#I have this scheduled to reach you in the upside down time zone
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Yours Submissively ~ Consideration
Steve Rogers X OFC Isabella Davis
Summary: Five Years after the events of Civil War, Steve Rogers has moved on from avenging and has started his own business, Grant Inc. He has a secret that would turn his world upside down. And he's good at keep that secret. Until he meets the woman with violet eyes that could bring him to his knees. Now his mission is to make her, his. But she is the key that could bring the world into balance... or chaos.
And she has no idea.
Series Warnings: slow burn at the beginning, smut, angst, sexual themes of BDSM, dom/sub dynamics, kidnapping, loss of virginity, (and a bunch of others that will come up)
A/N: Couldn't leave it where it ended.
Also the taglist is open!
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated
Previous: Contract
Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist
Belle put the paperwork down and felt her cheeks burning. What in the actual hell was going on? Steve Rogers, Captain America, the boy scout of good, was actually a dirty, dirty man. The contract was simple in itself. He wanted someone to control, to use. He wasn’t looking for more. She got up and went to the kitchen.
Lila was there, texting and giggling. Belle ignored it, lost in thought. She grabbed a wine glass and a bottle of Moscato. She poured herself a large glass and was heading back to her room when Lila stopped her. “Belle? Are you ok?”
“Just lost in thought.” Belle sipped her wine.
“Is it about Steve?”
“Kinda.”
Lila studied her. “Did he hurt you?”
Belle looked at her with wide eyes. “No! God no. He was… perfect.” She sighed. “I just don’t know if I want to get involved with someone who couldn’t give his all to me. He’s a CEO, an Avenger.”
“Former Avenger, Belle. But you’re busy too. You would basically be on the same schedule.” Lila grabbed the glass out of her hand and took a sip. “Isabella, I love you. I know that you are nervous about graduation and not having the job yet, but you need to allow yourself to be happy. And if Steve Rogers makes you happy, then go for it. We’ll all still be here for you.” Belle thought of her friends and when they landed on Scott, she rolled her eyes. “What?”
“Scott. He, well, he made a move on me. At the bar.”
“He WHAT?”
“Lila please. Steve stopped it and Scott left. I have to talk to him and explain.”
“You don’t owe any explanation. If he crossed a line, he owes you an apology. Do you want me to talk to him?”
“God no. Its fine. I don’t know what got into Scott.”
Just as Belle took a sip, Lila says, “The fact that he’s got a roaring crush on you and Hope.”
Belle choked on her wine with a laugh. “I knew about Hope. I didn’t notice about me.”
“That’s because you friend zoned him hard and he just couldn’t take the hint.” Lila’s phone binged again and she smiled as she read the message.
“Bucky?”
“Yeah, he’s flirting via text. Its sweet.”
Belle shrugs. “I guess.”
“Has Steve not reached out?”
“I haven’t checked.” She went to her room and Lila followed.
“New phone?”
“From Steve.”
“Wow, Belle are you….”
“I didn’t ask for it, Lila. He just gave it to me. Your new boyfriend helped.” She looked at her phone and disappointment flooded her. Nothing. No messages. She sighed. “He’s probably getting ready for work.” She threw the phone down on her bed and looked up to Lila and smiled. “Its new I guess.”
“Belle, why don’t you make the first move?”
“Not tonight, Li. I’m just going to go to bed. I have class in the morning.”
Lila hugged her friend. “Maybe he doesn’t know you want more.”
“Maybe. But this would be the first relationship since Brock.”
“True. But four years is a long time to wait to feel wanted. I mean besides Scott.”
“Shut up Li. I’m going to call him right now. Good night.”
“Night.” She left the room and Belle was consumed with her thoughts.
Lila messaged Bucky.
L: Your friend is an ass
B: Friend?
L: Friend Boss whatever
B: You lost me
L: She hasn’t had a real relationship in 4 years. She just wants someone to care for her. So he’s an ass.
B: Oh.
B: Can’t I go back to flirting with you
L: Maybe when she isn’t so sad
Belle picked up her phone and dialed Scott.
Hello?
“Hi Scott.”
Belle! I’m so happy you called.
Belle chewed the side of her mouth. “Scott, we have to talk.”
I know. She heard him sigh. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that you wouldn’t…
“Look Scott,” she cut him off. “You know I love you but I just want to be friends with you. I’m sorry.”
Is Steve Rogers the reason?
“What the hell Scott.”
I mean he did swoop in. Is it his money?
“You know what Scott? No. And until you apologize, I don’t want to talk to you.” She hung up and silenced her phone. The tears that have been threatening all day ran down her face as rain started to fall outside. The perfect weather for her shitty mood. It should have been a great day. She finally fell asleep as her phone lit up with a message.
SR: Are you ok?
In the morning, Belle got ready to go and threw everything in her bag and head out to her first class. She pushed everything to the back of her mind as she concentrated on the classes that would help her graduate. She finished her last class and started to head home. She wasn’t paying attention and bumped into someone. She didn’t look up. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.
“You know, its polite to apologize to someone in the eye,” a familiar voice told her. She finally looked up and saw the ocean blue eyes that had been haunting her.
“Mr. Rogers, hi. Oh god. I’m sorry. I just…” She stopped when his hand cradles her face.
“Do you always ramble?”
“Only when I’m nervous.” She studied him. “You’re in Jersey.”
“You didn’t answer.”
“Answer what?”
“Your phone Isabella.”
She dug into her bag. And realized she never un-silenced her phone. There were multiple messages, Lila, Scott, Hope and one from Steve.
“I’m so…” he cut her off with a kiss on her lips. Still as soft and sweet.
She looked up at him. “If you keep doing that, you will have to learn CPR.”
He smirks. “And why is that?”
“Because I forget to breathe.” Belle looked down and blushed. Steve used his finger to guide her head back up.
“If you forget to breathe, I’ll always remind you how to.” He gently cupped her face. And kissed her again. “Are you busy right now?”
“I was just going to study. Lila has a late class.”
“Have dinner with me.” It wasn’t a question.
“Mr. Rogers…”
“Steve…”
“Steve, I’ve read the contract and I know…”
“This isn’t about the contract. This is about me getting to know you.”
“And I don’t get to know about you?”
“Everything you need to know is in the history books.”
“No, not everything as you have proven yesterday. I don’t know if I could do this if I didn’t know you.”
Steve sighed and knew she was correct. “Fine. We can talk over dinner. Come.” He took her hand and her back pack off of her. He walked her to the car where Bucky was standing. He handed the bag off as he opened the door for Belle to climb in. Once they were settled, Steve took Belle’s hand into his.
“So this hand holding is going to be a thing?”
“Do you not like it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then why question…”
“Because we aren’t in a relationship,” she blurted out. “You are still just the guy that…”her mouth got covered by his hand.
“Don’t Isabella.” He slowly removed his hand. “I didn’t realize you were so…”
“Opinionated, witty, snarky…”
“Crass. And with no filter apparently. I thought that was just an alcohol induced trait.”
“No, my father taught me to be respectful when necessary but to always be myself.” Belle looked down.
“What was your father’s name?”
“Real or adopted?”
“Both.”
“Real, Michael. Adopted, Phil.”
“I’m assuming you are talking about Phil.”
“Yeah. He died when I was 16.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
“Can I ask…”
“It was a work incident. He fell or something. Got stabbed through the chest on a piece of metal. The casket was closed so I couldn’t be sure.”
“And your mother?”
“She died with my real dad. I was a baby.”
“Is that why you don’t sing?”
Belle tried not to cry. “I used to sing and play the piano for Phil, Dad, when he had hard days.” She smiled a little. “His favorite was Tiny Dancer.”
“You miss him a lot.”
“Every day.” She looked out the window and saw that they pulled next to a Mediterranean restaurant. “Hummus?”
“Something I have learned to love.” Steve smiled. “Is this ok?”
“Is Bucky joining us?”
Steve looked at him and Bucky subtly shook his head. “No, he’s got other things to do.”
“Lila things?”
Steve laughed. “Among other things. Come.” He took her hand and pulled her from the car. They were seated in the back. “I didn’t ask…”
“Yea, meat eater, cave woman, whatever,” she said with a smirk.
Steve shook his head. “Have you always lived in New York?”
“Yeah, Brooklyn. Dad had a thing about Brooklyn. He never really explained.”
“Were you here during the battle?”
Belle knew he was referencing New York. It was just a couple of days after Phil had died, she learned later. She had been evacuated and she didn’t learn the truth until days after. “No,” she finally answered. “Some people came to get me that worked with my dad. I guess they waited until the danger cleared before they told me.”
“So you’ve been on your own for…”
“Seven years.” She sipped her coke. “And you’ve been out of…”
“We call it cryo. For a little over seven years. Funny enough, the man who took me to meet Tony and everyone was named Phil. Good guy.” He didn’t mention that he had died as well. He didn’t want to invoke a sad reaction. Their food arrived and he was fascinated at the way Belle ate. She took a little of everything onto her fork so she could saver the bite.
“You are adorable.”
She swallowed. “Adorable?”
“The way you eat. It’s like you want all the flavors at once.”
“It’s the only way to eat this food. The spices are meant to be together to give you a full experience.” Steve looked at her, stunned. “What?”
“Why do I have the feeling that education was not your first passion.”
Belle flushed. “It wasn’t. I wanted to go to culinary school. But when dad died, I knew I needed to be able to support myself. I liked working with kids when I was a camp counselor so I figured I could be of service and do something I like to do.”
“That’s very noble.”
“Ahh, the All-American seal of approval.” Belle clamped her mouth shut as soon as the words were spoken. She looked at Steve to see his reaction and quickly looked down.
“Isabella?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that.”
“I’m not offended.”
She peeked at him. “You’re not?”
“No, sweetheart. I’m not.” Steve smiled. “You are the only person I know that avoids acknowledging my past. It’s refreshing.”
“I figured since you left that life, you didn’t want to remember it.”
“The world is safe again. They don’t need Captain America. So, I moved to business. I was good in school with numbers. And people.”
“Would you?”
“Would I what?”
“Pick up the shield again?”
“Only if I needed to.”
“Like?”
“To save someone I love.”
Belle chewed on her pita to contemplate that. “So not to save the world?”
“Is my loved one there?”
“I guess so.”
“Then I guess I would save the world. Again.”
Belle smiled. “See, that wasn’t something I would learn from history books.”
Steve chuckled. “I guess you’re right.” He cleared his throat. “About the contract?”
“I’m still doing my research. But I have to tell you it frightens me.”
“Which part?”
“The punishments. The toys.” She stopped and took a breath. “All of it. Steve,” she took his hand, “why me?”
Steve reached over to push back a tendril of hair that had fallen from her half ponytail. “Because ever since you fell into my office, I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”
“And you don’t want me just as me?”
Steve didn’t answer. Of course, he wanted her. She was perfect in his eyes. Someone to fill the part of him that was missing. A love. A partner. A wife. But she would be a target, the one thing he would pick up the shield for. Every time. “It’s just easier this way Isabella.” She pulled back. “Let’s just try, Isabella. One night.”
“Just one?”
“My, my, we are greedy, aren’t we?” he replied with a chuckle. “Fine, a weekend. Spend the weekend with me.”
“A weekend.”
“If you don’t like it, you can walk away.”
The thought of leaving Steve hurt Belle. But she knew he was right. He never said he wanted more. “Ok,” she whispered.
“I’ll still pick you up on Friday.”
“I’m at Stark on Friday.”
“I’ll be by. Don’t worry about packing anything. I have everything for you. Let’s get you home.” Steve offered his hand this time and she placed hers in his. They made it to the street where Steve was hailing a cab.
“No Bucky?”
“He’ll meet me at your place.” The entered the cab, the silence deafening. She didn’t know what to say. “Tell me what you’re thinking?”
“That I’m nervous. And that I want to hold your hand.”
Steve smirked but took her hand. “It’s so small.”
“You’re kinda over the top Mr. Rogers.” She blushed. Everywhere.
Steve shot her a lust filled look. “Are you flirting with me Miss Davis?”
“I would never Mr. Rogers. I’m a lady.”
He got close to her ear. “I know better, baby,” he whispered. The actions sent shivers down her spine. They arrived at her apartment building to see Lila and Bucky talking. Steve paid for the cab and took Belle’s hand. He walked her to the car. “Friday?”
“Friday,” she confirmed. He bent down to place a soft kiss on her lips.
“Sweet dreams Isabella.”
NEXT
Taglist:
@patzammit
@texmexdarling
@slutforchrisjamalevans
@jennmurawski13-writes
@firephotogrl74
@tinkerbelle67
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@bunnyforhim
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#andy's hea#andy's shenanigans#yours submissively#chris evans fanfiction#steve rogers au#steve rogers smut#steve rogers fanfiction#Steve Rogers x OFC#Bucky barnes#chris evans#mcu fanfiction#Steve rogers#steve rogers imagine#chris evans au#avengers au
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assassin's creed 2
dedicated to @ezioauditore-s. happy birthday nat!
#I have this scheduled to reach you in the upside down time zone#the boyfriends meeting for the first time <3 <3#ezio x leonardo#ezioleo#ezio auditore#leonardo da vinci#ac2#assassin's creed#assassin's creed 2#acedit#gamingedit#dailygaming#gamingnetwork#dailyvideogames#mygifs#oc#myac2#myac
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WC: 2.5k (long winded girl, I know)
Plot: They share stuff and it changes how they see things. Connection ensues.
CW: Mentions of death, illness, hospitals I guess, violence.
a/n: Hello y’all. This is part two of whatever the fuck is going on inside my pea brain. Hope you enjoy.
Part one, the meeting.
Two; It’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.
She laughed at the awkwardness of the text and the perfect grammar Dr. Spencer Reid maintained while texting. Ollie made a mental note to care a little more about the phrasing of her own texts, especially considering the circumstances. To say she wanted to impress him was an understatement.
“Good, germs are yucky.” Sent at 7:45 am.
“Also, hi. Good morning” Sent at 7:45 am.
Good morning? Too much too soon? She fell victim to her overthinking for at least twenty minutes after sending her last text, realizing she had to slowly build up the courage to ask about the next time they would be seeing each other, which apparently would have to wait, since Spencer had an inconvenient schedule and could be out of the state in a matter of 20 minutes. Ollie exhaled and stood up from her awful office chair to go and make herself some coffee, hoping to stop her mind from reeling and sending her into her usual never-ending pit of despair and anxiety that came with stepping out of her comfort zone.
A ping echoed in the room and her screen lit up, displaying a text from the one person she had been thinking about. Ollies mother would be crying laughing if she saw the state she was in, positively losing hair over the fact that a cute, smart, witty man was texting her back. A man she had spoken to for the first time not even 24 hours prior.
“I’m a nice person, I’m funny sometimes, I offered him coffee.” She whispered to herself, rationalizing every aspect of their interaction. “That’s how friendships start” She laughed bitterly. “I’m here… freaking… wishful thinking, and maybe he has a significant other… maybe he doesn’t even like women… maybe he just thought I was nice and he thought ‘yay, a new friend’… fuck” she plopped herself back on the chair and threw her head back.
Lia would have known what the right thing to do is, she would come up with a cool thing to text back on the spot, and she resented her absence like she had a million times before. Ollie had gotten used to writing her letters like her best friend was living somewhere else in the world and she would eventually read her friend’s attempt at keeping her updated, which she knew was not healthy and definitely not helping her move on.
The thing is, Lia’s death was not a surprise at all. It was a possibility to the point of actually being expected. She had been diagnosed as a terminal patient for a little over a year before she passed and almost everyone around her had made peace with the fact that she could go any day and that life would have to go on without her, but no amount of grief counseling and encouraging talks with Lia’s family could have prepared her for the unimaginable pain Ollie felt when it happened. She had heard about experiences that made the world turn upside down and how some life events made you go numb and make your legs give weight, but had never come face to face with a happenstance that painful.
She figured she was going to have to carry the burden of her loss till the day she died, and even then, the words “I missed you, till the very end.” would be carved in her grave.
Coming back from her spiral, she remembered how she fell down the rabbit hole in the first place. She took her phone with the intention of texting Spencer back and smiled at how stupid she had been to worry about seeing him again.
“Hey, arrest made successfully. Are you busy right now?” Sent at 7:57 am.
Sighing with relief, Ollie smiled and tried to sound casual with her reply as to not sound like seeing him again was the only thing she had been thinking about.
“I’m the boss, I can un-busy myself. Why? Were you charmed by my Keurig?” Sent at 8:00 am.
Spencer was not the kind to send sassy texts, or any text for that matter. This was completely new to him and he was determined to get it right, so he channeled the Derek Morgan that lived within him and prayed to whatever deity was looking out for him to make him sound cooler than he was feeling.
“I’m a sucker for coffee so, yes.” Sent at 8:05
“I’m a sucker for you, apparently” Ollie nearly screamed at how quickly that came out of her mouth. “Fucking loser, dear God” She shook her head, scolding herself and whatever hamster was in charge of her brain and thought process.
“Mi oficina es tu oficina, then. I’ll be waiting.” Sent at 8:07
Twenty minutes later, he was there, coffee cup in his hands. After what felt like no time at all, they were four coffee cups deep into their conversation and had learned a lot more about each other. Turns out Spencer had a day off after they landed from an away case, he had a thing with germs, his favorite color was purple and his co-workers were more his family than just the people he happened to work with. He liked a bunch of sugar with his coffee and had an eidetic memory that was as much of a blessing as it was a curse.
He was impressed at how this girl was not what you would expect her to be, every aspect of her seemed to make no sense and at the same time, it made perfect sense. This purple haired girl had ADHD and a PhD in history, she was the oldest daughter of two of the most stubborn Mexican immigrants and had a sister that made even the most patient of humans go mad. She loved music, and was not ashamed to admit that her taste in music was far from sophisticated. “I am Taylor Swift’s bitch; I know the words to every single one of her songs! Same goes for One Direction too” She argued when Spencer said that it couldn’t be that bad.
A blaring ring halted their conversation to an unexpected stop. Ollie picked up the office phone with an annoyed grimace and exchanged a few words with whoever was calling.
“Hold that thought, I have to go sign a thingy at the front desk” She dashed out of her office and left Spencer there.
For the first time, he felt compelled to look around and fixate on the details. There were a few old looking pictures and some newer ones with people who looked a lot like her. There was one picture that caught his attention, isolated from the rest like it deserved a spot of its own. In it, there was a red-haired girl that looked around Ollie’s age, one of her arms around her waist and the other one cradling her head that was laying on her shoulder. Ollie’s eyes were closed and the red head looked like she was caught mid-sentence. Stuck to the frame was a little post it note that read “I love you, head ass. -Lia” It looked intimate, they were clearly comfortable with that kind of physical affection, and if Lia hadn’t called Ollie a head ass in the post it, he would have assumed they were together romantically.
Ollie came back in a hurry, apologizing for having to run out like that and sitting back down to resume their conversation.
“It’s okay, don’t worry” Spencer assured her. “I was looking at your pictures, I hope you don’t mind” He said, suddenly very aware of how invasive that could be.
“Not at all, those are there to be looked at” She shrugged, bracing herself for the question she knew was coming. Somehow, talking about Lia with him did not feel as dreadful as it had all those times she was asked about it before, perhaps it’s just him and his calming presence.
Sure enough, he pointed at the picture Lia had framed for valentine’s day and asked, “Who’s that?”.
“That’s Lia, she was my best friend. She is my best friend.” She smiled fondly, something that had never happened before when talking about this specific topic. Maybe sharing Lia’s memory with someone who didn’t know her was different. “She passed away almost a year and a half ago. 468 days ago, to be exact. She was really sick, it was inevitable” Ollie let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, reaching for the post it and tracing the words over with her finger.
“I’m so sorry, I can’t imagine how hard that must have been”
“It was… heartbreaking. Even with all that time we had to process the news, it still took me off guard.” She shook her head trying to ground herself. “Anyways, that’s a sad topic. I don’t want to bum you out with it.”
He knew the feeling all too well, he had apologized to several people when he rambled about Maeve, feeling like he had said too much and gotten too personal. He was not about to let this beautiful, vibrant soul feel the way he had for so long. Like he still did, truly.
“Don’t apologize, I get it. You’re not making me sad” He felt like he needed to elaborate to actually convey the message. “I went through the same thing with someone I loved too” he said, looking down at his hands, the very familiar feeling of oversharing creeping in. As he looked up, he noticed the sad look Ollie was giving him, but if the profiler in him was right, she was inviting him to share, not to stop.
“Her name was Maeve. She… she was a geneticist. She helped me through a rough time and she became my friend. It’s a long story…” he looked away.
“I want to hear it, long or not. But only if you want me to.” She gave him the warmest smile she could muster, which convinced him to keep going.
“Um, I started getting some headaches a while ago. I went to a few doctors but none of them gave me an answer. I reached out to Maeve for help and… We bonded, I guess.” He took a shaky breath.
“You don’t have to continue if you feel uncomfortable” she whispered in the most delicate tone.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just… I’ve never told this story before. Everyone in my life that I care about was there to see it.” He said, meeting her eyes so she could see how honest he was being. The man got a hold of himself for a minute, and continued.
“Maeve had to go into hiding. She was being stalked by some woman she met at work. Beyond talking on the phone, we hadn’t even met. I had no idea what she looked like and vice versa. This girl, the stalker… She wrote a paper, and Maeve dismissed it because it didn’t have a good enough foundation. When she started stalking her, she scared her into hiding and eventually started dating her ex-fiancé to try and get closer to Maeve, assuming he knew where she was. They ended up finding her and confronting her. She shot herself and the first person I ever loved. Right in front of me and my friends. The first five minutes I got with Maeve face to face, were the last.”
Baring his soul to a person he had known for a whooping 18 hours was the weirdest thing Spencer had ever done, so unlike himself it was almost funny. But at the same time, he felt like it had to happen. By no means did he believe in fate or destiny, but this one moment made him feel like maybe whoever does believe in that stuff, is not completely wrong.
She was not a therapist. She listened because she was going through a similar thing herself and her interest in Spencer’s loss was not rooted in psychoanalyzing him and helping him cope. She was just a mundane human that did not look at him with condescension and pity, she looked at him like she, too, had found a person who wouldn’t ask her “And, how does that make you feel?” in a monotonous voice. They both knew better than to assume they had all the answers.
