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redrobin-detective · 3 years

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Just one single glimpse of relief

TW: OC death, death themes

“Hey,” Sydnee looked up at the sound of the voice. It was familiar, safe, and it stopped her tears for a moment. She can’t remember where she was or what she’d been doing. All she knew was that she was scared and upset and didn’t know what to do. It felt like she’d been crying forever when the voice appeared. “Hey there, it’s Phantom. Can I come closer?”

Sydnee gasped as the town hero, Phantom, approached her slowly. Syd was a bit of a nerd and she couldn’t get enough of those superhero movies. She always tuned in to Phantom’s fights on TV; he was as close as she’d get to a real life Superman or Captain Marvel. She’d never seen him up close before though. He was younger than he appeared on TV, not more than his early teens. Sydnee, almost 24, was hit by a wave of mortification over how they’d described the hunky, we-thought-he-was-older kid on Margarita Night. This day just got better and better, not that she remembered it.

“How are you doing?” Phantom asked quietly, floating near her but not getting too close. He was watching her warily but not unkindly. She saw how some folks treated him, he was probably worried she’d throw a shoe at him. “What’s your name?”

“Sydnee, with an extra e not a y. Uh Tanner, Sydnee Tanner,” she mumbled. Ugh why were words so hard. Her head felt fuzzy and very far away, she thinks she was going to start panicking again. What was she even so upset about? “I don’t know what’s going on. Where are we and what happened. I don’t- I don’t remember anything.”

“It’s okay,” he said soothingly, floating a little closer. The soft glow he emitted brightened up the dark place they were in. Was she in a collapsed tunnel? What had she been doing here? She’d never been claustrophobic but the debris and rubble of the place seemed to close in on her. “Hey, hey, just look at me.” She turned and met his kind eyes, soft and easy. “We’ll walk through it together. What is the last thing you remember?”

“I was late to work,” Syd said, the memory popping up before her. “I um work at the Donut Delights bakery in that strip mall next to the middle school. My cats had knocked over some of my houseplants in the night so I had to clean them up and was running behind. I open the store on Wednesdays - oh it’s Wednesday! - so I knew I’d be in trouble. But I made it, just barely. I was starting up the ovens when.” Syd furrowed her brow and took in the hero before her. The one who was almost never seen outside a fight. “There was a ghost attack, wasn’t there?”

“Welcome to Amity Park,” Phantom said grimly. “I’ve been here a couple times; the jalapeno bacon topped donuts are my favorite. My mom and sister buy them sometimes if they want to bribe me into doing something.”

“You weirdo, only crazy people eat that weird flavor,” Sydnee chuckled. “You have a family?”

“Of course, we all have a family out there somewhere. What about you?” He asked gently. There was something about the soft way he was talking to her, the way his eyes flickered around the dark like he was looking for something. He had news he didn’t want to tell her and she wasn’t ready to hear it. Not yet. Just a few more minutes of denial before she faced the revelation she couldn’t bear to touch yet.

“Yeah, mom and dad and two younger sibs. Folks divorced forever ago, I barely remember them actually being together. Mom is is living it up in Dubai working as a pastry chef in one of their fancy hotels. Dad’s an auto-mechanic down on Maple street, Duke’s Car Services. Pretty sure you got tossed through the window a year ago.”

“I’ve been tossed through many windows but I know the place you’re talking about. So a big family, any friends? Boyfriends? Girlfriends?”

“I have a boyfriend,” she continued on hastily, taking the distraction for what it was. “I like him, a lot and we’ve been dating since high school. Everyone says I should marry him and we’ve talked about it, casually, but I’ve never dated anyone else and wonder if I should see other people first. You know, test the waters before I settle down with my high school sweetheart like my folks did and look how they turned out.”

“Mhmm,” Phantom hummed nodding, encouraging her to continue.

“DeShawn is great though, he’s very supportive and sweet in his own kind of absentminded way. He’s got epilepsy real bad though, I have to drive him everywhere since he’s always at risk of a seizure. Annoying sometimes but its nice, you can learn a lot about a person from a conversation while you’re alone together.”

“Very true, I’m learning a lot now,” Phantom smiled. “What about your siblings?”

“I have a brother and a sister, Kennedy is finishing his sophomore year of college and Janelle will be a senior in high school. She was a surprise baby, one last attempt of my parents to reconcile before the big D. It didn’t help but I got a great sister out of it, she’s a real firecracker.”

“Janelle,” Phantom’s eyes lit up. “She’s the one always dying her hair. I see her in the hallways of Casper, she’s hard to miss. I think she draws too, she won an art award I think.”

“Yeah!” Sydnee said enthusiastically, she reached out and grabbed ahold of Phantom’s arm. It was cold but solid. It reminded her that she really couldn’t feel anything, nothing but him. “Yeah, I swear her hair is a new color every time I see her. It’s a dark purple now, it looks pretty good on her. She was a peachy orange for picture day last year. Mom called her up screaming when she saw the photos.”

“I thought it looked cool,” Phantom grinned, “not that I was there for picture day. Ghost attack, you know. My mom was upset with me too.” They laughed lightly for a minute before it gently petered off leaving them alone in the dark. Sydnee didn’t have any feeling in her toes, in any part of her. She felt light and disconnected and all over out of sorts. She was pretty sure she knew what had happened but she couldn’t face it yet. But talking to Phantom, it seemed a little easier.

“I remember the attack now,” Sydnee stated quietly. “It was a big ghost bear only it was the size of a pickup truck. It rammed into the store there was chaos and screaming. It was so loud, the screaming of the customers, the bear, building coming down on top of us...” her lips wobbled. “We’re still in the store, aren’t we? I haven’t wanted to turn around because... because I know my body is buried underneath the concrete back there.”

“Yeah,” Phantom breathed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get here in time. Most everyone in the area got out but you and a few others in the store got trapped under the rubble. Mrs. McDaniels who lived on Eustis street and was the first woman in her family to go to college plus Eddie Drake who came down from Chicago to check out the ghost stuff with their boyfriend and was a tattoo artist.”

“Did you talk to them too?” She questioned in surprise.

“Briefly, Mrs. McDaniels didn’t stay long, just long enough to tell me, and I quote, “stop wasting time on her dead ass and get to the others.” She already passed on. Eddie, they didn’t take it well. We talked for a while and I think they need a little more time to accept it, see their loved ones first. I warned them that the longer they delay death, the harder it is and the more you lose yourself. You’re the last, all the way in the back of the store. When you’re ready, I’m going to bring your body out.”

“Thank you,” she whispered before breaking out into hysterical laughter. “God I bet I’m a wreck, I think I put my shirt on inside out I was in such a rush this morning,” she sniffled. “What do I do now, as a ghost? I don’t have to, like, attack people, do I?”

“No,” Phantom sighed. “Most ghosts are just normal people, no one else but other ghosts will see you and you’re not going to be strong enough to interact with the real world for a long, long time. You can stick around a bit if you want, watch over your family but it’s like I told Eddie, you forget things pretty quick. Or you can move on, that part I can’t help you with but I’ve helped a lot of others go that route and I’m told it’s easy.”

“Easy, then why haven’t you?” She questioned angrily, the full weight of the situation crashing over her. She shoved him and he floated back passively. “I’m a freaking ghost and you’re here talking to me like you’re my therapist or something. Who’s gonna take DeShawn to his appointments? Or praise my sister’s creative messes? Or badger Ken into picking major? My life is over and you think you can float there and lecture me about it being easy to move on!”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Phantom soothed, scratching at the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry Sydnee, I wish I could turn back the clock an hour, two hours, and prevent this from happening but I can’t. I’ve tried to mess with time and it doesn’t end well for anyone. I just want, I just want what’s best for you now. You can stay or you can go but I want you to make the decision that you feel most comfortable with. That’s all I can do for you.”

“I think I’d be sad,” she said, crying again, “being able to see everyone but not talk to them, to watch them cry over me. I don’t want to forget them either.” Phantom watched her, easily and earnestly. “What made you choose to stay? Why didn’t you go?”

“I’m a little complicated but I can tell you, when I’ve done all I need to here, I’m not hanging around a second longer than I have to. Being a ghost has it’s perks but it’s also, it’s being stuck in a place you longer fit, watching the world go on without you.”

“Okay,” Syd hiccupped. “Okay, yeah okay.”

“Okay,” Phantom nodded. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No, please don’t,” she grabbed his hands again. “Please I don’t, I know I died alone but I don’t want to do... this alone. Please stay, ugh, calling you Phantom is weird sorry.”

“I don’t know if it’s any less weird but you can call me Danny,” Phantom, Danny, laughed. It was an ordinary name for a superhero but it fit. There was a special thrill in knowing the ghost boy’s name but it’s not like she was going to be around to tell anyone. It was scary, to think of not existing but also sort of comforting, like a long nap with nothing pressing to get up for.

“Can you tell them that I love them, in my place? I know it’s a lot and I’m sure you’re super busy saving the town and everything-”

"It’s not a problem. I’m sure they know but I’ll be happy to pass on the message,” he smiled and it made him look so young. For a second she was struck by how sad it was that she was relying on a kid a decade younger than her for support. But he was here and he was kind and he was what she needed right now. Maybe one day, he’d have his own person talking him through this last step.

“Okay, Danny, thanks really. For talking, for staying. I’m scared but I, I think I’m ready.” She closed her eyes and squeezed his hands tightly. “Do you, will it hurt?”

“No,” he said, his voice warm despite his inherent chill. “No, Sydnee. No, the hurting is all over now. All you have left ahead of you is peace. Thank you for all that did, you’ll be missed.”

“I’ll see you on the other side. Goodbye.” The world faded to a pinprick, consumed by light. The last thing she saw before she went into it was a stranger’s smile.

XxX

“Here’s the last,” Phantom said solemnly, delicately setting a broken body he’d carried out of the dilapidated building and on the sidewalk next to the others. “This is Sydnee Tanner, she was the only employee in the store at the time. She has cats at home who will need taking care of. Her dad works at Duke’s Car Services along with siblings and a boyfriend.”

“Don’t know how you know all that but thanks for getting these folks out,” Sheriff Newton sighed. “Damn shame. Keep up the good work kid, we’ll save the next ones for sure. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some rather unhappy news to break to several people.”

“Do you mind if I tag along? I have a few messages I need to pass on.”

#danny phantom #me: makes up a random OC for the sake of the story #also me: oh my gawd sydney oh my goodd im so sorry baby Im sorry #the exciting continuation of Robin gets weirdly existential and peaceful about death #just the image of Danny saving the living then going on to talk to and help the dead he couldnt save move on #it fucking gets me okay?#he really is the bridge hero for the living and the dead alike #i love him so fucking much #well now Im emo for the rest of forever #title from Taylor Swifts epiphany #amazing a story title that DOESNT come from the 18-19th century death poem #i must be mad #Im reading it over again and its like way longer than it needs to be bc I kept adding more and more to sydnees story

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alphadaddyderek · 3 years

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Not all math puns are awful, just sum (sterek fic, high school au)

ao3 link: click if you dare

summary: ’what is the probability that anyone will pass this fucking class? I’m thinking 1 in 100’

Stiles shakes his head because that was such a bad math joke that it was actually kinda funny. And, based on the expressions on people’s faces during class, also very true.

'i think there is statistical data to back up your theory’

AU where Stiles and Derek have to share a textbook and they write terrible math puns back and forth to each other.

Stiles sincerely, genuinely, regrets taking AP classes.

Well, kinda.

They would look great on his resume. Colleges wouldn’t even second guess accepting him and he would receive so many scholarships which would help his dad big time.

AP classes will also raise his GPA crazy high which, again, looks great to colleges.

Sometimes they just suck.

His AP Statistics class is definitely #1 on the ‘classes that suck straight ass list’.

It’s boring and it can be kinda hard. Plus it’s math so it’s automatically gross.

Stiles is good at math, but it’s not his forte, that’s more Lydia Martin’s thing.

Anyway, Beacon Hills High had to have some budget cuts this year, like, serious budget cuts. The sports teams are lucky that people care about people throwing balls all over the place, otherwise they would’ve gotten cut too.

Since the school has had budget cuts, the students don’t get individual textbooks anymore. Meaning, that they can only use it during class and then they have to leave it in the classroom for the next class to use.

So, yeah.

It’s the third week of junior year, AP Stat is as boring as always. He has Lydia to talk to sometimes but she has other friends in the same class, so he's not always entertained.

The teacher didn’t really care about whether or not students did the work, he just played chess on his computer the whole class anyway. He gave the page number that we were supposed to work on and that was that.

Stiles prefers that to lectures, but still. When he’s done the work there’s nothing left for him to do. He could go on his phone, but even that gets boring eventually.

What he’s trying to say is that he’s bored, okay?

Turning to the page that the teacher assigned, Stiles is shocked and wildly amused, to already see writing on the margins of the page. He figured it would take at least half the school year before people started vandalizing the textbooks. Although, it’s written in pencil so it’s easily erasable.

When Stiles actually reads what was written he snorts. Luckily, it’s loud in the class so the most attention he gets is when Lydia shoots him a weird look which he ignores.

'what is the probability that anyone will pass this fucking class? I’m thinking 1 in 100'

Stiles shakes his head because that was such a bad math joke that it was actually kinda funny. And, based on the expressions on people’s faces during class, also very true.

Should he write something back? Stiles doesn’t know if the person who wrote this is hoping for a response, or if they wrote in the book because they’re just as bored as Stiles is.

Eh, fuck it. Why not?

'i think there is statistical data to back up your theory’

Stiles snickers at his equally bad math joke before finally deciding to focus on the actual work. He didn’t want to be one of the ones who didn’t pass the class, because that would suck. So he does the work and for the remainder of the class he lets out a giggle or two every once in a while because even though he’s 16 years old, he apparently still has the sense of humor of a child.

π π π

It’s the next class and honestly, Stiles kind of forgot about the writing in the textbook. After he left that class he went to AP Geography where there was immediately a test, which he nailed by the way. Plus, with all his other classes, he just didn’t think it was important to remember a bad, but still funny, math joke in a textbook.

The teacher assigns them another page number full of questions to work on. And, just like last time, there’s writing in the margins.

‘i’m sorry, that was pretty mean of me to say’

That one has Stiles laughing out loud. Not too loud though, because he doesn’t have that much of a death wish. He just laughs loud enough to make Lydia send him another weird look, except this time Lydia questions him about it.

“What is so funny?” she asks, twirling her hair with her pencil.

Stiles shakes his head. “Nothing really. Just somebody writing lame math jokes on the book pages.”

“Well, you’re laughing at them. So doesn’t that make you lame as well?”

Stiles dramatically gasps.

“Wow, Lydia, that was pretty mean of you to say,” Stiles replies before bursting into more laughter.

At this point, Lydia is looking at him like he has brain damage but he really can’t bring himself to care. It’s hilarious and if she doesn’t think so then oh well. Her loss.

Well, she doesn’t know that that was the joke inside the textbook, but still, whatever.

It’s funny.

π π π

By this point, it’s kind of like Stiles and this unknown jokester are pen pals.

It’s been a week filled with terrible math jokes and Lydia probably losing more and more respect for him as the days pass.

He’s told Scott about his little pen pal and of course, Scott doesn’t really get it, but he’s supportive nonetheless.

It’s a Friday night and Scott is at Stiles’ house. They’re playing video games and eating so much pizza that Stiles will be bloated for an entire week.

Thankfully, his dad is on the night shift, otherwise, he would be heavily judgmental of Stiles’ life choices.

After several rounds of Mario Kart, they take a break to eat said pizza and talk a bit.

“So,” Scott takes a huge bite of his slice. “how are you and your math buddy doing?”

Stiles takes a bite of his own slice. “Why are you asking? Jealous?”

Scott laughs. “Oh yeah, I’m so jealous. Please, Stiles, make terrible math jokes with me.”

Stiles flips Scott off. “You only mock because you really are jealous.”

Scott rolls his eyes and then the topic is dropped.

At least for the next hour or so. Then after that, it gets brought back up.

“Do you think it’s weird to have a crush on someone you’ve never met?” Stiles asks, playing with a loose thread on his jeans.

Scott looks at Stiles, and Stiles does not want to see the weird look Scott has on his face so he continues looking down.

“You have a crush on this person?”

Stiles shrugs. “I don’t know. They’re funny, and obviously, they’re smart if they’re in AP Stat. I would like to meet this person though, maybe. I don’t know.”

Stiles feels his cheeks heating up.

Scott nudges Stiles with his elbow. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s not weird at all. It’s kinda like online dating, but like medieval style.”

Stiles can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of his throat. “What?”

It’s like medieval style! ‘Cause, it’s in a book. Instead of online.”

Scott is always able to make Stiles feel better, no matter the situation. His goofiness especially lightens his mood.

“Okay, Scott. Are we going to go jousting next?”

“I don’t know. What you guys do on your first date is none of my business,” Scott says with a sly smile.

Stiles snorts and grabs a pillow off the couch behind them and smacks Scott in the face with it, resulting in a pillow fight ensuing.

And if anybody asks, Scott did not win. He didn’t!

π π π

2 weeks after he and Scott had that talk, Stiles continues talking with his pen pal. Although, maybe Stiles is looking too deep into this, but it kind of seems like flirting now?

Hear him out.

In the margins, the person started adding smiley faces and winky faces after every message.

Ooh and they actually put their initials! D.H.

Stiles doesn’t think he knows anyone in school with those initials. Granted, Stiles isn’t exactly a social butterfly so he’s not doubting their existence at all.

AP Stat only has 5 minutes left in the class. Stiles has already embarrassed himself in front of Lydia more times than he can count, so he decides to ask Lydia if she knows someone with those initials.

She purses her lips. “Why do you ask?”

Stiles sighs inwardly before answering. “Uh, well. I was just...wondering. Ya know. Trying to expand my friend circle.”

Lydia raises an eyebrow. And Stiles sighs outwardly this time.

“Fine. You know the jokes that were in the book?”

“You mean from like a month ago?”

“Well...we’ve kinda been continuing to exchange jokes and notes and stuff. And then recently they put their initials. Or, at least I think it’s their initials. I don’t know what else it would be. So, yeah.”

Lydia looks at him for a moment before her lips curl up into a smile. “You mean you’ve finally found someone who has a worse sense of humor than you?”

Stiles returns the smile. “I’ll have you know, my sense of humor is advanced. Way too advanced even for you.”

“Uh-huh. Anyway, the only name that comes to mind is Derek Hale.”

Stiles chokes on his own spit. “Derek Hale? You mean the star of the basketball team? The guy with eyes that are like fifty different colors and bunny teeth that would look ridiculous on anyone else but he somehow looks gorgeous with them? That Derek Hale?”

“Yes. Other than that, I don’t know anyone else with those initials.”

“Does he take AP Stat?”

Lydia shrugs. Stiles takes that as a no.

There’s no way that Derek Hale is the one writing these notes. No way in hell. Stiles isn’t that lucky.

Plus, even if Derek is the one writing these, hypothetically speaking, Derek wouldn’t be interested in him. Don’t get Stiles wrong, he knows he’s a pretty attractive guy. But nobody in this school is as attractive as Derek Hale. Let's be real here.

Okay, maybe Danny. Danny is kinda gorgeous.

But besides Danny, nobody is even on the same level as Derek.

Well, Lydia is too.

Okay, dammit. People are on the same level as Derek Hale. The point is that Stiles isn’t.

Stiles sighs for what seems like the eighth time in. “Okay. Thanks.”

Lydia gives him a scrutinizing look before nodding and getting on her phone.

Stiles sits there and ponders why his life is like this before deciding that he must've done something to piss off fate in a past life. Pleased with his conclusion, Stiles shoves his notebook and pencils into his backpack just in time for the bell to ring.

π π π

Okay, so, Stiles must be going crazy.

When he saw that his pen pal had written his initials he figured, ‘hey, I might as well do the same. It’s only decent right?’ so he had, and ever since then Derek Hale has been shooting him looks in the hallway.

Maybe he’s hallucinating, because Derek Hale is, well, Derek Hale. Out of everyone in the hallway, why would he be looking at Stiles?

Also, Stiles can’t be the only person in the school with the initials S.S. although, he probably is the only S.S. that’s taking AP Stat so there’s that.

Stiles doesn’t know what to do, should he wave? Shoot him a smile?

Actually no, he should do neither of those things because if he does, and Derek actually wasn’t looking at him, that would be so unbelievably embarrassing. So embarrassing that Stiles would have to transfer schools immediately.

Stiles shakes his head and opens up his locker to gather his things for his next class. When he closes the locker Derek is standing right there like they’re in a horror movie and Stiles jumps so hard that he drops his notebook.

“Shit. Sorry,” Derek says and bends down to swipe Stiles’ notebook off the floor.

“No, it’s okay. You’re awfully quiet for an athlete.”

Stiles holds his hand out for his notebook but Derek doesn’t seem all that interested in returning it to him just yet. Derek looks at the front of his notebook.

“Hmm. AP Stat. Interesting.”

Stiles bites his lip and nods. “Yep,” he says popping the ‘p’. “it is interesting. Well, actually it’s not. AP Stat is yuck sometimes and it can get boring but it’ll look great on my resume so.”

Derek nods. He looks at Stiles for a few more seconds before he opens his mouth, and the second he does, Stiles’ stomach fills with butterflies.

