#yes the ending is rushed oops sue me

[hardskz]

bow down.

pairing — bang chan x genderneutral! reader

genre — modern royalty au, drama-ish, smut; sexual tension-ish, hand kink, brat tamer! chan, degradation, leg humping, humiliation

synopsis — you have eyes. prince bang chan is a whole snack. but you also have too high of an ego and can’t seem to accept that prince chan isn’t full of himself unlike the other dozen members of any royal family you’ve met before. alternatively, this is the disney channel movie ‘princess protection program’ but make it porn only.

note — this fic with a wc of 7k+ does not include any spoilers to the movie and you don’t even have to know what the movie is about you’ll get the gist as you read. ngl half of this is from one of my drafts from like 3 years ago and i never continued it so here i am turning it into filth hahahah (and i needed a fresh idea for brat tamer chan and hence why i think the sfw part is better written than the nsfw lmao) rip also pls accept this as the follower milestone gift and 1 year anniversary special :’)

“I’m pretty sure I asked for a puppy for my birthday — which was three months ago may I add — not for a new roommate?”

You look back and forth between Youngjae and the stranger sitting on the couch who is staring back at you with a curious expression. He looks around your age and you admit, his face isn’t the kind of face that makes you thank your parents that genetics did a decent job on you. It’s quite the opposite, actually.

His face is the type of face that makes you ask your parents why genetics didn’t do a better job on yours. Okay, you haven’t reached that stage of visual inferiority yet but that’s mainly because he is dressed in clothes that were trendy in the 15th century or something. The garments clinging to his skin look like a bad fusion of a suit (which college student wears a suit in their free time?) and the ridiculous costume the marching band at your former high school had worn whenever a football game was up. And those weird golden pins clipped on the blazer makes it seem as if he used to be in the marines or comes from a royal bloodline or—

Oh. 

“Don’t mind my cousin, your Highness. (y/n)’s humor has always been questionable.”  Youngjae sends you a glare before he puts on his sweetest smile — you know, the act he puts on whenever he tries to negotiate a bonus with his boss or woo his date — and opts to ignore your presence. “Anyway, since we are dealing with a more serious issue at hand than originally expected, we need to give you a makeover to—“

Before he gets to finish his sentence, you violently tug him away from the prince and despite Youngjae thrashing around and complaining, you manage to send the guest a forced smile and leave his vision. The moment you let go of Youngjae in the neighboring room, he readjusts his collar. “What? Couldn’t you have waited once I was done? Also, was it necessary to crinkle my collar this much?” he hisses but you get straight to the point.

“What is he doing here?”

“Uh, sitting on the couch?”

“That’s not what I mean.” you grit your teeth and land a punch on his arm. “What is he doing here?”

Youngjae looks over your shoulder, making sure that what he’s about to say next is only heard by you. “Prince Chan is,” he hesitates, unsure how to approach his topic. You know it’s taking up his last nerves to conclude a logical explanation as the tip of his tongue pokes out of the corner of his lips; a habit he has adapted ever since he stopped chewing on his bottom lip. “The predicament he’s in is worse than we expected. Well, his dad is partially at fault because he forgot to tell us this not-so-small critical detail that—“

“Youngjae, you’re rambling.”

“The point is.” he sighs and gives you a distressed look as if he already knows you’re not going to like the information at all. “We can’t send him to the family in Goyang, the place he was originally going to stay in. He’s one of the more extreme cases and the Board agreed that he had to live with one of the active combatants to ensure his safety.”

Silence engulfs the kitchen and you know he’s waiting for you to count two and two together.

“He’s going to live here,” you deadpan eventually and Youngjae nods in confirmation.

“I know you’re not very happy—“

“Not very happy is underwhelming.” You earn a flick against your forehead and yelp in pain as you over the spot he just hit. “Ow! I was just stating the truth!”

“Will you stop interrupting me? Geez. Yes, I know that you’re not happy at all. I know that you’re not a huge fan of the majority of our family working in this business. But please do me this one favor or so help me God— try to be nice to him for the next year.”

“He’s staying for a year?” you shriek and in the blink of an eye, Youngjae clamps your mouth shut.

“Can you keep it down?!” he whisper-yells, then retreats his hand and reverts to a conversational tone with a frown. “It’s just a year, okay? Y’know, just... say hi to him whenever you see him. Act civilized.”

You grimace as he stresses his last words like you didn’t know what human decency was. The longer you keep the petrified expression on your face, the more it turns into a staring contest between the two of you. Just as if you were each other’s reflection, you mimic his actions and vice versa. When Youngjae squints, you squint. When you shoot him a glare, he returns it. It all boils down to the final blink that Youngjae feints and you’re the first to look away.

“Okay fine! I’ll try to behave,” you mumble in defeat.

A satisfied smile makes its way on Youngjae’s lips. “It’s always nice negotiating with you.”

Being born into a family where the majority works for the royalty protection program (short: RPP or as you like to stylize it: argh-pee-pee), also known as the secret service for people with crowns on their heads, comes with many perks. In your eyes, this privilege comes with many, many downsides that aren’t worth the advantages. Sure, there is the one or other occasion where you can waltz around in fancy evening attire and attend an actual ball, but overall, it’s a pain in the ass.

Even though it’s prohibited to openly declare that you work for the RPP, the news always finds its way out. Usually, it takes approximately a week for pretty much half of the neighborhood to find out. And it certainly isn’t nice hearing whispers about your dad being that guy working for the program whenever you step out of your house, which is ultimately why you moved in with your cousin Youngjae. (Housing in your small town wasn’t really affordable for a dirt poor college student after all!)

Youngjae has always been your favorite cousin out of the... whatever number of cousins you have. But here’s the thing. He also works for the RPP.

However, somehow he managed to — and up to this day it still remains a mystery to you how on earth he did that — keep his job a secret. Especially with his tendency to dish out the worst kinds of secrets when he’s slightly tipsy. Frankly, you once considered printing out the image of a trophy for that remarkable feat.

With your dad and cousin both active in that business (because organization sounds too shady), it’s not the first time you meet a prince, so you already know how the entire thing works. The concept is quite simple; they get sent to a household but before they settle in and take on a fake identity until their circumstances have improved, they undergo a makeover. Most of the time, it ends up in the glow up you secretly crave but in Prince Chan’s case, you suppose he can’t get any more attractive.

Oh boy. You’re in for a ride.

You’re busy slicing bell peppers for the meal you were cooking when both your cousin and the prince enter the kitchen and Youngjae explicitly demands you to pay them attention. You don’t react immediately, but the moment he threatens to swipe the knife away from you, you perk up and set your desire to prepare your fried rice aside.

“(y/n), uh, hi? I’m Bang Chan and I’ll be your new housemate for a year. I hope we can get along.” Chan recites his introduction without any mistakes and earns a way too brotherly pat on the back from Youngjae, considering that they just met this morning. It’s truly amazing how fast Youngjae can get people to warm up to him. 

Chan is stripped out of his weird clothes and instead, looks like he threw on the next best thing lying around in his room. Nonetheless, despite the seemingly little effort that was put into the outfit, it looks oddly good. The stylists didn’t seem to do much to his hair and just parted his bangs a little, so one could catch a slight glimpse of his forehead. It’s just a small detail, but you find yourself liking his current appearance much more appealing than before, though you’re pretty sure his clothes played a major part in your previous distaste. 

“Remember Jihyo?” Youngjae interrupts your train of thought. “She’s Chan’s relative. And because I’m the genuine friend who loves to help her out, I decided to agree to this after she went down on her knees and begged me to let Chan live with us for a while—“

“I’m not interested in your blown up, fictional background stories, thank you very much.” you backtrack. “Wait. Did you say Jihyo? Seriously? Jihyo is his alibi?” Of course, you remember Jihyo. It’s quite difficult to forget her when Youngjae used to swoon about her at every hour of the day, back when they were a thing. Besides, she still stops by every few months.

“C’mon, you have to admit there is a similar vibe between them!” 

You furrow your brows and inspect Chan a second time. Your gaze wanders back to Youngjae and then returns to Chan anew. It’s obvious that the latter is feeling as if he were up for auction and you can’t really blame him for feeling so uncomfortable. You’ve heard from a few friends that if looks could kill, you’d have the highest killing record. 

There’s no similar vibe in your view, but for the sake of entertaining Youngjae’s thoughts: “He does seem similar to Jihyo.”

“Told ya. But back to more important matters,” Youngjae coughs and wraps his arm around your shoulder to pull you closer, but it somehow seems as if he’s opting to strangle you. “My duties are calling, so I won’t be back until late. You look like you could need some help with cooking, by the way. I’m sure Chan right here is willing to help you!”

“I’m almost done though—“ you choke when he tightens his embrace. By now, his arm is no longer hugging your shoulder, but rather crushing your throat.

“You look like you could need some help,” he repeats, this time with added urgency. “It’d be a great opportunity for you to bond since you’ll also share pretty much all classes at uni. Did you know, he has the same major as you! Besides, it’d be a very useful life experience for him if he helped you with cooking.”

“Of course, how fun!” you hiss, voice going an octave higher from the lack of oxygen. “I already said that I’m painfully delighted about that, so you can let me go now, Youngjae!”

A sneer and a jab in his arm later, Youngjae finally takes his leave. That nasty liar, leaving an hour earlier than his schedule stated. You know that silently cursing at him isn’t going to make your problems dissolve because that’d be a dream come true.

“Listen, let me get things straight.” you sigh, picking up the knife to resume chopping your vegetables. Youngjae may have ordered you to act civilized, but having eye contact with Chan when you’ve been starving for the past hour isn’t your priority. Food doesn’t make itself. “I don’t have any intention of getting close to you and I expect the same from you. Don’t step a foot into my room, don’t talk to me unless absolutely necessary, and don’t think I’ll run around and do your chores or cook your meals like one of your little servants. Just because you’re a prince doesn’t mean you’ll be treated like one under this roof.”

“We live in the 21st century, not the renaissance. Your idea of royal families is very dated.” Chan chuckles dryly.

“Baron Yoon Jeonghan from the seven islands is a stuck-up prick and out of touch with the world. It took him several visits to the slums, multiple voluntary hours at the kindergarten, and stripping him off his bank card to make him see reason,” you deadpan. Fuck Baron Jeonghan. Just thinking about your first and last encounter with that entitled douchebag almost makes you slice your finger instead of the bell pepper. “Duchess Yoo Shiah threw a hissy fit when she found out her clothes weren’t dry cleaned and bought from Zara instead of fucking Dior. The one who takes the cake when it comes to privilege is Princess Kim Min—”

“Everyone knows they are problematic,” Chan interjects. True, he has a point. There’s nobody out there who doesn’t know about Baron Jeonghan or Duchess Shiah but he’s also missing the entire point.

“And guess who gets stuck under the care of the RPP?” you raise a brow at him. He blanches at the realization as if he got struck with lightning. Perhaps you should give him more credit because he seems to own more brain cells than Baron Jeonghan. “Exactly. Everyone problematic.” 

Chan’s jaw is clenched as he racks his brain to come up with a smart comeback. The sight of him stumbling on his words is nothing but pitiful, so you turn back to the cutting board and grab an onion to slice in half. “I’m not interested in your sob story, your Highness. I don’t care why you’re under the protection of the RPP. The only thing I care about is that you stay out of my business.”

“Chan is fine. No need for the title,” he sighs with a strain. “Perhaps I should’ve been more considerate with my first comment. Youngjae already told me about your… negative attitude towards the entire setup. It wasn’t my intention to anger you. Sorry.”

Well, that’s new. Out of the dozens of aristocrats you’ve met (and sadly also shared a house with back when you were 16 years old and still living with your dad), he’s the first to drop his title within five minutes for the sake of the disguise and apologize. 

“We live under the same roof so we should get along with each other. If there’s something you need help with, just ask me, (y/n).”

“Thanks for the offer,” you reply nonchalantly because act civilized unless you want to suffer from a late-night sneak attack from Youngjae if he finds out. “But no thanks. I don’t need your help.”

You find yourself in need of help a few weeks later, right before the dreaded exam season.

“No. Forget it, Bam. I’m not going out clubbing with you tonight. In fact, I won’t do that anytime soon.” you let out an exasperated sigh as you try to break down to your friend that you prioritize your grades over his need of getting wasted.

“C’mon!” he whines so loudly that you have to put your phone farther away from your ear. “You’re not in that much stress yet! You have to make the most out of it before you drown in your exams.”

“Things are different for engineering students like, uh, me for example!” you hiss. “I fell behind and need to catch up. Ask Yugyeom or Changbin.”

“First of all, Yugyeom is always at the bar doing his job. And Changbin never picks up his phone. There’s nobody who’d dance with me!”

“You abandoned me at the bar for some chick the last time,” you deadpan. “I’m very sure you’ll find someone.”

Bambam finally gets the gist and gives up. “Fine then. Your loss. Have fun dying in numbers and variables instead of living in the moment. You’re going to regret it—”

You end the call and set your phone on mute before throwing it on the bed. Sometimes you wonder whether you were on drugs when you decided to major in engineering. The longer you stare at the jumble of numbers and letters — some of them in Greek too — the more you think your brain cells are decaying.

That’s how you find yourself in the kitchen, complaining at Youngjae’s expense and telling him how much you’d rather drown in bleach than subjecting yourself to Algebra II. 

“You know there’s someone you can ask for help and he’s right here,” Youngjae drawls before chugging down the rest of his beer. If he’s going to be a victim to your temper tantrum about a major that you chose yourself, he might as well get a drink so he won’t go insane from your monologue about numbers and graphs and formulas he’s forgotten since he graduated from high school.

You gawk at him. “You? Are you hearing yourself? You almost failed maths. Twice!”

“Because I didn’t mean myself, dipshit,” he says blankly and his eyes flit over your shoulder, “Speaking of the devil. There comes the man of honor.”

You whip your head back to the door to see Chan enter confusedly. “Uh, did I interrupt something?”

“Yes.”

“No, we were just talking about you!”

You send Youngjae a death glare which he casually shrugs off. “(y/n) here is bitching about her Statistics I class and needs a tutor!”

“It’s actually Algebra II if you bothered to pay attention—”

“(y/n) needs a tutor!” Youngjae exclaims and nearly trips on his feet when he gets up from his chair. “Channie, I heard you’re good with numbers. Didn’t you get accepted into all Ivy Leagues in the States for all engineering programs?”

“You didn’t have to word it like that,” Chan laughs it off and nervously rubs the back of his head. He’s not denying it though.

“Obviously he would. He’s loaded and lives in a castle,” you mutter under your breath, but everyone catches it.

“Hey,” Youngjae warns. “That wasn’t necessary.”

“It’s alright,” Chan says casually. “I just wanted to get myself a snack. But if you have some questions, don’t hesitate to knock on my door. The offer still stands, y’know.” He digs through the cabinet until he finds two packs of the strawberry flavored Pocky knockoff that is 1) apparently his favorite thing to eat and 2) half the price of the Pocky version. He gives Youngjae a thumbs up before he returns to his room.

The moment Chan is out of sight, Youngjae whips his head to you, nostrils flaring. All that’s missing is steam coming out of his ears and his face running red and then he looks like the impetuous brother in every kids cartoon ever. “Really? He’s been staying with us for how long now? Four weeks? Five? Yet you’re still acting as if he murdered you in your dreams or something.”

“I don’t like him,” you state coldly. Youngjae looks like he’s about to rip his hair out.

“Look, I get that you don’t like me being active in this field of work, and I get that you have some hatred against the royal families. But you know you signed up for this when you decided to move in with me.” Youngjae pauses to get a breather and pop a new beer bottle open. “Besides, Chan isn’t like Baron Jeonghan or Duchess Shiah. I have eyes, (y/n), and I’ve seen you two avoiding each other as much as possible. And he doesn’t just laze around — he does the fucking chores and cooks dinner too! Chan is good, (y/n).”

The last words make you snap. “Good? Are you fucking serious? Because that’s why the press in his kingdom is depicting him as a tyrant who cares more about building his sick harem instead of helping the poor. And wasn’t he diagnosed for having anger management issues?!”

All the color leaves Youngjae’s face. This is obviously something you shouldn’t know. While he’s scrambling for words, you take the chance to add, “Dunno why you’re protecting him when he’s making headlines as a prince who can’t keep his dick in his pants.”

“Chan isn’t just a prince,” Youngjae says quietly. “He’s the crown prince.”

Your eyes widen at the confession. “What? Isn’t that even worse with that reputation he has?”

“It’s all propaganda,” he sighs and takes a swig, “The ministers are doing everything they can to finish him off. You see, Chan is the only child of the current king of the seven islands, and if he’s wiped out, it’ll be utter chaos. Chan’s smart and I admit, he used to have anger issues, but he’s worked on them. Though I guess he’s resorted to bottling up his feelings when push comes to pull. The point is, all the higher-ups don’t want him as their future king because they know that Chan is very much capable of pulling through with his own ideas and that doesn’t sit well with them. And a supposedly impulsive future king is the last thing anyone wants, hence why his people are eating up the news.”

“Oh.” you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel an ounce of remorse. However, it’s not the first time you’ve heard such stories. 

“Yeah. Oh,” Youngjae mocks, “If that’s the main reason why you don’t want to talk to him, now you know better. He might have power, but he’s not a monster. And for the record, he got into all Ivy Leagues and elite schools all over the world through his intelligence, not his status.”

Although you can see it in his eyes that Youngjae is done with the heated discussion, he’s still waiting for you to say something. You frown. “So… you think he’s a good tutor?”

“He’s your only shot.” Youngjae says nonchalantly, then adds with a warning tone, “But remember: Act. Civilized. Oh, and don’t tell him I told you about his circumstances. It’s supposed to be confidential information.”

You roll your eyes. How the fuck hasn’t Youngjae been busted yet?

