a deep brown that you could easily lose yourself in and he spoke in a welsh accent, which is one accent that you had always had a thing for. After all the niceties had been observed between the tree of you, Danny got you both and drink and you split away from Harry, leaving him to make his move with Ali.

Yourself and Danny took a seat on the couches on the other side of the room, where it was much quieter.

“So, how do you know Harry?” he asked, finding the common ground between the two of you

“I met him in an airport four years ago, and he took me in like the lost puppy that I was and we’ve been friends ever since”

“He’s a good guy” Danny nodded

“One of the best” you agreed “He said you helped with the album artwork?”

“I did, I’m a set designer, so I got everything organised and looking pretty for the photo shoot”

“They’re lovely photos” you glanced over at Harry while you were talking, seeing him and Ali laughing together and assuming that things were going well. You and Danny spent the next few hours getting to know each other, flirting back and fourth and drinking more than you should be. When it was time for speeches, you and Danny made your way towards the microphone so that Harry could see you. Ali found you and made her way over to the empty seat on the other side of you while Jeff was giving his speech.

“He looks good tonight, doesn’t he?” you whispered to Ali, hoping that she would agree

“He’s a handsome man Y/N” she whispered back “there’s a sparkle in his eyes tonight”

You held back a smile, you knew that sparkle was a combination on pride in himself and lust after Ali, you’d seen that look before and you knew that Ali had too. She leaned over to you again, just as Jeff was finishing his speech

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“You wouldn’t be offended if I went home with H tonight would you?”

“Why would that offend me Al?”

“I just thought that maybe you had a thing for him?”

“He’s my best friend Al, I wouldn’t dream of having anything more with him, I’ve seen too much” you laughed

“So you’re ok with it?”

“Go for it Al, you both need it” you took a sip of your drink “Plus” you put your hand on Danny’s knee “I’ve got Danny”

Your attention was drawn back to Danny who was starting to get annoyed with Ali’s presence. He placed a hand your thigh and looked at you intensely

“Should we get out of here Y/N?”

You wanted to, you really wanted to, but you promised Harry that you would stay for speeches. “I told H I’d stay until after speeches”

He sighed and rolled his eyes “I’ll get you another drink then” he got up and walked away just as Harry got to the microphone. Noticing that Danny was walking Harry made eye contact with you giving you a thumbs up, thumbs down motion, trying to gauge whether things were going well. You responded with a smile and a thumbs up and he nodded and started his speech, thanking everyone involved in the making of the single and the album, giving special mention to his manager and his family. You spotted Anne and Gemma in the corner crying with pride and you smiled, feeling the tears well in your own eyes.

“And Lastly,” he said, looking at you “I would to thank Y/N, my wonderful best friend, who has been a constant source of positive energy throughout this whole process, encouraging me to keep going when I was ready to give up and giving me a place to escape for a little while, Y/N, you’ve been incredible, and I can’t thank you enough for everything you do for me, I certainly don’t deserve a friend like you”  

You held your now full glass up to Harry as he finished speaking about you, tears now evident in your eyes. Danny put his arm around you and you leant into him resting your head on his shoulder. Harry wrapped his speech by thanking the venue and the staff and handed the microphone back Jeff, who lead the crowd in a toast to Harry and Sign of the Times. After that everyone went back to mingling and you felt Danny push your hair behind your ear. You turned to face him and before you knew it your lips were attached, and Danny’s hand was moving towards your inner thigh.

“Now, we can get out of here” you said between kisses. Danny stood immediately, adjusting himself to hide the growing mass in his pants. You found Harry in the now thinning crowd and singled to him that you were leaving with Danny. He smiled to himself, pleased that this set up was successful.

You and Danny made your way outside and hailed a cab. After giving the driver, his address Danny closed the partition and unbuttoned his pants, pulling out his less than impressive hard cock.

“Fix this for me will you?” he looked at you and down at his cock. You were taken aback by the gesture, but you obliged, wrapping your mouth around it and gently licking the tip before putting the whole thing in your mouth. Before long you felt the car pull up and quickly removed his cock from your mouth, and watching him pull his pants back up before taking his wallet out of his pocket to pay for the cab.

You both stumbled up to his dingy apartment where he immediately showed you to the bedroom, once again pulling out his cock, and pushing you down onto the bed. Your lips met his and his hands made their way towards your centre, pushing your panties to the side and lining his cock up with your entrance. You let out a quiet moan as you felt him fill you up, not even a minute later, you felt him coming undone above you, his orgasm spilling inside of you. He immediately rolled off you and laid next to you, catching his breath.

“Is that it then?” you said, unimpressed with his selfish love making, if you could call it that.

“You were incredible love” he said looking at you, in a post orgasm haze

“You weren’t” you said standing up and adjusting your panties “If that’s all you’re capable of, I think I’ll be leaving” you picked your back and made your way to the door, not hearing a single protest from Danny.

You left the building and ordered an Uber to pick you up and take you home, sending Harry a text while you were sat in the back.

“That was a bust, dude didn’t even last a minute. I’m headed home now, hope things are going well with Ali”

You got a reply sooner than you expected “I’m sorry Y/N, you can stay at mine tonight if you’d like? Ali’s had a few too many, I’m in the cab now taking her home, meet me there?”

You told your Uber driver that you needed to go to your friend’s place, and he turned at the next street, heading towards Ali’s. “Sure thing H, we’ll tuck her in and call it a night, sorry you didn’t get yours tonight either”

“Hey, it’s a sign of the times.”

Well that’s part one! I hope you all enjoy it and I can’t wait to get started on part two! I’ve been excited about this series for a long time, and it only gets better from here. I appreciate any feedback, so feel free to tell me what you think! I hope you all had a lovely Christmas, if you celebrate, and if you don’t I hope you had a lovely Monday 

All the Love, Lyss . xx 

Master List 

[lokisgame]

Good Things Come...

[part 1-4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7]

I'm pregnant.  There wasn't much he could say after she dropped a bomb like that. Still he kept it cool, asked how long and when was she due and how she's doing and if she's happy.

But there wasn't much he could say beyond polite small talk. He wasn't happy, he wasn't fine, although the hypocrisy wasn't lost on him, father of two by another woman. He wasn't rational, not when it came to her. He was one, big, red, exposed nerve, and life just shoved a taser up his ass. She knew it and didn't stop him when he said goodbye sooner than usual. They both cried for an hour after they hung up.

He went home and helped Emily finish the puzzle she was playing with before dinner, bouncing Danny on his knee. The boy munched on toys and ran a slight fever, but was happy to be a part of the game. Mulder showed him each piece and let the boy guess where it should go, missing every time but laughing anyway. Diane thought it was just another awful case and left them in peace. It wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last.

Mulder was convinced that he didn't have that thing only moms have, that thing that could right all wrongs and made everything better, but if he could take care of himself in college, he could take care of a couple of teenagers. Once it was decided, that the kids would move in with him, he promised himself that under his roof they won't live solely on tv dinners and junk food. He learned to cook something more than pasta and canned soup, they all ate their daily dose of veggies and fruit, went shopping together and shared chores proportionately to their arm's reach and abilities. Lately Emily started helping with the cooking, though her love of salads was disproportionate to their needs. Danny took out the trash each night and didn't have to be reminded to do it anymore. Homework was done, tv was rationed, opinions heard and considered. Sometimes a strong and final no was needed, but those occasions were few and far between, for now at least. If anyone asked, they would unanimously agree that they were fairly happy, and for Mulder, that was something to be proud of.

"Guys, I need to talk to you about something" Mulder began, hoping that the rare pizza dinner wouldn't cloud their brains completely, just softened them a little. Two pairs of curious eyes and full mouths looked up and he almost chickened out, wiping his plate with pizza crust to buy time. Man up, he berated himself, tell them. "You know, I've been helping a friend lately" Danny went back to his food, deciding pizza was more important, but Emily raised her eyebrows and smirked knowingly "set up their new apartment, for her and her son, because they're moving here from Boston" words tumbled out in a rush, the need to explain himself overcoming embarrassment. "She's an old college friend, and she moved there a while ago, and now she's coming back and I'm the only one she stayed in touch with so she kind of has no other friends left around here, just her mother, and I was wondering, if you guys would want to meet her and Will sometime before Christmas" the last part sounded like one word in his ears, leaving deafening silence around the kitchen table. "Okay" Danny shrugged, unfazed, dipping his crusts in garlic sauce as if nothing happened. Mulder looked at Emily, watching the gears behind blue eyes spinning, connecting the dots she collected over the last few weeks. "How old is Will?" she asked, sipping her coke. "He's ten, and probably will go the same school as Danny" that got the boy's attention "Don't worry, you won't have to babysit him or anything, if he's anything like his mom, he'd probably be offended if you tried" The kid snorted and went back to his crusts. Emily kept silent, the good cop bad cop routine in her blood. "Emily, she's a good friend of mine, we've known each other forever, I just want you to know that they are not someone random people and maybe give them both a chance" the silence stretched for an uncomfortable minute. The girl regarded him carefully but finally her expression softened. "Okay dad" He tousled her short brown hair affectionately and Emily shook her head giving him half a smile in return and in that moment, Mulder felt like she was the grown up and he the teenager one step closer to getting what he always wanted.

Will got out of the car, leaving the telescope he guarded with his own life all the way from Boston on the back seat, and looked up, wondering which windows were his. Top floor, so much he knew, the neighboring buildings the same hight or lower, perfect. Queequeg was already sniffing around, marking the nearest tree he could find. "I don't get it" Scully stoped beside them, looking up and down the street, seeing nothing but some parked cars and heaps of swiped away snow, no truck in sight "They should be here by now" Fishing the phone out of her jacket pocket she dialed a number the movers gave her, sinking feeling growing in the pit of Will's stomach. He had funny feelings sometimes and usually they were right. "Hi, this is Dana Scully, we've just arrived, can I ask where you guys are?" she listened for a moment then covered her eyes and sighed, then seconds later her head sprang back up. "Four hours?" she exclaimed, color rising to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold "why does it take four hours to change a tire in D.C.?" the man on the other end sounded defensive, speaking quickly. "Okay, but I expect a solid discount for this mess, call me when you get here" Hanging up, she looked at the boy, the struggle to stay calm hidden behind a smile. "You heard that? The truck won't be here anytime soon" "Is everything okay? with our things I mean" Will reeled in the dog's leash. "We'll see once they get here, but we're insured" saving her strength for later, she put one arm around his shoulders, guiding him up the six steps leading to the front door "in the meantime, let's go see the place"

The ride up was fairly short and Will was getting more excited with each floor. "This is yours" Scully declared, stoping in front of brown doors at the end of the hall and showing him bright silver key on a plain ring "Do the honors" Will grinned and unlocked the door, pushing them open into a bright hallway. Dog's paws clicked on wooden floors pulling the boy and his mother inside. The place was warm, smelling faintly of fresh paint and something else, that had no reason to be there. Will went straight through, into the living room and stoped frozen in place. "Mom, come see this!" She knew the view was nice, but it took only few steps to see, that his wonder came from something else entirely. In the corner between two windows stood a tree, a Christmas tree, tall and elegant, filling the place with scent of fresh pine. Blueish green and bare, except for a string of warm white lights and a single funny ornament next to a greeting card. "It's a UFO!" Will laughed looking closer at the silver glass trinket. Scully took the card, knowing exactly who it was from. Mulder's elegant cursive was unmistakable.

Dear Dana and William Welcome home and Merry Christmas Mulder, Emily and Daniel

"Is this from your friend?" Will asked as he knelt down to free Queequeg. "Yes, you like it?" she handed him the card and he read it quickly. "It's awesome, who's Daniel and Emily?" he asked returning the card and she set it on the window sill next to the tree. "His kids, Daniel is about your age" she looked at the twinkling lights and smiled "you want to meet them? We could go and say hi, the truck won't be here until after lunch" "Only if you show me my room first" he dragged her by the sleeve and started to open doors one after another.