“What is the probability that anyone will pass that fucking class? I’m thinking 1 in 100.”

Stiles bites his lip to stifle his smile. He doesn’t want to cheese like an idiot in front of Derek Hale but he thinks that ship has already sailed cause Derek’s lips stretch into a big smile.

Stiles clears his throat. “I think there is statistical data to back up your theory.”

“Oh, is there?” Derek asks, smile turning into a smirk.

Stiles nods then looks at his notebook that is still in Derek’s hand. “Can I have my notebook now? I’m not sure what exactly you’re plotting but I don’t like it.”

Derek scrunches his face up. “Wow, that was bad.”

Stiles’ mouth gapes. “Like yours were any better.”

Derek shrugs, smile returning to his face. “I thought my mean joke was pretty hilarious.”

“Yeah, hilariously bad. I didn’t laugh at all, not one bit.”

Derek looks like he doesn’t believe a word Stiles just said, which is fair, he shouldn’t.

“So,” Derek begins, eyes boring into Stiles’— seriously, what is up with Derek’s eyes? — “what is the probability that you will give me your number?”

Stiles pretends to think about it for a second. “I'm thinking 100 in 100.”

#stiles stilinski #derek hale #Sterek #sterek fic #high school au #quite possibly the worst math jokes ever in existence #my fic

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ladydarklord · 3 years

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The Mighty Boosh on the business of being silly

The Times, November 15 2008

What began as a cult cocktail of daft poems, surreal characters and fantastical storylines has turned into the comedy juggernaut that is the Mighty Boosh. Janice Turner hangs out with creators Noel Fielding, Julian Barratt and the extended Boosh family to discuss the serious business of being silly

In the thin drizzle of a Monday night in Sheffield, a crowd of young women are waiting for the Mighty Boosh or, more precisely, one half of it. Big-boned Yorkshire lasses, jacketless and unshivering despite the autumn nip, they look ready to devour the object of their desire, the fey, androgynous Noel Fielding, if he puts a lamé boot outside the stage door. “Ooh, I do love a man in eyeliner,” sighs Natalie from Rotherham. She’ll be throwing sickies at work to see the Boosh show 13 times on their tour, plus attend the Boosh after-show parties and Boosh book signings. “My life is dead dull without them,” she says.

Nearby, mobiles primed, a pair of sixth-formers trade favourite Boosh lines. “What is your name?” asks Jessica. “I go by many names, sir,” Victoria replies portentously. A prison warden called Davena survives long days with high-security villains intoning, “It’s an outrage!” in the gravelly voice of Boosh character Tony Harrison, a being whose head is a testicle.

Apart from Fielding, what they all love most about the Boosh is that half their mates don’t get it. They see a bloke in a gorilla suit, a shaman called Naboo, silly rhymes about soup, stories involving shipwrecked men seducing coconuts “and they’re like, ‘This is bloody rubbish,’” says Jessica. “So you feel special because you do get it. You’re part of a club.”

Except the Mighty Boosh club is now more like a movement. What began as an Edinburgh fringe show starring Fielding and his partner Julian Barratt and later became an obscure BBC3 series has grown into a box-set flogging, mega-merchandising, 80-date touring Boosh inc. There was a Boosh festival last summer, now talk of a Boosh movie and Boosh in America. An impasse seems to have been reached: either the Boosh will expand globally or, like other mass comedy cults before it – Vic and Bob, Newman and Baddiel – slowly begin to deflate.

But for the moment, the fans still wait in the rain for heroes who’ve already left the building. I find the Boosh gang gathered in their hotel bar, high on post-gig adrenalin. Barratt, blokishly handsome with his ring-master moustache, if a tad paunchy these days, blends in with the crew. But Fielding is never truly “off”. All day he has been channelling A Clockwork Orange in thick black eyeliner (now smudged into panda rings) and a bowler hat, which he wears with polka-dot leggings, gold boots and a long, neon-green fur-collared PVC trenchcoat. He has, as those women outside put it, “something about him”: a carefully-wrought rock-god danger mixed with an amiable sweetness. Sexy yet approachable. Which is why, perched on a barstool, is a great slab of security called Danny.

“He stops people getting in our faces,” says Fielding. “He does massive stars like P. Diddy and Madonna and he says that considering how we’re viewed in the media as a cult phenomenon, we get much more attention in the street than, say, Girls Aloud. Danny says we’re on the same level as Russell Brand, who can’t walk from the door to the car without ten people speaking to him.”

This barometer of fame appears to fascinate and thrill Fielding. Although he complains he can’t eat dinner with his girlfriend (Dee Plume from the band Robots in Disguise) unmolested, he parties hard and publicly with paparazzi-magnets like Courtney Love and Amy Winehouse. He claims he’s tried wearing a baseball cap but fans still recognise him. Hearing this, Julian Barratt smiles wryly: “Noel is never going to dress down.”

It is clear on meeting them that their Boosh characters Vince Noir (Fielding), the narcissistic extrovert, and Howard Moon (Barratt), the serious, socially awkward jazz obsessive, are comic exaggerations of their own personalities. At the afternoon photo shoot, Fielding breaks free of the hair and make-up lady, sprays most of a can of Elnett on to his Bolan feather-cut and teases it to his satisfaction. Very Vince. “It is an art-life crossover,” says Barratt.

At 40, five years older than Fielding, Barratt exhibits the profound weariness of a man trying to balance a five-month national tour with new-fatherhood. After every Saturday night show he returns home to his 18-month-old twins, Arthur and Walter, and his partner Julia Davis (the creator-star of Nighty Night) and today he was up at 5am pushing a pram on Hampstead Heath before taking the train north to rejoin the Boosh. “I go back so the boys remember who I am. But it’s harder to leave them every time,” he says. “It is totally schizophrenic, totally opposite mental states: all this self-obsession and then them.”

About two nights a week on tour, Fielding doesn’t go to bed, parties through the night and performs the next evening having not slept at all. Barratt often retreats to his room to plough through box sets of The Wire. “It’s a bit gritty, but that is in itself an escape, because what we do is so fantastical.”

But mostly it is hard to resist the instant party provided by a large cast, crew and band. Indeed, drinking with them, it appears Fielding and Barratt are but the most famous members of a close collective of artists, musicians and old mates. Fielding’s brother Michael, who previously worked in a bowling alley, plays Naboo the shaman. “He is late every single day,” complains Noel. “He’s mad and useless, but I’m quite protective of him, quite parental.” Michael is always arguing with Bollo the gorilla, aka Fielding’s best mate, Dave Brown, a graphic artist relieved to remove his costume – “It’s so hot in there I fear I may never father children” – to design the Boosh book. One of the lighting crew worked as male nanny to Barratt’s twins and was in Michael’s class at school: “The first time I met you,” he says to Noel, “you gave me a dead arm.” “You were 9,” Fielding replies. “And you were messing with my stuff.”

This gang aren’t hangers-on but the wellspring of the Boosh’s originality and its strange, homespun, degree-show aesthetic: a character called Mr Susan is made out of chamois leathers, the Hitcher has a giant Polo Mint for an eye. When they need a tour poster they ignore the promoter’s suggestions and call in their old mate, Nige.

Fielding and Barratt met ten years ago at a comedy night in a North London pub. The former had just left Croydon Art College, the latter had dropped out of an American Studies degree at Reading to try stand-up, although he was so terrified at his first gig that he ran off stage and had to be dragged back by the compere.

While superficially different, their childhoods have a common theme: both had artistic, bohemian parents who exercised benign neglect. Fielding’s folks were only 17 when he was born: “They were just kids really. Hippies. Though more into Black Sabbath and Led Zep. There were lots of parties and crazy times. They loved dressing up. And there was a big gap between me and my brother – about nine years – so I was an only child for a long time, hanging out with them, lots of weird stuff going on.

“The great thing about my mum and dad is they let me do anything I wanted as a kid as long as I wasn’t misbehaving. I could eat and go to bed when I liked. I used to spend a lot of time drawing and painting and reading. In my own world, I guess.”

Growing up in Mitcham, South London, his father was a postmaster, while his mother now works for the Home Office. Work was merely the means to fund a good time. “When your dad is into David Bowie, how do you rebel against that? You can’t really. They come to all the gigs. They’ve been in America for the past three weeks. I’m ringing my mum really excited because we’re hanging out with Jim Sheridan, who directed In the Name of the Father, and the Edge from U2, and she said, ‘We’re hanging with Jack White,’ whom they met through a friend of mine. Trumped again!”

Barratt’s father was a Leeds art teacher, his mother an artist later turned businesswoman. “Dad was a bit more strict and academic. Mum would let me do anything I wanted, didn’t mind whether I went to school.” Through his father he became obsessed with Monty Python, went to jazz and Spike Milligan gigs, learnt about sex from his dad’s leatherbound volumes of Penthouse.

Barratt joined bands and assumed he would become a musician (he does all the Boosh’s musical arrangements); Fielding hoped to become an artist (he designed the Boosh book cover and throughout our interview sketches obsessively). Instead they threw their talents into comedy. Barratt: “It is a great means of getting your ideas over instantly.” Fielding: “Yes, it is quite punk in that way.”

Their 1998 Edinburgh Fringe show called The Mighty Boosh was named, obscurely, after a friend’s description of Michael Fielding’s huge childhood Afro: “A mighty bush.” While their double-act banter has an old-fashioned dynamic, redolent of Morecambe and Wise, the show threw in weird characters and a fantasy storyline in which they played a pair of zookeepers. They are very serious about their influences. “Magritte, Rousseau...” says Fielding. “I like Rousseau’s made-up worlds: his jungle has all the things you’d want in a jungle, even though he’d never been in one so it was an imaginary place.”

Eclectic, weird and, crucially, unprepared to compromise their aesthetic sensibilities, it was 2004 before, championed by Steve Coogan’s Baby Cow production company, their first series aired on BBC3. Through repeats and DVD sales the second series, in which the pair have left the zoo and are living above Naboo’s shop, found a bigger audience. Last year the first episode of series three had one million viewers. But perhaps the Boosh’s true breakthrough into mainstream came in June when George Bush visited Belfast and a child presented him with a plant labelled “The Mighty Bush”. Assuming it was a tribute to his greatness, the president proudly displayed it for the cameras, while the rest of Britain tittered.

A Boosh audience these days is quite a mix. In Sheffield the front row is rammed with teenage indie girls, heavy on the eyeliner, who fancy Fielding. But there are children, too: my own sons can recite whole “crimps” (the Boosh’s silly, very English version of rap) word for word. And there are older, respectable types who, when I interview them, all apologise for having such boring jobs. They’re accountants, IT workers, human resources officers and civil servants. But probe deeper and you find ten years ago they excelled at art A level or played in a band, and now puzzle how their lives turned out so square. For them, the Boosh embody their former dreams. And their DIY comedy, shambolic air, the slightly crap costumes, the melding of fantasy with the everyday, feels like something they could still knock up at home.

Indeed, many fans come to gigs in costume. At the Mighty Boosh Festival 15,000 people came dressed up to watch bands and absurdity in a Kent field. And in Sheffield I meet a father-and-son combo dressed as Howard Moon and Bob Fossil – general manager of the zoo – plus a gang of thirty-something parents elaborately attired as Crack Fox, Spirit of Jazz, a granny called Nanageddon, and Amy Housemouse. “I love the Boosh because it’s total escapism,” says Laura Hargreaves, an employment manager dressed as an Electro Fairy. “It’s not all perfect and people these days worry too much that things aren’t perfect. It’s just pure fun.”

But how to retain that appealingly amateur art-school quality now that the Boosh is a mega comedy brand? Noel Fielding is adamant that they haven’t grown cynical, that The Mighty Book of Boosh was a long-term project, not a money-spinner chucked out for Christmas: “There is a lot of heart in what we do,” he says. Barratt adds: “It’s been hard this year to do everything we’ve wanted, to a standard we’re proud of... Which is why we’re worn to shreds.”

Comedy is most powerful in intimate spaces, but the Boosh show, with its huge set, requires major venues. “We’ve lost money every day on the tour,” says Fielding. “The crew and the props and what it costs to take them on the road – it’s ridiculous. Small gigs would lose millions of pounds.”

The live show is a kind of Mighty Boosh panto, with old favourites – Bob Fossil, Bollo, Tony Harrison, etc – coming on to cheers of recognition. But it lacks the escapism to the perfectly conceived world of the TV show. They have told the BBC they don’t want a fourth series: they want a movie. They would also, as with Little Britain USA, like a crack at the States, where they run on BBC America. Clearly the Boosh needs to keep evolving or it will die.

Already other artists are telling Fielding and Barratt to make their money now: “They say this is our time, which is quite frightening.” I recall Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer, who dominated the Nineties with Big Night Out and Shooting Stars. “Yes, they were massive,” says Fielding. “A number one record...” And now Reeves presents Brainiac. “If you have longer-term goals, it’s not scary,” says Barratt. “To me, I’m heading somewhere else – to direct, make films, write stuff – and at the moment it’s all gone mental. I’m sort of enjoying this as an outsider. It was Noel who had this desire to reach more people.”

Indeed, the old cliché that comedy is the new rock’n’roll is closest to being realised in Noel Fielding. Watching him perform the thrash metal numbers in the Boosh live show, he is half ironic comic performer, half frustrated rock god. His heroes weren’t comics but androgynous musicians: Jagger, Bowie, Syd Barrett. (Although he liked Peter Cook’s style and looks.)

“I like clothes and make-up, I like the transformation,” he says. Does it puzzle him that women find this so sexually attractive? “I was reading a book the other day about the New York Dolls and David Johansen was saying that none of them were gay or even bisexual, and that when they started dressing in stilettos and leather pants, women got it straight away with no explanation. But a lot of men had problems. It’s one of those strange things. A man will go, ‘You f***ing queer.’ And you just think, ‘Well, your girlfriend fancies me.’”

The Boosh stopped signing autographs outside stage doors when it started taking two hours a night. At recent book signings up to 1,500 people have shown up, some sleeping overnight in the queue. And on this tour, the Boosh took control of the after-show parties, once run as money-spinners by the promoters, and now show up in person to do DJ slots. I ask if they like to meet their fans, and they laugh nervously.

Fielding: “We have to be behind a fence.”

Barratt: “They try to rip your clothes off your body.”

Fielding: “The other day my girlfriend gave me this ring. And, doing the rock numbers at the end, I held out my hands and the crowd just ripped it off.”

Barratt: “I see it as a thing which is going to go away. A moment when people are really excited about you. And it can’t last.”

He recalls a man in York grabbing him for a photo, saying, “I’d love to be you, it must be so amazing.” And Barratt says he thought, “Yes, it is. But all the while I was trying to duck into this doorway to avoid the next person.” He’s trying to enjoy the Boosh’s moment, knows it will pass, but all the same?

In the hotel bar, a young woman fan has dodged past Danny and comes brazenly over to Fielding. Head cocked attentively like a glossy bird, he chats, signs various items, submits to photos, speaks to her mate on her phone. The rest of the Boosh crew eye her steelily. They know how it will end. “You have five minutes then you go,” hisses one. “I feel really stupid now,” says the girl. It is hard not to squirm at the awful obeisance of fandom. But still she milks the encounter, demands Fielding come outside to meet her friend. When he demurs she is outraged, and Danny intercedes. Fielding returns to his seat slightly unsettled. “What more does she want?” he mutters, reaching for his wine glass. “A skin sample?”

#I hadn't seen this one before so I thought I'd share #noel will never dress down #ah yes the patient boyfriend Julian Barratt

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hunflowers · 4 years

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Cecilia

Word Count: 8k

Requested? Nope, but you always can here :)

Mood Board

A/N: Yay, 70s! Harry is here :D I love it and I hope you do too my loves. And quick note, the song Cecilia by Simon & Garfunkel is basically the anthem of this piece, (*ahem* note the title) so maybe give it a listen while reading or before or after, whatever works! *nose boops*

Murder is the biggest extreme anyone could ever commit. It’s crazy to ever want to kill someone, to wrap your hands around someone’s throat, to stab them in the heart or the back, or maybe put a bullet between their eyes.

It’s extreme.

Yet, Y/N had every urge to murder Harry.

Her night was going just fine. It was going exactly how she wanted, and it was going to end exactly how she wanted. Danny was a super nice guy, a super handsome guy, and was exactly who she wanted between her legs in just a few hours time.

Fleetwood Mac was blaring over the speakers of the crowded club and Y/N was enjoying her third beer of the night as Danny held himself against her, placing sloppy kisses up the side of her neck while she circled her bottom against his groin.

It was going extremely well until Danny said he was going to get himself another drink. Then the moment one body left her, another soon joined. One, that wouldn’t leave her alone.

“Harry! Back off!” Y/N groaned, pushing his hands off her hips. She noticed him earlier in the night when she and Danny walked in but she quickly avoided any contact with him the moment her eyes laid on him, praying to herself that he never spots her.

Clearly, luck wasn’t on her side when the curly-haired, green-eyed nuisance looked down at her with that infamous smirk. “You should be happy to see me. I’m here to save y’life.”

“Save my life? By cock blocking me?” She huffed, trying to step around him but was stopped when he grabbed her by the waist and turned her back to his front. The button-front of his white shirt was held together by two buttons near the bottom, his revealed chest pressed to the skin of her back as his jeans rubbed friction against the soft material of her skirt.

“He could be a serial killer for all you know. Plus, I’m practically begging you to have my cock, so what do you need his for?” He murmured into her ear, slowly starting to sway themselves to the rhythm of the song playing. Y/N could feel the growing tent in his jeans as they rocked, her breath slightly hitching in her throat when she thought about all of their past… adventures with one another. But that’s all it was; their past.

Y/N saw Harry more often than not, but the last time they had sex was well over a month ago, and she figured he’d get the hint by this point that she wasn’t interested anymore. He’s made it obvious that he wasn’t done with her, but she doesn’t settle for too long and she needs a new taste every so often. And she’s young, she doesn’t have this desire to situate herself with one man no matter how desperate he acts.

Licking her lips and turning her head to her right to meet his eyes, their noses slightly sweep together as their breaths mingle over one another. “You’re old news, H, get real,” she hissed, her eyes raking over his features as he looks past her and into the deep crowd of the dance floor ahead of them. When she moved to remove herself from his grip, he held her back, one of his hands coming up to the back of her head and pressing his mouth down onto hers in a heated kiss.

She almost got lost in it, and almost let him have his way as she could feel her panties dampen the moment his tongue slipped past her lips. But then she heard, “Y/N?” and her mind reeled her back into reality and she pushed away from Harry in a second, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she looked to Danny who held a confused look in his eyes before he scoffed and turned back around.

“Wait!” She called, quickly turning around to Harry and sneering at him, “You saw him there didn’t you? Leave me the fuck alone.” And without even thinking about it she poured the remainder of her beer over his pants, dropping the bottle at his feet before running off to try and amend what she could with Danny.

When she finally pushed past the final group of bodies and made it outside into the warm Spring night air, she spotted Danny storming over to his car at the end of the parking lot, ignoring her pleas to stop walking. He looked over his shoulder one final time and shook his head before getting into his burnt orange Cadillac Eldorado and speeding off and away from her. Y/N let out a whine, stomping her platform heel into the ground.

Ever since she saw him stroll into her sociology class at the beginning of the semester she knew she wanted him. Not for long, but at least for one memorable night. Every class she noticed the way his eyes raked up the length of her legs and landed on her chest beneath the fabric of her shirts, so it was obvious he wanted her just as bad. But she had a serious roach problem, and she was moments away from snapping completely and snapping his neck.

Marching over to the nearest payphone, she called her roommate to come pick her up with a series of pleas and bargains since it was nearly one in the morning, and unfortunately for her roommate, she has an early morning Friday class. She didn’t expect to be stranded at this hour and she didn’t bring enough cash for a cab ride home. It’s not like Sarah would say no to her, but she sure as hell wasn’t happy about it either.

Sitting herself down on the curb below her, Y/N stretched out her legs in front of her, pulling a cigarette from her purse and her yellow lighter, putting the stick between her lips and inhaling the nicotine as she drew the flame against the tip. She was getting real sick of Harry thinking he could swoop in whenever he deemed necessary. Where was all this affection when they first started seeing each other? He was the one who pushed her away and turned her into who she is. He was the one that told her college and her early adulthood was about indulging in as many people as she can before she had to settle her life away. And now he changed his mind?

Well, tough shit.

She was tempted to storm back in there and curse him out and knee him where the sun doesn’t shine, but truth be told, she wouldn’t even handle seeing his face again without seeing red or breaking down. This wasn’t the first time he crashed a date of hers, and she just couldn’t understand why he was so insistent on chasing her down. She doesn’t even understand how he always knows where she is, and if he shows up again she’s filing for a restraining order.

They met last year, right around this time when Sarah’s boyfriend, Mitch brought him over to their apartment for a little party. And before he came crashing into her life, she had herself somewhat together, in a happy relationship with her boyfriend of a few months. People like Harry that sleep around with anyone they can were never anyone she interested herself in hanging around. Then he swooped her off her feet, coaxing her to break up with her uptight boyfriend to live her free life, and eventually into his bed.

