#danny is on the phone with his own team just asking how to handle this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dilemmaontwolegs · 11 months

Text

The Taste of Temptation {3} || DR3

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x fem!reader Summary: Pierre enjoys winding Danny up with rumours, and Danny enjoys his recompense with your body. Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, age gap (13 years) reader is 20, smut, smut, alcohol, smut, ass play, dom!daniel, bond*ge, overstimulation WC: 3.7k F1 Masterlist Story: One || Two || Three || Four || Five Snapshots One || Two || Three || Four || Five

Round Fourteen - Netherlands You had been minding your own business, enjoying a cool glass of fruit juice to combat the rising temperature of the day. The Red Bull motorhome was unusually quiet as you sat down at an empty table, so much so that you didn’t even notice the hush that fell over the few members of staff that were around setting up for the week ahead.

Something hit your neck and a sudden roar almost deafened your ear as the shock turned to a flash of pain. You jolted out of your seat, tipping it over, and clutched the burning skin below your ear as you saw a dark blue shirt disappear out the door, the number 10 printed on his back.

“What the hell was that?” you asked as you used your phone as a mirror. “What the fuck! GASLYYY!!!!!”

A deep purple circle was growing on your skin where he had pressed the end of a hoover against it, the bright red vacuum now discarded on the floor in the culprits rush to get away. The powerful suction had instantly brought your blood to the surface and it looked like a huge hickey, and Daniel was just walking in.

You slapped your hand over the mark and saw the team members of his that were still around stifle their laughs.

“What’s so funny?” he asked with a grin.

“Pierre just gave her a hickey,” Calum, a friendly technician, managed to admit as he pointed to your hand. “Then he boosted it out of here, never seen an Alpine go so fast.”

Daniel didn’t laugh along with the rest as his fingers curled around your wrist and pulled your hand away. His eyes narrowed at the offensive mark before darting to the vacuum still running on the floor behind your chair. The stupid smile and big, round eyes on the plastic shell only seemed to grow more mocking the longer he looked at it.

“It was just a silly joke,” you said softly.

“Very funny.” He forced a smile but his eyes kept flickering back to your neck and you shivered as he ran his tongue along his teeth and leaned closer so no one could overhear his promise. “But only I get to mark you, kitten.”

Daniel got his recompense when you returned to the hotel mid afternoon. There was a few hours of down time before there was a small get together planned, nothing too crazy since media day started in the morning and no one wanted to be hungover for that.

“Shhh, kitten, the walls aren’t that thick.”

With the curtains drawn it was impossible to tell how long had passed, how long it had been since Danny tied your wrists to your ankles and subjected you to such immense pleasure you couldn’t remember your name.

His fingers were cool against your hot skin as he brushed your hair back from your sweaty forehead before they softly tweaked your nipple piercing and another gasp slipped past the strap of leather you were biting.

The rave music filling the room was set to overwhelm yet another of your senses but it couldn’t hide the sounds you were making and it was a wonder that all of the Netherlands didn’t know what he was doing to you. You didn’t even know what he was doing to you, there was only one orgasm rolling into the next as your tears wet the pillow beneath your head.

Toys littered the bed and Danny had taken his time to enjoy ruining you with them all.

Your ass throbbed around the metal plug he had worked you up to taking, his words of courage helping you to push through the gasping breaths you filled your lungs with as he stretched you to the limit. The cry of relief that had erupted when the plug slid home, and the sight of your hole clenching around the narrow handle, had been enough for him to come again and the warm ropes of his release had splayed across your breasts.

If you could move you would have run your fingers through it, gathering the viscous mess so you could taste it on your tongue. That was where he had finished earlier and where he would possibly finish again, because before you knew it he was hard again.

“Please,” you whimpered as he pressed a bullet to your clit, the vibrations making more tears stream down your cheeks as intense tremors rocked your entire body and your ankles screamed for mercy. “I need to come.”

“Soon, kitten.”

Daniel shifted to lay between your spread legs, his breath hot on your cunt as he tasted the essence dripping from your swollen lips. His fingers soon replaced his tongue and the lewd sounds of them pumping in and out of you only added to the overwhelming experience.

Two fingers, then three. Each snap of his wrist buried them deeper and each time he brushed against the butt plug and pushed it further. Stars danced across your vision and you couldn’t hold back any longer as your pussy spasmed around his fingers before they were gone and his tongue lapped at his reward as it escaped your folds.

“I didn’t say you could-”

Your body fell slack against the restraints as you lost all ability to think, see or hear and you floated away on the high.

When you came back to your senses you were tucked under the blankets with Daniel’s body curled behind you, his arm draped over your waist. His beard tickled your shoulder and he pressed a soft kiss upon it when he felt you wake. Every part of you ached in a way that could never actually hurt and you sighed with contentment as you rolled over to face your boyfriend.

“How long was I out?”

“About half an hour,” he said with a proud little smile as he pulled your leg over his hip as you felt his hard length teasing along your entrance. “I think that’s a new record.”

Your body felt empty without the toys and you looked around to see them neatly lined up on a towel drying. As messy as Daniel liked to get, he also liked to clean up after and you could feel your skin was no longer slick with sweat or sticky with his release that had painted your skin. He had taken care of it all after you had passed out.

“How bad is it?” you asked when you caught his fixated stare on your neck but he grabbed your hand when you reached up to touch the tender area.

“Don’t hide it, kitten. You can cover up Gasly’s but not mine.”

You rolled your hips and smirked when his lips parted with a deep breath as his sensitive head started to slip inside you, just an inch. “You are so petty.”

“You’re mine and I have to mark my territory,” he said before snapping his hips forward and stealing your breath as he bit your bottom lip. “It’s just biology, baby.”

“Have you been watching the Discovery Channel again?” you teased as your eyes fluttered shut.

Daniel laughed as rolled you to your back and tugged your other leg over his hip too before pinning your hands to the headboard. “There’s something satisfying about seeing a hunter subdue his prey.” His head dipped to yours and a shiver spread goosebumps across your skin when he grazed his teeth over your racing pulse. “Seeing how vulnerable she is up against such a beast.”

You arched your back and pushed your breasts up, silently begging him to trail his lips further down to them. He was gentle this time, swirling his tongue over the sensitive peaks knowing they would be tender. Everywhere was tender so he was taking his time with you, enjoying the long, slow strokes that made you feel every single inch of his cock as it filled you.

“She’s only vulnerable to him,” you moaned as you dragged your fingers through his hair and tugged the damp strands.

Daniel’s honey brown eyes said far more than his lips did as they curled up into a soft smile that made your stomach flip. “A lion and a kitten.”

He released your hands so he could run his own down your arm and over your collarbone to cup your cheek, the calluses on his palms tickling your skin along the way. His hand was so large it cradled your entire jaw and his thumb stroked your kiss-swollen lips before he took them for his own.

There was never a fight for dominance with him, your lips just parted as if he were the elixir of life and you were dying of thirst. He was intoxicating and addictive, unlike anyone you had been with before and he completely consumed your consciousness, filling every waking thought before infiltrating your dreams too.

You lost all sense of self with him, yet he had helped you explore your body and find so much more. And you also had lessons to teach him.

“Lions don’t actually hunt,” you murmured as you lay your head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat thumping rhythmically in your ear. “It’s the females that do the hunting. The male is just there to fuck.”

Your muscled pillow bounced as he laughed, his fingers along your spine pausing their relaxing dance. “I like that even better. What can you tell me about the honey badger?”

You pushed up onto your elbow, resting your chin on your hand so he could see the amusement on your face. “The honey badger is a cheeky creature who is very territorial and gets quite jealous over little things.”

“Is that right?” he dared you to continue with the lifting of one eyebrow and a smirk on his lips.

“Mhmm, but don’t let the cuteness fool you, there’s a fighting spirit beneath all that fur,” you teased, running your fingers through the dark triangle of curls that grew over his sternum. “And six nipples. Oh, did you think I was talking about you?”

His smirk broke into a bright smile that reached his sparkling eyes as his laugh filled the room. “You never know, I might have six nipples and just be very good at hiding them.”

You snorted a laugh and buried your face into the crook of his neck, squeezing your arms around his waist. “No, you would happily parade them about if you had that many.”

Danny placed a soft kiss atop your head before resting his cheek upon it with a happy sigh. “You know me so well.”

“Hey Nips,” Pierre greeted with a grin as he bounced on the balls of his feet impatiently. “You haven’t blocked me on Insta have you?”

“I will if you keep calling me Nips,” you warned as you pulled your phone out of your clutch and checked the app you had muted the notifications for and groaned. “Seriously?”

The Frenchman's laugh was insufferable as you saw what he had uploaded while Daniel returned to your side after chatting with Valterri, never straying too far away from you. The video wasn’t great quality considering Pierre had been running full pelt through the paddock with a vacuum plugged into a massive extension lead but you could still make out the path to Red Bull’s hospitality.

You saw yourself sitting at a table sipping your juice in peace before he flicked the vacuum on and a look of shock fell over your face when it sucked your neck into the nozzle. Unable to resist now that he had more than made up for it, Daniel chuckled in your ear at the video and you jutted your elbow back to check him in the ribs.

The next picture he posted made you roll your eyes before you saw an opportunity and sent a reply before locking the phone and slipping it back into your clutch as Daniel’s laugh grew even louder. “There’s those claws, kitty.”

You regretted opening the app as you were still thinking about the other notifications you had seen and they left you distracted. It wasn’t anything new and they weren’t often malicious but the rumours were just irritating. Every single post you were tagged in by one of the drivers inevitably led to people thinking you were dating them.

It was only Pierre who did it on purpose for his own amusement, knowing how possessive Daniel was towards you. It was like he just wanted to push his buttons and see how long it took for him to snap and make the relationship public. There had been talks of it, after collapsing into bed, high off an orgasm, but then nothing happened.

The rumours were still playing on your mind when the group moved to the large round table and you saw the name on the seating chart next to yours.

“Hey, what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Danny asked as he sat to your left, his hand disappearing under the table to slide up the slit of your dress to your thigh, his thumb drawing soothing circles over the bare skin.

“Nothing, I’m just a little tired.” You weren’t lying completely, you could have done with a lot more sleep after what he put you through.

“Have you been boring Nips, mate?” Pierre asked as he dropped into the chair beside you, likely having paid off a waitress to have his name card put on your table. A smarmy smile played at his lips and he trailed a finger around the rim of his glass, the crystal humming quietly, as his other arm draped over the back of your chair. “You weren’t bored in Paris with me, were you?”

Danny’s fingers tightened around your thigh and you fought back the gasp as his nails dug half-moons into your skin. “Do you want to tell him why you’re tired or should we let him use his imagination?”

You hid your laugh behind your hand and Pierre’s interest only grew as he leaned closer. “I don’t think he is creative enough to imagine everything we did. Maybe I’ll tell Kika and she can surprise him.”

A dopey smile crossed his face at the mention of his girlfriend before a camera flashed and he sat back in his seat with a huff of annoyance at the photographer. “I thought they weren’t allowed at these things.”

You shrugged and accepted the glass of wine Danny took from a passing waitress. “Netflix wants a taste of everything this year, all the behind the scenes shots. Just be grateful you don’t have to wear microphones.”

“I dunno, could be entertaining as hell,” Daniel chuckled as he teased his fingers along the edge of your panties. “But they would have to censor 99% of what happens outside of the paddock. For us at least.”

“We get it, you guys have sex,” Lando said with a roll of his eyes as he arrived late and dropped into the seat beside Daniel, Carlos on the other side of him. “Sup, what’d I miss?”

“Nothing much. Pierre got schooled on Insta, and we are going public,” Daniel casually stated, your head whipping around towards him as he shrugged with a smile. “What? It was bothering you and it’ll shut him up too.”

Instead of looking annoyed that his fun was coming to an end, Pierre laughed and let his arm slip off your chair. “About time. Pay up, Norris.”

Lando groaned and fished his wallet out his pocket, his fingers flicking through the cash before taking it all. “You couldn’t have waited one more week? I’m a bit light. Can I get you the rest tomorrow?”

You curled an eyebrow as the money exchanged hands in front of you and you reached out, taking one of the €100 notes from Pierre. “My cut for using my relationship for your gains.”

“Well, if I’m losing five grand on this I want to see the evidence,” Lando said as he started unfolding and refolding the swan-shaped napkin in front of him. “Or I’ll have it back, thanks, with interest.”

“You’re not getting this back,” you stated as you shoved the cash into your bra before fetching your phone from the table. “My employers are cheap bastards.”

Pierre laughed with a shake of his head, knowing you had one of Danny’s credit cards and that he would never let you spend a cent of your own money while you were with him. It was the same amongst all the drivers, they spoiled their partners and enjoyed providing everything one could want or need. They didn’t see it as being ‘used’.

“There,” you grinned as Daniel’s phone beeped with a notification you had posted on Instagram. “The not-so-secret secret is out.”

“Let the chaos begin.”

Daniel’s hand disappeared from your thigh and you instantly missed the warmth before he reached for your nape. His fingers tightened their grip as he drew you closer and your breath hitched as you saw the possessive glint in his eyes before he crushed his lips to yours. The room was forgotten as he took all your focus and your phone fell to your lap so you could grab the lapels of his collar and deepen the kiss.

Ten seconds or ten minutes could have passed by the time you parted breathlessly and as your eyes fluttered open they were blinded by the flashed of the cameras aimed your way. Daniel smirked and pulled the finger at them, causing another bright burst of flashes. “Fuck ‘em all.”

“People will talk.”

Your tongue wet your lips before you dared him. “Let them.”

His eyes drifted down your body before he dragged them slowly back up. “They’ll say you’re too young.”

“Age is just a number.” You used his own words against him, the words that had lingered in your mind since he had said them to you the first day you met.

“They’ll say you only got your job because of me.”

A small giggle bubbled up as your fingers toyed with the buttons of his shirt. “I’ll show them my degree.”

“You have all the answers, don’t you, kitten?” he smirked.

“No, there’s still one I’m waiting on...”

The moment hung suspended in the air as his brown eyes searched your face for the answer and he swore under his breath. “Fuck ‘em all. You’re mine.”

Daniel’s teeth nipped at your earlobe and you inhaled sharply at the bolt of lightning that struck your core, tightening your stomach as it flipped in response. “You’re mine, kitten, all mine.”

You couldn’t even form a response as your back pressed against the wall and he pinned you there with his hips. The denim he wore did little to hide the hard length that he ground against your core and you trembled with anticipation.

“Please, Danny,” you begged unabashedly. You had fantasised over this moment since you had met him but nothing could prepare you for the reality. Your eyes screwed shut as his zip brushed over your clit and your lips parted at the sensitive touch, a keening whine slipping from them, “Pleeease.”

Your arms tightened around his neck as he stepped away from the wall and carried you to the bed, swiping the half empty wine bottle as he passed the coffee table. The mattress rushed up to meet you and he smirked down at you as he used his knee to spread your legs wider.

“This isn’t champagne but we’ll make it work.” His fingers curled around the bottleneck and his thumb covered the hole so he could control the flow as he started to pour it over you. You jolted at the difference in temperature and the red potation started to snake across your skin with each small movement you made.

“It’s going to stain the bedding,” you whispered as you tried to hold your breath so it didn’t displace even more.

“Wine will be the least of their worries,” he teased as he dipped his head down and lashed his tongue across your stomach, dipping it into your belly button where the wine had pooled until he had licked it clean. Your stomach clenched when he rolled his eyes up your body to look at you and you swore you almost came from that image alone.

You were heady as he made his way up your body, trailing a dribble of wine between the valley of your breasts before chasing it with his tongue. His thumb traced your lips, parting them as he tipped the bottle up to fill your mouth until it overflowed. The bottle was carelessly discarded and a large hand caught your chin, tipping it back before he sealed his mouth over yours and shared the flavour of the wine on your tongue.

You silenced your phone from the incessant notifications that hadn’t stopped all evening and tossed it onto the coffee table. Dropping onto the sofa in the quiet hotel, you swirled the topped up red wine around your glass mindlessly and wondered what you had gotten yourself into.

“It’ll die down, as soon as something new comes along.” Daniel fell into the space beside you and took the wine stem from your hands, sipping it before placing it on the table and pulling you onto his lap. His hair was still damp from the shower he had just had and every few seconds a droplet would break free from the strands and run down his neck. “You’re not regretting it, are you?”

There was a touch of vulnerability in his tone that he tried to hide with a smile but it didn’t reach his eyes. You cupped his face and brushed your thumbs over the creases that were deeper when he truly smiled and shook your head. “A little apprehensive of what’s to come,” you admitted with a whisper. “But I’m proud to be yours, you make me happy.”

“That’s all that matters to me.” He guided your head to his shoulder and you relaxed as your body moulded to fit against him perfectly. This was your safe place and your soul recognised that as the late hour instantly caught up with you. A tired yawn clicked the joint of your jaw and your eyes grew heavy as you nuzzled your face closer to his neck. “And what do we say if someone has a problem?”

“Fuck them,” your murmured sleepily, making his shoulders bounce with a silent laugh.

“That’s right, kitten,” he whispered across your skin as his lips rested on your forehead. “Fuck ‘em all.”

Click here for part four.

Tagging: @moonvr @copper-boom @yunnie-f1 @ophcelia @lightsoutletsgo @alwaysclassyeagle @neiich @omgsuperstarg @starwarssavy23 @fdl305 @faeb1tch42069 @sweetestrose569 @pleasantducktimetravel @zendayabelova @dr3lover @writerscurse @christianpulisic10 @alexisquinnlee-bc @purplephantomwolf @belennasif @ryiamarie @mickslover @tyna-19 @destourtereaux @sunf1ower16 @octaviareina @laneyspaulding19 @booknerd2004-blog @mimimarvelingmarvel @chonkybonky @jpg3 @bangtanxberm

#daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo smut #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo fanfic #f1 smut #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction #daniel ricciardo

1K notes · View notes

lanuvolanera · 3 years

Text

Sept 19th - Cofession

Chapter 1

My first ever fanfic, lads, be nice and enjoy.

---------

Coming out of Casper High mid afternoon, Danny and Tucker made their way down the school steps. Students trickled out the front doors in small groups and split their own ways as the duo began their trek to Fenton works.

"Man, I'm glad Sam didn't come today." Danny said, grasping his backpack strap slung over his shoulder.

"I know, right? She would've been miserable." Tucker replied, pocketing his PDA with a light frown on his face.

The day went well. Steady, in fact. They seemed to have kept off of Dash's radar and stayed on Mr Lancer's good side with the English assignment. Not to mention that it was pizza day at the cafeteria, the only good thing that the cooks knew how to make. Yeah, today wasn't so bad, it just felt empty without Sam by their side.

"She should be feeling better by tomorrow, right?"

"Honestly, I think she'll take the rest of the week off. If it wasn't for that ghost..."

"Oh god, don't remind me, I still feel awful." Danny said with a look of mild horror, still traumatised from the night before.

A pause in their conversation prompted more memories from last night.

Phantom, two feet above the ground, felt paralysed as he looked on and watched as Tucker ducked undercover from the ectoblasts firing in all directions from what looked like a regular bedsheet type ghost, only this one was different, this one screeched and wailed and gnawed it's black teeth, blood dripping from its mouth, staining its torso.

"We'll give her a call tonight, see how she's doing." Tucker said, dragging Danny out of his thoughts.

"Or we could head over, see how she's doing in person?"

"Or we could leave her be and let her rest."

Danny didn't like that idea, he was worried and felt guilty and ashamed that he couldn't prevent her injury. As minor as it was, she couldn't find the strength to come to school the next day, when he'd hoped to apologise again and ask how she's doing again and to offer her anything she needs again. He made his mind up right then.

"I'll fly over tonight then, when everyone's gone to bed."

"Sure, don't forget to bring her homework and tell her you love her."

"What?" Danny gasped in shock, a deep red blush covering his cheeks.

"Nothing." Tucker looked away with a sheepish grin and quickly changed the topic.

"We still need to do some research about last night's ghost, I've downloaded some pdf's which I'll send to you and Sam to see if there are other ways to dispell it if the thermos didn't work."

They turn the corner and can see the large Fenton works sign in the distance, two blocks away.

"Race you." Danny smirked, and sprinted off before Tucker had a chance to realise what was happening.

With a loud "hey!" from Tucker in the background, Danny slowed as he neared the steps to his front door and tried the handle, locked. Hmm, his parents are out, Jazz would still be at school studying in the library, looks like he and Tucker have the house to themselves. Danny pulls out his keys and unlocks the door just as Tucker catches up out of breath.

"That's cheating, you had a head start." He pants.

"Come on, the computer in the lab is free, go down and fire it up while I get some coffee brewing."

"Sounds like a plan."

-------------‐-------------------------------------------------

Later that night, Danny flew Tucker back to his house.

They soared through the night sky, clear and full of stars, street lamps illuminating the buildings below them, his best friends arm slung over phantoms shoulders.

"Look, all I'm saying is if we go back tomorrow, what if we make things worse, pissed it off even more. If its trapped there like we think, what harm will it do if we leave it alone?"

"It's different though, what if when we found it there, we let it loose?"

"If we did then don't you think we would've seen it again by now?"

"I don't want to chance it, we need to find a way to deal with it permanently."

"Don't tell me you're going back there by yourself."

"No, I'm going to Sam's, like I said."

"You'd better."

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

Once he'd said his goodbyes to Tucker, and reassured him he wasn't going to do something wreckless, Danny took off into the air once more and set course for Sam's House.

With a backpack full with his thermos, his laptop, his phone, both his and Sam's maths homework, a couple of pens, pencils, markers and 2 cans of Sam's favorite soda, Danny sped across the rooftops when a blue puff of cold air burst it's way past his lips.

"Of course, I thought it was too quiet tonight."

Taking a quick glance of his surroundings, there was nothing to be seen in the empty streets. A brief pause, his breath held in his lungs, then glass crashing from a shop window a few blocks down caught Danny's attention.

Cackling laughter and bursts of light flashed from the window, Danny wasted no time reaching the building, turning himself intangible and flew through the ceiling.

"Oh, come on! What the hell are you doing here? In a pet store of all places?"

....

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

Danny finally arrived at his destination. Peaking through the window to find Sam laying on her bed, light from her laptop illuminating her face, in her black pyjamas and a cast on her leg.

He knocked on the glass, and smiled as Sam startled.

Waving him in, he floated through the glass and landed with a soft thump on the plush carpet, and settled on the edge of her bed.

"Hey, how're you feeling?" Danny said with concern in his voice.

"Fine. Hey, you need to sign my cast." Sam says with a playful smirk. Danny half expected her to be more upset about being injured, or at least, as upset as he is.

After the escape from the warehouse the night before, with Sam cradled in his arms and Tucker following not too far behind, all Danny could think was this was all his fault. Sam got injured because of him, because he was too late, too late to swoop in and protect her from the falling scaffolding from the ghost fight, that cost her her ability to run to safety. He's the hero, isn't he? And he couldn't save her from something as simple as falling debris? What kind of hero-

"Danny-"

Sam could see the distraught look on Danny's face and he caught himself looking down at her cast. It could've been a lot worse, but still.

Danny looks up at her, he needs to confess.

"I'm sorry, Sam, I'm sorry you got hurt, I should've been more careful-"

"Hey, don't worry about it, these things happen, right? It could've been a lot worse."

"I know, I keep telling myself that, but still-"

"But still, we need to figure out a way to get rid of that ghost, I've been doing some research on this specific type of ghost and I've read through the files Tucker sent me, and I think I have a good idea on what we're working with."