“Spencer, that’s horrible. I am so sorry you had to see that. Jesus, fuck. I- “She thought about her next words very carefully. “That’s enough to crush anyone’s spirit” She looked at him like he was turning green. The reason being, he did not look like he was crushed. He had a beautiful smile that shook Ollie to her core, he was easygoing and conversation with him was carefree and it flowed easily. If he had not told her about Maeve, she would not have guessed the man sitting right in front of her was as affected as her.
“How did you manage to get through that?” Ollie questioned, fully intending to take notes.
“I don’t really think I have yet…” Well, time to come clean. Spencer thought. “The whole reason I was here yesterday, and a lot more times before that one, is because she and I talked about this museum. She told me about some conferences she had attended here and we made plans to visit together. Doesn’t quite sound like someone who’s over the whole thing.” He fiddled with his fingers, suddenly too aware of how cold it was. “How did you get through Lia’s death?”
“Yeah, well. I don’t really think I’m quite there either. Not like I’m trying, anyways. I can’t seem to get away from the Grey Roots either” Mental images of two little kids running around with dusty books in their hands came to her and she couldn’t help the small smile she broke into.
“I’m a hopeless romantic at heart, I have always thought that the way Lia and I found each other was pure magic. We met when we were in the second grade, right in this museum, we were on a field trip and we clicked. It was crazy to me that I actually met my best friend at such a young age, and the kind that lasts forever too. It sounds like when people meet the love of their lives on their first try. It sounds dorky, I know”
“It doesn’t. If anything, it sounds like you consider yourself lucky to have loved her like you did. We need more people like that, people that believe in magic.” Spencer reassured her with a shrug. He wished he could believe in cute stuff like that, but he was happy Ollie led a life that made her believe.
“Yeah, but us crazy people, we get our hopes up too easily. Sometimes it hurts.”
“Tell me about it.”
And just like that, in the not so well-lit office of the head Conservator of the Grey Roots Museum and Archive, something in the world had shifted.
#spencer reid x original female character#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x latina reader#criminal minds headcanons#criminal minds#bau#fluff#spencer reid headcanon
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Harley being worried when peter’s on patrol? with angst and fluff? 🥺🥺 thank you
This is mostly just fluff oops
Harley knew what he was signing up for when he started seeing Peter. The worry, the anxiety, the late nights waiting up for him, it was all inevitable. Peter said that he was never going to give up Spider-Man, it was always going to be there.
And Harley wasn’t mad, per se. He didn’t want Peter to have to give up something he loves doing just for Harley’s peace of mind.
He was okay with it.
But then they moved in together and got engaged a few months later, and it started hurting a little bit more to kiss his fiancé goodbye every night, no idea if it would be the last time.
Harley stays quiet about all his fears, about losing Peter so soon in life, about how he can’t sleep without knowing Peter made it home safe. But being quiet about something that affects him so much isn’t the best idea because it leads to the worst fight they’ve ever had.
It always sucks because whenever they fight, Peter cries, and that’s the last thing Harley ever wants to cause.
After that fight – which ended with Peter staying at MJ’s house for four days before they reconciled and he came home – they finally come up with a schedule to quell Harley’s anxiety as much as possible but without hurting Peter’s Spider-Manning.
But it still sucks.
“Please, sweetheart, just one night?” Harley says, trying to pull the sweetest expression he can.
Peter smiles softly through the mirror. His suit is in his hands, ready to change and leave through the window, but he’s hesitating.
“You know I can’t miss a night, Harls. I’ll be home at one, just like promised.” Peter rakes a hand through his damp hair from showering, and sighs. “I’ll take Sunday off, alright? We’ll go out to that new restaurant you’ve been talking about and maybe, if we’re not super tired, we can see if we can catch a performance on Broadway?”
Despite knowing that it won’t happen, Harley nods anyways. Peter does that a lot, he makes plans for date night or trips, but he always backs out at the last second for Spider-Man or for a work-related crisis.
Peter’s face softens even more, walking into their bedroom to press a kiss to Harley’s forehead. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t easy for you, but I promise, this time, I’ll be there for Sunday, and for Thanksgiving at Tony’s, I’ll be there.”
“I worry.” It’s not anything new, Harley’s always worrying about Peter. Back when they were stupid teenagers dating online, Harley always felt unbelievably helpless whenever Peter got hurt. Harley was all the way in Tennessee and there was nothing he could do whenever Peter needed help or was in the hospital for weeks following a mission.
“I know you do.”
Early in their relationship, Harley would’ve gotten upset that there was no apology. There was no promise for a solution to Harley’s worrying. Now, Harley knows better. This is just the way it is, the way it has to be.
Harley leans up to kiss Peter. It’s not a goodbye, he tries to tell himself, not necessarily. But it could be. That’s the part that never stops hurting. That any one of these days where he kisses Peter goodbye, it could be goodbye forever.
“I love you.”
“I’m going to be fine,” Peter says. And he will be, Harley knows that. He’s been fine the past four years Harley’s let him go out there. “But I love you too. And I won’t bother telling you not to wait up because I know you will no matter what I say.”
Peter slips his suit on, presses the spider in the center, and cups Harley’s cheek before he puts his mask on. “We’re okay?”
He asks it the same way Harley says I Love You. Just in case.
“We’re good. But I’m holding you to bringing me to a Broadway show and taking me to dinner on Sunday. And next week we’re into the next phase of wedding planning, so you better not ditch me with choosing flowers.”
“I’ll be there.”
*
When one in the morning passes, Harley tries not to panic.
Just because they have an agreement that Peter will be home at one, doesn’t mean he follows it too strictly, but he always texts to let Harley know when he’ll be home.
This time, there’s no text.
“I’m sure he’s fine.” His sister sounds exasperated like she always does whenever he calls at the late hours of the night. The only upside to calling her over other family and friends is that she lives on the west coast for school, so her time zone matches up nicely to the times he needs her.
“It’s been an hour and he didn’t text.”
She sighs and he can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “I know but don’t you think you would’ve seen something on the news by now if he’d been hurt? You have the news on, don’t you?”
“I hate that you’re right.” He finally stops in the middle of the living room, hours of pacing making his feet ache. He’s shivering, cold air pouring through the open window Peter will slip through eventually, even Peter’s thick sweater wrapped around him isn’t enough to combat the cold. “I also hate worrying every night about my stupid superhero fiancé.”
She sighs again, a little less dramatically this time. “I obviously don’t know what it’s like to be in your position, but you have to put more trust in him. Before, he was willing to be as selfless as imaginable, like his life didn’t have meaning compared to others, but now, don’t you think he’s keeping himself safe because he has you to come home to? He has a wedding to plan? He has a whole future with you to worry about?”
“I know. And I do trust him. I just worry.” He sits down on the couch, muting the news, and stops looking at the open window. “Sorry for calling you.”
“It’s nice to hear from you occasionally, even if it’s just to rant about Peter,” she says, laughter on her voice. “Oh, and I need you to pick a date for the wedding, so I can book my ticket home soon! Alright, my job here’s done, so I’ll talk to you soon, Harley. Love you. Say hi to Morgan for me. Bye!”
Before Harley has a chance to answer, she hangs up the phone. He laughs quietly in the empty stillness of the apartment, and shakes his head.
He’s about to call Peter, ask him if everything’s okay, when he gets a text.
Sorry I’m late. Be home in a bit. Got caught up. Love you.
He grabs the blanket from the back of the couch, wraps it tight around him, and switches the channel to put on a TV show.
It might not be the way he wants things to be, it’s not the dream life he always thought he’d have. He hates how much worry builds the longer Peter’s gone, but Peter, even if it’s not in his control, will try with everything he has to come to Harley every night. And that’s enough.
*
He’s mostly asleep by the time Peter slides gracefully through the open window.
“Aw, honey, you didn’t have to wait up,” Peter murmurs softly. He’s got a bouquet of white and red tulips in his hands, a little damp from the light rain, but it’s the thought that counts.
From the vague flower knowledge Harley has, he’s pretty sure it means I’m sorry and I love you.
“Was worried,” Harley admits. His shoulders have finally relaxed and he’s having trouble keeping his eyes open now that he knows Peter’s safe and home. “You didn’t text.”
Peter bends down to press a kiss to Harley’s forehead, brushing back his messy curls softly. “I know. I’m sorry. There was a home invasion a few blocks from here and their kids were Spider-Man fans so I stuck around to make sure everything was okay. I didn’t realize how much time had passed.”
Harley can barely help the sleepy, dopey smile that crosses his face. “Love you.”
“I love you too, honey. I promise I’ll be here for Sunday and all next week if you need me. For now, let’s get you up to bed, yeah?”
When Peter reaches down a hand to help Harley to his feet, Harley uses the momentum to instead tug Peter down onto the couch with him. It’s not entirely comfortable, they don’t have the money for nice things when they’re planning for a wedding and a honeymoon on their sad salaries, but Peter’s there, against his chest, warm and laughing.
The flowers are abandoned on the floor, neither of them really have the green thumbs to keep them alive anyways, and Peter presses the spider on his chest to toss off his dirty suit, the smell of smoke and blood still clinging to him.
“You’re lucky I love you,” he says, pulling the blanket more securely around them.
Harley grins unashamedly and kisses Peter’s cheek. “Night, darlin’. Love you too.”
“Goodnight, Harls.”
Taglist: @littlemissagrafina @spideygirl2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @pj-hermes-tonystark-obsessed @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester @emo-girl10 @justme--emily @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao
#lyss answers#lyss writes#parkner#peter parker#harley keener#parkner fic#sorry about the lack of writing lately and how long this took to write#just haven't been feeling it lately#but this helped
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Crash Course | Chapter 05: Priorities
Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Batman,
Relationships: Danny Fenton & Jazz Fenton, Danny Fenton & Jazz Fenton & Vlad Masters, Ember Mclain & Kitty, Danny Fenton & Cujo
Characters: Danny Fenton, Jazz Fenton,Cujo, Ember Mclain, Kitty, Lunch Lady, Younblood, Skulker, Johnny 13, Random ghosties mentions *boo*, Vlad Fucking Masters Everyone
Words: 6′582
Tags: BAMF Danny, Ghost zone shenanigans, Sibling bonding, Shenanigans, Swearing, Family dinners, Heteronormativity?? The fuck is that, Danny in Cosplay, Ghost King Danny,
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:
Some of you *coming here for the fights, angst and The Drama™ that a DP & DC crossover inevitably involves*: “Hey-”
Me *Trying to write fluffy shit to liberate and soothe my deranged soul from this mortal prison*: “S'up?”
-.-.-.-
This is so long compared to the other chapters. Whhy is this so loooong. UGH- It’s almost double the length of the first four chapters together? I thought it was less? This would have been bigger if I hadn’t posted chapter 4 first? What is happening
THIS IS ON AO3, IF ANYONE WOULD PREFER TO READ THERE. LOVE COMmENTs so if u have anything to say IwillBeReallyHappyYesThankU
CHAPTERS: 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6 , 7
-.-.-.-
Phantom was currently drifting on the Ghost zone trying to hunt down his next unsuspecting victim among the ghosts.
‘Oh, how the turn tables.’ the halfa chuckled.
Jazz had kept her word and after pulling an all-nighter they had come up with some interesting options.
Now he just needed to pull them off.
The sound of growling at his back made him freeze on his tracks. He turned around to look at the source of the sound.
“Oh,” Well, this certainly had not been on the plans. To stumble upon such a mighty beast this early on. He smiled. “Hi, Cujo!”
The happy barking that followed the greeting was rather endearing, normally whenever he crossed paths with the pup he would spare some time to play with him and teach him some tricks. After some months of the pup following him around and of the halfa trying to deny to anyone who would listen, especially Val, that the dog was not really his, Danny finally gave up and got him a new collar.
The little guy was quite spoiled nowadays.
Sadly, right now he was on a timeline.
“Sorry, bud. No playtime today, I’m on a rather tight schedule.” Phantom cooed softly, reaching down to briefly scratch behind the pup’s ears.
Cujo sat on his hind legs, paws in the air and tail wagging, effectively cutting off his path.
Not like he couldn’t try to fly around, mind you, but with a dog that could go gigamax on your ass, it was better to just talk your way out.
Just when Danny was about to open his mouth the pup upgraded to excited wiggling on the non-existent floor of the zone.
The halfa sighed to himself. Fond smile growing without his explicit permission.
“Cujo-” he tried, just to be interrupted again. “And there goes the whining, Oh. My. God.”
The boy covered his face with his hands, not daring to look until the sounds stopped completely. After a moment, he finally took a peek from between his fingers.
Sad, puppy dog eyes were looking up at him, small little whine making a comeback.
Fucking shit.
He was going soft.
-.-.-.-
“Match head.”
The sound of the nickname momentarily dragged Ember’s full attention from the tuning of her guitar to the new arrival.
“Baby Pop.” She took notice of the green puppy posing as a hat on the white-haired boy’s head and snorted, eyes going back to the guitar. “Blessed the eyes. You going Cruella on us now or what?”
“Please,” The boy jested. “Like we need a remasterized skulker around here.”
“At least the woman did it for fashion.” She hummed. “You would make a horrid carpet, you are too fucking skinny.”
“Excuse you, bitch.” Phantom shot back, irritation clear on his voice. Ember rejoiced on it.
She faked a gasp,“ Are you saying you want Skulky to make you into a rug, baby pop? Scandalous!”
“T-that’s not-!” the halfa spluttered before Ember cut him off.
“What do you want, cupcake? It’s not like you to venture so far into the Zone willingly unless you are looking for blood.” She questioned, carefully putting her guitar back in the case.
The boy huffed.
“Whatever, Ashley,” he grumbled under his breath. “I think it’s time we revisited the terms of our agreement ” The boy sat by her side nonchalantly, not noticing — or outright ignoring — the sudden rise in temperature as the girl’s blue hair flared violently, a deep frown marring her face.
Cujo did notice. But the little doggo was more distracted with the movement of the pretty light-emitting hair, and the fluffiness of the hair on his current method of transportation to register the imminent danger to his fur.
Priorities.
“Revisit? You want to fucking revisit?” She growled. “I will tell you what you can fucking revisit-!”
The halfa just laughed at her reaction. Ember’s hair doubled in length. The laughter died off.
Her hand was getting dangerously close to her guitar.
Danny swallowed hard, deciding to just get on with it before Ember tried to use the instrument as a wanna-be war hammer again.
“It’s quite the contrary, my dear flaming hot,” he rushed to appease her “I want to expand on it,” he said, throwing in a sickeningly sweet smile for good measure.
He hoped it was enough to regain her attention in a more positive light. He didn’t want to explain to Jazz why his ghost form’s eyebrows were singed off. Again. He didn’t have time for more lectures. Thank you.
Luckily, If the hair-inferno reducing to a cheerfully blazing bonfire and the growing smirk taking over ember’s face was any indication he had succeeded. Cujo whined for the loss. Danny wanted to squeal for the win.
He did not. But it was a very close thing.
“Oh ho, now we are talking, baby pop.”
-.-.-.-
The window of opportunity to pull this off was very small. He had to take into account the amount of time that had passed since the last fight, the reason for the aforementioned fight, and how much of an emotional investment the objective really held for it to be a proper detonator.
This operation required surgical precision, which meant a lot of preparation. And research.
It was a good thing it happened so often.
“I will be direct with you, sister,” Phantom spilled, sprawling himself on the free seat on Kitty’s right side. “your bitch boyfriend doesn’t know the jackpot he hit with you and that just ain’t gonna fly.”
knowing where Kitty would end up after a fight with Johnny was not a problem. tracking down which bar she was going to be crashing for the aftermath was the real problem.
Danny hadn’t even known there were bars in this place.
In the last months of his treaty with one Ember Mclain, he had learned plenty of- interesting facts about the Zone that he would prefer to forget. Not that he really had an option, Jazz had taught him early on that information on the enemy — and sometimes on friends —was a valuable asset to ensure victory.
So he would play dumb about knowing these things. But he would not forget about them.
Couldn’t afford to forget them.
If the Ghost Writer pulled another surprise quiz on him and the answers were less than perfect the man would riot.
The halfa stretched out a hand to take a menu and leaned his elbows against the bar-top. Cujo chose that moment to leave his position on the teen’s head to sit next to his forearm so he could peer at the menu too.
He skipped the drinks section and went straight to the food. There was no way he was getting any alcohol.
Don’t get him wrong. They would serve him whatever the fuck he wanted if he asked for it on the zone, but the teen had tasted it before and hated it with a passion. Fuck the peer pressure. Never again. Good for when you are sad? Bitch, just get ice cream. Maybe he should have asked Ember for Kitty’s favorite flavor and save himself the hassle. Oh well.
Too late now.
Danny chose his order but decided to risk a look at the drinks for non-alcoholic options while he waited for Cujo to paw at whatever he wanted.
Kitty, who had been spluttering and getting progressively redder since he made his entrance, was about to smack him upside the head because even if it was true the brat shouldn’t just go saying it like it was any of his goddamn business. They were in the middle of a crowded bar, these people didn’t need any more confirmation for her relationship problems. Couldn’t she keep some dignity?
Before her hand could connect though, a pair of arms surrounded her, bringing her firmly into a backward hug against a warm chest.
A very familiar warm chest.
Startled, she looked up to stare into fiery green eyes.
“Cool it kitten,” Ember purred, clad in a leather jacket that was, most likely, scammed off some unfortunate soul. Still. She looked damn good. Kitty got so tongue-tied she couldn’t manage to even begin to stutter a response, let alone a protest. Danny took advantage of Ember’s intervention to finally place his first order. “Babycakes is right.” Ember continued, effectively cutting off all the air from kitty’s sails once and for all, because really, Ember was her best friend and if there was anyone who knew exactly how many times Johnny and Kitty had fought it was the blue-haired girl.
Kitty let out a defeated sigh and wiggled a little on the embrace to settle into it properly. Might as well get the best out of this-
“Oh, they have frappes!” Phantom trilled in awe. Kitty twitched.
If only Phantom would go away. Ugh. She couldn’t deal with males right now.
“Can’t you leave that thing alone?” Hissed Ember, who had seen the teen open the conversation with her kitty kat just to completely ignore her right after in favor of the menu. The bitch boy needed to focus, they were supposed to be on a mission here.
“Hey! You were the one calling me skinny earlier!” Remarked the teen, only to get a raised eyebrow back from the rockstar.
“As if a single frappe is going to fix that. Give me that!” She sneered at him and snatched the laminated paper from his hands. Phantom tried to snatch it back and failed. So he resorted to pouting and tried to give her the sad puppy dog eyes.
It wasn’t going to work with the matchstick, he knew, but it was good practice.
To pull this shit with Ember you had to be either Kitty, Youngblood, or an honest-to-god puppy. He was not risking ticking off Kitty more than he already had. Youngblood was not here — for obvious reasons—. Cujo was here and didn’t hate him, but sadly the dog wouldn’t be any help right now.
The pup was already accepting belly rubs from the waiters and completely ignoring the world around him.
Again: Priorities.
So really, Danny was just doing this for the sake of being extra.
While Ember and Danny continued with their dramatic standoff, the other girl blinked rapidly and turned her head towards Phantom.
“Oh” Kitty’s bad mood banished almost magically in favor of curiously peering at the teen’s figure. Danny fidgeted on his seat apprehensively.“I hadn’t noticed. You are really lean.” Ember snickered. Cujo — coming back from the belly rub induced coma — barked. Phantom sighed and just accepted defeat.
“I suppose that’s somewhat better-” He grumbled under his breath.
Kitty allowed a tiny smile to escape from her lips but shook herself slightly to get back on track. “What are you two even doing here anyway?” She asked, alternating glances between them.
“Pretty sure you already know,” Ember answered, rubbing her cheek against kitty’s green hair and sending A Look at Phantom. “Because someone is not subtle. at. all.” She ended with a hiss and a flare of her hair. Kitty winced lightly at the confirmation. Phantom rolled his eyes.
“Oh, Cry me a table, matchstick.”
Kitty knew alright. Ember made it her personal business to get involved in whatever petty fight Kitty got into, more so if it was about Johnny. Phantom getting involved in the aftermath — and not the fight itself — was new though.“It was just another stupid fight. And- You know, his obsession-”
“Nope. That’s no excuse, Kath.” Ember cut her off. “If you can work around yours for him, then so can he.”
“You can do better.” The teenage boy agreed while Ember continued squeezing her.
“What do you suggest then?”
Phantom and Ember exchanged a look, mirth flashing in their glowing green eyes and matching smirks growing bold, they turned to look back at Kitty. The green-haired girl gulped down her growing unease. In her experience, these two banding together was never a good thing for anyone.
“We are here to talk to you about the Remember Initiative.”
-.-.-.-
“Such a skinny boy!”
“Hey! I’m just lean-!” Phantom let out a yelp as he ducked under yet another juice box “What’s with you people and your obsession with my weight-! Ugh! If you would just listen-! Wait. Is that apple grape?” He said the last part in a hushed rush, looking in silent awe at one of the little juice boxes she was about to throw his way.
The Lunch Lady preened.
“Boxy got them for me! 100% Juice Fruit guaranteed!” She was radiating smugness about these facts.
“Oh my gosh- Wait! NO. That’s not what I came here for!” Danny managed to shake himself out of his stupor just in time to keep evading the Lady’s attempts to shove a spoon full of food down his throat while he was distracted with the juice.
The last time she had gotten a hold of him he had ended up feeling like one of his mom’s thanksgiving turkeys. Danny gulped. Best to just go for it and hope for the best.
“Did you know that there are 37.2 million people living in food-insecure households?!”
The screamed question froze the lunch lady on her tracks. At the look of horror his words achieved, he decided to keep going.
“1 in 6 American children don’t even know where their next meal is coming from.”
The lunch lady let out a horrified gasp, “Those poor children-!”
And with that, the woman exchanged her attempts at stuffing him for furious-but-mournful whisperings. She looked really constipated about this new information. Danny almost felt sad. Almost.
“There is a way to help, you know?”
The lunch lady’s head snapped back towards the half-ghost, eyes narrowed in a glare. Not the usual I’m-going-to-choke-your-skinny-ass-in-food glare, but an I’m-paying-attention-to-your-skinny-ass glare.
Danny refrained from openly cheering after sensing his upcoming victory. Better not chance it.
“Have you ever heard about old San Nicolas?”
