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anthropwashere · 4 years

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Phic Phight: it’s all downhill from here (honey don’t be scared)

Prompt from @aggressivelyclueless: Halfa Valerie AU: Valerie becomes half-ghost. Apart from that being a total nightmare, this also leads her to discover Danny's secret as well. How is she going to handle it?

@currentlylurking @phicphight

Word count: 7,825

Mr. Heppenheimer, the latest in a long line of chemistry teachers that have come through Casper High since actual, real life ghosts have begun treating Amity Park like their own personal Las Vegas retreat away from the rigors of whatever normal life is like for ghosts in the Ghost Zone, gives Danny a lingering stink eye. Clearly the last teacher, Mrs. Jamshidi (who barely lasted a month, and submitted her two-week notice while recovering in the hospital after an admittedly memorable encounter with Ember), had left notes behind for her successor. Danny doubted a single word of it was in his favor.

"This practical's worth a quarter of your grade this semester," Mr. Heppenheimer says in his usual droll way. "You're not going to make me regret handing you glassware, are you, Mister Fenton?"

Danny, still a bit sore and off-kilter after another Jack Fenton-approved growth spurt, grins down at him. "No, sir."

Mr. Heppenheimer hums doubtfully. Clearly Mrs. Jamshidi had left extensive notes. "Don't make me regret this."

"Short of a ghost attack, I doubt you will," Danny answers truthfully. He really has gotten a much better control on his powers since the last time any science teacher let him near anything fragile, well over a year ago now. Mrs. Gorman hated him from the start for reasons he never figured out, anyway. He's looking forward to a fresh start.

Of course, worryingly enough Danny’s been sensing a pretty powerful ghost lurking around Casper High for over a week now. Along with the usual big green beasties that like to come sniffing around crowds of humans, which he’s had to dip out to handle three times now. No one’s noticed his on-going ghost sense, though it helps that he’s long-since gotten into the habit of keeping one hand cupped lazily over his mouth—just in case. That’ll be harder to pass off here in a practical lab, but there ought to be a lot of things bubbling and steaming soon. He just has to be careful until he’s got some cover.

Mr. Heppenheimer hums again, more dismissive than doubtful, and lets him approach the counter. His partner in this practical is Star, which is—randomized, definitely. Whatever, also definitely. He and Star have as much in common as him and an actual star, which is to say—nothing. He doesn't even generate heat anymore, not really. He's got a modified Maddie Fenton-approved belt buckle that lets him fake it, but it's not remotely the same thing, and not a

ll that convincing at close quarters anyway. Star, at least, knows him well enough that she's been bringing a mint green cardigan to class ever since they were assigned project partners.

Danny, well-aware he’s only good in the eyes of his peers for a laugh and anti-ghost tech, smiles thinly at Star and gestures at her to take the lead. She sniffs pointedly and does just so, which is fine with him. She's well on her way to valedictorian, whereas he's just trying to graduate. If deferring to whatever she wants gets him a passing grade, sure! He'll do whatever she says and accept whatever belittling comment she tacks on along with it. No skin off his back, right?

About twenty minutes into class there's a magnificent crash of glass that puts Danny 110% on edge; it's only Sam appearing at his left with a reassuring hand on his arm that keeps him from blasting a hole through the wall out of pure reflex. Which, maybe, possibly, likely says something about his state of mind after three straight years of fighting the kind of monsters that don't have any place outside of his very worst nightmares, but—whatever. Point is, thanks to Sam, he doesn't trash the lab or draw any unwanted attention to himself, both of which are good things! Another point in his favor: it’s finally somebody else’s turn to destroy a whole tray of beakers.

"Miss—Gray!" Mr. Heppenheimer shouts after a brief glance at the clipboard Danny hasn't seen him put down in the two weeks since he took the job. "What's the meaning of this?!"

"S-sorry!" Valerie stammers, her eyes firmly on the mess at her feet. Her project partner, Wes, is scowling at Danny. Likely because he believes the mess is entirely his fault. Wes can believe whatever he likes; just because he's the only one not fully in on The Big Secret who figured out The Big Secret out doesn't make him automatically right 100% of the time. Case in point: now. Danny's only touched his notebook, where he's got three pages of dutifully written notes on what Star's tasked him to write as she did all the metaphorical heavy lifting. He could swear on a stack of Bibles that this latest chemistry accident doesn't have a thing to do with him. It’s kind of refreshing, honestly.

Mr. Heppenheimer hums again. It seems to be his default over all the loud swearing he'd obviously prefer to be doing. "Clean it up. And do be careful, Miss Gray. I'd prefer to avoid sending anyone to the nurse's office today if I can help it."

"I—yeah. Yes, sorry." Valerie dashes off to the closet where all the safety-slash-cleaning gear is stashed to fetch cat litter, broom, and dustpan. Star scoffs on Danny's right, while Sam, hand still firmly squeezing Danny's bicep, has a worryingly thoughtful scowl on.

"Valerie has been such a mess since her dad lost his job," Star remarks in the usual scathingly cruel A-lister tone.

"He got his job back." Danny points out as he tries to shrug Sam off without making a big deal of it.

"So?" Star's tone has shifted from scathing to incredulous, which means she somehow didn't know something Danny's known since the tail end of their freshman year. It's admittedly bizarre to find himself able to lord some classmate gossip over an A-lister, but—with a glance at Sam to confirm it is, in fact, cool to lord this gossip over an A-lister—he gives Star a slow, sly grin as he gestures her closer. She leans in without an ounce of self-restraint or disgust, which means Danny's moved higher up the food chain since the last time he bothered to pay any attention.

"Valerie's dad used to be some bigwig in Axion Labs," he says, one eye on Sam and the other on Tucker, both of whom in turn are watching the teacher and the rest of the class. Just in case. "After Vlad—uh. Vladco, I mean—took over the company, Mister Gray got his position back despite Phantom screwing him over, and it's been smooth sailing for him ever since."

The sound of Valerie sweeping up broken glass gets discordantly loud, somehow. Danny doesn't have to look at her to know she's glaring daggers at him. He sets his shoulders and sticks the angle of his nose twenty degrees snootier, mostly to spite whatever murderous and/or weepy glower Valerie might be trying to laser into his soul. Which, whatever. He knows the shape of his own soul by now. He knows it's Phantom, plus or minus some degree of fiery white hair and green-tinged skin.

A bit of the old guilt niggles in the back of his head though. Accident or not, it was Phantom who cost Mr. Gray his job in the first place and Vlad who gave it back. And Vlad only did it at all once he realized his favorite little ghost fighting minion would be a better thorn in Phantom’s side if she didn’t have to work a part-time job at the Nasty Burger. Which—well. Danny’s glad she doesn’t have to deal with that anymore, for all that it does make her a better thorn in his side.

But—guilt. Dumb guilt, but on his plate all the same. He manages to edge the conversation to some other Gossip with a capital G that even Star's not aware of. Oh the things a guy can hear when he can literally turn invisible. It's kind of fun, honestly, to fill her in. The rest of the hour is spent hissing old-as-shit hearsay that still manages to make Star's eyes light up like she's watching Paulina’s favorite cabin burn down again. They do, somehow, manage to get their project pushed along to step three, which will pick up with the rest of all the normal and unobtrusive partnered projects tomorrow. He's not sure which of them is to thank for that, but he is more than a little pleased with how neatly he wrote their notes. It's the most like a regular student he's felt in months. It's honestly pretty great!

"We have a problem," Tucker hisses no less than five seconds and no more than ten after the bell rings. It's that perfect middle ground time of everyone shoving all their shit into their bags so they can bolt out the classroom door as fast as normal-humanly possible, so it's also that perfect middle ground time of nobody paying the three of them the least bit of attention.

"You noticed too?" Sam asks with her usual omniscient scowl. Danny truly and whole-heartedly wishes she'd stop with that, but he's yet to find an opportunity where he can say that to her face without coming across as a total shitheel, including now, so he grits his teeth and raises a pointedly baffled eyebrow at the both of them.

"Noticed what?" He asks with a patience he hasn't actually felt since junior high.

"Valerie's—" Tucker does a casual look around to see if anyone's close enough to eavesdrop, intentionally or no, which means this is a Phantom Thing. And if this is something Phantom and Valerie related? Yeah, no, he's in too good a mood for whatever latest gadget or trick Vlad might be cooking up via Valerie.

He holds up a hand with a sigh he automatically pretends is a yawn to cover up the blue wisp that escapes with it. "Can this wait? Better yet, can we just—not? At least for today? I'm really not up for counter-scheming."

"No need for that," Tucker assures way too quickly. The nervous laugh he follows it up with really doesn't help.

"Right," Danny says wryly, but motions to let them talk. Sam and Tucker share one of those weird non-verbal psychic looks where they have a whole conversation in the span of two seconds that goes right over Danny's head. He wishes they’d stop doing that, but if he called them out on it they’d deny it loudly, and it’d be a whole thing, and—ugh.

"Valerie's acting weird," Tucker says once they've finished. "As in, 'we definitely need to intervene' weird."

"Possessed?"

"No. But this might be worse."

"But this isn't the first time she made a mess in class,” Sam says.

Danny slips his one (1) notebook and one (1) pencil into his bag. He's learned the hard way to pack light and get real good at shorthand, as well as keep all his textbooks down in the Fenton dungeon where they're least likely to get torched in a ghost fight. Again. "Isn't it?"

"Nope," Tucker says as they make their way to the door. Danny's sure to give Mr. Heppenheimer some ever-so-slightly iridescent stink eye of his own to make him flinch, and then doubt himself for flinching. One good turn, and all that. "Seventh actually. Third a teacher noticed, but she's been weirding out a lot of the other students."

Danny grunts, more interested in shouldering other people out of the way to make it easier for Sam and Tucker to squeeze out into the hall. Hey, may as well get some mileage out of being one of the tallest guys in school, right?

