#when she had the jumpsuit half off I was going insane | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wolferine · 2 years

Text

Squid Game - Part 4

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Squid Game AU. The reader joins a deadly game to save themselves from debt and reunites with an old flame…

Warnings: Graphic violence, blood, language, death, sexual content. Spoilers for Squid Game.

Word count: 2480

“On my count, take three steps forward!” Natasha screams.

“Forward? Are you fucking crazy?” Sam asks.

“We have to get them to trip!”

You can almost see over the edge of the platform. “Let’s do it!” you yell, having no time to listen to a debate.

“One!” Natasha counts off.

“We’re going to die—” Maria groans.

“Two!”

“Come on!” you scream, trying to hype yourself and your team up. If you act like there’s no hope, they will believe you and give up.

“Three!”

***********************************************************************

Despite their previous protests, everyone runs forward on Natasha’s signal. The other team loses their balance and falls onto their backs. But you’re too close to the edge and your left foot slips off the edge.

“Oh, shit!” Your stomach bottoms out as you look down at the dizzying height below, trying to pull yourself back with your right foot alone. Natasha watches in terror as you dangle from the rope, wishing her hands weren’t chained so she can reach out and grab you.

“Pull now!” she orders your team. Thor lets out a roar that could topple a house and pulls on the rope as hard as he can. Your left foot touches solid ground and you throw yourself into the rhythm again. Team 5 can’t find their footing and it’s over for them. The pink flag passes through the guillotine as you gain more ground.

As you’re in the front, you can see their looks of absolute fear as they scramble to get up. They trip over each other, screaming as they get closer to the edge.

“Please!” Player 194 shouts, but you close your eyes and pull back. He tips over the edge and the player behind him follows immediately. They can’t keep up with their lost team members, and one by one, they each fall over the edge. Once the last one does, your team is pulled forward by their sheer weight.

“Shit,” you hear Natasha mumble as your feet start slipping again.

But relief is quick once the blade comes down and slices the rope in half. You collapse onto your back, landing on Natasha. But you don’t care, and neither does she, as you both pant heavily. Your palms bleed freely onto your pants, the skin and muscle shredded.

You’re alive.

At what cost…you don’t want to remind yourself, but your team had beat the odds. The pink jumpsuits unlock you from the rope and you take the elevator down to the ground level. No one says a word, enjoying the unified silence of victory. Back in the dormitory, Bucky and his gang relax in the corner, gloating, but their expressions fade when they see you and your team trudge in.

Once the third game is completed, only 40 players remain, and the total prize money has reached $416 million. The pink jumpsuits come in to feed you a dinner that consists of water and a single corn on the cob.

“I’ve never felt so strong before,” Steve says. He hasn’t stopped retelling the story of how you all won, and you have a feeling this is the first time in his life he’s ever achieved such a physically astounding feat. “But when we were lying on our backs like that…I felt like I could take on the world.”

“We’re really here thanks to Nat,” Clint says, patting her on the shoulder. You frown when he uses the nickname reserved for you. “I thought you were insane at first for that suggestion, but we’re sitting here now because of it.”

You nod in agreement, gnawing on your corn and choosing to stay out of the conversation. Of course you’re happy you survived (and by extension your team), but you’re still not sure how many winners they’ll allow. It was dangerous to make friends, not only because they could backstab you, but because you could be pitted against them. And it was much harder to hurt a friend than an enemy.

The announcer advises there’s 30 minutes left until lights out. You don’t forget what happened yesterday and you’re determined to help everyone on your team make it through the night. There is strength in numbers and you want to keep the morale up for as long as you can.

“We should have people stay on guard tonight,” you say. “In case something like yesterday happens again.”

“We should stay awake in pairs,” Natasha suggests. “So, no one can betray the group, or accidentally fall asleep.”

“Okay,” you say, although you hope she doesn’t offer to stay up with you. “Let’s also build a barricade while the lights are still on to give us more shelter.”

It’s still strange for you to give orders and have them followed immediately. Tony, Steve, Maria, and Natasha collect loose mattresses and blankets. Thor, Clint, Pietro, Wanda, and Sam shift around the metal bunk bed frames to create a barrier of protection. You watch as the other three teams do the same in their corners of the dormitory.

“I’ll keep watch first,” you offer as everyone settles onto the mattresses.

“I’ll stay up with you.” It isn’t Natasha who volunteers, but Tony. You smile at him gratefully.

“Thank you,” you say.

“I’ll take the second shift,” Clint says. “Just wake me up whenever you get tired.”

“Me, too,” Natasha says.

“Okay. Try to get some rest everyone.”

The lights shut off. As everyone else lies down, you and Tony sit next to each other, facing the center of the room.

“Hey.” Tony pats your shoulder and hands you his untouched cob of corn. “I wasn’t hungry from dinner. Have this.”

“You should eat it,” you say, although you’re starving yourself. “You need to keep your strength up, too.”

Tony shakes his head. “I can survive on half the rest of you need. And I’m useless. You’re the one leading us to victory every time, Y/N.”

“I’m just doing it to save myself” is what you want to say, but you stay quiet. You know he won’t let you refuse, so you take the corn and snap it in half, offering him the bigger piece. “How about we share?”

“Okay.” He smiles.

“Is this your dream?” you ask, gnawing on the corn.

“Hmm?”

“When we first got here, you told me you wanted to be ‘a part of something’ before you died,” you say. “Is this what you had in mind?”

Tony looks behind him to the rest of your sleeping teammates. “I feel like I have a purpose again, even though we’re basically just sheep being led to slaughter.”

“Yeah,” you agree.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

“My mom. We’ve been in a lot of financial trouble the past year, so winning that money—any amount of it, really—would be so helpful.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” you say with a smile.

“What’s up with you and Natasha?”

“Uh…” You scratch the back of your neck. “We, uh…used to date. But obviously we broke up. That was about a year ago.”

“Why?” His bluntness is refreshing and annoying.

“She cheated on me.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Huh. I would’ve never guessed that, based on the way you two interact now.” You roll your eyes when you remember he saw you and Natasha cuddling the other night. You should never have let that happen, let alone let people see you. “I mean, if there’s still feelings there—”

“There’s a really big chance that neither of us are getting out of here alive,” you defend. “What we do to each other in here is absolutely meaningless.”

“So, you forgive her?” Tony asks, lowering his cob.

“No.” It’s too complicated to put into words. As far as you understand, your actions have no consequences because tomorrow is not promised. Besides, there was nothing Natasha could ever do to have your forgiveness. She deserves to live with the agony of her decision for the rest of her life, however long (or short) that may be.

“I think she regrets what she did to you,” Tony says.

“Good for her,” you scowl.

“She’s looking out for you—”

This angers you. “I don’t need her looking out for me,” you snap. “I can take care of myself.” You’d survived this long without her, anyway. “I’ll do whatever I have to do to get that money.”

There’s no way you’re letting Natasha take any credit for your efforts. You were the leader of your team, not her. You were the one at the front of the rope for tug-of-war. You were the one who almost fell off the platform. You were the one who had to see the faces of the other team as they fell to their deaths. Whatever games came up next, the others would look to you for guidance, not Natasha.

“If this was your last time to be with her, are you sure that’s what you’d want her to think of you?” Tony asks.

You draw your knees up to your chest and frown. “I don’t care what she thinks of me. Because it won’t change how I think of her.”

“Even if she sacrificed herself so you could get out of here?” Tony asks.

Your heartstrings ache at the thought of Natasha not surviving, even when you had once wished for her death. But dying here was not what you had in mind. The deaths here were brutal and cruel. If Natasha died, you’d at least want her to go swiftly, even though that wasn’t up for you to decide.

“If she was even selfless enough to do that, I don’t owe her anything,” you say. “Only one of us is getting out of here, Tony. The strongest, smartest one. The one who wants that money the most.”

“You don’t think there’s more to life than money?” he says, and his question makes you uncomfortable. Suddenly, you don’t feel confident that you can trust him, as frail as he might be.

“That’s something someone who’s never had to worry about money would say.”

***********************************************************************

Tony eventually nods off, but you’re too restless to go to sleep or be bothered enough to wake him up. Fortunately, someone wakes up and takes his place. Natasha sits next to you, dragging along a blanket that she drapes over your shoulders.

“You want to go to sleep?” she asks.

“I’m not tired.”

“How are you doing?” she asks, and for some reason, it’s such a loaded question you want to burst into tears. You bite on your lip and look up to the glowing piggy bank lighting up the room.

“Well, considering that every day since I got here, I’ve had to play a game that could possibly end in my death, I’m doing great,” you say.

Natasha doesn’t say anything.

“And to think that after everything I’ve already been through, I’m stuck here playing these sick games with you.” You bow your head. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, let alone in a place like this,” you admit.

“It’s definitely not the most ideal,” she says. “Y/N, I heard what you and Tony were talking about—”

“Because you can never keep to your own damn business, can you?” you snarl, scooting away from her.

“If you had to kill me to win, would you?” Natasha suddenly asks.

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation, although it’s easier said than done. You look at her, and her expression is crestfallen, like she expected a different answer. You don’t understand Natasha at all. She literally ripped your heart in two, shattered your trust like it was made of glass, and yet she’s trying to play the victim card. You wouldn’t let her, not again.

“I have a mother to take care of, Nat,” you say. “And I know that you have no family to take care of. I don’t know what went down between you and that Bucky guy outside of these walls, but anyone with a brain cell can tell that you’re in a shitload of trouble with him. You’re only here to protect yourself. You’ve never cared about anyone else but you.

“That’s why you cheated on me, right? You never stopped for a second to think about how I would feel. That fucking scientist gave you one look and suddenly you forget about the relationship we had. That we were supposed to be each other’s. That we were supposed to get married. You threw all that away because you couldn’t stop thinking about yourself for one fucking second!”

“Y/N—” Natasha tries, but it’s like a dam has burst and you can’t stop.

“How dare you come here with your half-assed apologies, trying to make it seem like I can just overlook what happened because we might not be alive tomorrow,” you say. “You are a fucking pathetic excuse for a human being, and I am utterly embarrassed that I ever loved you.” Your chest is heaving and tears burn your cheeks. You’re not even sure how many of those words you truly mean.

“But you still do,” Natasha says, catching you off guard.

“What?”

“You still love me,” she whispers.

“Because I don’t know how to stop,” you sob.

Her hands reach to cup your face and you lean into her touch, hating yourself for your desperation. She pulls your head against her chest, your cries muffled into her shirt as she rubs your back. She knows exactly how to comfort you, and for a moment, you forget the world around you. You forget that you’re playing a bunch of children’s games for money and that failure to win means death. You forget that at some point you’ll be forced to kill the friends you’ve just made.

You forget how much Natasha’s hurt you, because suddenly her lips are on yours, her scent filling your nose, and nothing else matters. Your hands tangle in her hair, pulling her in when she tries to break away to breathe.

This may be your last chance to have her like this and you want to make the most of it.

She tugs on the collar of your jacket before pushing it over your shoulders. Her hands slip under your shirt, desperate to touch every inch of your skin. You have enough clarity to get up, guiding her away from your sleeping teammates to a semi-private area behind the barricade of bed frames. You lie down on a thin mattress and let her sit on your waist, where she leans over you and connects your lips together again.

You don’t care that you’re supposed to be on watch duty; you don’t care that your team is literally within arm’s distance; you don’t care that the pink jumpsuits are probably watching on the cameras.

You can forget—but not forgive—what Natasha’s done to you, just for tonight. You have to live in the moment, because your time with her is limited. She knows exactly how to touch you and use her body to make you lose control. As she rocks her hips against yours and you pant in her ear, you’re reminded of the better moments you two shared. She buries her face against your neck, her teeth scraping your collarbone, as both your bodies tense together.

You let her rest on you as you come down from your highs, stroking her hair as the realization hits you.

What the fuck have I done?

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tags: @dumpaccdontmindme @zombies1ayea @marrymemcgrath @percabethsolangelo929 @sarahthegod @marie45019 @korekiyosredrose @upsidedowndanvers @3and30aresoultwins @norwaynatasharomanoff @rosha-raj @lovelyy-moonlight

Click here for Part 4.

AN: RIP to Player 194 and company. (Sorry, I forgot to assign him a Marvel character, lol).

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #black widow fanfiction #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff fanfic

67 notes · View notes

phantomphangphucker · 3 years

Text

Phic Phight: [REDACTED] “Oh Goddamnit. DANNY!”

Prompt Creator: @mr-lancers-english-class

Even Danny’s school projects cause ghostly issues and Lancer really should have seen this coming.

Alright fine, Lancer knew this was a bad idea. He knew it. And yet... here they all are, with each of his students doing their self-chosen presentations. And as he should have expected, Every. Single. One. has been on Phantom. Sure at least there’s been some variety. Star’s piece on his fashion and how that reflects on his personality and the era he died was actually fairly interesting (if it wasn’t for the fact that Phantom spiced up his jumpsuit with t-shirts and whatnot sometimes then this would have been a very boring one). Kwan also surprised him some, apparently he’s spent the past year or so sneaking photos of Phantom eating and did a piece on Phantom’s rather peculiar food tastes (who dips their pickles in milkshakes???) as well as effectively providing proof for the existence of ectoplasmic food (there’s no way any earth apples are neon green on the inside). Dash’s wasn’t even correctly calculated, trying to figure out how far Phantom could throw footballs based on his known strength and if he could kill someone by tackling them (disturbingly the answer -regardless of Dash’s bad math- was decidedly yes. Daniel seemed particularly disturbed). And Paulina’s was quite literally a badly written self-insert ship fan fic; the added drawings of what their child would look like only made it worse (Daniel left, not that Lancer could blame him. Lancer’s also glad for the ghost fight interrupting the presentation). Emilie’s was... disturbingly about ghost hunger and purposed the thesis that Phantom, for the good of the town, should eat the aggressor ghosts (he actually had to cut her off for getting too graphic).

But the single most interesting thing was that a ghost apparently caught wind of this and literally Every. Single. Presentation so far had words that were permanently replaced with [REDACTED], which, needless to say, caused some chaos when Samantha gave the very first presentation.

Lancer clicked his pen, crossing his legs and resting the evaluation sheet on his thigh, “alright, Samantha. Feel free to start whenever you please, though soon would be preferred”, by ‘preferred’ he had meant required, but no need to be mean. He chooses to ignore the goth teen's eyeroll.

Predictably the projected screen doesn’t work when she opens her file so Lancer has to spend ten minutes fiddling with the outdated tech that they wouldn’t give the school funding to replace. Eventually, he does get it up and running showing Ms. Manson’s title screen reading ‘Phantom And Hate Crimes Against Blood Blossoms’. Lancer’s positive ‘blood blossoms’ are a type of flower, figures she would do something nature-focused. She’d make for a great herbalist or botanist someday. He does catch Daniel and Tucker giving her ‘death glares’, as the kids call it, though; Samatha doesn’t look any less smug. The second page has what he thinks was supposed to be a detailed drawing of a flower but it’s severely pixilated, almost as if it been blurred; Samantha looks visibly upset so he’s going to assume something when wrong with the file or pasting format. He’s not marking on artistic capabilities though, so effort is effort there.

She quickly clicks to the next page, where the actual writing of the assignment is and looks decidedly pissed; Lancer even quirks an eyebrow since at least two-thirds of the words are a very bold noticeable [REDACTED]. Lancer watches her yank out her physical copy while glaring with murderous intent at Daniel -Lancer will have to dock him marks if he messed with another student's project- before looking at the physical copy in bafflement for a few seconds. Half the class shrieking when she drops the papers and basically launches herself over the desks at Daniel, “OH YOU LITTLE FUCKER!!!! HOW THE FUCK!”.

Lancer’s sighs and stands, “language, Ms. Manson”, moving to pick up the papers and quirking an eyebrow over them looking the same. Sighing again and eyeing Daniel, who’s being choked -or throttled perhaps?- by Samantha yet is grinning innocently. “Daniel, messing with other students' work is against student policy”, sighing yet again, “and I’ll let Star go while Samantha fixes her document”, summoning up the blonde while glaring at Daniel. Some days that boy was more trouble than he was worth but he was also insanely bright and had a heart of gold. Lancer knows he’ll do good things someday, and that’s why he still tries with him.

Half the class is snickering or laughing now and Star is very clearly trying not to laugh as she sets up.

However, as soon as it opens up the class is met with a very familiar sight. [REDACTED] litters every single page; he checked. And Star’s physical copy was in the same state.

Kwan blinks, “okay seriously, what is going on”, before scrambling to grab out his own physical copy; the rest of the class going wide-eyed and following suit. Lancer just puts his head in his hands and sighs very audibly while shaking his head. Why could nothing go right? Sighing again as the class erupts into noise.

“Mines all weird too!”.

“Same here!”.

“Okay there is no way Fenturd messed up everyone’s work”.

“And I actually tried on mine! It was about the merits of Phantom getting armour!”.

“Oh damn do we just get auto hundreds now? Please please please say yes”.

“Oh damn, Phantom would actually look awesome in armour”.

“I know right”.

“Can we just skip class entirely now?”.

“Oh my Zone a ghost messed with or work”.

“Holy Shit”.

“Wait! Wait! Wait! You don’t think Phantom did do you?”.

“Why the heck would he do that? How would he even know??????”.

“Oh I hope Phantom was inside my computer. That would be so hot”.

“Oh I don’t know, maybe someone told him or he overheard shit. He’s a ghost, he can be invisible. Heck, he could be here, right now, invisible”.

“Invisible and laughing at us”.

“No! No! Hold up! What if he doesn’t want us writing about him or maybe someone wrote some sus shit and he just nerfed us all for good measure”.

“That would mean Phantom totally read my stuff, aw Hell yeah man. That was some boss shit”,

Lancer sighs and stands up, “alright that’s enough”, sighing again because why did this have to happen to him, “and I apologies for blaming you earlier, Daniel”.

Samantha snaps, “oh no, I still blame him”, and continues glaring at the teen. Lancer suspects Samantha would continue blaming the boy even if it was firmly proven he wasn’t at fault.

Addressing the class again, “here’s what we’re going to do, you’re going to read off what of your projects you actually can and allude to the rest. Please reframe from repeating what you know was there beforehand as I’d rather not have whatever ghost responsible -Phantom or otherwise- come here pissed off”, glaring at few students who look slightly encouraged rather than discouraged by that prospect, “anyone who does will receive automatic zeroes”, ah and the encouraged looks have deflated. Good. Gesturing at Star, “you’re already up here, so do continue”. Better to not bring the clearly infuriated Samantha back to the front until she’s had some time to calm down.

Star nods and clears her throat, thankfully everyone quiets down. “O-okay, well, um”, gesturing at the screen, “I did my piece on Phantom’s sense of fashion and the cover image was one with him dressed in one of the Spook Sense stores meme shirts....”.

Lancer shakes away the memory, he honestly slightly regrets giving this project. But regardless right now is Daniel’s turn and Lancer is honestly slightly fearful of what his file is going to look like. Thankfully all their files were saved to his computer before the [REDACTED] debacle, so no one could go back in and edit theirs to add [REDACTED]’s for an easy grade. Lancer’s still not exactly sure how he’s supposed to mark assignments that were anywhere from one-fifth to one-third [REDACTED]. That word will be burned into his head after this grading period.

Lancer moves to find the boys file, but stares when clicking it crashes the computer. Not once. Not twice. But thrice. The fourth time rebooting the computer he inspects the file and is a bit dumbfounded, “Daniel, your entire file’s corrupted. The file type has even been changed to redacted, which I’m fairly sure, isn’t actually any possible file designation”. Everyone’s silent for a bit before bursting out into laughter.

“Just what the Zone did you write, Danny!”.

“Oh we so have to know what this is now”.

“Danny has the forbidden knowledge! We haft found him! The keeper of things forbidden and Ghostly! Haza!”.

“Ha! It was probably so lame that Phantom wanted to save him the embarrassment”.

Lancer sighs, but Daniel gestures Tucker up, “hey Tuck, feel like trying to fix the file”. Tucker chuckles and walks up, though apparently glaring at the boy. Based on Daniel’s smirk he finds this quite amusing.

Tucker does manage to make the file viewable at least. Lancer nods and leans back in his seat, “thank you, Mr. Foley”, while the file loads on screen.

Tucker sits back down with a head shake while Daniel stands at the front and gestures to the screen, “aight, as you can see from my not redacted title-”, that earns a couple laughs, “I did mine on Phantom’s portfolio of crime. Every single time our dear Phantom broke ghost law. Including such wonderful things as, that time he caused not one, not two, not even three, but five, prison breaks in one day. Or that time he invalidated a Observant spectator duel by bringing an inflatable sword”. Samantha slams a hand on her desk, “IT IS YOUR FAULT YOU DICK!”.

Lancer has some serious questions as Daniel clicks for the next page, the entire class going dead silent as a screen comprising of almost nothing but the word [REDACTED] shows. Lancer sighs very audibly. Eventually the class starts up again.

“Fenton... actually has forbidden knowledge”.

“If it wasn’t for the teacher computer saved thing I’d think he was fucking with us”.

“I mean... he is a Fenton, right?”.

“Okay the fact that this entire presentation is on ghost crimes is concerning alone. But they’re forbidden ghost crimes at that”.

“Shit I wanted the tea. Damnit”.

“Better question, how does Danny know?”.

Daniel clicking the button to go forward is very audible. And, Chicken Soup For The Soul, every single page is [REDACTED] to the point of being completely and utterly unintelligible. There are occasional lines pointing out how Phantom apparently ate confetti at a ghosts third wedding (which is apparently illegal for some reason) or that time he beat someone up with a violin that had a pie inside it (Lancer can see this one, Lancer himself has smacked a ghost with stranger). Literally the only photo that isn’t blurred beyond recognition is one of Phantom in a prison uniform (Paulina was very vocal about liking men in uniform here). Lancer is absolutely positive the end of his conclusion ‘[REDACTED] are a bunch of [REDACTED]’ is an insult.

Samantha chucks a boot at his smirking face, “YOU IDIOT. Of course they were going to block you from talking about them. Ancients, I can’t believe you”. Tucker’s busy laughing into his hand.

