#But other times I acknowledge that neither of them are really winning any prizes for opening up about their feelings

[hephaestuscrew]

I've been thinking again about Minkowski and Hera during the time when Eiffel was stranded on Lovelace's shuttle - about how Hera had gotten so used to monitoring Eiffel's wellbeing, and how Minkowski felt responsible for his safety, and how neither of them cope well with not knowing things they feel they ought to.

Perhaps one day Hera notices Minkowski reading the nutrition information on the back of the ration packs (the same kind as the ones that were on that shuttle). And Hera knows what Minkowski's doing, because she's been running the same calculations herself. Calories in one ration pack multiplied by number of ration packs on the shuttle, divide that by minimum calories required per day, add something on for the number of days survivable with no food at all...

Hera's got access to plenty of information about what the human body can survive, but there's too many variables here. How damaged is the shuttle? What's the temperature like? What's Eiffel's body weight? And there's too many horrible questions that Hera and Minkowski don't want to think about, and are unable to stop thinking about. How much will to live does Eiffel have? How long can a person hold onto hope in a situation like that?

Perhaps they each separately decide on an answer to their calculations, if only so they can pretend they know that he's currently still alive. But their mental countdowns tick down. And so maybe there comes a day when Hera glitches much more than usual. And maybe not long afterwards there comes a day when Minkowski can't seem to focus on anything at all. And maybe they talk about it, or maybe they don't. But either way, they both know that the other is thinking over the same question. And they are both hoping - more than anything - that the answer they've arrived at is incorrect. They are both hoping for an answer that seems impossible.

[plasticferal]

keeping score | matt & chris sturniolo.

prologue: 'they say love is the sixth sense that destroys all other five senses’

authors notes: 1.9k, explicit language, reader discretion is advised. welcome to my first series, please enjoy the ride.

they both want you. the only way matt and chris can agree to settle who wins is through competition, one where you’re the prize. your own heart is torn between the two brothers. the thing is though, love doesn’t keep score.

they have two very different experiences to offer. two sides of the same coin. a coin you refuse you flip and settle on.

matt is the first to catch your eye in any room. he makes you nervous. butterflies, awkward laughs, stuttering over your words. all of it. you like him. you’re unsure if he feels the same toward you.

however, you also like chris. the compliments he showers you in, the subtle flirting, the way he softens his tone around you, how giving he is, the way he’s so shamelessly himself. the list goes on. he’s different. 

it’s a weird triangle of intrigue and unrequited feelings that lingers and is never acknowledged.

you’re already convinced it’ll never happen. with either of them. you’d be putting too much at risk considering how deeply you value your friendship before anything else. the fear of falling in love, and losing them both. 

which might just be your karma for being into both brothers. 

they occupy the living room. you’re upstairs, using nick’s bed to take a nap while he showers, and he takes long showers. he’s always given you a safe space in the house, to make it feel like home. 

you love to annoy chris and matt by stealing their clothes, blankets, soft drinks out of the fridge, tagging along to every late night drive and fast food pick up. 

they share everything with you, but you designate yourself in nicks’s room as to not stir up any terrible, rash decisions on your accord.

being fast asleep and tangled up in crisp, cold, silk sheets, it’s a deep sleep. completely escaping into your dreams.

you’re left unaware of the chaos that’s about to ensue in the living room between the two brothers who occupy your mind. chaos is the score in which reality is written upon.

“you like y/n, right?” matt asks chris. 

you’ve had a strange feeling for a while now that matt is trying to set you up with his brother. which, as flattering as it is, it’s bittersweet. 

matt is sinking lazily into the lounge while scrolling through his phone, on the furthest left. chris is on the furthest right with his feet kicked up on the coffee table. 

they’re in direct view of each other on the L shaped couch. not in a literal sense, just in proximity. neither brother is actually looking up from a screen of some kind.

“what?” chris snaps his head toward matt, diverting from the television for a moment. 

“just answer the question.” matt huffs.

“of course i like y/n. she’s the closest person in our life besides like, nick” chris shrugs, going to look back at the screen again. 

matt groans in disappointment at his response. 

“you know i don’t mean it like that.” matt sits up slightly, readjusting his position and posture.

“god here we go again.” chris runs a hand down his face, fearing his brother's next words. 

“how do you really feel about her?” matt pries. 

unusual for him. out of character even, chris is usually the one who needs to know everything all the time, and is never afraid to ask the hard hitting questions, as annoying as it may be. but not with this topic of conversation.

the difference is, chris does it because he’s genuinely curious. matt asks questions for his own selfish reason, to chris’s oblivion. 

chris needs reassurance that he’s making the right decision in not pursuing you. matt needs to know if or when he’s going to have to compete. little does he know that time is nearing. 

“man, i don’t know. i just- i like her. can’t we leave it at that?” chris’s tone is anguished. 

“you’re avoiding the question-”

“i answered your question!” chris cuts matt off before he can fully form his sentence, and matt’s jaw tightens. 

“fine, whatever.” matt waves his hands in the air with defeat before diverting back to his phone, leaving chris to linger on his words.

“i’m never gonna make a move. i know how you feel about her, too.” chris huffs, as though he’s annoyed at the response he’s had to give.

“what’d you mean?” matt gives chris a glare, like he’s daring his next words.

“you know exactly what i fuckin’ mean” chris scoffs, shifting in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and pulling the sleeves of his gray hoodie past his knuckles.

matt takes a loud inhale through his nose and exhales through his mouth 

“we can’t just keep pretending that we both don’t want her.” matt drops his phone onto his stomach face down, being slightly slumped. 

“i’ve been fine pretending” chris throws the hood of his sweatshirt over his head to hide his eyes more from matt, a natural reaction to not enjoying the grilling. 

“well if you don’t make a move, i will.” matt’s tone is serious.

“you wouldn’t.” chris deadpans, a sincere tone of disbelief seeping from his lip that he’s now biting the corner of.

“you’ve been saying you’re gonna make a move forever and haven’t done shit."

he knows it’s not nice, but there’s something about the lack of passion from chris despite the obvious crush just makes matt's skin crawl. if someone is going like you and not do anything about it, matt is more than willing to shoot his shot, give you what you deserve. 

“that’s not fair” chris twists his face, glaring at his brother. 

"i think it’s more than fair play at this point, kid.” matt scoffs.

if looks could kill, matt would be dead.

all those times you’ve perceived matt bringing up chris to entice you have just been a ploy to gauge how both of you feel. he knows it’s manipulative, but no harm, no foul.

the worst part is, chris isn’t actually even sure he wants a relationship. he’s infatuated by you, undoubtedly. matt on the other hand would marry you with a paper ring. 

they’re both scared of their own feelings, and the intentions that might come along with them. they don’t ever want to hurt you, but their carnal desire is misleading their moral compass.

“alright then,” chris starts, matt’s words hitting a nerve for him. he slaps his hands onto his thighs and sits up in his spot. 

“how do we settle this? who gets her?” chris continues, staring at his brother intently now.

“i don’t think we get to make that decision.” matt shakes his head, bringing his hand to his mouth as he begins to bite his nails, which muffles his words.

“you’re right, we don’t. but we’re gonna have to compete for it to even be an option.”

“compete” matt repeats chris’s words with a sour huff, a slight arrogance in the sense that he doesn’t view his brother as a threat. 

not when it comes to you, and there might be a small part of that statement that’s correct. you have a sweet spot for matt, which fires up chris even more. he is conscious that he’s the underdog, as much as you try to show an even amount of attention to the both of them.

“what’s wrong? you scared you’ll lose?” chris taunts. 

“that’s the least of my worries.” matt scoffs, his mind traveling down every possible path this terrible idea could go down. 

“fine, then you won’t be afraid of a little competition.” chris says nonchalantly, pushing back with the same energy matt’s been giving, turning the tables.

“what’s your plan here? we just tally up the moments we get with her until someone wins? to boost our own egos?” matt speaks with his hands.

“i do love to have my ego stroked” chris grins to himself, the thought of you crossing his mind as the words leave his mouth. his train of thought tends to wonder easily.

“seriously, chris, how do we plan on settling this?” matt rubs his hands together, like the action you do when you’re trying to stay warm. 

“i think there’s only one answer to that.” chris responds, in a “duh” tone, without explicitly sharing what’s on his mind.

their sixth sense of being able to unpack each other's minds sparks like an electrical fault in the moment. of course, neither of them hate the thought of getting you in bed. they just hate the thought of you being unaware. 

somehow it’s more challenging than falling in love, or securing a relationship. betting to sleep with you is actually the hardest challenge of them all, let alone covering all the bases in order to attain it. 

the intimacy, the intensity of it all. it just seems so unattainable. it requires them, and you, to be completely and utterly vulnerable. 

“that seems kind of, objectifying.” matt shifts his demeanour, ironic considering he sparked the conversation. 

“it wouldn’t be a competition without a challenge.” chris acknowledges, and unfortunately for the both of them, he’s right. 

“this sounds so fucked up” matt says, running his hand through his scruffy hair.

“first brother to five points takes all. all of her.” chris speaks, confidently setting up the challenge. 

essentially their plan is to see who can get the closest to you, and let the other brother suffer in watching it happen. which occurs points. loser has to back off of you completely. unless someone gets to you first, in which case all their hard work flies out the window. they won’t be making it easy for each other.

“points won’t matter when i get her into bed first.” matt’s smug, knowing it’ll make chris go insane. 

“so i take it that you’re up for the challenge?” chris ignores matt’s words with a prompt, because if he doesn’t disregard it, he’ll lash out. 

matt considers it. at least he acts like he does. he knows his answer. if he wants you, if either of them do, they have no choice but to compete. neither of them are sure if it’s love or lust, but they’re about to find out. 

they are certain of one thing though. they like everything about you. the way you look. the way you smell. the way you sound. they know exactly why they want you. it’s the first time ever someone has been able to grab the attention of both brothers. hence the severity of the agreement.

“when do we start keeping score?” matt responds, and that’s all the reassurance chris needs in his brothers answer. 

as if on command, you trudge down the stairs in a sleepy state. their eyes snap toward you simultaneously, and you blink repeatedly to make sure you’re seeing them right. 

you are their favorite part of every day, so it’s not out of the ordinary for them to acknowledge your entrance, but you can feel the intensity of their eyes on you with a different energy. 

with foggy vision still clearing as you rub your heavy, tired eyes, you let a small yawn escape. they both melt at the sight, despite you feeling like you’re in your least desirable state. 

you’re not even paying attention to their back and forth bickering. the sound of their voices muffling through your ears. whatever it is they’re saying, they’re not saying it loud enough for you to hear before you even make it down the stairs.

“now.” chris states, eyes snapping back at his brother as they both raise off the lounge.

all is fair in love and war.

tag list: @luverboychris @floofparker @fake-sturniolos @letstripsturniolo @imwetforyourmom @mattsneezing @mattslolita @breeloveschris @rootbeerworshiper @mattstattoo @mxqdii @tay-laaaaa @pettydollie @lacysturniolo @annamcdonalds67 @landrysflannel @goandcomebsck @sleepysturnss @call-me-ninaaa @lustfulslxt @txssvx

[mort-the-destroyer]

Sparrow hood (is that his name?) he always seemed annoying to me but I’m excited for your input!

Sparrow hood is an interesting character!

He is pretty much the only example of a “good guy” who wants to be a Villain.

Not only that but he’s the only male character (that gets significant screen time) to not have a love interest.

He’s not even as heartless as he seems, in the second Shannon Hale book Maddie is falsely accused releasing the jabberwocky, and will be exiled for this. Apple and Raven beg the students to help them prove her innocence bet Sparrow refuses and is about to leave when this happens.

It takes more convincing later but it’s clear he does feel bad for her.

In the first Shannon Hale book it’s also revealed that the merry men are very close. Specifically one kid who is terrified of losing all of his hair because it’s what happened to his dad, and how he’s always desperately trying to stop it from happening. Despite this he’s never teased for it.

More importantly the merry men are comfortable going against Sparrow and doing what he disagrees with, like performing with Raven.

I always figured that they were like cronies who were idolizing him, but they do actually seem like genuine friends.

He’s also a lot smarter than he lets on, and in Next Top Villain (spoilers ahead )

He tricks Duchess into sabotaging everyone else and acts like he won’t participate is he gets the cash prize. Later it’s revealed that he planned to double cross her and ends up winning. He’s not exactly kind by any means, but it’s a class on villainy so it’s mostly expected.

Despite that him and Duchess are an interesting pair, they aren’t friends in Next Top Villain, in fact they didn’t even really know each other until that point. But he does feel bad for her curse… granted he doesn’t really take it that seriously but he at least understands why she doesn’t want to do it.

Their dynamic is of two people who care about their reputation (Duchess used to be know as a perfect straight a student who loved her destiny) and Sparrow had a reputation of a criminal who doesn’t care about anyone.

He has a story with Poppy but I haven’t read it yet. I might update this when I do.

Also he’s distantly related to Cerise, but neither of them like to acknowledge it.

Edit: realized he reminds me of the song “I’m Still Here” from Treasure Planet

[cuntess-carmilla]

On disability and gender

I'm writing this from my perspective as a dyadic TME non-binary lesbian (also mixed but very pale and non-Black, as well as relatively thin). I will group myself with women but like, I'm also not really a woman it's complicated lol. I say this because I can't have first-hand comprehension of all the possible dynamics between gender and disability, and other physically disabled people are very much encouraged to add their own thoughts and perspectives to this post.

I don't feel equipped to speak on how being disabled and intersex impacts gendered experiences because I have too much left to learn, so I'm sorry that I'm not going to go into it. It's not because I don't recognize that struggle, it's because I just don't have the range, so please, if you're an intersex and physically disabled person and you want to expand on this, don't be afraid to do so.

Able-bodieds can reblog but don't speak out of turn.

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

For a long time I've been trying to articulate my thoughts and pain on how physical disability impacts our gendered experiences and I think I'm finally starting to get to it.

When you're physically disabled you're immediately stripped of a (willing) gender identity as well as desexualized.

Gender is embodied and performed. You can embody it "incorrectly" and perform it "poorly". Everything regarding the embodiment of physically disabled people is seen as incorrect, and the literal meaning of "disabled" is that we can't perform the same way that able-bodied people can, or at least we can't without severely impacting our wellness.

Disabled men are emasculated. Constructs of ideal manhood are in big part built on things such as physical prowess, never expressing vulnerability, being self-sufficient outside of anything domestic, and conquering women sexually and romantically.

Disabled men are seen as weak, they are seen as pathetic for having visible vulnerabilities or (if their disability isn't immediately visible) for exposing their vulnerabilities instead of "sucking it up". By needing aid, accessibility and carers that do more than what a wife would traditionally do for any man, the sense of self-sufficiency men are supposed to perform is unavailable to disabled men. All disabled people are desexualized and seen as repulsive once our sexualities are acknowledged, and even disabled dyadic cishet men can't escape this. Able-bodied women see them as unfit for any sort of serious romantic or sexual partnership. Not to mention too the traditional role of men as providers and how difficult it is for any disabled person to acquire wealth at all, let alone enough to support more than ourselves alone. The rates of poverty for physically disabled people are fucking astronomical, so most disabled men can't even use that to their advantage in romance and sex to make up for all the other ways in which they're at a disadvantage compared to able-bodied men.

Disabled women fail at embodying and performing every single aspect of traditional womanhood too, but in particular; domestic labor, sexual labor, and beauty standards.

All labor is difficult if not downright impossible when you're disabled. Disabled women who need carers as adults are seen as complete failures because, even as children, but especially as adults, we're the ones who're supposed to be the carers of others, not the other way around. People love to pretend that women are coddled more than men, but nothing breaks that illusion more than being a disabled woman. A woman's needs are supposed to be invisible and self-fulfilled, or else we're whiny spoiled bitches, and guess what that means for disabled women. When we can't perform this pristine role we're immediately marked as failures, we're undesirable and nothing but a parasitic drag in the lives of abled people.

Yes, not all disabled women are straight, plenty of us are bi or lesbians, many are also aro/ace, but the point is that the patriarchy doesn't really give a shit what a woman's sexuality is, because no woman is seen as having sexual agency, so even if we're not straight we're expected to exist to satisfy men sexually. I cannot describe how difficult it is to be sexual, even when you're not ace, if you're physically disabled. Speaking from my own experience, trying to maintain a sex life as someone who experiences chronic fatigue and chronic pain is one of the most frustrating and demoralizing aspects of my disability. I want sex, I want to want sex, to be able to fuck my fiancé, but most of the time I simply can't gather the energy to even feel horny. I feel like such a failure of a lover because of it. Even though my fiancé is patient and understanding with me!

Can you imagine what it is like for disabled women who aren't as "lucky" as me, to have a partner who understands that we simply can't do it all the time even if we do want to? I don't want to go into too much detail about this because it's very painful and triggering to many, but I think you can imagine what happens to a lot of disabled women (and disabled people in general) when we're not satisfying a partner sexually and they get too frustrated by it. Being as vulnerable as we are, nobody cares much what happens to us. More so since, again, physically disabled people are seen as sexually repulsive, so if anyone wants sex with us we're supposed to be "thankful" for it, no matter the circumstances.

As for beauty standards, any woman who doesn't fit traditional beauty standards will know just how badly men treat you when they don't find you physically appealing, and well... Let's just say that a cane or a wheelchair aren't seen by society as particularly attractive, no matter how much the woman using them fits traditional beauty standards otherwise. Then there's female amputees, women with deformities, etc. In my case, I'm a literal mutant. If I don't disguise my tells with corsetry, long sleeves, and so, so much more, my body looks "off", I have been told repeatedly that my body looks "off" my whole life, and I'm one of the least visibly disabled ones! Even regarding body hair it's fucking hell. My collagen is so elastic that when new hair grows it stays ingrown unless I manually break my skin with a needle or a pumice stone (no, gentler ways of exfoliation don't work), but shaving isn't ideal either because my skin is, due to my altered collagen too, literally transparent and you can see the roots of my dark hairs under it even if I shave down to accidentally harming my skin with the blade.

Performing femininity at all is just... It's fucking hell. If it's exhausting for able-bodied women, can you imagine what it is like for us? I can barely manage to shower, by the time I'm done with my hair, makeup and outfit, every bit of my very limited energy is depleted and then I still have the rest of the day to go through. And I LIKE being feminine. I like wearing makeup and wearing the outfits I wear and yet I still dread it when I know I'll have to do more than stay in my pajamas at home.

Also, the perceived fragility of disabled women isn't the type of fragility that is seen as desirable in women. It's not delicacy. Wheelchairs, canes and other mobility aids aren't seen as "delicate" or "demure". Neither is kinesio tape, or compression stockings, or any other sort of medical equipment which, on top of it all, tend to not be very "aesthetic". Our fragility isn't the romanticized type, it's the "wow, you're an useless burden who can't serve me the way I expect you to" type.

When it comes to "binary" disabled trans people (for a lack of a better term) the degendering is even more intense than it already is for their cis counterparts (all that I described above applies to them too). There's a dichotomy of the even heavier denial of their actual genders as men and women due to the combination of their transness and disabilities, contrasting with how even if they were to conform to their assigned genders at birth they'd still be seen as failures at it due to everything I've already stated. There's also the sentiment that their identifying outside of their assigned gender at birth is a sort of consolation prize, something they're going for only because they were failing at being proper cis men and cis women, and thus their actual genders are even more invalidated and effectively pathologized in the most medical sense of the word, which is already a problem for all trans people, but for physically disabled trans people this intensifies the problem even more.

When it comes to non-binary disabled people things get so fucking confusing and infuriating. If binary disabled people get denied their manhood and womanhood, best believe that multigender disabled people (bigender, genderfluid, etc) are denied all aspects of their genders even harder. Not even completely agender disabled people are safe from being seen as failures of their gender identities by people who would perfectly respect the identity of an agender but able-bodied person. The fact that the default gendered status of all disabled people is forcefully degendered makes it so agender disabled people aren't seen as having any agency or self-determination in their (lack of or neutral) gender identity, it's seen as a passive inevitability from their embodiment, so it doesn't really "count", while simultaneously being subjected to the general transphobic bullshit any other agender person would be subjected to.

All of these things already affect white, thin and dyadic physically disabled people. When you add race (especially Blackness and/or being dark skinned), fatness and being intersex into the mix, the ways in which we're degendered and misgendered are off the fucking rails.

We can't fucking win.

[supercantaloupe]

on Aelwyn Abernant, the Reformed Villain Squad, and redeeming teenage antagonists

an analysis on antagonist character development in Fantasy High. spoilers through sophomore year and (mildly so) the most recent roll20 oneshot. essay under the cut bc i am very long winded

the turnaround with Aelwyn in s2 is handled so well  i cant get over it. she was such a major antagonist in the first season and just. despicable. she had no pathos. we hated this bitchy older sister who tried to kill Adaine and her friends and raise an evil dragon, and when she gets knocked on her ass and thrown in jail, we cheer.

and then s2 fucking starts saying “hey she’s in jail still if you’d like to look into that” and pursuing that thread ends up being almost as comedic an idea as it is a reluctant one; it’s also quickly shunted to the background as soon as more pressing leads present themselves, to the point where we almost forget about her until Adaine is kidnapped and then the first time you see her it’s just. viscerally upsetting.

she’s bad. she did evil. she got what she deserved.

but she already got what she deserved. last season.

she got her ass handed to her by a bunch of 14 year olds including her little sister (how embarrassing!). her plans were thwarted. she got punched in the face and made fun of. she already got her punishment.

it just……immediately registers as over-the-top Wrong to be told “hey, remember that antagonist you beat last season? she’s still being punished for that, except it’s way worse than just going to mumple.”

and there’s that reminder that like…this is a teenager. a child. who has been manipulated and abused. which is a really fascinating look at this character we used to see pretty much unilaterally as a one dimensional bitchy villain.

i mean we got a more in depth look at Penelope’s and Biz’s motivations in s1 (Penelope being the popular rich girl sorceress obviously hungry for power and the alllure of the high school clout that is being prom queen, but also we know that her having to turn on her best friend Sam Nightingale as part of the scheme was something she was reluctant and not happy to do; and Biz being that predatory incel creeper type dude besides just a nerd with computers and a lack of social graces). and they were as much willingly active in the plot as Aelwyn was. yet in s1 they really never do bother to explore Aelwyn’s motivations. i remember after watching s1 but before s2 that was one of my biggest lingering questions: why tf was Aelwyn involved?

well. she was manipulated and abused. her terrible parents raised her in an awful environment that conditioned her to Listen and Obey and Behave and Be Perfect, and then Kalina helped cinch the noose around her neck with threats and coersion into the KVS Kaper and the NMK crown debacle. she doesn’t freely choose any of it; she’s coerced, manipulated, abused.

and she already got justifiably punished for her bad actions in s1. the torture is almost literal overkill. it’s just……there’s this immediate turnaround in sympathy and view of the character. on first watch, it’s viscerally upsetting to see her getting so brutally punished for actions she already faced consequences for, and on rewatch, it makes your skin crawl to know she’s being tortured for terrible things she had little choice in carrying out. and tortured by some of the very same people who coerced her to behave terribly in the first place, to add insult to injury.

and it’s still fucking frustrating when they rescue her and her memory gets reset and she goes back to her parents because it’s like “well shit, she’s evil again, and we just wasted all that effort for nothing” but it’s also sad cause we know she’s running back to her abusers and she isn’t happy about it but doesn’t feel like she has a choice. and it’s sadder still that what eventually inevitably gets her to turn to good for good (i.e. away from her parents) is just. a full dissociative mental breakdown.

(but then she survives and it’s gonna be good!!! until Adaine dies in her fucking arms. which is. almost funny. she’s been through so much shit and that isn’t something that Brennan would have just. preplanned. like a written in plot point. no, that was just an unpredictable consequence of the battle. what a juicy fucking moment. she’s been through All That Shit™️ and has finally turned to fight for good and her sister just fully dies in front of her. yeowch)

and she turns out okay in the end. she comes out the other side alive and whole and supported by her sister and her friends, with the hope of a future and recovery. there is an acknowledgement that A) she can and will grow from her mistakes and damage, B) it’s going to be really hard, and C) the post-s2 one shots both prove that she’s doing okay now. hell, she has a whole squad now of other former-teenage-villains-turned-good-guys. she has friends now, Ragh and Zayn, with common ground, and a secret handshake and everything. they’ve all grown from the mistakes of their past into better, happier, healthier people

and about Zayn and Ragh. we’ve seen a lot of characters, protagonist and antagonist, teenage and adult, PC and NPC do some really fucked up shit and get punished for it. but why do they get happy endings? why are Aelwyn, Ragh, and Zayn the only members of the RVS and not someone else like Biz or Penelope or Dayne? 

well, the latter two are dead by then; but then again, Biz and Ragh were also killed by the Bad Kids in s1, and subsequently resurrected. (Zayn died too, but was neither killed nor revived at the Bad Kids’ hands, so i’ll get to him in a sec.) and there are plenty of adult antagonists the Bad Kids face who are killed and left that way by the Bad Kids without second thought: Johnny Spells, Coach Daybreak, Captain Wicklaw, the Abernant parents (presuming Arianwen doesn’t survive in the forest for very long, which i doubt). why do some characters get second chances while others don’t?

in the case of Zayn, his death was pretty much out of the Bad Kids’ hands, and they later found out he was manipulated by Daybreak into being bad anyway because of his sad living situation. he was a pretty minor antagonist in the scheme of things, and when we re-meet him as a ghost in the s1 epilogue, he’s pretty obviously remorseful for his actions. and dying seems like a steep enough punishment to me for the shit he did to contribute to the KVX caper; returning as a ghost, free from the trappings of his unfortunate living life, he now has the room and freedom to grow into a better person.

in the cases of Daybreak, Spells, Wicklaw, and the Abernant parents: these are bad people who should know better. these are fully grown adults who actively choose to do evil. whether they think it’s the right thing to do or not (in Daybreak’s case), whether they think it will benefit them and don’t care about anyone else (in the Abernants’ case), or whether they don’t care much at all and are just doing shit because they feel like it (in the cases of Spells and Wicklaw), these are all adults who consciously make the decision to do terrible things and hurt other people. of course Johnny Spells, who is generally a punk thief and thug, is not on the same level of bad as Angwyn, who kidnaps and tortures his own daughters for political gain, but the point remains. these fuckers should know better. they’re grown ups. they had their chances to be good and they chose not to heed them. their minds are set on bad actions and they are a continued danger to other people as long as they are alive. when they die, the Bad Kids do their damndest to make sure it stays that way.

now, in the cases of Penelope and Dayne: these are teenagers who actively chose to participate in an evil plot. Penelope, Dayne, and Biz were all fully cognizant of what they were doing trying to raise KVX back to his former power. why? well, to some extent, we can only speculate. i suspect Penelope was just one of those Regina George bitches who is rich and popular and powerful and obsessed with power and popularity within high school as if that’s the end-all-be-all of existence (which, like, when you’re currently in high school, is a somewhat understandable worldview i think). Dayne being her boyfriend and a musclehead jock probably falls into a similar line of thinking. they are actively and willingly trying to cause harm, and teenager or not, must be stopped. they’re killed, anyway, during the Climactic Battle™️ anyhow; it’s not like the Bad Kids were going to gain anything at that point by keeping them alive.

now, Biz: Biz is the creepy Nice Guy incel type, sees woman as a prize he deserves to win, yadda yadda. he does, like Penelope and Dayne, actively choose to help KVX. there might be something to be said about his motivation the Bad Kids discover after the arcade battle by detecting his thoughts (that being to upload the captured maidens from the palimpsests to “call the shots” himself) is an altered memory; whether this was his original motivation from the start or not, i’m not sure. but the Bad Kids do kill him – and then resurrect him for important, time-sensitive information. and they beat it out of him – he gets two of his fucking fingers blown off. and Riz reattaches them once they have their info, and they realize his memory is altered. of course, the Bad Kids don’t know at this point that the altered memory was something he, Penelope, and Aelwyn had planned and agreed on and done to themselves, but this points to something important in my opinion: the Bad Kids, and the narrative/show as a whole by extension, acknowledge that external manipulation affects how guilty someone is in a crime.

which brings us to Ragh. Ragh, introduced from episode 1 as the meathead jock. Ragh the archetypical one-dimensional high school bully. Ragh who works with the harvestmen in effort to (ostensibly) end the world/provoke international war. Ragh, whose low intelligence but high loyalty and internalized homophobia led him to be fully swayed and blindly led by his coach and captain, who have actively chosen to do evil. Ragh who is killed in combat by the Bad Kids and resurrected for information, not Daybreak. Ragh, who the Bad Kids realize was probably not aware of exactly what he was being made to do and how bad it really was. Ragh, who by their kindness in sparing his life and directing him on a better path, becomes a well-rounded character and an active ally to the Bad Kids during and after prom, an invaluable companion during their quest in sophomore year, and overall a really good friend and person. 