Mulder licked his fingers, declaring himself a cherry pie God. Or at least someone related to one, the recipe he got from his cousin came with a DEA seal and was stamped confidential. The second pie cooled on the counter, waiting to be gift-wrapped. His phone buzzed, then rang, and without looking he knew who it was. He answered, phone held between ear and shoulder as he sliced the pie. “Mulder” “Hi, it’s me, are you home?” “Yeah, how’s the move going?” “That’s the thing, it’s not, can we crash your place for a while?” “Sure, come on over” the kids looked up from their video game like deer caught in headlights. “Thanks, I’ll explain everything once we see you” “Okay” he smiled seeing their wide eyes. “Wait, you don’t mind if we bring Queequeg?” “That beast is still alive?” He remembered she had a dog when they were in college but that was ages ago. She huffed out a small laugh. “No, it’s not the same Queequeg” she assured, surprised he still remembered such details. “In that case, bring him with you, the old one hated my guts” and that really made her laugh “you have the address” “Yeah, I’ll see you soon” “Bye” Hanging up he took a quick survey of the room, the only thing out of place were Danny and Em, still in their PJ’s. “You two, get dressed, we’re gonna have company” “I thought we're not going anywhere until dinner?" Danny whined but dragged himself up, doing a fairly accurate imitation of a zombie he and Emily just spent an hour slaughtering. "Come on" Emily pushed him forward, her tone turning into a playful playground mocking "Dad is bringing home his girlfriend" Mulder in return almost caught her with a kitchen towel. He hoped, it was just the mystery of enigmatic doctor Scully and that once they finally met, her charm would win both of them over. He straightened the pillows, gathered empty glasses and put on a fresh pot of coffee.

[thedaughterofkings]

I have a prompt if that's ok? The whole pack incl Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Danny + Liam think that Derek and Stiles (who are bffs) are the perfect match for each other and try to set them up and they try to make Derek jealous by all flirting one by one with Stiles but nothing works so during a pack meeting Danny ups the ante and it works Just not on Derek, it works on Jackson who snaps and kisses Stiles and that's when the pack realises they got it wrong, it's Jackson that Stiles likes not Derek haha

Of course it’s okay, Nonny! Your prompt was really cute and I hope you like what I came up with for it! And I hope you’re still around to see the fic^^°

Beta-read by the wonderful @ohfuckthisshit, who also did some much needed cheerleading! Thank you

Five times the pack tried to help Stiles’ love life and one time they did

Subtitled: Alpha knows best

Stackson, 4k, T, no warnings apply

1. Erica  

Erica realises it first: Stiles and Derek are totally in luuuurve.

They have been spending a lot of time together lately; most of the time, Stiles is already at Derek’s when the rest of the pack arrives for pack meetings or movie nights and the like. Their scents have even started to mix! At first Erica thought that they were keeping it quiet, being secretive while the relationship is still new, but eventually she comes to the conclusion that nothing is going on, that they are just that oblivious.

Boys!

It’s obvious that they need help. And Erica knows exactly what to do - a healthy dose of jealousy has revealed many a secret affection yet.

So for the next pack meeting she chooses one of her lowest cut shirts, the shortest skirt, and her favourite red lipstick. Dressed to kill, she makes sure to bend over a lot in Stiles’ vicinity, cuddles up close to him on the couch, and sucks seductively on her straw. Stiles reacts appropriately for the most part, blushing at her antics, staring at her breasts for an ego-boosting, but not creepy amount of time, and flirting back slightly awkwardly.

But Derek doesn’t really react satisfyingly - he perhaps rolls his eyes a little more than usual, but even now, with Beacon Hills safe and at peace and no danger looming on the horizon, his basic setting is ‘grump’, so there’s no telling whether Erica’s flirting makes him grumpier than usual. The only suspicious behaviour comes from Jackson, who suddenly develops a hacking cough that night. In fact, Stiles might have spent more time asking Jackson whether he’s alright than flirting with Erica.

To add insult to injury, Stiles takes her aside after the meeting to ask whether everything is alright with her and Boyd. And then he hugs her and reassures her that while he appreciates her body, and fuck anybody who doesn’t, he loves her mind and soul, and that there’s no need to use her body as a weapon among the pack. It’s all terribly sweet, and yes, there might be tears and a few more hugs involved.

All in all, Operation: Red Wolf, Trial 1 is an all around fail.

It might be time to call in reinforcements.

2. Kira

Kira is a die-hard romantic at heart.

She’s not naive; she knows things don’t always work out, but she firmly believes that you should at least try. But above all, she just wants everyone to be happy. So when Erica comes to her about helping get Stiles and Derek together, code name “Red Wolf”, for Little Red Riding Hood(ie) and the Big Bad Wolf, she jumps at the chance to play cupid.

Because the sexual approach has definitely failed, Erica and Kira agree to try something new - taking Derek’s place. Derek taught Kira how to backflip - a vital prerequisite of being part of the Hale pack - and now she’s going to do the same with Stiles, taking away Derek’s chance of teaching Stiles himself. It feels vaguely perfidious spelt out like that, but Erica assured her that it is necessary.

So in the name of love, Kira drags Stiles out into the yard the next time they are at Derek’s. Training goes well at first, even with Jackson distracting Stiles by doing his own backflips next to him. It doesn’t take long for Stiles to stop jumping at all and start watching Jackson instead, clapping at a particularly high jump and teasing: “You show-off!”

Jackson winks and does a double backflip next. Stiles gasps and then shouts: “Oh, just you wait!” before attempting a regular backflip himself. But this time he doesn’t seem to land right and Kira didn’t expect him to jump so suddenly and thus isn’t ready to catch or steady him.

Before anyone else can move, Jackson is at Stiles’ side already, hands hovering over his body as if unsure whether he’s allowed to touch.

“Can you stand?” he asks softly, while Kira hovers next to them, wanting to help but not wanting to make things any worse. When Stiles’ attempt to stand ends in him sinking to the ground with a cry of pain, Jackson reaches out to steady him. Where Jackson is holding onto Stiles’ bare skin, black lines are disappearing up his arm.

“You need to get that checked out,” he says firmly, and after some hesitation, Stiles nods. Jackson helps him up and when Stiles almost falls again after the first step, Jackson pulls him up into his arms without further ado, making Stiles yelp in surprise.

With a few quick steps Jackson reaches his car and Stiles’ complaints become fainter as they drive away. Kira remembers that this was supposed to be about making Derek jealous and sneaks a look at him. He’s looking after Stiles and Jackson and for a second Kira thinks that at least their scheming worked, but then he looks back down at his book, apparently not particularly bothered by what just happened. Erica seems to think the same, because she asks rather aggressively:

“Aren’t you worried about Stiles, Derek? Why didn’t you go to him?”

But Derek just shrugs and says calmly: “He had Jackson to look after him and I know I can trust Jackson with Stiles.”

“But wouldn’t you rather do it yourself?” Kira can’t help asking, completely confused. If anything happened to her significant other, she’d want to be the one to help, not someone else!

“Why should I?” Derek returns, adding: “Jackson wants to and I know Stiles is in good hands with him. I’m not going to come between them.”

And then he goes back to his book, conversation obviously over in his opinion.

Operation: Red Wolf, Trial 2 ends up being an even bigger fail than Trial 1.

It might be time to go back to Erica’s first idea: flirting!

3. Isaac

Isaac knows he’s a bit of an asshole. But so are pretty much all of the others. Except for Kira. Kira is adorable, and badass, and crazy, and many other things starting with d to z. But she couldn’t be an asshole even if she tried.

Stiles can be an asshole, though. As can Derek. Isaac actually likes that about them. And despite their fellow assholishness, he wants them to be happy. And if Erica thinks him flirting with Stiles to make Derek jealous is going to accomplish that, Isaac isn’t going to say no.

An opportunity presents itself a week later. The pack is going to spend the weekend camping out in the preserve. There have been some suspicious sightings reported by hikers and Derek wants to make sure there’s nothing malicious hiding in his territory. Allison and Lydia have come prepared, with blankets and scarves and warm hoodies, but Stiles apparently forgot that it still gets cold at night out in the forest. Everyone else is a supernatural creature and runs hotter anyways and thus isn’t bothered, but by the time the sun sets, Stiles is already shivering and badly hiding his chattering teeth. Isaac is just about to make a snarky comment when he remembers his mission: flirt with Stiles and make Derek jealous. And he has the perfect prop for that.

Stepping close to Stiles, he asks, voice soft and face innocent: “Are you cold, Stiles?”

Stiles shivers in response, though Isaac is pretty sure that comes from the wind blowing through the clearing they are in and not from his presence, and bites back: “We can’t all be natural, or rather supernatural furnaces, can we? Of course I’m cold, Isaac, what do you suggest I do, tap dance?”

Isaac bites back his instinctive response, which is decidedly not flirty, and instead decides to let his actions speak. He takes of his scarf and wraps it around Stiles’ neck, who splutters for a second, but then snuggles in, mumbling a reluctant: “Thanks.” Isaac just nods and steps back towards Erica again before they end up fighting after all. He’ll just let his scent … marinate for a bit and then try to flirt some more.

But he has hardly taken two steps aside when Jackson darts forward, whipping off his jacket and practically forcing it on Stiles, who laughs and slows him down with gentle touches. As Isaac watches on, Jackson helps Stiles slip into his jacket, completely overpowering the faint scent clinging to Isaac’s scarf still wrapped around Stiles’ neck. Then Jackson drags Stiles closer to the bonfire they’ve lit in the middle of the clearing, complaining about him being human and weak and too stupid to dress himself properly all the time. Isaac keeps expecting Stiles to just deck him, but Stiles simply rolls his eyes and punches Jackson lightly in the side when he gets too rude.

Isaac suddenly remembers to check on Derek’s reaction - Isaac’s scent certainly won’t be the one to make him jealous now, but perhaps it’ll still work! But Derek isn’t even looking in Stiles’ direction, his back to the rest of the pack, talking with Boyd who had refused to have anything to do with their scheming.

Looks like Operation: Red Wolf, Trial 3 is a fail, too. Time to bring in the big guns. 

4. Lydia

Lydia laughs in their faces when they come to her about getting Stiles and Derek together. Apparently the way to make Derek jealous is to use someone Stiles has had proven feelings for in the past - which is her. If only she starts flirting with him, Derek supposedly will suddenly wake up and see what has been in front of him all this time. Lydia doesn’t even bother pointing out everything that is wrong with that assumption. Most of all the Derek part.

But someone is going to snap soon anyways, so they’ll figure it out on their own eventually. Lydia will be ready to gloat then.

Operation: Red Wolf, Trial 4 never even gets off the ground.

5. Danny

Danny freely admits that he’s not the most patient person. He’s used to things going his way, helped along by his charms, his brains, or occasionally Jackson’s brawn, if need be. And Stiles knows just how to get on his last nerve. In hindsight, Danny might have been a bit short when faced with countless questions whether Stiles is attractive to gay men. Especially considering that those were probably asked in earnest, not mockery.

But while Danny might not be patient, he’s not mean either - there’s a reason everyone likes him!

So when Erica complains how every single one of her attempts to get Stiles and Derek together has failed, Danny jumps at the chance to get even with Stiles karma-wise. Erica warns him that it seems to be a hopeless endeavour, but agrees to let him try his thing. Given everything they’ve tried already, without success every single time, Danny decides that he’ll have to go big or go home.

At the next pack meeting, Danny makes sure he ends up sitting next to Stiles, pressing in close to him. He pulls out all the stops, touching Stiles frequently, fleeting touches becoming more lingering, more intimate, accompanied by compliments whispered into Stiles’ ear, Danny’s lips almost but not quite touching Stiles’ skin. But while it is obviously working on Stiles, who is blushing permanently now, the growling doesn’t come from Derek’s corner of the room. Danny can’t focus on that right now, though, because his hand is sliding up Stiles’ thigh into dangerous territory and either Derek will bite very soon, or Danny will have to put his mouth where his hand is or however that saying goes again.

