#if danny wanted that shit... he'd come and get it. he left it in his condo when he moved out and my mom just won't get rid of it

[evilminji]

You think the Zone has its version of Comic Con?

Like? Think about it. You have literally all of time to work on it, your Magnum Opus, your life's work. That DREAM comic. All the supplies you could ever wish for. Endless paper. Endless ink. You can practice and practice for CENTURIES until it's JUST right.

Wouldn't you want to share it?

There are definitely Ghosts who have Obsessions that make them collect.

And two people meeting would lead to a group. Lead to a bigger group. Lead to a large group. A gathering. A crowd even. Eventually you need a Lair to meet IN. It becomes An Event.

People hear about it.

Want to bring other art mediums. Food stalls. Report on it. It grows. Shoot offs start happening. Niche meet ups.

But like?

Unlike comic con? It's all FREE. Sure, you might have fork over the ecto to make your copy. And yeah, weaker ghosts can only do that so many times. Will have to prioritize. But? They can come back after leaving for a nap. Ask a buddy to come with. There ARE work arounds.

Just? Imagine the unbelievable HIPE? Danny would feel? But be unable to TELL anyone about? Zone Con happens several times a year! Cause so many people wanna come. The Zone being infinite, after all.

Problem 1? They're using THEIR standard of a "year". Which is actual 5 earth years. So it's only happens every year and a half for him. And Problem 2? He can't even TALK about how excited he is about Z Con with anyone (outside his friends and family) because they haven't heard of it and might Ask Questions.

It's ALSO held in a part of the Zone that's like? Three days of flying away from the portal. And no amount of begging is gonna get any of his loved ones to camp in the Speeder for around six-ish days just to go to a Con.

So you can imagine his DELIGHT. His utter JOY and *Target Spotted* "!!!" Noise, when? In the crowd? He spots A HUMAN! Hi fellow human!!! Omg, wanna be Con Besties? *doesn't even wait for an answer*

So now? This sad, blonde, deeply lost and kinda alarmed, trench coat dude? Is Danny's new Z Con Going Bestie! You got a map yet, bestie? No? That's cool, he has one. By the way, he has human food in the Speeder if you nee-

YES!

Cause, see, here's the THING. John? Lost to the Realms Infinte. Or Infinte Realms. Translation was iffy... and on fire... like the rest of the building. It was him or the kids those psychos had kidnapped, for what fucked "ritual" the voices in their heads, that THEY thought were demons but frankly he's pretty sure was just feedback from-

Look, doesn't matter, he had to choose. He always knew someday he'd have too. That even twisting Luck and talking fast wouldn't quite be enough. And he had to decide, in that moment, which outcome mattered more to him. They get out safe, or he does.

Wasn't much of a question, was it?

So, there he is. Staring down oblivion and all those debts unpaid. 'Bout to see who's gonna come for him this time, and take what left of wretched soul. When? He bleeds on the FUCKIN two-bit crap circle they squiggled in God only knows what. Remembers that "oh YEAH, set dressings!" Sometimes when you focus too hard on insuring a Good Outcome?

You weird weird as shit byproducts happening on the side to balance it all out.

Or BAD ones.

He wakes up someone fucking green and crowded. For the life of him can't tell you which one it is. And THAT was of course, bout two days ago.

Biggest and most immediate problem? He... does NOT recognize what flavor of magical fuckery this is. Doesn't seem Fae. And doesn't smell like Hell. There are... there are honest to God BOOTH BABES hanging around. Hunks too. The view is LOVELY.

And nerdy.

Very, very nerdy.

But he isn't THAT out of touch. So he should recognize SOMETHING. Or at least the languages. But nope! It's like aliens and magic had a nerd baby and dipped it in GREEN. And the worst thing? Is there is food everywhere, but it all glows and John's not stupid enough to eat it.

Then? Sweet merciful fuck. Salvation! Some teeny bopper Barely No Longer Teen fresh faced INFANT of a Hero kid. With a SHIP. Who has FOOD and a clear idea of where they are. Hello~ John's new BEST FRIEND. Yes. Absolutely. Con Buddies, whatever.

Just feed me, kid.

Only? Once he inhales like 5 "Fenton rations"? He only gets half way through introducing himself before getting interrupted. Kid hears "magic" and "occult Detective" and just? Goes "oh! So you wanna check out the magic Ally with me? Sam wanted me to pick up some witchy stuff!"

..............how magic?

(In Which? Constantine becomes Danny's interdimensional Con buddy)

@the-witchhunter @hypewinter @hdgnj @mutable-manifestation @lolottes @nerdpoe

[blunderpuff]

my mom: get rid of stuff so it's easier to pack up and move

me: okay, i'm gonna recycle all these old textbooks

my mom: no not like that

[nerdpoe]

Danny decides to open a haunted house for Halloween-in Gotham. For kicks. He reserves the opening night for the Bats and only the Bats. The Bats do not have a choice in this.

They all wake up in the haunted house.

Their rogues, who had big plans, also wake up in the haunted house-but they don't get the toned down spooky version Danny's working on for potential customers that he's doing a test-run with via Bat testers.

No, the Rogues are locked in the basement with the ghosts of everyone they've killed.

Danny's got Tucker running the cameras, Sam helping coordinate the Ghosts, and Danny himself is running the actual spooky bits.

In theory, it's the perfect haunted house.

The best way to test it though, he feels, is against heroes that face scary things every day.

So.

Red Hood walking down a hallway, sees feet dangling from the ceiling. But there's a convenient beam blocking their view, so he strides up just as the feet vanish-and that's a solid wooden ceiling.

There's a note with a smiley face.

"Please rate your haunting experience on a scale of one to ten! :)"

Robin sees a shadow, and he chases it. And chases it. And chases it. And foolishly he somehow manages to let it lead him to a dead end-only when he turns around, the shadow is in the door.

And it's just a being made of pure shadow, with elongated limbs, breathing with a horrible wet rasp as it stares down at him.

Then it disappears.

In it's place, there's a note.

"Please rate your haunting experience on a scale of one to ten! :)"

Red Robin hears Batman call out for him to look something over, so he goes into the room.

Batman isn't there.

Batman's voice whispers in his ear from behind.

"Never thought you'd fall for that~"

The door slams shut.

Red Robin turns to open it, but it won't open. Not even if he picks the lock.

The floor creaks, and when he turns around he sees Batman standing right there-only for him to dissolve piece by piece.

In the puddle of weird green goo, there's a note.

"Please rate your haunting experience on a scale of one to ten! :)"

Bruce is in what looks like a child's room.

The temperature drops, and he braces for a supernatural event, because this is clearly what's going on.

The air stands still-and every single toy's head snaps to look at him.

They open their mouths and scream, green goo gargling up and spilling out of their lips.

The lights cut out, then they come back on; and the toys are all arranged around him in a peculiar pattern.

There's a note at his feet.

His lips quirk up against his will.

"Please rate your haunting experience on a scale of one to ten! :)"

Nightwing knows he's being fucked with.

He knows it.

He recognizes the room he's in-it was in the pamphlet for the new haunted house opening in Gotham. He'd really wanted to go, actually, but he was kinda sad he didn't have anyone with him.

He wanted it to be a family outing.

But from what it looks like, this is probably a test run. No ones emergency beacons have gone off, and there's only swearing in the comms cut through with mild amusement on Bruce's part.

Ugh, he doesn't want spoilers! He wants to go through it for the first time with everyone else!

"Hey, um, I was actually planning to come here with my family! I don't really want to be spoiled on anything, so can I skip this? And can I have anyone you haven't tested it on skip it too? Cuz they're probably friends or family and I want to be on the same knowledge level of what to expect."

The air itself seems to pause.

"Ah, shit, I'm sorry man. I didn't even think of that; I'll pull Spoiler and Signal before we start their runs."

Nightwing turns towards the intercom and waves cheerfully.

"I mean, we'd definitely be down to walk through the house tonight, but I want to do it in a group so we can laugh at each other."

"Oh, for sure, I just got too caught up in the 'creepy' part of the haunted house. The exit is hidden in the wall to your left, just pick up the rotary phone and it should pop out."

"Alright, I'll be waiting for them at the front!"

@simplestoryteller

[riot-ghost]

Started a new train of thought following ghosts and things, and so here's my head cannon that the people of the Infinite Realms have a religious following and how one Daniel Fenton accidentally became the human priest.

-

"What the fuck do you mean I'm a priest?" Danny stared blankly at the Clockwork.

"I mean that you've become the priest of the Infinite Realms." Clockwork says. "By teaching your friends your following, they've decided to convert and follow with you. They believed what you're following is good and right, so there's human followers to our rituals and beliefs."

"I thought they were just respectful and curious! I don't know how to be a priest? Is there a way to revoke it?"

"Not really." Clockwork shrugs. "It seems fitting. Her Infinite lost her king with you, of course she'd name you her priest. I recommend opening a sanctuary,con holy ground. Gotham would fit."

"Holy shit, no, Clockwork, I'm not going to be a priest! I dont-"

"Damnit." Danny stood in front of the new building he'd just purchased.

It's easy to get it set up for outside use, but following the ways of Infinite, making it sacred ground, that was much harder. He spends weeks purifying the pollution and smog, and even longer doing the required rituals and cleansings.

He doesn't hold masses. He holds classes, every day at seven, to teach about the ghosts and Ancients. He cooks dinner for everyone who comes, and everyone is welcome. He's even told everyone they're welcome to just come and take the food and leave.

Gothamites come to find that if the city has been gassed, the sanctuary has clean air. It remains unharmed by the villains, all the way until one murderous clown declares religious exemption while getting arrested.

It's a very public ordeal and Danny hosts a press conference, three police officers and Batman are present. Joker is in cuffs. "I tell anyone that everyone is welcome to our religion. And if the Joker wishes to be, he will be. Is this what you want?" Danny asks, staring down the murderous clown.

"Oh, yes!" The Clown grins back. Danny pulls a gun, pressing it to the side of his head. Everyone is on edge, and Batman's reaching for his belt.

"For the two thousand, eight-hundred and ninty-three lives you have taken, for the nine-hundred and seventy-four children you have brutally killed. The Infinite Realm does not take kindly to murderers, to terrorist." Danny speaks, unwavering. "For your crimes against the Infinite Realms, for your crimes against humanity, and for all those burdened fathers, mothers, daughters, sons, sisters, brothers, for everyone you have taken, for those you have left behind, you shall face judgement upon the high council of the Infinite Realms upon open court. While there, you shall follow every law, to the letter of the law, or you shall face immediate denial to a trial. You will not be given a lawyer. You will not be given a clean death." Danny lowers his gun, pulling out a knife. He kneels, and rips the air behind the Joker a illuminated green portal is torn.

"From personal experience, there's things much worse than death that you can face. From personal opinion, I hope you face every fucking one before you're torn apart." Danny pushes Joker through the portal, and it closes. He mutters a prayer, standing tall. He retakes his position at the podium.

"For anyone who has faced the Joker, who have had people taken from them, had their own lives taken from them, who have so much as passed him on the street, come to the Realms' Sanctuary on North Blvd. 7308. Join the trial to have him purged, have him face the righteous punishment for the horrendous crimes he has commit." Danny bows.

[ew-selfish-art]

DP x DC AU: Letters and Paper goods are easy to store, and therefore, easy to hide. Danny has drama to monger though.

Tim Drake becomes a ward of Bruce Wayne at the same time the Drake Corporation is crumbling, and his father's health is declining. Dana, his father's physical therapist turned new wife, isn't optimistic these days, and Tim can read the writing on the wall.

Times have changed and Bruce and Dick are treating him with kid gloves. Jason Todd is alive again, been there suffered that. Young Just-Us has proven yet again to be his true family... But Bruce 'welcomes' him home the second the fake uncle is sniffed out.

So, Tim rationalizes, If Drake Corp is going down, then so shall the reason he spent his childhood abandoned. The many, many archeology digs his parents left him for over the years and their many, many stolen historical pieces. Tim is ready and able to get rid of them all.

He first returns the artifacts that have obvious origins to the people with whom they belong. Then it starts to get a little hazy as to where each item stolen is from. The paper goods are the hardest to place.

Years later, Tim has almost completely emptied his parent's old home of their stolen goods. By now, he runs a fortune 500 company and is working as Red Robin. Going through the last of the archives means going through the very last objects his parents ever preferred over his company, and he can't wait to be rid of them.

A glowing green envelope however... this one he feels compelled to keep. He hadn't known it back when he started this project- but somehow his Parents had found objects drenched in the essence of the Lazarus Pits. And it wasn't just one letter, it was dozens and dozens.

Tim Drake knew it would be risky to move them, but he needed to get these letters to an ex-league member to understand what the language of the dead was trying to proclaim.

_____

Danny hates a fetch quest but apparently Ghost Writer is having a bad day. It starts with Danny running by the guys library to have a chat when all of a sudden, the question of certain... ghost relations... came up. Danny is always more than thrilled to hear about how the various ancient-as-in-old ghosts interacted with the Ancients-as-in-yikes ghosts.

Ghost Writer finally admitted to the monarch in training that if he wanted to know so badly, that he could track down Clockworks old letters. They'd been scattered well before Ghost Writer could properly work on the ghost archives (read: was still alive), and it wasn't until he'd long worked on the library that such affairs were noted as missing.

The potential for gossip was just too good! A call home to Sam, Tuck and Jazz to let them know he was on an adventure, and then Danny flew off with little more than some hints by GW and an annoyed nod of cryptic agreement by CW.

Danny goes about wondering Gotham as himself, not yet seeing the need to be Phantom, when he runs into the very guy he was looking for.

"Hey- you don't happen to have a shit ton of letters written in the language of the dead do you?" Danny smiles as innocently as possible as he watches all seven stages of grief play out on the guy's face. Then something changes and Danny can tell that this guy is like, scary competent.

"I do, however, I was double crossed and a shit ton of assassins are on their way to try and take them."

"Uh... Bummer for them I guess? I'll just take them and go- I don't even really need to keep them if you want em back-"

"Assassins. They won't exactly leave empty handed."

"Huh. Well... Wanna come with? These are supposed to have some pretty juicy drama in them." Danny awkwardly places a hand on the back of his neck.

A knife being thrown in their direction was enough to get this guy to make a decision.

"Let's go spill some tea then."

Danny grins as he pulls the guy through a rapidly drawn portal, ignoring the wide eyes he makes. Turns out his name is Tim, and walking him through afterlife drama is the best- how does he know so many dead assassins??? One of these letters is about a guy who took Tim's spleen??

[stealingyourbones]

Submitted Prompts #144

*shakes a bag of bird skulls I found in the woodsI and places it on your desk like it's a bag of gold*

I had an idea:

What if the Fenton parents are, in fact very competent Hunters, but they love their children more than their work?

Say the first shot Maddie ever fired at Phanton actually lands, and the scream he makes sounds too much like Danny's voice, to a point even with any ghostly distortion, his own still recognizes the voice.

I can see her pulling Jack to the side, making a ruckus about how the "darn ghost got away just as her blaster ran out of juice". Mostly as a way to get Danny her darling son to leave and go somewhere safe, while his parents have a whole breakdown in the GAV about their dead son.

And so begins the stealthy studies on how Phantom's "human disguise" works, the Revelation of Horrible Truth, keeping tabs on Danny's growth and revising their whole attitude on Ghosts to account for the fact that Danny himself is, at least in some part, a Ghost himself, but all he's done is live his life (and be the little hero Mom always said he'd grow up to be).

Jazz stumbles across his secret and is immediately pulled aside to join the secret "Protect the Baby Ghost" family group chat.

"And what about all the times they shot at him in canon" I hear you ask?

They're damn good shots, but while Maddie can train herself to aim just so that the shot misses just enough it looks like Phantom dodged it, Jack has the Fenton Bazooka outfitted with a tracking HUD that purposely fails to hit everyone's favorite Ghost Boy.

Danny picks up on that, but not on the fact that They Know.

And so begins the single most convoluted training arc ever.

Next time Skulker's in town, Phantom has become untouchable. Not a single shot or electrified net reaches it's target.

(The electrified weapons in particular send the Fentons into a rage when Sam and Tucker finally can't keep hiding it, and come clean about what happened, since the Fentons have proven themselves to be trustworthy)

When Red Huntress comes about, and Valerie Grey becomes barely a distant acquaintance after having only just now started becoming more than a friend, and with the GIW sniffing about, Maddie and Jack pull Danny to sit between them and finally tell him they know, and they want to prove that they'll love him just as much as before, whether Human or Ghost.

Danny breaks down in the safety of his family's love, and takes some time off as Phantom to help his parents establish a proper line of communication with the Ancients, considering they've kinda adopted themselves into the roles of Aunts and Uncles towards their little Ghostling.