-.-.-.-
“You know,” Danny murmured, slurping noisily from one of his juice boxes as he watched from a safe distance how Johnny and Skulker got wrecked by a pair of cute-murderous-girls, “I wasn’t expecting that to work so well.”
His only response was a pair of little barks from the green puppy that was happily squirming on his lap.
The boy paused on his watch to look down at Cujo. Danny extended one of his hands towards the puppy to carefully try to swat at him. The cub rolled onto his back and trapped Danny’s upcoming fingers between his paws with a playful growl, giving little nibbles to the appendage.
He couldn’t help the giddy giggles that escaped him.
Those little paws were precious.
At the sound of high pitched screams Danny’s head snapped back up to continue watching the ongoing smackdown, surrendering complete possession of his hand to Cujo to do as he pleased.
If the Initiative didn’t work out, both girls would do awesome on the wrestling circuit. Not like Ember lacked in the costume department.
Speaking of costumes, he wondered if the match stick would let him borrow her feathered hat. That thing was awesome.
Better just ask.
Once she was done throwing down with skulker, of course.
He was not about to become cannon fodder.
Priorities.
-.-.-.-
“Ahoy! me fellow comrades!! Your future Cap'n ’s talking!! I’m here on a recruiting mission to embark on the most perilous dangers of the Realms!! May ye, dear comrades, embark under your own risk! Arrrgh!! ”
Thanks to Youngblood’s presence the main residential area of Phantom’s keep was starting to become complete disarray. The adult ghosts were frantic for the possible kidnapping of the tiniest ghosts that was most likely going to happen. The children amongst them were cheering for the possible playtime in their future.
The guards were starting to panic. No one had seen the kid enter, much less bring along that enormous ship of his. The little brat was not supposed to be here!
“Who the freaking hell let Young Blood get in?!” One of the guards hollered.
“It’s fine, I invited him.” Came the cheerful reply from behind the guard. “I’m expanding the lair so the kids have more space to mess around. Just don’t tell them.”
The ghost was startled at the voice but didn’t panic anymore. Instead, they started to relax. They knew that voice, but they needed to confirm-
“P-Phantom?”
Phantom, in full cosplay and sporting the biggest feathered pirate hat on this side of the realms, landed lightly beside the startled ghost with a little chuckle, “Just play along, man.”
“Also, pretty sure there should be a ‘Lord’ in there somewhere.”
“I-I thought you preferred to not be called that, my lord?”
Phantom winced.
“Ah- No. It’s- You know what? Never mind, I keep forgetting you guys don’t really get updates of pop culture on this side of the coin” Phantom frowned. “I really should see about getting some wifi for this place”
He continued to murmur about the updates he would need to do to the tech to make that possible. But the guard was not paying attention to his words anymore.
They were staring speechless at the whole pirate get-up the halfa had managed to assemble. It had been mostly borrowed last minute — not that the guard knew that—. It looked really good. Especially the gold hoop earrings that kept swaying slightly alongside the fluffy white hair with every motion of Phantom’s head.
The guard let out a dreamy sigh.
Their Lord was so cute.
“How is everything going?”
“Wha-?” Getting suddenly pulled out of their daydreaming
“The preparations?” Danny hummed distractedly, diligently searching for his journal and pen among the numerous layers of clothing he had donned for the occasion. Why the fuck did this thing have so many pockets?
“Oh,” Came the ghost’s soft exclamation, suddenly remembering the requests the owner of the keep had left the last time he had come around. Finally emerging victorious from his search, Phantom turned to look at them, raising an eyebrow at the lack of proper explanation “Oh, yes! Everything is going smoothly, and we received the last confirmations this morning, sir.”
Danny smiled at the answer, completely unaware of the effect his playful smile had on the guard and the other ghosts that had started to converge there upon seeing their ‘landlord’. “Awesome.”
That was the last one.
-.-.-.-
Well, almost the last one.
He must admit that the shell shocked expressions on Sam and Tucker were funny the first few minutes.
But after having to repeat himself over and over again it had gotten increasingly less funny.
“Y-you are leaving?” Tucker stuttered.
Danny sighed, “Yes, we are leaving. As in, Jazz and me.”
After gaping at him for another few seconds, Sam finally gathered herself enough to start talking again.
“what about the ghost?”
“I- um- already took care of that,“ Danny mumbled, nervously avoiding eye contact while playing with his milkshake straw. “I also cashed in some debts and asked some favors from my allies, so most will be taken care of until we come back. Either way, I will leave enough Fenton Tech for the both of you and Val. Just in case.”
“Enough tech?” Sam repeated incredulously. “That’s it? Just leave some tech and jump boat just like that?” Danny frowned but refrained from answering her until he thought it through. Sam wouldn’t accept less.
Jump boat? That was not really the case. Jazz and he had really put some thought into this, heck even before the Internship on Loony Capital had come up — specifically, since Jazz’s breakthrough — the siblings had already been toying with ways to get some of the most persistent ghosts to back the fuck off, distract them with better and useful targets or entice them into submission.
At first, it had been a tentative thing, something fragile that they didn’t let themselves hope for. But with Jazz’s change of course of action, it had become something more urgent.
They had to pull it off. There were no other options.
Danny pursed his lips, then took a deep breath to strengthen himself for what was coming. “That’s not it-”
“You are just going to dump us.” She announced like it was final in a harsh whisper.
At least she was keeping her tone quiet.
“No one is getting dumped, Sam,” Danny tried to reassure her in the same tone of finality, sans the harshness. “I told you. We already thought this through. I already put some plans in motion and rigged some backups and- ok. Meaby they are not good enough to be permanent but-”
“You are going to put everyone at risk just because Jazz somehow got the ridiculous idea that ‘talking it out’ is the answer” She scoffed.
“Maybe it is. Maybe not. We won’t know until we try.”
“They are ghosts-”
“So am I.” Danny Interjected. Sam seemed to choke on her next words.
“You are not a ghost Danny.” She had, somehow, gained a tone even more quiet and harsh than her previous one.
“Aren’t I?” He was looking directly into her amethyst eyes. Daring her to fight him on this.
He already knew she wouldn’t.
She had opened her mouth to rebut but closed it immediately after. She took a long breath; most likely to prepare for her next rant than to calm herself. Weighing her options. She didn’t seem willing to have that particular conversation. Not yet. Danny had counted on that. “It’s still a goddamn risk.” She finally countered, a slight sliver of defeat coloring her words.
Maybe he had been a little harsh, but he needed her to understand. “There is risk in every choice I could make. This is not different-”
“What about us?”
Ok, so she was just getting her second wind. Fucking amazing. “Sam, please-”
“We are your friends!”
“And she is my sister!” He finally snapped.
She startled. Gazing at him speechless for a moment before standing up and storming out of her seat without a backward glance, making the people on her way part like the red sea. Leaving in her wake a bunch of curious persons staring after her and throwing shameless glances to their table.
So much for not causing a scene in the middle of the Nasty Burger.
The boys ignored the stares. They were already accustomed to being the focus of attention. Almost never positive, mind you. But that was what cleansings were for.
Tucker, who had been silent for most of the back and forth, finally spoke.
“She just needs time to cool off.”
The Fenton boy would be lying if he said he hadn’t seen this coming. Sam had always been very opinionated and believed herself to be right most of the time. In her defense, she usually was right and knew how to go about expressing it to her friends without resorting to this kind of standoff. This just appeared to have struck a nerve.
Living with her parents and having to fight for every single choice she wanted to make had left her on a constant defense mode that the boys had learned to navigate in their years of friendship. It hadn’t been easy for anyone. But neither Danny nor Tucker were perfect. They had their quirky shit to deal with.
The three of them stuck together and hadn’t bothered to try and expand their friend group that much over the years. Not like they had many options. But that was ok.
Until now.
With Danny leaving them the relative feeling of a support system was trembling at its foundation.
She was probably scared. So was Tucker if the wobbly but sincere smile he was giving him was any indication.
Danny had to admit that when he let himself think about it he got scared too.
They had been in the same boat for a while and parting ways was not something they had accounted for, not for the near future, at least.
In a weird way, they still would be in the same boat even after they were apart. Struggling to learn how to function without the other there. Sam and Tuck would have each other, they were resilient, he was sure they could cope. He would have Jazz like he always had, enough said. And they would keep going like they always did.
Tucker was right. She would come around. But-
Danny slumped on his seat, running a hand through his hair releasing a big sigh.
“Yeah, I know” He murmured looking pensively in the direction their friend had stormed off. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“So, you are not mad?” Danny asked when he finally turned around towards Tucker.
“Nah, man. Just a little squeezy about dealing with this without you. But if your sister is really going to do this she is going to need you there.” Tucker shuddered a little bit. “I have never been there personally but if the social media and forums are not lying Gotham is a goddamn beast dude.”
The halfa hummed in agreement. Not like Amity Park didn’t have its own reputation on their corner of the internet, but still.
Gotham.
Danny took a sip from his milkshake before doing a mental check-list and frowning, “I’m starting to feel like I’m forgetting something” he whispered.
“Oh god, please don’t say that.”
“It’s okay,” Danny had made his best at planning, so his friends wouldn’t have to deal with the ghost in his absence. But with things like this, you never knew for sure. Not until it slapped you right across the face.“Probably just the paranoia.” ‘I hope’ he finished mentally with a weak laugh.
“Dude,” Tucker started before taking hold of his friend’s hand and squeezing it. “If you need help with anything I’m your man. just say the word.”
Tucker may not understand the full extent of the situation, but he was trying, and that meant a lot to the Fenton. He squeezed back and shot his friend a small but grateful smile.
“It’s ok. Thanks, Tuck-” He cut himself off, being interrupted by the sudden ding of one of Tucker’s devices.
The afro American boy ignored the sound though, in favor of putting his full attention on his friend, an action that demonstrated how serious he was with his words, but Danny was already lost in thought, staring intently at the briefly, but brightly, illuminated screen.
“Actually-” The halfa suddenly chirped, turning his full attention back to the boy across the table. Tucker just blinked back, waiting. Danny leaned forward dragging the other boy towards him so he could continue with a whisper. “You could help me with a pair of things.”
The mischievous smile Tucker was witnessing had come out of nowhere and couldn’t presage anything good, but as it was not aimed at him — necessarily — he couldn’t help but join in.
Several cities over, some of Gotham’s more infamous residents couldn’t find an explanation to the sudden shiver that ran up their spines.
-.-.-.-
When Danny made it back home he didn’t waste time tracking his sister down. She was down in the lab, typing away on the main computer and using one of her shoulders to keep her mobile pressed against her ear.
She was in the middle of a conversation and still managing to rewrite part of the ghost portal code like a pro.
His sister sure loved multitasking.
At the sound of the door closing behind the younger Fenton, Jazz looked up from the screen to shoot a brief smile to her brother before carrying on with her conversation.
“Yes. That’s perfect, I will be sending the three files then-”
The boy froze on his step and blinked a pair of times. She was already talking with one of the G. A. proctors? When he left this morning he had just dumped his proposals on Jazz for a second revision. He wasn’t expecting to have them sent already.
Hmm. Well, to be fair, he had rambled at Jazz about his projects relentlessly whenever he had a chance and didn’t feel like death warmed over.
Which weren’t many times. But once he got into a ramble it was an Olympic endeavor to shut him up. He was a Fenton. It was in their blood. Jazz did it too, even if she tried to chalk it up to healthy-and-completely-natural excitement.
So. Jazz already knew the contents pretty well, it was just a question of pulling off the presentation, which was the thing that Jazz was supposed to check over.
His sister had given him some tips, and even if his parents were not as invested in the writing process as in the practical, the fruit loop had more than enough experience doing it and didn’t give two flying fucks over whether or not Danny wanted his knowledge.
Danny knew monologing was an essential part of a villainous experience but he had spent way too much time listening to Vlad bitch about most of his employees to last him a lifetime.
Even little Madeline couldn’t stop the loneliness that had brought the madness. Danny had put so many hopes in the fluffy thing.
Letting out a resigned sigh the boy decided to just let it go and be grateful that his sister - who had more than five Universities fighting over her- deemed it acceptable already.
He liked writing his ideas down, but using formal language and fudging APA was fucking exhausting.
Good fucking riddance. He thought, shaking his head slightly and sending a light sneer in the computer’s direction. As if the files on it could feel his disdain from his position on the other side of the room.
Danny spotted some of her sister’s nail polish bottles by her side on the table and made a beeline for them and took most of the little bottles before retreating to a chair on the other side of the desk.
He had heard some of the cheerleaders saying that the nail polish helped to keep the nails from getting all fucked up quite as easily, and it had caught his attention.
Danny had looked down at his hands and winced. Normally he didn’t pay much attention to his nails, but ever since getting on a constant string of fights he was more aware of how easily the goddamn things could break on you if you didn’t trim them properly, and it hurt like a bitch every time. It always seemed to be the tiniest things that told you to ‘fuck off’ to your face like nothing else.
Danny guessed that it was worth the try. And if anything, putting some color on them would help hide some of the blood — and ectoplasm — that got under his fingernails.
So he tried it out.
By this point, he was not sure if it really helped or he was just fooling himself into thinking it did work. The only sure thing was that he didn’t feel comfortable going without it anymore.
Danny liked to borrow the clear nail protector from Jazz, but most of the polish he had in his possession had been previously Sam’s. All pastels and cheery colors that her mom kept insisting on buying her because they kept being used.
“Thank you, Miss Gordon!”
If she had bothered to pay more attention to her daughter’s friends for more than sneering at them she may have noticed Danny’s pastel pink nails. But she hadn’t. And that had just ensured Danny a constant supply of pastels to cover his bloodied nails with-
“So, how did it go?”
“Uh.” The boy startled at the sudden proximity of the voice. He looked up from his nails and to his sister, who was now seated beside him.
“The execution.” Jazz prodded, smiling at him in anticipation. It looked downright creepy, considering the words she used.
“Seriously Jazz?” He snorted. “You make it sound like I went there to dispatch murder at random.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” His sister scoffed, watching how her brother resumed painting his nails. “They are already dead. You couldn’t kill them any more than they already are.”
“I could certainly try.”
“Danny-”
“Let’s just say the all-nighter paid off, and leave it at that.”
“So you had fun.” She teased. Stealing back one of the bottles of polish to finish her own nails with a second coat.
“For the most part, but-” He stopped, struggling to find words to describe the sheer mayhem that went down in the zone-
Jazz just hummed and gave him a little nod, still focusing on her nails. Danny relaxed. He could tell her later. When he had cooled off some more from the attack-protect mode he got into whenever he visited the zone. Remembering it all right now would just set him off again.
“So, what do you want for dinner?” The redhead asked suddenly.
Danny blinked a pair of times, perplexed, and stole a look at the clock.“It’s a little late to be asking that, don’t you think?”
“I suppose, but I decided to wait for you and then got sidetracked with the files.” She really needed to work on her awareness of time. “Didn’t even notice the hour.”
“I don’t even remember what we have in the cupboards.”
“Maybe we could-” She didn’t manage to suggest something before she got interrupted by their mother’s voice.
“Dinner is ready!”
“They made dinner?” Danny whispered to Jazz in dread.
“So it seems,” she responded, sharing his dread.
“Why did they make dinner? They never make dinner!”
“I mean, they do for special occasions, like-” She shuddered. “Like thanksgiving.”
This was ridiculous. Jazz and he were normally the ones cooking. Their parents spent most of their time in the lab or trying to hunt down ghosts. Today was not a holiday. They hadn’t invented anything new worth the ‘celebration’. There wasn’t a reason for them to-
“Oh! and Vlad is here~!”
Danny slammed his face against the desk with a groan.
Jazz winced at the sound.
“Time to face the music, little bro” She closed the polish bottles and patted him carefully on the back a few times before standing up and going to the kitchen.
“I still feel like I’m forgetting something…” Danny grumbled under his breath before following his sister upstairs.
-.-.-.-
It was the last Friday of the month and this could perfectly be one of Jazz’s many attempts to make them a functional family unit.
Except that the Fenton girl had let said efforts slip in favor of pursuing her little brother’s scholarship.
Oh, And the fruitloop was here.
Vlad had weaseled into the family’s — unplanned — plans because of course, he did.
“Everything looks absolutely lovely Madeline.”
Jazz would have believed his words. If she hadn’t seen the man poke at the food on the table with the wariness of a man on the death warrant whenever mom was not looking.
The siblings had spent way too many family dinners doing the same thing whenever they couldn’t quite manage to keep the older Fentons off the kitchen. And even when they did, they didn’t lower their guard. The chance of contamination was always a latent threat to the house.
Jazz turned her head slightly to look at her brother. The boy was, very pointedly, not poking at his food and just watched it with all the scorn he could gather. He refused to do the same things as Vlad, which didn’t mean he was crazy enough to try and eat the food on his plate.
The dinner proceeded with making some catching up, abundant science talk, teasing, scathing remarks, sighing, and finally dissolved in a three-way match between the Fenton children and one Vlad Masters to see who could dispose of the food in the most sneaky way.
She had always wondered how the man survived with her parents for as long as he did back in their college years. She knew now.
“Oh! And Jazzrinces finally decided on a college! The G.S.A. is backing up her research on ghosts! Isn’t that incredible?!”
Vlad smiled blandly at Jack. Skillfully suppressing the sneer the man’s cheeriness was trying to invoke to his face. He had lots of practice.
“And Danny decided to tag along to help his sister! Isn’t he such a sweet boy?” Maddie added with a cheer a little more forced than her husband’s. But still, cheer.
Now, that. That got Vlad’s attention. And he decided to take advantage of the children’s distraction to get more information and decide a proper plan of action.
Dany was making it a point to completely ignore the three adult’s conversation. Jazz stuck to taking small sips from her glass of water. That was, until-
“Surely you’re not planning on sending them without some proper equipment, are you?” Vlad tutted. “Don’t get me started on weapons. I mean you never know for certain what will be indispensable, right?”
“That’s a wonderful idea!”
The heads of both children snapped up.
“I mean, most of my research isn’t-” Jazz tried hastily to stop this on its tracks.
Sadly, it was not to be.
“Nonsense Jazz,” Her mom interrupted her, “It’s better to be prepared!”
Vlad hummed in agreement, “They won’t, after all, have anyone else to protect them from those trashy ghosts.”
Just like that, the Fenton parents started to list out loud all the things the kids would surely need for the research.
Vlad smirked.
Danny narrowed his eyes at the pompous fucker.
Jazz resigned herself to keep sighing until the end of times.
-.-.-.-
“How are we supposed to take this with us..?” Danny whispered looking horrified at all the equipment his parents had just thrown their way
“Can’t you just put it in the thermos?”
“The ectoplasmic energies of each Item would clash horribly” Danny winced
“You tried to…?” Jazz side-eyed him
“Yes.” He said curtly, “Wouldn’t really recommend” he continued with the air of someone haunted by the consequences of their life choices. death choices. Both were accurate, she supposed.
Jazz swallowed.
Cue in more silent horrified staring at the equipment.
“Maybe if we start with some boxes-”
“BEWARE!!! THE BOX GHOST!!!”
“Oh my god-!”
“I Fucking knew it!!”
-.-.-.-
A little while after, once the ghost box was gone, and the siblings had retreated to Jazz’s room for safety and the opportunity of proper evening gossip. The fruitloop came barging into the room.
“Ok. I raided the kitchen. There is nothing edible in this house. How do you even survive.” He stated, not asked, in a deeply judgemental tone.
“Magic. Pokemon Magic.” Danny deadpanned from his place on the bed. Jazz, who was cuddled beside him, was still chewing on the dry crackers that managed to survive the onslaught of their parents, for the simple reason that the things had been in her room.
Vlad sighed and started to massage his temples.
“Fine. Truce. Grab your things, we are going out.”
Jazz slightly choked on her crackers. Danny just choked on air. “What? Where-?”
“To get some proper food, of course.” The man sneered like it was completely obvious and tagging a smirk on for good riddance.
“Why would-”
“You have directions. I have the money. Chop chop. Before your parents catch us.” With that, the millionaire turned around and left, leaving the door wide open fully expecting them to follow along.
The siblings stared at each other for a moment before scrambling after Vlad.
Food was more important than playing the archnemesis-game.
For the hundred time that day:
Priorities.
ENDNOTES:
I couldn’t help the fucking references. Danny is a dork and I am ashamed.
-.-.-.-
I headcanon Danny as someone who really likes pet names, be it because he really likes the person or because it pisses them off. Two stones a deader bird.
-.-.-.-
What do you mean The Avengers aren’t a boyband?
-.-.-.-
The siblings are firm believers of the borrowing culture. There is no shame in asking to borrow some things.
Are those Ember’s hat & earrings? Yes. Yes, they are.
Why does Danny have his ears pierced, you ask? BECAUse there is no absolute heteronormative bullshit in this household AND I MUST ADD THAT-!
-Danny & Jazz watched ‘The parent trap’ when they were small little beans and were really interested in whether or not piercing your sibling’s ears was the ultimate bonding moment.
Jazz insisted on researching a lot more about proper sterilizing, mind you- but like the tiny feral unsupervised cupcakes they were, they decided to try it.
Jazz already had her ears pierced, SO, yeah.
It hurt like a bitch for Danny, and Jazz panicked for a week afterward about infections, but it was indeed a good bonding moment.
-.-.-.-
If I ship Jason with some fucking therapy does that mean I can ship him with Jazz?
Ship’s name is JJ for you.
… I just gave myself YOI flashbacks.
Fuck.
-.-.-.-
You might want to say: ‘but author-san, those are not all the ghosts Danny deals with?’, and you are damn right they aren’t, but you must trust in Danny thousand-back-ups Fenton, my children.
(Also, where would be the fun if everyone was accounted for since now? You will see what went down later on. :p)
-.-.-.-
Don’t know if you noticed, but Jazz is not the only one that thinks Danny is a cutie patootie :v
Danny has long ago resigned himself to the being called “Lord” thing. Is better than the ‘K’ word.
-.-.-.-
The thing about the nails is something I do. I started because they looked pretty, I kept painting them because I felt they broke up more easily if I didn’t put like three coats of polish on them.
At least I don’t bite them as much anymore. :p
-.-.-.-
If there is someone on this green earth that knows about the struggles of living with Jack and Maddie Fenton, that someone is Vlad Masters.
Change my mind.
You can’t.
