First, let me appologize for the hatius I have seemingly wrought upon myself. It is not so much that I've decided to just leave fanfiction for ever, it's more or less that as time goes on I'm more interested in writing things that truly came from myself--plot, characters, everything as a whole. I still enjoy writing fanfictions, as those who are on deviantART quite often will recognize, but as I "mature" as a writer I've noticed that I want to write my own things more and more often. So, recognizing this factor, I hope you all will forgive me when I say that this is honestly the first fanfiction I have written since Febuary; it is not as if I am just frightened of putting them up here. I do, however, enjoy writing songfics to My Chemical Romance lyrics, but, as those on dA will once again note, they all have my own plotlines.
This was requested by my fantabulous friend Gianna, who has been a bit down in the dumps lately. She asked me to write her a light, fluffy, and cute fanfiction on a couple of my choice. I chose Danny and Sam because I have neglected to write a romantic fanfiction on them for so long. Why? Because I, myself, have been a bit down in the dumps lately. I might have cracked a rib for unknown reasons, and therefore, I am a bit worried and aggravated with myself. Also, there are many other things piled on top of that, but I will not bore you guys with the factor's of my life. Anyway, this is for her (wolves-eye), and I hope she enjoys it. -waves printed copy around-
I hope to post more up on this website soon. Ha-ha-ha.
Legal Shit;
Danny Phantom, Sam Manson, Valerie Grey, Skulker, Dash Baxter, Paulina, Star, Tucker, Maddy and Jack Fenton, and all who I forgot are copyrighted by Butch Hartman, the asshole that I love, who decided to cancel the best show in the world. (To those who haven't seen Phantom Planet yet, it is honestly amazing, you will love it, but I broke down and bawled at the end of it.)
"And though your dead and gone believe me, your memory will carry on"--this lyric is copyrighted by Gerard Way, Bob Bryar, Mikey Way, Ray Toro, and Frank Iero, the five boys in My Chemical Romance.
"Fergalicious definition make them boys go loco"--this lyric is copyrighted by Fergie, the singer. (Whom I do not enjoy, I just know her song is, or was, immensely popular.)
XD; Enjoyy!
"Can ghosts…love?"
She asked the words to herself in a jagged whisper, barely choking out the words. It was cold, almost unbearably so. She hated it when it was so cold! She could hardly feel her fingers, hardly breathe, hardly move. All she could do was literally sit there, gasping with the cold, waiting for him.
Of course, he hadn't subjected her to just wait there like a lone puppy. He hadn't ordered her to sit outside in the pleating rain, the drops glistening against her dyed black hair, freezing her ass off, to put it in vulgar words. He honestly had not—she had told herself she would wait for him to come back from hunting ghosts. So she was; she was sitting on the wall of the Amity Park public garden. She sat and looked up at the sky, her face getting soaked through with the tears, swinging her legs like a school girl.
Her body convulsed in a bone shattering shudder. She gasped, wishing she had brought something heavier than the black wind breaker. And tights; she wished she had been wearing tights, even if they were just fishnets. Fishnets would have been better than just letting her legs go bare, minus the boots.
Hair fell into her face, showing the weakness she herself could not show. Admitting it to herself, but not for the first time, admittedly, she wondered her choice of friends and crushes. Why wasn't she like every other girl in the school, swooning over the handsome Dash Baxter? Why was she kicking him in the groin instead of fainting at the sight of his face? It baffled her, in all honesty; every girl in the school secretly harbored a crush on Dash. Except her. She was, perhaps, the solitary girl who loved someone else—besides Valerie, that was.
Her knuckles clenched into fists at the thought of Valerie. How could she have hurt him? She would never forgive her of that; never forgive her for crushing him so cruelly. For plainly wrenching his heart out of his chest and smashing it into the ground. Her jaw tightened, her fingers groped for skin to slash into. She would never, ever forgive Valerie for doing that to him. Yes, she could forgive her for attacking him; she was a ghost hunter, he a half ghost. The rivalry was blatant and lucid there. But to so sickeningly attack him and kill that spark of romantic hope that dwindled so quickly inside of his heart? Never could she forgive, or forget, that.
She looked up at the ink-black sky once again, blinking back the rain that fell into her eyes. No, she did not see any signs of ghostly activity up there. She sighed and wrapped her arms around herself. She would wait…she would wait…it wasn't as if she had anything better to do, anyway.