Which is a good thing, because in Phantom's absence the GIW make a giant spectacle of destroying several houses while chasing some blob ghosts. They're chased out of town by brick, stone and metal bat.

Next time Red Huntress actually manages to hurt Danny, the Fentons pack up and leave. The Portal can be transported somewhere else. It can be rebuilt.

Their baby boy can't be rebuilt, no matter how much he likes to be a little shit and ignore Reality to quote Shakespeare at his own head (thank you Mr Lancer, for not giving up on him) or "give them a hand".

As Fenton takes the last tour of Amity, Phantom disappears. The Protal has been left seemingly unguarded.

The Ghosts decide to have one last hurrah in Anity Park before Danny closes the Portal, as per their deal. They won't hurt anyone, just cause chaos, but in return Phantom won't stop them. It's not like poor Red has the energy to chase them down, now that she's been "upgraded" into Amity's sole defender (the one time Lancer compares her new lack of sleep to Danny's, horrifying pieces start lining up too well in her mind)

The Fentons move out. Into a quiet farm neighbouring the land that belongs to the delightful couple that are the Kents, and their darling son, little Clark, who stares at Danny mildly horrified whenever he comes by to babysit, or help out with fixing the stubborn tractor. One day under Danny's clever hands, and Jonathan Kent's eagle-eyed gaze, and that damned tractor has never worked so well before. The boy's alright in the old man's eyes, and he makes sure they kid knows it.

After quiet rooftop admissions of one small boy's growing powers (I know Adult Clark is a brick house of a man, but what if he was a little twig while young) and the reveal of Something More Than Human from his honorary older brother, the course of Time sets into it's best version, and an Old Clock smiles, as Superman rises, only to be scolded by Spectre for recklessness.

(Dunno how well it came across, but I'm envisioning Valerie's feelings towards Danny to go from bitter resignation because she " had to" push him away, to horrified despair when the truth starts falling into place. He's her "the one that got away". And it's not like she gave him much of a reason to trust her with his secrets.

Maybe older and wiser Red Huntress gets invited to the Justice League, and has to deal with not just Fenton, but also Phantom flirting with her, after a good long conversation on how dumb they both were as kids, and a mutual vow of "I think I can do better now, and I want to prove it to you")

[mypoisonedvine]

𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿 • eddie munson x reader

sequel to 𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗲 and 𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 • another album, another tour, this time with a stop in Indianapolis featuring a local opener that proves to be more familiar than you expected.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 • 5.4k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 • smut (18+ only), semi-public sex, extreme fluff, jealous reader, cocky eddie, hatefucking (at first), emotions!!

Objectively, Eddie was never the best you ever had. Considering your long and storied history included a lot of very talented people— sometimes multiple at a time— it was hard to compete.  He didn't make you come the hardest, or the fastest, or the most.

But for some reason, he was always your favorite. 

Even if he wasn't a sex god, he managed to keep up with you and he was just the right balance of everything: sweet but not too grovelling; good-looking but not too self-obsessed; young but not too naive.

Truth be told, every time you thought about it, you wondered if you should've taken him on tour with you.  You imagined a life where you had this little boytoy to keep you company, where he held you close at night in that big empty bed while the bus was on its way to the next stop; where you finished your sets and walked just off stage to find him waiting, and he'd give you a big kiss and tell you how amazing you were.

But it was just a fantasy, something to get you through especially lonely nights.  You’d been thinking about him leading up to your tour stop in Indiana, wondering if you should find some way to reach out— all you had was an old phone number, and that was nearly a year ago now that you found out he graduated and moved away.  After considering looking him up a few times (and realizing you didn’t actually know if Eddie was short for Edward or Edmond or Edgar or… not short for anything), you decided it was best left alone.  After all, your presence in Indiana was pretty heavily anticipated, it’s not like he couldn’t figure it out if he wanted to find some way to see you.  

Danny nodded at you from behind the drums as you walked onstage for soundcheck.

“Okay, we’re just gonna tune and run the first song on the setlist,” the sound technician announced over the speakers as you put in your earpiece.

“Great,” you answered into the microphone, slinging your guitar on over your shoulder and starting to pick at it to get it perfectly in tune— yes, most big stars have the venue techs or their roadies tune instruments for them, but you preferred doing it yourself.  It was like… well, it was sort of like foreplay.  You preferred warming up your guitar yourself.

“Hey, you heard of this band that’s opening for us?” Jerome, your second guitarist, asked you as an assistant adjusted his mic stand.  “I was talking to the venue manager— he said a ton of people are here to see them.  They’re local legends or something.”

“I didn’t even read who’s opening for us,” you admitted.  “I haven’t slept since Louisville.”

“They’re called Corroded Coffin,” he said.  “Real grungy stuff.”

“Well, it’s a decent name,” you offered.  “I’ll have to watch their set and see if they’re any good.”

When soundcheck ended, you retired to the green room for a drink and a rest, the closest thing you had to a pre-show ritual.  This venue was nice enough that you had a TV by the vanity, meaning you totally zoned out and lost track of time watching National Geographic; you didn’t even realize the show had started until you heard loud, echoing guitars from outside.  

Turning the volume down, you listened to the muffled sound for a couple minutes, nodding to yourself.  Hey, they’re not bad.

Deciding to venture out and get a proper listen, you navigated the crowded backstage— roadies, assistants, and for some reason a crowd of kids in matching t-shirts?— so you could peer in from-offstage to see the band.  The first thing you saw was the pit; it was full of girls.  Screaming, desperate girls.  Shit, who is this guy?  You figured you weren’t likely to get the same reception from that section of the crowd, unless there was a bisexual convention in town.

Leaning further in, you finally saw the back of the guitarist’s head.  Any other context, and that mess of long, curly brown hair would give it away— but this was the metal scene, after all, and most of the guys looked like that.

He took a step back, disappointing the girls who had been climbing over each other to try to touch his ankle, and shook his head to get his hair out of his face.  That was when you got a proper glimpse of him for the first time, and your breath caught.

No, it’s not… 

He was too far away for you to be sure, and if you leaned forward any more, you’d be visible to the crowd which was not worth the trouble.  Spinning around, you saw the group of kids behind you, and narrowed your eyes at their shirts.  “Hey,” you yelled over the music to get the attention of one of them, “what do those shirts mean?”

“They’re for our D&D club!” he answered emphatically.  “That’s our Dungeon Master!”

As he pointed to the frontman again, you spun around.  Fuck.

“EDDIE, WE LOVE YOUUU!!!” a girl with braces screamed from the front row, literally sobbing, and you wondered how you could physically fit in your body every emotion you were feeling in this one moment.

Euphoria, confusion, devastation, excitement, anxiety— he was here, he was opening for you, he really made it.  But was he too good for you now?  He was the next big thing— you could already tell, hearing him play, that he was the real deal— and you were… well, you were the last big thing.  He was Van Halen, you were Black Sabbath; he was video, you were the radio star.  He was the nineties, coming around the corner faster than you were ready for— wasn’t it 1979, like, an hour ago?

It didn’t hurt from a stardom standpoint— the record sales didn’t bother you, even when there were less of them.  You didn’t need to be famous, half the time you didn’t even like it, you just loved the music whether it was yours or someone else’s.

But it hurt seeing Eddie, because it made you realize how long it had really been.  It hurt wondering if tonight was the beginning of the end— but you had hope that you wouldn’t be facing the end alone.

As he focused on playing a complex solo, his tongue curled up over his lip.  Be careful, Ed, I dunno if these girls can handle that…

Looking out over his crowd again, your gut burned as you saw the girls fawning over him, even if you couldn’t blame them.

You watched the rest of his set from the best seat in the house, which was actually standing up just behind the curtain, until you heard Eddie speak into the microphone: “You guys have been great!  We would stay forever if we could, but this is our last song…”

Heart pumping, you stumbled back and out of the way, retreating to your green room— you weren’t ready for him to walk by, you weren’t ready for him to ignore you, or kiss you, or slap you, or whatever he was going to do.

He was probably over it; he probably didn’t even care, so casually flaunting his one-that-got-away-ness in front of you.  You slammed your door shut behind you, pouring yourself a quick drink and tossing it back in a second.  It dulled your nerves but only worsened the sickness gathering in your stomach.  This was everything you’d been waiting for since 1985, but it was so terrifying now that it was here.  Everything could go wrong.

But of course he still wanted you, right?  He had to, he was one of your biggest fans just a few years ago.  But wow, time can change so much— and you had no idea he could play like that.  It only made you more attracted to him, right when you were trying to play it cool.

You heard the crowd going wild, you heard the music come to a halt, and you knew you were supposed to be getting ready for your own set.  Right now, you weren’t sure if you could even name one of your own songs…

Well, probably just one— the one about him.  In your mind, it was sort of a graduation present from you to Eddie— but you weren’t even a hundred percent sure he ever heard it.

You waited a few minutes, hoping maybe Corroded Coffin would be gone when you stepped out— yet praying that they wouldn’t be— but when you entered the hallway again, you found a typical scene between the opener and headliner: musicians and their most privileged fans everywhere, getting in the way of crew trying desperately to set up between acts, and Eddie right there in the middle of all of it.

He was sitting on an amp, fiddling around on his acoustic, girls hanging off of his arm and sitting in a circle around him.  Christ.

Hesitantly, you walked up to the group, crossing your arms and watching for a moment.  "Guess you made it out of your garage phase," you smirked.

He looked up at you, his strumming coming to a halt, as he gave you a knowing smile.  "Yeah," he offered; his voice was eerily familiar yet different, and you wondered if things were too different now.  If you and him were basically strangers, and you'd just have to wave hello and leave all that history behind.

After all, you'd only met once before, technically.  But to you, it felt like your story wasn't over yet.

“Oh my god,” one of the girls jumped up to you, “I— I’m such a huge fan!”

“Oh?  That’s nice to hear,” you offered her, glancing between her eyes and Eddie’s a few times.  “I— do you want me to sign anything?”

“That would be amazing,” she beamed, “I’ve— I’ve got one of your CDs right here.”

“Ah, a CD,” you nodded as she pulled it out of her purse and you got your trusty metallic Sharpie from your back pocket, “that’s how I know you’re one of the new kids.”

“You can make it out to Pearl,” she decided as you took the album from her, “that’s me.”

“Will do,” you agreed, uncapping the pen with your teeth and writing over the cover.

“I actually wanted to ask you something,” she said.

“Yeah?” you prompted, mostly focused on writing.

“My favorite song of yours is Pretty Boy,” she explained, “from your new album?  I wanted to ask you who it’s about.”

You glanced at Eddie again, finding him still smiling at you.  Of course he knew, he barely had to listen to the verse to figure it out, it wasn’t exactly cryptic.  Can’t take you home when there’s no home to go to, still remember you with all the guys that I go through, it was pretty obvious.  “Uh,” you stalled, voice slurred a bit from talking with a pen cap in your mouth, “it’s… not really about anyone.  It’s just about the idea of someone.”

You handed her back the CD and put your marker away.  “Wow,” she smiled when you gave it back, reading the message to herself.  Pearl— don’t be a slut, with your signature across the bottom.  Her smile faltered slightly, but she thanked you weakly. 

“That’s good advice,” you informed her sternly as she sat back down.

“You know,” Eddie piped up, making your heart beat faster, “I wanted you to sign something of mine, too.”

You smirked at him, summoning some confidence from deep within yourself.  “Kid, you’ve already got my name written all over you.”

A few of the girls started whispering to each other, and Eddie glanced down— he didn’t seem too caught off-guard, but his cheeks did flush.  “Then maybe you can make my guitar match,” he suggested.

“Sure,” you agreed, and he stood up, lifting the guitar’s strap over his shoulder so he could hold it out for you and your re-uncapped marker.

Your hands were almost shaking, at the worst possible time, as he stood so close, staring at you with those eyes.  You thought about what you might write, and decided as you made contact with the glossy wood.

Eddie,

I’m still waiting for you.

As you put your signature at the bottom, you were startled slightly by a flash; you turned to see one of the girls had taken an instant photo, and she pulled it out and shook it as it developed.  “Sorry,” she mumbled sheepishly, “just a little piece of rock and roll history.  Legends meeting for the first time!”

You didn’t correct her; Eddie just nodded.  “You’ll have to send that to Rolling Stone,” he decided.

“There you go,” you announced as you finished the signature, watching him read what you’d written.

“Thanks,” he smiled, turning the guitar and holding it forward so he could look at it better before looking at you again.  “Any chance I could bum a smoke?”

One of the girls started to reach into her bag, but without even looking at her, Eddie held his hand out and she froze.  “Actually, I—” quit, you were about to say, but then you met his gaze.  He really was still that boy you found waiting outside the back of a smaller stadium nearly four years ago— his eyes were the same: tender, pleading, hopeful.  You knew the feeling well.  “I… have a pack in my dressing room,” you offered.

“Great,” he smiled.

“Aw, don’t go!” one of the girls whined, the rest joining in a chorus of moping.  

“Uh— hey!  There’s Gareth!” Eddie pointed.  “Will you girls go cheer him up?  He, uh, just broke up with his girlfriend.”

Eddie gave his best sympathetic sigh as the girls’ eyes lit up; and while the cloud of adorers descended on the drummer, you guided Eddie back with you across the backstage tunnel, tumbling through the green room door with him.

When you were both on the other side and the door shut, he didn’t even give you a chance to offer him a drink, now that he was definitely old enough— he just kissed you, with every ounce of passion he’d been saving for you all this time.  You whimpered and grabbed his face, holding him close, letting his tongue roam wherever and tasting his smile in return.

He pushed you back against the wall, pulling your hips against his, pressing all of himself against you; he tried to break the kiss to say something, but you pulled his face towards you again, you just needed a little more.

He hummed against your lips, and you let him go so he could kiss your neck instead.  Your back was already arching up off the wall, and you felt his hands slide up the back of your shirt, tickling the dip of your spine, finding the clasp of your bra and undoing it in a moment so he could bring his hands around to the front and grope your chest.

You grinned as his fingers toyed with your nipples and squeezed your sensitive skin; there was more experience behind his movements than before, yet the same boyish eagerness under it all.

That said, your grin faded when he pulled your shirt and bra up, exposing you to the air, indulging himself in a glance and a sigh at your breasts before he put his mouth on them.  “Fuck,” you whined.  “Eddie, fuck.”

Your hands reached up and tangled in his hair, and he moaned around your skin, moving to the other nipple while his fingers gently pinched the first.  “Say my name again,” he demanded.

“Make me,” you countered.

He stopped right away, spinning you around as you held your hands against the wall to keep yourself upright.  He pressed his back up to yours, letting his hips rock so you could feel his erection against you and you purred.  The way his fingers quickly unbuttoned your jeans reminded you a bit of the way he fingered his guitar on stage; the way he pushed your pants and underwear down and grabbed a handful of your ass before giving it a sudden spank reminded you of someone totally different from Eddie.  I guess a lot can change in a few years…

“You gonna fuck me or what?” you sighed.  “I’ve gotta be on stage any minute now.”

“I’m gonna fuck you,” he promised— or maybe it was a warning.  "But I'm not your groupie anymore, sweetheart, I'm a star, and I fuck like one.  All those girls wanted me to do to them what you did to me— but all I want is to be buried in you."

You hummed proudly turning around and facing him so you could start working on his belt for him.  “Did you miss me?” you wondered, taunting with your question, but he wasn’t fazed.

“‘Course I did,” he smiled.  "I wasn't a virgin when we met, but I still think you made a man outta me that night.  You even let me come in you, you remember that?  So dirty," he smirked, a hint of a snarl on his smile as he scrunched up his nose for a second.  "You just want this cunt bred, huh?"

"Damn," you sighed, "you’re all grown up— and you got nasty."

He laughed breathlessly, looking down.  "Guess I did.  You haven't changed, though."

He guided you across the room, to the vanity, where he spun you around and bent you over quickly— not too rough, but definitely hurried— yanking your head up by your hair so you had to look in the mirror.

"Want you to see how pretty you are taking my cock."

He was inside you a moment later, and your eyes rolled back.  “Fuck,” you groaned, legs quivering as he started off right away; he gave you long, deep strokes that made your walls clench.

"I remember how you like it," he purred.  "Deep, and rough— and you like being in control.  But right now, I wanna see you lose control."

Well, that was the plan if he kept talking like that…

“I wanna see you come for me,” he continued, “exactly when I tell you to.”

“Yeah?” you chuckled breathlessly.  “If you wanted obedience you should’ve snagged one of those little tarts from the pit.”

“If you wanted me to play nice you should’ve taken me with you when we first met,” he shot back, fucking you harder as anger tinted his voice and his movements.  “Back when I was still an impressionable kid.”