“Oh my Zone, they know too”.

“They’re really earning that weirdo trio title, huh”.

Daniel snickers as he sits back down, “they broke into my room and wrecked that epic puzzle I was working on. They shoulda seen this shit coming. Literally”. Tucker snorts, “they probably did but couldn’t do anything else about it. They can’t stop you and your endless bullshit”.

“Damn fucking straight”.

Lancer isn’t going to claim to know what exactly they’re talking about but apparently Daniel effectively orchestrated this entire fiasco just to annoy some ghost. Lancer is honestly more impressed than disturbed. A for effort but an A- for making everyone's work nigh unusable.

End.

Prompt: For the last project of their senior year in high school, Mr. Lancer is letting his class do presentations on literally whatever topic they want. He is very, /very/ sure that this is going to go poorly, but that's a problem for later...

239 notes · View notes

redrobin-detective · 3 years

Text

Like You

Trequel to Half Of and The only ghost in Amity Park

“We need to talk, Fenton,” Valerie hissed, slamming Danny’s locker shut in his face. He pursed his lips and lowered his gaze but said nothing. Manson scoffed and stepped right up, putting her finger in Valerie’s face.

“He doesn’t owe you anything, Val so lay off. If he wants to talk to you, he will, not because you demanded it.” Val grabbed Sam’s wrist, strong but still such delicate bones. The goth flinched a bit as Valerie applied pressure.

“Only my friends,” Valerie hissed with a hard look over at Danny, “get to call me Val. But I guess we’re not friends if you kept something like this from me.”

“Val...erie, let her go,” Danny mumbled quietly. “We’ll talk after school, meet me by the equipment shed behind the football field.”

“Alone,” Val said, flicking away Sam’s wrist. “None of your adoring, enabling entourage, new or old.”

“No way in hell,” Sam said, clearly resisting the urge to hold onto her injured wrist. “Like we’d trust Danny with someone like you.”

“What? Human?” Valerie asked back. Danny stuck his hands between them and forced them apart. Now that Val was looking, the entire hall was watching them. Whatever, they didn’t matter.

“Cut it out,” Danny frowned, looking over both of them. “Sam, I’ll be fine talking to her alone.” He turned back to her with his blue eyes. As long as she’d known him, Danny’s had a presence about him. She took it as growing up in such a strange house and later her growing crush. But there was no way to explain away the icy, electric feel of his gaze holding her own. “3:30, equipment shed, just talking. Okay?”

“Fine,” Valerie said, turning and stomping down the hall so she had the last word. The rest of the day passed slowly as she gripped the sides of her desk and bounced her leg, thinking about Danny Fenton. How long had Danny been a ghost or half of one, how was that even possible? Had he always been that way and she simply hadn’t noticed? Her? The best ghost hunter in Amity? How much of Danny was real and what was just a cruel ghostly joke? That’s the question that burned the most. Danny seemed to be the only one who liked this new, more grounded Valerie. What would she do if her closest friend was just messing with her?

Finally, school ended and she stalked purposefully towards the equipment shed. Interesting choice of location, it was almost never used since most every day sports gear was stored in the locker rooms. Did he chose it because it was isolated? Danny didn’t seemed worried about confronting her alone, what abilities could he have that he wasn’t scared of her? That made her pause once the shed came into sight. She’d only heard about Danny’s powers, never having ever seen them firsthand. Valerie took an ectogun from her bag and slipped it in back waistband of her skirt. Just in case.

Danny was sitting on the roof of the shed, weirdly enough. It would be next to impossible to climb so he had to have flown. She’d already heard of him floating but the idea of Danny Fenton and superpowers still didn’t add up in her head. He was rubbing at a tear in his jeans when she approached. Danny gave a little awkward half smile that, a few days ago, would have sent her stomach into somersaults. Now seeing it just made her sick.

“Are you gonna hide up there all day?” She asked curtly, hands on her hips.

“You could always join me up here,” Danny shrugged, getting more comfortable on the roof. Val raised a disbelieving eyebrow, eyeing the lack of handles and the broken splinters on the old shed. “We’re far enough away, no one will see you use your hoverboard.” Just when Valerie thought he was done being surprised. She gaped open mouthed at Danny who got nervous and rubbed his hands anxiously. “You uh you wanted to talk so I thought we ought to lay all our cards on the table.” He took a deep breath, “I know you’re the Red Huntress Val...erie.”

“How!” She demanded, activating her board without thought to get to the roof. She grabbed Danny by the shirt and hauled him forward until their faces were inches apart. His body radiated a soft chill that brushed against her skin. He held up his hands in surrender.

“Since the start, Sam and I, we saw you in the park, remember? You caught us uhhhh,” Danny trailed off, looking away with a blush. It took Val a minute but she remembered one of her first outings with the suit, she was chasing Phantom and his stupid dog only to find Danny and Sam kissing in the bushes. She hadn’t cared about the love lives of losers at the time. It had only become relevant when she started catching feeling for Danny but he’d assured her multiple times that he and Manson weren’t a couple. “It wasn’t real, the kiss I mean. It was Sam’s idea, you surprised us and we didn’t have time to hide so you didn’t...” he trailed off.

"Didn’t, what?” She demanded. Valerie gasped when Danny simply phased out of her grip and assuming his previous position on the roof. She stared for a moment at her hands before looking up again at Danny who was back to fiddling with his clothes. There it was, irrefutable proof that Danny wasn’t human. It felt like her heart was being chipped away with a hammer.

“Look, this has been kind of a hard week for me,” Danny groaned, raking his hands forcefully through his hair. “I get my powers outed, I need to convince my parents not to kill me the rest of the way, keep the ghosts off my back for a period, get the government to acknowledge my existence all the while dealing with everyone’s stares and questions at school.” He tucked his knees closer and flopped his face into them. “I said I would be honest with you and I’m trying but I’ve already had to give so much of myself this week and... I don’t know, what do you even want from me?”

“I want answers!” Valerie tried to demand but it came across as more whiney. She pushed back any tears that were threatening to come. “I want to know what was real! Was our friendship real? Our feelings? Are you even real? And if you knew I Huntress all this time then why... why would you even talk to me? Were you just playing with me? Spying on me? What did you want with me?”

“I’m real, Val, I promise,” He held out his hand and she reluctantly took it. His hand was chilly but there always where, it was also solid with knobbing bones and ropy muscles. Beneath it all, there was a sluggish but persistent pulse. She squeezed his hand, it was a human hand and yet it had also passed right through her. How could he be real and not real at once?

“As for what I wanted, just a friend really,” Danny said, keeping his head on his folded knees but turning towards her. She read nothing but sincerity in his eerily blue eyes. “Sam, Tuck and I, we have serious history. We know each other inside and out. But you, you were someone new. I loved hearing about your interests, your dreams, finding out who you were as a person beyond that jerk who made fun of me the second week of Freshman year for wearing my dad’s jumpsuit to school. I liked being able to be a normal person with you, I think I had started to forget with the whole ghost thing going on.”

“What happened?” Valerie couldn’t help but ask.

“Lab accident,” Danny said quietly, “Sam and Tuck were there, wasn’t pretty. Thought I was goner for sure. I survived somehow but I got some freaky powers out of the deal. There’s downsides but some sweet benefits,” he tilted his head back and looked longingly up at the sky. “Flying is the best.”

“Yeah,” Val couldn’t help but sigh in agreement. She could almost the feel the sensation of the wind whipping against her suit. Hear the roar as she soared through the clouds. It was hard to imagine Danny flying but his eyes shined with understanding she usually only saw in the mirror. “So why did you hang out with me knowing I hunted ghosts?”

“It just sorta happened, You obviously sensed that Sam and Tucker weren’t too happy about the risk.” No kidding, Val had gotten warmer welcomes from freezers. “But you were cool, Val. Plus you,” he paused and seemed to consider his words. “I felt like once we got over the hump you would get it in a way the other don’t. You know what it like to balance two lives, to have insane power at your fingertips, to feel like if you take even a second break that the ghosts will overwhelm the town. It’s just... a lot to deal with alone, Sam, Tucker and Jazz, they try to understand but they just don’t.”

He looked over at her, “I guess it was nice to know that there was someone like me out there,” he blushed, “and that someone uh liked me. For being me, y’know?”

“Clearly I didn’t know everything,” she grumbled watching as Danny winced. Val frowned, she probably wasn’t being entirely fair, she hadn’t exactly been honest with Danny either.

“So you fight ghosts, huh?” Valerie couldn’t help was ask with a little smile. Trying to picture it. The Danny she thought she knew wouldn’t but this Danny... “Is that why you’re always running out of class?”

“Isn’t that why you leave?” He teased back hesitantly. “I’m honestly a little surprised no one figured me out before. I was really bad at hiding at first. Of course it’s only when I get the whole ‘secret identity’ thing down that I get exposed.” He huffed, the ends of his hair lifting out of his eyes.

“Secret identity, so you can turn into a ghost?” Danny was silent. “Have I seen you out there?” More silence. “Have I... have I shot at you?” Everything seemed quiet save for their asynchronous breathing. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“It stung but not enough to keep me down for long,” Danny said, flexing his arms but his smile was strained. There was something about it that was haunting, familiar. She turned to look at the woods because if she stared any longer she’d realize which ghost Danny turned into and neither of them was ready for that right now.

“So now what?” She asked.

“I don’t know,” Danny sighed. “I’m kind of taking it one day at a time. Mom and Dad are nervous, jumpy, I’m not sure if they’re more scared of me or of themselves and what they did. My sister and friends are being annoyingly overprotective. People who hated me last week are suddenly in my face asking questions and demanding demonstrations. The government wants to kill me but,” he snorted a little, and tilted his head towards her floppily. “I'm also talking to you about this part of my life for the first time. Lying was a necessity I never grew comfortable with, I think I could do with a bit of honesty.”

“Yeah me too,” Valerie said, straightening up and looking Danny in the eye. “I’m still not sure how I feel about this. I don’t like ghosts and I likely never will. I’m going to continuing being Huntress and keeping the town safe. But I’m willing to give you chance, give you time to open up completely. It’ll give us both times to come to terms with everything, and maybe then we can figure out where we stand.”

“I’ll take it!” Danny beamed, “I was worried you were coming here to off me with that ectogun you have stashed in your skirt so this is much better!”

“How did you-” She gasped.

He winked and tapped his forehead, “I’m pretty sensitive to ectoplasm, especially out here in the real world. Gotta admit sometimes when my energy was low, I sought you out. Did you know your suit radiates a low level ectoplasmic field, even when you’re not wearing it?” He twisted his face in thought. “Now that we’re talking-talking, I should warn you what side effects excess exposure to ectoenergy can cause.” He twisted his hand and a small green ectoblast formed in his palm briefly before dissipating. “If that worries you, my parents can hook you up with some sweet ghost hunting equipment that won’t contaminate you.”

“So I could have powers like you one day?” She asked carefully, looking over her hands thoughtfully.

“Maybe, I don’t know. Mine was a kind of one in a million accident, well, two,” he made a face. “That’s whole other story, don’t ask. But we could maybe find out together, Val,” he winced. “Valerie.”

“Val is fine,” she said quietly, still thinking too many things. “We have a lot of things to figure out but in the meantime, you can keep calling me Val.”

“I’d like that,” he smiled. “So uh, do you want to come to movie night tomorrow? It’s at my house this week. I uh always wanted to invite you before but Sam, Tuck and I usually end up talking ghost stuff during the movie so we couldn’t before but if you’re interested... could be fun to have you there. We’re watching The Shining.”

“That movie is like a billion years old,” Val laughed with an eyeroll.

“It’s a classic, I was named after the kid in that movie!” Danny defended. “I’ll text you the details but its up to you. Either way, we’ll uh, we’ll keep talking. See you around, Val.” And just like that, he vanished. She swiveled her head around but Danny Fenton was truly gone.

“Jerk,” she grumbled but there was no heat to it. She heard a giggle above her and knew Danny, in his secret ghost form, was probably flying. And it was too nice a day to walk home. She activated her suit and took to the skies herself. Valerie didn’t know if Danny was with her or not, she just turned off her brain and fell into the motion of aggressive loops and high speed dives around her town.

Everything had turned upside down with the knowledge that Danny wasn’t who she thought he was. But again, things had been crazy since the ghosts first came to town. So she and Danny were at a stand still, not friends and not enemies, not open but not secretive either. It was a weird state to be in but Danny was probably used to being in a state of half life himself. But she’d worry about all that later, for now it just her and sky.

#surprise bitch bet you thought you saw the last of me #why am I adding to this series when I have so much else to be doing #anyway tada #if you liked Danny seeming okay and feral the last two parts #get ready for Danny whos actually really stressed and emotionally vulnerable #I actually was gonna have Danny confess everything to Val #but that line that 'he's given so much of himself away already' hit me deep #and I realized neither of them weren't ready yet #Val needed to adjust to this newer danny before learning hes phantom #and danny needed time before he had to let go of more of his carefully hidden secrets #they're at a standstill #who knows how long they'll remain as such #and if Val sat down and thought for .2 seconds she would know #but she *doesn't want to* not right now #at some point she'll make the logical leap but for now she's digesting as much as she can #if you thought Val was taking it too well #I just put faith in that past her anger Val is ultimately a good person and never really wanted to hurt the only friend who never abandoned

83 notes · View notes

imekitty · 3 years

Text

This finally addresses the actual prompt from @perishman, where Maddie crosses a line for Jack in her horrifying research.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

-------------------

“Mads?”

Dressed in his pajamas, Jack peered over the stairs. Maddie hadn’t come up to bed yet.

“Mads, it’s getting late.”

Each stair creaked with his weight as he made his way to the living room. He looked around, but everything was dark.

He stared at the lab door, sighing to himself. She really never took a break.

He gripped the handle to open the door, confused when it stayed shut. Locked? Why had she locked it?

He pulled out his phone and entered her number.

“Jack?” answered Maddie.

“Are you down in the lab?”

“Oh, yes, sorry. I’m just working on something.”

“Something you don’t want me to know about?”

A pause. “No, of course not.”

“Then why is the door locked?”

Another pause. “It’s just to keep Danny and Jazz out, not you.”

“Then why don’t you unlock the door for me?”

A third pause, and this time the call disconnected. Moments later, the lab door opened.

“Hey, sorry about that,” said Maddie, her hood pulled up and goggles covering her eyes.

Jack pushed past her down the stairs. “What are you working on this late at night that you didn’t invite me to join you on?”

“Ah, it’s just something I’ve been working on for a while.”

“What is it?”

“Ah—well—”

Jack scanned Maddie’s workstation. Test tubes of fluid, small dishes of tissue samples, and long strands of red hair.

God, no.

Jack picked up one strand. “Is this Jazz’s hair?”

Maddie pushed her goggles up on her head. “Just listen to me—”

“What are you doing with Jazz’s hair? And are these other samples hers, too?”

“Yes. Let me just—”

“What are you doing with all of these? Because the last time your station looked like this, it was Danny’s samples.”

“Yes, I know.” Maddie gestured to the samples. “I’ve been running all the same tests, seeing how her DNA would handle the same mutation.” She beamed. “And guess what? She’s ready for it! Her body would accept it now.”

“What? What are you talking about? You said before Danny was the only candidate.”

“Well, he was, but—”

“What do you mean, she’s ready? Like she wasn’t ready before but she is now?”

“Yes!” cried Maddie. “When I tested her samples before, her DNA rejected the mutation, but not anymore! Now she can take it.”

“Why?” Jack set Jazz’s hair down. “What changed?”

Maddie adjusted the goggles on her head, suddenly not looking at him at all.

“Maddie.” Jack scowled at her. “What did you do?”

Maddie chewed her bottom lip. “Look, I only didn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t go for it.”

“Wouldn’t go for what? Didn’t tell me what?”

“This is the next step in our research, Jack! We’ve come so far with Danny, and he’s done so well with it. And this will have all of the health and vitality benefits for Jazz too—”

“What did you do to Jazz, Maddie?”

Jack’s voice was loud, booming. Maddie’s hand reached to her neck, her fingers kneading into the collar of her jumpsuit.

“She’s been injected with nanobots and was exposed to high levels of ecto-radiation when she wore the Ecto-Skeleton,” said Maddie. “So her vitals can be controlled so she can survive the shock. And her body has been infused with ectoplasmic properties from the Ecto-Skeleton, allowing her to accept the spectral mutation.”

Jack stared at her. “What?”

“Bloodstream nanobots. They can—”

“I know what they do. How and when were they injected into Jazz?”

Maddie looked off to the side. “Remember when Jazz ran off to Vlad’s mansion in Wisconsin? When she was having that fight with Danny about how she was getting in the way of his ghost fighting?”

Jack eyed her warily. “Yeah, I remember that.”

“Well. Vlad had modified our Ecto-Skeleton so that it no longer kills the wearer. And he had also managed to get his hands on a supply of nanobots. So I just asked him to—”

“What?” snapped Jack. “What the hell did you ask him to do?”

Maddie held up her palms. “I was curious to see what Danny would do if his sister somehow became an enemy for him. And then the nanobots, well, remember when I theorized a few years ago that we could perhaps keep a candidate alive during the mutation process if we could control their vitals using bloodstream nanobots?”

“Yes, and I agreed with you,” said Jack. “Back when I thought we were going to be finding a willing participant.”

“Danny didn’t need the nanobots to survive, which made him perfect,” said Maddie. “But Jazz needed more help than that. So I asked Vlad—”

“Vlad was really in on this, too?”

“—to inject her with the nanobots and then put her in the Ecto-Skeleton—”

“No, you didn’t.” Jack glared at her. “You didn’t do that without telling me. Without asking me.”

“Now see, this is why I didn’t tell you, because I knew you’d never go for it.”

“Of course not. Because it’s insane. And it’s our daughter.”

“But don’t you see, Jack? We can prove that anyone can become half ghost with the proper preparation! We can mutate and transform Jazz in the same way we did Danny—”

“No!” shouted Jack. “We are not doing this to Jazz.”

“But—”

“No. This is not up for debate. It’s not happening.”

Maddie’s eyes hardened, her lips pursed. “This is our work, Jack. This is our life’s work. This is everything we’ve been pursuing for over twenty years now.”

“I don’t care. Find someone else to test this out on.”

“But Jazz’s body has already been prepped. It would be expensive to prepare someone else.”

“I don’t care,” screamed Jack. “I don’t give a fuck that you’ve already done all this work to get her ready for a mutation behind my back. I’m not going to let you do it, Maddie.”

Maddie crossed her arms and looked over at the portal.

“And if you do anything to her, I will turn both of us in,” said Jack. “I’ll tell the police everything we’ve been doing. Everything we’ve done to Danny.”

Maddie’s jaw dropped. “What? You can’t!”

“Believe me, I don’t want to. But doing this to Jazz is going too far.”

“Do you even realize—”

“I do. I definitely realize how bad it would be for both of us. How long we’d be locked away. How our kids would be parentless.”

Jack looked up at the ceiling and imagined both of his children sleeping in their beds.

“But I’m sure even they’d agree no parents are better than parents who use them as research subjects,” said Jack more quietly.

Maddie’s face flushed with intense heat. “You can’t do this to us now, Jack.”

“I let you get away with far too much with Danny. I’m not letting you do the same to Jazz.”

Jack stomped past her toward the stairs, his chest and limbs flooding with angry adrenaline.

“Really?” Maddie called after him. “You didn’t fight me at all when it was Danny, but now you’re threatening me when it’s Jazz?”

Jack gripped the stair rail and turned back to her. Her face was still red.

“I should’ve known.” Maddie’s tone was dark. “Jazz always was your favorite.”

“And Danny was always yours,” said Jack. “And if you can do what you’ve done to him, then I’d hate to see what you could do to a child you don’t love as much.”

He did not look at her face again as he climbed the stairs out of the lab.

Part 11

#danny phantom #jack fenton #maddie fenton #planned au #imekitty writes #ficlet #angst

175 notes · View notes

tobesobri · 4 years

Text

Bust | Part Three: Carve (5.5k)

content warning: body image, fatphobia

She wasn’t sure what gave her the boost of confidence to trek up goddamned Justice Hill for the second time today, but she was here. And she was glancing through the windows to find Harry up at his front desk. His cup set aside while he focused on a mound of clay in front of him that roughly took the shape of some humanoid object.

Without giving herself time to second guess, she pushed through the front door and got his attention immediately.

He sat up a little straighter, opened his mouth and then closed it. Loosened the knot between his brows and then tightened it. All while she just stood at the back of the room catching her breath and just staring at him.

“Wh-” He started but it was too late.

She turned right back around and left again.

In which Y/N is an annoyance in Harry’s sculpting class.

story masterlist | my masterlist

She already regretted letting her doubts and her nerves get the best of her while she sat in front of Rose and wished it was Harry instead. Maybe he would have said yes. It was just coffee and she knew he drank it. Nothing had to happen from there. She even could have invited him to come with her and Rose, to make it a little less stressful on herself. But she just… did nothing.

“Hey I guess great minds think alike.” Rose commented, glancing over Y/N’s head. And when she turned to follow her gaze it was like the universe was giving her a second chance.

Harry stood in line behind an older couple, his white jumpsuit a thing of the past as he now wore a pair of joggers and a long-sleeve t-shirt with tour dates printed on the back of some band she’d never heard of. She wondered if he took a spare change of clothes with him to the studio. If sometimes he stayed late and had them just in case. If he stayed late, fixing her sculpture in his spare comfy clothes while playing his music throughout the empty studio.

“I’m going to ask him to join us.” Rose was gone before Y/N could protest, not that she really wanted to anyways. She wanted Harry to pull up a third chair at their little round table. She wanted to hear his voice again up close. Feel the heat radiating off of him. Compare her hands to his while he gripped his own cup of coffee. She just wanted him around in general.

And that was so very not typical of her. To care so much about someone.

So when Rose returned without Harry trailing her, she was a little disappointed at first.

“He said he’d come over for a bit once he orders.” She reassured then and it was all sunflowers and daisies in Y/N’s head again. She just hated that Rose had to be the one to ask him because she was too much of a coward to do it herself.