Nonetheless, you’re trudging to Chan’s door a few minutes later, your fat binder of incomprehensible math formulas and (Greek) letter heavy in your arm. Chan opens the door with surprise etched on his face after you knocked, but it settles to warmth when you begrudgingly ask him to help you understand Algebra II. 

“Sorry, it’s a little messy here,” he chuckles airily once he lets you in. It’s not messy per se, just a few clothes piled up in a corner of the room and some books and messily written notes lying on his bed. Still, it’s by far cleaner than the pig stall that is Youngjae’s room (and yours when you’re having a very bad day).

Chan clears his desk and drags his other chair to the table before plopping down on it. “So, what’s the problem?” Instead of answering, you just shove a sheet of paper up his face. “Y’know, you can talk to me. If this is about earlier, it’s really alright. I’m not mad or anything,” he says with the same friendly tone you’ve been hearing ever since he moved in, yet he still takes the sheet from you. You watch his brows scrunch together the more he reads on, and you can already see the question forming in his mind.

“(y/n), you do know this is the basis to understand—”

“I was absent when the professor covered it and everyone I asked couldn’t quite explain it to me,” you respond before he can finish speaking out his thoughts. “All my friends were like—” you gesture with your hands, “—you just do this and that and then hope your hunch is right. Before you say it, yes I know that I don’t get the material of one entire unit and the exam is two weeks away.”

“Then let’s not waste any time,” Chan says before grabbing his iPad. You stare at him blankly as he writes something on his tablet. The last thing you expected from him was to accept it and try to hammer as much of missing information as he can into your brain, but then again, you’ve never seen him backtrack whenever Youngjae asks him something. Speaking of Youngjae, perhaps he is right. Chan does seem to know what he’s talking about.

“You have to subtract X first, then replace it with Y,” he explains as he circles said letters in different colors. By now, you’ve leaned closer to him to get a better view on what he’s writing (his handwriting isn’t the worst you’ve ever had to decode; refer to Youngjae who you’ve internally awarded with the worst handwriting of the decade). 

Chan is exceptionally good at explaining. You feel like you’ve figured out a secret of the world that not even Pythagoras found out as you slowly understand what on Earth you are supposed to calculate with the formula. Chan is patient, always asking if you got it or if you needed another clarification, and takes the time to draw colorful graphs to visualize the jumble of numbers. His voice is pleasing to the ear too, soft and gentle to the point where you’ve blurred everything out except Chan. Chan’s voice. Chan’s hand.

You didn’t mean to stare, but with him always adding something new every five seconds as he goes on with his monologue, you can’t help but do so. His fingers aren’t long — that’ll always be courtesy of Hyunjin from Subway and yes, his very pretty hands might be the sole reason you only insist on going to that one specific Subway at the intersection next to KFC — but just one glance at Chan’s hand and you know that he’s strong. 

He’s barely applying pressure to the pen, but you can see the veins slightly protruding. Chan’s sleeves are pushed back and if you move your head a bit, you’re more than certain that veins are bulging out from his forearms too. However, you don’t muster up the courage to do that because Chan will definitely notice and the last thing you want on your platter is to tell him that you were too busy checking out his arms instead of listening to him talk about Algebra II.

Eventually, Chan sets the pen down to stretch his hand. He says something, but you don’t pick up what exactly. Not that it’d matter much anyway since you’re too busy admiring his hand—

“(y/n), you there? I called out your name several times but you didn’t react.” Chan’s breath hitches and surprise flashes in his eyes for a split second when his gaze meets yours. You don’t understand his hesitation, but then horror bubbles in you once you realize that his hand is firmly gripping your chin and keeping your head pointed at his direction. The very same hand you’ve been staring at for God knows how long. 

“I’m good. Just a little tired, but I’m good,” you stutter, though it comes out very breathlessly as if you just finished a marathon.

“Tired?” Chan echoes, concern settling into his features. “You should’ve said so, then I would’ve stopped talking. You need something?”

Now that you think about it, you’ve never got a close look at Chan. Sure, he’s handsome, the countless pictures of Google prove that he’s also too photogenic for his own good (goddamnit, why didn’t your parents make you just as photogenic?) but in person, he’s something else. His lips are plush and look very inviting to kiss, and the lower your eyes wander, the more you see a toned chest hidden underneath that damn shit that hugs him in all the right places.

Fine, his hands aren’t the only attractive thing about him. Then again, he’s a prince.

“I said I’m good.” you snap out of your thoughts and finally gather enough control over your nerves to tear his hand away. “And I caught everything you said.” Of course, you know that’s a blatant lie and he knows so too from the way he’s looking at you. That is until he quirks a brow.

“Okay, then what did I say before I called you?”

Your mouth feels dry. It’s almost as if he knew the reason for your distress. “I caught everything relevant to this,” you mutter, suddenly finding his curtains much more interesting. What an interesting design, maybe you should get yourself new curtains too—

“Then you wouldn’t mind solving these questions, right? Just so I can make sure that you got everything down.”

“Sure,” you reply because that’s the only thing you could say without hurting your ego and straining your vocal cords. Chan doesn’t comment any further and looks for some practice questions before sliding the iPad to you. Already the first question makes your head spin in disdain. Numbers? Variables? Never heard of them.

Chan is watching you like a hawk as you fiddle with the pen, unable to write down anything that makes remote sense. Feeling his eyes on you makes you feel helpless and you shift around in your seat. “What are you staring at?” you glare at him once you give up for good, and you just hope that your look is as intimidating as you pictured in your head.

“You’re definitely exhausted. You’re shaking,” Chan points out. Your eyes widen as you stare down and realize that your thighs are shaking, and it’s then and there when you realize that you’re feeling hot. Seems like Chan doesn’t realize that because the worry written on his face is genuine. “You say the exam’s in two weeks right? We can stop for today and work on this tomorrow. That is if you still want my help.”

You nod and add in a tiny voice, “Yes, please.”

You’re too busy ignoring the heat building between your thighs to notice the borderline feral sound that leaves Chan.

“And here I thought you had quality bonding time.” Youngjae gives a disappointed look. “You’re acting even colder towards him than before your exam meltdown. Your prick level can only stoop down so low.”

You ended up getting tutor lessons from Chan every day before the dreaded day of judgment: the exam in Algebra II. You spent more hours in his room than on your own if you were completely honest, and the results were fruitful. While you did manage to pass the exam with a fairly high score, the price you had to pay was hell.

It’s almost as if Chan caught up on your hand fixation. Sometimes he twirled the pen in his fingers, sometimes it was the simple bracelet dangling on his wrist. Just when you thought he had you figured out, he asks you if you’re alright, visibly oblivious to his effect on you. Such duality in a person should be illegal, you conclude. If you die from whiplash, you know who the perpetrator is.

“You were the one who pretty much pressured me into asking him for help,” you drawl.

“I had good intentions only! You can’t keep up the I-hate-royal-families-blah-blah mentality the entire time!” Youngjae wails before stuffing a handful of chips in his mouth.

“Watch me.” You internally cringe at the loud crunching sounds he’s making and add vigorously, “And stop chewing so loudly.”

“You’ll get around or so help me God—” he groans when his phone buzzes. He doesn’t spare a glance at the caller ID because there’s only one person who has set his ringtone to the baby shark song specifically for when he’s calling. “I gotta go, Jinyoung’s being a bitch again. Don’t murder somebody. Thanks.” You only watch him shuffle for his bag and grab a handful of chips before he’s out the door. Groaning, you clean up the mess he’s made on the table. 

Just as you’re done wiping the crumbs off the surface, Chan pads into the room. 

“Hey, can we talk?”

“I established right at the beginning that you should only talk to me when absolutely necessary.” you scowl, trying to walk past him.

“Well, this is important,” he urges and blocks the doorway, effectively stopping you from fleeing. “And I do deserve one conversation with you after I helped you out.”

“You offered on your own. That’s not the same as asking for a favor.” You successfully push your way past him, but in the next moment, he spins you around and pins you against the wall. 

“We’re going to talk, whether you like it or not.” The sudden coldness of his tone has shivers running down your spine. Chan holds your wrist in an iron grip and if he clutched on any tighter, you wouldn’t put it past him to break your bones. Out of options, you comply and give him a curt nod before he lets go and takes a step back. 

“I don’t understand you, (y/n). I genuinely thought you would put your prejudices aside but instead, all I get are mixed signals from you.”

It’s your turn to gawk. “Me? Mixed signals? What are you talking about?” 

“I’m talking about how you keep looking at me as if you want me to fuck your brains out.” If the color hasn’t drained from your face yet, it has now. Chan smiles wickedly at your horrified reaction but doesn’t stop there. “I’m talking about how you talk like you don’t want anything to do with me but act as if you’re begging for my attention.” He takes a step closer to you, and you wish you could morph with the wall. “I’m talking about how you keep staring at my hands and think I don’t notice it.” You wince when he rests his hands against the wall on each side of your face, leaning closer so that you can feel his breath on your lips. “So, you have a thing for my hands?” Bullseye.

“You’re so full of yourself. No wonder your ministers want to get rid of you,” you snap because you’d rather suffer from food poisoning than admitting that you want Chan’s fingers in you.

Something shifts within Chan. He gapes at you, clearly not expecting you to even know about the ministers. His demeanor darkens in a blink of an eye, and you feel like your legs are about to give up on you when you meet his eyes, black and feral.

“You’re playing with fire. Don’t anger me,” he warns, voice low and rough.

“So it’s true that you resorted to bottling up your feelings, your Highness?” you cock your head to the side. Chan clenches his jaw at the mention of his title, struggling to keep his anger in check. You laugh through your nose, then grab one of his hands and force it away from the wall. If he already knows that you’re thirsting after him, might as well go for it. “It’s funny how your ministers aren’t able to string you around like a puppet yet here you are, unable to do anything against a commoner. You know you have nice hands and you know my weakness and yet, you’re not using them on me.” He gulps when you fumble with his fingers. 

And then he understands.

“Unless I misread the situation,” he says darkly, though you distinguish the slight tremor his voice carries. “Do you really want this? I’m not going to go easy on you.” Chan is dead serious, judging by the way he’s looking at you expectantly. 

“The safe word is petunia.” You don’t take your eyes off him and add in a louder tone, “Now try me, do your worst.”

“You’re going to regret wanting me at my worst,” Chan growls and before you know it, he crashes his lips against yours. The kiss is anything but sweet, more of a clash of teeth and tongues and saliva dribbling down your chins, yet it leaves you boiling hot and wobbly on your feet. He presses you up against the wall and forces his leg between yours, the sudden contact making you hunch forward. You moan against his mouth when he tugs harshly on your hair, the sting making your nerves go haywire. In the meantime, your hands roam his upper body, blunt nails digging into his shoulders as you try to buck your hips against his leg. While he doesn’t budge, you manage to elicit a groan out of him.

When you pull away, you’re both gasping for air. Chan’s hair is disheveled from the way you’ve been pulling on them, lips pink and glossy. One look in his eyes is enough to make your heart stop beating. They’re dark and animalistic and set ablaze with unfiltered lust. You’re such in a daze from a simple kiss that you nearly stumble when Chan drags you to his room.

He manhandles you on his bed with ease before his lips latch on yours once more. You nearly sob when he rids you off your pants, putting pressure in all the right places to have you losing your mind. As you’re about to gain back some dominance in the kiss, he breaks it off. His fingers that were once ghosting over your underwear are now tracing patterns all over the material, making you spasm. “You’re such a brat, all bark but no bite. All it takes is one kiss and you’ve lost all your fight. Can you get any more pathetic?” he mocks as he focuses his fingertips directly on the wet patch of your underwear. Your eyes roll back as he rubs on the same spot, the broken moans leaving you eerily similar to cries. “Don’t tell me you’re about to come like this. How sensitive are you?”

“Am n-not—” you cut yourself off with a whimper when he lets the waistband snap against your skin.

“Yeah, you sure about that?” he grins and that’s when you break, feeling your high approaching at lightning speed. 

“Don’t wanna come like this—” 

“But I thought you’re not sensitive?” the satisfied grin just widens with every syllable that leaves his lips. “If you don’t want to come like this, all over your underwear, beg.” 

Chan applies even more force to your sensitive spots, and you struggle to have a clear thought. The smirk he delivers is lethal, and you couldn’t be any more convinced that he’s the devil’s incarnate.

“I’ll do anything, please. Don’t let me come like this, that’s all I’m a-aah-asking for,” you weep, your blood nearly boiling at its climax, “I’ll even take a punishment!”

“Say my name,” he orders, fingers still drawing circles.

“Your—”

“My name, not my title.”

Your breath hitches as you finally realize what he’s aiming for. He wants you to remember that it’s him who’s reducing you into this illiterate mess. Him, the one you’ve been despising since before you even met. If you still had any ounce of dignity left, you’d try to fix the power imbalance until you’re left with no choice but to obey, but now you’re so close and the last thing you want to do is come with your pants on.

“Please, Chan,” your voice breaks towards the end and in an instant, he pulls away. As you’re letting you’re basking in the break from his brutal tempo, not too affected by how your upcoming orgasm is fading away, Chan observes you.

And then out of nowhere, he flips you on your stomach and delivers a hard smack to your ass that has you screaming into the pillows.

“You said you’d take any punishment too, right?” You twitch as he rubs the small of your back. You can already imagine the handprints on your ass he continued to slap you with such force that has you moving up the bed. The pain that’s going to haunt you for days. Before you know it, you try to arch your back to lift your ass, but then the bed shifts. “But if you really think I’m going to spank you as a punishment, then you’re really fucking dumb. As if I’ll use my hands on you when we both know you love my hands.”

With that, he drops himself on his chair, spreading his legs that you can see the prominent tent forming in his pants. He orders you over with a flick of his finger, and just as you get up from the bed, a new wave of horror flushes over you.

“Crawl.”

The look you send him is priceless. There’s no fucking way you can do it. It’s just a few meters, nothing you can’t handle, but he’s there sitting on his Ikea swivel chair as if it’s his throne made of gold, watching your every movement like a predator. And then there’s you, only in a shirt and underwear, being forced to go on all fours as if you were his fucking dog—

The difference in power display couldn’t get any more visible. He really is the fucking worst.

“You’d really do anything, huh…” he muses as you drop on your hands and knees and crawl to him, never looking up. It’s only when he beckons you to stand up that you look at him with nothing but rage and shame in your eyes. Chan has always been slightly terrified with your death stare but right now, he can’t take it seriously and it shows. It shows in the way he smiles lopsidedly, in the way his brows quirk in amusement. “Now hump my leg.”

Humiliation runs through your body all over. Your fists are clenched as he waits for you to act, even pats his thigh in case you didn’t get the memo. But oh you do, and his thigh does look inviting.

“Hump my leg like the brainless bitch you are. If you want my hands or my cock, you earn it first. Especially since you treated me like shit ever since I moved in.” The last sentence burns you badly because he has a point. But then there’s the prospect of his hands and dick that’s bulging out of his pants. 

Pushing all thoughts away, you settle on his leg. Taking a moment to gather yourself, you tell yourself it’s all good and then you move. The first thrust knocks all air out of your lungs and you grab onto his shoulders for support. You didn’t even move that much, but Chan’s looking at you as if he’s about to fucking devour you and knowing that he is very much capable of moving you around, you’re starting to become overwhelmed.

Eventually, you lose yourself in the feeling of his rough jeans against your drenched underwear, humping on his thigh as your orgasm builds up. It’s silent, save for your pants, and the countless whimpers flying past your lips as your movements gradually become sloppier. You’re almost there and you know it. But so does Chan, and the moment he’s got it figured out, he lunges from your hips and forces you to pick up the pace. 

“Oh no, you’re going to come,” he growls, ignoring your pleas and sobs. Adrenaline courses in your blood and you know it isn’t long until you fall apart. You try to make him stop, even put your hands on his, but you don’t have the energy to actively push him away.

“Chan, please— I’m gonna—”

“You’re gonna come? Then fucking come on my thigh, (y/n),” he snaps, and then adds, “You hear that? You’re about to come from humping my thigh.”

Maybe it’s the realization that he’s right, maybe it’s the way he’s worded it. Either way, it’s the last straw to make you spasm as you come, soaking your underwear and even managing to make a mess out of his pants. Chan makes sure you ride through your orgasm, only stopping to move your hips once you’re all spent and resting your head on his shoulder. Your eyes are glassy, vision foggy, but the only thing you can envision clearly is Chan.

Chan jolts when your hand grazes over his bulge. You’re about to undo his pants, but he’s quick to stop you and restrict your hands behind your back.

“You think you deserve my cock? Dream on. As if I would fuck any commoner, especially those who don’t respect me,” he spits, and you flinch at his choice of words, clearly recalling that you used the exact same terms and he’s now using it against you. “You said you’d take any punishment. Well, guess what? This was just punishment number one.”

[iwaisa]

request. trynna think of a request for u rn 🧏‍♀️ how ab tsukki w a best friend who’s so grade conscious bc ppl have high expectations of them n one day she breaks down bc she b afraid of failure n he’s like .......ok ill comfort them bc theyre my best friend but im also secretly in love w them trope😝 definitrly not because this reminds me of a certain someone who is not myself and i definitrly dont need to hear this😭 - @tsukisemi​

a/n. sue you are a GENIUS I LOVE YOU AND YOUR BIG BRAIN. i absolutely adore best friends to lovers/childhood friends to lovers tropes they make me so happy ugh once again THANK YOU

► now playing...