#fanfiction#danny phantom#danny phantom fanfiction#danny phantom fandom#danny fenton#jazz fenton#cujo#ember mclain#kitty danny phantom#lunch lady#the box ghost#skulker & johnny getting wrecked#lol#youngblood#ghost king danny phantom#vlad masters#the fenton patents#Crossovers#Danny phantom & batman crossover#batman#young justice#swearing#cc#crash course#shenanigans#ghost lair#scheming danny phantom#danny in cosplay#pirate!danny#dp crash course
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Dicktiger week day 6- Bad Plan (unanticipated)
(Re upload bc tumblr messed it up the first time)
Well, Dick thought to himself with a sort of detached humour, this is one fine pickle I’ve gotten myself into.
The seconds on the bomb kept ticking down closer to zero. Dick looked back at the computer, the flashing screen, and back at the bomb. He sighed, far calmer than someone in his situation ought to be. But, if this was the end… well, this was the end.
After Dick and Tiger had gotten the information needed from Marco Guillespe to lead them to the surveillance tech he’d paid to have developed, Spyral had started dissecting it right away.
There wasn’t enough information there for them to recreate it themselves— thank goodness— but according to a series of emails that had been included in the files Dick had stolen, the code wasn’t finalized yet. Also thank goodness.
But now, after three weeks of nonstop deciding and analyzing and narrowing it down, Spyral had managed to pinpoint the location of the lab where he tech was being made.
Remote and half underground in some forgotten and barely inhabited area in rural India, Spyral was sending a small team to clear out the facility and steal the plans. So they could “make sure it didn’t get into the wrong hands”, or so they said, but Dick had little faith they wouldn’t simply replicate it for their own uses.
Spyral teetered the line between evil and technically-not-evil on a good day. This surveillance program, absurdly unethical in its invasiveness by all worldly standards, would be the exact kind of thing that would push Spyral right into the fully evil category.
That was something that Dick couldn’t let happen. The whole reason he was even with Spyral was to stop that from happening.
Pretty lucky, then, that he and Tiger were the leads on this mission.
They moved in silently, surrounding the lab on all sides. Tiger gave the signal, and the agents moved again, slipping in past the alarms and security, following Dick’s lead inside
As much as there were many aspects of being a spy that Dick did not enjoy at all, this was pretty firmly in his comfort zone. Stealth missions were familiar territory.
Of course, the next phase wasn’t very stealthy at all, but the former vigilante would cross that bridge when he got to it.
Until then, Dick snuck through the facility towards the main security office, tailed by four more agents backing him up.
Neutralizing the security guards in the office and taking control of the building was easy. They hardwired the distress alarm so it wouldn’t go off when they destroyed the lab, and Dick sent the all clear signal to Tiger and his team.
Then he was out the door and making his way to the main lab, this time not caring for stealth— now, time was of the essence. He took down security guards as he went. He left the unconscious bodies like a trail of breadcrumbs behind him, knowing Tiger’s team would be sweeping the halls and clearing everyone out of the building.
He hadn’t even needed to pull his gun yet, instead continuing to use his signature escrima sticks— he was glad Spyral let him use them.
Dick slid down the ramp leading underground towards the lab and took a running head start once the door was in sight. He aimed a flying kick and busted the door right in off its hinges with a thunderous bang.
“Sorry to crash the party,” Dick smirked even though he knew none of the shocked software engineers inside could see his facial expression, brandishing his escrimas, “but—“
He was cut off by Tiger and his team coming in behind him.
“Enough of your quips, 37.” Tiger said, then, to the room at large, “You’re all under arrest. I suggest you come quietly— struggling will be futile and no one is going to come for you if you scream.”
Tiger barely even had to point his gun at the room of scientists for them to immediately drop what they were doing and raise their hands in surrender. The other agents started filing them out of the room, and Dick went over to the main computer to get to work just as a large metal crate was wheeled in.
This lab had way more thorough security measures than Guillespe’s desktop did, that was for sure-- for one, getting into the main computer was a little more complicated than a simple password. And surely there would be more roadblocks and traps to come-- but Dick was prepared for those.
Dick focused on getting into the computer while Tiger directed his agents to wheel the crate over to near the computer system where Dick was working and open it up. Inside was one of the three bombs they were going to use to blow up the facility. He watched out of the corner of his eye as they got it set up and ready to go. Tiger walked over and watched over Dick’s shoulder as he kept working at the computer.
“You’re confident you’ll get out with the plans in time?”
To the untrained ear it just sounded like Tiger was reaffirming the mission was set to go smoothly, but Dick was no untrained ear. He smiled up at his partner.
“Aw, don’t you worry ‘bout lil’ ol’ me, Tony,” He said, saccharinely sweet, even reaching up to pat Tiger on the cheek. “I’ll be fine.”
“Ugh,” Tiger pulled back with a groan of disgust. “Don’t call me that. Just keep your comm in and don’t do anything stupid, you idiot.”
“How could I?” Dick gestured to the computer. Beside them, the other agents finished setting up the bomb and got it online. “What could I fuck up from here?”
“I’m sure you could find plenty.” Tiger retorted, then pressed a finger to his comm to check in with the rest of his team and the bombs. “Is everything synced up?”
He must have gotten affirmatives, because then he nodded at the other agents, and they all left the room, probably to finish clearing the building while they still had time. Tiger made to follow them out, then turned back to Dick.
“Remember--” Tiger pointed a stern, bordering on menacing finger at him, “The mission protocol. If you do not have enough time to download the plans and get out, then evacuate immediately. Don’t be a self-sacrificing idiot. Understand?”
Dick laughed. “Aw, Agent 1,” he crooned. “Careful. I might start to think you care about me.”
Tiger scoffed and turned away once more. “Of course not. I am not attached to you, we are partners, not friends.”
“Partners with benefits,” Dick reminded him, just to be annoying. Tiger smacked him upside the head.
“You’re wasting time,” he grumbled, and left without another word.
As soon as Dick was alone in the room he spun around in the chair, the smile falling from his face and replaced with a more somber one.
You cared about your last partner, he thought bitterly. And look how badly I managed to fuck that up for you.
There had been too many variables, too many unknowns for him to have been able to form a solid plan on how to destroy the tech plans and make it seem like he hadn’t done it on purpose, so he was going to have to do a lot of improvising.
He glanced at the clock on the bomb. It had started counting down already-- they were on a tight schedule, Spyral could only hang around here for so long before someone noticed-- but there was still plenty of time. There should have still been plenty of time.
Dick went back to work on hacking into the computer. He had to make it seem like he at least tried, after all.
Things had been going perfectly well, everyone had been arrested and cleared out of the building on time, the bombs had been set up and were set to go off on time, all the other agents had gotten out on time, and according to Dick’s last update he would also be done and out on time. But still, a sense of unease followed Tiger as he paced just outside the blast zone at the entrance to the facility. He checked the remote detonator in his hand-- there were only two and a half minutes left on the timer before the bombs would go off. He frowned and looked back at the open entrance, then back down at the timer.
He didn’t want to admit it, not even to himself, but he thought having Dick alone in there was a glaring flaw in the plan-- not even for logistical reasons. It was exactly as Dick teased him about earlier-- he was worried.
Dick should be out by now-- down to two minutes, and it would take that long, even running at top speed, for Dick to make it from the main lab to the entrance and out of the blast zone.
Something wasn’t right. He activated his comm and was about to demand another update when suddenly a blast door slid shut over the entrance to the facility, inside, through the quickly closing gap, a red light was flashing that had not been before, and they could distantly hear an alarm. Tiger and the other agents yelled out, running back to the entrance, but it shut before they got there.
Damnit, Tiger thought, gritting his teeth. “Damnit!” He repeated out loud. Then into his comm, “Agent 37, what is going on down there! Agent 37, respond!”
“Okay, that should be about it…” Dick muttered to himself. “Just gotta plug in and…”
He’d managed to get through all the different layers and levels of security right on schedule, all while brainstorming stories of failsafes and corrupted files, and was finally ready to enact the final step of the plan. He pulled the USB out of his pocket and plugged it into the computer-- and that was where things went wrong.
All of a sudden every screen in the whole lab turned red-- and the lights overhead turned red and started flashing, and an alarm started blaring so loud Dick had to cover his ears.
“Shit, what the fuck!” Dick yelled over the blaring siren, looking back at the main screen-- there was a message displayed in large black text over the red background. ‘UNAUTHORIZED DATA READER INSERTED. INITIATING FAILSAFE 22B-1’
“Fuck!” Dick heard a sudden heavy metal thunk behind him, and looked over his shoulder to see a secondary blast door had closed over the entrance to the lab. “Fuck!”
He ran over and started looking for a way to get the door open just as his comm crackled to life.
“Agent 37, what is going on down there! Agent 37, respond!” Tiger roared in his ear. Dick could barely hear him over the alarm.
“Uh,” Dick shouted back, still scrutinizing every inch on the seal of the door. “I think I’m trapped inside!”
“Inside the building?”
“Inside the main lab! There was a second emergency door that closed over the doorway, and I can’t get it open and I don’t have anything to break it open with!”
“Fuck!” Dick heard Tiger yell through the comms.
“Fuck!” Tiger yelled. He reared on the agent closest to him. “Get this door open!”
“Agent 1, with all due respect--” the agent replied, “There’s only one minute left before the bombs go off. Even if we could get the door open, we wouldn’t be able to get Agent 37 out in time.”
Another agent pitched in-- extremely unhelpfully, in Tiger’s opinion. “We need to clear out of the blast zone.”
Tiger snarled, and spun away from the door, following the rest of the team back out of the blast zone towards the shuttle. Blood was roaring in his ears, he could feel the tips of his fingers tingling with oncoming numbness. Dick is going to die, he thought helplessly, trying not to choke on it. He’s going to die.
“Agent-- Grays-- Dick,” Tiger said into his comm. “I-- I’m sorry… we--”
Well, Dick thought to himself with a sort of detached humour, this is one fine pickle I’ve gotten myself into.
The seconds on the bomb kept ticking down closer to zero. Dick looked back at the computer, the flashing screen, and back at the bomb. He sighed, far calmer than someone in his situation ought to be. But, if this was the end… well, this was the end.
Resigned to the knowledge he wasn’t getting out of there, Dick walked away from the door and slipped under the desk furthest from the main computer, tucking himself into a neat little ball in the tight space.
“Agent-- Grays-- Dick. I-- I’m sorry… we--”
“I know, Tiger.” Dick said. “It’s okay.”
He couldn’t see the timer on the bomb from there, but he knew there were only seconds left. He closed his eyes. “I--”
The first thing Dick felt when he woke up was confused. The second thing he felt was pain.
He cracked one eye open against the bright white lights above him, trying and probably failing to stifle a groan of extreme discomfort. It took a second for him to realize someone was there, and that someone was talking to him. He slowly, slowly and painfully, turned his head-- his neck was in some kind of semi-brace-- to the side.
Helena was standing to his right, looking over some kind of clipboard in her hand. “You sustained severe internal and external damage from both the blast and the whole building falling down on top of you,” she was saying. “Some burns, mostly lacerations, broken bones and damaged organs. Both your legs are broken-- your right tibia and your left femur, and so is your collarbone and your left humerus. Several ribs. We had to do extensive surgery on your knee, it was all kinds of messed up. Your lungs were severely damaged, one punctured by a rib. Your stomach was also damaged, but not punctured, and you can thank God that your spine is still completely intact.”
She finished her speech, setting the clipboard aside and finally actually looking Dick in the eye. “But despite all that, somehow, you’re expected to make a full recovery. Welcome back to the land of the living, 37.”
There was a hint of a smile in her eye. Dick squinted at her, still struggling to comprehend pretty much everything. All of that went completely unprocessed. “...Huh?” His throat and tongue both felt like sandpaper.
Helena blinked, and looked at her watch. “Oh, your painkillers are probably worn off by now,” She said. “I’ll give you another dose.”
“N--no, I don’t need--” Dick tried to protest on instinct, but the second he tried to move sparks of pain went rocketing up and down his entire body, and he couldn’t stifle his cry of pain this time. Helena nodded.
“I’m giving you another dose.”
Dick watched, detached and still confused, as she administered the painkillers. “So… I’m not dead?”
Helena couldn’t help her smile this time. “No, you’re not dead,” she laughed. “You have the big guy over here to thank for that.”
She pointed towards the other side of the bed, (Dick only just then registered he was in a hospital bed in a private room in the medbay) and Dick-- slowly-- turned his head to look. To his shock, slumped over in the hard plastic chair and fast asleep, was Tiger.
“You have no idea how many agents’ heads he almost bit off demanding we dig you out of there.” Helena continued. “He yelled at me, too, when you got back. A lot. The man has balls of steel. And a soft spot for you, it would seem.”
This time her smile was a little softer, a little indulgent. “I understand the feeling. He refused to go and rest pretty much the entire time you were in surgery-- we could hardly even get him to sit down. He didn’t crash until it was confirmed, with certainty, that you were stable and going to pull through.”
Dick looked back at Tiger with no small amount of wonderment in his eyes. Helena reached down and patted his undamaged shoulder. “Get some more rest, now. I’ll save your debriefing for until you’re a little more lucid.”
With that she turned on her sharp heel and stepped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Dick watched her go and then turned his head again (moving was easier now that the meds were kicking in) to rest his gaze on Tiger’s sleeping form. He tried to remember if he had ever actually seen Tiger sleep before.
Tiger ducked and sheilded his eyes on instinct when the building exploded, despite knowing they were out of range of debris. He stared at the site as the explosions continued to light up the night sky and tear the building apart, the ground around it ripping up and caving in on itself, knowing and not caring about the openly distraught expression that was surely on his face.
Everyone else watched in silence, and Tiger fought the urge to fall to his knees in the sand.
Dick… no…
No.
Suddenly Tiger face hardened and he clenched his fists, turning back to his team before the dust had even settled.
“Agent 14,” He snapped. “Call in backup, we’re going to need debris removal hardware and a full search team.”
Lucky for everyone around, the agent didn’t protest or question him, just ducked immediately into the shuttle to contact HQ. Tiger turned back to the destroyed facility, determination pulling the lines of his body stiff like stone.
I’m not losing another partner tonight, he thought. I refuse.
I am not losing him.
Tiger jolted awake, jerking in the chair and almost punching himself in the face when the hand he’d propped his cheek on slipped. He shook his head, trying to clear it of lingering bad memories that had chased him into sleep, and caught his eye on movement from the hospital bed before him.
Dick was awake, eyes wide open and slowly trying to reach towards him with his-- mostly-- uninjured arm--
Dick was awake!!!
He almost fell out of his chair, spared a second to feel embarrassed by his displays of clumsiness, and grabbed Dick’s hand out of the air, placing it back at the man’s side on the bed.
“Grayson--” Tiger resisted stuttering when Dick didn’t let him retract his hand, his grip surprisingly strong for someone who had just survived an explosion. “You-- you… idiot.”
He seethed suddenly. “Didn’t I tell you not to do anything stupid! Didn’t I give you clear and strict orders not to--” He cut himself off when he saw Dick start to smile, then smile wider, then start to laugh.
It was a soft and raspy thing, Dick’s voice rough from lack of use in the days he had remained unconscious and sedated, by no objective terms should it have been beautiful in any way--
And yet--
And yet…
Tiger looked away. “Stop that,” He muttered. “Stop it. You could have died. You were going to die. You-- I--”
Words failed him, and Dick’s expression softened. “Sorry,” he said. Not teasing. Not poking fun at anything. Just genuinely apologetic for making Tiger worried, for making Tiger upset. Tch. As if it had actually been his fault at all… no one had predicted the lab would seal itself.
“Idiot,” Tiger said, squeezing Dick’s hand before he could think better of it. It was the only thing he could think to say. Dick grinned again.
“Pretty badass that you yelled at Helena,” he said, and Tiger blinked-- how did he know about that?-- “And you… well, you saved my life. Again. That’s two I owe you now, right? I should say thank you.”
Tiger looked down, finally tuggung his hand free of Dick’s-- and immediately missed the contact. “Idiot,” he muttered again. “You don’t owe me anything. Now get some more rest.” He stood from the chair, and Dick obediently settled back into the pillows.
Tiger walked around the bed towards the door, and made to leave, but paused despite himself in the open doorway. “I’m… glad you’re alright, Dick.” He whispered, unsure if Dick would even hear it. Then he flicked the light off and left, closing the door behind him. He didn’t look back.
No matter how badly he wanted to.
#dicktigerweek2020#dicktigerweek#dicktiger#dick grayson#tiger king of kandahar#writing#my writing#fic#my fic#dc#dc comics
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Diary of a Junebug
A lesson in knowing your limits
Gyroid hunting, magic spells, mountain climbing, hanging with friends - all the makings of a fun campsite event! But as with all events, there's also the stress of getting things done in time.
Let's say that what happened earlier today served as a reminder to us that sometimes life gets too stressful and that there will be times where we don't have everything under control. That's not to say that this gyroid adventure hasn't been fun, but on top of all the other stuff that's been going on, it's hard to enjoy yourself when your mind is elsewhere.
Since opening the camp, I have developed a love/hate relationship with the holidays. And with this being a holiday event, we're in a bigger time crunch if we want to get everything set for Toy Day. There's also the fact that Daisy Jane and I are going back home to Rosevine for Emmaline and Minnie's wedding right after the festivities so that puts even more pressure on ourselves to finish things fast.
Joining us for our toy gyroid escapades are Almie, Pippa, and a new friend - Mariposa Silva! Her name means butterfly - isn't that pretty! Almie and Pippa talked about her a lot last time and I'm glad to finally meet her! The three are staying with us until Toy Day, which is in a couple days, so Daisy Jane and I will be leaving with them for home.
I can see why Pippa's all starry eyed over Mariposa and after what happened today, I think the two of them being friends is the best thing to ever happen to her in light of everything she's been through this year. Almie's been a good big brother to her but Pippa really needs someone who can understand her and Mariposa's the kind of friend who fits right in.
So Mariposa is a newcomer who's been living with Rosevine's notorious troublemaker witch Luna as her apprentice. Luna may act all tough but we all know she has a soft spot for us kids like Almie and Emmaline. Pippa's been training with Luna too as witchcraft and wizardry kinda overlap in some areas. I don't know what surprises me more - Luna taking in a teenage girl she randomly bumped into (literally) with no questions and teaching her magic or Luna agreeing to help Pippa (a wizard of all beings - in short, bad association with wizards) with her magic as well as teaching some witchcraft as well. Then again, for the latter, Luna and Almie are partners in crime so it makes sense that she has a soft spot for Pippa as well.
What makes Mariposa unique is that she's able to conjure magic despite not being magical herself, which takes a lot of work. It's not an easy feat for us ordinary people - believe me, I've tried (and tried)! Maybe there's hope for me but at this point I shouldn't get my hopes up too high. Because of life circumstances she has to bear since birth (she really has a way with words), Mariposa has mastered the art of improvisation.
Since she can't summon magic naturally like Luna and Pippa, Mariposa developed her own way of conjuring glyphs and such. So she has to do a little bit of extra work to cast a spell, which can complicate things a bit. There's a lot of things that can slow Mariposa down, however there's two that can't. First is the conjuring of spells - she's resourceful, creative, and super imaginative - when you can't make magic the traditional way, you gotta get crafty. Second is her right arm - or lack of.
In short, Mariposa was born with a bunch of health problems, a nonexistent right arm is one of them. At this point it's all just "blah, blah, blah" to her. She's spent sixteen years with one arm - her entire life - so whatever pitying thing someone wants to say to her, she's heard it all. Sure it might complicate conjuring magic in some situations but she just rolls with it. That's why she's so good at improvising, problem solving, and thinking way outside the box - something she believes is the universe's way of compensating for what she's been given.
For the past few days we've been hiking around the camp looking for gyroids. Mariposa and Pippa showed off some cool spells they learned from Luna while Almie told us about their latest shenanigans. Highlights include Pippa one-upping a frenemy of Luna's with a scalding hot burn, Almie offering to fix up Luna's car with some "embellishments" which may or may not have caused a wingbat uprising, and Mariposa accidentally awakening an ancient spirit while trying to impress Willow and Angie. And of course, we've been talking about the upcoming wedding.
Since I last saw Pippa, she's been getting her strength back. From being diagnosed with leukemia to suffering from complications as well as a near relapse, the past several months have been hard on her. Almie said that outside of family, Mariposa and Angie, and later Willow, were a great deal of help - especially Mariposa. It's so good to see Pippa out and about, almost like how she was before she got sick.
I guess sometimes we're so focused on trying to get things back to normal after getting thrown off that we don't always realize that in many cases, there's no going back. With Pippa keeping up with her studies, practicing her magic, and helping out with the wedding, it seems like everything's back to normal. Aside from having to keep up with meds and appointments and such, Pippa's well on her way to recovery.
Of course, looks can be deceiving. While Pippa is doing well, she still has to be careful not to wear herself out too much. The wedding's been a bit of an incentive for her to stay healthy, especially since she's a bridesmaid - so she's been keeping busy helping Soph with planning the reception and everything. Pippa's a hard worker but she has a bad habit of putting herself last.
The main reason why Almie wanted to come back to the camp was to give Pippa a chance to relax. He's been protective of Pippa since her hospitalization due to other people's carelessness regarding her health. So he wasn't too happy when Pippa admitted to him a couple days ago that she slipped up by missing her meds a couple times over the past few weeks. He said she'd tell him if something was wrong but seeing that she's been trying to keep on schedule for the most part, she should be okay.
While the past couple days were fun, it was clear that the cracks were starting to show. A combined mess of stress from personal life stuff, holidays, the gyroid event, and the upcoming wedding hit us all at once. My mind was elsewhere, worrying about getting stuff done - it can be draining.
Mariposa was the one who helped us refocus by sitting Pippa down and setting some hard truths for her. Almie was right to be concerned about Pippa overworking herself. I get that she's been feeling stuck in a rut so anything to break her out of that monotony is a welcome change. It's good to try to get back on track but you can't force it. From the way she was jumping up and down and climbing all over the place, you'd think we were being timed on finding gyroids.
Exhaustion has a way of wearing you down, physical and mental. If we had health bars hanging over our heads, Pippa's would be almost depleted. And if I'm being honest, mine's probably in the red zone too. Almie and Daisy Jane are likely in red too while Mariposa's probably in yellow. To be honest, I think everyone in the camp's either a red or yellow - it's just one of these days.