Rose made room and Y/N flipped her head around when he got close, pulling the chair out Rose had readied for him. He sat down with a smile and his cup in hand, placing a little bag on the table in front of him.

“Do you guys want some?” He asked, noticing both girl’s preoccupation with what was in the bag, “It’s a blueberry scone.”

In unison, they gave two completely different answers. Rose agreed eagerly while Y/N politely declined. And the second he pushed the bag towards Rose and watched her pull the delicious little pastry out of it, Y/N regretted a second thing that night.

“So do you like, stay late at the studio or something?” Rose started, making casual conversation with him in a way Y/N wished she was capable of.

He nodded, “Sometimes, if I’m working on something.”

“And are you?”

He stared at the table and blinked a couple times before shrugging, “Sort of, I guess.”

Rose looked up at him confused, “How do you sort of work on something?”

He laughed at himself and sat back against his chair after having been hunched over the table, “Well I don’t really know if it’s going to turn out. So I don’t like to get my hopes up.”

“What is it? If you don’t mind me asking.”

And maybe she just imagined it, but Y/N swore she saw him glance at her. It was brief, barely even a second that he looked her way.

What the fuck did that mean?

“Um,” he coughed into his hand and cleared his throat, “well I sculpt a lot of figures of women so… it’s that.”

“Anyone in particular or do you just make them up?”

“Depends. This one’s in particular.” He explained quietly and for some reason it made Y/N’s heart fucking burst through the roof. Like Harry would ever make a fucking piece of art after her likeness.

“Well, that’s cool! Will we ever get to see it?”

He shook his head abruptly, “They take me at least a month to complete, and we only have two and a half more weeks.”

“Oh… well do you have social media where you post them when you’re done?” Rose asked and Y/N hid her face instantly behind her coffee cup, pretending to genuinely be thirsty when she really just wanted to avoid the topic of her already being fully aware of Harry’s Instagram.

“Yeah, um, I have Instagram.”

“What is it?” Rose picked her phone up from the table, readying herself to search his username when he gave it to her. And Y/N could sense the bit of reluctance just before he did, like he either didn't give it out often or didn’t really want Rose to know about it.

“This one?” She asked, pointing at the top of a list of potential Harry accounts and he nodded.

They both watched as Rose scrolled through his photos in a way Y/N had already done. Harry was sitting in a pit of nerves because he never really enjoyed being in front of someone while they saw his work for the first time. He had no idea what she would think of it or why he even cared. But he did. He always cared. And Y/N, well, she just hoped Rose wouldn’t notice that Harry already followed her.

She wasn’t sure if there was a way to easily see that on Instagram, but if there was, she prayed Rose didn’t know about it either.

Instead, Rose tilted her head to the side, looking a little confused. “Oh… you do um…”

Both Y/N and Harry leaned in a little to see the photo Rose had clicked on. It was one of his sculptures. One of the female figures that was most definitely not skinny. Y/N bit the insides of her mouth and prepared for the worst.

“Plus sized women…”

Y/N didn’t move a single inch. Not even to blink. The connotation laced in Rose’s words said everything and she had no prior clue that Rose was so bothered by fat people before.

“Well, I do different body types, yeah.” Harry corrected. He did sculpt plus sized women, but not in the sort of light Rose was making it out to be.

“Sorry,” she glanced between the both of them, “I just didn’t realize.”

“Is there something wrong with that?” Y/N finally spoke. Finally did something other than sit in her fear and anger.

“No. I mean… it kind of glorifies like… being overweight don’t you think?”

Y/N thought she was going insane. How did she manage to have a friend who thought that way? How did she go all this time not realizing Rose felt that kind of hatred towards Y/N’s own body? She couldn’t help but feel a wave of embarrassment and panic.

Harry scrunched his face and sat away from her again. “No.” He stated bluntly. “Too many times in art thin bodies are glorified as some sort of ideal.” He argued and Y/N fell madly and deeply in love with him right on the spot because he wasn’t just speaking out of his ass. He wasn’t just blindly following some trend. He poured all his love into his work and he meant every word. “That’s more damaging than the small selection of art focused on trying to correct the way we view beauty… don’t you think?”

Y/N wanted to bow down to him. To sing his fucking praises. To get down on her knees and kiss his fucking shoes.

Rose stared at him a bit stunned for a moment before she glanced at Y/N like her friend might help dig her out of the hole she was in with Harry. But Y/N did no such thing. So, Rose shrugged and put her phone down.

“Guess I never thought of it like that.”

“Right, um…” Harry started gathering himself and it was the first time within the past couple minutes he did something Y/N didn’t approve of. “Thanks for the chat. I’ll see you guys on Saturday.”

When he left, it was awkward between the two like some real truths had finally come out. Y/N didn’t blame Rose for what she said, she probably just genuinely didn’t understand it. She didn’t get what it was like. And frankly, neither did Harry. But at least he made an effort.

“Think he despises me now.” Rose downed the last bits of her coffee in one go.

“No. He doesn’t really seem the type to hate anyone.”

Rose rolled her eyes, “Well after I made a complete ass of myself, I’m sure he’s willing to learn.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, just a little. Because Rose did, in fact, make an ass of herself and Y/N was just glad she was painfully self-aware.

“You ready to go?” Rose asked, pulling her jacket from the back of her chair.

“Um, actually I’ll catch up with you later. I’m going to hang out here a little while longer.”

“You sure? It’s not safe walking home alone once it gets dark.”

Y/N nodded anyways even if Rose scared her a little with that harsh reality. “Yeah. I’ll text you when I get home.”

“Okay well, be safe. I’ll be home trying not to murder myself.” Rose stood, looking genuinely disappointed in herself as she tugged her jacket on. Y/N didn’t really know what to say, so she just said goodbye and left it at that.

Although, within about five minutes of Y/N being alone in the cafe, she was leaving too. Tossing her nearly emptied cup into the bin on her way out of the cafe and then fast walking her ass up the hill again until she reached the studio.

Without giving herself time to second guess, she pushed through the front door and got his attention immediately.

“Wh-” He started but it was too late.

She turned right back around and left again.

He pushed away from his chair and followed her this time, and went right back outside without a jacket and without his shoes on until he caught up to her before she fast-walked her cowardly ass back down the hill.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he grabbed her arm once he was close enough, luckily not having strayed too far off from the studio so that the lights on inside still illuminated her face when she turned around. “What was all that?”

She stared blankly at him. She had no clue what it was. She had a million things on her mind and the second she was alone with him it was like everything that wanted to come out just completely ditched her. Her head went empty and she panicked.

“I, um… thank you.”

He was even more confused. “For what?”

She blinked, shivering when the cold breeze got to her, “For what you said back there.”

He easily glanced right over her head, down the hill at the little coffee shop, wondering what had happened to Rose and why Y/N was alone now.

She took a deep breath and got his attention again, “I uh… to be honest,” she stared at her feet, trying not to distract her train of thought by his lack of shoes, “when I first saw your sculptures they made me feel… seen. If that makes any sense at all.”

“It does.”

She glanced up at him quickly, “Right well, um… I just wanted to say thank you.”

“I know… you told me that already.”

She nodded like she had more to say but never got around to it.

“What happened to your friend?”

Y/N twisted around slightly, glancing down the hill, “She went home. Which is what I’m going to do now… because I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one night.” She cringed at her own rambling even though it made Harry smile.

He grabbed her hand when she turned to walk away from him however. “Actually um… would you mind if I walked you home? It’s not really safe, you know?”

She didn't even think twice before nodding. There was no way she could disagree to spending more time with him, especially not with the way he was smiling at her now.

“Okay, well, give me like two minutes to get ready… you can come in.” He walked backwards and grabbed the door of the studio, pulling it open for her. It was profound character development when he didn't cut in front of her like the last time he held the door open. Instead, they just shared loved-up smiles as she walked past him and into the warmth of the studio.

He walked up to the front of the room while she stayed in the back and quickly slid his feet back into his shoes. She watched him the entire time, too, while he grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and pulled his fingers through his hair as he grabbed a set of keys from the top drawer of his desk.

When he returned to her end of the studio, it was with that same old smile, “Ready, then?”

After flipping the Open sign and turning off the lights, he locked the front door and they made their ways down Justice Hill together. It was just past eight-thirty now, and definitely a time of night she didn’t like walking alone in, no matter how much she tried to convince others she could handle it.

His knuckles brushed hers when they reached the bottom of the hill and when she glanced at him, he pulled his hands into the pockets of his jacket. She was reading way too much into things again. He’s your instructor, she reminded herself, he’s just being nice.

Even so, all the words they’d exchanged the day Rose had the flu flashed through her head again. Surely he didn’t talk to other students the way he had with her. He didn’t follow them on Instagram and slide into their DM’s, did he?

She sighed and wrapped her arms around herself when they turned the corner onto Main Street, their backs facing the ocean as the temperature dropped.

She kept her eyes on the cement beneath her shoes and didn’t notice he was pulling himself out of his jacket until it was too late.

“Here,” he handed it to her, leaving him in just his long-sleeve.

“Oh… I’m alright. You’ll get cold.”

He shook his head and insisted, “I’ll be fine.”

Reluctantly, she took it from him. It was a brown suede jacket that clashed horrendously with her outfit, but she wasn't too worried about that. Not as much as she was worried about it even fitting her. Swallowing and hoping for the best, she swung it around her shoulders while they walked and, by some miracle, fit her arms into it.

All the times she refused jackets from men because of her fears were a total waste.

He smiled and buried his hands into the pockets of his joggers, not exactly convincing her that he was, in fact, fine, but she wasn’t quite done obsessing over the scent of his cologne overwhelming her senses.

“So, um,” she started, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket as she desperately racked her brain for something to say after her mouth had opened without her being fully prepared to spark a conversation. When something finally came to mind, she praised jesus. “How long have you been sculpting?”

He chuckled and she swore she heard his teeth clattering. If she didn’t know he would refuse to take his jacket back, she would have already returned it. “Um… well professionally since I was nineteen.”

“And before that?”

“I apprenticed in a studio where we made pots and plates and stuff like that.”

“Isn’t that professional?”

He tilted his head, “Not really. I was still learning. I did traditional art before getting into sculpting when I was thirteen, and I was really bad at it for a long time.”

She was quiet for a moment, thoughtful, which he appreciated. He’d never really known her to think about what she was going to say first before she opened her mouth. “What made you want to make things?”

It was a good question, and one he never really thought about much. He hummed as they continued down Main Street, passing all the little shops that were just beginning to close for the night. “I don’t know really. Just liked making things I thought were beautiful, I suppose.”

That made her heart flutter. All the plus-sized women, according to Rose, he sculpted were things he considered beautiful. Maybe he didn’t actually plan on dating someone who wasn’t thin, but it was the thought that mattered.

“I guess um,” he continued when she was silent, “I got into sculpting people about three years ago. My first attempts were worse than yours so I gave up on it. But then…” he trailed off and right when she glanced at him to ask him to continue, he did, “I met this girl and I fell in love with her and she convinced me to try it again.” He smiled at the memory. “I made her model for me and taught myself by watching videos so I could get her face just right.”

“Are you still together?”

His smile faded, “She…” he huffed, his eyes dropping to the ground and Y/N prepared for the worst when he opened his mouth again, “she had cancer.”

There was a sharp pain in her chest, like someone dug their fingers in and slowly ripped her heart from its cage. She didn’t know what to say and ended up saying the most useless thing to say to someone in his situation.

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, “It’s alright. But I think what I make now… it’s because of her.”

Y/N nodded and then mumbled about them needing to cross the street at the next light.

Once they were on the other side of the road and headed into her neighborhood on Saltwater Avenue, he changed the subject. “So what do you do for a living?”

She sighed, “I work in marketing.”

“Sounds like you hate it.”

Shrugging, she became very much aware again that she was wearing his jacket and that they were only three houses away from her house and she didn't want Harry to leave yet. “Sometimes… I just really hate capitalism, you know?”

He laughed, the sound of it echoing through the quiet neighborhood and making her shiver, not because she was cold, though, but because it was the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard, even more so than the other times she’d made him laugh.

“I do know what you mean, yeah.” He agreed, pulling his hands from his pockets and crossing his arms over his chest, “Why stay, then?”

“Well… I kind of have a marketing degree…”

He nodded, “So? A degree just means you’re educated. You can do what you want with it.”

She wasn't sure he knew how degrees worked, but it didn’t matter when she saw her front door fast approaching, “This is me.”

He stopped just as she did in front of the little beach house with white paneling and a bright red door. It was cute and the second thing he noticed after the door, was the barking from the other side of it.

“Think Max was missing you.” He said, just seconds before he realized what knowing her dog’s name implied. He didn’t even know why he said it, either. But he’d gone through one too many photos of her mini Australian shepherd that the dog almost seemed like his now too.

“See someone’s been stalking my instagram.” She lifted an accusatory brow while slipping out of his jacket as they stood in front of her picket-gate.

“S’only fair.” He retorted, bringing up the ghosts of her past that made her internally cringe again.

Handing his jacket back, she rolled her eyes, “Touché.”

He took it, folding it over his arm as a quiet moment passed between them. Then finally, he glanced up at her front door and then back to her, “Well, um, it was nice talking. I’ll see you Wednesday?”

He glanced at her lips while she nodded, while she pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and bit down on it. It would be the most cliche way to kiss her, if he even had the guts to do that. He had to repeatedly remind himself that… well… nothing. He had no reason not to kiss her, he supposed. Other than her not wanting him to. And he didn’t have the guts to ask her if she would want that.

“Yeah, Wednesday.” She confirmed, giving him a polite smile before reaching around to open her gate and step into her small front yard. She glanced at him before turning away to walk up the short path to her front door and then once more when she waved at him just before disappearing into her house. He waited until she locked her door before he left.

* * *

She fell into the trap of his Instagram again once she was in bed. It wasn’t to check if he’d posted anything new, though, it was to go back even further in his feed to see if he’d ever posted the sculpture he made of his ex-girlfriend. And it took quite a lot of digging, in fact, when she found herself at the very end of his posts. But it wasn’t in vain when she spotted the sculpted face amongst a bunch of old posts about vases and bowls.

Pulling the photo up, it was clear she’d found what she was looking for. Except, there was more than one photo. The first was of his completed sculpture, and according to his caption, his ex-girlfriend, Juliana, had already passed. She swiped left on the photo and was met with one of him and her. She had a beanie on, but it was still obvious Juliana had cancer. The thing that stuck out the most, however was that Juliana was not, in fact, thin. She was beautiful and had the same kind of body Y/N had and Harry loved her enough to sculpt her out of something he could keep forever.

Max jumped up on her bed then and pulled her out of her thoughts. Just the mere possibility of being Harry’s type filled her head with way too much hope. She clicked her phone off and set it on her bedside table. He had all the time in the world just now to make any sort of move and he didn’t. And there was a reason for it, she was sure. It crossed her mind a few times since he’d said what had happened that maybe… Harry was one of those guys that never moved on. She wouldn’t blame him, everyone grieved in their own way. She just felt horrible herself for hoping she had a chance with him when he’d been through something like that and probably wasn’t even emotionally available.

He hid it quite well if he wasn’t. Either way, as she pet Max while he curled up beside her, she completely convinced herself to give Harry some space.

* * *

Rose switched seats for the day to sit beside Julian, who she’d apparently been getting to know quite well the past week without Y/N’s knowledge. So that left Y/N on her own with the few others that sat in the very back of the studio. She leaned on her elbow and doodled on a scrap piece of paper while Harry gave another lesson. Most everyone was at the point of adding limbs to their bodies but Y/N had a really hard time focusing when all she could think about was Harry. And it didn’t help that the only voice she heard was his too.

Frankly, she’d feel like a complete bitch for telling him how she felt after learning about his previous relationship. Even if he had moved on and grieved, it still didn’t feel right. It felt like she’d be taking advantage of something. And with Harry in no hurry to tell her if he even liked her, she was stuck. And it hurt more than she’d like to admit.

She continued doodling while everyone listened, while she glanced at Harry, found him already looking at her, and then went right back to her piece of scrap paper again. She didn’t look up from it either, not when he dismissed everyone to get to work and not when he made a bee line, as nonchalantly as he could, to her table.

“So your friend has a boyfriend now?”

Y/N lifted her head just enough to glance Rose’s way and then retreated to her doodles without giving Harry any attention of his own, “Were you interested?”

His brows furrowed as he watched her, something so completely different about her than the last time they’d been together but he couldn’t figure out what. His eyes scanned down her arm and watched while she drew literal scribbles that he couldn’t make out into any solid thing. “No I was just… making an observation.”

She nodded absentmindedly and he grew frustrated.

He glanced to the people sitting beside her, making sure they were fully engrossed in their projects before he leaned in and whispered just for her to hear, “Are you mad at me?”

That finally pulled her eyes from the desk and onto him where she immediately shook her head, “No,” she said genuinely, hating that he’d gotten that impression. She didn’t want him to think she was mad. He hadn’t done anything. “Why would I be mad at you?”

He blinked a couple times and then opened his mouth but no words ever got the chance to come out.

“Harry! Can you help me please?” Another student shouted from the middle of the class and he turned around to assure that he’d be right there. And when he faced Y/N again, she was back to scribbling.

“If you’re not going to do anything here,” he began, “maybe you should go home.”

She stopped when he walked away. Her entire body immobile. He wanted her to leave. She wanted to leave. She hated that she was upset over what she was upset about and seeing Harry only made her hatred for herself that much worse.

While he preoccupied himself, she packed up her things and left. On her way down Justice Hill, she texted Rose that she wasn’t feeling well.

* * *

It was just past eight-thirty when there her doorbell rang and while she sat on the couch as Max jumped up to bark at the noise, she checked her phone to see if she’d missed a text from Rose saying she was coming over. With her phone empty of any notifications, however, she proceeded with caution.

She picked Max up, mid-bark, and opened her door after unlocking it to find Harry standing on her front porch looking at her with his brows furrowed as he ripped his fingers through his hair nervously.

“Harry what are you--?”

“I’m sorry,” he cut her off, “I’m not sure what I did to upset you, but I’m sorry that I did.”

She glanced down at his feet, finding his same old white vans that he’d recently cleaned all the scuff marks off of, before she faced him again, sighing. “You didn’t do anything, it’s just…” She paused, hesitating. When his eyebrow tilted curiously, she sighed and just came out with it. “I like you. And after what you said yesterday, I just felt stupid for thinking you were into me if you’re still dealing with that.”

He was stunned into silence for an entire five seconds until he cleared his head, “I’m not.” When he saw the way her face fell in disappointment, he clarified, “Still dealing with it, I mean. I’ve had another girlfriend since then. It was hard, but I did move on.”

“Oh.” She readjusted Max in her grip.

“And I am… into you.” He assured. “I was when I first saw you, but then… you opened your mouth.” He laughed optimistically and even though she pretended to be insulted, she couldn’t help but be embarrassed by her past self.

“God, I’m sorry for being so annoying. It was nothing personal, I just--”

He stepped forward and, to Max’s dismay, grabbed her face between his hands and kissed her. Without talking himself out of it this time, but he just didn’t want to listen to her be self-deprecating for one more second. She kissed him back once she was out of the initial shock, and brought her free hand up to the back of his neck to pull him in.

She took a couple backward steps until he was fully in her house and he closed the door shut behind him. Pulling apart for less than five seconds, they never took their eyes off each other as she put Max on the ground finally and then came crashing right back into Harry. The only sound apart from Harry’s moan around her lips as she pressed him into the door, was Max’s nails as he walked across the hardwoods to his spot on the couch again.

He broke away first, a few moments later, with his hands still on either side of her face, pushing her back and giggling when she pouted at him for doing so.

“Sorry, I just wanted you to stop talking,” he whispered while tucking her hair behind her ear softly, so much that just feeling the tip of his fingers on her skin like that gave her goosebumps.

“Well, you’re welcome to shut me up anytime you’d like if that’s how you go about it.” His forehead fell onto hers while he laughed and she did too, breathlessly like Harry had taken all of the air out of her lungs when he kissed her.

“I, um…” He mumbled once they were done laughing and then lifted his head again and began removing his hands from her, “I didn’t close up the studio so I have to go back.”

“Oh,” Y/N nodded, taking a step away from him, “Yeah, you should go do that. I have work in the morning anyway.”

“Can I see you sometime… before Saturday I mean?” He asked and her heart fluttered at just the mere prospect of seeing Harry outside of their regularly scheduled meetings. She’d gotten into the habit of looking forward to her Wednesdays and Saturdays because of him, and it was overwhelming to think of seeing him on a Thursday or a Friday.

“I get off for lunch tomorrow at eleven-thirty to twelve-thirty.” She offered, knowing she’d want to see him again before she was off of work at five. And then she rambled on about why that was her only free time. “I have meetings on Thursdays after work and then I’m too tired to do anyth—“

He cut her off again.

It was quick this time though, but when he pulled his lips from her it didn’t matter, because she stopped. “Eleven-thirty’s fine.”

“Okay.” Was all she said, even though in hindsight she probably should have kept rambling just to get him to kiss her again instead of what he did next.

Which was, reaching behind himself to grab the handle and ease her front door open.

“I’ll slide into your DMs later then…” he stepped aside and pulled the door open just enough to be able to fit himself out of and she stepped back to give him room to do so even if it made her heart ache to see him leaving. And when she seemed confused about why he’d be in her DMs, he clarified. “About where we’ll meet.”

“Oh, yeah. Okay.” She smiled at him finally and stepped closer again to grab the door from him while he stood in the space between it and her small front porch. They stared at each other for a brief moment, her looking up into his eyes while everything that just happened finally began sinking in and him, glancing at her lips before leaning down to kiss her one last time before he ran off.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #sculptor!harry

600 notes · View notes

five-rivers · 3 years

Text

Stars Aligned Chapter 2

Here’s the thing. Danny knew this was a dumb decision. At least as dumb as stepping into the ghost portal (but at least he’d gotten some nifty powers out of that, hey?). Whatever reason his bio-dad had for chucking him out the door within days of his birth couldn’t be good. Putting himself within reach of the man… Yeah. Not his brightest thought.