Y/N told herself that was going to be the only time, because Harry was bad news, and everyone knew that, and she knew better than to get caught up in his messy life. But, he’s one hell of a sweet talker and whenever he was near she just knew she’d end up right back in his bed after getting out of it that same morning. Then she wanted more and he didn’t. And for some odd reason, the roles have reversed and she couldn’t be bothered to be in a relationship anymore. Especially with him.

Sucking the last bit of her remaining cigarette into her mouth, she dropped it to the street, stomping on it with her heel, picturing it to be Harry’s face instead. She’d already been out here for about fifteen minutes, and she’s surprised he hasn’t come running after her with his drenched pants. She saw his familiar light pink Plymouth sitting across the street, images of them together in the backseat flashing across her eyes before she closes her eyes and shakes her head as if rattling her brain will cause the memories to fly from her skull.

Noticing Sarah at the red light down the road, Y/N stood up, brushing the debris off her skirt and legs, crossing her arms over her chest with a pout as she sulked in tonight’s failure. When Sarah pulled up to the curb, Y/N opened the door, and as if she wasn’t being punished already, she heard Sarah say, “Hi, Harry.”

Snapping her head over her shoulder to the entrance of the bar behind her, Harry was walking out, car keys in his hand as his other ruffled his short curls. Then a petite blonde trailed after him, tripping over her own feet as a giggle left her thin lips, her nails digging into the skin of his arm as she steadied herself. Y/N’s jaw snapped shut after she realized it had dropped open at the sight, her eyebrows furrowing as she imagined stomping on Harry’s foot just like she did with the cigarette butt.

“Oh, so you get to fuck someone, but I can’t?”

“Y/N-”

“Hey, I wouldn’t waste your time on him! It’s really small, and he lasts maybe two minutes tops before he passes out,” she called to the blonde who’s smile wiped from her face in an instant. She scoffed, pushing Harry away from her before leaving his side and heading back in the busy bar. Y/N’s sure she’ll find someone else better and more suiting.

Harry looked to Y/N in disbelief and then to the spot next to him that’s now vacant, and then to Sarah who was rapidly beeping her horn to get her roommate into the car. “What the fuck was that?”

“Karma’s a bitch, asshole,” Y/N sneers, hopping into the car and telling Sarah to step on it.

What goes around, simply comes around.

❊ ❊

A week had gone by and, this time Y/N, Sarah, Mitch, and a few more friends were out. It was a celebratory night that finals week had finally been completed, and a few of them were due for graduation.

Unfortunately for Y/N, Harry had been strung along for the night as well, but this time around, they were both ignoring each other for the sake of not being thrown out of the bar. When she saw his face pull up outside in his oh so precious car, it took everything in her to not fake an illness and go home.

There was something about his smug face greeting her friends that had her knocking back shots of tequila quicker than she could blink. They also have some unspoken challenge going on as they continuously flirted their way around the copious amounts of young men and women, eyeing the other to see if they were watching.

Y/N had actually noticed Danny in the crowd on the dance floor, worming her way over to him to say hello and to see if he still hated her. When she saw him in sociology the last few classes he avoided her when she sat down a few seats from him, and she couldn’t help but feel a little hurt at his now evident rejection. But, with alcohol running in both of their systems she hoped he had changed his mind even just for the one night.

Danny looked to her with a bored expression, hardly listening to a thing she had to say before interrupting her little spiel with a scoff, “Y/N, he told me everything and I don’t want to hear it.”

She froze up at that, pulling her head back in confusion as her brows scrunched together. “What do you mean, told you everything?”

“Look, I’m not a rebound okay? If you wanted to have sex because you like me, cool, I’m down; but I’m not having sex with you just to make him jealous or some shit. I got better things to do, sorry,” and then he patted her on the shoulder before walking away and out of her sight.

Completely dumbfounded and embarrassed to have been rejected so publicly, Y/N turned on her heel and walked back to the table that her friends were sat at, a puzzled looking face nestled on her features. But, when she made eye contact with Harry who had his eyes dead set on her over the brim of his beer bottle, a little smirk peaking out and taunting her, she stomped over and slammed her hands down on the table in front of him, jolting the whole table to look at her. Harry was hardly fazed, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest.

“What the fuck did you tell him?” She gritted out, leaning her face close to his.

Again, he hardly had a reaction, jutting his tongue out to lick his lips. “Tell who, what?”

Huffing at his nonchalant attitude, she pulled on the collar of his printed shirt, their noses grazing. If she weren’t so angry, she’d say this was a pretty intimate moment as they kept their eyes locked on one another, their breaths mingling together as their mouths were only centimetres apart. In all honesty, they forgot they had friends just seats apart from them ogling the situation with worry.

To them, it looked like Y/N was about to twist his head in a full one-eighty.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Styles! You’re not my father, stop trying to act like it,” she spat, pushing him back aggressively against his chair and storming away, again. If anything, she was more mad at the fact that she let him get under her skin again. She should just go up to any guy she chooses and kiss him hard on the lips to prove a point - but instead she’s biting her lip to refrain from screaming into the night and letting the pesky tears welling up in her eyes fall onto her skin.

The bar wasn’t too far from her apartment this time, and she’d rather walk than ruin Sarah’s night anymore than she already did because of her dramatic ways. Not that she could really drive anyway since she was just knocking back tequila not even ten minutes ago. Maybe when she’s sober she’ll grow a tougher exterior and not let Harry get to her, but as she regains her balance after stumbling in her heels, she’ll sulk and cry the whole way home, and probably as she tucks herself into her sheets.

“Y/N!” Harry called after her, but she flipped him off over her shoulder as she continued her journey down the sidewalk.

Hearing the quickening pace of footsteps behind her, Y/N wiped at her eyes quickly to remove any traces of a broken heart. Feeling a tug on her bicep, she was whipped around to face his sorrowful face, his free hand immediately coming up to wipe the tears away from her eyes that seemed to betray her. “I... I’m sorry.”

She couldn’t help but let out a small pitiful laugh at that, looking away from him and watching the cars pass them by. “Just leave me alone, Harry.”

“Y/N, hey,” he paused, cupping his face in his large palms, trying to get her to look at him. “Baby, please look at me.”

“I’m not your baby,” she hissed, turning to look at him with a scowl.

“Got ya to look at me though, didn’t it?”

It was safe to say Y/N wasn’t amused, biting the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood. Harry nodded, realizing now wasn’t the time for joking, looking to his feet for a split second before bringing his eyes up to look at the crescent moon above them, letting out a puff of air before speaking up again. “Let’s split. Just you and me, let me make it up to you for being an ass.”

Y/N’s eyes widen in a fit of fury, her mouth dropping open in a gasp, “I’m not having sex with you! Are you ins-”

“No! M’fucking hungry and want a real meal, not the shit this joint serves. And we need to talk, so join me?” He clarifies, dropping his hands back down to his sides and propping them on his hips as he awaits her answer.

She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth as she contemplates her choices. She really doesn’t want to be alone with him, but she’s also starving and if he’s paying then there’s no use in turning down free food. Mulling it over for a few moments, she eventually nods her head in a soft agreeance, causing a bright smile to flash across his face.

“Alright, let’s go to Debby’s, her burgers always taste better late at night.” And with that, he was tossing his arm over her shoulders and tugging her to his side as they walked in sync to Debby’s Diner a few blocks over. They both had been drinking and figured it probably wasn’t safe to drive just yet, plus it was a really nice night, and the moon looked extra bright surrounded by its little star friends.

❊ ❊

It was insanely awkward.

Probably more awkward then when they first had sex, and even that wasn’t this bad. Maybe it’s because they’ve never really had any heart-to-heart chats and this was new territory they weren’t exactly used to.

“Cecilia” by Simon & Garfunkel flowed through the empty diner, filling the tense air that could be cut with a knife. Y/N mindlessly hummed along, sipping on her strawberry milkshake, looking anywhere but at the man in front of her.

“You like this song?” Harry questioned, balling the paper straw wrapper before stretching it back out and then just squishing it again.

Licking the whip cream from the tip of her nose, Y/N nodded her head, “It’s nice.”

“It describes us.”

She looked at him confused, “Excuse me?”

“I don’t like seeing you with anyone else,” he shrugged, leaning his elbows on the metal table, tossing his straw wrapper to the side. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone, ever, and I just get so tee’d off every time I see you out with someone that isn’t me.”

“That isn’t fair, Harry, and you know it,” she scoffs, leaning back into the booth, and crossing her arms over her chest. “Where was this months ago? When I wanted to be with you?

Poking his tongue at the inside of his cheek and swiping it across his bottom lip to reach the other side, Harry let out a sigh, running his hands over his face and through his hair. He can’t exactly pinpoint when he had a change of heart, or why for that matter, but he did and that’s all that’s important. He remembers her lying beside him, fingers dancing over the skin of his chest while her one leg was hitched over his waist as her exposed breasts were pressed flush against his side. She had asked him if they could be more than just fuck buddies and he easily turned her down in a way that wasn’t too aggressive but made it known he wasn’t one for girlfriends.

At first Y/N was okay with that, not wanting to hop into a relationship so suddenly after just leaving one, but then she wanted more. There’s something about Harry, the way he presents himself to the world, not giving a shit about anything yet at the same time being so caring towards everyone. Whenever she saw him her heart would flutter, and heat would flood her body at the thought of getting to kiss him and hold him and have sex with him whenever she wants. But, he didn’t see it that way, at least not at first, and Y/N couldn’t put herself through the heartache anymore. So, she broadened her horizons, and put Harry in her past, making him just a friend.

Then his mysterious change of heart became evident, and he’s been hellbent on getting back into her good graces. It’s clear it was sparked by jealousy, but Harry wasn’t so sure that was the only reason anymore. Desire to have her as his, to make her smile all the time, to see her pretty face everyday of his life fueled his need for her. He loathed the idea of any other guy touching her, but he reveled in the idea of her touching him, whether it be sexually or just by holding hands.

Harry didn’t realize it at first, but when she started pushing him away and going out with different guys from her classes, he knew he was starting to fall in love with her. He grew so used to the idea of Y/N being around and not hating him that without even noticing, he was falling in love with her.

So, if he needs to actually get on his knees to beg for her, then he will.

“I’m just asking for one more chance. Let me prove to ya I’m not so bad, pet,” he spoke softly reaching out to grab ahold of her hand but she pulled her hand away from his reach, biting down on her lower lip and thinking over his words.

“You made it near impossible for me to know anyone else for your own selfish purposes, and now, what, you want to go on a date with me? Why should I?” Y/N stressed, combing her fingers through the roots of her hair, tangling the makeshift curls she spent all day perfecting.

“I know, I know and I’m sorry. It started off as jealousy, I hated knowing other guys were putting their hands on you like I did, it just didn’t sit right with me-”

“But you were allowed to go out with Cindy? And Jenny? And Katherine? You have sex with me a few times and all of a sudden I’m only allowed to be with you even after you tell me you don’t want a relationship?” She spits, tilting her head slightly and glaring daggers into the side of his face as he looked off to the side to gather his thoughts.

Y/N wanted a better answer than jealousy. She wanted a better excuse than some pitiful jealousy that made her look like a pure whore in front of every date she had been on. Harry always swooped in when her date scurried off for a bathroom break or to get drinks or a refill on popcorn, holding her close and kissing her swiftly on the lips when he knew the date would catch them. It was his go-to plan every time, and each time before they left her ass, they would spit slander at her that had her stomach sinking and her eyes brimming with pesky tears. She wanted a better excuse than stupid jealousy that had her feeling like complete and utter shit whenever she ducked under her covers and cried away her pain.

She really liked Harry. She still does, even though he doesn’t deserve that. Whenever he did crash her outings, even though it pissed her off beyond belief, she knew he was jealous and jealousy stems from him caring about her and wanting her, and that excited her, as messed up as it seems. It’s not exactly the most stable mentality, but Y/N doesn’t care about stability, she just cares for honesty. “Be straightforward for once, please. You can’t say you don’t see yourself in a relationship with anyone, then hate seeing me with other people.”

He nodded his head and took a breath before beginning, “I don’t know how to properly express my feelings. I’ve had girlfriends but I always wind up breaking their hearts and they all end up hating me, so I think I’m better off without one. You don’t deserve for me to break your heart, baby, but I’m too selfish to let y’go. So, whaddya say, just one more chance, please?”

“Newsflash, I already do hate you, you prick,” Y/N rolled her eyes, leaning forward to take another sip of her half drunken milkshake. She was even bold enough to steal one of his fries and dip it into the sugar trap, happily munching on it as she processes what he just told her.

Harry watched her as she looked deep in thought, biting on the tip of her straw as she sucked up the remains of her pink drink. He was nervous to what she was gonna say, because he knows he’s been an asshole and most definitely doesn’t deserve her kindness and rather deserves a slap to the face. When she poured her drink over his jeans, he was surprised she didn’t kick him in the nuts too. But, deep down he was praying that she would at least give him a try, and if she still wants to kick him in the nuts, he’ll let her.

Eating one more fry, Y/N refocuses her attention back on Harry, clearing her throat to say, “So you were jealous. What exactly was it that made you jealous? Was it the idea of them touching me? Kissing me? Or, how about them fuc-”

“Okay! That’s enough!” he scowled, taking the cherry from her shake and biting down on it, removing it from the stem. Y/N laughed, brushing the crumbs from the fries off of her fingers.

Then a brief moment of silence enveloped them, before she spoke up again, “Don’t make me regret this, okay?”

“So, that’s a yes?” He smiles, relief running through his veins as his body relaxes from all of the unknown tension he put on himself.

“It’s a yes.”

❊ ❊

Ever since Y/N agreed to giving Harry his chance at proving he’s not a total asshole, he hasn’t left her side. He’s been showing up to her apartment, serenading her to take a drive with him every morning to go to this park just outside of the city, showering her in flowers and breakfast foods to win her over.

And when she had to go to work, he offered to drop her off and pick her up, not wanting her to take the bus like she used to. “Too many looneys out in the world, pet.”

It was just past two weeks from their night at Debby’s Diner, and with time, Y/N was starting to warm back up to him. It was a process considering how they treated each other for months on end, but everyday without fail, Y/N was glad to see him. He wasn’t trying to make passes at her, no sexual innuendos or insinuations that they should sleep together, just two people building up a friendship that had been worn down.

It was a warm Friday night, and Harry insisted they go see a movie at the newly opened drive in a few towns over. They were showcasing The Godfather, a movie on both of their lists to watch, so he figured what better time and place to go see it. For the first half of the movie they sat in a comfortable silence, eating their snacks and popcorn and sipping on their sodas, but then Y/N grew restless with this whole no talking situation, shifting her body to look at Harry rather than Marlon Brando.

Harry paused in his chewing, turning his head to look at her confusedly as she just stared at him. He felt like he had done something wrong as he slowly swallowed his candy, muttering a “What?”

“Why haven’t you tried to kiss me?”

Harry’s eyes widen at the question, his lips rolling into his mouth as his eyes blink rapidly, wondering if he heard that correctly. “Sorry?”

“It’s been over two weeks and you’ve made no moves to kiss me or to have sex, and I’m just confused,” she states, her fingers twiddling in her lap as nerves struck her.

Y/N was just simply confused. Because she’s known Harry for a while, and she knows how he works either with her or with other women. His never ending libido and flirtatious attitude was one of the strongest assets of his personality, not that it was a bad thing, but when he wasn’t acting the way he normally does, Y/N grew more and more confused. Every time he came in on one of her dates, he would kiss her and hold her, and try to get her come home with him, but now as she sits on a date with him, he’s acting like the fucking virgin Mary.

This doesn’t mean she wants him to pounce on her and rip her clothes off every moment they’re together, but there’s this recurring anxious thought flashing through her mind that maybe he doesn’t see her like that anymore. It doesn’t make sense since he won’t leave her side, but she’s wondering if there’s something wrong with her for him to not act like he usually does.

“Is it me? Be straightforward, did I do something?” She murmured, tugging on the hem of her dress that had ridden up from her moving around on the leather seat. “Because, normally by this point you’d be trying to get your hand up my skirt.”

Harry sat and looked at her for a moment, bringing his hand up to pull at his bottom lip as he thought of something to say. Then he let out a giggle that had Y/N spiraling into more confusion as he shook his head mockingly.

“Do you want me to put my hand up your skirt?” He questioned, smacking his hand down on her thigh, giving the flesh of her skin a firm squeeze that had her yelp in response. On instinct, she pushed his prying fingers away, but immediately regretted it since his touch lit a fire stirring in her belly.

“Look, bunny, the thought of fucking you has been at the front of mind ever since you showed up in that tiny little number, but I’m trying to do this right. Need to prove that I don’t want you just for y’body,” he explained, this time resting his hand gently on her exposed thigh, to which she didn’t shove away.

Y/N nodded her head slowly in understanding, pursing her lips as her eyes glanced back at the movie being showcased ahead of them. “What’s going through that head of yours?” He asked, tucking back a piece of hair that had fallen from her ponytail.

Turning her head back to face him, their faces suddenly were only inches part, their noses barely brushing together. Y/N gulped at the proximity, her eyes going back forth between his sparkling green ones, before glancing down to his pink lips that she bets taste like the buttery popcorn he was just devouring.

Without so much of a second thought, she leaned forward pressing their mouths together in a soft kiss, sparks tingling her skin as he didn’t move to break them apart. Instead, he locked one of his hands to the side of her face, pulling her in closer, moving their lips in a slow manner, taking his time to appreciate the true softness of her skin that he had taken for granted whenever they shared heated kisses.

Y/N scooted herself on her knees across the bench, landing on his lap in a straddle, wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders, deepening the intimacy of the moment. Nothing about this moment seemed rushed, and it was probably the most tame they had ever been with one another even if their hips began rocking together to gain friction in their cores.

They could’ve stayed like that for hours, completely engulfed in the other, tongues dancing together, trails of spit keeping them connected as they would part to catch their breaths before indulging in another round of making out. Harry’s hands kept themselves nestled nicely on the curves of her ass, his fingers digging into the flesh and most likely leaving bruises in his wake. Y/N lightly tugged at the roots of his hair, pulling his head back from her to trail sloppy kisses down the length of his neck. She even was bold enough to mark his skin with a decently sized hickey; It was only payback for the countless he’s left on her multiple times before and the few he sucked this night.

Departing from his mouth, she rested her forehead on his and took in a couple deep breaths, biting on her bottom lip as she let out a breathy laugh. “That was what was going through my head.”

“Fuck, you’re out of sight, Y/N.”

❊ ❊

They still haven’t had sex.

Y/N was overjoyed at first that he wanted to treat her like a proper gentleman, waiting until she was comfortable around him again to make any advances. But, after they shared that kiss from a month beforehand, she was definitely worried something was wrong with him.

They had done other things, but every time they were just moments away from actual sex, he would pull away and say it wasn’t the right time or place. It was the most extreme case of blue balls, and she doesn’t even have balls. The weird part was that she could feel how hard he would get every time, but he always kept himself at bay.

It was nice at first, but now it’s just plain cruel.

Y/N didn’t want to act desperate, but he was being the ultimate tease and she didn’t know how much longer she could take this. She almost tempted him when they went to a festival and they were both high off their minds. Yet, even under the influence he had a stronghold and resisted the flirty bat of her eyelashes and the stellar handjob he got behind someone’s Volkswagen van.

Now as she sat in his lap, surrounded by friends in her apartment since Sarah and Mitch were having another one of their little parties, she was determined to have sex. Y/N finished off the remainder of her drink, purposefully rubbing her ass against Harry’s groin as she leaned forward to place her cup on the table in front of them. A little hiss could be heard leaving his lips as his fingers dug into her waist, giving her a silent warning to not do anything she’s gonna regret.

Little did he know, that was exactly what she wanted. At this point, she didn’t even care if they fucked in front of everyone, she just really wanted him. Looking over her shoulder, she sent him an innocent look before engaging in conversation with the boy almost completely passed out beside them. And again on purpose, she shifted her body against his thigh, which then in turn pressed her butt on his growing bulge.

While she was talking to Ben - she found out his name - Harry pulled her back against his chest, his mouth pressing against the shell of her ear, warm air fanning over her skin, chills shooting down her spine. “What’re y’trying to do, bunny?”

When she ignored his question, she felt him nip at her ear with his teeth, murmuring, “Act like a tease, gonna get fucked like one,” into her hair, groping at her exposed thigh.

Cursing to herself as Ben gets up to get another drink, she turns her face to look at Harry, bringing a hand up to push a few fallen curls off his forehead. Leaning close to him, she placed a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips replying back with, “Doubt it,” in a feisty tone, bringing her head back to smile at him before getting up from his lap and sauntering off to make conversation with anyone else.

Looking over her shoulder, she watched him spread his legs, elbows leaning on them as he lit a cigarette now between his lips. He cocked his head with a raise of his eyebrow, challenging her to try anything else. He couldn’t exactly blame her for acting the way she is, because like usual, he knows he’s been an asshole and not giving her what she wants. But, in his eyes, all of this built up frustration will only enhance the experience for both of them after not fucking for months.

“What the hell is going on between you two?” Sarah whispered in Y/N’s ear, casually following her eyes to see Harry looking at the little group on the opposite side of the room.

Y/N took the cigarette from her friend’s hands, inhaling deeply and giving it back, blowing the stream of smoke from her nose as she shrugged. “Nothing. Just putting him in his place.”