But before he can do something he won’t be able to come back from, something hits his side, or someone rather, someone who half pushes him away, half pulls Stiles away from him, either way forces some space between them. Despite the not inconsiderable impact - he’s dealing with werewolves here after all, Danny is filled with triumph. He succeeded where every other member of the pack failed! When he looks up, however, it’s not at Derek’s red eyes and obviously unshakable control, but into Jackson’s bright blue eyes and half-transformed face, featuring less eyebrow but considerably more fang than usually. And Jackson’s control might be much better than it was before, but the rule of “don’t touch anything of his” only got twice as serious when he turned into a werewolf.

So Danny quickly scrambles backwards and thinks that Operation Red Wolf: Trial 5 will definitely be the last episode of this doomed from the start project.

+ 1. Jackson

Jackson has obviously had his issues with the pack - starting with Derek biting him, probably in the hopes that the bite would kill him, and certainly not ending with most of them actually trying to kill him. But they’ve mostly made their peace and Jackson would even admit to a certain grudging fondness for most of them. But lately they’ve been acting completely ridiculous. And it all seems to centre around Stiles.

Now, Jackson has certainly had his issues with Stiles, too - being kidnapped and imprisoned in a police van - naked! - features pretty highly on that list. But even when their rivalry was at its height, what bothered Jackson the most was how Stiles was never in awe of him, always regarding him as equal or even inferior, certainly not superior, like most of the school thought. It was a carefully cultivated image Jackson pursued, together with Lydia of course, and truly, most of it was her idea, and it smarted that Stiles refused to play along - especially as he worshipped the ground Lydia walked on. That might have been the worst part of it actually. And lately Jackson’s issues with Stiles centred mostly on things like his hair looking so maddeningly fluffy and touchable, and his eyes being such an unusual shade of brown that you’d have to spend hours staring into them and you’d still not be able to describe them adequately. And then there’s his moles, begging you to touch and count and lick them and either his shirts have been getting tighter or his arms have gotten thicker, either way his physique didn’t use to be so distracting! So there’s obviously a lot of very valid issues Jackson has with Stiles, but the pack’s treatment of him lately really goes beyond all reason.  

They’ve been acting really weird around him, and Jackson just doesn’t get why. First there was Erica using him to spice up her sex life with Boyd, or whatever was going on there with the cleavage and excessive touching. Then Kira tried to kill him through backflips - Jackson tried to show him how it was really done, but of course it was all in vain. Jackson ended up having to drive Stiles to the hospital, where Stiles got diagnosed with a sprained ankle. They had had to wait for hours, sitting next to each other on uncomfortable hospital waiting room chairs, Jackson’s hand on Stiles’ forearm, almost holding his hand, carefully siphoning off his pain. Despite the circumstances it was surprisingly nice to just sit with Stiles and talk to him, about everything and nothing, anything to distract him, and without interruptions in the form of the pack’s latest shenanigans. Eventually Stiles had nodded off, body slumping against Jackson’s, head coming to rest on his shoulder. It had taken some careful manoeuvering, but finally Jackson managed to wrap his arm around Stiles’ shoulders, which was much more comfortable for both of them he reasoned. Then he’d nodded off himself, too, and they’d slept until a doctor finally had time for them.

After that Jackson understandably became a little protective of Stiles - after all, he’d spent hours keeping him alive, or at least pain-free, and didn’t want to see his hard work go to waste. No one would have acted differently. It was just natural. Really.

So when Stiles didn’t dress properly for the pack campfire outing, and all the pack could come up with was Isaac half-heartedly giving Stiles his scarf, it obviously befell Jackson to make sure his, their human didn’t die of hypothermia. And if wrapping Stiles in his own jacket overpowered the faint hint of Isaac’s scent that clung to him because of the scarf, well, then that was just a side effect Jackson barely noticed and that definitely didn’t make him want to bury his face in Stiles’ neck and inhale their combined scents.

It all comes to a head a few weeks later with the betrayal of Danny.

Jackson had been sure that he could always count Danny to be on his side. Okay, he might not even be sure himself what side that currently is, but it is certainly not by Stiles’ side, practically in his lap, molesting him. Stiles doesn’t look like he is enjoying it, and he definitely doesn’t smell like it either. A low growl filling the room seems to echo his thoughts, and it takes Jackson a moment to realise that it’s coming from him, his wolf quicker on the uptake than his human side.

But before he can come to grips with what his reaction means, what all of his reactions to the pack’s actions lately, mean, Danny’s hand slides up Stiles’ thigh, Stiles’ panicked eyes meet his, and instinct takes over. Jackson launches over the couch table, pushing Danny away and pulling Stiles into his arms, where he’ll be safe. He knows that he has shifted, eyes glowing and fangs bared, but his head is filled with the red fog of what he now dimly recognises as jealousy, and he can’t calm down enough to shift back. A movement at the corner of his eye tells him that Danny got out of the way at least - however stupid he might have acted just now, he’s still Jackson’s best friend and he doesn’t want to hurt him, especially not while half out of control. But most of his senses are focused on Stiles.

Stiles, who is still in his arms, who hasn’t tried to get away, who is staring at him with wide eyes, but no hint of fear in their depths. Jackson stares back at him, unsure what Stiles is seeing in his own eyes, still glowing electrically, hoping it’s something more than outraged jealousy and feral possessiveness. Those are there, of course, but it’s not everything he feels, not even close. Jackson just doesn’t know how to tell Stiles that, doesn’t even know if he can right now, his mind foggy and his mouth full of fangs, but somehow Stiles doesn’t need him to.

With a little wriggle, Stiles frees one arm from Jackson’s strong, but careful grip, and cups Jackson’s cheek with his palm.

“Hey, Jax, calm down, would you? I’m alright, Danny didn’t hurt me or anything, and I’m sure all those nice people will stop their little games now,” he says pointedly, glaring around at the rest of the pack, who are surely all staring at them right now. Jackson doesn’t bother to check, but he does hear Derek shooing them out of the room, promising that there’ll be much more training in their future, because apparently most of them are deaf and blind and don’t know how to use their noses. It doesn’t really make much sense to Jackson, but it makes Stiles snort in quickly stifled laughter. When Jackson tilts his head inquisitively, still feeling slightly more wolf than human, Stiles explains:

“Erica and some of the others thought Derek and I should hook up - oh shush you,” he interrupts himself when that startles a growl out of Jackson, “them being completely wrong is the whole point of this story, so shut up and listen!” But before he continues, he tugs insistently until they are both sitting more comfortably on the couch again, instead of half on, half off it. Their manoeuvering ends with Stiles half in Jackson’s lap, so Jackson gladly lets himself be tugged and shoved. Already he is feeling a little calmer, with Stiles safe in his arms and the immediate threat removed from their vicinity, but not quite enough to shift back yet.

Finally Stiles continues: “So yeah, they tried to get me and Derek together, I’m not entirely clear on that plan admittedly, apparently too blind to see that Derek and I are just friends, and anyways, Derek is ace-aro, so there wouldn’t have been any point either way, but yeah. I wanted to tell them as much, but Derek said we should let them make their own mistakes, and well, I’m glad he did, because obviously their plan still worked - somewhat.”

There’s a small pause and then he adds, voice much quieter than before: “Derek kept leaving hints that you liked me, but I just couldn’t believe him, because why would you like me?”

He sounds so small and Jackson curses his lack of control because he wants nothing more than to reassure Stiles and convince him of his feelings, even if he wasn’t fully aware of them himself until five minutes ago, but he’s too close to feral still to put all of that into words. So he just settles for nuzzling into Stiles’ neck, like he’d wanted to at the campfire, scentmarking him, so that there’d be no more doubt for anyone with a nose. A shudder shakes Stiles’ body and his hand creeps up into Jackson’s hair, holding his head there for a moment.

“I guess Derek was right, then? He’ll be so unbearably smug,” Stiles says quietly, more to himself than to Jackson. “Now let’s see about getting you to shift back, so you can tell me as much in words, shall we?” His fingers grab a hold of Jackson’s hair and tug gently, but insistently. “Look at me, Jackson, please?”

When Jackson lifts his head to look at him, Stiles’ face is serious and for the first time there’s a hint of apprehension in his eyes, but also determination.

“I really hope I didn’t misread this terribly and that you’re not going to kill me,” Stiles mutters and then darts forward quickly, too quickly, pressing his mouth against Jackson’s. At first only the taste and scent of blood fill Jackson’s senses, Stiles’ blood, where he has nicked his lower lip on Jackson’s fangs, but soon that is overpowered by Stiles, just Stiles, all of Stiles, pressed against him, surrounding him, heart hammering in his chest, in Jackson’s ears, until all he is aware of is Stiles. When Jackson opens his eyes again, they are no longer glowing and his mind is clear once more, clearer than it has ever been.

“Sooo,” Stiles says, biting his lip, “you like me?”

“Yes,” Jackson replies, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly, “I like you. Do you want me to tick any boxes, too? Yes, No, Maybe? It’s definitely a Yes from me.” To be honest, he’s still a little shaken, but determined not to let it show, especially not to those idiots he calls pack who are sure to be eavesdropping on them right now.

Stiles just swats him lightly and quips: “We can talk about your weird kinks later, no worries. But now you should kiss me some more - those fangs of yours made the tongue action a little hazardous.” And then he sticks his tongue out and wriggles it at Jackson, who quickly draws him into another kiss to distract himself from wondering why he likes such an idiot. But the answer to that is surprisingly easy: He doesn’t like him because he’s an idiot, nor does he like him despite being an idiot, he just likes him, idiocy and all.

And if it took the idiots they call pack for him to realise that - then perhaps he is the biggest idiot of them all. And he doesn’t care one bit.

[estacalavera]

All I Know Is I Don’t Know Nothing And That’s Fine — Chris Ying

Juan the cab driver ordered tacos, but my friend Danny the chef had been talking up the soup.  For the first time on the trip, I was considering breaking my personal rule to always listen to the fat cab driver when it comes to matters of late-night eating.

Juan had not yet steered us astray.  Earlier he’d dropped us at Los 4 Ases, the roadside cantina responsible for our current state of inebriation.  We’d sat at the bar next to a vitrolero filled with pickled pig’s feet, and hurled ourselves headfirst down a steep hillside slicked with liquor.  We bounced along to a cowboy lounge singer’s up-tempo stylings, and ordered “pollo KFC” from the menu, just to see what it was like.  (It was like the Colonel’s, only a little worse.) Our disappointment was tempered by the knowledge that food is gratis at cantinas in Mexico City.  The alcohol costs money, but while you’re drinking, you can order whatever you want from a list of salty booze-sponges.  The fare had been first rate at the cantina we’d visited the previous day, the more famous Cantina La Mascota near the Zócalo, where we’d had simple fried quesadillas filled with crushed potato, picked the meat and fatty bits from the bones of a dark, slightly acidic ternera en adobo while wincing through shots of silver tequila.

Now Juan had brought us here, to La Polar, based on nothing more than a slurred request from Danny to take us to “the birria place you took me before.  It’ssssooo good.”  We sat down, Juan, Danny, and I, and fixed our eyes on the kitchen.  I was sauced and starving, but still had a full, bulbous glass of mescal in front of me along with a side plate of sour orange sliced dipped in chili powder.  I sipped at the smoky molten agave to pass the time, or perhaps to reach some threshold of drunkenness that would allow me to pass through time and skip to the point when my bowl of birria would finally, finally make it to the table.