(Not to mention the wizards. And witches. That was so weird, how they had two different names for essentially the same thing. Then again… actor, actress… Why were people so weird?)

On the other hand, twin brother. Twin brother who had to live with aforementioned baby-abandoning bio-dad. Twin brother who wasn’t allowed to visit America. Or, Danny suspected, a family of squibs.

Yeah.

So, here he was. Getting everything in order for a wizard passport and wizard international travel, because bio-family refused to even look at an airport.

Danny had a suspicion that, based on how they spelled the word and a few other comments in that particular letter, that they weren’t entirely clear on what an airport was.

Fun.

On the other hand, in comparison to the actual, normal, legal passport he’d gotten, just in case bio-family left him somewhere, wizard passports were much, much easier to get. The wait times were practically nonexistent. He could, in theory, get the passport on the same day he traveled. All that was needed was proof he was a wizard and his adoption papers.

Of course, ‘proof he was a wizard’ actually meant ‘wand.’ Wands being something they used as personal ID, despite the fact that they were a) sticks, and b) didn’t actually carry any personally identifiable information. Sure, Jack said that they were somehow connected to their owners, but unless there were, like, giant books of details about everyone’s wands at every place that would, conceivably, need ID, and had people trained to identify all those tiny little characteristics… Danny just couldn’t see how it would work.

Danny’s current theory was that all wizards were just insane, which meant that his twin would most likely fit right in with the rest of Danny’s family, right as soon as Danny figured out how to legally kidnap him.

(No, Danny didn’t have a ghostly Obsession, and it definitely wasn’t family related. He was only half-ghost, after all. Why do you ask?)

Anyway. Wizard passport. Wizard ID. Wizard sticks.

Wands.

Wands meant a nerve-wracking trip to the nearest wizarding town with Jack. Evidently, he’d lived there a couple of years after his parents sent him away from Britain when he was around fourteen because of ‘the war.’

Abruptly, many of Jack’s stories about his childhood made more sense.

(It had always been something of a joke between Jazz and Danny to try and figure out what ‘the war’ was supposed to be, and if Jack’s parents had just… Conned him into thinking he’d eaten horse meat. For some reason. Even if the Fentons hadn’t seemed like that kind of people, no matter how eccentric.)

(Also, evidently Jazz and Danny had never met Jack’s biological parents, who were not named Fenton, although his adopted mother was also a witch.)

(Why was everything so complicated?)

The “wizarding community” was a small town accessible only by a train line invisible to ‘no-majs.’ And also flying brooms. Which wizards used. Danny had seen the train before, not realizing that he wasn’t supposed to. Several times. Usually while flying to Wisconsin to deal with whatever Vlad had done that week.

If Danny was a wizard, was Vlad? Was being half-ghost somehow tied up in being magical? What did that mean for Dani?

(Hey, maybe this whole affair could be used to bring Dani into the family safely. Who was to say that he didn’t have a secret twin sister?)

Danny could admit that the town itself, which had almost a Ghost Zone vibe with how all the architecture seemed to be from fifty plus to a hundred years ago and also the physics breaking magic, was sort of cool. It was… cute, he guessed. He didn’t really like how everyone was staring at Jack, their clothes were just as weird, but it wasn’t a new thing. People always stared at Jack.

That’s what happened when you wore hazard-orange jumpsuits twenty-four seven.

The shops all had names out of a fantasy novel, and at one point they got turned around and wound up on a residential street where they had to ask for directions, but eventually they made it to ‘Willoughby’s Wand Emporium.’

The interior of Willoughby’s Wand Emporium reminded Danny strongly of a shoe store. The shelves were all lined with boxes of approximately that size, and the employees all carried measuring tape. It also smelled like a shoe store: musty and dry, with a hint of polish. Or maybe it was wood varnish? Or some kind of paint.

A young woman bounced up. “Hi, how can we help you today? Replacement wand?”

“First time, actually,” said Jack.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said the woman. “You’re just so tall for your age.”

“I’m fourteen,” said Danny.

The woman began to turn red.

“He was missed,” said Jack. “It happens.” He smiled, but it looked far more strained than usual.

“Oh,” said the woman. “Ahem. Well, if you’ll come right this way, I can start taking measurements, and start trying out wands. The wand chooses the wizard, they say!”

“Okay,” said Danny, shrugging. That was… interesting. Were the wands sentient? Did that somehow make them acceptable IDs?

Seemed really weird to keep sentient things stored in boxes.

… Said the kid who stored sentient beings in a soup thermos.

A really high-tech soup thermos.

Didn’t make it better.

Except he didn’t keep them in the thermos indefinitely. Except for Dan.

Danny didn’t know if the wizards kept the wands in boxes indefinitely, either. Maybe he should stop assuming things. That had gotten him in trouble with ghosts more than once.

The woman took her measuring tape from where it hung around her shoulders, held it out in front of herself, and promptly dropped it. It did not fall.

As basic as levitation was for ghosts, it was really weird to see a human do it. (Especially when it always took so much concentration for him to levitate things other than himself—Hence why he never really used the ability in battle.)

The measuring tape flitted around Danny’s head, shoulders, arms, and body, taking measurements. He had to sit on his reflexes hard to prevent himself from trying to catch it or knock it out of the air.

He was so nervous. Was it normal to be nervous?

The measuring tape snaked back through the air to the woman, who smiled. “Alright,” she said, “we can start with that. Uh, to explain the process, we usually start out with wands in the appropriate size range and try and zero in on the ones that respond best to you from there.” She flicked her own wand, and several thin boxes slid themselves off the shelves. “We use a wide variety of wand woods from a variety of wandmakers. Just about any tree that grows in North America is probably represented here.” She paused. “Except for palm trees.”

“That makes sense,” said Danny. Palm trees were quite different from other trees.

“Alright. Let’s start with pine. The core of this one is dragon heartstring—Harvested humanely, of course!”

“Core?” said Danny, latching on to the familiar word even as he regarded the wand itself dubiously.

“Yes. As with our woods, we also stock a wide range of wand cores. Each wand has a core made of a small part of a magical creature. Dragon heartstring, unicorn hair, and phoenix feather are the standard ones… But that standardization is rather British. We have a few others available. Thunderbird tail feather—Only taken during molt. Wampus cat hair. Dittany. Rougarou hair. Jackalope antler… Those are the more common ones, though we do have others. Even some kneazle whisker, although most people don’t want those.”

“Why not?”

“Ah, they tend not to be very strong. But sheer power isn’t everything. Some prefer control, need lower power output… or are worried about accidents while they’re learning. We do see some adult learners every now and then.”

That actually sounded sort of appealing to Danny, but he supposed he’d better go about this normally. At least at first.

He picked up the pine wand and immediately dropped it.

“Ow,” he said.

“Ow?” repeated the woman. “Oh,” she said, catching sight of the burn on his hand. “That’s… not supposed to happen.”

“Y’know,” said Danny, conversationally, “I’ve only held, like, two magical things in my life, and both of them have damaged my hands. Is this, like, a common thing, or am I just ridiculously unlucky.”

“Second one, I think,” said the woman. “Cynthia’s good at minor healing charms. I’m going to go get her. Okay? Okay.”

Shortly thereafter, phoenix feather wands were also eliminated as a possibility, not because they burned Danny, but because they seemed intent on burning everything else around him. Pine wands were also a definite no-go (“Don’t worry about the lifespan thing,” said the woman, “that’s a myth.”). As was everything but elder, apple, pear, hornbeam, thorn, and yew (this list got another mention of myths from the shop assistant).

At this point, the shop owner, Mrs. Willoughby, was drawn out from the back room to observe the mess Danny was making.

“My,” she said, “I haven’t seen anyone have this much trouble in a while. Heather, why don’t you go get some of the specialty cores.”

“I thought the unicorn was working well,” protested the woman who’d been helping Danny so far. She winced as Danny picked up a new wand and exploded a light. “Comparatively.”

“Yes, we could probably eventually find a unicorn hair wand that would work for him, but all things considered… I feel like we should explore other avenues.” She sniffed. “Nothing associated with fire. Perhaps kelpie mane?”

“I’ll check,” said Heather.

Kelpie mane, it turned out, did the same sort of thing as phoenix tail feather when it came to Danny. Only with a lot more water involved.

“I didn’t think that would work, anyway,” said Mrs. Willoughby.

“Then why,” said Danny, wringing water out of his shirt, “did you have me try it?”

“Oh, cases like you greatly improve our understanding of wandlore,” said Mrs. Willoughby. “You’re not likely to have noticed this yet, but the population of wizards and witches is so small compared to the no-maj population that everyone who gets very far in a profession has to be a bit of an innovator. I’m recording this for future reference, and I’ll be looking forward to seeing what you do in life. If anything. It would be very helpful to me if you became famous.”

“Hard pass on that,” said Danny.

“Or at least come back at some point.”

“I’ll consider it,” said Danny. “But, like, we were really hoping to do other things today, so maybe…” He made a circular motion with his hand. “Or at least, ugh, I don’t know. I feel like everything you give me is trying to kill me.”

It was a very familiar feeling, and a very unwelcome one, nonetheless.

“We really aren’t,” said Mrs. Willoughby. “But perhaps… from now on, we’ll limit to the woods to the Rosaceaes. The others tend to be called unlucky. Well, except for the hornbeam. Is there anything you’re singularly passionate about?”

Singularly passionate? “Not really,” said Danny, who did not think about ghosts or helping people or space. He shifted, uncomfortable, and squelched.

Screw it. He was supposedly a wizard, now, right?

He phased the water off himself.

“Oh my god!” shouted Heather. “Did you do that on purpose?”

“Uh,” said Danny. “No?”

“Calm down, Heather. Don’t act like you’ve never seen accidental magic before.”

“Not with a teenager doing it!”

They were now attracting a crowd. Yay.

“He’s not trained, yet,” said Mrs. Willoughby, unconcerned. “Don’t be rude.”

“Yeah, can we get back on track, here?”

After a few more tries, Mrs. Willoughby had determined that the wood that reacted the least badly to Danny was hawthorn. Then she sent Heather into the storage room to fetch more.

“I don’t know why we even have these,” said Heather, under her breath, carrying several boxes marked with stamps that read ‘THESTRAL.’

“Because some people have trauma, Heather.”

“He’s a teenager. I seriously doubt he has deep personal experiences with death.”

“Wow, way to assume, Heather,” said another shop assistant, who was passing by with a far-too-curious customer.

“Here,” said Mrs. Willoughby, handing Danny a box. “Try this one. It’s hawthorn.”

With some suspicion, Danny slid the cover off the box and gingerly picked up the wand inside.

It didn’t do anything like what the other wands had. Instead, the slender length of wood gave him a faint echo of the feeling he got when he was on an emotional high and engaging in either extreme mischief or obsession-adjacent activities (because he did not have a real, ghostly, capital-O Obsession).

Danny declined to hold it with all five fingers, lest he be overcome with mania.

Yes, he was paranoid. But when touching things can go as badly for you as they did for Danny, paranoia was justified.

“Oh, it looks like you’ve found your match,” said Mrs. Willoughby, clapping.

With the ease of practice, Danny did not let any trace of horror or unease show on his face. He ignored the surge of glee from the wand, and carefully placed it back in the box.

Yeah. He needed a wand for passport purposes, but there was no way he was going to use that. He’d just fake magic with ghost powers. It had been working out okay so far.

What was the worst that could happen?

A rather relieved Jack paid for the wand, and they made their way, slowly, to the government building.

“So,” said Jack. “You want to save getting those beginner magic manuals for another day?”

“Absolutely,” said Danny. He wondered if his twin had gone through anything even remotely like this and if it was really worth all this trouble to meet a person he would have basically nothing in common with other than blood.

Blood that likely meant less than usual, considering that his was diluted with ectoplasm. A fact he would have to hide. With no allies or back up. In England.

(Again, this whole endeavor was not his greatest idea.)

Draco supervised the house-elves as they cleaned out the room next to his own, feeling rather blank. He had campaigned vigorously for his twin to come, but now that he was…

The boy, for all that he was as much a Malfoy as Draco, was an American for all intents and purposes. What did Americans even like? What did they call their bastardized version of Quidditch? Would Deneb even know about wizard games? According to the woman from the agency, he’d been raised as a muggle by those squibs he’d been placed with.

Slowly but surely, Draco’s heart sank. He had no idea what his twin would be like. Deneb, despite being his brother, would essentially be a stranger.

He was beginning to understand why his mother was so angry at his father.

#danny phantom #dp/hp crossover #dp/hp twin au #stars aligned

136 notes · View notes

lochrannn · 3 years

Text

AU-gust: Some people call me Maurice

Read on AO3

CW: Explicit sexual content, canon typical violence

prompt no 5: Science Fiction

Characters: Lila Pitts, Diego Hargreeves

Relationship: Lila Pitts/Diego Hargreeves

Lila is sitting at the bar, twirling the facsimile of what she assumes is supposed to be some grain alcohol around in her glass. It’s amber and it burns, that’s all she can really ask for. But she’s had two already in quick succession so she’s in no hurry to down this one as well.

She’s trying to settle her nerves after the day she’s had, and luckily she found the skeeviest bar at the port, with very few patrons and therefore all she has to contend with is the slightly irritating buzzing of the neon tubes that barely illuminate the place but bathe it in a weird purple light.

And then the automatic door zips open and a far too familiar, tall figure walks in.

Lila rolls her eyes and unsuccessfully tries to hide her face, because the man with his distinct scars, shaggy dark hair, and a thick beard, makes his way straight over to her and sits down on the next barstool over.

He signals the barman for a drink of his own but doesn’t say anything.

It’s not the first time they’ve crossed paths today. No, the fucking Hargreeves, and consequently also the angry fighty one, who is sitting next to her now, almost cost her her loot and did get her shot.

The salvaging game is dangerous and only semi-legal, so she knows the risks and loves doing it anyway, but the fact that recently she keeps running into this stupid group of misfits that claim they are a family somehow, who fly around in their stupidly named ship The Umbrella Academy and are annoyingly proficient, getting there before her almost half the time now, is making her job an absolute misery.

“You here to steal my loot?” Lila asks eventually, quite exasperated with the brooding salvager disturbing her peace.

“Nah,” he says in a low voice, “I know you offloaded that the minute you got back to the port. And I’m not gonna rob you of your money, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he goes on, turning towards her and toasting her in the air.

Lila realises she’s never heard him speak beyond a couple of barked orders to his crew or insults directed at her, when they have been competing for the same abandoned cargo ship. The way he’s speaking to her now feels deceptively pleasant. He has a warm voice that trickles into her ears far too easily.

“What do you want, then?”

“Came to make sure you were alright,” he says simply, not looking at her this time around.

That takes Lila a little by surprise.

Sure, it’s not like the Hargreeves have been particularly violent towards her in their past encounters, but especially the one sitting with her now has, so far, never had any particular qualms about shooting his phaser at her or throwing a knife in her path. Granted, he’s never actually hit her with them, but she refuses to consider that that might be by design.

Also, who the fuck uses knives in enclosed corridors on space ships where you are guaranteed to hit some vital piece of equipment if you just randomly chuck a knife at the wall?

“Why do you care?” Lila asks maybe a bit harshly. It’s not like he shot her himself. Admittedly, they had been lobbing petty insults at each other while trying to race one another to the cargo hold and maybe that had made them a little too distracted to notice the group of far less scrupulous scavengers arriving.

The man next to her smirks into his glass, but doesn’t answer her question.

Instead, after taking a sip of his drink he turns to look at her with big, impossibly dark eyes, some part of her brain informs her unhelpfully, and asks, “That zippy little number you’re flying around in, that’s far too nice a ship for a salvager. Where’d you get her?”

The question is so conversational that Lila answers before she can think better of it. “The Commission? A… uhm…” she hesitates, “a parting gift from my mother.”

“Oh right, so you’re one of those rich kids who go into salvaging for the adventure?”

Lila bristles at the accusation and shoots back, “Oh please, it’s not like we haven’t all heard of Reginald Hargreeves!”

But she doesn’t get a response to that conversational thread either.

Instead the Hargreeves sitting next to her, who apparently is reluctant to acknowledge his patriarch, asks her, “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Lila.”

She decides he doesn’t need any more than that, no point in giving up too much information to the competition, “What’s yours?”

“Diego,” he says and then holds out his hand to her.

When she shakes his gloved hand, Diego holds on to hers for just a little too long and the penny finally drops for Lila.

She’s a tad annoyed that he won’t just come out and say what he’s looking for, but it’s been a little while since she’s had another warm body in her bed and this one’s definitely a very nice body with a handsome face, and he seems clean and so far relatively respectful, and it’s not like she hasn’t thought about him that way before.

She thinks he’d probably end up being scandalised if she just outright asks him if he’d like to fuck her, so she goes with a barely disguised euphemism, “So if you’re that interested in my ship, d’you want to come take a look at it?”

His eyes widen a little, but he otherwise hides his shock at her straightforwardness and after a beat says, “Sure.”

“So this is the galley,” Lila says nonchalantly, pointing towards the stainless steel kitchen aisle in her cramped living quarters.

Diego just nods, arms crossed, looking otherwise a little forlorn before they move on.

“This is the propulsion reactor,” she says, pointing to the contraption with its bluish glow in the hull of her ship. She doesn’t really care about it and doubts Diego does, and right now she’s entirely distracted by the way he’s standing decidedly too close behind her, but to her absolute annoyance, not touching her yet.

“And this is my cockp-”

Lila doesn’t get to the end of her sentence, because Diego has apparently reached the end of his patience with their weird little cat and mouse game as well and wraps his arms around her, crushing her flush against himself so he can fuse his lips to hers.

Lila loses no time in slinging one arm around his neck and wrapping both her hands around the straps of his weapons holster so she can pull herself even harder against him while kissing him back fiercely.

Next thing she knows, Diego twists them around and he slams her into the closed cockpit door, making Lila gasp on impact and Diego uses her surprise to lick into her mouth and tangle his tongue with hers.

A thrill runs up her spine at the prospect that, contrary to her concern after he was too chickenshit to make the first move at the bar, this is apparently not going to be any kind of gentle love making.

They start undressing each other roughly, though to her surprise Diego is particularly mindful of the bandage on her arm covering the phaser burn, and then, when he pulls off his tactical gloves, she is momentarily distracted by his unexpectedly long and elegant fingers.

Without thinking about it too much, she grabs his hand, takes his index and middle finger into her mouth and closes her lips around the base, then painfully slowly pulls the digits out again, making sure to press her tongue against them the whole time.

She doesn’t miss the way Diego’s pupils blow wide and a muscle jumps in his jaw, as he whispers a breathless “Jesus!”

To her delight, she’s apparently given him ideas, because the moment she lets go of his hand, he shoves it down the front of her jumpsuit, the top half of which is pooling low on her hips, past the waistband of her underwear, to drag his fingers along her already wet folds.

He knocks her knees apart with his own, and Lila has barely any time to grab ahold of his broad shoulders before he pushes both long fingers inside of her, reaching deeper than she ever could herself.

For a little while he drives her absolutely insane with every twist of his wrist and curling of his fingers, his lips on her throat, sucking and biting at her pulse, but eventually she gets frustrated. It’s just not enough, so she tells him as much.

“I need more!” she gasps.

Without a verbal acknowledgement, Diego pulls his hand away from her and they get each other fully naked as fast as possible, before he pushes into her with a hard thrust.

And this is exactly what she needs. Stretched to a point just shy of being painful, one leg wrapped around his waist as he slams into her, every inch of him pressed against her body, still holding her flush against the door.

Lila has her arm firmly wrapped around Diego’s neck so she can keep his remarkably soft lips on her own, she’s savouring the feeling of his long fingers digging into her thigh where he’s keeping her steady on her one leg, while she’s gripping the biceps of his other arm, which he has up by her head so Lila can lean against his forearm instead of the hard metal door.

He’s far too good at this and her combative nature takes over for a second and she gasps against his mouth, not losing the rhythm of her own movement, “Don’t think for a second this changes anything! I won’t go easy on you if you try and take my cargo again!”

Lila feels a smirk stretch across his lips where they are still touching hers and for some inexplicable reason, that makes the knot building in the pit of her belly tighten even more.

“As if I wanted you to go easy on me,” Diego growls before he kisses her again deeply and his self-satisfied tone riles her enough for her to bite him sharply on his plush bottom lip.

“Ow! Fuck!” he cries out and then smacks her hard on the back of her thigh in retaliation. It stings bad enough that for a second she can’t breath but, Christ, if it doesn’t almost tip her over the edge.

In the end she comes when he has her bent over one of the consoles of buttons and switches, buried to the hilt inside of her, chest flush with her back, his teeth scraping the shell of her ear.

And afterwards, for reasons she really doesn’t want to examine too closely, she takes him to her bed so she can fall asleep wrapped up in his arms.

#au_gust_2021 #fanfic #tua #the umbrella academy #diego hargreeves #lila pitts #dielila #diego x lila #diego/lila #lochrannn lxd au challenge

8 notes · View notes

izzielizzie · 3 years

Note

can you do a natewyn soulmate au? I saw this once but when one person turns 18, the first thing they write appears on the hand of their soulmate and since Bronwyn is older, Nate sees what she writes? But it's something strange as heck like maybe some class notes or something?

Yes!

“You’re eighteen!” Maeve Rojas trills as she jumps on her sister’s bed on the morning of her birthday.

“Only technically,” the sleep deprived birthday girl responds, pushing her sister off the bed. Maeve lands on the floor and bounces back up like nothing happened.

“Technically?

“I was born at eleven in the morning, remember?”

Maeve, who was born three minutes after midnight and therefore was already a year older when she wakes up on the morning of November sixteenth every year, mulls that over as Bronwyn rolls out of bed and looks through her dresser for her favorite grey pullover.

“Fine. Well then, how do you plan on finding your soulmate?”

Bronwyn turns to look at her sister, a green woolen sweater handing from her hand. “What?”

“Oh come on you’re eighteen. The first thing you write at eleven will show up on your soulmate’s hand. So how do you plan on finding them?”