“I don’t think he got the memo,” she teased back, raising her eyebrows as a gesture that he was walking over. Then without fail, Y/N felt a tug on her upper arm and her back collided with a chest.

“Mind if I steal my girl for a second?” He asked the group to which he got shrugs in return and one person to say Think it’ll be more than a second.

Sarah waved goodbye to Y/N as she was being pulled away, doing a sign of the cross and praying hands to say she was in her prayers. Y/N rolled her eyes but mouthed a thank you anyway. Before she could comprehend, she was tugged into the bathroom, the door slamming behind her as her back was shoved against it, Harry’s hands landing on either side of her head, his face mere centimetres from hers.

Y/N smirked up at him, gently brushing her nose against his, a sinister look dancing across her eyes. “Y’know, you could’ve just taken us to my bedroom,” she hummed, dragging her finger nail down the length of his exposed chest, stopping where the first button was closed just under his butterfly tattoo on his abdomen.

“What d’ya think is gonna happen, pet?” He murmured into the skin of her neck, peppering soft kisses up until he met her jawline then worked his way back down.

“You’re gonna stop being a tease and fuck me already,” she retorted in a gasp as his one hand came up to grope at her tit in her halter top. His head came back up to level with hers, green eyes boring into hers as he tilts his head in the same challenging manner from before.

“Is that so?”

“Well, if you’re not gonna do it then I’ll get someone who will.”

Then it was like a switch was flipped in his brain, and his eyes darkened, and a devilish smile painted his face before he took her face and smashed his mouth onto hers. His hands grabbed under her thighs and hoisted her up so her legs wrapped around his waist, his front grinding on her center feverishly, both of them letting out light moans at the contact.

“We both know you’re not gonna do that,” Harry muttered between kisses, his left hand leaving her thigh and cupping her throbbing heat over her panties, his palm pressing against her clit and his fingers tapping at the pool of wetness forming on the white fabric. Y/N’s jaw slacked open, her eyes fluttering shut at the slight relief he was giving her. “No one can give it to you like I can, baby.”

Before she could utter out a response, he pushed her underwear to the side before thrusting his middle finger into her fully lubricated hole. He pumped it in slowly, teasing her walls and ignoring her pleas for more, “Admit it, no one can treat you like I can.”

Then he added his ring finger, fastening his movements against her fluttering pussy. “None of those candyasses gave it to you like I did.”

“Every time you were with them you wished it was me. C’mon, Y/N, be straightforward,” he whispered in her ear, thrusting his fingers in at a brutal force, the heel of his palm rubbing harsh circles against her bundle of nerves that had her crying out in pure ecstasy.

“Fuck... O-only you can - shit, Harry please,” she cried out, her ankles locking behind his back and pulling him impossibly closer to her body, her head knocking against the wooden door behind her.

Harry slowed his movements for a moment, bringing his other hand up to her mouth and trying to block the sounds she was emitting at an extremely high pitch. She whined into his hand, bucking her hips to build the friction back up, the familiar feeling of her high dissipating as he stilled himself. “Y/N, you’re gonna ‘ave to be quiet. Don’t want anyone hearing you. Those pretty moans are reserved for my ears only.”

Just to be sure she stayed quiet, instead of muffling her with his palm, he stuck his thumb between her lips, pressing down on her tongue and ordering her to suck. It took a lot of control to not push his jeans and briefs down his body and fuck into her the moment she started swirling her tongue around the tip of his thumb, gently sucking on it and looking at him with her innocent doe eyes. He was determined to get her to come undone now, desperate to see her face morph into one filled with pleasure as he curled his fingers against her sweet spot, thrusting against it continuously. He whispered dirty things into her ear, urging her to cum for him, saying everything she likes to hear that helps her reach her peak quicker.

Y/N’s mouth dropped open again, but this time her moans came out all gurgled and muffled as he kept his thumb right where it was. Her thighs clenched around him as she wanted to close them instinctively, her orgasm building up inside of her until he hit her g-spot one more time and then her body was shaking uncontrollably. Harry helped her to calm down, placing a kiss to her temple and slowly settling her back down on the floor, her legs wobbling a little bit before she regained her balance.

“Need to take you somewhere more private, need to hear you for what else I’m gonna do to you,” he stated before taking her hand and leading her out of the bathroom.

And that’s how they ended up in his car in a deserted parking lot, in his back seat, Y/N on all fours while he thrust into her from behind. The backseat was a bit of a tight fit for the position they were in, but neither of them really seemed to care as they were into a euphoric state of mind.

Harry’s sweaty chest was leaned over and pressing into her back, his face nestled into the crook of her neck as he tugged lightly on her hair in a makeshift ponytail wrapped around his fist. Neither of them were shy about their moans and groans, practically screaming them to the world and putting all pornstars to shame.

Aside from their sounds of pleasure, the steamy car was filled with the sound of his hips slapping against her ass and the squelch of their centers coming together. Harry also left the car radio on to ‘give a nice ambiance while I wreck your pretty little cunt.’

“What -shit, what was that you said about my dick being really small? Or me only lasting two minutes? Could you refresh my memory, bunny?” He snickered into her cheek, delivering a particularly hard thrust into her that had her knees shifting up the leather seat.

“You’re s-so tight, squeezing down on my big cock just nice. Fit like a glove,” he egged on. He placed his left hand on the wall of his car, stabilizing his balance a little more as he wrapped his other hand around her throat and brought her to a kneel. Y/N’s own hands reached out to balance herself anywhere she could put them,

“D’ya wanna say it again?” he continued to tease, halting his movements, waiting for her to say something back.

Y/N shook her head feverishly, bringing her bottom down against his cock to continue what he paused. “N-no, m’sorry.”

Harry tsked, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he released his grip on her throat and flipped them around so she was straddling him now. “Why don’t you put some work in if you want it so bad. Use me, pet, know you can,” he stated with a smack to her bottom that echoed throughout the car.

Y/N never dropped herself down on someone quicker. In one go she sank down on him to the hilt, the tip of his bright red head hitting a spot so deep inside of her. She swiveled her hips in circles, before kneeling up again and then dropping down fully again feeling him at the very pit of her tummy. Her clit brushed against his pubic mound, the tuft of hair rubbing against her swell, urging her orgasm to arrive quicker.

And if that wasn’t enough, Harry leaned forward and took one of her nipples into his mouth, kitten licking it and gently nipping at it before sucking on it. He paid close attention to her pert tits, covering her once bare chest in various bites, all while kneading the flesh of her ass, assisting her in her movements and bringing her down on him harder and faster.

“I’m… oh, I’m so cl-close,” Y/N moaned, her head falling to the crevice of his shoulder as he pounded up into her to meet her thrusts.

“Me too, pet. Hold on a little longer f’me,” he spoke, now brutally fucking up into her to get himself to match where she is. Y/N tugged on his hair like he liked, scratching her nails into his skin and muttering words of encouragement like, “Prove to me how wrong I was… Only you can do this to me, baby.”

Then with a few more sloppy thrusts, they were both hitting their highs, cumming so hard that Harry fell limp against the seat and Y/N against him. The long wait for this was definitely worth it as both of them took in gulps of air, meeting their mouths in a lazy kiss in triumph. Despite the ache of her body, Y/N lifted herself off of Harry and landed next to him instead, her head falling against his shoulder again as her eyes fluttered close.

Now, only the hum of the radio could be heard around them, that same Simon & Garfunkel song on like it was at Debby’s all that time ago. Y/N can remember Harry saying it described them, and as she sits here, completely enamored from the man beside her, she could attest to that.

Without knowing it, Harry was looking down at Y/N, humming the tune of the song as he sat in awe of her figure completely worn out next to him.

Jubilation, she loves me again.

#EEK ENJOY!#harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles au #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles filth #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles #one direction fanfiction

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mrvdocks · 4 years

Text

Plus One

It’s Joyce and Hopper’s wedding. A new member is added to the household, and things get real.

(chapter one)(two)

It’s a Wednesday in February when he returns home and plops down onto the couch. The bar shifts just seemed to get worse. In the span of three minutes, he had to break up a fight, have the bouncer kick out a guy for harassing his manager, and clean a spill a drunk party group had made.

I’m not paid nearly enough for this, he thinks.

A sneeze breaks him from his misery.

“Bless you.” He says with his eyes closed. They shoot open when he realizes you don’t sneeze like that.

He sits up and looks at the moving thing under the pillow. His heart races as he hears some kind of breathing.

Please no, he thinks. We just took care of the plumbing.

He lifts the pillow carefully, expecting to see a pile of rats or mice or worse. Instead, he’s greeted by a sneezing dog.

It’s a Scottish Terrier with big eyes that just seem to interrogate him as to why he interrupted his sneezefest.

“Uhhhhh, where’d you come from?” He scans the apartment, seeing a dog bed at the corner of the lazy boy across from him.

This had to be the work of one person only.

Steve calls out for you, hearing you run out from the bathroom in a hurry and a towel haphazardly wrapped around you.

“What’s the emergency? Oh, I see you’ve met Mickey.”

He’s speechless, looking at you like you’re out of your mind. “Mickey?”

“Yeah, they brought him in today and I felt really bad that they were taking him to the choky tomorrow. I had to save this poor baby. And who can say no to his little eyes?” You singsong the latter half of that sentence in a baby voice, kneeling to ruffle your fingers through Mickey’s fur.

“What if Tony finds out we have a dog? What do we say? We can’t keep him.”

You roll your eyes. “Relax, he’s quiet when he eats the jerky from Tom’s.”

“That’s my jerky!” Steve whines.

“Okay! I’ll get you extra then. Don’t be such a sourpuss.”

Steve glances back to Mickey still staring at him. He puts out a cautious hand, Mickey getting close enough to sniff and then lick.

At least it was nice to have another man in the house.

He runs his hands through Mickey’s surprisingly soft coat, earning a low whimper from the pooch. Mickey lies on his side, clearly loving the scratches Steve is giving him. Steve catches himself smiling, suddenly forgetting the looming threat of eviction for a moment.

He’s wanted a dog since he was six, but his dad would never let him keep one. Not even a goldfish. He thinks maybe if he’d had a dog, he wouldn’t have turned out so cold in his teens. He just wanted to love something and have it love him back.

“Hmm, maybe you’re not so bad.”

Mickey responds by kicking his tiny paws in the air, writhing on the couch.

Steve is so bewitched by the creature he doesn’t even notice when you come back into the room or even left for that matter.

“So, anything from that Sissy girl you were seeing?”

“No,” he pouts, “I mean I think she was scared off by this.” He gestures to himself.

“Oh my god, you’re doing it again.”

“Doing what? I just felt like there wasn’t any long term potential there.”

“You guys went on one date, and you didn’t even kiss! You blue balled her!”

“Okay first of all, who takes their date to their family member’s birthday party and expects a whole relationship to blossom from there? And second, when you’ve been single as long as I have, you just know what you want and what to expect.”

You snicker. “But you don’t know what you want, you have like, the worst standards.”

“Uh, I like to think they’re realistic.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I don’t think it’s fair everyone has to compare to Phoebe Cates.”

“Phoebe was a great product of her time, thank you very much. And, I mean what about Tessa Grey?”

“Tessa Gr - my co-worker?”

Steve nods adamantly. “I would date her. You know if she wasn’t - engaged.”

“Alright we have to unpack that sometime but first why do you always say their names like some sort of serial killer?”

“Because,” he thinks, “they’re firsty-lastys. The same way I’m Steve….”

“Oh please don’t say it.” You cover Mickey’s ears.

“Steve “The Hair” Harrington!”

You groan in response, bringing Mickey to rest on your chest while you put your feet up on Steve’s lap.

“Sounds like someone’s jealous.” He mimics.

“Oh, please. Okay, okay, let’s say for the sake of this being hypothetical, Tessa breaks off her engagement and she shows up here and says, ‘Oh my god, Steve Harrington I would love to have your babies, let’s get married! You can meet my family and eat my famous pasta, wahhhh!’” You flail your hands around for effect, seeing the amusement in his face.

His face screws up, “Geez, am I dating Wario now?”

“That is exactly how she sounds! Plus, you would find something wrong with her and then you’d bail.”

“That is not true.”

“Oh but it is! It’s so true. In fact, anyone as grotesquely tall and hair-obsessed as you cannot be so picky.”

“I’m just trying to make sure I find the -”

“Don’t say it.”

“The one.”

You groan, shoving your face into Mickey’s chest.

“Oh yeah? I don’t see you bringing anyone home. Still not over Danny?”

Your mouth forms an O, you kick his thigh with the heel of your foot.

“For your information, I have been seeing someone.”

This piques his interest. “Who and is he an escaped convict?”

“Okay,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “I haven’t talked to him but he left his number at the desk so who knows?”

“Hmm, I may be wrong, but I don’t think that was meant for you. You are a receptionist after all.”

“We’ll just have to see, won’t we? But I just have some stuff to take care of beforehand.”

He nods.

“Personal…..maintenance.”

“Yup.”

“Gotta mow the lawn.” You emphasize.

“No yeah, I got you the first time. But come on, let’s be honest here. You’re stalling.”

“For what?”

“Jumping into the unknown. Danny was a huge part of your life so I get what it’s like to lose that connection.”

You laugh sarcastically. “Okay, grandpa are these your words of wisdom? I am totally over Danny. At this point, I can say screw Danny! I have all the time in the world to find someone else!“

You weren’t completely wrong. Danny had been with you since senior year of high school. You thought it would be like one of those fairy tales where the high school sweethearts end up living together in an amazing house surrounded by all these treasures and all that jazz. Nothing could tear you down.

And then junior year of college came and he slept with one of your college friends. You transferred soon after. It was your first relationship, and you just felt like a failure.

You don’t view California so great anymore, instead choosing to uproot yourself and finding the first place you could in New York for cheap.

It worked out fine, you think. It led you to Steve and Robin.

Even though you clowned him for it, you also wanted that special connection. Love that movies taught you but you’d learned the hard way they weren’t going to translate into real life the same way.

“Uh-huh. I mean there’s no shame in it, I was the same way with Nancy.”

“I wasn’t moping around and wallowing in self-pity like you, though.”

“C’mon what was that whole period of just ‘Danny!'” He mimics your voice crying and eating out of an invisible tub of ice cream.

You feign being offended, chucking the couch pillow to him as he catches it and smothers himself with it.

“Your dad’s crazy. Yes, he is.” You pout to Mickey.

Joyce & Jim’s Wedding

Chincoteague, Virginia

March 1-3rd

“I remember during ‘84, Chief Hopper had a special visitor waiting for him in his office to talk to him about the disappearance of her boy. At the time she was just the town’s nut, but I bet no one would guess the wild ride these two would go on to end up here.” The man who Steve tells you was one of Hopper’s officers back home, toasts.

It sat poorly with the guests, including a somewhat already even more pissed off looking Hopper. He seems to get the idea and ends his toast blessing the couple in their late forties.

Jonathan goes up next, greeting the crowd. He’s dressed impeccably, his hair somewhat slicked back and his ring very prominent when the light catches it.

“I would like to thank everyone who came out to help us celebrate. I’m very proud of my mom and at first, I was a little wary about her settling down with someone. Not because I was moody about it but because she’s done so well on her own taking care of me and my siblings. She’s always been both parents to me but Jim,” Jonathan raises his glass.

“I want to thank you for helping us years ago, for believing in us. For being patient with us and sticking with us through thick and thin. My mom lights up every day like a Christmas tree and I think that’s evidence enough for me to happily welcome you into the family. To my mom and Jim!”

“To Joyce and Jim!” The crowd toasts.

The wedding was held in a gazebo near the beach on the East Coast, with Joyce getting married in a white tea-length dress with lacing decorating her collar down to her arms and Jim in a grey suit decorated with one of Joyce’s favorite flowers in his pocket. They’d both changed for the reception, Joyce into a red sheath dress and Jim into a black dress shirt and pants and a blazer matching Joyce’s dress.

You were seated with Jonathan and Nancy and another pair of family friends, talking and catching up with the other nuptials. They both told you the craziest stories about Steve from high school to when they last saw him, all the while he sat mere inches from you and hid behind his hand when something particularly embarrassing came up.

You’d often erupt in fruity laughter, hearing about the time Steve got his Scoops Ahoy uniform stuck in the fridge or when he’d played Dungeons and Dragons for the first time only to lose every time.

“So, how long has this been going on?” Nancy queries, gesturing to you and Steve.

You glance at Steve, lost for words for a moment. “We’re just friends.”

“Yeah, friends,” Steve adds right after you.

“I’ve been rooming with him for the past two years since Robin left.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she concedes. “I always hear you call him Honey over the phone sometimes.”

Your eyes widen. Curse your sarcastic nature.

“Oh no, god no,” You laugh nervously. “I just like to mess with him.”

You drown yourself out with the drink in front of you, leaving Steve to pick up the rest of the conversation.

“We got a dog.” Steve blurts out, trying to fill in for the painfully embarrassing silence.

Jonathan raises his brows, “Really?”

“Yeah, only instead of being the dad of the group back then, I’m a dog dad now.” He reveals.

Nancy and Jonathan laugh, almost as if to help ease both of you back into not being awkward.

“Hey, you guys heard Dustin’s getting married right?” Nancy pouts with her bottom lip drawn out. “He’s so old now.”

“Yeah, Steve loves the little guy.” You blurt. Steve glances at you.

“Last I heard he was starting up some fund for kids with CCD in California,” Jonathan alleges.

“Oh yeah,” Nancy remembers. “The Palm Springs wedding.”

The music begins playing for the guests and Nancy jumps, exclaiming that she loves this song and asks Jonathan to dance with her. They turn to you and Steve and urge you onto the dance floor, but you say you’ll be there in a second.

“What was that?” He whispers in a shrill tone.

“I panicked!”

“They probably think we’re idiots now.”

You cock your head down and glare at him. “These are your friends, Steve. They would never think that. It’s just been a while since you’ve all seen each other they probably understand.”

Steve bounces his leg in response. You put your hand on his thigh, stopping him.

“Look, we are gonna go out onto that dance floor and we are going to find you the best damn lover you’ll ever have.”

He nods rapidly, hooked onto your every word.

You lead him in when a couple leaves, guiding his hand to rest on your lower back and rest your left hand on the lapel of his suit. Your right-hand holds out for his, swaying until you can match the tempo of the music.

“Okay, what about violet in glasses?” You suggest, feeling him turn you to catch a glimpse.

“Too bookish.”

“What’s wrong with bookish?”

“I already have you, don’t I?”

You roll your eyes. “Alright, what about red with the pony?”

“Where?”

“Behind you, rotate.”

He rotates you to the left and makes a face. “Too mean.”

“What? She seems nice.”

“The red makes her seem aggressive.”

You sigh. “Okay, pink with the braid?”

He glances quickly to his right, “Yeah she’s cute.”

“I’ll go and spill my champagne on her and then you just swoop in and dry her off.”

“Is there any way you can do this without assaulting someone?”

“It’s not assault, I’m just very hands-on with this.”

“That sounds like it’s textbook definition.”

“When have you picked up a textbook? Nevermind, you want to try this or not? I haven’t failed you yet.”

He purses his lips, thinking back to the first wedding.

“Don’t. I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

As the song ends you retreat to your table, grab your glass, and start sipping. Steve stays behind, watching you fake stumble and fall against the woman and drench her with the drink. She gasps as the cold beverage hits her, and Steve pulls out one of the fancy napkins from the table.

“Showtime.”

"You think she hates me now?” You say, drawing circles in the sand with your feet.

“You mean because a drunken guest dumped their drink on an expensive dress she was planning on returning?"

You stare at him, unamused.

"I appreciate the try. She just seemed….too hostile.”

“I get it, I mean a guy like you coming up to me and trying to pat my breasts down - I would want to leave too.” You chuckle to yourself.

Steve stands, smacking off the sand on his pants. He takes hold of your shoulders and leans you close to the waves as they crash against your ankle.

“Oh my god, Steve! You know I can’t swim.”

Steve is laughing like crazy, teasing you. He takes hold of your waist in a second, carrying you as far into the ocean as he can while you’re shrieking.

He twirls you as you grip his hands tight, digging your nails into his skin and still screaming to be put down.

“Be careful what you wish for.” He says into your ear and drops you on your ass. The overwhelming cold and seaweed cover your body as you try to stand only to be wiped out by a wave.

Steve is howling in hysterics, clapping like a seal.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna kill you!” You don’t sound too threatening, if anything your wet appearance was akin to that of a wet kitten just meowing in protest.

Steve runs and dodges you, moving in a zig-zag pattern as you try your best to chase him through the water.

“You’ll never catch me!” He fronts.

Anticipating him to move in a pattern, you wait till he moves to the left to start running to the right and knock him down against the sand with a hmph!

“Gotcha!” You exclaim, putting your hands on his chest and completely unaware of the position you’re in.

You’re straddling him, legs on both sides and your face is inches away from his trying to catch your breath. He smells like salt and champagne.

He’s frozen in place too, one of his hands firmly on your lower back.

Your eyes flicker from his to the rest of his face, focusing on the moles decorating his neck. He can smell your perfume still even through the saltwater. It inundates his senses, disorienting him momentarily. Your necklace dangles and touches his chin, taunting him.

This is the moment you’ve been looking for, the one that the movies oh so love to display over and over again. Something in you tells you to do it, to just lean down and see if he tastes like you do.