(it might also be worth considering the case of Jawbone here, too, who started out a very minor antagonist in a fight but ended up becoming a major NPC because the Bad Kids talked to him, found out he came from an unfortunate situation and set of circumstances, and showed him kindness in offering the school guidance counselor position, a kindness that isn’t really owed but given anyway and ends up changing his entire life for good.)

and then, Aelwyn, whose case is already discussed above. so, why is the RVS what it is, why them but not others?

if you’re familiar with Avatar: the Last Airbender, you’re probably familiar with Zuko’s character arc, and how it’s often lauded as a masterful example of developing a villain into a hero over the course of a narrative. what makes Zuko’s arc so well done and exceptional is that he starts out as a kid in a bad situation under the influence of bad adults seeking to do bad deeds, but he later realizes the error of those ways, actively removes himself from that situation despite the difficulty and danger in doing so, goes through a lot of shit and reflects on his past mistakes and learns from them, and then actively chooses to fight for good in the end with the help of close, trusted friends, found family. 

this, i believe, is the same in the case of Fantasy High and its treatment of the RVS. its members, like Zuko, are all teenagers who came from shitty situations and were manipulated by evil adults to do bad. they are punished for their bad actions, and they learn from their errors and mistakes. with the kindness and help of good people, friends and chosen family, they are able to escape their abusers and bad situations and grow into their own people. and they actively choose to improve themselves with that help and fight for good.

Fantasy High, through the arcs of Jawbone, Zayn, Ragh, and especially Aelwyn, asserts that it is not your fault if you come from a bad situation and are forced to behave badly as a result. it does not pretend that you are absolved of any responsibility for those actions; quite the opposite, as even though they were externally manipulated into their evil actions, all of those mentioned characters face tangible consequences for their actions and later express remorse for their mistakes. but Fantasy High also asserts that even if you have made great mistakes in your past, even if you came from a bad situation beyond your control, even if you were manipulated and abused, with care and love and support and a hell of a lot of work and effort, you can improve your situation and find good, happiness, peace, you can thrive. evil adults who should know better don’t get redeemed. teenagers who aren’t coerced but actively choose evil don’t get redeemed. but abused kids deserve another shot at happiness. with enough work, and some love and help along the way, they can get there, even from the lowest imaginable point, from rock fucking buttom. it’s possible. 

[dindjarindiaries]

Serendipity - Chapter 1: The Bounty

gif via @twillight​​

summary: You come across the Mandalorian yet again on a hunt and have to battle it out for who gets to win the prize.

warnings: canonical-type violence, angst, din and reader are both jerks but we love that for them

rating: T

word count: 3.146k

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chapter 1: the bounty

This is supposed to be your job.

All it takes are the turning heads of those around you to realize who’s just entered the cantina. You curse under your breath and tighten your grip on the drink you haven’t even started nursing. Each sound of his spur is a scrape of a knife against your patience, wearing it down more and more until your knuckles are turning white around the cup. You force yourself to take a deep breath and relax your arm, refusing to show him how his presence has affected you—unlike the others who sit in this cantina.

But then the glimmer of light reflecting off the beskar of his helmet catches the corner of your eye and you realize he’s standing right beside you.

“Mando.” Your greeting is curt, unfriendly, and hopefully as sharp as the vibroblade tucked on your belt. You refuse to give him a glance, instead lifting your cup to your lips as you finally drink its strong contents. “I figure you’re not here for a drink.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything just yet. Instead, you watch his gloved fingers flex on the bar counter from your peripherals, as if his every movement is calculated. When he speaks, the modulated voice is as low and gruff as ever, void of any emotion. “Neither are you.”

You raise an eyebrow, still refusing to look over at him as you take another sip. “Are you so sure about that?” Mando doesn’t answer, instead continuing to flex his hand as his helmet peers around. You let out a sigh as you hold the cup between your hands. “They’re not here—at least, not yet.”

“I didn’t ask.”

You scoff. “You wouldn’t have stood next to me if you didn’t want to know.”

“I wouldn’t have stood next to you if it wasn’t the only spot along the counter that was open.”

You roll your eyes, tightening your hold on the cup again as you try not to get into a petty argument with the man yet again. Too many times, he’s used it to his advantage, distracting you enough to go after the bounty before you even get a chance. This quarry will be yours, no matter what he tries to pull. “You just like to throw me off.”

You can see Mando’s head tilt slightly to the side as a gloved hand checks something on his vambrace. “If the shoe fits.”

With a snarl under your breath, you look to the tracking fob hooked on your belt, watching it beep in the same rhythm it has for the past half-hour you’ve already been here. You’re not sure how you and Mando keep ending up with the same commissions—but you know that you’re tired of only getting half of what you’ve been promised. You never split a reward; you fight until someone wins it all. But if you’d gotten to have all those quarries to yourself, your fortune would be doubled.

Often, you wonder what one of his kind’s doing in the Bounty Hunter’s Guild, rather than steaming in a dead heap on the soils of Mandalore.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the simultaneous sound of rapid beeping coming from both your tracking fobs. You look over at the Mandalorian sharply, watching as his own helmet looks down to the fob on his belt. Over your shoulder, you can see the Pantoran bounty standing by the door, having just walked in and sat down with a buddy. You and Mando share a quick glance and you narrow your eyes as you stare him down.

You wouldn’t dare, your gaze warns him.

Try me, the slight tilt of his helmet taunts back at you.

And then you lunge in the direction of the bounty, only to have your waist seized by Mando’s grappling hook as he pulls you back. You nearly fly into the mass of other people standing at the bar, now looking more alert as you and Mando launch into action. You push yourself off of them to see Mando pursuing the bounty, who’s now jumped up and started to take off for the outside.

“You metal bastard!” you exclaim through clenched teeth, completely clearing a table as you quickly follow in pursuit of both your targets.

The Mandalorian underestimates your speed as always, failing to quicken his pace as you already nip at his heels. The Pantoran weaves through the confused crowd, causing you and Mando to shove people aside as you try to stay on his trail. Soon, you get close enough to Mando to reach out for his cape, giving it a hard tug that causes him to trip back a few steps with an exclamation of surprise. You race ahead while you hear him curse through his modulator, quick to follow in pursuit of both you and the quarry.

You watch as the Pantoran sharply turns into an alleyway, causing you to sigh as you realize the three of you will be stuck in a confined space. That means it’ll be harder for you to claim the bounty—you’ll likely have to duel it out with Mando, now. At least in a pursuit, you can just say you got there first. When you’re fighting in an alley, that means the quarry belongs to whoever wins your own fight. And as much as you hate to admit it, fighting one-on-one with a Mandalorian isn’t easy.

Still, you follow the bounty, slowing down and drawing your blaster when you realize it’s a dead end—and he’s nowhere to be found. You can hear Mando’s boots getting closer and closer behind you, but he’s not your focus. If you can find the Pantoran first, you can claim him easily. That’s all you’re trying to think of.

Sadly, your efforts are to no avail, as you soon hear the Pantoran drop onto the ground behind you and catch you off guard.

You’re knocked to the ground hard by a kick to your back, causing you to sprawl out as you roll over and raise your blaster. The bounty’s already got his pointed at you, but it’s quickly shot out of his hand by another blaster bolt—Mando’s. You jump up as the Pantoran turns, watching him start to engage in a fight with Mando. You take the opportunity to lunge towards his back, grabbing him by the shoulders and swinging him around to hit the ground. You take a step to hover over him and claim your quarry, but you’re shoved to the side before you can, the mass of metal instead trying to take your place. You fall onto the ground yet again and roll over, struggling to get up as you give the Mandalorian a glare full of fire.

“He’s mine, Mando!” you exclaim with frustration.

Mando tilts his helmet at you. “Really?” His modulated voice is almost a scoff, making your blood boil even more as he gestures with his blaster to the quarry beneath him. “Looks like you’ve got a secure—.”

As Mando’s busy bickering with you, the bounty sits up quickly and hits the back of Mando’s knee, causing him to fall onto it. He takes that opportunity to stand up, kneeing Mando on the back until he collapses right where you are, further crushing you with his weight. You look around Mando’s helmet and shoulders that are now almost completely obstructing your vision to watch the Pantoran run out of the alleyway. Mando hovers over you, now, as he slams his fist against the ground in frustration just beside your head. “Get off of me,” you snarl, shoving him by the shoulders to the side as you scurry to get up.

You get a head start this time, trying your best to pretend that the Mandalorian isn’t hot on your trail as you catch the man’s blue skin just a few feet ahead of you. People gasp as you shove them aside, never slowing your speed no matter how tired you are as you press on. You’re closing the distance even more rapidly than before. The Pantoran starts to head outside of the small city’s walls, but he doesn’t make it far before you reach into your boot for your knife and make the throw. It lands in the back of the bounty’s leg, causing him to cry out as he collapses onto the ground.

You smirk with satisfaction as you lean over him, retrieving your knife from his leg—much to his own agony—and unclip your binders from your belt. Just as you grab his hands and start to cuff him, you suddenly hear the whizzing of a blade beside your ear, and the material of your shirt gets caught in the blade and pins it along with you to the soil of the ground. You writhe around to try to tear the fabric or get the knife out of the ground, but it’s at an awkward angle and your shirt was made specifically not to rip.

That’s when Mando comes back into sight, his faceless expression somehow saying everything you know he feels as he cuffs the quarry and tosses him over his shoulder. Before he stands up completely, he comes back to you, tilting his helmet down at you for a moment. “This is why you never challenge a Mandalorian,” Mando says, his rasp full of amusement as he retrieves his blade from your shirt and sheathes it back in his boot.

You’re tempted to fight him tooth and nail just because of his words, but you know you have to stick to the ethics of your code. He’s got the bounty secured, which means it’s no longer yours to take. Instead, you glare up at him, propping up on your elbows as you raise an eyebrow at him. “Tell that to the Imperial officers who wiped out the rest of your kind,” you mutter, not willing to feel any sympathy at the moment as you watch Mando carry the expensive quarry you’ve been spending all day tracking.

He immediately tenses up at your words, his helmet straightening out as he starts to walk away. You stand up with a scoff, brushing yourself off as you call after him.

“Not even gonna say goodbye, Mando?” You watch as he continues on without even acknowledging you. Your hands clench into fists at your sides as you keep yelling. “If you ever get a bounty over your head, I’m gonna be the first one to track you down! And I’m gonna enjoy every single second of it, you buckethead!”

You know Mando’s probably tuned you out by now. You let out a groan as you kick the ground in frustration, watching the dust of the earth stir around as you cross your arms. Looking back to the city for a moment, you heave a sigh, switching your gaze back to the distance where your ship waits in the hangar. It’s on the smaller side, a much humbler ship than the Mandalorian’s huge Razor Crest, but it’s always done the trick.

Whenever the tin can bastard hasn’t stolen your bounty.

You can feel a cloud of rage hovering above your head as you begin to stomp off towards your ship. On the way, you brush off the dust that’s still lingering on your black shirt and matching pants, muttering obscenities the entire way as you practically throw a tantrum to yourself. It’s been one time too many that you and Mando have ended up tracking the same quarry and you’re sick of having to fight it out after you’ve done most of the work. As soon as you’re aboard, you power up the ship, connecting yourself to Greef Karga’s frequency as you instantly reach out to him.

“How unexpected!” Karga greets you through the holotransceiver, his blue image crossing his arms as he raises his brow with interest. “Has something gone amiss?”

“Karga.” You say his name firmly. You’ve always been close with the magistrate, mostly because you’re one of the best he has—along with Mando—and so you feel comfortable challenging him, knowing you won’t face any consequences. “Why the hell do you keep doing this?”

Karga now wrinkles his brow. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. The quarries. You keep giving my fobs out to Mando.”

Karga sighs and shrugs, keeping his arms crossed as he does so. “You two are just too fast. I only have so many quarries, and you two just happen to land on the same ones.”

“He keeps taking my jobs!” you exclaim with frustration. “How am I supposed to make a living when this buckethead’s out here robbing me of every quarry?”

“In my book, you’re both quite even.” Karga even seems slightly amused, which pisses you off further. “But, if you really want to get ahead, then you need to become even better. Become the best and then you’ll be the one stealing jobs from him.”

You huff. “I am the best.”

Karga chuckles at that. “Well, then, there shouldn’t be a problem.” You roll your eyes dramatically, leaning back in your chair as Karga goes on. “Still, I’ll try to make sure that you both don’t end up with the same fob this time.”

“Thank you,” you mumble, no longer entertaining his games as you dismiss the call. You begin to set course for Nevarro, hoping you can somehow avoid the Mandalorian upon your return.

Once you land in the hangar just outside the city, you heave out a breath, seeing the Razor Crest already parked there. A furious fire burns in your belly as you power down your ship, stepping out of it and instead making your way to your humble abode before you return to the cantina.

Your home is further into the city than the cantina, a small place that’s just beside an abandoned convenience store. You pull out your keycard and slide your way in, practically throwing yourself down onto the cushioned corner seat in your kitchen as you set your blaster on the tabletop. You reach for your cleaning supplies and go to work, cleaning your weapon to distract yourself from your frustrated thoughts.

A sudden gleaming catches your eye and you stop your frivolous cleaning for a moment to look up and observe it. You realize it’s your old blaster from when you first started out as a hunter, catching the glow of light from the small window above your sink as it hangs on the wall along with some of your other childhood relics—or, at least, the childhood you reinvented. Your shoulders sag a bit at the memories it brings you.

Aurra Sing had given that to you after she’d finished training you, just before your first job together. She always had things under control. She was good at working with other hunters, creating deals and fair arrangements that still got her the credits she wanted. You wish you could be more like that instead of getting cheated out of every other job by a Mandalorian.

You think just for a moment what it would be like if you did the same thing. Yet, the simple thought of working alongside Mando makes you want to flee to the furthest planet in the Outer Rim. You don’t understand how Aurra did it and you’re afraid you’ll never be able to do the same.

You know you would kill Mando before you’d ever try to work with him, which leaves you with one option: becoming the best in the parsec.

You stop your cleaning altogether as you huff out a breath, determined to make your thoughts come into fruition. You rise from your seat and holster your blaster, walking back out the way you came and heading to the cantina. Many eyes start to look your way thanks to your determined stride, but you don’t return their stares. Instead, you look ahead, refusing to let your angered thoughts of the Mandalorian hold you back any longer. You’ve defeated him before and you can do it again. You need to get another job to make up for this one—and this time, even if Mando ends up with the same one, you’re determined to be the one who comes out on top.

The cantina’s crowded as you walk in, yet Mando’s still the first person you spot. He’s just getting up from the table across from Karga, securing his Amban pulse rifle over his shoulder before he turns towards you. You give him a glare that you never break as you begin to pass each other and you can feel his gaze burning into you through his visor. It doesn’t intimidate you. Instead, it only fuels your fire more, making you hold your stare at him until he’s past your shoulder. Then, you face Karga again, sitting where Mando just was. He raises an eyebrow at you.

“Ah, I thought you’d… well, wait a while,” Karga confesses, folding his hands on the table as he catches the fiery glint in your eye.

“There’s no need,” you insist, crossing your arms as you raise your brow back at him. “I want my next job.”

“Funny,” Karga breathes, reaching into the pocket of his vest to view your options. “That’s what Mando just said.”

“Good for him,” you mutter. “Now, what is there for me? Don’t take it easy.”

Karga chuckles. “Never with you,” he assures you, sliding a specific puck forward. You reach out to activate it, watching the image of a Rodian appear in its blue light. “Married to a senator’s daughter,” Karga further informs you as you soak in the details. “I heard there’s some type of event hosted by the senator where he’ll be present. It’s open to the public.”

You keep an eyebrow raised, dismissing the puck as you tuck it into the pouch on your belt. Karga also hands you the fob, which you put in the same place. “Is he worth a lot?”

Karga gives you a single nod. “The most expensive one I have right now.”

You smile with satisfaction, returning his nod as you move to stand up. “Then it’s the perfect job for me.” With that, you begin to make your way out of the cantina, already heading back to your ship. Even after your draining day spent playing cat-and-mouse with the Mandalorian, you feel re-energized, eager to plan and execute this job to the best of your ability.

And even though you think you’ve pushed the thought of Mando to the back of your mind, he still lingers there, ever-present and constantly fueling a fire within you.

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[where-dreamers-go]

“Game On” Riley Poole x Reader

(A/N: SURPRISE! A prequel to the Riley Poole x Reader Series! It’s a surprise for me too. Welcome to Ben Gates’ circle of friends prior to going to the Arctic Circle to find The Charlotte. This can be read without having read the series that goes through the movie National Treasure. Written for @girl-next-door-writes Bingo challenge! Bingo Card: Mutual Pining Warnings: Poker game. Word Count: 2,472 words)

Strategy. Confidence. Restraint. Three words perfectly fit the poker game on Ben’s dining table. Ever since your best friend had met Ian Howe, a man who believed in the Templar treasure and had pockets of money, the group of you had played poker on weekends. Not every weekend of course. There were only so many rounds of bets you were willing to have. Even if this time you brought cookies for a snack.

Although in truth, you had been playing more for a few months and sitting through more games than otherwise willing. Why? An incredibly intelligent, funny, and handsome man who was officially a part of Ben’s circle of friends.

Riley Poole. Thank the Universe that you helped Ben with his computer, you thought as you stole a glance to your right. Didn’t think I’d be having this much fun.

Sitting in your best friends’ apartment was a greater comfort than Ian’s home. Sure, you’d known the man for more than a year, but Ben had been your friend since you were in school. Around a decade of friendship meant you knew him. You knew him well.

“Ben,” you said calmly.

“Hmm?”

“You’re bluffing again.”

Ben’s eyebrows raised a fraction before speaking. “I fold.”

In only a moment, Ian chuckled.

“You might not be the best player,” Ian told you. “But you can read Ben like a book.” His chuckling doubled as Ben made a face.

“Maybe we should return (Y/N)’s library card.” Ben suggested with a smirk.

You scrunched up your face in disapproval.

“Yeah, but they can still buy books and stay in a library to read them.” Riley piped in.

You sent Riley a smile and pushed a box of crackers closer to him.

“Alright,” Ian spoke up. “Can either of you beat a Four of a Kind? Riley?”

Biting into a cracker, Riley shook his head and laid his cards down. “I fold.”

“(Y/N)?”

“No,” you grumbled. “I fold.” Reluctantly, you set your cards down.

He’s gonna start prancing his way out by the time we’re done.

Shoulders back and a smug grin on his face, Ian revealed his cards. A three, a nine, a queen, and a king.

“What?” Riley exclaimed.

You dropped your forehead to the table.

Not again.

“They’re not even the same suit. You lied.”

“I win again.” Ian stated as the poker chips could be heard being pulled to his side of the table.

“Next time we’re playing Mario Party,” you groaned as you picked your head up off of the table.

“I am not playing that.”

“Afraid you’ll lose?” You countered.

“No. I simply don’t want to play.”

You made a short sound of acknowledgement in your throat.

“You have a Nintendo 64?” Riley asked as everyone tossed their cards to the middle so that Ben could take his turn to shuffle and deal.

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know you had one. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You never asked.”

“How was I suppose to know to ask if you had one?”

“Conversation?”

“Save the bickering for the game, shall we?” Ian interrupted without glancing up.

You gave the man a pointed look.

It was times like those that you weren’t entirely sure if he was playing along or actually annoyed. There were times when you honestly could not tell.

Worse case scenario, he’s always annoyed with me and Riley talking. He’s usually not this way when it’s just me and Ben.

Having finished shuffling the deck, Ben dealt the cards out to each of you.

“As a head’s up, this is my last game.” You said after checking the time.

“You’re not working overtime again, are you?” Ben asked.

“No.”

“(Y/N)…”

“I have to double check an e-mail and double check a few things. Respond to a few more e-mails. Stuff.”

“That’s working.” Riley said.

“I know. I know.”

“At least you’re making sure everything is done properly. Some times that’s hard to find in some people.” Ian added.

“Thank you.” You reached for a cookie and—

Crunch

You peered over to your right and saw Riley’s eyebrows knitted together as he ate another cracker. His eyes were trained just above his cards.

That was a little louder than normal, you thought as you ate the cookie. Mentally shrugging, you checked out your cards. Oh, okay. Not bad so far. Hmm.

“Any chance next time we could play Twenty-One?” You asked.

“Blackjack?” Riley nabbed a cookie.

“Yeah. Though if Ben says ‘no’ he indirectly admits his many defeats.”

“Hey. That’s a game of chance.” Ben pointed a finger at you.

“And strategy.” You added.

“It is older than Poker.” Ian said as he waited for Ben to add more cards to the table.

Ben eyed his own cards. “You know,” he started. “Playing cards were actually invented before 1000AD by the Chinese. The cards didn’t have numbers…”

Turning your head to the right, you caught Riley’s eyes. You gave each other knowing looks as Ben continued giving facts. That could mean two things: Ben was confident or he had a pretty good hand of cards. If Ian had picked up on that through the many games, neither you nor Riley knew. However, you were willing to play more logically to win.

Game on, Ben.

Riley slid the box of crackers closer to you. The box was moved just enough that when you leaned back, Riley subtly tilted his cards.

You had a better cards. You took two crackers and gave one to Riley. He returned his sights back to the center of the table with a nod.

Now to figure out Ian and Ben. Can’t always let one of them win.

“Riley.” Ben said.

“Hm? What?”

“Your turn.”

“Oh, right.”

You reached for more crackers to munch on as the four of you continued playing. Looking up for only a second, you saw Ben smiling and his smile only widened when he caught your eye. You raised an eyebrow in question. He glanced over to Riley then back at you. Acting on immediate reaction, you tossed a cracker at your best friend’s chest. Unfortunately he didn’t drop any of his cards so that you could see them.

Stop it, you thought. Too bad we don’t have telepathy. Then again, that could backfire with comments, but we could team up during poker. Also would save money on the phone bill. Hmph.

With more cards in your hands, your chances of winning were dwindling. It was not a big deal. But you really wanted to win.

Darn it.

“(Y/N), I hope you’re better at bluffing than giving instructions over e-mail.” Riley said, catching you off guard.

“Wha—Hey.” You pulled your cards closer to yourself. “It’s not my fault they don’t know what the icons mean.”

“You should have explained that first.”

“I’m not Internet one oh one.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Can we get back to the game?”

Hiding your smile as you ducked your head, you muttered, “We already went over this.”

“Bluff.” Riley murmured.

Ben cleared his throat and said, “Your turn, Riley.”

That e-mail was likely not going to be easily forgotten. Then again, it did remind you that a specific e-mail, from the same co-worker, had finally been sent to you earlier in the day.

Could have had it done last week.

A couple of days ago, you had given Riley a personal museum tour and treated him to lunch in exchange for helping you type up an e-mail explaining how to send a document as an attachment to a co-worker. It wasn’t that you didn’t know how to send the e-mail. It was that you didn’t know how to explain it for the third time. Or rather how to explain it in a way that the co-worker would understand the instructions given.

The game went on for another ten minutes until Ian and Riley were at a showdown. Ben and yourself had folded, knowing you were both beaten.

“Alright, show your hand.” Ian said confidently.

Both men turned their cards face up. A Three of a Kind versus a Flush. Riley won the game.

“Aaaay!” You patted Riley’s arm repeatedly for more than a moment.

Riley shuffled a bit in his seat before sitting a little taller.

“Good game.” Ian pushed his cards away.

“Good job, Riley.” Ben congratulated his friend.

Pulling the chips to his side, Riley grinned. Victory was sweet at times.

“Hey, sorry to cut this short, but I have to get going.” You stood from your seat and grabbed your plastic container of cookies to seal them.

Can snack on the cookies later, you thought as you smoothly placed one in front of Riley. He won. Prize given.

You pushed in your chair.

“I-uh better go too,” Riley said. “I don’t know how traffic is going to be. It’s dark.”

“Okay, Riley,” Ben replied. “Don’t forget your jacket.”

“Thanks.”

You walked passed Ian, saying, “Any chance you can teach Ben to bluff?”

“Not something you can teach.” Ian answered as he gathered up the cards.

“I don’t need to bluff to win.” Ben added in as he lead you and Riley to the door. Always the nice host.

“Bye Ian,” you waved.

“I’ll see you two later.” Riley said.

“Drive safely.” Ben patted his friend on the shoulder.

“Don’t stay up too late, Ben,” you teased as you walked out the door.

“Bye, (Y/N).” He laughed. Behind you, Ben had shut the door as Riley followed you out.

Two steps away from the door and Riley walked up beside you.

“I can’t believe how many times Ian bluffed.” Riley said. “He must have taken almost half of the chips.”

“I’d say I’m surprised, but I’m not.”

He nodded. Many thoughts running through his head no doubt.

“You didn’t do so bad today,” you added.

“I could have been better. I just can’t tell when Ian’s lying or confident or confident in his lying.”

“There’s little difference.” You murmured as you two reached your apartment’s door. Stopping for a moment, you considered your next words.

Eh. Do it.

“Remember that e-mail you helped me with?”

“Yeah.”

“Would you like to see what they e-mailed me back?”

“How bad is it?” His shoulders slumped.

“What makes you think it’s bad?”

“Because you’re asking if I want to see it and you’re already laughing.”

Oh, I guess I am. You thought as your grin widened.

“You’re right. It’s pretty bad. In a really weird way.”

“Great,” he said sarcastically. A small smile edged its way onto his face. “Let me see it.”

Turning, you quickly grabbed your key and unlocked the front door. Once you pushed it open, you let Riley inside.

“Just give me a second to grab my computer.” You said.

Front door shut and cookies placed on a flat surface, you fast-walked to another room to grab your laptop.

It was not the first time Riley had been in your apartment. It was not even the only time he had been in your home without Ben present. As it turned out, you had made friends with Riley almost as fast as Ben did. There was something that just clicked. Similar interests, shared knowledge, and good old companionship that was refreshing.

Walking out of your room, you spotted Riley sitting on your couch with his glasses on. Your laptop was already up and loading your e-mails.

“Ready?” You asked.

“They didn’t put any attachments, did they?” Riley watched as you placed the computer on the coffee table.

“You’ll have to see.” You sat beside him.

A couple of clicks and you had opened the message from your inbox.

“Hey. There’s actual attachments,” Riley observed as he scrolled to the bottom of the e-mail. “Uh. Um. Were they only suppose to send you the documents?”