So Pippa overestimated herself and eventually reached a point where she couldn't just get back up and act like everything's fine. As in, she fell off a tree, landing hard on her back and was unable to move for a few seconds, scaring the hell out of everyone. Thankfully she doesn't have a concussion or broken bones but she'll be really sore and bruised tomorrow. By then I figured that we collected enough gyroids for the day so we headed back to the camp despite Pippa's protests.
Almie's usually a pretty chill guy so seeing him go off on Pippa was... let's just say I'm glad we all cleared out when they both started raising their voices. When things started getting out of hand, Mariposa decided to step in for a bit. What she said to Pippa had me thinking about accepting your limits.
Basically what Mariposa's saying is that we can't measure our worth by our productivity. If anyone knows how Pippa feels about stagnating due to circumstances out of control, it's Mariposa.
She got it through to Pippa that it's okay to fall short of expectations. I get that it's frustrating when you try to set goals for yourself, only to fail - but you just gotta accept that sometimes things don't work out and it's not your fault. I know that Pippa can be hard on herself, especially since this year has been turned upside down for her.
Mariposa also brought up a good point about the whole don't let your disabilities and illnesses stop you from being accomplished. It's one of those things that's supposed to be encouraging but does more harm than good. Because there will be days when your disabilities will stop you from achieving what you want. There will be times when you're forced to put your life on hold while the world is unsympathetic to your battles. You have to learn how to accept that it's okay to step back and accept that there are things beyond your capability - and that you shouldn't be shamed for that.
In other words, it's important to know your limits. Wise words from the witch in training, something we all need to be reminded of.
Once it seemed like Mariposa's words got through to Pippa, we stepped aside so the siblings can have a moment alone. To keep ourselves busy, I took Mariposa to the Marketplace to craft Toy Day stuff with Reese, Cyrus, and Jingle, which she had a blast doing. After making a bunch of toys we headed to the cabin and put together gift boxes.
It was nice getting to know Mariposa on a one on one basis during that time. Almie and Pippa weren't exaggerating with her wild, creative, and daring imagination. Who knew that there could be so many ways to wrap gift boxes? We got to talking about a lot of stuff, like how she's enjoying staying with Luna, Skully, and Owly, her magic training, Willow and Angie - she's only been in town for a short time and it feels like she's been part of the Rosevine gang since forever!
Also, she has met Emmaline and Minnie so she's definitely on the guest list. Actually she's coming as Luna's plus one since she met the couple after the list was finalized. Though knowing how Emmaline makes friends like bees to honey, Soph made extra sure to accommodate for a growing guest list - which I'm pretty sure has doubled since the invitations went out!
Once we finished with the gift boxes, we headed back to the campsite. Pippa and Almie finally worked things out and were back to their old, playful, bickering ways. They surprised us with desserts - Toy Day themed cookies and mochi! After having a busy couple days hunting gyroids, we decided to take it easy with a cozy bonfire dinner.
Nothing like freshly baked cookies and mulled cider to unwind after a stressful week!
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Fixing It (a Dean/Cas 15x08 inspired coda)
Dean Winchester walked a long & difficult road. House burning down when he was 4, constantly being on the move until his father lost a fight with demons at the age of 25. Reunited with his mother only to lose her again. Have a son only to lose him, too. Of all the shadows that have crossed his path, he thought one of the main sources of light was his husband Castiel.
But he had to ruin that, too.
Can he ever have that shine again? Or are there things that are too good for him to hold? Will they mend what was broken?
“We met in an office like this, actually… or, outside of one.”
“Really? Why don’t you expand on that Dean.”
Dean shifts, glancing over at where Cas waits perched on the other end of the crimson couch. It drew Dean’s attention upon walking in, the sweat around his collar doubling imagining how hot it must be to sit on it. Like roasting over a pit. The image grew stronger when he glimpsed how the therapist’s hair matched her furniture.
“Well,” he squeezes his wrist, staring at his feet, “I was going to this place for a few weeks now as part of… recovery, for this thing that happened to me.” Nails bite at his skin while skimming the surface of his memory pool. “All the physical scars healed, but there was still something not clicking up in the head department -”
“Dean,” she says, halting his descent into the deep end, “You don’t have to dredge up past trauma. I didn’t ask for that. I asked about when you first met Castiel.”
His vision, once blurry, now refocuses on the rivulets of blood trickling from where his nails broke skin. “Right,” Dean coughs, “Yeah… yeah, thanks… anyway -”
Five minutes. Traffic on the highway made him late by five minutes. Dean hurried out of his car and over to the small storefront Dr. Richings rented. Not the most promising places for help in navigating his mental health, nestled between a hair salon and a Pizza Hut, but it accepted his very threadbare insurance. Plus, after getting to know him, Richings earned his respect and vice versa.
Except, with now six minutes past when he should have been there, Dean threw all his hard work away. “If you’re going to be late,” John’s voice in his head echoed, “why bother showing up at all.”
He paused, hand on the door. Breathing deeply, Dean mumbled, “Because if it matters… you have to show up.” The bile simmers and sinks into the bog it rose from, beaten back by one of the mantras Richings taught him. Waiting another beat to calm his rapid heartbeat and remind himself the other man won’t be too mad, Dean finally entered.
“Look, I know what Dr. Richings said but-but I don’t think it’s enough to warrant giving away my appointment!”
Someone with a voice like scuffed leather blocked the path to Tessa’s desk. Broad shoulders, either from actual muscles or extra padding given by the rumpled trench coat. Dark hair sticking up like he stuck a finger in an electrical socket seconds before.
“Sorry Mr. Shurley,” Tessa said, “but as I’ve been trying to tell you, we didn’t give your spot away. The doctor decided last time that you needed to have your session another day.”
“But… but it’s me !” Shurley guy continued, “Dr. Richings always reserves Thursday appointments for me at this time! I mean…” he gestures to the empty row of seats shoved against the wall, “there’s no one else here! No one comes in on Thursdays!”
“Be that as it may, this Thursday is different . The doctor is backed up and has been running over with each session as it is. He’s almost done with his one o’clock, and then he’ll see -”
“Me,” Shurley demanded, “Come on, who else could it be?”
Dean cleared his throat, finally making his presence known. Shurley whirls around, eyes wide at the interruption. Cheeks twinged pink from being caught in the act. Adorable if he didn’t see how much of an asshole he was being. As it was, Dean tamped down the urge to gasp at how the blue of his eyes contrasted with his heated, tanned skin. “Actually,” he said, “Dr. Richings is supposed to be with me for the next hour.” Glancing behind the other man, he nodded at Tessa. “Hey.”
“Dean,” she sighed, smiling, “I was wondering where you were?”
“Traffic.”
Tessa nodded, shuffling papers around on her desk. “Like I was saying, Richings should be finishing up any moment. You can sit anywhere to wait…”
He winked, “Thanks.” Dean smirked, making sure to connect with Shurley’s gaze before striding towards the chairs. Collapsing at the one closest to the magazine pile on a nearby end table, he picked a random gossip rag and began reading.
A shadow fell overhead, blocking the pictures of Michael Jackson’s doctor as he was hounded by paparazzi. “Dude,” he scoffed, squirming under Shurley’s intense stare, “ever heard of personal space.” Their knees knocked together, denim brushing against paper-thin slacks.
“Give me your appointment.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll pay you,” Castiel said, grabbing his wallet, “A hundred dollars. Two hundred. Please .”
“Look,” he said, slapping the magazine closed onto his lap. “I get you’ve got your problems, you’re in therapy. But so am I. Understand that I need this just as much as you, maybe more so?”
Owlishly, Shurly blinked at him. “Three hundred?”
“Jesus!” Dean barked, “No amount of money is going to get me to move.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“...What’s that supposed to mean?”
“From my experience, people will always compromise given the right amount.”
Dean bristled, feathers finally ruffled. He stood chest-to-chest with the other man. More aware of how different their outfits were. His streaked with faded oil stains and grease marks, having come from work. If Shurley were worried about dirt getting on his clean white shirt or blue silk tie, he didn’t show it. “In my experience, smart mouths lead to fat lips .”
“Was that,” he spluttered, “what that a threat?”
“Yeah it was. Problem?”
Shurley glared, leaning closer. An impossible feat given how thin the space between them was. Electricity crackled underneath, Dean’s ears roaring from an elevated heartbeat. “It may shock you,” Shurley growled, stoking flames in his belly from the low timbre, “but I am no stranger to violence.”
A line pulled from the movies that, in any other context, would have Dean creaming his shorts. Instead, tethered to the aggravating man, the pleasure felt bittersweet. “Actually, I’m not,” Dean told him, “everyone you ever met has probably wanted to knock you upside the head.”
Silence washed over them, then. Tension leaking into every empty crevice until they were wound up tighter than toys. Quickly, in the blink of an eye, it all faded. Sucked away by the sound of a door opening.
“...you did really good today, Ms. Rosen. Next week I wouldn’t mind reading some of these stories you’ve written. Maybe… try your hand at writing something pulled from life instead of TV?”
“But a good story isn’t going to come out of nowhere…” her eyes dipped towards them, a nervous smile twitching to life. “Actually… scratch that. Inspiration has been struck.”
Dr. Richings looked at them, too, cursing under breath. “Why don’t you schedule your next appointment with Tessa, I have to deal with this.”
“Ugh, fine…”
He stalked over, lightning creasing his brows. Imposing in his stoicism. Dean tried to keep his cool, but broke immediately when Richings crushed his wrist in a strong vice. His almost-opponent flinched as well. “No fighting,” he said, “ ever .” Assured they were thoroughly chastised, he let go. Dean rubbed his wrist, wincing. The doctor ignored him in favor of Shurley. “What are you doing here Castiel?”
Shurley tried answering, except- “Castiel?”
Castiel glared at him, “It’s a family name.”
“I bet,” Dean huffed, “people are only named like that out of obligation.”
“Why you -”
“Dean,” Richings hushed him, “quiet. Castiel… your appointment Is not until tomorrow.”
Finally, Castiel seemed uncomfortable. He fidgeted, fingers playing with the ties of his coat. “I know,” he said, “I know we agreed to try stepping… outside my comfort zone . But a whole day? It’s… couldn’t we have done baby steps?”
“Baby steps,” Richings frowned, “you mean like having you order a different coffee from your usual cafe?”
“Well -”
“Or having you pair your suit with a different color tie.”
“Blue with white stripes felt weird -”
“Castiel,” Richings sighed, “we’ve been doing a ton of baby steps. A Friday appointment is still a baby step. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” He reached over and laid a hand of Castiel’s shoulder, “That’s what brought you here, right? Fear?”
Nodding, Castiel said, “Yes, I -”
“No,” Richings cut him off, “hold onto that fear. Write it down. Bring it to me tomorrow and we can sort it then. This is Dean’s time.”
Castiel, affronted, glanced between the good doctor and Dean. Dean smiled, a friendly gesture of de-escalation. “An invitation to punch you in the face,” Castiel called it whenever they told the story to friends.
When he left the building, Dean immediately turned to Dr. Richings. “Wow,” he muttered, “what a piece of work…”
“Don’t do that.”
“Huh?”
“Castiel’s a very good man,” Richings told him, “albeit somewhat… peculiar . But aren’t we all?” He scratched at his chin, staring at the door. “He’s been a patient of mine for some time now, and what you saw today was a vast improvement. I’m asking a lot of him, and he’s trusting me. Don’t judge him on an almost bad day.” Brow raised, he trailed his gaze across Dean’s body. “Actually… you two would get along really well, given the right circumstances.”
Dean blushed, “What? Him? No way doc…” Clearing his throat, he pushed past him and towards his room. “C’mon, we’re here to analyze my sucky brain not my sucky love life.”
“I didn’t say anything about love , Dean…”
“Shut up.”
Castiel chuckles, rubbing his thumb across his threadbare jeans. “You were an awful assbutt -”
“Can’t believe you still use that word…”
The woman across from them, perched on her chair, hums through plum lips. “An eventful first meeting,” she says, “Real hell. And that was when cupid struck?”
“No, not really,” Castiel says, “a few weeks later, I brought my car into the shop where Dean works. He fixed my car up while I waited, and we didn’t know who the other was until it came time to assess for payment.”
“Figured the guy who owned the truck was a messy dork,” Dean chuckles, “at least three different books in the passenger seat footwell… empty containers of tea with the bags inside them… and tons of loose pages with so much highlighting -”
“All my students’ tests and papers flew everywhere after the crash,” he says, Dean not needing to look to know his nose scrunched high on his face. Lines criss-crossing over themselves adorably. “Forgive me if I was more concerned with my car.”
“Super concerned,” Dean smiles, “Bothering Bobby every half-hour, asking about your car -”
“Bobby? Oh… your boss, Mr. Singer?”
“Correct Dr. MacLeod -”
“Rowena, dearie,” she coos, “call me Rowena.”
Castiel flushes, squirming. “Right, sorry… Rowena. Bobby was Dean’s boss. And I wasn’t bothering him, I was concerned. I’d had my truck since my dad bought it for me in high school and I… I was a touch too sentimental in the past. I didn’t want to have to get a new car… so Bobby placated me, telling me how his best mechanic was making it better than new.”
“Ol’ bastard did love to exaggerate…”
Rowena smiles, checking through her notes. “Now Castiel, this isn’t the first time you’ve mentioned your… sentimentality . From your files it looked like you were going to Dr. Richings for a number of years about this. Why did you stop going?”
“I started getting better,” he says, “doing what the doctor suggested and… and meeting Dean helped me overcome many of the obstacles I normally struggled with. I’m sure you can see in my files the day I came to Richings without wearing my usual trench coat.”
“Probably next to ‘thank God for Dean’s clumsy fingers and open cans of motor oil’.”
“ Dean ,” Castiel hushes, the name ripped from his lips. A rush of quiet follows, and the warmth normally following his name hurts. Sobers any levity. “Anyway, weekly appointments became bi-weekly… which became monthly and bi-montly until, well… until he passed away.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Rowena says, squeezing the arms of her chair in lieu of their knees. Dean accepts the sentiment, meaning well-sourced in her thick accent. “And thank you both for telling me all this… I must admit when you two first started coming to me, I was wondering why. Mainly because of the lengthy history you two had with another doctor. Wasn’t sure if there was a falling out or anything…”
“No,” Dean tells her, “nothing like that. Me, I stopped going when I needed to. Went back whenever I got a bit overwhelmed with life and… spiralled .”
“Do you think that’s what happened then, Dean?” Rowena asks, “Did you spiral too much without Richings’ help until you crashed?”
A storm cloud rolled overhead, thundering. Shadows flashed over Dean’s eyes, vision blackening briefly and exploding with the colors of the room. He mulls Rowena’s words in his head. Uncaring to how they sound when it’s Richings saying them. Or Sam.
“I’m not going to let you give up like this,” Sam said, standing over the guest bed. Blanket held high over Dean so he couldn’t hide under it. Pillow long kicked to the floor. “We’re all worried about you. Bobby keeps asking me when you’re going back to work.”
Dean gurgled, rolling away so he wouldn’t face his brother. Squishing the empty bags of chips, turning crumbs into dust.
“She’s highly recommended,” Sam continued, “I met her through a client. Prosecution wanted us to give a detailed history of her mental health, and MacLeod was her therapist. She helped me with my case and even took the stand when the time came to strengthen our defense.”
“So?” Dean asked, “Good for you. Don’t see how that affects me.”
“Because she’s smart, kind, and won’t take any of your shit,” he tells him, “and you need that right now.”
“I don’t know Sam. That sounds like you, yet I’m still here…”
“Because you don’t want to listen to me. You don’t want to listen to anyone . There are only two other people who might help but you’re not speaking to one and the other is dead .” Sam sat on the bed, mattress dipping. “Dean… Richings can’t help you anymore. You need to see someone… talk about what happened -”
“What’s there to talk about?”
“So much Dean!” Sam yelled, “I might not know all the pain you’re going through but I understand a lot of it. I know what it’s like to feel loss . And now… she was my mom, too, Dean. Jack was my nephew. We’ve already lost enough people… stop giving them away.”
Anger flared inside Dean, and he clawed through Sam’s bedspread. “You think I’m giving him away? No, Sam. Cas can make his own choices. He don’t seem too keen on stopping by anytime soon for a chat.”
“He’s willing to go.”
Faster than the spark breathed to life it was snuffed. “What…?”
“Cas?” Sam said, “I already tossed the idea his way. If you agreed to go… he would too. He still believes you two can fix this.”
Dean let Sam leave without another word. Wouldn’t speak to his brother the following morning, not even attempting to sign his disparate malice to his sister-in-law. Kept to his vow until Sam dropped him off for the first session at the high rise. Made it all the way to the fifteenth floor, stewing in his aggravation. Until the elevator doors opened and he caught sight of a familiar trench coat.
“Cas.”
Barely a whisper, his name echoed in the empty waiting room. His husband looked up from his lap, dropping the strips of his ratty security blanket. Hurt welled in his too-blue eyes until he shut it down. Caged by purplish bags and new wrinkles. He retreated to his trench coat, pulling it over his t-shirt.
Like it didn’t make him any less ridiculous.
Dean signed in with the receptionist, finding the furthest chair away from Castiel and setting up camp until their names were called.
Neither were too keen to do anything in those first sessions.
Four months in, there’s been progress. But no light at the end of the tunnel.
“Tell me Dean,” Rowena carries on, “do you think Dr. Richings could have helped you process the recent tragedies that blew up your life?”
Dean scoffs, “I wouldn’t say blew up -”
“You lost your son to a horrible illness days and your mother to a careless drunk driver,” she speaks over him, tone smooth and sharp like a thumbtack piercing a corkboard. “Burying both within a matter of days of each other. You’ve lost your job. You’re no longer living in your house. And you’re here, in my office, because you’re inches away from your separation turning into a divorce . Tell me again how your life isn’t in complete shambles?”
He glared at her, arms crossed. “When you put it like that…”
She sighed, pinching her brow. “I didn’t mean to get cross with you, dearie, I just…” Rowena sets her notes aside and stands. “We’ve been at this awhile. You’re both good people who’ve been dealt unlucky cards. I wish neither of you had to go through what you did.”
“But we had to,” Dean growls, “I’ve always had to. Mom, Jack… I don’t know why I thought it would be different…”
Mary Winchester nearly died once. The Winchester brothers thought she did, perishing in a fire that consumed their childhood home. John spirited them away before they saw it fully collapse. Too early. For if they stayed a bit longer, they would have seen a fireman carry a somewhat charred, unresponsive woman to a nearby ambulance.
Maybe their family would have been whole. Maybe Dean could have grown up at a normal pace. Maybe their home wouldn’t have been a sleek, black muscle car from the past.
Maybe John Winchester wouldn’t have lost his battle with the demons goading him to drink every night until he couldn’t take it anymore and blew his brains out. Not telling either of his children until they received a call from a motel owner south of nowhere telling them how they found his body.
At least in John’s death, they found a new beginning.
Mary attended like a vision, almost too good for reality. They were right, when Dean approached her and a heavy fog clouded her vision. “Dean?” she said, “It… sounds familiar.”
After the fire, Mary woke with no memory past one of meeting a man with his foot glued to the accelerator and a taste for classic rock. Her parents filled her in on nothing. Keeping her in the dark about her sons, the ones named after them.
It took years for her memories of them to return, to create new ones. And they were for nothing.
Almost as pointless as taking in the child of a dear, late friend.
“He is technically my nephew,” Castiel said, watching Jack play with other kids his age. Arm wrapped over Dean’s shoulder. “And we both know Nick won’t have anything to do with the boy. Kelly wouldn’t want him shuttled off to some foster system, to be forgotten.”
Jack tripped over the basketball, landing on his knee. Dean jumped. An urge to run over and check on the boy awoke in that moment, seemingly from nowhere. He ignored it, instead watching what happened next.
Rolling over, Jack pulled his knee close and checked it. From how exposed the skin was to wear and tear by wearing shorts, Dean guessed he must have scraped it. Except there were no tears.
Jack stared at his knee for a long time, enough that the kids around him picked the ball up and continued playing without him. Then, after a minute that felt like hours, he turned to where Dean and Cas were standing. Looked at them, silently asking ‘Can you believe this?’
Dean chuckled, leaning into Cas’s embrace. “Yeah… yeah, okay. Let’s do it.”
“You’re sure?”
“Sure sure,” Dean said, “We’ll be good for him… and him, us.”
They were wrong then, too. Jack’s father struck with a vengeance, taking them to court for custody over their boy. With Sam’s help Dean and Castiel barely managed to keep guardianship of him.
It wasn’t a long duty. Almost as soon as their legal troubles were over the medical crisis began. Cancer too far along, Jack’s candle flickered dangerously in the wind.
“Dean,” Castiel says, closer than he was before, “Dean it’s not like we could have known any of this was going to happen.”
“But we should have!” he yells, “My life’s been nothing but some big cosmic joke. Some-some show that a cruddy audience jerks it to whenever I’m in pain.”
“That isn’t true.”
“It is Cas,” Dean says, blinking through tears, “Why can’t you see I’m just a lousy screw-up, huh? Your dad was right about me…”
“Hold on a minute,” Rowena stops him, hovering nearby, “what did you say?”
Dean rolls his eyes, wiping at the stray watermarks. “That I’m a screw-up -”
“No,” she waves him off, “about Castiel’s father?”
He scowls. “Yeah. What about it? He’s not the first person to call me a screw-up…”
“But you mentioned him , specifically,” she continues, walking back to her seat. Notes in hand, Rowena asks, “Has your father been a sore spot for a long time, Castiel?”
Castiel startles, glancing away from Dean. “What? I… uh, yes. I guess? Ever since Dean and I started dating he hasn’t been the-ah… the most supportive .”
Something bitter roils in Dean’s chest when he laughs. “It took your brother and sister locking him in a bathroom to keep him from interrupting our wedding.”
“He has this… idea of what me and my siblings should be doing with our lives,” Castiel explains, “Some of us followed in his footsteps and joined the family company. While others… rebelled. My brother Nick went into politics. Gabriel is a producer in Hollywood and Hannah… they teach sculpture at a community college in Maine.”
“So your profession as a professor -”
“Was not well received,” Castiel sighs, “Every decision I made that he didn’t agree with, he saw it as me not achieving all I could do. That I was limiting myself. He pushes people very hard. As you can see me attest to in my files many of my neuroses were not aided by his parenting.”