Instead, he pushes you to the side softly, catching his breath and patting your thigh. “I guess you got me.”

You nod, taking your dress by the ends of it to walk back onto dry land and leave him sitting there. You’d see him back at the hotel anyway.

@mochminnie, @wolfish-willow

#steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #stranger things imagine #joe keery x reader

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cowandcalf · 4 years

Photo

The goodbye scene – Steve and Danny 10.22

An explanation

Danny is not the one with the anxiety of abandonment. That's Steve. Danny is the one with the worst-case scenario imagination. Danny always fears for the worst outcome and this means he's already anxious for the moment to get a phone call by an unknown number to be informed Steve had died. That movie runs through his head when they sit at the beach moments away to say goodbye for an uncertain time.

Another thing that's important to remember about Danny and his way to deal with difficult situations in a relationship are these: he has a way to punish his partner due to too much hurt and the lack of coping in a difficult emotional situation. Maybe you remember the time, I guess it was in season 6 when Gaby stood him up. She was supposed to come back from Morocco to be with him and she was a no-show. She called him several times to apologize but Danny didn't answer the phone. Another phone call from Gaby pinged on Danny's phone when Steve entered his office and Danny clicked her away. And Steve smirked and looked knowingly at Danny and asked Danny what's up. Danny explained honestly what he was doing and Steve asked him if he was punishing her. And he said yes that's his way to deal with what she had done to him. So – that's a pattern Danny uses in his defense to cope with very difficult situations.

Another important detail upfront to get Danny's reaction when Steve says goodbye. Danny hates goodbyes. He hates changes. He wishes that everything always stays the same to have control over his beloved ones. He never wanted Charlie to grow up so Danny could always be the father of a five-year-old boy to never face all the changes that happens in a child's life. For example, growing out of the need for their father's intense care. Danny never wanted Grace to grow older, never wanted to deal with her going off to college. He would never want her to lose his beloved girl to another boy because Grace begins to show interest in other boys. That's Danny's nightmare- changes.

Maybe you remember the time where he caught all texts from a guy form Grace's class he sent to Grace's phone when she was twelve. And she lied to Danny about homework and went instead to eat ice-cream with this boy. Danny was upset and furious and disappointed but when he saw them together, he realized how happy Grace looked and he backed off, leaving it up to her to come forward and to be honest about what she had done. And she did. Grace couldn't stand the lie she told her Danno and confessed. And everything was settled again.

So, that's Danny's pattern. Danny hates changes. He can't deal with them because he loses control and he fears for the worst. Meaning everyone dies all the time and he ends up alone and sad.

Then, that's another very important point. Whenever Steve had left in the past it was because of a mission, a dangerous task, to find a bad guy, to bring someone home. Steve was always on duty during those missions either as the head of the Five-0 task force or as a SEAL. Steve never went away as a civilian. He never just went on holiday. Danny had always an important task too, when Steve was gone for a mission. Steve was always his partner, was always somehow connected to Danny and Danny was ready to jump onto the next plane to get Steve back home in case the plan went south.

But this time nothing, nothing at all is remotely the same. Danny has spent the last ten years to have Steve's back, to watch his six, always. Danny was his partner for ten years and suddenly he isn't. Danny knows Steve battles with insomnia, with the experiences of the last year that has been one of the cruelest ones in Steve's life. And the hurtful experiences are not over. Steve just learned that his father knew the whole time that his mother's death was staged. Again, he had been betrayed by the people who should love him the most.

Steve is hurting. Steve feels lost. Steve doesn't know what to do. He needs a break; he needs to roam the earth and he needs to do this alone.

Danny understands this but he can't cope with it. He's so afraid Steve won't be okay. Who's there to look after his boy? And obviously Danny doesn't trust Steve to do this on his own. Danny knows how Steve loves risks and danger and there are still enemies out there who want to see Steve dead. At least, Danny thinks this.

For Danny it's the most difficult thing to stay behind and to not being able to look after Steve. Especially because he moved in with Steve and he has a watchful eye all the time over Steve and now he can't do that anymore.

So, he tries again to sell Steve the beauty of Hawaii. To make him stay here on this island where Danny can look after him. Steve is a civilian now. The first time in about 25 years Steve's not on duty and that will mess with his mind and his emotional state. Danny can't be there for Steve when it's going to hit him hard.

And Steve knows this. Steve knows what kind of crazy thoughts are running through Danny's head. But Steve also knows he has to go. He won't find peace in Hawaii because only hurtful things had happened concerning his parents. He needs to find a way into this new stage of life he hopes to discover. He needs to mend and he needs to learn to live without being on duty. Steve needs to learn how to be a civilian.

So, when they hug, Danny pouts. Danny is deeply worried. He wants to cry. He wants to beg Steve not to go but at the same time he knows Steve needs this. But Danny hates changes and that's why he punishes Steve with the way he looks away when Steve says to him openly, that he loves him – straight in the face.

And Steve gets it. He hugs Danny as tight as possible, tucks him close to his chest and smiles because he gets his Danno. He takes Danny's emotional, harsh treatment like a champ because Steve loves Danny and he knows how much Danny has to fight to keep it together. Danny will be so sorry the next day but right now, in this very moment he can't escape his pattern.

And Steve knows it. He leaves and turns once more to look down where Danny sits. He sighs and knows both are hurting but it's necessary for Steve to leave. It's like a treatment, a mental cleansing. Steve thinks about going back one more time but there's not comfort because he leaves anyway. And he knows Danny will get over it and they will call each other to be in touch. Danny is just worried sick that Steve won't make the transformation from SEAL and H50 leader to normal tourist and civilian.

Sometimes the only way to get better is to leave and to come back for good. But that's not the time yet. Steve has a lot of work to do to heal. And if you get Steve's character you know this sabbatical is the most important thing for him to do. It will keep him sane. It will make him find peace and to be ready to start a new stage in life with Danny once he's back home again.

And Danny? Danny misses Steve already and sends him a text first thing when he has found his footing again. And when did we ever read such a text from Danny to Steve?? I miss you already.

The boys are good. They love each other and they will get through this time. Love is support and strength when you need it the most. Steve loves his ohana and his ohana loves him. Love will get him through this trip and Danny knows this. And love will bring Steve back home.

The boys love each other deeply.

End of statement.

#h50 #mcdanno #steve mcgarrett #danny williams #my edit #my pictures #h50edit #10.22 #the mcdanno goodbye hug for now #cowandcalf muses #what an intense episode #series final

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chocoholicannanymous · 3 years

Text

...As Stupid Does (Teen Wolf) 19/19

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything – except for a red hoodie...

This is the final part of this story, and this ‘verse. A bit bittersweet, but honestly? So much relief too. Because as much as I never wanted to abandon this story I was worried that I’d never pull together the focus and energy to connect scattered paragraphs and thoughts into a complete ending.

Here it is though. I hope those of you reading this enjoy it.

Part 18, Part 17, Part 16, Part 15, Part 14, Part 13, Part 12, Part 11, Part 10, Interlude, Part 9, Part 8d, Part 8c, Part 8b, Part 8a, Part 7, Part 6, Part 5,Part 4,Part 3, Part 2, Part 1,Not Stupid, Stupid Is… and pre-verse ficlet I’m Stupid (Don’t Worry ‘Bout Me)…

Epilogue

Here's the thing: Stiles is a lucky guy. He's smart enough to realize exactly how lucky.

He's three years through a four year college degree, with a job waiting for him after graduation. His relationship with his dad is stronger than ever. He's got a home also waiting for him, one that's surrounded by two packs full of 'wolves.

He's also got Derek.

And the thing is, he and Derek? They're good together. Like really, really, almost disgustingly good. They weren't back in Beacon Hills. They kind of weren't when they decided to try again, for real this time.

They had spent their first year together fucking up, and god, the amount of times Stiles had questioned not just his sanity in doing this but also his intelligence. But during that year they also started working together, begun healing old hurts and smoothing down their rough edges, and found a way to fit together.

Once that year was over they'd sat down and talked things through.

Okay, they'd screamed some too, and once Stiles had even walked out. But the important thing is that he'd done so in a mature way. He'd told Derek that he was walking out, why he was doing so and that he was coming back once he'd cooled off. And then he'd kept his word.

And they'd done it on their own. No prompting, no mediating, no one coming in to send them to separate corners or patch them up. Stiles is still hella proud of that.

It's been three years now, and as far as Stiles is concerned he's got an amazing boyfriend that he fully expects to spend the rest of his life with.

If anyone had told him this years ago, when Scott had just been bitten and they were scrambling to keep their heads above water – at one point literally – Stiles would not have believed it. At one point he'd have taken violently offense, even without being told said boyfriend would be Derek.

Things have changed. He has changed. Derek has changed. But most importantly? They've changed together.

These days Derek has enough of a handle on himself to not need magic or therapy to make it through a visit. He's still seeing Dr Bianchi occasionally, as is Stiles, but they're both down to a handful of times per year.

And it's not just when it comes to the two of them that Derek has improved. Stiles gets regular reports from Scott, and it's obvious that Derek's a good Alpha these days. Sure, he will only stay an Alpha for a little while longer before handing it over to Cora, but that doesn't diminish his accomplishment. Everyone in a pack benefits from a good, steady Alpha.

Just like Cora benefits from a brother who is all these things.

Yeah, life is good.

The only dark cloud on Stiles's horizon is that he's going to have to go back to Beacon Hills.

Returning to Beacon Hills is, yeah okay, it's not the last thing Stiles wants to do. Reliving the Alpha pack, the kanima, Kate, Allison, Gerard, Peter (though that one's a firm “against” on returning too), reliving his mother's death, living through his dad's death, killing someone, almost killing someone, losing his pack, losing Embry... There are a lot of thing that Stiles wants even less.

But returning to Beacon Hills, even for a weekend, does come very low on the list. Distance has not made Stiles' heart fonder. Returning sadly isn't exactly optional.

Sure, no one's forcing him, but that doesn't mean staying away is an alternative. Not this time. Because Scott is getting married. Scott, who's still only 21 for another couple of weeks, and who used to think that werewolves were the worst (or second worst depending on how angry he was with Derek that day), who believed that he didn't need an Alpha and that Allison had hung the moon, is getting married to a werewolf, one that's not only Derek's sister, but also his soon-to-be Alpha.

And of course said wedding has to take place in Beacon Hills.

Now, Stiles has done his best to talk Scott into eloping, has tried since Scott called him with the news that Cora had said yes, but. Apparently Scott can't see the brilliance in eloping, not even with Stiles's excellent arguments.

“You, me, your mom, abuela Delgado, Derek and Cora. Just the family. No douche pack.”

“What about Peter?”

Seriously? The last thing Stiles had expected to need to justify is why leaving Peter out of, well, everything is a good idea.

“No uncle psycho either. He doesn't qualify as family.”

There's a sound that Stiles knows from years of being Scott's friend means he's nodding in agreement.

“Okay, true. What about dad though?”

“Oh, you know, I figured he'd be my plus one.” That came out flippantly, because he knows there's no way Scott wouldn't invite his dad regardless.

“No, Stiles, what about my dad?”

“He doesn't qualify as family either.”

The words come out before Stiles can filter himself, and he kind of wishes he could take them back, except...

“Look, can I be brutal here? I mean, we both know I'm going to be honest so... When's the last time you saw agent McCall?”

“There was a thing junior year, he came here to investigate.”

Not what he was asking, but a very telling answer.

“Okay, and when's the last time you saw him in his capacity as your dad? Hell, when's the last time you spoke to him? Does he even know about Cora?”

Scott evades the questions, which again: telling.

“He's my dad though, doesn't that kind of mean I have to invite him?”

Stiles snorts. As if.

“I don't see why. Sure, he's 50 % of your genepool, but is he really your dad? I mean, I can't remember the last time he and you shared anything other than your last name, and we both know that's not going to be true for much longer.”

“Yeah, okay, you have a point. He's not getting an invite. That doesn't mean we're eloping though, Stiles. Cora deserves a proper wedding, and I'm going to give her that. Now, you convince her that eloping's a good idea and we can talk about it again, but I'm not risking making her mad at me just because you don't want to subject yourself to Isaac. At least Jackson won't be invited?”

“Small favors, man. Small favors.”

There's another one of Scott's agreement noises before the conversation had moved on.

Of course, Cora had been an even tougher nut to crack than Scott, and Stiles had retreated ungracefully once she'd started threatening his balls.

Really, there was no need to go there. If for no other reason, well, shouldn't she leave the goods intact for Derek's sake?

Of course, Stiles can understand why she's unwilling to let go of the only Hale tradition she still can have, namely getting married in the preserve and in the presence of pack. Every Hale has done so for over 200 years, before they were even called Hale.

(Stiles listens to Derek explain, haltingly, and decides to admit defeat. At least Derek's willing to bypass that tradition, should they one day decide to marry. He'll take that win and stop pestering Cora.)

So, anyway. There's no talking the lovely couple into eloping. Which means like it or not – and trust him, it's not – Stiles is going back. Because it's Scott.

There's also the fact that in a strange way Stiles has waited for this wedding as long as Scott has. When he and Derek had gotten back together the plan had been for Cora to graduate, then take over the Alpha spark and the pack. Two years had felt long, but doable.

And then Cora had asked for more time.

She'd gone straight from school to working at the Beacon Hills sheriff's department and had felt she needed to adjust a little better to that before taking on something new. It'd been reasonable, and more importantly: Derek had been almost unable to deny his sister anything after getting her back from the dead (except you know, figuratively speaking, unlike a certain other family member).

So they'd talked it over and agreed to give Cora another year, moving the transfer to after the wedding. It makes, Stiles thinks, for one hell of a wedding present. If that's good or bad, eh. Who knows.

He'd taken on more classes in order to have a distraction, had worked himself to the point of exhaustion more than once, and nearly driven the people around him crazy. It'd been more than a little overkill, he admits now, but it had kept him from missing Derek too much. It also means he'll be able to slow down a little his final year.

Or take on whatever shiny but totally unnecessary new class catches his eye, probably, but. He pretends he'll take it easy. Derek pretends to believe him. Derek's also made it clear he's going to move to Seattle once he can leave Beacon Hills, and stay there as long as Stiles does. They both pretend it's not partially to keep Stiles from studying himself into the hospital.

Anyway. He's just, you know, going to have to count small favors. The first one being that Jackson really isn't invited. The second is that Lydia, who was, isn't coming either. Once Stiles had gotten over his crush on her he'd kept a measure of fond respect for the person he'd learned existed behind Lydia's facades, even though they'd never really become friends. That didn't change the fact that her not coming was a relief – she's too smart, sees too much, and he would hate for her to figure things out.

Another person not coming is Danny who's transferred his allegiance to the pack near his college where he's, completely coincidentally Stiles is sure, dating the Alpha's grandson. He'd been invited as a courtesy, but told he couldn't bring his boyfriend, and had wisely chosen not to accept. Cora hates him, and he apparently knows it, and Scott isn't to fond of him either.

Those really are small favors though.

A slightly bigger one is the fact that Deaton isn't coming. Not only does he no longer live in Beacon Hills, but he hasn't been invited. While no one had been able to prove that there had been magic on Scott, his opinions on both Derek and Deaton had changed a little too much for comfort after first moving away and then beginning to meditate. Even Scott had noticed, and gotten suspicious.

In the end there had been no protests from Scott as Derek and Cora had ended Deaton's lease of the land for his practice – land he had been granted use of as the Hale pack's emissary and then had kept using free of charge since the fire, knowing he wasn't keeping to the agreement. Once he'd been called on it, Deaton had packed up, sold his home, and moved away.

No one misses him – not even Scott.

However none of that changes the fact that Beacon Hills still has Peter Hale, who is most certainly both invited to the wedding and attending, and who Stiles still sees as a threat. Because, well, he's not stupid.

Peter Hale will stop being a threat the day he dies, and maybe not even then. (Next time, Stiles has promised himself, he's going to make sure Peter gets the Aiden treatment.)

And Stiles is going to willingly place himself within striking distance from said threat, without a protector on hand.

He hadn't even thought about it at first, just assuming he'd have Embry to keep him safe, but it hadn't taken long to realize that bringing Embry to Scott's wedding wasn't an option.

First of all there's the fact that while neither Derek or Cora can feel the supernatural in the LaPush 'wolves unless they're shifting Peter might. Peter, who's not only older and has had the kind of training Derek never got but who also has access to a lot of the Hale pack's lore which Derek had thought lost in the fire. Stiles isn't willing to take a chance on that knowledge not containing something to help Peter identify the LaPush shifters. (This is, incidentally, one of the reasons Stiles is happy Deaton is gone. He too knows too much for Stiles to trust he wouldn't be able identify another kind of shifter.)

Second there's the fact that every single pack member is visibly Native American, and there are only so many tribes. Peter – or Danny for that matter, even though he's not going to be present, but he's more of an annoyance – could locate Stiles far too easily easily with that kind of information.

There's also the fact that Embry would be on a hair trigger simply because Stiles will be, and might shift and expose them.

Most importantly though is that bringing what would look like a plus one to Cora's wedding would be an insult. Not just to her, who's only just gotten to the point where she accepts that Stiles is in her brother's life for good, but also to Derek. Yes, everyone who matters knows that Embry's relationship with Stiles is as platonic as can be, but that doesn't change anything. They smell enough like each other for wolfy noses to know they're not casual acquaintances, and chances are there would be quite a bit of ribbing and speculation. Derek shouldn't have to listen to that, or for that matter look at Stiles walking around with another man when he himself has to hide what they are to each other. Desire for protection or not, Stiles just isn't willing to do that to Derek.

It's possible that Embry could have skated by as the son of John Stilinski's fiancée – and wow, Stiles still hasn't gotten used to referring to Tiffany Call that way (and damn, does that make him glad that he and Embry are platonic, because that's a little to incestuous even as is). Scott would have been okay with both of them coming, had even brought it up, but everyone involved is aware that it'd make Melissa feel uncomfortable. Regardless, Tiffany's not coming either. Like with Embry there's no way of hiding that she's native, making her too easily identifiable. There's also the fact that it just isn't safe.

Tiffany is many things, and a stronger woman than most, but she's not a fighter. If things go wrong she would be vulnerable, and a liability.

Bringing someone other than Embry means the same risk of discovery.

So instead of a werewolf bodyguard or ten Stiles has his dad.

Yeah.

There's also the fact that in the interest of keeping secrets Stiles can't even use the silver lining of more time with Derek. Letting anyone from that pack know of their connection is bad, but the thought of letting Peter know makes Stiles's blood run cold. That means he's going to be within minutes of his boyfriend for days, and yet he's not going to get hugs, or kisses, or a bedpartner. He's going to be at a wedding along with his romantic partner, while pretending he's single.

Yeah.

It's going to suck.

O--o---o--O

The wedding is missing a lot of traditional parts. It's understandable, really, and not just because both bride and groom along with several guests are werewolves. It's just... Cora doesn't have a father to give her away, or dance with her. She doesn't have a mother to support her, an inherited dress or heirloom jewelry. She doesn't have a best friend to be her maid of honor. What she's got is a brother whose Alpha she'll be within days and an uncle that she doesn't trust as far as she can throw him. Or well, as far as Stiles could throw him.

So they adjust.

No one gives Cora away. Instead she and Scott walk up the isle – isle, forest path, same thing – together. Neither of them have attendants, and Melissa McCall's wedding dress stays in its garment bag.

The wedding is small and intimate, with only a handful of guests outside of the pack – Stiles, John, Melissa, abuela Delgado and two 'wolves from Cora's South American pack. It takes place in a glade just on the edge of the preserve and the only decorations are wild flowers and boughs of leaves.

It's scaled-down, but also beautiful in its simplicity, because no one can doubt that these are two people who love each other deeply.

Stiles has to blink away tears at more than one time. His friend, his brother, is promising to love, cherish and honor his girl, and is being promised the same in return. There's not a doubt in Stiles's mind that when they swear to do so until death do them part they mean it. This, he knows, is Scott's life now. It's the life and future he deserves. It's enough to make Stiles's heart swell with love.

And then it hits him. With a little luck that'll be him in a not too distant future. He has to look away not to betray himself by staring lovingly at Derek.

Stiles walks through the door to the cabin he's sharing with his dad. He's tired, both because of emotion and vigilance. His dad's still back at the wedding, catching up with Melissa, but Stiles doesn't have the energy. He's spent the day keeping one eye on the pack, and Peter in particular, and generally hating that he's back in Beacon Hills while loving that he's able to be here for Scott.

It's been exhausting.

Just about everyone else is still celebrating, but once Scott and Cora had left to change clothes and go on their honeymoon Stiles had left too. Pretending that he doesn't want to kill Peter, or kiss Derek, has taken it out of him and he can't do it any longer. He's going back home tomorrow and he can't spend another minute being that close to Derek without being able to be with him. That it'll be at least a month, probably two or more, before he can see Derek again is making it even harder.

As far as everyone but him and Derek knows Scott and Cora are going on an actual honeymoon, for a whole month. The truth is that they'll be gone for a week before sneaking back. The rest of the time will be spent in recovery and training after Derek transfers the Alpha spark. Cora will come back as the new Hale Alpha, but that doesn't mean Derek will be free to leave.