Sam touches his elbow to make sure she's got his attention while they make their way to their next classes. She's got sign language, Tucker's got photography, and Danny's got a free hour to nap in the auditorium ceiling. "She's constantly dropping things, she's always shivering, every lie I've heard her tell a faculty member has been total nonsense, she hasn't gone after a single ghost in almost two weeks—"

"Well, that would explain why there's been an uptick in my fifth period snake-wrangling," Danny remarks dryly, then grins nastily at some girl giving him a serious case of side-eye. She squeaks—actually squeaks!—and ducks behind some broad-shouldered guy in an eye-wateringly neon football jersey.

Tucker wacks his other elbow, scowling up at him. "Dude, this is serious."

"I haven't heard a reason to care yet."

He doesn't have to look to see they're doing another round of psychic Concerned About Our Bestie back-and-forth. Sam's the one who trips him—damn her preference for steel-toed boots—but it's Tucker who shoves him into a nook between two battered banks of lockers. "Danny," they both snap.

He blinks down at them expectantly, staying quiet. Hey, they're the one's worried about the badass ghost fighting black belt who would love nothing more than an opportunity to strap Phantom down to an operating table and go wild with a cattle prod. He's just trying to graduate. Preferably with all his teeth.

"Valerie is acting just like you did freshman year," Sam hisses. "Right after the you-know-what."

Danny barks laughter. "Yeah, right."

Sam and Tucker remain stone-cold serious. Worse, they look worried.

They wouldn't suggest something so crazy without a lot of thought put into it.

Fuck.

It's another two days before Danny gets a good—"good"—opportunity to talk to Valerie one-on-one. During that time he sees first-hand no less than 37 incidents of irrefutable acts of half-ghost-hood. How nobody else—including that ass, Wes!—has caught on yet is nothing short of a miracle. Valerie cut ties with every other person in their graduating class after some disastrous party embarrassment Danny never cared enough to find out the details of secondhand. She's kept her head down and her teeth bared at anybody who’s tried to meet her halfway, and it seems everyone's accepted the fact that Valerie Gray is the second worst delinquent in the entire school.

(The first is him, naturally.)

He corners her three minutes before the bell to end lunch will ring. He's got calculus next—an unexpected good turn in his life that still makes him giggle every time he actually has time to do his homework—and she's got English. They can't afford to skip either class, but hey, you only half-die once, right?

She scowls up at him, twitching her head out of a habit she's not yet broken. She only shaved her head a month ago. He's still reeling over how good she looks, and also how much it makes her look like the awesome older Valerie from the horrible future where he and Vlad ghost-melded and murdered a dismayingly large number of humans. If that future is still somehow lingering out there in the tangled fabric of spacetime like a bad hangnail, he’s pretty sure that Valerie died, fullstop.

He’d like it if he could do something to help this Valerie not die, fullstop.

She scowls up at him harder. "What do you want?"

He allows himself another couple seconds to just—bask. Yes, she's hot as hell, and if they were both normal humans she could easily break him over her knee like a fistful of kindling. He's not yet gotten an inch of the Fenton width. He's basically all elbows, and it's now all but impossible to find shoes in his size. It's great, really, just super.

Mostly though, he holds his breath and lets his ghost sense settle in a chilly, wriggly knot in his lungs. How the hell did he not realize she was the cause before now?

He smiles down at her. It becomes immediately apparent that this is the worst possible thing he could have chosen to do. He stops smiling. Somehow that's worse.

"We need to talk," he says, and immediately wants to hit himself. Has daytime television not taught him anything? That's the worst thing he could have said!

"I don't think so," she says, and tries to edge past him. He catches her elbow—

—and she's got him smashed up against a classroom door before he can even blink.

"Uh," they say at the same time. He feels one of her hands go ice cube cold against his skin. Since it's him and not a normal person, it's far more likely her hand just dropped to some negative three-digit temperature. If he were human, he'd be at risk for frostbite. As he's not, it's more like a refreshing breeze. He swears he even gets a whiff of the Ghost Zone off of her; like a hard shock of static on his tongue in a midnight snowfall. It's... nice. Is that what he smell-feels like?

Hmm. Distracting himself. Best to stop doing that.

She realizes after too long a beat of awkward silence that one of her arms has gone full-ghostly, and springs back with a half-hysterical yelp. He turns around to look at her again, rolling his shoulder out of a long habit of pretending that Dash trying to rough him up actually feels like anything. She looks—

Well. Kind of like some kind of frazzled toy dog that's had to deal with way too many idiot humans manhandling her, and like she's pissed that all the finger-biting she's tried has only gotten her a bunch of braindead cooing. Danny finds himself sympathizing, and also like maybe he needs to vent to somebody else aside from Cujo on their 3 a.m. Thursday walkies. He considers several facial expressions he could make at her, dismisses all of them, and settles on upping the grimacing and shoulder-rolling. It sort of works? She looks guilty, which is honestly one of the better reactions she could be leveling at him right now.

"We really do need to talk, actually," he says, feigning an apologetic tone while pretending very hard he hasn’t noticed her left arm suddenly stops at the elbow.

"Pretty sure we don't," she retorts.

He makes a show of rolling his eyes, and then a show of looking pointedly at her invisible arm. She looks down at herself, does a double-take, yelps again, and hides both of her arms behind her back as she makes several stammering attempts at a believable excuse. Danny winces, torn between sympathy and secondhand embarrassment. Sam was right; this is exactly how he stumbled his way through the first six months of figuring out his powers. At least he had the benefit of a couple of friends and eventually Jazz too to help cover his tracks. Valerie's on her own. She's going to get found out at this rate, and accidentally or not she will drag him and Vlad down with her.

"It's okay," he says calmly.

"Everything's fine I don't know what you're talking about!"

He looks at her, unimpressed, until she looks appropriately embarrassed. "Let's try this again," he says, and puts both hands up to stall when she goes to retort. "Please?"

She purses her lips, huffing through her nose, but nods. Good enough.

"You're not okay," he tells her. "You're freaking out because something crazy happened to you, and you don't have anybody to turn to for answers without risking everything. You think you're a monster, or that you're dead, or you're dying, or some shitty combination of all of the above. You're scared because you can't control what's happening, and you're scared because you know you're gonna get caught at this rate, and you're scared because you know exactly what the GIW does to the ecto-entities it manages to get its hands on, because you're the reason half the ghosts that frequent Amity Park have done time in a GIW containment cell. Right?"

Valerie stares.

She keeps staring.

Eventually her mouth starts making some feeble attempt at protest.

A while after that she musters up the stamina to stammer out, "W-whahaaat are you talking about? I think you've got—ha! The wrong idea! Yeah! I bet you're thinking I'm, uh. Um. Possessed! Yes! I'm definitely possessed! You caught me, oh fuck, I'm definitely just another one of Walker's goons—nobody important though! No nefarious schemes going on either, honest! I just, uh, wanted to take a human… out for a spin? Yes, that’s what I’m doing. You definitely don't need to say anything to your parents—"

"Valerie," he says.

Her mouth snaps shut so hard her teeth click. She looks terrified, furious, and miserable all at once. She looks like she knows she's cornered, caught red-handed, and like she fully expects Danny to rat her out. Does she really think so little of him?

He winces inwardly. Of course she does. She's kept him at arm's length since freshman year because he never owned up the truth to her. She's been protecting him from himself all this time by staying away. She only knows the front he puts on for everybody else.

The bell rings. In a matter of seconds this hallway is going to be packed with students, and this is not a conversation to risk anyone overhearing. He looks around. Their options are to either continue this wedged in a janitor's closet (she'd probably shoot him), ghost her up to the roof (she'd definitely shoot him) or duck into a classroom. Luck's on his side for once. He'd cornered her just outside the wreckage of the wood shop; it's not going to be fit to teach in until after they graduate, and even the other, regular delinquents know better than to hang out anywhere with that much Fenton ectobiological hazard caution tape.

He nods toward the door. "Please?"

She looks like she'd much rather go toe-to-tail with Desiree, but the sound of a crowd surging their way decides for her. She bolts for the door, Danny at her heels, and they're in and hidden out of sight before anyone could see them go. He watches through a small hole in a stretch of opaque plastic sheeting, patiently waiting for the rest of the school to disperse into their various classrooms. There're too many holes in the wood shop's walls to risk talking even with all the noise out there.

Eventually the hall outside quiets. The late bell rings. It's about as safe as it'll ever get to have this talk.

"I can explain," she begins, her voice quiet and shaken.

"You don't have to," he says, and turns on the scary eyes as he faces her.

Three years of fighting nightmare monsters hasn't done Valerie the right kind of favors either. A metal cube materializes over her shoulder and flares brightly as it powers up a shot. She in turn steps smoothly into a defensive stance, light humming up and down her as she... doesn't pull her ghost-fighting suit out of the spectral hammerspace it sloughs off to whenever she doesn't need it. He blinks. He looks at the cube properly once it becomes clear she isn't going to shoot him. The light coming off it isn't pink anymore, but the same ghost-green as his own powers.

"Explain," she growls.

Probably not a good time for jokes. He keeps his serious face on, scary eyes and all. "I was in an accident freshman year. My parents couldn't get their ghost portal to work. They got lax about not letting Jazz and I down there unsupervised. I took Sam and Tucker down there one afternoon while they were out. One thing led to another, and I accidentally got their portal to work. While I was standing inside it."

She winces. Not like Jazz or Wes did when he stammered out the story to them just so they'd stop asking. Not in sympathy as they tried to imagine what that would have felt like and falling a thousand miles short (not that he ever said so). She gives him the same look he's seen in the mirror every time a bad dream of that day grabs him by the throat and shocks him awake. She knows.

"Don't shoot," he jokes weakly, and reaches for that cold spark that shares the same illogical, impossible space as his heart.