- pairing. tsukishima x female reader (pronouns not specifically stated, but there is ma’am lol)

- warnings. make out session! lol oops. suggestive content

- word count. 1.8k+

it was a friday evening, and you found yourself studying at kei tsukishima’s house. again. no matter how many times you tried to convince him to do other things while hanging out in the warmth of his bedroom, he always insisted that academics came before baking and movies.

the two of you have been friends since your last year of junior high, after yamaguchi was too busy looking up at his tall companion to realize another figure was about to collide with him. the two of you made contact with the ground, before jumping up to apologize quickly.

tsukishima found himself instantly infatuated with you - you were gorgeous. your breathtaking eyes, the way your school uniform seemed to fit just perfectly, the way he imagined your smaller hands and fingers slotting in between his - he was absolutely intrigued. yamaguchi would say love at first sight, the taller male would call him ridiculous.

the three of you instantly clicked, with you and yamaguchi being the more talkative ones of the trio. tsukishima acted as a parental figure, scolding you two constantly for doing things you weren’t supposed to.

upon overhearing a conversation with sensei that you would be heading to karasuno for high school - the same place tsukishima and yamaguchi were planning on going - he let out a breath he never knew he was holding in. he continued listening to sensei urging you to plan on going somewhere more academic based - like shiratorizwa or fukurōdani. you put it simply that you would rather go somewhere more balanced. sensei was hesitant before he approved of your plans.

you had always been good at doing homework and classwork, but you weren’t so good at taking tests. they intimidated you, making you worry that you would end up receiving something lower than a B+. tsukishima and yamaguchi knew of course, since the two of you held frequent study sessions at each others’ houses. this tradition carried on even when the three of you made it into karasuno, just not as frequently due to the boys’ volleyball practices.

today, however, yamaguchi was helping yachi teach kageyama and hinata english since tsukishima blatantly refused. the two of you headed back to his house, and instantly began flipping through your textbooks. he was quietly scribbling words and numbers on his papers, seemingly flying through assignments. you were sat on his bed, stuck on one section in particular.

“why the hell is ap chemistry so hard?” you sighed, scratching your scalp. tsukishima turned his head to see you rubbing your eyes, which adorned deep blue bags underneath. he sighed, putting his pencil down as he walked to sit on the edge of the bed alongside you. he looked over your shoulder, reading the complex chemical equations. “you know this one, l/n. you got it.” 

you shook your head quickly, “no, i don’t tsukki. i have no idea what i’m doing and sensei literally didn’t even teach us this. see, this is why i’m glad i didn’t end up going to an academy because this would be ten times harder. i hate that people are always assuming i can handle this with ease. i can’t.” you finished, blinking back tears.

tsukishima sighed, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses before readjusting them to focus on the question. he began rubbing his finger over the numbers, slowly explaining each process. you were surprised he was being kind, but you didn’t want to take this soft moment for granted. you simply nodded your head, hurriedly scribbling down what he was saying in your notebook.

“tell you what,” he turned, looking into your eyes. “if you can do these next four questions by yourself, i’ll give you something i’ve been meaning to for a while.” you tilted your head, “tsukki, my birthday was months ago.” he chuckled, getting up to sit in his chair, which was now facing you. “i’m aware.” the two of you stared at each other for a while, before you turned your attention back to your textbook.

using tsukishima’s explanations and whatever strategies you learned from sensei, you flew through two of the questions with ease, getting stuck on the third one. tsukishima explained once more, telling you to use a different equation for the next two. you nodded, finally understanding.

the next two questions were hard to figure out, but you finally got through them. you placed your pencil in between the crease of the pages, looking up to tsukisima expectedly. when he didn’t move, you were confused. did he just trick you into doing homework?

tsukishima gulped, attempting to calm his erratic heart and shaky legs. was he ready for this? no, he wasn’t. but even as yamaguchi said; he’s been putting this off for long enough. he knew he liked you, but had no idea just what to do about it. he knew he would be jeopardizing your friendship in some way, but tsukishima couldn’t deny that he wanted some sort of affectionate skinship to happen between the two of you.

he released his lower lip from his teeth before shaking his head. he stood up, walking towards you with slight hesitation. he plopped himself next to you, your shoulders brushing against each other. tsukishima lifted his glasses off his nose before leaning forward, pressing a quick peck to your lips.

your mouth fell open, and your eyes widened more than you believed they ever could. your face exploded with heat, and you began spewing out incoherent words. he stood up, returning to his seat. “tsukki?” you asked in disbelief. “yes?” he responded, seemingly unphased. “w-what was that?” he watched you run your middle and forefinger over your lips, “my gift.” your jaw dropped open once more, earning a rare chuckle from your blond friend. or maybe, not a friend anymore.

“if you finish the next four questions, i’ll give you another one. if you want,” his last words were muffled by the back of his hand. you smiled at the sight; tsukishima, the most stoic boy you’ve ever met, was embarrassed. nonetheless, you were going to earn another kiss from your friend, not to mention the boy you’ve been in love with for the past two years.

you were quick to pick up your pencil, reading the questions as quickly as possible. “and don’t rush either, idiot,” tsukishima jested. you stuck your tongue out at him, feeling your heart flutter as he let out a soft chuckle.

you made sure to complete each question thoroughly, wondering if you would get extra points for doing more work. tsukishima stood over your figure, eyes scanning over each question. he pointed at one, “the equation was right, but check your calculations again.” you sighed, turning back to the book. 

tsukishima bent over, pressing a light kiss atop your head, making you jolt in surprise. he staggered back holding his chin, and you stood up waving your hands frantically. he held his hand up to stop your word-vomit, letting a light chuckle escape his lips.

you pressed your lips in a line, sitting back down. you began calculating the equation once more, finally coming up with the right answer. “there you go. see? you only have four questions left now.” you lifted your chin expectedly, watching him squat in front of you. you pursed your lips as he began to lean in, pressing teasing kisses to both of your cheeks. you groaned in annoyance, before sandwiching his face in between your palms. “stop teasing,” you muttered sternly. “yes ma’am,” he joked, finally closing the distance between you two.

this kiss was a tad bit more passionate, the two of you moving your lips together excitedly. it would’ve been a make out session, if tsukishima had not pulled away with a grin. “last four questions.” he smirked at you before standing up, returning to his chair once more.

these questions were possibly the worst. there were multiple equations in each separate question, and it left you wondering why someone would ever want to major in chemistry. tsukishima watched your face contort into borderline anger, your lower lip between your teeth. he swiftly stood up, placing himself next to you on the bed. he reached his arm around you, rubbing circles into your lower back as you continued writing the wrong equations.

“here,” he spoke up finally, removing the pencil from your grasp. he began writing in a clear fashion which numbers were to be plugged in where, and it finally clicked for you. he glanced at your profile, watching your mouth fall open. he smiled to himself as he watched you solve the equations with ease, his hand never leaving your back.

you finally finished, looking up at the blond with long-awaited anticipation. “you’re eager,” he whispered, his eyes becoming soft. his gaze flickered between yours and your plush lips - the one’s he’s been waiting to feel on his for so long. and the feeling wasn’t disappointing. they felt amazing, and he was on cloud nine. a little voice that sounded like yamaguchi resonated in tsukishima’s head saying, “finally.”

the two of you began moving forward at a slow pace, until you gripped onto his shirt pulling him into you to finally close the gap. this kiss was definitely not like the last ones. this one was ferocious; two pining friends finally earning exactly what they’ve been patiently waiting for. 

tsukishima’s right hand made its way to your hip, prompting you to lay down. he hovered over you, not once pulling away. your tongue brushed against the seam of his lips, and he eagerly allowed your tongue to meet his. your hands began roaming, feeling tsukishima’s pecs. they slowly moved down to his abs, which were rock-solid, much to your surprise.

you gasped as he pulled away to press open-mouthed kisses on your jawline, moving down to your neck. your hands gripped his hair as he sucked on a particular spot that elicited a whine from your throat.

he pulled away, looking down at you with golden irises filled with lust. his gaze fell on the newly formed red spot on your neck, and he sat up pushing his glasses back to rest on the bridge of his nose. “sorry about that,” he whispered, his voice filled with nerves. “don’t be. i liked it,” you smiled, watching his gaze soften for the umpteenth time that day.

“do you like me?” he asked hesitantly. you paused, your eyebrows furrowing in mock confusion. “you know, for one of the smartest in the class, you’re pretty dumb.” he opened his mouth to protest, before you sat up to give him a quick kiss. “yes, i like you.”

his arms wrapped around your waist, pushing you back down onto his bed. “can we cuddle,” he said it as more of a statement than a question. you chuckled, wrapping your arms around his back. “can you be my boyfriend,” you pretend to mock, causing his head to snap up. he nodded hastily before burrowing his face into your chest once more. 

“i love you,” he said, his words muffled by your shirt. “i love you too, kei.” you smiled as you ran your hands through his golden locks, hearing a content sigh escape his lips.

[ruzek-halstead]

monster

pairing: jay halstead x hailey upton

written based on prompt:

"our kids are bitter rivals and the only time we ever meet is when we’re both called to the principal’s office and whatever maybe i think you’re kind of cute but your kid’s a monster"

warnings: swearing, fluffery 

masterlist

au || detective jay || lawyer hailey

today had been a hectic day. hailey had been all over the city; meeting clients, stopping by the courthouse and grabbing paper work from her office. the last thing she needed today was to be called into her daughter’s school because she had gotten into an altercation with another student… again. she’d gotten called in a few times already, due to one of her daughter’s classmates constant teasing and general brattiness. every time she had been called in, the boy’s father was unable to attend due to work commitment. that definitely annoyed her a little bit because here she was running around like a chicken with her head cut off, and she was still finding the time to go into school. apparently he was a detective (and a single father) who regularly did undercover work and often relied on nannies and close friends to watch over his son. by the time she reached the school and rushed into the front office, the secretary was waiting usher her into the principal’s office. upon entering the room, she spotted her daughter, spencer, sitting in one corner of the room and her nemesis (at least that’s how spencer referred to him; his actual name is milo) in the other corner. the only difference this time compared to all the rest of the times she’d been in this office is that milo’s father was present. for a second, she faltered in her step because she was blindsided by how unbelievably attractive he was. he’s dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, where his badge was pinned (obviously no gun because they were in a school). she was distracted by his green eyes and freckle littered face but was quickly brought back into the room by the dirty look he was shooting at her. if there was anything hailey was an expert at, it was throwing some side-eye so she didn’t hesitate in the slightest in returning it. “ah, ms. upton, thank you for joining us!” principal mathews greeted her and motioned for her to sit down in the chair beside her daughter. hailey sat down and reached over to press a quick kiss on the crown of spencer’s head. “hi baby,” she greeted, throwing her a soft smile. she noted in her quick inspection that her daughter had no obvious injuries, so she wondered what this was about. “ms. upton, this is mr. halstead, milo’s father,” principal mathews introduced. “i’ve called you here today after yet, another altercation.” there was a snort from the opposite side of the room. “spencer, would you like to tell us what happened?" “milo pushed me into the ground!” the principle raised an eyebrow. “and?” “he said boys are better than girls and that i suck!” hailey was stifling a laugh. “then what happened?” “he pulled my hair so i punched him in the nose.” hailey gasped and leaned over to look at milo’s face. sure enough, his nose was bruised, but luckily the blood was cleaned up. “oh my god, spencer! honey, you can’t just go around punching people in the face.” “yeah, but he deserved it,” she replied, pouting. “you didn’t have to punch me!” milo retaliated in response. “i was only joking!” spencer made a move to get up out of her chair (she definitely had hailey’s temper). “liar! you’re only saying that now because i punched you and you cried like a little girl!” “oh jesus,” hailey muttered, turning her attention to principle mathews. “i am so sorry. i’ll have a talk with spencer about using her words instead of hands.” for the first time since she arrived, mr. halstead (she’d heard his first name was jay, but it felt so informal since she’d never properly met him) spoke. “that’s probably a conversation you should have had already. then my kid wouldn’t be sitting here with a bloody nose.” hailey raised her eyebrows in surprise. “excuse me?” jay turned to her and met her stare with equal fierceness. “your kid pushed her to the ground! why don’t you talk to him?” jay glared at her. he was about to retort but principal mathews jumped in. “regardless, this kind of action will not be tolerated,” he stated. “i’m giving you both two weeks of detention. this can’t happen again, or i will have no choice but to suspend you. is that clear?” both kids nodded solemnly. “great. then you’re all dismissed.” hailey walked out with spencer, pulled her to a corner in the front lobby and knelt down beside her. “honey, we’ll talk about this later at home.” “i’m sorry, mommy,” spencer mumbled, rubbing her eyes where tears were starting to form. hailey pressed a kiss on her forehead. “what you did wasn’t right. but i never want you to stop standing up for yourself. we’ll just have to figure out different ways for you to do that.” spencer nodded her head. “okay. i love you, mom.” “love you too, baby,” hailey smiled, wiping away her tears. “now get back to class. i’ll pick you up after school.” her daughter sent her a bright smile and skipped off to class. hailey noticed jay was also chatting to milo, but shortly sent him back to class after wrapping him in a hug. he made eye contact with her for a second before he started walking out of the building. but after he had spoken to her in the principle’s office, she just couldn’t let him go without giving him a piece of her mind. “hey you!” she yelled in his direction, following him outside to the parking lot. she noticed his step faltered for a quick second but he didn’t stop. “don’t ignore me! i’m a lawyer, i can sue you!” at that, he finally turned around with a smirk on his face. “i’m a detective,” he explained smugly, “i know the law too, and i’m pretty sure you can’t.” hailey rolled her eyes. “whatever. i just wanted to ask you to tell your kid to stop shoving my daughter to the ground. or else maybe i will sue you.” “are you kidding me?” jay snorted incredulously. “your daughter almost broke his nose!” “because milo pushed her!” “maybe he had a reason to,” he defended, suddenly calm and sporting a smirk, “because if your daughter is anything like you, i understand why he’d want to shut her up.” hailey gasped, in shock and annoyance. “your kid is a little monster and i see where he gets it from!” “monster?” he laughed. “at least he’s not going around attempting to break noses.” hailey rolled her eyes, again. “she’s defending herself and i wouldn’t want it any other way. especially if she’s dealing with the spawn of satan.” jay raised his eyebrows. “are you implying that i’m satan?” “of course you’re satan! you’re being an ass and i don’t care that you’re unbelievably attractive! every time you speak, i want to jump in front of a bus.” for the first time since their heated conversation started, jay didn’t have anything insulting to say. instead, he stopped and really looked at her. her blonde locks were splayed down her shoulders, a little messy from her hands running through them. her blue eyes were on fire, staring at him with such an intensity, he started to laugh. “this is not funny!” hailey protested, fighting the urge to stomp her foot. she was a lawyer; she didn’t like to lose. “why am i even wasting my time here with you? i have better things to do,” she snapped, “just make sure to keep your kid in line.” jay stopped her from walking away by placing a gentle hand on her arm. “would you like to go to dinner with me?” “what?” hailey blinked at him, dumbfounded. jay was breezing through with nothing but confidence. “i know for a fact that you’re a single mother, and i also happen to find you attractive,” he explained. “and from the looks of it, you think i could use some parenting tips.” “i, well —" “you called my kid a monster,” he added with a raised eyebrow in amusement, “please?” hailey swallowed the lump in her throat. “dinner? i can do dinner.” “great!” jay smirked. “i’ll pick you up friday night. is that enough time to find a sitter?” hailey blinked in confusion. “i — what? yes, but, don’t you need my —" “i’m a detective,” his right eyelid dropped in a wink, “i’ll find you.” he walked away and hailey was left wondering how giving him hell ended up with her scoring a date. 

✨

hope you guys enjoyed it! i’m not a parent so oops if i went about that the wrong way. also, sorry if it sucked 😬😬 stay safe everyone!!

[iwillbeinmynest]

Old Lady - Frank x Reader(f)

Author’s Notes: Okay this one has me melting lol. I’ma actually relived to be on this fluff kick for a bit. Its refreshing and fun. Especially during a time when, I think, everyone could use some.

AU: Biker

Word Count: 1.6k + (Okay, so this one is a one-shot, to a dabble. Sue me.)

Notes/Warning: Fluff, tiny bit of stress and embarrassment, kissing

Masterlist

Frank walked out from the club house and grabbed his helmet off the handles of his bike.

“And where are you headed so early?” Sam asked as he stood with crossed arms and a smirk. He leaned against the porch railing with his hips.

“I got somethin’ I need to do.”

“I bet you do.” Sam’s grin grew wider.

Frank huffed, “Don’t you have anyone else you can bother?”

Sam only shook his head.

Frank rolled his eyes and then swung a leg over his bike. He cranked it up and the engine roared to life.

Steve walked outside and stood next to Sam. “Where is he going?” he asked as Frank rode away.

“Where do you think?”

Steve smiled. “I’m happy for him.”

“It’s a shame he’s going soft, though.”

“I’d say he’s got a pretty good reason for it though.” Steve added.

*  *  *  

Frank shut off the bike and ran a hand through his hair and gave his head a shake to try and get rid of his helmet hair- he wanted to look his best, this was a big day.

As he approached the house Frank heard the sound of shouting and crying. He knocked on the door.

“It’s open!” Her shout muffled.

Frank opened the door to see the living room a mess of glitter and dance costumes. Toys littered the floor and the four year old Hannah dashed from one side of the room to down the hall in nothing but an oversized tee-shirt and dance tights.

Frank found Y/N and looked at her with wide eyes.

Y/N was close to tears and went to him. “She won’t let me do her hair and we are about to be late for her call time,” Y/N’s chin quivered and she dropped her head against his chest. “I’m the worst dance-mom ever.”

If it was any other woman, Frank would have laughed but, this was Y/N. So, he  rubbed her back and kissed her head before taking a deep breath. “What needs to get done so we can go?”

Y/N inhaled and stood upright, detaching herself from Frank. “Um,” She wiped her face of tears, “I need to get her costumes and shoes together and I need to get her hair into a bun but she keeps running from me and I don’t know what else to say to her to get still.”

Frank nodded, “Okay how about I do her hair and you get her clothes.”

YN looked at him like he had three heads. “You can do a ballet bun?”

“I’ll manage.” He said matter of factly, “How hard could it be?”

Y/N sniffed, “Have you met Hannah?”

Frank put his hand at the back of Y/N’s head and pulled her to him until he could kiss her forehead. “You do your part, I’ll take care of her.”

