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eupheme · 1 year

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IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE | part ii: stay with me

[masterlist | part i]

joel miller x f!reader

Rated E - 6.2k

Tags: mention of wounds/care, brief canon-divergence (spoilers for ep. 6 & 7), reader is mid/late 30s+, mentions of death, use of weapons, found family, angst, wounds, hurt/comfort, the start of feelings, competency kink(s)

He wakes up. And slowly, the cabin starts to feel alive again.

The long evening stretches into a longer night. You’re exhausted from the last 24 hours, the dull throb in your head that echoes against your ribs.

Not wanting to take anything for the ache, now knowing it could be needed. Stretched out on one of the old hickory chairs - watching through sleepy, half-lidded eyes.

The girl - Ellie - stayed up as long as she could. Dozing now, curled up in the wooden chair that matches yours, at the foot of the couch.

He murmurs in his sleep. Knocked out from the pain and the medication, forehead hot with a fever as he fights off the infection.

Some of it senseless - rough mumbles as his eyes move under closed lids.

Sometimes names.

Breathed out, with the rise and fall of his chest.

Gasped, with a creak of the couch as he shifts. Hand twitching at it reaches out, searching for someone who isn’t there.

You can’t leave him. So, you let him take yours. His grip firm and strong even like this, as he settles.

The hours, slowly passing.

But, he makes it.

Through one night. And then another.

A slow routine starting.

Catching sleep in the morning, when Ellie takes over watch. Never imaging you’d be comfortable with strangers in your house - but you figure if they attacked you now, then there’d be a special place in hell waiting for them.

A routine of pain killers, the man’s eyes fluttering open when you wake him. How he frowns each time - looking for the face he knows, too incoherent to understand.

But he gulps down the water you offer. That sharp frown easing as he sleeps, where you brush the sweaty curls from his forehead, adjust the blankets when they get kicked off.

A small realization forming, during this time. You had thought they needed you, in those late-night hours. That he wouldn’t survive, without your help.

But you see the way he fights. How she’s the first thing he looks for. How she hasn’t left his side. A bond there, stronger than you’ve seen in a long time.

Maybe they didn’t need you at all.

Maybe you’re the respite. The soothing hand, the warm food, a safe place to rest - before they moved on. Like Aunt June and Danny had been for you - when your little group turned up on their doorstep all those years ago, battered and broken.

Even if they never ended up moving on.

Even if you’re still here.

It’s comforting, in a way. A means to finally pay back everything that was given to you, over the years.

You hope they’d be proud.

———

A little more time passes, and you find that it’s not so bad. Having more people around.

Ellie is funny.

A breath of fresh air, in your silent, stuffy cabin. Where everything is in its place because you’re the only one that moves it. Where there’s been no one but you and the ghosts of those before, haunting it’s halls for years.

Excited over the things you’ve taken for granted. Eyes shining over things like canned fruit cocktail and instant noodles. Innocently poking around everything you own, to a point where you just sigh and shake your head.

Seasoning conversations with the word “fuck”, peppered in expertly. Fuck this, fuck that, and a fuck yeah.

A side-eye thrown your way the first time, catching the small curl of your smile instead of a reprimand. You remember what it had been like, to be her age.

Not exactly in the same way - you can’t imagine that. Living through this hell, back then. But, just that sense of feeling grown up, wanting to be taken seriously.

The tenuous friendship formed in these first few days reminds you of your childhood.

Befriending a feral cat that slept beneath the porch - tempting it out with bits of food. Sitting on the stoop as she became used to you, until the shift of your stance no longer scared her away.

With Ellie, the food certainly helped. But what got her was the books.

Most of them were old - what you would think a middle-aged couple in the 80's would bring to a cabin.

Guides filled with local birds and flora. Collections of old, short stories. A stack of local maps, the pages well-worn and creased, everything lined up in the handmade wooden bookcase.

You've read them all. There were days in the winter where there was little else to do. A few scavenged, brought back by the others. But now it helps, as you pick the ones you think she'd like - setting them by the chair she's claimed.

The hours become a little more comfortable.

She reads, while you cycle through the small pastimes you have. Your own book you've been working through. Some projects - the beginning of a scarf, crocheted with salvaged bits of old sweaters, a moth-eaten afgan.

Passing the time while he sleeps and heals with the turning of pages, the slide of the yarn.

She had been interested in your work for a little while - an afternoon where you showed her how to yarn over, make a chain.

Her fingers clumsy as she miscounted, too eager for the end result.

Turning what began as a rectangle - the start of a scarf, like yours - into something with wavy edges, each row shorter than the last. The frustration evident as she handed it back to you with a resigned shrug.

But you still weave in the ends, block it out next to some granny squares. With some fringe, it becomes a bookmark - her fingers playing with the ends as she reads.

It’s close to four days in, when things change. When he starts to be awake more often than he’s asleep.

"I think he's turned a corner." You tell her, after the bandages have been changed.

When it came to this - she learned everything you showed her quickly. A quick study, once shown. Resourceful, too - telling you how she had found the antibiotics in an old mall, one that you knew well. The very mall you were certain had been already cleared out - but today, you were happy to be wrong.

This time she takes the lead - peeling back the stained medical tape. Carefully checking the wound before replacing the gauze, fixing it back into place.

That long-held breath exhaled. A small nod, "He has to be. I don't know what I'd do-"

"He has turned a corner." You amend - the words firm, "He's lucky he had you."

"More like, we were lucky I found you."

There's a sullenness that tinges her words then, arms crossed over her knees.

It makes you frown, as you move from the chair. Lowering yourself down, until you're both on the same level, on the wooden floor.

She doesn't meet your eyes, fingers tugging at a loose string on the quilt, dangling off the couch.

You think you understand, a little.

The complexity of the situation - how hopeless she had probably been feeling. How much she had to do on her own, all while thinking she didn't do enough to help. Thinking she failed him.

"This was all you. You know that, right?" Your words are careful, your head ducking to make eye contact, "He wouldn't have made it without you."

Ellie's jaw grits, a quick look your way - before her eyes drop.

"He didn't start getting better until he got here."

You sigh, leaning back on your hands, "You just gave him the antibiotics. They just needed a little time to start working."

Her head turns, as she thinks about that.

"I helped ease some of the pain, but he's strong. He survived, because of you."

Eyes meeting yours. Narrowing, but in a way where you can tell that she’s inspecting you. Seeing if you’re lying.

You’re not. The smile you offer is small, as he starts to stir. Eyes cracking open - finding hers like they always did.

As her expression brightens. You’re not sure if it’s a mask - wanting to appear cheerful for him - or if she’s still at that age where emotions are fleeting, changing with the wind.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” She chirps, his forehead creasing with the name, her loud voice. He grunts an answer, glancing around the room.

Pausing, those dark eyes boring into yours. You hold the gaze, still curled on the ground next to the edge.

A small nod. Just a little jerk of his chin.

Your answering smile is equally small, before you push yourself back up. Heading over to stick another log into the fire, from the iron rack just off to the side.

There’s an understanding, after.

You were a threat, until you’re weren’t. Until they sniffed you out and you passed some unspoken test, somewhere between that first sleepless night, and now.

Their guards aren’t down. Not completely. Yours isn’t either. But there’s an ease to your steps, as you move around the space together. A sleep that comes a little more soundly at night.

Because, you’re not alone anymore.

———

She reads to him, sometimes. The books you pluck from the shelves and leave for her to find.

Keeping Joel company as he stays bedridden a little while longer.

He had tried to get up, on that fourth day. A wince that crumpled his face as he pushed himself up, Ellie’s scold of “what in the hell are you doing?” raining down as her arms braced on her hips.

The look of alarm on his face still makes you want to laugh, days later.

You’re cooking dinner as she reads another chapter - secretly pleased that she seems interested in one of the volumes you treasure. The pages dog-marked, the spine cracked, and cover faded.

Warming up canned pasta in the Dutch oven simmering over the fire, listening to her words as you stir.

“It was after tea-time; it was pouring with rain, and had been all day; his hood was dripping into his eyes, his cloak was full of water; the pony was tired and stumbled on stones; the others were too grumpy to talk.”

“Sounds familiar.” She adds as an aside - her words filling the space as her eyes peek his way every few lines, to see if he’s listening.

Tripping over the names of the dwarves and locations with the confidence only a teenager could have.

"And I'm sure the rain has got into the dry clothes and into the food-bags," thought Bilbo. "Fuck burgling and everything to do with it!”

“Ellie.”

A tired lid cracks open - he had been listening after all, “He didn’t say fuck.”

She sighs, eyes rolling as she slumps in her seat, “Well, he should be allowed to. After the way they barged in and messed all his shit up.”

You grin, from your crouch near the fire, “Mm. I agree with her on this one.”

Clearly outvoted, he rolls onto his side, facing the back of the couch. Pointedly ignoring her as she runs through a few more reasons why she’s right.

Giving up, her voice a stage-whisper - hand cupped around her mouth as if telling you a secret, “He’s just pissed because I compared him to Gandalf earlier. Old and cranky.”

Joel’s head turns, a glare hurled in her direction - her grin as she pulls the book up again. Your own teeth biting the inside of the cheek to hide your smile.

But from your angle, you don’t miss the way his face softens.

The small smile, as he settles back down.

———

It's not long before you all get a little antsy.

Despite the much-needed company that Ellie and Joel bring into your home, after years of solitude it almost tipped into too much at times. Your cabin feels too small for you all to occupy the same space for the entire day, with Joel taking up most of the seating.

Even if at one time, there were many more. But it's been ages since then.

You're certain they feel the same. Not used to idleness.

The twice-daily walks you take around the perimeter of the fence helps. When he is finally able to move a little, sitting up instead of laying down.

Able to roam around the kitchen, eventually wandering outdoors. There, the air is lung-achingly crisp. A sizable porch that looks across the hill, across the miles of trees, down to the old barn.

Once the danger is over - once he starts to heal - that is where you spend some of the afternoons. The thick wooden walls keeping some of the chill out.

Close to cozy after you spend an afternoon putting a small fire pit together, the golden glow keeping all of you warm as Ellie brushes down Callus.

Finding treasures as she pokes around the storage in the first and second floor. A lot of it is supplies, things to be used for repairs.

Planks of wood, a crate filled with tools. A few barrels of gas for the generator - just for emergencies. The walls are lined with the things you use most often when tending the small field just outside - shovels, a pitchfork, an axe.

It's in these rooms that she finds a treasure - disappearing over a crate, until all you can see are the soles of her boots. Coming back up with an "oof", and something clutched in her hand. Covered in cobwebs from where it's laid hidden on the dusty floor.

A small, monobloc bow. You must have set it down one afternoon, and forgot. Trading it for something louder, stronger.

"Woah, this is cool." Ellie tries to pull the string back, the dull 'thump' as her fingers slip.

Still taut, after all this time. You smile as you hold your hand out, the muscles in your arm flexing as you pull it back with a smooth, practiced movement.

"I thought I lost this." You let go, the satisfying 'twang' as it snaps back into place, "Did you see any arrows?"

She's already scrambling back over - coming back with two clutched in her hand. A determined shine in her eyes as she asks breathlessly, "Can I try it?"

You glance over your shoulder, at the man sitting in one of the camping chairs. Staring idly into the flicker of the fire - a hand pressed against his side.

Once he was up, he started refusing medication.

Saying he was just fine. You had protested at first. That he needed it, that it would speed things along.

"'ve had worse." He eventually told you. When it was just the two of you - as you were getting ready to go to bed yourself, “You should keep it. In case someone needs it more."

Wanting to save it for you, or the next person that came along and needed help.

"We'd better ask your-" You catch yourself - correcting, "Uh, ask Joel."

Her nose wrinkles, "He lets me shoot his gun. I don't need to ask him about this."

That makes you laugh, your voice lowering as your head turns back to face her, "Maybe. But I think he will hate me a little less if we just ask, anyways. You get me?"

"He doesn't hate you. He's just..." Her face twists as she thinks, a vague wave of her hand, "Grumpy. Took him months to talk to me, and I'm a goddamn delight."