“That’s— that’s exactly why I didn’t,” you explained through your teeth.  “I was trying to do right by you.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Yes!” you admitted.  “Yes, I wish I wasn’t such a damn good person, okay?  Now just fuck me, damn it!”

He laughed a little, but finally did as he was told, taking hold of your hips and setting a brutal pace.  

“S’this… this how you fuck your groupies?” you choked out.  

He laughed as he shook his head.  “No, I take my time with them.”

Fuck.  “I liked you better when you were nice.”

He smacked your ass again, making you whimper.  “Don’t lie to me.”

Touche… “Did you like me better when I was just your fantasy?” you managed to get out.

“No,” he sighed, leaning down and laying his body over yours, holding you tighter.  “No, I like you best like this— here, with me.  Real.”

You whined and dropped your head down, hoping to hide your watering eyes, but he cooed as he pet your hair before grabbing it pulling you up again. 

“Look, baby,” he insisted, “I want you to see it— god, you’re so beautiful.  Look how beautiful you are.”

“Y-you’re beautiful, too,” you blurted out as you watched his face in the reflection, still a bit red as he panted behind you, and he gave you a breathless smile

"Tell me how good it feels,” he instructed.

"So good, Eddie, your cock is so good," you groaned.

“Y’love it, huh?” he taunted, but his eyebrows knitted together when you shook your head.

“No, Ed— I hate this… I hate that I’m the one that made you bitter,” you admitted.  “You were so sweet before…”

He slowed down a bit, one hand brushing your hair out of your face as the other held your hips— tight, but not painfully so.  “I’m still yours,” he whispered by your ear, making you bite your lip to hold back a sob.  “Baby, I’m still yours.”

“Then why are you angry?”

“Because you’re not mine.”

You laughed— you actually laughed, and he hissed as it made you tighten on him.  “Damn, you got older, but you didn’t get much smarter, huh?” you noticed.  “I was yours from the start, Eddie.”

He fucked you harder— but not exactly in the rough way.  In a patient, but needy, way; and you felt him smile as he kissed your neck again.  “You’re just saying that,” he presumed teasingly.

“No— god, it’s real, it’s not just ‘cause we’re fucking,” you promised.  “I’m yours.”

He pulled out and dropped to his knees, suddenly colliding his mouth with your sopping cunt.  You whined as your legs quivered.  "Fuck, Ed—!"

He growled as he lapped at you hungrily.  "So sweet,” you could barely make out his mumbled groan when it was spoken right against your wet skin.  

You were amazed he had the patience to stop fucking you in the middle of that— amazed and slightly pissed.  “Fuck me,” you begged, “c’mon, I said I’m yours— I meant it.”

“You’re gonna make me come too fast if you keep saying you’re mine,” he explained.  “I don’t want it to end yet.”

“Well, we’re already out of time,” you noticed as you glanced at the clock, “I should be on by now… they’re probably looking for me.”

“Well, let’s help them find you,” he encouraged with one more lick up the seam of your cunt before he stood up and shoved his cock inside you roughly.  His pace was faster after that, careless to the way he hit the end of you every time— except it wasn’t careless, it was intentional.  "Uh huh, scream for my cock, it'll get your voice warmed up,” he encouraged with a smile.

“God, I’m way too close,” you groaned, toes curling inside your boots, back arching deeper even as he held your hips steady.  “Don’t make fun of me for coming so fast… I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

“I’m— Christ, I’m not in any place to judge, am I?  M’gonna come too,” he promised, “inside you.  Gonna let it all drip out of you while you’re playing your set.” 

Imagining that was what pushed you over the edge, actually.  “Eddie, I’m coming,” you sobbed, “fuck, I— don’t stop, don’t stop—”

“I’ll never stop, I’ll never fucking stop, I swear,” he grunted— and even though he stopped barely ten seconds later as his own orgasm hit him, you knew exactly what he meant.

You both caught your breath, and he held you close as his legs gave out— which meant you both fell onto the floor, but you hardly noticed; you just let him pull you closer as your eyes fluttered shut.

It was a beautiful, peaceful moment for exactly two seconds before someone banged on the door.  “WE NEED YOU TO SET UP!!” a crew member bellowed through the wood.

“GIMME A MINUTE!” you screamed back, making Eddie laugh behind you— and you followed suit.  “Not so romantic, huh?”

“Nah, it’s perfect,” he assured softly, running his fingers down your back.  “I’m sorry I was mean.”

“I deserved it,” you sighed, “I’m sorry I left you in Indiana in 1985.”

He scoffed.  “I deserved that, too.”

You relaxed as he pulled your back into his chest, kissing along your neck.  “I’ve gotta get up and get myself together,” you reminded him.

“Okay,” he sighed, letting you go so you could awkwardly climb up and start pulling your pants back on.

He just laid on the floor and watched you for a second, before shoving his cock back in his own jeans and standing up to correct his button and fly.  

You bent down to look in the vanity again, wiping under your eye to carefully remove the evidence of an eyeliner-stained tear.

"I fell in love with you back then," he said suddenly, and you smiled, though you didn’t turn around.

"When we met?" you assumed.

"Before that," he replied.  You stood up this time and faced him, heart beating so hard it made you wonder if he could see your chest moving.  "Before you even knew me, before I really knew you, I loved you.  I worshiped you.  And before you even took me for yourself, I was yours.  I still am, baby— I'm still yours, and I always was."

“Do you still love me?” you asked hesitantly— only because you knew you were ready for a no.

“Yes,” he smiled, stepping closer to you, “of course.”

"I never stopped thinking about you," you promised quietly.  "I never forgot you."

He grabbed your hands suddenly, holding them up with his between the two of you, and you stared at them before you looked up at his eyes instead, brimming with optimism just like you’d dreamed of him for years.  "I'm not letting you leave me again," he insisted.  "You know how good we are together.  You know I'll always love you.  C'mon and let me be yours, angel— I'm gonna love you so much you won't know what to do with yourself."

You smirked.  "I think you're always mine, whether I let you or not."

"I think you wanna marry me."

You nearly choked, and you felt your cheeks burn but you tried to keep your cool.  "Bold claim."

"What if I ask you now?"

"You got a ring?"

"Do I?" he snorted, pulling a skull off of his right middle finger and getting down on one knee as he brandished it for you.  "I don't want anyone else.  You don't need anyone else.  No more of this ships in the night crap— us, forever."

"A skull?  Not the most romantic."

"Oh, but it is," he grinned, "til death do us part, babe.  It was almost four years ago I said I'd follow you anywhere, I meant it, and I'll follow you to the grave."

The sound tech banged loudly on the door again.  "YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE ON TEN MINUTES AGO, THE CROWD'S GONNA REVOLT," he bellowed.

"I need to play my set, Eddie," you reminded the man on his knee before you. 

"Then play," he agreed, "and give me your answer after the encore."

You leaned down and kissed him, more gently than you’d allowed yourself before.  “I will,” you promised.  

You dashed out of the dressing room and towards the stage, a thousand people swarming around you to put your earpiece in, fling your guitar around your shoulder, brush powder over your face— and in a whirlwind of a few seconds, you were right there in front of the crowd, your band surrounding you.  The crowd cheered, and your heart swelled; I’ve still got it.

“Good evening, Indianapolis!” you greeted through the microphone, and the roar grew.  “Are we having fun tonight?”

It was easy, but it worked, and they applauded and whooped excitedly.

“How was that opener?” you prompted, and they cheered again.  “Is it just me or was that frontman kinda cute?”

A more feminine cheer answered as if to say, it’s not just you.

“Hope you like this first song,” was your simple introduction before the drummer counted you off and you all began to play.

All in all, it was a great show.  Crowd was good, band killed it (as always), and aside from a moment of feedback from one of the speakers, it all went pretty much perfectly.  And that was all in spite of your mind being totally overwhelmed with thoughts of Eddie.  Normally, music cleared your head, but nothing could keep your thoughts from everything that had just happened— and not even just that!  You were thinking about that first night, about how young he was then; about when you called him and he stayed on with you until you fell asleep so you wouldn’t have to spend another night alone; about when he first looked at you backstage half an hour ago, holding onto his guitar, surrounded by girls but looking at you like you were the only woman in the world.

Shows always went by fast, especially when they went this well, but this one seemed to go by in a moment— and there you were, waiting in the dark, hearing them chant.

Encore, encore, encore!

You were about to go back out, but you smiled to yourself as you grabbed a stage manager by the sleeve.  "Get me the lead guitarist for Corroded Coffin— bring him out on stage."

"Now?"

"Now."

He ran off to search for Eddie, and you turned to your bassist, Alex: “Think we’ve made ‘em wait long enough?”

Jerome answered instead.  “Everybody knows you like to tease,” he smirked.

True, but not as true as it used to be.  “Let’s go back,” you announced, hearing a roar of applause wash onto the stage as the musicians took the stage once more.

"We missed you," you offered into the mic, hearing the crowd cheer.  "Want us to play one more?"

They screamed again, almost deafeningly, and you laughed.  You glanced over at the side of the stage and felt your heart melt just at the sight of Eddie there, the stage manager getting him ready to go out.

"I've got someone I want you guys to meet first," you explained.  "An old friend of mine.  You know him best as the guy who rocked the fuck out of this place before I came on…"

As they figured out who you were talking about, their applause restored.

"If you don't mind, I'd like him to come out and play this song with me."

Of course, that only made them more excited.  I’ll show you rock and roll history, boys and girls.

You motioned for him to come out, and he walked on with a smile and a wave to the encouraging crowd.  "But I want you to know something else about him,” you continued as he grabbed one of your guitars and put it on, fiddling with it for a second to make sure he knew the sound and feel of the instrument.  “He's not just the hottest new sound in metal, and he's not just a heartthrob—"

The girls cheered louder at that.

"He's also—" you glanced at him, standing beside you at the other microphone, smiling back at you with slight confusion.  You took a deep breath in and out, surprised at how shaky it was.  You didn't think you got nervous anymore.  "He's also my fiancé."

You expected a huge reaction to that, but there was a pause first— a stillness that said, did we just hear that right?

Time seemed to slow down as you stepped up to him.  The crowd was frozen, and silent, and then they were gone.  Your band was gone, the crew was gone, it was just you and him in an empty stadium.

When you were in front of him, his eyes blinking at you, his smile soft and patient, you reached up and held his cheek.  "I promised I wouldn't forget you, Eddie," you whispered.  "Believe it or not, I tried.  But I couldn’t— because I love you."

He smiled back wider.  "I love you too," he returned.  "Wanna get married?"

You laughed a bit.  "Okay," you answered flippantly, and he pulled you into a sudden, powerful kiss.

Then the crowd was back, and louder than ever.  You felt Eddie's hand take yours, squeezing it before gently slipping the skull ring on your finger.  Yes, it was a little big, but it would do for now.

You returned to the mic with a smile as you addressed the crowd again.  "We're gonna play a song for you all, it's called Pretty Boy.  Do you know that one, Eddie?"

"I think I can keep up," he answered into his own microphone with a smirk.

"Then let's show 'em how good we are together," you decided, turning over your shoulder to make eye contact with the drummer as you counted off: "one, two, three, four!"

[1ivinqdeadqir1]

SHADES OF COOL: V

Chapter 5: Red

A/N: wow, holy shit, mama has had this cooking up for a whileeee I'm so sorry for the wait, guys, and I hope the hype hasn't died down, but I have been very busy with my exams. Thankfully they are almost over! I have one left, which means more SOC updates and quicker replies to requests. Thank you so much for the support. You don't understand how nice it's been having you all enjoy my work. It really makes it all worthwhile.

WARNINGS: an allusion to murder, drugs mentioned, shitty Spanish that comes to you from an English speaker doing her best to learn, Lalo being a bit of a cunt, allusions to previously abusive relationships.

word count: 7.2k

SHADES OF COOL MASTERLIST: here

»»————- ♡ ————-««

They'd left Daniel Vineyard tied up, lacerated, half naked and half dead outside of his home on his front porch. Lalo already had some guys around to sort through the copious amount of paraphernalia he'd accumulated. It all sat in the trunk of Lalo's car, waiting for him to dispose of it the next time he set that fire in his yard. 

Danny could hardly knock. Every muscle throbbed, and each joint in the young man's body felt bruised and brittle. There were moments of - what looked to be - black ink filtering and blooming in his vision. 

Scared, confused and revolted by the thought of even looking in your direction. Any sick sexual urge deep in his stomach and at the back of his conscience had been beaten out of him- almost like that tooth a few hours earlier. Daniel would have died on that doorstep that night if his roommate had not been home.��

"What the hell happened, Danny?" his roommate, Aaron, was sitting by his friend's side as Daniel rasped from his place on the hospital bed. They'd gotten there at about 2 am. He had two broken ribs and a collapsed lung on top of all the visible bruises and scrapes. The doctors had asked what happened, to which Daniel coughed and said two men had jumped him. He lied and said he hadn't seen their faces and that they'd taken his wallet and cigarettes. Aaron huffed, tugging lightly on the end of his braids, his tanned skin slick with sweat. Danny's complexion looked almost grey, with specs of purple and red in the places where Lalo had hit him. 

“Why would these guys jump you outside work and then drop you off at home? It makes no sense at all." 

Daniel winced, trying to sit up, though he inevitably gave in and lay back against the white cotton bed sheets. "You know that girl I dated?" There was a pause, but Aaron nodded, said your name, and leaned forward on his elbows. "Well, I wasn't over her, and, uh, she's got some new friends."

"New friends? What like-"

"I don't want to talk about it anymore, okay? Can't you support me for a second here?" Daniel groaned, placing a hand where the hospital had bandaged him up. He wasn't a doctor, but he had no fucking idea what a bandage would do for a broken rib. Willowy fingers curled around his knees; Aaron hummed and tried to piece together what had happened. He knew Daniel wasn't over his ex, but he'd figured that was belated mourning of a ‘doomed from-the-start’ relationship. Aaron wasn't aware of his roommate's complete and utter obsession with everything you related. Maybe he'd have a rummage through Danny's room at some point whilst he's in the hospital. 

The cold room had a buzz that began to grate on Aaron. The cocktail of painkillers had Dan thinking that the low thrum of the machine was all in his head. Like Tinnitus - the thing you get from listening to music too loud.

"I'm going to head out", Aaron stretched, cracking his fingers whilst simultaneously checking the time flashing against his watch—4:35 am.

 "If you need anything, clothes, food... Let me know. k? "

Nodding, Daniel flashed his friend a thin-lipped smile. One that his roommate hesitantly returned whilst shrugging on his college sports apparel. 'Aaron’ printed on the back was the last Danny saw of his friend, who took quick, assured steps out the hospital room door and into the hall. 

---

At 7 am, you awoke to the sound of your alarm and tossed onto your side to slam your palm atop the snooze button. You close your eyes again and savour the darkness within the room; the curtains manage to keep sunlight from pouring in through and onto your sheets, which pool around your body and crunch as you turn to pull the soft cotton quilt closer to your face. It smells of home, and you slip into an idyllic slumber filled with warmth and the hum of dreams - you can't exactly make out who you're with, but you can almost feel their hands wrapped around your body, the caress of the breeze upon exposed skin. Their fingers are warm, and you lean into their touch. Then, you notice the tattooed band on their forearm and gaze up into dark brown eyes. 

After what had felt like a minute, you sit up and glance at the clock again. The red LED numbers tell you you've slept an extra 4 hours. Your phone had been pressing into the meat of your back against the mattress, and once you had managed to slug yourself out of bed and to a power socket, two messages were waiting.

Lalo: Buenas dias, mi amor - 9:34

Lalo: call me when you're up :) - 10:47

There's a smiley face, and as you gaze down at the colon and bracket, you return the gesture. The apples of your cheeks warm, and you wait a few minutes for your phone to charge before calling Lalo, who greets you - almost immediately - with the sound of his rich baritone voice. 

"Hola, hermosa, guessing you slept well, hm?"

"Yeah", you begin, fingers tracing across the counter's edge by the plug socket. "I did, thanks… What about you?" 

There's a laugh from his end, and you can't help but blush. It's deep and hearty from within his chest, like you've just missed out on an inside joke. "Lalo?"

"Sorry, sorry, Bonita, It's just that… I don't normally sleep, maybe about 2 or 3 hours, but, yeah."

"So you're quite the night owl then?" 

You think you hear him agree and scoff under his breath at your quip. Despite the humour in his tongue, you can't help but feel sorry for him and wonder if maybe he's got something going on that prevents him from getting those crucial 7 hours of rest. Well, he may not need it. Perhaps he naps throughout the day. 

"Well, you look good for someone that only gets 2 hours of sleep." 