* * *

  Frank walked into Hannah’s room to find her standing dead still and staring at her T.V. which was playing Sophia the First.

Silently as he could, Frank grabbed a hairbrush and hair ties from Hannah’s dresser and stood behind her. He gathered up all of her hair and, when she started to squirm, he gave her the Elsa doll that was sitting on her bed. Hannah stopped moving and Frank kept working. Before the episode was over, he’d done it and it wasn’t half bad if you asked him.

He went to the living room and found that Y/N seemed less stressed.

She looked up from butting Hannah’s tap shoes in the dance bag. “Did you get it?”

Frank smirked with pride, “Yes, I did. I just need some hairspray for the back.”

“Well, who’d have thought,” Y/N smiled as she tossed him the can of spray - he caught it with ease. “Thank you.”

 He winked at her then disappeared back into Hannah’s room. He came out seconds later with Hannah and she was surprisingly quiet.

Y/N gasped dramatically, “Hannie! You look beautiful, baby!” She looked over Frank’s handywork and really was impressed. “I think it may need a few bobby pins but it looks great.” She grabbed a handful and let Frank continue to hold her daughter while she snuck them in.

Hannah rested her head on Frank’s shoulder and held Elsa tight.

“You ready to go, now, baby?” Y/N asked.

Hannah nodded her head but otherwise didn’t move from Frank’s arms.

Y/N gave Frank a look and grabbed all of Hannah’s dance clothes before heading to the door.

Frank chuckled, “You gonna go out in that?”

Y/N paused and looked at her sweat pants and sports bra. She slammed the door shut and dropped the costumes back on the couch. She ran down the hall to her room and called out, “I’ll be ready in two minutes!”

* * *

 She kept to her word and reappeared with seconds to spare. She was twisting her hair up as she came down the hall and pinning it into place.

Frank’s brows shot up. “Wow,” he said at the sight of her.

She was wearing a black lace dress with a blue lining, it fit like a glove. Her heels, a baby blue t- strap, really helped to show off her legs.

“What? Does it look bad?” She stopped in her tracks, ready to change if she needed to.

“No, you look…” Hannah’s head popped up from Frank’s shoulder to look at Y/N, too. “Wow. I just hope you don’t go out in that too much or I might have to crack some skulls.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled softly. “It’s brand new and just for you.” She placed a hand on his chest and leaned in to give him a kiss. “Besies, unless you’ve done something I should know about, I plan on keeping you Frank Castle.”

“No, Ma’am. I’m all yours.”

“What are skulls?” Hannah asked.

Frank pulled his lips down in a dramatic frown, “Oops.”

“It’s nothing, baby. Come on. It’s time to go.” Y/N said quickly to avoid the conversation.

* * *

  At the theatre, Y/N rushed back to her seat. Frank smiled at her and the stage lights lit up his face gently.

“She okay?” He asked her.

Y/N nodded. “Yeah. I left her with Jess, one of the other mom’s. Hannah likes her so she didn’t freak out when I left.”

“Good.” Frank put his hand on her knee and patted it. “She’s gonna be great.” He encouraged her quietly.

The lights faded to black as the current dance number ended and Y/N grabbed Frank’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

The lights came up and there was little Hannah just off center in the very front. She was grinning wide and stood proud with her hands and feet in first position. The music started and Hanah began her dance. Her evergreen, romantic, tutu flowed around her as she ran from one side of the stage to the other in time with the other girls.

Y/N watched her with pride and Frank watched Y/N.

He loved to see the love Y/N had for her daughter. It gave him hope. His mother was never like this, in fact he wasn’t sure if she’d ever been proud of him. But Y/N- she was an amazing mom and if he had his way she was gonna be a great old lady. His old lady.

The song ended and everyone clapped and cheered.

Y/N clapped and then wiped tears from her eyes. When she noticed Frank watching her she blushed, embarrassed. “Sorry. I was just so nervous for her. She did great.”

“She was amazing.” He smiled at her.

“I guess I’d better go get her ready for her tap number. I’ve only got five songs in between.” Y/N grabbed her purse.

Frank took her hand, “I’ll walk you.”

He escorted her through the dark theatre and then held the door for her. When they reached the lobby Frank grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into a kiss.

She fell into it and placed both hands on his kutte. She pulled back and looked at him curiously with a smile. “What was that for?”

He shook his head. “Just...’cause. You… Y/N Y/L/N you are the most perfect woman I’ve ever met in my life and I know you hate him and I know I shouldn’t be but I’m so glad Hannah’s father bailed on you cause he gave me you. And I swear on my kutte that if you’ll have me, I’ll do right by you and our little ballerina princess.”

Y/N tried to breathe through the tears that threatened to fall.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Y/N kissed him and pulled him close by wrapping her arms around his neck. “I love you, too, Frank.”

He grinned down at her before kissing her again.

Someone entered the lobby and Y/N and Frank jerked away from each other like teenagers-  flushed and all but giggling.

“Well, I better get back there.” Y/N finally said.

“Oh, yeah- yeah, okay. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you back in there then.” He couldn’t get rid of the smile on his face if he tried.

Y/N nodded and then headed down the stairs and towards the backstage entrance.

Frank watched until he couldn’t see her any more then shoved his hands in his pockets and allowed himself a moment to revel in the moment since he was alone in the lobby again.

But when he turned around he froze.

Standing smug and smirking, on the stairs to the balcony, stood Steve and Sam. Steve nodded and Sam wiggled his brows at Frank.

Frank’s smile vanished and he was suddenly embarrassed, wondering how much they’d seen. But all he said was a grumbled, “Shut up,” before returning to his seat.

* * * * * * * *  

Forever Tags:

@cassiopeiassky​ 

@sgtbxckybxrnes​

@itsanerdlife​

@beccaanne814​

@tanelle83​

@artemis521​

@elaacreditava​

@feelmyroarrrr​

@palaiasaurus64​

@the-stuttering-kiwi​

@destiel-artemis​

@sexyvixen7​

@girl-next-door-writes​

@coolest-avenger​

@xoxabs88xox​

@youclickedthislink​

@also-fangirlinsweden​

@widowvinter​

@daughterofthenight117​

@drayshadow​

@archy3001​

@miraclesoflove​

[thatmultifandomhoe]

Strawberry Cream and BBQ - 19

Pairing: Hybrid Hoseok and Human Reader

Overview: Your best friend knows she can count on you for anything, so when she asks you to watch her hybrid while she’s gone for a study abroad trip for four months, you can’t say no. But when these four months are over, things have changed in a way no one expected.

Word Count: 2,283

Genre: Hybrid AU, Fluff, Future smut, Angst, Best friends to Lovers

Warning: Fluff, a little itty bitty angst.

Master List

Sneak Peak - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 - Part 17 - Part 18 - Part 19 - Part 20 - Part 21 - Part 22 - Part 23 - Part 24 - Part 25 (Final) - Move in Day: A SC&BBQ Drabble

©thatmultifandomhoe Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without permission.

You held the laundry basket against your hip, arm stretched out to the side as you walked down the hall to the last room at the end of the hallway. An earbud was in one ear, listening to your favorite music, occasionally nodding your head to the beat of it.

Hoseok’s heat had ended the other night, making it the first time in three days that you got to sleep longer than a couple hours. True to his word, he hadn’t been able to control himself after marking you, showing you another side of him that you never expected but you greatly enjoyed.

Entering the room, you hurried the best you could to the only empty washing machine, setting your basket on top of it to claim it, wincing while doing so. The only down side to rough sex meant that you were sore, and having a mate who enjoyed seeing you covered in hickeys, also meant that underneath your clothes your skin was dotted with various purple love bites.

Inside the laundry room, there were six washers and six dryers, five of which were already taken. The complex provided the machines, but the tenants had to use their own detergents and softeners, which you didn’t see as a hassle as some of the older tenants did. Against the left wall was a six-foot table in length, and a handful of black folding chairs incase anyone wanted to stick around. But there wasn’t anyone else in the room despite the machines running, so you didn’t feel guilty about setting your basket on the table.

You hummed along to the song as you got the water running, turning to separate the clothes. For the last three days, Hoseok and you were stuck to staying in the bedroom for the sake of keeping the rest of the furniture safe from your sexcapades. He already lived up to his promise of needing a new headboard, and you weren’t even positive if the sheets were salvageable at this point. With a shudder, your nose scrunched up at the thought.

As the washer filled with water, you tossed in a load of dark clothes, a mix of yours and Hoseok’s clothing. This was perhaps, the least exciting thing you’ve done since he came to stay with you. But it was the like nothing had changed. You were still you, the same woman who hated throwing all her laundry in the wash at once, unlike your neighbors who would rather toss it all in instead of separating them.

Since the task was so simple, your mind wandered to Sue and your friendship. You weren’t ready to say that it was dying, but you knew that it was nothing like it used to be. It felt like you were seeing her in a new light, one that painted her in a new light. During the last three days, your phone and Hoseok’s had taken turns with receiving messages from Sue, sometimes only minutes apart as she alternated between texting you. For obvious reasons you didn’t respond back. The only time you even touched your phone was when Hoseok went to go get snacks and food from the kitchen for you during the breaks. He didn’t let you leave the bed unless it was for the bathroom, but that was because he saw how sore and exhausted your body was.

You couldn’t help but shake your head, remembering how he had whined when you tried to go to the kitchen the first time after the first couple rounds. He knew exactly what was going to happen but you were being stubborn. It was a good thing he was right behind you when you stood, legs giving out at your attempt to stand. You had to reassure him more than once that you weren’t in pain.

Speaking of pain. Reaching up, you gently touched the bite mark on your neck with your fingers, only flinching a little. It was still sore and needed time to heal. How long it would take, you weren’t entirely sure. A sense of pride rushed through your body knowing that his mark was permanently there. You spent years, trying and failing to find the perfect man, only to realize he had been there all along. Tossing in the last shirt, you closed the lid. Maybe watching all those romance movies was starting to reflect on your life.

“Oops, I didn’t know someone was in here.”

Turning to look over your shoulder, you watched as two women entered the laundry room. They appeared to be a mother and daughter, sharing the same brown hair and thin nose. You knew the mother; her name was Mrs. Whitney and she lived three doors down from you.

“How are you doing hun?” Mrs. Whitney asked, adjusting her teal framed glasses as she went to the dryer against the right wall.

“Pretty good.” You answered, smiling when she looked your way. “Just trying too find the motivation to get a majority of the laundry done today.”

Mrs. Whitney chuckled as she put a basket on the floor. “Mind sending me some of that motivation when you find it?” With a glance over her shoulder, she gestured to her daughter who was sitting on one of the chairs, her eyes glued to her phone. “Better yet, send it to my daughter instead. Somebody doesn’t know when to set her phone down and help her mother.”

You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing. Instead you grabbed your own basket and tapped your fingers against the handle to give your hands something to do.

The daughter, realizing that she was being spoken about, lifted her head and forced a smile when your eyes met. She appeared to be around your age, young enough to have pink highlights in her hair and get away with it, but you didn’t immediately recognize her.

“You asked for company,” she told her mother.

“Yes, I did,” Mrs. Whitney agreed. “But I was hoping that you’d put the phone away too, Beth.”

Beth rolled her eyes, but she did put her phone in her pocket. “What would you like me to talk about?”

Leaning against the washer, you felt a pang of sympathy for Mrs. Whitney. You weren’t extremely close to her, but you were friendly enough to stop and have a conversation with each other if you weren’t press for time.

“Well, I think we have a new tenant living on this floor. I’m not sure what his name is, but I’ve seen him coming in and out. He’s a hybrid.”

You tilted your head to the side, biting back the smile that threatened to take over your face. No matter where you went, Hoseok managed to be the main story to any conversation as of late. “Actually,” you softly interjected. “That’s Hoseok. He’s staying with me while Sue, our friend and his owner, is away on the study abroad program offered at the college.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed that Beth suddenly straightened up, her gaze focused on you.

Mrs. Wright on the other hand, just smiled. “Studying abroad? Well that’s exciting. Wait, Beth, don’t you have a friend doing that too?”

“Yeah, I’m friends with Sue too,” Beth explained. “She’s over in Hong Kong.”

If a dark cloud had the ability to form inside a building, you were willing to bet there was one hovering over your shoulder. You couldn’t recall ever seeing Beth, but the longer you look, she did seem familiar. She probably was friends with Sue. Even though it was a small town, the college attracted students from all over the state. If anything, you might have seen her in passing on campus.

There was just something about her that made your pulse race. Not like how it did when Hoseok was near. No. She gave you the same feeling you experienced every time you had to lock up the bookstore at night and had to walk around back to the parking lot where you kept your car. You felt nervous around her.

“Well isn’t this a small world,” Mrs. Whitney spoke, capturing your attention again.

You gave her a shaky smile, quickly nodding. “Yeah, small world.”

Shutting the dryer, she moved her full basket on to the table, pushing it against the wall to have space to fold her clothes. From what you could tell it was mostly whites and a dozen or two socks.

“That Hoseok, he seems around your age,” Mrs. Whitney sent you a knowing grin, obviously missing the mark that was on your neck. You knew that she meant well – things tended to go over her head sometimes – but she truly was a sweet woman. For the first few months after you moved into your apartment, she was the only one to say hi to you and offer help when you needed it. “Is he seeing anyone?”

Beth snorted, drawing her mother’s attention. “Might want to clean your glasses mom and take a look at her neck. He’s seeing someone alright.” As if to prove her point, she pointed at your neck, her eyes narrowing when you reached up to cover the mark with your hand. But Mrs. Whitney saw it before you could hide it.

“Oh, I didn’t realize…” Mrs. Whitney’s hands grip tightened on the washcloth she had been folding. “I’m sorry hun, I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“It’s alright, Mrs. Whitney.”

The room went silent for a moment, the atmosphere so tense that it felt like it would suffocate you at any moment. Beth sat back in her seat, a smug grin on her face as she pulled out her phone.

“You know, he seems like a really nice man,” Mrs. Whitney softly said. “And as long as he makes you happy, then I don’t see any reason to dislike him.”

Looking up, you saw the gentle smile on her face that was meant just for you. “Thank you, Mrs. Whitney. Hoseok’s about the sweetest man you could ever meet.” Her smile widened as she began to fold her clothes once more, and you took that as your cue to leave.

You rubbed the mark once more before uncovering it, feeling Beth’s stare on it as you wished Mrs. Whitney a good day, hurrying out of the laundry room as fast as possible without drawing attention. Taking a shaky breath, your body moved on autopilot, the steps to your apartment already ingrained in your mind as your thoughts went elsewhere.

This wasn’t what you were expecting when you went to go do laundry. Obviously, there were still people who didn’t see hybrids as equals, but you didn’t think you’d run into someone who thought that way so soon. Especially someone who was a friend of Sue.

It didn’t change your mind or your feelings for Hoseok, you didn’t want to bother with people like Beth. What hurt was that she already had her mind made up about hybrids, and despite how sweet and understanding her mother is, she didn’t seem to be changing her mind anytime soon.

As you walked back into your apartment, you were still thinking about Beth when Hoseok walked out of your now shared bedroom, dropping a black garbage bag on the floor.

“Bad news,” he announced, scratching the base of his dog ears.

Raising an eyebrow, the corner of your lips curved into a smile as you guessed what was in the bag. “We need new bed sheets?”

“I’m thinking we should buy a bunch, that way if they get ruined, we don’t have to constantly go out to the store.” He had the decency to look partially guilty, but it was still amusing. Walking around the bag, he went to take the basket from you when he frowned, his tail stilling as he took in the not so happy look on your face. “Strawberry, is everything okay? If it’s about the sheets, I’m sorry. Ripping them was the last thing I planned to do.”

You shook your head though, effectively cutting him off. “No, it’s not that. Do you recall someone named Beth Whitney?” You asked, setting the basket on the floor. “Pink highlights, apparently a friend of Sue?”

He frowned as he thought about it, moving closer so he could slip his hand into yours. “The name sounds familiar, but I can’t picture her. I might’ve met her at some point, Sue and Colin always had people over. Why do you ask?”

“I ran into her and her mom in the laundry room,” you answered, stepping into his embrace. His arms went around your back as he looked down at you. “She was very interested in the fact that you were staying with me. Beth, that is.”

Hoseok tilted his head. “Well, that’s weird.” But he kissed your forehead and your body relaxed at his touch. These three days had been amazing, and to see you suddenly so sad didn’t sit well with him. “I wouldn’t worry about it though. She’s probably someone who’s nosey. Sue always had a few friends who couldn’t mind their own business. We on the other hand, have to go shopping for a new headboard and sheets.”

That made you chuckle, and as you went to retrieve your purse, you couldn’t shake the strange feeling. It was like a cold breeze that never died down. You tried not to think about it, and when the two of you left, Hoseok wrapped an arm around your shoulders as you headed for the elevator. His touch warmed you up, but you could feel a pair of eyes on you that didn’t go away until the elevator doors closed shut.

[obsidiancreates]

Old Writing

Alright. Okay. This... is the first chapter of my first fic involving Mark and Jack (Dan and Phil are also there? For some reason?) from back when I was 13.

I wanted to post more old writing because I think it’s fun to look back at where I started and where I am now, you know?

I had... no idea, how to write Mark and Jack back then. I’d literally started watching them... like, a month or two prior or something?

So, yeah. 13 year old Sid’s writing, all the way from Wattpad. Including the Author’s notes. I used to call my readers “Fanfares”. Yup.

Hey there Fanfares! Just a quick author's note before the story. There will be no cussing. Yes, I am fully aware of the language that all these YouTubers use, but this will be a swear-free book. My excuse is that, since we've never heard the Gmod characters cuss, cuss words don't exist in their dimension and when they were pulled in the YouTubers lost their ability to cuss. Also, I still have no idea what to call Sue, so I'm just going with he/him. Now that that's done with, enjoy!

Mark stood behind the stage, waiting for everyone else to show up. He had gotten there a couple minutes early by accident. That's when he heard a familiar Irish accent.