Sam brings the laptop closer and turns it around for Danny to see pages upon the screen filled with information from different historic and religious sites.

"Does it say anything about why the thermos didn't work?" He asked playfully. Of course, the Fenton thermos only being a recent invention, there wouldn't be any information that hasn't been put online by the Fentons themselves indicating its presence in the ghost hunting community across the globe. Sure, there have been other containment methods but for this particular ghost, the best method would be to remove it from this plane entirely instead of just bottling it up.

Other pages on the screen suggest cleansing treatments of the haunted area using a mixture of herbs, minerals and rituals, witchcraft. If that could work, maybe the Fentons have other means of ghost study to pursue, if they believed in that sort of thing, of course.

"Hoestly, this stuff is giving me a headache, I need a break."

"Good thing I have just what you need." Danny says, reaching for his backpack.

He pulls out his own laptop, the 2 cans of soda and their homework, which Sam gives a mild look of disgust.

"Great."

"You don't look at all enthused." Danny says with a cheeky smile, and pops open his can, passing the other one over to Sam who takes it gratefully.

A small awkward pause later and Sam has to snap Danny back to reality again.

"Look, I know you think this is your fault, so here's my obligatory I'm-not-a-damsel-in-distress talk, we're a team, we'll sort this out, and we can forget about it."

"It's not just that, I don't know, it's just that- I don't think I'll be able to forget about it. There's something about this ghost, it's terrifying." Danny says, setting his can aside.

"I know, ugly too." Sam smiles as Danny looks up, he remembers what Tucker said to him earlier.

Tell her you love her.

"I don't think I'd be able to live with myself if something happened to you, I couldn't imagine my life without you."

At this, Sam sits up and puts her can on her bedside table. They're face to face with each other now.

"I couldn't imagine my life without you either, and you're right, that ghost is terrifying, even more of a reason to fight it."

Tell her.

"This ghost fight seems to be putting things into perspective."

You love her.

"I know what you mean."

They don't know when they got closer, or when they started leaning in.

Danny lightly brushes his fingers across her cheek, tilting her head just so, and presses his lips to hers.

It's a little awkward at first, spending a few seconds in that position. Then someone, or maybe both, adjust their lips, and oh.

Oh wow.

The sensation is amazing, sparks running down their spines and they readjust again, and again.

Their arms begin to wrap around each other and oh god, they're actually making out, kissing. They don't even realise they've fallen onto their sides on the bed, eyes squeezed shut applying and reapplying firm presses of their lips together.

They stay that way for a few moments, or is it lifetimes, when a tune came from the bedside table.

They pull apart, dazed red faces inches from each other, before Sam sits up and grabs her phone.

"It's Tucker."

She answers.

"Hey, Sam, I know you're busy recovering and all and I know it's late but I think I have a lead."

"That's great, what've you got?"

"I've found a review online about a book at the town hall library, if we can get it checked out tomorrow we might be able to find a way to exorcise this ghost."

Sam and Danny look at each other with hope.

"What's the title?"

"Ghost hunting for dummies."

"Be serious."

"I'll make you laugh one day, I swear."

"Tucker."

"It's called 'witchcraft untold', there are only 2 copies in town, the other is at the 'Skulk and Lurke'. The review made it sound like a work of fiction, and maybe it is, who knows? But I think it's worth checking out."

Sam makes a mental note of the title. There are a few books she's planning on checking out, some including cultural and religious beliefs on the undead, magic and pagan rituals, and scientific findings surrounding ghosts. If this book Tucker mentioned is as promising as it sounds, things could be looking up.

"I've been meaning to go to the 'Skulk and Lurke' tomorrow anyway, so I'll keep an eye out for it."

"Thats great, we'll talk more later, get some rest."

" I will do, see you later, Tuck."

"See you, and say hi to Danny for me!"

Click.

They glance at each other, and Danny moves to stand up.

"I should get going, um..."

"Yeah, you're gonna need some rest too if we're gonna face this ghost tomorrow night."

"We?"

"Yeah?"

"No."

"What?"

Danny couldn't believe he had to say this.

"Sam, you're injured, there's no way I'm letting you come along..."

"You're not 'letting' me do anything, I'm going. We still need to figure out a plan before then anyway, when I get a chance to check out that book."

The air surrounding them starts to tense.

"How am I supposed to fight this ghost and protect you at the same time? Or have you already forgotten about last night?"

"Excuse me? Have you forgotten what I said only ten minutes ago? I'm not letting you go off and play hero all by yourself!"

"That is not-"

"Save it. I can take care of myself."

"Fine, I'll call you in the morning."

"Fine."

And with that, Danny turns towards the window and lifts off, phases through, and rises into the night sky.

#dp shiptember 2021 #danny phantom #sam manson #tucker foley #amethyst ocean

17 notes · View notes

mca-attack21 · 3 years

Text

Shape Shifted - part 1

Hi guys! This is the next part of the Stiles Sis Fic series based loosely (and even that is generous) off of season two episode two. It can be read as a stand-alone. For the rest of this series and more of my writing, click here. I will be updating at least once a week until the series is finished. Enjoy!

Now that Lydia was home and safe, you allowed your thoughts to drift back to Isaac. You laid on your back and stared aimlessly at the ceiling, wondering what it was that he was about to do, or what he already did. You knew that for him not to be straight forward with you that it must’ve been something that he didn’t think you would approve of. And for him to even be considering it, things must’ve been getting worse for him at home again.

Your heart pained to think how his father could… anyways. You wished that you could talk him into reporting it, but every time you brought it up he got so defensive. At some point, you decided that if he was going to go through it you would make sure that he didn’t have to go through it alone. Thinking over the past two months, you felt bad for not trying harder to be there for Isaac. No matter how hectic things had been with Scott and Stiles, it wasn’t an excuse.

You pulled out your phone to text Isaac but were interrupted by a frantic knock at your window.

Speak of the devil

You opened the window and ushered him inside, “Isaac what happened? Are you okay?”

“I-I think that my father’s dead,” he admitted as his breathing sped up.

No amount of anything could have prepared you for those words out of his mouth under these circumstances.

“It’s okay Isaac, just breath, tell me what happened,” you said calmly as you led him over to your bed. It took a few minutes to calm down enough to collect his thoughts, but even then you could see the fear in his eyes.

“You won’t believe me,” he decides, pulling away from you and taking a step towards the window.

“Isaac, you know that there is nothing you could say that I wouldn’t believe. Now please, start from the beginning,” you invite him to sit beside you.

He reluctantly begins, “That night in the graveyard, after I was attacked, there was this man. He saved my life and then started talking about these crazy things. He knew about my dad, and told me that there was a way I could protect myself, a way to make sure that I could never be hurt again. And he explained that it wasn’t going to be easy, but that it would be worth it. I didn’t believe him, not at first, but then he showed me. He gave me a choice, and I accepted his offer,” Isaac explained.

“I’m confused, what was it that he gave you?” you asked.

“He - I -,” he paused for a moment trying to decide the best way to explain this to you, “okay, what I am about to tell you, it’s dangerous and you have to swear not to tell anyone,” Isaac looked up for confirmation but decided it wasn’t enough, “Y/n, I want to hear you say it, I want you to swear to me.”

“I swear, whatever you tell me will stay between us. But god Isaac, you’re starting to scare me.”

Instead of telling you with words, Isaac allowed his eyes to show yellow. He was surprised to see that you didn’t shrink back in fear or hate. Before he could explain further, you caught him off-guard, “You’re a werewolf.”

“How do you know about this?” he asked taken aback.

But you ignored him, “You are a werewolf, which makes the man you met Derek Hale, and if your dad is dead, the hunters are going to think you did it. And even if they don’t tomorrow is a full moon,” you realized.

Isaac stared at you in shock, out of all of the reactions he had played through in his mind, this most definitely was not one of them.

“Isaac,” you said pulling him out of his thoughts, “what happened tonight?”

“It started out how it always starts, my dad and I were eating dinner and then things escalated until he was throwing things at me. He threw this glass right above my head and it shattered leaving a shard in my cheek, just below my eye. I was just going to leave, but my dad saw me heal, so I ran. He followed me and I managed to ditch him, but then I heard his screams. I circled back, and I could smell his blood, too much blood. So I freaked and came here, I didn’t know what else to do,” he explained as his breathing became more frantic again.

“It’s okay Isaac. Everything is going to be okay, I promise. We just need to go see Derek, he’ll know how to handle this. Come on,” you said as you pulled him up and towards the door. You had him wait in the hall as you snuck into your brother’s room and stole the keys to Roscoe.

As the two of you backed out of the driveway, Isaac asked, “How do you know about all of this? Werewolves, Derek, hunters? Did he offer you the bite too? Are you one of us?”

“Not me, Scott. And it is a long and complicated story, but I promise that I will be here to help you through all of this. It might seem overwhelming now, but it’ll all work out, I promise.”

So, the two of you went to Derek’s loft and explained the situation. Derek ordered that Isaac act like normal and lay low until he could figure it out. But outside of that, his curiosity as to what had actually happened was trumping his need to protect Isaac.

A little annoyed at the alpha, you took Isaac back out to the jeep and decided that you were both going to stay the night at your house. After sticking Stiles’ keys back in his room, you went back to Isaac.

“Okay, so let’s get this straight. Because the police are going to question you once they find your father, so it’s better to prepare now. Your dad and you got into a small argument and you left and rode your bike here. You’ve been here all night and tomorrow morning you will come down and eat breakfast with us so that my father can see that with his own eyes. If they ask about anything else, you don’t speak until you have a lawyer present. They can’t hold you unless there is a witness or you admit to doing something. So after they question you, you come back here and we will figure out how to get you through your first full moon.”

“Okay, I can do that,” he agreed, “How are you so good at this? You’re so calm, while I’m over here completely freaking out.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo,” you joked.

“I’m glad that you are here, I don’t even want to think about what I would do without you.”

“Well fortunately, you don’t have to worry about it. Now get some rest,” you said motioning for him to climb in your bed next to you.

The next morning went to plan. You paraded Isaac in front of your dad. Once you got to school, you stayed in Isaac’s general vicinity offering reassuring smiles every so often. When you weren’t with Isaac, you were with Lydia who was trying to adjust to her first day back after being naked in the woods for three days. She didn’t remember anything, which was probably a good thing, but that didn’t help the fact that everyone was staring at her like she was crazy.

To say that you were relieved when the school day was over was an understatement. If you could get Isaac to stay with Derek past the full moon before the police brought him in for questioning it would definitely be ideal. Now, you just had to make it through practice.

Even as you had that thought though, everything started to go wrong. First, Scott had been able to sense a werewolf and went through the team one by one until he discovered that it was Isaac. Though before any sort of confrontation could occur, the police showed up and took Isaac away for questioning.

You made your way out to Roscoe where Scott and Stiles were and Scott turned to you, “they took Isaac in for questioning, his dad was found brutally murdered earlier this morning.” After seeing your lack of reaction he added, “but it seems like you already knew that.”

“Did you also know that he was a werewolf?” Stiles spoke before you had a chance to say anything.

“He is innocent. And possibly in danger, because in case you haven’t noticed tonight is a full moon. So maybe you should be thinking about what we are going to do if they decide to try to hold him overnight.”

“He’s Derek’s problem,” Scott replied trying to hide the betrayal he was feeling.

“You don’t mean that,” you reply, trying to remember that the full moon was affecting your friend.

“Why not? Maybe this is what it takes for Derek to understand that he can’t just turn innocent teenagers to fuel his power trip” Scott tried to justify, raising his voice.

“Whatever Scott,” you dismissed before turning to Stiles, “take me to the station, I’ll figure this out myself.”

However your brother hesitated not wanting to pick between you and Scott. Having enough of both of them you rolled your eyes, “Fine, I’ll find my own ride,” you said before storming back towards the school.

“Y/n-” Stiles called after you.

“Let her go, we don’t need her,” Scott growled.

“Hey, what is your problem?” Stiles asked defensively.

“If Y/n wants to choose Derek and Isaac over us then we don’t need her, do we?”

“Careful Scott, you are starting to sound jealous,” Stiles said as he threw his bag in the back seat.

“I just think it’s stupid that she is defending them and that she lied to us for god knows how long.”

Stiles decided to just keep his mouth shut as he drove the pair to Scott’s house. Meanwhile, you got a ride to the police station from Danny and were sitting in a chair outside his office. You noticed that there was an officer milling around that you had never noticed before which was saying something considering the fact that your dad was the Sheriff.

You noticed that he ducked into one of the empty offices as your dad came out of the interrogation room, clearly surprised to see you.

“What do you think you are doing here?” he asked as he let you into his office.

“I’m here for Isaac, how are things going?”

“To be honest with you kiddo, not good.”

“Why what happened?”

“We have a witness that the two of them were fighting last night and then his bike was found at the scene of the crime.”

“And if you looked at it, you would’ve noticed that it had a flat tire, which is why Isaac had to walk to our house,” you explained thankful that you had thought to have Derek take care of the tire earlier.

“I know he’s your friend, did you have any idea that his father was abusing him?”

Your face fell, if your dad knew that, it meant that he either had a witness or was able to search Isaac’s house.

“You should have told me,” your father sighed looking disappointed.

“He didn’t want me too,” you tried but you already knew it was hardly an excuse, “but if you know about that, then you should also know that one of the ways his dad punished him was by locking him in a freezer which causes him to become claustrophobic. And locking him in a holding cell would be traumatizing,” you tried to reason.

“So then what would you propose?”

“Find a way to delay the process until tomorrow. Isaac can stay the night at our house so you can keep an on him, take him into your custody or something I don’t know. He just lost his dad, and while their relationship was … complicated, he was still his dad. This is the last thing he needs right now.”

“Y/n…”

“Please Dad, he’s my friend and he’s innocent.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he concedes.

“Can I see him?” you ask as your dad is exiting his office.

“He’s in the first interrogation room.”

“Thank you.”

You let out a breath that you didn’t know you had been holding, and turned the doorknob to enter the room where Isaac had been left alone.

“How are you holding up?” you asked taking a seat across from him and tossing him a reese's from the vending machine.

“Better now that you are here. I heard you talking to your dad, do you really think that I’ll be able to walk out of here tonight?”

“I hope so, but don’t worry if not I have a back-up plan. Just try to stay calm, I know you are going through a lot today.”

“I can’t believe everything could go wrong so fast, I never wanted this. I just didn’t want to be afraid anymore.”

“You don’t deserve this, and I’m sorry that you are here right now. But I promise you that we will figure this out.”

“I hope so.”

“Let’s try to get your mind on something else,” you said before engaging him in conversation until there was a soft knock on the door and your dad came in.

“Well, Isaac, if you agree to staying in my custody, we are going to let you go for the night. We might need you to come back in tomorrow and answer a few more questions,” your dad explained.

“Thank you so much Sheriff Stilinski,” Isaac said graciously.

“Don’t thank me, thank Y/n she’s practically your lawyer,” you dad joked, before adding “I have to finish up some paperwork, but then we can all go back to the house.”

“Sounds good, in the meantime can we wait in your office?” you asked wanting to get Isaac into a different environment.

“That’s fine.”

As soon as you and Isaac were alone in his office, you pulled out your phone and text Derek to update him on the entire situation. You then turned to Isaac, “How are you feeling?” you said referring to the full moon.

“I got it under control for the time being, I think that it’ll be better once we get out of here though.”

“I don’t know if Derek told you, but your first one is always the hardest. You have to find something or someone that keeps you human. An anchor. Otherwise you’ll lose control. Stiles has chains and stuff that he used for Scott, and I’ll be there every step of the way. If it starts to get bad, I’ll call Derek.”

“I’m glad one of us has a plan,” Isaac said before resting his head in his hands feeling exhausted with everything that had happened.

You took a seat next to him and pulled him in your arms, not saying a word. It was about fifteen minutes later when your dad came in and escorted the two of you out to his car. When you arrived home he mentioned something about ordering pizza, you agreed and then rushed Isaac, who you could tell was beginning to struggle, upstairs. You got the stuff you needed out of Stiles’ room and noticed headlights across the street. Hunters.

Realizing how much harder this would make things, you called Derek and told him to stay away. This could actually be a good thing, as long as you could keep Isaac under control, then maybe they wouldn’t suspect him of being a werewolf. That was definitely going to be easier said than done. Especially when you were alone and having to hide everything from your dad.

You re-entered your room and set up the chains, hoping that by some miracle you wouldn’t need them. Your dad brought up the pizza and you accepted it gratefully before quickly closing the door behind you. This was going to be a long night.

#teen wolf #teenwolf #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf series #teen wolf imagine #teenwolf imagines #teenwolf imagine #stiles sis fic #teen wolf x reader #stiles imagine #scott mccall imagine #stilinski imagines #isaac lahey #isaac lahey imagine #isaac imagine #isaac lahey x reader #isaac x reader

83 notes · View notes

ectolights · 3 years

Text

Haunting Questions

Happy Holiday Truce @rebel-skull! Sorry I’m skating right up against the deadline. This holiday season got busier than I expected.

Thank you for letting me change the prompt a little! This is a DP/Buzzfeed Unsolved crossover fic with a side of Demon Shane. (Read it on AO3 | FFN)