There will be unrest in a pack with a new Alpha, even under the best of circumstances, and these – as so often for them – are not. Cora will need Derek by her side, to support her and calm the pack. Maybe she'll also need him to help take down threats thinking to take advantage of a novice Alpha. Maybe they'll have to deal with Peter...

It'll be a little while yet before Derek will be free of Beacon Hills.

So Stiles is sad, and he's got a headache and he just wants to take some pills, text Embry some and then sleep.

After he's re-ringed the cabin with mountain ash of course.

Stiles pulls his phone out of its pocket, takes off his jacket and goes to throw it at the chair before thinking twice. It's a decent suit jacket and if he treats it right he won't need to go suit shopping again in years. Coat hanger it is.

He turn towards the clothes rack, his brain three steps ahead, and hits a wall, his phone clattering to the floor.

Only there's no wall there.

He scrambles backwards, trying to put as much space as he can between himself and the threat and swears. The door is out of reach and he's trapped.

“Hello Stiles.”

Fuck.

“Peter.”

He flicks through scenarios in his head, trying to figure out how to get out of this, but he keeps running into mental walls.

Stiles is a lot better trained than when he left Beacon Hills, in ways Peter knows nothing about. Under the right circumstances he might have a chance.

These are not.

He's in close quarters with Peter, unable to reach the door before the 'wolf can get to him. He's mostly unarmed due to being dressed for a wedding, and what he does have isn't as easily accessible as he'd like.

Plus it's Peter.

Stiles is going to assume that everything he thinks he knows about Peter's skills and strength is wrong. To do anything else would be to sign his own death warrant. Derek might be clouded by memories of “uncle Peter”, but Stiles has never forgotten the psychopathic killer he'd first encountered.

No, training or no training, Stiles's one real advantage is having a pack, and what being part of it means. Unfortunately he has no idea if it'll be enough.

“Shouldn't you be with the pack, or, I don't know, in your own home? Not breaking and entering somewhere you're definitely not welcome.”

“Oh, but it's not breaking and entering if you have a key.” Which, fuck, did Peter kill someone to get his hands on a backup key? “Besides, I didn't get a chance to talk to you earlier. It's been so long, Stiles, won't you humor me? We're practically old friends, are we not? It'll be like old times.”

“You're crazy.”

“Now now Stiles. That's not very nice of you.”

Stiles snorts, because nice? Not really in his wheelhouse.

“You think I care? When it comes to you? Come now, I said crazy, not stupid.”

Because unfortunately Peter is anything but, making him even more dangerous. Still, the wolf just smirks a little at Stiles's defiance.

“I'm afraid that answer just isn't acceptable. See, I really do need to talk to you. Or well, I need you. I'd like it if you talked to me, but I'll manage either way. You however... You really would do well to humor me.”

Then Peter looks at him, and oh shit. His eyes are flashing back and forth between the electric blue that had looked so good on Derek and a sickly red.

It takes nothing to figure it out.

Peter had called him the clever one, and meant it in a mocking way. But the reality is that Stiles is clever, and knows how to put puzzle pieces together.

And these particular puzzle pieces... Peter came back to life using not only Lydia but also Derek – had drained Derek of life and strength and power, and had tried to steal the Alpha power too.

And afterwards Derek had changed. Had grown more volatile, more likely to hurt someone – more unstable.

Stiles is willing to bet Peter had had a bit more success than they'd realized, that he'd managed to siphon off some of the Alpha power and keep it.

That would explain why Derek had acted the way he had. Why he'd been so easily influenced by the pack's negativity. Why Derek had sometimes acted more like Peter than like himself.

It would definitely explain how the Alpha power had become this unstable, negative force in Derek that he felt was fighting him. He is sharing it with Peter. And apparently Peter is done sharing. Stiles is uncomfortably aware of exactly how little defense he has to put up in regards to a Peter who is no longer hiding his power, who is no longer playing weak and damaged.

The only reason he's still alive is so Peter can use him against Derek.

Because even holding a part of the Hale Alpha spark Peter isn't going to just challenge Derek for the rest of it, or meet him in a fair fight. It's not how he works. Peter doesn't believe in fair, and wants the odds as weighted in his favor as possible. Using Stiles as bait, or whatever, is a way of doing that. There's also the fact that Derek has been getting stronger and better as an Alpha, leaving Peter needing every advantage he could. Even an ambush might not give him the upper hand.

Well, Stiles is going to do what he can to even out the odds a bit.

It helps that he has no reason to believe Peter will let him go after killing Derek. He'll either be dead too, or bitten without concern for his wishes, and forced to obey Peter. His dad will probably be used against him – or, again, killed outright.

Not fighting won't save him – it'll only make it easier for Peter.

“You kept some of the Alpha spark after using Derek to come back to life.”

“Ah. You really are clever. Too bad you've always wasted that cleverness on my failure of a beta and my useless nephew. Yes, I kept some. It should have been mine altogether, but something went wrong.

“Doesn't matter though, because I'm getting it back. I'm getting it all back tonight.”

Stiles stiffens. That sounds really not good.

“I was willing to be patient. To wait for it. Derek isn't made to be Alpha, and I've always known that sooner or later he'd get himself killed, especially the way kept attracting hunters. I could wait. After all, I had enough power to get through most. Especially after getting a little boost.”

That's what happened to miss Blake, Stiles thinks. He doesn't say anything though. It's not time to upset the balance. Not yet.

“It was possible one of the others would have had enough and killed him, but chances were the Alpha spark would have gone to me either way. If not,” Peter shrugs, “a new Alpha, who doesn't know how to deal with the change in their senses? Easy to kill.”

Stiles can see it happen just like that too, unfortunately.

“Everything was going according to plan too, with Derek growing more and more unstable. Given a little more time I might even have been able to talk him into giving up the spark voluntarily.” Like hell he would have. “And then my dear, dear niece came back to life.”

There's something in Peter's voice with couple with the moue he makes that gives Stiles another flash of insight.

“You resent Cora for being alive. You resent her for surviving the fire.”

Peter almost slips into a roar.

“She abandoned me!”

“She was a child! I know you were trained to hide from hunters, to go to ground and stay there until the threat was over. Are you blaming her for doing what she's been told?”

“You go to ground, yes. And then you come back. You don't abandon your pack.”

And wow, hearing that shit from the wolf who killed one niece, tried to kill a nephew, and had just explained how he had been waiting to try again... Yeah, Peter Hale is a hypocrite on top of being fucking insane.

“She abandoned us, and then when she comes crawling back,” which, totally not how it had actually happened, “that useless weakling wants to reward her for it by passing the Alpha spark to her. And they expect me to just take it?”

Fuck. The biggest flaw in the plan had always been the risk of Peter finding out and getting mad. There are contingency plans, sure, but none of them counted for quite this.

“I should have been Alpha after Talia. Laura was just as weak, just as unsuitable, as Derek. She didn't have it in her to take vengeance for our family – she just ran. It should have been me. It would have been me, had I not been burnt so badly.”

Peter's eyes are flickering between red and blue again, but the light in them has nothing to do with the 'wolf. It's insanity, and Stiles makes a quick judgment call.

He's never going to be able to outfight Peter. What he needs is to keep him of guard, while hoping for help to reach him. And as dangerous as it might be, the best way is to go after Peter's ego.

He's calm and collected in a way he rarely is as his brain starts listing sore points to hit.

He starts off by laughing, startling Peter out of his self-righteous rant.

“I might have to take back what I said about you not being stupid. You really think you should have been Alpha over Laura? Dude, you are delusional. You not becoming Alpha after the fire had nothing to do with you burning, and everything to do with the fact that you're a monster. Hell, the only way you had a shot at Alpha-hood was to steal it.

“Derek's fucked up plenty, yes, but even on his worst days he's better than you. He at least is sane.”

His words are working, Stiles can see it, and he continues to taunt the 'wolf.

“In fact, should Derek die today? You're not even in the running to become the next Alpha. It'll be Cora, or Scott if she's not an option either. Hell, even Isaac is a better candidate for Alpha than you and I really don't like that guy. No, you're going to have to kill the rest of your family and the new Hale pack along with them to even have a shot.

“Fuck, if I was that Alpha spark? I'd leave the Hale line – hell, existence even – completely over settling in you. You're simply too corrupt.

“You speak of Derek and Laura not being worthy of the Alpha spark. The truth is that you're the one that's unworthy. The world truly will be a better place once you're dead.”

Peter's eyes flicker back and forth and Stiles is actually kind of surprised he's not already dead. Maybe Peter still thinks he can get something out of keeping him alive.

“Brave words, Stiles, but that's all they are. Words. You don't understand what it's like to be a werewolf, what it means to be in a pack. But I'll make sure you do. Before the sun rises I'll be the Alpha, and like it or not you're going to help me. And as a reward I'll give you what you wanted but were afraid to say yes to all those years ago.

“Once my useless nephew is out of the picture you'll be my beta. Part of my pack. And you'll be good to me, won't you Stiles? After all, you have...experience in being good to your Alpha, don't you?” Peter's voice is silky-sweet around the words, and Stiles shudders with disgust.

What Peter is hinting at is never going to happen, not even if Stiles has to kill himself to make sure it doesn't. Yes, he's made some pretty harsh statements about what was between him and Derek, but not even at the lowest point did that make him feel as dirty as Peter's mere words are doing now.

At the same time Stiles is willing to put money on the fact that Peter doesn't really mean what he's saying. Oh, he might follow through, especially if he leaves Derek alive, but this isn't about any kind of want or desire. This is about scaring Stiles, about rattling him, about making him beg.

He's not going to do that.

“Fuck no.”

“Tsk, tsk. You'll sing a different tune once you're in my pack.”

Stiles laughs again, short and sharp, putting as much mockery as he can muster in it.

“Your pack? You don't have a pack. You'll never have a pack. All you've got, Peter, is two people who shares blood with you and who pity you too much to put you down like the animal you are.

“Really, where's an Argent when you need them?”

That does it. Peter's claws pop, his teeth lengthen and his eyes shine like lasers. Only one of them will walk away from this, and Stiles has finally managed to tip the scales enough that it just might be him. Of course, even almost out of his mind with rage Peter does have some control – he hasn't howled, for instance, keeping it in as to not warn anyone. Stiles's chance is tiny, and it mostly depends on outside factors, but unlike five minutes ago it exists.

Now he just has to be right about a number of factors.

Luckily he is.

The window breaks, glass splintering and flying across the cabin. Peter jerks back as a big furry shape follows and Stiles hurries to to put his back against a corner. Chances are that Peter will win this fight so he's not safe yet, but he's certainly safer than he was a minute ago.

No one had been happy with Stiles going back without Embry. Hell, Stiles hadn't been happy about it. Had it been an option he would have brought the entire pack with him – preferably both even. Jake'd been on the verge of laying down an Alpha order about Stiles and John not going on their own for weeks, the only thing stopping him being the safety of LaPush. Instead he had had to stop basically the entire pack from sneaking off to follow them, same for Sam.

The compromise had been one 'wolf. There had been a fight over who got to go, and even Leah – who still think Stiles is being an idiot – had wanted to go. Of course, Leah is also finally pregnant and no one wants to put her and the baby at risk. (Plus, she's not feeling that great. The phrase “sick as a dog” takes on a new light when you've seen a horse sized shape shifter with violent morning sickness, Stiles decided after seeing Leah sick up to the point where she phased out of her wolf form and fainted. Yuck.)

Embry still hadn't been allowed to go, and Stiles knows why, knows that Jake has a point in claiming Embry's bond to Stiles would cause him to be on edge and risk exposing them in more ways than one. That doesn't make it easier to deal with though.

Stiles wishes with all his being that it could have been Embry.

Instead it had been decided that Collin, as the most harmless looking one, should go and play hapless tourist. He had arrived in Beacon Hills a couple of days ago, and as far as Stiles knows no one's picked up on anything strange about him or his story.

Of course, with Collin being one of the youngest and least experienced 'wolves he's not the one Stiles would have wanted in a fight against Peter Hale.

All he really is is a distraction, but it does gives Stiles a chance. While Peter's attention is on the giant 'wolf Stiles slowly eases the hidden blade from his sleeve and then carefully rips open his cuff.

The mountain ash concealed in the cuff does as it's meant to and falls into his hand. Now he's got a chance.

Provided nothing has gone to hell in the last couple of hours there is at least one other 'wolf near, able to warn others. If it has and they're on their own, then there's always howling.

All Stiles needs to do is get up a barrier and they'll have some breathing room. He just needs some distance between Collin and Peter.

At first the giant 'wolf is causing Peter to be cautious, but it doesn't take long for the man to realize he's the strongest of them. The wolf shape is excellent for fighting and killing vampires, but less so when it comes to another type of werewolf.

Collin yips in pain and Peter strikes again. This time he lands a powerful blow that throws Collin across the cabin. He lands heavily, with a whine, and doesn't get up. Stiles swallows as he sees blood pooling out from the still body.

A 'wolf can heal just about anything, given time. Peter won't give them that though. He's already stalking across the floor with blood dripping from his claws and a sadistic smile on his face. He's fast enough that he could have crossed before Stiles knew what was happening. This slow walk is just a show, meant to intimidate Stiles.

Too bad it just gives him the time he needs.

“You've been keeping secrets. I'll enjoy dragging them out of you.”

It's a promise, meant to invoke, and it works. But Stiles has gotten used to pushing down his fear and working through it, and so he looks Peter straight in the eyes and quips.

“Didn't your Alpha teach you not to play with your prey?”

And then he throws the mountain ash.

He's practiced this very moment over and over until he doesn't need to walk the perimeter, or to have “enough” ash. All he needs is a little bit and his belief.

He's never believed anything this hard before.

“Mountain ash? Always the clever one, aren't you? But your little trick won't save you, or your friend there. You can only hold the barrier for so long, and I can be a very patient man.

“It would be wise of you not to test that patience though. Sooner or later your father will walk through that door, and I would hate to kill him just to prove a point.”

Like he'd let any of them live either way.

“Here's the thing, Peter. You would be wise to leave now. Who knows, run fast enough, far enough, and you might even live to regret your actions here tonight. Because Game of Thrones might be shit about a lot of things, but they're dead right about: 'the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives'. And you, Peter. You're all alone.”

“You think you're pack? You, my useless nephew's even more useless fucktoy? Don't make me laugh.

“Since you're apparently too stupid to realize, I've got you trapped in here. You've got no way to call for help,” and he steps on Stiles's phone, grinding it to components to make a point, “your supposed savior is out like a light, dying as we speak, and your mountain ash barrier is weakening by the minute.”

It's not. Stiles can feel that it's still just as strong, but it's a good tactic, trying to shake the belief holding it together.

“That poor fool is even more of an idiot than that useless beta of mine. He didn't even howl for help. Not that he would have gotten any, but he didn't even try. Pathetic.”

Stiles smirks. No, Collin hadn't howled. But with the LaPush pack mind he didn't need to, not being shifted.

“Peter? This is the 21st century. Proper 'wolves use cellphones just like the rest of us.

And then in a show of timing almost too good to be true Seth and Brady jumps through the broken window as Derek – followed by Cora – break through the door.

Stiles almost sobs with relief. Having Collin arrive had been such a help, but it hadn't really made him feel safe. Not when up against Peter Hale. The same goes for Brady. They're his friends, yes, but they're the most inexperienced of the 'wolves and they're Sam's. Seth is, well, he's not that much more experienced but he's pack. That matters.

It's not the fact that they're four against one that calms Stiles, or even that Derek is there – it's the presence of pack.

He still wishes Embry was with him, but now he dares to believe he'll see his 'wolf again.

Peter is actually looking stunned, faced with another two giant wolves. And is that a hint of fear Stiles sees? It could be. After all Peter has to realize that while Derek and Cora might be swayed to spare him out of sentimentality, these new and unknown wolves have no such compunctions. Stiles wonders if the crazed 'wolf sees his death in their arrival.

He hopes so.

The four circle Peter, cutting of all routes of escape. If he wants to leave he'll have to go through them, and that's not as easy as fighting Collin might lead Peter to believe. They don't attack though and Stiles can't help but think his 'wolves are holding back out of consideration for Derek, and to a lesser degree Cora.

Seth and Brady both know that Peter needs to die, but Derek has had a hard time reconciling with the fact that killing Peter had been necessary the first time. He hasn't even wanted to entertain the idea that it might be needed a second time, and might want to give Peter a chance to surrender.

Or it's just about waiting for the right moment. Regardless Stiles finds himself unable to watch what is about to come. Strange. He'd had no problem watching Peter die the first time, had thrown Molotov cocktails at him and watched Derek rip his throat out without regret. He has been certain Peter needs to die again since about 5 seconds after finding out he was back.

And yet he finds he can't watch.

As Peter lounges, desperately, towards Brady – either having identified him as the easiest target or unwilling to attack his remaining blood family – Stiles burrows his face into Collins fur and tries to shut it all out. They're safe behind the mountain ash barrier, and their friends will take care of Peter without them. They're safe, the barrier will hold, their friends will live, and Peter will die.

Stiles's world shrinks down to those four things, trying to will it into existence.

They're safe. The sound of a large body hitting the wall.

The barrier will hold. A grunt as claws strike flesh.

Their friends will survive. A high-pitched whine and the smell of blood.

Peter will die. A howl rises, then cuts out and is replaced by silence.

Derek and Cora are curled up together, shaking and crying and laughing all at once, both their eyes flashing between red and beta blue or gold. Stiles looks at them and feels a sting. Not jealousy, precisely, because he's got Seth, and Brady, and he's pretty sure Embry is a lot closer to Beacon Hills than Jake really likes, just...

Derek won't be coming back with him.

Stiles knew that already, knew that Cora would be vulnerable after the transfer of power, and that having Derek essentially break away straight after wasn't going to happen. They'd talked about it repeatedly and made their plans accordingly.

It's even more true now, with the added trauma of Peter's betrayal and death, causing her to lose a pack member already that day along with half of her remaining blood family.

For her to lose Derek on top of that... No. Stiles doesn't wish that on anyone. Cora needs to stabilize herself, find her balance again, and both siblings need to be allowed to grieve.

Again, it's no surprise that Derek will be staying in Beacon Hills for a while. It's just... It was abstract before. Now it's right there in his face, and Stiles realizes he wasn't prepared.

Looking at Derek and Cora he also realizes that regardless of what they've said, what they've promised, there's a possibility that Derek will change his mind now that the moment is here. It's possible that Beacon Hills without Peter will be tempting enough that Derek will start seeing it as his home again. It's possible that he will decide that staying with Cora, and the pack he started, is more important than being with Stiles.

If he does... It'll hurt. It'll even hurt like hell. But if it's one thing Stiles has learned it's this: he can live through that, can heal from it, because he won't be alone. Even if he doesn't have Derek he'll have Embry, and his pack.

But that's not how Stiles sees it happening. Not after everything they've been through to get to where they are.

Derek is going to grieve with his sister, and help her settle, and when he's ready he'll leave Beacon Hills, leave their own personal Hellmouth, and come back to Stiles.

Because that's where they're headed, full circle. When they're both ready things will be different. This time around it'll be Derek joining Stiles's pack. There will be no begging, no miscommunication, no posturing, no self-hatred and no Alpha crap. It'll just be Stiles and Derek, healed and happy and together, trying their very best to love each other and not do anything stupid.

It'll be great.

Stiles believes it with all that he has and is. And his belief? Is magic.

~ The End ~

#chocoholic fics #...asd #teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #twilight crossover #...as stupid does #in 2021 we finish our wips #stupid 'verse

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years

Text

Dear Mr. Fantasy

Summary: Sometimes when he sleeps, Dean sees flashes of other Dean Winchesters, in other universes. His dreams lately have been filled with himself in a thousand forms, a thousand different versions of what could have been. Dean likes to think that they’re made of the same star stuff, but whatever the cause, he feels the connection.

Warnings: SEASON 15 SPOILERS, bit of angst.

Author’s Note: Inspired by Traffic’s “Dear Mr. Fantasy” and the header image; prompt given by @thoughtslikeaminefield. Love you. @cabin-fever-bang prompt fill. So many thanks to @cracksinthewalls and @there-must-be-a-lock for exceptional editing and motivation. Also love both of you.

Word Count: 2157

ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Dear Mr. Fantasy

Sometimes when he sleeps, Dean sees flashes of other Dean Winchesters, in other universes. His dreams lately have been filled with himself in a thousand forms, a thousand different versions of what could have been. Dean likes to think that they’re made of the same star stuff, but whatever the cause, he feels the connection.

Some have been vastly different (he spent an entire day lost in thought about a female version of himself who was apparently a rodeo queen by day and monster hunter by night).

Some are so similar that the lines between his actual self and the other blur to the point of confusion; is he dreaming about himself or a different Dean who made one different choice twenty years ago?

He can always tell the difference, eventually. A scar in the wrong place, an absent friend or loved one still around or maybe someone gone who shouldn’t be. In one universe, someone neglected Baby (couldn’t have been Dean, had to’ve been Sam) to the point where she pulls slightly to the left.

Dean spends the morning after that dream with a muscle tick in his cheek and a suspicious, side-eyed glare for Sam that he never bothers to explain.

But there’s one particular Other Dean, a favorite one his mind drifts to during rare peaceful moments. Daydreaming when he should be researching, drifting off when a particular song plays on the radio while he’s working on Baby, even washing his hands sometimes will pull him back to those dreams.