Rowena scribbles on her notepad, tone lilting when she connects a few dots Dean cannot see. Too busy trying to figure out what she’s doing, he doesn’t see her turn to him. “Dean, my boy,” she starts, “why did you bring up Chuck just then?”
“What?”
“When you were talking to Castiel, you mentioned Chuck. Why was he on your mind?”
Dean shrugs, slumping in his seat until his knees hit the coffee table. “I don’t know. Sometimes when I’m in a funk my brain plays a mixtape of all the people who’ve said bad things about me and the dashboard buttons stick, so there’s no stopping it. Like I said, he wasn’t the first to call me a screw-up, definitely not the last.”
Rowena nods, mirroring his too-wide smile. “Of course,” she says, “you’re not telling me the whole truth, are you?”
He pinches his thigh. “I’ve told you enough.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Dean?”
“I know that if I’m not ready to talk about things, I don’t have to.”
“This isn’t about being ready, Dean. This is about not wanting to face whatever happened -”
“Who said anything happened!” he yells, leaning forward, “I didn’t say that! It’s not like there was anything to happen. Nothing happened! I made sure of it when Chuck -” Dean bites his lip, cheeks heating under the victorious leer Rowena shoots his way. He avoids meeting Castiel’s curious stare when he returns to his earlier position. “You’re awful.”
“Awfully amazing,” she says, “Now… you and Chuck. Was it a recent altercation?”
Dean checks the clock, aware of how little time is left of their appointment. Waiting her out is preferable to dredging up that memory.
But then, “Dean…”
Looking at Castiel was a mistake. At his soft eyes, his parted lips, his overgrown stubble. Make him hoist the white flag and resign to mortifying ideals.
“It was a day or two after Jack’s funeral,” Dean begins, talking to his hands, “Cas… you’d gone with Gabriel to pay for the service. I was putting casserole after casserole away…”
“Coming!” Dean yelled, dropping Donna’s plastic Tupperware onto the counter in his haste to answer the door. He hurried when the incessant knocking grew louder. “I said I was coming,” he grumbled, “what’s so important that you’re… oh .”
Chuck stood on the other side, an air of casualness wafting from him. Dressed casually in a fitted Henley, dark-wash jeans, leather boots and a jacket. A total sum of more than what Dean made in a month. “What?” he asked, “Not gonna invite me in?”
“Finally admitting you’re a bloodsucker then?”
He pursed his lips. “Cute.” Chuck strode past him, “Where’s my son?”
“Cas isn’t here,” Dean told him, door still open, “If that’s all?”
Chuck glanced back, smirking. “Not that easy. I didn’t come here for him.”
Dean frowned, slamming the door shut. “What Chuck? What do you want?”
“I came here to talk to you.”
“Sure,” he huffed, “because you couldn’t have done that when you were at the funeral.” They barely shared a glance, Dean only knowing Chuck came by a whispered warning from Hannah and a peek at the back row when going up for Jack’s eulogy. “If you’ve come by to say you’re ‘sorry for our loss’ or some other bullshit… I don’t need to hear it.”
“Well… now that hurts Dean,” Chuck said, “Jack was as much my grandson as he was your son… actually, he was more . Biological factors considered -”
“ God !” Dean groaned, pinching his nose, “Haven’t I already suffered enough ?” Sagging against a nearby wall, he waves at his father-in-law. “Come on. Out with it so we can get this over with.”
Contempt flashed to life on Chuck’s face, quickly smothered by a self-satisfied smirk. “All right. Fine . I’ll skip the appetizers and present the main course.” The metaphor knocks his eyes so far back in his head they roll forward again without help. “I’m here to offer my help.”
“Help? What kind of help do you think we need?”
“The kind of help I can provide,” he explained, “ Money .”
Dean tensed, gaze flicking to the other man. “Money?” Five letters that made every nerve left in his body join their brothers, when one by one they turn to ash. Stoked to burn by memories, time after time of Chuck’s snide comments about their lifestyle. Being forced to listen, to bury his anger, with each insinuation he made from ‘concern’.
“Money,” Chuck said, fiddling with the jacket zipper, “You know… you could make a higher salary if you applied yourself more.”
He scoffed. “If I applied myself any more I’d be pushing Bobby’s wheelchair down a staircase.”
“Then maybe it’s time to consider a change?”
A chill rushed down Dean’s spine. Before he could comment, Chuck rushed into his spiel. About how Michael decided to leave the company after falling for some vagabond during a corporate retreat. “Adam’s a nice boy,” Castiel tells Rowena, “and very charming. I mean, he got my brother to pick up yoga .”
“Anyway,” Dean says, a fierce itch tingling behind his eyes, “instead of promoting from within, he got the idea to rely on old-fashioned nepotism.”
“From how you describe your father-in-law,” Rowena says, “It doesn’t seem like he’d be pretty keen on doing such a thing. What drove him to make such an ask?”
Dean sneaks a peek at Castiel, frowning.
“I know neither of you two are in a good place right now,” Chuck said, “financially, I mean.”
“How would you know that?”
Chuck switched to an even more irritating expression. Lips stretching in plastic sympathy. “Because of something I overheard after the service.”
“Castiel and Gabriel were talking,” Dean says, “About how, with both Jack’s and my mom’s… a huge chunk of our savings was gone. Not taking into account the money we funnelled towards medical bills until we found a St. Jude’s we’re still paying off. We were scraping by each month as it was… after all that…”
“It is to be expected,” Rowena says, “after such traumatic events for money to be a sore subject.”
“But,” Dean sighs, wiping at his nose, “I had to… I had to hear it from hum .” He shifts, turning to face his husband, “Cas, I had to hear it from Chuck and not you .”
He heard a lot from Chuck. When Dean rejected the offer, repeated with shaky confidence how they were doing fine with where they were, his father-in-law went livid. “You really are a fool,” he spat, barreling past him towards the door, “every day my son spends married to a buffoon like you is another he subjects himself to torture. Because you, Dean Winchester, are poison . You take so much from Castiel and push all your problems onto him and give him nothing . It’s no surprise all of this happened, because you wreck everything you touch. I hope you enjoy the gutters when the bank evicts you from your home in a month. Not like they’d be able to turn a profit on this shitty thing…”
“And then he left,” Dean shrugs, numb to the gentle caress of Castiel’s hand on his back.
“After all that?” Rowena asked, “He shouted at you and you did… what?”
“I did nothing,” he said, “I couldn’t do anything when he was right.”
“Dean -”
“He was, Cas,” Dean cries, “I mean, look at us! We’re in freaking therapy because I couldn’t lose just my mom, or my son… I had to lose you, too and I couldn’t handle it.”
Castiel readies another dismissal, but keeps his finger on the trigger. Tongue pressed against teeth, only part of him moving his brows furrowing above. He loads another, more deadly bullet into the barrel and fires at his heart. “Is this why, Dean? Why you pushed me away? Why you… you became so cold ? Why you said all those hurtful things at me?”
Dean wrings his hands, copper all he can taste. “I blew up,” he admits, “You were just… there. Being so kind… so caring, and I - I was so mad that I couldn’t be the same. Too full of my own bullshit that I couldn’t stick to my vows and be there for you.” Choking back a sob, he rocks into Castiel. “I never meant what I said… I… everything I said, were things I thought about myself.”
Rowena hums, scribbling in her notepad. “Dean, is this something you’ve done before?”
He nods. “I… yeah. I’ve had a history of being unable to process my anger in a healthy way. Or… at least that was how Dr. Richings described it.” Dean attempts a smile, lips twisting into a grimace. “After he helped me through that… dark period, I’d still go back to him from time to time-”
“When life started spiralling?”
“Yeah…” Sighing, he pulls from Castiel’s embrace, unable to rely on his husband as a shield. “I’ve… it’s always been a problem, since I was young. This anger. I don’t know why it’s there but it’s like it… it never goes away. And when everything becomes too much, and the voices in my head get too loud I… I…”
“You blow up?” Rowena finishes, glancing at Castiel, “Hurting those caught in the crossfire?” She adjusts in her seat, crossing her legs. “Has he ever blown up at you like this?”
“A few times,” Castiel admits, “But usually, with some time and space, we come back together. Normally only a few days, but…”
“But this was going on for much longer.” Rowena taps her pen, staring at Dean. “Why didn’t you seek to resolve this? If the pattern is blow up, space, reunion… why break the cycle?” He won’t answer her. Chews on his tongue so he can’t answer. It doesn’t matter. “Did you think you were doing Castiel a service by staying out of his life?”
“Shit,” he breathes. A nail pierces his heart, hammered in expertly by Rowena. “How are you this good?”
“Because I am dearie… so if you will?”
His mouth flaps for a beat, only no sound accompanies it. Throat stopped up by fear, thick and watery and not enough to truly choke on. Dean looks at Castiel, studies the infinite sadness rippling across his eyes. The only part of him that dare show how he’s feeling. “Because of this,” he growls, “because you’re holding back from me.”
“What -”
“Here I am having a breakdown and you look like it’s another fucking Saturday!” Dean yells, “Like you… you checked out, and were just waiting for an excuse to leave. At least… at least that’s what I believe, after talking with Chuck.” He gasps, tugging at his hair. “Christ, Cas, if you were worried about money why didn’t you bring it up with me? Why don’t you tell me how you’re feeling? I want to help but it’s like… it’s like you won’t let me .”
“Dean,” Castiel says, “I… I don’t know what to - to… I’m not waiting for an excuse to leave you -”
“Well how was the poor boy supposed to know that, Castiel?”
Castiel whips around towards Rowena. “Excuse me?”
She sighs, flipping through her notes. “In every session, you’ve been a willing participant. Moresoe than your husband. However… everything you ever said was about him or in relation to him… we never hear any ‘I’ statements from you.”
“I highly doubt that,” he says, lips twitching into a nervous smile, “I just said ‘I’... and I did it again!”
Rowena arches a brow. “In fact,” she continues, “didn’t you mention how, the day after Dean left you, you were ‘chugging coffee to stay awake in class’.”
“It was a very important week for me, most of my students’ grades were calculated from these presentations -”
“An average person in this kind of situation would not be too keen to go back to class,” she says, “in fact, you didn’t miss a single class since. Did Dean’s absence really affect you?”
“...Of course it did!” Castiel snarls, cool facade entirely shattered under the implication, “My love for Dean is as infinite as the stars in the sky or-or… or the amount of fucking purple you have in your office. But I know when to put my own troubles aside for others -”
“That you do, Castiel,” Rowena agrees, “In fact… it said in your file you have a tendency to absorb others’ burdens at the expense of dealing with your own?”
Dean watches Castiel barely contain his ire. Fingers twitching against his knee, scraping the denim. Eyes almost shut from how tightly they squint across the table, like he could smite her with a thought.
“You spend all your energy trying to fix things,” she says, “that there’s no time to hone in on what you’re feeling -”
“Because I know what I’m feeling!”
“Good! What is it, then?”
“I… It’s... “ Castiel sighs, sagging into the couch now, “I’m tired, I’m… I’m empty . Like there’s been this darkness inside of me, chipping away until I’m nothing but a husk. And I figured maybe… maybe if I didn’t give it any attention, it would go away.”
“That’s no way to beat a beast like that, Castiel,” Rowena tells him, “You should know. Your history with depression -”
“Was a fucking nightmare,” he cuts her off, “some days I couldn’t get up from my bed I didn’t think it was worth it. Once… once, it was so bad, I nearly lost my job because I kept missing classes. All because I allowed myself to stare into the abyss and was foolish enough to blink.”
Rowena won’t quit. “You’re scared.”
“Damn right I’m scared.”
“And because of this fear,” she says, “you shut yourself off. Kept things bottled up.”
“Not… not entirely,” Castiel says, looking to Dean. “I… all your life, you’ve had other people’s shit dumped on you. Your dad’s… your mom’s… grandparents, co-workers, former partners… I didn’t want to be that. Didn’t want to put you through anymore of it. You had your own problems, and I wanted to be there for you .”
“Cas,” Dean sighs, reaching across to curl his arm around his husband’s shoulders, “When we stood across from each other all those years ago… I wasn’t accepting just the good parts. It was all of you.”
“But -”
“Everyone else dumped on me without my consent,” he says, “You… I want to be there for you. To help. Be equal… not treated with fucking kid’s gloves.”
“I know, Dean,” Castiel says, a tear traversing the planes of his cheeks, “I’m sorry.”
“We lost so much already,” Dean sniffs, “and we almost lost this… I’m sorry, too.”
They hold each other. Reacquaint themselves with parts they kept themselves from sharing because of their own stubborn beliefs. Dean breaths in the scent of laundry detergent around Castiel’s neck, heart aching because he missed it. Because Sam makes his own instead of buying Tide like a normal person.
“Now this is really lovely, boys,” Rowena says, clapping. Drawing them from the embrace, “Truly. But… we’re not out of the woods yet.”
“Yeah,” Dean says, “too easy, right?”
“You’ve made a lot of progress already,” she winks, “so I doubt the rest will be hard. That being said… our time is officially over.”
“It is?” Castiel asks, “That was all an hour?”
“An hour and five minutes but… who am I to rush healing,” she shrugs, “Besides, my next patient is a total narcissist and making him wait will be good for him.” Rowena stands, beckoning them to do the same so she can shake their hands. “I think you two are finally ready for some homework.”
“Homework?” Dean winces, “C’mon, Rowena…”
“Nothing too serious,” she laughs, walking them towards the door, “The two of you have taken so many hits, that it’s definitely bruised your relationship. So I want you two to take it back to where it all began.”
“Meaning?”
“Recreate your first date,” she tells them, “Reflect on what drew you two to each other and remind yourself of all the happiness that existed because of your union. And write it all down, because come our next meeting I want to hear all about it!"
“We will, Rowena,” Dean says, smile more genuine than ever, “Thank you.”
“All in a day’s work, dearie…”
They leave her office, walking side by side to the elevator banks. When it opens up, someone rushes out and between Dean, uncoupling their joined hands. Dean only notices they were glued together when forced apart, and quickly fixes that mistake.
“I’ve missed being able to hold your hand,” he says.
“I missed having your hand hold mine.”
Dean looks at his husband, calm with very obvious tear-stains on his face. “Do you think we’ll ever get back to where we were?” he asks under the delightful mediocrity of elevator music.
Castiel meets his gaze. “I’m not sure,” he says, “I don’t believe we can ever be the same as we were yesterday but… I hope we can be better.”
“So do I…” A breath. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Dean.”
---------------------------------------------------------------
Rowena walks to her car, fixing her hair into a ponytail. “Fucking naturalists,” she huffs, “Not everything can be cured with fucking crystals… if you’re gonna get into witchcraft at least make it interesting .”
At her car, she moves to enter. Only her phone chirps with a new message, drawing her focus. “Please don’t let it be a patient,” she says, checking.
She reads the texts, and smiles.
It was a patient. Rather, patients. Dean and Castiel sent her a photo - a selfie. From years ago, by the looks of it. Followed by another picture. A recreation of the first, with the same table, same candle, and same bottle of wine. Same all-consuming love for each other.
Thanks, doc .
“These are the moments that make it worth it Rowena,” she says, “make it all worth it…”
#Supernatural#Spn#Spn15#15x08#Castiel#Dean Winchester#Rowena MacLeod#destiel#deancas#destiel fanfic#deancas fanfic#supernatural fanfiction#spn fanfic
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* ❥ ⁝ cheer up baby
♡ @sgntaeho | around the moment the clock strikes eight, sian swears that the carnival area becomes a dead zone, devoid of the life that was scattered about the place only an hour ago.
and she completely understands why whenever the all too familiar beat of twice’s cheer up rings out not too far from where they stand, the raucous cheering almost enough to drown out the sweet sounds. she turns towards the direction and there’s a sense of nostalgia that runs through her, thoughts of years of the past when her own group’s schedules were filled with festival performances, constantly surprised at how ferociously their male fans would chant along to the fairy-like tunes. the experience was fun, one of the upsides of her career, and she’s not sure if she would of imagined that she would end up studying at one of the schools that welcomed her group so warmly with open arms. then again, she didn’t think she would have left the group while studying here as well.
sian is almost stuck within her reverie that she forgets where she is, what she’s doing -- and it’s only when she looks down to the two drinks in her head that she remembers; taeho. right.
the girl practically gallops back over to him from one of the food booths, raising her hand to wave his requested drink of choice in his face only to snatch it away with a wide grin once he reaches out towards it. when she attempts to do it a second time, her hand is only half way near his face before she roughly pulls it towards her again, this time a bright laugh accompanying her actions. “wow, you’re stupid and slow, two for two,” the girl teases, the glint within dark hues giving away the fact that she’s up to something, “i’ll let you have your drink under one condition -- you win that for me,” and she tucks the can underneath her arm for safekeeping while she points out to the oversized rilakkuma bears hanging from the balloon dart game booth. sure, the game was most likely easy enough for her to win and gain the stuffed animal on her own, but things were so much better when she didn’t have to work for them. so, she uses the free hand to push her friend ( yes, her friend, believe it or not ) lightly, “come oooon taeho, do it. you’re thirsty aren’t you? and you’re like, a man, right? do it, doooo it,” she’s whining, attempting to rock him back and forth as if that would help.
“and also, this is completely unrelated --” sort of, as the twice girls reach the chorus as do the peak of the screams, “who’s your favorite twice member? i know you’re gonna be like ‘i don’t listen to that mess’ but we had big burly scary dudes at our fansigns all the time, so i don’t believe you,” she mentions before leaning closer to the boy to study his face, eyes squinting before they pop open in revelation, “you totally look like you have a nayeon poster at home. or -- ooh! mina. how many mina photocards do you have at home, huh? do you want her signature? i could pull some strings and get that for you -- maybe even a lock of her hair too. you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
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what doesn't kill me makes me want you more (branjie) - holtzmanns
read on ao3 | tumblr
“I did mean it, you know.” Brooke looks at her with such an intensity in her eyes, such conviction that Vanessa doesn’t even feel her ADD ass getting distracted by anything at all this time.
“Mean what?” Vanessa’s gonna play dumb. Gonna make Brooke say it again, ‘cause she’s never gonna tire of hearing it.
“That I love you.”
AN: In which Holtzmanns hears ‘Cruel Summer’ by Taylor Swift and has to write something because she has no self control whatsoever. Whoops? Poppedthep and Writ are absolute stars and the BEST for editing this and making it better.
“I did mean it, you know.” Brooke looks at her with such an intensity in her eyes, such conviction that Vanessa doesn’t even feel her ADD ass getting distracted by anything at all this time.
“Mean what?” Vanessa’s gonna play dumb. Gonna make Brooke say it again, ‘cause she’s never gonna tire of hearing it.
“That I love you.”
Even though it fucking hurts every time.
“Good. You better.” She deflects, shoves Brooke’s side to make her laugh, ‘cause what else is she supposed to do?
It’s not like Brooke’s words actually mean anything. Not in the way Vanessa wants them to, needs them to.
They’re empty. Empty promises, a bandage wrapped around an amicable breakup that sure as hell ain’t been easy to get over.
Because no matter how much Brooke says them, no matter the way she had to snap her fingers in front of Vanessa’s face earlier to get her to focus, to pay attention so that she could say ‘I love you’, Vanessa knows they don’t matter.
‘Cause Vanessa knows that Brooke doesn’t love her enough.
Brooke still goes after every hoe, every hot piece of trade that she wants to take back to her hotel room, going home with them. She knows she’s the shit. She doesn’t care that Vanessa sees, ‘cause why would it matter to her now?
They’re not together.
Brooke doesn’t love her like that. Enough to stop herself from sleeping around, enough to commit.
Vanessa’s fine with it, she is. Mostly ‘cause she has to be. How else is she gonna survive touring with her ex?
It beats the fighting, the nasty words. The cruel barbs she regrets the second they leave her mouth when she sees the way that Brooke’s eyes falter. Brooke can get away with causing Vanessa pain, fucking around, not giving a shit. But Vanessa’s unable to come for Brooke in any way that would leave a permanent mark on her pale skin.
It’s not Brooke’s fault. She doesn’t say anything. It’s Vanessa’s own inner voice, tutting in her head, Chile…don’t do that. Don’t stay stooping low.
Now that she thinks about it, her inner voice sounds a lot like A’keria.
They share an Uber back to the Gladstone Hotel with Jason and Steve ‘cause it’s cost efficient, not that either of them have to worry about money anymore. They’re still in drag and Vanessa’s feet are killing her, pinching in her heeled boots but at least she looks fucking good in them. Brooke still towers over her and Vanessa has to speed up her pace to keep up as they walk through the lobby.
Jason and Steve get off at their respective floors. They leave Vanessa in the elevator with Brooke, ‘cause she’s on the seventh floor and Brooke’s pressed the 6 button for herself. Vanessa doesn’t have to look up to know that Brooke’s eyes are on her, trailing up her dress and lingering on the highlight on her shoulders and the hand that she runs through her hair. Her gaze feels like it lights a flame across her body, burning and burning. It never burns bright enough to bring Vanessa down for good, make her fully fall apart. She always manages to survive it, albeit a little worse for wear.
The elevator dings when it reaches the sixth floor, and Brooke takes a step as the doors open. She doesn’t leave fully, though, one foot still in the elevator. She turns around, gives Vanessa those eyes. The ones that Vanessa can never fucking say no to ‘cause something about Brooke makes her weak.
“You coming?”
Vanessa rolls her eyes, huffs, as if she’s not clamoring to follow her. “Fine, bitch. You better have extra makeup wipes.”
Vanessa sits cross legged on Brooke’s bathroom counter in her underwear, stripping her face of the makeup and glitter that acts like an extra set of armour, though one not thick enough to protect her from what she so desperately needs it to. She’s still here, de-dragging with Brooke whom she’s as hung up over they way she is over Brock.
Rinsing off his face and washing off the remnants of the Branjie gig isn’t cleansing enough for Jose to bring him a sense of peace or closure. How can it, when Brock is shaking out the mess of curls on top of his head and looking at Jose like he’s a piece of meat or something?
Jose really ought to become a vegetarian. It would save him from being hung up over someone that don’t want him back. At least, not like that.
