#and i was literally told by several people they like phil better. i’m just starting to think that im not a redeemable person | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

onecanonlife · 3 years

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careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 7,451

Chapter Warnings: swearing, referenced character death, manipulation, (imaginary) spiders, mentioned blood, nausea, slight sui.cidal ideation

Chapter Summary: In which Wilbur deals with an unwanted visitor, and then goes and Yells At A God.

(masterlist w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Fifteen: (and the universe said)

He waits until they are all asleep, until Techno has slid back into unconsciousness and Tommy is curled around the pillows in the guest bedroom and Phil has finally given into exhaustion, his wings shadowy, misshapen lumps in the gloom. Wilbur slips right out from under their noses, and while fatigue pulls at his limbs, makes him clumsier, louder than he would be otherwise, the rest of them are far too tired to wake up. He would be too, if his mind would allow him to rest.

But not tonight.

His plan is not a smart one. He’s aware of that much, at least. But it is a plan, and it has marginally better chances of success, he thinks, than trawling through old books and hoping that one of them will happen to have the answers that they need. He was foolish to think it might work in the first place; even if it did, they don’t have time for it. He’s sure of that much. Every second they delay is another second in which Dream and the Egg can plan, can plot, can accumulate power, and while provoking a god might not be the best idea in the world, it’s sure to produce some sort of result.

That’s what they need. Results.

He sticks close to the walls and the furniture so that the floors don’t creak, and he takes a moment to ease open a few of Techno’s chests, rooting through them until he finds an old crossbow, dinged up but still serviceable. Between this and the bow that Tubbo gave him, the bow that’s been sitting in his inventory all but unused, he feels well-equipped, and he’s sure Techno won’t notice its disappearance.

He crosses to the front door, grips the handle, and:

“Going out for a stroll?”

He wheels around, pulls the crossbow from his inventory and into his hand, and fires in the same motion. The figure ducks, and the arrow goes whizzing over his head, burying itself in the back wall. Then, they straighten, and though the room is covered in shadows, the light from the moon outside gleams on the white of the mask.

“That wasn’t very nice of you,” Dream chides.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” he growls. “How the fuck did you know where we were?” He hopes Dream doesn’t pick up on the fact that he’s terrified. Not so much for himself, but Tommy is right upstairs,

(and he’ll die before he lets Dream touch Tommy again, except Technoblade already did that, and he’s sure Dream planned it that way, planned for Tommy to blame himself for the suffering that Dream caused)

sound asleep, and he needs to keep it that way. Can’t allow Dream anywhere near his brother, can’t give the bastard the chance to do any more harm.

Dream shrugs. “I have my ways,” he says. “I have eyes and ears everywhere. And I feel like you all like to forget that I’m an admin. This server is mine, and now that I’m out of the prison, I have infinite power at my fingertips. I guess I get why you guys fight. You’re all pretty stubborn like that. But there’s no question as to who holds all the cards, here.”

He grits his teeth.

“What do you want?” he whispers.

Dream laughs, short and chilling, and with that, his presence fills the room, spreading out from him like an oil slick, or a pool of thick blood, covering the floor, the walls, and creeping up and onto him. It feels like spiders crawling across his skin, thousands of them, on him and in him and trying to work their way inside, in his mouth and up his nose and under his fingernails, and he breathes sharply to convince himself that the sensation is imagined. He wants to scrape at himself, scratch until the feeling goes away, but instead, he plants his feet, levels his crossbow.

(aim true aim true you always were best when raising your bow in defense of others)

“No need for that,” Dream insists, raising both his hands in a mockery of a peace gesture. “I just want to talk to you, Wilbur.”

“Is that so?” He doesn’t waver in his aim.

“You’re an interesting person,” Dream says. “I thought I had you figured, but now, I’m not so sure.” He tilts his head up, and Wilbur catches a glimpse of his lips, curling upward into a slight smile. “I like you, Wilbur. I’d like to understand you.”

“The feeling isn’t mutual,” he says. “I have nothing to say to you. Get the fuck out, or I’ll—”

“You’ll what,” Dream interrupts, “shoot me? I think you and I both know that won’t do anything. And then what will you do? Do you think you can stop me before I decide to go and say hi to whoever’s upstairs? Will they have time to wake up? I hear Technoblade’s in pretty rough shape, and I’m sure Tommy’s not doing too well. And then there’s Philza, and I mean” —He makes a tsking sound with his teeth— “those wings of his looked pretty rough anyway, so maybe he wouldn’t even mind if I—”

(how does he know how does he know how does he know)

“Touch any of them, and there’s nothing in this world or any other that would stop me from killing you,” he says.

“You’re posturing,” Dream says easily. “That’s fine, I get it. I won’t do anything unless you force my hand. This doesn’t have to get ugly, not if you don’t push it.”

The threat is clear. He lowers the crossbow, but doesn’t dismiss it. Dream will have to be satisfied with that.

“Tit for tat,” he says, and scowls at the hoarseness of his voice. He doesn’t want Dream to know he’s gotten to him, but that’s now a lost cause. “I have questions for you.”

“Sure,” Dream says. “Here, I’ll even let you go first. Ask away.”

Fine. Fine, he can do this.

“What are you?” he says.

“A god, of course,” Dream says. “Come on, now, Wilbur, is that all you’ve got for me? I thought you were smarter than that. But it’s my turn now.” He takes a step forward, and it is all he can do to resist mirroring him, to avoid a retreat, no matter how small. “The Egg’s told me some things about you. How you let it in and then shook it off again. Congratulations on that, by the way. That’s not something that many people can do. But I know what it offered you. I know everything that it offered you. And the Wilbur Soot I know would have accepted several of those offers in a heartbeat. So, what’s holding you back?”

“Not wanting to be mind controlled by a fucking breakfast food is what’s holding me back,” he forces out. His hand clenches so hard around the crossbow’s handle that he hears wood creak.

“See, I don’t really believe that,” Dream says. “I remember you, Wilbur. I remember what you were like. Do you remember when I gave you all that TNT? Remember how happy you were to finally have such a force for destruction in your hands? Do you remember how excited you were to take yourself out with it? Do you remember that, Wilbur? I do. The Egg could give you either of those things, but you refused it. Are you trying to tell me that you don’t want any of that anymore?”

The feeling of spiders intensifies. It feels like they’re in his throat. He swallows, thickly. No spiders.

“Or is this about Tommy?” Dream continues. “I wouldn’t be surprised. It always seems to come back to Tommy.”

“It always seems to come back to Tommy because you make it come back to Tommy,” he snaps. “None of this would’ve happened if you’d just left him alone in the first place, you dick, instead of deciding that your archenemy was a literal child.”

Dream hums. “I’m disappointed that you don’t see it,” he says. “I thought you of all people would know a thing or two about narrative foils. But we can come back to that. My next question—”

“No,” he says, and swallows again. His throat is so fucking dry. “No, it’s my turn. Tit for tat.”

Dream inclines his head. “Right, right. Go on.”

“When I asked what you were, that’s not what I meant, and you know it,” he says. “I don’t think you’re a god. Maybe you think you are, I don’t really know, but I don’t fucking care. Put your fucking god complex aside. I want to know what you are, specifically in relation to dreamons. And to the Egg. Actually, I’m rolling that in. You and the Egg, what connects you?”

Dream is silent for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is low, velvet.

“So, Tubbo told you about all of that, huh?” he says. He cocks his head, but otherwise, he is unnaturally still. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He told you about the possession, then?”

“He did,” he says. “He said that he exorcised you. Did that actually work, or am I talking to something using Dream’s mouth?”

Another laugh. This one softer. Almost genuinely amused. “That’s another question. But sure, I’ll allow it. I might as well explain it to you,” Dream says. “No, the exorcism worked. It’s just me in here. But like I said, stuff like that is a tricky business, y’know?” And then, to Wilbur’s annoyance, the man starts prowling, walking circles around him. His footfalls are so light as to be inaudible, and Wilbur twists himself in time with his steps, keeping him in view. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how it feels, to have something in your head, Wilbur. To have something else at the controls. To have to watch from a dark corner of your mind, screaming in horror as your body takes actions that aren’t yours. To be helpless.”

“You’re right, you don’t have to tell me,” he says, even if only to

(block out the red rising red rising he doesn’t want to think about it doesn’t want to fall like he knows he could knows he could play Icarus again)

disguise the way the words make him feel ill.

“Sure, sure,” Dream says. “So, that was that, and Tubbo and Fundy saved me from it. Have you talked to Fundy, by the way?”

“Not relevant,” he says.

Dream snorts, still circling, like he thinks he’s a shark or some shit, like he thinks that Wilbur will be intimidated by this blatant tactic. “Right,” he agrees, sarcasm dripping like dry wine. “So there I was, back in control. I’m never going to take that for granted again. But then, it turned out, things aren’t so simple as that. You can’t just say some magic words and hope that everything goes back to normal. That’s not how the world works.”

(that is a dig, definitely a dig, but he refuses to let it get to him, because he knows all too well the power of iron and steel, knows the language of violence is a universal one, but he gave up on his words, once, and look where that led him, and he has vowed to be better and that means trying to renew the faith that he tossed away, the faith in words and the power of his pen, and disillusioned as he may now be, he has to let himself think that his younger self was not entirely wrong to believe)

“The dreamon was gone,” Dream continues, “but it left bits of itself behind. Parts that got torn off in the violence of the exorcism. And those parts stayed with me. That darkness—it showed me things. Showed me the truth of what I was doing, and what I needed to be doing. The truth about power, attachment. I tried to resist it at first, but once I gave in, I’d never felt stronger. It’s part of me, now.” He grins. “Friends, family—in the end, that’s all worthless. Power has to come first, or the rest is useless. It’s a shame my original plan didn’t pan out, but this will work just as well. The people of this server will either unite under me and the Egg, or they’ll die. It’s that simple.”

“And the Egg?”

“A dreamon of the same kind,” Dream says. “It forced its way into the server centuries ago, maturing over years and years. It’s not really an Egg, of course. That’s just what your mind interprets it as, so you can comprehend it. But once it gathers enough strength, it’ll—hatch, so to speak. Your choices will be to join forces with it, or die and become the blood that feeds it. I’d prefer to have you with us. Killing you would be a waste, I really believe that.”

“Is that what you’re here for?” he asks. “Is this some kind of sales pitch?”

Dream stops walking. He’s between him and the door.

“Here’s my next question, Wilbur,” he says. “How did it feel, when you let the Egg have you?”

He stiffens. “What the fuck—”

“It’s an honest question,” Dream says. “I want to know.”

Spiders. Spiders in his mouth. Spiders and oil. His stomach rolls.

“It felt like shit,” he grits out.

“Did it?” Dream asks. “Did it, really? Think about it, Wilbur. I don’t want you lying to me.”

“I’m not lying,” he says, but almost unwillingly, his mind casts back to that moment, casts back to he and Tommy and Tubbo in that chamber, so sure that nothing could possibly go wrong, so sure that this was little more than a tourist stop for them.

And then, the Egg saw him, looked into his mind and saw something it could exploit. And it did.

(it reached in and twisted him, and it did not have to twist hard, not hard at all before he folded, not once but twice, first to the fire and the blood and second to his own destruction, his own peace, and everything in him revolts against the sickly creeping red, like being drowned in syrup, and his stomach rolls again just thinking about it, and yet)

(and yet something in him still calls to it, he knows, calls for the fire and the blood and if not that than to the peace because even still, even still, he looks around him and cannot help but feel like his presence here does more harm than good, cannot help but believe that even though he is trying to shatter the archetype he consigned himself to, even though he made a promise, even though he wants to be better, it is all of no use because he penned the villain’s role for himself once and now it is set in stone, and if he does not want to fall back into the threads of that storyline then his only choice is to remove himself from it utterly)

(his symphony is unfinished and it is supposed to remain so, and there is no poetry in a clumsy reentry)

“Aren’t you?” Dream says.

(but remember this also, that there are threads tying you to this world and whether you like it or not you made a promise and you will keep it this time you will keep it so if you cannot live for your own sake then live for Tommy’s do it for him do it so that the light in his eyes will no longer dim because of you you must try must keep trying for him if for no one else for everyone who loves you despite it all and most of all for him)

“No,” he says. He holds his ground, holds steady.

“Huh,” Dream says. “Well, alright, then. If you say so. But, Wilbur, and I’m just saying, but you should keep in mind what else it told you. What else it can give you.” Dream clasps his hands in front of him. “You should keep in mind that I like Tommy a lot. I’d rather keep Tommy around. But the Egg’s not so fond of him, and I can’t guarantee his life. The Egg’s offered you his safety in exchange for your loyalty, and that’s a two in one deal, right there. If protecting Tommy is one of the reasons you’re making yourself stick around, I think you should consider taking it up on the offer. You’d get several things you want, then. You can be at peace, and you’ll know that Tommy will be just fine.”

The words burn like acid in his throat.

“And what would that safety look like?” he asks. “Would you lock him in a cage? Or would you exile him again, Dream? I know what you did to him then. Ghostbur may have been naive, but I’m not.”

“It was a lesson,” Dream says idly, and in this moment, he wants nothing more to launch himself forward and wrap his fingers around his throat once again. “One that he still hasn’t learned, I guess. But you shouldn’t be so picky.” He pauses, and Wilbur can feel that oil-slick gaze on him, scorching him. “Between that and seeing him dead, which would you prefer? Because that’s what’s going to happen if you’re not smart about this. Tommy, dead. The Egg wants his blood, and what the Egg wants, the Egg will have. I can’t hold it off forever. It’s not patient. Not like I am. Tommy will die if you keep this up, and the Egg will feed on him. Maybe more than once. I still have the revive book, after all, and the Egg might be able to persuade me to use it.”

He barely tamps down on his nausea.

He refuses to picture it.

(Tommy dead, blood in his hair, Tommy dead, eyes wide and unseeing, Tommy dead, and then Tommy alive, and dead again and alive and dragged back over and over again at the whim of a monster and no one there to save him no one there to protect him and no no no no no no no no no)

“You’re a sick bastard,” he croaks. “Get the fuck out.”

Dream shrugs again, and he hates it, hates that nothing he says seems to have any impact on him. “Think about it,” he says. “That’s all I ask. I’ll be seeing you soon, I’m sure. Give Tommy my love.”

That is the last straw. He brings his crossbow up again, but he’s a moment too slow, and the bolt zips through the space where Dream was a moment earlier, slamming against the door. Dream himself is gone. Teleported away, presumably, and he doesn’t know if that’s an admin thing or a demon thing or both, but it’s as infuriating as it is dangerous. He probably can’t even be sure that he’s really gone. Can Dream go invisible?

He doesn’t know.

It can’t matter. He can’t let this throw him. He has something to do tonight. So he lets himself have a minute, and he listens intently to the sound of the house, just in case the others were woken either by the conversation or by the sound of the bolts thunking into wood. But there is no sound, so he breathes in deeply, places the crossbow in his inventory, and gently pushes the door open. And then shuts it behind him.

He takes a single lantern with him; it does little to light the darkest hours of the night, but he doesn’t want to risk more illumination. He creeps through the snow like a ghost, and for a moment, he fancies that he is one,

(again, and Ghostbur always loved the snow, despite how it hurt him)

that he passes the world by and leaves no trace. At the very least, he is adept enough at sneaking that he doesn’t attract the attention of mobs, and by the time he finds the beginning of the passages that Phil took them through yesterday, he is colder but otherwise none the worse for wear.

The journey as a whole is without incident. It is simple to recall the way that Phil led them, where the buttons go and what needs to be opened up, and it is not long until the air turns musty, damp, old, and the rough stone of the passageways becomes more polished, more detailed.

He goes straight for the portal room.

The portal-table still hums, just as it did yesterday. It seems louder now. Perhaps because he is alone, and for the first time since he returned to life, no one knows where he is. He is acting entirely of his own accord, and taking the impetus in this way is both satisfying and terrifying.

But he’s here.

“Alright,” he says to the empty room, “I know you can hear me. I want to talk to you.”

He stops. Waits. Gets absolutely nothing. The hum remains constant, and the torches flicker in all the same patterns.

“Let me rephrase that,” he says. “I’m going to talk to you, whether you like it or not. So you may as well come out and make it easier on both of us.”

He pauses again. Still nothing. So he sighs.

“Alright, fine,” he says, and strides forward, right up to the portal. He slaps his hands on the stones; they’re warm, far warmer than they should be, and they vibrate slightly under his fingers. “Fine, you want to do this another way? That’s alright by me.” He runs his fingers along the frame. “It’s a nice End Portal you’ve got here. If you won’t come and talk, I might just decide to direct my attention elsewhere instead. Might go and get some Eyes of Ender, perhaps? I know how it’s done. It’s been quite some time since I went to an End dimension. I think I’d have fun with it.”

No response comes, but the pressure in the room seems to shift, just a little, becoming a bit heavier. He bares his teeth in a grin, slapping his hands against the frame again.

“Come on, then,” he says. “You’ve got an unpredictable bastard hitting your portal. What are you going to to about it? Going to smite me? You should do it soon, if you’re going to. Come on, then, come on!” His voice rises in volume, his words spinning away from him. “Come get me! Do I look like a man who has any sense of self-preservation? You don’t know what I’m about to do. So come and stop me! Stop me before I make you fail in your one task or whatever the fuck you said. Come on!”

As if those are the magic words, the air electrifies, so much that breathing suddenly becomes difficult. And there they are, the god themself, hovering inches away from Wilbur, towering over him, and they have no face, but he imagines that if they did, they would be glowering.

“You may not,” they say, each word slow and deliberate, “go to the End. You will not dare.”

“You know jack shit about what I will and will not dare,” he says. “I’m daring this, aren’t I?”

“You presume much.”

“I’m a presumptuous man,” he says. “Always have been.” He tilts his head, summons that grin again. “It got you here, didn’t it? Will you talk to me now?”

They stare, without eyes. Their hood tilts. He chooses to take that as a yes.

“Because here’s the thing,” he says. “Phil says that you’re a god. I’m willing enough to believe that. But I don’t understand why you’re here, or what your connection is to Dream, and I don’t appreciate not being able to understand things. But here’s what I don’t appreciate most of all.” He leans in, as close as he dares, leaning his elbows against the portal frame and staring up at the impenetrable darkness under their hood.

(another flash of the twin halos, circling, circling, and they burn on the back of your eyelids like trailing comets)

“You say that this is the task set for you,” he says. “Guarding the End. Well, that’s all fine and good. But are you trying to tell me that you feel no responsibility to the rest of this server? All that power, and you spend most of your time waiting around here, a place that two people know about? Or four, now, I suppose.” He squints. The darkness does not change. “You’re a god, perhaps. But no god I know of sits on their arse while the world around them implodes. So I suppose I’m here to ask that you change that.”

“You understand nothing of me,” they say. “This is my task.”

“Bollocks to your task,” he says. “Fine, I don’t understand? Then explain it to me. Explain to me what your reasoning is. People can say what they like about me. I know my own vices. But nobody has ever accused me of standing idly by.” He frowns, considering.

(considering Tubbo, begging, screaming, pleading)

“Not usually, at any rate,” he tacks on softly.

“It is not of you to know,” they say, and this is like talking to a brick wall, isn’t it? Perhaps he should realize that, and cut his losses. Anyone else might do the same. Phil would likely tell him to give it up.

(or rather, he would tell him to give it up, and then immediately take his place. Phil doesn’t tend to back down, not even from gods, and he knows he got his reckless streak from somewhere)

“I don’t like it when people tell me what I can and can’t know,” he states, “and furthermore, you’re dead wrong. I’m banking a lot on this, but do you really think I can’t feel the power coming off of you? If you try to tell me that there’s nothing you can do about the shitstorm this server’s found itself in, I’d tell you to pull the other one, it’s got fucking bells on. So you’ve got some sort of abilities, and I bet you could help us with them, which means that actually, it is very much ‘of me to know’ what the fuck you’re doing fucking around out here. And let me tell you something else about me” —His smile widens— “I don’t take no for an answer.”

“I could strike you down where you stand.”

It is stated simply. Not a threat, but a fact.

“Then why haven’t you?” he asks, and does not disguise the challenge.

The god stills. Their cloak stops moving in imagined wind. And then, they drift forward and down, hovering directly in front of him rather than over the portal-table. Like this, he no longer has to look up to stare at their hood, and he’s amused to note that all told, they’re slightly shorter than he is.

“Are you going to give me an answer?” he asks.

The god does not speak. But in his head, he feels that presence once again, and he shudders at the sensation, of something else in his head, and he struggles to remind himself that this is different from the Egg, that this being isn’t trying to make him their puppet. Probably. But it’s still unpleasant, and he’s sure he fails to keep a straight face at the intrusion.

And then

(the god reaches in and)

(hold fast, child of the universe)

(takes him outside of himself and)

he’s falling.

He is falling without falling. Somewhere in him, he knows that he is standing in the exact same spot, that he has hard stone beneath his feet, that gravity is treating him just the same as it always has. But he is falling, and there are stars around him, pinwheeling and circling, and he flails on instinct, but there is nothing to hold onto, nothing to slow his descent. But there is also nothing to land on, nothing to stop him. He is falling into forever, and the infinite steals his breath, his voice.

(it is not for you to know but if you must if you must then I will show you)

The god is there. He is sure that this being is the god, though it is now something built of swirling light and a thousand eyes, all watching him, trained on him, and the light sears itself into his retinas, but he cannot look away. He is powerless to choose where to look. He is no longer certain that he has eyes, that he has a body. He is falling, and he is one with everything that he is falling into, and the god has control. The god is peering not only at him, but into him, and they have control, and they are both holding him and allowing him to slip through their fingers all at once, pouring themself into his brain and opening a window to the universe.

For you, there can be made exceptions, they say without speaking, and their voice rings like a thousand clamoring bells. I have made such before. One more will be accepted.

Show me, then! he calls out, and he, too, is speaking without speaking. He does not have a mouth to move, cannot hear his own words, but he knows that the other understands him. You’ve brought me here, so show me!

(he is bodiless mouthless breathless and he doesn’t understand what is happening and it is too soon, too sudden, and he did not have time to brace himself, and he is terrified, terrified that this god will not bring him back home, but he is here surrounded by the universe now and knowledge is what he needs so he will reach out for it with all he is)

The cosmos bend.

(here is the beginning of the world of us of everything we were here before all else)

Everything shifts. He feels a body again, but it is not his. He is sure it is not his. The god presses up against his mind, and he sees, feels, is

(a god, the god, but different, but whole, all the parts brought together, and the god as they are now is a fragment, a collection of power with none of the love, with none of the joy, with none of the hope, but he sees the god whole, and he recognizes him for who he is, and it makes no sense yet but he will stick to the course)

Dream. And there is a server that is familiar but not, a server that he has learned the smell of, the look of, the feel of, the way the dirt shifts beneath his feet, but the server is new, the server is just beginning, and there is no one here yet, only Dream. But not the Dream of now. This Dream is closer to the Dream he remembers from the earliest days, the Dream who grinned and laughed with no darkness in his tone, who play-fought with the kids and gave everything he had to making the server a home.

(the war was a game, once)

He watches without eyes as the server rises, becomes what he knows, and he watches the people populate it, people he knows, both friends and enemies, and through it all, Dream remains steady, remains someone who is arrogant, perhaps, and selfish, maybe, flawed to be certain, but good, and it is the Dream that Wilbur once called a friend. And this Dream is a god.

(here is then, and then passes to now)

And then, Dream again, but time has passed

(flashes of Tubbo, flashes of his son, a book held between them and foreign words of power dripping from their tongues)

and something is wrong, corruption lurking in the heart of him, and he is aware of it, aware of what it whispers to him, of how it tempts him, and he is terrified. Wilbur can feel his terror as keenly as if it were is own, because here is something that Dream knows: he will give in. Slowly, inexorably, but he is not strong enough to fight even the remnants of the poison that the dreamon left in its wake. He slides into darkness, listens to the whispers that know exactly what strings to pull, exactly what to offer him, and through all of it, he is alone, pushes everyone else away, both because the rot demands it and because he still fights it, still fights though he is flagging, and he does not want to subject his friends to the thing that part of him, at least, is still aware that he is becoming.

And then, he gives in, but in the last moment of clarity before the waves break over his head—

We were one, and now we are two, the god announces, and their voice is not sorrowful, because Wilbur now understands that they are not capable of sorrow. The power separated, such that the demon could not access it. I am the power. He divided himself from me, and he is the rest, the emotions, the once-divine humanity now splintered and broken into a dark creature, consuming the good that he once was. I was set the task to contain him. There must be no travel to the End, nor to anywhere else.

(and he sees it now, like this, existing outside of himself, cradled in the god’s hands and in the many hands of the universe, sees the corruption like chains, like choke, spread throughout what Dream was and is, gnarled threads of a sickness, of a venom, souring him from within and now lashing out, but he cannot see, he cannot see if underneath it all, there is anything of the original left, any of the light, anything worth trying to save)

(for the old Dream’s sake, he almost hopes that there is not, that the old Dream, the Dream that once was and was good, has found peace, is not suffocating under the weight of what he is now)

(but then, there is this also to consider: Dream makes his own choices regardless of the influence, and he cannot be held to be blameless, and demonic interference or not, none of this is so cut and dry, and just because he dislikes such complications does not mean they do not exist)

But still, his questions have not entirely been answered, his demands not yet met.

I see that, he says, but I don’t see why that means you can’t help us.

I already have, they reply. More than I should have. But the universe did not object.

And he is somewhere else. Back in the portal room, though the walls are now bare, the décor matching the rest of the stronghold, and though he knows that somewhere, somewhen, this is where he stands, there is no sign of him, but the god is there, hooded and cloaked, and there is another man, an open book held out before him like an offering, his hands shaking, his expression pleading.

(he knows this man. his hoodie is as garish as ever)

“I’m out of options,” the man says. “I’ve got so much to do, and a power that I can’t control, and I can barely remember my own name half the time. But this is right, I think. This is what needs to happen. If this server is going to survive, we need him, and we need him now. It’s the only chance there is.”

“I guard the End,” the god says, and it is not the god-of-now, the god that still presses against and into Wilbur’s mind. This is not now at all. This is some otherwhen. “I do not do this.”

“But you have the power to,” the man argues. “I’ve traced you throughout history. I’ve taken notes! I have them all here. They’ll call you DreamXD, one day.” He takes a step forward, shoving the book toward the god more insistently. “This is how we do it. I’ve seen so many awful futures. I keep their stories with me. But this is how we do it. This is how we save people. Please, I don’t know how much longer I have left here. But you can’t stand aside now, or else the Egg—the Egg wins. I’ve seen this, man.”