"I'm here! I'm not late am I?!" Jack shouted as he ran in.

"Nope. No one else is even here yet," Mark told him. Jack wiped his brow.

"Phew! I thought I was late. Who else is coming?"

"I think it's Felix, Dan, Phil, and some gamers."

"Cool!" Jack exclaimed. The two waited for everyone else to arrive.

Meanwhile, trouble was brewing in a whole other universe. The VenturianTale Gmod universe. The Acachalla family was fighting off an army of bus-sized chickens with laser eyes, but that wasn't the trouble. Well, it was part of the trouble, but not all of it. Papa Achachalla shot at the poultry with his most beloved shotgun, Gertrude was flinging her crowbar around, Sally had a rocket launcher, Billy had grenades, Spencer was out of the basement and slicing at the beasts with a sword, and Sue was in the treehouse trying to be a sniper. He ended up injuring the Achachallas more than the chickens, but that was to be expected. What wasn't expected was Fred "Spooker" Soup and Chris "Colon" Ghosty randomly arriving.

"Why are we here again?" Colon asked, adjusting his blue beanie. Spooker scratched his head and thought for a moment before responding.

"Oh, right! Because Ghost and Toast had to go deal with a french ghost and they sent us to handle this!"

"I think the Achachallas are handling it okay."

"Not that. Ghost said their was a ghost here!"

"Oh. Okay, I'll scan around for anything strange!" Colon said, whipping out the scanner. It started going haywire immediately. "Oops, forgot it doesn't work in this house. Hey, I'm kinda hungry."

"Me too," Spooker said. His face lit up. "Why don't we have a snack first? I'm sure Achachalla won't mind us taking his food!" Before Colon could say anything Spooker dashed into the kitchen and was rummaging through the fridge. He proudly produced a bowl of spaghetti. "Here we go! I'll just pop it in the microwave! How long?"

"Hmm. I usually put it in for five minutes. I like it extra nuclear," Colon said. His stomach growled and he frowned. "Hurry up."

"Okay, timer is set!" Spooker exclaimed. He hit start.

The microwave started shaking and glowing. It hummed and growled, sounding like a wild animal. Or maybe Sally when she didn't get her waffles. Either way it scared the unpaid interns. Fred and Colon backed away from the device. It started shooting sparks and the spaghetti caught on fire. The glowing got more and more intense, until BLAM! Dimensional energy exploded out of it! The blast was felt all over Little Butts. Everyone/thing stopped whatever they were doing. The microwave shot off one final spark before going back to normal. The little door popped open to reveal a very burnt, very melted, slightly alive bowl of spaghetti.

"Uh...I don't think we were supposed to do that," Spooker said, trembling. Colon nodded before passing out. "Good idea," Spooker whispered. He passed out too.

Back in the other dimension, everyone had finally arrived. They were all waiting backstage after being prepped to go on. A strange wind blew through the area, smelling faintly of...spaghetti? Everyone sniffed the air. "Anyone else smell that?" Mark questioned. Everyone nodded. Then a small light, about the size of a golf ball, appeared behind them. Jack turned around and did a double take.

"What on earth is that?!" he shouted, leaping away from it. Everybody turned around and did the same. The light got bigger. A swirl of red, yellow, and blue appeared in the middle. It got bigger and bigger until it was big enough for a person to fit in. The whole group had been backing away from it the whole time. Now it was pulling them in, like when the Millennium Falcon was being pulled into the Death Star. It's pull got stronger and stronger.

"What the heck is going on!" Phil screamed. He was the first one to be pulled in. "AHHHHHH!!!"

"PHIL!" Dan screamed. He was next to go. "NONONONO!!!"

"I'm losing my grip!" Mark shouted. He had grabbed onto a nearby pole. His fingers slipped off and he got sucked into the vortex. "HELP!"

Jack had his arms wrapped around the railing of the stairs leading to the stage. The pull got stronger until he couldn't hold on anymore. "SOMEONE HELP!" he screeched as he was pulled in. The portal closed immediately. Everyone who hadn't got sucked in stood speechless. They all felt light headed. One by one they collapsed as people rushed in. They were all taken to the hospital, but everyone was wondering the same thing.

Where were Mark, Jack, Dan, and Phil?

Okay, that's chapter one! Sorry it's short, but there's more to come! I'm pretty sure you all know where Mark, Jack, Dan, and Phil are. I'm very excited about this story! Oh, and one more thing. The gang might end up meeting a certain...friend in the future. See you, Fanfares!

[couchmonkey]

PILOT season!!

When I was young, Brandon Tartikoff was a hero of mine. I always fancied myself a closet programmer, so I love pilot season. THR published a list of the projects moving forward and as I was procrastinating, some are already on the air.

Let’s start with Stumptown. Inspired by the Oni Press graphic novels, Dex Parios (Cobie Smulders), a strong, assertive and unapologetically sharp-witted (but, let’s face it, hot mess) Army veteran working as a P.I. in Portland. Michael Ealy plays the cop because there must always be one. His boss is Camryn Manheim (yes!!), and the whole reason I heard about the show is Tantoo Cardinal, a powerful local Native American tied to Dex’s past. Oops, almost forgot the best friend, JakeJohnson of New Girl. His past is a little messy, too. He now owns a bar and employs Dex’s brother Ansel (Cole Sibus). It’s a tight cast, and Dex really is a hot mess nut she gets things done.

All Rise, it looks like, was originally pitched as Courthouse, good thing they changed the name! Simone Missick is a former DA who just became a judge and is encircled by Ruthie Ann Mills as her assistant, Lindsay Mendez as her stenographer, J. Alex Brinson as the deputy in her courtroom, and Marg Helgenberger as her mentor. I was not familiar with the first three when I started the show but they are a strong team. The 2 main lawyers are Wilson Bethel, a DA and old friend of Missick’s judge, and Jessica Camacho, a VERY determined public defender. I like the dynamics of the show, it’s very seldom a case of the week situation (even though there is one). Viewers get little snippets of most of the characters’ lives organically so, in my opinion, you enjoyed the show more the more you watch.

Evil is one of the most unique shows on the air this season. It pits science and religion, Katja Herbers plays a skeptical clinical psychologist who joins a priest-in-training (Mike Colter) and a blue-collar contractor ( Aasif Mandvi)  to investigate supposed miracles, demonic possessions and other extraordinary occurrences to see if there's a scientific explanation or if something truly supernatural is at work.The give and take between science and religion is truly engaging and Michael Emerson is truly creepy and possibly playing for the other side in this battle.

Bob Hearts Abishola follows Bob (Billy Gardell) who, after having a heart attack, falls in love with his Nigerian nurse (Folake Olowofoyeku). I think I saw the pilot, the rest of the episodes are on my DVR at the moment and thanks to some of the promos and Christine Ebersole, I do plan to get to them. ETA: I’ve watched a couple.  Folake Olowofoyeku is really great but because this whole thing seems to involve the progress of their relationship, it runs a little slow for me.

Carol's Second Act is also piling up on my DVR.  I’ve been on bedrest because of an injury and have been mostly streaming. But, like Bob, I do plan to get to it. I do like that Patricia Heaton is the lead, a med student of all things. I have to think it’s also still on the air because it also has a strong male lead, Kyle MacLachlan, although I’ve never personally seen him do comedy.  Cedric Yarbrough is a strong motivator for me as well as I saw every episode of Speechless. ETA: Well, plans change. I erased them all. I thought if I hadn’t gotten to them by now, watching them would be a chore.

The Unicorn is a sitcom I actually have been watching. I didn’t want to at first because, although I’d heard of Walton Goggins, I had never actually seen him in anything. But it’s kind of like Seinfeld in that there is such an impressively strong group playing the couples who are his friends. Omar Benson Miller (yes!!) and  Maya Lynne Robinson are a couple with 4 kids and essentially a no nonsense approach and Rob Corddry and comedy goddess Michaela Watkins are the white color kid with a single kid who is well on her way to nerdhood.  These four a Goggins’ lifeline after his wife passes and he becomes a single father. The whole widower thing is handled well. His wife is mentioned or remembered in a completely organic way and allows the show to stay away from a trajectory that could have become maudlin.

Prodigal Son is another fairly unique concept for this season. Tom Payne plays Malcolm Bright, the son of a notorious serial killer called The Surgeon (Michael Sheen) who understands how killers think. The criminal psychologist uses his skills to help an NYPD unit led by Lou Diamond Phillips, a cop he’s known since his youth. What is interesting for me so far is that Bright’s mom, Bellamy Young, is her own kind of nuts, and Malcolm, who started off as a little nutty (I mean consider his past), is well on his way to possibly off his rocker.

Bluff City Law is a case of the week legal drama set in Memphis. The viewer is getting smidges of the character’s private lives each week but character development seems a little slow. I like Caitlin McGee’s performance but I’d never heard of her before watching this. The anchor for the show and the law firm in it is Jimmy Smits. The supporting cast, especially Barry Sloane who’s mostly navigated a single case for the first part of the season, is just starting to get noticed. It’s not something I race to watch but I like it. ETA: It has gotten cancelled. Poor Barry Sloane.

Emergence was a show I was waiting for as it marked the return of Allison Tolman.  She plays a sheriff who takes in a young child that she finds near the site of a mysterious accident who has no memory of what has happened. The investigation so far has been weird and sometimes violent and definitely is affecting her family, including father Clancy Brown and ex-husband Donald Faison. But, bless her, she is nowhere near ready to give up. The cliffhanger before Christmas break was very illuminating.

I have watched a couple of episodes of Perfect Harmony (the rest are on my DVR). I love that Bradley Whitford is doing outright comedy although his character, an Ivy League music professor, is quite cranky. But I’m not in a rush to get back to it because it doesn’t seem like there’s enough material for it to run for multiple seasons. ETA: Like Carol’s Second Act, these got dumped off my DVR.

While we’re talking about enough material, Sunnyside was one of the first casualties of the season and, I have to say, I saw it coming. The pilot was well done, Kal Penn played Garrett Shah, a disgraced former New York city councilman who finds his calling when faced with immigrants in need of his help and in search of the American Dream. I know the immigration and nationalization process in the US is a lengthy process but it just didn’t seem like there was enough to keep people coming back despite the presence of talent like Diana Maria Riva.

Almost Family revolves around Julia Beckley (Brittany Snow) having her life turned upside down when it's revealed that her father, a pioneering Nobel Prize-winning fertility doctor, used his own sperm to conceive dozens of children over the course of his career. She connects with two “sisters” in particular and I think that’s what they’ve built the show on but I had a hard time believing any of the negative effects of all this coming from Snow and chose to stop watching. I do have the Australian show it’s based on as part of my Netflix list, I think I will probably end up watching that first.

I did start watching Batwoman before my injury, it being female led and all. Ruby Rose does inspire a bit of monotony in the voiceovers that populate the show but I get it, she’s tired, she’s working hard and only making minimal progress, I understand she’s not full of pep. It is kind of weird to watch her slip into the suit and try to make it work for her and watch Camrus Johnson, the steward of the life Bruce Wayne abandoned, do his best to both avoid and become her Alfred. ETA: That got dumped off the DVR, too. There’s SOOOO much TV.

FBI: Most Wanted is a spinoff of FBI (somebody may have to stop Dick Wolf) featuring 
Julian McMahon of Nip/Tuck as the head of team tasked with hunting down fugitives. Sadly, it’s been pretty run of the mill so far except for McMahon’s in-laws, which include Nathanial Arcand as his brother-in-law and a member of his squad.

The CW did reboot Nancy Drew and while I did not hate the concept, I’m still loyal to Pamela Sue Martin and chose not to watch it.

These are the shows that are on the air. Some mid-season shows are still ready to roll out. Some are already being bolstered by promos like Deputy. I am looking forward to that one and watching Stephen Dorff unexpectedly be made the sheriff of LA County. I think and really hope Yara Martinez, last seen and underutilized on Bull, will get to be a meaty part of this drama. ETA: Yara has gotten some featured episodes and done well but she’s essentially in the same boat as David Conrad on the Ghost Whisperer and Jake Weber on Medium.

Tommy is another cop show but thankfully Tommy is Abigail Thomas’ nickname and Edie Falco is front and centre as the first female chief of police for Los Angeles. She got the position as part of a court mandate after some ugliness in the department and often has to deal with the mayor, Tom Sadowski. Tommy’s assembled a pretty tight circle so far and, of course, does things her own way, so I’ve been trying to watch this live.

Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist is SOOOOOO good. I’ve missed Jane Levy so much and this has not only a lovely story but singing and dancing (with choreography by Mandy Moore). After an accident in an MRI machine, Levy’s character can hear people expressing their feelings through song. Her supporting cast is top notch. Alex Newell of Glee plays her neighbor who is trying to help Zoey figure this out, Skylar Astin of Pitch Perfect and Crazy Ex-Girlfriend is her BFF, Lauren Graham is her boss, and Mary Steenburgen and Peter Gallagher are her parents. Some of the most touching scenes (and songs) have involved Levy and Gallagher, who has lost many functions, including speech and a lot of movement. Thanks to Zoey’s condition, he is able to express himself to her through song and Gallagher’s voice is so sweet.

Geniuses has become Outmatched and features Maggie Lawson and Jason Biggs as parents of 4 children, 3 of whom are geniuses. I’ve seen 3 episodes so far. Everyone except the “normal” child seems to be waiting for a rimshot. I did enjoy Tony Danza as Jason Bigg’s dad but I am not going to be busting my butt to watch it. 

Uninsured has become Indebted. Adam Pally and Abby Elliott end up having to take care of Dave's parents (Fran Drescher and Steven Weber), who have mismanaged their finances and need help paying down a sizable debt. Sadly, like Outmatched, everyone seems to be waiting for a rimshot and the jokes seem really repetitive. Weber’s character, for example, is constantly talking about spending extravagant amounts of money even though he is deep in debt and I doubt they’re going after a dementia storyline with him. When the name Dan Levy popped up on the credits I did a lightning fast search on IMDB to make sure it was not, in my mind, THE Dan Levy of Schitt’s Creek, and thankfully, there are 2 of them.

Lincoln Rhyme, who was played on the big screen by Denzel Washington, is now Russell Hornsby from Grimm and Fox’s failed Proven Innocent. There’s still an Amelia Sachs, there’s still a Bone Collector, and Michael Imperioli is always a strong utility player but I’m finding it collecting on the DVR because of the plethora of good stuff available on Thursday and my need to get through that because sampling Friday’s mostly guilty pleasures.

Katy Keene has made it air. It’s a Riverdale spinoff on the CW and they are spending a lot on advertising but not enough to rope me in. Not that I think it’s not a good show, I’m just not the target audience.

Of the rest of the list, I know the planned reboots of New York Undercover and NYPD blue did not make it out of the gate. 

I’m never going to get this post finished if I included all of the pilots on the list I still haven’t talked about, so I’ll go with bullet points about the ones that stood out to me:

Nana: Katey Sagal playing a grandmother. Yeah. 

An untitled comedy pairing Leslie Odom Jr. and Kelly Jenrette: GREAT team, well matched I think.

The Republic of Sarah: Sarah Drew of Grey's Anatomy goes from mayor to president. So much story potential there.

Broke: Jaime Camil and Natasha Leggero plus Pauley Perrette - uh, yes please. Sounds like a very strong team to me. 

Next is a vehicle for Jon Slattery of Mad Men, who I adore, but I don’t recognize much of the supporting cast, which could be a problem if none of them are able to rise to his level.

Filthy Rich features Kim Cattrall and Gerald McRaney, a very strong base but I’m wondering how the religious community will respond to a story about how imperfect true believers can be. Another plus for me, it’s supposed to be filmed in New Orleans.

Richard Lovely is a vehicle for the uber talented Thomas Lennon, who plays the disgruntled author of the best-selling children's book series, Mr. Mouse. It looks like he’ll have Wendie Malick as a frequent scene partner and I believe that to be an ideal pairing.

Council of Dads is getting a lot of advertising but will involve death. If they handle it as well as The Unicorn has, I think it might have a chance.

That’s all I’ve got. I wish I’d finished this sooner. My DVR is 63% full. I’m going to match more TV.

[anthropwashere]

of all the things that might have been: ch. 7

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

AO3

FFN

(Later than I meant it to be because I fucking swan-dived into ~30,000 words worth of FMA WIPs, honestly just save me from myself. I’ll be doing Camp NaNo in April so don’t expect another chapter ‘til May, sorry and thank you!)

=

It's such a relief to be around the familiar again. Cars and houses and restaurants and streets, all of it almost exactly as he expects Amity Park to look. Sure, he might have ended up in the year he was born, but with how far he's traveled a couple decades is barely worth noticing.

With familiar territory, it’s so much easier to set up shop. There’s plenty of food that’s plenty easy to steal, decent enough medical supplies, and good clothes are an invisible flight through a department store away. Most importantly of all, there’s camping gear. Big, practical, brightly colored camping gear. And it’s fall now, just cool enough to warrant cozy layers but not cold enough to regret sleeping out in the woods like the homeless freak he is.

He can almost pretend like he’s on vacation!

There’s cause for all this, of course. He remembers this year, these two months living on the outskirts of his home town. Normally he prefers to hop from hotel to hotel, overshadowing clerks long enough to mark a room taken and paid for so he can sleep as long as he likes. Clean sheets, hot water, all the garbage continental breakfast he can eat-- an errant time traveler’s paradise. And here he is, stuck with sleeping bags and canned food instead. Ugh.

Past him better be grateful he’s doing all this for him, if he has anything to say about it.

In the failing afternoon light, he appraises his little camp built for two and nods, satisfied. It’s not the prettiest or most high tech setup he could have gone with, but then, pretty and high tech isn’t what he’s aiming to teach, is it?

He grins. Him? Teaching? This’ll be good for a laugh-- on this side of things, at least. He doesn’t remember laughing much, the first time around.

Him? Teaching? Ha!