“Yeah.” You nodded and bit back a grin. “Click on that one.”

He clicked on the one that had caught his eye.

A large picture of a large cat lounging on an armchair filled up a part of the screen.

“Holy Lord.” Riley looked to you. “Please tell me not all of these are cats.”

“Just two cats.”

Riley groaned.

“I got the other ones they needed to send. Thankfully. I’ve been needing these possible layouts for the next exhibition for a week now.”

“We’re going to have to teach them how to remove an attachment before sending an e-mail now.”

It was your time to groan.

“You don’t want them sending Lord knows what else next time, do you?”

“No.” You sighed. “But…that means I have to mention the cats.”

The moment Riley made eye contact with you, you both started bursted out laughing.

Out of all things to send you, they sent you pictures of cats. Perhaps you should be thankful it was not anything else. Who knew at that point? The question at hand was how to word your next e-mail? It was suppose to be a follow-up message about which layout of the museum space was better not another how-to.

“I’m getting paid to say, ‘delete your cat photos…from the e-mail’.” You wheezed. Trying to breath between laughing and speaking was challenging.

“Maybe….maybe send two e-mails?” Riley’s grin was still present. “One for work and one for clicking the small ‘x’.”

“Yeah, but at this point you should be charging them for tech support.”

“Put that in your next e-mail.”

You bumped his arm with your own.

“Just saying.”

“If they ask for more help I’ll let them know. How’s that?”

“I’ll get the documents ready.”

You covered your mouth as loud laugh escaped you.

Oh goodness. I hope he’ll do it anyway.

Smile only partially fading, Riley gestured to the laptop. “Let me know if their lack of technology skills makes your instruction skills disappear again. But not on your day off.” He removed his glasses and stood up.

You followed suit and walked him to the door.

“You really shouldn’t put in more hours than they’re paying you.”

“I want the new exhibition to be perfect.” You added as you leaned against the opened door. “But you’re right.”

“Can’t work for nothing. Especially when you’re suddenly working free tech support.” He stood out in the hallway.

“Hey,” you said. “Thanks for hanging out today. It was really fun.”

A smile returned to his lips. “I had fun too.”

“Drive safely, alright?”

“I will. See you later.”