Brock puts his hands on either side of the counter where Jose is sitting, effectively boxing him in while he’s facing the mirror. It fills Jose’s nose with a mix of Brock’s shampoo from the morning, aftershave, and a spritz or two of perfume that he sprays on when he’s Brooke. A concoction that never fails to twist Jose’s heart in excitement and longing alike.
How is it possible to long for someone who’s standing right in front of you? Jose doesn’t know. What he does know is that it’s not good for him, aging him too fast and soon he’s gonna look older than his mother, though it ain’t that much of a challenge ‘cause no one believes she’s his mom, anyway. Brock feels like sand that’s slipping through his fingers, an emptying hourglass that’ll never fill itself up again. Brock and him are gonna separate as they always do and Jose’s gonna be left empty and turned upside down on his head with nothing to fill his heart back up.
He’s tried. Tried to fit other guys into the hole that Brock’s left in his chest, but they never fit, never feel right. Brock’s ruined all other trade for him, which in Jose’s rulebook should be considered a capital offense. It doesn’t matter how much they look like Ryan Gosling or how sweet they treat him, taking care of him the way he deserves but doesn’t want from people who ain’t Brock.
Brock buries his face into Jose’s neck, and Jose can feel the scrunch of his eyes shut against his skin. Brock does this sometimes, holding him extra tight or closer than usual and Jose doesn’t want to complain, ‘cause really, he wishes he’d be important enough to Brock for him to never let go.
Jose lets Brock grab his shoulders, turn him around so his back is to the mirror and his legs dangle off the counter. He melts into the kiss that Brock presses to his lips ‘cause Brock always makes him feel so warm from the inside out. He lets Brock push him onto the bed, eagerly pulls Brock closer. If he’s only gonna get Brock occasionally, when they’re in the same cities and maybe a little bit tipsy and their inhibitions and common senses are down for the count, he may as well enjoy it, right?
It’s gonna hurt later. When he has to leave Brock’s hotel suite in the morning for his own and go back to pretending that he’s fine, that their arrangement is fine and that he’s not a second away from breaking down over it again, like he always tends to do when he’s had one too many tequila shots and listened to too many sad songs and the only word that his brain can think is Brock Brock Brock.
But that ain’t now. Right now Jose has Brock on top of him, pressing kisses everywhere like he’s the most precious thing in the world, and it’s all that matters. It doesn’t matter that Brock won’t keep believing it after they both come.
It’s not ‘til it’s four a.m. and neither of them are sleeping that Jose says something. He’s resting his head on top of Brock’s chest, and can feel Brock trace patterns along his shoulder blades, the base of his spine, the curve of his ribs.
“We could go back to this. All the time. It wouldn’t be hard to do.”
Brock’s fingers stop moving. Jose can feel the way that Brock stiffens underneath him, the way that his heartbeat quickens.
“We can’t.”
It’s a conversation that they’ve had before. Too many times before.
“We could. Me and you. Not for the fans or for anyone else or nothing. Just us. I know you miss it, Toes.” As if the nickname is going to make Brock bend. It nearly does, ‘cause Jose catches Brock’s fingers twitching.
“You know what will happen if we do.” Brock’s voice is tired and worn and Jose almost hates that he’s the one who’s caused it. Almost. ‘Cause Brock’s gone and fucked him up, too.
The two of them cancel each other out. Yin and yang, molten and ice.
“What? What’s gonna happen?” Jose makes Brock say it every time. He’s not gonna stop asking, as if Brock’s logic will suddenly not be as airtight anymore.
Jose wants them to work so badly. He wants it, his heart wants it, hell, his entire body wants it and never wants to let Brock go whenever they’re like this, all intertwined as if they’re just two regular people that are together.
And yet, they always have to drift apart. Brock takes a piece of him each time he goes, and Jose knows he does ‘cause what else could explain the hole in his chest that seems to grow every time that he walks away?
“We’re always flying to different places, we’re never in the same time zones anymore. Our schedules are ridiculous right now. Adding that extra pressure would make things worse, you know that.” Brock’s voice is quiet, and Jose almost doesn’t hear it over the hum of the ceiling fan, the sounds of driving cars outside of the hotel window.
“We’d make it work, if we wanted.” Jose wants to. He really, really, wants to. More than anything he’s wanted his whole life.
“We already tried.” Brock sounds defeated. “You know what happened with that.”
Jose getting jealous of every hoe that Brock talked to, hugged, interacted with. Brock pulling away from him, as far as he could to give himself some space, as if being around literally anyone else was a better option.
Jose had felt like he was chasing a ghost, whispers of Brock because he was never truly there, not in the way that Jose needed. Jose gets it. He’s a lot, he’s a handful. But he wants the best, goes after the best, because he deserves it.
Brock’s the best, in his eyes. So soft and sweet and shady and Jose fits in the crook of his arm like he belongs there, even though he knows that he can’t stay there forever.
Jose wishes he could, though. That getting back together wouldn’t immediately mean destruction for the both of them.
“Doesn’t mean you should go, though.” Brock wraps an arm around his waist, pulls him closer. Jose wants to lift his face up and scream at him for being so flippy floppy but he also wants to scream at himself, ‘cause of course he’s not going to leave, not when his heart never wants to leave Brock in the first place.
“Stay.” Brock’s voice is all soft in his ear and Jose’s resolve is already on the ground when Brock’s hands start to trail up his sides.
He’s too weak for it.
“Can’t go. I know you’d cry yourself to sleep if I did.” Jose grins up at Brock, trying not to think about the fact that Brock probably wouldn’t even care. Would he?
Jose hates it. As sweet as he’s being right now, he knows Brock’s gonna be ignoring him by next week. Not responding to his calls, his texts, unless he wants something ‘cause they always play by Brock’s rules and it’s giving Jose whiplash.
Brock’s all warm right now, and being in his arms is making Jose feel like he never frosted over in the first place. As if this were a year ago, and they were newly together and everything was fresh and exciting and new and not marred by scars that both of them carved with dull knives into their intertwined hearts. If he closes his eyes, they could be back there. All new and tentative and exciting.
But they’re not. They’ll never go back to that. Brock’s made it clear.
It’s fine. Jose’s fine with it.
He is.
Jose still has a piece of Brock, anyway, even though nights like these cause burns upon his skin in the aftermath. Like he’s never gonna heal from the effect that Brock has on him. Like it doesn’t even matter, ‘cause he doesn’t want to.
Brock’s always gonna tug on his belt loops, pull him into an empty rooms, hallways, each others’ hotel rooms. ‘Cause this is what they do now.
It’s better.
Jose has to accept it, go with it, even though it burns.
#rpdr fanfiction#branjie#brooke lynn hytes#vanessa vanjie mateo#canon compliant#post branjie show#holtzmanns#what doesn't kill me makes me want you more#tour fic
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With Great Power - Chapter 1
Fic Title: With Great Power
Chapter: 1
Fic Summary: Thomas Sanders is just a regular social media personality. But when he gets bit by a spider during filming one of his YouTube videos, his whole life is about to turn upside down—whether he (or the aspects of his personality) want it to or not. Platonic LAMP/CALM + Character!Thomas. Spider-Man AU (but more the concept of Spider-Man and contains no spoilers for any particular movie/comic series).
Word Count: 3188
Warnings: (on a chapter-by-chapter basis) news broadcast discussing vehicle-related violent crime, Cartoon Therapy references (not significant to plot), spiders, spider bites, cursing, panic (but not an attack), death mention, nausea/vertigo, please let met know if I missed anything.
A/N: I went to see the new Spider-Man movie and got inspired. This fic is not based on the new movie, so no spoilers there; just inspired this project. It was one of those things that started as a small idea and soon snowballed into a locomotive trying to run me over with all the ideas I started getting for it. First multichapter project for this fandom, so… I’m both scared and excited to undertake this project. Deeply appreciate anyone willing to be along for the ride. <3 Please, please let me know your thoughts!
Extra shout-out to @creativenostalgiastuff, @vigilantvirgil, and everyone else who offered writing advice, reassurance, and encouragement through the chaos of my nerves and self-doubt in writing this first chapter. I appreciate the heck out of it.
Tags at the bottom.
When Thomas wakes up to the sun streaming in through the blinds of his bedroom window late Saturday morning, he contemplates rolling over and trying to go back to sleep. Filming for the next Cartoon Therapy had gone late into the night last night, and Thomas hadn’t collapsed into his bed until somewhere around 3 in the morning. He blindly reaches a hand out for his phone tossed haphazardly amidst the covers and squints blearily at it to check the time.
It’s almost noon. Besides, he has a text from Joan saying they have an idea about how fix part of the script that just hadn’t been working for them last night. They were already two days behind schedule. Thomas figures it’s probably time to get rolling.
He shoots a text back to Joan telling them to swing by whenever and they could head to the location. Kyle and Terrence were scheduled to stop by to film their part of the episode in the early evening, so if they hurried, they could probably knock out the script problem in the scene between Elliot and Picani before they arrived. If they worked late enough, they could maybe even make up one of the days they were behind.
Best laid plans, says a vaguely foreboding voice in Thomas’s head. He sits up and rakes a hand through his fading purple hair. He sends out a quick tweet, Busy day of filming ahead! Can’t wait for you guys to see this one, because he knows he won’t be online much at all today and locks his phone before quickly getting dressed.
He stumbles half-awake to the kitchen and pops a bagel into the toaster. He mindlessly turns on the television with the remote he’d set on the counter from the night before. The voice of a female news anchor fills the quiet apartment as Thomas turns to the refrigerator.
“—night. Police are interrogating the suspect now. According to preliminary reports, the man driving the bus claims to have no memory of the incident. The driver of the other vehicle is in critical condition, and two civilian deaths have been confirmed so far. The Congressman believed to be the actual target has issued no formal statement at this time, but he is expected to hold a press conference this afternoon.”
Thomas sighs as he reads the headline at the bottom of the screen. Bus Crash Is Suspected Assassination Attempt it reads in big block letters as the camera switches to an aerial view of the crash. Thomas’s chest twists with compassion.
The scene switches back to a different news anchor. “This is another installment in a long line of increasing instances of violent crimes and death brought about by people claiming to have no memory of the incident itself. And we have here with us an expert in—"
He’s pulled from the broadcast at the sound of the toaster popping up and a subsequent ding from his phone. It’s a text from Joan. We’re here. Thomas switches the television off and grabs his keys and phone, thinking in the back of his mind that maybe the next video they do ought to be a new installment of “reasons to smile”.
…
“Picani, there’s… something I should probably tell you,” Joan says, delivering their line as Elliot. There’s a pause, and then they shake their head. “Wait, I want to re-try that.”
Thomas gives Joan a patient smile and nods. Joan repeats the line, adjusting where they put emphasis and how long they paused before breaking character and giving a satisfied nod. They were happier with that take, and Thomas admits that their delivery fit the moment a bit better as well.
The lighting fixtures in front of the couch cramps the relatively small office space, and Thomas glances around the room as Joan responds to a text they apparently received from Terrence about costume design for Corbin. The blue Stitch poster, framed still from Spongebob, and Steven Universe merchandise hanging on the wall pop against the cream colored paint above the brown couch. It stirs—unexpectedly, although not for the first time—something inside of Thomas. A reminder of where he is, what he was getting to do every day…
Ten years ago, if you’d asked him, he never would have guessed that he’d be making YouTube videos full time. He’d graduated with a degree in chemical engineering, after all. But then he’d discovered Vine, and one thing led to another… and here he was. Writing, acting, directing, and producing videos for real life people who were incredibly kind and supportive of him. His life had taken several crazy twists, especially in recent years, but he liked where he was. He still had plenty of dreams and aspirations, but he was putting content out in the world that was making a difference to people. Making people smile. He was getting to do… really freaking cool things. Every single day.
“You okay, man?” Joan asks, breaking into his thoughts.
Thomas blinks and shakes his head. “Yeah. Sorry. Just zoned out, I guess.”
Joan quirks an eyebrow at him. “We can take a break if you need it.”
“I’m good,” Thomas replies, swiping the bangs out of his eyes. “Any update from Terrence?”
“He’s on his way.” Joan adjusts the hem of their skirt. “Kyle said he’d be a couple minutes late, but I told him that was fine.”
Thomas nods. “No, yeah. It’s all good.” He flips through a couple pages of the script, re-reading a few lines. Joan arches their eyebrows at him, but Thomas purses his lips in thought before looking back up. “I was thinking last night about this scene where they talk about Mitchell—" Thomas glances down at the script in his hands and cuts himself off at the sight of a huge, dark spider sitting on his hand. “Shit!”
Thomas jerks his hand hard. The spider goes flying through the room. His heart is pounding in his throat. “Where did it go? Where did it go?”
“What?” Joan asks, faintly alarmed. “Where did what go?”
“You didn’t see it?” Thomas asks them, incredulous. “It was huge and on my hand and---eugh.” He shakes his hand out again, shivers running down his spine.
Joan glances around the room. “You mean like a fucking spider or some shit?”
Thomas nods, cradling the hand it had been on. It’s no secret just how much he hates spiders. He knows it isn’t even entirely rational, but something just really freaks him out about them. And it had been big. And on him. Thomas fights back another shudder.
“Did it bite you?” Joan asks.
“Did it what?” The question itself is enough to send a ripple of alarm through Thomas.
Joan shoots him a look that is something between sympathetic and slightly amused. They hold out their hand. “Here. Let me see.”
Hesitantly, Thomas lets Joan take his hand and glances around the room while they investigate. His brown eyes scan the dark wood floor, the shelves along the walls, even the cream walls themselves. There’s no sign of the arachnid, and if he’s being honest with himself, he isn’t sure if that makes him more anxious or relaxed. He feels Joan rub their thumb across the heel of his hand, then pull it closer to their face.
“What’s the verdict, doc?” Thomas jokes when Joan doesn’t say anything for a moment. He can’t quite manage to sound as lighthearted as he wants to.
Joan sucks in a breath through their teeth and releases Thomas’s hand. “It looks like you might’ve gotten bit, but it’s not anything dangerous as far as I can tell. Maybe wash it out or put ice on it or something just to be safe? We’ve got time to kill anyway.”
Thomas blows out a breath and stands. He cringes a little as he realizes he dumped the script unceremoniously onto the floor when he’d seen the spider on his hand. He gingerly hops over the loose pages. “I’ll fix that,” he promises before hurrying out of the room and down towards the bathroom.
…
Thomas looks down at his hand as he runs cold water over it. The bathroom of the office space is empty on a Saturday afternoon. The fluorescent lights above illuminate dark tile, and a light blue wall does little to absorb the terrible bathroom lighting. He glances around—noting the dark blue stalls and pristine white sink—as if it will somehow distract him from the thoughts growing louder in the back of his head.
“Thomas,” Logan says as he appears behind the internet personality, his voice dripping in annoyance and frustration. He smooths his striped tie against his black polo as Thomas meets his gaze through the mirror. “Will you please explain to Virgil that the likelihood you are in any danger—immediate or otherwise—from a simple spider bite is miniscule at best?”
“Thomas,” Virgil quips as he appears beside Logan, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, “will you please tell Logan that miniscule is not zero?” Thomas sighs and glances at the two’s reflection in the mirror.
Logan crosses his arms over his chest. “Virgil, I am quite aware that the quantity expressed by the term ‘miniscule’ is not equivalent to zero.” He waves a dismissive hand. “But worrying over such small odds—”
“I don’t know, kiddo,” Patton cuts in as he appears as well, his brow furrowed in concern as he briefly meets Thomas’s gaze through the reflection. The cat hoodie is tied around his shoulders. “Spiders kind of freak me out.”
“He has called them ‘creepy crawly death dealers’,” Virgil adds, pointing a finger at the father figure. “And that was when they weren’t even real.”
“Have no fear, Padré,” Roman announces, appearing behind Thomas between Patton and Virgil. The red sash stretched across his white suit stands out sharply against he blue bathroom stalls. “If such a poisonous pest were to harm our host, I will die defending you all—”
“Die?!”
“Actually,” Logan says, adjusting the frame of his glasses, “the spider would not be poisonous. I believe you are looking for the term ‘venomous’, in this instance. Something is only poisonous if the consumption of it results in sickness or death, whereas--”
Thomas twists the faucet off and turns around to his bickering personality traits. “Guys,” he says. “Can we just, like, chill? For one second?”
Virgil bites at his thumbnail, his gaze zeroing in on Thomas’s hand. “Is it red? Does it look infected?”
Logan moves to stand beside Thomas as the host takes a closer look at the appendage. Thomas shrugs as Logan looks back up at Virgil. “There may be some slight reddening of the skin,” the Logical Side explains, “but that is normal in this case.”
“Are you sure?” Virgil asks, a slightly challenging edge to his voice.
“Of course he’s sure, Virge,” Patton offers softly. “Besides, we trust Joan, right? And Joan didn’t seem to think anything was wrong or dangerous. Just thought we should clean it to be safe.”
Virgil takes a breath and nods. “Okay. Sorry, I just…” he trails off with a sigh and shoves his hand back into his pocket. He curls in on himself a bit.
“It’s all good, Virge,” Thomas assures him. “You’re just trying to look out for me. And I hear ya. But I don’t think we have anything to worry about.” He gives his Anxious Side a small smile and sees the corner of Virgil’s mouth quirk briefly.
“Cool,” he says, but the way his shoulders relax betrays the relief he evidently feels. Thomas feels the lingering tension release in his own chest too.
As the aspects of his personality sink out, Thomas grabs a paper towel and dries his hand before hurrying back to the office. It’s just a small spider bite. He has nothing to worry about.
…
When Thomas wakes up the next morning, it’s to his cellphone ringing. He scrubs a hand across his eyes and picks it up, seeing Joan’s smiling face and name on the screen. He swipes to answer it, pressing it to his ear.
“Yeah?” he asks, his voice gruff from lingering sleepiness. “What’s up, Joan?”
“I—Did you just wake up?”
Thomas glances at the clock on his bedside dresser. He was supposed to be at the office fifteen minutes ago. He scrambles out of bed. “If I say yes, will you hate me?”
“Yes,” Joan deadpans. Thomas huffs a faintly embarrassed laugh.
“I’ll be there asap,” he promises. He pulls the phone away from his hand and presses the red button on the screen to hang up. Except when he moves to pull his finger off the screen, it doesn’t move.
Thomas frowns, tugging harder to get his finger off the screen. He feels the joint stretch slightly, but the tip of his index finger stays stuck to the screen as if superglued on. When he tries to drop the hand holding the phone, it stays trapped to the device as well. Thomas feels his confusion only deepen. It’s not like the phone itself was sticky when he picked it up. So why the hell couldn’t he let go of it?
He tries wrenching both hands apart from the device at the same time. The feat, however, is to no avail; he feels a few of his knuckles pop and winces slightly. He takes a seat on the bed and looks closer at the device in his hands. It doesn’t appear to be covered in any residue. Neither do his hands.
Weird…
Thomas purses his lips, then wedges his feet up against his phone and tries to push it out of his hands.
It’s exactly the wrong thing to do, apparently. His phone stays glued to his hands and—much to his dismay—his feet. Thomas rolls back on his bed, his fingers and sock-clad feet stuck to his cell phone, causing him to be folded up in an awkward pretzel. Thomas stares at the white ceiling of his bedroom and sighs.
Maybe this is some weird fever dream. Something in the back of his mind reminds Thomas of the rumor that you can’t read while you’re dreaming, and he cranes his neck over to the shelf in his room. The fourth Harry Potter book sits on the corner and sure enough—even though he’s looking at it upside down—he can read the title easily enough.
Not a dream.
Huh.
Thomas takes in a deep breath and releases it slowly. Maybe he’s just psyching himself out or something. All he really needs to do is not freak out and just let go. Right? What was that breathing exercise Virgil taught him? In for four, hold for seven, out for eight? Thomas closes his eyes and tries it.
A moment later, he hears a quiet thump against the mattress and can flex his fingers. Thomas lets his legs fall over the edge of the bed and his arms flop to his sides and stares for a moment longer at the ceiling. If he’s being honest, he isn’t entirely convinced that what just happened was even real.
He blinks hard and shakes his head. He thinks about reaching for his phone again, maybe to text Joan or even send out a tweet, but he stops short. Maybe he’s being paranoid or stupid or superstitious but the suddenly the last thing he wants to do is touch his phone again. Thomas huffs a breath. He just needs to wake up more. A cold shower and he’d be good to go. And he’d never mention whatever just happened to anyone ever.
Thomas rolls off the bed and stands, raking a hand through his hair. He wanders over to his closet, stepping carefully over discarded dirty clothes that litter his floor. He sighs as he looks at his options, all too aware that he is running very late and yet somehow still unable to shake the uneasiness in his stomach from whatever it was that had just happened. He isn’t sure how to make sense of it other than to try to push it to the back of his mind.
Thomas shakes his head quickly and leans a hand against the wall as he attempts to focus on the clothes hanging in his closet. Just pick an outfit, Thomas, he tells himself firmly. You don’t have time for this.
He pinches the bridge of his nose and settles on a pair of jeans and one of the dark t-shirts on the hanger. He moves to pull his hand away from the wall to grab them, except… it’s stuck.
“What the…”
For all of Thomas’s efforts the past couple of minutes to push the alarm and confusion to the back of his mind regarding the instance with his phone, the panic slams back to the forefront. Thomas braces a foot against the wall and tries to wrench his hand free and then immediately feels like an idiot.
Because—and he feels like he really should have predicted this outcome of events—his foot sticks to the wall too.
Thomas grunts in effort, bracing the other foot against the wall up closer to his hand and pulls. He manages to wrench his hand free—the outer layer of paint rips off the wall where his hand had been and stays stuck to his fingertips and palm. He nearly loses his balance, his weight wobbling and his arms flailing in a frantic attempt to maintain his balance.
When he regains it, Thomas can feel his heart in his throat. He’s standing upright, on his feet. So why is he looking at his ceiling?
Because he’s standing on the wall. His feet are planted firmly against the beige wall, his body parallel to the floor, and Thomas suddenly feels faintly dizzy. He can feel himself swaying and blindly reaches his hands out to steady himself. He squeezes his eyes shut as his hands connect with something solid.
Maybe that whole thing about not being able to read while dreaming is a myth. This can’t possibly be real. For some reason, the thought eases the surge of panic-induced bile raging in his stomach, and Thomas feels his feet pull off from the wall. But they don’t land on anything concrete. Thomas feels a sharp pull in his shoulders, his feet dangling in the air.