Bronwyn rolls her eyes. She knows that soulmates exist - Maeve had already found hers a few weeks ago after a very random grocery list showed up on her hand at three in the morning - but Bronwyn doesn’t believe that she has one. “How do you know that I’m older? Maybe the other person is older.”

This is another soulmate rule. The second one to turn eighteen is the one who has writing appear on their hand. Maeve is a year younger than Luis Santos, which is why his writing showed up on her hand instead of vise versa.

Maeve huffs and looks at her sister like she’s insane. “God Bronwyn I thought you were supposed to be the smart one. If your soulmate was older than you then their handwriting would show up. Since it didn’t, and you’re eighteen, then you’re the older one.”

“Or,” Bronwyn says, moving away from the dresser with her sweater in hand, “I have no soulmate. Just because you have one doesn’t mean the whole world does.”

“Spoilsport!” Maeve calls after Bronwyn as she heads to their shared bathroom.

Five hours later Bronwyn pulls out her astronomy notebook and places it in the space between her and her best friend Addy on their lab bench. Both girls regretted taking the class about five minutes into the first lesson, and now, three weeks later, they spend the whole time writing back and forth to each other in Bronwyn’s notebook under the guise of taking shared notes.

Happy birthday! Addy writes.

Thanks! Bronwyn writes back.

Any special drink you’re gonna order from the café? Addy asks right as the clock - unknown to both girls - strikes eleven. She is, of course, referencing the café Bronwyn and Addy work at every Friday, their day off from Until Proven, the law firm owned by Addy’s brother-in-law.

Bronwyn thinks for a moment. She never really gets anything from the café since she doesn’t drink coffee, but some of the iced lattes look interesting. I don’t know. Maybe an iced London fog with vanilla sweet cream? Maeve gets it when Mom doesn’t want her to drink coffee

Moments after Bronwyn finishes writing her note someone cries out in surprise from the back of the room. Everyone, including old Mr. Avery, who never interrupts his lectures for anything, turns around to stare at the back lab bench where Nate Macauley and Cooper Clay sit. To call the friendship between all star athlete and all around golden boy Cooper and drug dealer Nate unexpected is an understatement, but Addy is close friends with Cooper, and she says they make it work.

“Boys, everything all right back there?” Mr. Avery asks.

“Yep!” Cooper says right away. Bronwyn has never spoken to Cooper or Nate (she only stares at Nate from afar while simultaneously assuring Addy that she does not have a crush on him) but even she can tell that everything is not alright.

Nate catches Bronwyn’s eye as she’s about to turn back to the board, and much to her surprise, he mouths happy birthday. Bronwyn, unsure how to respond, just turns back around.

Bronwyn is my soulmate is the only thought swirling around Nate’s head as he enters the mostly empty café.

Most people assume that motorcycle driving leather jacket wearing Nate Macauley doesn’t believe in soulmates, but to his eternal surprise, he does. His parents had a terrible relationship before his mother left, and he was cynical about love for a while. But now, as he stares down at the neat, round handwriting on his left hand, he knows that Bronwyn is his soulmate. If the date doesn’t prove it (September ninth, he remembered that from when he and Bronwyn went to the same elementary school), then the note itself proved it. The person had written Maeve and Mom in the same sentence. Only one person had a sibling called Maeve at Bayview High School, and it was Bronwyn. Of course, Nate’s soulmate could be living in Ireland, where he was sure the Maeve was common, which is where his third and final reasoning comes in. When he wished Bronwyn a happy birthday during astronomy, she had turned as white as a sheet. He was no Sherlock Holmes, but all the clues pointed to Bronwyn being his soulmate. Which is why he had asked Cooper to ask Addy where Bronwyn worked, and then drove there on his motorcycle right as it was closing so he could talk to Bronwyn in private.

But, to his dismay, Bronwyn isn’t at the café when he enters it. Addy Prentiss is though. She smirks at him when she sees him. “Bronwyn isn’t here. She went home early. It’s her birthday. Although you know that, don’t you future Mr. Rojas?”

Nate considers playing dumb, but he is too disappointed. “How’d you know?”

“Cooper told me.”

Of course he did. “Well, I guess I’ll talk to her on Monday.”

“Yeah. It’s too bad you don’t have the time to drive to eleven Thorndike Street,” Addy agrees, nodding wisely. Nate grins at her. “Well, I’ll see you later,” she says, starting to turn from him.

“Wait!”

Addy turns to him, startled.

“Actually I want to order something.” Nate looks down at his hand, where the note is starting to fade.

Addy, who catches the movement, smiles knowingly.

Half an hour later, Nate rings the doorbell of a large grey house. If he’s being honest, it’s practically a mansion. There’s a pounding of footsteps from the house and then the door flies open to reveal a short, amber eyed girl wearing a jumpsuit in some burnt umber color. A tall guy Nate recognizes from the football team is behind her. “Hi!” the girl says pleasantly.

“Hi. I’m Nate. I was looking for Bronwyn?”

“Yeah?” a new voice calls. The guy steps back and lets Bronwyn step forward. She’s wearing an elegant black gown, her hair twisted up. Nate always knew Bronwyn is beautiful, but as she stands in front of him with her grey eyes bright against the dark dress (Nate didn’t even know Bronwyn had grey eyes since she always wears glasses), he realizes that even without the soulmate tag, he would have fallen in love with Bronwyn. Maybe he was always in love with her.

Bronwyn studies him. “Hi.”

“Hi. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.”

“I brought you something.” Nate holds up the drink Addy prepared for him. “Iced London fog with vanilla sweet cream.”

Bronwyn pauses. “How did you know m-” Nate interrupts her question by holding up his left hand. The writing is still there, and he swears that it’s clearer than it was earlier. Bronwyn seems rooted in place as she reads the words on the back of his hand. The other girl who Nate can only assume is Maeve, Bronwyn’s sister, is not frozen at all. She shrieks, gabs Nate’s hand, reads the words, looks at her sister, and shrieks again.

Nate takes a step back in surprise that the other boy notices. He puts his hands on Maeve’s shoulders and pulls her back into his chest. “Okay Maevey, love, don’t scare the poor guy.” After hearing the guy’s voice, Nate realizes it’s Luis Santos, Maeve Rojas’s soulmate. Or at least that’s what Cooper tells him.

“Thanks. Um, Bronwyn?”

Bronwyn shakes herself and looks at him as if seeing him for the first time. “I don’t believe in soulmates,” she says. She must see the look of hurt on Nate’s face (or maybe she hears her sister’s snort of disgust) because she quickly adds, “but if I’m being honest, I kind of always had a crush on you.”

Nate half smiles. “Me too.”

Bronwyn smiles. “We’re going out for dinner with my parents, but after, we’ll talk.”

“Okay,” Nate says, a bright grin overtaking his face. “But, I need your number.”

Bronwyn reaches forward and squeezes his hand. “I’ll write it on the back of my hand, you’ll see it. That’s a soulmate thing right?”

Nate laughs and nods.

“And she says she doesn’t believe in soulmates,” Maeve mutters. Everyone laughs, and Bronwyn and Nate grin at each other.

He wraps an arm around Bronwyn as they all walk down the drive to their respective vehicles. Bronwyn is about to climb into her car when she quickly stands on her toes and kisses Nate for one fleeting moment.

Nate watches her drive away. Yes, Bronwyn Rojas most certainly is his soulmate.

#natewyn #izzielizzie's fics

21 notes · View notes

ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 4 years

Text

Between Bars (Spencer Reid x OC)

Summary: Spencer is wrongfully arrested for murder and placed in Millburn Correctional Facility awaiting trial. While he attempts to survive until his friends can prove his innocence, his cellmate Oscar has an unexpected effect on Spencer during their time inside together.

AN: Thank you to @april-14-blog, @zhuzhubii, and @imagining-in-the-margins for your unwavering attention and support while writing this.

I’m writing another post-prison Spencer fic but idk when it’s coming out. I’m still caring for my dad and prepping for my nan’s funeral.

To the anon who asked for an Emily Prentiss x Trans!Male reader smut, it’s in the works I promise!!

Word count: 11k words

Content warning: Usual criminal minds violence, character death, spoilers for season 12, threats of violence, stabbing, PTSD, mentions of battery, mentions of panic attacks. Let me know if I’ve missed anything.

Masterlist // AO3 Link

“My last roommate got shanked.”

Spencer struggled for a second to keep his composure. The cell door slid shut with a loud buzzer and a clank of hollow metal.

His cellmate, in that identical grey jumpsuit, was tucked up on the bottom bunk with a book in one hand and a green crayon in the other. He was underlining something. Once he was done, his eye lifted off the page. They just as devoid of emotion as his opener was. That scared Spencer more, that this man had clearly spent a long time in here being dehumanised to the point where he held about the emotional range of a mannequin.

But at least he wasn’t violent. Yet.

Spencer approached the foot of his bed. His hands, one of them still sore from the cut on the palm, placed his belongings there. A tremble ran through them when his cellmate moved out of his line of sight; the sudden thought of being stabbed through the underside of his bunk kept him standing for now.

“I’m not gonna shank you.”

Spencer’s shoulders squared, “Ok.”

“Name’s Oscar.”

“Spencer Reid.”

“Welcome to hell, Spencer Reid.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

His chore was laundry. It was somewhere without sharp objects, which meant inmates brought their own. Spencer was doing his best to walk the balance between standing his ground and not making himself a target. But apparently there was no such line to follow and no help from his cellmate, sifting through his own cart of laundry on the other side of the room.

That was until the inmates began taunting Spencer over his belongings.

“Excuse me.”

The crowd immediately parted to make way for Oscar, whose unflinching gaze pushed them further back.

“Thank you,” he said in the same empty tone. His very deliberate stare landed on Spencer as he passed and collected a pile of towels from the table at the room’s centre. The group around them dispersed and remained so even as Oscar returned to his station.

Oscar’s hands weren’t shaking before then. Now, certainly, as he stuffed bedsheets into the giant machine, a tremble ran through his arms and stuck in his wrists.

Spencer didn’t comment, not even that evening as he climbed onto his bunk, his back pressed hard against the wall. His knees pulled close acted as a desk for his journal. His pen scribbled away long after lights out, putting down his thoughts, his innocence, trapping his worries onto the paper. It was too long until his next evaluation. His notebook was his only confidant now.

A creak beneath him stilled his hand, and he felt himself freeze as the shadow of Oscar rose up from his bunk. One of his hands was behind his back. Spencer’s feet dug into the mattress and forced him hard against the concrete. His eyes flinched shut as Oscar brought his hand out. But they opened as soon as they were closed and they were met with surprise.

In Oscar’s palm sat a red crayon.

“You’ll wanna swap to this,” He said with such a softness that Spencer spent the next ten seconds processing it. His incessant blinking did nothing to clear up what was happening.

Eventually he said an equally quiet voice, “Why?”

Oscar’s shoulders shrugged an inch, the tension he held in them inflexible, “Worst you can get from this is a bruise.”

Slowly, Spencer accepted the crayon with his left hand and rolled the pencil around in the right. “What should I do with this?”

“Hide it.” And Oscar disappeared from view.

Spencer ran his finger over the tip of the crayon before he dragged it across the paper. It would suffice for now. Maybe he could ask one of his friends to send some his way in their next letter. If they weren’t too busy trying to solve his case.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

JJ’s presence was the most welcomed part of Spencer’s life here. But he almost hated it.

Opposite him, always several inches between them as well as a divider, JJ holding up one of Henry’s drawings but unable to hand it over to him, it drove him insane. The constant reminders on the walls – and often barked by guards – not to touch coated their conversation. JJ didn’t ask about the bruises from his most recent beating. She answered Spencer’s queries, updating him on his case.

Spencer tried very hard not to sound so eager about getting out. His hopes were already dashed to pieces; the fragments were just holding on. He needed that hope to survive but if it grew too strong, it would destroy him.

For half a second, his attention was drawn out of the goodbye to see Oscar nearby. He was standing before another visitor’s table and a young woman who had the same nose as him on the other side.

He missed JJ’s hugs. He longed for one long after she had disappeared from view, shuffling along with the rest of them towards the refectory.

A commotion erupted up ahead. Spencer watched with masked reverence and the rest of the line as Oscar remained unflinching in the volume of the guard’s shouting. Even when he got right up in Oscar’s face, Oscar was stoic as spittle sprayed across his face. Moment after the guard walked away, Oscar wiped his face clean, a terrifyingly neutral expression held together.

Once lunch was done, Spencer re-joined with his new friend Luis in the laundry room, who was still not over Spencer’s injuries. There was something else that Spencer wanted to talk about.

“Do you know much about…” Spencer dropped his voice to barely a whisper, “Oscar?”

Luis looked at Oscar with the subtlety of an elephant seal then back to Spencer to deliver his answer, “He’s gone after people in the prison, but nothing ever gets tied to him.”

And Luis proved his point when Oscar pressed his hands against the stab wound in Luis’ neck, a futile attempt to save his life after Frazier and Duerson’s failed recruiting of Spencer. Oscar fled the scene without consequence, leaving Spencer in the pool of blood, and he never once tripped on his alibi or took off his armour. Not even when Spencer spoke at him about it before lights out.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

But Spencer found a chink in the armour.

Oscar’s sleeping problems were apparent throughout the night. If his offering of a crayon earlier hadn’t been enough evidence, the yawning and tossing about the bottom bunk. Spencer knew why Oscar was awake too. He wasn’t the type to stay awake to ensure his continued survival. Insomnia was a symptom that Spencer was starting to show too. He had been struggling to rest while he gathered the aforementioned evidence. For some reason, it brought him a slither of comfort, because it made Oscar more human.

Another was the letters he had in his pillow case – the most obvious place to hide something, therefore the least obvious? Reverse psychology aside, some nights featured the rustling of paper

Work in the laundry room continued as if there wasn’t a man murdered in it just days before. Oscar was reinforcing the contrast between yesterday and now with a faint hum. He was clearly a little more comfortable since it was just him and Spencer in the room.

Spencer’s mind pulled up Howl’s Moving Castle which he watched with Penelope. Oh, Penelope. With her bright colours and optimism. It was not a film he pictured Oscar to be a fan of. But he hardly knew him, and he wanted to.

“What song is that?”

Oscar shrugged. A huff forced itself out of his nose. “Don’t remember.”

“It sounds nice.”

He huffed again, clearly closing the conversation. Spencer counted in items he tossed into the machine, flinching still at the marks on the bedsheets. His eye avoided them but landed on the dark patch of concrete where Luis had bled out.

“Oscar, why did you defend me last week?” Spencer asked.

“I don’t know.” The irritable edge in his voice prevailed the more he spoke, “But you owe me so consider this: don’t be a mule for them.”

It was an almost anger that Spencer felt at this request. Surely Oscar would understand, of all people, after being in here that:

“They’ll kill me if I don’t.”

Oscar sighed and turned his back to Spencer, no longer humming. Spencer felt a twang in his gut pluck away at his rage. But he also felt satisfaction in the fact that he had gotten Oscar to crack again. Not in a malevolent way, he felt like he was getting Oscar to open up more and more.

“I’m doing what I need to survive,” Spencer added. For his sake, maybe, but he knew it was a little more reassurance for Oscar.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“I am innocent.”

“You’re gonna get killed if you keep saying that so loud.”

Spencer stopped speaking, but he kept moving about the floor space of the cell. The worst part was the walk up to the bars. But, with his notebook confiscated, he had no other outlet and he made sure that Oscar knew this as well.

“It keeps me grounded, reminds me of who I am.”

Oscar didn’t say anything about Spencer’s incessant pacing, simply turning a page in his new book, “That must be nice.”

With a deep breath of stale prison air, Spencer’s speed grew erratic until he very nearly kicked at the bars in frustration. He stopped himself just as the instruction reached the surgery scars on his knee. It stung as he jumped up into his bunk and squeezed his knees to his chest, his arms shaking with the pressure he put on them.

“How many years do you have to go?” He said quietly.

“Half a year until an appeal, six years if I serve the rest of my sentence. You?”

“My trial has been postponed. I was offered a plea deal. But-” Spencer stopped to swallow, a pitiful attempt against the absolute Sahara that was his mouth “- But I didn’t do it.”

His hand pushed the heel of his palm into his eye. The other screwed itself shut as his mind zeroed in on his actions. When Spencer’s hand lifted away, Oscar was standing up in front of him. His white shirt was on show, the top half of his jumpsuit rolled down with the arms tied around his waist. He was stretching his arms up, and his head was tilted a few inches to the left as he watched Spencer with a blank face.

No, not blank.

Open.

Then his stoicism clouded over and Oscar dropped his arms. “Nice rehearsal for the jury.”

Spencer’s irritation became inflamed, “That kind of attitude might get you a badge of honour here-”

“This kind of attitude,” Oscar interrupted, and immediately Spencer regretted his words, “Has helped me survive here. I suggest you stop running your mouth if you wanna do the same.”

The burst of anger fizzled out fast like a firework, and Spencer watched Oscar disappear out of sight with a dull thud on his mattress. But before he could, Spencer had noticed that Oscar’s hands were shaking again, just like he hadn’t seen since the fight in the laundry room – the first one.

Spencer’s hands gripping his shins, he worried that he had lost another… friend? Ally? He didn’t really know what to use as a description for their relationship but Spencer knew what he wanted. Least of all, he wanted Oscar to be upset with him.

“Oscar?”

Nothing. Spencer slipped off the bed and pressed his back against the wall, sinking down until he was on the ground. His eyes were on Oscar, who was staring without seeing Spencer opposite him. Nevertheless, Spencer stayed in his sight and asked a tentative question.

“What’s the first thing you want to do when you get out?”

Oscar blinked and his gaze shifted a millimetre to Spencer and his peace offering. Then Spencer saw it. A quiver of Oscar’s bottom lip, then it shifted and Spencer noticed that Oscar was biting the inside to stop his reaction taking over any more of himself.

When his mouth opened, it released a sigh before he spoke. “Hug my mom.”

Spencer nodded, the stuffiness of his throat returning as he fought to keep back tears, “Me too.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

It was an attempt to get Frazier and Duerson off Spencer’s back. Maybe to stop him from taking the drugs himself. The temptation was certainly lingering stronger, with the promise of a temporary respite.

But now the prison was locked down. Shaw, along with four other inmates, were isolated in the infirmary. These were far from innocent men but God that didn’t mean what he had done was right.

He’d done it to survive, but it was still all his fault.

“What’s up with you?”

The gate to their cell sliding shut behind Oscar. He stared at Spencer sat in the bottom bunk, his head in his hands. Footsteps echoed down the corridor before another buzzer and another gate opened then shut again. They were far from alone, the concrete providing an illusion that there wasn’t an endless tunnel with two men per cage.

“Spencer.”

He stood up, dropping the grip from his hair. His ears tuned into the noise from other prisoners. What he wouldn’t give for some silence right now.

“The poisonings were my fault.”

All air sucked from Spencer’s lungs as Oscar was suddenly upon him. He was smacked against the wall, Oscar’s hand over his mouth, his forearm pinning him into place. Spencer let out a cross between a gulp and a sob, caught into his throat as Oscar harshly shushed him. Spencer’s eyes looked around Oscar terrified, he struggled against him.

Oscar’s voice rasped with a spitting disgust, “You’re really fucking stupid!”

And he slammed his weight against Spencer again, his breathing heavy, his pupils dilated, “Don’t you fucking dare repeat that to anyone.”

Spencer’s head knocked against the resolute wall when Oscar shoved him once more, stepping back and creating distance between them. With the ache at the back of his skull, Spencer stared dazedly at his cellmate.

Oscar’s voice matched his haggard appearance when he said, “You’re a dead man, Spencer.”

The intimacy of his name striking right at his heart, Spencer worried that he would join Oscar in tears. But there was no time; a guard rattled his baton against the bars.

“What’s going on in there?” He bellowed into the cell.

Oscar clenched his jaw, “Nothing.”

Then he reclaimed his bunk and faced the wall.

“Into bed, inmate!”

Sparing a glance to the vulnerable position Oscar was laying in, unable to receive the look of gratitude, Spencer got into his bunk. The silence he wished for enveloped him and he longed for it to vanish.

He pressed his palm against his lips. It wasn’t the same as when Oscar did it.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

His second meeting with Dr. Tara Lewis revealed that Spencer had manufactured his own memory and that he had been coerced. But the BAU needed proof of his innocence, and Spencer resumed his waiting game in the yard.

Oscar was taking a new route around the edge of the wire fencing as opposed to spending his free time in the gym. His shoes scuffed in the dirt, no doubt rubbing a blister into his heel (based on his gait), and his step weaved around the groups to avoid interacting with anyone. Wordlessly, Spencer joined him. Oscar looked at him but didn’t speak.

Spencer’s session with Tara had brought forward a question he had considered asking before. Tara had spoken about his mother, how life was before prison. Spencer missed being known, knowing someone. The rawness of that need hung off his frame with his jumpsuit. Oscar was probably still pissed off with him. But God, Spencer needed to cease this withdrawal from human contact more than anything.

“What did you do, Oscar?” He asked under his breath, “To get into prison?”

“I knew a guy; he was the worst kind of person to get caught up with. He did some things to me. So I beat him up, and I cut his pecker off.”

It all sounded so very rehearsed, and Spencer wondered if Oscar had been planning what to say since they first met. The two men continued to walk in step until eventually Oscar broke the silence.

“Yours isn’t on my to-do list.” The left corner of his mouth twitched as he spoke

Spencer lifted his stare from Oscar’s mouth, hoping the heat around them would mask his blush, “Did he die?”

“No,” Oscar ironed his lips back into a straight line, “Unfortunately.”

“You don’t regret it.”

“No.”

“Thank you for not telling the guard what I did.”

“What did I say about repeating it?”

Spencer pressed his chin into his chest, forcing his mouth shut. It naturally deflected the glares that were aimed in his direction from other prisoners as he and Oscar sat down at an empty table.

“It seems I only give you grief.”

But Spencer’s pity was cut short by that touch of a smile on Oscar’s face returning, “Your company somewhat makes up for it.”

The distractions ended. Spencer was once again aware that there was very little he could do in this place. He restrained his yearning to hold Oscar’s hand across the table, to feel his tender palm again, until he was back in his bunk with an entire night to think about what it might be like in a situation where Oscar wasn’t threatening him into silence.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

It was going to be another sleepless night.