“The universe has not willed that it is of me to choose who lives and who dies,” the god states.

“Has the universe willed that it is not of you?” the man asks.

(and the god asks the universe and the universe says)

And then they are gone, wheeling away, and the cosmos are back, surrounding him once again, stars and galaxies and void between them all, and suddenly, Wilbur understands.

You were talking about me, he says.

Yes.

You’re the one who brought me back, he says.

Yes.

Like an explosion has gone off within him,

(anger rage and what gives this god the right to make that choice what gives them the right to use them as a pawn he refuses to be a pawn because if he cannot take his fate into his own hands then what does he have)

he bucks, struggles against the god’s hold, a hold that is not at all physical, that he cannot hope to shake. But then, he is not physical either, is made up entirely of his thoughts and his feelings and his soul, if he were one to believe in souls, and he jerks away from the god, reeling in every way possible, anger and confusion and a thousand other emotions running through him. And for a moment, the god’s presence fades entirely, and he is alone, and he is drifting, and he is with the universe, vast and empty and full, and beyond the universe, the void awaits him, and now that he is here, he can remember

(he is alone and at peace even while the nothingness consumes him, but then there is someone reaching for him, someone pulling him, and he does not want it, does not want to go, but their hold is inescapable, and he screams with everything he has as he is pulled from the grip of the universe and slammed with sensation, with light, sound, color)

(he gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes)

He wants to scream now. Perhaps his body is screaming, wherever it is.

He looks to the universe and demands answers, and he feels the universe looking back, too much for him to understand, too much for him to contain, vast and infinite and forever, and the universe says, without words, without sound, without anything at all,

(everything you need is within you)

(you are stronger than you know)

(the darkness you fight is within you)

(the light you seek is within you)

(you are not alone)

and he feels the god again, reaching for him again, reaching for him as they did before, ready to tear him from this space and back to the world, back to a world he did not want to rejoin, and a thousand stars are watching him, and there is a woman watching him with death’s face and eyes, and in time, they all say,

(there is beauty yet to be found, Wilbur, in the world, and the universe loves you but we are not alone in that and we sing with a thousand voices that you cannot hear but you are one with us now and always a child of the cradle of the beginning and the end and we are with you)

and he screams without a throat, and when the god gathers him up, he does not fight, does not fight as the universe swirls around him,

(and there are flashes, too quick to understand, flashes of a god in the desert, counting the hours of peace like grains of sand, flashes of an ageless distortion in the code, an all-too familiar being who no longer remembers what they are, flashes of the man who falls through time, flashes of a woman with bleached-white flowers in her hair, flashes of the ghost who was ripped back along with him, ripped back by clumsy, inexperienced hands, ripped back and now tied to him, and Schlatt is drifting aimless in the crater but Schlatt sees him, stares with wide eyes, mouths his name in shock before he loses sight of him)

does not fight as he falls once again, falls and then staggers, the portal room unchanged to his bleary eyes. Gravity asserts itself, reality solidifies, and the god hovers in front of him, hooded and cloaked, darkness in place of a face. He is alone in his mind, and it feels empty.

“If there is beauty yet to be found,” he says, his voice a harsh rasp, “then help us fight for it.”

The god regards him. He does not buckle beneath the weight of their stare. His skin buzzes, and stars swirl on the back of his eyelids.

And then, the god vanishes. But perhaps most notably, the god does not say no.

The universe hums. Or perhaps it’s the End Portal.

He thinks it’s both.

He staggers, sinks down to the stone, exhausting tugging him down, and he leans his head back, releasing all the air in his lungs at once. His body feels too small for him, too tight, as if it can no longer encompass all that he is, all that he has seen. He’s not entirely sure what all of that was, but he is fairly sure that it is not a thing meant for mortals to know.

Ah, well.

He’s shaking. He observes his hands idly. Blinks, and there are stars imprinted on his eyelids.

He drifts. He’s not sure how much time passes before there are footsteps rushing down the corridor. Three pairs. He probably should have expected this. Phil is the first to burst into the room, face painted with concern and wings uncloaked, but the other two are quick on his heels, Tommy visibly scared and Techno panting with exertion.

“Wil—” Phil says, and Wilbur blinks, and Phil is kneeling right next to him, a hand on his face, and Techno is crouched close by and Tommy is practically looming. “I felt—it was like the code itself shook, and there were crossbow bolts in the wall—”

“Why’s your hair gone all weird?” Tommy asks, overriding Phil, and Wilbur blinks at him, slowly. His—?

He reaches up to grab a bit of it, pulling it down in front of his eyes. The brown is streaked with white.

“Oh,” he says, and wonders how to phrase any of this. “Phil, I’m pretty sure I saw your wife for a second there.”

“What—”

So he explains. Not everything. But he explains his thought process and weathers Phil’s scolding, and he explains what he’s learned about Dream and the Egg both, explains the root of Dream’s corruption, explains that he was a god that split himself from his power at the last, explains everything that he can think to put into words.

He does not mention Karl. And he does not mention what the universe said. Some things are meant to be safeguarded by one, and one alone, and even if he tried to speak on it, he doesn’t think he could find the right words. And his tongue is growing thicker, his words tumbling over each other.

But he rallies.

“But whether I got what I wanted or not,” he says, putting all the rest of his energy into making sure each word lands, “we need to go back to the SMP tomorrow. Tomorrow morning, I mean. No more of digging through old books with a snowball’s chance in the Nether of actually finding what we need. We need to go back, and we need to work with everyone else. Hopefully with some kind of divine aid, but if not, we figure something out.” He meets Phil’s eyes. “Gods can be overthrown, and Dream is no god. Not anymore.”

“And even gods can die,” Phil murmurs.

“Even gods can die,” he agrees, and then pauses. Blinks. The stars are still there. “I think I’m going to go to sleep now.”

“Alright, Wil,” his father says, and the last thing he’s aware of before his exhaustion finally, finally pulls him under, is being lifted in someone’s arms, someone’s hand carding through his hair, and quiet conversation. Their voices chase him into rest.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #wilbur soot #dreamwastaken #dreamxd #philza #tommyinnit #technoblade #/rp #cat writes fic #long post #nothing else to say really but i'm excited for this one folks

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josiebelladonna · 3 years

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this is old news (dates back to june), but i’ve been so out of the loop with them the past year that it was surprising for me to actually see it happen right before me.

this whole thing reeks of “good vibes only” which - contrary to belief - is not a good thing.

i’ve said this a few times before but “good vibes only” is a major red flag, because it indicates one of two things: you’re emotionally dead or you’re boring.

this might sound horrible, especially coming from me: i’ve been listening to soundgarden most of my life. quite literally, since i was 14: i’m 29 on the 15th so, most of my life. i got to see them 4 times - one of those times included an acoustic set at the bridge school back in 2014. yes. i was one of the lucky few who got to see acoustic soundgarden. i saw them three times that year, too: at the bridge school, in vegas, and in seattle.

chris was a fan of my art. the tweets have been deleted (and i’ll never live it down with vicky on that, either) and i lost the screenshot, but he shared several of my drawings on twitter - and this was back when twitter was still friendly and a genuinely positive place, too. i’ve often said i wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for my friend annie, xana la fuente, or chris; xana’s the only one still alive and i’m glad she is, too: it’s going to be a sad day when she goes. to say i was devastated after chris passed would be an understatement. i went into hiding and just became a writer after 2017.

i took off my soundgarden pendant during the height of the pandemic because i didn’t want it to be contaminated. but i put it in a safe place, though: in a little heart-shaped box (believe it or not) on my nightstand.

my artist handle is named after easily their biggest record, for god’s sake: badmotorfinger!

but i don’t get along with soundgarden fans for the most part. there’s too many of that... sitting down and mourning chris when we all know full well that he’s not coming back. it’s like when every march 6 comes about and my dad’s family sat around my grandmother and rehashed the grief: if anything, it’s exactly like that. you can’t argue with these people, either: you try to tell them what they’re doing is wrong, they either ignore you, talk down to you, or block you. meanwhile, the select few ones i’ve befriended on instagram, i don’t even see them anymore (miss you, freshtendrils 🙏🏻 my pals at jeffgarden, too).

and kim, ben, and matt have... for lack of a better word... completely lost their marbles.

i literally don’t recognize them anymore. every time i see matt on instagram anymore, i only associate him with pearl jam now. i don’t even think of soundgarden.

first off, the initial reunion in 2010 was one thing. that told me that there was still more life in there. there was still something to be said and i’m quoting chris himself on that, too. but in 2018, a year after chris passed, and it was pretty obvious that things were finished except for the new record, which had been recorded and needed to be pieced together. but now i’ve been seeing things like... they want to continue it on without chris. i’ve been seeing people like brandi carlile wanting to be their new singer (and she wants to bring in her own musicians into the fold, too, like...? huh?). it was one thing with stone temple pilots, which was started by the deleo brothers and they invited scott to sing for them, and then chester and then their current guy (i’m drawing a blank on his name). it was one thing with alice in chains, too, which was actually jerry’s band. when paul mccartney did some songs with dave grohl and krist novoselic for sound city, they were listed by their names. they weren’t called nirvana. but soundgarden was started by chris, kim, and hiro. hiro’s got a life of his own now, chris is gone, which leaves kim as the original one left. matt’s been with them since 1986 after the sun king left (chris tried to do the phil collins thing, singing and drumming simultaneously and he couldn’t do it so they needed a drummer).

it’s definitely doable - i mean, testament have gotten away with it, especially since eric has been the only constant this whole time. but the difference is chuck has sang on every album: yeah, zetro’s written some songs when he was singing for them and back when they were called the legacy. and even after they stopped for the first half of the 2000s with chuck’s cancer and eric getting badly hurt, they still regrouped together. no one died and if anything, they got better in the face of it all. the difference here is testament make their strength known. they don’t phone it in, they don’t half-ass stuff, and they know their shit. they know how to steer clear of the nonsense, just from trial and error (trial by fire, if you will) - and now you know why they’re not a part of the big four, besides alex’s whole bit that they’re more of the second wave.

in my soundgarden book, new metal crown, it’s pretty obvious they had no clue what they were doing, they were just kind of thrown into the mix without any rhyme or reason, and they withdrew from the spotlight because of it: hence, their nickname “frowngarden”, which... like it or not, is very fitting.

when i was growing up in the 2000s and i discovered them, no one knew who they were. you can blame it on the lack of merch, although that played a huge role in it, and music magazines can only go for so long before technology kicks in, but what it comes down to is they were not meant for fame and i think they knew that. but... i just think about something that - and i’m gonna use a name that’s a little left-field here, too, especially given what we’re talking about here - madonna posted a couple of years ago: “once you sell your soul to the devil, you can’t ask for it back.” and... well. she’s right. once you’re famous, once you’re out in the open, there’s no turning back.

i mean, like it or not... if you wind up in rolling stone magazine, one of the biggest magazines on earth, people are going to want to talk about you whether you like it or not. i’m not just saying that, either, that’s just from what i’ve seen reading things like that. they’re going to want to know more about the person behind the curtain. and some of those people are just not going to say nice things about you or the people you love for that matter. that’s just... that’s just how it is. i wish it was different - and HOW - but that’s not how life works.

and really, this would be laughable no matter who was saying it, because all it tells me is you’re either boring or brain-dead.

probably both: they still follow vicky karayiannis, chris’ widow. yes, even after all the nonsense the three of them went through with her. after the frivolous, headache-inducing lawsuits, the petty insults, the horrors, the abuse, the empty threats, the using of chris’ kids as an excuse to harass people (myself included)

and lo, and behold: not everything is sunshine and rainbows (as if we didn’t learn that from 2020). we do seek comfort from the horrors of reality, but don’t make it seem like those things exist, which is what the whole message of this message is demonstrating.

i’ve been workshopping this theory about the whole “good vibes only” mantra for a while now, and it works two ways: good vibes are good... and some people are so attuned to them that they just come to them naturally, and they’re a good influence to be around, like they are genuinely compelling and fun to be around. meanwhile, you have the kind of people who preach good vibes but there’s something a little off about it, like there’s something they refuse to tell you and nothing about their story adds up: talking to them is like talking to a used-car salesman. (there’s also a little less common third option: someone like me, who wants that in her life but it just seems so out of reach that no matter what she does, she feels like she’ll never be at peace.)

i’ll admit it: i like a little danger. i like drama. i like controversy. a little bit of those things take you far, because all it tells me is you’re human. nobody’s perfect. you’re going to slip once in a while. you’re going to want to stir the pot once in a while. you’re going to hit your breaking point. and it’s okay when you do.

i just think back to the insurrection, the day after, and alex skolnick was so apologetic about his behavior on that day, how it brought out the ugly in him. and i basically told him what i just said there. you did what you could. it’s nothing to be ashamed of, either, because that tells me you care. and i care, too, i was with you every step of the way (i really was, too). sometime later, he started talking to me in a softer voice and his face started lighting up whenever my handle showed up on his ig live. drama and intense experiences, when used right, will in fact bring people together.

very obviously not a perfect theory because humans are so complex, but that brings me to that message, though.

oh, so you’re going to get all up in arms with someone if they have a difference of opinion about you, no matter how innocuous?

i’m as anti-bullying as the next person but this whole thing is pathetic. if anything, it sounds... kind of familiar.

you care more about someone behaving in a questionable manner than, say... speaking an opinion on something or someone. you care more about someone behaving in a questionable manner than, say... an artist having her work stolen and then deleted off the internet.

i just think of the saying “what you resist, persists.” you can resist drama all you want: it will persist, and it will continue to persist unless you really do something about it. come back down to earth and realize that every mistake you make is a lesson for you to learn.

not everything is about you, kim, ben, and matt. you’re not the only band on the planet.

and i’m not even getting into the whole thing about referring to themselves as “kick-ass”, either. really, look at how this thing is worded. refer back to my point with music magazines going for so long until tech kicks in. now, fuse that with the whole view that rock n’ roll is “old people music”, and it started going that way around the turn of the millennium when i was a kid. blame it on merch all you want: this comes off as so desperate and so... out-of-touch. like, really? this is what you guys want to be remembered for?

also, for decades? from my experience, they arguably don’t have that depth of a fanbase. what are soundgarden fans called? “gardeners”? “knights”? i have no idea. besides the photography book, photofantasm - which by the way, does in fact refer to them as a “high-profile band” - i can’t think of anything off the top of my head that indicates they have that of a coherent fanbase. go on youtube right now at some of the songs they released the last decade, and i’d say 98% of the comments are from when the song was released. the times i got to see them, most people in the crowds were there because it was something to do or they were there for the other act (2014, they toured with nine inch nails: most people in the vegas crowd were to see them instead - they are a fun show, by the way, big light show and trent never missed a beat). most soundgarden fans tend to also be pearl jam fans, and their fanbase is huge. pearl jam have devoted themselves to causes, too (look no further than the vitalogy foundation). sure, i’ve come across a lot of pearl jam fans who were absolutely full of it, but they’ll surely be remembered, though. one of the biggest bands on earth right now and rightfully so.

what about soundgarden? uhhhhhhh... black hole sun? lead singer who killed himself? dysfunctional fanclub? hhhhhhhhhhh.... ??????

and i’m also not even touching the nonsense i went through with ben, either.

i won’t hold it against him, because i admit i probably seemed a little desperate when i wrote to him, even though i made myself as clear as i could to him. but he still shouldn’t have assumed that with me, though. he still should have done something, a “fuck you”, ANYTHING.

who knows. who cares. i’m done. i’m just done with these guys: i have hope that they’ll have a change of heart at some point, as they have demonstrated in the past, but i’m done, though. i really only show up for chris anymore, because i have real and good memories with him. if anything, he’s the one i grew up listening to: when i got into soundgarden, i got into audioslave. then temple of the dog. then his solo work. i love susan silver and i love their daughter lily - i always thought that if i ever got to meet her, she’d be like the little sister i never had. but that’s something i can take away from it, though. that’s something. that’s something... good.

#long reads #long post #soundgarden #rant post #text #grunge

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repentantsky · 3 years

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9 Things I’d like to see at E3, 2021

So E3 2021 is a thing. It’s gonna be all digital, and several companies have already signed up to join, sounds like a good deal, but the question is, will it be what we normally expect out of E3, or will it be more like Summer Game Fest Last Year, where everything that looked like it was gonna be great, but just turned out to be okay? Who can say, but I have some...suggestions, that might make it better, along with some game announcements, that might make it all it should be cracked up to be.

9. No low quality, at home interviews during the main show

E3 has had a history of doing interviews during game shows to try and break pace a little, and keep people from being too excited, only to potentially be let down later. However, possibly the worst problem with Summer Game Fest last year, was the at home interviews, which broke pacing during game announcements in a way I can’t imagine was on purpose, and for many, was the time to take a bathroom break, or simply look away for a while. It’s important of course to hear from developers about their projects, and they can divulge some interesting information about games, that either puts something confusing into context, or is accidently leaked, but when we watch shows about game releases, we want to see the games. Interviews should be held in between shows, or better yet, the days following the conferences themselves.

8. Nintendo finally talks about the big three

While it’s safe to say Nintendo has done some banger numbers over the last year espeically, due to better console availability, which I never thought I’d say about Nintendo but here we are, it’s also safe to say that fans have been waiting for literal years on Bayonetta 3, Metroid Prime 4, and Breath of the Wild 2. While some have been more patient than others, and of course I understand there’s a flipping pandemic going on, Nintendo told us far too long ago about these games, or the restart of their development, and Breath of the Wild 2 was promised to at least get an update this year, and E3 seems like the best place to do it, especially after their last direct, one that was more than a year in waiting, and left so many people disappointed. And this is coming from someone who had literally only hoped to be excited about one thing, and it didn’t happen The future of how they present games, almost feels like it’s in question after such a show, which did not justify itself, so hopefully, they can finally let everyone walk away happy, and talk about the projects that have been generation the most excitement, for literal years now.

7. Space things out better

You might now know this, I only made one list about it after all, and literally no one reacted to it, but I’m a huge wrestling fan, and one of the promotions I watch, is WWE. Now, WWE is about to launch WrestleMania, their equal to E3 in a lot of ways, and are splitting it up over two days, and that goes for their third brand NXT as well, because they have a history of making the show sometimes 8 hours long. For fans of video games, watching The Game Awards, which can be two to three hours long, is arduous, and tiring, and E3, can also have that same effect. I remember in 2019, I literally fell asleep watching Bethesda’s conference, because I was so tired trying to write about the previous shows in between them, never mind actually watching them, that I was burnt out. Since E3 is going fully digital this year, and everyone is going to be in that same boat, it would be nice if we didn’t have too many shows, spanning over a near 12 hour period, which was happened before, making people stay up late to enjoy what they want to, or you know, work, which is free promotion for whatever gets announced. Spacing the shows out to no more than three a day, and giving people enough time to get their thoughts together, would just be really nice.

6. Devolver Digital, tries a different style

Look, I don’t hate Devolver Digital’s approach to talking about games at E3, but what I do hate, is them telling the same jokes over and over again, and expecting everyone to laugh, because you know, it’s so funny when something that’s already been said, or shown, is modified ever so slightly for years on end. I’m not saying they can’t still tell jokes, please do, E3 is as much a good time as it is stressful depending on who you are, so the change of pace can at times be a lot of fun, but the last time they had a “conference”, it was a slog, and generally left me feeling annoyed, and I can’t help but feel I’m not the only one. They want to be different, I say that’s great, but they need to do it in a way that for one, is actually different, because their style has become a cliché in and of itself, and where they don’t spend time talking about fake games, because it’s hard to know at times what’s real and what isn’t. I honestly thought the last time they did one, the final game they talked about was just a play on the “one more thing” trope conferences have, and when I later realized it wasn’t, I never got that first sense of hype, and so lost interest, and that’s not a good business model. We don’t even know at this point if they’re going to declare for E3, and since it was announced late, it might be too hard to get a show at all, but if they do show up, or even when they next do a conference, it would be nice if they considered this line of thinking.

5. Drop the “Exclusive Online Portal” idea

Yeah I don’t know what the ESA was thinking with this one, but they mentioned that E3 will be streaming from an exclusive online portal, and not only do we not know what that means, but no one flipping cares! We’re all going to watching it on YouTube, Twitch, or dare I say it but it’s possible, Facebook Gaming, and any other platform is completely useless. We are all tired of hearing, download a new program to do a thing you can already do on other platforms, PC gamers especially, stop releasing new flipping launchers and...sorry, that’s for another list in the future perhaps, but the point stands. You might get streamers to download, or go to whatever site they need to, to watch the shows, but everyone else, is either going to watch those streams, or as it often happens, watch the highlights at a later time, so to add a potentially extra step to that process, is just not going to go anywhere, and since E3 will be free to watch, it’s not like this is going to be a good way to make money, unless you do plan to do the following...

4. Throwing flipping ads at everyone between shows or otherwise

Look, I get it, even an online show that’s going to be talking about games costs money to make, and so money must be made by other means, many of which are not available to the ESA without people actually being present, but the thing about E3 is, as much as we all love it, it is one massive ad, and even though it’s an add we like, it’s not one that needs too many ads thrown at it beyond what it already has. There are other, less annoying ways to make money, like having products from the games announced be available at a store online that people can access, that sees them getting part of the profit, or something of that nature, but this portal that was mentioned, seems like a place where the ESA can just throw ads at people all day, and that just seems like a horrible idea. A lot of people don’t see E3 as an ad, even though it absolutely is, and blowing away the smoke and mirrors that it’s not, by throwing countless ads at people for the sake of trying to make money, might be the end of E3 as we know it.

3. Don’t spend too much time talking about games that are coming out close to the event, or just came out

Like I said, E3 is one big, massive ad, and for the most part, that’s totally alright, but E3 also has a habit of sneaking in little bits talking about games, that are coming out during the week of, or very close to the shows, to the point of being annoying. Most of the time these ads are short, show nothing new, and generally kill the pace of the conferences on display. While it’d be one thing to try and shadow drop a game this way, because we all love a good shadow drop, we really don’t need ads for games like FF7 Intergrade, Ratchet and Clank: Rift Apart, or flipping Mario Golf: Super Rush. We know those games are coming, we are paying attention, give us a little credit, and save that for games that could use the push like Neptunia: ReVerse, Legend of Mana, or maybe even Scarlett Nexus who actually in way, has to compete with Mario Golf. This might be more a developer problem, and E3 itself might actually have little to no control over this, but whoever does it, needs to do it right.

2. Xbox needs to stop lying, and go big

I love Xbox, I really do, for whatever reason it’s become my go to place for physical indie games, and whenever I want to play a shooter, I start thinking green, but in their conferences, Phil Spencer has a tendency to oversell what Xbox is going to show, by talking about how many games are going to be at the show, or by constantly mentioning how Xbox is more powerful than it’s competitor consoles, like it does any good for the bottom line of the company. I don’t want to hear Phil say they are going to show off 80 games during their show, and have half of them be ports, or shown off in a montage. Doing that means everyone has to go look up a large portion of what they actually announce to learn anything, and that’s no fun. I don’t want montages during E3 at all, and while I’m at it, Xbox espeically needs to bring in the big guns. I’m talking Halo Infinite, Gears 6, the next Forza game, and maybe, finally, a Japanese exclusive title that will get people really hyped. Xbox might just have free reign over the show on the day they present, but another show that has extremely mixed opinions like in 2019, might not be the best thing ever.

1. GET. SONY.

Obviously we know that Sony and the PlayStation brand haven’t been associated with E3 for a while now, and I get it, it’s kind of hard to justify going down to L.A. every year, when an online digital show, saves a whole bunch of money, and can get people just as hyped as if they had been there, but this year, everything is online, and Sony’s State of Play’s have been a mixed reaction as a whole. Taking them to E3 not only sets up more hype for them, but it also gives people something they really need right now, something close to the norm, with all of console developers, showing off their best. E3 2019, just felt weaker, and too safe without Sony there, and last year was a total, long winded disaster because of Summer Game Fest. If the ESA is really going to go for this, and give it an earnest shot, and give us the best that they can, they need Sony to show up and blow our minds with, I don’t know, God of War 2, Spyro 4 (hopefully) and a new IP or two to really get the show to being considered one of the best. E3 will probably be alright regardless of if they are there or not, but if they are, the chances of it being truly great, go up in spades.

And that’s my list, did I miss anything else you can think of? Let me know in the comments below, like this list if it interested you, reblog it if you love it, and have a wonderful day.

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inkribbon796 · 3 years

Text

Radioactive Ch. 4: The Wolf

Summary: Logan continues trying to make his escape, which he finds is more difficult than it probably should be.

A/N: Title comes from “the Wolf” by SIAMES.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Logan wasn’t quite sure how he got into this situation, but he was determined to find his way out to safety. The logical Side was literally inside the electrical circuitry and connected system of the Server. He knew he didn’t have a physical body, and it was an odd floaty experience. No sense of touch grounding him, but unlike last time when he’d been trapped in a glorified solid state drive for almost a full day, it was energizing. He was pulling energy straight from the power grid. He could move, and he’d gotten into the camera system to be able to hear and see vicariously what was going on.

Troubling, though, he couldn’t find his body where he’d first gone into the stereo system wires in the main room. He didn’t know what happened to it, but he hoped it was reclaimable.

“Where is that muffinhead?” Bad demanded angrily, he was armed with several guns and a furious rage.

“Get in line, Karl felt it too,” Quackity snapped back, “and Skeppy has more aura to spare than Karl does.”

Logan left the hallway and moved into a separate room. He needed to find some type of exit. He needed his equipment and his body, and then he needed to leave. But none of the cameras were positioned near a door. If he could—

The logical Side felt himself being pulled from the system and placed somewhere else. At first Logan felt instinctive fear, remembering the last time he’d been trapped somewhere.

“Calm down,” Tubbo said close to his phone’s microphone. “I happen ta[1] like this phone an’[2] if you break it, I can’t bother Ranboo with it.”

Logan brought up a notepad app and typed: “Where am I?”

“In my phone, big guy,” Tubbo typed, he was smiling and Logan got access to the young man’s camera. “Didn’t want to watch you keep struggling in the camera system. You’re lucky Sam hasn’t found you yet.”

“You have found me, that is not much better,” Logan reminded.

“Yeah, but lucky for you, I have to go home,” Tubbo typed and then pocketed his phone. It cut off Logan’s camera view, but the logical Side could still hear what was going on around Tubbo.

Maybe this was how he could make a quick escape and find the other Sides and they could come back for his body and things. He did not want to leave those, but his survival was more important.

“Hey Tubbo,” Dream’s voice was too close for Logan’s liking. “You find him, yet?”