"You think? Eso es mucho viniendo de alguien tan hermosa como tú” You just about catch onto what he'd said, your Spanish isn't as good as his, and you don't speak it as regularly as you should. Maybe dating Salamanca would aid your understanding. Nevertheless, your cheeks flush, and you must wait a moment before asking when you and Lalo will go out for that date. He suggests picking you up at 7:30, he's made a reservation for eight, and he also adds that you should wear something fancy, or at the very least formal. You can't help but rack your brain for something at his prompt. A blouse and skirt or your old prom dress? Perhaps you still had that somewhere behind a few coats and layers of dust. 

He hums and draws out a 'sooo ' amidst your comfortable silence. "Are you looking forward to it?" your heart clenches in your chest, and you can almost hear the smile on his face as he talks to you through the phone, his moustache raised slightly with the crease of his lips. 

"I am; it should be fun… I might be rusty, though. I haven't been out for a while."

"Out, like, on a date?"

You nod, 'yeah ', in a sigh, and sit down at a stool in your kitchen with the phone pressed to your ear. Lalo chuckles- it was hardly noticeable and more of a breathy huff, but you had just about picked it out from the silence. 

"I don't believe that. Not a catch like you; guys are probably falling over themselves trying to ask you out." 

Flushing, you sigh and whisper his name, to which he hums a low laugh. Your face hurts from how much this man can make you beam by doing the most mundane things. As you sat there, drawing your fingers across the counter ledge, you imagined what he looked like now- whilst talking to you in his car. Sometimes when he smiled and his moustache curled with his upper lip, you had the urge to reach over and stroke the coarse black hairs with your fingers and caress the soul patch he kept well trimmed with your thumb. 

"Well, I've got some things to do before our date Hermosa. I'll call you later, yeah?" 

You nod and agree that later is fine as long as he calls. The deep lull of his voice echoes and narrates your thoughts as you think of where he'd take you on your night out. You'd already taken note of his fancy car, so the restaurant must be pretty expensive, the kind where you'd have to pay a deposit to ensure you turn up on your date. You liked Lalo a lot; there was no doubt about that. He made it easy to talk and had a way about him that managed to single-handedly quench the loneliness you had felt within the pit of your stomach since having split with Daniel. 

---

Lalo sighed as he hung up the phone, brushing a hand through the thick matt of dark hair atop his head. He'd had a word from Ignacio that, supposedly, the cops were onto him about the whole travel wire thing. That fucking stupid kid and fucking stupid Michael. Had the kid been smart enough to let him check the footage, he wouldn't have had to die- which also meant that the travel wire building wouldn't have been charred down to grit and plaster. 

Yet, as he stroked the tuft of hair beneath his bottom lip, he wished he could have spoken longer to his girl on the phone, loving the sound of her voice and how she somehow managed to incite such a domestic calmness within him. He enjoyed that aspect of their relationship. She made him feel ordinary, unlike the murderous tyrant his peers and family had raised him to be. As cliche as one might find, the barriers he had spent years building around his heart finally threatened to crumble at the hand of this woman he couldn't stop thinking about. 

The moment he saw her with Hector, smiling and reading that comically large book - too big for her tiny hands - he sensed she would be trouble. He was interested then, and that same interest had blossomed as the days flowed into weeks. Despite his need to call and hear her on the other end, through the muffled speaker of his cell, Lalo convinced himself that letting her call him was a good idea. She had been so tired the other night and may have carried that fatigue into the following days ahead. 

"What about you?" His girl had asked so casually, and he could hardly believe her. That, for an instant, he thought she might have been mocking him. Whenever anyone took a genuine interest in how he was, Don Eduardo had to ask himself whether or not they were being sincere. In his line of business, you could never be too sure of one's true intentions. Somehow, she'd managed to wash that paranoia away in such a short time. It was fascinating, and he wished to know more about her and what made her so… familiar.

---

The hours before the date had you pottering around your house, tidying up the bits and pieces and washing up until about 1 pm when you decided to pick up your car from Casa tranquila. It'd been long enough; in all fairness, you also wanted to grab some beauty products from the drugstore on the way back. 

At the counter, the middle-aged woman offered you a nail file kit for an extra 2 dollars, but you declined politely with a smile shadowing your lips. She returned the gesture and placed all the toiletries in a small bag, her lavender-coloured eyeshadow wrinkling with her lids as she slowly tapped numbers into the register. You picked out some: mascara, lipstick and nail varnish to match the dress you'd decided on wearing earlier. 

"Well, it sure is nice and quiet."

"Yeah, I don't know. Business is a bit strange like that at the moment. Did you hear about that travel wire, kid?" 

You nod, "I have.”

"I guess they've found something to link someone to the crime, but I'm not sure. Probably camera footage.” 

Nodding again, you hand over the cash for your items, and the lady passes you the bag, receipt, and a few coupons that read:'10% off your next visit.'

"Yeah, probably… thanks anyway" With that, you turn to leave, and as you do, you feel a cavity hollow out from within your stomach. You toss the bag onto the passenger side seat of your car, and as you rev the engine ( it takes a minute to warm up ), your phone starts to vibrate from within your back pocket. 

"Hey, lalo"

"Hola princesa, how's my girl doing this afternoon?" he asked. You could hear the wind whistling in the back and almost didn't catch what he said. 

"Oh, so I'm your girl, hm?" you replied, tone light on your chest as he hummed in response. The whining from outside his window stops, and as you plug in your seatbelt, you hear him shuffling in the background.

"princesa? you there?"

"Oh, sorry, I was putting my seatbelt on. What'd you say?" 

Lalo tuts as you wedge the phone between your ear and shoulder - one hand on the wheel and another on the gear stick - you can imagine the smile on his face as he rolls his eyes. 

“We both know you wouldn't mind being my girl." 

You switched to holding the flip phone once you'd successfully pulled out of the parking lot. The streets were tame, and only a few other people were on the road within this part of town. Strange for a Sunday, though perhaps the people are at church or home watching the game. "oh, and you sound so sure," you pause for a moment as you round a corner, coming up on a few tiny houses, a few of which have cars sat outside. 

"how do you know what I would and wouldn't mind, Eduardo?"

He chuckles, and you go to reply but can't find words quick enough to interject." Well, you would've hung up by now, right?" He tries to hide the sound of his grin through the phone, though he manages poorly. The hairs on your cheeks stand up, and you feel as though you're glowing from within the comfort of your car at his words.

 "I suppose that's right, Lalo." you tap your fingers against the wheel about 5 minutes away from home. Choosing to organise your time now, you decide that you may read for a few hours before getting ready. "I'm excited about our date, y'know." 

"me too, princesa. Are you alright with Italian food?" 

"Of course, I'm not all that picky." 

"aye, no worries, Mija, it'll be great. I'm sure of it." he was. He hadn't imagined the date going wrong at all. The only bad thing that could happen is that he gets a call from Nacho or one of the other men about business. And Nachito could hold up the fort for one night, especially when his girl needed tender loving care. God knows the last time either of them had had that.

"Well, I just got home, so I'll see you later, yeah? We can talk more then."

"hasta luego,Chiquita" 

"hasta luego, Lalito" 

lalito cute. 

---

"hasta luego, Lalito"

Flipping his cell shut, Lalo stepped out of his car onto the gravelled pathway that led up to his safe house. An all-white mansion within a gated community of gringos, many of whom he had yet to introduce himself. There wasn't much need. Give it a few weeks, and they'll have forgotten that somebody lived there. He'd expected to have stayed in ABQ for a few months, but that trip and his work up here had to be cut short. 

Thanks to the trouble at the travel wire and the police on his ass. 

Maybe he'll ask you on an impromptu trip to Mexico. He could pay off your work whilst you're away with him- and it wouldn't be long—a fortnight at most. 

The stone from the pathway left chalk dust airbrushed along the soles and sides of his blue suede loafers as he made his way up toward the clean, modern home that couldn't have been more different to his home in Chihuahua. Where he had staff waiting eagerly. 

Lalo wondered how seventeen-year-old Ciro was managing without him, how he'd coped with Miguel pushing him around and not Lalo - the master of the house.

Once inside, he slipped off his shoes and tossed the keys onto the kitchen counter. A bottle of amber liqueur beckoned him closer from the glass cabinet a mere foot away, and he scoffed. Drinking at 2 pm? That was life for his papa but not for him. The Salamanca family was notorious for many things: murder, torture, bludgeoning, pillaging- they were the muscle of the cartel, essentially, but alcoholism? No. He could handle his drink. If shit dismantled the fan at a pickup or the border (and since he lived so close), Lalo was often sent to diffuse any confrontation with los federales or gringos that tried to stick their noses in business that had nothing to do with them. Usually, his sweet talk and coercion involved wads of Ben Franklins tied together with a rubber band.

He made a few stops with Nacho for the next few hours, who picked him up in his red 1973 javelin. He'd half expected the guy to be driving a Porsche or Ferrari, so when they'd first met, he was pleasantly surprised by how nuanced his companion was with his taste. He'd remarked at the time, 'Is this your papa's car?' to which Nacho's lip twitched the slightest at the corner, and his brows furrowed in a straight line. The more he'd gotten to know Nacho, the more he enjoyed his little grunts and echoes of 'yeah' or 'okay.' It was fun to imagine how Nacho's silence and ambiguity paired with his cousin's fury and impulsive nature. 

Hell, he couldn't even imagine Hector dealing with it, and that guy had always preached to him and his cousins as children, 'Only speak when you are spoken to!' Something that Marco and Leo had taken in their stride. 

"so, where are you going with her then?" Nacho asks up from his place in the driver's seat, the fingers of his left hand tapping the wheel as they wait for the traffic lights to change from red to green. "we're going for a meal, you know, to that Italian place I asked you about last night."

The car's engine purrs when Nacho puts weight on the acceleration, and Lalo keeps his eyes on the side of his friend, who nods and takes them around a corner. He'd gotten ready earlier into one of his more formal outfits. Black slacks and a flowery blue shirt. He'd rolled the sleeves to his elbows and had his gun and cell on his person. Ignacio glanced between the road and his boss, lips pursed together in a narrow line. He hadn't seen you since dropping off Lalo's replacement phone. To think that only a day had passed. 

"Lalo, what's the point in you going after this girl? I mean-"

Scoffing, Lalo shook his head and turned toward Nacho in his seat. His tattooed right arm was leaning against the door, and his hand pressed against his cheek. "Oh, so you do talk, hm?" his body shakes as he laughs, and subconsciously Nacho's grip tightens on the wheel. He can't glance at Lalo; cars are in front and behind them. The last thing Nacho needed on his plate was a fucking busted bumper. "Well, she's taking such good care of Hector. I figured she deserved thanking properly,” 

Nacho wants to ask whether beating her stalker to death wasn't enough thanks, though he bites his tongue and keeps driving. "That and, Nachito? You know Tuco well enough by now to understand that…everyone needs something.." Nacho huffs, his lip tugs into a faint smile, and he rounds the next corner, approaching Lalo's home away from home. 

"Okay, well, does she know about what we do?"

Lalo's gaze faltered, and the once bright enthusiasm behind the brown was replaced with an emptiness Nacho couldn't describe in words. "It won't come to that, hermano," he said, planting a hand on Nacho's shoulder. His hand was heavy, and he could feel Lalo's fingers gripping his skin through the cotton of his red button-up. "Es bueno, Ignacio" Nacho nodded twice, and life returned to Lalo's face. He removed his hand and opened the door, trudging into the 6 pm air. 

What was once stale and humid had been replaced with a slight chill that rode up the length of his spine. "Perfecto, we'll talk later, yeah? Good that we managed to pick up la yeyo, no?." Lalo slaps the car door frame, where the window should be hiding. "Half expected ocho loco to be scaling a fucking drain pipe again, ai that guy…" he laughed, and Nacho offered his boss a smile, "Yeah, I guess." To say that Nacho disliked his boss was an understatement, though one thing he could respect was that the guy managed to get shit done.

"well, later, yeah?"

Ignacio nodded, "Later." 

---

At 6:30, you were ready. The black satin dress ended at your mid-thigh, hugged at your skin, and you felt slick with a thin layer of perspiration despite having showered and washed your hair. You'd folded your jacket across your lap, and your purse was draped across your shoulder; as the clock in your living room ticked, you tried your hardest to refrain from gnawing on your bottom lip. 

 All dolled up for a man you had been waiting to ask you out on a proper date since you'd first seen him at Casa Tranquila. The cold from the air conditioning whispered against your skin, and you wondered whether you were ready to start dating again. Lalo was a gentleman, but you couldn't shake the thought of him turning out like Daniel. He was charismatic, could cook and made you laugh. He truly cared so much for his family. It was almost too good to be true. 

As you sat and waited, you were reminded of your first date with Dan. He'd taken you to the local bowling alley- and supposedly let you win. To think that you wasted so much time with that asshole, so many years of your life when you could have been flirting with men that actually gave a shit about what you had to think. 

'C'mon, you really gonna embarrass me like that?'

You'd blushed and slapped at Daniel's shoulder, taking the medium-weight bowling ball by your index and middle finger, your thumb pressing against the inside.

'I told you that just because we're on a date doesn't mean I'm taking it easier on you, Danny.'

To think that you'd fallen in love with someone that day and clung to the person they were at that moment. One part of you despised him. You hated that he'd taken advantage of your kindness- yet - at the same time, you were thankful that now you knew what to look out for, what manipulation looked like. You couldn't imagine how Lalo would react to meeting Dan after everything you told him about the guy. The picture of Lalo snapping your phone as though it were a breadstick he intended to share came to the forefront of your mind, and despite yourself, you found it funny to visualise him snapping Daniel in half like one. 

At 7:00 sharp, a fist rutting against your door pulled you from your train of thought to the mirror in your hallway. You quickly fixed your hair and reapplied your lipgloss, puckering the colour and adjusting your hair awkwardly with your fingers. There was another knock; by then, you'd peeked through the spy hole. There he stood, his hands by his sides, waiting. Even through the fish-eye lens of the peephole, Lalo Salamanca looked positively gorgeous.

Opening the door, you were greeted with his sizable grin and rich brown eyes that seared through your own. "Buenas noches, mi amor." you step out, keys in hand. "You look…" Lalo stopped momentarily, stepping back to get a full view of you in the short black dress. He'd thought he felt his throat dry as he racked his gaze across your form, eyes lingering on your legs and chest. Your cheeks grew hotter, and your palms clammy as your date complimented you again in Spanish. "You're not looking too bad yourself, Lalo." you glanced down at his shoes; He wasn't wearing the blue loafers, the ones you had developed a strange adoration for over the last few weeks of knowing him.   

"Gracias mi amor," he said, cupping a hand to your waist, ushering you out with him once you had successfully locked the front door. "Are you feeling hungry?" he asked, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head- it felt as though you had been lovers for years. "Starving, what about you?" 

Lalo nodded yes as he walked you down toward the car. "didn't have lunch? Dios mio, now we can't have that! not my girl" he brushes his thumb against your cheek, and you giggle, skin warm and hands cold. The way he looks at you once you reach the passenger side makes you wonder whether you're actually experiencing something real. The warmth and the stirring from within your stomach put you in a daze- as if you had been dreaming for hours. Like you'd dreamed this relationship up from start to finish. 

"You're trying to fatten me up, Salamanca?" 

He ushers you inside when you both reach the car, holding an arm out as you lower yourself into the leather. "thank you, Lalo" Your smile is so earnest that for a split second, he forgets where he is and can only really pay attention to that. This woman, the one that had been here with his Tio the entire time, he shouldn't trust her- for all it's worth, this person could be a trap- but when he rounds his way to the driver's side, Lalo feels as though he has known her and been in this situation before. 

"no problem, princesa" princesa. There it is again. That warmth as Lalo turns the key to the ignition and the car purrs to life from beneath your seat. Escaping the breeze is what'd done it, surely.

Lalo turns on some quiet music, and the ride is peaceful for the most part. Someone cuts their car in front of you without using their indicators, and you hear Lalo call the guy an idiot in Spanish beneath his breath. The radio droning is enough to counterbalance his swearing. You chuckle and glance out onto the street as you turn a corner. By now, you're further into the central city- and you drive past a few fancy-looking restaurants before Lalo slows and pulls up in front of a flowery-looking Italian restaurant; you don’t have to look at the sign above the door to know that you’re at Ginos. 

“Ai, amorcito, have you been here before?” you look up at Lalo, who moves his hand off the gear stick onto your thigh. You shake your head and take your lip between your teeth. His hair looks like he hadn’t put as much gel in it today, and you abruptly have the urge to reach up and run your fingers through the fluffy white streak at the front. “No, I haven’t; I’ve got a few friends that have been here before. Apparently, the food is really good, a little expensive, but..” Lalo shushes you with a wave. “Only the best for my girl, hm?”. Unbuckling his seatbelt, Lalo opens the car door and walks to your side. The soft breeze catches your skin as the door opens, and Lalo stands before you with his hand outstretched. As your skin meets him, you’re pleasantly reminded of the Friday you spent together at the park. 