Spencer reached his arm out of his foetal position and over the edge of his bunk. Oscar was likely still awake; Spencer was hoping that Oscar would ask him about what was up, like he usually did. Like he already had after Spencer’s mother had visited with her new care assistant.

As he waited, Spencer sniffed back his tears. He didn’t want anyone to see him cry, even if tears were supposed to be good for the skin – God knows his skin needed it after all that Dial soap. The red eyes were already hard enough to hide without the addition of damp cheeks. Grief weighed down his eyelids, but fear kept opening them – just in case.

Then five calloused fingertips touched the back of his hand. Spencer gripped the air, his wrist bringing his hand an inch in. But as the fingertips spread across his skin, he allowed them to continue. Oscar’s mattress groaned below him and his fingers linked with Spencer’s. The thumb wrapped around to press into Spencer’s palm.

Spencer almost whined when Oscar snatched his hand away, but a split second later his stomach dropped at the sound of a clatter down the hall.

Minutes passed like hours before the bottom bunk let out a familiar creak of Oscar rising from it. He rested his forearms against Spencer’s mattress, right beside Spencer’s outstretched arm. Goosebumps rose and the hairs stood on end, coaxing Oscar closer.

With a quick glance at the bars, Oscar whispered, “Your friends will get you out. They’ll help your mom.”

Spencer sniffed, “What happened to being a dead man?”

“I don’t think you – or your friends - are going to let that happen.”

“What about you?”

“I guess I could fall under ‘ally’ for once.”

“What if I wanted you to be something else?” Spencer’s arm shifted and his hand brushed their knuckles against Oscar’s stubbly cheek.

Oscar hinted at tilting his head against him, and Spencer couldn’t help but press a little firmer as Oscar said, “You should sleep.”

“I can’t.”

Oscar’s finger stretching out to brush the crook of Spencer’s elbow, “Me neither.”

Nevertheless, Oscar let Spencer go and got back down into his bunk just moments later.

Both men pretended to sleep until the fantasy became real. The whole time, Spencer was thinking about how hearing faith in his team from someone who had never met them – or even displayed an ounce of hope within his entire relationship with him – meant so much.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Spencer had a new wall to force his back against. His left leg was not in a state to keep him taut against it, the throbbing ache a poor disturbance from his thoughts. Time, time, all he had was time to think and do nothing else.

About how his occupation in the government was leaked to what felt like the entire prison population.

How the note with the promise of invading solitary confinement lay screwed up by the door.

How Shaw had threatened him before bawling like a baby when the guards tackled him for stabbing Spencer.

How Oscar, with his jaw slack and eyes glassy, was outlined in Spencer’s blurring vision.

Oh, Oscar. Shoved back by inmates in the scuffle before he disappeared from view. He was only there because Shaw had made the first move. Spencer had seen Oscar reach into his pocket as he crept behind Shaw. No regard for his own safety. That was when Spencer grabbed Shaw’s hand and manipulated it into plunging his shiv into his leg and arm.

The night before, Oscar had been quiet, and Spencer figured that he had learnt that Spencer was an FBI agent. No chat before bed, Oscar just curled up under his blanket and read until lights out.

Spencer was patient. He waited long into the night before bringing out his toothbrush. There was no time for resting now; he scrapped the end of the brush against the edge of the bunk frame. Flakes of plastic snowed down onto the concrete floor, but he didn’t get out to sweep them beneath the beds just yet. That was a job for the morning – if it came.

Suddenly Oscar popped into his field of view.

“It’s better if you do it like this,” He said, taking Spencer’s hand in his and demonstrating the direction with which to carve his shiv, “And make sure you – never mind.”

“What?”

“Forget it. You’re a fed. They probably trained you with this shit.”

He took himself away and Spencer swallowed hard, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“I’m not. Means you’re learning to protect yourself. I’m more grateful for that.”

Spencer’s hand still tingled from the way Oscar held it. The simplest of touches grounded him, and it was almost as if Oscar knew that. When they were called to lunch by the alarm, filing out of the laundry room, Oscar had gone out of his way to walk by Spencer and brush their hands together. Not a single break in his stride, the touch was brief but it breathed a sigh of courage into Spencer’s lungs and he went into the refectory calmer.

He bit the inside of his cheek, willing away the stinging of tears with his head leaning back against the wall.

His palms flattened against his legs as he heard the key turn in the door. His eyes watched it creak open, revealing a guard

“Get up.”

Wincing, Spencer moved off the pathetic excuse for a bed, “Where am I going?”

No answer.

Spencer shuffled through the hallway with dread weighing each step down. The last fragment of hope was waning, but he clung to it as he was shoved into an empty room. Even as the guard closed the door behind him and his ever-vigilant eye was stuck on the glass of the window, Spencer held that hope close as he waited for someone to come in. While not necessarily a believer, he called to anyone - who might hear a sinner’s prayer - that he could touch Oscar once more before he was killed.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

It had been a long time since Spencer had sat on this side of the table. On the job, visiting a suspect or informant in a case, but now his entire perspective had shifted.

He wondered if any of the guards recognised him now that he had a suit, a visitor’s badge, and a few extra pounds around his middle.

An instinct, he flinched at the buzzer. The memory had tormented him for weeks and hearing it fresh and raw against his eardrums was worse. Steps sloped into the room in a dull out-of-sync march. The prisoners found their allotted tables one by one, some with enthusiasm and others without.

Oscar dragged the chair across the floor before taking his place opposite Spencer.

“Hello.”

Spencer was completely torn between smiling at his presence – his voice – and keeping a composure so as not to draw attention from other prisoners. “Hello.”

Oscar wrapped his arms in each other, elbows pointed on the table, “Did you get to hug your mom?”

It was hard to forget the grip on Diana’s frail body, the relief seeping through Spencer’s body at her safe recovery.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Good. I’m glad she’s ok.”

“She’s in a facility now, being taken care of full time. Did you get my letters?”

“I did, thank you. And did you get mine?”

“Yes. How is your new cellmate?”

“Some dipshit in for possession. Nothing to worry about.”

Oscar’s fingers tapped on the table, and Spencer could see them trembling still. He nodded; his mouth pressed into a line. He couldn’t think of what else to say despite his many rehearsals beforehand. It felt wrong to talk about being out of prison, like dangling a bit of bacon in front of a dog before popping it into one’s mouth.

So he went straight for the jugular, “I’m getting you out, Oscar.”

Oscar frowned, looking almost offended. “Don’t say that.”

But Spencer continued, “I’ve spoken with your lawyer, Zoe; she’s got all this stuff ready for your appeal.”

“Spencer.”

“Your family completely support what we’re doing. I’ve spoken to them over the phone.”

“They wanna meet with me and your lawyer, properly coordinate. We can do this!”

“Spencer, stop!”

Said person stopped relaying his grand plans for the future. Oscar had barely raised his voice but he caught the attention of the nearby guards, already reaching for their belts. Oscar’s nostrils flared as he exhaled, his eyes not even crossing the threshold that separated him from Spencer.

His voice caught in his throat, “Stop it now. Don’t give me hope.”

Spencer blinked. A second time, a third, then he frowned right back at Oscar bewildered.

“Why won’t you let me fight for you?”

He didn’t get an answer immediately, so he kept talking.

“You fought for me, Oscar. You kept me alive in here. Let me do the same, get you out. You can’t stay here!”

It started subtle. But Spencer saw Oscar shaking his head at his words. He refused Spencer any more eye contact, not even when Spencer begged Oscar to look at him so that they could talk more about the upcoming appeal.

The buzzer sounded again and Spencer began to panic as Oscar rose from his seat. No way was their time up already. An urge to reach across, grab Oscar’s hand, make him stay, shot through him. It only stopped because he didn’t want some desperate grab to be the last touch between them. He tried to call after him, but his voice stuck in his throat at the sight of a baton being used to force Oscar into the queue.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Spencer had walked the paths of the bullpen thrice now: once to get coffee, second to “get the right form”, and the last time he didn’t say why to his curious colleagues. Clearly none of those were the true reason but they left him alone. That was their problem. They never spoke to each other about what was wrong until it was too late.

The second his phone rang, he lunged for it. His slim fingers scrabbled to slide across the answer button and bring it up to his ear.

“Hello!” Instantaneously, his shoulders slumped and he pinched the bridge of his nose, “Sorry for shouting. Look, I’m waiting on an important call, can I ring you back?”

Before the caller had time to respond, Spencer slammed the phone face down and began his route again, leaving it on the desk so that he wasn’t constantly checking the screen.

“Have you ever seen him so attached to a piece of technology?” Luke grinned at JJ.

“Never.”

“This con must be something.”

The phone went off again when Spencer was getting another mug of coffee. Its ringtone was loud but not loud enough to reach the break room.

Simmons raised his voice ever so slightly, “Spencer! Phone!”

A ceramic clashed with a sideboard, and Spencer appeared, his hip clipping Luke’s desk on the way over. In his frenzy, he found the wherewithal to check the caller ID before he answered, “Tony?”

Spencer had already begun powerwalking out of the bullpen, but he stopped when he heard a cry from Eliza in the background.

His friends and co-workers watched his expression falter from focus to frustration.

“I’m sorry.” His voice failed him, clearing it, “I’m sorry, Tony, for you and your family. Can I call you back?”

This time, he waited for confirmation and he stayed on the phone for half a minute longer to reassure the Dunnagan family on the other end that he would not give up. Once the call dropped, the phone did too – against the desk. Spencer folded his arms in on himself. His fingers were bent into claws, digging into the creases of his elbows. Upon realising what they were doing, he covered his face as if to weep, but there were no tears.

“Spencer.” JJ touched his shoulder

“The appeal didn’t even have the chance to be unsuccessful,” He dragged his hands across his face into prayer, “Oscar cancelled the hearing this morning without telling us.”

He swallowed back the lump in his throat, “I don’t think I can be alone right now. Can I stay at yours and Will’s tonight?”

“Of course,” JJ’s hand smoothed out a wrinkle on his suit jacket.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Upon entering the attorney’s office, Spencer was embraced by Dakota. Eliza kissed both his cheeks, Tony shook his hand, and Zoe gestured for him to sit in the final empty chair.

Together, they discussed the plan for the appeal. It was to be fool proof. There was the added benefit of a recent sessions with a therapist; Spencer was still willing to go and talk about how Oscar had saved his life in prison. But Spencer was also fighting this disgusting urge to say that “none of that matters because an appeal panel won’t see him at all if Oscar keeps withdrawing”. He kept pushing it down to simmer in his stomach, away from his vocal chords.

He was almost glad when his phone began ringing, “Excuse me, it’s my boss.” Stepping out of the office, Spencer narrowly avoided another lawyer walking along the stripes of the carpet. “Hey Emily.”

“Hey. I know it’s one of your days off. I just wanted to see how you’re doing?”

“We’re just going over Oscar’s appeal.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Wow, he really walked into that one.

“I just keep thinking about how he sabotaged himself. I mean, doesn’t he want to get out? Why doesn’t he want to get out and be with me?!” Spencer swallowed back the lump in his throat, “And I know none of the team approve of him.”

“Spencer,” Emily had her parent voice on. An expert voice for someone who didn’t even have kids yet.

But Spencer just carried on in spite of it, “He’s a convicted batterer, not exactly the best option for a boyfriend and especially for an FBI agent, but do any of you know why he did it?”

His agitation was muzzled when Zoe poked her head around the door and Spencer softened his tone to apologise, to assure he would be back inside shortly. He waited until the door closed before he spoke again.

“Emily, Oscar is the only person who knows what I’m going through right now. He’s a good man, I truly believe that, or else he wouldn’t have helped me. And I need him to get out. I can’t stand knowing he’s in there for why he did what he did. Knowing he’s not getting the help he needs.”

It was then that Spencer realised, even as they were interrupted, that Emily had been waiting patiently for him to finish. She was now letting his words sit between the phone lines, likely mulling over what to say next. Spencer really fucking hated waiting.

Thankfully his patience did not need to wear itself thin, this one time:

“I do know why he did it. I had Garcia pull up his file when you went to visit him for the first time. Spencer, I’m glad this man has you on his side. Let me know how the meeting goes.”

“Thanks, Emily.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

As Oscar placed himself down opposite Spencer, he flinched in the plastic chair. Spencer fought his own wince at the sight of so much swelling, so many bruises, so many cuts, littering his face.

But he gave the tiniest of smiles in spite of the state of his face, “How did you know, Spencer?”

“Your mom told me. She’s a lovely woman.” Spencer flexed his fingers before linking them again, “I wish I had a proper gift to give you, but I was scared the guards would just confiscate it.”

“The card was more than enough.”

A bright blue card with balloons on it was tucked into Oscar’s pillowcase. Inside were as many notes on what he needed to say for the appeal as Spencer could fit around the “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” already printed into the card.

“I forwarded them and the rest onto your lawyer. She should go through it with you.”

Oscar’s smile tainted by hesitation as it crawled off his face, “I don’t know.”

Spencer could see him withdrawing, hiding in his jumpsuit. But even then, Oscar’s expression wore his melancholy like a veil. It blocked out any semblance of neutrality from when he had first met Spencer. The state his protection was in, he wouldn’t last long at all.

“Before prison, I was really sensitive to touch, germs. But now-” Spencer stopped, his voice so quiet he nearly couldn’t hear himself as he finished, “I can’t wait to touch you again.”

Oscar shivered. His eyes screwed shut as if to protect him from what was being said. But Spencer persisted.

“What would you like to do for your birthday? If you could do anything.”

“Picnic in the park,” said Oscar after some thought, “Uh, a real big Cuban sandwich, with roast pork, Swiss cheese, lettuce, pickles, and ham. And chocolate covered strawberries.”

“What, in the sandwich as well?”

“Yes.” Oscar rolled his eyes, misty and threatening to spill, and Spencer felt a rush of panic. More emotion was only good for him. Oscar, left behind in his cell, this could be disastrous. But he couldn’t get enough of it, and he selfishly persevered.

“When you get out, would you let me hold you?” The buzzer went off, but Spencer spoke over it as he stood, “Please, Oscar, consider this appeal.”

“Ok, Spencer.”

From his place at the table, Spencer watched Oscar try to cover his emotions, but there was still a glimmer of a tear retreating as he joined the queue of prisoners heading back to their cells.

Before he stepped out the prison, Spencer slipped his sunglasses back over his eyes to hide how red they were from the guards.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Stood in the shallow shade of Eliza’s range rover, Spencer switched the bouquet of sage flowers from one hand to the other. Dakota had suggested them; she said her brother liked the colour most. Spencer wiped his free hand down his trousers before checking the time. He’d done that four times already. He hoped no one was giving him odd looks from the other side of the fence.

Utter relief was not usually how he would describe hearing that buzzer. But for the first and last time, he did feel a sense of respite knowing he would likely never be coming back here for such a taxing visit.

Then he remembered what that sound actually meant. His back straightened right up; his hand brushed through his hair and checked his breath once more.

Tony led the way out of the prison. He was clearly trying to remain casual but the glee seeping out of his body was just palpable. He had an arm around Dakota, kissing his daughter’s head so vigorously that her half-up hair was messed up. Clearly Dakota didn’t care though. Her hand was behind her and she turned to see the person holding it.

It was Oscar, arm looped with Eliza who clung to him like a crutch. Their eyes matched each other, shining brown like horse chestnuts.

Spencer found that he could no longer look away from Oscar. A breeze rustled through his hair. His face was alive with tear tracks and a grin that ached on his rosy cheeks. An old suit, one clearly meant for court and court alone, slouched on his shoulders. But for that short moment where he breathed fresh air and leaned his head on his mother’s, there was no weight to him.

Then Oscar found Spencer, fidgeting with his tie and his grip slacking on the bouquet, and all the emotion he had repressed for five years in prison custody were exploding into a supernova.

Oscar forgot Eliza’s arm, dashing around his family to run for Spencer. Spencer found himself matching the pace and the destination. His feet carried him quick until he and Oscar collided. A fierce hug crushed them. Oscar’s hand was constantly adjusting its grip on the back of Spencer’s head, and Spencer’s free one fisted at Oscar’s suit jacket, trying to bury themselves in his ribcage. Neither missed Oscar’s shaking, his sobbing. Spencer curled into Oscar, wrestling with his instinct to pull away. Lindsey and Cat, they ruined so much for him already; they couldn’t take Oscar too.

When they heard the footsteps of the Dunnagan family stop nearby, the men drew apart – only about a foot or so. Oscar’s cheeks were wet behind his wide smile and Spencer saw that one of his front two teeth was a little crooked.

Spencer then presented his gift in the small space between them, “For you.”

Oscar gently clasped the bouquet on the white ribbon that wrapped around the stalks, “No one’s got me flowers before.”

Spencer then vowed to buy flowers as often as he could for Oscar, and especially sage. He looked so good with purple.

The ride to Danny’s Food Truck had Oscar sat in the little middle seat, his sister on one side, Spencer on the other, and he held both their hands. His bouquet was cradled in his lap. The wet ends of the stalks dripped twice onto his suit trousers, just before his bouncing knee.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Once again, Spencer had lost himself in his work. When he was interrupted just an hour before, Oscar was there. He had waved a hand into Spencer’s peripherals but Spencer still jumped at it. He hated that his skittish behaviour was still prevalent, returning just as Oscar had started appearing in his personal life. In his apartment.

“Sorry, Spencer,” Oscar had said in a gravelly voice, “I just wanted to ask if you were ok with Randy’s for dinner tonight.”

It was two hours before they were due to have dinner.

“Of course, it’s your turn.”

“How’s the work going?”

“It’s good,” and Spencer showed him the notes he’d written so far.

Oscar had taken them into his hands and read over them. Meanwhile Spencer watched his micro expressions. The huff of air through his nose, the corners of his mouth wriggling about as if to smile before flattening themselves out, all seemed positive as Oscar offered the papers back.

“Nice joke!”

“Right, joke…” Spencer accepted his notes back, “Where?”

“There,” Oscar leant over Spencer’s shoulder and tapped the second line of the first paragraph. Spencer noted that he smelt nice. So much better now the Dial soap was out of their care routine.

And it was now that Spencer found himself missing that smell. It was a nice distraction. Burying himself in his work was not a good distraction anymore.

He stood away from his desk and took his mug out to the kitchen sink. Despite trying not to look at the pieces of a vase half-wrapped in newspaper, Oscar’s wailing at the very start of their day together punctured its way into Spencer’s head. One particular thought posited that Spencer should keep one of those jagged pieces – just in case. Just in case of what?

Shaking his head, Spencer went and found the source of his chills: his living room windows were wide open, the curtains lifting gracefully in the breeze. Rain pattered against the world outside, some of its drops reaching the carpet. The smell of the rain was light in the room. It was almost drowned out by the sound.

He found Oscar passed out on the couch, his bare feet poking out from under the throw. His head was resting between his folded arms, one hand under the pillow. His headphones askew and playing “The Flower Garden (Extended Version)” by Joe Hisaishi.

Kneeling next to Oscar, Spencer touched his arm, “Do you want me to order for you?”

Oscar nodded, stretched out, then promptly fell back asleep. He would have trouble later tonight. But Spencer was glad that he finally found some respite. His seemingly endless apologies for breaking the bowl were over.

That was where the good news ended though. Spencer looked closer at Oscar’s hand, now unmasked. A medium piece from the broken vase rested in his loose grip. After some moments deliberating, Spencer eased it out and placed it with the rest of the vase. Then he went to his phone and dialled.

“Hey JJ. I hope it’s not too late, but,” Spencer tapped his nails against the plastic handset, “Would you mind coming over? Oscar is here, but I don’t know if he’s ready to help me through this.”

He smiled at the flowers he’d bought that day standing awkwardly in a jug before hanging up. He and Oscar really should move in together. Or at least he should invest in a sofa bed.

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the front door, and Oscar was up on his feet. The sofa’s throw clung to him.

“I invited someone over,” Spencer said quickly, “Sorry I should have told you, but I didn’t want to wake you again. Do you want to wait in my room?”

Oscar stayed in place and shook his head, so Spencer went ahead to open his front door.

Two days apart was far too long. JJ embraced Spencer tight, rubbing his back as she rested her chin on his shoulder. She gave the best hugs. Maybe rivalled by Oscar, but Spencer would never tell her that.

“Can I get you anything to drink?”

“A coffee would be great,” JJ shrugged off her jacket

He pivoted in a half circle, “Oscar?”

“No, I’m good, thank you.”

Spencer wasn’t really sure what happened in his absence – besides his stomach turning itself over and over. When he returned with two mugs, the only information he could garner was that Oscar had dropped the throw back onto the sofa that stood between them and JJ had inched a little closer

“Here!”

Oscar twitched at Spencer’s loud entrance, visibly relaxing by the time JJ had her mug of coffee in her hands. He adjusted the throw until it was back to its original position then crept towards the door.

Spencer frowned, ruining the quiet exit as he said, “Where are you going?”

Oscar thumbed in his direction of travel. “Bathroom.”

“Oh,” Spencer felt his cheeks heat up, “Good luck.”

He saw Oscar rolling his eyes but there was a flash of a grin and a tiny wave to JJ before he disappeared from view. Spencer’s stomach steadied itself, busying itself with sloshing his coffee about instead. His grip around his mug adjusted as he turned to JJ.

“He’s not what I was expecting,” JJ said. There was nothing malicious in her tone. In fact, if there was anything, she seemed pleased that Oscar had subverted her anticipations.

Spencer nodded, his mouth turning up a little smile, “That’s what I thought too. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“It’s ok, anytime.”

They sat together on the sofa, leaving the armchair free just in case Oscar wanted to join them again.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Moving in together was supposed to solve everything.

Neither Spencer nor Oscar explicitly said or thought that. But when their triggers persisted and their behaviour shifted dramatically still, they couldn’t help but be a little disappointed.

Spencer had another nightmare last night and woke Oscar up at around half past three. They couldn’t cuddle each other, but their hands would brush and the two men would avoid looking at the matching scars on their thighs – and Oscar’s on his stomach, Spencer’s on his arm.