Another three cubes appear in a neat arc over her head when he changes, not that he blames her. She's just found out she dated her sworn enemy once upon a time. He's definitely surprised she doesn't shoot. She does go a bit deer in the headlights again, but more like a ghost deer that's just as likely to shoot lasers as it might bolt into traffic. "I," she tries. "You. You're. The whole goddamn time?!"

"Okay," he says. "Point of order. Cujo really wasn't my dog yet when I got your dad fired. That was an accident and I'm still very, very sorry about that."

Her eyes go ghost-red. "You wanna try that again?"

He sucks air in through his teeth, sighs out another blue wisp. She's doing it too. Has been the whole conversation actually, and plenty of other times before. He wonders if she's figured out what it means yet. He adds it to the list he's mentally compiling, keeps his hands up, and starts running his mouth as contritely as he can.

The sun's almost set by the time Danny's really, truly, fully convinced Valerie not to turn him into the half-ghost equivalent of Swiss cheese. He's so hungry he feels like he's nursing a gut wound, but he thinks it's the smart choice to not suggest talking all of this out over dinner. It's not like his allowance (and black hole of an appetite) would pay for more than clearing out the dollar menu at Jack-in-the-Box, and no way is he stupid enough to suggest Valerie pay. So he remains perched on one of the few remaining tables left in the wood shop, still in Phantom mode mostly to watch Valerie grind her teeth. She's sitting cross-legged on another table, cubes and scary eyes gone. She's reached the fun sort of balance between bone-tired exhaustion and impotent frustration with no good outlet that isn't the kind of violence that will draw a lot of unwanted attention. She sits there and stews awhile, turning over everything he's told her.

He pulls out his phone—tossing her a wry grin when she flinches—and lets her stew. He shoots out a "safe, taking longer than a thought it would" into the group chat he's got with Sam, Tucker, and Jazz. Tucker lets him know he's rooting for him, and also they handled the Box Ghost's usual afternoon showing with a game of checkers, and Wulf's in town avoiding Walker again. Sam reminds him to work on his book report if Valerie doesn't skin him alive first. He shoots back a neutral affirmative to them both, then pulls up Bubble Blaster to kill time until Valerie feels like talking—

"It was two weeks ago," she starts.

Danny resists the urge to sigh and pockets his phone again. Well, he mimes pocketing his phone. It sort of phases into that weird imaginary skin between his halves with a buzz of protest. When he changes back it'll be in his back right pocket, fully charged.

"Mister Masters," she pauses to make this really complicated grimace, like she'd sort of prefer calling Vlad something like Captain Fuckface but she's too polite to do it aloud. Danny makes a mental note to call Vlad exactly that the next time they run into each other. The fruitloop'll make a hilarious noise, he just knows it. "Mister Masters sent me info on another job. He told me some of his employees at Axion Labs had reported some ghost sightings, and my dad had mentioned seeing some weird stuff too, so. So I snuck out and went to go check it out. It didn't sound like anything bad, just. Y'know. Another ghost."

Two weeks ago her tone would have been one of complete, dismissive disgust. Two weeks ago she was still human though. Danny stays quiet, which is probably the smart thing to do.

"There was something on my radar when I got there. I thought it was gonna be you, honestly—" She glares, a flicker of red coloring her eyes. He shrugs and gives her a charming grin that's all, Who, me? She doesn't buy it for a second, not that he expected her too. Two weeks ago Vlad was being a real prick though, setting all sorts of nasty ghoulies he'd Frankenstein'd in his super gross secret lab loose in the downtown area. Danny's honestly not sure if he got any sleep for like, four straight days. There was a lot of doctored coffee involved, by which he means the kind of coffee a regular human couldn't drink without requiring a fairly immediate trip to the ER.

(Tucker Foley tested.)

"Most of the reports were from some department I've never heard my dad talk about, and it's all three levels underground. If Technus hadn't juiced my suit up again I don't think I could've gotten down there—"

That's an alarm bell Danny super doesn't like the sound of. "Again?"

She waves her hand dismissively that's all, So last year, honey, try and keep up. "Doesn't matter. Point is, I got down there, and it—well. It looked like the Fen—uh. Your parents' lab. Kind of identical, actually. In a kinda creepy way."

Yeah, that's Vlad all over. Kinda creepy and not all that original. Oh well. He raises his eyebrows pointedly.

"Uh. Well, my radar went crazy down there, but I still couldn't get a real bead on anything. So I went poking around and found the framework of this—well, portal. I didn't realize it was a portal though, since it didn't look like the one in your parents' lab. It was standing on its own in the middle of the room, covered in cables—"

"Ours is a mess too," he points out. "You can't tell unless it's off though. I'm not really sure where all those cables and weird hunks of tech go while it's on...."

She gives him a look like she's regretting not shooting him earlier. He does the smart thing by not pointing out that shooting him is still very much on the table, and that if history's anything to go by she's a huge fan of shooting him. He can't help but think that opinion might, just possibly, if he's very lucky, have changed in the last couple of hours. Fingers crossed? Those cube cannon things hurt like a bitch.

"I was looking around that thing because it was freaking my radar out when Plas—Mister Masters showed up."

He reels a bit. She must've expected it, because it's her turn to raise her eyebrows pointedly. "Wait," he says, holding his hands up in a time out T. "Wait a minute. You knew he's Plasmius? The whole goddamn time?!"

"No," she snaps. "Only after Danielle."

"That's nearly the whole goddamn time. What the hell, he's been lording you over me as a reason not to blab the truth for years. For fuck's sake, Valerie—"

"You wanna maybe shut up and let me finish, ghost kid?"

He scowls. She scowls back, plus scary eyes. He's pretty sure she's not doing it intentionally, so the effect's not as impressive as it could be. Red continues to be a great color for her though, not that he's dumb enough to say that.

"Plasmius showed up, blasted me into the portal, and hit the switch before I could do anything," she bites out, hunching in on herself like she's wishing the ground would swallow her whole—aaaand there she goes, sinking through the table. He clears his throat loudly, she realizes what's going on and ends up flailing around like an idiot for a few seconds until her body gets physical enough to stay put.

"Sam was right," he muses. "This is entertaining."

"Fuck you," she snaps without much venom. Mostly she sounds tired.

He sighs, hating himself a little for reasons he's not gonna explore right now. He's too hungry for introspection. "Did he evil-monologue why he did that to you?"

"A little. I was kinda out of it, after." She grimaces, gesturing at herself. "I didn't catch all of it. Something about being a distraction for you, though I didn't know that he meant you at the time."

"Oh goodie, this evil plot has layers, and ruining your life is apparently a fucking footnote." He scrubs his face with both hands and changes back into his plain Jane self. Valerie twitches badly, eyes flashing red and a fun eye-watering white shimmer shivering up her whole body. Huh. "Hey, have you tried changing back since that asshat zapped you?"

"Of course not," she hisses, looking at him like he just suggested she go streaking through the administration office. "I'm trying to keep a low profile while I figure out a way to fix what he did to me."

Ah, hell.

"I'm sorry," seems the smart thing to start with. He hops off the table, hands up where she can see them as he approaches her. He takes a risk at reaching for her hands. She surprises him again by continuing to not shoot him. "I'm really, really sorry. But there's no fixing this. You just get—better at being this." He squeezes a little when she starts shaking her head and pulling away, amping up the 'I'm sorry for your loss' face he's had to get way too good at. Superhero, he ain't. "I'm serious. Vlad's been like me—like us—since like, '85 or whenever he got zapped by a proto-portal, and he got really sick after."

Her eyes go big and laser pointer red again. "S-sick?"

"Ecto-acne. Ever hear of it?" She shakes her head. "You'll probably be okay, if Axion's portal is based on my parents' portal, or even Vlad's."

"He has a portal?"

"In Wisconsin," he confirms grimly. "He's been trying to build a second one ever since he moved here, but I kept messing with him. I didn't think to check the basements of any of his evil companies."

"Axion Labs isn't evil," she retorts instead of doing the sensible thing and blaming him outright for the shit she’s mired in for keeps.

He raises an eyebrow. "Sure. And Invis-o-Bill really is hellbent on establishing a ghost-human empire capital in Amity fucking Park."

She winces.

"Wait. You didn't actually believe that, did you?"

She winces harder.

"Ohhhh Valerie," he sighs, dropping her hands to melodramatically sag against another table. "I'm wounded. Honestly, truthfully, hurt that you'd think so highly of fucking Invis-o-Bill. Haven't you been paying attention to the shit the gossip mags shill about me? I'm either a ghost blob with delusions of grandeur in a skinsuit or the ostracized son of Pariah Dark and Desiree. You don't think my evil ghost parents have been around enough to teach me how to be a good evil emperor, do you?"

She's trying—and failing—not to laugh. "Shut up. How was I supposed to know what to believe, huh? None of the ghosts ever say shit about you."

"Yeah, 'cause they're cool with keeping my secret!"

She presses forward to jab a finger in his chest. She's still kind of flicker-y at the edges, like she hasn't quite decided she isn't going to go full ghost hunter on him, so it sort of feels like another hard burst of static. Goosebumps break out all down his skin; it's all he can do not to shiver. "What's with that, anyway? Most of 'em are so hellbent on destroying you for stopping them again and again, but none of them have ever come blabbing your big life-ruining secret to me or your parents!"

He shrugs. "Honestly? I don't think it's ever occurred to any of them. I'm pretty sure Skulker's the only one who knows like, for sure that Vlad's the same as me, and that's only 'cuz he likes to take jobs from Vlad now and then. The others?" Another, more expansive shrug as he slides sideways out of her range. So she makes him uneasy. What about it? She's only shot him point blank like, five hundred times if she's done it once. He'd really like to get out of this whole situation without any new burns to hide.

"Huh," she says. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. It's not—I dunno. I think it'd be like cheating for most of 'em to go blabbing to some humans or even Vlad. They wanna take me down, sure, but they wanna do it on their own steam. I'm definitely not complaining."