“See yah, Riley.” You waved before finally shutting the door. With a lopsided grin, you locked the door and skipped over towards the cookies. Perhaps your winnings will be more than chips won in a poker game some day. Maybe something a little more meaningful.

~~~

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful.

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

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[allsassnoclass]

Meet Me Under the Mistletoe

Ficmas Day 1 for @calumsclifford <3

Pairing: Michael Clifford/Ashton Irwin

Rating: Teen and Up

Key Tag(s): Fake/Pretend Relationship, Office Party, Pining, Fluff, no warnings needed

Word Count: 15,665

Read on AO3

—

“And you asked Luke and Calum, but neither of them could do it?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you asked some other people, who also said no?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is there a reason you didn’t ask me?”

Michael had not come up with a reason beyond I’m in love with you and that seems like a recipe for disaster.

“Uh,” he says. “I didn’t think you’d want to. I mean, I already ask you for so much.”

“That’s stupid,” Ashton says. “I like fancy parties, and spending time with you, and helping you. If you’re really set against telling them the truth, then I can be your fake boyfriend for the night.”

Michael has been letting everyone at the office believe he has a boyfriend for the past few months. Things become complicated when they ask to meet his boyfriend at the company winter party.

—

“I need you to be my boyfriend!”

It’s a testament to their experience as friends that neither Calum nor Luke look surprised to have Michael burst through their door haphazardly.  He knows his cheeks are flushed from the cold and running up the stairs and his coat probably isn’t buttoned properly and he only has one mitten on, but he’s in a crisis.  Calum and Luke don’t even bat an eye, although Luke lifts himself up from where he was tucked against Calum and frowns.

“Which one of us were you talking to?  Also, Calum and I are in a monogamous relationship already.  Sorry, Mikey.”

“Not my actual boyfriend,” Michael says, kicking off his shoes.  There’s snow clinging to the sides, and he steps gingerly over any damp spots in the entry before flinging his coat down on the armchair and flopping right next to Calum on the couch.

“What other type of boyfriend is there?” Luke asks.

“A fake one.”

That finally gets Calum’s attention, who had been pretending that the news was somehow more riveting than Michael’s crisis.

“What did you do?” Calum accuses.

“Nothing!”

Calum’s eyes narrow.

“I maybe have let everyone at work assume that I have a boyfriend and now they expect to meet him at the company holiday party.”

Calum sighs heavily, as if he hasn’t been Michael’s accomplice in far worse situations.

“How did that happen?”

“It just did,” Michael shrugs.  “Someone asked if I had a girlfriend back in September, and I said ‘boyfriend’ and they took it to mean that I have a boyfriend rather than want one.”

He had only been working there for three weeks when someone asked the question, and he had been so tired of not setting the record straight at the first possible opportunity.  It’s tedious to laugh off something like that and then have to come out later, and Michael figured that if anyone was going to be homophobic at least he would find out then instead of later when he had time to possibly grow to like them first.

Thankfully it hadn’t been an issue, as two other people in the department have same-sex partners.

Everyone there respects his privacy, so he hasn’t had to make up too many details, and it’s been nice to not have to acknowledge just how long it’s been since he last got to kiss a guy, let alone date one.

“Just tell them you don’t have one,” Luke says.

“If I was planning on doing that, I would’ve done so three months ago when this whole thing started.  Besides, I think there’s a betting pool involved, or at least a lot of behind my back speculation.  There are stakes now.”

“This is what you get for lying,” Calum says, shaking his head.  Michael pouts.

Michael was always told that one day, his little white lies would come back to bite him in the butt.  He doesn’t make a habit out of fibbing, but sometimes it’s simply easier to say something less-than true in order to save further pain down the road.  Insisting that he had done all of his homework by himself was easier than admitting that he and Calum did half each, and he got more free time out of it.  Telling Calum that Luke ate the last cookie instead of him saved Calum from a foul mood, because he’s unable to stay mad at Luke.  Telling Ashton that he was not, in fact, planning him a birthday party made the surprise that much sweeter.

When he told his coworkers that he has a boyfriend, he had expected this to be like every other little, insignificant lie he tells.  Now, he is paying the price.  He’s probably paying the price for every single lie he’s ever gotten away with in the past.

“This is a bit extreme for karma,” he says.  “Anyway, it’d be one night only, and apparently the party is pretty fancy.  Since headquarters is just over in Minneapolis, we’re invited to join theirs.  There’s a raffle with big prizes, plus a free catered dinner.”

“If it’s with headquarters, neither of us can go,” Luke says.  “My cousin works there.  She’d recognize me or Cal, and she definitely knows we’re dating each other, not you.”

“Really?” Michael asks.  “Shit.  You two were my best bets.  I needed to pick someone who wouldn’t fall in love with me.”

“You know,” Luke says.  “We do have another friend who is single and who you want to fall in love with you.”

“No,” Michael says.  “Absolutely not.”

“Come on, just think about it,” Luke says.  “Ashton would probably have a great time, and you’d get to show him off, maybe kiss him under the mistletoe...”

“He’d do it,” Calum says.  “He bends over backwards to help you already, and he loves schmoozing at fancy parties.  Plus, depending on how fancy it is you might get to see him in a suit.”

“No,” Michael repeats.  “The last thing I need is to have Ashton pretend to be my boyfriend.  If he was going to fall in love with me, he would’ve done it by now, and I don’t need a taste of what being with him would be like without any of the substance.”

Luke huffs and sits back.  Calum merely raises his eyebrows.

“Good luck finding someone else to go along with this.”

Michael flips him off and gets out his phone to start making calls.  He gets through seven refusals before he finally considers that Ashton may be the best viable option.

“No luck?” Calum asks, smirking.  Michael slumps against the couch and rubs at his eyes.

“Roy said that this is probably the universe giving me a sign.  Also he’s busy on the night of the party.”

“I can’t picture Roy and you pretending to date, anyway,” Luke says.  “Honestly, I think all of those would’ve failed.  Your coworkers would see through you in an instant.  You’d become the laughing stock of the office.”

“I could’ve at least had fun with Jack,” Michael says.

“He would’ve been laughing at you and texting Alex the entire time,” Calum says.  “Call Ashton.  Better yet, go to his house and talk it out in person.  Luke and I are supposed to be on a date in 30 minutes.”

“He’s expecting you,” Luke says, typing out something on his phone.  “He made baked ziti and needs you to help him eat it.”

“Did you tell him?” Michael asks, sitting up so fast he gets dizzy.

“I just said that you’re in crisis and will be coming over.”

“He’s going to laugh at me.”

“You deserve it,” Calum says, placing a hand on his shoulder.  “But you also know that he’s going to do everything he can to help you, and he’ll have better suggestions than me or Luke.  We’re good at getting you into trouble, not out of it.”

Michael sighs.  It’s not that he thought he could somehow keep this situation a secret from Ashton, but it’s still mortifying to consider confessing to him that he’s done something stupid enough to require finding a fake boyfriend in order to continue a long con he’s pulling on his coworkers.

He should probably tell everyone that he never had a boyfriend to begin with, but that seems like too little, too late when he has already panicked and told everyone that his boyfriend will come to the holiday party.  Michael is not a quitter.  This may not be a competition, but he will win, and winning means not facing the embarrassment of admitting the truth.

“Okay,” he sighs.  “I can’t believe you two are kicking me out in my time of need so you can go on a date.”

“Talk to Ashton and you might get a date for the holiday party,” Calum says.  “Then you can stop being a third wheel and we can double date instead of kicking you out.”

“I hope this works out for you, Mikey,” Luke says.

“Don’t give me false hope, please,” he says.  “It’s been years.”

Michael stands in silence, the others knowing better than to try and convince him Ashton could possibly like him, too.  He ran out of hope for that a long time ago, and he’s been attempting and failing to get rid of this pesky crush ever since.

“Stay warm out there,” Calum says, standing and following him to the door.  “Tell Ashton we say hi.  If there’s anything else we can do to help, just ask.”

“You’re sure that neither of you can be my boyfriend?” Michael asks one last time, slipping his arms into his coat and fighting with the zipper.

“Sorry,” Luke says, not sounding very sorry at all.  “Ask Ashton!”

“Fuck you,” Michael calls back cheerily, stepping out the door.

Leaving the sanctuary of the apartment complex for the cold of a Minnesota winter sucks, especially since his car has cooled down almost all the way again, but Ashton’s house isn’t too far away.  Michael is the outlier, living in a suburb while the others stayed closer to the heart of St. Paul.  He likes being close enough to the cities to easily commute for work and have access to all of the events happening, but it’s nice to not have to fight traffic for every little thing, even if the roads outside his house aren’t always plowed as nicely as the ones outside Ashton’s.

He traverses the familiar streets until he finally pulls into Ashton’s driveway with just enough room behind Ashton’s car that he’s not blocking the sidewalk.  Ashton has some Christmas lights up, just a string of simple blue ones following his roofline.  Michael sits in his car and watches them blink on and off, giving the impression of the stars they can’t see from light pollution, or of gently falling snow.

Ashton appears in his kitchen window, reaching into the cupboard next to it, surrounded by warm light.  He glances out and spots Michael’s car, face splitting into a smile and giving him a wave.  Michael has been in this position a million times before, but he wonders what it would be like if Ashton was calling him into their house after a long day, without having to leave at the end of the night.

He’s been spotted now.  Michael has no choice but to get out of the car.

“Hi,” Ashton calls from the kitchen when he lets himself in.  “Make yourself at home!  Dinner’s almost ready!”

Michael likes Ashton’s house.  It’s small, but in a way that mostly feels cozy rather than cramped.  The outside is white but the door is a light red, verging on pink, and each of the rooms inside is painted a different color, something which Ashton always says he’s going to change but has never gotten around to doing.  Michael hangs up his coat on one of the many hooks by the entrance, then toes off his shoes and flexes his fingers, trying to get some warmth back into them.  He runs cold, so winter is a constant struggle to keep his fingers from freezing off.

He steps into the living room, painted a pale green with mismatched furniture and warm blankets thrown over every surface.  Michael helped pick out the rug that dominates most of the floor space, and it makes him happy every time he comes over to see it.  Ashton doesn’t have a tree yet, but there’s a space for it cleared in the corner.  The dining room and kitchen are one room right off the living room and painted yellow.  Michael wanders over to the baking pan covered in foil, lifting up the corner to inhale the scent of freshly-cooked pasta, cheese, and sauce.

“Hey, no premature tasting,” Ashton says.  “If you’re going to be in the kitchen, make yourself useful and set the table.”

“You could say hello before you start ordering me around,” Michael says.  Ashton stops flittering around long enough to pause in front of Michael, hands on hips and smile on his face.  There’s steamed broccoli on the counter that definitely added to the current frizziness of his hair, and he’s wearing an off-white cable-knit sweater with the sleeves pushed up.  Michael hates himself for the way everything about this situation makes his heart flutter.

“I said hello when you first got here.  You’re the one breaking in to eat my food without a word of greeting.”

“Hi, Ashton,” Michael says, accepting the brief hug Ashton offers.  “You’re welcome for helping eat your food so the leftovers don’t overtake your fridge.”

“If I knew how to adjust the cooking times on this recipe for smaller portions, I would.”

That’s a lie.  Ashton enjoys feeding his friends.  Michael has at least one dinner a week at Ashton’s house under the excuse of him making too much food for one person.

Michael gets out two plates and the appropriate silverware and sets the table.  He gets out his favorite glass, a novelty Star Wars one with art of the celebration of Endor printed on it, and gets the matching Tatooine one for Ashton because he knows it’ll make him roll his eyes.  There’s apple juice and water in the fridge, and by the time Ashton has brought all of the food over Michael is sitting patiently at the table, hands folded neatly in front of him.

“So,” Ashton says once they both have a good helping of baked ziti, broccoli, and garlic bread on their plates, “Luke said you’re in crisis?”

Michael sighs.

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

“I’ll try,” Ashton says.  Michael shamefully recounts the sticky situation he has brought upon himself, avoiding eye contact the entire time.  Ashton chews slowly once he’s done, taking his time swallowing before he figures out what he wants to say.

“Hm.”

“Yeah,” Michael says, for lack of anything else.

“And you asked Luke and Calum, but neither of them could do it?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you asked some other people, who also said no?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is there a reason you didn’t ask me?”

Michael had not come up with a reason beyond I’m in love with you and that seems like a recipe for disaster.

“Uh,” he says.

“If you don’t think you could pretend to like me, that’s fine.  I was just curious,” Ashton says, stabbing at his broccoli.

“It’s definitely not that,” Michael says.  “I didn’t think you’d want to.  I mean, I already ask you for so much.  I’m eating your pasta right now.  It didn’t seem fair to ask you to do this, too.”

“That’s stupid,” Ashton says.  “I like fancy parties, and spending time with you, and helping you.  If you’re really set against telling them the truth, then I can be your fake boyfriend for the night.”

“Oh.  Okay.”

Ashton smiles, all dimples and sunshine.  Michael wants to bask in Ashton’s smiles forever.

“Awesome.  Crisis averted.”

It can’t be that simple, but Ashton’s easy confidence makes it feel like it is.  Michael doesn’t know why he was freaking out about the situation.  If anything, his crush on Ashton will make everything more believable, and Michael can pass himself off as a really good actor if questioned.

The rest of the night passes like every other dinner they’ve had with the two of them.  They talk about their weeks and about any random topics they choose, then Ashton picks a CD and they do the dishes, Ashton washing and Michael drying.  Ashton convinces him to stay later and watch a movie, and Michael lingers too long afterwards.  When he eventually tears himself away, it’s only after a late-night cup of hot chocolate and multiple uncontrollable yawns.

When he goes to bed that night, he steadfastly does not think about how he will be calling Ashton his boyfriend in a few weeks.

-/-

Michael doesn’t talk to Ashton about fake dating again until the day before the party.  He’s been forwarding the office emails about it, so Ashton knows the date and time, that this is a suit-worthy event, and what the food options are.  Otherwise, though, their time together has been filled with everything except mentions of the party and the con that will go down there.  Michael has been avoiding Luke and Calum due to all of the teasing, so he and Ashton go shopping for Luke and Calum’s presents together, Michael pointing out things that Ashton’s family might like on the way.  Ashton has a list of Christmas movies he wants to watch that they begin steadily working through, and Michael begins a snowball fight one day that Ashton wins.  Thankfully, Ashton agrees to make him cocoa and cuddle him after stuffing snow down the back of his jacket.  Michael’s face gets red enough that Ashton frets he might be coming down with something.

The something is being hopelessly in love.

Ashton texts him on Friday asking if he wants to come over early so they can get ready together and talk through their boyfriend story.

Boyfriend story.  He’s supposed to refer to Ashton as his boyfriend tomorrow.

He shows up at his house as requested, and Ashton greets him with a cup of hot cocoa, freshly made just the way Michael likes it.  Ashton stocks up on cocoa mix as soon as it hits October, making it at any and every opportunity.  On days when multiple people are over, sometimes he’ll make it from scratch, breaking out the cocoa powder, sugar, milk, and chocolate to create the best beverage Michael has ever tasted, sometimes with a secret ingredient Ashton makes him guess.  Michael rarely gets it right, but the praise he gets from Ashton on the days where he does manage to identify the extra flavor makes every loss more than worth it.

Ashton takes his with marshmallows, but Michael prefers whipped cream.  It warms him more than the beverage to see the pile of whip on top, stocked just for Michael.

“You put up your tree!” Michael calls while Ashton prepares his cup.  There are no presents underneath nor stockings on the wall since Ashton spends Christmas day with his family, but the small fake tree is erected every year to help him get into a festive mood.  Michael steps closer and recognizes most of the ornaments on it, either from previous Christmases or because he was there when they were bought.  Pieces of a tiny drum set hang from a set of branches near the front, each part paid for by a different member of their friend group as a gift after Superbloom Studios opened.  Michael bought the high hat.

“Second week of December.  It’s tradition,” Ashton says, shuffling into the room carefully with a mug in each hand.  Michael reaches for his, careful not to spill when he takes it from him.

“I saved your ornament,” he says, nodding to the coffee table where a small wooden “M” sits, painted to look like the torso of a snowman.

“Thanks,” Michael says, setting down the cocoa and picking up the ornament.  It was originally a joke gift, but now every year Ashton ensures that he puts it on the tree.  There’s a nice open branch near the bottom that he takes advantage of, giving himself time to admire the tree once more before finally sitting.

“So,” Ashton says.  “How did we get together?”

Michael takes a sip of his cocoa, burning his tongue just slightly.

“You have whip on your nose,” Ashton says, just like he does every time.  Michael sighs and swipes a thumb across it, sucking the whipped cream into his mouth so none of it goes to waste.

Ashton clears his throat.

“So.  Boyfriend story.”

“Boyfriend story,” Michael agrees.  “We have to have been together in September, but otherwise I’ve been really vague.  We can make up whatever we want.”

“Okay,” Ashton says, nodding.  “We should probably stick as close to truth as possible, so our meeting story can still be the same, but maybe we started dating mid-summer?”

“The lake trip?”

“Yeah!” Ashton says.  “Do you remember that night, it was like our second night there, where we just sat at the end of the dock and looked at the stars?  Everyone else was at the bonfire, so it was just us.  Maybe I asked you then.”

Michael remembers that night clearly.  He had gone down to the dock to get some space, needing a breather after all of the activity of the day and Ashton walking around without a shirt basically since they got there.  Even so, when Ashton eventually joined him it was like a sigh of relief.  He knows more about stars than Michael does, so Michael leaned back and let him point out different constellations and make up stories for unfamiliar ones, trying not to stare at the shadowy profile of Ashton instead of the sky.  The small waves of the lake rose and fell, covering his ankles then dipping lower in a steady rhythm mimicking his heartbeat.  Ashton kept their arms pressed together almost the entire time.

He had wanted to kiss him, so he pushed him in the lake instead.

“Yeah,” Michael says.  “That sounds good.”

“Okay, good.  Great!  What else do we need to figure out?  How serious are we?”

“Uh, medium?” Michael asks.  “It’s been five months, so nothing too daunting but more than just a casual thing.”

“What’s the PDA going to look like?”

“Uh,” Michael says.  Ashton takes a sip of his cocoa.

“I mean… are we still in the honeymoon phase?  Will we be holding hands a lot?  What’s our game plan if we somehow end up under the mistletoe?  I don’t think anyone can make us kiss without opening themselves up to a workplace harassment suit, but are we going to do a cheek kiss?  Are you okay with me kissing you?  What about--”

“You need to slow down,” Michael says.  “Give me some time to think, jeez.”

“Sorry,” Ashton says.  “Boundaries are important.  I don’t want to cross any.”

“You won’t.  I’m down for anything.”

“Really?” Ashton asks, skeptical.  He sets his cocoa down and moves until he’s right next to Michael on the couch, then slings an arm around his shoulder, tucking him close.  Michael melts into his side easily.  “So something like this would be fine?”

“You mean what I do with you, Calum, and Luke at every opportunity?’

“Okay,” Ashton says, adjusting so his hand is now on Michael’s thigh.  It’s more unfamiliar, a different weight in a more intimate spot, but not unwelcome.  Michael suppresses the shiver it sends through him.

“Still okay,” he says.

“Alright,” Ashton says.  After a moment of consideration, he takes Michael’s mug from him and replaces it with his own hand, clasping them together palm to palm.

“Wait, I don’t like this,” he says, adjusting so their fingers are threaded together instead, then undoing it and just holding their hands flat against each other.  Michael lines their hands up, fingers following the same lines.  He wonders if Ashton can feel the calluses that form whenever Michael has time to pick up a guitar.  The metal of his rings is warmer than Michael anticipated.  Every moment that they stay frozen like that makes Michael’s heart pound harder, even though they’re simply touching hands, something ordinary and barely worthy of comment.

“Your hands are freezing,” Ashton says quietly.

“Your hands make mine look so tiny,” Michael says.

“They are tiny,” Ashton says.  “I’m trying to figure out how to hold them.”

“Like this.”  Michael laces their fingers together again gently, one space over from how Ashton had done it.  “Who knew that holding hands would be the thing to trip you up?”

“I guess I haven’t had anyone’s hands to hold in a while.  I’m out of practice on this whole romance thing.”

“You’re doing alright so far.”

“Well, this is the easy stuff.  Are you sure you’re down for anything?”

“Yeah,” Michael says, heart leaping into his throat at the possibility of what that could mean.

Ashton hums, then shifts so he’s facing Michael.  His eyes search his face and Michael does his best not to show any of his thoughts, especially how much he wants Ashton to do one particular thing.  He steadfastly keeps his gaze locked on his eyes instead of letting it flicker down to his lips.

Ashton leans in slowly, telegraphing his movements, and presses a lingering kiss to his cheek, nose pressing into his cheekbone and breath against his face.  Michael can’t stop his inhale, catching a whiff of Ashton’s favorite cologne, just from the proximity.

“Still okay,” he manages to say.  Ashton doesn’t lean back, comfortable staying in Michael’s space, probably close enough to hear how loudly his heart is beating.

“And if I moved a few inches to the left?”

Michael swallows.

“Still okay.”

For a moment he thinks that Ashton might do it, just to see how far he can press.  Michael will always meet him challenge for challenge, and he has the perfect excuse for it.  Ashton’s just so close, and Michael might never have this opportunity again despite fantasizing about it for years.  It would be so easy to now.  He almost turns and presses their lips together himself, but Ashton pulls away right before he finds the courage to do so.

“Okay,” Ashton says, picking up his cocoa again.  “We can play it by ear.  We’ll just do what feels natural and appropriate for the situation.  Sound good?”

Michael nods.  Ashton glances at him over his mug.

“Are you sure?  You’re in charge here, Michael.  I’m willing to do whatever you want me to.”

“No, that’s good,” he says.  “That’s the best way to do it.”

Ashton observes him for a moment longer, in that way that makes Michael feel like he’s revealing too much.  Secrets from Ashton are the hardest ones to keep, but he’s had a lot of practice.

“If you say so,” Ashton says.  “If I do something you don’t like, just tell me.”

“Yeah, same to you.”

Michael picks up his mug again.

“What do you think our worst date was?” Ashton asks.  Michael snorts into his cocoa, because only Ashton would put that as a high priority part of their boyfriend story, but they spend almost all of the time until they need to get ready coming up with increasingly ridiculous scenarios and arguing over whether either of them would plan that as a date in the first place.  Michael has long since finished his drink by the time Ashton checks the time and says they need to get ready.

Michael doesn't start to feel nervous until he's standing in front of the bathroom mirror, struggling with his tie and feeling ridiculous for it.  The office encourages business casual, so he rarely has to wear one, but apparently because the party is joint with headquarters the dress code is stricter.

Michael was not made for formal wear.  He feels best when he gets to dress down, and he knows that his preferred hairstyle doesn't always align with a clean suit and tie.  For a long time, he didn't even have a suit coat that fit right, but his parents paid for one for his birthday over a year ago with the idea that it'd help him get a better job.  It did eventually work, but he never breaks it out unless he has to.

“Hey Michael?" Ashton calls from outside.  "Do I need a tie if I wear a red shirt instead of a white one?"

"Do whatever you want," Michael responds.  "Just be sure you're not showing all your chest hair.  Can you tie my tie?"

Ashton pushes the door open.  Michael catches a flash of red out of the corner of his eye before he turns and takes in the full picture.  Ashton looks stunning, and even though Michael expected that it takes his breath away.  His suit fits his shoulders nicely and tapers at the waist, and the red compliments his skin tone well, bold and vivid.  Michael is pleased to see that only the top two buttons are undone, keeping things appropriate, but there's a thin gold chain peaking out just below his collarbones.  He wants to trace it with his finger, then let his hands wander lower.

"Wow," he says.  "You clean up nice."

"My hair is a mess.  I need to put some gel in it before we go," Ashton says, batting Michael's hands away from his tie and taking over.  "Are you nervous?"

"A little," Michael admits, tilting his chin up to give Ashton better access.  "This would be a bit nerve-wracking even without the fake boyfriend thing.  I don't think I'm going to know many people there."

"Well, you'll have me."  He tightens the tie, then cups Michael's cheek.  He leans into it, leaching the comfort provided.

"There," Ashton says.  "I have the most handsome boyfriend tonight.  He was even considerate enough to match his tie to my shirt.  Everyone is going to be jealous."

"Thanks," Michael says.  He steps back and hands Ashton the container of hair cream on the counter, watching him rub a bit of it between his fingers then comb through his hair, adjusting the way it's artfully tousled and smoothing the sides until he's satisfied.

"Maybe I have the most handsome boyfriend tonight," he says.

"Now you're just trying to butter me up," Ashton replies, grinning at him.  "I already agreed to this.  The flattery is unnecessary, but not unwelcome."

"Can't I just think you're a good looking guy?" Michael asks, trying to keep the tone teasing like he would with Luke or Calum.  "You're a sexy motherfucker, Irwin; I hate to break it to you."

"That's rich coming from you."

"We don't have time for this," Michael laughs, pushing him out of the bathroom.  "I can't show up late to my first office winter party just because you won't take my compliment without trying to one-up me."

"There are worse reasons to be late," Ashton protests, planting his feet so Michael has to actually put in an effort, stumbling when Ashton suddenly relents.  He catches Michael with a cheeky grin.

"Move," Michael laughs, savoring how close they're standing, tethered together by Ashton's hands on his elbows.  "We have to go."

Ashton’s eyes search his face, suspended in the moment like he knows that Michael wants nothing else than to live here forever.  Michael sways forward, magnetic pull too strong, but Ashton steps back in the same moment, moving them out of the bathroom and tugging him towards the door.

“Bundle up,” Ashton says.  “I hear it’s cold outside.”

-/-

The venue is simultaneously huge and very difficult to find.  Ashton puts the address in his phone, but he’s a bad navigator and recent snowfall makes the roads slick, complicating the driving process more.  They’re supposed to get more snow tonight, but Michael can find Ashton’s house in any context and situation, like a homing pigeon on the return journey.  It would be his most useless skill if he didn’t end up in the driver’s seat after almost every gig they go to, Ashton always too hyped up and focused on the music to enjoy driving home.

The nearest place to park is a block away and lands Ashton in a snowbank.  Michael gets out first and offers him a steadying hand, and Ashton beats him to paying the meter.  He links their arms as they walk, breath fogging in front of their faces.

“It’s a beautiful night, sweetheart,” Ashton says.

“Sweetheart?”

“Just trying out some pet names, seeing what fits, honey.  Darling?  I feel like I shouldn’t be saying babe if we’re both wearing suits in front of your fancy work friends.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Michael says, as if he hasn’t bit his tongue against calling Ashton babe before.  He’s not the type of person who can pull off platonic pet names.

“We’re really flying by the seat of our pants here.”

“It’ll be fine, right?” Michael asks.  “No one has a reason to think I’m lying, so they’ll believe us even if we mess up.”

“They will,” Ashton says.  “I’m going to be so in love with you they’ll wonder if we’re eloping tomorrow.”

Michael’s heart leaps into his throat.  When Ashton puts his mind to something, it happens.  He might really have to watch himself to ensure that he doesn’t fall for their lie, too.

“Is this it?” Ashton asks under his breath as they arrive at the doors.  A couple in front of them pull them open, the woman in a longer dress and the man wearing a peacoat over his suit.  “Damn, Michael, maybe I should’ve worn a tie.”

“It’ll be fine,” Michael says.  “No one is going to be paying attention to us.  Besides, you never have to see these people again.”

Ashton hums, holding the door for Michael and following him into the venue entrance.  He lets out a low whistle once he sees what’s inside.

The floor looks like it’s marble.  There’s a chandelier, golden light reflecting off of crystalline shards to pepper dots like stars across the space.  Evergreen trees stand in the corner, gold and silver lights hidden within the branches and surrounded by red and blue baubles. If this is the entry, Michael can’t imagine what the actual event space looks like.

“Hey.  Coat check,” Ashton says, nudging Michael out of his chandelier-induced trace and towards the area where an employee waits to take their coats in exchange for a numbered ticket.  A different employee at the entrance then asks for their names, because apparently this party needs a guest list , before they finally enter the main event space.

It’s just as stunning as the entry.  There’s a larger chandelier in this one, hanging over rows of tables with red and gold tablecloths.  Each table has a centerpiece, some with evergreen boughs and pine cones, some with ribbon and candles, each one stunning.  Near the front of the room, Michael thinks he can make out an open dance floor and a small stage through the clumps of people in suits and fancy dresses.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he says.  “This is a party for people who make six figures.  I do not belong here.”

“I thought you audit a bank for farmers,” Ashton says.  “Don’t normal work parties include ugly sweater contests and too much eggnog?  Why the fuck do farm bankers need suits and chandeliers?”

“I have no fucking clue,” Michael says, eyes scanning over the people he can see in a desperate attempt to find a familiar face.  Only half of these people are from headquarters, but Michael still only knows the people in his department.  He doesn’t have much contact with people outside of it due to the variety of companies making up their conglomerate, each with a different set of staff.

“Michael!” someone calls.  It takes a moment to spot Harry coming towards him, which shouldn’t be possible because Harry’s suit has colorful flowers on it.  He’s holding hands with a man Michael recognizes as his husband only because Harry never shuts up about him, making his way through the crowd with a level of enthusiasm that Michael can feel himself automatically mirroring.  Harry’s joy has always been infectious, getting Michael through a few long days since he got hired.

Ashton shifts closer and Michael’s adrenaline spikes with the knowledge that the ruse starts now.  Harry is Michael’s favorite coworker: if they trick him, they can probably trick everyone.

"Hello," Harry says once he gets close enough to be heard over the sound of everyone else in the room talking and what seems to be faint classical music in the background.  "You're the first person I've recognized here."

"Same," Michael says.  "I wasn't expecting it to be this crowded."

"Headquarters is big," Harry says.  "At least we get free food and to see Lou in a suit."

Harry's companion rolls his eyes.

"You haven't even introduced us and already you're objectifying me.  I'm Louis, Harry's husband," he says, sticking out a hand.  Michael takes it.

"Michael," he says.  "This is Ashton."

"Michael's boyfriend," Ashton adds, taking Louis's hand next and making Michael’s heart stutter.  It rolls off Ashton’s tongue so naturally.  He’ll probably be hearing him say that in his dreams for the foreseeable future.

Harry lights up like a Christmas tree.

"Ashton," he enthuses.  "It's so good to meet you.  Alexis owes me fifty dollars."

"What for?" Michael asks.

"Well, we were betting if Ashton was your boyfriend or not.  You never actually told us which one of your friends it is, but I could tell by how you talk about him.  She thought that was too obvious for how cryptic you were being."

"You talk about me to your work friends?" Ashton asks.  Michael tries to shrug nonchalantly.

"All the time," Harry says.

“Do I need to be worried?” Ashton asks.

“Yeah,” Michael says.  “I’ve revealed all of your deepest, darkest secrets.”

“It’s cute,” Harry says.  “You can tell he thinks the world of you.”

“I don’t even mention Ashton that that much,” he protests.  “Not nearly as much as you talk about Louis.”

“No one can top Harry for that,” Louis snorts.  “I swear, no one I meet through him ever needs an introduction, because he’s probably already told them everything they could possibly want to know.”

“If it makes you feel better, I know nothing about you,” Ashton says.  “You can introduce yourself to me.”

“Well, don’t mind if I do,” Louis says cheekily.Ashton easily sweeps him into conversation, listening intently to his stories as a drama teacher and asking the right questions to keep things going.  Michael has heard half of this information from Harry already, but Louis breathes a new life into it.  Michael watches him speak, noticing the way that Harry easily leans into him, how they seamlessly finish each other’s sentences and subconsciously know exactly how they fit together.  Louis gestures and Harry shifts so he won’t get hit, leaning back into his space with a hand on his back within the next second.  Their eyes light up when they glance at each other in between breaths, and Michael feels a pang in his gut.

He wants something like that, someday.  It’s the same thing that he sees with Calum and Luke, or Jack and Alex.  He wants to share those small touches and brief looks with someone else and know that they’re returned fully.  He knows that he sometimes displays his fondness all over his face when he looks at Ashton, but it’s not the same when he has to look away to keep from getting caught.

At least he doesn’t have to look away tonight.  He can probably spend as much time as he wants admiring Ashton’s smile and eyes and jawline and everything without repercussions.  After all, he’s supposed to be in love, and someone should appreciate that one stubborn strand of hair brushing Ashton’s forehead.

“...Right, Michael?” Ashton asks, words finally reaching Michael’s ears.

“Yeah,” he says, blinking himself out of his daze.  He feels his cheeks heat up in a blush.  It probably won’t be the last time tonight.  “Sorry, what were we talking about?”

“I was telling Louis about Superbloom Studios,” Ashton says, bumping their shoulders together.  “Mentioned how you helped Matt and I learn how to use the equipment way back when we first bought it, and now there are secret Michael Clifford demos that legally can’t see the light of day without copyright infringement.”