“Would you have killed Shaw, if I hadn’t done anything?”

“Yes.” “Does that scare you?”

In the dark, he could hear the fear in Oscar’s voice

“No, because I think I would have done the same.”

Carried on as if he hadn’t heard, still scared of himself, “I wouldn’t do something like that now.”

Oscar spent the rest of the night on the couch, so he wouldn’t touch Spencer in his sleep. Words of his therapist spun around his head: “Prison twists and warps people until they’re worse than they were before. We can’t speak now for what we would have done then.”

It was a quiet day as a result of the restless night. Quiet was nice sometimes; it was something new for them to experience together. Spencer and Oscar had breakfast together, washed and dressed, before they went down to the communal laundrette together. Washing and drying clothes was too big a task to do alone, even now, and Oscar needed his shirt to be clean for his job interview in a few days. The nightmare Spencer had faded into the background as he tried to focus on something else.

Without realising, he said aloud to Oscar, “I wanted to kiss you in the laundry room.”

Oscar stopped stretching his damp pyjama shirt out, and it was clear that he had joined Spencer in reminiscing about their job in prison.

“Which time?”

“Every time.”

Spencer watched as Oscar let out a quiet “heh”, a shy smile playing on his lips. But Oscar cut it off quick before either of them could enjoy it, and he reset his expression to blank. The silence that followed swallowed them both whole.

“Oscar,” Spencer moved next to Oscar and, in clear view, touched him on the arm, “It’s ok. You can laugh.”

“I know.”

“You can smile if you want to,”

“I can smile,” Oscar repeated, his words grounding him next to Spencer, his hands flattened atop the dryer as it rumbled into life. His lungs took in a few more breaths to spread a thin layer of calm over him and he looked back at Spencer, “I can also kiss you if I want to, if you want.”

Checking the laundrette door, Spencer’s hand moved from Oscar’s arm to Oscar’s cheek, guiding him home. Their lips met in messy perfection. Short and sweet, with a sigh shared between them, Spencer was pleased to see the smile returned to Oscar by the time they separated. As tense as Oscar felt in his arms, even with the smile soon fading, Spencer could feel the tiniest slack in his shoulders now.

With the most burdensome chore out of the way, the two men returned to the flat. Spencer helped Oscar compose another covering letter to ship off to another job opening before they called Oscar’s family for lunch.

Facetiming was always a trip when they were calling the Dunnagans. Tony had a similar understanding of “technology” as Spencer, so when he answered the call, it was a close up of a nostril or a frowning muted face that greeted Oscar and Spencer on the laptop screen. Eventually Eliza saved them from an eternal farce. She brought them into her kitchen, bringing Dakota and her partner Ellis in on the call when it was time to prep for lunch.

Dakota led the way with a recipe from her restaurant, “If any of you dare share this with anyone, I’ll knock you out.”

Her laugh only sang one note before she slapped her hand over it and looked down at her screen with a face full of guilt. Oscar laughed it off, maybe a little forced, then he swiped at the nearest conversation topic – the world’s hottest pepper.

“Maybe you could stick in in your next recipe. Do a competition where if you eat all the spicy stuff, you get your name on the wall and get half off or something.”

And the call continued for a little longer.

Spencer was just testing out the new spices acquired in their online shop – because according to Dakota there was nothing is worse than being able to actually taste the chicken – when the screen froze. A tiny widget popped up to inform the men that the signal was too poor to continue the call.

Oscar wiggled the mouse, “Oh, God, your connection’s gone again. You mind if I try and find us a better provider?”

“Go for it.”

They clinked their wine glasses together, sipping with questionable responses to it. Oscar dared another sip while Spencer was satisfied with just the one, deciding instead to check on the chicken.

“Spencer?”

“Yeah?”

Oscar placed his wine down. “Are we boyfriends?”

In all their time together, Spencer realised they never once spoke about their relationship status. They just sort of… moved in together, shared a bed, held hands and kissed occasionally – without discussing what was going on.

He said with relative boldness, “I’d like to be.”

“I’d like to be too,” Oscar bit his lip, the smile distorting but still charming as ever. His arms swayed a little. “Can I hug you please?”

With a renewed sense of vigour, Spencer said, “Yes please.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Spencer’s mind needed a rest; perhaps returning to the geographic profile after some time apart would garner a new connection. This case was driving everyone nuts, not just him, and it was only the third day in. he plucked his mug and headed over to the coffee pot for a top-up.

Whilst pouring his third cup of the morning, Spencer took note of his phone’s weight in his trouser pocket. He decided to lessen it, his hand reaching in and dialling for Oscar.

The call clicked after three rings then a boisterous laugh erupted from the speaker.

“Sorry, Spencer! This little one keeps jumping up at me! She barely reaches my knees!” Oscar’s voice was playful. Little claws clicked on a hard floor followed by a tiny yet indignant yip that was echoed by several much deeper barks. Spencer assumed this little one was a ring leader at the dog kennel, the one Oscar was trying to sweet talk.

“That’s ok. You sound like you’re having a good time.”

“It’s brilliant! They let me take four dogs out on a walk at a time!”

The ache in Spencer’s left shoulder from sleeping in an odd position alleviated just a touch. “Yeah?”

“I think I might try to get my licence back, so I can maybe drive them out to the countryside.”

“That’s brilliant news.”

“How’s the case?”

“I’m just taking a break.” Spencer sipped his coffee, burning the back of his throat. As he flinched, he caught sight of Luke’s hand, waving him back over to the conference room. “Sorry, Oscar, I have to get back to the profile.”

“I really like how you say ‘Oscar’.”

“I’m just saying your name.”

“I know,” and Spencer could very clearly hear Oscar’s smile in his voice – even over the constant din from the dogs he was caring for.

“I like how you say my name. See you later?”

“Hopefully. Take care of yourself.”

What a delight to see Oscar, after a rush of evidence flooding in and the pieces slotting together in a now-obvious profile. That evening in fact, Spencer made it back to his apartment at the same time as Oscar. He was carrying a plastic bag to mirror Spencer’s satchel. He didn’t feel like cooking and knew that Spencer wouldn’t be in the mood either; it was a few microwaved meals from the local store in his bag.

They ate dinner in the sitting room on trays - as a treat – and they partook in a very one-sided conversation about Star Trek. Oscar didn’t seem to mind, and honestly Spencer liked the freedom that came with talking here. It was like a hint of who he was before was bleeding through. Every so often though, Oscar would remind him that his food was going to get cold. Spencer would take a moment to eat before the next interesting factoid was inspired from the episode on the TV.

At the start of the next episode, his plate empty, Spencer noticed that Oscar’s gaze was a little restless as he finished his dinner.

“Is something bothering you?” He asked, adjusting his position on the sofa.

Oscar shrugged as he put his cushioned lap tray onto the carpet, “Not bothering me. I’m just curious about something.”

Naturally, Spencer said, “Ask me.” Maybe it was the difference between Vulcans and Romulans again.

“When you stabbed yourself while looking at me, before you got out, was that a substitution for sex?”

Spencer blinked several times. He could feel pinstripes forming on his forehead. He cleared his throat, took a sip of his water, cleared his throat again.

“No, no. I… um.”

Then he stopped because he realised he didn’t quite have an answer yet. His mind was busy straying back to that moment: the flare of pain in his leg and arm, the roaring of inmates around his head, and Oscar - an island of frozen calm amidst the chaos of Spencer’s actions. Eventually, Spencer found a semblance of a reply and he delivered it.

“I was just looking around, and I found you. I think I was looking for comfort.”

Seemingly accepting of this, Oscar’s attention moved back to the TV. His hands occupied themselves with each other. However, Spencer was not quite ready to let the subject go; he’d been thinking about this a lot lately.

“I’m sorry we haven’t…”

Oscar picked up what he was putting down, “Don’t be sorry, Spencer. Don’t ever, ever be sorry for that. I didn’t ask to guilt you. It was in the lesson you taught last week. I listened to it on my break today.”

The image of his Dictaphone on the desk at college - and another of it hanging out of Oscar’s rucksack’s front pocket – recalled itself in Spencer’s head.

“I probably could have asked you a bit nicer,” Oscar altered his position on the couch to bring his knees up to his chest.

“Probably.”

“I’m sorry, Spencer.”

“You’re forgiven.”

“Could you tell me more about the Romulans please?”

As Spencer restarted his speech, albeit with less enthusiasm than before, Oscar brought out his notepad from his backpack. His fingers pinched around the blue crayon as he scrawled Spencer’s facts, putting the differences into a roughly drawn table.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Seeing Oscar standing in the bullpen with a visitor’s badge was not what Spencer expected to see today. He certainly didn’t expect to see him sipping tea with Penelope and chatting away at Spencer’s empty desk. Oscar had clearly just arrived, still bundled up in his coat. The flowers Oscar had sent to the office that morning stood gorgeously arranged beside his oft-neglected computer desktop.

“Hi!” Spencer power-walked up to them, almost reaching a jog. Oscar met him halfway, but his pace decreased the closer he got to Spencer. It was the sound of the team drawing through the glass double doors that told Spencer what was going through his head.

He turned to his family, already gesturing behind him where Oscar stood, “Everyone, this is my boyfriend Oscar.”

Waving, Oscar had his other hand stuck deep in his pocket as he spoke, “Penelope gave me the rundown of your names. Nice to meet you.”

The team was rather tired from the case and obviously a little caught off guard by the fact that the felon Spencer had fallen for was just hanging around in their bullpen. But Spencer was relieved when they all greeted Oscar with a fairly warm manner, wished Spencer "happy birthday" again, before they shuffled off to their respective desks and offices. Penelope bid her farewell to Oscar with the promise of a movie night some time in the future. Then she hugged her Boy Wonder and returned to her batcave.

“Sorry,” Oscar said quietly, “I wanted to travel home with you. Kinda forgot that I would be running into your whole team.”

“I don’t mind. In fact, I wanted you to meet them.”

Spencer’s hand stayed in Oscar’s for the entire walk back to Oscar’s new car in the lot. While they parted momentarily en route, they found each other again when Oscar had to pull over during the drive home. The car that had swerved and cut in front of them became two red lights in the far distance, the sound of its engine and screeching tires muted by Oscar’s heavy breathing.

Oscar released the steering wheel and clung to Spencer’s hand, but Spencer could feel that Oscar was holding back, trying not to crush his fingers. He rubbed over Oscar’s knuckles.

“In, two, three, four,” Spencer counted, “Hold, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.”

He repeated this five times and Oscar leant back in his seat.

“I was doing so well,” He said, his voice cracking in its quietness.

“You still are. We both are.” Spencer kissed the back of Oscar’s hand, “Come on, I’ll drive us the rest of the way.”

Two blocks later and they were about to enter their apartment.

Oscar stopped them though, just before Spencer’s key met the lock, “Could you wait out here? Just for a minute, please?”

Spencer complied, a countdown in his head clicking off the seconds as soon as his front door was closed to him. A smile crept onto his face as he heard Oscar clattering about the apartment. He wasn’t exactly being subtle; Spencer wouldn’t have it any other way.

Once Spencer was finally allowed in, he was greeted by a low-lit scene. Oscar was holding a match to the last candle at the table. He’d taken off his long coat to revealing a freshly ironed floral pattern. The stereo speakers were already humming Mozart. The crumpled takeaway paper bag by the pedal bin didn’t go unnoticed, but Spencer decided to focus instead on how the food was arranged on the plates - either side of a delightful floral arrangement.

“Oh Oscar, you already got me so much this morning,” Spencer said sheepishly, with the knowledge that he had avoided looking up the prices of his gifts so he could calculate just how much of Oscar’s third paycheque went into his birthday.

“I know, but I wanted your birthday to be perfect,” Oscar opened up one of the tubs, a wave of steam lifting gently with the lid, “It’s from the new Thai place down the road.”

Spencer hung up his satchel on his its hook, “I suppose I have been wanting to try their green curry for a while now.”

Once he had changed into something more comfortable (plus a hint of smartness), Spencer sat down with Oscar for dinner. Both men found that he was not immune to the romanticism of a candlelit dinner with his boyfriend, and Spencer more so. The effort behind it, the aroma of the lavender candle with the spiced food, the glow around his Oscar’s face as he went over the day behind them, it was all getting to him.

Of course, Oscar offered to clean up once they were done eating and talking – for now at least. Spencer still helped though. Any time with Oscar was time well spent. Even loading the dishwasher. Except now Oscar was staring at Spencer’s face, gaze fidgeting between his eyes and his mouth, and Spencer was worrying about it.

Christ, what was he meant to do to let Oscar know he wanted to kiss him without saying so? Pout?

“Are you ok?” Oscar’s brow creased.

Fuck.

“Yes,” Spencer said, quickly removing the pout from his lips, “I’m good.”

“Good.” Oscar swung their linked hands between them thrice. Then he let go of one to thumb across the corner of Spencer’s jaw and he closed the gap between them. Spencer felt Oscar’s recently applied lip balm on his chapped lips, those stupid lips that Spencer spent too much time thinking about. They felt so much better against Spencer’s and smiling with reckless abandon. So reckless, in fact, that the smile grew into a laugh, buzzing against Spencer and tickling him more than his facial hair.

Oscar pulled away, still giggling and apologising, “Sorry, sorry, I’m not laughing at you.”

“I know you’re not. You’d never laugh at me.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

A chorus of “hello!” harmonised in the doorway as the Dunnagans’ entered Spencer and Oscar’s apartment. Laden with gifts and food offerings, Tony, Eliza, and Dakota kissed and hugged their way into the sitting room.

Oscar and Dakota were the ones in charge, everyone else on some kind of prep duty while they ordered them about in the politest manner. Spencer was trying to be a good prep boy but Eliza was just better and faster, so he stuck to cleaning as they went. Oscar kissed his cheek while passing by; Tony had hung up a sprig of mistletoe just over their heads. Ducking away to avoid kissing his potential father-in-law, Spencer chased the sound of his phone ringing. He even ducked under it as if lowering his torso would avoid the mistletoe above him.

All five swayed ever so slightly out of sync as they bellowed the classics and groaned over the pop renditions. Spencer’s new watch hugged his wrist and ticked away each pleasant second.

“No, don’t hide your hair!” Eliza ripped off the Santa hat Spencer’s head and pulled up flattened tufts of his hair until it resumed its usual messy state.

“There! Never get a haircut, you’re too handsome for that.” She patted his cheek before taking another swig of her red wine – the same shade as her Christmas jumper and Spencer’s cheeks. Spencer looked to Oscar, not to protest but to see if he had Oscar witnessed this.

Oscar merely shrugged, “I mean she’s not wrong.” He finished off peeling the sprouts, handing them over to Tony for chopping, “I have to admit, it was one of the things that drew me to you when we met.”

“Really?”

Another nod in response, Oscar drew nearer, closing the conversation to everyone but Spencer, “You and your Bambi eyes and your hair and your perfect mouth.”

Spencer suddenly found himself unable to look directly at Oscar, as if he were the sun. An outsider looking in might infer that it was the gaudy red of his horrendous Christmas jumper that made his cheeks seem so pink. They would be wrong.

Spencer burst out, “It was Rossi on the phone. He wants to know if you’re still coming tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’m not backing out. If I start to, I need you behind me and pushing me through the door.” Oscar’s shoulders twitched with his laugh.

“I don’t know, feels like you could toss me over your shoulder if you wanted.”

“I could. Technically.”

Spencer’s cheeks went scarlet at the thought of Oscar carrying him down Rossi’s driveway in such a way. But before he could ask Oscar to slow the flow of compliments, Dakota called to them across the room: “Aw, Oscar, you’ve got your own stocking?”

“Yeah, Spencer bought it for me, early gift!” It hung proudly on the bookshelf beside Spencer’s.

The table had already been set for the family. Dakota brought her own crackers, informing them that the snap had been removed. Terrible paper crown and horrendous jokes were passed around the five people before they dished up their Christmas dinner. Comically small in his hands, Oscar cradled the box of the primary coloured crayons in his palm and frisbeed the ruler with the shapes cut out over to Eliza.

The pigs in blankets were a little burnt, the nut roast barely touched, and there was so much left over that they would be eating ham and turkey sandwiches for days to come.

Spencer was so full of food and joy that it would be impossible to be carried on his boyfriend’s shoulder. He settled instead for being held in Oscar’s lap as they squished into the armchair, the rest of the family on the couch to watch the garbage Christmas specials. Dozing on his shoulder with a close-lipped smile, Oscar looked content. His yellow paper crown was crushed near the front, slipping down his left temple.

Oh, Spencer was grateful for his dedicated memory. He could match and topple all those memories of them in prison with times like these forever – and he planned on doing just that.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x oc #my writing #r: male #wc: 10k+

89 notes · View notes

diaryofabeautyfiend · 3 years

Text

Small Time Witch (32)

S I X M O N T H S L A T E R

Vanaheim had been kind to you but it was time to make your next move. Loki had been pardoned on Asgard. The convergence was nigh and preparations for Malekith had begun. Asgard was fortified as a precaution. You thought maybe Malekith wouldn’t bother since the entire universe knew you had the stones. The small council was not so sure. They wanted you locked away in a secure location where he couldn’t find you. You wanted to fight. That’s all you seemed to want these days.

Malekith and Frigga have long been enemies. His brute murdered her when the dark elves invaded Asgard. You would only hide if she hid with you. Being ever stubborn she declined. You didn’t tell her what would happen but, because of your insistence, she could guess. “If it’s my time, it’s my time. I won’t hide.” Everyone in this family was ridiculously stubborn. You fit right in.

Loki fought you ad nauseam about expelling the stones. You refused to even entertain the thought until the convergence was over. He thought the stones were overtaking you. They changed your personality. You argued they just made you stronger and perhaps he was threatened by you. That never failed to spur him into a tirade about how dangerous they were and how no one knew what they were doing to you. The voice in your head told you otherwise. He would prattle on about how they seemed to speak for you. How you had changed. You never listened.

“Mortal are you listening?” It drove you insane when he called you mortal. Just a constant reminder that you were beneath him.

“I am. And I’ve asked you to please stop calling me mortal.”

“Well aren’t you? Are you now unable to die? Have I missed something?”

“As long as I have them I am.”

“And that’s why you shouldn’t have them. Where is my wife? You were not this war mongering battle hardened warrior when I first met you.”

“You prefer me weak? Too afraid of my own shadow?”

He knelt in front of you to look in your eyes. “I have never known you to be weak, Y/N. You were powerful enough.”

You laughed but the smile on your lips never met your eyes. “Just enough that I couldn’t ever take you.”

“Stop it. That’s never mattered to me.”

“Until I became stronger than you.”

He picked up a pillow off of the bed and smashed it into his face. He let out a deep growl out of sheer frustration. “Your new found obsession with power is exactly why I am worried. They need you. They are like parasites and you are their host. You feed them, darling. Of course they don’t want to give you up.”

“And what if I do release them? What then? Do we just wait for the next maniac to use them against us?”

“Then we keep them locked in the vault.”

“Oh yeah, because Odin’s vault has never been breached.”

“Only by me.” He hated fighting with you. Absolutely loathed it. You kept putting off the release of the stones but he wouldn’t give up. You were scared they would fall into the wrong hands. He was afraid they already had. The only other person who was in your corner was Odin.

Loki knew his father all too well. He was not interested in what you wanted but what your power could do for him. He treated you like his own sentient weapon. Your daddy issues completely clouded your judgement in regards to Odin. He doted on you. Called you his daughter. You lapped it up. When Loki or Thor would say something he would laugh it off and say they were jealous that he had a new favorite child. After Asgard was safe, they thought it was time for you to go back to Midgard for a while for an extended holiday. Maybe your family could talk some sense into you.

“My love. My little queen. Please don’t be cross with me. I am simply worried for your safety and sanity. Don’t you want to leave all of this behind? Perhaps we can start our family. I’ve longed to see you with child.”

Your voice was quiet, “That’s not my dream. It’s yours. You know how I feel about having children. Can’t we just go on forever having adventures?”

“Pet, I have had my fun. I just want to start a family and be settled. I don’t care if I ever ride into another battle. Children or not, I just want this constant upheaval to end. I quite liked our life on Midgard. I actually miss television. Why don’t we go back and rebuild our little cottage? Will you at least think about it?”

You kissed the tip of his nose, “I will. When this is all over, I will agree to take extended leave and visit my family.”

—————————————————————

The day Malekith invaded was like deja vu for Loki except he was not in the dungeon. The dark elves were unable to breech the outer reaches of Asgard so they moved on to Greenwich where he and Thor would meet. Against your better judgement (and certainly Loki’s), you jumped the portal to help Thor. You served as nothing but a distraction. Thor was nearly crushed by Malekith’s ship. Had it not been for Dr. Selvig, Thor would have been killed.

Your magic destroyed half of a library and a lot more property. When law enforcement arrived they thanked Thor for his help. You, on the other hand, were put in shackles and taken into custody. Thor tried to stop them but they were under strict orders from the World Security Council to take you in.

You tried to break free for your bonds but your magic wouldn’t work. “Stop resisting, Princess.” one of the Interpol officers shouted. They didn’t have regular guns pointed at you. They looked like ray guns or something you’d see in a sci fi movie. Thor rushed behind you asking where you were being taken. They muttered something about an Air Force base as officers held him back.

“I’m coming, little sister! Just hang on.”

They had you locked in the back of a van that was caged and padded. A thick metal partition separated you from the driver. The doors on the back were also thick metal. Three officers wearing helmets rushed in in a practiced military style drill. Keeping their weapons trained on you, one officer stood in front of you and pressed a button that magnetized your restraints. He stuck your hands to a small but sturdy loop on the bench you sat on. Another officer put a mutant inhibitor collar around your neck while the third jabbed a needle in your arm. “Nighty night, Princess.”

When you awoke your head was pounding. There was a jumpsuit on the small table next to you. On the floor were socks and slippers. The collar was pretty heavy and seemed to grab at your skin when you pulled. “It won’t come off Mrs. Odinson” a voice said. There was a speaker just above the door.

“Where am I?”

“Change into your jumps.”

“Where am I? Don’t make me ask again.”

“Change into your jumps, prisoner.”