Crouching, he stokes the campfire with a branch stripped of its yellowed leaves. He hasn’t started up the stew yet since it’ll just boil over once he has to rush pell-mell into the forest. He’ll have time, later. As he feeds dry twigs to the fire he thinks of FentonWorks, and of the young couple that’s only a few years older than he is now. He hasn’t even been been born yet, in this timeline. He’s still not used to it; unable to step foot in the house he grew up in.

Not for the first time he misses his mom’s cooking, his dad’s boisterous laughter, his sister’s coddling. He misses coming home-- after beating up the ghost of the day, more often than not-- to the smell of burgers or pasta or the dreaded Leftover Nights. Good, hearty meals he didn’t have to make himself from stolen ingredients, shared with a family that he could still call his.

He laughs, tossing the branch aside. Now isn’t the time to get all wistful. He’ll have his hands busy with blood and tears soon enough, but after-- yes, after he’s handled his past, he can look to the future again. He’ll fix this, no matter what his future self had to say about it. For now, he’s waiting--

“Nngh!”

Sudden pain cuts through him like a knife, taking his breath with it. He staggers back from the campfire, gasping, clutching at his aching chest. For one terrible instant he thinks he’s wrong after all, that he’s doomed to die here, that no younger self will appear after all. But-- no. No. He has to be right. He knows.

He stands tall, his sternum clicking its protest, and he waits.  His past self will show up far from him, that’s fact. There was no way for him to recognize where his past would appear, so he’d just picked a clearing near the stream and called it home. What’s one fallen tree in a forest, right? He evens his breathing, waits for the smallest flash of blue light to leak through the undergrowth--

There!

He’s off at once, running so quickly he doesn’t quite touch the ground. It’s long, awful seconds before he hears the first scream, bitten ragged with pain. He forgoes the pretense of running at all, blurs away from one second to another, and then there he is.

One look and he regrets not grabbing his first aid kit. Distracted, anxious, not thinking clearly. Idiot. He knows-- remembers-- that it isn’t as bad as it looks, but it’s still a worrying amount of blood.

Past Him is fetal in a burnt-black clearing, the smell of vaporized dead leaves and rainwater and pine smoke heavy in the air. Past Him is younger, years younger, and he’s wearing brand new clothes and there’s a bulky bag beside him that must weigh as much as he does-- not saying much, since god, but he’s skinny. His face is a twisted mess of snot and tears and pain, which makes sense, considering he’s got a tree branch stuck right through his forearm. Phased, rather than pierced, and all the more brutal for it.

“Hey,” Danny calls out over his past self’s screams. And again, “Hey!”

Past Him hiccups shock, twitching away from the tree and only succeeding in wrecking his arm a little bit more. He goes white as a sheet, mouth yawning for a scream that gets tangled up in his throat. Danny winces in sympathy, holding up his empty hands to get the kid’s attention.

“It’s okay,” he says, trying to speak calmly though his own heart is racing. “It’ll be okay. I’m here to help you. I just want to help.”

It takes Past Him a few tries to make a coherent sentence. “W-who-- hhgk-- are you?”

“I’m you,” Danny replies patiently, and rolls up his sleeve to display his own forearm. It's been years now, but he still has two faint circles there, noticeable even at this distance. Ghost healing speeds everything up, but scars still take a long time to fade.

Past him is too distracted by pain to really react to that, which is fair. He just huddles a little closer to the log and looks like he’d love nothing more than to never move again. Danny sighs.

“Okay. We can call this lesson number one. When you time travel, you always, always, always need to phase. It’ll be a pain in the ass until you get used to doing it, but the alternative is getting stuck in a log. Enjoying this so far?”

“Nnn-- hhfh-- no....”

“Yeah, I figured as much.” He kneels beside his past. It is, briefly, very weird. He remembers this moment from when he’d been fourteen years old and shredding his nails against dry bark, jaw clenched so tight his teeth should crack. He remembers the scraping and tugging of the branch in his arm, muscles rigid, his hand spasming. He remembers looking up at a young, leanly-muscled man with wild eyes and a menacing grin. He remembers being so certain that this was how he was going to die.

Flash forward and now he’s the menacing stranger looming over a defenseless, injured kid in the middle of a forest.

Hmm. Awkward.

“Okay,” he says, “I’m not gonna yank you free. I’d do more damage, and you’ve already pulled some muscle out like a champ-- no no, don’t look. Trust me on this. Just-- hold still, okay? I’ll try not to make this any worse than it has to be.”

Well that wasn’t menacing or anything. So sue him, he’s nervous. It’s weird, meeting himself like this.

“I’m gonna cut the branch instead of phasing you off it for now, because we’re about a mile from camp and I’d like to minimize your blood loss as much as possible. I’ll fly us back so it’ll be easier on you. That all sound good?”

“Hhh-- hhgn-- yeah--”

“Awesome, I love it when I'm on the same page as myself.”

Past Him’s eyes are starting to get a little glassy, which means it’s time to shut up and move. It’s quick work to rip his unrolled shirtsleeve off-- he really should have grabbed the first aid kit, way to drop the ball there, Fenton-- and tear it into strips to staunch the bleeding and tie the branch in place. A quick slash of ecto-energy cuts the branch free. Past Him writhes, clawing at the still-smoking ground and his leg both, a shriek scraped through his bared teeth.

“Sorry, sorry!” Danny says hastily. Probably should have warned him, oops. “Sorry. I’m gonna pick you up now, so hang on.”

“My buh-- bag,” Past Him gasps.

“Got it.” Another flare of energy to summon the bag, and he swings it over his shoulder, absently adjusting the strap to fit his broader frame. He remembers this bag; remembers a Sam who knew what to expect, and knew what he’d benefit most from. Sturdy quality, nondescript color, lots of pockets. Past him is gonna lose it before his sixteenth birthday, if he’s lucky. “You just came from seeing our Sam and Tucker, right?”

“Muh-- hhgh-- hh-- month ago.”

Danny scoops him up bridal style, wincing when this earns him another strangled cry. Past him curls like a pill bug, glaring daggers. “I warned you, sorry!”

He flies for camp, talking as he goes. He remembers that too, now that he’s here again. How he’d latched onto the rambling voice of his weird future self as a distraction from the fucking hole in his arm. The memory makes him ramble more. “Once you’re stitched up I can give you something for the pain. It’s just over the counter stuff, but it’ll take the edge off for now. If you need something stronger I can steal some tomorrow, okay? I’ll need to go into town for more supplies anyway, so don’t stress it. All you need to think about right now is not passing out, okay? You’re gonna be fine. This isn’t so bad. I know it hurts right now, but you’ll be okay soon. Just breathe, nice and steady, yeah, like that. I’ve got you. You’ll be okay. You’ll be just fine.”

Back at camp, Danny lays him on the spare blanket he’d laid out just for this. “Keep pressure on that,” he orders. “I’ll be right back.”

He doesn’t hear the weak reply, already rifling through the tent for his trusty kit. It’s been through hell with him-- if you want to call bouncing around the infinitude of forced trans-temporal hopscotch “hell,” which hey, some days. It’s dented and stained and the red cross on its lid is just about scratched gone. It still closes though, which is good enough for him. Kit in hand, he drops his past self’s bag near the edge of the blanket and kneels down beside the boy.

“Hold still,” he says, and hands him a piece of old leather. “Put that in your mouth. I don’t need you biting our tongue off, okay?”

Field surgery done by an amateur is, as expected, kind of a disaster. It’s easier than it would be if either of them were anyone else; it’s useful, sometimes, to be a couple of freaks. Past Him is too much of a ghost to bleed out from something as minor as this, and Danny’s too inured by years of stitching himself back together to allow his hands any hesitation.

“It’s kind of nice to be the living proof I don’t fuck this up and kill you,” Danny remarks lightly as he prods and massages the twisted muscles back into place.

Past Him gives him a look of deepest loathing.

Eventually, the wound is sewn and cleaned and bandaged, and it’s over. Past Him sprawls out on the least bloody corner of the blanket and just lays there and breathes. He’s gray-faced and shaking, skin cold to the touch. Danny gives him a bottle of water and a bag of trail mix and, as an afterthought, pulls another blanket out of the tent to toss over him.

“Sip slow, eat slower,” he says. “I’ll get dinner started once I’ve cleaned up.”

Canned soup takes basically zero effort to heat over a campfire, so he keeps one eye on Past Him and makes lists as he stirs. What will need to be stolen, priority versus indulgence. Medical supplies, obviously. More bandages. Ice too, for the swelling and for storage. It’s kind of weird, having perishables around. Fresh fruit, definitely. Red meat, for the iron and protein-- or would that fall under an indulgence? No no, Past Him needs it. Well, in a few days. For now he should probably stick to chicken broth. He’s had a hard time of it; too much rich food will just make him sick. Yeah, alright. That’ll do, for now.

He ladles out two steaming bowls and plops down on the blanket. Past Him twitches like it’s a habit. Danny doesn’t blame him. He remembers the first year like a bad dream, memories springing unbidden that still make his heart race over nothing. Trauma, Jazz would say if she were here. No shit, Danny would retort. He doesn’t have the looping scars on his arms and legs anymore, but they’re still a raw pink on Past Him. He remembers, even if his skin doesn’t.

A flicker of green energy levitates the bowls, leaving his hands free to gather up a pile of soft things to prop Past Him up. “Hope you’re hungry, because I’m not letting you sleep ‘til the bowl’s empty.”

Past Him stares. “How-- how are you doing that?”

His voice is weak. That should pass soon. It has to. Not like either of them can risk a trip to a hospital. “Doing what?”

“I can’t make stuff float.”

“Oh. Practice,” Danny nods at one bowl, setting it down beside Past Him and plucking his own out of the air. “We’ll get to that.”

“Um. We will?”

“Course we will. What do you think I’m doing here? Well, apart from saving my own life by proxy, I guess.”

Past Him hesitates, his spooning halfway to his mouth. “You’re... really me then?”

“Yup.”

“Then--”

“Shut up and eat, okay? We’ll talk once you’ve had some sleep.”

Past Him is too worn out to put up much of a fight, which is just fine with him. There’s time now, to put things off until tomorrow. There’s time a-plenty for them, for now.

In the morning Danny wakes to the patter of a light rain against the tent, and Past Him is gone.

“...Idiot.”

He floats out of his sleeping bag and gets dressed, shivering when the cold air nips his chest. On his way out of the tent he grabs a second hoodie with a grumble. It’s barely raining, really more of a fine mist if he’s gonna be technical, but it’s pretty chilly out and Past Him’s still weak. If the idiot popped so much as a single stitch wandering around the forest on his own, he’s gonna backhand him into next week! He wasn’t this dumb when he was fourteen, was he?

...Okay, maybe he was. Still!

He finds Past Him by the nearby stream, sitting cross-legged with his hurt arm resting in his lap, lost in thought. Danny huffs.

“Y’have a nice walk?” He asks, walking up. Past Him comes back to himself with a slow shake of his head, but doesn’t reply. With another huff Danny sits next to him, turning his gaze to the stream. The water’s so clear he can see the pale river stones at the bottom, and little shadows of fish darting around. It burbles and splashes, louder than the drizzle on the gold and red leaves still clinging to the trees. It’s peaceful here. Soothing.

They sit a while.

“How you doing?” He asks eventually.

“...’M’cold.”

“That’d be the blood loss, dude.” Danny tosses the hoodie at him, earning an indistinct noise of protest. Past Him pulls it on anyway, careful of his arm. When his head pops out he’s glaring. The hoodie’s a size or two too big for him; he ends up looking like a little kid pouting over not getting any cookies before dinner.

“You’re awfully cheery about all this, you know that?”

“Well sure, why not? We’ve got food, clean water, shelter, we can communicate with the current populace no problem, and I know when our next jumps are gonna be. Oh! And toilet paper. I picked up a bunch of that yesterday and you are welcome.”

Past Him sneers. “Well you might be satisfied with toilet paper, but I’m not looking forward to having this conversation again in ten years.”

Danny laughs. “Wow, thanks! I’m twenty for your information, so it’s only gonna be six years until you can make fun of your moping teenage self crying over how hard his life is, uh boo hoo hoo.”

“I’m not crying--” He stills, the irritation bleeding from him. “...Six years?”

And the snit he’d been working up to vanishes in a puff of morosity. “...Six years,” he says again, and rubs his thumb along the bandages on his arm.

Danny gets it. He does. Six years is forever when you’re fourteen. Six years is impossible to imagine, even when it’s snarking at you and making sure you haven’t popped your stitches. Past Him wants so hard to pretend this will all work itself out, that he’ll get to go home before this can really get out of hand. It’s written on his thin face plain as day. But here’s his future self, aged twenty and some change, as harsh a truth as a slap in the face.

Danny gets it. Six years still seems like forever to him now. But at least Danny’s already lived the years between fourteen and twenty. He knows that it gets better than it’s been for Past Him, that it gets easier. He’ll survive, and he’ll learn and see more than he ever thought possible, even if he has no control of the whats or whens. He hasn’t stopped wanting to go home, and he hasn’t stopped trying to get there either. But he understands that rock bottom could be so much worse than this. And if he’s turned out okay, then Past Him will too.

He has to. Right?

“Hey.”

Past Him says nothing, lost in the middle distance again. Danny rolls his eyes. Forget trauma, this is just drama now. He reaches out and shoves Past Him into the stream. The squawking and yowling that comes after is loud enough to chase a flock of birds out of the treeline, and Danny throws his head back and laughs and laughs.

“What was that for?!” Past Him splutters furiously, hip-deep and soaking wet.

“For brooding!” Danny shouts, flat on his back and kicking his feet.

“For-- what?”

Danny drops his legs, swinging himself upright to give Past Him a Very Serious Expression he can only just hang onto. “We future-Dannys have a strict no brooding policy.” This is a staggering lie. “Breaking this rule will earn you a swift and merciless dunking! If there’s no nearby body of water around, we’ll settle for a good punch to the nads.”

Past Him gapes for several seconds, and then finally-- god, was he this slow at fourteen too? He must have been but jeez, this is tragic-- he remembers his arm. With a yelp that’s half-panic and half-pain he throws his arm over his head, horrified. “My stitches!”

Danny floats to his feet and turns back towards camp, chest aching and mouth sore from grinning. Man, he’d needed a good laugh. “Phase ‘em dry! You’ll be alright.”

Still chuckling, he leaves his past in the water.

Breakfast is scrambled eggs with bits of ham and bacon. Danny grimaces his way through a cup of instant coffee, the gritty taste waking him up better than the actual caffeine. He leans back in his squat fold-out chair, plastic plate balanced on one knee and plastic cup perched on the other, gives Past Him an appraising glance. He phased himself dry but is still wrapped up in a fleece blanket against the chill, pulled up to his ears. His bandages ought to be changed too, as a precaution.

“So does this time travel garbage get any less random?” Past Him asks.

Danny snorts, setting his empty plate aside. “Pfft, I wish.”

“Then how come you’re here too?”

“Because this is what happened for me when I was your age, and now it’s happening again.” He shrugs. “I try not to think about it too hard when this kind of thing happens.”

“So, what, I’m destined to time travel for at least six years just to save my own butt?” Past Him stabs at his plate, looking furious. “How’s that fair?”

“It isn’t destiny, alright? Don’t make it sound like we’ve been prophesied into a magical loop of time hobo bullshit. It’s Clockwork, alright? This is all Clockwork’s fault.”

Past Him doesn’t say anything, picking at his eggs. But there’s a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before, even when he’d been racked with pain. Hmm. Danny thinks back again, tries to remember this conversation. It’s indistinct now, dreamy shapes instead of true memory. He remembers the meals shared rather than the words that passed between them. Mostly, he remembers being scared and overwhelmed and homesick. Trying to understand what had happened to him and unable to wrap his mind around the possibility of being preordained into having this conversation twice.

Damn.

“Hey.”

Past Him eyes him warily, like he’s somebody dangerous, somebody to be threatened by. Which, considering things, is a fair assessment. Still, ouch.

“I know this is a lot to take in. It’s been-- what, four months for you?”

A nod.

“Right, and it’s been shit. I remember. And Sam and Tucker, they told you what’s gonna happen, but hearing something bad is a whole lot different than seeing it.” He gestures at himself, smiling and hoping he looks apologetic. “You don’t want to believe, and that’s fine. But the fact is, I’m your best case scenario.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ve seen an alternate Danny or two by now, right?”

Past Him winces. “Just one, in person. The other one was, um. His parents said he was dead.”

Yeah, that’s more common than he’d like to think about. Comes with the territory though, idiot kid hero trying to save the city one punch at a time. Dannys get hurt or they get dead, or if they’re very very very lucky, they get to grow up. “No, no. I mean alternate time-traveling Dannys. Ones like you and me.”

He looks at Danny uncertainly. “I… don’t think I have?”

“You’d know if you did. They’re usually dead.”

Ah hell, that was too blunt. Now Past Him looks all panicky again. “I mean-- what I mean is, this isn’t--” He clears his throat, tries to channel Jazz’s Lecture Mode. “Time travel is dangerous. Your arm’s proof of that. One slip up in a jump can be fatal. Statistically, it is way more likely that we’ll die instead of finding a way to fix this. A foot to the right and instead of a branch in your arm it would’ve been the whole log through your gut. You’ve made it this far okay and I’ve made it farther, but there’s six years between us and I can promise you you’re going to find some dead Dannys along the way. I’m sorry, but that’s facts.”

Past Him says nothing for a moment, stirring his eggs again. “...What happened to your face?”

“Huh? Oh.” Danny touches his cheek, tracing the edge of a scar even his supernatural healing hasn’t touched. “Ended up back in the bad future again, only a few seconds after I’d left. The Observants hit the big reset button while I was there.”

“Observants?”

“A bunch of one-eyed time cops who can’t grasp the concept of trans-temporal travel to save their skins.” He scoffs. “Clockwork works for them.”

“Really? He didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who, y’know, works well with others.”