The wait turned out to be a small price to pay, as La Polar far exceeded Danny’s earlier inebriated endorsement.  The birria arrived cloudy with chili and herbs, but san crystal clear in flavor.  I pressed down with the back of my spoon against a bumper crop of tender goat, hunting after the main attraction: the broth.  If you could juice a roasted goat, then concentrate and clarify the results, you’d have something akin to the consomé at La Polar.  A squeeze of fresh lime and a healthy scattering of rinsed white onion brightened things up, and a stack of thick, soft corn tortillas sat near at hand for meat-scooping.  But the broth was our purpose and our savior.

There’s a window outside the restaurant where one can prop oneself against a metal counter and scarf the same birria tacos they serve inside, technically qualifying as street food— my ostensible purpose for being in Mexico City.  Danny was doing research for a restaurant he was planning to open.  He’d called me while I was in the middle of another trip to tell me that I’d be an idiot not to join.  I agreed to meet him, but had no time to repack, let alone do anything resembling proper research.  From what I’d been told, you can’t throw a stone in the DF without hitting the greatest pambazo or tacos de mixiotes or quesadilla you’d ever had.  Like other poorly prepared travelers before me, I was going off something I’d heard, hoping to bump into something extraordinary.

It looks easy on TV, doesn’t it?  Land in a foreign country, ask your cab driver to head for the nearest market, and arrive to teeming crowds of diners and smiling vendors playing you with samples of grilled meat and exotic pastries.  But the reality of trying to find an amazing street-level eating experience is rarely so straightforward.  If you’re not armed to the teeth with research on what moment to be where and what to order, you can find yourself, as I have, wandering the same three blocks as dusk creeps, looking for the entrance to a place that is closed on weekdays or has been shuttered for half a decade.  And when you are prepared, the problem then becomes finding a rice-noodle cart that can meet the impossible expectations you’ve built up.  Even in cities like Rio or Hong Kong, where you can almost feel the heart of the city beating under your feet, it can still seem like the cool party is always around the next corner.  Like a swimmer being pulled by the current, you see that the shore is maddeningly near but just out of reach.

In these times, it’s tempting to let the sea take you, to drown yourself in the luxury and safety of the hotel and minibar.  But there is a better middle ground, and to get there, you must first do away with the notion that you are going to live like a local.  Short of moving somewhere, there’s no way to see everything you want to see, or to understand everything there is to understand.  You can travel well without focusing on how well traveled you want your friends back home to think you are.  

Danny had been to Mexico City recently, and for about half the time we were together we were covering ground he’d tread no more than a month earlier.  This relieved the distinct sense that I was flying blind as well as some of the pressure of discovery.  And while I can’t take credit for any great culinary unearthings in Mexico City, I can offer you this: when you’re trying to find the good stuff, it helps to ask someone who already found it.  More important, that someone should be someone you trust.  Restaurant recommendations are a chorus that does not lack for voices.  The problem is, who knows what you have in common with any given reviewer or body of reviewers?

The only filter to sift through the glut of information available to the traveler is trust.  Danny and I find the same things delicious, so I seldom put up any resistance when he leads the way.  Plus, he has a way of walking with the purpose that leaves you little time to question whether he knows where he’s headed.  For large periods of the trip, my view was of his back as he wended his way through markets and alleyways, headed for a place he’d been to last time.  Sometimes we’d end up lost at the other end; other times I’d look up to see we were exactly where he’d described we would be.  Seldom did I know where I was.

But as hound-like as Danny’s nose for tastiness is, there really is no substitute for being fluent in the local language.  The entire time we were in Mexico, we could not stop saying cuenta when we meant to say carta, and asking for the bill when you want the menu is not generally a direct path to unlocking the house secrets.  Still, I found the DF to be an altogether English/high-school-level-Spanish friendly city.

And so we muddled through the days with our pidgin Spanish, aided by a list of tips from James Casey, whose magazine, Swallow, devoted a whole issue to Mexico City.  On our first morning in country, we headed to eh Mercado de la Merced, a densely-packed market that dips in-and outdoors and houses hundreds of stalls hawking comically large piles of chilies and cactus paddles, golden-hued chickens, tremendous sides of beef and pork, tacos of all sorts, blood sausages sizzling on griddles, towers of cheese, corn grilled almost black, fresh masa, and tortillas.  On our way into the twisting, rambling market, I took a photo of the street corner where we entered so when we got lost I could point to it like a speechless chimp, which we did and I did.

We meandered with vague purpose.  Or rather, with the specific purpose of finding carnitas, but with no specific carnitas in mind.  We landed on a stand called Ricas Carnitas.  The sign featured an unlicensed rendering of a famous cartoon pig, popping out of a cauldron with arms wide open.  Two aproned men ran the operation from behind a vinyl-lined t =able, and a group of satisfied-looking customers spilled over the sides of tiny colorful plastic stools in front.  I’ll make no claims about this stand serving the best carnitas in Mexico City.  But if you’re cruising through a busy market, and you spot a crowd of finger-licking patrons hovering around a rack of deeply browned pork dripping fat and juice back into its cooking liquid, you can safely bet they’re not going to be the worst carnitas in Mexico City.  Such a rack rests prominently in front of Ricas Carnitas, easily within view and scent of passing foot traffic.  I couldn’t help but imagine the liquid in the simmering cauldron beneath it as something akin to the sinister dip from Who Framed Roger Rabbit.  In goes the pig, and out comes a deconstructed pile of bronzed snout, ribs, shoulders, intestines, his hat, and his overcoat.

When it’s taco time, the meat takes a quick plunge into the dip, then gets cleavered out of recognizability, jumbling together fatting and gelatinous with chewy and tender.  Everything goes onto two tortillas heated on a smoking plancha, then is covered with a flourish of onions, cilantro, and a user-administered dose of simple salsa consisting only of raw tomatillo and chili.  Beside the large stone malcjete that holds the salsa, a dense bouquet of papalo sprigs sits in a cup doubling as a vase.  A leaf or two of papalo— an herbaceous plant related to cilantro, with leaves bearing a s light resemblance to nasturtium leaves— serves as a post-taco digestif.  

We ascertained the purpose of this little outlying shrub through a combination of gestured questions directed at the vendor, and watching the diners around us finish their tacos and then pop the leaves into their mouths.  I find it useful to keep my eyes trained on what people are eating around me.

Think of it as the Finger-Bowl Method: if someone puts something in front of you and you’re not sure what to do with it, look up before you go drining your hand-washing liquid.

We employed this practice again later at a chain joint called El Farolito.  All around the market we’d seen tortillas sitting out on curbs and on milk crates, wrinkling and puckering slightly as they dried out in the open.  Rather afraid to eat of the literal streets, I didn’t make any movements to investigate.  But then, while seated at the wraparound counter at El Farolito (one can also pull up in a car outside and place an order in situ: street food), we spotted a stack of the same dried tortillas.  Toasted on the grill, then topped or served plain with salsa or brothy beans, these tostaditas were a world apart from their fried cousins.  Crunchier than crisp, and less oil-logged, their relative lightness gave us the moral high ground we needed to overdo it on the rest of our order: alambres (a scramble of bacon, steak, cheese, onions, and chilies), tacos al pastor, cebollas (spring onions blackened and topped with Worcestershire sauce and lime), and a foralada.  The farolada is a house specialty that Danny discovered on a prior visit, again by watching others.  A piece of pan arabe (pita bread)is split open and stuffed with stringy Manchego cheese and steak, then pressed on the grill into a crisp wafer.  By my count, the cross-pollination of Lebanese influence with Mexican cooking has yielded at least two wonders: al pastor and now this.  Free restaurant idea: Taqueria al Beirut.

The no-duh assumption at the heart of the Finger-Bowl Method is that if it looks good, try it.  Easier than looking for a particular stand you saw on TV or in a guidebook, it to keep your head on a swivel and nose on alert.  As fast as information moves, street food still moves faster.  A change of ownership, an off day, an ambitious owner trying to cash in on a TV appearance— any number of factors can ruin what was a sure thing a week ago.  Making laps around another market, Mercado San Juan no 78, I waffled on trying a few more exotic dishes I recognized as quintessential market offerings that a responsible correspondent would do well to acquaint himself with.  The smell of cleaning agents turns me off, and we had arrived at the market in the late afternoon after the lunch rush, as the merchants  turned their attention to washing the floors and counters.

But near the entrance, open to the sidewalk and free from Mr. Clean’s special odor, was a rotisserie-chicken stand.  Plump birds were crammed ass to shoulder on spits, dripping juices from the upper levels down onto the lower decks as they spun.  Between the skewers of whole chickens were even more crowded spits of chicken wings, pressed together in an overlapping line like cruise-ship passengers vying to get on the last lifeboat.  Everything was roasted to the same dark-orange hue, with spots of charred black.  And while a whole chicken was unmanageable for street-side consumption, I could not pass on wings.  The chicken man peeled a few from the spit for us, dropped them into a plastic bag, and added a few shakes from a bottle of Valentina hot sauce.

Perched on a cement divider across the street, we divvied up our loot.  I pulled a wing from the reddened bag, and considered it quizzically, not sure that I had ever seen a wing trimmed to look this way.  We pulled skin and meat from bone with our front teeth and realized immediately that what we had were not chicken wings but chicken necks— a most delightful betrayal!  Even in our increasingly offal-and-off-cut friendly world, the neck remains largely confined to the stockpot.  But it has everything the gluttonous carnivore desires.  It is, after all, mostly skin and fat— in this case rendered delicate and sticky with a few crackling burnt ends.  The meat takes work to get at, probably too much for your average American looking to keep both eyes on the game while snacking, but for those willing to toil a bit, the chicken neck is the superior cut.

Mexico City is a sprawling behemoth.  When standing in the middle of it, you experience both the sense of being enveloped in a metropolis like Manhattan and being overwhelmed by the endless outward reach of Los Angeles.  Often, finding good street food comes down to dumb luck.  Our hotel was in the Condesa, a relatively chichi neighborhood, away from the markets and heavily trafficked late-night streets.  But just a short two blocks from our front door, we came across a couple of women in blue aprons who had set up a comal next to a stone planter on the sidewalk.  There, they pressed blue corn masa intro delicious huaraches and quesadillas filled with huitlacoche, stewed squash blossoms, and just a few crumbles of melty cheese.  Various plastic containers of salsa and toppings crowded a folding table covered in a floral-print tablecloth.  Napkins hung in a bag stapled to a nearby tree.  There were no other vendors around.

[svubloods]

Imagine being in a relationship with Jamie

(A/N: This one is a bit longer than usual but I hope you enjoy this extra dose of Jamie! Hope you enjoy!)  

Imagine being in a relationship with Jamie

“Hey babe,” You heard Jamie’s voice say from behind you before you felt a hand rubbing your side, “How are you feeling?”

You let out an inaudible groan as you moved your head to look back at him so that you could actually see him and not have you voice muffled by the obscene amount of pillows that your face was buried in.

“I’ll take that as a not very good,” He chuckled, before repositioning himself, so he was lying next to your sprawled mess of a body.

“I hate being sick, hotstuff,” You whined sickly, coughing for good measure and reaching up to grab his face, “I can’t do anything, I feel awful and I can’t even remember what day it is,”

“Mmapologizedlike a hundred time already” You nodded with a grin, turning away as you suddenly felt nauseous, “But…you can say it again though, just for good measure and for good karma,”

“I’m sorry for giving you the flu babe,” He apologised sincerely, putting his arms around you, nuzzling his head on your shoulder and kissing you neck briefly and gently, “Forgive me?”

“Don’t,” You protested feebly, ignoring his question because you knew that you didn’t need to give a response, “You’ll get sick,”

“You really are sick, aren’t you?” Jamie laughed, stroking your hair.

“Right,” You said, finally understanding what you had just said in your sickness haze, “You can’t get sick because you’re the one that gave it to me,”

“See you’re getting better already,” He complimented before teasing and ruffling your already messy hair, “Getting those detective skills back,”

“Shut up,” You snapped playfully before asking him, “How was work?”