“Nope, boss man,” Tubbo popped the “p” on his first word, the phone jostling a bit as Tubbo moved. “You need me ta[1] make another round?”

Dream didn’t answer at first.

“Nah,” Dream decided. “Don’t think it’ll do much good. You think about my offer?”

“I did,” Tubbo answered, “it’s a shit offer.”

“Still,” Dream somehow got closer. “The offer stands.”

There was another pause and Logan decided he didn’t like the silence when he couldn’t see.

“Throw in Tommy an’[2] it’s a deal,” Tubbo decided.

Dream let out a cackle, “Didn’t know you still cared about the fucker, but sure, he’s all yours. Take him, so long as I don’t see him, we won’t have any problems.”

“Then we have a deal,” Tubbo agreed. “What you want, fer[3] what I want.”

“Right,” Dream said with a smile almost audible in his tone. There was a shifting and for once Logan could actually feel aura. It made him feel weird but drawn to it like a moth to a flame. “There we go.”

They started moving again.

“You know what Tubbo, you never cease to surprise me,” Dream told Tubbo. “I think it might be because the first time we met, you were desperately trying to be one of Phil’s little fledglings. It was cute in a sad way.”

“Good times,” Tubbo had a soft tone to his voice. “You had ta[1] ruin it by existin’[4].”

“Well, maybe,” Dream half-agreed, “but some cheap blond hair dye was never going to trick Phil into thinking you were one of his.”

“Hey, Dream, can we talk?” Someone Logan didn’t recognize spoke up.

“Give me a minute, Karl,” Dream said. “Just making sure Tubbo here gets home safely.”

“George and I can do that,” Karl promised. “We got this.”

“Oh sure, sure,” Dream agreed. “Tubbo, give me the phone.”

“No,” Tubbo immediately refused as Logan felt an acute sense of dread.

“The phone isn’t part of the deal, give him to me,” Dream ordered.

“Is that yer[5] favor, then?” Tubbo demanded.

“Tubbo,” Dream warned darkly, as Tubbo’s hand went into his pocket. Aura charging around them, ready to strike.

“Dream,” George spoke up, he’d set his hand on Dream’s shoulder. “I’m taking Tubbo home, do you have a problem with that?”

The aura in the room almost plummeted, giving Logan whiplash from where he was hiding.

“Fine, whatever,” Dream growled and Tubbo began moving again.

“Thanks,” Tubbo said.

“Out, before he changes his mind,” Karl began pushing Tubbo towards the back door of the Server and they slipped out. Logan felt the difference but he couldn’t push out of the phone and was completely confused on how to actually perform the action.

“Come on,” Karl urged.

“Shotgun!” Tubbo called out.

“Shotgun!” George called a half-second sooner.

“Come on, man,” George groaned.

“I’m not ridin’[6] bitch, get in the back,” Tubbo chuckled.

“Fucker,” George chuckled.

The three of them got into a car and Logan began to try and escape in earnest, not wanting to be taken to some other location where he also didn’t know where he was.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Tubbo told Logan out loud. “Yer[7] gonna[8] melt my phone.”

“Wow he’s really in there, huh?” Karl commented, as Logan could see through the front and back cameras, but had to switch between the two because his brain could only focus on one at a time.

“Yeah, he can’t get out,” Tubbo seemed to be in the front passenger seat.

Logan accessed Tubbo’s map app.

“There you go, buddy,” Tubbo laughed a bit as Logan started tracking where they were going.

Then Logan texted Jackie, “Driving along NE Ralph St.”

As an afterthought, Logan added, “This is Logan, I have access to Tubbo Underscore’s phone.”

Tubbo took over and called Jackie’s number. It took a little bit for Jackie to answer.

“H-Hello?” Jackie asked hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Tubbo started, “tell yer legate friend I got his glitch arm in my phone, an’ I kinda want him out before he bricks my phone. You want ta bring yer best tech guy an’ meet us somewhere?”[9]

“How the fook[10] did yeh[11] get my number?” Jackie demanded.

“He’s in my phone,” Tubbo repeated. “Get him out before I have ta[1] get a new one.”

While he was talking, Tubbo began texting Ranboo.

“Boo!!!!”

A response came a couple seconds later. “No.”

“Boo!!! Plz[12] don’t ignore meeeeee!” Tubbo smiled.

“Come ta[1] our base an’[2] we’ll talk,” Jackie told them.

“Gotcha[13], be there soon,” Tubbo promised as Ranboo didn’t answer. He did hang up on Jackie first, and texted Ranboo, “If you don’t stop ignoring me I’m going to start withholding.”

Logan tried to always know where they were often getting in Tubbo’s way as he tried to text.

“No.” Ranboo told him.

“Stop ignoring me and come and pick me up from the heroes’ base.” Tubbo asked, then added, as an afterthought, “plz.”[12]

“Fine,” Ranboo relented.

“Forty minutes to the heroes’s base, Tubbo has requested his husband to be there. There are three people in the car besides myself,” Logan reported. “Also, I may have lost my body and my equipment.”

“Geez,” Tubbo commented. “Calm down, yer[7] gonna freak ‘em[14] out.”

George’s phone buzzed before nanites took over the steering wheel, almost causing an accident as they were pulled off to the side of the road by force. The stop was a little jarring and the front of the car was yanked off and Google was there and looking between the three people in the car.

Karl and Tubbo screamed, George flinched in pure fear.

“Where is he?” Google demanded. “Give him to me!”

The more aggressive android was shoved out of the way by Bing. “I told yeh ta wait one freakin’ second. They were comin’ ta us, dude. E’erythin’ was fine.”[15]

Tubbo leaned over and held out the phone, which Bing gently took.

“See?” Bing smiled. “No need ta[1] freak out. So chill out.”

“Is he glitching?” Google demanded. “He lost his physical form.”

“Googs, chill yer ****s[16] fer about five seconds,” Bing told him. “Lo, can yeh[11] talk ta[1] me in there?”

“No, don’t know how to use the speakers,” Logan wrote in the first document he could bring up.

Bing chuckled, “Yeah, give me a sec[17], never tried ta[1] extract a glitch from somethin’[18]. I got Mini outta[19] my stereo system so it can’t be that much different.”

“I’m not a glitch,” Logan defended stubbornly.

“Lo, you lost yer body, an’ yer stuck in some stranger’s cellphone,”[20] Bing reminded. Then he looked the phone over, “an’[2] I might have ta[1] destroy it ta[1] get you out.”

“Fuck,” Tubbo complained.

“I’ll try an’[2] put it back together,” Bing promised.

“I don’t want to be a glitch,” Logan said and Bing didn’t offer a verbal comment. Logan finally added, “I wish to leave this phone, please.”

“I got you,” Bing promised. “I’m gonna[8] have ta[1] turn the phone off, so don’t freak out. It won’t be too long.”

Jackieboy Man finally reached the group, and Google almost fired on the speedster for getting too close to Bing and Logan too quickly. “Woah!”

“Back up!” Google ordered him.

“Okay, Lo, gonna[8] turn it off in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1,” Bing warned and then he turned on the phone and dismantled it. “Okay Lo, I know you can still hear me. So just relax and— There you are!”

Bing extracted a glowing dark blue orb that swelled out to show a small galaxy inside of it. “Lo? You alright?”

Logan didn’t talk, he was more aware of what was around him rather than seeing it himself.

“Yeah, we need ta[1] get you inta[21] a speaker or somethin’[18],” Bing decided, and Logan’s orb floated haltingly over to Google who shielded the orb with his nanites.

“Yes?” Google asked carefully.

Logan used the little bit of aura he had the ability to use and pulled and pushed the nanites between him and Google.

It took Google a second or two to realize what Logan was asking.

“Oh, of course,” Google smiled and pulled out a cube of nanites, “They’re yours, I made sure to keep them operational for you.”

Logan hesitated, knowing how those nanites had been used before, but he took them. To the logical Side it was like stepping into a familiar pair of shoes, or a well loved coat. These nanites were his. They knew his form and obeyed his command. The imitation of flesh and sinew and bone swirled into being, more of a shell than an actual body. But they were something.

It formed, rather unfortunately the last setting they had been set to, which was Logan’s future Suit of Spades outfit, the nanites turning a glossy black with a brass spade in the front.

“Ugh,” Logan groaned, the voice modulator still active and Logan was quick to try and deactivate that. “I hate this suit.”

“Yeah, not expecting ta[1] see it either,” Jackie agreed as Google had a camera track around Logan as Logan tried to get the nanites to reset to his normal suit but it required a password and Logan didn’t know it.

PATTON

Logan typed it and to his amazement, it worked and he cursed his older self’s single minded nature. He spent a couple minutes reconfiguring the settings for it to turn back into his normal nanite suit and Logan felt relief.

“I wish to go home,” Logan decided.

“Yeah, we can do that,” Jackie smiled, happy to have Logan back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations:

1. to

2. and

3. for

4. existing

5. your

6. riding

7. You’re

8. going to

9. tell your legate friend I got his glitch arm in my phone, and I kind of want him out before he bricks my phone. You want to bring your best tech guy and meet us somewhere?

10. fuck

11. you

12. Please

13. Got you (or: Understand)

14. them

15. I told you to wait one freaking second. They were coming to us, dude. Everything was fine.

16. tits

17. second

18. something

19. out of

20. Lo, you lost your body, and you’re stuck in some stranger’s cellphone

21. into

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melindacoulson4 · 4 years

Text

By her side

AOS started with the death of a hero. The Tahiti project was created to bring back a fallen hero. And so the cycle continues....only this time it isn't Phil Coulson. Daisysous fic. Post-finale.

THIS IS WILD. PREPARE FOR FEELS.

She jerked awake. Her eyes automatically looking to her right for the man in the chair. He was there, watching her closely. It took him a minute to react. He froze sitting up quickly, mouth falling open. "Hey. Hey. You're awake." He stood up and moved to her side quickly.

There was a beeping. Her body hurt like someone had thrown her off the side of a building. At first glance, she saw nothing but white. White walls. White blanket covering her body. White bandages over her arms. Several things ran through her head at once. Miles was always telling her that she needed to cool it with her speed. That her van would turn into an accordion against any vehicle with substance. A car accident that had to be how she'd wound up in here. And this guy at her side was some nice citizen. A witness that had come to make sure she'd be alright.

He completely surprised her when he grabbed a hold of her hand. "Skye," he whispered.

He knew her name. "Huh?" She said. The way her voice sounded startled her. It had come out scratchy and deep, leaving the inside of her throat aching.

"Are you okay?" He looked down at her full of concern.

No. Most definitely not okay.

She tried sitting up. And that brought a spike of pain that went rolling down her spine but she continued to try anyway.

"Hey. Hey. Hey," he protested. "Take it easy," he said, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. "What is it? What hurts?" He asked, slowly transitioning to a seated position at the edge of her bed.

The overwhelming sense of unknown threw her into a panic. "Everything. I. I. I..." She stuttered. "What's happening?" Against her will, her eyes watered. She didn't want to appear weak or fragile but it was kind of hard not to in this situation. It couldn't be helped.

"You were in an accident," he told her, rubbing his thumb against the top of her hand. He was gentle in the way he touched her.

An accident. That was acceptable, but the thing that scared her most. That had her palms sweating under the knit white blanket and her breathing picking up was that the last thing she remembered was white sand. Had she nearly drowned? Or worse, attacked by some stranger?

"Breathe. Just breathe. D- Skye. Look at me." It was a request, not an order. "Breathe with me, okay?"

Eyes swinging back to him, she nodded. His presence was calming. She blew a breath out. Her heart continued hammering away.

"Slow...in and out," he coached softly.

His chest rose and fell rhythmically. She did her best to mimic it. "Okay. Okay," she whispered. Feeling rational thought return. Things were okay. For one, she was alive and two, this man was here. As she knew he would be....somehow.

Sensing her need for space again, he backed up slightly, but didn't go far. He stayed an arm's length away.

Her mouth was so dry. Like someone had shoveled a truckload of sand into it while she slept. "Water," she requested.

A styrofoam cup with a bendy straw appeared in front of her. She swallowed it down greedily, finishing it in three long gulps. His eyes never wavered from her face as he held the cup in place for her. When she found her breath, she asked, "Not to be rude or anything but...who are you?"

He looked down, swallowing hard. "James." It was not what she expected him to say. "You like calling me Jim though." He said, attempting to smile, but it failed to reach his eyes.

"Jim," she tested. It felt weird, but she nodded anyway, wanting to make him feel better as he just did with her. His clothes were rumpled. Dark circles seemed engrained on his face like he hadn't slept in weeks. Several stacks of newspapers sat on the window ledge. He'd been sitting by her bedside for a while then. And it looked like he'd been in the same accident as her. A long, odd looking bruise lined his jaw. Several small cuts were sprinkled over his face. There was a black sling around his neck, cradling his entire right arm.

Her eyes dipped to the hand he had near hers on the bed. No ring. So they weren't married. Given the hand holding and lack of ring there were only a few options. "Okay. Jim. Um. What are you to me?"

She expected pain to cross his face or more realistically anger. Forgetting him entirely wasn't exactly a nice thank you for him sitting by her bedside. But he remained straight-faced, almost stony. "Your boyfriend," he said.

Should she apologize? Hey Jim, you seem like a swell guy, but I have no memory of our time together at all. "I can't remember anything," she whispered, sounding small.

He nodded. "That's okay," he answered, calm and collected. Not anything like his world had just been flipped upside-down, which lead her to suspect that he'd anticipated this.

There was a cot pushed against the far wall. She had no roommate. A blanket was thrown over the back of his chair. A tower of books were stacked off to the side. She read the spine of the thickest one. "A concise history of the 20th century". He'd been bored enough to read something like that. Just how much time had passed? Long enough to accumulate these things to keep himself occupied. She was afraid to know the answer, so instead she asked, "What happened to us?"

He looked her right in the eye. "Helicopter crash."

That did not sound right at all. "A what?" She blurted, doubt clouding her mind.

"There was a helicopter crash. We were...in Tahiti." He shook his head as if recalling something painful. "It completely shattered your left shoulder blade. You had a concussion. Ten broken ribs..." He trailed off.

Come to think of it she did feel different somehow. Like she'd been torn apart and then put back together again, piece by piece. She expected some other explanation. Maybe it was the disorientation of the memory loss. Either way it was a deeply odd feeling to have.

"Believe it or not you were lucky." His face shadowed over like he'd seen too much. Witnessed too much. "We...were lucky," he amended.

And others not so much, her brain finished for him. "People died?"

"Yea." A haunted look crossed his face.

It made her uncomfortable, so she didn't look at his face. He caught her staring at the rest of his body. "I have a broken arm, but it's healed well. It was in a...cast. But now I have this." He gestured to the sling.

The door opened. A young woman walked in, shuffling papers and watching Jim. The doctor, Skye suspected. The woman smiled at Jim like they were on friendly terms, familiar with each other. "Ma-

"She's awake," he said, interrupting her.

The doctor turned to her, shocked to her core. "You're awake," she repeated Jim, almost in disbelief.

"I am," Skye confirmed, then felt stupid.

"How long have I been here exactly?" She asked, changing the subject.

The doctor stood in place, still staring at her, stunned that she was even speaking. Skye had never seen a doctor so thrown by a patient waking up.

"A while," Jim answered. His eyes flickered away.

That scared her.

He seemed to detect her fear because he reached out and touched her fingers. "It was bad. I thought you were gone."

"You're a fighter," the doctor said. Skye felt that she could trust her. There was a genuineness about her. A face that you'd want to tell anything to.

"Not literally though. I work with computers for a living," Skye said almost on automatic. The words felt true though. Keyboards and screens. She remembered that. "Right?" She looked to Jim for confirmation.

There was a long pause. Jim seemed almost mournful for a moment, then he smiled. "Yea. Don't ask me the details though. I don't understand the first thing about those things."

Both he and the doctor laughed, but it failed to truly reach either of their eyes. They both seemed worn down. There were more lines on Jim's face than she remembered ever being there.

"I'm feeling...." Skye trailed off, thinking about what to say. Claustrophobic. Locked up. Trapped in a bubble. "Could I maybe take a walk?" She asked the doctor hesitantly. She wasn't really in great shape, but she needed to move.

When no answer came, her eyes flickered to the doctor. She seemed trapped in some sort of trance, staring down at the papers in her arms.

"Doctor?"

The woman blinked, coming back from where her mind had been. "Sorry. What did you say?"

"A walk. Do you think I could take one?"

The doctor opened her mouth, denial clearly on her tongue.

"Please," Skye added quickly. "Please," she begged, meeting the doctors eyes. She seemed like a good person. Human and able to work with a patient.

The doctor swallowed past a lump in her throat. "That can be arranged for you," she stated quietly.

It wasn't until she and Jim made it into the hall that Skye realized she never caught the doctor's name. The woman wore no nametag nor white lab coat. But it had been obvious who she was by her caring demeanor. As she'd fiddled with the machines and disconnected the IVs, Skye felt a healing energy around the room. She wanted to ask the doctor where she was from. The accent was British and could hardly be missed, but the doctor had grown skittish towards the end. Like something was deeply upsetting. Jim had stepped in to help her stand from the bed. The doctor had made herself scarce after that.

The going was slow. She kept her eyes primarily on her feet. One foot in front of the other. She couldn't ever remember having to use crutches before. There had been the time in middle school when she'd fallen over a soccer ball. On the landing there had been a distinct crack from her leg. She didn't dare say anything to her foster parents. All they needed was one excuse to be rid of her. That's how they all were, so she'd walked with a pretty profound limp for a while. And that marked the permanent end of her sports career.

During her time in the bed, her muscles had grown weak. Her body itself seemed to be in relatively okay shape for a woman who'd had so many injuries. As she lifted the crutches, she wobbled a bit.

"Woah. I've got ya," Jim said with a supportive hand at her back.

She believed him. She knew it was true down to her core. He would always be there to pick her up. Or not let her fall in the first place.

It was quiet out here. So much so that her crutches seemed a thousand times louder than they truly were. When she tapped them on the tile, the noise seemed to echo all around them. She had the suspicion that this hospital was really small. There was barely any activity around. No nurses hustling around. No other patients. Maybe she'd seen too many movies. At this point she was kind of desperate just to see different people around. Just when she was about to ask Jim where they even were in terms of a city, she saw actual people.

They passed a small waiting room. It was an open area filled with chairs and tables. She saw a middle aged-man and woman sitting side-by-side. Clearly a couple by the way they leaned on one another. The man wore a white checkered shirt that was tucked into a pair of khakis. Dark rimmed glasses rested on the tip of his nose. He had a book in hand, halfway finished by the looks of it. The woman wore a light purple sweater and a necklace. Her dark hair was pinned back. Her arm was threaded in the man's. They looked like old sweethearts.

The woman caught Skye looking. They locked eyes and Skye felt her chest tighten. The woman smiled politely, but it was a facade. Putting on a brave face, Skye thought. There was a deep sadness to her. She clutched at her husband's hand. They both appeared tired and worn down, like they'd received bad news or were waiting on news of a close family member. At least they had each other. She hoped things would work out for them.

One of her crutches caught on the tile floor. She found that she could no longer lift it. Her breathing had kicked up. Heart beating erratically. Sweat had broken out under her arms. She could scarcely hold onto the rubber grip attached to the crutches. She halted in place, feeling like she couldn't move forward. There was something deeply wrong...but her mind blanked.

"You okay?" Jim asked from her side, but he sounded far away. So far away.

The world was spinning fast, intending on hurling her off somewhere that she didn't know. She'd never felt so lost before. Her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to fight it all off. Parents. The word had entered her mind from nowhere and spread out like wildfire. Even though she was an adult she wished she knew who they were. It hardly mattered at the moment. She couldn't understand why this was happening now.

"Skye, can you hear me?"

Jim. Jim was still here. And just like that everything was okay. When she opened her eyes the world had grown still once more. Normal. Things were normal. He was at her side and he wasn't going anywhere.

"What just happened?" Jim questioned, clearly distraught.

She didn't want to worry him. She wanted to see him happy. A smile on his face, that was something she could remember. When he chuckled he looked so damn endearing and genuine. So she put on a brave face. "Just out of breath for a sec," she told him, brushing her panic away.

"Maybe we should go back." His warm hand settled against her shoulders.

Nothing seemed real in here. Like she might be dreaming. She wanted to see birds flying through the air, feel wind on her cheeks, and hear the sound of traffic. What she didn't want was to keeping breathing stale, recirculated hospital air. "No way I want some fresh air. Just needed a breather is all. I'm good now. Promise," she said, determined to finish this.

So they continued on.

Something flew across the floor, bounced off the toe of her shoe, and came to a halt about a foot away. A green dot. It was tiny, not even the size of a penny. The word pebble popped into her mind, but it wasn't right. That was a stupid thing to think. Pebbles weren't lime green. It was a piece of candy. She stepped over it easily.

The proof came a few feet later. A man had a red baggie in his hand. He was busy tossing skittles and catching them in his mouth. And from the looks of him, he was terrible at it. But luck seemed to be on his side, most of the candies had wound up in his lap so he could try again. Best two out of ten, she thought.

There were several candy and chocolate wrappers on the empty next to him. She counted at least three lemon head baggies. Clearly he had a sweet tooth. He upended the Skittle bag into his palm. It was red. He looked about ready to prepare for the next toss, but stopped short. Wondering what the hold up was, her eyes ran up to his face. She was almost taken aback by the way he was staring at her. His eyes were blown wide, like a deer caught in headlights. She'd always heard the expression and had used it herself sometimes, but now she was seeing it in its truest form. If a giant bulky alien popped up and punched him in the face, she didn't think he could look anymore shocked than he did right now.

The woman next to him seemed to notice his rude behavior, turned and elbowed him in the gut. He flinched, dropping that last Skittle. His head swung towards the woman. "Ow!" He complained, outraged.

"Pendejo," the woman said.

The two began bickering back and forth like siblings. Clearly they had a familiarity with each other. Neither one looked at her again.

Completely thrown by the exchange, Skye's brows furrowed. Both of them were purposefully not looking at her. A terrible thought crossed her mind. Had she been disfigured? A face transplant. Or skin graft. Helicopters could explode and Jim never gave her the details. All the terrible ways someone could be hurt in a crash ran through her mind. "Is something wrong with my face?"

"No," Jim said quickly.

"Don't lie to me," she warned.

"I would never lie to you about something like that," he said seriously. "Besides a few gnarly scratches and some bruises your face is perfect."

Perfect. Where did she find a man this nice? She didn't think she'd ever heard someone call her face perfect. Caring. Supportive. Nice. Attractive. She patted her past self on the back for choosing him.

A large guy, built like Dwayne "the rock" Johnson coming down the hall.

"Holy God. That guy is big," she murmured.

He was stacked with muscles, but slim. He had a cardboard carrier in each hand. Both completely full. There were four coffees in each carrier, each of varying sizes. One was even a frappuccino.

"How many coffees does one guy need?" She whispered, trying not to stare.

"When you're that big, I guess eight," Jim responded.

She chuckled. They kept moving and when they passed the coffee man he actually met her eye without reacting like she looked like a leper. He nodded politely as he passed. She smiled and did the same.

There were pictures all along the walls of different landscapes. She stared at them and wondered where her home was. She had no idea. The only thing she knew was that Jim was in her life. That felt right.

To fill the silence, she asked, "So what were we doing in Tahiti anyway?"

"Taking a long deserved vacation. Which is what we're going to continue doing until you're all healed," he said.

A vacation from what? She tried to picture herself living with Jim. Maybe having dinner ready for him just as he set foot in the house after a long days work. She couldn't picture it. She wanted to know what he did for a living. Then she realized that she didn't even know what her own job was. So many questions and not enough answers. She didn't want to hurt him, but she could barely remember anything. The last thing she remembered was the pain. She'd fought so hard to live. Several questions bounced around her head about the accident. She wanted to know more, but thought back to his reaction in her room and decided she could wait. She didn't want to upset him.

They made it outside without even having to use an elevator. Apparently her room was on the first floor, the only floor. Weird hospital. This must be a really small town or some private place for rich people.

Jim lead her over to a bench and helped her sit. The black metal had a soothing warmth to it from soaking up all the sunshine. It was a welcomed difference from inside the hospital. The sun felt nice on her arms. Most of her arm was bandaged up, but the skin that she could see was pale. So she held out both arms as best she could, enjoying the heat that soaked into her.

Jim's hand rested on her thigh, barely there so as not to hurt her. But enough so she could feel his presence. Because of him she felt warm inside too.

She didn't know how much time had passed, but the next time she opened her eyes a little girl had appeared. Merely a few feet in front of her stood a small girl, no more than five. She had blonde hair that was almost white and was wearing the biggest smile on her face that Skye had ever seen.

"Hi there, cutie," Skye said, smiling back. The little girl's happiness was infectious.

She felt Jim sit up straighter.

"No no no no." A man came over in a rush and completely out of breath. "Over here, sweetie," he said, directing the little girl away.

He had an accent. Just like that doctor. What were the odds of that? Small odds. Waking up from a coma? Also small odds. Maybe the universe was trying to tell her something. She should go buy a lottery ticket.

The girl proved to be a stubborn one. She plopped down right in front of their feet, unwilling to budge. The man scooped her up. "I'm so sorry," he apologized to her and Jim, barely sparing them a glance.

"Don't be," she said, smiling at how sweet the girl was.

No response came from the man. In a rush of nervous energy, he booked it away from them. Almost as if he couldn't get away fast enough. Like he thought they had some disease. Odd.

A heartbroken cry echoed.

Skye looked to their right. The little girl had her arms stretched out, reaching back. Her face was very displeased. That was when Skye saw a small plastic monkey toy discarded on the sidewalk.

The man seemed to notice too. Grudgingly, he backtracked his steps.

"What's her name?" Skye called out to him, desperate for conversation or something else she couldn't figure out.

The man looked at her, startled. "Uh um," he fumbled over his words. He had a young looking face, but the beard and mustache combo mad him more distinguished. Avoiding her eyes, he grabbed the toy, then paused like the ground had suddenly cracked apart and was about to suck him in. After a long pause he finally spoke. "Dandelion....Dandy for short." Without waiting for her response, he spun around and took off like a fire had been lit under his ass.

Weirdo...

People these days were weird. Not only his reactions, but that name....dandelion. What happened to boring, normal names like.... Melinda or something? "Remind me that when we have kids not to name any daughter we have after a flower," she said to Jim. He stayed quiet and her brain caught up to what she'd said. She shut her eyes in exasperation. Idiot.

"I'm sorry. Was that too soon? I actually have no idea how long we've been dating."