You had half-meant it as a joke, but her sweet reassurance warms you. Teeth biting your tongue to hold back another laugh.

Finding it surprising to think about how nice that would be, if it was true.

If he truly didn't.

Not knowing why you want his approval so badly. But it's something you've been thinking about since that first meeting. You want him to see you. To notice you.

Years of that piece of you missing, suddenly pushing to the surface like the first buds of spring.

"You sure are. Let's just check, anyways.”

She’s already bounding off, bow in hand. You watch as she asks, the way his eyes flick over the weapon, then back your way.

“Suppose you can.” Joel allows - after a long moment, “Don’t think I’m in the right shape yet to show you, though.”

Ellie wilts, clearly hoping he would. After a moment of hesitation, you join them.

“Been a bit, but I could set a little something up. For practice.” You offer.

The appraising look he gave the bow flits your way, down to the two aluminum arrows in your grip. His tongue poking his cheek as he thinks it through, before he nods.

“Alright.”

Ellie’s excitement is palpable, as she helps you drag out two bales of straw. A crude target drawn on some paper you grab from the house, fixed under the strings.

Standing at your shoulder as you grip the bow in your hand. Showing her how to notch the arrow, fitting the shaft against the arrow rest.

Drawing the string back to your cheekbone, as you aim for the middle of the target.

“You’ll get better the more you use it. This one doesn’t have a sight. Have to get a feel where the arrow aims,” You explain, feeling the tension in the string. “Use the point of the arrow.”

Inhaling a slow breath, holding it in.

A release, exhaling as it fires. Soaring across the yard, hitting just shy of the dark mark in the middle.

Not bad. You still got it.

Ellie’s whoop startles you - a fondness settling, after.

“Holy shit, that was so cool!” She gushes, as you hand it over. Glancing back over her shoulder, “Don’t you think, Joel?”

You can’t help but to turn, to glance his way. Where he’s caught, watching. Clearing his throat as he gruffly answers - his eyes meeting yours, before sliding away.

“Yeah. Real cool.”

———

He follows a half-dozen steps behind her.

Could never stand being cooped up for too long. Staying still made you a target, and this past couple weeks had made his skin itch. When it wasn't throbbing, or burning up.

The cold air makes his lungs ache, but at least he's moving. She hadn't protested, when he had shrugged on his coat. The exercise would do him good, help get him strong enough so they could leave.

Get back on the road.

Ellie had been watching, her feet kicked up on the coffee table. A different book on her lap, the pictures bright, even from here.

"Doing anything fun?" She asked, looking hopeful.

"Just a walk."

Her eyes sliding to the wide window, the snow falling that looked closer to sleet. Slumping further into her seat with a flat, "Eh, pass."

He hadn't pressed. Be happier if she stayed where it was warm.

"Lock up after us, okay?"

The words had come automatically, from deep in his mind. Ones that had been dormant for years, over twenty now. A lump in his throat as he ignored the woman's quick glance his way, before he pushed the screen door open - not waiting for an answer.

Now, her fingers trail across the wire fence, snow falling from the wooden posts when her gloves pass over it. Walking the perimeter, as he's noticed that she does - every morning and as the sun sets.

A small frown forms, the crease deepening between his eyebrows. Watching her fingers, the way the pom-pom on her hat bounces with each step.

He doesn't take well to kindness.

Before Boston, kindness got you killed. A weakness.

In the QZ, it came with a price. A debt, and he never liked owing - only collecting.

He wonders what his is, here.

Set off-balance by the situation he finds himself in. Unsure of his footing with this woman. One who seems frozen in time.

Everything about her and this place seemed to stop when the world went to hell.

The same sort of eerie feeling when he passed through the gate that led to Bill and Frank's place - an uneasy normalcy to everything, that felt unnatural.

So strange, how that could be.

Not quite sure what he thinks of her. There’s a hidden strength that he hadn’t seen at first. Not just anyone could have survived out here for so long. The way she handles the rifle, the bow, clear that she hasn’t been idle all these years.

Her eyes find his often, flicking away when he looks back. Catching the smallest details.

It makes him wonder what she thinks of him.

Actual words, instead of the thoughts he sees written so clearly on her face - gone in a blink when she collects herself. Still remembering the fear when they first met, though she hasn't worn that expression again.

Her smile is kind, he does know that much.

It comes easily for Ellie, a fondness already in the soft curves.

Sometimes, it comes for him, too.

Flakes from above settle on her knitted hat, clinging to her hair, her eyelashes - when her face turns, making sure he's still behind her.

A gun slung across her back, each step easy.

His own rifle is firm in his grip, eyes sweeping back and forth. There's nothing so far but miles of trees - natural slopes and dips. The occasional small creek to cross, not liking the way his body feels like it's moving a few seconds behind.

Discomfort flitting across his features, as he steps across the gap. A moment of imbalance, before he's on solid ground again.

Her hand twitches, as if wanting to hold them out to him. Thinking better of it, as they curl into fists.

A gentle suggestion instead - a nod at his rifle, "Don't have to carry that, if you don't want. Been ages since I saw a soul out here, 'sides Ellie."

He frowns at that, unsure.

But she moves ahead, hands shoved in the pockets of her oversized coat. Slowly, the strap goes around his head, slinging it across his back.

He isn't so slow that he couldn't grab it, if needed.

"You don't get Infected out here?" His voice is a rasp, hoarse from disuse.

Her head shakes as it turns, "Not here. Only see them if I go out."

A moment, his thoughts flickering back. To words he half-remembers, in that dark basement, "You said it wasn't safe. That you wouldn't have come."

She stops then, and he almost crashes into her. A hand steading himself on the wire fence, her face tilted up to his, but eyes not meeting.

"That was by you, not here."

"What was there?"

There's a beat, before she starts walking again. Her voice carrying over the wind, "The Infected aren't the only monsters out here. But both will sink their teeth into you, just the same."

He inhales a sharp breath - had heard about things like that. Desperate people, desperate measures. It sickens him, an uncomfortable roll of his stomach as she continues.

“It's damn lucky Ellie came this way, I'll just say that. That we all made it out of there without catching any notice was a miracle."

The thought about them touching a single hair on Ellie's head fills him with fury. Half-tempted to hunt them down himself, just to ensure it could never happen.

Injury be damned.

His voice low, deadly level, "They don't come this way?"

"No." Hers is equally firm, "Nobody comes this way, not if they know better. There's an old campground not too far from here. Rumor is that it's a nest of Infected, there. Completely overrun."

His steps stall at that, making him a further pace behind. She catches it, and her eyes roll, "It's just a rumor. People around here are superstitious."

He doesn't like her tone, her easy disregard. She hadn't seen the massacre at KC. The horror of all those bodies spilling from the ground, rushing faster than you could blink.

"How do you know?" The words have more bite than he means, enough that she's glancing back again.

She smiles at him then, the first he's seen since they left. Already so different than the first meeting in the basement, when that tone would have had her frozen to the spot.

"Because it's my rumor." The smile pulls a little wider, "There is a camp, sure. But the outbreak happened in September. Camp was over. Been there myself, it's empty."

A shrug, arms crossing over her chest, "Been telling it for the last ten years. Have had it told back to me by people I don't even know for the last three.”

At that, she starts moving along the trail again, "No one is coming out here."

He can't help the small smile that comes, just the slightest curve of his lips.

The gap between them closes, just a little.

———

Hmm, not here.

The large wooden chest closes - solid as you use it to sit on. To think.

Taking a moment, while you poke around the guest room - where she had started sleeping, now that Joel was awake. Looking for the old leather quiver, the extra arrows. Certain that they had to around here somewhere, since you haven't been able to find them in the usual places.

Ellie had been practicing. She's getting good - going out moat afternoons to fire at the bales. You've replaced the targets a few times already - finding some sturdy cardboard - moving them around the yard for variety.

But it was hard, chasing after the only two arrows she had.

You look up from your seat at the end of the bed, to find her standing in front of the closet.

Touching the shirts inside, always coming back to one to the far right side. Dark green plaid, patterned with charcoal and white stripes.

Startling, when you come up behind her - shoving the shirt back into place, "I don't think it's in here.”

"I'll have to check the attic." You answer. Pausing for a moment - before asking, "Did you like that shirt?"

Her cheeks pinken, "It's cool."

You smile, tugging it off the hanger. A memory from years ago surfaces - time spent together in front of the roaring fire.

The sleeves rolled up over strong forearms, your fingers sliding over the buttons. It's been well-loved - but in a way that makes the flannel soft and warm.

It makes you wonder if it still smells like smoke. Like them. If it clings to the memories like you do.

She takes it, holding it limply in her hands. Unsure what to do with it.

You help her, "You can have it, if you want. It could use a good home."

Make it seem like she's doing you a favor.

Her eyes dart down, uncertain - but the wanting wins out. Her zip-up jacket is shed, flung on the bed as she pulls it on over her long-sleeve tee.

It runs big, and she lets you roll the cuffs up to her wrists - the shirt hanging down around her thighs.

"Very 90s chic." You tell her, and she smiles as if she knows what that means. Maybe it's just the approval in your tone, and the unexpected gift.

Ellie parades out to the living room, where Joel was working - sorting through their gear.

"Check it out!" You can hear her laugh from here, the joy in her tone, "We match! Bet you just love that."

The last two words are drawn out, long and teasing.

You can't help but smile - picturing his face, and the grumble that follows.

Certain that he’s hiding his own small smile, as well.

——-

The dust makes you sneeze, the ladder wiggling beneath your feet. It's been ages since you've been up here. Never had a reason too - most everything had been tucked up here for a reason.

Either because it was taking up space. Or because it was too hard to bear. Boxes filled with treasures that aren't yours, from another life.

The floors creaking beneath your feet, as you finally step into the cramped space. A dim light filtering from the tiny square window in the back, the roof slanting so you have to crouch as you check the edges.

Sorting quickly through the piles of stuff that they thought they might have needed, but never used. Skipping over the cans of old paint, some old tools.

Eventually finding a crate that you had thrown a threadbare blanket over. A piece, clicking into place, when you see it. Where you had brought their weapons - unloading them before tucking them away. It had felt like looting, to take them.

Even if you could have used them, it felt wrong.

The yellow and red feathers of the arrows peek out from where the blanket pools on the floor. You scoop them up - 10 in all - along with the quiver they spill out of.

"Found them!" You call down, as Ellie's face peers up through the square scuttle hole. Kneeling on the dusty floor to lower it down to her, before wiping your hands on your jeans.

Taking another look - certain you won't be up here again for a long time. Hesitating, when there's a glint off the flashlight you borrowed. Moving a side table, an old chair aside, to get to it.

A frame, the edges carved and painted with gold. The photo inside is one you remember from when you first arrived. It used to hang above the fireplace - a painting of the mountains, capped with snow. Pockets of pines clustered together.

You measure it with your hands, and after a moment - you take it. Lifting it with two hands as you drag it towards the exit of the attic, glancing down.

Unsure how you're going to get it down there. Maybe if Ellie can grab the end - keep it steady until you can get a good grip on the ladder.

You call for her - but you get someone else instead.

He hovers at the base of the ladder, peering up like she did. Hair slicked back from the shower, grey-streaked - already starting to curl again at the temples. The sight has you clutching onto the frame a little more tightly.

Silently beckoning to you, with a curl of two fingers.

You have to kneel to lower the picture, carefully fitting it through the opening - waiting for him to take it. He grasps it with one hand, easily lowering it to the ground, as you climb down.

His other hand extends, the briefest touch at your hip when the ladder wobbles. You instinctively seek him out for balance, his hand firm and strong as your fingers wrap around - pressing into his palm.

Close enough now to smell the woodsy scent of the shampoo he used, clinging to his skin. Trying not to think about him in the shower, your shower, just moments before.

Your boots finally hitting the ground as his hand releases yours, fingers flexing.

The frame still in his other hand, making no effort to give it back.

"You redecorating?"

That makes you laugh as you fold the ladder up, closing the entrance to the attic again.

Starting to walk into the kitchen, his steps heavy behind yours. You pat the dinner table and he sets the frame there, as your head tilts towards the taped-up window.