Danny laughs. “Far as I can tell, you’re right on the money. There’s definitely some mutual hatred between them, but I couldn’t tell you why. It’s not often I’ve run into the Observants, and when I do I have to explain everything all over again and hope they don’t try and kill me.”

“Why?”

He leans forward to stoke the campfire with a long stick, prodding at the ashy logs until the embers burn brightly again. “Why what?”

Past Him shifts, taking another bite of his eggs. “Lots of whys, I guess. I dunno. Why would they try and kill you? Wouldn’t helping us out make their jobs easier? Being, uh, time cops and everything?”

He sighs, leaning back in his chair again. As he answers, he waves and jabs the stick for emphasis. “They put on this big show of passivity-- observe, but never to act, kind of their whole thing really-- but they’re just as trigger happy as any ghost if you startle them right. And like it or not we startle everybody, because of this.” He pats his chest. “No matter what I’ve told them, they always think I’m trashing their tidy little timelines on purpose. They don’t do much about me, obviously-- it’s kind of in their name-- but they’re annoying. They bristle up and make a big fuss in every timeline I come to as if I’m gonna go out of my way to wreck their tragically linear grasp of past-present-future, but since we’ve got this--” He pats his chest again, “--they just kind of grumble and posture ‘til I leave.”

“You….” Past Him frowns, rubs his face, and makes a visible attempt at sorting his thoughts together. This really is a conversation that should wait until the kid’s got a full five liters of blood to oxygenate, but Danny knows it won’t. Stubbornness is something he’s always been guilty of. “They don’t know who you are, over and over?”

Danny allows the clumsy question to be left alone, though he dearly wants to poke fun. Blood loss. Trauma. Et cetera. “They don’t, that’s the thing. They’re incredibly limited in their-- you know what? Here, we need some visuals, I think.”

He floats off his chair to a stretch of dirt closer to Past Him. A soft sweep of power brushes an uneven square clear of leaves and loose stones, and using the stick he’d stoke the fire with Danny draws as he talks.

First, a lone vertical line. “This is one timeline; one whole stupidly long stretch of reality as our little minds understand it from start to finish. Big B and E, Beginning and End, here and here.” Two little horizontal ticks to mark each. “And the Observants have existed in one form or another since like, right after the Beginning.” He doodles a circle around a dot in a rough doodle of an eye. Dirt’s a hard medium, so sue him. “They can see the whole of this timeline laid out like a movie reel. They see everything that will happen, is happening, or has happened within that scope, and they can see when calling in the big guns might be necessary.”

“Big guns-- meaning Clockwork?” Past Him asks.

“Yeah.” He draws another vertical line beside the first. “The thing is-- as I’m sure you’ve figured out by now-- is that there is waaaaaay more than just one timeline out there for us to bounce around in. And the Observants from this timeline--” He taps the first line, “--can’t even tell this timeline exists at all. If you try telling them Timeline A is different than Timeline B because everybody in the U.S. speaks German or whatever, they’ll call you a lunatic.” He fills the rest of the open dirt with vertical lines, more for visual effect than is strictly necessary. “Same in Timelines C through Z, onto infinity. You follow?”

“Yeah, I follow. Kind of the only thing that makes sense with all the, um. Places I’ve been.” Past Him rubs his wrist absently, tracing the shallow scars rather than the edge of his bandage.

“...I wasn’t a fan of her either,” Danny says quietly, and nods at the scars when Past Him looks embarrassed. “At least there was water then. You’re gonna hate Duulaman, if you stick around long enough to end up then too.”

“Who is--”

“Maybe later,” Danny cuts in, making an attempt to smile but feeling it strain across his teeth. Past Him huffs, but at least he isn’t twitchy like earlier. Talking all this out is a distraction, if nothing else.

“Okay. So Clockwork works for these Observant guys, right? Having us-- me?-- getting jerked all over the place is definitely gonna mess up something eventually. Have you tried telling them about how Clockwork’s left us out to dry?”

Danny barks laughter, tossing the stick aside. “Are you kidding me? That asshole may as well be my imaginary friend at this point. It doesn’t matter what I tell them; they either don’t believe me or nothing tangible comes from it. They don’t interfere.”

“...I see.”

“I can’t remember, have you tried going to his lair yet?”

“Yeah. Four times, before I gave up and went Earth-side again.”

“Ah, okay.” Another soft sweep of power brushes away the doodled timelines. He stands, stretching out his back with a groan as something pops. “Yeah, I’ve tracked his lair down a hundred times if I’ve done it once. No luck. Mostly I just get lost in the Ghost Zone for a while, until I pop into a time period where someone made a stable portal in Amity Park. Usually it’s some variation on Mom and Dad, but there’ve been a few surprises.”

“So he is avoiding me. Us. Whatever.” Past Him shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with his good hand. “This is… way more complicated than I’m prepared to deal with right now.”

“That’s fair. Here, you’re still looking pretty ragged ‘round the edges. How about you try and get some more sleep? I promise you won’t go anywhere for a while.”

He nods. “I… yeah. Sleep-- sleep sounds like a good idea.”

It’s evening by the time Past Him stirs again, and when he stumbles out of the tent he’s a little more put together, a little more coherent. As Danny sets him down by the fire to change his bandages again, he looks around with the first spark of interest he’s shown since he showed up. “Where’d you get all this stuff anyway? Did Sam go on another shopping spree?”

“Nah, I don’t think Sam’s even been born yet. Quit squirming.”

“Then quit poking it. What year is it?”

“Mom and Dad just put up the Fenton Works sign on the house.”

“So it’s only--” He frowns. “Did you get them to buy all this?”

“They’re not our parents. Not yet anyway.” He tugs on the bandage to make sure the clip isn’t loose, then pats Past Him on the knee. “And besides, these are pre-Portal days for them anyway. They’d think I was crazy.”

At a loss, Past Him looks out at the campsite again. It’s downright spartan, compared to the camping trips Mom and Dad used to take them on. Necessity has made Danny stingy and cautious, used to having nothing but the necessities at the best of times. But for this jump he splurged on lanterns and sleeping bags, a roomy camping tent and pre-cut firewood. Stuff that your normal American family wouldn’t think twice on bringing out to the woods, but it’s all stuff Danny’s gotten used to not having. It is, personally speaking, a shit ton of stuff.

“How did you pay for all this?”

“I didn’t.”

“Then--” His eyes widen, understanding at last. “You stole all this?”

“We gotta survive somehow, y’know?”

“I-- well--” He fumbles. “Yeah, I guess. But stealing?”

Danny smiles, not unkindly. “Lemme get dinner started before you get all high and mighty on me, okay?”

Past Him glowers. “I’m not hungry.”

“Bullshit, you’re not. You’re really gonna turn down chicken soup because I stole it? It’s like a dollar a can right now anyway, it’s peanuts.”

“Then you could’ve paid a dollar for it.”

Danny purses his lips, resting his hands on his hips as he levels a distinctly unimpressed glare at Past Him. “Before you look at me like I said I kick puppies for fun-- yeah, that look, knock it off-- just think about it for a minute. What’s the longest you’ve been anywhere so far?”

He may as well have flipped a switch to make Past Him look so miserable so quickly. “Two weeks.”

“Right, and civilization was kaput then anyway, so it wasn’t like you could buy a sandwich if you had the money to.” He huffs. “I’m not saying it’s all post-apocalyptic wastelands from here on out, okay? But the point is, it’s really rare for me to be anywhen long enough to land some honestly-made cash to honestly-buy anything. All of this--” He gestures at their little camp site, a circle of garish colors and a smattering of tacky camo, “--is very, very out of the ordinary. I only stole all of this because I knew you’d be showing up too, and I know how long we’ll both be here.”

Past Him makes a face. What, did he really forget this was a temporary setup? “How long is that?”

“Two months, give a take a day or two for both of us. I’ve been here three days already, so I’ve had time to prepare. And yeah, that means I stole a whole bunch of junk I’m not gonna take with me when I leave.” He shrugs, dropping his arms. “It sucks, okay? I know it sucks. But it’s steal or starve, and frankly dude, I’ve had my fair share of starving. Haven’t you?”

It’s a rhetorical question. Past Him looks like a pile of kindling somebody draped a t-shirt and a pair of jeans over. “You did all this… for me?”

“Yup, but don’t feel guilty about it. You weren’t the one who robbed half the camping section of Wal-Mart, I did. This is all just to help me spin you up.” He smiles. “Trust me, I woulda been perfectly happy sleeping in a nice hotel room for two months, but this little fall camping trip is where I learned how to survive, so now it’s my turn to repay the favor.”

Past Him shuts his eyes, leans back in his chair. The flickering light of the fire spills black shadows in the hollows of his eyes, across the sharp angles of his cheeks and jaw, down the taut lines of his skinny throat. Poor kid. He’s had it rough. Danny remembers, with that quiet distance memory gives to all bad things. An echo, absent of pain, softened by time. Long days and longer nights all blurred together, the panic and fear and hunger rubbed away, leaving only the distinct feeling of a loneliness that dogs him still.

Six years really is forever.

“Chicken soup it is,” Danny says.

A week passes quietly. For the most part Danny leaves Past Him be, answering questions when he’s asked and providing commentary on little things around the camp without expecting much response. Fire maintenance, trash disposal, washing their clothes in the stream; those kinds of things. He leaves a few hours here and there, to steal more medical supplies and food, and to furtively spy on the house so recently named Fenton Works. Mom and Dad-- no, Maddie and Jack, they aren’t his parents, they don’t even have a son yet anyway-- are hard at work fortifying the roof to support what will eventually be the Ops Center. Jazz is too little to be left unsupervised long, so they take turns to play with her and feed her, a gingham blanket and lots of pillows and toys strewn on a safe stretch of rooftop. Mom’s-- Maddie’s-- hair is long and curly, and there’s no gray touching D-- Jack’s-- temples yet. They’re really not much older than he is.

They’re happy. He’s glad, to see them happy.

A week since Past Him showed up, and he’s just about healed up. One of the perks of being a freak; even a branch shunted through his arm really can’t slow him down for long. The stitches come out and the heavy bandages are replaced with just two gauze pads, and even that’s not all that necessary. The new skin is raw and tender, looks like ground beef instead of scar tissue, but it’ll be fine. He’ll be just fine.

“You okay?” Past Him asks that night, dinner eaten and plates cleaned. They’ve been sitting by the fire, bundled up against the autumn wind whipping through the trees. Branches sway and and creak, black outlines against a night sky spilling over with stars. It’s a nice night, quiet. Past Him’s even been cracking jokes.

“...I gotta show you something,” he says, reluctantly. He should have done this days ago. He’s put it off long enough.

“Uh-oh. You got all serious. What is it?”

He unzips his hoodie, kneads the hem of his t-shirt in his fingers and swallows. “Something you really won’t like.”

“You’ve already been nothing but bad news,” Past Him grins. “C’mon, spit it out.”

“I wouldn’t call this ‘bad news,’ per se, more of an ‘oh my god’ kind of news,” he replies, and lifts up his shirt.

“Whyyyy are you stripping-- oh my god, what.”

The firelight makes it look worse than it really is. Idiot, he should have thought of that. He should have waited until morning, when the light would be better, when the shadows would be honest. But he might have lost his nerve by then, and he’s put it off long enough, he has. This is a cruelty Past Him has to know.

Danny doesn’t look down, only watches horror etch hard lines into Past Him’s skinny face, at the disgust twisting his mouth, the bulge of his eyes, how he recoils in his chair. He doesn’t look down because he doesn’t have to. He knows the shape of the hole in his chest like the back of his own hands, has traced its growth a thousand times with careful fingers. He knows the mottled purple bruising, the sloughed flesh that looks more like candle wax than skin, the white expanse of exposed bone, the slippery pink muscles, the glistening edge of subcutaneous fat. The hole in his chest doesn’t bleed, but the steady pulse of his beating heart can be touched, if he hooks his finger right.

Past Him’s hands have jumped to his own chest, reflexively trying to cover a wound he doesn’t have yet.

The fire shifts with a startling loud pop and crackle, sending up a flurry of orange sparks to wink out in the darkness above. The wind sighs, and goosebumps break out across Danny’s bare skin. The cold bites at his chest, a bone-deep ache like chewing on ice cubes, and he waits for Past Him to speak.

“What--” He swallows, shakes his head, tries again. “What the hell?”

“The time medallion,” Danny replies simply. It’s explanation enough, really.

“Howww are you… not dead?” Past Him makes a pained expression, rubbing his chest nervously. “Are you dead? Have you actually been dead this whole time and my ghost sense just didn’t work, because--”

“I’m not dead. You’ll know when you’ve found a dead Danny, trust me.”

“Shit,” Past Him breathes. “Sam and Tucker told me the medallion was gonna mess with me, but I didn’t think-- I didn’t think it’d be so-- so graphic.”

“It’s really not as bad as it looks.” He adjusts his grip on his shirt a little, fetching a pocket knife from his hip and flicking it open. The little blade shines blackly, a wavering streak of orange dancing down its edge. “And it doesn’t make me as vulnerable as you’d think it would.” And he demonstrates this by burying the knife in his chest.

Past Him shouts, jumping to his feet, but Danny’s already pulled the knife out. He tosses it underhanded to Past Him, who nearly drops it in surprise. He stares at it, then at Danny. The blade has rusted away to nothing.

“Only Dannys like us can really touch it,” he says, tapping his sternum. The tick-tick of his fingernail is loud, like tapping a pencil on a school desk, the kind with a cubby hole for your textbooks. It doesn’t echo, but the sound of a cluttered space inside is clear enough.

“...I’m going to throw up.”

“It’s not that bad.” Danny tugs his shirt down, zipping up his hoodie again.

“It’s pretty bad, actually!”

“Don’t be such a baby. You’ve got a while before it’ll start to show on you.” Past Him’s face loses its revulsion, gets that miserable dismay he wears whenever Danny talks about the future. “Once the bruising lingers, you’re gonna have to get quick with the lies, and creative with how you hide it. Nobody who isn’t in the know about what you are or what’s happened to you can see it.”

“...Who’s in the know?” Well, that’s begrudging as hell, but at least he’s not putting up as much a fuss as Danny had been afraid he would.

Danny closes the distance between them to pat him gently on the shoulder. He smiles, hopes it’s a comfort. “People you can trust. Who that ends up being is up to you.”

Past Him shakes his head, pulling away. He looks at the knife handle clenched in his fist like it might bite him. “But-- but how? You’ve got a-- a-- you’ve got that!” He points unnecessarily. “I think it’s bigger than my fist! Does it-- god, does it leak? Does it hurt? Like, all the time?”

“Of course it hurts,” Danny retorts. “You already know that. It hurts like hell after every jump, and after a while it doesn’t stop hurting.”

“But you-- you never said anything.”

Danny shrugs. “What’s the point of complaining?”

“What d’you mean, ‘what’s the point?’” Past Him flails a little, jabbing at his chest with the handle. “That’s horrible! That’s-- how can you live with that?”

Danny huffs again. “Because it’s either live with it, or don’t live at all.”

Past Him stops. Drops his hands to his sides. Looks at Danny like he’s seeing him for the first time. And he staggers back, falls into his chair, and crumples up like a paper napkin. Shaky, breathless laughter jangles out of him, the knife handle falling from his limp hand to the dirt with a muted thud.

“I can’t do this,” he says. “I can’t, I can’t, I’m in over my head. This is crazy. I can’t.”

Jesus. He’d forgotten, he’d actually forgotten how much this messed him up the first time around. What can he say? Is there anything? What’d he tell himself the first time?

...Ah, it’s been too long. He can’t remember.

“You have to,” he says quietly. “I’m your best case scenario.”

Past Him says nothing, so Danny leaves him by the fire.

After that, Danny stops hiding his chest. He doesn’t turn away when he changes in the tent or when they go down to the stream to bathe, breathless and swearing in the cold. Past Him goes white and quiet every time he sees the wound, and he presses his hand to his own chest when he thinks Danny’s not looking. That’s fine. He doesn’t have to stop being scared of it. He just has to understand what it means.

As the weeks pass Danny finds himself in an almost constant state of déjà vu, opening his mouth to speak only to have dim memories fall from his tongue. He wastes a lot of time blinking and shaking his head, knowing he looks like a strong advocate for helmets in the eyes of his teenage self and not really able to do anything about it. It’s not like he isn’t aware of how unstable he looks; he remembers this much. He’s already done all this. He remembers thinking, with laughable clarity, Oh good, I go totally banana sandwich because of this.

He doesn’t bother excusing these brief yet annoyingly frequent bouts of confusion. They happen. They keep happening. It’s almost convenient, actually, to have half-buried memories on-hand to help with the lessons he’s pulling out of his ass. It helps him sound like he knows what he’s doing, which is still very, very hilarious.

News flash to Danny Fenton, age twenty and some change: Teaching is a lot harder than it looks. If he ever gets a chance to apologize to Mr. Lancer, take it.

Past Him doesn’t like hunting. Danny remembers that too, with that weird double-layer to his memory of this jump. Saying something and remembering someone else say it when it really was him saying it after all. He remembers being disgusted before, and horrified, and scared, and young.

Him now? He’s so frustrated with this idiot kid he could scream.

“Do you really want a repeat of Plant Queen Sam’s vegetarian nightmare apocalypse?” He asks impatiently, fed up with all the protests he’s gotten over this. “You’ve been here almost a month now, getting three solid meals and all the Zs you could ask for thanks to me, but this isn’t a permanent setup. We’re both gonna leave, and you need to be able to fend for yourself!”

“I’m just saying,” Past Him says, just as exasperated, “There’s got to be a better way than this.”

This is a rabbit caught in a trap and a hunting knife. This is also, apparently, an exercise in futility.

“There is, and I showed you, and you went and had a big hissy fit over how it wasn’t ‘fair’ to the animals!”

“They don’t stand a chance that way!” And he grimaces and folds his arms over his chest, haughty and self-conscious and not looking at the shivering rabbit at his feet. “It just-- it doesn’t feel-- it’s not right.”