"Dating," he said as if the word were foreign to him.

Oh god, he wasn't one of those kind, was he? Afraid of any commitment. Worry settled in the pit of her stomach. "That's what we're doing, right?" She asked, confused now.

He leaned towards her, quickly grabbing her hand and meeting her eyes. "Yea....yea...of course...I just....I like calling it....going steady," he said almost nervously.

That made her laugh. "What are you? Ninety years old?"

He chuckled and there was that happiness from him that she loved to see.

She turned, searching for the little girl again, but she and her father were long gone. "That was weird, right? That guy. Acting like we were going to steal his kid or something..." She looked at Jim for confirmation that it wasn't just her that thought so.

He nodded. "It was weird. Maybe he's just paranoid."

"Speaking of weird. In that hospital room, when I first woke up...even before I opened my eyes, I just knew that you would be there. Like I had this sixth sense of you sitting by my bedside or something," she told him.

"Maybe you heard me talking to you," she said and she could feel the rumbling in his chest as he spoke. "Telling you I needed you to come back to me." He took her hand, threading their fingers together.

"Maybe." She smiled. It felt good to just sit and not have any commitments. To not have to rush to respond to something. To what? She didn't know, but either way she was going to take advantage of this.

She stared up at the sky, still lost in thought of the image of him asleep in a chair. In her mind he was wearing blue and he looked damn good.

"Someone's getting tired," he observed.

"Sorry. Yea, I think I am." There was a pounding going on in her head that she didn't like.

"Let's go back in. I don't want you pushing yourself like you always do," he said.

"Okay," she agreed. Anything to make them get back to her bed faster. This whole thing really had tired her out.

Everything was going to be okay though. She felt safe. She felt at home. Jim was with her.

//end//

#daisysous #sousy #dousy #daniel x daisy #fic #agents of shield spoilers #maybe? lol

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avauntus · 4 years

Text

Supernatural - a retrospective

This is super self-indulgent, and I have so much else I’ve promised-- I owe a long-fic rec post, and ao3 comments, wip work, and that’s just my fandom stuff I’m behind on. *sigh*

But it’s late on a Saturday and now I’ve finished Supernatural, I want to share what I think are my top few eps, and a few other comments. I promise some of this will be different from the “greatest hits” you probably usually see, and I’ll try to make it worth your time. *wry smile*

Look, we have to have categories like: “Most Likely to Live in My Head Rent-Free for the Rest of my Life” and “Most Likely to Inspire Unnecessary Fanfiction” that are different from “Favorites,” because that’s just the cursed energy this show has. ;-)

My top five

#5 - 13.01 - “Lost and Found”

Written by: Andrew Dabb | Directed by: Phil Sgriccia

In fandom, this is most often referred to as the start of the “Grieving Widower” arc, tongue-in-cheek. Also has Alexander Calvert (Jack) walking around completely in the nude for the first third of the ep. (Neither of these are why this is in my top 5, but he has a good story about wardrobe for his ‘first day.’)

I didn’t expect much out of this episode the first time I watched it, but I’ve gone over this ‘section’ of the show maybe 3-4 times in my Netflix catch-up, and I watch this one in full every time. From Jack being...not at all what anyone expected and an unsteady vindication, to the stunning cinematography (there’s a post that compares shots to Brokeback Mountain, but I think the shots here might be better), to the sheriff who takes the time to remind her deputy that “...there’s no such thing as ‘weird.’ Everyone’s normal in their own way,” to the slow reveal of exactly how hard the events of the previous night (12x23 - All Along the Watchtower) are hitting Dean and Sam and in different ways...(how long the episode takes to reveal to you how Dean fucked up his hand, and what he was saying when he did. Augh!) The Winchesters are trying to rally, but they have been taking hits for a long time, and the cracks are showing.

#4 - 15.06 - “Golden Time”

Written by: Meredith Glynn | Directed by: John F. Showalter

Supernatural has a terrible track record with representation in all stripes. It is infamously consistent in killing off anyone minority, female, or non-White. One of the interesting things about the chaotic meta-narrative of season 15 is you can see the lack of fucks some of the writer’s room had to give about not even being subtle about tearing down that type of ‘White-male-hero-journey” now that they were in a literal “what will they do, fire me?” situation.

I’m a Cas fan, and this episode, which gives him an actual, ‘case-of-the-week’ hunter’s narrative where he gets to save the day on his own, successfully, was wonderful. I love that for him! But more than that, for me, this episode is emotional to me for other reasons-- the way Dean and Cas circle around each other on their angry phone call (with the body language! They are broadcasting so LOUD and neither can see because they’re on the phone!), Sam’s story here, where he’s inheriting things from Rowena that allow him in turn to save Eileen, to Cas’ speech and quick anger at the lake when you reflect on his entire journey of self-realization from a soldier of blind faith to an agent of free will... “You selfish little men in your positions of authority...” I just... *clears throat, grabs tissue*

#3 - 6.20 - “The Man Who Would Be King”

Written & Directed by: Ben Edlund

Speaking of Cas’ journey... I know some folks don’t like the angst and drama of the ‘Heaven and Hell’ plots of Supernatural, but I am here for it. Oh, did we need another reason to include this episode? This has some of the most metal quotes I have heard from any TV show. Ever.

I mean, look at this:

“If I knew then what I know now, I would have said: Freedom is a length of rope. God wants you to hang yourself with it.”

“Explaining freedom to angels is a bit like explaining poetry to fish.”

The delivery of: “It's not too late. Damn it, Cas! We can fix this!” “Dean, it’s not broken!” is one of those Supernatural bits that will live in my head until the end of time. All of Edlund’s episodes are among my favorites, but this (along with “5.04 - The End”) was on another level.

#2 - 5.16 - “Dark Side of the Moon”

Written by: Andrew Dabb & Daniel Loflin | Directed by: Jeff Wollnough

I think of this episode every time I hear Bob Dylan sing “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.” This is kinda a giant montage episode, but the connecting concepts are so...satisfying.

“Heaven is your favorite memories.” “ It’s called the axis mundi. It’s a path that runs through heaven. Different people see it as different things. For you, it’s two-lane asphalt.” “This is your idea of heaven? Wow, this was one of the worst nights of my life.” “I don’t think I realized how long you’ve been cleaning up Dad’s messes.” “It’s awesome to finally have an application—a practical application—for string theory.” “Everyone leaves you, Dean. You noticed?” “Why is God talking to me? Gardner-to-gardener, and between us, I think he gets lonely.” “You son of a bitch, I believed in... ” Whoosh.

#1 - 4.01 - “Lazarus Rising”

Written by: Eric Kripke | Directed by: Kim Manners

So...this is the episode where Castiel, angel of thee Lord, shows up. And that’s primarily why it earns the no. 1 spot, because 80% of my enjoyment of Supernatural from this point on was Cas-adjacent. Plus this entire episode just hits. ALL OF IT. Dean’s homecoming. Ruby, my darling. Bobby’s entire vibe. Pamela Barnes, easily one of the most interesting women Supernatural ever introduced. Cas being so hot to say “Hi” to Dean he forgets he wounds people.

But beyond that-- the way the show writes their ‘oh, by the way, angels’ narrative! If you haven’t seen this episode, would you believe me if I told you that THIS EPISODE, the episode where Supernatural said “canonically, Judeo-Christian Heaven is real, btw” involves no churches but does involve a séance, a soulmark handprint brand, and a himbo angel that “gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition”...but they were all “no homo, guys” for years?

Truly no one was out here doing it like Supernatural even back in 2008.

Others--

15.18 - “Despair”

“Most Likely to Live Rent-Free in My Head for the Rest of my Life”

Written by: Robert Berens | Directed by: Richard Speight, Jr.

You know why this episode is here. It broke reality. I could be wrong-- but I’d put good money on this episode being the subject of academic theses in the future. That doesn’t automatically make for interesting story, but...

Has there ever been a case, in a mainstream US TV show where a major lead character (Cas) came out as queer so late in the game in a narratively-important way? I’m not aware of it, but I might just be behind on my television.

This episode has great writing, and (blessedly) amazing direction and blocking anyway. Check out the above gif - that is some next level foreshadowing going on in the cinematography, and this isn’t even the most remarked upon shot in this episode. (Seriously, I had to search for 40 minutes for this gif, please respect my game, lol.) Everyone who was involved in 15x18 is giddy talking about their investment, from the costume designer to the actors to the director to the writer...

...And then a bunch of them steadfastly have avoided posting much Supernatural-related since. So that’s...loud. There is a bunch of subtext in this episode that is screamingly loud; there is a bunch of text in this episode that makes several things clear fandom has been chattering over for years and years. The meta-commentary around this episode continues, months later. There are over 700 fics on AO3 with this episode tag.

I have more to say about the themes of ‘free will’ and ‘love’ and ‘identity’ tied to this episode, but seriously-- you’ve probably read 17 versions of it on Tumblr already, so.

This is the last time we see Cas, and the last time Supernatural can claim anything close to narrative consistency. For that alone, it’d earn free head-space.

Runners-up: “4.20 - The Rapture”; “5.04 - The End”; “7.21 - Reading is Fundamental”; “8.21 - The Great Escapist”; “9.06 - Heaven Can’t Wait”; “12.19 - The Future”; “14.08 - Byzantium”

6.17 - “My Heart Will Go On”/8.07 - “A Little Slice of Kevin”

“Most Likely to Inspire Unnecessary Fanfiction”

Written by: Eric Charmelo & Nicole Snyder (6.17); Brad Buckner & Eugenie Ross-Leming | Directed by: Phil Sgriccia (6.17); Charlie Carner (8.07)

Usually the show kills off it’s “one-episode” female characters, but do you know one time it didn’t? When the Moirai (the Fates - specifically Atropos, the shearer of the Threads of Fate) showed up in canon in 6.17. She was posited to have “two older sisters that were bigger than her- in every sense of the word,” ...and Castiel had to back down when she challenged him to a cosmic game of chicken over the Winchester’s lives.

Then they never returned to that idea again.

“A Little Slice of Kevin” is on here for the opposite reason -- an amazing idea that was really underwritten in the episode it showed up in. Dean Winchester has been dragging himself across the fabric of universes; the literal Word of God is in play in a warehouse in Middle America; Cas is back from Purgatory, but what does that mean, micro and macro? As a person on the street, what would it mean, or feel like, to learn you were a Prophet of the Lord, uncalled? That what you are, everything you are, is a cosmic contingency?

Maybe Fate has an opinion on all these shenanigans?

Perhaps all that doesn’t make sense, but it certainly made an impression on ~2012 me. To this day, it remains the WIP I can open up and fool myself with the ‘twist.’ I wish I remembered where I was going with it so I could finish it.

Runners Up: “2.20 - What Is and What Should Never Be”; “5.04 - The End”; “6.15 - The French Mistake”; 12.12 - “Stuck in the Middle (with you)”; “13.05 - Advanced Thanatology” “14.03 - The Scar”; “14.10 - Nihilism”; “15.15 - Gimme Shelter” ... and “15.20 - Carry On” (obviously)

Fifteen seasons. There were plenty of other episodes I loved that didn’t make these limited lists. But overall -- thank you, Supernatural, for the run. Even if I’m upset at the ending, I can appreciate the game. If you watch the show, what were your favorite episodes?

#spn #supernatural #meta #review

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westannatasharomanoff · 4 years

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THG AU Chapter 28

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27

TW: Major Character Death

*One month after S.H.I.E.L.D. successfully stole the file, it was once again time for The Hunger Games. Bruce was no longer a mentor, but Natasha still had to go to The Capitol. Unfortunately, she couldn’t help as much this year because she couldn’t teach tactical climbing. Luckily, Wanda offered to help Natasha’s tribute learn what he needed to learn. Once the games started, Natasha’s tribute was dead within two days. She decided that she wanted to go home instead of staying in The Capitol.*

Bruce: You’re home early.

Natasha: I missed you. Besides, everyone was asking me questions about the baby and it was a bit overwhelming.

Bruce: Did you convince them to tell you if we’re having a boy or a girl?

Natasha: I asked, but they wouldn’t tell me.

Bruce: I need to mentally prepare if we have to name our child Triffle.

Natasha: *laughs* Yeah.

Bruce: In all seriousness, I’m excited no matter what we’re naming our child.

Natasha: Good. So am I.

*A couple more months go by. S.H.I.E.L.D. successfully carries out a few more missions to subtly weaken The Capitol. The Capitol brought Natasha there to have the baby. Bruce waited in the hallway until he was allowed to go in.*

Nurse: Sir? You can go in now.

*The nurse lead him into the room. *

Bruce: How’re you feeling?

Natasha: Tired. You?

Bruce: Excited. And also very nervous.

Natasha: Okay. Well, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. * handing him a baby with dark hair and blue eyes wrapped in a pink blanket* This is Victoria!

Bruce: *crying* Wow.

Natasha: Is something wrong?

Bruce: No, this moment is just so perfect. I don’t think anything could mess this up.

*Just then, several camera crews and a bunch of reporters barged in. They all started talking at once while crowding Natasha, Bruce, and Victoria. Victoria starts crying.*

Random reporter: Everyone wants to know if it’s a boy or a girl! Why don’t you tell the people what they want to know?

Bruce: Huh? Why are you- she literally just- GET OUT!

Other reporter: We’re allowed to be in here, Snow’s orders. Now, tell us if it’s a boy or a girl!

Bruce: My daughter is not an it!

First reporter again: You heard it here first. It’s a girl! Victoria Banner has officially been welcomed into the world.

Bruce: Okay, will that be all? Because Nat should really be resting and-

A third reporter: We will decide when we’re done here. Now, let us see Victoria!

Bruce: Hey! You get that camera out of her face! You’re scaring her!

Third reporter: Oh, how cute! She has her father’s hair, but her eyes are just like her mother’s. It’s a real shame she’s so loud. If she were quieter she’d be adorable.

Natasha: She was being quiet, then a bunch of people came in here unannounced!

A fourth reporter: That’s a real shame. Where are those people now?

Natasha: Still in here asking me questions.

*All of the reporters and camera crews laugh. They continue to ask questions until Bruce realizes how upset Natasha is getting.*

Bruce: I think it’s time for you to leave. *a few reporters try to argue* You asked your questions, now get out.

*The reporters leave.*

Bruce: Are you okay?

Natasha: I’m tired and overwhelmed, not to mention my whole body hurts. But other than that I’m great.

Bruce: Maybe you should get some rest. *kisses her forehead* I’ll be sitting right here, okay?

Natasha: Okay.

*The next day, they went back home to 12 and everyone came by to meet Victoria.*

Melina: Well isn’t she just cute as a button?

Alexei: She has your eyes, Natasha! And such wonderful dark hair!

Wanda: Can I hold her next?

Natasha: *taking Victoria from Melina* Of course. Say hi to your Aunt Wanda!

Wanda: Aww, she’s so tiny! *Wanda starts bouncing slightly*

Pietro: She’s a baby. What were you expecting?

Bruce: Okay, be careful. Don’t drop her.

Wanda: *stops bouncing* I won’t.

*Later, after everyone leaves but Fury, Maria, Wanda, and Pietro.*

Fury: Okay. *encases them in bubble* We make our first major strike next month, after you’ve had some time to recover and get back to normal. You guys will bring Victoria on the hovercraft because if you leave her home, she may be in danger. Those few days will hopefully be our first and last strike and we should be able to overthrow The Capitol. We’ve been tearing them apart from the inside, and now it’s finally falling into place. The key is to get them to destroy themselves.

Natasha: And we’re starting with the weapons warehouse, right?

Fury: Right. Be prepared for anything, physically and mentally. There is no way all of us are making it through this alive.

Natasha: We’ll be ready.

Wanda: Panem is about to enter a new era, and we’re ready to make sure it’s a change for the better

Bruce: I’m just as ready as these guys, but are you sure we have to bring Victoria?

Maria: It’s that or leave her behind without proper protection.

Bruce: If that’s the only way, I guess it works.

*One month later, everyone was on the hovercraft. They got to the weapons warehouse and Daisy and Leo were sent inside to take plans and sabotage weaponry. Soon, The Capitol catches wind of it and schedules the destruction of the building. Leo gets out and onto the hovercraft in a timely manner.*

Tony: We did it! The Capitol is going to destroy their own building!

Steve: I hate to rain on anyone’s parade, but that Daisy girl is still in there.

Leo: What? She was right behind me!

Daisy (over her communication device): My leg is stuck under a bookshelf that fell while we were running. I’m not getting out of this.

Daniel: No. No, we’re getting you out of there! *stands up* I’ll go in and get you!

Daisy: *the signal is breaking up due to the preparations for the incoming attack* No. I’m not worth that. Besides, you’ll never get us both out in time. Just leave and win this revolution. You have to. *connection is lost*

Daniel: Daisy?! Do you copy?! We lost her.

Phil: We have to save her! I’m going in.

* A few people try to protest, but Coulson grabs a parachute and jumps down. He runs into the building. A moment later, the building and everything in it is completely obliterated.*

Mack: Yes! The Capitol destroyed its own warehouse!

Melinda: No. Nonononono. We have to get them out of there.

Fury: We have to move along. This revolution is not going to win itself.

Daniel: But what about Phil and Daisy? They’re still in the building!

Grant: There is no building! It’s been reduced to rubble! We have to go.

Melinda: No, Phil has this talent. He never actually dies. He has to be alive, we have to get them out of there!

Daniel: If it were any one of us down there, Phil and Daisy wouldn’t give up.

Fury: Maria, why don’t you handle this?

Maria: *sigh* In 12, we coal miners have a policy. We never abandon a mining accident until it’s completely hopeless.

Melinda: See?! We can’t abandon them until this is hopeless!

Maria: That being said, we need to go.

Melinda: What? No. It isn’t hopeless! We need to search the building!

Grant: What building?! The building is gone! They’re gone.

Melinda: *holding back tears* We’re sure it’s hopeless? *Everybody but Daniel, Natasha, and Wanda nods.* Okay then. I- I need a minute. *runs to the next room in the hovercraft*

Daniel: *sobbing* No! We can’t leave them here! I don’t care about your stupid mining policy, this isn’t hopeless! *into his communication device* Daisy! Daisy Johnson, do you read me?!

Tripp: *sniff* She’s gone, Sousa. Give it up. This is going to be rough on all of us, but we can’t lose this now. You heard what Maria said. We wouldn’t be abandoning this unless it was absolutely hopeless.

Natasha: *also holding back tears* Maria forgot half of the policy.

Wanda: That’s right, she did.

Maria: What do you mean?

Natasha: Clint always used to say that an accident is never hopeless until every last miner loses hope. If he were here, we’d keep looking.

Fury: Barton’s been dead for two years! Stop acting like he’d be saying anything if he were here right now!

Natasha: Just one quick scan. That way, we’ll know for sure if anyone is still breathing under that rubble.

Peggy: *pressing the scan button* I guess it couldn’t hurt to- well, would you look at that! One survivor, female, about 19 years old. DNA match for Daisy Johnson.

Daniel: I’ll get her! *tries to run out of the hovercraft*

Gamora: You might want to use a parachute.

Daniel: Right.

*Once Daisy was back on the hovercraft, they put her on the bed in the medical area and dealt with her injuries. Daniel sat next to the bed and waited for her to wake up.*

Daisy: *opens her eyes* Huh? What happened?

Daniel: You’re alive! I mean, obviously we knew you were breathing but we weren’t sure if you were going to wake up. What’s the last thing you remember?

Daisy: The warehouse. I was stuck under the bookshelf and Coulson threw a soundproof bubble at me and encased me in it. Then everything went black.

Daniel: That must be what protected you from the initial explosion. After that, you must have been hit by falling rubble or something.

Daisy: Wait, where’s Coulson? I don’t see him here in the medical area, so what happened to him?

Daniel: I’m so sorry, I know he was like a father to you.

Daisy: *sits up* He’s dead?!

Daniel: Please lie back down, we don’t know if it’s safe for you to be sitting up-

Daisy: *tearing up* So he died to save me? You let him run into that building to get me unstuck? I’m not worth that! You should have left me there! You all should have left me there! I told you to go!

Jemma: Everyone tried to convince him to stay on the hovercraft, but he went in anyway.

Daisy: You should have tried harder!

Bruce: Daisy, lie down. We need to check you for a concussion. *Daisy reluctantly complies*

Daniel: We couldn’t just leave you there. You would have been killed.

Daisy: Next time, let me die.

#the hunger games #the hunger games au #s.h.i.e.l.d.#brutasha #brucenat #natasha romanoff #marvel #bruce banner #hulkwidow #avengers #mcu

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zhydoesart · 5 years

Text

Letters

Warnings: none

Fandom/Ship: Phan

AO3

Summary: Somehow, Phil always knows when Dan's feeling down, and he always knows what to say to make Dan feel better.

Taglist: I don’t currently have one for this fandom, this is my first Phanfic ^^ I hope you enjoy

Somehow, he always knew.

Whenever Dan was having a bad day—maybe he’d dropped his ice cream, or maybe he was having his fifth existential crisis this month—Phil sent a text. It was never anything elaborate or too long-winded, it was something simple like, “I miss you <3,” or, “I heard a song that made me think of you and I smiled.” Whatever it ended up being, it always managed to turn Dan’s day around.

But Phil had taken a trip to the next city over, without Dan. It had only been two days so far, but Dan was already starting to feel the effects.

Dan had been lying on his bed, face buried in his pillow, for about 20 minutes now. Every three or so minutes, he’d check his phone, perking up hopefully, only to see that he hadn’t gotten a text from Phil, at which point he’d deflate again.

Phil had always been there when Dan needed him, he thought, unable to fight off a hint of bitterness. Part of him still resented Phil for leaving him and Dan hated that part of himself. It wasn’t Phil’s job to make Dan feel better; what was he, a child? Dan had never properly learned how to cheer himself up. Whatever he tried never worked.

Dan groaned, the sound muffled by his pillow, and rolled over onto his back with a sigh. His eyes sightlessly traced the little bumps on the ceiling, mind somewhere else. He pondered calling Phil for a moment, but no. That would be far too disruptive; what if Phil was doing something important that required concentration and Dan distracted him?

Instead, he dragged himself out of bed, trudging into the bathroom. He blinked blearily at himself in the mirror, running a hand through his hobbit hair, which was still messy from last night’s sleep, trying to force his hair into a little more order.

The bags under his eyes were dark today, and Dan thought absentmindedly that if Phil had been there, he probably would’ve slept better last night. As it was, last night he’d tossed and turned for hours.

On the bright side, Phil couldn’t eat cereal that wasn’t for him to eat, Dan thought dully as he poured himself a bowl. Maybe he should be enjoying having the place to himself, but somehow he isn’t having fun as he eats his slightly mushy cereal for brunch.

Dan left the bowl in the sink, plopping himself lazily down on the sofa. Fumbling for the remote, he turned on the TV, resigning himself to watching whatever was on. After a few minutes, his eyes glazed over as he stopped listening.

An engine stopped outside. Pausing the TV, Dan peeked out the blinds as the mailman—in this case, a woman, so maybe mailperson?—dropped an envelope into the mailbox. He waited the normal minute-and-a-half duration for the truck to drive away before bolting to the mailbox.

Dan hadn’t been corresponding with anyone via letters recently, so it was probably just the standard spam from the corporate entities that seemed to target him and Phil, but he never liked staying outside for very long. It wasn’t a very sunny day—in fact, it was gray today, clouds obscuring the sun—but the sentiment still stood, so as soon as he’d unlocked the mailbox and grabbed the envelope, he hurried back inside.

Dan slammed the wooden front door shut, standing with his back to said door as he faced his living room. Panting slightly, he stared down at the envelope in his hand as though he thought it would come to life and start trying to bite him. He shook his head—that was as unlikely to happen as it was for Phil’s potted plants to uproot themselves and do a little dance—forcing his other hand to move the distance necessary to rip open the envelope.

The way Dan unfolded the piece of paper inside the envelope was a sharp contrast with the way he’d opened the letter. Dan always opened envelopes with force, not bothering with any sort of neatness; unlike Phil, who was one of those people who needed to painstakingly peel open the flap. His hands seemed to be shaking as he read the first words printed on the page in front of him in a handwriting that was very, very familiar to him.

My darling Dan, the letter began in a slightly loopy, messy font that Dan instantly recognized as Phil’s. How are you? I’m sure you must be worrying about me. While the thought is very flattering, we are not conjoined, despite the baking video we made for Halloween in 2017, and Dan Howell should get himself a life that doesn’t involve spending ALL of his time with me. (I know, I know, hypocritical, right?)

Dan scoffed, migrating over to the sofa to read the rest of the letter.

(To be honest, he was relieved to hear from Phil. It wasn’t as though it had been very long since Phil had left, and Phil wasn’t bad at remembering to contact Dan, per se, but a part of Dan always carried the irrational fear that something bad had, or would, happen to Phil.)

Now you’re wondering why I sent you a letter, which is perfectly reasonable, as I don’t send many these days. I don’t really have a reason to. But, truth be told, I’ve always wanted to send one like this. I romanticize letters in my head, and, well, who better to be romantic with than you?

So I wrote this letter, assuming that you’d start pacing and/or passive-aggressively trying to suffocate yourself with a pillow if I left for longer than one day. While we’ve always been satisfied with texting, I feel like letters hold a bigger part of a person than a text. They’re more personal. Like, I held this letter and I wrote on it in my own handwriting, and I like you enough to write more than a paragraph. I wanted to let you know I was thinking about you. And letters are sort of a place for you to ramble about things you think the other person would want to hear about.

Letters are also a physical thing. There’s something cool about the way you can hold them in your hand. Sure, you could always send an email, and the other person could print it out, but then you wouldn’t have their handwriting, would you?

Handwriting tells a lot about a person. If it’s neat, then they’re methodical and think things through. If it’s big, then they have a lot of self-confidence, or at least want to make it look like they do.

Dan supposed that was true. Phil’s handwriting tended to be large, which represented the pure amount of energy he always had (at least around Dan).

Your handwriting is always small and messy, the opposite of the two examples I gave. I think you rush because you’re a procrastinator, and in your avoidance of doing things, it gives you less time to actually do the things you want to do because you waited so long.

Sometimes Dan wasn’t sure how beneficial it was for him and Phil to know literally everything about one another, but he had to admit that what Phil had said in the letter was true.

Dan scanned the letter. It seemed like the rest of the letter was just Phil rambling about a dog he’d seen from the window of the room where he was staying, and Dan smiled, imagining Phil with his face pressed to the window to stare out at the dog.

At the bottom, it was signed, Missing you too, Phil, but contrary to the signature, in smaller text it then read, P.S. Dan, I want a dog :/ I would name it Meatball, and then, P.P.S. Is having a great name for a dog enough justification to get a dog?