When he opens his eyes, he realizes that the thing his hands had connected with when he’d started to sway was, in fact, his bedroom ceiling. Thomas yelps, kicking his feet back towards the wall. He isn’t sure if he’s relieved when they stick again.
Thomas hears a familiar whoosh and cranes his neck towards his bed, trying to not let dizziness over take him from seeing his bedroom upside down. Virgil is looking at up at him, his Anxious Side’s eyes wide and his hood pulled up over his sweep of bangs.
“Thomas,” he says, his voice loud and distorted. “We have a major problem.”
…
Tags: @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @candiukas, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34, @jemthebookworm, @blue-fluffy-dragon
#sanders sides#sanders sides fanfiction#platonic lamp/calm#platonic lamp/calm fanfiction#sanders sides au#spider-man au#with great power#chapter 1#tw cursing#tw nausea#tw violence mention#excited for the things that lie ahead in this fic#first chapter needed to set some things up#but i hope you enjoyed it#ive got a lot in mind for this story#ill stop rambling in the tags now#ksjfskdfjlskjf#new year new fic i guess hah
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BECAUSE I’M NOT POPULAR, I’LL READ WATAMOTE: CHAPTER #141
The first half of Golden Week is over, and Tomoko has found herself the object of “platonic" affection for four different suitors. And as our intrepid heroine muses over the which of them to pursue, out of nowhere comes the dark horse. Once thought to be missing in action, this little girl, having been there since the very beginning, threatens to overtake the competition in one psychotic swoop.
Chapter 141: Because I’m Not Popular, I’ll Go to School with Kii-chan
The things that Stuffed Yuu-chan and Pals have seen...
Ah, the classic Introvert Burnout. I had a feeling Tomoko would be drained after having what may have been the most socially stressful time of her life. Not simply for being social, but for how much she had to navigate as a fish out of water. Each “date” involved a new experience for Tomoko to address, and that much effort at once can be really exhausting for a layabout like her.
That my friend is what we in the TvTropes community call, “Tempting Fate”.
Heeeeeere’s Kii-chan!
Can’t even begin to tell you how much I love this entrance. We all know who Kii-chan is. But even those outside of the loop would get a feel for who she is. Adorable and sweet-natured, but disturbing due to an apparent lack of negative emotions (even when appropriate). Ah, Kii-chan, it’s been far too long.
Nothing to say here, really. Just think it’s a particularly lovely picture of Tomoko.
Because the popularity of a manga series is largely dependent on real-time reception, it’s very common for mangakas to add new, “popular” characters, or give the spotlight to characters who’ve been out of focus. Watamote is no exception. It may seem contrived to bring Kii-chan back after being gone for a while, but it works here because it relies on Kii-chan’s character to it, instead of a series of implausible plot developments. Kii-chan is just considerate of her cousin’s schedule–that’s all we need.
The first hint of Tomoko’s reawakening as the role model onee-chan.
One of the perks of being a sporadically-appearing character is that you can really see just much the art style has evolved since the character’s last appearance. For Kii-chan, she hasn’t really changed much design-wise other than being a little taller. But even then, the linework is much cleaner and consistent this time around, which compliments the more “everyday slice-of-life” approach Watamote’s been embracing.
If only she could grow a nose.
The best thing about this type of censorship is that you don’t necessarily have to understand what's being censored. All you really need is a bit of context to put the pieces together. The outlines are detailed enough that we can see the characters as some kind of humanoids with animal features. And given what we know about Kii-chan, it makes perfect sense.
Y-Yeah, I...I’ve totally heard of that show.
Other than the whole Ucchi situation (which is slowly becoming an unintentional blessing), this is the last of the misunderstandings that still needs resolving. It’ll be hard, though, since this particular issue isn’t that troublesome. For now...
Look at that platonic sibling bonding.
Perhaps I’ve been conditioned by manga/anime, but I find it refreshing how Watamote has managed to develop the Kuroki siblings’ relationship while avoiding any incestual subtext. Lots of series oversell the sibling relationship by having them be overly affectionate and clingy. With Watamote, their bond feels organic because they don’t have to be touchy-feely. An unspoken quality time is all there is to it.
It’s hard to get a read on Tomoko’s emotions here, but at the very least, she seems troubled. It could very well be that Tomoko just realized that she’s changing in regards to the media she consumes. The former her would’ve probably jumped on the Kemono Friends bandwagon, but the reality is, Tomoko’s otaku interests are being compromised by the mainstream, at least as mainstream as rap battles get.
But the kicker is...she realizes this change isn’t all that bad.
Of course, nothing beats watching anime with your psychotic cousin.
The whole “pet-sitting” relationship they have here is a tricky one since each side is trying to accommodate the other based on “flaws” that don’t exist (or no longer exist). This usually results in an endless cycle of misunderstandings that lead to nowhere, but this confusion has transcended that cycle to develop into a progression of sorts. Similar to the Ucchi situation, the absurdity became so frequent that it just became reality. One that each side has been influenced greatly from.
With her constantly adorable face, you forget that Kii-chan is a middle-schooler and is therefore old enough to know about things like sex and perversion. Like Yuu-chan, she may look innocent, and while she was aware of such things as a kid, she didn’t really get it until they approached high-school age.
You know, I read this really good manga called Kaguya-sama: Love is War (shameless plug, I know), and they actually had a chapter about a rap battle a while back. Given that both series tend to be up-to-date on contemporary trends, it makes me wonder...has rap suddenly become a hot thing in Japan? Or has it always had its niche audience?
I’m sure many fans knew that this was going to be an inevitable development whenever Kii-chan showed up again. Unlike Tomoko’s school friends, Kii-chan wasn’t there to see the slow, gradual growth of Tomoko’s character, so it must have hit her like a ton of bricks to see her precious onee-chan go from helpless loner to mature teen in the blink of an eye.
Sometimes I wonder just how pitiful Kii-chan thought Tomoko really was...
Why would you censor Disneyland now of all times?
Those of us who were clamoring to get close-ups of the photos taken in the Disneyland arc finally get their wish.
The Kowarith photo is my favorite, even though two-thirds of the people in it are faking their asses off. While that may be my personal bias towards the Tomoko-Yoshida-Yuri trio, I think it reflects a better sense of kinship between the girls. The effort is there, phony as it is, to support each other in an awkward situation, which is fundamentally what the series is all about.
The assumedly Fireworks photo is also pleasing, make no mistake. You can definitely feel more genuine emotions (or lack thereof) being expressed than in the other photo. But this focuses more on the individual than how they work as a collective group, despite there being more people. The girls ultimately look like six different colored Skittles–part of the same package, but each unique.
Could this be the start of Kii-chan revitalizing her perception of Tomoko as a super popular girl? I sure hope so.
How ironic. Kii-chan’s perspective of Tomoko is starting to grow ever so gradually on the upside, whereas Tomoko’s perspective of Kii-chan grows more and more negative.
Hang on, is that supposed to be some fake Dragonite shirt? Neat.
At this point, people assuming that Yoshida as some kind of punk based on her looks is a dead horse of an issue. Some stereotypes exist for a reason, I suppose.
I see your game, Nico Tanigawa, using a deliberately vague line about “two girls” to make your readers overanalyze a single panel. All I have to say to that is that I am completely and utterly guilty.
One of the girls is probably Yuri, if only because she’s the only girl to appear in both photos. As for the second girl, your guess is as good as mine. I’m inclined to say Ucchi because if Kii-chan only has their appearances to go on, then Ucchi and her emoji-face make quite the impression.
I’m getting Yuu-chan vibes here with the way Kii-chan phrases half-insults with a friendly demeanor.
+ 1 TO THE HAREM.
Kii-chan is definitely that relative you leave a self-imposed boundary on. Fine in small doses, like at parties and family gatherings, but long-term exposure is unhealthy for the brain. This isn’t even a wholly exaggerated fantasy on Tomoko’s part. Okay, the eating bit is a little much, but given that Kii-chan allegedly dreams about treating Tomoko like a pet, the latter is right to be a little concerned.
There needs to be an AU one-shot of Tomoko, Tomoki, and Kii all going to the same school at the same time. Right. Now.
I do appreciate that despite Kii-chan’s deteriorating sanity, Tomoko doesn’t view her as a lost cause and even tries to put a positive spin on it. Reconciliation Arc is a-go!
Did Kii-chan really have that big of a growth spurt, or has Tomoko just reached her peak in height? Not sure how far the genetics will go, but Kii-chan becoming taller than Tomoko is only going to make her even more intimidating.
This little scheme of hers is definitely reflective of the “old” Tomoko, but there’s a nice reversal going on here. Instead of Tomoko trying to make things sound cooler than they actually are, she’s trying to make things seem worse. Of course, Murphy’s Tomoko’s Law states that anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Especially if Tomoko wants it to go right.
Ah, Ogino. The only character whose relationship with Tomoko has remained relatively unchanged despite indirectly having the most impact on Tomoko’s life.
Better update her Wiki page now.
It’s pretty telling how it’s these two who cause Tomoko the most grief. It’s not the delinquent who routinely bashes her face in, not the pervert(s) lusting after her little brother, and not the otaku who passive-aggressively teases her. As for why, I think it boils down to the fact that Ogino and Kii-chan challenge her comfort zone the most. It also doesn’t help that Tomoko doesn’t interact with them as often as the others, so she hasn’t really had the time to get desensitized by them.
This freakin’ teacher, man.
The second worst part of Ogino’s “help” is that she never actually lies. Sure, she exaggerates to hell and back, but it’s always loosely based in reality, like some cheap movie adaptation of a best-selling novel.
But the worst part of it is...you can’t hate Ogino for it. Her personal assessment may be founded on largely suspect reasons, but it’s still an honest assessment. I have no doubts that Ogino really is proud of Tomoko, and that’s exactly why she’s the best worst teacher.
That’s true. If Ogino gave that spiel to people like Hijirisawa or Hatsushiba–y’know, people who don’t know her as well–they might actually buy that crap. But people who know Tomoko like Yuri or Nemo, people like us, can tell that Ogino’s sugarcoating the whole thing. Kii-chan, with her terrifying skill for knowing too much, is no exception.
Ah, I see. This is one of those put-all-the-secondary-characters-who-we-haven’t-seen-in-a-while-into-one-chapter chapters.
Can’t complain, though. I like Itou.
“Or something” can also be translated as “lust after Tomoki”.
We don’t really have much to go on for how Itou views Tomoko, but I think it’s reasonable to think that she may not see her in that good of a light. Not only did Tomoko give off a weird impression when she played off the whole fist bump thing, but Itou’s “powers of perception” probably made her aware of Tomoko and Komiyama’s frenemy-ship, hence her “warning” that Komiyama was around.
The Inherent Awkwardness of Second-hand Relationships: The Life of Tomoko.
Betcha’ no one saw this interaction coming. Whether it’ll lead to anything more remains to be seen. Itou’s still got the whole “friendship potential” going on with Futaki, but given that she has the tolerance to BFF Komiyama, I see no reason why she can’t befriend a psycho like Kii-chan.
That desire to “loudly blow” is Kii-chan’s inner demons screeching out in desperation for release. I pity the fool who unleashes the beast.
That does sound like your typical amateur definition of a psychopath, doesn’t it?
For the record, I don’t actually believe Kii-chan is a psychopath, despite the jokes I made. There are way too many moments that discredit such a claim. Now, if you were to accuse Kii-chan as being some sort of deviant (sexual or otherwise) I might see that. But ultimately, I think Kii-chan was just a victim of having her innocence shattered too fast and too soon, which made her more, uh, crafty than Tomoko could handle.
Man, it’s been a long time while since we last saw Dicky-chan, hasn’t it? Hope we get to see more of her (and Sayaka, for that matter) after this chapter.
I love how even when she’s collecting masturbation material, Komiyama has to hold her camera phone all lady-like. If the term “purevert” ever needed a concrete definition, this girl would be it.
Main Character privileges, that’s why.
Get. The. FUCK. Out. Of. Here.
With each subsequent appearance, Komiyama’s standard for what constitutes a bitch primed to steal away her Tomoki-kun falls hilariously lower. It’s not enough that a girl in their class makes two seconds of eye contact with him, nosiree. Any girl with an inkling of a relationship with Tomoko is not immune, even if it’s his own damn cousin. Granted, I don’t think Komiyama would be so pathetically scummy as to confront Kii-chan about it like she did to Yoshida.
...I hope.
“Best friends” may be stretching it now that we’ve gotten this far in the series. However, there is one aspect of Tomoko and Komiyama’s relationship that triumphs over all the others:
Absolute candidness. Even now, the only one who gets to see the complete, raw package that is Tomoko Kuroki is Komi-something. While Tomoko has made substantial friendships with the likes of Yuri, Nemo, and Katou, Tomoko still restrains herself just a tad lest she pushes them away. It’s only with Komi that Tomoko bears her full ugliness, which I think has developed into some freakish level of respect/understanding that none of the others can claim.
Damn, even the bishounen dude gets to make an appearance. All we need know is Lethal Chef Girl to make a cameo and I’m set.
Nope. Any game is an away game when your “harem” shows up to cheer you on.
A few people have expressed discontent with how the chapter seems to end so abruptly, and it’s a fair criticism. It may be the lack of a “Next time...” tagline throwing people off, but while this chapter indeed ends at an odd point, it’s not that unprecedented. Some of the previous chapters ended this way, like that time Komi was all “Oi!” at Yoshida at the cafeteria, which indicates that this chapter is likely one of those series-of-vignettes that also doubles as a build-up chapter.
On a positive note, while the chapter does feel prematurely ended, how the next chapter plays out if it is connected to this one is sure to be a surprise.
#watamote#watamote review#chapter 141#no matter how i look at it it's you guys' fault i'm not popular!#tomoko kuroki#kiko satozaki#ogino#itou#kotomi komiyama#akari iguchi#tomoki kuroki#that one bishounen dude#review
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Just Another Day: Chapter 1 - Stranger Things/IT Richie& Mike Twins AU
Here it is! The Stranger Things/IT (2017) crossover you’ve all been waiting for! In this fic all of the events regarding the Upside Down and the Shadow Monster HAVE happened but everything involving Pennywise? Never did. (Pennywise? I don’t know her!). All of the losers club live in Hawkins with the rest of the party and most importantly, Mike and Richie are twins!
WORD COUNT: 1.5k
SUMMARY: Stranger Things/IT crossover in which Richie and Mike are twins, Mileven is real, and even though Hawkins Lab was shut down what lies beneath the Upside Down is still up to no good!
“Richie hurry up you’re going to be late for school and I am not driving you two again this morning, I swear!” Karen Wheeler shouted up the stairs towards the bedrooms of the house.
Richie came running down the stairs as he quickly threw his hoodie over his head.
“I’m not Richie, I’m Mike! Geez woman, and you call yourself our mother!” Richie called back. He often pretended to be his twin brother Mike, but thanks to Richie’s horrible eyesight and his need to wear glasses, Mrs. Wheeler often figured it out.
“Richie, we are not playing this game again today! Now hurry up, and get out that door!” His mother demanded.
“I’m goin’, I’m goin’!” Richie whined as he slipped into his running shoes and grabbed his backpack from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder. “See ya’ mom!” he called out before shuffling out the door.
“God, you take forever” Mike greeted his brother as he joined him outside. Mike was the organized twin. The one who was always on time, his shirt neatly ironed, and his lunch packed the night before. He had been on the porch for ten minutes waiting for his brother to join him so they could walk to the bus stop together as they always did in the morning. “And your sweater is hideous, go back to wearing those Hawaiian shirts.”
Richie laughed from beside him as they headed down the street. Richie pulled up his hoodie slightly while holding down the bright yellow and grey flowered shirt underneath. “What, you mean this old thing under here?” Mike rolled his eyes. “I’ll be dead before I stop wearing these!” Richie proclaimed.
“When you die can you take those light up sketchers with you too?” Mike chirped back causing Richie to nudge him with his shoulder.
The two boys approached the street corner where their bus picked up them up and Eddie was standing by the stop sign waiting for them like always.
“Morning Eds!” Richie greeted as he came to a stop next to the smaller boy, sliding his arm around Eddie’s shoulders.
“Don’t call me that!” Eddie responded and shrugged Richie off of him. “Good morning Mike.”
“Hey Eddie.” Mike replied.
The three boys chatted with each other in the few minutes before the bus pulled up to take them to school. Normally they would all ride their bikes together to school, but the other week Eddie had gotten a scrape on his thigh from toppling over his bike when he and Bill were racing around town so naturally his mother banned him from riding his bike for the next month until he got “better”. Out of solidarity, Richie and Mike offered to ride the bus with him each day until Eddie got his bike back.
Once inside the hallways of Hawkins High School, the three boys made their way through the crowded space and to their lockers before homeroom started.
“Morning losers!” Richie greeted the group of friends congregated in front of their lockers.
“God that sweater is ugly!” Max stated right off the bat.
“Yeah Richard, where the hell did you get that ugly thing?” Beverly added.
Richie looked down at his sweater before grabbing the bottom and pulling it off over his head. He tossed the bright blue and purple hoodie onto the top shelf inside his locker.
“Gee guys, I’m sensing this one wasn’t much of a crowd pleaser! Eds, why didn’t you say anything when I bought it?” Richie asked.
Eddie shrugged from beside him at his locker. “Dunno, I thought it was cool.”
Richie glanced at Eddie quickly and grinned. He quickly grabbed the books he needed for class and threw them into his bag.
The bell rang signalling the remaining three minute everyone had to get to their homeroom classes and everyone in the halls started to disperse. The group of friends spread out, muttering about how they’d see each other at lunch and headed off down different hallways. Richie and Mike were still walking with each other though. Being twins, they were always paired together in classes throughout middle school. Once they reached high school they thought they would finally be separated by their classes and have different schedules, but somehow, they were still stuck by one another for home room every morning, as well as a few other classes too.
“Did Eddie actually think your sweater was cool?” Mike asked as they climbed upstairs to the second floor of the school.
Richie shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess so.”
The two boys quickly took their seats in class as the final bell rang. Eleven and Stan were also in their homeroom too. Richie slid into the spot next to Stan and placed his backpack on the floor next to him. Across the room Mike was sat next to El, whispering something into her ear as she quietly giggled back.
Richie felt a weird feeling, one that was fuzzy in his chest. Similar to the feeling he had when El first came into their lives that dreary fall a few years ago. That feeling when he and Mike had to protect Eleven but he noticed her gravitating to his twin more than him. It was similar to the feeling he had when he saw Beverly cozying up to Ben when they were having their group movie nights. It was a weird feeling that he couldn’t quite explain.
Richie must have been zoned out for a while when Stand nudged his arm, pulling him out of his trance.
“Richie?” Stan said.
Richie shook his head, making his black curls bounce. “What Stan?”
“Did you finish your homework? Miss Williams is collecting them at the beginning of next period.” He whispered.
Richie quickly glanced at the clock, noting that there was only ten minutes until the end of homeroom but he hadn’t even started last night’s math homework. He was too busy watching the newest episode of The Walking Dead with Eddie, the two of them in his basement practically screaming of fright while hidden behind blankets.
“Shit Stan!” Richie mumbled and shook his head. “Can I copy yours?”
Stand rolled his eyes but slid his answers towards Richie. “One of these days I’m going to give you all the wrong answers, that’ll teach you a lesson.”
Richie was feverishly scribbling down numbers and symbols faster than he could think. “You’re the man, Stan!”
Richie had gotten away with the copied math homework and even talked his way through an English assignment too. Sure, he often procrastinated and forgot about deadlines, but Richie was actually smart and held a good grade average. Richie knew he had a way with words and liked to talk himself through situations, just because he could.
Richie made his way into the main cafeteria, scanning the rows of tables for his group of friends. Bill and Lucas were always the first ones to snag a place to sit, claiming all the seats for their friends. What caught his eye was actually Dustin’s classic red and blue hat, the same one he’s been wearing since seventh grade. Richie zig-zagged his way to the table and plopped himself down in between Eddie and Ben.
The whole group was talking amongst themselves, multiple conversations happening at once.
“What are we talking about?” Richie asked as he took a bite of the sandwich Mike made for him last night.
“Lucas was explaining the new game he got for his x-box last night. He got past level ten already!” Eddie explained.
Dustin chimed in from across the table. “We were talking about going over to his house after school to check it out!”
Richie nodded his head. “Awesome, sounds cool! Eds are you going?”
“Yep” Eddie answered and took a bite of his pizza which he bought from the cafeteria.
Lunch carried on like usual; the group discussing the movie they had all seen together last Friday. Richie was yelling at El over the thematic meaning of Channing Tatum’s character in the newest Kingsmen movie. Mike was trying to defend El, although he agreed with his twin, mostly just beeping Richie until he shut up.
Max was just about to stand up and tell the both of them to quit it when all of a sudden, the floor rumbled below them. The red-haired girl gripped the table in front of her, the rest of the group doing the same. Everything around them started to shake harder for five seconds before stopping as if it never happened.
“What the hell was that?” Dustin asked. The matching faces of confusion surrounding him signalled that no one knew the answer.
Suddenly the lights in the cafeteria blacked out, leaving only the light dim of sunlight stretching in from the windows above.
“What the fuck?” Richie and Mike said in unison.
Everyone looked around frantically in the dark, trying to make sense of what was happening. Before anyone else could speak their confusion, the fire alarm went off, beeping at the highest pitch possible, alerting the students to exit the building as fast as they could.
The group of friends quickly gathered their belongings, As Richie grabbed his backpack from the floor, he noticed as Mike grabbed El’s hand, gripping hers tightly in his as they started towards the exit. Richie looked over at Eddie, a look of panic and shock falling over his face.
And the fuzzy feeling was back in Richie’s chest.
Taglist:
@alwaysmebeforeyou @aburbules @88-shooting-stars @twostepsfromlou
#stranger things#stranger things 2#stranger things cast#beyond stranger things#stranger things imagine#IT#IT 2017#pennywise#finn wolfhard#finn wolfhard imagine#jack dylan grazer#jack dylan grazer imagine#mike wheeler#richie tozier#eleven#jane hopper#mileven#eddie kaspbrak#eddie kaspbrak imagine#richie x eddie#reddie#will byers#lucas sinclair#dustin henderson#beverly marsh#ben hanscom#bill denborough#stanley uris#mike hanlon#max mayfield
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