He’s closer now, and you can feel the muscles of his arms move as you both walk to the restaurant entrance- linking. You’re abruptly made aware of the cologne he’s wearing, a rich, wood-like musk that reminds you of a campfire. Fitting for a man like him. It’s masculine but not too masculine to be considered an assault on your nostrils. 

“Is it…weird to say that you smell really nice right now?”

He looks at you, and you’re about a pace away from the door. The ‘front of house’ spots you through the window and grabs two menus. “Not weird at all; if I thought you said weird things, cariño, you wouldn’t be here with me tonight, hm?” You shrug, and he chuckles, taking your shoulders in his hands. Your skin tingles, and the hairs stand on your arms as he does so. The warmth he radiates into your skin sears, and you swear that if you look, you’d see two perfectly shaped palms branded to your flesh... Lalo leans in, presses a kiss to your cheek and lingers there momentarily. “If it's any consolation, you smell great too. I could almost eat you up, hermosa.” 

Feeling bold, you grab one of his hands and press a soft kiss to the palm, “maybe later, hm?” He quirks a brow, and there’s a moment of shock, you think, behind his dark eyes.  “At least take me out for dinner first” Your words are soft on your tongue, and Lalo chuckles, pulling you into his side. His hold is strong, one you can’t let up but welcome nonetheless. 

You think the front of the house seems almost nervous, based on how he’s shuffling the menus and smiling so forced. Maybe if you worked at a restaurant, you’d feel similar. 

“Uh, the table should be under Santiago, 8 o’clock. I called the other night?” 

The man stammers, then laughs and slicks back his hair, ushering you into the main dining area. The room's lighting is soft and mainly lit by candles in the centre of tables and chairs. It’s classy, and some vines tattoo the sandstone brick wall at the back of the restaurant to your right. They’re probably real, considering the restaurants here are so fancy and high-end. A few other people are scattered around near the bar and the leather booths by the entrance. “Lalo, it’s gorgeous. You didn’t have to go through all this effort, really.”

“I wanted to, princesa. You’ve been so kind to tío, and I respect that, but I do want to get to know you better.” 

You feel his hand squeeze a little, and you peer at him from beneath a veil of lashes as you place a hand on top of his. “You’re too kind, Lalo.” 

Lalo grins as the two of you follow the front of house further into the restaurant. The stranger stops in front of a secluded table beside a curved window that reaches the roof. Thick velvet curtains fall from the tops and pool at the bottom by the chairs. There are only two, and Lalo pulls out his seat for you before the manager can do so. 

“Thank you” 

He winks and then sits parallel to you, one hand left dormant on the red linen tablecloth. 

The front of house explained that your waiter would be there shortly, and Lalo dismissed the man with a nod. Only now, when the man returns the gesture and starts to walk away, do you remember that the table had been booked under the name ‘Santiago.’ 

“So,” you start, picking up an empty wine glass and inspecting its rim with your finger “Santiago… Is that you or your friend?” Lalo’s smiling when you ask that; he looks so handsome beneath the warm lighting that you can feel your question leaving your head. 

“Nobody important, I’ll tell you later… There are lots of… things to catch up on since tío’s stroke.” 

You think you see Lalo’s gaze falter, At the mention of his uncle, similarly to how it had on the day you first met him, when he’d seen his uncle In his state.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you touch his hand with yours, and your thumb grazes his knuckles. He’s still hot to the touch. “I understand; sorry, I didn’t mean to sound rude.” 

Lalo grins, huffing and shaking off your ‘sorry’ lightheartedly- as though not to hurt your feelings. “You’re too sweet, amor. There’s nothing to be sorry for. You asked a reasonable question hm?” 

The reassurance from the older man has the sudden ping of worry in your gut settle to a low simmer, and rightfully so, as before you can even get your words out, the waiter comes to your side with menus in hand.

“Buonasera, signore and Signorina, I’m Leo, and I’ll be your waiter for the night. Can I start you off with some drinks?” 

Lalo sits for a moment, eyes scanning across the drinks menu. “What wine do you like to drink?”

“Is it… bad to be boring and say red?” You smile awkwardly, though somehow he still looks at you with his half-lidded round eyes and chuckles, full of love. 

“Not boring at all, querida; we’ll go for the 1972 red wine, the Italian one?” Lalo looks up at the waiter, Leo, who swallows and nods, prying the drinks menus from where they lay on the table. 

“Excellent choice, signore; I’ll be right back with your wine.” 

You try to comprehend how old 1972 wine is. You hadn’t even been born when that wine was produced, and you were pretty bemused by the fact that Lalo would spoil you in such a way. He must actually be some sort of big-shot lawyer down in Mexico. 

“Wow, 30-year-old wine… that sounds expensive. Are you sure you don’t mind spending all this? I mean- I don’t mind putting something toward the cost. “

“Querida, I asked you out tonight. Don’t worry about anything, okay? You and your little worries,” he almost coos. If he weren’t so charming, you’d be offended.

“I suppose” 

There’s a comfortable silence between you, where you spend time folding the napkin on the table into a small square. Lalo huffs and reaches out to take hold of your hand, and he does so gently. The rough pads of his fingers graze your soft skin, and you glance up-, locking your eyes with his. 

“Are you okay? You seem nervous, princesa”

“I’m alright, I just… haven’t been on a date for a while, and I really don’t wanna ruin things between us, you know?” 

He nods, and you smile, the thought that he’d find your silence strange slipping your mind completely. You hadn’t been quiet the first time you met, maybe a little reserved and a bit tired, but other than that, you’d been okay. Some of you felt guilty for being sat here with such an attractive man, who was admittedly a little old for you and better suited to more mature, classy women like your mother. 

“You couldn’t ruin things between us, believe me,” Lalo pauses as the waiter pours both of your drinks. He takes the glass in his right hand whilst his left is still on yours, and you almost melt when he gives it a reassuring squeeze and let's go. 

You take a sip of your drink, savouring the strong fragrance of the wine. It warms your throat, and you sigh. 

“You’re doing perfectly anyway” Deep down, Lalo knew why you were nervous. He had an inkling from the moment you’d opened the door that it’d be a bit daunting for you- yet, he continued to bring you out with him for a meal. 

“You’re too sweet, Lalo, really. I think I might need to go to the dentist after this” 

The man before her grinned and chuckled at her joke, rolling his dark eyes as he drank the wine. 

“Yeah yeah, you’re not complaining.” 

---

By 9, you had shared a starter, a garlic bread that was probably the best thing you’d ever tasted. The butter seeped into your mouth, and the flavours danced on your tongue. Lalo made a joke about needing a mint before kissing you later, and you flushed at the thought, refuting that you wouldn’t mind him kissing you regardless. Perhaps the wine or good company was getting to your head, but he enjoyed your boldness. Quite evidently, by the smile on his face as you leaned against your palm, looking at him with your half-lidded eyes. 

For the main, you had fancy bolognese, and he had lasagne. You both ended up trying each others. Lalo leaned forward in his seat, holding his fork out - hand underneath just in case anything fell - and fed you with the fork. It was a bizarrely intimate moment, yet you felt as though the restaurant's quiet, with its music filling the air, was enough to make you not worry about who was watching. 

“God, I think I’m stuffed after that…” you placed your hands on your stomach, which looked a little bigger from all the food you’d eaten over the last hour and a half. Lalo chuckled and finished off the glass he was nursing; he didn’t seem tipsy, despite having had more glasses than you. “So you don’t want dessert?” 

“Mmmhm, maybe not a full one. Do you wanna share something?”

“You’re all for sharing today, aren’t you?” 

Your cheeks warm up again, and you hope he doesn’t notice in the restaurant's dim lighting. “Yeah, well, it’s just… it’s nice; I like sharing things with you.”

Lalo leans back in his seat, brows raised as you keep eye contact with him. You look down at his hand, which lies bare on the tablecloth that’s remained clean throughout your meal. 

Without thinking, you reach forward again and intertwine your fingers. He looks down at your hands momentarily as if to gather his thoughts. You like the comfortable silence between you both, it’s relaxing, yet the sound of the light Italian music in the background somehow manages to subdue any awkward tension that might have been there, to begin with. 

“I mean, honestly, I don’t know if I could eat any more, but I don’t want-“ you hesitate, and Lalo chuckles at your nerves. “I don’t want to be alone tonight. Will you stay with me?” 

“Of course” 

He doesn’t even have to think before he replies with those simple words. And he does it whilst smoothing his thumb across your knuckle. The waiter patiently stands a few paces away, hands clenched tight behind his back. The stranger waits a moment before intruding on your conversation. 

“So, how about dessert then?” He inquired, brows tucked inwards slightly as though a manager had just scolded him. 

“Actually, we’ll just take the bill and the wine to go if that's alright.” Of course, it was alright. Even if it wasn’t, Lalo would’ve probably just taken it anyway and walked out with you tucked beneath his arm, snuggled into his side for warmth. 

“No problem, monsieur.”

The waiter was quick with the bill, as though he had been preemptively waiting for Lalo to ask for it between each order and sarcastic comment. You didn’t really mind how he treated the staff. He seemed polite enough and respectful. There wasn’t much need to make small talk with them, though. Your mother had a habit of doing that. Whenever you went out for a meal as a child, she’d spend about 75% chatting with the waiters about their job and the food. 

You much preferred Lalo’s curt nature. If he began to go into a story about shopping or the desserts they served like your mom did, you’d get up and walk out through the doors and never look back. Not only was it embarrassing, but it often left you both needing some conversation starters. Weirdly enough. 

---

When you step into Lalo’s car again, the air is heavier, and the sounds are louder outside the glass windows. You can feel each crease of the leather beneath your skin and between your black dress. Lalo slides beside you into the driver's seat and presses a hand to your thigh. It takes a moment to realise it was there, but when you do, you smile at him and lean more in his direction. 

He looks so handsome. You’re convinced that that’s the only word you can think of to describe him externally. He encapsulates everything you need, everything you look for in a person. Even now, with his hair soft against his forehead, charmingly unkempt, you could sketch his image into your mind forever. 

“Thank you again for tonight. It was honestly the best date I’ve ever been on.”

Lalo draws lines into your skin with his thumb; he hasn’t started the car yet, though you hardly notice. “It’s my pleasure; you deserve it. Even before I knew how much of a caring, loving person you were, I knew I had to take you out, find a way to get you to like me.” 

You laugh, and it’s light against your throat, and Lalo stops stroking for a second as you do. He cocks his head to the left, like a puppy or lost child. 

“There’s not much to dislike about you, Lalo. I can’t imagine not liking you.” You again place both hands on his, like you had on the table in the restaurant. He’s so warm, and the feeling lingers against your palm. He’s managed to brand you without even realising it. 

“You’d be surprised. Though I appreciate the gesture,” the older man shrugs and returns his attention to the car's ignition. The engine thunders to life, a low thrum vibrating as he drives back to your home. 

The trip is again relatively silent, though you do move to turn up the radio- filling the car with upbeat Latin music, which you'd come to associate with Lalo’s vibrant personality.  Lalo uses your thigh as a makeshift finger drum when tapping along to the beat. It's cute, and you find his humming quite adorable. You think you hear him sing a soft, quiet tune to himself that sounds vaguely similar to the song on the radio. 

Lalo makes a note to check on you every now and again in the corner of his eye, and whenever he does, he finds you sitting, tapping your feet along to the quiet buzz. It’s strange, and he concludes that you’re perhaps more of a dancer than a singer. 

[scarletsaphire]

Phantom is hit. Bad. Really, really bad, and he can hear someone coming and it must be Maddie Fenton, here to make good on her promises to rip him molecule from molecule.

He likes the Fenton it actually is much, much more.

---

Shiptember Oblivious x Obvious Pining This one is getting another chapter I prommy I have plans. Thanks to hannahmander for helping me come up with a title!

Phantom scrambled back further into the alleyway he'd landed in, one hand propelling him backwards through the garbage and refuse left there, the other covering the rapidly bleeding hole in his side. He hadn't expected his day to go like this; everything had started so normal. Floating around Amity Park, checking in on the ghosts who still "lived" there, just hanging out and keeping out of trouble. Skulker's appearance wasn't ideal, but it was normal, expected even. It wasn't quite a friendly fight; any fights in Amity had Phantom at least somewhat annoyed, but it wasn't exactly hostile either, at least not by ghost standards. It had been easy. Simple.

The new weapon the Fenton's were using? Significantly less simple. Maybe if Phantom hadn't been distracted by Skulker, he would've gotten away unscathed. Maybe if he hadn't been favoring his left side because of a fight only a few days ago. Maybe if he didn't spend so many hours hovering just beyond the sensors of Fentonworks, hoping to see more of their cute son, they wouldn't have been able to get such a clean copy of his ecto-signature . But maybe's didn't change the fact that their new, self tracking weapon packed quite a punch, and wasn't even deterred by Jack Fenton's horrible aim.

If the weird glowing blue part that was stuck into his side was any indication, it meant that they were tracking him too. Phantom could have figured that out without the light; he'd been on the run, phasing through buildings, the ground, everything he could, and he could still hear the GAV's distinctive tire squealing chasing after him.

Whatever the ghostly equivalent of adrenaline was ran out five minutes ago. He'd kept flying for those five minutes, before the pain in his side got too strong, his stubbornness only able to carry him so far. He'd continued on foot for as long as he could. It wasn't long, barely a few more seconds. Just enough to get into this alley. Now his side was screaming, burning in pain, and his vision was blurry and his nose was filled with the acrid smell of trash and he couldn't move, but he could still hear the pounding of footsteps running towards him. Phantom closed his eyes. He didn't want his last moments in this or any world to be staring down the barrel of a gun.

The footsteps grew closer. There was only one set, and they were light. Graceful. Maddie, then. Phantom must not warrant both of them. She got closer, moving slower now that she wasn't chasing after him. He could hear the faint pinging of some kind of device. Maybe the tracker? Either way, it was loud, maybe louder than it should've been. Was it because of a headache? It might've been. Phantom had lost a lot of ectoplasm. It'd probably be weirder if he didn't have some kind of headache.

"Oh shit." That wasn't Maddie's voice. That wasn't even a girl's voice. So who...? "Phantom, can you hear me? I'm going to need to touch you, so if you could uh. Not send an ectoblast at my face, I'd appreciate it."

Phantom opened his eyes just a crack. Everything was still blurry, and he only caught a glimpse of dark, black hair before they fell closed again. A warm hand wrapped around his own, still pressed against the bleeding wound. His hand was pried away. Phantom tried to swallow down the whine as the wound was revealed to the air, but it escaped his throat anyway.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," the voice said. It was familiar, but Phantom just couldn't place it... "I need to take off the tracker before they find you, and then I need to see if I can patch this up." The person paused for a moment before continuing. "Well, this will probably hurt, but its to help you. I promise."

Their warm fingers ended up digging into his side, and Phantom yelped, trying to curl up, get away from the pain. Instead, Phantom ended up falling into the chest of whoever it was, their other hand supporting Phantom's shoulder. "Hey, it's ok, it's all gonna be ok, I promise just..." The hand moved down Phantom's shoulder, tracing to his other hand, sliding between his fingers. "If you need to, squeeze my hand, ok? Maybe not with the ghost strength, but it might help."

Phantom managed to nod into the person's shoulder. He wasn't planning on squeezing this person's hand at all, but it was nice. Soft. Warm. The rest of this person was also soft and warm. And smelled good. Much better than the garbage. Phantom turned his nose into the person's neck and inhaled. Whoever this was was nice. Much better to focus on the nice than the pain pulsing in his side, his very essence pooling underneath him.

Yes, much better to focus on the person than their hand digging around his innards, tugging at parts of Phantom he'd never imagined even being possible to be tugged at. Their hair was soft against Phantom's cheek, but slightly damp. Had they been running? Why? Phantom thought he had taken care of the threats to humans. The only threat remaining should be to Phantom himself, and that wasn't any reason to run.

There was the sound of crunching from next to Phantom. "The tracker's gone. I'm going to try and get you good to fly, or at least walk. Filtered ectoplasm should do the trick, right?"

Phantom tried to nod into their neck, but the darkness behind his eyes began to swim.

"Ok, I'm just going to..." there was the sound of a zipper, and the clinking of glass. "This might hurt a bit."