“You’ve had much better musicians pass through your doors since,” Michael says.  “Want to reveal who your most recent client was?”

Ashton mimes zipping his lips.

“You know I can’t until they announce the album.  We’re trying to make the Twin Cities a hot spot for Top 40s artists to record, not chase them all away by breaking confidentiality.”

“But a song you produced could be on Top 40 radio soon?” Louis asks.  “That’s impressive.”

“We’ll see,” Ashton sings.  “I’m not in the habit of counting my chickens before they hatch.”

“No, you’re just in the habit of being a tease.”

Ashton quirks an eyebrow.  It makes Michael itch to do something, although he doesn’t know what.

Eventually, he decides to just roll his eyes and cross his arms, pouting a bit.  Ashton slips an arm around his waist and presses a kiss to the side of his head, the first real point of contact since entering the event space, and his stomach somersaults multiple times in a row.

Harry and Louis look amused, not suspicious.

“I like this side of you,” Harry says.

“What side?” Michael asks.

“The in-love one.  You’re… lighter.”

Michael opens his mouth, but ultimately doesn’t know what to say to that.  Ashton replies instead.

“I like it, too.”

They spend the next few minutes talking to Harry and Louis, filling time while other people who seem leagues more comfortable with this event fill the space.  Eventually the clock must tick over to the starting time, because someone steps up to the podium at the front of the room and taps the microphone asking for attention.

“Is that our president?” Michael asks Harry, completely not paying attention to the short opening statement about the “success of the company” and how it’s been a “phenomenal year full of milestones and achievements.”

“Yeah,” Harry whispers back.  "He'll get up and talk again later, after dinner.  Speaking of, we should find a table."

Harry looks over everyone until he sees someone he recognizes, grabbing Louis's hand to start covertly making their way through the crowd, glancing back at Michael and nodding in the direction he's going.  Michael grabs Ashton, who seems like he was actually trying to listen, and follows them.  As weird as holding his hand earlier had been, weaving through the people standing around with a hand around Ashton’s wrist is comfortable and familiar.  It's nothing that they haven't done before at crowded shows pushing towards the barricade or particularly busy streets, but Michael doesn't have to let go once they reach their destination if he doesn't want to.

Their destination ends up being a trio of tables near the center of the room flooded with people that Michael finally recognizes.  Alexis, Miranda, Dalmar, Imani, and Jason all wave when they arrive, surrounded by who Michael assumes are their own plus-ones.  They slip into seats next to Alexis and her partner, trying to make as little commotion as possible with the president of the company still talking at the front.

While Harry is his favorite coworker, Alexis is arguably the most entertaining.  She gets away with pranks and backtalk that Michael is too worried about job security to ever consider, but her after-work gatherings are always a highlight of the week.  It would be possible that management is keeping her around solely to boost morale if not for her eye for detail that has saved mistakes from appearing in many projects and reports.

"Hey," Alexis whispers, leaning across Michael to grab Ashton's attention.  "I'm Alexis.  What's your name?"

"Ashton Irwin," Ashton says, giving her a smile.  Alexis swears, dropping her head down to the table.

"You owe me money," Harry stage whispers.  She takes a few bills out of her purse without looking and throws them in his general direction.  "Thank you!"

"I want to be included in the next office betting pool," Michael whispers.  "I want to cheat you out of fifty dollars next time."

"It's not hard," Harry says.  "She always bets to lose."

Alexis flips him off.

The president continues to drone on, and Michael starts bouncing his leg up and down out of boredom until Ashton places a hand on it to stop him.  He mouths an apology, but Ashton simply slips off his puzzle ring, handing it over.  Michael hopes his smile conveys how grateful he is to have something else to fidget with.

When the president finally stops talking, Michael pays attention to his surroundings just enough to realize that tables are being dismissed to go get food one by one.  It looks like they won't get to join the line for a while, to his great disappointment.  He's getting pretty hungry and the thought of Alexis interrogating Ashton without a distraction makes him nervous.  He hands back the ring and switches to tracing the poinsettia pattern woven into the tablecloth, trying not to fidget more while Alexis introduces Jamie and points out the rest of his coworkers at the other tables to Ashton.

"So," Alexis says, leaning on her elbow and propping her head up with her fist, "Michael has told us a few things about you, but how did you meet?"

"At college," Ashton says, draping his arm across the back of Michael's chair as he turns to face Alexis more fully.  "We met at a party once, but we didn't really talk until a mutual friend brought us together.  He's been one of my best friends ever since."

"Oh, you two have been together a long time," Alexis says.

"We didn't get together until this summer," Ashton corrects good-naturedly.  "It was a lot of pining before that.  I mean, you've met Michael.  I never stood a chance."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Michael frowns.

"Falling for you was inevitable, sweetheart."

Michael blinks at him.  That's not something he ever expected to hear, a little over the top even for their fake romance, and he absolutely does not have a response prepared.

"Aw, that's sweet," Alexis says.  "Please tell me you guys are actually a normal couple and not a pile of goop like those two over there.  Believe me, I love love as much as the next person, but if Jamie and I are the only two here who aren't completely and grossly obsessed with each other we're going to move to the straight coworkers’ table."

"Hey," Harry says, breaking his conversation with Louis to flip her off.  Alexis returns it without even glancing at him, an ingrained part of their banter by now.  It’s surprising that they haven't gotten reprimanded for it in the office yet.

"If we were as bad as them, you wouldn't have lost fifty dollars just now, don't you think?" Michael asks.

"He has a point," Jamie says.  "Besides, everyone is entitled to a honeymoon period."

She takes Alexis's hand on the table and squeezes.  Alexis rolls her eyes but squeezes back.

Ashton asks them how long they've been together, then effectively keeps the focus on everyone else at the table instead of them.  One of his many skills is making everyone in the room feel like they are the most important person, and Michael is glad that he doesn't have to try to deflect or make up stories right now.  Maybe it'll be easier later.  Ashton already has everyone he's met wrapped around his finger and hanging off his every word, drawn by the magnetic energy he carries that made Michael first talk to him at that college party all those years ago, but some part of Michael still feels like everyone is going to see through their facade.  He knows that theoretically no one cares, but the confirmation of the betting pool makes him jittery.  It shouldn't be a big deal, but now he hasn't just lied about having a boyfriend, he's lied about the boyfriend being Ashton , and somehow that's worse.

Still, he can't let Ashton pull all of the weight.  He needs to start selling this, too.

Should he initiate some sort of PDA?  It's not like he can naturally grab one of Ashton's hands, because he's still leaning on Michael's chair, and anything else feels out of place.  Besides, they said that they'd do what feels natural, and none of this is natural to him.

He's overthinking this.  He should just pay attention and try to enjoy the night, but that seems like an impossible task with Ashton and Alexis boxing him in on either side.  One of them is significantly more distracting than the other, but Michael finds himself wishing that they could just be alone, enjoying one of Ashton's home-cooked meals and the next Christmas movie on his list.  Whatever catered dinner they have here isn't going to compare to the way any food tastes when Michael knows that Ashton is the one who made it for him while they enjoy it at his dining room table, and as much as he feels lucky to get on so well with his coworkers, he can do without their company if he has Ashton with him instead.

“Mike,” Ashton says, nudging him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Time to get food,” Ashton says, standing.  Michael looks around the table and sees that everyone else is already making their way over to the buffet line.  Ashton waits for him and sets a slow pace on their way over.

“You’re really spacey tonight.  You okay?”

“Yeah,” Michael says.  “I’m fine.”

Ashton gives him an unimpressed look.

“Seriously,” Michael says.  “I’m just overthinking.  I’ll be much more enjoyable once we eat and I relax a bit.”

“What can I do?” Ashton asks.

“You’re really playing up the doting boyfriend thing.”

“Hey, no,” Ashton says, pausing.  He looks around, then lowers his voice.  “I’d ask that even if we weren’t boyfriends right now.  You’re important to me, Michael.  If I can do something for you, I want to.”

“Thanks,” Michael says.  “It’s not a big deal, though.  Like I said, once we’re eating and I have other things to focus on it’ll be fine.”

“Okay.”  Ashton nods once, then takes Michael’s hand.  It feels more natural now than it was earlier, smile breaking out unbidden on his face as he squeezes back.

“Come on,” Ashton says.  “Food time.”

The buffet is full of delicious options, with pit ham, chicken, pasta, potatoes, roasted vegetables, fruit, hummus, different breads with various spreads, and a cheese platter.  Michael and Ashton collaborate to get a little bit of everything, something Ashton probably is only doing to make Michael happy given how closely he guards his food whenever they eat out.  If that’s the intention, it works.  Michael wants to taste everything, and he can only do that with two plates.

The soft instrumental music makes a return for dinner, gentle conversation starting up at the table once they sit and a staff member brings water around.  Michael samples each dish on Ashton’s plate, letting Ashton take what he wants from his, finally settling enough to keep up his typical banter with Alexis, Harry, and their partners.  He talks a bit with the other table, settling another bet between Imani and Dalmar and watches Imani collect twenty dollars for having the closest answer to when Michael and Ashton started dating.  Her absolutely gleeful expression makes Michael snort, erasing some of the discomfort of the lie.

Staff members for the event space come around with options for dessert, and Michael is once again delighted when Ashton chooses something different from him, an apple crumble while Michael gets a slice of cake.  Ashton pushes the plate towards him when it arrives, encouraging him to take a bite.

“Thanks,” he says, taking a forkful.  The sweet tang of the fruit doesn’t compare to the sweetness in Ashton’s expression.  Michael gets distracted by the pleased noise he makes at his own first bite and the way he licks his spoon after the last one, watching entranced until someone taps a microphone at the front, cutting the background music off abruptly.

“Before we get the party portion of the evening started, I want to make a few more quick announcements,” the president of the company says.  He continues to prattle about numbers and figures that Michael can’t follow without them written out in front of him, but he understands as well as everyone else what “winter bonus” and the amount that come after it means.

“Are you going to use that on my Christmas present?” Ashton whispers, leaning close to speak into his ear.

“Shut up,” Michael says, elbowing him.  “Maybe I’ll use it to get away from Luke and Cal for a bit.”

“Lake trip part two, this time just me and you?” Ashton asks.  Michael doesn’t let himself consider what it would be like to exist at that same cabin from the summer alone with Ashton, with no other people or endless summer fun to distract him.  The central heating is awful, so they’d probably spend a lot of time by the fireplace, possibly getting cozy under a blanket.  They’d be able to go skating on the lake near shore, maybe after a late brunch.  Ashton might sleep in for once in his life.  Michael would love to be sleeping in the same bed instead of confined to one of the other rooms, cold and alone.

He’s not considering it.  Instead he smiles, shakes his head, and gently pushes Ashton away, trying to refocus on what the president is saying rather than the man next to him.

“The raffle will take place at the end of the night, so be sure to stick around if you want a chance at any of the gift baskets or certificates.  We have a beautiful backdrop for photographs in the back corner if you’d like a memory from the night, and leftovers from the buffet are now open.  We’re lucky enough to be joined by one of Minneapolis’s fantastic live bands for the dancing portion of the evening, so please enjoy yourselves!  Take time to celebrate, enjoy each other’s company, and make the most of this beautiful night.  Here’s to many more like it!”

Michael applauds politely along with everyone else, sipping his water while he watches the band set up.  Based on the instrumentation, he has absolutely no idea what genre of music they’ll be playing.  The only thing that makes sense is the piano and vocalist, but there are also two electric guitars, a drummer, an upright bass, a cellist, a saxophone, and a trumpet.  The singer introduces them as Eds and the Airplanes, then they launch into something between 1940’s big band and modern bubblegum pop.  Somehow, everyone in the room seems to be in favor of it.

“Huh,” Michael says.

“I know these guys,” Ashton says.  “They recorded with us in October.”

“Oh, so you can tell us that but you can’t say who else records with you?”

“They tagged us on Instagram,” Ashton says.  “They don’t care if anyone knows what they’re up to.  Besides, their manager loves me.  It’s fine.”

“Must not love you that much if you’ve never told me about the band.”

Ashton shrugs, but before he can elaborate Harry is there, tapping them both excitedly on the arm.

“Let’s go dance!” he says.  “Lou can teach you how to swing dance if you want.  I think you can cha-cha to this song.”  He does a quick few steps in place on beat, then smiles.

“You can cha-cha to it,” Louis says, appearing over Harry’s shoulder, “but that doesn’t mean that you should.  Swing is the way to go here.”

“We’ve taken ballroom dancing classes,” Harry says, pleased.  “Come on!  Alexis said she’d only get up and dance if you two do, and if Alexis does it the rest of the department will.”

Michael will take every opportunity to push Alexis out of her comfort zone, so he gets up and pulls Ashton with him.  There are a few other people doing some semblance of dancing on the outskirts of the dance floor space, mostly older couples, but as soon as Louis and Harry step onto it everything livens up, Louis twirling Harry around and then both of them move around the floor for a few seconds before Louis breaks their hold and rounds on the group.

“Okay, pair up!  One of you has to be the lead, aka me, and the other gets to be the follow, aka Harry.  Ready?”

“I’ll lead.  Good rhythm,” Ashton says, intently watching Louis and trying to mimic his position. He takes Michael’s hand and puts a tentative hand on his waist.  Michael does his best to focus and follow the intense three minute crash course that follows without stepping on Ashton’s toes.  Ashton catches on right away, and Michael finds it easy to follow him once he gets the basic step down.

“Think you’ve got it?” Louis asks when the next song starts, something around the same tempo and equally as peppy.

“Hell yeah,” Ashton says.  He starts the basic step, then twirls Michael and get him to move his feet.

“I think you’re enjoying this too much,” Michael says.  He’s led in another spin, Ashton switching hands and Michael trying to remember which one he needs to grab to set them back to rights.

“No such thing,” Ashton replies.  “I get to listen to music, be close to you, get the heart rate up a bit… what’s not to enjoy?”

“There are other ways to achieve all of that,” Michael says.  Ashton wiggles his eyebrows, and Michael laughs and stumbles over the next few steps.  They wait a few bars, then start again in rhythm, four steps with and around each other, Ashton tugging Michael across his body in circles, spinning him out only to pull him back in again.

“Maybe we should go ballroom dancing,” Ashton says.  “This is fun.  Harry and Louis might have the right idea.”

“I wasn’t expecting dancing tonight,” Michael says, “but I do think we’re the best-looking couple on this dancefloor.”

“Want to try a lift? Dirty Dancing style?”

Michael laughs so hard at the image that they have to pause in their dance, and by the time he recovers the song has ended and transitioned into something slower.

“Come on,” Michael says, leading Ashton back to the edge where the rest of his coworkers have congregated.  They pass Harry and Louis on the way, both of them locked in a different style of dance to match the new tempo.  Harry winks at him when they catch eyes.

“You didn’t tell us he could dance,” Alexis says to Michael.

“I’m a man of many talents,” Ashton says.  “Michael can’t be expected to remember all of them.”

“He’s humble, too,” Michael says.

"Ashton Irwin, I thought that was you!"

Michael turns to find an unfamiliar woman approaching.  Her hair is dyed with blues, greens, and yellows, a mixture that's both artistic and striking, especially when paired with the tight black dress she's wearing.  She's pretty, with dark lipstick and a gold necklace drawing attention to her bust.  If Michael didn't have the most beautiful person in the room next to him, he probably would give her a double take.

"Ashley!" Ashton says, immediately sweeping her into a hug.

"Can’t say I expected to see you here," she says.

"Me neither!  I didn't realize your band would be playing tonight," he says.  "Guys, this is my friend Ashley.  She manages Eds and the Airplanes.  We met when she booked our studio a couple months ago."

"Met, went on two dates, became friends instead, you know how it goes," Ashley says.

Michael's heart plummets, then completely stops when he sees the panicked expression on Ashton's face.

"Dates?" Alexis asks carefully.  "When was this?"

"Summer," Ashton says quickly.  Ashley frowns.  "Back in the summer.  June, I think.  Before I started dating Michael, obviously."

"Dating Michael?" Ashley asks.  "When the fuck did that happen, because it sure wasn't while my band was recording."

Oh holy shit.  Their entire story is going to get blown apart because Ashton went on some dates with this incredibly attractive, music-smart woman, dates that Michael had no idea about despite theoretically being one of Ashton's best friends.  They've seen each other consistently each week since college.  When did Ashton have time to sneak around on dates?  More importantly, why would he keep this from Michael?

Ashton is floundering for an explanation.  Michael can't hear any of his attempts over the ringing in his ears.

"I have to--I have to use the bathroom," he says.  He's leaving before anyone has a chance to try to stop him, weaving in between the tables as fast as he can without breaking out into a full-on sprint.

Everyone is going to know that he lied.  Even if Ashton manages to charm his way through a salvageable story, why would anyone believe that Ashton would go for someone like him if Ashley is right there?  If they didn't work out, why would he and Ashton be able to make it a full five months?

He pushes open the bathroom door, thankful that all of the stalls look empty.  It's the type of fancy bathroom with a small armchair in the corner, and he sinks into it, cradling his head in his hands.

Fuck.  What if everyone thinks Ashton is a cheater?  What other reason would his coworkers have for Ashton's panic and the way Michael ran away?  Why else wouldn't Michael know who Ashley is, if her relationship with Ashton was completely innocent?

Why didn't Ashton tell him about her?

The door opens again and Michael jumps.

"Michael?" Harry asks, eyebrows drawn together in concern.  "What's wrong?  I saw you leave the dance floor pretty quickly."

"I--"

He lets out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair then rubbing at his face, hoping desperately that Harry isn't going to laugh at him.

The cat's out of the bag, anyway.  There isn't any way for them to recover from this.

"Ashton's not my boyfriend," he says.

Harry shuffles closer and crouches down by Michael's chair.

"He's not?" he asks slowly.  Michael shakes his head.

"I don't have a boyfriend.  I never have.  I just didn't want to correct you guys when you all thought I did.  I don't know, I guess it was nice to pretend for a bit, but everyone was so eager to meet him here, so I asked Ashton to fake it with me."

Harry hums.

"There's a woman here he went on some dates with.  I didn't know about them, but they didn't meet until October, and I think she just accidentally busted the whole thing."

Harry hums again.  He’s frowning, mouth turned down in a way that makes Michael scared that he just lost his best work friend.

“Sorry.  I shouldn’t have lied.  This is probably just karma.”

“It’s okay,” Harry says.  He stands, then leans against the arm of Michael’s chair, putting an arm around his shoulders.  “If it makes you feel better, you had me fooled.”

Michael laughs mirthlessly.

“That’s because I’ve been in love with him for years.”

“Oh, Michael,” he says, squeezing him tighter.

“Yep,” he says, popping the last consonant.  “Haven’t had time to get a real boyfriend when I’m hung up on him.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says.  There’s nothing else to say.  

“And the worst thing is,” he starts, words falling unbidden now that he’s let himself speak, “now that I met her it’s like, how could I compare?  I mean, she’s beautiful, and her hair is so gorgeous and fun and mine’s been dull and blonde for so long because otherwise it’ll fall out, and she obviously knows a lot about music while I’ve barely picked up my guitar in the past few weeks and just--”

He sighs and stands, shrugging off Harry’s hands and heading towards the sinks.  His hair is a bit messy, resistant to his efforts to comb through it.

“Nothing anyone can do,” he says.  “I can’t hide in the bathroom all night.  Do you think Alexis and the others are going to hate me?”

“No,” Harry says.  “They might think it’s weird for a little bit, though.”

Michael focuses on his hair again, trying to stop the subtle shake in his hands.  He and Ashton can just leave early, photo-ops and the raffle be damned.  Michael can work around awkwardness, but if that’s all that this night is going to turn into he’d rather be back home playing video games.

The door opens again.  Michael tenses, only to see in the mirror that it’s not some stranger or his boss, but Ashton.

“Hey,” Ashton says.  He looks at Harry and nods, then turns back to Michael.  “You okay?”

“Fine,” he says, messing with the knobs on the sink.  “What’s happening out there?”

Ashton glances at Harry again.

“Do you two need a minute?” he asks.  Ashton nods, but Harry waits until Michael does too before he leaves.

“I, uh, had to tell Ashley about what’s going on, but I don’t think anyone else knows.  Everything is okay.”

“Really?” Michael asks, turning finally.  “How did you talk your way out of that one?”

Ashton shrugs.  “I’m good with words.  Ashley caught on pretty quickly, too.”

"Did you really date her?" he asks before he can stop himself.  Ashton sighs.

"We went on a few dates, yes.  Two of them.  Well, more like one and a half before we decided we were better suited as friends."

"Oh," Michael says.  "Why?  She seems nice and fun.  She obviously likes music, and she's pretty.  You'd think you two would be a good match."

"Well, we aren't," Ashton says.

"Okay," Michael says.  Ashton nods once.  It feels weird and tense, an unusual dynamic for them that Michael doesn't know how to fix.  "Sorry, I guess."

"Don't be," Ashton says.  "I never should have started it.  It's a good thing it ended where it did."

"Why?"

Ashton sighs, coming over by the sinks to lean against the counter.  The bathroom isn't that large, but Michael hadn't realized how far away he felt before he had him within arm's reach.

"I... was just using her, I think.  I was hung up on someone else and thought that if I dated her, I'd be able to get over it.  That wasn't fair to either of us.  She caught on and said we should be friends instead."

Michael's breath catches in his throat.  Ashton has been doing his own pining, going so far as to try to date other people to get over this mystery person, and he's been doing all of it without Michael's knowledge.

"Why didn't you tell me any of this?" he asks, hoping that it doesn't sound hurt.  "I didn't even know you liked anyone.  I could've tried to help."

Ashton takes a breath, tracing the marble pattern on the countertop with his finger for a long moment, close to where Michael is resting his own fingers.  He wants to reach out and tie their hands together, but Ashton looks up at him before he can.  There's something heavy in his gaze that makes Michael feel like whatever he says next could break him if neither of them are careful.  Still, he leans closer, trying to let Ashton know that he's listening.  He's always listening to him.

"The person I was hung up on... or, well, am still hung up on, I suppose, he--"

The door opens again and both of them spring back, breaking their bubble like they're school kids caught skipping class to make out in the bathroom.  Michael's cheeks flame, but the man who enters doesn't spare them a glance, headed straight to a stall.  

"We should rejoin the party," Ashton says.  Michael can't stop the disappointment that fills him, despite knowing that Ashton is right.  Besides, public restrooms aren't exactly the most pleasant hangout, not even one fancy enough for an armchair in the corner and little vials of lotion by the sinks.

"Okay," he says.  "Everything's good?"

"Everything's good," Ashton replies.  Michael nods and squares his shoulders, following Ashton out of the bathroom and back into the bustle of the party.  The band is still playing at the front, but Michael drags his feet, pausing and tugging Ashton with him towards the beverages to get another drink of water.  Ashley intercepts them on the way over.

"Michael? Hey," she says.  "I'm sorry about what happened back there.  I obviously had no clue what you two were doing and I didn't mean to throw a wrench in things.  I think we covered it pretty well, though.  You're secret's still safe."

She winks, charm oozing out of her in a way that partially reminds him of Ashton.  Once again, he wonders why they didn't work out.  Whoever Ashton likes must be pretty special.

He pushes the thought away.  There's no use getting upset over it when he still has to put on a show of being happy for the rest of the night.  He has to at least be able to fake it, and that means distracting himself until he can get home and wallow.

"It's okay," he says.  "You didn’t know.  It's not like you could’ve guessed what was happening."

Ashley laughs.  "You're right about that.  Still, I support it.  You two make a good pair."

Michael glances at Ashton, who looks like he's either trying to psychically communicate with Ashley or gut her.  Michael clears his throat, trying not to wonder who Ashton wishes he were a pair with, instead.

"Thanks," he says.

"Well, I need to get back to the band in case they need me.  I'm sure I'll see you both sometime later."

"Yeah, later," Michael says.

"See you, Ash," Ashton adds.  Ashley smiles and gives them both a small wave with her fingers as she turns.  Michael watches her walk away.

“Come on,” he says eventually.  “I want some water.”

The band transitions to another slower song, something jazzy featuring the piano and upright bass.  Ashton puts a hand near the base of Michael’s spine as they walk, finally getting little plastic cups of water and wandering to an empty space to sip it.

“This isn’t how I expected the evening to go,” Ashton says.  Michael snorts.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s not you,” Ashton says.  “But I do think we need to raise your spirits a bit.  It’s your holiday work party!  You’re with friends, enjoying live music and getting to dress up.  Come dance with me again.”

“You think very highly of your dancing skills,” Michael says.  “Don’t let it go to your head.  You’re no Fred Astaire.”

“I’m impressed you know who that is,” Ashton says, downing the rest of his water and throwing it in a nearby trash bin.  Michael makes an affronted noise that goes ignored.  “Regardless of you insulting my dancing, it was making you smile earlier.  Come on.  You can’t let one false alarm ruin your night.  Dance a few songs with me, then we can take ridiculous pictures with their winter backdrop and wait for the raffle before heading back out into the snow.”

“I don’t want you to step on my toes,” Michael says.

“I promise I won’t,” Ashton pleads.  “Please?”

Ashton peers at him earnestly, eyes soft.  He starts to smile, knowing that Michael is going to cave against his best attempts, and when he takes Michael's hand and starts to walk towards the dance floor, Michael unsticks his feet and follows him.

"You're lucky I like you," Michael says.  He tries to sound begrudging, but it probably doesn't work.  Ashton can read him too well.

"I am," Ashton says.  He stops abruptly, making Michael run into him, and turns.  "Seriously.  I'm lucky to have you in any way you let me.  You're so wonderful, and I'm grateful that I can call you one of my best friends."

Ashton brings their hands up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of Michael's palm, watching his reaction through his lashes.  Something indescribable lodges itself in Michael's throat.  For a moment, he wonders if he can tell Ashton all of the ways he wants him without messing everything up.

"Come on," Ashton says, breaking the moment.  "Let's dance."

Another slow jazzy song is playing when they make their way to the floor, and they join other couples in an embrace.  Ashton keeps their hands together but slides a gentle hand around his waist to his lower back, resting heavily there and pulling them closer together.  Michael finds a spot for his hand on Ashton's shoulder, but with how close they're standing it's more like a hug than anything else.  Ashton starts them in a gentle sway.

"Hey," Ashton murmurs, close enough that Michael feels his breath puff against his cheek.  It reminds him of the moment after Ashton kissed his cheek on his couch this afternoon, when Michael thought he might try to kiss him on the lips next.

"Yeah?"

"Harry and Louis are making out in the corner.  It's very unfitting for a work function."

"What?" he asks.  Ashton turns them so he can see, and sure enough his eyes find Harry's floral suit near the edge of the room, the man himself locking lips with his husband.

"Huh," he says.  "I hope our manager sees them and says something about it.  You'd think after being married for a few years they'd have calmed down."

"It's kind of cute," Ashton says.  "It's nice that they're still that in love with each other."

"I guess," Michael says.  "I don't know.  I don't think I'd want to be that gushy with someone, you know?  I don't need to always be touching or making out to know that we like each other, hopefully.  I don't know if I'd enjoy that, especially somewhere as public as this."

"What would you enjoy, then?" Ashton asks.  Michael shrugs.

"What we're doing here, I think.  It's nice, but not suffocating.  We're enjoying each other's company and all, but what would be the point of even going out if we were going to be hanging off each other the entire time?  We could just do that at home."

"I thought you'd be a bit more cuddly."

Michael will be the first to admit that he loves a lot of physical contact, and back in college he probably would have said he wanted it all the time.  He would love to show off his partner and relationship as much as possible.  Now, though, it's a bit different.  Ashton doesn't hang off people as much as the rest of them do, but that's okay.  Michael has learned to read him over the years, and there's something to be said about subtle glances and soft words kept between just the two of them, tucked close to Michael's heart, things Michael has stopped mentioning in his lovesick laments to Calum and Luke.  Some things are made more special when they're only shared between two people.

"In private, yes.  Of course I'd want to be as close as possible to you.  But I don't really want everyone else seeing that, I guess.  I want some things to be just for us."

"I understand.  I like that better, too."  Ashton clears his throat.  "Theoretically."

"Theoretically," Michael says, thankful that his face is partially hidden from the angle that they're dancing.

That's the type of relationship he would want with Ashton.  It's been too long since he thought about what he would want in a relationship with anyone else.  It could be different, but it certainly wouldn't be better.

"I hope you get that," Ashton says suddenly.  "I know we're pretending now because you didn't want to tell your coworkers that you don't have anyone, but I hope you find someone soon.  I want you to be happy."

"You too," Michael says.  It’s not a lie, even if it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.  He's not going to get a happy relationship until he gets over Ashton, and he's already spent so many years liking him that he doesn't know how to stop.

Ashton hums.  Michael thinks he might understand, given his own secret pining that he's been doing.  He wants to ask again why Ashton didn't tell him.  He doesn't know if he's ready for the answer.

The song ends, transitioning to another upbeat number that has younger people jumping and older people shuffling along together.  Ashton suddenly swings Michael out in another twirl, and then they're back to swing dancing, two steps and a ball-change keeping them on beat.

"Warn a guy next time," he says when he comes back to him.

"Spin incoming," Ashton says, sending him right back into another twirl.  Michael laughs through it, and Ashton's responding smile is the best thing Michael has seen all night.

-/-

Michael ends up dancing with Ashton for the rest of the night, losing track of fast songs and slow ones with intermittent breaks to bother his friends and catch a breath until the band announces that it'll be their last one of the evening.  It feels strange that Michael has spent so much time stressing over this night only for it to be nearly over.  When the song finishes, Ashton dips him like they’re in a movie.  Looking at him framed by the overhead lights, Michael can almost believe he has a halo.

They make their way back to the table they started at for the raffle, Michael sitting and Ashton making a detour to get water.  Everyone in attendance got their name put in as part of the RVSP, but Michael doesn't even know half of the prizes.  In reality, he's ready to stare at Ashton and trace individual strands of hair through his curls with his eyes rather than listen, memorizing every detail he can.

"Hey," Alexis says when he sits down.  "You looked like you were having a good time."

"I was," he says.  "Dancing is more fun than I thought, but don't tell Harry I said that."

“I already know,” Harry says.  “You and Ashton should join us when we go dancing.”

Michael gives him his most sarcastic smile.  Alexis studies his face, eyes looking for any signs of deceit in a way that makes him sit up straighter.

"Does he treat you well?" she asks.  "Things were really weird once that Ashley girl showed up."

"He does," he says.  "I promise."

Alexis continues her scrutiny, but she must be satisfied with her findings, because she nods.

"Good," she says.  "I like him, but I like you more."

"Thanks," he says.

"What about me?" Harry asks.  Alexis flips him off, and things at the table are back to normal by the time Ashton returns with two cups of water, one that he hands to Michael.  The president taps the microphone again before Michael can properly thank him, so he elects for squeezing his hand and hopes it suffices.  From Ashton's smile, it does.

The first few raffles are for various baskets following themes like movies, a taste of Italy, and art.  Michael zones out as people he doesn't recognize get their names called (and sometimes butchered), thoughts wandering to his expectations of the night and what actually happened.

He and Ashton never got their picture taken with the backdrop.  It's not the end of the world, but Michael wishes they had thought to do that.  It may be fake, but it'd be the only couple's photo of them that Michael may get, and he'd like to remember some things about the night, like the feeling of dancing in Ashton’s arms and how radiant he looks.

For all of the fuss about PDA and mistletoe, they didn't have to contend with any of that, either.  Michael's not sure if he's relieved or disappointed.

"Ashton Irwin!" the president calls.  Michael startles as the rest of their table erupts in cheers.

“Huh,” Ashton says, standing.  “I didn’t know I was included in this.”

“Go get your prize,” Harry says, shooing him forward.  Michael watches him make his way to the front and come back with a basket.

“You can probably have half of this,” Ashton whispers to him, showing the basket.  There are two mugs in it, but there’s also a lot of coffee, and Ashton doesn’t care about how fancy his caffeine is.  He takes it black the majority of the time and uses it more as a tool to wake up than an enjoyable beverage.  They ignore the rest of the raffles in favor of pawing through the basket, taking out items to pass around the table when the others ask about them.  There’s some fancy hot cocoa mix that makes Ashton’s eyes light up, but the majority of it is coffee that Michael has to resist the urge to open up and smell.  Knowing him, he’d make a mess.