You've spent time cleaning the floors, the sink beneath. But hadn't had the time to figure out how to fix the window that shattered.

Today seemed as good a day as any.

"Not exactly." Your eyes slide unconsciously to Ellie, pulling her boots on by the cabin door - the strap of the quiver around her shoulder, "Need to replace this window, figured I could use the glass in this."

Her eyes lift then, a look of guilt crossing her features.

"Ain't the right kind of glass." Joel muses, his voice flat as his thumb presses down against the edge of the frame.

His tone, the words, make you bristle. An embarrassment at not knowing, just thinking glass was glass.

Hand resting on your hips as you answer, "Well, it's better than a hole."

He glances up from where he leans on the table. Pose mirroring yours when he sees the flat press of your lips.

Words coming slowly, "Just don't want you gettin' cold. Glass ain’t as thick as it should be."

A pause, as he considers - as your cheeks heat, "But sure… it'll do."

"You oughta help her out, Joel." Ellie is pushing to her feet now - her voice turning proud as she glances his way, "He used to be a contractor."

Saying the title like it was something precious, something important. His expression turning into one you've come to recognize as embarrassment - when she pokes fun or brags about him.

It feels right - this little reveal. Explains a bit more about him. A lot can happen in twenty years, but you’ve watch the way he looks at things, examining them.

Even down to his frame. Broad shoulders - strong in a way that only hard labor can bring, muscles layered under the softness that comes with age.

A prickle runs from your neck down to your belly at this thought, and you tear your eyes away.

Watching as she opens the door, his call following her into the cold, "Don't go too far, okay? Stick close to the barn."

Her acknowledgment coming as the door bangs shut, leaving the two of you alone. Your arms fold instead, a small sigh as the defensive thoughts thaw. As he looks at you, hands shoving into his pockets.

"Don't know why she's pressing me to help," His voice is low, "Seems like you've been gettin' along just fine here."

You bite back a smile - knowing exactly why she offered. A form of repentance for breaking it in the first place - offering him up to do the work for her. Your eyes slide away, as you sigh.

Coming back, your arms slowly uncrossing, "I actually don't know what I'm doing. Not for something like this."

A small shrug, as you start to pick open the fasteners on the back, "Was just going to wing it."

His voice comes then, slowly and softly.

"I could show you."

The offer is genuine, this time. A rare moment where you meet each others eyes. The soft brown of his, ones that you've looked often in silent admiration.

Your nod is small, like the smile you let through.

"I'd love that."

He helps you peel back the tape, the air outside drifting in the opening - chilling the room. Taking down the bits of cardboard, examining the damage.

"How did this happen?"

"Oh, you know." You hedge, shrugging. Not wanting to explain, if Ellie hadn't already, "It happens."

His eyes flick sideways at you, but he doesn't press.

You help him tug the remaining shards of glass free from the frame. One splintering and jabbing the tip of a finger - a small hiss as you press it between your lips without thought.

As his eyes follow - snagging, lingering, for a long moment - before he's nudging you out of the way with his hip.

"Let me handle this part."

Watching as he finishes cleaning the frame, until it's ready for the glass.

Somewhere along the way - you find that he's the one doing all the work. Listening as he explains each step, as you make a batch of instant coffee for the two of you. His black, yours with a tiny bit of maple syrup - harvested from the ridge behind the cabin.

Taking the glass out of the picture frame, measuring it against the window. Marking a mark of the size, scoring it with a utility knife that he fishes out of the pocket of his heavy coat.

It's impressive, watching him work. Especially with what little tools you have - making his own putty with things found in storage. His thumb smoothing down the compound on the last edge, a quick glance your way that you miss.

"What did you do? Before." He asks - his interest catching you off guard.

Your hands wrap around the mug, "I, uh... didn't get a chance to be anything. I was still in college, when everything happened."

There's a low hum of sympathy. A quick lean out the window to check on Ellie when you don’t continue - before he's sitting down in one of the chairs. The frame left to dry, before he fits it back into place.

A knee bumping against yours as his legs adjust under the table, long legs spreading wide.

Fingers tracing the edge of the frame now, a stilted silence settling. Unsure if you are in the mood to delve into then. Thinking about what you could ask him instead, if that's what you're doing now.

Getting to know each other.

"You been traveling with Ellie long?" You wind up asking.

He gives you a long look, under the curls that have sprung free. A hand scratching the scruff of his beard - the dark hair flecked with grey - his eyes not leaving yours.

"Couple months. Since summer, best I can guess."

You nod - that was what she had told you, on that first journey to find him.

"You got a ways more to go?"

There’s nothing intentionally prying about your questioning. It just feels strange not to know anything about the people staying with you - little opportunity or an opening to ask before now.

Ellie offers some, but she nearly as wary as he is. More prone to narrate what’s going on, questions about the books she reads.

“Think so. Heading to Utah, once things clear up.”

His wound, and the weather.

Winter was harsh in Colorado - with the heavy snow, it was near impossible not to get lost in the dense lines of trees. Assuming you didn’t freeze to death, first.

“Is it hard? Traveling with someone so young, I mean.” You can’t help but think about them. Wondering what life would have been like, if you had gotten home in time, “Just, the responsibility and all…”

It’s a selfish question. You don’t even know what you want his answer to be. The pause stretches longer then, and you're sure you've pushed too far.

"I'm sorry. You don't-" You start, but then he's answering.

“It is.” Eyes tracing the wood grain of the table, “But it’s not my first time. Lookin’ after someone her age."

Falling silent for good, after that.

The realization aches. Pieces fitting together - things he's said, almost on instinct. Old words from another time. How he looks out for Ellie - a softness under the gruff exterior.

You reach for him - moving slowly. Giving him time to pull his hand back, to retreat.

But it stays in place, a twitch of his fingers as they open - making room. Letting yours curve around them, like before.

You give them a squeeze, just a soft acknowledgment.

After a moment, he squeezes back.

Thanks for reading! 💖 would love to know what you thought!

#I hope you like it 💕#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #Joel Miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller imagine

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redrobin-detective · 3 years

Text

Ok, I’ve tried and tried and tried to write this fic because I see it so clearly in my mind but it’s just not going no matter what I do. But I don’t want the idea to die with me. The closest this came to being written was exile which was an attempt to bleed out some of the energy of this au.

Anyway, so it starts off vaguely similar to canon only more aggressive. There had been underlying tension between ghosts and humans for a while, the dead jealous/angry at the living for disrespecting them. The successful creation of the Fenton ghost portal (and another halfa) was considered an act of war and so the ghosts responded in kind. So basically all of S1 occurs fairly close to canon except ghost attacks are more violent and have increasingly more consequences as time passes. Also the attacks aren’t just in Amity Park with ghosts becoming a worldwide issue but Amity is a focal point. Regular people know the ghosts hate them though they don’t know why. Phantom is very much a controversial figure as he is a ghost but also clearly is fighting off the more violent ghosts.

One day, not long after the events of Control Freaks, Amity Park wakes up to find three of their own are gone. Danny Fenton, Sam Manson and Tucker Foley are nowhere to be found. There’s a massive manhunt, the parents go on TV and beg for information but they cannot be found. Curiously enough, town hero Phantom was also missing. There’s some evidence they left of their own volition so the Mansons and Foleys eventually relent that the kids fled on their own. The Fentons are 100% certain the kids were stolen/killed by ghosts as a statement. And the fact that Phantom went missing around the same time means he was the one who killed them. Jazz knows Danny was Phantom but had no idea what was going on and knew her parents wouldn’t listen she just, kept quiet and privately tried to piece together what happened.

Three years pass and finally it looks like the Ecto War is coming to a close. Young, naive ghosts attempted to raise Pariah Dark in a bid to win. It went disastrously but Phantom (who was periodically spotted around the world, deep in the worst battles of the war) and group of loyal allies subdued the king. By the law of ghosts, Phantom was named heir apparent and he declared that the fighting would stop. Humans and ghosts would have to negotiate and co-exist in peace. But he’s not king yet, no he needs to be crowned at the place where it began, Amity Park’s Fenton portal (”where it all began” has a double meaning of the beginning of the war but also symbolically where Phantom began as Kings assume the crown where their living life ended to show their abandonment of their first life and the commitment to their second). Amity is NOT happy to hear that their former hero is coming home.

Amity has been through the wringer, ghost attacks got pretty bad. The Fenton’s throw themselves into their work to cancel out the grief, they create a group of ghost hunters nicknamed the Reds (for their red blood, ghosts are nicknamed Greens) to control the threat. Valerie heads the young adult division and is considered one of the best, she drops out of school to devote herself to it full time. Oh also her dad is now the Mayor as most have died or didn’t want the job. There are still people who like Phantom and see him as a hero (a lot of Casper Kids) but it’s generally an unpopular opinion in town. Maddie and Jack are ready to obliterate the ghost that took their son’s life the moment he’s within city limits. It’s a powder keg ready to blow. It all comes to a head when Phantom and his entourage arrive.

First off, Phantom looks very different, much less human looking than when he left. He’s clearly aged like a normal teen but his eyes look much, much older. His skin is dead white with a blue tinge to it from his ice core and his aura is super cold. His hair is longer and is very misty that kind of swirls around him and his has fangs and claws. When he’s deep in battle or his obsession, his sclera turn black and he looks scary af. His entourage is ghosts who have sworn loyalty to him, who he picked up along the way after battling beside them for 3 years. Fright Knight, Skulker and Frostbite are recognizable allies. They are not happy that their future King is back in Amity (secretly fearing they’ll lose him once more to his human life). J&M have a shot and are going for the kill when they see something that shocks them; Sam and Tucker are in Phantom’s entourage.

There had been whispers that Phantom interacted with humans, that humans were in his inner circle but this is something else together. And so are Sam and Tucker. Sam is Phantom’s General, she is talented and collected and half feral. She used to be a pacifist but the trials of war and understanding that peace sometimes needs to be fought for made her compromise. She’s covered in scars and an extremely talented fighter. She’s missing her right hand up to her forearm, she can form a ‘phantom limb’ (basically borrowing ectoplasm from her future ghost) to do some things with some powers. Tucker is the support, he uses human and ghost tech to organize, weaponize and generally keep things running. He’s covered in homemade tech (shields and weapons and computers) and he rarely removes. Both he and Sam have kinda forgotten how to interact with and really BE human after so long among the dead. They had attempted to conceal themselves but they had forgotten how strong parental love and recognition is. J&M want to know about Danny, the teens don’t know how to respond but assure them he’s alive. Phantom can’t bring himself to look at them.

This is where I start to lose track of things but there will be parallels of Valerie/Maddie vs Sam as female warriors on opposite sides who are willing to go behind, possibly compromising the things important to them, for victory. Tucker will be contrasted against Jack/Jazz as the one making weapons but also generally keeping the human parts of the team mentally/physically afloat. *Severe* PTSD for all three of them. They’re also unnaturally codependent on each other, get super anxious when one of the trio is out of sight and sleep in a big cuddle pile. They will fucking Kill You if you look at one of them wrong. Vlad will be involved, he had been jailed for war crimes but convinced Walker to stage a coup to overthrow Danny and take the crown before he’s actually declared King and is too powerful. Vlad is more unhinged here, more ghost than human (a hint on what could happen to Danny if he’s not careful). He is eventually defeated but he sacrifices his life for ghost power which, in the end, is what makes him able to be beaten.

There’s lots of ideas on what it means to be live or dead and where the divide really is, is it a heartbeat or it is how you choose to use your existence. On how duty shouldn’t mean you need to give up everything. Because Jack and Maddie believe that Phantom killed their son and, in a way, they’re right. Before they left, the ghost war had gotten so bad and the rumors of Dark being resurrected were going around. Amity attacks were at an all time high, people in their school were being killed just because Danny went there. He realized he had to choose between Fenton or Phantom and he chose to protect the world. He abandoned his human identity and went off to fight in war. Tried to convince Sam and Tucker to stay but they followed him through hell and back. Because Danny spends so much time as Phantom, Fenton is severely neglected. His long hair is cool and floaty as Phantom but is unkempt and stringy, hanging in his face as Fenton. He’s wan and underweight and looks like a walking corpse. He knows his human half will give out soon if he doesn’t give it more attention but he just can’t there’s too much to do, too many people to save.