"Course you're not, because you are ludicrously overpowered compared to most of the ghosts out there itching for a little world domination."

He grins down at her, big and sloppy. "Hey, give it some time and you'll be OP as fuck too."

She reacts to that little nugget of wisdom just like he expected her to; retreating halfway across the room and shrinking in on herself like she's dearly wishing for a bit of time travel to undo what Vlad did to her on a selfish whim. Well. A conversation with Clockwork is an option still on the table. He'll give her a few more days of adjustment before suggesting a fun little jaunt into the Ghost Zone. He's honestly not sure if Clockwork and her are properly acquainted. That should be good for a laugh if nothing else.

"Hey," he says companionably. "I mean it. You're gonna be okay."

She scoffs. He pretends not to hear the dampness to it. "Oh, sure. So long as I do exactly what you say, right?"

"This isn't blackmail," he says, injecting as much calm as he can to his voice. "Honest. I mean, I won't lie and pretend I'm not hoping you listen to me. If you get found out it's both of our necks on the chopping block. Sure, I'll make sure Vlad takes the fall too, so that's some nice revenge wrapped with a bow, but it's not like we'd be around to really appreciate it, y'know?"

She makes another, slightly damper noise. He considers the risk of hugging her against the risk of walking away with all his parts where they ought to be, and he decides the smart thing is to stay put and pretend right along with her that she's definitely not crying.

"I want to help you, Valerie. I've been where you're at. I know how much it sucks. And I had Sam and Tucker helping me while I tried to figure it all out. You... you need somebody to help you. Trust me on this much at least, okay? This isn't something you can do alone."

Her various damp noises evolve into an outright sob. "Fuck."

Yeah. That about sums it up.

"Fuck," she hisses out again, pawing roughly at her face. "This. I didn't want—all this time and you never—I coulda killed you but you didn't—and now I'm—!"

Okay. Yeah. Superheroes don't leave anybody to cry so miserably on their own. He's hardy. Even if she shoots him he can hang out, make sure she's okay to get home on her own. And they both skipped their last two classes. He ought to go rummage around their teachers' desks and try to figure out what tonight's homework is. She's got every reason to burn her textbooks and scream fuck it at the moon (Danny's sophomore year was a personal low point), and it's just as likely Skulker will pull some new scheme to try and skin him tonight as any other school night, but it's the principle of the thing. They're both just trying to graduate at this point, and they're so close.

It might seem so incredibly, completely stupid, to care about graduating with all the other bullshit in their lives. Most days, it is stupid to care. But there are some days that stupid, pointless piece of paper is the only reason Danny chooses to get out of bed. He chooses to remember that he's still human enough for human consequences. He needs that diploma to get into college, and he needs to get into college so he can earn his bachelor's, and he needs to be stable enough to earn his pilot's license, and then somehow net 1,000 hours as pilot-in-command in a fucking jet, and on and on and on, because there's still this stupid, stupid, stupid little voice in his head that won't shut up about how cool it'd be to actually manage to become an astronaut despite—

—everything.

He wants to ask what Valerie wanted to be when she grew up, but that's... not now. That's a conversation for later, if he's lucky enough that she'll trust him with that little, foolish dream every kid clings to even when they're loudly proclaiming how stupid it is. Everybody grows up and realizes how stupid the dream jobs they wanted when they were kids was; it's the real dreamers that grit their teeth and keep working despite—

—everything.

He takes the risk, the leap of faith. He closes the distance between them and plays a pattern across her shoulder to warn her he's coming in for a hug. No cubes or guns or accidental ecto-rays materialize to blast him into next week, so he calls it a win and finishes the deed. She's all hunched shoulders and hard fingers knotted in his shirt, hot tears and probably some snot at war with how neutrally temperature-wise the rest of her feels. Everybody else—everybody human—feels hot as a sunburn if he gets too close. Ghosts are still too cold, though thanks to his handy-dandy ice powers none of them are ever cold enough to hurt like humans do.

Here and now, hugging Valerie and whispering soft, pointless bullshit into her frizzy hair is the closest to human he's felt in—

—in too long.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"Don't be," he replies, instead of Me too.

"Thank you," she says.

"Nothin' to thank me for," he replies, instead of You should be blaming me for this.

"I'm scared," she says.

"It's going to be okay," he replies, and means it.

It's almost nine by the time he makes it to Sam's house, and he's so hungry he tunnel visions twice on the flight over. Lucky him, his friends and secret keepers know how bullshit his anatomy is, and there's a veritable buffet awaiting him when he gets there. Luckier him, his friends and secret keepers know better than to try and hold a Serious Conversation when he's like this, and leave him alone for the better part of 20 minutes before they both start loudly clearing their throats.

He slows his flawless imitation of a combine harvester long enough to muster a, "Hngh?"

Sam and Tucker waste precious moments he could be upping his calorie count with another psychic conversation that they're clearly both enjoying. He scowls, for all the good it'll do him.

"How'd it go?" Sam asks.

"Well," he says, setting his fork down to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Manners, schmmaners. "She didn't shoot me."

"Damn it," Tucker says loudly, and pulls out his phone.

"Seriously?" Danny asks.

"He owes Jazz twenty bucks," Same explains as Tucker begins a furiously-typed text. Danny suppresses the urge to shudder. Something about the haptic feedback on cell phones really sets him on edge. He genuinely doesn't know if it's a pet peeve or a ghost thing. Either way he always has to squash the insane urge to pitch Tucker's phone at the nearest brick wall, and right now that is an honest struggle.

"Seriously?" He repeats. "You bet against me?"

Tucker pauses long enough to level an incredulous glare at him. "Dude."

...yeah, okay. That's fair. Danny would've bet against himself too, if he'd known to.

"Rude," he says anyway, on principle.

Sam and Tucker both make a huge show of rolling their eyes, but at least Sam pushes another three slices of pizza in his direction. They even ordered in, so there's actual meat and cheese on it. He has the best friends a guy could ask for, even if Tucker is an ass nine times out of ten. Serves him right to lose 20 bucks, voting against him against his sister of all people.

"Details," Sam demands. "How's she doing, what happened, is she gonna stop trying to kill you, et cetera."

"Vlad happened," he manages through half a slice of pizza. Sam and Tucker both wince; Tucker hard enough he actually drops his phone.

"Fuck," Tucker hisses. "Why?"

"Dunno yet. And I dunno about you, but figuring out his latest scheme has definitely become number one on my honey do list."

They both nod. Tucker's the one to ask the important follow up. "And Valerie? How's she doing?"

He makes a seesaw motion with one hand. "Again, gotta stress the whole 'didn't shoot me' thing." He grins real sleazily while Tucker groans. "She's not great though. I foresee the next like, two months helping her out taking priority over all the usual ghost bullshit. Short of like, apocalyptic ghost attacks, of course."

"Fair," Sam and Tucker both say. Sam gives him a pointed capital L Look, going so far as to pull his plate a few inches away so he can better direct his instinctive growl at her. "She's not gonna rat, is she?"

"No," comes out more snarl-y than he means it to, but—pizza. Sam takes him at face value at least, and gives him his plate back, with an extra slice of meat lover's for good behavior. She's his favorite.

"We're gonna co-op," he adds, and pretends not to notice the Extraordinarily Concerned Psychic Look Sam and Tucker share over that bit of news. Whatever. They can stress over the idea of Valerie being included in their group. Him? He's gonna polish off the rest of this pizza, pull his one (1) notebook and one (1) pencil out of his bag, and he's going to get as much of a headstart on his homework before patrol as he can. If he actually manages to finish his two pages of grammar problems he's going to call it a great day. Anything else? Well, that's gravy so far as he's concerned.

He grins to himself a little, thinking of Valerie's new phone number burning a hole in his pocket. If anything toothsome decides to show up tonight he got the okay to text her. And honestly? For all that she's in the same bullshit hell as he, Vlad, and Elle are....

Well. It's probably shitty of him, but it's still nice to have an ally and friend in this half-ghost bullshit hell.

#danny phantom #my writing #valerie gray #gray ghost #phic phight 2020

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pixeldreqms · 4 years

Photo

september 2018

there's an estimated forty days left of filming and already, ian's dreading the end. he's been trying harder to enjoy the little moments, and not just be miserable because he knows they won't last forever. it's hard, but he's trying. he's almost never as happy as he is when he's with these people, his fellow losers, and he doesn't want to waste the time he has left with them.

forty days.

probably closer to thirty nine now since it's past midnight. one more day down. but that's something he's not letting himself linger on. instead, his eyes settle on kennedy who is getting his ass kicked in a video game but is still laughing so loud that the sound is filling the entire basement of the rented house. he focuses on that sound and can't help but smile. he focuses on it and he swears every sad thought in his head floats away, just like that.

he accepted earlier in the summer that his feelings for kenny weren't as platonic as he had originally thought. but in his defense, he was only twelve when they first met. he had a lot of figuring out to do.

he's figured it out now.

he loves all his friends, strongly and deeply, and he's a little co-dependent with more than a couple of them. if he goes a day without talking to evan, he genuinely misses him. he goes out of his way to visit the burgess' at every given chance. each member of the cast has expressed annoyance with the way he spams the group chat while they're all asleep. he's entirely convinced he needs june to survive. and he feels all that with kenny, too, so it took him some time to realize just how much more he felt. and how he felt things for him that went well beyond the things he felt for everyone else he loved.

he doesn't get an overwhelming urge to lean in and kiss any of his other friends when they get too close, for starters. that was a big tip off for ian.

kenny jokingly winked at him once and he felt like someone had lit him on fire.

he constantly found himself shoving others aside just to stand by him in group photos or to sit by him on a couch during a movie.