Dan sighed, though not unhappily, stretching as he stood. As usual, Phil had improved his day significantly, although that didn't stop Dan from missing him, just a little bit.

Dan had thought the letter would be a one-time occurrence, but the next day, another envelope was in his mailbox. In this letter, Phil attempted some poetry (it went very badly, but Dan still appreciated it) and scribbled in the margin the lyrics to a song he'd had stuck in his head while writing (Toxic by Britney Spears, of course).

Every day, Phil sent Dan a letter in the mail, and after a week, Dan now had a small pile accumulating on the table next to their bed. Each one contained words of reassurance and confidence that Dan could seize the day, and each time Dan opened an envelope, his heart swelled. He really didn't deserve someone like Phil, who, while not having his life together much more than Dan, seemed happier in his decisions and in himself than Dan felt.

He couldn't remember how long Phil had said the little trip was going to be, and so couldn't estimate the number of letters he'd be receiving, but on the eighth day, no letter came. Despite how much Phil had reminded him not to jump to the worst possible conclusion, Dan assumed Phil had stopped sending letters and that he'd gotten too busy for Dan anymore.

Dan had been lying in bed for an hour when he heard someone fumbling with the doorknob on the front door. Heart pounding, he glanced at the time (9:02). He crept to the end of the hallway, watching the door with a mix of trepidation and adrenaline.

Dan could hear the jingle of keys as the person on the other side of the door failed to unlock it several times. He realized that his palms were sweaty as he peered around the corner at the door. Anyone who failed to open the door that many times was either breaking in, or…

A muffled yet triumphant ��Aha!” came from the other side of the door, becoming clearer as the door actually opened. Dan blinked what must’ve been ten times, so it couldn’t have been a hallucination conjured by his sleep-deprived brain. It was really Phil.

Phil glanced up, catching sight of Dan watching and breaking into a grin. Dan barreled into Phil’s arms, very nearly knocking Phil over as he caught Dan in an embrace.

Dan buried his face in Phil’s hair, inhaling the familiar scent, that pleasant smell of Phil’s shampoo currently mixed with the smell of wherever he’d been staying. “I missed you,” he said softly.

“You got my letters, right?” asked Phil, arms wrapped almost as tightly around Dan as Dan’s were wrapped around him.

“Yeah.” Dan pulled back after a moment to gaze into Phil’s “blue-green-yellow” eyes, one hand on Phil’s cheek. Phil’s eyes were filled with warmth, and his smile, that beautiful smile, was almost too much for Dan to handle in his tired state, but he narrowly prevented himself from crying.

“Why don’t we get out of the doorway?” Phil suggested, gently removing Dan’s hand from his face.

“Oh, yeah.” Dan stepped back to allow Phil room to enter with the luggage, closing the door behind him like a gentleman.

“How are you?” Phil asked. “Your eye bags look dark.” He raised an eyebrow at Dan, who felt sheepish and rushed to explain himself.

“I know you said to get to bed early because you know that I don’t sleep much unless I’m forced to, and I did!” justified Dan. “But… I couldn’t sleep much without you. It gets cold at night.” He pouted slightly, arms crossed, avoiding Phil’s eyes.

Phil looked at Dan, the look in his eyes soft. “You get off the hook this time,” he sighed, but he still had a small smile. “Come here.” He swept Dan into his arms again. While Phil had been the one away from home, and Dan had never left, Dan hadn’t felt as at home without Phil as he did now, enveloped in Phil’s embrace.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #dan and phil #daniel howell #phil lester

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icequeenjules26 · 5 years

Text

Digging in the sand, looking for Gold

Summary: When Dan's Beach-Volleyball partner retires, he's not sure how to continue his career. By coincidence he meets the aspiring Youngster Sascha, his best friend Marcelo and physiotherapist Phil, who shakes believes and rules Dan has lived by for all of his life. Suddenly, Dan's life becomes a lot more complicated...

Word Count: 11,8k

Tags: Strangers to lovers, Slow Burn, Fluff, a bit of angst

A/n: This is my first fic for this year's @phandomreversebang! Art is by @penisdinosaur, beta'd by @rubberbandx, big thank you to both of them!

Read on AO3

For as long as Dan could remember, sand was everywhere.

Even when he wasn’t currently on court, when he was training in the weights room or running his laps on track, jogging in the morning, even on vacations - there was always sand. He could feel it in his clothes when he moved, no matter if he had actually worn them on court yet or not. He could see - hear it trickling out of his hair when he shook his head, even right after a shower. There was sand at the bottom of every bag he owned, used for training or not - it didn’t matter.

Sand was his everlasting companion, like family members - they were always there, and sometimes they showed up out of nowhere even when you definitely did not want them to.

But even though sandy clothes or bags usually meant displeasure to normal people, like an itch they couldn’t scratch, to Dan it was comforting - it was home. It was that little piece of his life that he brought everywhere, that he couldn’t shake even if he wanted to; it was his sign of belonging. Whenever he felt foreign, strange, he’d see a few grains of sand, like the Universe showing him You’re not alone. You belong.

Other people would look at him funnily whenever he mentioned it and his own rationality told him how absolutely insane it sounded, but it didn’t matter. It was the way he felt.

As long as the sand would follow him, he would be okay.

That’s why his partner’s retirement hit him even harder. Sure, he could search for a new partner, could try to find someone else he had this on court connection with, someone who knew what he’d do before he knew himself - but not only the improbability of that was a big dampener. They were a Team , him and Markus, had always been; all the way from the sightings matches in their youth to where they were now: training for Olympia. Even though it was still a long way, and if he wanted to, Dan knew he could do it… It was more the way there that made Dan question if it was even worth the effort.

It was his life’s dream. It was everything he’d ever worked for, the only thing he’d ever wanted to achieve. He’d never cared much about education, graduations or even degrees. He had dedicated his life to this sport, had given it his all for several years - just to get thrown off course basically only moments before achievement.

He didn’t blame Markus for any of it, obviously. He had torn the front ligament in his right knee, which would take several months to recover from, and had several other projects in the making, a musical career to fall back to and an amazing husband that supported him every step along the way.

He wasn’t like Dan.

Dan had nothing but his goal - he was nothing but his goal.

He drank, breathed, lived this sport, and he wouldn’t have quit had he been the one getting injured - but he wasn’t, and finding a perfect partner was harder than recovering from an injury. Chances were he’d never find anyone else who understood him on court like Markus did.

So, naturally, the situation hit Dan like a brick wall and metaphorically had him lying in a ditch somewhere for several weeks. He put off looking through the documents of the aspirants his trainer had sent him, just flipped through them halfheartedly, barely noticing what he saw before he gave up and frustratedly threw them in the vague direction of his desk.

He slumped around at home, missed training sessions and basically stopped strength training altogether. He even shortened his morning and evening runs. Only in the night, when the sun sunk below the horizon and normal people went to sleep, all the energy he hadn’t used over the day caught up with him; he became agitated and restless until he finally gave in and went for a jog.

It was during one of those midnight runs that he met Sascha.

Dan was running through the park a few blocks from his apartment, letting the night air cool his skin and ruffle his wild locks. As usual, he didn’t pay much attention to where he was going - nor did he even look. His eyes were up in the clouds, watching them as they drifted by, getting illuminated by the almost full moon standing proudly up in the sky. He knew this park like the back of his hand, could probably run his way through with closed eyes and covered ears, so he had started on his usual route and let his feet do the rest.

Panic ’s This is Gospel just started playing when there was a strange cracking noise that had Dan fearing for his headphones - he’d literally justbought new ones, they couldn’t seriously be broken again already?! - then something colliding with him mid-step and suddenly, he found himself sitting on his ass.

For a second he was completely disoriented, unable to even distinguish between up and down, just sat there, blinking like an idiot. Then his brain caught up with his body, his sight cleared and he could make out a figure standing over him. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry. Fuck, I didn’t look where I was going -” A male voice started rambling and a hand reached out to help Dan up.

Dan took the offered hand and got pulled to his feet. The first thing he noticed was the height difference - which was basically nonexistent. The guy was tall , almost as tall as Dan, which said something, and fairly athletically built. “Hi, nice to meet you - I’m Sascha.”

That’s how it all started - somehow it spiraled from there.

Sascha insisted to buy Dan a drink for the inconvenience, even though it was as much Dan’s fault as it was his, at least in Dan’s book. They started talking, and it didn’t take Dan too long realize he was a Beach Volleyball player like himself. When he asked about a partner Sascha just shrugged and told him he hadn’t found the perfect one yet - and a plan started building in Dan’s head.

Half an hour later they had a training session scheduled for the next day, numbers exchanged and on his way home, Dan’s steps felt a lot lighter.

The training went even better than anticipated. From the first minutes on court Dan understood Sascha and vice versa, and Dan had rarely felt this connected to a person that wasn’t Markus on an athletic level. Sascha was a few years younger than Dan and not officially seeking a partner, so he hadn’t been among the documents Dan had gotten from his trainer, but he was adamant to try out this partnership, wherever it would lead them.

Dan’s trainer met with Sascha’s and it was settled - they’d be going through a month long trial and training period, but Dan already knew this partnership was what he’d been searching for.

It didn’t take too long to discover his new partner didn’t only come with fresh energy and new plans, no - he also came with a bunch of associates. There was Mischa, his older brother and one of Dan’s biggest rivals since forever, almost immediately offering to bury all bad feelings and try to be friends, which Dan agreed on without a second thought. There was Marcelo, Sascha’s best friend and training partner - also the one Sascha gazed at whenever he thought no one was looking, and Dan made a mental note to ask him about it as soon as a foundation of trust had been built.

And last but not least, there was Phil - tall and handsome Phil, with a black quiff and striking blue eyes and a smile that basically lit up the room. He was Sascha’s physiotherapist and tested Dan’s restrain to the max.

Dan’s first rule had always been no dating - no distractions on his way to gold. For years it had held up; no relationships, only sex, no strings attached, but within days Dan could tell upholding that rule would only get harder with Phil around.

Overall the group was so tightly knitted that Dan wondered if they’d even find room for him. He had always been somewhat of a lone wolf, but something about them made Dan want to belong .

And no, it was not the fact that Phil was too hot for his own good and Dan regularly forgot his own name when he looked at him. Not at all.

Well, at least not solely that…

___

For some time things were calm.

Training with Sascha was going well, great even. The connection on court Dan had felt from the very first minute wasn’t wavering, and he was more than happy about having found a new partner that seemed to fit even better than the last one. He even felt like he finally got somewhere with the group - they started inviting him to outings, Marcelo included him in jokes and Phil had seemingly made it his goal to make Dan lost for words any chance he got. Only Sascha seemed still a bit wary of him - at least in the group. He was incredibly protective of them, even though he was the youngest, and had trouble trusting Dan for a reason that was beyond his imagination. When Dan had asked Phil about it, he’d smirked and told him it was just a matter of time, but he was getting more and more agitated.

About two weeks after Dan and Sascha started playing together, the group talked about going to a nearby pub to celebrate something, but Dan hadn’t paid much attention since he hadn’t expected to be invited.

As he made his way to the locker room, Phil surprised him by suddenly appearing in front of him, looking more than excited. “Dan! We’re going out for a couple of beers. Wanna come?”

For a few seconds Dan just stood there, stunned, blinking at Phil like he’d spoken latin instead of english. He risked a look at Sascha and Marcelo to confirm - while Sascha looked a bit miffed he still smiled kindly and Marcelo nodded invitingly. “I - I mean - Sure,” he stuttered out and Phil’s pale blue eyes shined so brightly that for a second, Dan was blinded.

About half an hour later they arrived at the pub and placed orders for the first round of beer. Dan, still not sure what the occasion was, opened up the conversation. “So - what are we celebrating?” he asked and the table had mixed reactions. While Marcelo’s previous wide smile seemed to dim a bit - Dan was convinced that man would probably smile in the face of death, he’d never seen him not smiling - there was a wide grin on Phil’s face and Sascha…

Dan couldn’t believe his eyes. Was he really blushing ? What was happening ?

It was Phil who took it upon himself to catch Dan up to speed. “So, a few years ago -”

“I was really young!” Sascha interjected, and there was definitely a red tint there. Dan smirked. That seemed promising.

“He had this crazy girlfriend. Like - she was completely nuts. She was... ” Phil traded off.

“Insane!” Marcelo provided, seemingly trying to be helpful, and Phil chuckled. “Not what I was searching for, but thanks, Marcelo.”

Both grinned at each other with a side glance at Sascha, who stared at the beer in his hand, cheeks still red.

“Anyways, Marcelo is right. She was jealous as fuck, controlled him any step he took, posted private pictures of him online, that sort of thing,” Phil said, moving his index finger in circles around his temple, emphasising his words. He waited for Dan to nod in understanding before he continued. “But he just let her. Like an idiot.” He snickered, Marcelo nodded and Sascha acted scandalized, calling out an offended hey! that the other two ignored.

“He -” Phil started up again, but Sascha interrupted him again. “I thought I loved her!” he tried to defend himself, seeking help with Dan. He just chuckled. “What happened?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I’d bug him about it for weeks , but nothing happened. He found excuses for her over and over again and I was so tired of it -”

“And then I knocked some sense into him!” Marcelo heckled, obviously proud of himself, and Phil shot him an unimpressed look. “Can’t a guy finish a story in peace around here?!” he asked and the rest chuckled.

“But yeah, Marcelo’s about right. They weren’t that close at the time, it was when Marcelo was still active, but Sascha talked to Marcelo during his strength training and when he came to his appointment a few hours afterwards he told me he wanted to break up with her. And that’s the story of how Sascha finally broke up with his crazy ex.” Phil’s smile was wide and his eyes bright, and Dan struggled not to loose focus. He’s fucking adorable… He silenced his own brain. Shush! Not gonna happen!

“Since then we come together at that joyous day to celebrate,” Marcelo explained and Dan just couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s quite the story,” he pointed out and the rest chuckled.

“You won’t get bored around us, I promise,” Phil said and caught his eyes. “I believe you,” he answered, not looking away, lost in the other’s blue irises, like he was trapped in a kaleidoscope of blue and gold and green.

Goddamnit .

When he finally managed to break the spell and avert Phil’s eyes before they’d suck him in yet again, Sascha gave him a somewhat satisfied, somewhat encouraging look, and this time, it was Dan’s turn to blush. This group would be the death of him, he was almost certain already.

After that incident, Sascha’s wariness decreased, which made it even harder for Dan to avoid Phil and the temptation he caused, but at least it gave him a lot more confidence. Sascha was his one way ticket to gold, and he intended to use it. If he’d become friends with the guy on the way there - even better.

Since his weeks of doing basically nothing Dan had kept to his midnight routine of going for a run in the park next to his house.

The problem, Dan mused as he jogged along the familiar path, was probably that they were similar in a lot of ways, in their drive for success and in the fact that originally, they were lone wolves. Dan couldn’t know what had happened, how Sascha had come to such a tightly knitted group of friends around him, but it shone through in every movement he made that he once hadn’t had a lot of friends - if any at all. Sure, he had a brother, but Dan could tell from his own experience that bloodlines didn’t form friendships of their own. Now Sascha and Mischa seemed close, but who knew what had lead them there?

Dan wanted to know more about them, he realized. He was the most interested in Phil, he’d admitted that much to himself already, but he’d closed that door for himself, shut it forcefully and locked it as often as he could - and surprisingly, the others didn’t leave him cold either. Originally, Sascha had been supposed to be his way to reach his goal, but now he - all of them - had become more. He had a feeling they could be great friends - if he’d just let them.

Completely lost in thoughts, Dan continued down his usual route, contemplating what to do about the whole Sascha situation. There was something wrong with the guy, something laying heavy on his heart, but he had no clue what exactly. He knew there had to be something he could do - the question was what . He wasn’t really skilled in handling other people, had spent his life refraining from relationships that would only serve as distractions for his main goal.

Now, though, it seemed different - a lot was different. Sure, he had no plans on getting a relationship - No, not even with Phil! - but what about friendships? To play his best he had to be open with his teammate, to let him in and truly become a team, he knew that now. But how was he supposed to do that when his teammate obviously hadn’t come to the same conclusion yet?

A voice ripped him out of his thoughts mid-step. He came to a slithering halt, looking up and finding himself just a few centimeters away from someone else - someone he identified as Sascha within seconds.

“Sascha!” he got out between gasps, “What are you doing here?”

There was a smirk on Sascha’s face as Dan struggled to catch his breath, and he had to stifle a grumble. Stupid youngsters and their stupid fitness.

“You okay?” Sascha asked, smirk still in place. Dan shot him an intimidating look, but Sascha only grinned. The wild, dirty blonde locks on his head were hardly contained by the headband he had on and stuck out left and right. His striking green eyes shone even more in the pale moonlight and their bright colour reminded him of someone else - for a second, the eyes were blue as the sky on a sunny day, with a black quiff framing a beautiful face, coming closer towards Dan, closer and closer until his lips finally…

No! Forget it!

Then Sascha snickered again and Dan’s vision of Phil shattered like a mirror. He shook his head quickly, trying to order his thoughts and get back to reality, while Sascha still observed him with a smirk. Dan shot him another look but again, Sascha seemed entirely unimpressed.

He sighed. “I’m fine,” he grumbled, finally focussing on the situation at hand. “So what are you doing here?”

“What do you think I’m doing in a park in the middle of the night in my running clothes?” He raised an eyebrow, then: “I’m about to rob a bank, obviously.”

For a second, Dan just stared blankly, desperately trying to hold in a laugh. It wasn’t even that funny, he wouldn’t - then his eyes met Sascha’s and he lost all restrain. He broke out laughing, so loudly it scared up some birds in the area that flew away with irritated squawks.

That was the start of joint jogging sessions at night and an unforeseeable friendship. They grew closer every day, and Dan was glad Sascha seemed to open up to him more. He trusted him with his group of friends, invited him to hang out with them, and sometimes, when they were alone, Dan could see that he was moments away from talking to him - truly talking. It was obvious Sascha had a lot on his mind, in his heart; and it was also obvious that for some reason, he didn’t think he could talk to the others about it. But there was still something holding him back, something that kept him from talking to Dan about it, and Dan didn’t know what to do to get him to talk. So he waited.

Their trial period ended without acknowledgement. No one even talked about breaking off their partnership - as a matter of fact, Dan forgot about the deadline completely until a month later. He and Sascha were training together for two months at this point, and while on one hand, the training went by so fast he couldn’t believe it had already been two months, on the other hand it felt like they’d been partners forever.

Sure, Dan loved his sport, loved the sand, playing and giving it his all, but training had still tended to stretch out and drag - at least before Sascha. Now, sessions were filled with laughter and jokes, small pranks and friendly competitions; with Marcelo and Phil sitting on the sidelines cheering them on and clapping. Sometimes, Mischa was there, obviously impressed with the progress they made, and even Dan’s trainer basically forgot to nag half the time, silently watching instead, in awe about their teamwork.

Phil’s part in Dan’s life became bigger the more he was around all of them, and he shook Dan’s beliefs to the core. He distracted himself with the mystery around Sascha, with training and group outings, where he tried to keep more to the others, but it got harder by the second to resist. He was pretty sure Phil was interested - he kept flirting, leaning into Dan’s personal space or placing a hand on his thigh voluntarily - so Dan was glad he wasn’t required to spent a lot of time alone with Phil. His restrains slowly started to run thin, and he did not want to push his luck any further.

The partnership between Dan and Sascha continued growing. They started with strategy meetings in preparation for their first tournament together. They played a friendly match against Mischa and his partner which they won by far, and work progressed even faster than anticipated. Sascha still kept silent about his problems, but as he became more familiar with him and their group Dan at least gained enough insight to observe and draw reasonable conclusions.

One night they were out bowling, Dan, Phil, Sascha and Marcelo; and while he spent the most time conversing with Phil - damn the guy for being interested in the same things as Dan, how dare he? - Dan really paid attention to the way the group worked. While trying not to focus on Phil leaning into him with his hand on Dan’s knee, he noticed how often Sascha and Marcelo would look at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking. How they always seemed to touch in one way or the other. How they sat so close there was no room between them even though it wasn’t necessary, and how many inside jokes they had.

Marcelo and Phil on the other hand were a lot closer than Dan had first anticipated. They shared looks sometimes, like they were conversing wordlessly, and when Marcelo hesitated in his movements or speech - usually because Sascha came close to him, or touched him, or laughed particularly brightly - Phil would immediately step in and try to distract from it.

All that only served to raise more questions for Dan. It seemed clear to him that Sascha and Marcelo had feelings for each other, but didn’t act on it; and Dan simply couldn’t get behind the reasons. And that, Dan realized, might’ve even been the reason Sascha had been wary of him. He made a mental note to ask Phil about it - which brought him to a whole other problem.

Phil, hot, precious Phil was testing Dan to the max. Most of the times it seemed obvious he was flirting with Dan, dropping hints that he was single and searching while complimenting him, leaning forward and suspiciously into Dan’s space. He grinned at Dan with that honest, open smile of his, probably aware of the fact that it made Dan’s knees go weak. He even asked Dan if he needed treatment, being a physiotherapist and all, and after some hesitance, Dan agreed to make a plan quite similar to the one Sascha had, with regular appointments.

In summary: Dan’s life did not become any easier.

_____

It was during one of those appointments that Dan finally decided to ask Phil for help to unravel the mystery around Sascha.

It had been a particularly weird training. Sascha had had obvious trouble concentrating; he was occupied with looking up at the stands where Marcelo was sitting instead of tactic training. He continued to sigh, but whenever Dan would bring it up, he’d say it was nothing.

Dan was fed up with it.

So, while he was lying on the treatment couch, Phil’s hands kneading his muscles and therefore in desperate need of a distraction anyways, he just blurted it out. “What’s up with Sascha and Marcelo?”

The hands on his back stilled for a moment and Phil took a deep breath. He continued the treatment when he’d let it out slowly, but didn’t say anything, and Dan became worried. Had he said something wrong?

When he’d finally worked up the nerve to apologize - for what, he had no clue, but there had to be something - Phil spoke up again. “As much as I want to,” he said with utter sincerity, “It’s not my secret to tell.” The utter defeat in his voice made Dan’s heart hurt for him. He just wanted his friends to be happy, Dan realized, but was about as powerless as Dan was.

“Okay,” he croaked and they didn’t talk about it again.

Dan would have to go straight to the source.

___

For around two months not much changed. Dan gradually affiliated into the group, he continued to withstand the temptation that Phil posed, just Sascha’s unceasing silence still had Dan worried.

At least until the international beach volleyball association - IBVA in short - uploaded one of their “behind the scenes” videos to their Youtube channel.

Usually, Dan didn’t pay much attention to the videos they uploaded. In all honesty, he followed their channel more out of guilt than anything else. Just this time, he’d anticipated that video: in their catching up with... series they interviewed former athletes that had retired from the sport for one reason or the other. Athletes… Like Marcelo.

Marcelo had been practicing the sport for over ten years until he had won gold at the olympics for the second time, when he had decided to retire; him and Sascha had already been friends at that point. Now he recently turned thirty and worked with different TV Stations broadcasting beach volleyball tournaments, allowing him to travel around with Sascha and the others. The IBVA had interviewed him a week ago, and he’d told the others to tune in when it came out.

The first few minutes was nothing too important, just about Marcelo’s life shortly after his career, how he was handling retirement and if he missed the sports. Then they reached the present, and with it, Sascha - a promising youngster of only 22 years who’s recent switch of partners had caused a lot of frenzy in the community.

Marcelo breached upon the topic with nonexistent ease, with all the awkwardness he held, but the interviewer ate it up. She dug deeper about Sascha, how he was doing, how close the two were.

That’s when he spoke the sentence that had Dan hurting for Sascha. “Yeah, Sascha is my best friend. Like the little brother I never had, you know? I wouldn’t want to do without him for the world.”

He paused the video out of pure panic - even though Sascha wasn’t even in the room - and for a moment, the world seemed to stop, halting in its rotation to give Dan a moment to grieve for the happiness of a friend that had become so dear to him. He couldn’t believe Marcelo just said that - had he no idea how Sascha felt? Did he not care? And what about his own feelings? Dan would’ve bet all his money on Marcelo having feelings for Sascha as well.

Yet again more questions appeared and this time, Dan was more than dumbfounded. He’d never expected this to come out of this interview.

It took Dan minutes to calm down enough to continue watching the video, but no more important things happened. They moved on from the topic Sascha fairly quickly after; Marcelo said a few words about Dan and how well they worked together, with some kind of dull shimmer in his eyes that Dan just couldn’t decipher, then it was mostly about the sport itself and other contestants in the upcoming tournament.

When the video was over Dan sat in silence, staring at the still illuminated screen of his laptop for multiple moments, then he took a deep breath and got up. He had some strength training to do before he met up with Sascha for their nightly jogging session.

___

When Dan arrived at their usual meetup-point Sascha was not there yet. By itself, that wasn’t a big deal since he tended to be always late for literally everything, but after the video it had Dan a bit worried. Sascha was like Dan in a lot of things - like the fact that he tended to work twice as hard whenever something bad happened. He concentrated on work to not think about his problems. Dan could truly relate.

For almost ten minutes Dan waited relatively calm. Then he became increasingly worried. Sascha still wasn’t there, and he had neither answered Dan’s messages nor picked up the phone when he’d called.

After half an hour Dan was beside himself. He’d finally called Phil, and while he didn’t know where Sascha was either he at least gave him the useful advice to check his apartment Phil wondered what the fuss was about, though, so Dan just told him to check the video the IBVA had put up.

It took Dan less than five minutes to get to Sascha’s apartment block. When he first rang the doorbell, cautiously and unsure, there was no answer, but he wasn’t about to give up that easily. So he just kept ringing.

After a few seconds that felt like an eternity to Dan the door finally opened. He climbed the stairs up to Sascha’s floor where he found him, leaning powerlessly against the doorframe, and Dan was shocked. He’d never seen Sascha looking like this - so completely drained of energy, without a flicker of mischief in his green eyes. Instead of standing tall his shoulders were hunched over, his cheeks glistened wet and even behind the glasses Dan could see that his eyes were red and swollen. He wore a shirt of the IBVA that seemed a bit older, but wasn’t too suspicious, until he turned around to make his way into his apartment, revealing a big brazilian flag on the back, and Dan understood that it was probably an old shirt of Marcelo, who was of brazilian origin.

“Oh, Sascha,” Dan murmured as he followed him inside, closing the door behind him. Sascha didn’t even say a word as he let himself fall onto his couch, gesticulating vaguely for Dan to take a seat as well.