Danny does a little loop de loop in the air to burn off some tension. It’s that or slap some sense his dumb idiot terrible teen self. They’re both ghost right now, two black-suited shadows flitting through the forest, checking traps and finally finding something caught, and it is sorely tempting to slap Past Him through a tree or two. He’d survive it just fine, really. “You’re thinking about this as murder.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s what it is.”

“No, it’s survival. Practical application of your powers in order to sustain your own existence at the cost of an animal’s. It’s the food chain, dude.”

Past Him makes another face. “You sound like one of Jazz’s textbooks.”

“Because I didn’t think you’d kick up such a fuss over this and now I’m jumping through hoops trying to to find a way for this to make sense to you, you tremendous baby.”

Past Him throws up his hands. “I don’t want to murder a deer with my ghost powers-- or a freaking machete, for that matter!”

Danny laughs. “Wow, no. For one, this is a hunting knife. Totally different types of knives. Two, who said anything about deer? What are you, greedy? What the hell would we do with a whole deer? I made rabbit traps for a reason.”

“You know what I mean.”

The rabbit thrashes against the rope around its feet, panting heavily. Danny glares. “Look, it’s terrified right now. You’d be doing it a favor and getting a couple meals out of it. Kill the fucking rabbit!”

“I don’t want to!”

“You know what? Fine.” He phases his hand through the rabbit’s chest, a slash of motion too quick for the thing to see. It spasms once more and goes limp. Dead so quick it couldn’t have known what was happening. Quicker and more merciful than knives or guns or bows, and bloodless besides, and Past Him is a gutless coward who’d rather starve than kill an animal with his own hands.

“You win,” Danny snaps, picking the rabbit up. “Have fun going hungry again.”

“Wait, what?”

Danny stalks back toward the campsite, turning human mid-stride. Past Him flits after, nervously, like he’s expecting to be punished. Well Danny’s not gonna play Disappointed Dad with teenage him. He’s too young to be a dad, and too damn peeved besides. “From here on out you don’t catch dinner, you don’t eat dinner.”

“What? Hey, hang on!”

He ignores the whining and protesting all the way back to camp. Past Him doesn’t shut up even when he skins and guts the rabbit with practiced hands, though he does hang back and go a little greener than usual. He keeps up the noise as Danny gets the rabbit on a spit and over the fire. He goes on and on, crying about how it’s not fair to ask him to kill a defenseless rabbit when they’re just a few miles away from Amity Park. As if proximity to easy-access food is something that can be relied on indefinitely, as if that isn’t something Past Him is damn well acquainted with already. As if supermarkets and drive-thru fast food have existed since time immemorial and will keep on existing until the sun burns out.

Eventually, disgusted and irritated and fed up and tired, Danny chases Past Him out of earshot with a burning branch in one hand and a ball of ecto-energy in the other to get some peace and quiet.

“I’m trying to teach you a valuable lesson, you ungrateful ass!” He hollers after the disappeared flick of a ghostly tail.

Past Him lasts two days, lurking in the nearby woods. Any time Danny catches him in his peripheral he fires off a few blasts, aiming wide to warn the idiot off. On the third day Past Him drops a dead squirrel on his head, and Danny laughs and waves him down.

“I hate you,” Past Him spits.

Danny nods. “Then we’re getting somewhere.”

There’s just a few days left now.

Danny can’t remember who left first, so to be on the safe side he’s double- and triple-checking both of their bags. Necessities are priority-packed; medical supplies and emergency rations, spare socks and underwear, knives and iodine pills and parachute cord. All the frivolous trappings he’d splurged on for this jump will be left behind, one more ghost story the humans will tell and retell one another, missing case files that won’t ever get solved. He sorts through t-shirts and shoestrings and canteens and tries not to think about the married couple that aren’t his parents, only a little older than he is, unaware they’ll have a son one day.

Past Him watches him work, floating idly about ten feet off the ground. These two months have been good to him; he’s filled out, gotten some color in his face. He could walk down the street and no one would think anything of him, just one more kid killing time after school. He props his chin up with one hand and hums. “Does it get better?”

“Your cooking? Obviously.”

“No, I meant this.” He flaps his other hand vaguely. The two round scars on his forearm stand out like they’ve been drawn on with marker, but otherwise there’s no telling that he’d ever been hurt. “All this stupid time traveling.”

Well now. There’s a choice to make here if there ever was one.

Brutal honesty, half-truth, outright lying. It’s true that it stopped being hard once he got the necessary skills hammered out. It’s amazing, really and honestly amazing, what he’s seen and what he can still expect to see. It’s been incredible and terrible and humbling, to see the many facets of himself, all the hims that could have been and all the hims that never got to be, because they died or were never born, and someone else got to live in his place. Seeing a hundred variations on his friends and family, and a hundred generations of people before and after them too. All the lives lived, all the lives never known.

Yeah, there are many times he could say he’s even been happy.

This time, he doesn’t need to rely on déjà vu to tell him what to say. He’s been expecting this question-- expecting, not remembering that it was asked. They’re almost out of time. It was bound to come up.

He stops rooting around for his toothbrush, sitting back on his heels to look up at Past Him. “Listen,” he says. “This sucks. It really, really sucks, and sometimes I get so homesick I could puke, and I spend so much time scared out of my mind that I’m gonna die in some hole a million years ago and no one I care about will ever know what happened to me. I’m scared I’ll say something or do something wrong and mess up a timeline in some huge, awful way. Maybe I already have and I just don’t know it yet, because I haven’t been back to that timeline. Maybe I’ll never get to know how badly I mess stuff up, or how many people I hurt by accident or by choice. Maybe that’s a good thing. Or maybe not knowing is worse. I don’t know. I just….”

He sighs.

“I don’t know,” he repeats. “I never imagined I’d grow up to be a time hobo, y’know?”

Past Him smiles down at him, a wry slice of teeth in a sun-browned face. “I don’t think anybody ever aspires to be a time hobo.”

“Ha, yeah. And I mean-- like I’ve said before, the day-to-day stuff all gets easier. We jump, we acclimate, we get as comfortable as we can until we jump again. Rinse and repeat and hope maybe next time there’ll be a ghost portal to go through. We learn how to really roll with all the weird shit that gets thrown at us, and I’m saying ‘we’ because I met a future time hobo Danny once who had this kind of-- I dunno. Stone-cold, grizzled, badass action dad vibe thing going for him. It was very impressive. I was very impressed.”

Another smile. “When does that happen?”

“I was seventeen. If you’re lucky, you’ll see him too.”

“How old was-- no. You won’t tell me, will you?”

“Nope.”

Past Him gives an exaggerated sigh, but lets it go.

Danny stands, stretching on tip-toe with his hands over his head to ease the tightness in his spine. One of his knees pops satisfyingly. Geeze. He’s only twenty, and he already feels old. “We both get better at this,” he says. “And maybe one of us will be lucky enough to find a way to fix this. Maybe I’m not your best case scenario after all, and maybe the future Danny I met wasn’t mine.”

He almost says what that would mean, for both of them, but the memories of lonely bones and cold metal steal the words from him. “I… ah, hell. It sucks. It really does. Sometimes it gets better, but then it gets worse again, and some stuff there’s just no helping. I just had to keep going.”

“Like your face?”

“Like my face.”

Past Him drops to eye-level, an eyebrow pointedly raised. “And you’re still not gonna tell me how exactly you got that? Even though really, I’d think you’d appreciate changing your past so your face doesn’t get ripped open.”

“It wouldn’t be my past if you managed to avoid tall, dark, and homicidal. My past is for keepsies whether I like it or not.” It’s all tree branch and tributary metaphors for time travel; the past can’t be fixed, only altered enough to create a new timeline stemming from the thing you tried to change. The past may as well be set in stone. That’s just how it is.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve said.” Past Him lands, hands in his pockets. “It’s still worth trying to change how it goes for me though, isn’t it?”

Danny said the same thing, when he was fourteen. “...Good luck.”

[gleefail]

Glee Memories: 1x9 Wheels

A long, long time ago, as Glee was approaching graduation in Season 3, I found myself nostalgic with some rare free time on my hands. So I decided to rewatch the series from the beginning and jot down some memories, discrepancies that have arisen since, fave quotes, tally solos - all that good stuff, strictly for shits and giggles.

8 years later (eek!) and once more I find myself with an unexpected abundance of free time. With so many revisiting or being newly introduced to the show between binge watching during Quarantine and all the tragedy that has surrounded the show since it went off the air, I figured I’d finish what I started. And by finish, I mean go through the end of S3. Cause I truly cannot acknowledge what happened after that. Except for 5B.

Kicking this off by reposting the first 15 episodes I already went through. Enjoy!

1x9 Wheels I haven’t addressed yet that this voice-over “Here’s what you missed on Glee” guy is different…will be interesting to see when they changed it.

um…when did Kurt tell everyone that he was gay? Didn’t he only come out to Mercedes and his dad so far? I definitely missed that on Glee

Holy crap. I forgot about this Cheerios jump rope number.

This is when I started not liking S1 Quinn. When she started being just plain mean to Finn even as she lied to him about the baby being his. Uncalled for. Although her calling out that he’s a peabrain is hella-necessary.

Figgins can’t pay for a bus for Artie to get to sectionals. Understandable? Is that like, legal?

Makes total sense that Sue has boosters that provide funds for traveling etc. Doesn’t make sense that the Glee club never started music boosters….not to me anyways.

Will’s right. In high school, some of the best trips were rides to other schools for volleyball games and showchoir competitions together. Although that almost always involved people mooning out the back window. And getting to third base under letterman jackets. Just my school? Anyone else?

Aw…Tina is looking at Artie from afar…not necessarily romantically…concerned? Whatever the reason, it’s cute.

Aw, Kurt’s so excited about Defying Gravity

let the record show, Mr. Schue just handed a solo to Rachel for a competition for the first time ever. But not the last. Don’t get me started.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find something for you to…dip in chocolate” Two things: 1. Yes you will. And his name is Sam Evans. (’wanky’). 2. No, you won’t Mr. Schue. No. You. Won’t. #oops

“I mean, bake sales are kind of bourgee” “So hip people stopped eating delicious, sugary treats?” “It’s not that, it’s that most of us don’t know how to bake. I find recipes confusing.” I love every moment of this exchange. And

Britany’s officially not all there now. :) Yaaaay!

Aw, poor Artie and the peer pressure of having to say he doesn’t mind when he’s clearly hurt by people he thinks are his friends. Poor guy.

It really does impress me how Kevin McHale manages to completely lose use of his legs. Even when he’s boppin in his wheelchair. I don’t think I could do it.

Jenna Ushkowitz is flat out adorable laughing at her lunch table in slow motion.

Aw Tina. These original members really do all have a lil special place in my heart. Before RIB screwed most of them over.

Ruh roh, I know that look. Mr. Schue is getting an idea watching Artie jamming around in his wheelchair…

Why is Kurt wearing a gangsta bandana on his head?

“But I’m happy to have you try out something else, Kurt. And I’ll make sure it’s got a killer high note” No. No, you won’t Schue. Ugh. Three seasons of empty promises and he won Teacher of the Year? Riiiight.

“Well, you’re irritating most of the time but…don’t take that personally”

“Preach!” Yes!!! There’s the Artie I know and love! It makes me giggle more seeing moments like this knowing he asks Amber to show him how to do it, lol.

hahahahaha – Finn just got hit in the back of the head with someone’s baseball bat! Rachel just got her lunch spilled all over her! Oh, happiness.

“it’s what I have left of my pool cleaning money. After I bought dip and numchucks” 

Quinn is so pretty in regular clothes with her hair down in season one. I would buy that THIS is the girl everyone wants to be. She’s totes that popular, bitchy girl who has everything.

“It would be pretty awesome if it came out with a Mohawk”

Aw, this food fight is still so cute. I feel like we haven’t seen Quinn laugh like that since until she was going up that ramp with Artie cheering her on. So cute.

“It’s not about a guy, is it? Cause…I’m not ready to have that conversation.” “At least you don’t have to worry about me getting someone pregnant” snicker snicker. True dat.

“You sing like a girl – in a good way”

So…yeah, they were doing Defying Gravity for Sectionals…what happened to that?

FIRST APPEARANCE OF LAUREN ZIZES!!!

Ugh. So stupid Rachel is complaining about having to audition for a solo. It’s showchoir. You should have to audition for EVERY solo and anyone who wants to can. …but it’s Glee

“We all know I’m more popular than Rachel – and I dress better than her…”

“Your right hand, Britany” *Santana whispers to her “it’s this one”* Yup. Not all there. There’s mah girl!

I love that instead of saying “I promise to vote for whoever sings the song better”, Mercedes blatantly says to Kurt “I promise to vote FOR YOU” with a big smile. I love Kurtcedes. Have I said that yet?

“Maybe one of these days you’ll find a way to create teaching moments without ruining my life.” Oh he will Rachel. He’ll just ruin everyone else’s.

“Those are what I call ‘lazy makers’”

Figgins is making Sue hold auditions to replace Quinn on the Cheerios. How do they not try out in the first place?

“and as soon as a cheerleader rolls herself out onto the field in a wheelchair she becomes decidedly less effective at cheering people up. It’s just a fact.”

“Stop attacking me. I’m sick of it” I like this Finn. Where did he come from? And where did he go?

I never ever ever realized that that was Kurt auditioning for the Cheerios with a baton. OMG!

haha, also never realized that the “freak” did the splits and clearly landed on his junk but tried to play it like he was fine. HAAAAA!

“Becky, I’m gonna stop you right there. You’re in.” YAY!

“I’m just saying, she has a point; you are kind of an idiot.” Truth.com, Puck.

“It’s just like you, with your stutter” Tina’s reaction said it all. “But I wanna be very clear: I still have the use of my penis.” HAAAAAAA!!! And Artie’s “why did I say that?!” look afterwards. Golden.

Kurt warming up to a high F while Burt gets the “your son’s a fag” phone call. So damn sad.

“Sometimes I just…I wish your mom was still around, y’know?” Aw, Burt. So happy you’ll find Carol.

“I don’t wanna win out of charity. I wanna win the solo because it’s right for the club. I really think that the judges at Sectionals will find a female version of Defying Gravity much more accessible.” Lies and manipulation and selfishness of Rachel Berry. And it begins.

“People just don’t like me.” “Yeah, you might wanna work on that” Yup. You might, Rachel. Too bad ya never really did unless it was to benefit you. hahaha, Puck put a lil pot in the cupcakes. I totally forgot about that. omg. There’s a loooot of flannel in that lunch room. What is that about?

Haha. Puck buying pot from Sandy. “The doctor said the shark fractured my spinal cord.” “This is why I don’t go to the aquarium.”

Sue’s mean don’t discriminate because of handicap, gender, religion, or sexual preference.

“You think this is hard? Try auditioning for Baywatch and being told they’re going in a different direction. THAT was hard.” Truth.

“Oh, I bully everyone, William. That’s the way I roll”

First official Diva-off!! I remember I soooo wanted Kurt to win, but it was all over his face that something was up ever since Burt told him about that phone call.

First sacrifice for Rachel Berry. Go.

Even back then when I liked Rachel Berry, I didn’t like her singing this song. I think my dislike of her started right around here. Like “who does she think she is, trying to sing this song better than Idina, when she knows damn well, coming from Broadway, who Idina is!?” that was me, lol. My point is I still don’t like her on this song. It has a special place in my heart and I need more of a powerhouse on it, and someone whose soul I can hear when they sing it, not just trying to sing pretty.

“’It’ is a ‘she’.” That’s a cute moment. :)

Ok. Ohhhhh boy. Finn got a job by pretending to be handicapped and stuck in a wheelchair. But wasn’t it Finn that 2 seasons later berates Quinn for not announcing that she’s improved to now be able to stand/walk to get votes for Prom Queen? I just…I refrain from comment. It’ll get ugly.

Aw, Artie is donating the money to get a ramp put in the auditorium instead of using it to get a bus to go to Sectionals with everyone. Way to take one for the team, Artie. He’s a good guy.

Sue donated the $600 to rent the bus for Sectionals. Aw. I knew something was up at that point. Lies. I knew something was up when she told Will “You don’t know the FIRST thing about me.”

Aw, Jean. This relationship was so sweet.

AWWWWW – Artie’s face after Tina kisses him!!!

Aw. Artie’s face after Tina admits that she’s faking her stutter. :(

“I’m sorry now you get to be normal and I’m gonna be stuck in this chair for the rest of my life. And that’s not something I can fake.” Aw, man. So sad.

“I’m just saying that I love you more than I love being a star.” Oh Kurt. You little angel.

Ok. There are no words for how I felt when I found out Glee was doing Proud Mary. Here’s the thing: Me and my theatre friends always go to karaoke and take turns singing this song. And then the rest of us kinda flash mob it and rush the stage once the tempo picks up in synchronized back-up dancing. And it’s the highlight of our night and the best tradition when we can get everyone together to do it. Once people came up and asked if we were some group of performers that the bar hired to come do it. It’s soooo much fun. It has such a special place in my heart. I do it now for warm-ups with my high school kids when we need to unwind. And I always use this Glee version. Cause I loves Amber Riley and Kevin McHale and Jenna Ushkowitz on it. Things like this are what make me sad that Glee-ers are graduating more than missing the show itself or the writing; the memories made along the way. And the things like this that just make me smile.

Lol, one of my friends loved the duplicity of them singing this. Cause it was ‘rollin’ for Artie and ‘Mary’ for Kurt. He was gay, so I guess he was allowed to say things like that cause he owned it, lol.

This number is so effing awesome. And the costumes and hair are super cute.

I love the behind the scenes of this where Cory talks about when Amber fell out of her wheelchair and he just heard a crash followed  by incessant laughing. SOLOS: Artie (2), Rachel (1), Kurt (1), Mercedes (1), Tina (1)