It would end with Danny being outed to the town, not the world, just the town. Jack and Maddie need to recon with the fact that their boy DID leave of his own choice but only because their failure to protect him (from both the portal and ghosts) made him feel he had to take all this responsibility on his shoulders. Danny also has to recognize that he (and Sam/Tuck) can’t do all this on their own and they can trust and rely on the people around him. Phantom is crowned King but he decides Amity will be his base. The trio eat more, sleep some, catches up on school all the while continuing their duties as King and court. The ghosts also see that Phantom’s humanity isn’t a weakness but a strength and will bring peace to the Earth/Zone so they also take some of the burdens off his shoulder.

Basically I load up heavily with angst at the beginning and end with all the love and comfort imaginable. I just can’t fucking figure out the middle and my motivation will not let me write this shit out. But I can’t let this AU die bc it fucking keeps me up at night.

#behind me dips eternity #god I want to write this but its just not going #Ive been trying for over a month #I cant finish the outline #I've only gotten a paragraph into actually typing #but there are so many vivid images from this fic that live rent free in my head #was lowkey thinking of comissioning an artist to depict Danny bc I've tried and its not coming out right and it drives me INSANE #bc this world is very vivid to me #i love it even if it hurts me #anyway here's wonderwall

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darks-ink · 4 years

Text

Self-Perception

A ghost's appearance is based on their self-image. How they see themselves. So when you've been told your entire life that ghosts are monsters, well... That does things to one's appearance, that's for sure.

Prompt: I think it would be interesting to see Danny’s phantom form either more monstrous from the get go, or become monstrous in some way, and people's reactions to that Prompt by: @sylph-feather Word count: 5,392

[AO3] [FFN] [more Phic Phight fics]

---

Danny was hu— no… Yes! He’s— Or maybe he just…

His heart was still in his chest, replaced by an alien whirring. His body glowed, a white aura surrounding him, flickering wildly.

Danny was…

His reflection stared at him with wide unblinking eyes. Vivid green. Unnatural green, the color of ectoplasm spilled on the kitchen table.

Danny couldn’t be a ghost. He was human. He couldn’t be dead, couldn’t be a ghost.

His breath caught in his throat. He felt like he was choking.

Ghosts didn’t choke. Ghosts didn’t breathe. He wasn’t a ghost.

Danny closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the mirror. The surface was pleasantly cool.

Just… breathe, Danny. It will all be okay when you open your eyes.

He opened his eyes.

His own face looked back at him, although the eyes were still vibrant green, his hair still white. It was still, undeniably, his own.

But he could feel his heart thudding in his chest. Felt his lungs greedily suck in air as he tried to stop himself from hyperventilating.

“This is fine,” he told the off-colored reflection in the mirror. “I’m not dead. I’m— I’m human.”

Something stirred in his core. Light flashed, suddenly, washing the entire room away with brightness.

When Danny finally blinked the spots out of his sight again, he saw—

Black hair. Blue eyes.

“Human,” he whispered, watching his lips curl into a hesitant smile. “See? I knew it.”

He nodded to himself. It was just— just something weird! That kinda stuff happened all the time in FentonWorks. Nothing to be concerned about!

Danny ran a hand through his hair, watching the heavy locks muss up in the mirror. No matter what, he was human. This was just…

Nothing. It was nothing.

He turned to leave the bathroom, smiling at Sam and Tucker when they saw him.

He was perfectly human.

---

Ghosts were an inevitability if you were raised as a Fenton. Whether you personally believed in them or not didn’t matter. They were a fact of life. It was impossible to not know anything about them.

One of the many things Danny had learned, forgotten, and learned again, was what ghosts looked like. They were monsters. You could tell, his parents always told him, because they looked like monsters. Because a ghost’s appearance reflected the way they saw themselves.

A ghost’s self-image was literal, really.

Danny stared down at the hands in his lap. They were pink, and fleshy, and warm. Detailed to an extent that he couldn’t imagine.

Human.

In a flash of light, it could all be gone. Or, not gone, but hidden. Covered up by skintight white gloves.

It wasn’t voluntary, not really, but he could control it a little. Could stop himself from shifting around his parents, around Jazz. And thank goodness, because he hadn’t… hadn’t really figured out if he wanted them to know.

They—he, and Sam and Tucker—had thought it was temporary. But it had been more than a week, and the cold-hot-cold in his chest still hadn’t gone away. No, it felt stronger by the day. More present, if hidden behind the sound of his heartbeat.

Not quite as human anymore. But human enough. He was… a little ghostly, maybe, but human first and foremost.

He let the cold in his chest wash over him. Walked over to the full-body mirror he had in his room.

A ghost looked back. But not— not a proper one. Because Danny wasn’t really a ghost, no matter what. He was mostly human.

And so was the ghost that looked at him.

It looked like Danny, really. The messed up hair, even if it was white instead of black, pressed down by gravity. The bright eyes, even if they were a little too bright, an unnatural glow emitting from them. And, y’know. Vivid green.

The jumpsuit was just like his parents’, but at least it was deep black instead of eye-searing orange. With the white gloves, boots, and belt, it almost looked… well, not decent, but okay. Kinda superhero-y, he supposed.

Not that there was anything superhero-esque about dying in your parents’ basement, but…

No! No thinking about that! He wasn’t—

Wasn’t dead.

A flicker of light drew his eye back to the mirror. To the undoubtedly human ghost. Its glow had brightened, but settled down, now. Almost like… an expression of emotion? Odd. According to his parents, ghosts didn’t feel emotions.

But then, he wasn’t really a ghost, was he?

He let the cold withdraw into his chest. Watched his hair turn black and his eyes blue. Watched his jumpsuit make way for normal clothes.

Nothing else changed. Because, even as a ghost, he was still human.

He was human.

---

“Are you sure that keeping this a secret is a good idea, Danny?”

Sam perched on the edge of his bed, and Danny dropped his eyes from the Thermos in his hand to her. “Weren’t you against telling my parents?”

“Yeah, but…” She shrugged, throwing a look at Tucker. “It could be dangerous.”

“Telling them could be dangerous as well,” he pointed out, pointedly shaking the Thermos. “I don’t know if my parents could’ve stopped the Lunch Lady without me. And…” And he might end up in a Thermos as well.

She sighed, then nodded. “As long as you’re sure, Danny.”

“Well, I thought it was pretty cool!” Tucker leaned back against Danny’s desk, grinning at him. “You were like a hero! A half-ghost hero!”

“Half-ghost?” Danny echoed, dubiously. Tasted the word in his mouth. It was… It almost resounded in the ball of energy in his chest. Like it had a physical feel to it, except not physical.

Tucker nodded energetically. “Yeah! You’re not a ghost, but you’re not fully human either. So a split between the two— half ghost, and half human. Half-ghost!”

“I don’t know, Tuck.” Danny let his arm fall down, ignoring the way his… the thing in his chest itched, churned, purred, at the concept. “I think that you might be overplaying it a little. Half ghost?”

“Hm. Maybe not, then.” Tucker clicked his tongue. “Just a human with ghost powers, maybe?”

“Yeah,” Danny agreed, toying with the Thermos in his hand. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Because he was human, first and foremost.

“So…” Tucker started again, slowly. “If you’re gonna be doing that sort of thing more often, you should probably come up with a name to use for your alter ego.”

Danny huffed out a laugh. “You’re just using me as a dumping ground for all your superhero fantasies.”

“Guilty as charged!” Tucker chuckled, and Sam did, too.

“He’s right, though,” Sam admitted, prodding Danny a little. “What if someone sees you as a ghost, and asks who you are? Knowing you, you’ll just panic and blurt out your actual name.”

“Ugh.” Danny pressed himself deeper into his bed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ll think about it.”

---

Phantom was the name he ended up settling on. Phantom was… just a ghost. That was the one thing he had going for him. Phantom was just a ghost, a ghostly form of Danny.

And it was Phantom who took down the attacking ghosts. The mindless feral animals, bad caricatures of real creatures.

The occasional intelligent ghost, too. Like the hulking metal Skulker, who was weak and pathetic on closer inspection. Like Sidney Poindexter, who looked like a regular human being except in monochrome. Like Desiree and Ember and many, many others.

It was Phantom who became known as Amity Park’s protector. The one ghost they could rely on to fight off the others.

Danny was human, but Phantom was a ghost. Even if they were the same person, no one but Sam and Tucker knew this.

Phantom was a ghost. Danny was too, at least a little, no matter how much he’d tried to deny it.

But that was okay. They were two sides of the same coin. Danny was the human side, and Phantom was the ghost side.

And because Phantom was a ghost, because Danny saw him as a ghost, he looked like one, too.

The changes weren’t sudden, of course, not spontaneous. They crept in, slowly. He hadn’t realized he was changing Phantom, not until he overheard his parents talking about it.

About how Phantom was becoming more monstrous, a clear display of his inner nature.

Danny… stopped. Almost dropped his bag onto the floor.

Then promptly rushed up, to his room, and locked the door. Tugged on his core, like he’d done so many times, and shifted into Phantom.

A ghost met his eyes.

Its glow was strong, flickering like a candle, in sync with his racing heartbeat. Bright green eyes, like the eyes of a jack-o-lantern, met his gaze. They were the color of ectoplasm. Only the color of ectoplasm. Green from end to end.

He grimaced, and jerked as his reflection did the same. Fangs. Large, sharp, pointed.

Danny carefully ran his tongue over the offending tooth. Yeah, definitely sharp, yikes. And since when was his tongue as Phantom green?

He lifted a hand with the intention to pull his lips up, to look at the rest of his teeth. But his eye caught on his fingers—or, more accurately, the ends of his fingers. The white gloves no longer ended at his fingertips. No, instead they continued into hooked claws that extended from the tips of his fingers.

Carefully, he grabbed one of the claws between the fingers of another hand. Definitely hard, and, ouch, definitely sharp as well.

Looking back at the mirror, Danny met his blank gaze again. One of his ears flicked like an animals, and only now did Danny realize that they were misshapen as well. Overlong and pointed. He grimaced, and watched the ears drop as well. Great! Just what he needed! Ears that responded to his emotional state!

Aggravated, he ran his hands through his hair. Felt the claws scratch along the skin of his head, not once catching on the tangles of his hair.

“Fuck,” he told his reflection, and it hissed back. He scratched his cheek, careful not to claw himself. “I should’ve— Man, I guess I should’ve fucking expected this.”

And that was the worst thing about this, wasn’t it? Because he really should’ve expected this. He’d known for how long that a ghost’s appearance was based on their self-perception?

Phantom had looked human because that’s what Danny was. And Phantom was Danny.

But over the last few months, he had stopped being Danny. Phantom had become, well, Phantom. The ghostly protector of Amity Park.

Danny rolled his neck, flexed his fingers. Tried to flick his ear, but failed. Tried snarling at his reflection.

This was certainly a ghost, yes, but not much of a protector. Maybe he’d been more stuck on his parents’ tales of ghosts than he thought. Ghosts were monsters, he’d always been told, but… but were they really?

The Dairy King hadn’t been. Cujo hadn’t meant ill, either. Sidney had been hurt, and Johnny and Kitty had just wanted some fun, and Wulf hadn’t even done anything wrong!

He shook his head, watched the locks linger in the air for just a touch too long to be natural. Well… So be it. He was a ghost, he was allowed to be a bit ghostly. It would make it harder for people to connect Phantom with Danny, wouldn’t it?

Phantom was a ghost, but he was no monster. That would have to be enough.

If Sam and Tucker hadn’t noticed yet… Well, it couldn’t be all that important, could it? He could hold off on telling them about all this until they asked.

Danny turned away from the mirror again, shifting back to his human form.

And if his skin seemed just a little pinker, just a little healthier, after shifting… Well, that just a trick of the mind, wasn’t it?

---

Phantom was a monster.

It was all Danny could think of. The sight of Phantom, massive and entirely ghost, surrounded by flames. Surrounded by destruction the ghost had caused.