Michael is so focused on the coffee that he barely registers the end of the party, the president’s words going in one ear and out the other until everyone starts standing and shuffling towards the door around him.

“Hey,” Alexis says.  “You can’t leave until we take a picture.  Dalmar wants one of the whole department.”

“I want one of us,” Harry says.  They wait a minute to let some of the crowd clear out, then Michael is swept up in the tide heading towards the photo backdrop.  There’s cotton on the ground to give the impression of snow, and one side has pine trees decked in gold and a starry landscape behind while the other has silver accents and a sparkly wire reindeer.

“Very thoughtful of them to coordinate a gold and a silver option, I assume so everyone can choose the backdrop that best matches their outfit,” Ashton says, voice low.  Michael snickers.

Ashton joins the other plus-ones off to the side while Michael is corralled into a department picture, sandwiched between Alexis and Imani.  Once Dalmar promises to email it out, Harry makes him stay for a picture with him and Alexis, then another one that includes their dates.

“Do you want one with just you two?” Harry asks him after.  Michael glances at Ashton, then nods, handing his phone over.  He hasn’t checked it all night, and there are a few messages from both Calum and Luke that he’ll probably ignore until morning.

Ashton puts an arm around his waist for probably the last time tonight and decides to use the privilege for evil, jabbing him in the side and making him squirm and involuntarily laugh.

“I hate you,” he says.

“No you don’t,” Ashton responds cheekily.  Michael turns back to where Harry already has the camera up.

“Say cheese,” he says.  Michael smiles.  Harry gets a few shots in before Ashton presses a kiss to his cheek.  Michael hopes he doesn’t look too startled before he starts smiling again, letting himself relish in the moment.

“Got any good ones?” Ashton asks once he pulls away.

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry says.

“Ashton,” Ashley calls, appearing in the crowd and waving him over.  He glances back at Michael.

“One moment,” he says, then heads towards her.

“So,” Harry says casually, handing over Michael’s phone.  “There’s really nothing going on with you two?”

Michael lets his gaze land on Ashton, locked in what looks to be a serious conversation with Ashley.  She gestures and he makes a face that she returns, but he can’t tell what they’re discussing.

“No, not on his end.  He has someone else he’s after.”

“Someone who isn’t you?”

Michael shrugs.  “He didn’t say.  There’s no way, though.  I think I’ve used up all my luck for the night.  Karma says nothing else good can happen now that the lie worked.”

“It’s Christmastime, Michael,” Harry says.  “Maybe you’ll get a miracle.”

Ashton hugs Ashley.  She says something into his ear and he nods.  Michael sighs and forces himself to turn back to Harry, who is still looking at him with his head tilted like a puppy.

“He cares about you a lot; it's been obvious to all of us here tonight.  Don't discount that just because you're scared.  Maybe it's time to tell him," Harry says.

"I've been doing this for years," Michael reminds him.  "It's never time."

"Hey," Ashton says, reappearing.  "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," Michael says.  "See you later, Harry.  Tell Alexis I say goodbye, too."

"Good luck, Michael.  Remember, Christmas miracles!"

Michael gives him a tight smile and starts towards the coat check.  They killed enough time with the pictures that they don't have to wait in line too long before they're bundled up and ready to leave.

"What did Harry mean about Christmas miracles?" Ashton asks, putting on his gloves.

"Nothing," Michael says.  "He's just being optimistic.  What did Ashley want to say to you?"

"Oh, you know," Ashton says.  "Just that it was good to see each other and finally meet you."

"Meet me?" Michael asks.  "She didn't even talk to me.  Why would she want to meet me, anyway?  I'm just an auditor."

"You're not just anything.  Besides, I've probably talked about you a lot.  Come on.  Time to brave the cold."

Michael frowns at the abrupt change, but Ashton is already heading towards the entrance, so he scrambles to catch up.

A gust of wind greets then outside, thick snow swirling in the air around them.  Michael braces himself against it, huddling down in his coat and shoving his hands in his pockets.  Ashton leans close, flexing his fingers where he's gripping the handle of the basket, and they shuffle down the sidewalk as one.  Once Michael gets to the car, he immediately turns on the defroster and heat, hating the first few minutes of cold air until the car warms up properly.  Ashton grabs the scraper from the back before Michael can, brushing snow off the front windshield and scraping away the frost that had gathered in the time they were at the party.  When he gets to the driver-side window, he makes funny faces at Michael while clearing it off.  It warms him more than the heater does.

"Thanks," Michael says once he's done.  "I hate scraping.”

"I know," Ashton says, brushing snow off of his coat where it had gathered on his shoulders.  "Hey, I got a gift card in my basket.  Let's swing by before you drop me off."

"It's a little late for coffee," Michael says.

"This place is open until midnight, and they have great hot chocolate.  Come on.  You got me a free meal tonight, so let me give you a free late-night cocoa."

"Fine," Michael says, as if he wasn't going to cave as soon as Ashton suggested it, as if he himself wouldn't mind prolonging their time together if it's just the two of them.  "Put the address in.  The roads aren't that bad yet."

-/-

The coffee shop is a small place on a corner, one of the only shops still lit up at 9:30 at night.  Snow has gathered on the window ledges and the corners are blocked by frost, but warm light and swashes of browns and yellows still spill out, giving the entire building an inviting atmosphere.  Ashton holds the door for him on the way in, the bell above the door tinkling a greeting with the welcome rush of heated air.

The inside is just as cozy as Michael's first impressions suggested.  A few mismatched tables are scattered around the room with wooden chairs tucked against them, but it's the armchairs near the back that make him smile, big padded things arranged around a crackling fireplace that would probably swallow him if he sat down in them.  A bookshelf sits off to the side, old paperbacks and worn hardcovers nestled amongst other trinkets on warped wooden shelves, sinking under the weight of the years.  A Christmas tree stands in the corner, what looks like homemade ornaments adoring it and a few boxes in shiny wrapping paper underneath.  Calm Christmas music plays faintly over the speakers, and a barista calls out from where she is wiping down a table that she'll be with them in a moment.

"I've never been here before," Michael says.

"If you lived with me instead of out in a suburb, you would've by now," Ashton says, brushing snow off of Michael’s shoulder.  "It's one of my favorite places to go once winter hits.  I don't care for coffee, but I love everything else about the place.  It's a great source of inspiration and relaxation."

"Of course it is," Michael says fondly.  "Every place is a source of inspiration for you.  You probably found inspiration at my work party."

"Maybe that was more about the company than the location," Ashton says.

"I guess there were a lot of interesting people there, like Ashley.  You can probably get some material from Harry and Louis, too."

Ashton stares at him for a long moment.

"Are you being deliberately obtuse as a way to let me down?  Or do you really not know yet?"

"Hi, what can I get you?" the barista asks.  Michael is getting really sick of people interrupting Ashton when he's about to tell him something.

Ashton orders two small hot chocolates, one with whip and one without, then leads Michael to a table in the back corner.  It's an odd choice when they have the entire shop to themselves, but Michael doesn't fight it.  He's too distracted by the tantalizing smell of the hot cocoa and the mountain of whip on top of it, so much so that he burns his tongue on the first sip.

"Careful," Ashton laughs.  He reaches forward and swipes the whip right off Michael's nose, popping it into his mouth.  Michael's brain shuts down and takes its sweet time restarting, staring at Ashton gently blow on his own cocoa and take a much more cautious sip.

"So," Ashton says.  "I had an alternative motive for getting you to come here tonight."

"Is this payback for making you come to the party with me?  Are you going to ask me for a favor?"

"Not a favor," Ashton says.  "Well, I suppose you could come to the studio's New Years Eve party with me, if you wanted."

"I was already planning on going," Michael says.  I've been there every year since you opened.  I wasn't going to miss it now."

"See, this is what I was talking about with you being deliberately obtuse," Ashton says.  "Do you want to go with me?  As my date?"

Michael frowns.

“Did you tell everyone you have a secret boyfriend?”

Ashton sighs and cradles his head in his hands.  “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you.”

“Say what?” Michael implores.  “Is it too much for you to stop being so cryptic and just tell me what you want me to understand?”

“Michael, I really, really like you.  Romantically.  I have for a long time.  I want to know if you’ll go on a date with me.”

“What the fuck?” Michael asks.  Ashton’s face crumples.  “No, not like--how long?  Because I’ve been in love with you since college!”

“What?” Ashton blinks.  “I thought… I mean, I’d hoped, and there were moments, but I didn’t realize it had been that long for you.”  He smiles, letting it grow on his face until it’s overwhelming.  Michael mirrors it.  “Holy shit.  This is great!”

Michael laughs.

“Do you really like me?”

“Yes, Michael.  Of course I do.  I knew I eventually would as soon as I met you, I just put it off for as long as I could.  You’re magnetic.  It was inevitable.”

Michael doesn’t know what to do with the joy bubbling up in him, threatening to overflow like a volcano with all of the heat of one.

“So, Michael Clifford, want to be my date to the Superbloom New Year’s party?  And my boyfriend?  My real one, in case that somehow wasn’t clear by now.”

“Yes!  Please, yes, I would love to,” Michael says.

“Good,” Ashton says.  “But I do have one more confession to make.  I still haven’t told you why I wanted to come here right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look up,” Ashton says, pointing above their heads.  Michael follows his directions and is met with a small sprig of green leaves with tiny white flowers hanging from the ceiling.  “We never did get a mistletoe kiss, which was extremely disappointing to me.  Will you indulge me now?”

Michael turns back to him, seeing hope shining in his eyes, and nods a little too eagerly if the way Ashton giggles at him is any indication.

“Alright,” Ashton says, standing.  “Come on.  I’m not about to make you lean over the table.”

He takes Michael’s hands, tugging him to standing.

“I’m weirdly nervous,” Michael confesses once they’re face to face.

“Don’t be,” Ashton says, taking a step forward.  “If it’s bad, we’ll just try again.  I have the feeling I’ll be kissing you a lot in the future.”

“Yeah,” Michael breathes.

“Ready?” Ashton asks, eyes flicking down to Michael’s lips and then back up.  Instead of answering, Michael leans in, Ashton meeting him halfway in the best kiss Michael has ever had.  In the grand scheme of things, it’s utterly unremarkable, but to Michael it’s everything: the feeling of his cold hands enveloped by Ashton’s, the calm atmosphere of the coffee shop they’re in, the taste of hot chocolate still on Ashton’s lips, and the satisfaction of finally, after years, knowing what this sensation is like all melts together to form something that feels like complete and utter happiness.

Ashton drops their hands so he can cup Michael’s jaw and kisses him again, and then again, and then they stand there smiling at each other until Michael finally starts giggling.

“Our hot chocolate is probably getting cold,” he says.

“God, I love you,” Ashton replies.  Michael knows that he’s blushing, but for once it’s not out of embarrassment or the cold outside.  He’s never felt this level of joyful peace.

Ashton kisses him once more, quickly, before he finally goes back to his seat.  Michael joins him, taking a sip of his drink.  He can’t help but think that Ashton’s homemade cocoa is better.

The man in question reaches out and takes one of his hands, holding it across the table and beaming, showing off his dimples, and Michael once again can’t resist smiling back.

Maybe Harry is right.  Karma stands no chance against a Christmas miracle.

[zara2148]

Fethsteel Fic: Not Good Enough (For You)

So here we go, my take on how Fethry Duck joined F.O.W.L. and met Steelbeak. Less warning stuff for this one, mostly just implied abuse, though it’s clear Steelbeak has not had a pleasant history. Also, both he and Fethry have some self esteem issues... and there’s not exactly spoilers for “Lost Harp of Mervana,” but the new intro takes place right after it.

Also on AO3. Make sure leave kudos and comments there. I enjoy the feel of being applauded.

Huey was placing Isabella Finch's journal back in Uncle Scrooge's study when he spotted the tin can phone there, now connected to nothing. Scrooge held on to everything in the mansion, even seemingly useless things, on the grounds that it may one day come in handy again. 

It was one reason why Trash Day could be such a nightmare, though Scrooge was starting to learn how to let things go...

Huey found Della and Donald unpacking their gear off the sub, hanging up suits and boxing equipment until it was ready to be used again. "Uncle Donald? Mom? Do you know how to get in touch with Cousin Fethry? I think he'd love to hear all about Mervana."

"No, sorry, sweetie. I haven't heard anything from him since he rode off on the back of that... giant... fish..." Della shuddered in remembered revulsion.

"Mom, it was a krill."

"A fish is still a fish by any other name."

"You also seemed fine with Mitzy at the time."

"I was too busy thinking about all the Moonlanders we had to beat up."

Donald sighed and turned away from a crate to answer Huey’s question. “I haven’t heard from him either since then.” He shrugged. "But that's normal for Fethry. He either calls every five minutes or he gets so wrapped up in something we don't hear from him for six months."

"Doesn't he have a cell phone we could call?”

"Knowing Fethry, it would just get dropped in the ocean." There was a reason Scrooge only trusted Fethry with a tin can after one too many busted phones.

Huey’s beak twisted in discomfort. “But what if he got in trouble? What if he needed our help?”

Donald let out a breath, more frustrated with himself than anyone else, even Fethry. He knelt in front of Huey and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Fethry is…” Cuckoo bananas really hadn’t been the right thing to say to Huey, not when Donald could see the similarities between the two of them. Unsure how else to finish that sentence, he tried again.

“Fethry is who he is. But he’s also a grown adult capable of making decisions and taking care of himself. If he ever needs us, he knows where we are.”

Della grinned proudly. “He’s a part of the Duck family. Surviving is what we do.”

Uncle Donald and Mom weren’t wrong about that. Cousin Fethry had survived alone in a collapsing sea base for years. He knew the Junior Woodchuck guidebook from cover to cover, just as Huey did. He was better prepared than most to face trouble when it found him.

"Okay, I'll just make sure to write down all my observations about Mervana to share with him when he gets in touch."

Donald gave Huey a smile. "I'm sure he'll love that."

***

“Don’t call us, we’ll call you.”

It was an old refrain at this point. 

The last job interview he had, Fethry had spent a full half-hour talking about the eating habits of krill and the merits of singing when asked about his team management skills. 

The interview before that, he spoke briefly about the endless silence of the ocean when asked how he dealt with workplace difficulties. He’d been too quiet after that question.

And the interview before that… well, he didn’t think that room was ever going to be the same.

Fethry’s laptop was old. Wires were sticking out and duct tape was barely holding the screen together. He browsed through the listings for scientists on Quacked In, tweaking his cover letter and resume slightly for each.

Maybe he was going about this the wrong way. Maybe he should try for a slightly smaller position at a lab, like a custodian! He had experience keeping things in custody! And then he could work his way up from there. 

But the little Donalds had such faith in him. They believed he could be a great scientist. Fethry wasn’t going to let them down. He never really realized until it was too late, but Fethry knew he had a habit of letting his family down.

Gladstone had offered to help, after that big event with purple people from the sky… ahh, yes, the invasion! But Fethry knew how often people tried to get close to his cousin to use his luck. Family shouldn’t do that.

The next listing didn’t quite catch his eye. But Fethry was at the point of applying for everything that came up for “scientist” and read through what little there was.

“WANTED: Skilled scientists for private company in Duckburg. Duties will vary. Flexible work schedule, late nights occasionally required. Must be able to roll with the punches.”

He had no expectations that it would progress to a job offer. How he chose to look at was that he was doing really well on reaching his goal of 100 job rejections. He’d read all about re-framing your objectives for positivity!

Once he reached 100, well, he might as well try for 200 rejections then.

He reviewed his resume and cover letter on the final submission screen. He clicked “Send.”

Then he moved onto the next listing and thought no more of it.

***

F.O.W.L.’s computer settings were extremely sensitized when it came to tracking the movements and activities of the Duck-McDuck clan. They knew when Hubert Duck received a new merit badge, or when Dewford Duck uploaded another video to his overlooked Insta, or when Llewellyn bought a soda that wasn’t Pep branded.

Any diversion from or progress in the Duck’s family’s normal routine could be significant. That’s why they monitored it all.

So when a member of the Duck family applied for one of their vacant positions, it got noticed. Alarms went off, alerting the highest-ranking members in F.O.W.L. command.

Just ten minutes after the application was received, Bradford clicked through it on his laptop.

F.O.W.L. could just ignore this. Stay away from the Duck family until they were more ready to move out in the open. It would be a sensible move.

But there was potential here he couldn’t overlook.

Fethry Duck was one of the harder members to track ever since the McDuck SubLab crumbled into an undersea abyss. Satellite images last had him riding some sort of kaiju across the ocean, which was just typical when it came to the Duck-McDuck family.

When the moon invaders came they had made many mistakes, such as caring more about the acknowledgment of their perceived superiority than how they could exploit the Earth. But they had been right that it was better to have all members of that family accounted for when it came to global-scale plans.

Having Fethry under constant watch at F.O.W.L. would leave Gladstone as the most transient variable. And the lottery winnings and sweepstakes prizes he left in his wake would make him infinitely easier to track.

Fethry was also one of the more controllable members of the Duck family. Neither misfortune nor ostentatious fortune dogged his steps. He didn’t question intention and he didn’t try to stir up trouble for his amusement. He was so lacking in ambition that he stayed in a lonely janitorial position for almost five years. If he was taken to a lab and given every reason to stay, he likely would do so without seeing anything amiss.

His goal was to steal the world right out from under Scrooge. Why not start by stealing a member of the man’s family? One Scrooge was unlikely to miss for quite some time, given his avoidance of Fethry’s company.

Yet for a duck who didn’t believe in handouts, it said something that Scrooge still cared enough about Fethry to give him a string of jobs that he more or less performed adequately. He’d prefer it not come to threats, especially since harm to his family made Scrooge predictably savage. But if worse came to worse… better to have a hostage than do without.

And if he was useless? Disposing of him would be no hardship.

He clicked “Accept” and composed a brief response, suggesting a range of times that Fethry could visit a front location in downtown Duckberg.

After opening up the email and reading through it, Fethry squealed and picked out the earliest possible time. 

***

Fethry hummed as he walked inside the address the email gave him. It was a plain building, notable only for its pristine white exterior that seemed all too blank.

He’d dressed up nice for the occasion. His red jacket was replaced with a slightly frayed and browned business suit jacket. His tie was a piece of dried kelp that Mitzy had picked out for him. She always had the best eye when it came to kelp. And his cap was still present, keeping his thoughts toasty warm!

Yet his throat felt clogged and simultaneously too dry. The papers in his hand would be wrinkled if he clutched them any tighter. There was a heavy feeling in his chest that told him he’d be out of here soon enough, and he would need to try his luck elsewhere.

A duck with a dirty face and ruffled hair sat behind the visitor’s desk. Her name tag read “Ample.”

He approached her without his usual bounce. “Hello, I’m here for an interview.”

She nodded and glanced through the schedule. “Fethry Duck?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“The director is ready to see you now. Go through the double doors over there.”

He dipped forward in an awkward half-bow, unsure if a handshake would be too presumptuous. “Thank you!”

He pushed his way through the double doors. The room was in grey shadow, a large desk slightly off toward one of the corners. Two chairs were in front of the desk, facing the figure behind it.

The shadows slightly obscured the person behind the desk. He could make out a shape but no features.  

The shadow turned to him. “Ah, thank you for coming. Please take a seat.”

Fethry grabbed one of the chairs, shifting his paper copy of his resume as he looked at his interviewer up close.

Oh, he knew this vulture! He worked with Uncle Scrooge before! His name was buzzing around in the back of Fethry’s skull, waiting to be grabbed hold of…. what was it, what was it…?

“Bradley!”

“It’s Bradford,” he corrected in a cold tone. 

Fethry slumped back in his seat, feeling small. “O-oh, I’m sorry.”

Bradford did not take the time to acknowledge what he said. He sat “So, Fethry Duck. Scrooge’s nephew.”

“Yes.”

“You hold no degrees, no certifications that would qualify you for a scientific position.”

“... no.” Fethry knew how much those pieces of paper meant to people. He sunk into his chair, almost wishing it could swallow him up, the way the ocean did…

...and that was not a train of thought he needed to be boarding right now. Fethry stepped off a mental platform, letting it whiz by.

Bradford continued, neither noticing nor caring about Fethry’s inner world and its struggles. “And yet, you thought you could apply here, for a scientific position with us.” He stood up and started to circle around Fethry. “Do you know what we do here, Fethry?”

“Science?”

“Among other things.” Bradford paused behind Fethry. Fethry couldn’t quite bring himself to turn and look at him. “What we do here... let’s just say we're out to change the world.”

Bradford resumed his circle and came to a stop in front of Fethry. He let silence reign for a few seconds before speaking. “And Fethry Duck? We’re willing to give you the chance to join our ranks.”

Fethry had to swallow down dry disbelief. “Really?”

“Yes.”

Fethry’s hands were clammy as he held out his stacks of papers. His grip wasn’t shaking, but his limbs felt hollow. “You don’t even want to look at my resume first?”

“I’ve already seen it.”

He let his arms fall to his sides. His voice came out small, as if he was once again speaking from the bottom of the ocean. “Why me?”

Silence returned. Bradford considered him over his beak.

“You’re the unnoticed member of the Duck-McDuck family. Isn’t it time you had a chance to prove yourself?”

Bradford wasn’t wrong. He wanted that chance. But the implication that he was only getting this job because of his family...

Well. Wasn’t that how he got every job he ever had?

Bradford turned away from him and loomed his way back behind his desk. “Mind you, the job still isn’t much. You’ll be working in a lab on your own projects, yes. But you will remain under direct supervision for the time being. Before undertaking any venture, you are to submit a full report that outlines expected costs and outcomes, in accordance with our guidelines.”

He sat down, his back hunched to allow him to continue looming from a lower height. “The pay is minimum wage, but you can work your way up through experience. Food and board will be provided on-site, so that’s two fewer things you have to worry about.”

Fethry absent-mindedly fiddled with his kelp tie, his attention otherwise on Bradford as he continued.

“As you may have surmised, your work is to be considered top secret. For the time being, we will ask that you remain in the facilities to better learn your responsibilities. There is to be no contact with the outside world without prior approval. Otherwise, you put ourselves and the work we do at risk.”

“If you accept the job under these terms, a car will be dispatched to pick up you and any belongings you choose to bring tomorrow morning.” Bradford steepled his fingers and looked through Fethry. “Do you accept these conditions?” 

Fethry had forgotten he hadn’t said yes to anything yet. He wasn’t sure how he got so caught up that he missed that.

He could bring his team with him, their jar was extremely portable. But taking this job would mean saying goodbye to Mitzy for a while… hopefully, she would understand. 

He nodded, then said for emphasis, “Yes.”

“Well, then. Welcome, Fethry Duck, to…” Bradford paused again, his words trailing off into familiar silence. “... well, we’ll just call it your new place of work.”

***

There wasn’t a whole lot to do at their headquarters between missions. The funnest thing to do around here was to play all the arcade games after the kids had gone home for the day.

However, the last time Steelbeak did that he blew an entire paycheck and ended up with only 20 tickets to show for it—not even enough to trade-in for a piece of candy. That didn’t make him stupid, that made the games rigged.

Now he stuck to the actual secret parts of their secret lair, wandering the halls. His wallet stayed full and fat, but the time between missions dragged on and on.

The gun course was fun, but there was only so much offtime an agent was allowed there. Spend too much time shooting things and command would send you over to their quack shrink.

The rec room was okay, but he’d be fighting every off-duty Eggman there if he wanted to pick which channel to watch on the sole TV. Not that he wouldn’t win, but his time in the prison rec room, and the underground fighting ring’s rec room before that, taught him that victory wasn’t worth it if you couldn’t find any good shows playing.

Which is how he often ended up doing what he did right now, trailing after Heron down to the labs. He’d watch her and watch the other scientists, trying to see how what they did tied into F.O.W.L.’s big ol�� villain schemes.

Did he always understand what she was working on? No. Did she ever really try to explain it in an easily understood way? Also no. Did these trips to the labs often end with her metal hand clamped around his beak, hissing at him and calling him names? No, well, yes. Yes, it did.

… he was supposed to be going somewhere with this, but he wasn’t quite sure where. Wait, no, now he remembered. 

If he wanted to someday be the one hatching the schemes, he should watch how others hatched theirs first. It was like watching the prizefighter in the ring to learn how to beat him. Some people would only hit you if you asked them for anything, so you had to watch how they did something instead.

Most of the other scientists ignored him, and he didn’t pay them much attention either. But today, a duck in a red hat waved at them as he and Heron stepped inside the lab.

“Oh, hello! I’m Fethry!” The lab coat he was wearing hung loosely on him, clearly meant for a slightly larger bird.

“O-kaaay...?” Why was he expected to care?

A grin was spreading across Heron’s face as she looked the duck up and down. Then she turned her gaze to Steelbeak as she gestured offhandedly at the duck. “Fethry is our new marine specialist. He’ll be working on some of our most important projects.”

Heron… sounded like she was trying to hold back a laugh. What, was this smart guy really good at the jokes? Or did he know a party trick or two?

And what kind of name was Fethry? Might as well have called him “Webby” since he had webbed feet.

“Say, Fethry?” He knew that tone of voice from Heron. He didn’t always know the details of what she was saying, but he knew the sweetly sharpened tone was meant to cut someone down to size.

He felt… lighter, watching that tone be aimed at someone who wasn’t him. Like he was actually in on the joke for once. He also felt the urge to move to safer ground.

Heron’s smile was wide as she continued. “Why don’t you explain to my partner, Steelbeak, what you’re working on? He loves to hear about scientific experiments in great detail. Especially if you use a lot of long words.”

Okay, maybe he was still part of the joke.

Fethry’s eyes widened—he didn’t even know it was possible for someone to widen their eyes like that until Fethry did. “I’d love to!”

“Great!” Heron said in a passable imitation of Fethry’s enthusiasm. Under her breath she added, “Maybe now I can get some real work done.”

Steelbeak’s jaw tightened as she walked away. He refocused his gaze on the red-capped duck, who was all but jumping in place. 

A snort escaped him as he sat down at a table. At least if this pipsqueak tried to clamp his beak, he could just knock him into next week.

“So what are you working on?” This was still more exciting than watching the walls, after all.

Fethry laughed nervously. It had been a while since anyone paid him a significant amount of attention. “Well, at the moment I’m just filling out the request paperwork. But I’m hoping to start an experiment on delaying the eating habits of the crown of thorns starfish.”

“The what?”

“Crown of thorns starfish. It eats coral.”

“And that is?”

“Coral is like…” Fethry scratched his head. He could never remember all the big words like polyps, sessile, and Anthozoa when he needed to. “It’s like skeletons scattered across the seafloor that fish live in.”

“Really? So fish just decide to live in dead bodies.” Sounded fake, but at least it wasn’t boring.

“Well, coral is a skeleton, but it’s also alive. It’s really bad when they do die.”

“So the fish live in alive dead bodies.” This Fethry guy was talking an interesting sort of crazy.

“Skeletons, yes. Called coral. Only these sea stars eat the coral, so the fish have no place to live then.”

“Now, these sea stars start off eating algae. It’s been called the grass of the sea,” he explained before Steelbeak even had to ask. Fethry’s beak scrunched up. “Though I have to say, grass usually tastes much better.”

“How long it takes for the sea stars to go from algae to coral varies. And there’s a lot of these starfish in the ocean. If they made the switch all at once, they could do a lot of damage.”

Huh. For the guy’s first project, it had the makings of a decent scheme. “So… if you could figure out how to make them do it, you could have them eat the fish out of house and home?”

Fethry actually nodded at that. “Or if I could figure out a way to slow it down, I could buy time for the reefs to grow.”

“...huh.” He actually followed most of that. Sure in his mind, coral reefs had a lot more skulls than they normally did. But he got the gist of what Fethry was talking about.

Black Heron hummed as she worked without interruption. Fethry calculated the costs of feeding and housing a small colony of starfish, making sure to show his work. And Steelbeak imagined blackmailing a fishing village with an army of sea stars. Small potatoes when it came to true villainy, but everyone had to start somewhere.

***

It wasn’t one of Heron’s longer science sessions. She tapped at some keys, read some screens, fiddled with some gadgets, and was ready to leave in a couple of hours.

Fethry had remained in the lab, drawing up plans for a sea star’s dream home. They’d need plenty of walking room, he’d said, so he was drawing up little pathway designs. Including one for a yellow brick road.

He started to reach out a hand to Steelbeak… for what, Steelbeak wasn’t sure. His body tensed in defense.

And Fethry must have noticed because he let his hand drop to his side and just smiled instead. “Thanks for listening. I know I kind of ramble.”

Steelbeak waited a few seconds to be sure that Fethry wasn’t going to make any sudden moves. Then he gave a shrug and followed Heron out.

It hadn’t been a hardship. Listening to weird undersea stuff passed the time. It was like catching a documentary on TV, without the meatheads that would grab the remote from you and change the channel to something else.

Black Heron laughed at Fethry as soon as they left the lab. "That guy," was all she managed to say before chuckles overtook her.

Steelbeak scowled. “What? What did he say that was so funny?” Was he the butt of someone else’s joke again? He'd make him go splat, if so.

Heron regained control of herself, but she was still grinning. “He didn’t have to say anything. It’s comical that he’s even here.”

The scowl receded and his brows knit in confusion. “I don’t —”

“You don’t get it, I know. Lucky for you, I’m in a good enough mood to explain. He’s Scrooge McDuck’s nephew. You remember, the guy you were supposed to get out of the arcade?”

“The big guy who wrecked one of my suits?”

“Ugh, no! He was the one wearing a top hat.” A frown flitted across her face, but her good mood was quick to reassert itself. Past failure meant little in the face of such a hilarious triumph.

“He came to us, wanting a job. He has no idea that we’re F.O.W.L. and no idea that we’re working against everything his family stands for. We’re holding him hostage, and he has no clue.” Another peal of laughter escaped Heron.

Steelbeak let out a chuckle as well, now that he was finally in on the joke. "Ahh, I get it. Classic dum-dum. What kind of idiot doesn't know who they're working for?"

The grin on Heron’s face slipped slightly.

"This should go without saying, but I know you so I'll say it anyway. Do not tell Fethry any details of your work, your missions, what we do here. Nada. Nothing."

"Well, duh. I know that. That's why they're called secret missions."

"Steelbeak, I once saw you brag about being a secret agent at a bar to try and get a date."

"And why not! They were cute!"

“And you wonder why your recreational leave is so limited.”

“What?”

“I’m saying dumb boys don’t get a lot of outdoors time.”

“Hey!”

A smirk moved across her face before she continued. “The director wants him to remain utterly oblivious, so secrecy is of the utmost importance. He’s not going to be happy if we have to lock him up or kill him for knowing too much.”

Steelbeak did not reach for his beak. He did not feel the slight dents that remained from trying to punch his own mouth open. “And we’re not just locking him up now, why?”

“Because the Ducks are easiest to manage when they think a situation is within their control!” Her voice was raised as decades of thwarted ambitions seeped into her tone.

Steelbeak was unimpressed. He could get just as angry, and he hadn’t needed years to get to that point.

“And what if he does ask what I do here?”

“Why would he ask? You’re hardly about to engage him in some deep conversation, are you?”

He couldn’t quite meet her eyes for some reason. “Well, no, but…”

“Oh, for larceny’s sake. If it does come up and you can’t avoid answering the question, just make something up. You’re an agent, do some lying.”

“... yeah, of course. I can do that.”

***

It doesn’t really sink in until later that night, back in his room, how Fethry answered all his questions without calling him, “Stupid.”

[galacticidiots]

AUs,AUs...how about either a Regency AU or a Victorian AU, if either of those strike your interest? (Or any other historical period, if not.)

Anonymous asked: Fake dating AU (I’m combining these two prompts, I hope you don’t mind!)

.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. 

Less universally acknowledged is that a single woman in possession of a fortune just wants to be left alone to enjoy it, without a husband to contend with. 

That is why, when presented with the opportunity, Lord Solo, Duke of Alderaan and Lady Palpatine, heiress of Exegol Park and owner of half of Sithshire, plotted a scheme — mutually beneficial, if not altogether proper by the standards of polite society — and began a fake courtship, essentially binding themselves to each other, with the sole purpose of appearing unavailable to other suitors. 

For Ben, it was a means to escape his lady mother’s loathsome reminders that he must marry; for Rey, it was a way for her to go on enjoying life as an unmarried woman, free to do as she pleased. 

And even though they both prized themselves on their wit and intellect, neither accounted for a most unexpected turn of events: that their pretend feelings would, slowly but surely, become real.

.

They met at a ball, because every story worth telling has its start among the swishing of skirts of ladies wearing expensive chiffon and the passing around of imported cigars by gentleman in elegantly tied cravats.

Lord Solo, recently returned from a tour of Europe where his reputation as a rake and a fiend only served to bolster his standing in Coruscant’s society, was the reason for every lady’s giggle and blush. All, except for one - Lady Rey, who herself was used to being the topic of conversation at every social gathering. As one of the most eligible young ladies of marriageable age, her resistance to being seen as little more than a trophy to be won by one of the men in her social circle was first met with surprise, then with scorn and finally with antipathy. 