“It’s actually Sunday, Y/N,” He informed hesitantly.

“What? No, why didn’t you tell me! I would have dragged my ass out of here!” You whimpered, “Did I miss lunch? I never ever miss Sunday lunch. Please tell me it’s not Sunday.”

“I know, I know, you would have. And that’s why I didn’t tell you and also because you were fast asleep when I left. I wish I could change the day for you but it is Sunday and you did miss Sunday lunch,” He confirmed, “But Pop packed you a doggy bag so you didn’t miss out on, in his words not mine, his amazing food,”

“I don’t think I can eat anything,” You whined sadly, feeling nauseous for the umpteenth time.

“Not even mac ’n’ cheese?” He whispered tactfully, clearly entertained by your sickly and medicated state.

“I could do with some of that,” You contradicted almost immediately, “But did Pop really make it?”

“God no, do you think I would do that to you? I asked Linda to make you some and bring it with her today.” He elaborated.

“I love Linda’s Mac ’n’ Cheese,” You grinned with closed eyes, “Is it the one with four different cheeses?”

“I know and so does everyone else, Y/N. Pop wasn’t happy that Linda made it though, he wanted you to eat his ‘get better comfort food’ and get better,” Jamie explained, “And, yes, yes it is. Only the best for you, babe,”

“Did he make me roast potatoes ?” You asked, giggling.

“Yes, but they’re mashed because apparently it’s easier to eat.” He added.

“Of course he did,” You beamed thinking of Pop mashing them while giving everyone lecture, interested in what you had missed in your comatose state, you inquired. “How was lunch by the way?”

“Nothing much happened, it was just the usual. Erin and Danny fighting, Nicky asking too many questions, the boys having no idea what’s going on and my Dad asking for someone to pass the potatoes.” He explained before adding, “You were missed though especially as it was your turn to say grace,”

“Jack had my back though, right?” You asked.

“Mmm,” Jamie confirmed, “Stepped up right away for you.”

“I have trained him well.” You commented proudly before coughing again.

“Actually another thing happened that was pretty funny,” Jamie remebered.

“What?” You prompted.

“Because you weren’t there Danny thought it would be funny it take down that picture that my Dad has in his home office of us and put it in your seat,” Jamie explained.

“He could have face-timed me,” You commented.

“He tried that first but you must have been sleeping.” Jamie informed.

“I don’t even know where my phone is…” You confessed, shuffling slighting, hoping to come across it.

“You sure you aren’t lying on it?” He questioned.

You shrugged helplessly and with a chuckled his arms moved from around you to under you. Lifting you up gently with his forearms as his hands searched the area that you had ben resting on. He produced the phone in a few seconds and waved it in your face.

“Thank you,” You said, snatching it away from him.

“I’m going to go heat up that Mac ’n’ Cheese for you.” Jamie announced, sitting up finally.

“Thank you,” You smiled.

“Anything for you,” He reassured, giving you a kiss on the cheek, leaning down again, before getting up and heading to the kitchen.

“Love you,” You called croakily after hm.

“Love you too,” He called back, out of sight.

You sighed dramatically and feel back onto the bed after hoisting yourself up to speak. You nursed your temple whining silently as it continued to throb in pain. Despite how awful you were feeling you hated the fact that you missed out on Sunday dinner. It was your favourite part of the week, you loved spending time with Jamie’s family. Mostly because you didn’t have one of your own and also because they hadn’t ever treated you then anything less than a part of the family. Even, way before you and Jamie started dating, they treated you as one of the family.

You’d also been an official attendee to the Reagan’s Sunday lunch way before you started dating Jamie. You attended your first one when you were seven and by the time you were ten, you were attending them every week, without fail. They’d been the best part of your week for the majority of your life.

And like you said before, it was because you didn’t have a family like that yourself. The Reagan were the typical, stereotypical,  sort of family, two parents, a bunch of kids and grandparents. While yours was far from it. You moved in with Grandma when you were five, who lived right next door to them. Your life before moving in with her was far from conventional or normal for that matter. Your parents weren’t fit to raise you to say the least and after your Mom died and your Dad abandoned you, all you had left was your Grandma.

You don’t remember much about your life before moving to Staten Island with your Grandma, which you’re pretty sure is a good thing. In fact your first memory, to your recollection, was with Jamie. You were both seven years old and by that point you and Jamie were quite good friends. So you remember after getting permission, going exploring in a woods behind both of your houses. There you found what would later be called, your spot. It was tree, in the middle of the woods with a tire swing on it. To this day nobody has any idea of how it got there and when you were seven you didn’t really think about it. You just remember playing on it for hours together.

And after that day you were best friends and have been every day since. It was during your teenage years when you and Jamie, you later learned, started developing romantic feelings for each other. You knew when you were fifteen that you were in love with him and you didn’t say anything until he asked you out when you were both seventeen. You were too scared about losing everything to try something new and you knew that if Jamie hadn’t stepped up and asked you out that you wouldn’t be together today. At that point everyone you knew you both knew that you were in love with each other, expect for you two. And you know Jamie only asked because Joe persuaded him to and because Danny threatened to tell you himself. You’d been together ever since.

You’d celebrated your twelve year anniversary a couple of months ago.

You’d be lying if you said that he wasn’t perfect for you. He was your first everything and truly the love your life. You couldn’t imagine your life without him, mostly because you can barely ever remember your life without him in it. If it wasn’t for him and his family, you wouldn’t be the person you were today, you wouldn’t be where you were today. They saved your life and you don’t even want to think about where you would be without them. Jamie saved you from the darkness of your early life ruining your whole life. He was your best friend. You knew that you were going to spend the rest of your lives together and you couldn’t wait. No, one will ever know you as well as he does. He is just amazing in every way, he could do so much better but he picked you. Waking up everyday with him by your side. You can’t even describe it. It’s this overwhelming feeling and you want to feel that way forever.

It was funny really, now that you thought about it, you’d only ever completely missed Reagan family dinner twice in your whole life before today. The first time you missed it was actually for yours and Jamies first date, because Jamie had the brilliant idea of asking you two days before you and your Grandma left for vacation for two weeks. So instead of waiting two weeks for your first date, you both asked his parents if you could miss it to go out. They said yes obviously because they were excited for the both of you and they knew that the two of you were excited as well especially because you had waited so long. So off you both went onto your first date.

“You’re late,” Seventeen year old you called from your porch as soon as you saw Jamie appear from behind the bushes. “Sorry,” He apologised, “I was getting ready,”

“I can see,” You grinned, jogging up the path towards him, “Nice tie,”

“Thanks…you don’t think it’s too formal do you?” He asked cautiously, looking down at himself.

“No, it looks casual but smart,” You reassured, “You look great,”

“You look great too,” He grinned.

“Thanks,” You smiled sheepishly, trying to hide your blushing face.

“Do you want to get going?” He asked, gesturing over his shoulder to his car.

You nodded eagerly and he lead you to his car. Opening the door for you and closing it behind you. You had both agreed and planned to go to a carnival on the pier, of your first date. You were planning on going anyway so it was a gentle start into actually dating.

You don’t know why either of you were so nervous though. It went great, it felt so natural for the both of you. It was like hanging out like normal but you were open to do other stuff as well. Like holding hands, which Jamie started rather nervously while you were both walking around the carnival together. You remember how sweaty his hand was when it finally entwined with yours. So you decided to ease the tension by suggesting a friendly competition. Whoever could win the other a toy from one of the games first got to choose what ride you went on first. It was a fiercely fought  battle and you got to the point where you were at different booths, they right beside each other, spending almost all your money on trying to win.

Annoyingly, you both won at exactly the same time. Regrouping sheepishly and handing each other your prizes.

“You’re a total babe.” You chuckled as you read aloud the heart that the bear he won was clutching.

“Nice work, hotstuff,” He returned, in the same voice, with a smirk, reading the t-shirt of teddy bear you’d won for him.

“I like the sound of that,” You joked.

“Okay,” He nodded with a devilish smirk, “That’s what I’ll call you from now on,”

“No please don’t,” You warned.

“Sorry hotstuff,” He grinned, walking ahead slightly just he could turn around and walk backwards, “I like the way you blush when I say it,”

“Fine Babe,” You countered.

“You know what I like it,” He nodded honestly, stopping by a hole and leaning on it, waiting for you to catch up.

“You’re so annoying,” You commented, shaking your head as you reached him.

“But you like it don’t you?” He winked, “You’re blushing,”

“Shut up,” You protested, punching him in the arm.

“So how does the ferris wheel, sound?” He asked, changing the subject and holding his hand out so you could take it.

“Perfect,” You grinned taking his hand happily. It was a really good afternoon and first date. Not to mention it was on that ride on the Ferris wheel where you and Jamie had your first real kiss.

The second time you missed Sunday dinner, wasn’t for such a happy reason. Honestly, looking back on it, it was one of the hardest periods in yours and Jamie’s relationship. It was about two months after you started at Manhattan’s Special Victims Unit.

Your career as a cop had been far from conventional. You had always wanted to be cop and you knew the fact that you lived next door to one of the cities most famous family of cops, was a contributing factor. In fact growing up, you were way more interested in hearing about Frank’s day than any of his actual children. He encouraged you to become a cop he told you later it was because after you’ve been on the job for so long, you know a cop when you see one. You’re born blue and he saw that in you. And you felt it, you worked hard to make sure you were the perfect candidate for the academy. You excelled at school, perfect grades as well as extra circulars. All you wanted was to protect and serve. Maybe because of the Reagans or maybe because of your early life experiences. All you knew was there was people out there who needed help and you wanted to give it to them.

So as soon as you could apply to the academy, you did. And like in a lot of areas of your life you excelled. Speeding through the academy in half the usual times with exceptional scores. They were so great that you were put forward to a special programme which puts exceptional cadets in the hardest units for training. Its intention was to put the best in the hardest units to increase the likelihood of them staying in said unit. You were put in the gang unit, from your first day on the job and for the next five years. It was only five years but it felt like twenty. It aged you as a cop. That unit made you the cop you were today because it was non-stop, constant and extremely difficult. So it was only natural for you to transfer to a similar unit like SVU. You can’t really slow down the pace as a cop, you were destined to spend your whole career in these high intensity units which you guess is what the program intended.

When you first transferred to SVU, Jamie had just left the police academy and was doing his on-duty training in a standard precinct in Brooklyn. You lived together of course in an apartment in Manhattan and things had been going great when you first transferred. It was hard between the two of you a couple months before with Jamie changing his whole life plan form lawyer to cop. You worried that it was just a knee-jerk reaction to losing his brother. But you soon realised that just like you he had the blue in him.

But things got hard around two months after transferring to SVU. You and Jamie had always had a very open relationship, you could talk to each other about anything. Nothing was off limits except for one thing. And it was mostly a you thing that you refrained from discussing certain details about your cases. You talked broadly about them at dinner and with Jamie and whoever asked but you kept the details to yourself. You see certain things at the Gang unit and at SVU that is beyond human comprehension. You didn’t need to talk to them about the six years that were shot by accident during drivebys or the babies who are abused days after being born. You built up a tolerance to it all, keeping it to yourself, you didn’t need to spread the poison of it all.

But around two months into your transfer, it was getting too much for you. Not because you say anything that you were unfortunately not used to at SVU but it was the accumulation of everything you had seen and a case with a familiar face that tipped you over. You had settled in great into SVU itself. You meshed well with everyone and you and your new partner Sonny got on extremely well, growing close almost instantaneously.

The victim in your case was a kid that you had met and gotten to know over at your time at the Gang unit. And recently reconnected with in relation to a new case that you were worked on in SVU. He was attacked and assaulted by a couple of gang bangers. He was only fourteen years old an she wasn’t even affiliated. He just loved reading books and being a normal kid, only to be killed two blocks away from his apartment just because he was himself.