Thanks also to the ever wonderful @oboenotclarinet for your help when I got stuck. I’d be a mess with out you <3

~~~

Maddie attacked the living room with the rare intention of making it look somewhat presentable, for the equally rare occasion of guests coming over. The scorch marks on the wall from the ectopus incident last month she could, unfortunately, do nothing about, but maybe the lime green stains on the couch could still be scrubbed out.

“Danny! Come help me clean up! Our guests will be here soon!”

“Why can’t Jazz do it?” Danny’s automatic response to housework rang out from upstairs, in the direction of his room. Maddie eyed the stain on the couch critically. It’d probably take more than Incredible and elbow grease to get this one out.

“Also, what guests? We literally never have anyone over. Are you actually cleaning?” Danny plodded down the stairs, stopping on the bottom step with his arms draped over the railing. He quirked his eyebrow at his mother in inquiry.

Maddie walked over to the closet with the cleaning supplies, responding over her shoulder, “Jazz is out with her friends, she’ll be back just before the guests arrive—yes, she does have friends, don’t give me that, young man—and I need you to help me tidy up because we were contacted by a team of professional ghost hunters, to be interviewed for their show. Isn’t that exciting! We’ll have the opportunity to share our knowledge about ghosts and ghost hunting with viewers all across the country!” She rifled through the haphazard piles in the closet, searching for the Fenton Foaming Cleaner that would surely (hopefully) remove the sickly splotch on the couch.

Danny moved from the base of the stairs to flop down on the armchair, helpful as ever. The raised eyebrow never faltered as Maddie made her way back to the offending couch, spray bottle prize in hand. “They don’t sound all that professional if they have a tv show. Most of those shows are just a bunch of fancy tricks, you know. Are you sure these guys are for real?”

Maddie spared a glance in her son’s direction, to where he lay sprawled across the chair, one leg carelessly thrown over an arm. She turned back to the stain and spritzed it with the cleaner. “They’re from a company in Los Angeles, called Buzzfeed. They were nothing but professional when I spoke to the representative on the phone.” The stain began to bubble green, an acrid aroma piercing the air. She hummed in concern. It wasn’t supposed to do that. Hopefully that meant it was working.

“Oh wow, that’s a real vote of confidence. Mom, Buzzfeed is like, ‘what pizza you are based on your favorite color,’ or ‘we tried being hipsters for a day,’ they’re an entertainment company. The last thing they are is professional ghost hunters.” Of course, this would probably work in Danny’s favor more than if they were actual ghost hunters, but, well. No one needed to know that.

Maddie paused from her observation of the science experiment that was the couch and met Danny’s raised eyebrow with one of her own. “Even so, sweetie, they’ve offered to pay for this interview and they’re already on their way here. Besides, even if they are a little… new, to the ghost hunting world, then it’s just an even better opportunity to get the word out there! We can outfit them with proper ghost hunting equipment and make sure they’re equipped to handle all the standard ghostly threats. Your father will certainly be excited to show them all his latest inventions!” Her trademark optimism could rival even Pamela Manson’s, and at times Danny questioned how anyone could have that positive of an outlook, even about things like phony ghost hunters coming for a flipping tv show. Still, there was clearly nothing to be done about it now, so Danny figured he might as well brace himself for the inevitable catastrophe.

As Maddie returned her attention to the couch, concerned frown deepening at what she finally decided was a lost cause, she opted to wipe away what was left of the “cleaner” and cover the whole couch with a long, wide throw blanket. That would at least hide the hole that the Fenton Foaming Cleaner had eaten into the cushion. Better than nothing, she supposed. “Now then, Danny, if you’re done griping about people sharing our passion, then you can get your dirty shoes off the arm of the chair and help me dust the living room. They’ll be here soon, and I want the house to be somewhat presentable. Once Jazz comes home we’ll get your father out of the lab and we can all be here for the interview. It’ll be so exciting!”

Danny huffed and reluctantly got to work. “Still think this is a dumb idea,” he mumbled under his breath. His mother rolled her eyes and didn’t comment.

When Jazz came home a little while later she revealed to Danny she had known about this interview for a few days, but after having looked up the show she’d deemed it a non-threat. She explained she was under the assumption Danny knew about the upcoming interview as well, so she didn’t think to tell him. They both supposed their parents had simply had it slip their minds—not an unusual occurrence. Besides, it was a moot point now; the tv people would be here any minute.

“Alright, kids, I’ll make sure your father has kept the lab in one piece and get him to join us before they arrive. Danny, you’re on door duty. Don’t let your father get close enough to threaten them with the Fenton Bazooka. We don’t need a repeat of last time,” this last part was said under Maddie’s breath as she headed to the lab door in the kitchen. Jazz and Danny exchanged a knowing look.

When the doorbell finally did ring, Jazz perched neatly on the chair, Jack and Maddie came running into the room (“Ghost!” “No, Jack, ghosts don’t use the front door, we’ve talked about this Sweetie.”) and Danny opened the front door, pained smile already in place. He was met by two young-ish guys—or, more accurately, a guy and a tree with legs—who both looked very out of place in a town where ghost attacks came on the news as often as the weather. The shorter, more average looking of the two had a bright smile on his face, and the guy with trees for legs (Seriously, how was he so tall?) had his hands in his pockets and a laidback grin.

As soon as Danny laid eyes on the taller one, his smile fell from his face.

There was no way this guy was human.

“Hi! I’m Ryan Bergara, and this is my co-host, Shane Madej. Our cameraman Mark is grabbing the equipment out of the car. We’re the guys from Buzzfeed Unsolved; we’re supposed to interview the local ghost hunters. This is the Fenton residence, correct?” The shorter guy—Ryan, apparently—bounced a little on his toes.

“Well I should hope so Ryan, they have a giant neon sign,” Shane grinned, earning him a lighthearted jab to the ribs from Ryan. Danny narrowed his eyes.

“Yes, of course, welcome!” Maddie came up behind Danny, and he stepped to the side grudgingly as his mother continued, “Please come in and sit down, we’re very excited to have you here. I’m Maddie, and this is my husband Jack and our kids Jazz and Danny. We’ve been looking forward to this ever since you contacted us! It’s a thrilling opportunity.” She led them into the living room, not noticing Danny’s sudden change in attitude. As soon as Shane stepped over the threshold, the electric ice that usually accompanied Danny’s ghost sense washed down his spine—but his ghost sense hadn’t actually gone off. He’d know if it had. This guy was giving him major danger vibes, but he clearly wasn’t a ghost. Danny swallowed the growl that was building in his chest.

Maddie continued welcoming them, unperturbed.

“I always love meeting fellow ghost hunters!” Jack announced in his usual booming fashion. “Always good to see more folks interested in this perilous profession! You can never have too many people fighting back against the threat of those putrid ectoplasmic post-human manifestations.”

Ryan faltered, his smile wavering. “What? I don’t… Fighting? What do you mean, fighting?”

Maddie’s brows creased. “Well, you’re ghost hunters, right? Surely you know that all ghosts are the evil incarnations of human imprints, driven by obsessions to violence and chaos. They have to be dealt with to protect people.”

Based on the gobsmacked expressions on the two purported ghost hunter’s faces, they hadn’t exactly expected this answer.

“So I take it you definitely believe in ghosts, then.”

A brief moment of stunned silence followed Shane’s statement, even Jack temporarily lost for words. “Well of course ghosts are real, that’s ridiculous!” Jack exclaimed once he recovered. “They attack the city practically every week! We Fentons have developed the most advanced ecto-technology capable of harming and containing ghosts. We’ve been studying ghosts for years!”

In what to Danny was a clear effort to ward off one of their father’s ghost rants, Jazz asked, “You’ve been doing this show for a while, correct? You must have fought a ghost before, or at least encountered one?”

“Well, no, we’ve never seen a ghost, or any paranormal creature. We always look for evidence, but we almost never find anything that counts as compelling.”

Ryan, still stunned, held up his hands. “O-okay. Hold on. This is… this is a lot. Why don’t we uh, why don’t we set up for the interview, and then we can continue this conversation while we’re recording, so we don’t have to repeat anything? It’ll be more genuine that way.”

While the Buzzfeed guys, now including their cameraman, set up for the interview, the Fenton parents whispered to each other in heated sounding tones, presumably still baffled by the lack of proper hunting knowledge. Jazz came over to stand by Danny, who (despite the strange turn the afternoon had already taken) hadn’t taken his eyes off Shane. The longer he was in his house the more Danny felt the urge to fight. Jazz didn’t seem to notice her brother’s weird mood, instead commenting, “Well I guess they’re just yet more phonies, huh?”

“No.”

“What?” She sounded taken aback.

“The taller one. Shane. He’s not human. I don’t think he’s a ghost either, he didn’t set my ghost sense of properly, but he’s definitely something. And he’s powerful, too. He gives me a really bad feeling.”

Okay, Jazz was definitely worried now. “Well what are we going to do about it? Is he a threat? Should I call Sam and Tucker?”

“No, I don’t think they’ll be able to help. I don’t think I could take him. I don’t know how to explain it, but I can just sense that he’s too much for me, even with help. I don’t like it.” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “Besides, he hasn’t actively made any threats yet. For now, we just keep an eye out. If it goes bad, I’ll deal with it while you get Mom and Dad out. Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

Jazz glanced between Shane and Danny, pensive. “Okay, but… please be careful.”

Danny spared his sister a brief look. “I’ll try.”

There wasn’t much they could do but act normal and hope for the best, so once everything was set up and the cameras were ready to roll, Shane and Ryan sat on the recently-blanket-covered couch across from Jack and Maddie, who were each in an armchair. Jazz and Danny perched on the loveseat, out of frame and on edge.

Ryan worked quickly through his usual introduction and explanation, eager to get to the meat of the situation.

“So Drs. Fenton, what can you tell us about Amity Park as a haunted location?”

“Well,” Maddie began, “The ghosts started appearing frequently about a year and a half ago, coming from the Ghost Zone into our world and attacking people. They generally cause havoc a couple times a week, destroying property and attempting to injure people. They fight amongst themselves as often as they terrorize average citizens, being the violence-driven creatures they are.”

“Wow, there’s… a lot to unpack there. What is the Ghost Zone?”

“That’s where the ghosts come from!” Jack chimed in. “They need ectoplasm to survive, since that’s what they’re made up of, so they go back to the Ghost Zone when they get weak.”

“So I take it ghosts can be seen to the average eye, then?” Ryan asked.

“Well of course they can! All ghosts can make themselves invisible, but their default state is in the human field of vision. All ghosts are typically tangible, unless actively using their powers of intangibility, and they seem to stay hovering or flying unless deliberately doing otherwise. Most ghosts have offensive powers as well, such as ectoplasmic blasts and elemental attacks, but the weakest ones don’t maintain a consistent form and don’t display anything beyond the basic capabilities,” Maddie explained.

“Wow,” Ryan said, “I had no idea ghosts were so… present. I thought they were, like, barely able to move pencils or turn on flashlights.”

“Nonsense,” Jack declared, “Ghosts are a very serious threat and can cause a lot more harm than turning on the lights!”

Shane leaned forward, hands clasped over his knees. “So ghosts can hurt people? And they do it actively? So much for Casper the Friendly Ghost.”

Maddie waved a hand, nonchalant. “Oh yes, all ghosts are driven by malice; their base instinct is to turn to violence. They’ll just as soon attack each other as they will a human. That’s why it’s crucial to make sure you always have the proper weaponry to defend yourself.”

“What kind of weapons? Like salt and holy water?” Ryan asked, hopeful to at least have gotten one thing right about ghosts.

“Of course not! A little saltwater isn’t going to do anything against a grisly ghoul! That’s why we have these bad boys,” Jack sprung up from his seat, pulling out an ectogun from seemingly nowhere and brandishing it in front of the two guests. They leaned back quickly in response, startled. Mark, from behind the camera, watched nervously, and Jazz put her head in her palm. Danny grimaced.

“This here is a state-of-the-art Fenton brand ectogun, designed and built by yours truly. It uses ecto energy to fight ghost fire with ghost fire. Nothing on Earth is more effective at takin’ down those scary spooks!”

“Alright, Dear, let’s maybe put the gun down; I think it’s making our guests just a little uncomfortable. I’m sure they can admire it just fine from the coffee table.” Maddie stood and placed her hand gently on Jack’s arm, lowering it and deftly taking the gun from his hands. She set it on the table and smiled apologetically at the men on the couch. “I’m sorry, Jack can get a little… enthusiastic. But it’s not to worry, ectoguns can’t hurt humans. They’re designed specifically to target the unique energy that constitutes ghosts; the most even our larger guns would do to humans is knock the wind out briefly.” She encouraged Jack to sit back down, and returned to her own seat.

It may have been Danny’s imagination, but he could have sworn Shane slid further away from where the gun rested innocently between them.

“…Okay, so you use actual weapons to fight ghosts. Cool. Uh… where do you find ghosts? You said something about them going to and from the—Ghost Zone, correct?—so I assume they aren’t bound to one place like in most tales about them,” Ryan said, attempting to brush off any lingering awkwardness from Jack’s well-meaning outburst.

At this, Jack brightened up considerably and said, “We use the Fenton Finder! Ghosts all have an ectosignature, so we use those to detect when they’re nearby, like radar! Even if they’re invisible, this puppy can find a ghost on the other side of the city.” He beamed proudly, and Maddie gave her husband an endearing smile.

Shane perked up once again, absently picking at the threads on the edge of the hole Maddie had attempted to conceal. “So you’re saying this finder-thing makes it impossible for ghosts to hide?”

Danny had a bad feeling about this.

“That’s right! We’d know a ghost was near long before it had the chance to get the drop on us.”

Ryan asked, “Does it work on other creatures, too? Like demons, for instance?”

Maddie laughed, “Don’t be silly! Demons don’t exist. Everything that people think they see is usually some form of ghost. There’s a vast spectrum of forms a ghost can take.”

Shane nudged Ryan. “See Ry, I told you demons weren’t real! You’ve been getting so worked up about nothing. Annabelle’s got nothing on these ghosts we’re learning about.”

Danny tuned out Ryan’s spluttered denials and defenses as he came to a worrying suspicion. Shane wasn’t a ghost—even if he had been a half-ghost, Danny would have been able to tell. But he wasn’t human either; the moment he first saw him he just knew. But if he wasn’t a ghost and he wasn’t human… then he had to be something else entirely. Danny had never encountered anything else, but if his own existence proved anything, it was that he couldn’t jump to conclusions about what did and did not exist.

Shane didn’t seem to believe in any of this stuff, even if he was currently going along with the ghost thing (Danny felt pretty sure that was just out of politeness to his parents, based on the faces Shane had been making and the near-constant laughter he appeared to be fighting). But Danny knew from experience how helpful putting on a persona could be. He couldn’t assume anything about this guy.

(Ryan seemed pretty safe. He didn’t seem to share any hidden glances or take any second meaning from his friend’s actions. He was probably in the dark.)

So if Shane was something else…

Danny was suddenly very worried he perhaps knew what that ‘else’ might truly be.

“…so ghosts have different power levels,” His mother was saying as Danny brought himself back to the events at hand, “and that determines how difficult it is to defeat.”

“So you can’t purposefully antagonize anything while we’re here, Shane,” Ryan said, giving his friend a stern eye. “I am not going to be the one to tell Sara you got yourself murked by the undead.”

“I don’t know,” Shane replied, “Could be fun to fistfight a ghost. A good old-fashioned brawl.” He turned with a Cheshire grin and stared straight at Danny, too-dark eyes glittering.

Yeah, this definitely wasn’t good.

#liv posts #fic #danny phantom #buzzfeed unsolved #shane madej #ryan bergara #demon shane

80 notes · View notes

themetaphorgirl · 4 years

Note

Please deep dive into your thoughts on Alex, I don’t see enough talking about her

ALL RIGHT Y’ALL WE ARE GETTING INTO IT

So before Spencer Reid got fast-tracked to the BAU at the age of twenty-two, Alex held the record. She joined the bureau with a double major and a PhD (hello, Dr. Blake) at the age of twenty-four. So she’s brilliant. Definitely the second smartest person who’s ever joined the team outside of Spencer. And she clearly did really well for herself, she was twenty-four-years-old and she worked on the Unabomber case, and apparently quite a few other high-profile cases.

And then Erin Strauss completely fucked her over.

Someone arrested the wrong suspect in the Amerithrax case, and Alex was blamed for it, and Erin Strauss let her take the fall for it. So Alex went from being a prodigy in the bureau to resigning in disgrace and going back to civilian life.

And then we have her personal life. Her mother died at some point, and so did her brother Danny, who was killed in the line of duty. And she couldn’t handle going back home to see her father and her younger brother Scotty, so she just couldn’t bring herself back to visit.

And she got married at some point, and James Blake is clearly a great guy, and they had a baby.

Alex spent nine years as the mom to a critically ill child. That is so much. And it was a neurological disorder with no name. She says “he kept growing despite his disease,” so most likely he was diagnosed shortly after birth.

She also says “the last time I lay beside him he was almost as long as me.” Alex’s entire field is linguistics, that’s not an error. Not tall, but long. Most likely Ethan never walked. Maybe he never even spoke. And she says “he was ready to say goodbye.”

That is a lot of trauma to unpack.

And when he died, she was probably adrift. She didn’t have a child that needed her anymore. And that’s probably when James started traveling with Doctors Without Borders, and that’s probably when she went back to working at Georgetown as a professor.

And that’s when she met Spencer.

They don’t say exactly how that situation worked out, but he guest-lectured in her class, apparently on numerous occasions. And she’s still quietly grieving for her son, and this twenty-something kid in a sweater vest comes bounding into her lecture hall, and he’s brilliant and he read her thesis on metaphors and he’s so excited to speak to her class.

So they struck up a friendship before she even started at the BAU. And maybe Spencer speaking to her class was what made her reconsider coming back to the FBI. And she has something to prove, and nothing to lose, so she comes back.

And she gets to stare Erin Strauss down, and Erin is clearly embarrassed and apologizes, but this isn’t something fixed with an under-the-breath apology in the middle of the bullpen, Erin Strauss ruined her career to save her own ass.

And while she gets off to a bit of a rocky start with Penelope “I Don’t Like Change” Garcia, she clicks really well with everybody else, and finds her spot on the team. And she’s tough as nails (”I’m practically bulletproof” “Yeah, I heard that about you”) and she mumbles rap lyrics when she’s stressed and she speaks a million languages. She gets pretty close to JJ and Rossi especially.

She doesn’t put a picture of Ethan on her desk. At Garcia’s Day of the Dead party, she brings a picture of her mom instead.

And Spencer bonds with her in a way that he never bonded with anybody else on the team. They do timed crossword puzzles together. He fusses over her when she gets shot. She understands his references and he can talk without explaining himself. (One thing I’ve noticed in seasons 8 and 9 is that he places himself next to her a lot, whether in they’re in a car or a conference room, he tends to gravitate towards her.)

She sees Ethan in him, what her boy could have been, and she sees a second chance to save her son. And she also sees herself, this brilliant kid, and she wants to protect him the way no one protected her when she got thrown under the bus.

When he needs someone to drive him to the phone booth, he picks her (even calls her by her first name) and she’s concerned about him she doubles back, tires squealing and tells him she’s worried (and he goes wide eyed, his voice pitching up like a kid caught by his mom in a lie) and she can tell when she needs to take a step back, and not only does she give him space, but she doesn’t give away his secret.

(also, can we talk about her little pep talk when he’s doubting himself?

“What if she doesn't like me?“

“Why wouldn't she like you?“

“Because I'm weird! I slouch, my hair's too long, my tie's perpetually crooked-”

“Your hair's fine.”

“Really? Thanks! My mom thinks it's too long, so does my Aunt Ethel.”

“Well, you're not dating them.”

Such a sweet moment.)

When Maeve is missing and he’s so beside himself he can’t think straight, he asks Alex, out of everybody on the team, to help him sort through his thoughts. And when Maeve dies she blames herself.

And in Texas he pushes her out of the way, he takes the shot that could have killed her, and she panics. She’s usually cool and calm and collected, and she loses it completely, and she calls him by her son’s name because not only does she see Spencer as her son, but she failed again, and Ethan is dying in her arms for the second time.

She’s the first one there at the hospital. She’s usually so calm, and JJ is the one who is talking sense into her. And while we see Garcia with him in the hospital, particularly for the really big scare, she was the one with him when he woke up, and she was the one who took him home.

Spencer was the only one she ever told about Ethan. And I think he understood that her heart just wasn’t in it anymore. She’d proved all she had to prove. She was ready to go home to James. And I think she found her own closure. She couldn’t save Ethan, but she saved Spencer.

We don’t hear anything else about Blake after the season 10 opener. She transferred to Boston, and she’s teaching. And I’m mad as hell that we didn’t see her during Spencer’s prison arc, because she sure as hell would have been there with the team, fighting to get him out. But then again, we didn’t see or hear much of Morgan in that arc either.

But yeah. Alex Blake is a fantastic and complicated character and she is a QUEEN and she was a major asset to the team’s work, and she loved Spencer as much as he loved her.

in conclusion, we stan Alexandra Miller Blake in this house

#Anonymous #alex blake is a queen #it is i the queen of the alex blake stans #alex blake

316 notes · View notes

imalifegen89 · 3 years

Text

A Legacy Left Behind - Chapter - 5 - The Gemmond Incident

Rating: Mature

Category: M/M

Fandoms: Stargate Atlantis, Hawaii Five-0 (2010), Stargate SG-1

Relationship: Steve McGarrett/John Sheppard

Characters: John Sheppard, Steve McGarrett, Danny "Danno" Williams, PO Higgins (OC), Kono Kalakaua, Adam Noshimuri, Alicia Vega, Laura Cadman, Bates (Stargate), Original Stargate Wraith Character(s), Original Characters, George Hammond, Jack O'Neill, Catherine Rollins, Evan Lorne

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Swearing, Character Bashing, Not Catherine Rollins Friendly, Violence, BAMF John Sheppard, BAMF Team, No DADT

Summary: Team SG-11 goes on their first off-world mission. It's supposed to be a 'walk in the park,' easing them into the hectic life at the Stargate Command. But things have a way of going off the rails when this particular team is involved. One way or another, they'll prove that they've got what it takes to fulfill their mission.

-o0o-

The first official mission of SG-11, yay!

As always, Salchat, you are the best!!! Thank you so much for all your hard work. I'm improving but I'm still a lot of work for my Beta.

If there are any mistakes, they'd be my own.

Part - 1

Officers Quarters, Pearl Harbor-Hickam Base - Hawaii

The Naval Intelligence Command Analyst, Lieutenant Catharine Rollins, was tired. The 18 hour or so trips from Hawaii to Libya and back were taking a heavy toll and all she wanted to do was go to her quarters, take a long, hot bath, and collapse on her bed for a long, uninterrupted sleep until the next day. Both she and Harrington had been dismissed by Commander Joe White with orders to take the rest of the day off and report for duty the next day when they had returned to the base. Harrington had invited her to go out but she had declined politely, citing jet lag and the need to rest. In her mind, she had been cursing at the damn idiot to stop trying to get attached to her like a freaking limpet and just leave her the hell alone.

She sighed in relief as she finally reached her quarters without having been called away for something or other, despite her being off duty. That had happened a couple of times before and that was part and parcel of her glamorous career as an Intelligence Analyst. She entered her quarters, threw her traveling bag to a corner, and started taking off her sweaty and dusty uniform while fantasizing about a nice, hot, bubble bath. But being just a lowly analyst, she only had a cramped shower in her quarters. 'Ah well, at least it's not like I have to go for a communal shower.' She shuddered at the thought.

Her much-needed long shower turned out to be only fifteen minutes as the hot water got cut off. She sighed and got out, still quite travel weary. Then she found her most comfortable and baggy sweats, an old t-shirt that was a few sizes too big, put them on, and got under the blankets in her bed. She was hoping to catch a few hours of sleep before she had to go out for dinner.

Despite the physical exhaustion, her thoughts turned to the past few hours.

'Why is it that the handsome ones are always either taken or gay?' she asked herself rhetorically.

She had tried her damndest to flirt with the navy SEAL she'd had her eyes on for a while now. But the stupid asshole had been completely oblivious. She had been sure, when they were on their way, in that transport - his loud-mouthed friend had pointed it out clearly to the Commander. But the man had seemed utterly uninterested and even annoyed at his friend. Catharine had been reeling at that response, although she had kept up the pleasant conversation with the idiot, Harrington. Then she had seen the subtle drama between her SEAL and that rather unremarkable pilot. That had given her a clue as to the lack of interest from the guy. She knew she was a very pretty woman and was not quite used to her rather demonstrated feelings going unreciprocated in that manner.

'But he’s got to be bi, hasn't he? So there is still a chance. Claire was pretty sure when she told me that McGarrett used to go out with Anna from the Enterprise during the first year after he got his trident. Pff... I'm a much better catch than that woman, certainly much better than a damn pilot...a plain guy with dumb hair-do, at that...Argh. Besides, fighter pilots don't really have that long life expectancies now, do they? Oh, Steven, you could do so much better, really..' She let her thoughts wander about the latest individual that had caught her attention and his rather ungainly love interests.