You tried to use your magic but only a tiny spark flickered between your hands.

Your cell doors opened and a familiar face stood in front of you. “Ma’am. I’m Coulson. Come with me.”

“Wait. Aren’t you...”

“Dead? As in your husband killed me? Yeah. Something like that.” He stood in the doorway looking at you expectantly. “Unless you’d rather stay here.”

You followed behind him flipping off the speaker when you left. “Can you remove this collar, Coulson?”

“Please forgive me if I’m not super trusting.”

“Understandable I guess. Where are you taking me?”

“New York. Into S.H.I.E.L.D. custody. It’s the only way the US government will release you. Part of the MCA.”

“MCA?”

“Mutant Control Act. You’re an unregistered omega level mutant. Your powers, as defined by the government, are unlimited. You’re dangerous.”

“So when I’m on Earth, I am a prisoner?”

“When you’re on Earth? You think you’re leaving? You belong to us now.”

He took you along to an airstrip where you boarded a small plane. He helped you into your seat, shackled your wrists and ankles and bid you a safe flight.

——————————————————————

Thor was too scared to tell Loki you were captured. He would have been pissed at the both of you. If he thought you were in danger he would rip Midgard apart to find you. The only person he knew to contact was Steve Rogers.

In Tony’s infinite wisdom, he named Steve his successor of sorts. He called him the Chief Moral Compass of the company. That gave Steve all kinds of contacts and diplomatic immunity in 46 countries.

Steve met your flight at the base in New York. Coulson was thrilled to see Steve again but he wouldn’t release you. He got into the backseat and went with you to the facility where you’d be staying.

You waited for several hours in a holding room. You hadn’t eaten in a couple of days and your body was exhausted without the stones to prop you up. You fell asleep with your head on the table. Finally Steve came in to wake you.

“Hey, Y/N. You’re free to go. Get this collar off of her now!” he said to an agent.

“Can we grab something to eat? I haven’t had anything in a couple of days.”

He planted his hands on his hips and clenched his jaw. You were freaking Asgardian royalty and a human being. Surely that earned you some respect. He was livid. “Seriously, guys? You couldn’t have gotten her food? My apologies, Princess.”

“I would kill for a slice. Ever hear of Joe’s Pizza in Brooklyn?”

He smiled, “Best in New York. How do you know about that place?”

“I was in love with a guy from Brooklyn once.”

“Yeah? What happened?”

“He couldn’t handle who I was.”

Steve chuckled to himself, “Then he didn’t deserve you.”

——————————————————————

Pending a hearing, you were released to your mother’s care. You absolutely could not prevent Loki from coming any longer. When he landed you were sitting in the open space where your house would be built.

“This is the perfect spot isn’t it?” You were picking blades of grass and letting them fall through your fingers.

“Afelheim has ample space for cottage building. No cable though. I guess this rules out our extended holiday.” He sat next to you and you rested your head on his shoulder.

“I think this is our extended holiday. My hearing isn’t for another month.”

“You know what you did was careless and stupid right? Also incredibly arrogant. Thor didn’t need your help.”

“I know. I don’t know what came over me. It’s like I wasn’t thinking.”

“You weren’t. The stones were. While we’re stuck here, I’d like to get as many people as possible involved in removing them and healing you. That’s even if you can be healed. Your body could be riddled with cancer like poor Jane.”

“Well I’ve saved her from that fate.”

“Not yourself. If I lost you....”

“You’re not losing me.”

You snuggled against him and he kissed the top of your head. He no longer tried to hide his feelings from you. He was afraid. You just found each other again and he was afraid he would lose you. The old Loki would have run screaming. This Loki would fight for you. And, if he had to, he would follow you into Hel. Maybe he was selfish in that regard. He lost you once. Never again.

#loki of jotunheim #loki fanfic #loki of asgard #loki odinson #loki x you #loki x reader #loki smut #witch #mcu witches #small time witch

9 notes · View notes

artiesjam · 3 years

Text

aaa very happy to share that “Arrow Straight To My Heart” has it’s first chapter out and gosh do i love it

anyways go read it because im desperate and it has archer willie and nb willie

ao3 link!

———

Pain shot up the blonde’s arm as he hit the dirt. He wanted to scream but his voice was strained, his nose was bloodied, and god did everything just hurt. Half broken sobs escaped from his chest. He had never felt more vulnerable and exposed until now where he sat in the middle of the forest with tears running down his pink cheeks.

—

He could remember it all as clear as day. His dad smiling as big as ever when they took that family photo. Alex couldn’t have been more than seven but for some reason, he felt so big and mighty during that moment on top of his dad’s arms—tinkering a bit with the crown that laid on top of his father’s head.

Alex’s biggest mistake was wiping that smile right off his dad’s face. He had come out and suddenly, his father’s smile seemed to disappear. He no longer took family photos with him, substituting by spending time in his office alone or arguing with his mom. The only time he saw his dad smile anymore was in press interviews or during fancy royal parties. It wasn’t the same smile though. It was an artificially sweet one that left a bad taste in his mouth every time he tried to recall it, not like he tried to remember it often.

—

After a while of deranged whimpers and sighs, Alex decided to assess his injuries. It wasn’t terrible. A possible broken nose, a few cuts and scrapes on his hands, and a twisted ankle were what he assumed. It wasn’t anything that the castle doctors couldn’t fix. If only he could get back there.

Damn, how far did he even run?

Alex craned his head as far as he could without causing a great deal of pain. Nothing was familiar. There were no landmarks he could remember or place a name to—not even a town in sight. A long sigh was left from the boy’s chapped and jagged lips as he leaned himself against the bark of the tree. A part of him pleaded himself to get up and find his surroundings while the other half wanted to close their eyes and fall asleep hoping to drift off into some peaceful slumber. He would choose the latter.

—

“Have you decided yet? You know that I can’t let you come to the ball without a date.” His mom poked his stomach lovingly before landing a soft kiss on her son’s cheek. “Ma, I’ll be fine. I’ll just do the slow dance with Alexis like how we always do.” Alexis was Alex’s younger sister. They had a four-year age difference but that was okay because they both didn’t seem to mind keeping their tradition of silly slow dancing. His mom had some complaints though. “Come on! When am I going to see my baby dance with some nice young man? I think the prince from that one kingdom would do just nice.” Alex chuckled slightly at the remark before catching on to his dad’s gaze. It seemed as if he was so angry and so upset that his son could turn out gay. So angry that his son was “unholy” or “impure.” His teeth gritted together ever so slightly and his eyes twitched. But when he noticed Alex staring, he quickly plastered on his fake smile and acted as if he was the perfect father.

It was aggravating.

—

“Hey, um, are you alright?”

The voice was enough to knock him out of his daydream, eyes slipping open. There in front of him was a toned figure in a jumpsuit. They had an outstretched hand and a cheeky smile. It was hard to tell any extreme details, however, because of how fuzzy his eyes were becoming. He just wanted to close his eyes again…until he felt a cold hand on his waist that caught his attention again.

“Hey, keep your eyes open. Do you need water?” The attempt to nod left his neck feel uncomfortably limp and stiff all at the same time. He felt like he was slowly losing his grip on his consciousness again. He knew better than that though so he peered his eyes open once more and stared at the person in front of him.

Now that he had a closer view, he could note every detail about them. How their entire face was covered in dirt and sot, how the person’s hands felt slightly callused, and how their brown eyes just had so much concern packed into them. He kept his breathing low in order not to breathe all over the long-haired beauty. “Uh, n-no, I’m fine. Just, do you know where I can lay down?” His question was silently answered whenever he was picked up and the two started walking. Alex was kind of doing more limping and using the person as a crutch but oh well, he couldn’t lie and say that it didn’t feel nice resting his head on the broad shoulder.

“Do you want to sleep at my place and I can fix you up? It's closer than any doctor in this town.”The brunette asked, keeping a grip on the other’s waist so that he didn’t topple over. He could only muster up the energy to hum in agreement.

—

“Alex, what do you need to tell us, honey?” His mom fixed her son’s hair as she awaited a response. He didn't have one to give. He didn't want to ruin anything. Yet, his mouth opened and the words spilled from his tongue until he had no more to say.

His mom didn't mind the confession. She just kissed his forehead and whispered sweet nothings as if trying to leave a permanent imprint of her words. His dad had different thoughts. His face shifted from surprise to disappointment before finally landing on anger. His face stayed like that for the past years. He was always angry; Alex caused that.

—

Once Alex’s eyes decided to open, he was greeted with an unfamiliar sight. It was a nice clean room with lamps far too light for his liking, squinting immediately to avoid looking at it.

“Oh, you’re awake!” Even though the voice was the same from earlier, it didn’t have the same tone of concern and consideration from whenever they found him in the woods.

“Yeah, I guess.” Alex joked, despite the quite unfortunate circumstances. Humor was his coping mechanism to avoid him losing his shit. To get a better look at the person that he had yet to find the name of, he sat up. Yet, his body pulled him right back down when he felt a searing pain in his side. His arm found the area of pain and was met with a bandage that he was sure wasn’t there earlier.

“Hey, hey. Be careful. I fixed you up earlier but you still have to take it easy.” Alex only nodded at that before inching his neck towards the other and opening his eyes to the all-too-bright room. “So, why'd you bring me here? Where is here?” He asked.

The toned person looked around hesitantly before answering. “Uh, this is my place or more of where I stay. It's an archery shop that I sometimes work at but it has a lower level where Flynn lets me crash. Oh! I'm Willie, by the way.”

Now that he thought about it more, the name did fit them. It was almost like a signature on every little subtle movement. Whenever their lips would curl upwards and their eyes would crinkle lightly whenever they smiled, it was Willie’s own. It was all so perfect and well done as if an angel above custom made them just for them to…

He was staring.

To fill in the awkward silence, Alex forced a cough and replied with an introduction of his own. “Sorry. I'm Alex. Do you know how long I was out?” Willie smiled and looked at a clock on the wall that Alex hadn’t noticed was there. “I’d say about an hour give or take how long you were awake since I walked in. The injuries are mild if you wanted to know that too. Nothing except for an ankle sprain, a gash on your side, and some minor cuts that I disinfected.”

Alex was astonished. This person showed up from nowhere, made sure he wasn’t hurt and didn’t mind him sleeping in their bed. Who were they?

“Hey! How am I supposed to repay you? Or…”

Alex was sure that there had to be some catch to the package deal he was getting right now. Yet, Willie just flashed a joyful smile before slipping off into another room. “Don’t worry about it,” they called.

How was he not supposed to worry about it when some insanely hot, long-haired gem just took care of him?

————

taglist because mwah ily guys: @thedepthsofhell @nickalicious @thedragonemperess @willex-owns-my-heart @that-one-newsie

12 notes · View notes

fungalnebula · 4 years

Photo

Prologue

Chapter One (will be linked when published)

Please leave critiques and suggestions in replies and/or reblogs!!! Click the cover image for a surprise!

There was a large tube inside the basement of the Fenton building. It was closed off by a large, military grade door, securing the emptiness of the tube. This machine had been sitting in the basement of the Fenton building, unused, since its conception two long years ago.

“Danny, why didn’t you tell us about this?” One of Danny’s best friends, Sam, asked as Danny punched in a code to release the contents of the empty tube. “This is so cool!”

Sam loved the Ghost Aesthetic. Danny felt a little bad for not telling her about the broken portal because of that.

“It didn’t work so I thought you guys wouldn’t care,” Danny said. “It was broken anyway…”

“Dude, it’s still a ghost portal!” Danny’s other best friend, Tucker, exclaimed. “Even if it doesn’t work, all the bones are still there.”

“I’m sorry, guys. I didn’t know it would be that interesting.”

“Are you insane!?” Sam exclaimed, “this is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. Let me take a picture of you!”

“No way, Samantha.” Danny groused, “there is no way I’m getting in that thing. What if the reason it didn’t work is because of loose wires or something? I don’t want to die.”

“You won’t die and you know I hate it when you call me Samantha,” she chastised. “You said it’s been broken for years! There’s no way it’ll work if it hasn’t already. It’s like a dead bear, it can’t hurt you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Danny laughed at her analogy. “You can still fall on a dead bear and get maimed by its teeth AND SLASH OR claws, Samantha.” Danny mocked Sam, waving his hands with each syllable of her name.

“Yeah, bad metaphor, just get in there. You won’t get electrocuted or anything. Your parents probably disconnected it from the power when they gave up on it.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Danny finally conceded, “let me at least wear one of the suits my parents made for me. You know, just in case.”

“Is it insulated?” Tucker chuckled.

“Yes, Tucker,” Danny retorted. “It is insulated, as a matter of fact.”

Danny walked to a cabinet labeled “Ecto Suits” and pulled out a white jumpsuit with a black collar. He adorned it as well as some black gloves and black boots. He noticed Tucker smirk as Sam attempted to suppress a snort. Danny stuck his tongue out at his two best friends in the world. He’d do anything for those jokers. Danny zipped up his new outfit and took a hesitant step towards the defunct portal.

“You guys really want to do this?” Danny had to force this last word out of his throat. He had been assured that he was safe, but was he really?

“Yeah,” Sam was gentle now. “You’ll be fine. All I want is a little picture of you in that neat thingy.”

Tucker put his hand on Danny’s shoulder. “Don’t worry man, it’s unplugged.” Tucker pointed to a plug on the ground nearby, assuming it was the power source for the portal.

“That makes me feel a bit better.” Danny sighed, relieved. He took another few steps and was in front of the portal. It was eerie and echoey. “Oooo” Danny made a noise and heard it bounce off the metal walls inside.

“Go on,” Sam pushed Danny lightly.

“Hey! Okay, I’m going!” Danny took a step inside the portal. It felt … empty and big. Much bigger than it was. Longer too. The tube felt more like a tunnel at this point, Danny could see the end of the tunnel, but it felt like it was miles away. Danny felt heavy just taking one step inside. He took another and felt his body weigh him down even more. It was just the anxiety, Danny thought to himself. Your body gets heavy when it’s dreading something, right? But there was nothing to worry about, Danny assured himself.

Danny took a few more steps inside the portal and turned around to face the outside. He tasted ozone and he felt like his blood was made of lead. There was the quietest of ringings bouncing around in his head making him somewhat dizzy and his eyes felt like they were vibrating.

“Danny?” Sam asked.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” Sam looked concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s a bit spooky in here, though,” Danny let out a slight chuckle. “I’ll just suck it up for the picture.”

“Yeah, alright…” Sam trailed off. “Can you do a cool pose? Maybe put your hand against the side and lean or something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Danny began to place his hand on the side of the portal. As his hand neared the wall, the taste of ozone intensified and his nose started running. His hand was almost to the wall when Sam snapped a picture with her polaroid camera.

“Oops,” she looked nervous as she took out the not-yet-developed picture and handed it to Tucker.

Danny knew she wanted a better shot so he finally put his hand on the wall. Millimeters before his hand made contact, Danny’s fingers felt like cold metal replaced all of his bones. He let his hand rest on the wall to his left as he felt a button depress. Immediately, his heart started racing as he felt panic run up his chest. Daniel Fenton suddenly felt the most excruciating pain he had ever and will ever feel in his life. He felt hundreds of knives stab him at once in every single nerve in his body. An army of knives marched through his nervous system, stabbing down hard with every step. This march of pain within his body moved incredibly fast but at the same time that it moved agonizingly slow.

Danny didn’t feel his throat open up to release a blood curdling scream of pure, horrific pain. He didn’t feel himself drop to his knees, but he did feel that militia of marching, stabbing pain start again at his knees. All he saw was green, neon green, everywhere. He tasted blood and ozone, the lower half of his face, beneath his nose, was wet and sticky. His lips felt like they were drenched in lip gloss that tightened at every breath he took. His left wrist felt like he had laid on it for hours and suddenly moved. Danny knew he was dying.

When his face smacked the metal floor of the now functioning portal, he didn’t feel his nose break, just the pain get more intense and the struggle to breathe increased with his mouth submerged in a shallow pool of blood escaping his nose like a dam had been opened. Danny didn’t feel himself being dragged by his friends out of the portal and he didn’t see the horrified looks on their faces when they saw all the blood and smoke coming from his body. He didn’t feel Tucker grab a broom and poke him with it, he didn’t hear Sam smack Tucker and throw the broom to the wall. Danny didn’t hear his sister pound down the stair and scream at the sight, he didn’t hear Sam wailing and sobbing and pleading with Danny to please wake up, he didn’t hear her whisper, “I’m so sorry Danny, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault, why am I so stupid,” to his head. He didn’t hear his sister, Jazz screaming through her tears at Tucker, “What happened to him? Why is his hair white? Where did all this blood come from?” He didn’t hear Tucker crying, “I’m sorry, I thought it was unplugged, I’m so sorry Jazz, I’m so sorry.”

Danny did hear a ringing, though. He heard waves too. Or was that wind? Danny heard someone whisper but they were so far away.

Then, Danny saw black. Danny saw black and a very dark red. “What did you say?” Danny tried to say, but it was so much less than a whisper. Danny heard a thump, like someone dropping down to sit on a tile floor and the red he saw got brighter.

God, his eyes were so heavy. His lips felt like he had just eaten Elmer’s glue, like he used to do in Kindergarten. When Danny smiled a slight smile, as much as he had the strength to, his lips cracked and he relaxed his face to appease the pain.

Daniel Fenton cracked his eyes. Slowly, sound came back. A ringing gave way to someone screaming, “How could you let this happen? I thought you cared about him.” Someone else bawled, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t want this to happen. Please, I’m so sorry, I love him so much.”

Danny was confused. Did he just walk in on someone's death? He couldn’t have, his back was cold and against the tile floor in… his basement? Who died in his basement?

“Oh, god.” Danny felt his stomach drop to his toes. “Did Tuck get hurt by some of Mom or Dad’s ghost shit?”

The room went silent. Danny pulled his eyes open, worried by what he might see.

“What the fuck was that Samantha,” Jazz had murder in her eyes. “Tell me what that was right now.”

“What was what?” Danny asked. He saw Jazz huddled over something in the middle of the room with Sam and Tucker near her. The body wasn’t Tucker’s.

Danny walked over to Jazz and his friends when Tucker looked his way and screamed as loud and as hard as he was capable of screaming. This spooked Danny who took a step to the side and looked at what was on the ground.

It was him.

Danny was looking at his own body on the floor. His now white hair was singed, his left arm was black, contrasting against his pale skin which had been exposed by a large rip in his not-so-insulated suit. It looked like the hand and half of the arm on the left side of the suit had burned off.

Suddenly the body moved and Danny saw the ceiling and his Sister looking over him. He turned his head and saw two scenes. He was looking at Sam while also looking at the now functional ghost portal with a different set of eyes. Danny moved his head back and was now only looking at his sister again.

Danny attempted to move to a sitting position, coughing droplets of blood when he tensed his muscles.

“Oh, my god.” Jazz breathed a sigh of relief, “Danny! Don’t sit up, here. I’ll help you.”

Jazz sort of dragged, sort of pushed Danny’s body closer to the wall, glaring at Tucker and Sam when they moved to help her. Jazz picked up Danny’s head and sat him against the wall of the Fenton Laboratory basement and inspected his face.

“God, Danny.” Jazz’s voice was soaked with concern. “There’s blood all over this place. Your nose is broken.”

Danny realized he couldn’t feel the ground beneath him the second he felt himself fall an inch and hit the ground. He saw a flash as he noticed a ring of light circling around his waist.

“Sam,” Jazz screamed, “what the fuck? My brother almost dies and you think this is the best fucking photo op to snag?”

“I’m sorry Jazz, I-I,” Sam stuttered, “I saw something.”

Jazz turned her head back to her brother, and gasped. “Danny! Your hair is back to normal!”

Barely audible, Danny mumbled; “myhairwasn’tnormal?”

“It was white,” Sam whisperspoke.

“And your suit went all reverse,” Tucker added at full volume from halfway across the room.

“I taste metal,” Danny stuck his tongue out, it looked like he had just been licking blood off of something.

“Probably from all that blood in your mouth.” Jazz’s forehead was the rocky mountains of concern. “And on your chin, down your shirt, all over the floor. God, Danny. We need to take you to the hospital.”

“No!” Danny and Tucker yelled at the same time.

“I’m fine, I feel fine, watch this!” Danny stood up and quickly fell back down demonstrating how not fine he was.

“Sorry, I just hate hospitals,” Tucker murmured. “I didn’t mean to say that…”

Sam waved a polaroid in the air, then gave it to Jazz.

The picture showed a bloodied Danny on the ground wearing a reverse colored “insulated” suit. It’s just a fucking picture of my almost-dead brother, Jazz thought. Then she saw it. There were two rings of light around his waist that looked like they were revealing the outfit Danny was wearing when he went downstairs. A NASA T-Shirt and blue jeans were peaking through the two circles of light. Jazz looked at Danny again and realized he wasn’t wearing the black version of his ecto suit anymore. It went away with the white of his hair.

“Danny, you’re still going to the hospital with me.” Jazz insisted. “Your nose is broken.”

Danny touched his nose and was immediately met with searing, red hot pain.

“Don’t touch it, idiot!” Jazz smacked Danny’s hand away from his nose. “When a part of your body is broken, that’s not an invitation to touch it!”

Danny looked at Sam and Tucker, scared.

Sam smiled at Danny. “We can talk about it after you go to the hospital. Do you want to have a fucked up nose for the rest of your life?”

Tucker walked closer to Danny and put his hand on Danny’s head. “I’m so fucking happy you’re okay, dude.”

“Can you walk?” Jazz asked as she stood up and reached for Danny’s hand.

Danny grabbed her hand and tried to get up for the second time. He watched his hand disappear from his sister's hand as her grip tightened around nothing. Danny fell back to the floor and screamed at his missing hand before it came back.

“Danny,” Jazz hissed, “we are going to the hospital now.”

Danny stood up on his own and followed his sister up the stairs to her car, parked outside. They drove to the hospital.

#losers lament #Danny Phantom #Danny Fenton #Jazz Fenton #Same Manson #Tucker Foley #Danny Phantom Fanfiction #help i worked so hard on this

87 notes · View notes