Afterwards, Sascha was completely quiet, staring off into space motionlessly, and Dan was busy taking in his surroundings. There were several tissues thrown about on the living room table. Sascha’s laptop peeked out under some of them, still blinking, indicating that it had just been closed and pushed away mindlessly. The TV was running, showing a beach volleyball match that Dan had been sure was chosen randomly, until he realized that it was an old one of Marcelo and his partner.

Dan sighed, unsure of what to do, but then he got up and decided some tea wouldn’t hurt. He’d been in Sascha’s kitchen a few times, so it didn’t take him too long to make some.

When he got back into the living room Sascha hadn’t moved an inch and when Dan gently handed him the mug it took him a few moments to even become aware of his presence. Dan sat down again as well, observing worriedly as Sascha cradled the hot mug in his hands. He was sure there were new tears running down the youngster’s cheek and for a second, he wished he’d taken Phil’s offer to come over as well.

He had no idea how to handle this, what to do or what to say. Everything that came to mind seemed useless, meaningless. He felt completely powerless. Phil, caring, empathetic Phil would’ve known how to handle the situation, he was sure of it; but he took a deep breath and threw all of his anxiety over saying the wrong thing right out of the window. Anything was better than utter silence.

“Sascha…” he started, turning towards his friend now, one leg perched up on the couch. His voice was deep and rhusty, worry so evident in it he had to suppress a wince. He didn’t say more than that, but the intent was clear.

Sascha didn’t answer at first, but at least he moved to take a cautious sip from his tea, which Dan counted as a win. Then, when Dan had already given up hope, he started talking.

“How did you know?” he asked, not even looking at Dan, who sighed. “That you have feelings for him? Honestly, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.”

Sascha’s response was a humorless laugh. “That obvious, huh.”

“Yeah.”

Another moment of silence passed and Dan took his mug of tea into his hands as well, looking at the TV to keep himself from looking at Sascha, who seemed like a wild animal - any sound or direct eye contact could have him running in the opposite direction. For a second he was tempted to text Phil - but deep down he knew he could do this, and that it had to be him. Sascha definitely had a reason to not talk to Phil about it, and Dan would honour that.

“Please talk to me.”

Dan really didn’t think it would work, but it finally seemed like he’d gotten through to the normally so confident youngster.

“I don’t even know why I still have hope. I just get knocked down over and over again. When will I accept the truth?”

Dan physically flinched hearing the defeat in his voice. He’d been through a lot with Sascha already, had grown as a person and stronger as an athlete, and after the initial hesitance, he’d also grown closer to Sascha as well. Seeing something hurting him like that - it made him hurt too. And it made him think of Phil, and how lucky he was to at least know his feelings were reciprocated, even if he’d chosen not to act on them. He’d be okay.

The question was, would Sascha be?

“I just can’t believe it’s one sided. The way he looks at you….” He trailed of, making a vague gesture with the hand not holding the mug. He wasn’t sure if it was wise to give Sascha even more hope after everything, but Dan just wasn’t ready to give up. He’d get behind this, and then he’d get them together, even if it’d be the last thing he’d do.

“I don’t know, Dan, I just - I just don’t understand what’s going on. It’s like - Like…” He stumbled over his words, and when Dan looked over he could see there were new tears shining in the corner of his eye. He took a deep breath.

“When I first met him, I never thought - I never even imagined. We didn’t talk a lot, simply because we never ran in the same circles, you know? But then the shit happened with my girlfriend and… He saw me, during strength training, asked me what was wrong, and I just… I felt like I could trust him. So I told him everything. And he told me I was worth more than that. More than the person she wanted me to be. And he said it in a way that…” He visibly faltered for a moment, shooting Dan a quick look before taking a deep breath.

“He looked deep into my eyes. Like I was the most important thing in the world. Like he was able to see what she couldn’t.”

Again there was a pause, and Dan didn’t even dare to move. Sascha seemed so fragile, like the most gentle breeze could scatter him into a million directions.

“Looking back, I think I started fancying him then,” he whispered, almost soundlessly.

The following silence was so looming, so comprehensive it made Dan shudder. It was pretty clear to him that Sascha had never said it out loud before, and it meant a big deal, so he waited patiently for him to continue.

“After I broke up with my girlfriend we truly started talking, and to hang out. He was so nice and easy going, so awkward and adorable, we were interested in the same things and we just - clicked. We grew so close, but every time I think This is it he just… backtracks. He’ll look into my eyes and hold my hand like we’re a couple, like he has feelings for me, and the next thing I know he calls me his brother. And still I-” He stopped short, choking down, and Dan intuitively scooted closer.

“You should say it,” Dan prodded softly. “It might help.”

Still in tears, Sascha looked up to meet Dan’s eyes.

“And still I love him,” he choked out between sobs, then he broke down.

_________

Surprisingly, not a lot changed after that. Dan and Sascha were closer than before, sure; and during training or hangouts when Marcelo would look a certain way or sit closer to Sascha than strictly necessary they would exchange looks, have entire conversations with nothing but their eyes. After practice, whenever they didn’t do things as a group, Dan and Sascha would come together, watch a movie, play video games - be there for each other.

Dan himself was doing pretty good. He and Phil had been growing close as well, but Dan tried to mostly refrain from being alone with him, and so far, it seemed to be working. Sure, sometimes he mourned for the what if , but mostly he was just happy to have gained a friend as amazing as Phil was.

He knew, though, that Sascha needed him. The youngster hadn’t been particularly happy with the situation - or over all. Dan had to stand on the sidelines and watch as his best friend became more closed up and silent by the minute, at least around Marcelo, and he didn’t feel good about that. He didn’t understand what Marcelo was doing, but that didn’t mean Dan wanted Sascha to completely lose someone so dear and close to him. On the other hand, he also understood why the youngster was spending less and less time with Marcelo.

Overall he felt like he was looking at a doom loop and he had no idea how to break it. The state of affairs dragged on for weeks. Dan and Sascha went through their first tournament together, which they ended on an amazing second place, and played against Sascha’s brother and his partner again, who they beat once more.

After the game, Mischa took Dan aside and asked for news, but Dan couldn’t give him anything. Marcelo on the other hand seemed to struggle to understand what was happening, continuously cornering Sascha and asking him what was wrong. The situation seemed to pain him considerably, too; but that made things just more confusing to him. How had the older man still not figured out what Sascha felt for him?

It took more than two months to break Dan. He’d had the same talks with Sascha over and over again - “Talk to him!” “I can’t! He can’t know what I feel for him, it would destroy everything!” - “It can’t go on like this. It’s starting to affect your play!” “It has to. I’ll just have to get over it.’’ - etcetera, and he’d had enough.

Dan also couldn’t imagine how things could get any worse, but he wasn’t about to tell Sascha that.

Sasch had lost his touch and was struggling to get it back, and Dan had to watch helplessly as he lost more and more motivation to Marcelo, so one Tuesday during one of his routine treatments from Phil after a particularly bad training - Dan kind of just... spit it out.

He knew it was wrong, somehow. But it wasn’t like he was able to stop himself, either.

“It’s so bad. My trainer averted his eyes, and I can’t even blame him. I can’t look at it anymore either,” he groaned when Phil asked him about how training was going. The physiotherapist halted in his movements, just for a moment, hardly noticeable, but Dan sensed it anyway.

“Why?” Phil asked before continuing working on his back. Dan was almost used to it by now, at least when it was unspectacular places like his back, so he didn’t even have to bite his lip anymore to keep down a moan.

The question confused Dan, just a bit, but it was like Phil’s calm and trustworthy presence had finally broken his self-imposed spell of silence on the matter. Sascha hadn’t particularly told Dan to stay quiet, but it might have been implied somewhere. He honestly couldn’t remember, and at this point he didn’t care. He couldn’t just stand by and watch as his best friend got more and more broken by the second. He’d kept silent and not done anything for too long. But not any more. Not for a second longer.

“Is that really a question? After the video? He’s in pieces. Every time I’m picking him up something happens and he’s breaking apart all over again.”

He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to do. I’m completely helpless.”

Phil’s hands on his back stilled, then they vanished. “You’re done,” he croaked out, breathless, and took a step back as Dan sat up. He gulped visibly, then: “Get dressed. We’re going to my place, and then you’re telling me everything you know. I’m tired of this.”

______

“So, what you’re saying is - Sascha has actually had feelings for Marcelo the whole time?” Phil looked at him with wide eyes, so innocent and unaware Dan wanted to scream. How could someone be that pretty and that clueless at the same time?

Dan’s eyes felt like they were falling out of their sockets as he stared at Phil, completely dumbfounded. He wasn’t - he couldn’t actually - it wasn’t possible -

He was. He could. And yes, it was possible.

“Please don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

“I had no idea!”

“Are you blind ?”

For a moment, Dan felt bad about it, but he got over it pretty quickly. Honestly, Phil kind of deserved it. The physiotherapist still looked shocked by the news but was now also blushing profusely, avoiding Dan’s eyes.

Dan sighed. “You cannot be serious, Phil.”

More blushing, then: “Marcelo said Sascha didn’t love him back. So I didn’t question it.”

Silence settled in until the words properly registered in his mind, then Dan’s head shot up, fixing Phil’s eyes in a gaze. “Back. So I’m right. Marcelodoes have feelings for him!”

Phil nodded, picking up the coffee mug he’d placed on the table in front of him and taking a huge sip while pressing his foot firmer into Dan’s thigh. “He’s been in love with Sascha for ages.”

Then he furrowed his brows, staring into the dark liquid like it held the answers to all his questions.

Dan wished .

“Wait, but if it was that obvious - he knows Sascha better than anyone else. He must have known about it. Why didn’t he tell me? Why did he lie? What is he doing?”

Dan sighed again. “That’s the one million dollar question, isn’t it. What’s Marcelo doing?”

_______

When Dan asked Sascha why he hadn’t talked to Phil about the situation yet, he told Dan he was scared the physiotherapist would tell Marcelo everything, so Dan cleared up the misunderstanding. Luckily, Sascha wasn’t mad at Dan for telling him, and the situation dragged on. The one good thing about it was that Dan was so enrolled in the mystery that Marcelo posed, he didn’t even have time to think about Phil - to question how close they had become. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that as soon as things were resolved he’d probably break down and throw himself at Phil like a lovesick fool, but he ignored it completely.

Maybe he was falling for Phil. Hard. So what? He’d just have to restrain himself. He’d been doing that for months now - what could possibly go wrong?

Never in the history had that sentence not lead to things going horribly wrong, but he ignored that as well.

As a team, Dan and Sascha continued to make progress, but as an individual, Sascha’s performance didn’t improve significantly. Sure he had trainings where things were going a bit better - for example when Marcelo was gone for a week, visiting his parents in Brazil and Dan kept him distracted as well as possible - but that wasn’t a lot. Overall, the brash, mischievous Sascha whom Dan had met months ago was missing in action.

It didn’t take long for Dan and Phil to start worrying. Group hangouts became less and less frequent and Sascha was asking for time alone, so they spent most of their time together, worrying about their friends and planning how to get them back on track. Sometimes, they’d put on a movie or play video games, and Dan’s restraint around Phil would falter, just for a moment, for a lingering touch or an endearing look, but he managed to keep it at that - as long as it wasn’t more it would be fine. As soon as his lips would touch Phil’s, though, it would be over, and all attempts of abstention would have been in vain.

Their attempts to get Sascha and Marcelo to talk were mostly unsuccessful. They refused to talk to each other openly, and that did not help calming Dan and Phil’s nerves. The first qualifying matches for the Olympics were approaching with big steps, and they knew: with Sascha being like this, they’d be lucky to even stand a chance.

That was why, only a month from their first match, Dan finally lost his patience. After practice he lured Marcelo into Phil’s treatment room and kept him there while Phil brought Sascha for his daily checkup. He sat them down onto a couch in the corner of the room, refusing all protests, and took a seat on some chairs facing them.

He and Phil shared a look, squeezing each other’s hand - something they had started doing only recently and completely without Dan’s conscious approval - then he took a deep breath and turned his attention to the men on the couch.

“Guys, we’ve been patient. Really patient. We’ve sat by and watched as you drift further and further apart, but it has to stop.”

“This is an intervention. You two need to talk and because you’re obviously not going to do that on your own, we’re forcing you to,” Phil explained further, and Dan nodded. The look of utter betrayal in Sascha’s eyes weighed heavy on Dan’s heart, but he knew that this was the only way. Sascha was too stubborn to try to improve the situation, and Marcelo had simply given up. Someone had to do something, and there was no one else that would.

“Anything one of you wants to share with the group?”, Dan asked, gesticulating with his hands like they were in group therapy, and Phil gave him a grin. The other two didn’t seem particularly impressed with this joke, though.

“I have nothing to say,” Sascha said, breathless, hardly making a sound, and Marcelo flinched like someone had punched him. “Who’s surprised,” he mumbled under his breath, and Sascha’s sharp, green eyes turned to him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice was nothing but a hiss, low and dangerous, and Dan was glad it wasn’t directed at him. His partner was a few years younger than him, sure, but he was also tall and well trained and his look could be so sharp Dan swore it could pierce through skin.

“You haven’t talked to me in weeks!” Marcelo accused, and Dan and Phil shared a quick look. It was true, sure, but that didn’t mean Sascha’s silence wasn’t at least justified. They had tried to get him to talk as well, but they weren’t the ones causing the behaviour.

Sascha’s eyes narrowed and Dan swore the temperature in the room dropped at least ten degrees within a second. “That’s rich, coming from you,” he hissed, pure venom in his voice.

“Why?”

“Because you’re the goddamn reason!” Sascha blurted out forcefully, short of seething. “You’re the goddamn reason for everything! For me being distracted, for my sadness, for my performance dropping! You and that fucking video!”

“Sascha -”

“No! Just no! Not again! I’m tired of it, okay? I’m tired of all of it! Do you know what it does to me, every time you say something like this?” There were tears in the corners of his eyes and Dan unconsciously reached for Phil’s hand. It hurt him, too, and he didn’t have the strength to go through it alone.

“Do you know how fucking much it hurts ?”

For a second, it was silent, and Dan couldn’t help but look at Marcelo - who looked close to tears, obviously trying to avert Sascha’s eyes. “But -”

Sascha cut him off again, shaking his head silently. “No buts, Marcelo. Not again,” he said, his voice close to a whisper, and from one second to the next he looked so broken Dan couldn’t help but strengthen his grip on Phil’s hand.

Then he got up, attempting to leave the room. Dan was about to get up as well, to keep him there for just a second longer, just to give Marcelo a chance to explain, but the brazilian was behind Sascha and taking a hold of his wrist so fast Dan didn’t even have the time to move a muscle.

“That is not fair, Sascha. You were the one telling me off years ago and I can’t know you’d still react like that -”

“I did what?”

“Telling me off. During the first interview you did. Remember?”

Sascha shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“When the reporter asked you about the rumors concerning that woman you played a match with for charity. You laughed and told him she was too old for you anyways.”

Sascha blinked, obviously dumbfounded, but at least a lot calmer than before. “How could you have possibly applied that to yourself?”

Marcelo’s look was so sad Dan’s heart would’ve broken in his chest would he not be holding onto Phil’s hand for dear life.

“She’s exactly my age, Sascha. I got the message, bright and clear. I did my best to keep away from you and that aspect, I swear, but you’re just so irresistible and I was already so fucking much in love with you -”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Dan mumbled to himself, and the physiotherapist next to him nodded affirmatively, but the other two guys weren’t even aware of them anymore.

Sascha choked out a sob, tears streaming down his face as he continued to stare into Marcelo’s eyes. “You idiot,” he whispered without any malice, “It was never about you. I just wanted him to stop asking about her. Especially because I had feelings for you …”

That was the point where Dan had to avert his eyes, where the connection between Sascha and Marcelo became too much and he just felt like he was intruding on a private moment. He carefully tugged at Phil’s hand, gesturing him that they should go. So they did, leaving Sascha and Marcelo and any further developments alone.

____

Training was a lot better the following week. Sascha’s performance improved and went back to normal within minutes on court; he was able to concentrate, he smiled and laughed with Dan and his technique was back to top quality. Dan was more than relieved. The first qualifying tournament for Olympia was less than a month away and they needed to be at the top of their game.

Within the week after that, though, Dan got a feeling something was different - or, to be more precise, something wasn’t different. A specific something.

Sascha and Marcelo didn’t act differently at all. They were obviously back to being friends, sure, participating in group outings, joking with each other; but if anything, the touching had decreased . No teasing about their relationship, no suggestive comments, and definitely no kisses, not even on the cheek. Something was definitely not right.

He knew he needed Phil’s opinion, so during his physio-treatment - while desperately trying not to get a hard-on because Phil literally had his hands all over his body - he asked.

“What’s wrong with Sascha and Marcelo by the way?”

There was no hesitance in the hands kneading his left thigh dangerously close to his ass and Dan had to stifle a moan.

“What do you mean? Everything’s the same as before.”

“Exactly,” Dan answered with a raspy voice, trying to hide the pleasure. “Shouldn’t something be different?”

Phil was silent for a moment, switching from the thigh to the calf - slightly less dangerous territory - and Dan allowed himself to relax before the physiotherapist spoke again. “You know what? Now that I think about it… You might be right. They don’t act like a couple at all. Or, well, at least not more than usual.”

“Precisely.”

After twenty more minutes of treatment - and therefore, twenty more minutes of Dan feeling ridiculously underlaid - they agreed to do some digging.

The first task fell to Dan. Him and Phil had agreed that - after everything they’d been through with Sascha - it was unfair to not give him the chance to speak. So during their midnight run Dan asked Sascha about it, about the relationship and if they were in a romantic one, but the youngster’s answers were unsure and vague. After some prodding, he straight-up denied it, claiming him and Marcelo would “work better as friends”.

Needless to say that Dan was furious.

Just to confirm the story, Phil asked the same questions during morning practice, when both him and Marcelo were on the stands. The answers were pretty similar.

Both Dan and Phil were more than disappointed about that outcome. They got together for some Mario Kart that afternoon, and while Dan was half a round ahead and Phil was fighting for the third spot, they realized they couldn’t just… Leave it at that.

In reality, they could. They just refused not to. For their friends’ happiness, but also for their own pride.

“That can’t be it,” Dan observed as he was skillfully maneuvering around a banana peel on track, “They love each other. Why the fuck not start a relationship?”

Only after saying it out loud did he realize it was basically a stab into his own guts, and he was lucky Phil was too preoccupied with the game to look at him.

“True,” Phil confirmed, sticking out his tongue in concentration.

For a second, it was silent aside from the sounds of the game, then Dan made a decision as his car was driving past the finish line. “You know what? Not on my watch.”

Something misschievous glinted in Phil’s eyes when he turned to look Dan into the eyes. “No. Not on our watch.”

____

Two weeks later they were in the car on their way to their first Olympics-relevant tournament and nothing had changed. Nothing at all . They had tried (and, well, failed) to get them together multiple times, had shoved them together for practice, had given Sascha the opportunity to say something, but so far, all their attempts had been in vain. Not only Dan, but even the bubbly, optimistic Phil was rapidly losing confidence in their ability to meddle.

It was Marcelo’s shift to drive, so Sascha had, naturally, chosen to sit shotgun - “working better as friends” my ass , Dan thought - leaving the backseats to Dan and Phil.

Dan, sitting behind Sascha, hadn’t been paying a lot of attention - he was fairly occupied trying to get Phil to relax, with his car sickness and all - so when he looked forward for the first time, trying to get a look on their navi, and he saw a dark spot on the back of Sascha’s neck, almost at his shoulder, for a second he didn’t think anything of it. Then he processed what he’d seen and - Huh?

He couldn’t be sure, his view was obstructed by both Sascha’s hair and his shirt, but - he leaned over towards Phil, whispering in his ear. Phil’s face, slightly less green than before, showed surprise, then he exchanged a look with Dan, the same question in his eyes.

Is that… a hickey ?

___

The tournament went amazingly well. They’d survived the group phase and the first knock out round and were now on for the quarterfinals tomorrow. They’d agreed to have a light training session around midday, but Dan had spent the day hiding from Phil since they’d had a near slip-up the other night playing Fifa (Dan had lost, so he’d started tickling Phil and ended up closer to him than intended and almost kissed him), so he went directly to the training court instead of meeting the others at the hotel. When he arrived, Sascha and Phil were already there, laughing while Phil tried - and failed - to warm Sascha up.

When they noticed Dan, Sascha gave a wave and a grin, walking over to his bag to take a drink, but Phil came sprinting towards him through the deep sand. “That is Marcelo’s shirt,” he said in lieu of greeting, and Dan blinked dumbfounded before he understood what Phil was getting at.

He took a closer look at Sascha’s outfit, and sure enough he was wearing a light blue shirt with a Volleyball emblem on the breast pocket that he’d seen Marcelo wear before.

“Oh my god, you’re right. He wore it just two days ago!”

For neutral parties, it probably wasn’t a big deal, but to Dan and Phil, it definitely was. They were invested in this relationship - more than they would’ve thought before.

“Are we becoming fanboys?” Dan asked as they walked over to Sascha. Phil’s stunning blue eyes were glinting in the shining sun and for a moment Dan forgot how to breathe.

“Absolutely.”

___

Dan and Sascha made it through the quarterfinals relatively easy, beating their opponents in two straight sets. The match directly after was determining their semi-finals opponents, so Dan and Phil decided to stay to spy on them and get a feeling for how they were playing, but both Sascha and Marcelo chose to go back to the hotel, claiming they wanted to skype their families.

The stands built up for the sake of the tournament went up fairly high, and to be less likely to get spotted Dan and Phil decided to search for seats in a far up row, which were mostly empty. From up there, they had a really nice view of the ocean far off to one side - and, coincidentally, the hotel they were all staying in. They were looking straight at their floor and with it, their shared balcony - between the five of them, including the trainer, they occupied the whole side of the floor for themselves. The rooms were connected by a long, shared balcony, which made going over to one of the other rooms for a treatment or a talk with their coach a lot easier.

While the teams on court were still warming up Dan looked over to the hotel. He found Sascha at his balcony door, looking out to the court. He had changed into a red shirt and grey shorts shining brightly in the sun, and Dan softly elbowed Phil in the side an gesticulated for him to take a look as well.

They watched as Marcelo appeared behind Sascha with his boring white clothes immediately recognisable in the compared darkness of the room. He stepped closer to Sascha, reaching out with his hand, then Sascha let the curtain drop and the scene was out of view. Phil and Dan shared a look. Skyping their families, huh?

Throughout the game they kept a close eye on Sascha’s balcony door, but the curtain didn’t move again - until their tainer stepped onto the balcony, making his way to Sascha’s room. When he knocked on the glass nothing happened for a while. Then the door opened and Sascha stepped out in his red shorts and white shirt -

“He’s in different clothes than before!” Phil pointed out, voice somewhere between excited and surprised, and Dan’s eyes widened as he realized that Phil was right. “So - They went in together, no one comes out for half an hour, and now he’s suddenly in a completely different outfit, even though he’d been freshly showered before?!” Phil summarized and Dan nodded, dumbfounded.

“Well, that’s not fishy,” he mumbled, “Not fishy at all.”

___

When Marcelo showed up to dinner with a red shirt Dan and Phil were set on investigating further. Something was going on there and they wanted to know what it was.

Dan and Sascha finished third in the tournament, which was half the qualification norm for the Olympics, so they were happy with the outcome. They had around a week at home before they were leaving for the next tournament, and they didn’t do much else than relax and a bit of strength training and jogging.

Dan particularly despised the last part.

They spent the day before their anew departure together as a group, playing Mario Kart, Fifa and pictionary, and they had so much fun Dan’s belly hurt from all the laughing. When Sascha beat Marcelo in Mario Kart, the brazilian reached over, tickling the youngster, and Phil gave Dan a look of oh my god they’re so adorable I can’t even that Dan had to agree with.

Two hours later both Sascha and Marcelo had left - “to do the rest of packing”, sure Jan , Dan thought - and only Phil had stayed, wanting to help with the cleanup. Everything had stayed completely innocent so far, and Dan mentally patted himself on the back for being so resistant - he hadn’t reacted to either Phil’s flirting nor to his continuous physical contact. He was strong.

Until he wasn’t.

They were just finishing up the dishes. Dan was at the sink, washing the rest of the glasses and plates when Phil reached up to the cupboard directly above Dan’s head, leaning so far over his body they were touching basically everywhere. Dan could feel the blood rushing into his cheeks and somewhere lower, tightly gripping the edge of the sink - for support or to keep himself from moving, he wasn’t sure - and he stayed determined, he really did, but then -

Then Phil’s breath hit the skin on his neck and it was all over.

He turned around in a flash, exchanging a short, meaningful look with Phil, then he was kissing him and his world was turning upside down. Nothing was as it had seemed before. His self restraint vanished in a vortex of gold, his brain left his body and all that was left was lust and love.

Fuck it, he loved that guy, had had for a long time; and he’d always known all restraint would be lost as soon as his lips touched Phil’s.

His life was flashing in front of his closed eyelids as he passionately kissed Phil, showing him all the lost opportunities that they could’ve spent making out, showing him what he had missed out on. But he didn’t even have the mental capacity to process it - he didn’t have the mental capacity to do anything . He had lost all connection to his body, was nothing but a spiritual being flowing through time and space with Phil right by his side.

Within a single heartbeat he decided he didn’t care about his stupid rules and his stupid logic. If he wanted to be with Phil - and he did - then he should be, whether he was going for gold or not. It wouldn’t make him stronger, but it wouldn’t make him weaker, either; if anything, it would serve as a further incentive.

Between ragged breaths and erratic heartbeats he paused his frantic movements, keeping Phil’s face in his hands and looking him straight into the bright blue eyes. “I love you.” Opposed to the shaking of his body his voice was firm and sure, and for a second, the colour of Phil’s eyes seemed to flare brighter than ever before.

“I love you, too,” he said softly, a few tears swimming in his eyes and a smile on his lips so sweet it could give half the world population diabetes just from looking at it.

Dan stared into Phil’s eyes and somehow, the world around them vanished. Then, suddenly, he was falling, but not down, no; he was falling up, higher and higher, until he shot through a layer of clouds and all that existed was blue, blue, blue .

It took him quite some time to escape the pull of Phil’s eyes, but when he did, he sprung straight back into action - straight back to kissing and touching and… More .

The next morning, when he woke up to the colour of Phil’s eyes there was just one word on his mind. “Boyfriends?”