She had heard all about him through her cousin Rose, who dedicated more time to the Society Pages than to her studies. He intrigued her, she could admit as much - a man of his social standing, with his fortune, was certainly allowed his eccentricities, but Lord Ben Solo had always appeared, at least to Rey’s well trained eye, to be resolutely against any and all societal rules of decorum. It mattered little she could relate to his familial woes - well known and extensively documented in every issue of the Society Pages - because even though they were both products of complicated families, they were complete and total opposites.

Which is why she is quite taken aback when Lord Solo seeked her out at the ball, just when she had managed to flee from yet another encounter with a boorish bachelor and his tenacious mamma.

“Would you like a respite?” His voice startled her.

“A respite?” she echoed. He nodded, a bemused smile gracing his features, which even she had to admit were handsome. 

“You seem to be hiding from every gentleman in attendance.”

“I’ll remind you, your grace, that you are also a gentleman in attendance.” 

Lord Solo shook his head. “That’s debatable, I’m afraid - the gentleman part, at least. And I meant a respite from the party. It seems we have both grown bored of it.”

“And here I thought the weak lemonade and ratafia would be right to your taste.”

“Not quite,” he said, ignoring her sarcasm. 

“Well, you’re right on both accounts,” she conceded. “I have grown bored of this dreadful music and I am currently hiding from Lord Herrington and his frightfully heavy feet.”

Ben’s laugh was soft and low. “I believe you.” His appraising gaze weighed on her. “But surely one of them must suit your fancy. Enough to marry, perhaps?”

He was teetering on the edge of impoliteness and he knew it; a gentleman should never be so forward with a lady. And yet there was something about her that made him press on, that made him desperate to know more about her.

“I will never marry,” she said decisively, her tone final, almost like she was expecting to have to defend herself to him.

Ben was unable to hide his shock. “No?”

“Not if I can help it. Why should I give up my freedom?”

He didn’t know what he expected from Lady Palpatine, but this was surely not it. 

“And you, your grace?” she asks, jutting her stubborn little chin. Her profile waas elegant and regal and Ben could see why so many men rushed to prostrate themselves at her feet. He’d seen it happen right before his eyes, thrice that evening alone. “Do you want to get married?”

“I don’t.”

Rey scoffed. “You think you don’t. All men think they don’t, but you will.”

“No,” he replied. “I truly won’t.”

Rey balked. “What about your title? If you don’t marry and sire an heir, it will expire.” 

“Let my cousins take it, I don’t want it.”

She was at a loss for words. Could it be that they weren’t so different after all? He would never marry, and he was free to come and go as he pleased. That was all she wanted for her own life. 

Suddenly, Lord Ben Solo didn’t seem quite the conceited rake she made him out to be.

He eyed her speculatively. “Miss Palpatine, I have a proposal for you.”

Rey grinned, curious. “Go on.” 

.

And so it was agreed - Ben would take time out of his schedule of appearing busy and avoiding his family to call on Rey at her home, fiendishly expensive tulips in hand, to pretend to woo and court her and decidedly scare off any young bachelor who had the misfortune of assuming he could try to win Miss Palpatine’s affections. She in turn would have to do very little; by indulging his visits and being seen taking a turn around the park with him, she would put a stop to Lady Leia’s matchmaking  - which would, in turn, decrease the number of headaches she caused her son. 

. 

“I can’t remember the last time I conversed with someone with such obvious good sense.” 

They had walked the length of Jansaari Park together - Rose, their unwitting chaperone, a few steps behind. Conversation flowed easily between them. So easily, in fact, that their walks had turned into a daily affair. 

“You must not think very highly of your usual company, then.”

“No,” he mused. “I think it's just you, really.”

Rey frowned. “What about me?”

“You’re… quite spectacular, Miss Palpatine.” His words were almost hushed. He seemed to regret saying them, for he rushed to correct himself. “What I mean is, I-... I take great pleasure in your company.”

It was Rey’s turn to blush. “Thank you, your grace.”

“Ben, please.” His smile was coy. “Just Ben.”

They carried on walking, silence settling comfortably between them. 

“What I meant, earlier, is that you seem to know what you want out of life.” He inclined his head graciously. “I admire that.”

“Do you know what you want?”

He took some time to ponder her words, gazing out at the sprawling field ahead. “I made some decisions when I was younger. I hope to live my life according to those vows.”

Rey respected that. She recognized in him the same values, the same hopes and dreams, the same ideals she herself treasured. Not for the first time, she had to make room in her head for this new version of Lord Solo - Ben - that she was getting to know, little by little, every day. 

. 

Their daily walks became daily calls and then biweekly trips to the theatre. Soon enough, they became the talk of town - how Lord Solo and Lady Rey could never be seen more than two feet apart. 

The Society Pages betted on a spring wedding. 

.

His proposal, when it came, wasn’t the most gracious or the most eloquent. 

“Rey,” he started, and she knew what was coming, could feel it in her bones and in her heart. 

“You know I never wanted any of this. I didn’t want a wife, or a family and I definitely didn’t want to fall in love-”

“That’s not terribly romantic,” she interrupted with an amused huff. 

“It’s the truth,” he shrugged. “But you changed all of that. You came into my life and changed it all for the better and I…” 

He swallowed thickly. Patience had never been Rey’s strongest suit, but she made herself wait for him to finish, needing to hear him say it. 

“I love you.” His eyes brimmed with unshed tears and it pierced Rey to her very soul. “Desperately. Because it’s impossible not to love you.”

She captured his mouth with a kiss and melted into his arms.

The answer, predictably, was yes.

[kaen-ace-of-diamonds]

Winning Pair

Word Count: 1,800+ (oneshot) [AO3]

Genre: Romance/Fluff

Characters/Pairing: Nara Shikamaru/Temari

Summary: Shikamaru has come to a decision. The only part left is how to make it memorable for the love of his life.

Written for the Leaves in the Wind ShikaTema zine.

~0~

Shikamaru was grateful to his teammates for many things. But Ino and Choji realizing from the few times they’d noticed him and Temari together that they were seeing each other, keeping track of when Temari was going to be hanging around Konoha, and casually informing Shikamaru so he could make time to meet her there...Well. That was a quiet but special mark of the bond they shared. 

And here he’d been, under the impression that they had been real subtle about their relationships, too. Neither were big on flashy displays of affection, but he figured that there was nothing he could hide from his oldest friends. He would have to find some way to actually acknowledge that and thank them for it, especially after this, because a week prior to today, they had informed him that Temari would be staying in Konoha for a couple days. For some diplomatic task or another on her brother’s behalf; Shikamaru hadn’t really cared much for those details. 

What was important to him was that he’d gotten plenty of time to plan in advance the move he wanted to make. Always a nice thing, in both shogi and life. Most of his free time this week had been spent alone in silence planning, eyes closed and fingers interlaced. Or sitting with his father, over tea or dinner or game, discussing the matter. He had considered going to all of his friends about it. After all, they would end up becoming involved one way or another (Ino and Choji certainly already knew of, or at least suspected, his intentions), and some of them were already knowledgeable, even successful, in the art of courting. But no: Nara men did it differently. He and Temari did it differently. 

So, Shikamaru waited. He planned. He fine-tuned the details, like an artisan filing out the tiniest parts of an intricate wooden design. Such as the cube puzzle in his hands right now, that he was fiddling with as he sat at the back of his home to wait. He glanced upward every so often to watch the sun, and to track its progressing arc across the sky.

This was good. Clear sky, barely a single cloud out there. Bright light and visibility. Only the slightest of breezes out to disturb the air, barely even strong enough to ruffle his hair. He would never have called himself the sort of man who had real refined taste or appreciation for great beauty; he supposed he was just like his father in that way. But even so, he couldn’t help but think that he couldn’t have made a more perfect day if he had made a damn checklist for it. He’d made backup plans, of course, in case of rain or lightning, but he was glad he didn’t have to rely on them. This fit better with the scene in his head.

His girl was always the strict and professional sort on the job, and so she was perfectly on time today. Right when the sun moved a little past the highest point of its arc, he looked up and all of a sudden there was Temari’s silhouette up in front of him. The pale rays of light glinted off her bared-teeth grin. 

“Hey there, handsome. Have you really been sitting around here with that thing all day?”

Shikamaru set the puzzle box aside on the planks next to him. “Waiting around, yeah. How’d your meeting go?”

Temari waved her hand dismissively. “Just fine, same as always. I’m more interested in you.” 

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” he said, giving her a wolfish smirk, and received a half-hearted whap on the head with a closed fan for his trouble. 

“Not like that, smartass. Your friend Akimichi told me you wanted me to stop by because you wanted to spend quality time with me. Were those your words or his? Him I expect that kind of sappy stuff from, but you? Hell no.”

He nearly had to bite his tongue to keep from giving away his whole game with a quick and snarky, Oh, really? Temari was sharp, and she was better than any girl he’s ever met, up to and including both Ino and his own mother, at figuring out when he was up to something. Sappy stuff...Even she really had no clue what she was in for.

“Choji’s words,” he answered, standing up to look her directly in the eyes, the color of the sea in storm. He wondered if she could truly appreciate that the way he does, being from the desert and all. “I did have some plans in mind though, if you’re up for it...”

He stepped back and raised his hand in a non-hostile challenge stance. “How about a little sparring match? Since the courtyard’s all empty and there’s nobody here to bother.”

Temari tilted her head to the side, hand on her hip. She was trying to give him a skeptical look, but he could tell that she was trying not to laugh. “Really? That’s what you wanted me out here for? Some extra training?”

His smirk broadened. Exactly how he had predicted she would react. His next scripted line really would fit in perfectly. “So how about we make it a little more interesting than that?”

“Oh, yeah? What did you have in mind?”

“Let’s say...” He pretended to think about it for a moment. “Let’s say that if you win, I’ll give you a grand prize.”

“A grand prize, huh?” Temari snickered. “You’ve already got something in mind, don’t you?”

Yeah, nothing gets past you, hon.

“Maybe. You’ve got to win to find out, don’t you?”

“I guess I do. I’ll go easy on your house, if only for your parents’ sake, but don’t expect me to do the same for you, Shikamaru. Got it?”

He almost laughed. “I never would.”

Before the words were even out of his mouth, Temari was flying at him, the winds picking up a bit in the space around them. It wasn’t exactly his speed that Shikamaru prided himself on, but like any shinobi worth his salt, he was more than fast enough to dodge both her kicks and the strikes of her half-closed fan. When they would spar, their flashier or more destructive techniques were left to the spacier areas of Konoha, the training forests and the extensive wilderness inside the village borders, where a fallen tree or a few flying branches were of relatively little concern. 

(And there was that sole, memorable occasion where he had been the one to travel to Sunagakure and had to very quickly get used to walking and navigating on an endless field of shifting sand. He’d stomach the idea of moving out there if it was what Temari wanted, but all the same he certainly hoped it wasn’t.)

Here in the tiny, grassy arena of his courtyard, taijutsu was their default style of choice. It didn’t get Shikamaru’s blood pumping the way another kind of fight could, but then again, that had never been something he looked for. This way, he could truly appreciate the way his quick, short, and decisive movements clashed with Temari’s slower but stronger sweeping strikes, studying the minutiae between their styles in order to augment his existing tactics and let new ones form. Even better — he had been significantly surprised to realize that this came higher in his priorities — when they were this close to one another, he could take the split-seconds of calm to drink in every last part of his beloved.

He’d respected her strength first and foremost, when they had been children and she had been just an obstacle to his primary goal of finding someplace to sleep through the rest of the Chuunin Exams. Her smarts, always gleaming in those sharp eyes of hers, had come shortly after. A clever girl who could handle herself in battle and carry on a decent conversation after? Not the rarest gift, but still the most precious one. 

Not that he’d ever tell her so (he knew that even a genius couldn’t make it sound like a compliment), but he had noticed her beauty last. No...That didn’t sound right. He had always known that Temari was beautiful. More accurate was the sentiment that he had taken years to realize just how deeply her beauty struck his heart. 

There were her arms slinging around his shoulders or hugging his waist tightly from behind, never so lightly that he couldn’t feel the strength of her muscles. Her lips, so surprisingly gentle as they pressed against his own, or laid soft lines up his neck, when they were entwined together in bed. Her smile, which made something swell in his chest every time he saw it. It calmed him when his nerves were frayed, excited him when he was cold and flat, lifted him back up out of the deep waters of grief. It — she — was the most radiant thing he had ever seen. 

Even the sharp shock of her flesh on his, the muffled clang of thin mail, was more gratifying than it had ever been with any other person. What was that old saying that Naruto was so fond of? About how true warriors could understand each other’s feelings through the wordless exchange of blows? They weren’t trying to hurt each other, far from it. They were only becoming closer to one another.

So Shikamaru didn’t mind at all when one blindingly fast round sweep from Temari’s fan caught him in the backs of the knees, and sent him pitching backwards to the grass. He landed with a thump on his back, and there was only a short beat of silence and spinning blue sky above him before Temari was standing there instead. She planted a foot lightly on his chest and tipped his chin up with the end of her fan. Her smile was triumphant this time, and his heart skipped a beat. 

“Looks like I won, then. So what’s this grand prize I’ve earned?”

Shikamaru smirked, and gestured to himself. 

“How about this hand?” he said, and Temari tilted her head to the side, puzzled. 

“What? I’m not about to cut off your h —“ She blinked, a spark of realization in her eyes, and then burst out laughing. “You absolute sap! You don’t mean hand in marriage, do you?”

“Yeah, and if I did? Is that a prize you’re interested in?”

“You know, I’d say you’re giving yourself too much credit, but...I can’t seem to do that.” 

Temari stepped back, then reached down to pull Shikamaru up from the ground and into a quick but deep kiss. 

“Tell me, though,” she purred, her face still so close to his own. “Did you just let me win as part of a proposal setup?”

Shikamaru hummed noncommittally. “Did it seem that way to you?”

Temari snickered. “A kunoichi’s pride is nothing to toy with, Nara Shikamaru. Tell you what: you give me a rematch, with nothing on the line this time, and you’ll have yourself a fiancée.”

Shikamaru grinned. His girl’s fire was as strong as ever. “Deal.”

[totally-incorrect-theatre-quotes]

Photograph (Fanfic)

I call this “Paige didn’t want to study for chemistry anymore, got home from work late, and even though she said she was going to wait until after finals she compulsively wrote a 4,000 word short story”

Or ya know, “Photography” ...the title of the fanfic

To say Lydia was excited was an understatement. Her and three students from her photography club at school were nominated as finalists in a statewide competition, the winner of that would go on to the nationals. Lydia was the youngest of the four, the only freshman with two juniors and a senior so while she didn’t think her chances of winning were all that great she was just thrilled to have simply been nominated. Of her portfolio, the nominated piece was a photograph of a chemical reaction she had been doing in her chemistry club. Her photography teacher said it was the strangest photo he had ever seen, but he claimed to be mesmerized by it. He actually wanted her to submit another picture but she didn’t think it would be fair to submit photos she took with the help of Adam, Barbara, or Charles. None of the other students could be floated to an ideal location for a picture, so she simply took these for fun. 

Going to the competition was a  whole week off of school, and four hours away from home. Not that she hadn’t been away from home before, her parents used to send her to sleep-away-camps all the time when she was little, but this would be the first time she would be away from her family since….well she didn’t want to think about it that way. She just wanted to be able to go and have a good time like a normal person would. She marked down the days on the calendar in the kitchen excitedly as the trip approached. Breaking the news to Beetlejuice was the hardest, even though he didn’t like to admit it he thought Lydia was funny and without her, it would just be adults in the house. Lydia promised to make it up to him and that they’d play a fun prank on her dad and Delia when she got back. In the end, the negotiated deal was two pranks on her dad and Delia as well as the guarantee that she would bring him back a zagnut from wherever she was going because “they taste different depending on where they’re from.” Lydia didn’t argue with him on that as the discussion had already gone on longer than she would have liked. 

It was the night before the trip and shockingly the person most anxious was Barbara. She help Lydia pack her bag, constantly asking her if twelve outfits would be enough for a seven-day trip or if she needed a new toothbrush even though the one she had was perfectly okay, and hardly a month old. She expected this kind of behavior from her helicopter parent of her father but he was actually very laid back about the whole situation, probably trying to not overwhelm her because even though Lydia denied it she was anxious about the whole thing. Not only that but she really did want to win. She worked really hard at her hobbies, and it took her begging her teacher to let her redo the reaction eight different times just so she could get the photo exactly how she wanted it. She knew her shot of winning was really slim considering that not only was she the youngest in her group from school but she was one of the youngest in the whole competition. She was right in between the two different age categories as a freshman, but she managed to be nominated. 

Lydia was sitting on her bed, the suitcase of her belongings on the floor beneath her. She glanced around the room trying to make sure there wasn’t something important she was forgetting when she smacked herself on the head for forgetting to grab at least one of her cameras. She picked up her favorite camera, though she only had two and the one was a very old polaroid camera she only used for aesthetic purposes and walked down to the kitchen to see what everybody else was up to that night. It must have been later than she expected because the only person downstairs was Barbara who was making herself her typical late-night snack of peanut-butter toast drizzled with honey. 

“Too excited for tomorrow that you can’t sleep?” Barbara asked

Lydia shrugged, “No, I was just going over my last-minute checklist. Making sure I had all my ducks in a row.”

“Oh, so you’re back to being the duck queen?”

Lydia went to playfully smack Barbara’s arm but her hand simply slide through her as Barbara went non-solid to avoid the blow. Both laughed and she gestured for Lydia to join her in the late-night feast. 

“I’m only teasing. So do you think you’re ready? Have you written your acceptance speech for when you blow the competition out of the water and win first prize.”

“Unlikely, all the other pictures I’ve seen look really impressive and I haven’t even gotten to see people from out of our district. I’m just looking forward to getting to spend time with my friends on the trip, they already talked about staying up late to tell ghost stories,” she laughed, “I guess I will be winning that game.”

“And you’re sure that you have everything all set? Did you pack your camera.”

She nodded and pointed at the camera around her neck, “It would take a lot for me to lose this thing.”

“And you have an extra outfit for every day of the trip plus the fancy dress that your dad bought for you to wear to the awards ceremony.”

Lydia simply groaned in response to that one. Her dad should understand by this point that she isn’t a bright and colorful kind of girl, but he insisted on a red and blue dress, arguing that black is too formal for the event she’s attending. The dress wasn’t ugly, it just wasn’t her style at all, but the fact that her dad went out of his depths to get it for her made her a little more willing to compromise and wear it. 

“And it’s four hours away from here, do you have all your medicines packed. I know you’re allergic to penicillin so even if you have to go to the doctor out there because you got some kind of infection don’t let them prescribe you penicillin, amoxicillin, ampicillin-”

“I think I’m old enough to know my own allergies,” she laughed, “Besides I’m not sick so I don't think I’ll be needed an antibiotic any time soon.”

“Just making sure, and if you don’t like what they have to eat I convinced your dad to give you an extra twenty dollars so you can go buy yourself something else because I know you and you’d rather just skip that meal than say you don’t like something. I know it’s part of your anxiety so I figured this would be the easiest solution for you. So no skipping meals okay?”

“I did that twice because they were serving fish at school!” Lydia retorted trying not to be a little agitated with the lack of confidence Barbara had in her about this trip. She was still a kid, but she’s been alone before, she didn’t need the whole run down that she’s already gotten from her father and Delia. 

Barbara smiled at her gently and the agitation faded, “I’m just so proud of you! This is a huge deal and when you get back with your first place trophy.”

“Ribbon and that’s if I even get first place which I’m not-”

“We’re going to have a celebratory dinner and cake!”

“I don’t get cake if I don’t get first place?” Lydia faked whined, knowing the answer

“Nope, so you’d better hope you get first place because I don’t just make a vanilla cake with cream cheese frosting for anybody.”

Lydia rolled her eyes, and without even thinking the words slipped off her tongue, “Okay mom.”

Neither of them said anything, nobody wanting to be the person who acknowledged it. Lydia felt the heat rising to her face instantly and tried to stammer out some kind of correction but she just got more and more flustered the harder she tried to fix it. 

“No, no it’s okay!” Barbara tried to put the girl at ease but before she could even get the next sentence out Lydia ran upstairs and slammed her door shut. Feeling terrible Barbara tried to go and talk to Lydia but there was no answer when she knocked on the teenagers door. She only knew for sure that she was in there when something was thrown at the door in anger when Barbara tried talking to her through the door. She had no clue what she was supposed to do next, it was an accident. She knew Lydia didn’t mean to say it and Barbara certainly didn’t want to be viewed as a replacement for Emily. She never tried to be, she was always very careful about how she referred to Lydia. Though she often laments to Adam and Beetlejuice how Lydia is like the daughter she never got to have, she would never dream to say that to Lydia’s face. Instead, she tried to seem more like a friendly aunt who just so happened to live upstairs and also be there for Lydia anytime she needed her and help her with her homework and school problems. Suddenly Barbara felt really guilty, she hadn’t even realized it until then but she really did encroach into the motherly role maybe a little too much for Lydia’s comfort. She had been pretty overbearing about this trip ever since Lydia told her about it. She should have read the signals Lydia was giving a little more closely, then maybe this whole thing wouldn’t have happened. She didn’t notice that she was sitting with her back to her door until a groggy but concerned Charles was standing in front of her.

“What happened?” Barbara asked him

“I guess I could ask you the same thing. I just about thirty texts from Lydia telling me that she doesn’t want to go on the trip anymore. That she isn’t feeling well and doesn’t want to get anybody else sick and ruin it for them. You’ve clearly been with her tonight, what are we talking because I’m pretty squeamish. I can deal with her having a cough but please don’t tell me she has the stomach flu. I’m no good at seeing other people puke.”

“She’s not sick. Look this is all my fault, I’ve really been overstepping my bounds recently with this whole trip four hours away. I’ve been on her case about making sure she has everything packed and I know she didn’t mean it...Charles, she called me mom earlier. In the kitchen.”

He sighed, placing his hand on his temples, “Not exactly the problem I thought I would have to handle tonight, but I can’t say I didn’t see it coming. Look no offense, but I think it might be for the better if I’m the one who talks to her. She’s probably confusing her anger at herself for being angry at you.”

“Yeah, I’d be careful walking in. She threw something at the door when I was trying to talk to her. It sounded like it broke, I’m not sure if it’s glass.”

Barbara desperately wanted to make sure Lydia was okay but she knew Charles was right, it was better off if she left Lydia to cool down about the whole situation. She couldn’t imagine how confused she must feel. It’s one thing to accidentally call a teacher mom, but Lydia’s situation was a world of difference. She wandered around the house aimlessly for a little while until she just went back into the attic and told Adam about what happened. 

“Well I mean it’s kinda cute that she called you mom.”

Barbara threw her book at her husband, “Adam! No, it’s not, she was really upset about it. I feel awful.”

“I know you feel bad about it but that just means that Lydia loves you so much that she sees you as someone she can trust like a mother. I know she knows you aren’t trying to become the new Emily. Nobody could compete with Emily Deetz for her. Look she’s just embarrassed about it, she’ll get over it by the morning and I’m sure she’ll be feeling fine for her trip.”

“God if she doesn’t go because of me I’ll probably never forgive myself.”

“She’s a resilient girl, I’m sure she’ll come around.”

Barbara nodded and let her husband envelop her in a much-needed hug, “She’s our girl, huh?”

When Charles knocked on his daughter’s door it was a quick response of  “Go away Barbara.”

“It’s dad.”

The door creaked open and standing in front of him was a sullen Lydia wearing a nightdress that was a size too big for her, and rubbing aggressively at her eyes to cover up the fact that she had probably been crying, “What do you want? I told you I’m not feeling good.”

“Barbara told me about what happened.”

She scoffed, “Of course she did. Because everybody has to know how much of a freaking idiot I am.” 

“Do you want to talk about it.”

“No I don’t. I just want everybody to leave me alone, but nobody ever listens to me. Nothing that you’re going to say is going to do anything. I don’t want to go anymore, it’s simple as that. It has nothing to do with what happened. I just don’t feel like it anymore. I’m not going to win anyway so what’s the point of even going?” she crossed her arms and slumped back down on her bed, “I’m not even really friends with the other kids that are going. They’re all way older than me, they probably don’t even want a dumb freshman following them around like some lost puppy.”

Charles sat on the edge of her bed, careful not to disrupt the sleeping cat nestled between the covers. He put his hands on the bottom half of her curled up leg, “I think this sudden change of heart runs a lot deeper than you being afraid of not fitting in with the other kids.”

“Gee, what gave that away dad?”

Charles tried to ignore the sarcastic tone she was taking up, trying to understand that she was very emotional right now and didn’t mean to be disrespectful, “So do you want to talk about what’s really bothering you? Because I don’t think it’s Barbara either.”

There was no response from Lydia besides her shifting position to laying face down in the bed, her face smooshed into her pillow. After a few seconds of awkward silence, Lydia mumbled something but it was muffled by the pillow.

“What?”

“I’m happy!” Lydia shot up and shouted, “Okay? I’m happy and I’m not supposed to be. No, like I know I’m allowed to be happy but it’s just...ughh I just don’t know how to explain it. It’s just so confusing.”

“You’re upset because you’re happy?”

Lydia nodded, “It’s just that everything has been going good recently and I don’t like it. It feels wrong, I feel wrong about it.”

“Honey it’s a good thing that you’re feeling happy! That’s what you’ve been working on with your therapist and with all of us here. That’s just the natural progression of your progress.”

“I feel so guilty about it. Like I’ve got so much going on in my life now. I’ve got school and babysitting, and photography club and this competition, and I’ve got Wendy and all you guys. I feel like I’m forgetting about mom. I don’t think about her as much as I used to. I used to think about her constantly and some days all I get is a quick memory, how terrible is that? I can hardly remember what her voice sounds like anymore. I promised her, I promised myself that I would never forget her and I’ve apparently already replaced her in my mind!” She was getting erratic now, the words flying out of her mouth faster than Charles could process them, “I never thought about it until...I just can’t believe I did that.”

“Sweetheart, it isn’t that big of a deal. It was an accident, everybody knows that. You know that.”

“I called her mom!” She shouted, throwing herself back into her pillow again, “I called her mom, dad!”

“It’s okay, it just slipped out. She’s someone you love and value-”

“I have a mother!” Lydia was crying now, “I have a mother, and I just called another person mom. She only died a year and a half ago, I should still be mourning but instead, I went out and found a new mom. I bet she’s really happy about that in the Netherworld, “Oh Emily Deetz, no don’t bother sending any signs to Lydia anymore. She’s completely moved on, in fact, she gone and outright replaced you!” ”

“You’re being too harsh on yourself!” Charles tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t acknowledge him, “You aren’t forgetting about your mother, you are just going through life. It happens, we all get caught up in things in our lives. You’re young, and though a lot of older people would tell you that your life isn’t hard work you’re really busy! Truthfully I would be more concerned if it had been a year and a half and you still hadn’t been able to go about your life. This isn’t a bad thing, it doesn’t mean that you’re a bad daughter because you don’t spend every waking minute thinking about her. You didn’t do that when she was here.”

She still kept her face buried in her pillow. Charles gently pushed her shoulder and rolled her over to look at him. Her eyes were glassy both from tiredness and sadness, “I feel like I’m betraying her and I know that makes me sound insane but it’s how I feel.”

“She would be so happy for you, you’re doing amazing things in your life and she would be so freaking proud of you. All of it, all the progress you’ve made. Just look at how far you’ve come, Lydia! I know how hard it must be for you to stop and wonder if you’re going through this right and honestly that’s just how life is sometimes. There’s a lot you will never know for certain but I can tell you right now that Emily would want above all else for you to be happy, to feel loved, and to love others. You’re doing all of that in spaids. So try not to feel guilty because you’re doing exactly what she would want you to do if she was here.” 

Lydia sat up and pulled her cat into her lap, a few tears that had been building up streaked down her face and she quickly wiped them away, “I shouldn’t have lashed out at Barbara. It’s not her fault that I called her mom.”

“She understands.”

“I don’t know why it’s affecting me so much, it’s just that this is the first time that I’m going to be away from all you guys, and I’m...I’m scared. Ever since mom died you’ve all at least been around somewhere, I always had somebody else there that knew what was going on and now I’m going to be going four hours away for a whole week all by myself. I haven’t gotten them as bad as I used to but what if I have a nightmare and they make fun of me? It’s bad enough that I’m the youngest one going but if I have a nightmare and start crying they’re all going to make fun of me.” Lydia began to get more worked up and she leaned her head on Charle’s shoulders in an attempt to soothe herself, “I’m always caught in between being okay and then feeling bad that I’m doing okay and then making myself worse! Then I just take it out on everyone else.”

“I get like this too Lydia, it just feels more intense for you because you’re younger. God when I first proposed to Delia I felt like I was betraying Emily too and then when I told you I was convinced that I was doing the wrong thing, but I eventually knew that she wouldn’t want me to be lonely for the rest of my life. She would know that I still loved her, and missed her.”

“I miss her too.” Lydia lamented as she gently scratched her cat behind the ears, “I wish she could be here for the competition because she would love some of the photographs. Doug Hilton took a picture of like a bunch of people wearing these super creepy rabbit masks in a cornfield. It’s a really neat picture, it scared the teacher but I loved it.”

“I’m sure she would love all of them. Especially yours, but not because she’s biased, but because it is the best.”

“You’re starting to sound like Barbara.” Lydia laughed, her guilt and anger slowly starting to fade away as she thought about how her mom would feel. 

“I’m serious though, you’ve got a real talent and I’d hate to see you miss out on this opportunity because you’re feeling afraid that enjoying yourself is somehow disappointing Emily. So what do you say? Do you still not want to go?”

Lydia thought about it for a second before shaking her head, “I want to go.”

Charles smiled at his daughter and patted her proudly on the shoulder, “I knew you would. Now it is way too late for you to still be up. You have to be on the bus for eight o’clock tomorrow morning, try to get some sleep okay?”

She nodded, laying down in her bed, pulling the covers up to her face and closing her eyes. Her cat purred as she snuggled up against Lydia’s stomach. Charles gave Lydia a soft kiss on the forehead before shutting the lights off and closing the door. 

In the end, Lydia didn’t win the competition. She was right that she was the youngest one there. First place went to a senior from a school she had never even hear of, but Lydia didn’t care. When she came back home after the week she sat at the dinner table telling everyone all the fun stories she had from her trip, laughing until her side hurt when Beetlejuice threw a piece of cake at her father’s face, but Charles’ just swiped her face with his finger and licked the frosting off in stride claiming he preferred his cake that way. Even though there was no blue first place ribbon attached to her photography it was framed and hanging on the wall alongside her invitation to the event. By the time everyone had been partied out that night it was just Lydia and Barbara still in the kitchen. Without saying a word Lydia leaped into a huge hug before trotting up happily to her room, her kitten scurrying behind her.

“That’s my girl,” Barbara whispered. 

[inazumafocus]

Hewwo, my dear nene! I hope you're doing okay and that everything is going alright for you ;3; For the ship asks... Well, no surprise: KdFd XD And uuuh... HiroAtsu, if possible? XD

Hewwo sweet any~ I’m ok more or less, trying to relax due all this stress of the moving, so thank you for the ask, it helps me a lot💗 and I hope you’re doing great as well sweetie💗💗

KDFD

Who said “I love you” firstI know it might sound strange, but it was Fudou! Kidou is far too wrapped up in his own self doubts and overthinking and that stopped him from at first even acknowledging his feelings and then to said them out loud. So one day Fudou just EXPLODED because he couldn’t wait any longer and had to speak up what was in his heart. It was very loud and messy and at first Kidou said nothing because he was paralysed and half in denial and only in a second moment did he finally manage to say “I love you” back (after seeing his silence was hurting Fudou). And even then it wasn’t without a loooooot of overthinking about his dad and family situation, what that would mean for his future etc (to know more read the “first kiss” answer👀)