It was a syringe, Phantom realized, as the needle went into his arm. The pinching feeling was drowned out by the pain in his side, and then that was overrun by a sense of electricity running through his veins, of pure, unadulterated power, and his previous statement of not squeezing this person's hand went out the window. Phantom's entire body tightened almost against his will. The breath of a hiss hit the side of Phantom's face, and he wrenched his hand away. He could still feel the bones in the human's hand, so fragile, they would be so easy to break, barely even a thought, and after this person had tried to save him? How could Phantom do something like this? He was supposed to be better, he was supposed to-

The hand he'd just been holding found its way to his back, rubbing gentle circles. "It's ok, it's ok. I think. I don't know if it was supposed to hurt that much, but I think that's a normal response? I hope it was anyway."

The sound of tires squealing a few streets away cut through the comforting voice, and the hand stilled on Phantom's back. "Shit. I was hoping we'd have at least a little more time... um... ok. So, I don't think you're in walking condition yet, but we really need to get moving. Here's hoping that ghosts aren't heavy." 

The hand on Phantom's back wrapped around his chest, tucked under his arms. The other hand moved to Phantom's knees, and now he was in the air, pressed against the person's chest again, with his head resting on their shoulder. Phantom still couldn't quite move, still tensed from the ecto injection, but his mind started to relax. Whoever this was really did smell nice.

"Well, thank you. I think?" 

Had he said that out loud? 

"Yes, yes you did." 

Oh. He didn't mean to. 

"It's ok, you're obviously not in your right mind." 

Yeah, he wasn't. He meant the smelling good thing though. He didn't want them to think he wasn't sincere. 

"I'll believe you that I smell good. I promise." 

Good. That's good.

Slowly, Phantom was able to untense his hands, loosening them from the white knuckled fists that they had been in, and then his arms, and bit by bit, the rest of his body. The pain in his side was still there, but it wasn't quite as pressing. He wouldn't necessarily say he's had worse, but it was manageable, at the very least. 

With the energy more or less gone, and the pain manageable, Phantom became aware of his situation. He was being carried by a stranger who had saved his afterlife. Someone who had access to pure, filtered ectoplasm and had the knowledge to use it. That probably wasn't good. The only humans Phantom knew who had access to that kind of thing were ghost hunters, and ghost hunters weren't about to do...everything this person had done.

For the first time, Phantom peeled his eyes open and saw who had saved him. It was an angle he'd never seen it from, seeing as he was propped against his shoulder, but he'd spent far longer than he cared to admit staring at it. He'd recognize Daniel Fenton's face anywhere. It was, after all, the first face he saw out of the Ghost Zone.

This was better than being kidnapped by the Fenton's, or worse, the Guys In White, but not by much! It was just bad for entirely different reasons. Reasons that were entirely Phantom's fault, ones that he should have gotten over ages ago, but he hadn't, and now he was being carried by Danny Fenton . Maybe it was a good thing he'd lost so much ectoplasm; he didn't have enough to blush bright green like he knew he would be.  And oh, crap, he was leaking ectoplasm all over Danny's clothes and the floor and everything, and had he told Danny he smelled good?

Phantom straightened as much as he could, trying to get out of Danny's grasp, but all he managed to do was wiggle slightly before the pain in his side made it a pointless endeavor. Danny glanced down at him, and Phantom could see the worry etched into his face. "Is the way I'm carrying you hurting? I can try to hold you some other way, you're pretty light. I could probably manage it. I don't know what other ways I could try, but I'll give it my best shot."

"Um, no. This is uh. Fine," Phantom said. He was stumbling over his words. Hopefully, Danny thought it was still entirely because of the ectoplasm loss. 

"If you say so," Danny said. "Just, let me know if it hurts, ok? Or, I suppose it hasn't stopped hurting, but if it hurts more, or in a way that I can stop."

"I will," Phantom said. Part of him patted himself on the back for making it through the sentence without stuttering. The rest of him wished he had stayed in the alleyway to End. It would've been less embarrassing than this. "Where are you uh, taking me?"

Danny stopped mid step. "That. Is a great question! I was going to just take you straight to Fentonworks, so you could go through the portal, but then we might run into my parents and I definitely won't be able to lie my way around that. I can't get anywhere too far, I can't exactly parade you around Amity, and even if I could, I don't think I could carry you for that long anyway... Maybe Sam's house? I think I can get there, and no one actually hangs around there. It's just a whole bunch of cameras."

"Unless they're designed to record ghosts, they won't work with me in the frame," Phantom said. 

Danny sighed and relief, and shot Phantom a small smile that made his core jump in his chest. "That's good. Sam's it is!" Danny started walking in a different direction than he had been originally. "You probably don't know who Sam is, huh? Or me, for that matter." He laughed.

"I know who you are, Danny."

Phantom wished he could take the words back as soon as he said them. Danny opened his mouth in shock, and maybe fear, or disgust, or who knows what else. He'd learned that a ghost had basically been stalking him for who knows how long, and after he'd gone out of his way to save Phantom. Of course he'd be horrified!

"Oh, yea, I guess you've probably seen me around my parents, huh?" 

That was a much more reasonable conclusion, and Phantom pounced on the excuse. "It would be hard to miss you." He was telling the truth. There had been at least a few times Phantom had taken a hit he shouldn't have because Danny had accompanied his parents. "Why are you helping me anyway? There's no way the Fenton's know about this."

Danny was flushed red, and Phantom could almost picture him rubbing the back of his neck like he always did when he was worried. "I've been helping you for a while now. Just not as... directly?"

Phantom furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"I've been uh. Sabotaging their ghost hunting gear in secret basically since the portal opened?" 

Now it was Phantom's turn to be shocked. "You- what?"

"They aren't bad inventors, you know? Once I realized that ghosts were, you know, real and all that, and that they were wrong about the whole 'unfeeling entities of evil' or whatever, well. I couldn't just sit off to the side and do nothing," Danny said. He was distinctively not looking at Phantom. "I couldn't do anything as flashy as you do, but I thought, maybe I could help try and take a threat off the board."

"You decided to help me over your parents?"

"It's obvious that you're trying to help people and, as much as I do love my parents, they aren't exactly the most...helpful of people. They want to be, they just get some serious tunnel vision." 

Phantom stared up at Danny, wide eyed and slack jawed, his core doing jumping jacks in his chest. He'd been aware of his crush on Danny for ages now, and had come to accept it as a silly something he could entertain sometimes. A way to kill time. But it had never been anything serious; Danny was the son of a ghost hunter, likely with their views and definitely with their tech. Phantom had understood that it was more likely that Phantom suddenly get resurrected through dark magic than for his crush to actually go somewhere. But now, still being carried by Danny bridal style down the dark streets of Amity Park, hearing about how Danny had actually been helping him for just as long? Phantom allowed himself to hope, just a little.

Speaking of being carried... "You can put me down now. I should be able to walk," Phantom said.

"Are you sure? It's not too much further, and I don't want you to make your side any worse than it already is," Danny said, not slowing down. "I don't mind. You're really light. Are you always this light?"

"I uh. Maybe? I don't really weigh myself," Phantom said.

"Yea, I guess weight doesn't mean much when you can just fly," Danny said with a laugh. "Do you think that the reason you're so light is because ectoplasm doesn't weigh much, or because gravity doesn't effect you as strongly? Or does gravity not effect ectoplasm as strongly, and that's why its so light?"

Phantom blinked. "I have absolutely no idea."

Danny's face turned red. "Oh. Right. I guess its not all that important to you. Sorry about rambling." 

"You don't need to apologize!" Phantom said quickly. "I don't mind listening, and I can try and answer other questions you have? I just don't know anything about all of that."

If Phantom wasn't quite literally pressed up against Danny's chest, he wouldn't have noticed the sigh of relief he let out. "I'll try to not bombard you with them. Especially when you're. You know. Bleeding out."

"Oh. Right. Forgot about that," Phantom laughed, but cut himself off with a wince. 

"How do you forget that you have a hole in your side?" Danny asked. 

"It happens more often than you would think," Phantom said, trying to force a joking tone into his voice. Based on the tightening of Danny's lips, it didn't work. "The ectoplasm you gave me helped too. And you're questions are good at distracting me."

"Then maybe I should ask you more questions," Danny said, and Phantom swore that there was a teasing tone in his voice. He'd probably imagined it. 

"I'll try my best to answer them."

"Ok, so, what's your favorite food? Do ghosts even eat?"

Phantom was quiet a moment. "That's the question you want to ask?" he said after a minute.

"I mean, yea, why not?" Danny said.

"The few times I've been interviewed by humans, they ask all about why I help Amity, or about how I died, or other questions like that. I assumed you'd be curious about those things as well."

"I mean, I am," Danny replied. "But it seems kind of, I don't know, rude to ask those? It'd be like if I bumped into someone on the street and started quizzing them about their life goals and lowest points and all that."

"You'd be correct about that. It's incredibly rude to ask about most of those things."

"So, favorite food?"

Phantom thought for a moment. "I don't remember ever having human food," he eventually said. "Ghosts can eat, though we don't need to. I know of a few that quite enjoy eating. I've just never had the opportunity to."

Danny gasped. "You've never eaten anything?" At Phantom's head shake, Danny continued. "Oh, we are fixing that right now."

"It may need to wait for my stomach to be enclosed again," Phantom pointed out.

"We are fixing that as soon as you are healed," Danny amended. "My treat."

Phantom swallowed hard. He wasn't exactly an expert in relationships. He hadn't had one after he died, and he didn't remember much of anything from his life, but he did know some things. Just enough to recognize that whatever it was that Danny was proposing sounded a whole lot like a date. Should he say something about it? What if he was wrong, and he scared Danny off some how? Or-

"Here we are!" Danny said, walking up the stairs to the door of a large house. He readjusted Phantom in his arms just enough to knock on the door. 

Before Phantom could say anything, or try and get out of Danny's arms, the door swung open, revealing a rather grumpy looking Sam Manson. Or maybe that was just her normal expression. Either way, it changed quickly to one of shock, than determination, as she took a look at her best friend carrying Phantom. 

"You are so lucky my parents are away on some fancy rich person trip," she said, holding the door open for Danny to walk inside. "Otherwise we would all be in so much hot water."

"Probably!" Danny said, pushing his way into the house. "Sam, Phantom. Phantom, Sam. Now, do you have anywhere I can put him down? He has a hole in his side that needs tending to."

"Yea, I can see that," Sam said. "Follow me. And maybe you can explain what the fuck I missed on the way."

[xiaoluclair]

hiii x, 16 or 23 + chalex 🥹

helloo, my love! righto, righto--

16. lazily + 23. in relief // cl16.aa23 // G

Charles had not meant to set the sink on fire. Truthfully, he was not even sure how it had happened. He was just there, an innocent bystander watching the Snapchat notifications light up his phone on the countertop, and then.

Well.

"This is what you get," Max was preaching over the blare of the fire alarm, "when you fraternize with the British."

Fraternize, thought Charles. Sure. Like sharing Snapchat handles was fraternizing. He slipped on a step and cursed many things. Someone caught him by the forearm and George said, "Careful there, mate." And if George was here then.

Charles glanced around as they hit the ground floor. Out on the grass, it was too dark to see much. Tall people blocked out other tall people blocked out shorter people. It was sort of tragic, really. It was also freezing.

"Danny," someone yelled from a window in Klamidia, "what's going on?"

"No idea," Daniel called back. He turned to Max. "What is going on?"

"No idea," Max parroted. Charles should probably be grateful for that one. Max sent him a look that suggested it, heavily.

The fire department rolled up around a minute later, to a filled field of grass and a slightly orange glow coming from the fourth floor of Gonuria. "Ah shit," said Pierre. "I left my laptop unlocked."

"Why is that a problem?" asked Liam.

"Did all your flatmates get out?" Charles suddenly asked, before Pierre had to try and fumble his way out of legally illegal things.

Liam nodded. "Yeah. You can see them over there, see. Alex was out though, so he'll get back to a lovely surprise."

Charles had not known that. It was hard to tell where Alex was through his Snaps. Usually they included some part of his face screwed up in an odd expression, and an unassuming backdrop. The ceiling or the sky, usually. Sometimes his red comforter.

Oscar appeared next to them. "Is everyone okay?"

"Yeah," said Liam. "Lando's fine."

Oscar colored a little, like he didn't cross from his own, perfectly intact building at 3 in the morning, to see if his crush was okay. "That's not what I."

"Sure." Liam grinned. Charles did too, but he was also tired. That, and he'd been realizing for the past two minutes that he had left his phone in the kitchen currently on fire. "He's over there, by the way. Want me to call him over?"

"Nah, just leave him-"

"Lando!"

"Oh my God, Liam-"

Charles gathered himself to the stone partition at the edge of the grass, and found a space not taken up by other students to huddle against. Pierre followed, shoeing at the mud with his heel. Last time they'd had a fire, it had been two hours before they'd been allowed back inside. Charles was not letting his feet take that chance, even if it meant soggy ass. He'd take it.

At some point, he must've fallen asleep. Or, been teasing the edge of it for at least a good half hour, because everything was murmur when he came to. And he came to, because-

"Sorry," said Alex, blurry between the crack of Charles's eyelids. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

Charles felt his lips move like two swollen, sleepy bumblebees. "Wasn't asleep."

Alex laughed, and it sounded a little like his usual laugh, but not like it at all. Something in Charles lit up regardless. "Sure, mate."

Charles could feel himself frown slightly. He rubbed his eyes. Failed to stifle a yawn. "You okay?"

Maybe Alex swallowed. "Yeah," he said, and his arm brushed Charles's through layers of zip-up hoodies. "Just, uh. Is your phone dead?"

"Hm? Oh, I left it in the apartment, I think." Tried to think, anyway. It felt like trying to win a tug of war against a battalion of roided elephants. "Yeah, on the counter." Alex was quite close, he thought. His hair looked ten shades in the shadows, and Charles could imagine the uneven washout of red and blond and middleground-pink. "Why?"

"George texted me about the fire," said Alex. "You never opened my snap, and I guess my mind." He broke. "Got away from me a little."

Charles felt himself smile, and Alex's disappeared behind a blink that lasted maybe three to five business years. He was not sleeping. He was saying, "I'm okay."

Listening to Alex reply, "Yeah." He sounded more like himself. Relieved too, maybe. "You are. You should also sleep, you're practically unconscious on my arm here."

"Not," Charles might have said.

"Jesus, you're cute," Alex might have replied.

And then. It got a little hazy here. Someone nearby said something about plumbing. Charles might have said something about plumbing. Alex, he was pretty sure, laughed. The inside of Charles's chest, whatever that was between his ribs, turned an unethical viscosity. Then he turned, a little, and his mouth may have touched, just lightly, the underside of Alex's face.

Or, it would have done. Hypothetically. If Alex had not turned at the same time and. Boom. boom, even - lowercase. Nothing much happened. Other than, "Next time," said Alex, very quietly, "you decide to set something on fire, try and keep your phone on you." Then he nudged against Charles's sleepy mouth again, the cold tips of their noses together. Charles wondered - suddenly, worryingly warm - if firemen could hose down the inside of a body. He'd ask. Later.

[trickster-archangel]

Random thoughts about Hawaii Five-0 rewatch: part 2/?

Still trying to make sense, in sparse order, of some things I noticed and that made me question the mental stability of whoever decided determined plot points...

Thought #3: missed chance to be a fucking adult, evolved human being and not a caveman about divorced couples, or: if you had started with the intention of showing how Danny and Rachel could rebuild affection and understanding, why fucking slaughter her character that way?!?!