She was dragged away from her musings by a certain ringtone on her phone that had only rung twice before. She sprang up in her bed as if she had been electrocuted.

'Shit, shit, shit! I should've anticipated this,' she berated herself, especially after what had happened and where she'd been.

She hurriedly got off the bed, found her personal laptop, and plugged in the special USB/Dongle she had been given about a month ago when she was recruited. She then switched it on, disconnected her internal internet connection to the base, and connected to a different server - a server with an IP address that bounced off several satellites and countries making it impossible to track the connection. She finished running the encryption she had been given along with the USB when a window opened on her screen, indicating an incoming call. She clicked the button to accept, with trepidation.

As usual, a black screen greeted her as the call connected. She had taken steps to protect herself as much as she could and had her camera already covered. She was reasonably sure that whoever was on the other side wouldn't see her either, but she couldn't guarantee it.

"Agent CR-17, this is Zero. We have questions for you," the disembodied and distorted voice coming through the connected call informed her. She grimaced at the 'handle' she'd been given. Then she took a deep breath to clear her mind and remember the details of the past 30 hours.

"Yes, please ask your questions," she replied when she was sure her voice was even and polite.

"You have participated in a certain meeting. Give us the particulars," the voice ordered.

'Well, that's easy enough,' she thought as she mentally listed the main points of the meeting. And then she launched into an account of the meeting that happened at the base between her, Harrington, SGC, and the SEALs, the gathering at the Wheelus Air Base in Libya, the points they discussed there, and the revelations that came to light about the alliance between the Wraith and the Goa'uld agents.

The voice was quiet for a long time before it answered. "Are you quite sure of this, Agent? They have seen our involvement at the Detention facility?"

"Yes, I am. I'd advise you to take precautions if you are going to conduct further operations in this manner. I'm certain they will be able to track your transporter movements. The scientists they have at the SGC seem very competent," she answered truthfully.

"Very well." said the voice, with grim finality.

"Now, this is your next task. Send the personal files of the members of the SEAL team who were involved in this meeting. We need to deal with this before things get out of hand - well - even more out of hand. Do you understand?" the voice asked with emphasis.

Rollins felt sweat running down her spine despite the shower she had just taken only a few minutes ago. Giving them verbal reports once or twice in a while was one thing, but sending highly classified personal files was something else entirely. But she knew that refusing was not an option, not if she wanted to keep her career or her life for that matter.

"Yes, I do." She answered the only way she could.

"Make sure we receive it all by the end of the month. You do not need to send them all at once. Take steps to cover your tracks. But make sure we have what we need by the deadline." The voice cut off abruptly, just the way it always did after it finished giving orders.

She stared at her now empty laptop screen for a few moments, trying to wrap her mind around the conversation she'd just had. Not for the first time, she regretted the circumstances that led her to accept this arrangement. Having a fat retirement fund to return to when she finally took her early retirement from the navy after putting the minimum years in, was a nice feeling. But she certainly couldn't enjoy it from a military prison or an early grave.

She shook her head and switched her laptop off. It was too late to do anything now. She had to concentrate on planning how to get around various security restrictions and get her hands on the files that were requested by her beneficiaries. She needed someone from the Human Resources Administration for this, didn't she? Then she felt a small smile creeping up on her lips - She knew exactly the person she could easily persuade into letting her take a glimpse of such things! Feeling quite satisfied and making further plans for her treasonous mission, she decided she was hungry enough and started to get dressed to go out in search of a proper dinner.

Stargate Command, Cheyenne Mountain - Colorado

Embarkation Room

(Four weeks later)

"I know you said renaissance age, but what does that mean, exactly?" Danny asked as he adjusted the strap of his MP7.

Everyone in SGC was issued FN P90 Personal Defense weapons. But the SEALs were partial to their own submachine guns and other weapons. The first thing they'd done when they began the training, was to raid the armory in the SGC to make sure they had those specific weapons and ammo they needed. The Master Sergeant in charge of the armory had gleefully sent out requests for the Navy to re-supply them with the standard weapons and kits for the Special Operators. The Navy had reluctantly given in, needing to keep up their standards.

"Like you just stepped into a Rome-Egypt hybrid planet in the 14th century," Bates replied with a grimace. He was not a fan of the planet. He had been on one of the Gate teams who had visited the planet before it was reformed by the SG-1. He hadn't been impressed.

"Hey, it's a nice enough planet,” Major Evan Lorne interjected. “Well, they were a bit uptight before, but then SG-1 sorted them out. They are good people now, took on refugees from Nasya and everything. It's safe enough for first-time planet hoppers. Besides, they are having their harvest celebrations this time of the year. Food, drinks, and merry people all around. And we have a standing invitation every year for the party," Lorne had visited the planet two years ago for his first 'travel through the Gate' experience and it had been a blast. He was very much looking forward to an encore.

"So, what do we do there?" This was from Higgins.

"Nothing much. We go and say 'hi' to the leaders, go to a party or two and come back home," answered Cadman. She had heard good stuff from Lorne and was looking forward to the experience as well. It would be nice for once, just to go to a planet and join a celebration, just enjoy the visit other than fighting or running for their lives, for a change.

"Nice," Higgins agreed.

The Stargate Command's newest addition - or the newly re-arranged SG-11, was waiting to go on their first extra-planetary mission. Four weeks had passed since Colonel Sumner initiated the first-ever SGC team combined with the SEALs and the CIA agents. They had all been heavily involved in training for all sorts of scenarios they could think of since then. Their days had been full of weapons, physical, tactics training, going through all available information about galaxy's bad guys, and then a couple of weeks spent in earth's Alpha site for field training. Sheppard and Lorne had had to beam down to Antarctica in between for projects at the Outpost and then visit Peterson Base a few times to keep up their flight qualifications. Altogether, those six weeks had been hectic and they were all looking forward to this outing. Listening to Lorne and everyone else who had already been to planet Gemmond painting a merry picture of their culture, had them all eager for the visit. The Wraith and the Goa'uld had been silent and hadn't made any noteworthy moves so far. They all knew that when they finally did, SG-11 needed to be ready to move. This trip to Gemmond for their harvesting celebrations was sort of a break before they had to go to war, so to speak.

"Dialing the gate now." Sergeant Harriman's voice could be heard over the speakers. He had started the dialing sequence for the planet designated P3X-422, aka Gemmond.

"Chevron One encoded,"

"Chevron Two encoded,"

"Chevron Three encoded,"

"Chevron Four... not encoded."

That was not the usual script during a dial-out. Sheppard exchanged a glance with Steve and turned back to look up at the dialing station. They were all waiting in front of the ramp while Harriman dialed. The day's duty officer-in-charge, an Air Force Colonel called Dixon, was standing behind the station where Harriman was sitting. He was also frowning at the diversion from the norm.

"What's happening, Sergeant?" They could all hear the Colonel asking Harriman over the speakers.

"Sir, the gate is not connecting. It's almost as if someone from that side is already dialing. You know, it's like, we're getting the 'line busy' tone," Sergeant Harriman guessed.

"That doesn't make sense. They know we're visiting them today. They usually like it when we visit," said Colonel Dixon, his frown deepening as he glared at the dialer. Then he looked over the see-through window to stare at the group waiting to go off-world. He grimaced as if SG-11 personally had something to do with the Gate refusing to connect.

Colonel Garry Dixon wasn't a big fan of the newly initiated team. His personal opinion was that the lot of them were too arrogant and cocky for their own good. And he hadn't really tried very hard to keep his opinions to himself. But SG-11 didn't let it bother them. They hardly needed validation from the opinionated Colonel. The man had only earned his stripes just by spending the required years in service without a single active combat tour under his belt. He had somehow landed his position as head of Public Relations for SGC, mostly thanks to his political connections.

"Well, dial again," said Dixon after a pause. The Sergeant did as ordered.

"Nope, still not connecting," Harriman said after the third failed attempt. The fourth Chevron refused to connect and the Stargate stubbornly stayed dormant.

"I don't like this. I don't like this at all. Something's not right," Bates muttered, shaking his head.

Sheppard stared at the Gate, thoughtfully. He could feel it in his mind. The Gate was trying to establish a connection with the input destination. He knew that Walter had guessed correctly; something was blocking the connection from the other side. Moreover, he could feel the Gate trying to force the connection, but not succeeding because something was lacking from SGC's side. It gave John an uneasy, itchy feeling in the back of his mind - like a puzzle piece that's been forced to fit into a place that it didn't quite belong. It gave him an idea.

"Sir, permission to take the Puddle Jumper on this visit?" Sheppard addressed the Colonel.

They had only just found this super-cool, little spacecraft back in Antarctica a week ago, and John had felt like he had been given a gift. He had been on the Chair running a diagnostic on weapons systems when the link had guided him towards one of the storage areas that was recently uncovered to show him the ship. He had finished the routine quickly and taken off towards his prize, with the mental connection in his mind laughing softly at his eagerness. He and Rodney had spent two days going through the ship top to bottom and declared it safe for flights. He had taken the newly named 'Puddle Jumper' (Rodney had insisted on calling it ‘Gateship,’ but John had exercised his veto power as the pilot and put a firm stop to that nonsense) on a few rides and returned with it back to the Mountain at O'Neill's orders. Jack O'Neill had promptly jumped in with Jackson, Carter, and Mitchell in tow, and taken it on a tour to space. He had returned after a few hours with all of them grinning like kids on Christmas, and then given his official stamp to put the Jumper on active service.

"What can you possibly do with the Jumper, Sheppard? We can't dial. The damned line is busy," said the Colonel, starting to lose his patience.

Sheppard mentally rolled his eyes. He knew that Dixon was quite skeptical when it came to believing in Sheppard's affinity for all things Ancient.

"I know that, Sir. But I also know that the Jumper's got a DHD in it, an Alteran designed. As advanced as our dialer is, it's still primitive compared to the real thing,” he replied. “And when there's the real thing, there's a chance that I could do something with it," he put on his most innocent expression and stared expectantly at the Colonel.

John could see Danny openly rolling his eyes and Steve trying hard to hide a snort. Bates was staring stoically ahead, staying away from the officer's spats. Agents Kalakaua and Noshimuri were staring at the Gate serenely, not letting this petty nonsense bother them. Cadman and Higgins were grinning ear to ear, watching the drama unfold. Lorne and Vega were doing the same as Cadman and Higgins, but they were carefully hiding their grins behind blank masks.

"So sure of yourself, Major?" asked Dixon, not bothering to hide his disdain.

It was obvious that he didn't believe for a second that Sheppard could do anything about the situation. The Ring was busy on the other side - there was not a damn thing they could do from this side until it closed, period.

"I don't see any harm in trying," Sheppard drawled with a shrug.

The Colonel looked for a moment like he wanted to refuse. Then he seemed to realize that it would be more fun to let John try and then berate him afterward when he inevitably failed.

"Fine then, knock yourself out. Just don't break the Stargate or the Jumper, Major." Dixon gestured grandly for them to get on with it.

...........

The team reached the next level where the Jumper was parked. The floor of the level had a trap door that could be remotely opened to let the jumper fly vertically down until it came face to face with the Stargate.

They all got themselves situated comfortably inside the craft. Sheppard took the pilot seat with Major Lorne as the co-pilot at his side. Lorne hadn't had the chance to take it out for a spin yet and Sheppard wanted him to familiarize himself with the controls during the flight. Steve and Danny took seats behind them in the cockpit. The rest of the team made themselves at home in the back where there was plenty of space for them and the equipment they carried.

"So, you think you can force a dial-in?" Lorne asked while he watched Sheppard going through the pre-flight.

"I don't know yet, Lorne. It's not like I've tried it before," said Sheppard with a crooked grin, not bothering to look up from what he was doing.

"Well, you sounded awfully sure back there," said Lorne.

"Let's just say, I have a feeling." Then he turned to look at Lorne and give him an impish grin. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

"Ah, Jesus! Please tell me it's not going to be like the time when we were doing that thing in Baghdad... Please! I'm begging you," Danny implored. His eyes had gone wide with what looked like genuine fear.

"Fucking hell, Danny, you had to bring that up," said Steve, trying to hide his fear behind annoyance.

"McGarrett, tell me that is not the case now - cos man, I'm gonna climb outta this tin-can right now." Higgins was already halfway up from his seat and looking furtively at the back door of the Jumper.

"Come on guys, relax. I'm pretty sure I know what I’m doing." Sheppard had finished checking on the flight controls in front of him and was now fiddling with the switches directly above him. He looked completely at ease, in direct contrast to the mounting fear in the atmosphere inside the craft.

"What happened in Baghdad?" Bates piped up from the cargo bay, stoic demeanor forgotten as his curiosity was piqued.

"Don't ask man. Just. Don't..." Higgins was shaking his head from where he was inspecting what looked like an electronic keypad with door controls.

"Oh come on, you can't just say things like that and expect us to let it go. Now you've got us all intrigued and shit," Vega cajoled.

"She's right brah, you gotta spill," Kono seconded. They were all getting increasingly curious as to what could possibly have these badass SEALs shaking in their metaphorical boots.

"Okay, people calm down. If we make it through this mission in one piece, I'll get drunk and tell you all about it - there’s no way in hell I'm going to talk about that shit while I'm sober," Danny promised the group, visibly collecting himself and.

"Stop exaggerating, Williams, it wasn't that bad. Got you all out of there, didn't I?" Sheppard defended himself with a full-blown, mischievous grin. Whatever he'd done, John was enjoying the memory, Lorne could tell.

"I was never the same again, man - none of us were - for a long time," Danny said petulantly. Steve nodded his agreement.

Sheppard finished off his flight checks with a chuckle and gently guided the Jumper above the opening on the floor. The technician outside opened the trap door, obeying Sheppard's signal. The little craft descended smoothly and came to a stop in front of the dormant Stargate, hovering just above the ramp.

..........

Sheppard dialed the address of the planet Gemmond on the Jumper's DHD. He could feel the connection failure even as he dialed due to the disturbance from the planet. He concentrated. He could feel the Jumper in his mind, wanting to co-operate eagerly.

'The Astria Porta is open on the other side. Is it imperative that we gain entrance to this specific planet, at this time?' John knew the inquiries that appeared in his mind were unmistakably Alteran, but he had no difficulty understanding what was being asked.

'Yes,' John thought confidently.

'Please enable the emergency override.' Another smaller, Ancient equivalent of a keypad appeared from the side of the DHD where John's palm was resting. He replaced his palm on the new sub-dialer, thinking 'Override.’

The new keyboard went back inside the DHD and John removed his hand to place it back on flight controls. The DHD started dialing the Gate address by itself and then dialed another sequence at the end. The Stargate in front of them came to life and the Chevrons started locking at double their usual speed. When the seventh and the final Chevron locked, the wormhole burst into life with a swoosh and stabilized with a splat. Then it waited patiently for the Jumper to fly through the gently rippling, blue surface.

The team chuckled, hooted, laughed, and whistled their praises.

John tapped his ear and activated the comms. "Sheppard to Control. Permission to visit Gemmond, Sir." He waited for the 'Go' order from the Colonel.

"Permission granted, Major." They all clearly heard the sour note in the Colonel’s voice, but they refrained from commenting, wanting to get going without any more delays on their first mission as a team.

#fanfiction series #stargate atlantis #steve mcgarrett #john sheppard #ao3fic #cross over #hawaii five 0 #stargate #fiction #my writing #writers on tumblr #bamf!John Sheppard

4 notes · View notes

schmokschmok · 3 years

Text

witches are real, and you think this is just a funny fic title

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationship: Martin K. Blackwood x Tim Stoker

Characters: Martin K. Blackwood, Tim Stoker, Sasha James, Danny Stoker

Wordcount: 12,166

Freeform:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

No Fear Entities

Supernatural Elements

Witch & HOH Tim Stoker

Danny Stoker Lives

Halloween

Tim Stoker Deserves Nice Things And I’m Giving Them To Him

Summary:

Martin fakes his way into the Magnus Institute, a research and archiving facility for magical and supernatural (or as Elias Bouchard likes to call it paranormal) encounters. He expects the people working for the institute to be kind of weird but Tim Stoker takes his commitment for a spooky aesthetic to a whole new level.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27070366

The thing is: Martin knows what to do with crooked smiles and superficial, flattering words. He knows how to smile politely and stumble through a thank you when someone compliments the jumper he’s wearing, not knowing that he made it himself. He knows how to accept an absentminded nod as gratitude for the tea he’s making every day for the whole archival staff. He knows how to get through a wide array of flirty remarks that concern his appearance, dignity mostly intact. He knows how to smile through a detachedly welcoming nod of a co-worker for years that answers his greeting by name.

The thing he can’t handle, under any circumstances, however, is kindness. Never been good at it, not even as a kid.

He knows his mother had been kind when he had been a child, had brushed and braided his hair every single night and told him fairy tales and stories, she had stayed up with him after nightmares and during thunder storms, had told him she loved him even when he was angry with her. And she hadn’t expected him to love her back, is the thing, hadn’t wanted him to brush her hair or hold her hand or meet every of her stories with one of his own. Maybe that’s why he gives back now, loves her even if she doesn’t love him back, brushes and braids her hair even if she doesn’t want to look at him, tells her stories of his work and the friends he doesn’t have but fabricates just to maybe ease her mind. (And if she doesn’t want him coming back, then he will stop. Kindness, sometimes, is about the things you’re willing to give up for the ones that you love. – On some days she calls him cruel for coming back and coming back and coming back, but she doesn’t tell him to leave, doesn’t tell him to stay away. So, he returns like a record broken, jumping on the same syllable until she stops the needle digging into him.)

His father had been kind, too, he thinks. Had to be to be loved by a woman like his mother once had been. Martin doesn’t remember anymore.

Mostly, the kindness directed his way is about bargaining favours and weighing the things he does against sweet spoken words. Which is alright, he thinks, because giving his last shirt for a sincere thank you has been his modus operandi since his father left. He wants to give and give and if that leaves him curled up on his bed on a Wednesday evening at eight o’clock then it’s just because he’s not strong enough to carry the weight of his own thoughts.

It starts like this: Martin takes up work in the institute with no real credentials to support his curriculum vitae or his claim of knowledge about anything, really, but he’s tired of working minimal wage, of cooking mediocre food late at night for his mother who wants to move out desperately to stop being all on her own in their empty flat, of working three shifts in a row in two different jobs and still struggling to meet ends. Martin’s tired of burning on a borrowed flame, shovelling hollow coals on a dying candle.

So, he’s faking CVs, so many that he loses count of them. He sends them to every job listing he finds, twisting and tweaking the details, staying up late at night on his battered laptop that takes almost five minutes to boot. He shows up to as many interviews as he can manage but he never gets called back in. Until Elias Bouchard phones him on a cloudy day and tells him that he can start working in the library, if he’s able to move to London in the next month that is. He accepts, of course he does. His mother would never forgive him declining the only job offer that would get them to pay their bills on time and pave the way to a nice nursing home where his mother doesn’t have to be alone anymore.

Martin moves to London. His mother doesn’t.

He starts working in the Magnus Library which is a capital L kind of library as he gets told on his very first day. It’s a joke, he thinks, a library science master’s joke that he doesn’t get but laughs about anyway. (It’s a Magnus Institute’s joke, but Martin doesn’t know that yet. His hands are full juggling the Dewey Decimal and his customer service smile while looking at the impatient faces of half of the faculty members trying to loan basic material books he hasn’t ever heard the titles of.)

It’s not a secret that he’s incompetent, Martin thinks, they all know it, and no one says anything to his face which is probably meant as kindness but feels like cruelty. Because Martin isn’t daft, Martin isn’t incapable of learning, Martin isn’t unwilling to put every last ounce of himself into being better. But nobody seems to think that he’s important enough to be corrected. They see his misfiled loaning records and his misplaced books, and they say it’s not a problem, don’t worry and they take care of it without offering to teach him any better. And Martin, well, Martin is too embarrassed to ask them how to handle it in the future. He will figure it out, he thinks, in time.

(He’s right, but he doesn’t know that yet. It takes almost a year for him to memorise the layout of the library with its seemingly everchanging bookshelves and corridors. It takes almost one and a half for him to get to know every Library staff member and their preferred way to drink tea. It takes almost two years for him to remember the faces of the faculty members that don’t visit the library regularly. It takes almost three years for him to know that it’s Research and Archives and Library and Artefacts but human resources and accounting and information technology. It’s around the same time that he feels like maybe he’s part of the team now; the same time that his co-workers stop looking at him like he’s a bumbling fool without any skills; the same time that he stops calling his mother every three days or so even though she hasn’t picked up in a long time.)

The very first week that he works in the library is filled with many apologies, too many to keep record, a much and much of awkward apologeticness. A few conversations are held, he gets to know Rosie „the heart of the institute” Martinez and Lydia „from HR” Yılmaz. They are good people and talking to them makes the muscles in his back relax just the tiniest bit, although the panic never stops flaring up in his stomach that, somehow, they will know that he’s a fraud.

It’s the first day of his second week and he feels slightly more prepared because he used every minute of the weekend to pull up every article ever written about the institute and its library. He tried reading published papers, too, but without the institute’s access they’re securely locked behind a paywall he can’t get through without a credit card and loads and loads of money to spare. He snacked on canned peaches while reading about filing systems, but in the end he’s none the wiser.

So, he comes in an hour early and unlocks the front entrance of the institute with his key card. It’s eerily quiet in the dark lobby and hallways leading into the back of the building. The noisiness of the street and the embankment gets swallowed by the thick walls and the closing door behind him and the only thing he can hear is the tapping of his own shoes on the marble floor. It’s a mixture of unsettling and peaceful, but he’s not sure which takes precedence in his sleep addled mind. The unfamiliarity of the cream-coloured walls and the polished, almost black floor makes every shadow move in a way Martin can’t comprehend and he turns to look at them a few times only to realise they’re potted plants or laminated notes hung up next to different door frames. He passes a few glowing exit signs and the door to the stairwell that leads up to the second floor.

When he approaches the entrance to the library, a weight gets lifted from his stomach at the prospect of a light switch he can use to chase out the darkness that slowly gets more unnerving than comforting. Spinning the key card in his hand to keep busy and hold his anxiety at bay, he rounds the last corner and stops dead in his tracks. Because sitting right in front of the door is a person only illuminated by the harsh, cold light of their phone. Right the second Martin loses hold of his key card and it meets the floor with an echoing plasticky sound, their eyes snap up and fixate on Martin.

“Oh, lovely, you’re here,” they say, standing up from their hunched-up position without even touching the floor with their hands. (Martin takes a moment to envy that movement because every time he thinks about sitting down on the floor he has to either make sure something’s in close proximity to help him lift himself up or the ground’s not too dirty, so he doesn’t have to wash his hands right the second he stands upright again.) “I was starting to get worried I’d have to wait another hour for someone to open up.”

“Uh–,” is everything Martin gets out before the stranger picks up his key card and hands it over to him. They smile at him, slightly deranged but without a doubt handsome in a way that makes Martin’s breath catch in his chest. While Martin reaches out carefully to grab the offered card, they say: “Sorry for dropping in unexpectedly and unannounced but Veronica will have my arse if I don’t hand in this follow up today.”

Silence falls over them when Martin doesn’t react in any way and just continues staring at the stranger who keeps staring at him as if Martin should know who Veronica is and how important it is for them to do their follow up. (As if Martin should know what a follow up even is.)