You got the call on the Sunday before the one you skipped. It was quite early when you got the call, so you were almost sure that you would make it back in time. At that point you didn’t know who the victim was. Sonny finally told you on the next call on the way. And when you arrived it was worse than what you had pictured. It was a fresh scene so it was quite bloody and a lot of it got on you when you instantly went over to him, holding him because he hadn’t died yet. He was on the edge and he was in your ams when the light finally drained away. It hit you hard and your Lieutenant sent you home.

Instead of going back home, you stupidly went to Frank’s for dinner, without changing your clothes or looking the mirror to wipe the blood off your face. You were slightly late so they were all eating when you arrived and they all stopped at the sight of you covered in bloodstains. But you weren’t even aware of it all, you were so deep into your thoughts that you didn’t even notice.

“Sorry, I’m late.” You said automatically, pulling out your chair and taking a seat in your usual spot between Jamie and his Dad.

“Y/N,” Jamie breathed his voice laced with concern.

“Hmm,” You prompted distracted, everyones eyes still firmly on you.

“What happened?” He asked, as everyone was pretending to be engaged in conversation but they were really eavesdropping.

“Nothing,” You lied, “Just the usual,”

“Y/N, you’re covered in blood,” He reminded, confused and hurt because you knew you were lying.

“Y/N?” Sean suddenly interrupted.

“Yeah,” You responded, tearing your eyes away from Jamie’s intense gaze.

“Did you hurt yourself?” He asked simply.

“No sweetie,” You reassured.

“Then why are you so bloody?” He asked.

“You know,” You announced, not answering the question, but standing up, “I’m sorry. I’m going to clean myself up,”

“I’ll come with you…” Jamie suggested about to get up himself.

“No,” You stated rather sternly spinning around to see him hover between standing up and sitting down, “Just stay here. I’ll be fine. Eat.”

And with that you walked into the kitchen alone. You knew they would be talking about you but you died care. You scrubbed as much of the blood as you could out of your clothes and cleaned up your face. Making sure to blast the water loud enough that they couldn’t hear you cry. You made yourself decent and returned. And you were unusually quite for the rest of time you were there. You responded basically to everyones questions and there attempts to engage you. You were avoiding Jamie because you knew he would drag you away and ask you what was up and you just weren’t ready.

The afternoon continued and you slipped away to the backyard. Only to be followed by Frank. He asked you indirectly what was up by asking about the trees. You told him in basic terms what your problem was and he seemed to understand and explained that it was okay to keep things back but you couldn’t lock it all up because you were going to kill yourself working. He advised that you should let Jamie in when you were ready and gave you a card with a therapists phone number on it.

Perhaps you should have taken the advice sooner because you put it off, as you were called away before you and Jamie went home and you ended up at work all night. And things just kept getting worse with the case and you had forgotten everything Frank had said. You threw yourself dangerously into the case, working it to the point of cracking and feeling personal responsibility. It was a combination of everything and you were over the edge. You needed to talk to someone but you were pushing everyone away. Everyone was worried about you and no wit was a week later.

It was Sunday morning the following week. And it was on this week that you missed family dinner for the second time. You hadn’t seen much of Jamie all week purposively or not. You were working this case so hard that you were coming home late and leaving before he woke up. Your Lieutenant who was extremely worried about you at this point and had ordered you to take the day off which you were definitely not happy about it.

“You’re still here,” Jamie commented as you emerged from the bedroom.

He was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a plate of breakfast, while reading the paper.

“Mmm,” You confirmed, not actually speaking and avoiding eye contact.

“Are you still not talking to me?.” Jamie asked sternly.

“Who said I wasn’t taking to you?” You countered.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He stated, getting up and turning to look at you after you had walked out of his eyesight.

“I’ve been working.” You replied.

“Yeah, you have and you’ve been using it as an excuse to not be here with me.” He argued.

“It’s not an excuse. It’s the truth.” You stated.

“Is it also true that you’ve been going in early everyday and staying late every night to work this one case?” He asked.

“Yep,” You confirmed sternly, “I solve cases it’s my job.”

“But this case is different isn’t it?” He questioned, taking a step towards you.

“Sonny called you didn’t he?” You countered.

“Yeah,” Jamie said immediately, “He’s worried about you and honestly so am I.”

“He shouldn’t have done that,” You commented.

“Why are you taking this case so hard?” He asked softly.

“It’s not just this case,” You sighed, nursing your temple.

“Then what is it, Y/N? You’ve been pushing me out for over a week. We haven’t even had a actual conversation. Why aren’t you talking to me?” He pleaded, desperate, you could see the tears in his eyes.

“You wouldn’t understand Jamie,” You whispered.

“Then help me understand,” He suggested.

“I can’t,” You struggled.

“Why not?” He asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” You stated. “We tell each other everything,” He reminded.

“I know but…” You began.

“Is it because you knew the kid from your time in the gang unit?” Jamie interrupted.

“How much did Sonny tell you?” You demanded.

“Everything,” He replied, “He’s worried about you. I’m worried about you. You need to talk to someone.”

“You just don’t get it.” You spat spitefully.

“I’m not going to if you don;t want to explain,” He responded in the same tone.

“Tell your family I’m not going to be at lunch,” You ordered, before getting out of his face and walking away from him towards the door.

“Where are you going?” He called after you, his voice softening as he watched you grabbed a jacket and keys, he clearly regretted something.

“Out,” You spat before slamming the door behind you.

You were frustrated and angry. You wanted to tell him how you felt but you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t spill everything that was on your mind in fear that it would be too much for another person to take on. You chose this job and that mean you and you alone suffered the consequences of it. You couldn’t punish your family and the man you loved with the things you see everyday. You could deal with it, they didn’t have to know. It was just that it was getting a bit too much for you with this recent case. It makes you lose all hope. And it was the worse feeling. You didn’t want Jamie to feel the same way. Sure he was a cop and his family were cops but they weren’t used to your units and the stuff you see on your units. You would never ant them resenting you or not wanting to see you because they don;t want to hear about your day.

You needed to blow off steam so you went to the shooting range. Hitting a punching bag like you usually did wasn’t going to cut it. Because it was Sunday you knew it wasn’t going to be busy. You were the only one there. Shooting at your targets effortlessly and perfectly. Only feeling slightly better. You were only a good shot because Pop had taught you how to growing up along with Jamie and Joe. You didn’t know what time it was but you knew you were missing lunch.

You shot out the last bullets on target and after you did you took off you headphones, and was about to reload your gun when a voice rang out from behind you.

“Nice shot but your footing was way off though,”

“What are you doing here Jamie?” You asked, turning around to confirm it was him eve though you knew that it was just from his voice.

“I’d thought I’d find you here,” He commented, walking forward and standing beside you in your booth.

“Why aren’t you at lunch?” You asked.

“it’s not the same without you there,” He replied, “And they refused to serve me until I found out where you were and if you were okay.”

“Of course they did,” You chuckled dryly.

“So are you okay?” He asked simply and softly.

You couldn’t fight it anymore. You couldn’t avoid telling him the truth anymore. You just couldn’t do it anymore.

“I don’t know,” You admitted, looking at the ground.

“I figured,” He nodded, knowing that you were telling him the truth.

“It’s just this job.” You sighed, “It’s soul destroying.”

“That’s part of the job right? Losing faith in humanity?” Jamie tried to work out.

“It’s hard to remember that the world is a good place when doing my job. The things I see, I try to forget but there are some things. They stick with you and they say with you.” You explained, “I can’t handle it sometimes, you know? It’s just overwhelming to say the least,” 


“Why haven’t you told me about this before?” He asked.

“Because I don’t want to unload it all on you Jamie.” You sighed, “ It wouldn’t be fair to you and you would eventually grow to hate me because it’s horrible and sometimes I wish I could just talk about it.”

“You can talk to me,” He reassured.

“I want to. I want to let you back in but I can’t tell you everything no matter what you say. I can’t do that to you. To us,” You stated, confidently, even just talking about it in general was making you feel better.

“Okay,” He agreed, “I’m okay with that. I just need you back Y/N. This last week had been torture for me not seeing you and knowing you were in such a bad place. Was soul destroying for me. I can’t see you in pain, Y/N. Please just don’t shut me out again. I’m here for you and I’m here to listen, no matter what. Just promise me you’ll talk to me even just briefly if you ever feel like this again.”  

“I promise,” You nodded tears spilling form your eyes.

“We’re a team, you and me, okay?” He prompted, grabbing your face and wiping away your tears with his thumbs, “No matter what. I’m on your team and I’m always here. So whatever help you need. We are going to get it, okay? You don't have to tell me everything about everything you see. Just what you want but please don’t shut me out again? I love you so much, Y/N.”

“I love you too,” You sobbed into his chest, wrapping your arms around him, the comfort his embrace already starting to heal you.

You and Jamie had a very tough night that night as you told him everything you wanted to tell him  about the stuff you saw everyday and how you felt about it. You loved your job and that wasn’t the problem, it was just how you handled what you saw when doing what you loved. Jamie was the guy you knew he was. He was kind, sensitive, patient and he tried hard to understand what you were saying. Comforting you, holding you and reassuring you that how you felt was normal and that you weren’t weak. Not a lot of people could do what you do.

Things got much better after that. You went to see the therapist Frank recommended though Jamie didn’t know about who recommended it. You only went a couple of times before developing techniques that have helped you tremendously to deal with the psychological trauma that the job entailed. You and Jamie were stronger and unbelievably closer after that which you didn’t know was possible.

You just understood each other on a deeper level. You were always a bit more closed off than Jamie so it was nice to have a much more of an understanding and open relationship. It just reinforced what you already knew.

Jamie was the one for you and you were going to be together for the rest of your life. You hadn’t ever been with anyone else and you didn’t ever want to be.  You knew that he was the one for you and when you find that person no one will ever compare. He was your one and only and you were his.

It wasn’t always easy and it could be hard work but if it wasn’t then you fear it wouldn’t right. You work for the best things in life.

“What are you smiling about?” Jamie smirked as he walked back into the bedroom with the Mac ’n’ cheese in hand.

“Nothing,” You beamed, sitting up and leaning on the headboard.

“Oh really?” He teased, sitting beside you and handing you a pillow to rest the bowel on so you didn’t burn yourself, “Are you sure?”

“Hmm,” You nodded.

“Okay,” He dragged out, pulling a fork from nowhere and taking some for himself.

“Well, maybe I was thinking about something,” You confessed biting you lip.

“Care to share?” He prompted, slowly dragging the fork from his mouth.

“I was thinking about you,” You smirked, taking your own forkful of the pasta.

“Oh…” He smirked again.

“And how lucky I am to have you,” You continued.

“I think about the same thing with you everyday.” He revealed, “I don’t think I’ll ever figure out why out of everyone you chose me.”

“You underestimate how much of a catch you are, Reagan” You smiled, hiding your face because you knew you were blushing.

“And there is that signature blush,” He smirked, licking his lips.

“I’m just flushed from the flu,” You defended.

“Hmm,” He entertained, not buying it, “Blame the flu,”

“It’s the truth Babe,” You continued to assure, turning leaning into his direction.

“Whatever you say hotstuff,” He teased, leaning in himself and kissing you.

After a while he pulled away and grinned.

“How are you feeling?” He asked once again.

“Kisses don’t cure the flu,” You retorted playfully before both of you burst out laughing.

“What about Mac ’n’ Cheese?” He gestured.

“I wouldn’t know someone is eating it all,” You said in mock passive aggressiveness.

“Just making sure it isn’t poisoned,” He joked.

“Wouldn’t you only need one bite test for that?” You countered.

“It might be one of those that you need to eat a lot of to die,” He suggested chuckling before taking yet another forkful.

“I love you,” You giggled.

“Love you too,” He winked.