At the end of s1, I suppose it's in the Shorelines extra? anyway, the authors talk extensively about how it was their endgame since the pilot to portray the subtle change and the evolution of the relationship between Danny and Rachel, meaning: they wanted to show how two people, who once loved each other enough to decide to share a lifetime together, had fallen apart and started hating each other just as much because that's what happens in life, but in the end, slowly, thanks to life's twists and turns, they managed to find back the chemistry, the trust, the support, the love they had lost, creating a new kind of bond.

~~~~~~follows under the cut~~~~~~

Which....cool, really. It's fantastic. I obviously don't like the idea of no-mcdanno, but in a way I can really appreciate the intention of portraying something clearly fictional but way better, healthier and more hopeful than what happens in reality like, 70% of the times. My parents would immediately slaughter each other even after more than 30 years after the divorce. I have friends and ex colleagues who are just the same and cannot even be decent enough not to shit over each other in front of their children, making them part of their feud. In Italy, every three days a woman is murdered by her husband, ex husband, fiancee, partner, ex partner. The other 30% is barely civil enough to pretend NOT TO want to murder the other ex spouse.

So, cool. Good intention, I appreciated it, even if I don't agree with Danny sleeping with his ex wife behind her rightful husband's back.

Then 2x01 happened and ok, everything between them fell apart. Probably Danny didn't really believe the baby was Stan's, but it didn't matter because in the end he trusted Rachel and that was enough. He helped her deliver Charlie. He was a good friend. They could've kept this storyline, show how ex spouses can become civil and affectionate again, share a different love, explore the nuances of an extended family. Everything could've been normal and healthy.

So what the fuck happened with the whole "Stan wants to move to Vegas" and then "Rachel always knew Charlie was Danny's but had decided to keep him in the dark because she wanted to decide for everyone"?!?

Ready? The answer comes, plain and simple, in the following seasons' Shorelines commentaries.

They wanted to put Danny through an emotional grinder and imagine how he'd react, but most of all, they wanted to throw a curveball (multiple curveballs including Steve's storyline) at the audience, to hook them, shock them, and make sure they'd be unable not to be there for the next season to see what will happen.

That's it. That's the great mastermind masterplan.

Cheap shocking for the sake of audience ratings.

Ok, I get that after all the mess Rachel did, she probably didn't get much of a saying in Stan's relocation purpose...even if she could've been the friend Danny had been, and left Grace with him, moving only with Charlie and maybe getting Grace for school breaks. Anyway, that's a normal and believable kind of shock/curveball.

But the whole "Charlie’s paternity clusterfuck"?? I mean, it's not even realistically believable! In my 44 years, I've witnessed THIS EXACT SITUATION TWICE!! And in both cases, first thing the cheated husband did, apart from asking immediately for a divorce, was asking for a paternity test! That's what normal, real people do, if they KNOW their wife had an affair and suspiciously GETS PREGNANT immediately after!!

Unless you're a complete idiot who has no experience whatsoever of how the real world works, there's only one explanation for this mess: that you wanted us to imply that Rachel didn't even tell Stan about the cheating, that she simply told him, generically, that their marriage wasn't working anymore and she wanted to go back home, and made him believe that the baby had been conceived during their last-effort trip before Danny was poisoned....right after she'd made sure she'd get pregnant with Danny's kid to trap him with guilt AND need, and then lied to both men. FOR YEARS.

I call this clusterfuck one name only: character's assassination.

There were so many ways, even after s2 and s3 events had happened, they could've brought that shocking curveball forward, because the path they chose only managed to depict Rachel as a mean, cheating, liar bitch who managed to play both men. It's horrible, and chauvinist, and toxic.

She could've been genuinely sure Charlie was Stan's, and only with the disease outbreak and the test both Rachel and Stan had learnt about the truth. Stan could've kicked her out and Danny could've swept in like a real hero to help a friend who once was his love, or maybe they could've explored the difficulties of rebuilding a family.

More simply, Charlie could've been genuinely Stan's but Stan could've given her an ultimatum about Vegas and they could've divorced because Rachel couldn't bear the situation anymore, and made Stan go through what Danny had suffered with the move to Hawai'i.

Charlie could've been Danny's, and she could've decided to come clean with both instead of the whole shared custody arc (this situation, of course, implies that they could've been so far-sighted to imagine a several-seasons arc for Danny and Rachel, instead of improvising for the sake of shock).

Stan could've died, and Danny could've found himself suddenly in charge not only of his daughter and ex wife, but also acting as a father figure for a little kid who wasn't his, but who was his daughter's little brother thus deserving love and protection, making his genuine amazing humanity shine.

These are just some things I'm coming up with, right now, while I'm working and not even plotting, and avoiding any hypothesis implying both Stan's and Rachel's timely death to allow Danny the troubling experience of being a single father of two kids, maybe suddenly discovering that Charlie is his.

There were so many interesting nuances they could've explored, to make sure that they could've followed their initial masterplan about rebuilding a human bond between Danny and Rachel, AND granted them enough shock and emotional distress to hook the audience to the following seasons. Kinda like what they did, more respectfully, with the reveal of Harry's paternity.

They simply chose the cheapest route: harpy, bitch, whore ex wife cheats on both husbands and ruins everyone's life.

Good job.

[reallydumbdannyphantomaus]

Reset

Valerie, Paulina, and Danny are stuck in a time loop as the end of the world looms. It goes about as well as you'd expect. (ao3) (p.s. if you read an earlier version of this already, this is a longer and more complete first chapter, tho the first section is almost entirely the same) also tagging @not-your-average-url since they specifically requested it

Loop 0

"Oh my god, Valerie, do you have to be so dramatic?" Paulina snapped her compact mirror closed, meeting Valerie's glare with her own, just as fierce. "Now we're both in trouble."

"Don't say shit about my dad, then," Valerie said, fingers clenching at her side, "and we won't have a problem."

"I didn't say anything that wasn't true."

"My dad baked you brownies every year for your birthday, and you called him a fat loser to my face. You should've expected to get punched."

Stuck between them outside Principal Ishiyama's office, Danny sighed. Sam and Tucker were right: he'd developed too much of a "hero" thing. Jumping in the middle of Valerie and Paulina's fight to break it up only got him sent to the office as well. He should've left well enough alone, but it was too late now.

"You and your dad's fall from grace isn't my fault. All I did was acknowledge it."

Danny groaned. It was the end of the school day. The last bell was about to ring. And here he was, trapped between two angry former crushes.

"Paulina, could you stop being an asshole for, like, five minutes?" he said, pinching the bridge of his nose where his headache pounded. He just wanted to go home and pass out. Between Skulker and his homework, he'd only gotten about an hour's worth of sleep last night.

Paulina scoffed. "Whatever, Fenton."

Valerie turned her glare on him. "I don't need you to fight my battles, Danny."

"I really just wish you wouldn't fight at al—"

A wisp of blue air escaped his mouth just as the world exploded in light and noise and pain.

Loop 1

Danny burst awake to his blaring alarm.

The world came into focus bit by bit, as the jackrabbit pace of his heart slowed to a normal pace. Danny could make out the glow-in-the-dark stars over his bed, faintly shining in the morning light.

“Danny, if you’re not ready in 15 minutes, you can take the bus to school! I’m not waiting!” Jazz yelled on the other side of his door. 

“Uh, okay!” he yelled back, trying to keep his voice from quivering. Was it… a dream? It all felt so real, so normal, even, right until the end…

The smell of burning bread wafted into his room. Mom burned her toast again. She burned it in his dream, too, but she burned it most days. That didn’t mean anything. Had Jazz yelled at him in the dream? He wasn’t sure. He’d been pretty sleep deprived so a lot of the day was pretty fuzzy.

He had the strangest sense of deja vu the whole day. When he got to school, Dash knocked into him in the hallway and sent him crashing into the locker. This happened most days. Less common was Sam shouting “Douche Baxter!” after him. She’d said that in the dream, too.

“New nickname?” he said.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess. I mean, it fits him well enough, right?”

“Y-Yeah. Yeah.”

Sam frowned. “Are you okay? He didn’t actually hurt you, did he?”

Danny waved her off. “Nah, Skulker gave me worse last night. Just some… weird deja vu.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Okay, well. If you change your mind…”

“You and Tuck will be the first to know, I promise.”

“Good.”

The rest of the day wasn’t any better. Dash stumbled over the same presentation on the industrial revolution he vaguely remembered sleeping through in his dream. The cafeteria served the same almost-crunchy tuna noodle casserole. Mikey slipped in the same puddle after one of the football players removed the CAUTION: WET FLOOR sign.

“I think I’m going crazy,” he said as Nathan helped to pick Mikey up off the floor.

“And this is news?” Tucker said. Sam elbowed him. “Ow.”

“What he means is: what makes you say that?”

“I just—I had this dream last night, and I think it’s… coming true?”

“Like a prophetic vision?”

“Something like that. Like, in my dream, Mikey slipped in the puddle just like that.”

“So?” Tucker said through a mouthful of his turkey sandwich. “Mikey falls all the time.”

“It’s not just that. It’s—I swear I heard you call Dash ‘Douche Baxter’ in the dream too. And I heard his presentation, too.”

Sam sat back in her seat, humming thoughtfully. “What else happened in the dream? If we are living your dream, then what happens next?”

“Ugh, I don’t know. I only remember bits and pieces. The next thing I remember for sure happening is Valerie and Paulina getting into a fight in seventh period.”

Tucker laughed. “Oh, I’m putting money on Valerie to win that fight. A hundred percent.”

“Okay, well how about this: if the fight happens, then you’ve got some weird prophetic vision going on. If it doesn’t, then it’s just a weird dream.”

“Works for me,” Tucker said around another mouthful.

“I guess,” Danny said. The ending of his dream played on a loop in his head. He was pretty sure they’d died there at the end.

He really hoped Valerie and Paulina didn’t fight in seventh period English.

The clock ticked interminably slow the rest of the day. Every sound made him jump. He turned his head at every movement. Every word spoken was checked against the catalog in his head of his half-remembered dream. He second-guessed everything that happened around him. Had Kwan sat down quite so heavily in his dream? Did Star ask that question? Yes, she definitely had. He remembered it. Right?

As the bell rang for seventh period, every muscle in his body ached with the strain of being held in tension for so long. In his dream, Valerie and Paulina had got up to fight almost immediately after the bell rang. Lancer hadn’t even gotten class started yet.

He eased himself into his seat, staring between Valerie and Paulina, both of whom seemed… set on ignoring each other. His eyes darted back and forth, but neither of them even looked at the other. Lancer moved to the front of the classroom and wrote The Scarlet Letter on the board and the two girls were both still staring at their desks.

Danny let out a sigh of relief. It was just a dream after all.

Lancer’s class passed in a blur. He pillowed his arms on his desk and let the teacher’s low drone lull him.

As he had almost passed out, he gasped as the cool mist of his ghost sense escaped him. He looked out the window to see something bright and green and burning race toward the classroom. He stood. Paulina screamed.

The world exploded again.

Loop 2

Danny burst awake to his blaring alarm.

—

Loop 0

Sometimes, Valerie couldn’t believe she was ever friends with Paulina Sanchez.

She wasn’t always this girl, was she? She wasn’t always someone who dragged everyone down to make sure that she was always on the top, right? At some point, the two of them were just normal, everyday friends.

Weren’t they?

Over Danny’s head, Valerie glared at Paulina, who was fixing her makeup. Whatever the past, the present reality was that Valerie was no longer Paulina’s friend, which apparently meant that she was now Paulina’s target.

She could handle it, though. She would never be favored by school administrators in a fight regardless of the context, so she had gotten excellent at not reacting.

Until Paulina brought her dad into it.

Valerie clenched her fist at the thought. Damon Gray had always been kind to Paulina. She’d even told Valerie once that he was more of a father to her than her own dad. He didn’t deserve the words that came out of Paulina’s mouth.

"Oh my god, Valerie, do you have to be so dramatic? Now we're both in trouble."

“Don’t say shit about my dad, then, and we won’t have a problem.”

Danny cringed between them. Poor guy, getting stuck in this mess. He really should’ve just let her go to town on Paulina rather than getting in the way.

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

“My dad baked you brownies every year for your birthday, and you called him a fat loser to my face. You should've expected to get punched.”

"You and your dad's fall from grace isn't my fault. All I did was acknowledge it."

"Paulina, could you stop being an asshole for, like, five minutes?" Danny finally spoke up, a heavy layer of exhaustion in his voice. Valerie had no idea why he insisted on staying up so late every night, but it clearly took its toll on him. She was pretty sure she’d seen him dozing in each of the three classes they shared.

Still, she didn’t need his help with Paulina. It was her own problem.

"I don't need you to fight my battles, Danny."

"I really just wish you wouldn't fight at al—"

Danny gasped mid-sentence, and the world erupted.

Loop 1

Valerie jolted awake.

Cold sweat stuck the old Humpty Dumpty t-shirt she slept in to her back. Each breath came out as a stuttering gasp. She pounded her chest with her fist, desperate to get some control over her breathing.

A knock on her door. Her father’s exhausted voice. “Val, I’m heading to bed. Have a good day at school, sweetheart. I’ll see you for dinner? My shift starts at 8, can you be home in time?”

Valerie took a deep breath. Then another.

“Val?”

“Yeah!” she said, keeping her voice more-or-less stable. “Yeah I can—I can make it.”

“Good. Good morning!” he said with a chuckle. It was her dad’s new favorite joke: now that he worked the night shift and went to bed in the morning, he said “good morning” the same way most people said “good night”.

She heard the soft click of his door closing and let out another halting breath. It was 7:15 AM. School started in an hour. Last she remembered, school had blown up.

She got ready in a haze, showering, getting dressed, eating. She packed up her homework that she’d done two nights ago (last night? Was that whole day a dream? A vision?) and changed into her Red Huntress armor. Elmerton was a ways out of Amity Park proper and it had its own high school. Dad, though, had taken one look inside it and its broken lockers and moldy ceilings and marched right back out.

So she still went to Casper High, despite the commute. Besides, her dad had said, he didn’t want her to leave all her friends.

(She hadn’t yet figured out how to tell him that only Star would still talk to her, that Paulina and Kwan and Dash had dropped her like a sack of potatoes at the first sign of trouble. Kwan had come up to her and apologized two months ago, but she wasn’t ready to forgive so easily. She held grudges like it was going out of style. Ask Phantom.)

So she covered up her Huntress activities with stories of going to Paulina’s house. She got to hunt ghosts and protect the town, and her dad got to think that she was living a normal teenage life. It worked out for both of them.

Flying to school cut down on her commute a lot, too. Instead of 45 minutes, she could get over there in just 20 minutes, 15 if she booked it. And today was a “book it” kind of day, if only to get through the weirdness as fast as possible.

Unfortunately, the weirdness kept coming. At her locker, she heard Sam Manson’s shout of “Douche Baxter” just before Dash jogged past, laughing at what looked to be Danny Fenton, picking himself up off the floor. Typical Dash, except it happened the same way in her dream.

Nathan came up to her in third period. He did that a lot, too, but he didn’t usually do it with yellow roses—except he did today and in her dream. Mikey slipped and fell in the cafeteria, again; Tyson, one of the football player who used to jokingly flirt with her, moved the CAUTION: WET FLOOR sign just in time to Mikey to walk by. Coach Tetslaff gave Tucker Foley detention for being on his phone. Again.

None of this was odd behavior, except it had happened the exact same way in her dream.

“C’mon Val, keep it together,” she whispered to herself. “This doesn’t mean anything. It could just be a crazy coincidence.”

The only thing in her dream that wasn’t common was the fight with Paulina. Paulina was often mean, but she had never come for her dad like that before. Valerie had always thought they had an understanding that Damon Gray, at the very least, was off-limits. If Paulina said the same things to her in seventh period English, then she’d know for sure something was up.

(She ignored the voice in her head that said that would be too late.)

So when English came around and Paulina couldn’t even look at her, she breathed a sigh of relief. As Lancer launched into his lecture, she glanced around the room. There was Paulina, staring at her desk, scribbling notes. Kwan, behind her, drumming his fingers on the desktop, humming something under his breath. Danny, behind him, head pillowed on his arms, not even pretending to pay attention. She smiled a little; maybe they hadn’t worked out, but he was still pretty cute when he was sleeping.

It happened like this: Danny gasped. She turned to the window to see something radiating green and fast approaching. Paulina screamed.

The world exploded again.

Loop 2

Valerie jolted awake.

—

Loop 0

"Oh my god, Valerie, do you have to be so dramatic? Now we're both in trouble."

Paulina dabbed the finishing touches of her foundation before snapping her compact mirror closed. Her cheekbone still throbbed where Valerie had gotten in one good punch before Fenton got in between them. It would probably bruise later, but Paulina was determined that no one but her would ever see it.

“Don’t say shit about my dad, then, and we won’t have a problem.”

Well, if Valerie would’ve ever reacted to the other things she said, then she wouldn’t have had to go after Mr. Gray. And besides—

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

Valerie clenched her fist like she was going to hit her again. Paulina half-hoped she would, so that maybe she could come off as just the victim in this. She really didn’t want to deal with her papi if he found out about this little adventure to Principal Ishiyama’s office.

“My dad baked you brownies every year for your birthday, and you called him a fat loser to my face. You should've expected to get punched.”

"You and your dad's fall from grace isn't my fault. All I did was acknowledge it."