“Tim,” the stranger provides when Martin doesn’t show the slightest inclination to do anything other than, well, stare at them. “I’m working upstairs in Research in Veronica’s team.” They wait for an agonising moment for Martin to return the introduction – which he fails to do, still trying to process that he’s really in an actual conversation with another human being before seven a.m.

“As lovely as it is standing here with you, …” Tim continues, allowing Martin once again to submit his name. Which he fails to do, again, because his mouth feels so dry he’s afraid if he opens it now there won’t come out anything else than a pathetic cough. Tim doesn’t seem too stressed about it. „I really need to go in there,” Tim gestures over their shoulder to the library, “and cross-reference a few things and brush up a few of my foot-notes before it’s time to clock in again. Veronica is really adamant about this follow up laying on her desk at eight thirty sharp.” The manila folder in Tim’s hand gets lifted for emphasis and apparently that’s all Martin needed to get it together and finally move. Without him intending to do so, his lips form a customer service smile that’s been ingrained into his very being from years upon years of working in ice cream shops and pizza restaurants and a movie theatre that’s long gone now.

“Yeah, uh, yeah no problem!”

He steps around Tim and presses his key card against the sensor underneath the door handle. After the soft opening click of the lock, he steps aside to let Tim enter the room behind him and he searches for the light switch with his outstretched arm because he’s pretty sure that one has to be on the wall to his left.

“Thank you, really, you’re doing me a favour, mate,” Tim says and legitimately bows with the biggest grin before he’s off into the depth of the library, swallowed by a shelf Martin could swear hadn’t stood there on Friday when he left.

Finally, he lets go of the door and gets closer to the wall to search with both hands for the switch, until the little finger of his right hand bumps against the hard plastic shell of a set of light switches.

“Gonna be bright for a second,” he warns loudly, unsure if Tim’s even able to hear him or not. Then, after a few seconds, he presses the switch and the lights above his head sputter and blink to life with the solid snugness of old halogen lamps.

His eyes take a moment to adjust to the brightness, then he treads over to the counter, rounds it and closes his eyes for just a heartbeat or two. He’s got this. Tim wandering somewhere, hidden behind shelfs, is not going to change the fact that Martin’s got this. His brain, heart and stomach just need to be convinced, that’s okay, he can handle a wee bit anxiety and nervousness.

Without further ado, he pins his name tag to his monochrome button-down (because that’s what adults wear at work) and starts to open the various drawers underneath the counter to catalogue the innards.

There's probably a system, stapler and pen and pencils in one drawer, neatly arranged in a compartment next to sticky notes and paper squares in bright colours and an uncountable amount of paper clips. In the drawer underneath, he finds envelopes, more paper in various shapes and forms and sizes. Another drawer reveals the minute book in which Martin should document Tim’s presence. (Probably? He’s not entirely sure if the minute book is for every research assistant or students only.) Right next to the minute book, Martin can see the keys for every terminal in the library, and a few personal items of his co-workers which should not be in there as far as Martin’s been informed. The last two drawers contain RFID tags, barcodes and printed ID cards. The space reserved for lost and found is surprisingly empty. (Martin thinks he remembers Janette taking everything back into the small storage room in the back on Friday afternoon.)

It takes almost fifteen minutes for him to open and close every drawer (multiple times) and he's still not sure if he memorised the most important things. It's quarter past seven, however, and he couldn’t find a single position plan, which is why Martin steps around the counter and starts to make his way through the maze that is this library. Clipboard and pencil in hand, he outlines the approximate layout of the outer walls and tries to draw in the shelfs he passes, marking them with things like Local History A—V and Ghosts (general) J—Z, scribbling down letters and numbers of the signatures that seem important to him. (He's got a run down last week but the library uses the most arbitrary synthesis of Dewey Decimal and an intern system that the first library staff must have implemented before trying to shove the Dewey Decimal into the small space left.)

Martin's good at making maps, if he's allowed to say so. He can read a map, he can draw a map. (It wouldn't hold up against a professional map but his always worked fine enough.) So, he feels righteous indignation when someone steps into his space, throws a glance on his makeshift map and says: “This isn't accurate, sorry.”

Martin furrows his brow, but the customer service smile is on his lips again before he’s able to will it away.

“Why wouldn't it be?” Martin asks even though he doesn't want to know what Tim has to say. “I mean, yeah, you couldn't do an accurate projection, but it's not meant to be. It's about the order of the shelfs, the signatures.”

“As much as I hate to disappoint you,” Tim says and lets his finger hover half a centimetre above Martin's map, “but the ghost section is three shelfs down to the right next to Russian literature. I walked past it a few seconds ago.”

“Well, the only reason this map says ghost is because I walked past the ghost section,” Martin retorts (and feels very brave about it). The desire to snatch the map away from Tim's finger and hold it close to his chest so that Tim can't spare another look is strong but Martin also knows it's childish and he shouldn't indulge in such impulses.

“Well, Martin,” Tim must have seen Martin's name tag, which is nice because Tim says his name with an exasperated fondness that Martin shouldn't have earned yet and it spares Martin from the mortifying ordeal of introducing himself after his fauxpas this morning, “I don't know if nobody told you but this Library is like the rest of the institute: A big pile of magical bullshit.”

Tim grins and the skin next to their eyes crinkle with mischief as if they're sharing an inside joke with Martin, as if Martin should understand. (And like every other time someone implies or references something Martin doesn't understand or jokes about something Martin doesn't know, he gets this violent urge to scream into the knowingly smiling face in front of him. But he chokes it down, more or less successfully.) And he smiles.

“Don't beat yourself up,” Tim continues, unaware of the wee bit of hatred Martin feels in this very second, “a map won't help but soon enough you'll get the hang of it.” Tim winks. “When I first started using the Library, I swear to you, every single shelf I walked up to was sporting the cryptid selection. Every single one. I stood between two shelfs and it didn't matter in which direction I turned, there it was: The cryptid section.” Tim's eyes don't leave Martin's face for a second, which is kind of unnerving but at the same time strangely reassuring. As if Tim's more than just aware who they're talking to. “This Library is more a Feeling than an organised space.”

Tim laughs again and Martin tries to join in, but it gets caught in his throat. Tim's flittering fingers and Tim's sing-songed “spooky!” only elevate the closed up feeling in Martin's chest and the knuckles on his hand that still holds onto his clipboard turn white in their effort to not drop it.

A quick glance to the watch on Martin's wrist puts a stop to Tim's easy posture and they say: “Fuck, I should really get going. Veronica's still waiting.” Then Tim hesitates and smiles at Martin again. “It was nice to make acquaintance with you, Martin. This won't be the last you'll see of me, but if you every think about going for a drink after work, hit me up. Sam or Rosie should have given you access to the institute's instant messaging system. I think you would get along well with Sasha — she's also in Research — and me.”

Tim shoots Martin a finger gun (which is incidentally the most obnoxious thing Martin has ever had to witness) and strides past Martin towards the library's exit.

And then he's gone like the first soft layer of frost in November after the first rays of sun.

It's quarter to eight and there's not much time until one of his colleagues will try to open up the library, but Martin uses the remaining time to lean against a shelf and stare at the ticking clock on the wall above the counter, trying to will his heart into a slower rhythm not dictated by anxiety or the sudden realisation that Tim had been close and Tim had been beautiful.

And like everything else in Martin's life: He fails.

This could have been the end and Martin's been sure that it would be. When the clock above the counter strikes twelve however and Martin gets ready to leave the library to go down to the in-house cafeteria, the door to the library gets shoved open and Tim stumbles in, closely followed by a no less beautiful stranger who Martin assumes could be Sasha.

“Martin!” Tim exclaims right before they're fist crashes into their chest right above their heart. “Thank the Lord, you're still here!”

The-stranger-who-could-be-Sasha-but-might-not-be rolls their eyes but smiles, before shoving Tim out of their way.

“Ignore him,” they say and turn a smile on Martin, he can't help but answer with one of his own. “He can be a bit …” They make a circle shaped gesture with their rolling wrist in clear search of the right word. So, Martin tries to jump in: “Dramatic?”

“Yes,” maybe!Sasha says at the same time Tim declares: „Oh, please, I have flair that's something entirely else.“

“You're a theatre kid,” maybe!Sasha says, ignoring the dismissive hand Tim waves into their face.

“Martin, you should ignore her,” Tim presses on before maybe!Sasha gets a chance to say anything else. “When I got back to my desk, I realised we never exchanged surnames which are crucial for the instant messenger.” Martin nods, slightly dazed and not at all sure if he understands the importance of Tim’s surname. “So, Tim Stoker.” He bows outlandishly.

“And Sasha James,” maybe-or-rather-definitely-Sasha jumps in, curtsying with the same kind of derisiveness. “Glad to be of service.” She rests her elbow on Tim’s shoulder and leans forward, just the tiniest bit, but it makes Martin feel strangely included. “You want to get lunch with us?”

The smile spreading across Martin’s face feels real, digging into his cheeks and showing dimples he kind of forgot he had. He casts a look at the clock above his head and says: “Yeah, sounds lovely.”

The thing is: Martin is a dreamer, day and night and dusk ‘til dusk ‘til dawn. He likes to think about all the possibilities he will never ever take, the wonderous things he wishes to happen but knows will always remain a fantasy.

When he was a child, he used to dream about his father coming back and apologising to his mother and explaining that it was all just a big misunderstanding, innit, he never would have left willingly, especially not without further notice. Martin would dream up every reasoning in existence, if his father would have come back Martin would have already heard his excuse. He’d just have to wait and find out which one was true.

When he was a teenager, he used to dream about mending the relationship with his mother, of sharing a smile with her instead of directing it at her disapproving or distant face. And he dreamt of a boy without a face but with calloused hands and experienced lips that would come and sweep him off his feet – literally at first, and figuratively when he hit that growth spurt in tenth class.

When he became an adult, he started dreaming about working nine to five and a two-day weekend. He dreamt about working in a café or restaurant and earning enough to sustain his mother and himself. He dreamt that one day he would open up his own place, a small restaurant or a flower shop or a shop selling something with turquoise. And he dreamt that he would meet a man, a nice and good man who would make everything just the tiniest bit more bearable; who Martin would like to be around and who would like to be around Martin. A man not merely tolerating him but seeking his presence.

Martin is a dreamer, but he’s not delusional. Or at least not anymore. The older Martin grew the simpler his dreams became. Now that his income is secure, he dreams about the domesticity of a social network and a warm body next to him when he tries to fall asleep. (And it’s the first time his dreams seem to be within his grasp. As if he can reach for them and cup them in the hollow of his hands. He just has to believe.)

It goes like this: Martin slowly grows desperate because the Magnus library doesn’t make any sense at all. One day Local Myths is on the shelf next to the counter, the next the shelf is empty, and the one after that Martin sees Vampires and Werewolves neatly arrayed on it. It doesn’t make sense, and frankly it makes Martin angry. This is a library for crying out loud, and Martin’s a librarian who can’t even fetch a monograph without getting lost. (Or is he a library assistant? Is Yvonne the only librarian? Everyone in this institute always seems to be an assistant, maybe Elias Bouchard is the only person with an actual degree in here.)

“Is something bugging you?”

A voice comes out of nowhere, causing Martin’s head to snap towards the frowning face of Tim Stoker. It’s been three weeks since their first getting acquainted, and Tim and Sasha drop by at irregular intervals to chit-chat for a bit. At this point, it’s something Martin has come to accept and look forward to but not necessarily expect to happen. Usually, they tell him about their research (it’s creepy and Martin never ever wants to enter artefacts, thank you very much) or their co-workers (including one Jon who Martin is yet to meet but who’s apparently really close with both Sasha and Tim) or the things they did on the weekend (they’re both incredibly busy all the time). But it’s not like they’re self-centered by any means, they ask about him, too. On a normal day, he hates this part of the conversation because he can’t really tell them nice stories about meeting friends and going out of town to kayak or whatever because he spends his time with his mother or home alone with knitting needles either documentaries or heteronormative romcoms queued up. And, let’s be honest, that’s not a compelling story to tell.

Today however Martin’s almost glad someone’s asking him about his mood because he does have an answer: “You were right! My map isn’t accurate. And I don’t get why!”

The startled look on Tim’s face makes Martin realise that he’s a bit loud and his tone is maybe a little aggressive. He ducks his head, heat spreading over his face, and continues in a more dignified manner: “It’s really not that bad. I’m just trying to shelve the returned books. But I can’t find the shelfmarks. It’s a little frustrating, is all.”

He tries to smile through his outburst, but he feels bad almost immediately. It’s not Tim’s responsibility or amicable duty to listen to Martin’s displeased rant, and they don’t know each other well enough for Martin to burden him with unimportant stuff like this. (The thought that Tim seems to be genuinely interested in what Martin has to say and that Tim complains all the time about uncooperative clerks and impossible to keep deadlines which likely means that he would be alright with Martin complaining a teeny-tiny bit crosses Martin’s mind but he tries not to dwell on it. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he would be mistaken.)

“You’ve been here for, what,” Tim says, his index finger tapping against his chin, a questioning look on his face, “like, a month?” Martin nods. “It’s absolutely normal to get confused. Like I told you: This Library is more a Feeling than an organised space. You can’t go about it with logic.” At this, he shrugs dismissively. “After that Cryptid incident, I literally brought my pendulum to work just to locate the sections I was looking for. And guess what, the Library didn’t care. It sent me running around the shelves nonetheless.”

Martin can’t help himself, his face scrunches up in a grimace. He should have anticipated weird antics when he first started working here, the Magnus Institute is a research and archiving facility for magical and supernatural (or as Elias Bouchard calls it paranormal) encounters. But Tim had seemed like a normal guy.

Quickly, he schools his expression into a more neutral one, before he says: “No offence, really, I hope I’m not intruding but using a pendulum seems kind of, well, esoteric?” The moment the words leave his mouth, he feels awful. Who raised Martin to be this impolite? Certainly not his mother. So he tries to backtrack: “I– I mean, I don’t want to impose or, uh, ascribe something to you or, or invalidate you.”

“It’s okay,” Tim interrupts him with a smile. He doesn’t seem mad. “I’m a witch, so everything I do is kinda esoteric. Can’t hold that against you.”

The wolfishness of Tim’s grin makes Martin think that this is an inside joke, too. Or, oh no, maybe it’s Tim’s religion and Martin’s a real jackass about it. Is witch a religious term? He has heard about wicca and druidism, but he has no idea if they call themselves witches. He doesn’t want to disrespect Tim or his belief system, but he also wants to know. Is it disrespectful to ask Tim about his religion? Martin wouldn’t do it if they didn’t know each other, but their friends (somewhat, kind of) and asking as a friend is more considerate than intrusive, right? (Or is he just rationalising and justifying his own curiosity, while masking it as attentiveness? Is Martin overthinking this?)

“So,” Martin starts and it’s an out of body experience where he sees himself driving against a wall without the chance to stop himself, “does that mean you’re wiccan?” He bites his tongue, waiting for Tim to tell him he’s an insensitive twat.

“Oh, no. I’m agnostic,” Tim replies, still wearing the same expression of content and reassurance.

For a moment, they’re both quiet. Tim leans against the counter, his elbows on the surface and his face almost in Martin’s space. It could be unpleasant, but he rather likes Tim’s complete disregard of personal space. (In part because he has seen Tim interact with Rosie who dislikes physical touch to a stark extreme in a respectful way, always keeping his distance. He knows if he ever were uncomfortable Tim would back off. And that’s reassuring in its own way.)

“Give yourself some time,” Tim says eventually. “Let the Library get to know you.”

“You talk about the library as if it were conscious.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“Yeah,” Tim chuckles. “Yeah, I do.” He sighs and straightens his back. “It’s not, though, so don’t worry.” The way Tim says it, though, makes Martin think that this is not the whole truth. That there is something Tim’s not telling him. But it’s not Martin’s place to inquire further, he thinks. There’s definitely a plausible explanation for all this, Tim just likes to pull his pigtails.

“Shouldn’t you be out today?” Martin asks to change the topic and feels incredibly rude at the same time. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but it’s still quarter an hour to lunch.”

“Came back earlier than expected and thought I could mob you ‘til twelve and kidnap you for a lunch date,” Tim replies so nonchalantly, warmth spreads across Martin’s face and he attempts to swallow down the laugh that wants to escape – but he fails. (He has never been mobbed, and even though Tim doesn’t think of this as a date date, Martin wants to indulge in that thought. At least for a moment.)

“I think,” he says slowly, and a little bit mischievously, “I could take my break early today.”

The thing is: Even though Martin thought Sasha and Tim would grow bored of him sooner or later, they don’t. They stop at his desk when they use the library for their research, they pick him up sometimes for lunch or ask him to meet them outside if they’re doing field work. Martin gets roped into pub nights and trivia quizzes, Sasha takes him to her pottery class and Tim invites him to a poetry slam where his brother performs. (This is remarkable because of two things: First and foremost, because Martin has never been invited to meet family members of anyone except for the parents of a few classmates when he stayed for lunch. And secondly, because Tim and Danny are as close as brothers can be, and it feels like a seal of approval – or as if Tim needed Danny to approve of Martin before he could spend more time with him. Martin’s not sure which way round it is.)

It goes like this: Despite the cool September night air, Martin is way too warm in his thick knitted jumper. He runs hot, always has been, but today is not the day he wants to be soaked in sweat just by existing. (Truth be told, he never really wants to be this warm, but there are at least times where he doesn’t mind as much. Meeting Danny Stoker for the first time is not one of those times. But he’s also pretty sure that he can’t take off his jumper because he’s been too hot for too long at this point. Tonight’s going to be fun and he just needs to power through.)

Martin tries not to shift his weight from one foot to the other too often, instead he’s focusing on the way the soles of his shoes line up with the asphalt of the pavement and ground him. He counts his breaths, his hands burrowed deep inside the pockets of his trousers. He can absolutely do this, he has known Tim for a few weeks now and he doesn’t think Tim would introduce Danny and him if he’d think they wouldn’t get along. (This may be more of wishful thinking though.)

A small part of him wishes, Sasha would come too, to ease the tension in his shoulders and uncoil the knots in his stomach. But she's with her family, celebrating the birthday of one of her cousins, and the text she sent him a few hours ago sits in their chat, mourning her absence and telling him to enjoy Danny's performance, it will likely be one of a kind.

Right when he seriously starts contemplating to go home again and fake a stomach bug, Tim rounds the corner with a man just a few years younger than him who looks like a referenceless, free-hand drawing of Tim. Which isn't a bad thing, by any means, just noticeable in how alike they look, just different enough to not be mistaken for each other.

When Tim's gaze falls upon Martin, his face splits into a wide grin and he waves enthusiastically, almost smacking Danny in his face in the process. This causes Danny to look directly at him, too, and his eyebrows shoot up while grinning almost half as wide as Tim. (If there had been any kind of doubt about them being brothers, now there weren’t.) Danny turns his head slightly and nudges Tim with his elbow. When Tim turns to look at him, Danny says something to him, moving his hands in unison, that makes Tim stop grinning for a second and start furrowing his brow. It doesn't last long, only three or four steps, then he looks at Martin again and his face softens. (Martin desperately wants to know what Danny said because people looking at Martin and whispering usually means something bad. And if Danny already wants to make fun of him, then Martin needs to go. Immediately.)

“You came!”

While Martin was still weighing his options, measuring staying, but anxiously against going, but anxiously, Tim and Danny have come into earshot. And Tim sounds pleasantly surprised as if he had been unsure if Martin would come.

They come to a halt in front of Martin and Tim pulls Martin in for a quick hug, which isn't a surprise per se but still unexpected. Subsequently, he turns towards Danny and introduces them. (He says this is my friend Martin, I told you about him. He says friend, not co-worker. Which, yes. They're friends but it's still new and nice and positively overwhelming to hear him say it out loud.)

“Hey,” Danny says, his smile unwavering. He's either a good actor or doesn't hate Martin on sight; at this point, Martin gladly takes both over open hostility. "Tim told me so much about you. I'm really pleased to make your acquaintance." He pauses to make room for Martin returning the sentiment. (Which he does, thank you very much, just because he's a useless gay around beautiful men and can't handle surprise small talk at arse o'clock, doesn't mean he can't hold a conversation.) “I gotta be honest with you, mate, I need your help tonight. This is my first slam and Tim’s a shit critic. I need some real feedback.”

A reassuring smile takes over Martin's features because, of course, Danny is nervous. Martin would be, too, he supposes. The thing Danny had said had probably nothing to do with Martin per se and everything with meeting someone for the first time at his first performance. (And maybe his only if Sasha is right.) However, before he can retort in any way, Tim jumps in: “Danny, bro, Martin is probably the last person you should ask to tell you how awful your skid is. You didn't practice it once and he’s a nice guy.”

“Well,” Danny replies, mischief in his eyes and a mocking tilt in his voice, “I'm just gonna wing it.”

“You're lucky, you're a Stoker.”

“You're just jealous because you didn't inherit that gen,” Danny shoots back before turning to Martin and stage-whispering: “Everyone always thinks that Tim is naturally gifted and everything comes to him easily. But in reality, he has to learn things and work for them. Embarrassing, right?”

Getting roped into friendly, brotherly banter. That's good! That's involvement in a good and workmanlike manner! And, actually, way out of Martin's comfort zone right now. (Is this a test? Is Danny teasing Tim in front of Martin to see if Martin jumps in and practically stabs Tim right in the back? Or does he want Martin to disagree with him and stand in solidarity with Tim? Or is Martin’s brain just overreacting like, well, always?)

“You’re embarrassing him,” Tim accuses Danny, before shoving at him and laughing. It’s obvious he doesn’t mind Danny teasing him or Martin, because it’s good natured. (Or at least Martin wants it to be. He desperately wants it to be.)

“No, I’m honest with him,” Danny retorts, before shoving Tim back which causes him to almost crash into Martin. “Someone needs to take you down a peg or two. Once in a while at least.” He grins and it’s more on the boyish side.

“I think Sasha’s doing a good job keeping Tim in check,” Martin interjects bravely. With every second in their presence, the fists in his pockets lose a speck of tension and Martin can feel his nails easing out of the heel of his hand. He feels weird being the only one neither knowing nor using sign language while talking but he’s thankful that they’re including him, talking loud enough for him to hear. (It’s a whole new side of Tim Martin has never seen before, it’s nice. Very nice, actually.)

“I love Sasha,” Danny sighs wistfully, batting his eyes. Before Tim slings his arm around Danny’s neck and pulls him in, he says: “We’ve been through this, Sasha’s way out of your league.” (And probably aro, Martin thinks, if the small pride flag pin Martin spotted on Sasha’s satchel bag is any indication.)

“Yeah,” Danny says. “True.” Then his eyes fall on the clock inside the display window of a chemist on the other side of the street. “We should head in.”

They make their way into the pub, through a small crowd consisting mostly of people in their twenties and thirties, milling and chatting in wait for the poetry slam to begin. Danny makes a beeline for a bar table, even though multiple tables with chairs and benches are empty. Martin wants to point out that he doesn’t think standing for multiple hours is something he wants to do, but right when he decides that he can at least try, Tim grabs Danny’s arm and steers him toward a round table with four chairs at the back of the room.

“You won’t make me stand through your performance,” Tim proclaims loudly, then he sits down and pats the seat of the chair next to his. Demonstratively, Danny sits down on Tim’s other side – closest to the stage – and Martin rounds the table to sit next to Tim. While Tim and Danny shrug off their coats, Martin once again regrets his choice of clothing. (Maybe a beer or two into the evening will ease his nerves enough to pull off his jumper. Now he takes a deep breath and focuses on the soft chattering of the crowd.)

Underneath their coats, matching shirts come to light. An Aegean blue with white lettering, a loopy script proclaiming bestoked with the tiny caricature of a witch with a pointy hat on a broomstick. Below that, Martin recognises small print that reads: Witches are real, and you think this is just a funny t-shirt slogan. He chuckles.

Tim makes a questioning hmm-sound and Martin points at their shirts, saying: “It’s funny.”

“Yeah,” Danny replies, exchanging looks with Tim. “Sasha made them for us.”