Phantom was a monster, and Danny’s humanity was the only thing holding it back. Because Phantom was him. Because, as long as he was still him, Phantom was human enough.

Danny let his transformation wash over him, not looking at himself in the mirror. Not yet.

Instead he started peeling off his gloves. Carefully unbuckled his boots. Dropped the belt. Unzipped his jumpsuit until it hung slack around his hips.

Only then did he look at himself in the mirror.

Empty green eyes, emotion almost impossible to read. White hair. Long pointed ears that drooped downwards, upset. A scowl on his face, lips curled far enough to reveal the fangs underneath.

A massive injury—scar—something scrawled over his chest, his arm, his side. It was, somehow, simultaneously dulled and healed, and vivid green like a fresh injury.

He flexed his left hand, a mess of green scars and blackened flesh, only broken up by the white claws. Twisted his arm to see the injury branch its way up his arm, jagged and spiked like lightning. It lessened the closer to his body it got, before leading into the massive scar on his chest.

It looked so fresh, so brand new, that Danny could feel the phantom pains emanate from it. Could feel— lightning, cold-hot-cold-hot, like every nerve was on fire and frozen solid.

At its very center, the injury was slick, shimmering almost like liquid. Green like freshly spilled ectoplasm. So soft, so transparent, that Danny could see the glow of his core through it.

Other branches from the lightning-like scar sprawled down over his side, over his shoulders onto his back, and even onto his neck. Danny made a face as he inspected that branch, which stopped just low enough for his jumpsuit to cover it.

At least the more scar-like parts of it faded away against his skin. The injuries were dull green, yes, but his skin had definitely changed tone. No longer was it pink and warm, but it wasn’t… wasn’t teal like Dan’s, either. Just… pale, and cool.

Danny watched his reflection, holding still. Watched his core pulse in his chest, and realized…

Realized that he couldn’t feel his heart pounding. His reflection didn’t blink— Danny didn’t blink.

His breath caught in his chest, and he held it. Held it almost indefinitely.

Phantom was a monster, only held back by Danny’s humanity, and… and he was losing it. Losing said humanity.

A knock on the door. Danny startled, flinching so hard that he lifted off of the ground. He had—

He hadn’t locked the door, apparently, because it swung open.

“Danny?” Sam asked, blinking wide eyes at him. “Wow, uh, you’re… shirtless.”

“Oh my god,” he whispered, dropping limply onto the ground. His core churned so loudly he was sure Sam could hear it. “You scared me to death.”

“I think it was too late for that already, dude.” Tucker shoved Sam further into the room, also coming in. “Wow, what’s up with those scars? And, uh…”

Tucker trailed off, then fell silent.

“Yeah,” Danny agreed, voice muffled by the floor. “That.”

“What happened?” Sam asked, wandering closer. She paused. “This is… This looks like it was caused by the accident…”

Danny hummed wordlessly.

“But you didn’t have these scars before,” Tucker pointed out, also walking up to Danny. “And your skin… Danny, what’s happening?”

He laughed. It wasn’t a good kind of laughter. “Don’t you know that a ghost’s appearance is based on self-perception? So if you think that all ghosts are monsters…”

“Dan,” Sam gasped. “But you don’t look like…”

“It’s been happening for longer.” Danny braced himself on an arm, pushing himself up slightly to look at her. To meet her eyes. “Slowly but surely. Ever since I started seeing Phantom as a ghost…”

“Wow.” Tucker flicked Danny’s ear, laughing when it twitched in response. “Dude, how did we not notice this? I mean, I know you do a lot of solo patrols, but…”

He shrugged slightly. “I didn’t want to mention it, not until either of you said anything about it. It’s… not a big deal.”

“You’re literally seeing yourself as a monster to the extent where you’re starting to look like one, too,” Sam pointed out and, ouch. No need to be so vicious about it. “Danny, that’s a huge deal.”

“Nah,” he denied, shaking his head. His hair fluttered freely, the locks continuing to shift unnaturally. His claws dug into the floor as his fingers twitched. “It’s… fine. Just part of being a ghost.”

“Yeah, but most ghosts aren’t told 24/7 that all ghosts are monsters.” Sam crouched next to him, one hand cautiously batting a lock of floating hair. “Danny, you don’t have to pretend that this isn’t upsetting you.”

He sighed, pushing himself up into a sitting position. His feet were unscarred but off-colored, the nails just a little too pointed. Why had he even taken off his boots if he wasn’t planning on taking his pants off?

“It’s just… It wasn’t all that big of a deal, before. If Phantom was a little more ghostly than before, well… that was right, wasn’t it? Phantom was supposed to be a ghost.” He shrugged. “And it would make him more different from me. From human me. But then…”

“But then Dan happened,” Tucker finished, sitting down next to him. He was a comforting warmth against Danny’s side. “And now it’s all messed up.”

“Yeah,” he agreed gustily. “Yeah, that’s exactly it. I didn’t mind Phantom being a ghost, but now… now I know that all that’s holding him back is my humanity.”

Sam continued to play with his hair, flicking locks of his hair until they all floated freely. “It’s not all on you, Danny. That wasn’t just Phantom, was it? It was Plasmius too.”

“But Phantom was the one who ripped Plasmius out, who fused with him.”

“According to Vlad.” Tucker nudged him. “According to Vlad, that’s what happened. No offense, dude, but I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him, and that’s not very far. How can you be sure that he told you the truth?”

“I…” He swallowed. His throat felt dry and constricted all of a sudden. He was glad that he didn’t need to breathe as a ghost anymore. “I guess I can’t know.”

“So stop worrying about it.” Sam crowded up next to him as well, warm against his other side. “You’re Danny Fenton, and you’re Phantom. Half human, and half ghost. Protector of Amity Park.”

“But what if—”

“If you ever go too far,” Tucker interrupted. “If you ever become too much of a ghost, we’ll be there. We’re a team, Danny. We’re your friends.”

His core hiccuped in his chest, the light visible through his chest. “I—”

“If that’s not an agreement I don’t want to hear it,” Sam said, sharply, but not unkindly. “Seriously, Danny. You’re allowed to not be okay, and you’re allowed to accept help. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“Yeah, I…” He looked up at the mirror. A ghost looked back, bright and lively green eyes and white hair which flickered like a flame, a vivid scar running over its arm and chest. On either side were humans crowded against it, their skin tones so warm compared to the ghost’s.

“I’m a ghost,” he said, slowly but resolutely. “And… that’s okay. Ghosts aren’t… aren’t inherently bad. And if Dora isn’t automatically bad, and Cujo, and all those others… neither am I.”

He grinned, and his reflection grinned back. Sharp fangs and all.

“There you go, dude!” Tucker smiled as well, nudging him again. “Now self-percept yourself some muscles because this is just sad, Danny.”

“Wow!” He gasped dramatically, planting his right hand against his chest, fingers splayed wide enough to curve the claws away from the injury. “At least I’m actually physically active!”

Tucker clicked his tongue, shook his head. “Now that’s just hurtful, man.”

“You started it, Tuck,” Sam pointed out, reached past Danny to swat at Tucker. “Now, Danny, any other serious things we need to know about?”

He opened his mouth to tell her no, but paused. Listened to the quiet whirring in his chest.

“Actually…” He licked his lips, a quick flash of green. “I guess I kind of… might also influence my bodily functions with my self-image?”

She stared at him, incredulous.

“Are you telling me that you’ve barely been blinking because you’re too ghostly to do that?” Tucker demanded from Danny’s other side. “Dude!”

“My heart also kind of stopped beating?” Danny grinned, awkwardly. “And I don’t think I’ve been breathing, either.”

Tucker laughed, startled, then pressed his head against Danny’s shoulder. “Why are you like this?”

“I blame my parents.” Danny shrugged his free shoulder. “They’ve been going on and on about Phantom’s changing appearance, and, y’know, the workings of ghosts. They don’t have any organs, or bodily functions or anything, so I guess I just… automatically stopped with all that, too.”

“Well, I guess that that’s fair.” Sam made a thoughtful noise. “That’s not gonna carry over to your human form, will it?”

“Uh…” He blinked, frowned. “I mean, maybe? It hasn’t before, but I’ve also been trying very hard to keep human and ghost separate, so…”

“That can’t be good for you.” She pressed closer against him, too. “Danny, you’re allowed to be half-ghost, you know? You’re not entirely human, and not entirely ghost, and that’s okay.”

He sighed, gustily, and nodded. “Yeah, I… I should stop doing that.” If he let his ghost be more human, that’d be… Phantom would be more human. He wouldn’t be—couldn’t be—Dan.

“We’ll be keeping an eye out, now, so don’t think about trying to not do it.” Tucker rolled his head around so he could meet Danny’s eye without lifting his head. “And, dude? I’m serious, you should conjure up some more muscle for yourself.”

“Tucker.”

---

“Don’t you get it?!” Valerie ranted, her arms waving wildly as Danny picked away at his lunch. “Phantom is getting more and more monster-like in appearance! That’s a direct link to personality!”

He rolled his eyes, lifting up his sandwich to take a bite. “Valerie, my parents are talking about that stuff all. The. Time. Trust me, I know.”

“But he’s…” she trailed off, falling silent. “Danny?”

Why. He had literally just taken a bite. “Hm?”

“You—” She huffed, suddenly, dropping down on the bench attached to their lunch table. She stared at him. Didn’t say a word as he slowly chewed on the bite in his mouth.

He swallowed it. “What?”

“Are you aware of the fact that your teeth are, you know.” She gestured vaguely. “Enormous fangs?”

Well, fuck. “Ha, well. Ecto-contamination, am I right?”

“Your eyes are glowing.”

“Ecto—”

“Your ears are large, pointed, and just flattened down.”

“No they didn��t!” he countered, because he knew they wouldn’t have. Maybe in his ghost form, but he tried very hard to repress that in human form!

“Ha! You didn’t deny the oversize ears even though you don’t have them!” She grinned victoriously, but the smile dropped almost instantly as she leaned over the table. Valerie’s fist closed around his shirt, dragging him closer until their faces were almost touching. “You fucking idiot.”

“What?” he blurted out. “What did I even do?”

She stared at him, incredulously. Let go of his shirt and dropped back onto her seat. “How on Earth have you kept the fact that you’re Phantom a secret for so long?”

“Well, you know.” He shrugged, vaguely. Scratched his cheek with his too-long, too-sharp nails. His heart rate had spiked, almost up to a healthy human speed. “Most people don’t think a ghost can be a human too, and definitely not the ghost hunters’ son.”

“But you’re…”

“Danny,” he finished for her, before she could come to the wrong conclusion. “I’m Danny Fenton. I’ve always been Danny Fenton. I just… had an accident. Became half-ghost.” He grinned sheepishly. “Started calling my ghost half Phantom, and then kind of accidentally shaped its appearance based on how I saw ghosts.”

“Like a monster,” Valerie realized, eyes wide. “God, Danny, that’s…”

She didn’t finish her sentence.

“Yeah,” he agreed anyway. “I know right?”

“Does anyone else know, at least?” She ran a hand through her hair, looking like all wind had gone from her sails. “Or have you been going through this all alone? I mean, your parents—”

“They definitely don’t know.” He huffed. His heart slowed down again, and he blinked, deliberately. “Sam and Tucker know. Knew from the start, they were there when it happened. Jazz knows, but she only told me recently.”

He fell silent. Valerie waited for a long moment. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he confirmed.

“Well. That’s some shit, Danny.”

He laughed, startled. “You don’t know the half of it!”

“You— Was that a pun?” She groaned, loud and exaggerated. “I should’ve known. No one else in this town loves puns like you and Phantom. Should’ve figured that you were one and the same.”

His core chirped, whirring up into a pleased purr. “That’s all on you, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll get you for this, Fenton,” she warned him. The grin on her face didn’t fall. Stayed joyous and hopeful and teasing. “Keep your ghostly unblinking eyes peeled, or you’ll never see it coming.”

---

Danny took a deep breath of air, deliberate and slow. He was in his ghost form, so it wasn’t exactly necessary. Hell, even in his human form breathing was of debatable importance.

Sometimes it scared him, how ghostly he had become.