Who would have the other picture as their phone backgroundMmhh they both have the potential to do it, but this more when they’re adults and spend lots of time apart, then they would totally use a pic of them together as phone background AND WITHOUT KNOWING THEY USE THE EXACT SAME ONE BECAUSE THEY’RE TO BIG DORKS!

Who leaves notes written in the fog on the bathroom mirrorFudou would write something in the fog, a flirty/dumb message probably and Kidou would replay, always writing in the fog, to not write in the fog ‘cause he’s ruining the mirror (two loaf of idiot bread)-

Who buys the other cheesy giftsNeither? But also both? I mean they usually don’t but if they’ve been apart for a really long time they would eventually meet up and have both a silly present for the other, usually something that reminds them of shared memories like “a bouquet of the first flower you ever picked for me” or “that sweet you always eye inside that bakery’s window every time we visit that one city”

Who initiated the first kissTying this to the very first question, it was Fudou once again to initiate things between them, because they’re like that example of two introverts going out and one of them having to act as an extrovert to make the other relax and feel safe while they handle everything, just that this time they’re two teenagers who don’t like to show their emotions that much ao Fudou HAS to break from his own mind state and just say stuff, take Kidou’s face in his hands and KISS HIM TO SHUT HIM UP!Because he was spiraling with doubts and stupid worries instead of giving in to what he truly wanted.The kiss was initially BAM two mouths crashing together bc of the impact but an instant later Fudou was kissing him softly, conveying all his feelings in sweet slow movements and he felt Kidou melting in his hands until he was relaxed enough to reciprocate.Fudou is Kidou’s oxygen after all ;^)

Who kisses the other awake in the morningFudou wakes up first but doesn’t wake Kidou up because he knows he’s been up until very late, so he just sneaks out of bed and does his things, starts to get breakfast ready etc.Then Kidou would sneak behind him, kiss his shoulders and neck up to his cheeks, still half asleep while Fudou cooks and they’d smile and faintly chuckles- 

Who starts tickle fightsFUDOU! FOR REVENGE!! Also because he found out Kidou is ticklish on his hips and honestly he just loves his laugh-

Who asks who if they can join the other in the showerThe both do, really, but the first time Kidou did was such a great, important step forward in their relationship! He gathered up all his courage, pushed aside all his fears and slide that door open to a very surprised Fudou.They didn’t even do anything nasty, but it was so intimate, they ran fingers across their hair, watching each other into naked eyes and exchanging soft brief butterfly kisses on lips, nose and forehead while the water poured over them...

Who surprises the other in the middle of the day at work with lunchTwo options: 1) Kidou forgot his lunch, once again, so Fudou had to go and give it to him with a good scold but also a kiss. 2) Kidou wanted to surprise his beloved one and kidnapped him to go at their favourite place to relax a bit together!

Who was nervous and shy on the first dateGosh they were both so shy and awkward, blushing like the crazy in love teens they were but also gathering up the guts to actually hold hands in public during the local fair. It took them a while to warm up at least a bit to all that PDA and ended up enjoying the date, winning prizes for the other and eating cotton candy and chocolate banana~

Who kills/takes out the spidersThey both kill them without blinking an eye, really!

Who loudly proclaims their love when they’re drunkKidou gets whiny when drunk and a bit sad, but he constantly brags about how much he loves his husband (those rare times he did get drunk for real, so like two MAX)

HIROATSU

Who said “I love you” firstMmhh it was probably Atsuya, muttering it while blushing and looking away with a cute frown on his face because he had to master up all his courage to say those three words and he’s rather shy when it comes to these things. He honestly wasn’t expecting much but Hiroto surprised him after a moment of silence bc he looked down and blushing as well while throwing one last rock at the river (which fell this time instead of skipping on the water) and just... muttered “this is so not cool” and Atsuya confused “what?” “You beating me to this whole confession things” and then Atsuya realises what he’s saying and they both stand in awkward silence before Hiroto prompts “so wanna go on a date or what”. It’s gonna take some time before he says those words as well...

Who would have the other picture as their phone backgroundI personally can’t see them doing it bc they’re both too prideful and shy, but they do pass lots of time on the other’s Instagram or through their own phone gallery 👀

Who leaves notes written in the fog on the bathroom mirrorThey actually do it together, art competitions using the fog and mirror as their battleground. They laugh and push each other slightly while smiling both at the obscene things they draw AND at the whole complicity surrounding them.

Who buys the other cheesy giftsI think neither of them is really a cheesy romantic guy? But then again, they are both pretty shy and not at all comfortable with expressing their feelings, so they’ll probably try to convey them in dumb yet meaningful gifts?? Like, if one of them has trouble sleeping the other would buy some relaxing herbal tea but with a butt shaped mug, you feel? They care but they’re dumb.

Who initiated the first kissAtsuya confessed first, Hiroto initiated the first kiss. This because Atsuya kinda pushed him to, he kept nagging him on how he didn’t believe he had ever kissed someone before and saying he probably didn’t even know how to kiss properly, so Hiroto just kinda turned around, took a handful of those pink orangish hair and pulled him into a kiss.Spoiler: it wasn’t the first kiss he gave, but the first chaste one yes. Because for how much he wanted to prove him wrong, deep down he wanted to woo gently and a bit seductively Atsuya, not rushing things like he’d usually do...

Who kisses the other awake in the morningThey’re both grumpy sleeping in guys, so whoever opens eyes first can either decide to pepper kiss the other’s face OR to just stare in awe watching the other sleep~

Who starts tickle fightsFingers are Atsuya’s weapon, he tackles Hiroto down and get his revenge for the chestnut pudding that scarface stole 😤

Who asks who if they can join the other in the showerIt’s usually Atsuya despite the initial embarrass, and Hiroto accepts and lets him in wide eyed every time. And those are the times is Atsuya who tries to seduct Hiroto 👀

Who surprises the other in the middle of the day at work with lunchMmh probably Atsuya whenever he’s free? I think he asked Someoka some cooking advices and even if his stuff doesn’t look great like his, it tastes good and Hiroto dies internally because of the cute anxious faces Atsuya makes-

Who was nervous and shy on the first dateBOTH OMGS THEY WERE BOTH SO NERVOUS! Atsuya because he felt he had to beat all the other partners Hiroto ever had but he actually had no experience, while Hiroto was because he wanted for it to be perfect since, unknown to Atsuya, he never actually went to a date with someone he loved...

Who kills/takes out the spidersAtsuya. Hiroto just shrieks every time a spider gets at less than one meter from him and he’s lucky to have a mountain boyfriend with him~

Who loudly proclaims their love when they’re drunkThey’re both very loud drunks and those are the moments they have no inhibitions so they go all out. It’s usually a competition to whom screams more loudly and angrily that they love the other!

HOPE YOU LIKED THESE ANSWERS!

[fanforthefics]

writer and editor au for sidgeno? :)

“Page proofs for Crosby,” Phil grunts, dropping a stack of papers onto Geno’s desk with a loud thump. Geno jerks up–he hadn’t heard him come in. “And tell him he really only gets minor copyedits this time, I don’t care if he wants to change an entire section, if he wants that he’s paying for it.” 

“I tell him,” Geno assures Phil, picking up the pages. Then he grins. “But you know, last time he change section, it win him–” 

“I know what it won him,” Phil retorts. “I don’t care. Copyedits only.” 

“Some day i give him your email, let you two fight it out.” 

“Like you’d ever give up your special Crosby access,” Phil rolls his eyes. “You barely give Zach his email.” 

“He doesn’t give me his email,” Zach pipes in, from his cubicle outside Geno’s office. “I get Sid’s assistant’s email. I don’t actually talk to Sid, really. Like, ever.” 

“You, I fire,” Geno tells Zach, who grins at him with the air of someone who knows that yes, there might be infinite amounts of young Lit majors willing to take a seat as an editorial assistant at Big Five publishing house, but none of them would know just how to keep Geno’s editing schedule. “You–” He really doesn’t have any threats for Phil; if you wanted to be quite strict about it, the Managing Editor for the imprint probably outranked him. The whole imprint would definitely fail if Phil decided not to come to work one day, just drowning in a sea of misplaced commas. 

“Neither of you understand,” Geno tells them. “I’m save you. Not have to deal with Sid and his talk and neuroses.” 

“Yeah, Crosby sounds awful to deal with.” Phil snorts. “I have met him, you know.” 

“He always sends me a box of chocolates at Christmas,” Zach pipes in. “Even apart from the one he sends Geno.” 

“You not know,” Geno tells them both, glowering. They didn’t have to sit on the phone with Sid for hours, going page by page through his latest novel, discussing every fucking comma. Sure, it was that level of attention to detail that made Sid what he was in the literary world, and maybe the best parts of Geno’s days were when Sid called and they spend an hour discussing character motivations, and the day the house decided Sid’s contract wasn’t worth the money and he went to a different house was the day Geno walked, but still. He’d like to see them do it. 

“Call me from the Booker Prize dinner,” Phil snorts, and walks out of Geno’s office, shaking his head. 

He pauses in the doorway though, looks back. “I’d take a look at the dedication, though.”

“You think I not look?” Geno demands. He knows this book forward and back. He knows that, fuck everyone who thought Sid was played out, he couldn’t put out another winner, this book was maybe Sid’s best, even better than the first one Geno had gotten, inherited from Mario when he retired. Mario had passed that one on with a grin. You get Crosby, he’d said, and grinned again. I think you’ll enjoy it. 

Sometimes, Geno wonders if he knew. Geno flips past the cover page, makes a note on a typo in the front matter reviews, then he looks at the dedication. Sid usually dedicates his books to boring people, because he is a boring, boring man for all the magic of his words–his mom, his dad, his sister. His last one had been to the entire city of Pittsburgh. 

This one, though. For Geno, it says. Who makes me better, every day, and without whom none of this would be possible. 

“Hey, I’ll email the pdfs and mail the pages to Jake, then you have that meeting with Sully to go over numbers for–are you okay?” Zach asks, pausing halfway through the door. 

“Fine.” Geno doesn’t wipe tears from his eyes or anything. “Yes, email, send. But I’m late for meeting.” 

“Everyone’s going to be shocked,” Zach informs him. Geno narrows his eyes. 

“Fired,” he warns, and Zach laughs. 

“Want me to close the door so you can call Sid?” he asks. Geno considers pretending otherwise, but–

“Yes please,” he says. Zach barely laughs as he closes the door, even though Geno knows he’s about to go message all the other assistants about this. 

Geno types in the number on his phone mostly from memory. It rings, and it rings, and again, and then–

“Sidney Crosby’s phone,” comes a voice that is definitely not Sid’s. 

“Hi Jake,” Geno tells Sid’s assistant–one of them, he thinks Sid picked up a new guy recently too. He can’t actually tell their voices apart yet. “Sid around?” 

“Hey, Geno.” There’s a shuffling. “He’s just working on an interview, he didn’t want to be disturbed. Do you need something I can help with?” 

“No.” Jake is invaluable to both Sid and Geno, and Geno knows that, but–he can’t help with this. But Geno’s not going to disturb Sid when he’s busy. “Just tell him I call. Zach send you proofs soon–” 

“Oh,” Jake suddenly sounds very smug. “Oh, no, he’s going to want to talk to you, one sec.” 

He can hear someone getting up, then moving around–Geno can picture it, how Jake was probably camped out on Sid’s couch, because Sid keeps on threatening to give Jake his own office and Jake keeps on protesting he doesn’t need it even though at this point he’s running a business off of Sid’s coffee table. Then there’s a knock on a door, and Geno knows that door, knows Sid’s office from meetings and late nights and a few times when he’s had to barge in and tell Sid that he could wait a few days for the next manuscript sleep was more important. Then the door opens and, 

“Sid, it’s–yeah, I know, but it’s Geno. He’s got the page proofs–yeah, I thought so,” Jake says, sounding the sort of smug that Geno expects is going to result in an email to Zach. “Okay, here’s Sid.” 

“Thanks,” Geno tells him, then there’s a scratch and, 

“Geno?” Sid says, and Geno can’t help his smile. A decade later, and it’s still Sid, still the same voice that answered him the first time he called with edits. “Hey, sorry, I was writing something up for that tour Jen set up.” 

“Yes, I know, she nagging me to make you finish.” 

“She’ll get her answers on time,” Sid informs him, a little snippy like he tends to get when someone claims he isn’t professional. Then Geno can hear his breath. “You saw the proofs?” 

“Yes.” Zach already took them, but Geno doesn’t need the pages in front of him to see it. “See dedication. Want to say thank you, could have gone in acknowledgments–” 

“It’s true,” Sid says, firmly. Like he always says whenever someone looks in surprise at Geno, who gently suggests that maybe Sid should get an editor who speaks better English, who has more experience, who’s different. Sid has stared down each and every one of them, and firm but polite, told them that he won’t work with anyone else. Every time he says it, it makes Geno want to hug him. This time, he’s too far away. “You do. With the books and in general. I know I get the credit, but each of my books are both of ours, and this is the least I can do to give you some credit.” 

Sid does plenty. Sid is–Geno complains but Sid is the foundation of Geno’s career, sometimes it feels like the foundation of his life. Sid gives Geno credit at every interview he’s asked, and sometimes when he isn’t. Geno still remembers at some prize dinner a few years ago, when Sid had gotten a little tipsy and had ended up, red-faced and giggling a little, telling Geno how great he was over and over as Geno laughed. 

“I know, I’m genius, you just pretty face,” Geno retorts, because they don’t say that stuff. 

Sid laughs. Geno’s not sure he understands, really–that even now, ten years later, Geno’s a little in awe; that Sid’s stories can still move Geno to tears; that Sid’s won almost every award an author can get and Geno still thinks he’s not appreciated enough. 

“For sure, for sure,” Sid agrees. “Are you okay with it? I can still cut it–” 

“You just try,” Geno growls, maybe too fast. Sid chuckles again. Geno is a grown man and doesn’t blush, but he does take a second. “No, Phil kill you if you try change that much.” 

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that,” Sid says, and Geno groans. 

“Sid.” 

“No, but I really think we can still tighten up Stanley’s intro, it’s a little sloppy–”

“Phil come to your house and kill you,” Geno warns, but he’s pulling the manuscript up on his computer. “Okay, what you think?” 

Half an hour later, Geno is very late for his meeting and Phil is definitely going to kill one or both of them for the changes they want, but they’re happy with where it is. 

“We good?” Geno asks. “I tell Zach, he–”

“Don’t bother him, Jared can do it. He needs something to do. I don’t know why I needed another assistant–” 

“Because Jake too busy, and you have better things to do with time,” Geno informs him. “This way Jake can focus on charity stuff, and Jared help with things like page proofs.” 

“Yeah, you’re right, I know.” Sid huffs out a breath. “I’ll send him the changes to input. Two weeks for the proofs?” 

“Sooner better, with these changes,” Geno agrees. He glances at his calendar. “Then I’m come down, for launch. Zach send you my travel, hotel–”

“You’re staying with me.” 

“Sid, I don’t–” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, I have the space, you’re staying. Sam misses you,” Sid adds, because he knows how to play dirty. Geno will never pass up time to play with Sid’s dog. 

“Fine, I stay with you. But not work, not all the time.” 

He can hear Sid’s smile. “That’ll be good. We haven’t hung out in a while.” 

“Your fault, write too many bestsellers, keep me too busy.” But Sid’s right. It will be good, to just hang around and watch a game and chat late into the night. To have Sid, spread out on the other end of his couch in shorts and bare feet, maybe even shirtless for the summer, and– “But yes, we remember we friends.” 

Geno only notices Sid’s pause because he’s spent years paying attention to him. “Yes, friends,” Sid agrees. “I’ll get you the pages ASAP, and Jen the interview.” 

“Good, yes.” Geno closes his eyes. “And Sid–thank you. Means a lot, you think this about me.” 

Sid laughs. “You know how I feel about you, G,” he says, then, “Okay, I need to get to this interview.” 

“Bye,” Geno agrees, on instinct, and then Sid hangs up. 

Geno looks at his desk, piled with papers, then out his office window to the New York streets below. Sid’s an author, the best there is; he doesn’t choose words lightly. And Geno’s english might not be 100%, but–he knows what that phrasing means. What it suggests. 

Geno grins, and gets up. Zach’s bent over his computer, which means he’s either working hard or emailing memes with Jusso, the new publicity assistant. Geno knocks on the table. “For when I go down to Pittsburgh, see if I can get there day early,” he asks, as Zach jerks to look at him. “Also, find good restaurant. Need to take Sid out.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Zach agrees, jotting a note down on a post-it. Then he looks up, grinning. “You know, I don’t think you’re allowed to expense a date disguised as an author dinner.” 

Geno scoffs, but–well, between Zach and Jake it’s not like he has secrets. “Fired,” Geno warns again, and heads to his meeting whistling. 

[117--087]

‘Halo: Allegiances’ - Outline

I’ve kind of had fanfiction on the brain lately, so I thought it might be a good idea to at least type up an outline for the novel-length story I've had in mind for years but will never be able to actually write...

It all started with the question of: “How to do the ‘fake engaged/married’ trope w/ John-117 & Kelly-087?”

But soon spiraled into: “Hey this could be something that 100% works with canon & also explores some really interesting/niche concepts you don’t see in most official Halo stories.”

(I have exactly zero names for any of the secondary characters so far, so apologies if this is hard to follow because of that.)

Basically, here is what I have so far:

Middle of the Human-Covenant War, Spartan-IIs are in their early-mid 30′s, post-Operation: HEMORRHAGE (i.e. that one time Kelly infiltrated a Covie fleet and destroyed it)

J&K are called to meet privately with some UNSC Top Brass & ONI Spooks

Turns out there’s a mole in ONI, and they’re leaking top secret plans for weapons to the Insurrection - MJOLNIR specs included

All attempts to identify and stop this person have proven unsuccessful, and ONI can’t waste any more resources tailing/interrogating everyone on their staff

So it’s been decided that J&K are to go on a blacker-than-black-ops mission to an Insurrectionist Stronghold on a hollow-asteroid (v. similar to Eridanus Secundus) where some of the info leaks have been traced to and is also suspected of being a smuggling depot

The plan is for J&K to openly acknowledge they are super-soldiers and their “cover story” will be that they have actually deserted the UNSC, they’ll have 3 ½ weeks to get the job done (i.e. investigate the base, find The Mole - capture or kill them, get out)

The two of them were chosen because they have the longest operating history together out of everyone on Blue Team, ONI will take care of the necessary document-fudging to keep this all under wrps

John isn’t a fan since S-IIs aren’t really equipped for undercover work like this, but ONI justifies it by saying their knowledge of the UNSC & MJOLNIR will make them too valuable for the Innies to not want to take advantage of it - as well as the fact that no one would suspect them of all people of being spies

Kelly suspects this is also some kind of perverse “test” by ONI & the UNSC to see what sort of “applications” the Spartans have outside of more regular combat (ofc she is right in the end)

John also remembers the Victoria mission and what can happen if/when the enemy has enough intel on the Spartans’ gear, so he relents to go along w/ it

They are dropped off at neutral UEG site, wrangle a ship, get to the base on the asteroid, surrender themselves without a fight, and are brought to The Leader of the people there

J&K give their spiel about how “they are tired of being the UNSC’s dogs” and so on, but no one seems to be 100% buying it - so Kelly throws in at the last second that she and John are lovers and couldn’t be together as they were in the UNSC and that is another primary reason why they ran away

Her deeply personal/sentimental plea tips the scales and J&K are allowed to stay, though with some security restrictions, until The Leader is fully convinced they can be trusted

Note: from here, things can go two ways...

- If I were to go the “my personal headcanon” route, J&K would already be in a clandestine romance and this would just further explore their established feelings for each other in a new setting

- Or I could go the “100% canon compliant” route and make it so this story establishes they have some-unspoken-thing but nothing concrete until this scenario forces them to confront that

Neither route changes the overall story much, but it would be a factor in their conversations about their situation and how/how soon the romance content is executed

J&K settle into their new roles (mostly manual labor: mining, farming, cargo transport, etc.) and start poking around the base for clues as to who The Mole is and why they funnel their info through here, as well as details about what goods are being smuggled

They become acquainted with the citizenry and it becomes clear v. quick this isn’t so much an Insurrectionist Stronghold as it is a self-sufficient refuge for anyone looking to get away & be safe from the wars going on r/n

The Leader himself is actually an honorably-discharged UNSC soldier who has no political leanings whatsoever and doesn’t support military efforts on any side, he’s just a good person trying to help people but feels he can’t do that within The System as it is r/n

The Mole is just a smarmy guy/low-level ONI stooge who has a corrupted Covenant AI he stole from from a lab (ONI found it in some Covie wreckage and were just going to destroy it after they had finished messing w/ it & he faked its termination record)

He found a way to use the AI to contact some Jackals and has brokered a deal with a Shipmistress to trade info, weapons, and resources under the UNSC, Innies, & Covenant’s noses

The Mole moonlights at this base as a know-nothing civilian but is also working behind The Leader’s back to sell classified UNSC info & use the base as a thoroughfare for Insurrection contraband (basically this guy thinks he’s a Halsey-level chess-master & is trying to play everyone he comes across to his own personal enrichment/advantage)

Note: this guy won’t be terribly sympathetic, as I feel this story will have enough moral complexity and ambiguity via the other characters that he doesn’t need to be

The Shipmistress herself has grown disillusioned with the Covenant & doesn’t believe in The Great Journey, but doesn’t desert either out of fear of reprisal by the Prophets against other/all Kig-Yar - so she just keeps a portion of the extra supplies she is trading thanks to The Mole for herself and her crew

J&K have their own misadventures trying to adapt to socializing with “normal” people, some of whom are friendlier than others, as well as act like a “normal” couple

They deal with dancing as a for-fun activity, John has a bout with social anxiety, while Kelly faces becoming too comfortable with the art of deception and also reflecting on why she stays a Spartan and if it is truly worth it

All this on top of how simply being able to openly express and explore their feelings for each other kind of throws them for a loop

They’ll also have to confront some of their own ingrained beliefs about what the UNSC and Insurrection actually are to people outside the conflict, and see firsthand what it is like to not be aligned to either side (a v. foreign concept to them)

John ends up unintentionally winning The Leader’s total trust (thanks to a lucky series of questions), and it becomes increasingly odd that no one has approached the Spartans yet for inside information about MJOLNIR nor can they find any actual smuggling going on via the people on the base

At this point the people on base who have taken a liking to J&K throw them a small “welcome to the community” party that is also doubles as an “unofficial wedding”

J&K use their smarts to start narrowing in on the trail of The Mole - who upon their arrival has been suspicious of them (but also lulled by their cover story) and has started to make plans to close up shop here just to be safe

Up to this point The Mole has only managed to steal & decrypt and bits and pieces of blueprints for MJOLNIR systems - a full workup on the armor is what the Innies want and they are considering terminating their smuggling operations through him entirely unless he can give them their prize

At the same time the supplies The Mole is trading with the Shipmistress, either personally on a private spacecraft or via unmanned probes, are starting to be noticed as missing among the people on the base

The Mole doesn’t know how to safely back out of his deal with the Jackals, so he ultimately decides to desert ONI entirely and strikes a deal for quick escape with the Insurrection by promising to get them the full MJOLNIR specs

The AI in his possession comes to realize its human handler’s whole scheme is collapsing and is still loyal to the Covenant enough (due to its unstable mind) that it sees this as a chance to finally return to its “true masters” - so it alerts the Shipmistress behind The Mole’s back that he is planning to renege on their arrangement without compensating her

In a rage the Shipmistress makes to attack the asteroid base and strip the place

Meanwhile one Jackal on her crew is still a devout believer in The Great Journey in private, and can no longer ignore her “heresy” and actions against the Covenant’s overall orders - so he alerts some high ranking Elites to what she has been doing

Basically everything hits the fan at once after this…

J&K finally lock in on how The Mole has been working with the Innies, which also fully exonerates the civilians on the base of having anything to do with the stolen MJOLNIR specs or the smuggling

Since his final transmission of the MJOLNIR plans is stopped by J&K, The Mole is contacted by the Innies who have had enough and they cut ties with him

This is turn leads to The Mole realizing J&K are actually working undercover

The Shipmistress and her crew storm the base looking for The Mole and don’t care if they have to waste any other humans that get in their way

The Mole then finds out the Covenant AI sold him out, and destroys it

The Elites that were tipped off are hot on the heels of the Jackals, looking to kill or capture them for their transgressions against the Covenant

So the base is completely under siege with J&K + The Leader having to take charge of what few people here that have combat experience in order to get all the civilians out

Plus J&K also have to not let The Mole get away in the chaos too

The Mole comes across The Leader (who was making a final sweep of the base for stragglers) at the same time J&K reach The Mole

The Mole exposes J&K as agents of ONI, while they in turn expose his attempts to play everyone else

A Mexican Standoff ensues

The Leader ends up taking J&K’s side (duh) and helps them apprehend The Mole

They escape, and the Shipmistress decides to cut her losses and retreats with her crew as well

The Elites destroy the asteroid base for good measure

The Leader is upset over how he was deceived, but is also reminded by J&K that his goodness is still a strength and that he still has a responsibility to his group - he’s also grateful for how J&K helped him save his people

The Leader understands he is still a rebel in the eyes of the UNSC but refuses to compromise his morals - he leaves too in the hope of settling elsewhere with his people and continuing their way of life (at least until the UNSC & Innies get their heads out of their butts)

J&K return to UNSC space w/ The Mole and their mission a success - in the end they have to reflect on everything that happened and what it all might mean for them in the future as teammates/best friends/lovers

ONI Spooks discuss the operation and conclude that while their objective was certainly accomplished, it is best to keep the use of the Spartan-IIs centered on open warfare (for now at least - mwahaha)

The Shipmistress is on the run and is contacted by someone claiming to be an emissary for The Banished - they offer her and her crew a place among them as privateers, she accepts

The End!

...Phew. I understand all that is probably A Lot™ to take in, and of course it is still seriously lacking in “connective tissue” to fill in the gaps in the story. But in my head it all comes together and I really just wanted to share the gist of it with you guys. Particularly since the title for it just recently fell into place and got me excited thinking about it. Any questions, comments, or feedback on this idea for a never-to-be Halo book are most welcome. :)

[onceuponanotherassumption]

Because it can’t be explained with words (Tsukishima Kei x Reader)

Masterlist

Note: A reimagined version of Chapter 326 of the manga wherein Tsukishima’s girlfriend is a manager of the team.

(Edited 11/08/21)

.

.

.

Tsukishima looks around, trying to spot a certain someone amongst the sea of people, which proved to be a difficult task if not for the all black attire that the team’s managers wore. He spots her. And as if she felt someone’s gaze on her back, (y/n) turns around to look at his figure by the court. She raises a hand, mouthing for him to wait for her. Tsukishima raises a brow in question but signals a quick ‘okay’ sign nonetheless.

“Tsukishima,” A hand rests over his shoulder, catching him off guard, turning around to see Akaashi. “You really did your best to jump hard out there.”

“Well, I mean...” Tsukishima tries to come up with a proper response, only to sigh instead when he couldn’t think of any. “You guys really don’t disappoint winning in straight sets even in the third round.”

“Bokuto-san seems to be in good condition today.” Kenma joins in on the conversation, walking up next to the two. Where he even came from, Tsukishima had no clue.

“Yeah, I think he’s in really good shape today...” Akaashi points out. “More so than usual.”

While the others continue to talk, Tsukishima looks around the court again, spotting (y/n) talking to their coach. He notices how she hands him a bunch of papers, looking as if she was trying to explain something as the other nods in acknowledgement. He didn’t have enough time to ponder over it as Tanaka catches his attention, overhearing something about the “day three hell”, and rolls his eyes at Hinata’s excitement over something so dreadful.

“The name ‘day three hell’ probably really resonates with the kiddies.”

“Tsukishima, you ass!” Tsukishima continues to snicker at Tanaka, who took offence to what he just said.

“I was talking to Hinata, just so you know.”

“Two matches in a single day...isn’t that plain insanity?” The dreaded look on Kenma’s face was enough to show how he felt about it.

“I agree.”

“Kei, I’m done.” A calm voice catches his attention, he sees (y/n) next to him with his bag in tow.

“You should’ve let me get it myself.” He clicks his tongue, taking his bag from her.

“And wait for you to walk all the way across the gym and back? No way,” She hands Tsukishima a can of his favourite drink, it was still cold so he assumed the girl took a quick trip to the vending machines as well. “I’m already starving to death, so let’s go—“

(y/n) is suddenly taken aback by Hinata and Tanaka, animatedly jumping around her and throwing numerous questions.

“(y/n)-san, were you watching us? It was awesome right?!”

“What are you talking about, Hinata?” Tanaka grabs the other, trapping his neck around his arm in a death grip. “Of course she saw us! She’s our manager!”

“Actually...” (y/n) purses her lips, trying to construct her next few words. “I only watched until the second round, I had something else to do.”

“Eh?! (y/n)-san, you didn’t watch the last round?!”

“Sorry, you guys.” A small smile is on her lips, the tone in her voice was apologetic. “But I know you two did a great job, you should be proud of yourselves.”

“Getting complimented by a beautiful girl makes me want to work harder.” Tanaka boldly claims, looking as if he just won a prize from a competition. He ignores the murderous glare coming from Tsukishima, opting to stick his tongue at him.

“(y/n)-san, what about the—”

“Okay, we’re done here...” Tsukishima steps in, grabbing (y/n)’s arm to pull her along with him.

“Ah! Tsukishima you stingy jerk!” Hinata calls out, while Tanaka childishly makes a face to provoke him.

“We’ll see you later then!” (y/n) waves a hand at the two, trying to keep up with Tsukishima’s longer strides.

Neither of them uttered a word as they filed through the crowd of people in the stadium, (y/n) glances at Tsukishima’s hand still grasping her arm. With her free hand, she removes his hand off of her arm and clutches it with her hand instead. Surprisingly, he doesn’t say anything about it. Tsukishima was usually iffy when it came to openly displaying his affection.

“What were those papers you were holding awhile ago?” He finally asks as he finds a vacant table for them to eat peacefully.

“Oh, you saw those?” (y/n) takes a seat opposite to him, watching him take out their lunchboxes from his bag. “I was observing.”

“Observing?”

“After the second match ended, I went to watch Kamomedai’s match. Your next opponent, apparently.”

“I can’t say if I’ve heard of them before.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve gathered all there is to know about.” Tsukishima watches her sigh in content as she takes a bite from her food. “It’s up to you guys to form a strategy.”

“No wonder people are afraid of being on your bad side...”

“Why?”

“Because you can easily dig up any dirt on them and use it to your advantage.”

“You make it sound like I’m a bad person or something.”

“But aren’t you—ouch!” Tsukishima reaches a hand to rub his calf, glaring at the girl in front of him. (y/n) offers him an innocent smile before going back to her food as if she hadn’t done anything wrong.

“You were saying?”

“Nothing.” Tsukishima bites out.

“And before I forget, there’s a paper bag in there somewhere. Take it.” She points to his bag. Tsukishima raises a brow in curiosity, rummaging to find the said paper bag and taking it out to place it on top of the table.

“Do I even want to know what it is?”

“Don’t worry, it’s not a bomb or anything remotely dangerous.” He scoffs at the sarcasm present in her tone, taking out a white dessert box from the paper bag. He startles at the familiar packaging, then pauses in thought. “When did you buy this...?”

“That’s a secret.” She chuckles, opening the container for him. “I’m surprised it’s still intact, although some of the icing is starting to melt.”

Tsukishima looks at the piece of strawberry cake in front of him. Although the icing was indeed starting to melt off, the whole thing still looked delectable enough to eat.

“I know it’s too early to celebrate, but making it into the quarterfinals is still an achievement. So, here’s a little gift from me.” (y/n) couldn’t help but feel a little bit flustered at the sight of Tsukishima genuinely smiling, but it was only for a split second before he retained the usual nonchalant look on his face.

“You didn’t need to do something like this.” Though his statement seemed cold, the tone in his voice was enough for (y/n) to know that he appreciated it.

“I know.”

——

“It’s going to be a long while before the quarterfinals start, you should take a nap and get your energy back.” The two were on the way back inside the stadium, heading towards a section where the other members of Karasuno were.

“What about you?”

“I’m not that tired,” (y/n) mutters quietly, seeing some of the team dead asleep from the exhaustion of playing prior to their battle with Nekoma. She sits down two seats away from a sleeping Asahi, noting the cute bear mask over his eyes. Tsukishima takes a seat next to her, placing his bag on a vacant chair. He watches (y/n) take out a small notebook, eyes scanning through the information she’d hurriedly written down.

After settling in a comfortable position, Tsukishima wraps his jacket around him and takes his headphones out. He scoots back, donning a sleeping mask of his own, and leans his head on (y/n)’s shoulder. (y/n) glances at him, a smile on her face as she continues to read through her notes.

“You did well today, Kei…” She mutters softly, unaware that Tsukishima could hear her.