Tucker was safely at home, tucked away in his own realm of Internet-dating and cyber-friendships. Pressing his fingers against the keyboard, tongue slightly out, concentrating on what ever he was hacking into. He had offered to come wait with her, but she had seen the desperate and silent plea that she would discharge him from waiting. So she had; she listened to his unasked beg. He hadn't even fought with her—he just ran back into his house to his precious computer.
And any other friends? Well, they didn't exist. There was only Tucker and the one she was waiting for. It had been that way since she was a young child, mainly for the fact of the way she dressed and the music she listened to. Not many of the children in elementary school had wanted to be seen with her, thanks to her black shirts, black skirts, and black boots. Then came middle school, where she discovered the fantastic world of music and makeup. But she also discovered the isolation the new school environment gave. She discovered that anything different was immediately frowned upon; lyrics such as "and though you're dead and gone believe me, your memory will carry on," just could not compete with "Fergalicious definition make them boys go loco." She discovered that lathering her eyes in black mascara and smoky eye shadow was just odd. According to those at school and their parents, she should have been rubbing pink glitter on her eyes and shoving fake eyelashes on them.
Her only friends during her elementary school and middle school years had been the two kids who were, quite possibly, more of an outcast than herself. The boy whose parents were the strange ghost hunters, the strange maniacs who thought ghosts were real. The boy who sat in the corner of the room all day playing on his Gameboy, and as the years progressed the Gameboy turned into a PDA. Those were her friends growing up, and they still were in her high school years. They were her only friends, and would probably remain her only friends throughout high school.
She lowered her face, trying to alleviate the annoying water freezing her more than she already was, and stared down at her swinging feet. She really did feel like a stupid little school girl; waiting for that kid on the playground to jump off the monkey bars and look at her. Just that one look would send her heart into palpations, would send her mind reeling with lust. Here she sat, waiting for the kid who had never and would never like her. Waiting for the kid that she had so secretly adored, had written numerous diary entries about. She had enjoyed doodling his name and her name, surrounded by hearts on her notes when she had been in middle school. She had enjoyed writing her name and then his last name at the top of her papers, only to erase it quickly and put her true last name. Not anymore, so much; now she just ogled him from afar, wishing desperately he would stop staring at Paulina, Star, and all those other girls and see that she was right in front of him.
Why was she waiting, anyway? She wasn't even waiting for someone who was fully human. What was he, some outlandish teen boy with a twist in his genetic makeup? Could he even fully love her, in the very slim chance that he woke up and realized she was the perfect match for him? She often fought with herself, saying that, of course, he would love her; but then she also had to realize that the ghosts never showed actual signs of love.
Which was stronger—his human side, or his ghost side? In Vlad Masters, the eccentric billionaire, the answer was obvious; his ghost side was stronger. But in the young ghost boy of Amity Park, it was so hard to tell. Fiery green eyes versus the gentle blue eyes. Calm, young, almost grungy clothing traded with black, predictable, safe uniforms. Black and innocent hair changed so quickly into the white and dazzling heap that was perched on top of his head.
Was it really such a strange concept, to think that, perhaps, he was not human any longer? He was not a ghost, certainly; he could solidify himself and he needed to eat. But, if that restriction applied to him, who was to say that the restriction of being human didn't apply as well? He could morph into either at will. A rather scatterbrained, dazed adolescent into a strong, heroic superhero. It was just so confusing to her.
Thinking of this, she wondered if she should have even been waiting for him to come back. After all, hadn't he gotten upset so many times in the past about her and Tucker waiting? Maybe she should have been smart like Tucker and crawled up to her bedroom, hidden beneath the protective (and warm) covering of her blankets. Instead, she sat on a ledge, just waiting for him. What would she do if he got terribly angry with her for waiting? She would feel sad, he would be upset, and they would all just be aggregated beyond measures.
And, in all honesty, did she want to hold herself accountable for causing herself the emotional pain that would surely be wrought upon her if she waited for him? Waiting for a boy who may not ever be able to return her love to him, waiting for a boy who obviously would not appreciate her long and toiling hours of suffering…
She jumped one thousand feet when the hand fell on her shoulder, more cold being burned into her body.