He sighed out the air, dropping his eyes down. There, in front of him, laid a vast expanse of water.

Or, well. It really wasn’t all that vast. It was just a small lake in the park. But let him be dramatic sometimes, dammit!

The surface was still, reflective like a mirror. It was dark, yes, but Danny’s eyesight was crazy good these days, even in the dark.

He smiled at his reflection, waved a hand. White-gloved and tipped with fearsome claws, a smaller curve covered with jagged but clear ice. The light of the moon caught in its many reflective surfaces, shining onto his black jumpsuit, his white flickering hair, his horns.

Danny combed a hand through his hair, carefully avoiding the horns. They were growing quickly, curving blades of ice. They reminded him of Frostbite.

Actually… He bit his lip. That was probably what had caused them, wasn’t it? Frostbite and his people?

Phantom was a ghostly protector, but for most of Phantom’s existence, Danny hadn’t known what that looked like. He’d shaped his form based on… on hatred, on visions of monsters, on nightmares.

But Frostbite… Frostbite was a guardian. He and his people, they protected their domain, their artifacts. They were ghostly protectors long before Danny had been.

They had taught him about his powers, too. About their shared power over ice.

It wasn’t all that surprising, then, that Danny had automatically copied traits from them for his own ghost form. And, all things considered, claws and horns of ice weren’t the worst thing he could’ve gone with.

Hell, he could’ve gone all hairy! Or a tail! His spectral tail was enough for him, thank you very much!

He shifted until he laid flat on his belly, floating a little above the water. Gently swirled one finger through the water, breaking his makeshift mirror. Despite their appearance, his claws weren’t cold like ice; the water barely cooled, and remained unfrozen.

That, at least, had been deliberate. Danny, even in his ghost form, touched people surprisingly often. Sam, Tucker, Jazz, hell, even Valerie hung out with him in his ghost form regularly. And he grabbed onto random people all the time during ghost fights, to drag them out of the way of an attack or to free them from debris they’d gotten trapped in.

It was the one thing about his ghost form that didn’t quite match up with proper ghosts. Despite his ice powers, Danny remained warm. Not human warm, but not disturbingly cold, either.

The last thing he wanted was for someone to flinch into the danger he was trying to get them away from.

He smiled, weakly, letting just the slightest bit of cold energy leak from his finger. Ice trailed after his finger, now, forming swirling patterns on the water. Curls and twirls and elegant curves, paper thin.

Grass rustled, and Danny’s eyes snapped up to the lake’s coast. There, clear as day, were the Fentons. Both had their goggles down—had they integrated night-vision into those? They must’ve, to be out here at this time of night.

“Phantom,” Jack growled—because he was Jack, now, not Dad—raising an ecto-gun. “What are you doing here?”

“Nothing to worry about,” Danny replied, rolling his eyes. He waved his hand through the water, breaking up the ice, letting it melt away again. “Looking at my reflection, creating art, y’know?”

Maddie snorted disbelievingly. “Worried about people figuring you out, Phantom?”

“Figuring out what?” He huffed, righting his position so he floated upright. “That I have ice powers? That I’m strong, and a competent ghost hunter?”

“That you’re not human,” she sneered back. “That you’re losing that little humanity you might’ve had. That you’re finally showing your true side.”

“Oh, please.” He shook his head, flapping a dismissive hand. “I’m no less human than I was when I first appeared. But you’re clearly not going to listen to me, and I’ve got better things to do, so.”

He turned himself invisible, lifting up. Their eyes tracked him, confirming his suspicions that they had some sort of infrared in their goggles, too.

Well, no point in sticking around. He probably should’ve gone to bed instead of coming to the park, anyway.

As he left, he could hear the sound of a gun discharging. But not, like, fire a shot discharging. No, like someone had stopped charging it altogether.

Danny strained his ears towards his parents, even as he flew away. And it was just, just enough, to overhear their quiet muttering.

“He’s getting too cocky,” his mom said.

“He knows how strong he’s getting, yeah,” his dad agreed. “He’s dangerous, and he knows it.”

“And nobody realizes. They all see his continued good behavior, and no one sees the literal proof of him becoming a monster.”

Danny bit his lip, swiveling his ears away. Whatever else they were going to say, he didn’t want to hear.

He wasn’t becoming a monster.

He had been one for years.

---

Phantom was… Danny.

And Danny was…

People cheered as he dove low over the crowd. As he fired blast after blast into the chimeric animal ghost that attacked them, its heads snapping at bystanders.

Danny pushed for just a little bit more speed, his legs blending together into a spectral tail. Slammed into the ghost, dug his claws into its side, and dragged it up—up, and away from the people.

He released it, the ghost disoriented for a brief moment. Brief, but just long enough.

The blue vortex of the Thermos trapped it, warped it, caught it.

Danny capped the Thermos again, floating above the crowd of Amity Park’s citizens. Clicked the Thermos back onto his belt, his claws clicking against the metal. His tail curled, almost anxiously, as he looked over the gathered people.

And they—

They cheered for him, still. Despite everything that had changed, despite the—claws, fangs, eyes, skin, scars, horns, inhuman inhuman inHUMAN—they still celebrated him. Celebrated his victories, yelled positive reinforcement and thanks and love at him.

He felt it deep inside him, in his very core. It rumbled, powerful and loud, purring like a cat. He glowed, pleased, bright as the sun.

And Amity Park still yelled for him, still cheered for him. They called him their ghostly protector, their— their ghostly angel.

It felt like— like pure power. Coursing through his core, through his body. From his horns through his twisted scars all the way to his claws. Through his fangs and his green flesh and his inhumanly pale skin.

It was like drowning. Like drowning in positivity, in goodness, in… in love.

He was their ghostly protector, and they called him their ghostly angel. And that… That was…

Angels weren’t human. And neither was he.

And that was okay.

#phic phight #phic phight 2020 #phic phight 20 #danny phantom #dp fanfic #phanfic #dp fanfiction #phanfiction #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #valerie gray #dark writes #i mean... being a ghost after growing up being told theyre monsters has gotta do something to your self-image right?

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indecentpause · 3 years

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Find the Word

Tagged by @catharticallysarcastic! Thank you! My words are hazel, secret, strong, and listen.

After using the find function I realize I have none of these words??? Not even secret or listen? So I guess I’ll change this to a last line tag for me so I can give you something!

cw: stalking

The lump in your throat feels as big as a baseball when you answer, and you choke around it a little.

“Hello?”

“Meara!”

Your stomach turns to a rock and slams to your feet. It is him. Your ex boyfriend. And now he knows this is still an active number. Shit.

“Meara, thank god you answered, I had to talk to you, I’m so--”

“Drake, I have told you, over and over, that I do not want to talk to you.” It comes out almost a feral growl, but you’re pissed off. “Don’t call me, don’t text me, don’t email or message me. I just moved in with a cop so if you don’t cut it out I’ll make sure he does it for you.”

A lie, of course. Josselin’s not a cop. He’s just a consultant, or at least, that’s how it seemed in the articles you read yesterday. But Drake doesn’t have to know that.

“But Meara--”

“I will get a fucking restraining order if I have to!” you shout. “I’ve saved everything, all your voicemails, all your texts, all the numbers you called me from. I didn’t want to, I wanted to believe you would grow up, but I will. This is our last communication, Drake. One more attempt and I’m going to my roommate and his team.”

You only half hear Josselin’s bedroom door open, and you don’t realize he’s walking toward you until he takes your phone out of your hand.

“Who’s this?” he asks, voice flat but polite. A pause. “You see, the thing is, I don’t care what you want. I am the roommate, and I am very good friends with Police Captain Montague, and if you don’t leave my friend alone, I’ll have him serve the papers to you personally.”

He gives your phone back and you just stare at him, jaw dropped and mouth opened. “Like you’re trying to catch flies,” Danny’s mom always says. It takes a moment, but when you bring the phone back to your ear, it’s silent. You look at the screen. Drake’s hung up.

There are so many things you should say and so many things you could ask, but instead, you say, “Can you do that?”

Josselin blinks at you, slowly, like he’s translating from another language before he answers you.

“I could ask as a personal favor,” he finally says.

You look at your phone and put it back on the table. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up, I shouldn’t have been yelling--”

Josselin shakes his head. His hair is a mess and he has dark circles under his eyes. “No, you’re fine. Some people deserve to be yelled at.”

Tagging @loopyhoopywrites @raevenlywrites @drippingmoon @helen-the-bear to find cute, peace/peaceful, country, and snow! If you are like me and can’t find them, share a bit you’re proud of!

#tag games #writeblr tag games #writeblr #excerpt #sherlock holmes au #the most beautiful puzzle #meara ryanne #josselin clearwater #drake the stalker

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kinglazrus · 4 years

Text

Make Tacos, Not War

Phic phight 2020

Submitted by @nocturna-starr: Why did Sam Manson choose to be a vegan? Sam explains to Tucker why she refuses to eat meat and why his diet bothers her.

Summary: Sam, tired of Tucker constantly ragging on her for her dietary choices, challenges him to go one week without eating any meat. If he succeeds, then maybe she'll finally tell him why she went vegan in the first place. (A montage of Tucker's first, and only, week as a strict vegan)

Word count: 5339

Monday – The Bet

Monday morning, Sam and Tucker sat down at their usual lunch table without Danny. They were used to him skipping out on quality friendship time because of ghost stuff, but this week, it was his family that had him occupied. Danny had been on edge lately, acting paranoid, and maybe even hallucinating. Danny's little stint on the Spin-o-Matic definitely didn't help.

Sam and Tucker blamed it on lack of sleep because of all the ghost hunting, not that they'd tell the Fentons that. Maybe a little time away from Amity would do him good. Until then, it was just them holding down the fort until Danny got back. This meant that Sam knew exactly what Tucker was going to ask when he opened his mouth after they sat down.

"So, really, why do you–"

"No," Sam said, cutting him off. Ignoring Tucker's bewildered look, she popped the lid off her pasta salad. It was a new recipe she was trying out, with a spicy almond butter sauce rather than her usual vinaigrette. She was looking forward to it.

Tucker reached across the table, covering Sam's salad with his hand, forcing her to look up at him. "You don't know what I was gonna ask," he said.

Sam glared at him until he moved his hand. Gathering up a forkful of fusilli and red peppers, she took her time savouring the bite, chewing slowly. The sauce could use a bit of a stronger kick, but overall, she liked it. Only once she was satisfied that she had gotten a good taste did she swallow and answer. "Actually, I do, because you ask it every time Danny goes away."

Tucker scowled and folded his arms, unable to argue that point. "Okay, maybe I do. Answer me and I'll stop asking."

"Stop asking and maybe I'll answer."

"That... doesn't make any sense."

Sam jabbed at Tucker with her fork. "Neither does you being obsessed with why I'm vegan."

"I'm not obsessed! I just want to know, there's nothing wrong with that," Tucker said.

They glared at each other. By now, this was all routine. They weren't actually mad at each other, but their conflicting views meant they got annoyed with each other sometimes. It was fine, because they were always friends in the end, but sometimes Sam wanted to eat without someone questioning her dietary and moral choices.

Setting her fork down, she steepled her fingers and fixed Tucker with a calculating gaze. "Fine. I'll tell you. If you go one week with a vegan diet.

"Um, what?"

"One week, no animal products, and I'll tell you. I know that would be practically torture for you, but–"

"Okay."

Sam faltered, "Wait, what?"

"Okay. I'll do it."

Leaning forward, Sam scanned Tucker's face. He looked completely serious, grinning at the challenge. Sam never thought she'd see the day where Tucker Foley would be excited about eating vegetables, but she wasn't about to toss away such a golden opportunity.

"Okay. It starts tomorrow, goes until next Tuesday. No cheating. I've got a binder of recipes at home that Anna uses. I'll bring it to your place tonight," Sam says. She makes a mental note to talk to Tucker's parents about the bet, knowing how much they love their barbecue nights. With any luck, they will make Tucker stick with the diet. Tucker's mom should. Sam knew how much she liked to cook, and some of her vegan recipes might interest Angela.

"Cool. Wait, who's Anna?"