his own behavior should have been a giveaway right away, but he's not exactly very experienced in that area. not in just dating, but even with liking people. he's only really had one real crush before, and he'd been twelve. and he'd never liked one of his guy friends before either - but he'd accepted that fact easily. given how many male tv characters he'd been infatuated with over the years, and his long-standing secret harry styles obsession that started back when he was ten years old, he'd always suspected he wasn't totally straight. he still hasn't slapped a label on himself yet, but he doesn't think he needs to know for sure what he is to know that he definitely has feelings for kenny.

feelings that are so intense that sometimes he can't even think about anything else. feelings that are so all-consuming that all he wants to talk about 24/7 is kenny and he has to force himself, multiple times a day, to shut up about him or else he'll give himself away or let too much slip. and he knows better than to say anything, to kenny, or to anyone.

but god he wants to.

he's kept this feeling bottled up for months now, though it feels like so much longer, and sometimes he feel like he's gonna burst from how bad he wants to talk about it. his journal only has so many pages he can wax poetic about kenny onto, and he's sure even the inanimate object is sick of hearing about his crush. he needs a pair of real ears. and maybe someone to tell him he's not stupid or crazy for falling for his best friend. because boy oh boy does he feel like he is sometimes.

evan's loud hooping and hollering covers up the sound of kenny's laughter, and ian rolls his eyes but can't help but grin in amusement. his victory had been predicted since mid-game, but evan was still celebrating like he'd done something impressive.

in an attempt to show kenny support, ian raises his arm and gives evan and his win a thumbs down. "booooooo."

he gets two middle fingers raised at him for his efforts. he thinks that's all he's getting in return for voicing his disapproval, until evan drops the controller and comes flying past the gaming area, past the couch, and leaping onto ian where he's sprawled across a huge bean bag chair.

"hey, i wanted to play the winner!" jeremy shouts from the couch in front of the tv, where the other four teenagers had been sat, partially watching the game, partially on their phones, mostly having their own conversations.

ian easily could have squeezed in with them, but he couldn't resist a good bean bag. plus, he was closer to the little mini bar area that this place had. the bar itself wasn't stocked with alcohol, not that ian cares or jeremy's mom would have let them drink anyway, but she kept the shelves and mini fridge stocked. ian likes being close to the snacks.

"well i'm over here now!" evan yells back. the loud volume right in ian's ear makes him wince. "play the loser. kenny, that's you. you're the loser."

ian shoves evan off of him and onto the floor. "dick."

"no," evan says, rejecting his removal from the chair. "move your ass."

"no." but he does it anyway. he can't move much or else he'd be on the floor, because yes it's a big seat, but they're both months away from being sixteen and are not the same small twelve year olds they'd been when they first met. they've hit massive growth spurts since then. sharing small spaces isn't as easy as it once was, but it doesn't stop them from trying. evan ends up with one of his legs completely over ian's and their shoulders pressed together. ian lets it happen, but he's still mildly annoyed about it. "wow, this is so comfortable. i'm so glad you came all the way over here to dig your elbow into my stomach. feels great."

"are you saying you don't want to sit with me, you a**hole?" evan asks.

evan's elbow digs deeper into his side and ian's pretty sure it's on purpose. he grimaces and shifts as much as he can but still doesn't move out of the seat.

"that's literally exactly what i'm saying, yeah. you stink."

the bickering continues, because it never really ends with them. there's an almost constant flow of jokes and jabs between them. but for as much as they give each other sh*t, him and evan have definitely had their fair share of genuine moments between them. anytime ian has an anxiety attack in a group setting, evan's one of a few who knows how to calm him. ian's called him crying about his family or about wanting to go home more than once. there was also the time on set during their first movie together where after an intense, emotional scene, they'd both cried and hugged each other until they got it out of their system. sometimes his relationship with evan reminds him of his relationship with his sister, and the way they can pick and pick at each other, but at the end of the day, they'd die for one another.

it's just really fun to insult each other, so they do it often.

eventually, after evan shouts at ian to eat an ass, they're informed they're being too loud.

anna, the only girl in a group of boys, shushes them with so much aggression that it terrifies ian a little. she puts up with so much nonsense every time she hangs out with them, he's just waiting for the day she finally snaps. he knows he doesn't want it to be his fault, so he does as he's told and shushes.

"they're all haters," evan mutters.

ian nods. "they wanna be us so bad."

and just like that, they're on the same team again.

ian feels a vibration against his leg and realizes his phone's fallen under his thigh. as he digs it out, he sees evan's own attention has momentarily returned to the game on the tv just as the loading screen transitions back into gameplay, so he feels less bad about checking it. reading kenny's name on his screen, he visibly lights up, grinning at the text.

'if he's being a dick, come escape and play me next,' kenny has written.

ian quickly types back. 'he's not, but i might anyway. wanna be next to kick your ass.'

he glances across the room, but he can't see kenny at all where he's sitting on the floor in front of the couch, so he has no idea if he's grinning as big as ian is just from seeing a new text from him. he can't imagine he is, but it's still a nice thought. as soon as the round on the tv ends and the loading screen is back up, kenny starts typing.

'I THINK I'M WINNING THIS TIME.'

ian's smile widens, his cheeks sore from it, but he doesn't get a chance to start replying before -

"is it a meme?" evan asks, neck craning to look. ian clicks back to his homescreen quickly.

"is what a meme?"

evan slumps back a little once ian drops his phone to his lap. "whatever you were staring at like that."

"no, or - yeah." he answers, then changes his answer when he realizes he can't tell him what he was actually grinning at.

he wasn't as subtle as he had hoped.

"you lookin' at something nasty?" evan asks. "you fvcking freak?"

ian blinks, then deadpans, "yes. i'm looking at something nasty while surrounded by my friends. with you practically in my lap. you caught me."

"thought so. looking like a blushing school girl over here." that one's a little too close to home considering he feels like a smitten school girl every time he sees or talks to kenny, so ian shoves evan for it. he almost rolls over the edge of the seat but gets a palm on the ground to steady himself. "come on. seriously. what was it? what's so secret?"

"fvck, you're nosy."

"invested in your life," evan corrects him.

"nosy," ian insists.

evan gives him a look, a raised brow and a silent dude, come on, tell me, and ian takes a breath.

he reminds himself there's a reason he's kept this secret so under wraps. as much as he wants to scream from the rooftop how much he likes kenny, the risk of him finding out isn't worth it. he'd ruin not only their friendship, but probably the entire group. they'd never be able to all be together. not with kenny inevitably being weirded out by ian's crush, and ian being too mortified to be around him anymore. the rest of filming would be a nightmare. getting through press and the promotion would be torture. he'd lose his favorite person.

nothing good could possibly come from people knowing.

then, he reminds himself this is evan. they may thrive off of giving each other sh*t, but he can trust him. he's never let him down before. not when it mattered. if there's anyone he can tell and trust they won't screw him over by letting it slip, he feels like it's evan.

if for no other reason than he'd suffer, too. not just because ian would never forgive him, but he'd hate it if the group dynamic was thrown out of wack, too.

evan feels like a safe place to finally be honest.

so he exhales, and speaks.

"it was a - i was looking at something from - it's a someone."

a bit of a rocky start, but he got where he was trying to go after a few attempts.

"you have a someone?" evan asks, seeming mildly offended that this isn't information he was already privy to. "someone i don't know about?"

"i don't really have someone," ian tells him. "i just... want to. i want to be with them."

"who is she?"

"it's..." ian's voice is barely a whisper at this point. "it's not a girl..."

the silence that follows is the longest, most anxiety inducing silence ian has ever experienced. it can't be more than twenty seconds, probably not even that long, before evan speaks again but it feels like a lifetime. he doesn't know why he's so nervous about the reaction to this. he knows evan well enough to know he won't care, but people can be surprising in the worst ways sometimes. and he's never done this before. he's pretty sure his sister has an inkling, but he's never come out and admitted it to her. this is the first time he's having the actual conversation and god it's fvcking terrifying. he kind of wants to cry suddenly but he's really holding himself together.

even while fearing and preparing himself for the worst, he mostly expects evan to react with some generic but kind sentiment. a that's okay with me, dude or an i love and accept you, pal.

that's not what he gets.

after a moment, evan's brow furrows, his head tilts just slightly, and he asks, as sincere as can be, "man, is it me?"

it's just what ian needs to hear to ease his tension. he throws his head back and lets out a cackle. the ache in his stomach is no longer due to nerves, but from how hard he's laughing. "absolutely fvcking -" he has to stop, pausing as he got through another fit of laughter. "oh, absolutely fvcking not."

a tear rolls down his cheek and he flicks it away as he finally starts to calm down. then he gets a good look at how unamused evan looks and it sets him off again.

"okay, it's not me, i got it!" evan says in a hushed whisper, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of ian's own laughter. "who is it then?"

the nerves are back, suddenly. and again, he doesn't even know why. he wants this. he wants to be able to talk to someone about his feelings. he wants evan to know. but his palms are still sweating.

"you can't tell him," ian says softly. "i'll literally strangle you. you have to swear."

"i swear," he assures him. "so it's someone i know?"

he's pretty sure evan knows everyone ian knows. even his few remaining guy friends from back home, evan's met. but he doesn't remind him of that now, just nods and confirms. "yeah. it's someone you know."

"who? i'm not gonna tell, ian."

nervously, he glances towards the couch, just to make sure the game was still being played and their entire group of friends hadn't turned around to stare and listen to his confession. all he sees are the backs of heads, and he can hear everyone's laughter mixed with anna's muffled trash talk as she has a go at the game. no one's paying attention to him except for evan.

for some reason, he's having a hard time looking at him. the hardest part is already over, he tells himself, just spit his name out. but he's also telling himself that it's not too late and he can keep this secret to himself. evan would be annoyed about the cliffhanger, but ian could deal with that easier than he could deal with other possible outcomes of telling him.

no. he's doing this.

suck it the fvck up.

with his eyes on the back of the couch, in the smallest voice possible, he admits, "kenny."

he doesn't know what evan's initial reaction is, because it takes a few seconds for him to finally meet his eyes again, but when he does look at him again, his face isn't easy to read. he doesn't look shocked, exactly - and really, given that ian is arguably closest to kenny and evan out of everyone, it probably wasn't the most surprising name he could have said. if anything, he looks... confused?