Unsurprisingly, his favorite alternate world has no monsters. It’s not that he isn’t aware of monsters in this dimension, that he doesn’t hunt them. No, in this other world, there’s no magic, no terrifying creatures of the night at all. He can feel the lightness of this world, steadiness that comes with not having to worry about whether a vampire is going to make this evening walk your last or a wendigo is going to join you on your camping trip.

Dean has a theory that this world was a test world, one where Chuck decided to just let things evolve as they would with very little interference. Humanity still has its issues: war, plague, famine, politics, streaming services that have lived long enough to become the villain.

But no monsters.

Chuck has left this world more or less alone, and Dean is pretty sure he knows why. In God’s eyes, a world without monsters is stale. This alternate world is a world without supernatural conflict, without apocalypse-level struggle, without life and death and good and evil and all that high-stakes, cursed-destiny crap Chuck literally eats for breakfast.

Boring. This world is a snoozefest for Chuck, and Dean’s okay with that.

In fact, he loves it.

He’s been rooting for this world for a while now. He still dreams of it sometimes, so he knows somewhere deep inside that it’s still around. He knows all the worlds will be destroyed eventually, wiped away by Chuck’s callous cruelty. But this one…

Dean’s not the sentimental type, not really, but if he could send it a greeting card, it’d be that cat from years ago on the motivational poster, clawing onto a tree branch.

Hang in there, baby.

He must have done something right for once, because he drifts off and finds himself back there again. He’s a little older in this universe, and he suspects his other self is in denial about beginning to need glasses. A shame, too. A mechanic’s gotta be able to see what he’s doing, and the eyestrain headaches his other self suffers every night would probably clear up completely if he’d just go get his eyes checked.

But they both know he won’t.

He sees better with his hands than his eyes these days. At forty-eight years old (none of that years young bullshit, either; he’s old, and he’s goddamn earned it), he’s spent his entire life in a garage working on one motor or another, same as his dad before him, and so on.

It’s honest work, clean despite the grease, and Dean himself has used his own money to help put at least a couple of generations of little Winchesters through college or wherever their hearts took them, starting back with his brother. Dean and his dad both feel pride over Dr. Winchester, the history professor. Might not make as much as a mechanic, but he’s happy and settled, and really, what man could ask for more?

The best part of this Dean’s day, the best part of his whole life, is her. He’s known her for nearly three decades and loved her just as long.

He was a twenty-year-old punk, learning his way through the art of motorcycles. He’d spent his life so far working on muscle cars, something he would never completely tire of, but now he was in absolute heaven. Dad’s buddy Danny Elkins had agreed to take Dean on, and Dean had taken to bikes like it was meant to be.

Four months into his new life, Danny’s daughter brought her dad lunch, and, for the first time in his life, Dean wondered whether there might actually be a woman who could pull his attention from an engine for longer than a night or two.

It was more or less instant attraction for the both of them, kinda like the movies that she loved to watch. Unlike those movies, however, there was no disapproving father to contend with or prove himself to.

“She’s a big girl and can crack your skull just as good as me,” he’d told Dean. “Pretty sure she’s settled on ya, so just make sure you’re worth it.”

So that’s what Dean did.

Tonight’s dream finds the older Dean alone in the garage, and the sun is at the tail end of setting. Splashes of indigo and orange paint the horizon, framing her approach in a wash of colors blending into shadows that hold no danger.

“Figured you’d forget dinner tonight, what with your new toy. Thought we could share, and you could show me what you’ve been up to.”

She doesn’t really care about the bikes, the cars, any of it. She only cares that it matters to him, and whatever keeps him running is something she wants to be a part of.

Surrounded by motorcycles in various states of repair and assembly, they speak quietly of their day, sharing the tiny details and separate moments that make up their simple life. She feeds him a bit of meatloaf with her fingers, and he eagerly returns the favor by sucking a smear of mashed potatoes from the corner of her mouth.

She sets the dinner containers aside, twisting to the side to reach for the apple cobbler she made yesterday, when he realizes he can’t stand even that bit of separation between. He’s been without her all day; that’s too much to ask of any man.

“C’mere,” he says.

Dessert forgotten, she settles astride his lap, arms linked around his neck, smiling that serene combination of lips and eyes and cheekbones that makes his heart twist and his groin swell same as the first time she turned them on him thirty-odd years ago.

They’ve sat like this a thousand times, and he prays silently he’ll get at least a thousand more. When they were kids, crazy and hungry for every experience, she’d come into the garage in her little tank top, her tiny shorts showing off her new ink, heels fit to kill someone (how she never broke an ankle has always been a mystery and a miracle, in both Deans’ opinions).

She scrubs a thumb over his bearded jawline, humming deep in her chest. She’s swapped the tiny skirts for jeans, although he thanks his lucky stars every day that fashions have moved from bootcut back to skinny. Harder to get off quick, but damn does he love the lines of her legs in ‘em.

They press foreheads together as an old Traffic song plays over the radio, swaying gently, always in sync.

“Dear Mr. Fantasy, play us a tune,” he half-whispers, half-sings, breath warm on her cool cheek.

“Something to make us all happy,” she answers in kind, eye closed. She slides her nose alongside his, runs her chin over his wiry beard, smiles into his kiss as it buffs her face red.

Perhaps in remembrance of their long-past youth, she’s chosen her smallest tank-top, one she’d normally never wear without at least a button-up over it, and he drops his head to rub his cheeks over the bare skin over her collarbone. Her legs link behind his back, anchoring her as she leans back to allow him more access.

God, what she can still do to him. The salt of her skin, the fragrance of her perfume that he picked out for her on their first anniversary that she’s worn religiously ever since, the silk of her hair that he tangles between fingers that still tremble with eager nerves.

Older Dean and worn-out, monster-plagued Dean sigh together, content down to their bones. This life is it for both of them. She is it. One Dean still can’t believe his amazing luck after all these years, and the other aches at the simple, total happiness he feels honored to witness.

“Dean.”

The older man runs a reverent hand down his wife’s arm, twining his fingers with hers. He kisses her knuckles, a few more crinkles lining his eyes as he smiles.

“Dean, wake up.”

The scene before him begins to fade as she takes his face between her hands, kisses his temples, the spot between his eyes, the corner of his mouth. For just a second, this Dean (the “real” Dean, as Chuck put it) feels those kisses, looks deep into her eyes and feels that warmth and light that she brings to the other man’s life.

I love you, she whispers, and he allows himself to believe for one moment that she’s talking directly to him.

“Dean, come on, Cas has a lead.” Sam’s voice finally breaks the dream wide open, and Dean reluctantly opens his eyes. “We gotta go check it out. Get dressed.”

“Yeah.”

He sits up slowly, feeling each of his forty-one years with an ache that no longer surprises him. He swings his legs over the side of his bed, rests his elbows on his knees, and drops his face in his hands. If he concentrates hard enough, he can still feel her phantom caress, her thumb against his cheekbone, her lips on the corner of his.

I love you.

Dean scrubs at his face with hands that get a little older and a little more scarred every day. Warrior’s hands, a testament to his hunts and battles. If he squints a little (maybe he needs an eye exam, too) he can imagine they’re different sorts of scars: burns from hot engines, cuts and scrapes from tools and every-day hard work rather than knives and punches.

He inhales, gathering strength, putting on his mental armor piece by piece. A knight, riding off to save the world from the devouring dragon. He reaches over and grabs his jeans, sliding them on and standing in a smooth motion that is accompanied by only one or two pops and cracks.

I love you.

Dean doesn’t know how this is all going to end. He knows how he won’t let it end: him against Sammy, to the death and all that biblical Cain and Abel crap. But beyond that, he’s going to fight to save his brother, all of his little patchwork family, because they’re all he has in this world.

He wonders briefly if his other self’s wife exists in this world, or if she’s just an anomaly, a one-time figment of Chuck’s imagination. He’s pretty sure it’s the latter; a man can only get that lucky once in a thousand lifetimes, and that other Dean is that one in a thousand.

This Dean could search a lifetime and never find her. She’s already been found, and maybe, just maybe if he and Sam can get their act together and bring the final beatdown on Chuck in enough time, he can save her. He can’t have her, but he could save her world, leave her safe and happy with his other self.

“Let it be enough,” he says aloud, not sure if he’s coaxing himself or the universe. He says it again, one more time for luck.

It has to be enough.

…

“Dear Mr. Fantasy” by Traffic

Dear Mister Fantasy, play us a tune, Something to make us all happy. Do anything, take us out of this gloom. Sing a song, play guitar, Make it snappy. You are the one who can make us all laugh, But doing that you break out in tears. Please don't be sad if it was a straight mind you had. We wouldn't have known you all these years.

#cabin fever bang prompt fill #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #supernatural #SPN #spn fic #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #dean winchester #chuck #angst #what if #somewhere out there #the one #dear mr. fantasy #let it be enough #Sam Winchester

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supertweetycherry · 4 years

Text

DIE HARD || [iv. Girl Talks and Boys]

—Pairings: BTS x OC

—Genre: BTS Mafia Au, Slight Fluff, Angst (a lot of it), Heartbreak, Thriller

—Ratings: 18+ | MA Content | R

—Warnings: Abuse, Rude Behaviour, Fighting, Blood, Death, Weapons/Blades and Mentions of Sex, Mentions of Killing.

—Summary: She belong to them. They belong to her. It’s simple as that. Period.

—Word Count: 7k

Navigations -> Masterlist || MASTERPOST <<Part 2 || Part 4>>

Chapter 3 - Girl Talks and Boys

“—the local law enforcements in South Korea are still working on the case of the famous murder mystery of the Lee Enterprise executive director, Jung Jae-hee. The case has become a global interest as it is related to the world’s most dangerous and notorious gang of the decade. Tweets, news articles and unseen videos are being surfaced around the web, with ‘Bangtan’ trending on social media. It is being speculated that the notorious group of viscous killers are residing here in America, causing fear and a state-wide panic around the country. The United States government has yet to say anything official about the rumors. Till then, the focus has been shifted onto the murder case and the increasing mafia activities in South Korea—”

Yoona hummed to herself as she sipped onto her herbal tea for the tenth time in the past hour. Her small fingers cupping the warm cup as her ears continued to pick up the words of the nearest news channels playing in the large cafeteria.

It has been few days since the actual incident and people are still continuing to hear the old, recycled news over and over again. The amount of channels covering this piece of segment for the last few days has left a large gaping hole in Yoona’s ears. She was sick, tired and exhausted of it.

Yes, a murder happened in her home country.

Yes, the victim was her former boss.

And yes, the culprits might be the worldwide famous gang called ‘Bangtan’. A native Korean gang who had appeared out of nowhere.

So what? Deal with it!

Yoona sighed loudly as she buried her face into her arms. Her ears picked up the change in the news reporter’s voice. It seemed more feminine now. Pulling her head up a bit, she glanced at the large TV as a new segment rolled in.

“—moving on, the three-day search for the two college girls in Beverly Hills has now come to an end as the local authorities here in the downtown Los Angeles, discovered a series of dead bodies in the Chinatown district of the city. A total of five girls were found, dead and tortured, with their vital organs missing from their bodies. Two of those bodies matched the description of the two missing girls while others are still unaccounted for. The bodies have started to decompose suggesting that they’ve been dead for quite a while before a citizen of Chinatown found them in a ditch near his area—”

The 26 year old groaned and rubbed her ears in frustration as the segment ate her brain up, again. She dipped her head back into her arms, pushing the warm beverage away from her fingers. Sure, she felt remorse, pity and sadness for the dead girls but it also annoyed her that her surroundings are filled with so much of negativity. It triggered her in a way that she didn’t like.

That is until... a large folder slammed onto the white table infront of her. The loud bang that erupted from it was enough for yoona’s tired, aching muscles to tense up again. She had to hold down her cup tightly before it could jump and topple down the table due to the vibrations.

“You know, a small warning would have been sufficed.” Yoona said slowly as she threw a slight glare at the person who dared to interrupt her personal ‘me-time’.

“Bitch please. You should be happy that a mere peasant like you has the honour to be in my holy presence. Not even kings can afford me.”

This only earned the intruder a mocking eye-roll from the 26 year old beauty.

“Don’t you have work to do, your highness?” Yoona mocked as her shaking nerves relaxed. She pulled herself up and continued to drink her warm tea. But it wasn’t warm anymore.

“Not when there’s juicy gossip.” Her friend smirked before shoving the said folder in Yoona’s direction. Yoona stared at it blankly. It was black in colour and looked quite thick. “It’s about Jung Jae-hee.”

“No.”

The mere mention of the late director was enough for Yoona to do a 360 turn and never look back again. She picked up her cold tea and left the small table she was sitting on.

“Yuriii...”

“No, Suzy.” Yoona ignored her friend’s whining as she dumped her cold tea through the drain before leaving the blue coloured cup in the sink. “Why are you all so obsessed with her death? People die all the time. Just get over it.”

The little shiver in the older girl’s voice should have been enough for Suzy to stop pestering her friend. But like the stubborn chick she is, Suzy continued in her voyage to tell the new juicy gossip she had discovered recently.

Yoona didn’t like it when her only friend gave her a sudden smirk before pushing her right through the fire exit’s door and right into the stairs that suddenly appeared in her view.

“Suzy!” Yoona exclaimed when she realised that the younger girl had practically kidnapped her.

“Shush.”

“But—”

“I said shush, Yuri. I need some girl time with you. And this, my friend, is the best way we can relish our old memories, considering hardly anyone looks our way these days.”

That was true. Yoona couldn’t deny that fact. They were the noisy, cheap girls of the company. No-one gave them a second glance unless they needed a one-night stand or something. Yoona wasn’t exactly sure how they gained that reputation. She had never been active in her love life unlike her friend, Suzy. Yoona had kept herself quiet, timid and hidden most of the time. Infact, she’s a pure virgin, with no skills at batting her eye lashes at any pretty boy. So, why?

“You want us to bond over a murder case?”

“No, I want us to bond over the world’s most dangerous species... boys.” The girl exclaimed, making Yoona groan.

Boys is a topic that Yoona tends to stay away from. There are just too many old and painful memories associated with them.

“Come on, don’t be a spoil sport. There are many varieties in here.” Suzy insisted as she pulled Yoona near the steel railings where they found a clean spot to sit on. The older girl didn’t like how open and wide spread the exit was. She peeked down to see an array of blue stairs leading down to the ground floor. They were designed in a zigzag formation, continuing on and on for what seemed like, forever.

It wasn’t Yoona’s first time at being kidnapped by her friend. Suzy had done that to her many times on multiple different occasions. But today, the familiar scenery of the descending stairs was unwelcoming. Not to mention, the see-through glass that acted as the walls of this passageway was too exposing and open for her taste. She could literally see the giant skyscrapers from here with a visibility record of 100%.

Yeah... Lee Enterprise is too rich for their own good.

“So, this baby here—” Suzy held up the thick folder. “—was delivered to the queen boss this morning. And like the curious, evil person I am, I snagged it before she could have a chance to read through the papers.”

Yoona raised her eyebrows at this before shaking her head in disappointment.

“No wonder files kept disappearing around Ji-Soo. She’s too dumb to notice her surroundings.”

“Exactly.” Suzy smirked before flipping through the pages. “And that is how ARIA files must have been stolen from her desk. She really needs to invest in a good secretary.”

Yoona couldn’t help but smile at this. Her uncle’s plaything ‘ARIA’ has been unresponsive for the past few days. The files continued to be missing while no-one has any idea as to what has been going on with ARIA. The large casino building is one of their major money-making sites here in the American branch.

“Anyways, back to the topic, there’s a postmortem report in this folder indicating that our lovely girl, Jung Jae-hee, might not be so innocent as we thought.” Suzy teased, flickering to a page filled with numerous Hangul symbols. “I’m not great at reading Hangul, but by the look of this, I can tell, Jae-hee had an intimate intercourse with her killer. It was right before she was killed. How exciting is that?”

Yoona was spooked by her friend’s glazed eyes.

“Exciting? How is it exciting?” She questioned.

“You very dumb dumb bimbo...” Suzy groaned, hitting Yoona on the head. “Jae-hee was known to have a special, unique taste in men. Whoever she chose to be worthy of her attention, was a diamond from the rarest mines. Think about all the boys that surrounded her. Danny, Brad, Jackson, Bambam and our very own, Taemin.”

The older girl scoffed at her eldest cousin’s name.

“Taemin had a crush on her?” Yoona asked, whacking her brain to remember all the interactions between the two people she despises.

“He still does. Why do you think this baby is here in my hands?” Suzy said in glee, pointing at the opened folder.

“So, what’s the point?”

“The point is that my dear Yuri, Jae-hee had an impeccable taste in men. Which means whoever she had sex with was just as impeccable as her taste. Wanna see who that could be? There are few delicious choices in here.”

The older girl felt scared at her friend’s weird taste in men. She wanted them to bond over a series of hot killers? No thanks.

“No.” Yoona said, shaking her head. “You seriously have a messed up kink regarding these ‘delicious choices’. I’m not interested.” She continued, standing up on her feet.

“Honey, you haven't experienced the dark, steamy side of the world of guns. So women up and sit down.” The younger girl pressured, tugging down on Yoona, forcibly. The force of the little tug, sent the older girl spiralling down onto her bottom.

“Ya!” Yoona shrieked but was ignored by the younger girl.

Suzy threw a smirk in Yoona’s direction before she opened her mouth to recite the names of the killers like an intimate, sex broadcast on a radio.

Yeah, she was that crazy.

“Suspect number one: Do Kyung-soo. Code name is D.O. Height is unknown and DOB is unknown. His occupation is being a freelance hot-headed assassin. He has a body count of 256 people including both women and children. He fights with his hands and bites with his mouth. Known to be very brutal with his victims and has a large thirst towards sex. He’s the maniac elf that even the local law enforcement can’t control.” Suzy read off the folder as Yoona sighed in defeat. She made herself comfortable on the stairs before glancing at the photo of the man that her friend was so intimately reading about.

“The guy looks normal to me.” Yoona commented, not feeling any kind of attraction from the young-ish looking boy. “He’s a bit cute, but not cute enough.”

“You hardly feel anything towards any boy, sweetheart.”

Yoona forced a smile back in her friend’s direction. If only her friend knew about the lost boys from her past.

“So, who’s next?”

Suzy gave a bright smile to Yoona. She patted the older girl in affection before flipping the page to the next person.

“Suspect number two: Kwon Ji-yong. Code name: G-dragon. He’s a sniper, mainly works for the local gang called ‘Big Bang’. But it says here, he’s known to have involved in various assassinations of high profile victims. He’s a bit old for our age but still, he has an impeccable taste in women. Who knows Jae-hee might have fucked him before she departed to hell.”

Yoona looked closely at the picture. The guy looked a bit familiar. Or was it his eyes that reminded her of someone?

“Wait...” she said slowly, letting an old memory resurface. “Isn’t he—”

“Yup. The one and only.” Suzy nodded, cutting her off with a wicked smirk. “Jae-hee must have been one lucky girl to bang one of the most wanted criminals in the world.”

Kwon Ji-yong, AKA the G-dragon, was one of the snipers who was involved in the assassination of Donald Trump, the deceased president of United States of America. The attack took place an year ago. Upon deeper investigations, it was revealed that a series of snipers and killers were hired to kill the president. It was a month of horror for all of Americans and the president himself. There were so many attacks, so many explosions, the streets were flooded with criminals trying to get to the 73 year old man. But in the end, it was the two Asian killers who managed to cut the old man off. And Kwon Ji-yong was one of those Asian killers. The only one who had his face plastered on every news channel.

“Wow..” Yoona gaped at the new information.

“I know right? When I saw him, I had the same reaction.” Suzy commented, running her fingers through the photo. “Too bad he's a wanted criminal. I would have loved to bang this beauty.”

Yoona cringed at the cliche.

“He has a tattoo.” She offered, trying to get Suzy’s glazed eyes off the photo. “A large insect tattoo.”

“So he does.” Her friend teased with a devilish smirk.

“And multiple ear piercings.”

“So he does.”

“He’s not good. He’s bad.”

“Doesn’t matter to me.” Suzy countered with another smirk. “After all, bad boys are known to bring the heaven to you.”

Yoona groaned at her friend’s infatuation with criminal boys. The very first year into their friendship, Yoona had discovered the crazy obsession of bad boys that lives inside the younger girl. It peeked out from time to time whenever the younger girl’s sexual frustration increased, which by the way was a lot of times. Maybe that’s why the 24 year old was no longer a virgin. The pure innocence was lost in a dark, steamy one night stand three years ago.

“You’re still stuck on that boy, aren’t you?” Yoona questioned when she saw Suzy fingering the little trinket in her neck. It was a little necklace piece shaped into a Bluebell, hanging dangerously close to her round cleavage. It always makes a bell like noise whenever it was moved by her fingers or her olive skin.

“Who?” Suzy asked, snapping out of her glazed look. She was still fingering the little necklace.

“You know... that tall, steamy, purple-haired sex god who let you ride him for hours and hours.” Yoona teased, finally enjoying the moment.

A small hue of red appeared on Suzy’s cheeks. Her lips curled into a small smile as a warm feeling entered her chest.

Yoona chuckled at the blushing young girl. That boy must have been very special to cause the great Bae Suzy to blush like a little girl.