"Paulina, could you stop being an asshole for, like, five minutes?" There was Fenton, butting in again. For such a loser, he seemed to have a real problem minding his own business.

"I don't need you to fight my battles, Danny."

"I really just wish you wouldn't fight at al—"

Fenton gasped. She was conscious of something ripping her apart, then she was conscious of nothing at all.

Loop 1

Paulina screamed into awareness.

The numbers on her alarm clock read 7:15—15 minutes before she usually got up. One of her proudest achievements was when she perfected her 10 minute makeup routine, meaning she could get ready for the day with only 45 minutes before the first bell.

This was the first thought on her mind as she calmed her racing heart. Not whatever strange nightmare had woken her up, but that fact that it had robbed her now of her most precious, fought-for, extra 15 minutes of sleep.

She groaned aloud, flopping back in bed and squeezing her eyes shut, like she could go back to sleep through sheer force of will. After a minute, it became obvious that she was still too shaken to doze off again. She flipped off her alarm and, pushing herself to her feet, began her morning routine.

She showered. She ate breakfast—Honey Nut Cheerios, except they were almost out. She’d have to remind Alma to pick up more on her next trip to the store. She did her makeup, adding a little flare in her eyeliner and eyeshadow, since she had the extra time. She put on the outfit she’d laid out last night, careful not to smudge anything, got in her custom-made pink convertible, and left for school.

Later, Paulina would never quite admit how long it took her to notice anything was wrong. In her defense, her days had long since melted into a blur. She barely knew where one ended and the other began in a normal situation.

It wasn’t until Mikey slipped in the cafeteria that she caught on.

Mikey fell, often. But Tyson wasn’t usually the one who messed with him; this was something new. After he stole the sign and Mikey ate it, Paulina watched Tyson look directly at Dash, an odd little blush on his face as the other boy laughed.

Oh, Paulina thought, I’ve seen this before.

In her dream, she’d thought it weird that Tyson was trying so hard to get Dash’s attention when he could clearly do better. She noticed it because it wasn’t normal behavior. This wasn’t an everyday thing. For something like this to happen both in her dream and in her life was just… too weird.

She ran the events of her dream back through her head. Most of the day was the kind of unremarkable that she couldn’t remember for the life of her, except for right now and—

And the end. The fight with Valerie, Fenton intervening. 

Her dying.

Well, if it was some fucked-up prophecy, she just had to keep it from coming true, right? She instigated the fight with Valerie there in English. She was big enough to admit that that part was on her. So then all she had to do was keep her big mouth shut and her dream wouldn’t happen.

Easy-peasy.

She couldn’t quite keep her hands from shaking through the latter half of the day. Every second was too long and not long enough. When she finally walked through the door of Lancer’s classroom, she nearly fell into her seat.

“Are you okay?” Kwan whispered from behind her. She coughed out something like a laugh.

The bell saved her from having to give an actual answer as Lancer ushered them all into their seats to begin his lecture. Paulina stared at her desk the whole time, avoiding Valerie’s desk at all costs. She scribbled on a piece of paper just to have something to do with her hands.

And… nothing. Valerie said nothing to her. A quick peek behind her revealed Fenton sleeping at his desk (as always). The tap-tap-tap of Kwan’s fingers on the desk between them kept pace with her beating heart.

She dared for a moment to think it was safe.

Then Fenton gasped. A green light overtook the classroom. She screamed as the world exploded again.

Loop 2

Paulina screamed into awareness.

[trin-gvf]

D.R.W - gaming

539 words minors DNI

WARNINGS: unprotected sex

i just wanted to post something since i havent for a while! luv u <3

"baby please?" you whined.

you'd been in a mood all night and you just wanted danny. any part of him you could possibly get.

"c'mon, darling. let me finish this game." he said in an understanding voice.

he'd been on his nintendo switch all. day. you'd usually leave him be and let him have fun with his friends but he hadn't paid you an ounce of attention since he woke up.

"you've said that five times, daniel." you pouted.

"i'm being serious this time! promise!" he said, drawing his attention back to the tv.

you groaned and flopped backwards onto the couch. you were laying there, your mind had come up with a brilliant idea.

"fine. i'll do it myself." you said in a determined voice. you flipped onto your stomach, pulling down his sweatpants.

"y/n what the fuck-" you didnt let him finish his sentence.

"shut up, daniel. let me do my job." you grunted, pulling his boxers down.

he went quiet when the tip of his cock was welcomed into your warm mouth.

his soft cock soon turned hard as you bobbed your head down onto it.

he tried his best to focus on the game he was playing, but fuck, it was hard having a pretty girl under him doing wonders on his dick.

he groaned when he lost the game and threw his switch off to the side of the couch.

"fuck, baby. made me lose my game." he said, throwing his head back, placing a hand into your hair. he softly guided your head, helping you find the perfect pace.

when started to buck his hips up into your face, you pulled away. an irritated moan left his lips when you did so.

"what the fuck?" he grunted.

"you wanted me so bad all day and you just- oh..oh shit" he started to complain before he got cut off with your pussy wrapping around cock.

"can't you be patient?" you smirked down at him.

you started to move your hips against him, feeling his hands wrap around your waist, traveling them down to your ass. he gave your ass a squeeze before giving it a couple soft smacks.

minutes went by and your legs were aching from moving back and forth but it was too good to stop.

danny must've taken your aching into account when he stopped you and did the work for you. he hit every spot that could be hit.

"see me right there? fucking you so good." he said, pressing his hand against the bottom of your stomach.

this added even more pleasure to your experience. you whined, letting him know you were close.

"cum for me baby. made you wait long enough, haven't i?" he breathed through his moans.

"yes oh god- yes!" you cried as you got closer and closer to your blissful release.

before you knew it, you were thrown into a bundle of bliss. you shook against danny's body as you fell into his chest.

his arms instinctively wrapped around you as you tried even your breathing.

danny finally shot his load into you, warming from the inside.

"sorry i made you wait, baby, didn't mean to." he commented, rubbing your back.

" 's okay"

[finemeal]

Ultimate Enemy Plot Holes & Fixes (Maybe)

Alright, so sigh okay Ultimate Enemy has a LOT of plot holes. If you've watched it, and dissected it, you'll notice that. Like, how does the CAT answers get attached to Danny if he was intangible? That literally makes no sense. Also, how did the Nasty Burger blow up originally? Because from what we see, it only happens because Box Lunch and Danny fight, blowing up Nasty Burger, and now the hot sauce is touching the somehow still functioning grill which causes it to overheat and later kill Danny's family. But that wouldn't have happened in the original timeline? How did Danny get the test originally? How did the Nasty Burger get to the point it was blowing up? Am I overthinking this? (most definitely but shhh)

I've decided to write my own fixes that I will be considering "canon" from now on since Bitch Fartman doesn't know how to have a consistent show (fuck you Bitch Fartman). Will it be perfectly without plot holes? Prolly not, I'm doing this before I have to go do something, if you want to fix my fixes feel free to do so, I don't care.

So, how I think Dark Danny should come about in his timeline is honestly not going to be too far off from the show. I'll borrow some things, it's fine, not that serious.

How do Nasty Burger blow up? Well, no one said it had to be Box Lunch he was fighting, did they? I think it's possible Danny fights another ghost, and similar things happen. But, instead of Nasty Burger blowing up which would cause the grill to turn off, no electricity (I know my shit, I was a manager at a fast food joint). I think the fight will lead to the hot sauce container-thing leaning close to the grill, but no one really notices since it's such a slight change.

You still get Nasty Burger up and running, electricity going, and the hot sauce will still rise above temperature it should be (assuming Nasty Burger is open 24/7 so electricity is always running and that they don't have any safety measures in place to somehow prevent the sauce from getting overheated like morons).

How does Danny get the test answers? Well he's still a damn ghost y'all. I imagine he's driven to do so by A) being terrified of becoming a failure, B) being constantly compared to Jazz who scored phenomenally and C) there are bullies at this school, I bet Flash or some other A-Lister teased him about how he'd fail. Combining all this? I can see what would push this 14-year-old child to cheating on a test he think is going to determine his future.

After that, well, it follow sort of what we can infer happens?

If Lancer assumes Danny cheats by either A) hearing Sam & Tucker talking to Danny about it, B) literally catching Danny cheating (since this is assumed to be his first time doing it so he might not be as sneaky/subtle as he should be), or C) some other reason since they can't seem to keep straight if Lancer is a good or shitty teacher. Then, Lancer still asks Danny's family to come to the Nasty Burger to have a meeting, Jazz comes along cuz she would, (not an insult, but Jazz would do it), and Tucker & Sam usually end up tagging along to these sorts of things anyway.

If we go with the thinking that Danny does get away with cheating, I can see the Fenton's along with Sam & Tucker (who may or may not know Danny cheated) going to the Nasty Burger to celebrate his score, and Lancer could be there cuz it is a popular place. Then, the place still blows up, and there's no monuments for the workers because people who work minimum wage jobs are obviously not people (sarcasm, if you can't tell).

Either way, the end goal is achieved: Danny loses literally everyone he loves because he cheated on a test he was stressed about. Yeah, that makes sense (again, sarcasm).

Vlad, being a little shit, sweeps in and takes a mentally unstable Danny under his custody (he was also prolly left in the will as his caretaker or used his money since Vlad is a billionaire).

Now, do I think future Vlad is a reliable narrator? Hell no I don't! I think he's a lying piece of shit, and even if he does one good thing for once it doesn't make him less of a terrible person.

So, I think Vlad decided to rid Danny of his ghostly half since he sucks and knocks Danny out to do so. Do I think Phantom would then immediately go for revenge? No! I think Plasmius tries to attack him and, in self defense, Phantom separates Vlad and Plasmius. I think Plasmius would then merge with Phantom and cause this already unstable half-ghost to have a mental breakdown prolly.

I think that Danny, shaking and scared after having half of himself ripped away would try to stop this fusion and get caught in the crossfire, causing his death in the end. There's no way that Dark Danny just straight up murders Danny but leaves Vlad alive. Not unless Danny somehow accidentally brought Dark Danny's ire. Or, if Vlad snuck away somehow.

But would Dark Danny go straight into murder? I guess that's up to each their own. Personally, I think it's possible Dark Danny would? Especially since it's Phantom fused with evil as hell Plasmius. I don't think it's very likely though.

I do think it would start off as an accident, Dark Danny adjusting to his new life and accidentally attacking a human. Or if the GIW started hunting him down very seriously. Or, if a human gets caught in the crossfire while Dark Danny is fighting another ghost, which could lead to humans starting to be terrified of Dark Danny. Leading down a road of ... well what we end up seeing.

The point is, this is a very disproportionate consequence to cheating on a test.

Either way, this is what I think is what could've happened to make Dark Danny happen originally. If you see plot holes, feel free to reblog with your own fixes. Do you have a different fix for the Ultimate Enemy plot? Pop off. This is just a thought, and I know there are people out there who have some great ideas of their own.

[goodnightmoonvale]

Was listening to the song Opportunities (Let's Make Lots of Money) by the Pet Shop Boys and also thinking about how the Corinthian looks an awful lot like Brad Pitt's character in Ocean's Eleven in a nice tan suit, and thinking about how an Ocean's Eleven Dreamling (or perhaps Hob/Dream/Corinthian) AU would go

The problem, of course, is that while Danny Ocean being in prison is a perfect analogue for Dream being Captured, casting Hob as the love interest doesn't work because she doesn't wait, the whole point of the movie is that they're doing the heist to screw over her new lover, and she didn't wait while Danny was in prison.

And Hob's whole thing is that he waits. That he's waited. The Penelope to Dream's Odysseus, constant and faithful and hopeful.

So how would this change an Ocean's Eleven AU? Who is the heist on, and what emotions is it for? The thing that makes everyone wince a little, and understand at once the real reason Dream is trying to pull this crazy heist off?

Option 1: Hob may have waited, but the way in which he waits is not obvious or apparent to Dream, the Corinthian, or the rest of the crew. Perhaps Hob and Dream really did have a big blowout fight about Dream going to prison, about the circumstances of that job. Maybe Hob cut ties from the rest of the crew and "went legit" and started his own casino or something. Reinvented himself with all his cash from the last job. And Dream is just so, so mad, because to him that feels like abandonment, even if it wasn't meant that way, and the heist is on Hob's casino as revenge for not waiting

Option 2: the heist is on Roderick Burgess's casino as revenge for the circumstances that lead to Dream's arrest

Option 3: Maybe Hob isn't the love interest? Like if we're doing OT3 shit. Maybe Calliope or the Corinthian is the love interest that "didn't wait", and Hob is the one that picks Dream up from prison.

Actually honestly I think that works out better, character-wise. In that the Corinthian has left and is now hooking up with Roderick Burgess and Hob and Dream are Rusty Ryan and Danny Ocean, respectively.

Doesn't quite feel exactly right to me, emotionally, though. I think maybe. Hmmm. If I was going to make it work, especially from an OT3 perspective, that Corinthian either made a mistake that went way farther than he thought, or ended up having to go along with it because whatever Desire and Roderick Burgess had planned would have been worse, and it ended up looking a lot like betrayal, and he knows why Hob won't talk to him anymore, and he's been trying to work his way in and double cross Richard Burgess ever since and hasn't quite managed it yet.

That fits almost perfectly, and I think the only reason I can't quite get it settled is that in the movie, Danny Ocean wants Tess back, he's doing the heist to convince her that he's the more savvy man. Whereas in the face of a betrayal like that, Dream would be furious. He wouldn't want the Corinthian back, he'd want him destroyed.

So I guess you have a third option:

Dream as Tess, Hob as Danny Ocean, and the Corinthian as Rusty Ryan. That fits a lot more of the relationship emotional beats, I think, in that I feel Dream would be more likely to take on another lover or "move on" without Hob, and Hob would absolutely be the one to try and convince Dream to come back to him. It doesn't quite fit the Corinthian, but I think you could make it work in that he's feeling betrayed and abandoned by Dream, especially if there's a fight about how "You went Too Far this time, Hob's in Jail now and that was Too Dangerous and I am Through with all of you" and the Corinthian is hurt that Dream's mad he fulfilled his function. So that could work pretty well.

Idk. I guess all these configurations could be interesting.

[payeehay]

In short, going into the unfinished portal had been a bad idea.

Danny thinks he's dead, now? He can't be sure, but he has no other way to explain the way that when his friends had brought him over to the mirror after he stumbled out of the glowing green expanse, there was nothing but a cottonball of white hair and a literal skull grinning grotesquely back at him.

Putting a shaky hand to his face, he'd realized that there was flesh there, it was just... invisible.

And so, one mental breakdown, an outfit change, a hairdye job, and an hour in front of sam's makeup mirror later, he was looking normal enough to go to school the next day.

Before they had left her house, she had warned him that only some of his makeup was waterproof, told him not to sweat too much, or to get it wet.

Which made his current situation a problem.

Dash steered him roughly out of the locker room toward the bathroom stalls, Kwan and Tony blocking his hopes of escape.

Fuck. He couldn't let them get his face wet.

"Hey! Why don't you hit me? You like hitting me, right?" he tried.

Dash grinned. "Good idea!" He stopped long enough to sock Danny in the stomach, before shoving him into the stall.

He struggled, but wasn't able to stop Dash from shoving his face right in the toilet.

30 seconds later, he was coughing and rubbing at his eyes while the jocks laughed.

Until they stopped laughing, one by one, peering closely at Danny. "Hey Fenton, what's wrong with your face?" Kwan asked.

Double fuck. He glanced down at his gloved hands, saw the watery foundation smeared across them. "Uh," he schooled his face, or however much was left of it, "Nothing. What's wrong with your face?"

Dash squinted at him. "No, it's- are you wearing makeup?"

"No," Danny scoffed. "I'm a guy, remember?"

"He is!" Tony exclaimed, pulling him out of the stall and into the lights.

Danny caught himself in one of the mirrors and froze. His skin looked translucent, blotches of white and black showing through.

He tried to run, was caught by the arms by Kwan and Tony, and put up a token struggle, already knowing they had him held fast.

He struggled in earnest when he saw Dash coming at him with a wet paper towel.

"No! You don't want to-"

Dash ran it down his cheek, and Danny froze as Dash's brows scrunched together. "What the fuck?" he asked curiously.

Another couple of strokes, and Danny could see bone, teeth, dark hollows in the mirror. Dash looked legitimately unnerved. "What the fuck, Fenton??" he asked again. "Where's your skin??"

Danny thought quickly. "Flesh-eating virus. It's contagious, by the way."

The three football players glanced at each other. "No..." Dash disagreed. "Something weird's going on here." He experimentally poked Danny's face, right where he'd wiped it clean, and both boys cringed. "I'll ask one more time, Fenton," he said, trying to sound intimidating. "What the fuck?"

Danny stared him down, studying him. Finally, he sighed. There was no good answer to this. "I don't know, okay? Something weird happened last night and I'm trying to hide it until I can at least figure out what the hell it was, so can I please go get my makeup and fix... this??" he asked, gesturing at his face. He gave another pull on his arms, and Kwan let go, soon followed by Tony.

Danny almost turned and ran right then, but Kwan asked, voice barely above a whisper, "Are you dead??"

Danny groaned. "I don't know! Can I please go now?"

The jocks glanced at each other again, and Dash looked almost scared. "You're a freak, Fenturd." He pushed past Danny and out toward the lockers, turned, pointed back at him. "Keep your freak shit away from me." Kwan and Tony nodded and followed him, leaving Danny gratefully alone.

When his classmates teased him the next day for wearing makeup, he could only thank whatever gods may be out there that that was all they were saying about him.