"you're not gonna tell him, are you?" ian asks, misreading the look as inner turmoil about not wanting to keep a secret from their other best friend.

that's not at all what it is.

"no, i said i'm not," evan huffs. "but, why the fvck is it not me?"

"i'm - i'm sorry?" ian says, because what else does he say to that? "are you offended that i don't have a crush on you?"

"am i not cute?"

"evan, this isn't how people are supposed to react to sh*t like this -"

"i just can't believe out of everyone - kenny." he whispers it, at least. "and not me? really?"

"i'd love it if you weren't so fvcking weird about this."

"i'm not being weird! it being me just would have made sense, is all i'm saying."

ian squints. "and it being kenny doesn't make sense?"

evan sighs, falling back into the chair a little. "yeah, i guess it does. it does."

"just to make sure - " ian says, putting a hand up. "you don't - i mean, you're not upset because you like - "

"ew, don't even say it. i don't like you."

it's ian's turn to sigh and lean back into the seat. "okay, cool. you're just... fvcking weird. that's good to know."

there's a moment of silence and ian just breathes. he did it. he did it and nothing's changed, nothing world shattering happened. he feels like a weight's been lifted, just by telling one person. it feels really good. even if it didn't go how he'd have imagined it to. still good.

"knew it couldn't have been a meme you were looking at," evan says a minute later. "the memes you send are never that funny."

ian scoffs. "fvck you. i send the funniest memes."

"willow sends the funniest memes."

"you're gonna go to hell for saying sh*t like that. lying is a fcking sin."

"is it?"

ian pauses.

"... i'm not sure. i think so. did neither of us go to church growing up? that kind of explains a lot."

there's an angry cry from the front of the room that draws their attention. anna curses, followed by kenny laughing. once again, ian smiles at the sound.

the laughter, not the cursing.

"did kenny actually win?!" evan shouts over to the rest of the group.

kenny and anna stand up as the other three perk up on the couch to look over at the two in the bean bag.

"i've been winning!" kenny calls back.

jeremy chimes in. "he's on a winning streak!"

"more like a cheating streak," anna mumbles.

"he's beaten everyone except evan," jeremy says.

"ahem!" evan waves a hand, gesturing to ian. "not everyone except evan. let ian at him."

ian tries to suppress his grin. he'd been so worried about the bad outcomes of telling evan, but he hadn't considered all the good reasons. like evan helping him get closer to kenny. even just in little ways, like playing video games. maybe this was a better idea than he thought.

he meets kenny's eyes and when kenny smiles at him, he can't hide his own anymore.

"ian?" kenny asks. "you want the winner?"

evan nudges ian in the side, winking at him as they make eye contact and calling out to kenny, "yeah, he does."

on second thought, he might end up regretting it.

#◦ ` ･ writing : all the glamour and the trauma and the fucking melodrama #◦ ` ･ writing : hold me closer tiny bastard #◦ ` ･ writing #◦ ` ･ mine

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hillywooddestiel · 5 years

Text

Stranger Things Have Happened- Chapter Thirteen

Chapter 13: The Battle at Byers

Characters: Y/N Winchester, Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, Sam, Dean

Warnings: angst, language

Word count: 1.9k

Series description: Hawkins, Indiana, November 1983. The Winchesters got out of hunting and decided to settle down in a small town. The youngest of the three, Y/N, just wants to get on with her somewhat normal life and go to a good college. But that’s a little tricky when disappearances start occurring, including her friend Barbara Holland, and there’s reports of a mysterious new girl in town. Can she balance boyfriends, teen drama and monster hunting?

A/N: Hello again! This series has been picking up a lot and its been lovely watching people go through chapter by chapter in my notes (thanks for all the reblogs) I’ve nearly finished writing this and that actually makes me a little sad. I’ve loved coming up with this series and tying Supernatural and Stranger Things together in this way. And my brain may or may not have been prodding me with ideas for a sequel. I don’t know if I can commit to starting it until things are a bit more organised around here. Anyways enjoy xx Series Masterlist Masterlist

Story:

“It's here, it's coming.”

“Where is it?”

“Wait, what's here?! What's here- whoa easy with that!” Jonathan and Nancy rotate themselves back to back around the room while Steve panics over the lights, the gun, the bat full of nails- he's just in full panic mode over everything going on right now. Nancy has the gun close to her chest while Jonathan has his homemade bat thing up like he's prepared to hit a home run. Steve finches away when he swings it around and rightly so; that thing looks lethal! Man, I want one.

“I don't see it!” Nancy frets, still spinning in their little formation. Meanwhile, I'm just stood next to Steve trying to listen out for the damn thing which is a little tricky with all of this noise.

“Where is what?! Hello? Will someone please explain to me what the hell is going-” a huge smash from the ceiling cuts Steve off. Plaster and wood fall to the floor as an enormous slimy creature falls through the roof. It stands tall, much taller than any of our squad, opening its mouth hole/ face (if you can call it that) and screams at us at a shrill volume. Nancy fires 3 shots at it that barely do anything. I just stand on the spot staring at the thing in half horror, trying to remember all of my lore to work out what the hell it could be. I have nothing.

“Go, go! Run, go!” Jonathan turns around to myself and Steve, ushering us in the direction of safety, “Get out of here! Jump!” He warns us just in time to vault the fucking bear trap he has nailed to the floor. What the hell Jonathan?!

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god!” Steve panics aloud, looking at all of us with eyes the size of golf balls, “Jesus Jesus, what the hell was that?!”

“Shut up!” Both Nancy and Jonathan shout in unison. I agree; he was getting really annoying. I had enough of worriers back in the hunting days. With all of the screaming done with, we listen out for the creature outside the door making it's strange, alien, purr-like sound. There's a yellow yo-yo with a happy smile on it strung over the back of a chair by the door, presumably linked up to some Scooby Doo style trap- the bear trap! My respect for these guys just went up by a lot.

“What's it doing?” Nancy asks, keeping her eyes and gun on the door.

“I don't know.” Jonathan glances to all of us. The lights stop flickering, going back to normal and the strange noise coming from outside stops. It can't be gone, surely? For a creature that came through the ceiling like it was made of Lego, it gave up very quickly on killing us.

“Do you hear anything?”

“No…”

Taking tentative steps, Nancy and Jonathan lead the pack into the living room again. Steve brings up the rear, muttering incoherently like a crazy person.

“This is crazy. This is crazy.” He runs his hands through his signature big hair, trembling as he spirals out of control, “This is crazy. This is crazy! This is CRAZY!” He grabs the phone from the wall and jabs 9-1-1 into the keypad. Nancy snatches it away from him and ends the call before anyone picks up. “What are you do- what are you doing? Are you insane?!”

“It's going to come back.” Nancy growls, “So you need to leave. Right. Now.”

“Do you two want to explain to me what the hell is going on?” I put on my best mom voice when the door slams behind Steve as he flees the house, “You left me at school to babysit because what? You two know what you're doing?”

“I'm sorry Y/N/N, but this is something I have to do. For Barb.”

“And I don't want to do that? Nancy, I know it wasn't long but she was my friend too! Out of everyone here in this town, I am the only person who knows about this stuff. I hunt monsters, that's what I do. It's what I'm good at.”

“I know that. But just because you've done before, doesn't mean you have to now.”

“Yes it does! If something happened to any of you guys and I did nothing… I would not be able to live with myself.” I realize, as I speak, that I sound so much like Dean when we were deciding whether or not to really leave everything behind. He went on and on about the job and our duty and how, by quitting, every death caused by the supernatural would be on us for not stepping in. It all came from Dad really; he always instilled in us that hunting was in our blood. It was our destiny, almost.

“Barb is not on you Y/N. None of this is on you.” Nancy hugs me tightly nearly sending me into tears. But when the lights begin to flicker once again, we quickly spring apart. Shit shit shit shit SHIT!

Cocking my gun, I opt not to join the others spinning around the room and instead train my gaze on the ceiling where the bear dropped from before.

“Where is it?”

“Come on! Come on you son of a bitch!” Jonathan riles himself up- subtlety is not his strong suit I see.

“You see it?”

“No, you?” I answer Nancy, glancing briefly at the flashing fairy lights to see them turn off completely. We're plunged into almost complete darkness. I blink. The creature from earlier rises up behind Nancy and Jonathan making it's weird sound again, unbeknownst to them. “Guys…”

“Wha-” they barely get the chance to speak before the thing attacks Jonathan and pins him to the ground. Watching him get covered in goo from the creature is oddly reminiscent of Cujo. But now is not the time.

“Jonathan!” Nancy shouts, not phasing the Demogorgon at all, “Jonathan! Jona-”

“Don't just stand there, shoot it!” I cock my gun and fire the first shot, not really aiming for any part in particular since I know nothing about the damn thing. I fire twice more with no effect while Nancy fires five times. After the fifth bullet is fired, the Demogorgon turns and screams in our direction.

“Go to hell you son of a bitch!” Nancy fires again and again until she pulls on the trigger and all the gun does is click- she's out of bullets. They don't seem to be working anyway so things could be worse. Well, they are worse. The Demogorgon comes towards us, angered by our efforts to harm it. I take a step back and find my footing unsteady, falling quickly to the floor and hitting my head on something solid.

“Ah fuck!” I wince, a sharp pain so spreading through my skull and dancing behind my closed eyes. That's going to leave one hell of a bruise.

“Y/N/N, you okay?!” Nancy helps pull me back up.

“I will be… what about…” the ringing in my ears subsides and I can hear what sounds like Steve screaming. It is Steve screaming. He has the bat full of nails and is in the middle of an assault on the monster, pushing it towards the bear trap. It snaps around it's ankle causing a shrill scream to come from the weird hole in it's face.