"Oh, shit," she wheezed, flinging her torso around and hearing her bones moan in protest. Almost falling off the ledge in her wild attempt to find out who was grabbing her, she felt whoever it was press their hand into her back. Then, she heard laughter, and automatically knew who it was. "Gah," she mumbled. "It's you."
She tilted her head back, firmly positioned on the ledge again, and sure enough, the one she had anticipated was behind her.
He floated those five feet above the ground idly, head about a foot above her own. His arms were crossed, his face alight with amusement. "Are you really that paranoid?" he chortled.
"Yes," she responded, wrinkling her nose at him. "You would be, too, if you were a measly human." Looking into his face, her fears disappeared. How could she have wondered so fruitlessly that he would not someday fall for her as hard as she had fallen for him? It was impossible to think that those brilliant green eyes would never bore into her own lavender eyes. Resisting the urge to sigh out her longing, she stared up at him and let a smile curve her lips.
He smirked. "Lucky I'm not, then."
"Did you get him?" she asked curiously. She lifted her bottom off the top of the ledge and swung her legs over the side, as to face him more clearly. She stared up at him and he stared down at her.
"Duh!" His voice was teasing. "What, did you think I let him get away?" He tapped his thermos that was clipped onto his belt. "Skulker's currently stuck inside here, and I'm pretty sure he's screaming 'I will rest your pelt at the foot of my bed,' or what ever." He grinned and rolled his eyes, making her heart flutter anxiously.
She waved an uncaring hand. "Nah, I was just asking so you could gloat a bit." He pretended to smack her.
"I don't gloat!" he exclaimed as if hurt, but with a eyebrow raising from her his hurt expression molded into an expression of joking laughter. "So, tell me, though, why did you decide to wait for me?"
Ah, here was the question she had hoped so desperately to avoid. She winced inwardly, wondering what would be the correct thing to say. She decided to go for the truth. "I wanted you to have someone to come back to, just in case you were hurt, and I had nothing better to do."
He smiled at her thankfully, and she smiled back. There was a silence following the grins, but it wasn't uncomfortable; more one of contempt.
"I guess I should do something for you, then," he teased. She looked up at him questioningly.
"Like what?" she asked wearily, fearing he was going to dump something on her head or something childish like that. She would not have put it past him, either.
"Well," he mused, lifting an arm to rub the imaginary stubble on his chin, "what would you like?"
For you to like me the way I like you, she said inwardly, but did not speak the words aloud. Instead she shrugged and said, "I don't know. What do you want to do for me?"
He laughed. "Shove you over the ledge?" he bantered. She stuck her tongue out at him in the so frivolous manner, and shook her head.
"That's not something you do to a lady!" she scoffed. She pretended to swipe at him but he dodged her, laughing. He flew slightly away from her and then back towards her, smiling all the while.
"Hmm," he contemplated. "What to do for you? Hmm…" He looked away from her, still rubbing his chin. Then he snapped his fingers as if he got the best idea. "I know!" he exclaimed joyfully. "How about I do something I've been dying to do for you for ages?"
She stared at him, a little worried at what it might be. "Uh…okay?" was all she was able to squeak out. He winked at her.
"It's not bad," he assured her, and flew closer to her. Now their noses were almost touching, and her breath was flowing over his face. His breath was not; he was not breathing.
"What are you going to do?" she breathed nervously.
"This," he responded, and pressed his lips against hers.
She nearly gasped into his mouth; she had not been expecting it, but looking over it in the future, she would realize it had been so predictably cliché she should have realized it was coming. But, she had not, and it was the surprise that made the kiss that much sweeter.
His lips worked against hers, carefully and calculatingly. She returned the kiss, not wanting to seem rude. After a few moments they broke apart and he smiled at her almost ruefully.
"Did you like that?" he asked softly.
She nodded, wordlessly.
He looked over his shoulder, out into the horizon of the garden, and started to fly away from her. But he turned his head back to her, his lips pulled into the biggest grin she had ever seen his face sport.
"To the question you asked earlier?" His head cocked, staring at her. She actually did wince, wondering why she had been so frightened of him not loving her before. But his smile stayed on his face, gentle and true. "The answer? It's a yes." And then he was gone, intangible, and she was left on the ledge with tingling lips and a erratic heart.