"Our maid."

"You have a maid?!"

—

Surprisingly, it took Tucker a few hours to regret accepting the bet. He spent most of the afternoon feeling smug, knowing that Sam would finally divulge why she was vegan. And then, when he got home, opened the front door, and was hit by the glorious smell of roasting ribs, he realized just what he'd agreed to.

"I'm going to die," Tucker moaned. Swinging his backpack off his shoulder, he tossed it into the living room and trudged over to the kitchen. Inside, his mom was working on dinner. They often ate early since she worked the nightshift at the twenty-four-hour pharmacy. Dinner for Tucker and his dad was usually breakfast for his mom.

"What's wrong, baby?" Angela asked, glancing at Tucker over his shoulder.

"I'm going to starve from lack of meat this week," he said.

"Oh, is this about that bet?"

Tucker lurched upright, slamming his hands on the table. "You know about that? How do you know already?"

Angela laughed. Tucker always thought his mom was really pretty when she laughed. "Sam called me not too long ago. I think it's a great idea! We should all try it for the week. As a last hurrah, I'm making your favourite food tonight."

"Cajun ribs?" Tucker asked, earning a nod. "Marinated steak bites?" Another nod. "Beer-braised Szechuan chicken wings?"

"All of it!"

"Mom, you're an angel, I love you so much," Tucker said, practically drooling over the table. If he died this week from lack of protein, at least he will have had one last good meal to remember.

—

The doorbell rang halfway through dinner. Tucker, sticky-fingered, mouth covered in Szechuan sauce, went to answer it.

Sam stared at the orange sauce staining his lips. "Nice, Foley. That's a great look for you."

"Oh, shut up," Tucker said. He quickly wiped his mouth on the paper towel he'd brought with him. "Thanks for calling my mom, by the way. She's making all of us vegan for the week. I won't even get to come home and smell the sweet, juicy scent of steak and burgers. For a whole week!"

"You can't tell, because it's on the inside, but I'm weeping for you right now," Sam said, deadpan.

"Yeah, whatever. Just give me the book."

Sam passed him the binder. It was surprisingly heavy, filled to the brim. Tucker was impressed the rings managed to hold all the pages. Didn't stop him from holding the binder away from his body like it was a feral animal, though.

"These are all vegan?" Tucker asked, gaping at the pages.

"How many recipes were you expecting?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know. Ten? It's vegetables. How much can you do with vegetables?"

Sam shook her head, sighing in disappointment. Clapping a hand on Tucker's shoulder, she leaned and said, "I really pity you, Tucker."

"Hey!" Tucker shouted, indignant. "Rude."

Sam, unswayed, rolled her eyes. "Suck it up, it's not that bad. Just look at a few of the recipes. You might actually like them."

"I am going to die," Tucker moaned. Opening the binder, he flipped through a few pages, his grimace getting deeper with each one. "Veggie burgers? A travesty. Zucchini noodles? Do I have to say it?" He paused halfway through the book, pointing to a stained page. "Fried bean tacos?"

"I use that one a lot," Sam said, explaining away the stains. She wasn't the neatest cook.

"Okay, that one actually sounds kind of good." He snapped the binder shut and tucked it under his arm. "I still don't get why you can't just tell me why you're vegan."

"I could, but it's a lot more fun this way."

Tucker disagreed.

—

Tuesday – Day One

In the morning, Tucker had a smoothie for breakfast.

"Sorry, baby. I need to go to the store and get some groceries to make most of the really good recipes," Angela said. She sipped at her own smoothie, bags under her eyes. This was her dinner before she would go to sleep. "I don't work tonight, so I'll pick some stuff up later. For now, your lunch is in the fridge."

Tucker shrugged. He liked smoothies, although he wished they were more filling. Downing the glass without complaint, he grabbed his lunch from the fridge—a single container, which didn't bode well—before setting his empty cup in the sink.

"Later, Mom. Have a good sleep!" he shouted over his shoulder before heading out the front door.

—

Tucker stared in dismay at his lunch. Tomatoes, cucumber, olives, red onions, sliced and diced and tossed into a cheap plastic container with a strong-smelling dressing. And some weird little green stuff scattered all over it.

"That's oregano. It's a pretty standard herb that your mom probably uses all the time. Don't be such a baby," Sam said. She tore into her bean burrito with gusto, smirking at Tucker from across the table.

"It's just... vegetables..." Tucker says.

"It's vegan."

"There's no cheese!"

"It’s vegan. And there's dressing. Just shut up and eat it."

"As soon as Danny gets back from his road trip, I'm going to tell him you tortured me. Tortured!"

Sam ignored him, instead savouring her burrito and silently delighting in what a nice day it was. Sunny, but not too warm, with a cool breeze. The perfect day for lunch outside. They weren't the only ones who chose to sit outside instead of in the cafeteria, but everyone was scattered across the lawn, so it wasn't too crowded.

Tucker groaned. "I gave my mom the whole binder, and she chose to make this?" Looking across the table, he stared forlornly at Sam's burrito. "That at least looks like something I'd eat. This," he gestured to his Greek salad, "is just plant stuff!"

"Congratulations, you know what vegetables are." Sam rolled her eyes as Tucker groaned again. "It's not going to kill you. You didn't have to agree to the bet."

"You didn't have to make it a bet. I just want to know why you don't eat meat, that's all."

Sighing, Sam put her burrito down. She folded her hands on the table and stared intently at Tucker. "I want to know why I have to explain my personal choices to you. Maybe I'm allergic to the preservatives people put in certain meat. Maybe I'm allergic to beef. Maybe I just don't like how meat tastes."

"I think we both know it's none of those reasons," Tucker says. Reaching into his container, he picks out an olive, grimacing at it, and pops it into his mouth.

"You're right. It isn't any of those reasons, but if it were, that would be my business. Do you get people constantly asking you why you eat meat?"

"Well, no, that'd be stupid."

"So why isn't it stupid for people to ask me why I make my dietary choices? I'm tired of having to constantly justify being vegan. Yeah, there's more to it than me just liking vegetables. But, quite frankly, I don't owe anyone an explanation, especially when they're just going to scoff in my face about it and act like it's dumb."

Tucker stared guiltily down at his salad.

Sam stood up, re-wrapping her burrito, and shoved it in her backpack. "If you want to know why I'm vegan, then you have to respect the effort it takes to be vegan first. So shut up and eat," she said before leaving.

—

Tucker picked at his quinoa cakes, watching them crumble under his fork without actually eating them. Sighing, he stabbed at a chickpea and dragged it through the balsamic sauce decorating his plate, drawing meaningless swirls.

"Something wrong?" his dad, Maurice, asked. Hiding his mouth behind his hand, he leaned toward Tucker and whispered loudly. "Not a fan of the quinoa either, huh?"

"Maurice, you are going to eat every little seed on that plate or else I'm never making you ribs again. You need less red meat," Angela chastised.

"Oh, man," Maurice grumbled, but dutifully went back to eating.

"But your father has a point. What's up, Tucker?"

"I think I made Sam really mad today," Tucker said, lowering his fork. "I didn't think she really minded me asking about being vegan, but she got all huffy talking about respect and stuff."

"Do you respect her?" Angela asked. Her stare was intense.

"I mean, yeah. She's my friend. She's cool, and smart, and stuff." Tucker shrugged. "We wouldn't be the same without her." In a lot of ways no one else would ever realize.

"So, show her that. She wasn't 'huffy,' she was upset, and probably didn't think you were respecting her and her boundaries. Even if it seems like a small thing to you, it could be incredibly personal to Sam." Angela reached across the table and squeezed Tucker's hand. "Apologize to her tomorrow, and then everything'll go back to normal."

Tucker squeezed back, smiling. "Thanks," he said. Feeling better, he finally dug into his dinner. It wasn't half-bad.

—

Wednesday – Day Two

Catching Sam outside science class, Tucker grabbed her backpack and stopped her from going in. He had seen her from the other side of the hall and sprinted all the way down to intercept her.

"What do you want, Tucker?" Sam asked, shaking him off.

He held up a finger as he caught his breath. For someone who ghost hunted on the regular, he was really out of shape. "I'm sorry," he said. "I was kind of an ass yesterday."

Sam pursed her lips. "Yeah, you were."

"You're one of my best friends, and I respect you, even if I don't always act like it. You don't have to go through with your end of the bet if you don't want to," Tucker said.

"You just want to eat meat again."

"Obviously I want to eat meat again. It's only been a day and I can feel myself wasting away." Sam started walking away. Tucker scrambled to stop her, latching on to her sleeve and saying, "But! But I want to make it through the week. Even if you decide not to follow through, I will."

Sam's pursed lips softened into a smile. "I respect you too, Tucker. I may not like that you're practically a carnivore, but you're a decent guy."

Tucker grinned. Letting Sam go, he straightened up and reached into his backpack. All that honesty made him hungry. He pulled out his snack for the day, homemade fruit roll-up, and took a generous bite.

"You think we could have that exact same conversation in front of Melanie from calculus?" he asked Sam. "She said she really likes guys who respect women."

Sam hummed, like she was actually considering it. "I don't know," she said before walking into the classroom.

"Is that a yes?" Tucker shouted after her, mouth full.

"See you at lunch, Tuck."

"Sam, is that a yes? Come on!"

—

Thursday – Day Three

A solid block of tofu was not Tucker's idea of a good meal. A solid block of tofu marinated in a Sriracha-soy sauce, grilled, and stuffed into an English muffin was an okay meal. He licked a line of sauce dribbling down his fingers, enjoying the taste of turmeric.

"Is your mom only making the spicy recipes?" Sam asked. A victorious grin overtook her face at the way Tucker devoured his lunch.

"No, she made that fruit stuff, too. Tomorrow's pancakes for breakfast, apparently," Tucker said. He took another bite, chewing happily, and swallowed. "Tonight is some kind of pilaf thing?"

Sam frowned and asked, "Is it the one from the front of the book or the back?"

"I don't know. Why does it matter?"

"There are still a few recipes in there from when I was just vegetarian. My parents wouldn't let me go full vegan when I was younger because they were worried about protein intake," she explained. "Some of those recipes have eggs, milk, and cheese in them still, and maybe some fish. Most of them are at the front."

"Wait, wait, wait." Tucker lowered his sandwich. "Fish?" Last time he checked, fish was meat, which meant it definitely shouldn't be in a vegetarian recipe.

"I had a pescatarian phase before they let me go full vegan. Those recipes have blue circles in the corner. Make sure you warn your mom about them."

"Yeah, sure, whatever. But what the hell is pescatarian?"

A familiar glint entered Sam's eyes. It was the look she gave right before she was about to lecture someone. "I am so glad you asked," she said sweetly.

"No, I take it back," Tucker said, shaking his head vigorously, but it was too late.

"There are actually a few different variations of vegetarianism. Lacto-vegetarians can eat dairy products, but no other animal products. Ovo-vegetarians allow eggs. Lacto-ovo is both dairy and eggs. Pescatarians, on the other hand, usually have no dairy or eggs, but they do eat fish," Sam said.

She was brimming with excitement, eager that Tucker was actually showing interest in her lifestyle for once. In all their arguments about food, never once had he shown genuine curiosity for vegetarianism, only disdain.

"Isn't that kind of hypocritical?" Tucker asked. "Fish are animals. That's meat. That's exactly what being vegetarian is against."

"It depends on why they're vegetarian. It could be for dietary reasons, not because of a concern about animal cruelty. Fish has a lot of health benefits, especially for your heart, while too much red meat is bad for you. Or, they can be using fish as an alternative protein source. While mass fishing isn't without its issues, it has a lower environmental cost than raising livestock."

Tucker stared at her blankly.

Realizing she had lost him, Sam sighed. "Basically, there's a lot of reasons," she said.

Tucker nodded, finishing the last bites of his lunch. Even if he didn't really get what Sam was saying, she appreciated that he tried. Maybe Tucker wasn't a hopeless carnivore after all.

—

Long after Tucker was meant to be asleep, he sat at his desk, a bowl of Cajun-seasoned popcorn in his lap, and stared intently at his computer. The glow of his screen washed him in pale blue light, glinting off his glasses as he shoved handfuls of popcorn in his mouth.