“He's in the trap! He's stuck!” Steve declares.

“Jonathan, now!” Nancy urges. Jonathan flicks the lighter on and chucks it onto the trail of gasoline. It ignites and travels swiftly to the trap, sending the creature up into flames. The inferno continues to grow to an unsafe size for which Jonathan luckily has a fire extinguisher at hand. Plumes of smoke fill the house, clouding my vision and entering my lungs making breathing rather difficult. Combine with my head injury, I really don't feel good right now.

“Where did it go?” Nancy sputters, staring down at the bubbling goop left behind on the trap.

“No, it has to be dead… it has to be.”

“Umm… hate to be the one to break it to you Jonathan but we don't know for sure. Bullets weren't working, who's to say fire does?”

“If you are saying you think it could survive that, you're crazy.” Steve buts in (I was forgetting he doesn't know everything).

“That's exactly what I'm saying. Other creatures have done it.”

“You mean like roaches?”

“I mean like shapeshifters and skinwalkers.”

“Skin what? What are you talking-”

“Hey look!”

We all look up to what Nancy is pointing at. One of the string lights is lit up. And then another one. And then two more. We follow them along the corridor to the front door, mesmerised by the colourful little bulbs as random ones come to life to form a trail.

“Mom…” Jonathan focuses on them, whispering under his breath so quietly I barely hear him. “Mom, is that you?” He receives no reply. Whatever is causing the light display continues to travel, taking us outside to the front porch. In the near distance, the street lamp light flickers gently. It's the last sign of something in the alternate dimension before the track goes cold.

“Where's it going?” Nancy asks, watching down the dark road as though he'll see something any second now.

“I don't think that's the monster…” Jonathan says rather ominously.

“Yeah, it probably would have come back already.” My comment gets the stink eye from all three of them, “What? It's true.”

“Is anyone going to explain to me what the hell is going on?” Ah yes, Steve. Prepare for a shitstorm of a story my friend.

I repeat a shortened version of the tale I told everyone back before we went to the school and I also fill him in on the whole situation with Will. Nancy and Jonathan but in with extra details where needed, making it very clear to Steve that nothing was going on between them. Smooth guys.

“So… you did this for a living?”

“Not exactly- we didn't get paid. There was a lot of credit card fraud.”

“Cool.” Steve remarks, his face changing to a frown when he catches Nancy's glare.

“It was only small amounts, we never took more than we needed. And it was always with the shady banks.” I clarify.

“This is insane! You guys could have told me, I could've helped you Nancy.”

“We didn't want to just go telling everyone. And… I didn't want you to get hurt.” Nancy takes Steve's hands as reassurance. Jonathan swallows hard and tries to look away, fiddling with the cuff of his jacket. Methinks there are some feelings there. And unfortunately they are one sided.

“Right, well we should probably get back to the-” BANG! The front door flies open startling us all. Steve grabs his bat while Nancy and myself grab our guns leaning Jonathan to take a lamp as a weapon. I relax when the two blundering giants come in with their guns raised.

“Guys, it's okay. It's just my brothers.” I gesture for everyone to put their weapons down. Dean flares his nostrils, glaring at me- here we go!

“You have got a lot of explaining to do Y/N.”

STHH Tags

@marslovesme @bluedefundead @elenavaldez09@mysanityisgone27 @adridedong @princess-of-erebor1992 @coffeeandwinchesters

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galtak · 5 years

Text

You wanted war! prologue

The Citizens of Lithuania thought the war never get to them.

They thought they were safe. They thought their alliance would hold. They never considered the Germans would attack them. They were unprotected, unprepared and helpless. The occupation lasted for less than a month until all of Lithuania was occupied and under a brutal Nazi regime.

Gray Fullbuster was a young boy of 15 who lived with his parents in a small house at the edge of the village in Lithuania. On the other side of their town was a vast forest that could have been lost inside it if you didn't know it very well.

His mother, Mika, was a pretty short woman with dark hair and kind brown eyes. She was one of the friendliest people he knew, but Gray was not precisely objective. He loved her more than anything else in the world.

His father, Silver, on the other hand, was large, muscular and fat at the same time, with a teasing smile and sparkling eyes. The long beard and the yarmulke on his head declared his religion. Like all Fullbusters, they were a jews. Gray loved his father even though he got on his nerves and bothered him all the time.

They were a regular family that lived happily even throw the difficult times. His father worked in the woods, and his mother cleaned the house and took care of Gray. Like most families in the village.

In the past two months, the young boy has caught a disease that has made him lean and thin compared to the young man who he was a few months ago. What Gray didn't know was that he was lucky to be ill. Otherwise, he would not have been able to avoid the fate that awaited the entire Jewish community in his village.

Their village was not very big, but it was not small. It was inhabited by some 2,000 people, of whom about 750 were Jews. A week after the occupation of Lithuania, Nazi forces came to their village and began to take small groups of Jews, approximately 100 Jews at a time. Silver's father, Silver, had a sharp hearing. He got up every night and said he heard voices, but Gray and Mika told him he was imagining things and went back to sleep. On the third day, the Nazis came to take more Jews; families began to ask when their loved ones would return, the soldiers didn't react while they were pushed into a truck and drove to an unknown destination.

The Fullbuster family was one of the only Jewish families still intact. Maybe because they were such a small family. Still, their luck runs out, and they brought it up to the stinking truck, the stains on the sides seemed to be vomit dried up. The little drops on the floor were sweat from people who were there before them.

"Dad?" Gray whispered to his father, who seemed to be in deep thought. Silver looked at his young twin. They both had the same face; only Silver looked older with his beard. Gray did not take after his father body structure. Even when he was healthy, he was thinner with small shoulders.

"Where are they taking us?" Gray asked, trying not to express the fear in his voice. Silver looked at him anxiously, and at that moment the truck stopped. The door slammed open. Mika jumped in alarm on the other side of Gray. Silver looked out, and the realization settled on his face. He saw a soldier no more than 18 standing and counting the people getting off the vehicle. "Stay behind me at all times," Silver said seriously in Yiddish. Gray understood him. They always spoke in Yiddish when they wanted other people not to understand them. "Why?" Gray answered in Yiddish and stood behind his father. Because of his size, his father hid him completely, even his shadow being swallowed up by his father's shadow. The soldiers couldn't see him.

The soldiers marched the group into the depths of the forest, where a vast pit was waiting for them in the damp soil. It seems that his mother also understood what was happening because she began to cry quietly.

"what is going on here?" Gray asked in a whisper, terrified by his mother's reaction and lack of knowledge.

"The sounds I heard at night are shots, that's why the people didn't go back to the village, they'll kill us all. Gray, my son, if you stand behind me, you can survive, wait until twilight, until they leave. You must survive. "

Gray stared at his father's massive back. He felt the tears rise and escape from his eyes. "I can't do that," he said weeping. "I can't live without you," he cried quietly.

Mika looked at him with sad eyes, she wanted to hug her only son, but any suspicious movement could reveal the fact that he was there with them. "my great Lord, may you take care of my only son whom I love beyond imagination." She prayed to the sky in Yiddish. Gray understood her. She wanted him to do it, to save himself for them. Gray hated the idea. He hated the fact that these were their last minutes together.

"I love you so much," he whispered to the wind that carried his message. He saw his mother take over a whimper and his father stood up with pride.

"You must survive" These were the last words of his father to Gray before the shooting began. The soldier who counted them off the truck shot Silver in the chest, and he fell back with Gray behind him, unharmed. His mother was already dead with his eyes open in the pit when they fall. Of the 100 people who came there, all were buried underground in a mass grave.

Gray waited patiently among the bodies of people he had known all his life, trying not to cry or utter a word, so the Nazis didn't know he had survived. He stayed there for hours and hours until he heard the trucks leave. As soon as all three vehicles were gone, Gray began to pray his way up, stepping on bodies of people that he saw alive in less than a day, neighbors and acquaintances. As soon as he reached the ground that covered a pit, he dug his way up. His nails were dirty, muddy and bloody.

Gray came out of the pit quickly and covered the hole he had made on the ground that the soldiers wouldn't know someone had come out of the enormous grave.

He felt someone behind him and without knowing Gray felt metal against his temple. "Are you one of them ?!" A voice full of venom asked him while he was about to pull the trigger. All Gray could think of was that his parents had sacrificed their lives for him and he could not survive a day without them.

"Lyon" an authoritarian voice shouted. Gray cursed his luck. It's not just one soldier! They are at least two, how can he get out of this situation ?!

Gray raised his hands in surrender and tried to think of something to do to get him out of this mess. How he could escape and reach the cave his father had told him about when he was little. The thought of his father, lying in this pit, dead, made him tremble with the intensity of his feelings, but Gray locked those feelings for the moment. Until he could mourn on his parents quietly.

"His hands." The authoritative voice turned soft and tender, the weapon attached to his temple slowly removed. Gray began to turn around to see his catches.

Something about this situation shouted to him that they were not his enemies. Otherwise, they would just shoot him and return him to the pit he left.

"You survived it? How?" A boy with white hair and slanted eyes said. He looked older than him in a year or two at the most. He wore clumsy clothes and held a small pistol, on his back was a large bag of Soviet soldiers, just as the soldier's of Lithuania carried with them before the occupation.

"Lyon! Get your gun out of sight!" A woman in her mid-30s barked at the boy who was quick to do what she said.

In contrast to the boy, the woman wore a neat, clean uniform. She was confident with her short brown hair and athletic body, on her waist was a belt with a gun and a big rifle behind her back.

"Yes, ma'am!" The boy replied and moved back with dread.

She approached the confused Gray, how could a woman be a soldier in the Nazi army? They would not let it happen.

She examined him carefully and apparently what she saw on his face was for her liking because suddenly she smiled at him and reached out a hand to help him up. "Lieutenant Ur Milkovich" She introduced herself as befits a military woman, with confidence and firm voice.