“Why witches?” Martin asks. Opposed to standing outside having to face both of them, sitting next to Tim puts Martin at ease. (It feels more organic sitting alongside Tim. Most of the time when they head out together, they sit on one bench with Sasha on the other side of the table. This is almost the same, Martin tries to reason, Danny is just another Sasha. A person Tim loves and wants him to like, too. No big deal.) “Isn’t Bram Stoker known for Dracula?”

“Yeah, he is,” Danny says with a shrug and Tim adds: “Our name’s Stoker and we’re witches. It’s pretty niche but most people think it’s funny.”

Martin tilts his head in confusion, he opens his mouth through an irritated smile. Before he can actually speak though, someone on the makeshift stage steps up to the microphone and welcomes the crowd to the pub’s bi-monthly poetry slam.

“First up: Gerry with their poem osedax!”

The crowd claps and their conversation is completely forgotten. They listen to Gerry describing a life under water and a life dependent on death. It’s a bit early for spooky Halloween vibes but Martin thinks it’s probably a metaphor for Gerry’s life that’s beyond Martin to understand. (He loves poetry, writes his own in his spare time, but he’s not big on interpreting poems outside of his own limited world view. He likes reading poetry, imagining the lives inspiring the words, and applying them to his own situation. Seeing someone putting their innards on display for dozens of strangers to see, is something entirely different. It feels like trespassing, somehow, trespassing into the soul of another human being. Martin decides that he hates it here.)

Gerry concludes their poem with ragged breathing and closed eyes. For a moment, the pub is silent. Then applause rings out and Tim leans toward Martin and whispers loudly: “Gerry is the one who put the bee into Danny’s bonnet that performing here would be a good idea.”

Danny shushes Tim, swatting at him without looking. Absentmindedly, he says: “It is a good idea, though.”

Martin doesn’t say anything, while watching Gerry retreat from the stage and head back to a group at the long side of the room. They congratulate Gerry, and Martin thinks (for just one measly second) how it would feel to perform one of his own poems. One about his mother or the alienation he felt his whole life. But he’s not a word magician like Gerry, he doesn’t have plausible deniability for the things he talks about. His poetry is descriptive and more of an endeavour to capture a feeling than an analogy in form of a convoluted metaphor.

Next up is someone talking about a hamster. Martin senses a theme.

Tim and Danny stare intensely at the stage, absorbing each and every word being said. And Martin’s torn between getting up and buying drinks, and waiting quietly until the poem is over. He’s unsure about the custom. If it would be impolite to talk during the performance.

In the end, however, it doesn’t matter. They end their poem and thank the audience before they leave the stage. Martin leans into Tim’s space (a bit like Tim would do with him in this situation), his shoulder lining up with Tim’s and when Tim turns around he whispers: “I’m gonna get drinks. Can I get you something?”

“We can just get a pitcher,” Tim whispers back, before checking in with Danny: “You’re not up next, right?” Danny shakes his head and Martin gets up to get them a pitcher and three glasses. (He takes the opportunity to breathe in and out a few times. He thought they would talk more. That Danny and he would have to interact more. But, apparently, Tim and Danny are really into poetry slam and don’t want to disrespect the artists. Which is, well, nice. Considerate. And, yes, he shouldn’t be surprised about that.)

Martin orders a pitcher and pays right up, then he tries to balance the three glasses and the pitcher through the crowd back to their table. He puts everything down and almost misses the staff member announcing Danny’s performance. Lost Johns’ Cave.

With a spring in his step, Danny stands up, makes his way to the stage and takes his place behind the microphone. A small smile on his lips, he clears his throat and starts speaking: “So, John was lost and so was I.”

He pauses.

“It’s a fact and everybody knows that John got lost in this cave. It’s a deep cave, a dark cave, a cave that swallowed us up like a ravenous, soft-teethed beast. It starts with a slope, grainy and wet, and there’s only one way, so it’s impossible to get lost, even though John did.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“John was lost and so was I. I don’t know where he went, and I didn’t come to look, but one moment Kadir and Aylin where there and the next they were not. I didn’t reach the chockstone, I didn’t reach the climb. Three hundred and seventy-five feet and I was lost as John in his cave.”

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. While he spoke, Martin’s sure he could recognise the spelling of John, but Danny doesn’t spell Kadir or Aylin or at least Martin’s not able to spot it.

“John was lost and so was I. Seconds after minutes after hours after years, no climb in sight, just the steady flow of the stream and my hitching breath. It should stop sometime, I thought, it should give way down to his cave and I will not be a John. Because John was lost and I won’t be.”

He pauses again, a heartbeat or two longer than before.

“John was lost and so was I. No measuring of my position with a pendulum, no signal for my phone, no chance to be heard through the thick walls of the cave. The rush of the stream died down albeit the map depicting the stream and the slope correspondent.”

The air of the pub is filled with suspense and eerily quiet for a crowd as large as this one.

“John was lost and so was I. Limestone encased me and silence took over.”

Danny stops speaking, one and a half minutes gone. If Martin’s right, Danny has three minutes and fifteen seconds left. Every other contestant spoke for about five minutes, so Danny has plenty of time left. But he doesn’t say a thing. Seconds tick by and Martin gets squeamish in his seat. He glances towards Tim, but Tim seems unwound and relaxed. As if it were to be expected of Danny to pull something like this.

Danny remains silent, and Martin uses the tense atmosphere and the quiet audience to take an unnoticed look at Tim and Danny. They really do look alike. They share the same thick, expressive eyebrows, same dark brown hair and eyes, the same sharp jawlines. But Tim is soft around the edges, he doesn’t look as muscular as he is, his tummy rolling underneath his Aegean blue shirt. Up close like this, Martin can see the hearing aid Tim is wearing, and the moles that scatter across the slope of his neck. Especially the two moles that rest approximately half a centimetre wide of his tragus.

So preoccupied with Tim’s, well, beauty, Martin almost misses Danny moving on stage. He extends his right fist, before he opens it, while dropping it a few centimetres. At the same time, he mouths something that could be the word drop but Martin’s not sure because he can’t read lips. Then Danny spreads the fingers of his left hand, holding it flat and vertically aligned in a hundred-twenty-degree angle to his upper body. His right hand is spread in the same way and he moves it towards his left hand. When the pads of his fingers connect to the palm of his left hand, he lets his hand bounce back. The movements of his right hand two sides of an equilateral triangle. Again, he mouths something and if Martin would have to guess he’d say it was echo.

By minute three, Danny has been silent for one and a half minutes and has been through two repeats of the two words. (In all honesty, Martin is surprised that the crowd still watches Danny. That they hang onto his lips like a drop of water at the rim of a cup.)

Then he starts speaking again: “John was lost and so was I. I entered his cave and I got off the right path, I fell into darkness and somehow I came back. I’m not one of the Johns, I’m a Joey deep down. Because John was lost but I am found.”

A smile tugs at Danny’s lips, then, after a moment, he bows outlandishly (in an unbelievably tim-ish way) and says: “Thank you.” Then he leaves the stage in a beeline towards their table, while the audience starts to clap hesitantly.

When Danny sits down at their table again, Tim and he exchange a few quiet sentences. (In most circumstances this would make Martin’s anxiety spike up again, but to his own surprise it doesn’t. It’s just nice to see Tim interacting with his brother. Martin doesn’t have to be included to feel like he’s part of this.)

Martin takes a sip from his drink and throws a glance at the stage. After Danny there are still four people left. The performances are about existential fatigue, about childhood fears and dreams, and (in one memorable instant) about an imaginary soap opera the poetry slammer claims to watch in their head.

When the poetry slam is finally over, Danny grins at Martin and asks: “So, comments or questions?”

“Impromptu interpretation is not my strong suit,” Martin tries to escape the discussion of Danny’s depression? Outing? He’s not lying, he can’t interpret something like this in a few minutes. Especially not while looking right into Danny’s face. “I’m not sure what the cave is a metaphor for.” His tone is apologetic, but Danny laughs startled and says: “It’s not a metaphor. I literally got lost in a cave.”

“Oh,” Martin blurts out. “Well, then … I’m not an expert by any means. But I think it was pretty good, very compelling.” His ears are burning and the coldness of his drink seeps into the palms of his hands, contrasting the warmness in every fibre of his body.

Danny grins and says: “I like him.”

“Yeah, I do, too,” Tim affirms. His smile, however, is more delicate than Danny’s. (And Martin doesn’t want to think about the possibility that Tim likes him, too. Likes likes him. He’s still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he didn’t only acquire a job three months ago but friends, too. It shouldn’t matter that Tim is nice to him, because Tim is nice to everyone. Martin isn’t special.)

The thing is: Tim is so very nice. Nice in a way no one has ever been nice to Martin. He’s nice unconditionally, doesn’t wink suggestively at Martin when he hands him a cup of tea exactly the way Martin likes, doesn’t expect Martin to do anything in turn when he lays his hand on Martin’s shoulder in a silent display of support or affection, doesn’t want him to say thank you and how much do I owe you whenever he brings lunch in that he cooked himself, enough to share it with Martin and Sasha and even Jon, if he would ever want to. Tim’s nice and considerate and most people don’t seem to see it. They take Tim’s jokes and pop-culture references as a demonstration of his whole personality, take in the beauty of his face and simmer it down to the essence of his existence.

Tim is beautiful and he is funny, Martin’s the last to argue with that. But Tim is more, Tim is beyond, Tim is the soft are you alright when Martin must step out for a second after a reprimand from an assistant, Tim is the curious no, I want to know what you think about it, Tim is the reassuring you’ve got this and the understanding and if you don’t, I’m still here. Tim is every post-it note on Martin’s desk that says delighted to see you here and you look nice today and take time for yourself.

Tim is so very nice without even trying that Martin can’t help himself but fall in love with him. Embarrassing, right?

It ends like this: Martin doesn’t argue with Tim about his insistence that he’s a witch, because: Who’s Martin to deny Tim anything at all. Yes, he would like to know more about Tim as a person and about the things he does on weekends and, yes, getting cryptic answers like hanging out with the coven is a bit frustrating, but Martin also must confess that he admires Tim dedication.

It’s almost Halloween and since the start of October, Tim has been wearing a pointy hat to work. Which is kind of ridiculous but endearing at the same time because Sasha assures Martin that Danny does it too and that they do it every year in October. (It’s not one of his finer moments, it’s true, but he couldn’t help himself asking Sasha is this is some kind of meme. A Stoker inside gag that everyone is in on, but Sasha just smiles at him and says: “Oh, Martin, love, no. It’s not a meme.”)

When Martin asks him about the hat, Tim tilts his head in mild confusion and replies: “I’m a witch, Martin. Witches wear pointy hats.”

And Martin who’s got enough practice now dealing with Tim’s antics, retorts: “No, I mean, yes, I know, I mean: You didn’t wear it in the summer, why?”

“Usually, I wear my hat to rituals and stuff because channelling energy is way easier with a hat. But in October my coven wears it to let the spirits and the fair folk know they shouldn’t fuck around with us,” Tim explains. And Martin looks him dead into his eyes and says: “Makes sense.”

Three days before Halloween (or Mischief Night as Tim likes to call it), Tim drops off a bottle of essential oil at Martin’s desk. Before Martin can ask about it, Tim says: “I brought you essential oils for your headache.”

“Because,” Martin starts and stops hesitantly, wondering when he mentioned his headaches in front of Tim, without coming up with an answer, “you’re a witch.”

Tim nods, adding however: “But, you know, essential oils don’t need magic to work.”

“Makes sense,” Martin says, for the simple reason that he doesn’t know what else to say. This is getting ridiculous, but he doesn’t want to be the buzzkill. He wants to be Tim’s friend (or date, despite the whole witch-thing) and friends are supportive of each other! Friends don’t judge you for your oddities.

Tim changes the topic: “Do you have anything planned for Mischief Night?” Martin shakes his head. “Then I would like to formally invite you to celebrate Mischief Night with me.”

“Wouldn’t a formal invite require an invitation card?” Martin asks back, propping his chin up on his hand, a curious tilt in his voice.

“I’ll get to that,” Tim replies, while he suppresses a smile that threatens to take over his face. “So, it’s a date?”

Martin closes his eyes, short enough to be mistaken with a blink, and says: “Yeah, it’s a date.” The aching in his chest makes him wish Tim would be a little less nice and a little more without ambiguity. Even though he wants it to be a romantic date, this is just a friendly outing with a guy claiming to be a witch.

Fortunately, Mischief Night (or Halloween as everyone else seems to call it) is a Saturday, which means that Tim can pick Martin up at his flat in Stockwell. Neither Tim nor Martin own a car, but Tim borrowed Danny’s well-loved VW Beetle and it’s only about thirty-seven kilometres until they reach Bocketts Farm.

Martin’s glad the midday fog has eased up, and the sun warms the skin on his forearms, since he rolled up the sleeves of his jumper. Tim is right beside him, his pointy hat decorated with probably fake cobwebs.

“I’m a bit disappointed you didn’t pick me up on your broomstick,” Martin says when they walk through the entrance of the farm. Despite the slight fear that Tim will take offence and abandon him on this farm, he feels comfortable enough to make a joke like this. He thinks he knows Tim well enough to know that Tim would tell him if he were overstepping any boundaries.

Tim’s answer is a little more defensive than Martin anticipated: “Flying is hard, okay. Usually, I ride shotgun.”

Martin gapes, for lack of a better word, and almost walks into a fencepost if it weren’t for Tim pulling him aside. Instead of letting go of Martin’s arm, Tim threads his own through and links them in the most casual way Martin has ever seen. This is nice. (Tim is nice.)

“What do you want to do first?” Tim inquires when Martin doesn’t say anything else. “I personally am inclined to start with apple-bobbing.” He points to a small group of people around a water filled barrel. Martin makes a noncommittal sound, shrugging his shoulders at the same time, and Tim steers him softly towards the event.

“Supposedly, the barrel symbolises the cauldron of rebirth,” Tim says while they walk the remaining distance. Martin casts a look in his direction. He’s a bit preoccupied with the thought that Tim wants him to stick his head into ice cold water to fish for an apple with his teeth, so he only says: “Makes sense.” Even though he’s not sure in what way rebirth is connected to divining the first letter of your future spouse’s name.

When they come to a halt in front of the barrel, it doesn’t take long until they have their turn. Tim yields to Martin and he sighs before he steps up the barrel, takes a deep breath and dives in. The water is freezing, tiny pinpricks on Martin’s skin, and it’s really, really hard to actually get his teeth on an apple because every time he touches on, it submerges and sideslips. (It’s frustrating. Like shelving books in the Magnus library is frustrating. He knows he got it right but in reality he doesn’t.)

It takes forever or at least it feels like forever, his face in cold water and his fingers in Tim’s hand. (Wait, when did Tim grab his hand? Did he grab Tim’s hand? Oh, he must have sometime between their arrival at the barrel and his endeavour to bob for an apple.) But then he catches a small one between his teeth and gets out of the water as fast as possible. Tim lets out a loud whistle and his free hand pats Martin’s shoulder in congratulation. Whereas Martin’s free hand gets rid of the water in his face and pulls the apple out of his mouth.

“This is terrible,” he says through a chuckle because he can’t be mad with the sun shining into his face like it’s late summer and not autumn. “It’s your turn.”

Martin has to let go of Tim’s hand because a member of staff hands a knife to him and he starts peeling the apple in one unbroken strip.

Apparently, Tim’s either more practiced in apple-bobbing or he’s really a witch and helped himself along with magic, because it takes him not nearly as long as Martin to catch an apple. He waits for Martin to finish peeling his apple and relieves Martin of the knife.

“You have to throw it over your left shoulder,” Tim explains earnestly. “It’s the side of the heart. It won’t work otherwise.”

“Makes sense,” Martin says, and it kind of does. Still he waits for Tim to finish peeling his own apple. Then they hand back the knife and stand side by side, throwing the peel on the count of three over their left shoulders.

“It looks like a T,” Tim says, when he catches sight of Martin’s apple peel, tapping the tip of his index finger against his chin.

Martin laughs, he's not entirely sure why but he can't stop himself. He replies: “It looks like a C, all of them look like Cs. And if they don’t, then they look like Os.” He points at Tim’s apple peel. “Look, yours looks like a C, too.”

“It’s just a tad short,” Tim retorts. “See, it started to form a small M but only came around to curve into a small N.” He laughs, too. “The apples have spoken, Martin. We’re destined for each other.”

“Well,” Martin says and he can’t shake the soft warmth that curls underneath his solar plexus, “if the apples say that, it must be right.”

They spend a good few hours on the farm, carving pumpkins and turnips, wandering through the maze and passing by goats and sheep and pigs, before they get to a bon fire Tim wants to sit down at to warm up a bit. The afternoon had been warm, but now that the sun has set cold creeps into their clothes and Tim complains about his between-season jacket. Martin who’s still warm despite the cold breeze gently extends his hand for Tim to hold.

For a few moments they fall quiet, only listening to the cracking of the fire.

But it doesn’t take long for Tim to reach into his pockets to fish for something and bring four conkers to light. He presents them to Martin and says: “Do you want to?” And Martin nods, only in part because Tim could ask anything of him and Martin would gladly do it.

They place their conkers in the flames respectively and when Martin’s first one cracks, Tim questions: “Did you name them?”

Martin shakes his head. Only a moment passes by, then:

“Did you name them?” Martin asks, and he doesn't look at Tim. His eyes are transfixed on the two conkers resting side by side. The left is already cracked. Tim doesn't look at Martin either, but he answers nevertheless: “I named both of them Martin. Didn't want to take the risk.”

And this, precisely, is the instant, Martin realises this could indeed be a date. A date date. A rendezvous Tim has asked him on, waiting for Martin to make a clear step towards him or not.

“Is this a date?” Martin blurts out, finally looking at Tim who ducks his head and blushes. He doesn’t want to sound incredulously, but the sheer ridiculousness of the situation sends his head spinning. A laugh bubbles out of his chest before he can stop it. “Tim, is this a date?”

“Well,” Tim starts and has the audacity to sound something akin to shy, “I thought it was a date. It was implied, I thought I explicitly said it was a date.” His gaze falls onto their joined hands. “I thought you knew we were dating.” Then he pales. “Oh, this is really awkward. I’m sorry.”

Tim attempts to let go of Martin’s hand, but Martin holds onto him.

“No, no, no, it’s okay,” Martin says, the laugh still on his tongue. His chest feels lighter than ever and he can’t keep the bright smile off his face. “I wanted this to be a date, honestly. I just didn’t think it could actually be one.”

“Oh, that’s,” Tim clears his throat, finally looking back at Martin’s face, “that’s good. Nice. Toit.”

“Does this have deeper cultural meaning, too?” Martin asks after sitting between stacks of hay on top of a wagon. He’s not sure if he’s a tiny bit sarcastic or if he finally accepted Tim’s commitment for his aesthetic.

“No,” Tim replies, while he sits down cross-legged next to Martin. “I just think hayrides are neat.”

“I’ve never been on a hayride before,” Martin says, before he moves closer to Tim, so that his thigh slots underneath Tim’s knee. “It’s kind of romantic.”

“Is it?” Tim teases, leaning into Martin’s space with ease. “I didn’t notice.” Then he pauses for a second, his eyes flicking down to Martin’s lips. “As soon as the tractor starts it won’t be anymore, so if you want to use the magic of hayride romanticism to kiss me, you should do it now.”

Martin moves in closer, too, now he can feel Tim’s breath on his skin. He says: “So, hayrides are magical.” But Tim doesn’t answer him. Instead he closes the remaining distance between them and kisses Martin. (And maybe, only maybe, hayrides are magic.)

Their kiss only lasts for a few seconds before the engine of the tractor starts and the hayride begins. (They’re extremely lucky or magic is involved because they’re alone. The only other option is that hayrides are typically for children and their parents and it’s too late for them to participate. At this point, Martin doesn’t care. He’s surrounded by hay and Tim kissed him.)

Martin laughs breathlessly when they break apart because he catches sight of Tim almost losing his pointy hat due to the jolt of the wagon and says: “You’re right. Romance is dead.”

“My greatest virtue and my greatest curse is always being right,” Tim replies, readjusting the hat on his head. “I’m kind of glad tomorrow is the last day and I can take this thing off afterwards.”

For a second, Martin contemplates saying that Tim doesn’t have to wear it now. That if his aesthetic gets in the way of his everyday life, it’s alright to break out. But he doesn’t. Because this is nice, and he won’t tell Tim what to do. If Tim wants to wear a pointy hat, Tim gets to wear a pointy hat.

In search of changing the topic, Martin looks around the wagon and his gaze falls onto a small lantern at the back of the wagon. It’s supposed to be lit so that crossing folks can see the wagon; like the backlights of a bicycle or car. The lid isn’t fully shut, though, and the steady breeze of the moving wagon has extinguished the flame.

Martin pats his pockets from the outside, before he turns to Tim: “Do you have a lighter?”

Unfortunately, Tim shakes his head. More unfortunately, he says: “Doesn’t matter.” Then he leans forward, opening the lid fully and reaching into the lantern. The tip of his finger connects with the wick of the candle and by the time he pulls it back, the wick ignites and a small flame flickers to life.

Martin, once again, gapes. This is magic, Tim is a witch, Tim is a witch, o my fucking god.

“What?” Tim asks as he sits back down next to Martin.

“You’re a witch,” Martin says, and to his own surprise without the exact amount of disbelief he feels. “This is magic and you’re a witch.”

Tim smiles through his irritation and ripostes: “Martin, dear, I told you I’m a witch.”

“Yeah,” Martin responds and maybe he sounds as hysterical as he is, but this is ridiculous, “I didn’t think you were serious.”

“What did you think I meant every time I told you I was out with my coven?” Tim inquires bewildered, and everything about his demeanour suggests that he’s going to burst into laughter at any given moment.

“Honest?” Martin doesn’t wait for Tim to answer. “With all the essential oils I kinda thought it was a MLM.”

Tim furrows his eyebrows, the laughter dying on his tongue. They stare at each other and Tim says slowly: “My coven is not a group of Marxists who Love Marketing.” He stops dead in his tracks. “Men Loving Marketing?” Tim screws up his eyes. “I don’t know if you’re insinuating that I love men, that I’m a comrade or part of a pyramid scheme.” Before Martin can interject something, Tim says: “I’m working for the Magnus Institute, so where’s the lie?”

He pauses, then he says: “Witches are real, and you thought this is just a funny multilevel marketing meme.”

This breaks something lose in Martin and he honest to God starts giggling: “You’re terrible. Do you know that?”

“I’m doing my best,” Tim retorts, laughing as well.

After their laughter dies away, Martin says: “Is this why you said the institute is one pile of magical bullshit?” He thinks better of it. “Is this why you said the library isn’t conscious? Is it a witch who’s rearranging the shelves?”

It takes a moment for Tim to answer: “No, it’s a ghost.”

“A ghost is rearranging the shelves,” Martin repeats. “Okay, alright, sure. A ghost. Is there something else I should know about?”

“I don’t think so. His name is Jürgen, he died in the tunnels underneath the Institute and thinks it’s really funny to fuck with us.” Tim grabs Martin’s hand again. “You can talk to him and tell him to fuck off, though. Sometimes it works.”

Martin makes a noncommittal sound and lays his head on Tim’s shoulder even though their shoulders line up and it’s incredibly uncomfortable. This is weird and this is nice and they will have to talk about this, but their ride is almost over and Martin wants to bask for a few precious minutes in Tim’s silent company before they have to get off and head back.

Tim draws nonsensical shapes on the back of Martin’s hand with his thumb, and Martin feels content and warm and perhaps a little bewitched.

Before the ride ends, Martin asks: “Do you have any plans for tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Tim says hesitantly, “we’re going to celebrate All Hallow’s Day. My coven’s going to light a fire to ward off evil spirits and ghosts. The ashes of All Hallow’s fire keep calamity at bay and we use it for augury.” He sounds apologetic. “But I could come by afterwards.”

And it’s the first time, Martin doesn’t hesitate or feels that his words are tinged with an exasperated confusion when he says: “Makes sense.” So he adds after a moment: “That would be lovely.”

#the magnus archives #martim #martin k. blackwood #tim stoker #tim stoker x martin blackwood #alternate universe #witch tim stoker #schmok writes #fanfiction #hhhh martim rights

11 notes · View notes

specter-speeder · 4 years

Text

here’s a bad but wholesome horror fic by yours truly (angst, fluff, and v lil gore)

In which Danny pulls some true Paranormal Activity sh*t on his family. Only kind of makes sense, but let me be amused by this concept, okay? Post-reveal. Do I even have to say no Phantom Planet?

“I am a ghost. Fear me.”

Danny started to feel it a few days after his parents had closed the portal. It was time for the ecto-filtrator to go - when Jack and Maddie had designed it, they hadn’t anticipated the size of the Ghost Zone and its post-human population. It saw more traffic than it could handle, thanks to Danny’s fatal slip-up. They’d been working on a new containment system for the ectoplasmic waste the portal produced with each ghost that breached it, but installation meant disabling the machine for an entire week.

Without his ghost fights, Danny had become restless quickly. That much he could manage. He knew what would come next, though, and he wouldn’t dare let on to his family. Since becoming a ghost, he’d only felt this starved a few times before. It was one of his inhuman qualities he hated the most. His ghost half was yearning for fear. It was making him ill. Gave him a reason to miss his class’s 3-day team-building retreat. He’d insisted to Sam and Tucker that he had things under control— he wanted to think he did. Now, Sam and Tucker were gone, and Danny was battling fevered sleep for most hours of the day. He’d never felt so drained.