[thelastspeecher]

Stay-at-Home Stan

Okay so.  I had this idea earlier for an AU of the Stanley McGucket AU where Stan gets taken in by the McGuckets while he’s a drifter, so they don’t know his real last name (he’s going by “Stanley Forrest” at that point), and he doesn’t pick up as much of a southern accent as in the main ‘verse.  Things similar to main ‘verse still go down though, and it somehow warped into Stan being a stay-at-home dad?  Like, he does other things with his life, but no babysitter will watch the kids and he hated his job anyways so he might as well do this.  Ford gets a hold of Stan, who says “I can’t come to Gravity Falls, but if ya really wanna talk, come see me in San Diego” and then this scene happens.

               Ford knocked uncertainly on the door.  He tried to calm his nerves.

               This is the address Stan gave me. He huffed.  Can’t believe Stan refused to come to Gravity Falls.  The door opened.  

               “Hey, Ford,” Stan said.  He was clearly disheveled, and seemed tired, but he looked better than Ford expected.

               Hell, he probably looks better than I do right now, given the way he’s staring at me.

               “Uh, come in,” Stan said, standing to the side.  Ford walked into the house, still on edge.  His nerves more or less dissipated when he saw how cozy the somewhat clean living room was.  There were children’s toys scattered around the off-white carpeting, which confused him.

               Maybe Stan has a roommate who has a child.

               “Do ya wanna talk in the kitchen?” Stan asked awkwardly.  “I, uh, I think we’ve got some coffee.  And it looks like you could use a cup.”

               “Yes, please.”  Ford followed Stan to the kitchen, then took a seat at the table.  He continued to take in his surroundings while Stan dug around in cupboards.  And the sound of footsteps, Stan and Ford turned around.  

               “Hey, kid, you’re supposed to be nappin’,” Stan said.  The girl, a toddler no more than four years old, rubbed her eyes with her free hand.  Her other hand was busy holding a large stuffed animal frog.

               “Woke up,” she mumbled blearily.  She stared at Ford.  “Who’s he?”

               “A…friend,” Stan said hesitantly.  The child frowned.

               “Looks like you.”

               “Your point?” Stan asked.  The child scrunched up her nose, clearly dissatisfied with Stan’s response.  “I can’t play right now, y’know.”

               “Don’t wan’ play.  Wan’ foods.”

               “All right, we can do that,” Stan said.  He picked up the toddler and sat her in a chair at the table, which Ford suddenly realized had a booster seat in it.  “Whattaya want, kiddo?”

               “My name’s not kiddo.  ‘s Daisy,” the child said petulantly.  Stan chuckled.  

               “I know that.  Whattaya want?”

               “Corns.”

               “The stuff your ma makes?” Stan asked.  Daisy nodded.  “You’re in luck.  She made some before she left.  Can ya wait ‘til I get the coffee started?”

               “No,” Daisy said flatly.  Stan looked over at Ford.

               “Mind waitin’ on the coffee until I get Miss Daisy her food?”

               “That’s fine,” Ford said, slightly blindsided by how good Stan was with this girl. He looked over at the child, who was staring at him.  “H-hello.” She zeroed in on his hands.  Ford fought the urge to hide them.

               This is a child, she might not know it’s an abnormality.  I shouldn’t bring attention to it.  

               “Twelve,” Daisy said suddenly.  Ford stared at her.  

               She knows how to count?  I wasn’t expecting her to be able to.  Granted, I don’t know anything about child development.  Daisy grinned at him and held up her own hands.

               “Eleven,” she said cheerfully.  Ford’s eyes widened.  Like she had said, she had eleven fingers.  One hand had six, while the other had five.

               “That’s right, you’ve got eleven fingers.  How much older is your sister?” Stan asked, rummaging around in the fridge.

               “Eleven.”

               “Eleven what?”

               “Minutes.”

               “And how old are you?”

               “Three!” Daisy said happily.  The whole exchange had a feeling of it being a tradition, something they did on a regular occasion.  Stan put a plate of some sort of yellow mushy thing in front of Daisy.

               “Eat up.”  Daisy beamed at him and began to shovel food into her mouth.  “I’ll get the coffee started.”  

               “Yes,” Ford said absentmindedly.  He was looking the child over, attempting to determine who she was. She had the rosy, full cheeks seen in much of his family, but then again, didn’t all children have rather chubby cheeks?  She had brown hair that looked a bit out of control, but that wasn’t something restricted to the Pines lineage.  Daisy stopped eating for a moment to look at him again.  

               Blue eyes…well, that doesn’t help. In a short while, the scent of brewing coffee filled the kitchen.  There were more footsteps, but Stan, who was loudly moving things in cupboards, didn’t hear. Ford looked over at the entrance to the kitchen.  Another toddler, of similar age to Daisy, was standing silently, her head tilted curiously as she looked at him.

               “Uh, Stan?” Ford said.  Stan turned. He sighed.

               “You’re up, too?”

               “Hungry,” the second toddler said.  

               “Daisy’s havin’ the corn stuff you two like so much.  Want that?”  The child nodded.  “All right.” Stan walked over to the second child and put her in another booster seat at the table.  She waited patiently for her food, her eyes flicking back and forth between Ford and Stan.  

               This one has brown eyes.  But it wasn’t the eye color that confirmed Ford’s suspicions.  It was the large, ruddy nose that he had only ever seen in a Pines.  Stan set a plate in front of the second toddler.

               “Go nuts, princess.”

               “Thank you, Daddy,” the child said politely.  Stan winced.  

               “Stan, no need to worry,” Ford said.  “I figured it out.”  Stan looked at him.

               “Yeah?”

               “They’re clearly related to you, physiologically speaking.  And Daisy is rather similar in behavior to you.”

               “Dam- dang,” Stan muttered.  Daisy cocked her head at Ford.

               “Your words are like Ma’s.  Do you science?”

               “Yes, I am a scientist.  And,” Ford added, “I am also your uncle.”  Daisy and the second child, whose name Ford still didn’t know, stared at him.

               “You don’t look like an uncle,” Daisy said confidently.

               “Don’t talk same,” the second child added.  Stan sighed.  

               “Danny, Daisy, not all uncles look and sound the same,” he said, rubbing his eyes.  “Just ‘cause you’ve only met your ma’s brothers doesn’t mean all uncles are exactly like them.”  Stan paused. “And, yes.  He is your uncle.  Your Uncle Ford.”  

               “Does Ma know we have another uncle?” the second child, apparently named Danny, asked.

               “…No.”

               “Why not?”  

               “All right, Twenty Questions is over.”  Stan took his daughters out of their chairs and handed them their plates of food.  “Go eat somewhere else while the grownups talk.  Try not to get crumbs everywhere.  Your ma blows her gasket ‘bout it.”

               “Apple likes crumbs,” Daisy said.  Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.

               “Fine, fine.  We’ll set Apple loose after you’re done eatin’, then.  Now go on, scat.”  He gently pushed them outside of the kitchen.  The girls wandered off.  

               “…Apple?” Ford asked.  Stan walked over to the counter and poured a mug of coffee.  

               “Don’t let toddlers name dogs.”  He handed the mug to Ford, then sat down at the table.  Ford stared at his twin.

               “Two kids, a dog, and, judging by the ring on your finger, a wife? Stanley, I’m honestly completely surprised.”

               “Yeah, well.  To be fair, the dog thing only happened ‘cause the girls spent a week with their grandparents. Fell in love with the idea of havin’ a pet.”  Stan rolled his eyes.  “Shoulda known better than to let ‘em spend so much time on a farm.”

               “I assume you mean their maternal grandparents, then?”

               “No fuckin’ shit, Sixer.  I’m not lettin’ Pops anywhere near my kids.”

               “That’s…a wise decision,” Ford agreed softly.  A moment passed.  Stan idly played with his wedding ring; a simple gold band.  Ford cleared his throat.  “So, Daisy and Danny Pines, then?”

               “Danny’s full name is Danica,” Stan said.  “And they’ve got their ma’s last name.  So, it’s Danica and Daisy McGucket.”  Ford’s heart stopped.  He stared at his twin, dumbfounded.

               I thought there was something familiar about Daisy’s nose!  He stood up abruptly.

               “I have to leave.”

               “W-what?  Ford, ya just got here, and ya haven’t told me why you’re here yet.”

               “I can’t be here.  Not- not around a McGucket.”

               “I mean, I know it’s a bit of a goofy last name, but-” Stan started. Ford shook his head.

               “No, I- I can’t face Fiddleford’s family,” Ford said firmly.  Stan frowned at Ford.

               “Okay, how the hell do ya know my wife’s older brother?”

               “She’s his younger sister?  Shit!” Ford ran a hand through his hair. “I thought she might be his cousin or niece or- but no, I can’t see her.”

               “Ford, she’s at work.  She won’t be back until the zoo closes at six.  Seriously.  Sit down.” Ford eyed his twin, painfully aware of how erratic his behavior was.  “Come on.  At least tell me why you’re here.  And I wouldn’t be opposed to findin’ out why you apparently hate my wife’s family.”

               “I don’t hate the McGuckets.  I’m sure they’re lovely people.”  Ford looked away.  “I just- I can’t be around the family of the man whose life I destroyed.”

               “Okay, yeah, you’re definitely stayin’ until you can explain the big dose of weird-ass shit ya just said,” Stan said firmly.  

               “You can’t make me,” Ford replied.  Stan narrowed his eyes.

               “Try me,” Stan said in a stony voice.  Ford swallowed.  He sat down at the table again.  Stan pushed the mug of coffee toward him.  “Now.  Talk.”

[oodlyenough]

kali watches iron fist so you don’t have to: episode 1x04

the plot is getting slightly more complicated now that the plot isn’t “danny yells at people that he is danny rand”, so i’m gonna break it up ep by ep i think. 

episodes 1-3, if you missed it

the plot: 

when we last left our intrepid hero he was being pushed out of a window on the meachum house a la the first episode of game of thrones. this picks up with him miraculously catching on to some kind of pillar a few feet below, and then slipping off of that onto a balcony, so his death-defying fall is only a few feet

he wakes up with ward and harry meachum. harry does his whole transparently manipulative abusive father schitck by being like oH GOD DANNY YOU’RE ALIVE I’M SO GLAAAAAD WELCOME HOOOOME while ward glares in the corner. harry retells how he died of cancer but struck a deal with the sinister Hand, and they revived him but on the catch that he is indebted to them and can never leave his house or reveal that he is alive to anyone except, for some reason, his shitty son and his manservant.

he whines about how he hasn’t seen joy in ages and begs danny not to tell joy that he’s alive, which danny agrees to.. because... whatever.

he also insists that danny be given his rightful stake in Rand (a gajillion dollars and majority shareholder status), which really doesn’t sit well with jealous longsuffering firstborn ward.

so now danny is the majority shareholder of a company that he loves because he misses his dead dad but which he knows truly fuck-all about. rand wants to have him be a figurehead with no official position, just raking in the cash, but danny, who has presumably no business experience or market knowledge literally at all, wants to insert himself in everything, for some reason.

he barges into a board meeting and does one of the most embarassing things i’ve ever seen committed to screen, which is walk over to the one empty rolly chair, drag it painstakingly all the way across the room and then demand everyone budge up so he can sit next to joy. saklfhalwrhlawt the awkward, embarassing nature of this scene is the first time iron fist has truly nailed creating emotional resonance

turns out Rand is Big Pharma. they are discussing some new wonder drug they’ve developed that costs $5 a pill to make and they will sell it for $50 a dose. capitalism’s bad. danny is mad. “we should sell at cost!”

no, other people explain, we need to make a profit, and we funnel most of that money back into our research labs where we find these miracle cures, argues Big Pharma

KILLING PEOPLE IS BAD, FUCK TRUMP, SELL AT COST yells danny, and uses his majority shareholder status to make it so.

everyone is mad because they love money.

ward INEXPLICABLY decides the way to get back at danny is to leak this story to the press. Ward Meachum, Businessman Extraordinaire thinks a story in which his company wanted to make huge profit off the sick and danny rand demanded they sell drugs at cost, honest to god thought this would be good press for his company and bad press for danny. ?!?!?! surprise motherfucker?