Phil’s eyes glinted stunningly in the rising sun, and Dan knew he’d remember this day forever. “Boyfriends.” ____

This time, the tournament was on another continent, so they went there by plane. Phil slept through almost the whole flight and Dan was busy trying to not gush about how cute he was.

They had decided to not tell Marcelo and Sascha in passing, waiting to do it over dinner when they had arrived at their destination instead. After Sascha had shown up at the airport wearing one of Marcelo’s shirts yet again they also wanted to confront them about their observations. Dan didn’t even care that they’d sound like crazy fanboys.

Well, at least not a lot.

Due to time zones it was early in the morning when they arrived, but they all decided to get some sleep anyway. When Dan woke up in time for dinner Phil was laying cuddled into his side, snoring sweetly, and he leaned down to plant a soft kiss on Phil’s forehead before he got up. Thankfully, Phil was a heavy sleeper, so he just continued sleeping, giving Dan time to have a long, relaxing shower - or so he’d thought. In reality, Phil joined him halfway through, but it wasn’t like he minded. On the contrary.

When they went down for dinner both Marcelo and Sascha were already there, staring at each other over the table like they were the only people in existence. Phil sighed dreamily, giving Dan another They’re so cute look, and Dan had to stifle a giggle. His boyfriend was a major fanboy.

Boyfriend.

Dan’s heartrate picked up at the thought. Even thinking it made him happy.

When they had sat down and ordered Dan and Phil exchanged a look, quietly taking hold of each other’s hand under the table. “Phil and I -” Dan started but was unsure of how to continue, how to word what he wanted to say. He was nervous and excited and the previously picked out words jumbled together into a wild storm of letters that he had no idea how to decipher.

Thankfully, Phil was less concerned by the whole thing.

“We’re together now. And we’re really happy.”

It was quiet at the table as Sascha and Marcelo looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

“We know,” Sascha said, slowly and clearly, like he wasn’t sure about Dan and Phil’s mental state.

Dan sputtered. “Wha - What?”

“How did you know?” Phil asked, more interested than surprised, and Dan blinked at him in shock. Why did it not shock him? Was everyone going insane?!

“It’s been obvious for weeks now,” Marcelo explained calmly and finally, Dan understood, relaxing immediately.

He let out a short laugh. “We’re together since last night. Or the night before, depending on the time zone we’re going with.”

Marcelo and Sascha blinked in complete unison, making Phil giggle. “But-”

“Is that why you didn’t tell us you are together as well? Because you were mad we didn’t tell you?” Dan asked, a lightbulb going off above his head. He paused for a moment before he added: “You guys are together, right?”

Both him and Phil started grinning like a fool when the others nodded. Oh, how he loved it when things finally made sense, and when things turned out the way he planned them too. He gave Phil a high five in celebration, then he turned to Sascha and Marcelo, still grinning. “You’re idiots.”

They at least had the decency to look shameful.

“We’re all idiots,” Phil corrected and the others couldn’t help agreeing. They clinked glasses with champagne a few minutes later, and Phil literally cooed as his inquire made Marcelo lean over the table and give Sascha a passionate kiss.

They shared a lot of laughter and fun that night, and Dan had a better time than ever before. He looked at his group of friends with happiness and pride, and he had never felt more content in life.

____

A few weeks later him and Phil finally had the time to go on their first official date. The days had been crazy, packed and busy, but they’d been the best of Dan’s life. The letter with his official invitation to the Olympics weighed heavily in his pocket when he entered the old, 50s themed diner. The place looked decisively vintage with its off-white walls decorated with vinyls, black and white checkered tiles on the ground and lamps hanging from the ceiling.

The jukebox up front was playing Cry Me A River as they slid into their booth, Phil on the other side of the table. They both grinned as they mouthed along to the song. The glowing red neon lights brought out the blue in Phil’s eyes so stunningly Dan once again was blinded by their beauty.

They shared a milkshake with two straws like they were in one of these cheesy romance novels Dan had always despised, but somehow he didn’t care anymore. He embraced the romantic cliches like they were old friends - simply because with Phil, it all seemed okay. Phil had step by step teared down all of his walls and rules, what was one more in this jumble of new experiences and feelings and happiness?

He let his fingers skim over the paper in his pocket as he looked into Phil’s eyes, only listening half-heartedly as Phil rambled on about one thing or the other, an utterly lovestruck look on his face. Maybe he didn’t have gold yet, but within the last few months he’d gained and accomplished more than he’d ever dreamed of. Still, it had only been the beginning, he knew it. He was happy with Phil, Sascha was happy with Marcelo, they were happy as a group, and in a few weeks, they’d have a shot at winning gold.

Their future was golden, one way or the other.

#phan #phanfiction #phanfic au #my writing #this only took me forever #gosh I hope you guys like it

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unfortunate-stranger-losers · 5 years

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Six Baudelaires AU, Part Three {AO3} {Masterlist} {Part One} {Part Two}

Chapter Fifteen → in which Lilac and Fiona are Gay as Hell

It wasn’t until after they finished their chowder, and Phil left to clean the dishes, that Klaus asked, “Captain Widdershins? VFD stands for Volunteer Fire Department, right?”

“Aye!”

“Then why are you underwater?”

Nick, who was helping Fiona and Solitude clean up the tidal charts, said, “Because they’re not a literal fire department, more of a figurative one.”

“Aye!” Widdershins nodded, not noticing Nick’s disdainful tone. “I’m told it started that way, but the volunteers were interested in every such thing! I was one of the first to sign up for Voluntary Fish Domestication. That was one of the missions of Anwhistle Aquatics. Aye! I spent four long years training salmon to swim upstream and search for forest fires. That was when you were very young, Fiona, but your brother worked right alongside me. You should have seen him sneaking extra worms to his favorites! Aye! The program was a modest success! Aye! But then Cafe Salmonella came along, and took our entire fleet away. The Snicket siblings fought as best they could! But as the poet wrote, ‘too many waiters turn out to be traitors.’”

“I am so lost.” Violet admitted.

“The Snicket siblings?” Klaus asked. “Like Jacques?”

“Aye! Jacques was once a member of our crew! He-”

“We think we found a message directed to him.” Lilac said. “That’s how we found out there was a gathering, it was Verbal Fridge Dialogue, addressed to JS.”

“That’s impossible! Aye!” Widdershins waved his hand. “Jacques Snicket is dead! Aye! Nobody would address a message to a dead person!”

“Perhaps the sender didn’t know.” Violet said.

“Or perhaps it was some other JS.” Solitude said.

“Speaking of mysterious initials,” Klaus said, “I wonder what GG stands for. If we knew what the cave was called, we might have a better idea of our journey.”

“Aye!” Captain Widdershins said. “Let’s guess!”

“Aye, let’s not.” Nick said.

Fiona frowned as she pushed the tidal charts into a drawer. “Wait a minute.” she said. “I may have an idea.”

“Really?” Lilac asked, watching her as she ran to a cabinet.

“I just remembered a recent addition to my mycological library.” Fiona said, opening a door and pulling out a book. “This might be useful.”

The captain sighed. “You and your mushrooms and molds!”

“Let her speak.” Lilac snapped, shooting him a glare. “She has an idea.”

“It was in the table of contents.” Fiona said, bringing the book back over to the table, as the Baudelaires peered over her shoulder. “Chapter Thirty-Six, The Yeast of Beasts. Chapter Thirty-Seven, Morel Behavior in a Free Society. Chapter Thirty-Eight, Fungible Mold, Moldable Fungi. Chapter Thirty-Nine, Visitable Fungal Ditches. Chapter Forty, The Gorgonian Grotto- there!”

“Grotto?” Sunny asked.

“Another word for cave.” Violet said.

Fiona flipped to Chapter Forty, and then read aloud, “The Gorgonian Grotto, located in propinquity to Anwhistle Aquatics, has appropriately wraithlike nomenclature, with roots in Grecian mythology, as this conical cavern is fecund with what if perhaps the bugaboo of the entire mycological pantheon.”

“Aye! I told you that book was too difficult!” Captain Widdershins said. “A young child can’t unlock that sort of vocabulary!”

“Piss off, we can get it.” Nick hissed.

“Aye! Watch your language!”

“Aye! I don’t give a fuck!”

Klaus sighed and pushed Nick back so he could get a better look at the book. “It says the Gorgonian Grotto is named after something in Greek mythology.”

“Gorgon!” Solitude said excitedly, shaking her head as if she still had snakes woven into it. “It’s named after Medusa!”

“That sounds right.” Nick said.

“She was a legendary monster who could turn people into stone.” Fiona mentioned.

“Aye! I think I went to school with such a woman!” the captain said.

“Snakes!” Solitude said excitedly.

“The book is saying,” Lilac said, “That it’s appropriate that the grotto is named after a legendary monster, becauses there’s a sort of monster living in a cave- a bugaboo.”

“Bugaboo?” Sunny asked.

“A bugaboo can be any kind of monster.” Klaus said. “We could call Count Olaf a bugaboo, if we felt so inclined.”

Nick stared very hard at the floor. “I’d rather not speak of him at all.”

“This bugaboo is a fungus of some sort.” Fiona said, and she continued reading. “The Medusoid Mycelium has a unique conducive strategy of waxing and waning: first a brief dormant cycle, in which the mycelium is nearly invisible, and then a precipitated flowering into speckled stalks and caps of such intense venom that it is fortunate the grotto serves as a quarantine.”

“Translation, please.” Solitude said, turning to Klaus.

Before Klaus could say anything, though, Fiona spoke up. “It’s rather simple, really. There are three main parts to a mushroom. You can see the cap and the stalk, but the part you can’t see is the mycelium. It’s like a bunch of thread, branching out underneath the ground. Some mushrooms have mycelia that go on for miles.”

Lilac sat on the table, eyes wide. “I remember reading a little about that at Prufrock, when we were studying the fungus in our shack.”

“I’d love to hear about that, when we have time.” Fiona smiled. “But it says here that the Medusoid Mycelium waxes and wanes, which means the caps and stalks spring up from the mycelium, and then wither away, and then spring up again. So you don’t know the mushrooms are there until they poke up from the ground.”

“That sounds unnerving.” Violet said, as Klaus pulled out his commonplace book to write this down.

“Oh, it gets worse.” Fiona said, not sounding very bothered at all; she was too excited about her fungus. “The mushrooms are exceedingly poisonous. Listen to this: ‘As the poet says, “A single spore has such grim power / That you may die within the hour.”’ A spore is like a seed- if it has a place to grow, it will become another mycelium. But if someone eats it or breaths it in, it could cause death.”

“Within the hour.” Lilac repeated.

“Monev,” Sunny said, which meant, “That’s a fast-acting poison.”

“Must fungal poisons have cures,” Fiona said, “And the poison of a deadly fungus can be the source of some wonderful medicines. I’ve been working on a few myself, actually. But this book says it’s lucky the grotto acts as a quarantine.”

“Quarwa?” Sunny asked.

“Quarantine is when something dangerous is isolated, so the danger cannot spread.” Nick explained to her, also sitting on the table.

“Because the Medusoid Mycelium is in uncharted waters, very few people have been poisoned.” Violet said.

“If someone brought even one spore to dry land,” Lilac shivered, “Who knows what would happen?”

“We won’t find out!” Widdershins said. “We’re not going to take any spores! Aye! We’re just going to grab the Sugar Bowl and be on our way! Aye! I’ll set a course right now!”

“Are you sure?” Fiona asked, shutting the book. “It sounds very dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Aye! Dangerous and scary!” the captain said, already climbing the rope ladder to the controls of the submarine. “Scary and Difficult! Aye! Difficult and mysterious! Aye! Mysterious and uncomfortable! Aye! Uncomfortable and risky! Aye! Risky and noble! Aye!”

“I’m going to take Solitude back to our room,” Nick muttered, picking up the toddler, “Where we don’t have to listen to him. Anyone else wanna go?”

��Even if it could hurt us, aye! The amount of treachery in this world is enormous! Aye! Think of the crafts we saw on the sonar screen! There’s always something more enormous and terrifying on our tails!”

“I’ll take Sunny.” Violet said.

“And so many of the noble submarines are gone! Aye! You think the Herman Melville suits were the only noble uniforms in the world? There used to be volunteers with PG Wodehouse and Carl Van Vechten! There were Comyns and Cleary and Archy and Mehitabel! But now volunteers are scarce! So the best we can do is one small noble thing!”

“We should really get some sleep.” Klaus agreed, shutting his commonplace book. “Before the grotto.”

“Like retrieving the Sugar Bowl! Aye! Remember my personal philosophy! He who hesitates is lost!”

“Or she!” Fiona said.

“Or they!” Solitude added.

“Lilac, you coming?” Violet asked, as she lifted up Sunny from the table.

Lilac hesitated. “Um, Fiona, I’d… like to see your fungal experiments. If that’s alright. Maybe I can help.”

Fiona smiled. “Maybe. I could use a mechanic.”

The Baudelaires all shared a very excited look, and when Fiona turned her back, Lilac gave them a glare and a middle finger.

“You all get some sleep. I’ll meet you in the dorms.” she said.

“You have all this in your room?” Lilac asked, spinning around the room to take it all in.

“Well, technically I sleep in the dorms, because I converted that bed into a table, and used the strips of the mattress to make some wall art.” Fiona said nervously.

Inside the small room- barely larger than the closet, Lilac noted- several tanks had been set up, as well as multiple other containment boxes. A large table, that had been crudely fashioned from the bed, sat in the middle, holding some of the tanks, as well as a flow hood, several tools, blocks and jars, and scattered mycological books.

“I know I should have a better table, but it’s the best I can get.” Fiona said. “Stepfather won’t buy me mycological equipment, so I have to get it all myself. My mother told me to just throw bricks through shop windows and steal what I need, but I’m not near those a lot, so improv it is.”

“It’s very impressive.” Lilac whispered, kneeling down to look over several petri dishes. “Are you growing some in here?”

“Yes. But I’ve got some in the plant terrariums, too.” Fiona said, gesturing to the tanks that she’d managed to attach to the walls. “A bit difficult to make sure they stay upright in such an old submarine, but that just makes it a challenge, and challenges are fun.”

“Which one’s this?” Lilac asked, moving to a tank. “Are those wood chips?”

“Yes. Those are my Stropharia Rugosoannulata mushrooms.” Fiona walked over, gesturing proudly. “They’re good at bioremediation, I hope to start setting them out in polluted waterways after the meeting on Thursday, once I get the okay from some other volunteers.”

“Stropharia Rugosoannulata.” Lilac repeated slowly.

“I mean, you could call them King stropharia. I just like the scientific names. They’re fun to say.”

“Oh, that’s completely valid.” Lilac smiled. “I learned Russian when I was younger just because the boys read Anna Karenina and all the names were fun to say.”

“You speak Russian?”

“I mean, I’m not fluent-”

“That’s still impressive. All I’ve got is Latin, Māori and Urdu.”

“I know more Italian. Mom taught me a lot, because operas are usually Italian.”

“Your Mother was an Opera singer?”

“An actress.” Lilac paused. “What about your Mom? What did she do?”

“She helped on the submarine.” Fiona’s face fell slightly, and she moved over to a group of mushroom grow bags. “Um, I don’t remember much about her. She died when I was five or six, and Stepfather doesn’t tell me much about her.”

Lilac flinched. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-”

“It’s alright. My brother was a poet.” Fiona smiled. “At least, that’s what I remember from him. He disappeared around the same time as my Mother… but he was around much more, because he didn’t have to do as much Volunteer work. His job was watching me. He taught me how to play cards.”

“Our parents were Volunteers, too.” Lilac muttered.

“I know.”

“But we didn’t.” Lilac sighed. “We didn’t know anything about VFD.”

Fiona blinked. “Really? I’ve been raised completely in VFD, I just assumed that’s how all Volunteers recruited their kids.” Lilac shook her head, and then Fiona carefully asked, “What did your brother mean? About… recruitment?”

“I don’t… know. Nick learned a lot of things while he was captured, but when he tries to say them… it doesn’t always work out.” Lilac glanced at her. “But he, um, doesn’t have a great opinion of VFD.”

Fiona bit her lip. “Well. Maybe we can discuss that when we get the Sugar Bowl. I’m not sure we have enough diving suits, but maybe he’ll want to go.”

“Do you know how small the cave is?”

“Afraid not.”

“He’s not too good with small spaces.”

“Then hopefully we get to the last safe place fast.” Fiona said. “This submarine seems smaller the longer you’re here. And I hope the last safe place is big.”

“Well, it’s a hotel.” Lilac said. “That’s gotta be big.”

Fiona stared at her.

“Oh. You didn’t know that.”

“My… Stepfather said that I didn’t need to know. That all I needed to know was what VFD needed from me.”

“That’s a horrible way to live.” Lilac said. “If all we knew was what we were told, we’d never know what was right or wrong for ourselves.”

“I don’t really have a choice. He’s my guardian, and VFD left him in charge of me.”

“Count Olaf was our guardian.” Lilac glared down at a tank of wood logs and Hericium Erinaceus. “And we fought back. We’re still fighting, and we’ll never stop until he’s…” she took a deep breath. “Until he can’t hurt us anymore.”

“I wish I was as brave as you. You must be fearless to go through all of what you have and still be sane.”

“We’re not fearless. I’m definitely not. But I’m…” Lilac struggled to find the words. “Hopeful. That one day everything will set itself right, or at least right enough we can find a place for ourselves.” She smiled. “No matter what… there’s always something.”

Fiona beamed at her, and then she said, “Listen, if you… if you don’t want to listen to me blabber on about fungi, I think we have some stuff that you could repair if you-”

“No! No, I want to hear it. I like…” Lilac paused. “I like hearing you talk about mushrooms. You get really passionate about it.”

“Passionate.” Fiona repeated. “Well, maybe you can tell me about your inventions or repairs afterwards.”

“Maybe I can fix that table up.” Lilac said, pulling her ribbon from her pocket and starting to tie back her hair. “What’s that over there?”

“Lentinula Edodes.” Fiona said, smiling at some fungus growing on a hardwood log. “Also known as Shiitake Mushrooms.”

“Shiitake?”

“Don’t start.” Fiona giggled.

“Don’t tell Violet and Nick what they’re called, or you’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Noted.”

They gave each other a look, and then burst out laughing.

Lilac and Fiona returned to the dorms very late, arms linked together as they chatted about a book they’d both enjoyed, about another sugar bowl whose contents were actually very well known. When they swung open the door, though, they quieted, and Lilac let out a soft gasp as she saw her siblings.

Violet and Klaus were sleeping on individual bunks, and Klaus had a book about different currents open on the pillow beside him. Solitude and Sunny had fallen asleep beside each other, curled under a single blanket, while Babbitt slept on a pillow, kicking their legs in their sleep. Nick, meanwhile, was passed out on a chair near the door, almost having fallen over; Lilac recognized this position quickly, from the many times he and Klaus or Violet would sit at the bottom of the stairs waiting for their parents to come home late at night.

“He was waiting for us.” Lilac whispered to Fiona, who smiled. Lilac slowly let go of Fiona’s arm and walked over, carefully lifting up her brother. She was having a bit of difficulty; shit, he was taller than her now. When did he and Klaus get so big?

She carried him to a bunk, lowering him onto it. “Go back to being five years old, okay?” Lilac whispered, reaching over to grab a blanket. “We’ll lock you in the closet again and then make ice cream towers.”

Fiona giggled a little, as she climbed up to her top bunk, watching with a very soft gaze. Lilac turned around, and flinched as she saw Nick starting to move.

“No, no,” she moved back to him, running a hand over his hair. “Go back to sleep. You need it.”

“Nu-uh.” he muttered, but Lilac could tell that in his few seconds of conscious, he’d already started to fall asleep again.

Lilac sighed and pulled the blanket over him. “You’ll be okay. You want me to sing?”

“Mm.”

“I’m not sure if that was a yes or a no.” Lilac laughed. “Just… go back to bed.”

Nick mumbled again. “Thanks, Mom.”

He was passed out again before Lilac could process what he’d said. She stared at him, her face paling. Fiona peered over the bunk, astonished to see tears start to form in her eyes. “Lilac?”

She stepped back, putting a hand over her face. Fiona leaned over the bunk until the eldest Baudelaire looked up at her, and then she said, “Are… I’m sorry, is this a happy or sad cry?”

Lilac opened her mouth to answer, but stopped. Like she herself wasn’t sure.

“Good or bad cry?”

Lilac shut her eyes. “Both.” she admitted.

“Both.” Fiona repeated, and then she reached out her hand to wipe Lilac’s tears away. “Aye.”

#asoue #asoue netflix #asoue movie #a series of unfortunate events #six baudelaires au #the grim grotto #six baudelaires official fic #mine #my fanfic

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septic84 · 5 years

Text

The stranger who loved me.

Writing a book about our lives as Dan and Phil the YouTubers was surreal. I wasn’t sure how we pulled that off let alone the tour we were about to start. The Amazing Book Is Not On Fire sparked The Amazing Tour Is Not On Fire and we were about to go on stage to perform our first show. Everything was going smoothly until it wasn’t. I saw Phil stumble, try to regain composure, then fall off of the stage.

A03

“Oh shit,” my voice echoed over the microphone, I reached down to switch it off, waiting to see Phil come back up the stairs. When he didn’t, I hurried down to him.

“Phil, are you okay?” I said approaching him. The crowd was whispering and talking hushed. Phil didn’t respond. “Phil?” When I looked down at him, he laid still, there was a pool of blood under his head. “Oh my God!” By this time our security team had already started to section off the area as the medical staff was making their way towards us. I leaned down and switched off Phil’s mic. “Hey, hang in there okay? Help is coming.” He didn’t move. An announcement was made to the theater that there was an emergency and for everyone to stay seated. I heard people crying in the audience, I couldn’t blame them, I was almost in tears myself. I knew when Phil was well again, he would feel really bad about making so many people so upset due to his clumsiness. He had finally managed to hurt himself badly due to his constant tripping over his own feet.

When we got to hospital, a member of the security team was allowed to go with him and wait outside the door, I, however, was asked to stay in the waiting room. Nervously my knee bounced up and down as I wrung my hands and stared at my feet, I really wanted to be with Phil. Not knowing what was going on was killing me. It seemed like days had passed when A doctor came out to give us information.

“Philip Lester?” I stood up and walked to the doctor.

“Relation?”

“He’s my,” I paused, “Best friend and flatmate. We were in the middle of our stage show when he fell.”

He nodded, “Okay, come with me.” The doctor started to rattle off information too quickly for me to keep up. Several medical terms later I had sussed out that he had broken his nose, had swelling on his brain and was in a coma. “He is stable right now; we have a specialist coming in the morning to review his charts,”

“Okay,” I said as we entered the room. Phil was hooked up to several machines and an IV. His head was wrapped in gauze, his eyes were both black from bruising.

“I’ll leave you for now,” The doctor gave a sympathetic smile and left.

I sat next to his bed, “Oh Phil,” I choked. I could hear the beeping of the monitors and machinery as I laid my head down on the bed, not able to contain it anymore, tears slid down my face. I was so scared, Phil looked too fragile and helpless. What was worse is I knew I couldn’t do anything for him. Not at all.

I must have dozed off as I was startled awake by a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see Martyn smiling down at me, sadly. “Hi,”

“Hey. I would have let you sleep, but they say the specialist should be here soon,”

I nodded, “How long have you been here?”

He shrugged, “Few hours,”

“I can’t believe he is laying here literally because he fell off of the stage. “

Martyn chuckled humorlessly, “Leave it to Phil,”

“The swelling is already going down,” the specialist said after she had his head scanned again. “He should wake up in the next few days, granted he keeps making progress like this.” She looked at Martyn, then me, “It’s good news, boys.” She smiled, nodded and walked out.

Three days later Phil woke up. I was making my way back to him from the bathroom when I heard him groan in pain and saw his eyes flutter open.

“Hi there, Phily,” I said softly. He turned and looked at me, his face held the look of utter confusion, I laughed. “You fell off the stage, you absolute mess.”

“I was on a stage?”

“TATINOF?”

“What?”

I shook my head, “It’s okay Phil, take your time. I will properly drag you and we can talk about all that when you are feeling better,” I smiled at him.

“Well, that’s nice I guess,” he paused, “but I have no idea who you are.”

“Haha, very funny,”

“I wasn’t being funny,”

“What?” I swallowed hard, “You don’t know who I am?”

“No, am I supposed to?”

I felt as though I was about to faint, “Yes!” I squeaked.

“Mr. Lester, I see you are awake,” the nurse walked into the room. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore, my head, and face really hurt,”

“I’m sure,”

“He can’t remember!” I blurted out, panicking.

“Oh, “She said, what’s the last thing you remember?”

“Being at uni.” I audibly gasped.

“Let me go get the doctor,” she smiled as she left.

Luckily, Martyn came in at the same time.

“Martyn? Oh my god, I’m glad you’re here!” Phil’s face relaxed, but he was side-eyeing me.

He laughed, “Why are you looking at Dan like that?”

“He doesn’t remember who I am,” I said, sadly.

Martyn’s face fell, “What? How is that possible?”

“How am I supposed to know? I have no idea what's even happening,” Phil said.

“Sorry,” I muttered. The doctor came in and examined him, she ordered a series of brain scans to try to figure out Phil’s memory loss.

“Phil, do you know what year it is?” she asked.

“Well, no, but judging by how old Martyn looks I am assuming I am not in Uni anymore.”

“Hey!” Martyn said.

“You don’t remember why you’re here?”

“No, I don’t even know where “here” is.

“And you don’t remember Dan, at all?”

“No,”

This was a nightmare, I stepped out of the room and sat on a bench in the hall. I wasn’t sure what to do. After a few minutes the doctor came out, “He could remember everything eventually,” She clasped my shoulder. “Don’t give up.” I nodded.

I overheard Martyn talking to Phil, “Dan. As in Danisnotonfire.”

“I have no idea what that means?”

“YouTube?”

“Martyn, the last YouTube video I remember making is after I returned from Busch Gardens in America,”

“Oh my god, when was that? So that means you don’t remember him like, at all?”

“I take it Dan is important?”

“Ah, yeah. He’s become like family to us.”

“Us us, or like you and our parents?”

“Phil, Dan is your flatmate,”

“Oh,”

“And your best friend.”

“Oh,”

“At least that’s what you tell people.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I knocked on the door, “Excuse the interruption, I just thought I’d let you know I am going to get a hotel room,” I doubted Phil wanted me to sleep by his bedside anymore. “I’ll see you, I guess.”