Gray whispered his name before become silent, turning the sight in front of him. This woman saved him from this guy with the gun, and she was a lieutenant in the army while they were standing on the grave of 100 people below them in the middle of the night in the wild forest. Gray rushed fro the pit to respect the people lying beneath them.

"Boy stop!" He heard the lieutenant shout to him, but Gray didn't stop walking. As soon as he was out of the pit's boundaries, he stopped and waited (hoping) that they would follow him.

Gray stared at them while they kept standing there talking about what they thought was right to discuss about. Gray began to get annoyed.

Do not they see that they are standing over a grave ?!

Gray felt his face burn with anger. They just stand there on his parents without shame.

"Are you going to move away or what ?!" Gray shouted at them. The two must have thought he had fled and was astounded that he was still there.

"Move from where?" The pale boy answered in the same angry tone.

Gray clenched his fists ready to attack the inconsiderate child. "You stand in the grave of my parents!" Gray hissed venomously. He felt angry tears falling from his eyes. He didn't know whether they were anger or sadness. Can be a combination of both.

The lieutenant gasped and began to walk toward Gray, the boy looking at him in surprise before he started running until he came close to Gray, only a few steps away.

"You were in a firing pit?" The boy asked and pointed to the ground in front of them, Gray looked away and started sobbing as he remembered his long hours in the hole he had just left.

The lieutenant embraced her abruptly. "Join us; we'll help you." Ur whispered as she consoled him, Gray finally felt it was a good time to take out all the pain and sadness of what had happened today, he was safe and warm in the lieutenant's embrace.

The boy, Lyon sat down beside the trees until Gray calmed down. They led him toward the depths of the forest, toward the cave his father had told him about from early age.

#gray fullbuster #gray fairy tail #Gray X Juvia #juvia and gray #Juvia x Gray #fanfic #fairy tail #ww2 fanfic #ww2 #You wanted war fanfic

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artdjgblog · 4 years

Photo

Innerview: Tom Biederbeck (Editor ) / STEP Inside Design

October 2008

Image: NA

Note: Email Q&A

Question:

Rumors of your absence from STEP magazine’s Design 100 competition MUST be exaggerated! I’ve been impressed with your work in past Design 100s, but it doesn’t look like you’ve entered the 2009 competition…at least so far.

Answer:

STEP. I think you’re living up to your name…well, maybe with an adopted “E” in the middle to get it right, as I’m watching every year for rising prices on your competition fees. How many rungs will I climb? I’m not even sure if I entered last year as the years are running together now for me, but I’m leaning towards “nope.” I’m for certain it was due to billfold blues, but another reason is because I lost interest in what I was doing so why blow money on it and share it? I’m a little more upbeat this year as I’m turning the corner on 30 and another round of “more-more-more-more”. Still, I almost didn’t enter this year until the last check of my online bank account. Next year, who knows? I’m just curiously concerned as to what is going on in dollar signs? My aim of intent is not for this choppy letter to sound wrong or biting or ouchy or itchy or immature or nasty…worshiping of St. Upid*, a big yes…frustrated and humiliated on my end, perhaps a tad bit? Whatever, I’m a happy camper and thanks for making it this far. High competition prices are weeding out the little guys who scrape by. Personally, I know that I’ve barely cleared 80 dollars all year from clients, which is the price for me to only submit 2 entries. So, I think I qualify for “little guy”. The 2 entries I’m forking over are pretty much bending over my billfold and breaking it in two. In previous years I’ve been fortunate to dump 80 mades-a-milking, unlimited on your doorSTEP for a reasonable sum of money, a sum I’m now seeing with double vision. I’m a bit perplexed at this current flex. In a time where I feel the idea of the “Mom & Pop” design house is a mockery of every high-price Tom, Dick and Church Secretary who bang desktop decorations out because they have access to a computer (which, sometimes I find their work more charming and immediately served)…it’s the design magazines of all people who should be rewarding (in lower entrance pocket book exams) those who work on top of work, get up early and stay up late making basement donuts (notice here we don’t spell it with “dough”). Even though I still have a goal to do what it is I do for full-time income some day, it’s never really been about the money and I knew that at the starting line of my design odyssey. Though, I think rising competition prices finally just made it be a money case. I think that in the past seven years I’ve spent more on competition fees than what I’ve actually saved. I know I don’t spend much on tape, cutting blades, spray paint, glue sticks and construction paper. It might not be a wise business venture, I get that, but it’s the glossy recognition that helps get the work out and sometimes gets work that pays more than one cheeseburger. Recognition helps a young struggling kid tickled on both ends of the scroll and I’m thrilled to think that some of the magazines and whatnots might even eventually become shredded to either evolve into other books or poster papers or the lining of a puppy carrier somewhere this side of Deer Creek Falls, Cornwall. Making things for me isn’t about winning prized ponies, beer helmets and cotton candy, even though those things are nice added bonuses to parade with. Awards certainly don’t get me to point C, but they might get me to B or B-thirty, which in-turn might mate with C to get me out of my day job, in some sort of mutated moody Monday morning, if I’m caught in the right spirit. Which, in-turn might finally get me the urge to shout, “Look Ma and Pa I’m no longer a college drop-out failure.” I’d like to say I stay in my basement full-time, but that’s not the case as I’ve previously put it. I realize that everything is rising in cost, the economy stool is flowing over and we’re all doomed. I realize that it takes a large amount of good money to make, distribute and payroll a major magazine, especially orchestrating special awesome issues like the STEP 100. But, I can’t help but feel it’s just getting ridiculous. Not to mention, I think you’d get a more well-rounded selection of work, from people you wouldn’t expect if entry prices were lower. I’m 0 for 4 with Algebra classes, but I tend to think more money could be made in the long run if competition entry fees were cheaper. Ya know? This is similar (for me at least?) to raising the price of vending machine items. I’m not saying your design magazine is as cheap, non-nutritional and throw-away as junk food, though it’s fueled many great and passionate design adventures in my world and I’m a big fan. I’m saying that it’s like hiking up all the items in a vending machine to where you can only get one over-priced thing for a dollar, when everything could easily be made 50 cents or cheaper. In such a world I know that everybody would spend their whole dollar, maybe even a Lincoln to feed the family. Money would be made and one more child could be fed. I’ve never understood this. On another end…I was the small town grade-schooler who couldn’t wait to “git” and get tucked into that slip of 40 minute-onct-a-week art class to finally execute the creative rights that were squandered to the back lot of my brain while managing to make it through the school day blues (and I’m still there now in the day job tune). Though it was definitely in my own private Missouri, of bedwoom and backwoods, where the real goods were got at…it was in this makeshift “art” room where I learned to work together with my fellow makers. It was here I hunched happy and content, saliva dripping, with a meager box of 24 colors, as the uninspired jerk wads with the biggy-size box of a hundred (plus a pathetic built-in sharpener) spent the entire period breaking in-half a wide assortment of made-up B-Side rainbow colors to toss at me in order to beat my day. But, it was brighten, what they did. You know why? Because at the end of each class with each week, I raked up all the extra orphaned bits and pieces, saw their potential and fed them to my newsprint paper, which in-turn has lead to some ideas that eventually wound up on your well-printed pages. Now, what exactly am I trying to say? Not sure, and that ‘n’ this is something I have to put up with every second of back ‘n’ forth with the upstairs. I’m not trying to win hearts or exercise my patriotic spew. I’m not saying I wouldn’t be opposed to some sort of bonus points program, rewards system, price cutting card or a salary cap thing with competition fees. What I am saying is what all I just said and to add that through it all as we quickly unravel this ball, I’m not giving up on you and your fantastic design coverage. I love STEP. I can’t afford a subscription and barely look at it, but I love it. I barely look at any design magazines, but I love them, mostly just love “it”, design. Even when I think I don’t, I still do and it still comes back to poke and prod me in the night. Back to you, I love every piece of person at your offices and beyond who have helped me and my little makes in some way. I even salute those who may curse my name in the after-hours as they sift through and catalog my design dumps and read/see my silly testimonials, interviews and now…this electronic sampling. Please tell me you have lent all the poster piles of competitions’ past to those who truly need warmth to burn or sleep beneath? Add this letter to the pile under the overpass or please tack it with the other junk above your own bunk? I originally had intentions to drop this into my entry package that I AM sending, but then I had second-thoughts about writing a letter as my writing is quite foolish and the whole idea is quite selfish and sloppy. Then again, I thought I could just typewriter it, bang it out in the morning dew, and mail it out with the postal blue. But, then I thought that idea was still ignorant and arrogant. So, finally I just put my gut in the cage with my heart and let them duke this out. I appreciate everything that you’ve done for me in the past whether it’s your kindness on the phone or email or with appreciating my piles of work and saving several pages of glossy wow-wow space for me. That’s great stocking stuffer for this kid and I am sure tickled to know it’s trickled into other people/peep holes, places and things. That means so much to me that you helped play second stork. I appreciate the present day email check-ups and multiple mailings to my door, wondering what the heck I’m doing. This means a ton to me that you care enough to give me a free check-up. I hope we can further extend this appreciation on both ends as the paper trail extends and meanders. I realize my little silly stink might cause me to gamble with “the system” a bit and if I’ve wronged you, then I’m sorry. But, please laugh as it is way better to do so. Heck, this letter might even cause me to lose my ’08-80-Bucks and have my work be swept into a janitor’s broom closet (which is a location I’ve made many a poster and a working location I prefer than my present stab at data entry / STEP letter writing). Maybe just put your trust in your fellow makers, and they will come, clinching Lincoln’s nonetheless. Logs, letters, rainbow stumps or dollar markers, you make that STEP. -djg * Please Note: The phrase St. Upid is the intellectual property of writer and pop-culture analyst, Chad T. Johnston. It was borrowed for this essay.

#innerviews

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