(i think karen page writes the article but i’m not 100% sure. it was definitely not karen who came to interview him, which was disappointing.)

meanwhile, danny and joy are friends again! turns out danny didn’t STEAL the craft that had his fingerprint on it, joy gave it to him. awww she’s nice now!! buddies! ?????!

i feel like i in the audience am the only one mad about danny’s trip to “hospital”. i don’t even like the dude, really, but what happened to him there was horrific and everyone’s just fine with it??? danny doesn’t care? joy feels no particular guilt and never even properly apologized for it??? WHAT IS GOING ON. THEY STRAPPED YOU TO A BED AND DRUGGED YOU OH MY GOD

anyway, danny tells his new bestie joy some horrific story about a “job” he really wanted (implied to be the “job” of being the iron fist, whatever that means) and how he had to work for years and it involved monks beating him up, like, all the time.

“that sounds like abuse,” says joy, who can recognize abuse in some contexts. just not at a pretend hospital.

joy goes to ... the hallway for some reason and gets jumped by a bunch of ninjas with hatchets. for real. danny, of course, rescues her, then he takes her to colleen’s place for safety 

CAN COLLEEN PLEASE LIVE??!?! WILL THESE RICH WHITE PEOPLE LET HER LIVE

anyway, he ditches joy on colleen and goes to find the people who attacked joy, which is apparently a triad called “the hatchet men”??? very literal, i guess they want brand recognition

the hatchet men are mad at joy because she, on behalf of Rand, bought out some pier that the hatchet men were using for some nefarious criminal purposes. danny explains that the Hand blackmailed Rand (god.......) into buying that pier, and please leave joy alone or i’ll make my fist glow and punch you

the hatchet men ... are fine with this. i mean, it is supposed to be that the hatchet men don’t wanna fuck with the hand, but lol

danny asks what they want with the pier, and what the hand wants with the pier, and the hatchet men hand him a little packet of heroin and then disappear into the shadows 

the characters:

no one new in this ep who is meaningful really

at this point in the show i find things are starting to get kind of... odd... with danny as a character. what he described IS obviously abuse, but we don’t see it, and we have no real context for it to make it emotional or compelling, and danny himself is cavalier about it, not even really in the ~hard exterior~ way, just. he doesn’t seem to have noticed. it sounds very similar to what we saw in daredevil with baby matt and stick, which is kind of an interesting comparison because i’d say daredevil was less consistent about portraying matt and stick’s relationship as abusive, yet emotionally i felt a lot more visceral “ugh no” than when danny’s describing his tribulations.

saving joy and demanding at-cost pricing is the first time danny has done anything that could be construed as charitable or not self-interested. it is starting to feel like they’re beginning to try with danny as a character, they’re just ....not succeeding. 

he has a lot to overcome in terms of the sympathy level of a white billionaire who corrects chinese people on their own culture, but they’re also just not hitting emotional beats that they could be hitting. it’s hard to put my finger on what exactly isn’t working. 

one of his biggest issues is that he continues to be a white man written by men, and thus his relationship with women is still fucked up in ways that the writers obviously don’t realize is fucked up

a good example is that now that he works at Rand, he has an assistant. he walks over to her and is like “hey you’re my assistant right? so does that mean you do whatever i tell you?”

obviously uncomfortable, she’s basically like no, it means i schedule your meetings. danny then LITERALLY asks “if i asked you to go buy me a box of fruit roll-ups, you’d have to, right?” to which the secretary is like “...........do you want a box of fruit roll-ups...?” 

but he doesn’t even want fruit roll-ups!!! he instead then veers course and asks what info she has about the pier deal. she explains she has none but can set up a meeting for him with someone who worked on the file. he nods and wanders away, handing her an origami post-it flower, and she seems charmed. 

WHAT THE FUCK @ all of that. it was the weirdest goddamn scene. his actual request (info about the pier) makes total sense, so why did he (the writers) cloud it in this weird gender dynamic? why did he start by making her uncomfortable? why did he come up with an absurd fetch-and-carry quest he didn’t even want her to do? what the fuck is happening?

joy is obviously meant to be sympathetic by now, as i expected, but she’s kind of a monster? i don’t know. i can’t get over how she 1) participated in institutionalizing danny, but more importantly 2) DID NOT EVEN CARE LMAO LIKE WHAT THE FUCK. plus that scene where she auctioned off someone’s liver!!!!! i guess her giving him the craft was her absolution? but we didn’t even see it happen. i don’t know. 

colleen is doing very little besides helping out danny and going to fight clubs where she kicks ass. colleen taking on two huge men in a cage fight and breaking one’s arm was the most engaging fight scene on this show so far. 

[teenwolfsnippets]

Just Forget

“Has anyone heard from Derek?” Stiles asks.

Scott scoffs and glares at him.

“Why would I have heard from him? And really, who cares anyway?”

Stiles sighs as his friend slams his locker closed with unnecessary force. He can’t really blame him though. The last 2 years had been rough and their small group of friends had dwindled back to only the two of them, with Danny tagging along every once in a while.

Scott slumps against the wall, the depression still looming over him. The hunters were no longer a threat, but only because they had moved on to bigger things. Allison had joined some training camp over the summer and never came back. They knew she was alright, better than alright actually. Apparently she was a big time leader in the hunter world now, with her own soldiers under her and everything.

It was simply one more thing to make Stiles angry. Every day he wished to go back to that summer before sophomore year, before he dragged Scott into the woods looking for a dead body. To this day, he has no idea what the hell he’d been thinking.

Stiles quickly packs all those thoughts away and pats Scott on the shoulder.

“You’re right. No need to worry about anything more than school this year,” he says.

Scott gives him a weak smile and Stiles pushes him towards the classroom. They take their regular seats, trying to ignore the now empty ones across the room. Four empty seats for four missing friends.

Missing, Stiles muses to himself. Six feet under isn’t exactly missing.

Stiles cringes away from his own thoughts, but quickly covers it with a smile when Scott glances at him. At least he can take comfort in knowing that Lydia had made it out okay. Well, if you count being locked in a psychiatric ward okay.

The question he’d asked earlier is still buzzing around in his head. None of them had heard from the Alpha for weeks now. Once the dust settled in their little town, Derek had disappeared. Well, it’s not like any of them had actually tried looking for him. They were all stuck in that post-battle haze, just moving through the motions of regular life the best they could. Maybe Stiles should make an attempt to reach out to him. He knew Scott was never going to do it and Danny didn’t really know Derek.

So that left him, but he doesn’t know what he would even say if he found him.

There was so much death in his life. If there was a God, he was a sick bastard, toying with people like this. Stiles used to believe, he really did. Religion was something his mother had demanded they partake in and Stiles had been fine with it. Then she died and his faith had dimmed slightly, but he figured she was in heaven at least.

However, now, with everything that’s happened, Stiles no longer believed and couldn’t for the life of him remember why he ever had. The world was what people had made it, nothing more or less. A place where creatures tore each other apart without the slightest bit of hesitation.

Even Stiles himself had done things that his mother would be disgusted by.

The bell rings, but Stiles is suddenly too exhausted to move. Scott looks over at him with a frown and simply sits back down, bumping his shoulder.

“You take your Adderall today?” he asks.

Stiles huffs out a laugh.

“That must be it,” he says.

He grabs his ever-present pill bottle from his bag and swallows two of them. His third dose that day, but it’s not important.

“All better, buddy. Let’s get lunch,” he says, darting up.

Stiles shoves his sullen thoughts to the back of his mind and walks with his friend to the cafeteria. They no longer sit at their usual table, but under a shady tree out in the courtyard. Danny is already there, reading a book.

“Hey, Danny,” Scott greets, sitting down on the grass.

Stiles leans back against the tree, ignoring the rumbling of his stomach. He knows if he eats, it will make him nauseous, so there isn’t any point.

The other boy only grunts, nodding his head in greeting. Danny doesn’t say much these days, but none of them really do, not even Stiles.

Stiles checks his phone for the tenth time this morning. He doesn’t know if he should text Derek. He doesn't even know if Derek still has a phone.

-haven’t heard from u in a while, just checking in

He sends the text before he can talk himself out of it. He wonders if it's too vague or impersonal. Then he wonders if it even matters.

Stiles fidgets restlessly, legs bouncing against the grass, hands shaking slightly. He probably shouldn’t have tripled his dosage, but it's too late now.

“Hey, you guys want to get out of here?” Danny asks, packing his stuff already.

Stiles doesn’t bother with an answer, simply standing and trudging after his friend. He idly wonders if Danny is actually a friend.

He immediately decides that no, he wasn’t. Stiles won’t let him be. Scott is his only friend and even that is too much.

“There’s a party at Greenburg’s tonight,” Danny mutters.

“Well hell, you know I’m in,” Stiles says.

Scott nods at his side, playfully wrapping an arm around Danny’s massive shoulders. Though Greenburg was a bit of a weirdo, he really knew how to throw a raging party.

They make their way back to Stiles’ place to get ready, not bothering to comment on how they bailed on almost an entire day of school. It’s not like anyone notices anymore.

“Stiles?!”

The boy grimaces as his dad slams the front door closed. So maybe someone still noticed.

“Yeah, up here Dad!” he calls.

This was a common occurrence over the last summer. Stiles royally fucking up and his father yelling until he was red in the face. Normally Stiles would be worried about his blood pressure, but he chose not to worry about anything these days. If the only way to hold himself together is to push everyone, including his father, to arm’s length, then that’s what he’ll have to do. A lump forms in his throat knowing how disappointed his mother would be by his coping mechanism.

His father barges in at that moment, thankfully pulling his thoughts back into the present. The man stands in the doorway for a good two minutes, huffing out his frustration. Once he’s calm enough, he glances at the other two boys in the room and sighs in defeat.

“Stiles, what happened?” he asks.

“Nothing,” he says with a shrug.

“Just felt like skipping,” he answers honestly.

His dad shakes his head in disbelief.

“Just felt like skipping,” he repeats slowly.

Stiles and Scott nod at him, while Danny continues to fiddle with his hair in front of the mirror.

“That’s the third time this week,” he says, arms crossed.

“Yes, I can count, thank you,” Stiles retorts, grinning.

The Sheriff sighs, fingers rubbing his forehead.

“Can I talk to you in the hall?” he asks.

He doesn’t wait for an answer, simply expects his son to follow, which he reluctantly does. Scott would still hear whatever it was, but the Sheriff still doesn’t know that.

“Kid, I need you to talk to me. Do we need to send you to the doctor again? I gotta tell you, you’re worrying me. You’re skipping class, you’re hardly ever home, I never see you eat, and don’t think I haven’t noticed how many times you’ve refilled your prescription this month alone,” he says.

Stiles stares at a stain on the wall, trying to formulate an appropriate answer. He’s never had a problem rambling at people until they leave, but he just doesn’t have the energy anymore.

“No, dad, I don’t need to see the doctor again. I promise I won’t miss any more classes, I’ve just been hanging out with friends, I ate an entire lasagna last night, and I lost that last bottle of Adderall,” he lies.

It’s robotic almost, lying to cover his problems so his father will stop worrying. When he glances back at him, he can tell the lie has fallen flat, but his dad simply sighs again and then glances over his son’s outfit.

“Going out?”

“Yeah, party at Greenburg’s,” Stiles says with a shrug.

The man simply stares, shoulders dragging in defeat.

“Curfew is midnight, do not drive drunk, do not take drugs, and for God’s sake do not let me find you vomiting your life away into the toilet when I come home again. I know it’s Friday, but don’t overdo it tonight, alright?” his dad asks, looking away dejectedly.

“Yeah, dad, hear you loud and clear. Guys, let’s go!” he calls, side-stepping around his father.

He then stomps his way outside to his jeep.