Opening his browser, he typed into the search bar: what makes vegetarianism better?

—

Friday – Day Four

"Ha!" Tucker shouted, slamming a piece of paper down on the picnic table as soon as he reached it.

Sam tried to read it, but his hand covered most of the text. Lifting her eyes to Tucker's, she asked, "How were the pancakes?"

"Aggressively mediocre," Tucker said, flopping into his seat. He swung his backpack up onto the table and pushes the paper toward Sam. "I found out your secret," he said in a singsong voice as he reached into his backpack.

Sam snatched up the paper, sparing Tucker an annoyed glare, and scanned it. "Did you print out a page from a discussion forum?"

"I needed evidence," Tucker said. Digging around in his backpack, he searched for today's lunch, eventually pulling out his burger. Portabella mushroom, carrot and cucumber slaw, avocado spread, and a tangy sauce stuffed into a rye bun. He was actually looking forward to this, but he'd die before telling Sam that.

"Evidence of what?" Sam said, giving the page a more thorough read.

"You vegans aren't so great."

"First, I never said we were great. Second, what the hell, Tucker?" Sam's gaze halted halfway down the page.

Tucker grinned smugly, knowing exactly what she had found. "Most of your precious vegetables are farmed using exploited labour. It's practically slavery. At least raising livestock doesn't have that."

"You think big corporations deadest on producing as much meat as possible are against exploiting workers?"

"Well, no, but–"

"And you're forgetting about local farmers. I get my produce as local as I can. I have a greenhouse so I can grow my own food year-round."

"Maybe you do, but I was just–"

"And just because the produce industry isn't 'pure,' that doesn't make certain livestock practices better."

"I didn't say that."

"And I agree with you completely," Sam finished.

Tucker's next protest died on his lips. "You what?"

"I agree," she repeated. Folding the paper Tucker gave her in half, she slid it across the table back toward her. "No mass industry like that is perfect. That's exactly why I try to grow my own food and buy local as much as I can. But one person isn't going to affect much, so I protest, too. I speak out in the hopes that these practices will stop."

"Oh." Tucker deflated, his righteous indignation leaving him in a flash. "At least you know," he added weakly.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, Sam enjoying the very same tacos Tucker had pointed out the first time he opened her recipe book. Tucker chewed thoughtfully on his burger—which he decided was only okay because he didn't like the texture of the mushroom—and turned Sam's words over in his head. He specifically thought about her callout of big industries, something her family was deeply involved in.

"So, does everything you just said have anything to do with why you're vegan?" Tucker asked.

"Three more days, Tuck," Sam said, smirking at him over her taco.

"Ugh." Tucker groaned but let it go. Three days. He could wait three days.

—

Saturday – Day Five

Standing at the counter, Tucker flipped through Sam's recipe binder, giving it a more thorough look through. He easily found the recipes his mom had already tried, marked with green stick notes. A few more were marked in green. He figured those were ones she wanted to try.

Angela shuffled into the kitchen, yawning.

"Morning, Mom," he mumbled. After a moment, he blinked, frowning in confusion, and looked up. "Didn't you work last night? Why are you awake?"

"Anderson asked me if he could take my shift, needed the extra money. I don't work again until Sunday night, which means you have to suffer through me all weekend, baby," Angela said, giving Tucker a quick hug and ruffling his hair.

"Ugh, Mom, nooo," Tucker whined half-heartedly.

"What are you doing?" she asked, seeing the recipe book laid out before him.

"Well, one of the reasons Sam wanted me to do this was so I could appreciate the effort being vegan took. Or something like that." He waved his hand dismissively. "But just eating the food doesn't take a lot of effort."

A proud small graced Angela's lips. "Do you want to help me cook today?"

Going back to the binder, Tucker showed Angela a page he had marked with his thumb. "Sam's got a couple snack recipes here. Appetizer stuff, like mini-tacos, stuffed peppers, assorted veggie bowls, stuff like that. I thought it might be fun to make a bunch of them."

"That sounds fantastic!" Angela said, giving Tucker another squeeze. "We can pick out which ones you want to make and go to the store. I'm going to tell everyone we run into what a considerate young man you are."

His cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"We should have breakfast before we go. Anything in particular you want?"

"Um, actually..." Tucker trailed off. Blushing even more, he pointed toward the table. "I tried making the lettuce wraps, but, uh.... yeah."

The lettuce wraps were more like lettuce massacres. The iceberg lettuce wouldn't peel neatly off the head and Tucker ended up ripping most of the leaves in half, resulting in wraps that couldn't wrap around anything. Unevenly chopped vegetables spilled off the cutting board into the table. Off to the side, a ramekin filled to the brim, with sauce dripping down the sides, was in the process of staining the tablecloth.

"You are so lucky I'm here," Angela teased.

"Mom," Tucker lamented, but he actually sort of liked it.

—

Sunday – Day Six

Tucker rocked back on his heels, cradling his chin in his palm, as he scanned the Nasty Burger menu. He finally understood what Sam was talking about every time she complained about how there was nothing to eat her. For Tucker, who loved big, sloppy burgers, there was an abundance of options. But for vegans? Or even vegetarians? It was woefully lacking.

Which made sense, because it was a burger place. But Sam said she couldn't get a decent vegan meal anywhere in a five-block radius around the Nasty Burger, which meant whenever she, Tucker, and Danny went to eat there, she couldn't pick food up somewhere else and bring it over.

Tucker hummed, looking over his limited options, and almost missed Valerie walking in front of him, heading around the counter to start her shift.

"Hey, Tucker," she said, pulling on her hat. She gave the acne-riddled teen currently at the register a wave. "You can go on your break, I'll take over."

"Thanks, Val," the kid said.

"So, Tuck. Might Meaty Melt with extra meat?" Valerie asked, already punching it in.

"Actually, no," Tucker said. He couldn't decide between the veggie burger or one of the salads. The kitchen probably didn't have a separate grill for the veggie patties. Would the meal not count if it touched beef juice? It wouldn't be the same as eating a beef burger, but Sam always said it made her uncomfortable knowing the veggie patties might have been grilled in raw juices.

"We've got a new meaty burrito, with sausage stuffed beef." Valerie waved to the promotional sign on the menu board.

"Sausage stuffed beef? How does that even work?"

"No idea, want to try it?"

"Not today. What kind of fryer oil do you use?" Tucker asked, finally looking away from the menu.

"Uh..." Valerie frowned. Glancing back at the kitchen, she squinted at the fryers. "I think we just use canola, why?"

Tucker nodded, finally settling on his order. "I'll get the veggie burger, but can I get the patty deep-fried? And no mayo."

Valerie didn't make a move to punch it in. "What?"

"What?"

"You want a veggie burger?"

"Yeah." Tucker shuffled his feet, feeling awkward. "Why?"

"You. Tucker Foley. Carnivore of Casper High. You want a veggie burger. With no mayo." Valerie looked like she just saw her dad petting the ghost dog that ruined her life. She looked like the world had turned upside down.

Immediately, Tucker realized he could have fun with this. "I'm vegan," he said.

Valerie's face went completely blank for one glorious moment before she screeched, "What?!" Leaning across the counter, she grabbed Tucker. "Since when?"

"Uh, for a while now. Geez, where have you been, Valerie? Don't you know meat is murder?" Tucker asked, tutting and shaking his head.

Valerie, looking like she had woken up in another dimension, slowly punched in his order. Her shocked expression had Tucker giggling all throughout his meal. He made sure to look extra pleased with his burger whenever Valerie looked his way.

—

Monday – Day Seven

Tucker popped the last bite of his burrito into his mouth. It had been an absolute monster full of three kinds of beans, guacamole, salsa, and a wide range of vegetables. His mom specifically saved that recipe for Monday night because she knew it would be his favourite. Chewing fast, Tucker didn't even take the time to savour, instead swallowing as fast as he could and throwing his arms in the air.

"I did it!" he cheered. Pushing away from the table, he leapt to his feet and whooped. He pranced around the room. "I did it, and I didn't cheat, and nobody can ever say I can't appreciate a good vegetable ever again!"

Sam, who had joined the Foley's for dinner that night, shook her head as she watched Tucker. She still had half her burrito left, as did Tucker's parents, because they didn't try to inhale it like they hadn't eaten in a week.

Tucker skipped around the table and stopped beside Sam's chair. "Now you have to tell me."

"I thought you said I didn't have to?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

Tucker went completely still, his face falling.

Sam laughed. "I'm just kidding. But I'm going to enjoy my dinner first. We aren't all heathens," she said.

Groaning, Tucker returned to his seat. For the rest of the meal, he kept motioning for Sam to hurry up and finish eating. It only made her chew slower. When she finally finished, Tucker eagerly stood up.

"Okay, let's go," he said, grabbing her hand.

Sam pulled back. "Mr. Foley, would you like some help with cleaning up?"

She and Maurice shared sly, conspiratorial grins as Tucker protested loudly.

"That sounds lovely, Sam. Thank you for offering!" Maurice said.

Twenty minutes later, when the dishes were clean, the kitchen was spotless, and the floor was swept, Sam turned to Tucker and said, "Okay, let's go."

"Finally!"

Tucker dragged Sam into his room, closing the door. He took the beanbag chair in the corner of the room while Sam claimed his desk chair.

"So, the reason?" Tucker prompted.

"When people get rich, the first thing they want to do is make more money," Sam started.

"What does that have to do with being vegan?"

"It's relevant! My great-grandfather invented stuff, and he was good at it. Made a lot of money doing it. By my grandfather wasn't as savvy. He took over the company, but he wasn't as innovative. To keep the money coming in, he looked to other industries," Sam said.

"Like farming," Tucker said. "You've mentioned that before."

"Yeah. When I was eight, before he passed away, my grandfather took me to one of his industrial farms. He knew I liked animals and he thought it'd get me interested in the family busy."

"When you were eight," Tucker deadpanned.

Sam nodded. "When I was eight. I saw how horribly the animals were treated there, and it honestly scarred me. I couldn't stand eating meat after that, not after knowing that's how they're treated."

"And that's it?" Tucker asked. He frowned, a little let down. The way Sam built it up, he thought there would be some big reveal. Maybe a deep, dark secret she never shared with anyone before. But it wasn't. She had just been a little girl who loved animals and hated to see them hurt.

"Sorry it wasn't worth the wait," Sam said with a wry grin.

Tucker shrugged. "Eh. My fault for building it up so much." He paused. "Are you going to take over the family business one day?"

Sam lowered her cheek to Tucker's desk and frowned. "I don't know. I don't want everything to be handed to me on a silver platter just because my family has money. I want to work for it. But..."

"If you take over," Tucker said, realizing where Sam was going.

"I can change the way they do things. There are lots of ways to farm ethically. Small local livestock growers? I support them wholeheartedly. They care about their animals and make sure they have good lives before they're killed. I want the Manson Company to be like that," she said. "And until I can make that change happen, I refuse to eat meat.

"Huh. Well, if anyone can do it, you can. I don't think I know anyone as stubborn as you are," Tucker said.

Sam smiled softly. "Thanks, Tuck. That means a lot."

"Now will you talk to Melanie from calculus?" Tucker shot finger guns at Sam. "You never actually said no."

"Oh my god, you're unbelievable." Leaning over, Sam snatched a pillow from Tucker's bed and whipped it at him.

"Hey!" he rolled away, jumping to his feet, and hoisted the beanbag over his shoulder. "Was that a threat, Manson?"

"You think you can beat me, the reigning pillow fight champ since our first sleepover in third grade?" Sam asked, snatching up another pillow.

"I can damn well try!" Tucker pounced.

Sam immediately beat the stuffing out of him. But he wasn't too choked up about it. He made good on the bet, after all. Thanks to that, he now understood Sam a little better. Tomorrow, Danny would be back, and everything would go back to normal. There was no way Tucker would give up his food arguments with Sam, even if they had an understand now. They were just too much fun.

Lying on the floor, panting and wondering how Sam could bruise him with pillows, Tucker hoped Danny had fun this week. Tucker certainly did.

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