“Dan,” Martyn started, I waved him off

“I’m really glad you are awake Phil,” I smiled, nodded and walked out. He had no idea who I was, the video he was referencing was before he even tweeted at me. I was a stranger to him. He didn’t know about the legacy we had built with YouTube, BBC radio 1, TABINOF or TATINOF. What the hell was I going to tell the internet? A member of our security team took me to a hotel, they had agreed to stay around until Phil was released, just for precautionary measures. I had a set of Phil’s contacts in their pot in my pocket, his phone and I knew that his pillow and things from the dressing room were in the car.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,”

Once I was checked in, I kicked off my shoes, took off my skinny jeans I had been squeezed into for days now, leaving me in my pants. My shirt came off next, grabbing Phil’s pillow I crawled into the bed. I inhaled Phil’s scent and fell asleep, crying into it.

I woke up to my phone ringing. It had only been two hours, it was Martyn.

“Hello?”

“What hotel are you at?”

“Why?”

“Because I am coming over.”

I groaned getting up to open the door when he had arrived.

“You didn’t have to leave, Dan.”

“He has no idea who I am, why would he want me there? If I were in his shoes, I wouldn’t want me there.” He said nothing, “See, exactly.”

“What are you going to do about the tour?”

“I have already emailed everyone to cancel it.”

“You decided this on your own?”

“Well, it isn’t like Phil cares, is it?”

“He would if he knew.”

“I know that but he doesn't, he can’t remember me, let alone our stage show.” I flopped down on the bed. “As far as the rest of it goes, what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“I’m not sure,”

“Same. Do I pretend to be Phil? Tweet that he was hurt, but keep it vague? Do I tweet as me? Do we just ignore it? I know Phil wouldn’t want us to ignore it, at least not the one who knows and loves his fans, but,”

“Dan, it doesn’t have to be figured out right now, you know, that right?”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“I want to ask how you are, but I’m sure I know. You overheard us.”

“Yeah.” I swallowed. “I, just. He’s my best friend, he’s my only friend. He doesn’t know who I am.”

“Still sticking with the “friend” label, huh?”

I rubbed the back of my neck nervously. “He is also my business partner,”

“I suppose you could let your manager and team handle it, but you would know what Phil would want, better than anyone. I won’t pressure you, but it has to be addressed.”

“I know,” I looked up at him, “What if he never remembers me, Martyn?”

“We can’t think like that,”

“I can and I am. Look, I get it, but you will always have a place in his life. He knows who you are. What’s going to happen when they release him? Is he coming back to our flat? Will he go to yours? Your mums? Why would he want to live with me?”

“Deep breaths,”

“How did this happen? How is this fair, to anyone? This is like a terrible movie of the week.”

“He hasn’t said much after I told him who you are, he just keeps repeating the same timeline he referenced before. In Uni.”

“Our story doesn’t exist, Youtube Dan and Phil don’t exist.”

“Not right now, they don’t. He has another brain scan tomorrow, they will be determining a treatment course, if he can go home or leave, I guess.”

“Where are you staying tonight?”

“I think I’ll stay at the hospital. The idea of him being alone really bothers me.” I felt the guilt stabbing in my gut. “I’m heading back then, so I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You think I should come back?”

“Of course, you should Dan. Scans at 10:00.”

“Okay,”

“Try to stay positive, yeah? See you in the morning.”

“Sure, see you.”

Even though I was exhausted, I wasn’t able to sleep. I was so damned scared that my life was over. I was nothing without Phil, everyone knew that, and I was not the exception. If Phil didn’t remember me ever again, I had no idea what I was going to do. I tried to resist a trip down memory lane, but that only lasted so long. As I panicked, I loaded a PINOF playlist, set an alarm and closed my eyes, listening to us laugh.

My alarm went off and I pulled myself out of bed as the memories flooded through my mind. I showered, drank the disgusting hotel room coffee and brushed my teeth before I left for the hospital. I had no idea if Phil would even want me there, but I still went. I knocked on the frame of the door.

“Hey, Dan,” Martyn greeted.

“Hi,” I said, meeting Phil’s gaze.

“Your hair is really curly today,” He said.

I blushed; I had forgotten to straighten it, “Ah, yeah,”

“Come sit, Dan.” Martyn motioned to the chair.

I sat, but it was so awkward and uncomfortable that I was constantly shifting in the silence.

“Well, this sucks,” Phil said casually, smiling. I laughed. “Is this as weird for you as it is for me?”

“I can’t be sure, but it’s pretty fucking weird.”

“Yeah, apparently we have known each other for years.”

“Oh Phil,” We were interrupted by his mum, she had finally made it here. I wondered when she would arrive.

“Hi, mum, this is Dan,”

“Silly boy, I know who Dan is,” she turned to me and kissed the top of my head. “Hello, darling. How are you holding up?”

“Fine,” I whispered. One of her fingers twisted in one of my curls as if to make a point, though she didn’t say anything else.

“The doc will be here in a while to take him for another scan, we will know more then.”

“He doesn’t remember Dan at all?”

“He doesn’t remember a lot of things, not just me,” I said softly.

“Oh, Dan,” She murmured

“You know, I am right here; I was the one who got hurt, like actually. He didn't.”

“If you remembered you wouldn’t be taking that tone with me, mister.”

“Well, I don’t okay? It’s not like anyone is telling me much anyway.”

“We don’t want to make it worse, Phil.” Martyn said, “The doctors haven't told us what we should and shouldn’t do yet.”

The doctor came in before anyone else could say anything, “Ready for your scan?” Phil looked scared so without thinking I took his hand in mine. He jumped and I released it. “I’m sorry,” I muttered. I got up and walked out of the room so they could take him to his scan. I watched in the hall as they wheeled him away for his procedure. Kath was suddenly pulling me into a hug.

“Hey there, my strong lad,” she soothed “You’re okay.” I clung to her; I needed this comfort.

“I just don’t understand how he doesn’t remember. What am I supposed to do? I mean he’s my best friend.”

“Oh, we are still going with that are we?” Kath huffed. I pulled back and looked into her eyes, blushing. “He’s also your business partner,” She grabbed his shoulders, “Have you decided what you are going to do?”

“I canceled the tour, other than that, I’m not sure what to do. Phil doesn’t remember anything since 2008,” I took a deep breath, “That means YouTube, BBC, the gaming channel, the book or the tour.”

“Let’s see what the doctor says, we can work on it from there.”

“I suppose you could call me; I doubt he wants me here.”

“Well, I want you here. And I am hungry, let’s take Martyn and get some lunch, shall we?”

“This is really a family matter, isn’t it?”

“Daniel, you are family and you know it. Stop it. Come.”

The doctor explained that Phil’s brain was healing, but the amnesia was an unfortunate side effect. It was diagnosed as selective amnesia, which I thought was a stupid name, but as Phil remembered his mum, his brother, and his childhood, this seemed to be the best fit. The doctor couldn’t give us a time frame or confirmation that the last 7 years of his life would even return to him. He was to rest, but also try to trigger his memories slowly. They warned not to do too much too fast, but “they” remained hopeful that this would work. I wasn’t so sure. They advised me to put things away that would cause him to ask too many questions, and slowly reintroduce them.

“We will be able to release you tomorrow,” she said, leaving the room.

I took a deep breath, chewing on my lip.

“Well, “Kath said, “We’ll get you back to London, back to your things and your bed.”

“I live in London?”

“Yes, you do.”

“You live with me, “I said softly.

“Oh,”

“You’ve lived with Dan for several years,” Kath said, patting his shoulder. “If we want your memory to return, that is the best place for you.”

Phil looked scared, I hated that. “Phil, you can stay with your mum or Martyn for a while, if it would make you more comfortable,” relief crossed his face.

“Nonsense, all of his memories are in and at your flat. “

“Mum,” Phil said.

“This is what’s best for you, Philip. You need to go back to London.”

“Look how scared he is,” I squeaked, “How could it be best for him?”

Returning to my hotel room, I sighed. Kath was not going to acquiesce my offer for Phil to stay with one of them for a while. Tomorrow afternoon Phil and I would be back in our flat, alone. He had no idea who I was other than what people had told him. I was headed back to our apartment shortly, to put away anything that was us. I would put it all in the gaming room, I would have to buy and install a lock to keep him out. It was overwhelming, as I packed up my things, (and Phil’s) I forced myself not to cry. It was not the time. It was shortly after three am and I had finally gotten the flat cleaned up to an acceptable level. Martyn and Kath would be dropping Phil off in the morning, I made sure his coffee mug and coffee were set out for him. The photos of us that were kept on the wall we never showed on any platform, all of our awards, plaques, and art that hinted to who we were, was now all locked away. Anything at all that made us, us. I looked around at how empty the flat was, it mirrored how I felt. Making sure the gaming room was securely locked, I hid the key in my room, which also was now bare. I was in my pants, laying numbly on my bed. This was going to be the hardest thing I have ever done; I wasn’t sure I was strong enough. It wasn’t like I had a choice.

I woke up to keys in the lock, Phil’s voice then Kath’s. “Wow, this is a nice flat.” “Yes, you and Dan have a nice place here,”

I pulled some clothes on and walked out to greet them, yawning.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“It’s okay, Dan,” Martyn said.

“I’ll show you to your room,” I said, forcing the kindest smile I could muster.

“Right, thanks.” What he didn’t know is his room was actually our room, it had been for years now. I swallowed hard.

“Here we are,”

“Okay, thanks.” He walked in, looking around. “At least this looks the same,” He said, motioning to his duvet. I laughed softly. I missed him so much, I just wanted to hug him. After explaining to him where everything was, I excused myself.

“I’ll let you get settled, then.” I went back to the lounge.

“You can do this, Dan.” Kath pulled me into another hug.

“Can I?”

“Of course,” she lowered her voice “When you love someone, you would be surprised what you can do.”

I didn’t even refute it, I just pulled back and nodded.

“We’re off now, I will be staying in London for a time, just to make sure he gets settled.” she turned towards his room “Phil, we’re leaving.”

Phil came out and hugged his mum. “I know you’re scared, it’s okay. I promise you; you are safe here. I wouldn’t leave if that were not the case.” He hugged Martyn next.

“Dan really cares about you Phil, you’re fine.” He reassured.

“Bye,” He said, his voice was timid and it made my heart clench.

After they had left, we stood awkwardly. “Ah, I have things out for you to make your coffee if you’d like.” I motioned to the kitchen

“Yeah, okay.”

“If you need me, I’ll be in my room, which is the one just down the hall from yours.”

“Thanks,”

I didn’t know what the fuck I was supposed to be doing, I just wanted to be around him. I knew he must be feeling really strange too. For the most part, he spent the day in his room, I hoped he had been resting, but I couldn’t be sure. After the pizzas I had ordered arrived, I knocked on his door.

“Ah, yeah?”

“I ordered us Pizza, I’m hungry, I figured you would be too.”

He opened the door, “Yeah, I am, thanks.”

“Did you want to eat with me or?”

“Yeah, sure.”

We were set up in the lounge, I wasn’t sure what we should watch, what would be too much or too confusing, so I put Buffy on. He smiled.

“I love Buffy.”

I smiled at him, “I know,” I remained quiet for most of it until Phil had sauce dripping off of his chin and I absent-mindedly grabbed a napkin and wiped it off. His face was still black and blue, I sucked in a breath. Then I caught his eyes, they were wide and uncomfortable.

“Oh, god. I’m sorry.” I said quickly snatching my hand back.

“It’s okay,” He said. “I take it we are close, but I just don’t know that.”

“I know, I know.” I looked down

“Your hair is cute curly, you know.” He said, eyes still on the screen.

“Ugh, I hate it. I look like a hobbit.”

He laughed out loud. “I see why we are friends, you’re funny.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“So,” He turned towards me, “We have lived together for years?”

“Yes,”

“How did we meet?”

Was I supposed to tell him this soon? “Um,”

“I mean, I don’t know do I?”

“I’m worried to push you,”

“Well, the whole reason I am here is so that I can remember you, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah it is. We met because of your Youtube channel.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Wow, that’s so cool.” He smirked.

“Yeah, I Tweeted at you, a lot. I liked Muse, you liked Muse.

“Do you watch my videos?”

“Yes,” I smiled, “and then we met.”

“Wow, when was that?”

“2009.”

He gasped, “Sorry, I keep forgetting it’s 2015.”

“I’m sure this is hard for you.”

“Yeah, I guess I graduated huh?”

“You did,”

“Good.” He yawned, “When am I allowed to go on the internet again?”

“Oh,” I took a deep breath, “Let’s just give that some time. There is so much shit, now Phil. I want you to be feeling better before you open that Pandora’s box.”

“Is it that bad?” He said softly,

“Some parts are, most are not. Are you tired?”

“Yeah, I suppose I am.”

“Okay, time for bed then,”

“Dan?”

“Yeah?”

“I know this must be hard for you too,”

“I’m okay, Phily, don’t worry about me.”

“Phily?”

“Yeah, ah, sorry.” I blushed.

“Well, goodnight then,”

“Goodnight.”

In the coming days, Phil had asked a few common questions, but nothing too in-depth. I was struggling and found myself face down in the hallway. I literally did this all the time but Phil, of course, didn't know. “Oh!” He just happened upon me having a lie down on the floor, “Are you alright? Should I call someone?"

I scoffed. "I'm fine this is a thing I do."

"Why?"

" That's the million-dollar question.”

"Should I do something?"

"Nope."

"Okay then." Phil had discovered my existential crisis hallway, he probably thought I was insane. I took a deep breath and continued my spiral.

“Dan?”

“Ugh,” I groaned.

“I don't mean to pry, but you've been laying on the floor for 3 hours, at least since the last time we spoke.” He crouched next to me, “I feel like I should do something,”

I smirked, “Yeah this is how you were when it first started too.”

“Well, that makes sense, since we're friends, right?”

“Yeah, right.” We stayed in silence for a while, he eventually sat leaning his back against the wall, wrapping his arms around his knees.

“You may not remember, “I chuckled, “but you sure act like the Phil I know.”

“Does this happen a lot?”

“More than it should, I suppose.” I sat up, “thanks for sitting with me.”

He smiled, “I want you to tell me more about our life, I want to remember you.”

“I'm not sure I can right now,”

“Why does it seem like there's something really bad that's happened?”

“There is a lot of things Phil, a lot.”

“Why won't you just tell me, why is there a locked room upstairs?”

“Because,” I stood up to leave, “I want you to remember and not just learn about it. I doubt you'd forgive me a second time.” I walked into my room and shut the door, but he followed me. I heard through the door “We're friends, of course, I will!”

But we weren't just friends and that was the problem. Did I have it in me to show him that video? The one that everyone now refers to as the” v-day video.” I was so mad when it posted, he was so embarrassed. There was so much backlash from that alone, but there was more. What about the “I like vagina” posts, or all the “no, I'm not gay” posts? Then there was the whole "no homo Howell 2012," that whole year was a cluster fuck.

“Well can you at least show me what shops I go to? I need toothpaste.”

I open the door and stepped out, “Yeah okay, we typically just order from Tesco. We don't go outside much, I mean we were going to, but then you fell.” I ordered a car.

“Oh, sorry.”

I smiled. “It's okay Phil, you didn't intend on this happening.”

“You said I fell off the stage, why was I on a stage?”

“Ah, don't you need toothpaste? Let's go.”

“You can't put me off forever, you know, that right?”

“I know,” I noticed he was in a t-shirt, “I have your coat in my room, hang on, “

He cocked his eyebrow when I returned. “We share clothes?”

I handed it to him. “Yeah, sometimes We do.” I guided him towards the door we got to the car

“Wow, I can't believe I live in London. That's truly mental, why did we move here?”

“For work mostly, we lived in Manchester before.”

"We did?”

“Yes, we did. I went to Uni there for a while. I know what you're doing, by the way.” I was so tired of not talking to Phil, of feeling so alone, that I answered his questions. I got lost in thought and my leg was pressed into his. I realize the comfort it brought me, it seemed to do the same for Phil.

“We're really touchy-feely friends, aren't we?”

I blushed and laughed, “We are. Does it bother you?”

“No, not really.”

“Okay, good.”

We had made it through Tesco fairly easily, thankfully not running into anyone we knew or any of our followers. We were at the checkout and Phil looked exhausted, his face looked sickly as the dark purple bruises were now fading into browns and yellows.

“Are you okay?”

“Starting to get a headache,”

“We're almost done.” He seemed unsteady; I looked around and seeing no one was looking, I looped my arm around his waist. “Lean into me.”

He snorted, “You clearly don't want to be touching me in public.”

“You don't understand,”

“Of course, I don't.” He pushed my arm away. We didn't speak the entire way home; I wasn’t sure what to say. When we got home, I started to put groceries away in silence, I glanced at him. He looked miserable.

“You should go lay down, I don't want you to get a migraine, you have that look on your face.”

He sighed. “It's so frustrating that you know so much about me and I can't remember anything about you.”

“I'm sorry, Phil,” He shook his head and walked away. There wasn’t much I could do to help that. I missed him so much, the him that would allow me to be close to him at the right times, the one who understood why we needed to be careful of who saw us in public. I missed Dan and Phil, both professionally and personally. I missed my old life.

I knew It was risky, but I snuck up to the gaming room. I needed to feel connected to my Phil to be able to help this Phil. I looked through our photos, our book, and his Twitter. I even watched the “V-day” video. I needed to hear him say I love you. I haven't watched it since the accidental uploading, it was too painful. But, now in the dark, with all things Dan and Phil surrounding me, I was glad I had it. I watched it twice wiping my eyes, I took a deep breath; it was time to pull myself together. Standing up, I looked around the room one last time, turned out the lights then shut and locked the door. I met Phil at the bottom of the stairs.

“Hey, are you feeling better?”

“I guess so, I'm so bored." His eyes drifted up the stairs, “Are you okay?”

I smiled at him, “Yes. We can play Sonic?”

He looked at me suspiciously, but said, “Yeah, okay, thanks.” Some time into the game, we were laughing and had made our way closer to each other on the sofa, our legs touched like they always did. When it was my turn, I noticed he was watching my face more than the game, I smirked.

“You know I can see you staring at me, yeah?”

“Ah,” he stammered, “sorry.”

“Do I have something on my face?”

“No, it's just,”

“Just what?”

“Nothing, never mind,” I pause the game setting the controller down.

“What?”

“It feels like we are or have been more than friends in the past,”

I swallowed hard, “what?”

“Oh,” he said, “I guess that means I’m not crazy?" I nodded in silence. “Why does everyone think we're just best friends then?”

“It's complicated,”

“My family even calls us best friends, why are we “best friends” if we are or were more?”

I sighed, “More than one reason, mostly because of me.”

Phil took a deep breath, “Are you embarrassed of me?” He looked down at his hands

“No, no not at all Phil. It's nothing like that. Why would you think that?”

“Well, look at you, then look at me.”

“It has nothing to do with that, Phil. And that’s ridiculous.”

“Wait, you’re not out yet, are you?”

“No” I whispered “I’m not even sure what I am,”

“When did we start being more than friends?”

“2009.”

He looked back up to my face. “Are we still more than friends now?”

“We were, before, the accident I mean. We didn't label anything and we didn't tell anyone. Something, well several things actually, happened. Things were really bad for a while, it almost destroyed us. Since then we are more than friends in private, but not in public.”

“So, we didn't tell anyone, meaning I had to be closeted again?” I tightly pursed my lips. “Wow, I was so ashamed of myself. I mean I struggled from 12-18 to come out,”

My eyes became glossy. “I know, you're the first “out” person I’d met.”

Phil looked around the flat, “you've hidden anything that may have hinted that we were together, haven't you?”

“Yeah, I wasn't sure what to do. The doctors said it would be best.”

“That’s what’s in the locked room?”

“Yes, it is also our office.”

“We work together, I know that, what do we do?”

“Phil, now that you know, about us I mean,” I paused. “I think it’s time to know the rest,” I got up and got my laptop. Maybe this was too much too fast, but I couldn't dodge the questions any longer. “If you remembered, you’d know how awful this is,” I pulled up “Hello Internet” and paused it before it could start.

“Oh my god, you’ve always been cute,”

“Shh, now, I won’t stay for this, I hate it.”

“So, you’re a Youtuber too?”

“Yes, I’ll be back in a few,” I came back after I knew enough time had passed. “You were the “really good friends,”

“Okay,”

I loaded up PINOF, “Watch this playlist, come find me when you are done,” I pressed play and left the room, hearing my younger version of myself say “Why do you always make cat whiskers on your face?” I went up to the gaming room, grabbed the copy of TABINOF, when to my room and laid down. I wasn’t sure how this was going to go. I was trying to take deep breaths to stave off the panic, in the process, I fell asleep.

When I opened my eyes, it was dark. “Shit.” I walked out to Phil, he wasn't in the lounge, I knew where he was. I realized that I probably hadn’t locked the gaming room and that's where he would be. I found him, staring at a picture of us in Japan, me kissing his cheek.

“Hey,”

“You're cute when you sleep, you know. Do you honestly think people believe we're just friends? I mean I don't remember and I can tell how much you love me when you look at me in videos.”

“What have you seen?”

“All of PINOF, Day in the life, some Sims and the Halloween baking video. The way you look at me, people know, believe me. If you think otherwise, you're just fooling yourself. Then I Googled, I saw Dailybooth, Formspring, then I made it up here the door was open. We have created a universe that is solely ours, haven't we?"

"We have,"

"I saw the "VDay" video, I had to after all the things I read. It wasn't a joke, was it?"

"No, it wasn't. It was really a valentine. It was also a very dark time in our history, I said some very stupid things."

"Yeah, I saw. Dan, are you afraid of your sexuality?"

"I don't even know what my sexuality is, Phil." I looked him in the eyes, "What I do know is that we work."

"You love me though, right?"

"More than you know, you saved my life."

"The stage I fell off of, that was our tour, right?"

I nodded handing him the book, "First performance,"

He thumbed through the book, "wow, we are very successful." He stood up and walked towards me. "This must be really hard for you,"

I snorted out a laugh, "well, it's not been easy, but I'm kinda attached to you if you couldn't tell."

"Yeah, I've gathered," he took my hands in his, "I know somewhere in here," he pointed at his head, "The Phil that knows you, misses you, very much."

I couldn't stop the tears from rolling down my face, "I miss him so much,"

"Please don't cry," he cradled my face with one of his hands, I leaned into his touch. "Dan, I know this may be weird, but can I kiss you?"

I leaned forward and my lips met his. It was a strange sensation, my lips knew his lips, but the hesitation wasn't something I was used too. I wrapped my arm around him and he started to kiss me harder. I pulled back and rested my head on his shoulder.

"I promise you, Dan. I will remember. I am so lucky that you love me,"

"I've always been confused about why you stayed with me, after everything,"

"Have you met you?"

"That's my point."

"Dan, I can't remember feeling what I did before, but I know already why I've stayed with you."

"It's really a brain fuck, being this close to you and missing you at the same time."

He nodded, "I'm pretty overwhelmed right now, I think I'll go to bed. This has been a lot."

"Okay, Phil, get some rest, I would hate for you to get worse," he nodded and started down the stairs.

Now that he knew everything, I didn't have to lock the gaming room anymore. He knew we were in love; that we were more than friends, he knew we were Dan and Phil, the iconic YouTuber Duo, and he knew that we also actually were best friends as well. I realized how tired I was, this had been a lot for me too. I wondered what questions he would have for me after he processed all the videos, all the Google searches, and that kiss. As much as I missed Phil, this was the most progress we had made since the start of this whole ordeal. Smiling to myself, I finally had hope.

I woke up to Phil groaning loudly. "Shit," I got up and walked to his room, his door was open. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Dan, can you bring me coffee? I really don't want to get up." His arm was a crossed his face.

"Do you have a headache?"

"No, not really. Something feels off. My nose hurts."

"I'm sorry, I'll be right back with some coffee."

He moved his arm and looked at me suspiciously, "Really?"

"Yeah, but don't do that again, okay? You woke me up and I thought you needed my help."

"Well, I do! Plus, you know If you make it, I won't steal your Shreddies."

I scoffed, "Yeah, yeah. You and your cereal stealing," I had made it halfway to the kitchen before it dawned on me. "Oh my god," I ran back to his room.

"What's wrong?"

"Phil?" I asked tentatively.

"What is it?" He had sat up.

"You remember me?"

"What's gotten into you? Of course, I," suddenly Phil froze, "Dan? Why are we at home? What happened? What about TATINOF?"

I jumped on the bed pulling him into a quick hug and forceful kiss.

"You remember."

"Oh my God, I fell off the stage, didn't I?"

"Yes, you nutter, you've caused quite the drama,"

"What happened?"

"You fell, broke your nose, cracked your head open. You couldn't remember me, us, YouTube, I mean at all Phil."

"Really?" I nodded, "Are people mad?"

"I've no idea, I haven't been online at all for a few weeks."

"Weeks? It's been weeks? I fell off a stage and had to be taken by ambulance to hospital and you haven't said anything to them? Oh my God, Dan."

"I'm sorry, okay. I was dealing with my own shit, yeah? It felt like a lifetime to me, I had to explain everything to you, Phil, I mean everything. Us, the “vday” video, YouTube, all of it. I had to relive all that shit, so forgive me for being distracted. "

He leaned over and kissed me and said, "I'm sure that must have sucked."

"Yeah, it was difficult." I rubbed the back of my neck, "He, well you, I guess, asked me why we weren't, like why we were "just best friends."

"Oh," he took my hand, "it's okay Dan,"

"But it's not, not really. You pointed out that I had forced you back into the closet because I can't figure out my shit."

"Did I say it like that?"

"No, but you weren't pleased."

"Dan, I don't care about that, you know that right?"

"How could you not?"

"I love you, Dan. I wouldn't ever want to hurt you. In the earlier years, after all of that stuff, I knew you weren't ready. I accepted it then."

"Phil, that,"

He continued, "I also accepted that you may never be ready, but having to act like you were only my "best friend" in front of people never bothered me. Okay, maybe a little, at first, but Dan, you are my best friend. You also are a person I get to hold and kiss and share my dreams with. No memory me didn't know everything when he made that comment, he didn't know how important privacy is to us, or what would happen even if you were ready to be out. He didn't have the whole story. I would never force you to come out for me, I don't have a right to. You come out when you're ready, it's no one else's business. Do it when you are ready."

"I love you, Phil Lester "

"I love you too, I'm sorry I forgot you, us, everything."

“I'm just glad you remember now,"

"Can we still do the rest of the tour?"

"Ah, maybe, I canceled it."

"What? Why?"

"Phil, you thought it was 2008."

"Oh, wow. I don't anymore though, I want to continue."

"Do you think we should?"

"Of course, we wrote a book and were going to tour it, I had an accident but I remember now, there’s no reason not to."

"I'll call everyone later,"

"Good. So, about that coffee?"