Call it intuition; Jazz knew this wasn’t the flu. Danny didn’t used to insist on hiding it when he felt like crap. In fact, the Danny she grew up with wouldn’t stop whining about it whenever he was sick. This had to be a ghost thing. She wondered if her parents messing with the portal was somehow hurting him, but Danny wouldn’t budge. He wasn’t going to help her understand. She’d been dialing Sam and Tucker all day - straight to voicemail. She’d just poked her head into Danny’s room, only to find him awake in bed and glaring at her, when she felt her phone buzz. She tiptoed further down the hall and checked the caller ID: Sam Manson.

Next thing Danny knew, his mom, dad, and Jazz were creeping into his room, forcing sympathetic smiles. Sh*t, what now? Maddie placed her hand on his forehead, he swatted it away, eyes narrowed.

“How’re you feeling, sweetie?”

“The same. Why are—“

“You don’t have the flu.” Jazz interrupted. Danny clenched his jaw.

“Jazz, maybe we could talk about this privately?” he muttered.

Jack crossed his arms. “Don’t be mad at your sister. We’re worried, too.” Danny’s eyes met Jazz’s, questioning. She sighed.

“Sam told me everything.”

Danny scrubbed his hands over his face and groaned.

“I told her how bad you were, and she’s on my side. You need help.” He shook his head, glancing at his parents anxiously.

“Look, guys... you can’t help me. Just get the portal up and running and—“

“You need someone to be afraid.” Maddie stopped him, her voice clinical.

Danny stumbled over his words, trying to answer quickly. “If the portal’s working, the ghosts can—“

“Danny, it’s not close to being done.”

Jack nodded in agreement. “Your friend said it would work, so... we thought maybe, you could scare us.”

Danny’s ears rung. They shouldn’t have offered. Sam should have shut down Jazz’s stupid idea, for his sake. He didn’t want to say yes. He really, really didn’t want to say yes. He blinked.

“You mean... use my powers to...”

“We’ll know it’s only you, so... how bad can it be?”

Everything in him was urging him to take the offer, against his own wishes. He could already feel energy prickling on his spine, cooling him off. Relief.

“Are you sure?” He asked blankly. Maddie was too quick to answer.

“Of course.”

“Really sure?”

She nodded hesitantly. Jack didn’t look so convinced.

Danny took a deep breath, cold anticipation churning in his lungs. It was all he needed, and there was no going back now. With a loud electrical pop, his room was pitch black. He sunk underneath his bed and let himself transform, the typical bright flash weakened to a dull glow. All was quiet.

“Danny...?” Maddie ventured.

Phantom’s ghost form appeared in front of them in a flash, for a fraction of a second. Wide-eyed and mouth ajar, both glowing entirely green and oozing fog. Expressionless. Maddie jumped, and the Fentons were in the dark again.

The lights flickered on, but Danny’s room was different. His bed was stripped down to the mattress. All that remained on his shelves were his model rockets. His books, other trinkets, his trunk— everything was gone. Maddie felt her heart pounding in her chest, Jack was frozen, and Jazz’s eyes fluttered open cautiously.

“Where...?” Jack breathed, inching toward his wife.

Jack glanced toward the ceiling, but as soon as he saw it, it all fell. Danny’s books slammed to the floor. His trunk was the loudest, hitting the ground with a bang and toppling open, sending various balls and sports equipment bouncing with supernatural strength. Everything glowed a faint green. Before the objects settled, the Fentons were struck by Danny’s sheets and bedspread, flying toward them at what felt like 100 miles per hour. Jazz couldn’t help but scream.

The force had shoved them through Danny’s doorway. When they finally threw the bedding off, Danny’s door slammed shut in front of them, cracking the frame. Maddie eyed the railing just behind them. She’d been sure Danny wouldn’t hurt them, but another foot and they’d have been hurled over it. She wasn’t so convinced anymore. Could he blame her?

Jazz knew this was her idea, but she hated what she’d unleashed. She felt anger bubble at Sam. Was this supposed to be a punishment for caring about her brother? She thought they were beyond that. How often was Danny like this? Did his creepy girlfriend encourage it? She didn’t know much outside regretting she hadn’t tried harder for another solution.

“Away from the stairs. C’mon, away from the stairs!” Maddie urged, grabbing Jack and Jazz by their sleeves and cautiously tugging them down to the living room. She could’ve sworn they left the lights on, but everything was dim now save for the light of the setting sun drifting through the windows. The trio huddled close.

Static crackled as the television switched on. “—has residents questioning the whereabouts of the infamous Amity Park ghost, known by some as Phantom. Next, we’re live with—” The nightly news quickly cut to a vibrant green screen, accompanied by a reverberating, high-pitched ring. Jazz clasped her hands over her ears as it grew louder, piercing the air. It filled her with an unmistakable sense of dread, hopelessness.

“Mads…” Jack whispered, raising a shaking finger. They turned to face the windows. One by one, each vertical blind swayed slightly, an unseen force moving across them. It’s just Danny—she repeated the phrase over in her mind, grasping for a sense of calm. The movement stopped.

“Is it over?” Jack looked to Jazz. She shook her head unknowingly, eyes fixed on the window. She could see people outside. Neighbors who wouldn’t think a thing of ghost activity erupting from their home. Jack held his breath as Maddie caught hers. Her sense of calm was torn from her as soon as she’d found it.

The sound of snapping wood thundered from the blinds as they abruptly slammed shut, sending Jazz scrambling back. Jack caught her as she tripped over the carpet, hoisting her back onto her feet. The din from the television was deafening, its screen casting a green light on the entire room. Where Jazz had slipped lay a smudged pool of glowing ectoplasm, reflecting bright green. Maddie was the first to notice. Her head tilted upward slowly.

Danny hung upside-down, slack-jawed. Thick ectoplasm filled his mouth, dripping from his lips and empty eye sockets. His ribs jutted from his barely-opaque torso, a mangled mix of white and green disappearing into a ghostly tail. Gutted.

Jazz and Jack followed Maddie’s gaze, only catching a glimpse of the horrific form before it vanished completely. Maddie shrieked Danny’s name, a piercing combination of anger and terror.

“Sh*t!” Jack wrapped his arms around Maddie and reached for Jazz’s hand. The growing pool of ectoplasm on the floor bubbled and crept toward them, forcing them toward the kitchen. He shoved his family through the door and slammed it shut. It oozed through the frame.

The kitchen looked normal enough, but none of them dared move. The lights had been spared, and everything seemed to be in its place. After a few seconds of silence, every cabinet was thrown open at once, omitting a hideously loud slam. Maddie yelped and Jack grabbed her protectively, every hair on his neck standing up. Jazz leaned against the table, on the verge of tears.

With the last bang, it ended. Danny reappeared in the corner of the room. A quick white flash and he was his human self again, hands pressed against the walls to stabilize himself. He looked up at his wide-eyed family, panting. They looked scared of him. Of course they looked scared of him.

“What the f*ck, Danny!?” Jazz shrieked.

“Language!” Maddie chided.

Danny’s eyes flicked toward the cabinets, still ajar. He’d seen too many scary movies. He raised both hands defensively, shrinking against the wall.

“I won’t do it again. Promise.”

A beat of silence was broken by Jack’s deep, bellowing laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Jazz hissed.

Jack shook his head. “Look at ‘im!” Danny furrowed his brow.

“This kid did all that? I mean, who knew you had it in ya?”

Danny shrugged uncomfortably, averting his eyes.

“I know you’re a ghost, but c’mon!” Jack chuckled, wiping his eye.

Maddie took a step forward. Then, another. She wrapped Danny in her arms and ruffled his hair. “You’re okay.”

Jazz relaxed, her shoulders dropping. She’d agreed to be scared. And sure enough, Danny had f*cking scared her. Less than a minute into the ordeal she’d forgotten why she suggested it in the first place. Now, in their mother’s arms, he looked so normal.

“Feel better?” she asked softly.

“Yeah…” Danny huffed regretfully, “I do.”

“Never again.” Jazz insisted, pointing a threatening finger. Danny shuddered and crossed his heart.

“Alright, alright. Leave him alone,” Jack intervened, cracking himself up. “Mads, you should’ve seen your face!” Maddie rolled her eyes and released Danny.

“Oh, you scared me, alright. I thought you were going for the china.”

“It’s a good thing I was there, eh Danny-boy?” Jack elbowed his ribs. Danny raised an eyebrow.

“Honestly? I can’t back that up.”

“No, really? Did you see me flinch?” Danny stifled a smile.

Maddie chuckled. “Enough jokes, Jack.”

“Not once!” he bellowed. Maddie gave Danny a slap on the back.

“Okay, back upstairs.” He blinked incredulously.

“I’m not cleaning your room!”

“Tomorrow!” Danny insisted.

“Tomorrow.”

Jazz smiled. Yeah, they’d be alright.

Jack shook his head. “How’d we end up with a kid like you?” Danny grabbed a bag of chips from the open pantry, his appetite returning. He waved a hand dismissively as he disappeared into the living room.

“Same way you ended up with a portal to another dimension in the basement!”

#danny phantom #danny fenton #phic #danny phantom fanfiction #danny phantom fanfic #tumblr said i can't go in the tags with Swears #boo #this is the first fic i've posted!#i didn't edit it #but it's been boppin around my nog for a while #things i like:#danny is willing to destroy his room EXCEPT for his rockets those stay put!#jazz thinks sam knew this would be a mess and just let it happen anyway #all the horror movies sam made her buds watch came in handy for better or worse #maddie is able to spot danny needin a hug a mile away #if someone drew gooey gory danny scaring his family i would die #disclaimers:#re: first fic i've posted i don't know how to format fiction and 200% did it wrong #i tried to do what looked right lol #if you have something to say about this fic pls say it to me hi #deleted moment:#the fentons get competitive and make danny tell them who was scarediest #and danny’s just like uhhh idk i was kinda busy being horrifying #mine #fic

55 notes · View notes

thecreedsgambit · 4 years

Text

Two of Hearts | Ethan x MC (Jane)

Chapter 2: Mediation

Summary: A fluff piece because, Heaven knows, Jane needs it.

Author’s Note: Honestly, I debated including this as its own chapter, but I loved this idea too much not to share it with you all. I wanted to divvy up the romance in this series with a little bit of fluff (mainly because I wanted to include Sienna and Aurora in this series because why not). I’m posting a chapter three tonight, as well. I also wrote Ethan fluff, and I need to share it ASAP too. Enjoy both!

Song Inspiration: Meant to Be by Bebe Rexha x Florida Georgia Line

Tags: @mvalentine @ethanramseysgirl @openheart12 @junggoku @tefigranger @noboundariesplease @colossalpainintheass @lifeof-liv @ethxnrxmsey @kaavyaethanramsey @paulfwesley @ethandaddyramsey @adrex04

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Pixelberry.

Chapter 1: The Other Woman

The sun’s rays snuck through Jane’s ivory, french curtains, casting a warm glow onto her face. It only took moments for her eyes to flutter open, and, seconds later, her phone rang. She hadn’t even noticed she fell asleep; it took her a long time to clear her head last night. She had told herself that it was going to be a long night, but she was glad her exhaustion proved her wrong.

She rolled onto her back and didn’t make any attempt to reach for her phone. She knew who it was; he had tried calling her sometime last night, too.

Ethan.

A part of her wanted to answer, of course, but she wasn’t sure how willing she was to talk to him. She had hoped he would show up at her door last night, but he didn’t. She should have been eager to answer his call; to hear his voice; to hear whatever he had to say. No matter how eager she might have felt deep down, though, she just couldn’t reach for her phone.

“Jane.” A voice came from the other side of her bedroom door followed by a soft knock. The door opened slowly before Sienna’s head popped in. When she saw that Jane was awake, she stepped into her room. “Good morning, sleepy-head.”

Jane managed a smile. “Good morning.”

Sienna bit her cheek before offering her a sheepish smile, hope practically shimmering in her eyes. “Aurora came home this morning … and we’re making breakfast. Do you want to come help with the pancakes?”

Jane’s eyes darted away momentarily, nervously toying with her fingers. She suddenly remembered her fight with Aurora at the softball game - how angry she had gotten after Dr. Tobias Carrick revealed to her exactly how he’d found out about Edenbrook’s intention to study their coma patient. Admittedly, she did feel slightly embarrassed that she let her temper get the best of her.

Jane cared strongly for Edenbrook, for helping herself and her friends keep their jobs. But she also cared for Aurora, and, quite frankly, she was tired of arguing with the people she cared about.

Her attention returned to Sienna as she sat up with a nod. “Sure, I’ll be out there in a minute.”

Sienna grinned, bouncing excitedly, as she hurried out of her room and closed the door behind her.

Jane took a moment before getting up, her eyes wandering toward her phone that rested on her pillow. She stayed like that until she heard soft laughter emanate from the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, she rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of stray black shorts she found near her closet.

As she exited her room and walked toward the kitchen, throwing her hair into a ponytail, she attempted to brace herself for seeing Aurora again. When she rounded the corner, she locked eyes with Aurora and instantly knew she hadn’t been the only one bracing for what was to come next.

“Hey,” Jane said softly.

Aurora eyed her nervously. “... hey.”

Sienna’s smile died on her lips as she turned to see Jane standing at the edge of the counter, hesitating to step forward. She quickly slid a glass bowl toward her with a quirked eyebrow. “You’re on pancake duty, Jane.”

Jane’s eyes momentarily flickered down to the bowl. “Are we making pancakes from scratch?”

Sienna looked offended, eyes widening. “Of course.”

Jane walked closer, grabbing the bowl and proceeding to add ingredients as Sienna directed. They all moved around the kitchen; the tense air quickly waned as Sienna made the effort to strike up a conversation about a few patients she’d met in the clinic.

As Sienna turned to start a pot of coffee, Jane let her eyes glance over at Aurora, who was casting her eyes down at a small bowl in front of her. Sienna asked her to make the blueberry sauce for their pancakes, and Aurora looked as if she would rather be on coffee duty.

Jane’s lips curled slightly. “Have you added the lemon juice yet?”

Aurora’s face gave way to a moment of shock before she furrowed her eyebrows, giving the blueberries an annoyed stir. “I’m horrible at this,” she grumbled.

Jane couldn’t help a snort that escaped her lips, and Aurora’s eyes cut towards her in shared amusement. A moment passed before Aurora sat her spoon down and looked at her.

“Are you still mad at me?” She asked Jane. “I guess I would understand. I thought about what you said, and I really should have known.” Her shoulders seemed to slump. “I just wanted to show Tobias the good we could do, too. I’m tired of the back and forth competition, you know?”

“I’m not mad at you,” Jane said shortly, without missing a beat.

Aurora reeled from surprise. “Wait - you’re not?”

Jane shook her head in response. “I was angry at the game, sure. Tobias stole the one real chance I thought I had at saving Edenbrook - at saving our jobs.” Jane paused, looking into Aurora’s wide brown eyes. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, though. You are my friend, Aurora, even if you chose to wear Mass Kenmore on your coat.”

Even though she tried to hide it by looking down, Jane could tell Aurora was fighting back a grin.

“Besides,” Jane started, smirking, “we did beat you at softball.”

Aurora scoffed, though nothing but good-natured humor glistened in her eyes. “You got lucky.”

“Yeah? Well, we’ll see next year,” Jane teased.

They shared a smile before her eyes were drawn toward the sound of her pager, ringing from her jacket that was strewn across the couch.

Aurora sighed, allowing an apologetic smile to creep onto her lips, “I’m sorry, guys.”

Sienna walked over to her, taking the spoon and the bowl of half-made blueberry sauce. “Don’t worry about it. Duty calls.”

Aurora threw one last look at Jane, a shy smile playing on her lips, before jogging out of the kitchen.

Jane looked at Sienna with a smile. “I’m sure Jackie and Elijah will be here soon. Where’d they go, anyway?”

“I think they both went to the hospital.”

“Of course they did,” Jane replied. She cracked an egg before noting, “We haven’t spent time alone together in awhile.”

They were the only two in the kitchen now. With the smell of coffee in the air and the warmth of the sun on her back, Jane felt content just for a moment. Just for a moment, she didn’t think of Ethan, or of the clinic, or of Edenbrook. Just for a moment, she was happy, mixing her pancake batter and watching Sienna remove bacon from the fridge.

“I suppose we haven’t,” Sienna replied.

The two finished making breakfast with light and hearty conversation, eventually carrying their plates and cups of coffee to the table. They sat across from each other; Jane digging in nearly immediately to sate her growling stomach.

Sienna reached for the blueberry sauce, giving Jane a cautious look. “So, how are you after …?”

Jane didn’t respond for a moment. “How about we start with you?” She threw Sienna a suggestive smirk. “How’re you and Danny?”

“You’re deflecting.” Sienna laughed, drizzling the blueberries over her pancakes.

“Oh, good. It’s working, then?”

Sienna rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t wipe her smile from her face. “Danny and I are good,” she began. Though, her smile quickly gave way to a frown. “I haven’t been able to talk to him much, though.”

“Why?”

“I’ve just been really caught up … with work,” Sienna admitted. She busied herself with her food, ignoring Jane’s gaze, “It’s been hard to do much of anything these days.”

Jane nodded in agreement. “But … does this have anything to do with Mitch?” When she didn’t get a response, Jane warned, “Sienna.”

Sighing, Sienna finally confessed, “Okay. Maybe Mitch isn’t necessarily helping.”

“Is he still making you do his work for him?”

“No,” Sienna countered. Jane gave her a look, and she sighed once more. “It’s just, he keeps asking me to handle patients for him, especially if it’s a harder case.”

Jane frowned. “Sienna, you can’t keep doing things for him.”

“I know,” she replied. She looked as if she wanted to talk about literally anything else, so she asked, “How are things with Esme?”

At the sound of her intern's name, Jane looked down. After a moment’s hesitation, she answered. “Sometimes I feel like I should be there more. It’s just - between the clinic and the team, I feel like I’m not being there for her.”

Jane didn’t have to say it, but Sienna knew what she was thinking. Maybe Victoria was right.

Sienna frowned. “Jane, I know you’re a good teacher. I saw you the other day - talking to Esme in the cafeteria. You are there for her.” Jane tried to believe her, but she still felt the weight of guilt on her shoulders. Sienna must have noticed because her gaze turned serious. “Don’t let Dr. Robbins make you question yourself, Jane. Don’t let her make you question anything.”

When Jane returned her gaze, she knew Sienna was talking about something else entirely. She was talking about Ethan.

“What happened anyway?” Sienna asked.

Jane exhaled deeply before deciding it best to let it out. So, she did. She told Sienna exactly what happened between her and Ethan in the hallway the day before. Jane had gone over the argument in her head for a good portion of the night, so it was fairly fresh in her mind. It didn’t, however, stop the wave of pain she felt when she finished,

“Wow,” Sienna commented. Jane nodded, poking at her pancakes in silence. “Has he tried to call you?”

“Yeah.”

“And you don’t answer?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Sienna studied her for a moment. “Do you miss him?”

Jane thought of him for longer than she dared to since their conversation in the hallway. For a moment, her guarded expressions and practiced smiles gave way to her true emotions. She thought of his eyes, his hair, and his scent. Him. Ethan. If she were being honest, everything about him was almost too intoxicating; yet, she loved him anyway.

“I do,” she finally admitted. “I just don’t know what to say. I know I’ll see him at hospital tomorrow, and I know I should answer. It’s just … how do you not have that kind of conversation face-to-face?”

“You don’t,” Sienna answered easily. Jane didn’t try to hide her disappointment, and Sienna added, “You know, Wayne and I never argued, not like that. We never really talked long enough to argue.” Jane looked at her, and Sienna gave her a meaningful look. “Only two people who really care about each other argue like that.”

Jane furrowed her eyebrows thoughtfully; she hadn’t thought about it in that way. She swallowed hard before looking at Sienna gratefully. “Thank you.”

“I’ll always be here, Jane,” She reassured. “You’re allowed to have time to think about your own feelings. Besides, what is meant to happen, will happen.”

Jane looked at her for a moment before a teasing smile crept onto her face. “When did you get so good at talking about relationships?”

“I’m always good at talking about everything,” Sienna countered.

A laugh escaped both of their lips as they returned to their breakfast, exchanging teasing remarks and light jokes until Jackie and Elijah came through the front door.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Sienna asked.

Jane stood a few feet from their front door, watching as her roommates hesitated in the threshold. “I’m positive. You guys go. Have fun before it gets too late.”

Despite their protests, Jane eventually shooed them out of their apartment and on their way to Donahue’s. She told them, and herself, she wasn’t going because she wanted to study up for the team’s newest patient, but, admittedly, she wanted to be on the other side of the door in case Ethan ever decided to knock on it.

She padded over to the couch and flopped down, turning on a movie as the sudden patter of rain began to sound outside. Ethan had called again, only thirty minutes before. Her eyes peered down at his name, and her thumb hovered over, and darted away from, his contact several times.

Her desire to return his call slowly began burning in the pit of her stomach as she thought of the sound of his voice. Thunder rumbled overhead, and the rain intensified. For a moment, her eyes flickered toward the windows as a streak of lightning pierced the sky and drenched the living room in a brief, but bright, shade of blue.

The sound of the harsh rain lulled her desire, and she slowly reached forward to place her phone on the table in front of her. She almost settled in to watch her movie when a knock sounded, sending her heart plummeting into her stomach. Frozen, she sat there until another knock sounded - more insistent this time.

Before she lost her nerve, she stood and hurried over to the door. But, when she opened it, her face fell.

“Farley,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Were you expecting someone else?”

Swallowing hard, she crossed her arms and looked up at her landlord. “What is it now? Did another check bounce?”

“No.” He mirrored her, crossing his own arms. “Mrs. Edelstein complained again about too much … activity going on in your apartment late at night.”

Jane’s eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, and she scoffed. “She does realize that there are five interns that live here, right?”

Farley rolled his eyes. “Look, I don’t know. Just … try to keep it down. I don’t need Mrs. Edelstein calling my phone again.”

He didn’t bother to wait for her reply. Instead, he sulked off down the hallway, and Jane huffed before closing the door. She hadn’t yet stepped any more than two steps away before another knock sounded. Out of annoyance, she turned to fling the door open. But, every inch of her froze and her lips parted slightly as she looked up at the man in front of her.

“Ethan?” She breathed. “What are you doing here?”

He stood there – hair dripping wet and clinging to his forehead – with a look on his face that resembled a painful mix of longing and sorrow. Jane stared up at him as if he were a dream, like Sienna would pinch her awake at any moment.

But this wasn’t a dream, and Ethan was really here. He was here, standing with a green, rain-slicked jacket and fresh rain drops slipping down the sides of his face. The subtle shiver that raked his body was enough to make her snap out of her trance and quickly step aside, opening the door a bit wider.

He huddled inside, running a hand through his wet hair in an attempt to slick it back and out of his face. Jane slowly shut the door as if too much noise might ruin the moment – as if making any sudden movements might wreck the delicate tension between the two of them.

So, she closed the door, as quietly as she could, and waited a beat to turn around. She knew that facing him right now, in this moment, would be enough to make every word die on her lips.

And she was right.

The moment she turned around, her eyes met his, and every angry thought, hurt feeling, and painful disbelief made her choke on any word that dared escape her lips.

#ethan ramsey #dr ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #dr ethan x mc #dr ethan jonah ramsey #open heart #choices #choices open heart #playchoices #ethan ramsey fic

79 notes · View notes

commandersmoothdog · 4 years

Note

Would you say that Steve has complicated feelings about Joe White because of his involvement with Doris's faked death?

Oh yeah! Okay, so I just answered an ask about Steve’s favorite part of Danny and it was Danny’s loyalty. Part of Danny’s entire being that baffled Steve has to do with my answer and this question.

Steve’s strain with John didn’t start out when he was sent away. John was the breadwinner in a very different time. He’d been a soldier and then a police officer. Crappy of me to say, but this guy didn’t know how to Dad. For him, parenting was most likely throwing the ball around for like an hour on Saturday or asking casually how their grades were doing and how the sport’s team was shaping up. It’s all a “From it’s Time”...having lost his wife, dealing with that grief, being forced to parent and struggling to decide what to focus on more; parenting or work? How many cop shows have complicate family dynamics when there are two parents? John struggled with his feelings, with his job, and with how to be a dad and he failed at being a dad. When is the most a child needs their parent? IN CHILDHOOD! Especially after something as tragic as losing one of their parents! Trying to make amends years later when your kid is an adult is fine and well but that doesn’t erase the fact that...you sucked as a parent whey they needed you most. (I said what I said and if you can’t handle the scolding tea then...you probably had loving parents and this seems very harsh to you. But my dad sucks and to me this opinion for you is fact to me.)

When John sent Steve away with very little to no explanation, Steve was just struggling to find validation of a male authority figure so he won’t feel like such a royal fuck up. Enter Joe. Who helped Steve escape trouble and get back to a path of honor, someone who grew to become that parental guidance that showed him to be a man in the Navy, who helped him when he needed help, everything he wanted as a child but didn’t really get.

John getting killed left a lot of complicated feelings for Steve. First off he felt a failure of a soldier. He failed to stop this attack from a terrorist and someone died because of him. His father died and that last phone call where the last words but they weren’t genuine words that came from their own will power and decision to reconcile...no, they were death bed words. So all of that buried anger Steve carried for years doesn’t get unleashed, but remains...simmering and festering.

The father he had just kept failing him but because of honor and legacy placed by the military and the police force, Steve couldn’t outwardly show disdain. But at least he had Joe.