“Hush... stop laughing. It’s not funny. We’re going off topic!” Suzy exclaimed, flicking at Yoona’s obvious giggling state. “Yuri, Stop!” The younger begged. “We have to focus on Jae-hee!”

“Oh come on!” Yoona whined, flicking at the folder. “I’m more interested in your steamy one night stand than this folder full of lazy criminals.” The words caused Suzy’s ears to turn red. “Come on, let me do the honours.”

A terrified look appeared in Suzy’s eyes. Before the younger girl could react, Yoona had already snatched the folder out of Suzi’s fingers before throwing it over the railings. It clattered down the small, narrow gap quietly before a loud thump was heard indicating that the thick file has touched down on the ground floor.

Suzy gaped at her friend’s actions before looking down the railings. Yoona followed the same movements, only to discover the large heap of flying papers still descending down the stairs slowly due to the air and their light weight. The black folder itself was lying limply on the bottom floor like a dead man.

“Y-you just... oh my god!” Suzy couldn’t form the words. She looked so shocked that Yoona tried not to look too guilty. Looks like her habits of being unpredictable were acting up again. “That was Ji-soo’s file you dumb child! I was gonna put it back. But now it’s...”

“Don’t worry, she’ll just think it’s lost like the ARIA files.” Yoona shrugged before pulling the younger girl away from the railings. “Now tell me more about your knight in the shinning armour.”

It’s funny how Yoona changed her mood so quickly. A moment ago she wanted nothing more than to run away from Suzy’s constant prodding into her dead boss’s case and now, she wanted nothing more than Suzy to tell her about the dreamy boy she encountered in her euphoric adventures three years ago. She didn’t even care about the giant stairwell that was now flooded with colourful photographs and Korean paperwork outlining the details of a very sensitive case around America and South Korea. Something that could put a lot of people in a tight spot.

“Please?” Yoona begged, trying not to cringe at herself. Suzy looked tormented between her friend and the file on the bottom floor. After few seconds, she sighed in defeat.

“Why do you want to know so much about my man, lady?” Suzy countered, not liking the sudden interest.

Yoona grinned to herself. I’m interested because then you will forget about that stupid murder case and not give me anymore of those painful headaches that I’m already dealing with. She played the words in her mind.

“Because I love a good romantic story.” She beamed at the younger girl. Lies. I hate romantic stories. They always end up with a sad ending. Like mine did.

“Fine.” Suzy agreed, still giving her friend a suspicious look. She clapped her hands before opening her mouth to recite the memorable night once again. But before she could, a loud noise from down below interrupted them. They both panicked as they heard a hoard of footsteps making up the staircase.

With no time to think, they sprinted out of the same fire exit door that they originally came through, just barely escaping the steely eyes of the eldest Lee child who was sprinting up the stairs to find the person who stole the files from his sister’s desk.

He grumbled when he couldn’t find anyone and stared hopelessly at the mess of photos and papers that covered the stairwell, revealing the origins of his illegal sources.

“Fuck.”

*******

“—it has now been confirmed that the missing vital organs of the girls found dead earlier in Chinatown, are up on the black market to be sold to the highest bidder. The local police force are trying to trace the source of origin, but nothing has been found yet. With this new killing spree, young girls are advised to stay in their homes until the culprit has been arrested. The death of these girls has raised awareness issues around—”

“I can’t believe he actually did that.” Jongin commented as he grimaced at the graphic pictures being displayed on the large TV. His elder brother who sat beside him also looked uncomfortable. “Hyung, you should keep him in South Korea. He’s too brutal for America.”

“I wish I could, Kai. But I might have pissed him off real bad this time.” Minseok admitted as he shivered at the screams he heard that day. He was a member of the mafia too. He has seen his fair share of murders and has indulged in various killings but bangtan?... Bangtan is on a completely different level compared to him. They were ruthless and crazy-minded.

“Where is he now?”

“Honestly speaking... I don’t know.” Minseok replied with a shake of his head. He exhaled loudly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have a feeling he’s still here, lurking around somewhere in the city.”

A tensed silence passed through them. Their body tensed up at the thought of their cousin still roaming around somewhere in the city. It’s dangerous for that guy to be here. The man had the most unstable mind in the group despite being the oldest and most responsible. He was an obsessed freak.

“This is too depressing for my liking.” The younger joked. Minseok couldn’t help but smile at the lame joke.

“Yeah, it is.”

There was a small pause between them, before Jongin spoke again.

“I wish Chen hyung was here. I miss him.”

The words were quiet and faint to the normal ears, but with minseok’s enhanced hearing, he heard every syllable. He also heard the painful longing that was hidden behind the tone. He looked at his youngest brother with a sad smile.

Kim Seokjin wasn’t the only one who had lost his love that night. Minseok had lost one of his little brothers that day. Kim Jongdae. He usually went by ‘Chen’. He was assigned as a bodyguard for the lovely Lee Yoona, swearing and dedicating his life to protect the girl who has once saved him when he was little.

“I miss him too, bud.” Minseok replied with the same tone. He really wanted his little brother back. But it was too late. The cheerful, playful boy was gone. He died that night, taking three shots to the chest for the very girl he was trying to protect.

Unknown to the Kim family, somewhere back in their home country, in a dark, dirty cell, a man laid on the floor, whimpering from the recent torture he has just received. His face was half burnt. His body was filled with numerous scars and painful wounds. He was shaking on the cold floor as he cried himself to sleep, thinking of only one thing. His brothers.

*******

“That was a close call.”

Yoona couldn’t agree more. She was slumped down onto her soft, leathery chair, relaxing as she closed her eyes and thought about the unexpected getaway she was involved in few hours ago. All thanks to Suzy of course.

The older girl glared at the younger girl who was invading her cubicle like a tall tree. Suzy’s eyes were focused on Yoona’s slumped state. After their hurried escape, they had separated into different directions, promising to meet up after the coast was clear.

“How can you be so relaxed, Yuri? We nearly got caught this morning!” Suzy whispered-yelled in a low voice. She was sitting on Yoona’s desk, a pile of papers acting as her cushion underneath her curved butt.

“The only thing I care about is that we escaped. And the fact that I will never let myself be kidnapped by you again.” Yoona muttered, poking a tongue out at the younger girl.

Her friend pouted.

“Oh come on!” Suzy whined. “We both know you were enjoying it.”

“Correction. You were enjoying it, I wasn’t. I was miserable.”

Wrong move.

“Fine, then be miserable forever.” The younger girl hissed before jumping off the table and leaving the workspace.

Yoona shook her head in disappointment. She was used to Suzy’s unexpected angry tantrums. Rubbing her head in complete tiredness, Yoona stood up and made her way to the furthest water station that served cold water and some cold ice cubes. Something that she truly needs to soothe the pain in her head.

Despite her bruises being healed, she still felt her body ache from time to time. The lack of a nutritional diet and her constant voyages of skipping meals produced sudden headaches and body weaknesses inside her. It sometimes affected her health in a bad way, but it doesn’t faze her even one bit. She’s careless with her existence. It’s something she has tried to work on but she never had the right motivation.

“Ahh... this feels nice.” She mutters to herself. The small bag of ice cubes was now placed against her forehead as she sipped onto the cold water quietly. The coldness from the bag was seeping into her skin, soothing the hot pain that penetrated her forehead like fire. She wanted nothing more than to fall asleep right here and then. But something stopped her.

A loud voice echoing behind her.

“ENOUGH!”

The loud volume of the voice was enough to tell her that it was coming from the nearest cabin which turned out to her uncle’s. Putting her makeshift ice bag and the water cup down, she walked further down the corridor that led to her uncle’s cabin. The curiosity cat inside her was bubbling to know the reason behind the loud voice. Her body shook in nervousness as her feet led her to a slightly ajar door. She stepped a bit closer and peaked through the small open space.

Her cousin Ji-Soo was crying as she held her right cheek with her hand. The tears that tickled down the younger girl’s face almost made Yoona regret her decision to eavesdrop. It was then her eyes travelled to the fuming figure that stood like an angry bull, pointing his angry, blazing eyes at his own daughter.

“Do you see this, Ji-Soo?” The man screeched, holding a stack of papers in her cousin’s face. “This means that someone transferred the property on their name, leaving us with no authorities over ARIA. They took possession of our one of the largest money making revenues in America. Do you know how it could affect our reputation here? Or back home? We will be mocked!”

Yoona griped the door frame a bit harder. She wasn’t surprised at the news, considering the disappearance of the property files was a dead giveaway, but she did feel a bit disappointed though. It doesn’t matter if Lee Enterprise is being controlled by her uncle right now. The company is still part of her family’s legacy. Any losses that it faces, it affected her directly. She had a sense of duty towards it. ARIA was one of the true blessings to their company. It brought a good fortune to them. So, loosing the property was a big disappointment to her.

“Appa, I swear it wasn’t my fault. I had no idea.” The younger girl whimpered as Yoona felt a pang of guilt hit her. She felt an urge to hug the girl. Despite her younger cousin’s hatred towards her, Ji-Soo was still her partially blood sister. Whether she admits it or not, they were related by blood. So, when her uncle raised her hand to hit Ji-Soo again, Yoona’s heart clenched at the sight. She held herself back from entering just in time to see another tall figure blocking the raised hand.

Taemin.

Her oldest cousin. The brother who fiercely loved his sisters except Yoona. He stood over Ji-Soo like a protective tiger.

“It wasn’t her fault.” He said firmly, gazing into the man’s eyes who gave him birth. Yoona bit her lip in silence. She felt jealous that her younger cousin is so lucky to have such a protective brother on her side. It nearly made her miss her dead sister who promised to stay by her side forever too.

“You of all people should know that Ji-Soo would never do this, dad. The files were stolen. It’s not her fault.”

The elder man huffed angrily at his son. He exhaled loudly before returning back to his seat.

Yoona felt a bit awkward standing there. She was about to move away is when her cousin’s next words stopped her.

“I know who did this.” His voice was laced with venom. “I know who stole the papers and sold them to a bidder.” There was a forced silence in the air, before he spoke again. “The Kim Industries.”

A sudden chill went down Yoona’s back. She lost the ability to breathe for a second. It’s been years since she had heard that name.

“Don’t be ridiculous. They all died that night.” Her uncle countered, grumbling to himself.

“No, not them. Their extended family. Kim Minseok.”

Yoona felt her eyes water at the familiar name. Minseok was one of the supposed brother she had when everyone was still alive. He took care of her just like her older sister. But after that night, he never got in contact with her. She figured either the man didn’t know she was alive or he hated her for killing his brothers. Four members from the Kim family died that night. It was enough for anyone to hate her, considering they all died protecting her.

“He’s been inactive for years, son.” The eldest Lee said, resting his head on his chair. Yoona could see Ji-Soo cowering in her spot on the fancy couch. “He’s an emotional mess due to his brothers deaths.”

Guilt hit Yoona like a wave of water. Was the man she considered as her older brother was really messed up due to his brothers deaths? Does that mean he hates her?

“Kim Minseok has been very much involved with everything we have neglected, dad.” Taemin’s voice echoed through the small gap. “He’s been eating off our hands without a blink from us. I just discovered his little projects.” A slam of a heavy folder sounded among the room. “He has been gambling in the mafia since the very beginning, staying under the radar to avoid us. All the projects we have been involved in, his company, Kim industries, has been snagging them one by one. And ARIA is one of them. Even after those little bastards are dead, their family line still continued to dominate us.”

The 26 year old felt her fingers grip the doorframe tightly.

“How far off is he?” There was a thick tension radiating from the room. Everything had gone so quiet suddenly.

“Far enough to topple down the lowest of our rank in the circle.”

The circle. Yoona has heard about them before. A mysterious group of leaders. The term has come up in many of her uncle’s secret conversations when she had accidentally stumble upon them. Like today.

There was a silence in the room before something creeked and the door she was leaning on, swung open, toppling her balance and crashing her down to the floor. She groaned slightly at the pain. That was until someone gripped her hair and dragged her into the room.

She bit onto her lips from screaming out.

“We have a pest here, dad.” Yoona gulped as she recognised the harsh voice of her oldest cousin. Her luck has finally ran out. “Let’s teach her a little lesson.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she waited for the fateful slap that would grace her cheek... but after a minute of waiting, it never came. She slowly opened her eyes to see what was happening.

Taemin’s raised hand was being blocked off by another arm. The arm that was covered in a stripy grey suit with the finest material known to mankind. Only one person in the family has a taste for rare things. Her uncle.

“Leave her.” Her uncle’s firm voice cut through the thick silence. Both of his children stood gaping at the man. As for Yoona, she was surprised and shocked to hear the words. Lee Sung-Woo has never defended Yoona before. Her uncle was the one who gave his wife and children permission to torment her with verbal, physical and mental abuse. He let them break her down into bits as he watched from his throne quietly, not giving any care to his beaten and bruised niece. So, why now?

“But dad—”

“I said, leave her.” The older man repeated the words with a dark undertone to his voice. His son shivered before dropping his hand to his side. Yoona glanced at her eldest cousin, only to see him glaring at her. Something told her that she was still in the danger zone.

The elder Lee turned to face her, his light brown eyes boring into her dark ones.

“Get up, Yoona. I have a job for you.” He said, giving her a genuine smile that raised red flags in her head. His face showed the kind features he had mastered over the years while his eyes reflected his true intentions towards her.

Still stunned by his words, Yoona didn’t move from her position on the ground. She still sat on her knees, dress ruffled at places and hair pulled out into a messy hodgepodge due to her eldest cousin’s tight grip on her.

A sudden pain enveloped her when the same man applied a bit of strain onto her escaping roots, causing her to whimper softly.

“Don’t push your luck, pest.” She clenched her jaw at his words, holding herself back from bitting at him. It will sign her an eternity of pain if she ever did.

Slowly but surely, the 26 years old beauty picked herself up from the floor. She stood on her feet with shaky legs as her uncle walked back to his leather chair in the middle of the room.

“I won’t ask you how much you have heard because I know you have heard everything.” The male spoke, rubbing his hands together. “And frankly, it’s a good thing you know this now.” Yoona was puzzled by his words. “Do you remember Minseok?” She nodded which earned her a small laugh from him. “He always stuck around you and your sister like a magnet.”

Yoona bit her lips. Was he mocking her?

By now, she has been forcibly pushed onto a chair, across from her uncle’s table.

“Do you know he hates you?” Her body stiffened. “I bet this vendetta he has going on against Lee Enterprise is because of you. I mean, you were the reason for the death of his brothers after all. How can he not hate you?” Yoona felt a chill run down her back at those words. Her chest ached at the idea of Kim Minseok hating on her. She knew he did, but it hurts a lot when someone say that to her directly. “You very well know who was the target that night.” Yes, she knew. Yoona was the target. Lee Yoona and her older sister. The offspring of the current Lee family.

“And you know why he—” Before he could continue, Yoona cut him off with her hand banging on the dark polished table.

“You don’t need to tell me the past because I know what happened.” She hissed, trying to keep her tears at bay. “I know they died because of me. What do you actually want, uncle?”

A sudden pull on her hair was enough to know that his bratty children are acting up again. She could feel the long nails behind this one. It has to be her darling female cousin.

“Let her go, Ji-Soo.”

“But appa...”

“Let. Her. Go.” The younger child growled before letting go of Yoona’s hair. The 26 year old was surprised at the sudden change in her younger cousin’s behaviour. One moment she was crying and the second she’s on her feet like a wild cat, ready to tear her apart.

“What do you want from me?” Yoona demanded after a full minute of silence.

Traces of a faint smile appeared on her uncle’s lips. He pulled something out of his nearest cabinet and slapped it down onto the table infront of her. She stared at it blankly. It was a large yellow envelope about the size of an A4 page.

“I want you to go on a little trip for me. It’s indefinite of course.” He pointed to the envelope. “All your tickets, identity papers and everything else is in that envelope. You are going to be starting a new life. A new name, a new look and a new identity. Congrats Yoona, you are the new executive director of Lee Enterprise for the Korean branch. You’re going back home.”

“What?!” Three different voices in the room screamed, and Yoona was one of them.

“What do you mean?” She asked, stunned at the words he just blurted out.

His children were also looking at him in shock. Ji-soo’s hand was curled around a nearby couch pillow while Taemin’s fist was turning white due to the pressure he was applying on the chair next to Yoona.

The 26 year old flinched when the leather of the chair curved inwards at the raw strength. She looked at her uncle in obvious shock and fear.

“We need a new person to take the position. It been chaotic in our home country. Since you are practically useless to me right now, I have assigned you as the acting head. The position is yours to work with.”

“What—No!” Ji-Soo said in outrage. “That’s my position! How could you just give it to her?”

“I don’t need to explain my reasons to you, Ji-Soo.”

“But appa—” the girl looked appalled at her father.

“Leave my office. Both of you. Now.” The direct order was cold and piercing to his children’s hearts. The man who had never raised his voice on his kids, unless they did something wrong, is choosing their dirty cousin over them.

When Yoona heard the loud slams of the cabin’s door, she lifted her eyes up to the old man.

“Let’s talk in peace, shall we?”

********

Meanwhile, miles away from America and right into the heart of South Korea, a dark figure, clad in the most darkest attire of an assassin, battled his way through a crowd of armed men as his silver blade pierced through their bodies one by one. With each duck and with each stroke of his blade, blood spilled out onto him like splashes of water. The oncoming rain from above hit him like bullets as he rolled on the wet pavement and slashed at yet another men. His clothing that was designed in the most expensive polymer, tightened around his lean figure as he bent, jumped and rolled under various stalls to avoid the oncoming slaughter of the real bullets, aimed directly at his prominent limbs.

“Ya, hyung!” A childish voice whined from behind him. “Hurry up and save me already. I’m hungry!” A young boy said, jingling the silver metal cuffs on his wrist. He was sitting on a nearby stall, sucking onto a lollipop as armed men surrounded him.

The boy was unfazed by the ring leader who tried to make him cower in fear.

“Pali, Pali hyung!” He whined again when the ring leader tried to take away his lollipop. “Ya! You little cockroach, let go of my lollipop or I swear I’ll stuff your butthole with them.”

The assassin who was in the middle of a trio fight, shook his head in annoyance. He bent and rolled on the ground, letting his blade do the work instead.

“Aish.. this kid.” He muttered to himself before throwing one of his trusty knives at the grubby hands of the ring leader. The old, puggy man screeched in pain as his right hand is pierced by a pointy blade in the shape of a Star. “Stay the fuck away from my brother’s lollipop!”

The said brother smiled and continued to suck on the juicy blob of sugar.

Another minute passed, and the assassin’s enemies has decreased in numbers. Bodies piled up the wet pavement as the last of the armed men fell to the ground with a sliced neck. The only one remained was the puggy ring leader and his two trusted men.

“Daebak! Hyung, your awesome!” The younger boy cheered, clapping his cuffed hands together like a teenage Pom Pom girl. His light brown hair also bounced as he jumped up and down.“I feel so proud. My hyung is the best!”

The said hyung scoffed. He has heard that line several times from the younger boy on many different occasions.

“You say the same thing to others, Jungkookie.”

“No, I don’t.” The boy lied, giving the elder a huge, innocent pout. The tongue that has now turned blue due to the lollipop he has been sucking, lapsed around his puffy lips like a little boy. “Pali, Pali! Save me and let’s go for dinner.” He whined again, pouting his lips and widening his doe-eyes.

“Aish...” The said assassin grumbled before raising his sword like a true ninja. He grit his teeth and charged at the last remaining set of men.

A minute later, all three them fell lifelessly on the ground with broken limbs. The younger bunny boy cheered, jumping on the stall like a little kid.

“Yay! Let’s go for hotdogs now!”

The assassin clad in black huffed and wiped his sword clean with his sleeves. He stashed it back into its holster behind him before tugging on his younger brother’s metal cuffs and pulling him off the stall with one hard pull.

The said boy stumbled to his feet before landing on the wet pavement with a thud. His pretty, child-like face turned into a scowl as he felt the rain water seep into his black pants.

“Hyung!” He exclaimed angrily.

“This is the only favour I’m doing for you, Jungkookie” The assassin said in a husky voice as he removed his face mask. He pulled his hood back, revealing a nest of dark orange hair. “Go back home or I’ll dob on you. Next time you get kidnapped by goons, fight your way out. Don’t call me for help.”

“But it’s fun watching you fight.” The boy whined innocently. But he stopped when he noticed his hyung’s narrowed eyes. “Fine. Whatever.”

And with that he pulled himself up on his feet, discarding the metal cuffs on the ground with no help. His hands swiped another lollipop out of his pocket before he skipped away, throwing a simple smirk over his shoulders.

“I swear I’m going to skewer him one day.” The assassin mumbled before shaking his head. Who is he kidding? The bright, sunny angel inside him would never let the dark ninja kill his maknae.

Stupid brotherly bonds.

Tag List: @demonic-meatball, @youtube-obsessed-duh, @trinityautumn, @original-internetmonster, @seoul9711, @jinniesjoon94

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darks-ink · 4 years

Text

Parasite

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To end it. Before Plasmius could do worse.

---

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

Vlad no longer wondered where that came from, either.

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

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

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

He might’ve screamed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vlad blinked at him. “The… huh?”

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

Yeah, that looked like something Jack might put together.

“What did… How did…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Is that a good compromise?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was good to be alive.

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

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