The man who would always have his back, who would always look out for him, who would always help....

To learn of Joe’s involvement....it’s the extreme and amplified version of Steve learning that Santa wasn’t real. But at that point, it was all fitting into the category of ‘that’s just Steve McGarrett’s life’. Steve’s insanely complicated relationship with his father left him clinging to Joe and even if deep inside felt horribly betrayed because one of the only good relationships he thought he had that was healthy...wasn’t, left him feeling dirty. Uneased. But he’s just so desperate for that connection...for chasing the chance to make amends with his father and saying a genuine goodbye, that he can’t be mad at Joe.

And it all goes back to Danny and Steve being baffled by how amazing a friend Danny is. Loyal and goes by the rules, and doesn’t put up with anyone’s shit. Be it the enemies, or a friend’s. It was refreshing and what Steve’s honestly wanted from his dad, from Joe. And it’s why Danny is Steve’s most important person on the planet and why the finale is so damn wrong in thinking Steve would just leave Danny like that.

#About Steve #Hawaii 5-0 #Steve McGarrett #John McGarrett #Joe White #Steve has so many issues #Steve has Daddy issues #and mommy issues #Anonymous

30 notes · View notes

bitch-i-migth-be · 4 years

Text

Crash Course | Chapter 03: Ready?

Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Batman,

Relationships: Danny Fenton & Jazz Fenton,

Characters: Danny Fenton, Jazz Fenton,

Words: 2′246

Tags: BAMF Danny, BAMF Jazz, Sibling bonding, Shenanigans, Swearing

Summary: He swore his sister was trying to make him go into cardiac arrest - considering his halfa status that was quite the accomplishment-

But there was no other explanation to his sister’s stubbornness, and if he knew her at all there was just no talking her down from interning at goddam Arkham.

A/N: I appreciate the comments, guys. :33 Let me know what u think.

CHAPTERS: 1, 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6 , 7

Danny might not be the smartest person out there but he sure was crafty as fuck.

He had needed to be even before the ghost entered the picture. Then, after the portal was up and running the habit of thinking on his feet and the fine art of rolling with the punches had been added to his skill set.

So, Danny knew from experience that no matter how good you could get at improvisation, it was always better to prepare beforehand if you had the opportunity. Because if you let something to chance, it would probably come back later to fuck you over. Or some annoying ghost would get in the way out of goddamn nowhere. He could deal with them, but it was just a waste of everyone’s time. Better get going before someone interrupted him.

Normally one small thing or another would backfire anyway because of his salted luck, but he preferred not to poke sleeping dragons when he could.

Taking into account all of that, he had decided the first order of business in the Fenton Crash Curse for Suicide Missions: Start packing all the shit they would need to take with them.

Because It’s never too early to pack for the road to hell.

Especially if you are already in a hell all of your own.

-.-.-.-

“What do you mean you are coming with me?” Jazz murmured from the threshold of Danny’s room, eyes wide open, as she watched her little brother try to pack all types of random things into suitcases.

Since she had announced at the Fenton Family Dinner her plans of going to Gotham University and accepting an internship at Arkham, Danny had been behaving like he was possessed, which considering the portal in their basement was not that far fetched; he had started carrying around a book-like-journal and would not stop murmuring about survival-of-the-fittest. Jazz was not going to lie, she appreciated the concern but that part was a little bit concerning. Not the survival in general, they had been playing that game since forever in this house, but they had never really needed to write anything down.

Until now, apparently.

It was kind of weird witnessing all this. Weird as in she wasn’t used to him fusing so much over her. A normal amount, yes. But most of the time it was the other way around, she was the big sister after all. Also, with the ghosts around and him going all hero on their behinds her brother was in dire need of all the support she could dispatch. So, yes, she wasn’t expecting this reaction at all, and she was even less prepared for her brother declaring his intentions of joining her in Gotham.

She hadn’t asked how he was planning on dealing with the ghost problem yet, but considering he was already packing when she, they now, weren’t leaving until the end of the summer Jazz thought her brother must have had something in mind already.

She didn’t even know how they could need some of the things he was putting in there but it appeared like Danny was on a roll and she wasn’t going to be the one stopping such, umh, productivity.

“I said what I said”

Jazz frowned lightly.

“Are mom and dad aware-?”

“I told them I was going to be your assistant with the research; mostly the field part because I don’t think they trust me with the equipment after what happened the last time,” Danny answered while still hunting down for more essential items to put in bags, those things were handy as fuck. “also, get a job or something”

“A job?” jazz raised an eyebrow and leaned against the doorframe.

“It’s on the list,” Danny waved his journal/diary/thing in the air. Huh, so they were survival tips. “considering you are the only one with a scholarship and I´m not going to school anyway it seemed appropriate.”

“excuse me? you are not going to what?”

“May as well-” Seeing his sister’s expression he quickly backtracked, “but I mean, if you are really that opposed there is always online classes”

Danny tried to smile in her sister’s direction, but his nervousness made it come out more like a grimace. He kept trying. Jazz kept staring at him. Danny kept grimacing back.

Then she smiled back. A proper, full toothed smile. Oh fuuck

“I think I can do you one better” And with that, she turned on her heel and left.

Danny blinked two times. one after the other.

“D-Do me one bet-? Jazz, wait!”

But it was already too late, his sister had another ball to start rolling.

-.-.-.-

Her brother was not stupid.

If her brother choice to appease her by taking online classes had been born merely of a strategic need, and hence the best course of action to take, Jazz wouldn’t have rebuked at all, there were, after all, some pretty good online options that her brother could take. But alas, that was not the real motive of his decision.

It pained her and enraged her to see people belittle her little brother without even knowing him. See them think they had any right to decide whether he was worth something.

And it nagged at her than even knowing the basics of what was wrong with her brother’s low grades, she couldn’t help him more than she currently did. Not really. Unless she wanted him to end up in the hands of the G.I.W.

Fat chance of that.

But if there was a thing a Fenton was not it was a settler. And like hell she was going to let these people bring her brother down.

The first order of business would be to scout out the G.S.U. properly, some phone calls could prove useful, after all those who search shall find.

-.-.-.-

When Jazz had retreated to her quarters earlier Dany had been left on his own with an uneasy feeling nagging at his gut. It felt a bit like foreboding.

Like most things in life that inconvenienced him when it came to family issues he decided to ignore it until it came back to bite him, so he continued with his preparations and eventually took a seat among all the clutter that had become his room. After that, he didn’t have to wait long.

His sister had come back strolling decisively into the room, only pausing briefly to warily give the evil eye to the sheer number of things spread all over the room that appeared to have multiplied since she left the place.

She stopped right in front of her brother’s seated form and trusted her phone into the smallest Fenton’s unsuspecting hands.

“Look! There is still time to apply to a full-ride scholarship at Gotham Academy” Danny blinked up at her without a word, and at his sister’s insistence looked down at the phone to start reading, then he did a double-take and started re-reading.

Jazz had got to be kidding him.

“You want me to apply to some posh elite school?” He looked up incredulously at the redhead “Elite, Jazz? Me? With my grades and the amount of time I would get to study for an entrance exam I would be failing this just by applying.” grumbled the boy.

“That’s the best part.” Said the girl smiling like the Cheshire cat. “This particular exam is practical in engineering”

Danny froze. His eyes shot back to the phone.

“Practical you say?”

“Yes, lately there have been more scholarships granted for demonstrating a great gasp in the practical portions. Gotham is a little, umh, hard to handle, I suppose, and there have been situations in which people with the knowledge to accomplish great things have been turned down because of a lack of proper school background or support. So they decided to start implementing this.” She explained while her little brother continued scanning the document up and down.

Eventually, Danny shook himself back together.

“Ok, look, let’s say I had a shot at this.”

“Which you do-”

“Which I might.” The younger interrupted her, “This still requires to prepare at least three proposals for the faculty’s designated table of judges to evaluate and grade to get the green card, and this is like two weeks -two weeks!- from now, it doesn’t even specify what they are gonna have the applicants doing for the final test. How the fuck am I-?!”

The redhead decided to cut in before he could drive himself into a frenzy.

“Well if you are that sure about joining me then you won’t have a problem acing this, will you?” she smirked, then it softened into something more fond. “I know you can do this Danny, and so do you. And if you are that worried about the time, I can help you, we can start tag teaming together for ways to deal with the ghost from the get-go. It may not be permanent, but it will have to do.”

Her brother started biting his own lower lip and still looked somewhat unsure, so she decided to use the final big gun.

“Did I mention that Gotham Academy is right across the road from Arkham?”

Danny’s shoulder slumped.

“Ughh, fine!”

Jazz beamed down at him.

“I will leave you to it then!”

-.-.-.-

“Also, those things are not going to fit anywhere if you don’t organize them”

“Oh, ye of little faith.”

-.-.-.-

So. Jazz did have a good reason to believe her brother could get the G.A. scholarship.

The Fenton thermos technology was not only useful for capturing ghosts but could also store other things. That’s to say, more tangible things.

And her brother was the one who made it happen.

Danny has been tinkering with his parent’s things a lot more than some people would be comfortable with. The truth is, some of the things Jack and Maddie have invented could be fucking useful for everyday life if you took out most of the ghost shit or rearranged them a bit, it could have gained them a pretty penny, but like we all know the Fentons are not interested in anything if it’s not ectoplasmic.

Danny, on the other hand?

As much as he ends up believing all the bullshit others say about his sister being the only genius child of the family, he had never been afraid of dismantling and mounting up again some of his parents’ equipment. For him, it was not a question of whether or not he was qualified to do so, after growing up watching his parents tinker random machines all over the house he had inevitably started to pick up their ways almost as if via osmosis.

His parents, of course, had never fully noticed the fluffy-sweater clad toddler waddling after them from time to time watching them work, at first this happened when Jazz was otherwise occupied in extracurricular activities and couldn’t keep the boy successfully distracted somewhere else.

If at the time, Jazz had realized what was going on, she may have panicked and stopped her sweetly feral summer child of a brother from getting anywhere near their parents in the middle of a craze. As it was, she had not noticed in those first years, and by the time it had come to her attention even she had to concede that if her little brother had managed his recon missions without no one the wiser - Her brother was sneaky like that -, then he deserved the benefit of the doubt.

And, had that not been enough to convince the big sister, that had been the moment the sudden realization than her brother, unlike her, was more of a hands-on learner hit her full force, which would have been enough to make her relent. Learning was always good in her books.

Later, Danny would find most of the classes being imparted in Casper high boring as fuck. Not necessarily for the subject, but the way they were imparted. The youngest Fenton needed a good explanation along with a hands-on approach applied to something he found interesting to fully commit to something. At school, the most he could get were the theory and the occasional practical classes.

If the classes had been related to something interesting, say, rockets, stars, maybe NASA, it would have been easy to pay his full, unconditional attention to the teachers. But not one of the teachers had bothered to try and link the lessons to the interest of the alumni, not surprising, considering public school stuck to basics and had a timeline to complete and the classroom never seemed to learn things at the same rhythm so concessions had to be met.

It was still boring as fuck. But if he wanted to someday make it into NASA he would have to suck it up and force himself to survive with relatively good notes this torment.

Then the ghost fights had entered the picture and his motive to keep up the grades had all but vanished, and the little time left behind to work with was not enough to make, at least, an average grade. He didn’t have enough reasons to strive for more.

For this though? A new chance far from the ghost and he could keep protecting her sister?

He had the brains. He had the passion. And a good damn motive to drive him forward.

Once he was done, the luggage - and Loony town - wouldn’t even know what hit it.

-.-.-.-

NOTES:

Also, the thing about Jack & Maddie not trusting Danny with the equipment was one of Danno’s secret tries at messing around with the things. Needless to say, that one time didn’t stay a secret.

Oh well, it was not like he asked for permission in the first place.

-.-.-.-

“fluffy-sweater clad toddler”

Not gonna lie, I made myself crave some cuddles from toddler danno, so. fucking. cute.

There he goeees just waddling like a little duckling asdfghjkl

-.-.-.-

If someone here is a fan of the Gotham Academy Comic I greatly regret -not really- to inform you I’m only taking hostage the place for my evil fanfic purposes. I don’t know if there is going to be references but that particular comic is not the focus of this story, SO. You have been forewarned.

#fanfic #danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #danny phantom fandom #danny fenton #jazz fenton #BAMF Danny Fenton #BAMF Jazz Fenton #protective siblings #Crossovers #Danny phantom & batman crossover #batman #young justice #swearing #cc #cc03 #crash course #dp crash course

32 notes · View notes

ladyfantasy98 · 4 years

Text

Flyers and Favors, Part 2!

Hello! First, thank-you for the wonderful response to my Danny Phantom fanfic, Flyers and Favors! I’m really honored that so many people have liked and reblogged -- some of them twice!

So while I had intended it to be a one-shot, inspiration struck, and I’ve added a second part! With a possible third part to come at a later date.

Chapter 2 deals with Dani battling Skulker when he comes to bother Danny during study time. It ended up longer and a bit more serious than I intended, but I think it’s still humorous and a good read (if I do say so myself ;) ).

Let me know what you think! I’d love to hear your thoughts on it!

You can read this second part either below the cut, or on my Fanfiction.net account. Happy Reading!

Danielle knew the instant a ghost showed up. A shiver ran through her body and she gasped, releasing a small blue puff of air.

With a grin, she jumped up from her brown wooden desk and transformed, letting two white lights wash over her body and change her into her ghost form, Dani Phantom. Her shoulder-length black hair (layered with triangle cuts in the back) became white, and a black-and-white jumpsuit replaced her purple pajama shorts and button-up top.

She turned intangible and flew up through the ceiling of her bedroom - created by siphoning off sections of the Fenton family's lab - until she reached her older cousin/brother/creator Danny's room. She poked her head through his floor just in time to see him finish his own transformation into Danny Phantom.

"Hey!" Dani called, startling him and making him jump up into the air. Hovering there, Danny looked over at her.

"What's up, Elle?" he asked. Ever since she had moved in with the Fentons a year ago as their adopted daughter, the family had taken to calling her Elle, Ellie, or Annie to differentiate between her and Danny. Dani didn't mind, but she still introduced herself to new people as Dani-with-an-I, and she would always be Dani Phantom.

"I got this one," she answered Danny. "Go back to studying."

"But - "

"I can handle whoever it is, I promise," Dani insisted. "That's the whole reason you went into the Ghost Zone the other day, right? To make sure they'd leave you alone so you could study?"

"Well, yeah, but -"

"Then study. These exams are really important to you, I know."

Danny lowered himself until he was back on the floor. He glanced over at his desk, which was covered with pencils, textbooks, and loose-leaf paper filled with scientific equations. "I mean...this can wait. You have homework, too, I know. I'll just stay up and -"

She narrowed her glowing green eyes - the same as Danny's - at him. "Danny. Please. My Pre-Calc homework is not going to determine whether I graduate or get into my dream college program this week. Just let me. Handle. The ghost."

Danny stared at her for a moment, looking torn, before he finally sighed. Twin flashes of light raced up his body, and his eyes turned blue, his white hair - cut shorter and closer to his head than when he was 14 - became black, and his own black and white jumpsuit disappeared to reveal a NASA T-shirt and a pair of blue boxers.

"Alright, you win," he conceded. "Just...be careful. And you'll get me if you need help?"

Dani rolled her eyes. "Yes, Dad, I promise. Now go do you homework!"

Danny laughed. "Alright, Mom." But he waited and watched as Dani pulled out her phone and quickly shot off a text to Valerie, saying the exact same thing she'd told Danny, before turning intangible again and flying through the roof.

Bursting into the night air, Dani took a second to enjoy the rush of flight, before putting herself into a fighting mindset. Looking around at the houses, clearly illuminated by the giant green Fenton Works sign attached to the Fentons' home, Dani couldn't see any signs of a recent ghost attack. No broken windows, no smoking buildings, no screaming people.

But she'd definitely sensed a ghost earlier. Maybe it was something small? Or it was still in the lab? Now that she thought about it, she should have just checked out the lab first, especially since it was right next to her bedroom. But she'd wanted to make sure Danny didn't go after the ghost himself. He'd been super stressed over his final AP Chem and AP Physics tests this week and she had wanted to do him a favor by taking care of any ghostly threats that came through.

Not to mention it would show him and the rest of Team Phantom that she was mature and skilled enough to protect Amity without any of them breathing down her neck. Honestly, she loved her cousin, and Sam and Tucker and Valerie, but sometimes they were way too overprotective. They acted like she hadn't spent over a year living on her own, fighting ghosts and for her own survival. And they had been worse lately; their impending collegehood must have been making them overly nostalgic and worried and adult-like.

Dani was about to head back inside, when she gasped, her Ghost Sense alerting her once again. Then, sensing something coming towards her from behind, she dodged to the left - just in time to avoid the grappling hook/claw that zipped by her. It landed in the sidewalk down below, cracking the concrete.

Dani spun around, following the mechanical line up from the hook to the ghost who had fired it. When she saw who it was, she groaned.

"Oh, come on, Skulker? Really? Do you know what time it is?" she demanded.

"Ah, the Ghost Girl. Nice to see you. I'd been planning on hunting your sire, but a fight with you should warm me up nicely!" Skulker exclaimed. He pressed a button on his suit, and the grappling hook shot up from the sidewalk and returned to Skulker with a hissing sound. "And, yes, I know it's late. My apologies. Believe it or not, it's morning right now in the Ghost Zone."

Dani rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." Floating higher until she was eye level with Skulker, she prepared her own ecto-blast, green light coiling around her hand. "Also, how many times do I have to tell you, Danny is my cousin, or maybe my brother. He's not my sire. That makes him sound like a medieval king or something. It's weird."

Skulker chuckled. "You're more right than you know, child." Then, raising his arm to ready an ecto-energy cannon blast, he added, "Now, enough talk. Let the hunt begin!"

Danielle smirked. "You're on."

She took aim at the center of the robotic suit and launched her ecto-blast. Skulker simply dodged it, and fired his own attack. Danielle turned intangible and let the cannon fire pass right through her. Undeterred, Skulker launched a type of flaming arrow, burning with his signature green-blue fire.

I should probably move the fight away from the neighborhood so nothing gets too damaged, thought Dani. Dodging the small projectile and flying over near the park, she asked,

"Didn't you get the flyer?"

"Of course I got the flyer. The Ghost Child littered them all over my front lawn!" Skulker exclaimed, shooting out three more rockets from the launcher on his right shoulder.

"And, what, you just decided to ignore it? That's so not cool." Dani reached out her hand and encased the rockets in her ecto-energy, containing their explosions; smoke billowed within the green spheres as she lowered them to the ground.

Dani then flew towards the park, where there would be less people to hurt and less buildings to damage. Skulker chased after her, donning a pair of night-vision goggles, even though there were still street lamps in the park.

"I thought you guys were allies sometimes," Dani added, stopping in mid-air above one of the public fountains. She could hear the water gurgling slightly in its concrete bowl.

"Yes, when the fate of the Ghost Zone is at stake," Skulker answered. He hovered on the opposite side of the fountain, arm outstretched towards her. "The whelp failed to explain in his flyer how him failing a test would be the end of the world."

Dani narrowed her eyes at the hunter. "It'd be the end of his world," she told him. She held up both hands and formed two more ecto-blasts. "What's important to Danny is important to me, so I'm not gonna let you ruin this for him."

"How admirable." Skulker fired another blue laser at her, which she dodged. She released her ecto-blasts, hitting Skulker in the chest. He crashed into a nearby tree, breaking the poor plant in half. When Skulker remained on the ground, Dani hovered closer to him. Placing both hands on her hips, she said,

"You don't plan on following him to college, too, do you? 'Cause that would be even more uncool."

Skulker merely grinned at her from among the wood splinters. "But of course! Where the prey goes, the hunter goes. The whelp doesn't think he can shake me just by going to a different learning institution, does he? How foolish!"

Dani fired another ecto-blast at him. He yelled in pain as it hit, pounding him into the ground. Dani smirked as the dust settled. That oughta teach him.

Only to widen her eyes in surprise when she saw that Skulker was no longer on the ground. "Wha - ?"

A presence behind her. She looked over her shoulder just in time to see Skulker's grin before he backhanded her, sending her crashing into another tree. Dani groaned as the tree fell, sending a shock wave of pain up her body. Spitting out leaves, she gathered herself, then rose up into the sky.

"Alright, Skulker, not ba - aaahhh!" Dani screamed as a ghost-proof net wrapped around her, knocking her back onto the ground and sending bolts of electricity through her body. She was left panting and jittery once it passed.

"Haha, you underestimated me, didn't you, Ghost Girl?" Skulker crowed as he walked towards her, his metal boots crushing the grass underfoot.

Danielle scrunched her eyes in pain, before opening them and glaring at the ghost hunter. She wriggled in the net, frustration building as she failed to free herself.

Skulker picked up the net and Danielle, holding her as if she weighed nothing. She'd gotten a bit of a growth spurt once she'd turned fourteen, reaching Danny's old height, but Skulker was still much larger than she was. Well, his suit was, at least.

"You know," Skulker began, regarding her thoughtfully, "I've never understood why you cling to human traditions so much. You, Phantom, even Plasmius - you all plan and prepare for human lives, human futures, but why? You're ghosts. And sure, lots of my neighbors concoct plans for world domination - even I like the occasional vacation out in the human world. But ultimately, we all belong in the Zone. Even you three."

Dani blinked up at him, surprised by his sudden philosophical demeanor. Even as she huffed and struggled in the net, she couldn't help but agree with him. There were times - when she was flying, high above the earth, or slipping between buildings without a care for the laws of physics, or using her powers to fight ghosts intent on doing evil - she wondered why she wanted to be human. Why did she want to pretend to be an ordinary girl, when there were people like the Guys in White that would capture and dissect her and her cousin the first chance they got? Why should she hide herself in this world, when in the Ghost Zone no one cared that she was part human?

But then...

Then she remembered the look on Danny's face as he taught her how to use her powers to help people. How excited he was to receive the acceptance letter from Amity University, contingent on his grades though it was. The joy and pride Danielle felt when Jack and Maddie welcomed her into their family, ghost powers and all. Going shopping with Jazz, and having her explain things like bras and periods. Hanging out with Tucker, Sam, Danny, and Valerie, listening to them joke around and plan for the future, even as they made Amity Park a safer place.

Dani sucked in a deep breath. "Skulker, you're right," she said. "We are half ghost."

Then, hoping she was right, she transformed. The white rings washed over her, her ghost side tucked away for now, leaving her in all her human glory. And - to her delight - as soon as she was human, Dani fell out of the net.

She landed on her feet, and smiled up at Skulker, who looked confounded. He must have forgotten to use the anti-halfa net instead, or perhaps, like usual, he had underestimated her.

"But we're also half human. And so we decide where we belong."

Mid-transformation, Dani jumped up and decked Skulker in the face. The ghost sailed to the left, gouging a trench into the earth as he landed. Before he could get up, Dani unhooked the mini-Fenton Thermos she always kept with her from around her waist and aimed it at the ghost. The thermos' opening shone brightly, its light sucking Skulker up into its metal confines.

"No! No! I'll get you for this, Ghost Girl! You and the whelp!" Skulker thundered, his words becoming quieter and more distorted as he disappeared into the thermos. Dani capped it and twisted firmly, sealing him inside.

The night became quiet once again. Dani surveyed the former battleground, pleased to see that the park had sustained little damage, outside of a few broken trees. Hooking the thermos back onto her belt, she rose into the air and headed home.

Danielle didn't know where she quite fit in yet - in town, in school, in life - but there was plenty of time for her to discover that. Right now, all she wanted was to stay by her family and friends' sides. And if the the price for that was battling a few ghosts and sticking them in Fenton thermoses - for at least six months, she thought gleefully, imagining Skulker's misery -

Well, then it was a price she would gladly pay.

20 notes · View notes